| You Can't Always Get What You Want |
| Summary: | But if you try some time, you just might find that you get what you need. In this case, Trask gets promoted and named the Harriers' new SL. |
| Date: | 22 Jun 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Manning Up |
| Players: |
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| Ready Room - Deck 7 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| With the hatches at the rear of the room, the walkways on both sides slope down towards the dais at the front of the room. The stadium seating forms a partial semi-circle around the speaking podium and provides enough seats for all three hundred members of the Air Wing. The walls are adorned with the patches of each squadron aboard and their mottos stenciled in white lettering above each one. Behind the podium is a set of large LCD screens that can display any matter of material from reconnaissance to maps to gun camera footage. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #116 |
Cidra is up and about. Still with her left arm in a sling, and likely not strictly-speaking on duty. But sitting in the Ready Room is a task she hasn't judged too strenuous. She waits now, legs crossed. Quinn and Trask have been summoned here for a proper change-over of the Harriers, and she waits for them to arrive.
An oddly sad and happy day for Maggie, considering the circumstances and the man her command is going to… but still, she's losing her job. Probably one of the best of her life. So, it's with ambivalent features doing their best to be neutral that Maggie limps her way into the room, still on her crutches but hopefully not for much longer. She leans straight as she can against one crutch and salutes Cidra. "Sir."
The man in question has evidently showered and shaved since he last saw either the CAG or his once upon a time SL. Even so, the onset of a 5 o'clock shadow is creeping across his chin and jaw, and that thermos of freshly refilled Deck coffee keeps him alert even if he looks quite worn. The ECO's tone is somewhat crisp when he simply greets, "Major. Captain." To the former, he proffers a manila folder. Tucked inside is a rather long and detailed account of events on Leonis from Trask's perspective. Even though it is formatted as an AAR, it really is just one witty, scathing, yet still insightful rant. The only person from the Air Wing who comes off with a decent performance review is Ensign Apostolos.
Cidra stands as Quinn enters. Acknowledging the salute. She's a righty, fortunately, so she's able to do most things not *too* awkwardly. So long as they can be done single-handed, at least. "Captain Quinn. As you were." She offers the other woman the barest hint of a smile. There's understanding there. "Bootstrap." The folder is taken. And eyed. But it is not immediately read. Put aside for the moment. "I suspect this shall be interesting. But. That can wait. Let us make this fast. We are none of us too loving of the intricacies of protocol. Captain Quinn, I thank you for your service to the Harriers. Of the post, you are formally relieved. I look forward to working with you in the capacity of LSO, and in whatever service you may provide to our Raptor squadrons while off the flight line."
Quinn nods curtly as she's told to be as she were. She limps over a bit closer but remains standing, listening to the protocol as the motions are gone through. A sadness tightens around her features but she keeps her lips in a tight, cool line and all emotion under wraps other than her eyes. She nods slowly, "Aye, sir. Thank you."
"Like I said," he replies to Cidra, "depends on whether or not you enjoy dark comedies." Sardonically, Trask smirks. For the record, he's also not looking at Quinn. Those regarding him, though, would get the sense that he's restless despite his stillness. There's a tension there, as though he's a captured wild animal who'd take to pacing except there's only enough room in the cage to stand.
And now to Trask. There's a small box resting on the arm of her former seat, which Cidra picks up and, somewhat awkwardly, opens. Inside are LT pins. "It would not be proper to have lieutenants taking orders from a J-G," she says simply. "Captain Quinn. I have shortage of working fingers at the moment. Would you do the honor of pinning Lieutenant Kal Trask, please?"
Quinn dammits. She wasn't going to cry, but the thought of getting to do the honour of pinning Kal's new, shiny pips on his collar is actually enough to get moisture into her eyes. She blinks against it, giving a faint smile. "I would be… honoured, Major. Thank you." She murmurs softly, reaching over for the box and carefully removing the new pip. She turns to Trask, looking him in the eye a heavy, quiet moment, almost waiting for permission before she reaches up and silently pins the pip into place.
The sardonicism that was curving one corner of his mouth flattens into a terse line when his jaw tightly sets. When Trask turns, those large brown eyes of his settle on Quinn for a weighted moment, an intensity of conflicting emotions evident in that soulful look. As she moves to remove the junior grade pins, his eyes dart to the right and remain there, staring at a point that is neither here nor there.
Cidra just watches Trask and Quinn in this. A little outside what lies between them.
Quinn sets the old JiG pins into the box now, a keep sake so to speak, and she presses her fingertips against his new, solid pip gently, "…Congratulations, Kal… I… I'm so proud of you." She whispers softly, utterly earnest. One of those tears does actually escape down the side of her cheek.
