PHD #059: A Laughing Matter
A Laughing Matter
Summary: Daphne derides Trask in a manner that he, Penelope, and Viae deem to be rather deranged.
Date: 26 Apr 2041 AE
Related Logs: Philosophical Differences
Daphne Penelope Trask Viae 
Navel Head - Deck 4 - Battle Cerberus
Like any normal head on the ship, this one is painted in light grey with some blue around the top of the room. Down the center there are 16 sinks, 8 on each side backed up to each other. Along the hull areas of the room, showers and lockers are toward the back and off to the left of the sinks are closed toilets and open urinals.
Post-Holocaust Day: #59

Daphne is in a bathrobe, setting some toiletries down next to what's about to be her stall. Unravelling her ponytail is basically an afterthought, since she's only just now remembering to do it. The rubberband comes off with a little difficulty, and then finds its way inside of her pocket. The place is otherwise as busy as it's likely to be given the duty cycle. People coming and going.

Among those who are coming and going is Trask, who is toting a small toiletries bag and wearing nothing more than a pair of flip-flops, his dog tags, and towel around his waist. It is the latter that he removes and drapes over one well-defined and ornately inked shoulder, although not because he's about to enter a stall. No, he's making a pit-stop at the urinal first.

Daphne is all organization and everything-in-its-place. Her toiletries bag is more like a toiletries utility belt, with individual pouches, velcro straps, and so on. She must've been voted most likely to have her hair pulled and bubble-gummed when she was in school. She doesn't take too much note of the naked Trask, though she does roll her eyes a bit, disrobing in front of one of the stalls. "Modest much?"

Trask doesn't take much note of anyone who may be taking note of his nakedness. He's been in the military for nearly 15 years. Going au naturel is natural. "Nope," the JiG says, turning his head towards the blonde's direction while the rest of him stays on target. "Don't believe in it any more than I do in bragging." True to form, he's intentionally twisted what was meant. A point he drives home by idly adding, "I'm not prudish, either. That'd be Jugs." The only response Daphne's disrobing prompts is a single observation: "You're the military brat."

Daphne slips into the shower stall, "I was a military brat before it was trendy." The water turns on and a pair of feet occupy the edge of the stall, like the person inside is staying clear of the shower spray until it has a chance to become something akin to 'not freezing'. "It's the 'in' thing now, yeah."

"Nepotism has always been in fashion, Ensign," is the dry reply, capped off with a small jiggle of his shlong that shakes off any residual droplets of pee. That done, Trask makes his way to an unoccupied stall, which is two down from Daphne's. Towel is placed out of the way but the flip-flops remain, and he then turns on the water.

"We're both alive. Guess it's going around." She waits for the water to heat up. One of her ankles crosses the other, and the woman is probably leaning against the stall, maybe with her arms folded impatiently. Or not. "I frakking hate these stalls."

"Nepotism has nothing to do with it in my case. Neither does cronyism," Kal causticly comments, suddenly scrutinizing his showerhead. A moment later, he's turning off the water. "Oh?" he idly inquires about Daphne's disdain for the stalls. At this point, he's setting down his toiletry bag and starting to twist off the previously mentioned showerhead.

"Wow. For a Lieutenant, you're pretty clueless." Daphne smirks to herself, and finally gets under the shower itself. "Military brats are more like cockroaches they keep spraying for. If you're trying to say that I didn't earn my wings or something, well…" The woman shrugs to herself, not that it's terribly visible. "I'm too tired and burnt to care."

Penelope meanders in with her shower kit, flip-flops (not only is fungus gross, but there's the drain babies to be squicked by), and towel, the rest of her bundled in a well-worn, stripey bathrobe. She looks completely frakked — half asleep and wired on caffeine at the same time. And this is the woman they're letting patch up the ship with a blowtorch. That can't possibly end well. For right now, though, she seems Mostly Harmless. She catches the last bit of Daphne's comment, feminism rising to the fore and burning away some of the fog on her brain. Who's saying her fellow bearer of ovaries didn't earn—?? Oh. It's Trask. She smirks faintly, then comments to Daphne idly, "Don't listen to Kal. He's full of rubbish."

"Wow. For a military brat, you should know that with every increase in rank comes an increase of cluelessness." None is wiser than the oh so wise ensign. "I remarked about nepotism having always been in fashion," the ECO casually continues, now inspecting the removed showerhead. "You replied by saying that we're both alive, so it must be going around. I noted that my being alive has nothing to do with either nepotism or cronyism. However, my disinterest in further discussing semantics has nothing to do with being any measure of burnt or tired. I wouldn't give a damn in any state."

