| Willingness |
| Summary: | Quinn wants to know if Trask is willing to be the non-interim Squadron Leader of the Harriers. |
| Date: | 19 Jan 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Manning Up (Quinn's initial request) & You Can't Always Get What You Want (Cidra makes it official) |
| Players: |
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| Naval Offices - Deck 10 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post-Holocaust Day: #327 |
| This area is set-up much like any standard office building. Cubicles have been constructed using cheap waist-high walls, their contents left neutral for whoever needs to use them. Inside each cubicle is a desk with a laptop and chair. Simple overhead lights bring dull illumination to the room except over the back wall where each one of the colonies twelve flags hangs from its own pole. Fake, potted plants dot the room and seem to be standard issue along with the water cooler and coffee machines. Off the main room are a few private offices such as that of the JAG or CAG. |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
The Naval Offices have seen better days, but being on a deck that got totally trashed by a dirty bomb will do that. Back to being structurally sound, signs of wear and tear are still evident, but that's also to be expected. At least the bad smell is gone, all thanks to the marvelous properties of a frakton of cigarette smoke. One contributing to this part of the war effort is Bootstrap, who enjoys periodic drags of his beloved Allegheny tobacco while definitely not enjoying the tedium that is a Squadron Leader's paperwork.
Quinn has been needing to speak to Trask about things for a while now and as she's back onto almost no duty, everyone just sort of waiting for the time to pop, Maggie's finally found some time to track him down in his office. So, panting just a bit from the stairs, she steps over the hatch and into the private office areas. It doesn't take long for her to waddle over to his desk. She knocks on the edge. "Got a minute?"
And by office, that means cubicle. At least it's his own private cubicle. The other desk in the area has been co-opted by the Harriers' SL since the Green Gulls no longer exist. "More than one, I hope," is quipped, the cigarette most carefully put out to be revisited once the preggo has left. "Hope you don't mind that the Cylon's redecorated a bit." With a nuke. His own personal touches include a few of Bunny's drawings. Oh, and the sign that reads:
If you don't like the way I run the VAQ-141, feel free to fill out a copy of Form WF-1. For your convenience, these can be acquired from the fluorescent pink folder next to the FR 22-102 manual atop the filing cabinet.
— LT Kal "Bootstrap" Trask
"So… what's on your mind, Magpie?"
Quinn moves around to one of the chairs in front of his desk, reaching back and slowly lowering herself into it with just a hint of a grunt. Alright. Made it down. She breathes out and gives him a somewhat pale smile beneath her freckles, sinking her back into the seat and not really sitting lady like at all, but then she doesn't do anything lady like these days. If she ever did. Her eyes flicker to the sign and she smirks, "Cute," before she looks back up to him and allows her expression to go a touch more serious. "So… need to talk to you… about if you're willing to stay on as the Harriers' SL."
While the redhead maneuvers, Trask opens one of the desk drawers and pulls out an unopened bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, the drink is offered to Quinn. "Since when does willingness have anything to do with anything?" is the wry remark.
Quinn accepts the drink with a small nod of thanks, still slightly getting her breath back. She really was big as a house. She didn't ever -dream- she'd get that big. She takes a good gulp of the water then hands it back over to him, "well… actually, quite a bit, right now. We have a decision to make… Once all of this goes well… if it all goes well… You wanted me to return to being SL. Do you still feel that way?"
A sardonic look is leveled at Maggie. "You've somehow mistaken me for a Caprican. See, when a Taurian gives someone something, it's without strings attached." Which might account for why Taurians are only generous with select people. The question is met with a question, the man reclining in his chair, hands folded behind his head. "How do you feel?" There's a vaguely flippant quality to his tone. Kal wouldn't be Kal if he didn't give a hard time.
