Separating Delicates
Separating Delicates
Summary: Martin and Castor spar in the Laundry
Date: PHD 49
Related Logs: None

Slow afternoons have a way of driving Martin's soul into the ground, nd this one is no exception. Back to doing his own laundry after a temporary reprieve, the young pilot is sitting in a chair reclined with his feet on a chair across from him. Head lulled to the side with a pair of droopy eyes, he's got a novel in his hands and seems to be barely hanging on to consciousness.

Castor steps into the laundry room, he looks over at Martin, "Marty." He says as he enters, "Any news?" Leda asks as he stops to look at the novel that Martin is reading. He then flips his laundry, today he is washing his blues. He then takes a second to check the dryer to make sure the damn thing is acctually working. Finally, he moves to take a seat in the laundry room.

"Nothing worth mentioning." Martin says, managing to keep himself out of the fire of napping now that he has a little bit of company it seems. The novel is an old horror novel of some sort, something about a house on a hill in the title. He continues to read as he talks. "What about you, man? Anything new on the homefront? I been lyin low a few days."

Castor says, "Me?" He runs his fingers through his buzz cut hair before he says, "Nothing new, I've been lying low too." He then says, "Though, I've got my share of oars in the water so I'm sure something will come up before you know it." He then says, "Didn't they make that one into a movie? Yeah, they did." He holds out his hand giving a so so expression about the movie, "So, when are you taking Poppy out?"

"I dunno, haven't really been able to talk to her about it. There's no really going out, you know, so this is gonna be an absolute pain in the ass." Martin chuckles quietly, sliding a slip of paper into the book and closing it. "Dinner equals messhall, entertainment equals movie at the Lounge or the Game Room. Go figure right? Can't believe Black Cat would even try to put me up to this after all that bullshit with Sam."

Castor looks at Martin, "Hey, Dash, maybe she is trying to help you out…or maybe she was going to beat you and she gave you an out. To be fair, I thought she was going to knock your head off." He then puts his hands together and says, "Besides, let what happened with Sam play itself out." He doesn't want to get into this to much, Sam is his wingman and friend.

Martin shrugs, still doesn't seem mad about the Sam issue. "Yeah, maybe that's what it was. I don't think that she was really mad, it's not like I got into her stuff. Jupiter found it from somewhere, thought to play a little hell on Black Cat." He can't help but chuckle at the idea, huffing a little bit. "So how'd that conversation go -after- I left the Laundry anyway?"

Castor offers, "To be fair, we talked a lot about Flower and how we were excited for her to be going out. Though I'll say this much you ought to take this seriously if for no other reason than Poppy is excited about this and it shouldn't be a rote sort of thing." He takes a moment rub his jaw, "You could always take her dancing in one of the smaller cargo rooms, I think I saw one open and free."

Martin considers for a moment, folding his arms to give his appendages something to no longer hang towards the floor for. Getting comfortable, he shifts in his chair, lost in thought for a few seconds. "Dancing in the cargo bay, not a bad idea…" He says in thought, looking back over to the guy. "Nah it's not a rote sort of thing. So Flower's excited huh? Hrmm…" He considers, looking to his feet. "I might be able to pull some strings in the mess."

Castor nods his head, "Yeah and if you need help, I may know how to get some things just tell me what you need." He then leands back in his chair, "You could also try to take her to the view port, I don't see people there very often, you could go star gazing." He rubs his chin again as he thinks, "I mean these are just a few ideas but she is excited and it might give both of you a moment to get away from everything going on and just distract each other.

Castor says softly, "She is a good woman, a bit of a kid at heart, she and Kissy are thick as thieves. She enjoys candy and board games." He then says, "As for the view port, I haven't seen it but come on every frakking ship in the fleet has one view port." He then takes a second to look around, "I'm sure we could find one on the ship." He then takes a moment to think, "If you don't like that idea you could take her to the games room. She likes those dancing video games, I think."

"Aw shit the dancing ones?" Martin asks, eyebrow raised. Apparently he's the action gamer. Scratching the back of his head, he widens an eye as he moves his feet. The one that was beneath is rested atop the other, changing the guard. "Allright, Matto mentioned something about playing boardgames with her. I think this is a project of theirs for a while, not exactly sure why but I think this one's been in the making for a while."

