PHD #055: Good Housekeeping
Good Housekeeping
Summary: Sawyer and Cadmus meet and no one gets arrested.
Date: 23 April 2041 AE
Related Logs: None.
Sawyer Cadmus 
Athletics Area
A large pair of mats dominates the center of this room, their centers taped-out for a small area to practice boxing or other martial arts. Around the outside are treadmills, bikes, weights, and an impressive variety of gym equipment to help tone and shape the bodies of the crew. To one side of the room is the locker room while at the rear is a hatch that leads back to the oversized swimming pool. Off to the side is a rack that holds boxing gloves, pugil sticks, and the associated pads for the sticks.
Post-Holocaust Day: #55

Back by the pool one person stands out, if only because she's not wearing a fleet issued swim suit. Instead of black or navy blue, a streak of red sluices back and forth. Sawyer is doing lazy laps through the tepid water, juking around a group of marines playing chicken at one end of the pool. Each lap starts and ends near a neatly stacked towel with press credentials on a lanyard, marking it the civilian's own.

Hey, it must be one of those mysterious civilians that everyone claims to have seen, but Marines are too dense to notice. Cadmus does notice, however, given that amidst a sea of like colors, any variation stands out like a flashlight at midnight. Watching for a moment, he makes his way to the edge of a mat somewhat near the middle of the room. He's also got an unlikely collection of objects with him: orange plastic pistol, two faux knives, a dog-eared magazine depicting various sorts of home furnishings, and a towel. Home furnishings…?

Sputtering, Sawyer finishes a lap and pulls herself up on the edge of the pool. Either she's out of shape, or has been at it awhile, for when she tries to pull herself out of the water, there's not enough strength in her arms. She flops back down it a little splash of water, and decides to just hang on the edge for a moment until her next attempt. In the mean time, she focuses on something else, which happens to be the incoming marine with his odd litany of toys and reading material across the way by the mats.

Sitting himself on a nearby bench, Cadmus checks his watch. Sighing, he allows his arm to fall heavily back to his lap; after a moment, he picks up the furniture and industrial design magazine and flips idly through it. It takes him a minute, but eventually he seems to become dimly aware that he's being eyeballed. Cadmus steals a few glances back from over the top of the magazine, but eventually decides to put it down and lift a hand in greeting, instead. "Afternoon, ma'am," he greets shortly. It would seem that he is not aware of the resident reporter's identity.

"Does interior decorating always get you pumped up for a work out?" Sawyer asks idly, propping her chin on her water dappled forearms as she continues to hang on the side of the pool like a red potted plant. "Afternoon." She finally responds a bit more amicably, but only after a lengthy pause during which she studies the man like a specimen a moment longer.

Hefting his magazine, Cadmus manages to avoid laughing - barely. Rolling his shoulders in a deep shrug, he spreads his palms in a helpless gesture. "I was looking for something to read. The last book I was reading got spaced during the Cylon attack on Deck Six, and I haven't worked up an interest in anything else I've seen in the library, yet," he explains. "To be fair, it's not exactly … stimulating reading, you know? But it keeps the eyes occupied."

Sawyer nudges her face against her forearms, clearing off a bit of the pool water that still clings to her cheeks and - more annoyingly so - above her eyes. "Well, if nothing else, you'll learn how to use this Fall's color palate in new and exciting ways. It's amazing how a throw pillow can really brighten up a room." The journalist has a quirk to her lips that indicates her humor, but hasn't quite made it to a full blown smile yet.

"Oh, it's even worse than that. I'm trying to make a model of the Chimaera, actually. So I have to color-match with Fleet gray, in miniature. And there's no way to get powder blue to look nice with that green they paint the Officer's quarters," Cadmus agrees, managing to keep his voice from betraying any of the humor which is apparent in his face. Obviously, this is Serious Business. Running a hand over the top of his head, he ventures, "So… what do you do? Or … did you do, before? I don't really know most of the civilians other than the ones with a penchant for raising a ruckus."

