Desk Duty
Desk Duty
Summary: A quiet moment in the Sec Hub culminates in chatting over paperwork. The S2 offers some words of advice to the newest recruit, and the CAG wanders by briefly.
Date: PH203 (07 Nov 2009)
Related Logs: None

CEC Kharon, Deck 2, Security Hub
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #203
OOC Time: Sat Nov 07 16:19:02 2009

A pair of staggered desks flank the entrance, one occupied during most hours by a desk sergeant, and the other rotates between other personnel. In the back is a bank of monitors on the port wall in a 180 degree view. The arc of stacked flatscreens is under the watchful eye of an MP or three during most hours of the day, and recorded for review otherwise. These monitors are visible from the S2's desk (directly across on the starboard wall) and the station set just in front of them. One of the feeds always on display is a feed of the Brig. Other secure areas have been wired in since warday. A Colonial Marine Corps flag hangs proudly in the corner, accompanied by pictures of Marines in action and paintings depicting famous battles of the Cylon War and other actions. An armored door at the far end of the room displays in bright white lettering 'Primary Small Arms,' and holds the main locker for storing the rifles and explosives aboard. A hatch midway through the room leads into the Small Arms Range.

The S2 is seated at her desk, in her broken down blacks (sans armor), writing longhand with a pen on a piece of paper tucked into a file folder. She has a cold cup of coffee nearby, probably forgotten. Her neat, block printed letters cover the page in tiny black words.

The hatch squeals and swings open as one shaken and still slightly-shellshocked looking Private steps into the SecHub. Even though she might have wanted to spend the day curled up in her bunk after the action on Tinos, that's not the way things work on this ship. So when that alarm went off, Cinder dragged herself out of the bunk, slapped on those marine blacks, got the rifle cleaned, and proceeded to her duty rounds, culminating in a stop here for desk duty.

Salazar glances up after the hatch opens, and she watches the Pvt enter the Sec Hub. Her dark eyes follow the woman. There's a moment before she calls, "Private." She pauses in writing, and nods to the coffee pot. "Help yourself to some coffee before your shift on watch begins."

"Thank you Sir," she says, a little timid, almost. She sort of tiptoes on over to the coffee pot, and pours herself a cup, before coming back to the duty desk at the front of the Sec Hub. Groaning as she settles in, the first thing to clunk down is the butt of her rifle, going to the floor and leaning against the desk next to her chair, then she slides off her helmet and sets it on the desk, letting some of the loose strands from the bun of hair to dangle free down her neck.

Salazar's demeanor is calm and professional, and it seems as if the events of the mission last night didn't rattle her at all. Of course, she's a veteran. "You did well in the assault last night, Private." The words are quiet, but they carry to the other desk easily enough. The S2 resumes writing.

Once more, Cinder repeats her last statement. "T-thank you, Sir," she replies, just as quiet as before. Her tone conveys the sense that she's not only appreciative of the compliment, but still just a bit scared by the tatooed, veteran S2 who has a number of bandages to indicate her involvement in the assault. Call it beginner's luck if you will, but somehow Cinder managed to escape unscathed.

The S2's probably more pissed about not having a tattooist around to re-touch her damaged tatts than she is about getting shot. Bullets come with the territory, and she's had much, much worse. "I was a difficult mission to break in on. The casualties were high, and the psychological effects can be pretty tough on you. If you have trouble sleeping, or anxiety about it, I'd like you to go see Lieutenant Mimieux in psych. In this unit," She pauses, "We do what we have to." In other words, some marines are coming apart at the seems, and the S2 doesn't want to see that happen here. "I've seen blooded vets freeze up in situations like that." She doesn't look up, just finishes neatly printing down the page, then flips to a new one.

"Understood Sir," Cinder replies, with a curt little nod. If there's one thing good about green soldiers, it's that they're all-too-willing to do what a veteran officer suggests. "Last night wasn't any trouble, but I guess it could've been sheer exhaution. I'll make sure to make an appointment if stuff goes downhill though…I think I bumped into her in the head once. She seems nice enough."

It's true. Greenies are like shiny new toys. Salazar's amusement is somewhat tempered by the mass killing yesterday, but no less present. "Good." Some vets would have fought her on the psych issue, but Salazar gives the new private a little dose of something almost gentle. It isn't the norm, as many a marine may attest. "I understand you came in from Elpis." Salazar was aboard the Kharon during that op, tending to a minor centurion boarding action.