Castor shrugs, "If there was a plan I wasn't in on the take." He then leans in, "Though, you made a promise and we have to stick by our promises." He then looks over at his clothes which are drying, "I never did have to do my laundry on the Orpheus you know." He makes a sour face, "Why is it we do our laundry here?" he leans back, "Can I ask you a question Martin, I mean a real question?"

"A real question, like an honest to goodness one with a questionmark at the end?" Martin muses. "Sure man…go ahead. And yeah I'm gonna stick by my promise, that's no big deal whatsoever. Might even be fun, so no this is cool and all. I wouldn't have okay'd it if I had any serious issues and the like…" Martin sidecomments and then nods to Castor. "What's this question?"

Castor says, "I spoke with Poet. Poet had a problem with the way I handled breaking the news about Sam and the Padre to you. I told him I wanted to tell you in private and then when you asked I had to tell you. Poet seems to think my actions were demoralizing and that I should have pulled you into the hallway." He pauses before he asks, "So, my question is, do you think I really frakked things up - are you mad at me - did I hurt morale?"

"Demoralizing…" Martin says, scratching his bare arm near his tattoo as he rolls the question around in his head. "By all rights, you could have done it in private, that's no big deal but I would have done what I did to the two of them on any given sunday in front of Sheridan himself." Martin replies, shaking his head a little bit. "Truth is I'm not mad at all. I did what I did, though, on principal. If Roubani's got a problem with it I guess that's his own deal, but demoralizing to who?"

Castor looks at Martin, "See, that is the thing, the way Poet indicated it the air wing was broken up and then there were some sort of rumors and I don't know what all else. It never hit my ears. So I'm not entirely sure, though, I'll say this much. Poet's word sort of bothered me because I always try to do the right thing." He frowns slightly, "And even if it doesn't matter I'd like to me full on eltee someday if for no other reason than personal accomplishment." He pauses, "And more importantly I don't want anyone in the airwing broken or hurt. We all have to pull through this together."

"Which is why I said what I did. There's a bigger picture involved here. The reality is that no one really gave a damn whether or not Sam and I were together. If we were happy, that is fine, but her and I being together didn't make or break morale. But there's some things every now and then that you read between the lines and even though it made some people uncomfortable, what am I supposed to do, wait for a better time? We're all frakking adults here, and last I checked every calm second we get is one we weren't promised." Martin shakes his head. "Don't worry about Roubani. Some people are more judgemental than others. But it's not him you have to impress to make LT…it's others, so don't worry about that."

Castor takes a moment to nod his head, clearly this bit of news from the younger jig seems to make Leda happier. "Thanks Dash, I appreciate it and you are right. It was just the way he was speaking to me, I don't know his words had a certain weight and I thought I frakked things all to hell without even knowing it." He then leans back in his chair, "And for the record, I still wish I didn't have to be the one to break that news to you."

"I really could give a damn if she was frakking my sister, I said what I did to her because she's lying to herself. It's one of those 'I know you too well to not say this' things." Martin shakes his head. "But seriously man? The colonies are bombed out. You're a frakking Viper pilot in a war against machines that for all we know don't have half of the resource requirements than we do. It's like I told you, you'd be the first person in history to get out of life alive, so whatever it is we've got left you might as well plan on living it. There's nothing worth sweating ten seconds over because if we weren't promised the next twenty seconds back before the war, we're sure as frak not promised eleven now." Martin nods to Castor for effect. "Make…your life…count. As long as no one's pulling rank or trying to get you thrown into the brig, to hell with what Roubani thinks. He's a nice guy, but I can't live like that, you know?"

Castor nods his head in complete agreement as he listens and when Martin is done Castor says, "I completely agree with everything you have said Martin, because all of this could end at any moment, I was saying to Flash earlier that we shouldn't dwell on the past and yet that is exactly what I was doing." He then makes 'meh' face before he looks back at Martin, "And that is the thing that bothers me, I've never ever had an ensign question my actions. Which to be fairly honest has me goning a bit twitchy because this is not normal for me." He acctually stands, "But yeah, Poet doesn't let a lot of folks in, least ways not me."

