PWD #36: Waiting for Dramatic Action Sequences
Waiting For Dramatic Action Sequences
Summary: Or something. Pilot country during the suddenly-called-for recon as various officers wait for…whatever they might be asked to do. Bennett and Cole unpleasantly surprise each other.
Date: 30/11/2012 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: Takes place concurrently to Reese Recon.
Aios Bennett Ceres Cole Phin 
Viper Squadron — Deck 2 — Battlestar Orion
The berthings for the Orion's Air Wing are the same as what one would find on any other Mercury-class Battlestar, though they are distinctly different from the rest of the bunks on the ship. These bunks are separated not into sections of sixty, but by squadron. That means that there is a little more room to move around with only twenty to twenty-five pilots in one bunkhouse. Some officers have brought a small rug to sit in front of their bunks, but the tables and chairs are standard military issue. At the rear is a small couch that was probably new when the ship left anchorage and seems to have been kept carefully clean. The crest of the Lucky Strikes has been painted onto the wall behind the couch, as well.
November 30, 2004 (PWD #36)

The sudden pop from Condition 5 to Condition 2 is enough to sour anyone's mood, but there is Cole perched up on the common table, smoking away and humming some tune that has his head bobbing to the rhythm. His long legs are folded criss-crossed and his elbows rest on the meat of his thigh as he leans over a bound set of papers where he is consummate notes in the margin with a pencil. His hand snakes out to ash the cigarette in a little souvenir ashtray from some backwater whorehouse before grabbing up a plastic cup between thumb and pinky to take a swig of the clear liquid within.

Phin is in his flight suit. Ready to go! Should he be required to go…somewhere. He's pacing at the moment, though he occasionally pauses, to try and make it look like he's not. He stops to rubberneck Cole's papers as he passes the table. In case they contain some vital information about what caused the pop in conditions.

Cole has his flightsuit half shed to his waist, the arms of which are tied together as a belt. His helmet rests in the seat of one of the chairs, marked by the fact that 'Janitor' has been spraypainted on the back. He, however, doesn't seem concerned. "Sit down son, you're making me nervous." He mutters around the filter of his cigarette as it dangles between his lips, a smirk touching the corner of his mouth as he quotes some long ago movie. The papers? Something that looks like a script that has seen better days.

"Oh. Uh. Sorry," Phin says. He does pull out a chair and sits at the table with Cole, as instructed. He tries to get upwind of the cigarette smoke, though he shows no other particular distaste for it. "So…does this happen a lot?"

"You…are aware you joined the Colonial Military, yes? Shit happens all the time." Cole's pencil makes little scratching noises on the paper, worn down almost to the nub with the quick notes he's taken without so much as pausing with the flow of conversation. Multitasking for the win. "Either someone pissed in the Admiral's breakfast cereal, there was some sort of threat - real or imagined - or it's just a drill. Either way, nothing you can do about it but wear yourself out with worry before we even hear a Klaxon."

"I was talking more on unscheduled jumps straight to the Arm Line," Phin replies. He folds his arms on the table, settling in to sit a little slouched. Shrug. "Yeah. Right. Guess we'll find out." Not that he sounds like he's going to let it rest there in his own brain, but he at least shuts up about it to Cole. A second glance at the papers distracts him. Or, at least, confuses him. "Is that a movie?"

"Didn't you hear? The Armistice Line has the best pizza…" Ari's smile only stops on his lips where his cigarette interrupts it, though no doubt it would bloom fully if he weren't sucking on his vice. "I guess it's just above our pay grade to know." With a flick of his wrist, he lifts the booklet off the table and shows the cover to Phin, the title of which is one of the more recent Blockbusters on Caprica. "A movie is full of so much distracting garbage. Musical scores. Overblown cinematography. Fancy special effects. The only way to know if it's a good movie? Read it."

Bennett arrives from the Squadron Berthings.

"Guess so," Phin agrees. Not much more he can do than agree. He's sitting at a table with Cole. They both have their flight suits on, though Phin's is all zipped and ready for action, and Cole's is half-shed to the waist. The older pilot is also smoking, and leafing through papers. Which Phin has also taken an interest in. "Heh. I think I saw this when I was on Picon. I don't even remember the plot, really, but there were some cool chase sequences. How's it read?"

"Like a cheese grater going down your throat." Cole confesses to the younger pilot, a chortle of laughter making smoke eke out his nostrils. The material of his flight suit squeaks as he leans over from his perch on the table, plucking the cigarette from his lips and gesticulating to the page as he holds it out towards Phin. "Look here: the story relies on a string of quippy one-liners to push the movie along. The reason why you can't remember the plot is there wasn't any. 'I'm too old for this shit.'" Ari quotes from the page. "You know how over used that is?" He stubs out his butt in an ashtray that has the logo for some backwater whore house on it, one that's a popular hangout for off-duty fly boys on shoreleave back at one of the planets.

