Crash and Burn pt1
Crash and Burn pt1
Summary: First time Yuuri actually meets Fenix of the deck crew.
Date: PHD17
Related Logs: none
Players:
Yuuri..Fenix..

It's quiet. The hangar isn't empty — is it ever? — but for whatever reason, the evening has found the metal cave echoing with its own clicks and scrapes. A few orange vests running about, the stray pilot retrieving a forgotten item… but overall? Deserted. The sane portion of the ship has retired to their quarters, leaving only those with shift duties milling around the duty areas. And then there's Fenix. The woman's perched herself atop a pile of meticulously stacked crates — a bit like large-scale Jenga — and while she's clad in her off-duty clothing, the stand-in Chief's eyes sweep the deck with a scrutiny that suggests anything but 'relaxed'. She sits two crates up, booted feet thumping lazily against the grated metal below. An unlit cigarette is rolled between two fingers, stained fingertips toying with the familiar cylinder. Watching. Much like a hen and her nest. Or spider and web, depending on your relationship with the sharp-tongued newcomer.

The lights around the elevator begin to flash signaling the arrival of those vipers launched for CAP several hours ago. Slowly the birds are brought up and towed one by one to their designated 'parking spots' along the hangerbay. Wolf-4, already with four X's marked under the cockpit, finally comes to a halt. As the loader drives away from the viper, a couple knuckledraggers push the ladder into position. The canopy glides forward revealing the pilot within. He pulls the helmet from his head and tosses it to one of the waiting deck hands, taking the clipboard from the other. Yuuri goes through the regular checklist, marking each box with a check.

It's only natural that Fenix would notice the incoming birds. In fact, there's little about the docking that she seems to miss. Her eyes narrow slightly on some jostling among two of the younger hands — lips parting for comment, only to close again as she thinks better of it. Instead, dark eyes settle on one of the pilots. Yuuri. Typhoon. She's seen him before — she's seen them all — but save boredom, there's nothing particular that keeps the Chief's eyes on the man. "Sir," a half-giggled salute is given by one of the previously-jostling hands. She's young — maybe twenty — with blonde hair and a too-sweet smile. And judging by Fenix's already-narrowing eyes, drifting quickly from duty.

The pilots grin is charming—he's always flirting with someone, especially his bunkmate. This time it's the innocent deck hand that normally handles his viper. As the youthful blonde flees the wrath of her chief, Yuuri is stranded with clipboard in hand. His icey jades catch sight of the knuckledragger's huntress, Fenix. "Ah Chief, scaring away all the tail. Going to take this off my hands?" He waves the clipboard near his head, still seated in the cockpit. There's some sweat streaks along his cheeks and beads still coat his forehead.

Fenix watches with a vague sort of satisfaction as the blonde makes herself scarce, a dark 'brow arching high in response to the younger girl's wounded look. "The 'tail' has better things to do than starin' at the pretty pilots…" is her drawled response to Yuuri, though her eyes remain on the retreating hand — and the comment is plenty loud enough to reach the chastised underling. "Or so you'd frakkin' think," sighed, now to herself, as she slides herself to the edge of that crate and drops to the ground below. Booted feet make impact with a dull thud, and her stride toward the grounded viper is lazy. Let him wait. "Anything I should know about?" Questioned, even as she hoists herself halfway up that propped ladder. Hovering on the edge of the bird, a few feet from the still-seated pilot, and extending a hand for the offered clipboard.

"Other than flying these ancient beasts?" His 'ancient beasts' being the Mark II's, the nearly obsolete viper in comparison to the Mark VII's. Yuuri is one of those, I'm better than you 'til you prove yourself to him. This trait is why he's been of flight rotation twice since he's transfer only a few ago. He waits patiently, reaching into the flightsuit pocket at his chest and withdrawing a pack of fumarella sticks. "You guys did wonders on the wing." He compliments. "Couldn't even tell I got tagged the other day." Sliding the pen into the top of the clipboard and sticking the cigarette behind his ear, he continues to wait for the deck Chief. He's never had a woman -really- incharge of his bird—sure some deck hands that were females, but not a Chief. He places the clipboard into her offered hand and rises from the cockpit, stepping down the ladder slowly and finally stretching his arms as he reaches the floor. "Fill her up with some fuel and she should be ready to go." It's not really an order, just a reminder. "Still on Alert-5" He turns to face her, "You got work or.." His icey jades try to find blonde that went scurrying away. "Care to grab a bite to eat in the mess?"

