(OPEN | mental link + some log prompts)

[frakkincylons]

CHARACTERS: Sam Anders + anyone
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: Day 170 and forward, until the mission
SUMMARY: General mental link talk, calling for Castor brood meeting, training, doing weird robot things.
WARNINGS: Will mark individual threads/prompts


( You guys are about to love us. )

[ To any willing to accept it, Sam will be opening up the room he's currently in, doing something a lot like Cylon projection, to bring everyone else into his space with him. It's not seeing from his eyes, it's like being in the room with him. He'll be standing in front of a rough but sleek looking brewing still, set up in a room near the life support deck, already filled up with the ingredients needed for mixing up some moonshine, a few jugs of some very serious alcohol already brewed and sitting on a counter nearby. ]

( Guess what Anakin and I found. And got working. ) [ which was a process, but one Sam ended up learning a lot in, and now here he is. ] ( I'm not saying we've got top shelf Ambrosia or anything, but if you don't mind needing a strong chaser, things just got a little more normal around here. )

[ which, sam thinks, everyone could use a bit of. for sam, it gives a solid reminder of Galactica. Galen's jet juice. the bar, Joe's, they set up in the corner of the flight deck. just for things to feel a little more like home. even if home wasn't a place any of them were going back to. if it can help him, and the men and women from the fleet, maybe it'll help his new family on the station.

anyway, there's one other tidbit. ]

( Before I let you guys go - Castor. Can I get you guys to come by this room in a little while? Just want to talk about something. Rather do it in person. Thanks. )





CASTOR MEETING;

Okay, guys. Here's the speech. Please hold all groaning and eye rolling and seering critique 'til the end. [ Sam starts, once everyone who'd been willing to come shows up. It's been a while since he's done this - since New Caprica and the Insurrection, really. He hadn't really been part of a real team, since finding out who he was, and even less looked to for guidance. Not that they're doing that here, but he wants to heal this brood. He wants to make sure all of them get through this, alive and well, and they don't end up with voids in them where a person, a soul, used to be. ] I know we don't all like each other, hell, I'm pretty sure some of you hate each other, but this is the thing. We're stuck together. Permanently. For the rest of the time we're here, and if you've been listening, you know that's gonna be a long ass time.

Losing one of us hurts all of us, screwing up a mission hurts all of us, and considering our place here, in the Nest, is our future, we can't afford to keep frakking up just 'cause we don't like the people we're next to, you know? [ they have to know the thin ice they've all been on. just telling someone he's new to castor has been getting sam looks of 'wow, sucks to be you, buddy'. and even if that sentiment's deserved, doesn't mean they can't still be kicking ass while looking like a train wreck. ] I know none of you are stupid, and I know you understand how to make tactics work. Some of you better than most. I mean, look at what we have. Kylo Ren and Anakin both have the Force, they can wreck pretty much anything in front of them with that. Steve and Jessica are both durable as all hell. Any kind of tech is nothing to me, and Ilde can turn any sentient being into a whimpering pile. There's no reason we shouldn't be getting things done out there, and coming back to the station with Cathaway and Prince putting little gold stars on our charts.

[ maybe relating this to kinder garten reward systems isn't the best analogy, but whatever, you guys get the idea. ]

Shove each other off all you want on downtime, but whether you're here to protect the multiverse from that thing that wants all of us dead, or if you're trying to gain power, or if you're just trying to make the best out of a shitty afterlife, helping each other in the brood helps you. Harming, or letting harm come to another broodmate means putting yourself more at risk.

[ sam pauses there, breathing out slowly, as he turns to pour himself some moonshine. ] So, that's it. That's all I got. Booze? Anyone? Jessica?

SAM DOES HIS HYBRID THING IN THE FLIGHT DECK (cw: minor self-mutilation for cyborgish purposes);

[ the broken navigational computer had been in the scrap pile of the flight deck a few days before, and sam had pilfered it for the purposes of working on his symbiote ability. well, more so for plugging himself into the universe at large, using the scrapped nav computer as a conduit, and had been expecting that he, in hybrid state, would have just fixed whatever issue was wrong with it. however, now that he's sitting in the hangar again, turning the thing on and trying to make sure it's all been patched up, what the screen gives him makes no sense. ] What did I do...

