Wakey, Wakey
Wakey, Wakey
Summary: Scene from Black Berthings immediately prior to events of A Cubit Short.
Date: PHD134
Related Logs: A Cubit Short logs

Roubani is quiet as he ever is as he steps into Black berthings, hauling a familiar sight - a thermos. Off-duty in his T-shirt and fatigues trousers, jacket left back at his bunk, though he's forgotten to take his pen from behind his ear. He hovers a bit by the hatch as if struck by the impulse to walk right back out, but after a moment or two drifts further in and down one of the bunk rows.

Only Timon's legs are visible from the hatch — he's wearing trousers, Poet, relax. The room is relatively empty as it usually is in the middle of second shift: here, a pilot and ECO are wrestling with a few last bits of paperwork; there, an engineer is performing maintenance on a few pumps and pipes in the front wall of the head. As for Ivory? He's got beside him a small wooden box, in which can be found several fancy pens. A small plastic card is clipped to his legal pad, which is covered not with the usual dense paragraphs but what appear to be … parallel lines.

As Roubani glides by, the drawn curtain of one of the top racks is slid aside. Thorn lays in his rack, leaning on one elbow and blinking sleep from his eyes as he slowly lights a cigarette. He's shirtless, likely giving the room a better view of his tattooed arms and hair-covered chest than they probably want. There's a yawn from the bleary-eyed ECO as he begins the long process of becoming coherent after several hours of unconsciousness.

Relaxing is for wusses, Ivory. Roubani draws up beside the bunk one over from the daring duo's - Legacy's. There's a slightly apprehensive glance inside and, finding it empty, he doesn't wait around in the chance that she might appear from thin air. Up the row he goes, stopping as the sound of Thorn's bunk curtain makes him glance up, and then down at the lower bunkmate. Normally social rules would ask that one say 'hello' or something like that, but Roubani's instantly distracted by what Timon's doing rather than the man himself. Ooo. Lines.

Timon looks up as his ECO stirs, rapping the back of his free hand against the hard metal above him in greeting. There's surprising strength, there — maybe this is his way of making sure the man doesn't go right back to bed. It also passes for 'Morning, Thorn' and 'Yo, Poet' and whatever else those irritating social rules require. His eyes don't look up from his paper, though, as his unsteady hand draws yet another blue line near the middle of the page: top to bottom, thick to thin to thick.

Komnenos is certainly tempted to fall right back down and go back to sleep, but he doesn't. He peers down over the edge of the rack, offering a wordless grunt Ivory's way in response. A yawn escapes his lips, followed by a cloud of smoke a second later. Thorn cranes his head silently, looking down at whatever it is suddenly has Poet so captivated. Lines. Just lines. Srsly?

Lines. That nobody's actually talking to each other doesn't seem to bother Roubani any. His arms fold over the thermos he's got against his chest, and he watches Timon draw lines. Until Thorn's head appears over the rail, which is almost at eye-height for him. Spell not quite broken, but manners duly reminded, he softly clears his throat. "Tea?" Offered to both, it seems.

Yeah. Lines. This isn't doodling: this is practice, though for what he certainly doesn't say. Instead, he taps the back of his pen against his card, the title of which is nearly indecipherable so complex is the script in which it's written. On the rest of it are the letters of the alphabet in both upper and lower case, the contours of which are accompanied by a number of small arrows. "It's actually 'A'," murmurs Timon, after another stroke. "Or the beginning of an 'A', at any rate."

Thorn cocks an eyebrow as he looks down over Timon's shoulder, clearly unimpressed. Writing on paper with a pen, how gauche. Roubani's single word calls his attention away from Timon's dalliance with calligraphy, and an arm snakes out from Thorn's rack, snatching the thermos right out of Roubani's hand. Evidently, that's a yes. Komnenos fumbles around for a moment on his shelf, coming away with a mug that is quickly filled before he hands Roubani the thermos back with a nod and a small, sleepy-eyed smile.

Roubani blinks as Thorn swipes out a tentacle and makes off with the stash. He stands there with hands open until the thermos is safely back in them, his slightly puffy eyes keeping a look levelled on the man. Then a small smile cracked, and he wraps his arm back around the thermos. "Good morning, Thorn," he says just barely loud enuogh to hear, then his eyes look back down at the paper that Timon's writing on. Drawing on. That it's calligraphy doesn't seem to surprise him any. "I meant tea to consume," he murmurs. "Would you like some."

