PHD #005: Two Houses
Two Houses
Summary: Santiago & Raedawn bond in the mess over some similar life experience. Others come for food, coffee, or conversation. No one gets quite what they probably expect.
Date: 03 Mar 2041
Related Logs: Some time after Rant And Run.
Santiago Raedawn Ramon Nostos Sitka 
Galley Deck 9 - Battlestar Cerberus Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close

Behind the two hangar decks, the Cerberus' Galley is the largest room on the ship. Nearly half the size of a football field, the eating area is made up of long lines of stainless steel tables that can be folded up and placed against the wall for larger events. Individual seats are the standard military issue, boring and grey with lowest-bidder padding. The line for food stretches across one of the shorter sides of the room while the kitchen behind works nearly twenty-four hours a day to produce either full meals or overnight snacks and coffee for the late shifts.

Finally finding time to eat, Raedawn steps out of the chow line with a full tray, catching up a tumbler and moving to the beverage dispenser. One glass of water later, she looks around, frowning at the crowded room. Not many open spaces left… the closest is across from someone who definitely isn't dressed military-style.

Well, she needs to meet more of the QUODEL crowd, anyway. She strolls over, pausing at the table. "Hello. May I join you?" she asks, almost musically.

Santiago glances up from her apple, and her eyes pass briefly over Raedawn before returning to her eyes. "Absolutely. Please do." There's a smile offered to the woman as the blonde civvie drags her notebook over to her side of the table, to free up a little more space.

"Thank you. It's so crowded tonight… I usually try to get here earlier, but I lost track of time," Rae explains, setting her tray down and sliding gracefully into her seat, answering the smile with one of her own.

"I like to come at different times, just to see how the people flow in and out of here." Santi turns her apple a quarter turn, and begins shaving down the fruit in very thin slices, a small blade flipped open in her hand. "I'm Santiago. Aquaria. Welcome to my reasonably uncrowded table."

"Sometimes I wish I could. But my duty schedule doesn't allow it." Rae starts to offer her hand, notices the apple, and lowers it since Santi's are both full. "Ensign Raedawn Arkili, VSP-101, Picon. A pleasure to meet you, Santiago."

"Likewise, Raedawn." Santiago's reply is warmed by a slight smile. Despite the sundry horrors of recent days, the civvie maintains the pleasantries with what appears to be sincerity. She nods to the other woman, then asks, "How long have you been flying?"

"A little over three years," Rae replies, stirring the main course. It doesn't seem to need it, but she's looking at it closely enough to bore holes in the thick instant gravy. Mystery meat tonight. "Are you with the Quorum delegation, Santiago? I can't remember seeing you on the flight deck or in uniform, and I think I would," she adds with a faint smile. Santiago is as distinctive in her own way as Raedawn is in hers.

"Yes, I arrived with the Aquarian delegation. I've been observing Deck off and on for the last little bit, though never during busy hours." Santi pops another slice of apple into her mouth, savors the juice, then comments, "I'm across the corridor from the Vipers, bunked down with the Deck crew." She glances up from the delicate carving of fruit. "I haven't met many of the pilots. I'm sorry for the friends you lost during the mission." She leaves that for a moment, then adds, as a departure from the subject of death, "I've flown for a while myself, but nothing as maneuverable as a viper."

"I must've been coming and going at all the wrong hours, then!" Rae's smile turns a bit sheepish. "Otherwise I might've run into you in the corridor." Her face falls at the mention of lost friends. She bows her head, closing her eyes.

After a moment she looks up again. "I'm sorry. I always want to cry when I think about them, and that makes conversation impossible. I have to clear my head or I turn into a total mess within seconds."

"I know. I shouldn't have mentioned it over polite conversation." Santiago's lips turn slightly, a small frown at herself. "I apologize. I have been doing my best to turn my thoughts all day. Small moments of peace, hm?" She takes a bite of her toast, then washes it down with now cold tea. "What is that under the gravy today? I didn't venture past the fruit." She smiles just a little, again, her dark eyes now on the tray before the other woman.

"Hmm? Oh, this?" Raedawn frowns in concentration as she digs her fork into the gravy, fishes around, and finally lifts out a bite-sized piece of… something that looks vaguely meaty. "I /think/ it's supposed to be chicken. Emphasis on the 'supposed to'." She shrugs and smiles. "You get used to it in the service."

"That's what I hear." Santiago is, of course, dubious. She regards the gravy covered meat product for a moment, then salutes the pilot with her toast. "I'll stick with the bits I can identify." She thinks on that for a moment, dark green eyes falling to her toast. "I'm in trouble if we run out of toast and apples." Crunch. "Mm. Are you active duty or reserves?"

