| PHD #387: Keenan Raios, Day One |
| Summary: | Keenan reports to the CAG |
| Date: | 20 Mar 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Ready Room |
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| With the hatches at the rear of the room, the walkways on both sides slope down towards the dais at the front of the room. The stadium seating forms a partial semi-circle around the speaking podium and provides enough seats for all three hundred members of the Air Wing. The walls are adorned with the patches of each squadron aboard and their mottos stenciled in white lettering above each one. Behind the podium is a set of large LCD screens that can display any matter of material from reconnaissance to maps to gun camera footage. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #387 |
The day has already been a bit of a whirlwind for Keenan, in fact, the tone of the day has been to hustle. The ship's readiness condition has kept him in his flight suit, moving from department to department to finish his paperwork. After receiving his commission and being directed towards the Ready Room, it's no wonder that Keenan has already started to sweat from the unforgiving flight suit's environmental safeguards. With the flight suit opened slightly to let some air in, Keenan makes his final steps into the ready room. With his duty folder and orders in hand, and a few drops of sweat in his wake, he comes to attention before Major Hahn.
"Ensign Keenan Raios, reporting for duty, sir." He says, a line he's practiced all morning.
"Ensign Raios. At ease." Not that it's a particularly easy stance, but Cidra gives him that much as she descends the podium. Looking at him in a weighing sort of way, though it's difficult to tell what she makes of him from her expression. It has an inscrutable quality to it. "You have completed the particulars with Personnel, I did see. That is for the good. If you have not moved your personal items from the Recruit area to the Pilot's Berthings, do so at your next off-duty opportunity. I have your squadron assignment. You shall be flying with our Harriers contingent. Captain Kal Trask is your squadron leader, he shall have more detailed instructions as to your duties, in terms of CAP and Alert rotations, once you are fully integrated into the flight roster." Which covers the bare bones of his reporting, really. Though she still keeps looking at him in that manner.
Keenan manages to maintain eye contact with the Major…at least for a short while. Blinking at first as he rests his arms behind his back, he feels the weight of her judgment and is forced to look towards the podium and nod as she mentions the completion of his Personnel issues. Swallowing, he listens quietly to his squadron assignment. "Thank you sir, I will, sir." He says, clinging tightly to formality. His eyes crook back towards her only to find that she's still watching him, forcing his vision back to the podium.
Cidra holds Keenan's gaze with her own cloudy blue one without any trouble, showing little reaction when he blinks. She just keeps looking at him as if she were taking him apart and examining his pieces in her own head. "You came through flight training adequately enough. I kept a bead on your scores. I have an interest in the Raptor drivers, and I am on myself. Technically I hold dual qualification in Viper flight as well but…" A pause, and faintest of smirks. "…I am a bus driver. Tell me, Ensign Keenan Raios. How do you find the Raptors? They are an…adjustment for those used to civilian craft."
A question provides an interesting situation for Keenan. The room is not a busy hallway where all conversations lack some form of professional intimacy. He finds himself all alone with the Major. "It took a little getting used to. Civilian craft take forever to turn and everything happens much faster in cramped areas. I like them. It just took some getting used to is all." Keenan replies, keeping his eyes away from hers. His jaw muscles slack and he starts to relax, a sign that he feels confident with his answer. "I wouldn't want to go back to civilian craft."
"A Raptor is the single most complex piece of equipment aboard this battlestar," Cidra says, a certain fierce pride and fondness in her tone. "As it concentrates others into one craft. The FTL drive, missile weapons systems, electronic warfare, advanced DRADIS, grappling equipment for search-and-rescue…eyes and ears and grunt working hands of our air operations. Viper jocks may get more kills, but we take care of the rest. And they are a pleasure to fly, are they not?" Her lips quirk further toward a smile. A little. It still doesn't quite touch her eyes. "Well, you will get your chance to fly it often, and more than you would likely like, with the Cylons still seemingly following at our heels. Why did you join up, Ensign?" The question is asked in a lightly probing manner. "We have been recruiting heavily among those with previous flight experience but still, we rely on volunteers. I always do want to hear the answer."
Keenan hesitates. This is a question he's been asked often when the military staff he comes into contact with realize that he's been living as a refugee for over a year. A hard question indeed. "I got tired of being taken care of." He replies, the same answer he's given for the last few months. It's a softball. His lips pull back slightly as he fights the urge to not fidget. "I used to bartend at Pete's back on Leonis but…there was something about starting to work there again on the Elpis that made me feel like I wasn't in the right place."
The answer gets a slight nod from Cidra though, again, it's hard to tell if it satisfies her or not. "Well, that is as a fine a motivation as any these days. Our job, our high duty, is as defenders, Ensign. We are the front line of the Fleet. We launch ourselves into space each time the Cylons appear to buy time, keep them off our ships, clear of our civilians, give our battlegroup time to run and survive another day. And we do this gladly, for we know our sacrifices are honored, and worth it in the end. You are a defender now." And she does smile at that. "It is a high duty, but you have made it through training and thus I trust you worthy of it. Serve well." That last has more the sound of an order than a blessing.
The young pilot turns his eyes towards the Major once more, but his gaze stays on her this time, resuming eye contact. The slightest hint of a smile forms at the corner of his lip, and a soft nod follows. "Thank you, sir." He replies, a sense of severity falling onto his features. Even at ease, the hair standing at the back of his neck is visible as the new recruit's world is about to get rocked to its core. He's a new recruit, and his first day on the job is at Condition Two. "I'll take care of them, out there."
"Take care of them and your flightmates as well, Ensign. And we shall take care of you. The Fighting Fourteenth is made up of many disparate parts and they not always get along so well on the ground. But when we fly together, we do it surpassing well. Those I fly with are my brothers and sisters. We are bonded by blood now, in too real a way." Tone a bit somber, but proud as well. "Dismissed. Get yourself settled in. We need all the bodies in the cockpit we can get."
Keenan doesn't waste much time deciding how quickly he should move. Crisply, his hand snaps to his brow in a salute, but the eye contact remains. He opens his mouth slightly to say something, but then turns it into a proud grin. "Thank you sir, I will." He says, repeating himself. The awkward look on his face shows that he's aware of how robotic he's sounding. His body language loosens and he offers her one last, confident nod before turning on his heels and heading for the door.
The salute is acknowledged fluidly, for Cidra's part. She's been doing this for far more years than she'd probably readily admit. "Clear eyes and steady hands, Ensign." Now that does have the sound of a blessing to it.
He slows his pace near the door to the ready room and glances over his shoulder towards her. The slightest hint of self-assuredness, or at least confidence in his abilities, comes through the look on his face towards her. It's a practiced move, something the sadness in his eyes shows that are only words for the social maneuvering that dealing with other humans sometimes requires. "I switched to decaf second day of training, sir. Burned hands and all." With that…he turns back to the hallway and is nearly run over by someone jogging past. Grabbing the wall to hold on as he maneuvers out of the joggers way, he shakes his head and steps into the flood of pedestrians, heading towards the stairs.
Cidra says nothing further Keenan, but merely watches him go. Gaze still weighing.