Before and After
Before and After
Summary: A day in the life of a Raptor pilot and an ECO.
Date: PHD060-61
Related Logs: Log picks up soon after When Pilots Invade

Kassia nods her head slowly and bends down to pick up the cup. "Lovely as always talking with you Captain." She says going to stick her free hand in her pocket, as she saunters down the steps and towards the door, was it her turn to be sarcastic.

It's an hour or so before Timon's due to strap into a Raptor and accompany the next Viper pair into the black, yet here he is strolling into the ready room already arrayed for his CAP — flight suit on, helmet in one hand, pencil and oversized notebook in the other, he looks like some bizarre cross between absent-minded professor and flyboy from the movies. "We've still got problems," he's saying as he pushes open the door to the ready room, not bothering to check if anybody's inside. The person he's talking to is not yet in view. "Cylon spoofing we can blast through no problems as long as they're not trying to mess with us too bad. It's blasting through their jamming I'm talking about — that ultra-high-frequency ice that jumps with our ECCM even before we've hopped to the next frequency. Yeah?" Indeed, Ivory's so preoccupied that he doesn't notice Kassia coming toward the door, nor Kai and his papers. Brace for impact.

There's a nod for the Ensign as she departs, and the Captain returns to his work with aplomb, and nary a smile. His eyes flick to the door briefly when he hears voices, but he doesn't otherwise look up from his stack of papers.

Komnenos strolls into the ready room on his pilot's heels. "Right — frakking toasters are a handful, to be sure." For his part, Thorn isn't paying much attention to the surroundings either — he's got his head wrapped around a new problem, which usually gives him tunnel vision. "I normally like to keep manual control back there, but human reaction time pales in comparison t' Cylon circuitry." He pauses again, mulling the problem in his head. "I could, though, program a high-speed FHSS into the computer. It'd be crude, but it might keep us one step ahead of them, at least long enough for our own ECCM to cut through their spoofing and keep it cut…"

Kassia doesn't really notice Ivory to be honest until she's smacking into his chest and bouncing off onto the ground landing on her ass. She's only small thing so the bigger pilot, knocked her good. "Oh frak, I'm sorry sir." She says pulling a face, as she now spots a coffee stain down her front, she glances around for the mugs and spots them still intact got to love that milltary isssue stuff.

Timon is right in the process of gesturing with his helmet hand when he sees disaster coming in the form of a tiny Ensign, and he isn't fleet-footed enough to implement evasive pattern delta — or whatever. Though he doesn't go sprawling, he does manage to catch Kassia on the head with the hard covering of his flight helmet — adding injury to injury, a fact for which he's already apologizing profusely as she picks herself up: "My bad, Ensign. Totally my fault. Are you okay?" Well, maybe profusely was the wrong word, but hey — the apology is there. And then without further ado Timon waltzes forward into the room, spewing technobabble all the way. "Problem with that is we'll need to get our freq-pattern to the other end," he says. "Can't do that with a program except electronically, and you know how the Cylons love to feast on new networks. No, prearranged manual frequencies are better." And on and on he goes.

Kai had been just in the process of pulling to his feet, and digging out his whiteboard marker from under the sheaf of papers. He pauses when he spots the collision in the hatchway, then resumes retrieval of pen and clipboard. "Evening, Lieutenants. I'd say you swept her off her feet, Ivory, but I'm pretty sure it requires catching." Marker brandished, he stops in front of the whiteboard to make a few adjustments to what looks like wing assignments.

Komnenos smirks in amusement. "Smooth as always, Kas." Eyes dancing around the room now, he suddenly notices the seated figure. "Oh. Spider. Um. Didn't see you there. Ah, sir." So, Thorn does indeed remember his courtesy, once in a while, even if the 'sir' was a bit belated. The ECO hopes the acting CAG isn't miffed about his attempt to claim credit or responsibility — depending on one's point of view — for the handcuff fiasco. He turns his attention back to the issue at hand. "Only problem with prearranged frequencies is that if the Cylons can adapt t' the pattern, our bloody ECCM is for all intents and purposes useless." He shrugs. "Sounds like we're stuck between a rock and a hard place…" An eyebrow pokes up. "…although I think I can probably come up with some new tricks those old dogs haven't thought of yet."

