AWD #079: Aint Anyone on Tauron Anymore
Ain't anyone on Tauron anymore
Summary: More Enlisted discussion. Less anger, more melancholy.
Date: 26/03/2013
Related Logs: Treason, Still Gotta Eat
Diomedes Toby Sera 
Naval Enlisted Berthings - Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
Housing a couple thousand naval personnel is never easy, but the fleet has managed for many decades. The enlisted barracks are divided up into sixty-bunk berthings and spread out across Deck Three. Each bunk has a small blue privacy curtain to keep out the light and prying eyes, but at least each individual has their own space. The drawers beneath each bunk and the lockers provide additional storage space. Between each stack of bunks is a single table that comprises a single section, each barracks holding five sections that are divided by thin bulkheads.
AWD #79

Diomedes had, after that nasty bout with a skinjob, a few days of rest in his bunk. He's not complaining one bit. With few pillows behind his back, and his curtains open Dio sat quietly with a book in hand. It appeared to be some fairly dense bit of literature- not something most people might expect of the once-thug Tauron. A guitar was set up near the bunk, leaned against the side of the space. He wore no shirt, bandages taped up to his side, where he'd been hit by that stray bullet. The rest of his chest and arms covered in ink- much of it in ceremonial, Tauron style.

Heading back to his bunk from a seemingly never ending shift in the Hanger Bay, Toby has his coveralls zipped down to and the arms tied round his waist, rather like a load of the pilots do with their flight suits. He too it would seem, is sporting a fair share of tattoos, largely on a vague 'bull' theme but equally distinctly Tauran in style. Dio is recognised, but only vaguely so he gets a brief nod as Toby slips into the gap next to his bunk to let someone else through in the main isle.

Diomedes looks up towards Toby, speaking a moment in the tongue native to Tauron to his fellow colony-man. <The Pilots still fucking up the birds?> he wonders, <Diomedes Alexios.> he offers, then, a more formal introduction.

Toby had been about to continue on his way again, but the prospect of spending his spare hours working through the technical manual he has tuck under one arm somehow lose out when conversation becomes an option. Taking just a moment to step out into the thoroughfare and punt said manual onto his own bunk so he doesn't have to keep carrying it he then turns back and returns the introduction in the same tongue, <Toby Shakleton. Tell me, do they do anything else? Someone was taking me through the log sheets this morning and the things they do to 'em.>

Dio laughs, grinning and shifting himself so his feet were off the bed. <They run them through the ringer every chance they get.> The Specialist replied, <I'd say they do it just to piss me off, but I know they don't know any better. Its like a kid with his favorite toy- just keeps breaking it and expecting someone else to fix it.> Dio gives a nod towards the edge of his bunk. An invitation. <We must work opposing shifts, I don't think I've seen you around too much, Toby. You a mechanic?>

Toby accepts the offer of a seat, he's been on his feet for most of the day after all and it's easier than conversing from his own bunk. <I only just signed up,> he explains, <so I've mostly been trying desperately trying to learn everything and then not frak it up in practice. I do life support and rescue systems, but the shit they have in the Raptors is just different enough to the stuff that I'm used to that I can't just rely on what seems natural.>

<Ah, I've been at it for seven years.> Dio said, and somehow still only a specialist. <Got a real good thing going on this ship. We make as much as most officers do on other ships, and /none/ of the responsibility.> Diomedes nods, looking over to his own books a moment. <Its not too tricky, once you get the hang out of it. Its military tech- so whatever is the most back-assward design you can think of, that's the one that'll work. At least, in my experience. I've bypassed whole systems and it doesn't seem to affect much at all. So, either they're tougher than they look- or over designed. I'm thinking the latter.>

<I'd lean towards the latter too,> Toby agrees with a slight grin, <I just don't reckon it'd look good on my record if I found the one that didn't have 3 redundancies and killed an aircrew as a result.> Although there is that one Toaster pilot.. Pushing such thoughts from his mind before he gets distracted down that path again he glances instead back to Dio. Spotting the tattooing gear out of the corner of his eye he tilts his head a little then asks, <you do your own?>