One of those, indeed. Fenix is well-aquainted with his type, and judging by the slight tightening of her jaw, she's not a fan. "These 'ancient beasts' keep your ass in one piece, Lieutenant. And Gods know we'd have a tragedy if /that/ work of art were lost…" It would've been a compliment, if the words weren't so blatantly honey-coated. She's following him down that ladder — taking the opportunity to openly survey said ass, more in mockery than true interest. And then… an invite? Her initial surprise turns wry as she follows his searching gaze, and as she drops to the ground beside him, she's sweeping a look toward a small group of staring hands that's currently huddled around the angry-looking blonde. Specialist Jermaine. One of the older hands seems to be trying to talk her down, and judging by the pointed look from Fenix — followed by a too-cordial wave toward the obvious gathering — there's some sort of history working itself out. "I think your bit of tail might get jealous…"

Her comment brings a sly smirk to Yuuri's lips. His icey jades switch from the gathering to the Chief, "Fingers would probably dye that blonde hair pink or blue to match the bruises if she found out the Specialist was checking me out." He's not sure just how Jupiter would react, given the time these two have spent together—most in a brawl between the two. "Besides, you're the one giving orders around here. She gets stuck refueling my bird, you get a bite to eat with me." His words play through the air like a symphony of flirtatiousness, or maybe he's just looking for chatter after those long and boring CAP hops. His right hand slides the cig from behind the ear and begins to flip it through his fingers casually. "And this beast netted me a couple more kills." Yuuri throws a wink at Fenix, "That's four. One more and I'll be first Ace after the transfer here." There is his overconfidence shining brightly, it may be true, but he's also been sent to hack the most since getting here.

"Mmm, pilot incest," is Fenix's drawled response to his mention of Jupiter's reaction. "You people interbreed too much and you're going to start comin' out wrong. You keep that in mind. Already a bit frakked up…" She's just talking to herself, at this point. Or she was, until he began his little bout of flirting. "Technically, I ain't even /here/…" she muses, ever-blackened nails plucking at the front of her tank. Off-duty. His mention of kills has her flickering a look toward the marked bird. "Jermaine!" It's barked, rather abruptly, following his comment about the blonde refueling the ship. "Roberts. Harrison. Get these birds cleaned and fed." Off-duty or not, the command has the gathered hands starting into action, with only a fleeting glare from the still-bitter Jermaine. "I'll eat with you, but if you sic your girl on me, I'll beat /both/ your asses…" She's already turning away from the viper, starting across the hangar in the direction of the mess.

The mention of incest must be a knuckledragger slam on the jocks who fly the sticks, regardless, Yuuri brushes it off save for one remark, "Can't be dating NCO's" That's it, nothing more-nothing less on subject. At the bark Yuuri smirks and puckers up towards the Specialist, away from the eyes of the Chief. He's never really gotten to know her personally, but she's always been staring at him with those eyes and the gitty-school girl act always gets a second-third-and even fourth glance. "Whoa..slow down Chief." Typhys bringing both hands up in defence, "Fingers would probably beat both us down if she heard the would 'us'." Meaning Jupiter and himself clearly. He falls in-line behind her, he's not a pig and doesn't stare, but those icey jades measure up the woman's body quickly.

She's female — even well-shaped, if one looked hard enough — but a decade of work on the deck has left her marked. She could've passed for dainty, once upon a time. Now? She has too many scars — many of them burned out tattoos, across her back and shoulders — and too defined a musculature to ever come off as delicate. Not like pretty Jermaine, or even many of the soft-handed pilots. "You th' one tossin' her name around, dollface," she reminds over one shoulder, looking a bit amused at his qualms. "And last I heard, th' frakkin' world is ending. I'm not sure protocol's gonna stand when it comes to th' mating game. Even with pilots." A mock-shudder trails across her near-bare shoulders — something he'd see, even though she continues to walk — as she continues on thir path toward the mess.

