| Please Don't Stop the Rejn |
| Summary: | Allan Rejn returns from his Admiral-imposed exile on the Corsair. |
| Date: | 8 Apr 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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DECK 9 — SHIP'S LIBRARY
Racks of books extend deep into this room, nearly darkening the overhead lights towards the back. The shelves are neatly labeled to each category with nearly everything represented here. Fiction, Sci-Fi, Romance, and everything down to comic books has been loaded up onto the shelves. A smaller research area at the back has a large table for maps to be opened-up. Nearer the door is a small library of movies that covers some of the most recent blockbusters and flows through some of the more campy movies from about two decades before. Next to the door, a Petty Officer can usually be found at a desk to help someone checkout their selections.
Fourteen-twenty hours and all's well aboard this ship's magnificent library, crammed from top to bottom with books of all shapes and sizes. Here and there, members of the battlestar's crew have arrayed themselves in some semblance of order: a couple of petty officers hunched over a picture book in Fiction, a solitary blonde reading some torrid romance novel in the passerby-free area that is Economics, even a few JAG officers brushing up on the niceties of the laws governing treason while flipping through a dated issue of The Bionic Paralegal (or whatever comic book a lawyer would read).
Their military presence makes the large figure by the large table at the very back of the room look even more incongruous than it already is. Clad in a natty beige suit that's seen better days, Allan Rejn has planted himself at the center of a fortress constructed entirely of the ship's collection of travel guides — three full stacks comprised of various volumes of the Solitary Globe, those distinctive green-blue books that mark as a tourist any fellow walking down a street with a copy in hand. Pudgy fingers thumb through the dog-eared pages of Southern Libran: One Hundred Percent Reviewed and Updated!, snapping thin paper back and forth while his feet tap merry rhythms against the leg of his chair.
Library! Library! It's full of happiness and books! Lunair has a few tucked under her arm. She has Bonsai Buddies: Bitty Bushes and You, some things on botany and hydroponics. She's wearing a soft, fuzzy looking black hat that vaguely resembles a bonnet. Dork. She pauses noticing those in the fiction and smiles. She tries not to giggle at the Bionic Paralegal. They can appeal him. Better. Stronger. Legally. She is in off-duty garb and seems to be cheery enough. Her head turns. "Oh!" She's spotted a pictorial atlas of bonsai when - *WHACK* - right into the table with her hip. Her eyes water after going wide and she hunches a little. "… always … forget … that table … sorry." Wheeze.
Jayden is one of the souls taking up space in one of the tables in here. The male pilot going over the flight log of some poor rook ensign, that's bitting her fingernails in angst, in front of him. The pair is aloof to anything else going on in the library.
"Whoa, girl." Rejn's voice — oddly high for a man his size — cuts sharply through the library's enforced silence, causing the PO at the checkout desk to look up like a startled deer. She holds a finger to her lips in the universal shushing motion (surely even an idiotic civilian will understand that) before returning her attention to the skin mag spread open on her desk, on whose glossy pages several gleaming male torsos are visible even from this distance.
"Prissy bitch, isn't she?" he offers, throwing a dirty look her direction as he moves to pick up a few books from where they've landed. The spine of Southern Libran creaks softly as it's folded text-first onto the table; the leather belt around his not insignificant waist creaks rather more loudly as he tries to bend forward. A few grunts later and the fallen travel guides have been retrieved, chucked back onto polished wood laminate with hardly a care for their physical safety. "I had a secretary like that once. Kept her around only cuz she was frakking stacked. You can teach 'em manners, my Pop used to say, but you can't teach 'em to grow a pair like — " He clears his throat abruptly. "Something you need?" he asks, threading large fingers through his grey-speckled hair.
The Raptorbunny heads in, looking suitably off-duty, a bright yellow hardcover book with a tiny title printed in white library-font along its spine tucked up under his arm, hand up to hold its lower edge in place, elbow out behind him. His other arm dangles at his side, while below Gregor reaches up one arm to cling to Evan's hand, the rest of his limbs slack, head drooping to the side. Wordless, he heads to the desk to check the book back in, though his eyes stray in the direction of the fellow sending the dirty look up to the desk, brows both rising in mingled surprise and amusement. He offers the guy a little smile hello before he turns to set the book down on the counter.
