| Straight Art |
| Summary: | In which Sofia shows Sawyer some art and learns more insight. |
| Date: | 18 Aug 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | All sketchbook logs. |
| Players: |
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| Observation Deck |
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| With a quiet view to the stars, this tends to be one of the more popular 'quiet areas' of the Cerberus. Up front is a small-unseated area for ceremonies or other activities while the seating rises up behind it. Each level rises up behind the one before it, comfortable chairs and couches set up for crewmembers to relax, get some work done or even take a nap. A large armored plate is lowered during Condition One to protect the interior against a breach in the glass. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #171 |
With a quiet view to the stars, this tends to be one of the more popular 'quiet areas' of the Cerberus. Up front is a small-unseated area for ceremonies or other activities while the seating rises up behind it. Each level rises up behind the one before it, comfortable chairs and couches set up for crewmembers to relax, get some work done or even take a nap. A large armored plate is lowered during Condition One to protect the interior against a breach in the glass.
The Observation Deck makes a quiet workspace, and the little plush couches are much more comfortable than sitting at a desk for hours at end. As such, Sawyer has claimed one and has spread out various papers and a heavy book is settled in her lap from which she's taking an occasional note, jotting it down on a pad of paper in her crazy second language known as shorthand.
Observation deck! Much more spacey than the storage deck Sofia tends to rove about. She has a sketchbook held tightly to her chest. She's off duty for now and looking around for someone. Her wide green eyes are alert and attentive, peering here and there? And then - there! Spotted! She turns in her path, veering away and towards Sawyer. She blinks, then smiles. "Hey there."
Sawyer looks up, batting her eyes for a moment to let them readjust after reading for gods only know how long. It takes her a moment, but eventually she forms a well practiced smile, "Crewman Wolfe, how are you." As it seems that the woman is greeting her for some purpose rather than just a greeting in passing, Sawyer closes her book (some legal tome), and folds her hands on top of it. "What can I do for you?"
Blink. Sofia smiles. "I'm alright, how about yourself ma'am?" The reply is respectful, and prettty friendly. She looks to the sketchbook then to the tome and blinks. "That looks like pretty heavy reading. I hope I'm not interrupting," She frowns a little. "I actually had something I felt you should see. I'm not really able to show it to many because of what it is. But … it didn't seem quite right just to hide it away with the MPs, church and CIC. You know?" Headtilt. "Besides, if someone tries to destroy it or kills me- then you'll be one of the people who knows to find it." Nod. "That sounds kinda morbid. I sound old already," Frown. Planning for her demise. "Do you think art is for people only?" She looks to the sketchbook.
Well, this seems heavier than she expected, and Sawyer moves the book off her lap as if to give Sofia her full attention. First, she addresses the subject of being interrupted, and there's a slight shake of her head. "I've been studying this material for weeks, a little break isn't going to do me any harm." The response is almost mechanical, as no doubt Sawyer's attention span has started to wander toward what Sofia holds in her hands. "Well, I've seen a elephant that could paint before, but some how I don't think that's what you have in mind."
It is pretty heavy. Sofia sits nearby and smiles a little. "Well, okay. Want me to bring you some coffee or anything?" She offers. She takes a deep breath. "See. Art was really important to my family. Almost everyone sang or painted or performed or /something/. I think I had a cousin who was like, a street performer who slapped himself with hamburger. Anyway, that skinjob Cylon, Miss Eleven? She mentioned she liked art." Sofia pauses at that and looks down. "So … I gave her a sketchbook I found in storage. I mean, honestly. We have to clear it out once in awhile and I like for people to use things, not for them to build up and become a giant fire hazard." She smiles a little at that. "So I've been trying to help find their owners, donate them. But anyway. I felt kind of bad for her in that jail cell. So I gave her this sketchbook and some pencils. Turns out, she's a decent artist. Would you like to see the drawings?"
What is Sofia expecting? For Sawyer turn down the opportunity to take a peek at the last works of a now dead (and possibly ressurected) Eleven model. She holds her hands out expectantly for the parcel to be handed over, not a word uttered.
