| Money Shot |
| Summary: | Daphne gives Tisiphone a callsign. Cidra tells a story. |
| Date: | 18 Feb 2041 |
| Related Logs: | Red v Blue |
| Players: |
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[ Viper Squadron ]----[ Naval Deck - Battlestar Cerberus ]
Viper Squadron pilots call this home. Berthings line the walls with grey curtains to cover their sleeping areas. Lockers sit between each stack of berths and a round table sits in the center with chairs around it. A hatch at the end leads to the communal Head that the Raptor pilots share.
"If we feed them, they'll just grow stronger, and frakked if we need /that/," says Tisiphone with a snort. "Lords Above and Below, what are those Raptors covered in, Battlestar armour? Frak the Cylons. We need to be worried about a Raptor Rebellion." She raises a hand as she passes by Evandreus and Juno on the way to her bunk — that's all she's mustering for politeness, it seems — and comes to another abrupt halt when she spies the taped-on note. Plucks it off. Stares for several long seconds. Her eventual verdict: "Hunh? The frak?"
"Don't look at me. Considering how fast you cleaned out Lasher, I think you should be called Money Shot." She smiles sweetly in that way which allows a woman to simultaniously look both innocent and guilty as hell.
Evandreus lifts his own hand to high Tisiphone five on her raised hand as she heads past. Probably not what she meant, but, then— he's watching her take in the new Callsignage. Nevermind the fact that his conversation bait floats ignored in the water— she took enough of his bait last night for a while. Wait. Not like that. In the war games. He slides Juno a sly look. "Get ready to run," he murmurs at her under his breath. Just in case the Greyhound feels like chasing bunnies again.
Cidra appears. Outside the hatch, that is. She's in her off-duties and her footsteps are quiet, so there is not much sound to announce her approach. Stealth CAG. She pushes it ajar (or further so, if is open) and sticks her head inside. Just observing the pilots in their natural habitat without comment for a moment.
Tisiphone's just…nonplussed. Seriously nonplussed. "What?" she says to Daphne, then again, to Evandreus, "What?" Realization starts flickering, like a antique fluorescent lamp grudgingly pressed back into service. "Wai-i-it. /This/? You're shitting me." She looks from the ECOs back to Daphne again. The evil smirk on her friend's face seems to clinch it. "Oh, come /on/! What? Why this?"
Tisiphone's just…nonplussed. Seriously nonplussed. "What?" she says to Daphne, then again, to Evandreus, "What?" Realization starts flickering, like a antique fluorescent lamp grudgingly pressed back into service. "Wai-i-it. /This/? You're shitting me." She looks between the Raptor pilot and ECO, then back to Daphne again. The evil smirk on her friend's face seems to clinch it. "Oh, come /on/! What? Why this?"
Juno seems to have lost track of what anyone's talking about. "So uhh…yeah, I think I'm going to go check out my berth." She rises to her feet, seeming a bit baffled as she starts to move through the viper berth.
Evandreus brings up both hands to his face, covering his mouth and then opening up his fingers to call, quietly, but from a distance, "'Cause you'd rather chase down bunnies than stay on target," he teases her, then ducks to the side, lifting an arm as if expecting retribution, ducking straight after Juno as if he might beat a retreat, himself.
"Well you already heard my reasoning." Daphne reaches for her sketch pad and pulls out some charcoal pencils, "It was good to meet you, Juno. Maybe we'll be on CAP together." She watches Evandreus with an amused eye and nods politely to the CAG.
"Ensign Kolettis," Cidra acknowledges Daphne's nod with a verbal greeting. "And all around. Good eve." She tries to slip past the Raptor folk near the entrance and into the Viper pit. She's on a mission here, apparently, despite her off-duty dress.
For a moment, Tisiphone looks Genuinely Angry, all lightning-flash pale eyes and lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. The sort of look that bullies — and, perhaps, teasing Bunnies — thrive on. The next moment, she looks like she's trying very hard to stay pissed off at Evandreus, crumpling the note into a tiny, wadded-up ball. Last of all, she flings the paper at the Raptor pilot, anger leaching away to bitter humour. "FRAK. ME," she mutters, slumping back a bit. "It was that dumb what I did? Seriously? I-" Cidra's voice brings her up short, eyes wide. "Major!" It's almost a squeak. "Uh-" Don't salute, dammit, do not salute. "Nice to see you?"