"I'll be okay. Thanks, though." Timon bites down on his lower lip as he tries again. Unfortunately, he's forgotten to shift his hand over so as to allow him to draw out an uninterrupted line. Midway through the next vertical down-stroke, Ivory lifts his pen and shakes out a kink in his wrist; then, with painstaking precision, he finishes what he started. The result? From the looks of it, there's apparently an earthquake happening right now, so unsteady is this latest addition to the page.

Kai strolls into the berthings, decked out in sweats and tanks with an unzippered fatigue jacket thrown over top. His dark hair's still wet, and he's got a coffee cup looped over two fingers by its handle. Looks like red's coffee machine is on the fritz again. "Afternoon, boys," suffices as a general greeting to the room, with Timon given a longer look as he heads for the table.

Thorn purses his lips, lightly blowing at the steam emanating from the top of the mug. Finally, he takes a drink; the tea isn't quite tongue-burning hot, but not far from it. Still reclined on his bunk and leaning on one elbow, he's still sort of paying attention to what's going on beneath him. At least, until the hatch is pulled open and Kai walks in. The still-drowsy Thorn looks aside, nodding to the CAG and watching with bleary eyes as the older man invades Black Squadron for its coffee.

Roubani busies himself, then, using the thermos' cap for his own cup. His lower lip has a scabbed-over area on the left side that he avoids as he sips the warm concoction, head tilting a little as Timon's valiant efforts start to resemble someone trying to write during the DTs. If the poor Raptor pilot minds having audience, well. That's just too damn bad, ain't it. His eyes only flicker up when someone else comes in. "Sir."

"Afternoon, Captain." Timon looks up, calligraphy pen held against the yellow pages of his notes by the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. His gaze follows Spider's figure for as long as it takes for him to realize that it's coffee and not RAPTOR PILOT BLOOD the man's after; then, with a faint shake of his head, it's back to work. Five more lines materialize on the page in quick succession, each less squiggly than the last — but only marginally so. Laugh on, Poet, laugh on.

Maybe Marek's just prioritising. Coffee first, then RAPTOR PILOT BLOOD. He sidles up to the table, pokes at the machine a few times, and eventually manages to get it brewing. His cup's set down with a soft scrape. "What brings you to enemy territory today, Nadiv?" he asks the engineer with a brief look askance.

Thorn loses interest as Kai winds up at the coffee machine, speaking to Roubani. He does give Marek an odd look at the enemy territory, but his attention quickly wanders to something more interesting, like the smoke clutched in his hand. After a quick drag, Thorn leans forward, looking back at what's going on beneath him. His movement, though, is enough to jar his mug, which sends a couple drops of his tea splashing out of it — and onto Ivory's legal pad. Oops.

Roubani laughs not, Timon old chum. He seems fascinated by the precision in the written work - or the lack thereof, for the moment. At Kai's question he glances up again. "We saw the work order for Red's coffee machine. I have been deployed as a temporary peacekeeper." His quiet voice has the proper tinge of wry humour to it. Under that, it's tired. "The natives are fortunately very accomodating."

WELL THANKS THORN. A few scalding hot droplets of tea land on Timon's hand, causing it to jerk upwards reflexively in the middle of drawing out yet another line — well, there goes that. The rest of it is absorbed into the paper, making more than a few of those lines appear like blue blotches of ink. "A fell omen," the man mutters, rolling his eyes; then, into the wooden box go pen and plastic. "Maybe I'll have some," he adds when he's done, handing over the metal cup he keeps on his shelf. "Tea, I mean." Whether that's to drink or to throw on his ECO? He sure isn't saying.

"You should see the natives next door," mutters the Captain, arms pulling around his midsection while he waits for the coffee to brew. He eschews leaning against the table, at least, out of consideration for Timon's attempts at calligraphy. Emphasis on 'attempts'. He's quiet for the time being, though his attention shifts squarely to Roubani now, and his split lip and puffy eyes. There's a slight furrowing of his brows.

"Sorry, Ivory." It's alive! Thorn doesn't sound especially sorry, though, as he finally slides up into a sitting position, yawning one last time as he takes another drink of his tea. He sits there for a long moment with a raspy sigh before sliding off the bunk completely. The cup of tea is placed on the nearby table as Thorn heads for his locker to retrieve a shirt.

