| Working Lunch |
| Summary: | Sort of. |
| Date: | PHD 271 |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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It's kind of off-shift for a meal. Just after the main crush of people have cleared out, though who've wandered in after are those willing to sacrifice some sleep time to be able to eat or drink in relative peace. This, of course, comes with the added caveat that one most do so in a warzone - trays, plates, and food smears everywhere, napkins tossed into balls and shredded shadows of their former selves. And that smell. Dinner plus the olfactory echo of hundreds of bodies. Very pleasant, this place. But at least it's relatively quiet.
Roubani is settled at a table, and Reverie has just landed right nearby. He stops the scratch of pencil on paper, pausing in the middle of the sprawl of numerically-spangled thought. The grumbling across from him lifts his eyes, not to the woman's face but to her plate. A silent assessment of the foodstuffs she's chosen to bring along, brow quirking slightly. "You go for the stronger type of mouthwashes, I see."
Despite popular belief, academics cannot sustain themselves solely on food for thought, and so it is that Timon Stathis has found his way to the mess hall after a good five minutes of searching. The bags under his eyes are much larger than usual, and he's got the usual assemblage of Ivory-gear under his arms and in his hands: two legal pads, a Raptor technical manual, an oil pencil, and a veritable army of ballpoints. Evidently, he's decided to make this meal a working lunch — or, more precisely, a working snack. It doesn't take more than a quick glance at the meals on display to convince him to make for the collection of protein bars located near the coffee and tea.
"Went to that bar, Harry Lemon's or something like that. I needed a stronger drink than my usual after my CAP." she admits ruefully as she lets out a soft chuckle under her breath,wrinkling up her nose just a bit. She takes a deep breath and peers towards Roubani. "I've seen you before but I don't think we ever got properly introduced. Reverie.." she says,extending a hand out towards him.
Cass wanders in, and yeah, he's probably adding to the smell. Having just come off of CAP He's shucked out of his flight suit and into a pair of off-duties. After getting a tray, he looks around to see if there's anyone he knows, actually feeling halfway social for once. Spotting Roubani, he heads in that general direction.
There's a noise from the Galley, and Eddie suddenly burst through the swinging stainless steel door followed closely a big burly enlisted man wielding a wooden spoon. "OUT." He bellows, and Eddie skitters off with a snicker and what suspiciously looks like a sandwich for her troubles. Oh look, people to invade. She steers in that direction, dropping down heavily on the otherside of Roubani before someone else can claim that seat. "S'up." She manages with a mouth full of bread and processed cheese.
Way to go, Eddie: you almost made Timon drop all his shit, and wouldn't that have been a crying shame. Somehow, though, the uncoordinated pilot manages to keep his footing as, protein bars obtained, he steps toward the impromptu gathering at a rather more deliberate pace than the one Mooner has set. The top of one boot he uses to hook over a nearby chair, and the sound of metal screeching against metal echoes harshly in the room before — thankfully — Ivory plops himself down at the head of the table. His scholastic paraphernalia follows shortly thereafter. "My comeuppance for complaining about the food on Kharon: rectangular slabs for the rest of my life." Timon mutters dark imprecations under his breath — short for 'Hello, everybody!' no doubt. And then: "That's a noun."
"It's the name, callsign's Tycho though." Unless you ask Kairos, then it might be Perky or Cheerleader. She should've kept her mouth shut that CAP. "I just wanted something that would clear my mind and the CAG told me moonshine would do it." she admits ruefully, letting out a soft chuckle under her breath. She gives a nod of acnkowledgement to Eddie before she looks the other way and spies Timon and Cass, giving them the same nod.
Grinning at Harrison, Cass notes. "Could be worse I guess. How I'm not sure, but I figure there's gotta be some way…" Eddie's escapades get a chuckle, and he moves to sit down with Poet and the others, giving is tray the hairy eyeball as he does. "Oatmeal. Yeah.."
"I would be willing to bet, Ensign," Roubani replies, pleasantly, "That next time you check the CAP list, you'll find he's changed your callsign to 'Gullible'." A slight quirked smile, which he partly hides behind the rim of the tea mug. His dark eyes flicker up to Timon. "Hello, Stathis. What's got you in such a mood?" A nod given Cass' way. "Is that oatmeal? Are you sure?"
"There are exceptions to every rule." Eddie tells Roubani, having heard the part about keeping company with liquor guzzlers, she gives him a toothy smile. As Harrison sits down, Eddie leans over the table to peer into his bowl, and then, without further ado, she's dunking her sandwich in his oatmeal and scooping a bit up onto her bread. "Comeuppance. You ever get tired of talking like that, Ivory?"
"Like what, Mooner?" Timon's expression is, for once, unreadable as he commandeers still more of the table. Papers and pads are spread across his space, each filled to bursting with annotated diagrams of Raptors in various compromising positions: against one Raider, against two, against three, and — the tour de force — lost in the shadow of a basestar. Crumbs from the protein bar he's chewing on fall loosely onto his work, which he brushes away with an impatient flick of his palm. That's as good an answer as Poet's likely to get.
