PHD #427: The Law and the Letter
The Law and the Letter
Summary: Canceran venting.
Date: 29 Apr 2042 AE
Related Logs: Formal Protest
Constin Khloe 
Athletics Area - Deck 12
A large pair of mats dominates the center of this room, their centers taped-out for a small area to practice boxing or other martial arts. Around the outside are treadmills, bikes, weights, and an impressive variety of gym equipment to help tone and shape the bodies of the crew. To one side of the room is the locker room while at the rear is a hatch that leads back to the oversized swimming pool. Off to the side is a rack that holds boxing gloves, pugil sticks, and the associated pads for the sticks.
Post-Holocaust Day: #427

Going on two months since his right hand was rebuilt, and fresh out of the gauze and stitches from the recent action, Constin has at long last returned to the Athletics Area to let off some steam. Long neglected gym bag clutched in hand, the big marine takes a short look around the workout area as he steps toward the heavy bags.

Just finishing up her rehabilitation PT, Khloe is stepping away from the weights area, where she had been working on her leg extensions. Dressed in sweats, the Captain is headed over to where her bag sits off to the side, reaching for a towel. Taking time to mop at her forehead and around her neck, she spots Constin coming in. "Gunnery Sergeant," she calls out, lifting a hand in greeting. "How's the hand?"

"Captain," Elf returns evenly, making a greeting motion with the free hand in question. "The least pissed off part of me, right about now, sir," he mutters, dryly. as he drops the gym back against one wall, sets the water bottle out and brings out the twin rolls of worn, rolled up cotton handwrap, starting into the well practiced pattern of stiffening up his wrists and reinforcing his hands for striking.

"I haven't seen you put tape on in a while. Must be better," she comments, draping the towel around her neck and strolling over. "Things are just starting to get back to normal routine." Khloe folds her arms across her chest and watches Constin tape up. "I can spot for you, if you like."

Constin nods once. "That's damn sure the hope," the Gunnery Sergeant mutters. The offer to spot draws his eye up from the hand-wrapping to meet Khloe's. He nods once in thanks, before looking back to the hands and proceeding. "'Normal routine' ain't hardly what is used to be. Damn sure ain't what it oughta be," he adds a moment later as he experimentally flexes his fingers in and out of a fist.

Khloe tugs the towel down from around her neck and gives it a toss back to her gym bag. "Not sure what you mean," she says, heading over to the hanging heavy bag, which she gives a tap of her own - her hands are not taped so it's not a good hit. Just to make it spin. "Those mutinous Areion jagoffs are gone, the Cylons are off our ass… normal CAP, normal paperwork, normal daily training. Works for me. I'll take it."

"Seems like every time we take a hit.. somebody new decides it's a good idea to relax a little bit more," Constin mutters, in clarification. First light experimental taps of a closed fist into the opposite palm repeated for each hand. Stretching his shoulders in a slow roll, he lightly begins warming up his arms, stretching out to full extension and touching the heavy bag as it spins, still not throwing punches of any force. "Just had to put in the first formal protest of my damned career."

Khloe traces her index finger on the spinning bag, and then when it spins back, she stops it with both hands. "Ready to go a round?" She inquires, taking a wide stance and preparing to shoulder the bag so the larger man can have his way with it. "Protest, hmm? Well, in the finest Canceran tradition, go ahead and vent your frustration with physical violence. Just don't miss the bag." Smirking, she places her shoulder against the bag. "And usual rules apply, don't name names."

Constin snorts in bullish humor at the 'finest Canceron tradition' nodding once to the notion of going a round, and their standing rule about names. As he starts in, both with words and fists, the punches begin very light. Contact is made, form is good, punching technique is tight and swift, just not as much muscle put into the movements. "Got a couple breaks in an old case.." *jab cross jab hook* "But some folk got this frakking pet project.." the force gets very slowly, cautiously dialed up. "Involves taking a case involving military personnel.." *cross jab uppercut* "Aboard a military ship, in a time of war.." *jab jab cross* "And let a lot of civvies decide what happens."

Khloe puts her back into it when the Gunny starts picking up in intensity. "If I start seeing blood, we're stopping," she announces, eying his recovered hand. "But keep it up, don't go too crazy." She lets the Master at Arms give the bag a few more taps before commenting, "Civilians belong on the civilian freighter. That's why we refurbished it. Only reason why civilians should be in military business is if the incident crosses the lines and involves parties from both sides."

Constin frowns at the double-jab, continuing to bounce on his toes as he briefly shakes out his right hand twice, before resuming both punches and words. "Frak that, sir. Elpis may be full of civvies, but it's a vessel of military salvage, answerable to a military Battlestargroup, under martial law. The damn crime happened aboard the Cerberus, anyhow," he growls, nodding once to the warning of blood calling off the sport. "This shit goes against every regulation we got on the books.." *cross jab hook hook* "And I'm going out of my frakking mind trying to figure why nobody else is raising a fuss about this." Again, the irritation results in a slight, slow dialing up of power behind the punches. "This shit- if they pull it- is against every code in the damn book. And on top of breaking regs, it'll hamstring the Military Police. And I don't-" Jab. "Know-" Cross. "Why." A forceful lead hook that results in an explosive curse, cut off by clenched teeth as the big man shakes out his right hand again.

