(no subject)
A BSG ficlet finished just before Christmas, but I never got round to posting it anywhere. Features happy people, so hopefully will be a bit of an antidote to recent happenings. Set during season one, back when everything was so much simpler...no spoilers, no rating, just silliness.
---
The Smell of Snow
Laura Roslin didn't even try to hide her laughter as she stepped into her shuttle to be greeted by a rather wet Lee Adama.
"Why, Captain Apollo," she said with a grin "I wasn't aware it was raining." Lee looked around the cabin for a way to get out of answering, briefly considered the escape hatch, and then resigned himself to being teased for the duration of the trip.
"It's a long story, Madam President."
Laura Roslin adjusted her jacket and leaned back in her seat. "We wont be docking with Colonial One for almost an hour. Entertain me." and Lee had no choice but to explain.
It had been Kat's fault to begin with. She was the one who started complaining about the prices on Cloud Nine and how leisure time was so much more expensive than it used to be, how she would fly a 24 hour CAP for the chance to go for a hike or swim in a river. It was Hotdog who brought up snowball fights. That was when things really got a little crazy.
Starbuck claimed never to have seen a snowball. "See, Delphi was pretty warm all year round. We got rain but no snow." The rest of the pilots practically fell off their chairs in mock astonishment.
"No frakkin' way!"
"There I was thinking there was nothing Starbuck hadn't done"
"You've never seen snow?"
“Oh, man, you’ve never lived until you’ve been in a snow fight.”
“Yeah well,” Kara Thrace shrugged at them and stole Hotdog’s last gulp of Ambrosia “Unless you can magic up some snow on Galactica, I guess I’m going to have to live with the absence.” She snagged Jammer’s glass and left.
Duck drained his own glass. “Snow, is something everyone should see. Can’t we scrape out one of the meat lockers and give her a snowball at least?”
Kat snorted “A handful of scrapings don’t give you a snowfight. You gotta be cold so your nose pinches up when you breathe,” (she ignored the offers to space her so she could feel real cold) “and there’s this smell in the air, almost metallic… Oh, what I wouldn’t give…” Hotdog leered at her and she ignored him. “Someone magic me up some snow and I’ll give you the bottle of the good juice I have stashed. Anyone got any bright ideas?”
Duck laughed “I’ll throw in a box of cigars, Cancron’s finest. Or the finest that are left. Anyone else?”
“Open wager? All in and whoever succeeds gets the pool?”
“You bet.”
***
"Grey-water" the Chief explained. "Used to clean up vipers, hose out a raptor, minor decon but not fully processed for fleet usage. I figured we could let it melt and then pipe it back into the system." Boomer looked at the tank and then back at the Chief.
“So how are we going to freeze it?” Tyrol pointed a finger towards the launch tube. Boomer raised her eyebrows and he grinned back.
“You’ll see.”
***
“Starbuck? I need you to take a look at something.” Kara signed.
“Can it wait, Sharon? I have nugget training to review and a dozen applications to process.” She heard herself and laughed. “Frak that.”
The storage locker opened off the main hanger deck. As she stepped through the door a sloppy ball of something cold and wet hit her smack in the chest and she took a half step back in surprise.
"What the..." she wiped a few flecks from her cheek and looked around her. Most of the pilots were there, plus quite a few of the deck crew. Mounds of the white stuff were heaped on the floor, and several people were more than a little damp.
"Ice, lieutenant," Tyrol stepped forward "We used waste water, let it freeze at the right speed to form crystals, then carted it across here in barrels.
"I see. Tell me, do you think this was a good use of your time and precious resources, Chief?" but Kara Thrace could only hold her poker face for so long. She reached down, gathered a damp handful, raised it to eye level, before a mischievous grin spread across her face and she flung the 'snowball' square into Tyrol's face. The locker exploded with whoops and catcalls, and suddenly everyone was battling everyone else. Breathless with laughter, Cally jammed a cold handful down Hotdog's neck, only to be chased by Kat and rolled in the mush. Boomer and Jammer were trying to build a snow-figure without much success and the air was thick with damp lumps when a figure appeared in the doorway.
Lee Adama was on escort duty, due to take the President back to Colonial One, and answer some procedural points in the process. Crossing the hanger deck to check through a few things pre-flight, he heard a rumpus and went to investigate. Opening the door, he was greeted with the sight of a few dozen people battling it out, wet and hysterical. Several people saw him and paused awkwardly, but three figures barrelled onwards oblivious, slamming into him. Duck and Kat maintained their balance by clutching at each other, but Starbuck skidded on the slushy surface and her momentum carried him with her as they both crashed to the floor. They landed with a splash, their faces inches apart.