<Mine and some others on the crew. My father taught me.> Dio replies. <Usually I charge in the form of a book, or something hard to get- no charge for Taurons, though. Something of a duty to keep the culture alive, now that there are only a handful of us left. And I'm not about to answer to the ghosts of my family when my time comes if I didn't do my part, you know?> Dio gives a bit of a grin, <You just let me know what you want, and I'll do it old-school style for you.>

<You sure?> Toby replies, keeping his face straight, <I've got a good run going on the manuals and procedure folders from the deck. I'm sure they'd understand it was a cultural necessity.> He points briefly to the tome he just ditched, although it's probably touch and go if it's actually visible from here, <you sure I can't tempt you?> He mulls the offer though, nodding silently after a moment. <Must admit, I've been considering getting that flag they use in the colonial government, you know the one? Was never too keen on it before, but as you say, there's only a handful of us left now.>

Dio nods to his own collection of manuals and technical information. <I'm good. Up to you what you want, just as long as it means something. Your body, after all. I also loan out some of these books, just need to leave one I don't have a copy of in trade.> he continues to explain, <Lots of literature from all over the colonies. Generally good for off duty reading.> he says, as he reaches over to snag the guitar and lazily play it as he leans back. <So, where you from?>

<FS3> Diomedes rolls Guitar: Good Success.

Toby takes a moment to examine the spines of the books on display, recognising very few, if any, of the titles. <If I come across any then I might,> he replies, turning back to Dio, <right now though I got jack shit nothing.> To be fair though, books aren't really something he had before his home was nuked out of existence either though. <Just about every arse-end of a mining town in the Churchill's> he then replies, <spent a few months in Antioch, but those were bad times and I was just a kid. Not really something I try and dwell on too much. You? Although I suppose the important question to ask is Stallions or Bulls?>

Dio continues to play the guitar quietly as he nods over, <Honestly,> he said in his native tongue, <I don't really care.> he replied to the sports related question. <Bulls, if I'm about my home-team. But since the lot of them have been turned to irradiated dust, it hardly seems important anymore.> The blank-handed Tauron shrugged, simply- the song he played was simple. Easy. Just a quiet melody.

Sera didn't get an icepack. That would involve going to the medical bay and explaining to some annoying, prying nurse why her hand was bruising up. She went to mess hall and got ice, wrapped it up in a towel, and… duct-taped it to her hand. Yes, really. Clever, in a really stupid sort of way. It makes her pretty damned obvious as she traipses back into the barracks, especially because she's leaving a little drippy trail of melted ice-water behind her as she walks, whether she realizes it or not. That and a cloud of smoke, because she didn't bother putting out her cigarette before coming in. Why would she? She smokes in her rack, too.

Toby is sat on the edge of Dio's bunk as well, coveralls striped to the waist with the arms tied round his midsection. Nodding as the answer comes back 'bulls' even if in a heavily qualified sense, he lifts his shirt to expose the left hand side of his ribcage where the logo of said team is inked into his flesh. He replies in the same language, <been in a few fights after walking into the wrong bar on derby day with that one I can tell you.> As Sera returns it's not the smoke that gets his attention, but the gentle drip of the meltwater onto the deck. Glancing up he gives her a quick nod as she's recognised then eyes her hand a moment, utterly forgetting to switch tongue as he asks, <still works then?>

Diomedes looks over towards Sera, even as he plays. "Yo, what you do to your hand?" he asks, staring at the duct-tape wrapping and dripping water, a touch of concern in his voice. He nods, though, at the team's insignia on Toby's side, sliding back into Tauron a moment, <Not bad work. Not bad at all.>

One almost-black brow quirks at Toby. Obviously, she hasn't understood a single word coming out of the man's mouth. Confusion written all across her face? She might as well have a question mark stamped on her forehead in thick, black ink. "What?," she says, one side of her mouth quirking upwards. And then that turns into a grim smirk as she calmly informs Dio, "I punched a locker. I'm pretty sure it won."

