Gold Berthing Antics
Gold Berthing Antics
Summary: Micah and Novella hold court for Rooks. Bring out booze. Quill visits!
Date: 39 ACH
Related Logs: None
Players:
Novella..Micah..Sloane..Dynames..Rue..Quill..

OOC NOTE: This is a looong log. The scene went from, my end, more than 7 hours. Longer for Quill and Dynames. The OOC chatter, which was about half this log, had all of us rolling on a regular basis. Outstanding players all around.


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Gold Squadron Berthings Genesis - Deck 12
39 ACH 6285 Souls

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.
----< Condition Three - Duty Area >----—-
Contents: Novella Sloane Gold Bunks Triad Deck Wireless 1251

Exits: [O] Corridor
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Suffering for what appears to be extreme boredom, Sloane is recently finished with his CAP duty and his hair is fresh out of the shower. Lounging around, again, he's alone in the barracks with some light music playing. Boredly tossing his pyramid ball up into the air and catching it, there's no telling how long he's been at this. Like before, his little book of physics is on the table.

Novella comes groaning down the hall and stops at the hatch. The limp in her leg is remarkably shallow considering how soon she was released. But her blonde hair has turned a bit green and she's got a damp towel swung over her shoulder. She looks at the ball going up and down. "If I have to dodge that frakker again, I'm going to put a nine-mil through it." She sounds sour but its more of a tired tone. Stepping through the hatch she slowly moves for her locker. "How goes, Sloane?"

"It goes and it goes. Don't worry, my days of throwing balls at you ended with the first." He replies, catching the ball one last final time. Turning to watch her, he leans forward on the table and folds his arms atop it. Resting his head on his arms, he speaks as he relaxes. "How're you healing up? About to go back to full duty soon?"

"Just gotta made sure the warning was acknowledged." She peers over her shoulder at him with a bit of a smirk as she passes him. The combo on the luck is spun and the thing clanks as it opens, a noise not many of the other lockers make. "Healin' up pretty well. Major Zaharis has me doing physical therapy in the pool with a nurse twice a day. I think its helping a lot more. I certainly feel better, though." The towel is thrown in, her blouse unbuttoned and tossed in as well as she speaks. Bathing suit underneath. "Shouldn't be much longer. How's this wing working out for you so far?" She facing into her locker and away to change out of the suit. Typical stuff.

Sloane averts his eyes, not one to try to outwardly make anyone uncomfortable. "Wing's working out good for me, actually. For the most part I'm feeling a little cramped in. There was more room for just about everything on the Carina, but what can a man do right? I'm not here to play." He pauses, hrmming quietly. "Turn that question around, how do you think I'm fitting in?"

Micah has arrived.
Dynames has arrived.

If it bothers her, she doesn't seem to make motions about it. Third year deployed for her, and every day since then. She just waits until he finishes before she responds, pulling the shirt over her head. "And that, Ensign Sloane, is the question, isn't it?" The grin can be heard in her voice. She pulls the pants back up and turns as she finishes the last button in it. "Well you've managed to make me'n my wingman offer to kill you.. and I requested to have you roll in under Micah and I. But that's not going to happen. Rue shelved the request. Said St. Germain and I are too close for it." Novella is standing by her open locker and talking to Sloane who is sitting at the table with a pyra ball and a physics book. "Then I saw ya playin' video games with someone who was brigged the last time I saw her.." She laughs. "Shit, Sloane. Not bad."

Clomp clomp. The hatch is shoved open, then tugged closed after Micah climbs inside; it's the unwritten rule of gold squadron berthings, don't hang around in the hatchway. The sight of Novella half-dressed should warrant at least a bit of leering, but Micah's seen it all before, so he continues toward his bunk. "CAG needs someone t'cover for her on CAP, you down with that, Cornbread?" Since, of course, he and his feisty wingman are not on flight status currently.

Maybe he looked a little bit. Sloane grins broadly, shrugging in the process. "It gave the MP's something to watch for a change, right? But then again, I'm sure they don't mind watching her. She's kinda cute ain't she?" Sloane replies, giving a demure little shrug. "Well I will have to find a wingman sooner or later, but do you think the CAG will want me on someone more experienced as a wingman, or do you think I'd get paired up with another rook, build up like you guys have?" He motions to Micah. "I'm a hundred percent down for that, St. Germain. Do I need to go give her the reply?"

Nope. Nov doesn't have much of a care about it. She throws a lazy middle-finger salute to Micah from her temple. "What's happenin', Crowbles?" The woman turns back to her locker and grabs the tanktop and pulls it on as well. Her brow quirks at the question inbound for Sloane. "Rue giving up a CAP? Did Hades freeze over or some shit?" Cav finishes the shirt and looks to Sloane again. "Ensign Cornbread, you call my wingman and I 'Rooks' again and you'll eat that ball. Backwards." She winks at him, gathering a hair tie around her wrist from her pocket. "And I have no idea. Its up to her. I suspect she'll stick you with a more senior Ensign like me or a Jig."

Rue has arrived.

Novella's probably the only pilot in the Colonial navy, who could greet Micah with a middle finger and receive a grin in return. It's a little shallow today, however. Looks like he's seen a ghost, if she's paying close enough attention. "Frozen, and offerin' sleigh rides," he mutters to the blonde, and flops backwards into his bunk. "Just get suited up, and down to the flight deck in an hour, Corny." He'll let his wingman handle the unintentional insults; she's the enforcer, he's just there to look pretty. Or something.

"Rooks? Who the frak called you two rooks?" Sloane replies. "What I said was, do you think she might pair me with another rook to build up that working relationship like you two have. Well, at least that's what I meant." Sloane replies, eyeballing his locker. Grabbing a cigarette from his stash, he lights one and stands. Stepping over to his nearby locker, he opens it and drops the pyramid ball inside. Pulling off his two tank tops, he continues with them. "Cav and some backwards hearing, eh?" He chuckles, grabbing his physics book and setting it into his locker.

