| Short Sheeted |
| Summary: | Carmen meets the twins as Iszak pranks Iosif. |
| Date: | 22 Feb 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Enlisted Berths |
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| Bunks with sheets. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #361 |
Iszak is making a bed. He seems to be enjoying it more than people normally do such things, whistling as he works. It's not just the usual military square corners and such, either, he's taken the entire blanket off and moved the pillow out of the way, carefully tucking the sheet in at the head of the bed before smoothing it down and folding it back up. He seems engrossed in his work, and after a minute or two the whistling turns into him singing under his breath, the song an old folktune from Aerilon about a dairymaid and a tinker or something like that.
Carmen is a new face here, staying quiet and keeping to herself for the most part since arrival. She steps through one of the hatches and begins to stroll up the room, past other bunks and towards her own, which carries her past the too cheerful, singing Iszak. It's the song that has her slowing, listening as she tries to pick out the tune.
Iszak happens to look up as he turns to gather up the blanket and begin laying it back down, tucking it in carefully around the sides and smoothing as he goes. He catches Carmen listening and tilts his head, singing a bit louder, and look expectantly at her, slowing as he gets to what seems to be the chorus and gesturing like he expects her to take it up with him.
Carmen looks startled that she's caught both watching and listening to him, one corner of her mouth pulling up into a slightly embarrassed, crooked smile. A smile that grows even more as he begins to urge her to join in, and after a few moments, she does just that. Quietly, at least, she's not very good at singing, truth be told.
Iszak is pretty good at singing himself, actually, and he seems more pleased that he's able to goad her into it than disappointed at her voice. He grins after the chorus, right about the time he finishes folding the sheet back over the top edge of the blanket with careful precision and rolling to his feet to crouch and tuck it in around the bottom. "Heard a bloke sing a version of that one where the dairymaid actually runs off with the cow," he informs Carmen, "Fancy that? Think he must've learnt it wrong, me, but there's no accounting for taste, innit?"
Carmen sings through to the chorus along with him, seeming to get more comfortable with this impromptu singalong when he doesn't make faces at her lack of a singing voice. "I think there's another version where the dairymaid runs off with a goat too. Or at least that's how a friend of mine used to sing it when drunk." She rakes a hand through her hair and grins at him now. "He wasn't very smart though."
"A goat? Sure it's not just a euphemism?" Iszak jokes with a snicker and shakes his head, "I've not heard that one. Who knows, aye? It's amazing how much they change from place to place, I know one — you know the one about the prince and the flower girl?" He hums a few bars and then goes on, "Anyway, I heard that, same tune and everything, 'cept it was about a man and his prize stallion. All the rest was the same. How in the hells does a thing like that happen, I ask you?" He laughs, and shakes his head in bafflement, finally seeming to finish his bed-making and step back to eye his handiwork appraisingly.
"It might be," slender shoulders lift in a shrug. "If it is, he never explained it, he usually wasn't sober when he sang it so asking him when he did was usually a futile effort." Carmen looks down to the made bed now, as if inspecting his work, perhaps admiring it.
"What, not a talkative drunk? Ach, that's a shame. If you can't spin a half-decent tale in your cups what's the point?" As for the bed, he continues to ponder. "So what d'ye think, then?" Iszak inquires eventually, gesturing to the bed and its covers, "Spick and span, is it? Shipshape and all that? No sign of tampering?" He grins, wide and not the least bit guilty.
"No, he talks, but it's useless shit that he tells you, and never what you asked him about," Carmen answers with a grin, gaze moving from him to the bed. "I'd say it looks good. Not at all tampered with." Her eyes narrow just a little as she looks from him, a hint of suspicion as she asks, "Is that your bunk?" It's amusement though, rather than any sign that she might snitch, that seems to prompt the question.
"Sounds to me like you're just not quite drunk enough yourself," Iszak smiles sagely, tapping his temple. Then it's back to regarding the bed and he nods at her verdict, "Brilliant." Another grin at the question and he shrugs, "Could be. What, I look to you like the sort of fellow'd tamper with another fellow's bed, do I?"
"Not sure I'm drunk enough to answer that question," answers Carmen as she shoots a look over her shoulder, as if suddenly on watch for anyone that might be approaching. Not that she has any idea of who to watch for. "Could be that I'm just a suspicious mind."
