Gtfo Convict
GTFO Convict
Summary: The S2 releases Cavalera from the brig after frakking with him a little.
Date: PH122 (18 Aug 2009)
Related Logs: Three Hour Tour & Resistance Logs pre-Day 82ish

CEC Kharon, Deck 2, Brig
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #122
OOC Time: Tue Aug 18 22:50:24 2009

While the larger classes of the fleet might have two separate brigs, one for officers and one for enlisted, this would not be the case on the Kharon. Three cells are packed into this small room, each containing a toilet and bed. The bars provide no privacy, possibly as an incentive to the ship's crew to stay out of this room. Done in the same drab battleship gray that the rest of the ship is, there is only a single desk to occupy this room which faces the cells. Perhaps a bit oddly, this room is almost as strictly utilitarian as the Naval Offices.

The long wait continues…

The last few weeks have been deathly silent for Damon Cavalera, and the strain of it on his features is starting to show. Sitting against the far wall with his arms propped up over his bent knees, Damon has maintained a quiet calm. His daily activities consisting of food, workout and sleep, he's stopped pacing and has instead taken to silence. Thankfully not putting on a dramatic hunger strike, it's as if he's run out of words to say.

Leda was released some time ago. The brig has been quiet, and lonely. Just Damon and his MP guards, which rotate multiple times daily, and have recently been supplemented by some non MPs serving in the MP slots.

The hatch opens, and in steps Salazar, though she's looking a tad different from last time he saw her. Must be those blues she's wearing. The MP at the desk rises at a nod from her, and picks up his rifle. The sound of a round being chambered is unmistakable. Both step over to the bars. Salazar stands in front of the doors, expression stoic, hands clasped behind her back. "Damon Cavalera."

Damon slowly raises his head to find Salazar's face. Staring at her through his dreadlocks, he turns his head to watch the marine with the rifle beside her. The lack of reaction shows that Damon knows just what time it is. Finding Salazar's face again, he locks eyes with her and slowly rises. Stepping quietly to stand in the center of his cell with his hands obedietnly at his sides, he continues his stare-down. "Present."

Her dark eyes, nearly black in this light, remain on Damon for a long, long tense moment. "Guard." The word is spoken softly, and the keys come out. The MP steps forward to unlock the cage, allowing the door to swing open. Salazar steps forward as the door swings, and stands just in the doorway of the cell.

Taking in a slow, quiet breath, Damon's eyes maintain on Salazar's face. Giving her the thousand yard stare, he stands as still as a statue as the door opens. Slowly, he extends his hands forward with his wrists together, preparing for a transfer. It's standard faire for prisoners when an official enters with some form of guard. The look crosses his face, he wants to ask, but his pride keeps him quiet.

"Get out and turn off the camera, Dover," Salazar finally says, the expression on her face shifting a little. She doesn't look away from Damon, but the tone is pointed, and she doesn't have to look to the hatch to tell the marine which way to go.

The marine doesn't question, he just turns to leave, taking his rifle with him.

Damon lifts an eyebrow for only a second, not taking appearances with her in front of her subordinate. Turning his head to watch the guard leave, he waits until the door is closed before he lowers his hands. Reaching to his bed to pull a cigarette from the side of the mattress, he slips it between his lips. Looking to Salazar, he lifts his eyebrows as if asking for a lighter. "…how's this one gonna end, Salazar?"

"I'm just frakking with you, Cavalera." Salazar continues into the cage, leaving the door open as it sits, the keys on the MPs desk. She slides a hand into her pocket, and pulls out an antique little lighter that's seen much love. It's not hers. She tosses it to the convict. "If you can make it through the quals and evals, there's a pretty good chance you'll live to die in combat. How's that sound?"

"Sounds like I'm gonna bust the frak out of some quals." Damon says, catching the lighter. Sparking it, he lights the cigarette and lofts it back towards her. Dragging off of the cigarette, he exhales to the side and looks back to her face. "For the record, Salazar? If you put in a word for me…there's a bullet with your name on it sometime in your future that I'm gonna get in the way of."

