Bootrifugal Force
Bootrifugal Force
Summary: A quiet conversation between Addison and Micah is halted when Dynames takes issue with a certain attitude. Boot.
Date: 53 ACH
Related Logs: after: Abandoned & directly after: Bothered and Brigged

Battlestar Genesis, Deck 12, Gold Squadron Berthings, 53 ACH

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.

Drinking may not be permitted at condition two, but smoking damned well better be. Smells like something cheap, Aerelon trash. Micah's showered and changed into offduty fatigues, and currently nursing a cigarette in the cup of his left hand. On the table in front of him's a small notebook, the sort gold squadron carries around in their flight suits, and a pen. He's been doodling in it, a little stick figure landscape.

Roughly a half an hour after Addison and Orion disappeared from the berthings, Addie returns alone. She hops onto the ladder, and reaches into her bunk. She fishes around on the shelf, and pulls down a metal tube. "If you're going to smoke something, it should be worth it." The Captain crosses over to Micah's bunk.

Micah lifts his eyes, noting the Captain's return and the rook's… not-return. Oookay. Two men enter, one man leaves, it seems. "I take it you've got somethin' worth it, sir." It's a statement, not a question. He pauses to exhale smoke through his nose and flips the notebook closed, tosses it deeper into his bunk hopefully before it's glimpsed.

"You can count on that," Addie replies with a nod. She pops open the tube. It looks like another of those Caprican cigars from the other night. She has a stash. The cigar is offered to Micah.

Micah pauses. And looks up at the offering being made. "Sure you shouldn't save that for a special occasion?" he replies tersely. The look on his face is a wary one; it could be poisoned, or rigged to.. "Never mind. Ta." It's accepted, if she relinquishes it.

Addie doesn't reply for a long moment, just waiting for Micah to take the cigar. Whe he does, she notes, "I have a few more. This is occasion enough." Her arms slide crossed as she leans against the bunk. "Rough detail today."

Micah puts out his cigarette on a top slat of his bunk. The beam's scorched in places from several other such extinguishings, but none the worse for wear really. Ditching it into an ashtray nearby, he sets to lighting the cigar and hooking one booted foot on the edge of his bunk. "Wanted to frakking.." A breath. "Was drivin' me crazy, havin' to circle like that, with shit going down where I couldn't help."

"Imagine the Corps feel the same way when we're in an air engagement." Addison glances down at Micah, then across the bunks to stare at a closed curtain. "Doesn't make it any easier."

"I considered breaking off, and goin' down to see what was up." The admission's made flatly, while Addie's looking elsewhere. He doesn't, of course, meet her eyes; his are on the cigar he's bringing to his lips for a lazy puff. And really, he wouldn't be Micah if that thought hadn't gone through his head. "You airlock 'im, or what?"

Addie smiles. "Or what." She makes no move to force eye contact with the other pilot. She's still looking at the curtain. "He's cooling it in the Brig until he sobers up." It almost seems as if she isn't going to mention the admission, but then she says, "Good thing you didn't."

Micah twists around finally, and half-slumps against the back of his bunk, one boot still hitched up on the edge of it. Puff puff, gods know how he sleeps when his linens stink of this stuff. "Who's goin' to be doin' his training, sir?" Yes, it seems Micah is dotting his i's and crossing his t's today, though he's reserved as ever. No more mention of the mission.

Addie glances down at Micah. "That depends on his first CAP, but this isn't what you might call a stellar start to his career aboard Genesis." She's quiet for a moment, then says, "Still considering it. After this evening's performance…" She shakes her head. "How's the stick up your ass?"

Micah smirks slightly. In regards to the 'performance', maybe, or the stick up his ass. "You think ah've got a stick up my ass. Sir?" The cigar's held away from him for a moment, tongue tracing that scar on his lower lip. "Or did I frak somethin' up again?" He resumes puffing, and turns to watching her surreptitiously now.

