ALT #425: Gloves Redux
Gloves Redux
Summary: Deckie/Pilot banter and brief Tauran cultural issue.
Date: 07/Mar/2014
Related Logs: Gloves
Toby Holtz 
Fitness Center - Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
Smelling of sweat and grease, the Fitness Center is a place where individuals can come to work out or just work off stress. The area closest to the entrance is taken up by two very large sparring pads with a pathway down the center, each pad removable to reveal a Pyramid court beneath. The walls beside the pads hold lockers for everything from pugilist sticks to boxing gloves to rubber guns, though deadly weapons are strictly prohibited in here except by authorized personnel such as on-duty Military Police. Standing goalposts for Pyramid are also kept against the wall. Past the pads are a vast number of nautilus machines as well as free weights to lift. At the back of the room are workout bikes, rowing machines, treadmills, and stairclimbers. There is an entrance to the pool at the rear as well as a locker room to the side.
AWD #425

It's not a terribly busy day in the fitness centre but there are a small handful of people about, one of whom being Toby. The knuckledragger is, by the look of things, warming down after a sesson on one of the heavy bags. That or he ran a marathon first and is now warming up.

When he gets the chance, Holtz likes to get in an early workout, when the fitness center clears out after the morning rush but before people on the main shift start getting off duty. Now is one of those times. He enters the center with a gym bag over one shoulder and heads for the bags, his usual spot. "Mornin', Shackleton," he greets Toby as he drops the bag to the floor and starts stretching.

Toby glances sideways as he hears the greeting, returning it with a short nod and a "morning Major." Changing stretch so he can start taking the tape off his hands he adds a quick, "softened it up for you," as he tilts his head towards the nearest bag. Then, more seriously, "reckon we'll get your viper back on the flightline today, only checks left if everything has gone to plan."

The former gets a noncommittal grunt that's not quite a chuckle, but Holtz does look a little more interested in the latter. "Good to hear," he replies between stretches. "I'll be glad to get back out into space in my own bird. Ain't the same if it don't have my name plastered on the side." His lips twist in a thin smile. "I hear Smythe's Viper at least made it back untouched last time out. Can't say I don't keep my promises, yeah?"

One hand free, Toby stops stretching for long enough to work on the second. "We've got plenty of grease pencils if you want your name on the side of a loaner," he replies in mock seriousness, "might take a while if you want your kills transfering too though." The comment about Warren gets a slight grin though and he nods in acknowledgement, "yeah, that's twice now I think. Keep that up and we'll have to raise the target to two."

"Hey, that's what the killboard is for," Holtz snorts in reply. At Toby's last, he raises his hands mock-defensively. "Hey, now, let's try to keep the expectations realistic, yeah?" Another grin as he finishes up his stretching.

Wrapping completely removed Toby balls it up and stuffs it in a pocket before pulling his gloves out of the other. "Oh I think you guys could pull it off, I mean, Captain Saint-Clair and her lot can manage it and I'm sure you'd not want to admit that the bus drivers could outfly your lads." Yeah, not the fairest of comparisons, but it works for banter purposes. Then, as he pulls his gloves on, something else occurs to him and he asks more seriously, "before you get started Major, you happen to know if any of the Minoans are leather workers?" Holding his hands up he explains, "had these for the best part of a year now, but they're just dyed ceremonials ones and they're showing their age. Could do with a more robust pair."

Holtz makes a rude noise, rolling his eyes at the comparison with a snort of derisive laughter. Before he can start going on about the ways in which Vipers — and those that pilot them — are superior to their bus driving counterparts though, he hears Toby's question, and he pauses thoughtfully. "I'd be surprised if they didn't have one," he replies. "Damned if I remember who it was, but I'm pretty sure I saw a leatherworkin' setup somewhere in the tent city a few weeks ago."

Sticking his hands into his pockets Toby is faintly amused at the initial response, ah, the ego of a pilot. He offers a quick nod at the reply to the more serious point though, adding a thoughtful, "I figured it was likely, once I actually stoped and thought about it. I'll go for a hunt next time I get time to head down. You happen to remember which Rolga by any chance. Or is it going to be a case of asking about?

Even by pilot standards, Holtz has an impressive ego. But at least he can sublimate it. Sometimes. Mostly. "'Fraid I don't remember," he replies with a slight shake of the head. "But if it were me, I'd skip the askin' around and go straight to Magda or one of her boys. They know everybody in that settlement between 'em, and they don't miss much. Save yourself some time that way."

Toby nods to that, it's not like it's easy to keep track on the exact locations of 3000 people after all. "I'll hit the market first," he states with a shrug, "could do with another run through there anyway. If that fails though, yeah, not a bad plan." Then, noting the both the time and that he's keeping Holtz from his workout he excuses himself, "I'll let you get on though, thanks."

Holtz shrugs. "Sure, not a problem." He runs through one last bit of stretching before reaching for the nearest roll of athletic tape and begins wrapping his hands. "See you around, Shackleton." A nod goes the deckhand's way as he tears off the tape on one hand and quickly moves to the other.

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