AWD #223: Hitting the Showers
Hitting the Showers
Summary: In which many Orion personnel converge on the Head to scrub, shave, and discuss upcoming fun and games.
Date: 17/08/2013 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None
Atalanta Holtz Lleufer Maia Phin Sarin 
Head — Deck 2 — Battlestar Orion
The Head is the area on the Battlestar to find showers and bathrooms and this is one of many throughout the ship. Male and female crew members share the area equally as space is at a premium on fleet ships. There are half a dozen shower stalls and enclosed toilets as well as urinals along the wall. The room, an L shape dogleg, has the entrance open into the sink area. There are four sinks on the left and four on the right sitting back to back in the middle of the room.
AWD #223

Holtz has the definite look of a man who's recently stepped out of one of the shower stalls, water still dripping from his hair and beading on his tattooed skin. He's standing by the line of sinks, running a towel over himself with a second towel tied around his waist. Most of his attention is focused on his hair, which goes from looking plastered to his head to spiking up and jutting out in random directions, almost as if he'd taken an electrical shock. The towel is tossed aside as he grabs for his shower kit, taking out a toothbrush and a straight razor.

Phin is also here to shower, though in his case he's still in process. He's in one of the stalls, scrubbing himself up to face the day. And singing snatches of some radio-friendly rock song that was over-played a couple years ago. He's not doing it loudly enough to be too disruptive, but it's audible.

It would be easy to assume that she'd already showered — after all, the DCAG's hair, though tied back, is dripping wet. It must be from the pool, though. When she cracks the hatch open to step inside, she's still got her swimsuit on, albeit with a pair of sweatpants pulled over it. They've got a few wet spots on them, likely from whatever water she'd missed with the towel that's tossed casually around her neck. It's not hanging quite low enough to cover up the black ink that peeks out from under the straps of her swimsuit, though they've been pulled together and held in place by a hair-clip — likely to compensate for all the weight she's lossed since being issued the one-piece tank. She turns back to shut the door behind her, before some other occupant shouts something about letting the cold air in.

Holtz leans on the edge of the sink, studying his reflection in the mirror for a moment before turning on the water and reaching for the toothbrush. The bristles make a soft but audible rustling sound as he runs the brush up and down his teeth several times. Finally, he cups his hands under the faucet and takes in a mouthful of water, swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it back into the sink. Absorbed in the ritual, he doesn't seem to pay any mind to the sound of the hatch opening and closing, or Phin's singing, for that matter. A moment later, he flicks on the hot water and splashes a couple handfuls across his face.

Phin finishes the last chorus, soaps and rinses his face one last time, and turns off the water. He then heads out of the shower, striding over to his locker. Where he must keeping his towel, in addition to the rest of his kit. He has an eyes-straight-ahead sort of attitude in the berths and showers but, for all his reserve in many areas, he's pretty casual about nudity in these settings. "Morning, sirs" he offers Holtz and Atia politely, while opening said locker.

Assuming that at least one of 'sirs' is for her, Franklin's eyes flick over to locate the voice. "Lieutenant," she says crisply, after spotting McBride. "I left something on your bunk for you. I came across it in my unpacking, now that Supply and Logistics has finally retreived the last of my things from whatever black hole they were sucked into during my transfer, and thought you might make good use of it." A beat. "Though I would like it back when you're finished, if you don't mind." She stops at a bench, setting down her small bag of things, and begins digging through it for a dog-eared strip of cardboard. It still has a few, shiny new bobbypins on it — unlike the well-worn ones in her hair. She begins methodically pulling them out, one by one, and sliding them onto the cardboard, lest such a precious, finite resource be lost.

Hearing 'sirs' and not 'sir' leads Holtz to realize there must be a similarly august personage in the head, and he grunts in acknowledgement of the lieutenant's greeting even as he cranes his head in Atia's direction. The big Tauran obviously lacks Phin's sense of modesty and reserve as his eyes wander up and down her swimsuit-outlined form for a moment or two, but then he turns back to his kit with little more than a quietly uttered, "Major." Another couple handfuls of warm water splash against his face, and then he reaches for his straight razor, flinging it open with a flick of the wrist.