"I'm inquiring as to the disposition of your attitude. It's an angry stick, not a stuck up stick, if that helps you pinpoint the problem." Addison's tone is flat out conversational. She glances down at the smirking Ensign. "How'd you get that scar." Hello, subject change.

Hopefully she wasn't really expecting a real answer to the question about the stick up his ass. Because he doesn't have one. Or if he does, he's not divulging it. He is still watching her, though, mouth half-quirked with the dregs of that smirk. "Got punched in the face by the old man." He uses his right hand to demonstrate, since the left's occupied with his cigar. Making a fist, he points to the middle finger. "Had a big motherfrakking ring on."

Addie nods. She steps over to take a seat on the table, and faces Micah. "Did you hit him back?" She tips back a little on the table, propped up by her arms.

Micah chuckles softly, following her to the table with his eyes, even if he remains sprawled in his bunk. "'course I did. Wouldn't you?"

"For making my face bleed?" Addie grins and says, "I would have knocked some of the frakker's teeth out." She doesn't seem shy about admitting that. "Family or not."

The grin prompts a flickerflash one from Micah, though it doesn't linger long. Rain on a sidewalk in the height of summer. "Aye. Well." He takes another puff of the cigar, obviously quite enjoying it. "Frakker was a Marine. Scrappy lil' sonofabitch." And that's that. He swallows lightly before speaking again. "You, uh. Were you, close to your family?"

The Captain kicks her legs crossed. Her foot kicks a little. The grin fades around the edges and Addie glances over at Micah. "Yeah." She clears her throat. "I am." She nods. "Very close. Huge family."

The use of present tense is noted with a slight furrowing of dark brows, but not questioned. "You miss 'em?" Odd question, the answer seems.. obvious.

"Every damn day." Obvious or not, Addie answers the question anyway. She looks at Micah as she answers his question. She glances up at the ceiling briefly, tipping her head back. "Every day."

Micah traces that scar again, more slowly this time. It's about an inch long and jagged, ruining what might've otherwise been a nice mouth. "Ah'm glad, that you can. I think it gives you somethin' to fight for. Somethin' to live for, not just somethin' to die for." He hitches his knee in closer to him, almost a self-protection measure. "What colony? I can't.. can't place the accent."

"You'd have trouble. We come from all over but settle on Scorpia. Most of us are in the military. All we do is fight." Addie isn't usually one to talk about her family. "So being here is just like being home. But with less brawling."

Micah shakes his head slightly. "Never been to Scorpia." She doesn't usually talk about her family, he doesn't usually keep eye contact for longer than a few seconds at a time. "Somehow, that don't surprise me, sir." He looks a little bemused, odd eyes glittering.

Addie smiles again at the expression on Micah's face. "Scorpia's beautiful. It's got a little bit of everything, and a whole bunch of Nikos'. You'd be hard pressed to hit a bar in my home town and not fall over at least three cousins starting shit on leave. Most of them marines."

"Wish I could say ah'd like to visit some time. But.." But, the colonies went boom, and somehow, the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust isn't Micah's idea of a tourist attraction right now. "Never was one t'back down from startin' shit with marines," he adds, with a husky laugh. "So why the air wing? Why a viper stick?"

"Apparently I'm too smart to be a marine," Addie quips, slouching a little atop the table. The perfect posture has been traded in for lounging. "You have a feel for the viper, you have a feel for the viper. No sense fighting it. Even if, sometimes, you think life somewhere else might be a little simpler." She grins. "Genesis? I probably pissed someone off."

Micah chucks a little laugh at that. The pissing off, or the life being simpler elsewhere. "Frak," he mutters, tipping his head back finally and relinquishing eye contact to stare at the roof of his bunk. The cigar's kept close to his mouth, and puffed from now and then. "I would've been on Caprica, if I had my way. Right now." He puffs out his cheeks and makes a sound in his throat like something blowing up. "Boom."

