| Many Meetings on the Deck |
| Summary: | Tisiphone comes for a suit adjustment, Daphne reveals sekrets, a Raptor and escort land, lots of coffee is handed out, resulting in tech talk. (Long and fun with some greatly amusing moments.) |
| Date: | 12 Feb 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Paperwork |
| Players: |
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--[ Hangar Deck - Port ]-------------------[ Midship - Battlestar Cerberus ]--
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.
-=[ Condition Level: 3 - All Clear ]=-----------------------------------------
Morning. The scent of coffee brewing somewhere mingles with those of oil, grease, and paint. The scents that is notably absent are those of dust and dirt. No matter what it looked like yesterday, this morning it is pristine, clean and bright. It won't last, but it is always good to begin a new posting with a complete, thorough cleaning of the deck. There is a cluster of tired, but smiling, snipes at one end of the deck. They are centered around the coffeepot in the corner. One by one, they get a cup of brew, a handshake, a pat on the back, and a grin, "Thanks. I appreciate the hard work." The voice is a bit on the gravelly side, though not unpleasantly so. When the team disperses, one man is left by the pot. He watches the crew take up their stations, a small smile quirking one corner of his lips. Finally, he pours one more mug but does not yet take a sip.
Enter one (1) Tisiphone from the direction of the Viper berthings, looking equal parts harried and uncertain. She's in regulation fatigues, and is strangely…pink. A sunburn from shore leave gone wrong would be a good first guess, except that the burns are blotchy, covering irregular swaths of her arms and up her neck and scalp, instead of having obvious swimsuit lines. Immediately after stepping into the bay, she takes a step to the side to attempt to stay out of the way, pale eyes scanning for gods alone know what.
It takes a moment or two before one of the snipes notices the newcomer. Clipboard in hand, the young woman angles your way. She is holding one of the cups of coffee in one hand and there is a smile gracing her lips. Lifting a chin, she does look for rank insignia and; not finding any clue, errs on the side of caution. Tucking the clipboard beneath her arm, she transfers the coffee and offers a salute, "Morning, sir. Can we help you?"
Atreus is a bit too far away to catch the conversation, but takes note of the grouping. He waits a moment or two, then pushes from the wall where he is leaning. Another man might bustle over to see what the potential officer wants. Not this one. He lingers without hovering but lets his staff do their jobs unhindered. Soon enough, his attention is caught by something nearby and he heads that way.
Once upon a time, Tisiphone thought that once she made Ensign — a real live officer! — she'd enter this hazy Golden Age where she got saluted as much as she passed it along to those higher ranked than she. Since coming aboard the Cerberus, however, she has found exactly one person she was confident of outranking…and that was the galley cook. (He still roared the hair off her, let it be so noted.)
The salute is returned as crisply as a fresh-from-the-oven Ensign can make — immediately followed by a hesitant tilt of the head. Reconsidering. "Um. Actually." Her voice is a little hoarse. "Pretty sure I should have saluted you first. Ensign Apostolos. Good morning." Polite, but not wooden. "I need to speak to the deck chief."
Once the salute has been returned, the deckie lowers her own and takes the coffee back in her hand, "Nah. We all should be saluting you, sir. Most everyone down here's a non-com." Noting the hoarseness in the officer's voice, she blinks, concern touches her gaze. But, on hearing the request, she nods, "Oh, okay. He's…" She turns, half expecting to see Atreus over by the coffeepot. When he isn't there, her gaze tracks to the right until she spots him. By this point, the man is in conversation with two of the techs, head half inside the engine compartment of a viper. "Oh, he's over there with Rodreguez and Stevens." Stepping to one side, she gives another half smile, "'Scuse me? I've gotta pull a rudder assembly and have it back in by 1300." The cup is lifted in a bit of a salute and she turns to head off to 'get the job done'.
Well. How oddly…pleasant. Tisiphone bobs a nod to the deckie. "Yeah. Of course. Have fun." There's no sarcasm in the last bit; Tis seems a bit impressed by, and envious of, her surroundings.
Taking a deep breath, she re-squares her shoulders and starts making her way toward Atreus. One pleasant encounter does not a Happy Ending make, rook. Once she's closed the gap, she comes to a halt and clasps her hands behind her back, weight slightly forward on her toes to permit the occasional restless bounce. Waiting to speak, quite obviously, but also seeming ready to wait her turn.
The deckie glances over her shoulder toward the new grouping of four. A slight smile touches her lips but then she delves into the rudder issue and practically forgets that the officer is there.
It does not take long for Atreus to notice the new arrival, but he does not at first turn to see who it is. Rather, he finishes his thought, "Make sure that the contacts are clean. That'll save you a lot of troubleshooting problems down the road." The two he is talking to nod, though one is a bit slower than the other. He draws a breath to ask a question but Atreus lifts a hand and glances over his shoulder, "Officer on the deck." Turning fully, all three of them salute you almost in unison. Atreus includes a faint nod, "Sir. Welcome to the Deck. How can we help you?"
Perhaps you've seen this sort of poleaxed expression from Ensigns before — the stunned realization that they are a Real Live Officer and there really are people on-board that aren't there to chew their ass off. Again, the crisp salute. As she straightens, regulations-perfect, there's a faint wince that shivers the corners of her eyes. "Sir," she responds automatically, then blurts, "Sorry, I mean-" Oh, Ye Gods, how do the bigwigs end salute-fests again? "-as you were. Please. I'm just an Ensign. Ensign Apostolos. Pleasure to be here. Really." The unfamiliar ground she's on has her running on a bit. "I was directed to speak to the deck chief regarding an issue with my flight suit."
Once the magic words have been spoken, the techs lower their arms. Atreus glances at his crew, "Rodreguez? Stevens? I got those right, yeah?" The two nod and he continues, "Excellent. Good. Now, since your nod was slower, Stevens, I want you to do the work with Rodreguez overseeing it. Let me know if either of you get stuck and I'll come help sort it." Turning back, he nods again, "I'm the new Chief, Ensign. Chief PO Constantine Atreus at your service." Motioning with his coffee mug, he gestures toward the pot. Someone has clearly started a fresh pot for a new batch is perking away. "Come over here. I don't have an office yet, but… Care for some jo? And what's this about your flight suit, Ensign?" After half a beat, he smiles a bit gently, "Relax, Apostolos. We don't bite. Call me Chief, please. It's easier to remember than any part of my name."
