| Late |
| Summary: | After a visit to the Chapel, Santiago heads to the Obs Deck where she watches a bit of the wargame with Stavrian and Daniel. And then she goes off, late, to a meeting with Atreus, whose department she's observing for QUODEL. She only jerks him around a little. |
| Date: | 25 Feb 2041 |
| Related Logs: | Midway through: Who Hunts the Hunter - Air Wing. |
| Players: |
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| Observation Deck | Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus | Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
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.
Alert lights are up by the time they reach the observation deck. But this is Just A Drill, and Stavrian's still officially off-duty. The suckers that have to report in scramble to do so, blowing past him in the hallway and tromping away in a flurry of bootsteps. He snorts quietly under his breath, pulling the hatch open for the two civilians. "Already launched, looks like."
Petroski had taken a detour himself, it putting him several minutes behind Jesse as he went to his bunk, feining having to pick up a new pack of fumarella. The pack is held in one hand while something wrapped in a white cloth of some kind tucked into the crook of his opposite arm. "'ello, handsome," he greets his companion-to-be with a smirk and then the item he holds is offered, held out for the other man to take at his whim.
Santiago enters the Observation Deck not far behind Stavrian and Petroski. This being the official spot for QUODEL observers who wish to observe observantly, the Aquarian rep is in place to do her part for her colony. Aaand probably also to avoid having to do any actual work involving greasy technicians and engine parts. She carries a little black bag, on a thin strap, worn across her body. One hand is already digging around the contents as she crosses to one of the front row seats.
Stavrian's brows quirk at the wrapped item as he sits down. He smirks and reaches over for it, tucking it into a clandestine spot wedged into the couch cushions, his arm further hiding its existence from any uniforms in the room. "You're fast, my friend. Normally that's not a compliment to a man, but…" He's willing to make the sacrifice this time. "Thanks. Little later." Promise given, he settles back as the jump coming is announced. "Might want to hang on." His blue eyes spot Santiago again and he makes that motion of hat tipping.
"You mean it's not a compliment coming from a man. Surely you wouldn't mind it if a pretty little lady were to call you handsome, would you?" Danny looks around upon seeing the mimed-gesture given, his head craning to the side which has him spying the woman once his gaze catches up with the shift in positions of it. "Who is she," he asks while regarding Santiago, a brow arching slowly. He approves of something, if his expression is any indication.
Santiago's eyes flick up as the intercom announces a jump. There's the faintest drawing up of the inner corners of her eyebrows, and a 'Oh, please no' expression slides across her face. She hadn't really thought about it, but of course a jump is required. "Gentlemen." That words is nonetheless spoken quietly, as she moves to grab a seat before any distortions and that many-directional-dragging feeling begins in the pit of the stomach. Her hands clutch the armrests for the duration, though she looks a bit green in the wake. White tipped nails press briefly to her lips, manicure still perfect despite a week observing the Deck. Hard labor does not look to be in her bag of tricks.
"I meant 'fast'," Stavrian smirks at Petroski, then scratches the back of his neck and glances back Santiago's way. The jump hardly phases the medic, and there's a faintly amused snort as he watches the woman go a tad green. "'Blue', I think she said her name was. One of yours, says she's evaluating the deck." His tone's still skeptical of this fact. "Wonder if she gets dressed in bubble wrap before each shift." He lifts his voice, and his chin. "Ma'am. Miss Blue?"
Petroski had steadied himself just in time for the jump, his brow knotted in a slight mask of concern for as long as that lasts but is otherwise calm compared to Santiago. "I just call like I see it, Jesse but I'll refrain from such compliments if you'd like me to." Daniel has long ago realized that he is an acquired tast, to put it bluntly, and is quick to ease off if he gets any hint of a feeling that he might be discomforting someone. Santiago now addressed, he simply nods, that being in response to Jesse's explanation as to who she is, there being no light of recognition in his features for now.
The response to Stavrian's hail is, "Mmhmm?" Wordless, just a hum of acknowledgment. She appears to be concentrating on her breathing, and quite focused. There's a soft crinkle from her hands as she unwraps a miniscule red hard candy, and slips a hot cinnamon disc under her tongue. The little rice paper wrapper is tucked away in the small purse, which is hardly big enough to hold anything of importance. The sharp taste of the little candy helps being her back to focus on something other than the sensation in her belly post-jump. "Yes?" Outward composure is back in a flash.
