Made of Fail
Made of Fail
Summary: This just goes to show you that pretty much anything that Micah and Jocasta try to do together outside of the box office is made of fail.
Date: 57 ACH
Related Logs: n/a

Ares Squadron Berthings Genesis - Deck 12

Ares Squadron is the Raptor squadron 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 viper squadron.

Condition Three generally means that the flying folks can safely stow their flightsuits in their footlockers without fear of being forced to abruptly yank them out six seconds later. It's a nice feeling. This leaves Jocasta free to linger in the bunks wearing her military-issued sweat pants and double undershirts without socks or shoes or the anxious feeling that she'll be forced to immediately change into something else. She's seated at the end of the oblong table, a book pressed out on the tabletop before her, both hands curled into fists at her temples while she reads.

Someone's at the hatch. And that someone, it becomes quickly apparent, is not a raptor boy; they don't make them like this, in Ares. Thumping the hatch shut after him, is St. Germain and a sidearm strapped to his hip. "Hey," it's muttered somewhat gruffly as he pulls out a chair opposite Jocasta, spins it around, and claims it with a lazy straddle. Silent then, he digs for a cigarette in his fatigues while trying to get a surreptitious look at the title of her book.

Jocasta does a double-take, lifting her eyes briefly when the hatch opens as if only to confirm that she's not hearing things… and then again when she recognizes the voice as belonging to someone outside of the squadron. "Hey," she echoes, one hand collapsing from her cheek down to flatly cover whatever it is she's got her nose stuck in. She then says nothing else and instead puts on a faded but expectant look. He hasn't ever really paid her a 'casual' visit so she doubts this will be the first time.

Micah meets the other Ensign's eyes for a moment, then lowers his as he resumes his search for cigarettes. Rustle rustle, success. He could make a snarky comment about how surprised he is to find her reading something, but.. he doesn't. "You busy tonight?" The cigarette's brought to his mouth and lit one-handed, then both arms are folded on the back of the chair lazily.

Likewise, Jo could just as easily lapse into the sting of sarcasm and, if only for a moment, she seems to be considering the sardonic 'Does it look like I'm busy?' response instead of the noncommittal "Not really." that she actually delivers. She then gestures to the cigarette dangling between his lips and actually (gasp!) asks, "Share?"

As it turns out, Micah takes 'share' to mean share in the most literal sense. After a few moments' consideration, he withdraws it from his mouth, turns it around, and offers it up to her. Smoke's exhaled through his nose in a steady stream turned thoughtfully away. "Feel like gettin' in some practice at the range?" The shooting range. Hence, it seems, the sidearm. "Or are you attached to that book?" He attempts a crooked grin.

Well, yeah, that's pretty much what she meant. With cigarettes swiftly becoming one of the rarest commodities on board the military vessel, Jocasta knows that she's not worth a whole cigarette to Micah… but she can at least con a drag or two. And so she does, gratefully, inhaling and exhaling as if imbibing by the dose before passing it back over to him. "Sure," she says, closing the book and allowing the pilot a brief glimpse of the title — The Woman in the Window — before she takes it and stows it in her locker, from which she also retrieves her sidearm. After a few safety checks, she hooks the the web belt 'round her waist and hitches a hand up onto her hip. "After you."

Micah remains seated while she takes that drag, fingers extended to retrieve the cigarette when she passes it back. The book's title is briefly noted, though he doesn't comment upon it. And by the time she's got her sidearm checked and readied, he's rolled back to his feet again and tucked the chair in. "Let's see what you're made of," is murmured lightly as he pulls away from her and heads for the hatch.

Small Arms Range Genesis - Deck 14

The shooting range can hold up to a dozen personnel that are working on their firearms skills. Each booth has a scorecard. Buttons in the booth sends the target down a runner and brings the target back. A locker holds some weaponry and is code locked for Officers and marine NCO's only. Ear and eye gear hang within the booths for protection.

NOTE: Rubber bullets are all that is used here. They are not accurate.

Their trip to the range was probably made in slightly-less-than-truly-awkward silence, though Jo would have allowed herself to be lured into casual conversation if Micah felt so inclined. She's not in a particularly talkative mood, however, but neither is she hellbent on being antisocial. Once inside the safe confines of the room, Jocasta wonders aloud, "When's the last time you were in here?"

Micah is never in much of a talkative mood. He takes antisocial to a new level; put them together, and it's no wonder all they've got left to resort to is veiled insults and cruel barbs. He does make an effort to mumble about this or that, however. Small talk, safe topics. "Couple weeks, now," is the answer to her question about the shooting range, a glance thrown over his shoulder at the ECO as he heads for the munitions locker. A couple boxes of rubber bullets are signed off for, as well as the protective gear, and he thumbs toward a free booth at the end. "After you."

Lead on, MacDuff… or something likewise suitable and canon. Jocasta trundles down to the second-to-last firing stand and begins her target practice prep. The whole world turns yellow as she secures her safety glasses and begins to load her pillow with the rubber ammunition. "Any better than the last time?" The last time they shot together… more than a year ago… wherein she whupped him mercilessly.

There's a fleeting smirk when she brings that up. And then he's stepping into the booth alongside her, shoulder to shoulder but a good foot or two separating them as he sets about loading his own sidearm with rubber bullets. "Ah've been practicing, kid." Which is rather funny, considering she's five years his senior. Locked and loaded, safety checked, he punches the button to bring down the first target. "You first. Empty your clip, let's see how good you do. Aye?"