His strides keep him a pace behind and to her right as they walk through the hallways and down the stairs. 'Dollface'? She's already giving pet names out it seems, this is more than the Doc ever offered. "It happens when you sleep below someone who makes 'noises' in her sleep." He air-quotes the noises hinting at something most jocks might have heard. "And protocal is protocal in the military. If it wasn't I'd be.." His voices trails off into chuckling after seeing the shudder, "You got beef with the ones you put in the black huh?" His question is pointed at the fact that she keeps all the birds—viper jocks, flying.

Noises in her sleep? That actually earns a bark of laughter from the Chief, though judging by the woman's lingering smirk — and the lack of confusion — she's overheard at least some of the rumors. Jock gossip is the backdrop to her day, whether she likes the or not. "You'd be wrecking havoc on my frakking specialists," she finishes the sentence for him. The woman sets their pace fairly quick — relatively so, considering her shorter legs — and darts a glance back to the man as he questions her pilot-bashing. "Pilots are cocky bastards. They gotta be, to play rush and roullette every frakkin' day. Cocky bastards win a war… but they make my life hell. And they frak up my birds."

Yuuri lifts a finger in protest, "Tut! WE don't ruin our birds." He waggles the finger playfully at Fenix. Yes he said -our- birds, for a jock not to rightfully claim his or her viper is a crime. "Besides, not all of us are cocky, arrogant—" He starts flipping fingers as he speaks, "..mouthy, overconfident…this damn good looking" The corners of his lips curl into a dashing grin, he waited to comment on her 'wrecking havoc on the specialists'. He slips into the hatch behind Fenix and eyes the near empty room. "No candle-lit dinners, sorry." He jokes ruefully.

Candle-lit dinners? "'m not your type 'nyway," she drawls in response, already stepping toward the serving counter. Trusting the pilot to trail her, it would seem. "I got a few too many balls." It's unclear whether that was an insult to him… or herself. Or both. "Though you're righ', not all of them are as bad as you. You're special." Said with a quiet smirk, almost self-directed, as she snatches up a drink carton.

Yuuri does his finger counting again, "Has balls, full of grease and dirt, NCO." He chuckles and follows Fenix into the line, not grabbing a tray, but keeping around her to converse. He's not terribly hungry and a few fruits and one plate of noodles should do him fine. "Yeah, not really my type. Don't think anyone other than a viper jock could fly my stick. Throttles a bit too much." After all her smartass remarks, he can't help himself and eyes the woman again. He keeps it to himself, not letting her see his icey jades adding up all the bonus' this woman really does carry around with her.

Touche. Fenix doesn't laugh — she won't give him that — but he'd see the flicker of respect as she manages to bite back with a bit of flare. "Like I was sayin'… pilot incest. I seen it before. You jocks get all hot an' bothered in that damn berthing, an' then the rest of of us get to deal with you either makin' moon eyes or refusing to speak on the deck. It's real productive." A one-shouldered shrug, and then she's focusing herself on piling a small mountain of food onto her tray, without apparent regard for /what/ it is. Lasagna, apple, noodles, cake. Nondescript bit of chicken.

Yuuri stays behind, some could see it as a dog trail it's master. He takes a plate and begins curling noodles onto it. "If I got hot with someone on your deck, they'd either ignite or explode." He grins broadly, she's got flare he'll give her that. "Besides, LSO or you catch a couple frakkin' in a Viper, we'd probably be grounded." He pauses briefly, lifting an apple to his plate. "That would be the place to do it though." His eyes roll back into his head as its lifting towards the ceiling in what the religious folks would call prayer.

Frakking in a viper? The idea earns a scandalized glare from the Chief — an expression that's a bit too exaggerated to be genuine — followed by a unladylike snort. "You bet your ass I'd get you grounded. I ain' like most of you /sittin'/ in my birds, let alone fogging up th' control panels. Gods." My. They're still 'my' birds. Once she's finished overloading her tray — a wrapped sandwich, and a few more assorted desserts — she's turning toward one of the nearby tables. Flipping a chair backwards, and straddling the thing as her tray is dropped unceremoniously to the table top. "Water an' oil, doll. You wouldn't know what to do with one of us. Last I checked, gettin' a bit dirty wasn' all that bad."

