Summary: Kharon's geek squad convenes.
Date: PHD125
Related Logs: Signals


*Fwip.* *Fwip.* *Fwip.* *Fwip.* *Fwip.* It's a quiet offduty afternoon in the lounge, as it were. Like some frakked-up creature out of a bad noir vid, sprawled out at a table in the corner in his offduties with his usual pile of notes, Rebound leans back in his chair as he flips through a deck of triad cards absently. It's not like he's playing solitaire — he's just passing the time.

Duty jacket unbuttoned, Roubani is next through the hatch, carrying a few notebooks and his laptop bag slung over his shoulder. His right wrist has a blue neoprene brace on it, stretching over the curve of his thumb, and his left hand looks like it lost a brave battle with an ink pen. There's a streak of it across his hairline as though he'd forgotten and rubbed his face before washing. Oh well. It's tea in his sights, path headed staunchly towards the urns.

Ivory, for his part, is following closely on the younger man’s heels, a few steps behind, nose buried in a legal pad covered in more colors than the rainbow: who knew the ship carried a supply of purple pens? He's not looking up as he turns the corner, making his way to the lounge by muscle memory alone — that, and the few brief glances at his feet he sneaks every couple of seconds. The pilot only looks up when he hears the hatch squeak: "Poet," he offers, slipping in after Roubani's laptop and notebooks.

Komnenos makes the fourth member of the gathering, though it's not until a few minutes after Roubani and Timon's arrival that he makes his bleary-eyed way through the hatch. A wisp of smoke trails from the cigarette on his lips as he enters. He pauses briefly, surveying the room before following Poet over towards where the tea is kept.

Fwip. Fwip. Fwip. There's more of an idle shuffling and re-distribution of cards as Junior Lieutenant Gingerbread's grey eyes flicker from one component of his failed triad hand to another. With a lazy swipe of his fingers, he spreads them apart and tosses them on the table. Apparently this is infinitely more exciting to him than his notebook, which sits open the surface of the table, untouched. A brief tilt of his head is given about the room every now and then and IT JUST SO HAPPENS that he spies a familiar series of people rolling on through the hatch. Willem quirks a brow upwards at Poet, a slight smile, which grows into something of a smirk at Timon, and an even larger one at Thorn. Whatever's got him semi-amused is kept to himself.

"Ivory." Stathis is one of few that Roubani calls by callsign without thinking about. Whether that means he feels closer to or farther from the man than some is yet to be seen. It's not the man's face that draws his attention but the notebooks he has. "Purple, now?" Of course, the things these men notice. "Or do they call it 'plum' to recover dignity?" He pulls a cup from the rack, inspecting it for dirt inside and of course finding some, the faucet by the urns turned on to steaming hot. Willem hasn't quite been noticed yet but Thorn is, his chin lifting to signal hello to the ECO.

"It could be flaming pink, for all I care: just differentiable from red, black, navy blue, green, and whatever other kind of blue I've used." Timon doesn't bother with tea — or coffee, for that matter — instead angling past a couple of chattering enlisted men to the table where Rebound's playing cards against himself. "Good way not to lose money," he notes. There's a loopy grin on his face, one that these other fellows have assuredly never seen from him before, and as he sits himself down he gives a lazy wave to Thorn.

Thorn answers Roubani and Timon with curt nods, still remaining silent; he leans quietly against the counter as Poet continues to make tea. He places a small object down as he smokes his cigarette and waits; it's a plain white coffee cup with the words 'Eschew Obfuscation' emblazoned in black on the sides. There's a yawn from the taciturn ECO as a hand comes up to scratch the side of his face. Hm. Past due for a shave, as usual.

