| What's the Move |
| Summary: | Kincaid touches base with Sawyer and helps her with her next moves. |
| Date: | 17 October 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Let's Run the Tape |
| Players: |
  |
| News Room — Deck 3 — Battlestar Cerberus |
|---|
| This room isn't huge by any means, but it does have all the updated equipment and a small news staff that runs the area. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #233 |
Same chaos, different day. Nothing much changes in the news room save a stack of papers may have been moved from here to there, or this computer is humming instead of that one. Sawyer is typically a woman of action, always having something that she thinks needs her attention and she pounces on it until the point of exhaustion. It might make it all the more odd that a woman of action is in a state of definite…inaction. She's seated at her desk, her pantyhose clad feet propped up on the edge sans shoes. Instead of vigorously pecking away at the keys of her keyboard, she's occupying her hand by bouncing a pencil against her mouth. The eraser taps the pad of her bottom lip, while she stares off into nothing.
"What's your move on the freighter?" Hi, Sawyer! Good to see you. How are you doing? No. That's Kincaid. 'What's your move on the freighter.' He's in his Military Police uniform, but the top few buttons are undone. Casually off-duty. He has his steno pad in hand, clicky-pen in the other. "Because there are going to be some decisions needed soon."
"I haven't had a chance to go over and tour it yet, I've sort of gotten swamped in a bog of eternal stentch." Just like that, Sawyer switches back on from whatever 'off' setting she was toggled to, and the pencil is tossed to the clutter of her desk. Stocking feet slip off the desk with a whisper of synthetic material. "Housing needs to be assigned according to family size. A greater version of our volunteer work force needs to be implemented. A civilian police force needs to be organized after thorough psych evals and background checks - as thorough as those can be, given. And committees need to be assembled to manage it all. Assuming, of course, that's what you mean by 'move'."
"Civilian police?" asks Kincaid. "The Major's planning on having Marine fire-teams to start with. I'm lobbying for Dog platoon — those that enlisted after the bombs fell — to take point, but we'll see how that goes." He perches himself on the side of her desk, looking down at his pad. "My take? First priority is arranging for civilian work teams and see who has specialty skills. It's going to need a ton of cleaning and repair. And the more you can step out and have civilians work on it, more respect you get. And you need to have teams in place and ready to go for when they get the ship in orbit with the Fleet, or else the Fleet's just going to roll right over you." A pause: "Bog of eternal stench?"
"Yes. I have to realize I can't please everyone." That's all Sawyer gives him about the bog, quieting as she chews on the inner pad of her cheek while she mulls this over. "Undoubtedly, it'll have to be the marines in the beginning. Eventually, however, I'd like to think they have better things to do than protect us against ourselves. I think a permanent deployment of marines will be necessary, however, as a first response team in case of a hostile boarding. Hostile boarding…" She repeats, then gives a small laugh, and a tiny shake of her head. "Work pride. If the civilians are allowed to work on to fix and clean their new home, they're more apt to take better care of it in the long run. Sort of like building your own home from the foundation up. I'll start finalizing committees immediately."
"Yes. I have to realize I can't please everyone." That's all Sawyer gives him about the bog, quieting as she chews on the inner pad of her cheek while she mulls this over. "Undoubtedly, it'll have to be the marines in the beginning. Eventually, however, I'd like to think they have better things to do than protect us against ourselves. I think a permanent deployment of marines will be necessary, however, as a first response team in case of a hostile boarding. Hostile boarding…" She repeats, then gives a small laugh, and a tiny shake of her head. "Work pride. If the civilians are allowed to work on to fix and clean their new home, they're more apt to take better care of it in the long run. Sort of like building your own home from the foundation up. I'll start finalizing committees immediately."
"Whatever gets 'em going. But the thing the Navy has over you is that people move when they're told to move; it's not a great deliberative body. So you need to be set in advance." Kincaid taps his pen lightly against his pad. "Anyhow. How are you holding up? I mean, personally." He takes out a pack of cigs, offering the open end over to his — friend? Whatever she is.
Sawyer leans forward, steadying herself on the edge of the desk to brace herself against the shift of her center of mass, her other hand reaching for the offered cigarette. "I'm taking a lesson my mother taught me when I was a child, and quickly learning to apply it to politics: Never let them see you cry." She ticks up a little smile, that settles serenely at the edges of her eyes. Kincaid calls her on her shit and sticks around to make sure that Sawyer gets back up and dusts herself off. If not a friend, than what else?
