Begging For Nothing
Begging For Nothing
Summary: Damon makes one attempt to get off of his leash.
Date: PHD223 (11/28/2009)
Related Logs: None

The scenery rarely changes for Damon Cavalera. It's his off duty hour and after a long workout at the gym he's retreated in silence back to the bunk that he calls his home. The bunk itself is without a single shred of personalization save for his name, and if not for that it would appear completely unclaimed. Laying on the bed, the prisoner turned soldier gazes at the roof of his bunk while smoking a cigarette as his eyes trace little designs into the plating above him.

The hatch opens, and the S2 walks in, hands free of complicating items such a weapons or paperwork or coffee. She does wear her sidearm, as usual, on her right thigh, but it's buttoned into the holster. A couple of Pvts clear out when she shows up, but the berthing remains pretty quiet. Salazar walks down to Damon's bunk, her boots audible against the decking. She's making no attempt to be in any way sneaky, just direct. "Make room." And then she slides in to take a seat on the edge around knee level.

Pulling one of his knees back as Salazar approaches, Damon slips his elbows underneath him and pushes to a recline. Once there, he slips the cigarette between his lips and reaches to the small bar near the outside of his bunk. His muscles flex as he pulls himself up, shoving himself to rest against the back wall. "Sir." Damon says, having learned a new trick. It's a new trick that also involves him offering her a cigarette from his pack.

Salazar takes a seat on the edge of the bunk, glances at her watch, then tips back against the back wall, sliding in far enough that anyone just casually walking in probably wouldn't be able to identify her. She glances over. "I'm off duty. Now talk." She takes a cigarette, then slides a little metal lighter from her pocket. It's not hers, hers was a CMC lighter.

Damon watches her in silence for a moment, mentally switching gears from his lounging state to the mindspace he uses for maneuvering socially. Taking a long pull from his cigarette, he sighs the smoke out into the alley between the bunks. His voice is low, reserved just for their conversation. "I want some breathing room. I'm good enough to die for these people the least you can do is let me access the game room."

"That might be an option if you didn't disobey orders directly, then get reamed by the CO. You're lucky you're even out of the brig, Cavalera." Salazar light her smoke, taking a moment to puff to be sure it's lit. She snaps the lighter closed, then tucks it into her pocket. "You knew the stakes when you came in. You frakked up."

"I'm not allowed anywhere but where I am because of my conviction that you of all people know is false." Damon replies, extending his arm to the side to ash his cigarette. Bringing it back to his lips, he takes a small pull from it before resuming. "I can live with how things are, but you know there are people here that have freedom they don't deserve." Damon replies, defiant as always. "Look Salazar…" He starts, pausing to collect his thoughts, giving her time to interrupt.

Salazar smokes quietly, her dark eyes on the convict. She doesn't interrupt him while he speaks. There's a slight gesture from her for him to continue, just a motion of her fingers.

"You, me, Scorpia…there's a lot about it that's all in the past." Damon replies quietly, glancing towards the rest of the berthings while he slides his knee towards him. Balancing his arm over his knee, the cigarette dangles as he speaks. "But be it sleeping in the back of trucks or doing shots after a sale back home, you're a liar. Last I checked I've been far more honest with you in my lifetime than you've ever been to me. I came here knowing they might execute me and don't think I didn't see that look on your face when I told the CAG that I wasn't a cop when you threatened me with blackmail." Damon lifts his gaze, watching her face. "If you and I aren't friends, then the least you could do is acknowledge that whether you like it or not, I might be one of the only people you trust with your life up here." He pauses, slowly bringing the cigarette towards his lips. "Otherwise, I'm just your toy soldier you keep in its box until its ready to die."

She's quiet for a long moment, the smoke curling over her hand, slipping from her mouth. "When you're a marine, you trust your squaddies with your life. You have to, or you're all dead. That's why we're so hard on you. That's why you obey orders. We're marines. Quit crying about it." She glances over. "I do what I have to do keep it in line. Back on Scorpia, that was a different story. Now we're in the Corps. All the rules change. You can have access to the GR when the CO is convinced you don't belong in the Brig."