<Paid enough for it to be,> Toby replies with a smile as he lets his shirt drop again. Dio's switch to standard, and Sera's reply kick his brain into that mode too and he holds a hand up briefly in apology, "sorry, forgot I wasn't on Tauron any more." There's a brief flash of something behind his eyes, sadness, anger, both? Hard to say, but he wastes no time in moving on, "I asked if it still worked. Your hand that is."

Diomedes laughs, "I haven't ever paid for a tattoo." he says, with a bit of a cheeky grin, while still strumming away on his guitar. An acoustic thing that looks pretty beat up, but has a fairly mellow sound. "Its nice to talk the tongue of your ancestors." he agrees, "A little bit of home in that." he says, "I've wanted to pick up another language, honestly. Seems like that little bit of home and kindness some of us need on this tub."

"There ain't anyone on Tauron, anymore," Sera says. It's not a harsh comment. It's not intended to be cruel. It's bitter, and it's angry, and that's obvious by the edge that's crept into her voice, by the way she's flexing her banged up hand. Again. There's no question about it — the woman's been stewing for days. It's written all over her, in the lines around the corners of her mouth, the tension in her shoulders, the stiffness of her spine. And then she exhales, slowly, a very carefully controlled breath. "….Sorry," she mutters. "Hand'll be fine. Shackleton, isn't it? The new guy?"

"Yeah, some of us ain't artistic though so we have to make do where we can," Toby replies easily enough. "Mind you, there was one guy I knew for a while, couldn't keep anything mechanical working for more than about a month so instead watching him go bancrupt with fees I'd help him out from time to time and take payment in new ink." The reminder from Sera stops him though, and any joviality is gone from his tone as he replies, "aye. I know." There's a moment where he wonders if any of the surrounding lockers will ever be safe again but as she seems to keep things collected he just offers another brief nod, "Yeah, the new guy." He starts to move his hand to shake her's but then stops as he remembers the ice and duct tape and letting it drop back down to his lap instead, "Toby."

Dio eyes Sera for a long moment while his fingers continue to pluck at strings. He's not a professional, but the style is an odd mixture of classical and power-chord. Its not a song anyone knows, just idle 'jamming'. Its not a particularly upbeat song. A variation on some classic dirge. "You're going to break your teeth if you keep your jaw clenched like that." he finally says, as he looks up to Sera. His eyes, brown things, are understanding. "Cop a squat, maybe I'll sing a song."

"It's kind of funny, bein' shot at with somebody an' not even knowin' their frakkin' name," she says, eventually cracking a smile, however grim it may be. "Sera Jane Rutlii. Petty Officer First Class. That means I'm goin' to be a massive pain in your ass when you're on shift, probably. But don't take it personal or anythin'. I just have this thing against people doin' stupid shit around pallets full of explosives an' jet fuel." The grim smile turns into a smirk. She flicks a column of ash from her cigarette onto the floor, before bringing it to her lips to take a long, slow drag. She exhales away from the pair of Taurans, at least. And the nicotine seems to help.

<Newbie> Kingsbury has connected.

Toby starts to shift up a little as the suggestion is made for Sera to sit, there might not be any such thing as personal space in here but he can at least make the effort and pretend. He's not entirely sure that he can find anything funny about being shot at, let alone the incident of a few days ago but then he'd covered that earlier with Sera at least so he opts to keep things light instead. "So standing in a bite, at heights, without appropriate PPE or a permit to work, juggling flaming torches and scattering metal shards like confetti is out then I take it? Guess I better find myself a new hobby then." On a more serious note he does nod at her explanation and add finally, "I'll try not to."

"Sleeping under burning stars, the sky below, planets above. All human hope in a single rusty wreck. Yet, have we, to decide our ending set. Happy or sad, perhaps its beyond the mortal ken. Hard, so hard, to know the Gods' detailed plans. Look at me, I'm a Shadow of a Man. No longer a home, I slide among the stars to distant lands. If only I had an answer to the Question- Will I survive, or another dead son become." Dio sang softly, his voice deep as his fingers played across the strings of his guitar, eyes half lidded while he leaned against his back-rest of pillows.