Eep. After the initial 'ow' fades, Lunair frowns. "Sorry," She manages softly. She straightens herself. A pause as she looks about to offer help but he gets the books up before she manages it. She smiles at the PO apologetically. She looks to him and blinks at the prissy comment. Lunair looks briefly guilty as if just hearing it includes her in on the crime. She considers the fellow at the table and his words. Her eyes go wider at the secretary comment. Her bearing doesn't shift much though, a perk of being both a Marine and having lived in high society, where whacky facial expressiosn aren't too welcome. "Oh… I see," She just nods and smiles politely. "I'm sure she had a lovely figure." Eh heh. Awkward. "Um. No, sorry. I just hipchecked your table apparently. Apologies." At least she's well mannered. Then a pause. A blink at Evandreus. "Popular place today…"
"We're human," says Rejn, returning the pilot's smile with a loose grin of his own. Thick, cracked lips break over yellowed teeth, causing the bottom of his oversized glasses to ride up ever so slightly on his face. Big cheeks, see. "Ever since all the hookers on Picon got vaporized — and ever since President Adar's mum's phone number stopped working — this library's got the cheapest thrills in the Colonies." His large head jerks toward the book on the table, its cover decorated as it is with a mosaic of high-quality pictures whose borders spell out 'Libran' when viewed as a whole. And suddenly, as piercing blue eyes fix on Lunair: "Want one?" A travel guide, presumably. "I just took out the whole stash to piss off that tightass up front. Didn't mean to hog the lot."
Evandreus stays there at the counter to make sure the book gets registered back into the system. Not to say he doesn't trust the PO with the… well-oiled taste in reading materials… eyes do end up staying there just a moment, brows cocked upward crookedly as he narrows one eye a little more than the other. Squint. But in any case, it's always better to be safe than to have library staff come calling at berthings asking for Medea back.
There's a little 'beep' as the PO applies the scanner to the book in question, its thin red laser causing Hunk Number Two's glistening pectorals to turn a burnished shade of bronze. She doesn't even bother looking up at the computer screen nearby to see if it's been registered into the system. "Looks good to me," she whispers, her high soprano catching in her throat as she turns the page.
Lunair hides the urge to jawdrop at the fellow. Thank goodness for good bearing. She just smiles politely. It might be a bit spooky to be met in turn with purple eyes. A WITCH! She looks to Evandreus, and back to Rejn, unsure of just what to do next. "I see. That is pretty rough," She considers. ALL the hookers? Is she hearing this? Her eyebrows are trying not to nest on her forehead. "All sorts of - interesting - materials to be read I guess," She concedes quietly. A deep breath. "Oh! Oh, no thank you. I think I've got quite a few, but it is very kind of you to offer." Smiiile.
Evandreus does. Bother, that is. A quick peek up to the screen in the aftermath of the beep that draws his attention away from the magazine, and he taps his knuckles once on the cover of the book in a gesture of gratitude. "Mmmm-hm," he answers her, a little chuckle underscoring the assent, and he leaves the PO to her shimmery menfolk, turning from the counter and letting his eyes regard the numbers on the aisles, leading him along their order, peeping down this row of books and that, as if with the underlying assumption that some book will eventually choose -him.- his course, meanwhile, takes him toward Ray Ray and… her charming companion.
If the purple eyes bother him, Rejn doesn't show it. "Suit yourself." With a heavy sigh, he grabs his book and settles back down in his chair, which trembles a bit under the weight of his body. It's with some amount of effort that he manages to prop one leg on top of the other, his bulging thighs causing the fine fabric of his suit pants to crease and fold. That's … not quite muscle. There's silence for a while as he tries to find his place; then, giving up for now, he tilts a thumb to the open seats beside him, as if offering them up for auction. "Ever been to Libran?" he wonders idly. Casual conversation in the library for the win. This, too, is likely another way for him to get back at the PO up front, not that she's in the mental state of mind to notice. Her breathing's getting a bit shallow.
Perverts. Perverts everywhere. She smiles politely at Rejn. "Very kind of you to offer though," She nods. "Thank you." She will accept a seat then. Her eyebrows lift. She says nothing for a moment, "No, is it nice?" She considers. Her voice is soft. And unfortunately, she turns her head to notice the PO— oh. She's … really into that book. Well, reading is FUNdamental. And Evan gets a brief glance, but for now, Rejn has most of her attention due to the demands of conversation.
