Meetings in the Mess Hall - 25 BCH
Meetings in the Mess Hall
Summary: A meal in the mess becomes introductions all around for new crew.
Date: 25 BCH (19 October 2008)
Related Logs: None
Players:
Fotilas..Zaharis..Graham..Eli..Warwick..Reeves..

Mess Hall Genesis - Deck 9
25 BCH 2085 Souls


The Mess Hall on the Genesis is quite large and able to hold atleast 300 personnel at a time. Tables are staggered in some areas and set against the wall in others. The mess hall begins near the hatch with an area for trays and silverware, then moves through the line for the cooks to dish up whatever is on the menu for the day. There are also snack machines at the end of the line, past the huge coffee urns and water dispensers.
----—< Condition 3 - Duty Area >-----

Zaharis is taking advantage of one of the perks of officer rank — waiting until the mess hall has quieted a bit from the shift rush. As clogs of uniforms are filing out, he is at a freshly abandoned table with a tray of food and cup of something steaming hot, poking at the pale green substance on his plate as he reads over a clipboard by his elbow.

He could have called for them to make a hole, but the other Captain making his way in just says quiet, letting the surge push its way out. He finally moves in and heads to the line, picking up a few things. Some fruit. A glass of bug juice. Not seeing any other officers, the Captain makes his way towards Zaharis and sits down a few seats away. "Just a madhouse. I always liked getting in here after the rush.." he sighs, glancing to Zaharis.

Graham is still mostly wandering and finding his way around, but the smell of coffee is a good enough reason to push through the people heading out. He takes a cup and finds a seat, giving the other two a brief nod.

Zaharis looks up from his clipboard as two men descend simultaneously on the table. "Like watching the entire farm go to trough, isn't it?" He comments to Fotilas, sparing the other Captain a slight grin. Both get nods though, and a haphazard wave of his pen towards the free chairs even though they've already sat down. "Have a seat. Just a warning, this is the no screaming section."

"Hell if I wanted screaming I could go down to Engineering," Fotilas chuckles. "But I appreciate it." He lifts and apple, palming it for a moment before taking a big bite off it. It crunches loudly and he chews for a moment before offering a hand to Zaharais, then the other guy. "Jameson Fotilas." A pause then to Graham: "Damn. I missed that coffee while I was up."

Graham smiles a little and clasps Fotilas' hand briefly. "Graham Miller. I'm nice but not nice enough to give up coffee." To Zah, he adds, "Is there are a lot of screaming usually?"

Zaharis also reaches over his tray to shake Fotilas' hand with a firm grip. "Jesse Zaharis." He gestures to Fotilas' apple with a slight motion of his chin and thoughtful squint. "Healthy lunch. You're not a pilot, are you." His dark eyes go back to Graham and he smirks. "Only when there's a shortage of dessert."

Fotilas laughs. He's quiet about it, like his voice. Not soft enough to be a problem hearing him above the crowd but he doesn't seem like he's looking to cause a scene either. "No.. Not a chance. I hate flying, actually. I'm the new Tactical Officer." He offers them both a quick smirk and takes another bite. He shakes a finger to Graham while chewing and rises to get some coffee. He returns a few moments later. "I'll admit, I'm still trying to get used to this place. Slowly learning, though. How long have you two been aboard?"

"About three hours," Graham takes a long drink of coffee. "I found a bunk and the coffee so I'm good so far. I'll hunt down the my department next, I guess. I'm a weapons tech."

"Ahh, tactical," Zaharis says this as though it made perfect sense now. On his own plate is some manner of greenish food that passes for a salad imitation, with chunks of something white in it. "Well, welcome aboard. And a weapons man too. This table is officially safe in event of attack." He grins slightly. "I've been up here going on six months, something like that. Just long enough not to get lost anymore."

Fotilas blinks a few times. "Hell, and I thought I was new. At least you got a bunk though. I'm still being shuffled around the Officer's quarters, hotbunking until I can find a permanant place." Which probably means he still hasn't unpacked. "Weaps, though? Very nice. How have you liked it on your other deployments??" There's a sip of the coffee and he makes a face. Ew. He eyes the cup as if it had delievered the taste to him through no fault of his own. "Thanks." He glances back to Zaharis. "So a comment about my eating habits and Viper pilots. I'm pretty sure that pegs you as either Medical or a Priest."

Reeves comes in from Corridor 9B.
Reeves has arrived.

Reeves makes his way into the mess hall, and runs a hand through his short cut black hair as he looks around. A yawn escapes his lips before he offers a nod over towards Captain Fotilas.

