| PHD #236: Dancing the Spiral II |
| Summary: | Khloe dresses down Cidra for her behavior during the CAP above Ewe Aerilon. Then, a short time later, Khloe blows a gasket in front of Devlin and Evandreus. |
| Date: | 20 Oct 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Dancing the Spiral, Vices |
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| CAG's Office - Deck 10 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Though it's not much bigger than the average ship supply closet, the office of the commander of Cerberus' air group has as much luxury as one can hope for aboard a battlestar: a hatch that locks. It is dominated by a blocky gray metal desk straight out of standard Navy supply. Behind it is the room's single indulgence, a high-backed rolling chair of almost comfortable-looking brown leather. That one, the CAG probably had to import herself. A few other chairs are shoved against the wall, able to be rolled over should visitors to the lair require one, though those are of the standard not-terribly-comfortable Navy offices variety. The aforementioned desk contains a computer that looks rarely touched and an ashtray of greenish glass that is obviously frequently used, as well as the standard office supplies. The surface is usually cluttered with files, squadron reports, flight schedules and other aerial bureaucratic sundry of the day. A metal carafe, filled with water or coffee or tea depending on the CAG's whim, is usually at hand on the desk's corner. The rest of the office is packed with filing cabinets and wall shelves, the latter of which hold various flight manuals and military and historical books. Any decorations on the walls are limited to professional awards and mementos from Major Hahn's past tours of service. It is largely devoid of the personal, save for one item: upon the shelf just behind and above her desk, serving as one side of a bookend to a collection of Raptor manuals, is a wooden statue of a small brown owl with very large eyes. A person might get the feeling of those eyes following him around this confined space. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #236 |
Cidra headed back to her office directly when she was back on the ship. She hasn't bothered to change out of her flight suit or shower. At the moment she's standing behind her desk, rifling one of her drawers.
Khloe arrives shortly after, having a few more papers to sign and verbal reports to make, being the designated wing lead on CAP. She, too, hasn't changed yet; her helmet is tucked under her left arm and her jacket is unfastened, revealing sweatstained greens underneath, dog tags jingling freely. Bang, bang comes the heralding knocks of Poppy.
"Yes, yes, come in Poppy," Cidra says without looking up. She was expecting the Viper pilot, after all. Cigarettes are apparently what she's hunting for, as she plucks out her omnipresent pack of cheap Picon-brand smokes and lights one up. Several short puffs are taken. While her manner is outwardly composed, there is a subtle but present ease of tension as she smokes. Somewhat.
Rather than return the door to the state it was at, Khloe closes it and throws the wheel. "Major, I gave you the benefit of rank during that CAP, but right now, I'm talking to you as Knights Es-El and the point of the wing that you so conveninently assigned yourself to. What the frak was going on?"
Cidra takes a moment more to smoke then lowers herself into her chair. "Do have a seat, Captain." She seems unsurprised by the question and her manner is, at least outwardly, as composed as usual. Though she does not quite meet Khloe's eyes as she talks. "Yes. I do owe you an apology for that." And she does sound truly contrite. "You had flight lead. I should have informed you of what I had sighted and awaited your clearance, not have abandoned your wing like that to chase some shadow down on the turf. It was extremely poor form, particularly to show in front of the ensign, and was most disrespectful. I absolutely apologize." And…that's it, apparently.
"I don't think I need to tell you precisely what apologies are worth in the Navy, Major," Khloe says, moving to stand behind the chair Cidra indicated, but does not move to sit. "But if it was something as simple as taking a small joyride in your Viper, even I could ignore the eight different regulations violated for the sake of the CAG. Priveleges of rank. But your piloting was dangerous and you did not communicate, even when we were screaming at you over the radio!" Poppy throws her helmet down into the chair with a muffled crack. "Boom. That's it, no more Toast. Now you better give me a reason why you nearly smashed your Viper and yourself into an irradiated forest, and make it a damned good reason. Sir."