"Yeah, they could literally shit in the pot, rather than figuratively," Isaiah replies as he moves to claim a seat in air wing country. It's only after Eddie steals some that he prods the substance in his bowl with his spoon, then takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. "It's maybe a distant cousin, Poet, but I'm pretty frakking sure that this ain't oatmeal."
"Add some milk to it. Makes it somewhat edible." Reverie tells Ivory and Harrison as she lets out a soft chuckle under her breath, shaking her head once more. She peers at the spread of the diagrams and hrmms, her brows furrowed. "And what's all that?" It has her intrigued before she peers back towards Roubani. "I'd hope not. It wasn't that bad, just burned all the way down."
Still giving his oatmeal the Hairy Eyeball, Level 1, Surgeon looks over to Poet and shrugs; "I ain't sure. But I figure if it didn't kill Mooner it must be edible." He takes a spoonfull and frowns;
Eddie nudges Roubani with her elbow. "Don't mind Stathis. He's still grumbly we turned his callsign into a verb that can make you go blind." She takes another bite of her sandwich, tucking the bite into her cheek like a chipmunk as she works it down. "Don't be too sure." She tells Logan, her grin still hanging around at the edges. "Oh gods milk." Eddie makes an unladylike sound that is like a groan in the back of her throat. "What I wouldn't give for some fresh milk straight out of a cow's tit. Now all we have is that crappy canned shit, if we're lucky."
Roubani reaches over and picks up the corner of one of Timon's papers with his fingertips, giving it a little shove backwards. "Dee Em Zee, Stathis. Do you mind, terribly?" He has his own space as he usually does at any table, rude or not. No calculator today, and no abacus. Today's a challenge day in Mathworld. To Reverie he nods, shrugging one shoulder. "I haven't tried the stuff, myself. I like to balance my vicarious experiences with my real ones." He tsks lightly at Harrison. "Language." Then he looks at Cass, expectantly, as he takes a spoonful of the stuff. Waiting to see if the man does indeed keel over.
Harrison eyes Poet for a moment, right eyebrow arching. "Yes, mom," he teases before he turns his attention to Reverie. "Exile. Who're you?"
"All this is what happens when I get bored." Ivory's reedy tenor is rather sharper than he perhaps intends, and when he next speaks, it's a little more modulated. "Somebody booked up all the sim time today. 'Why don't you use your imagination?' he said. The gall." It's hard for Timon to sound outraged, so the slight annoyance in his tone should come as some surprise. "Next time I see the CAG, I'm asking him to put our project higher up on the priority queue." Tired fingers scratch at his scalp, causing a few tiny flakes of dandruff to drift onto his work. Brown eyes do flicker up, though, to see if the oatmeal-eating fellows pass out. Judging from his expression, he wouldn't terribly mind if they did.
"Tycho, Rev, or Reverie. Unless you listen to him, then it's 'Gullible'" she says with a slight grump before letting out another amused chuckle, taking it all in stride. "I'm with the Furies." she explains before picking up her sandwich. See, she got something other than the bricks of oatmeal from the line. "Pleasure to meet you." she says.
Swallowing the 'oatmeal', Cass looks to the nugget and nods. "Surgeon. Raptor driver with the Gunslingers. I have to deal with this psychopath; "A nod to Exile; "…on CAP. Have mercy." He grins though and looks to Timon; "Sorry, still alive."
"Be grateful you aren't so cursed," Roubani remarks to Harrison lightly, as to the 'mom' thing. He gives Eddie a little smile at the mention of yesterday's language flailing, pausing to sip his tea now. Cass is watched carefully until he's sure the man isn't going to require CPR, at which point he swallows the mouthful of tea. "Hmm?" He says absently to Timon, half-listening to the rant.
"Pity," Ivory observes as — alas — the men still live. He takes another uncharacteristically large mouthful from his meal before reaching for the tech manual nearby, scratching his nose with his thumb as he flips to the page on 'signature reduction.' Oil pencil digs into the laminated paper as he scribbles a few more annotations on the page, eyes glancing up at his diagrams before returning to the book on his lap. "Yeahhh," he drawls at length, brow furrowed — and then, just like that, he tears up the diagrams before him, sending wide shreds of yellow paper into Roubani's precious DMZ. "That's a problem, Poet." The rest of the conversation drifts over him like water from a duck's back: talk about a one-track mind.
"I grew up with my cousins, all boys who ended up in the military in some way shape or form. They'll have to try hard to intimidate me.." Reverie leans in and whispers before she takes a bite of her sandwich. Besides, it's not the boys that intimidate her anyway. Then she hears the little pun with short comings and facepalms. "Aphrodite's teats.." she says with a shake of her head.
