PWD #25: Doing Your Own Stunts
Doing Your Own Stunts
Summary: Noble tries to flirt with Sera, launching an awkward kinship in the process.
Date: 10/12/2012 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None
Noble Sera 
Naval Enlisted Berthings - 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.
Dec 10, 2004

Boredom is a thing that kills, or a thing that could possibly kill Simon Noble. Back from his leave down onto Piraeus, he is now forced to spend his personal hours either in his bunk or in the Rec Room, and on this particular day the Rec Room (more specifically the video game system) has been thoroughly claimed. And so he stands, leaning against a bunk near the cracked open door of the marine bunkhouse, quietly tapping something unintelligible into the bunk's frame.

A flash of brown hair, a familiar nose, and what his brain registers as belonging to Sera crosses in front of the door. A lightbulb fires off. He kicks off of the bunk and heads for the door.

The door to the navel enlisted berthings opens and Simon steps through. Not creeping per se, he still bows his head a little bit, as if recognizing that while it's acceptable for him to be in the room, he really has no purpose there other than to find Sera and assault her with his idle misery.

Footsteps behind her? That's not even something that registers with Sera, not anymore. Not in the barracks, at least. She doesn't even look up to see who's trailing her. She just makes a line straight for her locker, which she pulls open with the quiet squeak of the door hinges. Her toiletry kit is shoved inside — fresh from the head, obviously, as her hair is still wet and dripping on the rug, despite being wrung out thoroughly and sort-of blown dry. Sort of. Not really. There's not much point in bothering before a graveyard shift on the deck. The toiletry kit is promptly exchanged for her regulation tank-and-tee combo, which she pulls down over the black spandex sports bra, humming to herself as she changes. Simon? Totes oblivious.

Noble, like many men, is about to interrupt her changing to let her know that he's there…but chooses not to. He closes his agape mouth with a finger pointing in the air, but then simply lowers the finger and shuts up. It's better for everyone this way. Glancing to the left and to the right, he bites the side of his lip in a look of conspiracy. This would be FAR less creepy if we weren't alone, he thinks to himself, but these are the cards that he's been dealt.

She kicked his ass in cards a little over a week ago. Cards never were his thing.

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG Noble suddenly reaches out, rapping hard on the side of her locker. Stylishly, he slides the rest of the way in to lean against her locker, making his presence known. He flashes her his best smile. "Whatcha doin, Serafina Jane?"

…Really, it's a good thing she's a squid and not a grunt. Sudden bursts of gunfire? They probably wouldn't suit her well, judging by the way she jumps. And squeaks. It takes her brain a minute to process all of that — his presence, the fact that it was not one of her bunkmates in the room, and the notion that he was, perhaps, just watching her change. "What does it look like I'm doin', Corporal?," she asks with an edge to her voice and an arched brow. That smile? She's not buying it. Not at that price. "Believe it or not, some of us do have duty stations to get to. What're you doin' in the squid barracks?"

Gods damn. That girl. She doesn't miss a beat when it comes to bullshit, now does she?

Reaching up to the side of his lip, Noble scratches lightly and rights himself. His tall frame, over six feet tall, allows him to rest his chin on the top of her locker and gaze down at her. He lets out a sad little huff, blowing some of the dust off of the top of the painted, metal locker. "Well, it looks like you're changing, which makes this conversation really awkward. Really awkward." He peels his jaw from the top of her locker and turns to plant his shoulder against it, taking his eyes off of her for privacy purposes.

"It's frakkin' stupid. I head down planetside for a few days of leave and a bunch of your wrench-turner squids flooded the game system's sign up sheet, and now I'm waiting til tomorrow to get my couch back." He tilts an eye back towards her. "Lucky you, gettin' all this quality time with me. Saw you walk by, figured what the frak. Figured you wanna see me after all that foot action you were giving me on Triad night."

