PHD #008: Dirty Laundry
Dirty Laundry
Summary: Superheroes, Grievances, Spiders and Conversation. Very little laundry gets done.
Date: Mar 05 2041
Related Logs: None
Arkat King Merrell Raedawn Sofia Tisiphone 
Laundry Room Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close

Industrial washers and dryers line each side of this elongated room, which typically has personnel moving in and out all day and night. These front-loading systems are designed to withstand the rigors of a military beating and still function as expected. A sturdy set of counters run the length of the room for crewmembers to fold their own laundry and dress and pins or patches before and after the process.

In amongst the hustle and bustle of the laundry room stands one (1) Tisiphone, facing one of the counters running the length of the room. She's in the middle of working through a pile of still-warm clothes, turning jumbled fabric into garments folded with origami-like precision. Even with Armageddon closing in, the Ensign fears a parade inspection even more. Another load of laundry tumbles away in the machines behind her.

Hustle, bustle. No one likes stanky underpants or socks. Sofia slinks in, somehow managing to look shady even doing something as innocuous as bringing her laundry in. There are shadows under her eyes. Sigh. Draaaag. Draaaaaag. At least until she gets clotheslined by an opening dryer door. Woof. Sofia loses the fight to a front loading washer and flails for a second, then tips over. Like a turtle on her back, she stares a moment. Then slow, ooooh so slowly, she gets back up. "…" Look left. Look right. Glare at machine. "You win /this/ round…"

Just coming in with a basket full of stuff, right behind Sofia even if she doesn't realize it, Raedawn pauses to make sure the hatch shuts. She's had trouble with this one in the past.
*CLANG!* *THUD!* When she turns back around, there's a woman on the floor in front of her. "Oh! Are you all right?" she exclaims, setting her basket down and kneeling to offer a hand up

CLANG! Part two: Electric Boogaloo. This time, it's the hatch behind Raedawn. Judging by the muffle burst of swearing the hatch makes, it's either angry and being treated as just another door… Or there was someone behind her. Eitherway, it's cursing up an impressive storm.

The small disaster playing out in front of the laundry machines pulls Tis's attention around and over, bringing a flicker of recognition to sleet-blue eyes. "Rae- you okay over there?" she calls, a half-folded pair of trousers dangling loosely from her hands.

It's like dominoes really. Sofia blushes, rubs the back of her head. She shakes her head, "Oh-oh, I'm good thank you. It's very nice of you to offer." Smile. Sofia's face is rather expressive and it's apparent despite the tiredness, she's in a decent mood. "I didn't hit your washer did I?" She looks over. But the cursing distracts her. Sofia's eyes cross almost completely and she turns her head towards it. "Maybe someone should put him in the washer or something." Rubrubrub the back of her head. "I hope they're okay. Wait-" Should she open the door? Sofia inches over like the door is covered in spikes that shoot more spikes that shoot bees and explode. What a spazz.

"Oh, no. It couldn't be mine. I only just came in," Raedan replies, nodding towards her laundery basket. She smiles at Tisi and waves. "I'm okay! Just a second!"
That noise and its strident accompaniment behind her make Raedawn whirl, and certainly don't do anything for her growing nervousness. "Clang?" she echoes dumbly, and whirls to open the hatch, forgetting Sofia's close to it. She spins the dogging wheel and pulls the thing open. "I'm terribly sorry! It didn't occur to me that someone might be behind me," she says apologetically. Airhead.

The muffled cursing continues to be muffled. Descriptors exist for a reason, after all. It's only when the hatch swings open do such thigns change. "Mpph prhpmrh mph mprrhm rrmph-Hammer fisted-pelvic-gobbling-excretion-savouring motherfrakkin' part-grabbing merciful JUPITER: OW!" It's Arkat. Holding one side of his face with a hand and a losse hanging black duffel filled with clothes with the other. He's stomping to try and shake off the pain, and despite the face-holding, it looks like a sagging shoulder took the brunt of it. …He may have been running.

Tisiphone's gaze follows Raedawn and Sofia toward the door. What could be behind it? Exploding bees? An Admiral with his nose mashed in? Cupcakes? When Arkat is revealed, her expression darkens, eyes shuttered; she turns slightly, looking back down to her half-folded trousers, and smiles faintly at a piece of lint on them.

