Advice for the Captain
Advice for the Captain
Summary: Praxis asks Panda what the problem is. Praxis gets a rank-inappropriate nickname.
Date: PHD216
Related Logs: None

[ Mess Hall - Deck 2 ]--------[ CEC Kharon ]—

Pike is seated by her lonesome, nibbling on a protein bar, a largely untouched cup of water on the table next to her. It doesn't look like the CMO's gotten a whole lot of sleep. Understandable, given the previous evening's events.

Looking fresher, if only slightly less serious, Marissa steps into line for chow, freshly showered and in fresh sweats after her personal morning PT (what does she have against the off-duty undress uniform anyway?). Scanning the morning folks' faces, she catches sight of Pike fairly quickly, frowning softly at the exhausted look on the woman's face.
Well, she does have her duty to a fellow Pod Person. Getting her food, she grabs a cup of mess hall fruit-flavored drink (which grows less fruit-flavored by the week now) and moves to join the Doctor, making it a quiet trip. It looks like the woman could use a pleasant surprise.

Praxis stalks into the mess hall, his features placid but his intentions clear: obtain food. He makes a beeline straight for the breakfast table, being sure to obtain a tray. He pays attention to nothing else until he acquires the necessary sustenance to get him through his day. With a plain bowl of sticky oatmeal soon within his possession he succeeds that particular objective, as well as a styrofoam cup of coffee. He stalks along the tables, peering at each of them with scrutiny, as if it was an acceptance / rejection routine. Then the CMO is locked onto and considered for a brief moment before the XO treads the distance towards Major Pike and stands at the tableside. He's about to inquire if she would mind his company, but Marissa beats him to it; at least beats him to the seat. He's kind of disturbed by something, his eyes narrowing, forcing a smile on his features while he treads the distance to an empty table, settling into it and jamming a spoon into the breakfast substance.

The events of the past half day have kept Panda from changing clothes, showering, or eating anything significant for a long time. Two shifts, plus another since his last meal. Is it any wonder his vest, web gear, and helmet are just bundled up together and slung over the shoulder of wrinkled marblacks while he one-hands a tray through the serving line? The Marine looks a proper cranky cop.

The crankiness factor doesn't stop a rather less irritated-looking Kissybear from shuffling into line after his backseater's brother. He doesn't bother with a tray; his translucent yellow water bottle is hanging from a clip on his belt, still half-full with some reddish liquid, so he just takes up a bowl and fills it with oatmeal. "Pandorian!" he calls, chipper enough, hustling to catch up. "What up, guy? Been a while."

Pike glances upwards at Marissa, her expression lightening just a bit. She yawns and is about to say something when Praxis comes by. A curious blink is delivered his direction before his quick departure, but she opts to verbally wonder what's up another time. To her new dining companion: "You look to be in fine spirits this morning."

Giving Praxis an apologetic look as she notices him for the first time, Mimi sets her tray down next to Doc Pike, then leans down to hug her friend 'round the shoulders, praying nobody notices what a prank target she's making of herself while she's saying good morning. "I'm okay. I'm a little worried about you, though," she replies softly. "You look past tired and well on the way to ditched, Doc."

Silently mouthing 'the next motherfrakker who…' as he turns, Panda's expression goes from scowl to mere frown. "'Tenant Matto," he grunts by way of acknowledgement, waiting for the flier to catch up. "Just doin' PT. You know," the Marine shrugs. "Good for you, good for m… e…" Something interrupts the final pronoun, the same thing that droops his body most notably int he face and shoulders.

Praxis is surprised by the consistency of the oats, nearly struggling to get a spoonful. He eyes that spoon for a while considering what sort of ingredients it's composed of before shoving it into his maw, chewing it, and eventually choking it down. Fifty or so more to go. His lungs draw in the air around him exasperatedly, the spoon being placed down onto the tray. Glancing down to his uniform, he realizes that his wings are not straight, so he adjusts them so they are completely parallel with the ground. His glasses are then pushed further up his nose. Though while he goes through these seemingly mundane activities, his eyes and ears are much more active, much more observant. The voices of the vicinity can reveal much even without interaction.