It was Starbuck who struggled to her feet first, giving a hand to a confused Apollo who dripped and shivered and gazed in horror at the damp patches all over him “I can’t let the Admiral see me like this.”
Kara Thrace, who could only keep a straight face while bluffing at triad, struggled for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Luckily the Chief and a couple of the deck crew were at hand, and Tyrol knew a thing or two about sorting out pilots. CAG or no CAG, he was going to tidy up Lee Adama.
“Cally, get me some of the rags from B cart. Sten, Rollins, start sweeping the water to the drains. Fight’s over, people. Back to work.” He helped Lee rub the worst of it off his flight suit and polish his slush-smeared boots, and Cally handed him a clean(ish) cloth for his face and hair. Pollux had been keeping watch and hissed franticly through the locker door, so with a final quick look over, the Chief hustled him and the on-duty crew out onto the deck, leaving the others to clean up as best they could. Giggles still leaked out, despite glares from Tyrol, but the hanger deck soon looked its usual busy self when the sound of footsteps announced the approach of the Admiral and the President. Lee dived on board the shuttle and busied himself checking some instruments. Seelix saw his dash, spluttered, and slid herself under a viper to hide her laughter. The President, who had requested no ceremony, smiled at them, spoke to a couple of people, and then boarded her shuttle, puzzling slightly at the damp footprint on the floor.
Back on the deck, things returned to normal. The storage locker was swept and mopped, and the waste water drained back into the system. Soggy clothes were squeezed and hung out, and fingers and faces thoroughly rubbed to ease warmth back into them. A delegation of pilots brought the booty to the hanger deck, and Chief Tyrol raised a bottle to them, ignoring the other deckhands eyeing the stash of rare goods.
In the rack the pilots shook out damp clothes and scrubbed cold, wet skin with rough towels. There was peace in the room, the quiet that comes after shared laughter and silliness. Away in the shuttle, now making it’s final approach to Colonial One, Laura Roslin laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. She wished she had been there to see it unfold, and hoped against hope that these wonderful inventive people would one day have a new home, in a place where there was sometimes snow.
---
The Smell of Snow
Laura Roslin didn't even try to hide her laughter as she stepped into her shuttle to be greeted by a rather wet Lee Adama.
"Why, Captain Apollo," she said with a grin "I wasn't aware it was raining." Lee looked around the cabin for a way to get out of answering, briefly considered the escape hatch, and then resigned himself to being teased for the duration of the trip.
"It's a long story, Madam President."
Laura Roslin adjusted her jacket and leaned back in her seat. "We wont be docking with Colonial One for almost an hour. Entertain me." and Lee had no choice but to explain.
It had been Kat's fault to begin with. She was the one who started complaining about the prices on Cloud Nine and how leisure time was so much more expensive than it used to be, how she would fly a 24 hour CAP for the chance to go for a hike or swim in a river. It was Hotdog who brought up snowball fights. That was when things really got a little crazy.
Starbuck claimed never to have seen a snowball. "See, Delphi was pretty warm all year round. We got rain but no snow." The rest of the pilots practically fell off their chairs in mock astonishment.
"No frakkin' way!"
"There I was thinking there was nothing Starbuck hadn't done"
"You've never seen snow?"
“Oh, man, you’ve never lived until you’ve been in a snow fight.”
“Yeah well,” Kara Thrace shrugged at them and stole Hotdog’s last gulp of Ambrosia “Unless you can magic up some snow on Galactica, I guess I’m going to have to live with the absence.” She snagged Jammer’s glass and left.
Duck drained his own glass. “Snow, is something everyone should see. Can’t we scrape out one of the meat lockers and give her a snowball at least?”
Kat snorted “A handful of scrapings don’t give you a snowfight. You gotta be cold so your nose pinches up when you breathe,” (she ignored the offers to space her so she could feel real cold) “and there’s this smell in the air, almost metallic… Oh, what I wouldn’t give…” Hotdog leered at her and she ignored him. “Someone magic me up some snow and I’ll give you the bottle of the good juice I have stashed. Anyone got any bright ideas?”
Duck laughed “I’ll throw in a box of cigars, Cancron’s finest. Or the finest that are left. Anyone else?”
