PHD #443: Shadow Boxing
Shadow Boxing
Summary: Ciro and Ximena struggle to communicate as he tries to tell her that he'll be leaving for Gemenon.
Date: 15 May 2042 AE
Related Logs: None
Ximena Ciro 
Engineering Office
The cluttered office is one of Ximena's hideaways, containing multiple desks and a small couch that staff sometimes take naps on between projects. ((This scene took place in the TP rooms, with no actual major description to the room.))
Condition Level: 3 - All Clear
Post-Holocaust Day: #443

The last few days have shown an increase in Ciro's punishing physical schedule, inexplicably, including a hard jog by himself in full gear up and down the hallways of the Cerberus. As of yesterday, however, he's calmed his schedule. With only light duty this day, he's just finished his shift and is stalking the hallways of the engineering deck, looking for familiar faces. Again, he slips into the office that Ximena usually haunts, glancing inside without announcing himself.

Ximena is indeed in residence, but, for once, she's not sitting at the computer looking over plans, or tinkering around with something or another, as she tends to be when the time comes to keep herself busy. Instead, she's settles into the couch, turned onto her side, staring at a monitor that looks as though it went into shutdown mode quite a long while ago. At least she' still in her coveralls, so that this is entirely a tromp through bizarro-land.

Ciro's eyebrows knit together in a look of concern. His hand peels from the door's frame, but stops before actually tapping on it. This isn't the first time he's stepped into an area to find her utterly lost in herself. He watches her face, verifying that her eyes are, in fact, open before he steps quietly towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Ximena." He says as his fingers rest on her arm, trying to bring her out of the trance.

Ximena doesn't snap out of it, so to speak. More she simply returns from wherever she was, settling back into herself, eyes removing their focus from the monitor and settling on the man with his hand on her shoulder. "Sunny. What can I do for you?" She slips out from under the hand or tries to, to sit up on the couch, and move closer to her chair.

Making his point, Ciro motions towards the shut-down monitor silently. It's his way of showing her that he could tell that she'd been in her position for quite some time. He lets her go easily enough, turning to sit on the other side of the sofa while she escapes it, heading for her chair. "I was just in the neighborhood. Thought I'd drop by." His head swivels from his desk to her, watching. "I wasn't…interrupting anything was I?"

Ximena levers herself away from the comfortable confines of the couch, to settle back into the rigid structure of the chair, carefully schooling her expression of anything that might approach discomfort, "No, you weren't interrupting anything. I don't start my shift for a few hours yet. figured this was as good a place as any to pass the time. At least, it's closer when the shift does start."

An uncomfortable silence settles between them, as Ciro runs his hand over and through the mohawk on his head. Stretching out his sore muscles in his lower back, he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and scans the office once more. It's cluttered, just as he remembers it. He is at least kind enough to wait until his eyes are off of her to ask. "You wanna talk about it?"

Ximena shifts the chair, moving back to her usual place behind the desk. She must have been working at it at some point, because the chair that would normally sit behind it is already off to the side. The computer, however, isn't turned on once she's in position, "I'm sorry, what were we supposed to be talking about?"

Ciro turns his head away, looking to the monitor that normally serves as the video screen when he watches movies in the office. He presses the button, ejecting whatever's inside as he reaches for the leather wallet that houses the video programming discs and chips. "We weren't supposed to be talking about anything." He replies, his eyes towards her once more, doing his best to judge whether or not he should get involved.

"Then why did you ask me that question?" Ximena settles in behind the deck, settling in as best she can into the chair. "I really don't understand you, Ciro. You seem to get offended whenever I try to pry into your life, but you don't seem to find it a bit invasive yourself when you do it to me. What is it that you want from me, exactly?"

It's a fair question, at least it seems to be by the reaction on Ciro's face. One eyebrow lifts as his head nods, answering a question that hasn't been asked. Watching the back of her chair, he sets the disc-wallet aside and then leans back into the couch, getting comfortable. "I was just trying to make sure you were okay, Ximena. That's all. By all means if you have any questions about my life, ask away. Your business is your business, but…" He glances to the door, considering leaving. "…I just wanted to make sure you weren't someplace you didn't need help getting out of."

