PHD 281: Two Marines
Two Marines
Summary: Barnabas and Daliah chat.
Date: PHD 281 (1/25/10)
Related Logs: None

Marine Berthing

"…frak me…" comes a voice as the hatch opens to reveal one weary looking Corporal Erasmus, the woman decked out in her marblacks, fresh off of patrol. "Never going to offer to cover that guy's ass again." Her hands come up and strip the black helmet from her head, causing her hair to come spilling about her neck and face once gravity takes hold. "Unappreciative mother frakker. He can hook up with his frak-buddy when he's off duty next time…prick."

"Need some variation in the cursing." A tinny, metal echo lingers on Barnabas Volker's voice. It's coming from the black undershirt of a Marine outfit that disappears into an open locker. Barney's got the door open and his head shoved inside, one hand joining him in the closed space while the other presses against the adjacent door. After a few seconds, he pops out, rattling a plain lil' tin. The new arrival gets a glance.

Daliah snorts. "Too tired to be creative," she sighs while settling herself down, picking some random grunt's bunk to do so on. While Barnabus is busy doing his thing she's doing her own, basically checking him out curiously right up until the point he turns around and looks at her. "You know, this is a crock of crap."

Barney flicks the tin open with a thumb, raising his now-unstitched and mostly just scar eyebrow in reply. A quick shift of the eyes points out why he's in an undershirt and not the usual khaki top of his outfit. The shirt's been discarded onto the back of a chair. The bank of lockers is leaned against, the door to his closed with an elbow. "You're gonna have to narrow it down a little, Corporal. There's a lot of crocks an' a lot of crap."

Daliah lays back, being polite enough to at least keep her boots off of the bunk she's occupying, those left to dangle over the edge and remain on the deck. "Okay. I only heard rumors about this but it seems like there was an arrest made. Didn't catch all the details as I was busy but it sounds like people have gone insane here." Her helmet is dropped onto the floor once she's done, it hitting with a rather nice *thunk* when it impacts with it.

"Shit." The shake of Barney's head suggests he knows all too well. A cigarette is pulled from the tin before the first goes into his mouth and the latter goes into a pocket, lighter being removed from the same one. Foresight! "I've got bets on us running out of zip-ties. There's gonna be mis-trust and suspicion all over the place for a while." He grunts, lighting up. Yes, in front of the medic.

Daliah doesn't seem to mind the smoking and in fact gives a bit of a longing look towards Barn and his cigarette, perhaps being someone who indulges once in a while. "I don't dare to speculate as to why it's happening," she murmurs while nodding in agreement to his assessment, "but I get the feeling that it has to do with our last mission." Not that she finds any fault in that as it kind of shook everyone who was there up, but that's left unsaid.

Barney catches the look. With a little wayward glance to the ceiling in silent prayer, the tin finds itself winging it's way towards her in a high-arc toss. Smoke begins to drift where the Sarge's glance once was, and he shifts a little against the locker. There may have been a combination lock in his spine. "Of course it is. You guys saw someone who was dead, I put m'boot into that same someone's face at the same time but a different place…" Sure, the blonde… remains Barney put his boot into might not have been her, but memory is tricky like that. At the time she was just a corpse. "Sayin' all that, I'm proud the Marines didn't slip first. Infighting isn't my thing."

Daliah waits until the tin's arc puts it just above her chest before reaching up to snag it, it done so easily that one might think she is a ninja. "Thanks, Face." The tin's popped open and one of the smokes within is extracted before, with a soft click, the container's snapped closed. "I didn't know the history between you ex-Kharon guys and that…woman, to use the term loosely. I could tell something was going on by the others' reactions, though. That's before they all started talking like life-long chums." Snorting, she puts the filter of the smoke against her lips while tossing the tin back although it's uncertain as to if it's going to sail as smoothly as it did when it was thrown to her. "Marines know how to keep their frakking mouths shut. Maybe we should teach the pilots that, huh?"

"Frak if I know." Barney's caught straight in the arm by an errant tin, his eyes having diverted to watch the smoke drifting upwards. He stumbles and watches it bounce onto the floor before sighing, scooping down to pick it up. "All I know about Ozymandias is that she was a good Marine before she killed people. Apart from the time she got a squaddie shot, although that might jus' be my memory again. I…" His voice falters as he stands upright, giving a little shrug. "Wasn't completely with it, then. Still recovering from this." Cheek tap.

