We Didn't Start the Fire
We Didn't Start the Fire
Summary: Proof that Viper Pilots don't have all the fun.
Date: 4 ACH
Related Logs: Smoking Hot

Hangar Bay B Genesis - Deck 7
4 ACH 6735 Souls

The hangar deck is where the Genesis' Viper squadron, and its Raptor detachment are stored, repaired and maintained between missions. Ships land on the flight deck, one level above, and are brought down via massive elevators. Tow vehicles move the ships around the deck, their shrill alert beeps causing an almost constant cacophony of noise. The floor itself is a light gray in color, but wear and tear has left marks and scratches everywhere. Numbered sections are marked off with paint to house the various spacecraft.
The place is surprisingly tidy, with tool chests, machine parts, diagnostic equipment, and even the occasional spare engine or chassis scattered all in their appropriate place. Stairs lead up to other parts of the ship. The fourth side has a large sliding door leading to the flight deck elevators. On the port wall, Vipers are loaded into the launch tubes to be catapulted into space. Raptors take off from the flight deck.

The hangar bay is busy this morning, ridiculous hour that it is; the deck crew isn't exempt from the mandate of being ready to fly into action at a moment's notice. There is a raptor around which a few engineers are crowded and performing some sort of diagnostic, a ruined viper being scrapped for spare parts at the other end, and someone who looks suspiciously more like flight crew than deck crew, crawled under the belly of another viper and sifting through a jumble of wire 'guts' spilling out of a panel.

This isn't really the type of place Evelyn frequents, in fact when it comes down to the nuts and bolts of a military organization, she sticks out like a sore thumb. Out of her element, she's damn well more likely to get run over than make any kind of contribution down here. But there is one clear reason why she may be here: the shuttle jaunt to PAS. On alert two, and a call for everyone to be at their ready stations and either working, eating, or sleeping, she's one of the few that has clearance to hop from one ship to the next. Unfortunately? She missed the last shuttle, so now she'll have to wait. And somehow manage not to end up a smear on the deck plating.

For the most part, those whose job it is to manage the birds and the deck itself, pay little attention to the psyche. Now and then, someone might brush by her a little too close, or call out for her to keep her eyes open as a beeping ordinance trolley is carted past. The pilot muddling around beneath the viper finally rolls himself out and clambers to his feet, wiping a few smudges of grease off his face. "Can't see anything wrong with 'er. Maybe check the primary intake valves, see if something's clogged there.." He briefly spots Eve in between a few passing mechanics and squints a little at her.

The normally composed Psyche looks like a fish out of water, flopping around with every beeping trolley or bustling deck hand, doing an intricate dance of trying not to be trampled. She lifts a hand, brushing hair back from her face with a frustrated huff of air leaving her lips. The first person that seems to pay direct attention to Evelyn seems to be Micah, and so she's stepping in that direction. "Sorry. Excuse me, but, do you happen to know when the shuttle will make another run?" Her voice is smooth, not betraying that the woman is flustered, and tinged with a aristocratic Caprican air.

Micah looks, one might almost say, bemused at the expression on Eve's face. Situational awareness is a skill in a place like this, if one doesn't want to get run over or hollared at. Swiping the back of a gloved hand across his cheek, he turns from the viper as the mechanics take over, and meets the approaching psyche with a head-on, eye-to-eye, almost aggressive placement of hands upon hips. Not like he /needs/ to make himself seem bigger than her; he's got about four inches and fifty pounds on her. "El-tee," he greets with a quick salute of two fingers to his forehead, though the smirk doesn't quite vanish. "It'll make a run when the flight crew arrives. Where you going?"

Warwick makes his way down into the Hangar Deck, looking around rather carefully before he heads over in the direction of Viper 840, humming a little bit as he moves. Pausing as he overhears the conversation, he keeps silent, listening for a few moments.

Eve returns the salute, if only because protocol dictates, but her body doesn't become all rigid and at attention with the gesture. "That's really not necessary, Micah." She uses his first name, not a call sign or a rank. And damned if she can remember his last name, so that'll have to do. "To the PAS. I'm pulling double duty both here and over there. Is there some place where I might not be run over while I wait?"

