Summary: Nigel and Jocasta meet by the punching bags and Jocasta doles out some jabs even after she's done working out. Rhea watches Nigel take out some aggression while giving a treadmill a run for its money.
Date: 12 ACH
Related Logs: None

Gymnasium Genesis - Deck 9
12 ACH 6735 Souls

Workout areas are abundant here along with benches and water dispensers. Running machines, rowing machines and lifting. There is a place for sparring with lockers that hold the equipment. Off this area, there is an athletics court and a pool.

So, this is war… even with the Battlestar set to Condition Three, there's still a measured amount of palpable tension in the air. Some choose to drink it away, others to work it off, and then there are folks like Jocasta… the ones hellbent on assuaging their grief and frustration by pummeling perfectly innocent inanimate objects — though, to be honest, the punching bag probably had it coming.

Nigel pushes through the entrance of the gem, his eyes immediately going to the line of punching bags that dangle from the ceiling in that passive-aggressive way they have. Dressed in the plain grey sweats that make everyone merely ambiguously of military stock, he nonetheless totes a dark blue duffel bag that clearly states NAVY in big block lettering. He moves to shove that in a locker, then reenters the gym from another angle, angling towards the bag next to Jocasta. He lifts his chin in a 'yo' motion as he finishes wrapping his hands for some pummelling.

Jocasta is just on the verge of taking a breather and his arrival seems as suitable a cue as any to give the bag a grunting shove and make a break for a towel to wipe her face off with and some water to wet her dry throat. She acknowledges the ginger-haired arrival, however, was a cautious sort of look and wonders, "Stevens, right?"

"Stephanos," Nigel corrects Jocasta, turning his head to give her a more scrutinizing once-over. "I - have we met?" His red brows attempt to meet in the middle as he wonders aloud, raking a wrapped hand through his regulation short hair.

"Maru," she says, tilting her chin and regarding the man at a lopsided angle for a moment or two. "Jocasta Maru. Jammer." Ah, a call. She must be a stick jock or something. Discarding her little scrap of now slightly soaked sweat rag, she gestures to the punching bags with a taped hand and says, "Don't let me get in your way. I was just about done, anyhow." And, as if to evidence this, she begins to pick and peel the athletic tape from her left hand.

Nigel's face falls into an 'oh, GOOD' sort of expression when Jocasta tacks on a callsign at the end of her name, but it's swiftly followed up by a careless grin. He rolls his head towards the punching bags as they are indicated, and gives a single dip of a nod. "Good, because I'm gonna need all of them," he replies, flexing a lanky arm that lends a self-deprecating tinge to his words. "In fact, you might want to step back. I could very well bring this entire line of bags down in a single punch."

Oh, ho! We've got a comedian, ladies and gentlemen of the gym! "Yeah?" Jo can't help but fasten on a look of prime bemusement and, indeed, she vacates her seat on the bench while continuing to free her fingers from the sticky grip of the support tape. Just in case. "You sure you don't wanna hold back just a little bit? I don't know if I'm hip to have my precious ego deflated in the face of your pugilistic prowess." Wait — what the hell did she just say?! For a woman who sounds like she grew up on the wrong side of Aerelon, them was an awful lot of big, fancy words that she just spit out.

Nigel situates himself in front of a bag, preparing for a punch - then promptly falls out of his stance when Jocasta replies, letting his long arms hang and dangle noodle-like at his sides as he turns her way again. Perhaps thrown off by the combination of accent and vocabulary, or perhaps because he's a man and she's a woman, he gives her yet another glance over from head to toe. "Do pilots' heads really deflate that easily? I mean, I know I'm a pretty threatening mass of pure, unadulterated masculinity and all…"

Jocasta's lips split into half a genuine smile; it's what she's got left to spare for the moment, all things considered. "Not really," she confesses in an almost conspiratorial tone, inclining her head again as if she were sharing secrets with the sort-of-stranger standing by the bags. "You, uh… come in here often?" she asks, possibly as some kind of joke, especially in regards to his previous reference to his so-called 'mass of masculinity'.