Bothered or not is impossible to tell. Stavrian makes a motion with his hand as though Petroski just hadn't gotten some joke. "Probably won't be jumping again until we head back," he offers to the woman, matter-of-factly. "You alright?"
"Yes," Santiago finally replies, after a swallow, and a little breath is taken. "I … don't fare tavel well when I'm not driving," she notes, though doesn't elaborate on what kind of travel that is. Her eyes finally shift to Daniel, and she regards the man for a moment. She's surely seen him before, at least across a room, at some QUODEL thing or another, though they've never spoken directly. "Santiago Blue, Aquaria." By the time she gets around to introducing herself, she seems completely relaxed again.
Petroski nods, now remembering the lady, the name being enough to jog his memory. "Daniel Petroski, aide to Delegate Winston. Pleasure to finally get to meet you, ma'am." Darting a quick look to Stavrian, he tilts his head in, angling it to the side as he tries to make it look like he's trying to itch his cheek, semi-covering his mouth when he does; one can never be sure who has the ability to read lips. "Pretty lil' chippy. You should ask 'er out on a date or somethin'." Done, he looks up, trying to make it look like he's thinking. "Mister Stavrian tells me you're here due to something pertaining to the deck? Are you able to give details or am I going to be left to die of curiosity?"
Stavrian's head turns pretty slowly until he's looking right at Petroski's profile. It's one of those looks they probably sit you down and teach you in OCS, for the express purpose of addressing a comment without giving it the dignity of a response. Then, arching a brow, he settles back against the couch and folds his arms, keeping half an eye on the craziness starting outside. No doubt he's listening to what Santiago may tell the other QUODELer.
"A pleasure, Daniel." There's a faint quirk of Santiago's lips as Daniel queries. If she heard any hint of his murmur to the other man, there's absolutely no indication. It's unlikely. "Observation of personnel, facilities, and practices. It's really quite boring, but when the Aquarian government calls for service…" She lifts a shoulder. "I was meant to meet with the Chief today," she pauses, "At some point." And then glances around for a time piece. She, herself, doesn't have one today. "Midshifts… something." Civilians. Terrible with military time. Her meeting is scheduled roughly now, but she has no idea. That's probably going to go over well with Atreus. "Would either of you beauties like a spicy candy? Specialty of a small shop in Tama." Aquarians peddling strange candies. There's probably no seaweed in it. Probably.
Danny grins although why's not going to be apparent. Another look is shot to Jesse and then he motions Miss Blue over, inviting her to join them once he's sure the gift he brought with him earlier is properly hidden. "I'll trade you jobs, my dear. I think observation beats number-crunching any day of the week." Whatever is able to be seen of the activites outside the window is watched out of the corner of his eye periodically but nothing is keeping his interest for more than a few seconds at a time.
Stavrian's attention, by contrast, gets sucked into the wargame outside. Particularly as the swallows leave their vessels in the far distance, his mind perhaps more attuned to what they're doing out there than the civilians' are. "No thanks," he mutters at Santiago, forgetting to look at her while he does so. "Work around people bitching for lollipops all day. Thought of candy gives me flashbacks."
"I don't do numbers," Santiago replies, moving from her seat to join the others. She perches just on the edge of her own seat, and holds up a little handful of rice paper wrapped red candies. "I tried once, and there were mass casualties…" The candies are about 1/3 of the size of most hard candies. She holds a few in her palm, for just a moment, then returns any leftovers back into the little pouch. Her eyes flick to the wargames as well. She watches for a moment, then that nagging feeling prompts her attention to wander.
Petroski frowns a bit, playfully put out when Santiago speaks. "No nummbers? Well, damn. Who am I going to pawn my work onto?" He darts his gaze towards Stavrian and beams, looking like he just might be entertaining the idea of having Jesse doing all the accounting crap he has been tasked with but then, with a sigh that reeks of melodramatics, he slouches in his seat, his head leaned over its back at an awkward angle. "Gods, how I miss Richard. He'd help me."
