PHD 227: Dogs Under The House
Dogs Under the House
Summary: A grounded FI and the S2 discuss life before and after the bombs.
Date: PH227 (02 December 2009)
Related Logs: MxM

BS Hestia, Deck 14, Observation Deck
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #227
OOC Time: Wed Dec 02 01:21:45 2009

The lights in the Observation Deck are turned down low so that most of the room remains movie theatre darkened. To the left of the hatch, a viewport runs the length and near height of the room, and provides an expansive vista of the space to the fore of the Hestia. The view is always spectacular, particularly when in orbit of a planetary body. Sturdy blast doors close over the viewport when the ship is under alert, providing extra protection to the heavy ballistic glass. Plush blue love seats are arranged facing the view of space, with a few feet of space between, giving each a small sense of privacy.

Despite whatever was going down on the deck- his shift is now offically frakking over. Which means he is free to do as he pleases. As such the S2 finds his ass parked on a blue loveseat. Well, more or less slightly sprawled as a cup dangles from one hand- and a cigarette is held with the other. Blue eyes watching the spectacular view of Solon II and space as well.

Thankfully for the hour, Tombs is pretty much alone, which means there's no speed, hate smoke going on. And he's in his off duty clothing, which means he is frakking slumming.

In through the hatch comes a pilot who is distinctive for, if nothing else, the pronounced limp with which she walks. It is in no way subtle, and neither is the brace that holds her knee largely immobile. She's gotten mostly past the crutch stage, except when she's on an extra long shift with a lot of running through the damn battlestar, but she usually ditches it here and there so as not to draw even more attention to her lack of cockpit joy. Vega gimps into the Obs Deck with a thermos of something wedged under her arm. She's in her sweats, and has a full thermos, which means she's not only slumming, she's about to camp out and make an evening of it.

Perhaps it is the gimp in motion that catches the peripheral of the marine, or maybe it is the noise of someone stumping around, which has eyes averting briefly from the sight. Hard to say, though Nate does find himself looking back to the open space for a time and a half, as another drag is taken. There's no movement from him, nor is there a look of surprise. No-on might assume a meeting like this is normal. In some aspects.

"Punchout." Tombs says finally, as a leg barely shifts. So much for a cheerful greeting, but then those are rare these days aren't they? "You've been scarce." See someone notices some things.

"Yeah. It's called ruined for life." Vega's reply is dry. She drops her ass into a nearby seat without plunking herself right in the Lieutenant's space. "Who says frakkin' marines are too dumb to notice shit before they step in it." She winces as she swings her leg up, scooting to one end of the little loveseat. She grunts and scoots a little closer to the other, and props her foot on the arm. That looks all kinda of uncomfortable.

Tombs grunts once before he's shaking his head. "You're not ruined. I'm sure there is someone more shot to hell out there, than you are." a faint smirk, but it doesn't last. Instead it seems he is looking back over to the other lieutenant, watching the odd bit of motion there, before he's frowning a little and moving his frakking leg. "You can sit with me. I don't bite." Plus it might be easier to lean on his ass, than to try and do whatever the hell she is doing. "Sides mine's bigger." isn't that how all fights get started.

"Didn't see you out on the deck tonight-so I figured you were doing..something." a pause. "I was on th' Kharon last night…Bitch is burned bad, an her crew acts like a dog that's been put under the damned house too long."

"If I sit with you, you get my leg. And you better treat it right, you smelly ass marine." Vega isn't stupid. She's also in some pain there. Too many hours pushing it today. Once your leg's frakked up from an accident, you milk that baby for all it's worth. Including making other people provide some comfort. She hauls her ass up and drags it on over to Tombs' loveseat to insinuate herself, take over one side, then swing her right leg into his lap. Bwaha. She sits close enough that her knee gets slung over his lap and she's wedged sort of on the end. "Move closer." Demands! Pilots around here. "Who would put a dog under a house?"

"Have I ever frakked with your leg before?" simply asked before he's adjusting and moving to sit, closer as is demanded. Yes, way too used to how pilots seem to behave on this ship- or any other ship for that matter. Still the marine just scootches, and waits till she's all nice and settled, before he's finding a place for the mug-which is currently filled with ashes. See- someone has uses for other people's mugs too. However at her last statement silence is broken again as if Vega asked what bread was.

"Poor people, Vega. Poor people put their dogs under their porches so they don' run off. It is by far one of th' stupidest things I've seen. If you don' wanna dog in your frakkin house, then build em one. It is the easiest frakking thing to make beyond a bird house. Dongs don' require a godsdamned frakkin jacuzzi- or frakking stairs. They are dogs. Wood and dead carpet works."

Rant over the Marine lets out a breathe. "Sorry."

The best part about being semi nice to Vega is free tattoos. Some people work it, and she's happy to let them, sometimes. Depends on who they are. "… That's some shit right there." She was fortunate enough to be raised primarily on Caprica, though her accent bears heavy traces of something originating on Tauron. "I would have loved a dog. A giant dog. A dog that shits on command."

