PHD #015: Rendered Flesh
Rendered Flesh
Summary: Silas takes a trip to Fairyland to scar Tisiphone for life! Tatau style.
Date: 13 Mar 2041
Related Logs: None
Tisiphone Rojas Silas Sitka Quinn Evandreus Malone Alessandra 

File created: 2010-03-13 22:31

Viper Squadron Naval Deck - Battlestar Cerberus Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close

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.

"Why am I not surprised?" It's a full-on smirk that Tisiphone aims at Rojas. "You- do you even realize what your delivery is like? Frakdamn, man. I'm nice. Then I'm mean. I'm warm. Then I'm harsh. You're lucky you still have your balls." She's sitting on Nathan's bunk, cross-legged, near his feet. He's poking her with one toe, for emphasis over some point just made.

Despite any ideas placed to the contrary, Rojas is fully decked out in his flightsuit, albeit with one shoulder folded down to show off a reddening shoulder. Or to give it some air. Maybe both. "I really am." He nods, not letting his grin fade. At all. "I mean, I dozed off for a while when I stopped panicking, but I'm pretty sure you gave the lads a quick cup at one point."

The hatch swings open to reveal a petite brunette stepping in from the corridor. Silas Trista, the privatey pride of the CMC, steps into the Viper Berths with a black nylon duffle over her shoulder. Her eyes flick around like she's walking down a corridor in a wax museum, though the hall of serial killers, just waiting for The Caprica City Strangler to bust out of the shadows. But marine style — so she just flicks her eyes from one row of bunks to the other, slowly, and keeps a hand near what must surely be a concealed weapon of some kind. Fairyland is a fabled place. She wrinkles her nose slightly. Smells like officer in here.

Do cats and dogs really live that differently when they're both cooped up in a Battlestar? Poorly-maintained bunks, the occasional OCD-perfect one, amongst swaths and swaths of perfect, unclaimed bunks. There's a filthy rumour that Navy doesn't know how to keep their clothes on. Tisiphone and Rojas are proving it false — by talking about nutsacks, instead. Whatever pithy comment she was about to deliver is paused by Silas's arrival. "Private Hestia. Hey. Over here." She pushes herself up to her feet.

Rojas almost pouts at the sudden departure. Almost. He settles for a dull frown instead, brown eyes peering at the arrival when he rolls onto an elbow and peers from the side of his bunk. Silas gets two whole looks, just to make sure he believes what he's seeing. "Holy shits. I feel old just looking at you."

Silas, marine private of many names, heads across the berthing. She drops her bag, with a light thunk, on the table in the middle of the berth, then smiles to Tisiphone, before being distracted by the Rojas. Blink. Brown-black eyes take in the man's appearance, and she remains silent for but a beat in the face of commentary (again) on her age. "For most people, it's the mirror that does it, sir."

"It's Spanner," Tisiphone supplies, with a jab of thumb toward Rojas. She then adds, "Nathan." She heard a story that callsigns make Marines break into hives, you see. As for herself: "Tisiphone- sorry, I can't remember if I properly introduced myself. Welcome to- well, /our/ little slice of Hades." She knows the Private, somehow. Not that she's providing any details to Rojas about /how/ or /when/.

"Pshaw." Rojas is in his bunk, still in a flight suit that bears drool marks courtesy of Tisiphone. Ask the story. Dare you. He's actually peeking out to look at the Marine in new territory with a slightly curious gleam. "You're more fun to look at than a mirror. Mine usually has Shiv threatening to beat me to death with a bottle in the back of it."

Mooooooo. MoooooOOoo… Moo. That is someone…Mooing at the hatch? Or some-thing? A moment later, around the corner of the hatch, there appears the little stuffed black and white cow which has now been called Baby. Baby is sitting perched on the edge of the hatch, peering into the room. And mooing. But then she goes quiet, staring up at the room with big button eyes.

Silas reaches up and scratches short fingernails over the side of her neck as Tisiphone introduces 'Spanner'. Maybe callsigns really do make marines break into hives. She looks from Tis to Rojas, and nods slightly. "Silas Trista." Who knows where Tisi got the Hestia part from. Probably Arkat or summat. She regards the man as he mentions Shiv, though there's no recognition at the name, the marine appears to be chewing on the story mentally. She turns full around at the mooing cow thing, and this time her hand slides to the small of her back, like maybe she's thinking about committing violence upon… a stuffed… cow. "… CMC." The belated finish to her introduction is somewhat damaged by plushy livestock.

"Nathan," explains Tisiphone with exaggerated patience, "is one of our resident charmers." There's a bit of a sharp Look(tm) shot Rojas's way as Silas turns toward the mooing at the door. It's not 'dude, you're running off at the Admiral' frantic, but she's trying to will him to Button. His. Lip. Why a Viper pilot is awkwardly attempting hostess duties for a Marine is as mysterious as the drool on Rojas's flightsuit. "Bunny? That you?" she calls out the hatch, despite the cow being in plain view, then turns. She starts moving some of the tables and chairs, over in a quiet(ish) corner once inhabited by a now-extinct Viper squad.

Nathan's mouth is open to say something. By convenience alone, the second it opens is the second there's a moo'ing noise. Ventriloquism? Whatever it is, his face lights up like a christ… thematically-themed holiday tree. "QUINN!" Yes, he shouts. Suck it, people who happy to be sleeping. "Quit pervin' with the cow!" He's trying to keep the Home accent restrained. Really.

