| Interested |
| Summary: | Trask brings two significant proposals to Sawyer. She's interested in both but only accepts one. |
| Date: | 05 Apr 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | A Lamb in Wolf's Clothing (second Gememon recon); shortly thereafter followed by In the Loop (Trask recruits Marko) |
| Players: |
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| News Room - Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post-Holocaust Day: #403 |
| This compartment isn't huge by any means, an afterthought shoved into an alcove when the engineer was finishing the final plans for the ship. The long awkward rectangle is filled with several desks and those heavy pieces of machinery that are tools of the media trade — copiers, computers, printers, and of course a seemingly never-ending supply of paper of both the A4 and broadsheet variety. In the far port corner hangs a mulberry-colored hammock attached to the bulkhead — where the head-reporter-in-charge is purported to spent her nights. Three heavy desks have been moved to form an inverted 'U' for the new Editor in Chief's work station, and behind them lies the hatch to the modest closet-sized darkroom. |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
Even if the sound of his approach were to go unnoticed, there really is no way to quietly close a battlestar hatch. Not that the man is making an effort to be stealthy about it, so the point is a moot one. "Oh, Nanners…" he calls out in the quasi-sing-song tone so often employed in television comedies, "Up for some monkeyshines?" Because Kal Trask typically is. Admittedly, his brand of mischief tends to be of the karmic trickster or wise fool variety. Which, really, also means that his question is a rhetorical one.
The rumor of the possibility of 'biochemical warfare' doesn't excite most. In fact, it keeps the volunteer workforce of the News Room as thin as if it were on Condition One. Of course, the de facto Editor-in-Chief is here because it's not as if Sawyer really does what she does for fun. Well. Okay, to be fair, this is what she does for kicks. She looks over the top of her computer monitor with a smirk for Kal and she shakes her head in an incredulous manner before she ducks back down like a prairie dog. "Nothing changes with you." She makes a few more keystrokes then pushes away from her desk, rolling on the wheels of her chair until she's got a direct eyeline with him. "Whaddya got, Monkeyman?"
Nothing changes? "My underwear, every few days, maybe." Not the irreverence, though. As for what he's got? "You mean other than my boyish good-looks, insufferable charm, staggering intellect, and spank-bank mag-worthy bod?" With insouciant aplomb, he leisurely closes the distance, coming to park his ass on her desk, once he's dogged the hatch behind him. "Questions," he reveals, with a scampish smile and darling dip of the chin slash batting of his lashes combo. "What can you tell me about Magnus Dekker? I mean, apart from the general bio and the 'he fairly recently had the crap beat outta him' stuff." And since he knows that Sawyer will want to know why he wants to know, Kal explains, "I have a few projects I wanna bounce offa him." And, just as if he owns the frakking place and its contents, he swipes a pen off the reporter's desk and starts twirling it between his fingers.
Sawyer stretches out her legs, hitching her shoes up on the desk next to Kal's thigh. "You forgot insufferable." Which he didn't of course. Maybe she's just repeating it for emphasis. "Beyond the man having expensive and dangerous hobbies, not much. I met with him once before it became apparent he was just a patsy. An impressive patsy, don't get me wrong, but one nonetheless. Big man regarding neural networks. I probably should have mentioned him the other day, but there was enough we had to cover." Not talking for a month'll do that. "Whaddya bouncing?"
Insufferable, he generally is, yes. "Noooooo," is drawn out in an admonishing tone, "you simply missed that part because you couldn't get past my boyish good looks." Silly Sawyer. Clearly amused by his own cleverness, that impish glee takes a slightly saucy turn when the blonde decides to put those glorious gams on display.
"I've been comparing the most recent Gemenon recon data to the weirdness of the one back in August." Brown eyes remain on the woman's legs, as he speaks, and perhaps not entirely because he's incorrigibly grazing the tail-end of the pen up one calf to slip underneath the hem of the light grey pencil skirt. "The encryption matches. Beyond that, I can't make heads-or-tails outta the hows or whys. I'm gonna put Flasher on it like I did the first time. I figured Dekker's would be a good brain to tap. Plus, there's the whole AI angle with the Cents, so I might as well start putting the good doctor to work like I did the other one." That being Cameron Adair. "And I was thinkin' that since you were there, and, yanno," cue cheekily dramatic eye roll, as though it were an ordeal to pay the woman a compliment, "you know a thing or few about cryptography and computers and shit, you might want to round out this little research team."
