Out on the Town - 24 BCH
Out on the Town
Summary: Another night in the PAS' Taproom.
Date: 24 BCH (20 October 2008)
Related Logs: None

Observation Deck Genesis - Deck 9
24 BCH 2085 Souls

The observation deck is at the fore of the ship. The viewport allows those who come here to relax and enjoy a little quiet time with opposite sex. When the ship is under Alert levels, the viewport has a steel shutter that automatically comes down over the viewport for protection of the glass. The seats here are single and double and set up like a theater. They are cushioned and some recline back for those quick naps.

Zaharis is comfortably slouched on one of the seats close to the viewport, a book open but lying facedown on his stomach. His arms are folded behind his head for a cushion, eyes closed.

Rhea strides onto the Observation Deck. She likely just came off duty. She's carrying four or so pieces of personal mail and a clipboard with some work-ish looking papers attached to it. She spots Zaharis, sprawled as he is and smirks. She tries to quiet her footsteps, so she can approach him without interrupting his slumber.

"Coffee? Chocolate?" Zaharis' eyes remain closed as he talks, fuzzily. "Whoever you are, I hope you have one of those or you're not passing the toll."

Rhea laughs, flopping down into a single seat that neighbors the one Zaharis is slouched on. "I wasn't aware you owned the place, Doctor," she says wryly. She sorts through her papers. Work or mail first? She decides on the mail, sifting through the letters.

Zaharis squints his dark eyes open. "Just trying to get a little love, Rhea. Really, can you fault a man for that?" He picks the book up from its spine-cracking position and tosses it haphazardly onto the next chair. The title is dry, some study in immunology.

"How much does love run a man these days? Twenty, thirty credits for an hour?" Rhea asks, lips crooking into an amused little grin. She plucks a letter out of her mail stack, unopened, and tosses it in his direction. "Ephraim sends his regards to you. The clerk must've mixed it in with my mail."

"I would not know such impure things," Zaharis says, with a light cough. He picks up the letter from where it landed, glancing at the holographic postmark. "Haven't collected one from that sector yet. Cool. So how's Reece? Did he pass?"

Rhea chuckles, snorting in a 'Sure, you don't' sort of way. As for the question she nods, looking pardonably proud. "B-plus. Decent enough to earn a little game time, I guess. You might not want to leave the player with him for too long, though. You'll never get it back."

"He gets brownie points for stealth if I never get it back." Zaharis tucks the letter into the pages of his book with more care than he treated the book itself with. "But I'll leave that between you and him; I know better than to get in the middle of that. I like my limbs."

Rhea arches her brows at that last bit, but she comments not. Beyond another sniff. She goes back to sorting through her letters. Two more from her husband, one for her and the other marked for Reece Zimmermann. Those are set aside for later. The fourth, with a Sagittaron holo-postmark, is opened right away. A fond smile coming to her face. "Looks like my dad finally found time to write. Must've been a slow week at the garage."

Zaharis scratches his fingers lazily through the back of his dark hair. "Your dad works in a garage?" Interest rather than judgment. "Never told me that. What's he fix?"

Rhea nods, still smiling. She seems proud enough of the old man, at least. "Cargo ships, mostly. He's done mechanic work for a private shipping company there for as long as I can remember. It's steady, and more-or-less legit. Can't ask much more than that on Sagittaron." She skims further along in her letter. "I've been trying to get him to move off that trash-heap for years." No love lost for her home colony, apparently. "Ephraim's folks'd be happy to make room for him at their place on Tauron. He won't budge…"

"You can take the boy out of Sagittaron…" Zaharis begins with a smirk. "But really, I don't blame him. Not everyone's the type to pack up and leave. Especially when the generations after did." He makes a little motion towards her with his fingers. "Folks wants roots, you know?"

"Yeah, maybe," Rhea murmurs, carefully folding the letter once she's skimmed the whole of it. It's put away, likely to be gone over more deeply later. "He's only been off-colony a handful of times, to visit me and the family. I can't fault him for wanting to hold onto his life there. I just don't like the idea of him growing old on Sagittaron with no one to look out for him. My brother isn't exactly what you'd call reliable."

"I'll bet you'll be back on colony by the time he really needs someone," Zaharis says, easily. "Ephraim will get the wandering out of his system and you'll take Reece and built a nice ranch somewhere, maybe close to your dad. Get a pool and a barbecue out back. Couple big dogs. Maybe a goat." That's randomly thrown out there.

Rhea snorts. "Not bloody likely," she says firmly. "Oh, the ranch sounds kind of nice, with dad and the family. Reece does miss having a dog. Not much on goats, but I'm adaptable. But it sure as Hades won't be on Sagittaron. When I was a kid, my dad put in plenty of overtime just so I could get the frak out of that place. I left when I was eighteen and I've never been back. It's not exactly home sweet home."

"Yeeeah." Zaharis wrinkles his nose. "Well, plan B, I give you some chloroform and a rag and when your dad wakes up? Boom, Tauron. I've heard it works. I mean, not that I've tried it."

Rhea seems to consider that. It's hard to tell how seriously. "Not a bad plan. Maybe I'll just get Reece to write to him, prod him into coming to Picon for a visit the next time Ephraim and I manage to get leave at the same time. Dad's a pushover where Reece is concerned." She's clearly not above using her son to guilt his grandfather into doing her will.