"Just Kissy, dude, I don't have my wings on," Kisseus reminds Pandorian with a warm kind of smile as he catches up and treads along easily after the Panda through the line, evidently having settled on oatmeal-and-only-oatmeal by way of breakfast. His own smile fails a little as Pandorian droops, and his eyes skirt around the room briefly as if looking for a cause before his attention focuses once more on the Marine, eyes narrowing a little, lower lip disappearing into his mouth. Did the Marine just have a stroke, or—? "You alright, there? You should go get someone in the s'bay to write you off a leave-note for your next PT. You look awfully worn, Pandorian."

Pike gives Marissa's forearm a gentle squeeze as she's hugged. "Just pulled a late night. Private Ozymandias' post-mortem. Still waiting on the tox results." She's paused by a sip of water. "Damn shame."

"Relieved some FNG's who were seeing ghosts last night," Panda grunts over his shoulder. "I got a couple more years' experience knowin' what I seen and what I just think I seen than some skeeter-wing just outter school." An accent is coming through with fatigue, colouring his pronunciation and lending a throatiness to his aspirated syllables. "And while I got my blacks on," the Marine says in that and-another-thing tone, "I prefer to go with formal names." Suddenly he raises his voice, looking around the mess hall. "People seem t'think they can do what the frak they want these days."

"Private Ozymandias? She's dead?" Mimi freezes in place, her arms stiffening. "I had no idea. I'd heard she was in the brig, but that was the last thing I'd heard." She lifts her head, loosening her hug to rest her hands on Pike's shoulders. "I'd never met her, but I'd heard she was the cheerful kind. That's rare anymore."

All right, now Panda's got the XO's attention. He folds his arms over his chest and leans back in the seat, overtly observing the marine from afar as he appears to have had something to say to everyone. The Captain doesn't care enough to say anything back yet, but the interest is there for seeing further progression if it comes to pass.

"Seeing ghosts, eh?" Kissy replies, Pandorian's accent bringing out the Leontinian flavor of his own voice. "But Kadukeion was almost a month ago," he points out, almost chuckling, though then his voice grows more tender, "I'm sure it was very sweet of you to take over. But you do need to tend to yourself at some point, yah?" he goes on, eyeing some of the less safe breakfast options with a skeptical eye before the raise in Pandorian's voice makes him lift his head again, and he looks around once more as if he were pretty sure that were aimed at someone in particular. "I, uh—" he begins, "Well, fair enough." A little nervousness in his voice, now. Is Pandorian mad at him?

Pike nods. "Very true. Not entirely sure who or what killed her. But it's something I intend to nail down." She places a hand over one of Marissa's and looks up at her. "You doing okay?"

Panda glares at a couple of people who look more guilty than surprised at his outburst; there are enough that he doesn't give the miscreants serving the food his usual greetings (or any at all). As the two men walk toward the tables on the officer/enlisted boundary he grunts over his shoulder, "I'll be fine. Just need to pound someone's brains out in the ring or pound a cute li—Captain!" the Marine practically spits, stopping suddenly when his gaze comes back front to find himself passing right in front of Praxis' table. "… Good morning, Sir?" he manages, his throat suddenly dry.

Mimi nods, though the answer seems a little hesitant. "I'm tired, but I'm doing okay. Still in training." We're all fine, thank… you… "How are you?"
The sudden shout from near the chowline brings her head up, and she straightens, looking that way. "Panda? What in…" Uh-oh. By the tone of that outburst, someone's likely in trouble, RFN.

Praxis raises his brows and places a smile on his features. "Why, good morning! Say, I recognize you…you're the Ajtai brother, are you not? Please, have a seat at my table. I -insist-." The Captain gestures to an empty seat. It sounds as if it would be rather unwise to resist. "Lieutenant, care to join us as well? I, and I'm certain the Corporal would appreciate the company." The XO is unmoving from his spot, a brow slightly raised as he waits for both of them men to take their seat. Yeah, Demitros has listened and heard everything.

Matto is at the very least reasonably certain Pandorian isn't referring to him, despite the fact that he's done his best to get his sister transferred to the kitchens since the last time they talked. And so, after a brief glancing-over of the guilty and not-so-guilty faces in the crowd, he brightens up with a beaming grin for the Captain. "Sure thing, thanks, Cap'n," he settles in, sliding the bowl of oatmeal ontot he table and unclipping his water bottle from his fatigues belt, setting it down beside. "And I call not-it on the whole pounding thing. I rather like my brains where they are, for one, and, for the other, I'm saving myself for Mr. Right," he lets Panda know, voice returning to his usual jocular tones as he settles in.