Kassia is ok for a few moments, before she blinks and grabs out for something, the helmet got her hard. "Oh this is kinda cool the room is spinning, and I swear I can see little cylons around my head." she says before she crumbles to floor in a little heap.

"Captain." Timon's barrage of words comes to a rather abrupt end as he readies his response: "You know, normally I'd have a retort on hand, but I'm afraid my — oh dear." Whatever he's about to say is lost as he watches Kassia slump to the ground. "Um. Are you okay, Ensign Nevice? Are you breathing?" The last time he took a first aid course was eight years ago in OCS; now, Ivory just stands there with very little idea about what to do. "Should somebody call for a medic? Or something?" He doesn't even try to take her pulse — as if afraid that, by getting too close, he'll damage her more.

"I think she'll be fine in a second, Ivory," Thorn interjects mildly, calmer now that Spider doesn't seem to take special note of his presence. "I don't think she hit you that hard.” He clears his throat. To Marek, he replies, "No, sir. Thought we'd just get in a little prep work beforehand; Ivory here got me thinking about ways t' deal with Cylon spoofing."

Kassia is so not swooning that helmet go her good and more then likely made her passout, though make a slap to the cheek might bring her around. She does have a soft head and a weakness to head injuries from her time as a pyramid player, makes her inda vulnerable to knocks around the head.

"Didn't think you were in here, Captain." Hey — if the CAG isn't concerned about the pilot on the floor, Timon won't overly concern himself with her either. He moves to step around Kassia — or over her, as the case may be — without a care in the world. "But yeah. As Thorn was saying, the two of us were going over a few of our older sim logs — pre-Warday, I mean — and it turns out we'd been doing rather well against spoofed signals." He pauses, as if evaluating his audience. "Fake ones, sir, to confuse us, if you'll pardon me." He's getting didactic again. Someone stop him. "Then conversation turned to what we didn't do so well — or anybody, really — and we thought we'd find a quiet place to talk over why Cylons — even simmed Cylons signals — could accomplish so much with their EW suites." Timon pauses mid-thought. "We can go, if you'd like. Don't want to bother you overmuch with Raptor jibjab."

Kai caps his pen, and tosses it atop his desk as he passes by. He doesn't look particularly pleased about playing 'hoist up the Ensign like a sack of potatoes'— but it's possible she isn't playing, and might actually be hurt. So he hunkers down on one knee and briefly checks for any obvious bruises, contusions or signs that she's concussed. He's no medic, but hey. "You're not bothering me. I'm afraid I haven't got a hope of keeping up, though. Far as I'm aware, Engineering is still analysing the ECCM algorithms in the raiders. I guess they pulled some junk on board, a while back. You might want to check with Captain Eos about it."

Thorn looks on as Kai examines Flash; she still isn't moving, but the CAG seems to have the matter in hand. Nevertheless, he steps in a little closer out of concern, but he doesn't know what he can do that Spider isn't already doing. She remains sprawled on the floor, however; Komnenos kneels down to see if he can be of any help. As he's having a look, he replies. "Didn't know we had any Cylon junk aboard, sir. I'll go down t' Engineering after CAP, then, and ask the Captain about it… couldn't hurt, anyway. Who knows, maybe they can teach us something."

Kassia slowly starts to come around and blinks as the two men seems to be peering over her. "Eh, can I help you?" She asks then looks from one to the other. "You know I really hope this isn't one of these moments where I got really drunk and." She covers her eyes and winces, her head does hurt and she does feel like she was hit by a truck or something. "Eh…"

"I'll — " Timon opens, then shuts his mouth. "Thorn'll go have a chat with her, I guess. All for the best, probably: I make it my business to try and understand the strange Bear-talk that comes from the guy in back, but I'm an amateur. He's the pro." While the two other men attend to Kassia, Timon steps back, going so far as to turn so he can regard the whiteboard with his peripheral vision. "Did I really get her that badly?" he asks, a bit plaintively. "Maybe I should try boxing."

Unless, of course, the Captain actually has no clue what he's doing, and hasn't touched a first aid class since he was in basic. What? He's a viper jock, it's his job to riddle things with bullet holes and make them fall out of the sky. And then Kassia's waking up, so he doesn't have to embarass himself with something potentially injurious. "Here, grab my arm." His hand, really, is offered for Kassia to haul herself up with, and he nods absently to Thorn. "She's your best bet, really." To Timon, "Maybe you should consider throwing your tags in tonight."