"Maybe not, but it got a rise out of you," remarks the pilot with a slightly bemused narrowing of his eyes. "What should I call you? Doc? Ms. Sloan?" He swipes again at his cheek, succeeding only in smearing that bit of grease that's taken up residence there amidst the light stubble. "Guess there must be a lot of damage control to do, what with all that's.. you know." He snorts softly, and turns away from her to nod toward a couple of chairs set up around a table. There's coffee and a box of donuts open there. "I'll sit with you. For a moment. If you like." Despite the bravado, he seems almost hesitant, as if the offer may be rejected.

"Double duty…" Warwick mutters, mostly to himself, before he makes his way the rest of the way over towards the Viper, moving around the bird for a few moments, studying it rather carefully.

Eve offers Micah a pleasant enough smile, made warmer by the fact that it reaches her eyes. "You may call me whatever makes you comfortable." She doesn't even bother commenting about the fact that he got a rise out of her, selective hearing is a godsend sometimes. Instead she focuses on his facial expressions, not even looking to where he gestures for the seat. "I should like that very much, thank you." Its only then that she turns towards the chairs, "And how are you, Micah. What with all the…you know." She repeats his own words back to him.

Micah watches that smile, and the woman who gives it, with a lingering amusement that looks sharper than it ought, courtesy of the scar that skews his expression. "Quit psychologising me," he mutters eventually, voice characteristically low, hoarse from too many cigarettes in too short a life. Drawing away, he gestures to the more stable-looking chair, and drops himself into the rickety one, with a glance across the deck at his squad mate. If he should catch the man's eye, there's a brief nod of acknowledgement before he sets to pouring out coffee in paper cups for himself and the psyche. "How do you -think- I am?" he returns gruffly.

Warwick keeps most of his attention on the Viper for the moment, not paying much attention to the others at the moment. Making another round around the aircraft at the moment.

Eve settles in with poise and grace, but there is a softness to her frame out of a practice of making herself approachable and relateable. Somethings you can't just turn off, like her penchant for 'psychologising' people. "I think you'll be just fine," She holds her hand out expectantly for the cup of coffee he's pouring her. "Because if not, they just might send you to me, and that I hear is a fate worse than the dentist." The joke is light, but there. "But at least I've been told I'm a good listener." And there is the hidden offer, as if she's holding out her hand for his, instead of a cup of Java.

Micah watches the doctor and that inherent grace of hers for a moment, then the cup of coffee he's pouring. It's topped off right to the rim, though not a single drop's spilled as he hands it over; pilot's hands are good for more than just stickhandling, it seems. There's a brief, husky laugh when she mentions fates worse than dentists, and he hunches his broad shoulders forward as a sip is taken of the godsend in a cup. "I'm sure you got enough people that need listening to, doc. Don' worry about me." He claims a donut from the box, and takes a rather large bite out of it. Adding with his mouth half-full, "Whole thing's arse, anyway. Gone to frakkin' cock."

Warwick finishes looking around the Viper, and looks around a bit, noticing Micah and the Doctor. Offering them both a nod, he heads slightly over in that direction.

Eve leans over her cup, sipping from it with a slight crinkling around her eyes from the strong brew. Her hands aren't as steady, perhaps there's a reason why she chose psychiatry instead of surgery. Seems the deck crew drinks the coffee a bit stronger than her gut is used to, if the grimace on her features is any indication. Either that, or its his brash words that cause the look. "I always have time." She assures him, just as the flight call for the shuttle sounds. "Except, it seems, when I'm on someone else's." She offers a sigh as she shifts back to her feet before she even got a chance to settle into the chair. "You'll pardon me. I always seem to be running out on our conversations don't I?" She pauses, as if rethinking her decision to zip off to PAS. "But duty calls. I shouldn't be long, I don't think. If you'll be around later to finish off this…" Eve sets the cup of coffee aside, "Lovely cup of coffee."

There's a quiet chuckle from the Ensign when he sees the look on Eve's face; perhaps someone should have warned her about the coffee down here. "This time," he replies, sipping from the vile stuff in his own cup as he shifts to his feet — some things are ingrained, after all, like standing when an outranking officer is about to depart. "I'll be around, doc. You go enjoy yourself."

