Cooling Off
Cooling Off
Summary: In which no fight breaks out in the general lounge.
Date: PHD130
Related Logs: Implosion; Explosion


Another day done, at least for a portion of the crew. The little ensign from the CIC sits alone at a table near the officer/non-com border, her posture perfectly straight, a book open in front of her and a smaller book sitting just to the side of it. Opposite the smaller book is a cup of tea, steaming gently into the recirculated air as Serendipity carefully turns a page.

It's with a commendable lack of noise that Timon Stathis enters in his off-duties, his arms free of the usual panoply of books that has preceded him into off-duty areas for the past several weeks. Instead, all he's got are a pair of legal pads, one heavily used, one certifiably fresh — that, and a few black pens. His boots thud loudly against deck as he makes a beeline for the coffee machine, his metal cup hanging from a clip at his belt.

Zzz. ZzzzzZzzz. Speaking of coffee, -somebody- missed their daily dose of theirs. Somewhere in the back by the wall, maybe in the center(lengthwise) section of the Officer's segment is a collapsed Willem Price. The jacket of his duty greens is unbuttoned signifying he is indeed not on duty at the present time and he is lying against an end of the couch, snoring softly. One of the Ensigns from Red Squadron, Bethany 'Bangbang' Wallace walks by his sprawled form. He's got his usual satchel sitting next to him on the cushion. Bangbang stops and eyes it momentarily, scowls a little as the wheels in her generally malicious head work. She then fishes in her pocket and pulls out a sharpie. One may have an inkling of where this is going.

The page turned, Seriy's hand returns to her lap as her eyes scan the faded pages. Her other hand rises to lift the cup carefully to her lips, their pink pout meeting the porcelain as she takes a drink. Setting the cup back down she is again still for a moment before reaching for the smaller book and flipping through it as she looks something up.

"Bangbang," offers Timon, unclipping his cup as he examines the coffeemakers with a severe look in his eye. Only one of the pots looks full, which makes this choice an easy one; acidic black liquid sloshes out from its red plastic rim and into his mug. Only then does he turn around to see just what the Viper stick is doing — and it's with an overdramatized roll of his eyes that he makes his way over to a seat near where Rebound is soon to get a tattoo of a lifetime. "Afternoon, Ensign.” This, to the redhead.

The messy-haired Viper Ensign has keen enough senses at least, enough to peer backwards at the sound of her callsign, spying Timon. Apparently her usual petulance doesn't extend to full Lieutenants, just JG's. Or maybe it just extends to Rebound given her tendency to try to make the man's life a waking nightmare whenever she has the chance. This is just one of those days. Also, it's easy to get a rise out of him, as we are about to evidence. She turns back, having not directly been -stopped- as she pops the cap off the sharpie and with a rather predatory grin she places the tip against Wil's forehead giving him something to remember from his little nap.

Fortunately for him, Rebound is a light enough sleeper in this case. At the hint of pressure he starts to stair and then, feeling it, there comes a grunt. His eyes flicker open a moment later. He's initially smiling slightly until the rude awakening's nature becomes clear. Whoever he was dreaming about, it wasn't Ensign Wallace. Oh, there is a slight one inch long or so marker arc upon his forehead. He just -barks- and flinches back into the couch. "Beth? Is there somewhere I can go to -not- deal with you? Like an airlock, somewhere?" Apparently they hate each other enough to be on a first name basis. Bangbang's fun is ruined, though, and she just darts back, making a beeline for the hatch as if -daring- the Lieutenant to pursue and take her to task. Which Wil doesn't display any intention of doing. He just sits there. And sighs. And then looks around as he catches Timon and Seiry with a swipe of his head. His eyes narrow.

Seriy looks up from her Miercian dictionary, eyes blinking rapidly as her brain shifts gears and seeks to see who was being addressed. Once she realizes it was her a smile brightens her features and her face lights up. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant," she replies in a voice quite familiar to most of the pilots. Her eyes drift past him to the sharp(ie) exchange between the two more junior pilots, her expression gaining confusion as she tries to interpret what just took place.

"Taking suggestions for what to write on his forehead?" asks Timon sotto voce — this, presumably, to the wicked witch of Red. Yup. The lieutenant isn't about to move a muscle to interfere with Bangbang's plot, going so far as to lift and set down his seat with utmost caution so as to avoid disturbing Rebound's rest — until — well, drat. "Don't look at me, Price. I just got here." It's with studied nonchalance that the Raptor driver tosses both legal pads onto the table before fiddling in his pockets for an ink pen that's not an outrageous shade of purple. That one's good: simple, pure black. Then: "Drop the 'Lieutenant,'" he says to the redhead, almost by reflex. "I'm Ivory." There's a confused blink. "Do I know you?"

Bangs stiffens a little bit as she gives Timon, and by extension, Seriy a glance until she realizes that Ivory is not about to rain on her parade either. Still, her cover's blown, and she keeps heading for the hatch, smirking. Probably off to torture some other junior pilot. She's got a hit list. Meanwhile, Wil just blinks, clutching his hand to his forehead and smoothing his tousled hair with a weary half-sigh/half-yawn. He doesn't seem terribly pleased. "Thanks for the support, Ivory." He declares in a deadpan tone which is probably more for comic effect than out of sheer displeasure. "Is it bad?" He points to the small mark, obviously not sure what it is. Putting two-and-two together, he finally registers the other Ensign. The one without the Sharpie. "Ensign McKale. Uh, 'lo." He gives her a lazy wave before hefting his satchel and like a good neighbor, inviting himself over to their vicinity as he pads to their tables.