Pike looks as Matto and Panda are 'invited' to join the XO and manages a smile. "Do believe the XO has things well in hand." Her attention back on Marissa: "And how's training been going? Don't think you've mentioned your progress to me thus far?"

Mimi shoots Panda a sad, sympathetic look, the only thing she can do without becoming part of whatever is going on over there. And that's the last thing she wants. She has enough brass trouble as it is without inviting more. "Hope it's the /counseling/ hand and not the /crushing/ hand," she mutters, shaking her head and finally taking her seat next to Pike. "I'm still having trouble on final approach. That shift from null-gee to full standard gee is a killer. And there's such an insistence on classwork, most of which bores me to tears because I was certified in most of that stuff back on Aquaria. Other than that, it's a cakewalk. But enough about me. How've you been lately? I've missed you, Doc."

"Yea-uh, yessir, Lance Corp'ral Pandorian Ajtai." The frustrated, irritable look keeps his face composed in a stereotypical Marine expression even when the Captain invites him for breakfast. "Very good, Sir." His kit is set on the ground next to the offered seat, which he takes while the gear is settling with slithers and clunks. His eyebrows knit into a brief glare at Matto, which he tries to hide by bowing his head in prayers for a moment. As opposed to the gruff declaration in line, Panda is decidedly silent sitting next to Praxis.

"Lance Corporal. A pleasure to finally meet the man," Praxis says. It should be noted that there is no rage on his features, but anyone who's ever heard of the XO and his exploits know that just isn't his style. An amused air lingers about him as the pair of men descend to have a seat, a smile and approving nod in Lieutenant Matto's direction. Demitros lets the tension remain there for a few moments while he curls his fingers around the styrofoam cup and sips from it, subsequently placing the container back on the tray before he swivels his head sideways. "It's a fact that I could really care less how you release your frustrations - in fact, I have a Countermeasures officer who would be ready and waiting for you with the gloves down in the gym. I'm certain she'd give you a run for you money. I dare not venture into who you plan to boink but I digress." That's out of the way. Praxis' tones are smooth and clear. "Regardless of what your further intentions are, I as well as others here have unavoidably observed the sudden exhibition of frustrated emotions. I'm certain you can guess as to my feelings of disrupting the peace and I hope you act accordingly in the future." Praxis keeps his jade eyes trained on the Lance Corporal to ensure he's getting all of this. Yet, he's not done. "I'm certain though that the Lieutenant will agree when I say that officers are here to help. I give you the opportunity to speak to open ears and voice your concerns, Mr. Ajtai - being proactive rather than potentially aggravating the situation, no? I am here to listen, an individual who can take required action. Which is what I would rather you do in the first place, hmm?"

Pike shakes her head. "Sorry I've been scarce. Hopefully with the influx of new personnel in my department, I'll actually get more than a nightly two hours of rack time." She smiles as she overhears bits and pieces of Praxis' words to Panda, but reverts her attention back to Marissa. "They're just making sure you still know all the stuff you were schooled in, Marissa. Wouldn't do them well to put someone in the black who doesn't know all the ins and outs."

Matto casts a sly grin askeane at Pandorian in return for the glare, taking it, rightly or wrongly, to be playful in the same way hat he offered the comment. He's munching on oatmeal, then, picking out a spoonful of somewhat more genial cnsistancy than the rest and chewing at it slowly as he looks across the table toward the Captain. Did the Captain really just say 'boink'? Fortunately the somber tone of the rest of the oration keeps down the welling urge to giggle. 'Boink.'

"If they'd let me fly an op, they'd know I still know the atmo stuff. I'm getting high marks on vacuum," Mimi replies, though she knows they're just being cautious with nigh-irreplaceable air assets. "It's just the landings that I have trouble with, and I'm getting better at it."
She glances back at the Captain-Corporal Conference, frowning in concern, but her attention slips back to Pike. "I hope that amount triples at least, Doc. Aside from the fact that there's nothing like a well-rested Doc to keep body and soul together, you're always more cheerful when you've had enough sleep."

