| Chow and Ethics |
| Summary: | Sawyer preps for a possible story on Ajax in the galley. Cidra and Shiner converge there for chow and the conversation turns to crime and punishment at the end of the worlds. |
| Date: | 17 Nov 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Galley - Deck 9 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Behind the two hangar decks, the Cerberus' Galley is the largest room on the ship. Nearly half the size of a football field, the eating area is made up of long lines of stainless steel tables that can be folded up and placed against the wall for larger events. Individual seats are the standard military issue, boring and grey with lowest-bidder padding. The line for food stretches across one of the shorter sides of the room while the kitchen behind works nearly twenty-four hours a day to produce either full meals or overnight snacks and coffee for the late shifts. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #264 |
It's getting rather late in the day for being standard dinner chow time, and now the mess hall is down to the stragglers. One of those odd birds happens to be Sawyer, who's occupying a table more with papers and books than her meal which has been nudged aside and mostly forgotten. Bent over a pad of paper, she's currently massaging her forehead just above eyebrows, as if the words on the page are physically paining her.
Early or late all depends on what rotation one is working on a battlestar. For the military, at least. Cidra actually looks like she's just getting her 'day' started as she strides into the mess. Or restarted, more likely. Her hair's hanging loose around her shoulders, still damp from the showers. She obtains chow in shorter order, along with a tin cup of what the galley is passing off for coffee. That done she searches for a place to sit. And spots the reporter and her papers. Her stride promptly turns in that direction. "Sawyer? A good eve," she says as she approaches. Though the forehead-massaging earns a narrowing of her eyes.
Shiner arrives from the Deck 9.
Maybe it's Cidra's distinctive voice or her particular manner of speaking, but Sawyer looks up in quickly and flashes a flicker of a smile towards the CAG. "Hey Cid. Here, let me move some of these things…" Her fingers swipe the table's top, gathering some of the scattered papers like a broom sweeping up silt. "Have a seat, have a seat." Pausing in the middle of her tidying, she presses a palm to her temple with a grimace. "Sorry." She mumbles an apology as her hand falls away and then her smile is back to its regular wattage. "How've you been?"
Shiner stump shuffles into the galley, movement becoming more flowing and easy as he gets used to the cane and fair swings himself along with it for support. He hooks a tray, tucks it under one arm, and makes his way to the queue for food, peering round and down the line to try to guess what mystery meat it is today.
"If I am not interrupting. Thank you," Cidra says, hesitating a second before sitting. To make quite *sure* she's not interrupting. It's getting on into the 'evening,' as such would be reckoned on land, and the galley is sparsely populated. Cidra looks like she's preparing to go *on* duty after eating, for her part. Fresh from the showers, though she still looks somewhat blurry-eyed and tired despite it. "I have been…all right," is her reply to Sawyer. She sounds a little unsure of her answer but leaves it at that. "And yourself?" There is a hint of concern in her tone. Just a hint, but there's not a lot from the woman that's ever *over*-stated. Eyes do briefly flit up to follow Shiner and his swinging path toward chow.
"Just a bit of work. Catching up on some things, really. I've been…distracted." Sawyer leans back from whatever she was scribbling, keeping the pencil balanced between her fingers where she idly twirls it. "I never used to get distracted." The woman says it as if it were a curse word. A huff of air later, "'All right' doesn't sound like a glowing review." Her eyes lift to follow Cidra's, landing on Shiner for a short moment. "So I have a question for you," Attention shifts back to the CAG, "Do you assign people to particular missions, or do you ask for volunteers?"
The advantage to arriving at this time is that the queue is relatively short, and in little time at all, Shiner has a tray full of best left unidentified food and stumps his way over to sit at the end of the pair's table, giving a polite nod, a flash of his finest smile, and a greeting. "Sir. Miss Averies. Mind if I join you here?"