The hatch swings open, admitting one (1) Tisiphone to the library. There's a book tucked under her casted arm, a black-bound thing with no writing on covers or spine, while the opposite hand is slouched down into her pocket. Sleet-blue eyes flick around the room once before she ambles in further, her loose-laced boots scuffing with each step.
Libran. The last time Evan saw Libran… well, it wasn't looking too hot. Unless you mean radiologically. The conversation ahead makes the pilot's steps to turn him into an aisle, instead, fingers drawing over the spines of books and then stopping on one, drawing it out carefully and peeping inside. Then shutting it again and sliding it back. The next one down the line is next, and, that one seeming good-enough, he paces along a few more steps before, leaning to one side, he shifts momentum and leans back the other way, gaining impetus to lend to one step, then the other, and he's out of the aisle again, and toward the table. "Hey Ray Ray,' he greets quietly, holding the old-looking, mottled-brown book in front of him with both hands, Gregor's arm neatly tucked into a fatigues pocket so that the rabbit will amble along with him. "Who's your friend?" he wonders, smiling at the guy.
"Was nice." Rejn's face twists into something akin to a smirk-slash-smile as his eyes cut over to the bald pilot. "Nowadays, it's the sector's biggest parking lot." The spine of his travel guide cuts deeply into his palm until he gets to the section with 'Full Color Photography!' emblazoned beneath majestic plains of sunflower and wheat. "Had a ranch out here, yeah? Fields of gold and all that bullshit. Eight horses." His smile grows a little less fond. "Oh, and a wife, but I guess she counts as the ninth." A wet cough is swallowed up by the sleeve of his jacket, its beige fabric stained brown by droplets of spittle. "Frakking nag." See what he did there? And to Evan? Psh. He shall introduce himself.
"Rejn," he offers, holding out a massive hand. Pronounced 'rain.' "Allan Rejn. You probably remember me from that godsawful speech my staff convinced me to deliver at your commissioning." Large nostrils constrict as he sniffs. "I'd fire them, but they're all dead."
Poor Evan. A pause, and Lunair looks up at Evandreus. She has set her books down on the table, with the titles up and smiles at him. "Hello there." She seems friendly enough, if a bit surprised by the nickname. "How are you?" A headtilt. She doesn't seem fazed by the rabbit. "I uh- just met him actually," Lunair admits. Here she's been talking to a fellow with no name. Whoops. She pauses and winces at the was comment. "Most places are," She considers quietly. Tisiphone gets a smile in passing. "It sounds lovely though, the ranch," Lunair offers. And a wince at his cough. "You alright?" A blink. 9… wives? "Oh. I'm Raine Lunair. Pleased to meet you. And er, yes, I remember that." Nod. Eh heh. "Well… I uh, guess that solves the problem." She looks to be at a loss.
Evandreus shifts his book to one arm and holds out his other hand to take Allan's. Not one of those overbearing handshakes you can see in the military amongst marines with a vested interest in proving their physical dominance. Something more tender, but with some hint of strength to it. "Rejn," he repeats, "I'm Evan. Evan Doe," he offers back, then takes a long moment to look the man over, as if trying to remember. "Oh, oh -right,-" comes the moment when he actually -does- remember. "On the plus side, ya know, I think the act you opened for was a hell of a lot worse." A little quirk of a grin.
"It was a shitty speech. We had a bet whether you'd have a heart attack up there, waiting for us to laugh." Tisiphone's voice, coming in from a few steps behind Evandreus, as she comes around the aisle and heads over. Rather like a demanding cat, she steps in behind Evan and butts her shorn head at the crook of his arm, trying to wriggle in so that his arm's draped over her shoulder. O hai. "Hey," she offers, to the group at large, attention moving to Evan's book for a clue to its identity.
Ever heard of a belly-busting laugh? Rejn's got one of those, and his voice drops a few whole steps when he figures out the thrust of Doe's point. "I thought the exploding Viper was all part of the show," he confesses after a moment or two, having recovered rather abruptly from his jowl-shaking fit. "Then I thought some asshole from Leonis had decided to resurrect the Old Empire." Another remarkable expression crosses his face, this one a mix between a scowl and a grin. "Remember when those pricks were the worst we had to deal with? Netiher do I, though Pop was twelve and he knew all about it." The third-to-last word is drawled out with a confident nasal twinge. "And darling — " This, to Tisiphone, whose sex he's just now managed to divine. "Darling, I can put my mind to it and make a good speech if I really wanted to, but no matter how much a mind you put to it, you'll never be able to grow tits." A catlike smile accompanies the flash of acid. "Allan Rejn. Who're you?"
