BCH #022: Thin Line Between Love & Hate
Thin Line Between Love And Hate
Summary: Idle musings in Viper land. Laskaris awakens to find a couple unfamiliar faces; later, Cidra stops by and meets Korwyn for the first time. Subjects discussed include crappy senior officers and life on the poor colonies.
Date: 22 BCH
Related Logs: None
Tillman Korwyn Laskaris Cidra 

[ Viper Squadron ] ----— [ Naval Deck - Battlestar Cerberus ]—

Viper Squadron pilots call this home. Berthings line the walls with grey curtains to cover their sleeping areas. Lockers sit between each stack of berths and a round table sits in the center with chairs around it. A hatch at the end leads to the communal Head that the Raptor pilots share.

-=[ Condition Level: 3 - All Clear ]=---------

(scene already in progress)

Korwyn's hand lowers, the salute accomplished and out of the way. Stepping forward a bit, she extends a hand, "Looking forward to it. Just 'cause you said to." Her lashes dip in a conspiratorial wink and the smile that threatened earlier blooms easily. "Lieutenant JG Margaret Korwyn." She tilts her head to one side, indicating an empty table nearer the coffeepot enshrined on a counter. The room is almost empty of pilot-types and Korwyn has clearly just recently finished unpacking.

The TACCO, a rare sighting in this part of the Cerberus landscape, is standing by the hatch and out of the way. The man reaches out to take her hand and nods. "Captain Clive Tillman. I'm one of the slaves Abbot runs up in CIC. Don't! ..tell me. You-" He trails off, moving his head as if sniffing the air to discern something. "-Fly Vipers?" He grins with the stupid remark and nods towards the table as he moves towards it. "Pour away while we wait for the CAG. I figure I have maybe fifteen.. twenty minutes?"

Well, the room's not completely empty of Viper types. One of the bunk curtains slides to one side as a bleary eyed Laskaris crawls out of his rack. Having only within the last couple days moved in himself, the Viper LT seems to have missed the new arrival during his little snooze. Blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes, he slides out of his rack, stifling a yawn as he reaches for a pair of pants. A pack of cigarettes comes out of the pocket.

"Black." Tillman sits himself on the edge of the table with one leg up on it as he situates sideways. There's a nod to Laserface as he emerges from the bunk. "Got another smoke? Left mine back in my bunk?" He chucks a thumb over his shoulder towards the hatch before looking back to Korwyn. "So how long have you been strapping on Vipers?"

Laskaris blinks again as he's addressed. He squints at the two unfamiliar faces before settling on Korwyn. "No. Who the frak're you?" he asks without preamble, his voice heavy with an obvious Aerilon accent. The most social of creatures, Lasher is not. Lighting a cigarette, he looks briefly at Tillman before wordlessly tossing the captain his pack. He doesn't know Tillman either, but those captain's pins on the uniform tell enough of a story on their own.

A nod to Tillman and the woman pours two mugs of black coffee. One is settled before the man and she claims a chair opposite. The smokes are eyed with a certain longing, and she sizzors her fingers in silent appeal, then turns to Laskaris, "Margaret Korwyn, sir. Lieutenant JG. Just arrived. And I'd take it as a kindness if I could bum a smoke as well." Her own Aerilon accent is faded, but there. Turning back, she lifts her mug, but does not take a sip just yet, "Three years, Captain. Though I've been flyin' since I was a tyke. Did the cargo dustin' gig, then flew transport for a trading company for a spell."

Tillman catches the pack and taps one out into his hand before tossing it back to Laskaris. "Thanks. I owe ya one. Come by CIC if you're short one day." The Captain talks around the smoke as he lifts his hands to reflexively cup the smoke as he lights it. There's a quick puff and billows the smoke towards the ceiling while he turns his attention back towards Korwyn. "Flyin' that long, huh? No kidding. Sounds like you've put some serious time into a stick. How long have you been wearing pins??" He motions towards her lapel with his smoke, leaving a short-lived and whispy smoketrail behind it.

Lasher throws his pants on, followed by his blues jacket, but leaves the latter unbuttoned for now. He plucks his smokes out of the air as Tillman tosses them back; at Korwyn's question, he nods in affirmation, tossing her the pack as well. "Have at it." Tillman gets a grunt. "Be sure to take you up on that one, Cap'n." He takes a few steps towards the table before pausing, as though he'd just remembered something. "Oh. Lieutenant Anton Laskaris. 'Lasher'. Just got in a couple days ago, m'self," he introduces himself, his voice still raspy from sleep.