Cidra's shoulder tighten at the *crack* of the helmet being thrown. Fingertips tightening around her cig. Blue eyes flit from that point on the wall she was so intent on to the Viper pilot proper. Her expression is…difficult to read. As it tends to be. The woman's expert at schooling her features to inscrutability. "I did *not* smash my Viper into any irradiated forest." No comment on the 'nearly' proviso attached to that question. "I was in complete control of that plane at all times. I have already admitted I let slip both basic flight rules and the courtesies of rank. It was an error. That is all. I shall not let it happen again." Said firmly, expression still inscrutable. Meanwhile her fingertips tap her cigarette against her ashtray far beyond the point where it needs to be ashed. Tap, tap, tap. There's an almost fidgety quality to the gesture, though the rest of her is all stillness and good posture.
Khloe's chin juts forward, her disapproving gaze intensifying as she adopts an incredulous look. "That's it? That's all you're going to give me? What happened to opening up to one another? To trusting one another? Damnit, Cidra! If this was any other pilot, it'd just be a simple disciplinary action. But not you. You're better than this!" Her hand snatches up her helmet from the chair in an angry, frustrated gesture. She begins to walk away, and then stops on her heel and turns to face the ceated CAG again. Her voice more even, but said with her jaw tight: "I'm going to give you ahead notice that my CAP report will be eight hours late. If you manage to unfrak yourself between now and then, I'll be willing to listen. Otherwise my report will be forwarded to the XO. That's not a threat. It's just… regulations."
Cidra's jaw tightens, chin arching. "I am perfectly 'un-frakked', as you so descriptively put it, Captain." Tone firm and level. "I was in error. Likely due to not having flown a Viper under those conditions in a very long time. I should not have attempted an air patrol in one in atmosphere and shall not again. That is all." She repeats, almost more to herself than Khloe, "That is all it was." A small shake of her head, and she clears her throat. "Attach whatever reports to Command you deem appropriate."
The reinforced plastic and padding of Khloe's helmet creaks as her grip on it tightens. "Thank you for your time, Major," comes the Captain's final words on the matter, snapping her heels together and giving Cidra a formal salute. Her eyes are burning.
Cidra rises from her chair and acknowledges the salute rather stiffly as well, on her part. She remains standing, jaw set and posture rigid, as Khloe goes.
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| Pilot Berths - Naval Deck - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| The battlestar's pilots call this place home. Bunks line the walls with grey curtains to cover their sleeping areas. Lockers sit between each pair of bunks and a round metal table sits in the center, furnished with simple but comfortable steel chairs. A hatch at the rear of the room leads to a communal head. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #236 |
Khloe is halfway into, or perhaps out of, her flight suit. She's seated at the central table, helmet on the deck at her feet; her flight jacket hangs open around her shoulders, and her face is buried in her hands. She's likely been here since the end of the CAP and after doing some paperwork.
Devlin is out of his flight suit and basically everything else, returning from the head with a towel wrapped around his waist. He heads towards his locker, passing the table Khloe is seated at on his way. He doesn't stop, but he slows briefly, glancing at the captain for a beat as he makes his way past. Then he's off among the rows of bunks out of sight. A couple minutes later, dressed in off duty fatigues and tank tops, he returns. "Sir."
Khloe wipes her hands down her face until her eyes and nose are revealed; said eyes are slightly rimmed with red. "Ensign," she responds, her voice cracking. Clearing her throat, she looks around her and at herself as if she had forgotten where she was. She picks herself up off the chair, and sniffs a bit. "I, uh, I'm going to need to file an official report based on events surrounding that CAP, Ensign. I'll need a written statement from you. I'll… get the paperwork to you later today."
Devlin frowns faintly, but while his face is normally quite expressive, it seems he's capable of moderating that when he chooses. That or he just somehow is neither surprised that Khloe looks to've been crying nor moved. He watches her for a moment, and then frowns a little more, finally asking, "And official report, sir? To who?"
"The XO," Poppy mutters, as she picks up her helmet from the floor, and walks - or, perhaps, drags her feet - over to her locker. "You were a witness to the Major's erratic behavior during the CAP. I'll need your honest opinion as to what transpired." Her shoulders are slumped, and she looks like she's had the life sucked out of her. Maybe she really was just crying.
Devlin frowns deeper, and considers that for a long moment. "Are you sure that's necessary, sir?" he inquires finally, "I think… I think the major has quite a bit on her mind at the moment, understandably. I… wouldn't want to make trouble for her."