"Well as much as I respect the guy, everyone's entitled to their opinion. The important thing was that you listened to it and let him say it. If you don't let people talk or even fight it out, people bottle it up." Martin nods, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "I think this was his way of asking you to use more discretion, which means he doesn't think the world of what I said to the Chaplain or Case." Martin pauses, a light shrug. "What was I gonna do, wait for a better time?" He huffs.

Castor chuckles, "Well that is military life you know, fire and forget when it comes to tense moments. We can't affoard to bottle stuff up and so it is better to let everything out before we rumigate on and on and so it builds until you get some stupid ensign blowing his head off or you end up with some jig shooting someone else. Nah, it is best to be direct and let it all out because frak only knows we need to get over this stupid shit." He then takes a seat again, "You need a light?" He says as he pulls out his silver zippo.

"Nah…" Martin shakes his head, dragging off of the cigarette and exhaling skywards. He shakes his lighter in Castor's vision so that he can see. Slipping the lighter away, Martin nods to him. "Sam bottles things up. I don't want her doing that. I did what I did because the more she lets things remain in front of her face, the less she can cover them up and brush them away with a well-placed self lie." Martin comments. "She's your wingman now? So watch out for her, she does this shit. Pay attention and take care of her, allright?"

Castor offfers in all honesty, "Sam is my friend Dash, I'll look out for her." He then says, "Though thanks for the tip, I'll keep an eye on her about covering things up." He pauses, "Mind if I ask a personal question about her that I think you might know the answer to. Why is it that she hates the Lords so much. I'm no fan but that is because my family died and the Lords didn't do anything. So what is her story?"

"I don't know if that's my place to say…" Martin shakes his head, dragging off of his cigarette. Exhaling as he considers, he starts to talk again. "But she's a liar if she says all of this aversion to it isn't her way of finding a creative means to approaching it again someday. She's one of those girls that just…does that shit." Martin replies. "Saying something is one thing when she knows deep down it's another. I guess it's easier to tell yourself a little white lie than to deal with the grime of the truth. Gods…she's a great girl but if she's gonna go do her own thing I'm not gonna let her do that. I care too much for her. Trust me though, that opportunist of a Chaplain will get her warmed up to religion again."

Castor begins to open his mouth to say something about the Padre but he stops because he made a promise to Cygnus about not bad mouthing the man. Instead he says, "Well, I'll look after Sam alright. I promise because the truth of the matter is she is a great woman and as for her and the Padre let things play out as they will." He then takes a second to pat for a cigar which isn't there. He reaches into his pocket and finds a flask, "Fancy some rotgut?" He asks as he tips his flack back.

"And if it's genuine? I give em my blessing." Martin replies, scratching his chest over his tank tops for a second as he looks over to Castor. Nodding to him, he smirks. "Do female pilots frak like they fly? Course I want some rot." Martin smirks. "Just a snort though…I got shit to do today."

Castor closes his flask and then tosses it over to Martin, "Help yourself." He then leans back as he says, "I dunno, I've not frakked a pilot yet. I've not frakked anyone…remember the bit about my nethers and no one being on top of them in seven years." He then takes a moment to laugh as he realizes it was a rhetorical question, "Two points to you, Marty." He than asks, 'What do you have to do today?"

"Seven years? Shit we gotta get that taken care of man. Want my advice?" Martin pauses, taking a sip from the flask. Biting down the liquor, he exhales the fumes as he screws the cap back on and tosses it back. "You're a physically capable male in the middle of a war. There's single women around who are equally as nervous and not wanting to die without a few moments of peace. Find a girl that wouldn't be breaking regs, tell her you think she's beautiful and have the balls to tell her that if she'd simply spend some time with you, you'd give her attention like she was the last woman you'd ever see." Martin pauses. "Trust me. It'll work if you blindside her with it."

Leda catches the flask and then says, "Yeah, I'm working on that. To be fair, I'm getting close with Flash, really close, as in….well you get the idea." He takes a moment to breath, "I mean she is a Raptor pilot and I am a Viper jock but I think things will be okay. She is an officer after all." He then takes a moment to open the flask and tip it back. "Frak, man, I can't believe it has been seven years. Why couldn't the Orpheus put down on some sort of normal port. We had to dock with deep space supply stations." He then rolls his eyes, "I mean seriously, why in the name of Poseidons dirty jock strap could we not have put down somewhere proper."

