AWD #340: Line Art
Line Art
Summary: Dell hunts down the CAG about a tattoo request…
Date: 27/05/2016 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None
Dell Epiphany 
Officer's Lounge
The lounge at the bar, an afterthought built onto the main structure, is a little more classy. This is probably a function of the fact that the members of CIDSR and some of the ranking officers wanted a place that was not as prone to barfights. Some of the research ships look to have been looted to bring down nicer couches and other seating. Proper floorlamps and even even a felt-covered card table have been set towards the back and a brave soul even donated a painting. The lighting is darker and the mood is more calm here. The room is restricted, and policed by bouncers, to all commissioned officers and CIDSR personnel only. Rowdy behavior is not permitted.
Mon Dec 12 2005 (AWD #340)

It's still a rarity, but the CAG is slowly beginning to scrape out more 'me' time for herself. Maybe having an office is making the workload easier. Maybe she's just realized how damn little the past CAGs did and that she can ease off a bit and still look better in comparison. Or maybe, just maybe, the newly minted Major Arrington is having herself a private little promotion party. Whatever the case may be, she's currently the only one tucked away in the 'Officer's' Lounge of Charlie's. The main bar is as busy as always, with a large crowd of marines pushing and shoving around the pool tables. Within the small, absent-minded room, the brunette sits at a sofa in her off-duties (no civvies for this one) with a plate of mozz sticks and a large pint of ale before her on he low table facing it. She's currently leaned back into the piece of furniture, holding aloft a book with a faded cover that reads 'Whispering River.'

Normally it'd be happenstance that Dell is in the drinking establishment the same time as Epiphany, but this time it seems to be designed. That is to say she seems to be looking for the CAG during these off duty hours, and it likely took nothing more than checking the shuttle manifest and asking around to find her. The rest of Charlie's is combed through and so she traverses further back into the Officer's lounge, toting an oblong hexagonal portfolio under one arm. It can never been good to approach a relaxing (newly minted) Major when she's so engrossed in reading a book. But Dell's never been accused of being smart. With a smack, the book drops into Epiphany's lap without any other preamble.

Thankfully, when the portfolio is dropped into her lap, Epiphany is holding neither drink nor food. She was, mind, reaching out for the appetizer. Thus, nothing of the sort spills. She does, however, drop the book she's reading atop the portfolio. "What the-" The initial exclamation is directed to the portfolio before she looks upward to find the Viper stick standing there as well. Epiphany blinks a couple of times before just arching a brow in question. At least they got an indulgent CAG, right?

"You want some ink done, right? That's my work. Can't really get pictures of the recent stuff, but some of it is walking around Orion." Dell reaches out to grab a hard back chair, spinning it around to straddle the seat and look expectantly at the other woman. "Bran has some and I'm about to do a piece on Butch."

There's an arch of brow as Dell explains. Epiphany sets her book to the side, giving up quickly on finding the page she was on. The woman rotates to sit forward, grabbing her beer as she flips open the portfolio. "I am," she offers after a sip, turning a page. "In honor of my daughter." Another page turned as she looks them over. "And before you worry-" another glance up, another brow arch. "I'm not a virgin to the gun." She sets down her beer and lifts a hand, tugging at her shirt over her left shoulder. It's pulled aside just enough to show a bit of the tiger lilies over the left side of her back.

Dell tips the chair forward on two legs, leaning in to get a closer look at the ink on the CAG's shoulder. The piece of furniture clunks noisily back to the floor as the jock settles back and there is a bit of a satisfied nod given to the flowers that smatter there. "I wouldn't worry so much as make you pay more." A smile snaps to Dell's lips. "I know something about memorium pieces. Got something particular in mind?"

"Paying is the tricky part," Epiphany admits, letting the fabric fall back as she returns to the portfolio. "I was shot down over Picon on War Day. Everything I owned that wasn't on me or in my Viper is still on Caprica. I've been working up a bit of bartering here, but-" There's an easy sort of shrug from the CAG before the portfolio is set on the low table. It frees her to pick up a mozz stick and take a bite. She chews, swallows, and sinks back into the sofa with her beer. "We devoted my daughter to Artemis. And she was always fond of the she-bear stories. I think something to do with a bear, perhaps."

