| PHD #257: Kills Just Happen |
| Summary: | Khloe engages a tired Trina on matters of regulations and distancing oneself from the emotions of the kill. |
| Date: | 10 Nov 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None. |
| Players: |
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| Pilot Berths - Naval Deck - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| The battlestar's pilots call this place home. Bunks line the walls with grey curtains to cover their sleeping areas. Lockers sit between each pair of bunks and a round metal table sits in the center, furnished with simple but comfortable steel chairs. A hatch at the rear of the room leads to a communal head. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #257 |
It's one of those odd times where Captain Vakos is actually in the berths and not sleeping or simply moving through. Not one to sit still, her daily schedule usually involves a CAP, PT, and handling the various organization and paperwork necessary for the squad. Today she's seated at the central table, the chair turned so that she's leaning on the back, pushing around some paperwork and shuffling through folders. Ah, the bureaucracy of the military… most find it tedious at best, but to Khloe it's just another way for her to deliver her unrealistic level of precision on those that serve with her.
Trina slips into the berths, her eyes weary as she looks around, a yawn coming to her lips. Her dark eyes look over the people who are there, and she looks at Khloe for a couple of moments, a bit tired but awake enough to let go of a mumbled, "Hello."
Her voice still unfamiliar enough that Khloe doesn't recognize it, she glances up at the greeting. Recognition. "Ah. Ensign Logue," she says in return, setting whatever CAP report or Knights data she was peering at. "Haven't seen much of you, lately. Settling into your wings all right?" She asks.
Trina smiles tiredly at the Captain nodding her head a bit. "Getting settled in alright, I suppose. Still haven't quite gotten used to the sleep schedule yet, but I'm fairly sure it won't take me much longer. I'm fairly used to staying up for a while and not getting too much in the way of sleep."
"You'll get used to it," comes Khloe's cold reply - probably not meaning to be, but that's just how she is. "I find that eliminating caffeine entirely and supplementing your schedule with PT at wake-up and to help wind you down is the way to go. But then again, I've been accused of being inhuman before, so your milage may vary." She glances down at the papers in front of her, and with a small wrinkle of her nose, she closes that particular folder.
Trina nods her head, "Well, I sure as hell can give that a try," she states with a smile. Looking towards the papers, before a roll of her shoulders is given. "Don't think its proper to call someone inhuman, given what we are fighting."
"There's a lot of things that could be considered 'improper' about half the men and women we serve with, Ensign," Khloe says in response. "You'd be surprised how many pilots balk at the idea of following regulations, simply for the reason that we're at war and the world as ended." She delivers that deadpan, seeming quite serious. Then, with a lazy wrist motion, she indicates the chair across from her at the table. "Plenty of chairs if you want to sit. Or if you're just going to rack out, don't let me stop you."
Trina smiles and moves over to a chair for after a moment, "Thanks." Her eyes look around for a couple more moments, before looking back to Khloe, "Well, I, personally, wouuld assume that regulations are there for a purpose, and not supposed to be just flippantly ignored."
Gray-blue eyes following Trina's gaze as she checks before making a possibly unpopular opinion known, Khloe continues to smirk; it's just a corner of her mouth turned upward. "You're quight right. They're so that your responsibilities are boiled down to a formula, so that we can execute our daily functions with minimum hassle and maximum efficiency. It's about limiting distraction and filling your days with 'the service.'"
Trina nods her head once in agreement while she sits there, her eyes watching Khloe for a couple more moments before she says, "That's what I like to think. Though, I do tend to add killing toasters in there somewhere." She smirks a little.
Khloe shrugs lightly, placing both hands on the back of the chair she sits in so she can lean backwards, stretching her back. "I'm impartial on the killing part," she admits, twisting a little at her midsection until there are some audible pops. She exhales a small contented sigh at that point, probably achieving her goal. "It's never about numbers for me, only ensuring that every bird comes home to the barn and that Tactical achieves whatever goal was set out for us… even if it's just keeping the bastards from getting past the flak zone until it's time to jump."
"Well, its still a part of what we do," Trina replies with an easy shrug of her shoulders, adding, "And any day all the birds come home is a very good day for everyone."
"A comparatively small part, in my opinion," says the Captain. "Toasters, pirates… even back when the Colonies were still infighting. Targets are targets. I try not to think about it and focus on getting all of us fighting another day. You can feel free to count kills, Ensign - I won't stop you."
"Well, it is a matter of pride, at the least. Considering the fact that I don't have any kills, and its probably a good idea to make sure that I have at least one," Trina replies with an easy smile.
Khloe's eyebrows twitch slightly, and she nods slowly. "True enough. You'll get your chance, though, Ensign. Don't rush into it. If you're doing what you're supposed to be doing, kills just… happen. You don't have to hunt for them. Eventually some Toaster is going to happen to be in your sights and you KEW the hell out of the poor bastard."
Trina nods her head, "Well, I look forward to that at the least." She smiles while she sits there before she stands up, "If you'll excuse me, I should go ahead and get some sleep. Thanks for the talk."
Khloe watches the younger woman rise. "No worries. Rest well, Ensign." And then the Captain flips open her folder, and with a resigned sigh, goes back to thumbing through her paperwork.