MD #170: Coffee Break
Coffee Break
Summary: Coffee time is serious business on Deck
Date: 25/09/2017
Related Logs: None
Toby McConnachie 
Hangar Bay - Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
Each hangar deck is divided into five one-hundred yard sections, each divided from the others by massive blast doors that close vertically from the floor and overhead. Each hangar section houses all of the Vipers, Raptors, and Predators that the wing operates as well as the vital work areas to support and maintain these fighting platforms. Each bay is large enough to accommodate one of these frames and still get heavy work done, though the fore- and aft-most sections are dedicated to overhauls and major work to be done. The bays along the centre section are located across from launch tubes and elevators in order to provide scramble and Alert-Five capabilities. The second-to-aft bay provides major elevator and transport access to the starboard bay as well as the major manufacturing facility. Above each bay and within are a trio of small red firefighting balls that will explode on too much heat being exposed. Due to the nature of the work, the hangar decks are major hubs of activity at all hours of the day and all but four hours overnight.

It's another day on the deck, the Chief is still in a bad mood, but at least the squadrons don't seem to have been playing that age old favourite of 'how many bullet holes can I get in my fuselage today?', so most of the work is routine. Well, routine for some, Toby is clearly still top of the shitlist as he's inventorying the washers for the fuel lines. It's a fiddly, dirty, thankless task, the only puts him in the way of the other knuckledraggers doing there work, but it has to be done. At that time universally designated as 'coffee break' he foregoes even attempting to wash his hands and just heads straight for the coffee pot in the deck office. The contents are rumoured to be mostly tylium rather than coffee mind, but it serves.

And the moment the break is called, there's a clattering of gear and tools from all ends of the hangar, a general scurrying (with at least some attempt to look nonchalant) towards the deck office, and then a blessed change from the battering and clanging to a more civilised hubbub of spoken noise. Tagging on to the end of the queue, still wiping a grubby sleeve across a dirt smeared face, one of the newer AE(M)s adds her opinion to what appears to be an ongoing conversation with her fellow. "Maybe it's a spare in case they lose one? You know, over-enthusiasm in the morning, whoops, there it goes, oh, never mind I've got a spare, hello ladies!" McConnachie suggests. "Pass us a mug, would you?"

Toby only catches the end of that exchange as he pours his sweet sweet caffeine hit into a mug. He turns his head to look at the speaker, opens his mouth to say something, then promptly decides better of it, and merely passes over a mug. Taking a sip he winces, as if pained, then notes, "it's about ready." His accept is heavily Minoan, and he makes no effort to dampen it for the benefit of others. "Do people often great you with their.. spares?" he asks of the fresher face, "and does Bevan have one in his pocket behind you, or is he just pleased to see us?"

McConnachie lifts her mug in thanks, half perching on a work bench to let Bevan through for his coffee. "Definitely pleased to see us. Look at his little pincers." To which she ducks as the expected light punch comes for her shoulder from the aforementioned deck ape. "It would make a lot more sense if human beings had a spare, too, though," she reasons, her own accent resonating with Toby's as the bigger man speaks. "Perhaps you'd be less precious about the one you have… Aphrodite on a pogo stick, is this coffee or aviation fuel?" she sputters, pulling an over the top face at the first sip of her coffee, nostrils flaring. "You could use this to waterproof a roof!"

Toby flashes an amused smirk at the long-suffering Bevan then turns back to Mac. "I dunno, if we had a spare we'd only put it down somewhere and lose it. At least with only one we're heavily focused on keeping it safe. It's a wonderful incentive. 'Course, that does mean we don't always have our mind where they should be.." he trails off, then takes a slurp of his brew. "New here are you? Trust me, it doesn't get any better than this. Well, unless you can find a way to raid either Commander Petra's stash, or Major Stone's," XO and CMO respectively, "they somehow manage to have the real stuff still. Then, without bothering to wipe his hands he offers one across, "Toby Shackleton, survival systems."

McConnachie just switches her coffee to the other hand, grasping Toby's with a surprisingly slim fingered hand of her own and giving a nod. "McConnachie. AEM. And yeah, new or close enough. But for pension purposes, I've been here ages, right? You? Been off the rock long?"
Petra pages Toby and Niko: Okay, it’s PROBABLY because of the oxy, but Im not grasping it :)

"Same twenty years as you have," Toby replies, figuring she joined just before everything went pear-shaped. "Reenlisted when they recalled the Vets, but I'd been there for most of the time since the last war." When the colonies stopped fighting the cylons, so around twenty years again. Switching then to Tauran he asks «what did you do before? Some kind of technician work in the mines?»

