AWD #316: Lesson One - Hardware
Lesson One - Hardware
Summary: Rakes' first wirelo lesson for Dreyer finds itself a peanut gallery.
Date: 03/05/2016 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: Redundancy in the Laundry, The (Cross)Training Begins
Dreyer Knox Lleufer Rakes Randy 
Marine Enlisted Berthings
Housing for a whole company of Marines plus headquarters support staff requires more than one hundred bunks for the Marines' enlisted personnel. Divided into two primary bunkhouses, each one holds sixty bunks, one bunk stacked over another against the wall with a table between each row and a thin bulkhead between the sections. Rather than the blue curtains of the naval enlisted, each bunk has a dark green barrier with the crest of the CMC done in black. The lockers for the Marines are triple the size of the Navy's allowances, each locker holding a Marine's personal bodyarmor and several different sets of uniforms plus combat webbing and helmet. The space physically provided in the lockers might be larger, but the allowance for personal space is less, though the drawers beneath each bunk help alleviate the problem somewhat.
Fri Nov 18 2005 (AWD #316)

The trick to learning things with marines is practical exercises and instruction, hands-on training instead of theoretic. The rhetoric could make the marine but above all the marine is a tactile creature more times than not, so Corporal Demi Rakes is busying her hands with attaching a long-range antenna to a small radio. The radio itself is the size of her forearm and shaped much like a heavy, oversized brick. It has its scuff marks and light dents, and has more than likely seen some things. There's a small interface at one end and she glances at it, next to the port where the antenna is being forced into place. She grimaces with the effort, pauses, and lifts the antenna to stare at the connection. This is all done in her bunk, she herself dressed for off-duty in an old set of camos. Some of her Pre-Warday Specials. The floor next to her has her boots and, more importantly, other radio equipment surrounding her this afternoon.

After some assigned PT, Dreyer rushed through his shower. Normally he might take his time, enjoy the hot water and company… Y'know the drill. Today, however, he knew that Rakes was going to check out some equipment to go over. To start his training, as signed off on by the XO. It means the man still has the faint warmth and damp about him as he steps into the barracks; attired in off-duties and with towel around his shoulders. His hair is already sticking at odd angles from a towel dry and he hasn't bothered to shave… leaving him with a day's worth of stubble, at least. It's a fairly straight path to Rakes' bunk and he drags over a chair from one of the tables to plop down into it. "Thank you again for this. Really."

Rakes smells the entrance of someone freshly showered before she actually sees them, and it turns out to be Dreyer of all people. It brings about a smile, sure, but most importantly she twists her lifted left hand until the wrist is in the light and that makes it easier for her to read the time on an old wrist-chrono. Her lips buzz with a soft 'mm'. "Oh, you're welcome. I should've checked to make sure all of this worked beforehand, but you caught me red-handed. Failure on my part." She sticks her tongue out, biting down just behind the tip and gesturing with the antenna for him to take a seat pretty much anywhere. Tongue in, mouth open, she adds, "You smell like soap. Ready?"

The chair seems good enough for the moment. Rakes + Radio Equipment + Dreyer would make for a crowded bunk. If the man is bothered by the lack of 'readiness,' he doesn't show it. In fact, he just shrugs. "I'd say that's good experience for me, too. Shit don't work sometimes. If I can start seeing how you check it out and fix the fiddly stuff, all the better, right?" His boots aren't quite laced yet, but he leans forward to do just that as the JTAC continues her fiddling. There's a glance up at the last and a sort of lopsided smirk. "Figured you'd prefer soap-smell over sweaty-man-smell."

Rakes turns from pointing the antenna at the chair to rubbing the folded upper end into her hair, searching, seeking and then destroying an errant itch. She knits her eyebrows at the feeling, almost rolling her eyes with the temporary relief and lasting pleasure. But, conversation, she blinks back into focus easily enough and offers a nod. "There's only so much jury-rigging you can do, too, out in the field. More times than not, our lifeline, becomes a brick." She gestures to the small baby-sized radio in her cross-legged lap as she sits at the edge of her bunk. There's a quick smile. The folded long-range antenna is stuck into place after licking its tip and then sat down with the few other radios at her disposal, already assembled. They range in size. "So we end up carrying extra handsets, headsets, antennas, batteries, depending on the mission. It sucks. Anyways, mister soapy-guy. Know the generalized basic components of radio equipment? One is a transmitter."