"I approve of this evil plan," Zaharis says, deadpan. He pulls his arms from behind his head and drums his fingertips together over his waist. "You vill use zee child to make zee vorlds into better place."

"Hey. I'm just trying to make sure everybody's happy. If they'd just do what I say in the first place, I wouldn't have to resort to these villainess schemes," Rhea replies with a chuckle. She sinks down into her chair, eyes drifting out the viewport. "You're from…Scorpia originally, right? When was the last time you visited home?"

"Yeah. Scorpia." Zaharis says with mock enthusiasm, tapping his hand against his chest in a lazy imitation of the victory sign from a Scorpian pyramid team. "I guess about twenty years even, now. Since they shipped me to Picon. No loss, there's nothing really on Scorpia unless you build ships."

Rhea nods. "I know. I helped build them there for awhile. I transferred to the shipyards when I found out I was pregnant. Babies and battlestars don't exactly mix. Reece was born on Scorpia, as the matter of fact. I didn't see too much of the colony outside the shipyards, myself. Between the kid and the work, I kept plenty busy on the base."

"Nothing to see." Zaharis grins slightly and shrugs. "Hey, you want to go seek out that drink? There's a place down on the PAS that just opened. It's not bad."

Rhea considers it. "I was going to go over the engineering duty roster. Chief Taylor and I are trying to coordinate some extra damage control drills. Some shifts'll probably need to be changed up." Which isn't exactly a 'no.' She considers some more. Very, very tempted. "I guess I can bring my clipboard to the bar as easily as I can here."

"Course you can." Zaharis, ever the good role model. He sits up, bracing his hands on his legs as he stands, and grabs up his book. "Let me toss this in the bunks and I'll meet you up on the shuttle transfer."

Taproom Support Station PAS - Deck 1
24 BCH 2085 Souls

This large, open area was once a secondary observation platform. It has been taken over by quasi official forces and made into a drinking establishment known as the Taproom. A bar running along the inner wall is stocked with bottles and a solar cell has been taken apart, giving the back of the wall a high mirror finish, reflecting the bottles and the rest of the room. The outer wall is transparent, and unless a Condition status requires the lowering of the shielding, the glow of the stars and TER-745 is visible through the windows. Several tables and chairs are about the area and hidden speakers play music from some player hidden away. At the bar is a menu set up for anyone to read. <+detail here/menu>

"Oh? A serious mission? Thank the Gods," Fotilas laughs lightly. "She found me earlier while I was getting chow. I thought the Jigs I was eating with might try and jump her for a date." The Captain shakes his head and looks to Reed. "Yep. Peters. The ambitious Ensign who spends her hours hunting us down to have things signed. But we..or at least /I/ might take you up on that."

The Taproom's door opens to admit someone new to this happening scene, a woman in a blue lab coat who's talking to someone unseen on a personal communication device. "Well, you're wrong, there's no use being offended by the fact," Mem tells her caller. "No, you're not entitled to your opinion. Your opinion is subjective. Science is no country for subjectivity." She pauses a moment, right in the entryway where she is very much in the way of anyone trying to enter or exit, and her brows lift as she takes the communication device away from her ear. "How unprofessional," the scientist comments, pocketing the device and heading for the popular part of the bar where all those cool military types are.

Regas turns his head at Reed's comment, a long chuckle ensues, "Just about the best support crew a Battlestar could have. That Ensign has a mind like a steel trap. Unfortunately, she never pauses. At least, I'm sure she doesn't. She must take some time off though…" he has to stop to think about that. Too much on his mind lately, it seems.

Zaharis is talking as he and Rhea head into the taproom right behind Mem, one hand in pocket and the other used to illustrate his words as he goes on. "…so then they cut the funding! I mean just like that." A crisp snap of his long fingers. "Really, what were we supposed to do, pay for everything with the buttons off our uniforms? Nice as they were."

Reed nods to Fotilas, then Regas, getting the gist of the fear of the Ensign in question. "Real gogetter, huh? Well at least she's efficent." He shrugs slightly and smirks, before the sounds of voices draws his attention toward the door with some interest. "Ah, yes, the Taproom is taking off nicely." He comments mostly to himself, looking pleased.

Rhea strolls in alongside Zaharis. Though she's clearly off-duty, she's brought along a clipboard with suspiciously work-like materials attached to it, carried under her arm. "Seriously? Frakkers. I hope you left some surprises for them in the test tubes. Might as well have some fun if you aren't being properly paid." She slows, to take a long look around. "So this is the new bar?"

Fotilas nods, sliding a hand into the pocket of his slacks. "She's going to do well," he confirms to Reed. "But I'm pretty sure she never leaves CIC except to hunt. I'm not even sure I've ever seen her around berthing. Does she even have a bunk, Colonel?" he jokes as the door opens. His attention falls to it as the trio walks in. He shadows a smile to the civilian. "Evening, Miss," he says quietly before sipping at his red..whatever it is he's drinking. The other two get a respectful nod. "Captains."