Cue, the arrival of new meat. Tempo, one of the pilots from another wing, steps into the berthing with duffle and what looks like a long guitar's neck in either hand. She apparently picked a winning time to show up, based on the swearing, and so she sets her things to the side and stands to, waiting for someone to either get their lights punched out, or go 'hey, look' in her general direction.

The blonde quirks a brow at Micah once more. She gathers her hair up behind her head and pulls it through the tie in a lazy half-done ponytail. "Frozen? Shit Germain, what's goin' on?" Suddenly that leg is feeling better. Someone need her to fly? Bueller? Bueller? "Frak.. I can't wait to get back in the pit, ya know? Talked to Zaharis before I started the physical therapy and he told me it might be the weekend when he clears me back into rotation." The very idea.. It sets a grin upon her face. But she looks to Sloane with a raised brow. "That's right, kiddo." She waggles an accusatory finger at the Rook. "And you make sure you keep those two ideas separate." She could be a bitch and rub it in, but she lets it go. "Only thing backwards about my ass is.. well.. okay, nothing. So I guess the problem is on the other end." She prods a finger onto the side of Corn's head a few times as she passes with a grin. But spotting the new arrival, she taps Micah and lifts a chin in the woman's direction, waiting for her wingman to make the inquiry.

Not too long after Tempo's arrival, Rue appears in the doorway, wearing her flight suit no less. She pauses there, eyeing the guitar, duffel and new meat in that order, before looking at Sloane. Smiling faintly, she looks to Cav, then to Micah in his bunk. Yeah, she can do this. Drawing herself up, she brightens her smile some and steps inside fully, hands clasping behind her back.

Micah is draped half in, half out of his bunk, lean frame arranged in a lacksidaisical sprawl that bears some resemblance to a lounging cat. He's just finished tossing some blunt-edged schematics into a corner of his bunk where they'll likely never be found again; and he's refusing to answer any and all questions about the CAG, and the relative frigidity of Hades at the moment. Novella's tapping disrupts him from his scrutiny of a scrape on his palm, and he flits his eyes toward the Fresh Meat with a lurksome little grin. It probably would be less menacing, without the disfiguring scar that skews his lower lip. Rue is spotted a moment after, and he tips off a salute to her.

Sloane, shirtless and preparing to strip and change into his flight suit, nods an upward smile at Tempo at her arrival. That's about when his head is shoved aside by Novella's finger. "….aaaabuse." He manages the grit his teeth in her direction. Leaning back up from his locker, he starts to work his belt. That's when he sees Rue. Firing off a salute as well, he motions to his locker. "I'm getting prepped for that CAP right now, Major. Who's flying wing with me, sir?"

Dynames offers a chipper smile after only the briefest hesitation at the ominous grin. It kind of goes into some surprise as the salute comes up and she looks over her shoulder, jumping to the side and landing in a salute. Puff-up! Puff-up! They like that!

Shit! Its the boss. Look busy! Novella notes the faint smile from Rue and smells trouble. "Evenin', sir. Just hazing the Rooker." A pair of fingers tap her brow to the CAG, those yes eventually flitting to the new meat. "I'm going to assume you're not lost.." She rolls her hand as if waiting for some way to address Tempo - who wears no rank. She'd probably tell Sloane that taking abuse is part of the job but.. yeah. He should know this stuff by now.

"Ensign Dynames, Ensign Sloane needs a wingman for the CAP," is Rue's answer for Cornbread. New or not, the CAG knows the fresh meat's name. "And thank you, for picking up the CAP in the first place this rotation." She steps past Dynames, offering a snapped off salute and a smile as she moves past her towards her bunk. Rather than a salute, she offers a nod to Micah as she starts to remove the flight suit in front of her locker.

The general camaraderie of the star screamers seems to wash over Micah, for whatever reason, this evening. He's playing along when necessary, but after that nod from Rue — and a lingering look given the blonde — he twists around and begins stripping out of his own tank top and t-shirt to the tune of jingling dogtags. It's about time to shower, and figure out something to occupy the next couple of hours. Maybe someone'll think to make a round of introductions; it certainly won't be him.

Gulp. A nod and a smile, with a smidge of 'nervous' issues forth, "Yes, sir, uh… you're welcome sir!" she tries, her salute dropping at Rue's return. She faces toward Novella and goes for the shpiel, "Ensign Breit Dynames, transferring to Gold Wing, sir!"
-with a sharp salute.

Sloane nods in Tempo's direction. "Ensign Antonio Sloane, Cornbread. Prepping for CAP right now." He replies, turning his back to them and removing all but his boxers. He then pulls on a fresh wife-beater tank top and starts to triple check his flight suit. Dragging off of the cigarette, he ashes it. The bruise on his ribcage is only a small faded color at this point.

Novella watches Rue walk past, looking the woman up and down. Trouble is afoot. She's got the stats to back up that spidey-sense tingle damnit. "Everything alright, sir? Heard you're swappin' out a CAP?" But the flurry of movement from Tempo gets a surprised look and a blink. "Holy hotshit. Ensign, don't salute me. We're the same rank." Even if she does act like the wing belongs to her sometimes. The woman steps away from Micah as he moves off, extending her hand to the new meat. "Ensign Baylee Novella. Call me 'Cav.' Got a callsign or are you a complete Rooker, too?"

Rue continues pulling off her flight suit, til she's standing in her sweats. The suit is carefully hung on a hanger and placed inside her locker. Looking into her mirror, she pulls her hair back and ties it into a pony tail. To Novella: "There should be some perks to rank, right?" Casting a look over her shoulder at Tempo, she smiles and then adds, "Welcome to Gold Squadron, Ensign Dynames."

"Hey, Cornbread." formalities done for the moment, "Call me Tempo. Got it from my first post." Dyna replies with an easy smile, "Sorry, get overeager I guess." her hand clasps that of the other Ensign. She looks to the CAG, "Thank you, sir!" then, curiously, she looks around at the others, "Um… there a bunk in particular I should use?"

"Ensign Micah St. Germain," mutters the sullen one currently changing out of his offduties. He flashes a crooked smile toward Dynames, then catches up his towel and prowls past to the showers.