"Reserve. Picon branch of the Colonial Space Guard. They probably wouldn't let me in full-time." Rae doesn't seem bothered by this. "We fly the old Mark II Vipers from the first war. I love 'em. They're not flashy, but they fly just fine, and they're pretty forgiving." She glances back up. "Did you say you were also a pilot? Civil aviation, I mean?"

"I race." Santiago replies, with a little wave of her hand. "Over priced, over souped flashy little things. Faster than cars, and a lot harder to crash when you fly where there are no trees, pedestrians, buildings…" She carves off another slice of apple, "Sculpture…" There's a little smirk there, and then she pops the apple into her mouth and notes, "I was discussing the difference between the two ships. I'm used to new vessels, though it's always the pilot. I would argue no matter how old the ship, the better pilot should show through. I heard there are sims aboard."

Raedawn giggles. "They sound fun. Pity I can't fly anything /except/ a Viper. I'd love to try racing." Smirk? "Okay, I smell a story there. What sculpture didn't you fly into?" The girl's blue-green eyes dance with twinkles.

"Actually, before I was a racer, I was a street racer," Santiago leans over the table a little, her voice lowering slightly. "Back on Aquaria, I'm kind of known for taking bends too fast. When you street race, you have to grab a stretch of road in the middle of the night, and tear into it before the authorities show up to try to arrest you." Speed laws, pfff. "I totalled a hundred and fifty thousand cubit street card into a massive bust of Poseidon in the middle of Tama. It was a new sculpture. Unfortunately, it was installed for a ceremony the next day. I forgot." She turns the apple to carve up the final side. "That was the accident that led to space racing. When you decapitate Poseidon, street racing in a port city seems like asking for difficulties."

Raedawn's eyes widen, and she claps her hands over her mouth to keep back a laugh. Or probably a squeal that'd become a laugh. It's a moment before she can speak. "I'd think so, yes. But the look on someone's face had to be priceless." She throws out her chest in imitation of some politico type, declaring in a voice that sounds more like it'd fit a plush bear than a politician, "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the unveiling of our new monument to Poseidon. Unfortunately, it seems to be only half a monument, so we'll have to have half a ceremony. We'll get the other half in when the other half of the monument comes in. Excuse me a moment, please. I have to cut the half-ribbon…"

"You have no idea," Santiago informs the other woman. She leans in again, and says, "I sort of left the car wrapped around it, and we covered it with a tarp. There was no way to remove it… it was discovered before, of course, and the investor was furious, but I think he's over it now." She bites another slice of apple in half, following a laugh. "If you meet Ramon, he's an older gentleman with calculating eyes, and very stern features, do not mention Poseidon. It makes him frown."

Rae giggles and drops the act. "Ramon? I haven't met him yet, no. But I won't mention it when I do. What does he look like, so I don't say something accidentally?"

"Mmm. 62. Grey hair." Santi gestures with a hand. "He looks as if he expects everyone to move for him. He is a politician, and you can see it in his eyes. Ex-marine. You know the walk." The blonde grins and says, "I take it back. You could mention it often and pointedly. See how long it takes him to realize you know the story."

"Often and pointedly? Positively wicked of you to suggest it, Santiago," Rae replies, through soft laughter. "I think I can do that. It's not any worse than having my sweats fall down in front of an admiral. Though I think I'm more like to be beaten for it… ex-Marine, you said?"

"Oh, no. Did they really?" Santi shakes her head. "That has to be a sight. Did the Admiral help you up with them or just pretend it didn't happen?" She winks, then continues, "Ramon is an ex-marine, but you… beautiful young woman. He would never raise a hand to you unless he was was asking you to dance. He loves women. So far as I know he's never hit one."

Rae blushes faintly, but she's trying not to laugh at the same time. "Yes. Not very long ago, either. He didn't let on that he noticed, but my squadron leader did. But at least he didn't yell at me about it."

And back to Ramon. "I hope not. I bruise easily." She pokes at another bit of gravy-coated chicken-stuff. "You mentioned sims earlier. We have them, though I'm not sure what all they can simulate. Vipers, Raptors, and shuttles for sure, but there might be more."

The smile grows just a touch as Rae elaborates about the SL vs the Admiral's reaction. "These things happen. Clothing comes off. What can you do." She lifts a shoulder in a shrug, and then finishes off her apple, and takes a moment to wipe the blade before snapping it closed. "I'll have to make nice, and see if they'd allow a civvie to fiddle. I was going to try to talk my way into an actual viper, but after… you know. I don't think that's … Eh." She waves the idea off. "Some other time."

"I could teach you a little, if you could get into the sims. I'm not the best pilot in my squadron, but I do okay," Rae offers. "And the sims model the real thing pretty well. I'll bet you could learn without any trouble."

