| Pedagogy |
| Summary: | Timon goes to Sickbay to check up on Thorn. He's delayed. |
| Date: | PHD 274 |
| Related Logs: | Working Lunch; Apologies and Ascots |
| Players: |
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Deck 12 — Sickbay
It's been more than a couple of hours now since she got out of surgery. No one else is around, and Reverie starts to stir while the others are still resting. There's a bandage around her head and the rest of the bandages are covered by her hospital gown. She's seen better days but at least she's waking up now. "Mrrgle, mrrgle."
This must be the first time Timon Stathis has arrived in Sickbay and not been on a stretcher — and that, as far as he's concerned, is a fine state of affairs. Unfortunately, he's not sufficiently stealthy to evade the watchful eyes of Nurse Nancy Finn, who, despite looking remarkably put-together for somebody who's just supervised a fair number of surgeries, is still noticeably less perky than usual. "I've been trying to find you for the past two days," she snaps from the hatch, raising her clipboard in greeting — or warning. "Or have you forgotten how to check your mail?" But the irritation on her expression fades when Ivory bends to whisper something in her ear.
"Of — of course," the woman mutters when he's through, and her voice has rapidly lost its edge. "If he hasn't already been released. But if he's has, I expect you to turn right around and leave, or I swear to all the Lords of Kobol I'll — " She doesn't have the heart to finish the rest of whatever imprecation she'd been about to utter. And access thus gained, the pilot threads his way into Sickbay proper, humorless eyes lingering on the blanketed bodies resting soundly after a long night's work — looking for one in particular, whom he doesn't yet see.
Wah. Flail! Sound! That definitely wakes her up and Reverie starts to stir from her much needed beauty rest. She listens for a few moments, pursing her lips as she gets used to the light. "Um, can you all keep it down? Some of us had bullets taken out of us. Well a lot of us actually." she says softly, wrinkling her nose as she looks in the direction of the nurse and Timon.
Nurse Finn doesn't answer, having stalked away from the hatch when Timon entered the room to torment some other less persuasive visitor. Ivory, for his part, is silent as well, walking up and down past the beds in search of a brusque chain-smoking ECO. Hands clasped behind his back, head slightly bowed, Ivory moves through the room with quiet deliberation, stopping here and there to check the names taped to this gurney or that. Quiet, that is, until he sees the source of the remonstration. "Ensign." His voice is tired and strained.
"Lieutenant." she replies. Reverie forces a smile to her lips as she shifts a little in her bed to get a tad bit more comfortable. "I apologize again, but this time it's probably for double CAPs you and the other Raptor pilots will have to pull. We kind of got creamed on the basestar." she says softly before letting out a nervous little chuckle. Wah. She winces again. Making light of the current situation is hard. "What brings you to the place halfway between death and the living?"
"I don't fly." Ivory's tone isn't so much bitter as blank, and his words are spoken so softly that a stiff breeze might blow them away. For her sake, though, he draws closer, resting on a nearby chair while his scarred left hand twists painful knots into his curls. Burned shoulder flexes dully under the dim fluorescent lights. "I'm looking for Thorn. Is he out?"
"If you mean passed out, then yes. He got as many chest shots as I did." Reverie says softly as she ohs. Her cheeks flush a bright tinge of redas she looks down at her hands for a few moments. She twiddles her thumbs before taking another deep breath. "And I'm sorry again, for criticizing your calculations." It seems almost dying gave the girl some perspective.
Timon nods, his searching gaze turning towards the three corners of the room he hasn't yet searched. For a moment, it seems as if he's about to get up and continue his quest — but something the girl says won't let him leave. It's with an imperceptible sigh that Ivory settles into the chair, his hands folding together on his lap. "Why," he asks mildly, "do you think you have to apologize?"
"Why? Because I was an arrogant prissy ass bitch? And I'm not like that normally. My head was stuck in my ass and I thought I should pull it out." she says rather matter of factly. It takes a lot to admit something like that, doesn't it. "I had no idea what you were talking about, just gave it brief glance, did some calculations in my head then did more number crunching. Guess it's the whole Hestia and Kharon merging crew thing."
The flood of words is met with contemplative silence. As Reverie talks, Timon sets one leg atop the other, left leg settling atop his right knee so his boot's pointing somewhere near her face. And when she's done? "I see," is Ivory's considered response. Idle fingers tap out an inconstant rhythm on his heel. Then: "How old are you?"
"Twenty two." she says matter of factly. Didn't he ask her this before. Still, she doesn't say anything and remains seated in her bed.
"Twenty-two." Timon echoes her words with a faint 'mmm' of understanding. "You can't possibly have been in the Fleet very long." It's a question worded as a statement. "Why'd you join?" That one’s just a question.
“My ex boyfriend matriculated to the fleet academy on Caprica. I followed him. He got sent to a Viper Squadron on the Pegasus, and I got sent to the Furies here on the Hestia." Reverie says once more. So she may have joined the fleet in a way that most don't, but it did save her life. "It's my first tour of duty. Probably saved my life."