Regas rubs along his chin slowly as Fotilas brings that to his attention, "I'll be frakked if I know, she better. And she better be using it. But hell, she's too damn chirpy not to be getting sleep," turning at the voices he looks to Mem, nods and then notices the other two. "Jesse, set up a full exam for Ensign Peters and send me the results. I'll make sure she is there, if I have to drag her in by her clipboard."

"What funding, and why was it cut?" Mem invites herself into Rhea and Zaharis's conversation. They're right there, after all, and if they didn't want to talk to other people then logically they would not go to a place with other people and allow themselves to be heard. Right? Right. It's logical. "Sometimes it's quite essential to cut funding," Mem continues. "It's like pruning a tree, you can't keep all of the branches or else the whole thing will die and there won't be a point to any of the branches anymore. I suppose you could use them for firewood. And that's an interesting analogy, do you suppose it's possible to metaphorically burn useless parts of bureaucracies? That's fascinating, isn't it?" Mem beams at them, then turns her smile to Fotilas and his greeting. "Time is terribly flexible in space," she replies. "But it's necessary, I suppose, to keep all of our circadian rhythms intact. Good evening to you as well."

"I would have, but I can't bring myself to defile equipment like that. It is an innocent third party," Zaharis raises a hand in mock-salute towards Fotilas' table. "Captains. Colonel. Had to bring the ChEng up for some fresh air." Before he nods to Rhea. "This is it. First round was free last night, but you missed it. But make nice to Captain Carter and he might fall for it." He looks back over at Regas and smirks. "Peters? That blonde stalking Fotilas? I predict poisonous levels of magnetic material, seeing as how she clings." And then he hears Mem behind him, turning halfway around to regard the woman. "Oh, old laboratory studies. Useful ones though, I have to say. I was -deeply- disappointed in the decision, almost lit myself on fire in protest. Obviously, that didn't work out."

"Hello. And Rhea, please," the chief engineer replies to Fotilas' greeting. "The rank makes me feel like I should be working." More than she is, at any rate. "Nice to see you've found your way out of CIC. Hello, Colonel Regas. Anything good on tap?" Her tone is respectful, but the smile she offers to Regas is warm and friendly. She just blinks at Mem, surprised when the woman speaks, though she does manage to offer her a half-polite nod. She lets Zaharis answer her question, getting a chuckle out of the back-and-forth about Peters.

Reed looks to Fotilas and Regas, nodding, then as the Colonel orders Peters physical, he turns to Zaharis, only to be caught by the pruning of trees and firewood from the young lady. He blinks slightly, then smirks. "I haven't met this Peters woman, and given my position, I doubt I ever will. Seems like she won't be coming here any time soon, unless.." He looks to Regas and Fotilas, "Your presence here brings her out." He shrugs, "Might be interesting though, see if she's as bad as you're making her out to be."

"Colonel, Nagala had a Jig up in CIC in the same position who seriously survived off coffee. She slept six hours a day, two hours at a time over shift change. The woman was Giselda-on-the-spot with anything. Remarkable. But she smelled like apricots.." Fotilas shakes his head. The sympathy he had for her bunkmate. Uhg. But he laughs to Zaharis and shakes his head. "Yeah, saw that earlier in chow, huh? Stay out of CIC lest she decide she has a reason to stalk the CMO." There's a quick wink to Rhea and he looks to Mem. Good Lords! "I..guess you have a point. And if I recall, its about 4am on Picon right now so I guess that furthers the point." A hand is extended to the Civvy. "Jameson Fotilas."

Regas is working on a glass of brandy at the moment and he lets off a little smile to Zaharis, "Could be." A lighter grin passes to Reed, "She's half hound dog, I'm sure of it," his attention is pulled back to Rhea then, "Rhea, I hear you are stealing my CiC crew," a half jab toward Fotilas, "Just return him with all the nuts and bolts attached," his good-natured self at the time being looks comfortable while he makes a bar lean and keeps the brandy in his hand, half swirling it around, "I haven't got to meet many over here, but I do read the reports," as he watches Mem now. "I'd have to say that those branches would smoke too badly and send us all packing."

"CIC's all yours," Zaharis replies to Fotilas, smirking. "I have enough blinking lights to play on my own turf." He twists around to spot the bartender, raising a hand to grab some attention over here. He orders whiskey as he did the night before and gestures to Rhea. "Did you want something, or were you just going to drink the ink off your papers?" Looking back at Reed's table he says, "Thanks for the tour last night, by the way, Reed. I had a look around your medical area a little earlier when a supply run went through. Looking forward to getting our coordination together, should run smooth as anything."

"I think you made the right choice," Mem nods when Zaharis says he almost (but clearly didn't) light himself on fire. When Fotilas extends a hand, she returns the shake and the introduction. "Memory Eleutherios," the scientist replies, and steps up to the bar next to him. Her brows lift, hopefully. "Would you like to buy me a drink? I promise scintillating conversation and suitable distraction from your stalker problem. That's very unfortunate, by the way." Mem tilts her head to one side, musing as Reglas says the branches would smoke. "No burning, then. Wood-chipper? That's very bureaucratic, isn't it? 'Here you go, little agency, we've cut you off now but you're not really gone. We're making you into a thousand even littler agencies so nothing can get done and it's basically the same thing as being burnt.' I quite like that. I can picture it happening."