Phin gets a towel out of his locker and gives himself a quick, rudimentary drying, before looping it around his waist and tying it. The drying leaves his hair in a similar state of 'sticking up all over the place' that Holtz was dealing with. A curious look up at Atalanta. "Is it something I'll need to work on sir?" Though he adds quick. "And yeah, of course. I'll take good care of it. And keep it in my locker when I'm out, so the rest of the flying monkeys we live with can't grab it when they need something to throw." Half-smile. Just kidding, of course. He likes his fellow Vipers. Most of the time. He doesn't seem to notice the wandering look Holtz gives the DCAG. Or he just does a good job of pretending he doesn't.

Gods help them all, she actually laughs. It's not a sound which comes from her often and, with her wet hair in the process of being pulled out of its confines, she almost seems human, for once. Just another girl on the ship, instead of the DCAG, or a Major, or even a Franklin. Almost. "No, Lieutenant. It isn't something you need to work on, though it does involve a great deal of reading, being as it's a book — a rather fat one. The biography of the last Prime Minister of Caprica. Given our conversation in the berths, I thought you may find the lead up to the Cylon War and the section on the Unification particularly interesting, though the narration of the struggle to put forward a single, unified code of law gets a bit dry, in some areas." She drags a hand through damp blonde strands, shaking them out. Apparently, her hair is naturally wavy, and rather long. It hangs well below her shoulder when soaked through. "Major Holtz," she replies, turning back to look at him over the curve of her shoulder.

Holtz interjects mildly, "Dolly, if I need somethin' to throw, I've got things heavier and sharper than a book." Phin and Atia's talk of history and politics is all Leonese to him, though, and he turns away — but not before a lingering eye, following the path of her hand as it goes through her hair, catches sight of the small spot of ink tattooed on the back of her shoulder. His gaze stays there a moment, eyebrows twitching ever so slightly in an apparent flash of surprise that she, of all people, would have such a thing.

"Oh, cool!" Such is Phin's peppy response to the book. His grin broadens. Yes, he's a nerd. "Thanks, sir. I'll get it back to you in a couple weeks. Haven't had something new like that to go over in awhile. I've worked my way through the books I brought with me a time again each by now. You can take one while I've got yours if you want, trade alike and stuff. I've got one on the old Scorpian tribal wars that I picked up while I was finishing school in Celeste. It's hard to find copies off-world." His eyes follow Holtz's to the DCAG's tattoo, which he does take a second to look at. Curious rather than exactly surprised. His own ink script and dolphin are on display, of course. But they're arm tatts, so they usually are when he's off duty. Unless he's rocking long sleeves for some reason.

It's difficult to make out, being as it's centered between her shoulder blades — right where the straps of her swimsuit are clipped together. It covers a fair portion of the design, though it's most likely an arrow of some sort, being as a stylized, curved triangular shape extends from it in a line, pointing towards her right arm. "Thank you. Most of mine are biographies, admittedly. Plenty of history, of course, but I generally find it far more interesting when told from the perspective of the people who lived it. Honestly, even Horatio's "History of Ancient Kobol" is generally preferable to the few textbooks that I kept from my time studying at Delphi," she replies, quirking a slight smile at the mention of the notoriously dense text — which she probably has a copy of, tucked away in either her bunk or the office which she forcefully claimed from paper-pushers on Deck One.

And just like that, Holtz's eyes are back on the sink as if they'd never left. Leaning on the edge of the sink once more, he brings the razor up to his cheek and brings it down, the sharp blade methodically removing the accumulated stubble off of his face. He just rolls his eyes and quietly snorts at the continuing talk of histories and biographies; judging from the small stack of battered paperbacks he keeps in his locker, his own tastes seem to run more towards rather lurid fictional tales.

Phin chuckles. "Had to read that one second year, after I got deeper into the History track. It was good for when I needed help falling asleep. Where'd you get your ink done, sir?" He adds, "It's well-done. Far as I can tell about those things, at least." He also grabs a shaving kit out of his locker and proceeds to a sink. One not far from Holtz's. He starts to lather up. Skipping his upper lip, alas. "Either of you entering the games tomorrow?"

