(no subject)

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta wasn't expecting to find a door this soon. Part of him, despite knowing (and knowing of) several people from Galactica who'd successfully reached Milliways, may have even expected that he wouldn't find a door at all after leaving Colonial One.

That could account for a lot: the way the door rocks backward with the full weight of Gaeta's shoulder behind it, the galley tray in his hand, the more casual civilian clothes (gone is the suit; gone, too, are the layers of someone living in a cold climate), the mildly dumbfounded expression as he stares around the room. After a moment, he heaves a sigh and makes for the nearest open seat -- in this case, one at the bar. His tray drops onto the bartop with an unceremonious clatter.



"Can I please at least finish my frakking dinner first?" he asks a beat later, too tired for the curse to carry any real heat. He gets no reply except a second napkin with a long string of zzzzzzzs scrawled across it, and so, with a quiet exhalation of, "Fine," he gets up and makes his way around the bar.

Eventually:

HAPPY HOUR
Hot Lunch
Coffee 43
After Dinner Mint

EXHIBIT A: A meal from Galactica's galley.
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(Here sits his unfinished dinner beneath the chalkboard.)

Offer suggestions to make it edible & drink half price.

It looks, for the record, like globs of something that might be mashed potato substitute, a bowl of wilted and depressed-looking greens, and a sickly-colored soup.



[tinytag: trudy chacon]

[OOC: ffffff. My body does not want to respond to pithy back room threats, alas; I am crashing and crashing hard. Mea culpa for bailing an hour early -- however, new tags are very much welcomed, and all slowtimes will be picked up!]

Comments

[mr_gaeta]

"Is all of the research concentrated in Logan City, or are other areas collaborating with your group?"

[simon_doctor]

"The initiative's only just getting off the ground -- right now we're only in Logan City, but the plan is that there'll eventually be groups elsewhere. And there are a handful of doctors who've taken over the mobile clinic circuit, and I'm liaising with them, to a degree."

He pauses, and swallows -- his throat's getting dry, with all the talking.

"Could I trouble you for an iced green tea?"

[mr_gaeta]

"No trouble at all," he says with a quick smile. It's what I'm here for, that smile adds. "Just a moment."

He ducks beneath the bar, rummaging through the various boxes in search of tea.

[simon_doctor]

Simon rests his arms on the bar while he waits.

His eye falls on the tray underneath the Specials board again, and he leans over to eye it dubiously.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta peeks up a moment later, box of tea in hand.

Very dry: "Any suggestions?"

[simon_doctor]

"...What is this actually made from?"

[mr_gaeta]

"Frak if I know."

It sounds about as bland as the color of the soup.

"Recycled crates and mold they scraped off the engine room?"

[simon_doctor]

Simon doesn't actually laugh, but it's close.

"Back when we first joined Serenity's crew," he says reminiscently, "before any of us found this place, the main food staple was molded protein. And it was a constant adventure to try to make it taste like something resembling actual food."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta hisses a sympathetic breath between his teeth.

"Sounds about right." A glance back to the tray; a brief moment's consideration. Lighter, musingly: "No, I stand corrected -- sounds even worse."

[simon_doctor]

"There was...."

It's been a while since he's thought of Shepherd Book; the pang's not as deep this time.

"An older member of our crew. Used to say that a man can live on molded protein forever if he's got enough rosemary."

[mr_gaeta]

There's something in Simon's voice there that softens Gaeta's expression. He nods.

"It's not a bad suggestion," he says quietly, and taps two fingers against the bar.

(It's enough of a suggestion for Simon to drink half price.)