| Rainbow and Tinsel |
| Summary: | Legend has it that there's a pot o' gold at the end of a rainbow. Metaphorically speaking, there evidently is. |
| Date: | 01 Aug 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | A Sweet Thing |
| Players: |
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| Officer Berths - Naval Deck - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Much smaller than the Enlisted Berths, 'Officer Country' has a less available in it but still manages to squeeze everything into this room. Like the other berthings aboard, this room has armored doors that can lower to seal off sections during fire or depressurization. Over-under bunks provide some individual privacy for the crews who occupy this area with a small blue curtain while lockers stand between each sleeping module to hold personal items. Tables are set-up in the space in between. |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
Evening in the officer's berths. A trip to sickbay would have revealed that Lt. Penelope Paris had just been released not an hour ago, and so she's here, unpacking a few things and sorting through the mess of her locker. Her head — freshly shorn and without a stipple of stubble in sight — gleams pinkly beneath the overhead lights. She is, perhaps defiant in the face of her self-consciousness, without a hat or scarf to soften the effect. She keeps passing a hand over scalp, wearing an absent frown.
The ECO and chief Harrier was still on-duty an hour ago. Medical, however, was oh so kind to inform him of the recent discharge, and his internal DRADIS was subsequently fired-up.
Blip. Blip. Blip. PING. Target acquired.
As brazen as brazen ever is, Trask cruises on into the berths of the non-Air Wing officers, hefting a military issue duffel bag. "Wow," he says, from behind the somewhat distracted snipe, "I can almost see my reflection." Yes, he went there.
"Actually, you probably could see your reflection, if I stopped moving," Penny replies… notably, without stopping the moving thing. Having unpacked the few things that were brought to her in sickbay, she sets about sorting lights and darks for laundry. "Other appropriate but just-as-tasteless quips could have included needing protective eyewear for the glare, and my oh-so-sexy newfound resemblance to a penis. Thank you for playing."
"You say that as though penises… nissesses…" It's a somewhat comical look that overtakes Kal's face as he tries to work out what the plural form of penis is. His head is canted, brow quizzically furrowed, and mouth faintly moving in scarcely audible testing. "Penii?" Finally, emphatically, he resumes the initial train of thought, "That giant, glistening /cocks/ are not sexy. Such a sad world you live in if you believe that's true."
Penelope, crouched before her locker, hangs her shiny head in defeat, shoulders shaking with mirth. At length, smiling ruefully, she looks over her shoulder and up at the ECO nearby. "Hello, Kal," she offers in belated — but decidedly warm — greeting.
"Hello, Penny," he gleefully replies with a sweeping, scampish smile and a gleam in his eyes that heralds his triumph. "Whaaaaat'cha doin'?" Because it very likely is about to be broadsided by the man's juvenile want of attention. "Other than fantasizing about giant, glistening cocks."
"Other than that? Not much at all." Penny tosses the laundry sorting back into the locker, shutting the door and standing to adopt a lean. "You know me: just about everything I do is peripheral to my feverish obsession with giant, glistening cocks."
"And ass. You obviously have a thing for asses." One jerkass, in particular, but that is left unsaid. To be so blunt would be terribly gauche. It's enough that he knows that she knows that he knows that she knows he's right. "So, I got you a housewarming present," Trask reveals, commandeering the nearby bunk that says PARIS, P. Or, more precisely, the one just below because he doesn't quite feel like climbing up to Penelope's own bed. Unshouldering the duffel bag, he starts to unfasten, unzip, and open it after setting it on the mattress.
One ass in particular, indeed. She just grins at that, because she knows that he knows that she knows. She drops to sit beside him, rubbing both hands over her smooth pate. "Headwarming would be better," she comments. "I thought I was going to be butch about this — you know, not hide my beautiful baldness. No shame in it and all. But…" She rubs her head briskly, laughing. "BUT it's frakking chilly!"
It is a box of decent size that is retrieved, offered with the comment, "I suspect that's why Money Shot learned how to knit." For his part, Bootstrap remains on his boots, so to speak, so he can fully relish the look on the woman's face when she sees what's inside. "Also, lotion," is added, as he's noticed Tisiphone uses a lot.
"Lotion. Huh." She rubs a hand over her head once more, absently. The box is lifted and shaken this way and that. Listened to. Pondered over. She holds it up to her forehead and prognosticates… "Stripper knickers!" He did, after all, make a comment about the disappointing practicality of her underwear, not long ago. Finally, wiggling her eyebrows at Kal, she requests, "Drumroll, please….!" and opens the box.