Seriy tilts her head as her smile returns, a slightly birdlike gesture. "No Lieuten-, my apologies, sir. No 'Ivory', I do not believe we have met before, though we have spoken on several occasions perhaps. I am one of the communications officers in the CIC. Good afternoon, Lieutenant," she says again, this time to Willem. "You… oh dear…" she says, her eyes on his forehead. She reaches into one of her leg pockets and pulls out a tissue, offering it to him. "You have… a bit of black…" she tells him diplomatically.

"I'm here for you, Rebound." Timon's eyebrows don't rise as he speaks, though he can't keep a wan smile from flickering across his pallid face. It's with stolid indifference that he sets about transcribing text from one pad to the other, brown eyes flicking from draft to final to draft again as he works. "Bangbang's handiwork looks absolutely scandalous, is what she meant to say." And no, he hasn't actually looked Wil's way to judge for himself. "Nice to meet you, McKale." Apparently he heard Price's greeting.

"Bit of black?" Wil jumps on the topic like it's hot, eyes widening a little. "Oh. Well. It's not a letter. Or a word, right?" Gods know what she was planning. "And to think not even Jupiter pulled that on me when she had the chance." Clearing his way to their table, he finds a section of it with a relatively decent amount of personal space and rests his hand upon it lightly. He then sets his satchel down on the ground. The flap is open and a sock is hanging out, along with a binder and a few other odds and ends. "If it's just a mark I'll try to say I was involved in some esoteric temple ceremony just to save face." His nose twitches as he snorts, directing the next bit to Timon. "Your continued loyalty is appreciated." Tinged with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

Seriy continues to hold out the tissue. "It's just a line, I don't believe anything symbolic or cogent was completed before you awoke, I believe it should remove easily enough with a little dabbing, or perhaps a bit of water…" Her eyes dart towards the pad in front of Timon, just long enough to see what he's up to, not long enough to be spying or otherwise eavesdropping. For her own part she seems to have a foreign text in frotn of her, and a Miercian dictionary by its side. "I believe the Lieutenant here bespoke to me that you were a bit of a scholar, sir?" she says conversationally to Timon.

"If I squint really hard — " Which Timon proceeds to do, peering at Wil with narrowed eyes. "Yeah. Appears to me that she was in the process of spelling out 'DIC.'" He enunciates each letter. "The meaning, though, is lost to me." Ivory even manages not to smirk as he lifts out the sock from Rebound's satchel with the tip of his pen. More blinking; then, it's stuffed inside with much more delicacy than before, and the pilot glances over to McKale. "I dabble," he begins — and then, as if he's come to some sudden realization, he looks back to Price. Now his eyebrows are decidedly raised.

"This is indeed our Professor-in-training." Wil quips, with a lazy swipe of his hand in Timon's direction. There is a long, measured pause as he mulls over the descriptions of the forehead vandalism. "I'm — sure," he finally says, gauging the reactions of the two officers as he looks from one to the other, playing a silent weighing game as their stories don't match. Who would be more likely to be putting him on, hmm? Something about Timon's reaction as he does this little 'look here, look there' routine eventually pulls him back to the Raptor pilot and he squints. Peering at the…sock, he clears his throat in a pointed manner. "Always be prepared, Ivory. Never know when you'll need a ," one more little 'ahem' "Spare." He concludes. "These are not for Lounge Use."

Seriy sets the tissue down on the table so that Willem can take it when he's ready. "I was quite surprised to hear such, as Lieutenant Price could relate. I've been quite amazed to discover the academic plethora of interests on board Kharon. Might I enquire as to your focus of study?" she asks Timon, appearing to be earnestly curious.

Whatever implicit question Timon was asking Rebound is apparently answered to his satisfaction, and it's with an amused chuckle that he gets back to business — but not without bending over to whisper something in the pilot's ear first. But before he can so much as finish transcribing a sentence, McKale speaks up. "'Enquire' you may," notes Ivory, his tone and expression wry. "Or you could just, you know, 'ask.'" His pen flips around his thumb in loose, languid circles. "Anyway: philosophy, with particular emphasis on the political part. I'd go on, but I don't want to put you to sleep."

The immediate response to whatever the elder pilot murmured was a halfhearted shrug on Wil's part as he reaches for the socks and stuffs them back in his satchel. "Mind if I have a seat?" He inquires half a beat later. He just looks between the two erstwhile bookworms and shrugs again, that little black mark on his forehead wrinkling along with his skin.

Seriy's hands clasp together excitedly in her lap as she beams a smile at Timon. "Oh, no, I think it's quite fascinating. Though not much of a philosopher, I have read quite a few from a literary standpoint. The 'dialogue' is quite an effective format in adding a narrative prose form to what would otherwise be merely a collection of thoughts or a monologue. Though, it was really used more in the past… I admit that other than a few early classes I have little knowledge of modern political philosophy. Papa always said that politics was best left to the ruling class and was quite sure the husband they found for me would have sufficient knowledge." Serendipity sits at a table near the border of Enlistedville, Willem and Timon sharing the space.

Timon's response to Rebound's question is to kick out a chair from underneath the table, sipping delicately from his mug as he does. Steam wreathes his face as he drinks, and while he seems on the verge of interrupting at various points in the bridge bunny's story, he's courteous enough to let her finish before laughing aloud. "I was telling somebody about Plato a few months ago," says Ivory, his cup thunking against the table as his pen falls still. "Man got into his head that thinkers should rule the world. Philosopher-kings, if you will, who'd run off into the wild to breed more of their kind every couple of years." Ivory shakes his head at the thought. "It's the dream that sustains my kind," he murmurs, feigned longing writ clearly on his expression.

