BCH #009: Air Wing, Let The Games Begin
Air Wing, Let the Games Begin
Summary: The Air Wing personnel gather for a briefing post-launch, pre-war games.
Date: 16 Feb 2041 AE
Related Logs: Forthcoming…
Cidra Quinn Laskaris Alessandra Sitka Malone Daphne Tisiphone Trask 

[ Ready Room ]-----—-[ Deck 7 - Battlestar Cerberus ]

With the hatches at the rear of the room, the walkways on both sides slope down towards the dais at the front of the room. The stadium seating forms a partial semi-circle around the speaking podium and provides enough seats for all three hundred members of the Air Wing. The walls are adorned with the patches of each squadron aboard and their mottos stenciled in white lettering above each one. Behind the podium is a set of large LCD screens that can display any matter of material from reconnaissance to maps to gun camera footage.

=[ Condition Level: 3 - All Clear ]=---------

With the Cerberus launched into the heavens and the real work aboard-ship finally getting underway with drydock, a general briefing has been called for the Air Wing personnel. It's still a little before Twenty-One-Hundred hours, the appointed, so those pilots who aren't tasked to duty right now are just starting to gather. Cidra's already here, of course, in her officer blues, standing at the podium. Behind her, on the LCD screen, is a map of the Uram Sector. Where the games will soon begin.

Quinn has come early, settled straight in the front row, her little flat cornered clip board resting on the arm before her. She might be an SL, but she takes good notes too. She's in her blues herself, every pleat in place, buttons shined, looking very much like the uniform just came back from dry cleaning. It might have, after all. She seems a hint on the edge of sleepless, but then a lot has been happening the last few days.

Laskaris is one of the first to arrive. Also clad in his blues, he makes his way into the ready room, staring curiously at the map on the screen. He lingers a bit next to a row of seats, studying the LCD display, before he finally grabs a seat on the aisle. His attention wavers from the screen, to Cidra, to somewhere off in space, in that order.

Alessandra slips in just a few seconds before being 'offically late', picking a seat kind of towards the back and near the outer aisle on the right, trying to be as slick as possible. Of course her efforts just might be thwarted depending on if anyone notices her trying to sneak in or not.

Sitka arrives somewhere in the middle of the crowd, clipboard tucked under one arm, and just thumbing the last button in place at the collar of his uniform. His eyes settle on the Major at the front of the room, as he eases into a seat near the back.

Malone has arrived.

Daphne arrives early, with her uniform crisp and clean. In fact, one can observe her playing with the pins, making sure they are perfectly, perfectly level. It's the sort of display likely to either make one smile at her pride, or want to vomit over it. She's sitting in her chair like…. well, it's like the ensign is sitting at attention, if such a thing is possible. Shoulders straight, eyes straight ahead, and so on. Rigid looking. Really rigid. She's holding her clipboard as if it were some sort of holy relic. Obviously, she's sitting in the front row.

While, for her, Quinn was looking spit shine perfect, now that Daphne has arrived, the middle aged Captain is looking frizzy and slumping at best. It's an oddly charming contrast.

Tisiphone is seated directly behind Daphne, as fresh-pressed and squeaky-clean as…well, as an Ensign at their Very First Briefing. Which she is. Quite obviously. Unlike Daphne, her pins are about one-point-five degrees off true. In fact, she may have deliberately turned them askew while the other Ensign was watching. Attempting to look relaxed but failing, she pretends to slouch and gives Daphne's chair the occasional, aggravating, tap.

Getting used to being shipboard, Malone has decided to be early in getting into the room, moving for a seat. Looking a little relaxed, he glances around the room carefully before he takes his seat.

Lasher hides a smirk(none too well) as the ensigns start filing in. Like Quinn, Laskaris cultivates a slightly more… broken in appearance; his uniform is clean, his rank pins shiny, and that's about as good as it gets. He watches the Ensign Theater a few moments longer before his eyes again go front.

Cidra offers a faint smile and quick nods to some pilots as they settle. Noting Quinn and Sitka particularly. She waits Twenty-One-Hundred ticks off and the officers are generally settled before beginning. Clearing her throat in case there's any need to quiet the room. There's generally quiet, though, so she gets right to it. "I congratulate you all on being prompt, at least. As most of you know, I am Major Cidra Hahn, CAG aboard the Cerberus. I shall keep this as brief as possible. We all have our duties and I shall not waste our time dwelling on too much ceremony. I shall say only this. All my career that I have served aboard battlestars, I have heard the legends of the pilots who came before me, and the contributions they had made to their vessels. We of the Fighting Fourteenth have the honor to write the history of the Cerberus Air Wing ourselves, from scratch. That is a unique opportunity. I trust we shall do it justice."