Ears down, head lowered, Panda tugs out the spoon that had made its way into his mouth but not before clearing the oats from it. The young man dabs needlessly at his mouth with a handkerchief, then turns his head to face the Captain with the same blank stare he might give in parade. When Praxis pauses long enough that it's clearly the Marine's turn to speak he waits still another beat before taking a quick breath. "Apologies for screwin' up your breakfast, Sir." His hand raises in a 'hold on a sec' motion, though it slaps down on the table the moment Panda realizes he's making the gesture. "Since I already done it though I ain't wasting more of your time turnin' down the offer and pretending everything's fine." There's the smallest of shakes that ripples through his body; only someone watching as intently as the Captain is likely to be doing would notice. "But a half-educated Marine's opinion ain't pretty, Sir. You're asking me to speak in frank terms, yes?" His face is stony, save his eyes which have gone from narrow to hopefully wide.

"I don't care what kind of terms you speak it in," the Captain decides with a nod, Praxis noticing the subtlest of shakes that causes his eyes to narrow and a glance to Kisseus to see if he saw the same thing. The breakfast is completely forgotten about. "I don't really ever want you to pretend everything is fine, either. That causes problems. With that all said, you've got my ears." There's a new degree of observance on the Lance Corporal now to see if there are any other signs of something amiss.

Matto's brows rise in tandem at the glance to him. He's got a mouthful of oatmeal again and isn't adding a damned thing to the breakfast conversation as yet, giving the Captain a baffled sort of look as he's glanced to, then looking aside to Pandorian, then back to the Captain. Nope, must have missed it. He's listening, though, at least.

Pike grins to Marissa. "S'kind of you to say." She yawns and takes another bite of her protein bar. "Oh, did I mention that I'm apparently being match-made for?"

"Ain't shit fine, and that's before the frakkin' junkyards came t'life and nuked errybody who anybody loved into space dust." Pandorian's gaze lowers after the first few words, voice kept to a low growl. As he continues on, the fingers of his left hand start to twitch on the edge of his bowl. "Was fine back then, had a million billion damn people to spread the frakking up over. But now?" Matto's got a good angle on that hand: it's not a nervous twitch of the fingers, nor a guitarist's nervous habit, but something more erratic. "We ain't even got a percent of that, and people's actin' all…" He finally lifts his gaze to the Captain. The expression isn't the one of anger that might be expected, but more akin to that of someone deeply hurt. "Like this is somethin' somebody - anybody - could've planned for. So we go into the old rulebooks on plans, and, alright, martial law, we just implement that, follow the magic plan and shit's gonna be back to normal some day." His lips curl into a brief smirk. "I've guarded an inventory of those plans. You'n I both know that kinda magic just ain't in there."

"It's the /truth/, Doc! Sure, it'd make very nice flattery, but it's still the truth," Mimi reminds Arielle with a smile. "Besides, you're a lot more fun to visit when you're not preoccupied, at the risk of labeling myself as totally selfish."
But at that announcement, her eyes widen a tad and her jaw falls. "Matchmade for..? Wow. Who's the lucky match?"
And just then her standard-issue timepiece buzzes. "Darnit… sorry, Doc. I've got to get to training. Today it's supplemental stuff on spacewalking and spacesuits in general." Mimi gives the good Doctor another quick hug and gathers up her tray. "Take care. I'll try and visit soon!" She hurries off, almost running into Kitty in her haste.

Praxis folds his arms over his chest again if only to get comfortable and listen. Despite the placid exterior, looking at the eyes it could be ascertained that this is a man that exhibits a deal of care. "It bothers you that others are seeming content in a situation where content shouldn't exist anymore?" Demitros inquires, eyes wandering to the twitching on the edge of his bowl. Again Matto gets a glance, and while Demitros continues to listen to Panda, a gaze swivels over to Pike's table, eyes centering on the CMO as Marissa leaves. As soon as (or if) he gets eye contact with Pike, Praxis raises his hand and wiggles it from side to side as if to indicate something is potentially wrong, and he jerks his head towards Panda before nonchalantly returning to active listening. "What bothers you more? The fact that everyone is hiding their concerns or the idea that they might be still trying to live a normal life? I think I speak for everyone when I say everyone is worried." One of his arms comes to rest on the edge of the table. "Our rules and our structure is arguably what many of us are hanging onto. It brings order to chaos, while we try to figure out just exactly how we're going to continue onwards and what our next moves are."
Praxis then looks to Matto, wondering if he wants to weigh in at all.