Annnnd in strolls the CAG with a set of her duty greens in her arms. She's in her off-duty gear at the moment and looking pretty even about her day. The woman's hair is getting long and its currently rolled up behind her head, secured in place by a pen. "Hey boys," she says lightly, heading for a washing machine. She unfolds the greens in her arms and gets some detergent to rub onto the blouse. She doesn't seem to pay much attention to the flask in Castor's hand, but the topic of conversation gets a smirked glace over her shoulder at them.

"Annnnd enter the Torch." Martin says from his chair. Seated at a lazy recline with his arms folded, a book on his lap, and his feet inclined to be crossed at the ankle on a chair across from him, he turns his head to watch the Major pass her way towards a washer. "Been a nice few quiet days, aint it?" Martin comments, nodding to her. "What you been keeping yourself occupied with huh?"

Leda looks at the major and then to his flask and then to the major, "Rotgut, Major?" He offers. "Sir, supposing I was wanting to be romantic with an ensign who happened to be a Raptor pilot? Would that be a problem because to be fair I've been talking to a certain pilot and well things are getting thick and I'd like your blessing sir what with it being the end of the world and all and the list of officers to date is a bit thin." He then holds up the flask almost as a peace offering.

Vendas bows a bit with the announcement of her entering the room. Its a purposely vain gesture that she laughs at. But she's quickly back to rubbing the detergent into a stain. "Nothing exciting. Just dumped coffee on my shirt. Been looking over our photorecon of Scorpia the past few days. Looking at what our options are. How about you?" The shirt is tossed into a washer with the pants and she turns on the washer. The CAG turns and hops up on the machine and looks to Castor, waving off the flask. "No thanks, Leda." His questions get a curious tip of the brow. "Well if this Ensign is a Raptor crewmember then its not really a concern. Officially, the only problems arise when its either with an Enlisted or inside your own chain of command - or squadron. You don't need my blessing to see another pilot. But given our rotation schedules and risks, my stance is that its better to date outside the wing if possible."

Martin merely smiles a little bit at the mention of the issue being within squadron. Guilty. As. Charged. Eyebrows lifting and a small side of his lip tugs into a little bit of a flattened scowl, Martin runs a hand through his hair. He smiles at Torch and looks towards Tin-Man. "In other words, please dear god don't date someone within the squadron because that would be bad."

Martin merely smiles a little bit at the mention of the issue being within squadron. Guilty. As. Charged. Eyebrows lifting and a small side of his lip tugs into a little bit of a flattened scowl, Martin runs a hand through his hair. He smiles at Torch and looks towards Tin-Man. "In other words, please dear gods don't date someone within the squadron because that would be bad."

Leda perks up, "Sir, any news from the recon? Any hope of human life out there beyond us?" His words carry a sense of gravity as he waits to hear what the CAG has to say, if there are other voices out there Castor would like to k now. As Martin speaks Castor takes a moment to nod to the man before he says, "Raptor squad is Black Squad and she wants to transfer out to become a shrink for us all, though, that depends on the Major and the medical officers."

Vendas knew that was coming from Martin. She tilts her head a bit. "Sorry, Black." She sighs. "What I'm saying is, if I am officially notified of a relationship within the command structure I hafta do something about it. How I interpret that is subject to opinion. I can cut slack but as it stands, I prefer to let Marek run his own squadron. He doesn't need me micromanaging you all from afar." She looks back to Castor, then. "She better have a damned good reason to transfer out when we already have a shrink on board." But that's all she seems to have a say in the matter. She leans back against the wall, letting the machine roll on without her passing attention. "Signs of life? Nothing we can confirm. The northern continent appears fairly intact - but thats because the southern was more populated and too the brunt of the attacks. There's a section up north in the mountains that doesn't look too bad. That rad levels are still pretty low or non-existant. But I'm not getting my hopes up." A sobering last few words.

Martin chuckles, shaking his head towards Torch. He holds up a hand in an attempt to wave off her apologies. "Got so many bigger things to worry about than that." He says, almost as if he could care less at the idea of something being done about it. He takes a drag off of his cigarette. "What about that toasters -around- Scorpia?" Martin asks. "I mean is there a chance we're risking a battle, losses, and whatever on hopes? I mean I'm all for it, if there's people left alive down there, it's worth the risk. I just wanna know what I'm putting my ass on the line for."

