| Dead Weight |
| Summary: | Allan Rejn: making friends and charming people for fifty-six years. |
| Date: | 21 May 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Athletics Area — Deck 12 — Battlestar Cerberus |
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| A large pair of mats dominates the center of this room, their centers taped-out for a small area to practice boxing or other martial arts. Around the outside are treadmills, bikes, weights, and an impressive variety of gym equipment to help tone and shape the bodies of the crew. To one side of the room is the locker room while at the rear is a hatch that leads back to the oversized swimming pool. Off to the side is a rack that holds boxing gloves, pugil sticks, and the associated pads for the sticks. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #83 |
Just past midday, and the midnight-through-morning shift has been out for a few hours. This has left time for a meal, and a bit of exercise before turning in for the afternoon. One of these is Constin, who- in the ubiquitous sweat pants and tank top of off duty personnel, has donned a pair of boxing gloves, and pounds away at one of the heavy bags. Breaking for a brief rest as a timer sounds out the end of his three minutes, the big man's shoulders heave and sweat drips down his face to further darken his shirt.
Work work. Sofia wanders in, toolbelt about her waist. She hums softly and wanders towards a heavy bag near Constatin. She sets up a small ladder and reaches up to be sure the thing is bolted into the ceiling properly. Can't have anyone getting squished. She pauses and notices someone working on the next one over. Hmmm. She should say something. Her mouth opens. Then closes. "Uh. Let me know if that thing falls off." SMooooooooth
Constin's already narrow eyes narrow further as he peers up at Sofia on the ladder adjascent. "Huh. Yeah, ah'll.. do that," he mutters dryly. Gloved hands raised to stack one atop the other on the crown of his head, to improve his breathing, he adds with a snicker, "Had a problem with that lately, have ya?"
It's certainly not for the treadmills or the bikes that Allan Rejn has come to the Athletics Area, dressed as he is in that stained beige suit that's become an altogether common sight around the corridors of the ship. And unless he's got on a really brief man-thong beneath the fine silk of his pants — which it's fair to assume he doesn't — he's certainly not here for the pool. Indeed, judging from the cigar he's holding between two thick lips, he's probably not here to do anything at all except flaunt the fact that he hasn't seen the inside of a gym since grade school. Ash tickles his flame-red tie, resting like snow atop the mountain that is his protruding belly; smoke wreathes his ruddy pink face, drifting like clouds about that very chubby peak. "Mmmmmph," is his greeting to those sweaty men and women plugging away beside him while he strolls amongst their midst. "Getting tired just looking at all y'all," he drawls. "Hey, Booby — " His cigar tilts in the direction of an unfortunate man whose chest is just a little too prominent beneath his layer of sweats. "Forget this bullshit and just get a suit. Damn sight more slimming and easier, too. Easy on the protein bars, though, and you there — " This to a rather burly-looking woman in a sports bra who's currently doing a number on the free weights. Blue eyes narrow as they consider their target; then, as if realizing that discretion is the better part of valor: "Eh. Never mind, carry on."
"Yeah, couple of times. You guys are kind of rough on these things," Sofia replies. She smiles at the Marine, "Guess people are tense. Or really good at boxing." A shrug. "Just making sure is all. It'd be sort of awkward to explain to a CO why one of their men was in medbay because they got squished by a falling boxing bag," She grunts. She tightens things and blinks, seeing Allan. Oh dear. She recognizes that man. She looks pained as he draws near. She glances to Constatin, as if debating hiding behind the man. "Oh. Er. Have we met?" She suddenly realizes she doesn't remember the Marine's name. Distraction, distraction. Though Rejn might pick up on the repeated furtive glances his way.
Constin eyes the cigar-chomping civvie who walks in. Allan doesn't get a second look, as the boxing timer sounds again, signalling that his one minute break is over. Gloves come up and he ducks back into a punching crouch, resuming the two, three, and four punch combinations thrown heavily at the bag. His head ducks and weaves with each punch thrown, continuing the conversation without looking back at Sofia, words punctuated by gloves thudding into the bag. "Nope." Jab-hook-hook, "Corporal Eleftherios-" jab-cross-hook, "Constin, Em-Pe." Duck, weave, jab-cross-jab-hook-hook.
