| Grousing |
| Summary: | Evandreus walks in on Tisiphone's and Daphne's vent-session. |
| Date: | 2041.04.09 |
| Related Logs: | None. |
| Players: |
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| Viper Squadron — Naval Deck — Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post Holocaust Day: #41 |
| Viper Squadron pilots call this home. Berthings line the walls with grey curtains to cover their sleeping areas. Lockers sit between each stack of berths and a round table sits in the center with chairs around it. A hatch at the end leads to the communal Head that the Raptor pilots share. |
| Condition Level: 3 — All Clear |
Daphne's bed looks like a bomb hit it. It would probably horrify the occupant, but she does this some mornings and seems to be fine, provided she can make her bed to perfect specifications. A bare foot hangs over the edge, and under the curtain. Half of her blanket is overhanging, as well, dropping well into Tisiphone County lines. A hand dangles nearby, as well. She could grab the blanket, but she's not. Her chances of falling out of bed without outside interdiction are left as an exercise to the observer.
One limb dangling, not too precarious. Two limbs dangling? Maybe time to start considering how rude 9.8m/s can feel when you're not expecting it. There's a creak and rustle down in Tisiphone County, followed by a light, low groan. Up she stands, a moment later, reaching out to tap the back of Daphne's hand a couple times in rapid succession. "You're-" Yawnsqueak. "-falling out of bed again."
"Daddy." Probably the number one word she mutters in her sleep. Daphne kicks her foot, though it contacts just about nothing but air. Her eyes quirk open sharply, "I'm falling out of bed again." It's repeated as though repetition makes it true, or at least part of her reality. "That hurts." Fact! "I don't want to fall out of bed again." But she remains in place. "Got vertigo after last night's op. You ever get that?"
Tisiphone stands relatively close to the bunk until assured that gravity is Daphne's friend again, then props her casted elbow against the edge of the bunk, resting the side of her face against her forearm. Considering, her eyes travelling around some middle distance. "Not yet. When I was coming aboard that first day, though, the surprise EVA? Thought I was going to puke in my suit for a second when the door opened. Frak Raptors. Seriously."
"Always worse when you're not in control, too." Daphne rubs the sleep from her eyes and pulls on sweat-mottled clumps of her hair. "This, I just landed, felt dizzy, and climbed into bed." She shakes her head, "Sucked. Weird, too. It was stationary objects. Dogfights aren't bothering me. Just one of those days. Maybe I'm getting old." A smile crosses the young pilot's lips, "So, are they taking that thing off of your arm, or are you becoming some sort of living weapon?"
"Sunday," Tisiphone replies, eyes dropping to the plaster and gauze. Her arm was done up oldskool, rather than the molded foam-and-plastic dealies some other unlucky folks have been blessed with. "Supposed to be Sunday. Got a memo from Sickbay to expect two to three weeks rehab, once it's off. Fra-a-ak. At least I can hit the punching bags again. And the sims. /So/ done with staring at flight footage four hours a day."
"Sunday." repeats the other pilot, almost in monotone. "Doesn't have much meaning at this point. Losing track. Today's… Friday, isn't it?" There's a momentary pause while she considers. "Yeah. It's Friday." She slips out of bed, lands on her feet, and goes to her locker for her uniform. It's one of those truisms that in spite of claiming she got into bed dizzy and unbalanced, everything is still tidy in there. She's already eyeing up her messy bed, but is clearly opting to have more on than her undies while she fixes it. "You're missing all the fun." Flat delivery, of course.
"Sure as frak /feels/ like it. Every couple days I get a moment of, 'the frak? I'm impatient to get back to risking my life?' Then I realize I totally am." Tisiphone gives a light shrug and sinks back down to the edge of her own bunk, bent forward to fold her arms across her knees. "You're chewing the crap out of your lip, you know." This from someone who's had the same crack on their lip since Warday.
"Beats sitting around and having to think." Daphne smiles like a plank of warped wood, bent that way from damage more than intent. "Yeah. I know I am. It's a nervous habit. Kinda makes me feel calmer when I can feel the blood running down my chin. Besides… low in calories. Just because we're some of the last women alive doesn't mean we can let ourselves go, you know? Weeks of rehab. Gods damn. Remind me never to get shot down."
"It's a little messed up, yeah?" This is said after a longish pause. "Your lip, I mean. Might be better ways to handle combat stress." Like Tisiphone's one to talk; she seems to realize this, too, as she chuckles quietly at the end of it. "Remind me to never get shot down again. Lucky'll stay hoovered on Lasher's ass, neither of us should have to worry about it again."