Her eyebrows climb up — and wonder, perhaps, where the frak her hairline went. She tilts her head to the side, lifting out the rainbow-and-tinsel shag wig. She tilts her head to the other side. Aroo? Right, then! She snickers and shakes her head — then gamely puts the thing on, nevertheless. And frakdamn if it doesn't look kind of cute on her. Aside from the psychotic colors and tinsel. If it were a color that the loving Lords had ever intended, the hairstyle itself would be fetching. "How do I look?" asks the snipe, striking a pose.
The wig looks like what a clown would wear in a porno. Ergo, Trask tells her, "Slap on some bright red lipstick and blue eyeshadow while I go find a video camera and some ruffles for you to wear." He may or may not be serious. "Or you can just juggle my balls, right now."
On the vacant bunk beneath her own, Penny sits and Trask stands nearby — the former wearing what has to be the most absurd novelty wig left in creation. And we can all be thankful for that. She snrrks mirthfully at some flash of wit from the ECO, grinning and shaking her head. "Kal," she advises him, sagely, "do shut the frak up." And to make sure that he does, albeit temporarily, she kisses him.
Planting one square on his mouth seems to close it, although that could just as likely be due to the shock of Penelope's lips landing somewhere other than his cheek or his forehead. When he finally manages to process just what is happening, Kal looks pleasantly loopy as he murmurs to her, "I suspected you were kinda kinky, but I had no idea…" Clown pr0n. Who knew? This doesn't deter him from going back in to kiss her right back, arms slinking to wrap around the snipe's waist. "Yanno, if you like playing dress-up, there's this one sexy black bob…" Whether he succeeds on either front is not a matter for him to decide.
Cora arrives, just on time to piss Trask off, the hatch slamming shut with a louder-than-necessary THUNK behind her. The lieutenant heads for her locker, passing the couple in the process, though it's not until she's gotten combination lock open and is pulling off her first layer that she bothers to actually glance at them and note that absurd wig. It captures the attention, that one.
Penny shakes with silent laughter, bowing her head a moment before looking back up at Trask through her lashes. "Kal," she murmurs. "The shutting up part? That should be happening now." And wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles… it looks like Kal will, in fact, get his kiss — except! Doh! The hatch slams and the snipe jumps, turning and grinning sheepishly at the new arrival. "What do you think?" she asks Cora. "I think at least one these has to be my color…" She flips up a lock of the rainbow-and-tinsel poly-hair.
"I think the only way to be certain that I stop talking is to have my tongue otherwi— " WHAM! That is the sound of opportunity slamming shut in the ECO's face. Before even knowing the identity of the interloper, Trask is peeved. "I wouldn't know," he mutters, eyes rolling as he turns his head Corawards. It takes a moment for him to realize that Penny wasn't talking about her natural hair color. Instead of cracking a joke about the carpet matching the drapes, the man dissolves the brief embrace and returns to the bed and his bag, so that he may resume rummaging. "If none of 'em are," the Aerilonian's color, "maybe this one will be." Out comes another box, this one larger.
Let's be honest, Trask was wasting that opportunity all by himself well before Cora failed to gingerly ease the hatch closed in deference to his 'moment'. In any case, the lieutenant totally fails to either notice or care that she has in some fashion contributed to the interruption of their embrace, instead just looking over at Penelope as the engineer speaks and nodding, "Probably at least a couple."
Penelope flashes Cora a cheeky grin before turning to peer at Trask and the box he offers. She looks bemused, but takes the box, sitting once more. "What color is NOT currently represented on my head? Magenta? Turquoise?" How about brown? It's not Penny's shade — when she had her own hair, it was dark chestnut. What she lifts from the box is lighter, more caramel… but it's truly lovely, as wigs go. Even the uninitiated can see the quality in its craftsmanship, the sheen of that's undoubtedly real hair, and the care that went into styling it.
There's a moment of silence as the snipe sits, stunned. Her features furrow and crumple as she struggles with a rush of emotion, eyes glistening… but she finally manages a smile. "This is…" She clears her throat. "It's really beautiful, Kal. Thank you."
This is hardly the first opportunity that's been blown, nor is it likely to be the last. That is, after all, the nature of self-sabotage. It would be infinitely less exasperating for those who care for Kal to witness the self-abuse were that impulse of his not periodically discarded in favor of doing something incomparably thoughtful and genuinely loving. In short, moments like this.
That Cora seemingly neither noticed nor cared about her intrusion is moot. Trask is simply ignoring her. This is, after all, all about Penny. "It's the closest they had to what you had," he explains. "You might need some pins or a barrette, but it's a good length." Which is to say that it won't get stuck in machinery. "Should last you until yours grows out to be that long. There's an adjustable band," he continues, "And I made you a rack outta some scrap metal and plastic." Which is also in the box. "It'll help preserve the shape. And you can comb it and shampoo it like real hair." Because it /is/ real hair. Realizing that the snipe probably realizes that, the ECO gets a 'yes, I am an idiot who just stated the obvious' look on his face.