"Except for Mooner," Exile offers as a correction to Reverie, grinning once. "She's a pervert, through and through."
"Oh, yes." Roubani puts the tea mug down as Eddie reminds him of that. "I'm afraid we've missed the window for a lunch date. Would you-…" Flutter, flutter. Timon's just exploded all over Roubani's side of the table. He stops, dark eyes turning back to the Raptor. "You are becoming a problem, Ivory." No real malice, but the man did just MAKE A MESS, HERE. He flicks one of the torn yellow bits back at Timon, then another. "Would you like your chance at detente?"
Roubani's irritation doesn't even register as paper flutters back into Ivory's face. "The Cylons are too fast," Timon explains, tossing his oil pencil back onto the table as he looks expectantly at the others. "There's Foxbat-Seven, say — powered down, floating like a rock. And here's your standard patrol of Raiders — " Brown eyes scan the table for something that might be used to approximate their silver spaceframes; his protein bar's wrapper will do nicely. "Just outside of DRADIS range. Spider gives the go, we light our engines, tickle their DRADIS, they go active, ping us, and start spooling up an in-system jump." Wrapper meets pencil in the span of seventeen seconds, counted off on his wristwatch. "I need twenty-five to get my essentials online. Sometimes thirty." Ivory pushes back in his chair, resting his head on his hands. "I hope nobody minds me talking shop at the lunch table," he mumbles after a frustrated silence. "Sorry."
"Nothing wrong with talking shop, Ivory, but do you ever do anything else? If you don't take a break you're gonna melt your brain." Surgeon grins at the other guy and notes to Exile; "Ohhh yah - you don't heterodyne off of her at all. Frakkin postive feedback loops." Looking to Gullible he notes; "Don't let him kid you. Or that reprobate over there…" He nods to Mooner; "Trouble with a capital T, I tell ya."
Eddie reaches out to snag one of the pieces of torn paper, her eyes flicking over the writing as if she can understand the partial bit of information. "I'm sorry, were you talking?" She asks Ivory, blinking blankly in his direction. The expression fades away quickly, replaced by a smile. "Reprobate. Now that's a word I know." Mooner says, tucking the last of her sandwich in her mouth, freeing her hands to start folding the slip of paper into a tiny airplane. Once the folds are creased, she sends it sailing towards Timon.
"We may have a workaround for that, actually." Roubani's annoyance at his space being messy fades away as more paper bits are pushed back. Clear. "Dynamic load-balancing allocations. Invert the startup algorithms in the… - I haven't got it in front of me, Thorn does, but…" He raises his hands in a calm-down motion. "You won't need thirty. You won't even need twenty-five, from what we've figured so far and allowing for egotistical pipe-dreaming. Will you let us get that tested before you lose your head over old information?"
Reverie stares at the diagram for a bit. She hrmms, pursing her lips for a few moments before she points at the diagram. "You forget that with that distance, they can still fire their nukes. It would only take thirty point five seconds for them to get to you assuming they're going at their usual speed. That leaves very little room for error." she then peers back towards Surgeon and Exile and snickers. "It's all right. I'll get used to it." eventually.
"Pardon me, Surgeon, if I think too much for your liking," Timon snaps, and for the first time in a very long time there's actual venom in his normally mild voice. Eddie's paper Viper is batted down with equal degrees amusement and irritation as he munches half-heartedly on his protein bar. "I'm saying I've got Thorn's numbers," the man says, taking a long breath. "Stole them from his bunk. EW station power-up procedures look right. Pilot power-up procedures, on the other hand — " Another long breath. "Hence why I wanted the sims. And sorry to burst your bubble, Miss Noun, but if they're using nukes, this entire bleeding exercise becomes moot, now doesn't it?"
Fortunately, the third long breath's the charm. "Sorry," says Ivory, after a while. "Long day and it's not even noon."
Harrison takes another scoop of oatmeal and chews before swallowing heavily. "Never a dull moment aboard the good ship Hestia," he observes quietly.
Eddie slaps her palm on the table twice, a sharp sound. "That's my cue." Eddie says drily, before standing, pushing the chair out with the back of her knees. Cue to apparently dine and dash.
"Your calculations didn't propagate human error. Nor does it propagate the standard error that comes along with the equipment. Even with using just standard missiles that buys you only a few seconds." Reverie replies defensively as she facepalms once more. "And the sims, would they truly account for that? They have similar pro.. well.. nevermind. Frakit. It's none of my business." she says as she starts to ease on up from the table. She forces a smile to her lips and bows her head to the rest of those present. "It was a pleasure meeting you all." and with that she starts to head off as well.
Logan's offer receives a noncommittal shrug: clearly, Timon's not altogether here, if that makes any sense. But he does have enough sense to apologize, sort of: "Yeah. Yeah, I get it." Ivory leans forward, resting his head on the edge of the table. "I talk, everybody leaves. It's all right — you can go back to complaining about oatmeal. I'll just sit quietly over here and — " He chuckles darkly. "Think."
