| A Very Sound Recommendation |
| Summary: | One pair seeks to solve a problem, while another finds some trouble. |
| Date: | 02 Mar 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Cooties |
| Players: |
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| Observation Deck - Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| With a quiet view to the stars, this tends to be one of the more popular 'quiet areas' of the Cerberus. Up front is a small-unseated area for ceremonies or other activities while the seating rises up behind it. Each level rises up behind the one before it, comfortable chairs and couches set up for crewmembers to relax, get some work done or even take a nap. A large armored plate is lowered during Condition One to protect the interior against a breach in the glass. |
| Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close Post Holocaust Day: #4 |
Quinn relaxes, just a touch, as the Admiral tells them to be as they were. It pretty much means she sits down on the edge of the chair instead of back in it, and she's no long saluting. But actually -relaxing- has gone the way of, well… Most of Virgon, Picon, and the Dodo. She's now quiet, watching the whole room with a thoughtfully intense gaze, lips resting in a worried line.
Spanner hits the deck, thankfully cutting short his surprisingly quiet "Ohbollo-" with a thump of shoulder on ground. The treacherous piece of paper (describing how the KEW's on a VII integrate with various systems) floats down as nonchalant as can be to rest on the Ensign's leg. He takes the 'As you were' to heart by not moving. "M'okay!" and a hand with the thumbs up is thrown to Michael shortly before a squeaked, "Ahfreck it's like the wirlypits 'gain," softly emanates.
Marko drops his salute when given permission and looks about for a inconspicuous corner to observe in. The last meeting between himself and the Old Man didn't exactly go that well, and who knows how good the man's memory is or what mood he's likely to be in with everything going on. A little minced Ensign might be just the snack he's looking for.
The brow remains raised until such time as Spanner offers that thumb up and it's then that Michael allows a soft chuckle to escape his lips before offering, "I think that piece of paper got the best of you, this time." There's another smile before he's turning his attention in the direction of the viewport. If the particular wardrobe malfunction is noticed, the Admiral doesn't seem inclined to point it out. At least, not in front of everyone.
Shiv also seems to decide that this would be a good time to abort operation relaxation. Murmuring an 'excuse me' to Dario, he crooks a finger to Raedawn once the Admiral's looking elsewhere, and heads for the hatch. Rojas, at least for now, is safe.
Raedawn, for her part, busies herself putting her shoes back on, letting her hair curtain her face. It hides her blush well. And then, as she sits back up, she notices Sitka. Uh-oh. That's The Finger Of Summoning. As quietly as she can, she stands and follows her CO out, pausing to hand Spanner one of his more distant pieces of paper before she goes to her possible doom.
Dario awkwardly takes his coffee from behind his back and takes another sip. He turns back to his direct CO, Sitka, but sees Spanner floundering on the ground. He offers a chuckle at his fellow pilot, going over to help him. "Need some help, old man?"
Cidra is headed out as well, though it seems a coincidence rather than any effort to trail anyone in particular. "I shall see you later, Captain," she says politely to Quinn, journal tucked under one arm. A parting nod offered all around. And she's off.
Quinn gives a brief nod in Cidra's direction, "Be well, sir." Since Cidra has used her official title, she returns the favour. She then, very slowly, sinks back into her seat a bit more. Trying to relax, not with company… just staring out the windows, her expression lost in thought.
"Thanks." Spanner's voice muffles into the floor, face pressing against it in a defiant gesture against getting up just yet. It kind of works for everything said to him so far. "I'm good. M'just going to stay here until the embarrassment fades." His eye quirks up to look at Dario. "Not old yet. Just… give me a minute."
Sikes relaxes a bit as the Admiral sends out the at-ease to the room at large, then strolls over to an unoccupied section of floor near the viewport and leans against it, gazing out the window at the void outside.
No social clusterfrak would be complete without Bootstrap. The scent of sage is suffocated by that of cigarette smoke and sweat, for he's just spent the past few hours working on the Deck. Smoking there is a NO-NO — fire hazrdz nahkthx! — which means he's making up for lost time. "There the frak you are." That would be casually addressed to Quinn.
The Admiral doesn't seem inclined, for the moment, to intrude any further on people's relaxations. As such, he's pausing for a moment of silence in front of a section of the viewport, eyes soaking up the black expanse of space, before he's turning back in the direction of the hatchway so that movements can lead him back in that direction.