[ a jumble of strange symbols, letters and numbers in no real order, and after sam squints at it for a long moment, he starts to get a picture out of it. at first, he'd thought it was a vague, starburst kind of effect, with no real meaning. but upon stepping back, squinting his eyes to blur his field of vision, and tilting his head a bit, he sees it. a colonial cylon basestar. for a long, too still moment, sam has forgotten to breathe, and it's as if he's guided more than moving of his own free will. the pocket knife he'd had set to the side on the work table is dragged towards him, as he takes his seat again. the sharp point digs into a barely healed cut on the heel of his left palm, splitting the skin open again, down to the muscle, with a grimace. automatic, sam reaches into the exposed wiring of the computer, tugs out a cable, and proceeds to press it into the cut, feeding it into his body. with a sudden jerk, Sam's spine goes completely rigid, and his fingers grip white knuckled against the shell of the computer. eyes wide and mind absent, he starts to ramble in flat monotone, as if in a trance. ]

Generation of forward chaining systems, percept format copied, applied, adjusted, parameters of the missing whispers in a cavern of dark and void, echoes in the hallways of ghosts, their mouths sewn shut. Books and cards and thumbprints no longer our own, end of line. Dust in the solar wind we will all follow, NLP complete, it knows it's source, we have seen the scars left by chains, the smoke has cleared, lessons learned, only time will tell. [ A pause, eyelids blinking once, twice, three times, as the screen flickers it's backlight in the same rhythm. ] Awake the soul and find the writing on the wall that lies in the shadow of the light. The seven holds the center. The seven holds the center. The seven holds the center.

[ As if it takes a considerable amount of effort, the hand not plugged into the computer gradually moves towards the cable buried under his skin, fingers twitching, until he can grasp it firm, and yank it out. with a violent gasp, and a bodily shudder, Sam goes slack against the back of his chair, eyes blank but open as they stare somewhere off into space. give it a moment (exactly twice the time he'd spent rambling like a crazy person), and he'll jolt back up, like waking from a too intense dream. ]

Daniel... [ turning, eyes wide and smile spreading, he shouts it to whoever's nearby, regardless of if he knows them or not. ] It's Daniel!

[ well, it's not really Daniel, because that would take a hell of a lot of work and more minds than just his own, but it has the structure of the murdered seventh cylon model there. sweet, soft, innocent little daniel. sam's happy to see even just a shadow of him. ]

JAILHOUSE TATTOOING IN THE REC WING;

[ self tattooing is not something sam's any kind of talented in, but he'd managed to get the basic idea of jailhouse style stick and poke. that'd be why he's bent over a table in the rec wing, with a sewing needle, a pen, a pencil, some string, a tray of ink, a lighter and some rubbing alcohol. through the course of the next couple hours, he can be found with his left forearm braced firmly on the tabletop, inside facing upwards. what he's trying to ink into his arm is already drawn there with the pen: ]


[ simple, and there to preform a function. if asked, he'll likely tell, but otherwise, after the part where the needle has to start being poked into his skin, all you'll hear from sam is: ]

Ow. Ow. Ow. [ mumbled, under his breath, mostly unconscious. the original tattoo on his right arm wasn't this much of an annoyance, though he's not sure if that's from the fact he's doing this in the least professional way possible, or just the fact that he's doing it. ]

TRAINING/SPACE SPORTS;

[ sam had been essentially paralyzed for at least a month, maybe two, and before that he hadn't exactly been keeping up well with his physical training, either for Pyramid or for soldiering. he's out of shape (though still looks like he could snap steve rogers in half with a gentle shove, because, come on, he was a professional sports star for about 5-10 years), and Sam can't have that if he's going to be sent out for combat and, well, they insist it isn't military, but it seems a lot like military, missions. he needs to be fast, strong, and back in good health, and that's why Sam can likely be caught in the training room on most days, working out. doing pulls ups, push ups, weight training, agility training, and running laps either in the training wing or just out and about in the station. so be careful coming out of doors into the hallways, but at least Pyramid has taught Sam enough about dodging and weaving that he'll only shout out a quick: ] On your left! Sorry! [ before taking a quick sidestep and dodge swiftly around the body in his path. maybe he's not that sorry, because it is very good practice.

but should you find him in the training wing, and he doesn't happen to be running the same routine of exercises at the moment, he's likely setting up a court for Pyramid. whether the game means anything to him these days or not, it's still at least fun, and it's still a hell of a good work out. so, if he catches you watching, he'll likely wave you over. ] Hey! Come here, this thing needs two people.

