Getting To Know You Or Not
Getting to know you…or not
Summary: Castor attempts to get to know Roubani and fails.
Date: PHD025
Related Logs: None

With the chapel closed for repairs, the chaplain has been holding services in the general lounge, once per shift. Prayer's been over for a little while but the room still smells like incense, the chaplain's staff putting away the folding chairs that had to serve as benches. Roubani is sitting on one of the couches in the officers' section, a notebook open by his leg but his attention elsewhere, watching the crew clean up the chairs.

Castor steps into the lounge, he has a cigar set in his mouth and a bottle of some kind of liqour in his hand, he smells the incence, the smell is only slightly familiar to him as a once forgotten memory. He then takes a moment to inhale and he blows out a smoke ring. He begins scanning for familiar faces and so he finds himself spotting Roubani. He then walks over to the man and asks, "Mind if I sit here? Looks a bit like there was some sort of service in here."

It takes Roubani's mind a few seconds to detach from whatever it was doing, and shift focus to Castor instead. He's in his uniform blues, the top flap button undone but the rest fastened in their neat row. "No, sir." He glances at the chairs nearby. "Sit if you like."

Castor sits, "Thanks, though I'm off duty, so please call me Castor." He looks at the service, "You know, Poet, it is a funny thing I haven't been to a service in years." Strange thing to say to someone the man hardly knows. He looks over at the people cleaning and then back to Roubani, "Mind if I ask what you are working on? If it is personal don't tell me I only ask because I'm a curious sort." His tone is warm and friendly as well as carrying a slight innocent curiousity to it.

Roubani folds his hands. "Nothing…exactly this moment." He leaves the 'sir' off in word, but it might as well be there for his reserved tone. "It's just idle things." He looks back at the chair-clearing. "I suppose you might go now. They come every shift." He has a naturally soft-spoken voice, the kind that wouldn't seem to raise even if he were shouting.

Castor shakes his head softly, "No, I gave up on the Lords long ago…" he doesn't say why though word is slowly spreading around deck that he lost his entire family long ago. "I don't much cater to them…I'm not saying there isn't something greater than us though it isn't the Lords." His tone carries a subtle sense of pain in it and yet it isn't angry or spiteful. He then leans back, "I'd offer you a bit of this Picon brandy but it looks like you are on duty." He takes a sip from the bottle as he leans back, "Idle things, huh?" He takes a moment to run his fingers over his crew cut, "Idle things sound good about now. Relaxing." He then takes a moment to puff on his cigar, "Poet, I'm glad I ran into you. I'd like to get to know all of the pilots better and I haven't seen you much recently, especially considering we seem to be on different shifts."

Roubani looks back at Castor as the man talks. He doesn't quite seem to know what to do with all the words the Lieutenant just spouted, so he just quietly clears his throat. "That seems to be the case, yes, sir."

Castor examines Roubani for a moment and then says, "You are a mystery to me. I mean that in the best way because in my short time on this ship I've learned you have deeply loyal friends, I don't think I've ever seen you drink, and you seem to be a quiet sort. You seem to be a thinker which is good." His voice is still calm, honest, and supportive. "I mean it especially the bit about your friends. Careful or they'll make an Captain out of you before you know it."

Faint lines appear between Roubani's brows as they draw together. Looking down at the notebook by his leg, he nudges it shut and takes out the pen that was lying in it. "You seem a very accomplished pilot, sir. I assume you've flown for a while."

Castor takes another small sip from his bottle, he looks over at Roubani and says, "For a little while yeah, until now I spent my entire career on the Orpheus, rose from engisn to eltee jig." He takes a moment to sit up slightly so he can better address Roubani, "Why do you ask though? Do you have a question for me?"
"No, sir," Roubani replies, with a vague half-smile. "I just find that most officers enjoy telling stories about themselves."

Castor takes a moment absentmindly blow a smoke ring, "Well, let me think Poet, a story huh?" He then says, "As for piloting I don't really have one mostly because I'm not aiming to be a hotshot at least not anymore." He then grins, "However, if you want to talk about deck life, I'll say this much, some of my best teachers were these old warhorses who served the Orpheus. They came out of the war and they were the roughest toughest frakers out there. They were always telling me about the things the Cylons did." He then takes a long breath as he thinks, "As for the Orpheus, she was a by the book ship and she was so much more formal than we are here. Frak, if I didn't stick to protocol I'd be in trouble."

As his theory seems to confirm itself, Roubani stays silent and lets Castor talk. The pen remains in hand, fingers folded around it. The man's repeated cussing does make his lips thin a touch, but he makes no comment on it. "You don't find us very discplined, I take it, sir."