Matto's eyes are fixed on Pandorian's hand when the Captain tries to make eye contact with him, lips drawn slightly to one side in a quizzical, partially concerned expression. He seems content to stay out of the conversation, himself, though when his eyes do rise to the Captain and he finds himself expected to toss in two cents, he clears his throat and takes a swig of the red stuff in his 1.5 liter bottle. "I think the Captain's right," Kissy notes, "I mean. I suspect deep down we all know that this is a sham. The human race was done when those bombs fell. We're just… the ones who got left to turn out the lights and make sure the door's locked on the way out," he quirks a dark little grin. "It's not like we could repopulate with a group this small, even if we found a place to do it before the Cylons picked any more of us off. Which they undoubtably will. But that? Is really craptastically depressing. And yeah, we could all vent the ship and hurry on to catch up to the others… or we could try to live out the time we've got left in a manner befitting the legacy of our species. I think we're trying at the latter."

Pike waves to Marissa as she hurriedly departs, just as the last of her protein bar is popped into her mouth. Opting to grab some gym time before her shift begins, she rises, tosses her trash in the nearest bin, and heads for the hatch, nodding to Praxis with a sympathetic look on her face.

Panda bites the corners of his lip and frowns at Praxis' first question in a 'close-but-not-quite' expression. He may pull shifts with an MP brassard but he's an infantryman by trade. So while he notices the Captain looking around, he doesn't pay it any mind at the moment. Maybe when he's finished redlining his brain trying to express what's gnawing at his mind he'll realize there was something going on at the same time. It's what Matto says that gets a reaction. "That's it exactly, Sir. People actin' like we're the Twelve Colonies." His left comes up from the table, first to rub a thumb at the side of his nose, then to run through his hair as Praxis' easy demeanour thaws some of Pandorian's soldierly composure. "We got enough people for one Tribe. Not twelve, not six, but one." As if the meaning was in dispute, he holds up the index finger of his right hand while the left settles back onto the bowl. "Lieutenant Matto is right, Sir. You wanna' breed a new stock of horses, you gotta have somethin' like five hundred and plan real good, or five thousand in the wild and a little luck." His left thumb shakes, but this time it thumps against the top edge of the bowl and catches his attention; a tight fist is made, arresting the jitter. "Now I know we ain't horses, but the past is the past and even if we're real lucky, ain't nothin' bringin' it back. So…" He looks away, trying to avoid questioning eyes.

Clarity comes to Praxis mind at the exchange between Matto and Panda, the XO dipping his head slightly. "I believe I understand what you are getting at, and I'm inclined to agree. We cannot afford to act as if we are still residing in a time period where our numbers were many." He ponders the both of them for a moment or two before finishing up the rest of his coffee. "Mr. Ajtai, if you were in the shoes of Command, what sort of changes would you make? What sort of rules would you impose or lift? I'm curious as to what you would suggest for a greater chance of success." A beat. "Keep in mind we're human beings - we, unlike horses, understand that we're in trouble. Our numbers are few, but we're thinking, sentient people." A look to Matto when he mentions settling down and repopulating. "Such a place exists."

"I don't think the laws of genetics mind much whether we're sentient or not. There's only so far a population this size can go, even in the best circumstances. Do we really want to put ourselves through that?" Kissy wonders. The mention of a place to settle elicits little more than a dubious glance before he's settling into breakfast again.

Inclined to agree: That's the start of what rejuvenates Pandorian's features as though he'd suddenly had a good night's rest. The question, though, has him letting out a cough-laugh hybrid. Panda's slowly shaking his head, trying to think of a response while Matto speaks. Those are the words that get his initial response. "I agree, Lieutenant, it'd be an ordeal. But there ain't a damn thing worth having that don't cost blood, sweat, or tears. The best things cost all three." He turns his head slowly to Praxis and nods to the man. "But we need more'n that, Cap'n. When's the last time we all got together for music? Where's the poetry of this age?" he asks, stabbing at the table with his left finger. "Have you read a newspaper, Matto, or heard the local news, Captain Praxis?" The young Marine shakes his head, looking down. "I'm not some, y'know, mawfraw'n, New Caprica liberal arts college bitch or nothin', but without all these little things of life, of all of culture…" His hand waves around in the air to gesture in an all-encompassing motion. Then he shrugs, lowering his head to his oatmeal. "We ain't living anymore, Sir. We're just doin' shit. Just doin' shit. Kinda like Toasters," he mumbles, though it's neither quiet enough nor meant to be missed.