Quinn presses her lips quietly, considering. "I feel that, honestly… it is probably healthier for the squadron for you to remain SL for the foreseeable future. I would love to return. I miss it with ever part of my being. But… I'm going to have other distractions, like a child, and a squadron needs an SL without distractions," Maggie admits. It pains her to say those things. No, literally, it hurts, a faint brush of honest physical pain crossing her face to almost match the aching in her chest. She rubs one hand against her side, trying to massage away that cramp as she focuses on the conversation.
"Aaaaand what's Cid think?" That same impassive look, although there is a flicker of a frown and a hint of concern in his eyes when Maggie looks pained. Whatever sense of anxiety and dread that is starting to surface, he at least manages to keep contained. "Look at you, fighting dirty. Threatening to go into labor." Because anything serious must be belittled. It is the Bootstrap way.
Quinn rolls her eyes, waving it off, "I'm not in labour. They're just the false ones… I think I'd know it if I was in labour." She levels a strong gaze at him and sits up a bit straighter, just wanting to get comfortable. It's not really a concept that exists for her right now. "Cid agrees… she said she'd allow me to return but… she doubts my ability to do the job. She suggested I give the child to the civilian ship if I wanted to return to the position of SL…" There is a sickness to Maggie's face at just the thought of doing that.
What else is the Bootstrap way? Bluntly asserting, "Then why the frak even have the kid?" Which is his way of saying that is an utterly dumbass suggestion. "Besides, I require easy access to my future slave labor. If she's on the Elpis, she might start getting the false notion that she has rights and whatnot." Yes, he's still going on about how he owns Quinn's firstborn. "When'd you run this by Cid, anyway? Last I saw her, she was about to give me a spanking before sending me to bed without dessert 'cuz I didn't play nice with Rudy." That being Commander Rudolph Kepner of the CEC Areion. "Promoting me might send the wrong signal." He manages to say that with a straight face. The gleam in his eyes is another matter.
Quinn considers that, "A week… maybe two ago. She agreed that you frustrate her to no end many evenings… but she seemed to feel more comfortable with you in the position than a mother. She's not at ease with my priorities. And… she's probably right. An SL doesn't need distractions." Phew. The cramp seems to have finally eased a bit, her breath just a touch calmer as she sinks back into the chair once more, fingertips still rubbing lazily across her belly. "…and you're right. I'm not putting Kallistei on the Elpis. Don't worry, you'll be able to be very near with a shot gun when the dating days come."
"She'll have sniper skills by that age." There is no way to determine whether or not he's serious. Going back to the other topic, "Well, it's not like she," that being Cidra, "has much in the way of options." Smirkity-smirk. Just like on the Victory, he trades on his usefulness and skills to get away with antics that wouldn't be tolerated in a non-shitzone. "They gonna convert those old QUODEL quarters?" Because a baby in the pilot berths is so not going to happen.
Quinn nods in affirmation, "Aye… We're working on moving in a bit now, actually. Bran and I. He's… going to help with most things. But there will be room for anyone who wants to help care for the baby for a night or two. Gods know I won't turn down the assistance," Maggie admits with a pale little smile, trying not to look nearly so nervous as she feels.
"Bran and I," he repeats, eyes widening in a ribbing manner. "Wo-ho-ho." There's more at play there, though, but with so many conflicting emotions, Trask tends to simply project the equivalent of white noise. "Well," that said a bit more clipped, the rest following smoothly enough, "we'll see what we can work out. Maybe we can find you a nanny other than Bun-Bun. Yanno, someone who doesn't have CAP." Which means Pens will not suffice. "How much leave time are they giving you, anyway?"
"As much as I need? Physically, that is. As soon as I'm back to flying condition, I'm back out there, according to Cidra." Maggie can just hope that nothing goes wrong and that -will- be possible again. She's keeping a small smile on her lips, but it's worried. "We briefly touched on trying to get permission for a nanny from the Elpis to come over, but the topic was sort of… Dropped. I suppose we'll see, when we get to that. But, you're deflecting. I came here to talk about you being SL for good. Not nannies."
