| Redefinition |
| Summary: | Pilots have dirty minds. |
| Date: | PH270 |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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Evenings on a Battlestar are, upon reflection, quite similar to evening aboard an escort carrier — both involve truckloads of coffee, copious amounts of deodorant, and enough cigarettes to encircle Caprica City when laid end to end. Fortunately for his lungs, Timon is only partaking of the first two of those delightful pleasures. Wet brown hair is plastered against the sides of his face as he steps out of the head already changed into his off-duty sweats; around his shoulders is draped a simple cotton towel with the crest of the ship stitched into one corner. His old ship: not drinking the Hestia fruit juice, that's for sure.
Over on topof one of the crates in the berthing is a young woman still dressed in her on duty uniform. She's curled up reading a textbook on astrogation and the latest FTL systems as she peers curiously towards nthe older man. She shakes her head as she peers up from the book to look towards him. She's a newblet that's for sure with her rank proudly displayed.
Ivory threads his way past a pair of ECOs squabbling loudly about the relative merits of their brand of deodorant — it's ironic, see, because both of them are using the same military-issue stuff — and tosses his towel onto his bunk, where it settles like a snowcap on a mountain of crumpled clothes at the foot of his bed. Then, not unlike a wet dog, he's whipping his head back and forth to flick the last bits of moisture out from his hair.
"Whoa, man. Check yourself!" calls an irritated pilot who gets most of the splash.
"I did — and, miracle of miracles, still no tumors down there," Timon deadpans in response. "You can save your sympathy." Crinkled brown eyes turn towards the young — belay that, very young — woman nearby. "Did I get you too?"
She's not that young! Rev's in her early twenties afterall. Still, the splash does cause her nose to scrunch up from dismay as the water splashes over her textbook. She sighs and shakes her head. "No, not me, but you did get a bit on page seventy-two.." she admits ruefully, looking for something to absorb the moisture off the page.
She's slightly neurotic about her books and grumbles something under her breath as she looks towards the pair of ECOs squabbling over their brand of deodorant. "You do realize that you're arguing over what is essentially the same thing, right?" she says, her brows furrowed before she grabs the tossed towel to absorb the water from her book.
"Yeah," one ECO agrees happily — this one positively reeks of the stuff. "Gotta pass the time somehow." And as if to illustrate that statement, the man dives back into the fray, gesticulating madly while applying another liberal coating to his underarms.
"ECOs," says Timon, eyebrows rising as he wipes the last bits of moisture from his feet with a (relatively) clean sock that's put on after the operation is completed. "Welcome to the only squadron where the inmates are given equal control of the asylum." His free hand scrabbles about that massive pile of laundry beside him to find another sock, which he balls up and tosses in the girl's general direction. Because yes, she is that young. "Just washed it this morning. Don't mind the lint."
"Pass the time? Read a book. Learn how to be better at your job. I am." and she points at the textbooks gathered around her like a little fort. She should be known to the other ECOs on some level. She's that uber competitive young graduate of one of Caprica's Military Academies. All this time on the Hestia and she still hasn't made many friends. At least not with her fellow Ecos anyway, they're the competition.
Reverie catches the sock and nods with a soft chuckle under her breath. "Thanks." she says, starting to dry up the rest of the book. Fortunately the water didn't go through that many pages. "I'm Reverie, haven't seen you around before.." she says softly.
"Hear that?" says the other GIB, his wolfish face curling in an amused grin. "Bitch just called you bad at your job."
"Didn't exempt your well-used ass from that statement, now did she?" the first one shoots back.
"Well-used?" And, altogether too predictably, the conversation degenerates from there, with enough expletives and colorful metaphors to wake those pilots trying to sleep in the immediate vicinity.
"As I said," Ivory observes, lips twitching, "inmates. Asylum. And I'd appreciate that sock back when you're done — Ariadne might think I grew some fashion sense if I showed up with a mismatched pair, and we absolutely cannot have that." With a strained sigh, the older man plops himself down on his bed, his damp hair turning black the green fabric of his pillow. "I'm Ivory. I fly. Well, I flew." Beat. "You flew. He, she, it flew."
Eventually, the rest of her textbook is cleaned up. Phew. Now she does not have to kill anyone. Her books are her treasures and she doesn't like it when people screw with her books. She tosses the sock back towards the older male and grins wryly.
"Reverie, or Rev, or Tycho. Whatever you want to call me.." she says with a shrug of her shoulders as she closes the book and snickers as the two other ECOs just argue away in the background. "Oh well,guess I'll have to find a new place to read for peace and quiet.."