"Look Lieutenant, I'm not going to pretend that I know the first thing about genetics or biochemistry or what have you, but what I do know is that many of the people here have been fighting for it. Some are hanging onto the fact that procreation, the persistence of the human race is their purpose in life. What keeps them going." Praxis is winding down from his overly formal tones and relaxing, just conversing with the other two now. "We use the people we have on the ship. We get people from Solon, and perhaps even more from Scorpia. And attempt to find more along the way. And we try. I'm not going to just 'live my life to the fullest' and then just die without even making the attempt." A glance to Ajtai and a nod as if Praxis is still intaking everything. "Art and culture seems to have been lost, it would appear. Perhaps that's something to take a look at."

"That's not entirely true," Kissy objects to the claims that art has died. "The air wing had a night out on Solon II recently for music and dancing. I've been working on the first of what I hope will be a series of katasteristic eulogy poems for the fallen. I'm almost done with Crowbar's," he twists his lips to one side as though some kinks in the poem are being stubborn for him to work out. "And a friend of mine has a birthday coming up, I'm writing him a poem, too. But if either of you ruin the surprise I'll be very cross," he adds. "There are art supplies down in the craft room. My friend Poppy's bunk is full of fingerpaintings we've done together," he continues, "I've got a sculpture of a dragon in my bunk the Poet made for me out of little bits of garbage and what-not. It's very cute." The topic of repopulation, pro or con, he leaves by the wayside in favor of this defense of post-holocaust culture.

Panda looks up at Matto, his lips and eyes scrunching up in amusement. "I dunno what half the things you said meant," he says after swallowing down the quick spoonfuls of oats he'd managed to get in while Kissy brought up his own efforts. Turning his head to Praxis he takes a deep breath and says, "But I do know this, Sir: You're not a Captain anymore. You're our Chieftain."

Praxis lets his attention linger on Kisseus for a while as he argues his point, Demitros' head nodding slightly. "I was neither there for that event, nor aware of such crafts taking place. I have been far too long detatched from the crew thanks to being confined to CIC as a tactical officer, but since the scope of reponsibility has expanded exponetially … suppose it is time to become much more aware. However, I suppose that is beside the point." He silently berates himself for the slight deviation. "Those things are all satisfactory. However, I believe that perhaps something that regularly encompasses all of us on a regular basis and that all personnel can contribute to might be beneficial. I suppose I might have an idea about that I will look at implementing in the future." Eyes then lock onto Panda as the Marine gives him a new sort of look on his position. "Is that right, Corporal?" Eyebrows raise as a bit of amusement touches on him.

Matto wrinkles his nose a little bit to one side as though with the distinct impression that he were being pat on the head, as it were. Cheeks flush moderately pink but he goes back to munching at oatmeal while waiting for the thumbs-up or thumbs-down from Pandorian.

"Oh Yessir," Panda replies with equal an measure of celerity and sincerity. "A little young, I guess, but maybe that means you won't make the same mistakes as before." He shrugs, anticipating the question. "Like some 'Minister of Culture' frakjob. Just frakkin' let us know it's okay to really Live. Mark off so much of the cargo bay as is empty for people to sign out for stuff. Much as I trust Lieutenant Matto to make good youlo, youna, yillalologies," the grunt stammers, trying to recall the fancy word and sound smart, "Sir I wouldn't trust him to know a good saddle from a cattle yoke, y'know?"

Ah, crap. Things will never be as simple as standing on the bridge making tactical decisions. Now there were people he had to take care of. However, all of that leaves his mind as a chuckle surfaces to roll off of his lips at Panda's attempt to mirror the previous words of the Raptor Pilot. "Very young, Corporal. I learn at a rapid pace, however." He begins to rise from his seat and gather everything up. "Gentlemen, I must take my leave of you for now. I will keep everything said in mind. Your opinions are of some consequence to me, I assure you." A slight bow of his head. "Chieftain away." Demitros says this in a fairly monotone and dry voice where he should sound like a superhero. He starts to stalk for the hatchway.

Matto looks aside to Pandorian, "Hey, now," he tells him, more teasing than actually affronted. "Bye, Chief," he tells the Captain. Who… just got a completely rank-inappropriate nickname. But that's certainly Pandorian's fault.

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