| An Error in Paperwork |
| Summary: | Mathers calls Constin in to dot the 'i's and cross the 't's. |
| Date: | 6 Feb 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | the Dog That Didn't Bark |
| Players: |
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| Marine Offices - Deck 6 |
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| This offices consists of desks for those under the CO, along with his desk toward the back of the room. The S1 and S2 have desks here and the place is neat as a pin, with everything in its place. At the front of the room, a Marine sits at a desk to meet people as they come in through the hatch. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #345 |
PROJECT MASTIFF might have been a success, but in no way shape or form did it go off without a hitch. They still had some KIA's and with that comes a great excess of paperwork. A shame how loss of life comes down to filling out forms in triplicate. Now Mathers occupies his new desk, bent over a typewriter where he hunts and pecks at the keys. Constin has been sent for as one more loose end to tie up today. Might as well, while he's in the process.
"Captain," Constin greets evenly as the sergeant fills the office's doorway. The MaA's left hand still carries a folder of corner-less files, the results of his own ongoing grapples with paperwork.
"Sergeant." Mathers waves him forward with a little two finger curl of bidding, but finishes one last box on the form before he gives Constin his full attention. Paper is pulled from the roller of the typewriter and added to the stack. "We have some business to discuss. Have a seat."
Constin nods once, the notion of 'business to discuss' solidifying the stern frown that typifies the big sergeant's on duty expression. Bending his frame into the seat ( settling into the seat a good deal more comfortably than he does in his own 'office'), he prompts, "What's the word, sir?"
"There was an error made in your paperwork when you took over the slot of Master at Arms that needs to be rectified. And you should know by now I'm a stickler for paperwork." To prove his point, Mathers opens up a desk drawer, rummaging around for the means necessary to fix this little mix-up.
An error in his paperwork? Sonuvabitch. "I know the prior Em-Ay-Ay didn't sign off on the transfer of duties, but the regs are clear that Company Command can act in that stead in cases on Kay-Eye-Aye, sir," the sergeant begins, mind ticking back over the only hiccup in the months-old chain of paperwork that left him in his new role.
A little plastic baggie is withdrawn from Mathers' drawer and tossed on the desk between them. Within, are patches signifying the rank of Gunnery Sergeant. "Like I said, they forgot something. Congratulations Gunny, you're a fine example of what CMC is meant to be, and based on the accolades of your superior officers you have hereby been promoted. Damn fine work." Here's to hoping Constin didn't expect more fanfare.
Constin eyes the baggie as it comes out. Is that evidence, or something? Narrow blue eyes move up from the patches to regard Mathers at the Captain's words. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he prompts after a moment. Far from fanfare, his demeanor barely alters.
"If it's anything other than 'Thank you, Captain' you might want to tread lightly. I just finished a stack of reports listing everyone we lost in battle yesterday, people who all would have been proud to wear those patches." Comes the not-so-subtle warning from the XO, but Mathers grants him what he asks with a wave of his hand.
"Sir, I'm proud as hell the Corp Command thinks this well of me," Constin answers promptly. "And it's the very frakking last thing I'd ever want to see done is disrespecting them we've lost, which is why I gotta say this." A drawn breath and he goes on. "This rank ain't something I need to do the job I've got. I know we sure as Hell-for-bankers ain't in a standard situation here, but I gotta ask if Command is sure this won't hurt morale. Lot of marines on this boat served longer than me."
"And all of those marines will continue serving, and proudly, under their new Gunny. You stepped up. You took initiative. And you're being commended for it. While being Em-Ay-Ay doesn't require I put that patch on your shoulder, you earned it and by questioning it, you're demoralizing it. Do you or do you not have what it takes to be my new Gunnery Sergeant, Constin." Mathers now challenges, a slight lean forward in his chair.
"Yes sir, I do," Constin drawls back evenly after that last challenge. A drawn breath precedes his only other comment on the immediate situation: "Thank you, Captain. No shit, thanks for this."
Mathers thrusts his hand out across the desk, offering an atypical handshake to seal the deal. "I'm damn proud to have you. So is the Major. Frankly this would have come sooner, but Dog Day took precedence. Serve those new patches well."
Constin extends his own thick fingered, calloused hand to return the handshake firmly. While not crushing, Elf worked a decade in the mines before enlisting, and his handshake reflects it. "Intend to, sir," he drawls to that last instruction, after nodding once to the former words.
Mathers doesn't have time in the mines, hell, he even has less combat time then some of the others under his command. But even though he came up as an S4, which is primarily a desk job, he still came up as a marine. There's firmness in his shake, a confidence. "Then if you have nothing else to add, Gunny, you are dismissed back to your duty rotation."
"Sir," Constin returns, upon regaining his feet. Picking up the plastic baggie- holding it in the same hand he carries the folder- he turns on a booted heel and steps out of the office. A minor stitching project is quickly added to his mental list of 'today's tasks'.