Stavrian is not paying the faintest lick of attention to Petroski's beaming, blue eyes fixed on the viewport. "What?" He looks at Daniel a moment, then lifts his chin towards the viewport. "Vipers are coming back in, means we're about to pull another jump. Hold onto your lacy bubblewrap, ma'am."
"I hear the pilots are good with numbers, for all that nav calculation they have to do. They're quite helpful, and love to serv — my bubble what?" Santiago is at once distracted by the notion of an incoming jump, and lacy bubblewrap. Seems she missed the earlier murmur regarding her Deck attire. "Oh, sh." She cuts off the word before it has a chance to fully form. Her fingertips press to her mouth as if she could take it back. Always in the presence of other politically attached civilians. She shakes her head slightly, and lets out a breath.
Do not encourage Danny when he is in a mood should be the lesson for this evening as, when he replies to the PA, he reaches out like he might twine fingers through his hair. "I was jus' thinkin' how nice it'd be to have you sittin' on my desk while I work. Would…make the whole ordeal -so- much more bearable." Winking, he turns the same wry grin over to Blue, her plight making his mood sober a bit, that out of sympathy for her.
[Intercom] Oberlin says, "Action Stations. Action Stations. Prepare for Combat Landings. Stand by for combat jump in Three. Two. One. Commecing FTL jump!"
"He's a shit, isn't he?" Stavrian comments to Santiago out of the side of his mouth, head not turning either way. Right on the tail end of his owrds is when the Cerberus makes its second jump, the observation deck slammed into that familiar sickening feeling. When things untwist in Stavrian's vision he blinks it all away, none for the worse, and his blue eyes seem to light up just a little upon seeing the two frigates in view. "There they are. Tigers in the traps."
It's such a simple thing, this FTL sickness, but quite distracting for a woman who so clearly appreciates the finer points of appearance. Santiago's lips draw together briefly, pressing as she concentrates on sucking the candy rather than the jump itself. She breathes out, closes her eyes again, and waits for the distortion to fade. Finally, after a pause of but a moment, "… I find having that sort of distraction just leads to shirking all together." There's a crooked little smile, and then she rises. "If you gentleman will excuse me. I should check my schedule." And possibly drop by the Head to take a moment to compose herself better! Her eyes stray to the viewport again. She's going to miss a helluva show. She does glance to Jesse, then Daniel. "Behave." The word is soft, and it doesn't sound like she means it even a little bit.
Petroski laughs, not bothered at all by Stavrian's reaction nor Santiago's chastising truly doing anything to get him to behave any better. But, much to the betterment of the situation, he is behaved. "Take care of yerself, love," that said to Santiago. "And if you ever want to c'me and visit me, I'm in the guest berthings." Okay, he's not totally distracted by the sight of the mounting action.
"Right." Stavrian grunts the word out and then offers, neutrally: "If the jumps keep bothering you, we can get you something in Sickbay. Just puke on someone's shoes, they'll get the point." He unfolds an arm and rubs his thumb along the ridge above his left eye.
| Hangar Deck - Port | Midship - Battlestar Cerberus | Condition Level 1: - Action Stations |
The single largest rooms on the Cerberus are the hangar decks. Each flight pod consists of two stacked landing bays with adjoined decks and hangars, which along with computer-assisted landings results in a faster Viper recovery rate. Mirror images of each other, these two huge areas are located on the flight pods. The inboard sides of the deck, closest to the ship's main hull, are lined with parking and maintenance bays for Vipers and Raptors based aboard the battlestar. The outboard side of the deck contains the launch tubes used by the Vipers for standard deployment. Huge blast doors seal the deck into four sections, each one containing an elevator that leads up to the flight deck directly overhead. The fore-most section contains an elevator system that leads towards Aerospace Fabrication.
Even though most of the smaller birds are out flying, the deck is hardly quiet. bays are being inventoried and prepped for receiving planes as they come in for refueling. Some folk are off working on special projects and the Chief is overseeing what he can. It is the sort of moment when things are in synch, when the crews are working in tandem and all seems right with the world. Atreus has a faint smile on his lips, a twinkle of joy in his eyes.
