Tasty Men And Fudge Giants... Or Is That The Same Thing?
8-27-99
You walk towards the Recreational Facility.
Recreational Facility
As massively scaled as the rest of the complex is, it should come as no surprise that the recreation hall is also huge. One end is taken up by a large swimming pool and diving tower. Small cabanas are erected nearby for ease in changing clothes. Another section of the bright and airy room is dedicated to various weight machines for use by various races. Some of them in fact are dizzyingly incomprehensible. Presumably -someone- knows how to use them. A sloping ramp leads up to a jogging track above the hall. The track is lined with large open windows that look out onto the atrium and its gardens. This room is usually occupied at all hours by someone or another looking for a bit of exercise.
(OOC Note: To set your room doing, try 'I'm blank'.)
Contents:
Tara, standing by the door.
Rhys, working out on the weight machines, looking fairly impressive
Obvious Exits:
Atrium
Rhys is doing bench-presses. The number of weights is only moderate, but he gives the impression of having done a /lot/ of reps
Tara strides through the rec hall, a gym bag in one hand and a towel hanging from the back of her neck down her shoulders. She moves toward the target range, but slows... Oooh. Man. -Tasty- man. Target practice can wait. She stops, leaning her shoulder on a column to watch the bench pressing.
Rhys finishes whatever set he was doing, standing to stretch before he reaches for a towel. Noticing the observation, he smiles. "Afternoon"
Tara nods a greeting along with flashing a pleasant smile. "Hey there." The smile falters just enough that it might not be noticed, when she spots the man's shirt. "Don't mind me. Please continue. Eye candy's always a good thing."
Rhys laughs softly. "Watch all you like," he jokes, "but leave it at that. Ali's a bit possessive." Hopping up to do leg-lifts, he introduces himself. "I'm Rhys, by the way"
Tara blinks. Twice. And her smile turns weak. "You're Valinson?"
Rhys says, "Aye, indeed - Rhys Valinson. You have the advantage of me?"
Tara chuckles wryly, lifting her eyes to the heavens briefly. "Good one, God." She moves forward, offering her hand. "Tara Valentine. I don't know if Ali's ever mentioned me?"
Rhys nods, leaving off his lifts to clasp her hand in his own. "Just the other day, actually - well met." He arches an eyebrow at the Heavenly invocation. "How's His sense of humor acting up this time?"
Tara chuckles, giving the captain's hand a firm but brief shake before releasing it, her arms returning to their folded position. "Because I didn't know who you were, and was standing over there running through strategies in my mind for acquiring your company tonight... and here you turn out to be my friend's fiancee."
Rhys shrugs, with a smile. "Well.. nobody's perfect?"
Tara's eyebrows rise, and her lips twist into an amused smile. "True, but I come pretty close."
Rhys' eyes dance. "Pity about the modesty"
Tara grins. "It's one of my most charming traits. I hear tell, though, that you've enough talent to dispense with modesty altogether. Of course, I'm sure Ali's a bit biased..."
Rhys smiles. "Ali's the world to me, and a dear, sweet, beautiful lady... but definitely biased. I'm not the Second Coming or anything. At least, not in the biblical sense."
Tara laughs quietly. "I daresay there's some pirates that would disagree with that assessment, Captain."
Rhys shrugs. "They had their chance," he notes quietly
Tara watches you quietly for a moment. "Their chance for what, in your opinion?"
Rhys says, "Their chance to surrender." He eyes her. "You know Alliance regs as well as I do, probably. We don't shoot first - but we do try to make sure that we shoot last."
"Better," Tara says softly. "I probably know them -better- than you do." Searching for loopholes does that. She shrugs lightly, offering a disarming smile. "My point, however, was simply that you're known for being an excellent pilot. Almost as good as me." And she grins.
Rhys chuckles softly. "We'll have to test that in the sim some day"
Tara's grin widens. "That would be the preferrable method, yes. If that's a challenge, I certainly accept."