Graham eyes Zaharis, "I'm guessing Medical." He's the type of guy who has never met a cup of coffee he didn't like so he takes another long drink of gis own. "I love working with weapons, making things explode is fun." He's sitting at a table with the two officers, just chatting.

"Don't second guess yourself, Captain," Zaharis picks up his glass of faux-juice and tips it in mock-toast. "Chief medical officer, at your service. Sounds like you've got me beat on deploy. How long have you been up here?" He looks back at Graham, quirking a brow. "Only three hours?" He gives Graham's coffee cup a wry look. "Well. Priorities are important, I must say."

Captain Fotilas glances up to Reeves as he enters and returns the nod slowly. In his mind he's trying to remember if he had met this guy in the last few days he's been aboard. But he looks back to Graham and nods. "Yeah, I'm with you there. I've always prefered high-velocity redistribution to.. well.. almost anything. So what exactly if your job down there?" To Zaharis, he laughs once more. "Glad to meet you, sir. But most of the Priests I've met have told me to quit tempting fate before lecturing me about the sins of the Snake Sticks. Drinking. Sexing. You'd think most of them had never met a Marine."

Reeves moves over to the coffee machine and pours himself a cup. As the machine redies his caffine enriched drink, Reeves turns to look towards the gathered people and nods his head, with ye another yawn. "Anyone know if the Commander has planned any more 'thrilling' drills?"

Graham finishes off his coffee and nods to the Doc, "Absolutely, and coffee is a definite priority." He rubs over his chin, "I'm not quite sure what they're going have me doing. Targeting, for cure. Probably maintenance as well, or supervising maintenance. I still have to find my CO."

Zaharis smirks at Fotilas. "That's why we don't have a preventative medicine branch up here, you know. We just use the damn priests." He sips at his juice before abandoning it, picking up his mug instead. His brown eyes lift to glance at Reeves without recognition, then back to Graham. "Wish I could help you, but I have no idea who runs Weapons. Shouldn't be too hard to find though; I'd guess just look for the blue suit who's completely deaf."

"Not that I know of. I wasn't even informed about yesterday. I was racked after a sixteen hour shift when that Alert went. Decided I'd rather risk getting in trouble.." Fotilas shakes his head to Reeves and looks back to Graham. "Oh yeah? Enlisted? Good man. When and if you find your CO, could you ask if you guys would mind if I came down and learned some of your systems? I know some stuff but each Battlestar has its own ins and outs." He's laughing to Zaharis when he suddenly stops and his face goes dour towards the door. Walking in is a young blonde Ensign with a clipboard and a stack of papers, eyes focused on Fotilas. "Frak. How does she do that?!"

Eli comes in from Corridor 9B.
Eli has arrived.

Reeves picks up his cup from the coffee machine and brings it up towards his lips for a little sip as he makes his way over towards the group. "Didnt miss much…Same ol same ol..standard drill on this bucket of secrets." he mutters. Realising that none of the group is a fellow air wing he curls his lips into a soft smile.

"I missed the drill totally." Graham doesn't look too upset though. He nods to Fotilas, "Sure I'll ask him or her, whoever. If I ever find them. Or the department. Hopefully it won't take me six months to stop getting lost in this place."

"Wasn't too rough on us," Zaharis comments as to the drill. "Not even a bruised ego to deal with, well done." He sips his hot coffee, the brew untouched by either milk or sugar. He glances towards the door at Fotilas' exclamation. "What's this, now?"

Fotilas shakes his head to the group. "Eh. There /will/ be other times," he sighs as he rises from the chair. "Ensign Peters. Support in CIC. She hunts me like a wolf," comes the aside to Zaharis. He moves from the table to intercept her. Still learning to not salute in places like the Mess Hall, he waves her own away and takes the clipboard. There's a few whispered questions as he goes about signing-off documents.

Warwick comes in from Corridor 9B.
Warwick has arrived.

Smack-Smack-Smack-Sma-ck…Eli's tapping of that beloved nightstick against his hand proceeds his actual entrance as he gives the thing an idly twirl before tucking it away and makes his way over towards the snack machines, idly running his fingers through his hair.

Zaharis is sitting at a table with Fotilas, Reeves, and Graham, all of them with trays of food or coffee of some sort. He raises a dark brow at the blonde that Fotilas goes off to sign papers with, then folds an arm on the table and has another sip of coffee. "Note to self. Tactical gets groupies."

Reeves affords himself a quick glance over towards the MP over by the snack machine, as he sips on his coffee before he turns to look at Fotilas. Looking the man over he then nods his head. "Havent seen you about Captain…Names Rabbit, Ares Squadron." He then looks at Zaharis, and then eyes the 'groupie' with a grin on his lips. "Well Genesis is a place of its own..Back on the Big C, pilots got the pooch."

