AWD #113: Newbs
Summary: One newb, at least, and other non-Rooks of varying degrees. Phin takes a trip into the archives. Holtz returns from light duty. Ygraine brings snacks. And Lucasta arrives aboard the good ship Orion.
Date: 29/04/2013 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: Nah]
Holtz Lucasta Phin Ygraine 
Ready Room — Deck 2 — Battlestar Orion
Capable of seating every member of the wing with space to spare in its stadium organization, the Ready Room has more than two hundred seats and is the largest room on the ship dedicated to single briefings. Sections of desks were manufactured specifically for this and wrap the width of each level of seating, rolling leather seats positioned at even points through each row. The walls have the tenant squadrons' patches painted on individual panels as well as a Kill Board up to the left side of the dais and podium, the Training Board on the other side to log progress. At the rear hatch, on a barren section of wall, is the framed and cased photo of 'Bad Dog' Ruegger.
AWD #113

It's 'after hours,' at least as much as it gets aboard a battlestar, and Phin has the Ready Room to himself. He's got the lights turned down and is slouched comfortably in a chair, watching some flight footage of what looks like a pretty standard combat drill on a vid screen. Old flight footage. The timestamp reads '12.08.2004'.' Not even six months ago, but pre-Cylon Attacks on the colonies, so ancient stuff in a relative sense. He's got a yellow octagonal notepad out, though he's not really jotting anything down. Mostly he's just watching it play, and drinking from a cup of coffee.

After a week of light duty and leave on Piraeus, Holtz is finally back on board Orion, and is back in uniform and performing his usual duties as if he'd never left. He's going through a sheaf of papers as he enters the ready room, but he looks up with a curious squint when the room's dim lighting registers. The major looks up, his steps slowly carrying him down towards the front of the room as he watches the grainy footage on the screen.

Phin doesn't notice Holtz's entrance right away. The footage isn't terribly exciting. Pair of Vipers taking pot-shots at drones, with a Raptor escort over Piraeus. But he's absorbed in it nonetheless. It's from his own tapes, from back in the not-so-long-ago of his true Rook-dom. Not that he was ever a bad pilot. He came with a decent feel for flying that smoothed over some of the more common ensign-y bad habits. But there's a tentative quality to his handling and general 'trying really hard to follow the text book' look to it. He at least hits his drone, so there was that. His lead is much more polished. He was flying Ceres' wing for this particular venture from the archive, one might note, if they were the sort to notice such things.

Holtz's eyes flick from the images on the screen to the young lieutenant watching them from the seats. There's a quiet grunt from the major as he recognizes Phin, but after a moment his attention is back on the playback, and he watches as Phin and his leader zip through the air on their drills. He leans against a row of chairs, arms folding across his chest as he watches. Finally, his head turns back to the younger man. "She was a hell of a pilot," he murmurs as she pulls off a particularly breakneck maneuver, "but somehow I expected more from a skinjob, yeah?"

The grunt startles Phin a little, and he pauses the tape. His impulse seems to be to stop it entirely, though he leaves it up after Holtz's speaks. "Storm. Hey." Blue eyes flick back to the footage, and the frozen maneuver Ceres' Viper is paused in the midst of. "Yeah. She was a hell of a stick. Real smooth. Spent my first months aboard wishing I could fly like that. Haven't stopped, really." His own flying does show signs of hers in places, in ways that're ingrained enough now to seem natural rather than copying. The way he flies is suited for it. "But…yeah. I keep looking for…I don't know. Something that would've stood out, for what she was. Can't see it, though."

The major grunts again as he eases himself into a seat not far from Phin. "Makes two of us. Remember when Nags and I were going through all that battle footage so's Buttons could update the sim computers?" He nods to the screen. "Saw a lot of her tapes. She's… was… real crisp. Crisper'n I ever was. But nothin' more fancy than any of a dozen other hotshot stick jocks I've seen in the fleet." A shrug. "Not that it saved 'er — any of 'em — in the end."