Daphne does her best to ignore Tisiphone's occasional tapping, but the girl is clearly cramping her style. She's just unable to not turn her head, but she does, giving Tisiphone a blank stare, mostly because she's still trying to 'sit at attention' and has probably forgotten to turn it off. Once she turns her head, she suddenly seems to realize that she… turned her head. Oh frak. Her eyes get wide and she turns back to the front of the room.

Quinn listens to the boss quietly, sitting up just a -bit- straighter in her seat so she's no longer near a slouch, but she's certainly not the ramrod straight spine that the glistening new Ensigns are. Her spine doesn't GO that straight any more. She takes no notes as the obligatory pep rally is given, but a faint smile twists at her pink mouth, increasing the lines around her lips just a wee bit more. She nods in quiet agreement with Cidra…

Sitka keeps his eyes on the woman at the front, unflinching as she begins to speak. His notebook's left closed for the time being, his pen toyed with between two fingers. Judging by the wrapping still encasing the former, logistics probably issued him a new one shortly after coming aboard. Maybe a little strange, for a Captain with an established squadron.

Malone listens in quiet at the moment, nodding a bit once in a while. Otherwise keeping silent with his attention on the CAG for now.

Tisiphone coughs once into a balled fist — or maybe she says 'Keener' — when Daphne turns to look back at her. By the time she clears her throat, any grin that may have been on her face is smoothed away. Sitting up straighter, she crosses one leg over the other, sparing Daphne from any further chair-kicks.

Cidra flits a look at Tisiphone and Daphne, lips crooking in an ever-so-faint smirk, but she continues without much of a pause. "Routine business first. Now that we are underway CAPs shall be run at all hours. Two Vipers and one Raptor standard each CAP, four-hour intervals each. Schedule shall rotate between the squads, shift schedules shall be arranged by the squad leaders. They will be slightly irregular to start with. Due to the games, of course, but also due to an issue our Chief of the Deck Atreus has noted with our planes."

Quinn nods curtly at Cidra's words, and the clip board in front of her already has a hand-drawn grid with names down the slots, working through the schedule in her head while she was killing time before the briefing start. She doesn't chime in, though, she just adds a few more names to the list. She pauses a moment to turn her head, eyes flickering across who may or may not be sitting together, catching a brief look at any hidden interactions going on in the ro, including Daphne and Tisi's restlessness.

Trask is well within his pilot's line-of-sight, although his attention is firmly upon the CAG. This does not prevent him from twirling a pencil between his fingers, though.

As Cidra sets into the briefing, Laskaris' attention no longer wavers. He's not exactly the model of military respect as he slouches in his chair and idly fidgets as the CAG speaks, but he has at least enough courtesy/good sense to keep his eyes on the major. He does look slightly more interested as she mentions the beginning of CAPs, however. It's not much, but it beats escorting transport missions to and from the surface, right?

Alessandra casts a look around before noticing a certain pilot, the sight of Lasher getting her to grin a bit. A piece of paper and a pen is extracted from a pocket and the latter used to write upon the former, the paper then crumpled up and tossed towards him much like a kid might do to try and pass a note to a classmate during school. If it hits its mark and he thinks to un-rumple it and read the note, he'll find two words written upon it in a near scribble - 'pracitice later?'

Daphne's eyes widen just a bit. It's the sort of reaction popularized in the more subtle type of horror movie just before something terrible happens. The CAG. Is LOOKING at her. She starts to write things down on her clipboard, even though not much has been said yet that might need to be written down. For anyone who might be close enough to see, she's written the following: *First Contribution to Cerberus. Unique Opportunity.* CAPs is written underneath that and circled, with *Irregular due to war games.* and *Issue with spacecraft? Chief Atreus* written just beneath. Don't you just want to smack her?

Unable to hold back half of a smile as he listens, bringing out a small, worn notebook to take a few notes now, a pen kept in his left hand. Malone glances around once more, nodding a bit as he listens.

