PHD #396: Blind Leading The Blind
Blind Leading The Blind
Summary: Sawyer and Shiner have coffee. Because juice is juvenile.
Date: 29 March 2042 AE
Related Logs: None
Sawyer Shiner 
News Room - Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus
This compartment isn't huge by any means, an afterthought shoved into an alcove when the engineer was finishing the final plans for the ship. The long awkward rectangle is filled with several desks and those heavy pieces of machinery that are tools of the media trade — copiers, computers, printers, and of course a seemingly never-ending supply of paper of both the A4 and broadsheet variety. In the far port corner hangs a mulberry-colored hammock attached to the bulkhead — where the head-reporter-in-charge is purported to spent her nights. Three heavy desks have been moved to form an inverted 'U' for the new Editor in Chief's work station, and behind them lies the hatch to the modest closet-sized darkroom.
Post-Holocaust Day: #396

It's a Newsroom. People are at desks typing things, copying things, and writing things. The buzz of activity is starting to die down, however, as it winds to the end of a standard day shift. No one likes to work late if they don't have to, and the boss lady'll be here to cover anything that does happen to come up. Because she lives here. "Thanks." Sawyer mutters as someone drops something on the corner of her desk and excuses themselves for the night, the defacto Editor in Chief barely raising a glance.

Shiner chaps on the door lightly, before just letting himself in anyway, gawking openly at the various pieces of equipment and even going to far as to give one of the printers an experimental poke. It goes beep. In a sort of 'don't poke me again' sort of way.

It's the noise that usually means the document that Sawyer was currently trying to print has failed due to an empty paper tray. "Does no one fill that damn thing?" The grouse falls on deaf ears as everyone is trying to squeeze out the door for the day instead of staying one minute late. Afterall, no one's getting paid for this gig. That leaves it to Sawyer to tend to the printer, but when she looks up with cigarette dangling from her lips, she sees Shiner there. "Oh." She slips to her feet, resting her cigarette on the cusp of an ashtray. "Ensign Wright. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I thought, wow, you know that Averies chick?" Shiner tells her, fighting with the paper tray to try to fix whatever he just managed to break. "She looks pretty down in the dumps lately. You know what she needs? Yeah, she needs Dave Wright's smiling face to cheer her up." He pauses to flash a hopeful grin at her. "Cue one smiling face, as ordered."

That at least earns him a little smirk, "Is that so? Is this a service you provide to the masses or do I get to think I'm special?" Sawyer says casually, leaning against another desk while she regards him. "By the way, I wouldn't touch that if I were you." Meaning the printer. "I already have enough troubles with it, and Engineering can't exactly requisition me one from the nearest port anymore."

Shiner folds his hands behind his back immediately, trying to pretend he wasn't touching it at all. "Oh, no, no, you're special," he affirms solemnly, flashing another grin before perching up on the edge of a desk. "Totally special." A pause. "You've got, like, all the goss on everything, right? So what's the deal with all these sick people?"

"Actually, I was waiting for shift change to make the trip over to sickbay and finagle one of the doctors into an interview. So far, I don't have anything concrete other than flu like symptoms with a rash and in extreme cases seizures and coma. Like any contagion, they're using every precaution because of the closed environment." Sawyer tilts her head slightly, "So much for a social visit. You've know someone afflicted?"

"Half the frakking wing's down with it," Shiner exaggerates with a shrug. "So you don't know any more than the rest of us, huh? Well, in that case, this is totally a social visit. I can't train when my instructor's all sick and shit, so I've got an evening free. You want a coffee or something?" he offers vaguely.

"Well. I was working on it. I had assigned it to one of my junior reporters and then she had to go and enlist on me." At his offer for coffee, Sawyer stands up from the edge of the desk, looking as if she has every intention of declining. "That's really…" Sweet of you, but no? I doesn't matter, the rest of the sentence goes unsaid because she changes her mind mid-swing. "You know what? Yeah. Yeah I would like to. I'll just lock up and we can go down the hall to the Observation Deck, if you'd like."

"Sweet!" Shiner replies, brows lifting in pleased surprise as she doesn't actually shoot him down. "But it's just coffee, okay? I've got my eye on this chick in the Air Wing, and I'd totally screw up my chances if I frakked you," he tells her frankly. "Sorry."

"Don't worry, kid, I think I'll survive. Besides, last I checked, I was far too old for you." Sawyer says with an honest smile settling softly onto her lips. There's a little chuckle to herself as she turns to retrieve her current cigarette and a half pack of back-ups. "So, who's the lucky lady?" She makes a gesture towards the hatch, indicating she'll follow him out so she can lock the door.

