AWD #310: Bran-cest
Bran-cest
Summary: The Brans catch up over some chow. The Admiral gives Epiphany heartburn.
Date: 27/04/2016
Related Logs: None
Dell Bran Jameson Lleufer Epiphany Randy 
Mess Hall
The Crew Mess on the battlestar is one of the larger rooms meant for occupation. The room is far longer than it is wide with the classic stainless steel tables that can be seen anywhere else on the ship, standard to all navy ships. Most of the chairs match, their padding on the seats worn down after several years. Towards the rear of the room is the food prep area and serving lines. During the time in between meals the Mess will serve midrats, or 'mid-shift rations', such as sandwiches and drinks. Coffee pots are left to run at all hours to keep people going as needed.
Sat Nov 12 19:05:04 2005 AWD #310

Rations are a thing, even if Orion seems to be fairing better than her last station. Therefore it's no telling what Dell had to do to beg, borrow or steal her very full tray of grub that she's no hunkered down with at a table with an arm almost protectively curled around it. There might have even been a time when someone reached for the pepper and she stabbed them with her fork. Or at least headed off such invasive reaches with a glare and a grunt. Now she's working on a mountain of rehydrogenated potato flakes as if she has a vendetta against them. GET IN HER BELLEH.

If Lukas Bran covers for another less-than-ideal shift, then that means he can spend more time free the following day. Considering he was on shift the other day, that leaves him only with attending to light duties right now and throughout the morning prior and foreseeable future. So he quietly sits across from Delphine Bran at their claimed table. He appears to be off-duty. There's a tray of food in front of him and a cup of water. He hasn't said much but that is his normal. What is less than normal is his not touching his meal nearly as much as she is with hers. Some of his sandwich though, is gone. He picks it up and carefully pushes the rest of his tray in her direction, watching her.

As the tray makes an audible scrape across the table, Delphine smiles around a mouth full of food. "Always such a sucker." She mumbles, at least having the decency to shield her lips with a curve of her hand so little crumbles don't go flying off them. She's certainly not protesting, though, as her fork reaches out to stab something that should pass as a vegetable with the prongs. "I never understood how you could power all that, while feeding little old me." Little old her that devours a fork full after hardly chewing. But hey! She has her base weight to get back up to if she's allowed back in the cockpit again, sans an emergent Condition 1.

"Not really," casually protests Bran on the idea of being a sucker, "You need it more than me." He's well-fed and that is obvious but what is also readily apparent is that Dell may be thin but she's on the side of too-thin thanks to the past near-year. He affords the moment a brief smile before shifting in his seat and holding his sandwich in both hands. His eye contact remains level with the woman. "It's something of a family secret. Might call me Bear, but I don't hibernate. I eat when no one's looking," but that would explain why he forages like a marine on deployment. Always having a snack helps. He probably has more than this particular sandwich and his sacrificed-to-Dell sides.

"All I heard is that you're holding out on me." Dell grins before another forkful of the food he graciously sacrificed for her as her boot knocks against his beneath the table. "So you been here the whole time? On the Orion or…?" Things got a little hazy about where they each went off to before the End of Days, but it might be completely rhetorical when she continues. "You're going to give me the ins and outs, right?"

"I might be." Bran doesn't seem all that inclined to answer one way or the other. She may kick him all she wants, too. He'll get his revenge on her someway and somehow, but for the time being he simply takes a bite of his sandwich. Chewing it over, he raises eyebrows questioningly at the incoming words. He waits to speak up until he has swallowed and, well, is just back to looking across the table at her. "Yeah, this is where I asked to be. I had been sitting on the recommendation for a while," because they were still together, "But, when you took that posting on Aerilon… Hmm. How about this? You want ins and outs? I'll think about it."

Dell makes a grunt in the back of her throat about sitting on the recommendation and her decision to head to Aerilon, but what she actually seems to hold a grudge about is that he has to think about showing her the Ins and Outs. She and Bran are seated at a table opposite each other, the lion's share of the latter's meal pushed in front of the former who is eating with gusto. "You'll give in. I know you. All I have to do is that thing with the.." She makes a vague gesture with her fork, waving around a suspicious looking piece of protein to illustrate her point to her erstwhile husband.

Off-duty Bran is sitting with still-recovering Bran. Lukas is the former and not on shift with a sandwich in hand and a tray of food recently given to the latter, Delphine, who currently eats from two trays now and is enjoying it. With gusto, someone could easily describe her current eating habits. He blinks almost owlishly at her as he listens. She makes a vague hand gesture with her lifted fork, waving it around a suspicious looking piece of protein. He looks down at the food. He looks back at her. The man places the sandwich down on the table and reaches for his drink of water. After a sip, he clears his throat. He looks back at her. "That's cheating."

