String Theories
String Theories
Summary: In the library, people and their theories on love, gods, and pie come and go.
Date: PHD167 (03 October 2009)
Related Logs: None

Kharon - Library

Having found a new haunt, Martin has been in the library the last few hours on a comfortable lounging chair and a good book in his lap. Truth be told, he took a slight nap for about a half hour, but is back to reading again. His hair details the fact that the right side of his head was rested on the chair's edge, giving him a bed-headed look.

Footsteps come wandering through the stacks of books close by Martin's claimed spot. Someone's browing the row, unseen as of right now. With a soft shuffling sound, one of the books suddenly comes loose, accidentally pushed through its place on the shelf and falling with a loud thud right by Martin's chair, pages flapping. "Bah." Roubani's brown eye flicks through the hole left over as he looks down, eyeing the distance to the floor where it fell.

Teall arrives from the Hallway - Deck 3, Midships.
Teall has arrived.

From his position in one of the lounging chairs, Martin leans and looks down to the book that Roubani has just accidentally dropped onto the floor. Leaning down, he takes it up into a hand and stretches out his arm, offering it to the fellow pilot. "Ya lost somethin…" Martin says with a smirk. "How you been, Poet?"

"Gravitationally challenged, it seems," Roubani answers, drily. He ducks back from the hole left by the fallen book, making his way around the shelf to retrieve the prize from Martin. "How about yourself?"

Kitty has arrived.

Teall clomps into the library. Hard to avoid clomping in boots, and she's not a quiet walker on top of that. She does try to moderate her stride when she enters the room, though. She moves straight back to the literature section. Poetry, to be specific. Or what there is of it on board.

"You know the drill…" Martin says, turning with a slightly bored sound to his voice towards his book. Turning a page with the crisp sound of paper over paper, he lets out a slow breath that brings his words. "…get off cap, sit around, girlfriend's busy so ya go reading because you're keepin your ass out of trouble. You know at this rate, I'm gonna feel like Willem." Martin replies, raising his eyes to see Teall enter.

"Consider it less 'like Price', than 'the reverse of Stathis'," Roubani offers, with a slight half-smile. "Is that any improvement?" He certainly noticed the reference to 'girlfriend', but perhaps he's just observant enough not to have to ask. His dark eyes turn as Martin looks somewhere else, and he nods to Teall.

Teall pays the boys no mind at first. She's absorbed in the stacks. She runs a finger rather gently across the spines of the available books, finally picking a slim paperback off the shelt. She flips through it, sucking one cheek in, skimming before she decides to take it properly.

Did someone say 'girlfriend'? Looks like that's the magic word as Kitty arrives, dressed in her off-duties and bearing a book which she leaves at the desk. She ducks between two aisles, muttering to herself as she browses the first selection of books she happens upon, muttering "Hera" under her breath repeatedly, perhaps that being what she wants to read about.

"Well, clearly I'm not trying to turn the library into some sort of monkey-house. I'm either getting more mature or she's a good influ…" Martin pauses, catching sight of Kitty entering the stacks. Chuckling softly, he lowers his voice and looks sidelong to Roubani. "I think some women can tell when they're being talked about. What's this now, the fourth time I've practically conjured her like a wizard?"

"All women can tell when they're being talked about," Roubani intones to Martin, with a gravitas one usually reserves for discussing the death of innocents. "Estrogen vibrates on a subatomic level. Nowhere is safe." WARNING GIVEN, his voice lofts pleasantly Kitty's way. "Good evening, Katherine."

Teall is mostly still flipping through her book. Mostly. The word 'estrogen' probably catches her ears. She raises her head, eyes shifting this way and that. She even sniffs. Perhaps trying to smell blood. Or male conversation which might eventually lead to it. She slips down the stacks, in Martin and Roubani's general direction, but it's Kitty she notices first. "The Mother Goddess, Atjai?" she asks with a faint smile. "Haven't seen her. She might be hiding over by the magazine rack, though."

