PWD #39: Spiteful Pie
Spiteful Pie
Summary: Khrysos and Afton meet in the mess hall. Afton gets pie, Khrysos gets thrown a bone.
Date: 27/11/2012
Related Logs: None
Afton Khrysos 
Mess Hall
The Crew Mess on the Orion is one of the larger rooms meant for occupation. The room is far longer than it is wide with the classic stainless steel tables that can be seen anywhere else on the ship, standard to all navy ships. Most of the chairs match, their padding on the seats worn down after several years. Towards the rear of the room is the food prep area and serving lines. During the time in between meals the Mess will serve midrats, or 'mid-shift rations', such as sandwiches and drinks. Coffee pots are left to run at all hours to keep people going as needed.
November 27, 2004 (PWD #39)

As always, Afton's tray is filled to the brim with food and she's just starting. Packing away some pasta first, she's leafing through a small steno pad next to her. Procedure notes it appears to be, scrawled quickly and likely only decipherable by the woman in question. She has one foot perched on her chair, leg tucked to her chest with arm around it in order to feed herself as the other continues to move page after page, slowly reading through her notes as she drums the pen back and forth. She murmurs to herself, spearing more food onto her fork without even a glance before taking a bite. Pasta mixes with veggies and it doesn't seem to matter as she is on full auto pilot for the consumption of her food.

As the mess hall is busy during most hours, as shifts let out and officers and enlisted alike grab cow whenever they can, the room is quite noisy. Still, there's the obviously-directed-at-her, "You. Here." And the clatter of a plate that has a slice of pie on it, with one forkful missing. The offender sits down across from her, tray of food apparently sampled but none actually completely eaten dropped onto the table and then summarily shoved aside. "Travesty to waste pie, even bloody bad pie. So eat up, you look like a growing girl." Enter Khrysos Pindar.

Eyes lift, but her head doesn't move so that he gets a sort of long stare from beneath the fringe of her lashes that is lingering between caring and not giving a damn. But then the food is looked at and she straightens, chin rising. "And you look like you could do some growing of your own." It's a friendly enough smile as she grabs the plate of pie and somehow manages to get it to teeter and fit onto her tray. "Don't take offense, but you look like you are one of them civilian types…it's really the facial hair." Pie goes first - she has no complaints.

"Behold the privileges of not selling one's soul to the military," the man responds, slouching back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. He watches Afton make the pie disappear, shaking his head as the last bits disappear. "Amazing. I predict that I'm going to lose a stone by the time this trip is all said and done. There is no possibility that a human being can eat such… /food/." He gestures lazily at his own tray. "Let's hope there is edible flora at the least."

A brow arches quickly and there is a light snort from her as she pushes the plate back on his tray. "Such discerning tastes, what on earth brought you here?" She smirks a bit, but turns her pen to the pad and quickly notes something, pausing then to wipe her fingers on a napkin, just in case before her right hand extends across to him, "Petty Officer First Class Afton St. James." That friendly demeanor remains, if a bit distant in the sense of personability. "So far you are selling your soul as it is being here with us."

With a short sigh with a hint of exasperation, he sits forward far enough to take the offered hand. "Dr. Khrysos Pindar, Caprican Institute for Deep Space Research," he responds flatly. "And it's not entirely by choice that I'm here. There's a remarkably short list of drastic measures a man will take in order to prevent his career from teetering off into the void."

"Ahhhh, I see then. Well don't be happy about it or anything. It still exists, thus far." Afton says, the shake is something firm enough before being released. Seitling back, she finally gives him her undivided attention as she tilts her head, messy braid shifting along her shoulder. "I take it you just joined, your misery is not yet complete and you don't look elated to be leaving." Amusement colors her smile that says his rather pessimmistic attitude has yet to make a mark.

Khrysos gives a small nod. "Indeed. Just yesterday, in fact. I'd never set foot on a battlestar, never mind any other kind of military ship, and I was already assaulted by the lack of consideration for civilians as well as any regard for higher langauge skills. In general, your shipmates were eager to just grunt and gesture vaguely at me in response to my questions. I feel /so/ safe here." He scratches his jaw, causing the stubble and short beard to make that beard scratchy sound. "Petty officer, then? Be spiteful towards me. It would cheer me up."

There is a faint laugh that is short lived in reference to her peers before the last earns him a toothy grin. "Spiteful you say? I am not sure I would know how to be spiteful. YOu soft civilians are already so squishy that I would worry about breaking you if I was to be." She draws a breath and then leans forward, leg still hugged to her chest as she plants a finger to the table. "I would suggest you get off your high priviledge horse and get down into the mud and enjoy the food troughs with the rest of us." Pause as she grabs the table and shoves it towards him with a soft creak and squeak as it rakes the table. "Eat this so you don't starve and can't perform your duties which you are so afraid of losing in regards to your career. So stop your moaning so the rest of us can do what we came here to do."

Khrysos raises his knee so the table doesn't collide with him and interrupt his slouching. A small grin breaks through. "Excellent. Oh, that's much better. Although I certainly wouldn't call myself 'high privilege'. If I wanted that, I'd stll be on Gemenon. At least I could get a good kebab on Gemenon. This? This is reconstituted garbage," he says, nodding at the trays. "I certainly won't starve, but at the same time I won't be clamoring 'at the troughs' so to speak."

"Oh really? I don't remember being priviledged when I was last on Gemenon, Doctor." Afton at least has respect for his station and she lets her green eyes fix on him. "Look, this is as good as it gets and either you eat or you starve. My money is on the fact that you see that its better you have a full stomach and are able to function without passing out for the lack of sustenance. /When/ that happens, I won't bet on. I have a feel you got enough grit in you to try to last it out…though I think you foolish for it." She lets her own foot drop back to the floor away from her chest. "

"You really are literal, aren't you," Khrysos says, making a statement rather than asking for confirmation. "I'm sure, at some point, I'll be hungry enough to boil my shoe leather and give that a try. I highly doubt I will /starve/, Spiteful Officer First Class. But didn't it occur to you that civilians may not be cut out for the hardships of military life? Did it occur to /anyone/ at the top of this silly mining expedition? I bet not. I bet that the top brass thought, 'Let them tough it out like everyone else, hurr-dee-durr-durr.'"

"Or maybe that top brass thought 'I wonder what would last out in deep space without going bad?'" Afton counters. "It's not so much harship, Doctor. Rather it is the plain fact that we are not able to keep certain food stores for the fact it will go bad. It is better than the crew or the civvie's getting sick. The military has to deal with it and worse all the time and the human body can certainly endure this food. I just believe it's your taste buds." Amusement colors her tone and she tilts her head, braid shifting free. "And as for being spiteful, it is what you ordered."

Khrysos moves to rise, shrugging a shoulder. "It is, isn't it? Good evening. Hope you liked the pie." And with that, he turns to exit the mess, no doubt returning when hunger exceeds his stubbornness.

Afton watches him rise and remains seated where she is, "I did, thanks." Still as polite as one can be. But as he turns to go, she hesitates and then calls after him, "Rec has coffee, and no its not sludge." She picks up her pen again and moves her steno pad closer, "Enjoy your evening, Doctor. A pleasure." She says and turns her attention back down to what she was reading.

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