"Then I must be doing rather well and keeping my ruckus on the down low. My name is Sawyer Averies, rogue Journalist. Shipboard Historian. Professional Busy Body. Forgive me for not getting out and shaking your hand, but I think I need to stay here for a moment longer until my body forgives me for the abuse." Now she manages a true smile, which makes a dimple appear on her cheek and the skin around her eyes to crease slightly.

There is an airy wave of Cadmus's hand as he intones, "All is forgiven; stay wherever you like. Down here, I doubt etiquette is really the order of the day, anyhow. At least of the 'being on time' variety." With that, he checks his watch again, rolling his eyes as he finds time once again creeping on without the arrival of whomever may have been scheduled to meet him. "Professional busybody, hmm? I imagine you've been hearing a lot of interesting scuttlebutt lately, then. I usually only hear about the punch-throwing kinds of ruckus. I'm Cadmus Maragos, Lance Corporal of the CMC military police. Pleased to meet you."

Sawyer gives a little 'ah' in the back of her throat. "An Em-Pee. You're a good man to know, Corporal. Both if I get into trouble, or someone tries to start some with me, hmm? And yes, I'm a scuttlebutt magnet. It's my job, however, to wade through the bullshit and try and find the thread of truth. So. Has anyone been throwing any good punches lately?" She asks with a quirk of a blonde eyebrow.

Cadmus gives a short 'hmmm', eyes drifting ceiling-ward as he ponders this inquiry. Suddenly a finger shoots up; apparently memory is strong with him. "I heard that the XO and the head Sister of the chapel had a punching match the other day. Apparently Captain Karthasi bit the XO, but they weren't fighting with any rules… So I suppose that's okay. Other than that, people seem to be remarkably focused on surviving the Cylons, rather than getting into any dust-ups. Thanks the gods for THAT," he says.

"I do hope you're implying that they were sparring and not that this was a random slap fest out in the halls?" Sawyer asks, her second eyebrow lofting up to join the first as she looks for confirmation. "Sounds like you have a rather boring job then, if people insist on behaving."

"Oh, quite. Right over there, as a matter of fact," Cadmus says, jerking a thumb over one shoulder to indicate the mats behind him. He gives another shrug: "Boring is one way of putting it, but only the most asinine of soldiers would prefer action to boredom in this situation. Better than I not have to brig anyone. Better that I can concentrate on trying to come up with clever ideas to keep us alive. Gods willing, I think some of them may actually even *work*." A pause, and then he bites his lower lip. "And it's not *so* boring. There's still plenty to do. Interview the rescued for intel. Attempt to decode transmissions."

Sawyer finally releases her hold on the edge of the pool, floating back a yard or two with a lazy circle of her arms to keep her head above water. "And here I thought you types were only joined the Military Police because you get to play with handcuffs. I stand corrected. And I hate to inform you, Corporal, but I don't think plastic pistols are very effective against the Tin cans. I'm just saying."

Glancing over his training implements and the duffel bag they're near to, Cadmus purses his lips tightly and nods in a slow fashion. "Nor regular sidearms, nor knives, nor clubs, or hands. It's seven-six-two or five-five-six in armor piercing or nothing at all, it seems. Which is frustrating as hell, and has been the cause of more than a few preventable losses," he murmurs, touching the toy handgun with his fingertips. Looking back to you, he shakes his head: "And don't sell the military police short, ma'am. We're an elite corps, but not because we're bigger bad-asses or anything. Because we have to be held to a higher standard. The kind of people that are willing to do the uncomfortable shit regular marines can't or won't do, like brig their own."