Sal catches the lighter and smoothly slips it back into her pocket. She smiles and glances up at the camera. There's really no way to tell if it's on or off. She gives it a wave, then makes a cut gesture, and steps further in. "I'll keep that in mind the next time someone shoots at me. I need you to do a medical evaluation with Dr. Camille Locke, a spirital consultation with the priestess, and dental with Dr. Agatha Beckette. I would also ask for a psych eval, but we're trying to slide you into boot, not get you bounced back to the planet to hang out with the gardeners."

Damon glances to the camera before looking back in Salazar's direction. Perhaps his eyes are a bit wider than they were, but something seems to be lighting Damon from the inside. He's working very hard at maintaining that prison cool as his lip tugs sideways into a grin towards her. "I'll run that list from the top down." He chuckles quietly. "Probably best for the psych, even if I passed it the thing she'd learn would depress her for life." He pauses. "No bullshit, right, Salazar? Can you tell me anything about how the argument went? What kind of line I'm skatin'?"

Salazar nods. "Sure. You're on probationary evaluation. That means you go through your two week boot with Master Sergeant Nikos," she smiles slightly. That's not the good smile. At least for Damon. "And then you're assigned a squad. You only carry a weapon on active deployment when your acting squad leader gives you one. You limit your business to berthing and duty areas, Mess, or Gym." She considers him for a moment, and then adds, "If you break one of your fellow squaddies, your ass will be in the Brig and on a bulkhead so fast your head will spin. Defend yourself, but don't start physical altercations. Same rules as the yard, except these aren't prisoners, and your COs word is law."

Damon listens to the full rundown, nodding his head as she speaks. Dragging off of his cigarette, he squares his feet across from her and exhales to the side. The rules are simple to him, if not exactly what he was expecting forward. "Master Sergeant Nikos. Fair enough, you and I don't know eachother when it comes down to business. If someone's gonna shake me down I take it until they make it physical. If it's physical, I gotta be smart and do it the way that makes me look the better man." He takes another drag. "I'm a damn boy scout now."

"You're a damn boyscout," Salazar repeats, with a nod in agrement. "You'll be pleased to know several people spoke or wrote on your behalf. It would seem your behavior on the surface impressed a few enough to consider you worthy of saving." She watches him for a long moment, and then nods toward the door. "You're free to find a place in the marine berthing, but you're basically Peri's property for the next two weeks. Do not question him or he will break you in half." She sounds as if she's speaking from experience. Given that he's her uncle, she sort of is. "Nikos or Master Sergeant. Never Peri to his face. You're in good shape physically, so you shouldn't have a problem with that." She slides a hand into her other pocket, and draws out a cigar. She holds this out to him without tossing it. "A getting out of hack gift."

Damon blinks, eyes squinting in her direction. Reaching out to take the cigar, he lifts an eyebrow in her direction. "Thanks…that's really sweet of you, girl. Feels good too that they all wrote in good about me but…" He pauses, tilting his head for effect. "You're not Master Sergeant Nikos?" He asks in a clarifying manner, giving her a rather conspiratorial look. The two of them have history, and if the person that will break her in half isn't her he clarifies as if asking if it's her father. "He know we know eachother?"

Salazar's grin widens. "No, he does not. You should keep it that way." She's far too amused at this prospect for everything to be entirely kosher. Damon is in for a fun little ride. "But he knows you're an ex-con, and he will push you to see if he can make you snap." She dispenses that warning of rough terrain ahead, and she turns to move to the door, leading him out of the hole. "I'm Ensign Nikos." Ohshit. Officer. "So in the future, when we're not on duty, you get to call me sir." That's a getting out of hack gift, too. Not necessarily one anyone enjoys, but. "I'm the security officer. This is my brig." She turns to face him. "There's a bunk waiting for you at the marine berths, and a full set of standard issue gear. All the clothing is in the Berthing, which is just down the corridor." She doesn't move for the hatch yet. She watches him, waiting to see how long it takes him to move across the threshold of the cell, to claim a step he hasn't been able to take in weeks.