Damon rolls his eyes, shaking his head softly. His long, black dreadlocks sway as he does so, casting an obvious sign of disapproval from the prison trooper. "Right now one of my squaddies is in the Recovery Ward, which I can't visit. My squaddies play Triad in the game room. You, from what I heard, aren't even seen often with the other marine officers." Damon replies, pointing at her with his cigarette. His words form into the exhaust of his cigarette smoke as he speaks, leaning in towards her with an aggressive tone to his voice. "Cut the crap Salazar and stop acting like you buy your own bullshit. You know good and gods-damned that you can stick your name on the line for me, and you good and gods-damned that I don't rape. I've killed rapists. I wear a uniform. I do a job. This is what I do to keep fed and not one of us is getting paid for it beyond having a safe place to sleep. Get realistic. You're one of five people that's glad I'm here and while you benefit from having a trained monkey like me on board to follow your orders you haven't given one gods-damned thing back in return." Damon scowls. "You're a great girl, Sal, but face it even now you're being a dishonest bitch."

"Rape hasn't got anything to do with this conversation, Damon. You're a convict by the system. The only thing that saved your ass is the personal statements I gathered. This dishonest bitch saved your life, you ungrateful little frak." Sal doesn't sound particularly annoyed, in fact, there may be a little amusement in her tone. "Did I do a lot of things my squaddies would frown upon finding out? Yep. Did I do anything my government didn't pay me to do? Nope. I did my job back there on Scorpia. Before the bombs. After the bombs, I lost it a little bit, and made a couple of bad choices. Blackmailing you wan't one of them. That was just for fun. When you get really pissed, your eyes do this cold dead thing. I think it's just adorable." She glances at her watch. "Shifts change in a few. Your squaddies play Triad in here just as often as the GR. Grow a pair and start a game."

Damon watches Salazar intently, his eyes maintaining that standard of cold, quiet expression as his aggressiveness fades into nothing. For just a moment, of course, his knuckles twitch. "Fine." Damon replies, nodding his head towards the edge of the bunk. A layer of ice forms between them, bringing him to usher her to the space outside of his bunk with his dismissive gesture. "You know where I'll be." Damon adds, swallowing that social part of himself back into the shell of a man who simply refuses to beg. It's hard, however, to hide that small hint of betrayal in his voice. "Go enjoy your choices."

Salazar drops her boots on the edge of the bunk, slouching back in the bottom of the bunk with her back to the wall. She isn't wearing the usual S2 distancing. This is more like old times. At least for a moment. She doesn't move. "Smile sometime. You're above ground."

"Imagine how rich I'll be in the afterlife." Damon replies, glancing outside of the bunk quietly. Seeing that they're not being watched, he bends his arm at the elbow to present her with a view of the back of his fist. Slowly, his middle finger extends. "There's your smile, Salazar." He says, actually cracking a smile while he does it. Scoffing a small cloud of cigarette smoke, he ashes the small cigarette in his hand and takes in a deep breath. He changes the subject, closing the door on the previous topic that dared to show a sliver of his vulnerable side. "I said what I said because you looked like you needed to hit somethin."

"I do. I do need to hit something. I've needed to beat the shit out of someone for days, but Swift is in the infirmary, and I think the medics would take issue with me kick the crap of a near corpse." Yeah, the S2 is a little bit annoyed with Swift, for several reasons. The most recent just happens to be the death of two solid marines. She reaches over to take his fist in her hand, shoving the finger down. "Don't be catty." She doesn't let go once she's closed his hand.

Damon faintly squeezes her hand. It's a small gesture of friendship, and a rare show of affection from the man who prefers to show the world that he needs absolutely nothing to survive. Utterly ignoring her request to not be catty, instead he changes the subject again. "I'm allowed to go to the gym." Damon replies, casting his eyes towards her face. "Probably better than trying to get you to throw a hook in the hub, less paperwork and you wouldn't have to throw me under the bus because you know being brigged don't hurt me."

