| Keeping Donut Busy |
| Summary: | Kincaid and Constin talk shop in passing |
| Date: | 25 Jun 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Troublemaker |
| Players: |
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| Marine Country - Deck 6 |
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| The floor plating along the corridors of the Cerberus is standard military. Their forged steel plates are welded seamlessly together to run nearly the entire length of each hallway. The hallways themselves are the typical load-bearing structural design of the angled quadrilateral. Oxygen scrubbers and lighting recesses are found at nearly perfect intervals throughout the passageways. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #119 |
The day's first shift got off duty barely 20 minutes ago, but for some, the minor details of organization just keep a person from settling down. One such is Constin, stepping onto Deck 6 from the main stairway, while looking over a fresh printout, with a studious scowl.
Kincaid has a couple of those manila folders on his arm, you know, those folders of various people's background checks. A Dog Company MP's work is never done, especially when you're new in the platoon. He seems to be bound towards the office from the berths, noting the NCO moving towards him. "C — Sargent," corrects the reporter quickly. New stripes. "Congratulations."
Constin looks up with a curt nod to the stumble over rank, "Much obliged, Lance," the big man returns evenly, before his stern stare is cracked by a tight smile. "How you holding up, Donut?" Elf asks after stepping to stand against one wall. Even when the central deck isn't busy, it's never wise to linger in the walkways.
"Doing all right, Sargent. Processing the civilians. Got an interesting one." Kincaid steps to the aside as well. MP see; MP do. He taps one of his manila folders. "And you?"
"How interesting?" Constin asks back, eyes narrowing instinctively and smile fading back into the standard stoneface. "Got a bit of business to drop on some poor bastard who has the spare time, but lets hear how busy this 'interesting case' has you, yeah?"
"I'm not sure about 'poor bastard,' but I'm always happy to take on something new. Anything's got to be better than these." Kincaid waves his files faintly. "Unless it's another one of these, in which case it's really no different." A pause. "As for my interesting case? I've got a 'peace activist' druggie, who, intel says, would be the biggest dissident that every dissented if we got him anywhere near a ream of paper and a photocopier. Just pulling together a profile on him."
"Peace activist," Constin repeats flatly. "Eventually the boat would get a real wack job. Law of averages, ah guess. He got any priors?" the newly minted sergeant asks, canting his head to a slight forward angle with the query. "As for this bit of work, it ain't processing, but while you're working on this jackass' profile-" the peace activist, "Ah need you to dig through personnel files. Ah'll send you a copy, but we gotta check the folks that were stuck on Leonis awhile. Looking for any prior chemical dependencies. Injuries that took a big dose of morpha, that kinda shit."
Kincaid takes a small pad of paper out of his pocket and a pen — it looks pretty nice, better than military issue. Must be from his reporter days. He clicks open the pen. "All right," he says. "Just our people, you mean? I doubt we've got files on anyone else." He adds, "As for my guy? Yeah. He claims they're 'political' which can mean just about anything. I'm going to dig around and see if anyone in the population down there knows more, but it's not like I can run his name through central booking." It has a wry sound to it.
"Huh," Constin grunts to the alleged political priors. A nod. "Luck with that," he drawls. "What's this idiot's name?" As to the file check, "Yeah, just folks who were posted to the Cerb before Leonis and who came back alive. We've been having some supplies gop missing, and let me frakking tell you: getting chopped up and sewn back together without pain killers will ruin your whole damn day," he growls ruefully.
"Jase Hylas," reports Kincaid, not even having to look at his folder. He's apparently been working on this file for a while. He takes down a few more notes about the investigation. "All right, Sargent. Medical files of folks who went down to Leonis and got back alive that might have a morpha or other pain killer addiction. I'll get on it."
Constin nods once. "You find anybody, make sure to dig and see who came under the eye for feeding that addiction, yeah?" he adds, perhaps unnecessarily. "Getting a nasty feeling that this might be some kinda under-the-table supply shit." His grim expression is far from pleased at the possibility. "You said this Hylas fella was a druggie?"
Kincaid nods, confirming. "Made his own stuff, too. Claims it's only a psychological addiction, but I'm going to have El-Tee." That must be Stavarian. "Check him out before I take that for granted in my report. The Major also wants a psych eval on him, too. So I'm one part investigator, one part nurse maid making sure he gets to his appointments on time."
"Yeah, well the day ah trust a druggie to tell us the truth about his drugs is the same day ah expect the Toasters to start shooting sliced bread," Cosntin snorts in derision. Another nod as Kincaid outlines his plan for Hylas. Hearing all the bases covered, he nods once more. "You know your work, Donut."
Kincaid allows a small smile to touch at the edges of his lips. "Thank you, Sargent," he says finally, perhaps choosing that over anything else he could have said. "Going to see if we can hook him up with some manual labor to keep his hands — and mind — busy once and if he checks out. Sawyer Averies doesn't really want him for her civilian labor force — at least not yet, but it doesn't mean he can't do /something/ down there to help out besides rabble rouse."
"Who *would* want him?" Constin promptly asks, without waiting for an answer. "Frak me, just about all he's good for is-" A pause as he sets his head to a fresh angle and stares through narrowed eyes at Kincaid. "Is bait. Donut, the only reason any saboteur on this boat wouldn't already have scooped this fella up is that he's too obvious. Huh." Wheels turning. "Once you have your report on this Hylas fella in order, ah'd be real interested in giving it a look."
"Will do, Sargent," promises Kincaid. "I'll be sure to make a copy for you." A pause. "If that's all? I need to get these few folks cleared, and then I'll head down to the Med Bay and start pulling those files for you."
"That's all, Lance," Constin returns with a nod as both men get back to work.