"Nope," Phin says simply in agreement, slouching a little more in his chair. It allows him to half-turn, so he can converse more easily with Holtz. He points his pen at the screen. "That's from the drill where I got my callsign. Peacock was ragging on my delicate china doll-ness over the comms." He chuckles. "She kind of showed me the ropes, when I first came aboard. First of the jocks I felt like took me half-ways seriously. And we had stuff in common. At least, I thought we did." He shrugs. "I used to look at her and think, that could be me in ten years. And she seemed to have her shit together so…figured that might actually be OK. Now…I don't know. Makes you wonder about everything, y'know?"

Holtz hmms, nodding slowly as he lights a cigarette. "Peacock?" He snaps his fingers, wincing as the name doesn't register right away. "Right. Raptor kid. The one that put one of those cheap Scorpian hula girls on my dash." There's an eyeroll a moment later as Holtz lets out a short, dark chuckle. "I knew that 'dolphin' story of yours was a load of shit." His expression sobers again as Phin finishes, and his shoulders twitch once more. "Longer you plan ahead, the more chances you're givin' to disappoint yourself. I stopped tryin' to plan more than a year ahead after I had a kid. Shit just don't work." A plume of smoke formes above his head as he rears back and exhales nonchalantly. "But yeah, I hear what you're sayin'."

"The Maenads, yeah. Still got mine," Phin says with a chuckle. As for planning ahead, he shrugs. "Trying not to think too far now. No point to it, way things are." He doesn't elaborate on what he means by that, though it makes any trace of laughter fade. Time for a subject change. "So, you still on light duty?"

Ygraine arrives from the Air Wing Corridors.

"Took mine off after a bit. Got a little distracting," Holtz replies with a thin smile. He shakes his head a moment later. "Nah, not any more. Expired the same day I came back from leave on P." His smile turns crooked at that. "Great timing or crap timing, dependin' on who you ask, yeah?"

It's getting later, as things go aboard a battlestar, so there's no official business going on in the Ready Room just now. Phin's commandeered it for flight footage watching, looks like. He's playing an old tape of his on one of the vid screens. Very old, as things are reckoned now. Time stamp is '12.08.04,' so pre-Cylon Attacks, even if it's not yet six months old. Looks like a fairly standard combat drill of drone shooting. Ensign Him is flying with Ceres as his lead, if one is the sort to pay attention to that kind of thing. It's paused, and he's half-turned in his chair to talk with Holtz. He grins slight at the other man's words, after taking a drink from his coffee cup. "The Strikes'll be glad to have you back full. I know I will, at least. How's the kid?"

Ygraine has made her way in with a baggie of what appears to be popcorn, no doubt nuked in the mess. Maybe she was planning on watching flight video too. Either way, she does not seem surprised by their presence, and she favors them both with a grin as she moves to clamber into a seat. "Nice moves." she congratulates Phin, and adds casually to Holtz, "How was P?" Not like she didn't pop down to visit, but really, it was about the man and his daughter.

Holtz makes a noncommittal noise, but he does admit, "Yeah, it'll be good to be back." He's sitting in a chair not far from Phin's, facing the younger man as he slouches in his seat with a cigarette, one foot propped up against the back of the chair in front of him. "She's all right, all things considered. Got her settled in down there with Wescott's mother. Old broad's a battleaxe and a half, but she's ex-Fleet and she's willin' to take Alley on, so — " Shrug. "Figure I could do a hell of a lot worse. Alley doesn't think much of the idea, mind, but I can't exactly raise a kid on a battlestar, yeah?" He waves to Ygraine when she enters. "Good. Thanks for givin' me the idea, I needed the time."

"Hey, Yggs." Phin smiles at the ECO, the grin quirking slight at one edge. "You're being too kind. These tapes're kind of like looking at old school pictures and lousy haircuts. It always blows my mind, when I think of how not-long ago this was. Feels like ages." Thumb gesture to the timestamp on the screen. "Is that popcorn?" He leans over further the back of his chair, to try and snag some from her baggy. To Holtz, he nods. "It's not like you won't be able to see her regular, and it seems like you've set her up in the best situation you can."