Dismissively, his left hand is idly waved, which means the other one also drops from behind his head. "No. I'm discussing important stuff. Besides, what's there to talk about?" About being the non-interim SL. Kal's cavalier manner is indicative that he deems the matter a done deal, regardless of whether or not he actually wants the position. That is irrelevant. It's also not as though he, she, and Cidra didn't know that this is how it would all end up. This is an outcome he accepted months ago.
Quinn arches a brow just a touch at how easily he's accepted the matter. She finally just nods. "Very well then. I… I'm glad we're on the same page." Even if it's a hard one for her. Her daughter is worth it. "But yes, as for everything else… I guess we're just going to see how it all goes. I mean, I've got time. A few more weeks, at least. Maybe a month." If she carries full to term, which is rare at her age, especially with how big she is already!
The man threw a massive tantrum back in June. After command was officially entrusted to him in July, there was a month of scarcely speaking to his BFF. And when he actually /did/ bother to acknowledge her, it was to tell her how she and her spawn ruined his life. What more does Maggie want? It's over and done with. What is is what is. Trask pitched his fit. Just like with most every other protest, once he got his upset out of his system, he shouldered the load with nary a word, just like that. Like life. Moving forward. This, too, is the Bootstrap way. "No sense in waiting until the last minute. Sawyer has a friend among the MPs. Maybe all those background checks will yield a suitable candidate."
Quinn smirks a bit, "I somehow doubt Sawyer will lift a finger to help someone like me, but… Sure. We can think of it. You're my SL…" She gives him a half sweet smile, "So, if you want to suggest someone, I'm certainly open to hearing." Her fingertips keep rubbing drowsily against her belly, so sore and exhausted… Nothing feels good at the moment.
"Someone like you?" Leaning forward, he props his left elbow on the desktop and cradles his jaw within his open palm. "What, pray tell, is someone like you?" Needle-needle. "Someone whose boyfriend is slacking on giving foot rubs, so it befalls upon her best friend?"
Quinn rolls her eyes, "No. A colonial pilot who was immature enough to get herself knocked up and paint a bad picture of the fleet." And then, yes… might be shacking up with another pilot who is -not- the father. Maggie realizes her life is bad news cover all the way right now.
Once more, a hand is dismissively waved — this time, the right one, seeing how the left one is already in use. "Tabloid stuff." Ergo, beneath Averies. "Besides, the true magnum opus of idiocy is being fingerpainted by Command." Beat. "Although Pens totally /is/ slacking on the foot rubs. I'll have to assign them, at this rate."
Quinn gives just a touch of a groan, shaking her head to him, "You do not, Kal. My feet are beyond hopeless at this point in time. Pens is doing what he can. Cidra's just right, I can't be a distraction to him either. So… It's fine." Maggie insists, as strong and firm as she can be.
"I'm his boss," Bootstrap blithely notes. "I decide what is and what isn't a distraction." So, there. Nyah. "Strong like bull as I am, there's no way I'm carrying you back to the berths." Even so, he's pushing back from the desk and getting to his feet. The cigarette he set aside gets tucked into a breast pocket. "I should be able to help raise a barn, though." Which means a hand up and a shoulder to lean against on the way back to Deck 4.
Quinn smirks still, "I'm not -that- pregnant. I can walk still, at least." But the assistance up is much appreciated, and pretty much needed right now. She accepts the hand, groaning a bit as he pulls her to her feet, head spinning just a moment. She just leans there, breath caught, and nods. "See? I'm up. Can get back perfectly fine."
"You are so pregnant," Kal starts, much as one would tell a Yo' Momma joke, "I can't even wrap my arms around your mid-section." Good thing he only needs to loop around part of her waist. "Also: you can't walk. You waddle."
"You know, my elbow is dangerously close to both your stomach and your balls. I'd be careful with your mouth, boyo." She teases him warmly, but is still leaning heavy against his shoulder as they move for the hatch. There is another touch of discomfort on her pale face, but it's nothing to write home about, and with team work they can make it back to the bunks.