| Lunair's New Charlies |
| Summary: | Our lovely Charlie Platoon Commander checks in on her marines in their natural habitat. Things happen. |
| Date: | 25 Sep 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Round Two, Kitsch...and Corpses |
| Players: |
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| Enlisted Marine Berths - Deck 6 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Designed specifically to house a small Marine contingent, this berthing is one of the smallest on the ship. The bunks are arranged in standard formation in the classic over-under configuration and lockers dividing each one. However, the lockers here are a bit larger than most elsewhere on the ship to accommodate the bulky combat gear associated with the security details of the crew that lives here. Tables are spread out for use through the area with their standard allotment of chairs. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #211 |
Some time into the evening, two minutes upon 16:30 but Lysander hasn't exactly checked the specifics, and the enlisted berths are stirring alive rather than be their usual of dull and boring. It's a shift change for the marines. It's the busiest moment within the berths with folk of Bravo Company heading out in duty dress or in to switch out, or leave for various other portions of the ship. Sergeant Lysander is in the middle of putting things into his locker. Hopefully, no one gets arrested this time around.
Corinna makes her way in from the Head adorned in shorts and the tank top. short brown hair, dark with moisture, slicked straight up against her head. With the grey towel around her neck, she makes her way to the bunk to change into something a little more off-duty.
Stepping in through the door from the outside, Samuel is whistling a bit to himself as he moves over in the direction of his locker and bunk. Offering a bit of a light nod to the others now.
Lysander turns and gives pause, long enough to watch Corinna stroll by. He watches after her for a moment and then looks down at to his placing a chronometer over his left wrist and smooth over the short sleeve of his shirt. Catching the whistling, the man looks back up and returns Samuel's nod with one of his own. "Hear about Verne yet?" The man is in the brig for beating Constin, after all: but it's something to talk about.
"I heard something, yes. Not too much yet, though," Samuel replies, with a bit of a sigh. Opening his locker, he starts the process of getting the uniform off and offduty clothing on, shaking his head a bit.
Marines arresting one of their own, it's news. Lysander moves to his bunk and takes a temporary sit down onto it, if only because it's easier to open up a small wooden box that he has taken from his locker. Within is a set of rare Sagittaron cigars he came aboard the Cerberus with. He looks the four within over and then speaks up. "How I do love a court martial," comments the Sergeant. "I hate Cylons."
Decumius enters the barracks with a foul look on his face. He's not happy about something, that's forsure, though he doesn't grumble audibly about it. The Corporal's unfastening his helmet and chucking it on his bed before he's stopped moving. He reaches to pull his vest and other gear off.
"Everyone does," Samuel replies with a bit of a shrug as he looks around the room, offering Decumius a bit of a nod in the process. Finishing placing his gear into his locker, he pulls out a guitar from there, a bit thoughtfully.
Lysander nods in general to the response and his wistful look wanes. He closes the brown little box and shifts it into just his right hand, looking up when Decumius strolls by. "Someone take a piss in your coffee?" He begins to stand and with that he takes note of the guitar in the background. Briefly, the Sergeant squints before shrugging and turning about. "And since when do you play, Blaine?" The cigars are locked back away.
Decumius shakes his head. "Nope. Just a bitch dealing with this frakking case, with no idea on how to properly do police work." Complains the Leonian man. He stuffs his gear into his go bag, having already turned in his rifle at stores. His pistol is next - he unloads it and puts it away in his locker. "On the job training is one thing. This is another."
"Maybe he tasted what passes for coffee around here," Samuel offers a bit lightly, before he nods a bit at Decumius. "Takes a bit of getting used to for most people, I guess." At Lysander's question about since when he played, he shrugs, "About… 2025, or something…" he replies, a bit lightly.
"And here I was, thinkin' it was just me," comments Lysander, with regards to the coffee, or maybe the responsibilities of being military police. It could be both. He's made it known he doesn't particularly enjoy the duties. So, he returns to his original seat. "Two and a half weeks in and I hate the stuff, glad I ain't dealin' with it." A half-smile crops up. "So I say we get some folksy tunes playing in here before us marines lose our mind."
"Getting used to, eh? I guess it does." Says Decumius, rather bitterly. He changes into his off duty clothing without much further words.
Samuel chuckles a bit, "Some folksy stuff? Some old stuff from Picon sound about good?" Without waiting for an answer, he gets the guitar ready and starts playing one of those old folk songs, a bit quietly.