"Well there's these…" Sloane points to a pair of bunks, top and bottom near his bunk. "There's a double pair over there by Cav. Bunk 11's open. There's top bunk on my side…" Sloane replies, stepping into his flightsuit. "Take your pick." He says, turning to watch Rue for a moment.

Novella just eyes the Major carefully. Eventually she looks back to Micah and shrugs. "Guess so, sir. Figured you for a tank, I guess." Its a compliment coming from Cav. "I'm almost done with the tabbing of the maint records on the Two's. Anything in particular you need me to do, sir? Goin' a bit stir-crazy." Telling a CO you're bored is something she should know better than to do. Take that for what its worth. But she looks back to Tempo. "Nice. So you're not a nugg. Good to hear." Rue gets to do CAGly things like assign bunks, though. Even if Cornbread likes to do things like that. She settles her gaze on the pilot suiting up, smirking at him. Plotting. Devising. Something is brewing in the Baylee Brains. One can almost hear the hamster wheel squeaking.

"Wherever you'd like, Ensign," Rue says to Dyna, closing her locker and turning to face the pilots. Chuckling at Novella, she says, "You could hit the flight sims. It's not real, but at least it's a cockpit." Reaching behind her, she hoists herself up into her bunk and swings her feet over and up. "Y'all play nice now, y'hear." The curtain to the bunk is then drawn closed. Dun dun dun.

"Hey, Micah," Dyna offers gently, not touching the callsign thing. Having a callsign usually has a story, so does NOT having one. She picks up her stuff, after the ok from the CAG, "Thank you." and carries it over toward the top bunk by Corn, "Thanks.

Micah is gone then for a good ten minutes. Possibly fifteen. Maybe he was just really, really dirty, or maybe he's got things to think about, since they're on 'economy' showers at the moment.

Stepping aside so that Tempo can get access to the top bunk, Cornbread awkwardly turns his back to her as he zips up his flightsuit. Hopping in it a few times to let it connect in all the right places, he proceeds to check the seals at the wrist. Then, he turns to his locker again and pulls out his sidearm, securing it. "So Tempo, how long you been in the service?" He looks to her.

Flight sims? For duty? Well if you insist!! "Aye, sir!" Cav can't hide that smirk and its enough to distract her into forgetting that the CAG isn't kosher. She'd go knock on the curtain, but that's frowned upon. Or something. She watches Micah exit off to the showers and sits on the edge of the table, watching the new meat. Sloane gets a reprieve for the moment. The Rook can ask his questions for the moment. Cav will sink her claws in later.

"Year and a half, plus or minus." Tempo replies, tossing her stuff onto the bunk, and rooting through the duffle for her flight suit, "I did most of that aboard the Atlantia." In short order, she's doing the shimmy shimmy strip, revealing a tattoo from her pre-navy days, a ribbonlike one that winds around in a loose spiral up her left leg, a stave of musical notes stretching from ankle, nearly to hip, though it only winds around twice.

Rue has disconnected.

Just in time to herald Micah's return, towel tugged around him to make sure he's decent, and leaving a wet trail of footprints through the room. He's just about to shuffle off into his bunk, when he spots that tattoo. Damn. That's one way to get the boy's attention. "Not bad," he murmurs, quirking a grin at Tempo as he settles back and starts tugging on trousers.

"Thanks…" Sloane replies, his back to Micah. "…it takes hours upon hours to keep this muscular frame." He grins, flashing a smile in Tempo's direction. The rookie fights back. Of course, he's downright nothing special physique-wise. "Didn't know you cared, but if you must know…I don't swing like that."

The tat gets a raised brow. Well that tells the tale of the callsign, now doesn't it? She glances to Micah as he cruises by. Novella sits down at the table and looks at the new arrival a bit more. "Did what on board the Atlantia?" She glances to Sloane and shakes her head. Rooks are so cute at this age. "Hands off my wingman, Cornbread. I can't afford to have his feelin's torn asunder by thoughts of man-love. I need him sharp."

A carefree giggle passes the new meat's lips at the banter, though she does answer Cav, "I did most of my post-flight training time on the Atlantia before I was transferred, well, all over the place." She wiggles her hips into the flight suit and starts working on the sleeves as she says, "How about you all, this your first posting?"

Trousers are tugged on over boxers, and then his t-shirt's wriggled into, followed by tank top. Maybe a glimpse of Micah's own ink is spotted: a tribal, intricate aesthetic sprawled across his shoulderblades, another smattering over his pectorals. More, undoubtedly, but he isn't dallying about in getting dressed. "In your frakked up dreams, Cornbread," he returns with a grin.

"In MY dreams, apparently your wingman over there thinks you have man-love fantasies. She just secured it because you were checking me out." Cornbread teases, zipping up his flightsuit. He purposefully puts his back to them as he locks up his locker. They'll never get the combo. He looks to Tempo. "This is my first posting. I was marooned on the Carina till I could get security clearance to the air wing." He grins, looking to Cav and Micah. "Well at least someone watches me get changed."

"Atlantia, huh? Nice. Sucks about the kicking around, though." Novella leans back in the chair and crosses her arms over her chest, ignoring the men for the moment. "Did my first two years in Vipers on the Galactica. But the CAG didn't see eye-to-eye with me on some things. Been here on the Genie about a year." Eyes flicker to a calendar on the wall. "And it'll be a year next week." She tilts a head towards Sloane and chuckles. "Ooooh. Powerplayin' Sloane. Tryin' to divide the Germain/Novella Team. Good luck with that one, chief." She can't help the smirk.

"Galactica, huh?" Dyna returns, "Good ship?" as she does the little bouncy-dance to get everything in the suit lined up, then-zip! She looks between the wingmates and grins, "Nothing is more beautiful than a wingman who keeps it tight."

Micah rolls back to his feet, and slinks off for his locker, shoving the clothes into a laundry bag he keeps inside it. There's no attempt to hide the combination, if there is one. "My wingman," he explains, sidling past Sloane on his way to fetch the towel, since his hair's still dripping onto his shoulders and tank top, "knows me better'n that. She's hasslin' me. You're startin' to get in my craw, though. Gotta wonder why you're so hung up on it, anyway." The rook's given a long look as Micah prowls away, then studies himself in the mirror while he towels off his hair.