Timon reaches up into the air with his hand in an attempt to snag the sock out of its trajectory. He fails, of course, and as punishment the thing lands squarely on top of his left eye — from where it's unceremoniously scooped up and slipped onto his other foot. "They'll quiet down when they realize the coffee machine's running empty," Ivory observes, nodding his head in time to some mental clock in his brain. Five, four, three, two — "Right about — "
"Who the frak drank all the frakking coffee?" comes an outraged voice from near the head.
"Now," the pilot mouths, looking altogether bored as a herd of ECOs stampedes to the door.
Ah, Home Sweet Home. Or to Eddie: place where my shit lives. She's been catching shut eye where ever she can find it, in Jupiter's bunk, sacked out on the couch in the commons, sleeping in the shower, what have you. Once in a while, though, she manages to crawl back in here where she belongs. She wears an off duty outfit of a man's NAVY tshirt, the fabric tied in a knot at her spine to gather up the extra fabric which just happens to have dark brownish red stains on it. Someone needs to do laundry. "S'up, bitches." She greets in general as she heads towards her bunk.
This is not home sweet home for Reverie. Alas, she was just looking for a quiet place to read and now there are lots of people. She blinks for a few moments as she looks towards Eddie and nods. "Uh, hi.." she says, not used to being referred to as a bitch by a woman she doesn't even know or did nothing to. She then looks towards the herd of ECOs stampeding out and grumbles.
"And I left navigation to join those people..oye.." she says softly, facepalming.
"Mooner." Timon looks up from his stack of laundry. "I'd love to see what you did to the other guy," he adds wryly, brown eyes focusing on the stains at the base of the woman's shirt. "Mating season in Viper country?" If he's bothered by Eddie's choice of descriptors, he doesn't show it, instead turning to grab a legal pad and a pair of pens from the shelf behind him.
Eddie looks down at her newly acquired shirt, plucking at it slightly. "This /is/ the other guy." Eddie says simply, mustering a smirk for Timon's benefit. "Who's that?" She hitches a thumb at Reverie, talking about the Ensign as if the Ensign can't answer for herself.
Not too far behind Eddie, the CAG strolls in. No knock to announce his arrival, just the slightly off-beat cadence of combat boots striking the deck that most have come to associate with him, by now. He's dressed in his neatest officerly blues, with a folder trapped under one arm that makes him look even more the part, and his hands shoved into trouser pockets. After taking a brief look about, he starts moseying on toward the grouping of pilots.
"Or she can just be on her period." Reverie quips, noticing the stain on the shirt as she lets out a soft chuckle of amusement under her breath. She wrinkles her nose and looks towards Eddie and just shakes her head before she opens up a book and starts reading once more.
Here comes the pilot train, it seems, as Thorn follows not far after Kai. He's not quite so spruced up as the CAG, though, clad in the usual offduty ensemble of tanks and trousers. As usual, a cigarette bobs on the man's lips as he walks; Komnenos makes a pit stop at his bunk, emptying his pockets on the bed before turning and offering a silent nod of greeting to the rest of the assembled piloty folk.
"Spider." This, to Kai, along with a wave of his legal pad: MOAR lesson plans for you. And for Eddie: "I — you know, I'm really not sure," Timon confesses, his level gaze settling on the young girl's face as if he's trying to commit it to memory. "Reverie, you said?" Beat. "That's a state of being, not a name, last I checked." The Raptor pilot swallows a yawn as he scrutinizes his messy writing under the light of his bunk, green pen clicked open to make a few modifications to his text. Sorry Thorn — you're not seen just yet.
"And it's a name. My name." Reverie emphasizes as she shrugs her shoulders once more before her brows raise a little as she notices the CAG enter. He, she knows, at least she knows who he is anyway and she hops off the crate where she was all curled up and puts the book away." She swallows a bit and hrmms, chewing on her bottom lip.
"Reverie and Ivory…go together in perfect…harmony…." Eddie croons after being reminded of an old ditty, and she bops the rest of the way to her locker. "Captain May-wreck." Eddie drawls a greeting she's heard others use. Of course others have the genuine accent to warrant the autoaccident of pronunciation. She opens her locker and tosses in a spiral notebook she's been toting around. "Got a thought, if you got a cubit, sir. Whenever you have time." She tells the boss man.
