With This Tattoo...
With This Tattoo…
Summary: Micah and Eve finally tie the knot, in a not so conventional way.
Date: 96 ACH
Related Logs: None.

(Scene starts out in Gold Squadron's berthings.)

Micah is fairly quick in the showers, possibly owing to the fact that /nobody/ wants to spend more than a few moments getting blasted with cold water, now that the heat's run out. Just enough to wash away the sweat and tears, and make him feel halfway human again. He's back in under five minutes, running a towel over dark hair and inked skin, while multitasking with a toothbrush. He flops back down on the bunk again to tug on his own uniform. "Where're you goin' to be stayin', on the Carina?" he asks around his toothbrush, darting the woman a brief glance.

Eve can't help but watch him, of course, like she's not wanting the view to go to waste with the knowledge she's unsure if she'll ever get to see it again. "I'm not sure." She confides. "I assume there's going to be a checkpoint I can report to, and then they'll shuffle me off to some temporary housing. If nothing has been set up, I imagine I can stay with Adele temporarily." Because she's most certainly not going to stay there long term after the blow out with Zaharis. She tries to steal his toothbrush and use it on her own teeth.

"Blowout or not, ah'm sure she'll take you in." After that brief gazing at her, Micah's turned back to the task of getting dressed. Underpants, then trousers, he eases back and lifts his hips to get them fastened, which gives her a perfect opportunity to steal his toothbrush of course. A dribble of toothpastey spit is wiped off his chin, and he starts tugging on undershirts with a jingle of dogtags. "I don't want to think of you stayin' in refugee housing, you promise me you'll put your pride aside an' talk to her if you need a place, baby?" Yes, Micah just told /Eve/ to put her pride aside. What is this world coming to?

Eve doesn't seem to mind second hand baking soda, likely she packed her own toothbrush already. While she starts scrubbing at her teeth, she watches him finished getting dressed. "Its not my pride I'm worried about." She mumbles around the plastic handle. "Frankly I'd rather not give Major Zaharis any more reason to suggest I'm spoiled and merely pout or whine until I get my way. General berthings will be fine. When the baby comes, the military will afford me something more private, I'm sure." But her tone sounds…dead…in regards to it all. Fotilas called it clinical detachment, which isn't far from the truth.

Micah's expression furrows, hardens a touch when Zaharis and his opinions are mentioned. He wisely keeps any counter-opinions on the man, to himself however. "You goin' to see about workin' at the clinic there? I know.." He rolls back up into a seated position and reaches for his duty jacket. "..I know you want to keep busy, much as you can. Ah'm fair sure there'll be a need for counsellors over there, with everything.." His jaw tightens, and he doesn't quite finish that sentence.

Eve nods somberly, finally pulling the toothbrush out of her mouth and reaching for his discarded towel. She merely swallows the baking soda spit, wiping her mouth and the toothbrush clean on the white cloth. "I'll continue what I was trained to do, for as long as I am so forth ordered. There was a room built for counseling into the clinic, as well as the conference room at the Pyre I can hold larger scale support groups. And you can still visit when you get back." Still working under the assumption the Genesis is jumping away. A sigh, a forced smile. "C'mon. You have a surprise for me."

Micah swallowed his 'toothpaste' a while ago. Then again, Micah'll eat just about anything, so what's a bit of baking soda spit? He finishes buttoning his jacket, pats down his hair absently, and then tugs his curtain open and clambers out. "Aye, I do. Let's go." He offers a hand, to help her to her feet.

Eve shimmies out, which is a bit more difficult with a growing belly. The hand is taken and appreciated as she gets to her feet, her other hand on her back as if that weight already plagues her, even if its just a little bump. Reaching back, she snags her Dress Blue shirt, but just keeps it hooked on a finger. "To engineering then."

Micah clasps her hand, weaving his fingers together with hers. There's a quick peck for her cheek, a hoot or two from the other pilots, and they're out the hatch.

Main Engineering Genesis - Deck 8
96 ACH 23797 Souls

Main Engineering is staffed by the Chief Engineer and his or her crew. There are enough monitors, flashing lights, back-up generators, consoles and various other areas to man the battlestar and keep it in top form at all times. Storage areas, locked areas, pipes, machinery and tools are all around the area. The desk of the ChEng sits in an area where it is the quietest so work can be done.

