Another Fine Mess
Another Fine Mess
Summary: Several of Kharon's pilots congregate in the mess hall, where thrilling conversation is to be had and issues are resolved.
Date: PHD144
Related Logs: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank)

And in the line is one Willem Price, looking majorly unenthused with an unbuttoned duty greens jacket. Food stores are looking a bit better these days although that came at a high cost — three destroyed ships. The Bellerophon, the Giona, and the Elpis all paid for your meatloaf, doods. Eat up.

Wil doesn't seem to be too into the meatloaf. But there's more cornbread to be had, and he grabs that along with a dodgy-looking meal of fish and rice. And some kind of cold herbal tea. This done, he proceeds to balance the tray upon his hands and wheels about, strolling into the seating area, his head scanning like a creepy Cylon eye. People, people, Oh wait, It's Roubani. Rebound lazily strolls over towards the other man's table, his throat clearing. "Hullo."

Elbow on the table and fingertips gently pressed into his eyebrows, Roubani looks up. First without moving his head, then his hand moves away from his face once the voice is attached to a face. "Price. Have a seat. Watch the puddles."

A minute narrowing of the older man's eyes occurs as Wil cranes his head about in response to Roubani's words. "Huh? Puddles?" He peers around, clearly not getting the reference. "That's not water from Scorpia, I hope." Was that even a joke? In any case, he settles into a chair after hooking the leg with his boot and pulling it out, setting his tray down in front of him. "What've you got there?"

Thorn stands calmly, almost apathetically in line as he waits to get, well, whatever gourmet foodz the mess is serving up today. Hrm, meatloaf. He accepts a tray with a thinlipped stare, pausing only to scowl and growl softly to the dumb bastard who just elbow-jostled him before taking the tray into the crowded seating area - where he nearly avoids losing his tray thanks to an unobservant civilian. Damn civvies. Still scowling, he steps along, looking for a place to sit, holding his tray with one hand and fishing for a cigarette with another. (Yes, Thorn is that much of a fiend.)

Roubani makes a minute gesture with his finger to indicate the various uncleaned spills around them. There's a distinct border between mess and the not-mess in front of him, definitely man-made. "It is a wonder we all don't starve in the midst of food, for how little we seem to get in our mouths." That said, he picks up his spoon and glances at the folder. "Ancient history. Some of the first theories about FTL travel, when it was still in its infancy. It's very odd looking at it now." A slight shake of his head. "But how are you doing?" His eyes flicker up past Wil's shoulder towards Komnenos, and he nods towards the ECO.

Wil winces a little as his eyes flicker and narrow. "Sad thing is, I'm starting not to notice. As you might have just figured out." He waves an open hand at the mess around and lets out a brief, light sigh. He leans over the table a bit as he peers at the folder in question and continues. "FTL as a concept still, in some manner, turns my mind upside down. Sure, I understand the basics of the physics behind it, but, eh, just the idea of humanity tapping into something as infinite as space. I remember when I was a kid, the very first time the idea that space was infinite hit me." He snorts a little snort which contains a hint of a laugh. "It broke my mind for weeks. The idea that you could just travel endlessly in one direction. Although that's never been proven." Pausing a bit to dig into his fish n' rice, he goes quiet, chews, and swallows. "Oh, me? I am. I guess I'm good. You?" Catching his eyeing of Thorn, Wil raises a hand at the other man as well.

Ah, familiar faces. Komnenos shoulders his way past a marine, joining Willem and Roubani at their table. He lights his cigarette, responding to a nearby civilian's huffy look with a flat glare before finally directing his attention to the other two officers. "Hullo," he greets them simply. "What's new?"

Roubani half-smiles, absently. He sticks the end of the spoon between his teeth, gently clacking it twice. "Spooky action at a distance…" He quotes, idly. Then his mind shifts to latter topic. "Fine. Recovered from what I will insist to the history books was indeed just a thimbleful." A faint smirk, another nod to Komnenos. "Thorn. I don't suppose very much, all told."

Another snicker, in mid-bite, even, as Wil has to rapidly set the fork down and swallow to avoid choking. He says, rather gallantly. "Poet, Poet. Your secret is safe with me, sir. It was a thimbeful. You were sober and looking at us all with a disapproving eye, right?" He arcs his head at Komnenos. "I think I hallucinated, I drank so much. I think Bangbang was a figment of my imagination." He pauses as he points a finger at the ECO as he plays with his fork. "What was -in- that stuff you brought, Thorn?"

Thorn snickers softly. "Bangbang was very much there, in the all-too-visible flesh." His head tilts to one side. "I could've sworn Samantha showed up an' I left with her, but then I woke up by myself with nothing but a splitting headache and a drooled-on pillow." Which brings him to the answer to Willem's question. He snorts. "Alcohol. I know that much."

"I was," Roubani reaplies, wryly prim. "And rightfully so, you hooligans." He eats a spoonful of soup, pausing to chew on some clump of rice or whatever that is floating around in the broth. He glances at Willem from under his brows with a smirk, then at Thorn. "Alcohol, yes. Of that we need no further 'proof'."

"I think La-," Cough COUGH. "Sam was there. As I recall." Willem notes, in a rather dry tone as he drifts back to that hazy, blurry madhouse of an evening. "And Bangbang. Yeah. I know. I'm surprised, vaguely. Rabbit must have bribed her pretty well." Tapping his fork against his plate, he muses. "Hooligans, Poet? Come on. That's a badge of honor."