Nigel brushes a hand along the side of his head in a faux-suave manner, then follows the gesture up with a goofy grin that harkens back to his previous self-deprecation. "Depends on if the coin I flip comes up heads or tails," he replies, pulling his hands together to pop his knuckles one by one. "Heads, I do something constructive to ease the tension. Tails, I do something self-destructive." His cheeks round in another leprechaun-esque grin, rendering it vague whether he's joking or not. The pair are standing by the punching bags.

Rhea strides into the gym at a brisk pace. Getting her warm-up out of the way before she hits the exercising proper. Already in her sweats. She heads over to the water machine to fill up a bottle. A preliminary gulp is taken from it. Then it's on to a running machine. The one she's angling toward isn't far from the pair, as it happens.

"Yeah?" Jocasta queries with a quirk of her lips, peeling the last of the tape from her left hand and flexing her stiffened knuckles with a few grabby-grabby air gestures. "So's this count as heads… or tails?" Rhea's arrival is acknowledged with a momentarily distracted twist of her gaze. A few seconds later, she's back to giving Nigel the mildly mirthful eye.

Again, Nigel's gaze slides from Jocasta's eyes, but only grazes over her face this time - the whole of it. "If I were more ballsy than I am," he states, resettling his eyes on hers, "I'd probably say something fresh about how it all depends on what you're up for." He puffs out his cheeks and arches his brows expressively, then continues, "But I'm actually kind of shy, so I'll keep that bullshit to myself." He jerks a thumb towards one of the bags and answers her properly, "Heads." When he notices Rhea pass by, his shoulders grow stiff.

Rhea meets Jocasta's distracted twist with a nod as she climbs onto her chosen treadmill. Nigel is also noted, and he receives an actual greeting. "Crewman Stephanos," she says to him, smiling, friendly and relaxed in off-duty mode. She looks vaguely amused by his stiffness, chuckling as she amps up her machine. Just a walking pace to start.

"And, speaking of heads…" Talk about a seriously loaded segue there, Jo, damn. "…I think I'm gonna go hit one, catch a shower before CAP." Because personal hygiene is wicked important when you're literally sealed in to an air-tight suit, amirite? Without much further ado, Jocasta's headed for the door, but she doesn't disappear before she can turn on a heel, take a step backward, and declare, "Nice meeting you." Aw. That's nice. "And, hey, maybe if you're still awake when I get off, we can see about that tails option…" And — she's out the door.

Jocasta leaves for Corridor 9D [O].
Jocasta has left.

Nigel watches Jocasta leave. Like - he /really/ watches Jocasta leave. And then, he remembers that the ChEng is getting her run on, so he clears his throat and turns a glance her way, offering up a grin that shifts from cocky to sheepish over the span of a few seconds. "Major Zimmermann," he returns her greeting belatedly. "Congratulations on the promotion." He tightens the tape on one of his hands, then levels his gaze at the punching bag in front of him.

Rhea so does not pay attention to the segues and watching passing between Nigel and Jocasta. Though the talk of heads and tails makes her amp up her running speed. Oh, yeah. She's in the mood for brisk. Once she's at a good jog she looks up at Nigel. Grin crooking to a smirk. "I usually find being promoted fairly traumatic, and this was no exception. Better than when I made captain, though. At least this doesn't change much. Just a few less people I have to call 'sir.' I still swat any of my snipes who try to salute me when they should be working."

<Trait Roll> Nigel rolls Unarmed_combat and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).

Nigel is still a little distracted by Jocasta's parting words, but he does manage to get a series of punches into the bag between his congratulations and Rhea's response. A pause as she speaks, then he replies, "That's the benefit of being perpetually low on the totem pole. Ninety percent of the time, the sir hits right on the mark." Unlike his jabs at the punching bag, which he frowns at. "So, how's Lily been?" He tosses off the question easily, but something in his gaze flickers as he asks it, though he keeps his eyes on the bag.