"Almighty cubit." Wil chimes in, with a bit of a cough, as he bonelessly settles into the proferred chair. He's not ignoring the conversation, really, just listening in for a moment as he starts to rummage through the contents of his satchel. Fumble, fumble. His binder gets fished out and placed silently on the table. He looks -about- to say something more, but hesitates. Errs on the side of caution, too. For once.

Kai bustles into the lounge with a stack of paperwork under one arm and a bright red coffee cup dangling from his fingers. Baggy BDUs, a N A V Y t-shirt and open fatigue jacket make it clear he's off duty and off the clock. First task: acquire coffee. He skirts toward the machine, and slides his folders onto the counter before checking the pot. Still steaming. Perfect.

Seriy gives pause at the sarcasm, not quite sure how to interpret it. "Yes… well… isn't that the goal of most ruling classes? Self perpetuation, I mean to say…" It sounds a little more polite than 'descending upon the city to get their nut on every which way'. "To produce a generational status quo. A dynasty, if you will."

"Tastes particularly charred today, Captain." Timon taps his pen against the side of his mug in warning — not that he expects Spider to wave off or anything. The man probably likes his coffee burnt and crisped anyway. "And sure, Ensign — I'll grant that his motives aren't particularly difficult to understand." Ivory hops from subject to subject with alacrity. "I'm more interested in his view of the interaction between the state and its people. To keep philosophers in power, he advocates teaching every citizen a creation myth he recognizes as a bald-faced lie — philosophers were made from gold, other important people from silver, and the commoners from bronze. And thus are hierarchies reified."

Grey eyes dart from Timon to Seriy. Something has him puzzled as he studies the woman with narrowed eyes. Finally he looks back to Ivory again. "I suppose this is probably the wrong time to illustrate that there's the occasional hiccup in this endless trend. Like a 'year-zero' event." Wil says, softly and maybe a little dryly as he hurls what he probably sees as a metaphorical banana peel or pie into the discussion. It doesn't seem to be loaded with too much meaning. "So you don't particularly buy into the concept of the telelogical 'progress of history,' eh?" This seems to be directed towards either one at the table. As Kai goes on his coffee run, Rebound lolls his head over to study the CAG with a quiet, "Sir." He's finally to the point where he's not up out of his chair saluting in a non-duty area. Guess he -can- be trained.

Kai glances over briefly at the conversation, but seems more interested at the moment in the procurement of caffeine. He finishes pouring, slides the pot back onto the burner with a soft *hiss* as a drip evaporates on contact, then gathers up his papers again. "Hold your nose and it all tastes the same, Stathis," he points out to Timon in passing, once he's begun his approach vector toward a free couch. He does not, of course, smile. "Afternoon, Lieutenants. Ensign." His tone of voice is bland as ever.

Seriy tilts her head again as she listens to Timon, considering his statement. "That is not unusual though. Many creation myths contain a hierarchy, including those of the Gods themselves. It is not unusual for progenitors of myth to borrow upon the concepts that came before them, and by his lifetime the positions of our Gods within their pantheon were already well defined. It's true such things occur in cycles though, as Lieutenant Price offers. We face another exodus, it is likely that our culture, politics, and writings will reflect changes similar to previous history. Good afternoon, sir," Seriy replies to Kai cheerfully, happy in her little academic discussion.

Sorry, Spider: Timon won't hold his nose as he drinks, but he does grimace slightly as he swallows a few grounds. Subsequent sips are smaller and much more tentative. "That wasn't my point, Ensign," he says, in between trips to his mug. "I'm talking about the close connection between power and knowledge: all instances of the former require the latter; all instances of the latter reinforce existing structures of the former." Yes, Kai: you've just walked into an airy-fairy discussion about post-modernism. "So I interpret Plato as conceding that there's no such thing as truth that exists outside of power — merely statements about the world that are true within the ambit of specific discourses." As for Wil: "All of which is to say, we're living the dialectic." Whatever that means.

"I started hitting the coffee in the Mess hall almost exclusively." Wil indicates in a sort of bland observation in what sounds like an on-the-fly attempt to be helpful. His hear's in the wrong place, but any likely perceived difference is a complete illusion. He watches the Captain stroll towards his seat as he pays a division of his attention to the discussion. There's a slight screwing up of his features as Seriy refers to another exodus and he draws in a deep breath, his eyes momentarily scurrying to the wall, and then back to her and Timon. "Aren't we always?" He simply tosses out in response to this last bit. "I don't know if 'power' is so simple a concept, though."

The trio could be talking in Kalimnos, for all the CAG seems to be processing the particulars of their conversation. He's a soldier, not an academic. Once he settles in, his papers are spread out in front of him, coffee cup put to use as a paperweight atop what looks like a list of schematics, and he begins multitasking between reading and hunting down his pack of cigarettes.

Thorn enters the lounge in duty BDUs, a stack of folders in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other. His first stop is the teapot on the counter on the officers' side; seeing it empty, he scowls, quietly muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "Where th' frak's Roubani when y' need him?" He still bears the marks of the previous night's excitement; a butterfly bandage covers a small cut above his right eyebrow, and his split upper lip is still puffy.

Seriy tilts her head again. "forgive me if I'm mistaken sir, as it was not my concentration, but wouldn't one consider our current society to be far from dialectic? The military format is based on the evolution of a practical chain of command and organization. It could be said to be the same with the forces still upon Scorpia, where practical leadership has developed based on ability, not upon class or education. It would be more.. positivism perhaps?"

"I never said it was, Rebound." Timon takes another sip from his cup — which, unfortunately, is now empty, as all this talking has apparently made him thirstier than he usually is. And so up he goes to grab a refill, stepping around the CAG's seat to avoid running into the man's paperwork. Then: MOAR COFFEE. He talks even as he pours: "I wouldn't go around throwing about jargon like that, Ensign," says Ivory from his position by the pots. "Positivism, say. What do you think that means?" Thorn, for his part, gets a concerned look, nothing more.