The path of the antenna in its temporary duty as a head scratcher is tracked by blue eyes, but they drop to focus on the equipment itself. Dreyer finishes lacing one shoe and shifts on the chair to draw his knee up and hook heel on the edge of the seat. "I mean, mostly. I remember playing with some radios as a kid and I've seen them used in field ops. But if you wanted me to name like, technical parts or crack one open and explain how this or that works… I'm at a loss."

Randy's bunk has been closed off for awhile and awfully quiet. It's like she fell into a hole and never came out…a hole that has the Marines insignia on it and is rectangular. She rubs her eyes with one hand and reaches with her other to pull the barrier open about a half a foot, not keen on bursting out of bed apparently.

The explanation on Rakes' part is easy and straight-forward. The radio equipment establishes communication between at least two separate stations. The path that this signal follows through the air is called a radio link. The link itself consists of seven components: transmitter, power supply, the transmission lines sent on a transmitting antenna, a propagation path, receiving antenna and finally a powered receiver. "So, it makes something of a loop." As the JTAC explains each fundamental component, she points and gestures to each section on the radios. As far as a propagation path is concerned, she slowly waves her hands in the air and makes whooshing noises. In the middle of a whoosh, she looks behind Dreyer and then left, upwards, leans forward and stares at the opening of a bunk. Huh. Awkward. She lowers her hands.

It's the bunk over his own that opens, in fact. And Dreyer doesn't miss this fact. He casts a sideways look thataway down the row, but largely keeps his focus on Rakes. While she explains and points out components, he works on lacing up his other boot. "Alright. So it's… a lot of complicated stuff under the hood, but fairly basic as far as we're concerned. Once or if the connection is made, I guess. It's getting it made sometimes that's the hard part, if I recall from one training op I did. Signal was shit."

Randy pulls the barrier open further, peeking her head out of her bunk. Her hair, once tied back is now in shambles as if it tried to escape bondage while she slept. She lifts a hand to acknowledge them and smiles slightly. "Just waking up," she says apologetically, presumably for distracting from the lesson. Drawn like a moth to a flame though, she listens on. A little smirk appears at Dreyer's summation of Rakes' description.

"Pretty simple in general, yep. You can build most of the components out of junk if need be, like a transmitter or receiver. You just need to remember the concept behind it all. The real complicated part is all the techno-babble I can hit you with pertaining to, but sure as the Lords breathe, frequencies and wavelengths, grounding, general data communications. We're doing things like welcoming a sleeping beauty into our midst." Rakes takes the opportunity to gesture upwards to the awaking Randy. It appears the JTAC is the only one with normal hair for the time being and, in a fit of self-consciousness, idly rubs fingers through her hair. It's been cut to her chin. She holds up a small, more personal radio. "This is one of the team radios. Antenna's right here, battery, it's both transmitter and receiver like any of our radios, and handset. You can take it apart and put it back together as you want. All the connections are easy to figure out," she offers it across, "Don't even need to fight it."

There's another glance back towards Randy and Dreyer shrugs. "She should know better than to try to get her beauty sleep at this hour." His voice is pitched up just a bit, in an effort to tease the engineer. Then it's back to paying attention, leaning in to regard the radio being held up. He takes it, turns it over in his hands. "So really just dial in to the right channel and you're good to go? How long did it take you to know how to repair or even build one if need be?"

"I used to do that. It's fun," Randy interrupts again without thinking. She squinches her eyes like a kid who has just stepped on a squeaking board on their way to their bedroom at 3am. She pushes herself into a seated position, revealing that she's in a Caprica University hoodie. At the mention of her beauty sleep, Randy offers a soft smile, "It takes a lot to look this devastatingly good. It takes dedication."

