PHD #205: I Ain't Him
I Ain't Him
Summary: Rian mistakes Damon for an old lover of hers in the Observation Deck.
Date: 19 Sept 2041 AE
Related Logs: None.
Damon Rian 
Observation Deck - Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus
Post-Holocaust Day: #205
With a quiet view to the stars, this tends to be one of the more popular 'quiet areas' of the Cerberus. Up front is a small-unseated area for ceremonies or other activities while the seating rises up behind it. Each level rises up behind the one before it, comfortable chairs and couches set up for crewmembers to relax, get some work done or even take a nap. A large armored plate is lowered during Condition One to protect the interior against a breach in the glass.
Condition Level: 3 - All Clear

It's been a long day of work for Damon, and he's spending some time relaxing at the Observation Deck. It's a rare sight to see - being a workaholic, he's not often caught lounging as he is now, reclined in a comfortable-looking couch with a drink in hand. The occasional passerby stops to chat with him for a few minutes, but nothing substantial. He's off by himself, enjoying the beer and solitude.

After her on duty shift in the Sec Hub Rian finds herself wandering the dark corridors of the ship. Frustration high she doesn't much feel like returning to her rack, not wanting to listen to the constant chatter of mindlessness from Decumius at least for one night. So, still clad in her on duty black, minus the layers of body armor, helmet and rifle she wanders towards the hatchway marked "Obs Deck" in bright yellow spray paint. Dark eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim light as she walks towards the massive glass wall that showcase the stars and beyond. Not having seen this part of the ship yet she takes slow steps forward, jaw dropping in the spectacle of it all, losing all thoughts for the moment.

Ah, comfy couch. So relaxing after a full day of squinting at memoranda and crawling all over Vipers and Raptors repairing them. So… relaxing… Damon dozes off for just a few seconds - and just his luck, it's just long enough for his beer to slowly fall away from his hand and land on the floor with a clatter. "Aw, frak!" he mutters, scrambling to pick it up before too much is lost. Of course, he kicks the bottle in the process, causing even more to spill. "Come on. This is why I can't ever friggin' relax." On his feet now and the bottle put away, he looks around for something to clean up with.

The bright white light from the outer space lights up Rian's already pale features, her dark bangs shadowing her cheeks in contrast. Hearing the cursing her swift reflexes are tested as she turns over her black clad shoulder, eyes narrowing to find the distraction. A few footsteps brings the marine closer to the man that is stumbling around the ground after a bottle. Perhaps this would make most people laugh, or even crack a smile but Rian shows no outward expression. From one of the many pockets on her tight black pants she pulls an old grey rag, tossing it down on the fizzy drink, "waste," she mumbles to herself before looking up.

As she looks upon the man her expression changes from distant melting into shock. Brown eyes grow wide and her jaw actually drops, lips parting as she manages a small shaking breath out. "By gods" surprised, stunned, confused, suddenly everything is spinning. Unblinking eyes continue to stare at him, wetness pooling in her long lower lashes. A hand reaches out slowly before her, as if he would disappear if she moved too fast, "Hector, it's you!" Tears fall down her pale cheeks as cool fingers touch upon his cheek.

The rag is gladly received by Damon. "Hey, th…anks?" He looks puzzled at Rian's reaction. And at Rian in general, since he's pretty sure that he's never seen her before. "I'm, uh - my name's not Hector," he protests, pulling back slowly from her touch. "Sorry. I'm Andreas Damon, a Petty Officer down in the Deck. I think you've got me confused for someone else, yeah?" Hesitantly, he kneels down to start cleaning up with the rag, glancing up at the Marine to make sure she's not, you know, crazy or anything.

Rian pulls her hand back as if she'd be bitten, her expression growing from shock to confusion as Damon speaks. The tears have made shining streaks down her cheek that reflect the dim light as she shakes her head, "What?" Her voice cracks, she swallows and starts again. "Andreas Damon? No, your name is Hector Chance, from Picon." Kneeling too she ignores the spill and rag, dark eyes wide and staring straight into his blue pools, "I'd know you anywhere." A half smile and a breathless laugh, "It's me, Amarath Rian." Both hands point inward to her black clad chest, "You called me Nails?" Turning her head she finally wipes away one tear streak roughly with the back of her hand, "How is this even possible? That building your platoon went in collapsed with enough C4 to take down a shopping mall. I saw it." Her breath comes quicker now, mind racing. He was dead but this is him, deadly sure of it.