Graham eyes the blond too, "Groupies? Does weaponry get groupies?" He stands and gets another cup of coffee before introducing himself to the new people in general. "I'm Miller."

Whistling can be heard as Warwick enters, looking a bit lost in thought as he does. He heads over in the direction of the food line, not paying too much attention to his surroundings at the moment.

Fotilas, holding the clipboard, nods to Reeves. "Jameson Fotilas. Tac Officer." Poor Peters, she hears some of the comments and clears her throat, turning a bit red. She does her best to step a few feet back from the group, but the Captain asks her something about comm chatter in a whispered few words. She nods and the man makes the last signature, handing off the metallic clipboard to her. "Thank you, Ensign," the Captain says quickly and moves back to the table to take his seat and apple again. Peters nods to the group: "Sirs." She then retreats back to the safety of CIC.

"Spread stories about those 'big guns' being true, and you might just," Zaharis comments to Graham, slightly dry. He looks back at Reeves with a raised brow. "'Rabbit'? Does that refer to your courage or your bedroom habits?"

Eli sighs, blindly pushes buttons to select something at random before he is distracted for a moment. There is a blond, okay? An eyebrow quirks before he moves on to backtrack and procure coffee as well.

Reeves lets out a laugh and shakes his head. "If only, earned it that a Academy..Dad were one of the big wolves..and since I pilot a Raptor, going from one 'hole' to another..Rabbit seemed to fit the others better then puppy." He sips on his coffee and then shrugs his shoulders. "I would have picked something, more akin to..Nova..as in Casanova."

Graham almost chokes on his coffee at Z's question. Almost. He looks to Rabbit with an arched eyebrow, "Yeah, I guess Rabbit's better than Puppy."

Zaharis sips his coffee again, nodding. "Pilots do get reputations for seeking out holes. Use protection, eh?" He doles this sage advice, then looks back at Fotilas and Graham. The former gets a slightly sympathetic smirk.

Getting himself some of that food, Warwick turns to look around the room a bit thoughtfully now, studying the people present at the moment.

Sipping coffee and wandering tablewards, Eli just quirks the other eyebrow, eyes flicking from person to person as he notes familiar faces and then newer ones before grunting an noncommited greeting and slumping down at a nearby table, glaring at his package of…crackers and communicating silently with the package. Thou shalt not explode.

"Kinda grew on me…Soo no reason to change it." Reeves adds after a moment, as he sits there by the table. "And no, mostly Taxi duties really..Especially since I came to Genesis..Drills, Taxi duties and the occational survey of the nearby regions…Dont need much cajones for this kind of flying…" he looks over his shoulder towards Warwick. "Dont you agree, Hound?"

The Captain shuckles a bit at the banter before taking another bite of his apple. Seeing Eli, his eyes lift to the MP. "Marine," he greets. But Reeves' comments get an upturned brow. "Careful, Lieutenant. I'll schedule an op or something. Stick you on an asteroid for a few days with limited supplies of oxygen and have the CAG try and find you." He smirks at the Raptor jockey.

Zaharis pushes his tray of finishes plates safely towards the middle of the table and settles back, finding his cigarette pack after a few absent pats of the various pockets of his blues. The CMO sets about giving an impeccable standard of health habits for the battlestar, turning his head enough to block errant breezes as he flicks a lighter to life. The second pilot receives enough of a glance for him to figure out whether he recognises the face or not.

"Drills aren't that bad, really," Warwick replies with a shrug. "I can understand that playing taxi all the time might be like that, though." He shrugs a bit, "Which is probably why I've managed to stay away from that work."

Reeves chuckles. "I'm only saying Captain, that true..I dont mind peace, stories of the Colony wars and all..but -this- come one…I dont even know what is soo secret about this place…Middle of nowhere, hush hush..Aquarians, Caprican and soo many more..And the constant drills, someone up the chain is itching for something..Thats all I'm saying.." he shakes his head and brings out a picture and studies it. "Me, I'd rather be on Caprica, trying to win the favour of mi Mami." He eyes back at Warwick and arches an eyebrow.

Eli offers The Captain a hand gesture that is probably a salute but he really needs both hands to open the bag of crackers, caaaarefully. When he does get it open, his shoulders slump and he gets to nibbling and sipping his coffee, swaying slightly to whatever he hears in his own head and occasionally looking from person to person thoughtfully.

Graham watches Zaharis light up and comments, "Those things'll kill you. Can I bum one?" He frowns a little at the mention of constant drills, "There's a been a lot of drills? Are we talking daily?"

