AWD #016: Washing It Away
Washing It Away
Summary: A few days after their epic fight in the fitness center, Holtz runs into the new-look Andromeda on the observation deck.
Date: 23/01/2013
Related Logs: None
Holtz Andromeda 
Observation Deck
The Obs Deck is one of the more quiet areas on the Orion where people can come to get away from the hustle and bustle that goes with of the rest of duty on the ship. The front of the room is a very large armored glass window to allow a dominating view of whatever is out ahead of the battlestar. Seats rise up at even levels, plush chairs and couches provided for the crew to relax in. During Condition One an armored plate is lowered down to cover the view and prevent the room from becoming a hazard and seal tight.
January 23, 2005

It's a quiet evening on the observation deck; the only sign of life is from the figure of Kurt Holtz, reclining in a couch in the corner, across from the giant window at the front of the room. He's got a couple books stacked on the floor in front of his seat and holds another one open in his hands, reading it; it appears to be, of all things, a Raptor flight manual. It looks like he's been here a while, if the imprint on the couch cushion and the faint odor of cigarette smoke is any indication.

Andromeda has been busy since the sparring match. Besides her usual routine of playing both medic in the medbay and marine rifleman in the marine corps, usually a fairly grueling dual duty in and of itself, she's been assisting with the survival and firearm training of the Flight Wing. Not to mention attempting to be more active spiritually. Her hair's been dyed since the little fight, and she looks completely different. Still hard, yes, and tough, but not empty.

Into the obs deck she comes, wearing off-duty duds with her hair pulled up into her usual tail. She spots Holtz as she looks for a place to sit, and gives the pilot an almost masculine lift of her chin in greeting as she makes her way over.

Holtz notices a twitch of movement out of the corner of one eye as Andromeda enters; at first he's about to offer a brusque nod and go back to his reading before he recognizes her with a start. He sits up and watches her approach, a finger twitching in the direction of her now-blonde hair. "That's new," he remarks dryly.

The Corpsman shrugs one shoulder as she makes her way over to sit down beside Holtz, pulling a hip flask out of her pocket and offering him a shot of whatever's in there. Smells like the sort of moonshine Aerilion farmers make in their stills. Potent stuff. "Symbolic." She says, "Felt a need to wash the blood off…" Her eyes darken, and she shakes her head. "Not much different than your tats."

Holtz swings his legs off the couch, making room for Andromeda to sit down. He accepts the flask wordlessly, knocking back a slug. A small grunt escapes his lips as the powerful stuff burns its way down his throat. Some of his aforementioned tattoos are visible under the sleeveless tanks of his offduty uniform; his eyes flick down to one of his arms before he looks back up at her. "Well. Can't exactly wash one of these suckers off when I feel like a change. But… yeah, I know what you mean." He offers the flask back to her. "How's it going for you, then?" A snort. "Beat up any more marines lately?"

"Part of the symbolism." Andromeda replies, taking the flask back and knocking a mouthful with a grimace at the burn. "You can wash the blood off, but at the end of the day, it comes back." She shrugs one shoulder, and puts the flask away as she bonelessly settles. "No, haven't gotten to beat anyone up since we played around." She chuckles, "They're afraid I'll break'm, and don't trust me to give'm anything when I put them back together." She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. "You?"

Holtz nods slowly in comprehension. "Heh. About the same, actually," he remarks in response to her question with a mirthless half-smile. "Looks like they finally figured out 'pilot' and 'easy mark' aren't automatically the same thing, yeah?" A dark, rueful chuckle ensues as he slumps back into his seat. "Probably be back to give it another go before too long, though. This frakkin' waiting for something to happen…" He trails off, gesturing impatiently with a roll of his eyes as his eyes flick back to his flight manuals, then to the blonde woman once more. "Readin' those ain't doing much for me, that's for damn sure."

"Most marines figured me for an easy mark. Not being a real marine or anything like that." Andromeda agrees, "They think I'm like a doctor, and I just throw on bandages and frak like that. They don't understand there's more to combat medicine than just taking care of owies." She snorts derisively. "It's as much practicing preventative care as anything else. If you learn how to take the things that hurt your people down, they don't get hurt." Aerilion practicality at it's best, there. Her eyes flicker over the manuals and she grimaces. "I hear you on that. Academics aren't my idea of a good time." She rolls her shoulder. "I'd rather be out in the field. Or in the med bay keeping our alcoholic doctors from killing people. Guess I got it easier than you, aye?"