Fwip. Fwip. It's like a twitchy, nervous tic. Wil can't completely leave the cards alone as he picks them up and strews them together with a quick pull of his fingers. Fwip. Fwip. SPLAT. For some reason the cards go flying as he botches the shuffling motion in the worst way possible. Pretty much half the deck goes flying to the floor. "DAMN IT." It's a little loud, the exclamation. Clearing his throat, he looks, well, abashed as he often does, reaching for the cards on the floor afterwards and craning his head upwards at Timon. "Cubits are devalued these days. Or so my advisor was telling me. Invest in —" He pauses. Blinking. "What's gotten into -you-, Ivory?" He's undoubtebly noting the grin, and only an idiot would have to ask this question. As someone who only plays an idiot on TV, he's likely playing dumb.

Roubani isn't actually making tea; he's sterilising the cups. Thorn's precious mug disappears from its place, hooked by Roubani's fingers and pulled into the hot water along with his chosen ceramic vessel, washed out until they're pristine. Only then are they presented to the urn for filling, and he's polite enough to fill Thorn's cup as well. "Don't get too close to Ivory with that," he says quietly, nodding to the slogan on the mug. "He might burst into flames." Speaking of Ivory. Willem's exclamations nearby draw his attention, eyes turning that way. O HAI.

"What do you mean?" is Timon's answer. Innocent enough, really, though the reason for his legal pad now becomes clear: it's been covering Rebound's miniaturized music player, speakers and all, which he now slides across the table with something bordering on reverence. Its grey-black plastic slips over a few of Wil's fallen Triad cards, parting the waters like an icebreaker of old. If he hears Poet's comment — or sees Thorn's cup — he doesn't immediately reply.

Thorn's head jerks up at the sound of Willem's exclamation, watching for a moment as the Viper pilot begins to pick up the cards and grouses at himself. His attention turns over to Roubani, though, at the sound of his voice. Komnenos musters up a half smile for the younger man. "Thanks," he replies. The ECO's voice is a little scratchier, a little raspier, than usual. Tea in hand, cigarette in the other, he leans back against the counter, blowing the steam off the hot liquid before taking a sip.

Grey eyes flicker to the music player and Wil's mouth quirks again into a thin-lipped grin as he closes a freckled hand upon it. "And it is returned, safe and sound." He muses as he leans over, momentary triad card frustration defused as he cranes his arm out of his chair to scrape and scoop up the fallen deck, card by card and bit by bit. "You didn't play track twelve, I hope?" He darts his head to Thorn momentarily as he notes. "That was a bizarre playlist but I had what I had. Taur-metal." His chest rumbles a bit as he lets out a sharp snicker. Head tilting again in a quick, bird-like manner, he spies Roubani only moments after Thorn and offers the man a muted grin.

Roubani watches Thorn for a long moment, the kind in which a subtle but encouraging clap on the shoulder would logically follow. But this is Roubani, so it doesn't. Regardless, he tips his head towards Willem and Timon, with a quiet, "Come on, come sit," to Thorn, and then then steps that-a-way, claiming one of the empty chairs. Just in time to catch Willem's look, and the half-smile shot back is…conspiratorical? Oh, poor Timon. He sips his tea.

Timon is blissfully oblivious to any conspiracy. "Taur-metal?" he wonders aloud, not even pretending to be hard at work: his pad is backwards and upside down on the table, and his pens — yes, he has several of those purple ones — remain clipped to the outside hem of his left pocket. "I mostly got the symphonic stuff. Plus this one song with a breathy female vocalist singing — well. If inanity were physical, the lyrics would be dripping with it." The addition of two newcomers doesn't really interfere with his good mood; he even pushes out a pair of chairs from under the table in silent invitation.

After a moment, Thorn pushes himself back off the counter, following Roubani over to where the other two are sitting. He accepts the offer of a seat quietly, grabbing an ashtray and plunking it down on the table between Poet and himself. After a moment, Thorn leans back with a slight smirk over at Ivory. "So," he begins, studying the older man with a measured glance. "How'd it go, then? Philosopher and holy mouthpiece…" The last word is said with a hint of derision, but his words aren't outwardly disrespectful to the priestess. "… you make an unlikely pair."

