Pyramid and Angst
Pyramid and Angst
Summary: Pyramid Conversation. Gars Vs. Sloane
Date: 36 ACH
Related Logs: None

The Rabbit Hole (Gen. Lounge) Genesis - Deck 9
35 ACH 6285 Souls

Gars keeps to his coffee while Craven addresses Micah; elbows against the table as he drinks in silence.

"Decent enough to take a chance on this coffee," replies the pilot with a lopsided grin, gazing over at Craven while he pours. "You takin' a break from your life of crime, holdin' trolleys of eel for ransom?" He's moving a little more slowly than normal, and is perhaps a touch pale, but otherwise seems to be recuperating quite well.

There's a soft laugh towards Micah and Craven is giving a quick nod of his head, "Ya, I was. Just came down to grab a quick cup of coffee while I had a few moment in sickbay. Now, I'm afraid, I've gotta go back up there and try and get caught up on the mounds of paperwork that I've put aside .. in the hopes that it would just disappear."

There's a few padded foot steps before Sloane walks into the general lounge. Immediately scanning around, he looks to the tray bearing snacks and…no snacks. At least nothing appetizing. He frowns and pours himself a glass of water. He issues Micah an upwards nod of hello and leans against the back of a sofa.

Micah chuckles, and takes an experimental sip of the coffee. Yep, the stitches seem to be holding. "Ah've got one word for you, doc: airlock. Noooo one needs to know." Except, of course, they do. But he's joking. Probably. "Cornbread," he greets over his shoulder, as he turns and slinks off for one of the couches. Sora is noted with a glance but not addressed directly.

[Intercom] Astyoche Kyrios, report to sickbay. Astyoche Kyrios to sick bay.

Gars keeps to his coffee as the officers chat, minding his own while enjoying the hot drink.

Sloane nods his head a few times, scanning the faces in the room. "Well…" He tsks, shaking his head a little bit. "…I think they're going to have to make me start eating lard to keep this figure if I'm not going to have access to cheesy snarks…" He pauses, heading over to the video game system. "Who's up for Pyramid League play?"

Sora finds her usual spots as she plops down into it, putting her feet up as normal She scrunches down a bit as she settles in.

"What figure?" Micah retorts, settling into the couch and slinging his free arm over the back of it. "Ah've seen stick insects that could probably bench press more'n you, Corny." The video game is considered, but he seems to decide the coffee's more crucial for now.

Gars keeps to the coffee, quietly sipping from the cup by his table over in the enlisted area. Offering the others a brief glance only, his main focus is on his coffee.

"Well I don't wanna go concave…" Sloane grunts, dropping himself onto the sofa and turning on the videogame system. Seem's he's already made a profile. "…hades, I've seen insects that could bench press me but the sad truth is that it takes a ton of junk food to keep that state." He smirks, propping a boot up. "My old man would tell me that this is the result of me being too spoiled on snacks."

Sora hmms, as another person brings up Pyramid. What could people possible see in this sport….she shakes her head a moment.

Micah leans over a little, so he can watch what Sloane's doing a bit better. "Must be an old version, ah'm fair sure the Panthers got Hissop last season, and traded Rowles." Pausing, he eases back and takes a sip of his coffee. "And what d'you have against eel, anyway?" Sora and Gars receive a brief glance, little more.

"Hissop?" Gars mutters and shakes his head. "Thessaly Brawlers was always my favorite team. Alexander Attica; now that was a guy who could score some points."

"Oh Attica was a diving chump." Sloane smirks, sitting back and starting a game. All things considered he can probably do on a video game what he could never begin to on an actual court. "Aerelon, Aquaria, and C-bucs, baby…gotta pay attention to the mid-range teams and avoid all that bandwagon nonsense. Want a team with a buncha throwing arms? Check them out…"

Micah trains his eyes on the screen as Sloane starts up the game. Maybe he briefly considers joining in after all, the other controller is glanced at and then away again. Sip sip. The coffee's hot enough to burn his tongue a little. "Better frakkin' believe it. Argonauts all the way, Cornbread." The Aerelon Argonauts, of course, which is no surprise given his accent. Bright eyes settle on Gars then. "Where you from, Marine?"

Sora yawns a bit as the conversation continues on the odd subject in the room. She closes her eyes a bit, crossing her arms in front of her.

Looking on over at the officers, Gars places the cup on the table. "Caprica, sir" he says to Micah, and then turns to Sloane, "And Attica was no diver; the reason he went down so often was because everyone had to bring him down to stop him from earning points. If anything, the ref's should have watched his back more often than they did."

"Didn't know you followed the Nauts, St. Germain..right on." Sloane replies, tapping the buttons on the controller with a little smirk. He does manage to actually score after a long series of passes from the center protective base. "I guess there's two schools of thought to Pyramid though…" He stretches his legs out during a stoppage in play. "…you either play it rough or you play it with skill."