"I'm always okay, Ciro, didn't you know that? I'm a good soldier, a better engineer that almost anyone else on this boat, and I never make any waves or cause any problems. I'm the ideal naval officer." Ximena's tone isn't wry, or sarcastic or caustic, it's just bland, as if she were stating dry facts. "You've told me everything you needed to tell me about your life. But believe me when I tell you, there's nothing that you can do to help me out of where I am."

"Nor am I an egotistical enough asshole to assume that I have what it takes to help anyone with anything, Xim." His gaze lowers, trazing the patterns on the wheels of her chair, gazing over the floor to see if any dust or grit left behind bears its pattern. His arms fold across the center of his chest, and one leg rises to prop over the other. He chews the inside of his lip. "None of that means that I'm not gonna care."

"You don't need to care, Sunny. What you need to be doing is going out there and doing your job and living your life. You made it out of the first days of the war, you've got a life that needs living, you need to be focused on that. Even the best engineer will tell you that trying to fix something that can't be fixed is setting yourself up for failure."

"I've got a life that needs living?" Ciro asks, eyebrow raising as he keeps his tone as inoffensive as possible. "Ximena, I've only got so much life expectancy to throw around, so whether I live for the moment or make future plans, it doesn't change that I've got a job to do." He pauses, letting his words settle in. "I really don't know any better way of saying it, but how do you want me? Would you rather I kept my distance, kept it impersonal?"

"Yes, you do. And whether you have a day left in that life or ten years, you should be placing all of your effort into making those days count as much as possible. Filling it with people and experiences that are going to enrich your life, not drag you down. I'm dead weight, Sunny. Nothing's ever going to change that. Not for me, but it doesn't have to be the same for you." That last question gives her pause, and there's a wariness to her expression, but as per usual for the woman, she'd rather answer a question with a question, "Which would you prefer?"

Ciro's hand goes to the back of his neck, scratching softly as he considers her question. His lips pull to one side, again tracing over the design of the tread on her chair's wheels. He opens his mouth, tilting his head to the side, breathing in quietly as he prepares his answer. "I'd say…that I wouldn't come down here, asking how you were, if I were keeping my distance. That's just plain fair, right?" He leans forward on his knees again, raising his gaze to her shoulder. "But if you want me to stay out of your personal thoughts, I think that you should tell me. I don't think that you're dead weight, either. But whatever I choose to fill my life with from here on out's my choice to make."

"And what happens when you find out that it's just too much for you to handle, Sunny? When you get tired of things getting thrown at your head, or having to sit in a shower in your clothes? Believe me, I've had better days than those and I'm going to have worse. I'm not going to become the millstone dragging you down to the bottom of the lake. And I don't want to be anyone's pet project." Ximena still hasn't moved from where she's sitting, as if the desk could fill in as a barricade between herself and the Marine.

"Pet project?" Ciro shakes his head. "No, you're not some pet project that I've attached myself to. I don't know. This is what it is, and there's no better way to explain it than that. I can take a hit, I don't mind hot showers, and if people only expected good times from their friends they're frakkin' unrealistic." He lifts his head, gazing from a downward angle in her direction. The side of his lip tugs into a short frown as he considers his words to her. He's not walking over eggshells, instead he's trying to make sure that things don't come out wrong. "I'm not some person walking around with a list of requirements and things that I want. I don't have any demands of you or your time, Ximena. There's no way you can drag me down when I'm not demanding anything."

Ximena simply sits quietly, settling herself, studying the man across the way from her, mohawk and all, as if she were making decisions of her own, but without the necessity of voicing them aloud. It;s not that she's not listening. She is. Or taking things to heart. She has been. But these things take time, and effort and consideration. So…for the moment, she offers only a short, "I hate this chair, Sunny. I hate everything about this chair."

"I get that…" Ciro's eyes find hers, nodding slowly. "…I'm not gonna bullshit you, Ximena. Gods, I don't know if I could do it, myself. I'm not going to feed you any lines about you being brave or try to convince you that it's not so bad. Frak…my life up until enlisting was on a surfboard." He pauses, swallowing. His lips part, showing slightly bared teeth, but not in a show of anger or frustration, but just the sort of weight he's putting behind his words. "I don't see the chair." He says flatly, as if drawing a line in the sand. "You had the balls to tell me to get my head out of the sand, and that's not what I'm going to do with you. I'm just going to be here. Nearby. Until I'm not anymore."