"Taur-metal. Loud, cacophanous. I forgot to edit those out of the list." Wil quips again, as he gives a lazy wave to the other two approaching before stowing the Triad cards upon the table in a neat-enough stack. He looks from Timon to Thorn with a pointed look as he says this. The man knows. "Don't let the noise deceive you, it's a trick of dynamics and there is a certain almost calming feel to it. Once you get past the feedback." The right side of the mouth quivers in a gentle, mirthful grin. "I won't try to sell it to you though. And eh. That track. I was attempting to be cheeky. That's a late-night date classic. It wasn't meant to be 'high art' and frankly I've never been able to be strictly high or low-brow."

Rebound's little expounding on the art of sound is shelved for the moment. "Uh. So. Thanks for the 'gift,' by the way." And just like that, he drops the bomb. "So how'd it go?" Echoing Thorn's inquiry.

Since Thorn was kind enough to remember an ashtray for the smokers' section, Roubani fishes a cigarette from his pocket and with a soft flick of lighter smoke curls from the end. He tips his chin up, exhaling through his nose as he tucks the lighter away and picks his tea back up, and as he settles back he crosses his legs. If he's got any stake in Timon's answers to the others' grilling he doesn't show it, giving the Lieutenant a nonchalant glance from under his brows as he stirs his tea.

"Well." Is that the beginning of a sentence or Timon's answer to the question? He's not quite clear. "She told me to commend you on your exceptional musical taste, so. Consider yourself commended." Then, to Thorn: "And thanks for the MREs, by the way." Ivory's not in the least ruffled by the touch of scorn evident in Thorn's voice. He does, however, color slightly at Komnenos' emphasis on mouthpiece — just a faint flush, really, that can as easily be chalked up to the temperature of the room as to embarrassment.

"I still can't believe I traded away smokes t' contribute t' my pilot dating a priestess," Thorn grumbles, but there's no real rancor in his voice. Probably just grousing for the sake of grousing, knowing Thorn as the other three do. He looks back over at Timon, his smirk widening just a bit, his eyes taking on a mischievious twinkle. "I'll say, though, I never thought you of all people would've moved so fast."

"Every now and then I wonder at quitting." Wil smirks ever-so-slightly as the 'smoke 'em if you got 'em' phase sets in. "I actually had two or three left in my locker I was saving for a proverbial rainy day. I gave them to Fingers as a get-well gift." He idly looks about the table and starts pulling his belongings into a more neat order to presumably give the others some room. How courteous. Back to Timon. "E-Rats. Music. Heh. Happy to oblige. I wasn't out to actively sabotage you, you know. Tell her 'thanks.'" He'll probably always be a little wary of the woman but he says this in a gracious enough tone. "She's cute and all. So. Will there be a follow-up?" He actually avoids ribbing Ivory here. Until Thorn drops that bomb. "All in all, if he did, he did. I could tell you a story about a man who missed every train that he should have been on because he was so self-centered that he felt the world had to go by -his- rules." He jerks a thumb at his chest indicating, well, a jab at himself. "You don't want to be standing at that platform and realizing it's too late." And then a period of silence sets in as his lips purse a little, tightly. "Thank you for the tea, Nadiv. Maybe it worked." That came out of nowhere. Also, Roubani's first name gets used. HOLD THE PHONE YO.

Roubani's head has tilted slightly as he listens to all this. The casual chatter doesn't come very easily for him, but he seems rather fascinated by the way it does for the others. Even if his brows do raise just a hint when Ivory blushes and Thorn comments on his moving fast. One can see his mind piecing this together and…well, gosh. He scratches the tip of his nose with his pinky and glances at Willem, smiling a hint. "If one believes it did, then it probably did. I'm glad." A drag off the cigarette and a look glanced back at Ivory.

