Strike One
Strike One
Summary: Paz welcomes Trey to the 1087th. Trey is shameless as usual.
Date: 0058 Hours 2657.322
Related Logs: None

Late night at the MedBay finds Paz with a dog-eared paperback in her hands and a tiny little LED reading light attached to the cover so she can read without disturbing anyone's rest. She's got a pair of earbuds in her ears quietly pumping out very, very old music written before her great-grandfater was born. A glass of water sits on her tray table and it looks like she's settling in for a long evening.

Trey steps into the medical bay, marvelling at even the slightest details. His expression is cool and relaxed and only does a poor job at hiding his utter nervousness and fright because it seems totally wrong for the situation. Otherwise, he looks as cool as can be, "Uh, excuse me." He goes right up to a nurse. "Excuse me, sir? Which one is Lieutenant Ramirez? My CO told me to speak to her?" An arm points right at Paz, making the man turn towards her. What the hell is this about?

"Over there, Lieutenant." The man points, his expression somewhere between exasperated and annoyed as he points out the raven haired Latina wearing an Ace's badge on her hospital jammies as well as the ear buds and book, looking as if she's just having the most relaxing time. "Good luck getting anything out of her. She puts those bloody earwigs on, she's back in the Twentieth Century. 'Pink Floyd'…really…"

"Oh, that won't be a problem for me, sir." explains the draftee. "Thanks!" He heads right up to Paz, oozing confidence like a sieve oozes water until he notices the shape she's in. Well, now! He clears his throat and bites both lips, nodding a couple of times to himself. Says he to himself, "Yeah. Should've draft dodged." He stands over her and intentionally bumps her bed with his knee. If she looks up, she'll find his head tilted to one side and his hand out in a sort of half wave/sideways not-a-salute.

Paz says, "Dammit, Corpsman, for the fifteenth time, I've been asleep most of today. I don't care how many of your magic little lullabye pills you give me, I can't sleep anymore." Paz growls quietly, but sharply, not looking up from her book. "This book light isn't putting out enough light to bug anyone and my 'bloody music' is turned down so low I can barely hear it, much less anyone else. Now please go away before I'm forced to swat you with a bedpan.""

Trey is seemingly unphased by Paz's reaction. He's standing over Paz's bed. Paz, in turn, is reading a book, listening to Pink Floyd, and not even looking at the airman who's speaking to her. His response, "I'm sorry, sir. But there's a second lieutenant Grayson to see you. He says he's here on orders from 1st Lieutenant Jenthson? Said he was told to see you immediately. Can I go get him for you?"

"Who..wha?" Paz says, finally pulling her earbuds off and looking up at the young man standing over her. "Uh….Hi?" she says, blushing and grimacing a little. "Okay…that was kind of rude even by my standards." she adds, wincing a little more and putting her book away. "Sorry…that corpsman's been a pain in my ass for a good four hours now." she sighs. "So, Pip sent you to see me?"

Trey smiles and sort of waves at Paz, opening his right hand and pushing it forward, as if cutting the air in front of him. It's kind of like a salute, except at a terribly funny angle and the wrong altitude, "Hi there." Disarming is a good wy to describe his facial expression. Not out of touch, but utterly unphased, cool, and relaxed. If only it were even remotely true. "I just got out of basic and I think you're supposed to convince me that I'm a goner. That's a nice cast."

"You're not a goner, but you've got one hell of a steep learning curve ahead of you." Paz says, offering the FNG her hand. "And thanks, Came by it honestly. Goddamn Sartha nearly put a dumb fire in my _lap_ yesterday…Only reason I'm here to talk about it's I was in a Scimitar." she says flatly. "Any other bird, forget it, you'd be d-e-d, dead.

Trey's hand is warm and if a limp handshake is well done and a bone breaker is raw, his is medium rare. "I've seen action before. I was a privateer before they drafted me," Half-truth. "So I'm a little more used to a frigate, but they gave me a few pointers in basic. I hope you got the, uh, cat who did that." At last he loses his cool, looking visibly uncomfortable for a second, but it does pass.

"Eh, no, I was little too busy trying to keep my ship from blowing up with me still in it." Paz smirks, returning the handshake just firm enough to let the newbie know he's dealing with a rapidly seasoning veteran combat pilot, then inclining her head towards a spare chair nearby. "Privateer, huh?" she comments, cocking her head to fix her brown eyes on the man for a moment.