It looks much like any other civilian handheld radio. However, it's sure to have military hardware built into it. Example, standard encryptions and GPS capabilities. "Yeah, once they're filled with the information- ideally, pre-mission- they're good to go. Just flip to the appropriate channel and you're good. You'll hear everyone else on that specified one. So that's an integrated intra-squad radio. The most you'll be using it for is between fireteams and squads, ideally just for team and squad leaders but I've seen it issued to every boot with a rifle in an infantry platoon before. Anyways, I don't care for these but only because I was in hot mountains when I first used them. The battery life was piss-poor and being in deep valleys limited their range, but…

"A few weeks, because I was dedicated," Rakes glances up to Randy with a clipped smirk, "And stupid enough to take things apart and see how they ticked. We'll do the same, eventually. On the other hand, I guess I could do the beauty sleep in order to catch up to you sergeant-types."

Taking a sort of lounge in his chair, one boot still perched up on the edge of the seat, Dreyer looks over the handset. He's used one before, likely, in passing, so this is more of a review. Or at least more in-depth than the likely 'here, push this button to make it go' he'd have gotten before. There is a brief temptation to open it up, but he keeps his fingers where proper. On buttons and knob. The ones on the radio that is. At Rakes' last comment, he snorts. "This isn't beauty sleep. This is pure, hard work." Hey, if they get to brag a bit, so does he.

<FS3> Randy rolls Body: Success.

Randy drops down from the upper bunk with a thump but with no accounting for graceful lady-likeness. She's got on some navy colored sweatpants and apparently sleeps in crew socks, at least this time. They've worked themselves down her foot a little, making her look like she's got bigger floppier feet than she really does. It's a quick trudge to her locker (the one that is traditionally the lower bunkee's) and opens it up to grab a brush. "Sleep can be hard work." She starts to tug the brush through her tangles, pursing her lips slightly as she powers through it.

"Don't know how the guys normally stationed around here do it." because Rakes sure doesn't find any of this normal when she used to sleep in a regular bed regularly. It may not have been hers but the look she wears right now: she doesn't care, the Battlestar is different. She rubs her jaw thoughtfully, looking from one to the other; her resting bitch face of an expression has easily faded into general amusement. She blinks. Back on track, she points at the larger, baby-sized radio. "That's the usual for us to carry. Again, you can give that to key leaders too but at the minimum it's- ah- two radios per platoon. There's more power with the greater size, and even easier if you extend the long-whip, the antenna, to its full length. We'll go over specifications later though. For now it's just breaking down the components, putting them together, basic familiarization and refresher."

"Mostly by getting under our CO's nerves and being assigned a lot of PT," Dreyer admits, handily. The man hasn't had any extensive discipline assigned him, but there's always the joys of being a mouthy frakker who gets assigned extra laps or pushups. He glances behind him towards Randy before looking back to his 'instructor.' "More power as in actual… energy to it, or more power as in range?" A pause as he leans forward to draw the bigger radio nearer. "Or both?"

Randy rolls her eyes when Dreyer looks back at her and tosses the brush into the locker. "You try carrying all of the EOD gear on top of the standard. Those frakking endurance hikes are murder." She doesn't mention her pint sized physique is not really built like an ant. "But yeah. He's right. That too." She bows at the waist so she can throw her hair back and tie it with one she has around her wrist.

Mmm. It's another noise from one Demi Rakes. It's a noncommittal thing, just a hum, as she looks at the radios. Next to her, she begins to sort through different kinds of handsets and earpieces able to be matched and paired with the aforementioned radios. More power as in actual energy? She glances up towards Dreyer. More power as in range? She raises an eyebrow. When he asks if it's both, she smiles. "Bingo," she answers. More power, more range, but of course there are limits too. She leans forward with an elbow at the knee and looks sidelong in Randy's direction. "I'll carry your weight if you can't hang with us. You'd owe me though."

There's a hint of relief on Dreyer's features as it seems he's getting it. He is an MP. It would stand to reason that he might worry about picking up something like this. Even if, as Rakes had once pointed out, it's likely not as intensive as his law studies. "Hey, you're the one who went into a position that requires carrying a lot of shit," Anton points out to Randy, leaning back to squint at her. "You could've gone an easier route. Like rifleman. Easy peasy."