"All my ideas are brilliant." says Ygraine casually, cracking the seal of baggie and holding the open maw out in offering to Phin. "And she'll get used to it. Lotta opportunity for a smart kid down there."

Holtz snorts. "You thought yours were bad?" he asks Phin, smirking at the mention of high school pictures. "I'm just glad this one 'ere will never ha

Holtz snorts. "You thought yours were bad?" he asks Phin, smirking at the mention of high school pictures. "I'm just glad this one here — " he gestures playfully at Ygraine — "will never have a chance to get 'er mitts on any of mine." He smirks at the woman before the conversation turns. "Yeah, maybe," he says to the both of them with a shrug. "Only opportunity I really care about for her at this point, to be honest, is the opportunity to not get her face shot off by a frakkin' Cylon."

Phin snorts at Ygraine. Though not too loudly, and he doesn't disagree about her brilliance. He still wants to nab her snacks. Which he does, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "She's right, I figure. Kids adapt quicker than you'd think, and she could do a lot worse. You're trying to do right by her. Best you can do." He hits 'play' again and the footage unpauses. It must be near the end of his tape, since the drill drones are blasted by this point. Far more by Ceres than by him. His past self sticks the landing back in the battlestar without crashing, at least. He's adapted quite a few bits of Ceres' flying style into his own, one might note. He just lets it play until it grains out to the end. He nods, at the end of what Holtz says. "Yeah. Well. Piraeus is that, at least."

Ygraine nods her assent, not wanting to argue any particular point. "She'll do well." She leaves it at that. "But in the meantime, we gotta get ya back in a cockpit, Stormy. Ya should go a few rounds in a Pred with me sometime."

"I should, should I?" Holtz asks Ygraine with a peaked eyebrow. "For your information, I was just in the sims this morning after I caught the shuttle from the surface… and I ain't rusty at all, thank you much." The normally earthy Tauron sounds almost stuffy at that, but then his prim expression is broken by a lecherous smirk. "But yeah, I don't see why not… and then you and me can go a round on the Pred afterwards." Holtz suddenly looks rather pleased with himself.

"Been meaning to get some more Pred flight time myself," Phin says, Ygraine's comment reminded him. "I still don't have that good a feel for it." He flicks the vid screen off, when the tape has hit its end. Holtz's last comment makes him blink, though. He clears his throat, and just pretends he didn't hear that. Busying himself by folding up his notepad, and other such things. Oh my, those notes he made himself fifteen minutes ago are fascinating.

"We'll work on that. Phinny." Yggy promises, and then turns and leers right back at Holtz. "Somebody better put his cubits where his mouth is. Or better yet, somethin' else."

Lucasta arrives from the Air Wing Corridors.

That suggestive grin on Holtz's face only gets wider, first at Phin's desperate attempt to direct his attention somewhere, anywhere, else… and then again at Ygraine's equally suggestive response. He jabs a finger in the blonde ECO's direction. "Oh, sure, she's cheeky now," he says over to Phin. "But you just wait until after, when she's all, 'You're so good, Storm… I love you, Storm… let's cuddle, Storm…' But no. She doesn't say frak about that part." That shit eating grin stays in place; he seems just as entertained by Phin's sudden discomfort as he is by the exchange with Ygraine.

"Uh," is all Phin says to Ygraine and Holtz, continuing to avert his eyes from any leering and avert himself from any participation in that exchange. He can't help but snort in a little amusement, though. He gets up to eject his tape from the vid player. "You want the machine, Yggs? I'm done with my tapes for the night, I think. Was just going through some old home movies." The lights are low, though it's not totally darkened in the Ready Room. It's getting late, as things are reckoned on a battlestar, so the place isn't taken up by official business. The three of them are in the general area of one of the vid screens. Ygraine and Holtz sitting. Phin's got a desk picked out, and he's left his coffee and a few pieces of popcorn there while he attends to the player.