This is about the longest cinder's managed to sustain a conversation with the S2, who always seems to be wrapped up in shipboard operations of one sort of another, arranging this and that and planning and on and on. "Yes Sir," she replies, her curt, short responses the result of basic, forcing out the gab and creating new instinct/reflex. One thing Cinder has to keep on the lookout for is that, everytime she calls the S2 Sir, she has to bite her tongue to not say Ma'am!

The convenience of being on desk duty during a paperwork rotation is that there's not much to do but watch, talk, and fill in the blanks. It just so happens that the S2 is a little bit more of talker than most of her squad knows, aside from Parts, who gets stuck in here on desk duty all the time. Probably because he fetches coffee like a professional waiter. Salazar continues filling this new page on her desk with neat, black inked printing as she 'chats' with the private at the up front desk. "We didn't pull a lot of survivors off of that ship. You didn't take a hit last night." She smiles slightly. "Are you a religious woman, private?"

"Not…so far, but I think maybe it's time to start," Cinder replies, with a wan smile. The mug of black coffee sits steaming on her desk at the front as she just…sits, sign-in sheet on the desk in front of her, along with the other forms necessary for SecHub operations on a normal shift. "I've only been down to the chapel once, and that was because Panda asked me there specifically." Of course, that being said, she's only been to the sickbay once as well, so maybe there's the beginnings of a correlation somewhere.

A dark-haired officer dressed in crisp blues steps into the sec hub, dodging a couple of Lance Corporals who step out, headed to guard duty. He's got his standard fleet issue sidearm, a Picon five-seveN, holstered at one hip. And a coffee cup looped over his fingers by its handle. La la la, nothing to see here.

Salazar's coffee mug is half empty and long gone cold, positioned on her desk not far from her open folder of paperwork, apparently forgotten. "Ares has been good to us," is all she says on the subject of the chapel, and even despite the losses last night in battle. Or perhaps because of them. It's hard to say with the S2. The opening and closing of the hatch warrants only a brief glance as she finishes a line. The officer entering, however, gets a second one. "Captain." The tone is just slightly warmer than neutral. Might have to know her well to sense that.

Cinder looks up as well as the CAG steps into the SecHub. "Evening Captain," says the Private from her duty desk near the hatch. "Something I can help you with tonight?" she asks, holding up her sign-in sheet.

Cinder gets a curt nod from the arriving pilot, and a brief glance when she holds up the sign-in sheet. "Actually, I was hoping to appeal to Ensign Nikos' pity," he explains, blue eyes cutting from the Private to the S2 as he steps up to the woman's desk. "Coffee machine in the lounge is busted, and I'm willing to barter in cigarettes."

Salazar smiles slightly, just a quirk of lips. "Captain. Don't you remember that we here in the CMC have no mercy to speak of?" She rises from her desk, scooting her chair back. She's wearing her usuall all black ensemble with sidearm strapped to her right thigh. "We do, however, have a two day post mission leniency policy on airy fairies plundering the coffee supply, so long as they warm up our cups along the way." She nods to Cinder, an indication to let the man pass. Though it's unlikely a private would step up to stop a captain in this instance.

Aaaaaand that's exactly how it goes down in this case. Aside from lifting up the sign-in sheet uselessly, Cinder doesn't press the issue, especially since the S2 gives her the word to let it slide. She settles herself back in the chair and watches, quietly; vaguely familiar with the interactions between marines and Viper-jocks, this is a good chance to see two heavy-hitters in action.

"Bullshit you do," counters the CAG mildly, tongue tucking against the inside of his cheek as if to stifle a smile when Nikos starts talking about two day post mission leniency policies. He does not fetch the S2's cup on his way over to the machine. Must've been the 'airy fairy' bit aimed his way. "How's the dragon lady treating you, Private?" Maybe he still doesn't know her name, or maybe he just prefers using rank.

Salazar shakes her head slightly as the Captain moves through without scooping up her cup along the way. "Leniency… dissolving," she comments lightly, before clicking her pen closed and dropping it atop her paperwork. She also called Cinder 'private', so the woman's probably used to it.

"Well, she's been just fine so far, Sir," Cinder answers Kai. "No complaints on my end," she quickly thinks to add. While those two posture over the coffee, Cinder leans back and sips on hers, enjoying the warm pickmeup, even if it isn't all that good; it's hot and caffeinated, which at this point on her shift is all that matters.