Rhys laughs. "Well, the sim leaves open the possibility of a re-match, which is always good." He towels himself off, and grins. "We'll have to arrange that"
Tara laughs, quietly, but merrily. "What, you've never lost a smuggler's trail and ended up facing them again, Rhys?" She nods her agreement, something akin to hunger in her eyes. "It's been quite a while since I've had the opportunity to match wits with anybody."
Rhys grins at her. "I think you've got me mixed up with a ship captain. If it can outrun my spacefighter, and beat my jumps, then they should be on the racing circuit, not smuggling"
Tara snickers. "Now who's the immodest one?"
Rhys shrugs, with a chuckle. "Well.. the fact remains that I've rarely had to break contact, once I'm engaged"
Tara's mouth quirks. "Which ups the probability that you and I have never crossed paths. I don't think I would care to do so, either, were I still playing that game."
Rhys nods. "Until I was posted here," he notes, "I was right out on the Rim, so if you've stayed reasonably close to civilization, we probably wouldn't have met"
Tara thinks back for a moment. "When were you posted here? I rarely worked out on the Rim- not as many customers out there. Hid out there occasionally, but that's about it."
Rhys considers. "Well, Ali and I have just had our second anniversary - of living together - so it'll be about two and a half years, galactic standard?"
Tara chuckles. "Right after I moved my base of operations here then. I always went out of my way to avoid the Wraiths though. One of you, I could get away fairly clean. Two, with lotsa ship damage. But a whole squadron?" She shakes her head.
Rhys grins. "Colonel Sanders runs a tight group," he agrees. "I'll miss it"
Tara blinks. "Miss it? Shipping out?"
Rhys says, "Fortunately not - but I'm changing posts. I'm moving over to Central Flying School"
Tara's eyebrows rise. "You'll be teaching then?"
Rhys nods. "Aye - the combat conversion course, for new fighter pilots"
Tara snickers softly. "It'll take me weeks to figure out if that's a good thing or a bad thing."
Rhys grins. "You've reformed, remember? You shouldn't have to find out the hard way"
Tara smiles very slightly. "Reformed, yeah. So when are you and Ali getting married? She mentioned that y'all haven't met each other's parents yet?"
Rhys nods. "It just keeps slipping, somehow... once we've met them, then we'll set a date"
Tara mhmmms. "Are your parents coming here, or will you two be travelling back to your home planet?"
Rhys laughs softly. "My parents are all but nomads. They've been to more systems than /I/ have, working on one project or another, so they'll come here. Besides, it's difficult to get Islien travelling"
Tara chuckles, shifting her position slightly. "You won't have to worry about getting leave then. I know that's always a pain. I was going to offer to give y'all a ride- Islien'd fit in my cargo hold- but it looks like you won't be needing it."
Rhys smiles. "Thank you for the offer," he says, "but... can you imagine the paperwork in bringing a dragon, even just to visit?"
Tara shakes her head, faint surprise in her expression. "Dragons're sentient. I figured all they'd need would be a passport."
Rhys shrugs. "You may be right," he admits, "but judging from my contact with officialdom..."
Tara grins in understanding. "Unless you've got contacts in the right places, it'd probably be a pain in the neck, yep." Her eyes begin to twinkle. "Unless you just smuggled her in."
Rhys's eyes dance, and he says reverently, "I, Rhys Valinson, do solemnly swear to preserve, protect and defend the laws of the Alliance against all enemies..." Eyebrows rise. "Doesn't really fit with sneaking her in, does it?"
Tara doesn't -quite- wince. "Well, no," she grins wryly. "It's a lot more fun that way though!"
Rhys says, "Fun, perhaps. But fulfilling?"
Tara regards you thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. "Actually, it is, in many ways. Outwitting patrols is rather satisfying. Transporting indigents onto a planet that doesn't want 'em, and seeing 'em prosper, that's fulfilling. Getting needed medicines past a blockade, that's fulfilling." Her voice drops to a soft mutter. "Not to mention my credit account gets pretty fulfilled."
Rhys nods. "And what about the children on that planet that die because of the bacteria they carry?"
Tara blinks. "I'd never considered that," she admits awkwardly.
