Log:Nerds Go To the Navy
OOC Date: May 29, 2018
Location: Mess Hall, RAF Renegade
Participants: Ektor-Xer Apollyon, Dawn Antilles
The later minutes of the dinner hour are as what is expected in most buffet-style places; it is best to go early when food is fresh and plentiful. But busy lives lead to hungry stomachs, and those who don't subscribe to the ways of the early bird are bound to regret it once the biological imperative to feed themselves reasserts with a vengeance. While there are a few remains present, what is provided is clearly not ideal.
For instance, the protein of the day.
A slender brunette with large green eyes and her hair pulled in a messy, haphazard twist peers at the filets of /some/ sort of meat swimming in the remains of a cream sauce turning slightly green on the fringes. Within the huddle is one of the Renegade's many mechanics. After a moment, both individuals lift their heads to look at one another.
"Do we even know what kind of meat it is?"
"Dunno, but there's only a few left."
"I mean, for all I know, it was grown in a lab."
"It kind of looks like a scientific experiment, doesn't it?"
"Well, looks like tubers and vegetables for me today," Dawn groans, picking up her tray and moving away from the mystery meat concoction. "Unless I decide to explore the base and find an alley stall that serves up some black bean noodles." Her expression turns dreamy. "Mmm....black bean noodles..."
The mechanic gives her a flat look. "You are /so/ not helping right now," he grumbles, reluctantly spearing himself a filet and moving off. "This rate, I'll take any kind of protein available."
The naval officer grins, tipping a jaunty salute after dumping what looks like a salad on the plate, bootsteps taking her towards the other end of the mess hall. "I'll make sure to sing your praises at your funeral," she tells him gamely. "See you later."
---
Ektor is in line at the food counter, adding the occasional scoop of nutrients to his plate without any apparent consideration for taste. Throughout, he is drawling to another human in a pilot's uniform, "You seen Pava shoot, yeah? She /anticipates/, yeah? See, you just keep shooting at where something IS, that's your problem. Well, that and not hitting anything..." Ektor's conversation partner looks ready to chew a limb off to escape when the mumbling Ektor is distracted by, "Ooh, there's still some mystery meat left.. my lucky day. Scuse me, yeah?" He mutters to the unfamiliar Dawn, reaching past the young woman to spoon a dollop of the ambiguous protein and cream sauce on top of the assorted other mess on his plate. Idly, he glances back to the little naval officer. "Did school let out early?" he quips with a crooked grin.
---
A much larger shadow, and liable to only emphasize the 'little' part in the pilot's quip, falls over her and prompts those virid irises tilt upward from that pale mien. The crooked grin earns Ektor one in turn, dark brows winging upwards. "Yeah," Dawn tells him, not even so much as pausing at all as she returns fire with the corners of her mouth turning upwards, and a glimmer of mischief settling in her eyes. "How did you know? They wheeled me in the naval academy in a crib, you see, and the poor bastard cadet that they assigned to change my diapers accidentally left the door open. So I climb out with my little toddler legs, hit the floor and ran out to embrace sweet, glorious freedom." She lowers her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. "I stole a diploma on the way out, but between you and me, I just wanted the ribbon."
She slides sideways towards the drink dispensers, plucking out a mug. A long finger depresses the button for tea, the scent of herbs and fresh, hot water curling upwards along with wisps of telltale steam. "At least there's tea," she says, mournfully.
---
Ektor barks a short chuckle at Dawn's retort, his easy grin deepening, "How many tragedies in the galaxy have gone down over a nice ribbon, yeah?" The pilot with him- the name placard reads 'Xantious'- elbows Ektor and mutters, "She's a Lieutenant, blaster brains," before ditching Ektor and putting a lot of space between him and Ektor. The Tionese flight officer belatedly notices. "Lieutenant, huh? Lemme guess: Army, yeah? Look at those shoulders, you was born to brawl with Gamorreans, yeah?" Without even the pretense of hiding it, Ektor draws out a flask and sets it on the tray in lieu of pouring any drinks at the beverage station.