"Could be, could be," Iszak agrees with a shake of his head, "Shame that, y'seem like a nice enough bit, but you know what they say, aye? We can't go on together with suspicious minds, now can we?" He taps a finger alongside his nose as he shakes his head and then thrusts out his hand, "Well, t'was nice knowing ya while it lasted."
"You could just admit that it's not yours, which proves that I'm just perceptive and not suspicious," Carmen points out with a grin. "Which would mean that we could continue to know one another. I think it's a win-win situation."
"Just 'cause you're right don't mean you're not suspicious for guessing at it," Iszak retorts, "But I suppose you might be on to sommat there." He taps the bridge of his nose thoughtfully for a moment, or maybe faux-thoughtfully; it's difficult to tell. He eyes her a bit askance as he does it, lips pursing, and finally grins, "Belongs t'me bruv, that one," he says, a little opaquely as his intermittant accent waxes back in for a moment, "Might — that's might, y'ken — might've short-sheeted the poor bastard." He grins.
"But if I'm right, it means that my instincts are accurate, and it's not just paranoia leading me to thses conclusions," Carmen retorts with a laugh, one that comes again as he admits that the bunk might not be his. "I'm sure he deserves it for some reason or another."
"Depends how you reckon 'deserve'," Iszak grins, "'s a brother's job, innit? Deserves it just by breathin', I say. Wouldn't be wanting t'neglect my fraternal duties and all that." He ruffles a hand through his hair and goes on, gesturing at the bed, "And he tries so hard, the naff git, with his regulation corners and sheets y'could bounce a cubit on. It's just got t'be done."
"Can't say as I've had much experience with what siblings do and don't deserve," Carmen admits as she looks to the bed again. "So I guess that means I'll have to defer to your expert opinion on the matter."
Iosif shambles into the berthings, humming to himself, though the tune lacks jauntiness. And is interspersed with yawns. He looks to have come fresh from the Head. He's got a wet towel around his neck, which he uses to dry his still-shower-damp hair. "Frakking Swarms…" he mutters.
Iszak is standing with Carmen in front of Iosif's bunk, chatting away. He either has a sixth sense or spots the new arrival out the corner of his eye, and he immediately turns his back on the bunk and instructs Carmen, "Act natural, aye?" He leans against the ladder with casual laziness, asking, "So, what'd y'say your name was, anyhow? Oi there, bruv, you drip on my boots and I'll make y'polish them," he warns and sure enough, if Iosif is not his brother then they're Cylons, the two men seemingly perfect copies, except that one is wet and one is dry.
The instructions from Iszak are answered with little more than a tip of her head, acknowledgement that she heard, and then Carmen is looking over to Iosif. "Didn't say," she answers the other, non-soggy brother. "Carmen Beringer. And who…" the blue-grey gaze moves from one brother to the other, and then back again. "..might you be?"
"Eh, sod off," Iosif replies to Iszack as to the boots comment. "I'm still older than you. You think just because you got rank on me you can order me about?" He's half-sarcastic. He knows that sort of is how it works, and is clearly a bit incredulous about that particular situation. Without missing a beat, he slings his towel around around his neck and snaps it at his brother. His aim is careless, but a snap it is nonetheless. "His better half," is his reply to Carmen, quipped with a grin. Albeit a tired one.
"Sod off yourself, clumsy lout," Iszak replies, "Seven minutes doesn't make up six paygrades." The towel snapping catching him off-guard and he yelps and laughs and shoves Iosif in return, rubbing his side where he got caught. "He is only about half of me," he tells Carmen, "In the sense that I'm twice the man he is, y'see? And the better mannered for a change, y'must be well bad off this evening, if I'm the one makin' the introductions. Iszak and Iosif O'Keefe," he finally offers, "Pleased t'make your acquaintance."
"So, you're twice the man," Carmen points to Iszak, and then that finger levels on Iosif, "But you're better quality? Makes me wonder about the adage of quality over quantity." Full lips are tugged into a wholly amused smile as she looks between the brothers. "Good to meet you both."
"Iosif O'Keefe, proper," the showered one introduces himself, offering Carmen a crooked smile. "Honor and a pleasure and all." Said while's elbowing Iszak in return for the shove. The fraternal abuse is done without a second thought, though none of it actually seems designed to damage his twin. "That's me, luv. Quality over quantity." He heads for his bunk on that note, though his aim is to flop and sit rather than close up for the night. "You served here long? Can't say I know all the faces aboard yet. Just got through with training not long ago, and they've had us working time and a half without an hour to spare on the Deck, with the Cylons hitting us every damn day."