"Literally." Daph reaches for the air in front of her, as if she's grabbing someone's ass. "She nearly gets you killed worrying about my wingmate, and her reward is to get stuck with him. Makes perfect sense. And my reward is to get another wingmate. Total bore, by the way."
"Ask Lasher to give you Lucky, then." SUCH a smirk, and a little duck of her head. It's the sort of comment she's willing to soak a shoe-toss for. "Spiral just got cleared for flight. Bet it wouldn't be boring with /him/. Gods, what a irritable frakker." Her eyes narrow for a moment, unfriendly and sullen, before the look vanishes. "You know his old wingman's still in a coma? Pulled the same frakking thing Lucky did. Guess I got off easy." Snort.
"Sorry, I like my arms the way they are. Nice fashion statement, though. I never got a chance to sign your cast." Daphne puts on her pants, and then goes for the shirt, "I never thought I'd say this, but I am getting really sick and tired of incompetent pilots. And here I thought we'd be the incompetent ones. Such bullshit." With a sigh, she also reaches into her locker for a bottle of ambrosia and takes a long swig before offering it to Tisiphone. She looks over her face in the mirror she's mounted on the back wall while absently shrugging her shirt on.
The cast went weeks without being decorated in any way — and then in the span of a day, was suddenly festooned. There's a cartoonish — one might even be tempted to call it KAWAII — scene of a cutesy-Tis blasting away cutesy-Raiders in her cutesy-Viper along the top of the cast, and then, along the bottom, a set of animal footprints winding their way along toward the palm of the cast. "I know, right?" Tisiphone says, reaching for the bottle and upending it for a politely-shorter swig, setting her teeth for a moment against the burn before passing it back. "Maybe it's what we have to look forward to. A budding career in incompetence along with our LTJG pins. Assuming we live long enough for 'em. You know-" She hesitates, looking around for a moment before she continues, quieter. "The Petrels have their shit together /way/ more than we do. Makes me a little gutsick every time I think about it."
"Stunt pilots in antique birds." The distaste is hardly occulted by her voice. "Speak for yourself. Lasher told me nobody was going to kill me for letting my hair down." She accepts the bottle back, caps it, and shoves it into the back of her locker, then buttons up her shirt. It's worth noting that she hasn't changed the tank top she was wearing or, in fact, made her way to the showers at all, and she's a 'morning showerer', too. Skipping a day hardly sounds like her. She starts to comb her hair. "I told him that was exactly what would happen."
"Sure, their birds are shit, but at least they function as a team." Tisiphone seems rather stubborn on this point. "Dude, Lasher hasn't even spoken to me since the day I walked from Sickbay, and all he did then was threaten to have my throat if I didn't shut up. Esprit de corps, wot?" She snorts loudly and leans her good shoulder into the side of her bunk, watching Daphne dress with canted head.
Daphne tames her hair, then reaches for a rubberband and pulls her mane into a ponytail tight enough to verify she's a natural blonde. Her roots are so exposed they're probably wishing she wore a hat. She slips the rubberband around the base several times. Eyes glance around the room to be certain of who's listening. "-He's- a cocky asshole for a guy who manages to get shot to hell on every single sortie." The tone is cruel derision and mockery, subdued enough to make it catty as she sits down on a chair to put on socks and her boots. "This isn't how it was supposed to be. Any of it."
"Since when didn't you shower on autopilot in the mornings, eh?" Tisiphone doesn't comment on it until Daphne is seated and pulling on her boots — a little late to be bringing it up, and she doesn't even really leave time for a reply, hopscotching to the next topic. "Yeah, well. Like I said. If my choice was between a Mark Seven and a team that actually gives a frak? I might take take the team." Team, family, cult. They're all snuggled together in Tis's mind.
Daphne laces her boots up good and tight, eyes peering way up to spy Tisiphone while her own head is bowed in front of her footware. "Since I wasn't in the mood to take a shower this morning. I can skip one day." She has never, in all the time Tisiphone has known her, -ever- skipped a day except under extraordinary circumstances. "Bunch of hotshot jackasses who are going to get each other killed trying to rack up the highest score or cover people they want to bone. 101st probably does better because nobody told them they're fighter jocks yet." She laces her boots angrily, then gets up and pulls a black marker from her locker.