There's always a catch. Isn't there? Tisiphone is starting to doubt that, too. "Um. Coffee would be great. Thank you. Chief." She seems to belatedly realize how she sounds and looks down a moment, shoulders deflating with a sigh. She gingerly rubs the back of her neck, looking up. "I- Well, the Cerberus flight suits are different from the mothbags we had in Flight School. The left wrist seal doesn't work on mine. I need to adjust it." She sounds very cautious as she says that. Picking her words carefully. There's a wide leather-and-metal cuff on her left wrist, which would explain the fitting issues.
As he walks, Atreus listens. He does glance toward the offending wrist and a low grunt is heard, though it is almost more thoughtful than concerned. Reaching the pot, he pours a fresh mug and offers it to you, "Does it fit without the doodad?" A tuck of his chin indicates the jewelry where the seal should be. His gaze turns thoughtful, his voice remaining gentle though edged with curiosity, "And is there a reason why you don't want to take it off?" The coffee smells rich and hot, "Oh, do you take cream and sugar?"
Saluted, and now served coffee. Tisiphone may start looking around for some sort of Candid Camera setup. "No sugar, a little cream. Unless it's artificial. Then black is fine. Thank you." She rocks back and forth on booted toes before settling back down to the occasional faint bouncing. Finally, with the sort of exquisitely careful phrasing that suggests it's been a hot topic in the past: "I'm not required to remove it while on-duty. It's considered Permittable Religious Attire." That last bit sounds a bit grudging, as if she hates the phrase. "I don't mean to imply that you would doubt me-" Though, by saying it, that's exactly what she's doing. "-but I can provide the reg quote if you need it."
Turning, Atreus retrieves a thermos from a counter. This is opened and a bit of real cream is poured into the mug, "Won't be able to get this as readily once we leave dock, but why suffer until we have to, eh?" Once poured, the thermos is closed and returned to its previous location. The mug is then offered to you with a soft 'You are welcome.' and the man leans against the bulkhead. Lifting his mug, he takes a tentative sip while he listens. Amusement sparkles in his eyes, crinkling the outer corners briefly though his lips never even twitch, "No need, Ensign. As it happens, I do believe you." Another sip as his gaze flickers out over the deck as though seeking someone… specific. Not finding the person, he looks back at you, "Tell you what… Go get your flight suit and I'll make the adjustment myself. Don't have a snipe to assign it to at the moment… And, maybe you can help me with something in return."
Definitely a trap. There's no other explanation for this going so smoothly. Rational human beings? Unpossible. Tisiphone holds the coffee mug in both hands, shuffling it around and around before she takes a sip. "Have you seen the food they're- well, were serving in the galley?" You know, before it tried to burn itself down the night before last. "It's going to be a real bait and switch once the civilians are gone." She permits herself another quick mouthful of coffee, then slides the mug over to sit near the thermos, still half-full. "Sure. I'd be happy to help out. Thanks again, Chief." There. That's starting to sound a little less wooden. "I'll be right back with my suit." And she is — about as fast as one can jog to Viper berths and back again.
Swallowing, the man shakes his head, "Not yet. Just got in late last night and spent the time in here with the night shift getting everything cleaned and organized. Should probably head up after a bit and grab something more filling than a sandwich and coffee." He hazards a wink that is entirely friendly and devoid of any suggestion. The mug is watched for half a second, then he waves you off. "All right. See you shortly." Turning as you hurry off, he is immediately immersed in looking over the roster, which is posted nearby. When you return, the roster has been adjusted and is back in its place.
Tisiphone doesn't try to sneak in, per se, but she does try her best to make it to the deck chief without anyone saluting her. The brisk, purposeful walk may help. "Chief. I'm back." After a brief juggle, she goes to recollect her coffee mug, the now-cooled contents of which are knocked back as if they were tequila, and she was on shore leave.
Still, however, those who see the Ensign do salute as she passes though they do not seem to expect a response. Apparently Atreus expects the conventions of respect to be observed. When you speak, Atreus nods, "So you are." His grin warms as you knock back the coffee, "Uh. Want a refill, there?" Extending a hand, he takes the suit and shuffles it around to examine the cuff, "Now, here's my problem, Ensign." Carefully setting the suit over the back of the chair, he frowns slightly in concentration. A measuring tape is pulled from a pocket and he motions for your left wrist, "Regs prohibit bracelets on the Deck. Now, I'm not looking to interfere with religious expression, mind. But, I need a compromise. The reason they are banned is that machines can grab 'em and take off an arm, or pull someone into something live killing them." He looks at the woman before him, "So. Would folk be willing to wear long sleeves over 'em? Something close fitting that gives some protection?" He eyes the bracelet again, looking to see how closely it fits over the wrist, how much dangle there is; if any, and what the 'snag potential' is.
The refill is politely waved off, though the thermos gets a wistful glance or two. Tisiphone would probably rattle herself apart if she had too much more. "Mechanically-assisted injuries," she murmurs, mouth primming into a thin line. "I understand the risks. I- there was a trainer who really wanted me to see what was going to happen to my arm." She starts looking a little agitated; she takes a deep breath and laces her fingers together across the back of her neck. "Flight uniform has long sleeves. Double-buttoned. I had to take the left wrist out by about an inch, but it fits the same as the right. In Flight School, they welded a second clamping peg to the first one. Gave me enough room." One corner of her mouth quirks. "Probably was the strongest part of the suit."
Tisiphone's bracelet is about an inch and a half wide. A number of flat metal 'charms', no more than an inch square, are riveted one to next. They clasp together on the inside of her wrist, which in turn holds the thick leather lining in place. The charms could be bent out of shape to jut outward — some of them look like they've taken some abuse and been bent back into shape — but in proper configuration, the bracelet is reasonably smooth. Just bulky.
