PHD #346: Indecent Proposals
PHD #346: Indecent Proposals
Summary: Without naming names, Khloe and Vandy talk about their problem with men making inappropriate passes.
Date: 07 Feb 2042 AE
Related Logs: Bull of Tauron logs, Crackers and Tea
Khloe Vandenberg 
Athletics Area - Deck 12 - Battlestar Cerberus
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: #346

Vandenberg was probably just coming off duty when she stopped by the naval offices. Its not really her place to hang out, anyhow. She's changed out to her tanks and sweats, the zip-up hoodie issued to most left unzipped down the front. She's already sweating, looking like she had been working at the speedbag for a little while. Her left hand isn't just bndaged anymore, though. The whole thing is taped up securely. On Khloe's arrival, Van is standing near the sparring mats, sipping on a bottle of water between futzing with her hair and the tie that belongs in it.

Black storm cloud following her in, Khloe stalks into the athletics area, gym bag slung over her shoulder. She's in the process of unbuttoning her uniform jacket as she goes, likely intending on changing here rather than the berths. She also has a water bottle, which she cracks open and takes a swig before setting her gear down.

Natalie turns to see Khloe enter and lofts a brow at the cloudy expression. Given what she had overheard, that isn't a surprise. The Marine Lieutenant makes her way over and nods her head. "Sir. Sorry I had to overhear that. I know it was none of my business. You, ah.." She glances to some target pads by the sparring ring. "Looking to take out some aggression, sir?"

Khloe glances over - tunnel vision apparently made her not see the short blonde standing there. "Oh, Vandenberg. Didn't see you," she mutters, shrugging out of her uniform jacket, which gets folded with practiced precision. "It's no trouble. I, uh, read your note. I'm glad things are working out. I figured all you needed to do was to get the Major's interest. Not everyone has an appreciation for religious stuff." Next, her boots are removed, and uniform trousers are exchanged for sweats, quickly changed - she's not modest, but she's also not letting it all hang out there, either. "Uh, actually, yes. But in theory I'm not supposed to have my usual rigorous exercise ritual until I resume normal duty tomorrow." She shrugs lightly. "I'll just punch it a little."

The Marine is probably used to people saying they didn't see her. She doesn't even blink. "The CAG sped me up on a few things, sir. Told me to look for certain connections. I don't know if she quite believed me, but it was enough. We're on the verge of something explosive, Captain. I spoke with the Raptor crew that found this ark - the one possibly from Kobol. The knife is linked to it, sir. We're sure of it." She folds her hands behind her back, standing at-ease in front of the Viper Captain. Has Van actually learned her place? With the mention of Khloe's normal exercise, the Lieutenant holds up her left hand quickly. "Wounded, sir. I'm in here working the speedbags. If you're injured, I know we are supposed to stay off it but I asked the Doc. It won't damage me any to work my hands - it'll just hurt. Pains temporary, sir. I can deal with holding some hand-targets if you want to work down any frustration, sir." The Lieutenant stands ready.

A gesture odd for Khloe - she purses her lips in thought - she mulls the offer over quickly. Then, she nods. "Sounds good. Honestly, in the mood that I'm in, I won't frakking care if someone gets bent out of shape down in medical. At least we'll get in trouble together." And with that, the Viper Captain begins wrapping cloth wraps around her hands, using the least amount of tape necessary to make things snug and secure. They look very similar to the wraps that Constin, and perhaps other marines, use. Khloe then launches into a few quick stretches, mainly for her arms and shoulders.

Vandenberg's face spreads to a grin and she nods. "Semper Fi, sir. Oorah." The woman nods once, stepping backwards before she heads over to the mat. She leans to pick up the target gloves, slipping the padded palms carefully on. Especially on that left. There's no way that it won't hurt. "I had to deal with something similar recently, too, sir. I had a Sergeant profess his love for me. One of my own men." She claps her gloves together to get the feel for the sting. "You can imagine how impressed I was by the gesture." Given her flat tone, it probably didn't go over well at all.

"At least I'd be flattered before I kicked his ass," Khloe states, completely understanding Vandenberg's position. "But I'm guessing he didn't just come out and say that he'd 'do you', or whatever the hell that troll said to me the other day. You ready?" She presses her knuckles against her palms, making sure the tape is tight. No gloves, just tape.

"No flattery involved, sir." Vandenberg looks completely unhappy with the position. "I dealt with the little comments and remarks. Tried to tell him to back off. He didn't listen. I'd already slapped him. I was trying to work my way up to assaulting an NCO by shoving him into steel plated shit, sir. Sounds like you've had fun times of your own?" Vandenberg taps the gloves together twice to signal her ready. "Give me a one-two tap, sir, then I'm swingin high. Unless you want the hit, duck it." Tapped two more times, the Marine haunches and holds her palms flatly towards the Captain.