"Your secret is safe with me, Poet. Until I need t' blackmail you for something, anyway." Thorn smirks thinly in Roubani's direction. He uses an empty glass as an impromptu ashtray, his eyebrow quirking. "Rebound's right, Poet, you'll have t' do better than that. I take 'hooligan' as a compliment." Nevertheless, he directs a short glare at his fellow hooligan. "Don't you think for a moment I was drunk enough t' forget everythingPookie."

Matto is late. But when it comes to staring down the chow line he's never among the most eager, and the thing often gets put off if humanly possible. Hard to please at the best of times, there are days when it seems the Kissybear subsists on little other than gummies. But he dutifully shoves through line, looking just up from a short nap if his hair and eyes are any indication, and comes out the other side unscathed, fixing up a cup of tea and then heading on to join his comrades-in-arms. "Hey, guys," he murmurs, no less cordially than usual, if a mite more blearily.
<Public> Andrew has connected.

"Prefer 'delinquents'?" Roubani says, indulgingly. "Agents provocateur? Hellions, troublemakers, bacchanals, lushes, goons? I can go on if needed. I might even craft a rhyme in your honour." Thorn gets -the eye- at the mention of blackmail, then a snicker erupts under his breath at the Pookie thing. Ahem. His eyes lift as someone else drifts up to their table, watching the approach for a couple seconds. "Well, good morning."

"You could craft one. Dear -POET-," Wil smirks a little in between tiny, yet eager bites(one would surmise the food isn't as bad to him anymore. The hungrier you are, the better it will taste). "Or you can steal one of those old snippets that Kisseus has been digging out of the library." He points at Matto. "Speak, and he appears." Another bite. Nom nom. "Oh. And I have no doubt you remember everything. Rosebud. You have to try harder than that."

"Fair enough." Thorn nods, exhaling a puff of acrid smoke. His fork continues to poke at his food as he regards the redhaired Viper pilot. "But if I start hearing 'Lambkin' every time we're together… someone's getting their face bashed in." 'We' meaning him and Samantha, presumably. There's a wave for Matto as the second Raptor man joins the group.

Matto settles his tray down at a spot at the table, one knee lifting to settle in the seat as he shifts his weight forward as he returns Nadiv a grin for the teasing, "Morning's only a sate of mind anymore," he chuckles, then, as Darling Willem gives the cue, he lifts a hand in declamatory style, and reads out from memory, "Minxisti currente semel, Pauline, carina. Meiere vis iterum? Iam Palinurus eris." Having finished up, he settles down. "I found that book, if you can't tell," he chuckles in Willem's direction.

Lambkin. Roubani puffs out staunched laughter through his nose, making an ungentlemanly sound. "Pardon me." Eyes down to his soup, picking up his spoon again. "Yes, Price, do stop that," he murmurs, chidingly. "There's no winning that baaaa-ttle." Spoon, mouth. With it still between his teeth, he lofts a brow slightly at Matto's quoting.

Baah. Baah. Baaah. There's a serious beginning of a vocalization here. Wil's lips move here in a distinct vocalization. His eyes shift back and forth amongst the three gathered. His mouth opens. Closes. "Aye, sir." He seems to defer to Roubani's authority here. Coy, isn't he? He merely takes another bite and then smirks up at Matto. "Glad you found it."

There's a muddled glance from Thorn to Matto at the sound of an unfamiliar language, then a roll of the eyes over at Roubani and Willem both. However, he takes the ribbing mostly in stride, content to continue poking his food around his plate as he smokes his cigarette. "Just y' wait, th' lot of you," he says, sighing with mock severity.

Matto returns Thorn's severe look with a glance of doe-eyed blandishment, "But Toes, I've been waiting -all my life- for just such a moment as this," he professes with mirthful faux-sincerity. "Don't make me wait any longer," he adds, with a comical little pout, before he breaks out of it, wondering, "What are we waiting for?"

"Oh Price. Don't look so sheepish." Roubani replies, corner of his mouth curling. He stirs the spoon back round the bowl, not jumping in on the answer to Matto's question. Nothing to see here.

There's a glassy-eyed stare on the part of Wil as he gives Roubani his best farm-animal glare. It lingers a moment. Finally, he breaks the look with a snicker as he echoes Matto. "Yah. Waiting? What are we waiting for? Should I put an extra lock on my locker here, Thorn? I'm not allergic to wool, if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh, never mind," Thorn huffs archly, with another mad puff on the cancer stick. "Bastards." He stops just short of sticking his tongue out at the three of them, though. The meatloaf is poked by his fork once again, and Thorn finally cuts off a bite as he stamps the cigarette out in the empty glass.

Matto reaches out to poke Thorn on the arm in a playful fashion. He was just teasing, after all. Then, turning his attention to the rather more depressing prospect of supper, he sits there staring at it for a moment, setting his jaw in a determined look and taking up a fork.

Roubani gives Thorn a slight smile that's more apologetic than anything else. No poking on arms though, of course. He stirs his spoon, his spoon making a slow trail in the broth. "Is Case alright?" He asks, out of the blue and neutrally. "I admit I don't remember everything clearly near the end of that party, but she looked quite tired."