Korwyn catches the pack, but not before a near fumble that almost causes the coffee to slosh. Almost. This one lives on the edge, seems like. "Thanks, Lt." She pauses, one brow lifted, then adds, "Winger here, sir." A touch of a blush tinges her cheeks with rose, but she does not dwell on it. "Uh, let's see. Yeah. I've a number've years with a stick. Started when I was 13 or there abouts. Close, anyway." Finally taking a sip of coffee, she tucks the cigarette behind one ear, the gesture automatic. "Got the pins three years ago, Cap." Pride in the accomplishment warms her tone and she sits up a bit straighter. Turning to Lasher, her smile remains, "Thanks for the smoke, sir. I'll enjoy it later. I've gotta see if I can find the CAG and check in. You know the drill." Again with the near wink, conspiritorial and relaxed. Rising, she tips her head just a bit.

Korwyn catches the pack, but not before a near fumble that almost causes the coffee to slosh. Almost. This one lives on the edge, seems like. "Thanks, Lt." She pauses, one brow lifted, then adds, "Winger here, sir." A touch of a blush tinges her cheeks with rose, but she does not dwell on it. "Uh, let's see. Yeah. I've a number've years with a stick. Started when I was 13 or there abouts. Close, anyway." Finally taking a sip of coffee, she tucks the cigarette behind one ear, the gesture automatic. "Got the pins three years ago, Cap." Pride in the accomplishment warms her tone and she sits up a bit straighter. Turning to Lasher, her smile remains, "Thanks for the smoke, sir. I'll enjoy it later. I've gotta see if I can find the CAG and check in. You know the drill." Again with the near wink, conspiritorial and relaxed. Rising, she tips her head just a bit. "Scuse me, gents. I'd best get to that. See y'all later?"

Tillman watches the female pilot grab the smoke and run, nodding only in her trail. He takes up the mug and sips at it, watching the LT for a moment. "Sorry. I'll be out of your hair in a second. I'm actually looking for the CAG, myself. If she doesn't turn up in a minute or two, I'll jet-set into the hallways again." He takes another slow drag, the tabacco crackling softly, before he introduces himself. "Clive Tillman. Tactical Officer." Words come around the cigarette again, the tip bouncing lightly between his lips while a hand extends.

After a short pause, Laskaris approaches the tactical officer, extending a hand. His grip is quite firm, though he's not one of those macho hand-crushing types. "Good to meet you, sir." A thin smile spreads across his face. "You looking for the CAG, Captain, you're on the wrong side." He points to the hatch, and by extension the Raptor berthings which lie on the other side of the pilots' communal head. "Toast's a Raptor wrangler."

"Yeah, I know," he says tiredly, looking to the smoke inbetween his fingers. "There wasn't anyone to harass over there though and a non-winged type tends to arouse suspicion hanging around where he doesn't belong." A short laugh leaves him and he takes another drag. "I've known her a few years, though. Back when she was running a squad off the Aegean. Had a chance to meet her yet?"

Lasher nods once in a jerky motion. "She was on the hangar deck when my ride dropped me off," he affirms. His head tilts slightly as Tillman mentions their prior relationship. "You know her? Any insider information you'd care to pass along?" An amused snort is followed by a slow drag of his own. "Actually, I think we just might get along, us two. Too many CAGs I've served with have had a gung-ho stick planted so far up their arses they'll never have to worry about their posture, but Major Hahn doesn't seem to be cut from that sort of cloth."

Tillman gets a stupid grin on his face with the initial question. "I could tell you a lot. But nothing work her putting my face through a grate," he laughs. Probably not serious about her attitude. In the end he nods. "Yeah. She's not like that. I think the best advice I can give about her is to pay her the respect due and she'll give it right back. Beyond that?" The man shrugs lightly, taking a drag. "Feel her out on your own." The smoke is exhaled through his nose. "You know how it is, I'm sure. You don't need some non-piloty type telling you about it." He laughs a few times and rises from the table, sipping at the mug again.

"Fair enough." Laskaris shrugs. "Yeah, I've been around the block a few times. I know how this shit goes. Managed to get this far, didn't I?" He smirks, his lips pulled tightly inwards. "And if she's not one of these Major Oo-Rah types, like I said, we ought to bloody well get along just fine. Never did have any patience for any of that frakkin' shit."