Komnenos snorts. "That's fine. You should probably just worry about keeping us alive with that fancy flying of yours." One veiled compliment in return for another. He looks down as Kassia comes around, and shrugs. "Don't know… maybe your head's even harder than we all thought." He throws on an insouciant smile at the CAG's last remark. "Already tried that, sir, but our Ivory doesn't seem t' be one for fisticuffs." His smirk disappears, replaced by a self conscious look as he throws his arms at his own none-too-toned sides. "Then again, I'm not one t' talk, myself."

Kassia eyes the hand for a few moments then shakes her head. "I think I'm ok, he must have got me in just the right place." She mutters slowly getting to her feet, by going on all fours then slowly walking her feet forwards and pushing up on her hands. She's up right in a few moments and giving a weary smile. She then looks towards the door. "I'm going to go lay down." She offers to the room in general. "I really feel like an ass, getting you all jumping like that." She honestly does feel so stupid, there's a slight flush of red on her cheeks.

Oh, Timon's not jumping. Don't get him wrong — there's a look of concern in his brown eyes — but as soon as he sees her get up, back to the grind he goes. At the same time, to Kai: "The gods defend me if that's an order, sir." Ivory's skin has taken on the color of his callsign at the suggestion — though maybe that's just the ready room's unflattering overhead lighting coming into play. He'll let the others play medic; for his part, he drops his stuff on one of the seats in the front row, making sure that his helmet's in no danger of clubbing another fresh-faced ensign into submission. Then, it's back to his notebook, which like every other book he owns is covered with neat, tiny letters. "Though if you'd prefer to beat down this cheeky jig for me in my stead, I'd have no objection."

Kai seems pretty dismissive of his assistance being turned down, all things considered. No harm, no foul, it looks like. "Make sure you drop by medical, if you still feel like shit later. Concussions can be sneaky like that." He pauses before pushing back to his own feet; neither graceful nor sprightly are words anyone in their right mind would use to describe the Captain. "Take it easy, Ensign." To the taller Timon — hell, most men are taller than Kai — "It wasn't. But watching you squirm like that, is pretty priceless, Lieutenant." Not a smile, not even an upward inflection in his tone; Kai speaks, it seems, in shades of deadpan.

"What's that? Trying t' get the CAG t' do your dirty work now, are you?" Thorn huffs at Ivory's suggestion. He's no fighter, though he'd likely be more prepared than his crewmate would be; Thorn's gotten involved in the rare fight here and there, mostly since joining the Colonial Fleet and having to deal with Marines, but had never before joined in on one of the crew's semi-regular orgies of pugilism. Who knows? Maybe it would be a good stress reliever, and since Komnenos isn't frakking anyone, it's likely one of the few chances he'll have for any kind of physical release in the interim. He looks over at Ivory, but his next is directed at Kai. "I dunno, sir, I'd pay good money t' see him blanch like that again."

Kassia nods her head then winces and pauses at the door. "And for fraks sake, noone tell Leda." She says worried the man might take revenge for this small accident. "And yeah I'll be fine, yep, fine, fine, fine." She mutters going to place her hand against the door. Wheeeee, concussion is fun! "Ok I'm going to medical, you boys have a good flight…I'll see you tonight."

"You had me mortified," says Timon, matching with aplomb the CAG's tone of voice — or lack of tone. His pencil twirls in his hand — clockwise, counterclockwise — before graphite meets paper. "Petrified, terrified, insert synonyms here. Just be glad you weren't ever in one of my seminars, sir. I once made one of those tough-guy Pyramid recruits cry tears of agony. Stay safe, Ensign Nevice." That last is spoken a bit louder than usual to make sure his words carry to the back of the room. "And come now, Thorn. Would you really want to disable your hapless chauffeur?"

"I'm not going over Black Cat's head on this one, boys. Do I look like some kind of masochist to you?" Kai winks at the ECO and brushes some whiteboard marker dust off his hands, on the thighs of his trousers. "I've also got a cigarette and some lousy mess hall food with my name on it. If you'll both excuse me for a short while. Don't fall asleep before the briefing." He heads back to his desk to fetch the coffee cup, and rifle for his pack of smokes amidst paperwork, before heading out.

