PHD #182: Back on the Dirt
Back on the Dirt
Summary: Damon touches down on Sagittaron and is greeted by Coll.
Date: 27 Aug 2041 AE
Related Logs: None.
Coll Damon 
Aigosthena - Sagittaron
Post-Holocaust Day: #182
The stilts are the first things that catch the eye: two meters tall at their shortest, driven into the ground from the base of every thatched hut and every wooden bridge. For Aigosthena is no different from the other villages in this verdant delta, consigned as she is to the tender mercies of the ancient River Jharkand — and when the river rages, it's an open question as to whether even this feat of human ingenuity is sufficient to meet the storm.

Nearly all of the buildings here are new from their foundations on up, though they're built in an old-fashioned style: for instance, the vast majority of them have been caulked with tar to stave off the rains. Only the ragged antennae and satellite dishes rising up from the largest of the houses suggest that Aigosthena's inhabitants have entered the modern age, and there aren't terribly many of those to be seen. Oh, and the boats: there's a veritable fleet of them moored where the village meets the left bank of the kilometers-wide river, and many of them seem more advanced than the luxury yachts of Virgon.

The landing area has a lot of people who are either working on getting supplies moved around or doing work on either defenses or the ships. But there's only so much that can be done down here. Coll looks like she's taking a break in the heat of the early evening. She's seated on the winglet of Raptor Two - the armed gunship. The woman appears to be idly sipping on a canteen at the moment. She's missing a small portion of her hair, but its just enough to probably notice. The knees of her pants bulge like they are bandaged, too. Her face is mostly red like its been sunburned, as well. The woman looks, overall, pretty tired but still fairly relaxed.

One of the most recent visitors to Sagittaron is Damon, looking slightly lost with a duffel on his shoulder. His eyes assess the world around him as he walks without specific purpose, taking in his surroundings. A pause as he catches sight of the freshly burnt-out farm. His lips twist to the side and he chews on the inside of his cheek. "It is what it is," he mutters to himself and continues on. It's only a moment after that he catches sight of Coll and raises a hand in greeting. The duffel gets dumped beside the Raptor where he comes to a stop.

Coll is looking off to a pair of Marines walking the perimeter when Damon stops by the Raptor. She doesn't seem to notice him until the duffel is set down and she turns at the sound. Her lips quirk up in a smile. "Petty Officer Damon. How goes? Here to visit Vista del Saggie for a few days? Soak up some rays? Maybe dip your toes in the pool?" She waggles her brow at him before sliding down the winglet a bit to face him.

Damon snorts and offers Coll a wry grin. "Closest thing I'll get to shore leave, I figure," he says, leaning up against the bird. "Officially, I'm here to bring home a Raptor. Unofficially, I missed fresh air and actual open space." Headjerk over to the remains of the barn. "Looks like I missed the reception party, though. How's it going down here? And how you holding up?"

"Heh. Prolly. Last time I put boot to grass was on Leonis after that HALO jump. Reception was a little warmer there. Here?" Lauren shrugs easily. "Pissed off humans doing what Sag has done best for the last few hundred years. I'll take them over the Cylon any which way to Sunday." She smirks, the look lopsided. Coll's no stranger to bad zipcodes anymore. "Doin' alright. Survived a morter attack. Ran into a burning barn to help save four aircraft. Crashed a Raptor on the way out. Ran back in. Almost died." She rattles it off. "Business as usual. Figured I needed a vacation after all those weeks workin' on those cruise missiles. Speakin' of which, I'm greenlit from the CAG for startin' work on that Strike Viper."

"You don't do things half-heartedly, that's for sure," Damon chuckles when she lists her Sagittaron exploits. "Just… be careful, yeah? Your life and safety are worth an entire Squadron of Vipers." A nod is given to what looks like bandaged knees. "As long as you're all right. Besides, we need you in order to be able to build that ship of yours." That last point brings a broad grin back to his face. "Have you picked a team yet for that?"

Lauren chuckles. "Damon? You're too kind. But don't sweat it. Live for something or die for nothing. I live to get the jobs done nobody else wants or has the guts to do." Like doing insane things with the Marines. She shakes her head to the last, though. "Negative. Getting those missiles assembled was my first priority. Without them, there was no point to the concept. We haven't been able to flight test them yet, either. I've got a few ideas on that, but it can wait until I talk to the CAG." She clears her throat. "What I need from you is tacit permission to be assigned the permanent Project Lead. That means that I won't have anyone else throwing their asses into this and getting contradicting orders on build design from some officer who doesn't know his dork from a drillbit. They're interchangeable concepts after 'Ensign'."

"You got more balls than me, that's for sure," Damon jokes. Or is he joking? She's definitely done things that not many, if any, would have had the testicular fortitude to accomplish. "The Strike Viper is your baby, she's yours to build. Project Lead, CEO, Director - whatever title you want, you'll be in charge of it from start to finish. And I'd rather eat a socket wrench than let officers get involved in this - that'd double the project timeline for each officer added and increase the frustration level exponentially." That one's a joke, right?

Coll chuckles, turning some hair out of her face in the breeze. "Thanks. Just a different outlook on life from this end." While she might have gotten in someone's face a few months ago about making fun of officers, Coll's appreciation for some of the aircrew seems to have nosedived recently. "No kidding. Some of them piss me straight off. But anyhow, much appreciated. CAG needs someone with design and fabrication experience to watch over my shoulder and make sure this is done right. Personally, I would prefer that to be you, Chief." Despite downing on officers, she always manages to sound like one when talking about this stuff. "You've got the knowledge and the know-how. If I can keep you in the loop pretty closely, I don't necessarily need you to stay hands-on. However, please don't take that as a wish. I'd love to have you on-board with this."

Every time Damon smiles, it's got that ironic twist to it. "I'm flattered," he says - and he sounds it. He's given up on trying to stop her from calling him Chief, though. "And I'd be honored. You can be sure I'll be trying to edge in there to get my hands dirty every chance I get. I don't even get playtime on the Raptors and Vipers much anymore; a project like this is exactly what I need to get my brain fired back up." He picks the duffel bag back up and gives the Raptor a light slap on the hull. "I'm gonna get sorted out as much as I can, then I'll bring the stuff over to start getting to work. Keep me in the know with the missiles and the Strike Viper as much as you can, yeah? I'm frakkin' excited."

At first, Damon's not sure how to take that salute. It's just a second of hesitation - but noticeable in the pause of his natural rhythm. He returns the salute. However, the action makes the duffel swing off his right shoulder and down to his elbow, dragging his entire arm down with it. The weight of the bag pulls him sideways a couple steps before he gets control of it and swings it back onto his shoulder. Embarrassedly, he clears his throat, shakes his head, and saunters off.

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