"You've got old figures, then," Roubani tells Timon, waving a hand. The man's sharpness doesn't seem to bother him a bit. "We had a look at the pilot procedures from a softboot last night. What, do you think we use the evening to sleep or something?" He smiles a little at the older man. "When Thorn gets back from CAP we'll show you. Now be nice. It's not good for your heart. Or anyone else's, for that matter." He draws a breath and looks up at Eddie apologetically. "Are you really going? I'll meet you at berthings later?" And to Reverie, he shakes his head. "It's fine, Ensign. We've been working on something for some time that's just hitting one of the standard project frustration plateaus, is all. Sit down, it's fine."
Harrison turns his attention back to his breakfast, wolfing down the glop like it may actually be appetizing.
There's a soft sigh as she starts to ease on back down in her seat. Reverie wrinkles her nose and nods. "Just remember to propagate the error in your calculations, it's just a simple differential equation that could be the difference between success and failure." she says softly before she starts picking at her sandwich once more.
Eddie slips a cigarette out of a pack using her lips to tug it free. "It's not important, muffin. You have more important things on your plate." She mutters around the filter to Roubani. She joins the flow of a few people exiting the messhall as well, ending up in an elbow match with a marine at the hatch to see who gets the privilege of exiting first.
"When Roubani plays diplomat, I know the world's ending — but wait. It already did." Timon's grumble, while not exactly good-natured, is slightly friendlier than before. Face to the table, the only part of him that's fully visible is his long and messy hair, which he hasn't even bothered to comb. Whatever he's been using his evenings for, sleep certainly isn't it. "Wouldn't put it past Thorn to've placed some busted figures in front of me, knowing I'd have a conniption," he speculates, snorting at the thought. Ivory's only half joking. "Anyway. Yeah. I've blocked out four hours for tomorrow. Rebound and I: neither of us will leave until we get under seventeen. Or," he adds, a thin smile drawing across his lips, "until I've propagated some error in his juicy calculations." Uh-huh. Ivory fails at innuendo.
Killing off his oatmeal, and hoping his stomach wins the battle, Cass asks; "Anyone want some coffee while I'm up?"
"I prefer to mix my flavours, dear," Roubani calls back to Eddie. "I'll see you shortly." He looks back at Timon, amused at that last bit. "I didn't know you were so keen on lying tangent to Rebound's curves, Stathis," he replies, semi-teasingly. Gods, math pickup lines. They're all doomed. Up to Cass, he holds up his mug. "Tea, please?"
"I'd like one please." Reverie replies, facepalming once more. Aww, she didn't even finish her sandwich. Oh well. Perhaps another time.
"I'm terribly eager to take him to his limit," Ivory deadpans, "to see if we converge." There's that wan smile of his as he looks up from his seat. "Make that two. Teas, I mean."
Harrison manages to polish off his oatmeal, standing so that he can take his tray to muck it. "Gonna have to head to Harry Lemon's to clear this up," he grumbles to himself.
Nodding, Cass comes back after mucking his tray with two teas, and three coffees, having been unsure if Exile wanted one or not. "You been over there yet, Exile? I finally made it last night." Settling back into his seat he frowns, reaching for a pocket and then stopping. "No. Not gonna light up another one. Rate I've been going they'll be gone two months."
"Just…if you do see what's under his radical, Stathis? Do clean up the mess." Roubani wrinkles his nose. He looks up as poor Cass comes back loaded down with mugs, semi-standing to help the man get them all down onto the table. "Ah, bless you. I hope you weren't expecting a tip."
"Disgusting. I mean, thanks. 'Disgusting' was for Poet." Timon picks up one of the teas from the tray, sticking his pinky finger into the cup to stir it up. Huzzah for lukewarm water. "Though lame jokes aside, I will say this: I'm starting to think that sex has a lot in common with maths. Society tends to view professional practitioners of both with suspicion, and the vast majority of them don't earn high pay." Cue the crickets.
Cue the crickets indeed. Reverie continues to facepalm before she looks towards Harrison as he finishes his oatmeal. "I may need to head over to Harry Lemon's as well. There are some things I'd rather forget." like the last five minutes of the conversation.
"Yeah, I have been. Must have killed the bacteria out of my guts, considering how that stuff burns." As Harrison settles, he eyes Ivory for a long moment. "Did you just compare mathematicians with prostitutes?" he asks after a few moments. "I mean… seriously?"
Logan mms. "I think he did, actually yeah." With that, he pulls a flask out of a pocket and laces his coffee, then offers it to Reverie. He looks over to Ivory curiously, this may be about to get good.
Roubani puts a hand over his mouth, mostly to avoid laughing. He sniffs, a most dignified sound indeed, and clears his throat as he picks up his mug. "So says the philosopher. I sense a bit of projection going on here."
