PWD #35: Tough Customer
Tough Customer
Summary: Dub tries to get some gossip out of Janitor. It doesn't work well.
Date: 01/12/2012
Related Logs: Reese: Recon and Rescue.
Cole Thaddeus 
Deck 2 - Head
The Head is the area on the Battlestar to find showers and bathrooms and this is one of many throughout the ship. Male and female crew members share the area equally as space is at a premium on fleet ships. There are half a dozen shower stalls and enclosed toilets as well as urinals along the wall. The room, an L shape dogleg, has the entrance open into the sink area. There are four sinks on the left and four on the right sitting back to back in the middle of the room.
01/12/2001 (PWD #-65535) ((How do we know what # to use?)) (((WTF is a PWD?))) (((WTB fewer incomprehensible acronyms PST LOL))))

The heads are never exactly a /happening/ sort of place, but rare are the times they're empty, either. Tonight, with some sort of excitement involving Marines- no, the Viper wing- no, it was Medical- almost everyone is somewhere else.

Except, for some reason, one Thaddeus 'Dub' Kostopolous, a Raptor Captain who really ought to have something better to do than what he's doing — which is frowning at his own reflection as he leans forward toward the mirror, nearly nose-to-nose with it. His bag of grooming details sits next to him on the counter.

Fresh from the fight, or at least the action, in waltzes Aristides Cole. Well, waltz is too strong a word as he's more of just tromping on the deck as if his flight boots are twenty pounds heavier than they should be. He's ditched the helmet some where between here and the flight deck, but it's clear that he's just out of the cockpit based on the way short hair seems to be mussed from a helmet, and damp from a beading of sweat that still clings to his upper brow. He's not even half way through the hatch before he's peeling off the odd-green colored flightsuit from his shoulders, forcing the fabric to part at the zipper by tugging in opposing directions at the lapel. "Frak me sideways with a chainsaw…"

"Make it tough to sit in that coffin of yours, wouldn't it?" Will Dub ever tire of teasing Viper pilots for their cramped flying conditions? Magic 8-Ball says: REAL FRAKKING UNLIKELY. He looks sidelong toward Cole, frown eased off — slightly — now that it's aimed at a fresh target. "Part of whatever-the-frak, eh? Heard them calling for Medical." He looks the pilot down and up. All crucial protrusions seem to be still attached.

"I think it'd make it tough to sit anywhere. Like on your mom's face." Your momma jokes never get old as a rebuttal, but Cole's heart doesn't quite seem in it, and it falls sort of flat on the deck between them. His arms snake out of the suddenly confining sleeves of his flight suit, letting them fall like flacid bunny ears towards the floor instead of tying them around his waist. There is a deep 'v' of perspiration soaked through the double layer of tanks he wears underneath, and he exhales as he bellies up to the sink next to Thaddeus. "Classified." Is all he mutters about the mission, his hand cranking open the cold water full force so it thrums out of the faucet.

How many Yo Mama jokes has Thaddeus heard or told? Magic 8-Ball has another answer: NEARLY ALL OF THEM. The Captain snorts, flipping a cheery middle finger to Cole as he bellies up alongside. "She's a frakking Heran. Put your balls near her tongue and they'd freeze to it. Chip 'em off with a chisel." Smirk. Pale blue eyes flick down to the geyser of icy water, up to Cole's torso, then over to the mirror to look the other pilot's reflection in the eye. "The whole frakking flight group's classified. C'mon. Spill it."

There is a little snort from Cole which may just be laughter as he cups his hands beneath the icy stream and fills the bowls of his palms with water before splashing it on his face. He leans over the basin of the sink, letting droplets of water drip-drop towards the drain. "Let's just say if you were in the Obs Deck tonight, you got quite a fireworks show, courtesy the Lucky Strikes." He huffs out a breath of air, sending a splatter of dew towards the mirror. Pupils change dialation as they refocus from the shiny water spray to the reflection of Thaddeus looking back at him in the mirror.

Thaddeus's eyebrows lift a little. Colour him intrigued. "Let's just say that tells me sweet frak all, while we're at it," he says, giving another snort as he looks away. The frown redeepens as he pushes upright from his lean. He rolls one shoulder, the scar over the shoulderblade twisting like a snake, and is rewarded with a soft crack. "Everyone okay?" He changes the tack on his information-gathering, glancing over as he digs through his mesh bag. Toothpaste: check. Toothbrush: where the FRAK is it.

"Guess that all depends on what side of the fireworks you were on." Ari says simply to the inquiry of everyone's health, turning his chin to wipe it on the strap of frabric at his own shoulder, idly watching for a moment as Thaddeus pops his. "You'll have to wait for the briefing for the rest." Arms go all akimbo as he struggles to untuck his dual shirts from his flightsuit and work them up and off his chest.

There are orbital combat maneuvers — pretendy shoot-em-ups against imaginary bad guys — all the time. There are even orbital combat maneuvers with live fire. But there's Cole talking about non-pretendy shoot-em-ups outside of atmo, the sort of thing that last happened back when Cylons were still around.

The sort of thing that means gen-u-ine, bon-a-fide Bad News.

Thaddeus watches Cole watching him for a long drag of seconds. It's hard to get a bead on someone used to getting a bead on someone else, but he tries all the same. Finally, after wringing absolutely nothing out of the other pilot's expression, he rolls his eyes and looks back to his own reflection. "Tough customer."

Cole scrubs his face dry with his recently shed shirts before flicking them to drape over his shoulder. "Take it easy, Dubs." Ari says nonchalantly, as if they were just talking about the weather. Non-explodey Flak Ship weather. "And if it's easy? Take it." The viper pilot finally tweaks off the faucet with a squeaky protest of pipes. With a heavy set to his brow, he wanders off with his heavy plodding footsteps towards the showers.

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