"I needed dinner, Thorn," Ivory rejoins. "And if I could rescue your lungs from yourself — " There's no rebuke there; indeed, he's long since gotten used to the smell of smoke, even if he does shift his head to stay out of Poet's contrails. "Two birds, one stone, as the old adage goes. As for the implications of 'moving so fast' and 'getting on the train', believe me when I say I took absolutely no initiative throughout this entire process." Which must mean — whatever happened was likely her idea. ROWR. A couple of fingers tap idly against the wrinkled cardboard back of his pad; then, to Rebound: "I'm glad you liked my gift."

"Oh?" Thorn's eyebrows go up at that. The comment about his smoking, as usual, passes without mention; besides, he's got other material to work with, it seems, as his smirk takes on a rather salacious note. "Her idea t' use the Raptor, then?" He snickers. "Figured it would've occurred t' you. Used the same trick myself once, back on Solaria. Though next time, maybe you ought t' pick someone else's bird." He leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied look on his face as he taps ash into the ashtray. "And be a little more careful with th' cleanup. Your little lady left something behind. Lucky I was the one t' find it." With that, his grin widens even further. "People start finding lingerie in the Raptors, they might start getting th' wrong idea."

There's a reply to Poet first. "Maybe it was just the belief, but, I appreciated the gesture." He notes, regarding the tea. Again any ribbing on Rebound's part could officially be described as 'gentle.' "A date with Ivory. It's like dating the whole ship. Well, without the bad side, I suppose." The unspoken implication is clear - STDs and a trip to sickbay for requisite shots. "Well. Congratulations. I'll, uh — I'll leave it at that and not pry at the details. The fact that you -showed up- meant you didn't blow it. There are always ways to mess up even what seems like a gift from the Gods." And then a little confession slips. "By the way. The lounge? We were kind of winding you up and putting you on the other night, Ivory. Just a bit."

The flickering of Wil's lips only heightens as his head whips towards Thorn. Eyes narrow for a second. He's clearly fighting off both a laugh and a smile and has mixed success. Well, he's successful with the former but not the latter. There's a cough, too.

Roubani's eyes flicker back and forth among the other men over the rim of his mug, his expression going from bewildered to outright shocked at the end of Thorn's rebuke. He lowers the mug and blinks at Ivory, the burst of words coming before he stops to think about it. "You left behind her lingerie in the Raptor? Oh, Ivory. One may have trusted one's mother to pick up after them in the day, but don't you think you're a little old?"

Note. Wil's ears are red. Godsdamn ginger curse.

WUT? Wil's little confession about the show he and Persy put on is ignored; Ivory, after all, has been plenty trained in prioritizing targets and avoiding threats. And so: "Raptor?" Timon's fingers stop drumming. "Lingerie?" Head tilts sideways as his brown eyes narrow. "Thorn, Poet — I don't think I'm even authorized to take out a plane anymore, at least not for the next two weeks." Because his other squeeze is the CAG, see. "We had dinner in storage room eleven-three-eight-beta, deck three, per Rebound's suggestion. There was music. There was also dancing. And then — " Timon bites back the very end of that confession. "I cleaned up," he finishes, altogether lamely. Which is to say: "I should sue you all for slander."

"So you didn't do the late night check-in at th' Raptor Motel, eh?" Komnenos' eyebrow quirks skeptically. "Well, I certainly haven't been getting any lately." Thorn sighs ever so slightly, and he does a barely noticeable eyeroll and headshake. "And nobody else in the wing would dare defile MY bird like that." At least, they'd better not, according to his tone. "Though, now that I think about it… the thing did look a bit too big t' fit holy lady's tits…" Thorn muses matter-of-factly, blowing a smoke ring or two as he looks indolently over at Timon.

"Slander? -All- of us?" Wil's eyelids narrow a bit, switching gears even though his ears -are- still red. Unlike Roubani, he does not join in the scolding or accusation. In fact, he manages to summon up the most indignant look possible at the man, pulling the music player aside and scooping it into his lap in a playful gesture of 'see if I hook a brother like you up again.' "You need to adjust your statement, sir. I did no such thing." The faux-indignant look fades as he dares glance at Thorn. "Uh. Don't look at me. I'm not stupid enough to use YOUR Raptor for 'quiet time' either." He clears his throat, as the mystery solving session begins. "So someone just left a bra in your Raptor?" He inquires, managing to quash the grin now. Barely.