"Unless you strain your suit during ejection and rip it at the seams." Novella winks. "I used to do the same thing. Careful about it. Its a real danger in this environment." She pauses for a moment, rubbing a knuckle at her eye. Long day in the pool. "Galactica was decent. Had some big egos on board but not a bad place. It was a good environment for a Rook, too. A lot of seasoned pilots there that loved to teach and show the new Ensigns how to stay alive." Her eyes flicker to Micah and a smirk creeps back across her face. "You're pretty, Micah. You don't have to stare in the mirror to figure that out."

"Sounds like a good one, then." Dyna returns, then starts to pile stuff into her locker, letting the comment slide with only a smirk. Hmm, she looks between everyone, then, "We get back, you guys want to hit the lounge for a bit, or are you on rotation next?"

"I'm getting in your craw? Damn man…take a joke." Sloane chuckles, tugging at the lock to make sure it's engaged. "Yeah, that's a good suggestion. Welcome Tempo here on board? You know if anyone has a drink we can toast to when we're off duty?" Sloane adds, moving to stand next to Dyna.

"Just stay out of my frakking way," mutters the sullen Ensign, pausing in his toweling off for a moment to touch that scar skewing his lower lip. Novella's words cause him to turn sharply, watch her for a long moment, and then chuckle quietly. Yeah, there might be a good-looking kid under all that grit and bad attitude. Maybe. "We're frakking grounded, mate," he replies to Tempo, shuffling back toward his bunk. "No flying. No CAP. Plenty of frakking paperwork."

"Hey Germain. Safe your guns, aye? Be angry if ya want but remember.. hazing doesn't mean drawing blood in Stage One. Thats Two through Six." Novella winks to him and looks to the other two. "I'm fine for it. You two need to get a drink with the rest of us anyway. But I only speak for myself. But Micah's right. Him'n I got shot-up on a mission few weeks back. We're on light duty. Short shifts and lots of paperwork.. until I follow orders and hit the sims." Hell yeah.

Dynames frowns thoughtfully, "I'm sorry, I didn't know." Sad puppy! She looks between the two, with a resurgent smile then, "You'll be back in the thick again soon enough, don't worry guys. But, it's a date!" Stuffing the last of her stuff, including the duffle and the guitar, specially trimmed down, into the locker, she secures it, and looks back to Corn, "So… Cornbread?"

"Yeah a date it is." Sloane replies, giving Tempo a little smile. Stretching his arms over his head, he tilts his head from side to side, loosening the muscles. "Allright we'll be back in a few hours, set your timers and we'll get that drink." He nudges Dyna and mutters quietly. "Watch out for these guys, allright? They're either all talk about the hazing or saving up for something good. I watch your back you watch mine, sound good?"

Micah grunts something quietly in Novella's direction. Sometimes being section lead is really about babysitting your idiot wingman. His towel is shucked off into his locker, and he drops into a chair at the table, easing his feet up onto another one opposite. "Good hunting," he over-the-shoulders to the departing pair. Because it's just what pilots say. To Cav, he mutters, "That's Saint Germain, frakhead." Along with a swat.

Novella waves a hand dismissively at Dynames. "No problem. We're in a shooting war. It happens when you volunteer to do stupid shit for the CMC." She smirks and looks to the pair of them about the hazing. "Sloane, you probably sleep at night. Give it a few weeks. Mice farting will wake you." That grin is one-hundred percent pure Caprican mischief. "But I'll grab a bottle and meet you down there. Drinks are on me." When Micah plops down and swats at her… she laughs. But one gets the idea that Micah gets certain privledges that might cost others a limb. "I'll call you a Saint when you start behavin' like one, brotherman." Yep, they're close. "Good hunting, kids. If you need anything, don't hesitate to hollar."

A thumbs-up is loosed Micah's way, "Thanks, guys, see ya soon!" Tempo replies cheerily, and she follows Sloane's lead out, offering, "What are wings for?" with a wink.

TWO HOURS LATER


A few hours later? A few hours later the other wingmen haven't made it down to the General Lounge. Why? Because they started drinking here. And while they aren't skunked, they've had a few. But nobody is doing bodyshots, either. There's a couple of glasses sitting on the table and a nearly full bottle of Piconese Brandy placed between Cav and Micah. Currently, the blonde is recounting a past experience. Both her hands are lifted in the air as if to mimic the movements of opposing fighters. "..and I've got the throttles firewalled, right? Trying to close that distance. Well the slippery shit see's me coming in for the kill and yanks hard on my vertical plane. So I haul back on the stick.. man those G's were killer. But I end up hypotenusing the triangle and mashed my trigger. I could actually see the laser hits tracking right across the CAG's helmet." Her hands followed the movements the whole time. But she pauses at the end. "I gave him a lot of shit about getting killed by a Rook. Soo.. two weeks in, him and I were already best enemies."

Nope, not skunked, but they've definitely been hitting the liquor, and hitting it good. Micah's slumped in his chair, booted foot kicked up on the one opposite, and looking.. well, looking a good bit more mellow than when Cornbread and Tempo left. He's grinning broadly as Cav relates her story, fingers tugtugtugging the bottle of brandy closer so he can take a swig of it. "Sierra frakking hotel, Cav, only you. You crazy shit." His throat works as he swallows, then sets the thing down, and drags the back of a hand across his mouth. "The CAG on my last posting.. motherfrak, she hated my godsdamned guts. Took me up once.." He's biting his lip to keep from giggling. "..took me up once for some high atmo training, and came in too hard on the turn. On purpose. Slammed into me hard enough to bust my hatch open, wanted to see if I could do a nylon letdown, off the cuff.."

There's no clear indication of how much time has passed, but apparently, enough has. There's the groaning clank of the barracks doors and Sloane holds open the door for Dyna. "….yeah so basically what the professor had us do is start work on some of the more theoretical physics based equations surrounding known FTL drives. My project end year was a theory that if the FTL drives can be streamlined, using what we know about thermodynamics, can there ever be such a thing as shielding for Battlestars or other warships?" He says, mid conversation. His head is a sweaty mess and his flight suit is zipped down just a little, cooling off.

