| Still Processing |
| Summary: | Some time after hearing Coll's story about the mission to the cylon base, she decides to go see the XO. |
| Date: | 25 July 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | It Lies in Odd Numbers, Pt II, A Centurion |
| Players: |
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| XO's Quarters |
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| Tillman's Room! |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #149 |
Cora knocks. Loud.
"Enter!" Tillman calls from inside. The man is just buttoning up his blues. There's a stack of paper on his desk and an as-yet unfinished mug of coffee still steaming. He glances up to the door as he finishes the top button. There's a new addition in here: A large flag with the unit insignia of the 96th Armored Division. It hangs prominently on the wall by his open lockers.
Cora is in her off-duty uniform, minus the green outer shirt, and minus about 60% of her usual cool professionalism. Her knuckles are red and raw, a trickle of just-drying blood down the back of each hand (one of which is clenched in a white-knuckled fist), and there's a faint new bruise just beginning to appear along her hairline on the right side. "Sir," she says, voice thick and hoarse, "There was a video taken of the trip to the cylon base. I'd like to see it. Please," she adds, a beat or two belatedly.
Tillman only glances to Cora when she enters. "Lieutenant," he greets easily. He reaches back into his locker for his gunbelt and begins pulling it around him as he looks back to her. "Yeah, I heard about it. Lieutenant Kad- What the frak?" The Major looks Cora up and down. "What's your damage, Nikephoros?" he asks, meeting her eyes intently. "Look like you got into a godsdamned brawl."
Cora only sort of half-meets Tillman's eyes, her gaze at once intent and distant, sliding just a little bit away from his like she's not quite willing, or able, to focus at the correct depth for eye contact. She ignores the scrutiny, and just shakes her head at the question, replying, "No brawl, sir. I need to see that tape. Do you have it?"
Tillman buckles the belt without looking down to it and glances to his locker as he reaches in for the sidearm. "No brawl, but you don't seem to want to answer the question." The Major pulls back the slide on the firearm to chamber-check before sliding it into his holster. "No, I don't have it. The Lieutenant who has it is still trying to get it processed. Talked to her about it a few hours ago." She only pauses for a moment, staring at her. "You show up for duty in CIC bloody-knuckled with a shot to the head and don't have an explanation, I'll let wrath fall where it will, Lieutenant. You get your ass cleaned-up before you come on duty tonight." Its not a request.
Cora continues to look somewhere vaguely over Tillman's shoulder, not quite into the middle-distance but not exactly at the wall behind him, either. When he says he doesn't have the tap her face pulls into a frown and she asks, "Still processing?" skeptical, clearly displeased. That stare goes unmet, but the bit about bloody knuckles draws a blink and a look down at her hands, faint surprise registering on ashen features. The mention of showing up for duty in CIC does not make her look less ill. It's too long a pause before she finally replies, "Yes, sir."
"Yeah. Still processing. It happens. They had a helluva firefight down there. I imagine they're parsing it for medical knowledge they can pick up right off the bat. Then Tactical will get it. They shot it, they get first dibs." Tillman doesn't look or sound like he's in the mood to be argued with. "And next time you come in here charged like a bull with a cattle prod up its ass, best remember to take a few deep breaths and not make demands. I don't know what's got you so fired up but considering how you look, I don't imagine its anything light. So take a deep breath and relax your fists before you drop fingers to lost circulation past the knuckle." He shuts the locker a little lighter than one might expect, taking his own deep breath. "Now," he begins again. There's siginifigantly less anger there. "You can take one of two options. You can explain what's got you so fired up…or you can walk out the hatch. I can take a few minutes before watch for someone in distress. But I won't make you talk." Back to the old Tillman.
"I need to see it," Cora repeats, and it's slowly drifting, the more she says it, further from demand and closer to plea. 60% may have been a generous figure, and she's fast losing what grip she had left, but at least the end result seems to be near-silence rather than some sort of rant. Tillman's words seem to pretty much fly right past her, though the bit about relaxing fists has her looking at her own. She starts to open the right one, just enough that a flash of metal and a few links of the chain slip out before she shuts it tight again and pushes it back down to her side, hand closed even more tightly than before. As for her options, at the moment she takes neither, eyes rolling very slightly, as if briefly dizzy, before settling back into a stare, this one accompanied by faintly lowered brows, like she's struggling with a decision.
"Fantastic, Lieutenant. I need to see it, too," he deadpans. He lids his eyes, watching the woman. He glances to her hand and back up to see her roll. "I'll alert Lieutenant Oberlin that he'll be taking your position tonight in CIC." Tillman opens the locker and leaves it to swing. "Take the night. Whatever's got a hold on you like this isn't going to translate well. There's a bottle of whiskey in the back of my locker. Take it. You can have my qquarters for eight hours for privacy. You hit or mangle anything in here, though, I'll have you wearin greens the rest of your career. Copy all that, Lieutenant?" At least he doesn't sound as threatening as he might be. "Or you lookin' to talk?"
"No, I nee—," Cora abandons the already-familiar refrain half-way through, brows shifting just slightly in the barest hint of reaction to what follows. She's a couple beats late, but she nods finally, "Yes, sir," and then another long pause and finally a shake of her head.
Tillman gives her a look. "You can see it later. You need the night off. Consider it an order." The man secures the retention strap on his holster and motions towards the locker. "You've got privacy. Nobody else comes in if you decide to stay. I'll notify the Marines outside." He lifts a hand to squeeze her shoulder before he passes behind her for the hatch.
Cora just sort of nods, a second or two after Tillman speaks, and a second or two after that she murmurs, "Yes, sir." The hand on her shoulder doesn't seem to really get noticed, a glance flicked that way after the XO is already past. She doesn't otherwise move, or speak, just standing there until the hatch is shut behind him.