Bucking It Up
Bucking It Up
Summary: Micah "welcomes" Orion to the Genesis.
Date: 46 AHC
Related Logs: none
Players:
Micah..Orion..

The hangar bay is moderately active, all things considered. Some departures, some arrivals, deck hands and the occasional pilot here and there. People just going about their business, which makes Orion stick out like a bloody sore thumb. The crew of the Raptor that got him here seem almost amused at him, and one says, "You can get its autograph later." with a chuckle before she heads off…

Orion's standing with his mouth slightly agape, peering around ever so slowly. A duffel bag is held under his arm… a nice big one, in fact. "Hoe-lee frak." Blink. Ka-Blink. Ka-Blink.

One of those pilots bustling about, happens to be Micah. Fresh off of CAP, he's just in the process of climbing out of his still-cooling viper. There's a petty officer helping him with his helmet and steadying the ladder for him to clamber down, and a few deck hands scurrying about attaching fuel lines and beginning maintenance on the bird. It's like a pit stop in a formula one racing circuit.

One foot in front of the other. His destination is… well, he doesn't look like he knows what his destination is. The raptor pilot who mentioned autographs taps her co-pilot on the shoulder and points. Both women get a chuckle out of it, but do they tell him where he should be going? No. Heck no. That would, of course, be telling. Orion happens to head your way, as fate would have it, "Hey, uh…" Speech is pretty fast on him. He sounds a little nervous. He also has what an Earth person might call a 'southern twang' to his voice. "I… yeah. That bird just dropped me off and I'm supposed to check in with I mean go to some quarters or… I don't know what I'm supposed to do do you have any idea?" A nervous chuckle. Oh man.

Micah climbs down a few rungs, then hops the rest of the way, to land on the deck plating with a solid -clang-. Once he's got his helmet tugged off, dark hair sprouting every which way, he turns slightly to regard the man addressing him. And grins slowly when he spots the wings. "You're probably here t'see the CAG. She's not around right now." He rifles his fingers through his hair, and starts walking. Hopefully Orion can keep up. "Ares or Gold?"

Eyes look you up and down as though afraid they might miss something important… and everything is important. "The CAG…." He spends long enough contemplating that he is, in fact, just -standing- there while you're walking ahead, which means he has to hustle to link up with you again, "Oh… oh! Yeah. Gold. I almost ended up in the raptors, but I either tested well on something or tested poorly on something else and I got told to try it the other.. well, it's gold. Hey. I'm Orion." He extends his hand while following just behind you.

Micah isn't much of a welcome wagon, but it's better than nothing. Right? "So you're a viper stick, yeah? Think you can hold onto one with that tremblin', sticky little hand of yours?" He passes his helmet off to a petty officer waiting at the stairs, and pauses before heading up it. "You got a first name, Orion?"

"That is my first name. Ensign Orion Scala." One can practically hear the automatic, 'Sir!' part getting suppressed, it having been drilled into him so hard by now. Otherwise, he's nervous enough that it takes him a couple seconds to realize he's either getting hazed or insulted, "They gave me my wings before things got… worse. Paper jam's been keeping me stuck on the Carina for an extended vacation and I don't think they were desperate when they passed me."

"Then frakking introduce yourself like an officer," Micah replies evenly. His own accent easily places him as a fellow Aerelonian, though the dialect is different; more akin to a northern English bumpkin from the Yorkshire or Sheffield region. "They did teach you how to do that, didn't they?" He turns to face the other pilot, chin up, eyes level. They're roughly the same height, though Micah has probably twenty or thirty pounds on the rook.

"Every damned day for an eternity." is Orion's only response. When Micah faces him like that, he does what comes natural in a situation like this… he basically tries to stare the other guy down… or at least make it clear he's not half as twitchy as he's acting. The nervousness is pretty obvious in his gaze. So is some confusion. He's disoriented and probably shell shocked from being here, but he's staring, regardless.

Micah doesn't move. He's a fairly big kid, though not huge by any means; and by the scar cutting across his lower lip, he doesn't look any stranger to scrapping. "This isn't the farm anymore, rook. No more joyrides on the back of daddy's truck. This is the big leagues, you frak up in there-" He nods toward one of the vipers being wheeled away. "-it's over. You're just a bloodstain on a windscreen that some deck hand's gotta hose down."

That doesn't get much of a response from Orion at first, but those eyes are nice and expressive. He knows. And he's a little scared. Maybe more than a little, but he's at least holding back -that- much. "No more farm, no more." corrects he in… well, less than perfect grammar, but it gets the point across better than had he spoken properly, perhaps. "No more trucks, no more Peach Pit," he'll have to explain that later. Or maybe not, "No more huntin' unless it's shiny and done glows. I got that. And I don't like it one bit, but that's what we got."