"I've lived with the natives next door," Roubani murmurs back to Kai, though he's watching Timon's writing again. "Please don't break that machine too. Our couch has barely uncurled from the fetal position from your last invasion." The dryness is, all things considered, still fond. He's standing at Timon's bunk, watching Timon write on some lines drawn on a piece of paper. Thorn overhead has just climbed down in search of a shirt. Kai is by the coffee maker, waiting on a cup to brew. As Timon puts away his writing, Roubani looks slightly disappointed. Request for tea honoured though, thermos twisted open so he can pour some into Timon's cup.

There's a press to the hatch as the door as one of the more taller senior-ish officers comes in. The blue lapel to his jacket/blouse thing is left undone showing that our dear Lieutenant has come off duty. One cigarette tapped out, Hale finds himself surveying the room once over-eyes landing first and remaining solely on Roubani for the moment being before there's a cough. A shake of his head and he remembers to snag up his lighter and light the blighter as he shuts the door behind him. "Hello my brothers." called out in the usual rough bit of cheer that comes from the countrified Leonisian. "How's th' muck holdin' it?"

A grunt is all Thorn will get; Poet, for his part, receives an appreciative "Thanks." Timon's more careful with his drink than Komnenos is, holding his cup with two hands as he levers his legs into his bunk — the man hasn't even put on his shoes. Ivory leans against his pillow as he sips, letting the steam wash over his face; one foot pushes the wooden box and ruined legal pad into the corner of his mattress where they'll be in no danger of falling to the deck. "Afternoon, Rabbit." The banter between Kai and Roubani is met with raised eyebrows, nothing more.

"Hullo, Rabbit," Thorn greets Hale as he steps over to his locker. He runs a hand through pillow-tousled hair as he looks inside; finally, after a moment's hesitation, a wrinkled pair of tank tops is pulled out, and the ECO pulls them on, light grey followed by dark grey. And thus are the others in the berthings saved from further view of Thorn's mat of chest hair.

Roubani has his cup to his mouth for a sip of tea when the hatch opens. His eyes meet that look from Hale and then quickly flicker away, attention going back to his cup. As Timon's legs move, he inches a step back and sits down on the very edge on Timon's bunk, far from any threat of bumping feet.

"Afternoon Thorn, m' boy." comes Rabbit's usual response, once a drag has been taken from his smoke before he is looking to the ECO "I heard a bloody interesting story th' other day." Ahh yes the fight one, still that seems to be as far as Rabbit is going to pursue that one before he's nodding over. "Ivory." A half grin there for the Raptor Driver. "Your girlfriend still want that fight?" needless to say Rabbit does like a good spar, but he's rather not intent of knocking around a priestess. There's karma points for that, or something.

Coffee finally brewed, Kai slides the pot out and pours himself a cup. Waste not want not, is apparently his motto; he fills it to the brim and then some, bringing it to his lips for a quick slurp to skim the top off. "Afternoon, Rabbit," he offers the Lieutenant once he's recovered from burning the roof of his mouth. Pause. Girlfriend? Timon? "Who's the lucky lady, Ivory?"

Poet sits down at his feet; Timon sips. Thorn rummages around for clothes; Timon sips. Rabbit references Drama between Anton and Martin; Timon sips. Kai asks — WHAT? Timon's sip unexpectedly turns into a gulp, as if something's just caught on his throat. A mild spate of coughing results; "Priestess," is his mumbled response, after he's all well and cleared his airway. "Ensign Adelphi." The pilot places subtle emphasis on the woman's rank.

Roubani crosses his legs, using his knee as a shelf for the thermos-cap-turned-teacup. He glances at Timon as the man coughs and sputters, taking a short sip of tea. And his eyes stay turned that way, if only because that way is somewhere that isn't Hale.

If it were his girlfriend, Anton might have kicked Hale just then, but it's not, so he doesn't. He merely raises an eyebrow, watching Timon's sudden discomfort with a certain thin-lipped amusement; hey, evidently she's an ensign now, so the erstwhile pilot won't get into any actual *trouble*, right? After a moment, though, Thorn's attention turns back to Hale. "Interesting story, eh?" he replies flatly, somehow suspecting that it just might be something he's heard already.

