PHD #142: A Bad Look
A Bad Look
Summary: Kincaid interviews a recent inhabitant of the Starboard Hangar Deck about Piers Rene-Marie.
Date: 18 Jul 2041 AE
Related Logs: Toying With the Sawyer Cat and Donut on the Hunt
Kincaid Devlin 
Recruit Berths - Deck 4 - Battlestar Cerberus
The battlestar's new recruits call this place home. Bunks line the walls along the length of the room, separated by lockers assigned to each new crewman. A table and a fair number of chairs sit in the center of the room, and at the back is a hatch leading to a communal head.
Post-Holocaust Day: #142

Enter Danny Kincaid. He's in his off-duty outfit, not his full MP getup with the baton and belt and all of that. He's got a small notebook hanging out of his pocket and a pen in hand, but nothing more. "Alexis Devlin?" he calls out, looking for someone in particular.

Devlin is near his bunk, at his locker, actually, talking to another recruit nearby. He turns at the name, wincing a little, and then brows rise a little at the sight of the marine saying it. "Uhh, yeah, that's me," he says, lifting a hand and wandering over, ignoring the faint snicker of someone whispering 'Alexis?' "What can I do for you?" he asks.

"Sorry." Kincaid covers, feigning a look of surprise that the person who answers him is male rather than female. "Is it Alex? I must have written it down wrong on my sheet when I was going through the files." He makes his way over to the bunks, offering his hand. "Danny Kincaid. I'm one of the MP's on board. You're not in trouble." He delivers it all in one smooth motion, trying to set fears at ease.

"No, you wrote it down right," Devlin replies, "It's a boy's name too. You can call me Alex, though." He takes the offered hand for a firm shake and nods, "Nice to meet you. And… good. I would be confused if I were! What's this about, then?"

Kincaid screws up his brow and then shrugs. He tried to cover. "I read that you just came from the Starboard Hangar Deck," explains the marine, gesturing Devlin over to a spare bunk. "I had a few questions about things down there. How about you step into my office here?"

"Yeah, that's right," Devlin nods, and then nods again, "Sure, sure." He moves over towards the spare bunk, moving to take a seat, tucking his dogtags back under his shirt absently as he does. "So, what do you need to know?" he asks, sounding curious.

"I was wondering if you knew anything about a Piers Rene-Marie. He's a civilian, but he's a member of QUODEL, the politicians that were onboard before everything happened." Well, that's a euphemism for it. Kincaid takes out his pad and pen, a pen much nicer than the usual military issue. "Heard he hangs around the hangar deck some."

Devlin starts nodding as soon as the name is mentioned, glancing at the pen very briefly before replying, "Yeah, I know him. He spends a fair bit of time down in the hangar. Usually handing stuff out to people and then hitting on them. Lots of scarf-flipping," he adds, miming a limp-wristed flick of an imaginary scarf. It would be easy to get the feeling he doesn't particularly care for the man in question.

Kincaid chuckles at that. "Lots of people have mentioned the scarf," confirms the MP, nodding and taking some notes. "You said he handed stuff out. What kind of stuff?" The pen scribbles across the pad.

Devlin snorts softly and nods, "Yeah, he's pretty proud of the scarves, I think." As for handing stuff out, he shrugs, "Little stuff mostly? The basics. Soap, a change of clothes, candy bars, stuff like that."

"I… don't know, exactly," Devlin shakes his head, "Mostly it looked like he was just handing stuff out? I know with the marines it was trades. Cigarettes for magazines, that sort of thing. He spends a lot of time just sort of… hanging around? He calls himself a 'morale officer'." He rolls his eyes just a little at the title, adding, "Mostly he just sort of chats people up."

Kincaid snorts, a short, soft sound to it. "No kidding. Well, what makes you so ticked off about him then? The scarf? Or is there something more to it than that?" His pen scrawls across the page.

Devlin's brows rise and he shakes his head a little, "I'm not ticked off about him, I just… I don't know, I don't get a good vibe from him, you know?" He shrugs, "Some people, you just…get a weird vibe. I don't like how he looks at people."

'How he looks at people.' It goes on the pad in big letters and is underlined. "Men? Women? Both?" Kincaid arches a brow at them. "Do people go for his charms?"

