| It's Left To You |
| Summary: | Zosime tracks down Rime to deliver a photograph. |
| Date: | 2041.06.25 |
| Related Logs: | Related to Villon's death. |
| Players: |
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| Observation Deck - Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| With a quiet view to the stars, this tends to be one of the more popular 'quiet areas' of the Cerberus. Up front is a small-unseated area for ceremonies or other activities while the seating rises up behind it. Each level rises up behind the one before it, comfortable chairs and couches set up for crewmembers to relax, get some work done or even take a nap. A large armored plate is lowered during Condition One to protect the interior against a breach in the glass. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #119 |
Lieutenant Rime is one of many quiet Observation Deck occupants this evening. Unlike the lovebirds cloistered in the various dark corners, she is alone - unless her huge and heavy technical tome counts as a date. She sits cross-legged in an armchair near the central walkway, the book open in her lap, her duty blues jacket draped over the back of the chair.
There are many people at the Observaation Deck, but Zosime has come here with a purpose. One that she has sort of been avoiding for awhile. Avoiding may be too strong a word. She has been attempting to get in touch with Rime, but she's met with roadblocks every way. The picture that Snag gave her has been in her pocket ever since their encounter in the Memorial Hallway and, truth be told, the Deckie has been loathed to give it up. That moment was a crystallizing one for the young PO, but promises are promises and Z keeps hers. Finally tracking down the Lieutenant to the Observation deck, she starts to search through the couples and star gazers there to fit the rudimentary description she was given. Instead, she sort of just stands near the doorway awkwardly, as if trying to search out her blind date.
A little tricky to track down someone who cooled their heels for over a week in the Brig and has, since then, been kept busy with what /some/ might consider an unduly-harsh workload. Whether the burden is unfair to bear or not, however, the Lieutenant bears it without audible protest. The shirt she wears under her jacket is obviously non-regulation - a tawny brown T-shirt with an autumnal forestscape decal across it. The sort of attire found in tourist traps everywhere across the Colonies. She straightens her slouched shoulders after turning another page in her tome, looking out across the room without really seeing anything. One hand comes up absently, tucking a strand of hair that's escaped her plaits back behind her ear. 'Tall, blonde, bit of a piece, probably down on the Observation Deck' or so the (very unofficial) description from CIC might have come down.
Through the rows and seats, Zosime picks her way through, realizing that the more time she dawdles or makes no action is less time to get done what needs to be done. Though the rough sketch she was given could fit any number of people, she comes upon the first blonde person she sees. Unfortunately, that's not Lieutenant Rime. But, she seems to know Z's intended target and points the woman out. With a deep breath, the PO takes nervous steps forward until she's finally close enough to give a very awkward wave and a throat clearing, attention getting sound. "Ahem." She smiles a little too much for a first meeting. "Um, hi. Lieutenant Rime?"
Electrical schematics and circuit diagrams fill the two pages the Lieutenant currently has open across her lap. Maybe this is what passes for light bedtime reading for the peculiar breed that populates CIC. She looks over at Zosime when her name's called, blue-green eyes blinking once, then again, before they focus intently on the other woman. A quick flicker to her uniform before she asks, politely, "Yes. That's me. What can I help you with, Petty Officer?" A light Virgan lilt weaves through her words.
Virgon. Right. Villon mentioned them bonding over Virgon. The accent still manages to throw Zosime just a moment, as does the solemn reason for this meeting. "Hi," she repeats, attempting to get some more time for herself to gather her thoughts. "Sorry, you don't know me." Once again, she pauses and drops into a seat next to Rime uncomfortably and lowers her voice just slightly. "I'm, well, I'm here on a sort of a, well…" the more she repeats her words, the less courage she has. Finally, she tries a different tactic. "You knew Snag…er, Ensign Villon? Right?"
The lagoon-blue eyes sharpen with startlement and the pain of some recent wounding for the time it takes Rime to blink once, then again. She leans back a fraction in her chair, and as she does, it's like she's pulling a mask over her features, too calm to actually /be/ calm, revealing nothing. "Emilie Villon," she affirms, the name sounding subtly different as she says it, the syllables nudged and realigned into their proper places. "Yes. I knew her. What is this about?"
Zosime knows that look. She knows it all too well. And, perhaps, this is the reason she didn't want to be bearer of this sort of omen or message or picture. Whatever this is for Rime. The own pain that she wears has softened slightly, but she clasps her hands in her lap, trying to find the best way to proceed. It may be best to just plow forward - which is what she does. "I talked with her. Shortly before…before she was killed. In the Memorial Hall." With a gulp, she continues. "And she…she…she wanted you to have this." Quickly, the blonde deckie hands over the picture of Villon she was given. It's a bit more worn now, as she's been carrying it with her. However, it's been taken care of and still in good shape. "I think…she just…she just wanted to be remembered."