"You're allowed the gym, yes." Sal smiles slightly and says, "You do know these restrictions are more about seeing if you can follow orders and less about pinball or triad being dangerous." She brings the smoke to her lips again, and takes a quiet moment to fill her lungs with glorious smoke. Her eyes heavy lid. "I only throw you under the bus to see how fast you scramble back out, D. You know that. Call it payback for that shit you pulled with Masters when that ammo deal went south."

Damon's lips part to bear his teeth in an honest grin as memories of back home come to mind. "Look I only pointed a gun at you twice and I don't think it ever happened again until after the bombs hit." Damon laughs quietly. "You tryin' to say bottle service at the club wasn't enough apology, bitch you ran me up a five hundred cubit tab…" Damon adds, his laugh just a bit louder. The expression on his face almost causes his skin to crack and bleed with how little he's smiled over the course of the last three years. "You know…even though you were buildin a case on me, some good times in there."

Sal's smile transforms into a little grin. She tucks the cig into the corner of her mouth, then squeezes his hand and finally lets go. She drops her crossed arms over her belly, cig bobbing when she speaks, "Five hundred was only because they were out of the $200 a bottle shit, and I didn't eat all day. Busy schedule of handler meetings and dropping tails." She looks over, "Course there were good times. No work is all work. I know how to have a good time."

"Yeah, you do." Damon replies, taking the final drag from his cigarette and stubbing it out in an ashtray. Grabbing the small plastic dish, he offers it to her. In truth, Damon never really did know how to have a good time. At most of the parties where they were drinking after a deal, he was lounging in the back of the club on a couch with a girl on his arm, watching over all of them. Once a ghost…always a ghost. "Always got a laugh out of me. You were droppin shots with the guys like a son of a bitch and every now of them one of them would come back to me and say 'hey, cmon she's one of us, why can't I?' and I'd have to remind them you were a client and a vendor." Damon snorts, reaching for another cigarette. "I miss the cars. Remember that blue and gray V-224 Minotaur I had?"

Salazar reaches over to ash her cig into the dish. She resumes smoking shortly. "They didn't stand a chance anyway, but it was fun watching them try. That's the only rule. Never frak a dirtbag." She shakes her head a little, the amusement lingering. "The street racing was one of the more amusing side venues. I remember that car. That was a hot car."

Damon glances quietly to her at some of her words. It's an expressionless response, but something he's definitely picked up on. "They weren't so bad. Rikken was a dirtbag, so was Smokey. Eldin, though he was fat and dumb as hell, was a nice guy. Honest thief." Damon says with a slow nod of his head. "I remember after we got into that shootout with the Corian Kings and you wrenched your leg up, most of us were slumped in couches bleedin all over the place he made you that sandwich." Damon laughs again, casting his eyes towards the ashtray. This is, without a doubt, the most human he's ever been. It's why he keeps his voice so low. "We were all doggin him on it while we were waiting for the hired doc to get driven over. Boy was sweet on you." Damon flicks his lighter on, causing the end of his cigarette to flare up. "…just realized why you didn't shoot to kill. I shoulda known then."

The S2 isn't immediately visible. Then again, neither is Cavalera. They're both hunkered down in B4 way in the back. Sal's sitting across the bottom of the bunk smoking a cig, her boots the only thing sticking out the side. "No shit is complete shit when you got a good sandwich on hand. Simple truths, D." She glances over to the convict and nods with he lights a fresh smoke. "Yeah, you probably should have, but you didn't. It helps that we're all crazy. Nikos' do great work undercover." There's a slight smirk there, less amused. She glances acros the way and over a little, to the empty bunk that still holds some of Peri's stuff. She hasn't been around to clean it out yet.

