Kissy and the Bear
Kissy and the Bear
Summary: Kissy+Panda=Understanding
Date: PHD 179
Related Logs: Unconventional Warfare logs, Talk in the Library

[ Black Squadron Berthings - Deck 1 ]

Matto's curtains, not generally shut, are so, today, and even when a bleary-eyed looking Kissybear comes crawling out, the curtain's lifted rather than drawn open, a flap of fabric disgorging the Raptorbunny down the ladder and to the floor, clad in some regulation boxer-briefs and nothing else, for the time being, though he reaches for his locker, next, perhaps in an effort to rectify the matter.

The intercom buzzes on the wall, announcing the presence of someone who doesn't have access to the room. It is tuned low to keep from disturbing sleepers, but is there. "Lance Corporal Ajtai, CMC," announces a tinny version of the Marine's grumpy, tired voice. "Sir, requesting to see Lieutenant Junior Grade Ajtai. Is she in." It's not said with the lilt of a question; then again, CMC, they often don't.

Matto squints over toward the hatchway, still a little blurry-eyed, but he grabs a t-shirt and pulls it overhead as he steps closer, tugging it down over his torso before he grips the hatch and opens it, peeking out. "Pandorian," he murmurs. "No, Kitty's not here. Want to come in and wait for her?" he asks, gentle-voiced, hazy-brained.

"Won't be necessary, Sir," he says curtly, standing at parade rest outside the door. Eyes change focus past Matto's face, then Pandorian relaxes his body and voice. "Maybe I ought to," he sighs, "I owe you a few minutes anyway." The Marine takes a deep breath, steps over the threshold and follows Matto's lead.

Matto's own face warms with a smile. He's about as off-duty as they get, wandering about in his skivvies and tee like he is, and he extends a welcoming hand, "Make yourself comfortable," he tells Pandorian. "Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?" he asks. Maybe a little overly attentive, but he's trying to mend bridges here. And still a little uncertain as to which ones.

Panda cuts a formal figure in his Marblacks - or maybe it's just that when they've met he's usually been wearing the camo pants of the same cut but only his sage green undershirt. That could make most anything look formal in comparison. "I…" He tilts his head, turning to the pilot with hands held behind his back still. "I don't drink tea, but I want to say yes." His lips tug into a flat smirk. "Wouldn't have thought much of it before these past few days."

Matto pats the back of a chair on his way 'round to the tea and coffee station along toward the back. He looks up, then, "There's coffee, too, if you drink that," he notes, hovering back there 'til he learns whether he'll be pouring anything or not. "Look… Pandorian, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have stuck my nose into the thing with Kitty and Marty, but - you know, Marty's a friend of mine. I don't want to see him get mangled. Or busted to nugget, for that matter."

Marine boots thump heavily on the deck with Panda's approach. "Sir you don't seem the most formal of officers, but considering where we are," he says, taking up a position at attention to Matto's side. "I'd appreciate it if you would verbally give me permission to speak with a frankness."

Matto tilts his head to the side and back just a little bit, looking moderately trepidatious about what he might be about to unleash if he does this thing. But then he just nods, just a little, "Sure, sure dude, go ahead," he encourages gently, then stands there, one eye half-squinting in the beginnings of a pre-emptive wince against some loud hollering of disapprobation which he half-expects to be forthcoming.

"You're a gods-damned officer, make a command decision." He gestures sharply with his hand, all the fingers extended like a traffic cop. "You have a guest. You have coffee, you have tea, this is not hard. Do you fly like this? Was it this hard to figure out the right thing to do for Black?" While keeping his voice down, Pandorian's tone is terse at its core like a drill instructor's yet tempered with an amiable sigh of frustration.

Matto lofts a brow at Pandorian, then back toward the station, then back to Pandorian, mouth open just a little. "… But… if I don't ask you, I won't know whether you -want- coffee or tea," he points out. "And… if you don't want any, it'd be a waste to make it, wouldn't it? So instead of just hazarding a best guess, I'm trying to gather information to help come to an informed decision. Asking is better than guessing, ninety nine times out of a hundred. So. Do you want coffee?"

The Marine closes his eyes, rocking lightly on his heels. "Coffee, look, that's not the point," he says, reaching up to rub the side of his nose with a thumb. "The… the offer matters. It's as polite to offer as it would be rude for me to decline. You, you, you… I come into your home," Pandorian says, trying a different tack. "You could offer me lint, it doesn't matter. What you give is your blessing to be here, in a, a, like, a thing-form. Oh Gods," he sighs, pinching his nose, "No wonder they stopped at two kids!"

