| Sawyer's New Jewelry |
| Summary: | Sylvester finally makes it through his security checks to become employed by Sawyer in the News Room. |
| Date: | 02 November 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Let's Run The Tape |
| Players: |
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| News Room |
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| This room isn't huge by any means, but it does have all the updated equipment and a small news staff that runs the area. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #249 |
There are times when it seems as if Sawyer uses all twenty-four available hours in a day. When there is no sense of day or night, what's the difference right? As it is, Sawyer is in a rare state of inactivity, pitched back in her seat and starring at the ceiling as she tosses a small rubber ball towards it, catches it, and repeats. This is the picture of boredom.
The sound of a knock is heard on the hatch before it's opening so that Sly can make his way into the room, "Ms. Averies?" That's offered as he looks around and when his eyes come to rest on Sawyer, he's giving a quick smile. "Ahh, good. You're here. Wanted to come by and thank you for getting me out of the Starboard Hangar." In his hand is a bottle of .. something, the label long gone, though it's still half full. "Didn't have much to offer, but I did have a bottle of vodka in my bag. Figured you might wanna share a drink."
At the interruption, the journalist fumbles spectacularly, missing the last catch and getting smacked square in the forehead by the little rubber missive as it falls from the sky. "Ow, frak, shit…" At least she manages not to fall out of her chair or anything further embarrassing, as she sits up and rubs at her forehead ruefully. "Call me Sawyer. And deny you saw that." She quirks a smile, "Don't thank me quite yet. You actually have to work for your keep up here."
Lips curve into the quickest of smiles as the rubber projectile is not caught and smacks against her forehead. "Sure thing, Sawyer. Plus, what wasn't I supposed to see?" The smile flits to a grin as he moves to close the hatch behind him before angling over towards the desk so that the bottle can be deposited on it. "That won't be an issue. Sure as frak gonna be better then sitting on my cot in the hangar, twiddling my thumbs and watching everyone walk around."
Sawyer makes a gesture towards a chair. "Have a seat if you like." Like any good journalist who knows she might have to occasionally lubricate the way towards loose lips of an interviewee with a touch of liquor, she unlocks her bottom drawer and pulls out a pair of glasses from amidst several bottles of various booze. "Sorry you didn't get a proper interview, we got interrupted by a sudden school teacher outburst, if I recall correctly."
The offered chair is slid into and Sly is bringing his left leg so that his ankle can rest on his right knee. When the glasses are deposited on the desk, he's leaning forward to claim the bottle so that each glass can be filled. "I'd use 'interrupted' lightly, but there's no need to apologize. I gathered that other woman was just looking to cause a problem. 'least, that's what it seemed like."
Sawyer waits until a glass is poured for her and then she reaches out to wrap her fingers around the cool surface. "Her heart is in the right place, but sometimes pride gets in the way." Whether she's referring to Astra's pride or her own, however, seems a little vague. "Anyways, since we last spoke, I've turned over the chair manning of the committee to a woman named Rose Ibbhanas. Which in the long run means less speech writing for you, and more sanity for me. It also means we can turn the News Room back into precisely that, instead of treating it like campaign central."
Once the glasses are poured, Sly's depositing the bottle back on the desk so that he can then claim his glass, only to lift it to his lips to take a long sip of the liquid. When the glass is lowered, he's giving a quick smile. "Can't say I'm disappointed, Sawyer. Speech writing was never my forte." Settling back into the chair, the glass comes to rest on his thigh for the moment. "So, with your sanity in check, what do you want me doing, then?"
"We put out a newsletter as often as we can manage, just the usual fluff pieces for morale, updates on the status of the fleet, what have you. There is also tons of historical information, missions and what not, that needs to be compiled and recorded so we have an as accurate as possible picture of what has happened since Warday. In essence, you're going to be doing all the shit work that comes with being a junior reporter. I know that's pretty beneath you, being a TV face, but that's the sort of help I need. Of course, I'm not opposed to you writing your own pieces, so long as all the other work gets managed along the way too." All that 'other work' is indicated by Sawyer laying her hand on the mountain of paperwork that's cluttering her desk.
A bob of his head and Sly's eyes shift to the paperwork before returning back to Sawyer. Now, the man is giving a quick laugh as his shoulders lift into the slightest of shrugs, "Not like there's any TV's for me to be reporting on, Sawyer. Right now, work is work and I'm just glad to be able to do -something-." He's looking back to the paperwork, letting his eyes rest there for a moment before he gives a nod of his head, "Looks like I've got some reading that needs to be done."