Ximena finally pushes away from the desk, wheeling back around to come to rest just in front of where Ciro's seated himself, "But you need to see it, Ciro. You never know when you're going to really need to see it. So look at it and tell me what you see." And the tone of her voice, it's not as if she's saying, 'You can't see me without seeing the chair.'

"No I see it." Ciro clarifies, bringing himself to sit more upright as she approaches. His hand comes up, forming a claw-like gesture that points towards his own chest, adding hand gestures to his words. "You know what I mean…" He trails off, lowering his gaze to the chair, his eyes crossing over it. He finds a part that doesn't appear as if it belongs, reaching out to brush his fingers over it. "Clever." He comments, the side of his lip twitches. "The chair's not everything that it seems. It's complicated, but you put your design into it so that it's an extension of who you are, rather than just a thing." His head trails down one side, finding another piece. "…and you've clearly been hiding a weapon on it." He remarks, looking up to her face. "Understanding it'll take some time."

"I had to learn to make up for things." A shift around, as she moves to the side, levering herself back onto the couch, taking the time to draw up her legs and make herself comfortable, though she's not crowding, so that's a comfort in and of itself. "I don't know how I want you, Sunny. I don't think I've ever even really thought about the answer. I know that I like having you around. I know that I look forward to movie nights," which are really more of movies whenever our shifts collide. "I know that I like the idea of you being around. Till you're not. or I'm not."

"I don't really understand how that five-hundred ton monster works, the till you're not or I'm not thing. Never really gave it too much thought, being as locked in the present tense as I've been for as long as I've been." Ciro replies, turning to place his back against the arm of the sofa, opening up their conversation. "But that's the reality of the situation isn't it? What I can't fix with my direct involvement or you can't fix with your direct involvement, pretty much leaves us having to rely on the rest of the fleet to make the right calls. If those calls don't get made…" He shrugs. "…I guess next step is exploring the afterlife. I've been doing this too long to really worry about it anymore." He pauses, pulling a piece of lint from the couch off of his knee, dropping it aside. "Being around and movie nights is good enough."

"I don't think it's really good for sanity to think about that." There's a darkness, more in her eyes, in the slight downturn of her lips, that's evidence of having pent too much time thinking about just that. "You do what you can, and let the rest take care of itself. If life goes in the direction you like, great. If not, well, it was good for the while it lasted." She seems happy enough to stay as she is, settled comfortably,a hand curled around her knees, "So this means we're going to need to scavenge some on Gemenon. I hope they have some decent movies."

"I'm almost worried about that, simply because it's Gemenon." Ciro half-groans, rolling his eyes at his own joke. "We're probably better off scrounging up cameras and trying to find actors in the fleet, or relying on bad actors with good writing. Chances are if any films have survived they're probably of the fundamentalist variety. Then again…if we look in the same room where they're hiding the wine I'm sure we're bound to find something worth watching with the rest of the contraband."

"Well, you know what they always used to say about the priest's daughters. They're always the worst. Something about wanting to buck the system. Well, perhaps that isn't the right turn of phrase." A upturn of her lips, "You know when you'll be heading down? I doubt they'll ever let me go down, but they did, a few times, in Aerilon."

"Me? Probably never. You know how these things go. If they don't need me to shoot at anything I'll stay nice and quiet up here, standing in front of a door, waiting for someone to try to push me over." He smirks, lifting his shoulders noncommitally as he lies to her. "You're probably more likely to go down than I am, you've got the more useful skill and if it's safe down there, who knows, maybe they'll build a few structures?" Reaching to the side of his head, he runs his hand through his mohawk, watching her from his side of the sofa.

"I don't think you'll get that lucky. There's something to be said for having an MP detachment aboard a naval ship. But it wont be MPs they need down there." It's just a reality of life, now. Combat marines have little use on the ship, but the ship can't survive without them. "I'm not an assault engineer anymore. But it's been months since we had a chance to salvage supplies, and we need them. Especially to keep the ship and the fleet running."

Ciro quiets, watching her fairly closely as if he's gazing at her over a hand filled with Triad cards. His haunted eyes remain as still as the rest of his features, moving only with the blink of his eyes. "I guess we'll find out when we get to that point." He replies, tilting his head to the side. He stretches his neck until a small, quiet pop is head, averting his gaze in favor of her chair. "I wouldn't mind getting some dirt on my boots, but that place is likely just as irradiated as everywhere else."