There's a shake of the medic's head, seemingly done in disbelief. "If she was a good Marine she wouldn't have killed anyone but the enemy, Sarge. She was playing you, it sounds like." Dal sits up and then removes herself from the bunk she flopped on, bends over to pick up her discarded combat helmet, and then starts to get undressed, the latter after she starts to head to her locker. "I've been curious about that. Your injuries, I mean. Been refraining from asking because I didn't want to bring up bad memories but…" Clearing her throat, she shrugs. "Hazards of the profession, I guess. So how bad were they?"

Barney shifts aside, re-seating himself in the chair with his shirt on when Daliah makes a move for the lockers. At her question, his head lowers, but it's not by much. The real sign is that his finger strokes the cheek it just tapped. "I was out of action for 103 days. Twenty-five of those were comatose. 5 skin grafts. Would have been out longer, but that'd just be to make me look better. CMC doesn't need folks who look respectable. Needs folks who can hold a gun and point it in the right direction." Voice is quiet, but not shying. His hands clasp together on the table, and he refrains from eye-contact for now.

Daliah pauses and turns back, slipping over to where he sits now. "May I?" Her hand is slowly lifted and brought to Barnabas' face but she holds off on actually touching him until permission is given. "Were you part of the CMC before this happened or were you one of the civilians the Kharon found during her time of operation?"

Barney gives curt little nod at the request, offering the damaged side of his face for inspection. "Screws up my talkin' when I get stressed on account of it not stretching as far as normal. Had to re-learn shouting. That and it makes my stubble look funny." The good side of his mouth smiles. It's the best she'll get right now. "And I'm a Sergeant, Daliah. Comin' up on my tenth year of service. Stupid question."

Daliah blinks and then rolls her eyes. "Sorry. That was a stupid question. Don't know why I asked it." Grumbling, she lets that slide while she's busy inspecting the doctors' work, her fingers tracing over scar tissue and healed flesh alike. "Actually, I guess I asked because I was under the impression that some of the civilians who had training were allowed in at a higher rank or something." She finishes looking over his face and nods slowly, impressed.

"It's probable. I never really asked where folks came from." Once his cheek stops being molested (Only, y'know, nicely.) he proceeds to rub it with the flat of his palm, breaking into a little grin. "Wasn't all that much of a people person. Latch onto a few folks, trust 'em. Marines get that last bit for free." The cigarette goes back into his mouth, and a slightly wonky smoke ring heads to the ceiling.

Done now, Daliah sits as well, picking somewhere nearby. Having put off getting changed, she starts to do so again, this time starting with her boots. "Trust is very important," she gives as semi-advice while working her fingers deftly over her laces, untying them and then loosening them so she can get them off of her feet easier. "It's hard to do so, though. Especially in light of what happened. But we can't let it get to us, make us paranoid. We're still a team and got to work together until…you know." Yeah.

Barnabas just gives a little shrug, sliding the chair back so he can drop his feet onto the table. The chair starts to balance on it's back two legs. "Hell, we're not valid targets anyway. All lowly n'enlisted. It's the officer's that're frakked." His grin continues, chin dropping so he can brush a tiny bit of ash and some lint from his undershirt. "I only feel bad 'cause I actually think it'd be nice to put a few rounds into something that'll go down in a few damn rounds. I'm getting tired of spraying into metal."

"Looks like the fleshy ones go down easily. Maybe you'll get to shoot some of them soon." Daliah hates saying things like that, it going against the very nature of what she is, the medic sometimes forgetting the saying 'Marine first, medic second'. "If you'd like you can shoot me with rubber bullets if you can't. I'll pretend to die for you. Maybe even make some fake blood for realism."

Barney snickers, then catches himself mid-snerk. "Appreciated, but not necessary. Wish we had a training facility on this boat, though. Always irks me that pilots have their sims but we've just got the range. If bein' a Marine was just putting holes in things, we coulda trained a monkey to do it. Folks get rusty with nothing but duty shifts." This… may be something he's got feelings about. Beware, all ye who enter.

Daliah nods. "I never gave it much thought, really. I've just kind of gotten into 'do as your told'-mode and do what they say I got to do. Forgot…" Wrinkling her nose, she kicks her boots off and then starts to get the blouse unbuttoned, that a fairly easy task as she had removed her web gear before arriving. "Talk to the CO. See if he'll allow us to set something up."