All the while, he's fiddling with the sub-standard shower. Even when Penelope arrives. "Really, while those jelly beans weren't the greatest thing ever, I'd hardly call them rubbish. Also, I shat them out a while ago, so you're wrong on two counts, Henny Penny." Back to Daphne, then. "Kinda moot whether or not you earned them. If you didn't, you'll be dead soon enough. Or worse, someone else will be dead. Maybe you an' Tuna Melt will succeed in doing both with each other."

Daphne snorts derisively, "Wow. I touch a nerve? Thanks for the play-by-play. I was already so lost in the stupid you were farting out your scrawny ass." Daphne's laughter is amused, and cruel sounding. "What a pathetic loser." She starts to make the usual motions one makes under the shower, doing the thing with the arms and the soap, and so on. To Penelope, she replies with that same cruel sound to her voice, "He sounds like he's compensating for something. If he wasn't fratricidally close to his squadron leader, I'd report him for morale issues, but you know. Nepotism." She laughs a bit more.

"I'm not sure whether to be offended by your tepid reception of my jellybeans, ducky, or disturbed by the extreme vigilance with which you monitor your stool… but I'm strongly leaning towards the latter." Penny takes Trask right in stride, slipping into a shower stall of her own without missing a beat. She hangs up her bag-o-shower-goodies, tossing her towel and robe to drape over the door. Things being taken apart and poked at has a helpless draw for the engineer, though, and she lifts her chin a little to peer over at Trask's work. "Probably just calcium deposits, luv. Soak the whole lot in vinegar overnight…" She blinks a few times at Daphne's caustic tone, the acid laugh. Wow. She apparently hadn't picked up on the vibe she walked in on, until now. "Or, the way the conversation's going, the pipes'll just clear up in the atmosphere, I reckon."

Blithe as ever, Trask tells Penelope with dramatically mock concern, "Kolettis is cracking, talkin' to herself like that. She hums and sings and speaks in tongues when she goes into her 'safe place'…" The air quotes are audible in his tone. "This, though…" He's pouring it on while the shower water pours more than it did before. That is award-winning rueful headshaking, right there. "I bet it's 'cuz her best friend from the academy was nearly killed by a privileged princess whose daddy got her a pair of wings as a birthday present, an' now her own privileged princessness is twisting upon itself with a corrosive sense of guilt, especially since Money Shot earned her wings." He went there. Merrily so, with that pretense of innocence that is anything but innocent. "I can't even bring myself to point out that she has no frakking idea what nepotism means. She's already drowning in her own self-admitted stupidity." Heavily, he sighs and vaguely looks to the heavens with a 'poor girl' expression.

"Anyway," eyes settle on Penelope as he switches topics and tones with the abruptness of total dismissal, "It's workin'." The showerhead. "Sorta. It /is/ gonna need to be soaked. I guess this means we have to share." Oh, the horror, but Bootstrap is a trooper and he'll somehow get through this. Just look at that look of noble resignation. "An' I'll have you know," he adds, more pertly, "the doctors recommend the monitoring of one's bowel movements. They say it's like some kind of augury read via excrement." Meanwhile, he's turned off his shower and collected his things with the scampish nonchalance of someone poised to follow Penny into the shower even while knowing she is so not going to let that happen.

"Oh, okay." Daphne continues to do her showery thing, and is attempting to choke back laughter. It's working, but barely. "You know, I don't care about vitriol when it's insane and out of nowhere. But if you keep this schtick up, sooner or later you're going to encounter someone who's riding the edge, and you're going to push them over and induce a suicide, assuming there's anyone on this ship who takes you seriously." She turns off the water and continues, "I will bring it up to the CAG, though. Considering I don't even know you and the crew's already holding together with a few self-imposed delusions, you're not exactly becoming of an officer, especially a superior officer. But it's okay. Boys mature more slowly than girls." She steps out of the stall and reaches for her robe.

"Then you should have already augured that your chances of me letting you into this stall with me are…?" Penny grins at Trask's effrontery, folding her arms on the top of the stall door and resting her chin on them. Amused, for the moment. All the showery stuff in her little box will happen in good time, it seems. She glances at Daphne, frowning a little, then back at Trask. "I hate to be the voice of reason, but can't the two of you just both be the better officer and drop it? No one has to worry about the last word being gotten, yackity schmackity?"