Ximena's smile is soft, humoured, but with more of a feeling of laughing with you than at you. Life is strange, and so is the way the humans still interact with their former worlds, "That's what anti-rads are for." Hands reach up, tucking hair back behind her ears. "You keep looking at me as if i'm a puzzle you don't know how to solve. or you're not sure if you want to."

The snort comes from Ciro's nose as his head shakes. "No, it's not that. Really." He assures her, taking in a slow breath and releasing it as he turns his attention back to her. Arms still folded, one hand frees itself from its space behind a forearm to reach for his bicep, rubbing over a tattooed piece of his skin. He changes the subject. It's an obvious move, but he doesn't seem to be putting his foot down. He's in good spirits. "So I've been meaning to ask, with the hatchery you're working on? Do any of you other than Sofia have experience with fish? I thought she just had one of those little tanks back home or when she was a kid or something."

The dark-haired woman doesn't try to hide the frown that flits across her expression. She's not so oblivious that she can't see her comment being sidestepped, or ignore the slight flash of anger at it. "Those are just your terms, right?" A flick of her hand to wave the comment away, "No one in Engineering, no, but there are hundreds of civilians in the fleet with much more real-life experience than we have. Scientists and all. And we can figure out how to make it work. No other choice."

Something involving the word 'frak' seems to cross Ciro's facial features, forcing him to bring up both his hands, pointing them towards his chest with his fingers in a claw-like pattern as he searches for the right words. "No, don't get mad. I mean it. That's not what the look was for. I was just thinking for a moment and got lost. I'm not bullshitting you." He gives her a stiff nod as he tries to clarify his situation and try to cool her engines at the same time. "Just had a weird moment, that's all."

"Do we ever do anything that's not arguing?" And that's not an argument in and of itself. It's what it is. A simple comment. Uncertain and slightly lost. It's hard when you can't ever say the right thing, even worse when even your best efforts don't get you any closer. "I've never known you to bullshit me before." Which is sort of bullshit in itself, but it's her way of brushing it off, "Life is full of weird moments."

"We've had a few moments…" Ciro chuckles, eyebrows lifting as his eyelids half-shut. He places the palm of his hand to his eyesocket, rubbing softly. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be difficult, but I'd just rather not talk about Gemenon, that's all. For a second there I was trying to figure out if you'd heard something about some sort of plan to head down, and that maybe you were trying to feed to me that I'd been mentioned. All that stuff's above my paygrade." Again, it's a half-lie. He reaches out to her, nudging her arm. "Hey, don't be mad at me."

Ximena shrugs, "I know the fleet plans to go back there, or at least Command plans to go back there, but everyone knows that. Do I know anything more than anyone else? No. But that's not really my concern. My concern is with planning what salvage runs we'll be able to possibly pull off when we get there, if any, and what supplies we could possibly bring back. Not to mention trying to figure how to convince command to let us use a raptor to collect fish and flora for what we're working on."

He leans back to his side of the sofa, crossing his arms once more. "Yeah, your guess is as good as mine, to be honest. I know that when all of that happens, though, I'm likely to be one of the people tasked to set up shop and watch over you and the rest while you collect those samples. Have you sent any requests like that up-line to command?" He asks, reaching to his shark-toothed necklace, idly running his thumb over the dulled serrated portion.

Ximena shakes her head, eyes settling on her hands as she folds them in her lap, "No, I figured we need to have everything built first, put together, so we can show them exactly what we already have ready. Because once it happens, it's not as if we'll be able to wait to get the livestock in there. But Mark knows, he came down when we were working on it, remember?"

Ciro lifts his eyes back to her, tracing the turn from her browline over her nose, an almost coy look falling over his features. "Well…then I guess your engineering crew better hurry the frak up. Who knows how long we're going to be over Gemenon." He then pauses to consider something, eyes tilting off to the side. "Did you need any more of my help on that? I'm going to be busy the next few days, but when I get back I could probably lend a hand."

