PHD #056: Suddenly, CAPTAINS!
Suddenly, CAPTAINS!
Summary: Daphne and Tisiphone get a surprise guest on the Observation Deck.
Date: 2041.04.24
Related Logs: None.
Daphne Laskaris Stavrian Tisiphone 
Observation Deck — Deck 3 — Battlestar Cerberus
Post-Holocaust Day: #56
With a quiet view to the stars, this tends to be one of the more popular 'quiet areas' of the Cerberus. Up front is a small-unseated area for ceremonies or other activities while the seating rises up behind it. Each level rises up behind the one before it, comfortable chairs and couches set up for crewmembers to relax, get some work done or even take a nap. A large armored plate is lowered during Condition One to protect the interior against a breach in the glass.
Condition Level: 3 — All Clear

Tisiphone's at her usual couch — one of the frontmost ones, where the view of the stars is the best and the view of other people is the least. She's stretched out, all a-dangle, with a smouldering cigarette caught precariously between two fingers. Awake, but woolgathering.

Daphne trudges in, the victim of four hours of CAP, followed by a shower and some dinner. She's armed with a sketchbook and some charcoal pencils, and she's not afraid to use them. "I take back all the patriotic stuff I said earlier." intones the ensign who could: "This sucks."

"But Daphne, 'tis fitting and sweet to die for one's country." Tisiphone pushes with one foot to loll her head over and back against the headrest, watching Daphne's approach from an upside-down vantage point. "What changed your mind?" She draws up her feet a little to make room on the couch and slips her cigarette into her mouth, slowly filling her lungs.

"Nothing." Daphne smiles weakly. "I'm determined to be the best officer I can possibly be. The ghosts of my family demand it." This is said with amusement, but not much. "But it sucks. How long before you're ready to climb back into a space coffin?"

"Tried the sims today with Professor Bell," Tisiphone says, blowing a column of smoke out toward the ceiling. "It was rough." There are levels upon levels of understatement in that sentence. "Next weekend's the next checkup but- frak. I dunno, Daphne. Sure as frak isn't feeling right yet." She frowns at herself, trying to banish it with a shrug.

"What isn't?" The other pilot looks up, peering at Tisiphone…and her arm. "Your arm, or the stick? Your arm will fix itself. The stick… well, we'll just have to keep you floating until you get used to it again. They can yell at me all they want. If your wingmate isn't supporting you, then I'm telling my wingmate that we're supporting you. You're not getting left out like taht again. Frak that."

Laskaris arrives from Deck 3.
Laskaris has arrived.

"Both. It just- it's nothing. First time on the sims in five weeks, that's all." Or so Tisiphone has reasoned with herself, at least. "When's the last time either of us went more than a frakking long weekend without some sim-time? I'll- it'll come back. It has to. It's the only frakking thing I'm here for." She flicks her cigarette off the edge of the couch with an agitated gesture, looking out toward the massive Obsdeck windows.

Daphne is sitting next to Tisiphone, wielding her mighty mighty drawing pad and one nigh unstoppable charcoal pencil. What she's drawing is beginning to look like a cityscape of some kind. "Of course it'll come back. I'd hate to think you busted your ass for those wings just to lose it after a month of loafing around. Imagine if we got shoreleave on this gig, too." She smiles sarcastically. "Wow. Shore leave. Are you supposed to crave it after three months, or is that just the 'no more shores' talking?"

"I don't think about it much." The lie spills without hesitation from Tisiphone's mouth, making her cigarette bob and dust ash down on herself. "Just another thing to twist and twist inside your head, you know? I knew our first tour was gonna be rough, but- uh. Yeah. Less I think about never touching dirt again, the sweeter and more full of artificial sunshine I'll be." A huge, toothy, humourless grin, there.

"Liar." One can almost see the smirking denial on Daphne's lips without looking at them. She really is drawing a cityscape, but the architecture is 'all wrong'. Not Cthulhu wrong, but anyone who's been to a few of the colonies or watched TV will be able to tell that she's mixing Virgon with Leonis with Caprica with Scorpia with… and so it goes. "That's why the gods brought us sweet, sweet alcohol."

"Don't hold your breath, Ensign." When stealth Captains attack! That gravelly, accented voice is impossible to mistake. Lasher sidles onto the observation deck just in time to hear Daphne's last bit; wearing his offduties, the man has a cigarette of his own in his hand. He chuckles darkly. "Money Shot's got the right of it there." A pause; Lasher moves over to the window, a few steps away from where Daph and Tis are seated. His voice is noticably subdued as he continues. "How's tricks, ladies?"

