PHD #247: Bedtime
Summary: Cidra makes a return to crashing in the berthings.
Date: 31 Oct 2041 AE
Related Logs: Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep
Cidra Devlin 
Pilot Berths - Deck 4 - Battestar Cerberus
The battlestar's pilots call this place home. Bunks line the walls with grey curtains to cover their sleeping areas. Lockers sit between each pair of bunks and a round metal table sits in the center, furnished with simple but comfortable steel chairs. A hatch at the rear of the room leads to a communal head.
Post-Holocaust Day: #247

Cidra strides into the berthings. Not precisely a common sight these days, though she still has to make the occasional ghost appearance to shower and change. She's in her duty blues, jacket unbuttoned, and is carrying a tin cup of something steaming. Tea by the smell of it, some herbal variety, if one is trying very hard to smell it. She proceeds to the center table and seats herself, quite casually, as if she hasn't been avoiding this place like the plague for over a month.

Devlin has become an even more common sight around the berths than he used to be, since receiving his commission and moving in. He and Bubbles have claimed a set of bunks in a relatively less-populated part of the berths, but he still wanders through the rest often enough, as he's doing now. The ensign appears to've been chatting with another pilot, leaning against a ladder before straightening up and wandering away, in time to spot Cidra sitting down at the table. He hesitates and then meanders her way, nodding politely. "Evening," he offers.

"Ensign Devlin. Good evening," Cidra says. So casual. She sips her tea, offering him a slight inclination of her head in greeting.

"How are you?" Devlin asks, tone still polite, though it hovers closer to friendly in that way he can't quite seem to help. He doesn't sit, but rests a hand on the back of a chair opposite her as he pauses in his route past. "I haven't seen you around here much lately, I hope everything's okay?"

"I am quite well, thank you," Cidra replies. Eye contact is avoided for the moment, but she's busying herself with her tea. It is, perhaps a coincidence. Perhaps not. "Yes. Well. I have been working on something of a special project. It has occupied much of my off-hours time." Devlin has seen how she occupies at least /some/ of her off-hours time in the chapel, not that she touches on that.

"That's good," Devlin says with a quick, warm smile she probably misses in her focus on the tea. He nods a little more at her explanation, agreeing quickly, "Ahh, okay. I hope it's going well. If I can help at all, let me know?" He shrugs a bit and admits, "I probably wouldn't be much help, but just in case. Sometimes I'm good with random stuff."

"It is going," Cidra non-answers obliquely about her project. "No, Decoy, I do not suspect this is a matter you can assist me with. But I shall keep that in mind. Thank you." Sip, sip. Eyes up to the Viper pilot. "And how are you?

Devlin nods a little more, head bobbing, "Okay. I figured." Broad shoulders lift and fall once more, and then brows go upwards as well at the question, apparently somewhat surprised she asked. "Oh, I'm okay, thanks. Settling into the new routine with CAP and stuff, you know."

"Good. That is good," Cidra says. Her answer is sort of general. She may not exactly be listening to him. Sip, sip, sip. A pause and she inquires, oh-so-casually, "How do you like flying under Poppy?"

If Devlin notices the lack of attention, he doesn't appear, at least, to take it personally, though he does let his weight shift backwards, very subtly preparing to take his leave. Until she asks about his SL, that is. There is a beat of silence, and then just-as-casually, he shrugs and replies, "She flies very well."

"Yes, she does," Cidra says. "And she has a good head on her shoulders. Too much for her own good in some ways, I do think, but she is a better officer for it." Pause. Sip, sip, sip. "I know there has been much upheaval for the Knights and things are not easy. I do hope you are granting her your full respect and dedication, for she has my full confidence."

"Yes, sir," is all Devlin says, and that he says after a faint pause, though not a long enough one to be precisely conspicuous or telling.

"Good," Cidra says simply, finishing her tea. Stifling a yawn. She stands, going to her locker. And promptly beginning to strip out of her blues. She does it with no particular sense of discomfort. It is somewhat at odds with her Gemenese sense of propriety, but she seems to have put Berthing Naked in a different category in her brain than Regular Naked.

Devlin just sort of nods a little, and takes a step back as the CAG heads for her locker. "Sleep well, sir," he offers, before turning to head away through the bunks.

Cidra deposits her blues into her locker and puts on her sweats. Stretching idly in them. She eyes her bunk for a beat. As if considering. "Thank you, Decoy," she says simply to Devlin. Then she goes bunk-wards. Shutting her privacy screen.

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