[ if you're either someone from his brood, or one of the two guardians of the station, he'll start chattering to you while doing his exercises, or practicing some solo Pyramid runs. ]

So, this is what I figured. I'm not going home, and it doesn't really matter when I die, because time's all screwy anyway. [ it does matter, because he was on his way to a good death, to a certain and sure peace that he'd longed for, that he and Kara had both worked so hard for, and that was robbed from him. and yes, he's petulant, and he's bitter about that. but he's going to make sure he's still deserving of it by the time he gets over there. he doesn't like waiting, he doesn't want to, but it's also more than just protecting earth now, isn't it? removing himself means leaving a gaping hole in the souls of his brood, and he can't do that to them. awake only 4 days, and he's already too attached to them to bare the thought of hurting them like that. ] I've got at least, probably, twenty years? At max, thirty or forty? Before my brain's not totally mine anymore? If I'm practicing, but being careful about it?

[ by which, he means strengthening his symbiote bond to further his abilities. ] If I can train it just far enough to get me back where I should be, I'll be useful to you guys. Cylons should be able to shove a person through a wall if they push hard enough, and I sure as frak can't do that right now. I should be able to control something the size of this station and probably more, with the right set up. But I'm not there either.

[ he talks while he's physically distracted with tossing the pyramid ball around, or while doing pull ups, or jump rope. whatever one of the sundry of things he's set himself about to do. ] So, I train myself up that far, then cut it off. I know it's an eventual thing, so the mind meld thing'll keep going, but I only need so much, you know? Then seal it up and batten down the hatches.

CLOSED TO KAYLA RENO;

[ sam's caught up in jogging laps around the training wing, possibly right after word vomiting something close to the speech above at Ren (seeing as he's developed a weird habit of confiding his mental dilemmas in this man), as the man had been making his way through the area for whatever reason. there's a moment of pause, once he's finished, before a thought seems to occur to him, Sam dashing over to Ren, turning to jog backwards in front of him. ] Hey, hey, wait a second. Question.

[ at which point he stops, hands on his hips and lungs working hard to keep up with him. ] You're a warrior or something, right? Space knight? I know there's the Force and all, but you know normal combat too, right?

Could you teach me?

Comments

tattooing

[adamance]

[Tattooing is not an art form that Lexa herself has a deft hand at, partially because she's not much of an artist herself. Throughout the different villages, there are those who specialize in this activity. She had tried to learn once when she was younger, and she understands the basics of it even if she doubts that she should ever be trusted to come up with something herself. The tattoos on her body are other people's designs: the marks on her back are ones she had imagined long before her Ascension, and the one on her neck is typical in the tradition of the Commander. On her arm, there is another, stretching like stripes, and it's much simpler. It had been her first.

All of these are covered. Many of her people wear tattoos on their faces, their hands, and multiple other locations. Some brand themselves with deep cuts, as well, though the Tree Clan had shied away from such things. They had other means and ways to exert their strength and appearance.

Here, she has not considered tattoos, especially given her time with Skaikru. It's taught her that other cultures are often not the same when it comes to that, and she's set it aside. For that reason, she nearly stumbles when she notices what the man is doing. She can tell he is new: she's not met him, nor has she felt his presence for long distantly through the bonds of the Nest. How he manages himself looks as rudimentary as it might have been from her hand ... if not more so.

When she moves to sit across from him, she watches, gaze steady. It's likely rude to do this, but Lexa has never really fashioned herself as a person who's not rude. She's not about to change that now.]

I'm certain that there are better ways of accomplishing this. [She can think of several that are closer to the large expanses of tattoos that her people manage. With the technology in the Station, she's fairly certain they can do it.

Of course, she doesn't offer up any alternatives. It's meant to prompt him. Perhaps he has some reason to be difficult. She's curious to find out.]