"Not enough alcohol in the frakking Cerberus to-ah!" Suddenly, CAPTAIN'd. Tisiphone's startlement sends her cigarette bouncing to the floor, rolling in an arc to stop and smoulder a short distance away. "Uh. Shit. Evening, Sir." She pushes herself up off her sprawl across two-thirds of the couch to go collect her cigarette.

Daphne sits up a little straighter. It's the obs deck, afterall. Not a duty area. "Tricks are good, sir. We're still alive, and that's some trick. Sir." She nods respectfully to the man, and then goes back to her drawing. She's starting to billow a bunch of clouds over her melting pot city. The clouds on the left are dark storm clouds. The ones on the right are not, and even have rays of sunshine bursting through them.

Lasher at least has the good grace not to laugh as Tisiphone comes undone. There's no disguising that smirk, though. "Stand easy, Ensign. I'm off duty." His smirk widens to a grin at Daphne. A wan, tired-looking grin, but a grin all the same. "So it is. Let's hope we have a few more of those tricks up our sleeves, wot?" He doesn't move to join the ensigns on or near the couch, even if there's room; he seems perfectly content with his perch against the window. It's his usual spot anyway, for anyone that's seen him here before.

Crouching down, Tisiphone picks up her cigarette, dusts the filter off with her fingers, then pops it back into the corner of her mouth. Back to the couch she goes, where instead of the lazy, limb-dangling slouch she'd had before, she tries a more modest slouch into the corner of the couch where armrest meets backrest. "I hear they're sending another Raptor to snoop around Leonis, Sir." A curious glance to Lasher as she says it. Trolling for information, quite obviously.

Daphne doesn't say a word. Clearly she knows when the getting is good. She's also drawing several of the Lords of Kobol on the brightly lit cloud. The're all staring angrily and aggressively at a bunch of fabulous toaster ovens, microwaves, and vacuum cleaners on the black cloud.

Lasher doesn't answer right away; he looks out through the large glass window for a moment, his cherry flashing in the reflection as he takes a pull. Finally, he turns back to Tisiphone. "Well, I'm sure you hear a lot of things on a bleedin' battlestar," he says dryly. There's another brief silence, as he seems to be about to leave it at that; but then he smirks and nods. Her intent is clear, but the knowledge doesn't seem to faze him. "In this case, though, you hear right." He leans back against the side of the thick metal window frame. "Bloody toasters stuck around, apparently. First recon ran into a slew of basestars over Leonis."

Tisiphone's not much of a liar, and she makes an even worse Machiavelli. She wears her motives on her sleeve, most times. "I heard last night they're sending the CAG for the next go-around. Kinda interesting, considering Bunny and Boots barely made it back in one piece. Big risks." 'Interesting' isn't the word she wants to use, quite obviously. Still she watches Lasher, puffing down the last of her cigarette while waiting for his answer.

Zeus is armed with a thunderbolt, and apollo with his bow and arrow. And what have the kitchen appliances got? Nothing. NOTHING. "Are we coming, sir?" asks the ensign at work on her epic, "Or are we going?"

Lasher doesn't mind a bit of prodding - he was probably a pushy snit of a junior officer himself - but Tisiphone's continued prodding draws a noticable chill to his expression. "The CAG is a big girl, Ensign," he notes mildly. Mildly for Lasher, at any rate. Hard blue eyes flick down to her arm where the cast was. "And more experienced than you and me combined. Were I you, I'd watch your own arse instead of worrying what the major's doing." Despite the edge of rebuke in his tone, he almost seems to be trying to convince himself as much as Tisiphone. "Risk is a part of the game, you want to sit in that cockpit." After a moment's thought, there's a look of confusion over at Daphne. "Sorry?"

Lasher starts looking like Ensign-throats are on the menu, and Tisiphone relents with the slightest, sli-i-ightest indication of a smirk. It's mostly concealed by the dip of her head as she starts rummaging out a fresh cigarette. Mostly. "Haven't been doing anything /but/ watching me own arse-" Those three words have the cadence of Laskaris's accent, though not the timbre, obviously. "-for the past five weeks, Sir. But it's a fair point." A slight inclination of her head to him, before she lights her fresh cigarette off the last gasp of her previous one.