< Condition Three —- Duty Area >

Contents: Eve Micah Magic 8 Ball Marker_Four Whiteboard Wireless
Exits: [O] Corridor [FTL] FTL Drive
Special: +detail - Details available

Why Micah wanted to bring Eve to engineering.. doesn't make itself immediately clear. It's bustling in here, as it likely always is, and the pair of Lieutenants are outright refused access to certain areas— but he seems to have a very specific destination in mind. Or at least, a specific person. A tall woman, one of the snipes most likely, who's been perched on a table waiting for them, presumably. She's got a black case beside her, and shifts a cautious look around while she and the pilot converse. "This your piece of ass, St. Germain?" she asks, more audibly. Eve receives a long look from head to toes, and a grin. "Not baaaaad."

Eve flushes just as much at being called a piece of ass, as having that ass appraised as 'not bad'. She's actually a step behind Micah, almost tucked up against his back with all the hustle and bustle going on in here. She's out of place, and she knows it. "I suppose that would be me, yes." She offers with a smile and a crispness to her Caprican accent.

"Aww, she's shy, too." This only makes the snipe grin more broadly, earning her a sound swat across the back of the head from Micah. Poor Eve. At least it doesn't seem mean-spirited. "Let's just do this, save the smart talkin' for afterward," grumbles the viper jock. And maybe, just maybe, he pulls the psyche a little closer out of possessiveness. Laughing, the snipe fetches her case and directs them into a little back room that probably functions as a place to take a smoke break, by the smell of it. "Make yourselves comfortable," she offers with a sweep of her hand.

Eve keeps reminding herself that they're here for a 'surprise' and hopefully that doesn't include chopping her up into little bits and feeding her out of the airlock. Eve looks…nervous, yes. She follows along regardless, looking at the little area that they are directed to. She moves to sit on one of the folding chairs, breaking away from Micah if only to prove she may be shy, but she's brave. Ha! Take that, little snipe.

Well, considering that the snipe isn't harbouring any machetes in that case of hers, by the looks of it.. though there is a big ass needle and what looks like vials of ink. She starts setting the equipment out, including a washcloth and sterilising solution. Micah settles down in the chair next to Eve, leaning in to murmur softly to her. "I figured, since I never could give you an engagement ring.. and there isn't time to arrange a proper.. ceremony right now.. well, I figured ah'd give you /somethin'/. You goin' to be okay with this?" So it's not the most romantic way to get almost-sorta-hitched, but since when does Micah go by the books?

Eve glances between Micah and the snipe, her brain apparently processing this a little slowly. Needle, ink..the fact the snipe is pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "You're going to get a tattoo?" She asks, though is quite clearly still terribly confused about this whole thing. There's only so much 'socially aware' that Eve can be, and this clearly falls out of her realm.

"We," Micah corrects, reaching over to squeeze her knee, "are goin' to get tattoos." He has a bit of a puppy dog hopeful look on his face at the moment, while the snipe gets everything ready. Wonderful time to find out whether she has any aversions to needles. Leaning away from her briefly, he digs around in his trousers' pocket and untucks a bit of folded paper. It's opened up and slid across the table for her to see: looks like a hand tattoo done in dark ink, whose focal point is that ring finger for which he lacks.. a ring.

Well. The problem doesn't lie in the needle, rather the blood. At the suggestion, Eve pales a bit, but the the unfolded paper gives her renewed resolve. She reaches out to finger the design with the pad of her index finger, almost like a lovers caress by how softly it falls and how slowly it moves. "Its…perfect." Much like the little picnic in the storage closet, Micah's thoughtfulness and surprisingly romantic notions, never fail to floor her.

Micah holds one end of the paper open while she peruses the design, seemingly fixed for a long moment on just watching her finger move over it. "It's.. well, hopefully it's good enough for you," he mumbles quietly. "Fiiiirst batter up," the snipe announces, with a quick glance for the door. The faster they get this done, the less chance her boss'll walk in on them. "You want to go first, baby, or me?" murmurs the pilot near Eve's ear.

Ack. Decisions, decisions. She seems to contemplate that, which is almost a panic attack with in itself. "Um. Me first. That way if I pass out, I have time to recover while you're getting yours done." Eve laughs, though its a nervous sounding twitter. "I..I don't know how this goes, so you both just tell me..and..and I'll play along, yes?"

Micah, of course, has had this done a few times if his back and shoulders are any indication. "Jus' relax. It won't take long, keep talkin' to me." He smiles crookedly and keeps one hand on her knee, while the snipe spreads the fingers of her left hand, and starts cleaning and working. "You won't pass out, jus' stay focused on me. Aye?"

Evelyn lets her hand be moved as bidden, relaxing and letting the snipe position it how she sees fit. Her eyes go to Micah, her smile split by teeth which press into her bottom lip. She merely nods to signify she's ready, and before needle is even pressed to skin, her eyes are tearing up. Might just have something to do with the fact that she's starring at the man she loves, and is getting a permanent testiment to that inked onto her finger.