Fortunately for the group, Lunair isn't posturing for dominance. FEROCIOUS! She smiles at him. "It's good to see you," A nod at Evan. She looks to her books then Tisiphone. Pilots are a cuddly group. Her eyebrows lift. "Hello there." Nodnod. She blinks at Rejn's belly busting laugh, purple eyes wide. "Oh?" Headtilt. Rejn is perpetually a mystery to her. "That must have been interesting to hear about, the times when Leonis was aggressive." She considers that. Apparently Lunair is a military history buff. She blinks. "… I think all busts are beautiful, like- um, flowers. Sometimes the buds and others full bloom. So - that's really not …" Appropriate? She's trying. She just turns red. Is … that a nosebleed? Fidget. Fidgetfidget. She might just crawl under the table and disappear.
Gapk! Evan lets loose of Rejn's hand and his arm's suddenly all out at his side and his armpit's giving birth to some strange dandelion-fluffed sphere. Which, once he recognizes, he pecks with a chaste smooch, and then beams a broad grin at Rejn for the laughter garnered. Too soon? Maybe. But the laugh was worth it. The bright expression settles down as Rejn gives his own initial theories. "I had my money on Tauron. But then, I was raised Leontinian. Spend enough time there and you can't really imagine Leonis attacking anyone with anything other than flowerpetals. It was weird enough coming home to see they'd built a whole Battlestar there." The marble-print wallpaper over the cardboard of the cover, frayed as it is at the edges, gives no clue to the identity of the text within, except for maybe 'hopelessly outdated.' Ray Ray's discourse on titties is given a nod a little too severe in angle to be on the same topic, but, "Hear, hear," he agrees. "The human body is a wonderous thing, in all its shapes and sizes. Everyone's beautiful, in his or her own way." Yup. Leontinian, this one. He snugs the skinny woman under his arm. Cuddle.
"Yeah, that's always why we blow our birds up. Entertaining the massives." Or was that 'masses'? Hard to tell, maybe — Tisiphone says it quickly, and she's smiling at Rejn as she does so. Well, her lips are curved, and her teeth are out. It covers all the technical definitions of a smile, right? "I guess the Lords saw fit to give mine to you, instead," she says, continuing along lightly. "A small price for being able to fit into a Viper cockpit. Ensign Apostolos," she tacks on at the end, leaning a hip into Evandreus. "Black Knights. Good to know you."
"Mary always was jealous that I'd make a hotter transsexual than she made a regular woman," Rejn agrees blandly. "And — flower petals?" The older man snorts. "They're pacifists because they're broke. Won the Cerberus contract after their government made nice and prostrated itself at the feet of the Capricans. 'We promise never to try to take over everything in the known universe ever again, pinky swear. Now would you please feed us pork to stimulate the economy we wrecked after centuries of limitless military budgets?'" His rough tenor gets higher and a bit tinnier as he launches into that sad imitation of his counterpart on Leonis. "I wrote a book about it. It and the Great Civil War, if you care."
His narrow eyes fix on the embarrassed Lunair, as if taking her measure. "Not sure if the military stocks it because I'm an anti-nuke peacenik bureaucrat and the Fleet's not exactly a fan of dissenting opinions, but — " His free hand is waved somewhere in the PO's direction. "I'd say you should go and ask her, but she's — " He clears his throat. "Otherwise engaged." Bushy eyebrows spike on his high forehead as the PO's eyes flutter shut.