"Probably send it up the line at somepoint. Trouble is that folks are more likely to get injured. Pilots don't really have a risk sittin' in a sim." Volker nods at the unblousing woman at mention of injuries. Like she'd know. Well, she probably does. His legs cross at the ankles on the table, and a hand scratches the back of his head before stifling a soft yawn. "Considering what we've got, we're all fine so long as Cents stand still while we shoot at 'em with earmuffs on, or can throw a punch." A beat. "Although some folks seem to be practicing the tactic of shovin' them in a pool." 'Some folks' being Kharon crew still getting used to the fact this ship has a pool.

Daliah definitely knows about training accidents, it being something she witnessed first hand. "Injured…" she echoes while drawing back into her head, her expression faintly haunted. It doesn't linger long as she manages to pull herself out of that memory, the distant expression replaced by a blush when she realizes what just happened. "Tactics…yeah. Uhm, they'll get figured out now." Left in her pants and tanks, Daliah pauses one more time, this time so she can gesture to her fellow ground-pounder, asking for the loan of his lighter.

Sliding a battered zippo-esque lighter across the table, Barney can't help but stare a little at the memory-lapsing medic. The lighter is much like he is. CMC-emblazoned, battered, dented, scratched up and has a couple of burns. It works, though. "Godsdamn I've been hanging around with pilots too much. Forgot a Marine could blush." he teases.

The lighter's lifted from the table and looked at, her brow creasing before it's put to use; flipping the lid, Dali wrinkles her nose at the first wafting of lighter fluid, the fumes surprisingly strong, and then the flint wheel's put to wick, creating a flame that dances slightly when she exhales out the nose. "Hmmmph. Pilots don't blush," she asks with a slight slur once the filter's put back between her lips, the small cylinder bobbing when she poses the question. The lighter's put to the end of the smoke which starts to smolder immediately, the smoke drifting about her head now. Snapping the lid closed to extinguish the fire, she hands it back, the metal case held between her fore and middle fingers. "Thanks."

"Exactly. Too… somethin'." Barney waves a hand dismissively. It's both about the lighter and the idea of pilots. His hand goes back to scratching the back of his head, eyelids dropping a little at the touch. Enjoy the little things. "Whereabouts you from?" He finally perks up with a question, adding "Can't quite pin the accent. Although I can't ever pin accents, so…" as an explanation.

Daliah's blush lingers, letting Face enjoy it for as long as it remains coloring her face. "Pilots have this stupid idea in their heads that they can't show weakness. To do so would mean losing their edge. Guess they see blushing as a form of weakness." A shrug is quickly followed by a deep inhale, Daliah enjoying the smoke as much as Barney's enjoying the feeling of his scratching his noggin. "Picon. Come from a long line of Erasmuses from there. What about you, Sarge?"

"Virgon. Alleona Plains, if you're lookin' for details. Farmland and Cities tryin' to butt-frak each other and neither wantin' to give up space. Don't come s'much from a long line of Volkers. More… a medium-line then a sibling explosion at the end there." Barney's face perks up more than it has since someone gave him a gun mid-conversation earlier in the day. Apparently that is a good topic. Despite, y'know, the death thing. "Never sure if I'm a farmboy or a cityboy."

"That sounds nice. We just lived in a huge city, ourselves. Which really wasn't too bad. Just kind of felt crowded at times." Her arm stretches to the side just in time for the ash to fall, aided by a brief flick of her thumb against the filter, the burnt paper and tobacco winding up in a small pile just to the right of the chair's front leg. "I wouldn't go as far as to say you're a farmboy," she proclaims while looking into his eyes. "But I wouldn't go as so far as to say you're city, either. I think you're a pleasant mix of both."

Barney gives a little flash of his green eyes. He's proud of those, despite the damage to his face. Catch the light right and it's like looking at a field of grass. "Was a good life. Good to shoot, hunt n'farm ti'll fourteen, then got shifted to a school in the city and got to keep shooting, learn, and do stuff at centres there."

Daliah raises a brow, looking surprised. "Got sent to a military school or something?" Butt to lips, another drag is taken into her lungs, held while the niccotine gets into her blood stream and is then exhaled in a hazy cloud that floats about her head. "I never picked up a gun until I joined up, myself. Never really planned on shooting anyone or anything. Was going to be a doctor."

"Joined up at eighteen. Didn't have many other options." Barney settles into a soft smile, rocking slightly on the chair as he keeps scratching. The itch faded long ago but dmanit he's not going to stop any time soon. "Dad was a Gunny. Taught me the life."


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