Reeves makes his way down the stairs, with a clipboard in his hands that he idly studies. Once he reaches the floor of the hangar deck he pauses and looks up and takes in his surroundings and nods his head slowly.

Warwick stops for a few moments as he sees the medical person leave, and glances back to his Viper. He then moves further over in the direction of where Micah is, offering a bit of an absent nod.

Micah watches the psychiatrist scuttle off to catch her ride, and continues watching as the raptor's bay doors slam shut and its engines begin spooling up. Finishing off what remains of the coffee, he ditches the paper cup into a bin and pulls out a notepad and pen from a pocket in the arm of his flight suit. "Mornin', Hound," he greets amiably enough. For him, anyway; it comes out more like a grunt.

Mmm, fresh meat! There's a slightly wayward Ensign, clad in her stuffy blues instead of the more relaxed olive greens, currently taking part in something of a self-guided tour of the hangar deck. Jocasta's climbs up into an open Raptor and gives the interior a bit of an inspection — you know, all of the three or four steps you can possibly take inside.

Reeves makes his way over towards one of the painted Raptors, namely the one with a woman sprayed all over its sides. He puts the notepad down upon its wing and then places his hands upon its hull to give it a gentle caress. "You feelin alrigh there D.." he murmurs softly.

"Morning," Warwick replies to Micah. "I'd say 'Good morning', but then I'd be a liar…" Glancing around towards the rest of the deck, shaking his head a little bit.

Micah turns slightly to watch the unfamiliar Ensign in the officer's uniform approaching one of the spraypainted raptors. He -could- say something, but it's quite a bit more amusing to simply watch and see what happens as Reeves arrives on an intercept course. "There's coffee, an' frakkin' toasters out there ripe for the wreckin'. I'd call it a good morning." He flickers a little grin.

It is while Reeves performs his little ritual of feeling out his raptor, that he notices the violation. The Lieutenant tenses up as he notices the hatch of Doreen open. "Oyi.. Nugget! What the frak are you doing!" he calls out as he manages to get a glimpse of a back inside the Raptor.

Uh-oh. She's been spotted. And called. Jocasta comes immediately back to the hatch and, oh hi, offers Reeves the evidence that palms at the shoulders might suggest. "Just having a look, sir. I didn't touch anything." while she's not precisely in a hurry to climb down, she does exit the Raptor eventually, eyes on Reeves.

Reeves picks up his clipboard from the wing as he studies Jocasta with a rather annoyed look written over his face. "You new or something…Dont you know what your boots are soiling Ensign..I'm cutting you some slack here, cause your good looking and Rabbit likes em hot." he snaps his fingers and tries to look serious. "Answer me, nugget!"

Micah looks — briefly — like he might step in and say something on the nugget's behalf. After all, it wasn't so long ago that he was in her boat, on his first commission and getting ragged by the el-tees. But it's a character building exercise, he seems to wager, and reaches for another donut in the box instead.

Jocasta's eyebrows dash upwards but she remains otherwise serene save for the slow shadow of a smirk sliding onto her lips. "With all due respect, sir, I think Doreen might enjoy a woman's touch every now and then," she replies, Aerelon accent brimming.

Warwick chuckles a bit as he overhears Micah. "A good day would include trying to keep the eyes open without a gigantic headache too," he points out.

"Is that attitude your giving me nugget…Dont you know that all Raptors have a crew of two, and you just assume in your Ensign wisdom that my ECO is a male don't you?" Reeves says with a little grin on his lips, yet his eyes are still dark. "You did not answer the question, do you know what you are violating there, Nugget?"

And, just like that, any hint of bemusement that might have been creeping at the corners of Jocasta's mouth fades into nonexistence. Her response comes as: "No, sir. Yes, sir. I'm sure you'd rather tell me, sir." Grr and arg.

"'ere, have some brew," Micah offers genially, pouring out another paper cup to the brim with a steadiness borne of stick-handling, and thrusts it at Warwick. It's hot, it's black, and it smells like something they put in the fuel lines of the vipers. It might just -be-.

Or maybe it's just what they use for removing the grease from things. Anyway, Warwick takes the cup, nodding a bit, "Thanks," he replies, before he takes a sip.