Roubani shoots Komnenos a 'tsk' look at that last comment. TSK. As to Timon, he gets the wary eye for a few moments. "I do hope you used bleach. If I get a single logistics man complaining to engineering about a smell in that in storage unit, I am going to make that raptor story the official version regardless of its accuracy. There are channels around here, you know." Then Willem picks up the mysterious underwear conversation again and he sips his tea, glancing at Willem over the rim. Someone, eh?

"If you must know, Poet, I wiped the place down with cleaning fluid and towels. By hand. It's probably cleaner now than when we entered — and as for you, Rebound, you can expect your Notice to Appear in a week. Because you laughed." It takes a lot to get Timon to blush like he's blushing now. Blood surges to his normally pallid cheeks with incredible speed and authority, and it's all he can do to avoid choking at Thorn's comment on the priestess' figure. The thought is sufficiently distracting that he doesn't notice Wil's rather obvious involvement in the scheme, though whatever's going through his mind is enough to elicit a smile on the outside edge of wistful.

What's rather obvious to some isn't as much so to others, as anyone who may have been in the hangar deck last night could attest to. Thorn shoots a speculative glance over at Wil. "Yeah. Someone, evidently." His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't toss out any accusations for the time being, just a sigh. "Nice rack on whoever it belongs t', anyway." There's a soft snicker at Poet, as well as the back and forth between Wil and Timon.

There could be any number of reasons why Wil's attention, 'notice' mentioned or otherwise is diverted from the two Raptor crewmen towards Roubani now in a split-second look of pure, eyebrow-raised horror. It happens immediately after mention of Snipe-wrath. Maybe a brother is hoping that Roubani or his underlings aren't keeping tabs on -his- wherebouts. Or maybe it is that pointed look the erstwhile Engineer just gave him. In either case, the raised-brow look fades almost immediately thereafter.

He whirls his gaze towards Thorn and displays probably an unwanted bit of knowledge. "Just a bra. That's it? No telltale…evidence? Something's fishy about that. I mean, I'm not the biggest hound out there, that's for damn certain, but if I know a thing or two about women they don't just leave this stuff lying around afterwards unless something interrupted them. There's a story here, somewhere." He clicks his tongue, expression now carefully neutral and almost serious. Apparently he is curious himself. IT IS A MYSTERY.

Roubani gives Willem a sweet little smile. Maybe they do keep tabs on him. Maybe he just caught the sniggering about the bra. YOU DECIDE. He takes a drag off the cigarette, sitting forward to ash it and resting his arm on his knee. Nooooooot getting into this one.

Neither is Timon, who — perhaps wisely — figures that any speculation from his side of the table will just be interpreted as an attempt to deflect blame. He settles for looking scandalized as Thorn fantasizes aloud about the mystery woman whose underwear found its way into his Raptor. Which, given the ECO's sigh of longing, isn't at all hard to do. Tap-tap-tap go fingers on pad.

Thorn's eyebrow raises slowly as Wil talks. "Indeed. You… wouldn't happen t' know any of that story, would you?" Komnenos' smile thins a bit as he, too, starts to catch on. "Fishy. Right." He folds his arms over his chest, breathing a cloud of smoke out through his nose.

"Mmm. It was just a hypothesis." Wil ventures, mildly. Somebody sucks at Triad in every conceivable capacity. "Maybe this can be the grounds for another experiment. Kind of like Captain Marek's cigarettes. Except," the timing is deadpan. "Not. I just know that, for all my terrible qualities, I've never left a lady's stuff behind in that kind of situation." His attention is mainly focused on Thorn here. "When did you find it, anyway?"

