AWD #184: Wuhh Timesit?
Wuhh timesit?
Summary: Early morning conversations between deckies. Sometimes they're more coherant than others.
Date: 09/Jul/2013
Related Logs: References to various, but nothing overarching.
Toby Sera 
Naval Enlisted Berthings, Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
Housing a couple thousand naval personnel is never easy, but the fleet has managed for many decades. The enlisted barracks are divided up into sixty-bunk berthings and spread out across Deck Three. Each bunk has a small blue privacy curtain to keep out the light and prying eyes, but at least each individual has their own space. The drawers beneath each bunk and the lockers provide additional storage space. Between each stack of bunks is a single table that comprises a single section, each barracks holding five sections that are divided by thin bulkheads.
AWD #184

It's morning ship-time, and presumably somewhere on each and every planet out there. The berthings are still quiet though (bar the snorers) as it's still a good hour at least before the mess starts serving breakfast and thus most of those not currently on shift are still, very sensibly, asleep. One who isn't though is Toby, who heads for his bunk with that aura of 'slightly damp' that more or less gives away that he's just showered. Well, that and the towel rolled up round his shoulders and neck. It's fair to say that he hasn't exactly been Mr Sociable, or even Mr Pleasant Company, since the news broke about Minos but this morning he seems to have managed to shake the personal thundercloud for a while at least.

Sera is a late sleeper. She always has been. Mornings, as far as the Tiny Trojan Terror are concerned, are the bane of her existence and should be banished to the deepest pits of Tartarus. Needless to say, with only an hour before the start of her shift, she's still currently curled up in a ball under her covers, praying her alarm clock will STFU of its own free will. It's an unanswered prayer, so one hand peeks out from beneath the covers and begins fumbling blindly for it — an act which surely sends at least two of her books crashing to the floor. Look out beloooooow!

Reaching his own bunk, Toby does his best to start kitting up for the day ahead without disturbing the guy above him. He's got his coveralls on up to his waist and one boot on when there’s the thud of Sera's books hitting the floor. Not being a usual alarm clock sound he sticks his head round the corner to check all is well before spotting that Ajax is still snoring away like some form of monstrous tractor. Shaking his head slightly he takes pity on the rest of those asleep and one-boot-limps over to Sera's bunk, reaching to switch off the alarm for her as he arrives.

Ohh, snooze button. Glorious snooze button. How Sera loves you. She doesn't seem remotely aware that it was Toby who allotted her another ten precious minutes of sleep; clearly, her mindless fumbling was successful. The blankets get yanked further up over her head, leaving only the shambles of her brown ponytail trailing outwards behind her as evidence of her presence. Well, that and the big lump smack in the centre of her bed.

'Hey, thanks Toby,' 'No worries Chief' Toby mutters to himself as he shakes his head in vague amusement. With the rest of the inhabitants now safe from flying literature he turns to start back towards his own bunk before his unbooted foot makes contact with one of those books already dislodged. Noticing that the floor is an inch or so higher than it should be for half the foot he aborts his step before bending down to retrieve the strays. Pausing for a brief moment to examine their spines he stands up again and turns back to Sera's bunk, trying to work out if it's actually possible to replace them without waking her. Only one way to find out!

It seems the Chief has some really weird taste in books, for a barely educated knuckledragger plucked straight of some backwater mining colony. The woman reads Virgon poetry. In Old High Virgon — as in the language of Virgon's people, long before before the Caprican tongue became known as 'Colonial Standard'. They proper place is obvious — the shelf right above Sera's head is the only one that's got any empty space left on it. The one with her prayer shawl, and other religious paraphernalia.

Toby doesn't read poetry and doesn't read Old High Virgon, so the books are safe from going walkies in his direction. Eyeing both the spot on the shelves and then Sera he figures he's tall enough to and so reaches up to slot them back into position. It's that or dump them on her bed and he doesn't think that'll get a particularly good reception from the, at best, half awake form. Of course, it would help if he had either both or neither boots on to even out his height and he ends up somewhat off balance with his unbooted foot off the floor as he leans in close and slips them onto the shelf.

There's incoherent mumbling from underneath the blankets. Okay. So she's not quite out cold, and probably aware of his presence. Which is a start, at least. There's a pause, and then something else muffled by her pillow. The covers peel back just far enough to reveal a nose and one single, squinting eye — an eye which quickly filled with a drowsy desire to go back to sleep, but also confusion. Was she expecting someone else? "Wuhh timesit??," she babbles at him.

Toby makes sure the books are stable, and not about to fall off and brain Sera before he shuffles back half a pace so he isn't quite so close and glances down at the eye. Given the question he turns momentary to her alarm clock and reads the display before answering amusedly "five past throwing books around the berthings o'clock. Or fifty five to work if you prefer. Morning Chief."