A heartbeat later, and seemingly very out of breath, Maragaret Quinn rounds the corner of the hatch and 'dashes' in, panting, as she scoops up the cow wide eyed. "I TOLD you not to run away!" She scolds the small furred creature, before flashing a breathless smile up to Spanner and wiggling the pervy cow in his direction. "I…I tried to catch her!… Think she thought more action was happening here…" Which, with Tisi and Silas, clearly it is happening. Her clipped Caprican accent is out in full force today, horribly stuffy and high class despite the light joking warmth in her eyes. She smiles to both of them. "Sorry… Runaway cow."

Speaking of those that happen to be sleeping. One of them would be Malone, since there's the sound of someone stirring behind the curtains of his bunk. And a few moments later, he looks out from said bunk, blinking a few times. "People…"

At the yelling about pervitude, Silas' shoulders relax a little. She brushes her hands over the thighs of her sweats, and does what all good marines do in situations like these. She takes a smoke from behind her ear, shoved it into her mouth, then keeps her head down as she fetches her bag. "Pleasure," she finally says, though her attention is split. "… I hear cows are shifty sorts," she adds, to Quinn, with a mostly hidden little smile. When she tips her head down, shoulder length dark hair falls across her cheek, and hides her face. Ziiiiiip. She opens the bag and then slings it to her shoulder again, after removing a long, slim, engraved wooden box.

Table slide aside, chairs upturned on it like a bar at closing time. Tisiphone's moving briskly, and more than a little nervously. "Floor's better than a bunk, yeah?" she asks, glancing back to Silas from a moment at her locker. "Grabbed some wipes from Sickbay last night." The potential directions her words could run in seem completely lost to her, at the moment. She closes the locker, hands full of individually-packeted steri-wipes.

"S'nice to meet you, Silas." Nathan offers a distracted smile before Quinn appears at the door, the Ensign sliding out of his bunk with the dull slap of bare feet on the cold floor before heading for the hatch, eyes settling on the Captain. "Did you let it see you naked yet? I tried training it to come a-runnin' whenever that happened. Not sure how well it stuck." His voice gets quieter the closer he gets, until it's an almost-conspiratorial whisper. He does give a glance over his shoulder at the activity in the berth, though. Curious.

Quinn scratches the cow's underbelly fondly, the touch illicting another Mooo before the stuffed animal goes innocently quiet. Maggie lofts a brow, an amused smirk dancing across her lips. "What nudity Baby did or did not see is between Baby and I. We've made a deal, and there's no men allowed." Pervy Lesbian stuffed cow? She then looks back over to the woman, giving a slightly apologetic, almost embarrassed smile, especially as a drowsy voice comes out from behind a curtain. "Shite, boys and girls… this probably isn't proper for a Captain. Didn't mean to ruin the party, or wake up the sleeping. Just… too damn quiet in Raptor country today." Quiet means trying to sleep. Or thinking. Neither of which is comfortable right now.

Malone pauses for a few moments as he looks between the others, blinking a few times in his quest to wake up a bit. "What's up today?" he asks, after a few moments of pause.

The little marine wanders over to follow Tis to the area where she's cleaning a space. She sets the box down, and nods. "Floor's better than a bunk." She digs into her bag with one hand, and pulls out a sweet smelling piece of cloth with tribal designs, batik of some kind. "Grab a pillow, two if you prefer." The smoke in Silas' mouth remains unlit. She takes a knee, and snaps the cloth out to let it billow to the floor. Now, with her hands busy, she's certainly a lot less shifty about being in fairyland. "Good, thanks, si—Tisiphone." She frowns slightly, as if unsure of which is appropriate in this situation. There's a shake of her head, and she sets the dark wood box down along the edge of the cloth. The silver clasp remains closed while she digs around in the bag. Another, smaller box is produced. She opens it. Inside are several vials of powdery substances, ranging in shades from black, to deep indigo to rusty reddish. There's also incense, a small knife, and some other things wrapped in fiber.

Nathan does the logical thing. He gives Baby the evilest eye seen this side of- erm, anywhere. "You…" Oh, it's bitter. "traitor to the cause. I thought I knew you." Yup. He's talking to a toy cow. We're all sane here. His face is the picture of smiles when he looks back up at Quinn, though. "C'mon in. Feel free to grab a coffee or whatnot. Jus'.. Watch out. We've already had one casualty from scalding water today."

"Too quiet in Raptor country?" Tisiphone pauses, seeming genuinely surprised by this. "Well." A touch fidgety. Captains, and all. "No Bunny of our own, but- don't feel unwelcome, Sir." She fetches her flat pillow from her bunk then, with a mischievous glint, nabs the one off the bunk above hers as well. "Tisiphone's fine," she says as she crosses back over to Silas. "Tis." She never, /ever/ suggests 'Tisi'. "Or Sir, if it's more comfortable for you."

Quinn furrows her brow, looking at the fabric, powders, clips. What in the world is she missing? "Looks like…some sort of party going on here. What's up?" She seems only a bit concerned, more curious, but illict powders are enough to bring out the slightly stern captain side of her. And then back to Rojas, the cow being brought up to head-butt Rojas' shoulder before Maggie tucks her animal beneath her arm. "Coffee would be good."

Silas asides to Tis, "Do they always talk about naked cow watching?" She has no idea what life up here is really like. It's her first tour, clearly. Probably her first time ever setting foot on a Battlestar, and a war has to go and break out. "Tis will be good. I mean, I'm not gonna be a marine for the next little bit." Mysterious! Once the boxes are arranged properly, Silas reaches up to peel off her sweatshirt, leaving just a single tank underneath. She folds the top and tosses it into her duffle, then moves to take a position on the edge of the dark blue on blue batik cloth on the floor of the berths, near the back. She kicks off her shoes, too. Marine private getting comfortable, ruh roh. "Ready when you are." She glances over, and grins to the curious onlookers. "I hope you guys don't mind a little tapping noise…"

Malone disappears back between his curtains for a little while, and there's a bit of sound from there, before he reappears, and starts to move down from the bunk, blinking a little bit as he glances around, "Little tapping noise?" he asks, after a few moments.