"If we're scouting this aggressively and we're hiding, then we're getting ready to move. Are we going towards them, or away from them?" Daphne's tone is very even and very, very neutral-sounding, which only makes her likely to seem anything but. "I thought it was away, but then they sent the second scout." She starts in on some shading, also doing a poor job at hiding a companion smirk to match the one on Tisiphone's face, but there is also worry there.

"Ah." Lasher's looking a little tired, which might explain being a little slow on the uptake to Daphne's question. "Honestly? I don't know that much more than any of you. Yes, we're heading away from the Colonies. Yes, we're sending scouts back. Between you, me, and the bulkhead? Were I to guess…" He pauses for more smoke, and to collect his thoughts. "You're right, Kolettis. It is rather aggressive. Aggressive to the point I think we'd be fools not to assume something is in the works, eh?" One of his thin, tight lipped smiles. "I'm not going any deeper into idle speculation. Waste of frakkin' time. But when I know more, so will you." He looks over to Tisiphone, nodding tersely as she gracefully retreats, not wanting to push the issue.

"What's your opinion on it all, Sir?" Tisiphone asks this of Lasher on a thick breath of smoke, her expression suddenly quite intent. "If- if suddenly you were in charge to decide. Commander Laskaris, Gods Above and Below have mercy on us all." Quick, toothy grin. "Would you keep doubling back for revenge, or would you just- pick a direction, hope we find a planet before our fuel runs out?"

"Not sure how I feel about that, sir." Daphne looks the man square in the eye. "I spoke to Major Hahn about this, so technically I've run it as far up the chain as I can without getting myself in trouble, but there's a quorum member… fat, smelly one with a cigar and a filthy mouth, who insists 'Mikey' is planning on getting us all killed by smashing us against the Cylons. Whatever he has planned, with that sort of bad press floating around, I'm nervous about growing potential for mutiny."

Laskaris blinks in sudden surprise at Tisiphone's question. A more experienced officer might demur at the question, but Lasher isn't experienced… and he was never shy with his opinions in the past, why start now? Besides, the intent expression on each woman's face almost seems to compel an answer. "Gods above and below have mercy indeed, Ensign," he says flatly. He inhales more smoke, then continues. "Don't get me wrong… I have no delusions about our ability to fight off the Cylon totality with a single frakkin' battlestar. Even this one." A short sigh, and Lasher flicks his fingers, ash fluttering down from the tip of his cigarette. He sinks down to a sitting position, his backside propped against the lower lip of the window frame. It's not the best chair, but it serves. "I don't know if I could bring myself to give the order to turn tail and run, honestly." From the attack-minded Lasher, that should come as no surprise. A stormy look flashes over at Daphne. "Really." The word is long and drawn out, dripping with venom. "Frakkin' civilians." He shakes his head. "I don't think I can do anything Major Hahn can't." The 'but that doesn't mean I won't try' goes unsaid. Then, back to Tis. "I wouldn't give up the fight so easily, no. Crew of a single battlestar sure as frak isn't enough to repopulate the human race on its own. As I see it, we don't have much choice but to fight. At least for the time being." He coughs, then manages a weak laugh. "Ever hear the phrase 'for the honor of the flag?'"

"Can't say I'm surprised you wouldn't choose to leave, considering what you're like in a dogfight, Sir," Tisiphone replies at some length. She's taken a good long while to study the Captain, then ruminate on the results of her study over drags at her cigarette. After the latest smoky inhale, she mutters to Daphne, "That fat frakker's in love with his own voice. That's all there is to it. Do you really think anyone /listens/ to him? I don't think he knows how to do anything but piss people off."

"In a crisis situation?" Daphne peers at Tisiphone and lowers the bridge of her imaginary glasses. "-You- are asking -me- if people in a desperate situation will turn to anyone." She nods her head, "Sure people will listen to him. He's suggesting we stop fighting and run. It's the enlisted I'm mostly concerned about."

"Hnh." Tisiphone's measured look is echoed by Lasher. "No fooling you, hm?" A quiet snort of amusement follows. After a short silence, he looks back to Daphne and nods. "She's right," he observes, an edge of steel in his tone. "He's got a position of authority, even if that position means exactly frak right about now. Suren as he'll find plenty of scared people only too happy to lend an ear to whatever bile he's spewing. I don't know that we're at the breaking point just yet, but I don't say you're wrong to worry, either."

That's twice today, now, that Tisiphone seems to find herself the odd one out in a three-person discussion. "Mmn," is all she says, noncommitally, as she looks from Daphne to Laskaris to the ribbons of smoke curling up off her cigarette. She adjusts her slouch, moving to draw her knees toward her chest, arms dangled out atop her knees.

