Magic Word
Magic Word
Summary: Salazar drops by to visit Damon in the Brig.
Date: PH 105 (01 August 2009)
Related Logs: Three Hour Tour logs.
Players:
Damon..Salazar..

CEC Kharon, Deck 2, Brig
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #105
OOC Time: Sat Aug 01 20:18:29 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.


It's been quiet for Damon. He's been sitting alone in the center cell in his issued sweats for days now. Like a typical convict, he's done all sorts of exercises inside of the cell to keep himself healthy, and has been known to regularly ask for cigarettes from everyone from visitors to MPs. In relatively quiet spirits, he's a lion in a cage simply staring out at the outside world. Right now, he's on his back on his cot with his arms propped behind his head, his eyes closed. It's dead silent inside of his cell, he may be sleeping…he may not be.

The hatch opens, and in walks Salazar. She pauses briefly at the desk and addresses the MP on duty. There's a quiet exchange of words, and the dark haired ex-marine (ex-ex?) leans in to quietly speak to the warden on duty. After a moment, she signs a log book, and makes her way over toward the cells, passing Castor's. She was in here yesterday chatting with the other prisoner very briefly. She takes the chair and makes her way down t the bars in front of Damon's cell, places it there with a light thunk, and straddles it backward. She's only a few inches off of the bars, inside of the limit.

Damon doesn't move. He continues to lay there in silence for a few seconds before his lips start to move. His nose twitches, breathing in quietly before one of his eyes crack open. Tilting his head to see that it's Salazar, he closes his eyes and continues to rest. "…heard there's some internal problems. Was it armed?"

"It was." Salazar tips against the back of the chair, arms crossing over the back of it. Her hands rest on the bars. "It's been resolved." More or less. It's in a body bag, which is what really counts.

Damon's lip curls into a dark, feral smile. "Good. I'd hate to have this hospitality ended by a bomb suckin me outside for a walk." He says slowly, arms moving to unfurl from behind his head. Leaning up without the use of his elbows aside him, pure abdomen, he moves to a sitting position. "So is this a social visit or a business visit, Salazar?"

"Does it matter?" Salazar and Damon, ever such pleasant and hospitable creatures. They should host a dinner party. Imagine the warmth. "Of all the ways you're likely to go out, Cavalera, a bomb is not one of them. I expect the airlock would be intentionally opened by direct order of command." She watches him for a moment, then says, "But between you and me, I think it'd be the firing squad."

Damon's quiet eyes scan around before he rises and turns towards the bars. Reaching out for them, he leans forward against them so that he can look down towards Salazar. His body language says it all. He's resigned to death again, and is shaking in his boots not one bit. "I'll have to thank them for their humanity for that." He says quietly, his voice lowered in a non-conspiratorial manner. "You got a cigarette, Sal?"

"Nope." Salazar remains tipped against the bars in the chair, seated, her hands just tucked through them. Her wrists rest on the cross bar, and she studies her hands rather than look up at Damon. From her position, that would strain her neck. She gets a nice view of his abs, though. "There's been a little delay in deciding your fate. I have yet to be contacted about your file. It's a good sign you haven't been lined up yet. Look at it that way."

Leaning against the bars, Damon ceases to smirk or smile. This is a serious conversation, and he's never been coy about what he prefers the outcome to be. His stomach rises in a silent huff. "…I was told early on they wouldn't waste the food on me just to keep me alive." He replies, talking around her like he always does. "Almost forgot how boring this gets. The new kid's bad entertainment." Damon pauses for a long second. "How you settling in?"

"The new kid is sweet, but kinda light in the brains department," Salazar mutters, before she moves to stand as well. Staring at Damon's abs is only fun for so long. Her fingers curl around the bars. "Maybe whomever said that was just yanking your chain." She shrugs. "Who the frak knows." She glances over at the desk MP. "I'm getting on fine. Final physical stands between me and being official. Oorah."

"Frakkin reinstated…guess if they let me live you're gonna outrank me. Imagine that shit…" Damon says with a shake of his head, turning to finally make eye contact with her. "…all these years back, the idea of you givin me orders like that, never woulda seen it happening." A small, genuine smile forms. Then…he nods. "Good…you'll do better up here, less gardeners and less bullshit, just the way you roll."

"Just the way I roll." Salazar glances up at Damon, dark brown eyes amused. "You never thought I'd be giving you orders?" She taps her fingernails on the bars. "You think with your lifestyle, I never pushed you in one direction or the other?"

Damon's eyes return to hers, unblinking for long periods of time…just like normal. "You urged me on more legal, traceable. Pushing me to take it slow, use caution. No…I saw it then." Damon shakes his head. "Mistook it for something else at the time. I never mixed with business partners." A long silence settles in, his head nodding upwards to her slowly at the end of it. "How do you hope to see this end?"

She smiles a little, and nods. "When given a choice between multiple evils, I like to keep the redeemable from going down with the others if it's possible." Salazar returns that long, unblinking look, though she does close her eyes briefly when she shakes her head. "This isn't going to end for a while. If you mean this as in you." She shrugs her shoulders lightly, holding them raises for a moment. "I think there's some fight in you left. A firing squad today would be a waste of potential. You'd do okay in the meat grinder."

Damon's eyes finally blink, his eyes turn just a little bit to look at her temple before they return to that locked gaze. Cavalera doesn't beg, even the few times he was at gunpoint in his criminal career. "Redeemable." He says, trying the word on for size. "I'm in no hurry, Salazar, but if this internal bullshit gets worse on this ship, at least we know two people that didn't plant that bomb." He blinks again. "Watch your back out there."

"I always do, Cavalera. How else do you think I stayed alive this long? We had some rough friends, you and I." Salazar tips back from the bars, her hands remain on them for a moment. "Don't drop the soap or pick up any cubits."

Damon's lips curl into a sarcastic bit of mirth as he glances towards Castor's cell. He sizes up the man and then looks back to Salazar. "Right…" He says dryly, having seen far scarier in his day. Taking in a slow breath, he looks back to her, his hands still wrapped around the bars. "…this war ain't nothin, Salazar. Just another day. Just another day…" He always dodges around sentimentality. His lips smirk again. "Next time your pretty white ass comes up here, bring a poor man a cigarette, allright?"

"Mister Cavalera, I don't believe you used the magic word," Salazar replies, pulling her hands free of the bars. She steps back, watching him for a moment, before she turns to go.

Damon doesn't smile, but there's a playfulness in his eyes that's hard to ignore. "…there's a suitcase of cash in it for you. That always used to work." He says, one eyebrow lifting and lowering itself to let her know he's messing with her. He leans forward, resting his forehead between two bars to watch her. "The next time your sadistic loving-this-warden-shit ass comes up here, would you please bring me a cigarette?"

Even if he were serious, which she knows he isn't, a suitcase of cash would be only good as kindling. Salazar smiles and raises a hand to the prisoner as she moves toward the MP's desk. "I'll think about it." She spins the hatch. And out she goes.

Damon turns his head to watch her walk away rather unashamed of it. He's a man behind bars again, but he maintains his silent stare of her. Pulling back from the bars, he turns his head to hear the closing of his hatch and scans his cell. He has a bed and a toilet. Very little means to entertain himself, he raises his arms above his head in a stretch before he turns and flops down onto his cot. Green eyes open, he stares at the ceiling as he returns to his long wait.

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