Roubani's cigarette is about on its deathbed, so he gets the final drag from it and stubs it out. Picking up his tea, he sits back in the chair and wraps both hands around the mug, taking a sip from it. As Thorn and Will keep going around in thinly veiled circles he shakes his head slightly. "Never got away with anything in grade school, did you, Price." It's goodnatured.

Ivory's doing his best to look disinterested in the conversation, though every so often he'll open his mouth — and then close it, as somebody or another begins to talk over him. And so it takes him a while for him to make his contribution: "Hang the article in question in front of the ready room with a pinhole camera pointed straight down above it," Timon suggests. "I'm sure Poet here can rig something up right quickly."

"Last night. Right before I left on CAP, just as the memorial was starting," Thorn replies. He takes a drink from his nearly forgotten mug; the beverage is now pleasantly warm rather than scalding hot. He follows it with more puff-puff before giving Wil another sidelong glance. "An experiment, eh?"

"I got away with plenty." Wil tosses out there, idly. "Just. Not when the heat came raining down." He salvages a fraction of his dignity as he says this with all the enigmatic quality he can gather, simply nodding at Timon's pragmatic solution, and a finally tosses a pointed gaze back at Thorn. "Yeah. An experiment. Motive, means, opportunity." He pauses a beat. "The memorial was —" He trails off. "It was." He exhales a little and amends, out of the blue, "So how was CAP?" Oh no he DI-IN'T.

Roubani glances at Timon, but doesn't take up that mantle of volunteering. As the talk turns to CAPs he falls silent, sipping his tea.

Thorn's timeline jogs something in Timon's memory: "We had dinner at twenty-two-hundred," he clarifies, flipping over his legal pad at last. Apparently, he doesn't too much care who the offending article of clothing belongs to; all he really wanted to do was clear his name. "After the memorial." SO THERE.

"Don't ask." Thorn goes from mild scowl to full on glower at the mention of the previous night's CAP. He slumps down further into his chair, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "Nothing worth mentioning." His lips draw together thinly, his enjoyment diminished now that Timon's off the hook.

Well. That was a conversation-killer. Wil's mouth twitches to one side as he just gives Thorn a -look- at the 'don't ask' part. He's not stupid enough to pry on that one, at least. "Eh. I'm getting used to flying with Rabbit now." Change of topic accomplished. "He seemed to be cheering -you- on, Ivory."

Roubani's mouth is behind the rim of his cup, the ceramic curve kept rested against his lip between small sips of the cooling tea. His eyes flicker from Thorn to Willem, then back, then to Timon.

"Who — Rabbit?" Timon scratches the back of his head, reaching for one of those purple pens in his pocket. It's clicked on with hardly a thought, and then his eye darts down to his work: twelve long paragraphs, today, all of which look like they've been annotated by a schizophrenic painter with an eye for color. "Well, I'll say it again: I've been as proactive as a boulder throughout this entire thing, so I guess all the cheering — and praying — worked." Poet gets a sly grin, nothing more.

"Apparently," Roubani replies from behind the mug, quite sweetly, "At least one of you knows what to do while on your knees."

Ivory looks up, more than a little puzzled. "Other than pray?" he wonders. His left hand rises to tug at a few stray curls dangling close to his eyes.

Whatever Thorn may be thinking at the moment goes unsaid, as he sits in his chair, smoking his cigarette and drinking his tea. For the moment, he simply listens to the conversation around him with an odd expression on his face; he shoots a scandalous look over at Roubani. A sudden chortle escapes his lips at Timon's reply. Thorn leans forward, shaking his head as he looks over at Timon with a small smile on his face.

Ahem. There is a cough. "Well." Another one, both of these on Wil's part. "Nadiv. I feel. Chastised. Somehow." He squints at the soft-spoken engineer and asks with a slight tilt lf his head, a surprised lilt to his voice. "How do you manage to -do- that, anyway?"