One doesn't so much knock on the bulkhead door of the viper berthings, as let oneself in and hope for the best. Particularly when one drives the buses of the Fleet's airframes. Bennett, in contrast to the two stick jockeys, is suited up in her duty blues as she steps inside; clean, pressed and neat, boots two shades away from spit-polished, dark hair smoothed back into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck. She glances at her watch before casting her eyes about the room. Looking for someone? A voice off to the left momentarily distracts her.. and then necessitates a sharp double-take.

There's nothing too obscene going on at the moment, so maybe the Raptor driver got lucky. Not on Phin's part, at least. He does chuckle as Cole describes what he's reading. "They still show the first one in that series on satellite sometimes. It's still awesome. But…yeah. How'd you get a script of something like that, anyway?" He's positioned at the right angle in his chair to spot her entrance, which makes him sit up straighter. "Hey, sir," he offers. He looks half like he's about to stand. But ultimately doesn't.

Aios arrives from the Squadron Berthings.

"You can get a manuscript of most anything from the major studies for the low low price of fifty cubits. For a hundred, they print the signatures of the actors on it like anyone gives a flying frak." Ari 'Janitor' Cole is seated on one of the common tables, flight suit half donned and secured around his waist by the benefit of the arms being tied. Phin is sitting at the table with him, having light conversation about movies and manuscripts as Bennett enters. At the mention of 'sir', Cole looks over his shoulder to see who it is directed at. Good humor has never been so quickly drained of the man's face and he actually looks a bit ashen beneath the purplish black of a five o'clock shadow.

Bennett's jaw literally drops. Well, for a half a second anyway, until she clamps her lips together and works her jaw slightly from side to side. "Hi." Pause. "Hello." Longer pause. "Lieutenant." She clears her throat, and lifts her chin a fraction — as if making herself appear taller will offer her a foothold in whatever the hell's going on between she and the viper stick. "I.. wasn't aware… when did you come aboard?" It sounds accusatory more than anything else.

Bennett is standing roughly in the doorway, having a 'conversation' with Cole.

"Uh." Phin looks between the captain and lieutenant. Then he looks back into the corner where his bunk is. Gee, that looks inviting just now. But, perhaps not wanting to look like he's bolting, he just kind of sits there. "So…uh…anything we can do you for, Captain? We were just…uh…killing time. While the ship's doing…whatever the frak it's doing out there."

The door to the berthings opens and bumps softly towards Bennett's back. Be it a shadow or some opposing force, Daniel "Talkshow" Aios leans his head of jagged, blonde hair through the doorway. Tilting it just enough to crane his eyes over to Bennett, he offers a polite frown and gingerly maneuvers through the small wedge of open doorway into the room.

"Pardon me, Captain." He offers quietly, his voice a soft, white-collar accent. It's something collegiate.

Making it the rest of the way through, he nudges the door closed and slips past them towards his bunk with a notebook in his hand. "Seems we've a lively bunch tonight. I take it you're all well?" He asks, glancing back to them as he walks.

"Where do you think I've been for eighteen months." Cole says rather quietly to Captain St. Clair, almost monotone as he adverts his eyes from Bennett to focus back at Phin for a moment. Suddenly his eyebrows seem to sit very heavy over his hazel eyes. "You can borrow this if you want. If not, just toss it back in my bunk." The man makes a vague gesture at the berth Janitor has claimed as his own before he unfolds his legs and swings them over the side of the table. He's tall enough that he doesn't even have to do a little hop to dismount the furniture. "Captain now, huh? Congratulations on the promotion." Said in the general direction of Bennett without making eye contact. "I gotta piss." That was more for everyone's benefit.

Bennett steps aside as the door swings open again, and flashes an apologetic smile to the pilot who squeezes through. It seems in truth to break whatever spell Aristides cast over her, and she tucks an errant strand of hair behind one ear before turning back to the pair at the table. "Thank you." Cautious; there's little of her characteristic warmth in those words. "No, no, my apologies, Ensign. I just.. someone in here borrowed my lighter, I was just coming to get it back before my— oh, there it is. Excuse me." She turns and moves off for the bunk of one of the squadron's LTJGs, currently out on patrol. The battered lighter sitting on his pillow is plucked, and slipped into her pants pocket.

Towel around the back of her neck, Redux takes her own sweet time entering into situation awkward, finding a way to edge past the two in the door with a clearing of her throat. Ceres takes an edge of the towel, rubbing at the back of her neck and up into her hair to help tossle those damp locks. A questioning look is shot towards Talkshow before giving the ensign a long look before steering towards her locker, hooking it open with a clang as she rummages for a fresh set of sweats. Straightening up with her arms curled around the cloth there, she looks back to watch Bennett snatch the lighter free of the bed.

"Sure. Thanks." Phin takes that script from Cole. At a loss for anything else to do. "I'm just going to go read this." He also feels the need to announce this, and he heads toward his bunk. Though he stays idling and standing by it, rather than instantly holing up in it. He offers a single-shoulder shrug to Aios. "Guess so. Wondering what the frak's going on to've yanked the ship away from dock like that." Though he sounds more excited than really worried.

