| Simple Favors |
| Summary: | Circe returns to the marine bunks and talks with Lysander. She asks for something unexpected. |
| Date: | 16 Feb 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Responsiblity and White Lies |
| Players: |
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| Marine Enlisted Berths |
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| BUNKS! |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #355 |
It's easy to tell that with the combat conditions receding back to some relative norm after another invasion of Cylons Sergeant Lysander is within the berths by the tell-tale light near his bunk, polished boots before it and his right leg hanging out of it. It's the leg that's key this evening, because the leg belongs to the man. He's in the middle of writing down notes from one notebook into another. There are others scattered nearby across the sheets and nearer to the bulkhead while he sits toward the fore.
Entering through the hatch with an active wake that spreads outward in disturbance, Circe looks exhausted in frustration. The corpsman gives a tug to her medic uniform, aiming right for her locker. She pulls it up and off, opening her locker to throw it inside. She starts hooking her boots with the opposite feet, not as orderly as she usually would be with a kick of them, soft bangs sounding as they hit the back. She begins to disrobe further without complaint or care and grabs for the towel inside. Her attitude screams disgruntled.
Whir-click. It's the hatch's mechanical grind that makes the lone man look up and over in its direction, his attention shifting quickly back to his things. It's easy for him to flip one notebook closed after the other, collecting five in all and leading into his looking elsewhere once more. He should probably say something to Circe, probably. She's also stripping down with regards to clothes. He's a guy. "You know," thickly sounds his voice from his end of things, "They say peace begins with a smile. And you, Circe, are frowning." He gives it a beat before asking, "What's wrong?" In the process of asking, he's rising onto his bare feet and reaching blindly back to draw a heavy privacy curtain over most of his bunk, shielding the books.
She didn't care. There were a lot of things that could have worn against her and she would have ignored. Discretion in the matter of clothing and cover is lost as she chucks off the last of her vestmants into the locker haphazardly. She reaches for the towel next, hooking it around her as she finds some sense of using the locker door to cover herself from open viewing. Hooking the edge of the towel into the front, she shifts it over to help be held by her arm.
Curls flare about her face as her sharp hazel eyes look that tepid green at the moment. "Peace." She says it as if its foreign. "It's not a good time right now." she says and starts tugging at the dog tags and medallions about her neck. She passes a finger over one of the pictures on the inside of her locker door.
Lysander reaches up with his right hand in order to rub at the back of his neck, momentarily casting his gaze far, far downwards and over his shirt; a bright blue, red, and gold with the plastered logo of the Aerilon Avengers on it. Pyramid and potential nudity aside, he returns his attentions to her while remaining standing in place. He questions in turn, "Good time for talk or good time for peace? I'd rather not balk at the serenity's leas- huh, rhyming aside, I think you're allowed to enjoy the peace between the Lords stirring the proverbial hornet's nest. So."
The medallions come off, tugging through her hair as she hooks them into place finally in her locker. She lifts her fingers to rub at her face as they clang against the door and she looks backwards over the others in the berths and finally settles her attention on Lysander. "It's not a good time for anything." She intones lowly.
The medic rubs at her face again and she sighs. She grips at the towel to keep it in place and she bows her head. "Just tired…" She says, tyring to wave it all off. She turns, lifting her hand to her locker door and hooking her hand there as she leans in to it.
"Oh," he breathes in reply, fairly noncommittal with the sound. He glances aside to nothing in particular before quietly nodding at things. He isn't silent forever though; not nearly even a proper minute or two, so instead he politely clears his throat and begins to fold his arms over his chest in a near-defensive posture. "Did you want me to believe it's just exhaustion, or?" He trails off and into a lingering rasp before sighing, quietly and to himself, "I mean, well, I'm not sure, but I'm trying."
"Believe what you like.." She says, forcing a smile as she straightens from her locker. Circe rubs at her neck next, giving a push to her locker with her foot, letting it latch closed. She turns then, angling past him for her bunk. "It's a good portion exhaustion, the other portion frakking pilots." She scrubs a hand through her hair and considers him faintly.
She hooks a foot onto the bunk below and levers herself up without gripping anything to do a fly by grab of the t-shirt within her bunk. She lands back on both feet and sways a moment.
This is one of his tougher conversations yet, but he finds himself vaguely making progress with it. The good Sergeant might as well continue such efforts and see where they lead. In the meantime he sidesteps and then aims his feet into walking him to his locket, so that he can begin shoveling his writing material into a private lockbox. He turns back around to see her standing there, plus t-shirt, and knits his eyebrows together for a hesitant moment. "Well, I'll give you some useless advice then, don't frak pilots. They're too handsy an' think they know everything." His lax and easy lightheartedness shall be the death of him.