There is a grunt of reply, followed by a sigh of dismay. Her pillow. It is singing its siren song of just a few more minutes of sleep and she clings to it longingly for a few second more. Eventually, she pushes herself up onto her elbows. It's not quite sitting, and she's not quite conscious yet, but it's a start — a start accompanied by the expression usually sported by a toddler that's about to throw a tantrum.

Toby would ideally, at this point, produce a mug of fresh, hot coffee and retreat to a safe distance until it kicked in. Sadly though that's not an option, and not being particularly well versed in toddler expressions instead of retreating out of range he simply looks down at the bunk below Sera's and shrugs, "mind you, it was likely only Ajax in the line of fire so who knows, might have done him some good. Or at least we'd never have been able to tell if there was any damage."

She sits up, burying the palms of her hands into her eye sockets and rubbing them until the skin turns red. Or, well, pinkish. Given her natural caramel coloring, her skin never really turns 'red' - not red-red, anyway. "Have n'idea how he sleeps li'that," she mumbles, likely in reference to the way the man just snorts and snores and rumbles like a tank engine. At least it's not screaming nightmares, though — not anymore, anyway.

"It's because he's a bastard," Toby replies, still looking down for the moment, "ever tried turning him onto his side or anything? I've heard that works." Not that he's seriously expecting her to have that is, but it is something he's heard. "Or maybe convince him he's pilot material, have him keep them all awake instead." A shrug there and he turns back to Sera, "sorry if I woke you though, was trying to avoid that."

"'ave to get up, anyway," she says with a yawn. A yawn and a note of disdain for the idea of dragging herself out of her bed, which is soft and warm in comparison to the cold metal surroundings of the battlestar. She clearly favours the former, being as she's sleeping in one of those enormously oversized sweatshirts she likes so much, and reaches up to yank the thing back over her shoulder.

Toby almost replies with a 'could be worse', but stops himself as he figures that there no way one of those ends with anything other than either angry or being maudlin, and it's too early in the morning for either. Instead, he glances briefly down the row of bunks, back in the vague direction of his own before saying quietly, "you mind me asking something?" Not ideal circumstances he knows, but it is about as private as they're likely to get. "Was just wondering if you'd spoken to Dio since.. well, you know?"

Sera blinks a few times, trying to chase sleep from her eyes. And cobwebs from her brain. "No," she says, frowning darkly. "Well, I mean, yes. But never about anything besides what's bein' assigned to his crew that day and when it'll get down. S'about it." Both of her black brows knit together, meeting somewhere under a mess of tussled bangs. "Why?"

"Me neither," Toby admits, stuffing his hands into his pockets somewhat guiltily as he does so. At the question of why he gives a short shrug, "wanted to see if he was okay. Well, not okay, you can't really be okay after something like that. You know it, I know it, we've lived with it a while now but for him it's new. Fresh." Aware he's starting to ramble he shuts up and gives another short shrug.

One hand reaches up to shove her bangs back out of her face. It's entirely too early in the morning to be dealing with the apocalypse. "I'll see if I can corner him for a few minutes. But honestly, I don't blame him. When I heard about Troy, the only thing I wanted was for everyone to keep on doin' their damned jobs."

"I wanted to destroy each any every single one of those responsible," Toby murmurs, "just reach out my hand and crush them to dust." Noting then the lack of suitability of both time and place he gives an apologetic glance than offers a "thanks. I'd do the same, but I think with the pair of us he'd smell a rat." He offers another shrug then an apologetic "sorry. Too early for this sort of shit. I should let you get on, talk to you about it later or something."

Sera waves the comment off — literally. There's a wave of her hand, dismissing it as not worth either of their concern. "Yeah, well. Me, too. But deck ain't a combat unit, so the best way to make sure I'm doin' what I can to see every last one of those tin cans dead is doin' my job. An' makin' sure every one of my crew is doin' their job, too." A shrug, then another frown. "Maybe Dio's doin' the same." Or maybe he's crawling into a bottle every chance he gets. She doesn't really know.

"Maybe," Toby concedes with a shrug, although he's honestly not sure either way. There's another brief glance down the bunks as others start to stir and get themselves ready for the day, but it seems like he's not quite ready to move off again just yet. "I'm going to go talk to Rh.. Captain Llywarch," he corrects himself quickly, "see if there's anyway to take those in the fleet who could have done something and nail their arses to the wall. It's not a lot I know, and the CAG fled ages ago, but I reckon it's got to be better than nothing. Maybe even stop it happening again."