Speak of the bunny, and he appears. Two of them, even, if you count Gregor, whose hand is firmly lodged in Evan's hand, as though he might not ever let go of the flopsy beast. Redolent of the laundry room which has contained him for most of the morning, in fresh dryer-warm tanks and sweatpants, he's found his Captain, and, hopping through the hatchway, he tackles her from behind with a warm dryer-sheet-scented hug, "Juggles!" he greets her, giving her a snug.

"You brought me a stripper! Tissy, I love you!" Nathan's beaming could be shined out of the Obs deck to blind incoming raiders. He -is- jesting, however. Probably. It'll be hard to find out, though. He's beelining for coffee, looking more awake than he has since… well, ever. Ignore the messed up state of his hair. Tis has wandering hands.

Sitka steps through the hatch in his blues uniform, clearly fresh off a duty shift that only involved vipers in their most abstract sense. He sidesteps the crowd near the doorway, using his handful of file folders as a shield, and also heads for the coffee machine. A couple of familiar faces get flickered smiles in silent greeting.

Tisiphone has two squares of something covered in waxed paper. Get in our berths. We have candy. "Chocolate?" she asks Silas as she crouches down near-ish the Marine, very enrapt in the tools and powders being laid out. She unwraps one of the pieces herself, pops it into her mouth, chews happily. Little crunchy bits in it. Silas's, if accepted, is unadulterated milk chocolate. No crunchy bits. Woe. She looks up at Quinn when interest is expressed, and looks a bit like a kid telling a story to their parents that they may or may not catch hell for. "Just a tattoo, Sir." It's not a summary of events she's happiest with, but it'll do. A second later, both shirts are peeled off over the top of her head, and she stretches out on the ground in front of Silas. "Here okay?" she asks. Fresh nervousness. She squirms to a slightly different position.

The private opens the long box, revealing about a dozen bamboo instruments of mysterious function (unless one is familiar with tatau). Silas slides her fingers over the grips, and chooses a one with a slim attachment to the end — to those with a keen eye, a tiny claw-like attachment is wired to the termination of the 'L' shape of the bamboo, ivory colored bone with sharp little points. From the tribal look of the tattoo covering her left arm, to the selection if implements at her fingertips, the marine's purpose in the Viper Berthings may be cleared up. If not, surely one gets an inkling (har) when she pours a little liquid from a thin bottle into one of the vials of powder, and shakes it up vigorously. With the other hand, she reaches for a bit of offered chocolate. "Oh, score." The delight apparent on the young marine's face telegraphs her love of sweets. "Perfect." She doesn't seem nervous, which is good considering she's the one with the sharp things.

"Ah! Yes… of course." A strange bit of understanding crosses Maggie's features, and suddenly Silas is given a long, more thoughtful look. "You don't have woad with you… do you?" She dares to ask, an very odd request from a Caprican accent, but she inquires never the less. And then there is Evan, hugging her from behind. She shakes out of whatever distant thoughts had momentarily taken her and turns her body, to give him a hug with the cow in hand which, of course, moos again. "Hey, Bunny. Damn, quite a crowd." A thankful brush of her eyes crosses Nathan as he's going to get the coffee and, finally, a smile for Sitka. But Silas seems to have most of her attention for a few moments, her gaze almost hopefully studying the array of powders and innks she might have.

Nathan just keeps on making out the coffee, shifting aside to allow some space for Shiv to get to work. Any opinion he has about the changing situations and removal of clothing and arrival of new people are summed up quite simply with a low "Whoooooo!"

Sitka slants the duo of Private and Ensign a briefly bemused look, though doesn't seem to take exception with the tattooing going on right in the middle of the viper berthings. Another Captain might. Once Nathan's done with the coffee pot, he pours a cup for himself while still half-watching the 'show'.

Evandreus gives his Captain a most chaste kiss on the cheek, a cartoonish 'MWAH' of a gesture before he settles in at her side, nuzzling at her shoulder with his chin, back hunched over as he peeks toward the back of the room and the goings-on going on back there. He flashes a grin at Shivers, then wonders, for his part, "What's all this?" Yeah, he hasn't been paying attention, really.

Malone starts to move over in the direction of the coffee pot, a bit slowly, pausing a bit at the mention of the tattooing, "Oh…" he offers, after a few moments of pause.

The vial is uncapped, and a shallow dish half filled with the inky black liquid. "I do. Uh, have woad," she clarifies, so it's clear who she's talking to — Quinn. A brief glance is cast back to the redhead, so she can put a face firmly with that query. She glances over as someone in blues crosses through the field of her peripheral vision, though she doesn't quite look up far enough to make eye contact and note that it's Sitka. She does say, "Sir." She stows the vial, then reaches for some of the wipes Tisiphone brought. Riip. From throat to belly button, she drags the wipe down the slim viper pilot's chest. Her eyes do a double-take as she notes just a hint of a tattoo sticking out of a blues sleeve, on the hand of the Captain walking by. She asides to her current canvas, "Don't forget to breathe slow, deep breaths."