There's a pause from Franklin — one long enough to suggest that she may not be inclined to answer the question at all. "In the temple to Artemis Aeginaea, in Caprica City," she replies, quietly. "I served as an arktoi there for a year, when I was a girl, and was marked with it when….," the woman trails off, offering them a knowing smile — as if she somehow expects them to understand this particular religious rite, to a goddess that neither of them worships. "I will be entering three of the competitions tomorrow, in honor of her and Lady Athena."

Maia arrives from the Aft Corridor.

Scrape, scrape. More stubble disappears as Holtz again carefully draws the razor down the side of his face. Unlike Phin, he doesn't use shaving cream, which could make for a bloody situation when coupled with the use of a straight razor… but so far, at least, his face remains unmarred. He and Phin are standing in front of a bank of sinks, conversing with the nearby Atalanta.

Holtz puts down the razor for a moment, looking to the DCAG with a vaguely skeptical expression. "You were a she-bear, huh?" The barest of smirks tugs at the corners of his mouth. His head swivels to Phin, and he nods, planting his closed fist against his open palms in what looks like a salute or ritual gesture of some sort. "I will enter two events for the glory of the Lord of War," he replies, his tone surprisingly solemn. But then he peers back down at the DCAG and asks wryly, "Will I be seeing you in the ring, Major?"

Phin nods and, at the tone of Atalanta's answer about her ink, doesn't press for more information. He's just out of the showers. He has a towel around his waist, though otherwise he's still undressed, and is shaving at a mirror that neighbors Holtz's. Except his upper lip. He's sticking with the mustache, despite advice against it from…everyone. He nods to Holtz. He seems to appreciate the solemnity and, while he doesn't mention Ares himself, he says, "Yeah, me too. I had to drill in spear throwing back at the Ares school so…figure I might as well put that to good use. And I think I'll try the races."

One brow — a brownish-blonde, which is several shades darker than her golden-blonde hair, hikes upwards at Holtz's tone. "Yes, Major, I was. I served my year as an arktoi beginning the spring after I had turned fourteen," she replies, her distinct Caprican accent taken on a crisp — even haughty — tone. "And no, you won't." Currently in the process of peeling off her sweatpants, she folds them neatly and rests them next to her bag. "I already have one rather large bruise on my face; I don't need another to match." Her eyes focus not on Holtz's back, but on his reflection in the mirror in front of him. The moment she catches the glass-imitation of his eyes, she lifts her chin half an inch.

Sarin opens the door to the head, shutting it behind her as she goes. Her towel is around her neck, her bag of cleaning supplies tooked under her arm. "Evening." She says with a polite nod to all around as she steps over towards an empty sink. Once there she releases the pins in her hair, letting the hair down from the tight bun she keeps it in join the day. She places the pins into her bag, they are in short supply and she doesn't need to be losing them. Next she pulls out her tooth brush and begins to clean her teeth.

Looks like it's a day for shaving! Carrying her kit, Maia walks in wearing her fatigues, just finishing duty hours. She does look a little tired. Seeing the others present, she flashes Phin a grin since she really knows him best out of everyone, but she nods to the others, still wearing it. "Evening." Walking immediately to her locker, she opens it and starts stripping. Shower time.

Holtz catches the look and chin-lift from Atia and responds with an innocent shrug before grunting at the man standing next to him. "Well, I'll be seein' you at the spear throw, then. Not at the races, though, I planned on doin' the fights instead." Because it's Holtz, of course. He returns Sarin's nod as she steps up to one of the sinks, and then looks over to Maia. "Lieutenant," he responds, his eyes lingering on the Raptor pilot a moment or two longer than what might be considered proper as she prepares for her shower.

Sarin continues to brush her teeth ignoring everyone around her, she can't talk anyway so there isn't any point to listening in. Spitting out the foam she wipes her mouth then glances around, now ready to pay attention to the conversartion and see who is here.

There's a look of disgust which flickers briefly over Franklin's face, when Holtz breaks their staredown in favor of…. well, that. (Honestly, could the man be any more repulsive?) Her eyes roll, before she she snatches up her toiletries and her towel, then steps into the shower still wearing her swimsuit. It seems her sense of modesty is far more exaggerated than either Maia's of Phin's. The wet garment eventually gets slung over the edge of her shower stall with a distinct 'slap'.

