PHD #351: Newsworthy
Summary: Sawyer seeks out Trask to get an On The Record statement from him about Silent Mastiff and the recent Cylon skirmishes. Except not really. Women are tricksy, you see.
Date: 12 Feb 2042 AE
Related Logs: Stay (the real agenda) & Enter the Swarm 3: Bride of the Swarm (acquiring the Raider)
Sawyer Trask 
Repair Bay - Hangar Deck - Battlestar Cerberus
Post-Holocaust Day: #351
When engines need to be rebuilt or other heavy but short-term work needs to be done, this is where it happens. Large, red hand-mobile cranes are situated along the wall beside stacks of toolchests. Carts with various computers and electronics are dispersed around the area for quick access. A very conspicuous yellow locker at the rear holds a sizable amount of firefighting gear, as well. Sturdy metal stands are available to hold all sorts of parts from gun systems to the FTL drives of a Raptor. Big enough to accommodate quite a few Vipers and Raptors at once, this area see's extensive use and is usually attended by at least one crew at all hours of the day and night.
Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close

It's been quite the week. From Operation Mastiff to the study and retrieval of what may be an ark ship from Kobol, there has been no lack of things to do aboard Cerberus. The past 48 or so hours have been particularly harrying. The ark ship is being swept and scrutinized by Engineering, looking for transmitters of any kind and finding now. Twice, the klaxons have blared, Condition One set, and all personnel ordered on deck. In a matter of minutes, all Vipers and Raptors launched to swat a swarm of Raiders rumored to be tougher and slightly different looking from what the Fleet has come to know. Stranger still, no basestars detected. Recently, for the third time, the BSG-132 has jumped to old stomping grounds, going from Reza to Sagittaron space to around Aerilon.

Elsewhere on the Deck, where the looted Cylon spacecrafts are kept, the most recent addition to the collection is being prepped. Various deckhands go hither and fro, taking photographs and taking measurements. And among them, dressed in the same bright orange, is the man responsible for all these trophies.

There have been (officially) one PROJECT (all caps) and three Skirmishes (with a capital 'S') since Sawyer saw Captain Trask suffer a minor (major) breakdown after which she (literally) rocked him to sleep afterwards. That's practically a lifetime for a woman wondering if she's so easily jilted after such a life event. Fear the woman who pulls out her orange jumpsuit with 'PRESS' spelled out in reflective tape across the back and marching up one sleeve. Fear the woman who had to turn in her high heels for boots more appropriate to be stomping around the deck in. With the camera to his face, it's Sawyer's mug that turns up in the viewfinder next time he goes to click a picture.

When Major Tillman more or less gives someone free reign, the enlisted really aren't about to ask the journalist what she's doing here. Especially since the marines on-duty — and there have been some posted ever since the first Heavy Raider was towed in — aren't making any moves to intercept her. Besides, if she's not meant to be here, Trask surely would see her hauled out, right? And there's no way for him to not notice Sawyer when she steps into his shot. An imperceptible pause and blink at what he sees in the viewfinder, and then, "More to the right and back 3 steps. Oh, an' turn a quarter, chin up a little bit. Draw down the zipper a few inches, too." As if this were a photoshoot for a pin-up calendar full of hot chicks dominating Cylon ships. "Where's make-up? Miss Averies needs more smudge on her cheek."

Sawyer takes a few steps forward, lifting a hand to reach out for his camera. Gently, she puts pressure on the top of it so he gets the impression that she wants it lower. "Captain Trask, I was wondering if you were available for a statement. On the record." It seems Averies is actually here for business instead of pleasure. Or at least the guise thereof.

Captain Trask, is it? Well, if that's how she wants to play it. "I am /not/ available for a statement, on the record, Miss Averies," with a hint of impertinence beneath the otherwise polite tone. "I'm currently on-duty." Which is true. He also maneuvers the camera away from her hands.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I see how that could be an issue, but I have paperwork that allows me to interview personnel even while they are on duty, unless of course we're at Condition One, which we presently are not. The asking was more of just a politeness." Damn, it's really hard not crack a smirk during all of that, and a ghost of one gets hinted at the corner of Sawyer's mouth.

Perhaps he catches that subtle curve to the corner of her mouth, being prone to such expressions himself. Faintly, he turns his head about 1/8 and tilts his chin upwards to cast a slightly dubious look at the blonde. Is this a trick? Women are tricksy creatures, after all. His own lips purse a tad while he considers. "Fine," he finally says, knowing full well that even if she does have permission to conduct such an interview, he is not legally obligated to comply. For now, though, he's willing to see where this goes, a sense of puckishness mingling with challenge. "Nothing says I have to stop working to oblige you, though." Flashing that impudent little smile of his, Bootstrap bats his lashes, twice, and then he's moving closer to the Raider to resume taking snapshots.

