| Chewing the Fat |
| Summary: | Sofia drops by the News Room for a chat with Sawyer. |
| Date: | 28 June 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None. |
| Players: |
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| News Room - Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| This room isn't huge by any means, but it does have all the updated equipment and a small news staff that runs the area. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #122 |
The news room is pretty scarce as for as occupants go, few of the original QUODEL delegates and assorted accoutrements of people made it back on board back at Picon Anchorage, so that leaves only a hand full of people that even consider using this room. Of course, that suits Sawyer just fine, who has set up a little nest back by the entrance to the dark room. She's using not one but three desks now, having taken it upon herself to have them moved to form a U-shape so she has more work surface. Even /that/ however, has been filled by all sorts of files, photographs, reports and assorted papers that look as if there is no rhyme nor reason to her organization thereof. Currently the Journalist is sitting in front of her laptop, though there's a desktop computer and screen set up there as well. The screen casts a faint sickly blue glow onto Sawyer's face as she leans over the keys.
When Engineers Attack - Next on Faux! News! Well, fortunately no one's getting mauled, and no engineers are gnawing on people. There's the soft clatter of a push-cart outside. Then, a soft rapping on the door frame. "Hello?" She peers in carefully, though not too far lest she disrupt or see something she shouldn't.
Sawyer glances up from the clackity-clack of keys to glance to the door and ascertain whether the intrusion is aimed at her or someone else. Oh. She's the only one here. Everyone else must have cleared out while she was engrossed with her current task. Immediately a practiced smile springs to Sawyer's lips, "Hi there. Sofia…Wolf…right?" Of course she's right, and therefore Sawyer doesn't even take a pause to breath and let Sofia give a yes or no before she continues. "So much better than using a rank. So impersonal, though I suppose that's the goal. Come on in, what can I do for you? Want some coffee?"
Poor Sawyer. Sofia looks sympathetic, but smiles. "Yup, the e is silent." Grin. Sofia seems amused and somewhat pleased. "Yeah, but it's probably easier than getting to know all the snipes and stuff," She considers. "Used to be gaggles of us to herd around," She notes. "Um. I remembered something Nostos asked me a while ago. Did they ever get you a decent printer?" She tilts her head. "And oh no. I have a caffeine allergy. It's fun to exploit for my entertainment, but the Doctors get mad…" She holds up her hands. "But I really appreciate the offer." She is less wriggly than usual, more settled and curious.
"Silent e." Sawyer repeats as if committing it to memory. The Journalist starts to rearrange some stuff on her desk, pushing this stack of things there and this sheaf of papers on top of this one until there's a clear patch on the surface which seems more hospitable then. "Want to have a seat?" Gets offered with a nod, an invitation instead of the orders that Sofia is no doubt used to hearing. "Yeah, I'm all set up now, the masses be warned. Printer and photocopier and plenty of paper makes me a dangerous woman. Caffeine allergy? Interesting. What are the side effects?"
Sofia smiles, "Yeah. We liked vowels I guess." Sofia considers it briefly. "Oh, are you sure? Thank you." And given her place on the totem pole of command, it is somewhat odd - but not unacceptable. "Couldn't hurt for a bit. I dug one up out of storage and remembered you guys were setting something up in here," She glances around. "And oh, the allergy? It varies. Sometimes I break out into rashes, mostly purpley. Sometimes it's like I chugged a lot of caffeine because I guess it builds up or something then it's like living at the speed of crazy," Her fingers wriggle. "Other times it's just twitching or being irritable. Some people think you can go all psychotic so … I kinda stopped pushing my tolerance. I mean, dang, I miss tea," Pout. "The rash is pretty bad though. Especially if I'm itchy." Shiver. "And masses be warned? I thought that's kinda what you did," Grin.
"You'll have to find some decaf tea. There may be some still in existence." Sawyer takes a break both from news and tidying, leaning back in her chair with a weary sigh that sounds as if she needs a good week of sleep and a day at the spa. Unfortunately, neither are going to happen. "Warn the masses? Yeah, I suppose I do. But the reason I'm a journalist instead of just a straight reporter is I tend to embellish facts with my own opinion. And boy do I have some real doozies of opinions. If you found another printer in storage, I surely could use it. That way I won't kill one well before its time with my output."
Nod. "There's still some herbal tisanes around. I just have to be mindful. I think Miss Bia has enough to worry about without me purposefully ignoring my allergies," Sofia admits with a nose wrinkle. She shrugs at that, resigned to her new dietary habits. "That's alright. It's hard to write much of anything without injecting some of yourself in it. Even research papers - horribly dry as they are - have a little of their author in them." She smiles, "Yeah. I dug one up. It looks like it has some ink and stuff, I grabbed the cartridge. It's not whizzbang awesome, but it seems to work." She looks to the doorway. "I figured with people coming in, storage might need to free up some space. I found … stuff. A lot of it. But it seemed a shame to leave that to waste when we had someone actively printing." She considers.
