PHD #455: Strong Hands and Kind Eyes
Strong Hands and Kind Eyes
Summary: Sawyer relays what constitutes 'a keeper'. Trask is somewhat skeptical.
Date: 27 May 2042 AE
Related Logs: Copious logs about the circumlocutory courtship of Sawyer and Trask
Sawyer Trask 
News Room - Deck 3 - Battlestar Cerberus
This compartment isn't huge by any means, an afterthought shoved into an alcove when the engineer was finishing the final plans for the ship. The long awkward rectangle is filled with several desks and those heavy pieces of machinery that are tools of the media trade — copiers, computers, printers, and of course a seemingly never-ending supply of paper of both the A4 and broadsheet variety. In the far port corner hangs a mulberry-colored hammock attached to the bulkhead — where the head-reporter-in-charge is purported to spent her nights. Three heavy desks have been moved to form an inverted 'U' for the new Editor in Chief's work station, and behind them lies the hatch to the modest closet-sized darkroom.
Condition Level: 3 - All Clear
Post-Holocaust Day: #455

Just because Sawyer isn't producing anything of Rittman Prize worthiness these days doesn't mean she's not working. Now that she's added pseudo babysitter into the mix of her life, days have become more full as she presses herself to get out the weekly fleet-wide newsletter, giving the fluff pieces the same care and attention that she poured into her epic piece regarding Leonis. Now, if only her current headache would abate enough to let her actually do that work, that'd be grand.

She's seated behind her 'U' shaped desk, reusable gel ice pack draped over one shoulder and across the back of her neck, held in place by the collar of her blouse. Glasses perched on top of her head, she's massaging alongside the bridge of her nose with fingers that ought to be typing.

Alas, not only does that headache not abate, her #1 Headache Augmenter invites himself in, with only a little beep and a flashing green light from the electronic lock console giving any warning before the wheel is spun 'round, the door is opened, and Bootstrap is striding through the hatch. The pause is only long enough to notice the reporter's current configuration, quickly followed with a wry quip, "It's as if you can sense my approach." The door is closed, locked, and left behind. "Got one for your ass, too?" he asks, smirking with self-deprecating humor as he advances.

There's a sidelong smile at Kal, but she doesn't choose to move her head just yet to look in his particular direction and disrupt her jury-rigged treatment. "Sorry, they're rationed, and the News Room first aid kit only gets one icepack. So you're going to have to choose which particular piece of my anatomy you want to be a pain in." She rolls her neck to test the tension in her muscles and finally pulls the pack away and tosses it to her desk with a plop. "I was just thinking I could use a distraction or a nap. You're exceedingly good at providing me with both."

"Why choose one when I can do both?" There's plenty of pain to go 'round, after all. With a tilt of his head towards the gel pack, Trask suggests, "How 'bout you sit on it for now, and I work my way down?" Leave it to him to lob innuendo even when he sets about to do something nice. Perhaps he won't get so far as rubbing Sawyer's ass, but he at least does get cracking on her neck and shoulders. Those heavily callused palms and fingertips do not possess the light touch of one Piers Rene-Marie, but the man can get in there with the nitty-gritty, as befits a mechanic trying to get something to loosen in a manner that won't cause the proverbial bolt to strip. Lords know he had plenty of time to practice on Quinn when she was pregnant and achy. "So. What's it you're lookin' to avoid?"

A laugh is a hard thing to get out of the blonde right now, especially when the sheer notion of it is enough to make her head throb all the more. But the laugh comes, even if it is a shrewd sharp hiccup of one. But lo, the blessed fingers of Trask do alight upon her tense shoulders, kneading into the knots brought about by a hard day's work. Whatever laughter she may have had melts into a more guttural sound of 'thank the dear lords'. She remembers to answer his question only when she can gather her wits about her. "What makes you think I'm avoiding anything?" But the tone in her voice is damnation enough.

"Ohhhhh, I dunno," he muses, rolling his eyes a wee bit, lips briefly tugged to pucker with amusement and the onset of a small smile, "Probably the part where you said you could use a distraction." Yes, it's a trite course of conversation, and he knows it. He also doesn't care. Fun is fun, and if banter isn't fun, it's being done wrong. Thumbs dig in deeper, perhaps more coaxing than the words that follow. "You wanna talk about it?" Beat. "Yanno, even if my advice is bound to make you wanna cry." Tactful, he is not, but Trask is definitely forthright and not lacking in insightfulness. More to the point, he's making an effort to be more approachable and sensitive to the plights of others. How far he'll actually succeed beyond that initial offer is anyone's bet.