Damon watches her walk away, shaking his head at that little grin of hers. He gets the point, especially on the level that some things are no one's business, but in a world where one Nikos is a pain in the ass enough… "Sir…" He says, trying that on for size. Even back on Scorpia, he was in charge. In some circles in jail he was deferred to like he was the man calling the shots. Role reversal indeed. Finding her out of the brig, he lowers his eyes to the white line on the floor. Bold as ever after a few seconds of thought, he steps forward as if it isn't even there. "Any chance a free man can get himself a drink before boot? Before they make him cut his hair off?" Damon asks, looking towards her. A huge weight has been taken off of his shoulders, but he's keeping a respectable distance.

"You might keep your hair, if you wear it back, and you call it religious reasons." Salazar is being mighty helpful at a time such as this, when she doesn't need to be. It might be residual something from her files being used to wrongly convict him in the first place, though no one but Damon really knows if that was actually a wrongful conviction or not. She's quiet for a moment before she says, "I don't have much of the good stuff, but there's a small bottle in my desk at the Sec Hub." She nods toward the hatch. "With me." And then she walks over to it, and pulls it open. "Dover, back on the desk. Camera on."

Damon breathes a sigh of relief. Per the camera logs there's a discussion in there somewhere between himself and two visiting women about whether or not he'd look better bald or with a shortly trimmed 'fro'. His enthusiasm for keeping his dreadlocks is hard to ignore. Stepping behind her with a friendly nod to Dover, he glances around the hub with wide eyes. He'd forgotten that the room actually existed. "You never told me how that party went. You know, the welcome home party they wouldn't let me go to?" He asks, nodding towards her as he moves to stop beside the desk. He's still got his lit cigarette in his hand. "Guess I'll have to catch the next one, bring a chaperone for me."

CEC Kharon, Deck 2, Security Hub
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #122
OOC Time: Tue Aug 18 23:57:03 2009

This room is the defacto headquarters for Marine operations on board the ship and also serves as their office. There are a pair of desks that flank the entrance to the door and another at the rear, that one obviously belonging to the Marine CO. 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. A picture of the Commandant of the CMC also hangs on the far wall as a reminder. There is a small video monitor in the corner that feeds into a camera in the brig, displaying a live feed into the office. As well, an armored door at the far end of the room displays in bright white lettering 'Primary Small Arms,' denoting the Security Hub as holding the main locker for storing the rifles and explosives aboard. Another hatch on the opposite end of the room denotes it as leading to the Small Arms Range.

"A bunch of cheap soldiers and cheap booze. Mostly people danced until they found someone to wander off with to a dark corner," Salazar replies. That seems like so long ago now. It was only… two months? Something like that. The Sec Hub is more or less empty this time of night, just a skeleton crew watching some monitors in the back, and two MPs out front. Salazar's desk is on the starboard. She unbuttons her jacket, and walks around the other side of her desk to drop into her chair, and pull open a drawer. A bottle and two rocks glasses are procured. "All the marines are taking time on security rotations. It's simple guard duty, so you may be stationed anywhere on the ship post boot." She seems confident he'll make it through. It's no where near as hard as prison life. "But otherwise you'll be a rifleman, front line."

"Still would have been a good prelude to a whole lot of prison time. That or a good prelude for one last cheap thrill before explosive decompression." Damon replies, dropping into the chair at the front end of her desk. Running the side of his hand against his forehead as he adjusts himself to honest chair life for the first time in months, he nods to her. A bit of dark humor follows. "Don't expect they'll treat my previous combat experiance as ROTC and after boot bump me up to something other than Private, right?" Damon smirks, stretching his sore back muscles. "Shit…Private Cavalera. The way shit ends up, right?"

"That's up to your CO." Salazar pours two fingers in each glass, and slides one across the desk. "But I wouldn't count on it. Paying your dues the old fashioned way is a much more likely course of action. It's a swap. But I think it'll look good on you." She raises her glass to him. "Nothing looks hotter than marine combat blacks."

Damon smirks, picking up his glass in a coy and lazy manner. Palm over the top of the glass as his fingers bridge over it, he brings it to rest against the inner portion of his index finger. Pulling up the chair to rest his forearms on the edge of her desk, he raises the glass to tap with hers. "You saved my life, Salazar." He says, sobering in the moment as that hard-assed look in his eyes fades for a second. "No one ever did that unless they called me boss. So I'm drinkin' this one for you." He looks to her face. "Whatever it is. You just ask."