Quinn jerks herself quickly out of her thoughts, eyes flickering away from the black beyond the windows towards her ECO. She gives him a half smile, looking like she's almost slept, the bags beneath her eyes not nearly so deep as they were previously, though no one's looking perfectly well slept. "…Hey, Bootieboy. I've… Been around. And you? Give me one of those." She gives a nod in his cigarette's direction.
Okay, the Admiral is Lost in Thought. That's always a good thing in Marko's mind. It means he can snag a seat and start flipping through the Raptor systems manual he shagged from the deck a few minutes ago. "Okay… how would _I_ do something like this?" he says, starting to pull open the various schematic sections and peering at them thoughtfully.
Finally picking himself up from the floor with a winced grunt and a rub of his battered shoulder, Rojas gives a little testing roll of the joint before shuffling sideways to focus back on his own papers, scattered a little thanks to the tumble. The headphone goes back in his ear, causing a little sway as his fingers follow technical lines scattered over the sheets. "I was jus' thinking the same thing." He calls over to Marko. "Except the only answer I came up with was 'Sledgehammer.'"
Dario shrugs as long as Spanner doesn't want any help. He sips from his cup and sighs, watching Rojas collect himself. Looking at all the mismatched and complicated schematics with a confused look, Dario simply says, "I'll, uh, let you handle this." He turns on his heels and walks out of the observation deck.
Sikes glances over in Marko's direction, shaking him loose from his eyelock on the stars outside. He heads over to the backseater and asks, "Hey, whatcha workin' on there? You don't mind me askin', 'course."
"Sledgehammer's starting to look like the right answer, just not a manual one," Marko replies, nodding without looking up for his notes. "Alright… alright… Let's wind the clocks back all the way to the first scramble," he says, fishing out a pack of smokes newly bought from ship's stores and fumbling with trying to light it. "We got deployed, starting bringing up ECMs, the Raptors anyway. Hey, Shiv what were the… okay, Shiv's not here anymore," he adds, finally taking a drag off his cigarette. "Oh, frakdamn… Now I remember why I quit," he grumbles, turning a little green. "Any Viper pilots here?"
"Not with that nice Ensign in CIC, have you?" Quinn gets around, don'cha know? She just said so. Har. Har. The way Trask's eyes light up practically implores 'say that it is true and give me all the skanky details'. Reaching into the pocket designated to storing cancer sticks, he pulls out a less-than-half-full pack of cigarettes made from the best tobacco southern Aerilon has to offer. With his own smoke in his mouth, he flips the carton lid open and starts to fish one out for his friend. In that brief moment when he's peering inside there, the Red Thread of Fate ropes him to walk smack right into Abbot, unless the Admiral sidesteps in time.
Quinn stares at him, glaring slightly. "You're so lucky you're giving me nicotine." She reaches one hand out, waiting for one of those cigarettes that he's digging for. "And doing nothing with any ensign anywhere." Maggie insists, protesting rather firmly about the matter, but also rather specifically. Has she been doing things with non-ensigns, maybe?? Her eyes go wide as she sees the near collision. "Kal!" she calls, but she's probably not managed to warn him in time.
"If you're looking for what happened with the II's, we were fine." Yeah, Spanner answers the call, leaving his notes to perch a few chairs down from the questioning Marko. A hand dangles out in expectation of an offered cigarette. Yup, he's used to bartering. Usually for engine parts, mind you. "When everyone else went haywire, we got a little glitch and that was it. I shut off the flight-system for safety and it was fine."
It's not everyday that the Admiral's attention is draw somewhere else, but today seems to be one of those days. As a result, Michael's looking up at the last possible moment and even as he begins to sidestep to the side, he realizes that it's not going to be enough. That thought flashes and then his assumption comes true as he finds the side of his body meeting Trask's, causing the Admiral to take a couple of unsteady steps to the side. Thankfully, he didn't have a drink or anything breakable in his hand, for they might not have survived. "Whoa."
Marko is more than happy to hand one over to Spanner, along with his lighter before scribbling the information he gave him down onto a notepad. "Right… right… I remember now. The Petrels didn't have the big shutdown. Shiv was broadcasting almost the whole time," he notes, looking up to nod to Spanner when Abbot and Trask collide and he's forced to look away quickly lest he make the suicidal mistake of laughing.