Kitty looks up and peers around, leaning over to the point of nearly falling over to see who it is who greets her. "Hey, cute stuff. Do you come here often," she replies to Nadiv's greeting first, her already broad smile growing more so upon seeing him and Marti both. "Hello, sweetie. How are you?" Ducking back around, she begins a renewed search for the book, pausing a second time only when Teall speaks. "I am looking to learn more about her, actually. Am hoping to find a book that's about her and none of the other Lords."

Martin casts a sly, warning glance to Roubani. Despite the fact that he's calmed in his antics, his impish side could never truly be drowned. "We'll see about that…" Martin says quietly to Poet and grins to the incoming Kitty. "I'm doin good, bebs. I've been here for the last few hours. If you cut through me like a tree I've probably gained a few rings. What about yourself?" He adds, looking to Teall and then back to the other two. Having never checked out a book on theological studies, he wouldn't know where to start.

Roubani smiles pleasantly at Martin. THEY SHALL SEE, indeed. He refrains from any mention of where Hera herself might be just now, he casts a glance over his shoulder towards the stacks. A finger raises absently, indicating no direction in particular. "I believe there was one writing specifically on offerings to Hera. I know I'd seen that one. Or were you looking for the hymns?" His voice gets a little absent as he watches the stacks, soft voice quoting, "'O royal Hera, of majestic mien, aerial-formed, divine, Zeus' blessed queen, throned in the bosom of cerulean air, the race of mortals is thy constant care…' I know the chapel has all Her songs there."

"What vibrates at a subatomic level, Poet?" Teall asks Roubani in a far too innocent tone. "Didn't quite catch that." Martin gets a quick grin and "Hi." But most her attention is still on Kitty. She eyes the shelves thoughtfully. "I was always more partial to Athena. But Hera…hrm…." She tilts her head a Roubani, head bobbing along a little with the hymn. Pretty. *re*

A book is eventually found and Kitty pulls it from the shelf, its cover and spine examined quickly before it's dubbed good enough and she walks away from the shelf, smiling at Teall as she does. "Hera…she kind of calls to me." It is the first time she has admitted that and she kind of blushes, looking as if she has been caught pilfering cookie from someone's stash. The quote from Roubani is listened to, taken in and she finds herself trying to memorize it, it's beauty begging for her to try and do so. "That's so lovely, Nadiv. What is it from?" Marty is then approached and given a hug as she whispers against his cheek, "I am exhausted, yourself," before it's given a soft, chaste peck.

Roubani waves a hand lightly at Teall. "Oh…everything does," he explains easily. "String Theory. You know. Subatomic particles as vibrating strings, like taut rubber bands about a billionth of a billionth the size of a proton…each corresponds to a specific frequency of vibration of the string. Rather like when one pulls on a rubber band and it changes its vibration frequency? Altering the mode of vibration transforms an electron into a neutrino, a quark, or another particle. as they vibrate, they force space and time to curl around them, giving rise to gravity, which pulls bodies together…in…you know, various…ways. Uh. Yes." It's about then he realises he's going ON and ON. Hi Kitty! "It's the Orphic Hymn to Hera, I believe. It goes on for a while but I don't know the rest of it. Ariadne would know."

Teall has gotten some verse, for her part. 'A Poet's Dream' by Kataris, if anyone is interested enough to look. She eyes Roubani narrowly while he goes on. Her eyes don't glaze over, though. She gets caught up enough in that that her feminine hackles seem to go down. "What attracts you to Hera?" she asks Kitty, smiling slightly. Genuinely interested in this.

Epi arrives from the Hallway - Deck 3, Midships.
Epi has arrived.

Leaning in close to Roubani, she gets close enough to almost touch him without doing so, her way of giving her friend a hug without incroaching upon his personal space too terribly much. "If I didn't know better," she murmurs while close to his ear, "I'd swear that was sexual." Straightening, she winks to the pilot before turning, placing herself so she can look between everyone without difficulty. "I guess it's because she's a mother," she answers Teall, "I haven't had one for over six years now…" Clearing her throat, she shrugs.