Zaharis shrugs at Graham. "I'm not an oncologist, I don't care." He tosses the pack close to Graham's hand and slides the lighter over as well with a flick of fingers. "Pilots had some search and rescue drill last night…engineers went out as well, I think."

"Our is not to question why, Lieutenant Reeves," Fotilas offers with a smirk. "But to maintain peace means the constant training and preparation for war. Hightened vigilance means less passes under our DRADIS." Or radar. Whatever term you want to use. "I just think its important to recall that if its secret, its that way for a reason. You all probably know more than I do about the project currently, but.." he shrugs. "Everyone is entitled to their opinion."

Warwick shrugs as he hears Graham speaking, "Everyone dies," he offers. "And the drills aren't bad, because it reminds me on rehersals, and preparing for tours. Good times."

Reeves finishes his coffee and nods his head. "I fly, where I'm told to fly..I'm not questining the Commander, Sir..I'm just saying, this coalition of Colonies to form this Project..Noone is dumb enough to attack us..Noone has the manpower for it." He rises up and adjusts his uniform. "I have taxi duties..See you all later.."

Graham lights up, and nods his thanks as he slides the cigarettes back to the doctor. "Hopefully I'll find the weapons area before they hit us with another drill. This place is a lot different from Argus. Bigger. Which usually means bigger guns, so I'm not complaining."

Fotilas nods to Reeves as he rises. "Nobody said you were. Just an informal chat," the man offers with a shrug. "But enjoy your day." His thoughts on getting attacked will be kept to himself for now and he glances to Eli, shifting a bit in his chair to face him..her. "How goes the deployment?" he offers evenly.

Zaharis watches Reeves for a few moments while smoke curls idly around his fingers and up into the mess hall air. He glances at Graham. "They'll get you settled, don't worry about that. You'll need three more of those coffees by the time they're done with you." He smirks and glances at Fotilas, then at the Marine he's addressing.

Reeves makes a quick salute towards those of higher ranks by the table and then heads off to tend to his duties.

Warwick grins as he hears Reeves, "Enjoy the taxi rides. Don't pick up any unruly customers," he offers.

Reeves has left.

Eli pauses in mid cracker chomp to narrow his eyes at Fotilas and with his mouth full just point to himself questioningly with a 'mmm?' Chewing, swallowing he takes a quick gulp of coffee and dusts his hands off with a grimace. "Talking to me?" He finally asks in that soft voice, pale eyes flicking up and down Fotilas's body with a questioning tilt of his head.

The Captain chuckles and nods his head to Eli. "Yes, Sergeant. I'm asking you." He's not being a jerk, but seems quite conversational about the question. "How long have you been in the Corps?" Fotilas turns a bit more in the chair and takes a big bite of his apple.

Graham swirls the last bit of the coffee around in the cup, then drains it before replying to Z. "I think I can handle it. As long as I get to play with the toys, I'm a happy man. Do you know anyone in weapons? Any jerks I should look out for?"

Warwick keeps quiet now, keeping most of his attention on the food in front of him at the moment, just listening to what people say around him.

"Ahh…well then sir." Eli takes another sip of his coffee, bending his knee and resting a boot against his seat so he can rest an arm against his knee and set his coffee cup down. He takes his time, counting on his fingers. "6 or 7 years." He shrugs easily enough, clearing his throat, free hand moving to his nightstick fondly before he catches himself and just holds up that hand like he's studying his nails and quickly picking back up the coffee cup. He thumbs the side of his nose, glancing over towards Graham for a moment giving him a quick chin-up in greeting before looking back to The Captain.

"I have absolutely no idea," Zaharis blows out a thin stream of smoke towards the ceiling before he replies to Graham, matter of factly. "I don't generally see Weapons personnel until one of them breaks a nail. Just report to your department and someone will steer you right." Another idle glance to Fotilas and Eli's conversation.

Fotilas nods his head a few times. "Spent most of your time on deployments with the Fleet or with units back on the dirt?" He brow rises with the question as he takes another bite of the apple before he glances to Graham. "I imagine there will be one or two to avoid. I worked with a Senior Chief back on the Atlantia that was just a real pain in the ass. He used to order my junior officers around because they were afraid of him. Not that it was /misplaced/ fear.. but.. Some people just like giving orders. Makes them feel big and tall."

"So, Weapons people have weak nails, sir?" Warwick offers towards Zaharis, unable to hold back a half grin, before he glances over at Graham. "No intentions to offend, of course."

Graham makes a show of checking his nails, then takes a drag off the cigarette. "I'll try to steer clear of medical unless it's a really bad hangnail." He laughs a little, "I don't know about weapons people here, but mine are just fine."