Kai proceeds to fill his coffee cup while the two women converse behind him. This isn't some pansy-assed three-quarters job; he tops it right up to the rim, and doesn't spill so much as a drop of it as he pulls away. Boy's got steady hands. "Just giving you a hard time," he explains to Cinder, tapping the silver flight qualification wings on his uniform. "Part of the job description." He takes a sip of the coffee so it's no longer in danger of burning fingers, and slides it onto the S2's desk. Her own cup is retrieved next, and the dregs dumped out in a pot off to the side of the machine, reserved for that purpose.

There's a look from the S2 to the CAG. Salazar's gaze lingers on the coffee cup. Her gaze follows him to her desk, and once the cup is set down, and the CAG takes her own to refill, she just goes on ahead and steals his. It's in proximity, and unguarded. "Thank you, Captain." She takes her seat, cup in hand. Ah, delicious coffee. Siiiip. That's loud enough to hear, even if the pilot didn't see the S2 repossess his mug. "The Private and I were just discussing the success of the mission yesterday. As you may know," she addresses Cinder now, "Our friends in the air wing can be a royal pain in the ass, but come mission day, they do us right."

"First time I've seen them do…anything, I think," Cinder answers, looking to the S2 with a sly grin on her face. She has no idea whether that comment's warranted or not, seeing has how she's only a Private. If it's a marine thing, she's good; if it's a rank thing, she's basically boned, but in true marine fashion, she rolls the dice and lets it fly.

"I'm pretty sure that this is where I come back with something about.. having been flying vipers while you were still interested in sticker books," the Captain murmurs, filling up the second cup, and ducking his head to take a sip from it. Sluurp. His own mug was almost certainly left there for Salazar intentionally, seeing as he makes no effort to retrieve it. "But I'll just give you a little friendly advice, instead: you're fresh out of basic, and you haven't seen what some of these kids have seen. Sharpen your teeth a little first, before you try talking smack, Private." There's no bite to the words. Maybe it really is just some friendly advice.

Salazar's eyes drift back to the CAG, and she hides a snicker behind her coffee, as something suddenly occurs to her that she finds funny. Maybe it's the stress. The coffee in the mug sloshes a little. She gets it under control after a moment, maybe no one really noticed. "… The CAG's correct. However, it's open season in the gym, Private. No holds barred." She gets all of that out with a completely level tone, expression stoic.

"Ahhh…noted, Sirs," Cinder answers. "I got a start yesterday, but I'll do that, Captain," she assures him, with a curt nod. "Still learning the ropes, as it were." In fact, she had noticed that a lot of rules seem to go a little more slack, if not right out the window, when folks are in the gym; guess that's why they went ahead and put in a sparring ring for the crew.

Kai seems faintly amused with the S2 trying not to laugh over behind her desk, but doesn't go so far as to ask her what's so funny. He might know, he might not. Either way, with a glance at his watch, he seems to decide it's time to bugger off. "Have a good evening, Ensign. You too, Private." He trudges off for the hatch, mug lifted on his way out. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Mmhmm," The S2 replies, with an eye on the Captain's back. Those dark eyes, ever watchful, remain vigilant as the higher ranking officer exits. "Good hunting, sir," is her parting word, and then her eyes finally sweep back to Cinder. Perhaps she's checking to see if the private is also mindful of that exit. "That, Private," she notes, "Is one of the more pleasant interactions with a pilot that you will ever have aboard this vessel." At least by regulations.

"Also noted, Sir," Cinder replies, nodding toward the S2. "He's been one of the only pilots I have interacted with in general. Seems to be the only one that doesn't purposely look to rabble-rouse," she comments, her own observation. Of course, her sample size is small, soooo…she's probably off by an average FTL jump or two.

"There's a little piss and vinager in the Air Wing to be sure. It's the frat house of the ship. Booze and way too much testosterone. You want to talk about pain in the ass, wait until they get in a fight and we have to drop the MPs on their asses. No one postures like a pilot." The S2 grins and sips her coffee again. "Still, you have to be a little crazy to crawl into a tiny ship full of volatile fuel. I'll take a rifle on the ground any day." Sal picks up her pen again, and clicks it open. "There's been some tension on this ship between pilots and marines. It's a smaller ship than most of them are used to."