<FS3> Trask rolls Reactive: Great Success.
Sikes frowns as apparently he wasn't heard, but shrugs and makes his way back to his perch by the viewport. Right now, he doesn't exactly feel like making an issue of it.
As his name's yelled by the Captain, the Jig starts to sardonically note, "Patience is a vir-" Bump. Trask's shoulder smacks into Michael, which totally takes him by surprise, because he didn't even have the benefit of a split-second 'incoming!' moment. Thankfully, neither man was moving all that quickly, but the ECO still finds himself stumbling off his plotted trajectory. Damn, if he doesn't quickly recover, though. Managing to maintain his balance, as well as the cigarette betwixt his lips and the carton (containing all its contents) in his right hand, his left arm instinctively swerves out to keep the Admiral fully aright. "Hey, you a'right, there?" he asks through one corner of his mouth, puffs of smoke coming out with the words.
Quinn lets Trask work out his near-miss with the Admiral, she just ducking in the quickest of moments to actually reach over, steal a cigarette out of his pack which nearly went flying, and slip it between her lips. Once she's got her smoke, she then reaches into his pocket, beginning to dig for his lighter. "Not getting fresh. Just want a smoke." She then pulls back from the two men, sinking into her chair and turning eyes back to the stars, letting the men deal with each other as men do as she just savours her newly stolen smoke.
Rojas' glances over his shoulder to the mini-kerfuffle, idly lighting up the cigarette without much regard for any stray facial hair. Dangerous game, that. "That doesn't narrow it down, mind you." He turns back to Marko, sending wisps of grey smoke ceiling-wards. "II's and VII's have-" He starts to count off on his fingers "Entirely different layouts, different operating systems, II's aren't networked as it's a single system against VII's multiple flight, stabilisation and weapons setups." His tongue clicks. "It's a start, though."
On most days, running into the Admiral might not be the best of options, but today seems to be a rare day. There's a quirk of his lips into a smile and Michael is giving a quick nod of his head, "Just fine, Lieutenant, just fine. Though, I think we should both keep our attention focused on where we're walking." He does let his attention flit in the direction of the Quinn, the smile deepening for a moment, "Make sure you steal another one from him, Captain, as punishment for running into me." While the word 'punishment' is offered, it's clear that it's more of a jest then anything.
Sikes shrugs off the bulkhead, having acquired his nightly quota of solitary contemplation. He nods to anyone who happens to look his direction as he heads for the hatch.
Marko winces a bit and waves to the other Raptor pilot, inviting him over and holding up the pack of cigarettes as a sweetener. "Trying to get my head around what happened the other night," he explains, wincing at the memory. To Spanner, whom he's just realizing he's never met, he offers a hand. "Scaurus, or Flasher," he says. "Right… right…" he says. "Everything on the VII's is networked up. Same on the Raptors. Okay… so we've got networked Raptors and Vipers taking a dive… and non-networked Vipers staying afloat…"
Lost in thought, staring out to the stars, Maggie event barely hears what the Admiral is saying. It's been one of those weeks for everyone. Quinn blinks a moment to the admiral, part of her catching those words. "I'll be certain to do that, sir…" She gives a half laugh, but otherwise her expression is distant along with her eyes. Lost in the black beyond.
The hatch opens and the ship's CMO steps in, head down, still in her lab coat and uniform. Someone's lost in thought, apparently.
Even before he can register 'oh, shit! The CO of all the COs', Kal is quipping to Quinn, "Okay. /That's/ not my lighter, sweet cakes." Yes, he just called her sweet cakes. "While you're down there, though, put your other hand in my other front pocket and continue your search." He then rolls his eyes a little and shoots Michael a mock 'this happens all the time' look, coupled with a small, impish smile. Granted, that's when he notices that the Admiral is, well, the Admiral. For a scant moment, Trask's entire face stills, as everything is getting processed. Then, much like he swiftly recovered on a physical level, he smoothly slides into a casual, good-natured offer of, "Smoke, sir?" The carton is proffered. For the record, it's the tobacco awesomeness that only southern Aerilonian hillbillies can provide.