Atreus nods to the refusal, though notes the glance, "Uh. You can have plain cream if you want, Ensign. I'm pretty relaxed about that stuff." He nods, listening though he knows what a flight uniform looks like. "Huh. Not a bad idea, but…" Shaking his head, he glances again at the bracelet, then the flight suit's sleeve, "Flight suits need to be snug, Ensign." Taking the tape measure, he looks up at you, "I'll need to take the exact measure, please, Ensign. Or, I can have you do it, if you would rather." That the bracelet does not jostle or move is noted and a certain concern eases. "We'll probably be able to simply release the binding a little. But, I'd like to test it to be sure there's no leakage." Listening, he winces, frowning, "I see. That is a pretty gruesome way to teach someone something, seems to me. Though I'll bet it isn't something you are likely to forget. Sorry, Ensign."
"He wasn't very friendly with anyone." Tisiphone is being carefully neutral. "But I think he took it personally that he couldn't force me to remove it." She unlaces her fingers from behind her neck, and offers her left arm out. She doesn't seem afraid of having it touched, and doesn't flinch — though she does watch the measuring quite intently. "The leather was replaced about a year ago," she says. "I refit it once a year. The measurements never change more than about a sixteenth of an inch. I understand wanting to test it. I don't want to suck vacuum either."
The two are standing near a pot of freshly brewed coffee back along the bulkhead from the door. The deck crew are off doing their jobs, the air of not-so-quiet efficiency almost palpable. Taking the offered wrist, Atreus deftly and precisely takes the measurement necessary to adjust the flightsuit. He releases one end of the measure and the woman's wrist as he turns to take notes on a pad of paper. "Some people are just plain mean. Some are stupid. They forget that you can't demand respect. You have to earn it. Seems like a sad and futile way to live… Me?" He offers a smile as he lifts a mug of coffee and takes a sip. Sighing in evident pleasure as the cooling liquid slips effortlessly down his throat, he sets the empty mug down with a decisive click then adds, "I just hope to do a good job. Let the rest take care of itself."
A pot of freshly brewed, amazing-smelling coffee, let it be so noted. Yet Tisiphone somehow doesn't have a full, or drained, mug nearby. She smiles faintly to herself over some private thought as Atreus takes measurement around her wrist-cuff, giving it an imperceptible adjustment once he's finished. "Everyone is here for a purpose," she says, clasping her hands behind her back and rocking a little. "I mean- I believe that. I really do. But-" She rolls her head a little from side to side in a sort of uncertain shrug. "I think sometimes the purpose is to show others how not to be."
Daphne steps into the hangar, bracing herself against an archway for a second and then peering up… way up. In her hand? A clipboard. It takes her a few moments to snap out of what could only be a reverence-induced stupor as she gazed upon the enormous hangar. It's only then that she spots Tisiphone and regains enough composure to head towards her and Atreus. But she's taking it slowly, looking around at the place, breathing in nice and deeply.
If he noticed the adjustment to the bracelet, Atreus does not let on. He has that sort of quiet waiting air about him, though he is jotting something else down on the clipboard he carries. Pen, coffee mug, clipboard and measuring tape all end up where they should be. The man moves with an economy of motion that might almost appear choreographed. He lifts a half smile and nods, "Sometimes it seems that way. Or, they bring lessons in patience." Turning slightly, he lifts the corresponding arm of the flight suit Tisiphone brought. He compares the sleeve's cuff to the measurement, eyes only slightly narrowed in concentration, "Yeah, I can fix this, Ensign. Won't be a thing at all."
As Daphne enters and makes her way across the Deck, the crew who notice her send a whisper of awareness ahead of her. They each salute, though not in the 'you must respond now or we cease to function' sort of way. It is more an acknowledgement as they move from one assignment to the other. The whisper? 'officer on the Deck'. Finally, it reaches Atreus' ears and he looks up from the sleeve, "Might have it for you this evening, actually." Glancing around, he spots Daphne and adds, "Excuse me." Standing at attention, he salutes in turn. "Sir? How can we help you?"
"Thank you, si-uh. Chief. I really appreciate it." Very genuine, that. Tisiphone isn't the chipper-cheerful smiling sort, but she looks about as relaxed as she's been since setting foot on-board. "You said there was something I could help you with?" Her attention slants off Daphne-ward as Atreus again salutes. She stiffens, halfway to a salute when she realizes who the respect is being shown toward. Frak that. Tisiphone snorts dubiously, amusement glittering bright in bloodshot eyes.
Daphne's eyes sweep from side to side as her motion across the hangar illicits motion. She's a little surprised, and does a typically poor job of hiding that surprise in the shape of a deadpan. She mutters to herself, "If it's shiny, salute it." as if to reason it out aloud. She blinks at Atreus and shakes her head, "Oh, uh, as you were, Chief." Her attempt at playing it cool? Didn't even get off the starting line. "Was just exploring the ship, trying to get a feel for things. Then I saw Ensign Apostolos here, and thought I'd say hello. Is she, uh, she didn't blow up the hangar, did she?" A smirk is flashed.
The hanger is clean as a whistle outside of any work areas. If this is different, it will soon become known as the norm. The new Chief is a stickler for neatness, it seems. All cords are stowed and the deck itself is without a spill anywhere. Atreus drops the salute, a quick smile touching his lips, "Oh, no, sir. The Ensign just had a question about tailoring." He and the others are standing near a counter along one wall. There is a pot of freshly brewed, wonderful smelling coffee sitting nearby. The Chief has a mug placed near the pot and there are several Styrofoam things just waiting to be filled. He nods, "Well. Welcome to the hanger, Ensign. Care for a cup?" Of coffee, by the way his gaze shifts from her to the pot and back.
"Deck, this is Bunny, reporting Harrier-303 with her full number at the door and ready for deck on your clear," Evan speaks in a low, lilting voice into the comms, businesslike in diction but with a little smile almost audible in his voice. Clicking off comms, "We'll be touching down just as soon as they give us the word," he turns his head to assure his sole passenger, while, on deck, the call comes out to clear Harrier-303's parking spot for landing.
"The coffee's amazing," mutters Tisiphone to Daphne, once she's nearer. "Have. Some." A Meaningful Look(tm) is shot to the other Ensign. Considering the occasional light bounce she's giving, it's a fair bet she already had some. "You're the one who blows up the-" Her teasing comment is cut short by Bunny's landing request. She glances to Atreus, suddenly a bit awkward again. Back to the Unfamiliarity Zone with you, Rook.