"At this point, I'd have to think they should be happy to be anywhere, on any ship. Better than being on an airbase on the ground somewhere when all that shit went down. Small or not, I can't think there's many ships left at all…maybe we're the only one…" Cinder answers the S2, letting her head loll back and looking at the ceiling, her flat-expression and brief reverie broken only by the occasional sip from her mug. "I still thank the gods everyday that I wake up in a bunk in the barracks here rather than in a cot in some communal area with someone waiting to take my place."

Salazar nods at that. "I came off the surface of Scorpia a few months back." And some of the marines were a little pissy about her mustang to Ensign and S2 after that, but again, the ship is small, and the choices were limited. "There may be other survivors, but they're slim. Far and few between. I didn't like my time in the Cargo Hold any more than you must have. It was a relief to come back to the Corps."

"First time in my frakkin' life I think I've done something that wasn't just for me, you know…enlisting I mean." Unlike the S2, Cinder has one (after yesterday's action) engagement under her belt; not a whole heck of a lot to count as making a difference. "I think…shit, was it Panda? Damon? Maybe Damon and Shortstack…I'm still frakkin' amazed when I look back at where I was when all this shit hit the fan and where I am now. I think I'd have thought you were high or insane or something if you'd told me then that in a few months I'd be shooting Centurions and even humans while in the CMC."

"Life fraks you over in fun an interesting ways." The S2 slides her paperwork off the the desk, and stows it in her desk drawer before she reaches for another folder to flip open. She sips the coffee, puts it down, then scrawls a signature across the bottom of the page. She barely looks at it before signing. "The Corps is the best place to be in times like these."

"Why exactly is that, Sir?" Cinder is basically obligated to ask. When your commanding officer is tossing out nuggets of knowledge, you pretty much have to follow them to the very end of the discussion. "Less risky, or something else?"

Salazar shakes her head, "Not at all. We put our asses on the line every day without much armor between us and the enemy. We die on the ground, get riddled with holes, and most of us are lucky to make it to respectable rank." Oh, that's cheerful. The S2's eyes turn to the private. "We're a family, tighter than blood. The Corps is the best place to have your back watched, even if you hate each other off the field, we watch each other's asses in all things. Nobody has your back like a marine." She tips her head a little, then shrugs. "And we're all so damn pretty." She lifts her cup in a slight salute. "My brothers would have liked you." She grins then.

Well…that's an interesting revelation! At the S2's comment about the marines being so pretty, Cinder can only blush and smile a little, shyly. "B-brothers, Sir? How many do you have?" Cinder peeps up enough to ask, despite her slight embarassment. Before, she wouldn't have thought anything of such a statement, since it's pretty much a compliment, but coming from the S2 of your marine platoon, it's just a little different.

It'd be a little different, too, if Cinder asked her why. "By blood, a couple. But in my family, my cousins are also like brothers. I lost count around twenty." The black haired marine flips a page, signs again, then says, "Master Sergeant is more like an uncle than a cousin, but I'd watch yourself around him just the same." She glances up briefly, fixes Cinder with some eye contact, then glances down again.

"Y-yes Sir," Cinder replies with a little quiver in her voice. She's smiling a little at first, then her eyes go wide at the number of 'brothers' the S2 counts to have, then flushes and presses her lips back together when the Master Sergeant is mentioned. "Very big family, Sir," the only-child (and not even a very spoiled only-child) Cinder states. She's pretty much staring off into space, looking at a wall, though really not seeing anything in particular as the S2 looks up at her.

"Exceptionally large, yes." There's some unspoken amusement in the S2's tone as she agrees with the private. "In short, Private," Salazar concludes, perhaps to the earlier line of conversation regarding the Corps, "You'll do fine here. Do your job, back up your squadmates. Always. That's all it takes. The rest you'll pick up. If you have questions, ask before you do something stupid in front of brass that gets my ass chewed for it." The threat of asskicking is implied, but the S2 isn't so heavy handed as to come out and say it. This is a friendly conversation!

It's not something she really has to say, truth be told; Cinder's seen the S2 in action, and, well…she's not really the sort Cinder wants to be on the shit-list of. "Understood, Sir," she says, to the advice the S2 gives. That pretty much goes without saying, though of course, the other marines in the platoon have already drilled that much into Cinder's skull, if nothing else.