Dynames steps through as Sloane holds the door open with a bow of her head, listening to him intently, to the point of turning in step along the way. As he draws to a finish, she returns, "That's impressive! Is that how you ended up in the fleet?" Her head turns back over her shoulder to her new wingmates, "Aww, you started without…. hey, is that from Picon?" and what had threated to melt into a pout, bloomed into a solid-state 'oooooo!'.

Cav is not Queen of The Berthings, but she does preen a bit at Micah's praise. "Thank ya much." But she listens dutifully to Micah recount that bit and her jaw drops. The pilot has a leg tossed over the arm of her chair and she's leaned back in it so her chin rests a bit on her chest. "Godsdamn!! The bitch forced you to punch out?! Shit, Micah! Only time I've ever ejected I was passed out and sporting wounds like it was goin' out of style. I don' even get to remember it." And with Sloane's entrance, she looks to the hatch. "Rooks. We have booze. Sit, consume. And yes.. It is. I had to trade my first-born for this bottle so you fraks better enjoy it." She motions to the brown liquor.

"Damned straight, she did," Micah replies, laughter muffled by another swig of the brandy. There's a half of a cigar between them on the table too, liberated from its case but as of yet unlit; probably something to be savored later. "Swore nothin' would ever frakking scare me again, like that scared me." The hatch swinging open to admit two returning pilots, has him glancing briefly over his shoulder and then chuckling some more as he digs out his lighter. Time for that cigar. "Gift from Ramiro," he explains, nodding toward the stick. "You want first toke, Cav?"

"What's a Ramiro?" Sloane closes the door behind them. He's already stripping out of his damp, sweaty clothing on his way to his locker. Twisting in the combination, he opens the locker and sets his sidearm inside. Dropping his tank top into the laundry bag at the bottom of his locker, he starts to remove his clothing without a care in the world. "That bottle gonna wait for me to take a shower?" He asks, looking over his shoulder.

"Drummer in my College band -lived- on that stuff." she says nostalgically, then strolls over to her bunk to get a change of clothes, herself. Twist twist twist, click! The door to her locker is drawn open, it's contents hopefully unmolested, and she gathers her off duty clothes and shower accessories, "Someone really forced you to punch out, Mike?" Shorthand. yes.

"Nothing would scare you again? Shit, St. Germain. You and I obviously haven't seen enough together. Don't think I got scared on that first intercept but damn if the blood wasn't pumpin!!!" The blonde watches everyone pile in and she quirks a brow back at her wingman. "Ramiro? Really? Saw he made his stripes. He's good people. Not entirely giddy about one of his people being left, though." She feels that personally and it shows with a fleeting anger in her eyes. Glancing to Sloane, she shrugs. "Marine sniper. Good guy. One of the few Marines I can say I really respect. And the bottle?" She gestures to the bottle. "Not if Tempo here doesn't down it all. She's lookin' froggy, though. ..Aren't ya T-beats?" Two can play at that game!!

"Frak you, Cav-" If she doesn't want first smoke, he'll take it. The cigar's tucked between his lips and lit, glittering eyes slowly closing in contentment. Ahh, brandy and a cigar, it doesn't get much better than this. "-I was a frakkin' rook. Sure as hell had a few more scares after that one." The cigar's toyed with between his fingers while Novella speaks to Sloane, then handed over dutifully to his wingman. "Aye," he answers Tempo, tersely. "But I lived t'tell the tale, unfortunately for you little frakkers."

"Arright…" Sloane looks to Dyna after stepping out of his flight suit. In a pair of boxers, he grabs a towel and his cleaning kit from his locker. "…save some for me then." Sloane replies, disappearing into the showers. The water turns on, the boring sea shower begins. He calls out from the shower stall. "…Hey St. Germain? Are you sure this Ramiro's such a great guy? Ever wonder if he stuck that thing in Corporal Gars' mouth before giving it to ya, ya lil frakker?"

"T-beats…" the newbie muses for a moment, then winks at Novella, "Ribbit-ribbit, baby… I'll be all over that bottle unless the cavalry gets there in time." Hit or miss, she's trying. With that, she wiggles out of her flight suit, gathers her batheries, and trots off after. And, from the stall where de othaz cannot see, "Who's Gars?"

Novella just beams at her wingman. But she waves off the cigar. Try as he might, she doesn't smoke. "Yeah well sometimes its tough to tell with you, Micah. I think I've caught you with maybe 4 distinct emotions and I don't think 'scared' was one of them." The voice from the shower is strategically ignored. Oh dear. Good thing he didn't try to ruin her cigar. Micah's on his own with this one, though. But she looks to Dynames with a sly smile. "Baby, the Cav is already here. It got the bottle for you." Uh huh. You walked into that one, Tempo. As to who Gars is.. "Micah? You want to answer that question?"

Throwing his head back, Micah erupts into unfettered laughter at Sloane's suggestion. He's sliiiipsliding down in his chair until the back of his head contacts the back slats, and then he's laughing some more. "Corporal Gars?" he whimpers, scrubbing his fingers over his eyes. "That deluded little dipshit? Oi, oi, ah've been infected, get the doctor, I need a cure before my head starts expanding to gargantuan proportions.." Okay, maybe he's more than just a little bit tipsy. Micah's a cheap drunk! "Ah'm gonna frakking kill you, Cornbread." okay, so maybe he's an angry drunk, too. He's trying to scramble out of his chair, to little success; the request to elaborate is either unheeded, or unheard.

"Don't you dare! Don't you frakking dare!" Sloane laughs from his shower stall. He gets all of maybe ten seconds of water. yay. Sloane grins to himself, at least he found a little leverage in the hazing. Quickly, VERY QUICKLY, he washes in a manner to speak as if he has fire ants on him, he punches the button to wash off. He talks lower to Dyna, who's in the next stall over. "Corporal Gars is a marine that probably considers eating leather and telling people that their stupid is a past-time. Great Guy. Disagree with him and you'll see what I mean." He says, shaking his wet hair and grabbing for his towel.