Hale nods towards Kai as he moves to draw out a chair and take a seat. Yes, it seems Hale's going to relax a little in black-which isn't too odd in and of itself, given what comrades in arms he does have in these berthings. Though-this isn't exactly friendly territory either. "Spider." a grin back towards the Captain. "There was somethin I wanted t' run by you when you got th' chance. Won't take but a minute-so it can wait."

Well Thorny- one could bring up your situation further, but Rabbit is not that mean. A slight nod back to his friend. "Yeah, but I suspect you've heard a lot this week-Wish I coulda seen it despite..things." IE consequences, but then Rabbit's not hesitating before he's looking on right back towards ROubani "Oi Mate-sorry for interruptin' your game last night." Wait what? "Next time, we'll be more careful-honest. Bloody didn't mean t' knock all th' pieces askew or cause a scene. You still up, for runnin' sims an all with Willem an I?"

The CAG's not an idiot. He's undoubtedly aware that Ensign Adelphi was Crewman Adelphi not so long ago. He's also probably noticed Timon's tea being violently introduced to his lungs, and he almost certainly learned how to put two and two together in curmudgeonly Captain school. "Hope she's taking it easy on you." He sips his coffee again, and starts back out. His route takes him by Timon's bunk, and he claps the man lightly on the shoulder in passing. "PT's in an hour. You know the drill." Roubani receives another long, contemplative look, and then he's trudging off for the hatch.

Did Kai just get Timon to blush? It's fortunate that the man's reading light isn't on; as things stand, he can take refuge in the shadows, though the left side of his head is still visible. And yeah: those ears are assuredly pink. "One hour," Ivory confirms, and then all of sudden he's found something quite interesting to his right, meaning nobody except maybe Poet will catch his slightly loopy grin. With his head turned, though: "You overturned a chessboard?" There's a faint 'ahhh' of comprehension: no wonder Poet won't talk to him.

"I have five," Marek calls back. Five minutes, one presumes. He hitches his head toward the hall, and then he's gone.

"Yeah, He woulda had his opponent out in bloody two moves, but I knocked it all bloody askew in a mad dash t' well. Don' kiss an tell gents." added as Rabbit notices Kai leaving "Oi, bros, gimmie one moment an I'll be right back." He has to drop the lowdown on Kai-though as to what lowdown it is…Well, that is left up for debate. "Oi, Cap quick minute outside, if you can spare?" And yes the tall Viper pilot is going to take the time to join Marek and slip out, but momentarily.

At the reply from Hale, Thorn simply shrugs neutrally. "Wasn't much t' it," he replies in a bland tone of voice. "He sucker punched me, I socked him in the nose…" He gestures vaguely to his puffy lip, which still bears a scabby scar from where it was split by Martin's knuckle, and his left eyebrow. "… then it was broken up." Another shrug, and now Thorn smiles wanly as he takes a drag from the cigarette.

Game. Pieces. "Oh, that's alright, sir," Roubani replies to Hale, a touch too quickly. He clears his throat, mostly missing Kai's departing look as he takes another sip of tea. A small gesture towards Komnenos. "I've told Lieutenant Komnenos and Lieutenant Price to simply say when." His thumb picks at some tiny imperfection in the cap rim, and his dark eyes shift to Timon the Red. Timon of the Loopy Grin. Okay, that look on Timon's face cricks a slight smile out of Roubani that comes and goes, then a soft exhale through his nose.

Timon's eyes follow Hale and Spider out the hatch. Only after they're gone does he speak: "What's so funny?" This, presumably, to Poet, whose slight smile he sees out of the corner of his eye. And then, louder, to Thorn: "Mind turning on your fan?" Because the smell of smoke is already causing his eyes to water.

Thorn complies with the pilot's request wordlessly; the little fan is flicked on, and the haze of smoke beginning to coalesce around the ECO's head is dissipated almost immediately. He taps his cigarette idly, taking another pull as talk turns to the simulators. "Finally got t' those system updates I was talking about, Poet," Thorn interjects, "so I suppose we could give it a try any time."

Roubani coughs the smile off his face, a polite little sound. His voice remains very quiet, even moreso now that the people he's talking to are in close proximity. "Nothing, Ivory." Eye contact stays a bit off, mostly on his cup or things around him. Like…boxes. "Those pens are beautiful, by the way. Where did you find them?" He leans over to pick up his thermos from the floor, tipping it into his makeshift cup for a refill. The thermos is then silently offered to Timon, and his eyes raise Kom's way. "I have first shift tomorrow, so my evening hours are yours should you all have the time."