Rhea laughs, shooting Regas as mock-innocent look. "I never poach, sir. Borrow, occasionally, but I've never broken somebody else's tools yet. I'll make sure he doesn't catch on fire." She sets her clipboard on the bar and leans, pondering. "A glass of Tauron brandy, please," she orders finally.

Reed lifts his gaze to Zaharis and replies, "I certainly hope so. Once we're up and running in Medical, we can get coordination working. Lieutenant Reighner, by the way, just mentioned to me wanting to get into the rotation of seeing patients as soon as possible, so I think the two of you can maintain good communication between the departments. I think he's getting the Healers Itch." He smirks and takes a sip of his drink, looking to Rhea and lifting a finger to the bartender, "She's on the list. First drink's free." He comments to the bartender.

"Hell sir, I better come back. If Rhea breaks me down in Engineering I'm not sure what good I'll be. Can't very well stand watch from Zaharis' stomping grounds." Fotilas grins, his voice barely one to break into the conversation with how light it seems. Rhea gets a steep and overly dramatic and steep look. "Just remember, if one of your NCO's hurts my feelings, I'm telling Dad." There's a tossed thumb in the direction of Regas. Though he turns back to the civilian, a little taken aback but ambushed nontheless. "Memory? Pleasure. Ah, to the drink as well..I guess." At least he doesn't look too disappointed. There's a lifted finger to the bartender. "Another for me and whatever the lady is having?" He looks to her expectantly. Still recovering, he bumbles over something else to say. So that's his downfall: Not so good with the ladies.

"Isn't that what they did when they set up the Colonies? A thousand little agencies that couldn't come together on one problem and became twelve instead," Regas takes another drink off his and then smiles as Fotilas gets an invitation from the Scientist. "Pepper is a good kid though, knew her dad." He mentions of the Ensign being talked about. The brandy is then drained with a sudden shift in demeanor.

"Oh, really?" Zaharis raises a brow at Reed, interested. "Glad to hear it. Our oncologist had to bugger off and we haven't got another yet, be wonderful to have someone around that I can bribe for consults." He glances back at Mem and Fotilas, dark eyes glancing the woman curiously. "Memory? Now that's an auspicious name." He politely butts out of the drink-buying though, absently searching his pockets for his cigarettes as he looks over at Rhea, making a slight gesture towards Reed. "Look at that, drink on the house."

"Historical precedent," Mem grins at Reglas' comments. "Even better." She requests wine from the bartender now that she's successfully surprised Fotilas into buying it for her… To her credit, though, she doesn't order the most expensive one on the list. "See, isn't this fun?" the scientist comments to her de facto companion. "We're participating in social norms facilitated by fermented fruits and grains." Is she joking? Hard to tell, but there's definite amusement on the scientist's features. To Zaharis, Mem quirks a smile. "Usually," she agrees. "It tends to be embarrassing when I forget where my keys are, however."

Rhea nods to Zaharis and flashes a crooked grin in Reed's direction. "I knew I was going to like you, Captain. I make it a point never to turn down a free drink. Will you want to coordinate engineering efforts as well?" Might as well talk business before she gets to the liquor. "Extra hands are always welcome in my shop, and I'm sure my snipes wouldn't mind stretching their legs and playing around with your toys over here now and again." Fotilas earns a chuckle. "My NCOs never make an officer cry without a very good reason. I'll tell them to be gentle with you, though." She can't help but grin at the skill with which Mem procures a drink, though the bit about social norms and fermented fruits make her brows arch.

Reed smiles to Rhea, "Well, we'll have to see, we've still got some work to be done in Engineering. It's going to take some twists and tweaks, I'm sure, I'll have to have a talk with my Department head before setting up anything definate. How about I contact you sometime in the next few days? Provided you don't try any of your poach-excuse me- BORROWING of my staff." He clears his throat, smiling.

Fotilas looks back to the Colonel with a curious expression. Not steep. Just curious. Ahem. "You knew her father, too? No kidding? Has she always been so..driven?" Okay, maybe he's more impressed with the little rabbit Ensign than he might let on with the jokes. He doesn't use 'driven' in a negative connotation either. "Well Rhea, while I'm down there I said I'd bust my rank for it and play Recruit for a day or two. No officer in this body for that shift." Mem grabs his attention back and he blinks. Fer..mented.. fruits.. Oh snap! She's talkin' about wine. The Captain finally gives her a light chuckle. "Indeed Miss.. Memory." Yeah forget trying to say that last name properly. Better to sound more confident with a word he can pronounce. "So what's your work here on the station?"

Zaharis slides into a free seat finally, with whiskey and now his pack of cigarettes. The new pack is tapped three times against the heel of his hand before it's opened, one turned upside down in the back corner of the box before one in the front is slid out and lit. A soft sound on his belt makes his hand go to the spot, withdrawing the small black handheld that the CMO is chained to, even off-duty. A glance at the screen and he returns it to its spot, unimpressed.

Regas nods to Fotilas, but he foregoes another drink, "I think she got that more from her mother," straightening up, he flashes the group one of his 'commander' smiles. "I better be getting back, I have to say if I'm away long, I end up missing that bucket." Not that it is a bucket by any means. "Not to ruin your joy of drinking, but I'll be calling a meeting in a few days, have a good evening," he looks to Mem, "Doctor." Figuring she must have enough phd's under her belt for that little tag and then he begins to head off.