"It appears," Cidra goes on, all traces of humor fading from her face. "That there is a problem with the latest version of the command navigational program software installed on the Mark Sevens. The Chief has found it degrades performance to the point where they function only as well as the Mark Twos. There is no danger in flying them like this but, clearly, it is untenable if we are to perform at our best. The planes are being grounded for repairs on a rotating basis among the squads. Schedules are posted on the hangar deck. The situation is not ideal but it will at least allow us to continue to function. At the moment, it is unclear if we will just revert to the old version of the program or be able to complete a correction and reinstallation of the new software in time. The former may be quicker and at this juncture is my preference unless I can be assured the new system is without problems. You all know how to better handle your planes on the old version of the software anyhow, and I see little point in trying to show off a new system for the politicos that may not work properly.

Cidra adds, "The Mark Twos themselves, of which we have a complement aboard for training, shall be unaffected."

Sitka finally tears the plastic film off his notepad, flips it open, and clicks on his pen to take down a few things. Or would, if the ink hadn't dried up. He tosses it away, and digs out another pen while the CAG continues talking about the CNP.

An issue with the planes? Tisiphone swaps acting like a show dog about to piddle with excitement over their first competition for some genuine interest. The sound of Daphne jotting notes makes her cast a glance down at her own, utterly blank, clipboard. Hrm. She uncaps her pen and scrawls her Very First Briefing's Very First Note: 'flight software - borked but installed - wtf?' She adds an arrow, labelling it, 'Deck chief.'

Quinn also doesn't seem surprised, but she does sigh, shaking her head slowly about the poor planes. She flickers another look over her shoulder, this one directly towards Trask. If she manages to catch his eyes, she flashes him a grin, something unspoken between them clearly exchanged by their gazes alone. It's sort of a 'nothing ever changes' look.

Laskaris' brow rises noticeably at Cidra's mention of the CNP. Gaius Baltar's brainchild. As a computer scientist himself, he'd been looking forward to seeing the new(and oft-delayed) operating system in action. Looks like that'll have to wait, though. He straightens slightly in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face… as a crumpled up piece of paper hits his leg. It skitters off somewhere out of the Viper pilot's reach, Laskaris scowling at it for a moment before his attention returns to the CAG.

Lucky appears to not be so lucky, for her aim is off. The note intended for Lasher? It lands right next to Bootstrap's boot. Nonchalantly, he reaches down to pick it up, pretending that he's scratching at his leg. Smooth. Just as nonchalantly, he uncrumples the paper and smoothes it out on his desk, then proceeds to read it, while still fiddling with his pencil. A brow quirks at what has been scribbled, as he casts his attention outwards… just in time to catch Quinn's look. Head cocked, the ECO's brow furrows because it doesn't appear to be his pilot's handwriting.

Alessandra blinks as she slouches some, wincing. She doesn't know that Trask is now in posession of the note but she did manage to catch how it missed the intended target pretty much entirely. Now is a good time to start listening in earnest, which she does.

"If you've concerns over this, voice them now," Cidra says. "I am not pleased, but such things unfortunately not uncommon in new equipment, and the Chief is handling the situation. I am assured he is handling the modifications as quickly as his people can. Engineering has offered their assistance, so I am confident the matter will be dealt with soon. Now, onto better tidings." Her gaze goes to Sitka. "You have noticed some irregulars among our flight complement. For the next month and a few weeks in change, the Cerberus is playing host to Reservists from the Picon Space Guard. They are here to undergo training, get a taste of 'real' Navy life, and participate in the games as well as they are able." A nod to Sitka. "Captain Ibrahim Sitka is lead and flight instructor of the Snow Petrels…" The Hyperlights squad leader is introduced in kind. "Let us play good hosts so they cannot take too many nasty stories about the regulars back home, yes?" Something a joke. Probably.

The hijinks going on nearby are observed, but not commented upon by the visiting Captain. Hiding a small smirk, Sitka continues jotting information down and turning a mostly blind eye to the junior pilots passing notes. Cidra's nod, when she acknowledges him, is returned with a crooked smile.

Reservists, eh? Lasher had thought the new captains looked unfamiliar, and he knows he's already met all of the squadron commanders. The active duty ones, anyway. He cranes his head to look curiously at Sitka, then his Hyperlights opposite number. The reservist captains get a terse nod from Lasher, if they happen to look in his direction.

Daphne allows her attention to be directed towards Sitka and the Hyperlight's Squadron Leader as well, but then they snap right back to Cidra. Yes. She writes their names down, and the squadron names, and 'good hosts'. In fact, she's starting to write an awful lot, needing to flip to the next page already. She's getting ALL of this stuff down, including, if one judges by the amount of writing she's doing, details of no consequence to anyone.