Tillman chuckles. "You spend enough time away from it, you start to miss it. Course, this is an ex Marine talkin." He smirks and takes a drag. "But I gotta get out of here. Good meetin you, Lieutenant. Catch you later." He lifts his hand in farewell behind him as he moves off through the hatch.

"I'd expect that, from a Marine. Pilots, now, pilots are smart enough to motivate themselves just fine." Laskaris' smirk never wavers, but his words aren't meant to sting. The TACCO gets a lazy salute from a seated Laskaris, and then the Viper pilot is left smoking alone.

Some time later

Lasher's fully clothed now, having gone for a quick shower and a clean uniform. His hair's still a little damp, in fact, as he pulls on a fresh blues jacket over his tank tops. He goes to his locker, pulling out a pad of paper and rooting around for a pen before having a seat at the table, cigarette in one hand and pen in the other.

Entering the bunker slowly, Korwyn's expression is a little inwardly focused, though she blinks once and looks around with quick surety once she arrives. One hand lifts and she pulls the cigarette from behind her ear, the other hand fishing around in a pocket for a lighter. Not finding one, she grunts slightly and angles for the counter where the coffeepot rests. When she nears the table, she takes the cig from between her lips long enough to toss off a casual, "Lookin' sharp, Lt." Then? She moves the coffeepot from it's place and bends to draw a light to the cigarette from the burner itself.

Laskaris is a tea drinker, himself. His nose twitches slightly in the direction of the coffee pot as Korwyn moves to it. There's a noncommittal grunt at her comment, though it's accompanied by a nod that's friendly enough. He raises a brow as he watches Korwyn use the burner as a lighter. Certainly one of the more unorthodox uses he's seen one of those things put to. Flipping to an open page on his notepad, he speaks. "So. Find the CAG… Winger, wasn't it?" He smirks gently. "Dare I ask how you came by that handle?"

Rising, the woman turns. The cigarette is held between her lips as she draws a longish inhallation of the smoke. Her hands lift and she pulls her hat from her hair. Pins are removed and her auburn locks cascade down her back. The hat is expertly tossed to her bunk and she claims the chair near yours. Finally, fingers deftly pluck the cigarette from her mouth and she blows the smoke upward toward the filters. "Winger. Yeah." Lowering her gaze, she half smiles, "If you'll tell me how you got Lasher. Seems a trade'd be worth it…"

Laskaris blinks. "Well… fair enough, that. I suppose." He leans back in his seat, cigarette in hand as he regards the woman opposite him. He's silent for a moment, puffing away at his cigarette as he puts his pen down on the table. "Well," he repeats, "Lasher wasn't my first callsign, actually. Started out with 'Piker'… well, ya can probably tell why that was." He gestures randomly, purposely exaggerating his already thick accent even further with the last part of that sentence. "Well, the short version is, I was bringin' a wounded bird back to base one time, and I botched the landing a bit. Came down too hard, left a divot in the hangar deck as long as a whole squadron of Vipers lined up head to tail." He smirks. "Bloody deck chief said it looked like someone'd taken a frakkin' lash to the deck. So… Lasher." Said smirk widens. "Right, then, your turn."

Listening to the tale, Korwyn half chuckles at the first callsign. It is not entirely a pleasnet sound, the humor a bit rueful, a bit ironic and entirely commisseratory. "Yeah. I got a lotta that, too. Still do, though not's much." When you get to the landing, she winces though there is faint amusement there too. "Kinda similar story, as it happens." She licks her lips, leaning back in her chair. A shift and she stretches her legs out beneath the table, getting comfortable. A puff or two on the cigarette and she nods once more. "First postin' outta flight school. I'm an Ensign, right? Didn't have my own bird, yet, but felt I was hot shit anyway. Years'f experience… Older than most'f the officers. That crap. Anyway. I was bringing new birds in to roost. It'd been a long day and it was the last'f the flock, y'see? I came in too hot. Tried to land too close to formation. Winged the Commander's shuttle…" She shakes her head, a blush beginning, "Took it's wing clean off." After a moment, she adds, "Spent the next two years'n some serving on a patrol boat off the Picon shipyards."

