| PHD #128: Fitting Back In |
| Summary: | Malone gets a bunkmate. |
| Date: | 4 Jul 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Pilot Berths - Naval Deck - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| The battlestar's pilots call this place home. Bunks line the walls with grey curtains to cover their sleeping areas. Lockers sit between each pair of bunks and a round metal table sits in the center, furnished with simple but comfortable steel chairs. A hatch at the rear of the room leads to a communal head. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #128 |
Just returned from months in the recovery ward, Davis is doing the last bit of organizing. That's an understatement; she's spent most of the day with her bunk proper covered in things retrieved from storage. All that's left are a few swatches of fabric, a sewing machine, and a book of clothing patterns. Distracted, the puffball redhead is flipping through the worn volume.
Malone steps in from the corridor outside, humming a little bit to himself. When he sees the work Davis has been doing, he stops, just watching that for a few moments now.
Davis flips a page, tiredly blowing air through her bangs as she does so. Or, well, she would if she had bangs. The lack of them fluttering makes her look up, and Malone's face sees Davis keeping that gaze up. Fingers wivvle at him in graceless succession, as though each knuckle had to crack.
"Welcome back?" Malone offers after a few moments of pause, a bit of a smile and a half-wave following those words, as he heads further into the room.
"Hi!" she squeaks in reply. As she slips out from under the bunk with the gingerness of someone who's stood up too carelessly under it recently, Davis fills him in during his approach. "Ensign Hathor, with the Petrels. I think we flew CAP together, maybe. Briefly." She awkwardly flails a hand at the lower bunk. "I hope you don't mind, this one used to be mineand it's kinda something I remember so…" A nervous little bounce on her toes.
Malone considers the name for a few moments, nodding a little bit as he hears that, "I think I remember you," he offers after a few moments. "And I don't mind at all, you know. Good to have as many of the bunks as possible filled up, these days."
A smile crinkles her face, broad enough that the corners of her mouth and eyes look like they intend to meet, more or less. "Thank you! Look, I know this might sound…" Davis shrugs, her fingers splayed. "Weird? But, I mean, do your uniforms still fit OK?"
Malone blinks a bit as he hears that question, pausing to consider that for a few moments now. "I think so," he replies after a few moments of pause. "Why?"
Davis laces her fingers together in front of her. "Welll," she stalls, twisting side to side a bit. "I mean not everyone did the coma diet thing I did, but we're all on antirads, and if we're not rationing then I'm getting gypped at dinner." Clapping her mouth shut, the young lady approaches the senior pilot. "But a body ought to look their best, don't you think?"
Malone considers that for a few moments, "That might be true, yes," he offers, after a few moments of pause. Watching Davis carefully as she approaches, for now.
"I know a thing or two about a nice fit," she says, beginning to circle her victim client. "I mean I'm about regulation size now, but nobody got on my case before when I was a bit…" Davis pauses. "Well-fed. It's all in the clothes." She finishes her circling, then stops to stand before him. "Think about it. All I need is a uniform and half an hour of frisking and measurements. Besides," the redhead adds with a wink, "It counts as physical therapy for me."
Malone blinks as he stands still now, gaze trying to follow Davis for the moment. "You're some kind of a tailor, or something?" he asks, a bit lightly.
Davis flashes a mischievous grin. "That or I just want to grope you." She lowers herself back onto her bottom bunk in a languid motion that stops halfway. "I totally don't," the young pilot says flatly, then squeezes her eyes shut. "I mean, not that I wouldn't! I just…" Fingers point and hands gesture in opposite directions. "I don't want to but like, I don't, not, want to…" Her eyes flutter closed and lips wiggle as she repeats it once in a whisper to herself before nodding sharply. "Right."
Malone looks about to comment to that, before he blinks at the woman's reaction now. "Easy now. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself there. Or me, for that matter…" Said a bit lightly. "Relax…"
Davis grins up at Malone, the little lines of concern in her face smoothing out. Her shoulders drop as she voices the release of a held breath. "Well then, it's a date! … No, I mean, it's not a date, not that…"
Et cetera.