"Sometimes it's good we don't get our way." Addie raises her brows a little. "You know, the deepest trouble I ever got into in my life, every time, it's caused by something I chose to do. Most of 'em were also the best times, but that isn't a piece of information you should mull over too long." Addison regards Micah for a moment. "Why Caprica? What's there?"

Micah slides a look toward the Captain from beneath his lashes and the corners of his eyes. He's probably gotten himself into his share of messes and good times, surely he doesn't need to spell it out for her. "Thought you were supposed to be a good example. Sir." The smirk makes a brief return. As to the question, he ticks the answer off on his fingers. "My girlfriend. My apartment. Seven in the evenin' on trask beach, and a bottle of Picon brandy and not bein' responsible for nothin' to nobody."

Dynames comes in from Corridor 12D.
Dynames has arrived.

Addie sits on the table in the middle of the berthing, legs dangling off the side, arms propping her torso. She's facing Micah, chatting with him it seems. She wears her sweatpants, boots, and a standard issue tank. "Five very good reasons to be on Caprica." She glances down and shakes her head slightly. "Everybody has a past, Jailhouse. Everyone has secrets. And I wouldn't be such a good pilot if I was always a good example."

There's a slight twitch as he's referred to by his callsign. But Micah's practiced at shunting the things that agitate him into a pile marked for later violence. He puffs on his gifted cigar, and lowers his eyes as well. "Aye, if you say so, sir." Ugh. Hopefully his shittiness as a pilot and an officer isn't going to be brought up here. He's silent.

Addie notices the twitch. You might think she did that on purpose. "I didn't get my callsign by obeying traffic laws."

Without fanfare, Ensign Dynames returns to the Berthing with her chin down, eyes not quite so much so. With the sound of voices, her attention rises from the imediate deckplating and she notes the two talking about being troubled. She carries on into the chamber with intent for her locker.

"With a name like Fender, I don't frakking imagine so, sir." Lowering his voice to a mutter, Micah adds, "Doesn't look like ah'll be livin' mine down, any time soon." Like, ever, probably. Frak that, and frak it good. Dynames' arrival has him shutting up though, walls thundered back down.

"That's the thing about pilots. Vicious little fraks." Addie chuckles. "You won't live it down, but you could work it off. Hades, anything's possible." The Captain glances over as Dyna comes into the berthing. "Tempo." A greeting.

Dynames comes to a halt like she was speared and she swallows before turning their way, "Captain, Micah, hey…" she says distantly, her hands clasp behind her back but she faces forward anyway putting big effort into looking stoic.

Micah lifts his eyes a little at that. Something seems on the tip of his tongue, but is bitten back. He settles deeper into his bunk, sprawling onto his back with one booted foot still flopped to the side, and the other propped up on the mattress. Yep, gooood cigar. "H'lo," is returned shortly to the other Ensign, along with a look that's equal parts bemused and confused.

<Trait Roll> Addie rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

Addie glances over at Dyna a second time at the general air coming from the woman. There's a long pause in which she studies the other female pilot. She, too, seems about to say something, but she pauses, doesn't. "Smoke?"

<Trait Roll> Dynames rolls Willpower and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Poor (1).

Dynames shakes her head, "No…no thank you, sir." she says in the same tone, though she blinks a couple times, "I was just going to change."

Well, if Addie's going to pussyfoot around, Micah's certainly less inclined. "The frak crawled up your arse?" he demands, arm draping off the edge of his bunk after he takes another puff of the cigar.

Addie glances over to Dyna again, then to Micah. She smiles, though Dyna probably can't see it from her angle. Micah's totally Mr. Personality. She doesn't add to that, just waits.

<Trait Roll> Dynames rolls Willpower and achieves a degree of Poor (1).

Steady crumbles, and Dyna's even demeanor collapses like Freshman on a Rufy, "How'bout our people shootin' at us?" she growls, and she starts to close the distance, fingers curling tensely into talons, "Or almost watching a couple thousand people die, you bloodless motherfrakker!" comes the last a a much more tense octave.