Decumius relaxes as Sam starts to play on his guitar, leaning back on his bed and closing his eyes for a couple of minutes. When he re-opens them, he looks re-energized. He grabs a seat at one of the barracks' tables and pulls out a deck of cards.
"Sure, I mean, I wouldn't know either way," so Lysander defaults to the idea of folksy stuff when it comes to guitar playing. It seems only natural to request. The Sergeant takes to his original seat with gusto and eyes the time for a moment, checking something with his mind, before standing up now that good atmosphere music is playing. He moves to seat himself with Dec, offering to join in and the like.
Eventually, knocknock on the door. Who could it be at the Hatch?
Samuel continues playing the guitar now, softly starting to sing along with the playing. It seems to be some kind of a hunting song, nice and quiet at the moment. When he hears the sound of the knocking, he stops a bit abruptly.
Decumius puts down the deck of cards, nodding at the Sergeant. He looks over to the door, with eyebrows knit. "Come in."
The Sergeant looks away from the cards and in the direction of the entrance, opening his mouth to speak up in preemptive greeting but choosing to just idly gawk instead. It makes for an excellent expression for about three seconds and then he's sitting back. That leads to shifting into a more comfortable position, slow to turn his attention back to the cards.
"If you're indecent, cover yourselves, if you've got contraband, hide it or I get it," Comes a firm, but gentle warning. A sense of humor? Maybe. Lunair eventually opens the hatch and in peeks the violet eyed Officer of Doom. She has a clipboard here under an arm. "Hello there. How are you today?" She peers around. She's counting apparently. "I've come to get an idea of what new Marines we have and if you're missing gear or it needs repair, please let me know."
"Is that how this platoon works, sir?" Asks Decumius, with a possible slant to the rhetorical - he just continues speaking without waiting for an answer. "I have an issue with this investigation that got dumped on me, sir. I'm a frakking recon troop. I'm an infantryman. I appreciate the need for Oh-Jay-Tee, but being assigned to head up an investigation on one of my first days in a new job is frakking ridiculous."
"Quick! Everyone dive for cover!" comes the comment from Samuel at the warning from the door, before he offers a bit of a grin over at Lunair. "Nice of you to drop by and introduce yourself to the new guys, sir," he offers, before he pauses at the words of the Decumius.
Lysander idly casts his gaze downwards to double-check and verify if he is fully dressed or not. Since he is, he returns to the deck of cards with another glance in the direction of the entrance. "Welcome aboard, Sir," is given but to the idea of he himself being underprepared for anything he gives a shake of his head. He's quite fine himself and looks to the conversation between Dec and Lunair instead.
Lunair lifts her eyebrows at Decumius' question. "If you're that put out about it, I can request the case be given over. Often, if the MPs have their hands full, we can perform basic investigations. I suspect in your case, it was because you were the first Marines who arrived." She grunts softly. "I would contact Sergeant Constin and see if he can help you." She seems a bit blindsided by Decumius' complaint, then furrows her eyebrows in thought. "Who… /are/ you anyway?" She peers. There's a faint sigh. "I'm Lieutenant Junior Grade Raine Lunair, by the way."
Decumius's eyebrows knit inwardly. "Wasn't Sergeant Constin severely beaten, sir, in relation to this case? Anyways. I'm Corporal Lucius Decumius. I came in with the twelve dudes you got from 3/4 Marines on Sagittaron. We were all from the recon platoon there. Trigger pullers and such." His voice is cool, tone even.
"I'll help if you need someone to take it over, sir," Samuel offers a bit quietly after he hears what's being said.
A squint at Decumius. She tilts her head. There's a slow nod. "I thought you were on the case about Wolfe and the locker. While I suspect that there's a suspect or group in common…" Lunair grunts softly. "And believe me, I have a lot of sympathy for the Sergeant." Heck, she might've let him wail on someone awhile. Or something. "Of course. I'm apparently your platoon leader. There were plans of folding us into the MP platoon, but I suppose that's off a bit now." She shrugs. "Either way- You could have him help with it as well, I'll see what I can do if you honestly want no part in it." She's flexible at least. She looks to Lysander, "Hello there." She seems faintly apologetic, but nods. "Did you need any new boots or such? There was a recovery operation at the mall."
