| The Damon Seal of Approval |
| Summary: | Leyla passes her test and gets approval from Damon to work on Raptors down in the Deck. |
| Date: | 20 Sep 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None. |
| Players: |
  |
| Hangar Deck - Port - Midship - Battlestar Cerberus |
|---|
| Post-Holocaust Day: #206 |
| The single largest rooms on the Cerberus are the hangar decks. Each flight pod consists of two stacked landing bays with adjoined decks and hangars, which along with computer-assisted landings results in a faster Viper recovery rate. Mirror images of each other, these two huge areas are located on the flight pods. The inboard sides of the deck, closest to the ship's main hull, are lined with parking and maintenance bays for Vipers and Raptors based aboard the battlestar. The outboard side of the deck contains the launch tubes used by the Vipers for standard deployment. Huge blast doors seal the deck into four sections, each one containing an elevator that leads up to the flight deck directly overhead. The fore-most section contains an elevator system that leads towards Aerospace Fabrication. |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
Damon, having received a request a while ago, has finally gotten around to clearing Leyla to be able to work on her own Raptor. His requirements are simple - he's set up a Raptor that he's tinkered around with. All she has to do is repair it back to operating standard and she's good to go by his books. No knowledge test, no lame interview, just a practical application of skills. She's been left alone to do what she needs to do with all the tools she needs for a while, so he swings back with a steaming hot mug of tea in his hand to check up on her.
Whatever else Leyla might have to do today, it all seems to have been set aside to focus on the task at hand. She's currently not in a pair of coveralls, but she's at least in her offduty sweats. Apparently, the owner of the coveralls she was borrowing on Sag wanted them back. At any rate, she's currently jammed up under the nose of the raptor, working on the mechanism that allows the LAMPS array to rotate inside its ball turret. She even continues to work, after the sight of Damon's boots on the deck approaching the ship. "Chief, I'll only be a few more minutes."
Damon rests his arm against the Raptor, looking easy and relaxed. He'd look right at home in that position with a cigarette between his lips, if he smoked. "No rush, Lieutenant," is his easy reply. "Take all the time you need. Don't matter to me how long you take to repair a bird, just that you can do it." The tea is sipped cautiously, still being hot, and he just watches her work for a moment. "This thing's a formality in my eyes, anyhow - if you say you can do it, I believe you can. Pretty sure you wouldn't want to botch diagnostics and repairs on your own Raptor, yeah?"
"No, I wouldn't. But regs are regs. And I don't think Command is going to take my word for it, even if it is your deck and not theirs." Leyla switches out the screwdriver she's been using for a smaller one, as she lifts the cover back up to cover the array, before she starts replacing the bolts and tightening them back down. "Besides, I think it'd make Bertha feel better to know you cleared me to work on her." Yes, she's talking about the Raptor she's working under. And yes she named her Bertha.
"Ain't the bureaucracy great?" Damon asks flippantly with a cheerful grin. The name 'Bertha' does make him visibly wince, though - seriously, Bertha? "What with the casualties and shortages all around, I'm glad to have any pilots who want to work on their own birds - takes just that little bit of work off our hands, y'know? Plus, it gives you the peace of mind that you worked on her yourself. I think it's win-win all around." He toasts that with his tea and takes another sip. "And, uh, Bertha will feel better about it too."
"It's the only way to go." Literally, now that the Colonies have been shot to shit. But anyways, "Don't say it like that, you'll hurt her feelings." Like many pilots, no doubt, Leyla has her own little quirks, one of which, which might or might not be shared by others, that her ship runs better when she's fully fueled, when she's clean, when she's all neat and put together. There does seem to be a sort of, even if it might be playful, humanization of the spaceframe she flies almost on a daily basis. "Well, whatever work I can take off your hands, I'll be glad to do it." The final bolt is locked in place, and Leyla slides out from under the raptor. "Just need to check the fuel lines, and I'll be ready to hand her over to you."
During his time in the Fleet, Damon's seen all sorts of strange pilot quirks and rituals. So this doesn't faze him all that much. "Aye aye," he says. "It'll only take me a minute or two to check what you did - I only frakked with four things, and if they're good, then you've got thumbs-up from me." Without waiting for her to check the fuel lines, he starts inspecting right away. One in the electrical system, one in the engine compartment, one in the avionics systems, one in the exhaust manifold. "So how long you been working on Raptors anyway, Lieutenant? Something you did on your old ship?"