Micah runs his tongue along the bottom row of teeth, and then grins slowly. "No. You don't. You don't 'got it'. But you will. Ah'll show you to berthings, fix your uniform. You've got a button undone." Turning, he starts up those stairs that lead out of the hangar bay, fully expecting his 'charge' to follow.

That Orion feels his hand down the length of his uniform for the missing button might be telling… it's like he's expecting to look down and get a finger against his nose, like it's high school. He's certainly acting paranoid about looking at his uniform, at least. Regardless, the rookie pilot follows you, "You, uh, you never gave me your name."

"Ensign St. Germain," comes Micah's clipped answer, in between the clang of boots on steel deck plating as he ascends the stairwell.

Orion follows you up the stairs, readjusting his grip on the bag of stuff he carries under his right arm, "You have a first name, St. Germain?" A reversal of what you said to him. He's still nervous, of course. And if his eyes mean anything, the fact that they're gaping at the awesomeness of a -staircase- says a lot.

Thump thump thump. Most of the trip up the five flights of stairs is carried out in relative silence, until the door at the top is reached, shouldered open, and held for Orion. "Jailhouse." It's delivered with a quick grin, and he begins to tromp off for the berthings. "Whoever you were before, it doesn't matter much here. The CAG or the Captain'll probably name you, but until then, it's either boondocks or hillbilly. Kind've like the former, myself."

You head towards Gold Squadron Berthings.
Micah comes in from Corridor 12D.
Micah has arrived.

"Jailhouse." Orion repeats the word with a smirk, "Fine. If that's how things go around here, I can deal with that." He steps inside and looks around, "Damn. So this is the place, huh? Thought it'd be… hey, what's that small?" He sniffs the air a few times and frowns a bit.

It's probably a conglomeration of things. Cigar smoke, dirty socks, someone's dinner of a few days ago shoved under a bunk and forgotten. There are a few pilots sleeping, and a couple off showering at the moment. Micah begins stripping out of his flight suit once the hatch is closed; not tugging it off for now, but peeling it down and tying the arms off around his waist. The t-shirt he's wearing beneath is, predictably, sweaty. "You can take that one, until or unless the Captain re-assigns you." He tips his chin toward the bottom bunk in row nine.

Orion is still on about the smell, "Smells a little like… horse manure?" No, that can't be right. "No, that can't be right." See? He heads towards bed nine and drops his duffle onto the bottom bunk, "Anywhere I'm supposed to check in, or is it with the captain?" He continues looking around the room. He's not awestruck by this place. He's sort of a little freaked out, though. Who knew a backwoods space hick would have a problem with this.

Micah could be an utter bastard, here. He really could. He certainly looks the type to relish making an unknowing rook's life, utter misery. "She'll come find you when she's got a moment," is offered instead. "She's a busy woman." He, meanwhile, is ambling off to finish getting out of his flight suit. There's obviously zero modesty around here, where the public removal of clothing is concerned.

Orion notices this to some degree. That you undress doesn't mean too much to him. What catches his eye is the connection between that, and the fact that some of the sleeping pilots are female, "Yeah. I guess she would be, huh?" It's not hard to put the puzzled look on his face together with where he's looking and see the unspoken question: Women just undress in here, too?

Micah kicks out of his boots, peels the bulky suit away, and tugs on a pair of sweatpants and a fresh t-shirt before padding over to his locker barefoot. "Aye," is mumbled to the non-question, clothing shoved inside, door slammed shut. "You got a problem, Boondocks?" Mind you, one of said sleeping pilots is a six foot cropped blonde who could probably beat Micah into mush.

"It's just a little weird." Nervous laughter right there. Boond.. Orion glances around some more, then lays flat on his mattress, "I mean, guys and girls undressing in the same room. Kinda didn't think they'd be -unisex-. I mean, with all the dangly bits and pieces."

Micah fetches a towel from his bunk, and draws to a halt roughly opposite the sprawled Orion. "There's no boys and girls, once you step off the Carina and onto this ship, mate. There's navy, and there's marines, and if you've got any sense you won't play strip triad with the latter while they're skunked. Only advice ah'm goin' to give you today." He starts off for the showers, then, adding over his shoulder, "Buck it up."

Orion nods, "I guess not!" Orion's eyes are a little wide, but he takes it. Making his bed is apparently going to wait, as simply laying on the mattress is enough to keep him shaken up… considering where he is, the reality of it all. It's a lot for him to take. Apparently, "Bucking it up, Jailbird. Bucking it up." And that's the last he says on the matter.

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