"I am on the case with Wolfe and the locker, sir. It's all related. They're all disunifying events, so to speak, and I bet it's all the same perp or group of dudes doing this." Decumius nods at Lunair in agreement, a finger reaching out to point at Sam. "He said he can help me, so I guess working with an experienced MP probably's a good idea. And I hope to the Gods that we're not folded into the MPs, sir. Helping and getting cross-trained is one thing, but having people whose day to day job is readiness for combat primarily and security duty secondarily is important for a ship like this. But then again, I'm just a Corporal."
Samuel nods a little bit as he hears what's being said now, but keeps silent, listening instead of speaking.
"Understandable, though I suppose you know what assuming does in detective work." Lunair sighs faintly. "As far as the folding thing? Many months before you all were rescued, the Marine berthings were… well, deck 6 was gassed and we were caught off-guard. I mean- lots of carbon dioxide poisoning when Cylons boarded. We lost many, if not most of our NCOs and several officers. In the interests of not depressing you, I'm not going to give you full numbers but." She shrugs. "Either way." A sad smile. "I would go ahead and have him or the MPs of your choice help you, I can explain to the S2 if anyone is ruffled by it. And yes, you are a Corporal." She almost seems ready to pat him on the head. "Does that seem better?" While she came to dole out gear, it seems her mission has changed. But she'll roll with it.
"It'll do, sir. I don't really know my position within the platoon, either, other that I'm in third squad, team 2. Do we conduct lots of training, dry drills and such? Do we instruct the rest of the Marines, and the crew at large how to respond in case of boarding incidents, or on the ground? What's our role?" Asks Dec.
Lysander looks up from the cards when mention of gassing comes about. He glances skywards to the bulkheads in the background and then to his left and right. The bridge of his nose is wrinkled out of brief and sudden distaste. "I hate cylons," is repeated from moments prior and he returns to the cards, playing by himself while Dec continues talking with the Lieutenant. "We've got a MOUT area for us to play with, deck twelve, reminds me of Sag'."
Lunair tilts her head. "We're… sorting that out. What role did you play previously? And there is a fair amount, yes." She nods. Then a sigh. "You said you're NOT an MP? You're giving me the fifth here…" She looks both amused and somewhat ruffled. "It's nothing different from a standard rifle platoon. There is Dog Platoon for new recruits and trainees, if that's what you're interested in. There are MOUTs and events for training like laser tag have been held." She looks thoughtful. "So yes, there are all of those things. We help repel boarders and help out on away missions. However, MPs do much the same but with more police action," She explains. "And it's more that the screwed with ventilation. Caught us all by surprise," There's a sadness. "Huge losses. But- that was then. And correct, there is a shooting range, athletic area for PT and drills and other things if you wish."
"Like I said." Decumius folds his hands in his lap, looking at Lunair only. "Recon. But, that was my last assignment. I did two tours on Sagittaron. My first was part of a rifle company with 3/4 Marines, during Op Market Cage. My second one was with Reconnaissance Platoon from the same battalion during April Lightning and Phoenix Rise. We did recon initially but ended up just becoming a regular rifle platoon that the battalion commander threw where he needed us once we got into the cities. I was about fifteen days into my third tour of Sagittaron with Recon Platoon when the bombs dropped. The CO should have a list of our qualifications and shit, sir."
For the most part, since Lysander had done the relative same as Decumius, the Sergeant nods along the other man's words while he sits there near to them. He looks at the cards in his hands and then to the ones on the table. In rows and columns, they form a version of Solitaire. "Looks like Charlie is just a frakton of soldiers that don't quite fit one way or the other," he pauses for a slight beat. "Not that I'm complainin', Sir, but it's going to take some serious time for us to match Able's standards, or even Dog's." They're used to playing in the dirt, is all, and not policing a miniature city in space. At least, he tries to smooth things over.
Decumius nods at Lysander. "Yep, Sarge is right. Honestly that's not a bad thing. Like I said, the ship is served well by having people who are more useful at the pointy end of the stick. We're better than they are at Cee-Que-Bee, and we're better than them dirtside. They're better than us at making everyone play nice together. Everything has its place."