And that man stares right on back, barely blinking as he holds her dark eyes. This is one of those moments he's probably going to have indelibly marked in his memories: sitting in this cramped little room with the woman he's wanted from the first /second/ he laid eyes on her, watching as she submits herself to something he knows can't be pleasant for her. For /him/. Thankfully the snipe is busy with her inking, so she won't lose her lunch at watching him go doe-eyed over Eve. "You doin' okay, baby?" he murmurs, tucking a few strands of dark hair from her eyes.

Eve still manages a smile, despite the fact that's quite an unpleasant place to get tattooed. They crinkles around her eyes betray her pain, even as she gives a little squeaked, "Uh-huh." In answer. As he shifts aside a few strands a hair, a little droplet of a tear plunges down her cheek. Ow. In love, there is definitely sacrifice. And Eve is /so/ not looking as the artist works and simultaneously wipes away blood as it wells to the surface.

Yeah, Eve should definitely have picked someone easier to be in love with. Someone who's not liable to go and get himself fireballed or splattered messily in a cockpit. Someone who won't make her face one of her biggest hangups, because there isn't enough precious metal to get her a proper ring made. Yeah, there's blood, but he's not letting her see it. If she tries to turn away, he'll gently turn her face back to him. "You know the scariest thing I ever had to do?" he murmurs, keeping up with the talking as a distraction.

Good thing you can't pick who you love. Eve is no exception, and if she had, she'd likely have been bored by now. At least he keeps her on her toes. "You mean beyond taking the plunge?" Likely she means marrying her, because that damn well better be what this means, because its permanent. This isn't henna. Even now, though, she tries to make light of it all.

"Besides that," he laughs, and steals a quick look to see how her hand's coming. The finger's nearly done now, and once the swelling goes down it'll probably be quite pretty; not merely a ring, it's her whole /finger/ that's being decorated in ink. "I had this bitch of a CAG once, who wanted to teach me a lesson. Rammed my bird, made me punch out in high atmo. I thought I was goin' to frakking die."

Eve makes a sudden wince, either at his story or because the design is being continued higher on her to the first knuckle of her slender finger, just beneath the nail. Probably both. "That's not a lesson, that's attempted homicide." Her voice is still that squeaking, 'gods I'm in pain' tone, but she's trying to focus on his story which seems to be helping. "What did you do?"

Micah squeezes her knee again firmly, as if in an attempt to counter the pain in her finger. He doesn't dare actually put an arm around the woman, as that might just throw off the work that's being done. "Well, she hated my frakking guts," is his grinning reply. Like, that's pretty much a given where Micah's concerned. "Point is.. well, I forget what the point was. But I didn't die. Ah'm not goin' to die, Evie. I want you to know that. You don't get rid of me so easy, yeah?"

Eve gives another laugh, the pain evident even in that, but she's holding in here, if only with his help. Her free hand clamps like a vice over the one on her knee. "Damn straight." She confirms. "Because I'm going to have a hell of a time explaining /this/ to your replacement." At 'this' she almost looks aside to her bloodied and now black inked finger, but doesn't, because he's there to remind her of where to focus.

"If it helps, you can tell 'im you got it on a drunken dare," replies the pilot, crooked grin still in place while the snipe finishes up. And then, "All done, babycakes. It's your boyfriend's turn. You'll want to keep that extra clean for a week or so, 'kay?" Any excess ink or blood is wiped away and the hand blotted with disinfectant.

There's a sigh tinged with laughter as Evelyn pulls her hand back, taking a moment to admire the snipe's handiwork, but the skin is still raised and angry so the full effect won't be visible until that, and the scabbing, goes away. "Its beautiful." She assures, before turning to Micah and stealing a kiss. With this tattoo, I thee wed…

It's not really stealing, if it's given up willingly though, is it? Micah touches knuckles to the psyche's cheek for a moment, returning the affection briefly. "Actually, it's puffy an' funny lookin'. But it's goin' to be beautiful." He shuffles his chair closer and offers the snipe his left hand. His writing hand. But he can't use the right, because that's his stick hand.

Eve wants to watch him get his tattoo, she really does, and even starts to, in fact. She at least makes it through the whole cleaning stages, and the first few lines of the design that will match hers in the end. Well. Until the first hints of blood start to rise, and then she's looking back to Micah with wide eyes. "It really frakking hurts." She mutters, suddenly wondering how anyone could do this on a normal basis, cradling her finger in a towel to her lap.