Castor keeps up his hope, he is a puppydog after all, "Major, I bet we will find some sign of life out there somewhere. Maybe not on Scorpia but somewhere because nothing happens by accident." Was that a hint of some sort of religion coming out of the pilot. "Major, I hope we find something." He then adds, "Sir, she feels that she would be better suited to the medical staff and in my opinion she knows people." He then takes a moment to look at Martin, "Wait, the cylons are planetside too?" He asks in a confused manner.

"Yeah. And to be honest, Martin? Right now? Relationships aren't numero uno on my list of concerns with you all. As long as they're stable and handled maturely. Off the record and unofficial, of course. We can all use support right about now." She cuts him an easy smile. "Anytime we go back to the colonies again, we are risking it all. I don't know if there are people there. But we don't act without reason. Its why we are running recons. If they find something, we'll move in force." Her head leans back against the wall as her eyes move to Castor. "Glad to hear optomism, Leda. Just remember to temper it. As for your friend, that's not my problem. We need Raptor crews right now. I feel I'd be better suited to having a family and living on a planet. But we play the cards we are dealt. Your Ensign friend is welcome to make her case, but it won't be easy. I granted a transfer to Ensign Roubani after his exemplary performance and an injury that removed him from flight status."

"My thoughts exactly." Martin replies to Vendas' words with a nod of his head. Dragging off of his cigarette, he taps the ashes into an ashtray and waves the cigarette around a little bit for effect. "Wartime skills, Tinman, wartime skills. Right now she's got Piloting skills and we've already got a psychiatrist on board. Air wing needs every swingin dick because unless we find some way to start growing pilots around here, it's gonna be a bitch training em." Martin says, nodding. "Well Torch I'm in on this one hundred and fifty percent. Scorpia it is. Hope they find at least some supplies though, I'm sure there's gotta be sometihng down there rad sheltered that ain't been frakked beyond belief." Martin lulls his head towards Tinman. "Man, if there's Cylons up in space I'm willing to believe that if my house survived the bombs there's one in my living room right now for all I care. I'm pulling the trigger on anything that ain't us as long as I'm weapons free. Better safe than not."

Castor looks at Vendas, "Sir, I am simply stating her intentions, I would never guess what command needs or doesn't need. However I am cross training sir in an effort to create a pilot who can handle both recon and combat missions because I would love to see a blue squad of pilots that can fly Raptors or Vipers equally who are able to become the best pilots left alive able to take on any mission and so they are able to better protect us all." He then adds, as he looks at Martin, "Hey, for all we know your house might be safe and if you see a hint of metal I'll help you shoot."

Vendas extends a hand in gesture towards Black. "Correct. Until we find replacements, its gonna be bad. Roubani is a temporary loan to Engineering and will be returning when his hand heals." To the mention of Scorpia, she nods. "We're looking at some of the Viper production shops down there. We got some shots of the primary Viper assembly plant.. and.. it looks somewhat intact. I'm going to be tasking out another recon to go take a look at it. Deconning Viper parts isn't a tough job. And that's our main concern. That and ammunition." Vendas than looks to Castor. "I've never seen a pilot be able to fly both airframes equally well. A pilot is generally better suited for one or the other. A separate institution for cross-qualled pilots would be really poor for morale."

Martin nods in slight agreement with Torch. Taking another pull from the cigarette, he ashes it and looks in Tinman's direction. "Bear in mind that not being as good in one or the other, training accidents, all that shit costs lives." Martin says, shaking his head from left to right. "As much as I think it's a cool idea, I wouldn't sign up for that shit. I'm a trained Viper pilot. I can shuttle around a Raptor, sure, but the moment I start having to worry about how I fly a Raptor in combat it'll take my obsession away from how I fly a Viper." Martin comments, baring his soul a little. "I allow my personal life to be a frakking nightmare theme park environment because I crave change. Military life doesn't have change. My personal life does. But the moment I start trying to change the way I fly and all that muscle memory is the first day towards getting scraped off of the deck. Change in the cockpit is bad luck."