Nikias appears to be no stranger to spaceflight, and hasn't offered up a scowl or complaint at the lack of comfort a military craft provides. The straps of his seat threaten to wrinkle his jacket, and his suitcase was jarred free from its spot and bounced around the back before being secured again. When Evan looks back, Nikias merely nods in acknowledgement, and resumes taking in the minor interior details of the Raptor.
Daphne's second attempt at playing it cool goes off a little better than the first, "Oh, sure. Coffee would be great. Thanks, s-…" No. No. Enlisted. No sir. Bad Daph. Bad! No biscuit. "Sure. Do we have real cream, or did that burn down with all the steaks." Her eyes steer towards the coffee itself, "Tailoring, huh? Did Apostolos tell you about her knitting habit? You'd never think it. It's so cute and cozy, though!" She smirks to the other ensign, "Daphne Kolettis, by the way."
As the landing request comes over the com, Atreus lifts his gaze, "Please. Help yourself. Cream's in the thermos. Excuse me." He is talking to Daphne, but not looking at her. Turning, he walks briskly toward the requested landing space, "Okay, crew! Move it! Harrier-303 is inbound." Even before the man calls out, the deck crew have begun to scramble in an organized sort of buzz of activity. In far less time than it takes to type, the area is cleared and the crew on watch is on the horn. Atreus nods as the reply is sent to the bird, "Harrier-303. The nest is empty. Come home to roost." Fading back again, Atreus keeps watch on the crew, learning as much about them by what they do as what they do not do. Knitting? Must have been lost due to the impending landing.
Carrying a small notebook and pen, Lt. Marcion seems quite lost in his own thoughts as he wanders out onto the flight deck. Noting the incoming Raptor, he makes sure that he is not in the way, and soon seems fascinated with the incoming Raptor… much like a kid looking at his first worm under a magnifying glass, eager to start the dissection.
Evandreus has had friendlier passengers, but has certainly had grumpier ones in the past few hectic days, and he's content enough to leave it at that, for now, opening up comms again, "Deck, Bunny, crossing in. Our full number's one, today. Civvie. Mind ringing up an escort for him?" he asks as he brings the bird down, revolving on its x to situate itself over the spot.
"I have no instructions on who to meet with, and this was not a pre-planned arrival, so I will also need to speak to an officer about securing accommodations and access to some areas of the ship." Nikias says, finally piping up since the trip began. His voice is business-like, but polite and civil, as he tentatively pulls at the straps to see the damage to his attire.
"Thanks, Chief." Daphne reaches for the thermos and pours herself a cup. "I didn't get…" Whatever she was going to say, she allows herself to be cut off by the commotion of incoming spacecraft. She pours herself a cup, applies some cream, and then swirls it around with her finger, not seeming to mind the hot if it means she gets her coffee a little faster. If there are any stirring rods, she's ignoring them completely in favor of sipping. "Tis. How's your ass?" Wait, what? She even has a devilish smirk on her face.
As 303 is landing, elsewhere, its Viper escort is doing the same. Really, a Mercury class ship has a -lot- of deck space, and most of it is out where people aren't standing around. Due to the whole… oxygen thing. Black Lead's 308 comes in textbook, RCS firing fore and below to kill momentum. It hovers a few moments, and then settles to land in the outer runway. Soon enough, its being taxied back in through an airlock, into the main hangar itself. Once it comes to a stop, some crew roll a ladder up to the bird, the cockpit cracks, and Kefir can be seen cracking his head a bit to one side, before reaching up to pop off his helmet. He looks a little tired, but otherwise unremarkable. A quick whisper beneath his breath, and he's climbing out and down the ladder.
"My ass is better than your ass, considering your ass is about to have my boot in it," Tisiphone mutters under her breath to Daphne. Her fellow Ensign gets a bit of a scowl made utterly unbelievable by the accompanying grin. Knitting. She just had to say the K-word where other people could hear it, didn't she?
Atreus fades back a bit more as the crew assigned to the Harrier and the Viper scramble to get everything into position to make the landing clean and disembarkation easy. From over the com, the following is heard, "Harrier-303, welcome home, Bunny. Escort for your 1 is being requested." Nodding at what he sees, Atreus moves back toward his guests. Noting that Daphne has taken care of the coffee thing, he grins, "Chief PO Constantine Atreus. Chief works though." Then, there is a crackle from the Com again, "Bunny, your one is asked to remain on the deck until escort can be secured." Atreus frowns, then glances at both the Ensigns near him, "Sirs? Hate to do this, but would you mind volunteering to take the civvi in hand?"
"Knitting?" The question comes from over by the tools… Lt. Marcion stepping towards the group. "Knitting was mentioned, I believe? Quite interesting. Fantastic engineering, whole much stronger than sum of parts. You are a pilot? A Raptor pilot, perhaps?"
Once he's down, Kefir tucks his helmet under his arm and starts across the deck. His path back from where they taxied his bird is a bit long, and it sends him past the small gathering of deck crew and flyer-types that seems to be hanging around. "Ensigns," he greets the pair of female pilots once he's a bit closer. He scans around a bit, to see where they've brought in the Raptor he was escorting.
"I hear you, Deck," the Bunny acknowledges from his boat, finally settling the big bus down on deck. A light touch, for a Jigger. "Don't worry, dude, we'll figure out where you need to be," he assures his 1. "Probably start you out at security to check in, then over to ops. Or maybe ops, then security. Well, someone'll come pick you up who knows more about it than me," he adds with a chuckle, "We're on deck, you can unclip yourself if you'd like," he adds, reaching up to unlock the lever and pull it down to open up the hatch.
Daphne has a long sip of her coffee, "It's great to meet you, Chief." She completely ignores the scowly looks cast at her from Tisiphone and, in fact, smiles cheerfully, showing some teeth as she has another sip. "You weren't kidding." The cup is lowered, "This is a serious cup of java." As the superior officers enter the hangar area, she snaps a salute and stands as straight as one can while holding a cup of coffee, "I could… do that. Wait. I thought marines did things like that. SUre, though. I could do that."