Timon breathes in the fresh air — or as fresh as it can be in an enclosed space like this one — with something bordering on relief. "They're Matto's," he murmurs, readjusting his pillow behind him. "Less horrific than fingerpaint. Harder to use, too." His head jerks toward the legal pad at the foot of his bunk before he accepts the proffered thermos. "He's supposed to be giving me lessons, but — who has time?" A brief shrug. "Ah well."

"Yeah, so do I." Thorn blinks. "I think. Have t' check the schedule; I've been bouncing around shifts lately." He can think of several choice things to say about Ivory's pens, but mercifully holds his tongue as Timon and Roubani talk back and forth. At the mention of lessons, though, he interjects, his brow raised archly in Ivory's direction. "It's two frakkin' weeks. You aren't going t' need t' learn every frakkin' thing I know."

And the Hatch is back open as the tall lieutenant is coming right back in. "Oi brothers" back and like that he's reaching for the ashtray and takes time to knock a small snake in before sitting down once more. "Bloody long week, its felt like.." No he's got no clue as to what they are talking about, but Hale is sure to figure it out sometime.

Roubani is about to comment more on the pens, perhaps, but then Thorn's comment leaves him looking a touch blank. He glances between pilot and ECO a few times, brows drawing. "Er…you're learning calligraphy on a deadline? From Thorn?" Surprised at the teacher, but appreciative nonetheless.

"Calligraphy, yes." Timon looks up at his ECO — as if there weren't a massive metal plate between him and Anton — and then toward the hatch. Rabbit gets a polite wave; then, MOAR TEA. Timon, having kept the thermos, now pours in more into his cup. "But Kissy's doing the teaching, and I have as much time as I have ink. Thorn just likes to think I'm talking about him every time I mention teaching."

Thorn looks confused for a moment, but then he realizes what happened there. "Yeah, well," he says with a flippant shrug, "what can I say? It makes my ego feel warm and fluttery." His accented voice is a perfect deadpan. "What I was teaching seems t' be a bit more important than learning t' write like a frakkin' monk, anyway." Possess an appreciation for arts and crafts, Thorn certainly does not. He takes a drag, and blows the stream of smoke mockingly in Ivory's direction — but the fan disperses it long before it reaches its target.

"Why not, th' whole ship's talking about him?" A grin back over to his friend as Rabbit takes another drag off of his cigarette. A slight cough, and Hale's taking time to eye his cigarette suspiciously, before putting it out. A rub of his throat and eyes are back onto Timon. 'So you're learning Calligraphy?" See, Rabbit can catch up- a little. "What's brought this on? Th' dear Ensign- or are you looking into a writing career, Ivory?"

Roubani smiles a little. Either at Timon's response or at Thorn's, hard to say. He looks back down at his tea, gently blowing on the surface before turning his attention to sipping it.

"If I said it was for the title page of my dissertation, Rabbit, would you believe me?" This is offered with an admirably straight face, even as Timon raps his knuckles against the top of his bunk — acknowledgment of Thorn's immense ego, perhaps, or irritation at the notion of writing like a monk. Brown eyes very carefully do not meet Poet's.

"So, you really are working on that dissertation, then," Thorn remarks to Ivory with an askance look. "What is it, degree envy?" There's a slight smile that belies the teasing in his words. It dies, though, replaced with a pained grimace as Anton hears Hale talk. "The whole ship, eh…" His tone is easygoing, and there's nothing worrisome in that grimace, though there is a sudden hard glint in his eyes. "Heard anything interesting?" he asks indolently.

"I could." Hale offers with a quick smile "But, it would depend on what you're getting a doctorate in." A slight pause as he moves the butt of his now extinguished smoke about in the ash tray, before he is looking right back towards Timon. "Theology?" a curl of a grin before he's looking back towards Roubani, and then the other two. "Did I step into something?" asked, but that was before the glint coming from Thorn's way. A raise of his brow towards his friend. "Oh come offit mate. It was a joke-sides if anyone was sayin off colour remarks, I'd take their nose in for ya."

Worry not, Ivory. Roubani keeps his focus on his cup, and what he may or may not know about Ivory's sudden taste for the inky arts, he does not air. "I haven't heard a word, for what it's worth," he backs up Hale to Thorn, quietly. "You know how fickle general attention is."