"Hah." Laskaris gives a short, throaty chuckle at the mention of the accent. "Yeah, same here." He listens to her story as he exhales little tendrils of smoke. As Korwyn progresses, his brow continues to tick slowly upwards as his smirk widens. Finally, as she finishes, he gives a raspy chuckle. "Lords have no fury like a commander with a broken toy, eh?" A rueful shake of the head, and Anton taps his cigarette over the ashtray on the table, letting several flecks of ash float down from the tip. He looks back up, regarding her a little more closely. "So, years of experience, wot? Flew before you signed up, did you?"

Korwyn's smile is rueful, though warm, "Ain't that th' truth?" Her sigh sends the smoke from her cigarette spiraling outward before it is caught by the air filter's inexorable pull. She rests an elbow on the table, the cigarette a slash of red-tipped white against the dusky gold of her skin. Moving her wrist slightly, she takes the stick between her lips for a short drag that is held a moment before it is released, "Yup." The hand lowers and she taps a whisper of ash from the cigarette's tip. "Started flyin' a penny-ante crop duster when I was 12… 13… somewhere in there. My cousin thought it'd make money. Did for a while. Till the drought hit… After that I worked as a cargo pilot for a tradin' concern. Couldn't afford schoolin', much. Y'know how it is."

"That's the biggest problem I've had in the fleet. Seven years in, all told, and I'm still finding senior officers with new ways of being an utter prick." Laskaris snorts, smoke spilling from his lips. "Never flew a damn thing before I got to flight school, m'self." He shifts a little in his seat as Korwyn commiserates about a lack of schooling. "Actually… I wouldn't know much about that, truth be told." His cigarette burned down almost to the filter, he stamps it out in the ashtray. "I was lucky. Parents were pretty well off, by ruddy highlander standards, well enough to send me to college off world. Went to school on Caprica before I joined the Fleet." He shrugs. "Weren't anything special, mind you, but they did pretty well for themselves, all things considered. Like I said, though, I was lucky, as Aerilons go."

Korwyn leans back in her chair, the half-smoked cigarette between her fingers, "I think there's a class in it. Later." Her hand waves vaguely off in the direction of the nebulous 'future'. "Y'know? How to be a Prick 101… If you wanna rise above Captain its required'r some shit." Listening, she draws another lungful and lets the smoke trail slowly from her nose, dragon-like. Finally, she blows the remainder away, "Aye, that's pretty lucky. None'f my kin have gone past public school. Da used't say that it was only worth it if y' didn't want to farm. Course all've us wanted to get off-world. Have a chance." A light sparks in her eyes, the tone fond. "I gotta letter from my kid-brother. He'll be startin' next term. Not as fancy as Caprica, but its a start." She and Lasher are sitting at a small table off to one side of the room. Korwyn has a cigarette in her fingers and there is a second, smoked down to the butt, in the ashtray nearby.

Laskaris snickers. "Yeah, something like that. Only explanation I can think of for some've these bastards, anyway. Pieces of work." He clears his throat softly before continuing, his fingers idly drumming on the table. There's a short grunt. "Hnh. Fancy's as good a word as any, at least compared to what I was used t'. I dunno. Honestly, I didn't care for Caprica much. Schools were nice, yah, but the people tended to have their noses a little too high in the air for my taste, ya know what I mean." He nods. "Yeah, my little sister's in medical school on Leonis. Was just about to write her a letter, in fact, when ya got here. She wrote me right before I transferred off Hyperion, and she gives me hell if I don't write her back quick enough." He rolls his eyes, though there's obvious fondness in his expression as he smiles wryly.

Cidra ventures into the berthings just in time to catch the comment about 'How to be a Prick 101.' It makes her smile. Ever so slightly. It's a rather inscrutable expression. She's in off-duties at the moment, so it's probable this isn't an official call. The sitting, and smoking, pilots are spotted. She heads toward them. "Lieutenant Laskaris. I had heard we received some new arrivals. I thought I would see how they were settling in." Though it's Laskaris she speaks to, she does offer Korwyn a polite nod. Her accent wraps strangely around some words, drawing out some vowels softly. A Gemenese accent, if one knows about such things.

Korwyn snickers slightly, though it fades a bit, "Aye. I had t' deal with some'f 'em during the trade runs. Pain in the ass, really." A pause that is only a fraction longer than the drag on the cigarette required. A little more than half gone, the thing is now. Her expression softens a bit then and her light laugh is righer, more human, "Oh, aye? Right sharp girl, your sister is. Good t'hear." Lowering her hand, she taps one finger on the notebook in front of Laskaris, "Best not keep th' future doctor waitin' then." Turning a bit at the sound of the newcomer's voice, Korwyn inclines her head a bit in reply, "How do." The tone the woman uses, the full pronunciation of not only Laskaris' name, but his rank gives the woman pause. She falls silent, the lack of vocalization holding a waiting, watchful sort of caution as she evaluates not only the new arrivval but her companion's reaction.