Yikes! It's like being in dodgeball all over again. But this time with marines and doors. Sequels always did suck. Sofia smiles politely. "Oh, alright. I'd feel bad if I knocked dirt into someone's laundry or anything," A handwave. … squint. Sofia eyes Arkat. "Is he crazy? Why would you be inside-" Geez, that's dangerous. Sofia just boggles at the cursing man. She gives him a moment, staring at him owlishly. "Are you alright?" She finally offers, convinced now that Arkat may not be all home. At least she remembers him right? Poor Arkat. Less exciting than bees in a suit parading as an admiral. She looks to Raedawn, still boggling. "Man. I thought the laundry room was safe too…" Her eyes shift almost out of habit. Does Sofia work a corner in a trenchcoat offering shady Pyramid bets maybe?

In contrast to the blue air, Raedawn's face is gaining a nice rosy shade under her soft caramel skintone. "Please forgive me. I didn't realize you were back there," she says, unconsciously putting on her best innocent face and bowing her head shamefully, letting her eyes fall respectfully shut. She would reply to Sofia, but Arkat has her full attention by sheer weight of volume. The profanity doesn't hurt.

"Wait. You closed it?" Arkat's head slowly lifts to peer at Rae, almost as if it's accusing. Stare. Stare. Stare for juuuust long enough to get awkward and then: He grins. Well, half-grins. The other side is covered with a hand. "Shit, I was just swearing at the door! I'm pretty sure every damn hatch on this ship hates me." Not a hint of accusation exists in his tone. Humour, maybe, but no accusation. His hand drops to grip at the shoulder that took the brunt, and it's rotated a little to check out the damage. A little wince. It'll be fine. That explains the nod to Sofia.

Tisiphone brushes the half-folded trousers sharply with one hand, knocking free the lint she'd been smiling at. FWIP. She finishes folding them with a couple quick gestures, then crosses the corridor between shelves and laundry machines to lean forward against her drier, attention moving from Raedawn and Sofia to the Marine and back again. Her mouth twists slightly, as if she's chewing on a mouthful of words. Mmn. "Rae," she repeats. "It's okay. Don't sweat it." She leaves it at that, and

Blink. Sofia rubs the back of her head again. She just looks to her clothes. Then back to the drama. Next on, as the Dryer Tumbles… Sofia stifles a chuckle at Arkat. She smiles politely at him. "Well, I'm glad to see you again, even if you're being beaten mercilessly by the doors too. Maybe we should start the 101st Dryer Door Brigade Fightin' Underpants?" Griiiiin. Sofia's expressive, waggling her fingers. She looks to Tisiphone. "Heeey, have we met?" Eat your heart out Fonz.

Rae meets Arkat's eyes, blushing more with each second… and blinks as he grins? "Oh? I see. Well, my apologies in any case. Had I known you were there, I would have held it open." She steps aside to let him pass, moving to join Tisi. "You do not need to see the medic, do you?" Hopefully not.
Sofia's question, overheard, brings Rae's head around in surprise. "101st Dryer Door Brigade? Fighting Underpants?" How very strange. Rae's apparently not a frequent visitor to Sofia Land.

"I never need to see a medic. Only way they'll get me up there is if I'm unconcious or dead. I'll be uncaring either way." He's a marine with the obvious signs of a wound that required eye-surgery. It's probably a good guess that Arkat isn't a doctor fan. Still keeping the grin, he turns his head to the continually suprising Sophia. "We'd need four, and door subversion requires stealth, not an entire brigade. You're thinking with that dramatic-brain, not planning-brain." There's a mocked 'Tsk' noise… then he spots Tisiphone. "Awww… shitfrak."

Tisiphone obviously /recognizes/ Arkat, though it's maybe not fair to say she /knows/ him. Her expression remains guarded, emotions held close to her chest as she's able, but there's an obvious chill whenever her eyes flick in his direction. She even seems a touch protective of Raedawn, or wary of her proximity to Arkat, as if he really /is/ full of exploding bees, a bit of her tension relenting when her fellow Ensign moves toward her. She starts folding a dress-shirt as she looks to Sofia and says, "Face is familiar, but…" A slight shake of her head. "Tisiphone Apostolos. Raedawn Arkili," she adds, tilting her head to indicate her friend.