Ut-oh. Suddenly Tisiphone's back in familiar territory — higher-ranked people are converging on her position. The relaxed stance starts stiffening toward Cadet-At-Inspection posture. "Yes, Sir," she says to Marcion. "I knit." She seems reluctant to admit it, though also a bit curious at the interest. Her posture straightens even more as Kafir approaches. "Sir!" She salutes. No answer is given to Atreus — she seems to be glancing between him and the Captain, as if trying to figure out what the answer should be.
Nikias unstraps himself from his seat and pats down his jacket to smooth out the wrinkles, achieving some success, before retrieving his briefcase. A few seconds are spent shaking his legs before he's ready to disembark. Ducking his head, possibly a little too much, he manages to avoid the common mistake of hitting the frame or the hinged door. So far, so good, in terms of not looking foolish. Rather than immediately go walking off, his eyes start to wander around the hangar, taking in his surroundings. People, craft, equipment, even the architecture of the hangar.
Marcion nods eagerly. "Ah, excellent. Rare for pilots to show interest in such things. Too much thought involved, not quite enough boom. Boom is fine but often distracting." He looks her over. "Uh, sorry. At ease. Lt. Marcion, engineer. What sort of pilot are you? Viper? Raptor? Likely Raptor… reflects in thoughtful nature."
"As you were," Kefir directs the now saluting pair of female pilots, without much pep or zing to the directive. "Careful, you almost spilled that," he then tells Daphne, before noting, "Smells good, though." After a long duty shift, he kind of looks like the sort of person who could use a cup of coffee. Still, he seems to have at last some interest in the Raptor, and turns to glance back toward it as it finally comes to rest and the hatch disengages.
Atreus snaps Marcion a quick salute, "Sir." But this time the salute is fairly quickly accomplished, though it is regulation in delivery otherwise. As Kefir passes, he maintains the salute a bit longer, "Welcome to the Deck, sirs." Marcion's comment gets a blank glance, "Knitting, sir?" Then, Tisiphone owns up and she is given a quick grin, "My sister knits, sir. It's a lovely art form. If I didn't think so, she'd stop sending me sweaters." Looking back to Marcion, he shakes his head, "No, sir. I'm Chief Atreus. This is my deck. The Ensigns? I'll let them answer for themselves. Help yourself to coffee. It's yonder." His gaze follows Kefir's to the Raptor, "Excuse me. I'd best retrieve the civvi."
Tisiphone risks what, to her mind, is massive familiarity by telling Kafir, "The coffee is fantastic, Sir." What a pickle she's in. She looks intensely embarrassed to be discussing the K-word in public — but as a Lieutenant's asking the questions, she's not in position to button her lip. "Viper pilot, Sir. Mathematics stream in CFA. Topology and knitting work well together."
Evandreus gets the bird into standby, rather than going through the whole checklist of post-flight just yet, unfastening himself from the pilot's seat in time to head to the hatchway, lifting a hand to rest on its upper limit. "Stick close to the bird, yah, dude?" he calls to his 1, "Someone'll be by for you soon."
Nikias turns and nods to Evandreus, seamlessly snapped out of his appraisal of the hangar deck. "Don't worry," he says with a knowing smile. "I know better than to go walking around a military vessel without clearance, especially with the impending QUODEL arrival." he replies. With his briefcase at his side, he relaxes next to the Raptor, resuming his inspection of the deck.
Marcion is distracted by Atreus. "Actually, Chief? If not a problem, could use a moment of your time. Not terribly urgent if other needs pressing." He then looks back to Tisi, his expression fairly surprised. "Truly! Never thought of it that way. Much prefer Raptors… thrust good and all but FTL truly magic." He looks around him. "Usually down in engineering. Not used to so much space." He looks back to Tisi. "Do you do afghans? Bunks can get colder than I like."
Daphne at eases as best she can with, you know, a cup of coffee. She actually holds it behind her waist before she catches on that she might be expected to drink it instead of being formally at ease. She's not being addressed by the Lieutenant, so she doesn't offer, simply electing to sip her coffee some more, instead.
Kefir's interest is somewhat split between the Raptor and Tisiphone, or really, the coffee. All about the coffee. "Yeah? Where'd you get it?" A quick glance between the ladies, as if they're hiding it from him or something. Well, not really, but close. And then a glance back out to the Raptor as the hatch finally opens and the pilot hangs there a moment. "Nice flying, Lieutenant," he calls over to the ship. And seeing that he's hanging there, he advises, "If you're going back out, make sure you check in with traffic, I'm off shift and if you're getting new escorts they might be from the one-fifteen."
Pausing, Atreus glances over to Marcion, "Sure, LT. Give me a moment and I'll be all ears. Uh. There is still coffee in the pot and cream in the thermos if you like." Turning, he signals one of the crew. When the woman moves closer, he speaks quietly to her, "See the civvi by the raptor? There's an escort headed this way. Mind leading him safely through the ruckus?" Ordered ruckus though it is. The woman nods, "Sure, Chief." When she heads over to Nikias, Atreus watches a moment, then heads back, "Now. What's on your mind, sir? Or is it something that takes less ambient activity?" Though there is a quick smile, and his growing pride in the Deck Crew is evident, he is the first to acknowledge that it is… busy… here.
Poorly-concealed smoldering resentment? Tisiphone's starting to work that angle when Marcion starts asking about afghans. When his attention is drawn elsewhere, she lets out a long, deep sigh. "Cannot frakking beLIEVE you said I knit," is muttered through her teeth, Daphne-wards. She starts to look toward the new arrival and his pilot, then draws her gaze back to Kafir. "It's in the thermos over there, Sir." The coffee location is clearly indicated. Caffeine should be share, especially with one's squadron leader. "Real cream, too."
"Awesome," Evan answers the dude, having heard way too many horror stories already about stray civvies getting underfoot. It's enough to keep him loitering in the hatchway, keeping an eye on his 1, for the time being. Not leaving the boat, but not seeming in any rush to get back to the controls, either. "So if this isn't a planned stop, what -does- bring you to Cerberus, guy?" he wonders, leaning casually to the side of the hatch. He flashes a grin over toward Kefir, "Thank you, sir," he answers back, sharp enough, but still just a little on the casual side. "I'm just seeing this fellow off before I take her through post-flight. She's napping for the night after this."
