Undressed
Undressed
Summary: A visit to the lounge culminates in Kisseus getting undressed. Wait, no.
Date: PHD111
Related Logs: None
Players:
Willem..Salazar..Kai..Seriy..Komnenos..Matto..Persy..Samantha..

"It's over for now. Most of us got lucky, some more than others. But," Wil mutters, looking a little torn still as he mulls over the facts of the operation. "But." That simple 'but' is what he leaves it at. Maybe he's not allright. But he stows it, sighing.

"So we go Ensign McKale here. And Ferris. And the new S2 who seems to have it in for -somebody- That's a catch for junior officers." He continues as he just shrugs, perplexedly at the red-haired Ensign as she excuses himself. "Well, there's also that loonbag Priestess screaming about 'doom and gloom'. Like the most obvious meterologist ever. Stick your arm out the frakking window and yell, 'It's raining doom!'" He punctuates this with a snort as the junior lieutenant gets a bit more animated.

"I wonder if Ferris plays Triad. The other ensigns are starting t' get wary of me when I show up t' their games," muses a voice from the entrance. Thorn arrives just in time to catch the mention of junior officers, clad in his offduty tanks and, as usual, followed by a trail of smoke. There's a hard glint in his eye as Willem mentions the priestess, but Komnenos doesn't say anything about her one way or the other. As he nears the group, he offers a nod of greeting, his eyes settling on Seriy. "So. How y' holding up thus far, Ensign?" he asks her with a thin smile.

Samantha gives Seriy a brief wave.."Sure, doll. Knock yourself out. If not literally." Sam winks warmly towards the girl and then looks back to Willem…"This chica alone and Ferris would be worth it. We got good people… and frak the priestess. Gods aren't real, and if they are they're vicious frakkers, so leave it there." She admits flatly, not even blinking as she says it. She's not a fan of the gods, it seems. She takes a good sip of her coffee, finishing it off. And then there is Thorn. She grins, practically springing from her seat. "ROSEBUD!" She half attacks him with a hug, a ruffle of his hair, and a brief pat of his ass before going to sit back down. If he lets her, that is.

Seriy is somewhat visibly upset as she steps away from the table, but as she returns a moment later with a small plate, sugar, and spoon, she has a smile on her face for the new arrival. She waits for Samantha to finish her greeting, watching curiously as she retakes her seat opposite the senior officers. Giving Komnenos an excuse to get out of an uncomfortable situation she tries to help change the subject. "My first shift went quite well, thank you very much. I trust your work goes well also?"

"It's not even that. Just, the sheer cosmic -arrogance- of trying to explain…" Wil trips that old familiar nerve in Sam and draws back. He catches Thorn's entrance and gives the man a faintly apologetic look. He's likely been stewing over these same thoughts overnight since he shelved them. "Sorry. No-one deserves to die. Ever. There's 'necessary' but it's not 'deserve.' And…" Snap. Shut. Rebound finally snaps his mouth shut and backpedals somewhat at Samantha's full-on assault and just takes a breath which does a poor job of masking a surprised snicker as his mood immediately flips. "Uh. 'Lo, Thorn.'" Not 'rosebud.' Thorn.

"Hello t' you too," Thorn answers with a smile as he returns the hug. It's obviously not too uncomfortable for him, at least — except for the nickname, at which his smile turns to a pained grimace. "Rosebud, Sam? Really?" He responds to her pat with a swat of his own as she disentangles herself and goes back to her seat. Use that name at your own peril. Willem's greeting is replied with a slightly vexed look. "This is your new girlfriend's doing, y' know. Irrepressible woman." Komnenos goes to sit down with the group, taking the first empty seat he sees, which happens to be next to Samantha.

Samantha grins as Thorn takes her goodnatured ribbing actually quite well! She laughs huskily to him and shakes her booty a moment as he swats right back. "I love it, Thorn… the great way to explain your lovely, delicate singing voice with your mean underside! My Rosebun." She winks at him and heads back over to the couches, her mood definitely a hint better at the fact Thorn can take a joke unlike some. She winks at Willem and Seriy. "But yeah… death…right now…that's dumb shit. Ain't got enough of us left. Not necessary… uh… I lost track of the conversation otherwise. Long story short, welcome aboard, Ensign."

Seriy watches the exchange with further curiosity, somewhat horrifiedly amused at the interpersonal antics of the pilots. "Thank you Lieutenant," is about all she can think to say.

"Apologies." Wil is seated on a couch with a small table in front of him near the others. "Uhh.." While there could be many things he's apologizing for here, the first is directed to Sam as he successfully manages to stow his existential angst. The conversation shift that Komnenos provided was helpful, to say the least.

"Thorn, Thorn, Thorn." He begins, with a deep sigh for dramatic effect. "Sorry that slipped out. It's -my- fault in a way." And for the moment, he dips his chin to study the pile of plotter paper in his binder, making a few notes. Scribbling. First it's on the star-map he's been working on but it appears his natural proclivity for multitasking has won out and he goes back to studying the diagram of something that looks suspiciously like a device for cooking. Or boiling something.

"Keep your pants on, Passi, not all of us have the stomach for your mating rituals," is the first thing out of the CAG's mouth as he steps into the lounge, and spots Samantha and Komnenos disengaging. He's already digging a pack of cigarettes out of his fatigues, before he's even reached a couch upon which to plant his butt. "Afternoon, Rebound, Thorn." The greeting's terse, though not unfriendly; the unfamiliar Ensign gets a glance, and a slight nod that might well be missed.

Komnenos shrugs. "Well, I suppose it could've been something worse," he replies to Wil philosophically. "At least it wasn't Fingers that came up with something, anyway." He takes a drag, exhaling a hazy ring of smoke as he cranes his head interestedly towards what Willem is looking over. "Say, that looks like a — Captain Marek." He's interrupted by Kai's arrival; the ECO stiffens slightly out of habit, returning the CAG's brusque greeting with an equally terse one of his own. Whatever he wa

Seriy sits at the table opposite the pilots, a sort of horror-cum-bemusement coloring her expression as the rather young woman sits perfectly straight in her chair. Absently she pours a bit of sugar into her tea as she removes the teabag, setting it on a small plate. At the captain's arrival she seems about to get out of her seat, then remembers she's in an off-duty area. Still she sits a bit more stiffly, softening only to give the man a soft, sunny smile. Then she takes a spoon and stirs the sugar into her tea.