"Then I guess you're just going to have to get creative, aren't you, sir?" Dell's lips twist a little sardonically as she reaches forward and flips open the book, paging through a few until she gets to a section that seems to be more about animals on various body parts. "What style are you looking for? And please don't say something girly on your lower back because I might just lose respect for you." Even though her tongue hasn't lost it's sharpness she seems a bit more cowed as the CAG talks further of her daughter.

"In spite of the flowers," Tiger-lilies, mind, being one of Artemis' symbols, "I do no go for just 'girly.'" Epiphany's tone is dry and she finishes eating the mozz stick, washing it down with beer. There's a glance to the pages revealed and the woman rolls her shoulders in a semblance of a shrug. "I haven't decided on those things yet. I know this is something I want to do, but I'm not nearly enough of an artist to know precisely what. Perhaps something with just… ahh," The CAG's eyes roll upward as she seeks out the right word. "…line-art, is it? No color."

"Alright. We can work with that. Black and grey." Dell flips the pages for the CAG again, no trouble being in the woman's personal space despite the spread in ranks. "Realism?" She points to an example. "Something more traditional?" There is another. "New school?" Which looks more cartoony.

Personal space is something one loses sight of pretty early on in a career such as theirs. It's not like bunk halls leave much room for it. You get used to it, too, being shoved into the cramped quarters of a Viper box office. And the poor Strikes, Epiphany's bunk is in with them. Like all aboard the ship (save for the Admiral), she shares berthings with her wing and the Strikes were the squadron with room to spare. There's another sip of beer as she looks over the options. The woman points, then, with free hand to the second. "That one. It's more… abstract. I like that. An idea more than-" She shakes her head, laughing as she grabs a cheese stick. "You probably hear this bullshit all the time."

A shrug rolls one of Dell's shoulders, like she can't be arsed to make the full gesture with both. "I guess it's a hazard of the trade. Listening to people blather on about the significance of a pinecone on their pecker. Or some twelve-year old enlisted giggling with her friends as they get matching hearts on their hips be cause their soooooo coooooool." The woman clears her throat, "But I'd never turn down a piece about a loved one. Do you want any, um.." Her forehead crinkles. "Lettering or anything."

"Hey, Enlisted have to come at a dime a dozen the way Cents go through them." It's dark humor, but it is what it is. Epiphany may be the CAG, but she has to help keep up those rivalries. The little things, that keep people going. "Means some are going to be cut from the same cloth." She looks to the portfolio again before leaning back once more. Moar cheese stick. It's terrible for you, but still somehow (in its own way) better than a lot of what's made in the Mess Hall. Sure, the Mess is fresh food, but when it's made in such large quantities… something is lost in translation. "I'm not sure. Would a name be amiss? Would it be strange to include, or should I have it be only the bear?"

"We'll start with just the bear, seeming how you don't even know how you're going to pay me yet. If we think it's lacking something, we can always add a banner to the background later. Where are you going to want to stick this thing?" Dell starts eyeing up the CAG like a piece of meat. It's not virginal flesh, but it's close so that means there are some tasty spots of ideal flesh for the artist.

Bare arms and presumably more, since she only showed the one place on her back. Epiphany doesn't balk under the gaze. Viper. Position or not, one must assume she has at least some bit of the banter — oft sexual as it is — beneath the outward, stoic appearance. "I could relieve you of sitting Alert for a few weeks." It's cheating, truly. "I need some idea of what you generally take as payment before I can begin figuring that out. As for where…" The woman leans forward again, setting down her beer lightly. Almost empty, sadly. She lays arms against knees, looking down at her limbs for a moment. Finally, she holds out her left arm a measure, palm-up. "What about here?" nodding, as she says it, to the inside of her forearm.

"Nothing duty related, if it's all the same to you, sir." Dell murmurs as she leans forward to take the woman's wrist, running a finger over the exposed flesh of the forearm, likely looking for things like scars or other obstacles. "Smokes, booze, smut. You could even mix in a couple orders of those greasy cheese things you're eating. If you want it here, it's relatively small. And we're not talking the Tauran rake and hammer style that Butch wants. Hold still." A piece of paper is pulled out of the back of the portfolio and laid over the CAG's arm, the general shape of her arm traced with a pencil pulled from behind Dell's ear.