In the meantime, Wil concentrates firmly on attacking his food with a surgical precision, scattering the fish and rice mess like the guts of a few slaughtered Cylon raiders. Krypter, Krypter, bitches. This meal is going DOWN. He then echoes Poet's question a moment later. "Yeah. How is she? I haven't seen her much, since…" He gestures towards Thorn pointedly. "Have you been holed up somewhere?"

Thorn picks at his meatloaf for a moment, his head bent down as he stares at his plate. Finally, a bite of the stuff passes his lips, and Thorn chews thoughtfully. "She's fine," he replies with a blink, "as far as I know. Haven't been able t' see much of her th' past few days. And no, Rebound," Thorn adds quickly with a pointed glance at Willem, "we haven't been 'holed up' anywhere."

Matto hesitates, and, on the verge of losing his nerve, he finally cuts off a piece of what he supposes is meant to be meatloaf. He seriously doubts there's any meat in it, and somehow that gives him the courage he needs to grunt into a first bite of it, chewing a moment before he takes another bite, not caring to savor it all -that- much. Or swallow it, either. But he does. "Now that's just… that's just -nasty,-" he declares, then, looking up, "Sorry, the meatloaf, not, uh, you guys holing up. Or. Not holing up. Either one's fine," he tries to walk a safe path on that count, since Thorn's getting prickly.

Roubani's question having been a serious one, he either doesn't notice Thorn getting tetchy or simply ignores it. He picks up his cup of tea, sending a gentle breath skittering across the steaming surface. Someone else gets to start a conversation loop this time.

"I wasn't implying anything, Thorn." Wil says, innocently enough as he hunches over his tray and starts to finish up his remnants of his rice dish. They're scattered like the guts of that destroyed Cylon base ship, to continue a motif. He mashes his fork into the dinner and spreads bits about the plate, wreaking nuclear-level destruction on the meal. Yeah, he's hungry. Even if the food wasn't that appetizing. Glancing between him and the other men gathered at the table, he demurely mutters, "What?"

"Mm-hmm." Thorn rolls his eyes again as he continues to poke and prod at his food. Other than that, though, he doesn't seem too prickly; he simply lets it pass without further comment as he finally takes another bite of the springy meatloaf.

The hatch opens and in steps Thea, in uniform, hair pulled back into a french braid. She glances over her shoulder at Harrison and laughs quietly. "Yes, that's why he's determined to see if I still have Lucy-the-teddy-bear," she finishes off. Apparently this is the punchline, or the explanation to a story.

Immediately behind Legacy is Harrison, both brows arched in what may be surprise. "Good luck to him, then," he remarks, waxing glib. "I can't help but imagine searching for the bear which may or may not exist would be one of the last things he ever did."

Matto finishes about three quarters of the… spongey sort of pseudo-meat before he stops and sits back, wrapping arms across his stomach in an effort to coax himself into not vomiting. A sip of tea marks his stomach's resignation to the meal. "So how's the team shaping up?" he finally wonders. New topic!

Another bite of the 'meatloaf' squeezes its way down Thorn's throat. "Team?" he asks Kissy, perplexed. An eyebrow raises in curious interest as he looks up from his plate at Matto, but that only allows him to see the new arrivals in the background behind Kissy. His eyebrows furrow and his back hunches over, almost as though he's trying to sink into the table. "Ach, shoot me now," he mutters to himself softly, his eyes following one of the pair in particular.

"I hadn't heard, really." Roubani passes this one off to the sports fans in the house. He glances at Matto's plate, getting semi-entranced by the sponginess that appears to be less sitting on it than growing from the corners. His hand closes the large folder at the side of his tray, old photocopied pages tucked into a binder marked: 'The SlipString Drive: String Theory, Gravity, and "Faster Than Light" Travel' "Hale's pyramid teams, I assume," he informs Thorn, then his eyes flicker up at what Thorn was looking at. Then back to the man.

"It'll only be the last thing he ever does if I catch him anywhere near my locker," the Captain comments to Harrison, laughing softly. Hearing familiar voices, she glances over at the gathered and smiles, lifting a hand in greeting. "Ahhh, looks like the gang's all here. Let's see what's for dinner tonight, then wander that way?" Thea looks relaxed this evening - she's even smiling.

"That one," Kissy remarks with a gesture of his now idle fork to Roubani. Not eager for a second attack on the meatloaf, he takes a break (one well deserved in his mind) and instead starts fussing with the stuff that's passing as a side. What it's supposed to be, he's not sure, but he seems moderately less offended by it than he was at the spongy stuff now sitting in his stomach making him feel gross. He casts a glance up toward Legsy in tandem with the Poet, then looks back toward Thorn at the same time, as well, "Have you not made up yet?" he asks.

Harrison glances toward the wall chrono as he passes, then turns his attention to the plates that are on the tables they're passing. "Looks like a surprise, and not a good one either. I think I'll stick to coffee."

"Team?" Willem echoes in turn, amid bites as his meal winds down. His fingers start drumming upon the table's surface absently as more people arrive. He swirls his fork on the tray as he steals another glance at Roubani's book. It's like reengineering ancient technology.

When Wil's a caveman.