"Actually, it's philo — oh." Thorn's dig at his lack of a doctorate is ignored (as such digs usually are); instead, Timon's gaze meets Hale's for the briefest of moments — just long enough to wink. Thermos is handed back to Poet with gratitude that might extend beyond the simple offer of tea. "And Anton, don't worry," he adds after drinking yet more tea. "None of the rumors I've heard have you losing the fight."

"Sorry." That's directed to Hale, with a shake of the head. "I know y' would." Thorn smiles crookedly. "'Sides, I suppose I should expect a bit of talk here and there, what?" He looks over at Timon with a wink. "Damn well better not, seeing as I didn't."

"You also didn't go to the clink an meet Leda's cellmate- so I think you're a bit better there." A nod given back towards Thorn, before he's grinning right along with Timon. the wink caught which just brings a chuckle from the Lieutenant. "I say general positives all the way around."

Roubani takes his thermos back, reaching up a hand and offering it wordlessly to Thorn. Not that he can see the man's cup, but one can assume it's nearly empty by now.

Timon will need a refill, too, at the rate he's sipping. Indeed, if Thorn doesn't take the thermos, Ivory will. Maybe he read somewhere that imbibing caffeine helps with blushing; maybe he's just thirsty.

Indeed it is, and Thorn accepts the thermos with a nod, topping off his cup before handing it off to Ivory. "I'll take your word for it, then," he says to Hale with a disarming grin.

Hale shakes his head for a moment, before eyes are focused in on Roubani for but a moment. After all he's been meaning to talk to the other pilot/snipe since last night-however given the timing of such things he has been readily unavailable. "Oi, Rou-" yes such an odd disjointed nickname, but it is what Hale is choosing to call Poet. "I'd like a chat sometime-if you're ever able."

"Of course, sir," Roubani replies. His head turns towards Hale but his eyes kind of avoid the man, following his thermos being passed around. It's like crack in these berthings. "When you like. I hope you didn't want any tea."

Poet's right: there isn't much of it left. Timon intercepts the tea with the palm of his left hand, pouring out another full cup before passing the thermos back to its rightful owner. "So how does one pick teams for Pyramid anyway?" he wonders in the meantime. "Just out of curiosity." Since the conversation is jumping around anyway.

Thorn watches from the sidelines as the conversation jumps around; he looks up from his freshly refilled cup of tea at the mention of Pyramid. "I was rather wondering the same myself. Speaking of which, Rabbit — still open t' coaching a team if you need it."

"I do need another coach as I need two teams." Hale begins with a look back towards Timon before there's a grin for a second. Yes it seems someone has been able to steer conversation quite marvelously there. "Well we'd hold a draft of all the crewmembers who would want to play-Enlisted and Officer. Make up the teams. And there we go. Two teams would be fine.. If we could get another that gives us a small tournament we can roll with." Ahh yes Hale has been successfully derailed. A look given back to Poet. "I'm fine-thanks."

Derailment win. "I suppose now would be a good time to ask for a rule book and some footage of classic matches, then?" Timon looks up at Hale from his bunk, shifting slightly to give Roubani some room. "Also, given that I think I deserve a handicap — you'll be my first pick." And not Thorn, even if Thorn was playing. Take that, yo.

Not that Thorn would have been much of a pick anyway, given how Hale completely outclassed him in their recent game. Besides, he's always been more interested in the strategy of the game than actually playing it — which would explain his preference for coaching over playing. There's a smirk over at Ivory. "Handicap nothing. You're a quick study, you'll deal with it."

"There's a rule book in me locker, and one within the Library Timon.. I made some copies for Poet here.." Hale offers as he reclines in his chair at the table. A snicker there though as Tumon claims him for the first pick going out "Well I appreciate that brother. I might have t' do a drawing of lots to see who gets first pick. There's a few of us on board who've played. So I think th' teams will be good an even." Hale offers, before he's looking back towards Thorn. "Lots for first draft pick works, right?"

Thea slips into berthings, one side of her face as well as her chin prettily colored. She's in her off-duties, and given the towel around her neck, clearly just from the gym.

Roubani is sitting at the very foot of Timon's bed as he drinks tea from the cap of his thermos. He's mostly quiet through the pyramid talk, watching the rim of his makeshift cup. His job is rulebooks and numbers and that's a-okay with him.