Khloe is familiar with the routine, giving the one-two punch before ducking. It's not long before she's perspiring, and she's moving a shade slower than when she is completely healthy. "That's a damned shame," she breathes out between taps and ducking. "The problem I'm having is… he's smart enough not to make… passes at me. Just lets stupid sexist crap… roll out of his mouth. Hold." She takes a step back to take a drink from her water bottle, swishing around before swallowing. "I'm more concerned with him making passes at the female Nuggets and distracting them. We… really don't have military-grade personnel to draw from in the Nugget program any more. Just people who want to help. And sometimes they are overwhelmed." Another drink, and she sets the bottle down.

Van winces at the first few hits to her left hand. After that, its just a numbed and steady sharp pain. Her face turns red with it, eyes welling. It hurts like hell but she doesn't let it effect her. Gritted teeth meet the direct punches, her own swings alternating between left and right. "Yeah. Same problem." Swing. Thought this Sergeant isn't daft enough to be sexist. A bent digger, his ass would be." She holds while Khloe drinks, her hands staying up. "He knows that I'd burn his ass like last weeks garbage." A saying straight out of Kirtland City. The Marine keeps up her swings, not commenting anymore until Khloe seems to finish for the moment. "I don't envy ya'lls task, Captain." Swing. "C'mon, sir! I thought you were gonna swing!" she growls, challenging Khloe. "Marines are a different animal but we can rip almost anyone into Corps standards. Flying a Viper takes a kit I can't fathom, though." Swing. "Your boy Duncan has been trying to recruit me."

Khloe follows Natalie's taunts with reserves of energy being tapped, although it's clear she's sluggish and not striking as hard as she could be. Probably the last remnants of whatever was ailing her, still dogging her. "Ugh, hold again," she states after another set, going for her water again. "I feel like I'm fighting underwater," she mutters inbetween sips. Then, she chuckles dryly. "We just gave Duncan a promotion, because I find that he's keeping me sane and keeping everyone else from grabbing torches and burning me at the stake. He's… one of my best officers. One of my best pilots, too, but he's a grade-A officer." A pause. "You ever try the sims? I can't say that I approve of him trying to steal an officer from the Corps, but nothing says you can't cross-train, duties permitting." She sets her bottle down. "All right, again."

"Don't think about it, Skipper. Whatever you got hangin on, it ain't there. Tap the anger." Skipper: A term of endearment old school Marines use for superior officersthey like and respect. It isn't heard a lot anymore. Hardly at all since Warday. But she holds, dopping her hands as the woman sips for more water. "Huh. I'll have to congratulate him. I wasn't quite sure what kind of guy he was. Him and I got into it last week, jawing lines like a couple of tossers. Ain't seem him since til back in the offices, sir." She wipes at sweat on her forehead, afraid to get too close to her eyes. It still hurts like hell. "Yessir. Tried the sims last week, too. Shot down a Raider. Lost myself a Viper, too. Drips keeps tryin' to tell me the CAG might let me go on a CAP or two." She snorts, lifting her hands. "I doubt you or the CAG want a Marine Lieutenant flying a Viper CAP any more than we want a Viper Lieutenant leading ground ops patrols behind enemy lines, sir. Obviously no offense intended, Captain."

Khloe snorts lightly, shaking her head in disapproval, although she is smirking at the prospect. "I don't care how good of a shot you are or how big your brass is, Viper jocks have very little to do with leading men on the ground into a firefight. No, no, no. But," Khloe pauses, looking as if she has a small revelation. "Raptor pilot cross-training for certain Marine officers might not be a bad idea. Kind of sucks if your pilot gets shot through the helmet and you've got nobody to fly your evac bus."

"Just like my Marines got no business calling themselves Viper pilots, Cap. I used to play video games, sir. That's how I got into it. Spent a lot of years playing Viper and Raptor sims on my desktop. Fun games, sir. I ain't about to hang a dressy title like 'pilot' on myself, though, sir." Vandenberg pauses as well, watching the Viper Squadron Leader. Eyes flick to her shoulders as if waiting for a surprise punch. The revelation gets a lofted brow. That was unexpected. "Aye, skipper. Not a bad idea. I suspect the ECO's would be better qualified than a grunt, though. We usually kill shit. Drivin a bus is house of trollops I ain't sure even the saltiest Marine would swagger into. You think it might be worth a shot, Cap?" She taps her hands again, urging the other woman on.

