| Ink Off |
| Summary: | Well, it's not so much a competition, but there is casual comparison of tattoos following CAP. |
| Date: | 07 May 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Hangar Deck - Port - Midship - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| The single largest rooms on the Cerberus are the hangar decks. Each flight pod consists of two stacked landing bays with adjoined decks and hangars, which along with computer-assisted landings results in a faster Viper recovery rate. Mirror images of each other, these two huge areas are located on the flight pods. The inboard sides of the deck, closest to the ship's main hull, are lined with parking and maintenance bays for Vipers and Raptors based aboard the battlestar. The outboard side of the deck contains the launch tubes used by the Vipers for standard deployment. Huge blast doors seal the deck into four sections, each one containing an elevator that leads up to the flight deck directly overhead. The fore-most section contains an elevator system that leads towards Aerospace Fabrication. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #70 |
There's never really a 'quiet' time, so far as Cerberus' main hangar bay is concerned. So long as patrols are flying, the deck crew's kept on the move. Currently, the majority of orange coveralls-clad folk are busy refueling and checking over the most recently arrived vipers. A Mark VII and a Mark II; both battered and scorched, though the smaller of the two fighters definitely looks worse for wear. Nearby the red and white strike craft, a flight suited pilot is lurking, filling out what looks like the last of his checklist. He's in the process of doing his walkaround, eyes scanning the hull of his machine carefully for major flaws.
As the deck crew goes, so does Cilusia. When they're busy, she's busy. When they're crushed with work, she's crushed with work. Note that there wasn't really a mention of downtime! Today's vict…er, patient, happens to be another Mark II, even more beaten and battered than the one the pilot is checking out. How is that possible, you might ask? Well, this one is, you know, missing a wing and stuff. Only one tech seems to be working on it at the moment, since the others are busy with their more specialized details on other craft; with a lack of suits to sew up, Cilusia's poking around this hunka junk to see what she can put back together from the usable salvage. At least she's cheery about it though, as she seems to be singing a folk-sy song, in a non-standard tounge, loudly enough to hear in between tools revving and Vipers being moved.
Sitka's pretty absorbed in his checklist. Ever since his assigned viper detonated in the crowded 'bay, twenty feet from where he'd been standing, he's been extra diligent with whatever bird he flies. His wingman of course is long gone, probably hoping to beat the dinner crowd in the galley. Crouching under the Mark II's wing, he scribbles down a few more details, then ticks his eyes over to Cilusia when he catches a strain of humming. If she happens to look over simultaneously, she might spot a brief smile. If not, then just a sweaty pilot half-zipped into his flight suit, doing a fairly good job of not interacting with much of anyone.
There's a WHUMP as two booted feet jump down from the ladder where Cilusia was perched; she stands looking at the thing with her arms crossed and a look of constarnation on her face. "Well, frak me. I guess they really did do all that they could do on this piece. Lucky me…" Being given a temporary reprieve (but she's still on duty!) she needs to find something to do to keep busy, so! she starts to drift towards Sitka. "Heya Cap…everything ok with that old bird? Everything work?" Note, it wasn't did 'everything work right.'
Sitka is just shifting to his feet as Cilusia wanders over, pen scratching against paper as he ticks off a couple more boxes. The clipboard's tucked under his arm so he can reach over and flip open a panel above the wing. A couple of fuses are checked, and the panel's slapped closed again. He really doesn't need to do this; the deck crew usually takes care of this sort of thing, but maybe it keeps his mind occupied. Blue eyes skim the pins on the smaller woman's collar briefly before he replies, "Hey there, PO." He gives an amused huff. "Nothing fell off when I landed, today. I'll call it a win. How's the wingless wonder doing?" He nods toward the Mark VII across the way that a certain Lieutenant returned with only the fuselage intact.
"Well, at the very least, we could cram a bunch of explosives in the cockpit and use it as a missile," Cilusia replies with a smirk pulling at one of the corners of her mouth. "I mean, Mark VII wings aren't just lying about. Well, not right now. So until we get one fabbed up…" Or until another Mark VII comes in that can be descended upon by a hungry cannibal deck crew "that thing doesn't look like it's going anywhere. Wrecked my pretty deck when they landed too. That makes me sad." To show how sad she really is, she gives the Captain a really exaggerated clown frown (not turned upside down). "But the fact that you said nothing fell off today is a little concerning," Cilusia says as she leans forward to peek around him at the bird. "That's happened before then?"
