AWD #335: First Views
First Views
Summary: Perry gets her first view of Piraeus from the Obs Deck.
Date: 22/05/2016 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None.
Dreyer Perry 
Observation Deck
The Obs Deck is one of the more quiet areas on the ship where people can come to get away from the hustle and bustle that goes with the rest of service in the fleet. The front of the room is a very large armored glass window to allow a dominating view of whatever is out ahead of the battlestar. Seats rise up at even levels, plush chairs and couches provided for the crew to relax in. During Condition One an armored plate is lowered down to cover the view and prevent the room from becoming a hazard and sealing it tight.
Wed Dec 07 2005 (AWD #335)

It's late. Well, late if you go by 'the clock,' however that's judged these days. Piraeus is in view, the shield is up, and one can watch the star creeping light steadily across the planet's surface. But it's that sort of hour on the Orion where most folks are managing to get some sleep. It's the time for a skeleton crew. Quiet corridors, the lone sounds of people here and there at their duties. Some like the quiet; lets them focus. There's techs who get their most brilliant work done at this time. Probably due to the lack of pilots underfoot.

Sunlight glints off a water feature and in the wake of it, the current CAP streams by. A pair of Vipers and a Raptor.

Within the Obs Deck itself, there lingers none. Well, almost none. Outside of an official meal time, Dreyer has scraped together what he could and retreated to a better, less industrial view. The man is posted up on a sofa in the lowest tier, slouching in fatigues. At least they're clean, now. He's got a chair dragged up to serve as a temporary table. There's a sandwich, bag of chips, and a thermos (surely filled with coffee). These things, however, are being ignored in lieu of a radio that's been almost wholly dismantled before him. He has the manual spread across his lap and he's holding to a part. Elbows pressed into thighs, one hand propping up his chin, and the other holding the part just before his face… which bares an expression of bafflement.
Perry has reconnected.

It's late. Well, late if you go by 'the clock,' however that's judged these days. Piraeus is in view, the shield is up, and one can watch the star creeping light steadily across the planet's surface. But it's that sort of hour on the Orion where most folks are managing to get some sleep. It's the time for a skeleton crew. Quiet corridors, the lone sounds of people here and there at their duties. Some like the quiet; lets them focus. There's techs who get their most brilliant work done at this time. Probably due to the lack of pilots underfoot.

Sunlight glints off a water feature and in the wake of it, the current CAP streams by. A pair of Vipers and a Raptor.

Within the Obs Deck itself, there lingers none. Well, almost none. Outside of an official meal time, Dreyer has scraped together what he could and retreated to a better, less industrial view. The man is posted up on a sofa in the lowest tier, slouching in fatigues. At least they're clean, now. He's got a chair dragged up to serve as a temporary table. There's a sandwich, bag of chips, and a thermos (surely filled with coffee). These things, however, are being ignored in lieu of a radio that's been almost wholly dismantled before him. He has the manual spread across his lap and he's holding to a part. Elbows pressed into thighs, one hand propping up his chin, and the other holding the part just before his face… which bares an expression of bafflement.

Most people. Most people who are used to shipboard time. For Perry, this is still dinner time on Aerilon. Assuming there was anything to eat. With everyone else sacked out, she's wandering the halls in an effort to learn the ship when it isn't packed. She's wearing a fitted 'MARINES' ladies T with a simple vertical cut at the center on her neck to give some breathing room. Her black mesh shorts are the kind to be worn for PT. Her hair is pulled through a ponytail on a plain black ballcap. She looks pretty good despite little effort being put into it. 'Effortless' is probably a skill that takes effort to pull off successfully. Where she comes from is anyone's guess but she walks up to the couch and flops down into it, sinking back in a slouch and kicking her legs out. SIIIIIIIGH in pleasure. "I haven't sat on a couch that wasn't moldy or destroyed somehow in about nine months. This place is going to spoil me rotten." He looks over to him sharply. "Rotten, I tell you. I should feel guilty, but I do not!" Hmph! She then looks back to the window. "So is this just like a really big telly or something? Where's the camera? Top of the shop?"