Randy is over at her locker in a pair of navy blue sweatpants and a Caprica University hoodie. "Tru-" she is about to admit to Dreyer when she catches Rakes' comment, which draws her immediate attention. A light flush comes to her cheeks and she purses her lips as she tilts her head. "I was just-," Miss Flustered Grumpy Pants stops herself and turns towards her locker to busy herself with something or other.

Rakes is on her bunk, half-dressed and surrounded by Radio Shit(tm). Some of it has spilled out onto the flooring, too, because it all comes in onesies and twosies. Her attention is more on the conversation though even if her fingers are fiddling with the coiled form of a hand mic's cord. "Just owing me a favor looks like," quips the JTAC before holding up the baby-sized radio. She then places it down and unfolds her legs to both stand up and lazily slide it towards Dreyer. He gets to play with that next. "Yeah, rifleman. Then all you'd have to worry about is, like, how to wipe your ass and the occasional detainee search." She goes for her locker, for showering things.

The smaller radio is tossed back onto Rakes' bunk and Dreyer leans forward on his chair to grab the larger one. The man is freshly showered himself, in off-duties, and with towel still draped across his shoulders. He pulls the larger radio into his lap, testing its heft. "So what are the most common issues you run into?" This, directed to Rakes as she moves around. "Other than signal, obviously. Like, with the equipment itself. If I were to poke around the library for some leisurely reading," there's that grin, "what wouldn't be a waste of my time?"

ENTER THE MIGHTY KN- Nah, just a guy. Knox pushes through the hatch and shuts it behind him as heheads for his own bottom bunk. The guy looks towards Randy while she tries to hide from something. Huh. Then towards Rakes? He gives her a 'what did you do???' look. "Rakes. You don't get to dissect my family members in the frakkin bunkhouse. This shit ain't funny, you little troll-ette." Fistshake with his joking remark. He continues on to his bunk and grabs a paperback. Something dogeared ten times. He's clearly off-duty, too. Sweatpants, tanks, running shoes, empty bucket of fraks.

"Unfortunately. I have already have to worry about how to wipe my own ass, so I already have half the qualifications, depending on who you talk to." Randy fumbles a little bit when Knox enters the hatch. She glances over at Knox, still holding the expression she had a moment ago, only mixed in with that naked puzzled look as if she doesn't know what to make of him. Then she turns to look over at Rakes and a small smile returns, "Right. You would just love it, having a sergeant under your thumb." She reaches out to close her locker and then pads over in Knox's wake. With her hands stuffed in her hoodie pockets, she lets her eyes graze over all of the gear laid out.

Rakes is innocent of all charges. She's in the middle of grabbing a towel when she turns to answer Dreyer and catches Knox eyeballing her as if she did something wrong. So she responds with a 'what did I do?' look right back at him. "Don't be so jealous," she answers him, smiling. The smile turns back to Anton's questioning. "In general, it's always weight. You feel it sooner than later. It's usually packed away, too, so have fun trying to change channels on the move. So what we usually do is have it set for higher levels of command to monitor and the handhelds," she signed out more than one version to play with, "For company and lower, or specialty situations. Because a JTAC is still different due to duty. We have to swap freqs on the fly sometimes. You have to be quick on your feet."

It turns out that the Corporal of the four has a list already made of optional reading. She passes over the slip of paper to Dreyer before reaching blindly behind her to grab a satchel of hygiene items. The towel is tossed over her shoulder. It's bright and loud and pink. Demi can do no wrong. She looks at her thumbs then, looks at Randy, looks at the other woman's feet, and then at her thumbs. She counts the three of them out, nods and begins heading for the head. "I've got three right now. And I love it. I'll be back in a bit!"

There's a look towards Knox as he enters. Dreyer has heard of the Six aboard, but hasn't previously had a chance to actually meet him. It's a long moment of studying the JTAC. There's no sense of fear or hatred there; just curiousity. When Randy and Rakes speak up again, he's brought back into the moment and sets the larger radio aside to grab another of the models. But then, oh! A paper. Dreyer gives it a glance over and tucks it into his pocket. He'll end up in the library later to pull books, for certain. Right now, he's fiddling. Mostly. After Rakes, there's a: "Well if you need help in the showers, just gimme a shout." But only once she's too far to actually smack the cheeky grin off his face.

