PWD #13: Cohabitation
Summary: Late at night, Sera and Noble share a couch and try to figure themselves out.
Date: 22/12/2012 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None
Sera Noble 
Rec Room - Battlestar Orion
With several smaller rec rooms spread throughout the ship, this one is the largest by far and is the primary recretion location aboard the ship. Longer than it is wide, with several hatches in and out, the room is divided by load-bearing beams that section it off into even thirds. There are a dozen tables, couches, and coffee tables set up — though all of the tables and chairs are the drab metal of the rest of the fleet. The couches seem to have been purchased privately and moved in here at some point in the past, heavy use and careful patching evident. Magazines are strewn around randomly, as are racks of books, plus a couple flatscreen televisions set up. Along one wall are several billiards tables, along with a bar for coffee and snacks.
Dec 22, 2004

While Saturnalia is thriving down on Piraeus, the Battlestar Orion remains ever watchful over the sector, leaving many military staff the poor luck of having to work shifts that evening. With the shifts ended, however, Simon Noble is free to roam the halls until he can find a place to take care of his boredom. He slips into the Rec Room with a few cans of beer and a pack of cigarette, a part of his regular video game ritual.

Sera is, presently, curled up on one of the couch. There's a book resting in her lap, which she may or may not be reading. Her eyes are focused downwards and her head is craned forward — drooping, even. It's entirely possible that instead of reading, Sera has fallen asleep. Either way, she's missing the party down planetside, with a particularly boring way to pass an evening, no less. The little knuckledragger must be turning into an old woman.

Making it as far as the wall-mounted video screen without making too much noise, Noble is about to tap the button, but then he notices the sleeping form of Sera. Immediately he is faced with a range of decisions from leaving the Rec Room as a whole to doing something loud and unruly to scare her out of her sleep. It's Saturnalia, however, and tonight his heart has grown three sizes.

Stepping over quietly, Noble leans to the side to get a good look at her, trying to discern whether or not she's been drinking. Not seeing any signs of her being roughed up, and seeing that she's actually breathing, he reaches to the empty arm of the couch and grabs a blanket that's been draped over it. He sets the beers down on the coffee table and unfolds the blanket, draping it over her. The book, however, is a problem that he has to be faced with, so he reaches in slowly to try to pry it away from her.

"That's very sweet of you, Nobes," Sera mumbles as she clutches onto her book that much more tightly with one hand, while the other reaches up rub at her eyes with the butt of her palms. The title on the spine reads 'Dark Day', by Prima. "Really, maybe I ought to be callin' you sugar instead of Hook. See how that one goes over." Still, she pulls the blanket up around her, burying her face in it. Or, well, curling it up against her cheek, more like. There's a pause before she adds, sleepily, "What time is it?"

Yeah. Sera totally missed the party.

Noble's mouth is trapped open when Sera starts to speak, and his voice catches in his throat. "I…well…you just looked tired. DedHead can wait." He replies, allowing himself to lose the fight over the book. She's sleepy. She can keep it. Leaning back up to his full height, he presses the heel of his hand into the small of his back and leans until a soft pop rumbles up his spin. "It's third watch. Late. There's a little after-thing going on in the mess."

Noble sets himself down on the opposite end of the sofa and cracks open one of his beers. Taking a sip from it, he sighs and props one of his booted feet on the coffee table. His brows furrow, turning his attention back to her and dodging her comment about calling him sugar. No, that wouldn't go over well at all. "Were you hiding or just looking for peace and quiet?"

Ohh, look! Noble has settled in. Awesome. She now has something — or, rather, someone — to prop her feet up on. Boots and all. How very charming and lady-like of her. "I was just havin' one of those days when I wanted to think a bit." There's a vague smirk that slowly stretches across her face as she adds, "I can't imagine you'd relate."

Sera stuffs a worn out ribbon between the pages of her book, which she closes shut with a dull, soft thud. "What about you? Why ain't you down at the party, havin' yourself a grand ol' time with all the pretty girls, all liquored up?"

"You think wrong, Sera Jane." Simon replies, balancing his forearm over Sera's shins. A quaint little smirk forms at the corner of his mouth while he starts off into an empty place on the wall. "At some point today I had to ask myself whether or not Colonial Dog could win in a fight against Commander Gorgon. Frakked me up for a few hours." His body shifts, reaching for a pack of cigarettes.