Rhea chuckles wryly, breathing steadily, going along at a not-too-punishing pace. She's still early in her work-out. "She seems to be getting on as well as can be expected. Same as any of us. On duty she's performing very well, at least. Off…" Another chuckle. "…well, that's her business. I probably owe her a conversation but it'll keep. How're you?" She eyes the bag. "You a boxer?"

<Trait Roll> Nigel rolls Unarmed_combat and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).

"Nah," Nigel replies, as his fist punctuates the point and proves it at the same time. "I took a couple credits worth of boxing in my ill-fated attempt at college. It was one of the only classes I actually passed." He backs up, reorients himself, then turns to face Rhea briefly. "What kind of conversation do you owe Lily?" His hands drop to his sides, he's focused on her and her impending answer.

"That was one of those Navy traditions I never quite managed," Rhea says, idly watching him work the bag as she jogs. "Little hands. And an aversion to getting hit." His question about Lily makes her snort. "The kind between me and her, Crewman. You can ask her yourself if you want once we've had it. Or just assume it's something about feminine hygiene. I find that usually deters curiosity."

<Trait Roll> Nigel rolls Unarmed_combat and achieves a degree of Good (4).

Nigel's brows descend as he turns his head back to the bag, and his fists unload a few more punches - the kind that would likely fell a foe if he were facing one instead of a bag of sand. "I went through puberty with Lily. I've got the stomach for feminine hygiene," he informs Rhea before a jab to what would be someone's gut. Or genitals, depending on how tall a person were in front of him. "I'll ask her." He steps away, wiping some sweat from his brow, revealing a nice damp circle beneath his armpits.

Rhea laughs. "You're difficult to scare, Crewman. I'll have to adjust my tactics. It's nothing pressing, so don't worry over it. Or make her worry over it. I just don't like let little things stew." Jog, jog, jog. She's starting to sweat a little herself. "So. How are you doing with everything?"

Nigel lets go of a breath, nodding twice at Rhea's further words about Lily. "She doesn't need my protection anyway. But I've got to get my brotherly defensiveness in somewhere, don't I?" He shifts a fleeting grin to Rhea, then sets back to punching his target with decidedly middling skill. "I'm." He lets the word hang, filling up the silence with a series of thuds against the bag. Again, he steps back to puff out a few winded breaths. Reaching for a towel draped across a chair, he drags it against his face.

"Yeah…" Rhea breathes heavily. Running in place. The motion seems to focus her. "We all are, Crewman. The universe is FUBAR. Anyone who says they know how to deal with this…they're either in denial or they're a sociopath. I think freaking out in little ways is healthy right now."

When Nigel pulls the towel down, his eyes are on Rhea. He looks at her features for a long moment, then nods, backing up to lean against the wall with his towel draped over his shoulders. "You freaking out, Major?" he asks, averting his gaze back to the bag that's still swinging slightly on its S-hook.

Rhea snorts. "Not where you can see, Crewman. Freaking rolls down hill. You have to be a Major at least to get to watch me lose my shit. I assure you, I can melt down with the best of them." Jog, jog, jog.

Nigel lifts his chin once. "Me, I just throw my shit all over the place," he replies with a self-defeating chuckle. "Lt. Sloan's pretty good to talk to. She's no major, but - she's good. But don't tell her I said that." He gives the punching bag one last glance, then goes about untaping his hands. "I'm gonna go scarf my rations before shift. See you, Sir." He balls up the tape and smiles briefly at Rhea.

"Sloan seems to know her business very well," Rhea agrees. Approving of the idea of talking to the shrink. In a general sense. She doesn't exactly hop off her treadmill and jog down to make an appointment. "See you in the engine room, Stephanos. Eat well. I've got a special job in mind for you, so you'd best enjoy the good chow while you can."

One of Nigel's brows quirks upwards in interest, but otherwise he lets the mystery remain for the time being. "Sounds enticing," he replies with a flickering grin before he's off to the locker room to collect his duffel bag.

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