Oh, Major. Since she doesn't see other saluting, Juno simply pauses and offers a polite, "Sir." She'll wait to see if the CAG requires her attention before stepping out in the hall, and waits politely in place.
"Ow!" Evan cries out when the little ball of paper hits him, but, well, he's laughing, so it can't have actually hurt. And then there's a Major. "Cidra," he greets, going for informal, since she's in her off-duties. "And no, but if you got named after the awesome fireworks you put on out there it wouldn't be fair to the other Ensigns," he grins. "At least this way you can just tell people it's 'cause you were crazy fast or something."
Daphne attempts to look smaller once she's addressed by name. Was she supposed to do that? Oh. Frak. "M-Major Hahn." She nods again, but doesn't smile. She even stops sketching for the few moments it takes before she realizes that she's in an off duty area and of course she can sketch. She turns back toewards the others, "I'm still pretty partial to Money Shot? Because she just flew over and… borrrsch!"
The barest hint of a smirk comes to Cidra's lips. Kids. "And Ensign Apostolos." Blue eyes rest for a moment on the ensign she named. The switch back to Daphne. Then Tisiphone again. "I was told I would find you both here. I have been reviewing the footage and reports from last night's exercise. You both performed quite well." Slim brows arch. "What were you reasoning about, Kolettis? Money Shot?" She is intrigued. And ever so faintly amused. She lets the Raptor folk abscond without hold-up beyond polite parting nods to them and a cordial, "Sextus" to Evandreus. "I shall see you both later." The CAG is a bus driver and bunks with her own kind.
And with that, out Juno goes! Off to Raptor berth land, where her kind are no doubt fed milk and hay by beautiful women daily. Or something.
Juno heads through the exit labeled <O> Out.
Juno has left.
Evandreus takes the 'see you later' as a 'scram,' and, so, well, scram he does, leaving this matter in more capable hands. "Later!"
Evandreus heads through the exit labeled <O> Out.
Evandreus has left.
Maybe the Major's here about…Tisiphone's recent litter-attack on Evandreus. Such are the things that pass for logic in a panicked Ensign's mind. She crosses over to the crumpled piece of paper and recollects it, quick as can be. "It was a tough fight, Major. I underestimated the Raptors. Daphne and I chewed on one the whole fight, nearly, before it cracked. I…" Hesitation. Greatly daring, she finishes: "I thought we ended up doing well."
"That would be because Ensign Apostolos went…" Daphne stops and performs a mental inventory. She's perhaps surprised to find that she's lacking in enough sanity not to go through with this, though she goes for sarcastic and it ends up sounding more like the uncomfortable laughter of a child testing her limits, "Went up to Laskari and unloaded right into his face, sir." She goes back to her sketch, though does keep an eye on both pilots. She looks slightly uncomfortable and the Major's commentary on them both doing well doesn't appear to have an affect on her. If Cidra's a good judge of these things, Daphne's a little jealous of her friend right now.
"Vipers always underestimate the Raptors, Ensign," Cidra says with a wink, sliding over to seat herself in a chair and plucking a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. She's staying, apparently. Fear. She lights up, smoking languidly. "Perhaps at least you are one who learned that lesson early." A long plume of smoke is blown out. "Yes, you did very well. If I am to understand things, you took out one of the Raptors by yourself and got in fine…" Smirk. "…money shots on Lieutenant Laskaris. Finished Captain Sitka as well, no small thing. Reservist or no the man demonstrates talent."
Sitka arrives from the Deck 4.
Sitka has arrived.
Squi-i-irm. Tisiphone hasn't yet figured out that it's jealousy she's picking up on, but /something's/ got her vaguely unhappy about her current situation. "I… Um." She looks back over her shoulder, Daphne-ward, perhaps for inspiration. Getting none, she digs her hands deep down into her pockets and worries at her bottom lip with her teeth for a while before answering. "I only got the shots I did because of what Daphne and Captain Kefir had done, Major." She /does/ sound painfully, Ensign-ly earnest. "And, and Lieutenant Laskaris… That was- I don't even know what happened there. The others were down, I- I just charged. I didn't even go after the proper target at first!"
Tisiphone finishes, mumbling a bit, "It was just dumb luck that I was the last one up."
Cidra is settled into a chair, talking with the ensigns, smoking languidly and eyeing the pair the faintest hint of a smile on her face. A rather cat-watching-mice look. She's in her off-duties, copious tattoos on display, and her manner is relaxed. "You did admirably to last as long as you did, Kolettis," she says, gesturing a cigarette-wielding finger to Daphne as well. "Against opponents superior both in rank and experience, it was not an endeavor you were *supposed* to win. But the reports show your defensive flying was quite solid."