Sawyer takes a dainty sip of her drink before resting the glass on the meat of her thigh. "That being said, and your enthusiasm appreciated, there's sensitive material in here that I have to trust that you'll keep confidential. Any of it gets leaked before it's time for it to get leaked, and I'll wear your balls as new dangly earrings. And /that/ being said, if it's locked, you don't need to be in there. We clear?"
Another nod and Sly's letting lips perk into a slight 'O' before a chuckle breaks the look. "Interesting image there. Not one that I much like, to be honest." He does lift his drink upwards, his head bobbing another nod as the smile returns to his lips. "Crystal clear, though. Don't much need to worry about me spouting off or trying to break into locked cabinets. Not my thing."
"I sleep here." Sawyer's eyes shift to the hammock strung in the corner and back to the man. "So that locked thing applies to the hatch, too, though I seldom ever engage it." She thumbs over her shoulder. "The dark room is fully functional, and relatively well stocked when most of the photos taken aboard are digital. You can claim any empty desk and computer that looks vacant, as the previous owner never made it off Picon Anchorage. Any questions?"
Listening, Sly lifts the glass back to his lips, a quick sip taken before it's lowered back down. "I'll make sure I only do things during 'daylight' hours, so that I don't disturb you, then." Eyes shift in the direction motioned and he's giving a 'hmm' before looking back to Sawyer, "Good to know and thanks. As for questions? None right now. I'm sure once I start into things that a few will crop up, though." While he heard the mention of Picon Anchorage, he refrains from commenting on it.
Her spiel over, Sawyer seems to relax a bit into her chair, taking a pull of her drink again large enough to make her bare her teeth in a wince. "I rarely sleep. It's something I really should endeavor to change." Fingers steeple at her temple, rubbing at the threat of a headache. "So tell me something about yourself, Sylvester. I've bombarded you enough. What team did you used to play for again? Pro?"
"Sleep's good, Sawyer. Keeps ya fresh and on your toes. Really should look at changing that." The smile remains, deepening slightly at the wince, "Sorry, but ya just can't dilute good vodka with a mix of any kind." Shoulders lift into a slight shrug as he shifts in the seat, "Was a sports scholarship on Caprica. Was supposed to play for the Bucanneers. First pro exhibition game, got nailed just the right way and tore a bunch of muscles in my knee. Regardless to say, there went my chances to play pro. No one wants to take a gamble on an injury like that. Thankfully, I kept up with university work. Journalism. S'how I wound up as a sports reporter."
Sawyer grins lopsidedly, swirling her drink now instead of braving another burn. "I thought the saying was: those that can't, teach. Not report. Did you like the work, or was it just something to fall back on?" A dark blonde eyebrow quirks up with the question, visual punctuation to her question.
A grunt now and Sly is giving a quick shake of his head, "I'm not much of a teacher, Sawyer. Thought about teaching the game .. but, I know it would be short lived. So, I went to reporting." There is a smile as shoulders lift back into a slight shrug, "I like the work well enough. Had an interest in it, which is why I took it in university. So, I was glad to have it to fall back on. Some others that I know took fluff courses in University and a couple got injured and had -nothing- to fall back on. So, I was lucky."
"Now now, I hear underwater basket weaving is very lucrative in a post-apocalyptic society. Of course, I know plenty of people don't put much worth in what /we/ do, either. Until, of course, they need to know something and aren't being told." Sawyer braves another drink, but shakes her head immediately after and slides her glass up on her desk. "At least I'll sleep well tonight, hmm?"
Sylvester lifts his free hand and gives a finger a little mid-air twirl as lips curve into the slightest of grins, "'fraid my skills at basket weaving aren't that great. And my water skills, even less so. Had to pass on that one." There's a flash of a wink as shoulders lift into a shrug, "You said it, Sawyer. People hate what we do, until they need us." The glass is lifted back to his lips, the contents drained before he's lifting the glass in thanks, only to then set it on the desk. "I'll leave you to your sleep then and I'll catch you later. Time for me to grab some grub, anyways." That said, he's rising from his seat. "Take it easy." A wave and he's angling to make his way back to the hatch.