"We're going as fast as we can, but since it's a project we're working on in our spare time and off-duty hours, it's not as often as we would like." Engineering runs some of the longest hours in the fleet. Especially since they handle most of the engineering tasks for the Elpis as well. "If not Gemenon, we'll find another place. It'll happen." The rest of Ciro's statement goes without saying, and Ximena knows better than to press. "We could always use your help. When you're free, come and find me, or Sofia."

"Alright, I'll be back down here when my schedule frees up. If you're not here should I try to track you down or just leave a message on the wall for you?" It's as if he's not sure whether or not to leave the conversation, and some strange awkwardness is keeping him rooted in place. It's a strange place for him, usually a force of his own will. His head turns back to her, offering her a quiet, flat smile. "If I don't see you, I'll just catch you the next time we can, alright?"

It's amazing how much distance can grow between two people, until they might as well be looking at each other across a pyramid court, rather than a couch. Because that's certainly the way Ximena looks at the man across from her, the tone in her voice. And if there's confusion there, well, it's to be expected, isn't it? Giving with one hand and taking away with the other tends to do that to anyone. "You're free to do whatever you please, as always. I'm not hard to find. neither is the message board."

The layer of ice that's fallen over the space between them on the sofa is tangible, and her words bear the weight of that same, fed-up tone. Locking eyes with her, Ciro simply stares. There's something going on. Something he won't speak of. Though all he can do now is relent. Sighing, he stands and quietly adjusts the strap on his watch, tightening it. He turns the side, forced to position himself near her or else he'd have to lean on her chair. "I'm going down there." He whispers after making sure the door to the office is closed. "If you tell anyone it could result in me getting killed."

Ximena lifts a hand, as the man approaches, as the words start to come out of his mouth, trying to cut him off before he can finish saying whatever he planned to say. "I don't want to know about that." Whether for his protection or her own peace-of-mind is debatable. "That's not my demense." A hand reaches out, settling around his wrist, turning his arm to allow her to see the tattoo he was rubbing at earlier. "Tomorrow, next week, next month, didn't we have a talk about that? Doesn't matter, right? Just today."

Peeking out from under his watch is a small tattoo, an old Colonial pictogram depicting Poseidon. Despite its age, it's something seen clearly often near the temples always located at the coastlines. It's an old tattoo, far more blurry and crude than the dramatic art on his arms. "Fair enough." He replies to her before he says anything further, allowing her some peace of mind. He sets himself back down on the sofa. The conversation is far from over now after this new leaf is turned. He keeps his voice low, leveling his eyes on hers. His wrist remains in her hand. He chuckles under his breath, an amused look in his eye. "Though for the record, just today? I'm glad the conversation didn't end like that."

Ximena's touch is light, easily broken, but she seems more interested in studying the old tattoo than in holding the marine in place. Her hands are not feminine, or rather, they show all the signs of a lifetime spent at hard labour, but they're gentle for all of it. Equally gentle fingers unfasten the watch, setting it down on the empty cushion that rests beneath where his arm stretches out across the distance. And while she's not looking him in the eyes, hers at least, are still visible. "How is it going to end, do you think?"

Gazing down at his wrist in her hands, Ciro scoots a little closer, giving her more room to inspect. The tattoo, upon closer inspection, is filled with little imperfections, and it's likely to have been done by hand well before his eighteenth birthday. The sound of his breathing is evident as he quietly considers his answer. "I think we're going to make it." The words roll off of his lips easily despite their weight. "I didn't use to think so, but I'm not so convinced anymore." But that isn't her question. He stops prefacing his statements. "I think we're going to find a way to hide or fight again to a stalemate. If the radiation on Gemenon is somehow not so bad…there might be an answer there."

Ximena, for her part, remains where she is. having her hands busy, makes movement in any direction difficult at best. But neither does she seem inclined to approach or retreat. The tattoo, the skin it's been worked into are studied with a careful eye, as if the patterning and stippling of the ink could tell as much as the workmanship and design. "I don't really expect to see a planet again. Not for any extended amount of time." There's no longing or wistfulness there, as if living on the ground really didn't appeal so much.

"I didn't really expect to, but I just don't think that we're done with them. We can't stay up here forever, but even if we do find a place to set the Cerberus, there's no way that it'll be decomissioned." Ciro replies, his fingers flexing to press the tip of his middle finger against the heel of his hand, speaking quietly while she inspects. "You should get one." He murmurs, referring to his tattoo.