Balling the t-shirt up as if prepared to make some progress in the direction of the showers, she lifts a brow. Lysander gets a long look, a very dry long look and then she cannot help but look weary and smile. "It hasn't gotten that far yet..haven't frakked anyone since before warday and beyond." She laughs softly to herself and then expells a long breath. "Just..confusion is all. Frakking men can't be straight forward. Gotta be all tough and uptight." Frak it. FRAK! She draws a short breath and lets out it, tryin to release some tension. Circe tilts her head, folding the t-shirt and pressing it over her arm.
Lysander reaches up with both of his hands just so he can place his palms to his heart, his pride seemingly wounded by Circe's claims. Such a gesture leads into the man leaning backwards with a slow, eased sway and then rocking back forwards into the fullness of his height. "In all seriousness, I'm surprised - about the non-frakking - because you're…" He pauses and then presses his lips together. Somewhere along the line his hands are dropped again. "Your attraction aside, I'll focus on the stress and frustration. I like to frak and shoot things at the range - what about you?"
"Forgive me if I do not swoon." she says and can not help but smile at the mime, "But your charm is just too overwhelming." Circe then adds, "I tend to frak things that are willing and interested. I don't like being used." she intones. She wets her lips and leans partially against her bunk, if not to just relieve some of her muscles. "It's what happens when you hold on to hope that the last man to touch you is still alive." She admits. "But there is realization and then there is acceptance. Let's say I have finally accepted." She muses and then shakes her head, laughing as she hooks open her locker. "One frakkin guy I think that likes me..or has the capacity to is just too …withdrawn. Too many problems. We are all so frakked in the head right now." She's swearing more than usual, it has been a rather long day.
"I'd make the proposition if I could, trust me, is all I'm saying. As it stands," Lysander shrugs to the situation as it has been presented but doesn't comment further on that length of things. Instead he offers a slight and wry smile before awkwardly standing there. At least the awkwardness fades by the time he returns to listening to her, and doing so intently, with him rubbing his jaw idly. "Thanks for the, uh, compliment, and I'll return the favor by saying that you should just ask them, if he really does. Life's too short to regret certain things, especially now, and there's nothing wrong with being forward."
"Thanks..' she smirks at the talk of his proposition. Circe gives a slow shake of her head and laughs a bit more. "I think it's safer not to engage in anything what so ever. Trust me though, its quite frustrating." She sighs and rolls her shoulder back, turning with a bemused look as she eyes him, hand going to her hip. "And why can't you?" She asks. She lingers a moment watching him before she turns back around and bends down to tug out a cleaner shirt and throw the other one back and to the ground inside, giving a push of the bulk of her 'mess' with her foot.
"Frustrated love has been the incentive for many a great work, to say the least of the power within us romantics." Yet, he finds himself still not willing to truly go down that road of conversation either which lends into his momentary lapse of words and stretching out his arms in place while he has the chance. Then she's focusing the conversation on him and he stops mid-roll, right shoulder hunched. The shoulder is dropped and his hand clenches into a short-lived fist. "Not that there's anything wrong with me physically, I'm in excellent shape. I promise you that. But with Corporal Rian, it's complicated. Let's just say you're not the only one frustrated." Lysander might as well be honest. So he can do that much. There's a glance given to the change in her shirts before he focuses on her eyes, and her response.
His promise of excellent shapes causes the Medic to make a quick quip, eyeing him as well, watching his tension rise. "I can see you are in shape." She says and then tilts her head, pressing her locker closed and leaning back against it. "I see though, things on Cerberus are never easy, and considering the circumstances, I see why." She says softly. She smiles gently at him, "We all have lost something…" She says in a way of easing out of the topic, seeing as it does frustrate him so. "Some of us cling to new hope and others cling to the past. There is a difference." She grins a little then. "If you ever find yourself available for a date, I wouldn't mind." she says and then winks. "Remember, right now I am too overwhelmed to give a proper response. Give me a few moments, I could start swooning again." Circe grins a little bit more and it softens even the stuggle in her own gaze.
Lysander opens his mouth to reply. His brain is still trying to produce actual words. So he ends up inhaling deeply and then holding it back, just until he comes up with something. "Well, I like you." He can be straight-forward. He can also be bashful, again, and so swallow down anything else he could say in order to take a small step in retreat and back towards his bunk. "So if I ever find myself available, I wouldn't mind." The Sergeant matches her wink with a light grin; he'll just have to take the blame if she starts to swooning.
That brings an arching of her brow upwards and some of her jesting is deflated and replaced by consideration. The wink rekindles her smile and she laughs a little. She hesitates and then turns to look at him from over her other shoulder. The medic takes a step after him and then asks lightly, "Ly, can I ask one favor of you?" She says. Is she swooning yet? She's definitely more quiet and obviously is meaning to keep it so. Her barefeet shift on the ground.
Circe's consideration makes Lysander's expression sober in turn, wetting his lips thoughtfully and tipping his chin forward. His fingers are slipped into the front pockets of his sweats, thumbs gliding patiently over the coarse fabric. Her stepping in closer doesn't make him step back; this time around he holds his ground and begins to square his shoulders as she speaks up. "Depends," there's a short beat, "But uh, in general, sure, what is it?"