Strike a fighting pose! Sofia must live in her own world of stories, drama and god knows what else. "That's right! Underpants for JUSTICE!" A pause at Arkat. She peers owlishly and smiles. "Yeah, I guess." She rubs the back of her head. "But it sounds cooler that way," Fingerwaggle. At his 'shitfrak' Sofia's mouth falls into a little open o and she turns. "What's so bad about her? She seems nice, but you-" Look to Tis. Look to Arkat. Look to Tis. Look to Arkat. Look to Raedawn. Tis. Arkat. Tis. Arka— SPOINK! Sofia Blue Screen of Death. "Heeh—- I'm Crewman Sofia Wolfe! Pleased to meet you both." Beam. Fortunately, instead of shutting down, Sofia's brain goes into cheery mode.

"Well, I hope you never end up in either state," Raedawn replies sincerely. "It would not be a pleasant place to wake up." She smiles faintly as Tisi introduces her. "A pleasure to meet you. And you," she adds as Sofia introduces herself. "Though I still wonder about underpants for justice…"
She gives Tisi a quick little hug, a belated greeting. "Can you help me sort? Slade tripped over my basket and knocked it over, and undid all the pre-sorting I did before I came here," she asks, reaching into her basket to begin the process.

Arkat eyes Sofia. Once she's done with her little chatter-spree, and the glancing between Tis and he continues, he gives a little cough. "I shot a few people because the brass didn't see fit to give us anything to take them down without killing them. Grumpiness abounds!" The last two words get a little jazz-hands bonus to go with. Effort goes into it and everything, as he has to put down his bag first.

Tisiphone leaves her and Raedawn's rank out of the introductions. Whether it's done deliberately or by accident is anyone's bet. "Sure," she says to Rae, finishing with her dress-shirt and adding it to the folded pile before she crosses over to join in the laundry-sorting. "Good to meet you," she replies to Sofia, as carefully-polite as you please. She's sounding like she's in awkward social waters — and perhaps Arkat's words explain why. Rather than respond to his comment directly, she jinks around it and says to him, instead, "So what's your name, anyway?"

"It's simple! You always feel more awesome with clean underpants so-" Pause. The awkward interrupts the flailing monologue. Twitch. Stare. Ohright. Calm. Zen calm. She smiles politely, "Pleased to meet you too." She bobs her head. She looks between Arkat and Raedawn plus Tisiphone. She winces at Arkat's comments. Oooh… She just pulls her laundry bag over her head. Yup. That's how Sofia deals with awkward. Laundry on the head. "That sucks."

"Oh…" Rae bows her head in sympathy to Arkat. "I had heard about that. None of it was pleasant. I am sorry you were involved." Awkward silence as she continues sorting, blushing. How do you follow a statement like that?
Change of subject time. "I agree. Clean underpants do make you feel better, especially right after a shower." Only Sofia doesn't look to be feeling better. "But you don't look so good, Sofia. Is it because…" Rae steps forward, fingers ready. Within moments, fastenings are undone and /zwoop/, down comes Sofia's fatigue pants. "No, I guess not!"

"Sergeant Arkat Galyian." That's his name, although it's said at Tis while he stares at the crewman with a bag on her head. "Oh, take that off. It was messy and awful and so on and so forth but it's done." Conspiratorally, he adds in a stage whisper "Plus I put some spiders in there when you weren't looking." Of course, his news is slightly outdone by Rae's tactic for… something. He steps back. Y'know. Just in case of flailing.

Tisiphone is frosty but carefully, oh-h-h so carefully, polite. The devil on one shoulder is currently being talked down by a chaplain-angel on the other. It helps that she has busywork for her hands — Raedawn's laundry is getting sorted with the sort of efficency a machine might be jealous of. She says to Rae's clothing, crisply, "I'm not sure rubber bullets would have helped, you know? What would-" She looks up, presumably to finish her statement in Arkat's direction, but first sees Sofia standing there with a laundry bag over her head, pants around her booted feet thanks to Raedawn, arachnid warnings courtesy of Arkat. The sheer absurdity startles a snort of laughter out of her. "So that's…uh. Crewman camouflage?" So bemused. It beats sullenness, though.