"I think we're all beyond expecting whizzbang awesome. 'Serviceable' seems to be the only requirement now-a-days. As long as when I hit a little button on my keyboard and print appears on paper, I'm good. I'll even resort to typewriters if need be, but let's hope it never comes to that. I have a tendency to re-write a half dozen times, and that'd get tiresome on a…" Sawyer pauses, "What sort of 'stuff'?" There's an odd cant to her head, like a curious little bird that she is.
A soft laugh from Sofia. "That's good," Sofia smiles. "Well. It should hold up a bit. Lots of printing to be done around here, so they didn't really order bitty ones," She considers the printer idly. Then a blink at Sawyer, "It's general storage. All kinds of weird stuff, like vintage - er, pin up girls, some shoes. I just help make sure junk doesn't get too terminal. I try to find its homes and if not, see what can be used," She shrugs. "Seems a shame to leave things in there like that printer." There's a bit of sadness and a sigh. "That must seem callous, but the truth of it is we've got more people living here now," She notes softly. "And frankly, it gets backed up like crazy. I'd hate to die being crushed by someone's giant porn collection. But that would make an awesome story."
Sawyer grins a toothsome grin. "I'd put you on the front page, I promise. Not a bad idea, though. Seeing if some of that stuff can be put back into circulation. Most of the people we pulled off Leonis came up with just the clothes on their backs, as we didn't have room for them to pack in with their possessions. Shoes…could definitely be used. Unless, like my meager collection, they're mostly high-heels. Not the most sensible of footwear on a battleship, but at least my calves look pretty." Of course, beneath the desk, Sawyer has long ago kicked off those shoes in favor of comfort.
Sofia laughs, "Awesome. I always wanted to be famous." Engineer crushed by issues of Bosoms Monthly. More on page 3. Good times. She seems amused. A little nod, "It keeps it from getting too backed up. Veritable fire hazard if too much stuff gets stacked in there," She frowns. "I gave away most of my civilian clothes to be honest, though my measurements are weird," She considers. Then a grin. "No, there's some boots and sneakers. Some could stand to be washed. Do you need some sturdy shoes?" She considers, "You might be kinda near my size actually."
"I went through mine, too, with the first clothes drive. Though I held onto my work clothes and dressier things that wouldn't be of much use to anyone." Sawyer tactfully doesn't comment on Sofia's measurements, which no doubt have led to Rejn's nickname for the poor girl. "Thanks, but I have my boots that the military assigned me for the mission, a pair of tennies and the flip flops I wear to the shower, I'm pretty well set. But do you think some day when we're running low, we can convince the Commander to take us back to the Colonies on a shopping trip? That was the eerily fantastic thing about being on the surface. All these…things…yours for the taking."
Probably. Alas. Everyone has their proverbial crosses to bear. "Well, that's good. I couldn't imagine going planet-side in heels. I'd either fight by body slamming people or hoping I tipped over onto a Cylon." She just shrugs at that. Alas, it is probably the origin of the nickname. Sofia's physical cross to bear, such as it is. "Maybe. I'd be surprised if they didn't. How many people here can make clothes or shoes? Or smelt metal?" She shakes her head. Sofia sighs, "So unless we really learn to cobble… it seems like salvage would be needed," She notes. She considers Sawyer's words on the taking it. "In a way, yeah. In another - I dunno, I miss being able to go home," She admits. "On the first hand, it does make getting things easier if you can just pick them up," She admits. She takes a deep breath. "I'm torn. But then I've been sick so-" A shrug. "And neither did I get to go planet-side. I suspect it's a bit different what you guys went through."
"Sick?" If Sawyer were a cat, certainly curiosity would have killed her a long time ago. She just can't help but pounce on a little verbal cue like that and dig deeper for all her might. "Do you mind?" The second question is in reference to Sawyer lofting up a pack of cigarettes, asking if Sofia has any preference against it.
Sofia nods, "Just sick. I spent awhile in sick bay." She smiles feebly. "It's sort of embarrassing - when your mind is sick, people only feel bad awhile. At least when your soul is sick, you gather the courage to end it," A faintly pained look. "But either way. I don't mind at all." A hand wave. "Lots of folks on board smoke. I hope they throw in tobacco in that hydroponics doodad or there's gonna be a huge demand for bubblegum soon…" Her eyes widen.
"We brought back pockets full of cheap candy from the cubit store.." Sawyer waves that concern away with a quick comment, then hones back in on the real meat of the conversation. "So…which are you? Which type of sick, I mean?" It's phrased carefully, so it comes off more as concern instead of needling into Sofia's business.
Sofia smiles, "I loved to do that after classes." Aaah, candy. Then there's a strange look. Her head kind of lolls a moment. "Oh. I'm alright now. I just saw - things, and I guess I can't remember the incident so much itself. It's really embarrassing, you know? Someone who is bodily injured… you see that, you feel bad for them. Someone's mind snaps and they're just weak," She's somewhat disgusted with herself. "So there it is, I just had a weak mind." A shrug. "I should've added something interesting to the story," She taps her chin.