"Chartreuse," Cora offers Penelope helpfully as they list shades that aren't in the wig on her head, "Or taupe." Ugly colors both, and not ones she seems inclined to search for in the next wig out of the box, focusing instead on undressing, changing out of clothes she appears to have been working out in for ones that… she hasn't. They're pretty much the same, otherwise. She looks over at the new wig, glancing between the pair before focusing on tossing her boots into her locker. 'Focusing' might be misleading: she pretty much just tosses them in there, clanging and thumping noises and all.
"Is that what that is?" Penny laughs, her voice a little rough and wet, lifting out the jury-rigged form. She lifts it up to admire, then carefully fits the wig on the form, combing it through with her fingers. "Sometimes, Kal Trask," she sighs, swallowing the lump in her throat, "you are beyond thoughtful." She places the wig and form back in the box, carefully, and wraps her arms around the ECO, tight. She buries her rainbow head against his shoulder… and doesn't look like she's letting go any time soon. "Thank you."
Cora's boots can clank all they want. Bootstrap is unbothered. "I have my moments," he murmurs against the rainbow while his strong arms snugly encircle the snipe, "A few of 'em aren't insufferable, even." Self-deprecatingly, he smiles, his expression growing more pensive. Eyes closing and cheek resting against Penelope's head, he settles in for the long haul. "You're welcome, Henny Penny." Beat… two… three… "I still need that display case." Because not injecting some humor would leave him too exposed.
And clunk they do, followed by the noise of the locker getting shut behind them, the lock spun as the bolt clicks. The lieutenant doesn't say anything about the ratio of Trask's insufferable moments to those that are not, just climbing up the ladder to her bunk.
Penelope only nods against Trask's shoulder, her eyes shut tight. That she can do. As for his insufferableness, she notes, "At least you didn't ask for a blowjob." And immediately, her hand goes over his mouth. Just to make sure he doesn't.
There is a smirk that forms beneath the callused fingers of the rainbow crowned woman. And then he squeezes in a manner that might well make her squeal, tilting back so he can momentarily lift her off the floor. "I can still go look for a camera and some ruffles," Trask rascally retorts. After all, she /is/ still wearing the clown pr0n wig.
Cora has no comment, no request, and no offer of camera, ruffles, or blowjob, just tugging the curtain to her bunk shut and flicking off the light within a few minutes later.
Penelope does, in fact, squeal — and laughs as she's lifted. She leans back a little, smiling as she shakes her head, tinsel strands glittering. "Not tonight, I'm afraid. This little circus act needs to rest. I'm back on duty in the morning — light duty, but still. And I have a case to build. Busy, busy, busy." Leaning in, she brushes the tip of her nose against his, lashes low. "So kiss me goodnight?"
For all the crap he talks, Kal isn't interested in coercing her into carnality. It's far more entertaining to wear her down. "Where do you want it?" he asks, incorrigible and amused. Still keeping Penny off her feet, he takes tentative steps back to the bed, encumbered as he is from carrying her in a manner not all that conducive to walking.
"Do you ever shut up?" Penny sighs, exasperation and affection at war in the roll of her eyes. Affection, however, wins the day — and she takes her kiss, drawing the lad a map to where she wants this one, at least. On the lips, thanks. If he meant geographically? Well, she hasn't raised objections to his shuffle towards her bed. Yet. Then again, the business of kissing him is an absorbing one, as she is presently employing lips, teeth and tongue in a manner that would make lesser men forget their own name.
Regardless of whether or not he can currently recall his name, Trask remembers the way back to the nearby bed — the one he commandeered shortly after arriving. Evidently, the possibility that the bunk may be assigned to someone doesn't warrant any of his dwindling cognitive capacity. Blame the blood flow to the head not housing the brain. The important thing is that his fine motor control does not at all suffer. The man's lips, teeth and tongue are as deft as the lady's. He even manages to maneuver them onto the bed without any injury. "You mean not say anything?" he inquires, kissing along her neck. "Sometimes." Hands start to explore, although they don't stray very far into unknown territory. "I'm rarely quiet, though." Which probably is not in reference to words if the enthusiasm he's shown is any indication.
Penelope tips her head back, lidding her eyes as she offers him more of her throat. She murmurs something that is, in its own right, more sound than words… akin to a purr. Her fingers thread into his hair, her body arching obligingly beneath his hands. "Kal…" she whispers, a soft, giddy laugh. "Ohhhh, Gods, the timing…" she giggles. "I need to sleep, luv."
"You will," he sublimely smiles, not abating. "You… just… relax… and I'll… see to it that… you have the best rest… you've had… in a long time…" Orgasms are always good for that, right? Hands are good for giving them, and Trask's are those of an artisan. "Just make sure to not shut up."
FTB, suckas!
For the record, Trask did not 'score' and instead wanked in the shower, afterward.