"Mem," the scientist insists to Fotilas, sipping her fermented fruit beverage. "Or Doctor El." Apparently she's used to people's reluctance to attempt 'Eleutherios' in full. "I'm a physicist. I study the meaning of life." As Regas heads off, Mem nods politely to him, and returns the farewell. "Colonel."

Rhea winks at Reed as she, too, seats herself next to Zaharis. "I'll try and keep my hands to myself. Sounds good. Let me know if you need any help tweaking things. I'm over on the station quite a bit, anyhow. My kid is boarded here. You have my personal promise to fix anything he breaks, by the way." A joke. Probably. She reaches across the bar to claim her drink, bidding a quick good-night to the colonel. Before her attention turns back to Zaharis. "Somebody calling?" she asks.

Reed chuckles, "Ah, I understand." He replies to Rhea, looking to the Colonel with a nod, "Good night." He says before looking back to Rhea. "I'll keep that in mind. Just still getting the departments shaken down into order is going to be a chore. I'll let you know." His attention goes to Zaharis as Rheas does, quirking a brow.

"Colonel." Zaharis raises a hand in a cross between a half-assed salute and a wave. "Have a good night." He looks back at Rhea as he pulls an ashtray closer with his fingertips. "Sickbay. I can't break them of the need to CC me on every memo of every tongue depressor ever inventoried. All our oxygen machines suddenly go offline? Sudden discovery of lethal virus introduced into the ventilation? Scorpia winning the colony pyramid playoffs? Yes, I probably need to know those when off-duty. Tongue depressors? No."

Fotilas nods to the CO. "Sounds good, sir. Let me the details. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Colonel." He leans against the bar with his back to it and grabs his fresh drink. There's a quick sip as he listens to the lady speak. "Fair enough, Mem. But that does kind of beg the question.. Whats the meaning? Or are you still studying on that?" He finally gets back to his chicken fingers, too, fetching one as he places the plate between the two.

Regas leaves for Passageway [O].
Regas has left.

Rhea winces sympathetically to Zaharis as she takes her first sip of her Tauron brandy. She nods a little, approvingly, as she swallows. Ah, new booze. "It's only one or two of the new officers that still feel the need to send me every little detail. And the NCOs and I are breaking them of that, I think. I wouldn't be doing my job if the place couldn't survive without me for a shift." Her ears perk a little toward Mem at the physics talk, but she doesn't interrupt her and Fotilas. To Reed, she nods. "A chore is an understatement, I'm sure. I can see why you needed the new bar. Good luck, Captain. May all your departments shake well." She even drinks to it.

"Physics," Mem answers Fotilas' question, and eyes his chicken fingers. He'd better watch out or she might try her luck again. "Before physics there was no existence, and physics are what define existence, allow us to experience it. And it's all such a very delicate balance, the scales are balanced just /so/ and they must be. One small aberration in the gravitational constants or the speed of light, for example, and down our reality goes like a house of cards, into the entropic chaos of the unknown. It's quite lovely, quite exciting." She sips her wine. "And it's a decent reason to blow things up from time to time and see what happens."

Reed lifts his drink to Rhea, "Thank you, I'll take all the well wishes I can get at this point." He takes a sip. "There's always steps between the current state of things and the goal. Just have to go through each step, make sure it's done right, then move on. Necessary, but it takes forever." He smirks, and looks to Mem and Fotilas.

"Every department has the same problems," Zaharis replies to Rhea, sounding largely unconcerned. "But, as always, they could be much worse." He picks up his glass and makes a small toast to the sentiment, tipping back a swallow of whiskey. He gives an idle glance to Mem and Fotilas, since everyone else is doing it, then looks back at Rhea and Reed. "So what's the next step for the station, then?"

There's a shake of Fotilas' head at what Rhea is dealing with. Breaking in new officers is the bane of every DH. But its gotta be done. When Mem draws his attention back, he listens. Carefully. "I guess that's a good enough reason. I won't argue, though. Being in physics and being on this station, I imagine you've had enough experience with that. But I'll admit most of that's a bit..heh..beyond me. I'm into theoreticals but I'm not what you'd call an 'academic.' So.." He shrus lightly, embarassed. He might be damned good at warfare but yeah. Oh! Another chicken finger! Mmm. Yes, have to remove foot from mouth to chew that.

"I'm not complaining," Rhea says, nodding when Zaharis notes it could be worse. "All my cogs work pretty well. Just need to oil a few of them now and then. How do you like the work here so far?" The question seems addressed to both the doc and Reed. "I came with the ship when it was first assigned to the station so, I admit, these days sometimes it all gets to feeling a little routine. Like any job."

"Let me tell you a few secrets about academics," Mem replies to Fotilas, leaning closer to him and quirking a smile. "One — we are very vain. Compliment our super genius brains, and you can do whatever you like while we're puffing and preening. Two — Common sense and intelligence are not the same thing. Ask me about quantum physics and I will expound, ask me about the complicated workings of a zipper and I will be stymied. Three — don't look so fretful, you already know more about physics than you think you do. The chicken clings to the plate, behold, physics. You pick up the chicken and throw it at him," she points randomly at Reed, "Physics. You perform repairs in zero-g, unusual and exciting physics. You fly your ship, you kick someone in the pants, physics physics physics." Zaharis' question about the station seems like a good one, and Mem peers over curiously to see what the responses are.