/Induce/ a suicide? Really? She just said that? To a /Taurian/? The man actually turns around, unhurriedly, to face the Viper jock. Whereas Lasher's temper is hot and searing like fire, the element of Aries, the namesake of the Captain's homeland, Trask's is the hardness and coldness of stone that befits the fixed earth sign of Taurus. "You're right, Kolettis. I /am/ compensating for something." The words come evenly and like flint. "I'm compensating for every frakwit who is incapable of doing their job. I'm picking up the slack for those who don't carry their weight. If someone chooses to off themself, it's due to an inherent lack of strength, an inability to remain upright."

Sardonicism starts to seep in. "But, hey. People refuse to be accountable for what they do in life, so why not shirk it in death, too. You're sad that life isn't all sparkles and unicorns and rainbows? Boo frakkin' hoo. Whatever slack you might've been cut for being an Ensign has been reduced with the reduction of humanity. You don't know me, fine. I know you, though. I've known you since I enlisted. Either you'll grow the frak up and step up, or you'll be useless. The latter is usually what happens with privileged princesses. Apostolos sees merit in you, though, so I'm hopin' you'll be the former. In the meanwhile, go speak with the Major. Speak with Laskaris, too. Maybe they'll coddle you, doubtful as that is, but they know I won't." Those brown eyes of his are intent, steady, appraising. "Really, though, it sounds like you need to speak with a shrink. Be advised that I will make such a recommendation to the CAG and your Squad Leader."

Daphne tilts her head at Trask while she draws her robe shut. She tries to speak, then stops. Then opens her mouth again, then closes it. She finally howls derisive laughter so hard she has to brace her back against the stall door. And since it's open, she slips and falls on her ass. She laughs some more, not caring what's exposed, or where. It's real, tear-jerking laughter. She gasps for air, and slowly manages to get to her feet. "Yes. I'll do that. I'll… I'll try to…" She starts giggling again and grabs the stall, sliding on the balls of her feet. She presses a hand to her forehead and whines, "Ohmygods," and finally starts to snap out of it. "I'm doing my job fine, actually. But I'll try to grow up like you. Later, 'Lieutenant'." She says the last part as if questioning it.

Penelope winces as Trask goes flinty and begins his tirade, watching Daphne's reactions. "Right. Suppose that was too much to hope for," she murmurs of her earlier suggestions of forbearance. She reaches for her robe, shrugging it on, as though expecting she's going to have to step out and step in. She blinks a few times at Daphne's laughter, looking pained, then looks back to Trask. "Please, Kal," she says, reaching across the divider to touch his shoulder. "Just… let it go."

Viae makes her way into the Head quietly. She ran a late shift and tries not to wake anyone sleeping in the berths. Her voice, a soft dulcet tone, carries none too far as she sings a folk song.

Donald's gone up the hill hard and hungry. Donald's come down the hill wild and angry. Donald will clear the cuck's nest cleverly. Here's to the King and to Donald McGillivray.

She's wearing her off-duty tank and slacks, with shower clogs on her feet. Towel and toiletries under her arm as she steps out of Daphne's way, brow raised. "My, I didn't expect to meet a crowd here at this hour." She smiles and waves to all as she finds a nearby bench to put her things and to begin stripping down.

When the Ensign seemingly loses it, Trask simply stands there, stark naked apart from some flip-flops, his dog tags, and a dry towel draped around his neck. He looks neither stunned nor offended. To the astute, however, those brown eyes of his are turbulent beneath an otherwise calm surface. Nothing is said to Daphne. When the snipe touches his shoulder, she'd be able to feel the tension, as well as a mild recoil at the unexpected contact. It is enough to draw his attention away from the departing crackerjack.

Looking at Penelope now, the undercurrents of emotion would likely be evident on his face. "Let it go," he finally murmurs, troubled. Faintly, he shakes his head. "I can't let go of someone so far gone." The uneasiness lingers for a moment and then is willfully swept aside with a glib declaration of, "You'll have to scrub me down another time. I've got a clean-up on aisle ensign."

Penny watches Daphne go, brows furrowed in worry. She nods absently, "Right." Er… scrub-down later, right? Woo! Uh. She doesn't even appear to have picked up on the glib, so intent on the trail of bitterness the Ensign's left behind. Shrugging her robe back off and draping it over the door again, she finally turns and starts the shower, bowing her head under the spray. It's a long moment before she says anything more. "Sweet Hecate, that poor girl."

Viae looks back to the hatch and thinks. "That's the Ensign who thought I was on drugs for trying to be chipper. Hmm," she says as she drapes a towel over her shoulders, making her dog tags clink together. She walks up to her own shower and turns it on. "Ok.. So… what can we use to cut through this tension, eh?" She says with a smile, trying to ease the spirits in the room. She gets her hair wet and begins to lather it up while she sings.