Woah. Evan and Greg wander in, and the hand not holding Greg's hand moves to the back of the Bunny's head as he steps face-first into a wall of vitriol from Daphne. A little bit sweaty, a little bit grimy, but with his hands and neck washed, post-CAP, he hesitates, there. "Um. Guess that means things didn't go that great last night."
"Lifers," Tisiphone says, with an odd smile, somewhere between fond and… wry, maybe. "Shiv calls us lifers. Don't think they've got the memo yet, yeah." She frowns slightly at herself and shakes her head, dispelling the thought. "Maybe-" She cuts herself off at the sound of Evan's voice, looking over with a renewed grin. "Bunny. Hey."
"Makes it sound like a bad thing." Daphne smiles wryly. "I wanted a navy career. I didn't, uh, want it like this, though. I…" She looks up at Evandreus, "Went fine, Evan. We're just grousing."
"Jocks are jocks, wherever you go," Evan offers his little piece of wisdom to the mix. "We love them, anyway. If they didn't get their rocks off looking all big and bad shooting down the baddies, we'd get hit a whole hell of a lot more than we do. All we have to do in return is swoon whenever they enter the room." A cheeky grin accompanies something of a demonstration, bent wrist to forehead, leaning ass-on-table, a silhouette of a wilting damsel-in-distress.
The faux-swoon is enough to get a bark of laughter from Tisiphone, accompanied with a shake of her head. "Perfect. Perfect," she says. "Can you do that every time you see us? That'd be /rockin'/." A quick flash of teeth, with her grin. "Come check it out, I think I'm finally getting my cast signed." Signed by /Daphne/, presumably, considering others have already added their contributions. There's a flicker of genuine excitement which is concealed, poorly, by her taking a few seconds to twist and turn the cast about. Real-estate shopping.
Daphne laughs out loud and raises her hands up to 'frame' a portrait around Evandreus, "He's so gooey." She smiles to herself, "I'm with Tis. Could you pick two flowers before you come in, too? -That- would be perfect." She situates herself next to Tisiphone, black felt tip market in hand, and starts by drawing a winding dashed line across the cast, going down the road, not across the street. It avoids any drawings already on the cast, and she captions 'cut here' just underneath it.
Evandreus unwilts, back whence he wilted, standing up and lowering his hand to his side. "Two flowers. I'll make sure to stop by the garden on my way." A dry chuckle, and he holds out his free hand in a helpless gesture, "i guess it is kind of rude of me always coming around without any guest-gifts," he notes. "I'll fix that, next time," he further pledges as he draws up a chair and straddles it to watch the signing in progress. "So are you going to keep it?"
Tisiphone's attention is owl-intent on the cast as it's being signed, that (perhaps uncharacteristic) giddy delight glittering bright in her eyes. "Thanks, man," she murmurs, as Daphne captions the dashed line. "Now I know what to do if I can't bear what they've done to my arm any longer." Grin. Always tucking her reactions away under flippancy. "Not sure if I'm gonna keep it. Didn't really- think about it, you know? But Jesse asked, and now you, too. I'm not sure anymore."
"The nerve of some people, yeah. Boys are supposed to -give- you stuff. Everyone knows that!" Daphne's smirk is hardly obscured when she keeps the cap of the marker between her teeth, and begins to draw out a rather good caricature of Tisiphone. It's not cartoony, but the features are exaggerated as much as she can get away with, in the space she has allocated. The head is clearly larger than the body, all of which is mostly abstracted except for the arm she's drawing, in a flexed position.
Evandreus watches the drawing, himself, even if the comment from Daphne garners an amused huff from the Raptorbunny. "Those are some hell of outdated gendertypes, yo," is retorted, but fondly. "It's the twenty first century, surely girls can give guys presents just as easily as the other way around." to Tisiphone, then, "It's up to you. If you don't want to, don't. It'll probably smell like butt in your locker. But with all the drawings everyone's putting on it, it might be a neat keepsake."
"Dude! My nose doesn't- my nose does that?" Tisiphone's squinting with a very mock-hurt expression at the cartoon-Tis being detailed on her cast. "My biceps are better than that." Sniff. So very-not-seriously wounded. She lifts pale eyes from the cast for a moment, grinning across at Evan. "I'll bring you guest-gifts when I come visit you across the hall, Bunny. Promise." Not the girliest of girls to get the promise from, but. "And- keepsake, yeah. It was bare for weeks. I just wanted it gone. Rate I've been smoking, there's plenty of room opening up in the locker for it, too."