Sofia is careful, then nods and opens the sketchbook, handing it over. "Sorry, I'm sure that's a dumb question. I've gotten some /really/ surprising responses honestly. I can make copies for you if you'd like." The first few pages are several rudimentary portraits of crewmembers she had memorable contact with - Tillman, Cora, and Karthasi. The latter is the most interesting. Sister Karthasi, in this portrait, is displaying a gleaming blank orb where her right eye should be, streaks of light obscuring that part of her features. There is a crow perched upon each shoulder and she cradles in her hands what looks to be a limp, dead owl. She's wearing a diaphonous white gown of what looks to be a fanciful, antiquated style. Very antiquated.
Sawyer starts flipping through the pages slowly, treating each reverently as if afraid to smudge the work or wrinkle the paper. She peels them at the corner, careful not to dog-eared it as she switches deeper in to the sketchbook. "You know, Abbot is barely afforded reading material…" Sawyer says off-handedly as she studies each sketch. "Yes, thank you. I'd love copies. I wish I could interpret some of these, you know? But this seems…vaguely religious." Sawyer's finger hovers over the latter one of Karthasi, tracing the lines without actually touching the page. "Have you shown the sister?"
"There's more if you want," Sofia adds. She nods. "The next part is more mathy. And really?" Sofia's eyes widen. "Oh wow. Poor guy. I didn't know. I'll see if I can ask if he likes this kind of stuff or something," She considers. "I don't know why, talking to a CO seems kind of intimidating. And sort of. She was busy, but she'll get back with me," As far as the sister goes. The next few sections are various simple mathematical calculations (addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, and basic algebra) in a slanted, cursive hand that all have the same result. "12." The very last one, a roundabout equation, has "+1" added to its result equalling "13" and then subtracting 12, equalling "1." "The XO said something about her having a thing for the number 13. Saying it was clumsy and ugly compared to say, the divine 12. And yeah, it kinda does. Which seems odd. There's one last one you should see at the end when you're ready too… it's a doozy." She is quiet, attentive and happy to listen. "I wish I could too, but - I'm kinda the black sheep of the family. Art and religion I'm- not too awesome at." Sad.
Sawyer keeps studying the pictures, one after another. "Thirteen you say? Interesting…" Something struck a chord with Sawyer, but what, precisely, she's not saying. "Me, I was always good at getting in people's business…" The pages regarding mathmatics are studied a bit more closely than the abstract portraits of earlier, the journalist even leaning over them to get a closer look. "I'm beginning to hate that number too." And with that, she flips to the last page.
"Yeah, something about a model and feeling sorry for it. I guess it /is/ a pretty weird number. 12 is so pretty, but-" She shrugs. "I don't know. I never really mixed my math and art much," She admits. Sofia pauses as something strikes a chord with Sawyer, but she doesn't pry for now. She nods. "12?" She considers. Finally, the weirdest and most involved piece, is a sketch of a sweeping, classical building that looks familiar, although you cannot remember why at first. In fact, it appears to be a Colonial temple, although it is unclear if it is a specific one. Arranged equally in a circle are twelve statues - apparently displaying the twelve Lords of Kobol. They are all without faces, though. There is a blank oval where each face should be. In the center there is some sort of altar, shaded in such a way that it is stained. At the very top of the page, the words, "A dream" are scribbled neatly in the center of the paper. At the very bottom, more notes are jotted down. "All of this has happened before." Given the scale of the statues, the building is /massive/. We're talking Delphi-style massive. The building is not tremendously detailed, she didn't have the time to probably finish it. "I showed this to Mr. Rejn and he said something about ur-temples or prototype temples… but he didn't know who the altar was for."
Sawyer poises her tongue on the edge of her teeth, "We need to get her back. We need another Eleven…" The words come at a low murmur. There's a slight shake of the journalist's head, "No, the number 13. I'm not overly fond of it. Do you remember anything else she said about the number 13?" Sawyer's shifting aside her other papers, moving stuff around to free her to stand. "Let's go make copies of this now, the news room is just down the hall." Seems Sawyer isn't content to let this book out of her sight without having copes herself.