"Heyyy!" Too late, Sofia: if there's anything Rejn likes more than listening to the sound of his own voice, it's inflicting that sound on other folks he knows. "Mornin', Tits. Chesty? Shit, I forget." The older man's surprisingly shrill tenor cuts through the air like music from a brass frakking band. "You smoke? One of the last stogies in the known world." It's offered without fanfare to the engineer, held between thick fingers while he watches Constin beat the living tar out of the bag. "That thing still not telling you where it hid the bomb?" he wonders.
Sofia watches Constin box, curious and somewhat impressed. She hopes not to be on the receiving end of an MP ever. She smiles, "Nice to meet you. I'm Crewman Sofia Wolfe. Engineering," Hence, the wrench. "3M. We're kind of everywhere," She seems to enjoy the Swiss Army knife nature of things. She flinches though, hearing Rejn call to her. "Thanks. Good morning," She smiles politely at Rejn regardless, although it's apparent she's somewhat sheepish about her figure. She folds an arm over her chest. "Oh? No, there's too much flammable stuff in engineering, but thank you for offering. You'll have to enjoy it for me." What an onerous burden. She seems amused by his comment to Constin though, an eyebrow lifting. "How are you?"
Rejn shrugs, tapping a bit more ash onto the ground before taking another aggressive drag from his cigar. "Doesn't seem to stop the rest of you lot, but suit yourself," he says after he exhales, heedless of that unspoken commandment among cigar smokers never to light up in public for fear of offending nearby sensitive nostrils. His suit bunches up among overly-tight shoulders as he leans against the nearby bulkhead, foot tapping in time with each powerful thud. "And I've really been better," he answers after a moment of contemplation, during which time he allows himself still another draw. "Used up the last of the Barrister Ten after I heard all about that nasty 'Snake Talon' business or whatever else bad-ass name Mikey came up with to make his dick look bigger. Dead or dying down there because the admiral doesn't know how to turn the damn ship around. Poor fraks."
Sofia nods at Rejn then shrugs and smiles politely. She blinks at the news, "I see. Where would you hope he turns the ship? I doubt they're dying just like that…" She looks visibly worried. "I wish I could have gone, but I guess they needed some of us to keep this place from coming apart," She looks sad at this. Helpless. Still keeping an arm over her chest. O for want of a plastic surgeon. She doesn't like this subject though.
"Nah," Constin mutters back, without looking away from the bag in answer to Allan between deep breaths. He's only halfway through the three-minute round, but the constant movement and punching try the endurance. His words come between deep breaths, but the rate of thuds which slam into the bag doesn't much decrease. "Bag ain't talking.." Jab-cross-hook-hook-hook. "And snakes ain't- *huff* got talons." The man's voice is a bit higher than one might expect from his size.
"No shit they don't have talons," says Rejn, clipping off the end of each word so quickly does he speak. "Watched Pop kill enough of them back on the ranch. Shovel to the neck — just like — " An open palm attacks his wrist to simulate the motion, cigar bobbing in his lips as he does so. "Mmmmph," he continues, cheeks hollowing as he blows out another plume of smoke. "If the Cylons got them, they'd best hope for something that quick, because if I were a Cylon? I'd just blow up all the hospitals in the city and let them slowly rot from the inside out. Shitty way to go."
Sofia watches Constatin box a bit. "No, they don't. I saw some big ones at a zoo once," Nod. She watches Rejn demonstrate how to shovel a snake. Oooo. She stays standing on her ladder and frowns. "The Cylons don't seem sadistic, just kind of murderous," She admits. This does not seem to be a thought line she enjoys. She's visibly uncomfortable, as if remembering something.
"Then good thing you're- *huff* such a *humane* bastard, ain't it?" Constin comments dryly as he slips to the left, throwing a quick jab-cross that sets the bag swinging again. Bouncing on his toes to relieve the burn in his legs, the big man lets the bag swing back and forth once, before bringing the gloves back up to his chin and starting in on a fresh flurry of punches. "How they *seem* only matters to civvies and the brass," he opines aloud, between heavy intakes of air.