Reeves eyes Jocasta for a moment longer and then eyes his clipboard. "Whats your name Nugget?" he mutters, trying his best to keep from grinning and uses the clipboard which he simulates writing in, to hide the fact. "What you have violated is the sacred interior of Doreen, she is the first Raptor to go to the Arm's line and back from the Big G, she was part of the rescue of the Pandora personnel..And she is the ship of the most adorable and lovable pilot on all of Genesis." he mutters as he looks up and grins towards the woman. "Frak, next time you wanna check out my goods..don't wear a flight suit ok..Names Orlando Reeves, but people call me Rabbit…I'm the best gods damn Raptor pilot in the fleet.."

"And by far the most modest one too…" Warwick calls this out in the direction of Jocasta and Reeves before he brings his coffee with him, and heading in that direction.

Jocasta says, "Jocasta Maru, sir." When Warwick chimes in, it's enough to draw one corner of her mouth up just a smidgen higher than the other. While watching someone else get chewed on might be a spectator's sport, there's nothing wrong with taking a few swipes from the sidelines, right? Right. The Lieutenant's charming introduction is received and acknowledged with, "So noted, sir. Is there anything else I should know, sir?"

Reeves lowers the clipboard as he glances over towards Warwick and grins widely. "Modesty is what makes my greatness so fitting, brother." he says with a chuckle, before he looks back towards Jocasta and eyes her up and down. "Anything else you should know…hmm…well..Ares Squadron, the WarDogs..your bunk, is just inside the door, you'll see a picture of a blond babe on the wall, that's the bunk I need you to keep warm ok?"

Warwick shakes his head a little bit as he looks between the two Raptor-folks. "Well if there's something you should know, it's that Rabbit here is a comedian, not much else," he comments, still lightly. Taking another sip from his coffee, as he glances back to Viper 840.

Jocasta's dark eyes narrow at Rabbit's insinuation, but she's not about to buck the stripes, especially with an obviously attentive audience close enough to make a statement should her fist suddenly make friends with the Lieutenant's face. "I'll see what I can do, sir." A beat. "In fact, lemme just go work on that now… sir." Reeves wants a warm bunk? Jo's perfectly willing to accommodate with something close to flaming…

Reeves glances over towards Warwick once again. "Bro, you need to look up the term wing man.." he chuckles and then tosses the clipboard up on the wing of Doreen and nods his head towards Jocasta. "Uh..sure thing…By the way, you still have not said which Squadron you belong too..-Nugget-"

"Just keeping you safe here," Warwick remarks to Reeves, before he nods a bit at this last remark from the Raptor pilot, and he looks over to Jocasta, offering her a smile. "Or your name, now that you mention it."

"Frakkin' Hell Reeves, give it a rest!" Cav meanders out of one of the Viper bays and gives him with one of those 'YGBSM' looks. "You can only use the term 'nugget' about three times in the same minute before it gets old. Quick. And you're sure violating that rule. We let you keep going and it'll be as old as last weeks shit." She shakes her head and moves towards the coffee.

She's on her way out, really, but from over her shoulder Jocasta says to Reeves, "Ares, sir." before continuing on her way. Dismissed or not, she's got a bunk to set on fire — er, /warm/.

Micah is slower to make his approach, but you know what they say about the viper pilots that come in hard and hot, and the ones who take their time about doing it right. "What's wrong, el-tee, can't pick on someone your own size?" It's tossed off in a low mutter to Reeves as he passes — apparently on his way to sign off on some work being done to his viper.

Reeves glances over towards Cav and grins widely. "You see the word CAG on my flight suit anywhere Cav…" he blinks and then looks towards Jocasta. "Frak, you're a WarDog…Sweet..Welcome to the family." he then looks back at Cav. "Which protocol did I break?" a quick look at Micah . "I do, if I wanted to pick on small stuff I'd pick on you frakhead." he says with a chuckle and looks back at Cav once again.