Lleufer arrives, coming off his MP duty shift and dressed accordingly with black brassard on his right arm above the elbow. Bold white block letters set on the brassard read MP for Military Police. A black, leather police-style gunbelt is around his waist, with handcuffs, a nightstick, flashlight but no pistol as he's checked his sidearm in at the Security Hub when he got off shift. He glances at the others who are gathered about as he starts to remove his belt full of duty gear, "Hey, all."

"Yeah, last thing I want is you playing with my internals on a bredspread. Depending on how much you enjoy it, it might even be frat." There's an image for Rakes to shower with. Awwwyeah. Knox gives her a big ol thumbs up. And then she's departing. The skinjob looks to Dreyer and lofts a brow. "Damn, Corporal. What did you do to deserve Rakes lecturing you?" He stuffs the paperback into his pocket and reaches out to bump Lleu's fist on the pass.

The MP with the slightly lopsided face grins with the side that still works right, "Hey, Knox. Good to see you not covered with mud and smelling like a pig, for a change. Have anymore interesting leads on that upcoming mission you mentioned? We going to have a jump qual scheduled before hand? I'm sure they'd like me to refresh and I could use it." Lleufer removes his brassard and rolls it up, his belt hung over his shoulder until he gets to his bunk to stow his gear.

Randy is quick enough on the uptake to smile at what Rakes responds with, but not enough to /not/ smile. It takes Dreyer's comments to shake her back into the moment. "He's just learning," Randy's tone is slightly flat, well for an Aquarian it is when the accent lends itself to a melodic quality already.

"Sergeant, actually," Dreyer corrects Knox, easily. In that 'but it doesn't really matter' sort of way. If anything, it could be seen as a boost for Demi's ego. He grabs a couple of the smaller handset models, leaning back in the chair he's in (which is totally blocking that side of the 'aisle' to an extent. Either go around the table or squeeze by, folks!) and putting boots on the edge of Rakes' bunk. "She's teaching me radio shit. Talked to the XO, figured some cross-training might be useful." His hair is starting to dry, but it hasn't been tended to… so it just sticks at odd angles. At Randy's comment, he waves his hand. "Just learning. You make it sound like I'm back in boot or something."

"Smelling like a pig is what I do best, Lleu. It means I've een working. If I've been working, then its good for everyone. Tis the smell is success." Knox grins, allowing himself just a bit of pride and ego for being a Marine. One day he might even claim to piss excellence. "No, nothing on what's happening yet. At this point I know pretty much what you all do." The guy then looks to Randy and seems surprised. Then to Dreyer. "Oh, sorry. That's pretty cool, though. Makes sense. More people with radio skills won't hurt us at all. She's a good person to learn from." Back to Randy, Coop looks her way. "You learning too?"

"I didn't say that," Randy points out to Dreyer. "You just made it sound like you're back in boot. I meant it more like you didn't do anything wrong…given what Knox said?" She indicates Knox with her hand as if pointing at him would make it any clearer to Dreyer. "Hermes' balls," she mutters and then looks over at Knox for a moment before answering, "No. Intruding same as you." She doesn't offer her name straight up. At least, there's a noticeable hesitation. "My name's Randy."

Ynyr grins at Knox's antics, "All right. I'll keep an eye out for anything posted." You can bet the Aerlion is keen to get boots on the ground of his homeworld again. Lleu heads on around to his own bunk to stow his things and strip off his outer uniform shirt, down to his tanks. He gets his boots off as well and closes up his locker before he climbs on up to the top bunk to settle in with a book to read. Some of his attention is for what the others are talking about or doing.

Handwave. "No apologies. Outside of official duty, we're all just unlucky sods, right?" Or lucky, depending on how one looks at it. Ever feel jealous of those who went up in a puff of smoke? Dreyer remains put, letting things go on around him. "Rakes is good people. Not used to a posting like this." Nor is he, in some ways, but Anton has at least served on a Battlestar before. "So we're helping each other out. You're the, uh-" he looks up at Knox, a furrow forming between his brows. "Whaddya prefer to be called? I don't wanna be seen as some sort of… well, I guess racist isn't the term." Gotta be human for that, right? Then there's a snort for the engineer and Dreyer puts down the radios, getting to his feet and making his way for his locker. Which requires going past Randy. "Y'know having another marine jump to your defense makes a person look guilty, right? MP rules-" a gesture with towel towards Lleufer. "He knows."