Kai's paperwork is mostly confined to the couch he's seated at, though there are a few loose pages arranged on the table in front of him. Once his cigarette's procured and lit, it's tucked between the knuckles of his index and middle fingers, and his pen clicked on in preparation to annotate. Timon receives but a brief glance as he passes; the arriving raptor ECO, a longer one. It's difficult, as always, to get a read on just what precisely is going through his mind.

"Ever heard of Latsis' theories, Ensign?" Thorn interjects roughly from the counter, back still facing the group as he prepares a new batch of tea. "There is the Being, or in our case, society as it was. Now, we have the Nothing; society as we know it has been destroyed. We strive towards th' Becoming, t' create a new Being from the circumstances which th' Nothing has left us. Very dialectical, actually." He turns around finally, facing the conversing officers with a browraise to Ivory. "It's been a long time since I read much philosophy, but such is my understanding, anyway."

Seriy shifts in her seat so she can face towards Timon as he gets coffee, her hands clasped in her lap. "I recall it to represent that knowledge was based upon sense experience as opposed to divine considerations. Perhaps not the best example, but a more cogent one that a divinely-inspired hierarchy. Again though, sir, my concentration was in literature, not philosophy. Or perhaps empiricism…" she adds to the speculation. There's a reason she drinks the tea, which she takes a sip of now.

Kai just works away quietly, off in his happy little land bereft of philosophical musings. He pulls from his cigarette, and jots a few more things down while the others debate.

"Thorn has the right of it." Timon's finished up with his coffee, and it's with quick steps that he slips back over to the seat, clapping the ECO on the shoulder as he passes. "And as for positivism — not exactly." Back into his chair he goes. "I see it as predicated on three principles: first, the neutrality of facts between theories; second, the unity of the social and the natural world; and finally, an empiricist epistemology. It's a mode of inquiry more than anything else. A set of shared assumptions, let's say, from which other conclusions can be drawn. And — drop the sir. Please."

And that about exhausts Thorn's extent of knowledge on the subject; philosophical musings were never a priority in his course of study, after all. He nods shortly to Timon as the other man acknowledges him, before he goes to sit down at one of the tables with tea, smoke, and folders in hand. The folder on top is opened, and Thorn thumbs through the contents, looking briefly over the papers inside.

Seriy nods her head as she listens, wishing she had a way to take notes. The end garners comment though. "I'm sorry sir, I wouldn't… feel right under the circumstances… I was wondering though… Perhaps you would consider performing a lecture. I should think there would be others who would be interested in your thoughts on philosophy and our current situation."

Kai's sharp gaze briefly lands on Komnenos, then turns back to his paperwork. His expression's mostly hidden behind the cloud of smoke that escapes from his lips and nose in a fine stream. "Afternoon, Lieutenant." It might be a touch frosty, or it might just be the Captain's usual charm at work. He's seated at one of the couches apart from the trio discussing philosophy, which seems to suit him just fine.

"Ivory, then, if not 'sir'." Whatever Timon was doing with those legal pads has long been forgotten; instead, he leans forward on the table, rubbing at an itch somewhere between his neck and the back of his left shoulder. "And to be frank, I think there'd be a total of one taker on board this ship," he says, jabbing his pen in the redhead's direction. His hand drifts briefly underneath the elastic of his sweats as he scratches, doing his best to avoid jostling the paper now lying underneath his arms. That's not quite a no. But before he can continue, Spider speaks, and then his gaze is snapping to Thorn and the CAG to see where this is going. If it's going.

Thorn takes a few sheets of paper from the folder, and after a quick sip from his mug, strides slowly over to the CAG's table. Shoulders squared, he stops a few steps away from the older man. "Captain," he begins stiffly. The papers are placed on the closest corner of the table. "New reports on the simulators." There's a brief pause as he takes a drag, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. "And… I should apologize t' you for last night. Sir."

Roubani makes his way into the lounge after a cautious assessment of the noise level of the interior. Not at critical yet, or so he seems to decide, slipping past three people milling at the hatchway. It's not towards any of the clumps of people that he heads, but just for the cups. And the tea.

"A small number, probably. Then you'd get your usual, 'what do this word mean,' reaction, " Wil says in a sort of amplified, ridiculous caricacture of 'early man'. Or 'early Marine.' "I think that'd be kind of draining. I can see the burn-out inherent in -that- mess." His fingers start drumming on the table.

Samantha steps into the room, headed for coffee, looking like she really hasn't gotten much sleep in the last two days or so, but that might not be much of a surprise. She's quieter than her usual self, probably much to many people's happiness, keeping her dirty blonde head down and eyes just for a coffee cup and not much more. Best not to bother anyone.

Kai is in the midst of ashing his cigarette when Thorn takes it upon himself to approach. The motion's completed after a brief pause, dusting the tin cup that's already filled with the crumpled, discarded remains of other peoples' habit. "Good," is his curt reply to the ECO. Followed by, "Thank you." For the report? Or for the willingness to apologise? Something's responsible for the brief glimmer of approval in his otherwise austere features. Blue eyes seek blue for a beat, and then cut toward the seat cushion next to him. And then back again.

Seriy is pretty sure decorum and tradition will allow her to use a call sign, though she makes a mental note to check on that later when she can find a source. "I don't know about that, um, Ivory, I should think there might be several…" Her voice trails off as she sees his attentions drift across the room, so she shifts her to Willem. "Surely I don't know, but I expect that there are more intellectuals upon Kharon than might be otherwise expected. Many of the senior officers I should think. And as we must begin to preserve intellectual pursuits for posterity I think it would make a good record of our assumptions, philosophically, as a people during this point in history."