Yuuri follows like a poodle behind Fenix, though keeping the chair as is and only pulling it from under the table. He settles down into the chair and places the plate infront of him. "So..You'd be ontop in the Viper?" He pauses ever-so quickly, "You offering a night in the tool room Chief?" He seems taken back, Typhys knows she joking, but he goes head first like always. "Chief you sly dog you. We've yet to share a meal and already offering to take me?" The whole walk he's had the cig flipping through his fingers, but now before he eats, his hand slides the cigarette neatly behind his right ear.

She's not phased. A decade of catcalling and badly phrased come-ons have left her with a thick skin, and a ready assortment of retorts. "On top? You got no imagination, flyboy. But no, pilots ain't my thing. A bit too… smooth." One hand is raised, and a calloused fingertip rubbed teasingly along the pad of her thumb. "And a bit too clean." A sidelong look is swept toward her unlikely companion, sweeping down his frame in a mocking assessment. "You best stay in your berthing."

"And the cat claws come out!" Yuuri jokes before pausing to pose his 'cleaniness' to the Chief. "Do you use them in sac?" He inquires seriously-well as serious as one can be without laughing. To ease the creases in his cheeks, he shovels a spoonful of noodles behind his lips. "And if you want rough and dirty, I'm sure after I kill a few more Cylons, I'll be nice 'n sweaty for you." Still holding the spoon he points to Fenix, "And smooth is only flying Chief." Well he's about ready to admit defeat -again-. He's coming in on fire just like he always does with the Doc.

She's finally laughing, and sadly for Yuuri, it sounds like the sort of laughter that draws an end to such bantering. Ending with another soft snort, and a shake of her head. "You been grounded a few too many times to be a smooth flyer, Typhoon." Using his call sign, and making it all-too-clear that she knows his history. "But nice try." Her tray still piled with half of the counter's options, the woman's already pushing to her feet. Grabbing an apple from the top of her pile, and then stuffing a few of the wrapped goods into various pockets along her fatigues. Abandoning the less portable food, and after a moment's glance at the still-full tray, nudging the corner of it a bit closer to the pilot. "I should go deal with my blonde mutineer. Do me a favor, mm? Keep that smile of yours to yourself when Jermaine's about. I got enough trouble with that girl."

"The grounding wasn't because of my flying." Yuuri interjects quickly through her laughing. Those icey jades of his search for Fenix's pair, he's actually gotten quite serious about flying. It's one of the few things he takes as reality—mostly because it is life or death for him every hop. "You forgot a pocket." Yuuri states as the Chief stands. He rises up and (gasp) gives away his apple by sliding it into her pocket. Maybe it was to cop a feel, but if he tried he failed miserably. "You can run your deck your way, you can even talk as much shit as you want about me as a man, but.." He points a finger at fenix, "Don't ever talk about my flying." It's as if someone unplugged the pool and all the water drained from it. He appears to be his carefree self once again, settling back down into his chair to finish his nightly meal.

Perhaps surprisingly, she accepts the apple. Giving him a slightly dubious look as the bit of fruit is slid into her clothing — a raised 'brow and an upward turn of her lips — but then she's dipping her chin in a nod that could pass for acknowledgement. "I let you fly my bird, don't I?" A hand dips into that aforementioned pocket, plucking the gift-apple out and raising the thing for a quick bite. Tucking the bit of fruit into one of her cheeks, and then saying around a smirk, "That's gotta count for something." Then, already turning, "Seeyou 'round, Yuuri." Yet another name, and another hint that she knows more about the pilots than they know of her.

"See you in the tool room after next CAP." Yuuri offers with a wink of those icey jades and that charming grin. As she turns to walk away, he sighs heavily. "Crash and burn.." He talks more to himself in that breath. He cocks his head to the side and simply watches her leave, this time he isn't checking her out. There's something about the Chief that Yuuri enjoys, maybe its the smartass—or just the ass. He'll have more time later to determine which of the two ASSets are best.

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