A little late
A Little Late
Summary: Myron attempts to borrow a book from a dead man. Orion couldn't be in a worse mood.
Date: 81 ACH
Related Logs: None

Gold Squadron Berthings

Gold Squadron is the viper squadron 'Fighting 58th' on board the battlestar. The room consists of double bunks along the walls with lockers in between each area. An oblong table sits in the center with chairs around it and there is a shower and changing area off the far end that is shared with the Raptor squadron.

<Trait Roll> Orion rolls Music and achieves a degree of Good (4).

Orion lays on his bunk, playing harmonica. Playing the blues. One knee is up, the other leg is extended. The sounds coming from the harmonica are true enough. Sort of angsty. Sort of groovy. He's really not bad. He nods his head in time with the music, a slow, lazy beat.

The hatch to Gold clicks open, and in walks … a stranger. Not a total stranger, mind. A Raptor type of stranger. Worse, a nugget. It's Myron, the one seen from time to time in Navy uniform, but always reading books and such. Never really *doing* anything it seems. And now, he's here. Standing before the door, unsure of himself, if only a little. "Uh," he begins, "I was wondering if I could get a book." His eyes fall to Orion, the one playing harmonica.

Ba-ba ba-ba… wa WAAA wa-wa! Ba-ba ba-ba… wa WAAA wa-wa… Orion peers at the other man, peering at him oddly. He's still playing harmonica, still making the metal instrument 'sing the blues', as it were. But he's studying him curiously. That he continues playing might not be as confrontational as when he stops, since the silence is so sudden and comes with a further pregnant pause until he does respond, "A book." His voice is deep country with a thick twang, "Probably could. You in the right place?"

The staring while playing is unsettling, no doubt, for Myron. His eyes flicker around, but always return to Orion—who just stares back. With the silence come words from the Viper pilot. Myron shrugs awkwardly. "Well, I think so," replies the nugget. "Lt. Mavros told me I could get a copy of 'DRADIS Principles' from one of the pilots in Gold Squadron. It was Lt. Tychon Armedes?"

OK. That makes Orion narrow his eyes, souring his already negative vibe this evening. He sits up, setting the harmonica onto his bunk, beside him. "I reckon you should ask Armedes yourself, don't you?" He sits up a bit straighter, "What's your game? You a walk on?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Myron says, "If you just point the Lieutenant out, I can ask him myself." He hesitates in bemusement. "I don't have a 'game', sir. I just joined up a couple weeks ago. A nugget. Need the book for classes. If the Lieutenant's not here, I can come back later." He turns to reach for the hatch lever.

"That's his bunk, over yonder." Orion jabs his thumb at a bunk that's yet to have its things cleared out, but the sheets are gone. "You have any luck talkin' to him, you come and hollar, 'cause I got a lot of dead relatives and friends I'm fixin' to talk to, myself. We ain't carrions. Ares or Gold? Guessing Ares."

Myron looks at Orion, then to the bunk and take a few steps in the bunk's direction before stopping. "Maybe the Lieutenant's doing laundry? His sheets are gone." He scratches the back of his head, wheels spinning behind those confused brown eyes.

"So's the body. Armedes' ain't alive no more, so if you got any intention of borrowing his stuff… I ain't gonna tell you your business none, but I hope to the frakkin' Gods…. joke that -they- are, that you ain't a stick. And if you are, I hope you're a little quicker on the uptake when you got canners looking up your ancestor's middle name." He frowns a bit, glancing over at Tychon's bunk again, "Cause we only got so many pine boxes."

Myron picks up on most what Orion spills out and the nugget's expression goes flat in shock. "He's dead, sir?" He looks back at the bunk for a second, then turns and sighs. Myron shakes his head and says, "Well, maybe I'll find the book somewhere else." He looks at Orion. "Sorry to trouble you, sir." He spins around to leave.

"You got a name?" Orion watches the nugget bid a retreat, looking more annoyed than anything else.

Myron turns back around, partially lost in thought. "Uh, oh, sorry. The name's Myron Grivas. Ensign. Training to be an ECO." He points to Orion, remembering anew. "Oh, and Ares Squadron."

"Ensign Orion Scala. Stop calling me sir. Train harder, Grivas." Orion rolls his eyes, "Train harder. Least until we get more pine trees." He picks up his harmonica and goes back to playing the blues. Ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba…. wa WAAA wa-wa! Ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba…. wa WAAA wa-wa…

Myron stares back at Orion as he plays. This time the stare doesn't flicker. He just stares, in thought. Finally, the eyes turn to the empty bunk of Lt. Tychon Armedes and settle for a spell. A last glance back at Orion and his harmonica, and the nugget leaves and closes the hatch behind him.

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