Okay, it's going someplace. Timon's eyes remain fixed on Thorn as the man goes about that apology thing. Poet — seen through his peripheral vision — gets a wave; Case — whom he might not have seen — is ignored. But as soon as he's sure there won't be any random punching, it's back to the geeks at his table. "It's not me I'd be worrying about," he mutters to Rebound. "It's the sanity of those who'd be listening to me." But again, he doesn't dismiss McKale's idea outright. Hmm.

Tea secured, Roubani sticks by the counter a while to stir it. The spoon makes softly musical clinks against the inner sides of the ceramic mug; exactly who he might be watching from his brows is debateable. Timon gets a polite nod at his wave.

Thorn blinks; he's come to expect brevity from the CAG, but this is terse even by his standards, and two words just isn't enough for Lieutenant Socialfail to adequately judge his superior's mood. He nearly misses the flick of Kai's eyes to the chair, but after a moment's pause, he slowly sits down, non-cigarette-holding hand clenched as he does so.

"Maybe." Wil finally tosses out there towards the Ensign's suggestion with sort of noncommittal tones. "Maybe." Right. And maybe, somewhere out there there is a Basestar full of Cylons that look exactly like Miss Virgon July of last year with a taste for Ginger dudes. He'd sound about as sold on -this- concept, irony of ironies.

Price just leans back in his chair as he hefts his satchel, stowing his notebook after a long, long pause.

Kai doesn't greet those who've recently entered; the majority of his attention's on Anton at the moment, and seems likely to remain there for the time being. His own paperwork's shuffled into a tidy pile and set aside, and Thorn's report opened up on his lap so he can thumb through the first page or so. "How's your face?" he asks after a few seconds' tense silence.

Stepping (and immediately sidestepping some folks at the door) inside, Mars gravitates over towards the coffee pot like a satellite that got too close to it's planetary body. Zooooom. A sweeping glance is spared for the other occupants of the room, her permanently sour expression unchanging. Then it's to the coffee and pouring.

Timon downs another gulp of coffee before getting back to his work, every so often looking over at his ECO. Is he eavesdropping? NO. He's all busy copying text from one legal pad to the other, see. No way his attention is Over There.

Roubani moves away from the liquids area as people start heading for it. The crowd level's suddenly jumped up, and it leaves the JG looking less than comfortable in the spot he's found to stand in. So with that, he starts pacing back towards the hatch. Or something near the hatch. hard to tell.

Seriy notices the attentions of her audience are waning, and so she decides the subject is best left to steer its own course. "Well, please think on it, s- Ivory. If you decide to do so, I shall be in the front row." She smiles brightly, nothing apparent behind her smile save for cheerful academic interest, but one never knows. "I would hope, at the least, to record your thoughts for posterity."

Samantha finishes pouring out her coffee, taking a good sniff of the stuff to figure out just how long it's been sitting there. Apparently, she approves enough that she shrugs and takes a sip, stepping back from the coffee maker and letting the next interested party come out. She seems about to duck out, but then she notices Kom and Kai's cigarettes… eyeing them almost enviously. Damn, she wants one. She looks almost hungry for it.

There's something about Kai's question that, on a certain level, just sounds absurd; however, Thorn manages to restrain the snorting laugh welling up in his throat. After a moment of taking a pull and restoring his composure, he replies. "It's fine. Looks worse than it is," Thorn replies simply. Any cracks about Martin hitting like a girl are sensibly kept to himself, if he is indeed thinking that. No one will ever know.

Matto stops in not all too long after Samantha, hands in his pockets as he exhibits a casual slouch. His moustache has sadly washed off in the shower. He pauses near the egress, moving to one side as the flow of people in and out continues. He spots Toes, first, as a matter of interest; as he and Marek seem to be getting along he lets his attention stray elsewhere, giving the Poet a smile of greeting in the meantime, "Too much?"

Drifting in and out of the conversation, Willem's eyes narrow ever-so-faintly upon something he catches sticking out of the corner of his binder as he just calmly stares at the uneven pages. Lids lower and blink as he simply shakes his head from one side to the other and replaces the item into green canvas of the bag. He looks, well, a little sheepish.

"Maybe," replies Timon, echoing Wil. "In the meantime, you could just drop by the library, where Poet, Rebound and I can usually be found disagreeing with each other when we don't have anything more interesting to do." He glances up to see what those other two men are doing, apparently content to know that Spider's 'How are you doing?' hasn't metamorphosed into a sucker punch to the face. Oh. It's Matto! And no paint, this time. Good. Thus: a wave.

Kai's not known for his beating around the bush; he's straightforward, often painfully so. And speaking of pain, "Looked like he got you pretty good." Flip, flip. He might be actually reading the report, or just using it as a reason not to make eye contact with Thorn. "My first day aboard the Pegasus, I got cold-cocked one by an el-tee who thought I was making eyes at his girlfriend." He taps the bridge of his nose. "Broke my nose. I was so startled, I hurled all over his shoes."

Matto's presence provides Roubani with a safe place to let his wandering cease, both hands wrapped protectively around the mug of tea. "No," he tells the Raptor pilot. "It's like being in a museum and watching the exhibits." His hushed voice is even appropriate for such an endeavour. "Except they talk, which I suppose is a touch creepy." He hears Ivory and rubs his cheek with his thumb. "And exhibit A is incorrect. I disagree with him regardless of how interesting anything else I have to do may be."

Seriy smiles brightly again, nodding her head. "I shall keep that in mind. I spend quite a bit of time there myself of late, reacquainting myself with some of the more prevalent classics." Her hand absently strokes the cover of the book in front of her as she turns to smile up at Matto. "I'm afraid I'm no great mind though, just a woman who reads rather a lot."