Kai gives the young ECO a furrowed-browed look bordering on perplexed, but doesn't comment on the sudden hopping to her feet. Maybe it's just her boss radar that went off. He steps in closer to Timon, and extends a hand for the pad of paper. The 'May-wreck' is not acknowledged. "I don't, but I've got some pocket lint, if that interests you, Morales. What's your thought." The question's gruff, with little intonation at the end to even mark it as such.
"See, Mooner — or should I say Crooner? It's a name," Ivory repeats, handing over his pad as he peers curiously at the gathering crowd. "Her name." This last is spoken with a wan little smile — and a mock salute as Timon finally notices the cigarette fiend who's just entered the room. "Evening, Thorn." He jerks his other ballpoint — a black one — in Reverie's direction. "Another rook for you to torment. Go easy, will you? Last thing I want to see is my ECO — " The pilot coughs. "Former ECO," he corrects. "Anyway, last thing I want to see is my former ECO giving Black Cat fifty on the ground. Smoking makes cardio difficult." Ivory even manages to feign the appearance of concern.
Thorn leans against the bunk, turning towards Timon with a slight smirk as the pilot addresses him. "Ivory." At the mention of new blood, Thorn turns to regard Reverie curiously. "Rook, eh?" His brow furrows a bit at the mention of pushups, though. "Let's not revisit that particular bit of humiliation, what?" Back to Reverie. "Got a name, rook?"
"Wanna see how I picked up that name?" Eddie asks Reverie, though she's already fumbling with her belt at the question. Her wry grin gets swivelled back to Kai, and for the moment, Eddie stops tormenting the new meat. "Just had some ideas about another round of Simulator 'games'. You hear about the results of the last one?" As Ivory ribs Komnenos about smoking, Eddie helps alleviate that problem by reaching out to try and steal Thorn's smoke.
"Well, they don't seem to think it's a name, they see it as a state of mine. Reverie.." she says introducing herself to Thorn while she shrugs her shoulders. "Not a complete rookie.." she says with another shrug before she hrmms and looks around and just rolls her eyes at Mooner and grumbles something under her breath. Oye.
"But oh what fun it is to revisit," says Ivory to Thorn, though his eyes locked on Kai's face as he awaits the verdict. "I particularly enjoyed the part where you were utterly and completely humiliated. And no, Reverie — I said it was a state of being. There's a difference, believe it or not, but I'll refrain from exploring it to avoid putting everybody else in this room to sleep." His tone's studiously blank.
Still in flightsuit from CAP, Roubani has a serious case of helmet-head and a bunch of papers in arm as he gets 'home' to this corner of berthings. The sound of voices tugs his attention away from what he was reading, and one brow slightly up. Jumpin' tonight, yo.
Kai settles his shoulder against one of the bunk frames, and begins thumbing through the notes Timon handed to him. His eyes drift up here and there, fixing upon the taller raptor driver cum instructor extraordinaire, but his attention's on what's been written, for the most part. Once he's skimmed enough to get the highlights, he flips it closed and slides it into the folder he'd been carrying, tucked under his arm. "Sure did," he tells Eddie. "Seems you had a chance at the championship title, but Passi took you out in a late game upset. Thorn, if you break her, I'll break you."
Thievery is afoot, as Komnenos' smoke suddenly disappears into the hand of Eddie. The young woman gets a browraise, but Anton waits for her to take a drag before plucking it right back. He takes a long drag of his own, blowing a hazy ring of smoke into the air. Thorn sneers at Timon, giving him a rather rude gesture to go along with it. There's no real malice there, though… annoyance, maybe. "Reverie? Well. I'm Thorn." Kai gets a look of total (feigned) innocence. "Me, Spider? Never."
"Listen to the man, Spider. Even Thorn knows he's not going to be the one doing the breaking." Timon coughs again, eyes dancing. "Anton Komnenos had a little lamb, but — well, I daresay there's nothing white about that fleece." Another cough that can't quite cover his faint chuckles. "Poet. Good flight?"
Reverie lets out a nervous chuckle as she nods at Thorn as he acknowledges her. You know when you feel left out due to lots of inside jokes? This is one of those times that she feels that way and she grabs a few of her books. "Well, it was nice to meet you all, but I have a bit of reading to do. So you all have a good evening.." she says, her tone clear and crisp as she clutches the books to her chest before heading towards the door. Hey, is she even part of this squadron? Who knows?