Knox looks over Randy a moment and nods. "Knox. Or you can call me Coop. Whatever works, except when we're out in the field obviously." Ranks rein and all that. He moves out of the way for Dreyer to get past and the guy gives a casual shrug. "I think it isn't unhealthy to think of the two groups as races. It's true. Hating me doesn't make a person a racist, just scared. Or hurt. Hell, the Cylon killed a lot of my friends. People I consider family. I'm the open wound for some people. So you can call me a six or a canner or a skinjob or whatever you want. Seems a lot of the Marines don't take kindly to the skinjob term, though, so be careful. Otherwise, just Coop Knox. I'm open for questions, too, if you want. I try not to hide anything I can speak about. Some stuff is classified by command, though."

"Leave me out of it. I don't even know what you are talking about." Lleufer's baritone is a bit more slurred than usual because he's tired. He closes the book he was going to read and stuffs it beneath his mattress instead. The MP yawns, rubs his achy left leg - scar tissue is a bitch sometimes, then he rolls over and turns his back to the room to catch some shuteye. They can be as noisy as they like, he won't care. Ynyr can sleep anywhere. Even Santos Ridge.

"Does he have your balls too?" Randy asks and then beams up at Dreyer as he passes. Her attention falls back on Knox. "Well, genus is the word for species. I don't know, genuphobic?" which if she were a psychologist, she would know it's actually already a phobia of knees. "I just don't know what I expected. You're kind of boringly human…everywhere?" The curiosity just blurts out from her lips as if her brain is on stupid auto-pilot. "Scratch that."

"I don't hate ya, I just wanna make sure calling you a Cylon or skinjob won't get you reporting me to the brass." Dreyer tugs open his locker, tosses the towel in. He has more 'things' than some. There's photos and a few paperbacks on the lower bunk (his), even. Someone who was fortunate enough to not lose all material things. The conversation is carried as a casual, easy thing. There's no animosity, just a legit curious nature. In some ways, he likely comes across younger than he is. But all the queries seem to get pushed towards having a better handling on things. Which, really, is a mature way of being. "Well, Coop Knox," there's bemusement there as he turns and offers a hand out towards the Six. "Anton Dreyer. Spent a while guarding gates on Piraeus. Never know when a rabbit might try to get on base." There's a roll of his eyes in Randy's direction. "That's backwards, y'know. If I needed your help, you'd have a right to question my manhood. As it is-" He shrugs.

Knox shrugs to Randy. "I guess it applies? It isn't something I spend a lot of time worrying out." Though her remark about being human everywhere gets a laugh. "All depends on who you ask. Now if you ask Afton," the PJ he's rumored to be dating, "she might say no." He leans against the bunkframes and relaxes with hands in his pockets. "No, I doubt it would lead to reporting. I'm no more protected than you are. I can call you names all day with the same consequences." he reaches out to take the hand and shakes it firmly. "Well met. I love P. Honestly if this damned war ever ends it's probably where I'd ask to be let off. Great weather, I like the light, nobody else to try and give me orders…" he trails with a chuckle.

"You missed the fact that I was implying you needed a his help to point out the rules which doesn't need me in any part of the equation," Randy tries to get out to Dreyer under the normal volume level of the conversation. "Sure," Randy says with a little smile, utterly unconvinced. It's obvious in her eyes. "I bet every guy says that about her girl who says that about her guy." The longer her sentence is the more boring it sounds which by Randy's tone is exactly what she's going for. "Moving on," she brightens a little as if being a dude is forgiven which apparently extends to dude robots too. "I have about a billion and one questions…" she says, worrying her lip with the mental restraint it's requiring to not bust out and ask, "Do you dream?" Too late. The engineer is excited.