"Hey, Centerfold," Phin's greeting to Maia, turning his head to return her grin with a lathery one of his own. A polite "Hey" is offered to Sarin as well. He chuckles when Holtz mention he'll be in the sparring. "Yeah. I figured. I don't think my hand-to-hand's good enough to compete with most of the Marines on board. Up to you to represent." To Maia, he adds, "We're talking the Armilustrium Games. You entering?" He doesn't do any obvious leering, himself. He has a generally eyes-forward attitude in the head and berths.

Sarin glances sideways towards Holtz but doesn't make any outwards comment, she merely says. "I would like to engage in a few of the events myself." she places away toothbrush and begins to gives herself a quick wash down, she's wearing her tanks and shorts, for all concerned.

"Decided which ones yet?" Holtz asks Sarin out of idle curiousity as he picks up his razor once more and runs it briefly under the faucet before going back to work. Scraaaape. He chuckles darkly in Dolly's direction. "Was plannin' to do a little more than just represent, Dolly my lad." He looks up at the cracking slap of Atia's swimsuit hitting the stall door and snorts — very, very quietly.

Sarin shakes her head. "I'm not certain, but I would like to get into the ring and knock out a few cocky pilots." she says with a feral smile. "Don't know any do you?" She asks, tooking her cloth back into her bag.

Franklin isn't in for one of her long, indulgent showers — one of the DCAG's two or three preferred forms of relaxation. She has, after all, already indulged herself with a long morning in the pool. Rather, she's simply here to wash the chlorine out of her hair, lest it turn that unfortunate shade blonde hair so often does when exposed to too much pool-water. The sound of the shower head sputtering to life echoes from her stall. It's soon followed by steam, the scent of their standard-issue shampoo, and something…. vanilla? No. It's smokier than that, and very faint.

Phin gets a chuckle out of Sarin's words. "I'm not cocky enough to get in the sparring ring with people who think they could actually win that thing." It's tacit admission to being a pilot, though. "I'll be doing the spear throw, and running the races." He pays more attention to actually shaving now, scraping excess stubble off his cheeks and chin with a razor.

Sarin seems interested in the mention of racing. "I use to run in school." She says thoughtfully. "Was pretty good, I might enter that event also."

Holtz raises an eyebrow as he glances at Sarin's reflection in the mirror. "If I see any, I'll be sure to let you know," he deadpans dryly, with a snorting chuckle as he swipes at a few remaining bits of left over stubble. The big tattooed Tauran straightens, folding his razor and tossing it back in his shaving kit, followed by his toothbrush.

Sarin glances at the big guy next to her and raises an eyebrow. "I think you'd know a few heads off." She comments before glancing back at Phin. "Let me know if you want to train, I'm called Rohini Sarin, Marine Engineer."

A few moments later and Franklin is slipping out of the shower, with her towel mostly wrapped around her. She's in the process of tucking the corner of it into the rest of the fabric when she comes stepping out, her eyes turning towards her own belongings before looking to the now-crowded sinks. A hand disappears into her bag, in search of something to slip on underneath her terry-cloth couture. Once done, she pads over to the sinks, sighs faintly once she realizes that her sole remaining option is squeezing in by Holtz and Phin, and plunks her kit down on the end of the sink.

Phin rinses his razor in the sink when he's finished his chin and the right side of his face. Now for the left. "Phin McBride," he gives, for his own part. "I fly with the Seven-Seven-Seven squadron. The Lucky Strikes." Which makes him a Viper pilot. "You one of the new transfers? If not, sorry. I don't get to Marine country that often these days."

Sarin nods her head. "I'm fairly new, just out of recovery, had it kinda rought." She says quietly. "I think I know someone else with that name, he looks like you also a brother perhaps?"

Holtz doesn't leave just yet, as he shoots a look at Atia as she walks over to the line of sinks, lip curled in mild amusement at the light sound of her sighing. He wipes his face with a small dampened towel. "That's what I'm hopin'," he says over to Sarin with a predatory glint in his eye.