The other hand comes out, holding a lit lighter to light her cancer stick. He takes one for himself as well. "Yeah. It's a good lesson. But it doesn't mean you shouldn't cry at all." The former reporter sighs. "We've picked up some new Marines. Real meatheads. Oo-rah and all that shit. Rifle background."
Sawyer settles back when her cigarette is lit, lips puckering around the stick as she takes a deep inhale. There may or may not be a sympathetic wince in there for Kincaid. "I always fear the most enthusiastic ones, but help is help." She's taking another quick drag, but seems to remember something mid inhale that has her going 'mmm mmm mmm' with the notion until she can actually verbalize. "That reminds me." She pauses long enough to expel the rest of her lungful of smoke, lips canted towards the ceiling. "I ran across a civilian reporter down in the hangar bay, I was thinking of bringing him on as my assistant to help me juggle all these tasks. A Sylvester Jackson. I need to see if I can get him clearance to come up to Deck Three as part of the civilian workforce."
"Sylvester Jackson. Why the frak have I heard that name before? Print reporter? Because if he's television, I'm going to have him running in so many circles chasing his tail —" Kincaid may be kidding. Maybe. But he's a print journalist through and through. He takes a drag on his cigarette, even as he scribbles the name down in his pad.
"He's a face, unfortunately. I know, I know…but I trust you and I can look past the news anchor disease. I trust he has some modicum of talent besides just a dazzling smile. Besides, maybe he'll help me win the popular vote, hmm?" She reaches out to tap her cigarette on the edge of an ashtray, knocking off a column of grey that's beginning to form.
A pause. "All right. I'll pull his jacket out of the pile of background checks and make sure he's my top priority," promises the Military Police officer. He blows out a puff of his cigarette. "Get him creds to get up here. Should be fairly easy."
The full brilliance of Sawyer's smile blooms on her lips, a wide expression on her face. "You're my hero." There's another pause, a slight falter in her smile. "You'd tell me if I were really stepping in it, wouldn't you? Because I honestly don't believe I could do this without you."
Kincaid takes a deep breath, letting out a puff of smoke. He's considering his words. "Do I know if you'll be able to pull this off? I have no idea. It's going to be a bitch and a half to do, Sawyer. But you? Are the only person actually thinking about civilian government besides bitching about it in your off time. And I respect that." He then leans down and smiles at her, a big full smile. "Besides. I'm sucker for cute girls in need of help."
Sawyer's smile twists more into a smirk at his last line, a 'heh' of a smile escaping. "Good. Because I still want you to keep in the back of your mind, that if we ever get as far into as developing a real government, I'm going to need you by my side. Full-time, mind you. I'm not looking forward to /that/ conversation with Command."
"Really now?" Kincaid laughs and settles back. "Well. If you say so, Sawyer. But remember: It's useful to have someone on the inside. People will want to rush to your side. But who's going to get your background checks done when I'm some suit in the civilian government?"
"Now, see, that's where I'm trusting you'll develop some friends from your stint in the MP's, and thusly have someone you trust to do those things for us, Vice-President Kincaid. Not to put the cart before the horse, of course. There's still a long way to go before we get there, and even then who is to say my nomination would be well received. I'm more concerned right now with the good of the people and a committee structure will better serve them for the time being." Sawyer leans back in her chair and looks at the ceiling. "Here's to hoping against presidential assassination attempts.
"Yeah. Well. We'll see how it goes, huh?" Kincaid's the cynical one. It's natural he'd not necessarily be clamoring all over the 'Vice President Kinciad' stuff. He stamps out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. "Anything else I can do for you?"
Sawyer pitches back forward so she's sitting up properly. "You're a good man, Daniel. You've done more than enough already. Just keeping me grounded is a feat within itself. Thank you for looking into Sylvester. Let me know if there are any red flags I should be wary of, but right off the bat it seems like he's a washed up pyramid player who went to news because he couldn't give up the game. Don't quote me on that, of course."
"Look at me, then." Kincaid pushes back and stands up from his perch on the table. "What does it mean that I covered the military for a living and then joined it? Sort of backwards, there." He leans down and gives her a somewhat ironic smooch on the cheek. "You hang tight, Sawyer. We'll talk soon."
Sawyer smiles at the kiss to her cheek, eyes closing briefly at the contact. "Of course. Thanks for stopping by, it was a pleasure as always." Her hand raises to squeeze his arm gently before releasing him to get back to whatever it is he does when the hatch closes again.