Sera stares at him for a few seconds with this completely blank expression. There's no blinking, no scrunching of her nose, no furrowing of her brow. Nothing. Just… stares. Like it's taking a few seconds for her to process this. Maybe she's stupid or something? No. No. Judging by the sudden rush of color that is creeping up her neck and into her cheeks, she's more likely mortified. Blink. Blink. Ahh! There she goes. Her mouth quirks fiercely to one side, no doubt from her clamping down on the corners of it with the very sharpest of her teeth.

Eventually, she mumbles, "….I was really drunk, alright?" Like that explains everything. Since when does someone being drunk mean they didn't mean it? Just that they shouldn't have said it. Or in this case, done it. …Right?

"What the hell does that mean? Sure, you were drunk, whatevs. There's no shame in it. If it makes you feel any better you were not really my type until that point, but once you started man-handling my boot under that table…I mean, assertive is good, you know?" Noble replies with a smirk, rounding around her locker on a path towards her bunk. He gives her shoulder a little nudge as he passes, doing his utter best to make it hard to tell whether or not he's being serious.

He lets out a little sigh when he sits on the edge the bunk beneath hers. He has to crane his neck out under the edge of it so that he doesn't bang his head on the ceiling, so instead he leans out and hooks his thumbs in the curtain-rod.

"So what are we doing? You wanna hit the rec and try to chase them off of the couch by doing something annoying? That or we could hit the range…"

The little knuckledragger fishes around in her locker for a moment, digging out what may well be her last clean pair of cargo pants. Thank the gods she at least had something on under her towel when he walked (stalked?) in after her. "….What are we doin' for what?," Sera asks, finally turning to peer at him only after she's halfway finished her button and her fly. "You mean like a date?," comes her gape-mouthed reply. Gawking? That's never a good sign when asking a woman out. Unless that woman happens to be studden at being asked by the current Virgon prince. Or a Pyramid champion. Or something.

"No, seriously, Noble. I was drunk. Like, really drunk. I had so much 'shine, I was losin' at cards." Which apparently is something to be witnessed about as often as supernovae. There's a cough, and a stutter, and another awful blush as she adds, "…I thought that was somebody else's foot." And then, "Sorry."

"Oh." Noble blinks, eyes tilting to the corner of his sockets. Replaying the events of the Triad night, he bobs his head from side to side. Suddenly, as if a light bulb explodes above his head, his eyes widen and shift back to her. "Oh no shit? That explains why you made that face at me when the…ah!" He slides off of the bunk and slaps his forehead. Noble…is a dumb-ass.

"Alright, cool, you're totally off the hook. Ho-lee-shit you were trying to toe at PADRE?" Noble laughs, scratching his chest. Immediately doing his best to disarm the awkwardness, he reaches out to give her hip a playful nudge with his size twelve boot. "Padre?" He asks again, this time with a little laugh. "I totally took you for a chick that didn't go for that brooding type. Frak, a man of the cloth? Damn, girl."

"You know," she begins, glaring up at him from her spot. "For a second, I actually felt bad for turnin' you down. Like I was bein' a bitch or somethin', when you were just tryin' to show a girl a good time. But if you're goin' to be an ass about it, I think I'll take that back and go back to assumin' you're the dumb frakker with the greasy palms that can't pay half a mind to what he's doin' until somebody gets hurt."

Ohhhh. Ouch. Hit a soft spot there, huh, Noble? She just… she glares, and puts her hands on her hips, and huffs at him. Like making enough of a face at him will blow the brick house down and get him out of her damned way. (And her business.) "And who I do and do not frak is absolutely none of your frakkin' business!" SLAM! Locker door! For emphasis!

"So you're that far along?"

Noble flattens his lips right after he says it, instinctively bringing his arms up a little, ready for a punch. "Shit! Okay, sorry, sorry, sorry…"

He keeps out of kicking distance and lets out a slow breath, going through the mental exercise of becoming a mature adult. He runs his hands over the top of his head, through his red hair, and then over his face.