"From work," Sawyer says, the smile in her voice will have to be enough, because due to the angle he can't see the one resting on her lips with her head lulled forward like that. "I'm just tired of reading supply updates and personnel reports, pretending this is the hard hitting news that people actually want to read. I would't be surprised if our news letter only gets read while in the Head, and only then because the text on the back of the shampoo bottle has been exhausted." There's an exhale that's half sigh, half noise of appreciation. "But if this is the trade-off, I'll regurgitate this drivel to the end of days."

"Dunno what to tell ya. Never much read the papers, even after I learned to read." That might be a joke. "What qualifies as hard hitting news that people actually wanna read, anyway? Maybe you should groom some celebrities. Gossip rags tend to sell, yeah?" Not overly helpful, no, but at least he keeps rubbing. "What about that one guy? The pretty boy who fancied himself a new recruit as part of research for his next film role." Yes, Trask is snickering. "He dead, yet?" Because Alexander Aurelia has been awfully quiet since Warday.

"If I wanted to peddle gossip, I wouldn't need to manufacture the subject matter. There is a whole untapped gold mine of who is doing what to whom behind the baleful bunk curtain. As to Aurelia, he is probably burying his head in shame, or fancying himself some super spy to keep out of the eye of the paparazzi. Pretty boy, but not all that much upstairs. Pity that, but they can't all be the complete package." Sawyer slips her hand up to pluck at Kal's fingers so that she can pull his hand into her line of vision. "See it starts with strong hands…"

"You really think the civilian population will be interested in the CAG's sex life? She /is/ a bit of a bed-swerving harpy," he must admit with an undeniable humor in his voice to match the mischief marking his mouth. It expands at the notion that the master thespian might be fancying himself a super spy. "Oh, man. I'd be willing to pay to watch the unintentional comedy that would be him pitching to Pewter some harebrained scheme about how he should infiltrate the skinjobs." Laugh out loud laughs, no doubt. It's then, though, that Kal feels a tug on his right hand. "Does it now?" he murmurs with a more subdued mirth. Strong, it is, but not particularly large in spite of that. It's actually quite well-formed, scars and calluses notwithstanding.

"So I'm told," Sawyer says earnestly, twisting his hand in hers so that after a turn of head she can press a kiss along the line of his thumb. "So, it starts with the hands and ends with the eyes. The parts in between are debatable, but if a man has strong hands and kind eyes he's a keeper." The blonde scoots forward on her chair so that she can pivot at her waist and look behind her to Kal standing there. "So, I have this idea…"

Listening to that, Kal can't help but remark, "Shit, Sawyer. If those are your minimal criteria, you're in serious need of better standards." Ever the pragmatist. And, in part because he's such a smartass, and in part because he's probably testing and/or self-sabotaging as is compulsory with the likes of him, he cannot help but crack, "So, which one didn't your girlfriend Marie have?" Emotive brown eyes follow the woman's movements, maneuvering his arm just so to accommodate the fact that she is still holding his hand. "Do you, now?" Have an idea. "Dare I ask?"

"Ah-ah-ah…" It's that sing song tone that becomes the verbalized cluck of her tongue. "If you want to talk about Mary, we can. Absolutely. But tomorrow." Sawyer slips out of her chair, some where along the line releasing Kal's hand so she can maneuver without turning his arm into some elaborate origami. She's only moving so she can face him, perching on the edge of her desk as her foot seeks to nudge the rolling chair out from between them. "I want to take your picture."

She didn't take the bait. This actually causes a small whirlwind of conflicting emotions that briefly flickers in his eyes. "I said Marie, not Mary… or have you frakked him, too?" Mary, that is, whom Trask has alluded to once before. The question is teasing more than biting, but there is no real way of knowing whether he's serious beneath the sass. As for the picture taking, "Um… okay." Not quite what he was expecting, but he sees no reason to say no. "Unless you're talkin' about pin-up photos. You want that, we're gonna go tits-for-tat." Yes, tits. Plural.

"Alas, I'm lacking the classic car to drape you over, though I'm sure you totally pull off the cherry print bra peaking out of the plaid midriff shirt and cut-off shorts." Mary must just be what the blonde shortened Marie to, because she's not biting on that bit of bait either. "Don't worry, I'll only get your good side." Her smile is dimpled by the depression of her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, seemingly pleased that he's agreed. Sawyer moves to slip past him, snagging his hand again to pull him in the direction of the Dark Room.