There's this certain look which Lucasta has about her when she steps — well, wanders, really — into the ready room. It is the wide-eyed and slightly confused expression of someone who is somewhat overwhelmed. And quite obviously lost. Her mouth is slightly ajar, her features twisted up in the perfect alignment to convey the fact that right now, her though process probably consists of, 'Uhhhhhhh…. was it third door on the left or….'. She's fresh off the proverbial boat (or in this case, the not so proverbial Raptor), that much is obvious. The fact that she's still carrying her duffel bag is an excellent hint in that regards, the oversized and overstuffed green bag dangling over one shoulder.

"Don't listen to th'old man. He's a cuddler. He gets all mooney-eyed and 'oh do we gotta go now', and - " she stops short when she espies the newcomer. "Hey, Ginger." she calls out amiably, "Ya look lost. Can we help ya?"

Phin files his tape away, wherever such things are filed. The newcomer at the door makes him turn his head. "Hey," he offers to Lucasta. Polite and friendly enough. The sight of her with her duffel makes him smile. Maybe, just maybe, a little wistfully. "Welcome aboard?" It sounds like a guess, but one he's pretty sure on.

Holtz makes a rude noise that's half snort and half 'pfffft', but like Ygraine, he's got enough of a sense of decorum to cut himself off when her voice calls out to the newcomer. Youthful face, overwhelmed expression, fifty pounds of stuff crammed into a forty pound bag, Lucasta isn't hard for the former flight school instructor to peg. "You lost, rook?" he echoes Ygraine. "Where're you supposed to be?"

Ohh, thank the gods! Nice people. Lulu immediately plasters this broad grin on her face — warm and welcoming, like she's about to invite them all to come on in and have a piece of pie. Like it's her mama's parlor back on Aerilon, accent clearly marked. "Yes, ma'am," she says, starting with Ygraine, who spoke first. "I'm supposed to be reporting in for flight-training. I'm guessing this is the ready room?" Bright one, ain't she? "Are the barracks nearby? I need to find… uhhh…," she trails off, dropping her bag on the nearest flat surface with a dull thud. She scrambles around in the pockets of her jacket to find not what little she might have in the way of official paperwork, but the scrap of paper on which she's scribbled some handwritten notes. "Major Kurt Holtz?" Her voice hitches upwards at the end of her question, tone turning hopeful.

"Lookin' f'Storm, are ya?" says Ygraine, ever so innocuously. "Well, that'd make ya a viper nugget, wouldn't it." She tosses some popcorn into her mouth and assumes a relaxed position. She gives no indication of Holtz actually being in the room.

"Squadron berths are just down the hall," Phin replies to Lucasta. "Where you'll bunk depends on if you're of the Viper or Raptor persuasion." When she asks for Holtz, he gestures a thumb in the older pilot's direction. "Good sense of the direction. That's your guy. You flying with the Strikes, then?" He adds. "That's my squadron assignment." He steps back to the desk he was occupying before. He doesn't sit, but leans against it and eats a few pieces of the popcorn he'd nabbed from Ygraine.

"You're no fun," Holtz mutters sotto voce in Phin's direction before looking back to Lucasta and standing up. From the pins on the collar and wings on his chest, yes, this does indeed seem to be the major she is looking for. "Yeah, I'm Major Holtz." He gives her a measuring look as he leaves the seats and approaches her; he's about to reach out and accept her paperwork when he realizes what she's holding is not, in fact, paperwork. Well, not real paperwork, anyway. "You got something more official for me, rook?" His tone is mild, but his brow crinkles in noticeable annoyance — and that crinkle only gets worse when something she'd said belatedly registers on him. "Wait… did you say flight training?"

The girl may as well have a little cartoon thought bubble over her head that read, 'Ohh, shit!'. 'Cause either that's what she's thinking, or that's what she just did to her trousers. She snaps to attention with the sort of speed reserved for cadets still in the academy, despite the fact that she's got a pair of Ensign's pins on her collar. The stiffness and precision of her salute would be pretty impressive, were it not for the fact that she looks, for all the Colonial worlds, like a baby bunny trying to maintain military discipline. "Ensign Lucasta Jackson, reporting for duty, sir."

