| When It Rains |
| Summary: | Cidra drops by to see Sawyer and brings news of another dream. |
| Date: | 13 Dec 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Any of this dream/serpent/sparrow foo. |
| Players: |
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| News Room |
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| 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: #290 |
When all else fails, get violent. At least that's the frame of mind the reporter seems to be in. She's at her desk, currently beating the ever loving tar out of a bottle of aspirin that she couldn't apparently get open any other way. Right now she's got the bottle laying on it's side, and she's taking her stapler to it like a hammer. WHAM. WHAM. With each blow comes a flinch, as the noise probably isn't helping the headache that requires the aspirin in the first place.
Cidra hears the sound of banging as she approaches the Newsroom. This is a cause for concern, naturally. "What is going on in there?" calls Cidra's voice from the outer corridor, steps quickening in case violence is afoot.
"I'm teaching this…" Wham! "…piece of shit…" WHAM! "…a lesson!" About the time that Cidra makes it to the open hatchway, Sawyer happens to catch the edge of the lid just right, cracking it. In a spectacular fashion, there's a veritable explosion of little white pills that splay out in every direction and it starts raining tablet-sized hail.
"Oh my!" Cidra exclaims, the shower of pills making her jump making her stop short and gawk for a moment. She approaches to investigate the scattered medication. Kneeling to pick one up. Sniffing it. Touching her tongue to it. "Aspirin." Does she sound a touch let down? Perhaps. Blue eyes tick up to Sawyer. "Are you feeling all right? Why are you assaulting your drugs?" She's in flight gear, for her part, sans helmet, with the generally sweaty and mussed look of one who got out of the cockpit not long ago.
Thud. That would be Sawyer's forehead dropping to the desk with a little 'heh' of defeat. "I swear this day has to get better. The only place left to go is up." Her hand reaches out blindly, slapping down on the desk in a patting gesture until she finds two of the little pills, and then the hand disappears beneath the curtain of Sawyer's hair as she presumably takes two of the aspirin. With a groan, she straightens back up, rubbing her forehead ruefully. "Because they were asking for it. What is it about flightsuits?" Sawyer muses aloud, "Only damn get-up that can make sweaty look sexy. What can I do you for, Major?"
Cidra keeps the pill the licked, assuming Sawyer will not want it back, popping it nonchalantly. It's probably good for her blood circulation. A snort at the 'sexy' remark. "Of that, I am not so sure. In my view men fill them out better. I just returned from Tauron. More survivors today. A trickle, but any more is worth the effort. And still no sign of Cylon presence. I was off when my Raptor touched back down and thought I would come by and say 'Hello.' Hello. You did not answer my query. Are you unwell?" There is actual concern lurking in her inscrutable tone.
Sawyer waves off the concern with a little flap of her hand, "Just a headache. I need to get down to see Doctor Adair, he's a civilian contractor, he's supposed to be finding me a pair of reading glasses to help with my eye strain. And until I get them, I'm supposed to knock off silly little things like, you know, working." The reporter looks around to the aspirin confetti, but silently seems to vow to pick it all up later. "I'd ask if you want a drink, but of course you do." A little key gets twisted in her lower desk drawer, and she pulls it out. Along with the clunk of bottles, there's a rather expensive purse tucked down in there. She picks a label at random and pours for them both. "So you've heard about the dream, right? Did I tell you? No. That was Cora." The dialog with herself is a true indication of her headache. "Well, if you heard about it in any detail, then I'd have to tell you that it was like following a damn script when we visited Knossos. The dagger pointed towards to the Southeast, hence my new concern with that destination. How's about you get me into that Map room, hmm?"