"As long as you're wearin' the appropriate footwear," she mumbles quietly, sinking down into a seat at one of the tables set up between the rows of bunks. She stretches her legs across the aisle, propping her feet up on the edge of Dio's rack, careful to keep from getting the soles of her boots on his sheets. With her free hand, she reaches into her pocket to pull out the pack of smokes, holding it out as an offering to Toby and Dio alike. Cheap things, those cigarettes, bought by the carton. She hides the fine fumarella; special occasions only, that.

"Those open toed ones with no ankle support? Got it," Toby replies with a nod, "I'll see if I can get hold of a pair cos then there'll be no stopping me." Taking a few seconds to consider the offered fags he half-listens to the that Dio is sharing before reaching forward and taking one from the pack. "You got a light?" he asks, stupid question really, but he doesn't, so he has to ask it anyway."

Dio chuckles at Sera's joke, as he stands- guitar laid on his bed where he'd been moments before. "I'm going to head to the Mess and grab a little something to eat." he says to the pair of fellow deckhands as he gives a nod and begins out of the sleeping quarters. "Have fun chattin' and whatever."

"Ohhh, dude, seriously. You're goin' to have to change your sheets when you get back, with the way this is goin'," Sera says with the sort of cheeky grin that says she's entirely full of it. If that weren't enough? The eyebrow waggle really seals the deal. She's totally being a turd. She's also feeling around in her pocket for her lighter, which she passed over to Toby, too. It's old, worn, and refillable. There's only so many places to buy cheap BICs in space.

Toby gives Dio a brief nod as he departs, then stands up and moves round to sit at the table as well. There's just something odd about sitting on a man's bunk when he's not there after all. Accepting the lighter he mutters a brief "thanks" as he sits, although the flame is not lit until he's actually down. Sliding it back across the table to her he glances around the largely empty room, "So, what do you guys do for fun round here?"

"There's this bar down on Piraeus, called Checkpoint Charlie's. Everybody loves it. Best place in town, mostly 'cause it's the only frakkin' one," she says as she pockets her lighter. "Otherwise, you've got anythin' you brought with you, the fitness center, the pool, the obs deck, the library, the rec room. Sometimes there's pick up games of Pyramid or someone pulls out a pack of cards for Triad. That was always the hard part, before War Day — dealin' with the loneliness an' the boredom out here. Now, we're pretty much all too busy to stop an' think."

Toby doesn't look overjoyed at the mention of the pool but the mention of pyramid and triad seem to balance that out quickly enough. As for the mention of the bar on Pirause, that also seems to be approved of, "we talking a beer and moonshine type place or is it a glassy joint, cocktails, gotta be wearing a shirt, that sort of thing?" He's assuming the former, and not all of the stipulations of the latter are entirely serious. It's stopping his mind from drifting elsewhere though, and thats the important thing. "Odd thought ain't it, being lonely among so many," he offers, in what for him is actually quite a deep comment, "I can see how the busy helps."

"As long as you've got your cock covered, I think you're good," Sera says with a wry smile. It doesn't quite reach her eyes. She falls silent again for several minutes, doing nothing but rolling her cigarette between her lips, leaving a trail of peach lip gloss on the white paper. 'Cause somehow, in the face of the apocalypse, it really is the little things that keep a girl sane. "I think that piece of advice goes both of those, really."

Toby seems to be in no hurry to break the quiet although he does spare a brief glance for the guitar as that would have been a good way to fill it had Dio not departed. "I'll keep that in mind," he replies, eventually, getting a couple of hits from the cigarette in the meantime. After that he seems to make a decision though and he starts to push himself back to his feet, "I should probably go and do stuff. I have a technical manual to read and then two procedure folders to get though, sadly it turns out they don't read themselves."

"Most important thing is keepin' mind of what you're doin', regardless of how much or little you know. It's when you aren't payin' attention that accidents happen," she advises him thoughtfully, her words accompanied by the sort of frown that says she's seen more than one deck accident and isn't particularly fond of them. "Later, man. Sleep well, when you do."

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