Is it actually a long, long time that Rime stares down at the photograph, once she's accepted it, or does it just feel that way to the both of them? Her long fingers run around the edges of the photo, and the stoic mask Rime has carefully drawn over her face cracks a little, as one edge of her mouth slants up further than the other. "Poisoned in her own Viper. Carbon dioxide… at least there's that, I guess." How else can such an end be coped with, other than to find a way to think, at least it could be worse? She turns a hard look on Zosime - or what /would/ be a hard look, if her eyes weren't brighter and wetter than they were before. "She… were you friends? She just… gave this to you?"
This whole meeting seems to have happened in some strange sort of alternate time zone for Zosime. It's bee nerve-wracking and sad and she doesn't know quite how to take it. The harsh look is met with a level-eyed sort of response. "N-no. I wouldn't say friends…" How can she explain what their talk was like? It was short, but somehow revealing. "We saw each other. I knew her. But, that one day was really the first time we really…I mean really spoke. She was pinning up a picture and I lent her some of my hangar tape. She wanted someone to remember her if anything happened and asked me to find you and give you that."
"Yeah." The affirmation comes through a tightened throat, followed by a sharp clearing. "She was like that. Talk to her for just a few minutes and suddenly pow - it's like her heart's out there right in front of you, right?" Rime doesn't glance up for but a moment as she says it, as if she's that certain it was the same for the other woman. "We talked a few times about how… as long as we were both alive, and remembered our little corners of Virgon, how they weren't really gone. As long as there was someone to remember. I…" The syllable wavers, and she has to clear her throat again. "I guess it's left to me, now." After a deep breath, her voice smooths out further. "I'm sorry. Thank you for… thank you for this. I didn't catch your name."
"Yeah." Snag certainly had a gift for opening up for other people and making them feel something in return. The deckhand frowns as she thinks back to the one meaningful conversation she had with Emilie and realizes that despite it only being that one, she felt she really knew Snag somehow. "I think that's what the Memory Hall is there for. To help us. I don't think we'll every really forget it…but when we actually do something about it, it really cements that." Though she's not sure how Rime will take it, the PO reaches out to put a reassuring hand on the woman's shoulder. "She knew that you'd remember her properly." That's the only thing she can think of to say that's comforting at the moment. With a sad smile, she introduces herself. "Aemilia Zosime. I don't think I ever caught your first name, to be honest."
Rime gives a tight smile when her shoulder's touched. It's not so much discomfort as that pained look people get when they're trying not to cry. The end of the worlds is no time for breaking down. "Aemilia. It's…" She makes a stuttered sound that might have meant to be a laugh. "…good to meet you." /Good/ is such the wrong word - her mouth twists up wryly even as she uses it. "Diana Rime, CIC… but, please. Call me Mel. It's only fitting, with this." The picture shifts in her fingers as she says it. "I should… if you'll excuse me, though?" Her eyes aren't getting any drier. "Thank you, though. Again. I… do hope I'll see you again. In a happier moment." She sets her book aside and straightens, offering her hand to the other woman to shake.
"No, it's okay, you can say it." The last way Zosime would like to meet anyone is by this way. It's painful. "It's not good to meet me at all. I understand." That doesn't mean that Zosime doesn't want to see Mel again. It's just that they have come across each other in the worst possible way. "Most people call me Z." It's, as she said, only fitting. "Of course." Aemilia gently pulls her hand back from Rime's shoulder and keeps it in her lap. "I hope I'll see you again, too. Under…better circumstances." That's agreed, at least. She shakes the other woman's hand and offers her a sad smile. The best that she can give at the moment. "Let me…let me know if you'd like to talk or anything. Or if you don't want to. Maybe if you just want to play a game of Triad."
The handshake is mechanical at first - brisk and firm, the sort of thing Rime has probably powered through a million of, back at Fleet HQ - before, on the second-to-last shake, she clasps Zosime's hand in both of hers for a warmer send-off. She turns to pick up her book, then, and slip it under her arm. Audio/Video Architecture & Format. Light reading, indeed. The photograph is tucked inbetween the pages, like a pressed flower. "I'd like that," she says - and there the pained not-smile manages to warm enough to be a smile for true. "If I'm not here, after evening shift, I'm in the rec room. Maybe…" Whatever she was about to say trails off to a sharp blink and a sudden, fresh wetness to her eyes - she gives a final, mute nod, then turns to make her depature before the tears escape.
Zosime's own shake is firm, though she attempts to keep it light. She's aware that her hands are rough from working in the hangar for years. "I'll look for you," she says, though it may not be heard as Rime trails off and then makes her way for the door. Aemilia stays where she's seated, orienting herself in order to see the stars and contemplate.