Lasher looks up at the sound of the new arrival's distinctive voice "Oh, evening, Major." His harsh, flat Aerilon accent contrasts sharply with the CAG's mellow drawl. He looks up, eyes locking onto Cidra as she approaches the table. "Just swapping some stories of home and botched landings with Korwyn, here." His gaze twitches from one woman to the other. "Junior Lieutenant Korwyn, that is," he clarifies, remembering at least some of the decorum that OCS had done its best to drill into his head. He nods toward Cidra. "Major Hahn here's the CAG." He looks back to Korwyn. "'S all right, it'll keep a little while," he replies with a thin smile, nodding to the pad of paper in front of him.

"Major Cidra Hahn. Toast is my callsign, if you must know. Hello. Korwyn, yes? The name is familiar, but I have seen many names on the rosters." She sits at the table, fishing around in the pocket of her trousers and plucking out a pack of cigarettes. Standard cheap Picon-brand smoked by so many Naval officers. "Can I trouble you for a light? "

Introductions made, Korwyn's tension first mounts as she mentally reviews the distance to the door in comparasson with the ebb and flow of the conversation. "Aye. Margaret Elizabeth Korwyn, JG. From Aerilon." A blink as a decision is made and the tension fades utterly away. "Toast? I'd like t' hear that story sometime, if you've a mind. Winger. That's me." Leaning forward, she offers Cidra the cigarette she has been drawing upon. "Any time, Major. I'd offer a lighter but I don't have one. Used th' coffeepot's heating unit t' light this one."

Laskaris pulls a silver lighter out of his pocket, but hesitates in tossing it at Cidra when Korwyn offers the CAG her own cigarette. With a light shrug, he just slides it partway across the table, if she's so inclined to use it. Or, rather, he does so only after using it to light a fresh cigarette of his own. Definitely addicted, this one.

"Named so due to my natural warmth," Cidra replies dryly. "Or perhaps it was my toasting of targets with missiles. One forgets how one acquires these things." She touches her cig to Korwyn's to light it, chuckling. That is probably not so much true, but it's the only answer she seems inclined to give, apart from a mysterious smile. "This will do." It takes a beat to get her cig lit in that manner but she manages it. Laskaris' lighter it noted a moment too late, but a brief nod is offered in his direction. Once her task is done, she lifts the thing to her lips and takes a long drag. For the moment she says nothing more, just smoking and observing the younger officers.

Korwyn offers Laskaris a quick, half smile, "Cheater." She holds the cig still until the CAG takes it or finishes lighting her own. When it is freed from servitude to the greater good, or the greater cloud, Korwyn lifts it and returns it to her lips. A drag is claimed and she glances down at the man's pad of paper, "Be sure t' mention that you met another Aerilon pilot." The nod, sage as it is, acknowledges the importance; or lack thereof, of that bit of intelligence. Her attention returns to Cidra, "Went lookin' for you t' report for duty earlier, Major. Hope it ain't a mark'f failure that I wasn't able t' track you down." Mirth sits behind her gaze, light and relaxed.

Anton shrugs, pulling his lighter back off the table and slipping it into the pocket of his blues. He watches the other two converse for a moment; Korwyn's former comment gets a smirk; the latter, a wink. "Rare birds at that, aren't we?" He nods. "I'll give you a mention, then. Colonial solidarity, and all that. Suren Karin'd be interested to know I'm not the only highlander Viper stick in a service filled with frakkin' bluebloods." Eyes dart back to the major. "Present company excepted, naturally."

"Not at all. I have been hither-and-yon these past days. There is much to sort out with the Wing with all the new pilots incoming and the planning for the war games. And I have been trying to fly a pick-up run or two for supplies. I get restless when I am out of the Raptor too long." Cidra draws in some more smoke after all that, letting it out in a thin stream. "I believe I have your service record in one of my piles somewhere. We can get the protocol out of the way this evening if you like. Things are chaotic now, with some many personnel coming in." She chuckles at Laskaris' comment about 'bluebloods.' "I do know how you feel, though. There are few from Gemenon in the Colonial Navy, relatively speaking. I am the only one in my immediate family who did join."