Into the Library comes bouncing someone very unlikely - a Marine. The Library really isn't Marine country, usually. But tonight, well, it is. Epi has the hyper thing going on tonight, scampering down one of the aisles as if she's afraid of getting caught.

"Would you, now." Roubani's unfazed by the insinuation in his ear. Women, gosh. He shifts the heavy book in the crook of his arm, sniffing politely, and when the talk veers religious again he's ready for it. "Mm. Hera is the goddess of marriage and the birth of children, but…have you read much of Demeter and Persephone?"

Teall nods a little to Kitty. Head tilting, as if she'd like to ask more, but she doesn't press. "That's nice. Hera is big on the whole matriarchy thing. But Poet's on to something. You might like the hyms of Demeter, too. She was a total hardcore earth-mother." The Marine bouncing into their vicinity is noted. She can't help but grin some. Scampering Marine.

Grinning quietly, Martin decides to slip his bookmark into the page of his book and clap it shut. "Well I guess this would be a bad time to offer up that the library has a wide selection of non-romantic literature about automobile maintenance…" Martin replies, slightly hiding amongst the talk of marriage and birth.

Kitty smiles and shakes her head playfully at Nadiv, that done while pointing at Martin of all people. "Blame it on him. His deviant behavior has rubbed off on m…huh?" The mention of cars has her staring at Marty and then the stare is turned to Epi and Teall both. The sudden course change conversationally has thrown Kitty off of her game and it shows, the normally chatty woman not so much now.

No, it's not like sands through the hourglass. It's more like a cat caught grooming the indelicate parts. Epi's got that same 'oh, shit. Caught!' deer-in-headlights look on her face when she catches Teall's glance. The poor woman skids to a stop, looking among the gathered pilots as if she's not sure whether to bravely stand her ground as the only Marine about, or if discretion (and flight) is the better part of valor. Never let it be said that Epi's a coward, though. Her ground is stood, a book on chemistry in her hands, as she offers a quiet, "Evening, Sirs."

"He means," Roubani murmurs, leaning conspiratorically closer to Kitty. "Read something Not Girly, before his head explodes." His dark brows raise slightly and then he looks at Teall, nodding. "A reasonable way of describing her. Have you read the stories?" Then to Epi, nodding politely. "Corporal, how are you?"

Teall smirks a little at Martin. Tempted to giggle at his expense. She restrains herself, though. She says nothing more to Kitty or Martin for the moment. A bobbing nod is given to Roubani, however. "A lot of them. I didn't get hardcore into the theology scholarship stuff or anything, but I think it's interesting. Especially the goddesses. I like to know a little something about how I'm praying to, y'know? I was dedicated to Athena. The whole wisdom plus kick-ass thing has always appealed to me." She can't hold back the giggle when Epi skids to a stop. She offers a friendly, "Hi, Corporal."

"Evenin…" Martin replies, offering a wave to Epi. Looking around, Martin casts his gaze over the assembled faces. Three girls and a Roubani, who's yet to throw him under the bus but very well could do so at any time. "No…I'm not saying read something ungirly I just…well…I mean how about Ares? Running, jumpin, killin' monsters…" Martin grins, playing off of his own joke as he rises and pads to the shelves. Pulling out a book, he opens it to a page with a statue of Ares on it. "Strong biceps…pectorals…a mannnnly beard, ladies?"

Epi's attention bounces among the officers for a moment. "Ares was a pussy," she blurts, then blinks owlishly. Yep, the words came out of her mouth. "Diana had him whipped in the strength department. Ares is strength without wisdom. Diana is strength tempered with wisdom."

Roubani chuckles under his breath at Martin. "Magnanimous, unconquered, boisterous Ares, in darts rejoicing, and in bloody wars; fierce and untamed, whose mighty power can make the strongest walls from their foundations shake." He shakes his head slightly at Epi. "It was not that he is explicitly without wisdom. It is that he loves war for its own sake. He is the personnification of strength, where Athena protects."