With shoulders hunched, Cole beats a hasty and convenient retreat towards the head. Man really must have to pee.

"Wargames, Patrol, Lack of usefulness…perhaps a bit of internal politicking. You know, it's strange, try as I can to break the illusion that there's little to no politics in the military, something always comes up." Talkshow replies to Phin's observation. Coming to a stop in front of his book, he slides the hook on the side of his pen into the metal rungs of the notebook and lofts it onto his bed. He lets out a quiet sigh and rubs at the back of his neck, looking over to Ceres to give her a quiet glance.

"Then again, as far out as we are there's got to be some sense to a patrol, or maybe something tripped the CIC Dradis." He turns around, folding his arms around his chest thoughtfully. "That or maybe we just need a faraway enough place to safely dump Janitor's piss."

"Wargames, Patrol, Lack of usefulness…perhaps a bit of internal politicking. You know, it's strange, try as I can to break the illusion that there's little to no politics in the military, something always comes up." Talkshow replies to Phin's observation. Coming to a stop in front of his bunk, he slides the hook on the side of his pen into the metal rungs of the notebook and lofts it onto his bed. He lets out a quiet sigh and rubs at the back of his neck, looking over to Ceres to give her a quiet glance.

"Then again, as far out as we are there's got to be some sense to a patrol, or maybe something tripped the CIC Dradis." He turns around, folding his arms around his chest thoughtfully. "That or maybe we just need a faraway enough place to safely dump Janitor's piss."

Cole leaves, heading toward the Squadron Berthings [SB].

Mission accomplished, Bennett beats her own hasty retreat for the door. She is, after all, surrounded by jocks. What's a lone bus driver to do? "Excuse me," murmured softly as she slips past Ceres on her way out. The tips of her ears are slightly pink, and the brisk report of her boots on the deck plating can be heard as she scurries away.

Bennett leaves, heading toward the Squadron Berthings [SB].

Regarding the quick retreat of the two, the Captain clears her throat again and leans into the locker for a moment as she seems somewhat amused by the situation. Regardless, she looks back upon Phin and Aios. "Bird, I hope you have been logging some sim time. CAG been giving you anymore trouble?" She gives him a winning smile as she tugs on the sweats over her shorts and works her fingers through her damp hair after hanging her towel. A slow braid begins to form in the thick damp mass.

"Yes, sir," Phin replies promptly to Ceres, about his sim time. He smirks some at mention of the CAG. "Nope. Not so far. Day's young, though." He hoists himself up into his bunk (he's either claimed, or gotten stuck with, a top one). Head tilting toward Aios as the man talks. That last bit of speculation makes him chuckle. "Maybe. Like Janitor was saying. They'll tell us eventually. Or…probably." Not like he knows.

"As much as I like the view from up here, it might be interesting if we've sound something else to explore or look at. I don't know." Talkshow quirks his upper lip to the side and bites down on it, a lazy facial quirk he sometimes does when deep in thought. Spacing off for a few seconds, he breaks the haze with a sudden shrug, his eyes raising back to the two of them. "Speaking of the CAG, has anyone gotten word on down from our beloved about this? Usually these sorts of things don't need to be announced because we'll see doubled CAPs, et cetera…"

"Good to hear, Bird." Ceres counters lightly with her own hint of amusement. Glancing towards Aios, she draws closer to him and unceremoniously plops onto his bunk to sit, giving a glance back to the hatch where the two had previously beat a hasty retreat. She rubs at her neck again and then takes up the braid, finishing it and inverting it through a portion to help lock the braid without a tie. SHe then says, "Nothing yet, though I suspect we will be hearing something soon."

Phin shakes his head, as to getting any further word from the CAG. He would likely be far from the first to know. And near to the last. He swings his feet up and stretches out, flipping through the pages of the script he borrowed from Cole. It's a good enough source to kill the time as anything else.

A trio of fingertips drum against Talkshow's forearm as he watches Phin somewhat exit the conversation with the finality of turning over to a reading source. A quiet 'hrm' escapes his lips, nodding in the direction of the man's bunk before turning his back to the center of the room. Opening his locker, his eyes cast down to Ceres while he fidgets with the lock. "Though this /is/ going to delay more than a few leave requests, isn't it?" He frowns just a little, nudging the locker open so that he can double check his stowed firearm. "Onto the OBS with a good book it's going to have to be. Did you ever heard word on your own leave queue?"

"It likely will and no…I have not. I bet its on hold til this whole thing is sorted out. I can wait though." She replies to Aios easily enough with a glance up to Phin as he pages through. Her smile grows and she pushes up off the edge of the bunk. "Mind if I join you?" She asks him. "I have a few reports to fill out for sims and the like. I do not think we will be needed for much on the frigate. The bus drivers will be skimming back and forth from here on out." She moves closer, leaning against the locker next to his. "Going to do some more writing?"

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