There's this rando olderish guy wearing a flightsuit walking around wearing a black ballcap from some obscure Scorpian pyramid team. It looks like it was once a few shades darker. He's also wearing a pair of mirrored aviators that obscure most of his face. Who wears aviators on the ship? Who in the wing is allowed to wear ballcaps like that in uniform? It's complete with armored vest and sidearm. He's got an open coffee thermos with him as he wanders onto the mess deck and over towards the coffee. Nobody seems to pay him much mind. Lots of new transfers moving aorund. He pours himself a mug of coffee (not into the thermos) and looks around, surveying the sights. Hrm. He recognizes Bran. Target acquired. He heads that direction.

Lleufer has just come up from a killhouse training mission down on Piraeus. Hit the head for a shower, changed into his MP uniform, and just has enough time to get into the chow line before he's to take his duty shift at the Security Hub. Ynyr hurries without bumping into anyone and when he's in line, picks up a tray. The brisk stride has the fresh scar tissue at his right temple showing a bit lurid red-purple as he reaches for his first selections. Serving of fish up from Piraeus, side salad, hashbrown cassorole smothered with cheddar cheese. And when he gets to the end, a nice tall glass of iced tea to rehydrate after the exercise down below.

Everyone's gotta eat. Right? Right. And thankfully food service for this particular shift hasn't ended yet. Surprisingly (maybe, possibly), Captain Arrington isn't in uniform. Newp. She's just Goose or Epiphany (if you hate living) at the moment; BDU slacks and the dual-tanks. The woman meanders her way in not too long after Mr. Aviators and heads straigh for the food line. She may even hold up the line a bit. There's just so many damn options.

Dell answers Lukas Bran with a smile that's so wide it could touch her ears with the rehydrated potato flakes she was eating being pressed out between her teeth like a play putty pasta factory. It's one of her more charming qualities. Thankfully she's not too up on the Ins and Outs of the ship or its higher ups yet to recognize those not so suspicious suspicious command types filtering in or she might at least use a napkin. As it stands, she wipes her arm across the back of her bare arm, dressed in tanks and Navy issued shorts for the moment until her intake is finally completed and her first day of duty starts. As it stands, the malnourished Viper pilot fresh from the front of Aerilon is on medical leave until she can pass her physical. "Like I said. Sucker."

"Me sucker? Wouldn't that be the other way… around…?" Bran manages to squeeze out the question but his physical attention is waning thanks to the drifting of his gaze. It feels like someone is watching him but he doesn't readily notice anyone looking in their direction or their table either. There are some marines hanging out across the way. People getting food. He can spot a nugget or two, easily, and a few other fresh faces. A mock salute for someone or another in passing as they fetch food. Back to Dell. "Ah," he begins with a grunt and wanting to return to the conversation with something else. Except he stops himself again, abruptly: "Ah."

The olderish guy wanders over and drops down two seats over from Dell and sticks a finger into his lip and hauls out a wad of cud and drops it into the thermos. Ploop. He sits back in the chair, kicking his legs out under the table, and aims his mirrored aviators to stare at the larger Bran over the edge of his mug while he drinks. When he's done, he doesn't say anything, just looks for a long moment. Then, "You're an ECO right?" Perfect Canceran accent. The older guy has the trappings on the suit for an ECO but his Battlestar Orion patch looks pretty old. He's wearing pins but unfortunately they're folded down and held in place by the armor. The shadow of the ballcap and aviators do a decent job of hiding the leathery nature of the face. There's a glance to Dell, though, "You an ECO? You all look the same to me."

Oh wait, and a cup of black coffee. Lleufer snags that too because he'll need to stay awake. The MP leaves the chow line and goes to find a place to take as seat. Lleu doesn't waste time finding people to chat with and take his leisure. Once settled, he starts to lay into his meal quietly with the appetite of a Marine fresh off of exercises. He glances up when some duded takes a seat with some of the Airwing.
Bran pages: Yeah, I forgot about the food thing. MY BAD. But you're eating Bran's real food too, so have extra calories human garbage compactor.