Micah dimples a little smile at the banter going on between Corporal and fellow pilot, and chugs another sip of his coffee. It may not taste particularly good, but it's hot and it's keeping him alert. "Since I was old enough t'say the word," he answers lowly. "Even went to one of their recruitment camps, but.." But, who knows. He's here now. "Ah'm goin' to have to agree with the Corporal, though. Attica was a decent player." He grins slowly at Gars. "Still doesn't make the Brawlers a team worth shite, though."

Gars merely grunts. "May not have taken the championship, but they were never regulated in sixty years from Colonial League. And thanks to the Cylons, that record will stand on its own for quite some time, I would suspect."

"Not if we have our way," Micah remarks quietly, finishing off his coffee and tearing his eyes away from the game long enough to go and fetch another cup. He speaks while he pours, "One of your Marines is tryin' to set up a pyramid league. Promised ah'd help 'im out, you want in, Corporal?"

"I know I'm down for that…" Sloane replies as he scores again. He looks over to them as he reaches out to his glass to sip some water. "I've got a pretty good eye for passes, team player sorts. We might have to s'plain to the marines ahead of time though that we're not gonna play bad-news rules though. I vote for league rules with refs and everything."

Gars sips his coffee before he leans back into his chair. "Not much of a player, to tell the truth" he says. "More of an active fan if you will. Very active, in my youth, even."

"That's a shame," muses the viper jock, finished pouring his coffee. He levels a pointed finger in Sloane's direction. "Ah'll keep you in mind." Chuckling, he begins to make his way out of the lounge with steaming drink in hand. "Though I still think you're too damned skinny, kid." Kid? They're roughly the same age.

"Who you callin kid?" Sloane calls out after Micah, thumbing a few of the buttons as he continues to play. "Shame on that, Corporal, if the league is gonna start back up the least you can do is get in on it long enough to draw in the interest. Never know…you might also make a good coach."

Gars just shakes hia head with a grin. "Naah. I prefer to enjoy Pyramid from the stands, drinking beer and yelling at the other teams supporters."

The game simply continues on the system as Sloane's fingers tap over the buttons. Yawning a little, he looks to the clock and continues to play. "Keep getting closer to the playoffs.." He mutters to himself. "Well what are you gonna do when we're out of beer, Corporal?"

Gars chuckles. "That, sir, is when the fighting starts." He smiles as he picks up his cup and drinks the last coffee in it.

"Yeah that'll be the end of the niceness won't it…" Sloane grunts, shaking his head. "No condoms, birth control's gonna be gone soon, beer will probably follow last." He chuckles. "We're gonna have to actually convince girls to like us…"

"There's always ways of making alcohol" Gars says. "And enough girls have spread their legs due to being drunk to give us all a decent chance" he grins and winks at Sloane.

"Well I'm pretty sure we can drink engine degreaser…" Sloane replies with a chuckle. "…then again I'm sure what does go bad could probably be left to ferment. But then alcohol dries you out and we can't overuse water." He pauses. "What… a freakin nightmare…"

"Then I guess we have to convince command to locate and secure an ample water-supply so we can get drunk" Gars grins.

"Well there's gotta be stuff out here." Sloane replies, setting down the controller after he wins the game. It saves to his password protected profile. "Actually, after the last FTL do we even know where we are anymore?"

"Dont ask me, sir" Gars says and shrugs his shoulders. "I've been in the brig for the last couple of days."

"Brig? Yeesh…that's fun…" Sloane replies, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "…well I have the best faith that we're going in the right direction or the best one for that matter. But if you'll ask me, if we do choose a new home? We should make it one with beaches and sand."

"New home?" Gars says, sighs and shakes his head. "And go where? Do what? Just leave everything behind? We're all frakked, sir; only thing we can do is kill as many Cylons as possible before they get the last of us."

"I disagree." Sloane replies, dragging off of his cigarette. "Sure we heal, but we get old, too. That's too fatalistic of a viewpoint. Our only chance is to kill them until all of us die? C'mon what kinda military doctrine is that? We've got civilians. It's our job to get them to safety."

"Our job, sir, is to kill the enemy" Gars says, leaning back in his chair, slowly turning the cup in circles on the table. "The colonies are wiped out, we have not made any official contact with any other battlestar or navy squadron. For all we know, we're the lasts ones left. The only thing we can do is fight, cos if we run, sooner or later the Cylons will find us. People will die, our numbers will decrease, we will run out of uel and ammo, run out of water and food. There is only one thing we can do, since the Cylons are out to kill us all… Take as many of them with us as possible. What we represent, sir, is the last stand of mankind. Death is our only option."

