PHD #273: Cutting Your Losses
Cutting Your Losses
Summary: Sawyer and Kincaid's friendship is an odd thing.
Date: 26 Nov 2041 AE
Related Logs: Impending execution log & Guns and the Gun.
Kincaid Sawyer 
Observation Deck
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: #273

Crashed on a couch. That's Kincaid. He's still in his Marine uniform, but isn't wearing his MP utility built. Call it a trade-off between on-duty and off. He has a pad on his lap, his reporter's steno pad, and his ballpoint pen in hand. He's not writing; at least not right now. He's staring off into space.

Just a quick jaunt from the News Room, of course the Obs deck is frequently visited by one blonde token busy body. Sawyer enters, immediately pausing just inside the hatch to shuck her heels and sling them on her fingers. Flat-footed and happier because of it, Sawyer pads in to claim what she must consider her 'regular' couch. Of course she sees that that is the one that happenstance has Kincaid laid out on. One fist balled on her him, she looks down to him with a hint of a smirk at the corner of her lips. "You're in my seat."

Kincaid glances up at the approaching reporter. "You're still welcome in it," he says with his eyes shining with a certain mischief in it. Oh, Kincaid. He has that impish smile across his lips, glancing down at his lap. "How's it going, Sawyer?"

"When did you get so saucy." There's a laugh in Sawyer's voice that doesn't quite manifest. She reaches down and whaps his knee playfully with the flat of her hand, and ends up taking a perch on the arm of the sofa. "Busy, and yet I'm lacking the energy to even want to deal with any of it. Tauron, the execution, the Aerion. At least I've gotten to the bottom of one mystery: my headaches. If I can get those obliterated, then maybe I'll have the strength to concentrate on the bigger picture. Which, of course, you could always make my life a little easier and give a girl a hand with some things." Cue bright smile, cue undisguised abuse of their friendship.

"Oh, Sawyer, Sawyer, Sawyer." Kincaid sighs. "You are lucky that I am, against all odds, quite taken with you, such that I am willing to do favors for you in the hopes that you will bless me with some more of your favor." Is he kidding? Like all good jokes, it's perhaps laced with a bit of truth. He flips to an open page on his pad. "What do you need?"

"Against all odds? I happen to be a very likeable person." Sawyer drops her shoes to the deck with a *plop*plop*, then tucks her bare feet onto the cushion next to him. Her skirt is smoothed out against her thighs with a run of her palms, keeping some sense of modesty though she's acting with undeniable familiarity with the man. "Then don't consider them favors, consider it feeding the old reporter monster that I know still lurks deep down inside you. Did Cerberus get personnel files on people from the Aerion?"

Kincaid glances over at those legs — hey, he's male. "Yeah, yeah. It's harder for me to complain when you're right." Kincaid sighs, and then falls into thought. "Not that I know of. Is there someone in particular that you're interested in, though?"

"Darlin', I'm always right. Even when I'm wrong." Sawyer's smile crooks wryly. "A man by the name of Marduk. He's a viper stick and goes by the callsign Fiasco. I have it on good authority he's sitting on a cache of information the Aerion hasn't exactly been forthcoming about sharing. Seems they don't like to share their fancy toys over there, and Marduk might just have the loose lips I'm looking for. I wanted to know if we had his file, to give me a leg up as the saying goes."

Kincaid scribbles a few notes on his pad. 'Marduk — Fiasco.' He nods once. "All right. I'll see if I can get my hands on it for you, Sawyer, or at least try to find out the sort of things that are in it. Some folks should know about him." He flashes a grin. "See? You do like having me in the Marines to call on."

"Oh, I never denied liking having you in the marines. I just would have preferred you more at my immediate disposal, that's all. Now I'm back to having you in the marines at the top of the list." The journalist pauses for a moment, letting the silence of the Obs Deck consume her for a moment. As per her usual pensive gesture, she chews on the inside of her cheek as if wanting to say something more, just not sure the proper verbage she wants to use.

"Come on, Sawyer." Kincaid makes a circular gesture with his hand, as if prompting her. "Spit it out. We're all friends here, and you won't offend me." A pause. "Well, maybe you will, but I'll get over it. What's on your mind?"

There's a spark of laughter, a nervous sort that escapes against Sawyer's own will. Her hand covers her mouth, obscuring her smile briefly before she gives a shake of her head. "No, no, it's nothing like that. Well, rather, this execution tonight. Are you going to be part of the detail?"

Kincaid shakes his head. "I don't know," says the Marine, finally. "It's drawn at random. If my number comes up —" His voice trails off. "Let's just put it his way. I'm considering lifting my ban on prayer to put in a good word for my name not coming out of that bowl."

"I've seen executions before." Sawyer starts out, starting to ooze down off the arm of the couch until she's kneeling on the cushion next to him. Her shoulder slumps against the back of the sofa, her eyes averting to look at the wide expanse of the viewport. "Working in the criminal department at the magazine, it was part of the job. Lethal injection, electrocution, even some places where hanging was still considered the go-to for capital punishment. But something about this? It's not sitting right with me, and once more it's my duty to be in audience."

"What about it? That it's one of the last people in the human race that we're killing?" Kincaid voices some of it out loud, maybe. Or maybe he's just speculating. "I don't know. I — I hope to be doing something else, quite frankly. Doesn't say good things about me, I suppose. But I'm doing my part for justice by defending Abbot. Or that's what I tell myself."

"Something like that. My morality is all twisted up and conflicted. I wouldn't mind cowarding out of this one myself. I never used to have this problem, I never used to get this emotionally involved. And now….?" Sawyer drifts off, another shake of her head to banish the thoughts. "Anyway. I know you don't prefer this version of Sawyer Averies, so I'll save you the diatribe. How's the trial going, anyways? Burying them in continuances?"

"Any day now, is what I keep hearing. Any day now." Kincaid shrugs. "Honestly? I'm ready to get it over with. My client's not expecting to leave a free man. He's just doing this to help me make a point. And every day he's down in that cell is another day he can lose his mind. At some point, it's better to just have closure." He lets out a heavy sigh, turning over towards Sawyer. "Lame, right?"

"Sounds like you're learning the same painful lesson I am. Sometimes, for sanity's sake, you have to cut your losses." With that, the reporter leans forward, catching Kincaid on the temple with a simple soft kiss before she's rocking back to dislodge her feet from underneath her and wiggle them back into her shoes.

Kincaid closes his eyes briefly at the press of her lips to his forehead, smiling to himself. "Yeah. Something like that." He reaches out and gives her hand a tight squeeze. "I'll look into that Fiasco thing for you, Sawyer. You take care of yourself, okay?"

Sawyer glances back as he momentarily takes her hand, flashing one of those award winning 'nothing could possible bother me' smiles, "I always do." And with that, the reporter is slipping away to prepare for this evening's events.

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