"I'd look bad with a beard," Katherine deadpans while looking squarely at Black, her hand slipping up so that she can cup her chin. "My face is the wrong shape for one. Best I could manage to make look good is a soul patch." She winks to the men before chuckling at Epi and Teall both. "Maybe…er…." Okay. She's out of ideas as far as a patron diety to follow and she simply mumbles, "Maybe I should just create one myself, huh?"

"I'd never call one of the Lords a pussy," Teall assures Roubani. "Except maybe Aphrodite. But in her case, it's her business." Pantheon humor. She smiles sheepishly, shrugging. Had to go there. Her grin broadens at Kitty. "I think Hera's a fine goddess. Or perhaps Aurora, lady of the dawn, renewing herself every morning by flying across the sky and announcing the arrival of the sun." She tips her face up, as if trying to feel the sun's rays on it. Just interior lighting, alas. She shrugs. "There are lots to choose from. If you want to delve into it seriously, maybe you should talk to one of the chaplains."

"Humph," the little Marine replies. "I'm sorry, but Ares is a pussy. A nice pussy, but one nonetheless," she maintains. "He is the personification of strength without anything between his ears. Which is fine - every pantheon needs brawn over brains. There are plenty of brains left over in the others so they can help him out." She finally cracks a grin.

"Lord Ares is one of the divine," Roubani says in response to Epi. His voice has gained a slight edge as she keeps on, and he's not grinning. "Of all we may ask ourselves how each has a place in our lives, let us not think ourselves so mighty as to insult the gods themselves."

"Nope, no beard." Martin shakes his head from side to side. He forbids it. Then he turns, sliding the book away. "I think that Ares and I share a good number of traits. When I have facial hair, it's nice. I'm Magnanimous, unconquered, boisterous, and I'm excellent with a spear." He pauses. "Spear fishing. I'm from Picon." He says, as if to ward away some sort of innuendo joke."

Martin is given a goodbye kiss, a quick-yet-sincere brush of her lips against his before she starts to make with her goodbyes to the other, Kitty perhaps in need of getting somewhere. "Will talk with you later." She turns and addresses everyone as a whole, "Please forgive me for cutting out like this but I need to meet with someone.." Shaking her head, she gives a wave before disappearing.

"Easy, Poet," Teall says to Roubani. "No harm meant, I'm sure." Her eyes shift sideways at Martin but she comments not on his resemblance to Ares. Or spear fishing prowess. A finger-waggling wave is offered to Kitty. "See you back at a bunks."

Epi cocks her head slightly to look up at Poet, consideringly. "My apologies, Sir. I was out of line," she replies, tone quiet - though not subdued. While the apology seems to be sincere, it's more along the tone of an enlisted apologizing to an officer. "If you all will excuse me, Sirs?" She dips her head, once, then turns to head off with her book.

You can take the boy outta Sagittaron, but…hey. Roubani's arm shifts around the book in the crook of his elbow, prayer beads softly clicking against the book's edge. "Good evening, Corporal," is extended back, politely neutral and leaving the apology unaddressed. Then his brain rewinds a few seconds and he eyes both Teall and Martin. Spear…what. "They would spearfish on Picon?" He has no idea where Teall's from, so he seems to assume she must know the answer too.

"Umm…I'm from Canceron. Not a lot of spear fishing. Really good crabs off the coast, though. You catch them with nets." Is Teall's semi-rambled reply to Roubani. A shrug to Martin. Then she turns back to Epi, offering the Marine a faint parting smile. "Of course, Corporal. Happy reading."

"No." Martin replies, looking sidelong to Roubani. "I said that to curb a masturbation reference" He adds, reaching out to clap a hand over Roubani's bicep, giving him a quiet squeeze to let him know that he's just being playful with the subject. Nodding to Epi, he offers her a smile. "Have a good one, Corporal. See you at the next MOUT training maybe?" He adds, and then turns his attention to Teall. "So…Cookies? I'm intrigued as to how you got that callsign. It might just cross how I got mine."

"Oh!" Roubani flushes a sudden red at Martin's explanation, the bro-clap on the arm only helping a little. He ahems quietly, setting his hand against his ear in an attempt to look like he's scratching his hair rather than covering the pink skin. The question about Cookies' name moves his attention that-a-way again.