Daphne tilts her completed epic drawing of the forces of Kobol versus household kitchen aids, and blows, getting tid of excess charcoal. "Sorry. I'm just… concerned. But I told the Major. There's not much I can do. I sure as hell aren't going to stand up to him myself, though he was the most obnoxious frak I'd ever seen. Told me he wanted me to live to see 19 so my boyfriend could frak me without statutory."

"Don't apologize, Ensign. I've said it before and I'll say it again: you've got shit on your mind, I want to hear it," Lasher states forcefully, leaving no room for doubt. "Don't ever think you can't bring this shit to me. If there's anything I can do, I will." As Daphne continues, disgust falls over his face, and he twists his lips in an angry sneer when she finishes. "He. Said. That." His voice is filled with furious disbelief, and it isn't a question so much as a statement of 'oh HELL no'.

Lasher's going all 'oh HELL naw', and Tisiphone is…laughing. Bitterly, mind you, but she's laughing. Not /at/ the Captain, but at the combination of his reaction and Daphne's words. "Frak, man, he threw his cigar at me and told me it was the closest I'd ever get to a man's mouth." So. Amused. "Said I could sell it, instead, to buy a pair of tits." Even. More Amused. "How the frak would /anyone/ listen to this guy? Seriously."

Stavrian arrives from Deck 3.
Stavrian has arrived.

Tisiphone and Daphne are seated at one of the couches talking to Lasher, who's propped up against the thick window of the observation deck. Tisiphone gets a browraise from the latter, but her amusement proves to be at least slightly contagious, and Lasher's prickly reaction mellows a touch. He still Does Not Look Happy, though. The whole 'but I'm the only one allowed to verbally abuse my ensigns' thought goes unsaid, probably thankfully. "So the fat man's got a wit about him. Doesn't give him license to dump his shit on anyone he pleases." He shrugs at Tis. "Like I said. People will listen to anyone with a whit of authority, and he still acts like he's got it. None of us needs to bloody well take shit from the likes of him, though."

Stavrian is still in his scrubs from duty as he slips into the observation deck hatchway, carrying one of his empty mugs with him. And a dour look besides. Must be the day for shit dumping on this boat, and he like some others was on the wrong end. A glance is shot to the group of pilots on the couches as he heads for the hot water urns.

"He's a spoiled brat with a stick, swinging at a hornet's nest. Sooner or later he'll get stung bad enough to run home crying." Tisiphone remains unconvinced that the Mystery Fat Frakker is a seditious threat. "Besides. Even a hundred-cubit cigar wouldn't buy a pair of tits." Her wry grin gentles a little for the sake of another drag off her cigarette, immediately followed by a smoky snort.

"Yeah, well, I never liked children," is Lasher's sardonic reply. "Better he's stung sooner rather than later, you ask me." Lasher, for his part, seems more concerned with said fat frakker snapping off to his pilots than any threat of sedition or mutiny. For the moment. He laughs tersely at her crack about the cigar. "Not that cubits mean anything at this point, anyway, wot?"

Stavrian raises an eyebrow slightly at what he can hear of the pilots' conversation. Not that angry pilots are a rarity around here, so their tones don't seem to put him on alarm. He fills his mug with hot water and pull his metal case from his pocket, popping it open with his thumbs. None of that godless prepackaged tea for a Sagittarian.

"It /was/ a pretty good cigar," Tisiphone admits with only a little reluctance. "Figured I might let him bluster at me again and angle for a second." A quick, mercenary grin. Being slouched down comfortably into the corner of her couch, she has yet to spot Stavrian. Her usual haunting-spot is good for watching the stars, not so good for watching the rest of the room. "Save it for a special occasion. In case of enraged Captain, break glass."

With his back to the stars, Lasher can see Stav just fine, though the conversation keeps him from registering the PA's presence for a moment. When he does, though, the captain raises his cigarette-holding hand in a wave, and his lips twitch. "Hey, Stavrian. You're looking better than the last time I saw you." Ha ha, what wit. A snort of laughter floats in Tisiphone's direction. "Well, he'll most likely get the chance," he notes dryly.

Stavrian glances over his shoulder, giving Laskaris a facetious smirk. "You flatter me, sir. /You/ still look like shit." Ha ha, zing. Tea leaves sprinkled into the waiting mug of steaming water, he presses the lid back down firmly on the metal. His head tilts, trying to catch a glimpse of who Lask is talking to. "Everything alright?"