The tray gets filled with a variety of things. Fruit, vegetables, protein. Why yes, the woman can manage a balanced meal. Unlike some. An Ensign pilot finds himself with an apple added to his tray before Epiphany moves on and over to the beverage cart. Coffee. Black. And a second mug of it just in case. It does make balancing her tray just a bit difficult, but the Viper jock manages alright. And she seems about to meander past to an open table when she notes the ballcap. There's a frown and rather than continue on, she sets her tray down opposite Mr. Aviators. There's a moment to scan for sign of some sort of identification. Not even rank pips visible. Tsk. "Just what are you doing out of regulation uniform?"

"For the record, my hands are above the table!" Dell says to those nearby, giving reason for all of Bran's apparent throat clearing and Ahs in case they be misconstrued. But even that seems to be jovial, because she's stuffing her gut to her fill /and/ got sleep last night so she's running with her tylium tank on full. "Stick jockey, thank you very much." She says aside to Jameson before turning in that direction. It's the flight suit she notices, and as she's such a low rank herself, it's always safe to throw in a hesitant, "Sir." At the end. Just in case. Nevermind the literal egg on her face. She's eating for two. Grown humans. In one tiny package. Maybe three.

Bran doesn't stammer further and instead closes his mouth, pursing it into a tight line and knitting his eyebrows together. He's no longer looking in Dell's direction but instead at an angle toward the currently right next to them Old Man. It's the mirrored aviators. The ballcap. "Yes, sir." Succinct is his response and in his lowbrow Tauran accent; straightforward, salt of the earth. Epiphany beats him to any conversational punch — Old Man in Aviators, uniforms, etcetera — and he blindly reaches for a napkin in order to hold it in Dell's direction across the table. "How are you doing today, gentlemen?"

Like any other uniform, there's no nametapes. Being anonymous is easier this way. The guy just looks up at Pip and clears his throat, slowly rising. "Captain Arrington? Heard you were aboard. No excuse Captain. Name's Louis. Callsign Hairball. Just makin' rounds. I'll be off the deck and back to my post ASAP. Just want to finish coffee if I can." He lifts the mug and makes moves to sit back down. Looking to Dell, he nods. "I hear words like that, love, and I have to assume you sling Vipers around the sky, yea?" He cuts a look towards Bran and winks behind the aviators. Shhh.

The Captain is still standing. Still staring at Mr. Aviators. She's trying to place him, but she's been having to learn a lot of faces. Epiphany just grunts faintly when he introduces himself. "Make sure you take off the hat and glasses," the woman mutters as she lowers into her seat. From underneath her tray comes a clipboard. Even off-duty, she keeps work close at hand. "Hairball." It's as if a mental pin has been placed into his name. Saving it for later. Likely to give some additional duties to on the next schedule. Or at least heavily recommend it to his squadron leader. Satisfied enough, Arrington picks up one of her mugs of coffee and drinks deep.

Dell isn't salt of the earth, just salty, but then again most Scorpians have a sting. "A napkin, are you serious? You never used to complain when I wrapped my dirty mouth around your.." Oh. Wait. Something is happening. The thing is taken from Bran and applied to her lips, as she eye shifts over to Aviators again. "Fly it like you stole it, sir. I'm one of the newest Strikes. Lieutenant Junior Grade Delphine Bran. Folks call me Short Stack on account of my lack of boo.." Her eyes go to the Captain now. "..breakfast eating."

Bran should be giving his wife some of those aforementioned Ins and Outs. He really should. At least he starts by offering her something to wipe her mouth with that isn't attached to her, like an arm. That done and offered, he drinks more of his plain old water. There's a bob of his head in reply to the aviatored look sent back at him. More water. Back to his sandwich, and a cursory sweep in cleaning off the surface, he gestures aimlessly with a wave of it. "More than welcome to join us, Sergeant." It may be a table of officers, but there's room to share with a non-commissioned version too. Should the head-scarred man risk it. Bran returns to those around him. "And people call her my better half. For some reason."

Bah. People are noticing. He looks over at Arrington and shakes his head. "Damn. You'd swear some people lose their sense of humor. Besides, I love this hat. I can't take this off." Back to his thick Canceran drawl and Arrington probably recognizes it right away. Its the Admiral. The guy sips his coffee with a cheshire grin and looks back to Dell. "Bran? Gods, there's two of you?" He peers at them both behind the sunglasses as if to devine the impossible. Two fingers press to his temple as he focuses on Dell. "I'm getting a psychic reading.." His other hand floats in front of him. "You are not brother and sister." Both hands drop and he grins. "Alright, good meeting you all. You, too, Goose." The guy fingerguns, kapow, at the Captain and slowly rises with the thermos and mug. "I gotta go find Major Gray and scare the shit out of him. Stay in trouble. That's a half-order." He waggles his brow and moves off for the door.