Rhys nods. "There are usually reasons for things, even if they seem cold-hearted"
Tara shrugs a little. "It's half a dozen of one and six of another. If I... or somebody else... didn't help those people get out of the hells they were living in, they'd've died, probably rather painfully. Is that better?"
Rhys says, "Why not take them to one of the newly colonized planets? Maybe they'd have to work a little harder, but they'd be honestly, legally resident"
Tara shakes her head. "I don't make those choices. The customer's always right, after all."
Rhys mm-hmms. "And how indigent are they, if they can afford your fees?"
Tara chuckles. "Ah, the innocence of AF personnel. It doesn't work that way," she explains. "These people pay the local... crime boss, for lack of a better word. He pays me. What happens before they set foot on my ship is none of my business."
Rhys ahs. "Much better, then," he says dryly. "So once you lift off and fly away, they can start growing drugs, or money-laundering, or whatever else they promised the gangsters they'd do."
Tara twitches a little, but keeps her face bland. "Exactly," she answers, just as dryly.
Rhys shrugs. "If that makes you feel like you've done a good deed, so be it."
Tara arches an eyebrow. "I never said I felt like I'd done a good deed," she points out. "I just said it was fulfilling."
Rhys says, "Is there another meaning..?"
Tara pauses to gather her words. "Perhaps. What was fulfilling to me is that every job I did was a slap in the face to the AF."
Rhys begins to do push-ups, words coming between dips. "An interesting attitude."
Tara smiles slightly. "It'd be your attitude too, most likely, if you were kicked out for making a minor mistake."
Rhys arches his eyebrow. "How minor?"
Tara lifts one shoulder in a shrug, idly examining her fingernails. "Forgot to check the nav charts before entering a course. They'd changed. Got a little too close to a solar anomaly and sort of shorted out half the ship's systems."
Rhys says, "Minor errors like that."
Tara glances up with a crooked grin. "Yeah, well, I still think he... they... overreacted."
Rhys says, "Would you do it with your own ship?"
Tara taps her foot thoughtfully as she considers that. "Well, now, that's a hard one to answer. Back then, yeah, I probably would have. But the incident was a lesson in and of itself, and since then, I haven't made that mistake again."
"Well, then, maybe they weren't wrong. Maybe you needed the shock." Rhys shrugs, standing. "Now, I'm afraid, I should be going"
Tara snorts softly. "-I- wouldn't fire somebody who'd made that mistake though." Offering a smile, she gives a nod. "Nice meeting you, Rhys. It was... illuminating."
Rhys nods. "And you - I look forward to that sim!"
Rhys walks towards the Central Atrium.
Tara grins, waving after the man, and chuckles after he's gone. "Great body, decent brain, but too nice... I'll give him a seven point nine." With that, she turns to head back toward the target range.
***** Later... *****
You head towards the Dining Facility.
Dining Facility
Though the tan and white linoleum tiles of the dining hall are rather bland, the brightly-colored walls more than make up for that. The wall nearest the entrance holds vending machines for those on a budget, though the aromas of freshly-prepared food are tempting enough to make one forget finances. Cuisine from many of the Alliance's worlds is available, though some races are likely to find the food choices of their neighbors less than appealing. Plasglass windows in the next wall allow a view of the town beyond the complex, and a hint of the scenery beyond. Though the other two walls hold neither food nor windows, they have been painted with vivid colors, abstract murals that are occasionally interpreted by bored diners. Tables of varying shapes and sizes are found scattered throughout the room, with chairs that provide just enough comfort to allow ease of dining, but not so much that idlers are tempted to linger.
With the range of internal clocks of the complex's inhabitants, people of one form or another are generally found in the dining hall at all hours, though a seat at one of the many tables is usually available.
Contents:
Clara
Vendotron 3000
Obvious exits:
Atrium
Clara is seated at one of the tables, dinner in front of her along with a cup of coffee, and a datapad which she seems to be engrossed in. The dinner, some sort of etoufee with garlic bread, is being eaten almost automatically.
Tara seems a tad engrossed herself... or perhaps it's just that she's deeply thoughtful as she enters and crosses toward the gril. A burger and fries later, and a trip to the Vendotron, and then she pauses to look around for an empty seat. Upon spotting Clara, she hesitates for half a second then summons up a smile, weaving toward the doctor's table. "Careful there. You keep going on that way, and you'll eat the plate without realizing it."