It's been a couple of hours since the visiting Reservist Captain wandered out, and now he's wandering back in again. Probably because this is where all his stuff is. The fatigues jacket he'd been sporting is shuffled out of one arm at a time, cigarette switched from left hand to right as he weasels the thing off and lobs it into his bunk. He, too, is sporting copious amounts of ink. Mostly his left arm, from shoulder to fingers. Something's at the back of his neck as well, though it's less readily identifiable. "Evening, sir," he greets Cidra, somewhat curt though not unfriendly. The pair of Ensigns get a nod.
"Sir," says Tisiphone to Sitka as he passes, sounding a bit glum. She gives her shoulders a restless shrug, then slouches back against the locker, gnawing another shred or two of dead skin off her lip. "The set-up for the maneuvers were-" Deep sigh. Be honest, girl. "They didn't make any sense to me. Three Vipers defending stationary targets, against two Vipers /and/ all those Raptors? I mean- unless it was just to humble us. Like you said, Viper pilots underestimate Raptors."
Daphne finishes up her scetch, stopping only to lift the sketchbook and carefully blow the excess coal onto a napkin she sets just beneath it for such an occasion. After that, she goes for her lint remover and rolls it, I kid you not, over the bed, just in case she missed a spot. She's drawn a viper sitting in the hangar with the door open, along with damned near enough detail that she probably worked off of a photograph. Every oil drum, every piece of machinery, even the locations of deck crew. It's only visible for a second, though. "Thank you, sir. But Tisiphone's right. That felt like their match to lose. Even with two Captain Abbascias' we wouldn't have had much of a chance."
"Captain Sitka, good eve," Cidra replies to the Reservist. Her tone is friendly enough. "I was going to come looking for you later. I should speak to you, and Captain Abbascia and Lieutenant Laskaris, for a proper briefing on last evening's exercise. But that can wait. There is a matter more important to resolve from that affair." Blue eyes glint, switching from Daphne to Tisiphone. "The deck was stacked, you are most correct. The key to it was mission-focus. I was surprised Captain Abbascia did not concentrate more heavily on the Raptors. But. No matter. Important business. Ensign Kolettis, I think, has found Ensign Apostolos a very fitting callsign."
When he realises precisely what conversation he's walked into, Shiv ducks his head, and takes his time in pulling from his cig. Eye contact's avoided with both his 'boss' and the two junior officers as he swings into his bunk. Not fully inside, but perched on the edge of the mattress for now. The one above gets a brief glance, as if he half expects to find the journalist dangling from the ladder by her high heeled shoes. "Sure, Ci- sir." He actually has to catch himself, there. And a crooked little smile briefly forms, oddly self-deprecating for a fighter jock. Even a part-time one. "It's been a while since I've run a game like that. I'm sure I was a bit rusty. These two were fantastic, though. Kolettis held us off like a pro."
Blink. Blink. If Tisiphone was an android, there'd be a little ?ERROR? message scrolling across her eye-sockets right about now. "Major?" She's dreaming, right? Someone's going to pinch her or dump her out of her bunk and she'll wake up to a hazy golden morning where she's not Money Shot Apostolos for the rest of her gods-given days, /right/? She stiffens, looking down hard at her booted toes, and clears her throat several times before speaking again. "O-of course, Major. It makes sense. I'll let the deck crew know." And there it is — the embarrassed flush starts crawling inexorably up the back of her neck and scalp.
Justice is Served. That's what the nebulously satisfied smile on the other Ensign's lips would say if she weren't so conspicuously hiding her mouth behind her hand. "You can thank Lefka Ori Air Force Base on Picon. They mauled us, sir. I left knowing that if I didn't love flying so much, I'd hate it more than anything else in the solar system. They were brutal to me and Money Shot." She smiles like a bitch to Tisiphone and even waves pleasantly to her, grinning.
"We are off-duty," Cidra says with a low chuckle at the near-miss at her name. "You may call me Cidra if you are comfortable doing so. Or Toast." Saying her callsign turns her chuckle rueful. "From what I have reviewed you and Lieutenant Laskaris made a formidable pair." But most of her attention is still on Tisiphone. Her smile is broader, and not without wry sympathy. "A callsign is as much an object lesson in humility as a convenient comm handle, young Money Shot." She is christened, then. "Yours, at least, stems from a moment in which you acquitted yourself well. We are not all so fortunate. Can you hazard a guess as to why they call me Toast?" She taps her cigarette lightly in a convenient ashtray, taking languid drags as she awaits guesses.