Oh dear. Lunair grins at Evandreus, "Yeah. It is hard to pin down sometimes." A shrug. She takes a deep breath. "Most of the colonies sort of changed." A headtilt. Even those whacky Cancerons. She smiles as he agrees with her on the bodies comment. "I mean - not that people really -" She doesn't stare. But it's hard NOT to notice people, right? Deh. She's digging her hole. At least she's remarkably patient. But such is the way of nobility. Or being socially awkward. 50/50 odds. "You're aerodynamic and youthful and um, dainty? No …" Pause. "Well, aerodynamic and graceful. I'm glad I'm not a man, I'd have been pitched out the airlock years ago." Sadface. She lifts her eyebrows. "Leonis was a nice place, my uncle took me with him once on a business trip so I could take notes for him," A shrug. Although from her tone, she didn't have much fun doing that. "I'm happy they won the Cerberus contract though, it meant a lot and made a lot of people happy," She notes. "But - I am not really good at that sort of thing," She holds up her hands. A deep breath. "Uhm. Is she okay?" Blink. "I guess I'll check on her." She's at least, well mannered, a sign her family came from money somewhere. "I am not really sure colonial politics is a good subject. A lot of folks are still -" Eh, the right word? She searches for it, "Well. Adjusting. I'm from Canceron and you're all quite silly." She winks and starts to stand to check on the poor PO.
Jayden has been in here all the time. Honest. The ensign he was checking on is dismissed, and he now gathers his own stuff from the table. A cheap-looking lighter and an empty cig pack. Now, Echo takes notice of the people gathered by Rejn, offering a chin-up greeting, as he steps closer.
Evandreus edges his hip back against Tisiphone's, wrinkling his nose a little. And after he'd gone and defended her figure with such high sentiments of positive body image for all. "Be nice," he implores of her, not quite sulking, but close, in a winsome sort of way. The PO over yonder gets a squint. "She alright?" he wonders— but, then, Ray Ray's taking charge on first aid detail.. "Anyhow, if it's not kept in our library, I'm sure you could give us the high points. Maybe even the low points. Hells and waters, you could probably write it all over again, if you had a mind to. We could come sit around for storytime."
"Naw, naw. I'm plenty dainty." Tisiphone's all grins again — such is the magic of imposing oneself into Evan's proximity — as she shoots an amused look sidelong to Lunair, then back over and up, wa-a-ay up, to her leaning-post's face. A beat or two of studying Evan's expression. "Fine, fine," she murmurs. To Rejn: "Mr. Rejn-? Apologies. I'm being a jerk again." And there — a genuine grin along with the brief tip of her head.
"Don't put food on the table you won't eat yourself, as Pop said. Which is to say, don't put your claws away, or your boytoy won't even be able to say you have a good personality." Rejn pushes his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose as he offers Tisiphone his hand. Pax. "Heh. To think I once wondered why I never got offered tenure." Sharp gaze drifts over to Lunair as he sets his book on his knee.
"Think I might've broken her," says Rejn, the edges of his voice smoothing over as he shifts in his chair — always a dangerous proposition, as the plastic contours of its seat were simply not designed for somebody of his (ahem) magnitude. Another scowl-smile. "Part of me thinks I should tell her what happens when a prim and frustrated young woman finds a magazine full of virile young men. And part of me wants to see her lose her shit, but then I wouldn't get to talk Colonial politics until the medics came to pick her brains off the floor. Deck. Whatever you call it." A hefty elbow crushes the spine of the travel guide he's been reading, the poor thing.
Poor poor Lunair's head just might explode. But she grins at Tisiphone. Dainty Tis! She nods and goes to check on the PO. She mercifully doesn't hear Rejn's comments for now as she leans over to check on the PO. A hand reaches out to tap her shoulder. "Hey, are you alright?" She asks quietly. She's in for it now…
Jayden has reached Eva's side when Tisi gives her apology to Rejn. Such is Bunny's magnetic personality. "Good day, fellow officers," a nod to Rejn is tossed, "Sir." His left hand used to store the lighter on the front pocket of his tunic, as the other crumples the empty pack. The PO being tended to by Luna gets a faint smirk, but he doesn't seem to want to ask what her deal is.
The little red laser scanner the PO's still got in her hand clatters loudly to the floor, her gentle but firm fingers abruptly slacking on its contoured grip. "What the — " she yelps, green eyes flashing as she nearly topples over in her seat. "What the frak is your — your — " the woman hisses and sputters, torn between yelling and maintaining the sanctity of the library. She opts for the latter, though it's clear she's simmering with anger and the rapidly-fading hints of … something else. Her magazine is snapped shut to reveal the ad on its full-color backside. And hey! Lunair, if she's looking, might learn that the Colonies do in fact make men's jeans out of really tight leather.