What's this? A Stavrian in the wild? Tisiphone sits up from her slouch and twists on the couch to peer over the backrest, arms a-dangle. The toothy and somewhat uneasy grin she'd been sharing with Lasher — joking with one's Squad Leader is a tricky matter, after all — warms to a smile. "Hey," she calls to the medic. "How's it going?"

The capricious monster that is Laskaris merely smiles thinly. Touche, Stavrian. "Appearances can be decieving," is about the best rejoinder he can come up with. Hey, he's tired. "As all right as it could be, I suppose."

"S'fine," Stavrian answers Tisiphone. His hands cradle the mug, that kind of awkwardly fussy motion when one's sure they've just interrupted something. "Just had a break for a few minutes." Back to Lasher, he nods. "It is good to see you back up, sir. I'm sure the wing missed you."

Sure the wing missed him? Tisiphone glances sidelong back at Lasher with a poorly-contained snort before her attention returns to Stavrian. Aw, he's fidgeting. Her smile starts edging back toward a grin. "So come sit down and have a smoke and break for a few minutes, then," she says to him.

Laskaris doesn't believe a word of it, either, and that shit-eating grin that comes over his face at Stavrian's remark shows he knows it. "I'm sure," he replies drolly. A sidelong glance to Tisiphone. "The wing frakking loves me." There's a wicked laugh, with an inflection that manages to sound exhausted and borderline manic at the same time. "Same to you, though." His expression gets a little more serious as he echoes Stav's sentiment.

Stavrian finally cracks a thin grin at Laskaris. Perceptive, is the Lieutenant. "There's always got to be one, sir. Or…you know, the whole wing." He blows on the tea and tries a careful sip, satisfied he made it strong enough. His head shakes to Tisiphone, with a slight wince. "I should get back." He's already rocking back on his heels, with a step. His hand raises, lofting the index finger at the retreat. "But I'll hold you to the smoke tomorrow, alright?"

Tisiphone's expression falls when the medic starts to make his retreat again, then rallies itself at his parting counter-proposal. "Okay," she agrees. "You'd- okay. Don't work too hard, hey?" She raises her cigarette-bearing hand in a smoky farewell wiggle.

"Fair even, Lieutenant," Lasher calls out to a retreating Stavrian, his arms resting on his knees. He watches the PA leave as he brings his smoke to his lips. "Speaking of which, good to see you out of that cast, finally," he says to Tis. "I saw you're back on the schedule for sim time. Good. Any idea when they'll let you back in a real Viper 'pit?"

Tisiphone watches the medic until he's at the door, then turns and drops back down into the couch cushions. There's a faintly sulky expression that she manages to stuff back into hiding by the time she takes another drag on her cigarette. "Another checkup next weekend, Sir," she says on the exhale. "Maybe then, depending on how- ah. How everything's going." Hesitant, that. "I- yeah, I tried a round in the sims today with Professor Bell. Five weeks out and you forget more than you think you would. I'm sure it'll come back, though."

"Good." Lasher's expression looks almost sympathetic. It passes, though, as a wolfish smile spreads over his face. "Because next time, you'll be flying a round with me. Hope you're up for it." He stands, blinking his eyes and stifling a yawn. "On that note, I'll leave you to it." Whatever 'it' may be. As good as his word, he moves for the hatch — but doesn't leave just yet. Laskaris pauses at the threshold, turning back to look back at Tis and the spot Daphne had occupied. "It'll come back, Ensign. Don't worry." There's a slight hesitation. "Considering everything we've been through since the attacks? I'd say you're doing a hell of a job so far. I expect it to continue."

What in Hades is there to say to any of that, really? Tisiphone manages to keep enough of a rueful grin at the thought of a round in the sims against her Squadron Leader to avoid a look of abject horror-filled dread — but then there's words coming out of his mouth that sound suspiciously like /praise/. Maybe this is the sort of thing Captains enjoy doing to those under their charge — watching the expression of someone warily trying to reconcile previous experience with current events. Finally, after a long silence, she'll dip a single slow nod to Laskaris and say, simply, "Thank you, Sir. I don't plan on changing it."

If Lasher is enjoying himself, he doesn't show it outwardly. He nods somberly in return. "Don't." A crooked smile crosses his face. "You and Kolettis both, actually. Still a little rough around the edges, but I don't mind that in a pilot. So long as she can get the job done in the cockpit, and you both've done that." A final wave before he goes out the door. "Fair even, Ensign."

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