"Well, you learn the very basics in Flight School, but it's mostly emergency stuff, if something's damaged or breaks in flight or when you're on a mission. But the rest of it I learned on the Stussy. We spent months away from the Colonies, and the tylium fields, such as they are, aren't the easiest places to fly. Add to that that we often has to send out deck crews to assist in repairs to the civilian ships, you sort of had to be able to do your own work. Most of the mining companies used to have the idea that just because you were out there to protect them, you were also out there to serve them." There's a smile, in Leyla's tone, as she hops up into the raptor, pulling up the hinges to open out the deck plating to work her way through the internal fuel lines, "Our deck's motto used to be, 'Make sure it ain't broke.'"
Damon listens as Leyla recounts how she came to repair Raptors, though it might not look like it to the casual observer. Not once does he look her way - he's physically occupied checking over her repairs as his mind's occupied listening to her. "That's not a bad motto as Deck ones go," he says with a grin, finally looking up at her from inside the Raptor. He's just finished checking the avionics. "I'm particular to 'Don't frak it up' and 'Don't fix it if it ain't broke'." Wiping off his hands on his coveralls, he steps out of the Raptor and gives her a thumbs-up. "Looks good, El-Tee. All systems go. I'll make sure a memo goes out saying that you've been cleared for workin' on the Deck. Have you already got a pair of coveralls and all that?"
"I like the second one. Seems like the one that governs the deck here." Which, in Leyla's mind is a good thing. Tinkering can get a bit dodgy, when you don't know what someone's done to the big Bertha. The smile in Leyla's voice drops away, as she calls back, "Chief, I counted four systems you asked to be worked on. Did you stick another one in without telling me?" It's a possibility, checking to see if she actually knows enough to check over everything, not just what people tell her needs work, "Give me a minute. This coupling's loose." But she did hear the last part, even if she finds herself a bit distracted now, "No coveralls, just a pair I borrowed on Sagittaron, but I had to hand those back in, after I washed the hades out of them." No doubt that story's gotten around. Dumpster diving FTW!
Damon's only answer is a barely repressed grin. "We don't always count good on the Deck, El-Tee," he says with a wink. "Good eye, though. Thorough." He finishes off the tea and leaves it sitting on the body of the Raptor. "Well, we can get you set up with all that gear, yeah? Coveralls, gloves, goggles, earplugs, and all that nonsense. Can't do work down here without the proper protective gear, they say." Of course, of that list, he's only wearing the coveralls. Go figure. "Or, you know, you might wanna see if there's anything in the trash that you can use." And there goes that smirk.
The coupling leading from the main fuel lines to the lines that power the FTL drive is tightened down, neither too tight to risk stripping the threads, nor loose enough that flight could jar it loose again, "I don't like the idea of flying in a bird that has problems, or could potentially have problems." Which, well, any Raptor can have, and likely will have, but at least one can try to head it off at the pass. "Nah, if a set of coveralls is dirty enough to get thrown off the deck, I don't even want to imagine what it's got on it." Once she's finished, Leyla sits back up, pushing her hair back from her face, leaving black smudges like warpaint on her face, "I'd appreciate the gear, that's for certain."
"We'll get you penciled in to get fitted and make sure you're comfortable with the stuff," Damon says, giving her a nod. "Unfortunately, I'm not sure that we got a lot of supplies hanging around in your size, El-Tee, so we might need to make do with what we can. One of our Survival Equipment Specialists, though, might be able to tailor some of the stuff to your specifications, yeah?" He gives the Raptor a nice gentle pat. "You're in good hands there, Bertha." Was that a slight hesitation before the Raptor's name?
Leyla looks down at herself. "It's the hips, isn't it? My mother always said I had breeding hips." Dead serious, in her tone, as the woman looks over her modest figure. "It certainly couldn't be my legs, which are long like a gazelle." A dwarf gazelle, maybe, cause let's be honest, she's the size of your average twelve year old. "I'm sure we'll be able to make adjustments or make due with whatever we have, Chief. I can tape up the sleeves and pants, if I have to." A beat, and a slight narrowing of her eyes, but there's no maliciousness in them, "She heard you. And you can call me Sweet Pea. El-Tee makes me feel as though I should be ordering you around. And this is your deck."