Sofia does have clean, black underpants. With the laundry on her head and her pants down, she flails. She's lookin' like a fool with her pants on the ground, with her pants on the ground. "Yes. I'm VERY STEALTHY. It is reverse urban camouflage. If it works for elephants, by Jove, it'll work for me," It's true! "I fight crime, injustice and /dirty laundry/! … also ill fighting pants." Da dad daaaaaaa! Wait - spiders. There's spiders. "Wait, did you just say spiders?" There's that tense moment where a rising violin note indicates building horror and that SOMETHING is about to break loose. "SPIDERS! Not the laundry spiders!" She's attempting to escape her laundry bag. Fortunately she's not hitting anyone.

Raedawn, for her part, is covering her mouth with one hand to keep back the giggles. "Underpants for justice, yes," she replies bemusedly. "Need help with that bag? If you'll hold still for a moment…"

Arkat glances at Tisiphone. His mouth makes the noise of a tape-deck rewinding, or a playful cat given free access to a spinning vinyl player. It stop, the he repeats in exactly the same tone as he did before: "Brass didn't see fit to give us anything to take them down without killing them." Curt nod. His smile is still there, though. It's hard not to with Sofia flailing about. "Airlock lockers have live ammunition only in the event of boarding action. That's what we got stuck with. Now, I'm a badass beyod all badasses, sure… But I don't think I could bludgeon three-hundred people into pacifism." His slight faux-smugness at the term 'badass' is interrupted by a flailing hand whiffing a few inches from his face. "SPIDERS!" He bellows, full-on drill instructor style.

Tisiphone looks halfway to a logic meltdown — as if she's been so devoid of absurdity and humour, lately, that Sofia's spidery crisis has turned her surly worldview on its ear. She stands there, a couple of Raedawn's socks in hand, just blinking slowly at Sofia, then Arkat, then Sofia again. "The Bitching Bloomers," she decides abruptly, with a sidelong glance at Raedawn.

Sofia has her laundry bag on her head. Her pants are down around her ankles. She has underpants. And Arkat has just bellowed "SPIDERS!" at her drill instructor style. Commence MORTAL FLAILALITY! "Oh gods, spiderspiderspiderspiders," She goes in a little hopcircle. "I just wanted to wash my unmentionables, but noooooo-" Flop! She tries to stay still, though having moved and being sightless, it's tough to keep balance. Uh oh. "Gonna eat MEeeeEee," Wail! Sofia is nothing, if incredibly expressive. Perhaps she might have been an actress or singer if her path took her another place. "Take my underpants, but not my fleeeesh you spider bastards!" She hits herself over the head. Ow. "Ow. Okay, that does not work."

"And I /so/ take back the underpants thing. DIE SPIDERS."

Merrell wanders in with a duffel bag overflowing with laundry and stops just on the other side of the hatch. She blinks a few times at the snipe and looks to Tisiphone as if totally stupified. She mouthes a quick 'What the frak?' to the Ensign and looks back to Sofia. Good Gods. She can't even bring herself to lift the duffel onto a washer.

And as such enters Staff Sergeant King. Something seems to have shinied up his day just a little because he's strutting into the place in that fashion he has. The one that says people should get out of his way or get crushed. Odd thing for a guy who is just carrying a full laundry bag. And he stops at the bulkhead door and just shakes his head. Slowly.

Raedawn shakes her head bemusedly. "I think at this point she needs help, wanted or not. Bitching Bloomers or not," she adds, with a grin for Tisiphone. "Underpants for justice!" With that, she toes off her shoes and sheds her sweatpants, and moves to take hold of the bag over Sofia's head while the expressive crewman is recovering from hitting herself over the head. "Hold still!" She gets a good grip and /pop/! Off it comes. "There, the spiders are all gone. You're safe now."
Clean, and bright mulberry pink. Just in case anyone's wondering.

There's a thudding noise. It's Arkat's head bouncing off of the counter as he mutters, quietly. "Someone spiked my smokes again. Someone spiked my smokes again. Someone spiked my smokes again." Apparently the sight has become too much. Way to go, Sergeant.