And Tombs already has a few, though there's only one he knows she's done for him, and that was the day before hell day. Nothing like getting a freaking mark of Zeus Messiah on your back shoulder only to have shit come and bite you on the ass, yeah? Still he ain't bitter about that. No way in seeing anything looking bad-till the calls came in. "It is what it is…" a snigg, before he's looking back to the pilot. Apparently Vega is now more interesting than space. "Would have? What happened?" He'll set em up.

"Not a lot of space. Not a lot of dog lovers in my house." Vega doesn't sound too disappointed about it all. "And by the time I was old enough to care so much, I was in the navy." Gosh, all it took was talking about not having a dog to make her more interesting than space. She uncaps her thermos, and screws open the thing before pouring a cup of hot … smells like veggie soup, canned. Even the cheap shit tastes like heaven when it's all you have. She takes a sip. It's little more than flavored broth with some dried herbs sprinkled in, but it smells pretty tasty from this close. "I didn't have time for one. School, work, work, school."

Tombs is a simple man. He likes dogs, booze and other things that don't keep him lost in his thoughts, and keep his mind busy enough that his hand won't start shaking. A sniff though and eyes are going to the thermos and the cup with said thermos. Mainly perhaps because it is the non fancy broth she brought in. Still he just takes a drag and eases out, before ashing into his purloined mug again. "You lead a busy life, Vega Navarro." a kiss of his teeth and eyes are back onto space-mainly because that is safer to watch, than soup eating. That'll just get him hungry. "We lost three." See look at him catching her up on his news as if it is important. "And my brain just wants to jump outta my head quicker than a drunk girl from a prom dress."

"You gotta stop losin' those marines. It's not like they grow on trees around here." Vega sips. She glances over toward the stars, discussing the dead like they're poker chips misplaced on a bad hand. "You should think about putting trackers on their asses, like with car keys. Which I can't keep track of myself." She sips again. "My brain can't keep figures in unless I read them over and over and over, and pretty much over until my eyes bleed. I didn't have a choice but to be busy if I wanted to finish flight school. Which I did. Skipped out on a lot of shit to make it in, and now look at me. Warming marine lap." She snorts. "I could have had a dog." And instead she got an S2. The frak kind of world is that?

"Now you got me.." Which seems to show he was following her there. Still It is hard to say what Nate thinks about it, all the same. A grunt and he is shaking his head for a second. "Not so much figures-not a math man myself- but just th' tactics of it. game calls. Figger I am more pissed at myself for not bein down there with em. Someone should have an Jack kept our asses here." And he's dropping it. He already bitched too much to the Bosslady no need to rehash old wounds for Vega. A lick of his lips as the cigarette is done for. "Shit makes me feel old. I'm 37 and I feel fifty. Course when I was twenty and enlisted I acted like I was frakkin' forty years old."

"You're completely old. Isn't that pasture time in marine years?" Vega snorts and finishes off her cup of soup before she pours another, and offers it over to the marine. "Drink this, it'll make you feel less like you're about to fall apart, and more like you wish you had real soup."

"You say the nicest things. Hell I'd invite you over to my mother's house if it weren't all dead and gone like half the shit in this life time." comes a flat reply from Nate. However, the cup of soup is taken and a sip is the first thing he does. No: thank you's, or shit like that. He gets right on down to business. "Why are you so good to me?" another sip. "I figure you would have air locked my ass by now- or something just as appropriate."

"You're the S2. I'm not allowed to airlock fellow officers, even if you are a marine. I'm pretty sure it's in my contract somewhere. I take that shit very seriously. Vega Navarro makes a promise, Vega Navarro keeps a promise." The gimpy flight instructor reaches for the smoke to confiscate that while the marine's sippin' on her soupish drink thing. "I love this place. It's cold as ice balls, but it almost makes me feel like things could get better one day. Check out that view. Is that worth livin' for or what?"

Tombs snickers, "Marine's the only thing you got against me? Shit. I get by way too easy in this frakking can." such loving terms for their floating/fighting home. Still he is smiling now-though he will attribute it mostly to the soup. Another swig- and the cigarette is forgotten or rather, gifted over to the FI. "Dunno." Tombs replies as eyes are back to space. "I find a warm bed much more worthy than a pretty view." grin still holding. "But, it is beautiful."

There's barely any frakkin' cigarette left. She squints at it, then raises the thing to give a try for a final drag before the nasty ass smell of burning filter catches on. "My rack's tiny. Do you know how hard it is to get a decent sleep in a rack that small with a leg this touchy? Back home I used to sleep like this," She shoves the cig in her mouth, and spreads her arms wide, one almost popping him in the nose. "Flat on my back. Now I sleep like this." She curls her arms in close and shoves curled hands under her chin. "Somebody near my bunk farts every time they serve that mystery meatloaf shit in the Mess. I don't know who it is, but there's a godawful cloud of stench about midshift grave every time I get up to hobble to the can. Do you know how hard it is to hold your breath and crutch?"