Sofia frowns and nods, "She left us with just as many questions as answers." She shakes her head, "Most of what I got - the XO mentioned it. I spoke to him about it too. Since it seemed only fair because his portrait is here, you know?" She looks thoughtful. "Okay," She smiles. "It's probably a good idea to keep those safe. I keep the sketchbook in my trunk, just because I know that there's some people who might object to it. But … she said I should have it and see it before she destructed herself and that station when I was in the away team. It kind of made me sad," Sofia admits. "And I couldn't tell you why." She just follows if she's not stopped.
Just like the sketchbook, Sawyer's not letting Sofia out of her sight. "We'll make a hard copy, and a digital copy, just to be sure, alright? Nothing is going to happen to this, I promise you that." Sawyer ushers Sofia in the direction of her office, seeming how Sawyer has claimed most of the News Room for her own in the absence of QUODEL nowadays. "So. Then tell me what the XO told you, and then I'll go back and verify with him, alright? It's important to me, though, if you don't mind…"
Sofia nods, "If anyone knows how to work with paper and not hurt it, I think it would be you and Mr. Rejn." She smiles. There's obviously a deep trust. She looks thoughtful, "Um. Well. See, we like - know there's 12 models and I'm really not supposed to tell too much but - I get the feeling that wouldn't matter now," A little grin. "It's not fair for me to start and not finish I guess," She admits. Especially not to a journalist! "But he just kind of mentioned the possibility of a 13th model and that she kind of felt sorry for it - since she thought 13 was kind of a crappy, clumsy number. Like, ugly right beside 12 you know?" She taps her chin. "I wonder if there are 13 and not 12? I hope I didn't misunderstand. It probably is best you ask, though I might get a little lecture," She blushes. Oh well. A shrug at that. Life goes on! "Or just bring the art in and ask. He'd probably give you a fresh spiel and that might be the best source honestly," She considers. "I don't mind at all. I kind of hope this gets archived and studied." She smiles. "I just kept it close because - I guess art means a lot. But it is selfish not to show others."
Sawyer heads out of the Obs Deck.
You head towards News Room
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.
Sawyer weeds in through the News room, circumventing desks and the like to a little nest of equipment back near the dark room that Sawyer has no doubt claimed as her own. On her desk, she has one of those combo jobbies, that scans, prints and copies things in low quantity and it's to that, that Sawyer gravitates. "Thirteen models implies we were wrong about our theory that there was one to correspond with each colony. Unless, of course, you include Kobol. Which means the first…or last…model is a manifestation of their God himself. Isn't that something to chew on." Sawyer starts pressing buttons until the machine starts to hum to life as the lamp warms up, and soon after, Sawyer starts making and saving copies on her computer and printing one out. "Tillman and I aren't on the best of terms, but I suppose it's time I pay him another visit."
Sofia smiles. Sawyer nest! She seems a little honored to be in here. "Maybe. That's a pretty heavy thought," Her eyes widen. "And might kind of match up with that ur-temple thing Mr. Rejn mentioned," She admits. "It seems important somehow but darned if I could tell you how," She wrinkles her nose. "I can go again sometime. He seemed kind of sad for some reason," Sofia considers. "I'm sure there's a dozen good reasons why he could be," She notes. "But it's unusual for someone like me to go to him directly." The XO is something of a figure of awe and distance. "I think he's stressed out," Is offered. "So he might not be as friendly as usual I guess. Should I see if there's books or art stuff for um, the old CO? Mr. Abbott?" She apparently doesn't feel right calling his first name. "I didn't even realize- that's so much I'm totally ignorant of. I feel small and dumb for it," Sigh. She smiles at Sawyer. "But I appreciate that insight too. It's a lot to think about."
Sawyer gives a little mmm sound beneath her breath. "Most of the crew is all to happy to be out of sight out of mind with Michael. Do what /you/ want to do, as far as he goes, not what I wish of you." She flips the page and makes a few quick keystrokes, and again the scanner is making a swipe across the page to immortalize the picture into digital format. Funny that a thing programed with 1's and 0's made a drawing that's once more being reduced to 1's and 0's. "I'll talk to Clive, don't worry about it. I've given him enough space, it's time I got stuck in his teeth again."