Tisiphone, still somewhere between wariness and bemusement, flicks a glance over to the laundry room hatch as more people pour in. King is not recognized, but Merrell is; she tosses a mute nod that-a-way, accompanied by the shrug of the well-and-truly lost. The last of Raedawn's dirty laundry is sorted into its piles, and she moves back to her own clothing. Her attention's only half on the folding, though; this scene's too bizarre to turn her back on it.

Dali, eat your heart out. Sofia's parents would be proud of her performance art. Her world embiggens as the bag is lifted. Then horror! Her things on the floor! GASP! "Whee! And wait- thank you. You are a hero!" Dah dah dah! She starts moving to pick things up, having forgotten the pants about her ankles. Wobble. Precarious wobble. Sofia is torn between recovering her things and getting her pants back. One eye narrows, the other seems a little wider. Grrr. And then- and then King and Merrell are spoted. She's turning briiiiiiiiiight red. She only makes a sort of squeak noise. Shiver. Finally she reaches for her pants, "Why do I keep ending up naked or pantsless-" Why? Why!? She asks the heavens. Maybe Aphrodite is a fan of doing it for the laughs? Then it hits her. Sofia holds up her hands and socks. "… don't answer that. I'm not a skankazoid. Because that would be bad, and badness has /no place/ in the laundry room of /righteousness/." Dah na nah! At least Sofia seems resilient. If living in her own little planet. "Also, no one likes a skankazoid." She mhmms and holds up a finger while dropping some of her laundry into an empty machine.

Merrell is sort of frozen into the scene, watching the uberjunior enlisted hobble to her clothing with ankled pants. She blinks a few times, even after she's been recognized. And with someone else losing their pants, this is all too much for the Senior Chief. Looking a bit embarassed, herself, the woman takes up the duffel stiffly nd moves back for the hatch with more than a little bewilderment.

Staff Sergeant King just throws his laundry bag onto a machine now and eyeballs everyone. EVERYONE. But then he slows it down, going person to person. "Crewman Wolfe. I have seen you without your pants more often than I think should be considered normal. I am wondering if you are trying to tell me something." Next is Raedawn. "Ensign Arkili. I have now seen you pantsless. I am not displeased." Next is Arkat, "Sergeant Galyian. You and I will probably have a hifive about this at a later date. Probably over some drinks. I think we will both need them." Then lastly is Merrell and Tisiphone. "You two? I don't know you. Keep up the good work."

"All in a day's work for a hero," Raedawn replies, stepping out of Sofia's way… and noticing more people have come into the Laundry Room of Righteousness. And here are Sofia and herself in their Underpants of Justice (different styles and colors, but Justice recognizes no dress code). She blushes and opens her mouth to reply.
Fortunately, Staff Sergeant King is faster on the drawl. Raedawn doesn't stop blushing, but she does smile. "Thank you, Sergeant. I hope to not displease you again sometime." She glances over at Sofia, and moves to help her gather up her stuff. "Keep ending up? This happens a lot?"

"I want to be drunk NOW." Arkat retorts, voice straying dangerously close to 'petulant child' levels. He reins it in, however. For now. A finger points to the ceiling. "I will just mention that it was myself and four women. Now I have seen two of them pantsless." He's speaking like it's a scientific discovery, put on display for peers to pick and prod and dissect. "That's a fifty-percent accuracy rate for pantless womem. I'm calling myself a genius for the next week or so."

Tisiphone, meanwhile, is devoting an undue amount of care to the folding of her dress-shirts. Some people, when confronted with interpretive dance, can absorb and appreciate it. Others, like our hapless Ensign, here, tend to stare flat-footed and uncomprehending. The Sagittaran Fine Arts Council is in need of a strongly-worded letter.