Bloodless? Yes, Micah did just get called bloodless. And a motherfrakker. Though, that part's actually probably right. "You want to hit me, then hit me, or throw somethin' at me, or start kickin' things and tell us what the frak happened down there. Just don't start cryin', I hate it when women cry." Muttered as he slips the cigar between his lips for another puff. And don't let his posture fool you, there's tension in that lazy-looking slump of lean frame.

Addie straightens a little as Dyna advances on Micah, but she doesn't step between them. Micah's response has her relaxing just a little. She lets the troops blow off a little steam. Dyna looks upset. That could lead to hair pulling. "Friendly fire. Imagine that."

Something goes 'sproing!' as Micah decides to bargain with the turmult of emotion that's currently harrying Dyna into a tizzy, and with a sudden yowl of furious indignance or devastated rage, she lunges into a spear.

<Opposed Roll> Dynames - Unarmed_Combat versus Micah - Unarmed_Combat

<Roll1> Dynames: Great <Roll2> Micah: Mediocre

<Result> Dynames WINS by 3.

<Roll1> Dynames: Great <Roll2> Micah: Mediocre

<Result> Dynames WINS by 3.

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Agility and achieves a degree of Superb (6).

He's watching her eyes, cigar lurking close to his mouth when he spots that 'sproing!'. And Micah's seen it enough times, in himself or in other people, to do so easily. He's got just enough time to shove the cigar onto a little shelf above his head, and then there's one hundred thirty pounds of pissed off pilot launching herself at him. Something goes -thud-, and it's probably his head against the backboard, leaving him seeing stars for a few seconds. With a grunt, he lifts one booted foot and attempts to shove her back and off him.

<Opposed Roll> Micah - Unarmed_Combat versus Dynames - Unarmed_Combat

<Roll1> Micah: Fair <Roll2> Dynames: Mediocre

<Result> Micah WINS by 1.

<Roll1> Micah: Fair <Roll2> Dynames: Mediocre

<Result> Micah WINS by 1.

Addie definitely straightens then. Her eyes follow the cigar, then she watches the two pilots tussle. "Don't maim each other. You disable each other, I'll brig you both." It's better than cable in here.

<Trait Roll> Dynames rolls Agility and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

A hundred thirty pounds of pilot is propelled from the larger through bootrifugal force, her hand's flailing for purchase on the convienient handles provided by his wearing a shirt, but aside from a high speed caress of fingers, no real contact is made. She staggers back, nearly beaning herself on the upper bunk befoer she catches herself and nearly sinks to a knee. The Captain said something, could have been important, but Dyna's still riding a hundred kilos of what-the-frak-smash, and she doesn't quite get the message. Instead, it's back to the lunge.

<Opposed Roll> Dynames - Unarmed_Combat versus Micah - Unarmed_Combat

<Roll1> Dynames: Fair <Roll2> Micah: Terrible

<Result> Dynames WINS by 3.

<Roll1> Dynames: Fair <Roll2> Micah: Terrible

<Result> Dynames WINS by 3.

One hundred thirty pounds, meet one hundred ninety. And that's not blubber, either, he's been spending some time at the gym in between stints in the brig. Wuzzat? Don't maim? "That all you've got?" he challenges, rolling to his feet and prowling away from his bunk — and toward Dynames. A chair that was left out is kicked aside as she charges at him; and there's an attempt to deflect her momentum with a shove that'll either send her into a bulkhead, or him into the table. Looks like it's the table, and his face, and some blood. Ow.

"Hey!" Addie's jostled a little as Micah falls face first into the table. "Do I need to find you two a couple of pillowcases full of soaps?" A proper officer would probably have jumped in by now.

<Trait Roll> Dynames rolls Willpower and achieves a degree of Great (5).