"Sounds like a winner…" the Pilette muses and turns on the faucet, "Cav to the rescue!" She goes over herself with the cleansing, glancing back over her shoulder at the additional information, "So, he's in dire need of a bat massage, huh?" Shy? No. She finishes quickly, how can one not with the rationed bathing, and starts to towel off and get 'decent', "Any other royal frakkers I should worry about?"

Novella nearly snotbubbles at Micah because she is laughing soooo hard and trying just as hard to keep it in. The result is an epic struggle of sanity that ends with Sloane's description of him to Dyna. She's literally rolling back and forth in the chair, giggling like a retard. When she finally sputters out, she's rubbing her eyes and answering Tempo. "I think he could use that. As for others? Another Marine named Hazzard who has similar opinions. And I think our Master at Arms.."

Micah finally topples himself out of his chair, having given Sloane an honorable headstart, and tears toward the showers. Of course, he's been drinking, and isn't at his most graceful; several things are knocked off their precarious perches on his way by. Sloane better start hightailing it, he's got one hundred ninety pounds of skunked pilot after him.

Quill has arrived.

"Yeah he told me that I was an idiot and didn't know what to do in the war. I called him a nine-year corporal…Wh-FRAK…" Sloane manages to get out as he sees Micah come screaming into the showers. Wearing a towel, Sloane nearly slips on the floor before rounding the row of sinks. Like a Viper shot out of the launch tube, Sloane screams past Micah into the main barracks. Laughing his ass off, he tries to do the thing where he puts a table in between him and Micah. "…and then he told me about the time you two made out and swapped tank tops so that you'll always be close to each other."

Dynames jukes out of the way as best she can, towel conveniently covering the naughty bits as Micah goes tearing ass in after Sloane, who, conversely, hauls ass OUT of the showers. She shakes her head, a faint, amused smirk on her lips as she shakes her head and continues toweling off.

Novella? Ah Nov is balled up in a chair currently asphyxiating on her own laughter. There's more tears coming down her cheeks with Sloane's goading. Swipe, wipe. "Holywhatthefrakkinawesome.." she sighs. A hand reaches for te bottle and swipes it off the table. "Mine, bitches! Watch where you're rolling." She cranes her neck between laughter to peek towards the head. "T-beats! Get yer ass out here and help me drink this shite!" What a classy girl, right? Any man would be lucky to have her.

The Gold Squadron berthings look rather like they were hit by a hurricane. If hurricanes go by the name of Micah St. Germain. There's a bottle of brandy on the table, a half-spent cigar, a deck of triad cards pitterpattered artfully across the floor and wet footprints zigzagging the room. Oh, and a half-naked pilot hauling ass away from a drunk as a skunk young Ensign; who's presently hunkering down across the table from Sloane, looking about ready to clamber over it, to get to his quarry. "Big frakking words from a little boy, Cornbread. Or maybe you just harbour an achin' need to have a big, butch Marine like Corporal Gars.." He slaps his palms down on the table, an attempt to 'psyche' the other pilot, before bolting around the side of it.

Pilot territory is scary. This is a well-known fact throughout the fleet. The lesser-known facts involve exactly /how/ scary Pilot Territory really is. And, you know, to some extent you can imagine it. You can take deep breaths outside the hatchway and steel your resolve, preparing for what might lurk within.
But nothing /really/ prepares you for walking in on Drunken Naked Pilot Smackdown Comedy Hour. Alas poor Quill, misplaced Engineer, he enters the room and then just sort of freezes. There is some staring. Then one brow slowly lifts and he looks to Novella, who is presumably the reason he's here. "This is either a very bad time to stop by, or it's a very good one — but either way I'm fairly certain I've just been scarred for life."

Dynames sing-songs, "Caaahm-iiing!" like a schoolgirl who's being summoned to breakfast by her mom. She draws the rest of her clothes into a passable facsimile of proper order and pads back into the berthing proper, idly twirling her towel in -that- particular way, the stuff tucked under the other arm. Completely nonplussed by the antics, she turns her attention toward the hatch with a neighborly, "Hi!"

When Micah's slapped hands come down, Sloane grits his teeth in a feral snarl. "WRRRAAAAAAAUUUURRRRGGGHHH!!!" He roars like a lion. "Hey don't get pissed at me because you spit in your helmet so that you can smell Corporal Gars while you're on CAP duty." Sloane laughs, holding his towel in place with one hand. He blinks, realizing just how great that was, he watches Micah for signs of drawing a gun. He glances to Quill and Dynames, giving them each a nervous smile. "Can someone throw me some frakkin clothes here?!?!?"

Novella see's that she's about to get runover by her wingman so she scurries out of her chair, moving surprisingly well considering the leg. Ahhh the beauty of self-medication. She pops over towards the hatch with the bottle just as Quill arrives. She instantly looks like a combination of mortified, embarrassed, and totally ticked pink. The woman nearly buckles at the knees, but does at the waist as she tries to contain her laughter. But rising back up, she glances to the pilots and then to Quill. "Uhm. Yeah. So.." She extends a hand to the bustling pilots. "These are some of the people I fly with." Her words come right as Sloane lets out his roar and she squeaks. Red cheeks, glassy eyes.. She's not tanked but she's been drinking. As if the bottle wasn't a giveaway. "Want to join us?" She extends the bottle in time to hear the spitting thing. She's trying really hard not to scare off Quill.

There's more raucous shouting from within, and the sound of boots and bare feet alike scuffling on the card-littered floor. Novella narrowly avoids getting run over by her wingman, though it could well be that he has a shred of awareness despite his inebriated state. While Sloane's asking for clothes, he's trying to shove the poor guy into the lockers. There's no sucker punch to follow it up, just that. A shove hard enough to show he means business. Hard enough to hurt, and to leave a bruise or two behind, but Micah's backing off in the wake of it with his hands held up in 'surrender'. Visitor? What visitor?