"Spanner. Or Rojas." After shaking the hand, Rojas hops down from the chair, going back to his spread-out mass of papers and technical details attempting to engulf to floor. Without much ado, he starts to scoop them up. A few interesting pieces get a slightly lingering look before going back in the pile, but the slightly resigned look on his face suggests there's nothing completely useful. "Needs more work." gets thrown to Marko, cigarette bouncing along his lip as he talks. It almost sets one of the pieces alight during a momentary peer closer, too. "I don't think we can go with 'Tear out all the electronics' as a solution."
Well, there was a smile on Michael's lips and it lasted right up until Trask's statement to Quinn. The arch of the Admiral's brow goes just a little higher and he's canting his head ever so slightly to the side, "I'll pass on the offer, Lieutenant." Now, there's another shadowed glance towards Quinn before he's letting his gaze settle back on the figure of Trask, "While watching where you walk, I'd also recommend that you think before you speak. Even off duty, that's a touch inappropriate." Hands lift, moving to pull his tunic down slightly. The new entries to the room are not noticed just yet.
"Wow… you've been going over this a lot more than me, Spanner," Marko replies, starting to page through the man's collection of files, schematics and other technical bric-a-brac. "No, don't think that's gonna work either," he chuckles, shaking his head a little. "Funny though, though, once we did a hard reboot and brought our systems up from their firmware, they ran just fine," he notes.
While Maggie was lost in thought, Trask's usual smart ass nature suddenly -almost- getting him in trouble certainly gains her attention. Maggie sits up straighter, fingertips well and REMOVED from his back pocket now as she clears her throat. "Jig." She shortly tries to cut him off, but it's too late. And the Admiral's noticed too. She studders a moment, her blush climbing fast and hard, all the way across her cheeks, to her temples and ears, in the way that only a ginger-kid (even middle aged) can blush. "…he… it… You're right, sir. But… we've known each other a long time. I don't mind." Entirely. Still, she's blushing and quiet now, stiff as a board.
Familiar voices? Glory's head lifts, eyes a touch darker than usual as they look around, taking in who's here. Of course her attention gets pulled directly to the Admiral. There's something about pins, after all. Rather than interrupt, however, she pulls around to the far side of the obs deck to give that group their privacy for the time being.
"When I'm not servin', my compnee has a deal with the fleet to fix up the ships dumb jocks like…" Rojas blinks, curling a slight grin as he flips through the non-corners of the stacked paper. "Well, 'me' break." He speaks like it explains why he's been thinking about it so hard. He's pulling out a sheet to stare at when Marko mentions booting up from the firmware. Gears start turning. More gears. Then a quiet "Timeline for me. Systems go down, reboot from the firmware copy; everything fine?"
Marko gathers up his manual to alight on the floor closer to Rojas. "Yep. Just about out of the box condition," he nods. "No kidding? Whereabouts?" he asks. "Sorry, forget where the Petrels are based at."
The Admiral doesn't want a smoke? One brow is curiously cocked, the el-tee's own head canting a wee bit. Even the carton is faintly jiggled in a 'you sure?' manner. Oh, but then Michael had to say 'a /touch/ inappropriate'. Internally, Trask giggles at the puerile joke he just cracked in his head. He neither smirks nor sniggers, though, and he certainly doesn't share with the rest of the class. The scampish gleam in his eyes does linger before dissipating into something appropriately earnest, quiet clearing of his throat added. Removing the cigarette from his mouth, he nods and tells the Big Boss Man, "That is a very sound recommendation, sir. I can see how what I've said might offend." Whether or not he cares about offending is another matter. "As Captain Quinn can woefully attest, my coping mechanisms are not the most pleasant, sir. And I am /indeed/ thankful to have an SL who is so understanding." That much he genuinely means.
For the moment, Michael's attention remains focused on Trask until the man has answered and it's only then that the Admiral gives a shake of his head. No response is given to the Lieutenant, for the man's eyes are shifting in the direction of Quinn, "While that may be the case, Captain, this is hardly the area of such conversation. " Two steps are taken to take him away from the 'group' before he's following up with. "Keep that type of conversation to more appropriate areas of the ship, such as pilot town or the lounge. And try remember that there are other junior officers and enlisted who might see this … 'friendly' banter and think it's an acceptable fashion in which a junior officer can address a senior officer."