O the mortification. Sofia's jaw drops. "M-m-" She flails at the Senior Chief. "This so isn't what it looks like!" Don't leave meeeeeee. Then. At King's comment. Sofia freezes. She turns sloooooooowly, like that girl's head in the exorcist. If Sofia could shoot laser eye beams, there might be a smoldering crater in the floor. "Erm. I should pull my pants up. I think I'm scaring people." She's too sexy, too sexy for her Senior Chief~ Sofia takes a deep breath, still bright red. "And last time was a horrible accident." Glare. "I have reputable morals and sturdy pants!" Gloom. She looks sad for a moment. Are people getting the wrong idea? Sadness. She looks to Raedawn. "I- I appreciate the support! For goodness! But I'd feel bad if you caught a cold because of me or something." Nod. She looks to Arkat and stares sidelong. "You're weird." The irony is STRONG with this one. And at the ending up comment, SOfia looks stricken. "… no, not a /lot/ per se," She gestures with her hands. "But the more I try to hide myself and be all modest, the more the universe works to point and laugh at me. And no, I am /not/ trying to tell you anything," A pout at King, "You owe that reporter lady a date and flirting with people who have dates is wroooooooooongo." Right! Sofia doesn't play that game. Nod. "so uh… hi." Ehehe.

King nods to Arkat, "Indeed, Sergeant Galyian, you are indeed a genius." He raises his eyebrow at Raedawn. "Well, judging by your form, Ensign Arkili, I do not think it would be possible for you to displease me. Not. At. All." Next on his line up is Sofia. "That reporter lady was just saying stuff to try and get a story out of me. That's not a real date."

"I am glad you find my form pleasing, Sergeant," Raedawn replies, finding the last of Sofia's stray laundry and setting it before her. She has to stay there, though, to listen to Sofia's long monologue on the virtues of reputable morals, sturdy pants, and the power of one's health when properly dressed. "Sofia? Thank you. I appreciate the thanks, and your speeck was very informative. But it might be more believable if you actually pulled your pants up," she suggests softly, reclaiming her own and pulling them on. Well, she might displease King now.

"Gonna need that in writing. Signed and notarised." Arkat's forehead doesn't leave the counter. Hells knows where his bag has gone to. "'Sergeant Galyian is a genius.' Maybe a certificate. Something I can put up in the bunks instead of having to belittle privates until they listen." He starts snickering. Maybe this wasn't the best time to mentioning belittling privates.

"Reporter lady." That belatedly lures Tisiphone back into the conversation, albeit with extreme caution. It's a bit like a kid with half-deflated water wings flailing about in a wave pool. "Same one responsible for that lovely bit of- propaganda?" Sleet-blue eyes flick quickly to Arkat, then even more quickly away from him. "Amazed someone didn't break her fingers yet."

… Hold up a finger. Oh right. Pants! Sofia is repants'd. Da da! Modesty is RESTORED! "… right. I thought they were up already," She looks down. Then a shrug at King, "I don't know. I still don't feel right sharing someone," She rubs the back of her head. "Reporter or otherwise. And yeah? That was here?" Blink. Sofia looks confused. And a glance at Arkat. "I'm sure you can use a printer or something." This idea amuses her. She goes quiet though, relieved the subject is shifting away from her and her underpants.

King might actually be relieved. Normalcy is a good thing. "Right, Sergeant Galyian, I will make sure to send a memorandum up to Captain Archer. I'm sure he will print it immediately." He steals a few last glances at Raedawn and Sofia as they redress themselves, but he doesn't object. That would be beyond the bounds of appropriate in his opinion. "I don't know about any propaganda that she has written." He frowns, realizing he gave that woman an interview…and possibly a date. "What did that say?"

"I'm surprised the draft didn't tell you otherwise," Raedawn replies, stepping and pulling, and lo, she is re-panted. She turns back to her laundry. With nothing to add to this conversation, she's better off just listening.

"Propaganda," Tisiphone repeats, helpfully. "About as incendiary as you'd expect for a journalist writing about the Marines at the airlock." The words are, perhaps surprisingly, very neutral. "I read it down in the hangar. One of the knuckledraggers had a copy of a copy of a copy, by the looks of it. 'Accidentally' leaked, I figure." The word has audible, and very dubious, quotes around it. She picks a pair of trousers out of her laundry pile, and brushes them off sharply. FWIP.

