| Brassed Part One - Frak! |
| Summary: | Psyche and Malone are promoted. Psyche displays the intelligent response to this. |
| Date: | 02 Oct 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Brassed Part Two - Up the Down Money Shot; Brassed Part Three - Sisters in Arms |
| Players: |
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| Ready Room - Deck 7 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| 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. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #218 |
The summons came after Psyche and Malone touched down off CAP, from a technician on the Deck. CAG wants to see them. ASAP. In the Ready Room. That is all. Rather unusual, really. Cidra actually makes a point of trying *not* to conduct personal meetings with her pilots in the Ready Room, beyond briefings that require more seats than her rather small office allows. But not other details were immediately offered. In any case, the CAG waits for the two pilots now. Standing at the podium. Still, posture straight. Just waiting.
Psyche is laughing as she enters, shouldering her wingmate playfully. "…and I swear to the frakking gods, do you always come in hot? I mean, you give me gray hairs," she says to Malone, grinning. Her smile dims a candle at the sight of the CAG, becoming more respectful and less cheeky, though it retains its warmth. She clears her throat a little and salutes, helmet and gloves tucked neatly under her arm. "You wanted to see us, sir?"
"Well, someone has to," Malone offers with a bit of a chuckle. Pausing as he sees the CAG now, and offers a salute just like Psyche did. He doesn't speak now, though. Waiting to see what's being said.
Cidra acknowledges the salute fluidly and offers an "At ease." Which means they still get to keep standing in a relatively uncomfortable position for her inspection. She steps down from the podium, eyeing them both up and down in that vaguely weighing manner she occasionally eyes things in. Like she's taking them apart in her head and seeing how all the pieces fit together. "Bubbles. Splash. You have been with the ship since we left drydock at Leonis so many months ago. Tell me now. How do you think you have served this Wing in that time?"
Psyche blinks a few times, apparently taken aback by the question. She clears her throat again, shifting her weight slightly and snatching her hand back down as it moves to rub the back of her neck. "Well. Uhm. Sir…" she begins, not too promisingly. A slightly worried frown creases her brow. "I feel I'm a good pilot. You can count on me to go out, get the job done, and get myself and my bird back to the barn. I follow orders and pretty much keep my nose clean… except for that little… y'know. Thing with the marines. And I'm gonna keep fighting and flying until I can't anymore. So." She pauses and takes a breath. "I hope that's served the Wing well, sir."
One of those questions. How Malone remembers those from his Pyramid-playing days. "How I think I've served this Wing, sir?" A brief pause before he continues, "I'm certain something could have been done better, but all in all, I feel I've not done too badly, given the circumstances we're all in. I know that I've always tried to do my very best, both as a pilot and otherwise." A brief grimace as he adds, "And given that I'm still alive, I think that might count as something positive…"
Cidra gives a small nod at that last from Malone, a somber look creeping into her cloudy blue eyes. Which drift out over all the seats in the Ready Room. Built to hold three-hundred. Even with prospective Nuggets pretty much ready to get their wings, they keep emptying more chairs than filling them. With a blink, she shifts her focus back to Psyche and Malone. "You have both served me well," she affirms, soft, but with deep pride in her tone. "And I have little doubt you shall continue in that. But I need more from you than simply good flight and fast guns. I need you to be examples to pilots beneath you. To lead them. I am…matters are unsettled now." She clears her throat. "But I am trying to get them in order. And in that, I am calling you to more difficult service." She reaches into the pocket of her duty blues, plucks something out, then holds her palm up. Open. Maybe they're short on little ceremonial boxes, given the state of the worlds. But she's holding a pair of rank pins. LTJG and LT, respectively.
Psyche looks… terrified. She blinks from the pins Cidra offers to the woman herself, then back down at the pins. Her swallow is audible. "Frak," she whispers, like she just opened the front door to find Hermes standing there, her bags packed and a one-way ticket to Hades in his hand. Pale and a little sick, she takes a deep breath and nods, reaching for the pins with an expression of grim resignation. "Thank you, sir," she says in a small voice. "I… it means a lot to me, that you've found my service so worthy." That, at least, she sounds like she means.
Malone pauses for a few moments as he looks to the pins, then to Cidra and back to the pins. Looking like he's unsure of what to say now. Finally, he offers a quiet smile, taking a few deep breaths before he speaks. "Thank you, sir. I will do all I can to make sure that your trust in me have been well placed." Taking the offered pins and studying them for a few moments.
Cidra watches Psyche very intently. Blue eyes attempting to meet the younger pilot's. There is actual approval of the woman's reaction to her pins. "Most think rank an honor. They are mistaken. It is a responsibility, and a heavy one. But you have clear eyes and steady hands, Bubbles, and I think you the heart to bear it up." The pins are both handed out. She flits a look to Malone, as if she has something more to say to him as well. But first, she leans forward with the intent to kiss Psyche. Full on the lips. It is not a romantic gesture. It has a sororal, even ceremonial quality to it. But, from the generally rigidly reserved woman, it may seem like it comes out of nowhere.
Well. Holy shit. It does kinda come outta nowhere, in Psyche-world. But, to her credit, the only sign that she's shocked by it is a quick widening of those big blue eyes. After, she smiles at the CAG — the smile is a little tight, but there are volumes of gratitude in her expression. "Thank you, sir," she repeats, voice a little rough. Cough. Breathe. "Your faith in me is… it's encouraging," she nods. "Very. I won't let you down."
Malone doesn't speak or anything at the moment, noticing the events happening, but otherwise keeping silent. Eyes having moved to those pins for now, expression at least semi-thoughtful.
"You shall not," Cidra agrees firmly, when Psyche says she won't let her down. It has the sound of an order. With that she moves onto Malone. Just regarding him for a moment. "You came to us an Ensign, Splash. But you are a veteran now, of harder days than I would have wished for any. Still, you have served me surpassing well." With that, she also aims a kiss at him. Not on the lips. Two brief pecks on each cheek.
Psyche swallows again and takes another deep breath. Yeahp. By that order, she, Lieutenant Psyche Devlin, is well and thoroughly screwed. She closes her hand around her pins, then shakes it off and flashes a smile at the newly minted JiG, clapping him companionably on the shoulder. "Congratz, Tommygun."
"Thank you, Sir. Wouldn't want to be any other place." Malone offers, a bit quietly, after those pecks on the cheeks. Which would be completely true, especially since 'any other place' probably would mean death, these days. Offering a smile to the new full Lieutenant beside him at the shoulder-clap, "Thanks. Congratulation to you too," he offers, with a bit of a smile.
Cidra takes a step back, regarding her new LT and LTJG in turn. Still pride in her eyes, mixed with that somberness. "I thank you both for your service. Dismissed. Go hit the showers. And good hunting."
Psyche salutes once more, the pride kindled by Cidra's gaze not quite crowding out the dread… but swelling her chest all the same. "Good hunting, sir," she responds, and thus turns to leave — rank, responsibility, and anxiety significantly higher than when she entered.
Malone adds another salute as well, unable to hold back a brief smile. "Good hunting, Sir," he offers with a bit of a nod, before he starts moving to the door as well, a bit slowly and thoughtfully.
Cidra acknowledges those salutes and lets the LT and LTJG go on their way. She remains in the Ready Room for a bit, for her part. Looking thoughtfully out at the many, many chairs that fill it.