PHD #435: CMC Sewing Circle
Log Title
Summary: Three marines have a genteel conversation.
Date: 07 May 2042 AE
Related Logs: None
Ciro Constin Decumius 
Deck 9
The floorplating along the corridors of the Cerberus are standard military. Their forged steel plates are welded seamlessly together to run nearly the entire length of each hallway. The hallways themselves are the typical load-bearing structural design of the angled quadrilateral. Oxygen scrubbers and lighting recesses are found at nearly perfect intervals throughout the angled passageways.
Post-Holocaust Day: #435

Constin steps out of the ship's Galley, a mere two and a half hours late for breakfast (or perhaps two hours early for lunch). The marine is dressed in the offduty boots, trousers and tanks, and his bootsteps linger a moment in the Deck 9 corridor, eyeing the long Memorial Wall.

Decumius appears to also be off duty, judging by his dress state. He's got a coffee mug in his hand, gripped tight as if his fate depends upon the continued supply of caffeine. And maybe it does. He looks at ease, though, despite the iron grip.

Another form is walking down the line of the memorial wall, avoiding most people as he goes. Frak the memorial wall, the tall, mohawked sniper rarely even bothers to glance at it. It's just an obstacle that he has to avoid on his way to better places. Passing around a pair of engineers putting another picture on the wall, he spies the MaA and another face he recognizes from recon. "Morning." He mutters to the two of them, slowing down. The galley's caught his eye it seems, and hunger might be settling in.

Constin turns an eye aside at Ciro's greeting. "Sondray," the big man mutters with a short nod in greeting. Seeing the other marine's look go toward the Galley, he notes, "Ain't much left. Lunch don't go out for another hour or so." More marine motion draws the MaA's attention briefly toward Dec. "Decumius. How the frak do you survive field ops without your damned coffee, Corporal?"

Decumius offers a goofy grin to Constin, shrugging handily. He gives a wave with his free hand to Ciro. "Dunno. I usually pack a lot of those little coffee packs, the instant ones. And I got my little mini stove. So, I don't, Gunny."

"That instant coffee shit's gonna turn your asshole into a sieve. Just so you're prepared." Ciro says with an upward nod in Decumius' direction. His love of tea well documented, swearing by the drink's medicinal properties. Health freaks…they survived the holocaust, too. Frowning, Ciro reaches to his shoulder to scratch the top of his tattoo and shakes his head in the direction of the galley. "Frak, I'll probably just wait it out then. No sense in getting the bottom of the pan when I could be ahead of the rush and get the top of the pile."

"What, you mainline that shit, or something?" Constin drawls back to Decumius' talk of instant coffee packs. A narrowing of his eyes punctuates the wry question, with a short sniff following as Ciro offers his own commentary. "Coffee. Tea. Don't neither of you two ever drink nothing real? Shit, s'like I'm standing here with a couple Airy Fairies, or something," the big man needles, before giving Ciro's 'wait it out' comment a belated nod.

"Been drinking it since I've been in, you know." Dec comments to Ciro. "Funny enough, though, when I'm out doing job stuff, at least when we're all alone, I don't drink much of it. I drink a lot more in garrison." He laughs at Constin, good naturedly. "I don't get drunk out in the field, if that's what you're saying, Gunny. Dunno, lost my taste for booze when I started being too much of a retard. Still drink a bit."

Ciro turns his head to Decumius, furrowing his brow as his words start about the MaA, speaking as if the large, muscular man can't hear them. "I hear this guy right? For our sake I hope he doesn't actually think we're Airy Fairies, my schedule can't handle his secret knitting circle parties and if he pulls rank I'm gonna have to attend." He pauses, looking back to Elf as if nothing more was said. A rare smile cracks across Ciro's lips. "Water and Tea, man, you should try it."

"Out of luck, ladies," Constin snorts to Ciro's grinning joke. "I got myself a little sewing circle scheduled real soon, and you both is already on the guest list. Expect to see the both of ya there, unless one of you hits your period between now and then." Gemenon: the CMC Sewing Circle. "Tea parties and teetotalers," he drawls looking from Ciro to Decumius. "What a couple little faggots you are," he quips with a rare grin of his own.

Decumius laughs. "It's okay, I like to keep a low profile. I'm a grey man, almost nobody knows what I do, I've done and such." The former recon marine smiles proudly at this proclamation. He raises his hand up at Constin. "Listen, Gunny, I know it's easy to drink hard when you're ship bound and all, and I know you're a meathead by training, but having grown up in the combat arms, it's a bit different when you're out in the field for months at a go…" Despite the ribbing, he is obviously speaking lightly and unseriously. "It's okay though, I'm sure one day when you've got the T-I combat arms you'll understand our philosophy a bit better." He winks. "Speaking of the sewing circle," his expression becomes more serious, "are we planning on having another meeting before we start?"