"Oh, yes, of course we have, can't you tell?" Thorn hisses snidely in reply to Kissy, just loudly enough for the others at the table to hear him. He samples another bite of food, but then pushes the tray a few inches away from him with a sour expression on his face. Suddenly he seems to have lost his appetite.

Roubani's book is indeed 'ancient'. The date printed at the bottom of the photocopied topsheet is decades ago, before the infancies of anyone in this room. He catches Wil looking at the book and smiles a little bit, demeanor cautiously warming a little bit again. He pushes the binder silently towards Price in offering to be flipped through, then his attention shifts subtly back to Thorn. Then Matto. Then the chow line. Then Thorn. Less uncomfortable than putting jigsaws together in his head, with about only half the pieces.

Legacy just shakes her head and grins. "I'll meet you at the end of the line then," she says quietly, turning to start down toward the food. Apparently she's just -that- hungry tonight. She doesn't seem to notice anything amiss at the table o'pilot/snipe types. At least, not at the moment.

Clatter. "Shit." scramble, and more clatter as a tray and foodstuff is haphazardly slung down at the table filled with Airmen. Brow drenched, or having formerly been so and rumpled duty greens just sitting askew it is easy to tell that one new raw recruit is probably having a hell of a day. Or rather, a hell of a week. "You know." the words are already out of the newest ginger to the Wing's mouth "I don't see how anyone can bitch about marines. or even try. I'd be too afraid that they would break me with their thumb. with THEIR thumb." and a beat as Virgil finally looks up to see who are his comrades today. One, he already knows, the rest? Nein. "By the way, do any of you have a toothbrush I could borrow-or know of someone who has a toothbrush that they might be willing to lend?" An odd question to ask, but then Gresham isn't exactly known for having a straight track record with such things.

"At least when you're chewing on it, you have a half-assed idea of what it is that you just put in your mouth," Isaiah offers as he splits off from Legacy to go grab a mug. "At least, I hope so," he mumbles to himself as he looks between the urns.

Matto looks vaguely hurt as Thorn hisses at him just when he was getting all concerned, and he murbles through a mouthful of ick: "Dude, so very not requisite," before he swallows. "In any case, looks like you might get your shot," he adds.

Thorn blinks as yet another newcomer arrives, plunking his tray down right next to the rankled ECO. "Th'frak're you?" he asks sharply, giving Gresham a flat stare. "An' you can try General Distribution," he offers tersely in response to the redhaired man's question. His food forgotten, Thorn reaches around in his pockets for a cigarette, his only reply to Kissy being a shift of his glare from Gresham to the Raptor pilot.

Roubani's eyes tip up as Gresham suddenly appears, his attention momentarily tugged away from Matto and Thorn. "Oh, hello." Completely unfamiliar is this face, and therefore subject to a bit of curiosity. A glance at Thorn, then back at Gresham. "I'm afraid I don't know of any spares. We're issued them ourselves, one to person. General Distribution is as good a try as any."

Oh, the work of ancient engineering scribes. "Oh. Thanks!" Smirking slightly, Wil slides a freckled hand over to grasp at the proferred book, gingerly. He flips open the cover and his grey eyes drift over towards the pages. He gives them a cursory scan, starting to open his mouth and lets out a breath as he notes Gresham's approach. Thorn's reaction. "Uh. Oh. Sweet home Smyrna." He tosses over towards the other redhead and his throat clears. He sits up into awkward, diplomatic mode here and grins between the two of them. "Looks like you ditched the civvie look. Um, Thorn. This here's Virgil. -Apparently- he went good on his statement of 'possibly Enlisting' as a Nugget. Hmm?" He smiles. Again, it's awkward.

Thea moves slowly through the line, taking her time in figuring out what's going to nourish her and what's going to make her hurl. Finally she's got her tray and heads back to Harrison. "Ready to brave the lion's den," she asks, smile wry. "Looks like there's someone new to chat with as well."

Matto looks away from Thorn's glaring at him, non-confrontational as always, but the Thornytoed ECO's bad mood seems to have been sufficiently grafted onto the Kissybear for the moment, and he prods disinterestedly at the rest of the slop. The mention of the new nugget garners enough attention to lift Kissy's eyes and have a smile of greeting tug at his lips. "The Man from Mantua," he chimes quietly.

"After you, Cap'n," Harrison replies as he gestures toward the tables.

"Well you see, I have one toothbrush there. A rather small and slim black number." Virgil begins, apparently dismissing the first bit about whom the frak his person is. "However, As part of basic, I guess to humble me? swell I don't see the reason of the exercise, other than probably to make life a living hell, the Master Gunnery Sergeant has me cleaning a bit of the head with my toothbrush, and with another recruit." a frown. "I think its a lesson in discipline, though I didn't do anything. Still the other recruit in our group picked me and.." And there's a grin as he looks down towards Willem. A wave. "Hey there Price." Ah, friendly faces!

To Roubani's hello, there's a nod given back to him. "Well, thank you-I just don't think they'll give me another toothbrush. And seeing how my black number is the nicest and newest thing I have owned in forever? I'd like to not get officer ass on the bristles." a pause "Or even think of the other germs that could be swilling around in there." and without a though Gresham is taking time to chomp easily into his food, though eyes are straying to the binder in which Price seems to be grasping. "I did, though right now I am slightly regretting such a choice. or, better yet my muscles are regretting me making a choice."