Well, isn't that all rather interesting, and entertaining too. Lleufer watches the antics going on at the other table and then turns his attention back to his own meal. Almost through it. Ynyr finishes off the fish and chases the last of the hashbrown cassarole around with his fork until it's properly subdued. The MP glances over when Bran speaks to him and Lleufer tries to smile. Only, the left side of his face doesn't work too well anymore since he took a bullet to the head, "Hey, I think I remember you. Tauran ECO." Doesn't recall the name right off. Ynyr moves to stand, "Thanks but I need to get to my duty shift. Enjoy your breakfast." His words are a little slurred like you'd expect a stroke victim's to be, but he's careful to make them clear enough to be understood. Back to work for him, but get a refill on his coffee on his way out.

And then it sinks in. Epiphany's eye sort of twitches a bit. The right one. Just a quiver of the lower eyelid fluttering eyelashes over the pale irises. It's the sort of expression that says 'you have got to be kidding me.' When the Admiral rises, her shoulders just sort of slump a bit and she looks down at her mug. There's no reply. What could she even begin to reply? Rather, Arrington opts to wait for Jameson to leave before she sets down her coffee and picks up a fork.

"Because In-ies are prettier than Out-ies." Dell explains as to why she's Bran's better half, but then the Admiral is leaving. She doesn't quite grasp the ADMIRAL part, but she's nodding politely and succinctly in his direction. "If so, incest is best, take your brother to the test." A pause. "Husband and wife, or so the rumor goes. Take it easy, sir. And if it's easy? Take it."

Randy steps in through a hatch and pushes her hair back as she closes it behind her, surveying the Mess for a beat before pushing off. She adjusts her course for the coffee. In the afternoon, there isn't much of a line, though she does have to wait for the fixings, so she leans back against the counter and boredly watches the group of officers. It's moments like these that give her a peek into an alternative life, a potential lost to the past. The experience leaves a curious expression on her face.

"We're just multiplying, sir." Bran holds his mouth closed and, for the time being, that is as far as he is going to talk about anything sexual out in the open. He leaves the snappy responses to Dell but he does have his moments, his amazing wit. A wit that the cylons broke. He also is eating his sandwich and that is a pretty good reason why he is quiet. With a nod back to the background Lleufer, he offers, "I'm one of many Brans, sure. We get around. Maybe next time then." He isn't going to keep the marine from his business elsewhere; instead, he stares across the table at Dell. "That's why I married you. Because you can talk to an Admiral about incest."

For the love of all that is holy on Kobol… Epiphany lifts a hand to scrub at her face. Not the fork-wielding one. That'd be bad. The other one. "Frak me," the woman mutters. Once she's more certain the coast is clear, the Captain tucks into her meal. She reaches for the clipboard and turns it, drawing it in close enough to be able to read the pages while she eats. This might be a meal largely in silence. She's not going to risk inciting the Bran-cest again.

"That was the /Admiral/?" Dell places another well aimed kick under the table, but against Bran's shin it'd be nothing more than then annoyance of a gnat. "You're the absolute worst. Now if you're off duty, take me to bed or lose me forever to the next man that offers me a tray full of food."

"Sorry, Sir." Bran finally says something again to Epiphany, even if it is something of a belated apology thanks to Dell running distraction. Absentmindedly, he's drawn his leg back and rubs at it. His other hand still holds his sandwich and he levels a look back at Dell. After shaking his head, the man gestures for her to collect the trays of food. He can be heard describing the local chain of command as he aims to depart, for plainly obvious reasons.

Creeeam. Or no cream. Randy looks at the milky drip from the steel cannister and abandons it quickly. She pockets some sugar packets and rolls on to snatch up a sandwich, but not without stopping by the serving line. "Be a doll?" she pouts across the way for just a quick moment before she scoffs at herself. It's just enough self-efacement to earn her her target. "You know I can't deny you Sarge. Well, maybe a little bit, but not yet." Randy chuckles as she hands her sandwich over the line, moving with it as it does. The sandwich goes behind doors and then comes back about a minute later. Then she flashes a grin as she bounces up onto her tiptoes to snatch it back. With a turn on her heel, she checks out the seating arrangements and decides to sit on a table next to where the officers are vacating, but within her sight line.

"Lieuenant." It's a simple enough word of departure for Bran. And maybe Bran 2.0. It's not like Epiphany is looking at either of them. The woman is more focused on her meal and her work. Neither seems to be winning for the moment, but it has left her largely alone at the table. Not that this is a bad thing, oh no. Not after the Admiral's cameo.

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