| The Suspicious LT |
| Summary: | Rime volunteers, Cora accepts. Neither of them like it much. |
| Date: | 11 August 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | All IIG recruitment logs. |
| Players: |
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| CIC |
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| Where stuff happens. Usually bad. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #166 |
It's the middle of shift change in CIC, which means the nerve-centre of the Cerberus is even more busy than usual. One of those slated to depart is Lieutenant Rime, her blue jacket somehow barely-creased from the long hours of work. Her hair is the true barometer of how long she's been on-duty - several strands have escaped the long plaits and are tucked behind her ear instead. One has escaped those confines as well, and bounces against her face as she strides back into CIC, her shift-change documentation freshly signed-off upon by the XO. She waits in a low-traffic spot near the doors for the arrival of Lieutenant Nikephoros, the next recipient of her paperwork.
Just last week made an Officer of the Watch, Lieutenant Nikephoros has become a more common feature in CIC, adding regular shifts on watch to her usual sporadic appearances as a result of Intel work. She arrives on time today, blues pressed, hair tied neatly back, and nods politely at her fellow lieutenant in the doorway as she nears, offering by way of greeting: "Rime."
"Sir." Square shoulders, crisp salute. Rime could be arriving for duty, instead of heading off for food, shower, and her rack. "Your shift-change papers. Everything is in order. Nothing out of the ordinary to report." She offers the clipboard out, pauses a moment, then asks in a fractionally less crisp tone, "Do you have a moment before you clock in? There is one thing I would like to speak to you about."
Cora lifts one slim brow faintly at that greeting, reaching out to take the papers Rime offers. "I'm glad to hear that," she replies, giving the papers a cursory, token sort of glance-over before looking back up from the clipboard. "Yes, I do," she nods in response, gesturing them out of the doorway and off to the side a little where she asks, "What was it you'd like to discuss?"
There are many things about Lieutenant Rime that some in Command may find fault with. Her paperwork is not one of them. The i's are dotted, the t's are crossed, every triplicate signature checked on each layer of onionskin to ensure they're all visible. "Good. Thank you," she replies, following the other woman over to a slightly-quieter section of bulkhead. She brushes the wayward strand of hair back behind her ear before she speaks in a lowered voice, "The investigational committee you're helping manage. I would like to be a part of it."
Cora does not appear to find any error in the paperwork, but then, she does not appear to really be looking. She checks to see if she needs to sign it, and if so, signs with a quick, lazy scribble. The conversation at hand holds far more interest, and she crosses her arms around the clipboard to hear it. It does not seem to draw surprise, and she simply nods at the request. "Very well. I assume you understand that it is classified at the highest level of secrecy, and so neither its existence nor its purpose is to be spoken of with anyone outside of official meetings?"
"Of course. Perfectly understood." Rime's stance doesn't change, nor does her voice change from that lowered yet casual tone. An out-and-out Intelligence Officer would be best at this sort of role, naturally, but a strategic planner can do quite a fine job at 'carry on, nothing to see here', too. "Is there anything to be done before the next meeting?" No assumption that she has made it in on the ground floor.
Cora nods, "Good." And yes, she is good at making it seem like they're just chatting about nothing in particular, her posture as good as ever but somehow faintly bored. "No," she replies, "There's no preparation necessary. We'll be starting somewhat from scratch in many ways."
"It's a fine line between caution and scapegoating." Rime folds her arms across her chest, her blue-green eyes steady and very serious. "It's going to be difficult." She doesn't really sound like she's trying to dissuade the other woman; the subtext seems more to be: but it /needs/ to be done. "Unless there's anything else? I'll await your scheduling message."
"I'm not interested in scapegoating," Cora says evenly, "I'm interested in catching the actual guilty parties. It will certainly be difficult. In many ways." Her gaze, just blue, is equally steady, equally serious as she meets Rime's for a silent moment, and then shakes her head. "No, that's all unless you've anything else. I'll be in touch."
"Sir," Rime repeats, snapping off another quick salute as she does. "Until then." She pauses for the smallest of moments, watching Cora with a keen, appraising curiousity, then nods to the other woman and exits through the main CIC doors.