Salazar's glass tinks with Damon's. She nods slightly to him. "I also helped put you on death row, so," She watches his hands for a long moment, and finally glances up, her eyes on his as she says, "Let's call it even." There's a slight tip of her head, and then she kicks the drink back, head back, neck revealed for a moment, the long line of it visible, tattoos exposed. The intricate leafy design chases over her flesh, mostly hidden in the depths of dark hair.

Damon nods and tips the glass back. Taking the full shot into his mouth, he closes his eyes to savor the flavor. Letting the alcohol burn slowly down his throat, he swallows and lowers his head back to its typical, upright position. As if it is water, he doesn't scowl. "Sometimes people get what was comin." He says vaguely, staring at the tattoos on the back of her hand before finding her face again. "So what's your life like now? You takin' care of yourself?"

"I'm a cop again. Fancy that," Salazar kicks back in her chair, thunking the glass down onto the surface of the desk. She brushes her fingers back through her hair, arm pausing against the back of her head, fingers tangled in her locks. She watches Damon, posture slightly different now, off duty, even in a duty station. "I don't get enough sleep, but there isn't time. There's a lot of shit going around. War is complicated." She gestures to the room with a sweep of a hand. "Lot of marines around here. We lose people way too often. But it's a good thing. I like it better than digging in on a planet waiting to die."

"Can you believe some people actually opted to stay?" Damon asks with a shake of his head, reclining in the chair and propping one of his calves to rest over his knee. Getting comfortable in the chair, he sets the glass down and finds her face again. "Guess I just don't get it. But if there's a way we can kill enough Cylons to buy them time to find more survivors, it's worth somethin." Damon reflects, glancing to the tattoos on the side of her neck. "Now that you got an empty brig again I guess you're still up to your ass in wondering who's pulling this shit on board. Call me a volunteer if you need any assistance on that."

"Ass deep in investigations," Salazar replies, with a vague gesture of her hand. She doesn't elaborate on that, turning back to the topic of the planet instead. Her lips purse briefly. "I think they're just scared to give up on the idea of living down there. I get it. I think there actually may be some chance of sustaining life and taking at least that Colony back, but we don't have enough information yet. I'd like to think we have a chance. Until then, we take out what we can of their forces, and do our damndest to stay ahead of them." She tips forward, and pours them each another two fingers, before she caps what's left of the bottle, and slides it back into the drawer. "There are some good marines aboard this ship. I think you'll like them."

"I met Swift, Elder, and Barghest." Damon replies, taking his glass back as he really starts to think about the first steps. Eyes trailing off, he holds the glass aloft as he considers. "All of them were the real deal, just like you. You throw no bullshit you'll get none back." Damon says, looking to her face again. "I guess with a bit of time or at least wearing the rank I'll get my place. Use that to prove myself and give everyone a fair deal. It's really all I can do." He smirks. "So you're an officer and I'm gonna be a low, ass private. Prisoner-Soldier program, not allowed to the rec room…" He tilts his glass, swirling it as he considers. "…gonna be hell on my private life, Salazar."

"You'll do okay," Salazar laughs, a low chuckle coaxed from her. "On this ship, as on any other, you will find a way." She picks up her glass, and takes a less aggressive approach to her drink this time, downing only about half of it at a time. "You can still hit the gym. The laundry. Plenty happens in those places. But do not let me catch you in the storage compartments." What she means is make it quick. "The Head is pretty free up late at night."

"I'm gonna roll this one legit, Salazar." Damon replies, shaking his head as he pauses to take a sip from his glass. "Sure, I'll go those places but like any pen now's the time to find out who my friends are. It's like the Commander said, even if I was in a cell the shit didn't start until we all got back up here. If you didn't like me so much, what would you say if you caught your new ex-con prison-trooper sneakin around at night? No…" He shakes his head. "…I don't wanna be back in that brig trying to explain to you or the commander that it was all a coincidence. You all took a chance on me. I'm gonna chance to try some shit a different way." A coy smile reaches the corner of his lip. "Just don't go thinkin' this don't mean I ain't Damon Cavalera no more. Just…" He shrugs for emphasis. "…kickin' over a new leaf."