Sawyer swats at the pen as the end of it makes a disappearance under the hem of her skirt, really only succeeding in slapping her own thigh. "So you got the full AAR then? Good. Otherwise I would have given you one when I was told expressly not to." She tsks at her own hypothetical transgression. "Wait, you're admitting I may be good at something. GASP." Yes, she actually says the word, in the mood to be cheeky right back. "I'm flattered. I'm blushing even." While she smoothes down her skirt, she loops back to the mission. "They were communicating with us in the most rudimentary fashion, even using the 'hello world' phrase that every eighth grader learns in his Intro to Programming class."
The look he levels is a wryly incredulous 'Really? You think I wouldn't get a copy of the AAR my own people wrote? Really?' As for the transgression, "ONLY then? I certainly hope not 'cuz that sounds more like you bucking the system than it is about being all about me." Tsk-tsk. In response to the response to the compliment, Kal retorts with a bland kind of cheek, "Stop the presses." For this is EPIC NEWS. All the while, that pen disregards the woman's thwapping hand and commences coyly caressing that oh so sensitive skin that is the back of Sawyer's knee. Even when the man vaguely sneers with mock indignation and relays, "Frak you and your hoity-toity Virgan edjumacation system. /I/ didn't learn how to do that until I was 20, frakyouverymuch."
Sawyer's knee ticks up in an involuntary twitch, not that she's ticklish. Nope, not in the slightest. Though her pained expression at the pen's ministration betrays otherwise. "The point being, it's beginner's stuff. Nevermind when you were a beginner. We," Meaning the trained military people, not Sawyer herself, "almost dismissed it as interference. Anyway," Sawyer closes her eyes for a moment, because he's making it very difficult to concentrate. "Research?"
"Really?" comes the slightly throaty query. "What other tidbits didn't make it into the report?" Because the notion that some of the Harriers might not have been bringing their A-Game makes for a displeased SL. As for the research, all he says is a languid, "Mmmmmmmmmmm-hmmmm." From that space behind the knee, the pen slinks farther along the back of that thigh. "Interested?"
"Let's just say the AAR failed to properly portray just how awesome I am. Of course, I'm interested." Sawyer shifts in her chair, sitting up just a hint higher as goose bumps start to pepper her arms and legs. "Kal? That pen is seeing more play than either of us have in a while." Because she's giving him the benefit of the doubt that he doesn't realize how cruel he's being.
Perhaps it's cruelty, but it's the innocent heartlessness of a child at play. In so many ways, he really is akin to a little boy in a man's body, careless about his callousness, thus lacking any semblance of malice. Not that this makes it any less painful or frustrating for anyone dealing with him. "Says you," says he, letting the pen fall still. "I make a point of playing with myself thoroughly and frequently." No, that is not what she meant. And, no, it doesn't matter. The little smile tugging his lips and the mischievous gleam in those big brown eyes reveal that he's delighted by his wit. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that the fire of your hearth should always be tended?" The double-tap of the pen end marks the punchline. "Maybe I can give you a few pointers."
With the writing instrument now cupped betwixt thumb and palm, Trask's two forefingers start to lightly caress, not yet straying from where the pen had been.
Sawyer eyerolls as she pulls her feet off the desk and away from his teasing, tickling fingers. Only then can she breathe a little easier, seeming how her heart isn't somewhere lodged up in her throat. "I know how. But for the record that's not a denial or an admission to the act. Is it hot in here? It's getting hot in here. I should really talk to engineering, and see if they can do anything about the thermostat on Deck Three." She pops up from her seat like she's been goosed by her chair.
<FS3> Trask rolls Alertness/Social: Good Success.
Perhaps it's not a response that he wasn't expecting on some level. Even so, there is something to the set of his mouth and billowing in those big brown eyes that is relative to rue. A pensive pause ensues, followed by the tapping of pen against his left thigh while he considers what just happened. It wasn't an offer made entirely in jest, but the manner of Sawyer's sudden retreat doesn't inspire anger or feelings of rejection. No, it's evident that she's wanting but not ready. Which means that's his cue to leave because he is not the sort of man who could ever abide the notion of making a woman feel threatened.
Still, Trask being Trask means he has to have something cheeky to say, especially when emotions and feelings of vulnerability are trespassing. "It /was/ a minute ago," he remarks about it being hot. "Maybe the sudden draft is just where I'm sitting." It's spoken with some sense of self-deprecation and an all-too-knowing smirks. It doesn't last, for he is quickly to his feet. "Broken thermostat would never happen on Dom's watch. Sorry to hear the new ChEng isn't running such a tight ship." The pen is deposited back upon the desk. "I, however, am not a slacker, so I gotta jet." Which is true. He's due to start his next shift in about five (5) minutes.
"I'll put together a data pack for you to go over with Scaurus." That being that, the SL is off to the hatch, offering a parting, "See ya, Sawyer."