Summary: Trey attempts to make nice with Kaye. Kaye is not amused.
Date: 2657.325
Related Logs: Strike Three

Deck 05 - The Temple

The remnants of an impromptu film session are scattered about the home of the 221st tonight: used coffee cups, lined legal paper, and various snack food wrappers surround a portable holovid machine at the center of the room's only table, whose surface will likely be cleaned once the next morning rolls around. Weary pilots take their turns in the head, two by two by two, and the sound of running water - comforting white noise - accompanies the last snatches of somber conversations that will soon be transformed into snores.

Even Aisling Kaye - no night owl, she - hasn’t seen fit to turn in for the night. Fresh from the showers, the brown-haired pilot has already changed into her pajamas, a modest flannel affair in green and red. A pair of electric purple socks lies folded at the foot of her bed, and her neatly-pressed uniform hangs crisply at attention in the open locker nearby. As for the woman herself, she's firmly ensconced within her cozy duvet, humming along to whatever music is coming from the oversized headphones fitted over her ears.

Trey peeks into the Temple barracks with the bodylanguage of one running down a mental checklist, as though coming here is simply part of some sort of larger, more important task he's busy trying to complete. He's dressed in fatigues which fit him well, but one could just look at the guy's face and know that something's a little off, for him. He spots Kaye and holds up both hands in mock defense, taking a step backwards and attempting to make it perfectly clear that she has nothign to fear from him.

For an instant, Kaye /does/ look like she wants to bolt: lost in thought though she may be, she does have the wherewithal to scoot back in her bunk, pulling her covers further up her body so only her head remains visible. It's good being small. But that reflexive move aside, it's clear her attention is on neither Trey nor the room at large. Her wispy alto - clear but muted, a shaft of starlight in a cloudy sky - rises into the wordless chorus of a familiar lullaby, whose sweeping orchestration only she can hear.

Trey is taking his steps backwards when he stops to peer at her carefully, noting her expression. He glances skyward, if you can call that a sky, and mutters something to himself. It's pretty elaborate, really. There are hand gesturs involved, too. Looks like he's making a bargain with something. He inhales, turns towards Kaye, and then exhales, making himself look as charming as can be. With him, that's considerable. "Grayson to Kaye. The coast is clear. You can come out now, you know. The Kilrathi are all dead." A hand extends, the proverbial peace pipe. If she takes it, he doesn't even squeeze too much.

Suddenly, Kaye's song has grown lyrics: "Morning star lights the way, restless dream all done; shadows gone, break of day, life has just begun." For a moment, her gaze settles squarely on the other pilot's face, her expression more solemn than usual. Believe it or not, she's not blushing, nor does she move to shoo him away. Indeed, in this most private of moments she might very well be looking /through/ him, judging and finding -

Well, whatever she finds, she doesn't say it aloud. Just like that, her eyes flutter shut, and her voice becomes softer to avoid disturbing anybody nearby: "Every tear wiped away, pain and sickness gone; wide awake, there with Him, peace goes on and on." The rest is hummed, slow and soft, until the last mournful note vanishes - and - is gone.

Trey clearly mouths, "You stupid idiot." to himself, with a look on his face that is at once gentler and the other sort of self-derisive. He doesn't say anything else, but does take several tenative steps forward.

Aisling can't read lips - not that her eyes are open to begin with, but the point remains. She can, however, hear, and her headphones aren't /so/ effective that they block out the sound of Fleet-issue heels clanking against Fleet-built deck. At length, then, she slips said headphones off her head, looping them around her neck before blinking once or twice: readjusting to the light. "Hullo," she says, words a little muffled. Her knees have come up to her chest to create a perch for her head. "Do you want something?"

Trey's eyes widen ever so slightly, peering at the woman. He's far more delicate this time than the last, behaving as if she's utterly fragile and might break at any moment, "That's a pretty nice song. No. I was sort of trying to buckle down and learn this ship. If I've ever been on a space station that was larger, uh, I sure didn't -know- about it. You, uh, okay there? You looked sort of… like you were taking evasive. I didn't fuck with your head that much, right?" He smile sdisarmingly.

"Mum used to play it for my brother and me when I was small." Kaye runs her hands through her still-damp hair, twisted black curls weaving about her palms. "I only learned the words in high school. My teacher made me memorize it for a class, but I would have done it anyway." The woman smiles into her hands. "It's pretty." As for Trey's other question, it's very much ignored.

Trey nods a couple of times, "Oh, uh, sure." ANd then he nods a couple more, like he's, for once in his life, at a loss for words. "I mean, of course. That makes sense. I guess it has sentimental value?" His tone implies he knows it probably does, but he's taking it, as it were, on faith. He's in unfamiliar territory. "It really is pretty. You know, you were supposed to smack me, or laugh at me, or dance me around the room or something. I'm not a bad dude. Really." He offers both hands out in peace offering again, smiling the way only he probably can.