"Point, Poet. As I was about to say, you could replace 'mathematician' with 'philosopher' and my canned line would scan the same." Timon dabs his pinky against his worn trousers before taking a sip of the tea. "Alas, the only radicals we have in my field tend to be senile nutters intent on recapturing some imagined past where anarchocapitalism reigns supreme. And a 'tangent,' from our perspective, is how we fill those ten-thousand-word articles we publish."
Thank the gods for flasks. Reverie takes it and laces her own before taking a sip as she oyes softly under her breath. "Some people just need to get frakked. That's all." she whispers softly to Harrison.
Harrison shakes his head as he takes a sip from his mug, grinning at Reverie but saying nothing in return.
"Then find me a mathematician, Miss Noun." Timon can't resist the interjection. Yes, he heard that.
"And thus begin the ad hominem attacks," Roubani remarks, glancing at Reverie. "Thread closed. Next."
Taking his flask back, he takes a pull and offers it to Exile; "So Case tells me she and Thorn actually set a date."
"I suppose this would be a bad time to say I was the first to post on aforementioned thread," Timon adds, shaking his head as he gathers stray scraps of paper to his chest with wide-ranging sweeps of his arms. "Wait. What?" Full stop. Yeah, that's one way to get Ivory's attention.
"I thought a philosopher would.." and Reverie grumps as Roubani ends that little conversation. She doesn't really know these people, so she remains quiet for now.
Harrison blinks as well, turning his attention to Surgeon. He waves off the flask. "Oh yeah? Good for them."
"You lose," Roubani informs Timon. For added insult, he gives the papers lingering close to his side another shove back to their proper owner. "Indeed so, on Thorn and Case. Day 300, or so I heard."
"I assuredly do not lose." Timon raises his head long enough to pretend to aim his oil pencil in Poet's direction. "Rebound's heart is mine, not yours. The triumph is mine. And — day three hundred. You don't say." From the smile slowly spreading across Ivory's face, it seems Saturnalia has come early this year.
Logan just shakes his head a bit, taking a drink of his coffee; "I'm glad to see people happy. Kinda wodner how long an of it's gonna last, but you grab what you can, I guess."
Harrison drains off his coffee mug, standing once again. "Any happiness is better than no happiness at all."
"Ah ah ah…" Roubani lifts an index finger, ticking it back and forth in the air as Timon threatens violence. "All fun and games until someone loses their pride." He picks up his tea, gently blowing on the surface. "But, now, have they decided on their ceremony. This is the question. I've heard a variety of tales…a wedding in chapel, a wedding in the pool…I think I've still got Thorn pining to have it down out on the hull in EVA suits, though."
Timon thinks about what he's going to do — and then does it anyway. The stubby black pencil arcs gently through the air, looping over itself en route to Poet's nose. "You know, Surgeon, that's what we said after every one of the past — what has is it now, Poet? The past four weddings. Getting hitched must be the new 'in' thing to do." Ivory can't resist chuckling at Poet's words. "Talk about maximum protection."
"The colonies have been annihilated. The next thing to do is make babies and people want to have legitimate ones." Reverie finally speaks up. She chews on a bit of bread before shrugging her shoulders once more.
Into the Mess comes stalking Booster, expression unreadable as she heads for the chow line, studying it as if it contains the answers to all the questions she has.
Logan mms. "True enough, Gullible. True enough." He grins at her, watching her reactin while calling to Booster; "The oatmeal won't kill ya. Much."
"Just as long as they don't have them here," Isaiah grumbles as he returns to his chair, fresh mug of coffee in his hands. "Major Cass' grandson being the prime example as to the why."
Roubani flinches his head sideways, pencil striking cheek instead of nose and tumbling into his lap. "Alas. Timon has 'lead' me astray." He picks up the implement and promptly tucks it behind his ear instead of returning it. Hmpf. There's a slight smirk as Logan calls Reverie 'Gullible', and he exhales quietly. "Yes, well. Here is to people having some sense when it comes to all that."
Her brows raise as she looks towards Logan, giving him a steely glare before shrugging once more. "Where else are they going to have the kidlets?" Reverie says as she catches the smirk on Roubani's lips and sticks her tnogue out towards him as she mouths 'I hate you so much' in his direction.
Iggy raises a hand to Logan, clearly recognizing the voice, and glances briefly at the gathering. Through the chowline she goes, getting just a few things - including two cups of coffee. Someone clearly needs her caffeine. She heads toward the gathering, sliding into a chair on the end. "Did I miss anything?"
"The procreative spirit beats powerfully within our collective breast," Timon intones, finally crumpling up the rest of his paper into a large fist-shaped ball he now chucks Roubani's direction. That one was for the pun. "Even my baby's close to completion." Beat. "Just five more chapters before I'm done with draft one." Another beat. "Gullible? Isn't that too many syllables?" Ivory's eyes fix on the young girl's head. "Gull. She squawks about as loudly as one, especially when she's going on about 'propagating.'" The pilot sniffs loudly.