Samantha blinks at the comment about her mating rituals. Sam, for just a moment, almost blushes. She then clears her throat and grins…"This isn't even the start of the ritual, yet!" She comes back, not as smooth as usual, but it's there. She then stands. "but, I must pause in this little dance. A meal and a few hours sleep before CAP does call. I hope you all have a lovely evening and don't play too hard…I think the new one is easily scared off." She winks to Seriy, bows her head to everyone else, and heads out the room

Yes. For anyone catching a glance at what was on the plotter paper on Wil's lap, it was indeed what it looked like. That diagram screams 'THIS IS A BLUEPRINT FOR A STILL.' He continues chatting with Thorn as he remains crashed in his couch-seat, idly sketching at something on the paper with his pencil and comments back, "Just think of it as a less-than-flattering callsign. Not that I'll be -" He looks like he's about to comment on something else, probably the paper but -just- as he is on top of that comment, Thorn announces Kai, who, well, also announces his own presence. Like he's up to something, he flips the plotter paper back a page to the more work-friendly star chart he was laying out. "Captain." He calls out, smoothly. Well, as smoothly as he can manage.

Of course, in all this, Wil belately catches Sam bailing. There's no point in saying good-bye to someone who's bailed. He just shrugs at her departure.BLUEPRINT FOR A STILL? Well. In walks the S2, just like she has BLUEPRINT FOR A STILL radar or something. She's in off duties, all incognito, so maybe no one will notice her before she notices the BLUEPRINT FOR A STILL in Willem's hot little hands. Salazar leaves the hatch open as a few crewmen wander in and out, expecting one of them to close it. She makes her way across the Lounge, behind Wil and his BFAS (what, couldn't keep typing that out, you know?).

Hey, they don't pay Kai for his delicate manners and people skills. Cigarette obtained, it's tucked between his lips as he makes a detour to the snack machine. The pack's tucked back into his pocket, and a few cubits brought out in exchange. Jingle, jingle. What'll it be today? Pretzels or pretzels. It's a decision for the ages. "New project?" he asks the terminally-jumpy Willem, without really getting a good look at his BLUEPRINT FOR A STILL.

And then it seems that the entire squadron is appearing at the once almost quiet table. Serendipity finishes stirring her tea, setting the spoon on the plate next to the used bag, and lifts the cup to take a sip. She sits there calmly sipping, eyes bouncing from person to person, her posture as immaculate as the bun holding her red hair back from her face.

And just as Salazar, Ensign Still-blocker, the new S2 rolls in, Wil keenly jerks his head upwards towards the direction of the CAG, looking between Thorn and the CAG. The ginger-haired pilot looks about to see if anyone else has joined the little party, checking the presence of the Ensign from CIC, and, nope, nobody else. Salazar is apparently pretty stealthy. He clears his throat. "Just a little offtime project to upgrade sim scenario templates, Sir. I like mapping them out on the plotter beforehand. It feels more," he fumbles for the words, "organic. Somehow. Don't worry, it won't cut into duty time." By Willem's standards, his cover story is -fairly- convincing. And partially true. He -has- been working on sim upgrades with Thorn, after all. As long as nobody gets a good look at the sheet underneath.

Ruse or not, it seems to have fooled the CAG. Appearances of course, can be deceiving, but Kai doesn't pursue the matter any further. There's just an "mhm" of acknowledgement that implicates neither enthusiasm nor dubiousness, followed by the sound of cubits being slotted into the vending machine with a few soft *clinks*. "Make sure to keep Mudguts informed," is all he offers.

There's a snort from Komnenos at the discussion of his impromptu new nickname. "If anyone calls me that on channel, my boot will be so far up their arse they'll be spittin' shoelaces," he tells Wil with a smirk. He observes Salazar's entrance out of the corner of his eye. "Serg—" He cuts himself off, suddenly remembering. "Ensign, sorry." There's a raised eyebrow at Wil as he busts out his cover story, though he doesn't chime in, as Kai seems to buy it. He shrugs minutely and keeps smoking.

Salazar steps up behind Willem to peer over his shoulder at the scratch at hand. She tips over the back of the couch a little, had hands resting lightly on the headrest portion. That's a little creepy. She doesn't say anything just yet.

Seriy watches the exchange directly across from her, namely that of Willem and Salazar. Certainly all the signs would be there, classically speaking… changing of behavior, wish to appear more productive as a good provider… "Lieutenant?" she asks Willam, "is this the girlfriend that the other Lieutenant had mentioned before she left?"

The chart and the project are actually genuine enough. It's been his handwriting all along and contains little arrangements of escort Raptors, the Kharon, a few generic 'capture the flag' ships, Raiders, and Heavy Raiders as well as the bloated figure of a Basestar from the first war. Which is all anyone has to go on, for them. Asteroids, little outlines denoting radiation. It's thorough. There's a dog-eared document underneath it though, the edge of the paper sticking out a bit which bears a pencil sketch a bit of a rounded, slightly curved line. A faint nod Wil's head is given to the CAG, as for the next several moments, Rebound's ears turn red as beets. "Will do. We've been poking around with custom templates so not to overrwrite or damage any of the Sim's core values. Trying to upgrade enemy capabilities to make them a little more useful." He clears his throat and suddenly arcs his head towards Thorn as he speaks. "Trust me. I'll never mention it again. " Whether this is out of gratitude for the cover story or simple sympathy with the man's plight, it's hard to say. But who was he speaking to? He arcs his head wildly about for the Serg-Ensign and shifts in his seat. The rounded edge of the sketch below is a little more noticible. Maybe it doesn't jive. The other Ensign's question though, suddenly has him shifting in his seat. "Uh. Yeah. It's complicated." He doesn't make it -sound- complicated, though.

"First rule of being a junior officer, Thorn," Kai informs the ECO mildly, "is not making baseless threats. Rule number two-" He rips open the bag of pretzels, and turns to approach the couches, looking very faintly amused when Seriy speaks. He'll let Salazar field that one, herself. "-is that your callsign can be changed. Rule number three. Is that it'll probably be something you hate." He winks at the man, and eases into a chair with his 'prize'. To Wil, "Sounds good. Looking forward to seeing what you come up with." That's certainly genuine enough.

Salazar remains silently where she is, hands on the couch back, posture slightly leaned in. If this were a horror movie, some goo or bloody drool would dribble down Willem's cheek right about now. Thankfully, she hasn't got jowls and her dental hygiene is much better than that of your average hack and slasher monstrosity mutant devourer or flesh. It comes with the training, you see.