Another deep breath. Lunair doesn't show her expression much, simply nodding here and there. "Pardon me for not being psychic," She smiles apologetically. "It's one of my faults." She closes her eyes a moment. "The truth of it is, she has not given me such a list yet. However, this is largely the MP's turf. We provide back up and tend to take charge on ground and boarding actions. If you'd like a field day or practice run or - I suppose even a hunting trip - the fresh meat would be appreciated," She nods. "Although I do have to hunt up refreshments myself soon enough," Lunair notes. "We're rebuilding Rifles, so there is a good deal open if you had preference on your position and duties. I am not a tight hand, and I ask that you get your job done and respect others." She seems to politely ignore the porn and cursing at least. "Did you have any other questions? And yes, I understand it feels like we play second fiddle to MPs. But that is what happens at times. It's not true at all, we often work very closely together and they are good people."
Lysander glances back up when Lunair begins to speak in turn, with him nodding in response. He had already made a small gesture of his agreement with Decumius. He's soon directing himself back down to the cards if only so he can collect them back together and go about shuffling. "Might need a spare two or three rulebooks, Sir," with regards on what it takes to make a military officer such. There's a half-smile built of confidence and slight arrogance as he speaks up further, "If you're looking to make us rival Able, that is."
"Naturally. Everybody plays up differences, anyways, sir. Competition is good for morale, as long as we know we're on the same sime. And sure, I'd love to go down and hunt a bit. I'm a fair shot. I'm on the duty roster for guard duty tommorow, too, so we can organize something." Decumius smiles for the first time in this conversation. "To be fair and frank, I've been in a few platoons in my time. The best ones are the ones where things are casual, everyone knows their roles and people don't take themselves too seriously. Frak, in my last platoon I called my platoon sergeant and officer by their first names. Our company commander didn't like that too much." His smile expands outward, again. "If we're cool like that, we train hard and get to know our strengths and improve the weaknesses, day to day, we will be the cats ass and the best in the company. And we'll push the other platoons to smarten the frak up, too."
Her eyebrows lift. "Why do you keep bringing up competition?" Lunair seems baffled. "Is that what you'd like? Though, I suppose I'd gotten used to nearly being folded into Able myself," She considers. Lunair takes a deep breath. "Alright, I guess we can have a hunt at least. I'm sure we can have a PT or marksmanship competition day too. We … did just raid a mall full of booze and tobacco," She closes one eye and rubs the back of her head. "I'll be frank with you too. I wasn't really supposed to /be/ here but the other guy busted his leg and I was up for transfer. So there you go." Ah, the joys of the borderline competent officer. Shuffled neatly off to an easy post. "We've also had issues with Marines beating one another up, if you'd not noticed," Lunair seems a bit annoyed by that. "What you do is amongst you so long as things get done. I try to pick my battles," She offers. "So… I suppose if that's what you're interested in, that is fine. The MPs have had their hands full with the CO being a suspected skinjob, and everything."
The familiar wheerrrr-click of the hatch sounds out as Rian pushes through the door. Dressed in duty blacks she totes a large black canvas bag, looking quite heavy. Tired dark eyes glance at the room through tangled brown bangs, looking to each marine present in turn. Moving towards the center table she swings her whole upper body and tosses the open dufflebag onto it, just happens to be right in front of where Lysander is playing cards. "Our spoils from the surface," she speaks to the room, gesturing with a gloved arm to the bag, "dig in." A straight face addresses the room, and she herself moves away from the bag of goodies towards her bunk, pulling off her gloves by biting the finger of it and pulling. A short glance to Lunair and she nods a greeting in respect, adding a soft "El Tee."
Sergeant Lysander has since fallen quiet again, though he does listen to the others. He continues with his card games with his borrowed cards. He has to abruptly stop though now that there is a duffel bag in the middle of everything and the man flattens his expression while glancing up towards Rian. He looks over his shoulder to the other marines in the background and then to Lunair and Decumius before turning back to the bag. The cards are slowly lowered to the side. He smiles some, "Happy holidays to you too, Rian."
"Because competition is how a combat infantryman gets better at his job, to a degree." Decumius states this with a certainty in his expression and tone that indicate deeply held belief. "When the going gets tough, people need to have pushed themselves in training. People don't rise to the occasion. That's total bullshit, in nine point nine million cases out of ten. People fall back on their deepest level of training. If you can make it more intense, better, with competition, then that's what needs to be done." His eyes follow Rian as she makes her (usual) loud entrance into the room, eyebrows knit over. "Frak, I don't know you ever did a Gods damned recon mission in your life, Am. Subtlety is like your worst point."