If this is about to turn into a game of 'guess how I got my callsign', it doesn't appear that Ibrahim wants any part of it. His cigarette is nursed with alacrity; smoke sifts from his lips and nose, clouding his features and hiding the subtle consternation on his face. After a few moments, he tips back into his bunk, and rifles about on the shelf with a soft rustling and thumping of objects being rearranged.
Oh, such a pissy, wounded look is shot from Tisiphone to Daphne. The Ensign grinds her teeth a little, chewing back some uncharitable phrase or another before she returns her attention to the Major. "Yeah," she says, still glum. "Okay. I mean- Really. Okay. Once I'm done dying of embarrassment, here, I know what you're saying will make sense." She scrubs a hand over her shorn and very pink scalp. "Your callsign? I, um. Figured it was safer not to wonder too much." She licks her bottom lip, then changes topic, just slightly. "Are you here for Daphne's callsign, too?" Daphne. Her dear, sweet, friend.
"Was it for your admirable speechwriting skills, s…Major?" Spoken like one who's unsure if she's allowed to be sarcastic or not. Daphne closes her sketchbook and puts it back onto the shelf, and flashes Tisiphone a 'What? How couldn't I?' expression while trying, and failing, to maintain a straight face. She says or asks nothing else.
Cidra leaves Sitka to his rustling. The ensigns are her prey tonight. A sidelong glance at Daphne. Considering. "Not unless you have a suggestion of one, Apostolos," she replies wryly. "And I shall admit, it is not a story I tell often, how I acquired it. I will for you, however, Money Shot. If you'd like to hear it. It will salve your pride a bit, I think." She winks. A simple, "Not quite" to Daphne. She smokes some more, preparing herself for this particular tale.
Sitka finally drags out what looks like a pad of writing paper and a pen. The latter's clicked on, and the former's flipped until he finds a free sheet. He's still got half an ear (and eye) on the conversation at the table. Hearing the CAG's callsign story isn't the sort of opportunity you pass up.
A suggestion for a callsign for her dear, sweet friend? Tisiphone's eyes brighten in a not-particularly-friendly way. She straightens a bit, as if she's got an idea right there on the tip of her tongue… yet all she says is, "I would /really/ like to suggest one, right about now, Major, but I can't think of any." She doesn't appear to be lying, either. "I honestly can't imagine it being even half as bad, and- um. Why you'd keep it, if it was. So, I- I'm really curious."
"I just have to do something noteworthy…. good or bad." Daphne nods her head, "I just haven't done anything yet. But go on." Eyes move between the two pilots. She gives Tisiphone a smile, then returns to the CAG.
Cidra waggles her cigarette between her fingers at Daphne, shrugging. "Do not worry, Kolettis. Callsigns come to us all eventually." Inevitable. Like death and taxes." A sidelong look toward Sitka's bunk. Well, the Reservist is in the vicinity, so he can hear her tale of woe as well. "Like most I got mine at my first assignment. I was doing courier and logistics runs to ships in orbit, based out in the Scorpia Shipyards. It was not a glorious post, but it was a good way to learn. I had led a rather sheltered life before joining the Navy. I had never been off Gemenon before, even for university I attended the Kobol Colleges. I did not mix easily with the other junior officers. I wanted very much to fit in…" Another drag on her cigarette is taken, smoke puffed out in short spurts. *re*
Sitka is busy writing. Yeah. He's not paying any attention to the folks across the way, or the 'tale of woe'. Surely he has more manners than that. Scritch, scritch, scratch every so often; his shoulders are slouched, and his cigarette dangles from one corner of his mouth while he 'works'. When Cidra reaches the bit about the Kobol colleges, his eyes briefly come up, then drop again smoothly.
Tisiphone looks up from her painstakingly well-examined boot-tips, pale brows shooting up her forehead. "Gemenon," she echoes. Surprised. The Major gets a bit of a re-assessing, perhaps.