Reed looks to Zaharis, "The next step? Calibration of the Coms systems and the ECM. Also logging the recent shipment of panel plating and installing them throughout the station, overlaying the temporary plating. Easily got enough hands for that, but it's time consuming. Along with that is Logistics doing a full list of the next order of things needed to continue stocking the stores, which is like the bottomless pit of paperwork, but it is getting to the point-" He switches in mid sentence to Rhea, "How do I like it? Sometimes I want to get back to being a scientist instead of a foreman, but it's kind of rewarding to see the whole thing coming together. It's not something I was expecting."

"Of all the departments, Rhea," Zaharis grins at his old friends. "I wouldn't expects yours to ever be the victims of ennui. You're our counterparts down there, you know. Things breaking and spurting and running temperatures all over the place. You've caught it lucky though; machines don't sue for malpractice. The job, though, is wonderful. I wouldn't trade it for anything." He looks back at Reed and nods after listening to that. "Sometimes it takes going off the path to remind one how much they appreciate it."

The Captain, for all his ability to be mister soldier looks like a student again with Mem. He dips his head forward as she speaks and it apepars like the man might be taking notes. At the end he smirks. "Gotcha. Sooo kicking a chicken finger at Captain Reed would involve a lot of physics?" He even holds up the little goodie as he offers the idea, glancing to the man with a quick grin. "But I can appreciate the difference between smarts and common sense. More than you probably know," he asides the last and sips at his drink. "So physics, chicken fingers, and compliments on your intellect. What else does a woman such as yourself fancy?" He motions for the plate for her to help herself.

Rhea nods to Reed, understanding that. "I'm more comfortable in a workroom than a lab, but I think I know what you mean. So long as you've got good Logistics people, you should be able to get through all the foreman stuff without too much trouble. My husband's in Logistics, out on the Persius. Until we got together, I had no idea how much those people actually had to do." She returns Zaharis' grin, nodding at that. "I definitely think I've got the easier end of the deal over you, Jesse. Machines, I can deal with. They usually make sense. People, not so much. At least the hull never complains while it's being patched."

Reed nods to Rhea. "Yes, a whole new understanding of the workload of the rest of the departments is opening up for me, and leaking out my ears, it sometimes feels like." He looks to Fotilas, for the first time acknowledging the other conversation. "Yes, but please don't pelt me with deep fried chicken meat." He then looks back to Zaharis, smirking as he takes a sip from his glass.

"It would," Mem agrees sagely to Fotilas, regarding the chicken finger aiming comment. "I could calculate an approximate trajectory, but you'd first have to critically assess the cost/benefit analysis of the situation. Is potential retaliation from that sir worth the entertainment value of flinging chicken at him?" Poor Reed. She grins and waves a little as he voices his preference on the matter. Mem does indeed help herself to Fotilas' chicken, nibbling daintly at one of the tenders. "I like logic," she starts answering his question. "I like plants, people who aren't ridiculous, and the colour green. I like not paying for things," she points at the wine, evidence of this fact. "I like watching alpha males compete for dominance in organised sporting events, I like Capria, I like not being blown up by people who prefer the opposite. What do you like?"

Zaharis glances over towards the Tactical officer, then back at Reed. "Don't worry, I think he's chicken. How ironic." He takes a drag off his cigarette and taps the ash off the end. "Logistics, the unsung heroes. I have wondered for nine years now how Rhea's husband hasn't given himself a lobotomy in frustration. He has my undying respect…and a lot of my money." He mock-narrows his eyes at Rhea. "Ephraim still owes me money from -basic-, did I ever mention that?"

Rhea's brows arch as she looks over at Fotilas and Mem. She suppresses a chuckle. Though Zaharis' words earn an actual laugh. "He didn't talk you into loaning him Triad money, did he? That man cannot bluff to save his life." To Reed she explains, "The good doctor worked with my husband back on Picon. Brothers in arms in the trenches of Fleet Headquarters and all that."

Glancing to Reed at his protest, Fotilas gives the man a quick nod. "Don't worry, Cap'n. We'll refrain from turning your bar into a Marine's nesting ground. Though, I make no promises about the mating habits of the Corps' bulldogs." A laugh to Zaharis as the glass is dutifully sipped again and he looks back to his companion, doing his best to keep from looking like he's completely outclassed. Ahem. "Hmm. Sounds quite a varied array of interests. I especially agree on the high-velocity redistribution opinion. But me?" He blinks and looks at his glass, trying to think of something. "Uhh. My job. Smart people who don't waste their minds. Rare coffee - especially Aerelon's finest. And..I guess I like history." Weak, Jameson. "I've spent the last few years really focusing on my career so I don't have a lot of outside interests, though I'm open for adoption of new things."

Reed glances from Mem and Fotilas to Rhea and nods, "Ahh, this explains a lot." He leans toward Rhea, stage whispering, "I'll have to remember that if I ever meet your husband. No money lending. He can't bluff in Triad. Thanks." He then looks to Zaharis. "It's a good thing that there's so little out here to spend money on, hmm? Makes for nice leave." He sighs, looking into the distance, "Leave. There's something I'll never see."