"And what would I get one of, exactly? I'm not sure there's much left in the world to commemorate this way." Ximena allows the hand to fall, not hot potato fashion, but just a natural release of the limb she was holding on to. "We can't stay up here forever, but neither can we spend the next year skulking around the colonies. There's nothing left for us here. Even if the cylons were to pick up and leave tomorrow, the colonies cannot support life again, and won't be able to for hundreds of years to come. We're like vultures, refusing to leave behind the corpse, even after its given up all of its foodstuff."

"Then we should go and move on. Take what fuel we can get our hands on and make a run for it. Try to find someplace. If the Cylons want the colonies they can have them for all I care. But…what if there's still people? There's people on Gemenon, which means…there could be others." He replies, letting his arm rest on the cushion next to the watch. He reaches out, slipping the watch into his pocket, leaving the tattoo bared. "Some people tattoo anything on them, and others take forever to decide, either way it doesn't have to be a big project. It could just be art."

"Of course there are people still on the colonies. We have no illusions that the people we've rescued, myself and you included, so far, are the end. But we can't rescue everyone. That's just a fact of life. And time and radiation are taking their toll on the people who remain. I hate to make it a numbers game, but there it is. We have to save what we already have. We don't have enough resources to spend the next few years scouring the colonies for every last human left alive. It's just not possible." Ximena settles back, allowing the man his space. She might be pushy, but only in certain circumstances. "I'll think about it."

He reaches for the top of his head, brushing his hand through his hair before he leans back against the sofa's opposite arm, turned to watch Ximena from the sideways angle. "Well, don't think so hard about it. I'm not sure if I know anyone that actually does ink-work. Maybe there's someone still around on the Elpis. I've been considering getting some more work done before supplies, if any still exist, run out." His words trail off into silence as he props his elbow against the back of the sofa, resting the side of his head in the hand of his bent arm.

And it descends again, that awkward silence that seems to crop up most often when they're not talking about work or projects. As if Ximena, and perhaps Ciro as well, simply doesn't know what it is normal people talk about, so mena does what she always does, trying to fill the gap in with facts and whatnots. "There are a number of people who do ink work, and there's no shortage of dyes for ink, with hydroponics up and running."

"Well look at you, all more connected than I am." Ciro muses. "Maybe if I did something more than jog and hide in my bunk I'd actually know some of these things, right?" He adds with a smirk, keeping things light. "What's your schedule like tonight? I was thinking of heading over to the Elpis and getting a shot or two in, unless you know anyone that's got a bottle stashed somewhere."

Ximena's shrug is a light one. There's no sense of pride in being in 'the know'. "You hear things when you're traveling over, or moving around the ship. Being overlooked has its disadvantages." She doesn't comment further on that point, "I could go over with you sure. I should probably check up on how the work is going over there, see if I can find one of the people from hydroponics to look over the plans." As for booze, well, "Depends on if you want the real thing or moonshine. We could probably scrounge up one or the other."

"Anyhing works, really. I know you're not a drinker but even if we could find a bottle around here, the shots are gonna take off the edge." He watches her closely, peeling his arm from the back of the sofa to rub at the side of his jaw. His fingertips slide over his day's growth of stubble. He's admitted as much that he's in some sort of pre-drop anxious state. "Frak it. You don't drink anyway, there's not much point. I've got a few hours before I should probably find someplace to crash, and then I've got some slow time I've gotta put in at my barracks, basically. Got any ideas?"

"I don't drink because I can barely control my body as it is. I don't need to be falling out of my chair to boot," comes the sudden snap of Ximena's voice. "I don't need you changing your life around just because of me. If you want to go and grab a drink do it. Things are worthless, just because someone can't or won't do them with you." There's unmasked frustration on Ximena's face, as she looks towards her chair. Unlike a more able-bodied woman, she can't just flounce off in a huff.

