| Sweet |
| Summary: | Raptor berthings are invaded. Again. |
| Date: | 03.03.2041 |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
      |
[ Raptor Squadron ]---[ Naval Deck - Battlestar Cerberus ]
The Raptor squadron pilots and ECO's call this place home.
Berths line the walls with a locker between each one. A table and chairs sit in the center and there is a hatch to the Pilots Head, which connects to the Viper Squadron Berthings.
-=[ Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close ]=-------—-
Sawyer's smile grows in strength as someone familiar speaks up, that being Evan. Of course she knows of the CAG and the Raptor lead by reputation only, not having a chance to talk to them directly. But hey. Seems an advantageous time to start. "That's right. Hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, but someone in QUODEL caught wind it was my birthday, and…well. I came to share with Bunny here." She lofts the cake on its plate as if it's some sort of security clearance. If not, chocolate SHOULD BE.
Stavrian nearly trips on the hatch threshhold as he comes into the Raptor Berthings, second time in two days. Tonight, though, the point isn't candy of some sort — it's the large box he's carrying. Which prevent him from seeing his own feet. He stumbles slightly and mutters under his breath, shifting the box in his arms and nudging the hatch shut again with his booted foot. His collar's undone, the usual signal for 'off-duty', though like for so many people the line between working and not is terribly blurred these days.
"Cherry," Evan echoes. "Well, that's -close- to strawberry. On the spectrum, anyhow." He's doling out the medic-donated candies, such as are left, from his bunk, where he lounges in slept-in fatigues, hair all bedheaded and fussed with. "It's your birthday, dude? Well… happy birthday," he finally decides it's okay to say, despite the world crumbling to bits around them. "Oh, uh… that was nice of them. Come up and sit with me," he invites her, then, looking to Cidra, "Room for three, if you want to come sit, too." And then there's a Jess with a box. "Hey, Jess," he calls out, welcoming as he grows more and more awake.
Cidra is idling by Evandreus' bunk. Stealing candy. Or so it appears, from the sucker currently positioned between her lips. "Your birthday?" She takes the lollipop out of her mouth, showing some semblance of good manners. "An honored day for anyone. I wish you as much happiness as possible in these dark times, Miss Averies." An ever-so-slight bow of her head. Then a nod to Evandreus. "I have always appreciated the simpler things. Cherry, I can live with well enough. And I shall, I do think, thank you." She takes Evandreus up on his invitation and sits. She has her shoes off at the moment, so her stocking feet are not in danger of scuffing anything. She doesn't notice the new entrant until the sound of stumbling and muttering catches her. Neck is craned back out. "Lieutenant Stavrian. Welcome. What brings you to our little nest?"
Quinn turns her head, seeing Jesse for just a moment. She doesn't quite panic since he doesn't immediately look as doctorly as the other night, but still that red cross on his jacket's arms are enough to make her look a bit wide eyed. It's like part of her always thinks they're comign to hunt -her- down… though it's rare that they are. Not that paranoid ever follows reason. Or phobias. She doesn't speak up again, but does reach deeper in her locker, hunting for those calming cigarettes. Maybe it was shower time. The reporter, however, is given a brief smile. Good distracton…"Well… happy birthday, ma'am."
Sawyer reaches out to tuck the plate next to Evandreus. "Thanks for the invite, but I really can't. I have to finish my cake rounds. Sorry, if I had known there was a gathering in here, I…" She glances over her shoulder to Stavrian. "…would have brought more." She drags her eyes away from trying to figure out what's in that box. Sometimes 'none of your business' has no meaning to the woman. Her smile widens at all the well wishes. "That's very kind of you all, it was actually three days ago. But. Well. Things tend to get lost in the shuffle and we have more important things to focus on anyways. Speaking of which," She hooks a thumb back towards the exit. "I really should get back to it. Enjoy. Thank you again."
"Making sure tongues are duly colored, sir," Stavrian says to Cidra as he gets closer, shifting the heavy load in his arms again. His chin indicates her sucker. "I don't have to kick Trask's ass, that's good to know. Though secondary, here to restock your first aid kits." A glance over his shoulder at Sawyer, then over at Evan. "Any candy left for the birthday miss? I might have /one/, if you give me a second here…" The small clicks of humor promptly vanish when he notes Quinn looking at him, and he clears his throat, addressing Cidra more formally, "I won't stay long, sir."
"There is. One more mystery red, and a yellow one I'd wager is lemon," Evan points the two left down toward Sawyer, "Hey, that's okay, cake's cake. We'll all share anyhow," he assures her. Always happy to share food with others. A little -too- happy, sometimes. Can it be that the Bunny's palate is offended by chocolate cake? Nah, can't be. "Oh, cool. The medidaemon comes bearing gifts," he smiles a little at Jesse. "Everyone's making rounds of generosity today. Your birthday spirit is in all of us, Zina," he calls to her as she goes.
