Wherever you are in the Fleet, this is Gaius Baltar wishing you a beautiful day.

[im_not_crazy]

 The sun's shining brightly through the wide windows before him, the sound of rustling bedsheets punctuated by birdsongs from outside.

Or at least that's what he saw with his handy-dandy Cylon-like (hmmmmmm how interesting, indeed...) projection ability.  In actuality he was facing a hatch in a drab gray metal beast of a ship.  Hardly befitting a scholar of his rank, featured on television shows and respected enough to earn the seat on the returning Raptor from Caprica.

He turns a pen in his hand idly, his other clutching a cigarette between pointer and middle fingers.

"Mmm yes, hello, at last. Just taking a break out of my busy schedule of thinking about myself to finally post a frakking layout on my journal that isn't atrocious. Finally, you're done being useless, mun.

But, then again, if you were entirely useless you wouldn't have brought me here, now would you? Hopefully they won't be as quick to throw you out of an airlock as the President was me that time."

Bitter? Gaius Baltar? Never.

Comments

[toughcatholic]

Mac barges in, completely oblivious to the change of scenery (except he can't find where the booze is in this place and that's completely unacceptable. He finds a dude in a lab coat talking to himself, holding a cigarette (kinda like a gay dude would, Mac thinks idly). He's not too buff, but looks pretty solid for his height. His hair's a little long, and Mac thinks he could work with that.

All right. That'll do. If he smokes surely he knows where Mac can score some beer.

"Hey, bro," he strides toward the desk, leaning forward on his palms to really show the doctor scientist dude his guns, as in his muscles - his bulging mass...of muscles. Of course.

"Does this place have any of the above: beer, hot chicks, or a gym? I'm in desperate need of all three right now."