"You make our lives sound boring and directionless. " Wil chimes in towards Ivory with a slightly harsh chuckle. "Speaking of which. I left something down there and I think I need to make a retrieval." His jaw suddenly tightens for some reason as he starts to amble out of his seat and sees. People. Lotsa people. Whoah. Oh shit, son. Pretty much anyone he knows can consider themselves looked at(tm).

This time, Thorn can't restrain himself; a startled laugh emits from his throat at the image of Marek puking on some angry lieutenant's boots. His attention is warily focused on Kai, so he notices neither Samantha's entry or Wil's look. "First one got me pretty good. Second was pretty weak. Caught a knuckle, is all." He tilts his head, looking curiously at the CAG. "Were you?"

Mars takes a deep sniff of the percolated fluid now in her cup, partaking deeply of the bean-y aroma. It's enough to make her smile. Briefly. Then it's back to the sourpuss look she wears on the regular. Turning, she takes her cup and herself over towards an empty table. Worming into a seat, she eavesdrops. Obviously so.

"Take care finding your direction, then, Rebound. Might join you in a few." For now, Timon is content to write, though he does laugh quietly at something the redhead says. "I just pretend to be," he murmurs across the table. "A great mind, I mean. And I'm an awful actor."

Matto tips his chin up with a jovial smile to Aah'vry at the wave, then he settles in against the wall, leaning there and crossing one ankle over the other as he pulls his hands from his pockets, three crocheted and bean-stuffed balls in his hands, two in one, one in the other, "Just on general principle or about anything in particular?"

Sam really, really -really- does not want to hear this awkward conversation. But they have the only cigarettes she can see. She finally musters up some courage and stalks over in that direction, partially clearing her throat…"Can I beg a cigarette off of either one of you before I jump out of this pile of awkward once again?" Sam asks, just a hint too fast. She's definitely jonesing enough to dare insert herself into that conversation.

The efficacy of Martin's martial technique is not commented upon. It would hardly be appropriate, in light of what's happened, so the CAG remains mum on the matter. After perusing the notes for a few moments more, he withdraws his pen from a pocket of his fatigue jacket, clicks it on, and jots something down in a margin. Maybe he was actually reading. "Was I what?" he returns to Thorn, with a small nod to Indigo as she passes by.

"I'm not giving away that secret," Roubani tells Matto, punctuating it with a soft sip of tea. "He's still trying to figure it out, himself." He gives Willem a slight nod as the man gets up, recognising that 'whoa shit, people' look on the man's face. There's a glance to the hatch and then something more asked of Matto under his breath.

Seriy gives Timon another one of her sunshine smiles. "You seem quite well educated. I have difficulty believing it some sort of farcical act. And I do hope you will consider giving a lecture. I should find it quite fascinating."

"I've had a fairly good track record of not getting lost on this ship." Wil mounts some kind of vague defense of his own navigational abilities with a dry chuckle. "Anyway. Excuse me. Enjoy your. Well." He gestures towards Stathis' project of epic labor. "You too, Ensign." With that, he slings the satchel over his shoulder and strolls briskly towards the hatch, stopping only once to eye Kai and Thorn and…Oh. That's awkward. Sam too? He displays a little bit of a visible wince and has decided this should only quicken his pace.

"Um. Making eyes, I mean." Thorn's head turns at the sound of Samantha's voice; there's a wan, puffy-lipped smile offered to the woman as Thorn silently offers her his pack. "Keep it. I've got more," he says belatedly.

Matto looks over toward Sam briefly, watching her as she approaches the pair with an almost analytical gaze. Then, his attention turning back toward the Poet, he lifts a shoulder in an ambivalent gesture, replying in the same low tone.

Timon flushes a little at the woman's compliment, though his only response is to tap the clicky-end of his pen against the first page of aforementioned epic labor; then, it's back to scribbling, though his eyes are trained once more on Thorn. And Case? Mm. Ivory bites down on his lower lip, muzzling whatever he was about to say.

"Of course not," is Marek's straight-faced reply to Anton's question. In fact, it's a little too straight-faced to be true. "Keep up the good work," he mentions blandly, steely mask firmly in place again while he puts the report back together and flips the file folder closed. The unsociable Captain's own escape is, apparently, imminent. "Next time I see you getting into fights outside of the ring, I won't be leaving you to Captain Legacy's tender mercies."

Roubani nods a little in response to Matto. His eyes stray briefly to the trio of Kai, Thorn, and Sam, not particularly readable, then to his watch. Pushing off the wall, he starts towards the hatch, giving Timon and his female company a little wave on his way.

Samantha accepts the pack from Thorn, giving him a look over now that she's stepped closer. There's a certain bit of concern on her face that she just can't hide, but she slips a cigarette free and hands it back.."No. no… keep it. In too high demand to be givin'em away. Thanks, handsome…" She murmurs casually, her usual nickname for him, before she turns on the ball of her foot to retreat.

Matto gives Sam another brief squint before he instead looks to his right hand, beginning to move it and toss one brown and red globe up into the air at a time, the bean-filled creatures hitting his hand again with a rhythmic tak tak tak tak as he pushes away from the wall and follows the Poet back out, never having gotten more than a meter or two into the place.

Anton shrugs, taking back the pack of smokes and shoving it back into the pocket from whence it came. His gaze follows the retreating woman briefly before he turns back to Kai as the older man is packing up his things. "Noted, sir," is his quiet reply.