"Thank you for thinking of us, Ma'am," Cidra says simply. Letting the reporter depart without further ado. "Chocolate is always welcome." It is with a hint of whimsy that she plucks her sucker out of her mouth and sticks her tongue out at Stavrian. It is properly reddened by cherry flavoring. Then it's back between her teeth, and she's talking around the candy again. "Take all the time you need, Lieutenant. We are not such bad hosts as that, I promise you." She folds her legs comfortably under her, reclining against the bunk wall. Taking a moment of mellow.
"A Sucker? For me, that's really rather sweet." Especially seeming how Sawyer and Stavrian seem to run in separate courses and when they actually do collide, it's typically not pretty. The reporter is not so rude as to leave after he offers to fish a piece of candy out for her, so she politely waits.
"That pun's not even funny anymore," Stavrian says. A little gruffly, as if he too had just been struck by the fact that he's being /nice/ to Sawyer. Dude, cooties. He sets the heavy box down on the table, fishing in his pocket for the last lollipop that he'd kept from Trask last night, a yellow one. This, he hands over to Sawyer. "Here. Birthday. Happy. Et cetera." Sagittarian sweetness, daw. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Cidra showing her tongue, and smirks. "Will mark you down as a most cooperative patient, sir."
Sawyer smirks as she looks down to the little cellophaned candy in her hands. "Thanks. Hope that didn't put you out." She quips, her mirth shining in her eyes as she looks back to the others and offers a little wave. "Have a good evening."
Sawyer heads through the exit labeled <O> Out.
Sawyer has left.
"I had mine earlier, and I think the orange might be gone by now," Evan points out, sticking out his own tongue, but less for Stavrian's benefit than to peer cross-eyed at it himself and try to see. "But you were there, and bore witness to my taking my medicine," he looks askance at the guy with a flash of mischief in his eyes. "Here, Cidra," he passes down the plate of cake, "Have some. We can set it out on the table for people, too."
"I will take a bit, now that you mentioned it," Cidra says, accepting the cake without any great need of prompting. She nibbles sparingly but savoringly. "Ooommmm…" she murmurs to herself. She likes her chocolate. The sucker is kept on hand, however, she's not done with it yet. "Would you like some more, Evan, or should it be put to the general populace?" she asks, handling the cake as if to pass it back. To Stavrian she asks, "How goes efforts in Sickbay, Lieutenant? I passed by your CMO earlier. You must have your hands quite full at the moment, with the civilians on board."
"I attest you got your fake vitamin C, yes." Stavrian has stepped past the row of bunks to the wall, where a white box hangs emblazoned by the same red cross on his brassards. He pulls it up and out of its metal brace, heading back towards his box o' supplies, and his blue eyes flicker once to Cidra before he pops the box open. "We've stretched thin, sir," he replies. "But we've been doing the best we can." No band-aids in here. First thing added. "If any of your people have spare sweats or civilian clothes they could possibly donate, it'd be real appreciated."
"I'm fine for now, thanks," Evan holds up his hand in lieu of taking the plate back. "Might have some more later." He didn't actually have any before handing it off, but she doesn't seem to have noticed, and he's not going to draw any attention to it, himself. Doesn't want the Magazine Lady's feelings hurt, after all. The talk of donations makes him draw his lips together in thought as he mentally peruses his wardrobe. Not a lot of civvie clothes, and the few pieces he does bring to mind of rather sentimental value even before the world started exploding. But there's some shame, there, at his hoardful tendencies, when he considers the people down below. "I'll find something," he commits verbally, so that he'll be forced to go through with it later on.
Cidra is folded into Evandreus bunk. Eating sweets. There's currently a lollipop stuck between her lips, and she's wielding a piece of chocolate cake. Only a little nibbled. A nod to Evandreus, and Stavrian, and she uncoils herself and ducks out of the bunk. The cake is put on the central table, for the Raptors to no doubt pick over vociferously. Predator birds that they are. "I think I have a few things," she says to Stavrian, returning to her bunk to root around a bit.
Quinn has been very, very stealthy about slipping into the bathrooms while the sweets swapping is going down and brushing her teeth, washing her face… the usual good morning routine so her breath doesn't smell so much like stinky petunias. Now, looking a bit more chipper eyed, Maggie steps back into he room and lofts a brow at the presented cake. "…Goodness… I just brushed my teeth. This isn't a trap, is it?" Stavrian is given a brief look, as if the doctors might put out sweets to tempt you, but there is actually a hint of a teasing gaze to her eyes. He might be coming slowly acceptable…if nerve wracking.