"I think you'll find that there are a lot of personalities in the platoon." Salazar's comment is pretty dry considering the recent events with marines grabbing rack time in the brig. "Another useful note. The Major likes his ship run tight. If you find yourself bored and in need of something to do, checking the rubber ammo stock in the SAR is helpful, as is pre loading magazines, but always leave half a bucket." She doesn't say so, but the S2 likes to come down late at night and do a little every few nights, and it makes her cranky when there's no ammo left. "You've been taking a lot of shifts in the Brig." She glances up. "Have you had any problems with the occupants?"

"No Sir…but maybe that has to do with the fact that they're both marines…." Well, one is, at least. The other…sort of. Cinder doesn't know what the frak to think about Jules. Her advice about what to do when bored is met with a brisk nod from the Private, who seems to suck up all of the S2's advice just a bone-dry sponge.

There's a nod from the S2. "I agree with you there. Ozymandias was a marine. It's most likely the reason she was able to pull off that stunt," that stunt, she says, like it was some prank, "And the reason she hasn't hit the bulkhead yet." The yet is very a clearly a 'when', not an 'if' statement. She falls silent, for the moment, and drops a few more signatures.

Cinder gives another curt nod. She doesn't make it a point of worrying about stuff like that; she's simple that way, functions best (so far) when given a task that she can do. Leave all that Sunshine stuff to the higher-ups; only thing she has to worry about is who can come in the brig and interact with her, and who can't, that's all she gives two shits about when it comes to Jules. Never got to know the woman, doesn't know what her story is beyond blowing the CO away. A few moments later, she opens her mouth, and starts to say something, but soon stops. "So what's…I mean…nevermind I guess."

"Which is to say," Salazar says belatedly, "That she's being evaluated closely, not that she's experiencing leniency because she's in the Corps and we hold the keys to her cell." She closes the folder, slips over a new one, and begins another round of signatures. In addition to the occasional strike, it seems the job of the Security Officer is really mostly paperwork! "What's that, Private?"

"It's really nothing…just…curious about something. It's not related to work or the Corps or anything, so it's really silly and stupid," Cinder replies, with a heaping of self-degredation to make it juicier. Either she's doing it on purpose, to make the topic interesting, or she's doing it because it really is stupid: take your pick. The bait's out there, though.

Salazar nods slightly, and her eyes return to her pqperwork. She finishes off the cooling coffee nearby before it can go stone cold. There's the light rustle of paperwork from her desk as she turns pages, and the scratching of a pen as she makes notes or slaps on a signature. Apparently the S2 takes the statement at Cinder's word, and lets it go.

Weeeellll, if she's not going to ask herself, Cinder's not about to let a perfectly good opportunity go to waste. She probably won't have a chance to talk with the S2 like this again in a while, not unless their shifts line up this way again. "Really…I was just…you and CAG. Is there…a thing between you? It kind of seems that way, when you're in the gym…getting coffee…all that."

Salazar is quiet for a moment, the pen stills its scritching across the page. The S2's dark brown eyes come up, and fix the private with a steady, level gaze. She regards the woman. "Besides the mutual respect and an outstanding professional rivalry." It's not quite a question, the tone is a little flat. She continues in a matter of fact way. "We've been frakking for three months. He's also the best fire under pressure I've ever seen outside of the Marine Corps. No, that is not a euphemism. The man has skills." She signs off on another sheet. "We keep it professional in public. End of story."

Consider the matter closed then. "Gotcha. And yeah, he's uh…pretty handy with a pistol it seems," Cinder comments, recalling when Jules was apprehended…held at the pistol-points of the S2 and the CAG. Of course, that in itself brings up more questions, but she doesn't think they'll go over half as well as that one just did.

There's a faint smirk as Cinder makes that comment, but the S2 manages to keep the thought entirely to herself. Just a twitch at the corner of her lips betrays the amusement. "It's difficult to form effective, fulfilling and appropriate interpersonal relationships on a military vessel." Ie sex that doesn't frak up your rep, your working day, or your career. "Tread carefully."

Cinder's grinning rather sheepishly as the S2's advice is now moving into the territory of frakking. "Thanks for the advice, Sir," she replies to the S2's suggestion of treading carefully. So far, Cinder hasn't been treading at all!

The S2 finally finishes up with her paperwork, stacks the folders neatly, and drops them into a drawer. Her attention shifts as she rises, and she picks up the cup to go pour herself a refresher. "I have some files to drop, then I'm off duty. The Major should be up for the grave shift any time." She slides one slim folder out of the pile. It's marked with security clearance. She tucks it under her arm, and heads for the hatch, coffee cup only 2/3 full. "Have a good evening, Private."

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