Worth Four Psychologists
Worth Four Psychologists
Summary: Kalypso takes booze to Gold Squadron and has a heart-to-heart with Orion.
Date: 57 ACH
Related Logs: Small Blessings

Battlestar Genesis, Deck 12, Gold Squadron Berthings, 57 ACH

Gold Squadron is the viper squadron 'Fighting 58th' 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 Raptor squadron.

Orion is half on, half off his bunk. The half on would be his lower half… his legs, really. The half off is on the floor, and the man is doing the mother of all situps, arms folded over his chest. Up. Down. Up. Down. It's difficult to say which is more difficult for him: The up, or the down. He's grunting, regardless, straining to finish the set. He's in fatigues and, oddly enough, is wet, like he showered -first-.

Kalypso enters through the hatch, a small bottle filled with amber liquid in tow. She pauses at the entrance when she sees Orion doing those super sit-ups. "Nice form, Scala." The woman clears her throat and moves the rest of the way into the Gold Squadron berthings. The bottle in her hand is set on a table and she stands next to said table, watching. "Look, I'm no good at this kind of thing, but if I came off the wrong way when we met… what I mean to say is… eh… you boys enjoy this. I brought it over with me from the Hera."

Micah pads into the berthings, barefoot and be-toweled, from the direction of the showers. His hair's wet and plastered to his head, and he's in the process of tugging his dogtags back on, as he makes for the lockers. Even a casual glance would find that he's got a fair bit of ink: all of it dark, in contrast to his swarthy features. Left bicep, shoulderblades, the back of his neck. "Scala," he greets with a mutter as he opens the locker. Kalypso is watched for a moment, but not addressed yet.

Up… uuuuup… uuuuuuup… That's close enough. Now doown…. Down being the harder part than up when you're trying to do it right, of course. "My daddy taught me to do it right, then basic taught me how to do it fast." He's absolutely not going fast, "You know? Frak basic." Bizarre perspective. He gives Micah a nod when he walks in, "Germaine." and peers up at Kalypso with his head upside down, "Oh, uh… yeah." A bottle. Lovely. Just what the man wanted to see. "Sure we'll just scarf that down faster than a flash flood."

Hey, it's not like Kalypso is in on the irony of bringing Orion a bottle of booze. Sure, she knows what his callsign is, but not the how of earning it. She nudges the bottle to the middle of the table and shrugs. "Yeah, well, it's good stuff so enjoy it," so says the Raptor pilot. "I've always been a quality girl over quantity," Kalypso says in response to Orion's 'frak basic' philosophy. She gives Micah a surt nod, "St. Germaine."

Micah finishes fishing his offduties out of his locker, and bangs it shut. Enroute to his bunk, he gives Orion a swat across the back of his head as he's coming up for a crunch. "That's St. Germain, you little frakhead." And then he's off, back turned to the pair, to get dressed. "Hope you don't mind it sittin' there for a while," is asided to Kalypso as he tugs on underpants and trousers, "Scala only drinks on condition two." Hey, someone had to say it and it may as well be Micah.

Orion stops right when Micah slaps the back of his head, "Micah… you know I figure a man ain't meant to fight naked unless he's in prison." This is in reference to the fact that Micah is in a state of undress at this point, "But I swear, you do that to me again and Ill knock you into next week and kick your ass on Tuesday." He sounds serious… as serious as a man can be while hanging upsidedown from his bunk.

Kalypso's lips quirk upward and she rests her arms on the back of a chair, bending forward over it slightly. "Only on condition two, huh?" the woman asks. While Micah is getting dressed, she keeps her eyes on Orion. "I'm guessing there's a story there that I'm missing."

"Shouldn't write checks with your mouth, that your scrawny little ass can't cash," Micah tosses back, tugging on a sleeveless t-shirt followed by tank top. He rumples the towel quickly through his hair, then starts for the hatch. Orion's certainly the taller of the two, but Micah's packing a bit more in the lean muscle department.

Orion's eyes glare as if he's about to do something rash, but he lets it slide, "I'd as soon whup ya as step on ya." The sound of his voice and the look on his face imply that he's standing down, but with effort. He instead turns towards Kalypso, "Yeah. Yeah there is. May as well hear the whole dog-gone thing. Stories travel faster in here than germs in a petri dish." His mood is sour.

The blonde woman smiles, "I'd rather hear it straight from the source, anyway." Kalypso pulls that chair she was leaning on out and spins it on one leg. With a tip of her head to Orion and a glance back at the now closed hatch, she stradles the chair backwards. "I'm all ears."

Orion grimaces, studying your face in vague irritation. A lot of it is steam from the fight that almost broke out a few moments ago, quite likely, "Glad you're pre-amused." For a moment he looks as though he'd like to wipe the smile off of your face with his fists, but he lets it slide, "Not much to say. The CAP around the second fleet frakked me up. Had a flast of whiskey on me, didn't know how to cope, drank it all right there. Got brigged for it. Now you know."

"Hey, don't turn the anger-beams on me just because St. Germaine is an asshole," Kalypso says, "I wasn't pre-amused really, just glad for something to distract me." She stands up again and turns the chair back around, shoving it under the table. "None of us is perfect, Scala… and I'd hardly blame you for taking a drink. Drank a bottle myself that night, but I wasn't on duty. Wasn't even here on this ship yet." She shakes her head, "We all cope how we cope. I'm out of here. Enjoy the booze, or give it to someone else. I don't care." She turns for the hatch, bottom lip now firmly caught between her teeth.

"You always bail so fast, Leto?" He gives you a look of irritation at your retreat. "Ain't taking it out on you. Got enough problems right now." He goes back to situps, "But it wasn't some dog…" And then he lays back down again, grunting, "And pony show, neither. Cag told me she'd tear my wings off if I disgraced the uniform like that again. Condition two… yeah. Real frakkin great, Orion. We're waiting for Cylon raiders and you're drunk off your ass." A mild chuckle before he lays down again, upsidedown, "Damn."

Kalypso stops at the doorway and turns to look back at Orion. "We all got problems, Scala… and it's just self preservation. I figure we've had enough heart-to-heart for one day." Not that she's done a whole lot of sharing. There's a twinge of something on her face as she watches you go back to your sit-ups. Regret? Sadness? Hard to tell what that expression is before she wipes her expression clear again. "If you learned something from it, no real harm done."

"I do declare that you are worth at least four psychologists, Kalypso." He sounds a bit irritated at that, as well. Micah has soiled his mood. "I know I sure feel glad we had this long talk and shared our innermost feelings." Har har har. He does another situp, then, slacks again, "Nice job with Tempo, by the by. Ain't easy when you're rusted up and don't know your head from your ass." If that was a compliment or not, his tone likely doesn't say.

"Thanks," Kalypso says, "I think." And then the woman is stepping out of the Gold Squadron's quarters.

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