…At least she's not shouting it, right? There's a thick swallow. And then a nod. And then the recollection that neither suffices in the Fleet. "Yes, sir. I do. It's on my papers. Flight training, sir."

Muncha muncha muncha. Ygraine watches the interaction from her relaxed repose in her seat. And is not bothering to hide how amusing she finds it, without undermining Holtz's authority dealing with his new nugget.

"Shockingly, you're not the first person to tell me that, sir," Phin replies with a wry half-grin to Holtz. He's also in blues, but his jacket's unbuttoned, so he doesn't exactly look 'on duty.' He might look a little amused himself, but it's the rueful, self-directed, mostly. He can't be much older than her, LTJG pins or no. He sits - on the desk itself rather than retaking his chair - just watching Holtz deal with the newb. And drinking his coffee from a blue ceramic mug with a 'Silverstars' Pyramid team logo on it.

Holtz has to restrain a laugh when Lucasta introduces herself, but he's had plenty of practice in dealing with nervous young pilots, so any amusement he might be feeling isn't showing. "And you have these papers somewhere in that morass of crap, I take it?" he asks again, this time holding out a hand expectantly as his voice hardens. A look at her uniform seems to confirm the story at first glance, though; she's got the ensign's pins, but not the wings of a certified pilot. "At ease, for frak's sake, before you sprain somethin'."

Indeed, she does — in the front pocket of her duffel bag. So when she goes fumbling with the flap, they're rounded, but at least they're not wrinkled. A day under a pile of heavy paperwork or some books ought to straighten the file out, especially being as it's woefully thin. Of course, that's pretty normal for pilots coming off Picon, right? Computer went boom. Lulu traipses down towards the trio of pilots, hugging her records to her chest like they're a shield of some sort. It's only when she's within arm's reach of Holtz that she thrusts them out… well, at him, more than to him, really. "Sir. Everything should be in order. Or as close as comes, given the loss of Fleet HQ, sir."

"Coffee and popcorn? Eww." Ygraine remarks idly to Phin, then turns eyeball the nugget curiously. "Feels weird not bein' th'rooks anymore, don't it?" she says absently to Phin.

Phin tilts his head back, tosses a piece of popcorn in the air, and catches it in his mouth. He beams at Ygraine, all proud of himself. "It's good!" he objects, to her criticism of his snacking. "Kind of…caramelized, only without the actual caramel." A more serious nod to agreement at the last, though. "Yeah. Was just thinking about that. Wasn't even half a year ago. Feels like forever sometimes, other times like just yesterday I stepped off the transport to the anchorage at Virgon."

Holtz just snorts through his nose at the pair of pilots behind him, his flinty gaze focused on Lucasta in front of him. He grunts noncommittally as he takes the folder from her hands and starts thumbing through it perfunctorily. He gets about halfway through before he pinches the thing closed again, though. There's a throaty sigh as he looks from folder to nugget once more. "The hell does Picon think I'm gonna do with you, Jackson? This ain't a trainin' outfit." His head tilts slightly to the side. "How far through flight school did you get, anyway?"

"Sir, I finished PFT at CFAB Euterpe and was about to start intermediate flight training as a Viper pilot when the Cylons struck Picon, sir. There's some salvaged notes in my file from my previous instructors, but not very much. Most of what's in there is from my time flying with one of the units they managed to piece together, sir." Sir. Sir. Sir. It seems Lulu spits one out every ten seconds or so. Somewhere in between there, though… did she just say they stuffed her in a cockpit, anyway, half-trained? Without strike tactics?

Ygraine's brows lift as she hears the new arrival's jacket, but otherwise keeps her peace.

