| Nobody Saw That |
| Summary: | Iszak and Mark meet up randomly. |
| Date: | 27 Jan 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Big Rigs |
| Players: |
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| Engineering |
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| Pipes, conduits, and cramped passageways. Heat and the smells of sweat and machine oil. Engineering is a maze of hallways that run deep into the aft of the Cerberus. Dotted with a few storage rooms, offices, and workshops, this section of the ship is constantly staffed by a huge team of professionals. From the main fuel tank feeds to the massive FTL drive room, no other part of the ship is more important than this section that provides propulsion and life support to every section of the battlestar. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #335 |
"Look man, seriously. Walk your skinny ass back the way you came and get off the godsdamn Engineering Deck. I don't give a pigs fart if you have clearances. Marine? Escort him away. Now!" Mark's voice carries when he wants it to. In this case he's in the mood to embarrass the hell out of a civilian who wanted to wander down to Engineering and check out how things work. Mark doesn't do well with VIPs. Obviously. As the man skulks away a few crewmembers applaud and the Captain just walks off down the corridor. His coveralls are clean for once - which means he probably just came on duty. There's a tool belt tossed over his shoulder, kicking a Petty Officer in the rear as he passes. "Revenge is a bitch, ain't it Michaels?" She only laughs in protest. Probably a reference to the 'Kick Me' sign someone posted to his ass a few days back.
Iszak is just exiting one of the workshops and peeling protective goggles off his face in time to hear the spatter of cheering. He drops them to dangle around his neck and rubs at the marks they've left on his face as he looks about. "What's going on, Chief?" he asks Mark as the ChEng passes.
Mark lifts a fist to tap Iszak in the shoulder as he passes. "Petty Pimpin," he greets on the fly, giving the man a nod. Though he only gets a few steps before turning, walking backwards carefully and shaking a finger at Iszak. "Hey. I heard a nasty rumor that you were diggin your nose around the Senior Chief's office last night. Something about a cock-lost Marine dishin orders?" He grins with the queries.
"Nah, nah, that's not how it went down," Iszak shakes his head at Mark, holding up a couple fingers to fend off that rumor, "Ronny asked me to dump some reports off to Alteris, so I do, and she tells me t'stay, so I do. Sat there for half hour or something listening to that marine tell us our business 'stead of just sending over some forms like the rest."
Mark snorts, laughing. "Ain't that the way it works? Why the hell would we actually streamline operations when we can WASTE time so much more effectively?" He makes a face like this should be the most obvious thing in the world. Sarcasm: he loves it. "Anything good? I ain't heard a peep from the Senior Hot Wheels so I'm assuming its something you guys can handle?"
"Guess it saves us pushing her paperwork around or something," Iszak shrugs, "Not my business t'know or care, is it? I just do what I'm told." He grins a bit, and then shrugs at the question, "Yeah, just some copper plating and a thing what holds the charges in shape for blasting through the Cylon foundry hull. Fab's got the schematic, shouldn't be too tough to jig up."
"Right. Do what you're told. No more. No less." Mark gruffs out some more sarcasm, shaking a finger at the younger man. But the requisition gets a chuckle out of him. "No shit! Awesome. I was at the tactical meeting when they were babbling about how to get in there. Sounds like someone found a better way." He stuffs his hands into his pockets, letting the belt hang lazily. "I still have no idea who the frak I'm supposed to submit to command for that damned op. Sounds like batshit insanity but whatever. Pewter wants, Pewter gets. Its like appeasing a toddler you know is about to tantrum in a crystal store."
"That's the way, guv," Iszak replies with a smirk, "Head down, eyes open, watch out for oil slicks." He nods sagely, and then shrugs, unzipping the top of his coveralls to scratch his chest as he replies, "Like I said, not my business, innit? Big Man's the Big Man, and you're the not quite as big man and I'm not neither. You want me out there fending off the raiders with a blowtorch, I'm your man. No skin off my nose. Snipes'll get it done easier'n marines any day."