"Mmm-hmm," Cidra affirms to Tisiphone as to her own home colony. Her accent still bears strong traces of it, albeit softened by decades of living off-colony in the Navy. "I grew up in a city called Shinkirsei not far from the Colleges. Not so big a place, but very lovely. Many old temples, and the air from the mountains was sweet as sugar in the summers." A wistful touch comes to her voice as she speaks of home, but she goes on with her other story without dwelling. "In any case. Scorpia. I do not know how much you know of Temple rituals, but I communed at times with the gods through use of chamalla. And, I will admit - when I was younger - I took some occasionally more…recreationally." Another drag is taken on her cigarette. Boring Leonis tobacco she's smoking now. Don't get any ideas. "…Anyhow. I had brought some with me from Gemenon and I invited my ECO and a couple of other ensigns to…partake with me on one of our off-weekends. I thought it would make them see me in a different light, perhaps." She shakes her head. "Youth, it can be very foolish."
The Reservist continues writing. Looks like it might be a letter to someone, though it might be a duty report. With egregious amounts of hesitation and things crossed out. Every so often he pauses to review what he's written, withdraw the smoke from his lips, and flick blue eyes Cidra's way as she reaches a bend in the story. They're brief, though, those moments.
Tisiphone's face screws up in an odd expression. If it wasn't the CAG telling this story, it'd be the point in time where she'd probably say, 'You are SO shitting me.' Quite the dilemma. She contents herself with a low whistle and, "Frak. Me. This is not ending well."
Daphne listens to Cidra and nods her head in recognition of the Shinkirsei, though she says nothing until mention of just what she did did, or attempted to do, with the other ensigns. She stares at Cidra and blinks not once, but twice. It probably wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure she's so straight edge one could use her to build a house.
Cidra pauses to wink at Tisiphone. Indeed, it probably isn't. Ahem. "There was a little-used supply shed at one end of the base that was not infrequently used for activities the junior officers did not terribly want their betters knowing about, so there we went. And we…partook." A snort. "Anyhow. It would not have been of note at all had not my ECO tossed his roll in the waste bin. None of us really noticed until…" She sighs. "It was not a large fire, but it did set off the sprinklers and attracted the base Damage Control team."
There's a soft, muffled little guffaw from across the room. Sounds suspiciously like it came from Sitka's bunk. Anyone looking over would find him studiously concentrating on his letter, however, with his cigarette burning away between two fingers.
Daphne covers her mouth, which promptly spills open. "W… what happened?"
"Oh-h-h, frak." Maybe Tisiphone isn't quite as squeaky-clean as Daphne, or maybe she's just got a vivid picture in her mind from the Major's tale. Either way, she grimaces sympathetically. "And you didn't get bounced." This seems to be the most amazing part, to the Ensign. Of course, she /is/ fresh from merciless instructors training her to believe a failure to salute was a shootin' offense.
Cidra's eyes shift sidelong to Sitka. She blows smoke in his general direction. Laugh it up, bucko. She clears her throat rather primly, shaking her head to Tisiphone. "No. We were brigged until we stopped giggling, however, and later reprimanded. My squad leader thought a 'reminder' of the incident would serve me well. And so, I became Toast." She chuckles. "Do not spread it around. I do not tell the story often. But you earned it, I think, Money Shot."
Sitka might be smiling slightly, when Cidra looks over at him. His thumb is rubbed against his cheek a couple of times, and by the time his hand withdraws, the smile's gone. "Major's right," he murmurs, keeping his eyes down still. "Not every day your CO tells you a story like that. It's something of an honour among pilots."
"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Yeah." It's a lot to let sink in, all at once. Tisiphone scrubs at her scalp again — at some point, over the tale, her skin faded from pink back to its usual pallor — and nods several times. "Point taken. I-um. I appreciate the extra perspective, Major. It's- I never would have guessed." After all, if Lieutenants have an answer for everything, omniscience must be reached well before one makes Major.
Daphne reaches for her sketchpad again, and flips it open to a fresh page. Charcoal pencils are engaged, and she's back to drawing. "I won't tell a soul. I picked a good time to be a fly on the wall, it sounds like." She starts to draw, otherwise staying on the edges of this discussion.
"Take it as an object lesson, if you like," Cidra says. She's smoked her tobacco down to the filter, so it's stubbed out in the ashtray. "Our careers are more than one moment, Apostolos. You have done well for yourself. Wear your name with pride, but do not allow one moment of luck to make you overconfident. Mine remains with me as a lesson in humility and a guide to better sense, and I am a better pilot and officer for it." She stands and says simply, "Good night." With that, she leaves Viper country to return from whence she came.