At Seriy's query about girlfriends, the S2's dark eyes flick up from the drawing poking out of Wil's pile of scribbles, and she regards the woman for but a moment. The gaze is a bit pointed, expression a bit lacking in hints as to what she's thinking. It probably isn't puppies and rainbows, but it's certainly got nothing to do with bone marrow. Her eyes drop to the ginger pilot again, and Salazar leans in very, very slowly. "You were supposed to keep us a secret, pumpkin." Disembodied voice in the ear, go!

"Point taken, sir," Thorn replies to Kai in a slightly abashed tone of voice. He emits a strangled snort of laughter, first at Seriy's question, and then at Salazar's reaction.

Serendipity, for her part, looks entirely innocent and sincere as she demurely sips her tea. Salazar's response seems to convince her that she was correct though. "Oh, that's quite wonderful. I am sure you are just lovely together. He's been very kind to me since we met."

Kai just remains where he is, a rare grin cracking across his oft-austere features. Like hell he's going to interrupt this. A pretzel's tossed into his mouth and crunched noisily while he watches Salazar do her thing, and then chased with a pull of his smoke. It's kind of hard to have sympathy for a man, who has a woman like that draped over his shoulder. Honestly, now.

Pilots are supposed to be able turn on a dime. Reflexes, you see. Wil's reflexes, if not on-alert status perform admirably here and in another time or place might save his life or the lives of others in the cockpit. Unfortunately that is NOT what happened, and his hand clutching the binder jerks upwards, roughly, sending the plotter paper on top flying to the floor in addition to several other pieces of paper. Looks like a letter in Thracian of the old, beaten-down, and personal variety. Some literature it looks like he was transcribing also side-by-side in Thracian and Standard. But look at what's sitting RIGHT on top in the binder? The BFAS, sitting there in full glory. He slams it shut but it's probably too late. "GRAH. SWEET FRAKKING NIKE, NO." His face goes red as he finally beholds Salazar in all her creepy, skulky, predatory glory. "Not her."

There's a silence of about three beats before Salazar observes, in a calm, quiet, and slightly husky voice, "We thought we'd give it a try, but he doesn't have the pain threshold." She shakes her head slightly, as if lamenting a great tragedy. "And he's about four feet of copper tubing short." She shoves lightly off the back of the couch, and resumes her walk toward the snack machine. "If that's to scale." It's all very cryptic, probably, to everyone but Willem. How she holds in the laughter is anyone's guess, because it must be a struggle. The dark waters of Salazar's humor remain still. "Pilots."

Seriy goes from happy, to a bit offended, to a little put out, to a lot confused. "Oh…" she offers weakly before sipping her tea again, using the gesture to try and cover what has apparently been a bit of a gaff. "Never mind then…" she adds as she looks off across at the enlisted side of the room.

Kai's mirth, of course, is quite considerably subdued by the time Salazar slinks away from Willem. He observes her back for a moment or two, while pulling from his cigarette. "You damage my pilots, I'll hold you accountable for reparations, Nikos," is pointed out mildly to the marine. He's teasing her. Possibly.

Thorn is taking a drag as Wil suddenly reacts to Salazar's presence. He makes a sound that's half laugh and half cough, jets of smoke shooting from his nose. There's a mirthful look in his eye as he shakes his head in amusement, his eyes flicking from Wil, to Seriy, to Salazar, and back again. He's not so subdued in his mirth as Kai, but then few usually are. "Oh, th' look on your face…" he directs over at Wil, a smirk on his face. Thorn shakes his head. "Sorry."

Damage control. The Condition 1 klaxons are going off in Wil's head and the first step is to retrieve the papers on the floor. The plotter, the literature, the letter, and he moves deftly to stuff them back in the binder, clearing his throat with a pointed -ahem-. Still beet-red. Attempting to riff on Salazar's words he just adds, "I guess it was just never meant to be. Maybe next life." A pause. "Groundpounders." There's a sour look still half-hanging on Wil's lips but he banishes it quickly, clutching to a semblance of better humor. One more to Salazar, "That was just a product of idle curiosity." Smoothing out his fatigues with his hand, he musters up a cheeky half-grin at Thorn, the CAG, and the Ensign all in turn. "Never mind."

"Settle down, Marek," The S2 replies, tone just as dry as Karim's usually is. "I never touched him." She pauses beside the CAG, and glances over to him. "But if you'd like to arrange a 'you broke it, you bought it' scenario, we could certainly do that." Salazar glances at the snack bag in the King Pilot's hand, then she continues on to have a look at the other offerings. Slim pickings. "All the same, Lieutenant, best to be accurate in your renderings." Of course it was just a drawing. Who would hang out in the lounge with actual BLUEPRINTS FOR A STILL? Pfft.

"I didn't know your tastes ran that way, Nikos, though I'm open to negotiations." Seeing as the snack machine has either pretzels, or pretzels, Kai's choice seems to be about as good as it gets. He doesn't seem to recognise the BLUEPRINTS FOR A STILL for what they are, though he could just be playing dumb. Who the hell knows. "Got something for you, while you mull it over." He leans to one side, and digs through a pocket of his fatigue trousers; his cigarette is left untended in his other hand, whispering smoke while he rummages. To Seriy, "Just a little fun at Rebound's expense, Ensign."

Seriy looks back to give the captain a quick smile. Admittedly it's very much an 'I have no idea what's going on, but I'm determined to be friendly and polite about it' smile, but it's a smile none the less. "It's quite alright sir," she replies, "I understand I'm… I believe the phrase is 'late to the gate?'"

Wil holds up an echo of the 'it's cool' sign which involves a wave of a hand, transcending time and space, as he sits back in his seat and carefully arranges his things. Again. He gives the CAG and Salazar a flat look, his forehead showing a few deep, premature wrinkles as he does so. "Oh. Congratulations on your promotion. Ensign." Well that was charitable.

Salazar studies the contents of the pretzel machine as she makes a thorough perusal of the contents. What do you have, m'lord snack machine? Pretzels, pretzels, pretzels.

A glance is cast toward the CAG as he goes a'rummaging inside his pockets, Gods know for what. The untended cigarette is shortly tended by the S2. She employs a bit of that marine stealth — that is to say she turns, steps over, and reaches out, and takes it — to make a claim, however brief. She takes a drag. Her words are punctuated by little puffs of smoke escaping her lips, "Thank you, Lieutenant."