"I am better than when I was kipping on your cot," Cidra says. Firmly. Almost like it's a thing she's trying to convince herself of as much as anything else. "Whatever is distracting you, it does not look pleasant." A gulp of her coffee before she gets on to the actual food. And answering Sawyer's question. "Depends on the mission. For most duties we perform day-to-day, I attempt to keep my people to a regular rotation. Some missions call for special skills, or are better suited to certain pilots. For others…I ask for volunteers rarely, but in some cases like that I will send only those who elect to go. Leonis was such an occasion. It was a grave risk, far outside what our standard missions call for, and I did not feel I could send those who did not go by their own choice." When Shiner approaches them her eyes tick up to him. Slight, polite inclination of her head is offered. "Mister Wright. You are looking more mobile than when last we met. I do not mind. Please."
Sawyer makes a dry mmm sound that seems to be in answer to everything that Cidra just supplied. Which ever particular part she's reacting to, she doesn't look particularly pleased. Instead, she uses Shiner's arrival as a distraction. "As long as there is no cracking wise about my age. I'm drawing up on the big Three-Oh soon." Coffee (long grown cold) is reached for, and she finally verbalizes some sort of response to Cidra. "I was happier having a room mate."
"Hey, I've got good reason to get more mobile, sir," Shiner points out amiably, taking up his fork and loading up a massive mouthful. "As soon as I can walk, you said. The doc's sticking pins in me and everything, and I'm totally getting better." At Sawyer's comment, he gives his most innocent smile. "Me, sir? Wouldn't dream of making age comments. I've heard that older ladies tend to find it upsetting. When's your birthday, anyway?"
"Three-Oh is hardly old," Cidra says mildly. Fixing Shiner with a look. A long look. She is obviously approaching the Four-Oh herself, though it might not be wise to observe that. "You are still interested in that, are you?" This to Shiner as well, with a hint of surprise. She adds to Sawyer, "Apprentice Wright has expressed a…fancy toward flight training." She sounds unsure of how seriously to take this. Faintest of, rather wry, smiles to the reporter. "My people were starting to wonder why I had deserted my bunk. It seemed prudent to put in a few appearances."
"Two days after the anniversary of War Day, and I'm not a sir. No pins. No rank and file. Just…Sawyer, please." She sips her coffee, wrinkles her nose and yet sips again at the tepid liquid while Cidra fills her in on the rest of the conversation. "Yeah? You want to become an airy fairy, hmm? Well, I imagine you could use some more capable bodies, couldn't you Cid? Worse comes to worse, he'll just flunk out of Nugget-hood before he even gets out of the sims. No harm, no foul."
"Way to how some faith in me!" Shiner notes indignantly, rolling his eyes. "I could be like the best pilot ever, y'know. I know my way around the aircraft, for one thing. And I can drive cranes and stuff. Raptors are just… different. With more controls. That's all." Glancing to Cidra, he can't help but add, "Hey, sir, if you need a bunk, you know mine's always open to you." Cue cheesy grin before he shovels in a mouthful of food.
Cidra blinks. "Yes. Raptors are different." It is an absolute deadpan. Brows arch at Shiner at that last comment. "I offered once, Mister Wright, and was told I was too old for you. You missed your chance." It is…very hard to tell if she's joking or not. A nod to Sawyer. "That is what I do figure, yes, and I could certainly use more bodies to put in planes." The woman's papers are eyed with a certain amount of curiosity. "What did I interrupt, anyway?"
There's a book about Tauron sitting on the table, along with some old back issues of a magazine called 'Acropolis Monthly' which those that know Sawyer, know she used to be a journalist for that particular publication. And then there are notes, lots and lots of notes. "You really need to figure out your type, young man." Sawyer smirks at Shiner before answering Cidra, "There's a man being held in the brig, a civilian we pulled off of Saggitaron. I was going to write a piece about him, or rather, a piece about the moral and legal battle surrounding his current existance."
"My type is anything with boobs and a pulse," Shiner admits frankly, giving a shrug. "Pulse is optional."
"Ah," is Cidra's response to Shiner's description of his type. He is eyed again but she leaves it at that. Picking at her chow. She's still more about guzzling the coffee than eating her meal. Sawyer's reply causes her eyes to sharpen up from the papers to the other woman. "One of the Sagittaron civilians? What is this man's name? And why has he become of interest to you?" Slight edge to her question.