Eli's nose wrinkles as he ducks his head from time to time, nibbling on a cracker and still looking a bit uncertain as to why somebody is talking to him but he's cordial enough to just shrug. "Pretty even, I prefer the deployments." Then he offers his bag of crackers with a soft cough. "Dude. They crunch." He's very eloquent, really!

"You have no idea," Zaharis tells Warrick, gravely. "Must be handling all those explosives." He takes another drag off the cigarette and sits up to ash it unceremoniously on his plate. "Marines trip, pilots electrocute, weapons break nails. I hate to see what engineering comes up with."

Warwick chuckles, "Getting stuck in something, perhaps?" he offers, before he adds, "Now, when was the last time I was electrocuted again… Hmmm… Can't remember." It's spoken quite lightly.

"Engineering loses limbs," Fotilas asides to Zaharis. "Snipes have my eternal respect for working those jobs." He nods to the man before leaning forward to take a cracker. "Thanks, Sarge," the man offers before testing the crunchability himself. Indeed, they do. "But six or seven years and you prefer deployments, eh? Ever done time with the infantry or have you been MilPo your entire enlistment?"

"To be fair, weapons usually blow themselves up totally and don't bother medical with it." Graham kids. Mostly kids.

Zaharis gives Graham a wry thumbs up at the man's comment, then nods to Fotilas. "They try to lose limbs, Captain. Oh, do they ever try. Our job to be sure they don't succeed." He eyes the crackers at the continued comments about their crunchness. Crunchability. Crunch factor. Whatever.

Eli perks at the mention of explosives, eyes widening some as he peers towards Zaharis and Warrick and then he frowns and turns back to Fotilas to pull his cracker bag back with a shrug. "I've done some time in the infantry, but you have shooting people in the ass versus hitting people with blunt instruments." He holds up his hands like he's weighting the two and he offers a hint of a grin.

"Spoiling all their fun?" Warwick offers to Zaharis, before he nods a little at Graham. "Preserving our Medical folks by saving them some work. That's good."

Graham nods mock-seriously. "If you're going to do it, do it right. Go out with a bang and make a big mess. Then you just need a guy with a mop."

"I thought that was Captain Zimmermann's job, Cap'n?" Flotilas offers to Zaharis with a wry grin. "She seems pretty partial to her charges down there. Had a chance to meet with her yet?" The crackers get taken away quickly and he looks back to Eli a bit surprised. "Not a fan of the paperwork involved with shootings? I recall it was a decent amount. Blunt instruments..its always easier to say 'Oh? The prisoner? He fell face-first into a bulkhead. Four times.'"

That grin? Twists into something a bit more sadistic as Eli just bows his head in silent agreement with the sentiment. "Horrible accidents can happen between the Brig and the Bar." He stretches his arms over his head before picking up his coffee and draining the rest of it.

Zaharis grins at Fotilas. "I've known Captain Zimmerman for oh…about ten years now, since we both worked a base on Picon. She's good people. hates the sight of blood on a uniform, so best not get yourself frakked up on her watch." He smirks at Graham.

"Just make sure you don't have to explain why someone fell on a knife about, oh… fourty times?" Warwick offers a bit absently to Eli. "That's when explaining tends to be hard."

"Noted." Graham grabs his coffee cup and stands, "I best find where I'm supposed to be and check in. Good talking to you all." He gets a refill for the wandering.

"Aye. Indeed they can, Sergeant." Flotilas chuckles and looks back to Warwick. "Bah. They pulled a knife and stabbed themself in the confuion. Its as easy as that. There's some interesting gun disarms where you con force someone to shoot themselves, too." There's a glance back to Eli for confirmation before his attention reverts to Zaharis. "No kidding? Ten years?? Impressive! I volunteered to work a shift under her..any advice?"

Eli just snorts at Warwick and shakes his head, rolling his shoulders and getting to his feet with another salute, gathering up his trash. "Indeedly." But he's still giving that tiny little smile.

Warwick nods, "I'll take your word for it," he offers to Fotilas, before he nods a bit at the others, and starts the process of finishing his meal for now.

Zaharis takes a drag off the dwindling cigarette and smirks at Fotilas. "Work hard, don't bitch, and do your own laundry. She admires an officer that does his own damn laundry."

Warwick pauses a little as he listens, "Laundry. You mean that thing isn't contagious?" he offers.

Zaharis laughs under his breath, stubbing out the cigarette. "I wish it were. Would make the smell more tolerable around here." He stands up, picking up his tray. "Back to work. Don't electrocute yourself, Lieutenant."

"Will try to avoid that, sir," Warwick replies, with a half-grin. "Thanks for the warning."

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