Come like a weibach, Donald McGillivray. Come like a weibach, Donald McGillivray. Balance them fair and balance them cleverly. Off with the counterfeit, Donald McGillivray

Penelope agreed to a scrub-down? That only garners a lackadaisical, "Cool." Whether or not he had been serious in the first place is moot. There is another moment of pensive silence, before Trask adds with a bit more vigor, "You up to writing a witness statement?" In fact, so focused on the incident, it takes him quite a while to even notice Viae. "Oh. Hey, Mercer." It doesn't appear as though he actually heard any of what the Specialist said. Could be a side-effect of weariness.

Penelope runs her hands back through her hair, massaging her scalp beneath the jets of water. It's uncertain for a moment whether she's heard Trask's question. Finally, however, she sighs, "General combativeness, rapid mood swings, inappropriate verge-of-hysteria fits of laughter?" She, too, seems rather intent on the subject at hand, even though her visible focus is the shower wall.

Viae makes a face. Apparently the issue with Daphne is Serious(TM). And Serious business demands attention and a more somber attitude. Too bad. She sighs to herself and nods in return to the Lieutenant. "Sir," she says in return. "Everything alright?" she asks, not to be nosy, but to be more reassuring.

"You're forgetting the bizarro threats about induced suicide," Trask drily points out to the showering snipe. By the time Viae asks her question, he's mostly eased back into his usual facetious stance. "The Holocaust notwithstanding, apart from Kolettis going crackerjacks and potentially being a danger to herself and the safety of others, just peachy. You're having a pleasant shift, I hope."

"And that," Penny agrees. The suicide talk was 'WHOA.' She looks askance at Trask, and as he slips back into his glib demeanor, she appears to relax. She smirks faintly at his patter — comforted. Kal is full of shite and all — or at least something is right with the world. Now she can shampoo.

Viae nods and finishes her shower. Unlike what she'd heard of most females, she doesn't take any longer then necessary. She grabs a towel for her hair and another to wrap around her. "My shift was pleasant, yes. Still… playing with our 'toy'." She says, by way of trying to be discreet. She sighs as she makes her way to her clothes. "It's too bad about her. I knew she needed help, but I thought it was from what we'd gone through with the boarding. Something everyone needed to get help with. She just seems to have taken the pyramid ball and run." She looks up as she towels her hair. "Should I have said something sooner? For her sake?"

Still playing with — uh? Penny glances back and forth between Trask and Mercer as she rinses, an elaborate look of 'OIC!' coming over her features. She looks amused, dimples showing, and rolls her eyes slightly. She lets the two speak, going through the motions of showering on full auto. Conditioner. One of those loofa scrubbies and body wash, for those concerned with such details. It's not so long after the end of the world that the niceties stocked up before The Big 'Splodey are completely exhausted. The body wash bottle it looking near empty, though — alas.

By this time, Trask could've already finished his shower, if he hadn't gone and changed his mind about taking one. The towel still remains slung around his neck, which means all the goods are on display. Evidently, he doesn't care. This being the military, communal nakedness is commonplace. "Lieutenant Paris," whom he indicates with a tilt of his head, "not to be confused with El-tee Jay-Gee Parres," who's also a designated playmate, "is our primary liaison from Engineering." That's all he says about toys. More seriously, he inquires, "Has she been like that for long?" Daphne, that is. As for having said something, "If you thought she was really that bad, yeah." It's not chastising, merely frank. "How much did you see of what happened here?"

Viae nods to Penelope with a smile and a wave. "A pleasure, Lieutenant." She says, then turns to Trask. "She wasn't this bad. She just seemed depressed and she chastised me for trying to cheer her up. I just tried to show her that there's more to this then to mope. I figured that maybe she'd lost someone and was going through mourning. Something everyone was." As to answer his question, she shrugs. "I saw her speaking to you as she walked out. I don't quite care for the tone she'd used when speaking to a superior, however."

Ohhhhh. THAT toy. Penny looks enlightened, and somehow even more amused. She ducks her head to swallow a grin, then glances at Viae, raising a hand in greeting. "Hey," she acknowledges her intro, then back to the showering. Rinse-rinse-rinsey. Squeaky-frakking-clean. Once the water's off and she's towel dried, she wraps up in her robe before exiting her shower stall. Some folks adjust to the co-ed nudity, but not to participating therein… Lt. Paris is the blushing, modest type. Aww. Not that she bats an eye at either of her shipmates — they might as well be in full dress uniform.