Hey now. Even Sofia visits the Cerberus sometimes from her own little home planet. "I have a copy of the little paper she put out. I was needing something to put a plant on," She admits. "It seemed like a good use of materials," Shrug. "I can give it to you if you want, but it kind of made me sad and angry at the same time. Sadry or sangry if you will. I found it when I was cleaning something," A fingerwaggle. Sigh. "Buut… I'm on KP. So… back I go." Once her laundry is in, Sofia smiles and waves. "Was nice to meet and see you." Although she eyes King dubiously a moment.

"Sounds like a fun read." Arkat mutters, lifting his head from the counter to lean against it. Just for a second. The he hops up to sit on it instead. Legs swing a little, heels bumping against the material below him from time to time with a soft thud. "Bet we're painted in a lovely light." The sarcasm is almost thick enough to be grabbed onto.

King seems to have had a nerve struck. 'Marines in the airlock' appears to be one of those topics that gets him going. "Incendiary? How was it incendiary? What did she frakking say?" His laundry has been forgotten completely at this point. The eyeballing he gets from Sofia is also ignored. "Be specific. I want quotes."

"Look, I'll bring you the paper. Quotes'll be out of context. Just let me at least check in for KP so I don't get in even more trouble for skipping out. It'll take like 5 minutes," Sofia nods. "I don't know how incendiary it is, but it just seems kind of cold you know?" She shrugs. "Oh well. I guess it's different depending on where you come from." A truth, Sofia unwittingly points out. How you take it depends a lot on one's origin and profession. She's totally not about to piss off anyone again though and scurries.

"How /wasn't/ it incendiary?" retorts Tisiphone, looking up from her folding, sharp look and sharper tone aimed at King. "Civilian reporter 'accidentally' loses track of an article that puts 'Marine' and 'atrocity' in the same breath? She didn't do it to make friends." She snorts at King, or herself, or the lint on her pants — it's hard to tell for certain, as she drops her gaze back to her laundry. "Like I said. Amazed her fingers still bend the right way."

King grumbles. "I see. Alright then. Well, I will just go ahead and sidle on out of here and see what she's up to." He basically /growls/ his disapproval. "And when I come back, maybe she will have a far nicer perspective."

"He's going to try and bang her." Arkat nods towards the hatchway that contained a king mere moments ago, rummaging around his pockets in search of a cigarette. He finds one, albeit half smoked and stubbed out on a locker sometime earlier, the hand-rolled paper crinkled in protest of it's pocket prison. "And I'm not making that a euphamism for anything other than.. y'know." One finger dips inside a circle made from thumb and fore on the other hand.

"Is that the usual Marine response to anti-military propaganda?" Pale brows shoot up Tisiphone's forehead as she inquires, a wry twist at one corner of her mouth. The conversation is creeping along on half-shattered eggshells, but she seems determined to not start stomping. Yet. Perhaps the ritual of folding is keeping her calm for now — her folded items are so perfectly by-the-book that a parade inspector would need a moment to cook up a suitable critique.

"Nah. We try to keep our dicks out of things. Drinking and other vices are usually the corps' wonderful traits." Arkat speaks with a suprising honesty, leaning forward on his counter to watch her fold. Yeah, he's completely forgotten about his own bag by now. "King, though?" He carefully ignores the usual formality of rank preceeding. "It's probably his main activity. or the attempts, at least. Can't say I know the man that well, but I just get a feeling."

"Boys will be boys," Tisiphone answers, full of pithy snarkiness. She might have missed her calling as an origami expert (or a clothing-store clerk), the way she's turning that pile of rumpled laundry into smooth, rigidly-ordered piles. She's running out of shirts and pants to fold, though — rummaging the pile of socks and undies, a final dress-shirt is located. She tells it, or the Marine across the way, "It's a bit difficult to hate you when you act like a human being."

Tilting his head to one side, Arkat can't help but examine the woman for a moment. One side of his mouth curls into the good half of a smile. "I know. I know." He sighs, not quite as dramatically as Sofia could have pulled it off, but there's theatre experience in there. Or experience of being a jerk. Possibly both. "It's a blessing an' a curse, really." His tongue gives a click. He jumps right in, figuratively. "Don't ever think that my words mean I don't feel any remorse. I do. More than anything. But dealing with it like a normal human, and talking about it like it wasn't just some 'thing.'? That's going to take some time."