---
"About a thousand three-hundred and seventy-five," Dawn replies, providing the taller pilot a distressingly specific number. "Maybe more if you count the Old Republic era, but there were plenty of historical documents lost around that time, so there could be more. Pretty small number considering how long people and aliens have been around. It-- "
Ektor's wingman, or gunner, might be relatively useless in hitting things with weapon systems, but his comment at the very least /saves/ Ektor from an accidental history lesson. There's a glance at the other man's tag, before her evergreen gaze tilts down to her /own/ tag, and then looks up at the taller pilot again. "Definitely army," she says, nevermind the fact that she just mentioned coming from a naval academy. "I don't look like much, but I can bench a hundred times my own weight and kick a huttball several hundred yards easy." She drops her voice in another whisper. "I eat whole tauntauns for /appetizers/."
No, not really. There's nothing but a salad on her plate, and she can't lift a stack of books to save her life, but she looks at Ektor with such convincing intensity that it would be believable....if she wasn't so petite.
But the pretense drops, and she flashes the pilot a winning smile. "All bullshav, but you already knew that, I think. Everyone knows all the jocks go into the army and all the nerds go into the navy." Pause. "....don't tell Rear Admiral Delede I said that."
---
"Oh, I believe it. You could bench a thousand grams without breaking a sweat, little sister," Ektor returns, settling his tray down with a clatter on the first open table. "So if meatheads go army, and data-divers go navy, what kinda morons go into the Starfighter Corp?" he wonders with easy merriment, inviting Dawn to sit at the same table with the lazy motion of one hand. "And don't you worry, I'm real good at not telling the boss about little stuff, yeah?" A long pull off his flask accompanies a quick wink.
---
"I'm not /that/ little," Dawn remarks, standing above the height of an average human female that she is, though like most things, height is about perception - and Ektor towers over her by more than just a few inches. But with his invitation to sit, she nudges a chair sideways with her foot so she can scoot within it, setting down her tray and picking up her fork. There's a suspicious squint at the array of greens and vegetables in front of her, spearing a wedge of something that can't decide whether it wants to be orange or red, and lifts it up to take a dainty sniff. Is it a beet? It looks like a beet...wait, where would the kitchen staff even get that while all the way out here?
Still, beggars can't be choosers, and she shoves the bite into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Undecided," she tells him finally. "Whatever I say in that regard might sound biased anyway since I come from a family of flyboys. My name's Dawn....Dawn Antilles. Don't expect anything because of the last name, though, like I told some other pilot I probably disappointed last night, I'm the lone chicken in a flock of eagles."
But she extends her hand in offerance of a handshake. "I'm new. I get that most have probably already met my uncle, but I'm still trying to attach faces to names. Don't worry though, I have a good memory. Once I know who you are, I won't forget."
---
Ektor eyes her back, blankly as Dawn makes a point of her last name, and some uncle. "Who?" he grunts with a tilt to his head, that is dismissed with a shrug as he accepts the offered handshake. "Ektor-Xer... Ektor-Xer Apollyon," he names himself, imitating her pause as best he can. "And if you want me to throw out expectations, I'll go right back to thinking you could arm-wrestle the Wookie, Chicken-girl." Another grin bends his lip.
---
His blank look generates a flitter of surprise over pale, delicate features, though it is replaced immediately by a laugh. "Er, I mean...no, nevermind, forget I said anything." She wiggles her fingers in front of his face - as if she could erase that bit of their present interactions by willing it so. With her hand lowered once more, there's another blink at his introduction. "Is that hyphenated?" she wonders. "Where are you from, if I may ask."