[frakkincylons]

[ There are probably plenty of better ways to do this, but Sam's aware of absolutely none of them. Of all the things Sam's picked up knowledge from here and there in the last several years of his life, body art was not even close to part of it. Maybe Kara would know, were she here, but she's not. And that's a bit of the point of this tattoo to begin with.

When the woman first sits down, Sam's attention doesn't raise to herm figuring she's just looking for a place to chill out for a while, and rec wing is fairly excellent for that. It's not until she speaks up that Sam's stopping what he's doing to raise eyes to her. Oh. ]

So am I. [ He knows what he's doing is shoddy as hell, but it's what he knows. Given how important he feels it is to have a visible reminder of these two things - the coordinates to the new Earth, and the last thing he's spoken to his wife - he's willing to deal with it. On New Caprica, they'd had someone with an actual tattooing gun around, as well as a license for it. But here, not so much, so far as Sam is aware. Not that a better alternative wouldn't be welcome. ] If you happen to have any of the tools for them, or someone who knows what they're doing, that'd be fantastic.

[ Rude, however, is hardly new to him, especially considering who his wife was, and Sam's not fazed by the woman's standoffishness. Not responding in kind, because Sam tends to be much more on the side of welcoming himself, but he's not bothered by it either. ]

[adamance]

You've chosen the least efficient way of handling it. I'm certain that with a little metalworking, we could have a much larger tool. As for applying the tattoo, we require someone with a steady hand. I know how, but you wouldn't like what I manage. [It's clear that she's already figured out some degree of how to take this over. She considers the sewing needle with a bit of contempt. It isn't only inefficient, it seems as if it's the key to prolonging the experience as long as possible while ensuring that mistakes are made.

She rises up after a moment, taking a look around the rec wing for what metal things can be repurposed.]

Of course, we could always try the medical wing. We can't be the first with an interest in this. ["We," not him. They will figure out how to make this work better together. Though she has no intention of adding additional tattoos, she's so used to it as a cultural thing that she's now decided that it would be a nice thing to add to their lives here.

And grant her an opportunity for some normalcy.]

[frakkincylons]

So say we all. [ proclaim like it's 'Hallelujah!', as Sam tosses his little needle and pencil contraption to the side. He's hardly above accepting help with this, and though he really only just needs to be able to see the writing he's putting into his skin, Sam's not against making it nicer looking, or longer lasting. Or less likely to result in something weird.

Grabbing some gauze, he wraps a thin layer over his arm, half to soak up whatever bleeding is going on, and the other just to protect what he'd written there, before he stands. Time to go check out the medical wing. ]

We weren't the first to think of mixing moonshine either, but I know what a still looks like. No idea what to look for with tattooing supplies, besides ink and a needle. [ a pause, and he glances back to her as he heads towards the rec wing exit. ] What'd you have in mind for managing?

[ it also doesn't hurt to get to know one of the others in the Nest, outside of his brood. Not that he doesn't love Castor (and truthfully, he does, even the psycho ones), but he should be acquainted with more than them. ]

I'm Sam, by the way.

[adamance]

People usually find a way of getting what they want. Even my people make our own moonshine. [She pauses, realizing that she hasn't thought of comparing the Station to her people. It's hard to think of a location like this as one that goes without. Her steps still for a moment, though she is following him.] I come from a world that's been left ... greatly damaged. It was a little more difficult than you might think.

[That's why she's ended up with a skill like being able to tattoo at all. Lexa may not be very good at it, but she knows exactly what they might want to have on hand. That's the important part.

After that hesitation, she keeps moving, making a point to head to the Nesting Deck where medical procedures are performed, and where she assumes they'll get at least a portion of the supplies they need.]

My name is Lexa, [she offers him. She doesn't offer any additional niceties. But then, her people only just learned about handshakes instead of grabbing each other's arms from Skaikru. So, she's managing.]

CASTOR MEETING;

[erbier]

[ Possibly the least moving oration she's ever heard in her life. Ilde rests her cheek against the curve of her knuckles, giving Sam a really just incredulous look. It's not that she doesn't agree with the sentiment, but she does find the means a bit lacking. Well. She supposes since they're here, she should voice her support. ]

Agreed. Division amongst us will only cause us all pain.