"Oh!," Franklin says, evidentally surprised by the sight of Phin shaving. "I didn't know you had any razors left, Lieutenant. I was going to offer you one of mine." There's a nod down to her kit, where he can likely spot her stash of them — pink plastic disposable things, the lot of them. The Colonial equivalent of Lady BICs. There's no malice in her tone, though, nor in her expression, the latter being entirely innocent and well-intended. Apparently, she really was under the impression that McBride's lip-ferret was not by choice, but rather the result of being short on supplies (and unable to fill in the rest of a beard).

Phin manages to keep a straight face when Atalanta offers him her pink razors. Though he does offer up a marginal defense of his mustache. "Nope, I'm good, sir. Could use some tweezers, though, if you've got them. I want to trim this bad boy just so." He smirks, and then returns his attention to cleaning off his non-'stache stubble. "Yeah." That to Sarin. "Sergeant Bear McBride. He's been stationed on a lot of security duty lately down on the planet. Haven't gotten to see him too regular."

Sarin gives a grin at the other woman. "The things we take for granted." She murmurs then glances at Holts. "I'm sure, but I'm nimble and fast." She says, her eyes giving him a challenging look. "Perhaps we can try our hang before the match." She glances around to invite all. "Nothing like pounding each other to ward off bordem."

There's a wistful sigh which pours out of the woman at the mention of the simple things which they once took for granted. "My kingdom for a bottle of Allard's "Juste un Baiser"," she says with the sort of solemnity reserved for funerals, not mourning the likely loss of famous Leonese perfumeries. "I have no idea how I managed to use up a quarter of a bottle between being stationed aboard the Rubaul and War Day, but I'm sure I'll never have another now." She does, however, finally force her expression into a polite smile, offering her hand around Phin's back. "Major Atalanta Fraklin, CVW-11." No squadron name. That means she's either the DCAG, or the Commander of the entire Air Group.

Sarin finallyu decides she's done enough socializing for one day and heads towards the door, without another word.

"Major Kurt Holtz, commander, seven-seven-seven." As long as everyone else seems to be introducing themselves, Holtz joins the party. He rolls his eyes and audibly snorts at Atalanta. "And what a tragedy that is, yeah?"

"I'll be sure to remember that you said so, Major, the next time you're mourning the loss of whatever horrid gut-rot it is you swill, or when you're all out of those wretched, reeking things you smoke," she retorts, sniffing once, indignantly. Her eyes flick over to his reflection in the mirror, which she shoots that same repulsed look that crossed her face when he was staring at Maia. Honestly. Some people simply have no appreciation of the finer things in life. A shake of her head and she returns to the mirror, where she examines her face for a moment before electing to forego her usual array of creams and astringents and moisturizers. (And gods only know what else. Women. Really.) She's already applied it once today and a quick examination of a bottle in her bag indicates that unless her recently arrived bags have more, she's in short supply. Her tweezers, however, are readily available — and offered to Phin silently, with an outstretched hand.

Phin finishes shaving, and rinses his face off in the sink. The mustache will live to see another day. He blinks at the offered tweezers. And laughs. "Thanks for the solid, sir." And then he actually does start plucking it a little. Even if he was joking, he might as well carry the joke all the way.

Once her shower supplies are out, complete with razor and towel, Maia begins stripping, the boots are the first to go, followed by the socks. She'd been zoning out completely and hearing the voices brings her back and she gives a blank look, lips tilting in a crooked smile. "Sorry, sorta checked out a minute. What's up?" Dog tags remain on, but the shirt disappears into a bag containing dirties and the shirt is followed by the tank top. Only then does she realize her superiors are in the room and she's definitely not wearing standard issue underthings.. though she never has.

Lleufer arrives from the Aft Corridor.

Holtz doesn't comment on Maia's choice of underthings. "You plannin' on entering any of the events tomorrow, Lieutenant?" he asks her, not passing up the opportunity for another not-so-discreet glance. He snorts at Atalanta's indignant retort. "Fumarella grows on the planet, and it's only a matter of time before someone rigs up a still, so I think I'm covered," he replies, not without a bit of smug satisfaction in his tone.