Castor shakes his head and says in honest tones, "I didn't mean that as an insult, Poet. I was on a ship in which the Commander was obsessed with the teachings of Rear Admiral Cain and so from the top down we had to act like we were all Cain's little disciples." He then exhales slowly before taking another sip of his brandy, "This is a good ship to be on besides being a little cramped. I like the slack that we have. It seems like I'm in the regular fleet and so it is a relief to be here."

Roubani glances at the brandy when Castor mentions slack. His expression says little, and his dark flicker back to the man's face. "Does it, sir."

Castor reaches into a chest pocket on his sweats and he pulls out a cigar, a hand rolled Aquarian, they aren't as expensive as the Caprican ones but they are made the old fashioned way. He offers it to Roubani, "Cigar?" He offers holding the thing up for Roubani, "It does, Nadiv." The eltee jig seems to be paying attention to names. "I may not be a fan of the Lords but this means something beyond us is working, fate, destiny, frak maybe even the Lords. Though we are here for a reason and we aren't just accidental survivors." He takes a sip of his brandy, "At least that is what I think…"

Roubani stiffens slightly when Castor uses his first name, lips thinning into a frown. "No, Lieutenant, thank you," he says as to the cigar. "I'm sure many would share your opinion."

Castor says notices the wince and then says, "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable I'm just trying to get to know you." He says as he puts the cigar away. He then takes the famous Aquarian direct approach, "What about you I mean what is your story? You don't seem like the talkative sort. So, either I'm offending you, I'm boring you, or you don't much care for Aquarians?" He says in a direct matter of fact manner, though there isn't any hint of negative emotion behind it.

As the Lieutenant goes on and on, Roubani looks more and more like he suspects the man's about to hit him. Caution strangles his tone as he speaks. "No, sir, I just…I'm not accustomed to having disclosure demanded of me by someone I've just met." He tries to explain, carefully. "I apologise, sir, I don't…not like Aquarians. I shouldn't think I even know many."

Castor doesn't look like he is about to throw any punches at all. In fact he looks very laid back in typical Aquarian fashion. "I'm not ordering anything it is just that I'm asking. You seem like a smart guy, Poet, I'm just looking for an in with you. I would like to work with my fellow pilots and I would like to get to know them all well. You are sort of a mystery to me."

Roubani clicks the back of the pen. And again. And again. The noise seems to calm him down a fraction. "I'm not sure how to demystify myself, sir. What did you want to know?" He still talks gingerly but hey, it's effort.

Castor appreciates the effort, "I don't know. All I know about you is your friend Mooner will knock the frak out of anything that comes your way. That is the only thing I know about you." He then leans back, "Poet, we Aquarians work on strong familial bonds that precludes blood relation. If an Aquarian is on a ship then that is his or her family." He then says, "So you are my family and I want to know you a bit better."

"I suppose it's a good thing we don't work on Sagittaron principles then, sir," Roubani offers, a touch drily. "Or Mooner's." He unfolds his hands and rubs his eye with the hand holding his clicky pen. His fingers dig in his front pocket until they come up with a cigarette, which he then lets rest in his hand. "How long have you served, sir?"

Castor looks at Roubani, "Well, Sagittaron isn't my style but I hear it is a beautiful planet. As for Mooner's colony…fair enough." He then takes another puff of his cigar as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter with a Battlestar Orpheus logo on it, "Eight years, Poet. I became an ensign right after I turned twenty two and I've been at it ever since."

"I've got one, thank you." Roubani gives Castor sort of a smile. It comes and then goes again. He lights his own smoke without fanfare, his attention a couple miles away from the room as he watches his hands. Then he looks up again, rubbing his cheek. "I didn't know they put ship logos on zippos."

Castor grins, "Well, as mad as the old Comander was, he wanted us to remember where we came from. So, the Orpheus logo put on all kinds of things including a zippo which I now own." He then says, "We even had a ship t-shirt if you can believe that."

"I wouldn't ordinarily, sir," Roubani replies. "But it seems an appropriately fitting slippery slope."

Castor gives a soft chuckle as he drinks from his bottle of brandy, "Well, here is to slippery slopes." He then takes a puff from his cigar, "Anyway, can you tell me about yourself?"

The slight discomfort returns. Roubani clears his throat, glancing off towards the ashtray on the coffee table. It reminds him to reach over and actually ash the thing. "There isn't much to say, sir. I transferred here from a research vessel…I'm not terribly experienced."

Castor has been ashing his cigar in a tray beside him though it has been hidden by his movements, "What kind of research or is it classified?"

"Propulsion," Roubani says quietly. "It was a development endeavour." He sounds a touch wistful about it. If there's more to say though, it gets interrupted by his watch making a soft beep. Smoke follows him as he starts to stand up.
"My apologies, Lieutenant. I need to get to bed." Castor salutes and then says, "Good hunting, Ensign."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License