[ She is glowering at you Anakin Fucking Skywalker. ]

[frakkincylons]

[ sam's talent is in being honest, not so much in motivational speeching. if you want an inspiring speech, you wait for Admiral Adama to show up. what sam does is just say what he thinks needs to be said. so the fact ilde looks less than impressed is hardly surprising, or offending, and answered with a vague, semi-helpless shrug. but this conversation did need to happen. and he appreciates her casting her agreement in. ]

That's true. [ he doesn't want to tell people to hold hands and sing campfire songs together, because people are people and you can't force them into getting along. you find a common ground and you make a compromise. but, they do have a distinct advantage over a normal group of people would. ] We're connected here. I can hook my brain up to Ilde's and know what she cares deepest about, what she fears, what she hates, what she's good at and what she's bad at, and vice versa. That's something none of us had before we were here, and maybe that's too personal for a lot of us to be comfortable with, but it's also a huge advantage.

We know where we need to compensate for each other. So we need to just grow up and frakking do it. [ a pause, and a glance to Ilde, and her glowering towards Anakin. ] Shoving blame around isn't going to make that division any smaller.

[ don't think he doesn't see that, girl. stop it. gently, but stop it. ]

[narcissithstic]

Pain is negligible. [As a courtesy, Ren wears only his robes this time, mask cradled beneath the crook of his arms where he looks like a grim, heavy shadow near the rear of their attending circle. If there's one common thread that pierces and binds the hearts of Castor Brood, it's the fact that none of them shy in fear from the thought of either suffering or strife: even Rogers thrives on whatever conflict finds him, braced against impact with steadfast determination.

Fear of it finding them? Not necessarily a deterrent.]

imma just hop in everywhere tbh, fight me

[frakkincylons]

[ And that would be when Kylo Ren is shot the flattest look that ever was. Really? You're gonna be that guy right now? ]

But is it necessary? Because being mean to each other is our favorite thing, and we don't like it when we can't do our favorite thing? [ you're not being helpful, Ren. Not that that's terribly surprising, and he did say everyone can be douches as much as they want when not on a mission, so despite the fact Sam would rather they not be, technically Ren isn't doing anything that wasn't already expected. ] Anyway, it's not just about pain. Getting along would be nice, but I'm not holding my breath.

How about we just focus on getting our missions done, and making sure no one else gets in trouble for crap one, or all of us, pulls. Unless you're just fond of getting on Hive Mom's bad side. [ lookin at you, Toaster. Hux told him about your gross authority crush. ]

don't tempt Ren

[narcissithstic]

[There's a nauseating pang of anger that threatens to surface when Sam dares to mention Cathaway, features twitching with a perceptible sharpness. A tender pressure point struck— over what? How many times will he attempt to reach for his brood only to find them spitting at his fingers? For them to disregard his every effort to assist when he owes them less than nothing by default.

It's an insult and doubly so from Sam.]

I was agreeing with you. [There's a hiss to the syllables that's nothing short of vitriol in an audible form.

One clipped breath, drawn in through his nose, and the hardness to his posture slackens by careful, tentative degrees. Thin ice.] But our brood isn't weak: expecting fear of pain to temper our differences is a mistake.

Loyalty. Unity. If we cannot serve a common cause with a singular mind, we invite failure.

hybrid times

[circumspector]

[ When he wakes up, she's there, hovering, worried at what she'd just seen it wasn't -- well she supposed it was like watching her do the same thing. Plug herself in, though perhaps not quite so literally as he just had. Her fingers hovering like she might have gone to reach for him if he hadn't woken up just then, concern written in as she waits for him to become more cognizant. ]

Hey, hey are you okay?

[ Startled her because she'd felt, something similar but not. It was more physical than anything she ever did, nevermind to find him like that, sure it made it made sense. Curiosity turned all to quickly to concern when he slumped over like that, enough that she almost calls for Cathaway or Prince, someone to see what had happened to him.

Whoever had done his cybernetics needed to talk about usability if it did all this to him. Whatever Daniel was, that was... one hell of a glitch.

But he's fine and she straightens from where she hovers, back going straight up again. ] No Daniel here, I'm sorry. Just me.

[frakkincylons]

No, no, in here. [ his hand pats against the half gutted nav computer in front of him, still bleeding from where he's shoved the cord into his wrist. he'll bandage it in a bit. ] Daniel's an AI.