"No disrespect intended, Corporal, but that is about the dumbest thing I've ever heard." Sloane smirks at the corporal, standing and dragging off of his cigarette. "Do you really think the best way to honor and respect the dead of the colonies is to throw ourselves against the rocks? C'mon, that's ridiculous. You know they have numbers and frontal assaults are a bad idea. Atop that guerilla tactics will chip us down just as much as running." He exhales a thin stream of smoke. "But we took an oath to defend the colonies. We have colonists onboard. Do you really, honestly, think we owe it to the rest of our species to die on purpose? That's frakkin ridiculous…" He chuckles, shaking his head.

"All due respect, sir" Gars says, tone of voice sharpening. "But you are a frakking ensign and havent seen enough of war to frakking know what you're talking about, sir." Looking over, his eyes have turned dark. "I've spent nine years in this uniform, seen alot of shit, and done some bad things in the name of the colonies. Protecting civilians aint part of what I do. My job is to kill, to evaluate a situation and do some damage to the enemy. Killing as many Cylons as possible does not include ramming this battlestar into a Cylon ship, ensign. It means we pick our fights, attack the targets we can destroy and head on out before the Cylons counter-attacks. We do what we can with the resources we've got. Running means we spend more fuel avoiding the enemy than we would on seeking him out. Running means we spend ammo protecting our asses that will get blown away in anycase when we run out of ammo. Ensign, until you gain some experience, dont throw idealistic bullshit in my face. Im talking war here, son. Not wishful thinking."

"Oh…okay corporal." Sloane chuckles, shaking his head and ashing his cigarette. He brings it to his lips again and takes a drag. "With all due respect, I'm pretty sure that your nine year corporal plan is an excellent idea. We use our limited supply and limited munitions capability alonside our limited food capability. That'll keep up with our limited fuel capability while ensuring that our neverending morale capability remains intact." He huffs. "Limited supplies corporal. We need a supply line. Another group of colonists escaped too, lots of them. So your plan with limited supplies? Expend them. Excellent idea Corporal. I'm pretty sure the colonists that are shitting themselves on the Carina would love to hear your ideas. You know there's babies over there right? Babies."

"Son" Gars says, hard, stern eyes now aimed at Sloane. "A month back I was Staff Sergeant, promoted for actions in combat where I took on the enemy. So you better wipe that smug grin off your face, ensign, and realize I know what Im talking about. War is my business. Killing has been my line of work for nine years, and Im damn good at it too. Ensign is just a fancy word for private, so get with the frakking program, sir; We've already lost this war, so we either run and get shot down, every last one of us… Or we Man Up and make sure we take as many toasters with us as we can into Hades… Because that's where we're gonna end up, one way or the other… Dead. Drill that into your skull, ensign; We are either gonna get shot, or starve to death. Hell, Im pretty sure all those babies on the Carina will die from dehydration real soon. Kids are always the first to die in a civilian population in wartime… So good luck with those babies, ensign. Im sure you will enjoy the funerals."

"First of all don't call me son. I'm not your son, corporal. I already have a father. Second of all…don't tell me that being an Ensign is like being a private just before you address me as sir." Sloane gives Gars a stern look, not one bit afraid of him despite their difference in size." He drags off of his cigarette, rolling his eyes a little. "How about this?" He smiles, the young man getting snotty with the marine. "You are going to follow your orders and do what you're told because in the long run I think those babies are better off letting the adults around here think about what's best for them." He ashes his cigarette and goes to refill his water. "But since you're so damn smart, nine-year, I'll make sure to use my officer's access to fleet personnel to let them all know this great plan of yours." He puts on a dopey face. "We lost war, lets go kill and self exterminate." He scoffs. "Frakking dumbass…"

"Sir" Gars says, stern eyes ever aimed at the ensign. "You're too frakking dumb to realize our situation. A brat wearing brass and you think you know shit. Well, when we run out of supplies, civilians will die, because military personnel will be prioritized. When the civilian ships goes low on fuel, we will leave them behind, because we cant afford remaining stationary. And when we start to ration our water-supplies… Babies will die. We're at war, ensign. Get that into your empty skull. Now I know you sticks dont know shit about what goes on on the ground in war, and you dont know shit how war affects civilians since you never walk around in a combat-zone. But I do, ensign. I know what's in store for us. We have no reinforcements. No supplies. We're depleating our resources, and pretty soon, Vipers will be stuck on hangardeck cos you are missing fuel, parts and ammo. And what are you gonna do then, ensign? Jump out of the arilock and swing a wrench at the Cylon basestar? So why dont you shut your mouth, ensign, and let us experienced troopers explain to to you what you can expect. This aint LaLa-land. This is war… A war we lost a month ago."