"I would so rock that," is Bootstrap's cocksure reply about the ensemble. He even briefly postures before he's being yanked into the dark room. This causes his brow to furrow with mild perplexity because he's pretty certain photographs aren't supposed to be taken in there. He's not the pro, though, so he just goes with the flow. "Uhhh, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that where pictures are /developed/ and not actually taken?"

"There's nothing in process. I haven't used this room in ages, so you could turn on a spotlight in there and not damage anything. But I want to use a pinhole camera again, and I can control the light in here," she explains as she manhandles him inside the room stocked with various chemicals and shelves and workbenches. "Just stand, you know, anywhere and I'll get set up." Her hold on him is relinquished in exchange for her equipment. Despite what she said about pinhole cameras, she's slinging her film camera around her neck by the black and red strap.

Having seen a pinhole camera, thus knowing what one looks like, he'd surely realize that what Sawyer is intending to use isn't what she said she was wanting to use. Granted, in order to notice, he'd have to be paying attention, which really isn't happening with how he's busying himself with the task of dropping trou so that he can moon the camera. After all, she'd assured him that she'd only get his good side. Har. Har.

"Huh," Sawyer says simply before raising her camera, quickly snicking off a picture while he's in process of dropping his drawers. The flash sharply illuminates the small room, leaving even the reporter herself to be blinking quickly to try and clear the flare of light from her field of vision. "Well, not quite what I had in mind, but I'm not complaining. At least I'll have a picture to keep me warm while you're out on CAP from now on." With one camera around her neck, she pulls out a stool and settles a little shoebox down on top of it. What once may have held an expensive pair of her pumps, now seems to be transformed into the aforementioned pinhole camera. "Just talk to me. Pretend the camera doesn't exist. The photos will be better that way."

"What're you talkin' about, talk to you?" he mildly scoffs. "You just took the picture." Is he serious? What's for certain is that he's pulling back on his boxer-briefs and cargo pants. And then it hits him. "Wait… what do you mean photos?" He agreed to one.

There's a soft smile on her lips, "Just sit still." And the smile turns wry. "Because if you move in the dark, you're going to hurt yourself." Without further ado, Sawyer reaches over and flips off the light, plunging the room into darkness. Because Trask's been through this with the Reporter before, he may know this means she's loading the photographic paper into the pinhole camera. "Ready?" Before he can answer, there's another flash from her traditional camera, apparently the quick wash of light from her flash is going to be the light source for the pinhole camera photograph.

"FRAK!" No, he was not ready, finding himself momentarily blind from the sudden flash of light. All the blinking and head shaking really isn't much helping, either. "Seriously, Sawyer," he sasses with perhaps just a tinge of irritation, "if you were planning on making me vulnerable to your ministrations, you should've shot that thing /before/ I put my pants back on."

There is some fumbling in the darkness, the rustle of paper and the sound of cardboard. "Close your eyes then." FLASH. There's laughter as the ghosts of this latest one dies away, no doubt making the reporter just as blind after every shot. She wanted candid, and what better way to get it right? There are more clunks and clatters across where Sawyer is situated. "Ready?" She asks, but this time there seems to be a delay in the flash.

"Does it matter?" is asked, traces of laughter in his voice despite his mild annoyance.

Instead of the shuffle of paper and cardboard, there is the movement of feet. Instead of a shock of a flash, there is the soft weight of her hand fumbling in the darkness until it finds his chest to smooth out on. It seems the blonde has abandoned her pursuit of photography for something just as intimate, and in the darkness she's trying to hone in to his face with the help of her fingertips, so that she can press her lips against his.

It takes him a moment to realize what's going on. "You told me not to move." Okay, so he doesn't immediately comprehend just why she's pawing at him. "Y'know, you could just /ask/ me to turn my head." Except it soon enough becomes apparent just why she's groping in the dark for his face. Although he doesn't pull away, Kal is somewhat hesitant, grousing, "I swear, if you're tryin' to get me all hot and bothered so you can take a candid picture…"

"Kal? A picture is the last thing I have in mind…" Which is the polite way of saying 'shut the frak up and kiss me', though he may have appreciated the more direct version just as much. Sawyer's finger traces the line that extends from the curve of his nose to the corner of his mouth, as if marking the edge of his lips in the darkness so that she can match it with her own. The kiss is hesitant at first, as if testing the bounds of how it will be received.

