| Mercy |
| Summary: | Another side of Rejn. |
| Date: | 25 Jun 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | All Leonis logs. |
| Players: |
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| Guest Quarters — Deck 3 — Battlestar Cerberus |
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| The area here has been spiffed up for the Delegates. Bunks are kept neat as a pin, the lockers are brand new and have a beautiful shine on the fake wood. A table sits in the center with a vase of fake flowers resting in the middle. The deck has been mostly covered with a round, braided rug of multiple colors. To the back of the area, there is a private shower area. This is just one of five separate areas along Deck 3. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #119 |
The Guest Quarters aboard Battlestar Cerberus are still magnificent, displaying none of the wear and tear that's already started to make itself evident around the ship. Perhaps that's because many of the delegates who had called this place home live here no longer, left for dead on Picon Anchorage like innumerable others; perhaps that's because civilians are just so much cleaner than their military counterparts, possessing as they do a surfeit of time now that their main function has become obsolete. And so it is that an eerie silence has descended on this once-bustling room, broken only by the soft hum of the air re-circulators installed in the ceiling — the faint whoosh from which causes slight ripples to flow through the two Colonial flags installed beside the hatch.
Allan Rejn's sitting with his back to those flags, a pair of tumblers laid out before him: one on each side of the fake flowers installed in that magnificent vase at the center of the table. His blazer has been unceremoniously tossed onto a chair beside him, and his dress shirt hangs loose and untucked over his un-buckled belt. In his hands is his favorite flask, its ivory cap unscrewed. The smell of whiskey hangs lightly in the air.
Sawyer is still presentable, even at this hour, though her clothes look slightly wrinkled as if she's spent far too many hours in them. Her heels click on the deck pausing just outside the hatch which has no qualm about just pushing open and entering. Technically, she /should/ be living here, so in a way that gives her permission to be in here without formal announcement, right? Manners are for the weak. "Allan. What's the occasion?" She pulls out a chair opposite of him and drops into it bonelessly before he even has time to return the greeting.
Wires wires wires. From the hall comes a hrrm hrrm rattlerattle THUNK! "Ah HAH!" Wham wham - WHONK! There's a thwip and a snap heard outside. "Ow, my face!" Slam! "Stupid -" It's man vs machine and at the moment it sounds debatable as to who is winning. There's a pause though, after Sawyer speaks. Inch, inch, inch… A pair of green eyes is visible first peeeeering. And a can of what might be WD-40. Blink. People! The eyes widen. "Uhm." Awkward.
"Hey." Half greeting, half grunt as Rejn pours out a shot of whiskey into one tumbler — for her — and three shots into the other tumbler — for him. "Nice to know you've still got time for us plebes." The flask is capped and set down atop his considerable belly by his right hand, pressed against his tie as if he's afraid it'll run away if he lets it go. His other grabs his glass, swirling the amber-colored liquid before he sniffs experimentally: first with one nostril, then with the other, and finally with both. Still good — though it's likely he'd drink it even if it wasn't. "Nice to see you, Chesty," he adds in the meantime, having glanced backwards at the commotion. "Pull up a frakking chair, take a load off."
Sawyer ghosts a smile at Sofia and her commotion, seconding Rejn's offer for her to come sit if only by omission of disagreement. "Since when have I ever not had time for you?" She asks the man, fingers closing around the tumbler of liquor after it's been poured, then lofting it in a salute of thanks to he who poured it. "Sure I've had my head buried in my computer since I got back, but I have a lot to write and the sooner I do it, the less details I'm going to lose along the way." And sure, she's been avoiding the populus like a plague, but what of it?
Sofia looks pained, embarrassed. Especially when her nickname comes out. Her eyebrows flatten a little. "Oh. Hello there," She nods politely at the pair. "If you're sure. Have the lights gone off and on in here? Anything odd?" her green eyes narrow sharply, following the vents. She sighs and tucks the can back onto her belt. She squirms upright. "Hey, I'm a plebe to most people…" Such is the hazard of being a snipe. Her nose wrinkles. "Maybe I should get an autograph before all the writing gets out," She smiles back at Sawyer. "Sorry. The rolling electrical failures-" Headshake. "Nevermind, I'm sorry." She goes quiet, brushing herself off. She's genuinely apologetic for interrupting them. "… you sure?" She seems hesitant but inches over carefully as if getting too close might cause her to burst into flames.
"Brownouts. Shit bulb blew out this morning. You know — emergencies." A grimy fingernail dings the stainless steel of the flask in invitation before Rejn holds it out for Sofia. "Go easy, or you might end up slobbering all over Averies when you try to kiss her. Actually." A harsh, sharp laugh. "Don't — " Sip number one, washed down with a contented sigh. "Don't go easy. And that must be one hell of a story. Cheers." Glass clinks against glass as his narrow eyes focus on the young reporter opposite him, lingering on her wrinkled clothes before he closes them to take the second of what will undoubtedly be several full-on gulps. "Bet you saw some shit down there, didn't you."
Sawyer reaches out to pat her hand on the table near a vacant chair, reaffirming the offer for Sofia to sit. "No apology necessary. Just a mechanical failure I'm sure you'll get sorted out in due time. And you don't need my autograph, I'm not famous. I'm just nosy and vocal - the two a dangerous combination." Finally she takes a sip of the whiskey, far more dainty then Rejn's own take on drinking. "We saw humanity clinging to life like algae to a rock and the Cylons doing everything in their power to scrape it off. It was haunting, really. Seeing a world you knew reduced to rubble and debris."