Somewhat late for the scheduled meeting with the Deck Chief, Santiago doesn't appear until after the second of the two jumps that have taken place so far. She's a little pale, but that's to be expected on someone with FTL issues. The woman appears in civvie clothing, black from head to toe. Heels. No, she didn't change footwear before coming up. Her footsteps are audible on the deck as she approaches, deftly dodging out of the way of active crewman going to and fro with various equipment.
Glancing at a clock mounted above the tool cache at one end of the deck, Atreus' smile warms. He lowers his gaze in time to see a team of newish hands moving a large wheeled cart loaded with tools a bit faster than they should. Stepping to intercept them, he speaks quietly though with a force that allows his voice to carry, "Slow it down, there." The hands dart him a glance that is more sheepish than anything else. They slow down and the man nods. Catching the distinctive sound of unfamiliar steps, Atreus turns, his gaze scanning the area. Spotting the black-clad woman in a whirling symphony of bright orange, he quirks a half smile, then moves to intercept her, "Ms. Blue?" Wiping his hand on a clean cloth, Atreus extends it only after the grease has been eliminated, "I am Chief Petty Officer Atreus. Welcome to the Deck, ma'am."
Santiago takes a moment, as she approaches the man clearly in charge, to survey his appearance. There's a moment of hesitation, as she stops close to him, but not too close, before she reaches out to take his hand. There's a distinct grease check before her firm, yet brief shake is exchanged. There are subtle calluses across the knuckles of her palm, but they might be missed. She certainly doesn't look like a woman who works for a living. "Santiago Blue." She reiterates, though the Chief has already cleverly figured out that mystery. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Chief." Any reluctance to touch a deck monkey is shortly covered by that polite greeting.
Atreus's shake is equally brief and whether he notices the callouses or not remains to be seen. His own are clearly evident even with the brevity of the contact, "The pleasure is mine, Ms. Blue." At least the deck monkey has a limited understanding of basic etiquette. Glancing around, he motions toward an out of the way office, "You are here for the tour, right?" His eyes hold a sparkle of laughter, as though this formality is merely a lark. Stepping toward the indicated small room, he lifts a hand to indicate the way, "It is quieter in there and you can let me know what; specifically, you'd like to see."
The platinum blonde is spotless, head to toe. Her clothing is clearly the kind of garments that must be dry cleaned. Expensive. Her hands are manicured, white tipped, glossy, and perfectly rounded. She smells very faintly of some sort of rosewater perfume, suble and just a little sweet. There's a slight nod at the return of polite utterance, as if she's filed away the acknowledgment of manners in the mental column marned Fancy That. "A run down of the full range of Deck's duties would be appreciated, as well as an overview of the sort of drills your people go through to assure their readiness in the event of combat action." Her dark green eyes are cast askance at a group of suited, working apes. "I heard one earlier mention he joined up to pay for dental school. They're trained as soldier as well as… mechanics." That's a question, but it barely sounds like one. After a beat, she steps after the Chief, in the indicated direction, heels telegraphing her progress.
| Chief's Office | Hangar Deck - Battlestar Cerberus | Condition Level: 1 - Action Stations |
The room is fairly small, to maximize the area of the deck itself. It contains a smallish metal desk with locking drawers, a computer terminal, a file cabinet against one wall and metal shelves filled with tools, spare parts, and manuals. There are two chairs facing the desk, clearly scavenged from somewhere else. One area of the shelving, nearest the desk, has been cleared and is clean. This holds a coffee maker that constantly seems to have some brew or other in it. Above the chair behind the desk, in a position of prominence, a framed picture has been hung. It is an embroidered image depicting Hephaestus with his two metal helpers. The work is beautiful and almost lovingly detailed. The god is laughing, one eye bright where a patch covers the other. He is held aloft by his helpers, one done in glittering gold, the other in silver.
A nod and Atreus listens carefully to the list, "A'right, Ms. Blue." Sidestepping a team heading from the repair bay toward the supply area, he nods to one of them but does not stop. When he reaches the door to the office, he opens it, then holds it for the woman, "After you, ma'am. The logs are kept in here. They will show the drills performed and the schedules for each. As to training, deck crew goes through basic, just the way everyone does, ma'am. So, the short answer is yes, we are all trained as soldiers as well as… Mechanics. And a variety of other specialites. We aircraft engineers, aircraft handlers, survival equipment specialists… Those are the major divisions, but there are several subdivisions as well. We interface with the Air Operations Officer, Engineering and; of course, the pilots. Would you like coffee or tea, ma'am?" The amusement remains lingering about his eyes, though his tone is seriousness itself.