It could be worse. It could be Captain pins. Even so, his shoulders somewhat square, tense, as the weight of the full El-tee pins starts to sink in. "Yeah," is quietly said to Quinn. He knows she means it, just as he knows she's entitled to feel that way. He was an Ensign fresh out of flight school when they first met. Not even two years later, he's her successor. Trask never wanted a command, though, but you can't always get what you want. "Thanks," is murmured, eyes again returning to the redhead, because she did help him get to a point where he'd be skilled enough to end-up somewhere he didn't want to be, and the former point really means more than the latter.
Cidra waits until Trask is properly pinned, then reaches out to place a hand upon his shoulder if he allows. "Lieutenant Trask, you are now squadron leader of the Harriers. V-A-Q, One-Four-One. Have a care for those under you, and their birds. I would say not to take this as further license to call me a… 'dumbass' I do believe it was?" Her drawling accent softens the 'b'. "But in a way it is. I value your experience and your capabilities much. Even if I wish you did have more tact."
Quinn drags in a deep breath against those tears which she's forced herself to stop crying. She pulls her hand back to mop that single one away before stepping back and smiling towards both of them. "And Trask, the paper work is all caught up and waiting for you."
With her hand upon him, the CAG would be able to sense the tension in his stance. "No one's perfect," is the dry reply about the wish for more tact. Again, you can't always get what you want. At the very least, he doesn't tell Cidra that he won't call her a dumbass if she doesn't act like one. Both women have known him long enough that it really doesn't need to be vocalized. Blunt as ever, Bootstrap also notes, "You didn't say interim." That takes precedent over the status of the paperwork.
"Nine months is a very long interim," Cidra says. Assuming everyone here is In The Know about certain things. "But if you feel more comfortable with the designation being such, we shall call it that formally if you like."
Quinn frowns slightly, looking over to Trask, "9 months is a very long time to be off the line too… I don't know if I'd trust myself to take it up again. I suspect it'll be a situation re-evaluated when that time comes. But yes, Lieutenant… if that is your wish." Maggie admits with an amused, almost knowing smile.
"Please," Kal comments, his tone wry and almost chiding. "We also all know that I call a spade a spade, so don't feed me some bullshit line you think will make me happier about any of this."
"It is one of your more double-edged talents," Cidra says dryly. "But so be it, then. Let us all get to work." But she does not immediately release Trask. Rather, she leans forward. Aiming to kiss him. On the cheek. Both cheeks if he'll allow, come to it. The gesture is not romantic. There's a ceremonial quality to it, if nothing in the Colonial Military handbook.
Quinn steps back, just watching the two in respectful silence. Lips pressed, she can hold back emotion.
Trask pulls back a bit when Cidra leans in, peering at her with a sort of what the frak are you doing? look of bewilderment. No sooner than she finishes with her symbolic smooches, he quips, "You're an attractive woman, Cid, but I'm still not gonna shag you, even if that means I remain condemned to Captain pins." Which is inevitable, as they are all aware, once enough time has passed that it would be appropriate by the standards of protocol.
Cidra straightens. Snorting. "I am heart-broken," she deadpans. She has a deceptively dry sense of humor lurking under her mask of inscrutability, which Trask has known her long enough to realize. That *may* be part of the reason she puts up with so much from him. "In any case, that is that. Clear eyes and steady hands, Lieutenant. Good hunting."
Quinn gives one more salute, stepping back. "Thank you, Sir… Lieutenant." And with one lingering look to Trask, Maggie turns on her crutches, beginning to limp from the room.
"What can you do, Toast?" Bootstrap shrugs at her 'confession'. "I'm ethical and don't believe in bangin' the boss." With a straight face, he impishly bats his lashes. Thus it is that his fate is sealed. Perhaps it's Taurian stoicism, but he shoulders the newly acquired and unwanted burden with the same aplomb he handles everything else. Lifting his thermos to the CAG, he starts to depart, turning to walk backwards as he passes Quinn, so that he's facing her. "You /so/ owe me," he tells her with a mixture of seriousness and cheek. "Like, we're talkin' I-get-dibs-on-your-first-born owe me." Leveling his gaze at the redhead, he emphatically points at her belly with typical impudence, and then is out the hatch.
Quinn just smirks at Trask, shaking her head. "See you soon, LT… we'll talk." She winks back to him, but looks a bit more relaxed as she limps down the hall.
22 Jun 2041 AE
Effective immediately, Kal "Bootstrap" Trask is promoted to the rank of full Lieutenant. He shall be assuming interim squadron leadership of the VAQ-141, the Harriers, while CPT Quinn remains off of flight status. LT Trask is thanked for his service.
MAJ Cidra Hahn - CAG, CVW-14, BS Cerberus