<Trait Roll> Jocasta rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Good (4).
<Trait Roll> Jocasta rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).
<Trait Roll> Jocasta rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).
<Trait Roll> Jocasta rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of BeyondTerrible (-1). *BOTCH*

Easier said than done. While Jo's first shot is right on the money, her second falls slightly short, as does the third, and then BAM! Her sidearm abruptly jams in such a spectacular fashion that startles her so severely she actually gets the skin of her index finger caught in the mouth of the trigger. OW! "FRAK!" That's gonna leave a mark. The pistol gets dropped on the booth counter and she clutches at her hand hurried. She's begun to bleed.

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

Micah swiftly sets aside his own sidearm, and flicks off the safety on hers, before approaching. He's concerned, that much is obvious, but he's not going to hover— and he's not going to touch, for the time being. "You okay?" he asks with some uncertainty. There's an assessing glance given her hand, and then a somewhat spurious suggestion, "Jus' try suckin' on it." Real men don't need bandaids. If it were another time and place, he might be offering to suck on it for her.

<Trait Roll> Jocasta rolls First_aid and achieves a degree of Poor (1).

First aid fail. And, sadly, this is the moment in which it becomes very clearly apparently as to why both Micah and Jocasta are part of the Air Wing and not, oh, medical. The countermeasures officer takes the pilot's suggestion for what it is, and, without much more than a shrug, she begins to suckle on her bleeding finger. Alas, it is to no avail. This isn't going to work. She's bleeding too profusely. "Mm-mmm," she says, with a negative shake of her head. "Godsdammit —" Godsdamn you, Micah St. Germain. This was your idea. "Grab my gun. Gotta go to the bones."

Micah watches her, and waits for a few moments. Like he really thinks that if they just give it a minute, she'll suck all that blood out of the cut. "You that afraid of gettin' trounced by your ex?" he teases, turning to fetch both of their sidearms, unloading the respective clips. "C'mon, ah'll walk you to sickbay then." Well, so much for getting rid of some aggression. The eye and ear protection are tugged off, and he trudges away to toss things in their respective boxes.

Meanwhile, Jocasta bleeds. At least she's not being a baby about it, though someone's going to have to come back here and see to the floor — tiny splotches of crimson have begun to bespeckle the metal deckplating beneath their boots. Bother. She's already off and out the door by the time the other Ensign catches up, holding her hand out in front of her as if it were a wounded bird.

Sickbay Genesis - Deck 13

The medical facility is large enough to hold a few dozen beds. Each bed is set with a curtain for privacy, a chair near the bed and any monitoring or medical aids needed. A nurses desk sits at the front near the hatch and a surgery area, Medical Officers area and supplies are on the far wall behind the desk. Nurses, doctors and medics man this area at any time day or night. Visiting hours are usually kept to the day and evening schedules, unless stated otherwise by medical staff.

Micah doesn't have a difficult time catching up. He's taller, and about as athletic as the ECO, if not moreso. His own sidearm's holstered at his hip, hers kept in hand with the safety on and the clip removed. The trip to sickbay's made mostly in silence, though he does walk close to her; not quite touching. "Remember that time I hit you in the mouth, when we were play fighting?" A little grin. Maybe it's just to take her mind off things. "Thought ah'd damned near knocked your teeth out." He turns off down another corridor, and shoulders the sickbay door open for her. "You're one tough bitch."

Jocasta knows that. Really. She does. Despite all deceptively delicate appearances, she's toughing out the wound without complaint. Could be worse, after all — just ask Skip. She can't help but grin as Micah tries to play nice and take her mind off the sorry state of her hand. "Ya damn near did," she recalls with a chuckling wince. Now, where's a doctor when you need one??

Micah points to one of the chairs, indicating that Jocasta should have a seat, of course. Micah's Micah, and Micah likes being in charge. He strides off for the counter then, to have a word with the nurse on duty.

With something of a stubborn streak, especially in so far as any further advice Micah might have to offer in regard to anything (seating arrangements included), Jocasta remains standing. Until she suddenly realizes that she's grown a little light-headed and, hey, you know, maybe sitting down right about now is actually a good idea, kk? She flumps, blood now welling in the webbing of her fingers between knuckles and seeping beneath fingernails before slowly but surely drip drip dripping on the floor. No hurry.

One glance at Jocasta and her bleeding hand, and the nurse is pulling down a chart for the ECO. "You can go ahead and sit down in the second one over there. A doctor'll be with you shortly," she informs the pilot quietly. Micah grunts something in reply and crosses back to where Jocasta's sitting. "She's lettin' us in. You gonna live?" He lurks a moment, just in case she needs someone to lean against.

Dark eyes consider Micah momentarily sad before she says, "Yeah, go ahead." Go ahead and do what she doesn't specify. Instead, she making her own way over to the appointed area to wait… alone?

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Terrible (0).

Micah opens his mouth. Shuts it again. Yes, he looks a touch hurt, that's probably not her imagination.. if she sticks around long enough to see it. And when Micah's hurt, he hurts things. "Frak it," is muttered beneath his breath, a waiting room chair kicked out of the way as he beats a path for the door. So much for that.

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