"Tea." Santi's entire response to his informational dump is that one word. She nods, and turns to enter the office. Her strides are long, her heel assisted height of 5 foot 11 inches. It's mostly the boots. "Logs would put me into a coma faster than diabetic shock," Santiago finally notes, glancing around the office, as if she's waiting for something vile to drop out of a ceiling tile, or out from under a stack of papers. Her eyes find, and hold on the needlework of Hephaestus hung behind the desk. She turns slightly, hands clasped behind her back, and regards the image for a long moment. "Your personal qualifications." The beginning of a question sounds a bit like an accusation. "Do they cover the full range of Deck duties?"
Having illicited a beverage of choice from the woman, Atreus slips into the office behind her. "Please, sit." He leaves the door to the room open and moves around her, "Excuse me." Reaching the side of his desk, he moves a caddy of tea bags toward her so she can make a selection. Hot water is poured into a mug and set beside the tea bags. Finally, he begins to pour a mug of black coffee for himself, "Mmmhmmm." The murmur is soft and likely private. Turning back, he claims the chair behind the desk, "Yes, Ms. Blue. They are. Now, please understand that I mean no disrespect, but I do not answer questions based on an appointment and a promise. May I please see your ID? And, please give me a brief rundown of your specialties, so i know what level to phrase answers. I am sure that you will agree that misunderstandings tend to grow from miscommunication and neither of us wants that."
Long nails tap against the back of one of the chairs as she takes hold of it. She gives the seat a glance, then reaches down to run her fingers over it, to be sure it's clean, before she takes a seat. She leans forward, just a touch, and finger-walks throught he selection of teas before choosing a blend. The little package is shuffled out easily. "I wouldn't be on this ship if I weren't vetted." She makes no move to produce identification. "You know exactly who I am. The photograph attached is horrible, in any case." She doesn't sound like she means that. After all, how could a photograph of such a well appointed woman possibly be bad. "My specialties are varied, but those pertaining to this particular," she pauses, as if choosing a word very carefully, "assignment," hm, "run more toward the mechanical than the electrical. I'm only passingly familiar with military… structure." She says that last as if she finds that idea questionable. Structure. "My post will be over soon enough, and we won't ever have to see each other again. Concise and simple answers will make the process less painful."
Atreus leans back as the woman sits. He lifts his mug and takes a sip of his coffee, then nods, "I know whom you profess to be, yes. But, I require ID, ma'am. It is protocol." Another sip, "And, as such, I cannot proceed until I see it. I am sorry for that, but it is required." His eyes gleam, though there is less amusement there now and his tone has taken on a patient sort of sound. "So, as neither of us wish to prolong this… assignment… any longer than is necessary. Please." Leaning forward, he sets his mug down and extends a hand.
Santiago watches the man over the desk, dark green eyes watching his. She stares at him for several long, and drawn out beats. There's a moment when it seems she might get up, and just walk right out. She shifts forward, reaches for the mug, and drags it a little closer. There's a soft ripping as she opens the packet, and then drops the tea bag into the water to steep. The movements are brief, concise. The little gold band she wears around her left index finger is briefly showcased in these small movements. She makes him wait. And then, finally, she reaches down slides a hand under the bottom of her pant leg, and retrieves a laminate ID from the top of her calf high boot. She lifts it to the desk, and drops it on the surface. Click. It makes a soft noise as it hits. The photograph isn't terrible. The text lists her as S. Santiago Blue, a member of the Aquarian QUODEL.