Komnenos waves as Kassia goes for the door. "Take care, then, Flash." To Kai, a nod. "And you, sir." Turning back to Ivory, he raises an eyebrow. "You know, there are times when I think it just might be worth it, actually. Besides, you're not going t' be flying anyway if you're laid up in sickbay with a busted face." He carefully matches the tone used by the other two, careful to show that there's no real threat of him following through on his insinuation — unless, of course, Ivory changes his mind though. He's come to know the older man fairly well, however, and knows that Ivory will likely always avoid physical combat like the plague whenever possible, as much as Komnenos may be tickled by his own idea for a pilot-ECO grudge match.

"Hit me with a helmet, Captain, if I am asleep. Would serve me right." Timon, lily-livered yellow-bellied coward that he is, takes refuge in his notes, tapping the back of his pencil against his sheet to grab the ECO's attention. "Now that we're done with this ever-pleasant diversion from our responsibilities as officers of this Fleet, Thorn, would you please turn your attention to … " Back to business without even a retort. No wonder people walk all over him.

Kai isn't sticking around for the rest of their intellectual debate. He's got his coffee cup and his cigs, and with a rare grin flashed in the senior pilot's direction, he's out the hatch.

OOC: CAP occurred off-camera.

It's a quiet evening in the Black Berthings. People are scuttling about, going on their usual business. Some of the bunks have occupants, some don't. Thea's seated at the table in the center as the berthing life goes on around her, seemingly an isle of solitude in the midst of day to day chaos. She's in her blues, with a few buttons undone and her hair down. Given that she had early morning CAP, it's very likely she's now off duty. Yet, as usual, she's still working. On the table next to her is a glass of amber scotch, about four fingers worth. In front of her are a pile of folders, the paperwork life of a Captain.

Into the room slinks Timon Stathis, having just come off his own four-hour shift in the blackness of space, with darker-than-usual bags underneath his brown eyes. He doesn't have very good posture on his best of days, but tonight he's even more slumped over than usual. "Morning, Captain," he says, making a beeline for his bunk. "Or — evening, I guess." Eyebrows rise at the sight of her beverage of choice. Yeah: she's definitely not flying after drinking all that.

"Frak me," Thorn sighs as he enters, one step behind Ivory. "You'd not think just sitting in a Raptor's backseat would be tiring, but I'm bloody bushed," he continues as he tosses his helmet and assorted gear onto his rack. He pauses, noticing the room's occupant. "Oi, Cat," he says in greeting. He studies the Captain as she plinks away at her paperwork. There's something compelling about the woman, even in an off duty setting, that… He freezes and colors briefly as he realizes he was staring, and with a quick mumble, turns back around and fiddles with something on his helmet. No, it wouldn't do to be casting *those* eyes around at all, especially at his boss. A cloud of smoke plumes around him, and he turns back around with a lit cigarette in his mouth, but for the moment, his eyes are still dancing around, looking anywhere but at Thea.

She looks up as the door opens then arches her head back, popping her neck, a hand rubbing absently at the nape. "Evening Ivory, Thorn. How was CAP," she asks, offering both of them a warm, if professional, smile. The smile actually seems to shave a couple years off, making her look a little younger, yet no less burdened. Concern flickers across her features as she watches Timon take to his bunk, though she only comments, "Four hours in either seat of a Raptor is tiring. In some ways, ECOs have it harder than pilots." Always, always defending her people.

"Long day. Too long." Timon has no eyes at all for anything except his bunk, against the comforting mattress of which he lands with a resounding plop. Its springs — yes, Fleet officers get several perks, first among which is a comfortable bed — creak loudly under the strain. The long sentences that have become his hallmark have vanished, replaced by monosyllables even a monkey could utter. "Was up gods know how early just staring at sim evals for the past two days. This jig here was nice enough to join me. We've got work to do, and I haven't had anything that could remotely be called coffee during the last five weeks." Timon's crescendo starts from pianissimo and ends at mezzo-forte. "Just tired, sir."