Trey takes the chair, but not before straightening out his uniform. The guy has a certain dramatic flair about him. He looks like he needs a cloak when he uncreases himself. It's subtle and unintentional and, if one watches it, probably amusing. "Well, you know. A few things for Confed here and there. Mostly I traded a lot." You mean smuggled. "But it's… well, you know, it gets worse out there every year. I'd been thinking about joining and when they drafted me I realized it was time to put up." He peers right at her eyes and sizes her up, trying to get a feel for the woman. "You sound like you're someone to pay attention to. Have you been doing this long? It's a little unnerving being in a little fighter like that."

"Heh, right…so…what crew did you fly for?" Paz asks simply, eyes practically dancing with amusement as she mentally puts two fingers with two fingers and comes up with an astounding four fingers. "Don't be coy." she reassures him. "Pops did business with a few of them." she adds. "Damn near the only way we could get any parts most of the time with most production going to the Confed."

Trey eyeshifts, looking slightly dramatic again in that same seemingly unintentional way. His tone lowers and he leans in close, "What, you want my entire resume? I was on the Walk of Life, the Wendy Rhodes, the Omaha Dream… I actually had my own little ship called the Winding Road but, uh, I sold it when they drafted me. Did the job. I wouldn't run a confed blockade with it, but it was fast enough to get me out of, uh, legal trouble. Well it was cheaper than a lawyer. Your dad pulled from that well, huh? Real guy. Real people can't make a living by those rules."

"Huh, no kidding." Paz snerks. "Confed can talk all they want about the need for rationing and materials scarcity, but it's funny how Sol tends to get what it needs, at everyone else's expense." she adds, frowning a little. "Not like any of the big sub-contracts ever came in my planet's direction. Pop ran a little refueling slash repair shop in the New Illyricum chain. Nothing major, mind, mostly shuttles and so forth. But it was the only trade he had…Confed policies would've put him and half the damn chain out of work."

Trey grins, rapidly learning to relax a bit. He exhales a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding since he stepped onto the ship. That'll certainly show on his face, too. "I've been to New Illyricum plenty of times. You know they had a corvette out at the chokepoint about a year ago? We jumped in right on top of it and nearly shit ourselves when they hailed us." He exhales again and nods a few times, eyes wandering to her cast, then back to her, "You're the first person I've spoken to so far that's got a handle on that scene. I guess it's pretty easy to turn your nose up when you're in here and the supplies go to you. Well, us. I'm just glad most people don't ask too many questions when I give them that privateer line. Not so sure Pip buys it either, though."

"Pip's been around the block more times than you and me put together cubed." Paz smirks. "He's good people, just keep your former career as much under your hat as you can, unless he asks you directly." she says. "You did the New Illyricum run? Ha..small galaxy." she chuckles. "You ever happen to come across a guy named Javier Ruiz Garcia-Lopez?" she asks.

"Well why not? It was lucrative!" He smiles playfully, "It's not like I had any other income sources. No family, so whatcha going to do, right? Javier Ruiz Garcia-Lopez. Uh…" Trey touches a finger across his chin and peers skyward, "I don't… no. But 'Javier Ruiz Gomez' sounds familiar. Did he go by any aliases. I have no -idea- where I know that name from, though."

"Might've been him…I dunno. He kept that particular side of the business as much to himself as he could." Paz replies with a little shrug. "Didn't want me mixed up in it. Drug me to Junior ROTC my first year in high school and made it very plain that if I ever contemplated straying from the straight and narrow, he'd kill me." she chuckles. "Way he put it, kind of had an effect."

Trey laughs, "Yeah, I could see that. You can make a pretty good living doing it. I kinda love it, really. I love the life, but it's not like I've known much else. So where exactly are you from, anyway?" He peers at her mock-accusingly, "You weren't born on a space ship, were you?" His eyes alight, like he's kidding but would think it's just the coolest thing ever if she said yes.

"No, I was born on the island of Helvetii, New Illyricum chain. Southern hemisphere of Tuath." Paz replies proudly. "It's a great little colony, well, it was, I'm told, until the fuckin' fuzzy-wuzzies started the current unpleasantness." she sighs. "Now it's mostly struggling to get by with the basics, but it does have one redeeming feature." she smiles wolfishly. "Our reservists get sent to the 1087th."