Malone looks over at Sitka for a few moments, then the other reservist captain, then back to the front. Taking a few more notes, rather quickly.

Introductions, eh? Trask might as well be respectful. The mystery of the mystery note from the would-be mystery date will simply have to wait. Already acquainted with Sitka, a small smile is offered with a jaunty scout-style salute. The other reservist Captain gets a nod.

The Snow Petrels? Tisiphone's interest is piqued again; she turns a bit in her seat to try and spot Captain Sitka. He's given a quick, curious glance before she looks back to the Major. She uncrosses and recrosses her legs, pausing mid-motion to give Daphne's chair another light, booted kick.

If Cidra is aware of the note passing, she gives no obvious sing of it. Her eyes do pass over Alessandra and Trask briefly. Expression inscrutable. Live in uncertainty, kids. She proceeds. "Captain Sitka and Viper leads shall have the opportunity to work together to put together something of a 'pre-game' show. Command thinks the civilians would be impressed by some formation flying. Artistic moves, that sort of thing. I am bus driver by trade, so I leave it largely in their hands." A little gesture, again and Sitka and at the Viper squad leaders present. "Do not go beyond your abilities. It would be stupidity to take great risks to impress some politicians. But show them what you can do. And have some fun." She winks before going on, "Our Raptors shall also have a part in this. It has been suggested to me that we allow some civilians to fly along on our CAPs, and perhaps some test jumps, as 'observers.' It is silly, but I do not oppose it, and they may even come away with a better appreciation of the skill it takes to manage Raptor systems. I shall monitor this carefully and give the pilots who might have to have these passengers fair warning." A smirk. "Other little shows may be planned as well. I will endeavor to see they do not impede our regular operations or preparation for the real war games."

Either shy or merely industrious, Sitka keeps his head down, his pen scribbling, and thus does not notice most of the glances turned his way.

Alessandra looks over at the Captain when he's introduced, offering him a smile and a nod regardless of if he's looking in her direction or not. Best to err on the side of politeness for now.

Mention of Formation Flying makes Daphne simply start biting her lower lip, but she doesn't otherwise snap out of 'sitting attention'.

The brief instant the CAG's eyes alight upon him, Bootstrap dips his head just a little bit, regarding her with large brown eyes that seem to cheekily ask 'this is from you?' He knows it's not, but that doesn't stop him from pointing at the note with emphasis. The man has never been one to deny anything.

Cidra's eyes linger on Trask for a beat. Blue gaze steady. But she proceeds without shooting lasers at him or anything else dramatic. "As for the games themselves, there will be a few components to them," Cidra continues, all of seriousness as she gets into this part of the briefing. "We will begin with standard Air Wing combat and coordination exercises. Drone targeting, mock-combat, that sort of thing. You will receive specific instructions as it is sorted out which squads will partake in which exercises. Our Vipers and Raptors will have to work together extensively throughout this. Cooperative targeting, I am told, will be a major component. That means, for at least some of the drills, the Vipers will have to rely on instructions from the Raptor ECOs', rather than their individual systems, to find and 'destroy' their targets. It will be challenging but I suspect it will also be an excellent opportunity for us all to learn to fly together."

Something the Major says sends Tisiphone's brows shooting up her forehead in surprise, then knitting together in puzzlement. Glancing down, she adds to her sparse notes. 'flight formations? - civilians?' A long, doodling arrow eventually joins 'civilians?' to 'departure date?' Beneath that, she scrawls 'viper + raptor maneuvers - engineering?'

Malone pauses a bit as he listens, before he takes a few quick notes now. Not looking at his notebook while taking the notes.

Quinn has ceased to do anything but listen and take a few light notes — only about vital things that she wants to be certain to double remember, but nothing seems a shock to the middle aged, frizzy red head. Once someone's been at this long enough, little really startles them, it seems. She's no longer making eyes at Trask, at least.

Daphne may as well be writing a novel at this point. She's on to page three and quickly starts to burn through that, too.

"Good lords." Laskaris speaks for the first time, a dull and barely audible mutter accompanied by a crookedly incredulous little smile. He scoffs quietly. Raptor backseaters replacing his targeting systems? "This ought t' be fun." Lasher slouches back in his seat, his arms folding over his chest. A quick look around indicates he's one of the few not taking notes. Heh. Ensigns.