Roubani waves a hand at Timon, dismissing any notions of there being anything else with a single effortless gesture. "So is she a good dancer?" And no that doesn't sound dirty, you dirty minded people. He looks over at Will, raising both brows and smiling a little. "How do I do what?" Purposefully obtuse? Probably.

"A sight better than me, that's for sure." Ivory starts going about this last set of revisions as he talks, apparently accepting Roubani's dismissal at face value. "Luckily for me, it was a slow song, else I'd probably have broken her leg or something."

"'Other than pray'?" Thorn echoes Timon with a smirk, his humor returning. He shakes his head, not quite willing to believe the man is serious, but knowing Timon well enough to know that he could very well be. There's a look over at Roubani as Thorn interjects. "You know what he means, Poet. You're bloody good at it, too," he says dryly.

"Other than pray." Wil echoes Thorn, bemusedly, although he stops a moment to acknowledge Timon's mention of the slow song with a too-clever-looking smile in what appears to be a patented 'You can thank me later' look. A moment later he turns back to Roubani again to shoot the younger man a glance. "That. I'm talking about that gentle scolding that makes me feel like I'm back in ninth grade. Although the Brothers of Hermes weren't all like that. Sisters of Athena — kind of. I don't know how you manage it." Still, it's a good-natured ribbing, beneath it all. And there's an amendment. "There's something genuine about it. Not like you're just an authority figure." Apparently he makes a distinction. "I don't think I was ever a very good temple-goer."

Roubani offers TImon a small smile. Then mild confusion blooms on his face as Thorn and Willem both speak, and he clears his throat as he feels a slight heat in his face. "I'm sorry," he offers to both, in an uncertain voice. "I…suppose one's upbringing takes over at inopportune times. I don't mean to." Good time to plug mouth with a sip of tea, which thankfully he does.

"Join the club, Rebound." That too-clever-looking smile is met by something approximating gratitude, though Ivory doesn't give voice to whatever he's thanking him for. He’s about to go on but then Poet actually starts apologizing, and that really breaks the mood. "Think about it this way," Timon offers, glancing over at Wil with a grin: "He probably wouldn't feel guilty if he didn't do anything to begin with. Hmm?" And without further ado, the pilot turns his attention to a blatant error he’s suddenly discovered in the second sentence of the third paragraph on his page.

"Or look at it this way, Poet." Wil chimes in, riffing off Timon's statement, waving a dismissive hand with a quick swipe of his fingers. "If I was -bothered- by the way you are I wouldn't voluntarily sit at the same table. It wasn't a value judgement." Brows waggle a little at Ivory as he amends, matter-factly "I've done my bloody share of bad and stupid in my time." There's also a little acknowledgement of the 'look' as he stows the music player in his satchel.

Thorn nods in agreement with Wil, his suspicions regarding the Bra Incident for the moment forgotten as he chimes in. "I don't think anyone's offended, Poet," he says mildly. "I'm not. You're not pushy enough t' be offensive." He smiles sardonically at that. "Like Rebound said, it's not a value judgment." His head tilts in Wil's direction. "Who hasn't?" Komnenos smirks as he motions to the other side of the table. "Well, except those two, maybe."

Roubani is still somewhat red, eyes kept firmly down on the tea close to his face. If he were some manner of snail he'd just have gone retreating under the shell at high speed. He softly clears his throat again. "I don't think there is anyone who hasn't," he says to Willem in agreement. Kom gets a twitched half-smile. "I wouldn't believe it."

"What Rebound means to say is that he's guilty as sin," says Timon. "As for bad and stupid — " The pilot bites down on the back of his pen while he scratches at his neck; then, it's back to editing. "I'm sure Thorn has all sorts of stories he's waiting for the appropriate moment to tell. About me," he adds, crossing out a few stray arrows as he does.

Thorn smirks over at Timon. "That I do. At the appropriate moment, naturally." Chain-smoking ensues, as Komnenos uses the embers of smoke number 1 to light smoke number 2. "And Ivory, if you're not guilty about something, you're not doing it right."