Tisiphone's trying to finish her chocolate in a hurry. No jostling the artist, and all. Soon enough there's only a few remaining crunchy bits which she juggles around between her teeth, making her mouth squirm about as she does so. She folds her hands behind her head, giving her shoulders a tiny adjustment against the floor. Deep breaths, as directed. At least her meditations put her in good stead, there. "Getting painted, Bunny," she calls, though she doesn't raise her voice overmuch. Sleet-blue eyes flick back to Silas, for a moment, then move to some distant point beyond the ceiling. "Okay. I'm ready."

Nathan weaves his way back to Quinn, letting a lingering glance fall on Shiv's arm that recently underwent a battle with coffee in an entire different manner. There's a little nod to the man's face, then the arm in quesioning fashion. Then Quinn has her coffee, offered at arms reach in a mug that states quite succinctly 'Petrels can do it inverted.' He probabaly made i himself. "You.. You have a thing attached to you." That'd be his greeting to Bunny.

She has woad. Maggie's expression definitely changes, just a touch, intrigued and a bit strangely… Happy? "I… I might come find you after, Private. If you do not mind. Now… continue on." She won't interrupt the delicate art of tattooing again, her loose arm drowsily coming up to wrap around Bunny's shoulders as he comes to nuzzle in at her side. She tries not to stare, a hint curious about just how much pain the young Tisi can take, but then she's not THAT rude. her eyes flicker back to Nathan and the coffee, smiling a bit more. "Quite the host you are, Nathan. Have parties here much? I'm disappointed there's no onion dip." She deadpans. She accepts the coffee with her free hand, her other arm holding Baby and Bunny at the same time. "Yes. I picked him up on the Victory and even the strongest Antibiotics can't get rid of it. I've grown fond of the little bugger."

"Tatau," Shiv informs Evan mildly, whilst topping off his coffee. The pot's slid back into the machine, and Nathan given a little nod that's possibly unreadable to most save the man himself. He gestures then toward Tisiphone and Silas, while still speaking to Evandreus. "It uses sharp sticks to cut the skin and pour the pigment into the scars, essentially. It's, uh, fairly traditional on Sagittaron." He sips his coffee, blue eyes lingering on the marine for a few seconds as he moves away. "I've got to go grab dinner, Maggie, but if you want to come find me on the observation deck later.."

Evandreus is that rude, evidently. Or just curious. "Oh, neat," is his only comment on the painting going on, though his eyes linger over there at the process until his attachment to his Cap'n is noted, and he gives Nathan a cheeky grin. "Don't worry, though. I'm completely benign." Shiver's description of the process causes no less than a full-on grimace in the Bunny. "Ow," he comments.

The bone tipped bamboo is dipped into the dark ink. Silas does not draw or apply a stencil first. Freehand geometric goodness. She doesn't even have a drawing on hand, by the looks of the setup, to read from. There's a flick of a CMC lighter, and she ignites the tip of the incense, which burns with a spicy scent, reminiscent of something reserved for temple, but nooot quite. There is no 'if you need to stop' speech offered. No escape hatch mentioned. She leans over Tisiphone's body, and hovers the ink dipped tool over the woman's chest, almost to her throat. "Begin," she says, as she takes up a bamboo rod without bone attachment. The bone is lowered, and then a rhythmic tapping begins.

"He's got something to put in you." Nathan finishes Shiv's sentence. Wait, what do you mean that was it? There wasn't anything to finish? Ah. The Ensign looks paler than he ever has before, dull brown eyes snapping between his Captain and the other one. He coughs, then starts shuffling towards his bunk.

Getting to the coffee, Malone gets himself a cup of the stuff, using a few moments of pause to smell that substance for a few moments. "Ah, better," he offers to nobody in particular, eyes opening a bit further now.

Tisiphone switches up deep breaths for a curious sniff at the incense. First mistake. It throws the rhythm out, and Silas is treated to a doubtless familiar expression of someone's eyes bugging out with- "Sweet mother goddess," she utters, teeth set for a second, breath harsh through her nose. She can do this, though; her breathing struggles even again. Only the rest of her chest to go. How hard can it be?

The process, though painful, is quick for the more geometric designs. The diamonds take shape recognizably in the first few moments, building down. Instruments are changed, once Tisiphone is familiar with the pain, and the wider tool allows quicker shaping. "I am mostly familiar with Tauron and Sag motifs," she finally notes, probably to the room at large. Her eyes never come off of her work. Tap-tap tap-tap tap-tap-tap-tap.

Quinn cannot help but watch. Morbid curiousity, maybe? But there is also this strange level of home sickness in her face… Nostalgia almost, as she gazes across the ritual tattooing being done in full view of everyone. She holds onto Evan a bit tighter, since she knows he's probably not comfortable with this, and reluctantly pulls her eyes away. Sitka is given a brief nod. "Sure thing, Captain. See you later on then…" Before her eyes trail back to Nathan's face. "Spanner. You okay?"

Nathan, unless he manages to out-reflex his Captain, might just get whapped across the back of his head as he beats a strategic retreat, with the handful of file folders Shiv was using as a pilot-shield earlier. They're pretty floppy though, so at least it won't hurt. "Sorry, Maggie," he murmurs to Quinn, with a hint of wry amusement, "a few of my pilots never made it past the mental age of twelve." There's fondness in his voice, regardless. The other Captain's given a casual 'salute' with his paperwork, and he threads his way back to the hatch.

Evandreus's knees do waver a little bit under him as it looks for all the world like that marine is trying to gut Cubits, and his face goes a little pale. But Juggles has him. And he has Gregor. Speaking of whom— "Hey, Spanner?" he calls to the guy as he heads past.

"So, how are people today?" Malone asks after a few moments, not looking over at the tattooing. Taking a sip of his coffee as he starts heading in the direction of his locker, rather slowly.