"Really?" Santiago smiles again, and though this one isn't quite as high on the wattage scale as a few of the others, it's genuine. "I'll see. I'll ask, though I have the feeling the CAG isn't so fond of civilians. I've spent my life changing interests, and I miss racing. I miss the cockpit. Politics is so draining. I have nightmares about giant stacks of paperwork."

"Oh, no… not you, too!" Rae giggles and offers her hand in sympathy. "Maybe she will, but I don't think the CAG can complain very loudly. We need pilots, wherever they come from and whatever they do."

Santi grins and takes the offered hand, giving it a squeeze. She ughs, "Sorry, I'm still a little apple sticky." She slides her hand back over to wipe it on a napkin. "Someone from Tac asked if I was thinking of joining up, but… I can't just jump in. Maybe I'll get to know some pilots, if even half of them are as friendly as you, and see if I can navigate a simulation." She laughs again, then sobers somewhat. "It's…" She starts to say something, then swaps to, "Green isn't my color." Flight suits.

Rae blinks, glancing at her hand. "A little…" she agrees, starting to reach below the table, then lifting her hand again and finding a napkin. "Bad habit I'm trying to break. Especially after the Admiral… I keep worrying that my pants will come down if I do something, like wiping a sticky hand on them. Silly, I know, but there it is." She smiles a little wryly and cleans off her hand. "And actually, green isn't my color, either. But… that's not what you were going to say, is it? Tell me? I'll understand if it's none of my business."

Santiago smirks at Rae's worries. "I hope you were wearing nice panties." She reaches a hand up to cover her mouth briefly, white tipped manicure glossy even in the galley's lights. "I hate it when that happens and it's laundry day." She sobers a bit and reaches for her other piece of toast. "I… was just going to say that it's dangerous. Vipers. It's." She glances up. "It's how my brother died. He was a JiG. He was performing training, five years ago. That's all I know."

"Don't make me show you. It was earlier tonight," Rae ripostes playfully, answering smirk with smirk.

And then Santiago goes from scandalous to serious. Rae's face falls, and she reaches for that (now clean) hand again. "Oh, Lords… Santi, I'm so sorry," she says, quite sincerely.

"Ah, no. It's been long enough. My brother is surely at peace by now. But the vipers. He had phenomenal reflexes. I'm both curious and cautious, you see." Her hand turns to take Rae's and Santiago's smile is a brief but reassuring one. "Old pain is still pain. But you see, another Colonial serviceman in the family would probably please Ramon. I take great care not to please Ramon. I must tread very carefully."

Rae nods slowly, digesting this, and squeezes Santi's hand reassuringly. "I'm not entirely sure how I learned to fly them. I didn't have the best reflexes or the best hand-eye coordination. I think there's something more involved, but I'm not sure what it is. Maybe it's just the ability to concentrate and multitask. Even a Mark II will keep you busy in flight. I just can't say for sure. I know 'the right stuff' is a cliche, but it exists."

She has to smile very faintly at the mention of Ramon being pleased. "I understand. I've had a nosebleed or two to deal with. But why do you not like this Ramon? My nosebleeds had a hangup on my appearance and how it apparently got me through flight school. What's the deal with Ramon?"

"Ramon is an exacting man. He's abrasive and impossible to those who cross him, and a good friend to have if your ambitions run toward politics or a well placed career in finance or shipping. He the cultural attache to the Aquarian Quorum Delegate." Santiago mms. "Ramon Vega Blue." She pauses. "Santiago Blue. He is my biological father." Biological is a word she's used twice today, to describe her father. There is a heavy implication there. "As for your looks, stunning though you are, I doubt your beautiful eyes alone can operate a flight stick. You can't be blamed for genetics. Or waxing."

Raedawn frowns as she listen. Then, "Oh…/oh/!" The mention of family names makes quite a lot clear. "You said biological father, though… were you raised by someone else?" Curious Girl is curious.

She nods in agreement with the observation on genetics. "My eyes have never held a flight stick, just as my hands have never touched the sky. But the trouble was, I had to share a cockpit with a man for at least two hours a day, and a training complex with the same one. And the complication was that we got along well. There wasn't anything untoward going on, we just clicked. But it could easily be misinterpreted by anybody outside the training squadron, like an internal reviewer." She and Santiago are sitting on opposite sides of a table, talking quietly and loosely holding hands, though it seems comradely rather than affectionate.