Her plowjob driving the man into the table, the pilot rears up with a hissed intake of breath between her teeth, the oral output of the Captain going unheeded again. She stoops over to grab a hank of hair while the other, tightly trembling fist comes back for launch and her timing gear drops back into mesh. In as many heartbeats, rage drops to shock, and recoils bodily to horror, and the majority of Dyna's functions come back up, "Oh, Gods…!"

There's plenty of hair to grab, really. Micah's got about two inches' worth of regulation crew cut rebellion going on there. Whatever Addie's saying, it barely seems to be registering to him at the moment; Dynames is enraged, and he doesn't even need a reason to be so. He's like a pit bull, fighting's in his blood and in the way the synapses fire, he was probably born a scrappy little motherfrakker. He's still, body half sprawled across a downed chair, breath coming a touch quickly though he's hardly short of it; he doesn't speak.

As the two remain separated, and at least one of them seems to snap out of it, Addison shakes her head, and she rises from the table. She takes the few steps over to MIcah's bunk, reaches in for the shelf, and picks up the cigar. It's just burning down, when it should be properly smoked before it goes out. "Did not know you had it in you, Dyna." Puff.

Dynames takes a couple of breaths, "Oh, Gods, Micah!" she pants and starts to scurry to his side, "No no no no no no…! I'm sorry!" she says in frantic horror at what she's done. She drops to a crouch by his shoulder, reaching out for him, "I'm sorry, Micah! Oh, Gods, please be ok!"

Micah's eyes are squinted up, and his head twists away from the table once she releases his hair. "Ow." Followed by a pause, and then a hand brought to his nose. Yep, it's bleeding, and like any injury to the face it's bleeding a lot. Probably looks much worse than it actually is. "Frak. You takin' lessons from Baylee? Hit like a steam train." He slumps down to the floor, and slides a look sidelong to Addie while trying to staunch the flow with someone's jacket that's been left on the downed chair.

"Ice works better," Addie offers helpfully, from her position next to Micah's bunk, with Micah's cigar, well her cigar, really. "It's probably not broken." She isn't close enough to know for sure. "You go up to Sick Bay, you tell them you fell over some shoes, unless you think you can handle that on your own."

Dynames chokes on her heart while a look much akin to a cheerleader running over a puppy dominates her face, and she frets in a rather obsessive way, "I didn't mean it! I'm sorry!" Her head weaves and bobs birdishly as she tries to ascertain the damage, her hands touching his arm and her eyes starting to brim.

Micah's eyes are still squeezed shut, some poor pilot's fatigue jacket bunched in his hand and pressed to his face, soaking up blood. Sickbay. Yeah, sickbay's probably not a bad idea. Addie's diagnosis and recommendation for treatment aren't received with utter confidence from the kid. "It's fine," he mumbles to Dynames, nudging the chair aside with his boot before starting to pull to his feet. "I was goading you. Didn't expect you to hit so hard." He flashes her a small smile. He's fine.

"Dyna, you might want to help him get to Sick Bay." Addie nods to Micah, then takes another puff of the cigar before she sets it on Micah's shelf to burn out. "Rack time." For her, that is. Addie crosses the berthing, headed for bed. "Do not fall down the stairwell."

Dynames offers Micah the support he needs to get to his feet, swallowing, "It's not fine, you're bleeding!" Fret! She rubs at her eye with her knuckles, then to the Captain, "I'm on it!" Ohhhhh! "I wasn't thinking, I just… and you…!"

And he's Micah. "Ah'm fine, quit your broodin'." Tripped over shoes, tripped over shoes. Got to keep that story straight. "Night, sir," he tosses back at Addie, and that might even be a grin in spite of his face hurting and blood spattering his t-shirt. He seems content with Dynames' company out the hatch, though shies away from actual touchy feely contact. Probably something's only worth touching if he's hitting it.

Addie climbs into her bunk after kicking off her boots. She situates herself horizontally, then reaches for the curtain. With a sharp tug and the rattle of metal over metal, the cloth curtain slides shut. "Goodnight, my little pugilists."

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