AWD #101: Pyramid, Piraeus and Hobnail Boots
Pyramid, Piraeus and Hobnail Boots
Summary: Deckies don't half talk a load of old crap when not on duty
Date: 17/Apr/2013
Related Logs: None
Sera Toby 
Fitness Center, Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
Smelling of sweat and grease, the Fitness Center is a place where individuals can come to work out or just work off stress. The area closest to the entrance is taken up by two very large sparring pads with a pathway down the center, each pad removable to reveal a Pyramid court beneath. The walls beside the pads hold lockers for everything from pugilist sticks to boxing gloves to rubber guns, though deadly weapons are strictly prohibited in here except by authorized personnel such as on-duty Military Police. Standing goalposts for Pyramid are also kept against the wall. Past the pads are a vast number of nautilus machines as well as free weights to lift. At the back of the room are workout bikes, rowing machines, treadmills, and stairclimbers. There is an entrance to the pool at the rear as well as a locker room to the side.
AWD #101

There is a pool! A pool which Sera adores with absolutely every single fiber of her dry desert being. There's just one problem with it — she can't really do any of her work while she's swimming, as paper has an unfortunate tendency to fall to pieces when it gets wet. (That really doesn't work out very well, does it?) So Sera's plopped her files down on top of the electronic controls of one of the treadmills, where she's currently working herself up into a ruddy-cheeked sweat, likely to the beat of whatever is streaming through the white earbuds she's crammed into her ears.

Toby has, nothing, absolutely nothing, to do. He's off shift, caught up on his reading, eaten, showered, stuck his head in the rec room to see if anyone is about, the lot. The fitness centre s his last hope really and, with a pyramid ball in his hands, he strides in, glancing around to see if there's anyone he might tempt for some one on one. He himself gives the pool a very wide berth but spotting Sera he bimbles over in her direction, tossing the ball from one hand to the other and back again as he does so. "You want to play?" he asks before he spots the earphones, then simple steps into her line of sight and tosses the ball again with a question expression.

"Huh?," she asks, oh-so-eloquently. Dragging her eyes from the page, she surveys Toby with a questioning expression of her own — one that includes raised brows and her mouthing hanging open ever so slightly. (The boss's brilliance must be very reassuring.) She doesn't quite flip her folder closed. Not yet. There are still hexagonal pages left unread, tempting her attention. "What did you say?"

Toby seems to be in a good mood for his initial response to Sera's reaction is to simply grin amusedly, then he silently mouths back, as if he's actually talking, 'fancy a game?' and points at the ball that is temporarily still in his hand. He then points back towards where the posts are and mimes a few shots for her benefit.

There's a second where she blinks, and blinks again, before starting to laugh. It's a warm, easy sound — the sort of laugh that inspires other people to laugh with her. "Next, you should mime 'the fuel injectors are broken'. Consider it practice for overcoming the sound barriers of safety equipment on deck, Shacks," she retorts, pulling both of her headphones out.

Toby grins again at that, "Is that a challenge?" he asks, "cos I reckon I can do the injector and broken, just not sure on fuel just yet." He pauses for a moment to think and then just shrugs it off, "I'm sure something will come to me. Anyway, want a game? There's no one else around and solo is boring as frak."

"What's the matter?," she asks, brows arching upwards so fast that they're probably making a full retreat for her hairline. "No used to bein' on a ship where you can't touch the girls?" Such an innocent expression as she drops that verbal bomb. "Just slink over to the Marine barracks. I'm sure one of those boys has somethin' stashed under his bed that you can borrow, if you ask real nice an' don't leave nothin' on the pages." A grin.

Toby just about manages to suppress an amused expression beneath mock-disgust, "Pyramid! Solo pyramid!" The grins starts to crack through though when he adds, "you know, shooting on your own and all that." At the mention of the marines he just shaes his head and answers a little more seriously, "I stay away from them as much as I can, don't exactly have the best history with a few of 'em." Giving a faint shrug he leaves it at that then asks again, "so, game?"

Sera gives him this cheeky grin, clearly well aware of her ability to casually drop the utterly inappropriate into conversations when least expected. A beep, and then another, as the treadmill slows and she hops off. "Yeah, sure. I'm game. I'm just not very good. Or, well, any good." She sucks at Pyramid, really. "What's up with you an' the jarheads, huh?"

Toby shrugs back then takes half a pace backwards to give Sera plenty of room to get clear of the treadmill and such. "I haven't really played at all since Picon, so I'm likely horribly rusty," he assures, "we had a sort of mini-league going there, department vs department and so on, was a fun way to blow of steam from time to time." Startling slowly towards the padded area where the goalposts are he ponders how best to answer her question, expression more convincingly serious now, "I guess it's easiest to say that we haven't always seen eye to eye in the past. It's because of them I was forced off Picon for instance."

Sera's head cants to one side, an expectant look coming over her reddened, dampened face. Obviously, she's assumed that's the sort of statement that has some follow-up to it. No question, though. She's too busy taking a long swig of water to ask just yet, trying to catch her breath somewhere between the treadmill and the Pyramid court. "The have outdoor courts down on the planet," she adds casually.

"Guess that means it's their fault that you have to put up with me asking stupid questions all the time," seems to be the only follow-up that Toby is prepared to give for now. His smile has returned though, as he cracks the joke. "I think I heard one of the pilots saying that yeah, don't fancy heading down just on the off-chance though, would look a right tool if no one wanted to play and I was just stood there."

"Yeah, but so what?," she quips, peeling off her sweatshirt. "You'd have sun an' sky an' fresh air instead of vit-D lamps an' metal walls an' the same sweaty-smellin' recycled air we've been breathin' for days." One hand brushes damp hair, which is starting to curl, back into her ponytail. "Sounds pretty nice to me, pick up game or not."

Toby can only shake his head a little at that, "it's ain't home though. I mean, neither's this, but this don't try to be. Picon was different, always busy and such. Know what I mean?" He turns to look at her then, not sure if she'll get it or not, largely because he's not sure he does. Back to the game though he nods one, "works for me. Here, catch." Tossing her the ball he strips his own hoodie too and dumps it down to one side, "ladies first."

There's an eyeroll as she dips down to catch the ball. "If you start makin' comments about how you think I'd look nice in a dress, Shacks, you're losin' some of those pearly whites," she warns, perhaps teasingly. Perhaps not. She does, after all, have both insides of her forearms covered in tattoos. "But yeah, I know what you mean. Piraeus? It's nice an' all. Sure is pretty, with all that green. An' all that snow. But we never had neither back on Troy. It's nice an' all. But it ain't home."

Toby screws his face up in thought for a moment, "you know, I just can't picture you in a dress, sorry. Well, maybe if there's a pair of hobnails involved too, but other than that?" He shakes his head twice, "just not seeing it." There's a brief nod to her comments before he adds, "know what else? Not enough mines, I reckon that's something we both have in common. Get a few of them going and it'll feel more real." He moves to start to get between Sera and the goal, rolling his shoulders a little to loosen them up, "ready?"

"Maybe hobnails an' a hard-hat to go with it." No wonder he can't picture her in a dress. At that statement, she lets out this soft, quiet snickering sound that threatens to turn into a genuine snort at any second. (It comes close, but not quite.) "No," she says with a grin, as she crouches down into position and bounces the ball once.

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