Damon's vision follows Salazar's, coming to a stop as well at the deceased Master Sergeant's bunk. Taking a long drag from the cigarette, he exhales the smoke and simply stares as they talk. "Your story checked out and you had risks you took for us. I never did trust Rikken and you were the only pretty white girl willin to point a gun in the same direction sometimes." Damon smirks, offering his own opinions as to why he didn't catch her cover story. "Funny how this shit all turns out." Damon replies, quieting for a moment. Then he turns to look at Salazar. "When you're ready, if you need help with that, let me know. Till then I'll make sure no one touches it."

Salazar nods slightly, her eyes still on Peri's bunk. She takes a long drag from the smoke, then removes it from her lips. She drops her wrist over her drawn up knee, the cig dangling loosely from her fingers. "I'll get to it when the opportunity presents itself."

"Still, the gym." Damon reminds her, letting her know that he's good to go. A calm quiet falls over him as he enjoys his cigarette, waiting a long time to speak again. "Was surprised to see Homer up at CIC…" Damon smirks. "Couldn't believe he was chatting while we were on the firing line. Some shit don't change…"

"He's a dumbass." Salazar's opinion of Rue is pretty plain. "I should have shot him myself. No one would have noticed." She finishes her smoke, and reaches over to crust it out against the side of the bunk, then drops the butt in the little ashtray. "He'll learn to stow his shit or the entire Corps will be riding his ass until he breaks."

"Yeah you would have thought he'd have gotten his ass on the line instead of hang back and flirt with women." Damon rolls his eyes. "Back in our day we would have beaten him until he got the point." Damon adds, taking another drag from his cigarette. "There anythin' comin up I need to know about?" He asks, lifting his brows. "You know, I didn't get to drink on Solon once, and when they had that party you know it was some bullshit to sit in a cell while some of those folk that got the party didn't do half of what I did in the resistance."

"We're having a meeting tonight to discuss options." Sal replies, without revealing much on the subject. "Imagine there'll be a briefing tonight or tomorrow." A lot of people are probably wondering what the hell the ship is going to do now that is has a few new holes, and is missing a bunch of pilots and marines off of the line. "Whatever the next step is, it's sure to be bracing."

Damon's shoulder lifts in a dismissive gesture. "Makes sense." The man truly isn't worried about where there going, but it's interesting to know to say the least. "Well, at least we got to rearm at that station before all of this shit started. Got more food in here, shit after all those FTL's we've got to be way out by now, right?" Damon asks, scratching his chest as he speaks.

"You'd have to ask someone in CIC about that. I only get brought in when they need to know about security or the marines specifically." Salazar doesn't seem concerned about not knowing all of the points. "We had to have burned some serious fuel in all those jumps." She leans forward, her feet dropping to the floor.

Remaining back in the recess of his bunk, Damon nods softly as he leans against the wall. Folding his arms across his chest, he nods towards her back and falls into a quiet contemplation. "Yeah. I haven't heard a scramble since then. Thin luck it'd be if they lost us forever and all we gotta do now is find a planet with food, right?" Damon smirks, shaking his head. "Maybe we'll find a signal from that group that fled with that government lady."

"We pick up supplies where we can. Fight where we can," Sal is quiet for a moment. "The ship took heavy damage. We've been undergoing repairs since. I'm not really sure where the options lie now. My job is to be sure we're ready to go when the marines are needed. You want anything more complicated, you'll have to see about smoking with the XO. He's chatty."

"You know if I did that I'd chum up with the guy, go way over Cass' head, and next thing you know I'll have my own cot in the General Lounge right next to the ambrosia." Damon replies, nudging her with his boot. "You're one of the few people I have genuine respect for, Salazar, but I'm not above that."

That prompts a laugh from the S2. "There's not much you are above, Cavalera. You and I both know that." SHe doesn't say it like it's a bad thing. Just a statement of fact. "Though the XO is a little rocky on the approach sometimes, I don't see him giving you, of all people, all that much rope, no matter how good your campfire stories are."

"I'm above a lot of things, trust me. You're biased because you tried to put me in jail." Damon grins at her laughter. "Naw…he'd have to be a smart man to make XO. I've got a record and I can't really avoid that, which is fine. Sooner or later though, you know it, my skills are gonna come in handy."