"You're trained not to deal with it like a normal human," Tisiphone says, slight 'huffs' of breath exhaled as she tugs sharply at corners of the shirt to make perfectly-creased lines. She sounds a little sour as she says it. "I mean- what would normal humans have done? Scream and pack into the airlocks like rats while the Cerberus pulled away, right? Explosive decompression for the whole portside Hangar Bay." She sounds like she's trying to pick her words carefully, only to stumble over them once they're chosen.

"Considering how long you've wanted to punch me in the face, you're doing pretty good with this whole 'talking' thing." The marine sounds honestly sincere as he leans forward a little more on the edge of his counter, teetering just a bit. A smidge. "And I imagine most folks would have hesitated when the order came, then spent the next few days vomiting, next few months being nightmares." A beat. A weaker smile. "Got the vomiting and the nightmares down pat, forgot to do the hesitating."

Maybe there are motivational cheat-notes tucked away in Tisiphone's laundry. It makes as much sense as anything, given her determinedly calm demeanor. There's the occasional flicked glance, Arkat-ward, but they're aimed at boot- or knee-height. Positional awareness: GOOD. Eye-contact: BAD. "I had a long talk with the Chaplain about acting like I was fifteen and throwing rocks at riot police all over again," she says at length. "How maybe, if I've gotta grind an axe, there are better ones to work on." She stares balefully at her remaining laundry. Socks and undies. Nothing worth folding. She starts stuffing them into her empty laundry-sack.

Arkat tries not to look at the undies. It's like trying not to think about a purple elephant. The second you conciously realise you're trying NOT to do it? You do it. He does it. It's a glimpse, but one a little too long to be stealthy. "Seems like you've got plenty of axes, and not so many whetstones. Could be a bit of a problem." He's either psychoanalysing, or just trying to keep the conversation going, tone soft and voice collected. "But good for you. Seriously." It might be both. "Mind you, if you falter? …I'd much prefer you try and beat the shit outta me than someone half my size you can't even get around to talking with. I'm used to taking the bumps." It's offered with a smile. Yes, quite possibly the oddest offer ever. 'Beat the crap out of me if you have to do it to someone."

The quartermaster not only provides uniforms and boots, it also provides undies. Tisiphone's load of laundry shows an utter lack of non-regulation-issue clothing — except for the socks. In amongst the dress socks and distressingly boring undies are several pairs of red-and-gold-striped kneehighs, fuzzed from many trips from boots to washing machine and back. Sagittaran colours. "Yeah, well," she mutters between handfuls of undergarments. "If it wasn't for grudges, I couldn't keep anything at all." She snorts at the statement, or herself, or both.

The socks sure beat Arkat's neon yellow and red wool hat that's shoved somewhere in the bag. Things often go badly when family is first learning how to knit. "Nothing wrong with grudges. Certainly nothing wrong with fighting. I'd be one hell of a hypocrit. Just…" He falters, face narrowing into a frown against himself. He's possibly doing the equivalent of bitchslapping a sleeping lion. It makes you think. "You've got a limited amount on this boat before it bites you in the ass so hard sittin' becomes a problem. Pick the ones you want carefully." Yes. A marine. Giving advice. The worlds really are ending.

Marines giving advice, Tisiphone considering said advice…it's madness all around. The picture-perfect folded clothes are carefully put atop the socks and undies before she cinches the bag shut. "Yeah," she says. "Don't shit where you sleep." On the heels of that profundity, a glance over at the Marine that finally lifts up to his face. "Appreciate you were willing to listen. Haven't been doing my squad very proud." It's perilously close to an apology.

Arkat shakes his head just after catching her look, trying to shake out the little grin that's formed before sliding down from his countertop. "I'm always willing to listen. I'm getting too old for meeting every problem with an argument or fists. My knees are paying the price." He attempts brushing off his shirt to neaten it out a little. It's possible he slept in it, so it doesn't work all that well. "Appreciate you not sucker punching me when I was on that treadmill." Might as well keep the thanks equal, after all.

"I…" Tisiphone scratches at the corner of her mouth, keeping the wry twist from spreading further. "Was pretty tempted." She leaves it at that; there's a quick bob of her head to Arkat, and then she's heading for the door.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License