Teall sniggers when Martin clarifies the import of spear fishing. "Mine wasn't," she assures the both of them. "There really are crabs. With shells. They're real good with butter and some garlic sauce." She looks a little longing as she talks about them. No crustaceans in the mess, alas. When Martin asks about her callsign, though, she snorts. Expression becoming highly rueful. "It's not that intriguing. It's a dumbass story. Like most callsign stories." She gives the Viper pilot a long look. "You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine, Dash."

Epi heads through the exit labeled <H> Hallway.
Epi has left.

"Ain't played this game since junior high…" Marting replies, looking to a group of chairs. Stepping away from the shelves, he gives the 'come hither' finger crooking over his shoulder before turning and dumping himself onto the unusually comfortable low sitting seat. "Dash stands for Dumb As Shit." He starts, a fond look on his face. "Me and some of the guys snuck off base and hit a bar. When we came home our CO was waiting for us and while he was scolding us I puked all over him. I mean…he was pouring it out of his shoes. I probably frakked myself for a bounce out of Jig for it, thusly I'm still a dammned Jig."

Roubani heard that story before, a million years ago last Thursday in a Charybdis bar. Before cylons and before war. So it might be the story that sparks a small smile onto his face, or it might be just the memory of another time. His dark eyes shift expectantly back to Teall, one brow lofting.

Teall grabs a chair, plopping down in a comfortable slouch, elbows on the table. She shifts a look between the pair of Viper jocks, a faint grin on her face. It's a wry, self-mocking sort of expression. At least Martin's going first. She listens to his story, grin broaden, until she breaks into a laugh at the end of it. "You are…freakishly good at guessing, Black. Yeah. It…sort of vomit related." She snorts, getting to the story. "So my first assignment out of training was this LCV ship. The Siren. Tiny Raptor squad, but the crew was tops. So anyway. My first off-night, I'd been there like a week, and I want to prove what a tough military chick I am, right? So, there was this bay below decks where everybody would kind of go to hang out sometimes, and there are these Marines there with *several* bottles of ambrosia. And I'm stupid enough to think it's a good idea to start doing shots with these guys…" She trails off for a dramatic pause.

Martin looks to Roubani and winks, clearly pleased with himself. Martin is one of the few people that would hear 'Cookies' and think vomit instead of 'chocolate chip'. Strange really, because he has a culinary degree. He actually tends to make cookies more often than he tosses them. "What can I say, Cookie Monster, I'm a gods-honest psychic." He pauses, a smug grin on his face. "Please tell me this wasn't a lone Raptor girl with marines and bottles. This here's a family friendly place on the ship…"

Roubani glances at Martin and then back at Teall. Who knows if his mind went the same way at first, though as the story winds and winds, his brow goes up and up. "Please tell me…" He offers weakly, "…that it was cookie-flavoured liquor?"

Teall sticks out her tongue and gags theatrically at Roubani. "Not quite! I wish. Or maybe I don't. Schnapps is pretty vile coming back at you. So, anyway, I don't even last like an hour before I toss my cookies *all* over the bay floor. And no, thank gods. The pilot I was flying with regular carried me to the Head. Laughing her ass off. Frakker." It's said with love. She snorts. "So, that's my sorry tale. You're lucky, Poet. You sound all, like, lyrical and shit."

"Poet, per sentence, has a manner of making me sounds like a mallrat." Martin says, grinning broadly and nodding upwards to the man in question as a form of salute. Stretching out his legs, he plants his booted feet on the floor before him as he shoulders back into his chair. He's sitting as if he's waiting his turn in the principal's office, and looks oddly comfortable this way. "But on a side note, if there was cookie flavored alcohol I never would have made it through flight school."

"The callsign is…ironic. I assure you," Roubani murmurs with a touch of dry humour. More to Teall, since he'd already told Martin how he got it. "And Dash, per sentence, has a way of making me certain I'm the foil who's boring the world half to death." It's endearing, his tone, and not looking for a refute. But poor Teall. Poor Teall! "Well there's worse words they could have come up with to have described the situation. 'Cookies' is at least a little pleasant. And I suppose if there were cookie-flavoured liquor I might even have tried it."