The marine's presumptuousness with regards to Kai's property doesn't appear to elicit the reaction it ought, as the fine upstanding pilot he no doubt is. Just a flick of his eyes up to Salazar's, then his lashes lower again. He withdraws a slip of paper that's been folded in half a few times, and it's offered wordlessly between two fingers. Something of hers, maybe.

For the moment, Thorn sits pensively, smoking his own cigarette and watching the interactions of the other officers with a relatively blank expression on his face. There's a twitch of the eyebrow as Kai starts passing notes, but his attention doesn't linger. Instead, he starts rummaging around in his own pockets, taking out his official badge of nerddom, otherwise known as a PDA, and starts plinking at it with his stylus.

Wil's more quaint and low-tech, it would seem. Also scattered. The binder flips back open and there is no BFAS taken out. Plotter paper for both projects is flipped through and he starts to squint at one of the sheets of paper from earlier. That little bit of Thracian translation he was working on. It's readily visible and is apparently some weighty, ponderous stuff.

The end of some shift or other brings a gaggle of Ghostriders strolling past the hatchway to the lounge, in various states of getting out of their off-duty gear. Beta and the Cookiemonster, Kissybear and Poppyflower. Their pace slows to a positive loiter outside the hatch, and when they've gone their separate ways the two pilots seem to have exchanged ECOs, since Poppy goes off elsewhere with Beta while the Cookiemonster and Kissy step on into the lounge, evidently with the object in mind of assaulting Thorn.

Another drag of the smoke follows, just a hint of a transfer of neutral lipstick to the butt of the smoke, along with a bunch of marine cooties. Salazar reaches over with the hand holding the ciggie before she takes the slip of paper between thumb and index finger. The cig is parked between her index and middle fingers. "If this is a requisition for MPs, I'll put a brassard on Swift and Jarot, and you can have them." Surely official paperwork is not filed in such ways. "Any further progress on drawing up combined training missions for the collective jollies of our beloved children?"

Well, as things go, it's probably that time… Serendipity finishes her tea, setting her cup down and pausing quietly for a moment before rising primly from her chair. "If you will all excuse me please," she says to nobody in particular. Required custom completed she steps away towards the counter, her back to the door.

"You're excused, Ensign. Enjoy CIC. I hear strange and terrible stories of that place." Wil looks up from his paper, half-smiling. It's made to sound like a joke. Clearing his throat again he gives the CAG and S2 a slight look again as they're off talking shop but makes -no- move to poke his nose in their business. That would be a bad idea. Which leaves…Thorn. He hasn't seen the Raptor crew roll in yet.

With his attention still fully on his electronics, Komnenos doesn't seem to notice the latest arrivals. There's a noncommittal grunt to Seriy, followed by a hasty wave as she leaves, but his eyes never move from the PDA.

"It isn't," Kai answers succinctly. The note, whatever it is, passed, he eases back into his chair and pops another pretzel into his mouth. Crunch, crunchity crunch. He could probably chew louder, if he really tried. "I've discussed it briefly with Captain Legacy, who's given it her blessing. But McTiernan's harder to catch than a greased eel. I've got rough mockups of about three different scenarios, if you're interested." He looks briefly toward Seriy, nods to the arriving pair of raptor pilots, then turns back to his bag of pretzels.

He'd have to try pretty damned hard to snack any louder. "Enjoying the pretzels?" Salazar asks, before she reaches up to tuck the smoke into the corner of her mouth. The paper passed to her is deftly unfolded, careful not to rip the edges. She gives it a tug that pops the paper more or less flat, at least enough to read. "I am. Interested." Smoke curls from the tip of the smoke in lazy spirals across her face, to dissipate before they reach the ceiling. She glances down the page, then folds it up again. "Hard and fast is my specialty." The note is tucked away in a pocket. "Even if I'm tasked with slow and subtle more often."

Oh, there's a slight wince on Wil's part. Maybe taking in a double-entendre that might or might not have been deliberate on Salazar's part. He looks at her. Looks at the Captain. Maybe he's saying a silent prayer for his CO. He who does not pray. Back to the papers.

No mercy, no quarter for the unwary Thorn, who soon enough finds himself tackled with hugs from the other Black Squadroners. Glomped, even. Black Squadron sure knows how to throw a good ol' fashioned group hug. "Hey, dude," comes the rather belated greeting from Kissy, accompanied by a bright grin. "What're you working on?" adds the Cookiemonster, resting her chin on his shoulder to read over it. "Up for that game of cards tonight?" That, from Kissy, again, "I might have accidentally let Cookiemonster know we were thinking of a game."

There's a dismayed grunt from Komnenos at the sudden ambush, but he relaxes as he looks up and recognizes his attackers. "Oh. Hey, Kiss, Cookies." As for what he's working on, it looks like the beginnings of a program of some sort. "Just working on a couple new templates for th' sims," he explains. There's a brief pause as he puts the PDA down, now that he's back in a conversation. "Not sure." This in reference to the card game. "Scheduled for th' early CAP tomorrow. Was thinking of going t' bed early, but I'm not sure yet."

The note is wholly entrusted to Salazar's care; Kai doesn't even give it a second glance. "Thought you might be," he answers, looping another pretzel on the tip of his finger, and spinning it around once before tossing it into his mouth. CRUNCH. Extra loud. Just for Salazar. "I've incorporated a little of both. They'll need to know how to pull off a give and go fireteam drop into a hot zone, with as much skill as a tiptoe through the tulips." Another pretzel's popped into his mouth, which stifles his amused expression rather handily right after he says, "I like the balls to the wall approach, myself, for sheer effectiveness." Viper jocks. A glance might just be shared with Wil, there.

Wil simply looks up from his paper now, his face flickering with a slight bit of relief as Thorn bears the brunt of the combined assault of his squadron. He clicks his tongue and lifts the page to his face as he slumps in the couch. His expression might be hiding a smile. Grey eyes flicker to Kai and his forehead wrinkles indicating, well, it could be indicating -any- change of expression, really.

It's a small mercy for the pilots gathered that Salazar isn't in full on Marine shit talk mode. If a little entendre elicits a wince, there's no telling that a conversation with Dutch would do to Willem. "You're only saying that because you couldn't sneak past a patrol of centurions with a firework display and cannon fire over the next ridge." Ahem. "Sir." That was for the pretzel.