"Ximena." Ciro's voice lowers in tone, his eyebrows knitting together. "I know what it's like to be around someone while they're drinking when you're not it's never a good time." Sighing, Ciro turns to the front of the couch in preparation to leave, it seems. "It's not changing my life, it's just changing plans." He glances to the clock on the wall near her workstation and then back to her chair. "Maybe we should finish this conversation when I get back…"

Now she really does look angry, not just frustrated. "No, maybe we shouldn't. Just keep on walking, Sunny. That's what you do best. Maybe that's what we both do best." Mena finally levers herself out of the couch and back into her chair. She doesn't even bother looking at the man anymore, just waits, patiently, for him to get out of her way so she can make it through the hatch. Calloused fingertips drum against the handles of her chair, a tattoo of sound as impatient as her expression.

"What the…?" Ciro starts, a vein of frustration slipping out of his lips, followed by a sigh. "I just can't win with you, can I?" He asks, rising to his feet. His hand raises to his brow, thumb pressing into his temple to try to bleed away some of his stress. "I'm not walking away, Ximena, but you get mad at me when I change my mind to try to do something that might be more interesting to you. I was just trying to be accomodating." He glances to the door, frowning. He clearly regrets the direction the conversation has taken. He starts towards the door.

"The only problem with that, Sunny, is that you don't bother to ask me if it would be more interesting. You just assume it would be and try to shift things around to how you think they should be. You mentioned getting a drink. I said sure, then all of a sudden, you were like…no, probably wouldn't be a good idea. Why the frak did you ask me in the first place? I don't need you to be frakking accomodating. I never needed that from you." Not that she tries to do anything to stop the man from walking out.

"Well then what exactly did you need from me?" He stops, turning around to face her. The door is closed, so thankfully their conversation doesn't need to spill out into the halls. "I forgot you said you don't do Pete's. I forgot you said you didn't drink. I tried to detour like it was no big thing." Shifting his weight to the other hip, he looks for something to lean on. Unfortunately the wall nearby has a pipe on it that Ciro has to eye with suspicion. He'd better not. "Ximena, you are coiled so tight. I need you to understand that I'm not giving you some sort of selective treatment."

Ximena's voice comes out slow and even. Gods help him, he wanted an honest answer and that's what he's going to get, "Just you." Again, that shrug, as she shifts her chair to angle it towards the door, "You ever know someone who liked to do everything you didn't do, but you did it anyway, or let them do it because you knew they enjoyed it? Don't tell me you haven't, because everyone knows someone like that. It doesn't make what they enjoy any more or less valuable, or worthy. So you want to drink, so what? You get drunk, I let you get in the chair and you make an ass of yourself at eleven miles an hour." Hell yeah, The Chair is super tricked out. "You are giving me selective treatment if you can't even make a suggestion without second-guessing yourself and picking things just because you're sure I might like them."

Her words are wrapped up in some form of invisible concrete and then slammed directly into his teeth. Ciro stops, blinking as she explains herself. Was it really so simple? His lips flatten and his brows kit together, feeling rather foolish for the both of them. He tilts his head back to the ceiling, rolling it against his shoulders to try to chase away his frustration. Pulling one of the chairs from the desks, he lowers himself to it. "Alright. I can see your point. Do you want to brave Pete's and all of those strippers or do you know of a locker around here that's got a bottle in it?"

Ximena's eyes narrow, studying the man, before some small part of her seems to relent, fingers no longer drumming on the handles of her chair. Seems as if sledgehammering their way to an understanding is going to be par for the course. "I think I can rustle up something. You want to settle in here with a movie or some music, or did you want to go somewhere else? Pete's means you'll have to share the bottle. Those strippers see you, they'll be drawing all over you like leeches."

Ciro's lips curl into a smirk, eyes tilting to the side as he lets out an amused guffaw. "No doubt, the moment dog tags are seen the girls are like bees. They swarm. Reaching out, he grabs the movie wallet and pulls himself to his feet again. He tends to rise and fall often in her presence. "Why don't you grab the bottle and I'll look over something to watch." He glances around, trying to find a radio or some kind of music player. "Yeah, let's just settle in here." He decides, heading back for the sofa.

"Thankfully, I try never to let my dog tags show." Ximena nods, moving towards the hatch now, "I don't have a player or anything," she barely had a chair and her clothes when she came from Sag, "But there's some stuff on the computer." But she leaves him too it, working her way out of the hatch, a bit easier, since here, at least, in engineering, they've added in ramps to smooth transition from the deck over the lip of the hatchway, "I'll see what I can hunt down and bring back." A quick glance back, before she slips out.

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