Phin tries not to stare too hard at the interplay between Holtz and Lucasta, but he can't hide his curiosity about the nugget they've acquired. "I did flight school on Picon, too," he says. Maybe driven to say something vaguely comrade-y, by all the sir'ing. "At CFAB Hermes, over by Queenstown. Just finished my Viper and Predator quals before I got my assignment here." Though he busies himself drinking his coffee again, as soon as he says it, after a look at Ygraine. Peace-keeping might be best right now.

"By the gods," Holtz breathes as he realizes what she's saying. "They threw you into the fire straight outta frakkin' Basic Flight?" He suddenly sounds angry, though his ire isn't directed at Lucasta, whether or not she realizes it. "It's a motherfrakking wonder you lived long enough to make it to me." There's a sigh as he leans against the edge of the nearby table. "Guess they had to start throwin' shit against the wall and see what'd stick, yeah?"

There's a gulp and a blush, the latter turning her normally fair, freckled skin a violent shade of red that doesn't quite match her hair. Comes damned close, though. There's a nod offered to Phin, briefly, before her eyes drop to the floor. Maybe she's too scared to say much besides the four words she squeaks out next. "They needed pilots, sir," she explains, as though her previous statement hadn't already made their desperation in the initial weeks after the destruction painfully obvious.

"Probably gonna get a lot more like her as time passes." remarks Ygraine thoughtfully. This still seems to be more Holtz's show than anything, the blonde absently tugging on a braid as she watches the new pilot's introduction.

Phin nods at Ygraine's remark, a slight frown settling on his face, but otherwise he's now keeping his mouth shut. He makes an effort not to munch his popcorn, so it's not too much like this is a show he's watching.

"No, they needed corpses," Holtz growls under his breath as he scowls down at the folder with her records in it. "Throwin' a half trained kid into combat with Raiders is a godsdamn death sentence, nothin' else but." There's a sharp glance at Ygraine as the other woman offers her aside, but Holtz doesn't rebuke her; after all, she's dead right.

"I don't think so, sir," Lulu says to Ygraine, doing her best not to flinch at the mention of corposes. "The two others from my class are still down on Picon, recovering from combat wounds." Math? Math. Three. That means there's three of them left. There should've been thirty. She swiftly plasters a smile across her face, dimples digging their way into her cheeks. "But I heard Collins is patching up real nice! So maybe he'll be here in a few weeks." Hope springs eternal, lighting up her grey eyes.

Phin can do the math, and he can't hold back a soft, "Frak…" He exhales, taking a moment to admire his coffee before his eyes tick back up to Holtz and Lucasta.

"You said it." Ygraine murmurs. "Maybe we oughtta look at settin' up more properly to receive folk who need trainin' on all counts for flight trainin', raptor quals, viper quals, ECO pipeline."

The offhand mention of the others from her class doesn't seem to do much for Holtz's disposition, though he manages to refrain from any more angry outbursts. Instead, in a forcibly measured tone, he says to Lucasta, "Fleet probably sent you here when they saw Orion had a flight instructor aboard, but I'm also leadin' a combat squadron. I'm not sure if I can help you much more than those poor stupid frakheads back on Picon can." He sighs, though, when confronted by her hopeful expression. "But… seein' as how we've already established the 'death sentence' bit, I sure as frak can't try an' send you back." There's a tiny nod to Ygraine as he acknowledges her idea. It's something that's occured to him recently as well.

"I have no issues with learning in the field instead of the sims, sir, if it'll save y'all the time and trouble," Lulu says, the ghost of that cheery little grin still lingering on her face. "I've already had my bird lit up a few times, and I'm not going to start crying at the prospect of it happening again, as long as I have the chance to get a few shots of my own in." There's a jut to her jaw. My, my. Does the sugary little thing have a stubborn streak in her?

Phin tilts his head at Lucasta, maybe more curious about her now than he was before. He has no more asides or impromptu profanity for the moment, though.

Theres's a certain point at which offering commentary is simply not helpful. So Ygraine simply offers, "We could get her set up in Viper Country if y'all are wantin'."