"A man by the name of Ajax. I was there when he walked up out of the woods. I've already been cleared by the MP's to speak with him, I've just been…distracted." There's that cuss word again, and it causes Sawyer to roll her eyes. "Besides, I wanted to make sure I was prepared before I waltzed in there. The man's a little intimidating to say the least." A shake of her head, and a wordless glance of 'Really?' to Shiner, before she continues. "It's not really the man himself I'm interested in, but what he stands for. I need his story, of course, to flavor the piece. But it'll be more about the impact of the war. I mean to raise the question as to whether or not we, as a society, can forgive a man's past transgressions and free him because every life is now precious. Or, alternatively, would that demean the very core of the values we are trying to sustain." A pause. "Why?"
Shiner considers for a moment. "I think it depends what he's in for, right? I mean, if he's a kiddie fiddler? He totally deserves to go out of the airlock. If he… uh… I don't know, failed to pay his car tax or something? Well, that's just frakking bullshit, isn't it. Give the guy a rifle and send him out to train with the marines or something. It's like you were saying. A warm body's a warm body, right?"
"Simply curious," is Cidra's oblique reply. "Ajax? Ah." No recognition of the name. She gives a little nod of agreement with Shiner. "I concur with Mister Wright. What has this man done? Every life is has a high value now if humanity is to go one for more than a generation. This is so. But if he is truly dangerous…well. One who would do not but violence and harm to his fellow man, are they not *more* dangerous now than they were when the worlds were whole?"
"I'm not for certain yet. I won't know until I interview him and review what ever file the MPs have managed to compile on the man. I'm under the impression, however, that he was a part of the SSLF, which isn't exactly white collar crime." Sawyer smirks a bit, "Curiousity, eh?" She doesn't seem to completely believe the CAG, but she lets it slide for favor of some more cold coffee.
Shiner raises an eyebrow, unconsciously rubbing at the scar at the back of his neck. "He's the frakker who shot me, you mean? Well, shit, airlock the little cuntpuffin."
"Curiosity and concern, yes," Cidra says. It's barely elaboration. "There has been violence among the civilians before and if the Marines are taking the securing of dangerous individuals seriously, all the better to my view. SSLF?" Brows are arched some more. "If he involved himself with the insurgents down upon that planet, there is cause for more than concern. Those people dedicated themselves in body and blood to destroying the Colonial government. And most committed acts of grave violence besides. I do not know this man's tale, but I am skeptical such could live amongst us peaceably." Shiner's choice of words earn another brow-arch, but no disagreement.
"Well, he at least deserves for someone to hear his story who has no vested interest in seeing him, as you've said Mister Wright, 'airlocked like a little cuntpuffin'. And if I feel his tale doesn't warrant publication, then I'll scrap the project but it's a better story to me, at the moment, than running more paranoid laced pieces about Cylon humanoid models." Sawyer says, her tone more tired than defensive.
"Little bastard doesn't deserve shit," Shiner insists, scowling. "He almost killed me, you know. Half an inch left and I'd be dead. I spent two weeks having to get help to go for a slash, for frak's sake. I needed a guy to hold the old twig and giggleberries any time I needed a wee! Publish that shit!"
"Mister Wright brings up a fair point," Cidra says. Though she does not reference his giggleberries herself. "I believe that there are things one can do that forfeit their right to live amongst civilized people. It then comes down to the gods to judge them. I shall admit, I would like to hear this man's tale myself, however. There are degrees of 'involvement' even with the SSLF. If nothing else, everyone deserves a full and just hearing before justice is rendered."
"Wait." Sawyer turns bodily to fully face Shiner. "You're saying that this specific man, specifically shot you down on the surface of Sagittaron? I assumed you were being general in your hatred, lumping him together with the entirety of the SSLF. Hell, when he came out of the woods with some others we rescued, I was under the assumption that he had been helping to keep that particular group alive, but you're saying he shot you? /This/ is why I need the full story from all sides. /This/ is why I miss my fact checkers."