“Open wager? All in and whoever succeeds gets the pool?”
“You bet.”
***
"Grey-water" the Chief explained. "Used to clean up vipers, hose out a raptor, minor decon but not fully processed for fleet usage. I figured we could let it melt and then pipe it back into the system." Boomer looked at the tank and then back at the Chief.
“So how are we going to freeze it?” Tyrol pointed a finger towards the launch tube. Boomer raised her eyebrows and he grinned back.
“You’ll see.”
***
“Starbuck? I need you to take a look at something.” Kara signed.
“Can it wait, Sharon? I have nugget training to review and a dozen applications to process.” She heard herself and laughed. “Frak that.”
The storage locker opened off the main hanger deck. As she stepped through the door a sloppy ball of something cold and wet hit her smack in the chest and she took a half step back in surprise.
"What the..." she wiped a few flecks from her cheek and looked around her. Most of the pilots were there, plus quite a few of the deck crew. Mounds of the white stuff were heaped on the floor, and several people were more than a little damp.
"Ice, lieutenant," Tyrol stepped forward "We used waste water, let it freeze at the right speed to form crystals, then carted it across here in barrels.
"I see. Tell me, do you think this was a good use of your time and precious resources, Chief?" but Kara Thrace could only hold her poker face for so long. She reached down, gathered a damp handful, raised it to eye level, before a mischievous grin spread across her face and she flung the 'snowball' square into Tyrol's face. The locker exploded with whoops and catcalls, and suddenly everyone was battling everyone else. Breathless with laughter, Cally jammed a cold handful down Hotdog's neck, only to be chased by Kat and rolled in the mush. Boomer and Jammer were trying to build a snow-figure without much success and the air was thick with damp lumps when a figure appeared in the doorway.
Lee Adama was on escort duty, due to take the President back to Colonial One, and answer some procedural points in the process. Crossing the hanger deck to check through a few things pre-flight, he heard a rumpus and went to investigate. Opening the door, he was greeted with the sight of a few dozen people battling it out, wet and hysterical. Several people saw him and paused awkwardly, but three figures barrelled onwards oblivious, slamming into him. Duck and Kat maintained their balance by clutching at each other, but Starbuck skidded on the slushy surface and her momentum carried him with her as they both crashed to the floor. They landed with a splash, their faces inches apart.
It was Starbuck who struggled to her feet first, giving a hand to a confused Apollo who dripped and shivered and gazed in horror at the damp patches all over him “I can’t let the Admiral see me like this.”
Kara Thrace, who could only keep a straight face while bluffing at triad, struggled for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Luckily the Chief and a couple of the deck crew were at hand, and Tyrol knew a thing or two about sorting out pilots. CAG or no CAG, he was going to tidy up Lee Adama.
“Cally, get me some of the rags from B cart. Sten, Rollins, start sweeping the water to the drains. Fight’s over, people. Back to work.” He helped Lee rub the worst of it off his flight suit and polish his slush-smeared boots, and Cally handed him a clean(ish) cloth for his face and hair. Pollux had been keeping watch and hissed franticly through the locker door, so with a final quick look over, the Chief hustled him and the on-duty crew out onto the deck, leaving the others to clean up as best they could. Giggles still leaked out, despite glares from Tyrol, but the hanger deck soon looked its usual busy self when the sound of footsteps announced the approach of the Admiral and the President. Lee dived on board the shuttle and busied himself checking some instruments. Seelix saw his dash, spluttered, and slid herself under a viper to hide her laughter. The President, who had requested no ceremony, smiled at them, spoke to a couple of people, and then boarded her shuttle, puzzling slightly at the damp footprint on the floor.
Back on the deck, things returned to normal. The storage locker was swept and mopped, and the waste water drained back into the system. Soggy clothes were squeezed and hung out, and fingers and faces thoroughly rubbed to ease warmth back into them. A delegation of pilots brought the booty to the hanger deck, and Chief Tyrol raised a bottle to them, ignoring the other deckhands eyeing the stash of rare goods.
In the rack the pilots shook out damp clothes and scrubbed cold, wet skin with rough towels. There was peace in the room, the quiet that comes after shared laughter and silliness. Away in the shuttle, now making it’s final approach to Colonial One, Laura Roslin laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. She wished she had been there to see it unfold, and hoped against hope that these wonderful inventive people would one day have a new home, in a place where there was sometimes snow.