Clara's eyes shift up and to the side although the rest of her stays motionless. The expression though melts into a grin before she leans back in the chair and clicks off the datapad. "I'd certainly have some explaining to do to my staff in that case. Join me?" she offers, waving at the opposing seat.
Tara snickers quietly, placing her tray on the table as she slides into the indicated seat and gestures toward the 'pad. "What's got ya so engrossed? Romance novel?" She starts in on the burger, and blinks, lifting the top half of the bun. "What the... I hate mustard."
"Not today, actually," Clara responds with a chuckle, tucking the instrument away into her medical belt. "Some new developments in psychiatric medicine, to be honest. Fascinating stuff. It's about..." She pauses, then wrinkles her nose apologetically. "Ack. Okay, that was close. I know better than to discuss matters like that. People's eye's glaze. Scrape the mustard off?"
Tara's eyebrows rise at the cut-off comment, but she nods amiably, reaching for her knife. "Better than paying for another burger, even if there's traces left. Did those papers get delivered to your place okay this morning?"
"Sorry, the research is essentially about assisting the elderly with the transition from the workforce to retirement, but goes seriously into the neural functions that shift as one moves to a less standardized work day," Clara explains sheepishly. "I'm not quite awake, sorry. The manners fly out the window. Yes, I did, actually. I glanced them over, then sent them on to Earth. We should hear something in a day or two...would that be soon enough?"
Tara wags a finger, teasing, "That's what you get for staying out so late at the Fruvous. Was the Chief home when you got there?" She nods with an unfeigned grin, reconstructing the hamburger to continue eating. "Sure thing. No hurries, no worries. Speaking of time, that reminds me of something too." *chompchewgnawswallow*
"No, he didn't," Clara replies quietly, then shrugs and takes another bite of the etoufee. "I think he finally crashed in his office, but I'm not exactly sure. Busy, busy times, these." She glances up from her bite, finishing it before asking with interest, "Ask me something? Ask away...what's up?"
Tara shakes her head with a slightly exasperated sigh. "-Men-." She swallows another bite before continuing. "Remember when I came back and you looked at my eye? You said it'd be a few months and then we could look at doing some cosmetic surgery. Well, it's been a few months..."
Clara reaches for her coffee, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes slightly, and for once she looks her age rather than someone barely old enough to be in the Academy. "I remember, and the offer still stands. Do you want a prothetic eye, while we're at it? I can't arrange for anything bizarre, but I can get a match for your eye-color."
Tara nods, her gaze on her food as she concentrates on eating. "Yeah. I want to look normal again," she admits sheepishly. "The pirate look is nice for a while, but it wears thin eventually."
"For she is a pirate kiiing, and it is, it is a glorious thing to be a pirate king," Clara sings in a rather decent soprano, then grins amiably and stirs at the mix of seafood and cheese. "I can make you look normal, yes. The prothetic will move in tandem with your working eye, but you won't have any tactile or visual sense from it. WIll that be satisfactory?"
Tara laughs quietly at the song. "That's better than I was hoping, really. Folks wouldn't be able to tell? I mean, like, unless they're doctors who know what they're looking for or something?"
Clara brings a hand up to trace a light line beneath her own arm. "You'll have some light discoloring at first where the scarring was, but that will fade after a few months. But yes, it'd take someone knowing what to look for to notice. The pupil of the prosthetic even dilates and contracts given the current lighting situation."
Tara blinks, leaning forward to peer at said arm. "What happened there?" She glances up, a bit startled. "That's... amazing."
Clara considers the faint discoloration on her own arm, neary faded by now, with vast amusement. "I set our kitchen on fire trying to cook. Grease fire. I tried to put it out with water," she explains sheepishly. "I got Jones to do the dermatalogical work on it, and this is all that's left of the scar. I'll get him to help with your operation too, since dermatology is one of his specialties."