"Marines aren't exactly known for their sense," Holtz notes with a quirk of his lips. "But then… that ain't why we keep 'em around, now is it." His tone is wry, but with an edge of grim seriousness. He raises a brow at the mention of the doctors. "Yeah, I heard about that." He utters a derisive snort. "May the gods keep me safe. I can think of a million ways I'd rather go than bleeding out on the table or some shit because my idiot doc had a snootful." There's another look at the manuals, and he nods his head slowly. "Yeah, I guess. I know I'm happier when I'm flying as opposed to just reading about it, anyway."

"Most of the ones with sense, I rarely get to actually interact with. It's only the fraktards that need a medic." The Corpsman's eyes go hard as steel at the talk of the drinking doctor, though. "If I catch her with a bottle again, I'll break it over her head." Andromeda says with disgust. "And if one of my people dies in her care again…" She shakes her head, though, and dismisses that. "Not all the docs are bad. There's a couple of good ones. And the enlisted are pretty solid." She glances at the manuals. "So what do you do for fun, when you're not attempting to break your fist on someone's skull? I'm guessing you don't sit around and read manuals."

"What, that doesn't sound like enough fun for you?" Holtz remarks with a thin smirk. "Figured you of all people would understand." But no, really. He gives a minute shrug of his shoulders, along with a short, barking laugh. "Ain't like there's much else to do on this ship. We don't get cable and I'm too damn old for video games." Unlike half the air wing, apparently. "Grab some drinks, chase some skirt, get in on some pickup Pyramid… those seem to be the highlights of my personal life these days." He makes a face. "Well. That and the skull cracking bit, of course." Flinty eyes slide back over to the woman. "But you'd know about that."
GAME: Save complete.

"What about you?" Holtz adds a moment later. "I'm sure there's more t' you than just busting heads and looking serious, yeah?"

The smirk is returned with a hint of a little smile. "Isn't healthy to go at it like we did too often." She replies lightly, "Besides.." and she eyes him, top to bottom. "Not many people around here willing to get as dirty as you did. Most tend to want to play fair." She shrugs. "And get offended when you break their nose." She makes a face. "Never got into video games, myself. Raised deep country, and we didn't have'm when I was young enough to get hooked. Besides. My life's awfully similar to a video game already anyways."

She shrugs one shoulder. "I'm a bit of a workaholic. Work medbay, work with the battalion. Bust heads and occasionally play billiards when I can find someone that doesn't think it's too cheesy and old fashioned."

Holtz lets out a throaty little laugh as she examines him. "You looked like you could take it. Frak fighting fair, anyway. Take that shit into the field and see where it gets you." That little smirk returns. "Besides, fair fights are boring. It ain't much of a fight until someone's got blood on the floor," he remarks drolly. There's a nod at the mention of her childhood. "Heh. Not much appeal to the game when you already get to do all that shit for real, yeah?" He nods knowingly. "Billiards? Dunno about all that, but I used to play a mean game of pool. You ever get down to Charlie's? Maybe we'll have to grab a table down there sometime."

"Fair fights gets you your ass handed to you." Andromeda's smile is small, but fierce. "Besides, a good fight's as good as frakking when it comes to making you feel alive. And most men find me too much a ball buster for more than fighting." She then nods. "You're on, Storm. I go to Charlie's all the time."

"Good frak or a good fight… nothin' better," Holtz replies with another of those knowing nods. He snorts. "Man who can't deal with a strong woman is a man who ain't got balls worth bustin' anyway." He matches her nod with an answering one of his own. "It's on, then."

"Pity there's not more men like you in the enlisted." Andromeda says wryly, "I've given up on finding one if they're there." She rolls one shoulder, and gets to her feet. "But for now, shower and bed for me. Got maneuvers early tomorrow."

"I was enlisted, once. Guess it stuck with me," Holtz replies with a short laugh. "Take it easy, yeah?" As she gets up, Holtz slides his legs back onto the couch, watching her leave with a lingering glance before finally reaching for that Raptor manual with a guttural sigh.

The Corpsman gives Holtz a companionable slug in the shoulder. Given what they said earlier, it's probably no surprise she doesn't pull the blow. "It shows, Storm." She says, about him having been enlisted. And then she's off.

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