Warwick quiets down now, stepping back a bit and just sipping his coffee. "Ah, excellent…"

"No, Reeves, I sure as Hades don't see CAG anyplace I'm I'm pretty sure I won't.." She tilts her head as she passes the Raptor and moves over to the pot of caffienated motor-oil. "Which one did you break? How about the one where you abuse the fresh meat. You piss them off too much, it discourages 'em. They learn to hate the officers over them. Shit, did they teach you /anything/ at OCS, sir?" Cav glances up to him. "Right now she's probably going to set your bunk on fire. Remember Lieutenant, we salute the rank, not the man. You gotta earn respect - not enforce it." She takes a sip of the mug and heads back down towards the Viper bay she just left.

Pause. Stop. About face. It's all done rather slowly while Cav is speaking, but the swarthy Ensign is definitely sizing up Reeves, and not the retreating deck hand behind him. "That a fact?" Micah replies with a less-than-pleasant smile, folding his arms with a rustle and squish of his flight suit. Rabbit's got a few pounds on him, and maybe an inch, but it isn't much.

"Damn you Star Screamers sure are uptight today." Reeves mutters as he looks after Novella and then shrugs his shoulder, before he glances at Micah and nods his head. "It is. Your a new face, as Hound said..I'm the comedian, I'm never serious…Correction, rarely serious..You wanna act tough, be the cool guy..Go ahead..If not, I'm going for some a sundae..you lot coming?"

Warwick just headshakes now, glancing around at the others, "Folks… Keep the anger for the toasters, okay?"

Cav turns, walking slowly backwards to look at Reeves. "Might want to make sure your squadmates know that before you imply things like ya did. Of course, calling an Ensign a 'frakface' for no good reason doesn't help your case, either." She gives the Raptor pilot a knowing look and claps a hand to Micah's shoulder. "C'mon Crow, we've got atmo ops in a bit. We need to get preflighted." Warwick just gets a raised brow as she continues moving off.

[Intercom] Smoke detected. Fire Control on Deck 12, Ares Berthings.

"Cav, the day.." Reeves pauses and glances up towards the coms and curls his lips into a grin. "I like her already.." he mutters and picks up his clipboard. "Well Doreen, we've got some work to do." he sure as heck is not going near the Ares Berthings by the looks of it.

Micah continues studying Reeves for a few moments more, like a dog that's trying to decide whether the effort of chasing down a bigger dog is worth the reward. In the end, it's either Warwick's reminder or Cav's hand on his shoulder that decides it for him; he gives a little roll of his jaw, a scrape of fingertips in the stubble at his cheek, and a grunt-growl to his squadmate as he reluctantly backs away.

"What…?" Warwick stops a bit as he hears the sound of the intercom, and then is unable to hold back a laugh. "Oh…" Glancing over at Reeves. "Hope you didn't have something important there…"

"Please, El-Tee. Stow it?" she tosses over her shoulder to Reeves. But as the intercom sounds, she stops and laughs. "All your pictures of Doreen, your little slices of the Colonies? Seems they're a little damaged. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." She shakes her head. "So Crow, tell me about this Viper you've named. You know you stole mine, right?" Its a playful question. Kinda.

Reeves glances over his shoulder and shakes his head. "Frak man, all I need is in Doreen..figured if I die, I'll take it with me ya know." he states as he turns around to lean against the Raptor with that clipboard in his hands. "I'm still curious to the fact if it was my bunk..I only have one picture of that bombshell I admire and that is in my wallet…could've been anyones bunk."

Micah's expression of sullen disenfranchisement shifts to one of muted mirth when he hears that message over the intercom. It doesn't take much of a mental leap to figure out that Jocasta's behind it, and he gives Reeves an exaggerated wink before turning to move off with Novella. "Eh? I haven't named a thing. Though if I /did/, I'd take that one over there. Number seventeen fourty-four. Nice smooth ride, she is." Yes, perfectly innocent. Certainly he has no idea that it's the bird she got her first kill with. Oh no.

Warwick chuckles a little, shaking his head a bit. Pausing as he hears the part about naming the Vipers. "That reminds me…" He goes silent again, listening to the rest.

"Yeah. Seventeen Forty-Four. Funny about that.." Cav lifts the mug of motor oil and takes a sip. "I got the Air Wing's first kill of the war in that bird. So I've got a bit of sentimental attachment to it. You understand, right?" Daring eyes turn up to him. The other two go unnoticed for the moment. No she's got bigger concerns.