Komnenos smiles at Legacy's comment. "Not t' hear this guy talk, we don't." His exhaustion shows, though, as he cuts his ribbing of Ivory shorter than he usually would. Instead, he merely unzips the top of his flight suit, kicks his boots off, and leaps up onto his rack - cigarette and all. He doesn't lay down, though — he's heard too many horror stories about people falling asleep with a lit smoke. Instead, he sits there, assaulting his cigarette with abandon, like a parched man with a glass of water.

Cat studies both men with a practiced, concerned eye. Yes, she picks up on the exhaustion - especially Ivory's. Fingers wrap around her glass, as if she'd take a sip of the contents, but something stops her. Instead, she pushes to her feet and heads over toward her locker, rustling about inside for a long moment. Whatever she's looking for, it's in the very back of the very bottom. Eventually, though, she rolls up from her crouch and heads back toward Ivory's bunk. Three packets, shiny, are tossed on his stomach as she goes by. Three more are tossed up to Komnenos, her aim careful enough to keep them from hitting the cigarette. Without a word, she settles back down at the table and only -then- takes a sip from the glass. The packets? Coffee. Each packet with enough grounds for 3 or 4 cups. They seem to be of the dining hall or restaurant variety, or maybe even hotel room.

The pilot doesn't bother changing out of his dirty sweats. Deeper into the sheets Timon burrows, though by some miracle his eyes remain open — trained somewhere in the direction of his CO's back (and then her front, as she stands). As Thea does her thing, however, Thorn receives an uncharacteristic rebuke. "Got trouble enough staying alive in our day job. Wanna do the Cylon's work for them with that cig?" Ivory slurs his words — and he never slurs his words. Brown eyes stare blankly at the unexpected gift. It'll take him some time.

"Oi!" Komnenos starts with surprise, but his reflexes are quick enough to snag the packets out of the air. He smiles in gratitude. "Thanks, Boss. Much appreciated." His sudden flash of pleasure is interrupted by grousing from beneath him. "Oh, frak off," he returns with a sigh. An eye darts back to the table; he's reminded of the senior officer's presence. "Sir." Usually, his jabs are a little more imaginative than that, but then again, Thorn is tired — if not so much so as his seemingly about-to-pass-out pilot.

Legacy clears her throat quietly. Usually that's all it takes to settle most disputes in the Raptor bunks. Generally Thea lets them go on as long as they need to, but when that subtle sound is heard, well, that's usually a warning that Momma Cat's about to bounce someone's head off the ground if it continues much longer. "Ivory," she calls quietly. "Do I need to ban you from the sims and confine you to your rack for eight hours a night," she asks, tone mild. "Thorn, please turn on your fan." Most know that Thea's not a huge fan of cigarette smoke.

"Trying to keep us alive, sir," is Ivory's response. "Mess up out there, you don't get to go to bed. Gotta keep working." Usually he's more respectful than that, as Thea well knows, but even Timon suffers the effects of stress. Keeping up his cheerful, placid demeanor: now that takes work. "The coffee will help — thanks, by the way. But I'll be fine." That's all he has to say about that.

A chagrined Thorn immediately complies. "Sorry, Bosscat. Forgot, that's all. Stupid of me." As with Ivory, Anton's sentences are becoming even more clipped than usual. He shoots a guilty look in Thea's direction; even when delivering a rebuke, she still cuts quite a — Stop that, you dumb frak! He'd never tossed googly-eyes at his CO before; chances were she hadn't noticed, or so he hoped. He firmly put any such thoughts out of his mind, and switched his mental track over to work. Almost as good as a cold shower. "So, Captain, who are you planning to tab for that Periander recon mission?"

The Captain is quiet for a moment, save for the quiet scratching of her pen against the paper in the file. "You either start getting more rest, Ivory, or I'm going to order a full physical, and I'll tell them to make sure they poke and prod -everywhere-." Ahhh, the old joke of doctors, pilots, bending and coughing. "The same goes for you, Thorn. You can't be flying if you're this exhausted and stressed." Yes, this coming from the woman who pushes the envelope so far it crumples. Another sip of her drink disappears. Yes, there are times when Thea is utterly and completely oblivious. Thorn's look seems to go right over her head. "I'm still debating as to the mission. Matto and Poppy flew the last one. So it's either going to be Ivory or Flash flying it, and either you or Lifer backseating." Scratch, scratch, scratch. "Of course, it depends on what the CAG says, too." Ahh, look. There's an open wound to be jabbed at.