Roubani glances at Matto, offering the Raptor pilot a surreptitious smile. Then it's to his teacup his hands go, and as the talktiveness picks up at the table he falls into one of his customary quiet lapses.

There's a grunt from the still-hunched Thorn in the direction of the nugget. "If they give new toothbrushes t' dumb fraks unlucky enough t' draw scrub-the-Marine-head detail, they'll give you one." Willem's introduction seems to mollify Anton, at least for the moment. His cigarette is lit, and he retrieves the empty glass he'd been using as a makeshift ashtray.

And so Thea winds over toward the table of folk. "Did I hear something about a toothbrush," she asks, lips quirked in a smile. "I've got a spare in the locker. Evening, folks. Mind a couple others?"

Matto wrinkles his nose at the news of the assignment. "I seriously hope that the people who -give out- those idiotic sorts of assignments are the first people not to get new toothbrushes when we run out, rather than the people who get them assigned to them. I mean, scrubbing the head is degrading, fine and good, but people need to have a little bit more foresight than that. For the sake of all our oral hygiene," he adds with a nod, then, piece spoken (again), he catches the smile from Nadiv and returns it in kind, feeling better, evidently. Then, to the Captain, he offers a broader sort of smile, "Kittenface," he greets gently, even invitingly, voicing no objection.

"It'll get better. Maybe." Wil looks up as he waggles his eyebrows in a deep arc, as he says sidelong towards Gresham. He glances between the two men(the other being Thorn) just -checking-. Is it cool? IS IT COOL, MAN? He's telegraphing these words.

Roubani looks up from his silent study of Virgil's face over the rim of his teacup. "Evening, sir." Likewise he's doesn't outright extend invitation, leaving that minor detail politely to the others.

Gresham looks back towards Matto. "I think its the point. So I don't believe that I am, what is the term? Hot shit?" a forkful of food down the hatch, as apparently scrubbing out toilets and shower-stalls with a toothbrush. "Either way I have an odd base desire to smack this engineering recruit, Mendez? Behind the head. Why she thought I was a good candidate and then chose to whisper it to the Sergeant is beyond me." Still then, Gresham being a nugget and a lowly Crewman Apprentice is on the bottom of any sort of totem pole this ship has.

A faint glance to Thorn, "Did anyone ever tell you, you're prickly? No offense, just a general observation." and he lets it drop as quickly water is chosen, as opposed to placing his other foot in his mouth. Eyes look towards Legacy as she joins the table. "I am." eyes widen just a smidge. "Sir." a small frown before he's taking another sip. "But, I do not think you'd want to lend it to me, for what I have to do."

A distant "Captain," is Thorn's only reply as more people show up at their table. Then there's an eyebrow raised in Gresham's direction. "You mean, you're prickly, sir," Komnenos replies with a sidelong glance at the recruit. His voice is droll, though. "And as a matter of fact… yes, they have, a time or two."

"They do assign callsigns for a reason," Roubani supplies to Gresham, at the callout of Thorn's well. Thorniness. The words may be dry but there's nothing malicious about them.

Harrison veers toward the door after a quiet mention about needing to check something on the flight deck and Thea settles in at the end of the table, glancing among those gathered with a slightly raised eyebrow. "I've got one of -those- toothbrushes in my locker. I save one for my Riders who end up on head duty," she comments with a little smile. No, she doesn't look directly at Thorn on that one. "How's everyone been?" She glances down the table to Gresham again. "Captain Althea Legacy, also known as Black Cat. Ghost Riders. I don't think we've met, though your face is familiar."

"Well, yes, obviously, but there are ways to degrade a person without ruining perfectly good toothbrushes," Kissy points out, then smiles at Legsy, "See, at least my Captain has a brain," he grins at her, then lets his glance slip to his side for a moment before he picks up his tea and busies himself with sipping at it. Even Thorn's decision to get all uppity and demand a sirring from the newbie doesn't elicit more from him than a mirthful shake of his head.

"Thur." added around a bite of potato looking substance. Still, Virgil is trying. A moment of silence as the man takes time to chew and swallow before continuing on. "Ah. Well then, what I just pointed out was rather moot knowledge.." and instead of returning to his messfeast the recruit does look towards the Captain and offer a smile, or something close to a tired grin. "No sir, I do not think we have. I'm Virgil Gresham." a pause before he's reaching for his lapel to take a look at the small little metal pin there. "Correction, I am Crewman Apprentice Gresham." a chuckle. "Maybe you've seen me running the corridors behind Sergeant Nikos?" That would be his current claim to ship fame. A turn of his head down towards Wil. "Hey Buddy," Aww lookatit. The recruit has bonded with-someone- "Whatchya reading?" one brow is raised towards Roubani in a silent question before eyes are doing the shifty look back towards Komnenos.

"Light reading. FTL theory." Wil says bemusedly, with a muted smirk towards Gresham as he points towards some treatise on FTL mechanics and radiation. His index finger extends over the page. This is broken up by a glance upwards at Thea. "Captain." He says smoothly.

Roubani's shoulders shift as he rests his elbows back on the table, both hands wrapped around his tea mug. His mouth ends up hidden behind the rim for a few moments as he takes a good sip of the tea. Letting Wil explain their now-shared "light reading", he gives Gresham a flickered smile but stays silent for the moment.