His reaction as well is something considered and she lets out her breath. The medic curls her fingers around the towel a little tighter and she stops for a moment. Frak. Oh Lords just frak it all. She wars with her thoughts a moment, "Blessed be," she starts, finding her cheeks tinging just a bit in a rush of heat. "Kiss me?" She says and even cringes slightly at how damn corny it all sounds. She looks about fit to just turn and go. "It's just been so damned frakking long…" the corpsman fidgets a moment, some of her composure lost in the request and subsequent regret of asking. "It wont' mean anything.." Frakking Wade. Damn the pilot. She riles a little at the thought.
The guy had steeled himself for whatever impossible task the corpsman had for him, only for her request to knock the wind out of him and leaving him fairly breathless with being so caught unawares. There's a sound that wells in the depths of his throat, vaguely thoughtful but all the incoherent. He then clears it and takes a half-step closer to her. It's not enough to bridge the distance between the two of them but he takes the opportunity to control the situation. "You sure you don't want it to mean anything?"
There was no laughter and he actually moved closer to her. Circe feels her own throat tighten and she clears it, staying her ground. At a loss for a moment or two she breathes in and out almost forgetting that she needed to say something. "Frak, I want a kiss to mean something.." She admits. She rubs a hand over her face and sighs. "I would love it to mean something but you know, its complicated." She says, a faint smile touching her lips at that. It's a relief trying to edge through the awkwardness that has settled over her. "Frak, Elias was the last person to do anything to me and that was nearly two years ago." She breathes and finally her eyes seem to hold on his and her throat tightens.
"They're the best kind," kisses that mean something over nothing that is. Lysander mentions such offhandedly but in agreement nonetheless. The corners of his mouth tighten into a small smile while she rubs her face, the sergeant coming to appreciate her fretting with all of this. She has his mind racing and heart going if only due to the gravity of the situation at hand. This doesn't happen every day, after all. "Very," is murmured with regards to the situation's complications. Something keeps him from moving away though. "I've run out of wit an' verbal charm, but I'll trust my gut," or at least he thinks it's his gut. Either way, he leans patiently forward with a slight inclining of his head to the right. He doesn't go in all the way, leaving her a final chance to draw back if need be.
She hesitates even as he remains without backing off. Major rush of color to her cheeks then as he leans forward and she is trying again to keep herself from turning and rushing off in utter embarrassment. It's that offer though, him actually offering that has her smiling softly. Circe clears her throat, still feeling it tighten as she shifts on her feet and in a last minute decision made, she takes a step forward.
Circe eyes him a moment longer the way he tilts his head and her smile grows that much more. Nervousness? She thinks something fast, uncommitted would be best and as she leans in, it is to do so carefully. She couldn't break him, but she knew well what could happen. A noncommitted kiss. Yes. Her chest his fluttering and she tries to make it nonchalant as her lips finally brush his, lingering softly as she fights for air, just trying to breathe. It had been so long.
It comes in hindsight, something for Lysander to say, something appropriate for him to say at least that doesn't involve her towel. Words now would simply spoil things now that Circe hasn't pushed him away, physically or otherwise. He's left with the softness of her lips against his, a kiss long enough to distract him from the passage of time and just enough to allow him to close his eyes. Yet he breaks it, pulling back so that he can open his eyes and look over her face. The closeness is actually surprising, quite so, "Never regret. If it's good, it's great. If it's bad, it's…"
She is still playing catch-up with her breathing and as he draws back, she takes a moment to draw out the exchange. Circe unconsciously wets her lips and her eyes open as well. Thoughts race through her mind that lead to her shifting and holding the towel a little more tightly as she answers him faintly. "It was good." The medic studies him, her hazel eyes wandering before she leans back in, but passes by his lips to place a soft kiss to his cheek. "Thank you." She says softly for him. She doesn't trust herself. She draws back, even going so far as to take a step to create some distance.
She offers him a smile, a warm one as she starts to turn, making the motion to go. Yes, she doesn't trust herself at all.
Lysander allows a shallow exhale to further part his lips and he begins to lean back, smiling with her response. The smile sharpens as she continues to look upon him and he does the same in turn, searching her eyes and then once more over her face before chancing a glance down to her mouth. The second kiss is prized all the more. "You're quite welcome, Circe." As much as he would like to follow after her, well, this time he forces himself to stand in place and watch her. He has no idea how he's able to do it either.
Another deep breath and she swallows, running a hand over her exhausted features. Her throat still tight, she turns then, meaning to break that which keeps her uncertain. She moves for the hatch then, long legs drawing her away as her free hand lifts to brush over her lips a moment. The pads of the digits resurrecting the kiss for her again before she casts a look back. The click-whir of the hatch opening and she is gone, letting it close behind her. Circe is off to the showers, and will likely stay there quite a while.