Shiner raises an eyebrow. "He's SSLF, so it's him and the guys with him, either way. You'll maybe excuse me if I didn't stop and ask for frakking ID, being as though I was kind of busy bleeding all over the frakking place and lying in a shitty unconscious heap at the time. Was I supposed to turn round before or after I got shot and call out, 'hey, excuse me, can I get your autograph, you, guy with the rifle there'?"
Cidra has gone quiet just to listen, eyes widening at the idea that Shiner's particular shooter might be in the brig. Though, when it seems Ajax may not be that particular rifleman, just continues to eat. Still listening.
Sawyer makes a little 'ah' sound at Shiner's rant. "As Cidra has said, there are different degrees of involvement. For all we know at this point, he was the reluctant book keeper. I'll speak with him, and if I publish the story, I'll let everyone choose for themselves what they believe to be the right or the wrong of it."
"Because the SSLF are so famous for their book keeping," Shiner scoffs, rolling his eyes and piling up another forkful of food. "You think he's the mild mannered janitor. Sure, I get it. But you know what? You didn't get almost killed by the little knobjockeys, did you?"
Sawyer twitches a little smirk, "As a matter of fact, I did." Sawyer shakes her head, then reaches to start gathering her papers. "I'm not taking any sides, Mister Wright, but perhaps that's why I'm aggrivating you at the moment? I'll go. I'm done with my dinner, so I'll leave you both to your meals."
"The search for truth is always valuable. And if the man is to be put up against an airlock and shot…" Cidra appears to have no great qualms about this possibility, "…then the worlds should know his crimes before he comes to an end." Which is perhaps not quite what Sawyer envisions from this assignment, though the reporter does earn an inclination of her head as she prepares to go. "I shall see you later, Sawyer. Be well." The farewell is not entirely casual.
Shiner grunts, munching on his food for a moment longer, then swallowing. "I'm just saying is all. I don't see any reporters queuing up to hear /my/ story. But then I'm not some glamorous terrorist guy who gets his kicks from shooting repairmen. I'm just the guy who drives the shit wagon."
"Any time you'd like to go on the record, my door is always open." Sawyer dips her head a bit to Shiner, before gathering up all her materials and hugging them to her chest. As she steps around the table to leave, she pauses to drop Cidra a kiss on the cheek in farewell, muttering something quietly before stepping away.
Sawyer whispers: Cot's yours anytime you need it.
You whisper, "Thank you." to Sawyer.
Cidra returns the parting kiss with a brisk one on Sawyer's cheek as well, the gesture quite casual. She whispers something back before saying more audibly, "Clear eyes and steady hands, Averies." A glance back to Shiner. "Perhaps you should. As I believe I have said to you before, there are some women who might find such stories…intriguing."
Shiner eyes the kissing with more than a little interest, a grin playing at his lips and his eyebrows raising. Ah, the hormonal imagination of a young man. Still, Cidra's words do warrant a response, and if the response is after a moment's gawping then so be it. "There'll be way better stories when I'm flying, sir," he insists firmly. "Chicks dig pilots. Fact."
Sawyer leaves, heading towards the Deck 9 [Out].
"If getting 'chicks' is your sole reason for interest in flight, Mister Wright, I suspect you shall not last long as a Nugget. If your interest is serious." Cidra still clearly has her doubts. If the gawping is noticed, she gives absolutely no sign of it. She continues to pick away at her meal. Slow as she's eating it, she has almost finished it by now. Her coffee's long drank.
"Nah, if I just wanted the chicks, I'd have been a doctor," Shiner muses, wrinkling his nose. "They get to see their patients naked and everything. Flying's just /cool/. Who's never had a dream about flying, huh? Nobody, I'll bet you."
Cidra can't argue with that. The assertion even makes her smile. Ever so slight. "Nobody, I will grant," she concurs. Her meal done she stands, picking up her tray. Shiner is eyed some more. Finally she just says, "Perhaps" and departs the table. Winding her way out of the galley.
Shiner calls back after her, "I'll show you, sir! Soon as I'm walking, yeah?"