Kai trudges into the mess with a coffee cup looped over two fingers, and a partially unzipped flight suit pulled over a clean tshirt. His damp curls are left messily askew, though also clean, suggesting that he's only recently woken up and showered, and has yet to do his patrol for the day. Patrols. He bypasses the food queue and heads straight for the coffee machine, with a brief glance sent toward the pilots' table over yonder.
Roubani beams a tiny smile at Reverie, complete with nosewrinkle. Then BAM, he gets paper in the face, and he shoots Timon a look. "Gullible has too many syllables, I-Vo-RY?" He picks up the paper and chucks it back at the Raptor man, right back in the face.
"That's why his calculations were off. He can't count." Reverie replies as she gives Ivory a smarmy grin before taking a sip of her alcohol laced coffee.
Logan grins at Reverie and nods in Poet's direction. "Hey. Blame him." He considers and nods. "Gull. I like it, yeah." The CAG gets a nod of greeting as he wanders by. Don't pester a man before he's had his java.
"Nothing of importance," Exile remarks as Booster settles at the table, then he grins brightly at Reverie. "You're gonna fit right in, I see."
"Two syllables if you say it with the proper Caprican accent, peasants." Timon affects precisely that accent as he waves to Iggy and Kai. "Ahhh'vry," he demonstrates. "Ahhh'vry." One more time. "Up with this base corruption of Galactic Standard I shall not put."
Iggy dips her head to Kai as he wanders past. "Sir," she says quietly, then looks back to the others. "Ahhh'vry," she murmurs, letting it roll off her tongue. "I can't be sure, but isn't that the sound made during a hot rock massage? Or being said by someone from the very back woods of somewhere?"
"Ouch." Roubani draws out the word as though it tasted good, as to Reverie's zing on Timon. Then to the other. "Caprican accent my left foot, you bourgeois dandy. That is Kisseus' little spin on the name, I'll have you know."
Kai hitches his coffee cup in greeting to the pilots at large, fills it to the brim, and ducks his head to skim the scalding hot liquid off the top as he wanders over to the noisy table. There might be a chair left. There better be a chair left. He kicks it out with a booted foot, and drops his not inconsiderable weight into it with a huff of air blown through his nose. "Morning, boys." Ivory gets a bemused look. Or as bemused as the Captain gets, anyway.
"What he's referring to is the peasants' accents on Caprica. They of course can't pronounce things right, that's why it's Ahh'vry. They also can't count as well, which puts things into context." Reverie flashes a bright smile once more before sticking her tongue out towards Ahh'vry and giggles impishly. Now she feels quite accomplished.
"Morning, sir." Cass nods to Kai. "I'm not sure Reverie here likes her new callsign. We started at Gullible, then it was pointed out by /someone/ that it's too long, so we're going wth Gull at the moment." He's obviously teasing though, eyes twinkling.
Roubani, of course, has that distinctly guttural Sagittaron accent wrapping around every word he says. Speaking of backwoods. He sniffs, sipping his tea once more before looking up to nod to Kai. "Morning, sir. Beware of projectiles."
"Captain," Harrison replies as Kai settles at the table. He leans back in his chair, apparently enjoying the coffee until he needs to go get some shuteye.
"All of you: eat cake. Especially you, you classless chav." This, presumably, to Reverie. "Not you, Spider. Long story." Timon picks up his mug of tea in faux aristocratic fashion, placing his palm at its bottom while, pinky extended, he sips like the — ahem — bourgeois dandy he is. He'll play the part. "Mock my lineage all you want. My calculations? They're not wrong, Poet." Uh-oh. Back into serious mode.
Iggy's food is mostly forgotten in favor of cradling one mug of coffee in both hands. She glances around the table, eyes stopping briefly on Harrison before moving on.
Backwoods? Roubani's like Marek lite. The Captain's accent is clearly from the same colony, though a little rougher on the ears. "Noted," he tells Nadiv, and settles his shoulders into a comfortable slouch while he sips from his coffee. Slurps, really, classless chav that he is. "Why the frak don't I get cake?" he asks Timon. Saggies where he's from, don't even learn to read and write. So maybe he gets cut some slack for not getting the reference.
"Morning, sir. I'm quite all right with my callsign, thank you." she says with a sage nod. It beats previous suggestions from the academy like Perky or Princess. Hades, it would've been Perky Princess if that wasn't too long. Reverie looks back towards at Timon and shakes her head once more. Then she looks towards Iggy and Harrison and chuckles. she leans in against him and whispers softly, "Aren't you the popular one."
"Neither are ours," Roubani answers Timon, looking back that way with a mild sort of triumph. "Which I shall demonstrate for you tonight, so wear your Sunday best. Ascot and all." He's finally noticed the quiet Iggy, to whom he gives a slight smile, then takes another sip of tea.