Sawyer is relegated to following after him, but trail she does, unfazed by such a prospect. Nothing new about chasing a lead. "Can you confirm or deny the allegations that you remained unharmed in any of the four recent Cylon encounters, including but not limited to SILENT MASTIFF?" True to reporter form, a little pad of paper and a pen emerges, the latter sitting poised over the former to take down the man's answers.

"I can," is the simple reply to the precise question asked. /Will/ he is another matter. Uncertain of where this line of questioning is leading, and suspecting that the final destination will be unpleasant, Trask isn't about to make this easy on anyone. Instead, he zooms the camera lens to line up a shot of some red stripes on the Raider.

He doesn't have to answer the question. She doesn't have to let him take a decent photograph. Oops, was that her pen in the way? Gosh, she's sorry. Really. "Do you deny that you remained uninjured in any of the four recent Cylon encounters, including but not limited to SILENT MASTIFF."

A faint smirk forms, partially annoyed and partially amused. "I do not," he asserts, deleting the image from the camera.

Progress. Sawyer'll take it, no matter how small the victory. "And do you deny," See, she's learned, no more options. "That despite the increased activity there were at least five minutes during any given day when you could have sent word to the News Room that you were, in fact, unharmed in any of the aforementioned four incidents?"

Yup. This is leading to where he thought it would be leading. "I do not." *click* "But the News Room receives the casualty reports." A sidelong glance, as if to say, 'nice try'.

This time there's a duck in his shot. Or at least the formation of one with one of the journalist's hand. It'd be a shadow puppet were it not in the direct light of the photograph. And this duck talks (or at least moves along with Sawyer's words). "And do you deny, Captain Trask, that that news would have been better delivered in person, or at least personally?"

Seems that someone is taking a page out of his play book. Another quirk of the lips, wryly amused. As for the duck, it is not deleted. Perhaps it's being kept for posterity. "I would not presume to know that answer, Miss Averies, as I am not the one interested in that news. Clearly, though, it wasn't of that much importance if the Press didn't bother seeking confirmation sooner." Maybe Kal didn't seek her out, but she didn't come looking for him either.

"The Press was giving you space, Captain." The ducky melts away back to the ambivalent form of Sawyer's hand, where she now toys with her pen, toys with the paper, and then finally decides to tuck it all away. There's only one time that the Journalist fidgets, and that's when she's nervous. "I'll stick to my other sources, they're more reliable. Thank you for your time, Captain, but you're pretty shit for soundbites."

"We all have our off days, Miss Averies," is the faintly rueful reply. There's no way that he's just referring to the lack of soundbites. And, surely, he knows that she knows that he knows that she knows. "I'll endeavor to be more quotable, next time." And while Kal isn't pushing her away, there's still an arm's length between them, figuratively speaking. Lining up his next shot, he asks, "Should I be expecting another visit from the press?" *Click* It's an overture, in his way. Cautious. Pride, anxiety, insecurity, and fear prevent anything better at this moment in time. After all, it's been 8 days since he was a wreck on her floor. And even though he did need the space, he is a painfully ambivalent soul, which means feeling rejected on some level that it took her this long to find him.

He's feeling rejected? So must the journalist, as she stuffs her hands in her pockets to keep her from futzing with something else on her person. Afterall, it was her bed that was vacated when duty called. But she has pride too, and that causes her chin to jut up and for her to not back down. "That all depends on if you do something newsworthy, Captain. But if you wanted to have the next conversation, say, over dinner in the mess? Stick to your normal schedule and I'll find you after shift tomorrow, baring any more Cylon interruption, of course."

It's not an outright no. That's good enough. "I wouldn't presume to know what's newsworthy," he says with a hint of humor curving his mouth. *Click* "And if I stick to my normal schedule, it will be a very short chat." The mess is hardly gourmet. Even if it were, it's possible he'd still scarf his food and dash as soon as he was done dining. All he ever wants is food in his belly and he wastes no time getting it in there. No reason to dawdle in the galley after that's accomplished, especially when there's so much else to do. "I'll save you a seat, though."

<FS3> Sawyer rolls Reactive: Failure.

"Well, maybe you can cut out your evening flog in the shower and spare a few extra minutes for dessert." With that little smile and his offer to save her a seat, Sawyer's good humor is restored and she flashes him a brilliant smile. Out she retreats with those words, choosing to walk backwards so she can watch him for a moment longer, causing her rump to connect solidly with a rolling tool chest. *bam* *clang* "I'm alright. I'm alright," she assures the deckies looking over, mildly aghast, and out she tries to slip before causing further alarm.

Trask doesn't laugh per se. It's not something that he really does. But at the clatter and clank, his face scrunches, his amused eyes crinkle, and his teeth flash in a grin of wicked glee. Out of that mouth comes a chortle of, "Hee-hee," the humor still in his voice when he quips, "Well, lemme know if we need to move the venue to Sickbay."

"I'm alright! I'm alright!" Sawyer keeps repeating until she's out of the bay. Hell, if word gets around that she's a danger to herself then she'll /never/ be allowed to abuse those press credentials for personal reasons again. *ahem*

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