"I don't know why." He admits, slipping the cigarette between his lips. His body shifts softly again as he raises the lighter to the tip of his cigarette and burns it. "Just not feeling it tonight I guess."

"A real brain-buster, that one," she retorts with a roll of her eyes. Then she nestles back into the cushions, sort of wiggling her way back between them. Nesting, even. "Way to prove me wrong, sugar." There's a derisive sound, something that sort of vaguely maybe resembles a snort. Or a snicker. And then there's a pause. "Seriously, though. Thanks for the blanket." Because, y'know, if a man's going to be nice to her? The only appropriate response is rubbing his face in it as much and as often as physically possible. "What about that Ella girl you were askin' about? Isn't she down at the party?"

"No, she wasn't down there. I think she might be planetside." There's a hollow, metallic click as his lighter closes. Simon leans his head back to relax against the cushions of the sofa, smoking his cigarette towards the ceiling above. A long silence falls over the Rec Room while he smokes, taking three drags before he speaks again. Finally, he turns on his cheek to look over to Sera with one eye cracked open. "Is Padre on rote?"

"I guess so. I dunno. I ain't seen him since last night," Sera says as she begins idly twirling a lock of hair around her forefinger. That one strand is tugged straight, while the rest of her ponytail lingers behind. It's a convenient distraction, considering the fact that there's a flush slowly crawling up from her collar and spreading into her face and ears alike. There is one brief, sidelong look — an expression of suspicion, or maybe worry. "I didn't think to ask him."

The springs on the sofa protest as Simon leans to the side and places his beer on an end table. When he rests back again, he balances his forearm on Sera's shins and brushes a hand through his red hair. He needs a haircut, the hair at the back of his neck is a little unkempt from weeks of simply not caring. His eyes tilt in their sockets to Sera's, watching her in silence as he works at figuring her out. His green eyes fall to her cheeks, then her ears, then her eyes again in one quick sweep. "I'm starting to think everyone's down there right now." He gives a quiet shake of his head and turns his gaze back to the empty video screen before the two of them. Another drag is taken from the cigarette, which he offers to her. "Are you in the mood to burn something? Tonight's a good night for that."

She nods once, sharply, holding out her thin, grey-stained fingertips for one of his cigarettes. "Sure. Thanks," she mumbles as she closes her fingers around the white paper. "You put anything else in here?," she asks, after already having accepted his offer. Cause that's totally fantastic planning on her part. Doesn't bother waiting for an answer before she pinches it between her lips, either.

"Hey," there's a beat. "Do you know Captain Kreskas at all? Over in Operations?," Sera asks, her tone suddenly low and pensive, having just remembered something important, having just recalled a promise she made.

Simon lifts his jaw and casts a sudden, negative shake in her head. No, he didn't do anything to the cigarette. The look in his eyes after she asks though is suddenly regretful, wishing that he did or was able to spike the leaf.

"No. Frak, what I wouldn't give to be back at the docks with a bag full of it and a cooler of beer. Used to sit out there for hours just…doing nothing. Was nice." A pause. "Kreskas?" He looks over with lidded eyes, taking a sip of his beer, which he also offers over to her. "Yeah, he referred to me as one of his best NCOs." He harrumphs with a dopey little smile.

"….Well, that answers that question," Sera mutters, like the fact that Kreskas is out of his damned mind is all she really needed to know. Any other questions she may have? May as well toss them out right now. It doesn't stop her, though. She tilts her head back, staring up at the rivets and the supports in the ceiling with narrowed eyes and a slightly furrowed brow. "What do you think of him? I mean, like, what he's like as an officer or whatever."

"Right, what the hell was he thinking? I got trained by Grandfather Colonial to kill and all I do anymore is kill frakkin' time." He shifts in his seat, which causes her booted feet to rise and fall while he reclines a little more. The beer is set down again. He closes his eyes. "He seems…like a good enough guy. I gave this pilot girl Cassie a grand tour, met her at the same time that he did. I not a salmon, though. I don't climb that ladder upstream, so aside from that I know dick about the guy." He presses his tongue to the inside of one of his molars and wraps an arm around one of her boots. "Why?"