"Then stop acting like it's a war we're still fighting, moron." Sloane replies, rolling his eyes again. He leans against the counter and drags off of his cigarette. "Okay nine-year, why don't you and I settle this over a math quiz or a spelling contest?" He chuckles, giving the corporal a smile. "Look. I think your hoo-rah attitude is very cute but I find it hillarious that you can't see exactly how circular you're being. Let me try it from this angle." He clears his throat, a smart aleck tone in his voice. "Where does water come from? Does water come from space? no. Does water come from rocks? no. Water comes from planets." He takes another drag. "Fuel, food, munitions, places to hide, drinkable water? This stuff doesn't come from being brave, jackass." He shakes his head. "No wonder you got busted down. I can see why you've been in the brig lately, Corporal. Probably got in trouble for trying to eat furniture."

"And you slept during astrology class, I take it, Ensign Frakhead" Gars snaps. "Space is a desolate, barren fraking void. There's a reason why we only had twelve colonies in a galaxy of millions of starsystems. There is nowhere for us to go, you idiot! The Cylons have nuked and invaded the only refuge we had; twelve stinking planets in a galaxy filled with millions of them! We've found twelve fraking planets to colonize ever since the Kobol exodus, ensign. What are you? A retard? Didnt keep up in school? There is nowhere to go! No place to hide! People will die because we cant get enough food or water to keep them alive! Its that frakking simple, Ensign, Sir. We left Kobol centuries ago, and we have only found twelve frakking planets to colonize. Doesnt that tell you anything, ensign? Doesnt your one single IQ react to that? We're frakking dead, sir. And the only thing we can do, right now, is kill Cylons… As many as possible." Gars pauses and calms down as he catches his breath. Leaning back into his chair, he returns to playing with his empty cup of coffee. "The Cylons got us, ensign…" he finally continues, "… And wishful thinking wont change that."

"Well here's what my measly IQ will divulge to you nine year corporal." Sloane smiles, talking to Gars like he's a child. "First of all, there are planetary bodies in space. These can include hydrogen rich asteroids and comets that can be mined for both water and fuel capability. Also, when the Kobol exodus happened they didn't have our current propulsion capabilities. What do you think they didn't stop for food themselves? There's planets out there they had to have stopped at along the way." Sloane smiles, sipping his water and grinning at the Corporal. "Per physics, you should also understand that there's alot of space out there that hasn't been explored since the exodus. There's actual planets out there, you know. Real big ones with stuff on them." He shakes his head. "Stuff with names that you can't even begin to pronounce with your nine-year corporal vocabulary." He scoffs. "So lets go on your plan, frakhead. Let's be brave and bold and kill off the human race because Corporal Gars and his infinite wisdom seems to have the opinion that going out like a bunch of idiot heroes is the right call." He golf claps slowly. "By the way? It's astronomy class. Astrology is when you search the stars for signs from the gods. College graduate…for the win."

Gars rises out of the chair, slowly, both fists tightening by his sides as he aims dark, stern eyes at Sloane. "Ensign… You're a young idiot who has no clue what war is about… But Im willing to bet that you will change your mind real quick, when your Viper gets refueled thanks to the fact that the Cylons shot down your wingman which means his fighter dont need fuel no more. And your weapons will be rearmed since some other poor guy never made it back. And one day… Your Viper wont fly at all… Because your computers are fried. So your Viper will be on the deck, you will be on the deck… and your friends will die fighting the Cylons, trying to protect all the civilians dying from starvation. So you may be a collage graduate with a smug grin I could rip from your skull in less than a second… But you dont know shit about war… But you will learn, believe me… You will learn. Now, excuse me, sir, but I have to leave before the Master at Arms puts me in the brig for crushing your pathetic pilot skull under my jackboot. Have a good day, Ensign. Im sure you will enjoy this war." And with that, Gars heads for the exit, all but literally steaming, his eyes as dark as the pits of hell.

"Yeah…that's what I thought." Sloane smirks at Gars as he turns to walk away. He drags off of his cigarette and folds his arms. "Blah blah blah blah tromp tromp huah." Sloane comments, shaking his head, turning his back on the corporal to head towards the video games, mocking Gars' voice. "I eat metal for breakfast. I've been in the corps for nine years and I'm still a corporal with the best plan ever. That's why I'm not allowed to lead a squad anymore. Let's burn, let the Cylons irradiate the babies instead of try to survive because I like carrying knives in my teeth…"

Gars stops just as he is about to open the hatch. He stands there for a brief moment, doing nothing, but then turns to look over his shoulder. "You should come and join us in ground-combat, one of these days, ensign. Aint nothing like taking a bullet to get your head screwed on properly. Though, even if the CAG let you, I somehow doubt you would have the balls to actually 'face' the enemy. Frakking brass… It starts early." And with that, he leaves the lounge.

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