As he turns away, Michael's path takes him not too far from Glory. Despite this being an off-duty location, she pulls into a salute and offers a crisply quiet, "Sir." Nope, not commenting on the rest of the conversation.
Quinn's blush lingers, but it's fading to a bit of quick pallor as the extent of trouble that they are almost in actually dawns on her. She nods quietly to the old man. "Of course, sir. Understood. It won't happen again, sir." Maggie clips out curtly, her Caprican accent somehow sharper, more professional than normal. She stands now, almost falling into attention again, all thought of relaxing gone.
Rojas starts flipping through the sheets even faster when Markos explains what happened from the other side of the looking glass. His features narrowing in a passionate annoyance "Picon. We've got a refitters near the base." Flip Flip Flip Flip flipiflipflipflip. Whatever it is he's looking for, he can't find it. "Frakkin'-…" Realisation dawns slowly, and it looks like he'd smack himself on the forehead if he wasn't carrying all that paper. Hell, it looks like he might just do it anyway. Marko gets a sharp look. "Chief'll have the refit logs and dates for all'a the ships, right?"
"Yeah, of course he would." Marko nods. "Wait… are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asks, cocking his head to peer at his fellow Aviator. "CNP…" he says, letting his voice trail off.
In contrast, despite the respectful stance the Jig has adopted — for he is acutely aware that the Admiral's assessment is entirely correct — his inner naughty little boy has simply been laid down for a nap. From here on out, though, he might bribe it (with cigarettes and mints) to behave around the Cerberus' CO. "Yes, sir. Entirely understood." For once, Trask is being serious. Savor the moment. "I'll save you that cigarette, sir," is amiably added because, well, it's /Trask/. The salute he snaps is crisp, however, and not the least bit jaunty.
To Quinn and Trask, Michael gives each a nod. It's then that Glory's salute catches his attention and he's shifting his gaze over towards her, only to flash a slight smile that is followed up by another nod of his head, "Captain." With that said, the Admiral begins to make his way back towards the exit.
Quinn watches Michael turn to go, releasing just a bit of a breath, but Trask is given a long look for a few heartbeats before she nods towards the door. "Walk with me? We could use some rack time." Probably one of those 'and a long conversation outside of the admiral's ears' sort of things, but she's trying not to look too stern about it. The other group across the room is given a brief wave as she starts leading the way for the exit.
As Michael turns away, Glory smiles a bit and turns back toward the view, folding her hands behind her back.
When Marko tells Rojas exactly what he wants to hear, the Old Ensign's face lights up like a non-denominational calendar celebration foliage decoration. "Probably not, but it beats my idea of 'everyone not in a mark II hit the killswitch.' We're not going to find anything out without the Chief's help, anyway." His face stays a mix of joy at a new idea that isn't 'something broke' and sliiiight trepidation at having to talk to the man whose usual conversation limits with him peak at 'Stop touching that.'
"True enough. Been trying to catch up with him, but things are so crazy down there." Marko shrugs. "Figured it was best to keep my wild-ass ideas to myself for now," he smirks. "Say, how many I/O ports would you say there are in a Viper?" he asks, switching gears abruptly. "I mean, yeah, yeah, there's safeguards and all that, but forget about that part. How many ports would you have if you just had to list 'em all?"
Despite just being quasi-dressed down by /The/ Man In Charge, Trask retains all of his characteristic aplomb. One day, that devil-may-care attitude is bound to get him into real trouble. That day, however, apparently is not today. "I'd be delighted," he tells Quinn, flashing that smile she's come to find infuriatingly endearing… especially when it's sincere. Noticing Rojas, however, he calls out, "Spanner. We need to pow-wow, at some point." After all, they are both assigned to the same project. "I'll find ya later." A jovial nod is added to, "Flasher." That all said, he turns to follow his SL, offering the requisite salutes to whatever superior officers he chances to pass on his way out.
Quinn gives a brief wave to the others. "Be good, boys and girls… Mainly you boys." She looks to Rojas and Marko, flashing them a small, teasing smile, the comment along the line about boys and snails and puppy dog tails, so to speak. With that, she follows Trask out the hatch.
Wanna know what happens next with those kooky Harriers? Find out in Cooties!