"No. Well. Sort of. I was more raised by tutors and nannies and the like. Ramon is a very busy man. Very busy. Promise, mother, was always quite busy herself. You know it is. People do what they love, and that doesn't always mean raising their kids. Why bother, when you can pay people for that, right?" Santi shakes her head and mms. "I see. Assumptions made because you're a woman training with a man. But surely those rumors were put to rest by your performance in the cockpit?" She smirks slightly, "Suddenly an unfortunate pairing of words…"

"My folks could be like that, too busy for me," Raedawn recalls solmenly. "My Mom couldn't help it, with her job. Dad could almost always make time, but then again, he ran his own business and I visited it a lot. It's probably why I didn't grow up /entirely/ a spoiled brat… um, not to imply anything," she adds hastily.

And back to flying. "Most trainers are men, the same way that most soldiers are men. Sooner or later, it was going to happen. Assumptions could be made, sure, but mostly it was a deliberate misrepresentation of the facts. I was chosen over a friend of the nosebleed in question. My scores were higher, but he claimed the instructor raised mine."

Santiago smiles as Rae invokes spoiled brat. She shakes her head, "You don't have to imply. I was. I am. I had a platinum charge when I was fourteen. I used it a lot." She chuckles. "I still do. Why do you think I'm not at home alone right now? The credit accounts can't take unsupervised activity for weeks at a time…" She lifts a shoulder in an approximation of a shrug. "The bitchy little girls will always find a way to blame achievement on something other than skill, if they're bitter enough. You survived a major offensive. It's enough evidence for me. Not that anyone would ever dare ask now. Or care what the Aquarian rich girl things. Ah, but three years? That's a respectable career. I've seen a Petrel performance. A few years ago. It was a good time."

Ramon stalks into the Galley with the look and stride of a man who has decided to come down from his mansion on top of a high hill to muck out a pig sty. Yes, he doesn't appear happy. He makes his way towards the food line and crosses his arms over his chest, eyes fixated on the bulkhead far ahead of him …

Rae chuckles and clasps Santiago's hand a little more tightly. "At least you're as honest about it as I am. Hello, fellow brat," she teases gently. "Will my Viper quals make up for the current lack of a platinum charge? However they were earned?"

Stalking footsteps are loud footsteps. The dark-haired pilot blinks and glances towards the chow line, finally coming to rest on the unhappy-looking gent at the end. "I've never seen /him/ before. Does he not like the food, or something? I mean, it's not exactly gourmet, but it's hot…"

Santi leans on the table, an elbow alongside her plate of toast. She has about half a piece of toast left, and a half cup of cold tea. A small pocket knife is closed, sitting nearby on the table. From the look of the apple core on the edge of her plate, she was carving up her apply with the knife. "Ah, what makes up for a platinum? I don't know that that'll do it, but it can't hurt, right?" The brats are bonding, and somewhere, an accountant just choked on his own tongue from even the mental image a shopping spree, regardless of how nuked the various Colonies might be.

Santi's fingers tighten on Rae's, and she laughs to the pilot seated across from her. "I suppose your chops in the cockpit could be taken on credit. Shit hot piloting does have its social credit score." She nods, "I think it can — who?" She glances down to the other woman's nails. "You should let me do your nails. Something tasteful and underst—" And it's at that point that her eyes flick up, long lashes lifting as she makes note of the dark clad gentleman that Raedawn is referring to. "Oh." Pause. Her volume drops considerably, then she clears her throat lightly and murmurs, "He always looks like that."

After food is unceremoniously ladeled onto his tray, Ramon turns about and puts it down on a table - keeping his distance from the marines clustered at the other end. He prods it with a fork for a moment before he tucks into it and, remarkably, doesn't retch or make a show of how unappealing he may find it. He eats it without a problem, reaching into his coat pocket and producing a book which he begins to flick through with one hand as he eats.

Raedawn laughs and grins. "Maybe not /that/ hot, but I do all right. And if someone won't take it, I'll distract them while you slip out with the merchandise. I'm sure I can think of a way."

She glances back at the individual in question as Santi does, careful to keep her voice down. "Always? But how do you…" And the clue lands. "He's /Ramon/?" She hasn't seen him walk, but the described haughtiness is all there, complete with expensive coat and polished leather shoes. And apparently a strong stomach, too. "Should we be glad he's sitting there and not here?"

Sitka steps into the galley, half zipped into a flight suit with a handy viper patch on one shoulder proclaiming what stick he flies, and an empty cup in his hand. Steering clear of the chow line, he makes his way instead toward the coffee pot at the end. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, and the lethargy with which he's moving, he needs it. The gentleman in the designer clothing is eyed curiously on his way over.

Nostos makes his way into the galley aparently good is not something he is here to eat as much as he stops for a cup of coffee. After getting his coffee he spins to look around for a safe place to sit. The pilot lets his spide…er pilot senses tingle and he spots Raedawn who is sitting with Santiago. Of course, Angelus begins making his way over to Raedawn and Santiago and when he gets close enough he asks, "Do you ladies mind if I join you?" His tones are Caprican and full of the politeness that goes with it. The pilot is waiting for an answer before sitting though the mug in his hand is a bit hot and so he switches the mug from his left hand to his right hand.