"I didn't try to put you in jail, Cavalera. I kept a detailed file on you and all of your associates, with copious video and audio. I was fully prepared to testify if a case was built on my evidence. I was never after you. Unlike my fellows in the CIB, I wasn't willing to settle for middle management." Salazar's still a little pissed someone up the chain pulled some strings to screw over her contacts before the could get to the head of one of the largest rings of black market arms on Scorpia. But with the bombs, most everyone involved died, and it seemed kind of a moot point. "If you can keep yourself out of hack, yeah. Sooner or later."

"Alright…" Damon says towards her back, tiling his head and letting out a soft sigh. "I will do my best to keep my bullshit under wraps. I just get bored. It gets quiet here and at the gym, and I'm not gonna hang out in the head." Damon says with a dry chuckle. "Got enough rumors going around about me already, last thing I need are any more prison jokes."

"Aw, come on. The prison jokes are classic. You've got the whole line of shower lurking, soap dropping." Sal mercifully doesn't toss out any of the choice jokes she happens to know. "Start a Triad tournament in here. Get people hangin' in the berths. We should do a fight night for the marines. I just can't be assed to do it. That was Peri's thing. If you want to…" Go for it.

"Heard a conversation a while back bout how Dutch and I going to town would kinda settle who's champion around this place. Can't say the idea doesn't intrigue me. Big guy, big reach, sounds like a match but don't let that make you think I don't want to get back in the ring with you." Damon pauses. "Next time with less…awkwardness." Damon adds, admitting that he probably was a little too personal last time."

"Dutch hasn't fought everyone." Salazar smirks. "Peri was the top dog. Now it's up in the air. With Dutch down in medical, who knows. I never did see a full report on his condition." She smirks, a dark eyed gaze going Damon's way. "There's always gonna be history. And I'll always get back up and kick your ass down the line."

Damon matches Salazar's smirk, presenting that special sort of defiance that he always reserves for her. "Last time you tapped out." Damon reminds her, the side of his lip twisting in a smirk. "One of these days you'll put me in my place, but you're gonna have to work for it Salazar. Reward don't come easy."

"All I have to do to put you in your place, Cavalera, is remind you of that night on the beach when Petey botched the trigger shave on the fullauto conversion of that crate of knockoffs from Aerelon." Salazar leans in, her hand on the top bunk's ledge. "All the shit in the ring is just for fun."

Damon tilts his head a little, arrogantly meeting Salazar's gaze with his own cold, predatory standard. "You're a cruel woman, bringing that up. That wasn't my fault Salazar, and Petey said he knew what he was doin'." Damon replies with a smirk. One his eyebrows slowly rises. "Bring your A-game. Maybe next time you take me down you'll keep me there."

"I don't want to keep you down, Cavalera," Sal replies, that familiar husky edge following the words. Her voice is just naturally a little deeper than those of other women. "It's not keeping you down, it's taking you down."

Damon keeps his eyes on hers, his tone taking a more challenging one as he toes the line of that competitive flirtation he's always tossed in her direction. As always, it's rather simple and noncommittal. It's years of knowing eachother, a playful banter. "You're welcome to try whenever you want. I'm always in one of six places and you sign my schedule."

"An open invitation. Mighty sweet of you, D." Salazar straightens, some of the amusement lingers. It's the old familiarity, the remembrance of at once simpler and easier times, that eases a little of the tension in her shoulders. She doesn't have to think about the war in that moment, but the respite is brief. "Stay out of trouble. If you need someone to take your smokes, I'll play Triad with you sometime." With that, she makes her way over toward the hatchway.

Not even bothering to lean out to watch her walk away, Damon settles for watching her rise from his bunk. Glancing over the tattoos on her arm before she leaves, he nods his head in response and remains quiet. Usually a man of few words, he knows her well enough to know that there's no true reason for him to even say goodbye. After all…she never does either.

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