"Lieutenant McBride was asking everyone what events they plan to participate in tomorrow," Franklin replies. It would seem that she had missed Phin's joke. Only belatedly does she realize that he was kidding, at which point she flushes — something distinctly noticeable on her normally milk-white skin. Best to just refuse to acknowledge it, she ultimately decides. "You can leave them on my bunk, Lieutenant." She drags a wide-toothed comb there her hair a few times, before twisting it up into a quick bun and locking it into place with a band. It leaves the rest of her tattoo plainly visible, particularly when she turns away from the crowd at the sinks to return to her things and finish dressing over her towel. Fatigues, check. Black sports bra, check. T-shirt and tank — check and check. Holtz's comment, and his continued gawking, have been filed into the 'Ignore' folder — at least for now.

It's an odd place for an enlisted, non-pilot sort and even stranger for a man in a wheel chair. Nonetheless, an MP in his duty uniform wheels the thing into the hatch and looks around. Lleufer's got nothing with him to indicate that he's come to shower. Man's got his left arm bound in a sling. He opens his mouth to ask a question when he notices some blonde taking her undershirt off and for a second or two, Lleu's mouth just hangs open for any passing fly to pretend it's a Viper coming into the hanger for a landing, mate. Oh boy, /that's/ Maia over there. The Aerilon MP makes himself close his mouth and avert his eyes, "Ehm, anyone in here lend me a hand?" Oh, there's another one standing at the sink.

Phin rinses Atalanta's tweezers, once he's finished with him. In the interests of sanitation. He didn't do much plucking. He washes his face again, for good measure, rinsing out the sink while he's at it. He's just finished shaving, and heads back to his locker to get dressed. He's still just in a towel at present. "Hey." That to Lleufer. "Umm…maybe I can in a sec. What's up?"

Used to sharing the head with everyone else, Maia just continues discarding her fatigues. Nimbly her fingers loosen the belt at her waist, followed by the buttons. Stepping out of her pants, it leaves her in hot pink underthings that just matches the polish on her toes. She's all girly underneath her more straight laced demeanor. Catching the look Holtz tosses her way, she crinkles her nose in amusement. "I don't even know if I have the time to go. I've been studying or simming in every spare minute I have when off duty." Looking at Atia, she smiles. "Are you participating in anything?" Next off is the bra, but her back is to the sinks and the towel swoops around her before the panties join the bag of clothes removed. Hearing a familiar voice, she turns, holding the towel in place. "Oh hey." Hearing Phin offer, she doesn't, but grabs her bag instead to head for the shower.

"Athena's mercy, Sergeant, what happened to you?" Holtz asks in surprise, folding his arms over his chest as Lleufer wheels himself in. He also is wearing only a towel wrapped tightly around his waist, his shaving kit sitting on the sink in front of him. To Maia, he says, "I don't think anyone'll mind if you take a holiday, Lieutenant. Armilustrium only comes once a year, yeah?"

"Three of them, Lieutenant," Franklin replies to Maia, offering no further explanation, being as the other blonde is slipping into the showers. At the sound of a request for help, the DCAG peeks around the far end of the head just as she's pulling her shirts down over her head — shirts she actually begins tucking in her fatigues. Of course she does. That's regulation. Assuming he simply means the hatch, she strides over, holding it open long enough to make sure he's gotten the wheels all the way over the lip of the hatch.

Lleufer doesn't leer, but it's Maia. He wasn't prepared for the view. Now it's fine though he's being a gentleman and pretending to ignore her for the moment until she's not so distracting. "I need to get back up to deck 3, finish my report. I can get up the stairwell - eventually. But I can't do it and carry this damn chair at the same time." You just /know/ it grates a Marine the wrong way to have to ask for help. Oh, and then Maia's turned and speaking to him. He offers her a smile, "Lieutenant." Then his attention goes to Holtz, "Doc Tamison's research on Piraeus. I was her assigned escort. Direwolves with pups came up behind our observation blind up on the ridge and … it went from cute to not cute real fast, sir." Lleu's pale eyes flick to Franklin, whom he doesn't know, "Thanks."