"You know the drill. If I catch you skulking around at night, I get to kick your ass personally. And then I get to order someone else to do it, and watch." Salazar shrugs and finishes off her drink. "You fight back. It's part of what I like about you. Just don't make me look bad, or I'll shave your head in your sleep."

"Shit, that'll let all the magic out, Salazar." Damon smirks, downing his drink and setting the empty glass in front of her. "You know what the really funny shit about all this is in the end?" He smiles. "I still gotta come to you to get my explosives." He says, erupting in a laugh, slapping the top of her desk a few times and then extending a fist to her to crash knuckles.

A grin flashes across her lips. Her chair creaks a little as she tips forward, and reaches over to bump knuckles with Damon. "Yep. Same as it ever was." She shakes her head slightly, grin still in place. "If you need me to, I can give you a refresher on how to use them." Not that he needs one. But any excuse to blow shit up is an excuse well taken.

"You wanna bust in on Master Sergeant's time on the boot, be my guest. I'll be cool about it, acting like we don't know eachother too well." Damon smirks, running a hand through his dreadlocks before he rises. Pushing in his chair, he motions for her to come over to him in the universal gesture for a hug. "First time I ain't got a knife on me for this before I gotta start calling you sir, Salazar."

"Ah," Salazar slides her hands over the surface of the desk, as if smoothing out some wrinkle. "No one messes with Peri's souffle or Peri's booties. No one." She shakes her head, clearly indicating the pins on her collar? Oh, the pins on her collar mean nothing in the face of the sanctity of Peri Nikos' boot camp proceedings. One does not frak with the Master. "We're off duty. You don't have to call me sir yet, Private."

Damon nods, resting his hands on his hips as he looks down to her. "Not yet. Damn you're gonna love that too much." He smirks, scratching his chest quietly as he contemplates the one thing that he never thought he had: A future. He shifts his weight to his other hip, lowering his brows as if not knowing where to start. "So how's this gonna go?" He asks, lowering his voice as he looks to her. "Officers don't eat with enlisted? We still gonna be friends?"

"We're still friends. I eat with who I want," Salazar chuckles, clearly enjoying the dynamic in which Damon has to be the one scrambling to catch up to the rules, risking his neck to toe a certain line, where other lines are flexible. Maybe she just likes to watch him sweat a little. She definitely likes to watch him sweat a little. "You get settles. You have problems, you come to me off the books. I can't get involved unless it's a security issue, but I can advise you unofficially. We're at war, Cavalera. I trust you on my ship, and at my back."

Damon nods, reflecting at the words as he looks down to the tabletop. Cigar still resting in his hand, his face quiets as his mind continues to stretch through the future. Always one to think ahead of nearly every possibility, he's never too comfortable letting chaos take off where his ambitions are concerned. "Don't be a stranger." He says quietly, glancing to her face as he slowly turns on his heel. Starting to walk away alone, he speaks as he moves. "You're my compass, Salazar. Watch for me on the score sheets. I'm gonna suprise this boot camp. He wants blood? I'll bleed."

"That's the kind of attitude we like around here," Salazar replies, before she also rises. She watches him go, then locks up the drawers on her desk. "I'll see you around, Cavalera. Watch your back." The tattoed marine gives the dreadlocked soon-to-be marine a level look. She means that.

"Don't think that I haven't already anticipated that whoever is pulling this shit might try to make me a scape goat to throw off the trail, Salazar." Damon stops at the door, smirking to her. "I sleep quiet and after nukes and two stints on death row…here I am. I don't get careless, but I'm gonna be ball's deep in training. You watch your back." He nods directly to her, a little defensive for her. "I'm gonna just get me these frakkin' stripes and get this ball rollin', but if I see something I'll be bringin' it your way."

"You have a good sleep, Cavalera. You could use one, I'm sure." Sal nods to the marine in the back, and moves over to the file cabinet. She glances over at Damon again. "Don't use the third stall on the port side of the main Head. The hot water is frakked."

"Thanks for the tip." Damon nods, patting the door frame twice before he heads out, pausing to blink at the idea that he's now allowed to do this without a leash. All grown up now, he's free to move because he knows where he's not allowed to go. He looks to her as he closes the door. "Get yourself some sleep too, Salazar…"

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