| Missing the Place |
| Summary: | Kincaid heads back to his old haunt, the News Room, and meets Sawyer there. |
| Date: | 22 Jun 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | What's Past is Prologue and Troublemaker. |
| Players: |
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| News Room - Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| This room isn't huge by any means, but it does have all the updated equipment and a small news staff that runs the area. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #116 |
The newsroom is sort of an amusing concept, now that the QUODEL has fizzled out and the majority have been absorbed into the military. The few who still use the room must have called it a night already, save one. The desk in the far corner, nearest the entrance to the dark room is occupied by Sawyer Averies, journalist-cum-war correspondent - a laughable term if ever there was one. The overhead lights are off, her work area illuminated only by the single bulb from her lamp casting a pool of light on her laptop's keyboard and a cup of coffee growing cold near her elbow. Though she's not smoking now, an ashtray is at hand, overflowing with an abundance of butts.
"Gods. I miss this place." Kincaid appears at the hatch to the newsroom, peering inside at all of the equipment and cramped spaces for the journalism crew here. "I mean, I've got a good job now? But I miss this place." He steps more fully inside. "Burning the midnight oil, Sawyer?"
Sawyer gives a glance up, then back down quickly at her laptop. There's a subtle shift of her hands, in the guilt-induced keystroke movement of someone quick enough to hide what they are /actually/ working on. "Kincaid. I didn't think they let your kind in this part of the ship once they slapped you in a uniform." She leans back, lacing her fingers together and slipping their conjoined surface behind her head to pillow it. A wry grin forms on her lips, softening her words into just a good-natured tease. "How are they treating you down in the CMC?"
"I'm the Man now, Sawyer. I mean, I was the man before. But now I'm /the/ Man." Danny's voice is wry; he goes to pull out one of the chairs in the room and sit on it backwards. "It's all right. Three meals. A bed. I'm down in the Starboard Hangar Deck taking fingerprints and asking banal questions. I'm glad to see you made it back from Leonis." He, perhaps strategically, doesn't ask how /she/ is.
"One of the few who got back unscathed. Go figure, right? I guess I just know how to duck." Sawyer rocks in her chair, causing it to squeak in protest. Her hands can't remain idle long, and soon she's searching around her desktop for her pack of cigarettes. "But you are far more brave than I, my friend. Nothing wrong with looking for some stability in an unstable world, I don't fault you for crossing the line…I've forgotten, do you smoke?" She holds out an unlit cigarette for him to take or refuse.
"Sometimes. When my sources do. I'm bi-smoker like that, I guess. I can go either way." Kincaid snags the cigarette and responds by pulling out a lighter and offering it up to her if she chooses to indulge in another. "Stability? I don't know. I just figured I had nothing left to do here. I mean, I'm not an Action News Reporter. I'm a policy wonk. What was I going to write that wouldn't get me jailed or shot?"
"That's what I used to claim too: social smoker. Guess I can't really, anymore. As I've said before, the way to win this war is deprive us of cigarettes and booze. We'll be cranky enough to overcome any foe." Sawyer wets her lips quickly, "This isn't some attempt to get me commissioned, is it? Because I have /plenty/ of work to do. Between being tasked as the ships historian, I'd like to think I still have something to offer between the civilians and the Colonial Military. Even if that grey area gets me jailed or shot." She leans forward so he can light her smoke for her, instead of just taking the lighter herself.
Kincaid dutifully lights Sawyer up and then leans back, lighting up his smoke. "Get you commissioned? Hades no, Sawyer. Military's not strong enough for a girl like you in its ranks. I came by to talk to you about your civilian workforce. I got a guy I'm doing a check on that might be right for you. Jase Hylas. One of the Leonis refugees." A beat. "You know him?"
Sawyer's cheeks seem a little too hollow when she takes a long draw on her cigarette, a byproduct from her time on Leonis no doubt. "Jase Hylas…" Sawyer works out a chuckle that doesn't seem entirely mirthful. "He'd be no use for me up here, until he has time to cool his heels a bit. You know the expression that you catch more flies with honey then with vinegar? That boy's all vinegar. Piss and vinegar. I'm as much of a protagonist for the plight of the civilians as the next free citizen, Hades, I even took it upon myself to go so far as being a martyr when the whole conscription nonsense came up, but Jase? Jase would halt /any/ progress we've made in that regard because I have this gut feeling he'd push /too/ hard."
Kincaid blows up his smoke as well, letting it fill the air and intermingle with Sawyer's. The smoky back newsroom. Or something like that. "I'm not talking about some political figure. I'm talking about a worker. He won't enlist, and Gods know he'll need to keep busy. He's got to get that self-righteousness out somewhere, even if it's just manual labor." He shrugs. "It's a thought. Lords know that it's a voluntary effort. But I at least thought I'd put you in touch if you haven't been already."
"Yeah…yeah, I've met him. I'm just hesitant to leave him alone with a photocopier and a stack of paper, if you know what I mean. Soon all the civilians would be having a sit-in and a full on protest before you can say Bob's your uncle. But." Sawyer conceeds, "I'll think about it. Speak with him again. If the stars align and he can actually get the clearance…" She makes a rather noncommital shrug. "What I need is an editor. My piece on Leonis is getting out of control."
Kincaid laughs at that. "I'm no editor, but if you want someone else to take a look at it, I still think I have my Stylebook and red pencil around here somewhere." He takes another drag of his cigarette and then releases the held smoke. "I'm sure it'll be good. Someone needs to tell that story in something other than a dry after action report."
Sawyer turns sideways in her chair, slinging a trouser clad leg over the arm of it. Her feet are surprisingly bare, obviously having kicked off her shoes some time ago as her sole has collected some dirt from the deck. "I might take you up on that, after I see what a huge security breach that would be. I'm sure command would love to be the first to go through with a big black marker and blot sections of it out. Thank you, though, for that vote of confidence. Heavens know I could use it right about now." She leans over slightly to ash her cigarette on the mound of cigarette butts.
"In our kind of work, Sawyer?" Kincaid gets up to his feet and stamps out his cigarette butt. "You've got to hear it from yourself or you're never going to get anywhere. Often times, you're the only one that thought you did any good with this crap." He sighs. "I ought to get back to actual work. But you know a story I'd be writing if I were still doing this? Off the record?" Just so he's clear.
Sawyer gives a smirk and waves him on, "Sure, sure, off the record…" She grumbles good naturedly.
Kincaid continues on, his anonymity confirmed. "These background checks. We tell people it's to screen out criminal elements and catch Cylons. In reality? That's bullshit. There's no central records system. There's no criminal database. All we've got is I look you in the eye and wonder if you look honest. And Cylons? Hades, how in the world am I supposed to know what a Cylon looks like. If all of the Admiralty's best systems can't catch Michael Abbott, if he is a Cylon, what makes you think I can? It's all smoke and mirrors, and not even a good set to boot."
Sawyer pulls at her bottom lip with a pinch of her forefinger and thumb. "Problem is, everyone already knows that. It's a formality to make us all feel better as if we're being proactive about /something/. Not sure there's a real story there, but I'll poke around, see what I can dig up and if there's any meat to be had. It's good to have an 'in' with you boys in the Military Police." Sawyer flashes him a quick, even mildly flirtatious, wink.
"Just because I'm not in the room anymore doesn't mean I can't be in the room anymore." Danny gives a flash of a smile. "You wink well, even if it's just to try to pump me for info later." He moves for the door and then pats the sides of the hatch on his way out. "Gods, I miss this place."