It's not that he doesn't feel the pain. And it's not that he enjoys it, either. Maybe he just knows how to file it away and let it /be/, a little better than she does. Then again, it takes a certain messed up type of person to do what he does for a living. "Aye," he murmurs between gritted teeth, focusing on her face and then focusing on some equipment shoved over against the wall. "It really does. Tell me a dumb story." Since he told her about the punching out, after all.
Micah pages: Nah, he shouldn't. :P
Micah pages: It's not like he knew. ;)

Oh, she has a story to tell alright, and she meant to do it before they were married, but its filed so far back in her mind right now, she can't even remember what it was about. Eve just nods her head a couple of times, trying to recount some amusing exploit or another to redirect his attention. "Um. Let's see. Well, I've never really been an independent type. I mean, I can take care of myself, but there are just certain things I'm not apt to do. But somehow I got it in my head then when I bought my little cabin on the lake, that I could refurbish it myself. So there I was, teetering on this damnable wooden ladder, trying to rewire my porch light and hang a fan. And this raccoon came along…"

Micah sinks his teeth into his lower lip while he listens. He won't admit to it of course, but he needs a distraction as much as she did, while getting his hand poked and gouged at. "And..?" he replies expectantly, when she leaves him.. well, hanging!

Eve smiles a bit, "And so he starts weaving in and out of the legs of the ladder, looking like I'm a tasty treat up there. Well. I've never really seen a live racoon before, and I didn't know the previous owner used to feed it. So I start /screaming/ at the top of my lungs, which only makes it give this little shreiking sound. And the whole ladder starts to /shake/ as if its going to collapse under me so I'm wildly flailing trying to keep balanced, not drop this expensive new fan I bought and /some/how I end up electrocuting myself and sending me tits over teabags into the bushes." Tits over teabags is not a term she'd normally use, but hey, the story warranted it.

Maybe he shouldn't have asked for a dumb story. That was a little /too/ successful, as he's snickering by the time she's half-finished, and outright cackling when she gets to the part about 'tits over teabags'. "Sit frakking still," grumbles the snipe, and gives his hand a yank along with sending the kid a warning look. "Okay.. okay. If we ever find a planet to colonise.. an' we build a little cabin, an' we need to put in a fan, baby? You let /me/ handle it, an' stick with the naked an' feedin' me grapes at half time, aye?" Hopefully she won't swat him for that.

Eve gives a snicker of her own, not swatting him, but flicking him on the tip of his nose with her fingers. "I got the fan up later, thank you very much. After both the raccoon and I had a good laugh and I was done picking leaves out of my teeth." The thought of colonizing another planet though, has her looking a bit wistful. Them, in their own place that's not surrounded by metal and twenty other people.

There's an almost comical pause, and then, "So you mean ah'm not goin' to get grapes fed to me by my naked and nubile wife, after toilin' the fields for her all day?" He manages to look dead serious, too. Though that sounds more like life on Aerelon, than some fantasy cabin on a fantasy new world. He grits his teeth a little as the snipe continues to work, putting the finishing touches on his 'ring'. "We need to find, uh, someone who can make this official," he mumbles. Since if Micah has his way, they aren't going anywhere near a chaplain for that.

Eve reaches behind her for her blues jacket, tugging something out of the pocket. Its a form, of course. "All…all it needs is your signature, and then either the XO's or the CO's and a few witnesses." This? Them getting their love tattooed forever on their ring fingers? Is plenty of ceremony for her. "We'll have to see if we can sneak in, they are…a little busy at the moment, I'm sure."

Maybe he just figured they could get a bit of ink, have a few laughs, and part ways without the license. Maybe he didn't count on Eve's foresight. But the poor boy's pulse visibly jumps when he sees that bit of paper. You're a little bit past the point of no return now, St. Germain. "Right," he manages to get out. "You, uh, think we'll have time before.." Before she has to go. He can't even bring himself to say it.

She wasn't kidding to Greje about just having to walk around with the form in her pocket, it seems. Eve knows he'll leap before he looks, but if he looks too long, he might just change his mind. "I hope so?" But she looks like she might just fold it back up and tuck it away if he'd ask her too.

As if reading that unspoken possibility, Micah reaches out to place his free hand atop hers for a brief squeeze, and then shifts to pluck the form from her fingers. Really, he should've signed /before/ getting his hand done. Hindsight being twenty twenty and all that. But she's right, if he doesn't do this now, he may chicken out entirely. So a pen's pulled out of his duty jacket and brandished in his right hand.. and he sketches a somewhat shaky signature. Maybe they'll just think he was drunk when he agreed to this.

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