"Somebody was askin' me about him. I don't really know why, bein' as I haven't even met the man," Sera says with an easy shrug of her shoulders. It dislodges her blanket, which is promptly pulled back up around her. The little Trojan gets cold easy, even in the controlled climate of a battlestar. Must've been all that desert air. "I guess that, bein' enlisted, they figured I roll with plenty from the platoon. Which is true, pretty much. Maybe Hook knows him better. Or, like, Knox. Probably around the CMC officers at bit more, bein' JTACs an' all. Dunno about the operations officers."

"Huh, that's weird. I mean not that you're a small fish, cuz you're not, but why ask a knuckledragger about marine brass?" His head rolls to the side on the sofa, eyes opening once again to watch her. "I'm about to ask a stupid question, but was this some girl looking to do some intel on the guy, or are we talking official inquiry sort of shit?" He keeps his voice low, pretty sure the two of them are alone.

"Ha!", she cackles at the question. "No, no, Dub ain't doin' some cutesy little "Does he like me? Circle one. Yes - No". No, no, nothin' like that. I dunno. He was sayin' somethin' about some scuttlebutt he'd caught wind of, somethin' about wantin' to go home early from the cruise, bein' as right about now is when the shine starts to wear off and people realize they have eighteen months of this lined up for them. I think he wanted to talk to someone in the CMC about it." Sera rolls his cigarette, unlit, back and forth between her lips.

His hips shift and his lighter is retrieved. Clapping it open, he sparks the flame to life and leans an arm across the distance between them so that he can light the cigarette for her. "Heh." His voice rolls under his breath, a grumbley, dopey sound. "Don't ask don't tell like a motherfrak." He pauses, lighting his own fresh cigarette and then clicking the brass lighter closed with a whipping motion. "Sounds like bullshit to me. No one signs on for another eighteen month hump and then suddenly decides they wanna go home. Trust me. I did that. I know what I was getting into." He takes a drag, exhaling a small cloud of smoke across the top of her boots. She'll smell like smoke anyway. "How concerned did Dub look?"

Leaning towards him, Sera stretches across their respective laps to suck the flame from his lighter up into her cigarette. "He shot down a re-re-recheck of his bird. Even apologized for botherin' me. Otherwise, I don't think I'd have even bothered askin'. I told him pretty much the same thing — you sign up for a second eighteen months, you know what you're gettin' in for. But we've got plenty of new people on board, too." There's a puff of smoke exhaled off to the side before she nestles back into the squishy spot she's carved out for her butt.

"So he was looking for a marine and talkin' about psych shit? Sounds like a marine's cracked somewhere. Well, rest assured it's clearly not me, Ess-Jay. When I'm not working I'm in one of three rooms. If they're looking for me for something, all they have to do is check the couches. I'm practically a caricature of myself." Simon replies with a smirk, rolling his eyes at himself. He's rather fond of self-depricating humor. "If you get curious though, let me know. I could probably call in a few favors and see if any shit's going down."

"…I think it's more that he's lookin' for someone he can bring this to and have it get listened to, instead of buried under a whole bunch of bullshit and bluster about officer knows best and all that. I mean, Dub's got himself some shiny Captain's pins and all, but that don't necessarily hold much weight with top brass." She tugs at her ear for a second, rubbing the soft flesh of her earlobe between the thumb and the forefinger. Good thing she doesn't have earrings in. It'd be damned uncomfortable. "You got any suggestions there?"

"Yeah. Stay out of it and keep your head down." Simon gives her calf a soft squeeze. "One moment you're answering questions for Dub, then you'll be answering questions about the people asking questions about Dub. Next thing you know you'll be sitting in front of a shiny-ass microphone at a court martial hearing as a summoned witness." He pauses. "You want my advice? Enjoy your Saturnalia. Have a beer. Get some sleep. Finish that book. Live often and laugh regularly, or whatever the frak those placards say. We work too hard." A heartbeat passes. "Well, you do."

"Some of us have responsibilities that extend beyond firin' at anythin' that moves, shitstain. Y'know, things that earn us our fat, shiny paychecks," Sera retorts with a roll of her pretty browns. It's a very, very good impersonation of a melodramatic teenager — an expression she didn't quite grow out of. Or picked up from her sister, probably. "Nice call on the advice, though. I mean, you're probably right."

"I know, I mean, you're going career, right?" The right isn't so much a question, as it is an acknowledgement. They've talked about these things before. Her leg gets another squeeze for emphasis. "So all of that reporting suspicious shit for the better of everyone stuff applies, especially if someone's needing the mental health. Gods, as much as I'm sure you'd hate being subpoena'd for a court martial, I could see you get balls-out serious about it." He turns his eyes back to the ceiling and sighs a cloud of cigarette smoke. "What do you wanna do about it? Shit, don't take my slacker advice unless it really sounds right for you, okay?"