"Joy of having officer's bunks. I don't sleep in Marine country and my bunk is right nice, for it's size. In fact- I sleep well in it." Tombs adds in as he continues mulling in the soup. After all it does give you that sorta cheapened, Ma' feeling. All he is missing now from his boyhood is a blanket too big for him. and a shitty bed to be laying in. However the other question does have him looking back to her, almost as if asking if she is serious. "You do know, I do." a slurp there. "I was in medical hack for a while when I was enlisted. I told you that story."

Navarro's had a lot of time to think about the atrocities of war during her down time in her rack. Every time the vipers scramble, she's got plenty of thinkin' time. No CAPs to take up the day. It's probably why she takes so much pleasure in beating the crap out of Ensigns and JiGs in the sims with her modified flight controls. Farts at the witching hour make her mean in the sims. All atrocities of war don't involve crimes against humanity — just decency. "I'm saying. It sucks. I hope they run out of that shit soon. I forget every time, until I'm half way through the dead zone. Frak you and your cushy bunk." She sucks down what's left of the cig, then reaches over to drop it into the coffee mug Nate was using as an ashtray.

Tombs on the other hand doesn't dwell too much in the past, before the war- and so where as he could think of what has brought him to his own odd case of tremors, which haven't left yet, or the fact that he sill has a nice web of scars on his back. No he prefers to dwell on the here an now and not bitch too much. He's a marine, not a pilot or a doctor. INstead there's a sip and a waggle of the cup the soup was in. "Buy me dinner first an we'll talk about the first part of that."

"I just bought you dinner, Tombs. I can't help it if you didn't take your time and enjoy it." Vega shoots a look over. "I know I only have full range of motion in one leg, but I'm pretty sure you're too old to take me to bed. You'd throw out your back or herniate something. You're one of those desk jockey marines. That's what officer means in marine speak." What was it he was saying about her being good to him? "Paper frakkin' pusher." She would know. She's one too.

"You didn't buy shit." Tombs fires, back before he's returning the look shot. "Frak you- I ain't too frakkin old. I am in top condition and I could split you in half like firewood if I had my druthers." a sniff there. But the last words take what fight he has in him this late and turns it cold. "I don't push paper." all the time. "We're just being played too cautious." IE Krauss'll keep him from going sometimes. "I can still beat anyone on this damned ship, an I sure as hell can take you."

"You couldn't take me if I was unconscious and drugged and naked and tied up," Vega replies, in a display that is nothing but a smoke screen. Before she was injured, she could whip some ass in the cockpit and in the ring. Her injury took the shine off, and now she's less than formidable unless it's standing still punch fight.

"Why would I want you unconscious and drugged?" A quip there before he's settling back in against the pilot. Content to be silent for a bit and stare at her before staring back into space. "After all how will you limp to get me a sandwich if you're knocked out…" a jab there as he keeps his eyes on the the planetoid. Tombs twitches once- a shake seen in his hand as he passes back her cup. "I am just on edge. It'll pass."

Vega takes the cup back, and pops it onto the thermos. She shoves that down between her thigh and the couch arm, to keep it propped. She reaches over to take the hand that tremors, even if it's only briefly. Strong fingers turn his hand, then massage out from the palm. "Sometimes when I tattoo for too many hours in a row, my hands get like that." She knows it isn't muscle fatigue. She doesn't say anything otherwise about it. She just keeps rubbing, manipulating the muscles and tendons.

Tombs nods slightly as he closes his eyes finally, and there's a bit of him relaxing. He'll let her work on his hand and he'll just stay right here for all he is concerned. "I can't get it to stop..Sometimes. Thankfully it doesn't ever come in combat..Just when I am have enough down time.." There's a reason why he hates aquarians. This being one of the chief ones. "I'll run with you tomorrow, if you like?"

She can pretend the hand thing is helping, and he can ignore her pretending it's helping. Everything works out for the better. "I know." Vega glances over. "I started swimming instead. It hurts a lot less. Doc says if I can build up the muscle, I might be able to ween myself off the brace. But all the usual shit still hurts too much." She's having a hard time dealing with the fact that the nerve damage may be permanent.

See this is why they get along so well. He can be his usual hard ass self, and she doesn't fuss, nor does he treat her like some cripple as others might. Well there are other things too, but tomato tomato. "We'll swim then. Been a while since I have- and I like letting my mind go blank." See, easy there. Tombs frowns, only a little. "You're doing good. Better than they first said. So, have hope. I got back on the line- you can too." He'll keep saying that-till he's told to stop.

"Yeah." Vega doesn't sound certain, but she doesn't sound defeated either. "It's just a bitch and a half. I can't push through it. I just have to work and wait." Like his tremors. She blows out a breath. "One way or the other." Something. Something will happen one way or the other. Or nothing. Nothing can also happen one way or the other. She falls silent, her eyes on Solon II trough the viewport. "Better than they said." The said she might lose the leg. Her hands still on his hand. And together they just watch the stars go by.

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