She seems to have given up on her salad, Dawn taking up her mug of steaming tea, though his quip about arm-wrestling a Wookiee earns him another laugh. "Hah! I wish. Stars, if I tried, it'd be the most pathetic thing ever, straining red-faced with all of my might with both arms curled around one fist and leveraging all my weight just to get it to twitch. But maybe I ought to do it anyway." Her grin tilts so widely, a dimple manifests on her left cheek. "Might be the only way I'll get to fly on my own is if a Wookiee flings me to the atmosphere."
---
Ektor is taking down his platter of food one unhurried and undiscerning bite at a time. He snickers at her finger wiggle, "Oh, drek- you're a Jedi, I get it now-" he grins, nodding to her hyphenated query. "Yeah. I come from Tion, we ain't exactly.. good Republic folk, yeah?" Washing down his bite with a sip, "See, every kid gets two names of their own, back home. One from a famous ancestor, and one of their own. But since my people have been backwater, shameless liars since forever, we all pretend we're descended from Xer, or Xim. Not even sure why we bother, when everybody on the rock has the same second name, yeah?" He laughs, clearly finding humor in having a hoot at tradition. "Nah, see.. you could win: we just gotta stun the Wookie, first. Maybe.. stun him eight or nine times. From a long ways off."
---
"So Ektor is your actual name?" Dawn wonders, earlier joking falling away as emerald eyes brighten with curiosity; the very image of an inquisitive schoolgirl complete with the way she props her chin on one hand and tilts it just so, looking at him with the very intent to learn. She doesn't know much about Tion - plenty of her reading focused on core worlds and inner rim systems, as well as influential ports in the Outer Rim. "I never got a chance to learn much about your homeworld," she confesses. "The name's familiar because of its involvement in various wars." And war is if nothing else a main focal point in her studies, and where her usefulness to the Resistance hinges upon. "But I don't know a lot about its culture. What about Apollyon, then? In some languages, it means 'destroyer'." After a moment, a teasing grin hints at his direction. "Did you pick that out yourself? Because that's pretty badass for a pilot."
When he provides his suggestion as to how to win against a Wookiee, she snaps her fingers and points to him triumphantly. "I like where your head is at," she tells him gamely. "I'm a tactician, sometimes the only way to win is to be a damned, dirty liar, sneak and cheater. If I had a couple of days notice before the wrestling match? I'd hire someone to put something in his food and drink, give him some stomach trouble the day of. I mean, the dosage would probably have to be enough to kill an equine or something, but it can be done!"
---
Ektor arches an eyebrow as Dawn notes one meaning of his surname. "No drek? I like those languages, whatever they are; I always figured Apollyon was about the sun. Cause yanno: it ain't like every planet ever had a sun or anything, yeah?" A short chuckle. "Yeah, everybody calls me Ektor. And yeah, my people been on the losing side of just about every war, ever. Just our luck THIS is the time we team up with the Republic, yeah?" He laughs, again. "Shouldn't expect anything else from a culture that peaked a few dozen millennia ago, yeah?" A broad smile precedes a big bite. "Mmm. The mystery meat is extra good, today." Dawn's commentary on cheating earns a crooked grin. "Fair play favors the big guy, yeah? Kriff it."
---
"It's that, too - the root of it anyway, but the actual full word?" There's a hint of a smile curling up the corners of her mouth. "Might mean you're destined to blow things up from the moment you were born or something." It's only then that Dawn takes a sip from her tea, tilting her head back and closing her eyes, that expressive face reflecting nothing but bliss at the moment. Someone really loves her tea.
"Anyway, who knows? With that much bad luck, the law of percentages is bound to turn on Tion's favor. Maybe it's the cautious optimist in me, but I have a good feeling about this."
Those green eyes flicker open again at his comment about fair play. "The big, rich guy with all the resources, yeah," the naval officer affirms. "In war, almost everything's fair game though, so maybe we'll get lucky this time around, too."
