| Other Side of the Pad |
| Summary: | Sawyer interviews Kincaid in the aftermath of the fight in the Elpis Common Room. |
| Date: | 1 Feb 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Gravity |
| Players: |
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| Enlisted Marine Berths — Deck Six — Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Designed specifically to house a small Marine contingent, this berthing is one of the smallest on the ship. The bunks are arranged in standard formation in the classic over-under configuration and lockers dividing each one. However, the lockers here are a bit larger than most elsewhere on the ship to accommodate the bulky combat gear associated with the security details of the crew that lives here. Tables are spread out for use through the area with their standard allotment of chairs. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #340 |
What is Kincaid doing? He's reading. It's unsurprising, really, given his nature. He's laid out on his bed with some non-fiction investigation journalism book that the library had. He's laid out on his stomach on his cot, looking — well. If not peaceful, then at least somewhat untroubled.
There are few things that will drag Sawyer out in her pajamas, much less one that would cause her to traipse across ship and down to marine county in them to boot. It must be something important to bolster the fact that she's walking in to the enlisted berthings in her pink plaid flannel pants, and it might have something to do with the folder she clutches in her hand with a vice like grip. As she (surprisingly) has never been in here before, it prompts her to ask, "Kincaid," of the first half-naked individual she runs into. Not that she was looking for a half-naked one to ask, but they seem to be rampant in here post shift change and shower. A hand gets pointed in Daniel's direction, and off the journalist goes down his particular row to his particular nook and cranny. "Are you okay." Questions have a way of sounding like demands tonight.
Kincaid at least has his shirt on. It's what being 'middle aged' in the Marines gets you. He doesn't quite have the six-pack that some of the other jocks and weight lifters around here do. At the sound of a voice — Sawyer's voice, no less — speaking to him, he's shaken from his revere. He looks up at her. "Yeah. I'm fine, Sawyer. I mean, I might need to hit the gym for cardio a bit more, but —" He shrugs. He's a detective, not a sprinter. "Why do you ask? Hades, what even brings you here?" He tabs the page in his book, going to sit up straight. "But. Uh. Sit down?"
Sawyer takes a hip on the edge of his mattress, long legs dangling off with flip-flops on her feet. Not terribly attractive, but she didn't exactly dress with company in mind. "Because I got these on my desk a matter of moments ago." Sawyer tosses the folder onto the square of sheet he just straightened up from. A myriad of pictures spill out, all from the altercation in the living quarters on the Elpis. And none of them look very favorable towards the marines.
Kincaid inhales a deep breath as he flips through the pictures. One. By. One. He's silent until he reaches the end. "Well." It's almost a tone of grudging respect. "This is some good work. I mean, if you want to make us look the absolute worst we can, this is some damn good work." He reaches inside the back cover of his book and hands over a 'While You Were Out' slip. It's 'FR: P. Rene-Marie. Message: Heard you were investigating common room brawl. Happy to help any way I can.'
"I'd be interested to see what ended up on the cutting room floor." Sawyer says dryly, reaching out to nab the note which she reads with a snort. "I bet he is 'happy to help'." The paper is handed back between two fingers with distaste clear on her features, as if Piers Virgan cologne still clings to the fibers. "Gonna tell me what happened, or do I have to wait for the AAR and suss this out myself?"
It is as if Kincaid was waiting for this question. He reaches down underneath his bunk, into his locker, and pulls out a sealed envelope. "Here's the after-action-report. Here's my initial investigative report. Short story is that Sholty ganged up with three civilians and kicked the shit out of a civilian programmer who worked in AI. Needless to say, AI's not exactly the most loved area. I still need to interview the civilian, but he's recouping in sickbay."
There's a long pause. A pregnant pause. As if Kincaid appreciates what's being done, and doesn't want to screw it up by responding too soon. Finally, he says, "Run a balanced story. Interview me. Make clear that the main Marine kicking this guy's ass? Sholty? He's the bad guy. He's under arrest. Let me say that swift action was needed to prevent this guy from being murdered. But then run the story and let folks decide." A beat. "Not propaganda. Just a story."
"Then find me a pen, and say it." Sawyer without a pen or some means to take notes? She really was in a hurry to get down here.
"Here. Take mine." Kincaid reaches into his breast pocket, where he keeps his clicky pen — his prized clicky pen from his Libran Post days — and hands it over to her. He looks her right in the eye. "So, Sawyer. You're the reporter. Ask me something." And though his face is serious, business, there is a certain sparkle in his eyes.
Sawyer's slender fingers slip the pen from Kincaid's grasp, her thumb depressing the button on top with that satisfying 'click' before she poises and readies the tip. "Lance Corporal Daniel Kincaid. What were you doing when you were alerted to the scuffle in the common room of the Elpis?" He's already given her the 'in', no need to work up to these sorts of questions.
Kincaid is quiet at first. One of the first rules of being interviewed is to know that — in print — no one can hear your silence. "We were in the short period between security details. The four-to-midnight shift was about to return to Cerberus and the midnight-to-eight shift was about to commence. I was part of the midnight-to-eight shift. It was while we, the incoming shift, was being briefed by the sergeant in charge of the four-to-midnight shift that the fight broke out."
Sawyer has an odd sort of short-hand, quite personalized, so that no one can read her writing later and discern what she was taking down. It's with that she quickly jots down the particulars of what Kincaid has to say. "Who was the sergeant in charge?" The more facts she has, the better, and so the journalist is asking particulars.
"Staff Sergeant Boelyn." Kincaid gives the answer asked for, but no more. Don't volunteer and all of that. He smiles. "This feel weird? Interviewing me? On the record?"