Daphne smiles delightfully, emitting a sweet, rapture filled chuckle from exposed, gleaming white teeth. She gestures to the thermos and takes a quick sidestep to make room for the Cap'n. Otherwise she has nothing to say at all right this instant, though she seems to be utterly enjoying Tisiphone's situation.
Marcion nods, attention pulled back to the Chief. "Yes, was given project by higher-ups. Pretty hush-hush. FTL related. Was requested to attempt a modification on FTL drives, Cerberus and Raptor. Would rather start with Raptor, less trouble losing Raptor than losing whole Battlestar. Wondered if you had one to spare, or if should request extra delivered planetside. Do not expect to lose Raptor, rather make prototype, but better safe, you know." He glances over at the embarrassed Ensign. "Could pay for yarn, if needed. Would prefer to order before we left dock, however."
"Tzonis Group business." Nikias begins, glancing back over to Evandreus. "More than a few components of the Cerberus were manufactured by its companies, so they sent me as a corporate liaison regarding any feedback or requests. Nothing as exciting nor crucial as the QUODEL itself, I admit." he explains, before glancing about. "Have you served aboard other Battlestars? A few pictures don't really do them justice."
Tisiphone already has odd blotches of sunburn-pink skin over swathes of her arms, shoulders and scalp; now the hot flush of embarrassment starts creeping up her neck and shorn scalp. "I-" Desperately, she tries a bit of a fib to Marcion: "I can't discuss it while on-duty, Sir." On-duty in fatigues, eh? "I'll contact you tomorrow. I promise." Anything to drop it, for now.
Atreus blinks a few times as the LT details enough of the project, "Ah." He glances toward the cluster around the pot, then calls to Kefir, "If you need to brew a new pot, the beans are in the shelf below. Grinder's to the side. Just don't overfill it or we'll have powdered coffee everywhere and that will piss me off." While it is amicably spoken, it is clear that it is also true. "Don't want to ban my own pot from the Hanger Deck if I don't have to, sir." Looking back to Marcion, the man considers, "Well, LT? I've been here for just under 10 hours now. I am only vaguely aware of the resources at my disposal. If you'll give me an hour, I'll be able to tell you if we need to order one or not." Again, his gaze flickers over the crew, "Or. Better." Turning, he lifts a hand, "Rodreguez?" A man nearby looks up, then comes over. "Yeah, Chief?" Atreus lowers his voice to speak to his subordinate. The conversation is muted and goes back and forth for a while. Finally, Atreus nods and looks back to Marcion, "We can put one together for you, sir. When do you need it?"
Meanwhile, the deckie approaches the Raptor. She nods to Nikias and Evandreus, "Excuse me, sirs? I've been asked to take the gentleman to the checkpoint. If now's good?"
"Actually, sir?" queries the other ensign with a somber smile, "If you're heading planetside for supplies, I've been trying to get ahold of some proper drawing pads and charcoal. Could probably get it the same place you get whatever Ensign Apostolos is… looking for." She coughs to herself. "I'm Ensign Kolettis, by the way." She listens to Nikias and raises an eyebrow, listening to the man, and then her pupils fall to his shoes, of all things. She gets a really good look.
Coffee makes for not flying vipers into the side of the ship. It’s a good thing. When the thermos is pointed out, Kefir goes over to pour himself a cup. For the moment, he just contents himself with that while the crazy occurs around him.
"This is my very first. Assaultstar, before this, then an Escort Carrier. And you're right," Evan adds. "It's quite a boat. Hope you get a good chance to look around, dude," he wraps up as the deckie approaches to pick up his passenger, grinning at her with a jaunty, "He's all yours. See you around guy," he adds, to Nikias.
'We can put one together for you'? Tisiphone shoots Daphne a glance that doesn't threaten death for the first time since the other Ensign arrived, really. She looks a little like a child who was delighted with waving her LEGO ship around until discovering other kids get to build ones.
Nikias smiles politely, "Now is good." he answers simply, bending down to pick up his briefcase, ready to follow the deckhand. "Thanks for the lift." he says to Evandreus with a nod and polite smile, before following.
"No rush," Marcion says to the Chief with a smile. "Will be doing the math for at least a couple of days. Not something you just want to toss together. Not unlike a good afghan." He blinks a few times, then his eyes widen. "Oh, of course, Ensign. Apologies. Did not mean to make you discuss off duty things while on. Again, apologies. Used to Engineering room. Not much use for salutes and the like down there." He glances down at his sheet. "Be interesting to work on Raptor FTL drive again. Old system, but good. Reliable."
As Nikias bends, the deckie's gaze follows to the briefcase. Or the shoes. Whichever it is, she is suitably impressed. When the man stands again, she nods, "Follow me, please." A glance to Evan and she inclines her head, then remembers and salutes, "Sir." The salute is clean and crisp, if brief. Turning, she leads the way across the deck toward the stairs. "Watch your step, sir." Though the deck is clean, with everything put away where it belongs, it does not hurt to be careful. "right this way."
Atreus nods to Marcion, then turns to his subordinate, "Thanks, Rodreguez. Put together a team and a list of parts, please…? We'll go over it later." The other man nods, salutes in a general 'this one's for all of you' way and returns to what he was doing before. Atreus nods, then turns back to the knot of people. "It will be a fun project, sir. Let me know what other help you need. We have some sharp people here with a bit of FTL experience. At least for the nuts and bolts jobs." And maybe a bit more. "They are good drives." This time? He inclines his head toward the pot, "Looks like I'm about out of this pot, sir. but, I can make more if you'd like a mug? There is cream in the thermos and I do have sugar. Just don't use it, myself."
Nikias passes by the group engaged all matters relating to coffee, but the warning by the deckhand keeps his eyes forward to avoid any potential collisions with equipment or busy personnel, until he's at the staircase.
Evandreus tips off a little salute to the deckie, just to facilitate her putting her own salute away the faster. "No prob," he tells the both of them in one go before he's ducking back into his boat and into the cockpit to go through post-flight properly, tapping up system by system to green and then power down in turn.
Tisiphone bobs a silent nod to Marcion. The embarrassed flush starts creeping away, far more slowly than it appeared. "I gotta get out of here," she mutters to Daphne. Louder, so more can hear: "I need to go. Medicator's orders, some cra-um. Stuff I have to do every three hours. Sir." Pause. "Sirs. Chief. I'll check back in a few hours about the flight suit." A quick salute is snapped, and then she's moving for the exit as fast as she can go without losing all dignity to a sprint.