Teall laughs. "It makes you wonder how many other callsigns have their origin in vomit, don't it?" she ponders in a philosophical sort of way. "I mean, there are plenty of opportunities to puke embarrassingly in the Air Wing. I bet we're talking upwards of…ten percent? Maybe fifteen." She winks at Roubani. "I figure I could've done *a lot* worse. I like it. I figure it suits me, for better or worse. And I've learned to avoid shots mixed by Marines." Wince.

"I wouldn't drink what the marines are drinking purely out of fear of getting party sludge. See, I'm not above drinking something that looks like drain cleaner if I'm told by the green slime that I'm not man enough to do so. So no, you're not a boring foil, Poet, you're a wise and intelligent man who hasn't learned most of everything he has in life by headbutting it to see if it'll make him lightheaded." Martin smirks. "But it's all I've got and it's gotten me this far."

"We used to call that 'scientific method', Dash," Roubani informs Martin, and quite sincerely, lifting an index finger. "The idiot is only the man who accepts the hypothesis without the headbutt, literal or figurative as it may be. If you told me something were true, I would believe you." High praise from the physicist at the table, no doubt. And then suddenly out of nowhere, he remembers something. "By the way, Martin Black. I seem to remember a bet about pie that someone never completed. Are you admitting failure?"

Teall falls quiet as she observes Roubani and Martin. Smiling just a little. "Aww, you boys are sweet," she deems. The last part perks her curiosity. "You guys have pie?"

"I've been having trouble getting clearance on that. I'll try again though. We haven't had a lot of good supplies like that come in and the whole thing's fuzzy as to whether or not we can ration the sugar out enough…" Martin pauses. "If we did this, it'd have to be really quiet about it, because we've got a lot of people on the ship. But for the record? Like hell I accept defeat." Martin grins, turning to Teall. "I'm a certified chef. I promoted the argument that pie never fails and cake isn't infallible. Poet here, disagrees and I'm willing to prove the man wrong."

Roubani opens his mouth and then shuts it. Hold up. "Wait…I was on your side. I think it was Marek and Matto marching for cake. Definitely Marek, I should bet." His eyes swivel to Teall, expectantly. CHOOSE YOUR SIDE.

"Seriously? Pie?" Teall's eyes light up at the prospect of this, her voice hushing. She nods firmly to both of them, curls bobbing with the emphasis she puts on it. "Oh, yeah, totally quiet. I swear." She does take moment to ponder her dessert loyalties, though. "Cake's good too…" Hedging. "…but it really does depend on what kind. I mean, I'm all about chocolate, can't stand the carrot stuff, white's only really good if it's not too dry…" Well, if she has to choose. "I like pie."

"Ohhhh that's riiiiight…" Martin says, blinking as he remembers. Looking to the ceiling, he knuckles his forehead. "Sorry that felt like it was so long ago, Gods…what was that? Hell I think that was back when Sam and I were still dating the first time…" Martin says, getting a far off look on his face. "Oh then just admit it, you've just joined the frakking pie faction. That's the point I'm trying to make. The only time pie is akin to bullshit is when it's supermarket bought. Any homemade pie never sucks. Sure, chocolate cake is nice but I've had some pretty frakkin awful cake in my day. I had to crash weddings to get really good cake."

Roubani spreads both his hands in satisfaction, making a benevolent and proud gesture Teall's way as he regards Martin. "Just what one would bring home to mother, a pi-ous girl." His index finger makes a light shake in the air towards Teall and then his hands settle back on his crossed knee.

Teall laughs, and seems surprised that she's laughing. "Poet! That was funny! And a pun!" she exclaims. Head tilts at him. Reassessing. A similar look is directed at Martin a moment later. "How did you get to be a real chef, anyway?"