"I don't know what I want, honestly." This is admitted with obvious reluctance; enough years in and, well, Sera's gotten used to pretty much having her life planned out for her based on her assignments as opposed to her own aspirations and desires. "It's not like I want to spend the rest of my life in the Navy; it's goin' to be a question of what choices I have." The cigarette is plucked from her lips, pinched between her fingers, dangled off the arm of the couch. She shoves her tongue into her cheek.

Like a pair of alcoholics half leaning against the top of a bar or a pair of farmers speaking sleepily over a fence, Noble and Sera continue to smoke in silence and fill the ceiling with a haze of the blue-gray exhaust. Simon's hips tug as he turns for the beer, taking it from the end table. Upending it, he downs the last of its contents and sets the empty can aside. "You're speaking my language right now." He says quietly with a shake of his head. "There's only so many good places to put your foot. I think the difference between you and I, though, is that I usually end up just not choosing at all."

"That is because you, sir, are a perpetual slacker. I know the type. Your grand aspiration — rackin' up the high score at blowin' zombies heads' off and bein' hip-deep in cooch every damned day." She shoots him an 'okay' symbol, thumb and forefinger rounded, the other three sticking up. It's accompanied by a totally, completely over-the-top wink and a clicking of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Very impressive, really. You maybe wanna say that thing about takin' my life-plannin' advice from you again?"

"Yeah, it's the plaque, frak I don't know what it says. Live often? Frak often? Laugh often? I don't know…" Simon snorts a cloud of cigarette smoke, laughing at the idea. He scratches at the corner of his eyesocket with his thumbnail, scaring away whatever was causing the itch. "You know what though?" He brings it down a little, getting personal with her. "That was my aspiration what, six years ago? Maybe seven? That girl on my wall that isn't in a bikini? She wanted a guy that was moving somewhere. So I was free for a few weeks, got my party on." He slips the cigarette back into his lip, pausing for a drag. He exhales another stream of smoke. "I wanna say maybe four years ago that stopped being my plan. I've been flying on autopilot for a while now, Sera Jane."

"You ain't drunk enough to be gettin' deep, Nobes." Her feet wiggle back and forth in his lap, opposite of each other. Sera peels her head up off the back of the shoulder to arch a dark brow at him. "I think you gotta have yourself a few more before you go tellin' me about your feelin's and the one that go away and go makin' doe eyes at me again. Like, at least three more. So you don't remember me rejectin' you again tomorrow mornin'."

"Oh shit, Sera Jane, did you just suggest that you think I'd make a pass at you again? Like I'd do something so foul." Simon looks over to her, giving her one of those sly I'm in on the joke winks. He brings a hand up and playfully brings his elbow down slowly, mocking what would have been an awesome elbow to her kneecaps. Instead, he balances his arm back over her shins. "You ever consider opening your own flight technician shop? You know, for those midlife crisis pilot guys that leave their pristine little middle-age-mobiles in the hangars? Hang out all day, work on moon-jumpers, watch pyramid?"

"Ohhh, yeah, like I want my livin' to be dependent on my ability to tolerate douchebags." There's a giggle and she jerks her legs away in order to avoid the brutal kneecapping. At least she doesn't accidentally nail him in the crotch with the soles of her boots in the process. "Oh. Oh, wait. That's exactly what I do already. AWESOME PLAN." Hey! Check it out! Exaggerations. Maybe even a touch of sarcasm. "Seriously, though, I've considered it. Or, like, design work. Or teachin' A-school. I don't know. But at least I'm not alone in that, yeah?" 'Cause it sounds like he doesn't have a damned thing figured out, either.

"Well there's no fire, right?" Simon replies, skirting the edge of getting philosophical again. Thankfully, he decides to avoid it, less he receive an actual bootheel to the pecker. "At the very least you've got eighteen months to coast this easy-ass rotation and figure it out. Check out the brochures in the computer banks, flip through the magazines, maybe find some design job off the coast and hook yourself with up that massive resume boon that military work gives?" He pats her boot and then gently nudges it away from something senstive in his lap-region. "Honestly? Do whatever makes you happy. If that's getting high and playing DedHead all day, so be it."

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