Both of Sera's brows arch upwards sharply. "Yeah? Well, good. But who are you goin' to take shots at with Shepherd gone? I'm not sayin' don't, mind you. I'm just sayin'… who's left to blame? Not anyone under him, if he never passed the orders on. Goin' after the brass above him?" There's a snort. She knows exactly how far she got complaining about harassment from low-ranking officers, let alone top brass. Doubt's written all over her face. "Good luck with that."

Toby can only really shrug once more. "Make sure it's firmly on his sheet is a start, see if anything can be done in absentia and such. I dunno really, I'm not a lawyer," and pigs can't fly by the way, "but I used to play Pyramid with her on Picon so I figure she'll hear me out at least. That and not laugh in my face if there really is nothing to do." Another shrug, "maybe some sort of inquiry or shit, see that it never happens again, I dunno."

"Go for it," she says, slowly letting her eyes drift closed. There's a twinge in the corners of her mouth, her face threatening to slip into a grimace of pain at some memory, before she blinks them open again. "Ain't nothin' can be done about what happened to the people on Troy. But the people on Minos? Those people floatin' out around Hebe? No reason for that. NONE. That wasn't the toasters. That was us."

Toby nod slowly at that, "sums it up," he agrees. "If I ever do see that rat bastard again though I'm nailing him to the wall and setting Dio loose, or frak it, maybe I'll just set Dio loose." In an attempt to alleviate the mood a fraction he then adds, "but just so you know, if you hear I've been up to the JAG's office, it ain't cos I've done something stupid. Probably."

"Hey," she says with a shrug of her shoulders, which dislodges her sweatshirt once again. A hand reflexively reaches over to yank it back up. (Duh, Sera. Next time, don't cut so much of the neck out of your sweatshirt, if you don't like it doing that.) "Your business is your business, so long as it don't get you brigged or make trouble on my deck."

Toby pulls his right hand out of it's pocket and lifts in the vaguest resemblance of a salute. "'ll never be me causing trouble on the deck," he states serious, "you don't frak with that shit." The other, well that's harder to make the same sort of statement out, so he chooses to say nothing. Who knows when a deserving shithead might happen to walk onto a fist after all. He'll keep it in mind though.

Girlie's not so slow on the uptake. She knows what that silence means, but instead of offering him a reprimand, she just gives him a lopsided, bleary-eyed grin. "Then maybe I'll manage to keep from goin' grey before I'm thirty." Good lords, is she really that young?

Toby takes mock umbrage at that remark and aims a raised eyebrow at Sera. "Thirty? Good lord I'm surrounded by children." Shaking his head slightly he then shrugs, "hey, if I managed it I'm sure you'll be fine. Besides, women can always dye theirs. We men are never let into the secret of how to spot that so you'll be fine."

She blinks a few times, then starts to laugh. It's a warm, reassuring sound — the sort of laughter that tends to infect an entire room. "I'll keep that in mind for when they get around to buildin' that hair salon down on Piraeus. Top priority, that. I'm sure the old man's just chompin' at the bit to go get his luscious locks trimmed all proper-like."

"That before or after the boffins get to work on that perfume, or whatever it was you were wanting?" Toby asks with a smile. It's good to see the Chief light hearted after all, even if it may only be briefly. "Got to be a few of them up there," he says with an upnod towards the other decks, "starting to run low on moustache wax and the like, can't have an officer looking like a knuckledragger can we? Where would order and discipline go then? I reckon you're right, he'll be first through the doors."

There's something about the idea of Jameson in particular sitting in the middle of a hair salon, getting his coiffure updated to the newest trends that just sends Sera into a fit of laughter. "Let's hope he's got decent aim with his chew, yeah? Otherwise, there's goin' to be spit all over the nice new floors, an' let me tell you, that stuff is foul."

"I reckon that's Service's problem," Toby replies with a mock-serious expression. Now there's a department on ship he doesn't want to work for. "Mind you, whole thing'll probably be run by them, that or an enterprising civi. You reckon they'll give officers a separate area, away from the riff-raff? They get the trained barber, we get the work-experience kid who won't clip our ears with whatever cutting blade he's managed to get his hands on? Nah, too much hassle likely, bet they'll ration the tash wax though."

"Be lucky if they don't end up accidentally scalpin' you," she says with a shake of her head and a jerk of her thumb down towards Dio's bunk. "Alexios has probably got the right idea. Just hack it all off. What do you think, Shacks? You think I'd look real pretty with a buzz cut?"

"You'd be fine," Toby replies quickly, dismissing Sera's question with a brief wave of his hand, "but I think it'd ruin my youthful good looks." He doesn't then brush his hand through his hair, that'd be a step too far, especially at this time of the morning.

"Well, that settles it, then. Time to bust out my trusty pink disposables an' hope I've got enough of an edge left to hack through all this," she retorts, yanking on one end of her mussed ponytail. It's her fault, one she only ever seems to stray from long enough to wash it and let it dry.