Trey listens with attentiveness, watching her speak a little more than he's listening to her speak, but managing to do that as well. His eyes keep drifting towards her leg cast. He smirks, "Is that what you are, then? Reservist. I guess that's what the unit is. They just basically drafted me and put me in here. I guess they didn't want me in a regular unit if they didn't teach me everything I know. Proud of the unit, huh? I guess it's like having pride in your ship. Remember the Walk of Life. That was such a tight crew. Thought we could do anything together."

Paz's expression hardens ever so slightly, dark eyes shifting to bore straight in on Trey's hazel orbs. "This unit was the laughing stock of the Confed Space Force when I got activated." she says flatly. "But we had two things going for us, solid ships, old, yes, but solid, and a damn good CO. His call sign was Jolly and he bought it about a week ago." she bites out, eyes clouding with remembered grief. "If we're _very_ lucky, Pip'll be the one that takes over. He's got the stones for the job and the skills. So listen up, rookie." Paz says, sitting as close to upright as she can and wincing with the effort. "This is not, repeat, not, a game. We're in shit shape, Jolly's gone, Mule's gone, Spaceboy's close to losing it and our other rook, Guy's a great big pile of panic. What _you_ are going to have to do is buckle down and learn the ins and outs of the Scimitar from the ground-up. That means lots and lots of sessions in the simulators. Soon as I can get cut loose from here, I'll be joining you."

Trey was perhaps not expecting such an empassioned and honest reply as that. Certainly he wasn't ready for the change of tone it surely represents. It catches him unaware and he looks away from her before he catches himself and stares directly back into her browns, lest she take it as a sign of weakness. "I'm shaking, but not physically." THe admission softens his eyes slightly and makes his cheeks blush. "Where I'm from, you don't share anything like that. I think I can look around and know why Pip sent me up here, though."

"Yeah, he was letting me be the bitchy one." Paz chuckles softly, the steel in her eyes not fading. "Scimitar's a good ship, but you gotta know how to play by her rules." she advises. "She's got two speeds, 'too slow' and 'too fast'. Means you don't dare try and get in a turning match with the fuzzy-wuzzies, they _will_ wax your tail if you do."

Trey doesn't waver, either. One can tell a lot about a person by looking into his eyes. No amount of habitual duplicity or general attitude will hide that. Deep inside, Trey is fairly contrasted. On one hand, he is more than 'shaking' inside. He is absolutely scared -shitless-. On the other hand, his drive to live seems to function on automatic, probably forged by a brief lifetime best described as one enormous occupasional hazard. Expecting things to just go to hell is normal enough for him that he's functional like this, but boy is he scared. He's staring directly back into her eyes, "Got it. So it's like any other ship I've ever flown. Tempermental, bad in a fair fight, hits like a sack of bricks." He offers a quick smile at her.

"Yeah…." Paz replies, smirking a little as she finishes her assessment of the newbie, but not _AT_ him, if that makes any sense. She sees potential here, and is damn glad of it. "She can hit hard, and she can take hard hits, as well." she adds. "Look at me, that dumb fire would've vaped a Stiletto and turned a Broadsword inside-out. Not saying I enjoyed the ride, 'cause, heh, trust me, i didn't…but i'm here to tell you that it can be done. If you want my advice, for what its worth, concentrate on your gunnery skills. As I said, Scimitar's either too slow or too fast, relative to the rest of the fight. Get Jenthson to teach you his dumb fire trick." she smirks. "He raises _HELL_ with those things!"

"I don't intend to go anywhere for a while." offers Trey, "So if what I've got isn't close to good enough, there'll be time to learn. You know, my last name's not really Grayson." explains the boy while offering the white lie he tells everyone, though he sounds sincere and playful while telling it, "I'm an orphan. They called me Grayson because I looked so sickly when I got dropped off. You know. 'gray' 'son'? I'm a fighter. We'll make this thing work."

"Think we might at that." Paz smiles, offering her hand again. "Welcome to the Minutemen." she grins. "Otherwise known as 'The Deep End of the Fuckin' Pool'…" she chuckles. "And we're fresh outta water wings."