Holtz looks down at Lucasta as she replies; the combination of pity and anger that had been on his face before is tempered slightly, and he raises his own chin and narrows his eyes as if slowly starting to see her in a different light. "All right, Ensign," he says finally, as if coming to a decision; his palm slaps lightly against the folder for emphasis. "I'll have a look over these, see what you need to get squared away yet. For the meantime, go stake yourself out a bunk, get settled in. Report in tomorrow mornin' with everyone else, we'll get you acquainted with the squad an' take it from there, yeah?"

Phin nods. "Yeah. I don't mind walking her and seeing that she's got an empty bunk and stuff," he says after Ygraine. To Lucasta, "It's right down the corridor."

Ohhhh, sweet Lords of Kobol. Did Holtz just adopt a puppy? 'Cause it looks like Lulu's barely surpressing the urge to squeal and wiggle and probably hug something. Violently. Like, 'til it can't breathe anymore. Her whole face just erupts into an expression as bright as her fire-engine hair — all twinkling eyes and gleaming teeth. (What did you do, Holtz? What did you do?) There's another one of her snappy salutes, sharp enough that they'd best not stand too close to her elbows, lest someone end up with a black eye. "Yes, sir!" Okay. So maybe she did wiggle. A little. "Thank you, sir!" To Holtz. Or Ygraine. Or Phin. Or all of the above. Who can say, really? She's already scrambling back towards her bag.

Ygraine grins just a touch. Sometimes all it takes is a little nudge. "Watch out for them country girls, Stormy." she remarks to the large man with a smirk. To Lulu, "What's your shout-out, Ginger? Unless ya wanna get stuck with Ginger."

Holtz snorts and rolls his eyes at Ygraine — but there's a hint of a smile on his face as he does it. "Just try to remember it's a battlestar, not a parade ground, yeah?" Storm says mildly in Lucasta's direction when he's met with that flood of sirs and salutes. He puffs away at the remnants of his cigarette before putting it out.

"I'm Dolly, by the way," Phin intros himself. "Or Dolls, whatever. Both work on the comms. My human name is Phin McBride. Lieutenant junior grade, and all that stuff." He extends a hand, for shaking purposes, before Lucasta is too occupied with her bag. He's a righty.

"Yes, sir!" And there she is, at it again. Lulu, about to heave her bag up off of the floor, stops and sticks a pale hand right into Phin's. She's still got the callouses of a girl raised working with her hands, being slowly worn away by years behind student desks and months in the cockpit. "Good to meet you, Liuetenant! Most folks call me Lulu. Duster in the cockpit," she explains, shaking with the sort of country vigor that'd erase all her Caprican schooling in a heartbeat. "As in Cropduster. 'Cause I still fly like one. But y'all can call me Ginger, if you want to." And with that, she's swinging her bag around and tossing it up on her shoulder like it's a bale of hay.

"Milkshake." says Ygraine says of herself. "Ygraine Vashti, also junior grade. Storm'll get ya trained right on th'stick, and I'll get th'cardinal rule of th'Wing in your brain soon enough."

Seeing that his brand-new nugget is in capable hands, Holtz simply sits in silence as Phin and Ygraine introduce themselves, but he can't help but look a little bemused as he watches Lucasta.

"Good to have you," Phin says, and he sounds sincere enough about it. "If you have any questions or anything…I mean, I'm not claiming to know the ropes around here super-well, but I can answer about the…stuff I know." Such as that might be.

"If y'all could just point me to the bunks and the head, I think that'd be a right fine start, sir." The duffel settles into place and then Lulu's settling her jacket back where it belongs, straightening out the parts that hitched up thanks to the strap. She can't go around looking like a slob on her first day, after all. "What's that, sir? The cardinal rule. Aside from, "don't get shot" and "don't shit where you eat", I mean," she asks Ygraine, her bright red brows climbing upwards. Apparently, some of her former wingmates have been giving the little n00b some advice.

"If you two can handle the sightseeing tour…" Holtz says with a questioning look at Phin and Ygraine as he stands, looking towards the door. "Busy day tomorrow, and all that." Then his grey eyes flick back to Lucasta. "Welcome to Orion, Ensign. You need anythin', or got questions about anythin', my door's open to anyone in the squad, any time, yeah?" Then, with a last nod to the three, he's off for the exit.