"Well, no offense, but I'll take losing a viper over losing another pilot. The current numbers notwithstanding." His eyes come up without quite making contact, expression wry. Flipping back to his checklist, he reviews what he's written and quickly signs off at the bottom. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure it's happened. I lost my portside landing gear a few days ago. Heard a huge -bang- just as I was on my final approach and had hit the release. That was a little more exciting than I'd hoped for." A flickered smile, and his attention's drawn to the ink scrawled along her right arm for a few moments.
"Hoooooly shit. That kinda sucks," she replies to his landing gear comment with a little huff. "Guess I'll have to teach these little apprentices and specialists that you tighten things until they're…you know…tight." She looks at the bird for a few more moments, arms crossed over her chest while she tries to recall who worked on that bird (she can't, but she's going to act like maybe she does), then back at the Captain. "Well, beats me. I don't know who worked on it. But I'll pass the word around to triple check the work, no matter how busy it gets." When she notices him looking at her ink, she starts to grin. "You like that, huh?" she states, uncurling her arm so he can see the whole sleeve…from wrist to up under the cuff of her undershirt.
Sitka lifts his eyes again when he realises the blonde's speaking, and passes off his completed checklist to the technician who's been patiently waiting for him. A rustle of neoprene as he tugs off the left glove first, then the right, and shoves them both into a back pocket of his flight suit. "Hey, I don't think it was anyone's fault. Manpower's pretty dismally low. Parts are few and far between, and the twos, fine pieces of craftsmanship aside, are getting pretty damned old." He quirks a small smile, and then eases in a fraction closer when she shows him her tattoo. "It's really well done. Where'd you get it?" If she's perceptive, she'll notice that the back of his left hand is covered in dark ink, all the way to the fingertips. It's probably in violation of some military code or another, though apparently nobody's taken exception to it yet.
"Got it done…phew, years ago, back on Scorpia. Before I enlisted, you know? I'd be hard-pressed to find a quality artist in the service, and the ones around the airbases and stuff…I really can't trust. Family friend did it back home. We had it all planned out right from the go, which is why I figure it came out so good." She's grinning pretty good now, happy to show off the ink. It's not like she can hide it except by wearing a long-sleeve, which she opts not to do when she's down on the deck doing her speciality. Today's a strange exception to that. When the left glove comes off, she quirks a brow. "Looks like maybe you have some ink too…that, or you really need a shower," Cilusia says, pointing at his left wrist area.
The shower comment garners a throaty chuckle from the Captain, and he shifts away again slightly, to take up a lean against his viper's ladder. The pistol holstered at his thigh contacts it with a muted thump, and he eases up the sleeve of his flight suit an inch or so in indication. The ink, of course, extends up under it; the tail end of a koi fish is visible, tapered off when it reaches his fingers. "Yeah, had it done.. shit, a long while ago, now. I've, uh, heard Scorpian ink is pretty involved. That there's a cultural, uh, familial significance.." He isn't the best conversationalist, that's for sure. To hide the awkwardness, he focuses on some grease under his fingernails.
"Yeah, it can be. Probably not like Tauron ink, but sure, I know a few people who go with family significane in their ink. Mine's done, shit, partially because it looks pretty, partially because I like flowers a heck of a lot. Can't say there's a huge family significance, other than the fact that we lived halfway to the middle of nowhere, with lots of jungle and stuff. Tons of plants." When Sitka shows his tattoo, Cilusia leans in to get a better look, and stands up grinning. "Nice! I don't mean to bother or anything…'cause I figure you probably really do want to get a shower after CAP. So I'll uh…I'll go back to working over here," she says, turning both her hands to point in the direction of the busted down Vipers, and taking a backwards step in that direction too. "And you can go do pilot…stuff." Before she turns to go officially though, she does give off a little salute, pilots and officers and all that stuff.
"It's not a bother," the Captain replies, affably enough, if a tetch shy. As the mechanic starts to back off, he checks his watch, and grimaces slightly. "Shit." He shoves off the viper, and hitches his helmet up in an abbreviated, halfhearted salute. "Yeah, take it easy, PO." Of course, he forgot to get her name, so the farewell's left vague. He watches her turn to go, then jogs off for the stairs.