"Oh, were you the one making a woman out of the bulkhead, Spiderman?" Kisseus wonders. He could have sworn he'd heard… something like that. Lords know when or in what context, but bulkhead-fucking was definitely involved to such a degree that the image lingered there in his mind long enough to be elicited by the 'balls to the wall' comment. At about the same moment the Cookiemonster is backing off and leaning forward with her hands on the back of the seat next to Thorn, "Well," she tells him, "We won't keep you up, then. There'll be other nights for cards." "Yeah," Kisseus adds, "It's no problem. So Darling Willem recruited you, yah? What templates?"

Once again, Thorn barely restrains a laugh at Kissy's comment to Kai. Keeping his shit-eating smirk under control, though, is another story. "The aggressor ships," Thorn clarifies after pausing a moment to calm himself. "The sims were programmed with information from the First War, and the sods that upgraded them could only guess as t' what newer Cylon ships would be capable of. So, I'm trying t' rewrite the templates, replacing their conjecture with what solid information we have in our combat records." He stands. "Actually, speaking of which, I'm going t' head up there now. Some things I need t' have a look at."

"I knew there was a reason I didn't become a groundpounder," mutters the Captain, briefly cleaning out his back teeth with the tip of his tongue before making a scissoring motion with two salt-dusted fingers. Salazar's had his cigarette for long enough, apparently. Matto's question gets a husky chuckle, and a flicker of blue eyes the raptor driver's way. "No shit. They don't bitch because you forgot their birthday, or want to cuddle after. And they last all damned night."

It's not squeamishness which motivates Wil, here. As Matto snaps off probably the most far-fetched image in his bag of tricks, the inappropriately-twisted metaphor sends him positively -howling- from his lone seat on the couch. The paper drops onto his lap and the laughter unexpectedly fills his little corner of the lounge until it trails off into a series of coughs. That's right. Choking. He tries to avoid looking from the little assembled Raptor crew to Kai and fails wholeheartedly.

Willem -might- have chimed in about the sim project as he's been fascinated with it. But not right now. Apparently.

"Hi, hi, cats and kittens of the Kharon!" chirps Persy, strolling into the lounge. She casts a sideglance at Kai, looking nonplussed. "Okay. And whatever that is? I'm glad I came in too late to know."

The S2 smiles faintly, and takes a final drag of the smoke before she reaches over to relinquish it to the ownership of the CAG, where it used to happily rest. "Bulkheads are a dead frak, but at least they won't bitch about the size of the equipment." The cig is tucked safely into Karim's fingers, and Salazar reaches over to confiscate the pretzels instead. It's in her job description.

A glance at his watch confirms, it seems, that the CAG either has elsewhere to be, or the strain of being social's finally wearing on him. He relinquishes the bag of pretzels, pulls once more from his smoke when it's handed back, and begins climbing to his feet. "Don't break anything," he tells Willem bemusedly, looking from the pilot to his cigarette, which is dropped and ground out with his boot.

Persy choke-snorts a laugh, shaking her head as Salazar fills in the blank. She facepalms, then straightens and salutes Kai. "Good night, sir. Try not to bang your head on the wall." She heads for the coffee urn, blowing Wil a kiss on the way.

Matto gives a laugh of his own as the Captain's Scorpian girlfriend plays back into the jocularity, evidently approving. Der Vipermeister's sudden need to exit, though, has his joviality simmering down to something cut with worry if still as cheeky as ever, "You know I love you, Spiderman," he calls, before Persy gets another snerk out of him, and he lifts his wrist to his mouth to cover the grin there.

Cough. Splutter. Hack. Snicker. A little bit of this progresses and Wil eventually manages to calm down and hopefully -not- break anything as he looks about warily now. He peers down at the binder on his lap and replaces his paper. "Sorry. Sir." he narrates through the winding-down laughter. The newly-arrived Persy, having rolled in gets a pointed look as he straightens in his seat and tensely brushes at his hair with the back of his hand. As short as it is, this doesn't help much. He doesn't really have a case of helmet-hair. And he's blushing again, faintly. He's easy to wind up, that's for sure. "Well hello, Lieutenant." He calls out in passing as she breezes by. Posture check, hair check. What else?
In the midst of the laughter, though, Wil did turn to Matto and pointed soundly at the Raptor pilot. Should have more clearly mentioned that. Whoops!

The pretzel packet crinkles a bit in the S2's hands. She fishes one out, and pops it into her mouth. She steps over to the CAG and drops a hand to the small of his back. The marine nudges him forward a bit, then bends to pick up the crushed out butt. She straightens, then glances over at Karim, leaning in a bit to say, "You…" It's a soft little faux-shocked little voice, "You don't like to cuddle?"

Kai wouldn't be Captain Curmudgeon if he took the ribbing with a smile, now would he? The man's pretty tough to ruffle, though, and he doesn't seem angry. He does, however, meet Matto's gaze pretty directly; it's one of those yank 'em up by the bootstraps and pin 'em in place sorts of looks. "It was cute, Kisseus," he answers mildly. "But you disrespect a commanding officer like that again, and you'll be flying desks for a week. This isn't nugget school. Am I clear?" Public chewing-out isn't typically the CAG's style, but maybe he's trying to make a point. Then Salazar's leaning over and murmuring to him, and he chuckles a little before leaning in to answer quietly.

Persy, in the midst of dispensing her coffee, grimaces at Kai's rebuke. She casts Kissy a sympathetic look — poor boy! That's got to sting. And hell, she could have been on the receiving end of that, herself. She was certainly batting the banter ball about. "We're sorry, sir," she says to the Captain, contritely, perhaps in an attempt to diffuse the blame.

It's hard to be intimidated by a chuckling man, and Kisseus' grin spreads at the gesture. He leans forward with one shoulder preceding the other faintly, "Yes, sir," he replies, voice almost girlish for a moment, though he does endeavor not to look too amused. He flicks a spark of that amusement in Thorn's direction with his eyes a moment later, "See you later, Toes."

Almost on-cue, Wil's faintly guilty look, a little bit more serious and less nervous than before takes ahold of the Libran pilot as he just glances between Matto and Kai. Persy's statement earns her a tilt of his head but he just sits there, neglecting speech for the time being. FOR ONCE.

"Okay. Just me, then." Persy's mouth quirks to the side, dimpling. She blows on her coffee, shaking her head bemusedly at Kissybear. "You have no fear." Or maybe she's afraid of spiders.

