Tucking In
Tucking In
Summary: Kalypso enters the Ares berthings and wakes Jo up.
Date: 55 ACH
Related Logs: Crowded Stairwells and Unexpected Reunions

Battlestar Genesis, Deck 12, Ares Squadron Berthings, 55 ACH

Ares Squadron is the Raptor squadron on board the battlestar. The room consists of double bunks along the walls with lockers in between each area. An oblong table sits in the center with chairs around it and there is a shower and changing area off the far end that is shared with the viper squadron.

"Most arrogant… asshole… sonuva…" Kalypso is muttering under her breath as she steps into the Ares Squadron Birthings. Last night was the first night that the woman slept here. This will be the second night on board the Genesis. The beds aren't nearly as comfortable as the one she was sleeping in on the Hera. She really doesn't care. Kalypso's blonde hair is pulled into a messy ponytail, stray strands clinging to her flushed and sweaty face. That and the sweats she wears are evidence of a workout in the gym. She whips the towel from around her neck and heads right over to her bunk. The top one. Above where Lieutenant Bayless sleeps. She kicks off her shoes and jerks the tie out of her hair, letting it swing loose, all the while muttering in annoyance.

Stowed away in the fifth cubby on the bottom bunk, Jocasta had been trying in vain to catch something akin to sleep but had only accomplished further frustrating herself at the cost of valuable hours that could have been spent doing something slightly more productive… like working out in the gym or talking to the chaplain or frakking a ginger-haired enlisted engineering. Kalypso's profanity-ladden arrival provides her with the perfect excuse to do something more than just lay there and she abruptly yanks aside her curtain to peer out into the common area of the bunk berthings. Instead of saying anything right away, however, she just peers with the squinty-eyed stare of someone who just might be cranky about being woken up.

Kalypso proceeds to strip down to her undergarments, stowing her workout attire. When she notices someone peering out from their bunk at her she closes her lips. Jocasta receives a stare akin to 'what're you lookin' at?' as she grabs a hairbrush and starts pulling it through her hair. At least she's quieted down, since she's realized there might actually be people in here trying to sleep.

Nuggets. Jocasta continues to eye up the scantily-clad blonde before she finally speaks. "You're from the Hera," she says. Statement made. Not question asked.

"Yeah," Kalypso says, dragging out something suitable to sleep in. "Rescued from impending insanity." She glances over, some of the steam of her mad-on is starting to go away, but only just a little bit. "Sorry if I woke you up." It doesn't sound entirely unconvincing.

While the answer might just go without saying, Jocasta feels compelled to ask, "What was that about?" Then again, with a question that vague, Kalypso might not know which that the other flyer is referring to.

Kalypso climbs up into her bunk, pulling a small book and a pencil from the little shelf over her head. "If you knew what spending a year on the Hera was like, you wouldn't be asking that," she says. She punches her pillow. "Or do you mean who pissed me off? Just some asshole Viper jock. Not important." Beat. "Kalypso."

"Five cubits says it was St. Germaine," the other woman wagers with, well, herself. Aloud. She then introduces herself: "Jocasta." That's her name. A beat. "Jammer." That's her call.

"Got it in one," Kalypso says, "Which means he must make a habit out of being a jerk, If it was that easy to peg." She flips to a blank page in her book and tucks her knees up, starting to scrawl on the page. Bi-colored eyes look out from her bunk and back towards Jocasta. "Nice to meet you Jammer. I think I saw your name on the board for CAP tomorrow. ECO, right?"

"That's Jailhouse. Open mouth, insert foot. We keep tryin' to beat it out of him but nothin' seems to take…" So says the likewise swarthy-skinned, suspiciously Aerelonian-accented Ensign — to a stranger's eyes, Jocasta and Micah might very well bear enough superficial similarities to be mistaken for siblings. When Kalypso calls her on the CAP assignment, the countermeasures officer finally swings her legs over the edge of her bunk and sits up instead of continuing to try and hold a conversation horizontally. "That's me. They throwing you out there already?"

"Jailhouse," Kalypso laughs lightly. She can imagine where he got that moniker from. Kalypso continues working away in her little book. Journal? Only it doesn't look like she's writing so much as possibly drawing. So, probably a sketchbook. Kaly does note the potential similarities, but if Jocasta is a sibling, she's not going to apologize for her opinion of him. Right now that opinion is solidly: Asshole. Not a problem, though. She's fairly certain Orion thinks she's a Bitch with a capital B. He even told her so to her face. "I did a reorientation this morning in one of the Raptors, so yeah, I think they want to see what I'm capable of. I've got simulations first thing."

"Good luck with that," Jocasta offers in what is, shockingly, something actually akin to a genuine sentiment. Of course, it's entirely possibly that the other woman may well already be notified and in the know — hell! Jammer might even be scheduled to co-pilot the newbie bus for the sake of more time spent in the belly of the box office. "Heard you just got out of Fleet." Academy. "Flown anything since?" The holocaust.

"Graduated about a year ago," Kalypso says, pencil moving. She pauses her sketch, nodding, "Thanks." She moistens her lips, goes back to her page. She won't go into the story of why she never got her first commission, or wasn't on assignment when the holocaust happened. Not right now anyway. "Civvie joy-riding ships. Little asteroid blasters. Not quite the same."

Scooting just a wee bit closer to the edge of her bunk, Jocasta bends over to momentarily futz with errant fuzz stuck between her toes or something and then sits back up with elbows bent across her knees. "Who's taking you out? The CAG or Nikos?"

"I don't know yet," Kalypso says, "But I haven't met Nikos." She pulls her sketchbook back from her face, scrutinizing her work. Even though she was told she never had the 'passion' for art, that hasn't kept her from giving up on it. It's theraputic.

Jocasta finally climbs out of her bunk entirely, taking a moment to stretch her arms up over her head and making noise that sounds not unlike a little squeak, which she will, of course, disavow making should she be confronted with any inquiries. "She's really…" What's a good word here? "…something." That'll work. It's open to interpretation; neither good nor bad. "Better rest up. Tomorrow's gonna be a busy day." The Ensign then begins to shuffle off toward the head in search of a shower and some time wherein she might not have to think about much of anything, not the least of which the events she unfortunately witnessed from the open hatch of a Raptor on the Nebula. So much for sweet dreams.

Ominous. Or maybe not. Kalypso grins a little at that description. "Sure, sure," she says on the resting up comment. She's done with her drawing of the day anyhow. Notebook closed, she tucks it and her drawing utensil back on her shelf. "G'night," she says, nodding to Jocasta… and then the blonde is tucking herself in.

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