A faint nod. "So, you were here for the…" The JiG pitches his voice Penelopewards, "What did you call it? Verge-of-hysteria laughter?" Cheeky ECO is cheeky. Not waiting for a reply, he asserts to Viae, "Verge-of-hysteria laughter." It's about then that the brunette emerges from the shower stall. "Oh, yeah. Henny Penny, this is Specialist Viae Mercer. Comms. CIC is being nice enough to lend her out. Mercer, Lt. Penelope Paris." Introductions out of the way, it's back to Daphne. "Depressed is to be expected. Cracking like an unboiled egg is another matter. That poor girl is off her rocker and she needs help. Which means, my dear ladies, I need you to each write a statement about Ensign Kolettis' behavior."

Viae nods as she finishes fastening the last set of buttons. "Surely. It'll be on your desk by mid-Alpha shift. Is there anything else you need before I hit my bunk?" She asks as she gathers her things and makes her way closer to the hatch.

Penelope smiles at Viae. "Nice to meet you, Mercer," she nods. At Trask, she raises her eyebrows a little — but then again, she's always raising her eyebrows at Trask. She's going to need frakking Botox before she's 30, damn it. "I'm willing, but… maybe we should wait and see if that's even needful, Kal. If your report's enough on its own, then it's all well and good. Last thing the poor girl needs is to feel ganged up on." She shrugs and begins toweling off her hair. "Just a thought."

"Nope. Nothing further, Mercer. Good work today. Rest well. See you in about 16 hours." With that, Viae is free to go, as far as Trask is concerned. Which just leaves Penelope. "You do realize that it is standard procedure to submit incident reports?" Dry as dust, that. "You're a witness. Ergo, an incident report." This would be one of those moments where Quinn would feel inclined to strangle him. Cue the causticism. "Anyway, the last thing the girl needs is to not get the psychiatric help that she obviously needs. You wanna ease up 'cuz you worry about hurting her feelings? That's nice. I'd rather make sure she doesn't hurt herself or someone else. Or, y'know, get somebody killed."

Viae nods. "G'night, Lieutenants," she says as she waves and heads for the berths.

Penelope flatlines a look at Trask as reward for his causticism. Beat. Beat. Beat. She is, perhaps, gathering her ladylike patience. "Recall, if you will, that I already said I was willing to make a report. I only suggested we see if it's necessary, first. The reports in addition to yours." She takes a breath and sighs, shaking her head. "Sometimes I suspect you take things as they please you just to be a douche." She glances at Kal, frowning gently. "Don't."

The thing is that she's more or less right. There is an element of provocativeness to his nature, largely rooted in the happenings of his childhood and adolescence. "Sometimes, I do," is casually confessed. At least he's honest about the crap he pulls. Maybe it's the display of patience, or that she sees what he's about, or how she gently frowns, or something else entirely, but when Penelope tells him to knock it off, Kal reigns himself in. Even naughty boys can behave well from time to time. "If it makes you feel better, I'll tell the CAG you have a statement and she can decide whether or not to review it." The man may be an exasperating pain-in-the-ass, but he's not unreasonable.

"That's all I was suggesting," Penny smiles, looking relieved and pleased and… maybe even a little touched, somehow. "I don't mind going on record, Kal, honestly I don't. Say you have supporting witnesses if it's necessary, and if it is, Mercer and I can give our reports, as well. It's not about sparing her feelings as much as it's about… not giving her more pain, if it can be avoided. There's a difference, y'know? I think we can do the right thing — which is get her help — as delicately as possible. Because… she'll need her dignity." Never mind how dignified sitting splayed on her ass in the head, laughing like a lunatic, was NOT… Penny sounds oddly like the voice of experience, here. "Anyhow…" She glances at Kal almost shyly; her smile's small, but genuine and sweet. "I should get a nap."

It's not that Trask is socially clueless; it's that he has an inclination to be inappropriate because even the worst of repercussions for his actions are easier for him to handle than feeling vulnerable. "A'right," is all he says, his own expression somewhat inscrutable, but his eyes are keen. Like many frakked-up people, he can sense the frakked-upness of other frakked-up people, and subsequently extends the courtesy of not commenting about it as long as the other person is seemingly functional. When Penelope mentions a nap, Kal idly glances down at himself. "Yeah. I suppose I might as well wash up, seeing how I'm already here and dressed for the event." Boyishly, he smirks. "Rest well, Henny Penny. Dream of jelly beans."

Penny makes it almost to the door, smiling to herself, before she looks back. And blows a kiss. And hurries out before Kal can spoil it.

Too late… unless his already being in the shower, thus entirely missing it, doesn't constitute as ruining the moment.

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