Oh, the dressing down doesn't seem concluded just yet. Kai continues to watch the raptor pilot steadily, particularly as his behaviour retains its air of casual jocularity. While there might've been a dash of amusement in his voice before, it's been completely drained away by this point. "Get on your feet." It's not just cold, it's ice cold.

Matto … never sat down. He quirks a brow in the Spider's direction and then looks down to his feet before looking up again. He does take his hand off of the back of the seat that Thorn had been using. "Okay," he tells the Captain, looking back into the Spider's eyes, his own eyes mild and unoffensive in their stare, but direct.

"Captain?" Duty or not on-duty, Wil cuts in here. Even though he's not the one being addressed, he stands anyway. Well, after he neatly stows his binder. So nothing incriminating would fall out, like, say, the blueprint for a still. He doesn't interject beyond this or talk over the CAG or Matto, and simply waits to be acknowledged, tucking his hands behind his back.

Oh. Shit. Persy bites her bottom lip, her expression scrunching in puppyish anxiety. Her shoulders hunch a little, like she's bracing for something.

Salazar's eyes roam the pilots, briefly regarding each one. Her gaze pauses longest on Matto. A dark brow is slightly arched as he misses the proper response to his CO when reprimanded. She tosses the pretzels onto a nearby table, and her hands slide behind her back, butt from the cig still cupped in one. It's almost a parade rest. The coolness from the CAG prompts a slight posture shift. This may be an off duty area, but when a Captain takes a tone, soldiers respond.

"I'm not clear," Kai continues, evenly, "on precisely why Captain Legacy has so many discipline problems in her squadron. Or why this particular one feels that respect and conduct becoming an officer in the Colonial fleet navy is optional, but you've instilled in me a clear need to remedy this." Willem, for the nonce, is ignored. "You're off the flight line for two days. You'll use it to write up a report to me, copied to your commanding officer, entitled 'Correct Military Protocol'. Your callsign is revoked until Captain Legacy or myself decide to give you that privilege again. If we decide to give you that privilege again. Until that time, I think the name 'Bulkhead' might be more appropriate. Am I understood?" No, he hasn't taken his eyes off the young man. "And since you seem to have so much trouble with this, Kisseus, the correct response is 'yes, sir'."

Wil's Junior Grade-fu kicks in. He gives Persy a little shake of his head as he watches, off from the area where he's seated. Curious. He turns to spy Kai with his little eye. And his mouth opens a little. He doesn't -say- anything though, forehead wrinkling. Looks to Matto. Looks back at Kai.

Oh. Shit. Persy's inner monologue repeats itself. This time with slightly more emphasis. She shuts her eyes, her face frozen in a wince.

Matto doesn't take his eyes off of the Captain, either, though his stare is decidedly softer, almost curious in bent, looking into the Spider's eyes, looking for what part of that man's soul he trod upon to elicit such a response. He's silent, of course, while he searches, then replies, as he's bidden, "Yes, sir." The words are as soft as his gaze, almost sweet in tone.

Soul? Who said the CAG had a soul? Some have called him a heartless automaton. Maybe they're right. "That's a start," he notes, a little of the edge vanishing from his voice. Still not quite anger, though the potential for it was there. "Price," he addreses Willem curtly, "out in the hall." Hey, at least he has a shred of decency. One public chewing out in a day is apparently enough. A brief glance is exchanged with the nearby, somewhat militant Salazar, before he strides briskly for the hatch.

Oh shit indeed. Snip snap. Wil's binder is left where it is for the time being and his shoulders roll back. Eyes up, he simply shoots the a series of level, neutral glances. The Raptor pilot, CIC Lieutenant, and even Salazar all in turn and he calmly heads for the hatch behind the CAG with a calm, steady gait.

The mostly-empty bag of pretzels is left where it fell on the table, for the next hungry crewman who happens by. Salazar's expression betrays none of her thoughts on the subject of the dressing down, dark eyes turn to the CAG. She watches him for a moment, until she hears Matto drop the correct phrase. A slight nod follows the look to the S2 from the CAG. She waits a few beats, until both of the men headed for the hatch are through it, then she moves over to the couch, picks up the binder, perhaps to move it out of the way, and assumes Willem's seat. A few notes are hastily scrawled on a certain page in neat, tiny printing.

Hey! Oh, no, hey hey hey! Persy straightens up and opens her mouth to protest… See? It's like lemmings! Wil defends Matto, Persy defends Wil, they all wind up frakked. Only not like the bulkhead. No, they don't even get to have /that/ much fun. Her teeth clamp down on her bottom lip, though, and sense wins out in the end. Marek is obviously in NO mood to indulge well-meaning interventions. She casts Wil a look of mute, miserable anxiety as he goes.

Matto attempts another soft smile in the Captain's direction at the encouragement, but for the most part is content to let him go, wondering briefly whether the Captain's choice of nomenclature is a sign of some hidden desire of which he was previously unaware. "Oh, you're wrong," he adds, to Persy, leaning his hand back on its spot on the back of the couch, crossing one ankle over the other. "I have mad heaps of fear. Cylons, for one. Scare me about shitless," he tells her, once the others have passed from the room. "Hey, don't worry, he'll be fine," he tells her.

"Well, I mean… I think even Cylons are afraid of Cylons," Persy replies, fiddling with her messy hair nervously. She heaves a sigh. "It doesn't upset you when he gets mad at you like that, though?" she asks Kissy, earnestly. "I think I'd cry for, like, a week."

Matto waves a hand dismissively, "He's not -mad.- He's just doing his job. He has his work, I, mine," he paraphrases some poet with a chuckle. "Except for the next two days," he amends with a grin.

Persy doesn't look entirely reassured by Kissy's words. She blows out a breath and takes a ginger sip of her coffee. "If you say so…" she allows. "He sure /seemed/ mad."

Scribble, scribble. The pencil moves over the page in soft scratchings. Perhaps thirty seconds of sustained writing passes, and then the S2 flips the binder closed, rises, then drops the binder back in its rightful spot. The pencil follows. "You're officers." There's no crying in baseball! Translation: Find the line, toe it. That's all Salazar has to say on the subject, before she heads for the hatch as well. The marine has places to be, brig rats to interrogate, and a mountain of security paperwork to do. Security around here needs a kick in the ass.