Mark chuckles, lifting his arms to look down at himself. "Shit, son. Not quite as big man? Godsdamn, look at me. I'd have to eat six barrels of twinkies to be as big. I literally AM half the man he is!" He shakes his head and looks back at Iszak, dropping those arms to lean against the wall. "You want to go on that field trip? You know they're probably going to need snipes and Deck-cods swingin salty through the interior with them. Bastards won't ever stop needing chaperons, yanno?" The man grins. "You sure about it? Could be some rough shit. I'd be slippin into a slot but they don't let non-combat department heads go play."
Iszak laughs, shaking his head and spreading his hands, "Come on now, guv, I was takin' into account depth of character and that shite, wasn't I?" As for the field trip, he hooks both hands together at the back of his neck and listens, scratching at his chin halfway through and then listening some more before shrugging. "Sounds like a lark, Chief. Hopping about the outside of some toaster factory with giant-ass blowtorches and some fancy shaped charges? Seeing what's inside the guts of the beast? Yeah, I'm in."
Mark barks out a hearty laugh. "Depth of character. Godsdamn. He's older than shit. I'm pretty sure pre-historic rock watches him waddle past and goes 'Frak me, I hope I get that soft in my twilight years'." The ChEng is all grins. He either doesn't like the guy or just doesn't care. "He's been around the block more times than some of my ex-girlfriends. Besides, he has an accent that only can be attained through years of tough conditioning. If you ain't heard it, its a bit like imagining a redneck's truck could issue orders. I'll grant him a win in the depth of character, too." But to the last, the man shrugs. It causes the toolbelt to slide right off his shoulder. He doesn't even look at it as it clatters to the deck. "Nobody saw that." Moving right along. "Well if that's your game, I'll jot your name down. You just have to do me a favor: If these monkies in the Corps try to get too gung ho make sure you kick their asses. Be smart and get your ass back alive."
Iszak snorts and shakes his head, "Now, now, Chief, trucks've got feelings too, don't go saying that where any of them can hear ya. The sort you're meaning've got nasty gunracks on the back, haven't they?" He grins wolfishly and shrugs a bit, not commenting on the dropped toolbelt. "I spent a tour on one of them Assaultstars over Sag, guv," he grins, "I know from gung ho marines, no worries there. We'll get it done."
"The only truck I'm worried about is this big-assed recreational vehicle we're keeping in tip-top." Mark gestures to the ship around them. "From what I hear, she's got herself some pretty sweet gunracks herself. Though I'm really not sure if I want to go equating Viper tubes and hangar decks to any part of the female anatomy." He goes a little wide-eyed at the idea, exhaling quickly. "Well good, then you know how to crack a whip and take no shit." He stoops at the waist and swipes up the toolbelt. "Anyhow, I gotta get down aft and check on some more of the work on these godsdamn gun amplifiers. Make sure Belgoin's honkies aren't screwing with my baby too much. You're welcome to join if you like."
"What about that actual recreational vehicle they brought in from the moon?" Iszak asks curiously, "That gods-awful pink thing? Ever happened to that? That looked like some sorta anatomy I don't like to ponder on." As for Mark's impending endeavors, he shakes his head, "I'm off shift, guv, but iffin y'need another set of hands I can stop down later, yeah? See what the fancy punters are up to."
"Pink thing? Hell if I know. That's Deck's thang. I only tool around where it matters. First time I had touched a Viper in fifteen years was a few days ago. I'll let the pro's handle the sportscars. Even the phallic shaped ones." Mark laughs and buckles his toolbelt around his waist. "Alright then, P-O. I'm off. I'll submit your name. Be on your best and make sure you take no shit. Catch you on the flip side." He makes a gun with his fingers and fires at Iszak with a wink and turns to go.
"Yeah, my brother's a deckie, he was mentioning it, wasn't sure who'd be workin' on it and t'do what," Iszak replies, then shrugs, "Not exactly priority anyhow, is it?" He nods to Mark, replying, "Cheers, Chief," with a bit of a wave before heading off in the opposite direction.