Lunair listens. At least she's good at that. Though, those purple eyes might be unnerving when she's really watching. She glances over her shoulder to Rian and smiles politely. A nod. "Hello there," She doesn't seem to show much beyond a peaceful, regal sort of bearing. She pauses at Lysander. "It's good times for all of us. I wanted to be sure you guys got a share of it, yes," She admits. She considers Decumius. "If that is what you like, then so be it. Though don't be shocked if others may not share your sentiment. The competition for the wine for the marksman competition last time was fierce," She admits, looking thoughhtful. She does look amused by the reactions to Rian's entrance. "Subtle in the berthings means you catch someone in their boxers," She notes wryly.
Rian chuckles at Lunair, though the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes, "I don't need to catch anyone in their knickers, I see quite enough of that already." Stripping off the other brickabrack from her duty blacks she turns and sits herself on her bunk right beneath Decumius'. "Ho ho ho," she chides to Lysander quietly while bending over to untie her boots. "And I'm quiet when I need to be," a half smile curls up one side of her lips, "but you'd never know D, you'd never see me coming. Right Sarge?" She calls back to Lysander as if he could be a witness to her ninja like skills.
"Yeah, this one time she had frakkin'…" Lysander trails off after giving a glance in Lunair's direction and remembering that the Lieutenant is there in full. He closes his mouth and lifts the corners into a light smile while holding up his thumbs in a general thumbs' up fashion, instead of commenting further about Rian. He looks to the bag then and promptly distracts himself with something less potentially lewd or, and, crude. The first object he pulls out is a bobblehead sheep. It bobbles innocently at him. "What the-" is muttered.
Decumius's jaw clenches at Lunair's answer, but he nods and answers, "Roger that, sir." And that seems to be the end of that tangent. He rolls his eyes at Rian. "What a load."
Mm. A soft grunt and smile at Rian. "Fair enough." She looks amused by the exchange. Lunair lifts an eyebrow and shakes her head. "We raided a mall," She points out. "There are new boots if you need anything like that, though I suspect there are more fun goodies in there," She … seems to accept this. A faintly amused look at Lysander. "One does not discuss a lady's frakking, it's impolite." This calm, polite. She quirks her brow at Decumius. "Seeing as I do not think we're up to full strength, there is some flexibility if you had a preferred duty. Alright? I won't pester you further then."
Rian gives Decumius a snarky look as she finishes unlacing her boots, using her toe to push off the heel of her other foot and vice versa, kicking them off, "I think you're the only one around here carrying a load. " She quips, pushing herself off the bunk with her hands. In her basic blacks and socked feet she pads over to the bag, standing beside Lysander at the table and rooting through the bag, chuckling softly at his enthusiastic thumbs up. Digging up to her elbow into the bag she pulls out a rather large glass bottle filled with a clear liquid, yet no label. "I managed to stash this before the higher ups counted the liquor and cigs. 20% proof Aerilon liquor, that'll put hair on your chest," she turns the bottle on its side and stares though it, dark eyes looking large and blurry on the other side. The smirk falls from her face as she glances back to the LT, putting the bottle on the metal table tops, "Gods, I'm not frakking forget it." She says with a sigh, marines will say what they want.
Lysander the Impolite holds up his other hand and pokes the chin of the bobblehead, watching said head do the said thing of bobbling. He replies offhandedly to the initial comment from his commanding officer with a small laugh, "Yes, Sir. It's just difficult for me. I'm not paid these days to be a gentleman." Even though he is being his sarcastic self, there's an ounce of honesty with his words and mannerisms, even with his short-lived smirk. He sets down the sheep and looks at the bottle of wine. He wheezes out a small, "Because ladies love venerable frakkin' wolfmen." The man could probably find something else to talk so sardonically about but he passes up the option to return to the cards while looking into the bag.
Decumius shrugs at Lunair. "I'm good to go wherever, sir. I'd like to say I'd prefer to stay in the platoon, though. But I'll work on whatever I need to."
Buh? Lunair looks like she's experiencing severe culture shock. "… Look. I'll let it go this time if only because I know the pilots and first wave did the samn thing," She takes a deep breath. Definitely in over her head. She sighs. "Now I wonder if this was a blessing or divine punishment," Lunair closes one eye and rubs her temple. "Right." She smiles at Decumius. "That's fine. As I said, just let me know your preference. I'm… going to … go out this hatch here." She moves backwards rather quickly. "Be well." FLEE.