"Sure thing," Toby replies with a grin, "although, you might want to wait until after shift. Don't think you've got time to finish now," he tilts his head to her alarm clock, "and you wouldn't want to ruin the surprise for everyone by turnin' up lopsided. Besides, it's make your helmet wonky and that's just not a good look for anyone."

"….That helmet ain't a good look for anyone, anyway," she says with a derisive snort. "Neither are those awful orange jumpsuits. I manage to make mine look decent through pure talent an' generations of good breedin'. The rest of you lot? Y'all are screwed." She's such a modest little thing, grinning ear to ear with amusement at her own false bravado.

"It's for the Air Wing," Toby replies with a knowing nod, "you know what they get like when people say there are others prettier than them. They just flounce off in a huff and then you can never get them to do anything for the rest of the day."

"But they need to extra time to polish their pretty gold pins, Shacks," she says with such dewy innocence. It's not an expression Sera wears well. Her face was meant for smirking cheekily, not feigning doe-eyed purity of mind and heart.

"Point," Toby concedes with a shrug, "they should probably make our a grey-brown, that way we needed have to worry about cleaning the grease off 'em. Give us more time for the important stuff, like patching all those dents and holes so they can fly off and bring us back some new ones."

"Ain't nothin' like poundin' out divets on the deck to give yourself a good workout," she says with a roll of her eyes. "Man, did you see the bird they brought Raynor back in? He half-crashed onto the Cornwall's deck, not ours, so we won't be the ones bangin' out the dents he made, but gods, that bird? Drenched in blood and blown into chunks barely clingin' together. We're goin' to have to hose it out just to see if it's anythin' but scrap metal."

"We could chalk faces in the divets, make it a cathartic workout and all," Toby notes, before frowning slightly and adding, "or that might bring trouble to the deck when people start with their whole 'but they're citizens too now' whine." Leaving that there he then shakes his head at the question, "missed it. Saw the Vipers from that recon a few days ago though. They're looking about as pretty as their pilots at the moment."

"That's the one I'm talkin' about. Raynor, he's that smart-mouth El-Tee you almost cracked in the mess. Y'know, the one married to the little blonde who likes to whip her pistols out whenever?," she says, finally abandoning her blankets. "He was the one that almost died out there. I heard Holtz's Viper took some nasty hits, too, and McBride's. Some of the others. I don't know their names."

"Still half wish I had," Toby admits with a half shrug, "ran into him 'bout a week back and he was smirking away, acting all angelic." Shaking his head a moment he then nods as Sera continues, "yeah, McBride was mentioning he'd taken damage, something having to patch his nav mid-flight. Should give the avionics boys a thing or two to play with."

Face, meet palm. Palm, meet face. "Greeeeat. I'd put money down that even Hephaestus would look at whatever mess he made an' go, "What the frak?". But whatever. Avionics ain't my problem. As long as he didn't go climbin' under the hood, I can still take care of my end."

"Not taking that bet," Toby replies quickly "although if he made it back to the Cornwall's deck and avoided the asteroids then it can't be too much of a mess surely?" No, don't worry, he's not serious about that last statement but equally it's not his problem either. "Least it's Vipers though, we can replace those frackers if worst comes to it."

"Had the factory all spooled up a few months ago. Before you got here, even," she says, shoving her tongue into her cheek for a second. It, predictably, bulges outwards before she stops making that face. "It's the Raptors I'm worried about, but it seems like they don't get banged up as bad to begin with. So at least there's that."

"Like those ones that took on that saber site? Frak yeah," Toby agrees, shifting his weight about a bit as he's still only got one boot on. "Think their pilots are generally more sensible though, possibly cos of the ECO in the back? I dunno. Reckon you're right though, Vipers are the worst for it."

"I think maybe you've just got to be a little bit nutters to be a Viper jock," she says, with utmost sincerity. No sarcasm. No. Sera, for once, is not making a joke. "Anyway, I gotta grab myself a shower before hittin' the mess. If I keep jabberin' away at you, I'm either goin' to miss coffee or soap, an' I'm pretty fond of both."

Toby offers no argument to the comment about Viper pilots but does give a considered nod. "I'll get out of your way then," he offers, taking a couple of one-boot-limp steps back towards his own bunk before pausing slightly. He's almost, almost tempted to make a remark about the soap, but in the end chickens out and instead offers, "I'll be heading messwards in a couple of minutes, want me to save you a seat?"

"Sounds good," she says, shuffling over to the ladder that leads down out of her bunk. Bare toes on a cold floor. Clearly not her favourite by the way she winces. "See you in a few, yeah?"

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