Sawyer takes a few strokes to get to the ladder, finally hauling herself out of the pool with the aid of a few steps. Water drips down her form to the backs of her legs and pools at her feet, leaving little wet prints as she walks back towards her towel and credentials. "And they're modest too. I'm just teasing you, Cadmus. May I call you Cadmus?" Must be rhetorical as she presses on anyways. "I don't discredit a single department of the military. Each and every one of you is the reason I'm still alive." She bends at the waist to grab her towel, shaking her credentials off the top of it and touching the softness to her face first, then a quick rub through her short fringe of blonde hair which is wavy when wet.

Kicking a leg up across the other, Cadmus leans back on the bench so that his hands prop him up against the length of it. "Of course you can, ma'am. You can call me whatever you like, unless I'm on duty and dealing with you in a professional fashion," he says, a smile finally gracing his face. He dips his head a bit, one finger picking at the paint atop the bench's surface. "I think we've done all right so far. Survival against impossible odds is a pretty big feat. I'd personally like it if I knew what kind of plan we had for a retributive strike, but… I guess it's one step at a time. I'm sure I'll find out when I need to know."

Sawyer dries off her arms next, then twines the towel around her form and tucks it up tight at chest level. Fingers comb her damp hair back from where it matters her forehead and she gives a little satisfied sigh once she's all straightened out. "What you need to do, is ask the right person." She flashes him a grin, then bends to retrieve her lanyard from which dangles security clearances some of the crew don't even have. She drapes it around her neck, then slides her feet into a pair of flip flops. "But that particular tidbit, I don't know yet. I'll have to ask the Commander next time I speak with him."

"Sneak." It is an indelicate sound, at best: even the professional demeanor of the military police hides a Marine beneath. "I don't believe I've ever spoken to the Commander. Lowly NCOs from Marine Country rarely have the opportunity to talk to such brass about anything. But I know Mister Kulko is working on something. I just hope he'll finish sometime soon, before I go crazy from anticipation." He pauses after a moment, apparently mulling something over. "I have a sinking feeling that whatever deployment we get tagged with next, I'm going to be going someplace very hazardous to my health, because he told me I should be prepared to use and fire whatever I could carry."

"One of the perks of my job, I guess. Even the CO wants to make sure I'm kept under a magnifying glass. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer and all that." Sawyer makes her way over to the bench he occupies with the annoying flap-flap-flap sound of her shoes. "Isn't that just good practice, anyways? With firearms, I mean." She asks while helping herself to a seat next to him.

"Well sure, but there's not exactly a lot of places to test out explosives or mortars on-board the ship," Cadmus explains, weighting the word 'mortars' slightly heavier. Apparently the idea of having to break out heavy ordnance does not thrill him so much as make him terribly worried. He clears off some of the junk on the bench so as to afford you a less cluttered spot, and asks, "So… Last time I counted, there were what, two hundred civilians aboard the ship? Maybe three? I can understand not granting you access to command decisions, but it sure seems like regarding you as an enemy doesn't make a lot of sense. The only people who can read anything any more are on this ship…"

Sawyer cants her head to the side for ease of conversation, the odd tilt making her look introspective. "That's still three hundred free people of the Twelve Colonies. Even though we're under martial law, there are rights that need to be upheld. Perhaps enemy was too strong a word, but can you really imagine someone like me who has access to all sorts of fantastic gossip running free to spread it as she pleases? You, of all people, should be able to appreciate the power of things like mass hysteria. Even in three hundred people who suddenly feel like all their rights and privileges have been taken away." She pats him once, succinctly, on the knee. "Think about. You'll understand why the Commander likes to keep tabs on me. See you around, Corporal Good Housekeeping." Hey, he said she could call him whatever she pleases.

"Afternoon, Miss Averies. I suppose I see your point, but… I dunno. I guess I've never been in their shoes, so you might be right about the frustration. Probably right, I should say," Cadmus says, lifting a hand is goodbye. And he does seem to begin to ponder the nature of the civilians aboard the ship - probably something he has deliberately avoided doing thus far, as they are easier dealt with as 'unruly obstacles' than 'people.'

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