Sawyer smiles at him without even really looking up from the envelope she's scribbling this all down on. "My dear, you're always on the record," She says slyly, only then do her brown eyes flick up to find his blue. That moment over, she presses on. "Why don't you describe the scene in your own words, when you arrived on the site?"
Kincaid nods his head once, considering how to put this. "When I arrived on scene, I saw a civilian, Magnus Dekker, being chased out of the Galley, pursued by three civilians and a single Marine, PFC Van Sholty. Private Sholty was part of the four-to-midnight shift and had gone into the Galley to get some chow before returning to Cerberus. Mr. Dekker was bleeding profusely from the head and was shouting 'no, no, don't, stop it,' apparently referring to the beating he was receiving. He was staggering, and fell to his knees, murmuring, 'please, please.'"
"Were you familiar with Mister Dekker prior to this event?" Sawyer asks, her tone falling into that neutral patter.
Kincaid shakes his head. "I had never seen him before. I only found out his name later."
"Did you actively see the attack from Private Sholty and the three civilians, or just the subsequent chase around the galley?" Hopefully Kincaid didn't expect Sawyer to pull any punches.
Kincaid doesn't hesitate. "I did. I personally witnessed Private Sholty kick Mr. Dekker with the tip of his left boot and smash the heel of his boot on Mr. Dekker's elbow. I also witnessed the other three civilians with 'brass knuckles' on their fists. Two used them to strike Mr. Dekker and one used his boot to try to crush Mr. Dekker's hands."
"Have you worked with Private Sholty before? Was he known to be a violent man?" Sawyer doesn't want to overload him with questions one after another, making sure to take time between each so he answers each to her satisfaction.
"Private Sholty was a member of the Marine rifle platoon, Charlie platoon. As a result, I didn't have any occasion to work with him. I can't comment on his background. You'd have to speak to Lieutenant Lunair, his platoon commander, for that." Kincaid punts.
Sawyer rolls her tongue over the ridge of her front teeth, using that to disguise her smile. As much as this is business, there is a personal connection between the man and his past that's hard to keep reins on. "In your opinion, Lance Corporal, was Private Sholty acting in the line of duty?"
Kincaid shakes his head firmly. "No. Not at all. He was at the end of his assigned security shift. He was just getting a bite to eat before going back to Cerberus. What he did was because of his own personal demons, not anything the Colonial Marine Corps teaches." He pauses, and then adds his 'talking point' for this interview. "The security response portrayed in those pictures may seem severe. But they were absolutely necessary to protect Mr. Dekker. Had the security team not acted swiftly and decisively, Mr. Dekker might not have survived that attack."
"So in your opinion you and the other responding marines used necessary force? Were these brass knuckles recovered from the assailants?" Sawyer's pen sits idle, waiting for Kincaid's response. For all intents and purposes, she's conducting this interview in the marine offices, not sitting on the edge of his bunk in her pajamas.
"The security team used the force necessary to subdue the threat. Obviously, after every engagement, we work hard to identify how we can improve our methods. But when an innocent party is a few kicks away from dead, it's better to be swift and decisive than gentle." Kincaid sort-of, kind-of dodges the question. But she should be used to that. "One set of brass knuckles was recovered. Two of the civilian assailants are at large."
"Can I quote you on that?" No doubt the 'swift and decisive than gentle' part, all jokes aside. Sawyer turns the envelope around, writing down the other side now. "Have the other two assailants been identified?"
"I'm on the record, aren't I?" Kincaid's tone is obvious; if he's on the record, he expects anything he says to appear in quotes in any article. "They have not. However, the investigation is in the early stages and is continuing."
"Is the victim lucid and conscious?" There's barely a breath between Sawyer's questions after Kincaid has answered the previous one, in attempt to keep him on his toes, no doubt.
"The victim was emergency evaced by Raptor to the Cerberus sickbay." Kincaid doesn't quite answer the question, but he stays nimble. "And was admitted in serious condition. You'll need to speak to the Medical staff regarding his condition since admission."
"Have you or your department attempted to question the victim as of yet?" Sawyers eyes flick up to Kincaid's face, trying to figure out the answer before he even voices it.
"Our most important concern is to make sure the victim is medically stable. Once Medical gives us the all-clear, we will ensure that he is interviewed." In other words, no. But Kincaid has played this game before. It's just usually from the other side.
"And the presence of the photographer? Happenstance or do you believe it to be another set-up by Mister Piers Rene-Marie?" It's a game, but who is the cat and who is the mouse? The answer never deters Sawyer.
"I don't think that 'or' is at all fair, Sawyer, and I think you know that." Kincaid calls her out on the false dichotomy. "There are far more than two possibilities to explain the photographer's presence, and it would be reckless to speculate at this time. Unlike some manifesto writers, the military police are committed to getting facts before they draw conclusions."
Sawyer isn't afraid to let her smile creep onto her features this time, delighted perhaps to see this part of Kincaid in action. "If I have any further questions, I'm sure you'll remain available. Anything else you'd like to add, Lance Corporal?" Giving him one last chance to throw anything else in there.
Kincaid shakes his head. "Just this, Sawyer: The Colonial Marine Corps will hold Private Sholty responsible for what he did. His actions are a disgrace to the Corps and a disgrace to the Fleet. He's hurt people's trust in their men and women in uniform, and those are injuries that will, in some ways, be harder to heal than kicks and punches." A pause. "And, oh, you're really hot when you're playing reporter." He leans in and kisses her on the cheek. "But that's off the record."
The pen is slid back into his chest pocket when he leans in close. "Who's playing?" Sawyer purrs back, turning her face quickly to return the peck to his cheek. "Get some rest, I'm not through with you. And be looking for a request to be allowed access to Sholty." She collects the pictures she's brought and what she undoubtedly is now confiscating as her copy of the AAR and Daniel's report before she slips off the edge of his bunk.