Sitka, for his part, manages to look somewhat bemused at the reactions of the other pilots. PR stunts and catering to nosey civilians are facts of life, after all, where the reservists are concerned. He flips to the next page, jots something else down, and chews on the end of his pen while regarding the CAG carefully.

It's true. Kal does not incinerate when Cidra lets her blue eyes linger. With the minor mischief of the note more or less now out of the way, he's back to being a good little boy, attentively listening. The fiddling of pencil between his fingers does not cease, although it has adopted a rhythm that could be considered contemplative. When Laskaris speaks up, though, he drily responds, "Don't worry, Lasher. I promise to be gentle. Well, unless you like it rough. We'll need a safety word, though."

Cidra allows the banter without any real disapproval. It doesn't impede her. "The latter part of the games will be a coordinated exercise between ourselves and Cerberus CIC," Cidra continues. "The full details are still being hammered out, but it still likely involve both missile-equipped Raptors and Vipers running cover for the Cerberus as she tangles with her opponents in the games. We know she will be facing the Flak Frigate Corsair and the Missile Frigate Praetorian." Click, click. Some information is brought up about these ships on the LCD screen. "This will be no easy task. The Cerberus is the shiniest new ship in the Fleet, and every other ship will be eager to say they took some shine off a fresh Mercury-Class. Further, operating in the Uram system presents a variety of obstacles…" Click. Uram is back on the screen. "The asteroid fields, general debris and astronomical configuration of the system itself create a great deal of interference and will play Hades with our DRADIS system. I have asked Captain Quinn…" A nod to Quinn herself. "…to work with Engineering on a possible way to configure the DRADIS to compensate for this. Engineering also has the idea of doing some work in the FTLs, both for the ship proper and a Raptor, to mask their signature and create a possible 'stealth' effect, as I understand it. Our snipes are busy and quite inventive. Lieutenant Trask…" Again, her gaze does not incinerate him. "…has been tasked as a liaison to Engineering particularly on the FTL project, and I am coordinating other personnel with Engineering and Deck as needed. If you feel you have expertise or ideas you could offer, you are encouraged to bring them to myself our your squad leads. Be creative. In a battle, a sharp eye and clever mind are sometimes better weapons than cannons and missile launchers."

It's true. Trask still isn't incinerated. Nor does his head swell and explode when the CAG gives him a shout-out.

"At least no water involved," Malone mutters under his breath, as he looks around for a few moments, taking down a few other notes. Looking rather thoughtful at the moment. Looking to the people indicated as he hears their names.

Pale eyes slip away from the Major to focus on Captain Quinn for a moment. Tisiphone's very intrigued, all of a sudden. "Hunh," she mutters to herself. She tips her head slightly to the side, as if recalibrating some private thought, then returns her attention to Cidra.

Quinn just gives a faint bow of her head as her own name is mentioned, incase -somehow-, someone in the room didn't know who she was. She gazes about, giving a faint smile to anyone who might be looking in her direction. Therefore, Tisiphone's look is easily caught and she meets eyes for a heartbeat or two, open and acknowledging.

Sitka's brows stoop together in contemplation as Cidra reaches the technical details of the meeting, his pen busy scritching away on the pad of paper. He's filled about three pages' worth of notes, by now, and spares brief glances for both trask and Quinn. Noting who they are, for now, nothing more. The former receives a faint smile.

Daphne continues on to page four, and then stops, looks at her pen, and shakes it a few times. She starts to write again, but nothign comes out. The expression on her face is something like terror in a self contained little package. She mouths 'one, two, three, four, five', and then starts to disassemble her pen so she can get at the plastic straw inside of it. She puts it in her mouth, and attempts to force the ink to the tip with her lungs.

Lasher blinks as images of Uram blink on and off the screen. There's a snort as the strength of the aggressor group is disclosed. "A bloody pair of frigates?" he muses to himself, still quiet. He doesn't go so far as to say anything overwhelmingly overconfident, though. Judging from the snippets on the screen, that missle frigate has a rather impressive throw weight… and even an obsolete flak frigate would eat Cerberus' Viper wings for breakfast. Fingers begin tapping thoughtfully on one leg.