"I've got some good things going here with the bartender. I'm sure I could leave note for you to have a certain amount of chits on my tab." Position has some perks. Being able to open a tab is one of them. One presumes she pays as she can. Maybe. Possibly. Epiphany doesn't fight being traced, no. She just watches. "Smut and cigarettes, can't help you with. Haven't got much of either." Not that she's judging, either. "Small is fine. I don't need some massive piece covering my chest. I also think, tattoo work or not, command might frown at me letting a pilot manhandle those parts."

Dell really just needs the vague perimeters of the CAG's arm, so the tracing is rather simple and rudimentary boundaries. The piece of paper is then pressed against the wood of her chair and the Jig pens Epiphany's name on the top for reference. "It's not Frat if you're married." Shortstack supplies the standard response, offering a bit of a smile again. "But what Command doesn't know won't hurt them." The paper gets folded and slipped back into the portfolio. "Gimme a couple days to draw something up. I can't make transfers anymore so you'll just have to trust I can then freehand it on your arm." There is a pause where a litany of expressions filter across Dell's face. "Thanks for letting me do this…for your…uhm, daughter." It's never been hard for Dell to spit out words, but that sentence needed effort.

"Yes, well. Most of us aren't fortunate enough to work with our spouse," Epiphany offers, tone briefly dry. She does snort a bit at 'What Command doesn't know,' as she herself is Command. Technically. It's hard to think of herself that way, even at the best of times. "Transfers?" It takes a moment to recall before there's the 'lightbulb' moment. "Right, right. You know, I forgot those are used. I was assuming freehand all along… Which means, Lieutenant, that I think you're in the clear." At the appreciation, her brow furrows and she looks down for a moment. The plate, with a few cheese sticks left, is nudged so that Dell can reach it. The CAG grabs her beer, instead. "Thank you for offering. I was starting to fear I'd have to go into marine country and hedge my bets."

Cheese sticks? Within reach of Dell? The CAG is lucky that she didn't pull back a bloody stump by the way Shortstack snags one off the plate and shoves the entire thing in her mouth. It's like she's been starved instead of getting her three squares a day. With a cheek pouched out with the gooey goodness she responds. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." Dell talks with her mouth full, chewing all the while. "You're just a person too, I don't know why people think you're not approachable." Nom Nom Nom. "Their might be an ink jockey in the Marines, but you're likely to get flash art that way. Meaning they have like..three things they can draw and you're likely to get the same cartoon bear that half their regimen has on their ass."

"It's not me specifically." At least, so Epiphany figures. "It's the weight of office. Tale as old as Kobol. Everyone avoids their CO." The woman sets down her beer glass, emptied, and reaches for the novel she'd been reading previously. Pages are flipped through in search of the one that had been interrupted upon Dell's arrival. "Who knows. I might take saying hello as a sign someone wants to…" She waves the book absently. "Oh, I don't know. Clean the head."

"Nah. You'd never do that to me." Dell says with some security in her voice, reaching out the snag the last mozz stick for the road. "I mean, no one wants to think that their tattoo artist just got done cleaning the toilet bowl." The last beaming smile is full of cheese as the woman collects her portfolio so can leave the CAG to her reading. "So a couple drinks on your tab and you let me borrow that book when I'm done, yeah? Deal?"

"Plus, I've found that when you keep your people happy, they tend to be more willing to do what you want when it needs to be done." Epiphany grins, a little. "Being a hard-ass is all well and good when it's a time of peace and nothing is going to rock you from your position and the worst thing your people might have to do is fly in some parade." There were other situations, but day-to-day prior the war… The book is glanced to; page finally found and dog-eared. "Sure. Sounds like a plan. I'll talk to the 'tender later."

Dell gives a little salute with half of a cheese stick. "Just remember, the more drunk I get on your cubit, the better the tattoo. Just saying." There is a quick wink and then the viper stick is off to start sketching. Then a pause and she turns back. "Not at the same time. Different times. Drinking and tattooing." Yeah. There, that cleared things up like mud.

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