"Hi," Quill returns Dynames' greeting with a bit of a wave. He's pretending like this is not an awkward situation in which to meet and greet someone, with limited degrees of success. C+ for effort. Then there's Sloane, with that spit comment. "Oh, gods," Quill winces. Then Micah attempts to shove Nakedpilot into the lockers, and Quill winces again. "/Shit/." Pause. "Well, no, that actually seems pretty fair." As Novella extends the bottle, Quill accepts without hesitation. He quirks a smile at her and answers the question, "Against my better judgment? Yes."

Dynames winces a bit at the spit comment, about to say something in retort when, well, it gets real. She drops all of her stuff and jogs over to the two, "Whoa! Wave off!" she says, putting herself (foolishly?) between them as Micah opens enough room, eyeing him sternly, what, with her puny stature and 'I'm a fluffy puppy, kick me' sunniness taking a recess. Odds she gets smooshed when the pre-slugging chest rubbing starts, any takers?

Sloane gets shoved back into his locker. He takes it like a man, but there's also a little wince followed by a chuckle. Arching his back, there's a red print on it in the waffle design of his locker. "Frak, man…" He grunts, rolling his arm in his socket. It's okay, Sloane knows he won the verbal contest even if the physical one was lost. "It's cool, T…we're cool. I'm cool." Sloane says, backing off. He rolls his arm in its socket again and gives Micah a little smile and an upwards nod to let him know it isn't personal. "Greetings, Visitor." Sloane says. Turning, he grabs some clothes out of the locker and quickly changes. "I'll be right back, gonna go shave…" He says, heading towards the showers. "Was a TIE, by the way…"

Novella just holds her back to the people shoving and pushing, silently praying that things calm suddenly. But when Micah backs off, the little blonde beside the new arrival speaks up. "Thanks, Micah." And the bottle being accepted - this is a very good sign. She claps once and turns on a single boot to face the other pilots. "Guys, this is Jonah Quill." A finger points to Micah, first. "Micah Saint Germain, my wingman. Who swears that he's going to be nice to you because he is a man of his word." Illogical drunk logic FTW. The next point goes to Dyna. "Breit Dynames. She's brand new since like.. uhm.. like three hours ago. And the nekkid man is our resident whipping post Rook, Sloane." She would say his first name but it escapes her at the moment. "Guys, this is my- well.. this is Jonah Quill. Hands off." That should say it enough.

Micah's never been good with words. Words are for the perspicacious, and those who think and plot and brood before they ever act. Micah's a twitch, which is probably what makes him a good viper jock. But he's willing to acknowledge a draw on the part of the pilot with the quicker wit. Hands still raised, he even cocks a grin to Sloane as the man retreats. And then he's being introduced, as a man of his own word nonetheless. Turning slowly, he does a once-over of the engineer at the door. Her Jonah Quill, eh? "Ah'm very pleased t'meet you," he attempts in his very best Aerelon. It's a little like listening to some bumpkin from Northern England. And, he's not even trash-talking the fresh meat for getting in his way.

Dynames's lip curls in a dubious S as she's summarily dismissed. No one hurt, but still. Fierce! Reca'nize! A slow blink mingles with a shrug and the indignity fades away to let the sun come out again, "Hey, Jonah, nice to meet you!" She'd shake, but, first… sigh… she has to pick up all of her stuff.

Yes, this is her Jonah Quill. Several times over. He's peering at the bottle Novella gave him as though wondering what this stuff is now that he's several swigs into it. He looks up again as Novella introduces him (the second time), though, and nods as everyone gets named. "Pleased to meet you as well," the snipe returns to Micah. His own accent has Virgon all over it. "I've um… heard a lot about you." To Dynames, Quill quirks a smile. "Likewise. New, huh? Where'd you come in from?" In a more general address, "Sorry if I broke up the…" What do you even call this? "…entertainment."

Novella beams at her wingman. He's even behaving. Excellent! She mouths a quick 'thank you' to him and leans over into Jonah enough to put some weight on him. It could be the alcohol.. but the part about lowered inhibitions or just bad balance.. ehh.. She tilts her head to look up to Jonah. "Micah's my hero. Saves my ass all the time from all sorts of bad stuff. Very good pilot." Cav's nod is done only once and its very confident. "And you're drinking Piconese Brandy." Not to be confused with Pekingese.. like the dog. "Which Tempo still has not drank any of. Very upsetting." She tucks a hand into Jonah's and pulls him to the table. "Don't stand in the hatchway. Alerts and all.."

Yes, believe it or not, this is behaving where Micah's concerned. He caught the 'thank you', and he's slinking back to his chair, which is probably a good thing. His weight's dropped heavily into it, and that cigar fumbled for again, and lit. "Ah'm no frakkin' hero, don't let her give you that hogwash." He's trying not to grin while he says it, but one wibbles out at the end. It's obfuscated by a puff of smoke. "Drink," he growls at Dynames, mouth softening into a mock-serious moue. Hey, she's seen what he did to Sloane.

Dynames plunks her collected 'stuff' on her rack and trots over toward the bottle at Cav's reminder, "Sorry, sorry..!" she calls contritely, glancing at Micah with a slight increase in pace. In range, she offers a hand to shake, and another to claim the booze, "I've been all over the place, really, been a yo-yo between here and the Pan since I transferred from the Atlantia a couple months ago."

"Where'd you get Piconese Brandy?" Quill asks Novella, the obvious translation of that question being, 'why don't /i/ have Piconese Brandy?' "Oh, right," he adds at the mention of alerts, as though he'd forgotten those exist. War, what? Quill is successfully dragged to the table, where he briefly checks the chair next to Novella's for alarming sticky spots, traps, or structural failings before occupying it. "Sounds fairly heroic, what with the ass-saving and such," he grins at Micah. "If you're not a hero, what are you?" To Dynames, Quill nods. "Haven't been here long, either. How're you finding it? These people treating you alright?"

Novella plunks herself back down in the chair, not quite willing to let go of that hand just yet. But as he sits, she lets it drop and she takes her formerly lazy seat with a leg kicked up over the arm. "Aw c'mon, Micah. Just accept the praise. How often do ya hear something like that and its not amended with 'but Cav is better.'" Yes, she's cocky. But that kinda goes with the billet. Novella gives the wingman a warm smile and watches Dyna approach. "Ahh.. Good 'lil Rook. Drink your juice." She finally gets around to Quill's question, though. "I can't say. Source made me promise. But I did have to call in a few favors. Liquor is running in short supply on this ship."