Reed also looks to Fotilas, "I appreciate that." Damn keeping up on poses.

"Do you -really- want to know what Ephraim borrowed money for before you were married?" Zaharis asks Rhea with a definite smirk, his tone flatly rhetorical. He snickers quietly at Reed's 'whispering', stubbing out the cigarette after a last drag on the very edge of the filter. Waste not. Picking up his glass he glances at the viewport, and the Genesis drifting past outside. "Oh, you'll get leave one of these decades, Reed. Have some faith. When's the last time you caught a break?"

"Are you?" Mem asks Fotilas, at Zaharis' earlier comment. She clarifies, "Chicken? Not in the context of literally throwing food, just in general." It's asked with a smile and exactly the same demeanour she has for everything else — curiosity. And then there's one of those mildly alarming questions, as though the first one wasn't. "Exactly how open are you to new things? What parameters are you using to define that?"

"I do my best to keep him away from card games," Rhea says, sipping some more of her brandy. "He outsmarts himself, is his problem. Plays the game like an accountant, all about the numbers. He's frakked when it comes to reading the other *players*." She does some more sipping, brows arching at Zaharis. "You weren't corrupting my poor Ephraim, were you? Hmm. I'm not sure if I do or not, come to it. I'm still trying to get a read on which stories he told you about me."

"Chicken?" The Tac Officer's brow rises, chuckling a bit. "Uhm, that's probably the /last/ word people might use to describe me." He clicks his teeth and looks to the drink in his hand for a moment. "Spent a lot of time getting used to doing things that some people might freeze up doing. So, no..I think its fair to say I'm not a chicken." He looks back up to her at the last and blinks. "Oh I have no idea. I don't think I've ever set parameters for much of anything I've done. Why? Want me to try juggling goslings or something?" There's a light smirk with his last. A little more relaxed now that there are questions he knows how to respond to.

Reed sighs, still looking into space. "I agreed to take Command eight months ago, got two weeks leave." His head bobs with each sentence, punctuating the facts as they roll out. "Went to Caprica. Had a horribly vitrolic visit with my family. Spent the rest of the time on Virgon at the Glitter Spire Falls. Then came back here. I'm not going to be up for taking time till the stations finished." He takes a sip from his glass and sighs before brightening and looking to Rhea, "He's corruptive, you can tell." He nods to Zaharis. "It's in the eyes." He casts a mock suspicious glance to Zaharis, and smiles sweetly.

"Corrupting? I did no such thing. You civilised him." Zaharis gestures to Rhea with the index finger of the hand holding his whiskey glass. At the mention of stories being told about Rhea his dark eyes flicker away. Perhaps it was just natural. Then he looks back at her again. "He told me you were the the first thing that had ever made him question the gods, for he could never figure out what he had done to deserve someone so special. At which point I told him he was a complete sap, and he punched me in the face." He looks back at Reed and smirks. "Calling me corruptive? You're the man who opened a bar."

"Yes," Mem promptly replies to Fotilas, when he mentions juggling goslings. An amused smile, "I think it would be good for you. Perhaps less so for the goslings, but you did ask, and I'm a very literal person." She drains the last of her glass, and sets it aside. "You could always juggle something else, I suppose. Spheres. Fruit. Knives. Let me know how it goes."

Rhea winces when Reed describes his visit home, nodding. "Nobody knows where to dig like family does. That's true all over. Glitter Spire sounds gorgeous, though." She takes a few more sips of her brandy, head tilting as she listens to Zaharis. A smile comes to her face, a faint flush of pink coming into her cheeks. Though her reply, after a moment, is a snort. "Sounds like you must've got him drunk if he was talking like that. Not that I disapprove. He's a hell of a poet after a few glasses of ambrosia." Her tone is warm, and a little wistful.

Reed looks between Rhea and Zaharis, smiling at the obvious deep friendship there. He then focuses on Zaharis, "Ah, but I opened a good, honest bar." He turns, pointing to the planet turning in the viewing window, "With a great view."

Okay, he wasn't expecting her to tell him to try juggling. He stares for a moment, laughing nervously and kinda hoping she's not serious about juggling a waterfowl's hatchlings. "I think it might be more prudent to start with something like..bean sacks. Then I can move onto hand grenades and knives." A long sip of his drink and he sets it down and orders another quickly. "What did you have in mind? Or were you just pushing for me to find something to do in my spare time so I might enterain you somehow?" Might not come off the way he wanted, but he means well. Honest!

"On wine," Zaharis recalls, as Rhea mentions drunk states. "Had to have been wine, because back then? The subject of his rambling poetry would change depending on what he drank. Wine? His undying love and the way the moonlight touched your hair. Bourbon? Nature and beautiful rustling of leaves in the autumn wind. Whiskey…questionable odes to something about thongs, and by scotch he was trying to rhyme things with 'torque multiplication', and really, I had to leave." He looks back at Reed. "You did, Reed, you did. But that's only because the pilots haven't caught the scent of blood."