"Tamsin? The Cylon?" Holtz asks Lleufer, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Shoulda left her to the wolves," he mutters quietly. He's definitely not one of the skinjobs' greater advocates among the crew. With a slight shake of the head, he gathers up his shaving kit and moves over towards the lockers. The towel around his waist is discarded — modesty, thy name is not Holtz — as he flings open the locker and begins to collect his clothing.

"Spear throwing, definitely," Phin says, as to his own part in the games. "And I'll probably try the races, too." He starts getting dressed as he says all that. He's reasonably casual about it, but he gets it done pretty quick. "I'm about done here." That to Lleufer, and seems to be a tacit offer to help without directly saying it. "Have to get up to Deck Three myself, so it's on the way. No worries."

"What sort of events are there?" Returning the smile to Lleufer on the way to the shower, she nods. "I can help you when I'm finished, if you're still around." Maia steps into the shower, but she can hear! "Maybe I'll go watch. It sure sounds fun." Turning on the water, she steps under the spray, wetting her hair, she pours shampoo/conditioner mix into her palm and washes Scrub, scrub. Hearing the ones that Phin intends on joining perks her interest. "Sounds interesting, Dolly!" Her voice carries through the room. Acoustics are great in here, yeah?

There's a brief upnod to Phin — a thanks, for his offer of help, even though it wasn't made to her. She begins collecting all of her things — her loaned-out tweezers, her toiletry kit, the bag with all her clothes, her swimsuit that's been hanging over the stalls. She comes around the corner to pick up the last two, which unfortunately puts her right in line with Holtz. And his bare ass. One corner of her mouth twitches. There's something muttered under breath — a note of disapproval, judging by the barely audible tone. (Really, with her overdeveloped sense of modesty in comparison to the rest of her fellow pilots, it's a wonder she hasn't had a stroke by now. Or maybe a good cry, after one too many unwelcome sights in their co-ed berths.) "I'll see all of you at the games tomorrow," she says, excusing herself quickly — quickly enough that maybe, just maybe, she might make it through the hatch before anyone notices the red color creeping into the tips of her ears.

"That's not my orders, sir." Lleufer says to the Major, his baritone raised a bit to make it carry. Crazy MP jarhead, following his orders, imagine that. About got him eaten up by wolves. Aerilons are like that though. Piff. To Phin he nods, "Thanks. Much appreciated. I hope to ditch this baby soon. Practice walking with a cane as much as I can stand it." Push, push, do a bit more.

"You should join the sparring contest, Centerfold," Phin says, as he tugs his tank top over his head. Pants were first. "Storm's going to, obviously, but I think I'd get leveled pretty fast. Wing's gotta represent." An inclination of his head to Atalanta. "Later, sir."

Holtz yanks on a pair of boxers, turning to Phin a few lockers down before shooting a glance out the door after the now-vanished Atia. "She say somethin'?", he asks, brow furrowed slightly. A nod of reluctant acknowledgment goes to the injured MP. "Of course, Sergeant. Too bad." Pants are up next, and then he yanks a black t-shirt over his tattooed torso. He snorts in amusement back at his fellow Viper pilot. "Well, someone's got to keep it from being a Marine party."

Showering doesn't take too terribly long. Hair, body… shave the areas that call for it. Very sparing Maia is with her scented body wash, but it does intrude on the room. It was a quick shower, but thorough, and when she steps back out, she's got her towel wrapped around her. "Sparring?" Oh yeah, that perks her right up and she grins to Phin. He knows her all too well. "I'll join the sparring event." Her brows arch as Holtz is getting dressed, but she catches sight of the tattoos. "What ink do you have?" She's got none yet. Reaching for her bag of clean clothes, she looks back at Lleu. "I can help anytime you need."

The 'Marine Party' comment of course makes Lleufer look amused. Damn jarheads, smug bastards. "Wish I could participate. If I have leave to go watch, I will." Lleu glances down to his left hand in the sling and tries to close his fingers, see if he can very carefully make a fist. Ugh.. no, two of his fingers just won't curl, makes things pull in sickening ways to try but doeesn't budge them. He sighs, looks elsewhere and notices Maia coming back out, "Thanks, appreciate that. Hopefully the docs will let me start hitt'n the pool soon to work out. Should make good progress then."