Damon looks hard and deep into Rian's eyes, silence falling over the pair for a moment. "Listen, you don't seem drunk or crazy to me, so I think you're just… I don't know, tired and mistaken," he says at last. The rag in his hand is momentarily forgotten and just sits atop the spilt beer. "My name is Andreas Leander Damon. I'm from Tauron." He nods down at the tattoo on his left forearm - Tauron's emblem. "I'm sorry if you've lost someone who, uh, might've looked like me. But I ain't that person." There's sympathy and empathy written on his face as he tries to let her down as gently as possible.

Rian keeps Damon's stare, her own dark eyes glinting slightly in the dim light. "I'm not mistaken. You are him," she seems quite sure of herself but she looks down to the Tauron tattoo with more surprise. "I don't understand? You must be mistaken. I know you! How is this possible?" A cold hand reaches out to his cheek again, "Your name is Hector Helios Chance." Agility and speed comes into play as she leans in and forward towards the man, her hand moves from his cheek to the back of his neck pulling him forward slightly. Cool, full lips meet his, firmly pressing against his. Yet the kiss is sincere and gentle in a way, lips softening and grip loosening from his neck.

Maybe Damon is wrong. Maybe she is crazy. But he doesn't get any time to really consider the possibility before he's pulled in for a kiss, too surprised by the move to move away in time. It'd probably be a sweet and tender moment if he were who she thinks he is - too bad he's not. "Mmphmmgphmm," he explains once he recovers enough to speak. Er, try to speak, anyway. "Mngmmrrm." Finally, he manages to get himself free. "Look, uh, Ama… Nails," he says, already having forgotten her name. "Don't get me wrong, it's not that you're not - well - okay, that sentence is not gonna end well. I'm not who you think I am. Ask anyone on this ship." He motions all around him. There are a few people watching the spectacle, interested in the little scene that's going on between them. None of them say anything, though.

Brows high with surprise Rian leans back and lets go of Damon, stunned as she is pushed away from him. "Wha?" She shakes her head with disbelief, "…I don't understand." It's him! Exactly him, the features, his eyes, his smile, she knew this man 4 years ago on Sagittaron. Is it possible she is going crazy. "Bu.. but it's you, Hector, it is, I'm not mistaken. I could never mistake your face." Nervous eyes look about the enlisted that have started to make a circle around them. As he says her nickname she winces, as if she were hit by the word. "I love you." She staggers out, shaking eyes looking to him, pleading for him to remember.

Calling Rian by her (presumably) dead lover's old nickname for her was probably not Damon's brightest idea. But how is he supposed to remember a minor detail like her name when she's insisting that he's somebody else and then trying to make out with him? It's his turn to wince when she breaks out the L Word, and it's clear from the look on his face that he's going into Panic Mode. "I'm, uh, wow." That's about the best sentence he can put together right now. Leaving the rag where it sits, he stands up and backs away slowly.

Rian watches with unblinking eyes as Damon stammers and steps back. This is impossible, it doesn't make sense, it's not a mistake, it /is/ him. Maybe he is right? "Why are you acting this way?" she speaks her mind. "I.. I don't understand?" Shoulders shake as she breathes heavily. Maybe she has finally gone insane. Her features grow more pale, if it were possible. What was it he said? Petty Officer? He /died/. Though she doesn't mistake faces or people easily. Looking around at the gaping eyes of the people surrounding them her vision starts to blur and grow dark. Eyes roll back in her head as her feet give out beneath her, the tough marine falls limp to the ground right beside the spilled beer.

The murmurs in the periphery of their encounter grow into a dull roar when Rian collapses. "This is why I can't ever frakking take time to relax," Damon mutters under his breath, eyeing her collapsed body. "Betcha the Gods are laughing at me right… frakking… now." He bends down to scoop her up into his arms. While getting back up, he loses his balance for a second and ends up knocking his beer over again. It spills over the already soaked rag just to add insult to injury. "Will someone just… get that for me?" he asks in a weary voice. "I gotta bring this woman to the medics and explain what happened." And out he goes.

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