Sawyer gives a quiet laugh, not rich and boisterous, but certainly from a place that seems to commiserate with Sofia. "No need to embellish. There's nothing more interesting than the truth. And if you want to know a bit of mine, I know where you're coming from. To some degree, we are all suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. At least you were brave enough to seek attention for it. The rest are still floundering as they figure out how to deal with it."
"Yeah. I feel kind of bad. At first it was just some of us, now just all of us," Sofia admits quietly. "It's - er, I didn't honestly seek attention for it personally. They sent me with MPs to the psych ward," Sofia looks pained. "It's more embarrassing but it's the truth. It probably didn't help I had an axe at the time and I guess they were worried I was gonna bug out on everyone," A shrug at that. Then again, someone infused with the power of CRAZY turned loose with an axe in an enclosed space could spell disaster fast. "As I said, really embarrassing and shameful but I don't think I'd feel proper lying about it," She admits softly. A deep breath. "I imagine psych is a lot more packed now. For awhile, it was mostly me and some new folks. Now - well, everyone," She shakes her head. "It must be really hard for you too… Psych being busy, and on top of that - some people aren't too keen on journalists poking around," She looks over her shoulder. "But I suspect that relationship has gone on for ages."
Sawyer gives a mild shrug. "There actually isn't a whole lot of difference between me and a psychologist. We both get people to talk about their problems. The only difference is that pesky little confidentiality clause." The journalist gives a crooked little smirk that might just be bordering on devilish but she's trying to keep it in check. Finally, she gets around to lighting that cigarette, and she settles back again to let the smoke drift towards the ceiling instead of into Sofia's personal space. "An axe though? I admit, I'm glad you're feeling much better."
Sofia laughs and smiles. "I suppose that's true too. What's the phrase? On or off the record?" Sofia considers and shrugs. "Although I'm afraid having to make sure an axe toting engineer gets to the ward safely - I'm sure there was some gossip," She admits. "I appreciate it. As I said - I feel horrible about it, but it's my brain's decision and sometimes they and my mouth don't get along, then my feet try to mediate and it all goes to Hades," Sofia winks. "Hey, I'm not keeping you am I?" She realizes something eyes widening. "But I realized you probably had scads of stories and stuff after Mr. Rejn pulled that award seal out." Nod. She paid attention!
Sawyer waves away the concern for her time with a little flippant gesture of her hand. "If anything, you're a pleasant distraction from me getting buried in work." There's a faint flush that touches just the tops of her cheeks at the mention of Rejn and his little stunt. "The Rittman Prize. One of the most sought after accreditation a Journalist can ever hope to receive in their career. It was an…unexpected and sweet gesture. I'm still not sure what to make of it, honestly."
"Oh that's good, they capped my hours," Sofia admits. "So I wouldn't drink coffee to stay up then break into rashes. I guess there's only so much rash cream left anyway," Sadface. Not that Sofia wouldn't deserve to itch for a few hours. She smiles, seeing the faint flush. "Yeah?" A headtilt. "Well, I think it means he believes in you. Or thinks you deserve it. Maybe both. I mean, how many journalists would still keep … journalisting after the freaking Cylon attacks?" She points out. "I mean, from what I see, you really, really go into it," Sofia notes. "Dedication and ummm, not putting out crappy stories. That's definitely something. Don't get me wrong, his nicknames for me drive me /batty/, but I think deep down inside he's a good guy. He just took a hard hit, I think his family was dear to him," Even if he points out boobies. A lot. "You deserve the award though." Nod.
Sawyer reaches up to tuck hair behind her ear, a self-conscious gesture if there ever was one. "Thank you. It's a bit like…it's all I know how to do. And there are still stories to be told, and it helps me keep a sense of…normalcy when there isn't a whole lot of that to go around." For a Journalist, she surely is searching for the right words to say right now, which might be a good indicator that she's a bit diffident when it comes to recognition. "And Allan /is/ a good man. Once you get past his brash sense of humor, his rather crude approach to things, and his rather blunt bullshit meter. I rather admire him, in an odd sort of way."
Sofia shrugs and smiles at that. "Well, y'know, there was an old song about a monk passing on and he was at peace because - he had his books. The ones he wrote and kept safe. He was okay with it because he could pass those books on and his words never really went away," Sofia notes quietly. "But I think I know what you mean," Sofia nods. She takes a deep breath, "Yeah. Deep down inside, he's not a bad dude. And he will call on bullshit. I have to admire that in a way. Sorta like those gadflies who wrote satire cept he does in person, mustache flying like a banner of war." Grin. "Oh well. That's how it goes. People do things and someone takes note. I suspect history doesn't make much sense if it's only facts and not our own opinions and thoughts injected in."
"Mustache flying like a banner of war. I like that. We should sew a patch onto his jacket that says that. Fear the power of the mustache." Sawyer takes a long drag of her dwindling cigarette. "Well. I have about fifteen minutes before I have to go meet with the MPs. Something about me being a giant walking security risk." She flashes a wink at Sofia. "But this was nice. If you're ever bored, feel free to stop by and jaw with me. Sometimes that's the best inspiration to a writer."