"It's not age, it's experience," Shiner assures her amiably, sliding from the desk and ambling out of the door. "There's a lot to be said for a woman with experience."

Sawyer pulls the hatch closed behind them, sealing it and locking it for the time being. "Wait, so are you saying I'm too old or too inexperienced? You know…I don't think I want to know. It doesn't matter. Or you're saying that the woman you're crushing on is similar in my age, and you're changing your tune as to to not offend her and better your chances." Maybe she's honestly making an effort at this whole 'being friendly' thing, because she doesn't sound as if she's trying to demean him at all.

Shiner shakes his head. "Nah, I'm just saying you're pretty hot. For an older chick," he explains. "I dunno how old Shakes is. Not as old as you, though." A pause while his words filter through his brain. "Uh, no offence or anything. Shit, how are you supposed to talk to women about age without pissing them off? I mean, it's the truth, right?"

"Shakes, huh?" If Sawyer ran a gossip rag, she could be making a mint lately. "Well, either way, I'll take it as a compliment, but no. No, you probably shouldn't put qualifiers on the nice stuff you have to say about people. It sort of adds a demeaning quality. Like: you're pretty smart, for a kid who thinks with his dick." Her grin is split by the filter of her cigarette as she takes another drag, all the while progressing them towards the obs deck.

"Nah, I'm just a dumb shit, me," Shiner points out, apparently quite content with this fact. "My dick's got more sense than my brain does. Can't deny it knows what it wants, and it'll stop at nothing to get it." He holds the hatch open for her to the Obs Deck. What a gentleman!

"Good thing I was just using it as an example." Sawyer slips past Shiner with a muted thank you, doing a quick visual inventory of the room as if to ensure that a particular someone or someones aren't occupying the room before she finally steps in fully.

Observation Deck - Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus
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.
Post-Holocaust Day: #396

"Nah, it's good," Shiner tells her, following on in and stretching one arm over his head, cracking his neck with an audible 'pop'. "You know what I hate about women? It's when they don't just say what they mean. I mean, seriously, right? If you think I'm a dickhead, then just say it and it saves a whole load of effort to be nice, and compliment the girl on her shoes and her haircut and all that shit women like."

"Everyone can use a little flowery verbage once in a while. I, for one, used to pride myself on being a proponent of the truth. But there's something to be said for not being brutal about its delivery." Sawyer flaps her hand in a self-annoyed gesture. "Anyways. Are they letting you fly on your own yet?" She walks down several rows of seating, heading towards the coffee urn.

"Nah, no chance," Shiner admits. "I'd kill everyone in a great big fiery ball of death. How do you take yours?" he asks, hurrying forward to volunteer to make the coffee. "I did get to fly a real Raptor in real space, though, last week. It's a bit different to the sims, and there's no way they were letting me try to land on my own. I'm totally jealous of the guys who pick it up really easily and end up zooming through training like nobody's business. Even the technical crap's like, all way advanced and shit. There's all this math and stuff, and I've always hated math. If they weren't totally desperate I'd have been kicked out of training by now for sure," he admits glumly.

Sawyer relents in her efforts to fix her own cup of coffee, allowing herself this one novelty of having someone else pour and fix her coffee for her. "Just a bit of sweetner, if there is any to be had. Otherwise, I've learned to drink it black. Thanks. You know, I drove a tank once. I can't imagine the finesse it'd take to fly a bird, so don't be too hard on yourself."

"Black it is," Shiner acknowledges, pouring two cups and adding an obscene amount of sugar into one. "You drove a tank? Like, for a story or something, or were you killing people?"

There is a little snort of laughter from Sawyer as she grabs the glass without the mountain of sugar in it. Looks like Shiner took her share, but she'll survive drinking it like tar. "When we," Using the collective term to mean her and others from the Cerberus, not her and the immediate Shiner, "were trapped on Leonis, I got slated to drive one of them during our mass exodus."

Shiner ponders as he takes up his coffee, cradling it for now rather than burning his mouth on it. "Driving a tank's pretty cool," he acknowledges. "I think I'd like to drive a tank some time. I learned to drive a whole bunch of heavy machinery on the deck, though, which is pretty neat. Like all the winches and forklifts and all that? I'm totally qualified to use those. But they don't have the cool factor of driving a frakking /tank/. I mean, you'd be all, like, leaning out of the top, going 'get out of the way, mother frakker, I'm in a frakking /tank/, dude!' and nobody's going to mess with you."

Sawyer turns to find a seat, threading down a line of couches to one that seems to be her favorite. She's had plenty of time to find a favorite. "Well, sure. It was pretty fun up until I got it stuck in some mud and couldn't roll it back out. We had to abandon ship and then…" Sawyer gives up on that line of thought, seeming how it ended up in people dying. "Yeah, it was fun."