Santiago mms, with a little nod, confirming Raedawn's suspicions. "Yes, we should." She leans in a little more, though her volume does not decrease with the lean. "Though he may just close. He's biding his time. He always bides his time." She glances back, amused at Rae's suggestion of distractions, however, belated as it is. "The two man jobs are the most seamless." She happens to catch sight of another familiar pilot wandering through, then two. Her eyes track Sitka for a moment, then flick up to Nostos as he inquires. She nods to a seat. "Please do, Angelus." She responds well to the polite Caprican, even offering a bit of a smile. One might even call it cheerful. She reaches for her toast and crunches a bite. Her eyes flick over toward Ramon again. Like she's waiting for him to perform a trick. And then, over the dark clad gentleman's shoulder, she regards the Petrel SL.

"Is there any way to tell?" Raedawn regards Ramon with the caution due a growling dog. Unlike Santiago, she's careful to keep her voice down. "I'm not sure I'd want him for a tablemate. I've seen friendlier-looking mastiffs."

Fortunately for her suspicions, Nostos makes his way in just then. "Halo! Hi. Sit right down, there's room," she says, smiling and concurring with Santiago. Sitka's entrance is noticed, and the flyergirl sends a smile and a wave his way.

Hey, it isn't every day you spot a guy who's wearing more money than your family's worth. Was worth. Before they got incinerated. The Captain's eyes linger on that expensive clothing for a second or two more, then cut across to Santiago like he felt her watching him. Then away, while he finishes filling his cup with dark, steaming brew. Spotting Raedawn's wave out out of the corner of his eye, he pivots and heads on over.

Nostos takes the offered seat, "Thank you," He looks over at Santiago for a moment, "How are you holding up, Ms. Blue?" He asks curiously as he is checking in on the Governmental Types. Angelus might not be a politician but he knows enough from being around his parents about how to dance around them. Angelus turns and looks over at Raedawn, "And how are things going on your end? No more problems with your drawstrings?" Nostos asks half teasing and half serious. "Before you ask, no, I haven't fallen on my ass. Though a lightbulb did hit me in the forhead." Angelus looks over at Sitka and gives an off duty two fingered salute before he turns to look over a Ramon.

Ramon remains silent at his table for the most part, pushing the food around the tray and eating it - still without the apparent disgust it should probably bring out in him. If he has heard his name or felt the gaze upon him he has made no show of it, flipping to the next page of his book and tracing a sentence with the tip of his finger.

"You never know until it's too late. If you can see him, he already knows you're there…" Just like that, at Raedawn's waving smile to the Petrel SL, Santiago's eyes flick off of Ramon. Her attention is momentarily diverted. Her brows rise slightly at the brief look from the Captain. She smiles slightly, and her eyes flick to Nostos, leaving Ramon with at least thirty full seconds of being unwatched. "… I'm." Santiago mms. She waves her bit of toast. "My pants have stayed on all day, and I haven't recently eaten a light bulb. The rest I take moment by moment." It's a bit of an evasion, with a dose of humor, but it's an evasion, nonetheless. "Captain." Uh oh. "Do have a seat." There's surely a question incoming shortly.

"So we're doomed," Rae murmurs, with a sidelong glance at Ramon. "I'd make a will, but one of the beneficiaries would die alongside me, so that's out. I guess I'm reduced to prayer."

And just like that, things get worse. Somewhat. Nostos's question draws a faint blush. "Earlier tonight. Unlike Santi, my pants /haven't/ stayed on all day. Unless she means different underpants. Those stayed on."

Sitka draws closer, and Rae smiles as he gets into conversational distance, still trying to dim that blush. "Cap. How are you? Besides tired, I mean," she adds, the smile fading into concern. The man looks awful.

Santiago is the recipient of a wary look from the viper Captain, but he relents after a few moments and nudges a free chair out with his boot. His cup's set down atop the table, a little of its contents sloshing over one side. "Hey, Raedawn." The Ensign gets a slight smile that's meant to stave off concern; the Lieutenant, a more thoughtful consideration. "Nostro, right?" And then, when he seems to realise that Raedawn asked him a question, "Good. I'm good. Just juicing up for patrol. These graveyard shifts are shit on a stick." Classy.

Ramon stands up slowly half way through his meal, depositing the small, leatherbound book back into his coat pocket and stalking off towards the hatchway. The business of chow-time, however, causes him to be swallowed up by the crowd and he vanishes from sight.