And…that's almost the end of that. Cidra clears her throat once before saying, "Further instructions with more details, as I said, shall come down as we get deeper into individual exercises. In the mean time. Learn to work together. As I said before, this our first chance to write some legends of our own for the Cerberus' Wing. Now, unless there are any questions, are you dismissed. Viper squad leaders will be posting wingman assignments. Raptor leads, do the same with your pilot and ECO rotations. All are, of course, subject to change as needs and specific exercises arise." A pause and she smirks, adding, "We have some new pilots aboard. Some still in need of callsigns. I will be displeased if our rooks go unnamed for too long. Let us see if we can come up fitting monikers for them in the coming days." And…she's done.

Oh, Lords, no. Tisiphone freezes when the Major brings up the matter of callsign-bereft Ensigns, and a flush starts to creep up from beneath the collar of her shirt. For the rest of the briefing, she could pretend she was as knowledgeable and cool as the rest of her colleages — but now, she's put firmly back in place. "Sir," is murmured weakly, before she makes to stand.

Daphne scribbles with her pen-skeleton and finds that it does seem to actually work, so she hurriedly screws the thing back together again. At the sound of Tisiphone's voice behind her, the little hairs on her neck may as well stand up. She looks straight ahead, though.

Kal doesn't catch Ibrahim's smile. Another time, perhaps. What he does do is rise to his feet, pencil and crinkled paper in hand, and says, "Major, a moment, if I may…"

Alessandra gets up to her feet and works her way towars where Anton is, her face growing a bit red now as she looks for that damned piece of paper. Nope, not there….and it's not over there. "Well, motherfrakker," she grumbles, the realization that the note has disappeared displeasing. Hopefully it's not in the possession of one of the higher-up types.

Malone pauses at the mention of new pilots, being one of them himself. Thankfully, he's not one of the Unnamed Ones, that he looks to next.

"What, no quiz for the ensigns? And they went to all that trouble t' take notes, too," Lasher notes sardonically as he rises to his feet. His eyes focus on the bald head of Tisiphone in particular as Cidra mentions callsigns, Laskaris' mind going back to a certain instance in the messhall.

Quinn stands up herself, moving for the door, but not exactly out. She settles there, just at the side of the door, partially to give a respectful and appropriate farewell to those leaving, but also to show herself ready and open for questions that might come from anyone. She rests there, leaning her shoulder blades slightly against the wall, not on duty so to speak, simply open for associating as people might wish.

Tisiphone slashes the briefest of glances toward Laskaris, both sullen and exquisitely embarrassed, before beating a very hasty retreat. If she's lucky, she'll be out of eyeshot before she's bright pink.

Tisiphone heads through the exit labeled <O> Out.
Tisiphone has left.

Cidra descends the podium, letting the pilots mill around and out as they shall. But she did notice Trask's question, and approaches him. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

Malone has gotten to his feet now, starting in the general direction of the door, moving a bit slowly as he looks around the room once more.

Daphne turns crimson at Laskaris' commentary and, goes right back to chewing on her lip. Great taste, less filling. She slowly rises to her feet, stowing the pen in her pocket -just- so. Clipboard is at her side like it's some sort of metal shield. Look at me. I'm a pilot. For realsie.

The mystery note is offered to the CAG. "And here I thought you were asking me out. Color me crushed," is the deadpan comment. "Really, though, kids these days. You might wanna give 'em a talkin' to. I mean, if they're gonna pass notes in class, they really oughta have much better technique. If they can't hit their intended target with a crumpled piece of paper, how are they gonna fare with lasers and shit? Shameful, really." Trask's head shakes with mock disappointment. Oh, he also is just loud enough for others to overhear.

Sitka flips his notepad closed, and tucks it away along with his pen before climbing out of his chair. The mass exodus of pilots is steered clear of for the time being; he's not in any rush to get someplace, anyway.

Cidra's brows arch at Trask. Precipitously. "I think not. I have not passed such notes since I went to junior high school. That was when I was sent to an all-girls Academy." Tone very dry. She reads the missive.

Oblivious to the end, it never even occurs to Lasher that the note and the piece of paper that bounced off his leg are one and the same. He waits a few moments for the initial rush of exiting pilots to thin out before he himself ambles towards the door.

"Note…?" Eyes darting towards the one who mentioned it, Allie cringes openly, more than enough to make it obvious that she's the source of the offending paperwad. "Frakfrak…" Clearing her throat, she mans up and shouts out, "Hey, that's mine. Well, not mine, really. It was meant for Lasher. Can you give it to him, please?" Now Lasher can no longer be oblivious. Ha!

