Wings
Wings
Summary: Fenix and Walt, work on a viper, and talk about usual deck like things
Date: PHD 58 (June 15th, 2009)
Related Logs: none
Players:
Fenix..Walt..

[ Hangar Bay #1 - Hangar Deck ]-----[ CEC Kharon ]
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #58 OOC Time: Mon Jun 15 22:02:52 2009


There's activity here at almost every hour of the day. Impact guns can be heard with their shrieking rumble while crew call back and forth, their voices carrying just above the din of the work here. What's readily apparent is that this is the main Hangar Bay for the Vipers, the distance going back further than the other two Bays which are separated by thick, hydraulically rolled blast doors. On each side of the room, near the Fore end, six Viper tubes are ready for quick deployment of the Kharon's Viper squadron. Lining the rest of Hangar Bay One, each Mark Two and Mark Seven has its own place to be kept with a small red toolchest that holds the minimum of required equipment for quick maintenance.
Along the floor, each individual Viper bay is painted off with a single hashed yellow and black stripe. A deep red line denotes important electrical conduits and access ports just below the deck while a bright blue line follows up walls and across the floor to tell where the Tylium lines run in case of fire. Outlets along the wall for the fuel as well as corrugated rubber piping stand ready for use, fluorescent yellow firefighting gear kept in plain sight for easy access nearby.
-=[ Condition Level: 3 - All Clear ]=---------
->Players<-
Walt Fenix

The deck is always busy-birds coming in and birds going out. However towards the back of where those being fueled and made ready for the next CAP, already the deck's crew of Grease monkeys and electricians are fast at work repairing one of the wounded birds. In the lead of the small crew of specialists and crewmen is Walt. And yes from the looks of it the PO is slightly perplexed, but working anyway

"No-no, we're not looking to cut the whole gods-damned wing off, so be careful there." comes his usual boisterous bark at a Specialist who seems to want to go a little happy with the torch, or at least wants to light her up. "Frakking A, We just need to see what it did-" and a shake of his head "Just need to unstick that little flap..Wonder if she caught something going in.." Yes such great terms, but clearly the flaps on the right wing are damaged and need to be fixed.

Things are finally starting to work around here. At least as far as the Deck Crew goes. The ships are always coming in, going out, and inevitably worse for the wear. But the orange-clad men and women who repair them are finally starting to work smoothly. Its been a rough few months. Losing their Chief mere weeks before the attacks, and finding him replaced by a woman who showed little interest in 'warming up' to her crewmen. She did her job, they did their job, and that was that. Friends were for off-duty, and Fenix is rarely caught in such a state.

But things change. Things have to change, in times like these. And slowly but surely, the observant would notice the Chief lingering a bit more. Carrying on a few conversations — albeit awkward ones — with those who dare it. Daring to step a few inches away from the carefully dictated role she was thrown into, without warning and without request. This seems to be one of those rare occasions, for the dark-haired PO isn't barking orders as she approaches Walt's team. Instead, a glance is flickered between the injured flap and the man who's speaking.

"You'll need to unscrew the bolts near the back," murmured, voice barely audible over the din of the deck. Offering a suggestion, but not an order. "Whatever's goin' on is under the flap itself, and you'll need to get under it to see the damage."

Well its about damned time, beats sitting on one's proverbial thumbs and wiggling them around doesn't it? And as his arms remain clasped, Walt is watching before he is coming in to move again this time to yank a crewman out of the way of another who seems not to have a clue what is going on. "Come on kids, this is why we can't have nice things-pay attention. Waverly-hand me your screw gun." the pneumatic thing is a piece of work. Can unscrew a bolt or a screw, quicker than a picon whore can have her hand down your pants and be asking for five dollars. "

The words startle him. Which is slightly hard to do, but it does have the big man looking over his shoulder and then decidedly down. One hand goes up as the gun is weighed in the other. Glasses are pushed up before he nods. "Oh hey there Chief." Yes-you would be chief, whether an actual chief in rank or not. The dark hair'd woman is the Chief, and so she is given that bit of respect. Don't need the pins to make you what you are.