While the woman goes through her assessment, Atreus remains relaxed in his chair with the glory of Hephaestus in full color above him. The depiction of the god's laughter, his pure joy in his creations, his position, is the same as that shown by the Deck Chief out on the floor. The man is in his element. His pervue. Relaxed, then, he gives the woman opposite the time she needs to come to her decision. He even shows neither irritation nor concern while she gets her tea brewing. When the ID is retrieved, he does not even try to sneak a peek at her legs. The click of the ID falling to the desk's surface is loud in the otherwise quiet room. Leaning forward, he studies the ID where it lies, his gaze lifting to compare the woman's face with the image. When he is satisfied that she is actually who she claims to be, he nods and leans back once more, "Thank you, ma'am. Much appreciated. Now then. As to my credentials, yes. I am a career military man trained to this position. I can get you a list of my postings and training, if you wish."
Santiago leaves the ID where she dropped it, and takes the mug into her hands. Her eyes go the swirling surface of the tea, and she checks the color, before her eyes flick to the Chief across the desk. "If you weren't qualified, you wouldn't be in your position, would you?" That doesn't go for everyone in the room. Santiago crosses her legs, and turns slightly in the chair. She nestles the steeping mug of tea just beside her thigh, on the chair's edge. She removes a small black covered notebook from a small silk pouch on a very thin strap across her chest. A small travel pen follows. She flips it open, pages in a bit, then makes a few brief notes. Her handwriting is dark and distinctive, but unreadable from the distance. "A list of credentials would be appreciated, just the same. I'm quite sure I'll be asked later." There's another moment of quiet from the woman, and she finishes off a line in the book. "Tell me about your crew."
Atreus half smiles, though his gaze follows hers as she checks the tea, "It takes a while, ma'am. To get vertical." He turns slightly and; setting the coffee down, types a line or two into the computer, "Mmmhmmm. I have forwarded my credentials to you. To save time." When he finishes, he turns to glance at you, "As it will take a very long time to go through all of my crew, I will arrange to have the manifest forwarded as well." Once more, he faces the woman and reclaims the coffee. "However, I can go over a few as a representative sample, if you like."
"Broad strokes, Chief," Santiago replies, her eyes flicking to the computer very briefly. If she has any misgivings about the metric holy crapload of data she just asked to have forwarded, it doesn't show in her expression. She puts the pen to paper, and writes down a line, as if noting to keep an eye out for the forwarded materials. "General age, cumulative experience, how many fresh faces, and what are your protocols for getting them up to speed on working deck, with dozens of live launches a day. That sort of thing. Specific, and very large, numbers are best left to the accountants and other number crunchers." Her eyes remain downcast to the paper for a moment, long lashes almost surely augmented with partial false ones. They're thick and black. She dresses more like she's going to an interColonial movie premier than performing a duty aboard a Naval vessel. "Would you say it takes a month, more? To get a new recruit up to what are certainly exacting standards?"
Atreus says, "Broad strokes. Alright." He leans forward enough to rest his elbows on the desk, hands cupped around the mug, "This is the best deck crew I've had the pleasure of serving with, ma'am. Their cummulative experience is in the high hundreds, if not thousands of man hours. Probably two thirds of the hands either have advanced degrees in their specialties, or the equivalant in experience." He licks his lips, considering. "Let me see. We have a fair number of new folk, it is true. Probably a fifteenth of the crew. After orientation, they are integrated into the existing teams with the team lead acting as mentor. Each team lead forwards me assignments they have given their apprentice at the begining of the duty cycle, then an assessment at the end. Mentors and apprentices remain in close contact to allow for immediate and productive feedback. Assignments gradually increase in difficulty and scope over the course of a month. At the end of that time, the mentor and I speak with the apprentice to give more in-depth feedback including ability, progress, and so on. I do not want to say specifically how long it takes to get from apprentice to crewman as that fluxes based on a variety of factors, but…" He quirks that half smile once more, "Broad strokes. Between 3 and 6 months, I would say. Give or take.""
Santiago glances down at the tea, as if checking the color. She leaves it to steep a little more, though she does rest the little notebook on her thigh. She reaches for the mug, and lifts it to dunk the tea a few times, to stir up the contents a little. "Three and six months." The comment is quiet, more to herself than the Chief. She makes a note, tea held in one hand. When her eyes come up, she looks to the Deck Chief's face. It's a slow perusal, and her attention makes its way back to his eyes. It would be largely inappropriate if she were military. Civvies, as other, particularly these QUODEL folk (certainly this one), make their own rules of acceptable behavior. "Your department handles the maintenance and repair of the vipers and the raptors. As probably one of the busiest departments on the vessel, do you find your allocated resources, including manpower, parts, and facilities, to be adequate to get the job done in the most efficient manner possible?"