"Have you considered smoking more?" Cidra suggests, perfectly seriously. "I have a bit to spare if you would like some. I am endeavoring to cut down a little, for my part, but it eases the temples quite nicely." Chances are she isn't talking about her stash of cheap Picon cigs. "Ah, yes. Doctor Adair. He does seem to know his business. He showed me how to make some quite potent tea when I was having difficulty…sleeping." Meaning, her recurring dream about frakking a skinjob. Probably that. "It has been…moderately helpful." Moderately. "I would like a drink, thank you." She stays kneeling, idly picking up the pills. "The dream of Knossos? We have not talked on it, but I have heard tell of it. Two of my pilots experienced the same occurrence. Very strange. Powerful, shared dreams, and not the first that have been had aboard this ship. Fearful strange…"
"There have been others?" Ooh yeah, that's not really sitting well with Sawyer. The look is plain as day on her face. "I think I'm going to need that smokey treat afterall." Assuming that the CAG doesn't have it on her just off duty, Sawyer paws another aspirin off her monitor and yet a fourth off a stack of papers. At least these she washes down with a swig of clear alcohol. "Who?"
"I shall bring you a bit after I shower tonight," Cidra says, continuing to tidy the pills until she's mostly retrieved them all. They're dropped carefully back in the bottle. "And yes. Have you not heard? I should perhaps speak to Captain Nikephoros in Tactical about it. Or at least direct Bunny and Splash to her. My Lieutenants Doe and Malone? Bunny told me he and Splash experienced one not long before we embarked on our search-and-rescue mission on Sagittaron. It was…they, an enlisted Marine, Major Willows-Cavanaugh and a nurse in Medical. They all supposedly dreamt of a place on…Gemenon…" She says the name of her home colony soft, accent wrapping oddly but musically around its syllables. The 'G' is always pronounced softer by her than by non-natives.
Sawyer takes all this information in with a worry of her fingertips over the faint lines in her forehead. "Where were they? The location of their dreams on the surface, I mean? Was it Lampridis Falls? The old man in our dream mentioned the name, and Wade said it was on the surface of your Colony." She watches Cidra's tidying efforts, murmuring a quiet 'thank you' as they're poured back into the bottle. Waste not, want not.
"Lampridis Falls, yes. Or so they said. None of them had ever visited Gemenon." Is there a touch of bitterness in Cidra's tone? "None of them were even true believers, yet the gods chose to visit that upon them." Yes, yes there is. "Bunny mentioned meeting an old man there. An old couple, actually. And something of sparrows…which was much like what Drips described to me of his…and your…experience." The drugs safely returned, she sees about getting that drink.
Sawyer reaches out to Cidra's arm, touching it lightly when the CAG goes for her drink. "You know, we're not even sure where these dreams are manifesting from. There is even suspicion that the Cylon we had in captivity some how projected these things into our minds. I don't wish it on anyone…believer or not."
Cidra sips at her drink some, then says, "It does not matter. I have never been attuned to such. I thought I felt *something*, down on Sagittaron. In the caves with Bootstrap, when we went to see the Hades cult. But I…it was just touches. Brushes. I half-believe those spirits followed us back from Sagittaron to the Head. For a time I thought it was they that were responsible for my own…dreams…" More drinking. "…but now I do not know. Well. Some commune easily with the spirit world. I never have." Eyes narrow at mention of the Cylon. "Do you believe that? I have heard it is given to spouting monotheistic blasphemy. Do you think those creatures can…project like that?"
"I'm not entirely sure what to believe. I can tell you before I stepped foot on the Cerberus, that ghosts didn't exist, crazy dreams only occurred after some seriously spicy food and never manifested to the waking hours, and I sure as Hades never gave a frak about people unless they got me one step closer to my big story. Now? Here we are. Any damn thing is possible." Sawyer polishes off her own drink, but doesn't move to refill it. "Maybe I should turn in, I can't think straight with this pounding in my ears."
"See about those spectacles," Cidra advises. "I shall be by in the morning with something from my personal stores. It is quite good. I have just been…neglecting some things, I do think. A bit of a break is in order." She does finish that drink, though. "Oh. Bootstrap might have something as well. He has been quite involved in salvaging efforts on Wreath-of-Roses. The estates there had some finer-stocked medicine cabinets."
Sawyer smiles a bit blearily, but as she's only had the one drink, it's easy to say it's not from the alcohol. "He already brought me a purse. Nothing like a little retail therapy, hmm? Sleep well, my little CAGling, I shall see you tomorrow."
"CAGling?" Cidra blinks. Processing that nickname. She knows not quite what to make of it. Not that she objects. "Ah. Well. Sleep well as you can, Sawyer. I shall see you on the morrow." And off she goes.