Frown. "I'll bring a new one from the cart then, I thought it was the air recirculator. I guess this is what happens when you use the lowest bidder," Sofia's eyes almoost go cross. She cautiously accepts the seat then. "Sorry about that," Sofia offers. Then a shrug to Sawyer, "Not many reporters around to begin with. Or writers. Besides, it's okay." She doesn't seem to mind. Her eyes widen at the comment about kissing Sawyer. She turns red. For now, she just waits her turn on any sort of drinking. "I'm technically on-duty, so it's okay. I can't imagine the hijinx of drunken wiring," She winks. Although she goes quiet as Sawyer speaks. She frowns a little and settles to listen.
"Suit yourself." Well, he tried. The flask's placed on the table's fake wood with a thud and an exhausted "Mmmph" — a reply to Sawyer, though it might not sound like one at first. Rejn loosens his tie as he stares down its length, the back of a thumb rubbing at a particularly recalcitrant stain which — unsurprisingly — doesn't come off. Yellow-tinted glasses are shoved back up the bridge of his nose by that same thumb before he drinks again, nursing the beautiful burn that smashes into his taste buds and causes his eyes to water.
"Pop had a horse once, I tell you?" he murmurs after a while. "Name was Lily White — which he thought was frakking shoot-the-moon funny, because the frakking nag was blacker than one of Mikey's ashtrays, but — " A short, soft chuckle. "Loved her. Used to ride her around when I was a kid, and then one day a tractor engine goes off like — " The bottom of his glass slams against mock mahogany with a furious, ringing crack. "Lily bolts, I break my leg falling off her, and next thing you know she just keels over and just lies there, her tail just … twitching. Vet said she busted two of her knees." Rejn chugs once again, sniffing deeply, rare contemplation on his face. "So Pop makes me shoot her in the head. Bang — bang."
Sawyer looks down to her cup on the table, using her fingers to twirl it which takes it in erratic patterns across the surface. "Anyone ever tell you that you need to work on you anecdotes, Allan? Or was this your subtle way of telling me it's high time I put you out of your misery? If I really loved you…set you free." She delivers all this in a rather dry tone, before glancing sidelong to Sofia. "I started a story on that once…the lowest bidder. All those problems with the electrical wiring.." Sawyer shakes her head. "Seems like a decade ago."
Sofia smiles, "I appreciate it though sir." She offers quietly. She watches the two for now. Her eyebrows lift at the story and frowns hearing his story. She winces. "No… I don't think it's that. It's seeing something you love clinging to life and having to end it?" She shrugs. "This is why I'm an engineer and not an artist," She winks. Then a faintly sad smile. "Yeah. I miss those days in a way. My biggest worry was someone getting zapped in the shower," Sigh. A headshake. "It must've been really tough on Leonis. I'm just glad most of you guys came back."
"Cute, Averies. Real cute. Leave it to Chesty to get it." Rejn's voice is tight; taut. "I'm talking about mercy, here. About two bullets to the head of your best friend in the whole wide world. About the Cylons taking bleach to the last few weeds left in their gods-frakking cul-de-sac and ending this sick parody of living we're playing out right here — " Back to his tumbler he goes, killing its contents with a gulp of singular fury — and those beady eyes, bloodshot and narrow, squeeze shut behind those tinted glasses, beneath his receding hair. "Lily looked at me, you know," he rasps after a long, long time. "Big, beautiful, horse-y eyes. Right as I pulled the trigger on that rifle, she just looked at me and — "
Silence falls; then —
"Algae, huh. Algae that just won't come off that frakking rock," he repeats, the words bitter in his mouth. "And in their moment of mercy they see at last the magnificence — gods damn, Averies — the magnificence of our will. Frak." The flask is unscrewed to pour another three shots into his tumbler — but not before he takes another swig.
Sawyer knocks back the last of her drink smoothly, ignoring the burn that creeps down her gullet and warms her belly. She doesn't have anything to say to that, beyond pushing back from the table with the weary sag of her shoulders born of this time and place. "I'm going to go get some sleep. So should you, my friend. Cap the bottle, we'll drink some more another night." As she slips around the table, she drops a hand to Rejn's shoulder and squeezes, then offers to Sofia a quiet, "Goodnight, Crewman."
Sofia cringes at the nickname. Sigh. She just rubs the back of her head. "I'm sorry. It can't be easy to do that to a pet you loved. Even rode or talked to," She shakes her head. Sofia wrinkles her nose and takes her deep breath. "People are a lot of strange things, some of them more glorious than others," There's a truth in madness and Sofia's seen it personally. She smiles at Sawyer. "Good night. You can call me Sofia or Wolfe if you want," She offers. "I don't bite." She promises. She sighs and stands. "But either way, I've got a bulb to fix… it was good to see you both."
"Yeah." Rejn turns one syllable into three at Sawyer's words, ignoring Sofia when she offers her real name. "Hey. Averies. My jacket's filthy, by the way. Be a good girl and wash it for me? Right breast pocket's all frakking torn, too, so if you could do that sewing thing you do — " Spoken without looking up, though the pocket in question is exposed for all to see. That pocket is, in fact, torn: but visible inside, if the reporter deigns to look, is a single slip of paper, folded with surpassing neatness, on which has been printed in full color the image of a small golden medal. The Rittman Prize: one of the highest awards any journalist can aspire to win.
"Clean it," he mutters, voice oddly thick. "And Chesty, don't waste your time here when the whole damn ship's balls have been busted. Don't need to see to drink." Unlike them, the man makes no move to stand — and even after the women have long since gone, Rejn will remain where he is, staring into that glass while behind him those flags still fly and fly and fly.