"You're already entertaining me," Mem points out to Fotilas with a smile. "If you weren't, I wouldn't still be here. I would say 'thank you for allowing me to take advantage of your generosity, Captain,' and then I would leave." She tsks at him for the rest, and shakes her head. "It doesn't matter what I'm pushing for. You're the one who's open to the adoption of new things, and you're the one who brought up juggling. I would suggest you have a subconscious desire to do something beyond your usual inhibitions, if I believed in psychology." Another smile. "But I don't. It's a soft science. Problematic."

Rhea dissolves into laughter, nodding wryly along with Zaharis. "The man missed his calling in the arts. For which all the Twelve Colonies should be thankful." She falls a little quieter after that, working through the remainder of her drink, thoughtful. Though she does nod to Reed, as to the view. "It'll be good, I think. Gods knows everybody needs a place to relax and blow off a little steam now and then."

Reed looks to Zaharis, and nods, "Oh, I'm sure they will, but it's Marines who are drawn by the smell of blood, Pilots, by the smell of whiskey." He taps his nose then looks to Rhea, "Yes, you're right and we prepared for that. there's a reason this place is across the hall from a Berthing."

"Pilots are more destructive to the good of mankind. Remember, if you see one," Zaharis advises Reed in a grave voice and with a dramatic narrowing of his expressive eyes. "Tell everyone to freeze. Their vision is based on movement."

There's a flash of relief on the face of Jameson. "Well I appreciate you not taking advantage of the generosity. But huh, okay. I just heard the word 'juggling' earlier and a Petty Officer in CIC was talking about goslings earlier." He gives her a small shrug and sips at his drink. "We use a bit of psychology in our work, though. Or, I mean I do. Not a lot. But certain aspects. I guess Ican see it being soft. Especially to someone who knows the ins and outs of concrete ideas like FTL trajectories - which is about the only thing I'm up on I'm afraid, at least in terms of physics." He gives her a smile. "So how long have you been aboard out here?"

Rhea gets some more chuckles out of the back-and-forth between Reed and Zaharis about pilots, but she doesn't contribute much to it. Her mind drifting more and more elsewhere. She sighs softly, idly swirling her empty glass when her brandy is finished. Finally she sets it on the bar, offering the two men a smile as she stands. "I should be heading back. I've got some mail I want to read through tonight." She picks up her clipboard, though her intentions of actually working on those duty rosters seems lost tonight. "See you later, Jesse. Captain Carter, good luck. And if you ever need an extra pair of hands on your machines, my offer is always open."

"Not long," Mem admits to Fotilas. "And if all goes according to plan, I won't be here long, either. I'm on the station because it's currently in the military's best interest to keep me alive, and because I am moderately useful to their projects. But soon me staying alive won't require their intervention, and back to Caprica I will go." She drums her fingertips along the bar surface for a moment, as though briefly troubled, but it passes, and she quirks an amused smile at him. "Captain, have I conversed with you to an extent sufficient enough to assure if I say I'd like to see you again, it will happen?"

Reed looks to Zaharis, nodding, "I'll remember that, and fake them out using that." He looks to Rhea, nodding, "Thank you, Captain, I'll keep it in mind in case we lose all our workers to a bizarre rash of something itchy." He lifts a hand to Rhea, smiling.

Zaharis smiles at the departing ChEng. "Goodnight, Rhea. Thanks for the mail delivery." He tips his glass up, finishing off what was left of the whiskey. Cubes clink lightly as he sets the tumbler down and nudges it away from the edge of the table.

Seeing Rhea rise, Fotilas offers her a sketchy salute and a smile before looking back to Mem. "Keep you alive?" Did he hear that right? Though he seems displeased with the quick departure as well. As in, going back to Caprica. Though it would seem she's leaving as well. "It's no problem, really. Its been my pleasure. But yes, absolutely. If you like. I'm the Tactical Officer on the Genesis so just shoot me a note or I can look for you here when I'm off duty..?" He moves back to let her stand.

"Yes, alive. My preferred state," Mem nods to Fotilas. Again, she's a literal person — he said to shoot him a note, so she takes out a small memo pad and scribbles something on it, scooting it over towards him. "It was good to meet you." There's a smile and a bit of a wave to the others, "And the rest of you as well." With that, out the scientist goes, holding the door for Rhea if she leaves at the same time.

Reed looks to Mem and Fotilas at the repeated phrase, though the sip from his drink and the air of his demeanor indicates little surprise at the phrase, and far less curiosity than normal. He nods to Mem as she leaves, and looks to Fotilas, watching him rather than Mem.

Rhea offers a lazy semi-salute to the captains around her. She doesn't interrupt Fotilas except to grin at him and Mem. A parting nod is offered to Zaharis and Reed. "Thanks for the drink. I may have to swing by again the next time I'm on the station." With that, she strides out, saying a quick "Thanks" to Mem for holding the door as she passes.

Rhea leaves for Passageway [O].
Rhea has left.

Zaharis shifts in his chair again as that beeper of the future goes off. No peace for the military. He glances at the screen and lofts a brow. "Well. -That's- not tongue depressors." Pushing back his chair, he nods to his tablemate. "Reed, I'll have to catch you later. Thanks for the chat. And Fotilas." He looks over at the tac officer with a slight smirk. "You're a magnet. Nice going."

Reed looks to Zaharis, and smiles, "I'll see you later." He nods in responce to the Doctor. "Have fun patching up.. whoever."

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