Eddie is quiet only long enough to take that stolen drag, and reliquish the smoke back to Kom. Blissful long seconds that Eddie doesn't fill with jocular remarks. As she exhales through her nose, that marks the end of that. "Yeah, figured it would be a crying shame if some punk ass young pilot like me upset one of your most tried and true pilots. Shit like that is a kick in the pride for Passi. Hey Poet. Bye Merrymaker." She scrunches up her face. "Kinda an odd callsign for such a quiet duck."
"Lovely, Stathis. A sightseeing promenade, with heavy weapons." Roubani tugs his top zipper open and flaps the collar of the flightsuit, letting precious air in. "Thorn, Eddie, Captain. Evening." He turns around a bit, squinting at the thoroughly unfamiliar Reverie's back as she seems to be fleeing. He lifts his arm and sniffs at his suit. Nope, his smell's not responsible.
Timon waves to the ECO as he sits up on his bed, wringing out his hair with his wide palms. Water drips down onto his trousers, tracing curious patterns on his knee and shin. "As I said, Reverie — inmates," he offers, a little apologetically. "By the way, Poet — something I noticed. Is it just me, or do we have a lot of nouns in our squadron? Legacy. Price. And that one." Ivory's thumb jerks towards the hatch closing behind the female ECO.
"I'd wager that all of you little shits are pretty damned tried and true," Spider counters, flashing Eddie an almost imperceptibly brief little smile. "Else you wouldn't still be here." He pushes off the bunk, and 'salutes' Roubani with his folder. "Lieutenant." He's in uniform, though the top flap on his blues jacket is currently unbuttoned, indicating he isn't quite on duty yet. "Ivory, I'd like to get together to discuss implementing this with you, in the next couple of days. I'm also going to be reassigning you." Rut roh. "Thorn, when you've got a minute." His tone is a little sharp, but otherwise difficult to read. He leaves it at that. "Want to hit me with your ideas, Morales?”
"Most callsigns anywhere are nouns, Stathis," Roubani says, unzipping the suit the rest of the way to waist. The T-shirt inside is a dull gray one, black lettering reminding the world that he is exclusively property of the N A V Y. "If anything I've noticed they're nearly all bizarrely flattering, compared to what I remember from the Demeter." He tosses his helmet up onto his bunk with a soft thump. "We could re-moniker everyone in the squad with verbs, if you like. That might be fun…" Though just then Kai announces Timon's being taken away, and he makes a slight face. "Hmpf. Maybe not."
For the moment, Thorn's just kind of leaning against his rack, zoning out while the conversation unfolds around him. His head jerks up, though, as he hears Kai address him. He straightens, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. "Got a minute right now, if y' like," he replies to the CAG.
The hatch opens and a tired looking Thea steps in, wearing her flight suit - though she's in the process of unzipping it. Clearly she's just coming off CAP.
Ivory looks up too, much like Thorn does — minus the cigarette smoke. "I hope that means I get an office, Spider. A corner one, preferably with a window and space for all my imaginary diplomas." Timon sighs as he closes his eyes. The things this man dreams about. "And no, Poet — I was more on about surnames, not callsigns, though you do raise a very good point. Not sure about the verbs, though. Consider: Ivory…ing."
Now? No, not now. Who's now? She or Thorn. "At your leisure, sir." Eddie says with a shrug. It's really not that pressing of an issue. While she's waiting for Kai to decide which headache he wants to deal with first, Eddie pats herself down to light her own cigarette instead of bumming off of Kom.
"Use it enough and it might catch on," Roubani tells Timon, approvingly. "But what does 'to Ivory' mean? Is it transitive? Frightening thought." He quirks a brow at the Raptor driver and then lifts a hand to give a little wave to Eddie. There's a glance at Kai and Kom but no staring. Their bidnizz.
Timon's joking request is summed up with a very direct and to the point "no" from Spider, though the Captain does have the good grace to appear slightly amused by it. "We'll discuss it later." His eyes trail briefly after the arriving squad leader, and Thea's offered a mild, "Evening, Black Cat," in greeting. To Eddie, "Drop by the ready room before your shift tonight, then." Thorn gets a crook of his finger in 'come hither', before the CAG heads for the hatch.
"I ivory," Timon begins, voice dropping into that trademark singsong familiar to anybody who's studied archaic languages. "You ivory. He, she, it ivories." The man blinks slowly as he dries off his fingers on his pants, leaving a parade of hand-shaped imprints trailing up his thighs. "And behold the subjunctive: Let us ivory." Ivory's faint smile fades into a grin as Kai turns down his offer. "Oh well," he murmurs, pushing himself back on his bunk so his feet no longer touch the floor. "A man can ivory." The captain isn't spotted just yet: Timon's too busy giving his former ECO a commiserating look.