Marcion's head bobs lightly, but once his thought process settles for long enough, it is shaking. "No coffee, thank you chief. Have to be careful with stimulants. Doctor's orders." He glances at the Raptor on the deck. "Hmmm… Raptor. With a Mordan-Systems power plant, yes? And R-Class mk IV FTL system?" He taps his lips. "Haven't torn one of those apart in years." He then looks at the chief. "You have good FTL people? Fantastic. Always good to talk to another enthusiast. Oh, and Ensign…" he looks over to say something else to her… and she is gone. "Something I said?"
"Thanks for the coffee," offers Kefir, after drinking a bit of it down. Apparently, with his mission finished and his shift over, it’s time for him to beat feet as well.
Atreus waves after both Tris and Kefir. "Sirs." He watches them for a moment, then turns back to Marcion, "Oh, indeed. The Mordan-Systems energy exchange is better than others. Though I will have to see if we have a mk IV or something earlier." Reaching past Daphne, he claims his empty cup and looks into it, "To caffeinate, or not to caffeinate. That is the question." Then, he pauses and picks up a smallish jar of cream from the shelf, "Oh, Ensign? Would you give this to the other Ensign, please?" From the look of the label, it is a burn cream. "We use this down here. It's the only thing that seems to work."
"Very good, Chief. Appreciate assistance, look forward to working with your crew." Looking about, he glances down at his notebook again and then turns to the door, before turning back and looking at Daphne. "Uh… Ensign, yes? Other Ensign, left in a hurry. What was her name?"
Atreus glances at Daphne, then turns to Marcion, "Any time, LT. As I said, it will be fun." His glance drifts to the nearest bird and he perks up, "Actually? If you have a moment, the crew is putting an FTL in there. Let's look at the couplings. If it isn't required, it might do for your project, sir. I do not have the status on that raptor, but…" He pauses and glances over his shoulder toward the exit, "Uh. Ensign Apostolos had a bit of a sunburn. Or… something. She may have needed an ibuprofen or something." He does glance back at Daphne for a moment, then looks back at the officer.
His mind back on FTL Drives (indeed, his mind never left them for long) Marcion nods to himself and then falls into step with the chief. "Always willing to look, good to see what the birds are flying with. Mk II on up will suffice… despite change in numeral, no major advances made. Mostly FTL Bubble modification."
Atreus' step is lively as his mind is engaged, "Oh, I know. Did you ever work on a Mk I? I got to tear into one while in training. It had some quirks, without a doubt. But, the sheer elegance of the design?" He shakes his head, "The II couldn't touch that. though the IV is similar in some ways. I sometimes wonder what adding the Bubble mod to a I would do." Reaching the Raptor in question, Atreus ducks a bit to get beneath it. The craft has been hoisted above the deck to facilitate the work being done, "Watch your head, sir."
"It would explode. I can say that with the full weight of trial and error behind me." Marcion gestures to a small scar above his right eyebrow with a sheepish grin. "Power draw too great. A shame." Ducking the craft as well, Marcion looks around. "Mk I elegant to be sure, but got too cute in my opinion. Too focused on repeating the old Battlestar design writ small. Still, most accurate Raptor drive ever built, save the IV. Drift under 5k inside the Red Line. Brilliant."
Evandreus finally finishes up his post-flight and strolls out along the wing before hopping to the deck. His backseater having already filled out the external postflighting, he's more or less free to go except to look over the paperwork, checking it twice and signing off. Another shift over.
Atreus chuckles, the sound a little muffled, coming from beneath the raptor as it does, "Yeah? Can't say I'm surprised, really. But, you'd think there would be something you could do about the power feed. Maybe bleed some off into other systems or patch a relay in or… Something. But, I'm sure you thought of all those options and more." Shaking his head, he reaches up and flicks a switch. "Just making sure the power's off to this station while we are poking around. Wouldn't do to fry the deck so early in my tenure here." Hearing Evan's feet hit the deck, or maybe feeling the faint unfamiliar vibration beneath his feet, the Chief ducks to look over toward the raptor. Spotting the pilot, he waves, or salutes. Hard to tell. Looking back up, he adds, "See? The power couplings here and here? This is probably set up for a III or IV."
"Ahhh, yes. Triple Redundancy. Quite excellent. Nothing quite as messy as an FTL Jump interrupted by a blown fuse." Marcion frowns. "Bleed off? Quite possible. Easier just to realign. Could probably build Mk IV with Mk I parts if machinist shop talented enough. Circuit boards nearly identical. Part of problem. Once Raptor worked sufficiently, people went back to Vipers. Flashier."
Evandreus catches the wave, and tosses a cheerful one back to the Chief, evidently not much of one to stand on ceremony. He hands off the paperwork to one of the other deckies, exchanging a few nonsense pleasantries in the meanwhile, then quirks both brows upward and looks both ways before crossing deck.
Daphne comes in from around the bend, as it were. The young ensign managed to literally get sidetracked by a shiny object… or a series of them, as the case may be. Her face emotes excitement and… more excitement. She is fangirling. Over the ship. "I didn't think a hangar could actually -smell- like this."
A team of snipes is closing on Evandreus' position. They are maneuvering a wheeled cart full of parts toward a work area. Luckily, they are far enough away that the pilot is in no danger of being run down.
Atreus looks up again, nodding, "No kidding. That would end someone's trip really quickly." And horribly. Reaching up into the compartment, he points out one or two other features, "But, see here and here? I'd put cash on this one being a IV. The Is didn't have this extension here." Daphne's voice catches his attention and Atreus ducks to look beneath the ship, "Oh, hey, Ensign. Uh. Smell like what? Exactly?" Amusement crinkles his eyes again and he glances up at Marcion.
Marcion nods at the coupling, then sniffs. "Smells of grease and sweat. New Raptor smell. And of course…" he sniffs again, "Carbon. Inevitable, with young pilots, I believe. Trusting to skids a bit too much. Ahhh…" he points up into the ship. "This ship was loved. Jerry rigged for more power. Quite effective. Quite against regs. Might win a race or two during a long CAP, though." He smiles. "Pilots who are also mechanics. Thing of beauty, providing they stay away from my FTL drives." he laughs. "Err, your drives, Chief. Sorry."