"Soooooo…" His words trail off, muffled through his hands until he finally reveals his face. His words take on a more somber, brotherly tone "…c'mon, a guy's gotta handle rejection somehow, not that this was really rejection, right? I'm not that kind of guy. I am completely cool with this. You're good folk, Serafina Jane, and we can totally be friends." He pauses, lifting a concerned brow. "Are you pissed because I teased you or is something going wrong?"

"If I was frakkin' "Padre"," she says with the sort of tone that suggests she never actually calls him that, "wouldn't the entire frat house know by now? The brothers of the good ol' CMC, with their eternal bonds of bromance and booze? I'd have thought you'd have gotten a run-down of precisely what my tits look like at 0800 hours, along with your morning coffee. I thought it was a rule. Included in your oath of induction. Share the dirty details, as it were, of whatever two-bit tramp stumbles across your path with enough whiskey in her to buy your particular brand of chest-thumpin' bullshit." Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh. Apparently, she is pissed at the insinuation about her, ahhh, virtue, as it were.

On the upside, she hasn't punched him. Yet. Judging by the arms across her chest and the sort of facial expression used by irritable old librarians, she may just punch him yet. Of course, Sera's probably more of a slapping kind of girl. She looks the sort.

Noble blinks, suddenly taken aback. "Whoa, whoa whoa hang on, sister." He replies, extending his arms, palms out, in the universal gesture for her to stop and hold the horses she's throwing all over the place. "First things first, if Padre were talking about you like you were some two bit tramp I'd be kicking his ass, but I don't really spend a lot of time with the guy. I guess that would make it easier, huh, but then that other frakkin' no-life Wirelo would be up my ass with a trenching shovel." He reels his arms back in to fold them across his muscular chest. His lower lip tugs to the side, and for a moment he simply watches her. His fingertips drum on his forearm. "I think you have a few misconceptions of what it's like in the marine bunks, though. We're really not like that, well, at least most of us aren't. You really like this guy, don't you?" Dr-dr-dr-drum …. Dr-dr-dr-drum.

…and then Simon Noble does something ill-advised.

"And, I mean…" He points to her. "…I wouldn't need him to describe your boobs. Just sayin'." Don't smile, Simon. Don't smile…

There's a snort, which is not, exactly, a lady-like sound. "Riiiiight. Right. The guy that comes skulkin' into the barracks, standin' around like some pervert watchin' me change, when the only reason he came in the first place was under the assumption that he's goin' to get himself laid. He's totally goin' to be the one defendin' my womanly virtues, like I'm some Vestal Virgin from the Temple of Hestia's Eternal Flame in Hadrian. That sounds about as likely as Hades freezin' over if you ask me, and a miner's daughter ought to know just about when that'll happen." Because of course, in that brief moment of sympathy which Sera may have had, when that flicker of regret for going off on him danced across her face, he had to go and say that.

"Do you wear a cup when you're walkin' down the halls, Corporal? 'Cause if not, you probably should." A low blow, there, in more ways that one.

"I didn't come in here to get laid, and I sure as frak didn't come in here intending to see something you didn't intend for me to see." Simon replies, the smirk wiping off of his face to be replaced with something more sympathetic. He's dropped a hammer on top of an open wound, and he's only making it worse. The funny routine is definitely not disarming this situation. "All seriousness? I came in here wanting to hang out, not a date or anything, dates are these horribly uncomfortable job interviews and I wouldn't want them on anyone. I mean that, by the way, no bullshit, but then you just started changing and I—"

He stops himself, wincing and closing his eyes. It's an attempt to catch himself before saying something stupid. Blind, he unfolds his arms and scratches his chest.

"Let's try this again." His eyes open. "Hey Sera? You wanna go hang out and watch a movie or something? I'm frakking bored."