The sudden shift of the cushions causes Dreyer to almost drop the piece he's holding. Almost. Instead it slips and his hand claps around it firmly as he sits up. The other hand falls from his cheek to dangle between his knees. The man looks over to Perry and there's a brief tightening of his jaw. He has the effortless that younger men can manage. Especially ones in a career that keeps them fit. There's also that symmetry. Biology in mammals dictates that symmetry and physical strength are markers for good genetics. For someone like Anton, it just makes that smirk all the more… well, depends on the person. To some, it may be charming. To others, it may be the most annoying thing.

But he's not smirking now. There's just a look of weariness on the man's features. The look of someone also adapting to a new schedule, but perhaps in a different direction than Perry. "Fresh food from Piraeus, too." On the 'spoiled rotten' front. He's heard enough folks kvetch to know what a blessing that is. "Don't worry. Soon enough we'll have you complaining about the lack of new magazines, movies, and professional Pyramid." Then there's a glimmer of that smirk. Just a flash of teeth and brightening of blue eyes. "That-" he gestures to the window with the radio bit. "and I hope you aren't frakking with me - is Piraeus herself. No camera. No telly. Just enough glass to keep the horrors of space away."

Perry looks over the man. Mm. Yes, fine specimen. He would probably make beautiful children given the right mother. Something inside her makes little overtures, but she's used to those little urges and the voice piping up that maybe this time it'll get heard. No such luck. But he might be fun to take for a spin. She is still undecided on that smirk, though. She mentally chintaps while considering her options. There's Randy, too. Hmmmm. "Fresh food from Piraeus. Gosh. What a crummy place to get based out of. I even had a bed that won't require me posting watch. I guess I'll have to suffer." No, Julia can always decide later. The thoughts are banished for the moment. "I hear there is a library aboard. Books are good. I think I'll wonder what to do with my Thursday nights now that I can no longer expect new episodes for my shows. THAT is my lamentation." She even shakes a finger out with it. It's really the news that this isn't a video screen that gets the best reaction. Her eyes go wide as saucers and there's a hint of tension. "This is a window? That's… terrifying. You sit here on purpose, knowing that? Are you mad?"

And such a shame. Dreyer doesn't even notice that he's being studied. Unlike some, he's not dense to such things. He'd be able to tell… if he were looking that way. Instead, he'd returned to profile as he looked forward out the 'screen.' "Before this war began, Piraeus was kind of a shit posting, I'll be honest. They pulled us in with promises of how great it'd look in our jacket to be part of a top secret project. Who knew that top secret base for an MP meant standing guard at gates that never saw more than a bunny crossing the path five hundred yards out."

It's when Perry reacts to the news of the window that he finally looks over and is allowed to pay witness to her reaction. What shows then isn't a smirk, but a grin. The radio piece is rolled between his fingers before being set in the mass of the device on the chair. The manual, at the edge, is adjusted so it doesn't fall. He starts to shift closer, but thinks better of it and just leans back, lifting arms to lace fingertips behind his head. Elbows wing out as the man settles in. "I probably am mad. If we're at Condition One, there's a shield that can cover it. No worries of paying full witness to a basestar payload, I promise." He even has the gall to wink. Unlike some who freshly arrive to the Orion, Anton was not stunned by the possible views. Comes of having been posted to a battlestar previously. Loses all the charm. But on the upside? He's getting to witness it all sink in for another.

Perry nods a little in understanding. "Honestly, I think most postings were pretty shit postings. The peacetime military, for most, is a job without a function. We support a structure that had no outlet to perform as needed in most cases. However, much like quantum physics, the act of witnessing an event changes it. By existing, we changed things and staved off our ability to do our job. Even if it means guarding against ferocious hopping rodents." She smiles a bit. "Of course that all changed with the war and most of us have had our noses smashed into the front lines since the bombs hit. To be honest about the gig, though, if I'd heard about this mission I wouldn't have volunteered for it in a million years. My parents would have skinned me alive." She turns her gaze back to him as he shifts and leans back to stretch. Yep, she looks him over again. She's a staff sergeant - which means she doesn't have to answer questions. The wink has her look back at him and she gives him a bit of faux anger. "Gosh I do so hate it when men with lovely facial structures get eye twitches while I'm looking at them. Very distracting." She looks back at the window, then, "Good to know about the window. Still not comfortable. So why are you disassembling a radio? I thought you were supposed to be a rozzer. Do you all typically have a wirelo with you??"