"Amor vincit omnia," Ivory murmurs, looking down at the long-healed burns still marring his skin. His furrowed brow wrinkles more as he covers the back of one palm with the other, shoulders slumping forward in his chair. "I dropped out," he offers at length. "I was a doctoral student at CU. Philosophy. For me, it was wait tables or enlist, and I chose to enlist. I’ve been in the service — Gods, coming up on eight years now." The man smiles wanly. "Time flies."
"Tempus fugit." she says softly as she looks towards Timon and shrugs her shoulders. "Enlisting saved your life ya know." she says matter of factly.
"You have a profound gift for stating the obvious," observes Timon, hands wrapping around the base of his grimy trousers, which even now still reek of antifreeze and jet fuel — the smell from which should be hitting her at any moment. "Anyway. Long story short, my first posting was on Camp Kilo to earn my all-weather cert. Won my callsign there, too. Two syllables: EYE-vree." His smile softens incrementally. "Care to guess where it came from?"
"It's a talent, what can I say. At least I'm not like some people who miss it entirely." Reverie replies as she shrugs her shoulders before her nose wrinkles. The smell is hitting her now. Oddly sweet and grossly pungent at the same time. "Um, pearly white teeth? You shot an elephant? You play the piano well?"
Timon shakes his head, chuckling lowly. Whether that's because of her words or his memories is up in the air. "I used to get into my ECO's face for not doing things just so," he says, closing his eyes at the memory. "I wanted weather readouts to look just so; I wanted atmospherics to be processed just so; I wanted everything done my way, which — of course — was the right way." Another chuckle.
"Of course," he murmurs again. "Took her a while, but one day Ears finally gets sick and tired of my crap. I come back to my bunk to find her and the CO taping something to my locker. I walk up to them to see what they were up to — and, well, all I'll tell you is that the thing was white and a good ten inches long. Use your imagination. 'Ivory tower,' the Captain says. 'Of the approximate size and width of the stick lodged at all times in your clenched and bony ass.'" Timon's eyes flicker closed, flicker open. "'Ivory for short.'"
"Ahhh. You were planning to be an academic. I can see that. I never liked philosophy." she says, scrunching up her nose. "There's no one realtruth. It's all subjective. Leads to chaos." Reverie says matter of factly. "My parents were both academics, professors of physics and electrical engineering at Caprica University. Very critical. Perfectionist even. So naturally, I had to be their perfect daughter. Or at least try to be."
"You're not — but I expect you knew that already." Ivory seeks out the girl's gaze with his own, though there's no hint of reproach in his tone. If he's bothered by her jab at his discipline, it doesn't seem to show. "Anyway. Alas, Case isn't willing to donate one of her collection of … toys … so I can prove a similar point with you." A wry grin drifts across his expression before vanishing as quickly as it comes. "But I hope you see what I'm saying, the absence of necessary teaching supplies notwithstanding."
"No, I get it." Reverie replies with a bright smile as she lets out a warm smile. "Still doesn't mean I can't apologize for my brash behavior though."
The apology is met with a brief nod and a vague hand-wave. "You were wrong about the numbers," Ivory notes, foot slipping from his knee before hitting the floor with a quiet little thump. "Really: nuclear weapons and the 'propagation of error' had absolutely nothing to do with the problem at hand. I expect you know that, too, given what you've just told me." There's a long pause; then: "But don't ever let that stop you from speaking up next time you think you see something wrong. Because in the off chance you are right — well." Timon gestures to the web of scars covering his arms and shoulders. "Error kills."
"No. It's all right. I'm learning a lot from your crew of the Kharon. Like hugging people or sitting on laps makes me some kind of slut. Or that I'm very wrong about your calculations. I think simple avoidance will be the best course of action for me." Reverie says softly before shrugging her shoulders once more. "You stick with your own. I'm not one of your own."
Ivory blinks at the first part of her response, and blinks again at the second. For a moment, it seems like he's about to blurt something out — but, perhaps thankfully, he restrains himself. "No," Timon agrees, running his hands through his head. "No, you're not — but that doesn't make anything I've said any less correct, whether it's about our project or your behavior. As to whether or not you want to listen to me, well. That ball's in your court, as Rabbit might say. Do with it what you will." It's with a weary sigh that the man moves to stand.
"I didn't say you were wrong. I don't think those words ever came out of my lips. Your own officers yelled at me for warning them about incoming centurions. They said I spoiled any advantage of surprise we had. We were all wearing our helmets at the time and could only be heard over com. That's what I'm talking about. Good night, Ivory. Sleep well." she says as she lays back and turns around to face the other direction as she tries to fall back to sleep.
"I don't fight straw men," says Ivory, who has already turned to leave. His chair is lifted up and placed out of the way of the aisle, slid under the nearby desk. And without another word the pilot slips past the curtains, his hesitant footfalls audible for another few seconds before they slow — and stop altogether. Thorn, it seems, has been found at last.