"See you around, Poet," says Timon, taking advantage of the man's departure to kill off the rest of his coffee, which by now has long since cooled. "Kissy." If he's curious to know what the pair was plotting, he doesn't take this moment to ask, instead watching Case's retreat with something a few degrees short of fascination. "Wow," he murmurs, almost inaudibly. "That went well."

Seriy continues to smile as she turns back to her book, an untranslated version of a Miercian epic. She seems to have no trouble concentrating among the chaos around her, but again her job puts her in the middle of similar chaos, so in a way the chatter of the pilots around her is comforting.

Kai nods curtly to Komnenos, gathers up his bevy of file folders along with his empty coffee cup, and rises. "Have a good afternoon, Lieutenant." His cigarette's dropped, and crushed out with his boot heel in mid-stride. "Passi, I'd like a word with you after shift, tonight." His voice lacks inflection, and thus it lacks anger. But there's something pointed about his words nonetheless. He continues toward the hatch without so much as a glance back at her.

Samantha looks up to Kai, blinking a moment, a touch of tightness in her throat. "Yes…sir… I have time now, if you'd like…" She calls after him, but it might be too late. She takes another long gulp of her coffee, probably silently wishing it was booze…

"Clearly, I missed something dramatic and probably really annoying," Mars notes quietly to herself, sipping from her coffee. She eyeballs Kai and then Samantha, the slightest of smirks cresting her lips.

Thorn watches silently at the interplay as Kai rises to leave. As the CAG walks off, leaving Anton alone at the table, the ECO grimaces, placing his elbows on the table and silently rubbing at his temple with his off hand. The other hand, naturally, still holds half a cigarette, which also raises so Thorn can take another pull off of it. Komnenos' gaze flicks briefly over to Mars; he's close enough to hear her voice, but not make out the words exactly. Or he's just not focused enough to, one or the other. There's a sudden flash of amusement in his eye as he recognizes her, but it's gone quickly as his head bows back down to the folders in front of him.

"Until tomorrow morning, Captain," says Timon to Spider's back, wincing a little as he catches the pointed nature of the CAG's words. Wouldn't want to be Case, that's for sure. Then, Thorn is beckoned over with a languid gesture — a crooked finger, a wave of a pen.

"I don't," notes the CAG to Samantha, not unkindly. But he's a busy man, yo. "Come and find me after your CAP." Timon gets a nod of combined acknowledgement and farewell, and then he shifts his coffee cup to the hand with the file folders, tugs the hatch open, and heads out.

Well, it's slightly more relaxed now that Kai is gone. Sam doesn't seem quite so ready to escape. She's about to say something to Thorn when she notices Timon gesturing him over and she shuts her lips, nodding for Thorn to head over to his old buddy. She just makes her way for a couch, slumping down into it, cigarette in one hand, coffee in the other… Quiet.

Thorn just sits, quietly, head cradled in hand as he continues to smoke his cigarette in peace. Said head raises again at the sound of Ivory's voice, though, which allows him to notice the Raptor pilot's gesture. After a moment, Thorn gathers up his folders and complies, moving back across the room to join Timon with an expectant look on his face.

Seriy continues at her table, reading away, and every 5th page or so pausing to check or verify a word in her dictionary.

"What was Black's verdict?" Apparently, Timon's learned more from Kai than how to run around a ship for an hour without collapsing. He's talking in a whisper, leaning back against his chair.

Hrm. Sip. Mars sits up in her seat briefly, glances towards Komnenos and then Timon. Then her gaze settles on Sam like a missile lock seeking tone. Pushing up from her seat, she moves on over towards the other woman, slumping into a seat at the couch next to her and offering, "Lieutenant. How's business?"

Komnenos gives Timon an odd look at the question, but acquiesces to his friend's curiosity. "Well, I'm grounded for today," he answers softly, though not so quietly that others outside the conversation can't hear. If they're eavesdropping. Nosy little so-and-sos. "Three days curfew, twenty-hundred through oh-eight-hundred. And…" Thorn trails off hesitantly, his eyes suddenly avoiding the other man's. "…I've been ordered t' sickbay for anger management counseling." With an embarrassed look on his face, he braces himself for Timon's reaction to that little nugget of information.

Samantha clears her throat just a bit, looking up towards Mars, a faint smile crossing her face. "…Same old, really. Yourself?" Sam murmurs, not the full truth, no doubt, but she's tired of spilling drama out everywhere. Needless to say, she's looking a bit more sleepless than anyone should if everything is calm as a cucumber.

Timon looks down into his mug as Thorn outlines the details of his punishment. Nope — coffee hasn't magically reappeared inside, not that he expected otherwise. When the man's done: "On the record, you're an idiot for fighting back." There's a beat. His next few words are pitched so low as to be nearly inaudible to those 'nosy-little-so-and-sos': "Off the record? At least you managed to get him good."

"More and more tired of the same old, same old. Every Gods-damned day there's more drama on this ship." Mars slurps her coffee before resting the cup on her thigh, hand wrapped firmly around the cup. She hooks her other arm behind her, turning partway towards Samantha. "I hate prying into other people's personal business, but when people keep doing it right in front of me, I feel obligated to pay attention. Understand?"

Samantha smirks slightly, "Well…I'm doing my damndest not to do it in front of anyone. I can't help it when fights break out in lounges when I'm out on CAP…" But her eyes then flicker over in Anton's direction, shaking her head slowly as she echos Timon, "But you're both idiots for fighting at all…especially over… that sort of matter."

There's finally a sign of mirth from Thorn, as the ECO grins slightly and chuckles. "Guilty on both counts, I suppose," he responds quietly to Timon, exhaling a plume of smoke through his nose. An eyebrow is risen in Case's direction. "I wasn't exactly planning t' fight him at all, Case," he replies mildly. "He didn't exactly give me much choice. Don't care how pissed the blighter was, nobody sucker punches me and gets away with it," Thorn adds matter-of-factly.

