| Flybys and…Flies |
| Summary: | Leyla and Trask survey the quarry for possible fuel and salvage, and find time to answer the age old question: What do you get when you lock two bulls in a pen? |
| Date: | 3 Sep 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Sagittaron Logs, particularly Plans, Cans and Automobiles and Tihar Prison Blues |
| Players: |
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| Rock Quarry - Outside Tihar Prison |
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| The rock quarry, scenically situated just next to Tihar Prison. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #189 |
It's early, morning, barely time enough for the dawn sun to peek over the horizon and illuminate the remains of the prison, and, soon, the city beyond. No rest for the wicked, however, as Leyla pops the hatch on her raptor, already dressed in her flight suit, helmet off and tucked under her arm. Rather than step in immediately, however, she does what she always does. A thorough walkabout visual inspection of the ship and all of her external systems. Only once she's satisfied, does she step up into the ship, repeating the procedure, before she heads to the pilot's seat. The hatch's left open behind her, as she makes her way through her pre-flight checks, less than pristine words mumbled in Taurian as she sees the current status of the DRADIS and sensors. F-ing radiation. Still, she's determined to try to re-calibrate them as best she can to compensate.
Once a knuckledragger, always a knuckledragger, which means Trask conducts a similar thorough examination before he boards some moments later. Unlike the pilot, he has foregone his flightsuit in favor of combat gear. After all, in the event that they are shot down, there's nothing better to wear. It's a point he makes by idly noting, "Unless you're planning on leavin' the atmosphere, you might wanna reconsider your fashion choice." For the man just as much puts 'ass' into 'smartass' as he does 'smart'. Going through his own pre-flight checks, it is with a lack of profanity that he gauges the current state of the DRADIS instruments. For whatever reason, he doesn't interfere with Leyla's ministrations even though such tasks fall within the purview of the ECO. Instead, he simply observes, likely assessing.
"Better safe than sorry, considering I'd much rather get the bird out of harm's way than have her end up as scrap like the rest of what's left of this planet." And yes, it might well be within the purview of the ECO, but it's not everyday that the SL is her ECO, and maybe there's a little bit of aptitude testing going on. Quite likely, she wants to do the best she can, and let him see what he makes of it. She may be a pilot first, but to a lesser degree, both pilot and ECO are cross-trained in each other's positions. And this pilot is new to the Harriers. Regardless, once she's done the best that she can, which may or may not be good enough, she turns back, not saluting, but at least offering a respectful nod to the man stepping in, "Sorry, sir. I was hoping to have everything ready for you before you got here."
"Unless we're dealing with Cylons in pursuit, there's no reason to beat a retreat back to the three-headed bitch we call home. And since there's no reason for that, death by decompression really isn't an issue." Droll, perhaps, but not condescending. After all, he's aware that she never really served in atmo, let alone in the hellzones of southern Sagittaron. Amused, then, the SL points out with a smirk, "Although your initiative is appreciated, Aydin, nothing's ever ready until I greenlight it." Insofar as any performance review there may be, Trask doesn't say anything. He merely assumes his position and fires-up the radiological sensors. "Ordinarily, that'd work," he explains of what Leyla was doing, "but when dealing with heavily radiated areas, you need a baseline first. Otherwise, you run the risk of getting something that reads correct numbers-wise but is off because zero wasn't properly calibrated." Beat. "Well, as well calibrated as it can ever be in situations like these."
There's quite a bit Leyla could say, either about the suit, or the adjustments she made, or about the possibility of heading back to Cerberus. But in the end, she seems to choose to say nothing at all, instead returning to her seat and strapping in. "Yes, sir. I'll remember, sir." And with Trask now in the ECO's chair, she settles in to her own duties, powering up the ship and prepping it for flight. She seems to wait, quiet and alert, marking the movements of the people moving around outside in the yard. "Whenever you're ready, sir."
The pre-flight checks take a bit longer than standard, as these are not standard operating procedures, but Bootstrap is efficient. "We're a go back here, Sweet Pea. Where to first? Lady's choice." When not expecting to find much of anything, it really makes little difference to him where they begin.
"I thought we'd start with a flyover of the quarry, sir. See if there might be any vehicles down there we could tap for fuel, or even any that we might be able to use for salvage and rescue once we get more teams on the ground." That said, Leyla takes the raptor out, her hands easy on the stick, the flight smooth and easy as she lifts away from the prison and starts in the direction of the quarry just outside of the prison proper. Well, not just outside, but close enough that they could do labor there.
"Sounds good, Sweet Pea," Trask replies, setting a course, "except for all the 'sir' crap. Bootstrap suffices." Jumping on the comms, he alerts the security detail and present deckhands that they're ready for take-off. "Cleared for lift-off. Let's see what we can find."
"Force of habit, Bootstrap." And with that, she turns to doing what she does best, flying and scouting. "I'm not used to it being so bright outside." Along the tylium fields, in the shipping lanes, it's always night, for obvious reasons. "I should be ready to do the first leaflet drop within the next day or so." It doesn't take long, before the remains of the old quarry come into view just in the distance.