Timon's in that odd state between exhaustion and awareness — as close as this straight-laced fellow gets to public drunkenness — where he'll say the first thing that pops to mind — and yes, he's more than aware of his CO's habits. Too bad for him. "I'll start sleeping more when you do" is what comes out of his mouth, slotting for Periander be damned. Even the horror of a full-body-inspection doesn't deter him.

Thorn grunts noncommitally. He can hear the tension in Cat's voice; evidently there's still some soreness there about the CAG situation. Komnenos doesn't reply to that, though; the jig knows better than to get involved in the politics of the higher-ups. Not his place, anyway. He snorts in laughter at Timon's slurred statement; Craning his head down and smirking, he rejoinders, "Oh, no, you won't. You are a notorious…" In his current state, he can't seem to think of the word he wants. "um… self-sleep-depriver, and you're bloody set in your ways."

Oh, no he -didn't-. The pen stops scratching. Thea goes absolutely still for a moment, then turns her head, looking over her shoulder at Ivory with a brow raised ever so delicately. And then she smiles at him. It's not one of those bright, cheerful smiles she's known for. It's one of those smiles that has the ensigns scampering for their bunks - as two do now. It's the smile that stops men dead in their tracks and makes them question whether or not they want to turn tail and run, or whether they want to go forward and die utterly happy men, with a smile on their face. She simply watches Ivory for a time, then comments, drawling in a low, sweet voice, "Ivory, darlin, do you really want to be known as the Raptor whose Mommy has to put him to bed and stay with him while he sleeps to make sure he behaves, stays in bed, and doesn't wet the sheets?"

One hand scrabbles around on his belly for the coffee packets with which he's just been favored; at length, Timon manages to corral all three, shoving them into a small pouch hanging above his pillow from the top of his bunk. There to be stolen, too, if anybody with nimble fingers cares to try. "I've got this, Thorn," he calls back up. "Though you're welcome to keep on helping, so very — helpful — you're being already." He turns inward toward his pillow — too late to catch the look. "Just pointing out what's true," he mutters, though his voice is thankfully swallowed by the top-left edge of his bunk. "Don't worry about me. I've been here before. No worries."

Komnenos snickers, obviously enjoying watching the Cat turn into the Lioness at Timon's expense. "I live but to serve, Ivory," he responds, reveling in his smartassery. He's not exactly at full capacity himself, though, and he's been known to burn the midnight oil a time or two himself, so it's not as though he's got much room to henpeck anyone — although Timon qualifies for it if anyone does.

Cat simply watches Ivory for a long moment, then turns that look on poor Thorn. "Thorn," she says quietly. "You aren't exempt, my dear." Wait, is that a bit of a purr in her voice? If she were a cat, her tail would very lightly be flicking back and forth at the tip. "Both of you need to shut your curtains and sleep before I need to pull you off the line." Because, when it comes down to it, they all know Thea won't let an impaired pilot fly.

Oh, Timon's fine behind the stick — for now — and he intends to keep it that way. And fortunately for him, he's also too tired to object, even though potential rebuttals are already flooding his mind. Instead, he'll content himself with a simple, quiet "Yeah." Then, with a slow, halfhearted yank, he pulls the curtains closed. "Good night," he calls — barely audible — before he's down for the count.

Anton blinks as the tables are turned. She's right, of course; despite his posturing, he's really not in much better a state than Timon is. He hops down from his bunk and steps over to the table, extinguishing his cigarette in the closest ashtray — and waving away any tendrils of smoke that inch too close to Legacy. No sense in bringing the Cat's wrath down on his head. "Actually, Boss, would you mind terribly if I grabbed a quick shower first?" The stink of sweat and machine oil rolls off him in waves as he shrugs off the top half of his flight suit. "A quick one, I promise. Then I'll come back and sleep as long as you need me to."

Thea's expression softens suddenly into a smile and she chuckles softly. "Go shower, Thorn," she says, smiling up at him. "Take a nice hot one and try to relax a little, then you can sleep. I'll be here when you get back." At least her wrath doesn't last too long. She's worried about Timon, clearly, but she's made her views known.

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