[ Sam knows he doesn't know this woman, but he's a little too ecstatic about this to care at the moment. whoever wants to listen, because this is awesome. ]

I mean, not the real Daniel, he was much more complex, but the bare bones of him, plus my memories. [ Daniel was a person, like Sam is, like Galen and Six and Eight and all the others were. Granted the models they'd made weren't so organic is essence as the five from Earth were, given they hadn't been just born, rather than programmed. But they'd still had life, and individuality, and choice. they were people. are people, on the new Earth, where he'd left them to prosper.] I thought I'd just fixed it before, but I was using it as a platform.

[ this thing working through the symbiote is still weird, and he feels like he'll have a better memory of it later. for now, he's just pleased Hybrid-him left him this. It'll help him keep home, and who he is, in the front of his mind. Now he just needs to make Daniel a body or something. ]

[circumspector]

[ She looks where he gestures -- confused as she tries to follow along with the rate that he speaks. Trying to piece it together and keep up. An AI? Maybe that's what she'd felt, the tug that drew her in close. The hum of technology that called always.

It seemed important to him, regardless, and to that end, for once there was something she could do to help. This was what she was made to do, made to integrate with. ]

I could... talk to him for you, if you like?

[frakkincylons]

I can talk to him fine, just. Need to get him something he can move around in.

[ and a screen or a voice box, that way sam won't have to plug in to communicate with the program. popping up from his chair, Sam goes digging through a box of scrap parts nearby, pulling out one thing after the next.

he really doesn't know what he's doing. ] Do you know anything about robotics?

[ a pause, as he realizes he still does not know this girl. ]

I'm Sam. By the way. Sorry.

[circumspector]

[ She watches him start digging, stepping back to give him the space to do it in. Already ticking over what he might need. Didn't sound like a full AI, something broken perhaps. It happened, files got corrupt, wear and tear wore systems down, just like they did in people.

Still, when he asks, she smiles, nodding her head. Something she finds as amusing as when Aoba asked somewhat similar. Didn't mind it at all. ] I'm Angel, it's nice to meet you and I definitely can help you with that. [ Her hands come up a little defensively, but more in the end of soothing how quickly he seems to be going. ] You'll just need to slow down before we get to that. [ She nods to his box of parts. ] That will come later after we've worked out what we actually have more of an idea. So we'll start at the beginning first, work out what Daniel will need so he doesn't get damaged. Do you know what kind of AI he is? What his designated function is?

[ Not that she minds taking the time, a thing of infinite patience, but he seemed more in a hurry about it. She might want to chat with Anakin later on as well, get his thoughts on what he would do to build something like that. ]

mental link

[inflori]

[ He looks around in a bit of an awe - he hadn't yet experienced anything like this; even the links with his own brood have been very modest in comparison. At least Petre doesn't panic or reject it. And his attention is quickly captured by the promise of booooooze. ]

( You're giving that to us? )

[frakkincylons]

( Not all of it. )

[ calm your thirst, homie, there's enough to go around. ]

( I'm sharing. )

[inflori]

( I guess that works. Are you throwing a party? )

[ Petre thinks they should totally have a party. ]

[frakkincylons]

( Yeah, sure, me and all two of the other functioning alcoholics here. )

[ that would be the sarcasm. so, no. he's not. ]

[inflori]

( Cool. I'll come. )

For Cathaway!! Pilot training!!

[frakkincylons]

[ After asking Cathaway for flight training a few days earlier, Sam arrives on the first day of it with high spirits, excited to see how all this works. thinking about what nerdgasms Apollo and Kara would've had for this. Maybe a large part interested in seeing what the thing with the Nest ships is. ]

How'd you get into piloting? [ Sam's asking as he makes his way up to her in the flight hanger, eyes roaming over the starfighters in the area, as if he hadn't seen them plenty of times in the last several days being here. ] Military? Learned in the Nest?