"Some maybe, more than others." Wil says, ambiguously. Guilt. Sin. Stupid things. They're all just tossed out there in a vague mishmash. He could be referring to any or all of these, really. He's not really looking at Thorn here though so THAT kind of confession isn't happening. Neener neener. "Eh." He reorganizes his things and moves to stow his binder as, wait, some plotter paper sticks out. Could it be? Could it be? For anyone with an eye for blueprints, it appears to be a diagram layout of some kind of boiler, complete with some tubing. Could it be that this is the dreaded BLUEPRINT FOR A STILL?

Roubani is silent now. Tea, kept in both hands, prayer beads wrapped around his left wrist as usual. His eyes stay fixed down at the cup until Wil starts digging out diagrams, which - predictably - pull his cautious interest.

Timon's still writing, and besides, it's not like he has an eye for mechanics of any sort. Thorn's words almost draw a response, though — almost. If he's got anything to confess, it'll have to wait for another day.

"Um. Er. Speaking of guilt." It looks like it has three different series' of notes scrawled all over it. All in different handwriting. Wil utters this and coughs, pointing idly at the diagram. Rou saw it. Kom has already seen it. "You didn't see this." Apparently -enough- people have seen it. "Marek's girlfriend saw it." He points insistently at -one- batch of notes with an index finger. "Don't have the parts. As it stands, I got it off a Petty Officer on the Deck who seemed to know what he was doing. Keyword 'seemed.'" He clears his throat.

"Feh. Never trust an enlisted man that seems t' know what he's doing." Thorn shakes his head ruefully as he looks down at the diagram. "I've seen one before, but I've never actually tried t' build one. What are you missing?"

"Indeed, what are you missing?" Roubani offers to Willem, quietly. "I'm sure there are plenty of parts, you know…laying around." Oh the awesomesauce of being an engineering officer. That piece was just LAYING AROUND, gosh.

For a while, Timon is content to let the three of them plot. To casual observers, he's just fleshing out the next section of his introduction; those more keyed in, however, might note that he's stopped writing as much as he had been, to the point at which he makes a correction every few seconds. Then, at length: "Now that you mention it, my Raptor did feel a little sluggish out there in the asteroid field," he murmurs. "And it would be positively criminal to send her out there without replacing at least a few of her worn hydraulics." A pause; then, with his last 'i' dotted and his last 't' crossed, he stands. "More homework from the CAG," says Ivory by way of explanation, more than a little regret on his face. "But I suppose I should thank you all before I go." Another awkward pause. "Boulders don't push themselves."

"If I didn't trust this particular Enlisted I'd worry about my ejection seat getting welded into place." Wil says, gruffly. Roubani's helpful suggestions earn a slight widening of his eyes in surprise. "The main thing is the copper tubing, but really, the entire chamber assembly needs to be scrounged together. I'm still struggling with remembering Cornbread and Lumberjack's old recipe." He pauses a little bit and eyes Timon. "Maybe it'll be easier now that you just took a moment for yourself. Just stand back and relax. Hmm?" He clears his throat. "Speaking of which. I should -probably- get going for the moment. But if you see any copper tubing. Uh.." He stops short of -directly- asking Roubani to STEAL STUFF. But it's implied. Gosh. He also peers at Thorn. "Let me know if you have any leads." He suggests, mildly, before packing up his equipment in his satchel and leaving the cards upon the table.

Thorn nods slowly. "I thought something felt a little strange the last couple times out," he says slyly. "Beta noticed it too. I'll put in the repair request with Fenix next time I'm up there." There's a snort at Wil as Komnenos also stands. "Leads. Right. You'll be the first t' know." No, no sarcasm there. With that, Thorn drains his mug and takes it with him as he heads for the hatch.

Given Roubani's reputation as a teetotaler, the motivation for his offering to help is murky indeed. But he nods to Willem and also finishes his tea, looking over at Timon as Thorn gets up. Words? Nah. Just a little smile, and then he too gets up to head out.

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