Matto looks back toward the door, considering Persy's opinion, "I hope he's not actually pissed. I mean, I didn't mean anything by it. Am I going mad, or do you remember those rumors were going around that some guy was banging the bulkheads?" he tries to see whether this sounds familiar to anyone else in the room. "Maybe it's just the Space Madness setting in. Anyhow. If he's actually angry, we'll work it out, don't worry. And if not, I'll knock out that essay tonight and spend the next two days getting re-acquainted with the insides of my eyelids."

There were no gunshots or hatchet wounds, boot marks or fistfights, and Wil very much slips back through the hatch with the same resigned calm that he had before. His arms fall to their sides as he clears his way back into the lounge.

Salazar just pulls open the hatch, and steps through it. No further words are spoken.

Persy glances at the departing S2, then shakes her head at Matto. "Space maddness," she opines. Tilting her head consideringly, she goes on, "You know what? You've got an awfully good attitude. No wonder everybody likes you." Before she can say more, however, Willem's reappearance has the entirety of her attention. Her expression shifts back to anxiety. "You okay?"

Wil edges warily away from the S2. It has nothing to do with rank. Something about the woman purely sets him on-edge. As she departs, he simply turns to spy both Persy and Matto with a matter-of-fact shrug. "Okay? Yeah. I'm fine." He says softly to the woman, before continuing. "I just felt something needed to be said. I shouldn't have reacted that way. Probably made it worse." Matto earns a slight sympathetic wrinkling of his features.

Matto gestures grandly toward Willem with an outstretched arm, "See? Darling Willem lives," he declares, his usual smile having returned to its place on his face. "No missing limbs. None obviously missing, at least," he adds with a playful sort of look, "Eh, it's whatever, dude, don't even worry about it."

Matto pushes forward off of where he's leaning against the couch again, heading in Willem's direction in his usual somewhat lethargic stroll. (if that didn't come through)

Wil's head arcs a little bit to the couch he was sitting, apparently glancing at the notebook to see how -badly- it got molested. He continues clearing the distance to Matto and Persy, his lips tilting into one of those trademarked shy, half-smiles which is shot directly at the the blonde Lieutenant. "It wasn't so much that." He begins explaining. "I owe the Captain a little more than that. A -lot- more. It wasn't completely about Bear, here." Callsign ban -be damned-.

As he uses said forbidden half-callsign, he indicates to Matto once more.

Matto spreads his arms and grabs up Darling Willem in a big, dare I say, Bear Hug? "Thanks for sticking up for me, anyhow. It was sweet," he tells him after he leans back from the initial squeeze, then he tips his head to one side, "Anything you want to talk about?" he asks gently, a look of concern phasing his usually jolly features.

"Oh. Well? Then I was the only one upset by it," Persy smirks wryly. She shrugs and pokes at her belly. "Because I'm squishy and girly like that." Nod. Of course, hugs get the approval of her squishy girlness, even if they're bestowed on others. 'Cause that's /awww/! She smiles warmly at Kissy and Wil, then sidles a bit to the side, drifting towards a couch. She sits beside Wil's notebook, sipping her now-lukewarm coffee.

Wil gets hit by this, all train-like, and laugh nervously but genuinely enough. "I don't leave anyone to hang, Raptor-man. It's not like we aren't trained to cover your asses." He claps Matto on the shoulders a moment. It's pretty bromantic. "No. Seriously. It's fine." As soon as bear-hug status fades, he looks over at the couch and gives Persy a bemused look. The same grin. "I don't just think it's that. Spider probably scares the shit out of people by sheer reputation alone. It's just…Different if you work for him. He's unavoidable." Plus, looking between the two as he clears the distance to the couch, giving Matto a welcoming gesture if he is so inclined. "Maybe it's a Viper thing. And after Scorpia…" Oh, right. He was the Cap's wingman and all on that mission.

Smiling, Persy shrugs. "I'm a sponge," she admits. "And the man has a ri-gods-damned-diculous amount of presence. He's happy? I'm happy. He's mad? I duck and cover. If I ever saw him /sad/?" She makes with the HUGE eyes. "I think I'd have to space myself. Good thing I'm safe in the CIC most of the time."

Matto returns the shoulder clap, and even punctuates their separation with a good-natured bro-punch on the shoulder, not anywhere hard enough to even think of starting to be anything but a friendly gesture, one of that masculine solidarity which he very seldom displays. He doesn't approve of hitting, in general. He saunters toward the couch when invited and flops down on an unoccupied section of it. "That's true. He projects an imposing figure. But it's not like he's actually going to hit you or anything. Not unless you were in the ring with him. He's more balanced than that. And it's definitely different from our side of the aisle. Our Captain and your Captain have a past, y'know, of a varied and complex nature into which I will not be delving at all right now. But if you get to know your Captain from our Captain's point of view… he's likely a great deal more human. I feel like I can sort of relate to him, at least."

Matto also takes a moment to pause with a sudden look of deeper sympathy for Darling Willem, as the issue comes into closer clarity. But there's not much to say about that one.

And floppage abounds. Wil he brushes back his hair a little bit self-consciously and adjusts the shoulder of his tanks in a gesture that practically speaks of -primping-. He then scoops up the binder and, like Matto, invades the couch. He down into Persy's personal space with a sort of casual ease and gives her a tenative tap on the shoulder. All the while he weighs the words of both, it would seem. First, he addresses her statement with a thoughtful nod. "He seemed to be pretty pleased with you after that ECM trick you pulled on the Solon op. But I get it. He's got a job nobody frakking wants and to be top dog in a kennel full of raging egoes day after day requires something I don't think I could -ever- have. Especially in the face of what's happened. I don't know if I could shut myself off that much."

To Matto - "I know some of it. Not the dirty details but I know some of it and to figure out that the two of them ended up where they are in the universe makes me wonder about the poetry of fate."

Persy looks back and forth at the Your Captain, My Captain stuff. One eyebrow raises, then the other. WELL, then. Huh. Wil's welcome in her personal space, it seems, but she's doesn't offer up 76 trombones and a big parade for his arrival. She's relaxed. Friendly. Casual. Playin' it cool.

Yep.