Quirking a brow, Surgeon grins. "Okay She's fine with it, so Gull it is." Hey, it's what she /said/… Looking over to Booster he grins; "You look awake this morning."
"Because, Captain, I prefer not to be decapitated on the morrow. Men in my position have learned to treat the proletariat with healthy respect." Mild jocularity from Timon, who scoots over to allow Marek more space. "And you, Poet: if you wanted to see me in tweed, you could have just asked." Resting his elbows against the table, his level gaze settles on Reverie. "And you? You're not getting away that easily. Pray enlighten me, since you can in fact count to two: what, exactly, are the parameters of the problem I've spent the last four days banging my head against? Maybe there's something in my model I haven't taken into consideration just yet." Beat. "The answer's on the ceiling."
Harrison glances up at the ceiling before he grins at Reverie. "Popular? No, not particularly. But I make do," he replies to the rook.
Iggy stretches her legs out in front of her, slouching down in the seat. "Mrph," she replies to Logan with a grin. "I am. Kinda. Maybe. I'd just shoot both cups, but they're still too hot."
Kai snorts softly as Logan speaks, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "First rule of callsigns is, it'll be something you can't frakking stand. Second rule is, Spider has to approve of it, since he'll be using the damn thing over comms, with his Commanding Officer listening in more likely than not. Third.." He pauses as Timon speaks, listens, then seems to lose him around 'proletariat'. Anyway. "Third, why the frak are we changing her callsign?"
"Second one who was checking you out. I know what us girls look like when we see someone we fancy." Reverie replies with a bright smile before she looks back towards Timon once again. "Do I need to repeat myself? Really? I told you. You didn't take into account room for error in your calculations. There's picosecond differences in processing time depending on the temperature of circuitry. Propagate that error and you know just how much time you really have to prepare what it is you want to prepare." she says with another shrug of her shoulders. She then looks towards the CAG. "Cause they're a bunch of meanies." Awww, she went into little girl mode.
"You don't have the academic degree to be wearing tweed in public, Stathis," Roubani replies, settling back and crossing his legs. A light tsk at Reverie. "Mean? Oh, come now."
Logan grins. "Because well, she /is/. It's that, or something like Perky." Yup. It's torment the nugget day around the Mess. "Oh yaaaha. We're so mean." He grins at Reverie and winks.
Iggy snorts quietly and just eyes Reverie for a moment. "Pinkie Lee," she pronounces. "Or maybe Pinko." She glances over at Kai. "She calls you Daddy and my ass is outta here. I'll send the Marines in to save you."
Harrison just shakes his head as he drains his third cup of joe. "I think that about does it for me," he offers as he stands. "Any more and I'll vibrate my way through the deck."
"Repeating yourself isn't an answer, Ensign. Not when the question’s different." Whatever humor was in Timon's voice has left the building. "Parameterize the problem for me. What heat variable should I use to multiply against the standard processing time of a Raptor circuitboard? What systems should I power up first to perform the task I need to perform? In what order? For that matter, what's the task?" Ivory sits back in his chair, folding his technical manual over in his hands. Frustration: having once faded, it's coming back with a vengeance. "I'm guilty of a lot of things — arrogance, say. Overthinking things. Crashing two birds in as many months." Kai gets a faint smile that's almost apologetic. "But I try to stay away from making proclamations about things about which I have only a superficial understanding."
Kai nearly chokes on his coffee as the 'Daddy' comes out of Iggy's mouth. There's a vociferous splutter, and he sets the mug down quickly in order to free up his hand to dab at his mouth. No, he didn't spray anyone. Thankfully. Booster just gets a look after that, as if to say 'don't give her ideas', and he turns away to cough a couple of times. "Her callsign isn't getting changed. Suck it up, boys." He leans back in his chair, and starts digging around in his flight suit's many pockets for his pack of cigarettes. Timon's apologetic smile gets a faint twitch of his lips in return.
"Stathis." Roubani would make a wonderful parent, the way he can do the 'warning' with his voice like that. Bed without supper. His dark eyes shift to Kai and he smirks behind his cup. "Just because you didn't think of it."
"Did you never take a simple statistica class? Absolute error, you take the last significant figure and put a 1. Relative error, you take one percent of the value. Then you can convert back and forth between the two depending on what operations you're running whether you're adding, subtracting, multiplying or dividing." Reverie says before she breathes out a sigh of relief and smiles warmly towards Kai. "Thank you, sir." before she looks back to Timon. "It all would've been bloody obvious if you knew how to count. Master that first." she says as she eases on up. Feisty, isn't she?
Logan mrrfs. "And Gull was such a good one too. Frak." He's not actually unhappy though. "Not even if we go with Princess boss?" He grins at the CAG, hey can't blame a man for trying.