Thorn's no Kai; he's usually no stickler for protocol, but Gresham is a nugget, after all. "Must've been you lot that nearly ran me over in th' corridor the other day, then," Thorn says to Gresham with a snort. "Not used t' Marines running around th' ship with nuggets on their heels," he explains.

Thea smiles at Wil and dips her head, eyes crinkling at the corners. She's in a remarkably good mood today. While she doesn't interrupt the conversation going on, she follows it, paying attention as the different folks speak. For some reason, however, Thorn gets a look from her, a brow ever so slightly raised. Yes, she's taking notes. "Good to have you aboard, Mr. Gresham," she murmurs after a moment. Her dessert finds its way to Matto's tray.

"Oh." Virgil replies as he looks back towards the book, and yes he is craning around Komnenos in order to get a bitter view on the paragraph, or passage that Willem has himself all fingered. An appreciative nod before the nugget is leaning back and taking a sip of his water "Let me know when you're done? I'd like to take a gander at it when you know, I am not running my balls off." A pointed slurp, and eyes are back towards the poor ECO he just leaned over. "Yeah, well I am not used to running and screaming out some song about a man named jody sleeping with my fiance. Especially when I have no fiance, or if I did the probability of anyone sleeping with her would be nil because of robot apocalypse." If he had glasses, this is where he would be pushing them up. "Sir." A half grin back towards Anton, and then he's looking back towards Thea, as it were. "Thank you. Hopefully I'll do good, where ever they slot me."

Matto looks pleased as punch with his own tea, sitting up uncharacteristically straight as he holds it up close to himself, sipping every now and then, letting the conversation go on without him, for the better part, though he does chime in, "Could have worse things on their heels, I guess." There's a pause, and Kissy grins, "Like those old clankity spurs, and they'd all walk around bow-legged and there'd be a spitoon at every corridor juncture," he goes on, eyes distant as he imagines it, chest moving with a breathy huff of laughter before he takes another sip of the tea. What's -in- that tea, anyhow?

"Heh." Despite his efforts, Thorn can't keep a thin smile off his face at Gresham's story. Ash is flicked into his glass/ashtray. He gives an odd look over at Kissy at the talk of heels and spittoons; must have missed a part of the conversation. If he reacts to Legacy's glance, or even noticed it to begin with, he doesn't show.

Roubani finishes the bit of tea in his mug and sets it down on the tray. He clears his throat softly and reaches across the table, tugging his binder back from Willem's clutches. MINE. "Would you excuse me, please. I've got something I need to see to." The new recruit gets a pleasant nod as he stands.

Gresham looks to the binder, and then back towards Roubani "Oh that was -yours?-" a strain there on the recruit's face for a moment before he is nodding back in return. "Well, uh-if You could ever let someone borrow it?" He would offer a trade, but he's got nothing. Hm, something to work on while in the military. Finding things to own besides a rather badass Unicorn t-shirt.

Matto has already started in on the sweetness when the Poet's clutching of the binder catches his attention, and he turns to look as N stands, giving him a quiet nod, good cheer mostly unabated. "See ya 'round, guy," he offers, his usual manner of pleasant, and returns to the dessert, trying his best not to just scarf it, in deference to its being a present from his Captain and all. But nonetheless it's disappearing more rapidly than not.

Roubani smiles slightly at Matto and then tips his head at Gresham, a moment of mild curiosity in his eyes. Someone wants to READ this thing? He glances at the dark binder and, with a shrug in his expression, hands the heavy thing over to the man. "I can. Back to me without coffee stains, that's all I ask."

"Later, Poet," Thorn manages quietly as Roubani stands. There's a slight wave from the ECO to the pilot/snipe. A short look around the table, and then Thorn goes back to being hunched in his chair. Maybe if no one sees him, they won't talk to him. Right?

Finally Thea addresses Thorn, voice quiet, light. "How are you doing this evening, Lieutenant?" Yep, she just called him by rank. In front of the nugget. A hand reaches for her drink and she takes a sip while waiting for the answer.

"I am careful with books. Not my own notes mind you, but books, I will always be very careful with." And with that e carefully sits that binder to his side before nodding back to the engineer. "Thank you very much." And there's a pause as Gresham watches Roubani for but a second "Sir?" Yeah, he's getting used to this whole sir thing. Even when he had a Captain on the ship he crewed for there wasn't this much formality.

Matto's attention is certainly on the dessert, for now, though his eyes rise from the tray when Legsykitten pulls out the L word on Thornytoes, and he watches, brows faintly raised, spoon in his mouth before he draws it out and considers whether this would be a good time to call retreat. Indeed, he begins to stand, himself, murmuring some excuse and thanking Legsy in a quiet murmur for the extra sugar.

Roubani's lips twitch at Gresham's address. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Nadiv Roubani," he supplies in his soft-spoken voice. "Poet is fine. Er…Price said your name was Graysham?" So his attention was elsewhere, sue him. It's kinda elsewhere right now, half listening to the exchange between Thorn and Legacy.

Gresham is glancing back between the Captain and the 'prickly' Lieutenant. "Ah." and attention back to the Engineer, and it seems the body language of the messhall can be somewhat interpreted as his tray is snagegd up and the book carefully put into the crook of his arm. "Poet then, Unless you prefer Nadiv, or Roubani?" As for his own name the crewman offers a smile as he is moving around from his side of the table, thus abandoning Thorn. "Close, Gresham. But that sounds similar. Virgil, if you prefer first names to surnames.."