"Cav's flunkie," Micah suggests with that smile still lurking in his eyes. He takes another puff of the cigar, watching Novella closely. "She's my section lead. Calls all the shots. I just do her bidding, ah'd get out now while I still can, were I you, mate." Chortling, he gives Dynames a sidelong look before ducking his eyes again. Odd kid. He'll blow his mouth off at the slightest opportunity, but he's actually genuinely modest. Nope, the chair isn't booby trapped. OR IS IT?

Dynames closes her hand around the bottle with a smirk, and the arch of a brow, "High-proof Rook-juice, my favorite!" she offers and takes a SWIG before offering it back. She kicks a chair around and straddles it, chin resting on the seat back as her arms fold around it, "So what do you guys do for kicks, aside from, well, knock Corn's world ajar n'provide public service announcements 'bout douchbaggery incarnate?"

"But Cav is better?" Quill echoes Novella, grinning over at his relationship-undefined. (RU's are a few steps down the commitment chart from SO's.) "Tsk. Calling someone your hero inherently implies a certain amount of in-distress, Bay. Hence the need for heroics." Dynames might be offering drinks back… Quill, however, is showing no signs of releasing the brandy he got ahold of. His brows lift curiously at Micah's 'get out while you still can.' The tech grins, "So what is it I need to know about Novella that she wouldn't tell me herself?" And Dyna's question… that's a good one. Quill glances between Novella and Micah, awaiting its answer.

"Ya know, Saint Germain, talkin' shit like y'are?" Yar! It could attract pirates! "Its talkin' bad about me. I don't fly with the flunkies. Even if you are a touch on the angry side." She shadows the man a wink. "But damnit, don't talk him out of it. Said he wasn't going to eject." And hell yes she's proud he said he wouldn't punch out. She takes the bottle back and shrugs to Dyna. "Micah and I practice a lot. Fighting Wing and Loose Deuce stuff. But really? I think making fun of those frakking Marines is a hoot. Except Ramiro.. and this really nice blonde Marine I met when I was stoned.. Can't remember her name though. We talked about bombs." But she looks to Quill with his question, suddenly mortified. "Oh frak.. wait.. this is probably not the best place for a discussion like this." She looks to Micah. EJECT! EJECT! EJECT! If there were a yellow and black striped lanyard to be yanked, she'd be doing it right now. "Yes.. certain amount of distress.. Uhhh…"

"Aye," mutters the dark- and disheveled-haired kid around his cigar. Hell, if Novella doesn't want to shre, then it is his cigar. "I got you. Naw, me an' Cav, we're tight. I cover her arse, she covers mine, we trust one another up there." He twists the cigar between his fingers, then takes another toke of it. Smoke billows from his nose. "Private Lex," he supplies to Novella, and then glances between her and the RU seated next to her, when he asks his question. "Uh." Yes, he'd know that look if he had his eyes closed. Say another word, and you'll regret it in the morning. "Aye, well." He smokes some more. Puff puff.

Dynames hmmm's quietly to herself and rises from her seat to approach her locker, "Ramiro…" She snaps her fingers and points at Micah, well more to the point, the cigar reigning over his face, "Him. Seems like a nice guy, I'll have to look out for him." She digs through for some things, tossing a small black speaker up on her bunk, a wire and her (really) slimmed down guitar. She climbs up and scoots back to lean back against the wall and starts to hook up her little contrivances.

Judging by the amusement written on Quill's features, half the point of asking Micah to reveal the Secrets of the Novella was not necessarily to hear the secrets, but to see Novella squirm. "You could always tell me yourself," he points out to her. "Since you look like you're making non-verbal death threats on your wingman, there." But oh. OH. Everything else is forgotten once Quill spots that instrument Dyna's got, and he grins broadly. "You play?"

Micah makes Cav grin. See? Her choice in a wing wasn't bad. "Aye. That we do." She tilts her head back to rest against the shoulder of Quill's as she looks to Dyna. "Probably the most important thing about your wing is that you trust them, Tempo. If you want Sloane for your slot, gotta pick a lead or have Rue assign one and believe in that team." Mm. Jonah's comfy. Those eyelids get heavy. "Yes, Private Lex. Thank you. Remind me, I need to go talk to her about bombs." Careful Quill. She's going to learn explosives. "But Tempo, talk to Ramiro. I'd fly into nasty places to get him. Like the Marine Berthings. Infested with Gars." That's dedication to Search and Rescue. She yawns and rests and arm across his knee as he her lolls to the side. "I'll have to tell you tomorrow." And she's slowly fading out.

Ugh. This is where the buzz of the alcohol starts to fade, and Micah's latent desire to mash his face against the table comes to the forefront. His cigar's extinguished, and slid back into its canister. And he seems to take this as the perfect moment to mumble his good nights and slink away, before Quill can put him on the spot again. Stumble stumble. Somehow he makes it into his bunk, collapses there, and tugs the curtains closed around him. And hopefully the CAG won't be dropping by in the morning, to make him answer for that bloodstain on the lockers.

Micah has disconnected.

Dynames nods sagely as Novella starts to explain the basics to her, "I will." She doesn't get indignant over the Nugget lecture, instead, as it seems the serious wing is going Bingo stamina to the barn, a smile is tossed to Quill. Catch! "Most of my life, you?" and, she starts to check the tuning on the guitar, keeping the volume low.

Quill wraps an arm comfortably around Novella as she begins to fade, smiling at the promise of future revelations. "I'll hold you to it. You going to make it up the ladder to your bunk? I'd offer to heroically lift you up there, but I think that would end poorly for everyone involved." Looking back to Dyna, Quill nods. "About the same. It keeps me sane, or at least saner than I otherwise would be."

Novella's voice is weak. She's probably responding on auto and is already in dreamland. "K. Just stay. Yerokay.." Long sigh.

Novella has left.

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