| The Importance of Pacing |
| Summary: | Trask elucidates the importance of pacing to an exhausted Shiner. |
| Date: | 06 Dec 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | n/a |
| Players: |
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| Hangar Deck - Starboard - Midship - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post-Holocaust Day: #314 |
| This Hangar Bay is filled with boxes, crates and other various supplies that are needed throughout the ship. Most have been moved to one end and lashed with tarps to keep them out of the way. The place has gone from extra ship storage on one end and the ability to house over 450 people on the other end. Marines guard this area 24/7. One area has been tarped off to the side, that holds canvas showers and sinks. As a small improvement in the standard of living and sanitation, the Head, showers, and sinks have been hooked up to running water and sewage. Cots still fill the area formerly occupied by the Fleet's civilians, but with Sickbay out of commission they now serve as beds for patients with minor and moderate injuries. Medical staff have taken over the place and tend to those here at all hours, aided by volunteers who perform simple caretaker tasks, bring food down from the galley for patients, or simply lend an ear to those cooped up here for the duration. |
| Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close |
Shiner is over on one of the cots, fairly well sedated and generally looking vaguely confused and relaxed. He's still in his orange ovies, but frowns at the deckhead as he tries to make sense of it.
Ever since Condition Two, the acting SL of the Harriers has been getting his racktime on a cot here. It makes for him to have a good idea of who's laid-up and why. Shiner may be a familiar face on the hangar, but Trask is fairly sure this is the first time he's seen the would-be Raptor nugget in the interim Medical ward. With the top half of his flight suit sloughed off, the sleeves tied around his waist, he somewhat tiredly trudges that way, sipping from his thermos filled with his beloved Deck coffee. Stopping by the Apprentice's bedside, he deadpan cracks, "Slacker."
Shiner's brow tightens and he immediately fumbles with the zip on his overalls to do them up completely, moving unsteadily to his feet. "Sorry, sir," he slurs, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to regain his balance before opening them. "I'm not late, sir? They put needles in me, sir!" He wobbles a little, holding on to the cot to remain upright, which is enough to alert a medic to come bustling over towards the pair, face stern.
"Sit the frak down, Wright." It's the same tone of voice one might employ to tell someone that their fly is open. "To state the obvious, you need to learn to better pace yourself. Case in point? Right now." Unperturbed by the advancing irritated orderly, Bootstrap takes another savoring slurp of the black magic. "I know you wanna pitch in, pull your weight, yadda yadda, but you overextend yourself like this an' all you do is become useless until you recover enough to not be a hazard." The thermos is once more lifted. "Again, to… state the obvious." Siiiiiiip.
Shiner just stares at Trask for a long moment, sitting down as he's told to. "Sir? We're all working the same, sir," he points out. "They stuck /needles/ in me, sir!" Because that clearly explains everything. "I hate needles. We're all tired," he adds, mind drifting. "I told that marine I wouldn't sleep with her. I would, though. She's pretty hot."
Poor Shiner. He's about to get a lesson from the Bootstrap School of Hard Knocks. "I'm sure your mommy told you what a special snowflake you are, but what she didn't tell you is that some snowflakes are more special than others when it comes to certain things. Sometimes, we're even talkin' short bus special, but that's beside the point." What is the point, then? "Some people are just more resilient than others. Just is how it is. Some people have a larger gas tank, or get better mileage, or some other analogy. Sure, we all wanna get where we're goin' as soon as possible, but driving all night means frak all when you fall asleep at the wheel. When you're wrapped around a tree, the only place you're goin' is the hospital or the morgue. Savvy?"
Shiner pretty much just carries on staring. "Nope," he admits, cracking a half smile. "Besides, this is the Navy. One size fits all. You say jump, I say how high!" He throws up a wobbly salute, then laughs, lying back on the cot. "And some people just get too tired and go for a walk outside without a spacesuit. Ha ha ha!"
"Assholes could at least have the decency to not screw up anything else when then go for a stroll. Oh, but that would be considerate and who the frak is that when they're guest of honor at their pity party?" Trask snickers. Back to the other topic at hand, "Well, I'm tellin' you to sit the frak down until you're not gonna topple over. You're not some shmoe MP or someone workin' in supply. When you're a hazard, you're not only a hazard to your fellow deckhands, you're a hazard to me and mine. That means you're off the line until you're no longer a hazard." It's a mere statement of fact.
"You're a dick, sir," Shiner decides amiably, holding his hand in front of his face. Look! Fingers! Ooo. "But then everyone's a dick. I'm a dick. You're a dick. The CO's a dick. The Chief's a dick for sure. And the cylons? Dicks. Dicks, dicks, dicks."
"You're forgetting the XO," the ECO 'helpfully' notes with an impudent little smile. "His name really deserves to be on the marquee. I still get top billing, though." Because, yes, he is a dick. He knows it. And he's perfectly fine with that, thanks. Yet another swig from his thermos, followed by wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand. "I'll speak with the Chief. In the meanwhile, you rest up. And until we're back to Condition Three, what little spare time you have," for he knows that it is indeed little, "will be spent getting necessary shut-eye. And since I'm a dick, that's an order, upon pain of not being permitted in my squad if you fail to comply." Tiredly, but with winsome cheekiness, he smiles.
"What else was I going to do, sir?" Shiner points out, yawning widely. "In my copious free time. I haven't even got the energy to crack one off, sir."
"And that, right there, Wright, is why you gotta learn to pace yourself. No man should ever not be able to rub one out." Trask might actually be serious about that. "Right. I'm off to actually follow my own advice, for once." Smirkity-smirk. "May you dream of hot, busty babes makin' out with each other." That said, he turns to depart.