"Then why's the light still off?" Daft and/or distrustful. Nor does the woman's trepidation inspire much response from the man. Again, he doesn't pull away, but neither does he really participate. "Yanno, you could've just let me work my way to your ass. I could've made a few detours, if that's what you wanted."

"I wanted to take your picture. And now I want to kiss you. Are you going to complain about everything? Because really, I can work with stubborn, but I think we'd both get a bit more enjoyment if you just shut your yap and trusted me." Her teasing voice edges towards serious now, "I'm not going to hurt you, Kal. I promise. Just… let me love you." In the dark, the words are just as scary. If not for him, certainly for Sawyer herself.

"Here?" It's a genuine curiosity and puzzlement. "Isn't it a bit… tawdry?" Not that he's complaining per se… or aware that the last time Sawyer got laid it was in this very same room. Perhaps it's for the best that he's ignorant about that. All the same, considering how she's always been somewhat prudish (as far as he's concerned), the scenario strikes him as somewhat 'off'. Unless he's just misconstrued what she meant by 'loving' him. "I mean, you… you wanna frak, right?"

"I want you." Because just a frak seems too simplistic for the situation. "And honestly, I was hoping to lure you out to the hammock after a few solid kisses you aren't letting me land, here. Not that I really thought too far ahead about this situation. I mean, hoped, perhaps, that one day you and I… you're seriously frakking up my moves here, making me over analyze this. I love you, Kal Trask. So, suck it up and kiss me back."

Well. When she puts it like that, what can he say? Plenty, it would seem. "Okay, first of all," he points out in that animated, slightly manic way of his, "landing a few solid kisses in here most certainly isn't going to get me out there." Likely because he'd be busy doing in here what she'd like to continue out there. "Second of all…" Actually, he really doesn't have a second of all. The comedic look of realization that hits him is lost in the darkness, though. Shaking it off with a 'whatever' attitude, his arms eventually slink to settle around Sawyer's waist. No kiss is forthcoming, though, and the dismissiveness from a moment before is replaced with something more pensive. "/Do/ I have kind eyes?" There's nothing jocular about his tone. If anything, he sounds tentative.

There is a sort of anonymity in the dark, isn't there? Which is what may lead her to speak so freely. "When you think no one is watching you. When you let your guard down enough. It's in the way you look at Kalli or in that first look you gave me when I was brought back from the Areion." Sawyer's own hands have settled somewhere near his collarbone, in a semi-neutral position. "And when I can see those little glimpses…" She drifts off, because such blatant mushiness has never really been her forte. Finally, she just resorts back to using the unabashed truth the way she sees it: "You have the kindest eyes, Kal."

"My hands are fairly frakked up," he wryly remarks, "but you said strong, not pretty, huh?" A smirk forms, head titled to rest against the woman's own. For a moment, Trask just lingers like that. Eventually, though, he simply has to quip, "Yanno, whatever nice things you have to say about my eyes doesn't change the fact that I really can't see in here." Perhaps his vision would've better adjusted to the lack of light had he not been blinded by the flash.

"Yes, well," Sawyer's face nuzzles against his, her soft cheek rubbing against the minuscule hairs of his. She doesn't further impose a liplock on him, but rather just places one at his jawline. "Can't blame a girl for trying." The journalist takes a half a step back, presumably to go find the light to flick on, and literally shed some light on the subject. "C'mon then. Maybe I can at least finagle you into that nap, hmm?"

Thankfully, not enough hours have passed since he last shaved for stubble to have fully surfaced, but it certainly is threatening to seep through the surface of his skin. Fingers crawl to seek out one of Sawyer's hands, and the man remarks, "Maybe I can be cajoled into something more." The nap, though, is probably a sure thing.

"When you're ready," Sawyer assures him, fingers curling in his to lead him towards the wall. Even in the pitch black, she's familiar enough with her own dark room to know the approximation of where everything is in the room. Her hand only makes a few swipes at the wall until it connects with the little toggle that bathes the room in the eerie red glow. "Until then, I have a blue lollipop with your name on it. And I have a date with my bottle of aspirin, unless those massaging fingers of yours do temples, too." While he was, in fact, a distraction, there's only so far you can run from your own self, and her headache never truly went away.

Those fingers do, indeed, do those, too. Far more than that, really, but just not today. Not that the shoulder rub and temple massage he more than generously gives are anything to scoff at.

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