Oh no. Well, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions and frozen salesmen. Lunair blinks as she catches on to what's going on. Jawdrop. For once, even her good bearing can't save her. Her eyes are wide as saucers. Her face turns red. Ohgodsohgodsohgods. That was more about the PO than she ever wanted to know. A slack-jawed, wide-eyed completely frozen Lunair just absorbs the question. "Um. You looked passed out. OhgodsI'msorry," Scary PO. Pervy PO? "I saw nothing." She doesn't change facial expressions. And she really didn't care to know that really tight leather pants for men exist. She just kind of meekly smiles. Then neatly walks backward, in an almost exact replication of her path, sits in her chair, folds her hands and states: "She's fine." And just sits. Wide-eyed. Staring. Quietly.
Evandreus leans to his side a little to nudge Jayden's shoulder with his shoulder by way of greeting. He'd have a half-hug for him if it weren't for the book in his arm. Tisiphone gets jostled a little, herself, by the motion. "Hey, Jayden," he greets amiably, though Rejn's father's advice gets a skeptical quirk of his brows, but he lets it pass without comment. "So you really think Leonis would have been able to squirrel away enough of the grant money and cut enough corners building Cerberus to build a whole 'nother fleet, to boot?" he does wonder. Politics. A safe topic, now that the government is dead.
It's a firm but quick handshake Tisiphone gives Rejn, there and gone again. They're necessary things, in some situations — like this, where she's making oh-so-nice at Bunny's behest — but she still likes them over as soon as possible. "Cutting corners on Cerberus?" Late to the game, she. "Sure as frak would explain all the problems we had after launch."
Tisiphone also, not being as inobservant as her typist, gives Jayden a mute nod and the briefest of grins. Apology's over, and she's stealthing Evan's breath- er, warmth. Warmth. What's not to be happy about?
Jayden says nothing regarding the PO's reaction and looks away. The man in glasses is the focus of his attention now, "Cutting corners, eh? Yikes." A pan to Tisi, "Oh. Hey. Good to see you are doing better, Ensign," he quips with a smile.
The man's grip is firm; his skin, strangely coarsened. Apparently all that talk about working on the ranch wasn't for show. But aloud: "Good to know they still make lieutenants with sticks up their asses," is Rejn's response to Jayden's 'sir.' "I look like an officer to you, kid? Standards in the peacetime military aren't so low that they'd let me through the front gate. Plus, my CANUD work would really have frakked with my background check, and twelve years of tireless work in the service of the people — " Yellowed teeth are bared with casual precision. "Mikey — your admiral — sent me off to Corsair for a few weeks the moment I started making noise about talking with the civilians in the hangar. Apparently I'm still part of that mysterious fifth column only paranoid brass know how to recognize." Another snort (verging on more belly-busting laughter) escapes him when Lunair sits down nearby. "And as for Leonis — look at it this way." His smile grows equal parts cold and mischievous. "Now we know for sure they won't stab us in the back, thanks to the Cylons getting there first."
Twitch. Twitchtwitch. She now knows - KNOWS. Clearly, Lunair is not terribly experienced in any sort of relationship ever. Except with dates of the fruit variety. She stays almost perfectly still, fingers neatly intertwined and resting on the table. A slow nod as she listens. "I- seem to know a lot of nice Leonis folks. Although I guess it's easy to be nice compared to some," A shrug. "Politics isn't really my thing. I tended to just watch." She offers quietly. She listens then, to catch up. A polite smile to the group, ALthough it's apparent Lunair's world has been effectively rocked.
"I'm not saying they -did,- though, well… everyone did, I think, a little," Evan points out, "Money is the only God most people worshipped. I'm just saying that even if they -had,- there's no way they could have squirreled enough away to do anything like this." He tips his head permissively toward Rejn, "I guess they could have, given enough time, but as for rackets, that's not a very high-yield one."
Jayden is not offset by Rejn's words, but rather entertained by them. His blues turn back to look at the 'offender', "I can't say anything about your enlistment options, but in regards to my stick…" a grin, "It's wedged firmly in there, sir." He chuckles, and offers his hand, "Jayden Ekonomo." It takes a lot to get this one off kilter. Pleased to just listen to the politics rambling going on.
"Little steps, Echo. Little steps," Tisiphone says to Jayden, on matters of her healing. "Keep your fingers crossed for me. Cast might come off on Sunday. Here, come keep Bunny warm. I gotta jet." Craning up on tiptoe, there's a deliberately noisy (though slobber-free) shmoo-oo-ootch to Evan's jaw before she disengages herself. "See you guys around. I gotta go stare at more camera footage." A series of nods to everyone, and then she's ambling for the door. Scuff scuff scuff.