"Well, I happened to be feeling sorry for myself and like I must be a big disappointment to my folks. Being able to say sorry mom, sorry dad, I'm off on a top secret assignment- well, it made me feel a bit better, I suppose." That's Dreyer's reasoning for taking the assignment. He enlisted with some of his high school buddies and they all splintered in different directions. The faux anger just receives a flash of grin and sidelong look in answer. "Would you rather I get eye twitches when you're looking away? I could probably make that happen."

His positioning relaxes a bit when she asks about the radio, elbows falling a measure as he sits up straighter to look to the 'work' laid out before him. "I'm good at what I do, or so they tell me, but I don't exactly relish it. Sucks to be drinking and playing pool alongside someone one day and having to brig them the next, y'know? So I talked it over with Rakes one day, she offered to teach me, and Fairfax gave it the greenlight. Figured-" he picks up another piece, rolling it through his fingertips. "There's few enough of us left. Might as well pick up all the skills I can, right?"

"I think I can appreciate that. Taking an assignment like that would carry some prestige. Your parents would know they couldn't tell their friends as a matter of colonial security. Perceived shortcomings are not always poor reasons to do things that, in the end, help you. My parents went ballistic when I told them I wanted to enlist." She uses her pointer finger like a rocket and even makes the little rocket sound effects to climb it over in an arc and the back down to the arm of the couch. Kablooey. "I'm a Staff Sergeant, love. If I'm not making your eye twitch then I'm not doing my job. We've only just met. I'm sure you'll hate me soon enough." She flashes him a winning smile before her eyes slide to the radio while she listens. Part of her inside wants to giggle, but she refrains. "That's adorbs. When she was a brand new shiny JTAC I took her under my wing and showed her the ropes for how to work on a team. She's doing what I asked her to - pay it forward. But you've got official sanction, yea?" Hmm. She tilts her head away from him and regards him over again. "Picking up skills. Are you wanting to become a JTAC? Or are you just looking to pick up skills with radios?

"Yeah, well. The original plan had been to go to college. My parents were both teachers. But they couldn't afford to send me and I didn't get scouted." There's Cap City Buccs memorabilia in his bunk. Not a lot, but the small things an enlistee might take with them. Photo of the team as of a year ago. A tshirt or two. "Bunch of friends enlisted, figured I'd do the same. If I couldn't get a proper education, might as well… serve the people or whatever." All those things that win you over when you're seventeen, really. Learn to shoot a gun! It's so much better than flipping burgers, really. And it is. In some ways. At least the kid flipping burgers got to have a normal girlfriend and his own bedroom at the end of the day. There's a sort of amused sound, too. Not quite a grunt, but almost. "I don't waste my time being pissed off at he higher ranks, sorry to burst your bubble, Sarge. Too much effort, too little payout. More than likely, you'll be the one hating me. Pretty sure that's how it's going 'round here." Not that he seems bothered by it. May just be self-deprecating humor or joking conjecture.

With the talk of the radio, he goes back to shifting through parts to rebuild it. A more complicated model, even. Either he's had practice on the easier ones, or he's just challenging himself. "Made sure to ask the XO's permission before I got started, yeah." MP knows the rules, yo. "I don't know what I want. It just seemed like a good use of my time and- well, I guess you never know, right? Knox gets sent out and you show up, but what if something happened to you or Rakes? Only so many JTACs they could keep sending our way."

"I meet a lot of Marines like you. They wanted to do something other than work a job they'd go nowhere with. like I said, not exactly a bad reason. They totally suckered me in with an ad on TV, too. My parents decided everything for me in my life and I never got a say in it. The Marines was my way of rebelling. I needed the breathing room. Dad refused to speak to me for a year and a half. Mum kept the back channels open to make sure I was surviving. My parents were very much anti-military until it came about that their precious little treasure of a daughter was getting dirty while most people are stuck in offices." Its his remark about hating him that gets a snort. "If I hate you, trust me, you'll hate me right back." She folds her hands over her stomach, still looking at him. Still considering. "JTACs belong to something called ANGLICO's. It's something of an acronym for Air and Naval Gunfire Liaison Company. There were six companies in the whole Marine Corps. Each company has roughly 300 officers and enlisted. Total qualified people. That's around 1800 people before the war. Probably 80 percent of the population was killed outright on Warday. Statistically, there were probably no more than 25 to 30 of us that survived the day. Probably more than half that have been killed since Warday. Call it a dozen left. You've met probably twenty-five percent of all of them that are left. I want you to let that sink in, Dreyer." She's still friendly and conversational, but she has a way of delivering sobering information without it hitting like a hammer. A way for him to draw his own conclusions. "They aren't training any more. You wanna JTAC, we can make your life hell and you'll hate us but you'll be certified." She finally tilts her head back to look at the window. "How were your grades in high school? I don't care how you should have done, just curious about your grades."