Phin's own ink is just on his right arm, so it's as on display now that he's dressed as it was when he wasn't. He gets his shoes out of his locker last, closes it up, and heads over to a bench to being tying them on. "Those direwolves are nasty," he says emphatically to Lleufer. "I'm glad they stick clear of the settlement. I haven't been too far from Sheridan, personally. Spent a little time out at the river near the settlement, but that's as far as I've gone."

The ink on Holtz's chest and upper arms is covered when he pulls the t-shirt on, but the various designs on his hands and lower arms is still visible. "Back home, tattoos are like… your life's story book, I guess you could say," he responds with a thin smile. "Each one is significant, yeah?" He doesn't clarify further, but in fairness, explaining all of the various images would take no small amount of time. The shaving kit and his wayward towels are shoved into a slightly larger bag, and he turns towards the exit. "Evenin'," he says, with a nod to the group. "Hope you're back on your feet soon, Sergeant." And then he's off for the hatch.

Lleufer smiles, "Aside from a few challenges, Piraeus is sweet. Beautiful, good hunting, wonderful water. Go down there every leaveday I get. Noth'n like hunting up your own supper, swimm'n in a crisp, cool mountain pool, then laying yourself out in the afternoon sun for a doze and some tan." Which he clearly gets plenty of. "They won't keep me from going back but aye, they're to be respected." The Marine MP listens to the others speaking of their ink. He's curious about it, but doesn't offer to show any of his own, if he has tats. He gives Holtz a nod, "Thank you, sir. Plann'n on it."

"I hit the pool as often as I can. Have to keep my bets up with Grippa. We have this whole laundry bet, but somehow I always lose." Maia's lips quirk in amusement. Pulling out more clothes, beginning with another set of matching underthings, this time in red, she keeps the towel on as she pulls on the lower half of the set. "Wolves? That's what happened to you?" Ew… "I've gone out to.. ah.. the lake a few times, never thought to take a weapon with me. I've been fishing a few times though, was a blast." Dropping her towel over the door of her locker, she puts her bra on. "Life story hmm?" Seeing what she can of them she nods, but doesn't ask to see the ones he covers.

"Yeah, the place is amazing. That it was out here, and good for human habitation even though nobody on the Colonies knew about it for…gods knows how long," Phin says. To Maia, he shrugs. "I've been fishing a few times, never run into any trouble. I usually take a knife, but that's just for gutting." He might take note of her colorful underwear. He just might. But he manages not to gawk. "They've probably got territories of their own. Where'd you run into the ones you tangled with?" That question to Lleu.

"Yeah. Each symbol, each image has its own meaning, and even where you get them on your body is significant," Holtz affirms, turning around just long enough as he nears the hatch to answer Maia's question. He hefts his duffel bag onto his shoulder. "See you all at the games tomorrow, I hope?" And then he turns and steps through the heavy metal door.

Holtz leaves, heading toward the Aft Corridor [AC].

The Aerilon MP eyes Maia, "You are /supposed/ to not go out alone, nor unarmed. So yes, I do suggest you go armed and take at least one buddy with you, Lieutenant. Just like you flyboys 'n girls going out in your birdies, you don't go without your guns or teammate." Not that Lleufer Nobody came down here to chastise officers, but you know, security is his thing. "Lots of life down there we haven't documented yet and know little or nothing about. Several sizable preditors." He gives Phin a nod, checks his chrono because he's overdue to get back to his duty station, "They do, but they drift with their food. No larger preditor can stay in a given area for long or they'll hunt it out. Same with prey animals with grazing, browsing. So they have to keep moving." Alas, Lleu'll probably not be at the games unless he's cleared to go down and only watch. "I'm going to head on up or I'll be late." That last to Phin, "I'll park 'n fold my chair at the bottom of the stairs, all right? Drop it off up at the Hub?" Lleu reaches around with his good hand to pat the cane he's got tucked in at an angle behind the chair in a sleeve, "It'll take me a while to get up those steps, one hoof'n it at a time." He powers up his chair to start turning it around so he can head out.

"I'm good to roll, Sarge," Phin says. Boots on, he stands and gets ready to follow the Marine out of the Head. "Later, Storm. Centerfold." To Holtz who left ahead of him, and a parting wave to Maia.

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