PHD #511: Give It Time
Give It Time
Summary: Impending nuptials, inevitable attacks, and some more personal matters are points of conversation when Cidra and Trask conduct CAP on Gemenon.
Date: 22 Jul 2042 AE
Related Logs: Perfectly Fine (Trask promises Quinn a wedding) & Biting the Bullet (the Fleet goes to Gemenon)
Players:
Cidra Trask 
Harrier-670
The forward section contains the flight deck, with side-by-side seats for the pilot and ECO (who occupies the rear section of the vehicle during normal operations). This opens into the main body which contains bulkhead-mounted racks of electronics equipment and sensors. A large canopy provides good forward and side visibility for the crew if any, which is no doubt of considerable benefit during atmospheric flight.
Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close
Post-Holocaust Day: #511

Thus far, planetary CAPs on Gemenon have been uneventful. Strategic sweeps of areas pre-determined to potentially harbor anti-pro-Cylon factions have yielded nothing, but they are nonetheless conducted. Today is no different. "Oh, hey. Rocks," Trask deadpans, this shift having him slated at the ECO console and not really finding anything of interest, "and ores we have neither time nor equipment to drill for. Awesome."

Cidra is in the pilot's seat and, apart from required wireless communication and whatever direction pilot-to-ECO requires, she's been largely silent throughout the patrol. Deeper in thought than she'd like to let on, perhaps. Though her flying is as sharp as ever, her gaze lingers out the viewport over the land below in a manner that's not strictly required for navigational purposes. "Rocks and scrub, Boots, and little else but pretty cliffs to look at on this part of the world," she says. "We may be able to find more materials to salvage in the ruins of the major cities. But I doubt we shall gain near as much as we did from Aerilon or Tauron. Gemenon was ever a poor world, and the Cylon bombs have not made it richer."

For his part, Bootstrap hasn't been particularly talkative. Perhaps this is because when he runs his mouth it's largely to berate someone or something, to serve up some sass or snark, or to converse on matters either geeky or cheeky. Even so, he's not really said much of anything about going to Gemenon or being on Gemenon, which is somewhat abnormal considering how vociferous he's generally been about planetary ops and, well, pretty much most Command decisions. "There are worse things than pretty cliffs." The comment itself might not seem that odd were it followed-up with a critical quip. It, however, is not.

"Much worse things, though it surprises me we have not seen them as of yet," Cidra says, edging her Raptor a little higher in altitude as they scan over the higher canyon lands. "I had thought when there seemed such a firm Cylon presence around the Falls they would have moved to occupy other locations on-planet as well. But apart from Lampridis they seem to have left the planet untouched, from all reports from our birds I have yet received. Save for the damage done when the bombs initially fell, of course."

"Give it time," is wryly remarked, tinged with a semblance of rue. Just because the man is misanthropic doesn't mean he enjoys it when his purview is validated. "If I were a bookie, I'd be taking bets on whether it's the anti-Cylon humans who attack first, or if it'll be the anti-human Cylons." Because there is a fan that is presently all too clean, and the Taurian just knows that some steaming turds are in-transit to connect with those proverbial propeller blades. "Not sure how much longer it'll be quiet, but you think it might be long enough for Jugs and Pens to have a little ceremony down here during off-duty hours?"

"Or anti-Cylon Cylons, from reports those abominations who control Lampridis have given us," Cidra says. "If they are building up defenses, it seems more of use against their own kind than against us. Give it time, indeed." Still, for all the quiet, there's something about flying in these skies that she seems to be enjoying. Albeit in a somewhat bittersweet way. She spends more time doing things like chasing updrafts and banking around canyon vistas than is typical of Toast's businesslike piloting fashion in the day-to-day. "As for Jugs and Pens, I certainly think they can find the time. How long it will stay apeace I cannot say, so they had best be quick about it if they are to do it. But I can understand the appeal of joining with someone with ground beneath your feet. We have all been very long in the blackness this last year."

"Made in our image," the man muses, adding with a touch of sardonicism rooted in a certain sadness over the human condition, "Poor bastards." The less than businesslike piloting does not appear to bother the ECO. "Yanno, if you wanna do some loop-de-loops, go for it." For it is that boring in the backseat. As for the ceremony, Trask simply says, "I'll let 'em know and see about the scheduling." Because that wedding party will consist of five (5) Harriers. "Says the woman who was married in the big black," about the appeal of joining with someone with ground underneath. Even so, it's a playful ribbing.

"If they now turn upon each other, yes, perhaps they were made in our image after all," Cidra says, skimming along. The air is dry and crisp, and makes for pleasant flying so far as atmosphere is concerned. Though it still lacks the ease of the vacuum of space. "I did at that." A faint smile comes to her face, albeit not a particularly happy one. Not that Trask can see any sort of expression from her from his console. "My parents disapproved of me wedding someone not of this world. Not of the Fundamental Faiths. Well. It made me happy for a time. That is the heart of the matter. How are you getting along with Miss Sawyer Averies?" The personal question is asked casually enough. Well, it's a door he opened. She can stick a toe of her own in.

No, that was not a question he was expecting. Trask is actually a very private person. Tumultuous as his relationship with the journalist in question has been, it also has been kept behind the closed doors of the News Room and, more rarely, those of the Quinn family residence. And speaking of said family's matriarch, the SL hasn't spoken a peep to his BFF and self-adopted sister (you know, the one whose name has been carved and inked into his flesh) about the seriously convoluted courtship he unwittingly found himself perpetuating. Despite this, his tone is just as casual as Cidra's. "Well enough that she agreed to find Maggie a suitable wedding dress."

"That is well." A pause and Cidra says, "I do love Sawyer very much. She is the best friend I hold in the Fleet, a friend I never did expect to find, but I have done well by her as she has me, I hope. Treat her well, Kal. And make her happy. And I hope she does the same for you in return. Perhaps that is all any of us left can do for each other now." She leaves it at that. "If Jugs does not care for the desert lands, perhaps somewhere by the lake. At sunset. The sunsets are absolutely lovely in this part of Gemenon."

THAT was expected even less. Good thing his expression can't be seen between the CAG's back facing him, his own head dipped and turned to regard a specific screen, and the helmets they both are wearing. The silence is decidedly one wrought of disquiet, but the woman withdraws without leaving him feeling unbearably exposed. Despite this discomfort, Kal neither denies nor disputes what Cidra has insinuated, which in and of itself is very telling. For a moment, his lips part as though to speak, accompanied with a confounded furrowing of his brows, but then his mouth simply clamps shut because he honestly has no idea what to say. A frown follows. "I'm trying," he finally admits, which is both true and a difficult process for him, confessed as a courtesy.

For the rest, "Maggie mentioned how she'd always imagined she'd be wed in her own back yard, so I think a lake at sunset would be more fitting. I don't suppose you'd be willing to help me pick an idyllic spot?" A pause. "I'd, um…" Softly, he clears his throat. "I'd really appreciate it." Truly, even if he's trying to convey it all as though it ain't no thang.

"I shall take Jugs around. I do not know this part of the country well, but there are a few places I think she might appreciate," Cidra says. "I would not mind the excuse to wander some. It is strange, being back here after so many years. I was not sorry to leave my home when I joined the Navy. Not that I regret it, but I cannot say I do not wish I had left things on better terms."

Fade, alas. Curse you, RL foo!

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