Tara's eyebrows rise in amusement. "Hey, Clara? If you ever invite me to dinner, I'm cooking." Grinning as she starts in on her fries, she pauses, and asks with a faint grimace, "He's the civilian doc, isn't he? How much do you suppose he'll charge?"
"He's a civilian, and if he's assisting me, he won't charge a thing since I know Jones. He'll help me if I ask him nicely. Besides, he's just a great guy," Clara adds with a grin, settling her fork in her empty dish. "And I'm a much better cook now. I do everything in the warmer or the oven."
Tara grins in relief. "That's good to hear. Nice of him." She chuckles, snapping a dark brown fry in two to pop into her mouth. "You'd be surprised how fast I learned to cook once Greer came here."
"No I wouldn't," Clara responds with a slightly wry grin, reaching for her coffee and sipping at it absently. "Children need proper nutrition, and being able to sit down to a meal with a child really provides the attention that they need and time to talk. Do you let her help you cook?"
Tara holds up a hand, waggling it back and forth. "A little. She's smart, but she's still only six." She blinks, and starts counting on her fingers. "Seven, soon. Anyways, I let her do stuff like mixing the meatloaf. None of the actual cooking stuff. She makes a mighty good chocolate chocolate chip cookie, too."
"That's pretty much what I meant," Clara agrees with a grin, swirling the coffee in her mug lightly. "Just letting her help with the prep stuff. Poor Riley, he probably needs help like that. Instead, he gets me making a pest of myself and stealing bits of cheese and stuff while he's cooking."
Tara snickers. "Would he let ya help though? The few men I've known that could cook generally banished everybody from the kitchen while they were doing so. Or maybe y'all need a little one of your own to putter around the kitchen with him. Either that, or y'all can babysit now and then." She snaps her fingers. "That reminds me- what kind of recovery period is there for that eye stuff? Greer's okay at home alone by herself for a few hours- she knows where Security's at and to call 'em if she needs to- but if I'm going to be in STC for overnight or longer, I'll need to find somebody to watch her."
Clara hesitates, probably for several reasons. Her brows furrow slightly as she takes a long sip of her coffee. "He lets me watch," she admits almost absently. "And you'd need to stay in STC for forty-eight hours." She glances at the ceiling thoughtfully, then offers a grin. "I'll watch her for you, if you like?"
Tara snickers, glancing upwards. "Yep, he's male alright." Her eyebrows rise, and she grins. "Honestly? I was hoping you'd offer, though I suspect Cori and Tarrant got zapped by enough cute rays that they'd do it too. The Chief wouldn't mind?"
Clara inhales a slow breath, then shakes her head slowly. "I don't -think- he will, at least. If worse comes to worse, he'll go hide in his office and snooze there. But I don't think he'll mind a bit, to be perfectly honest. Question is, do you think Greer would mind staying with us for a while?"
Tara shakes her head, looking amused as she sets her plate aside and reaches to pop open her blue can. "She adores you, and she's fascinated by the fudge giant. I suspect she'll think it's a lot of fun."
"The fudge -giant-?" Clara bursts into laughter at this, having to set down her cup. "Is that his new title? He'll be terribly amused by this, I think. I hope he'll stay at least, or...well, be able to stay. Busy, busy man. But we have the room, although it'd be on the couch. See, it's just a one room apartment. But we have toys at least."
Tara grins ruefully. "Yep, the fudge giant. She won't call him that to his face, of course, but it might slip out at one point or another. Oh, Greer'll be fine on the couch. More fun, I suspect. The other day she asked me what a slumber party is." Her eyebrows rise. "One room? Heck, we got more than that down on the second floor. You'll have to come check the place out sometime."
"Well, the bathroom and the closet are sort of rooms unto themselves," Clara admits with a chuckle, waving a hand lightly. "And we -do- have another room, but it's a soundproofed tiny thing where we keep my drums so I can play till 3am and not wake him up. But the rest of it's mainly just one massive room. It suits us, I think."
Tara snickers quietly, her expression thoughtful. "He -is- rather busy, isn't he? From what I've seen, he's even busier now than he was before I left. Drums. Oh, your drums, I'd forgotten about those." She grins ruefully. "Might not want to let Greer see those."