"I started changin' because I live on a frakkin' battlestar and assumed that you were one of my bunkmates, who have either seen pretty much everythin' there is to see or are goin' to by the time this cruise is over," she explains in a firm, and decidedly unamused, tone. "Now, maybe you ain't ever been assigned to be cooped up in a floatin' tin can before, and if that is the case, it's generally common courtesy to make yourself known, so you don't come off like some kind of sexually frustrated fifteen year old pervert sneakin' into the girl's bathroom and peekin' into the stalls to catch them with their pants down."

Exasperation. It's written all across her wrinkled brow, the way her hip juts out to one side, even the way she tosses her boots onto the bench between bunks so she can pull them on. "Just like you don't go starin' at the ladies in the head who are steppin' into or out of the showers, unless you want some butch MP layin' your skinny ass out on the tile for starin' at hers. Try to remember that, because I've already had to explain to one of you gentlemen from next door why you don't jerk it in the showers this mornin'."

"Now, if you are bein' serious instead of feedin' me a line of crap, an' you just want to watch a movie, I bought myself one of those tablet computers when I was down on Virgon and stocked it full of more flicks than I will have time to watch before I am dead, because gods-damned, this kobolformin' shit gets borin'." And there, maybe, just maybe, is the ghost of a smile. Or not. She's still got her skeptical stare turned on him, like she's just waiting for him to boob-honk and then run off cackling with mad glee any second.

"You know, there was this way I had this played out in my head, and it's honestly not working out like it was supposed to. I planned to come in here, say what's up or something like, and I all but accidentally kicked you in the face. So yes I am actually being serious." Noble replies, standing up a little straighter before her and letting some of the tension bleed away. "Gods, and nothing is worse than hanging out with someone thinking that there's some sort of awkward thing going on, so if any of this watching movies shit is gonna happen then all of that foot under the table stuff is gonna go down in history as how we first hung out, deal?"

He extends a hand to her, deciding to handle this disagreement in pure blue-collar manner. It'll end on a handshake, and with that handshake comes an unsaid deal that there is zero bullshit going on here.

"I give you my word, Sera. No bullshit. I looked away, too. I was just bein' an ass."

She reaches up to wrap a thick rope of her still sorta-damp hair around her palm, tugging on it with a bit more force than ought to be comfortable while she considers his officer. "We all have to be good at somethin', I guess. And in case you forgot, you already cracked me in the head with a Pyramid ball, so you've got nobody to blame but yourself for me believin' that bein' an ass is your particular talent." Her cheeks puff out, fulled of exhaled breath she releases very slowly. Her irritation, and perhaps her desire to choke the living crap out of him, is slowly seeping away with it.

Eventually, she grumbles, "Deal." This is followed by her slipping a warm hand into his. It's fairly well callused, compared to most women's. Not rough or hard, as she makes a particular effort to avoid that, but thick-skinned. Unlike her, it seems.

The marine returns her shake firmly and without the need to squeeze the life out of her hand to establish dominance. "Deal." He replies, nodding his head sharply as if to say and that's the end of it. Stealing his hand back, he folds his arms once again across his broad chest, getting comfortable once again with the unspent space between the two of them. However, it suddenly occurs to him that he doesn't know quite where to go from there. It's there, in his face, he wants to give her more trouble about Padre, the pyramid ball, and boobs, but he doesn't bring himself over the edge. He hasn't won a victory here, but he may have won himself a new friend.

"So what kind of movies are we talking about here, and were you talking about putting them here on a table so we could watch and crack some beers, or were you talkin' more about lending it to me and I could go hide in my bunk with the tablet?" He asks, tilting his head a little in need of clarification. "I don't fit in most bunks, not even mine. Do you have any frakking clue how hard that is?"

"Noble, I spend half my day crammed so far up the nose of a Viper, I look like a bright orange booger with boots. Yes, I have some idea of how hard that is. And the bunks ain't that small; I've seen men bigger'n you cram into them on a regular basis. I think you're just whinin'," she says with what is slowly transforming from the ghost of a smile to a shit-eating smirk. It's true, what she's said, and it's also true that the bunks are probably better built for someone her size.