Castor looks at Vendas as the CAG shoots his idea for crosstrained pilots gets shot down, "Aye sir, we are all Viper pilots or Raptor pilots only." He then asks, "Sir, should I give up on my Raptor qualifications then?" He says in all honesty without a hint of anger or frustration in his tone. "Sir, I want to serve the fleet to the best of my ability and I would hope to be able to be crosstrained in both. However under your comand I will stop my idea for elite ideas for pilots." As Martin speaks Leda says, "Dash, you are a viper pilot through and through and I want to be both. I want to belong to something bigger. Though I will always respect command."

Vendas dips her head to Martin. "I'm in the same boat, Black. I haven't had my Raptor quals validated since I took up residency outside normal fleet deployments at Cafferty. Not the best example, but I focused very hard on fighting in a Viper and teaching others to do so. But what you're talking about is exactly why they don't teach classes in how to dogfight the Raptor. Its a stand-off weapons platform." Back to Castor then. "Why would you give up on Raptor quals? Being dual'd means you can sit left seat or fly in reserve if we need someone else. You can always strive for more Leda, and it will be noted, but developing a separate squadron or group for cross-trained pilots would alienate the three squads from each other and hurt morale. There's a reason we've never done it in the past. It would simply be easier to just stay the course on our current system."

"Every swingin dick in the field, Tinman." Martin replies, scooting on his chair to lounge a bit more. Relaxed with the conversation, he lets his cigarette dangle from his lip with a shake of his head. "If they want us to mop, they'll tell us to mop and we'll have to order. Vipers, Raptors, MarDet attachment, we're all soldiers, man. We go where our marching orders tell us, even the Major here." He reaches up to his lip and takes the cigarette, ashing it again.

Leda nods to Vendas, "Aye sir, I will keep training then and to be fair landing fifty tons of Raptor is a pain in the ass and working with the ECO's is different, it is a whole new partnership. As I run the sims it seems that the Raptors are slower….they are sort of like trucks sir. As for a specialized squad, I will respect your ideas sir, though I would hope it would impress more pilots to be better." He then turns to Martin, "Marty, you're a young jig and I'm an old jig…anything I can do to help means something. The truth of the matter is I want to make full on eltee before I hit forty."

Vendas chuckles to Martin and nods. "Yeah. Just as much as you all do. All I can do is argue a little better with the boys at the top of the food chain. Toss a few ideas. But at the end of the day, I still have my orders." The washer slows to a stop and the Major reluctantly slides off. "The only thing that's going to impress other pilots is either flying ability or how you carry yourself. Leadership. Viper pilots respect those who can both back their shit up and be calm about it."

"Why?" Martin asks at the mention of making LT before forty. Martin looks over to Leda as he stubs his cigarette out. Watching the man, he slides off of his chair and moves to his washer. Grabbing the clothes, he turns to reach inside, grab the lump of clothing, and shove them into a dryer. "Where you goin man? Where's the fire?" Martin looks to him, shrugging. "I could give a frak about rank. No one's making a career here, man, not a gods damned one of us. Get yourself a girl, find yourself a project to work on that'll save lives, and tighten your Viper screws for the time being and enjoy the girl. Those two things will do more for you than making LT ever will." Martin turns back to the dryer, thumbing it on.

Castor looks at Martin and say optimistically, "There is life out there because there has to be. I refuse to believe we are it which means that rank means something which means that we need to do what we can to be better. Marty, we have to keep moving because we are more than just fodder for some machine." He then looks at Vendas, "Sir, I want you to know I am cross training because I want to be able to fly anything, go anywhere, do anything." He then takes a moment to look back at Martin, "I will not give up because our enemy won't."

Vendas leans against the quiet washer and watches the two go back and forth. She crosses her arms and listens without much input. Though Castor's last gets a shrug from her. "Planning on getting qualled on one of our atmospheric shuttles, too?"

"I'm not fodder for some machine, Tinman. I'm one of the people that's responsible for every damn person's life on this ship and that includes anyone or anything we might manage to rescue." Martin says. "We don't have time for rank. We don't have time for bettering ourselves. My life doesn't consist of anything outside of what I do to relax and what I do to save lives. I'm not gonna frakkin try and qual on flying the Kharon itself because I've got some hard on about being the best." Martin says, probably a bit rougher than he should. "Hope your wingman don't mind you taking time out of overpolishing your Viper skills there, Tinman."