"Fewm'pilots'nevah'p's'twelve." Nathan mocks in a squeaked voice, rubbing at the back of his head that just got accosted by a folder. It's the most paperwork he's touched in years, really. "They say I've got a reading age of fourteen now, Ibrahim. Thenkyew." Don't get him wrong, he's still retreating. That's usually the best plan when one of their conversations goes like this. "Bunny! Yes?" Thank gods for distractions. Rojas slinks into his bunk, sat at the edge and varying his attention between Tatau and someone talking to him.

Tisiphone's skintone drains to a point rather close to chalky, I'm-about-to-faint pallor, but remains on the healthy side of it. If Tis ever really looks healthy in the first place. Her bare toes splay slightly to mark the occasion of particular taps, and a tendon in her neck keeps standing out, then sinking away again. The breathing stays steady, if not smooth — there's a hitch at either end. And, in case Silas hadn't caught it the first time? "Merciless mother of the gods." It comes out at the end of a breath, with little volume left to it.

"I just wanted to say thanks for the rabbit," Evan goes on, face finding some color again as he focuses on something -not- Tisiphone's mutilated torso. "I named him—" the further sounds of pain from the other end of the room gives him a little pause, but, "I named him Gregor," he finally finishes up. "He's really adorable."

The rhythm of the tattooing changes subtly, every few moments, perhaps to keep it from getting annoying as a background noise, or it could have a more ritual significance. "I was drunk when I got my first one," Silas supplies, probably to Tisiphone in response to the invocation of the Gods. She's still muttering around an unlit, brown papered, smoke. "Anybody got a light?" She has a lighter, but her hands are sort of busy. And it seems if she stops, Tis might flee. No stopping.

Quinn isn't really bothered by it all, so she turns her head, pressing a brief kiss into Evan's hair and then unlacing from him as she grabs a lighter out of her sweat pants pocket. She strikes the flint and reaches the flame out towards Silas' working hands, so the woman can get the heat she needs and go back to her work. "If you boys' stomachs are too sensitive, I'm certain you can head over to Raptor country until things are done here. I promise I'll knock and tell you when it's safe." She's only half teasing them.

Skin. Nathan's staying. He does worry his lower lip a little with his teeth, though. "No problem, Evan. Treat it good. Don't set it on fire." He appreciates the thanks, but it's fallen to the background with the show going on. A couple of impatient taps later, and he's looking like he's about to move and squeeze Tis' hand. Almost. Instead she gets the comfort of a low whistle. Whether it's about the skin or the pain she's getting is anyone's guess.

Frankly, Tisiphone has the bountiful cleavage of a skinny fourteen year-old boy. Especially when laying stretched out the way she is. It's even more apparent when Silas is able to continue tapping her tools steadily down from the hollow of throat to sternum with no, well, repositioning issues. She shifts her shoulders very, very delicately and asks Silas, "What occasion? Or was the alcohol enough?" The words are slow and measured, timed with her breathing. Her gaze snaps back from some distant location to study the Marine's face.

Silas tips her chin up a little as Quinn offers the requested light, puff puff. "Thank you," she murmurs, the words soft but nonetheless conveying her gratitude. "If you're considering a design," she continues, "It'll have to be done between shootings." There's a little joke in there. One might notice the way she slightly favors her left side. She was one of the marines that boarded the Chimera. Although, that could come off as a poorly timed joke regarding the Anchorage incident. Silas doesn't think that far ahead. The smoke that puffs from her cigarette is very much like a clove, spicy and distinctive — a Saggie local blend from Petah. Tap-tap tap-tap tap-tap-tap-tap. The ink progress down over the breast bone, staining injured flesh a deep, dark color. A zipper of diamonds forms down the pale skinned pilot's body. "It was a memorial ceremony far overdue," she replies to Tisi's question.

Evandreus has certainly seen worse wounds, in his day, but something about the way the woman works on Cubits is really getting to him, and when he dares to look over again and spots the blood, he's just about ready to take his Captain up on her offer. He's been inked, himself, but not in nearly so primal a fashion, and that one hurt damned near enough, in his book. "Okey. I woon't," he assures Spanner, accent rolling thicker through the words than is normal for him, though the significance of Nathan's imploration flies right over the Bunny's head. And he takes his flight.

Malone stays quiet for now, concentrating the most on getting hold of something from within his locker. Humming a little to himself, although quietly.

From somewhere, a cigarette appears in Rojas' mouth. Well, it's more of a cigarillo, really. Brown leaf-paper rolled with a gold band towards the end. No sweet spice or clove drifting from it when the flame of the lighter catches the edge in a sea of red, though. It actually smells of apples. The smoke is thick enough to choke a small mammal, but it really does smell of apples. With a smoke ring drifting out along the berths, Spanner snorts at the fleeing Evan, offering a polite "Hah. Pussy." as his facce relaxes into one of utter satisfaction.

"Don't you- Nathan, don't you even /start/ on why I burned it." Tisiphone's starting to sound a little loopy, and her words drift along on the smoke well after the conversation's moved on. She's cooking up a nice endorphine-adrenaline soup for everyone. She's starting to get into the rhythm of the tatau. Breathe like so. Expect it to feel like so when one of the diamonds is being closed off and the next one started. "I can understand that. Memorial ceremony." A long look at Silas, again, before her gaze drifts up and away. She'd almost, /almost/ look relaxed, if the tendon in her neck would stop jumping at random intervals.

Evandreus c-ccough-hacks at the sudden thick wave of smoke that hits him, and he squints back through the smoke at Spanner for a second before he scarpers on across the hall.

