| Cig Rewards |
| Summary: | Cidra keeps batting 1.000 in hanging out promised rewards. |
| Date: | 26 Sep 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Checking Facts |
| Players: |
  |
| Repair Bay - Hangar Deck - Battlestar Cerberus |
|---|
| When engines need to be rebuilt or other heavy but short-term work needs to be done, this is where it happens. Large, red hand-mobile cranes are situated along the wall beside stacks of toolchests. Carts with various computers and electronics are dispersed around the area for quick access. A very conspicuous yellow locker at the rear holds a sizable amount of firefighting gear, as well. Sturdy metal stands are available to hold all sorts of parts from gun systems to the FTL drives of a Raptor. Big enough to accommodate quite a few Vipers and Raptors at once, this area see's extensive use and is usually attended by at least one crew at all hours of the day and night. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #212 |
Cidra makes her way into the Repair Bay. A somewhat more unusual sight than the CAG prowling the hangar deck, but still not unheard. Her eyes sweep over the technicians on duty. Searchingly.
The bay is more or less as one could imagine: kinda loud, kinda busy, full of clanks and curses and whatever else the deckies get up to when they're gutting and repairing the heavier parts of the planes. Cilusia is currently up on a cherry-picker looking thing - it's the only way that she can get up high enough to look inside the exhaust manifold of the Viper in for repairs.
Cidra spots Cilusia, elevated as she is, and turns her stride in that direction. "Petty Officer Fasi." Her voice raised a little over the noise of the bay. She doesn't yell, precisely. She's not a barker. But she knows how to project her alto in noisy environs.
Ruh-roh, that sounds like an officer! They always have a particular sound to their voices, you know? Cilusia's pretty familiar with how officers sound, at the very least. There's a hydraulic whir as the deckie lowers the work lift down towards the deck, or at least, to a height were she can slide out under some of the rails and thump down to the deck. "Major! Heya…hi," greets Cilusia with a less-than-formal salute.
Cidra returns the salute, little more than an upward wave of her hand to get the protocol nonsense out of the way. She does, indeed, have that 'officer' sound about her. She probably can't help it. "I do not mean to interrupt your work. I am but here to pay a debt." And she fishes into the pockets of her fatigues, plucking out a packet of cigarettes.
That certainly perks Cilusia up…even though she managed to snag quite a few cigs and other sundries from a trip down to the surface of Aerilon in the last few days. "Oh, excellent!" she says cheerily, taking the pack of cigs from the CAG.
Cidra passes the cigarettes up with the barest hint of a smile. "Say what they shall about me, Petty Officer, but I do pay my debts. I thank you for your work, by the by. That information…many matters about those incidents do trouble me. It has been…interesting looking at them again knowing what we know now. Though I am still not sure what to make of much of it."
"Agreed…even though it's not really my place to make any decisions with that," replies Cilusia. It was basically impossible for her not to look at some of the information, given that she was photocopying it all for the CAG. "Damn shame that it was deckies involved in all that shit. That pisses me off like no other," she says, as she tucks the pack of cigarettes into a pocket on the arm of her orange work outfit.
"The Deck is, in many ways, the ideal place to plant an agent. If one is a Cylon," Cidra says. In a musing sort of way. "On a ship like this. Even better than CIC in some ways, as you have a *direct* hand in dealing with the air craft. And access to the systems too, if you work with Engineering in damage control. Were I a Cylon…well, it would be only logical. In any case, I hold it less a product of you and yours than of the…usefulness of your assignment."
"Yeah, that makes sense. Guess that's why they pay you the big bucks, huh? So that you can do the thinking, right?" Cilusia is giving a lopsided grin to Cidra, body cocked a bit to the side with one hand on her hip and the like. "I mean, I can understand why, but just saying. It really gets my blood boiling!" Now the lopsided grin and goofy posture disappears and she seems a little more coiled and tense.
Cidra cracks a bare hint of a smile at that. "None of us are getting paid anymore, Petty Officer. You and I are on the same pay grade now." Which is either democratic or depressing, depending on how you look at things. "And it is commendable that it boils your blood. Should boil us all. If nothing else, perhaps these incidents have taught us to be more upon our toes." Well, she sounds like she *hopes* it's true, at least. "In any case, I shall not keep you longer. Clear eyes and steady hands up there, always."
"Oh? Up there? You couldn't get me flying one of these things for all the cigarettes in the…well, the universe I suppose. I'm just now starting to get comfortable with assault rifles," Cilusia answers, giving the exhaust nozzle a tap. And that's only after, well, being stranded on Leonis and similar clusterfraks. "These things are too big a step up from rifles for me. But, steady hands are required so you don't, you know, cross any wires. Literally." With that, she starts to climb back up into the lift and get herself back to work.
"We certainly would not want that," Cidra says. She inclines her head to the petty officer, not making the woman busy her hands with a parting salute. And off she goes.