"But whatever he is," Iszak clarifies, "I'm twice that. So it's just a larger quantity of quality over here, yeah?" He reaches over to pinch his twin's chest in a similar display of casual violence before Iosif makes it past to his bunk. "Yeah, what's your name, anyway?" he asks of Carmen again, "Don't think we're like to forget y'haven't said yet," he chides, "We're too canny for those tricks, ain't we, Sif?"
"Naw," answers Carmen with the lift of one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Not been here for more than a month now, brought on from Tauron. Just assigned here about a week ago." A hand lifts to rake back her hair, pushing it from her face, not that it does much good when the hand drops back to her side. "I can tell you're as sharp as a tack," she tells Iszak with the flash of a grin. "Carmen Beringer."
"Twice the standard amount of wanker is what you are," Iosif retorts with a laugh as he kicks off his boots and stretches his long legs out in his bunk. "Tauron, eh? Well, welcome aboard. Zak and me was plucked off of Aerilon, ourselves. Us and our sister. She's still living on the Elpis now. Not a bad sort of place, but I figured I'd enlist." Sidelong look to Iszak. "Figured if they'd take this one, pretty much anybody could find a job in these parts."
"Twice as sharp as this one, at least. Never be at the back of the line, me, not so long as Sif's around," Iszak grins, aiming a kick at his brother's foot just before it's pulled up into his bunk. He nods as Iosif offers some info, confirming, "Aye, I was out for a year or two but figured I might as well jump back in, yeah? This one had to copy me, always does. How about you, then?" he asks, "You new altogether or just to this fleet, Carmen Beringer? What d'you do 'round here? I'm an engineer and he's on the deck," he volunteers.
"Not new, was about six years in before Warday," answers Carmen as both hands are shoved into her pockets. "So here I am again." She casts a look around the room, to the bunks, anyone else that might be near enough to note. "I'm an engineer too. Glad to have something to do though, can't imagine having to sit idle without a job to occupy the mind."
"Sharp as a rusty knob, you are," Iosif shoots back good-naturedly to Iszak, throwing a pillow at him. "Aye, you've got the right of it." That to Carmen. "Da used to say, idle hands is a workshop for demons. Don't know quite if I buy it all that far, but he's got a point. Felt right off cooped up on that civilian ship all day. Don't feel quite right when I'm not working. Though I could do with some rack time now." That seems to remind him to finally tuck under his covers. Which he does. Or tries to, at least.
"Least my knob's not gone rusty," Iszak retorts promptly to Iosif before lifting brows at Carmen, "You're a snipe as well, then? Aces, that's brilliant. Can always use more hands, 'specially now when we're having t'help pick up slack for gormless sorts like this one here. Speaking of idle hands," he says, "I've got a shift t'be getting to, can't keep the guv waiting." As Iosif attempts to get under his covers, he watches discreetly, deadpan.
Carmen leaves the talk of knobs well alone, listening, amused, but not quite comfortable enough with the pair just yet to speculate about whether or not one might be rusty or not. "Well then, I'll let you get to your rest," she tells Iosif, forcing herself not to laugh as he climbs into bed. "And you to your shift. Good to meet you both."
Iosif's legs sputter under the sheet. Confused. Then kick at it. "You wanker!" he hollers, looking about for another pillow to throw as he distangles himself from his covers. It's a flurry of motion, and he ends up even more tangled in them, and rather flopping around his bunk. Finally he has to stop and fish himself out properly. "Y'see this, luv? Can't trust the bugger. He's the evil one, he is."
Iszak laughs and laughs as the prank is discovered, watching as he walks backwards away, "Sleep tight, bruv!" he calls, giving Carmen a little finger-waggling wave before, still laughing, he wanders out.
"So you're the good one?" asks Carmen with a laugh, turning to watch Iszak as he wanders out. "Next thing you're going to tell me, one of you can only tell the truth, and the other one can only tell lies."
"Frakker," Iosif mutters, shaking his head and flopping out of his sheet to sleep under his blanket. "Anyhow, you got that right, luv. I'm the liar, though. He always tells the truth." Figure that one out. Putting his hands behind his head comfortably, he'll sleep on that note.
"Never trust the nice ones," Carmen intones as one finger taps against her temple and then points to Iosif. "They're the ones that're always up to no good." He's given another quick grin before she tips her head his way. "Night." And with that she turns to wander slowly back to her own bunk.