Laskaris nods to Cidra. "Mum was in the fleet, a medic. Even made it up to senior chief. Uncle Vanya was in the Fleet during the Cylon War, a knuckledragger. I'm the first officer in the family, though." He shrugs, retreating into his cigarette and toying with his pen.

Korwyn nods an answering wink to Laskaris, "Sounds fine t'me. Let'er know we're stickin' together, like we oughta." Returning her attention to Cidra, the woman tilts her head slightly, "Lemme know if I can be of any help, Major. Ain't nothin' better for learnin' a new post than gettin' your hands dirty." After that sits for a moment, the woman blinks. "Frak." Rising, she reaches over to stub out the cigarette, "Scuse me. Just remembered that I left a load'f laundry goin'." Lifting a hand, she touches two fingers to her temple before turning to head for the door. It is not a salute, really, though it does manage to convey a hint of respect.

"My father worked in a veterans' hospital during the Cylon War, but he was not military. He was called to serve Asclepius, and the Order of the Lord of Healing encourages its members to undergo formal medical training if they are called to it." More smoking. Cidra blows the puffs out in short spurts, watching the smoke disperse into the air of the berthing. "When I was called to serve he understood, at least." A parting inclination of her head is offered to Korwyn.

"Winger." Laskaris echoes the junior pilot's jaunty half salute, nodding to his fellow Aerilon as she departs. Silence hangs in the air for a moment, as Lasher draws in a lungful of smoke. He turns to regard Cidra, the smoke hissing out through his nostrils. "Well, I was well into my majority when I signed up, so I never gave much mind as t' what my parents thought." He shrugs. "Mum thought it was a bit odd t' have an officer son, and Dad the professor didn't think much of me 'wasting my talents' on the military." A snort. "I tell you, my talents were wasted enough already on the hacks and corporate toadies I was working for back then."

"Your father was a professor?" Cidra is curious. As to talk of parents, she shrugs. "My mother had other ideas about what path I should walk. But all parents do, I suppose."

"Political science," Laskaris replies with a nod. "Teaching's one of the better ways to keep yourself outta the fields back home, if'n you've got a decent mind. Whatever else I might say about the man, he sure as frak isn't stupid." His cigarette is tapped against the ashtray.

Cidra holds her cig lightly between her long fingertips, letting it burn for a moment rather than puffing on it further. "Political science? Ahhh." What she makes of that is difficult to tell, but it's noted with a small nod. As if she were jotting it down in her head. "Benediction into the cults is much the same on Gemenon, in some ways. A path to better one's self. My mother was a priestess of Hera. The mother goddess' path is a hard one, but whatever else I might say about her, she walks it truly." A bit more smoking is done as she thinks on that.

Laskaris shakes his head. "I don't know so much about 'bettering oneself', in the spiritual sense. More in the sense of, you bloody well figure something out if you don't want t' spend your life rooting around in dirty fields and pig shit, and making crap money for the 'privilege'. Most don't." Lasher's demeanor sobers considerably at that sentence; his accent sharpens and a hint of unfocused ire finds its way into his tone. "Like I was telling Lieutenant Korwyn before. I was one of the frakkin' lucky ones."

Cidra gives a deep nod at that. "That was my meaning. Or something like it. I was one of the lucky ones on Gemenon as well. The colony is very poor. My family enjoyed more comfort than most because my parents were religious professionals. I did not realize how different life was on some other Colonies until left Gemenon to join the Fleet." She shrugs, putting out what little remains of her cigarette in the ashtray Korwyn was using earlier. "Not that I do not love my home very much, but it is imperfect. All places are, I suppose."

"Imperfect. Yah. That's as good a word as any." Laskaris snorts bitterly. "Got a bit of a love/hate relationship with my homeworld, myself." He attacks his cigarette, heavily exhaling a plume of smoke. "Caprica was a hell of a bloody culture shock, let me tell you. I'd gotten to travel some in my youth, mind, but I never saw that sort of jaded decadence until I was living and going to classes there every bleedin' day. I tell you what, it nearly made me want t…" He trails off midsentence, catching himself with a slight blush. "Well. Never mind that." He stands from his chair, his arm snaking out to pick up his pen and his notepad. "If you'll excuse me, Major, I really would like to get started on this letter before I hit the rack." With that, he meanders back towards the back of the berthing, where he's staked out a bunk for himself.

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