Nostos looks over at Santiago, "Well, I'm glad to know that your pants have stayed on. Personally, I find keeping my pants on is a source of joy and pride since it means I'm not out there dogging on every woman I meet and that isn't becoming of a pilot or an officer." Angelus turns to look at Raedawn, "Well, get sweats with a elastic band on them since they are much less likely to fall. Also, if someone is messing with you then you should take it to the Cap, here. Pilots are like wolves and we work in packs and if you mess with one of us then you mess with all of us." Angelus turns to look at the Captain, "Nostos, Cap, but you were close." The pilot says amicably and he adds, "I've always been a fan of graveyard shifts myself. They are usually quiet." As Ramon stands the Caprican turns to look over at the man and when he disappears there is a shrug followed by a sip of coffee.

Crunch. Second to last bite of the toast makes its way past the perfect pearly whites sported by Santiago. She's probably had thouands spent on that smile. Her clothing, at the moment, is passably normal, though not quite suited to a Battlestar. At least it looks like it didn't cost more than 1k cubits. Most of that's the boots. "Mm. We're pretty much doomed," she asides to Raedawn, with a look askance to the female pilot. "The Gods would never abandon us in our time of need." The ladies seem to be having a little fun at the expense of the seemingly unawares older gentleman down the way. "I didn't mean underpants, but will take this opportunity to say, with certainty, it's not a party unless you forget where you left them."

"Shit on a stick." Santiago repeats these words briefly, as if she's taking them for a spin to test them out, like she's never heard this particular expression before. She happens to note Ramon moving to leave, out of the corner of her eye, and thusly she takes a bit of a lean toward the viper Captain, neglecting the editorial commentary that was surely about to leave her lips. "… Do you think there's a chance, any chance at all, that I could get a pass to spend some time in the viper sims?" She pauses a beat, then goes on to say, "It would make my insufferable genetic precursor endlessly happy to see a constructive use of my time, and lends itself well to keeping me out of more troublesome pursuits. And. Let's face it, if I have to pursue politics, eventually I'm going to turn into an officious snob who no one ever wants to deal with, because every damn thing I ever do is going to look like a power play. Save me from myself, and my inexorably tainted genetic code."

Unfortunately for poor Santiago, the general chaos of military people scrambling for food can allow even someone as noticable as Ramon to move around without being, well, noticed. As such, he steps out from between two intently conversational marines to stand right behind her. Loom, perhaps, may be a better word. He looks down at her for a second, hands clasped behind his back and an imperious eyebrow arched in an expression of disapproval.

Sitka probably wasn't quite prepared for Angelus' wordiness, not to mention his lung capacity. He pauses with the rim of his coffee cup an inch or two away from his lips, and simply watches him for a few seconds. Then finally takes the sip, and swallows. "Nostos," he corrects himself. "Nice to meet you. You're one of the Black Knights, right? I think I've seen you around berthings." His eyes drag back to Santiago when she asks her question, also with an impressive display of verbiosity. "I don't know. I can ask the CAG for you, if you like. Ever handled a viper?" Which is right about when Ramon shows up. Shiv knows that look. Shiv's probably given that look a time or three before. Trying not to smile, he returns to his coffee.

Rae pats Sitka's shoulder comfortingly. "Every stick has to be washed sometime," she reminds him. "Let me know if you need me to take a flight of yours sometime." And she means it, of course. Nobody has supported her more in the squadron than Sitka, and well she knows it. She has to smile at Santiago's test drive of the phrase.

Nostos's concerns get a blush and an address. "/These/ have an elastic band, Halo. It's just not very strong and I keep stuff in my pockets. S'what they're for. And thank you, but no one is messing with me. Thank the Lords."

Santiago's sudden plea for Viper sim time makes her clap her hands over her mouth and just look back and forth between Sitka and Santiago. Finally, she can speak again, just as Santi finishes. "She has flight experience, Cap. Racing planes. It's not the same, but she can fly."

Nostos lets the Captain deal with the question about the Vipers but he does respond to the underpants comment, "I'd argue it is a good party if you know exactly where your underpants are in the morning. Memory of something is better than having your friends reconstruct it to you. Also, it saves the embarrassing next morning with the walk of shame and the awkward what do we do now moment." Angelus takes a sip of his coffee, black. "Aye, Cap, I'm with the Black Knights. I've been around here and there." And with that Angelus looks over at Raedawn, "Or you could switch to your fatigues with a belt, more pocket space and no chance of slippage." Then Angelus looks over Ramon, "What is up with that guy?" Angelus asks indicating Ramon with his chin.