"Humane." Rejn's mouth twists around his cigar at the word, his expression equal parts amusement and distaste. "Hey, say it enough times and maybe it'll become true, and really, Titsy — " It may not have been Sofia's old nickname but it sure is her new one now. "You're going to play semantics after they just turned fifty billion people and my beautiful frakking horses into little neat piles of ash? Though — " The man snorts, a motion that sends ripples through the dress shirt that clings tightly to his body. "Maybe you're onto something there. Nukes — efficient, sure, but maybe the Cylons just wanted to make the genocide quick and painless. Considerate of them."
Sofia's left eye twitches a bit at her new nickname. "I didn't say humane," She points out quietly. "And I didn't say I'm happy with what's happened." After all, Aquaria kind of got reamed hard. "My home is pretty much inhospitable to life for a few thousand years," She remarks, her voice still soft. "But I sincerely doubt the Cylons have interest in torturing us. Just stomping us the hell out." She frowns, unhappy with this subject and looks to Constin. "I suppose that's true enough. I should've taken a loan out," Sigh.
The timer sounds, and Constin gives it one more hard punch to set it swinging again, before taking a look over one shoulder at who exactly has been holding up this charming conversation. "Huh. Figures," he mutters with a snort between big breaths. "Yeah, well. A people get caught with their pants down when they let theirselves get soft. What you doing in here anyhow?" he asks Allan with a grin. "..Apart from cryin' about your horses?"
"He said humane." Rejn nudges his cigar in Constin's direction. "I ran with it." Heavy hand rests tightly in his pocket, its seams already straining from the force of his not insignificant thighs. "Well. Walked, maybe. Strolled or some shit. And don't mind me, really. Just exercising by osmosis."
"Some folks were still building up in case," Sofia notes. "Or at least, that's what I heard," She shrugs. "I'm just a lowly crewman," She smiles sadly. She hms softly at Rejn, "I see. I'm not really exercising, just taking care of the equipment," She tightens another bolt, then blinks. The ladder wobbled for a second. She steps down, moves it, then tries again.
Constin huffs out a few more breaths, quipping to Reyn's clarification that he'd said 'humane' first. "Yeah, ah'm just a ucket of wits, today." Tucking his left glove under his right arm and tugging it off, to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. At Rejn's advice not to mind him, the marine returns dryly, "Don't worry. I didn't." A deeper breath is drawn and let out, as he checks the timer. Still some time left.
"He said something?" Rejn snaps back, polishing off his cigar and crushing it underfoot. "Wasn't listening, and hey — don't break your neck on that thing, yeah?" This to Sofia, whose progress up, down, and up again is observed with those perpetually narrowed eyes. "Dead girls don't blush when I say shit, and Gods know the admiral's all about getting us more of those than we really need these days." And with that, the portly man trundles off, his perfunctory visit to the gym complete. "Keep on plugging!" he calls over the pounding of feet on treadmills and the squeal of metal on metal. "I'm feeling healthier already just watching you!"
Sofia looks to Constatin, "Well, you don't seem like a bad guy." She offers a smile. Apparently suffering horrible mental trauma, a near death or two and missing a good chunk of her friends has calmed her down a bit. She blinks at Rejn. "Oh-" She turns red at that. Does he care or would he just be sad if a busty enlistedman died? Hard telling. "Thanks," She just murmurs. "You should try the pool sometime, we finally got the temperature just right," She blinks at the cigar. "I guess I'll fetch a broom." She steps down off the ladder.
"Hey. You too fat to pick up your own mess?" Constin flatly asks Rejn's back as the man turns to toddle off. Sofia's comments to him are ignored for the immediate moment. Elef can be rude in his own way, at times.
"Looks like it," says Rejn pleasantly, not turning about. "I don't bend." And unless he's stopped, he's soon out and through the hatch, fancy shoes clomping like steel-shod hooves against the hard metal of the deck.
Sofia blinks as she's ignored. A shrug and she'll head over to the maintainance closet to fetch a broom. Oh well. Not really part of her job, but still. No sense leaving it there.
"Then some day you're gonna break, Dead Weight," Constin answers the cheerful Rejn, with a bit of ire coloring his voice at the civilian's pleasant cheer.