"Definitely women," Devlin nods right away, "I mean, you should hear how he hits on them. I mean, whatever, some guys like to throw their nets out there, I can get that, but this guy…" he shakes his head, almost in disbelief, "You should hear some of the lines he uses. It's so over the top, it's ridiculous. But yeah, some women go for it, definitely." He pauses a second and then adds, "But yeah, he looks at men that way too, he just… does it when he thinks nobody will notice. I know that look, though," he says, shaking his head again, with a chuckle, "I worked in fashion and shit, I know it when I see it."

Kincaid laughs at that, nodding his head a few times. "Yeah. I think I bought a shirt or something because of you," admits the former reporter, perhaps a bit bashfully. "What's the look like, though? What's he mean to say by it? I don't mean to keep shaking you. I'm just trying to figure out what this guy's about. I'm not even sure if it's a criminal thing; I'm just down on the Deck a lot and you see him, you know?"

Devlin laughs, dark brows lifting in surprise, "Really?" He chuckles at that, admitting, "I just thought it was a crazy easy job, I couldn't believe people'd really pay me for that. And… I mean, it's tough to describe," he admits of the look, "It's like… I don't know, it's just kind of sleazy. You know it when you see it, you know?" At the mention of the word 'criminal' those brows dart upwards again and he asks, "A criminal thing? You mean with the stuff he gets, or…?"

Kincaid shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. I'm new, same as you. Just got out of Basic, actually, or at least what passes for it around here." He scribbles a few more notes on his pad. "Like you said. It's just a feel. And when I've got a feel, I figured I should run it down. It's the reporter in me, I guess. I used to write for the Libran Times before all of this."

"Oh," Devlin replies, nodding, "I'm just starting basic now. Obviously," he grins a little. He watches the notes being taken, not quite focusing hard enough to try to read it upside-down. "A reporter? Wait, really?" He grins, "My parents read that every day. I'm from Libran, originally."

"No kidding." Kincaid laughs. "Good to meet another Libran, and glad to have some readers out there." It's all sort of brushed over that all of his readers are pretty much dead. "What made you want to enlist, huh?"

"Yeah, definitely," Devlin nods at the bit about fellow Librans, and then shrugs at the question. "I mean… I guess it was mostly just finding out I could, sort of? I happened to be talking to the CAG and she heard I'd flown frieghters some, and asked me. I hadn't realized that was enough to get you into the air wing, you know?"

Kincaid nods, slipping his pad and pen back into his pocket. "I think they're taking just about anyone these days. I mean, hey. Look at me. I used to write about Defense Department cost-overruns and now I'm toting a rifle and fighting crime. It's a little bit different, I'd say."

"Yeah, I guess so," Devlin chuckles very briefly, and then nods, "Well, somebody's got to fight crime! I was going to go marines if they wouldn't take me in the air wing, but I guess they've stopped caring about that college degree requirement thing."

"We would have been happy to have had you in the Marines," smiles Kincaid. He pauses and begins to get up. "Hey. Can I ask you a favor? I don't know if this is even an investigation worth chasing, and I'd hate to have egg on my face if it doesn't. And if it is something, I don't want this guy tipped off." And here comes the request: "Could I ask you not to mention to folks I've been poking around?"

Devlin smiles back, replying, "Well, you may end up with me yet, who knows. Plenty of chances to get washed out, I'm told." He smiles crookedly, and then looks quizzical at the mention of a favor. When he hears it he nods quickly, waving it off with a hand, "Sure, sure, no problem. Let me know if you find anything interesting?" he asks in return, "And if there's anything else I can help with. I think— actually," he pauses, "I think I figured out once he had some friends in Support or Supply or whatever, and that's where he was getting his stuff. I don't know if that helps at all. I don't remember how I figured it out, exactly."

"Yeah. Sure. I'll let you know how it turns out." Kincaid can promise that much. At the mention of a friend over in Support, Kincaid pulls out a pad, taking some notes. "Huh. Yeah. That is helpful. Thanks, Devlin I appreciate it. Good luck with flying, huh?"

"Cool, thanks," Devlin replies, before offering a friendly smile, "Sure, no problem. Good luck with the crime fighting and stuff. I'm sure I'll see you around."

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