Trey takes her hand and offers a warmer handshake to her than last time, lingering just a touch longer than is completely, strictly needed, "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. You know, I don't even know your first name. I'm Trey. Really glad to meet a solid person like you. I swear I thought it would be regulation and tightly whites for as far as the eye could see in here. It's what I get for being on the business end of blockades all my life."

"Paz Garcia-Lopez." she replies, giving an equally firm handshake in return. "My friends call me Tizona." she offers. "Oh, we're spit and polish when the brass is looking, which, fortunately, most of the time, they aren't. Just follow Pip's lead. If he gets away with it, odds are, you can't go quite _that_ far, but close is okay."

"Tizona. There's a story in that somewhere. Is it free, or does it cost a few beers?" Trey smirks at her, listening and watching as before. "Don't do anything Pip wouldn't do, Don't do anything only Pip would do. I don't think he likes me too much."

"Ya know, now that you mention it, I think it'll cost you a couple brews once I get outta here." Paz smirks. "Sending enough of my check home as it is." she adds teasingly. "But, if you're willing to do a little homework, I might be convinced to give you a clue."

"I'm not even used to a paycheck. I don't know what else to do with it except blow it on girls." admits Trey with a shadowy grin, the words themselves sounding like an in joke unto itself. It's not that he has a way with words. He has a way with speaking words. "Sure. Let's do this. It'll keep me from going crazy. I can cope with your riddle."

"You'll wanna research your Spanish history…Particularly that nation's national hero." Paz replies inscrutably.

Trey quirks an eyebrow, "You mean Earth Spain. Spain Spain. Okay." Does he have the foggiest idea where this is going yet? No. And there's no sense in him pretending otherwise, "Look at you. You've got me researching your nickname." Self amused, thy name is Trey Grayson. He adjusts his tone to sound like some sort of action hero, "Oh, I'll play your game, you rogue!" and then exhales again, "Thanks, you know. You could've just tried to grind me into the floor, here."

Paz giggles softly at Trey's heroic reply. "And well you should, young squire." she replies teasingly. "As for the other…tcah! What good would grinding you into the floor do anybody?" she shrugs. "You got your work cut out for you already, last thing you need's me in your ass about it. You've managed to survive in about the most dangerous business there is, means you know your shit. All you gotta do's learn to re-apply your shit to a new challenge."

"Oh, so it's like that, is it?" The rookie grins at her while she giggles, then remarks, "Isn't that what you're supposed to do to the new guy? I guess it's because we're not the 221st. And thanks. Coming from you, that's a real compliment. I mean that. You're okay, Paz."

"Just remember that when I charge my first round of drinks as a free woman to your account." Paz grins wolfishly. "And short-sheet your bunk, freeze your shoes, re-route your mail and otherwise annoy you shitless." she chuckles teasingly. "Cause I just might…But maybe not. We'll see how you do in the sims, first."

Trey waves his hand dismissively, "You're a woman. Annoying me shitless is what you do." He makes eye contact again, but it's less the testing sort of contact and more flirty, this time. If anything, some of the tension's draining out. "Oh, I see. Unless I can prove myself. Another trial for her majesty? This -is- the Majestic. I guess they were talking about you." He grins devilishly.

Paz smirks again and makes a rude noise in her throat. "Can it, Lothario." she replies."I don't mix business with pleasure…well, nt since the Academy, anyway." she snerks, blushing a little. "But that's what mistakes are for, to learn from."

Trey: Undaunted, unphased, and unaffected as though Paz's rule of thumb doesn't apply to him. Would anyone be surprised? "Well you can't blame me for oggling. You know that cast," He points to the enormous thing effectively holding her leg together, "Just makes you look ever so inviting. What man could resist?" He makes a fist and thumps it squarely into his chest, "Not I. Not I." but does back off some, adding soberly, "I can understand that attitude. Never know when someone's about to check out. Kind of a minefield."

"Yeah….right." Paz smirks again. "My apologies, Trey, I seem to have given you the idea that I fell off the turnip truck yesterday." she says. "But on behalf of me and my cast, thank you for the compliment…now get outta here…I am tired of talking to you and I want to sleep." she chuckles, carefully worming her way back into her bed and draping covers appropriately.

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