"Real funny," Micah retorts, taking another large bite of his donut and chewing on it noisily. Her glance up is met with one from beneath his lashes, eyes tired and a little red-rimmed this morning. After he's done swallowing, "I seem to recall hitting that toaster right near about the same time you did." It's obviously a sore spot for him, but what -isn't- a sore spot for Micah St. Germain? Finishing off the donut, he dusts icing sugar off the front of his flight suit and turns to face Cav, hands resting at his hips. "What's it worth to you?"

Reeves glances at the two 'arguing' about one of the many vipers in the hangar and archse an eyebrow. He then looks over towards Warwick and tilts his head to the side. "You've got yours already I take it? Whats her name?"

"Nothin' funny about it," Cav fires right back, words de facto. "Yeah, well you can recall that you still weren't flyin' Seventeen Forty-Four when it all went down." The master of negotiation, she is not. "What's it worth?" Green eyes size the man up. "What're you askin'? Otherwise I'll fight you for it. One round. First to the ground loses."

"Just make sure she doesn't set your bunk on fire for it," Warwick calls out to Micah. "It's a bit close to home for the rest of us…" He then shrugs a bit at Reeves, "Haven't decided on a name yet," he replies.

"We did that back on the Galactica..fight I mean, the old man was strict on those things." Reeves calls out seemingly approving of the fact that fights seems to settle things. "Then again, it was a bit more formal and yet not.."

Micah turns to shoot Warwick a quick smirk, and then his odd, mismatched gaze is back on Novella again as she makes her offer. The 'good' side of his mouth curls up into a genuine grin when a fight is mentioned, but he shakes his head. "Much as I'd like to 'ave at it with a good knock-down, drag-out arse whooping, I don't think that's necessary." He pauses a moment for effect, making a show of licking the remainder of the icing off his thumb and then, "It's yours."

"Yeah I remember, Reeves," Cav calls out to the Raptor driver, eyes still on Micah. When he turns down the fight, she almost looks crestfallen. Almost. She nods when he mentions its not necessary and blinks at the last. "You're serious?" Blink. Again. "Crow, don't play with my heart like this, if you're joking." She lifts a finger and pokes him playfully in the chest.

"What the frak, he was about to pick a fight with me over me hassling an Ensign of my own squadron who violated the sanctity of Doreen..But he wont fight over his own favourite Viper.." Reeves says with a soft chuckle as he glances over towards Warwick. "How about Vicious..as a tribute to the band?"

"I don't know," Warwick replies to Reeves. "I just know it couldn't be the name of any former girlfriends. That would bring bad luck."

Micah is actually grinning enough by now to prompt a small dimple to appear in his cheek — a rare thing, on the trash-talking grouch of an Ensign. "You have a heart, crumpet?" He pretends to look really surprised to hear this. Then, calling back to Reeves, "Who says it's my favourite viper? Besides.." His eyes slant back to Cav, and he leans in a little closer at the poke to inform her, "This just means I get to exact my favour from you, at a later date."

Reeves glances at his Doreen and then back towards Warwick. "Can't be a long list then, can it…Soo scratch that one name off your list, and take another."

Cav reaches up and thwaps Crow on the shoulder. "Do I have a heart? Ya jackass." She laughs and wraps her arms around his neck for a quick hug. Pulling away, she hears about the favor. "Well I won't say I'll do /anything/ but you've got yourself a solid deal. Thanks Micah." She does a little dance, bouncing on the balls of her feet.. coffee sloshing out onto her flightsuit. Not that she cares, though.

Warwick chuckles a bit, looking over at the dancing one. "Impressive dance routine," he offers, a bit lightly, before he goes back to looking lost in thought.

Reeves plucks off another note on his clipboard, idly watching the Star Screamers dance, hug and think with a soft smile lingering on his lips.

Micah actually looks more startled at being hugged, than he did at being poked and thwapped. Roughhousing he's used to, and that crooked scar on his lip has to have come from -somewhere-. "Uh.." That's about the sum of his wit for a moment or two, then he manages to give Cav a pat on the back before reaching for her coffee cup. "Frak. Give that to me, before you wreck the flight suit. Won't Rue like -that-."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License