Shiner follows up, taking the seat beside her without a thought and propping his feet up on the table in front of him. "I thought those things could drive anywhere? Not so much, huh?" He shrugs amiably, taking a sip of his coffee and pulling a face. "Shit, I'd give my left grolly for a decent cup of frakking tea and a hob nob."

"Not so much." Sawyer confirms for him, lifting her cup of joe to her lips for a sip, but she stops just shy. "I'm not entirely sure what you just said, but I get the distinct impression that the translation isn't as dirty as it sounded. Unless you just said you want tea and a blow job. Pretty sure that would /also/ ruin your chances with Shakes."

"What? No, no! A hob nob!" Shiner protests. "I mean, sure, I'll take the blow job if you're offering. I'd be a fool to turn you down, but I was /referring/ to the cookie. Local specialty, with loads of oats and stuff. They're awesome." A pause. "Uh, I mean local to home, not to here. I don't think there's any local cookies to the middle of frakking space."

"A cookie. Do girls have grollies? Because I'd probably give my right /and/ left one for one of my grandmother's cinnamon ones." There's a smirk that's hidden behind the rim of Sawyer's coffee mug, "And no, that wasn't an offer." Laughter in her voice before she drowns it with another swig.

Shiner grins. "Hey, if you've got grollies, then I think we need to be worried. And if you've got grollies, you're totally off my list of hot chicks, too, legs or no legs." He takes another tentative sip of coffee. "I frakking hate coffee," he tells her bluntly. "But it's like the only way you can get to sit down with a girl without her running a mile. I mean, if you say 'hey, want some juice' they think you're twelve. If you say 'want some tea', they think you're weird, and if you offer a beer they think you're trying to get them drunk and take advantage."

"Then I guess I don't have a grollies, let alone any to do any bargaining with. I'm decidedly okay with that." Sawyer toasts with her mug before she settles it on her thigh. "Coffee works. It disguises the underlying offer for conversation beneath a nice layer of caffeine. You could always try: want some water. But then again, that's usually what a prisoner gets asked by a guard, so. Yeah, you're a bit limited in your drink choices."

Shiner gestures at her with his cup. "How about I say 'hey, want to get wasted and screw?' as an option, though? I mean, sure, it might not always work, but it'd be worth it if it did, right?"

"I guess it all depends on what you're going for, quality or quantity. Probably not going to get either with that line, though. You could try it on your girl from airwing? Let me know how it goes. We'll call it a social experiment." Sawyer offers lightly.

"Shakes would run a mile," Shiner admits glumly. "How about you? Would you go for it? Hypothetically, I mean. It's honest, right? And that's refreshing and shit?"

"You remember what I said about a brutal delivery? There's only so much 'honest' a girl can take. Really, it's to the point now when I couldn't even take 'let's get drunk and screw' serious anymore. Or any variation there of. Why don't you try actions, not words?" Sawyer offers to Shiner, somehow compelled to help him in his love life because the Lords of Kobol knows she doesn't have one.

"What, just grab her and drag her off to my bunk?" Shiner queries, incredulously. "Oh come on, that's just /wrong/."

Sawyer rolls her eyes towards the ceiling in a, 'why do I even bother' expression. "Or find her some chocolate. Kiss her cheek. Do her laundry for her and return it with /all/ her panties still in the basket. Or maybe try to leave your hormones in check for five seconds and find out how her days was or who she misses the most out here in the Black. Frak. Why are you taking relationship advice from me? I'm in love with a verbally abuse asshat. Maybe you should try that."

Shiner holds up a finger, giving her a smug look. "I /gave/ her chocolate, /and/ asked her about herself and everything. I was totally smooth, seriously. You should have seen it. I dunno about doing her laundry, though. I mean, come on, seriously?"

"I was just trying to think of some service you could do for her. But you're right, laundry might be creepy." The journalist rocks back to her feet. "But like I said, you damn sure shouldn't be taking relationship advice from me. Good luck on your happily ever after, Ensign. I'll be rooting for you." Seems their coffee 'date' is at an end.

Shiner doesn't correct her, but does note, "Hey, dude, thanks for your help, though, right? I mean, you're a woman. You know what women want. If you ever want to know what guys want without all the bullshitting around, you come and find me, okay? Like so I can return the favour, I mean."

Sawyer reaches out to fluff his hair as she steps past him. "You got it. Thanks for the coffee, it was good to get out." She says honestly, before she's off for the hatch.

"And if you ever want meaningless sex..?" Shiner also offers hopefully.

Sawyer pauses long enough to grin back over her shoulder, "It's never meaningless." And then she's gone.

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