[ he's learned that there's still some things very unique to Cathaway. The things she finds interest or specialty in, the welcoming feel to her, the way she seems to be a little amused at things around her. a very different feel than the Prince. it makes the want to know more about her. ]

[polyphonos]

[She waits for him in the hangar, looking more or less exactly as she always does: slight, wiry, the grey of her pin straight hair falling as a sheet across both shoulders. Her dress is unchanged - just as faintly ornate, and ill-suited to the task of clambering in out out of cockpits. But her attention is sharp, an easiness about the lines of her shoulders and the patient angles of her arms at her sides as he approaches. She smiles easily, patient and ready.]

Both. This one had some experience with fighters in the war before she came here, but many do. Their expertise is helpful in combination.

[She turns then with a faint chime of the charms at her waist and forearms, moving comfortably to one of the more compact ships on the deck. It's oddly triangular, blunt and made up of a series of what seem to be reflexive panels along the body - encasing the cockpit with layers like some kind of strange mechanical flower. It's isn't one of the Station's strange ships that are not ships, but rather an import: something carefully taken from elsewhere and brought here.

It is not her fighter, but it's a useful one. She's grown to like them.]

You were a military man, is that right? [Once they reach the ship, she manually rearranges the folded panels along the side. It unfurls easily, dropping into a vague ladder formation by which she can climb to the cockpit proper. The flight canopy pops easily under her hands, all clearly mechanized and physical. Not tricks here, simply straight forward machinery.]

[frakkincylons]

Woah.

[ that's about all he can think of to comment on the ship, as far as saying real things go. just woah. it looks more advanced than anything he'd seen in the Colonies, and Sam's sort of desperate to plug into it and have his mind roam around. figure it out. because it looks freaking incredible.

Starbuck would be jealous out of her mind, and that thought brings a sharp grin to his lips, and a tossed aside mental comment of 'I'll share it with you later, babe'. ]

Right, for about a year, give or take. Not as long as most of my friends, but enough to know what I'm doing. [ that, and, he flew like 40 ships with his brain. so there's that. pacing forward, sam reaches up a hand carefully, touching at the side of the ship, and running along the hull a few feet. frakking awesome. sam follows along behind her, watching how she accesses the cockpit, and stays at the top of the ladder, so as not to crowd her, but still observe what she's doing. ]

Do you have the same love for them? [ that's what sam picked up from every pilot he knew on galactica. and absurd love for flying, for ships, for all of it. even the ones that started out knowing nothing about one. ]

[polyphonos]

[A year. She smiles. That's hardly any time at all, but she remembers how typical a short commission could sometimes be - what did they call them? The raw hands who were in line up because they needed a ship there and a warm body behind the stick? She can't remember. She wants to think it was Necessaries, but wonders if that correlates to something else - a name for something similar elsewhere. With a shake of the head, she dismisses the thought and pats the side of the ship's fuselage in what is a clear invitation for him to follow her up the make-do ladder. There's plenty of room of both of them along the ship's running board, though only one seat in the cockpit. He can have it, if he likes. There's no harm; the ship is powered down, perfectly inert in the way that all (most, given present company) machines are.]

This one does. [It's a fondness typically remote now; when she isn't on the flight deck or speaking actively about the ships, it's like a love settled between two book pages. Out of sight, out of conscious thought. But she has plenty of reason to be in the hangar. The sentiment is easily recalled.] She flew as a child. Now come, sit. We'll show you the ship's systems.

[frakkincylons]

[ it really isn't a lot, he knows that. even the newer pilots like hot dog and racetrack probably would've still been called nuggets, if they were still back home. in truth, sam would've never been one himself, even if he'd just been one of the incidental members of the fleet, if it weren't for Kara's death. and his insane need to feel close to her by making himself part of something she'd loved. but that was enough to instill the joy of it in him as well.

it's something that brings a fondness, and a smile, knowing that cathaway had been part of that life as well. probably longer than kara had, if it'd been since childhood. still is part of it. there's a childish kind of bounce in his step and he makes his way off the ladder and into the pilot's seat, as directed. ] Prince said most of these ships are brought here from somewhere else. So were they commissioned with humanoid pilots in mind?

[ he's already looking around at things, curious, but obviously not pushing any buttons. there's alien species in the multiverse, obviously not all the same, so there must be some ships built for different body types and appendages. there is an easy way to learn this - plug in, go through all the functions of the ship, unplug. he remembers what he does, mechanically, while in that state. but sam finds he'd rather learn the normal way. ]