"Behold the brains on Evan Doe." Rejn shakes with Jayden, too, though his atteention is wholly on the Raptor driver — and though his words might be construed as mocking, his voice is devoid of any real contempt. "You're right. But the more we remind them of what they tried to do to us way back when, the more guilty they get, and the less money they request, and the more money we have to spread around to things that aren't a total waste." Tisiphone's departure is noted with a grunt that barely interrupts his stream of words; his chair creaks again as he drops his foot to the ground. "Speaking of. What's the big plan? Are we really going to keep tooling about while the Cylons kick us from sector to sector like a three-legged dog?"
Having shaken Rejn's hand, Jayden is reminded that he still has a crumpled pack in his other hand. he excuses himself with a small nod, and moves to find a trash can where he can dump it. Darn contraptions are never around when you need one.
Lunair is just. Kind. Of. Quiet. She smiles. Her eyebrows lift at the conversation though. "It's hard to say," She admits quietly. "If we are allowed to say," The Marine states evenly, in a quiet tone that brooks no questions. Sort of the tone that indicates a storm behind the calm smile. "But - I should probably check these out," Hopefully the PO won't beat her to a pulp, "And get to earning my keep. Be well all of you."
Evandreus switches his newly selected tome to his other arm when Tisiphone vacates it, slinging his other up and over Jayden's shoulders for nigh-continuous cuddlage. They are a touchy-feely bunch, these pilots, aren't they? "I'm not just a pretty face, yah?" That's for Rejn, with a sly look accompanying. "But I think guilt has a lot less to do with it than the expectations of what they could get away with under the watch of the Naval Finance attorneys," he adds with a snicker, happily enough spinning out hypothetical plots that will never, ever happen. And then Jayden goes, and then Lunair isn't far behind. "See you, guys."
"Gods bless attorneys," the older man avers. "Knights-errant tilting at the military-frakking-industrial complex with lances and breastplates. Men after my own heart." Another grin that widens as the two officers flee. "Best way to kill a conversation with you military folks," says Rejn, folding his hands over his knees and leaning back in that poor brutalized chair, "is to ask an officer to criticize his — or her — boss." The thick index finger of his right hand taps the side of his head, his gaze flat as it meets Lunair's: indicating, perhaps, a reevaluation of sorts, for good or for ill. "How about you? Happy with where we are? With what we're doing? Or, more precisely, what you're doing, since I don't think Mikey trusts me enough to even let me try and be useful." His shrug sets his tummy a-jiggling. "Admirals."
… Lunair pauses at that and turns towards Rejn. "What I am happy with and what I do are of little consequence so long as what must be done is done," Her tone is quiet at that. "What I am ordered to do as well." She's still for a moment. She takes a deep breath. "No, I do not enjoy sending people in." She pauses. "I'm actually kind of back on duty soon. And I don't want to be yelled at for being late." She offers a polite smile. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope to see you again then." She politely bobs her head. "And nice to see you all."
Happy? Evan considers the word, turning to edge up along the table, pushing onto tiptoes to perch there on the edge of the table right near Rejn, observing as little sense of personal space with the Civvieman as he had with his own types. But the question wasn't aimed at him, and so he keeps his peace, drawing Gregor up to sit on the table next to him, and opening up his book to flip through a few old, browned, leaf-like pages while he listens to Ray Ray's answer, peeking up at her with a little smile.
"I'll consider that off the record, ma'am." That's the first hint of politeness from Rejn as his fingernails tug at the spikes of his edged moustache; then, a flick of his hand is as close to a wave as he gets, a curt dismissal as he shuts the book on his lap. It's chucked onto the table without any pomp or circumstance, skidding across its smooth surface until it bumps into a thick edition of Northern Leonis: Newly Revised!. "What about you, Doe?"
Deh! A reporter! Lunair's face twitches. "Thanks. I owe you one then," She smiles at Rejn and moves to disappear in a hurry after checking her books. FLEE. She waves at Evan and smiles back.