"Not so fast, old man." says Ygraine casually, sealing the bag of popcorn. Then to Lulu, "Respect your ECOs." There's a grin before she says to Holtz, "We've got maneuvers to discuss." Up she gets, as she asks Phin casually, "You got this, right Phinny?"

"The Mess and the Head are kept separate, fortunately," Phin says wry, as to the 'don't shit where you eat' bit. He goes back to the desk he was occupying before quick to stuff what remains of the popcorn he'd swiped earlier into his mouth. And retrieve his coffee cup. Which is mostly empty by now, so he doesn't try to combine them that particular time. He gives Ygraine a little nod as he chews. He's got it. He makes a sound that kind of approximates 'This way,' and will show Lucasta to the berths on that note.

There is a good deal of very vigorous nodding at Holtz and Ygraine both, before Lulu's traipsing off after Phin, trailing at his heels like a tired but happy puppy. "Well, you don't need to be taking up your time showing me to the mess hall, sir. The way I figure it, I can just follow everybody else at chow time." Common sense! There's that, at least….

The words 'old man' draw something of a pained glance from Holtz, but he stops in his tracks and heads back down towards Ygraine. "Sure, what's up?"

Lucasta arrives from the Squadron Berthings.

The berths are literally right down the hall - give or take a few corridor turns - so it doesn't take long for Phin to reach it. He's swallowed his popcorn by then, at least. He opens the hatch, holding it propped for Lucasta. "You can put your bag down on a table or something, if you want to drop it while you find a bunk," he says. "We've still got quite a few empty ones. I'll help you pick one if you want. Make sure it's one that's been properly cleaned out." In case it had a previous owner who is…no longer occupying it, is kind of the implication.

"Thanks!," Lulu says cheerily, despite the fact that weariness is slowly creeping into her eyes. It has, most likely, been an exceedingly long day for her, travelling all the way from Picon. "I can deal with snoring," she advises him. "Just as long as I don't have to bunk down next anyone who smells or screams." Grey eyes wander slowly over the rows of bunks. She's seen barracks. She's never been assigned to a battlestar. "You got any suggestions, sir?"

"These ones're empty, if you don't want somebody above or below you," Phin says, tapping the wall near the bunks in the seventh row. "Your neighbors just over are Punchdrunk and Crater. Good sticks, and highly decent guys. The space is a little tight, but at least you've got your own place. Pull the curtain closed, put some headphones in, you can almost convince yourself you've got some privacy. Or at least tune out for awhile."

"My mama and papa had a whole mess of kids. I have six brothers and sister back home on Aerilon." Have. Not had. Distinctive wording, there. "I've slept in bunk beds my whole life, except when I was still in the crib, I guess. Cramped doesn't bother me, as long as I have my own bed and nobody to steal my blankets," she says with a simple smile and a shrug that threatens to dislodge her duffel.

"Yeah, I grew up kind of communal myself, at least some of the time. Makes me appreciate a little breathing room," Phin says. He heads over to his own bunk, which is close enough that it's more or less neighborly. Climbing up the ladder and sitting in it. He has a top one. "You definitely won't get lonely, though. And don't worry. Nobody he'll swipe your stuff. Nothing but upstanding folk here, and me personally? Totally reformed." He winks. That was a joke…probably. "Anyway, I'll leave you to unpack. Holler if you need anything."

Ohhh, good Lords. Did he just wink at her? There she goes, turning pink again. It looks ridiculous with her hair. "Yes, sir. Thank you for the help," she says, just as sweet as can be. "I do appreciate it, sir." All those sirs again. And then with that, she heaves her bag up onto the upper bunk. (Damn, girl. You pitch bales much?) Seems everything she owns that isn't military issue is in that bag, and there's just the one. It shouldn't take her long to unpack, but it does take up all of her attention, as she's exceedingly careful and conscientious about what she's got left.

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