Roubani's not immune from getting flipped the bird, sadly. Which Spider proceeds to do, rather cheerily. For Spider. After which, he resumes the procurement of a squashed cigarette from his squashed pack, lights it, and takes his first drag. "Keep it up, and you'll earn yourself a new call," he tells Logan with a quick grin. "Sure we could find you a tiara, too."
"I think the only sucking sound we're going to hear is her dragging that spiked stick out his ass," Iggy observes to Kai. "With him kicking and screaming the whole way." As Harrison stands, Iggy lifts her chin to her wing, then goes back to the conversation. "Cap? I've got 5 on the princess. She's a Fury. And she's 'bout as stubborn as a damned terrier. He seems solid, but she'll worry his ankles til he topples."
Harrison covers a yawn as he drops his mug off, then shambles toward the doors. "See ya for CAP, Iggy," he calls before he turns to make his escape permanent. There's a low chuckle escaping from his lips as he heads into the corridor beyond, erupting into laughter as the door closes behind him.
"Did you hear her answer a single. Frakking. Question?" The steel mug of tea slams onto the table with a sudden loud crack, splashing over Timon's laminated Raptor manual in the process. Yup: frustration, part deux. "She was talking about nukes!" An incredulous look crosses his face. "You want me to regurgitate the first thirty seconds of intro stats, Poet, I can do that. You want me to rubber-stamp Thorn's magical numbers, I can do that too. Just get ready to find yourself a new pilot when this one gets blown to bits because his RCS points don't have enough juice to fight. Might want to invest in a — " And then, just like that, Ivory winds down. "Yeah," he mumbles. "Yeah, I know." He pushes off from the table, exhausted arms gathering together his things. "Sorry, Captain. I'll be — " Tired face jerks somewhere in the direction of the hatch. "I'll be up when it's lecture time, I promise."
Roubani winks at Kai's middle finger. PROFANITY MEANS HE WON. Then Timon's going on and he looks up, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't asked you to regurgitate a thing. Nor rubber-stamp. I said we would show you where we'd gotten to, and we will. Don't you dare take this out on me."
The Captain doesn't speak a word while Timon goes off on his little tirade. No warning, no reprobation. He simply smokes, and watches the man silently, and there's a subtle tension between his heavy brows as the pilot pushes to his feet again. "You getting enough sleep?" he asks blandly, blue eyes flicking away only briefly so he can ash his cigarette. Roubani, however, gets a slantwise little look that clearly says to ease off.
Logan quirks a brow at the exchange and decides it's time to just sit there and drink his coffee, try and kill the remains of the hangover.
"No, Captain. But if Scorpia taught me anything, it's not to be an idiot about it and catch those damnable zees." Nobody's ever accused Timon of not being honest. "But — seventeen sodding seconds." This is spoken much more softly, as are the rest of his words. If profanity means Poet wins, then Timon's just conceding defeat right here — not that he looks to be in any condition to care. "Might as well bring your fedora and your disappearing rabbit, Poet, because it's not going to happen. Not in the scenario we've set up, not with these rules. Wishful thinking isn't going to make it so." Beat. "Keep the pencil, Poet. Sorry about lunch. Hope I didn't make the food taste any worse." And then, slowly, the man shuffles toward the hatch.
Iggy falls quiet at Timon's outburst, head canting to the side. "Do we need to lower the octane level in your coffee," she asks him. "Maybe take you down to Lemon's to get shitfaced? You've got a lot of rage, man. Shit ain't good for you. Keep it up and you'll blow some valves." She rolls to her feet, picking up her tray. "Have a good one, all. Surgeon, see you on the flight deck." She hipchecks Kai lightly. "Have a good one, Captain Daddy."
Roubani caught the look from Kai. And of course the words from Timon, which leave him sitting there tensely. He stands up then, picking up his notebook and gathering his mug. "Excuse me," he says quite stiffly, stepping around the table and starting off. Different hatch trajectory from Timon.
Logan nods. "Be well Poet. And sure thing, Booster." Right at the moment, he's withdrawn into himself a bit, listening and watching, trying to figure something out.
Captain Daddy. Iggy's hipcheck barely even jostles the bigger pilot, and the tease only gets a soft grunt out of Marek. It's Roubani that seems to have him looking a tad concerned. Just a tad. Pilots are pretty high-strung creatures, on the whole, which one gets used to after twelve or thirteen years in the navy. "Good hunting," he tells the departing pilots. After a brief check of his watch, he tosses back what's left of his coffee, tucks his cig between his lips, and starts zipping his flight suit back up.
Reverie was quiet the whole time. There was some internal meditation going on and it seems she's finally calmed herself down. Her tone is clear, crisp and quite on the level as she eases on up and nods to those present. "Sir, I should get going as well.." she tells the CAG before heading out.
Unless she's stopped of course.
Roubani is gone, verily. Not another word.
Ditto Timon. Out of a different hatch.
