PHD #222: Right
Summary: Devlin and Psyche discuss his experience meeting Khloe.
Date: 06 October 2041 AE
Related Logs: Hot and Bothered
Devlin Psyche 
Recruit Berths, then Sims!
Bunks, and then fake planes!
Post-Holocaust Day: #222

Devlin has his flightsuit folded over his arm as he sticks his head up into his bunk. "There you are," he says, "Come on, we have to go to the sims in case your new squad leader checks up on me, and she seems like she might." All that tension is right back into his frame, and his jaw is set in a grim, unhappy sort of way.

"Huh?" Psyche rolls over, caught mid-catnap, rubbing her eyes. She yawns hugely, slowly processing the input, finally frowning and looking him over carefully. "Hey," she says huskily, then clears her throat and swings her legs out of the bunk. "Nice to see you, too. What's the matter?"

"I just—" Devlin starts to say something and then shuts his mouth and takes a deep breath and rubs a hand over his face. "I didn't make a good first impression with the new Knights SL and I told her I was looking for you so you could help me in the sims and I wouldn't be surprised if she came to check to see if I was lying about that so please will you come to the sims with me so she doesn't hate me even more?"

Psyche just squints at him for a moment, then heaves herself out of the bunk, dropping lightly to the floor and opening his locker. "Sure," she agrees, pulling on her off-duty fatigues. She rolls her shoulders and head back, working out the kinks, glancing at him as she pulls on her shirts. "I'm sure it's not as bad as you think, baby. Nobody dislikes you. Even the CAG thinks you're stinkin' adorable." A beat. "What's she like? I mean, other than obviously being a little retarded, if she really doesn't like you?"

Devlin just stands and waits, holding his flightsuit, still. He's not precisely looking at her, sort of grimacing faintly into space. That even the CAG allegedly finds him adorable doesn't seem to make him feel better. "She'd like you to know that your sheets aren't regulation, and also flightsuits are now mandatory in the sims. But that might just be for me, I'm not totally sure. I think everyone."

Psyche pauses a beat. Just long enough to inwardly bristle, then reach for her flightsuit. "I know my sheets aren't regulation. The question is whether I give a ratfrak, which I very plainly don't." This is delivered in a deveptively mild, martini-dry tone. Once she's suited up — lest she suffer the perilous conditions of sim atmo during a sim ejection — she shuts the locker with emphasis. "Great! Let's sim."

"I'd never really thought about it," Devlin admits, "I guess I just figured other people didn't care as much as you, to bring their own." He winces a little as she suits up, and again as the locker is shut hard. "Sorry," he says, "We don't have to actually sim. You don't even have to wear the suit and be in one, you could just hang at the podium and I'll pretend. I just… yeah. Sorry." He rubs at the back of his neck and head, shaking the latter a little as he eyes the floor before shrugging and heading for the door.

Psyche eyeballs Alex through his apologies, looking a little bemused, then follows him, catching his hand just outside the hatch. "Hey," she says gently, then offer a smile. "Baby, you've got nothing to be sorry about. I'm sure this chick was a runny cunt sore before you met today. Not like it's your fault." She lifts a shoulder. "I don't mind people having a stick up their ass, it just irritates me when they insist we all share in their anal fixation."

"Don't do that," Devlin replies, expression twisting into another pained little frown, "Don't just hate her before you even meet her just because I didn't have a great first meeting with her. She's your squad leader, the CAG picked her," he reminds, shaking his head at her when she's caught up, as they head down the hall to the stairs, "So she must be there for a good reason and you're gonna have to work with her, and I don't want to be causing problems for you right off the bat."

Psyche laughs lightly. "Baby? The universe. It's not all about you." She flashes him a teasing smile. "I'm not saying it shouldn't be? It wouldn't require a big adjustment on my part if it were — but my point is I don't like the grumpy bint because I can tell you right now she' not gonna let the sheets go. She's going to make it her personal mission to make an example of my for daring to be different. And this thing with the flight suits required in the sims? That's just a little ritard."

"Maybe she was just frakking with me," Devlin proposes with a shrug, "I dunno. And I know the universe isn't all about me. I just… now you're going to go in there ready to dislike her and you wouldn't if I'd just kept my mouth shut." He clearly feels guilty anyway, among other things. "It does seem kinda dumb," he agrees mildly of the suits after a minute, "I mean…how much difference is it really going to make to how I fly?"

"I know you know the universe isn't all about you, baby," Psyche assures him, shrugging. "And I would have disliked her from the second I heard about this rule with the flight suits, and really disliked her once she started in about my sheets — and that all would have happened without your involvement, babe. Come on. Don't you have enough to worry about, right now, without blaming yourself for silly shit like this?" She lifts her eyebrows slightly. His musing about the difference in his flying, though, gives her pause. "She's not wrong that you nuggets should be wearing your suits, actually," she allows. "It might not make a big difference, but it does… feel different. A little. Less comfortable, whatever. And you should be 'simming' every iota of the experience so that you're completely used to it, down to how a flight suit is chafing and sweaty and bunches in the crotch."