"I still think I deserve a handicap." Timon's expression is one of mock petulance as he takes another hit of tea, yawning as he does. He shifts again in his bunk, doing his damnedest to avoid hitting Poet with his feet — why Roubani's chosen his mattress instead of one of the several empty chairs nearby he has no idea. "But lots would be fine by me. Afternoon, Captain."

Empty chairs in the middle of an aisle? Not.

"Th' world's smallest bloody violin is playing a song for you and your bloody handicap," Thorn retorts with another smirk. "Lots it is." There's a curious look back over to the hatch. "Captain," he acknowledges Thea with a curt nod.

Matto jumps on in after Thea; he's not drenched in sweat and doesn't look half-dead, so he's -probably- not coming from the gym, himself. He -is- just barely nimble enough to close the distance and give her a surprise hug on her way in, "How's the face, Kittenface?" he asks her, then, peeking over her shoulder, he waves at the others, then peels himself off of his Captain, jogging off to his own bunk and jumping up the rungs to settle up top. Did someone put something in the boy's juice, "What are we lotting for?" he wonders.

"Yeah, your handicap is getting to pull a lot." Hale says with a smirk, before he is looking over his shoulder and nodding right towards Thea "Captain." offered before he's sitting a bit straighter, and not necessarily rocking in his chair. Eyes drift on over to Matto, before there's a quick glance Roubani's way. "Oh" hale starts, "We're talking about drawing lots to see who will get first round draft picks with the pyramid league."

Thea squeaks a little in surprise at the hug, but laughs, wrapping her arms around Matto's briefly - squeezing. "Colorful and still attached, Matto," she comments, shaking her head. Fingers tweak a curl on his head as he takes off. "Good evening gentlemen. Looks like a party tonight." The smile is turned on those present, though her eyes stop linger on Roubani just a touch longer than the others. "Thorn? You cussing again," she teases. Over toward her locker she heads, shaking out the towel as she goes.

Thorn watches the two new arrivals for a moment, a flash of amusement in his eye as he watches Matto's ebullient entrance. He colors slightly at Thea as she addresses him. "You know me, Captain," he manages in a deadpan, idly scratching at the scar on his lip. By this point, his cigarette has burned down to the filter; it's extinguished in the table ashtray right before the sirens suddenly start blaring. "Oh, frak," he whispers, an instant before he dashes to his locker and snatches his flightsuit.

Roubani focuses on Thorn, that being a direct line away from Hale's gaze. As Timon's feet shift he does indeed seem to realise where he'd chosen to take refuge, and he slides back up to his feet, somewhat awkwardly. His attention then drifts to Matto, or Thea, hard to tell since it's right at the moment when they become a two-headed creature, then to his "teacup" as he lifts it to drain the last of the cooling liquid. Poor tea. Right…in time to cough hard when the condition lights flash. His lips thin, and he pushes his thermos under Timon's bunk with his foot. "Be safe, everyone," he intones, and promptly starts for the hatch.

Party? Yeah. WITH TEA. "Draft order is everything," Timon affirms, grimacing. "I remember when all the news channels stopped covering real stories to focus on whether a newly-drafted player for the C-Bucs could jump higher than the player taken a few spots below him, or above him, or however that works." Ivory offers Matto a wave before he's bending over to grab the small wooden box from the corner of his bunk. It's placed rather gently on the shelf behind his head, next to his now-empty mug — and thank the gods he's been drinking it, as the call for action stations comes through. Without further ado he's leaping from his bed, paying absolutely zero attention to whether he's kicking Poet in the face. Flight suit: ON.

"Ah shite.." Hale is then coming up from his seat and its off to race and grab his flightsuit, and prepare to scramble then. There's a look back towards the others in the bunks "Good luck mates. Gods keep you." And with that the Viper Jock is beating a rapid retreat from the room.

As soon as the call goes out, Thea's clambering into her flight suit and getting set. "Alright folks, looks like we're going out for a ride. Meet you on the flight deck." There's only a second's pause as she studies everyone here, as if memorizing their faces. "Good hunting." Then she, too, is gone.

Matto barely has time to reach for his gummy stash when the intercom starts squawking and he stops rummaging to listen. Still, he tucks a red gummy up into his cheek, holding it there like a pinch of chewing tobacco as he jumps back down, turning and calmly enough opening his locker to get out the suit and go.

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