Santiago grins, and, instead of grabbing the Captain's arm, she half throws her toast bearing arm around his shoulders, but it's really more across his back. "Great! Right. Yes, flight experience, but I've never been in a viper." Oh, touching. There's touching happening. "That'll put a kink in Ramon's pre-formatted five year plan for his precocious offspring." There's definitely some sort of disturbance in the air. "It might even kill h—" Santiago's toast bearing hand comes to her mouth, and she nibbles the corner, leaning back into her own space. She glances over at the table where Ramon was, no Ramon. To the hatch, no Ramon. Her eyes flick back to Sitka, and then to Raedawn, and then Nostos. "… He's right behind me, isn't he?"

"It's a nice thought, Halo, but green is not my color. It's worse than gray, even," Rae replies, shaking her head. The fatigues sound practical, but they're about a comfortable as a gunnysack with leg holes in the dark-haired Ensign's book. "But it won't ever hamper my ability to tell where my underpants are, morning or any other time," she adds, playfully sticking her tongue out at the Knight.

Uh-oh. The shadow falling over Santiago is definitely paternal and definitely pissed. Perhaps a little more so than at his meal, not that it's easy to tell. The man's expression /usually/ looks like he just chugged a tall glass of vinegar with a lemon juice chaser, from what Rae's seen. "He is," she says mournfully.

"I suppose I should be glad," Ramon says, the fact that his accent is decidedly different to Santiago's probably a testament to their lack of closeness, "That my cubits paid for the education that gave you such an interesting vocabulary." He pays absolutely no attention to the other two, as though they might not even exist … or are akin to housecats or interestingly-shaped hatstands.

Shiv may not be the brightest bulb in the hardware store, but thankfully with acting like Santiago's, he doesn't need to be. He tenses slightly when she slings her arm around him, and a little of his coffee sloshes over the side of his cup as he's jarred by it. He answers Raedawn first, once he's set down his cup and ensured he hasn't spilled any on himself, "Sure, I'll let you know if I need the break." He won't. Because he's a stubborn old goat when it comes to his pilots. Then to Santiago, "Sorry, Miss Blue, the simulators are military property and training tools. You two'll have to find another way to settle your differences. I understand the gym's fair game, so long as one of the marine detachments hasn't booked it for drills."

Angelus raises an eyebrow as he adresses Santiago half amused and half curious, "Looks like. Then again, you already knew that." Then when Ramon chimes in with his enlightened response toward Santiago and then when Sitka response there is a simple, "Ouch." This ouch is uttered sympathetically, in the same way one man might say to another after watching a guy get kicked in the balls on tv, it is sympathy and reflex mixed. "Raedawn, you joined the fleet and that means the drab greens and greys, personally, I would think the green would bring out the eyes in one as lovely as yourself but I never paid attention at the fashion shows my mother dragged me too."

"Damn it." Santiago could be responding to any number of things with that particular phrase. She flicks her napkin over one of Sitka's arms to give him something with which to catch his spill. "Ibrahim," And she busts out the first names of everyone around. Damn civilians. "My interst in the viper simulators has little to do with Ramon. Forgive me my good mood getting a little carried away for a moment. I have roughly twelve skills. Approximately 2 of them are of any use in space. Don't let your age narrow your vision, please." And then she rises, her hand finally slipping away from Raedawn's on the table. There's a brief look cast to the other woman. She turns to face the much older Blue. "Hello, Ramon. Is there something, in particular, that I can help you with?" There's a strong undertone of 'aside from ruining my life', but she doesn't say it. It's that unspoken venom politicians are so known for.

"You can help," Ramon answers plainly, offering Santiago a 'smile' that is all daggers and no friendliness, "By getting your things in order and doing what it is you are here to do." Not once does he raise his voice, nor hint that he may be anything other than hospitable, "An aide is of precious little use sitting in the Galley plotting ways in which to be rebellious. Isn't that right Sss … " A long pause, as though he may be about to utter a word entirely different to her name, but then it morphs seamlessly into: "Santiago?"

"When it's unavoidable, I wear it. It's really the wrong shade for my eyes," Rae replies to Nostos, absently. Her mind's on other things, like the (so far) very contained explosion that's taking place not five feet away. She gives Santiago a supportive look as their eyes meet and their hands part.

Sitka clears his throat quietly as Santiago addresses him, but doesn't directly respond. Certainly not here and now, at any rate. The handkerchief's waved off like the superfluous thing it is (to a born and bred Saggie male, anyway), and he collects his coffee before getting to his own feet. "I'd better get going. Take it easy, Rae. You too, Nostos." The other Petrel's shoulder is touched gently on his way past, and Santiago gets a wordless glance before he makes his way to the hatch.

TEH DRAMAZ in front of Nostos, well, this is almost like a lullabye to him since Caprican families exploding around him. Bottom line it, Nostos is aware of arguments in front of him but it would appear that he just doesn't seem to be paying much attention to it, like ambient music or a waterfall, there is noise but no real meaning. "Well, good luck with figuring out the pants issue." Angelus says to Raedawn and then when Sitka begins to make his way out, "Take it easy, Cap."