"Okay." Mouse doesn't look up, busy as she is with a knot in her hair. Short, clipped nails attempt to cut through the knot, a maneuver which makes her gasp in pain - but also fixes the problem. And then, peering up at the extraordinarily forward man, she leans back into her pillow, hands clasped tightly around one bent knee. "You want to sleep with me, don't you?" Though her tone is /ever/ so matter-of-fact, she can't entirely keep the flush from her cheeks.

"Wow. That's… the most honest question any woman's ever asked me." Even Trey's taken a bit by surprise. When she mentions sleeping with her, he looks her over again. He's a guy. He can't not do this, understand, but he's not sizing her up like a piece of meat. He's… appraising her. If it seems as though she wouldn't break for doing it, he even looks her in the eyes, "I wouldn't turn it down, if that's what you're asking." And by the tenor of his voice, he wouldn't mind her offering one last bit. "That's just how I say hello to girls. I mean, it's… well, you don't seem like the 'sleeping with' type, I guess. Most women just make a snide comment and walk off when they're not interested. Someone hurt you?"

Kaye stiffens as she's /sized up/. Thank the Lord for thick, formless comforters nearly three times as large as she is. "I don't think you have the right to ask me that question," she says when he's through, and despite her best efforts to keep her voice even, there's a noticeable quaver in the way she forms her vowels that wasn't present before. "And I think you should stop saying 'Hullo' that way." But of course, this momentary flash of bravery can only last so long, and - quite unsurprisingly - she soon averts her eyes, directing them towards her socks. "Sorry," Mouse murmurs. "I - I mean - " Ah, the stutter is back. "That was rude of me."

"Most women I've met rather enjoy the flattery, even if they incorrectly assume I'm only trying to get them out of their underwear." offers Trey to the other pilot. When she starts reeling again, this time he doesn't react so much as he observes, "Technically, I doubt I have that right either. You outrank me… sir. Around here they don't usually react so well, though. I always knew the confed crowd were a different sort. I guess this is just one object lesson, but… some girls kinda like it, and it really does cut through the mind games they like to play." He listens to her and shrugs, "Honey, you don't know the meaning of 'rude'."

What should come wandering along into the Temple, but a certain Space Force Major. He's in his duty uniform, so it's likely been paperwork rather than flying that's kept the Major away this evening As he makes his way along into the room, he greets with his usual "Evening, Illuminati!" Despite the rather low energy of the group here this evening. It takes a moment for him to pick the odd duck out of the lot, but when he does, his attention turns on Trey curiously.

And there goes /that/. Whatever Kaye was about to say in response to the reservist dies on her lips, replaced by a muted "Sir" that substitutes for 'good evening'. "I think I should go to bed," she mumbles a little uncertainly, untangling her headphones from her neck (and necklace).

Trey turns Pickett-ward, "Evening, sir. I was just seeing how the other half live. Thought I would give myself a tour of the ship, since I only recognize it when the colors are blurred from me running around so fast." It's as simple as that, if one listens to Trey. In truth, that's actually correct, but one may draw their own conclusions.

"I regret to inform you that our barracks look exactly the same as yours. My apologies if you were expecting a crystal chandelier, or perhaps a troupe of dancing monkeys" Pickett comments with a little bit of a chuckle and a slight shake of his head.

Kaye opens her mouth at Trey's explanation, but the timid pilot doesn't bother adding much of anything to the discussion. Instead, her attention seems entirely on the miniature music player beside her, whose translucent screen fades away as she powers it down. Headphones, player, and socks are placed in perfect order at the foot of her bed. Then, without further ado, she's tucking herself in, hazel eyes about to droop closed. Funny, though, how her head's positioned in such a manner as to allow her to hear what's going on outside.

Must be coincidence.

"Well I don't know, sir." Trey smirks to Pickett, "I was hoping to be surprised. Since I got called up, it's been one lousy surprise after another. It's a lot like a casino in here. I keep twisting my own arm, hoping something good might fall out." He snickers to himself, "I think the game is rigged. Sir."

"Get used to disappointment, Lieutenant" Pickett replies, pausing for a moment before he continues. "Now. Since you've seen what you came to see, was there anything else I can do for you before inviting you to continue your tour?"

Zzzzz. Kaye's breathing gradually becomes more regular and substantially slower, and it takes a supreme effort for her to pull shut her curtain. But shut it does, and soon even her feeble /Salve Regina/s disappear into air.

"I was sort of hoping I could capture this moment so I have something to clutch and hold onto when I'm old and they're feeding me with tubes, buuut I'm thinking you'd probably like me to go." Trey's smile is gingery and mock-timid, carefully formulated to help make him look scared and retreating, but like he's trying to hide it.

"Perhaps you should speak with Intelligence, Lieutenant" Pickett replies with a wolfish little smile. "Since I am beginning to think with keen insight such as that, you may just be psychic" Pickett? Sarcasm? Never…

Trey salutes not once, but twice, as if the first one might not buy him enough time and the great and terrible Picket-monster is going to come bounding at him in a second or two. Yes. All an act. If nothing else, he's really good at playing to authority figures. "Going sir!" He flashes a bright smile, and he is gone.

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