Thea passes Kai at the hatch, nodding once. "Evening, Spider," she replies with a small smile. Thorn being dragged out by the CAG doesn't even seem to phase her. "Evening, all," she announces to the rest, padding toward her rack.
"Ah, but what does it mean?" Roubani reminds Timon of the actual question he'd asked. He glances at Kom again as the man goes, lifting his chin in a little farewell to the ECO. And the Captain as well, due to proximity. He starts for the hot water urn, grabbing a mug down along the way. "Tea, anyone? Evening, sir." That's to Legacy as he passes by.
Eddie takes her cigarette and withdraws to the table, "Righto, el Capitan." She tells Marek, then resumes her all important lazing around. "Greetings and salutations, Black Cat." She comments before taking a deep drag. "Polishing the Ivory would has a new meaning, all of a sudden." Eddie says off hand, even though that's not really a verb.
As Timon sees the need to point out. "'Polishing' was the verb," he notes, doing his best to keep a straight face. "'Ivory' was the object, and I hope to all the Lords of Kobol you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting." That out of the way, the former pilot turns his attention to more serious matters. "What is meaning?" Timon asks rhetorically, echoing Roubani's greeting with a wave of his ballpoints. Since Kai just stole his legal pad, the pair of them — one green, one black — are now set back onto the shelf. "Of a word, I mean. Social constructs, words: and so 'to ivory' will mean nothing more than what the collective recognizes it to mean. I leave it to you to get the ball rolling." Brown eyes look back at Eddie as his facade finally breaks. "Before she gets a chance to take a crack at it."
"Tea would be wonderful," Thea calls back to Roubani. "Thanks Poet." Her locker door opens, obscuring her from view, for the most part. It's clear, though, from the flight suit pooled on the floor, that she's changing. "I'm not sure what conversation I walked into, but I'm afraid."
"I rather like Eddie's cracks. Whether she may be saying them or smoking them, which is sometimes debatable." Roubani offers the other JG a slight wink. "I think I shall leave it in her capable hands, just for that." The mug's filled up with hot water and a teabag chosen from the pile, added to cup and held out for Legacy. "Tea for the lady."
Eddie stretches out on her back on the table, looking up at the ceiling. One leg tents and her ankle lays over the opposing knee. She might as well be lounging on the beach instead of a table in the middle of berthings. As Roubani leaves the floor to her, she cracks a grin. "To Ivory: the act of using a bottle of lotion, a picture of your mom, and a strong grip." 'Your' in that sentence seems a general term, not directed at anyone in particular. "Typically followed with waded up tissues and crying yourself to sleep."
"And that's why my ivory shall go nowhere near her hands," Timon declares, "capable though they might be." His ears have turned a little pink. "The downside about seeing a priestess: most women would rage and ramble. She would smile, burn incense, and call down the wrath of Hera Eileithuia upon my loins." There's a slight beat as he shoves his laundry — still unfolded — deeper into the far corner of his bunk. "Not," Timon continues, "that I'm consenting to that particular definition of ivory as a noun. Or, for that matter, as a verb."
Thea emerges a moment later in her tanks and sweats, heading over toward Roubani. "Bless you," she murmurs, giving him a wry little smile. "Remind me to hide my bottle of rose lotion. I think I'd likely choke someone who used up my stash for Ivorying." Yes, that's a little smirk.
"Oh, but dear Ivory, in passing the buck you've forfeited your right to veto," Roubani points out. He ahems softly at Eddie's chosen definition for the new addition to the local vernacular, pulling down another cup and filling it with water. "Gods save us all."
"Why should they start now." Eddie says drily, probably at the last of Roubani's comments. She touches her cigarette back to her lips, pauses as if she's going to say something, then just goes ahead with the toke. After her lungs process that round, "We used to have a guy in flightschool we started calling Spanks. Now he was a world class Ivory-er."
"I'd be content if, by some miracle, the Lords replaced our taps with the waters of Lethe," Timon mutters, folding his hands behind his head and propping one leg atop the other. "Though, now that I think about it, I've never seen Mooner shower during all my months aboard, so." He sniffs, making a show of being miffed. "Gods take all of you pilots." It seems he's already stopped thinking of himself as a member of that elite confraternity, comprised as it is of the most depraved minds in the Fleet.