He listens, at least. Everyone's got their story and something Dreyer's learned is to listen. He had a lot of time around Charlie's and the faces that would cycle through over the past year. Friendly guy, doesn't turn people away from opening up. So he lets it happen. He's piecing together the radio while referencing the manual, but the work is slow enough that it's clear that Perry has more of his attention than his work does. When she gets to the numbers, he lets out a slow sigh.

"That's part of it. If I just wanted 'something different,' I could try something crazy like convincing them to make me an officer. But there's a need. Guys like me? We fill needs." Guys who are good at what they do, without excelling. Jack of all trades sort.

At the final question, he looks over to her. There's an arch of brow as Anton tries to puzzle through the why of the query, but he finally goes back to the radio. Something clicks in the distraction and he finally gets past the point he was struggling with. "Decent. I think I finished out with a three-point-two if I remember. If I'd focused on something academic, I might have found scholarships that way, but I had this dream of going pro in Pyramid, so that's what all my free time went towards." Smart, capable, but not outstanding in any sort of way. The sort of guy that gets overlooked a lot of the time. At least before the war. Probably why he was one of those selected for Piraeus.

Perry continues staring off at Piraeus and the vast ocean below. Its beautiful. It need not be commented on to make it so. "You don't want to be an officer. It's paperwork you don't need and leadership you'd probably hate. Now on the surface, there's no problem with being a jack of all trades. Filling needs is good. That's how you get joe-jobs, though. Bartending. Getting JTAC qualified is more like a religious dedication to it. Think about how you probably practiced several times a week for Pyramid. We can't afford to be picky but there's a reason the training is so intensive for us." She looks back at him. "Under pressure you need to be able to tell a Predator the location of the target, the local threats, and their escape heading while wondering about the medevac you called for that should be checking in. It's not to scare you, but it's a heavy responsibility. But it's more satisfying than anything else you will ever do." And dangerous as all hell. She looks back to the window and the planet below. "Three-two isn't terrible. We typically look for a three-five at graduation. So you've started taking radios apart." She adjusts again and this time pulls her legs up and under her as she turns to face him, putting her shoulder into the back of the couch. "What else has she been doing with you?"

"Hey, bartending's my retirement plan. Don't knock it." Because none of them will ever see retirement, so it's easy to fantasize about being the ex-marine who owns the 'cool' bar. They all had the same movies growing up. Be grizzled, older, but in no less great shape. Some girl is in danger or the entire colony is at risk and who do they call? Hell yes they call the bartender. Dreyer's got dreams because for the most part, it's all they have left. But at least he's honest about them. When Perry talks of what being a JTAC can entail, he's quiet. "Honestly, I don't know if JTAC is for me. I just know that wirelo is vital as frak and if I can at least have enough know-how to get by, I can be useful somewhere."

So despite what he says, he's still striving to impress his parents. Who are likely dead.

"We've only just begun, honestly. It's been… two weeks, give or take a few days." Anton talks as he works on the radio. Now that he's over the hump, the rest of the assembly goes fairly well. No records being broken nor even an 'under pressure' timeframe, but good enough for someone new to it. "So mostly just reading and getting acquainted with the equipment."

"I'm sure you'd make a killing on bartending. With cheekbones like those, you'd have the college girls swooning in short order." Sagenod. The woman just sort of smiles at him casually. "It's up to you. Some people hear about the responsibility involved and they leap at it. That's what got me. I'm someone who is constantly pushing myself to be better, fight harder, take more for myself and my own. But you're right. A radio operator would sure as hell not be missed. And if you're trained by us then you probably aren't going to be hurting for skills and knowledge. It's not a question of being useful, but only what exactly your contribution is. No JTAC ever keeps track of how many people they kill. They keep track of tonnges of bombs dropped and lives saved in difficult situations." Arms wrap around her legs, hugging them and she rests her chin on her knees as she looks at him. "One of the things you'll want to do is check out a book from the library about radio brevity and the terms that are used. A lot of it is slang. Some of it isn't. Keep it handy. Then get some radio recordings from the last few weeks. Listen to them. Look things up you don't understand. Take notes on what you figure out from piecing it together. You may not learn anything right now but you'll start to piece together context for how people talk on the radios and what it means for you."