"I guess," Devlin replies, noncommittal. He slouches his way up the stairs and down the hall towards the sims, tugging the hatch open for her. "Yeah," he admits, "I guess that makes sense. But I can already tell that just from wearing it for practice flights and stuff, and I'm not simming full 8-hour CAPs anyways. Next she's gonna make us do that, probably. I just…" he trails off and shakes his head and then shrugs, "Yeah."

Psyche sighs, glancing sidelong and up at him. "Baby… like, seriously. What went on? Something has really crawled up your ass and died."

Devlin flushes faintly and frowns, shaking his head. "It's fine," he says, "I'm overreacting. I just… I didn't need this shit," he spits out finally, "You know? I am working so frakking hard to try to do something that scares the shit out of me and now to replace Shiv, who was patient and easy-going and a really excellent teacher I'm going to have to deal with this bitch who goes off on me for nothing and everything? Why the frak should I even bother?"

Psyche listens, frowning — more in sympathy than disapproval. "Because it's the right thing to do. And you always do the right thing." She sighs, shaking her head. "Listen… baby, from the sound of it… I'm not going to love working with this bitch any more than you will. It sucks for both of us, but things change… and we adapt. Frak her. She's not even going to be your instructor — Lucky's got that job now. She's probably going to be just a distant figure — kind of like the CAG, but not as lovable. Today was just… unfortunate."

"It kind of sucks a lot," Devlin grumbles of doing the right thing. He crosses his arms against his chest but then uncrosses them again so he can rub both hands up and down his face briskly. He takes a deep breath and exhales in a huff out his nose. "I hope she's distant and today was just unfortunate. Right now I feel like I'd rather not ever set foot in those berths again just in case I run into her and she gives me more shit about looking for you. I mean, what if I had said 'yeah, it's my free time, I was coming to frak my wife', what of it? I can do whatever I want with the time I'm not training, gods know it isn't all that much anyways."

Psyche puts a hand on her hip, raising her eyebrows a little. "So… that's what she was giving you shit about? Because you were looking for me?" She reaches out and takes his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Yeah, baby, that's exactly what you should say to her, next time. Because if you're off duty, you have every frakking right to frak your wife. Or to sit around for hours masturbating or arranging your porn alphabetically by supporting actress. Shit." She laughs and shakes her head, incredulously. "If she starts trying to legislate away the tiny comforts we earn, like that? Bitch is going to have a hard time leading the Knights."

"That was part of it," Devlin replies with a nod, "She got in my face about how I was there straight off duty looking for you and was distracted and not thinking about my duties, or something like that. I don't even get where she was going with it," he admits, shaking his head and then shrugging, "Maybe she just wanted to see if I'd admit it?" He rubs at his head again, heel of his hand to his eyebrow and shakes his head, "I dunno. But yeah, now I kinda feel like she's going to give me shit for spending time with you. And that's just… not ok."

"No," Psyche agrees, soberly. "That's really not okay. She knows the frakking drill. We're all out here risking our lives, working our asses off, shit could go south any second — the moments we have for ourselves are few. We earn the shit out of them. And we should make the most of them. We deserve that. It's not like we're getting a frakking paycheck anymore." She smirks faintly, folding her arms and lifting a shrug. "She's a new promo — just got her shiny Captain's pins. Maybe she feels like she has something to prove. Maybe she's just a miserable bitch and wants other people to share the bitter. Whatever the case, you have a right to stand up for yourself, baby. And for the little life you get to eke out of your off hours. I mean, do it without being an insubordinate jerk, but… do it."

Devlin nods slightly, and then covers his face with his hands and groans. "I have enough shit to worry about without a Captain frakking with me, no matter why she's doing it." He scrubs at his face again, and shakes his head some more and finally drops his hands with a sigh. "Anyway, yeah. I guess now you're warned. I really don't want to get back in the sims," he admits, "I was just out for two hours and then simming before that. I should've made up something better."

Psyche grins. "She didn't order you to sim, did she? You just told her that's where you were going?" She places an arm across the hatch to the sims, leaning there and blocking the way. "So, conceivably, if a ranking officer did give you an order, it wouldn't be countermanding anything the SL told you."

"She didn't. I just lied and said that's where we were going. Kind of lied," Devlin amends, "It seemed like a pretty good idea, but now I really don't want to." He smiles a little, and leaning against her blocking arm. "Please order me to do something else, lieutenant," he requests, "Pleeeeeease."

Psyche laughs. "Done. Nugget, what the frak are you doing down here?" She eyeballs him. "I appreciate your dedication, but you are off duty and I expect you to conduct yourself as such. Go back to the berths, get a shower, frak your wife, put on some tunes and relax. In whatever order you feel. And that is an order."

"Yes, sir," Devlin replies, smiling crookedly. He adds as he leans down to kiss the corner of her grin, "You're the best." He sags against the wall for a minute, slouching some more, and then with a deep breath straightens up and reaches for her hand. "C'mon, let's go home."

Psyche beams, curling a hand around the nape of his neck as he bends to kiss her. "My work is done here," she murmurs with quiet satisfaction and delight. She takes his hand and, giving it a squeeze, charts a course back to the berths.

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