Thea slides into a seat with a low groan, cradling the cup of tea as if Roubani had just gifted her with the water of life. Yes, she's definitely a tired Captain. "Gotta be careful with things like that. The chafing can be a problem. That and the callouses. I mean, how would you explain those?" She grins up at Roubani. "Because we sure as hell can't take care of ourselves," she asks, eyes twinkling a bit.
"Would not be too difficult," Roubani observes mildly to Timon, as to the gods them. "Half have never cut themselves from Dionysus' apron strings in the first place." He's meandered back to his bunk by now, and reaches up to search his shelf for his little mostly-depleted tin of Real Tea (tm). A little teabag with a blue dot on the string is fetched and dropped in. He glances at Eddie from under his brows, raising one. "Now the question is, is the verb gender-specific?"
Eddie stretches out her legs. "Easy for most of us to explain it away, Captain. The jocks handle one type of stick or another all. Day. Long." Her head lulls to the side to find Roubani with her gaze. "I assure you, I do my fair share of Ivorying. And any girl who says differently? Is a liar."
"I seem to recall something about a particular row of laundry machines," says Timon, judiciously closing his eyes. "I've taken to wearing gloves when transferring clothes from the washers to the dryers."
The Captain remains quiet on the gender specifics of the verb 'to Ivory.' For once, she's behaving herself. The tea gets lifted for a sip, likely to hide the grin at Timon's words.
"Women are honest things, then," Roubani remarks, before a sip of tea. "For I've rarely encountered one that won't discuss it, even when not prompted. Very well, equality of the sexes achieved. Congratulations, Stathis, you have done what centuries of lawmaking could not."
Eddie points at Timon, or rather in the vague direction of him as she doesn't lift her head. "Hey. Sometimes a girl needs a little help with the Ivory and Passi has a corner on the market of batteries." There's a coarse chuckle from Mooner. "You're just used to pilots, Poet. We're women, not ladies." Hell, she's not going to deny it. She even gave Roubani a mock demonstration one time on the washers. Ages and ages ago.
"And sacrificed only my pride to do so. How delightfully Pyrrhic." Timon's sigh, while exasperated, is still infused with a hint of fondness. "Well. Now that that's settled — shall we decide on 'Poeting'?" As 'Mooning' is already taken — by a meaning that Ivory considers quite apropos.
"There are times when a woman -needs- to be that honest, Poet," Thea murmurs, grinning. "Otherwise, we'd be stuck faking it until the partners we'd chosen figured out that "Ooooh," was shorthand for "Oooh, gods, would you just get off me already?""
"Too much information, sir," Roubani replies, quite deadpan. "I officially declare a moratorium on honesty for the next five minutes, while the temptation to wash your mouth out with soap passes." He lofts a brow at Timon. "I think mine would be rather self-explanatory. So there."
Eddie groans as she rolls back to a seated position. If she lays there much longer, she might just fall asleep. "Alright. When you take away the honesty, then I have to work off pure conjecture, and that seriously limits my comedic base." She scoots to the edge and hops down.
Thea gives Roubani a sweetly innocent look, all wide eyes. "No honesty," she asks, practically starting a gale with that eyelash bat. "Well, I guess it's good that no one in the wing wanders around muttering 'oh, bugger.'" Then it's back to sipping her tea. Clearly, if she's sipping her tea, Poet can't wash her mouth out with soap. She's behaving and letting most of the straight lines go.
"And thus shall Poet escape scot free," murmurs Timon, shucking off the last few bits of water from his hair before swinging his feet onto his bunk. "Which I suppose is my cue to catch some proverbial zees." The snick of a curtain half-closing rings out across the berthings. "Don't ivory too loudly?" he manages, a little awkwardly, before the curtain closes altogether. This sort of humor isn't really his thing.
Roubani hmpfs, glancing at his watch. Tick, tick. "Fine, ban lifted. You may resume commiseration." He sips his tea, looking over at Timon's bunk with a light snort that one presumes suffices for 'goodnight'.
"Sleep well, Stathis. May sweet images of Ivorying keep you company as you drift off to sleep." Eddie grins. "Now I feel delightfully dirty. Maybe a dip in the pool will clense my soul, or at least take off a bit of the tarnish. I think I left my suit in Jupiter's bunk…" Hrm.
"Only if the pool's full of battery acid," comes Timon's muffled voice. No 'good night' from him: just faint laughter before he drifts off and the snores take over.