One dark brow arches upwards as Rian looks to Lunair with a curious and surprised expression. It quickly fades as the LT mentions the contraband liquor, it didn't really occur to Rian /not/ to mention booze to her higher ups. Pulling out a metal chair it scrapes on the metal floor before she steps around and takes a seat, leaning forward to look through the bag. Pulling back one of the zipped sides she yanks out a red thong that happens to say "I heart Aerilon " on it. Looking back to Decumius she puts the elastic of the panties between her fingers and pulls back with the other hand, flinging it over to hit him in the face. A soft laugh shakes her shoulders as she looks to Lysander briefly, eyes blinking away as she asks, "got any shot glasses by chance?"
Lysander looks up as Lunair begins to depart. He's about to lose one of his most favorite L's and so he sits up in his spot, lifting up the ace of spades to salute her instead of his actual hand. "You ever want to lose any wagers at some cards or listen to some real good music by Blaine," he glances over his shoulder to see where Samuel has gone off to, only to look at a set of panties fly about, "Just, uh, don't hesitate, El-Tee." He then looks to Rian before pointing a hand off towards his locker. "Should be a four-set in there, under the black box," informs the sergeant.
Decumius gets hit in the face with a frown. "I bet you wore that, you filthy harlot." He takes the thong from his face and chucks it at the Sergeant. Then, he waits.
Aw. Lunair would smile back, before she catches something flying and just kind of looks perturbed. "Exactly what am I in charge of…" She has to wonder, before disappearing off.
Rian just chuckles at Decumius' sour reaction to her little game, as they still have tags on them and fold marks it's highly doubtful anyone has ever worn them before. Still laughing to herself she glances up to Lunair as she leaves, offering a two fingered salute very casually. With that she pushes up from the table, socked feet padding around Lysander's chair towards his bunk. The locker is already wide open and she seems quite at ease rooting around in the Sergeants stuff. Finding a pack of smokes she shrugs to herself, pulling one out to put behind her ear and putting another to rest between her lips. Finding the metal shot glasses she puts one on each finger of her hand and turns back to the table. Putting them down next to the bottle she digs into the duffle bag again, finding a tropical theme lighter. Lighting the smoke she takes a long drag, shoulders rising with the intake and as she exhales her muscles seem to relax beneath her duty blacks, making her thin body slump some. "So you boy's giving the LT a hard time?"
Lysander sits back in his chair, only to get panties launched in his direction now. They land at the left side of his head and then settle on his shoulder and for the life of him he cannot remove them. There's something inherently nice about having new panties on one's shoulder, or maybe it's just that it says 'I <3 Aerilon', or maybe it's that it's red and a thong. He then notices that his stash of cigarettes is being rifled through and the man gives a start. "C'mon, don't mess with the good stuff. They're like gold." Beyond that, there's not much complaint against the woman's actions. He reaches forward for the bag and sets it beside the table so that things are clear for the three of them after she finds a lighter. "Not my fault this time."
After Lunair's safely out of the room, hatch closed, Lucius Decumius looks first at Rian, and then at Lysander. "That woman should not be an infantry platoon commander." His green orbs dart to Rian. "Send me one of those darts, Am."
Rian takes little notice of the tong now, seeming less amused by the game if she's not the one doing the teasing. Fingers rise to her lips to take the lit smoke from them, grey smoke flowing out from her full pale lips. As Lysander bitches about his smokes she just places her hand to his face, palm pushing his cheek away in a playful ingoring way. Dark eyes look back to Decumius, brows raise slightly as he speaks, "Frak that Dee, find your own." She cusses out but then changing the subject, "I don't know. I havn't given her the chance I suppose," dark eyes look to the hatch where Lunair disseaspeared, "I mean, I don't really think I would trust her leading me into battle. Though that doesn't say much as I have lost most respect for the chain of command since war day. A green eared rook can surprise the best of em."
"She's just a bit green, as green as grass, yeah, but I heard from some of the older fossils around here that she's better on the ground than logistics," and this is while half of Lysander's face is being squished and pushed aside. He brings up a hand to try and grab hold of Rian's hand and bring it away from his face and back in her direction while he looks to the hatch for a lingering moment. He clears his throat and sits up. The man looks for the alcohol after setting the cards down. The thong falls down somewhere in the meantime. "She gives me a lot of slack too, so that's a frakkin' plus to me."