Atreus watches the woman, a faint upward quirk of the left side of his mouth and a twinkle hidden behind the hazel of his gaze carrying the depth and breadth of his emotional response. He meets her gaze, a brow lifting just a hair. "We do, yes. And, yes, it is an enormously busy department. Similar to Supply and Engineering, in many ways, though the surges of activity here are dependent on different things." He pauses to finish his coffee, setting the mug to one side of the desk. "Ms. Blue… It does not matter how many people, parts or facilities I have at my disposal. The demand for services will be greater than our ability to respond. Unless it isn't." Steepling his fingers, he lets his gaze linger steadily, "In general, yes. The Cerberus is well provisioned with parts and people. The facilities here are state of the art. It is a post to be proud of, Ms. Blue." He pauses to consider the woman in front of him, "Do you know waht that means, ma'am?"
It really looks like Santi's writing notes on the meeting, cataloguing figures and such. What she's actually writing goes more like: There isn't enough impotence in the 12 colonies to repay Ramon for this. Not. Even. Close. It isn't until Atreus' query that her eyes come up again, head still tipped down just a little. She looks up at him from just slightly under pale brows. Beat, two, three. "It means you're sure your people will handle what they have to, when they have to, with what they have, because they're quite good at their jobs. You're not going to give me an answer that could be interpreted, in a report, to be a negative comment on the Military, by asking for more than you have. I hope it's true," she notes, "And not just the party line." She doesn't answer his real question, leaving it, quite simply, as if she misunderstood. She finally takes a sip of the tea, unsweetened. "Is there something you'd like to add, Chief, or are you ready to give me a tour of the facilities?"
Unfortunately, the man cannot read that note, for it would give him a great deal of amusement in the deep darkness of his lair for months to come. But, as he cannot, he watches and listens, "It is the truth, ma'am." After she finishes, he gives the woman's comment a moment of thought, then rises, "Let's get to the tour." Turning, he turns off the water heater and the coffeepot. Each are unplugged, the cords coiled out of the way. When that has been finished, he turns to the hatch, motioning for the woman to lead the way, "After you, ma'am."
| Hangar Deck - Port | Midship - Battlestar Cerberus | Condition Level 3: All Clear |
The single largest rooms on the Cerberus are the hangar decks. Each flight pod consists of two stacked landing bays with adjoined decks and hangars, which along with computer-assisted landings results in a faster Viper recovery rate. Mirror images of each other, these two huge areas are located on the flight pods. The inboard sides of the deck, closest to the ship's main hull, are lined with parking and maintenance bays for Vipers and Raptors based aboard the battlestar. The outboard side of the deck contains the launch tubes used by the Vipers for standard deployment. Huge blast doors seal the deck into four sections, each one containing an elevator that leads up to the flight deck directly overhead. The fore-most section contains an elevator system that leads towards Aerospace Fabrication.
Santiago moves to get up, the notebook perched, for a moment, on the back of the chair. At least half of the page is visible. She has to be careful navigating in those boots. It takes a moment for her to get the tea and the notebook under control at the same time. She moves to step out, finally tucking the notebook in against her side. "You hold up a lot better than most of the pansy ass officers on this boat, Chief." It's kind of a compliment. Out of left field. Waaaaay back.
Rather than leaping to offer the woman a hand with her juggling, Atreus waits patiently. He does watch casually in case something dares to disobey and head crashing to the floor. When nothing is that uppity, and they are all brought to heel, he follows her out the hatch. The compliment is noted and he inclines his head slightly, "Thanks, ma'am. It isn't as hard as they make it seem." There may even be a trick to it, but what that might be, he keeps to himself. Instead, he lifts his hands to gesture to the large deck, "This is the hanger deck, obviously. Ships are preped here, refueled here and are given light maintenance. This is the busiest part of the Deck, honestly. Inventory is over there, tools and parts just to that side. There's space for special projects and experimentation just past there. It is a large area, yes. Busy, yes. But, the purpose is simple. Keep 'em in good shape. Keep 'em flying." He motions beyond toward the repair bay, "This way, please."