Tugging her locker open, Khloe doesn't even look up when she replies. She's just staring at the rows of neatly pressed and folded and hung clothing, polished boots, and everything else orderly. "It's, um," She sniffles again. "It's required to report when an officer may have impaired judgment. Reprimands usually happen between the pilot and the Es-El, and the CAG is notified. So I'll have to go up a level." Her voice is a low monotone.
Devlin watches Khloe somewhat absently, his arms coming to rest across his chest, folded one with the other. His brows knit together in the center of his frown and he considers that for a moment. "I'm not sure I saw any evidence of impaired judgment," he says finally, tone undecided between wary and defensive, "I'm sure she had a good reason. Aren't you?"
"Whatever her reasoning, she wouldn't tell me. I just came from her office," comes Khloe's soft reply. Then, glancing up at Devlin, it's clear she's torn up by what happened, and the subsequent meeting. Then, her exterior hardens, and some ice comes back to her gaze. "This isn't a knitting circle, Ensign. She frakked up and it needs to go on report." She shrugs out of her half-donned flight jacket, balling it up between her hands. "I gave her two frakking chances to tell me what happened. That's impaired frakking judgment!" Then, she quite literally just flings it inside her locker and slams the door shut with a booted kick.
Devlin considers this for a long silent moment, arms folded tightly, his frown fixed by now. "All due respect sir," he says finally, slowly, "But refusing to explain herself to you is the CAG's right, I'm pretty sure, and just because you don't like that doesn't make it a bad decision, or one made with impaired judgment."
"I was in command of that CAP, Alex, it's my frakking call!" Khloe yells, smashing her closed locker with her fist. "I have to write a report that shows the CAG may have impaired judgment. How the frak do you think that makes me feel?" She begins crossing the room, head lowered, glaring at Devlin as she stalks towards him.
Evandreus is okay with loud conversations— the Viper jocks seem especially fond of them. But when the fist slams into metal his knees jerk upward underneath the pile of just-washed nappies he's folding on his lap, and he ducks his head out of his mostly-shut curtain, peering at the folk outside.
Devlin just looks at Khloe for a long minute, and there is a flicker of something in his eyes and brows, in a faint shift of his lips, that seems for a beat as if he might say something. Whatever it was going to be, he does not say it, remaining silently observant for another long moment before finally replying: "It is your call, yeah. You don't have to do anything. But if you're going to demand a report from me, fine. I'll write a report. You're not going to like what it says."
Khloe comes to nose to nose with Devlin. There's a fire in her eyes that the man probably hasn't seen before; had he been able to see her in her cockpit a few hours earlier, this might resemble it. "Make sure it's in language appropriate for the XO, because that's who it's going to. And if you want to take a shot at me in your statement, Ensign, feel free. The Major…" She comes to a skidding halt with her words, glancing over at Doe's peering out from his bunk. She balls a fist, but manages to stow her rage and straighten up. "Sorry for disturbing you, Bunny," she says. Sparing another glance for Devlin, she nods at him. "Thank you, Ensign." And she walks back over to her locker, regaining her composure.
Evandreus maintains his simplistic placidity, only commenting on the exchange with the faint uptic of an eyebrow before he shikks the curtain open a few more feet, as though to give them the impression that he's listening, now, so best be nice. Other than that, he goes back to folding diapers. The bliss of fatherhood. Or something like it. Not by way of sarcasm, either. In a very subtle way he seems to be almost basking in the sheer domesticity of the task.
Devlin tilts his head down to make it closer to literally nose-to-nose; Khloe may be tall, but he is taller. His eyes are hard, his jaw set, a stubbornness not often seen from the recent nugget. "I have no intention of taking any shots at anyone," he replies evenly, even cooly, adding after a beat, "Sir." He doesn't move as she turns, flicking a quick glance over at Bunny and otherwise just looking at the captain.
Khloe throws her locker open, kicks off her boots and flight pants, and grabs her mesh shower kit bag. She reaches down to pick up her flight gear, presumably to stow it, but she ends up staring at it for a moment. Then, barefoot and down to underclothes, Khloe just pads off to the showers. One might catch a glimpse of her covering her face with her hands as she turns the corner.