«Welding, mate,» comes Mac's response, switching seamlessly to the native tongue. «Welding and fabrication, until B&S went under, then there was nothing going..» "Pass the sugar, Bevan, would you?" she adds, gesturing for the clumpy mess of… well, it's mostly sugar. Let's give it the benefit of the doubt. «This? Same shit, different suit, as I see it. More sky, I guess.»
Niko pages Toby and Petra: Because the only time we've heard the word 'wanker' is in Crocodile Dundee movies?

Toby appears to take his coffee black and bitter, for he moves it just a fraction away from the sugar as it's passed to indicate that he's fine without. «I can theoretically weld,» he notes conversationally, «but it's been a long time since I had to. Did a little time at the workface after the last war, then went back to doing what I'd done before it and work on the safety side. Firefighting and prevention mostly, but other more general rescue stuff as well. Here I'm usually doing the ejector seats, parachutes, CO2 scrubbers, that sort of thing. Unless we're in battle, in which case I try and swing a seat gunning in a raptor if I can, or if not then I'm generally assigned damage control.»

McConnachie cracks an easy smile, tipping lumps of sugar into her coffee. "Damage control and ejectors «sound a lot more complicated than whacking a patch on a hole,» shippers. Gunnery «is not for me. Give me a TIG and a mask and I'm happy as a pig in shit, but some of the tech here's way beyond me.»" It's an odd blend of Tauran and Standard that flows out, slipping seamlessly from one to the other, oblivious to the looks from those nearby. «I'm very happy to leave the crazy heroics to the youngsters. Can't claim a pension if you're dead.»

It seems that the oldest Crewman in the fleet is amused at the idea of being lumped in with the 'youngsters', and Toby has to smile at the thought. «Don't get me wrong, I can't get my head round all this Arpay tech either. I mean, what the frak does 'quantum' even mean? I don't think I'll ever get it, but there's a damn fine satisfaction is blowing the frak out of a skath, or a cylon for that matter. Very cathartic, also feels like I'm doing my bit to help the souls of the dead find their rest.» The mention of the word 'pension' also seems to amused, «don't reckon I'm ever going to see one of those. Unless the three square a day count.»

«Didn't you get the memo The skath are packing it in,» Mac insists solemnly, pausing only for a satisfying slurp of her coffee. «They decided they didn't like fighting any more, so they're taking their toys and fucking off. Next week's schedule is all medals, biscuits and a bloody good piss up. Gen buzz, mate.» This with an overly serious nod of the head, expression given away by a quiver of nostrils as she keeps the mirth in check.

«Must've missed that one,» Toby replies with a slightly rueful expression, «guess I should just slack off this inventorying then and go make sure my boots are polished.» It's not like the Chief could get much more annoyed at him. Right? «Which medal do you want? Reckon I'll put in for a Colonial Medal of Valour… or perhaps that's selling myself a little short? What do you reckon?»

«Only one?» Mac queries, brows rising almost off her face. «At least two and a knighthood, I was thinking. But the jammie dodgers are mine, I'll fight you for them.»

«Ain't no knighthoods anymore, not since Virgon karked it,» Toby replies with a shake of his head. «Unless we can convince Commander Petra that he's next inline to the throne and getting him to restart 'em.» He considers for a moment as he takes a slurp of his brew then shakes his head again, «actually, I'm not sure I'd trust him with a sword that close to my neck, he might get ideas.» As for the biscuits he frowns slightly «I might claim the occasional one, but hands off the custard cremes and you have a deal.»

McConnachie tilts her head. «I take it you're not on the XO's birthday card list, then? What'd you do? Shit in his coffee? Mind, with this stuff, who'd know the difference,» she notes, nonetheless downing all but the dregs from her mug and easing towards what we'll generously call the sink to wash up.

«He still has decent stuff,» Toby replies with a faint grin at the mental image. «But no, last ..conversation.. I had with him left him angry and me in the brig for a week. Shame really, he's one of the better ones, and with hindsight he was probably right, but you know how it is.» The good old Tauran Temper. Finishing his own brew he had been about to just dump the mug and leave, as seems to be the SOP, but this time he actually approaches the water as well. «Back to the workface, if I get these washers sorted, maybe I can make a start on the fuelines themselves. Lucky me.»

«Join the fleet, see the galaxy… count it,» Mac suggests wryly, tipping her mug upside down on the counter in lieu of a real draining board, then wipes her hands down her front, leaving two darker streaks on the orange overalls. «If you need a hand… I'll be busy washing my hair.»

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