"Not so much, no." Daphne's words are muffled by the marker cap, which she's still got between her front teeth. She draws the bicep particularly beefy, and nods to Evandreus before finally taking the cap out of her mouth and placing it on the other end of the marker, "Oh, -completely- outdated." Her grin is wicked, "Still fun to play along, though. I'll trade you, though. What do you want in return for a flower? It'll be like a ship-wide scavanger hunt."
Evandreus shifts just a little bit in consideration of the proposition. "A scavenger hunt, eh?" he rolls the thought through his mind and feels it in his mouth as he reiterates. "Okay. I'll try to find your flower, and you… try to find…" he trails off, trying to slot in something about as hard to find as a flower on a spaceship, "A tin of play-dough," he finally declares.
Daphne adds some finer detailing to the artwork, starting with the stubble on Tisiphone's head. "Play dough. Huh. Okay. Does it have to actually be play dough, or would moldable clay be sufficient?" She glances over at Evandreus and smirks at the man, "It's not like I'm asking for a particular type of flower. I could, though."
"As long as it's some color other than grey," Evan seems amenable to allowing. "It doesn't have to be play dough branded," he adds with a chuckle, leaning his chin onto the chair back in front of him, watching the details get added, mind ambling over the possibilities of getting a flower, somewhere.
"What definition of flower?" Tisiphone pipes up, belated, her attention having been drawn back down to her cast. "I mean- there has to be /one/ virgin male left on the Cerberus. Just leave 'im on Daphne's bunk." Her oh-so-cheeky grin threatens to show all her teeth at once, a sly look shot to Daphne.
Daphne adds a determined, growly expression on 'Chibi Tisiphone's face, who is clearly flexing her bicep. She adds a speech balloon: < Whatever does not kill me, makes me stronger and really PISSES ME OFF!! ). As an afterthought, she draws in a single, curly hair at the top of her head and adds in a 'window shine' to the forehead. "Ew. If he's a virgin by now, there's got to be something really wrong with him." She grins playfully and caps the marker, then stows it in her locker and shuts it. The next order of business appearst to be straightening out her bed, which is simply a brutal mess of sheets at this point. "He's got creative license as long as I do."
Evandreus reads the caption, smile going from warm to impish, "Anything that doesn't kill her pisses her off? So… things that do kill her are the only things that make her happy? Explains the cigarettes," he teases Tisiphone shamelessly, before he looks back to Daphne, looking… almost affronted. "Hey, now. There's nothing wrong with waiting for The One, you know," he points out. "It doesn't mean there's anything -wrong- with a guy."
"Mmm, ciggies," Tisiphone replies on cue, her tone lewd. "So. /Good/." She relents there, though, craning her head back around to re-examine Daphne's addition for the dozenth times. "Thanks, man," she murmurs, glancing up at Daphne for just a second. "I mean- really. It's great." She forgets to grin, and ends up smiling, instead, back down at the cast.
Daphne pulls the sheet taut as though she were performing life's most vital functions. Her tongue presses along her lower lip in concnetration, and not because she's a vampire who's acquired a taste for the flavor of her own blood. "No, no there's not." Her voice takes on a vaguely apologetic tone, at least explaining herself. "Most guys just want sex as soon as possible, though. I mean, you've got guys who are saving themselves for religious or moral reasons, but that's nooot exactly the norm." She holds up both palms in surrender, sticking her tongue out, then and adds to Tisiphone, "A pleasure. Break the other arm and I'll draw you with the other arm all buff. I probably shouldn't add incentives."
Evandreus pushes up with his elbows and straightens his back, stretching his neck. "Yeah, I guess guys can be like that, sometimes," he does admit, coming down from his defense of the chastity of his gender in the face of reality. "But I'd think you'd presume -those- are the guys with something wrong with them, not the other way around."
"Dude, you promise me a supply room full of liquor and I'm /still/ pretty sure I wouldn't break the other frakking arm," Tisiphone reassures Daphne. "Seriously." She draws her legs into her bunk, clearing the walkspace in front so Proper Bed-Setting Access can be given. "Mmn," is said in Evan's direction, a slightly rueful grin accompanying it. "We've- there was a little talk about this in the rec room, forever ago. We don't agree so much." She adds a light shrug to the end of that.
<Exit Tis for the fell RLbeast. Scene continues, if Daphne or Evan's players logged it!>