Castor looks at Vendas, "Major, I'll qualify for all three if I need to, and not because I am brown nosing but because we need it all. We need pilots that can fly it all and smile about it." He then says, "I want to become the best pilot I can be." He then turns to Dash, "Marty, there is nothing wrong with keeping yourself busy and becoming a better person. I give my all to my squad and no one can say otherwise and if I want to learn more on top of that than it shouldn't bother you. Marty, if we are it, we should cross train because who knows where we will be and what skills we will need. I am here to save the human race."

"No, you're giving your all to the squad you wanna form. Last I saw you were a Red, Tinman." Martin replies, lighting a fresh cigarette. "You too good to die with us?"

Vendas doesn't say a word, letting the two pilots go back and forth. She just remains still, watching the pair duke it out verbally.

Castor looks at Martin, "Because overspecialization leads to weakness." he removes his clothes from the dryer, "Marty, I'm red until command says otherwise but frak me if I don't want to improve who and what I am. If I don't try to become better than I am a ghost, a dead man in which nothing changes. So I will bust my ass to become something better even if it means I'm a jig until I die. Though the point is to learn as much as I can and become a better pilot in every capacity." He then adds, "We all want to do our best but the question is how and for you Marty that might mean being the best Viper pilot you can be but for me it means becoming the best pilot I can be even if it means branching out and I am busting my ass working on my viper creds and sitting through boring ass Raptor classes. I even got called a godsdamn nugget but I do what I have to so that I can give something back." He then leans in pulling his now dried blues out.

Martin grins with his cigarette, looking towards Torch with a comical lift of his eyebrows in her direction. "So Tinman…" Martin smirks, reaching out to boot the man in the ass. "Who said you was so good to begin with huh?" He chuckles. "I'm gonna laugh my ass off if this gets you transferred to flying one of those slow, fat, fraks…"

Still, Vendas is the picture of calm, watching the pair of them go tit for tat. Arms crossed on her chest, she's perfectly happy to keep her silence for now.

Castor gets booted in said ass and he turns around, "And Dash, when I get missions for both the red and black squad I'll be booting you in the ass." He then looks at Vendas for a moment realizing the silence, "Anyway, I need to go hang this stuff." He smiles, "Major." He turns to look at Matin, "Thanks for the advice Dash." And with that he is out.

Why tote something when you can just kick the living shit out of it? Therapy by laundry abuse. Eddie's rucksack comes through the hatch before she does, the big bag of clothes not moved too far by her boot but a foot or so. It must have been a long trek down here, but then again, she could just roll the thing down the stairs. Seems she's been putting this off for a while. Mooner is singing a song through clenched teeth, a jingle for laundry soap it seems. "Sudsy clean, sudsy clean. I like my," *KICK* "…clothes Sudsy Bubblestein Clean."

Watching Castor head out, Martin turns to see Eddie and there's a small, barely noticeable twinkling in his eyes. Arms folded, he leans against his dryer and watches her for a moment. Back to doing his own damned laundry, he hops up onto the machine and grins. "Mooner…what's goin on?" He asks and then finally decides to look to Vendas, gauging her reaction to the ass-chewing he gave Tinman.

Nope! Martin doesn't get that pleasure. The Major spins back to the washing machine and begins pulling out her green duds. She holds the shirt up and looks for the coffee stain. Satisfied, she moves to a dryer as the soccar player apepars in the door. Vendas casts a glance to the Ensign and its apparent she's grinning ear to ear. "Hey Morales. What's shakin?" There's just enough mirth in her voice. Yep, she's probably holding back some laughs.

Eddie continues punting her rucksack over to the side of a machine, then pulls it open to start stuffing the washer without car to color, creed, or material. "Just my tail feathers, sir." And to demonstrate, she does a little cha cha step that has her namesake waggling. "Dash." She greets, before dumping in some soap and clanging the lid shut.

Martin lowers his head and looks to the floor for a moment as he ashes his cigarette, grinning to himself. The smirk fades and he looks up to glance between the two of them from his position on the dryer. Leaning forward on his arms like some sort of gorilla, he considers what to say. "So…" He pauses. "…Castor's getting in a lot of stick time…"

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