"What? Awwww, Tara, c'mon. I was going to show her all -about- the drums, and then get her a set for her birthday," Clara suggets with a rather mischievous grin. "I'm sure Greer would get a real kick out of it at least..."
Tara gives you a mock-scowl, but can't suppress a chuckle. "Now, this is why Niko and Elasia need to have children- so you can practice all those evil impulses on -them-."
Clara snickers lightly, nodding in full agreement and downing the last of her coffee. "Tell me about it. I don't really know anyone but Greer and G'ben to spoil rotten at birthday time. I don't have any nephews or nieces although...oooh, -Riley- does, though. And then one of his officers has a daughter. Huh. Okay, time for a trip to the toy store. Darn."
Tara grins. "Exactly. Y'all might not be married, but I'd say Niko's kids will count as nieces and nephews to you as well as Addison. Who... Oh yeah. That lieutenant, the bossy one, what's her name... Anya something-or-other? She's got a daughter, doesn't she." She grins. "When -isn't- it time for a trip tp the toy store?"
"Pendleton, and yes, she's the one. Her daughter is beyond precious," Clara agrees with a bright smile. "I...well. I havne't -met- any of Riley or Niko's nieces of nephews, but I'm sure they're wonderful children. And the toy store is -always- a good place to go, although the clerks tend to shoot on sight as soon as I walk in now," she admits sheepishly. "Evil foam disk guns. Those gusy are -good- shots with them, too."
Tara snickers. "The kids around here all seem to have picked up a cute gene. Ah, well, once he gets a chance to drag you back to Kashid and introduce you to everybody, you'll be in heaven, I suspect." She shakes her head with a chuckle and a sip of cola. "Well, they've all the time in the world to practice with 'em. Niko," and there's an ominous pause, though she snickers again, "Let Greer play with his. She shot up Security."
Clara can't hide a look of painful sapiness mixed with trepidation at the mention of Kashid as he murmurs, "Hopefully we can take a short vacation and visit Kashid soon." She toys with her empty mug then, snickering. "Now why doesn't that surprise me? I swear, for one of the hardest working departments on all of Linnae, those folks are -silly-. Medbay -never- is," she adds virtuously, trying not to laugh.
Tara's eyebrows rise. "You -want- to see Kashid, don't you?" She snickers, rolling her eye. "Oh, no, never -ever-. Heaven -forbid-."
"I want to see Kashid very, very much," Clara admits, gaze a little distant as an insanely sappy smile touches her lips. This is one seriously in-love woman. She snaps out of it though, grinning. "Of course not. Just don't open drawers, and if you do, ignore the sillty string."
Tara looks rather amused at the sappiness. "Oh, so ya got the place booby-trapped with silly string, do ya? No canned snakes?"
"Silly string, disc guns, but nope, no tinned snakes, sorry," Clara explains with a laugh, shaking her head. "Fresh out of those. Besides, the idea is to make the patients laugh, not scare them into a coronary," she adds, starting to stack her dishes on her tray.
Tara laughs. "Yeah, that would definitely bring y'all's rep down a bit." She glances around, then lowers her voice. "You ever take care of that physical?"
Clara actually looks vastly sheepish at the question. "Um, yes? Remember when I got that comm and ran off at top speed? Turned out General Conley came to force me into a physical. That was...an adventure." She glances at her comm, then wrinkles her nose. "Although now I think I'm going to go home and climb into bed at a decent hour. Give Greer hugs for me, will you?"
Tara's eyes widen. "But you're still here, and you've still got your commission, eh?" She smiles. "So it wasn't as bad as you thought it'd be. Glad it's been taken care of." She nods, checking her wristunit. "I might actually do the same tonight. Yep, sure thing."
"I am, and I do," Clara agrees, shifting her lab coat just enough aside to reveal the still-present oak leaves. "Rest well, Tara. I'll comm you tomorrow to set up a time for the surgery," she offers, then heads over to deposit her dishes before walking out.
Tara nods agreeably, torn between excitement and trepidation, and gives a wave before starting to gather up her own dishes.