"Easy, take a break," Khloe states firmly, coming up off the bag and rolling her shoulder. Seems Constin's round was pretty good. "You're not giving me much to go on, Gunney. But I guess you're not naming names. That's fine. I don't want to know." Frowning in concern, she eyes his hand. "No point in frakking up your hand again."

"Shit," Constin rumbles with a shake of his head as Khloe sensibly cuts him off at the bag for a moment. Taking the time, to loose the wraps and re-tighten the right hand for more support, he mutters on. "There ain't a damn thing you can do to change it. And anything I could do, I've done. Biggest frustration in Lords-be-damned world to see something so frakking clearly.. and all the folk around you of a different mind. Cutting corners at the end of everything ain't gonna help none. There just ain't any way that you can get MORE law and order by ignoring rules, just because it feels easier." The motions winding the wraps tighter to his right hand cut off, and he lets the cloth go slack. A breath drawn and let out, before he growls, "Can't box no more. Doctor said so, didn't wanna believe it. Said the hand bones been busted too many times. Even with the titanium and shit, just cant take the shock no more."

Khloe nods slightly, stepping out from behind the bag. In a rare sign of trust and concern, she reaches out to take the affected hand. "Then follow the rules, Gunnery Sergeant, and don't let the rules go slack because it would be easier or feel easier," the Captain says to him, a hint of a grin on her lips. She pats the hand in a show of affection, then lets it go. "Sergeant, there are going to be folk who follow the rules. Law and the letter. That's you, me. We'll do it until the day we die. We'll get odd looks as more and more regulations go slack; it began with the frat rules, y'know." Shrugging lightly, she says, "Don't stop barking."

"Shit," Elf repeats with a dry sniff as Khloe cites his own rant. A shake of his head as he unwinds the wrap, for the last time. "Hell, the day I quit barking is the day I go in the ground." A nod to her mention of frat, "Yeah, and once they opened the floodgates.. Frak it all. No pun intended," he adds a moment later, after hearing the words out loud. The ire is gone from his voice, if not his face as he peels off the length of well worn cotton around his wrist. "I've swallowed a lot of shit on this boat. Folk cutting corners, making exceptions, discarding regs. And I allow it because they got the rank, or they got 'special dispensation', or whatever else. But this?" He turns an eye up to fix on Khloe's. "Got a real sick feeling this is the end of military law. And it makes me.." He searches for the word, before settling on a tight, "So. Mad. That all I can do about it is bark."

Khloe lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. "And it doesn't matter, Elf," she says, giving a final thought on the matter. "Good soldiers live and breathe duty, service, and regulations. Bad soldiers look forward to the time when they can sit in a rocking chair and reminisce about how they were a hero. My Knights know not to pull this crap, because I don't tolerate it. I'm in a position where I can dictate policy, unless Ma- er, Colonel Hahn overrides it." She stumbles on Toast's rank. It's new, after all. "She's only overridden me a couple of times." She tilts her head with a slight smirk. "You could always take the OCS test and become an officer. We need more no-nonsense officers."

Constin sniffs dryly. "And I interpret military policy for this boat, until I get overridden by Ma- er, Colonel Willows." He mimics the faltering so well it might be genuine. "Which is what's happening, now." He gives the heavy bag one last good hook with his healthy left hand, setting it to swinging about on the chain with a clatter, before peeling the handwrap off of his dominant left hand as well. "Heh. Oh-Cee-Ess. You know, I completed the training for that last year?" he drawls, with a raised eyebrow. "Then O'Hare offered me Master-at-Arms. We have good officers. We needed an Em-Ay-Ay. So I turned down the commission." A drawn breath and a tight grin in answer to Khloe's smirk. "Besides. Somebody off of Canceron still has to work for a living, yeah?"

"Frak you, Sergeant. I'll push paper and deal with jarheads all day in exchange for you going out in my Viper for CAP," Khloe offers. "And when you're hugging the deck, and alternating kissing it and losing your lunch on it, I'll be living up the easy life in Marine Country." She then gives him a quick wink. "Master at Arms. Sounds fun."

"Heh! Hell, being a pilot don't seem too hard," Constin rebuts, with a short chuckle stirring his throat. "I already got more confirmed enemy fighter kills than a bunch of your Knights. But then I'd need to give up Halos and such, so no thanks." He gives a slow, sage nod with the affectation of gravity in answer to the quick wink.

"Mmm. Halo. That was fun," Khloe reminisces, having taken part in the halo training from several months back. "Marines have all the fun. That's probably… why…" Frown. She cuts herself off. Mumbling something like "never mind," she turns and heads over to her gym bag to reclaim it and take it up. "I got duties, Sergeant. I'll catch you around, hmm?"

Constin grunts wordlessly and nods as Khloe withdraws. "Pass on my best," he voices in response to the 'never mind'. "Yeah, I'll catch you around, Captain. Obliged for the words."

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