"You're a tease," Anton points out, waggling the radio's antenna in Perry's direction. "And making me regret enlisting. I could have had college girls and their money, what the frak am I doing with my life?" He goes back to piecing together the radio and double-checking back over what's already been fit into place. Soon he's getting the cover fixed and secured. The final steps. "Led my first mission recently," he offers, suddenly. "None of us died, but a Raptor went down on the extract. Still haven't figured out if that was my fault or not." The detached way he speaks of it indicates that it actually has been something he's gone over. In extensive detail. Not uncommon, perhaps, for someone who takes their job seriously. First trip out? Yes you break it down and replay it over and over again. Maybe by the tenth you stop, but he's still on that first one.

With the assembled radio in hand, he looks sidelong to Perry. It's meant to be a glance, but the way she's sitting… he watches a moment longer. It may make it appear that he's really paying mind to what she says, but he's not. Dreyer's absorbing it, sure, but he's also studying the Virgan. "Seen that one," the book, "I'll grab it next time I'm in there." When he finally tears his gaze away, it's back to the radio. Breath drawn and held. Moment of truth. It's turned on… and works. He switches it back off and his shoulders sag with a measure of relief. Someone wasn't certain of themselves.

"You could have had all those college girls, aye. Their money. Except that if you had, you'd probably not have lived through it and even though you might have gone out in bed with a gorgeous redhead or blonde or whatever, you'd never get to spend your money or marry the girl and make something of it. So, you know, silver linings." Looking back at him, she waits for him to finish and just looks up at him. Cute, pretty, and energetic. And a Staff Sergeant. She's got fantastic legs, too, and the shorts show a generous amount of thigh, especially with how the mesh rides up. Looks like she just shaved them in the shower. Great genes all over for her. Once the radio is back on, Julia winks at him and nods. "No help given. Sheer determination. Already on your way." Once that's said, she delves into the Raptor. "Every combat NCO has demons, Dreyer. I have them. I bet Knox has them. On the sliding scale, a Raptor crashing nearby isn't high on the scale. What you have to do is ask yourself whether or not it would be logical for you to have done something to prevent it? Your job in that position is to get your chalk back alive and well. You don't tell Raptors how to dodge enemy fire. That's their own job. The best thing you can take away from that is that sometimes shit happens on a mission and you just simply have to roll with it. Being a combat NCO is about your Marines. Officers will tell you its about your mission. That's dumb. Throw rocks at officers. The Marines are your mission. You're just walking them someplace to do something in the meantime. Get the heavily armed ducklings home."

He's trying not to look, really. But he can't help it. Hormones will do what they do. He's got another decade, at least, before that ebbs off for a bit. And the end of the known 'verse does a fair few things for one's genetic code scrambling to ensure continuation. Everything a human does can be boiled down to 'can I guarantee my DNA makes it another generation?' All those that remain, their ancestors are fistbumping and collecting bets. Alright, maybe not the latter, but definitely the former. Even if luck played into a lot of it. It's the slimmest and biggest win of the genetic lottery. Survival after genocide on a galactic scale? Frak yes.

"Air Wing isn't my responsibility, I know, but shit still happened. People got hurt." It wouldn't be hard to surmise, with how fresh the repairs to his right hand are, that he was one of those people. "I just keep telling myself that being sent into a hot zone to do an extract is pretty much sitting down to a game of Triad, knowing the dealer is gonna give you shit cards no matter what. And he knows it too, grinning all the while." But it's clear it doesn't help. Anton's struggle is nothing new, but i's something everyone's got to process in their own way.

"People get hurt and die every day. If you want to question yourself, go all the way back and question whether or not you said something to someone that ended up ensuring they died on Warday. It's not meant to prove anything except the futility of mind games. "Trying to absorb all that blame for yourself can't happen. But what you're going through is very typical. In a month or two you probably won't even think about it anymore." She pops a finger out. "Never forget the Marines you lost. Ever. But don't linger on them. If you do, you'll lock up and then you become worthless to your CO and you can't protect your Marines because you're too obsessed with thinking about the ones who died. Its just war, Dreyer."