Santiago actually leans back, just a little, as Ramon stumbles over her first — middle — name. She holds up a hand almost in warning, then shoves her arms crossed again, when he deigns to finish without dropping that bomb. "You make me crazy. Paperwork for whom? The corpses," her words are hissed quietly. She glances back, over her shoulder, as the viper Captain takes his leave. Shit. That looks is clear in her eye as she turns the gaze back to Ramon. She replies lowly, in something that's definitely not Caprican Standard English. It's probably meant only Ramon's ears. For those familiar with one of the fringe dialetcs of Aquaria, it goes something like, "Aquaria's gone. You know it has to be, just as well as I do. Just who's going to give a shit. I don't even type. Are you trying to kill me?"

"There is no call for fatalism, Santiago," Ramon says flatly, though a certain flare in his eyes indicates he knows just what it is she is muttering to him in that foreign tongue, "If we are at war, then there is no time for you to act childish. And if you do not want to type … " a long pause, before he twists the metaphorical knife, "You can write by hand."

The drama seems unavoidable at this point, particularly if you're uninclined to move because a friend of yours is involved. Rae waves soberly to Sitka. "Have a good flight, Cap." She glances over at Angelus in puzzlement as the dialect comes out on Santiago's part. She can't understand a word. But she stays where she is nonetheless.

There's a slow intake of breath. "Raedawn. Angelus." She glances over. "Meet Ramon Blue." Santiago's attention shifts back to Ramon. She's back to words everyone can understand. "Ramon. Meet Angelus and Raedawn. That was Captain Sitka." She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. The topic is handily changed. "Ramon is usually more personable, but he's understandably tense since his interests are in flux at the moment."

Angelus looks over at Raedawn and then back at the arguing pair and he looks over at Raedawn as he offers his advice in the lowest and softest of tones, "Rules of engagement when things like this happen. Never look directly at the people arguing. You might get dragged in. Second rule, so long as no one is swinging let them work it out." Angelus looks down at his coffee mug for a moment, "Grew up around a lot of moments like this." His eyes never drift to the sibling and then when Santiago drags them into the pair Angelus says softly to Raedawn, "See, told you not to stare." Angelus looks back at Ramon and he stand, "Angelus Nostos, Lieutenant Junior Grade. It is a pleasure to meet you." Angelus for his part is maintaining his polite Caprican exterior as a hand is offered to Ramon.

Ramon utters something swiftly to Santiago in that same, obscure Aquarian dialogue before he turns to Angelus and glances down at the hand being offered as though it is the first time he's seen the man. He lets it hang for a painful moment, almost like he won't take it, but then extends his own hand to shake it. Surprisingly rough hands and a strong grip for someone who appears well-suited to the lap of luxury, "Ramon Vega Blue, Cultural Attache to the Aquarian Delegate."

"You told me just a little too late," Rae hisses back, and stands as well. "Ensign Raedawn Arkili, Colonial Space Guard," she says, bowing her head respectfully. Except for the thing with not lowering her eyes, which show faint sparks of anger. She glances over at Santiago in concern.

Santiago's left eye twitches just a little. Could have had something to do with the mutter, or it could have something to do with her father driving off the Captain who was her ticket to getting in the (faux) cockpit again. Though it might not be obvious to many others, it's probably obvious to Ramon, and certainly to Raedawn (fellow brats know these things), Santiago Blue is fuming in silence. She offers a little smile to Rae, but it's the smile of 'If I need it, will you help me hide the body later?'. It's all in the subtle shifts of the eye, and the angle of the lashes. Fear women, men, for they speak in code without ever opening thier mouths. "My friends, Ramon," Oh, burn. "If you will excuse me. I need my beauty sleep." She reaches down to the table, and retrieves her pocket knife. It's stowed rather than opened. There's the distinct moment where it seems like she might make use of it. Or maybe that's just editorial emoting.

Ramon gives Raedawn a once over with his eyes before he nods and says, evenly, "A pleasure." He looks as though he may say something else when Santiago acts out again, prompting him to watch her in silence with slightly narrowed eyes.

Rae's look at Santiago turns wide-eyed for just a second. 'Hide the /body/?' But she nods ever so slightly. Loyal is Raedawn, even when her friend is leaving as she looks.

She looks back at Ramon just in time to catch that surveying glance. It's not like it's the first time a man has looked her over, but this one chafes just the teensiest bit, and those green eyes flicker with suppressed anger at it. "An… occasion," she replies, softly but firmly.

Santiago makes her exit with one last round of eye contact, beginning with Rae, and ending with Ramon, to whom she shoots a look on her way out.

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