There's a tip of the marine's head, then she scoots down a little, to kneel by Tisiphone's hip. She remains leaned over the pilot, tapping one stick to the other tool to ingrain pigment into the pilot's flesh. "Anyone have any music? It might make this easier on… y'know." Everyone. "When I did my second tattoo," Silas notes to Tis, "That one really hurt. I was stone sober and doing it myself." There's a pause as she adjusts the placement of the bone tool. "The colonial symbols won't hurt as much," she offers, more quietly. "I carve them them pour the ink." That really doesn't sound like it would hurt less. And down to the belly we go. Blood wells, though she makes no moves to wipe it away just yet.

Quinn stares at everyone and their cigarettes, really rather quite envious. Not the look of someone who's quitting, but the look of a starving beggar gazing at a banquet. She shakes off the thought and waves after Evan before coming to sit down on the edge of someone's random bunk that is unoccupied at the moment. "I…don't have music, sorry, Private. Not much of a singer either." She quips, not the best of jokes. "And… I'll speak to you when you're done, Private… about the woad." Maybe she has seeds? There is a definite, strange hope on Maggie's face.

"I wasn't, Ms Tension." Nathan mutters, snickering at the departing Evan with absolutely no malice, just humour. Oddly, he does his best to keep the smoke away from Maggie. Even going so far as to outright turn away and blow the smoke into his bunk. Aerilon blends are probably the worst things for her to smell right no, lest his accent escape too. "I've got…" He looks inside his bunk. Winces. "It won't help. Tis'll jump."

Starting to sing a bit quietly at the mention of the music, Malone quickly shows himself not to be any expert singer at all. But as the volume picks up, the one thing is clear for now. The singing comes from the heart. He keeps on looking through his locker, though.

"Nathan. He deflowered his accordion yesterday." Tisiphone's diaphragm twitches several times in rapid succession in what seems to be a near-giggle, before returning to her cadence of breathing. Blood leaking out of fresh inkblack stripes in her skin, and suddenly it's all a joke. "Someone grab my smokes? Cap can have one, if you'll give me a drag off it first." Her perma-crumpled pack is usually kept in one of her pockets. Eyes close for a moment as Malone starts singing.

"If you would like to look, my supplies are in the fat wooden box," is noted to Quinn. Silas seems quite capable of carrying on multiple conversations while she ritually scars a woman for life. She puffs a little smoke out of her mouth, and it curls across her face, sliding over her hair before it heads for the ceiling. An alarmingly long ash forms on the end, and dangles over Tisiphone's body. "Oorah," she says with a grin, and somehow the collective might somehow garner this is intended for Malone and his singing. "I've had grown men pass out on me before," she says, a moment later, "You're doing good, Tis."

Before Maggie goes about digging for that familiar, old style blue ink, she reaches up to Silas' lips. "Mouth open." And if the Marine does, she scoops the cigarette out just in time, ashes it off to the side, steals a smooth drag for herself and then slips it back into Silas' mouth. "Mouth closed." Now tasting of her own coffee lips. Good deed for the day done — namely making certain no ash falls in the OPEN WOUNDS of Tisi's chest, she heads over to the wooden box and pulls it open gently. Somehow, through this whole process, she's entirely managed to avoid Nathan's eyes. Maybe it's purposeful, maybe not. "And yeah, Tisi… good training for the next time the cylons try to shoot us full of holes."

"I didn't deflower it, Damn." Nathan just shakes his head, pulling the (really very ornate) Accordion into his lap with a slight grunt. It's small, button-keyed and suprisingly bassy as he airs up the innards. "Those days are a bit past me, I'm afraid. Just cleaning off the dust cover was all." By pure coincidence, the accordion tone happened to match the note Malone was on. Skillz, yo. …As far as Aerilonian stuff goes, Quinn probably shouldn't look at the Accordion, either. Nathan's like a walking trip down memory lane, and we know what happened last time.

Silas opens her mouth as she's directed, relinquishing the smoke to the other woman. It's a rough Saggie blend — a lot of folk might find it odd tasting. She grins a bit, then dutifully takes the cig back when it's offered. The box is about the size of a cigar box, but heavier, and carved with geometric decoration. It has a bunch of little glass vials with varying types of pigment, ash, powder. Most of them are in earth tones — either black, deep brown, deep red, or indigo with very little dark green. There are several small packets of leaves, and also several vials of seeds for natural dye plants along the bottom, also in glass vials. Among them are the purple-black woad seeds. None of the vials are labeled, but the experienced eye might gather that most of them are natural pigments. "Deflowered an accordion?" The question, belated, sounds a bit dubious. "Man, I hate it when the cylons shoot people full of holes." A simplistic statement, it could be a joke or a play on words, but there's a naive sincerity to it that only an 18 year old (green marine) can muster.

Tisiphone doesn't /say/ thanks to the Marine for her comment on pain management, but there's a heavy-lidded look pulled from the ceiling down to Silas. She might even be smiling. "That's because men have no idea what pain is." Baldly stated, as if it was Utter Truth. "Don't listen to him. He did. Gave up its virtue right there on his bunk. Hasn't even washed the sheets yet." Her eyes close again for a moment, when the aforementioned accordion starts making music-like tones.

Indeed, Quinn was doing very good about avoiding all things Aerilon, except for the fact that she's looking down at those darkly indigo seeds right now and, for just a moment, there are too strong memories completely present. Aged hands, the woad seeds, her grandmother painted up… Maggie's actually gone dead quiet, settling herself on the floor now, Silas' box in her lap as she carefully opens that small vial of seeds, pouring just a few into her pale palm…

Malone keeps on singing along with the accordion as it starts playing, offering a bit of a grin to the man playing it.