One hand wraps around the rungs of her ladder, hoisting herself up into her bunk with a single heave. Yeah. Yeah. She's been living on a battlestar for awhile. Crouched down on her knees, she sort of scoots over to her shelf and pulls her tablet down from its place there and holds it out to him. "There. I supplied the movies. Find somethin' you want to watch and cough up the beers."

"The hell I'm feeling sorry for myself, Sera Jane. I'm almost, what, a whole foot taller than you? If we were a crime fighting team I would be swinging you at people like a weapon. I can just barely get to sleep in my bunk without too much difficulty, but half the time my foot ends up popping out of the bunk and frak me when that happens. I once woke up and my foot was wrapped in one of those giant condoms." Simon replies, oversharing while he goes through the movie collection. Finding something particularly stupid and equally funny, like a drunkard's favorite collection kind of film, he presses the button to load the film and hands the tablet back to her. "Hold."

Departing from her, he sneaks out into the hallway and back into the marine bunkhouse. It's like a secret mission, and it's one that requires a degree of discretion. Slipping casually past the other marines to his bunk, he gets into his stash and pulls out four remaining beers. Slipping them under his tank tops like they're some kind of subdermal armor, he returns and climbs up and into her bunk.

"I mean it, though, I'm like a big, gangly monster in one of these things. It's a curse." He adds, offering her one of the beers.

"Bullshit," she retorts, without missing a beat. Fortunately, in addition to her pillow, Sera has one of those pillows with arms things crammed into a corner. It is yanked out its place and rearranged, to make a sort of couch of her bed. Her booted feet? Left dangling off the side. Last thing she needs is her sheets smelling like tylium fuel and whatever else she may track in from the deck. "You can fit two in one of these things, if you know what you're doin'. You probably just sleep sprawled out like you face-planted into a gutter."

Sera brushes her bangs out of her eyes before she settles back against the wall with her Virgon United pennant.

"No bullshit." Simon replies, filling the room with the slight crack-hiss of his beer can opening. He, too, leaves his booted feet dangling off of the edge of the bunk, though he has to dip his head a little to avoid banging it against the top of her bunk. He motions up to the ceiling. "See? Look at this shit. It's like the height requirements for these things cut off at six. You should see me packed into a Raptor. I'm tucked in like the vaccuum in the coat closet, all bunched in and unable to sit straight. In the bunk, though? I crash sprawled out, yeah, that or I just lay out on the side and bring my knee in."

He holds out the beer to her, an unsaid request to tap the cans together and commemorate the moment. He looks over to her, risking another awkward moment. Like a miracle, he passes that moment by. "Hey Sera?" He pauses. There's always a pause. "Thanks. It was a long day." He looks back to the screen, movie spooling up.

"I'll show you how the Aerilon farm boys cram in later. In the meantime? Go on and say whatever stupid crap you were goin' to say, Noble," she says with a roll of her eyes and a clinking of beer cans together. "And I will try not to punch you for it. Maybe. I mean, it's not like you can help it. It's like you're one of those kids with Tourette's or whatever, that yells 'shit-cock' in the middle of religious studies."

There's an expectant look. She turns to him with her lips pressed together into a thin line and both brows lifted up, as if to say, 'Well? What now?'

"What now? We watch the frakkin' movie, killer." Simon replies matter-of-factly. He stretches both of his booted feet out and then nestles back in against the corner of Sera's bunk-wall. "I'm gonna be honest with you, I have a limit to the number of minutes per day I can have down-to-earth moments and you used up like…ninety percent of them." He brings the beer can to his lips for a sip, and then stuffs one of the pillows behind his back to get comfortable.

"Oh…shit is this the one where that guy's in the banana suit and…" He trails off, motioning to the screen with his beer can while the two are bathed in monitor-glow.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License