Sensor suite online, Trask commences an elemental scan. "Not a bad habit, per se. Just not necessary, especially in the cockpit. 'Sides, I've never much been one for formality." As if that is at all shocking. "I know what'cha mean about it being bright. Spent my first 12 years not seein' the sun. It was quite an adjustment to acclimate to life not aboard a ship. Never mind the culture shock of bein' stuck on Virgon for 18 months before comin' here." In the background, the scanner rhythmically beeps.
"That seems to be going around. I got the same impression from Captain Sitka, when I ran into him yesterday. Oh, he's agreed to do some translating for me. For the leaflets. I'm useless with anything Sagitarron." Leyla doesn't put down in the quarry, not even approaching, only taking her time in a slow fly around, as she continues her visuals, waiting for the joy/no joy report from the man in the back, "I've never been. Never went to any of the colonies, except for school. I'm not sure I would have gone, if I'd had the chance. I wanted to, used to dream about it, but I don't honestly know."
The comment about Sitka's lack of formality merely conjures an amused smirk. "Hicks an' ghetto trash tend to stand less on ceremony. We can tell when we're bein' dissed and are otherwise pretty easy-goin'. There's more to respecting someone than sayin' 'sir'." As for Virgon, "Well, it was either there or Caprica." Which means it could only be Virgon. "I think they were hoping I'd wash-out just to get the frak outta such a place. Once you left the posh areas, though, Virgon was a'right. Nothin' pretentious about the small fishing towns." After several moments, Trask announces, "Quarry's clear. Let's pull in closer to assess where to best drop the scavenging teams."
"I don't agree with that, Bootstrap. I grew up in the same place as you, but that doesn't mean I don't take my commission seriously, and do my best to be the best officer I can be. I owe that to the people who got me out of the situation I was in. They may be dead and gone now," and unlike some members of the ship's crew, Leyla clearly has no illusions that any of her family might be alive, "I owe that to their memory." At Trask's comment, Leyla shifts the direction of her flight, moving out to scout for sites to land personnel.
"You may be from the Black Country but you didn't grow up where I did," is all that is said about that in a tone that lacks any semblance of self-pity but possesses no shortage of hard reality. "And if you think that not being a stickler for sayin' 'sir' means not taking a commission seriously, you have a shitload to learn, Aydin." So insouciant with his snark is the SL. As the Raptor draws closer to the mark, Trask starts snapping photos with the ship's embedded recon camera. "How'd you manage to get straight into the Academy anyway? Part of some sort of affirmative action thing?"
Leyla switches to Taurian, her tone hardening, as she falls back into the rougher speech she grew up with. "And you didn't grow up where I did, either, if you don't mind me saying, Bootstrap. You ain't got the market on hard living and neither do I. There ain't nobody in the Country that lives high on the hog, and that's for sure and certain. We all had it tough, and I'm fairly sure every story you've got to tell, I've got one of my own." She continues, despite the peak in her irritation, flying as neatly as ever, "So if you want to whip yours out and throw it on the table, I'll get right up there with you. But neither of us is going to come out on top. And it doesn't have a hell of a bit to do with whether or not you call someone sir." A shrug, as she sets aside the argument for the moment, turning instead to answer the question, "Got sent a letter, saying I'd been nominated for the Academy by the local councilman."
"None of my stories involve generous benefactors," Kal quips, the flippancy of the comment belying the truth of what he's said. "And I dunno what it's been like in your other squadrons, but I expect my people to not shit where they sleep, so to speak, so no one's pants are comin' off." Leave it to him to twist something someone said into something he knows they didn't mean, especially when there was an allusion to shlongs involved. Surely, this must be what others mean about him being a facetious jerkass. "Pickin' up somethin' at carom zero-three-six two-one-niner."
"There was nothing generous about it. I had to work my ass off to get in, same as anyone else. Took me a year of work and sweat and pain to get to where I could even apply and pass the exam. A nomination isn't a guarantee, least it wasn't for me." There's a decided snort, at the last, "You're just worried mine will be bigger than yours." But whatever business she might have with the relative sizes of their body parts, as soon as she gets the call, Leyla cuts the chatter, immediately redirecting the raptor towards the new heading, "Any idea on what it might be?" She's just the bus driver, yo.
Without missing a beat, Bootstrap banters back, "I'll have you know that's just an optical illusion. My penis only looks tiny because my balls are behemoth." Back to the /other/ task at hand, "Somethin' metal. You got any visuals? Maybe it's a drill or a forklift or some such thing." Tapping away at the console, he adds, "Looks like there're trace elements of fuel, so I'm bettin' it's machinery."
"Well, now I know why you waddle when you walk." A slight adjustment, as she takes the raptor down, "Looks like a rock crusher. Look's like it's weathered the months fairly well. Come up and have a look, if you like." Once the ship is adjusted to give a good view of the massive piece of machinery, a cross between a crusher and a screener, she waits, allowing for the ECO to do as he likes.
"Nah. That's more of a balance issue. Big ego amounts to a swelled head. Neck isn't made to carry so much weight. Completely throws off the center of gravity. The bowed legs, though? That'd be the nads." Cheeky ECO is cheeky. Unfastening his belt, Trask makes his way to the front to see with his own eyes. "Dunno how much fuel can be siphoned," or if there even is any fuel, "but that looks like some quality scrap to me. Maybe not quite right for fabrication but should more than suffice for repairs." Ducking back to his console and strapping back in, the man decides, "Not at all a bad start but let's see what else we can find."