A headshake at that. "No. It's not fair to him. Even if he is all Cylony… no one deserves to be just thrown away. I'm not even sure why I feel sad about Miss Eleven. But … it's easy to get eaten up with hate. More than love, even. You think about revenge and oooh, the awful things you could do to someone! And it eats you alive," Sofia frowns. "I don't want that to happen to the crew I love or to the people I know." She shrugs. "On one hand, I can't blame them. On the other, what are people if we get eaten up? I wish I knew. I'm not a philosophher," She admits. She smiles at Sawyer, watching over. "Okay. And if you ever need to borrow the originals again, just let me know. There's lights all over and I've been helping with the stuff for the civilians in the hangar, so -" She's easy to find.
Sawyer flips another page, copy, flip, copy. This goes on for a few moments in silence, while Sawyer has time to chew over her own thoughts. "Thank you for bringing this to me. I'm sure the ship is divided as to how to deal with a loud mouth loose cannon like me." She finally flips the cover closed, gently handing the book back to Sofia. "I really appreciate it. Raises more questions, but…" A faint shrug. "If you remember anything else the XO told you, or something that came up in conversation with the Eleven, let me know, please."
Sofia is quiet, thinking herself. She smiles at Sawyer. "I don't - think those are fair words for you. You're a journalist. You're curious and - I guess when you think about it, the military does hide a lot. For better or worse. And you're not afraid to ask or go looking. Like, a gonzo journalist of bravery or something," She considers. Someone reads one too many comics. She accepts the sketchbook carefully. "Well. It was a bit vague. He did mention that Eleven said there were a couple more models living with us at least. But here's the kicker. After that chick who was sabatoging the pilot's birds iced herself… it stopped. Aside from the usual low bidder crap with the wires… they seem to be just kind of living peacefully with us. I wonder if it means there are others who feel like Eleven does. I'm sure that makes me sound like I want to cuddle with the nearest Cylon, but I don't. I just have a hard time - should people hunt out those living with us if they aren't hurting us?" She looks confused. "I don't even know. I wish I had more for you beyond that she thought 13 was an awkward number, felt kind of bad if a model with that was out there. It would be clumsy too." She is digging around her brainmeats. "But either way," She smiles again, "I felt that this information… you had a right to it too," She looks down. "I hope I didn't bother you too much really. But. Y'know. You're pretty cool." She's sitting in the news room with Sawyer, holding a sketchbook now. "All this makes my head turn if I think about it too long, I'll be honest."
Sawyer continues standing, but she leans over the keyboard to a laptop that's stationed on her desk. It seems as if she's currently saving files to a thumbdrive instead of the hard drive itself. "Truth be told, I think I'm a little less sane for all of this myself. Nothing but riddles and layers…I'd give my eyeteeth for straight honest to gods' truth for once. Someone to look me in the frakking eye and tell me how it is, without lacing their voice with innuendo and hidden meanings." She flashes a glance to the lingering Sofia, a smirk emerging. "Sorry. I guess you can add bitter to the list, too. All done here. I should go clean up my mess in the Obs deck." The thumbdrive, of course, is pocketed.
Sofia watches Sawyer quietly once more. She tilts her head, "I think most of us are that way. I still can't remember- parts of that night." She frowns and puts a hand to her temple, "But that's a long story." She shakes it off. "I honestly wish I had straight answers for you. I think it would be way easier if she left us some notes in the margins," Sofia smiles sadly. "And I guess it is kind of unfair for me to dump this on people in a way. Pretty heavy psychic load and all," She considers. Then a grin. "I can understand. A lot of us are really good at saying something without saying something. I'm middle management, we're /experts/," She winks. "But like I said. Art - I - really can't say why. I just felt right showing it to you and Mr. Rejn too. I think I've changed somehow and I don't even know," She admits with a nosewrinkle. "If it helps… I think you're pretty cool. And I can trust you. That probably doesn't mean much. I'm a snipe." She grins. "And I shouldn't keep you. You looked busy."
Sawyer holds her arm out, extending a hand towards the door for Sofia to lead the way out. As protective as the journalist was about the book, she's doubly so about leaving anyone in here without supervision. "You're rather cool yourself, Sofia." Once at the door, Sawyer peels away. "Goodnight, Crewman."