If Kisseus has a sense of personal space at all, it has been amply proven in absentia this evening, and so he just kicks off his boots and draws up his legs, snugging up against the others like the cuddlebug that he is. "Yeah. -Yeah,-" he agrees emphatically with Darling Willem, "In Viperland, at least. No offense, dude, but I sometimes think that there's some sort of testosterone level requirement for flying a viper. I mean, it's a completely unfair generalization, but Myrrha-Frak-Her-Father there's a lot of penis waving goes on in there. And not just by the guys. Hell, the girls are even worse, sometimes. Look at how Samantha socked Moonshine. And, like, -anything- Marty's sister does, -ever.- You don't get a lot of that on our side of the aisle. I won't say -never,- but—" he pauses, "Hardly ever."

"Eh. I get along with them. I -have- to, but I can see it. It goes with the job, sometimes." It's very telling that Wil says this when, really, he's probably one of the calmer people in the Wing no matter what he's flying. Except in the cockpit. "I wasn't slotted for Viper training initially." A pause. He peers at Persy now, gauging her reaction. "Air wing politics. I can't imagine your working relationship in CIC is remotely the same. We had a big loss when Poet got injured." He says with one final dismissive statement as he half-smiles again, flipping open the binder on his lap once more right to one of his plotter papers. The one he's looking at with the star map on it, and flips it upwards to another piece. This is something new. It's an…engineering schematic. It's not written up in Wil's handwriting and there seem to be some additional scrawls in fresh pen ink(the rest was done in pencil). What is this schematic, you ask?

A still. The scrawls appear to be notes on what alterations need to be made. "What? That idiot. He told me -this was sound-!"

Persy snarfs her coffee at Kisseus's creative oath, cough-wheeze-laughing until her eyes water. "Oh. Frak. That was /awesome/." She stretches, putting her coffee on a side-table, then decides to follow suit and kicks off her boots. "I'm feeling better about the CIC all the time. It's usually just me and Martini, and we get along great." Ooooh, what's in the notebook, huh huh? She peers over, then gasps at the diagram. "Willem PRICE! You never let me have ANY fun. How long have you had THAT?"

Matto leans all on Persy in a manner that might unnerve her, seeing as how she might not be aware of the reputation the Kissybear has amassed in Black Squadron for snugging on six women at a time and sexing none of them, nor showing any particular interest in doing so (at least one woman therein finding it extremely frustrating). In any case there's nothing threatening in the closeness, and Kissy extends an arm to wrap behind Persy's shoulders and rest his hand on one of Willem's as he squints at the diagram, "Yeah… though I almost think the Poet's happier where he is. He loves his tinkering. Speaking of tinkering— what -is- it?" It's a hunter destroyer machine!

Wil's apparently gotten used to Matto and his approach to personal space, even if he doesn't really practice it himself. Well, there's a noted exception here as he remains sidled up to Persy but there's nothing hugely R-rated about it. There's a sort of delayed reaction on the Libran pilot's part as he processes the ins and outs of the oath. "Clever. I haven't heard that one before." He indicates to the man and then explains to Persy, mouth twitching into a bit of an abashed smile. "I got the sketch today from a certain Deck P.O. who will remain nameless. But his design apparently had some flaws, according to Ensign Nikos. The S2 apparently has a sense of humor. Or a soul. Or she's just a practiced drunk." Wil muses as he points at the notes. "She was to remain a surprise until she got built." He offers plaintively to Tanner. "See? She even has a name." He points to the heading on the sketch written in large, clear letters. 'OENO.' "I figured you'd approve. Given your leanings."

It's also possible that Persy's under the assumption that Kissybear's gayer than a three-cubit note. Or not. For whatever reason, she doesn't seem discomfited or conflicted about the snuggling. In fact, she seems completely charmed, and even spontaneously kisses his cheek. Aww! Yay, cuddles! And with a boy on both sides? WIN!

"It's a /still/," she whispers to Matto, excitedly, beaming. At Wil's more in-depth explanation, she swoons with delight. "That's /perfect/!"

Matto does have a stunning tendency to go about kissin' boys, that's for sure. The kiss from the girl just earns a grin and a chuckle as he listens to Darling Willem's explanation, waiting— waiting— waiting— and he -still- doesn't say what it is. "Oh!" he exclaims in response to the whisper. "But you can't make wine in a still, can you? Or am I just picking nits at this point?" he smiles warmly at Willem. "Now Red Squadron won't fall apart when the booze runs dry," more light-hearted teasing, with a squeeze to his shoulder to let him know he's just funning— mostly.

The ginger-haired man idly drums his fingers in a slow manner on Persy's shoulder as he leans in. "The wine, Dear Kisseus Matto, is a metaphor." Transubstantiation. Does it exist here? "Some little things here and there have got me thinking about whatever future we have." Wil says, proceeded by a pregnant pause. "And I'll be -damned- if I give up a few comforts. I don't care if we have to start stealing Spider's jello. Although I recommend that nasty cornbread from the Mess as a base, if I follow Lumberjack's old process." He lifts a hand holding an imaginary glass to said Lumberjack and quiets down a little, looking off at the wall, but then back to Matto and then Persy in turn, smiling slowly. Any reminiscing about friends tends to evoke this reaction. "Yeah. 'Jack was this guy on Tauron who basically built one of these. He and Cornbread perfected this recipe." Well, it's no shock as to how Cornbread got his or her callsign.

"This is kind of on the down-low. But if it works out?" He trails off, looking between the two to see if either has anything to add.

Persy smiles winsomely at Wil, rubbing her nose against his. If it works out? "Then we'll be your best. Friends. EVAH." Her attention shits to the drawing again, her interest avid. "Is this all on paper, still? I can help! You'd be amazed how I can repurpose things. Scraps and bits of broken whatnots."

Rebound doesn't even blush at the nose-rub and it's becoming increasingly clear that whatever propriety issues he sometimes has, they're being overridden. "I'd -hope- you'd tolerate me for more than just my booze." He says, in a bit of a mock-scoff. "But well— that's just it. I can follow directions but need hands-on help." Poor Wil. Not quite the handyman he would like to be. "I'd actually think your help would be encouraged regardless but I've seen the results of your handiwork." He glances back at Matto, "And Kisseus - you did well in righting me on that sim tweak the other night. The very basis of template-editing came from -right here-." He points with his free hand at the blonde woman next to him.

"And fine. No candy. And maybe the jello idea is suicidal. We should draw up a list in case there's not enough cornbread."

Persy rests her head on Wil's shoulder, leaning contentedly. "Mrphle." Who knows that that means… sounds fairly positive/affirmative though. In a lazy, gettin' sleepy kind of way. "Mooooooore than happy to help, cutie pie."

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