Khloe eases back into her one-two routine; this will probably be the last one, as she clearly does not have her usual energy reserves. Venom is something that can give someone a burst of violent energy, but it's usually not sustainable. "Let's let this Bull of Tauron crap settle, first, before we propse something else to the Major, hokay?" It could be a combination of her fatigue and sickness, or it could be that she is comfortable in Vandenberg's presence, but some of her old Canceron accent is beginning to creep into her language.

The Marine nods sternly, keeping her jaw clenched. The throws a harder swing at Khloe both times. Its not a serious effort to connect but she is faster about it. "Aye, skipper. She's your boss. You got rank on me anyhow so-" Swing. "Its not like I won't follow your lead regardless." She claps her gloves between punches, taunting. "If this Tauron and knife stuff keeps unravelling, sir, it may be more important than we can fathom." Swing. "I don't think we're on to being able to predict Cylons moves anymore. Cap? I think myself and a few others may be stumbling on their whole operational plan, sir." She wasn't kidding about it being important.

"That's-" Khloe bobs and weaves, ducking in rhythm to responding with punches, until she looses her footing and rather unceremoniously dumps herself on the mat. "Frak," she mutters as she connects, breathing heavy. "Okay, we're done. I can't do this yet." She rights herself, sitting and resting her elbows on her knees, while she begins the process of catching her breath (and her dignity) and unwrapping her hands. "Well, I'm glad I stuck my neck out for you, then. Glad it's panning out."

As soon as Khloe goes down, Vandenberg stops and drops her hands. Seeing that the Captain isn't rising, there's no look of disapproval. She steps over to where Khloe had her sealed bottle and taps it over to her with her foot while she unwraps her own gloves. The right goes alright. Natalie starts on the left and just stops as she takes a knee on the mat. "I am too, sir. I know it took a lot for you to stick your neck out like that. I won't forget it." Her right hand reaches into her pocket and produces a pill bottle. The Marine's eyes still look on the verge of waterfall. The bottle is opened and a single pill tossed back and swallowed. "Sorry. But yeah, could be real important, sir. Things are coming together. We'll know more when myself and a few others get out to the Ark in a few days to look around. I should have hard information within a few days, skipper. Actionable intel."

Khloe's eyes follow Natalie's hands as she's quick to take a pill. "Pain killers? Lieutenant, if you were hurting, you should've said something. No need to frak up your hand further. And yes, I know you said it'd be fine. Still." She balls up the short pieces of tape she was using, and then folds up her cloth handwraps. She grows silent then, catching her breath, watching the other woman.

Natalie swallows the pill, she doesn't crack it with her teeth - an important distinction. She isn't looking for immediate relief or a high. Hell, she probably wouldn't even know to do that. The Marine waves it off and slowly starts peeling the velcro on her left glove. "Thanks, sir. I'll be alright. I don't have stitches or anything. Its just a deep graze. I'll have a scar anyway." She slowly pulls the glove off. Her whole hand is red but it doesn't quite look swollen. Its gotta be tender. "Fight to win, sir. They aren't going to make things easier because I nicked myself. Had worse cuts shaving my legs, skipper." Oorah Marine bravado. She smiles anways, glancing to Khloe then back to her hand. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, what has you holding back physically? Getting you tired, I mean, sir?"

Khloe finally picks herself up off the mat. "Recovering from a spat of food poisoning, is all," she explains, and begins padding over to her gear. "I couldn't keep anything down for the twenty four hours afterwards. Missed the mine op; had to pass things off to Drips." And she sounds none-too pleased about that fact. "I'm holding down tea and crackers now. Should be back on my feet tomorrow."

Vandenberg rises with her, holding her left wrist in right hand, rubbing it absently. She'll be fine. "Yuck, sir. Damn that woulda pissed me right off if I hadn't been able to make that op. All that planning and prep and brought down by a bug in the food." The Marine shakes her head. "Glad you're back on your feet. We got through the minefields just fine so it would seem your people did well under Drips. Respect, skip. I'll have to let him know he's got mine, aye?" She steps over to her own water.

Casting a faint smile Vandenberg's way, Khloe gathers up all of her gear, including her folded uniform. "I'm going to head back to the berths and shower. Thanks for the short spar… Lieutenant." The pause comes from her realizing that her Canceron twang crept back into her normal, neutral, carefully-clipped speech, and the final word comes out properly. Shaking her head in disapproval at herself, albeit with another smirk, she heads out.

"Thanks as well. Give 'em hell, skip." It still has to hurt but Van gives the woman a waist-level thumbs-up with her left hand. There is certainly something different about her since they last met in the sims. The Marine S-Three seems to have all-over hardened. Less forgiving. Its reflected in the hard smile that she gives to Khloe on the exit. One gone, Van turns back to her water and looks at her hand in contempt.

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