Welp, so much for the ostrich routine. Thorn straightens in his chair, finally looking over at Legacy. "Fine, Captain," he says tersely. "Yourself?" is added a moment later. There's a brief look over at Gresham, amusement flashing in his eye for the briefest of seconds. Welcome to the military, dude.

Thea offers Thorn a smile, one that actually has some warmth to it. "Glad to hear it, Thorn," she says quietly. "You've been running yourself ragged again. You don't have anything to prove, you know." Maybe meaning underlying meaning? She glances toward Poet and Matto, dipping her head to the two men. "Rest well you two," she says, keeping her voice low. "Kiss, I'll see you in the morning. I have some things I want to run on the sims and I'd like your help."

After some quiet munching and crunching, Willem inclines his head towards Gresham and Thorn. Roubani. Matto. Lega — Yep. That's everyone. "Sorry. I just got sidetracked there. I remembered something." He seems apologetic in his caginess. "Excuse me."

Roubani's eyes flicker to Matto, noting the other standing, then back to Gresham. "Poet is fine," he says to the man, politely formal but not overly so. A slight smile and he nods to the binder. "Enjoy that. Let me know when you're finished with it." The conversation between Legacy and Thorn he seems content to politely leave to some privacy on his end, and he starts off.

Matto is busy clearing the rest of the dessert from the dessert plate on his way to bussing the tray, and he drains the end of the tea before he sets it all down. Legsy and Thorn have their things to talk out, and he doesn't want to get into the middle of it. But when his Captain calls him, he looks up, "Oh, hey, sure, I'll meet you there," he agrees readily. "I'll come down and bring us some breakfast," he offers with a smile, and waits a little bit to see whether there's anything else forthcoming. Drifting, however, toward the hatch.

Meanwhile, Wil drifts on out himself. He takes his sweet time after delivering a languid wave to the table.

Gresham nods back towards Poet as he leaves before he too is discarding his tray and making for the hatch. Well, at least now he has something to read while doing laundry later, or perhaps when he gets a break for Fire Watch. We'll see. And there's a nod given back with a cheery enough smile to the Captain and Lieutenant as he departs.

Legacy sketches Matto a salute, grinning. "Sounds good. Night, Kiss." Nope, she's not going to keep him there. The rest get nods as they leave.

Matto returns the Captain's grin suddenly and entirely, waving a hand in a jaunty signal of farewell before he heads for the door, jumping over the bottom lip of the hatch in a chipper fashion.

Thorn's only reply to Thea is a long, browraised look, his arms folding across his chest. "Don't I?" he manages finally, very, very quietly. There's a welcome distraction as both Willem and Matto stand up to leave, and Thorn offers them both a nod as they depart.

The others are gone, leaving the two combatants in the center of the ring. "Not to me," Thea replies quietly, reaching out for her mug and taking a sip. "Though, your attitude could use a slight bit of adjusting." Yes, she used the word slight.

Thorn has half a mind to bolt himself, but instead he remains seated, his arms still crossed defensively over his chest. The others are already gone, so he's stuck. He stares back at Thea, his lips drawn tightly. A number of possible replies are bitten off before they can pass his lips, and he settles with a stiff "So it seems, sir."

For a moment, Thea simply watches him, a hint of raw emotion in her eyes. For all her smiles and laughter, she's tired. He gets a peek at that behind her facade. "I won't keep you," she says after a moment, turning back to her tray to finish off dinner.

For his part, Thorn remains inscrutable. His face is a cool mask, obscuring whatever it is that might be going on behind those flinty eyes. "Very well." With that, he rises almost too quickly, grabbing his tray of barely-touched food. "Good evening, Captain," he manages before he's away from the table.

"When you're ready to talk this out," she calls quietly, eyes lowered. "Come find me."

Her words stop Thorn in his tracks; with a long sigh he turns around, his feet carrying him back towards the table he'd just vacated. After a brief silence, the tray is plunked back down on the metal surface, and he slides back down into one of the chairs. "No time like th' present," he mutters, his arms reflexively crossing themselves once again. "Put it off long enough."

She looks up at him after a moment, head tilting to the side a little. "Here or somewhere else," Thea asks, voice low, quiet.

"Here is as good a place as anywhere else," Thorn replies flatly. There's a brief look around the messhall; it's louder and more crowded than usual, thanks to the presence of the civilians. "Don't think anyone's going t' pay attention."

Thea studies him for a time, then dips her head slightly. "So what was with the attitude the other night," the woman asks, leaning back in her chair. Her posture isn't quite defensive - it's more guarded than anything.

"Wait. My attitude?" Thorn leans forward, eyebrows flying up in surprise. "I don't recall taking an attitude, sir. In fact, I believe you were th' one that stormed out on me." Emotion finally finds its way into Thorn's voice, a mixture of hurt, anger, and confusion. "I tried t' talk t' you. You ignored me and stormed out. And I had th' attitude?"

"You came in with a chip on your shoulder," Thea points out quietly. "You were spoiling for a fight. I was too tired to provide one." Her cup is cradled in both hands as she watches him, head tilting slightly to the side. "There comes a point in every woman's life, Thorn, when the tank is empty. When there's just nothing left. It was either walk away and go to where I could regroup in private, or say something I didn't mean."