"The sheets that you were sitting on with utmost joy, I'll add. Freakylady getting off on the pain of an innocent instrument." Nathan's jest is a sharp counterpoint to the few testing notes leaving said instrument. Simple, testing chords that match the general timbre and pitch of Malone's heartfelt outbursts. If anything, it's obvious that the man is more than a little rusty. Accordion's in good condition, though. Fingers? Notsomuch.

Tappy-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, tappy-tap. It goes on, and the bone is regularly re-dipped in the ink, until the very last of the triangles is formed. The bold geometric design running in 12 diamonds, connected with smaller oblong shapes, to form a stacked ladder sort of shape. "… Ew." That's a response to Nathan's accordion antics and the unwashed sheets. "Unclean," she mutters under her breath. Her eyes flick up to Tis's face, and she grins a bit, careful not to lose the smoke. "Good call." Apropos of nothing, that comment is not elaborated upon. Once the diamonds are finished, she sets the bamboo tools aside. She reaches into the long, slim box and produces a different type of tool. This is also bone, but handheld. She uncaps the end, which has already been sterilized. She glances over to Quinn, and her dark eyes regard the women for a beat. There's a smile, and she leans over Tis after snapping on a non latex surgical glove to her left hand. "This is the easy part." Her gloved fingers press to the corners of the top diamond. She doesn't ask if the woman is ready, but begins immediately, with four clean strokes, to carve the symbol for Sagittaron. It wells with blood, though the design will not be plainly visible until ink is poured. She moves down the diamonds, and the strokes vary. Her hand is sure.

Quinn draws in a deep breath through her nose, shaking her head free of where ever she was lost. She very, very carefully pours those few dark seeds back into the vial and then tightly seals it. "Private… I am going to… Going to request some space to plant some of those, if you do not mind. If the brass allows, I promise to give you a return on your investment." If they allow. If every little bit of dirt isn't more important to grow food and not simple cultural ink. She carefully shuts the box again and forces herself out of it, looking back to the musical men and intense women. "…Sorry.. wasn't… thinking for a minute there. I should probably go. Sitka promised me some thrilling hours of paper work tonight."

Okay, /that's/ got her attention, snapped back right sharp from loopyland. Tisiphone's eyes widen, and her breath stops cold in her chest. It's several seconds before she remembers how to breathe again. There's a sound made around a tight throat that translates best as, "Hnrg," immediately thereafter. After her breathing settles down again, there's a lopsided twist of mouth given to Silas. A shared joke? Some sort of bizarre Sagittaran tatau mind-meld? Impossible to tell. "Yeah. Let's grow things," she comments belatedly on Quinn's words. "I want my herb garden." Who wants to survive without fresh basil for your galley slop? Seriously, now.

Nathan finally catches Quinn's eye. He can't hide the smirk. Nobody could hide the smirk he's wearing. "'Paperwork?'" The accordion manages haunting. Some old folk tune about a sailor and his lover throwing herself from a cliff slipping out when the Ensign isn't paying attention. "That's what he's calling it now? Sly old dog."

"I've never done this to an accordion and pilot singing before," Silas observes, that smile brief. She can't really grin too much, because she's run the risk of dropping a smoldering cigarette onto the tattoo she's been working on! Bubbled flesh does tend to mar the canvas. "Please do, Captain." Her reply is soft. "Take as many as you like. They're meant to be planted. I figured I'd get around to it where ever I ended up. Sooner is always better." The colonies are invisibly carved into Tisiphone's skin, one in the center of each diamond. There's a slight snicker at Tis's 'let's grow things'. It's not that funny, but to the marine, it is. She coughs and finishes off her smoke, before reaching up to pluck it from her mouth, and grind it out. She tosses the butt to the deck, and reaches for the ink, and a small piece of gauze. The remainder of the shallow dish's contents are dribbled in a line down the topless pilot's chest. The stain settles into the skin, cold in the carved areas. She uses the gauze to wipe it down, after applying a dab of lubricant to the skin that both shines the tattoo, and prevents friction over the newly carved areas. Wipe, wipe, wipe.

Quinn just -glares- at Rojas. "It's paper work, seriously. A study session. Don't you dare say another word." Maggie leans over, scooping up her pervy cow from the bunk where Baby had been resting and tucking the fuzzy one beneath her arm once more. "And just for that, Baby is coming with me. And keep singing, handsome." She nods towards Malone…"It drowns out his playing." Wink. With that, she looks back to the women…"Good luck, ladies. Maybe take a sickday or two, Tisi… after this., you deserve it." She half smiles, a hint worried, but then turns on the ball of her foot and heads for the hatch.

"Anytime," Malone offers with a bit of a grin in Quinn's direction, before he goes back to the singing now.

It's probably best that Quinn is hatchward bound when Nathan's heel start tapping against the floor. Despite being barefoot, there's almost zero give in his heel. it sounds like a boot. Almost as if he's taken the Captain's words as a challenge, the tune changes once more to something more likely to be heard in a bar or played by a stalwart Aerilonian surfing on the back of a runaway cow. His fingers work with speed and skill while Silas' do the same in an entirely different fashion. Hell, there's even the tongue-poke of concentration.

The incense, by now, has burned out, leaving a spicy scent in the berthing to go with the instrumentals and song. There's a pause, a little more wiping, and most of the excess stain is swept free, leaving the ladder of sigils climbing Tisiphone's body, framed in a diamond lattice chain. Silas tips back, strips the glove from her hands, and surveys her work. She pulls a little folded paper from her pocket, and she tucks it into Tisiphone's pants pocket. There's a loopy little list of pink pen and girly handwriting on that folded paper, detailing aftercare. "Done."