"All the same. You should listen to the woman." Timon doesn't quite say 'your woman,' though he does jerk his thumb in Case's direction as he tears out a blank page of yellow paper from his legal pad. "Anyway. In case you get bored while talking to the shrink — " He bends to scribble something down in his small, messy hand before folding it lengthwise and handing it over to his ECO. "Burn after reading and all that," he says, smiling as little as he can. "Just thought you'd like to know." And then he's packing everything up, setting one pad on top of the other before clipping his pen into a pocket and standing. "Good talk, McKale. You know where to find me if you want to get bored to tears."

"Seriously?" Mars levels a blue-eyed gaze on Samantha, fixing her as firmly as if she had a fork and stuck it in the woman. "Look, I don't know all the details here. All I've got is this ship's infernal rumor mill and what I overhear over my wakeup coffee. But what I do know is that despite us all having a real dangerous enemy out there, rather than focus all our aggression and rage and violence on them, some of it is getting wasted on someone as empty-headed as you."

Samantha looks back to Anton, giving him a half understanding wince of a smile as he mentions about Martin hitting him… "I know… but…" And then Mars is commenting about her own empty headedness and Sam just blinks back to the woman, genuine shock on her face for the officer that she barely knows. She's not even going to cave to that sort of bullying, confusion appearing a heartbeat or two after…"…ah… I sure as hell didn't ask for this… nor approve… so stop throwing the insults when it ain't your business." Sam stands up then, shaking her head, readying to leave.

The message written there is a little cryptic, but it doesn't take long for the ECO to discern its meaning, and Thorn purses his lips in a silent 'ooo' of anticipation. As the note is folded up and shoved into a pocket, Komnenos' attention drifts over to the girl-talk not too far away. "You just frustrated that no one's giving you the time of day, 'Painbow'?" Thorn asks snarkily, an eyebrow quirked in displeasure.

Ohh, dear. More fireworks. Timon looks askance at Mars and Samantha before walking — no, skittering — to the exit. "Good luck," he calls to Thorn, a little too glibly, and then the door's shut behind him before he gets slammed in the face. Because judging from last night's example, one can never be too careful.

"Sir, if I was insulting you, you'd know it." Mars' voice stays conversational, though she makes no move to go after Samantha. Nope. She just kicks a leg up and lifts her coffee up for a sip. "What I am saying is that everything we all do, no matter how small, effects all of the people around us. And that includes whatever the hell the rumor mill is on about today. Do yourself and all the rest of us a favor and straighten yourself out, okay?" When she stops talking, she aims her gaze Komnenos, smirking at his question. "Contrary to popular belief, not everyone needs sweaty poundy sex times constantly on the brain, Thorn. And believe it or not, I'm not trying to give the Lieutenant a hard time."

Samantha takes another breath of her cigarette, shaking her head slowly again to Mars…"Then you might phrase the advice without calling your superior officer empty headed, Jig." Sam states flatly, leaving the argument there before she looks back to Thorn. "…Thorn…if you want to chat…I…I'll be in the bunks." And with that, she does finally turn to leave, mug of coffee in hand, making the escape she should have made 20 minutes ago.

Seriy blinks as a bit of forward conversation about unmentionable things drifts over. She shakes her head briefly before turning her attention back to her book.

There's storm clouds gathering on Thorn's brow, and he looks as though he's halfway to a roaring fit when Mars speaks again. He's at least slightly mollified by her response, though, and he settles for a sullen glare; there might even be a tiny gleam of amusement in his eyes at her response to him, in particular. If it's there at all, it's only for an instant, though. "I'll see you in a bit, then," he calls out to Samantha as she makes for the door before turning back to Mars. "Look, why don't y' just keep it t' yourself. If you absolutely need t' heap scorn on someone for being an idiot, send it this way. She doesn't deserve it." The tip of his cigarette flares as he takes another long pull.

"Sir, yes, sir." Mars tilts her head up towards Samantha, adding, "It got your attention though, didn't it?" She lifts one eyebrow suggestively, then rolls her shoulders, relaxing into the couch. When she brings her eyes up again, it's for Komnenos. "Scorn isn't what I'm after. I just want to keep the family together. Keep us alive. Sometimes that means telling people how things are instead of being nice about it."

Well, she -was- going to leave, but as Thorn picks up the arguing on her behalf, especially with those storm clouds behind his gaze, Sam just turns straight around on the ball of her foot and stalks back to him. "Come on. Berthings. Now. It's done, no use arguing with anyone… the Jig over there included." She gives Mars a half apologetic smile before, if Thorn doesn't struggle too much, she's actually dragging him out of the room by his arm, not giving him the option to stay behind and debate.

Seriy reaches the end of her chapter, closing the book and reaching up to rub the bridge of her nose. She's more rusty on her translating than she thought. Idly she casts her eyes across the lounge, visually ccatching up with the arrival s and departures since she last paid attention.

Whatever Thorn was going to say is cut off by the sudden tug on his arm. Reluctantly, he folds, allowing Samantha to pull him off towards the door with only a minimum amount of struggling. He shakes his head in disgust, glancing back at Mars; she makes enough of a point to the taciturn ECO, though, that he manages to restrain himself from firing off some parting shot or another. "Y' know, sometimes you could really stand t' be less… you." he mutters. Oops. Never mind.

The world well and truly ends (again) as Mars smiles genuinely at Thorn on his way out. She offers a little wave in parting towards the other two flight officers and says, "Thank you. I often think so, too."

Samantha rolls her eyes, disappearing out into the hatch, just trying to get him out of there…

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