"Piraeus is…" Dreyer shrugs, just a bit, moving to sit on his bunk. Randy may have the lower bunk's locker, but he's got the bunk itself. Hashtag winning. "I love and hate it, but if you like nature it's a pretty swell place to be." The MP slouches back, propped up on his elbows. "Nah, I was just pointing out that he knows the rules. In case you try to go around me and pretend you forgot." The banter is easy, but it's one of those things the Caprican just seems good at. The engineer's question for Knox earns a snicker. "Does he dream. Because it wouldn't be obvious if they laid there, eyes open all night." But then he's imagining just that and snickering further.

Coop doesn't seem baited by Randy's reply. Nope, the guy just lets it go. Knox seems to have that sort of calm air about him that's hard to phase or put a dent in. The question does get a low smirk and a nod. "I do. Mostly like you do. I get that question a lot. Dreyer is partially right. I didn't used to have to sleep. I could just lay there, like he said, eyes open." A one-shouldered shrug crosses him. "Over time I learned to sleep. I even dream. Given what I remember of dreams, I think its the same things you do. Confronting doubts and fears, reconciling who and what I am, faces of people I know or have known. At this point I need to sleep only a little less than most people, but I gotta sleep every night if I can. I don't get fatigued the same way, but my head gets very jumbled and its hard to focus."

Randy grits her teeth at the sound of Dreyer's voice and then the snicker. Perhaps it's the fact that he's /good/ at the banter, or the fact that she feels she's not smart enough to figure out if he's actually dimwitted instead. Perhaps she's just cranky from her coma-nap. "/Did/ /I/ /say/ /sleep/?" she mouths carefully for Dreyer as if sounding out vowels for a four year old learning the alphabet. As for Knox, she tries hard to slough off the frustrated demeanor as she listens to him. "I don't know if my dreams are so definitive. Perhaps it's different for everyone. Their dreams. Hmm. Sorry. I don't mean to treat you like a lab rat but, if you ever have any questions about what it's like to be a human, I owe you an answer." She offers a little grin and a shrug.

"See. That's just creepy. Knew a guy in boot who learned to sleep with his eyes open." Dreyer shudders, in a slightly overstated way. "The eyes just go… weird. It's not right." He does lean out from his bunk, just a bit, to look towards Knox. "Jumbled like how? Is this something we oughta watch out for on operations? Is it like when someone overloads themselves on stims?" Pause. "What do stims do to you anyway?" As for Randy? Well. In this moment, at least, he's just ignoring her.

Coop considers the reply from Randy with a few nods. "The psychologists I've spoken to seem to have similar interests. That's how they explained normal human sleep and what the mind does, even on a subconscious level. One lady theorized that being around humanity has actually made me more human because I'm no longer part of a collective minds of self, but I'm surrounded by differences. The more I regret and deal with, the harder it is for me to reconcile. So I think about it. But nah, questions about being human?" Coop chuckles, his voice very quiet. "I know what I need to know. I don't usually like to pry, just observe." So Knox is a people watcher. Kinda creepy for a Cylon. Maybe more-so for a JTAC. Looking to Dreyer, Knox lifts his hand in a staying motion. "Slow your roll, turbo. Jumbled like its hard to focus. I don't forget who I am or what I'm fighting for. If I have, you might have a very big problem - a Six with intimate knowledge of the ship, crew, and location of Piraeus. …Well, general direction of it. As for stims? Same thing they do to you. Jack you up and make you feel like your heart is about to thunder across the room."

Being ignored by Dreyer seems just fine by his bunk mate. She leaves the whole thread of that conversation (or what have you) on the side as her interest takes hold. "Alright then. Permission to stare granted. Just not while I'm showering or if you hear any noises coming from my rack," she flashes a toothy smile.

"Well, jumbled can mean a lot of things, but in- er… I mean," Dreyer looks flustered for a moment. How do you compare someone to a computer without it sounding rude? Even if it is a legit comparison? So he just gliiiiides on past into the stim explanation. "Alcohol, too, I take it? So you might as well be human then except… I mean. The rest of us don't get another chance if we die. Not that you would, specifically, but possibl-" He reaches up to the edge of the bunk and hauls himself upright. "Well. Then. This is my call to go and hit the gym." There's a loooooong look in Randy's direction and the man just shakes his head and ducks on out.

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