"Well I needed to get a degree in something while I was going through college. I went through all of the major studies but I double enrolled at a culinary academy alongside a studies program that focused on nutrition. Not exactly the typical English or General Studies degree, but it was something that sure as hell got me dates…" Martin laughs at himself, shaking his head from side to side. Rolling his eyes at how much of a dog he was, he looks back to their faces. "So if we ever decide to set down on a planet somewhere that's got somethin' the fish-head science folk deem worthy of putting up on sticks for a barbecue…I'm the man to come to."

Roubani gives Teall a surreptitious half-smile, then his eyes shift back to Martin, listening. "Oh, that would be wonderful. Real meat." He lets his head rest back against the chair. His long legs stay crossed, arms folding loosely over his waist. "That smell. I would eat barbecued flies if only they made that smoky smell."

Teall snorts a laugh at that, though she has to nod. "I bet it did at that. It's a hell of a better line than, 'I'm a Sports Medicine major' or something." She inhales, closing her eyes, as if trying to picture the smell of smoke coming off a grill. Nope. Still recirculated air. "I wouldn't mind flies right now. At least you know they're flies. Can't tell what's in the mystery-meatloaf chow half the time."

"It's all…about…the tuna casserole. If you hadn't had it yet, Oatmeal Raisin, have it. If I'm lyin' I'm dyin. It's the best." Martin replies with a grin, turning his gaze to Poet. "Mark my words. If we find anything resembling a cow, not a bull, but a cow, I will break rank if I have to. We are gonna have some frakkin steaks if I have to get put in the brig for it."

"Ours is not to question why," Roubani tells Teall, softly wry. "Or what or how or whether it's been properly sterilised." He looks back at Martin, raising an eyebrow. "That was a statement of beauty, Dash."

"If you can manage that, Dash, you deserve a medal," Teall says, sighing at the idea of steak from a non-mystery-animal. She stretches, de-slouching, patting the pages of her book. "I should get this checked out. Got a date with Kataris before CAP. Keep me posted on the pie. And if there's anything I can do to help along this project, holler."

"And miss the opportunity to become a local hero? You have any idea how many free offers for doing my laundry will get done in exchange for a steak? Infinite ability to avoid the laundry. Don't think I don't have a master plan, you two." Martin replies, folding his arms across his chest. Nodding upwards to Teall, he cocks a grin. "Keep their heads ringin' Baklava."

"What is it with the laundry?" Roubani has to ask, even if the little voice in his head is telling him he'll regret it in 3…2…1. He looks up as Teall stretches, crossing an arm over his chest to scratch the other side of his neck. "Goodnight, Eclair." Since they're on a dessert theme tonight. Man. Dessert.

"Boys," Teall says with a parting, toothy grin flashed to the both of them. She heads to the desk to check out her book. Not sticking around long enough to learn whatever feelings Martin may or may not have about the Laundry.

"What's with the laundry?" Martin returns the question. Lifting an eyebrow towards Roubani, he lifts one of his shoulders in a noncommital shrug. "Imagine being sixteen and spending day after day having to do both your laundry and sometimes Fingers'. Then, imagine you're an arguably mature adult trapped alone in a room with machines that humm. You can't leave, but you know you've earned enough payback in pranks that you run the risk of someone turning all of your boxers pink." Martin pauses. "That place is a damned prison and when I get in there I get bored crazy. When that happens I get a little crazy."

"That does sound like torture," Roubani murmurs. Whether to the fact of doing laundry with Jupiter or going crazy bored, who knows. "Couldn't you bring a book?" He motions to the book Martin's got now. "It would hardly be different than sitting here, then."

"But here's not there." Martin explains, groaning just a little bit. "Here I can leave when I want. There I can't leave till after the wash is done and then I have to wait for all of the drying to get done. THEN I'd have to fold before I'd leave. Seriously, Roubani? There's this part of me that hopes maybe someday Kitty would be that girl that'll go 'sure I'll do your laundry'." He adds, making a mock girl voice. "But then I'd be a slouch for doing that and I'm not gonna be that guy. Don't tell the psych department about this. I know how it sounds."

