| Reporter in Distress |
| Summary: | Sawyer takes a complete 180 on her career path. Kincaid is there to talk her through it. |
| Date: | 01 Nov 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | I'm sure there is some. Any about political foo. |
| Players: |
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| Galley |
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| Behind the two hangar decks, the Cerberus' Galley is the largest room on the ship. Nearly half the size of a football field, the eating area is made up of long lines of stainless steel tables that can be folded up and placed against the wall for larger events. Individual seats are the standard military issue, boring and grey with lowest-bidder padding. The line for food stretches across one of the shorter sides of the room while the kitchen behind works nearly twenty-four hours a day to produce either full meals or overnight snacks and coffee for the late shifts. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #248 |
Date night. Battlestar Cerberus style. Enter Kincaid with Sawyer. "What can I get you to eat, my fair reporter?" asks the Lance Corporal, making his way over towards the chow line. "I hear there's mush and some gelatin and then some other mush. But the other mush is the vegetables and the former mush is the meat."
"Would it be rude of me to say I brought my dinner?" Sawyer hoists the water bottle she's been toting up for Daniel to see. The contents of which have clearly been tampered with, because now it seems to hold a thick pea green substance with chunky bits floating around in it. "I'll be happy to stay in line with you though." The blonde isn't completely herself this evening, having a somewhat distracted demeanor ever since the met up in the corridor.
"Well, now. Little did I realize that it was B-Y-O-D. I was planning on buying, too." Kincaid sidles through the line, getting first one, then two globs of mush followed by some of the gelatin on the side. And a juice cup. He gives her a sidelong glance, a curious one, but he doesn't inquire further. At least not yet.
Sawyer follows along with him, declining anything from the line. Seems like she's going to drink her dinner (with the occasional chew of one of those green globular substances thrown in for good measure.) "Wheat grass protein shake. It's supposed to be cleansing and nutrient enriched. Makes for strong bones, et cetera, et cetera. I found more mix when we raided that shopping complex on Aerilon." As they peel away from the end of the line, Sawyer weaves her way over to a table and finds a seat.
Kincaid places his tray down on the table with a rattle of vaguely metal "silverware." He glances between Sawyer and the water bottle and Sawyer and the water bottle. "All right, Sawyer. Dish. I get up the nerve to ask you to a mock dinner, and then you get all bummed out on me. What's going on?" Always trust Danny to call her out on it.
Sawyer quirks a little smile, though it's poorly formed and doesn't quite reach her eyes. "So this was a date. I wasn't sure if I had just misconstrued a kindness again." As she settles in a seat, she doesn't even bother with affecting proper posture. "It's something I want to talk to you about, actually. I hope that you don't mind me using dinner as the platform to broach it…" Her index finger makes a swipe at her temple, hooking a fringe of hair and tucking it behind her ear.
A pause. Well, there goes the date. "All right. Sure. What's up? What's on your mind, Sawyer?" Yeah, he can't resist a damsel in a distress. Or newswoman. Or a Sawyer. Mostly just a Sawyer. He digs his fork into the mush.
"I'm getting out of the race, Daniel. I'm going to find a suitable replacement, and I'm going to step-back from my position as civilian advocate and organizational leader." Before he can protest, Sawyer raises a hand to stop him. "I know you've been one of my biggest supporters, but I just don't think I'm cut out for it. It's going against every fiber of my being. This whole…dog and pony show. Watching who I speak to, how I speak to them, putting on some sort of airs just to make sure I garner some sort of favorable public opinion. That's not who I am, and I just can't do it anymore. I'm about the truth, Daniel, and the truth is popular nor comforting nor what the people want out of their politicians."
Kincaid puts down his fork. He pauses for a moment. "Well." It's the only word he can get out for a little while. "Well." Wait a little bit longer. "Okay. Two questions. First, you sure? Second, does this mean I don't have to try to get out of my enlistment contract?"
Sawyer huffs out a long breath, as if the wind has been knocked out of her sails and she sort of deflates in her chair. "I'm sure. Positive, actually. The people deserve someone more suited to a life of politics and while I'm positive I could pull it off, in the long run, I wouldn't be happy. And then I wouldn't be efficient. And then the whole house of cards would topple down. I need to get back to doing what I'm good at doing. Or," Sawyer looks down to her bottle of sludge and rolls it between her palms, "what I thought I was good at doing. And yes, that means you can stay in your happy little niche of the military police. I won't need to bug you to anymore."
"Oh, don't be silly, Sawyer." Kincaid is dismissive now. "You go from 'Future Leader of the Free World' to Mrs. Defeatist. You can still make a big difference in the Press; it's what you signed up for, right? And before I was your future Chief of Staff, I was a reporter. And I was a a pretty damn good one. And." He taps his fork against his tray. "I've still got the inside scoop on Security matters. So." He now points his knife at her. "Either /own/ this decision and embrace your new-slash-old role as Voice of Reason, or wallow in your own self-pity. But to be honest? The girl I wanted to ask out was the first one, not the second."
Sawyer smirks slightly, a little self-depreciating laugh escaping her lips. The bottle is cracked open, and she tilts it up to her waiting lips, the green sludge moving at glacier speed until she finally swallows a mouthful. "So this is a date, then." Her smile forms more fully, genuinely causing the corners of her eyes to crinkle.
Kincaid lets out a heavy sigh. "Good Lords, Sawyer Avries. What are you? A fourteen-year-old boy? Yes. Yes. I like you. I'm asking you out. I asked you to dinner. But I can't exactly do anything romantic, so I would understand your hesitation." He gestures between the two of them. "That all right, though? I overstep my bounds?"
Sawyer leans forward, resting her hand on the neutral space between them at the table. "I've lost myself, Daniel. Some where along the way I got so twisted up in this grand idea that I could be something I'm not. It was like a wild power trip that somehow I got my pride all wound around…I'm not /me/ right now, Daniel. You even said it yourself. You want to date the old Sawyer. Not this…confused child I've become."
Kincaid reaches out his hands and curls his fingers underneath hers, taking her hands in his. "Sawyer. Look. I like you. I like all of you. I like the parts of you that believed that you cold be leader of the free Colonies. I like the parts of you that think you can be the voice of people who think instead of instinctively fear." A deep breath. "And I like the parts of you that aren't really sure about any of it, but are willing to forge on anyway because you know it's important to do something more than just sit on your ass and hope this will all go away. And I'd like to help you figure it through. It's what I did before. It's what I'd like to keep doing."
Sawyer hoists herself to her feet, if only so this time she can be the one who does the kissing of the brow. She's tall enough to make the angle over the table possible, pressing her lips to his forehead before she murmurs, "Sweet, sweet man." And with that, she slides her hand out of his, and slips away from the table.