---
Ektor grins broadly at mention of blowing things up, "You just named what I'm best at, yeah?" Leaning back in his chair and chewing thoughtfully on... whatever was under the slab of protein, he muses, "Kick em in the balls long enough and anybody falls over," he vocalizes with a philosophical tone to the words. "We just gotta keep moving between kicks so his friends never catch up. And hope we never run outta places to run, yeah?" The pilot quips with a smile. "I like you, Dawn. Not enough people feel good about fighting dirty, these days. 'S what's wrong with the galaxy, it really is."
---
"Hopefully," Dawn replies quietly, a thoughtful look directed upon the mug she's cradling with both hands. "The galaxy seems infinite, but it's not. I don't think it's endless, and believe me, I know better than most that sometimes, there's nowhere else to run. No choice but to dig our heels in and...well. Blow things up." She winks at him from her seat.
His frank opinion of her has her looking up again, long lashes shuttering for a moment, before another unfettered laugh escapes her. There's a hint of a pleased flush there as well, rosy enough that her complexion has no hope of hiding it. A hand lifts, to rub on a cheek self-consciously. "I'm a faster worker than I thought," she tells him, complete with a sheepish grin. "Not to say I feel /good/ about fighting dirty...or bad, for that matter. It's just that sometimes it has to happen."
She pushes aside her plate, concentrating on her tea instead. "Besides, it's part of my job description to increase our odds of winning, and getting out of a jam alive. I won't be able to do that if I'm not willing to be sneaky."
---
"Clock runs out on everybody, sooner or later. Just a question of how far you can go before time's up, yeah?" Ektor muses, lightly. He starts to take another drink, before he notices her wink and flush. Humor narrows his blue eyes as the Tionese pilot drawls, "Wait- nah.. are you blushing, schoolgirl?" A wicked grin takes root, fully aware he's only likely to make it worse. "You are. That is quite a blush.. Like, wow you go real red real fast, don't you?"
---
The growing grin with its brazenly wicked edge has Dawn pausing from her tea-drinking, setting down her cup so she could feel her face with wandering fingertips. Her easy expression dovetails immediately to /horror/, having not realized it herself. "I am?" she wonders, quickly shoving her plate off her metallic tray so she could lift it up to peer at her reflection. "...I /am/!" Said in a squeak, and as Ektor continues to rib her about it, her color heightens from a subtle pink to fire engine red.
She stares at her slightly warped reflection, and at his continuing observation of her ability to go 'real red, real fast', she can actually observe her color changing and growing more vivid. With a strangled noise, she holds up the tray in front of her face, actually /hiding/ behind it as he laughs. "Well, don't look at it!" she cries. "How's it gonna go away if you keep poking at it?!"
She doesn't mean literally. /He knows what she means/!
---
"Arright, I won't look," Ektor laughs as Dawn actually tries to hide behind her tray, "But no lie? You keep hiding like that, other people are gonna start staring. Oops, too late-" Evil. Pure evil, punctuated by a restrained snork-laugh.
---
Green eyes peer out from the top of the tray, still held upwards. A look of /absolute consternation/ is reflected within them.
But never say Dawn doesn't have the ability to laugh at herself. The sound is somewhat muffled behind her improvised barricade, but it slowly finds the surface again, her plate pushed back on top of it. "Yeah, well. This isn't exactly what my instructors meant when they said I stood out too much," she grumbles. Though before she can address her dinner companion again, a small beep emanates from her communicator; a glance given towards the face of it, there's a slight furrowing of her brows.
"I better take this," she says, standing up and picking up her tray. "You're /awful/, by the way, but never say I'm not adaptable." Her grin returns like a flashfire, brilliant and liable to blind the unwary. "I'll see you, E. Thanks for keeping me company."
---
"I am, yeah?" Ektor admits his awfulness with a wink. Still leaning back in his chair, shoulders carried at a lazy, uneven angle, he grins back at Dawn's bright smile. "See you, schoolgirl." Only once the Lieutenant has taken her leave does an idea strike, driving the lingering smile from his face. "Oh, drek.. I really hope the admiral ain't her uncle."