Stavrian politely keeps away from the air wing goodies. He's at one of the tables with a large box stamped SICKBAY on the side, and pawing through one of the Raptor section's first aid kits. Band-aids restocked, he pulls out the plastic CPR face shield, inspecting the round edges for signs of wear. "Thanks, sir," he tells Cidra, somberly. To Evan he gives a mildly sympathetic look. "I'm not trying to guilt trip you. Nobody has to. Just if you had a pair of stinky socks laying around or something…we'd wash them first." Quinn gets no answer; he didn't bring the cake and so assumes the question's not to him.
Marko meanders into Raptor Country with a two big, scholarly-looking books jammed under both arms and a note pad he's too busy reading and muttering to himself about to notice much of anything else. "Asymmetric backdoor…explains why we can't find the Godsdamn thing…." he mumbles. "Check the compiler on…frak….wherever the code's sourced from." Yes, the young ECO is in full on 'geek' mode and barely avoids crunching into Stavrian on the way to his rack.
"C'mon, have some cake, Juggles," Evandreus calls out, the very voice of temptation, for a moment. "And why don't you have some, too, Jess, when you're done?" he wonders at the guy. It was given to him so he feels at the very least some right to sign the thing away. "And you're not guilting me. My conscience is guilting me," he points out with a little smile. I'll find something," he re-affirms, but doesn't crawl out of bed to rummage, just yet. Maybe too comfy. or just perusing mentally, still. "Oh, careful!" he calls out to Marko as he nearly walks over Jesse.
"I have sampled the cake and I believe it not to be lethal to our company," Cidra replies dryly to Quinn as she digs around in her bunk. Dig, dig, dig. When she comes up again, she is wielding some civilian clothes. She's managed to scare up an old 'Kobol Colleges' sweatshirt, which she folds with some care.
Stavrian is focus-deep in counting antiseptic pads, almost missing Marko's near-fatal crash into him. "Whoa there, Ensign," he says under his breath, scotting hip back against the table. To Evan he gives a bland half-smile and shakes his head at the offer of the sweets. "My wife says that in a mixed group, there's no such thing as a man's share of chocolate." Only half joking, that. The present tense is automatic, clung to firmly.
Quinn looks over to Stavrian, a touch of an almost shameful frown crossing her features as he asks if there is any civilian clothing. She bites her lower lip, looking back at her locker… but then, no one has ever seen her in even a scrap of civvie clothing. So it's no surprise she just shakes her head. "No… sorry, Jig… nothing but military regs for me." She says it as if there is a bit of pride in her voice, but the lingering shame covers most of it. Too poor for civvie clothing and still hiding it all with her clipped Caprican accent. She opens her locker a moment later, putting away her towel and tooth brush, and in fact the whole thing is empty save uniforms, two photos, and a single, small folded bag at the bottom of her locker. Of personal effects… Maggie has nearly zero.
Bunny's warning gives Marko the chance to dodge the Marine with a mumbled. "Sorry, sir." Soon enough, he's at his rack and starting to shed his off-duty kit, tossing his books up into his rack. "I smell….cake?" he comments, looking around at the others gathered there.
Evandreus tosses Stavrian an almost reflexive grin at the quip from his wife that only falters into something more muted when he recalls— oh— right. "Either you've got a brain tumor or you're smelling the cake on the table there, dude," he tells Marko, fondly enough. "Have at, if you like," he offers.
"S'fine, sir," Stavrian answers Quinn, terse and stilted. Basic checks done of the box, he shuts it and lifts it back onto the wall. "I need to get you guys some blister pads. I'll come back for the stuff, sir, and thanks," he tells Cidra, lifting his chin.
Cidra curves a faint smile at Stavrian's comment about the chocolate. But she doesn't chuckle at the little half-joke. To Marko she says, "Help yourself, Flasher. Miss Sawyer Averies brought it by. To share with us. It was her birthday, apparently. A kind gesture." Her tone is thoughtful, perhaps reflecting on /why/ the reporter is making such gestures, but she says no more on it. Her sweatshirt is delivered to Jesse's box, packed into it neatly. A nod to Stavrian.
Quinn gives the room a brief nod. "…Paper work calls. See you all about." She flashes Marko a bit of a good morning smile, haven't having greeted the younger officer yet, and then she's heading for the hatch. Door pushed open, body slipping out, she's gone a heartbeat later and the hatched shut behind her.
Stavrian gives Cidra a small, grateful smile. It's barely there, and doesn't come close to touching his eyes. "Thanks, sir." Again, and he pulls the box up to head out. "Evening, everyone."