Evandreus picks up his pace a little, crossing over to Daphne's side of things, pausing before disappearing through the hatchway to the stairs, turning his head, neck, and finally shoulders to peek back toward the deck, brows furrowed a little and nostrils flaring into a curious sniff.
Daphne is emphatic, extending her arms to indicate the hangar bay itself, "It's so -clean-. It doesn't smell like engine oil or tilium or exhaust. It just smells like rubber, cement, spacecraft." She turns a skeptical eye towards Atreus, "How long is this going to last? I'm guessing this is pretty rare and I should just keep inhaling it while I've got the chance."
Atreus laughs at Marcion's answer, "Yeah, on all counts. But, I was hoping for something a bit more… poetic." When Daphne chimes in, he lifts both hands to gesture her way, "Like that." He looks up at the underside of the Raptor and some of the laughter dies, "Hmmm. I'd rather they didn't tinker for a bit. At least until I get a feel for how well the crew does. I'll talk to the CAG later. But, yeah…" His tone softens a bit, "Whomever did the mod did a good job. That is encouraging anyway." Slipping back out from under the Raptor, he chuckles, "My FTL. Get it right, LT." The laughter in his tone conveys both his seriousness and the mirth there. Standing again, he tilts his head toward the vast expanse of the Deck, "It will stay this way, Ensign." Unlike the other assertion, this one holds no mirth at all. In its place is a quiet authority.
Marcion nods gravely as he climbs down from the Raptor. "Yours until I get my hands on it, Chief. Then, once done, yours again. Not one to be too territorial. Besides…" he gestures vaguely towards the engine room. "Mine is bigger." A grin, then he looks to the exuberant Ensign. "Good plan, chief. Train 'em early. Much approve."
Evandreus tosses a grin at the back of Daphne's head. Not that she can see it, at all. But his urge to go get out of this flightsuit is swiftly overtaking any urge to stay and chatter while loitering in a duty area, and so he turns back and biffs on down into the stairwell.
"No, really." elaborates Daphne to Marcion. "I-I mean sir. No, really sir." It's tacked onto the end as if she just realized she pushed the wrong button in a Skinner box. "I grew up with that smell… the one that isn't here. It's pretty impressive. We did flight quals off of an old gunstar that smelled like the inside of a motor. Used to be that you could tell if the raptor guys were spooling because the grease smelled thinner."
Atreus chuckles, "I am sure that I am territorial enough for both of us, LT." He lifts a hand, rubbing the palm up and back over his scalp. Walking back toward Daphne, he pauses long enough to take a clipboard from a snipe. Glancing over it, he almost signs it, then pauses. "Do me a favor, Santiago. Check this figure, then get back to me." The man nods and turns back the way he came. "Gotta train 'em early. It's too hard to change behavior later." Then, he looks back to Daphne, "Wait. You were… Oh! When you were trained as a pilot. For a minute, I thought you were claiming snipe training, sir."
Frowning at his notes, Marcion sits on the floor, without preamble. In his greens! Laundry must LOVE this guy. "Signature to be entirely hidden, or scrambled? Either difficult, first may well be impossible… perhaps some direct energy slough off… no, too risky, might fry pilot in her chair…"
Daphne blinks, "Me? No." The young pilot shrugs her shoulders, "My dad's a navy engineer, though. So he passed on an appreciation of fine machinery. Even if I don't know how to calculate a gear ratio or crank a torque shaft," It's the tone of voice that probably offers a clue that she's kidding, intentionally speaking babble just for the sake of hearing herself speak. There's enough oomph to it that she's either an idiot, or just trying to sound clueless. "So I know what that smell means, and if I don't smell it, then things are awfully tidy." Eyes peer towards Marcion, "Uh… are you okay, sir?"
Atreus clearly is not fooled by Daphne's techno-babble, "Uh… huh. And if your father wanted to add silicone to the gas mixture?" That gleam returns as he gently teases her. Looking down at Marcion, a brow lifts, "Uh. Sir? Please don't sit here. In fact, we should take this discussion elsewhere. I'm off shift in a few and haven't gotten much sleep in the last couple of…" He pauses, "Wait. You want to mask the signature of the ships?" Frowning, he speaks more softly, "Just change the thermals of the output. Signatures are readings of the chemical residue of the ship's passage, right? If you change the temperature of the exhaust…? Wouldn't that muddle it enough?"
Marcion shakes his head. "Nono. Well, yes, technically, but I don't think they care so much about altering our signature as scrambling it." He stands up. "Altering thermals could be like forging a signature… DRADIS might assume we were another boat entirely. Careful examination could have folks assume we were Galactica, for instance, just based on our readings." He sighs. "VERY Difficult with new E-Class, though. Single Spinner configuration difficult to forge. And I suspect that what they want is a stealth Jump. No signature whatsoever, either leaving or coming."
Daphne takes a few steps back from Marcion, holding her hands up in mock surrender. She's literally inching towards the exit. "I wouldn't know. You could ask him. He's the chief engineer on the <Insert Battlestar Here>. I'm going to leave you two to talk shop.. but I really need to, uh… hit the showers and then do… various things."
Atreus nods to Marcion, "Oh, I see. Well, let me pull together a team. I am sure I can work the schedules so they can spend some time working with you. It would be educational for all of us, I am sure." The man is clearly itching to begin, but equally clearly very tired. He glances back to Daphne and nods, "Good to know. Thanks. Just… Don't mention to him; or anyone, anything about this conversation, please." As though it is an afterthought, he takes the small tub of ointment from its place and tosses it toward her, "For the other Ensign." Nigh magical snipe burn cream. "Thanks for stopping by, Ensign. It was a pleasure meeting you."
"Had best get to drawing board, or will have nothing to discuss." Marcion look down at his pants, frowning a bit. How did they get dusty, again? "Get sleep. Good for brain. Tough on coffee. I will after I jot a few notes down. Thanks for time, Chief. Feel free to bang on door if you ever have any ideas. Gets boring listening to self talk after awhile. Half the time, I know what I am about to say before I say it." With that, he wanders towards the door.