Malone has made his way closer to the door now. Glancing down to his notes for a few moments, before pocketing his notebook a bit thoughtfully.

Daphne heads through the exit labeled <O> Out.
Daphne has left.

"Lieutenant Trask was just searching for its author. His hall monitor skills are impressive," Cidra says dryly to Alessandra, handing the note to the lieutenant. She doesn't seem put out by the passing of it. It's slightly more duty-related than junior high school match-making, at least.

Lasher stops as his name is called. He turns on his heel, pausing as Cidra passes him the note. "For me?" he says dryly. The crumpled piece of paper is unfolded; he takes a moment to read it before giving Alessandra a look. Like, browraise times ten. "Allie. Really?" he utters in a deadpan. "This was such a pressing question —" he shakes the note in his hand — "it couldn't wait until after the briefing?" The blond pilot shakes his head bemusedly, rolling his eyes ever so slightly.

"I'm a real Renaissance Man," is the cheeky reply. To Alessandra, he adds, "Seriously, you need to work on your aim. I hope you shoot better than you throw shit." As an afterthought, he adds, "Kal Trask. They call me Bootstrap." To Lasher, "Evidently not. She must really have the hots for you."

Malone pauses as he hears the sound of the talking for the moment. Turning to watch the various people for a few moments.

Once the route out looks relatively clear, Sitka ticks off a salute to the CAG, nods to a couple of the other pilots loitering about, and strolls on out.

Sitka heads through the exit labeled <O> Out.
Sitka has left.

Quinn hasn't butt into the conversation, but no doubt she's listening and watching everything… Despite her farm girl appearance, she definitely does have an entirely too sharp mind up in that frizz covered head of her's.

Now caught between a rock - that being the CAG - a hard place - that being Trask - and the reaction she is getting from Anton, Alessandra takes to looking at the deck, a keen interest in her toes taken up as he face goes bright red. "Nice to meet you too and I shoot just fine, thanks…" she mutters to Trask but that is all she says that can be understood as the rest of what she has to say has dissolved into mutters and sheepish sighs. She does take a moment to look Laskaris in the eye but his expression and Kal's commentary makes her go absolutely silent, the pilot looking pained.

Cidra gives Trask a steady look. "Your contribution to this communique was not requested, Lieutenant, though it is noted." A quick return of Sitka's salute as he leaves, and then she makes to do so as well. "Lieutenants." The last two Laskaris and Alessandra. "I think more practice is for nothing but the good. Good luck in it." Alessandra's reaction to the whole matter earns a longer note than the note itself ever did. Blue eyes appraising.

Lasher's skeptical look turns to a smirk, and he nods. "No need t' look like you just got sent to the principal's office, Allie. 'Course we can practice later." Eyes dart quickly to the CAG. "I could probably use it, anyway. Pilots're about the only ones who didn't have a bloody thing t' do while the damn ship's still in drydock. I'm rusty already." Then, a sidelong look at Trask. "Anton Laskaris. Lasher," the Viper pilot introduces himself in turn. Another smirk. "But then, you already heard that part."

"Anything to help, Major. We all need to be team players." It's said so innocently, but at least Quinn would know better. "Yeah, I heard," Trask tells Laskaris, with an amused smile. "We still need to work out that safety word, though. If you Viper jocks wanna go on a mock date, lemme know. I'll see if I can squeeze you into my social calendar. Captain Gabrieli isn't the jealous type, but I don't want to come across as some hussy."

Malone turns in the direction of the door again, heading through it now. Humming a bit to himself.

Alessandra looks up and from face to face, the realization that the others didn't realize she didn't mean the sims getting her to relax some. "Sure, Lasher. Just let me know when." Okay, so it's not the practice she was hopping to get in but that can wait for later, she guesses. No sense in correcting people like the CAG when it's not really necessary.

Malone heads through the exit labeled <O> Out.
Malone has left.

"We shall all have ample opportunity to…de-rust ourselves," Cidra says simply. "Lieutenants. Carry on." And off she goes.

Quinn folds her arms across her chest, no one else lingering to speak with her, so she's probably just got her eye on her ECO. Waiting to see what trouble he's causing, an amused little smile perking across her full lips. She's listening to it all, unable to stop that laughter in her eyes..

Laskaris shakes his head lightly. "See you later, Allie. Bootstrap." A more serious nod to Cidra. "Major." Then, finally, he's making his escape.

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