Up, Down, Left, Right
Up, Down, Left, Right
Summary: A certain ECO and tactical officer have a chance meeting in the corridor outside air wing berthings. A bit of initial tension is defused with some subtle humor.
Date: PHD124
Related Logs: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank)
Players:
Praxis..Komnenos..

The Kharon's generally prim and proper tactical officer can be spotted in this particular hallway, bent over a couple of crates searching through the interior to locate, well…/something/. Because Praxis would neeever loiter around in the corridor, right? Anyway, there's a huge crate just full of junk and rifling through it; a silly song being sung as he thinks no one around. "The DRADIS dish is connected to the … sensor display … the sensor display's connected to the … ECM console … the ECM console's connected to the … broken central processing unit…" The tune stops there, as he doesn't know how to improvise further. Demitros withdraws the particular thing he was looking for with a, "Perfect." before the crate lid falls on his hand. "Arrgh!"

In fact, there is someone around, and the sound of singing draws a meandering Anton Komnenos like a moth to a flame. "Leftenant," Thorn says, a note of curiousity in his accented voice. He's in his offduty tanks, slouching against a wall behind where Praxis is working. "You all right there?"

All of a sudden when he hears the sound of Thorn's voice, Praxis wipes the pained expression from his features, quickly withdraws his hand from the crate (with the lid closed, mind you, creating many fine scratches on his hand) and whipping around, folding his hands behind his back and lifting his chin. "Just fine, thank you." His voice is free of tone, but he just does a really good job of hiding the pain. "How fare you, Mr. Komnenos?"

"Surviving," Thorn replies simply as he lights a cigarette. "An' yourself?" He takes a couple steps towards Praxis, still studying man and crate with a hint of amused curiousity, his dogtags jingling ever so quietly as he moves. "What brings you down here, anyway? Don't usually get t' see bridge types down here." Thorn reconsiders with a tilt of his head. "Well, except for Tanner, but then… extenuating circumstances."

"I believe the correct term would be up here, as my vocation requires me to be one deck below." Praxis corrects, although he is as lighthearted as possibly could be in his tone. Unfolding his back, he shows Thorn a microchip he retrieved from the crate. "I required a spare part to repair the ECM console in the CIC…" A pause as he talks about Tanner. "Ah, yes…being rather close with Mr. Price, you would be bound to see the countermeasures officer about a fair bit, would you not? Is she treating the pilots all right with her presence?"

"Up here, down here…" Thorn shrugs indifferently. "I was speaking more in th' metaphorical sense, but never mind. Really ought t' let my pilot stick t' the metaphors and the witticisms, I suppose." His eyebrow quirks slightly as Praxis explains his presence. "Just thought you'd come down here — sorry, up here — and nab one from us, eh?" There's a slight frown as he speaks, but his tone is more flippant than anything else. There's a pause before he addresses Praxis' question. "She's down here a bit, yeah, and I've not heard any complaints or had any reason t' complain myself. What's it matter? She's a big girl… mostly."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant." Praxis says, lifting up the CPU and holding it in front of Thorn. "If you have some sort of sentimental attachment to this piece of equipment I'll be happy to return it to you." His lips quiver for a moment. "Well, as for Lieutenant Tanner, I'm sure I can exhibit some sort of discliplinary action for her overly joyful demeanor."

"As much as I'm trying t' think of a smart remark, I suppose you have more need of it than I do," Thorn replies dryly. Seeing that the tactical officer does have something resembling a sense of humor after all, Komnenos smiles ever so slightly. "As for the latter… well. Try not t' go too hard on the poor girl, she's wired that way."

"That is the spirit, Lieutenant Komnenos." Praxis says, finally his iron features shifting into something resembling a smile. He deposits the CPU into his pocket, nodding once at the ECO. "Ah, Persy brings a brightness that is lacking in most places of the vessel. I believe it is a boon to the productivity in the CIC - or at least to hers." A raise of his chin. "In all seriousness Lieutenant, up, down, left, right…it doesn't matter where you reside. I express my appreciation for what you and your colleagues do on this vessel. It is not an easy job. Trust me, I know." Demitros indicates his pilot wings.

Thorn takes another drag, the smoke spilling out through his nostrils. He nods to the CIC lieutenant. "A happy officer is a productive officer. Or so they tell me," he says with a sagely nod. "Maybe I ought t' try sometime," he says, his voice a deadpan once again. He tilts his head at the last bit from Praxis, and he looks at the flight qualification wings on Praxis' uniform as though he'd never seen them before. "You were… a pilot? Sir?" The sir is a little belated, but it's there.

Praxis' hands reconvene behind his back, intaking the unfamiliar scent of the smoke before nodding in reply. Well, sort of. "Electronic Countermeasures Officer." he corrects. "Much like yourself. Quite the lucrative job, is it not?" A bit of a smile at that.

"Only if you consider letting pilots take all the glory t' be a form of currency, Lieutenant," Komnenos retorts, a small grin tugging at his lips. Feeling a bit more at ease now, he blows a couple of smoke rings into the air. "Never knew that about you, sir. What took you out of th' cockpit?"

"Ah. I wish I could say it was the Cylons, but no such luck." Praxis shakes his head as if what happened was probably the stupidest way to get him off of flying backseat. "The man flying my plane had a medical issue; decided to take the runway at an unacceptable angle." He pushes his glasses further up his nose a bit. "It was a big mess to square away, that's for sure."

Thorn nods slowly; there's a hint of sympathy in his eyes as the other man speaks. "That's one of the downsides t' our job," he says. "If our plane crashes, we don't even get th' pleasure of crashing it ourselves." These two men could probably have a droll-off, it seems, from the amount of dry humor now floating in the hall. "Yeah, it usually is. A mess, I mean." Komnenos shudders reflexively. "Only time I was in a Raptor that crashed was on Scorpia… at least that one I can blame on the Cylons."

Praxis appreciates the sympathy, though he doesn't seem a man that requires it. The TACCO manages to get out something of a chuckle. "I cannot say that you must have had a fun ride all the way down to the surface. Though I'm glad you made it back in one piece." Demitros ponders the image of a crashed Raptor … such a good looking and formidable piece of equipment mashed into the ground. "Listen, I've got to get back. Perhaps we can cross paths again - share stories. Though I am more than certain I will listen to you over TAC again."

"As am I," Komnenos replies mildly. "Well, I left a couple pieces of myself down there, but who's counting?" Smiling thinly, Thorn takes another drag off his cigarette. "More than likely, that," he continues, referring to Praxis' last statement. "See you around, Lieutenant."

Praxis snaps off a quick salute before he passes Thorn without much of a further word, going down the stairs to return to duty.

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