Alessandra slips in, dressed in tanktops and shorts, hair damp with sweat which causes what has fallen from her braid to cling damply to the sides of her neck and at the nape. In her left hand is a bottle of water and the right holds a pyramid ball, the latter of which gets tossed onto her bunk. There's a nod to those present but she's busy getting out of her clothing, keeping to herself for as long as it takes for her to change.

"Whoa!" Sudden exclamation from Tisiphone, her head lifting a fraction from the hands knitted together behind her head, as the ink is carefully dribbled into the fresh Colonial seals carved into her skin. Whether she thinks better of looking closely at what her chest currently resembles before or after actually seeing the mess of ink and blood, her head comes back down to a rest in /very/ short order. The ceiling is treated to another round of glassy-eyed stare, the Ensign following the tiles hither and yon as Silas finishes her work. At the Marine's announcement, she dares to peek again at the now-cleaned canvas. /Much/ better. And less likely to make Tis's pallor flip across the line to Fainting Time.

Quinn slips out the door, just intime to miss the intensity. Probably a good thing, right?

Malone keeps on singing, following the tune, although the words and the lyrics probably are not the same now.

Nathan would so have a smart-alec comment for this very moment, coupled with a snicker and a point, but then balanced out by a comment of how it looks good and that Silas did good work. Absolutely none of that happens, though. Accordion Jam Session in… session, people. Step back.

Silas wipes down her implements of dest—er tatau tools, sitting back on her heels. There's a slight wince as she does so. Her torso is more or less recovered from the shooting, but it's the 'less' causing a slight grimace. "If it hurts too much tomorrow, I suggest punching a marine. It always makes me feel better." She grins fully then, a flash of teeth (not quite straight in some places — poor Saggies don't have money for awesome dentistry). She takes some time cleaning the instruments, to be sterilized again later, before she delicately begins packing them up into various boxes.

"This is great," Tisiphone murmurs, eyes travelling up and down the fresh ink shining on her skin. "Now every time I think of this moment, I'll hear accordion music." She starts to prop herself up on her elbows, immediately regretting it. She'll just…lay back down. Yeah. Collecing her thoughts — which apparently are humourous ones. She gives a tiny flurry of silent giggles, ending with a soft, "Heh. Heh-heh. Last time I punched a Marine, he hit me with a shoe. Oh, gods. I so deserved it." Another silent, shuddery giggle.

"Might hurt her knuckles…should find an engineer or someone soft like that," Allie quips out to no one in particular even as she injects her two cubits into the conversation, that being without really knowing what the conversation is about. "What's going on?" Peering out from under her shirts as they're yanked over her head, taking stock of who all is here, her eyes lingering on each face before she looks at the next face.

Malone ceases his singing now, looking around at all the people for now. At Allie's question, he shrugs a little, "Don't ask me. Not quite awake yet?" he offers a bit lightly.

"He did?" Rojas almost exclaims in mock offense, cutting short the music to raise a fist in defiance. "The treacherous cur-monkey. Tell me his name! I will find him and stab him repeatedly with.. something. Such an affront will never, ever be acce-" This may continue for a while. His defiant rage is well acted, if it's acted at all. "-pted! Such rudeness on a ship of this calibre is just… Uncouth and I will set things right post-haaaaaahIcan'tbefraked." It kinda goes down hill, there. Music starts again. he's happy.

Silas glances up at the mention of knuckle bruising, and can't help but smile a little wider, "S'true," the sweats-wearing marine private agrees. There's another look to Tis before she says, "The sting'll die down a tiny bit, but it'll be sore for a while." That's heartening. Right? The brunette tucks boxes into her duffle, and moves to stand. She takes a moment to lift her arms high above her head, and take a long, full body stretch. A couple of things pop in her spine, and she arches back for a looooong moment. It ends, as many things do, with a grunt. She casts a look over to Malone, "Thumbs up on the vocals, sir." She flicks a brief gaze at Rojas re: his marine rant… thing.

Tisiphone lolls her head to the side, watching Silas clean and reassemble all her tools. As the Marine stands, she gingerly props herself back up onto her elbows, taking a slow and wide-eyed breath as her spine, and the new tattoo in front of it, curls. "Silas," she murmurs. Ve-e-ery serious now, all of a sudden. "This- it was important. Thank you." The sudden Very Serious Moment is made all the more surreal by the accordion blatting away in the background. "I'll find you tomorrow. Figure out payment."

Malone offers a bit of a nod and a smile at Silas, "Thanks," he offers, a bit quietly. He otherwise removes quiet for now.

Nathan reaches his crescendo, and the limits of how much he can play without a few drinks in him. So, the music reaches a slow stop, both Pilot and Instrument slinking back into the bunk without so much as a word. There's only a quick look at the packing marine and the curling ensign to show he's even aware of what's going on.

Sniffing at an arm, Alessandra pauses in getting dressed and grabs for her shower stuff instead, picking up her shower kit and towel. "I'll catch you guys later." Now in nothing but her skivvies, the trip to the head begins.

The petite marine smiles to Tisiphone, crouching beside the pilot. She nods, and the serious moment is returned with a bit of solid eye contact, from a marine who's usually skittish about such things. "It was important," she echoes, an affirmation of the words. She gathers up her packed things. Now comes the ritual and speedy fleeing. "I've had to pee for like twenty minutes." Srs moment over. "If you could wash the cloth, and return it tomorrow, that would be great. Payment can float until we find something right."

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