| Not That Kind of Dirty Business |
| Summary: | There's business that wingmates have to take care of with the passing of the CAG; ironically, the favor is asked in the head. |
| Date: | PHD262 (January 5. 2010) |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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Hestia - Pilots' head
The head adjoining the pilots' berths was buzzing with activity about thirty minutes ago during shift change, but has since mellowed to a quiet punctuated by the odd drip of a faucet and the soft scrape of someone shaving. It appears to be a dark-haired, reasonably bulkily built officer, currently in a non-regulation tshirt and fatigues. He's bellied up to one of the sinks, duffle open on the floor beside him while he rids his cheek of coarse, bristly beard.
With a squeal and clang, the door opens, and a rather tallish blonde pilot steps into the pilots' head. Frak that trying to get cleaned up in shift change, she'd rather wait and not be annoyed by the obnoxious sex talk and the assault on the nostrils that a bunch of hot sweaty bodies tends to provide. She's entering with a fresh towel, and some cleanser and all, intending to do a quick scrub and hit the bunks, for a few hours before running her second CAP. For the moment, she's in the offduty tank and pants. "Well…you look like hell," Kallisto manages to say dryly, as close to a joke as she's willing to go with the fact that her wingmate has a few bulletholes in him after the other night.
Spider is cursed with a wing full of women taller than him, it seems. Though cursed may not be the right word there. He finishes the slow swipe of his jawline, rinses the blade off, and flicks blue eyes to the mirror in time to spot his wingman's arrival. A moment's taken to examine his handiwork with the pad of his thumb before he replies, voice customarily gruff, "Think that might be an insult to hell." His lips twitch a little, and his gaze returns to the task at hand. Scrape, scrape, scrape. "Enjoying patrols without me around?"
"Well, it's not as much fun with you there to keep up with. I've got a little pilot who's got all the training and hours, but is still a little green. I don't think he appreciates the way I take it significantly slower than you might have. But I'll be damned if I'm going to come back from a CAP with a dead pilot if I can help it." Subtle dig on Kai? Self-depricating humor? Maternal personality kicking into high gear? Something's going on, at the very least, and it seems to revolve around the fact that, for the moment, she's element lead on CAPs.
Kai turns his head slightly to finish dragging the razor across his jaw, shakes the soapy bristle off with a splat, and rinses once more. He's evidently showered not too long ago, given the damp hair and damp skin, tshirt molding fairly well to the latter. "Backfire, right?" He doesn't just make the schedule, he remembers it. "Just watch yourself on his six. He tends to.." Backfire? Pilots usually earn their callsign for a reason. Either way, the dig at him — if it is that — slides right off him. He's probably endured his share of barbs from the Hestia pilots, since being slotted in as their CAG. And if rumours mean anything, he's notoriously difficult to rile up. "I've got a favour to ask you, by the way."
"Yes, Backfire. A name which I can say he's truly earned." As he talks, she slides on up to her own sink, about two down from him. Starting to draw the water into the basin, nice and hot, she produces cleansers from her little bath bag, setting them on the sink, before pulling her hair back into a tight bun at the back of her head. Additionally, she doesn't seem shy in in the least, as she pulls off her tanktop, revealing the sports bra underneath, constraining her relatively curvaceous form. "As for favors, I'm all ears," Kally replies, turning to her wash-up.
Spider's probably seen all sorts of clothed and unclothed bodies, and everything in between, in his thirteen years in the navy. He doesn't so much as bat an eye as Kallisto begins disrobing. "I'd like you to come up with a few things to say about Whiplash." Why, he doesn't explain. Maybe doesn't need to. Finished with the last of his shave job, he taps the soap off on the edge of the sink, rinses the blade one more time, and drops his head and shoulders so he can wash his face off. It spatters his tshirt and hair, which he doesn't seem to mind.
The favor doesn't really come as much of a surprise, given the recent events on the ship. "Can do," she says with a firm, crisp nod. Leaning over the sink, she cups her hands and splashes, getting her face and neck good and wet, before working the soap into a nice rich lather. Stoic as can be, given the situation surrounding the death, she just keeps on washing.
"Thanks," murmurs the CAG gruffly, dragging up the hem of his tshirt to pat his face dry, and exposing for a few seconds a fairly well-built upper body whose age is hinted at by the softer 'love handles' beginning to develop. Apparently the man hasn't heard of towels. "You let me know if you need anything, all right?" He turns blue eyes on her, a hint of concern evident beneath the perpetually irritated look his heavy brows give him, and reaches for his duffle. Maybe he's checking her out. Maybe not. Being married doesn't make him blind though, surely.
"That's a given, isn't it?" she says, smirking a bit as she turns at the sink. Bending over, face dripping wet, she's left to stare at him sideways. That's supposed to be the beauty of wingmates, right? Keep your six clean in and out of the cockpit. All-in-all, she seems…surprisingly unshaken by the Whiplash's tragic passing, but then, she's purposely kept attachments to a minimum…maybe just for this reason. "Regardless, I'll be sure to put together something wonderful for Whiplash. She most certainly deserves it."
Kai also doesn't appear too torn up by what's happened in the past fourty-eight hours, his own self. Then again, the man's not known for wearing his heart on his sleeve. He also barely knew the woman. Grunting his assent, he clasps her shoulder briefly and begins trudging for the hatch. "Feel free to recruit a few of the other pilots to help you. I'd meant to talk to Stonewall about it, as well. Just run it by me when you've got something figured out." The hatch wheel is reached for, though he doesn't tug it open just yet. "And have a good night, Kallisto."
"Aye, I'll be sure to make a go of it with the other vets. I somehow doubt I could do it all myself anyway. For now, though, good night. At least one of us will be up early and on the stick." She's smirking now, since that definitely was meant to rile him up just a little bit on his way out. Of course, it's hard to take seriously when her face is all covered in white soap lather, and she sort of has to squint through. Altogether, it's a little funny, or at least, she'd think so were she in Kai's shoes.
Kai flashes a brief, and incredibly rare grin at the younger pilot. "Don't slack off too much out there, while I'm gone." And then with a tick of two fingers to his temple in casual salute, he tugs open the hatch and ambles on out.