"What about me? Am I happy?" Evan considers the question. "I mean, I could be happier. The world could… y'know, not have ended. That'd have been nice of it." A drawn smile, and a little flare of nostrils in the way of a silent laugh. "But, ah— considering? My SL's great, the CAG's great, and that's about as far up command as I ever have to worry about reporting. I honestly have no idea what they're planning… if they're even planning anything. I don't know if there's anything -to- plan, for honest. I mean. We're kind of massively screwed, at this point, as far as I can tell. If they know something I don't, and are acting on it— great. If not? I really can't blame them, can I?"
Not a reporter — just somebody who's friends with a lot of reporters, specialists as they are in sticking their noses where they absolutely don't belong. Like now, for instance, as Rejn's flat forehead wrinkles as he listens to the soft-spoken pilot talk. "So she's the naive little girl — " His thumb's grimy fingernail is thrust in the direction of the departing Lunair. " — and you're the world-weary fatalist. Or just a fatalist." The man's smile fades to the rhythm of his slowly-tapping feet. "You want to know what I think? I think we should figure out where the Cylons set up, tuck our collective tails beneath our collective dicks, and get the frak out of dodge by running the other way as quickly as we can. Because going into the teeth of an enemy that's able to kill something like fifty billion people in the time it takes for a horse to shit itself — " A stubby palm thuds against the table as it collides with the pictures of Libran on the travel guide he's been reading, causing the (still red-faced) PO up front to make that shushing motion once again. Her heart clearly isn't in it.
Evandreus' left foot begins to tap almost in time with Rejn's, and he lifts a shoulder in a degree or two of a shrug. "I prefer to think of myself as a realist. In a world where reality's turned particularly fatal, so— split the difference, eh?" A chuckle. "I wouldn't mind leaving. No habitable land or unirradiated supplies… is unirradiated a word?" he pauses to wonder. "Anyway, there's nothing keeping us here even if we did think we could kick some tin can hindquarters. And vengeance for vengeance's sake is…" he shakes his head, "Worse than worthless. But if we left… where would we go? It's a freaking huge universe. The chances of our stumbling upon a habitable planet by happenstance is… less than miniscule. By all the laws of odds, we'd have run out of supplies a million times over before we found a place that was fully compatible to our biologies."
"Worse than worthless," Rejn repeats, rubbing his moustache against his arm to clear it of a few specks of spittle. "Shit, Doe, you're starting to sound sane, except you're an officer in the Fleet and I know better than to expect sanity from an officer in the Fleet. That'd be like setting a dog on fire and then trying to pet it, as Pop would say." Whatever the frak that means, Rejn doesn't elaborate, instead palming his closed fist and pushing himself to his feet. He grunts from the strain, blue veins popping on the back of his hands. "Which is to say, I need to go hammer down Mikey's door to see whether he's finished flipping out about security and ready to let those civilians out into the Fleet proper. Paranoid frak."
Evandreus smiles at the next little pearl of wisdom from Pop. A hand slips down to slide underneath one of Rejn's elbows, applying a gentle pressure to help the older man up, then, giving him a little squeeze, just there, "You and your dad were pretty close, eh? Okay, Rejn. Yah, ya know, I've been trying to say it'd be best for all involved if the civvies came and lived in berthings with us. It's not like we don't have the room," that, a little dark. "I'll see you later, yah?"
Another guffaw of laughter sets Rejn's flesh a-quivering, earning him another nasty look from the frustrated PO — which he promptly proceeds to ignore. "Got plenty of room up in QUODEL's quarters too, after your Marines shot up those civilians in those tubes," he observes. Apparently Evan isn't the only one capable of morbid observations this lovely afternoon. "Couple of secretaries down there in the hangar bay I'd love to invite over to my bunk to take dictation for my memoirs — " The first syllable of that word is strangely stressed. "But." He fingers the wedding ring on his finger, pinging it lightly with the tip of his index finger. "For all her bitching, Mary did pop out four kids for me." There's surpassing fondness in his scratchy tenor. "Anyway. Don't get frakked out there, eh? More guys we have whose reaction to this genocide business isn't 'hoo-rah' the better." And with that last word he's stumping off, pushing off from Evan before lumbering forward towards the hatch.
"Dictation?" Evan repeats, putting the stress where it ought to be, as if wondering what dialect puts the stress somewhere else. But he lets it drop at the observation of the older fellow's deceased wife, looking to the ring with a sort of wistfulness, himself, leaning to and giving the guy a short squeeze about the shoulders. "I'm sorry, man," he offers him, voice warm, personable, before he lets go again. "I'll try not to."