Matto pauses briefly, eyeing the Marine while the gears turn, then glancing over toward his bunk, then back toward the coffee machine, finally pulling the carafe from the machine and pouring a mugful, sliding it over with an Am-I-Doing-It-Wrong type of caution. "Okay," he finally answers. "And I get… you guys did things differently back home. I do. Get that, that is. And I'm sorry if I stepped on the way you do things. Your cultural values are just as valid as mine."

Panda takes the mug with a bowed head and a smile, keeping his head down like that to smell the aroma. "Thank you. This is good coffee." He winces visibly, even flinching despite Kissy's tone not being the scathing sort. "You're right. I just don't believe we have time for yours right now," Pandorian says, glancing to his left.

"And… I don't think there's room for yours right now, when it comes to fistfights between people," Kisseus offers his own point of view. "There are always going to be culture clashes. And we all have a responsibility to respect each others' views. I yours and you mine in return. I don't believe in hitting. I don't think anything good can come of it," he lays out there flatly, with a firm conviction underlying even his gentle tones.

"Wow," Panda grunts. "That's… I don't know where to begin." He swirls the cup of coffee. "Have you…" the man begins, pauses. "Alright, when you…" Pandorian purses his lips. "Look at it like this, what…" He frowns, finally shaking his head. "Nope. I really don't know where to begin with that."

"It's not a very widely-held worldview, granted. But it's mine. And if you have trouble processing it, well… just remember that, when someone else is having trouble processing yours, alright?" Kisseus moralizes with a quiet smile. "In any case, one thing we can both agree on is that we don't want to see Kitty hurt. You - for obvious reasons, of course," a quirk of a grin, "And me, well - she's my backseater, after all. I have to keep an eye out for her."

Panda is by the coffee and tea service toward the back, in his marblacks, speaking with Matto - who may just have bedhead. He's staring into the little cup, watching the black liquid spin as he listens (how well is left up to interpretation). It isn't long before he speaks up. "So you were just looking out for her by not caring that a man who didn't value her more than the pain of - the temporary pain of maybe a broken nose wanted to date her?" he asks, rolling shoulders back and lifting his head confrontationally.

Matto does indeed rock the wicked bedhead, standing there in skivvies and a tee shirt, slumping to prop the bulkhead up with his shoulder. "Hey, now… that's not fair, Pandorian. I look after her in my own way. I told her to be careful. Marty has… something of a track record, as you probably know. I told her to think long and hard about this, and a month ago that was enough to stop her doing something I'm pretty sure she would have regretted. As it stands, they're getting to know one another. Which is good. That way if a relationship does develop, it'll develop on the basis of a real connection, and if it doesn't… well, they'll probably still be friends."

When Martin's reputation comes up Pandorian sets the undrank cup aside. He swallows down, but it doesn't stop the color from rising out of his collar. "I like you, Matto," the Marine says levelly, ice setting into his words as steadily as the heat which seeps into his features. "I like you so I'll give you this advice. If you want to help your friend, make sure he's not as confused as you are: I will taste blood before man or woman has relations with my sister."

Matto lifts hand to his hair and rakes fingers through it, tidying it idly as he gives a gentle sigh. "Well; I've told you what I think about that kind of behavior." He lifts a shoulder. "But I'm not your boss and I'm not in the habit of giving orders in my underwear. Well," he quirks an impish little grin, but retreats from the scandalous sort of joke he might generally make at that point, clearing his throat, instead. "All I can say is that you won't do Kitty any good if you get put in the brig. So be careful who you hit and where you do it. And at least remember to wear protection when you fight. We need you for bigger battles than this, Pandorian."

Panda at least has the good graces to leave Matto's response uncontested. He doesn't have the manners not to stare. One eye narrows in dark frustration, yet the other eyebrow twitches higher and higher as if the other man had started to sprout a second head. A third animus expresses itself in the way he calmly reaches out, still staring, to retrieve the cup of coffee. The movement is smooth, yet appears awkward juxtaposed with his mood and expression. It's almost as of his sister has taken control of part of his body, having the good judgment to make him drink the blessing offered. The heat of passion subsides, replaced by the relaxing warmth of lovingkindness with which Kisseus had poured the coffee. "This," he murmurs, "is a good drink."

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