"I switched to water only last week actually." Ciro sides in with Decumius about choice of drink, especially before an upcoming event. It's a regular practice, flushing the body of things that are bad for it before going out and having to rely on the hard, unforgiving nutrition of MREs. The caffeine withdrawal headaches are always the worst. "Faggots." Ciro huffs, shaking his head, keeping the banter level high. He's about to respond with another round of sarcasm, but Decumius' question peaks his interest, raising an eyebrow toward the MaA. It's a good question indeed.

"Yeah, I secretly wish to see real combat, some day," Constin drawls deadpan to Decumius. On the question of the sewing party. "I figure we will. Wouldn't want anybody to frak up with their cross stitching, yeah? Figure next couple days. You'll both hear."

Decumius laughs at Constin's reply. "Roger that. I'll go make sure I got all my needles and thimbles in my sewing kit, then. If you'll excuse me gents. Gunny, Sarge." He tips his non existant hat to both of them, before making off for the stairway, again.

Nodding to Lucius as he takes his leave, Ciro spares a glance to the memorial wall and then back to the taller wall of muscle nearby. He doesn't do the wall. "Sounds like a plan. Next couple of days is enough to keep me in suspense." He sidelongs, folding his arms across his chest. "So you know Ensign Alteris from Engineering? She's somehow managed to con me into borrowing a few books and get involved with the gunsmithing group down in the belly. Figured that'd be a match. I had no idea there was so much equipment down there."

"Sondray, the two sorts of folk who know the most about what the best shit is, and where it's stored are Engineering and Deck," Elf notes, dryly. "Gunsmithing group, huh? You'll let me know if anybody recalls doing a spot of work on a single action revolver, yeah?" A breath drawn in and let out. "Alteris. That's Wheels, ain't it?"

"Yeah, she's the one with the chair." THAT narrows it down. While there are many chairs on the Cerberus, there's very few that could deserve that level of pronoun. THE chair. "I'll keep an eye out for one. I haven't started yet because I don't wanna go dicking around with machinery, but I have been down there doing some heavy lifting for her and Specialist Wolfe. Beats the AA. That place is like a tomb sometimes."

"Lost taste for it after the basestar boarding," Constin mutters in regards to the Athletics Area. "Yeah well. Alteris is an officer, so she's got clearance to keep a sidearm, no worries there. Had an instance of an unauthorized revolver in connection to an ongoing investigation, couple weeks back. S'why I mention it," he clarifies.

Ciro's eyebrows raise and then lower at the mention of a loose firearm somewhere in the fleet. "Yeah, I'll keep my eyes open for anything, Gun. Thank's for the head's up. From what she said mostly it's just triaging parts to see if they can be reused or if they need to be melted down and reforged. They've got all the tools for it down there, and at the very least my expertise in all things firearms wouldn't hurt if it came to design in a pinch." He frowns. "For a second there I thought you were trying to piece together some old piece."

Constin shakes his head. "We got the revolver, now. I'm just trying to figure how somebody got hold of a workable piece in the first damn place," he mutters, tersely. Ciro's latter comment draws a short grin and second shake of his head. "Nah. Standard issue Five-seveN is good enough for me. Figure a gun's only ever as good or bad as the hand pulling the trigger, yeah?"

"Ain't that the frakkin' truth. I'd rather have to put up with a jam from an automag than to have to carry around cylinders anyway. What's that they figure with the MPs anyhow? If you have to fire off more than a clip it's a frakkin' war?" He chuckles, glancing to the clock and then to the galley. The second hand isn't moving fast enough and the engine needs fuel it seems. "Sounds like your crew's having trouble with all the trade going on lately."

"Can't stand frakking civilians," Elf growls to that last question. "Hardly a damn one that's honest. They lie cause they're scared, or they lie cause they're guilty, or they lie cause they're angry. Frakkers would be amazed at how benevolent the Military can be if they'd just follow the Lords-be-Damned rules. Instead, I got some thousands of folk trying to get away with as much as they can."

"No bullshit, Gun, I don't have much of a reason to go over there except for a few shots and some eye candy, but with the war going on it doesn't sit right with me. Something about some girl dancing for vouchers is like begging. I'm not the only one that has a pile of vouchers that I could trade in for clothes over there. Civilians have got a lot of shit they don't need." He shrugs, glancing to the man as he watches the empty galley. Soon they'll start preparation on lunch. "No one's worth trusting anymore." It's a cylon reference.

"There's a few," Constin voices to the last. "But damn sure there ain't many." A bullish snort is exhaled through the nose as Elf shakes his head. "I'm outta here, Sondray. Luck with lunch," he wishes in parting.

"Yeah, keep their heads ringin' Gunny." Ciro replies, lifting his arm to wave the man away. Glancing back to the memorial wall, he considers just who Constin was looking for before he takes a step in the direction of the cooking food. The conversation has ended, and Ciro knows he's crossed a sensitive subject.

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