"Give me a frakking smoke, Am. I'm not gonna ask again." Decumius is obviously in a foul mood, and that exchange with his platoon commander did nothing to improve it. "She better have a Gods damned good platoon sergeant to pick up her frakking slack."
"Annnd she let us keep the booze," Rian speaks up in the LT's defense, "though I don't really know a platoon leader that would take away drinks from their roughnecks." A smile is given to Lysander as he pushes her hand away, dark eyes looking down over him for a minute before Decumius gets snippy. "What?" she looks up to him, smug, taking a few steps towards the other corporal, a long drag in she holds it and speaks, "you want this?" Slim fingers take the unlit smoke from her ear and holds it before her, grey smoke blowing out her lips and into his face. Though if he were to reach for it, she'd just retract her arm out of his reach.
"That would be Staff Sergeant King, a couple of medals under his belt, something of your atypical marine vet I hear," but Lysander's just reciting off of rumors so he doesn't bother speaking up any further. Rumors are not this man's specialty, but watching Rian walk past him seems to be. He looks over his shoulder to her from where he sits and then turns further to see the cigarette and Decumius. He picks up the bright red thong and launches it in their direction: "Stop playin' with my shit."
"I think you know from the years I've been acquainted with you that I don't have problems giving you a smack in the mouth when I judge you to be being a bitch, and when I'm in a sour mood. It seems to me, m'dear, that the criteria has been filled, so to speak. So." Decumius grumbles, not getting up from his spot on his bunk. He greets Lysander with an outstretched middle finger. "Frak off."
Rian's fist curls around the unlit smoke and she balances the other between her lips. "I also know from all these years how boorishly slow your right and left hook arm." Breathing out another puff of smoke she bounces from one foot to the other, fists up protecting her face. "Bring it." She speaks deadpan, though the red thong to the back of her head sort of takes the badassness out of her talk.
Lysander scores a direct hit and steps off from the conversation between the two of them, giving a wave of his hand at the middle finger before finding the alcohol and shot glasses. He takes his time in getting things prepared which means while those two are going to bicker and backtalk each other he can drink in relative peace. So long as they do not disturb him, he'll be happy.
It's not to be so, Sergeant Lysander. Decumius gets up from his spot immediately, looking more irritated than ever. He takes a few steps towards Rian, then motions her over. "C'mere."
"Fiiineee," Rian says, though she followes his motions, "take it if you're going to be suck a gods damn baby." Fists drop from her face and she holds out her palm with the smoke in it to Decumius. However as he speaks just the one word her dark eyes widen with real surprise. Looking back over her shoulder to Lysander surprise turning quick to anger as she then throws the smoke to Decumus' chest, "Is that supposed to be funny? Is this some sort of game you're both frakin with me now?"
Lysander looks over his shoulder to the others for a moment and in the middle of tilting a metal glass into his mouth. The alcohol is strong. It shows on his briefly tightening expression and then he's relaxing his shoulders and standing. The spare glasses are carried over to his locker and tucked back out of sight while he idly watches the others.
"If I hadn't served with you, Am," Dec says as he scoops up the smoke and places it between his lips, "I would make some snide comment about how this emotion shit is why women shouldn't be in the infantry. But I know you're good to go, so I'll just reserve further comment." He grabs a seat at the table where Ly is, lighting his smoke. "Thank you."
Dark eyes burn fire as they narrow and follow Dec across the room, "This emotional woman has taken a bullet for you before so shut the frak up." Turning on the ball of her foot she crosses her arms over her chest, fully frowning now and wrinkling her brow, "You're the one being a sucky frakin baby over a smoke." She glances to the sarge and back to her long time friend, eyes still packing a wicked glare, "I am serious however, are you both frakin with me now?" Fingers come off her forearm to gesture between both of them her voice cracking slightly as she asks.
Decumius shakes his head. "I wasn't." He doesn't touch the subject of his own state of mind when it's brought up by Rian, but seems content to enjoy his smoke.
Lysander shuts and locks his locker this time around, to keep at least Rian out of it for the time being, and then begins his descent back to the bowels of alcoholism. He most likely won't take to drinking down the entire bottle but he can surely try. A respectful nod, grin, and lift of a hand is given in return for the thanks and then he takes hold of his shot glass and refills it. He downs it by the time Rian is asking the two of them a question, to which he glances over to her. His watered down gaze focuses in on hers for a lingering moment and then he casts it down. There's a shake of his head and he moves to sit back down, "Not at all."