The Kitty imitation, however accurate or inaccurate it may be, pulls a slightly guilty half-smile onto Roubani's mouth. He softly clears his throat. "I promise I won't breathe a word. And I am more than certain that Katherine would be willing to make the little sacrifice. Perhaps there's something she detests that you could graciously volunteer to do first, and then casually mention that while you're off being a gentleman for her, gracious, you just haven't got the time to get your laundry done."

"Okay, but if I do that and you tell her you gave me that idea, I'm totally taking your man card, Rou…" Martin replies with a grin, brushing a hand through her hair. "She hates cleaning the head, but the problem is that if she finds herself cleaning the head it's gonna be because it's a punishment and not because she drew the cleaning card. So I'll have to pay attention and see what she hates more." He pauses, lifting an eyebrow. "Maybe I'll just try to cook for her. She hates the cafeteria food and I have a stash of spices…"

Roubani raises both hands in a don't-shoot gesture. "I wouldn't ever tell her such a thing. It's all yours." He uncrosses his legs, rotating his foot to stretch the ankle, and crosses them the other way with a slight shift in his chair. "I would think cooking would do nicely. Smell is excellent for forming pleasant memories, and cooking is as time-consuming as you make it. It's perfect."

"Maybe that'll do the trick…" Martin says, staring at the wall for a moment. Looking back to Poet, he refolds his arms. "Things with her have been going nicely lately. It's not like I can bring her flowers but if there's anything I've learned from cooking it's that if anything it's a one person selfless project that shows you take your time an energy to do something for no return other than what thanks can be given."

Roubani smiles a little. He doesn't speak immediately, just mulling all that over. "Does she like flowers?"

"I'm not sure…I'd ask but that'd be kind of playing my hand wouldn't it? I'd ask her brother but I'm still mildly afraid that he's just content knowing I'm dating her and that I haven't hurt her. Otherwise I get the feeling he wants to hear nothing of it." Martin chuckles softly. "For all I know she has allergies."

"Perhaps." Roubani lets the end of his breath off in a soft chuckle. He glances at Martin's book, then the notebook he'd brought with him himself. "I could show you," he offers, tentatively, "How to make folded flowers, if you like. Origami…roses and tulips and, well you know." He scratches under his clean-shaven jaw with his thumb. "It would take some time. But. At least there wouldn't be allergies."

Martin pauses, watching Roubani closely. A look of instant interest crosses his face, as if a lightbulb explodes right between his eyes. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he looks back in the direction of the desk clerk. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone, he grins widely. "I could write her a note, fold it into a paper flower, and smuggle them onto her pillow. Gods, she'd love that. If you teach me this, Poet, I'd do your laundry."

The romantic stuff is clearly beyond Roubani, besides the basic notion of making a flower out of paper. He just smiles faintly, and waves a hand. "I rather like the laundry. The white noise helps me think. But it's worth it for Katherine, I'd be happy to show you…" He glances at his watch, making a slight face. "…when I don't have PT. Say, tomorrow afternoon?"

"Alright. We'll have to meet in the storage room by the laundry though. I want to surprise her with this. I promise, though, that if she asks I'll tell her a good friend taught it to me. I'd be a fool to not mention that I learned it just to see her smile." Martin grins, biting the side of his lip. Thoroughly impressed at the idea, his spirits raise a bit. "I really like this girl, man…I really do."

Roubani makes a softly affirmative sound in his throat. "I can tell." Pronouncing the words seems to leave his mouth curved a little bit, even as he's sitting forward in his chair. "Alright then. Storage, say about 13:00 hours? Find whatever you can find for interesting paper. I'll have a look about, myself."

"I'll do that. I don't care if it's old newspapers." Martin replies, suddenly getting an idea. "Oh…I just got the best idea." He adds, grinning as he looks to the wall again, drumming his fingertips on his forearm. "Oh yeah…1300 it is. I'll see you around, brother."

Roubani stands up, his back making a number of torturous cracks for his young age. He picks up the runaway book that had started this all, cradling it as though to prevent another escape attempt, looking briefly amused as MOAR IDEAS come to Martin. "I'll see you then. Don't stay up too late." He steps around the low table and starts on off.

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