All of Santiago's belongings behave themselves. She tucks the notebook into the little silk pouch, and then the pen follows. She has little trouble with it. That hand slides back to dust imaginary something from her backside, as if she could have picked up some lint or somesuch. She makes her way out of the office, and pauses on the deck, glancing over her shoulder to the Chief as he speaks. Sip. She carries the tea with her, steeped strong and dark. "Do you have time for many side projects integrated into duty rotation? It seems like repair day in and day out could get tedius without some sort of creative element. How many hoses can you repair before you wish for death?"
Santiago and Atreus have just left his office. She holds a mug of tea from which she occasionally sips. Atreus folds his hands at the small of his back as the two walk. "There is time for the occasional side project, ma'am. I try to see to it that everyone gets a chance to have a little fun as well as work. You are right… Without a creative outlet, any job becomes tedious. Just a job." He glances over at one of the raptors, then lets the gaze flicker to a viper, "It depends, honestly. Some days? Some days it couldn't get tedious. Others?" He laughs a little, shrugging lightly, "One. Two at best."
"That's what I'm saying." Santiago's eyes roam the Deck. She makes her way across it, in step with the Chief. Occasionally pausing to ask a specific question about a vessel or crewman who's at work. "Why did you enlist?" She pauses, then notes, "That has nothing to do with the review. I'm curious. I hope it wasn't dental school." Oh, was than an attempt at a joke? Her tone doesn't give it away, if so.
Atreus nods, "You're right." He moves with her, pausing long enough to answer whatever question she asks or explain anything that is unclear. His manner remains relaxed and easy going. The question is met with a pause, one brow lifting. The explaination actually gives the question more weight and he nods, "Well… I have seven siblings, you see. And when it came time to pay for the ubiquitous dental school, there wasn't any money." He pauses for half a beat, then smiles and shakes his head, "Nah. I enlisted because I could get training as a tinkerer. I love the machines, ma'am. Truly do. Always have. Though the seven siblings and money concerns are true." He shrugs, "It was a way to pursue what I love while sending money home. At first."
"It's convenient. You found a job you enjoy that also provides for what you need." Santiago's tone is light. She steps across a line for soe power tool or another, heels clicking sharply as she goes. The more casual pace makes it stand out just a little less. The attire is really quite inappropriate to the location, but she isn't handling anything. Might get dirty. "That's a lot of babies." She shakes her head faintly, and her eyes roam the deck again, once they've made a full circle. "I'd probably have joined up, too." She thinks a beat. "No, I wouldn't have. I take that back. Regimented life is…" She shakes her head, but doesn't finish the sentence. Too regimented.
Atreus's nod is quick, "Very convenient. Though I feel I was guided by Hephaestus' hand and am blessed." So, he's a bit on the religious side but the hanging should have given that away. He lifts a hand, offering it in case of a misstep. The hand falls again when it is so clearly not needed. Clasping his hands once more at his lower back, Atreus laughs a little. "My father was a Marine Sergeant, ma'am. Mom was a mechanic. Our home was regimented. Had to be or nothing would ever get done. This? It's almost homey, in a way. You're more of a rebel, ma'am." That is said with a bit of admiration touching his tone. He gives the woman a quick look, then lets his gaze abstract again to take in more of the deck.
"Hephaestus does know how to get things done," Santiago comments, her lips finally curving into a smile. Maybe it was the small gesture of civility, or her own comment, or the furthering of the story from the Deck Chief. She seems to have relaxed a little, and the petulant nature has slipped away, either put back into the little box where it lives, or discarded. It may resurface. Hard to say. "Rebel isn't the word most people would use, Chief." That serves to amuse her just a little more, and the woman turns. She faces Atreus. "Thank you for your time, Chief. I'll be in touch." She nods to the stairwell. "I have some things to attend to." Theres a polite nod, then she turns to head off, without much further word. Perhaps she's making the escape good before things get too friendly, before she actually seems human, before any questions are asked of her. At some point, she's going to remember she left her ID on his desk. But it won't be until she's at least half way down to the proper deck, and there's no way she's going more stairs in these shoes.