"Bloody frak I was 'spoiling for a fight'," Anton replies succinctly. "A fight was th' last thing I wanted. You think I hadn't gotten into enough shit with what's happened already? What the hells made you think I wanted a fight with you, of all people?" He shakes his head slowly. "You don't think I'm tired of all this?"

A shoulder lifts delicately. "Your body language, your tone, your attitude when you came in," she says quietly. "You were just daring me to say something to you about it. I didn't want to engage, but you wouldn't take that hint."

Thorn regards her quietly for a long moment. "Fine way t' give a bloke a hint, rushing out on him when he's trying t' reach out," he mutters. A finger taps awkwardly on the table. "I could tell something was wrong from the moment I walked in. You wouldn't've used ranks otherwise. All I tried t' do was ask what was wrong."

Thea is relatively still in her seat, listening. "I was reacting to you," she explains. "Reacting to the way you were approaching things and, honestly, trying to follow your lead. Things seemed to spiral pretty quickly."

Thorn laughs caustically. "Yeah, they did at that." He shakes loose another cigarette; yeah, it's one of those times. "But frankly, sir, I don't think all this is about who was giving off a bad aura one night."

Her eyes follow the cigarette for a moment before they track back to him. "Oh," she asks, voice quiet. "And drop the sir shit, Thorn. Please. We're both off duty and discussing something that's not really duty related."

"Yeah. Oh." Well, she did say drop the formality. "You ask me, that's a lot of crap. I told you th' other night, I'm not stupid. It seemed an awful lot t' me like y' didn't want t' hear anything I said that night, attitude be damned. And I think I know why. You ever planning t' get around t' that little detail?" Thorn is remarkably controlled, given the subject at hand; his face is slightly flushed, and a scowl creases his features, but his tone is at least quiet, mindful of his surroundings.

Thea remains quiet for a bit, head tilted to the side slightly. "Go ahead. Why, Thorn," she asks, voice low, quiet. "Since you're so sure you know." There's surprisingly no heat to her words.

Thorn shakes his head. "I'm not playing that game," he retorts, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me the problem or don't. It's simple." He takes a long pull from the cigarette, the cherry flashing brightly. "I thought there was enough respect between us that we didn't need t' beat around th' bush like this. But if I was wrong — " He shrugs.

She shakes her head after a moment and starts to push to her feet. "You have all the answers, Thorn," Thea says on a quiet sigh. "You know all of the answers to all of the questions. You…" It would appear she's having difficulty finding the words. "You go on the offensive all the time rather than simply talking. Nothing I say will satisfy you. So I will leave you with this: I am disappointed in you and in your judgement. I understand, believe me. I have a very good idea why. But that doesn't make it any better. The 'it's the end of the world' excuse doesn't hold much anymore." Hands on her tray, she pauses, hesitating for a few heartbeats. "And sometimes, a woman doesn't like knowing she can be replaced so easily. No matter what the situation." Vulnerability. That's what's in the Captain's eyes. She'd been doing so well at not showing it, but now it slips through. She allows him to see it. "I'm happy for you, Anton. More than you'll ever know. I'm proud of you for standing up for what you want and what you believe in. I'm…" Her throat works for a moment. "I'd best go. I wish both of you well. You know where to find me if you ever need anything."

Thorn follows Thea with his eyes, obviously slightly taken aback by what she's said. "I don't know nearly as much as I pretend t'," he offers finally. His cigarette is brought up to his lips, but it's a purely instinctual reaction, as he hardly takes a drag from the thing. He is quiet, simply sitting back as he takes in her words. Thorn tenses slightly at the mention of disappointment, but for once he doesn't have a retort or a quick comeback. "I won't apologize for reaching for something that makes me happy. And she does, despite everything that's happened on th' sidelines," he says quietly instead. "But for… anything else, for any… anguish… for what it's worth… I'm sorry."

"I'm not asking you to apologize for finding happiness, Thorn," she says, shaking her head again. "But having her in your bunk a week after you got disciplined for a fight - over her - shows a lapse in judgement. Give it a little time before you throw it in people's faces. Some things have to be eased into. There are obvious bad feelings in the Red Berthings if you're in her bunk. But I don't think you realize that people in our berthings aren't comfortable with it yet." She breaks it to him gently, words much softened around the edges from usual. "Just take it slow and you two will be fine. People will settle down in time." The tray gets lifted off the table. "I'll always be there for you if you need anything." And with that, she turns away and starts for the line.

"Why do you think we went t' Black instead of Red?" Thorn smiles, but it's a weak, mirthless expression. He does offer a nod in reply, though, accepting her words. "Thanks," he offers softly in response to her last. "I'll take you up on that."

Nothing more is said. Her tray is deposited, she has a few quiet words for the line crew - fewer than usual. That little tidbit alone has a few of them looking at each other in askance. And then she disappears, blending into the civilians and crew at the Mess Hall's doors.

Harrison reappears with his long-empty mug of coffee in hand from the corridor. "Bloody hell," he grumbles.

Thorn simply sits for a long moment, smoking his cigarette. It's done not too much later, though, and with that he too is grabbing his tray and making for the line.

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