The radio's manual is closed and the piece of equipment set atop it. It's now that Dreyer remembers that he's got a meal, small as it is. He unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. As the man chews, he reaches for the bag of chips and opens it as well. This is set between himself and the JTAC on the couch. A silent offering to share the snack. Settling back into place, Anton continues eating the sandwich, peeling back more of the foil as he goes. He's finally pulled his gaze from those damnable legs to look out at Piraeus. The ocean glimmers now in full view of the sun.

"Would it make it better or worse to admit it was my first combat, period?" He gestures, with sandwich, towards the planet. "Up and downside of being posted there."

Chips offered? Okay. MAY AS WELL. She takes a few chips and eats one at a time. But when he admits to it being his first, period, she looks totally shocked. "You said this was recent. You've not seen combat until recently?" It blows her mind that there are Marines who haven't seen combat. But she's also spent most of the war on Picon. The rumors about the platoons of child soldiers. Kids enlisting at 14. Others just picking up rifles at 12 - mostly the orphans. She hovers there with a chip by her lips, still trying to register that. "My Gods." She ends up needing to shake her head to get her focus back. "Ah, uh, well- I guess.. you did well? You got Marines home." Blinkblink. "You've been stationed on Piraeus, standing at a gate, for most of the war? Seriously?"

The expression that settles on Dreyer's features at Perry's reaction is one of a bad taste in his mouth. But he doesn't stop eating the sandwich, so either he's really hungry… or that's not it. The man does sit forward, however, reaching for the radio and book. Nudging them, more like. A bit of a nervous tic. Finding something else to focus the energy on. "It's not like they could haul off with everyone and even on campaigns," like Picon, "someone had to stay behind. I was one of those lucky sorts." He's regretting admitting to it, that much is clear. "But yes. Two years ago, accept a top secret assignment. Find myself guarding gates and other inane shit. Miss an entire year of the war. I know-"

Anton begins grabbing the book, radio, and thermos. Usually able to brush most awkward moments off, this one's proving more difficult. "I know. I'm lucky they moved me up here at all. See-" He gestures at her with the thermos, hands otherwise full. "Tried telling you I'm not as perfect as I look on the surface." Well, maybe he's bleeding some of the awkward off. Not enough to get him to settle back and relax, but enough that he's not preparing to depart in a cloud of mope.

If there's any fuss or concern for Dreyer's state of mind or how he takes her reaction, she doesn't show it. Not a bit. She watches his movements and the tic, letting him eat and talk. There's no hint of hatred, though. Mostly just shock. "I was commenting on your physical attractiveness, not your perfection as a human being, Dreyer. We're talking about a war, not negotiating marriage prenups." She probably knows well how she looks when sitting like this. The girl isn't stupid. She could have also picked up a larger shirt size, but she didn't. It fits well enough, though. "You survived your first combat outting, you even led Marines through it. You're already doing better than a lot of people. I'm a little miffed that someone has never seen combat before and is a Marine, but I guess I should have assumed that was the case. Everyone has their own reasons, yeah?"

"Well, looks are all I've got-" a glance down to his right hand and the fingers twitch. "Mostly." So far. As of yet. Anton knows that's a fact that could rapidly change. For someone like him? Might damn well be part of why he's such a flirt. Take a round the wrong way or be near something flammable and that's the end of one's love life. There's an attempt at a grin, but it's not he same. He's putting on a face and he seems one of those people where that may actually work in he long run. Wear it long enough and it becomes the truth.

"Thanks, really. I totally loved being a Sergeant who hadn't seen war, when we'd been at it for a good ten months. It was all part of the master plan. I'm a horrendous person who never asked his CO if he could be transferred sooner." Maybe he misunderstood. For the moment, it seems Anton is taking those words to mean he's not 'properly' a Marine. Or that he never should have been one in the first place. The radio is shoved, awkwardly, into one pocket. The remains of the sandwich wrapper in another. Leaves him just carrying the book and thermos. "If you think I should quit my studies, have a word with Fairfax. I'm sure you could get the brakes put on it right away." The coffee is tilted at the window. "Enjoy the view." And yup, exit stage right.

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