"Sorta my Deck," Damon replies sheepishly. "I still don't really feel, y'know, in control - just like I'm filling in temporarily as the interim, that's all. Feels weird when people call me Chief when I'm only a PO. I'm sure that Chief Atreus'll be ready to take charge again soon, though." If he keeps saying it, maybe he'll start believing it! "It ain't the hips. You look just fine, Sweet Pea." Oh Gods, did he seriously just say that? "Okay, that callsign really doesn't lend itself well to certain sentences," he mutters, turning a bit red.
"No one really feels in control, Chief. Hell, I don't, and I'm a JG. I just try to keep doing what I should be doing, and I let everything else follow along with it. Hell, most of the enlisted on this ship have more experience than most of the junior officers. It's only protocol that says we command over you. Another thing my mother always said, "There's a difference between being 'boss' and being 'bossy'. Sometimes, regs say I have to be one, but unless there's a damned good reason, I try not to be the other one. You've got to pick which one is which for you." An upward curl of her lips, at the comment, "No, it doesn't. Another joke at my expense from the Helos. Don't worry yourself about that, though. I knew what you meant." There's very little innuendo of that sort in Leyla's world.
Damon gives her a wry grin and rubs the back of his hair with a shrug. "Boss and bossy, that's a good way to put it. I'll hafta remember that one when I need to whip out a speech asserting my utter dominance of this Deck," he says. "And good, as long as you knew what I meant. I didn't mean that you were, y'know - er, not that you're not, uh - " When will Damon learn not to corner himself like this by speaking before thinking? If recent evidence is any indication, probably not for a long time still. "I just can't win, can I?"
"A human female?" The hatch is resealed, before Leyla moves to the console, flipping on the controls long enough to make certain that the line is flowing smoothly, before shutting it down. "I didn't realize there was a contest going on. You're fine, Chief. If it makes things easier for you, whenever I see you, I'll be sure to whip out, "Air Engineer First Class Damon. If you prefer." Leyla kneels, beginning to gather up her tools, using a rag to make certain each is cleaned of oil and such, before she slides them back into their holders. "if it really bothers you, Leyla or Aydin is fine."
"We had a contest for non-human females, but I lost that one within the first five minutes," Damon jokes. "Nah, I mean, don't pay me any mind. I respond to 'HEY YOU!' as readily as anything else, but most just call me Damon. I'm not big on rank or ceremony, as you might've been able to tell." He helps her pick up and put away the tools, cleaning them off on a dirty rag on his toolbelt which looks like it would make matters worse, not better. "Leyla? Is that your name? I've never heard that before - it's a nice name. I'm Andreas. Andreas Damon."
"I can't imagine why. With the right make-up, maybe a bit of extra padding, first runner up at least." It doesn't take terribly long for the tools to be put away, and Leyla wiping as much of the oil and grease and dirt from her hands as humanly possible. "Damon, then." As for her own name, "It's a family name. Leyla for a great-great-great aunt, Aylin for my mother, Aydin is our family name. Good to meet you, finally." Strange to think it took her all these months just to meet the (interim) deck chief as more than a body passed to and from the Raptor.
"Aye, the pleasure's mine, Leyla." Damon offers a hand for a shake - nice and respectful without all the formality of a salute. "I'll get that memo sent out right away. And I'll let you know when we've got all that stuff together for you to pick up, the coveralls and stuff, and if you need it altered a bit, PO3 Cilusia Fasi can get that done for you." He gives her a smile and a nod, picking his mug up from where he left it on the Raptor. "Hopefully, I'll get to see you down on the Deck more often, then!"
Leyla's handshake is firm and professional, before she hands tucks the tools back under her arm. They're not as nice or fancy as the ones they have on the deck, but they're servicable, and well taken care of, "Thank you, Damon, I'd appreciate that." A nod, at the name goven, "I know her. We did a rescue together on Sagitarron. Well, at least I know what she looks and sounds like." Not much time for conversation on that little pleasure cruise. "I'm certain that you will. I'll let you get back to your tea." Can't be coffee, judging by the smell. "And again, thank you."
Damon's handshake is firm - a mechanic's grip is pretty strong, after all - but not crushing, and doesn't overstay its welcome. "Hey, thank you - every extra body down here who ain't a knuckledragger helps." The Raptor is given one last pat before he starts to stalk off toward his little office. Back to the mound of paperwork that never seems to end. At least he got a nice little break to watch Leyla work!