"Just about to do that, if you care to take a gander with me?" asked. before he's moving around to the back of the wing, already pressing the bit into the viper's metallic hide, before with a squeeze of the trigger. High-pitched wail and bolts and their lugs are coming right out, as easy as blueberry pie.

"Came in from Atmo, exercises form last night. We don't know exactly why it stopped working, but its holding itself there like broken chicken wing-look." Ad he's getting fingers in there to help pry, so as they can see what exactly the matter is.

She's seen him before. Hell, she's seen him everyday for the last few months. But up until today, she's never really /looked/ at him. Something that'd be akwardly clear in the way dark eyes flicker over his features, only to pause curiously on the choice in eyewear. As if she hadn't noticed the glasses before. Blinking once — a bit bemused — before she's shaking herself from the social distraction to look back to the ship.

"Blame Spider," she suggests, as he explains the mysterious wing-break. "That's what I usually do, and if you twist it around enough, I'm almost always right." Wryly spoken, even as she hoists herself into a position to… see. Hip resting against the edge of the wing, and a boot lodged into one of near-invisible footholds that pepper the birds. Allowing for monkeys to climb all over them, as they're doing now.

"There," murmured, 'brows knitting, as she leans in to peer under the edge of the raised flap. "You see that hinge near the back? Its come off the roller, probably during landing. Put enough pressure against some of these older pieces, and some are bound to give." Grimacing slightly. "But you work with what you got." And at this point, it's all about recycling. Repairing even the smallest bits to be reused again, lest they run out of ships entirely.

Walt would be painted to pink to think that for a moment, just a tiny one he managed to through her off her game, but like everyone and everything attached to this deck? There's not a minute in the day for it, or even the musing- After all He's got ships to repair, and no time to spend on thinking about social graces. All the same Fenix is given a smile before he's clambering over a little further to give her some room. A motion with one hand as the other keeps a good hold on the wing "Waverly, get the rest of this off.."

To which the crewman responds, and quickly. When the problem is pointed out, there's that pause of breathe, and just a sound akin to /huhn/ leaves him. "Well sonuvabitch.." He's taking his time then to lean in and get those hands back in there. "I need a wrench." called out to which one is passed over a nod, of thanks and then he's putting in a little elbow grease the's moving metal about before the wing is 'popped' back into place, and secured. During this time the wrench goes from being in his hand, to being held in his teeth and then back to his hand.

A chuckle as Walt leans back for a second, brown eyes peering up over the rim of his spectacles to watch Fenix for a second. "So other than blaming Spider- you got any other idears?" a chuckle before he's scratching his chin all the same. " Frakking A.. You know what I could do for? Is some nice lovely new birds, or at least parts that we can make replacements out of. That'd be great for frakking Yule this season.."

"No, the Spider bit has worked for me so far. Why mess with a good system?" The woman's flickering him a brief smirk, and perhaps giving him some insight into her working relationship with the pilots. A fact that's solidified as she snorts, "And he says th' same about me, I'm sure." She's nodding hr approval as Walt works out the problem for himself, content to simply lean into the ship and… watch. A few looks flickered toward Walt himself, but those are kept brief. Wouldn't want to get awkward and all. His last words earn a soft snort from the woman, then a shake of her head. "Keep prayin' to whatever God you trust. I'm afraid we got what we got."

"Chief, I pray only to one God, and that be of thunder and craftsman hissself, the almighty Zeus." Normally at this time Walt would punctuate the statement with the proud showing of his tattoo on either his arm, or his chest-or both. But instead the Mechanic just grins and adjusts his glasses before that bark's coming back out "Waverly-get the bolts and the gun over here, don't just leave em on the floor like marbles an jacks." Despite the bark in the PO's voice one might be sure to take that he doesn't bite them as well. Just usual hardassery a seasoned sailor might give.

A glance back up and he just grins back over to Fenix "Mind flutzing around with the stick in there chief to make sure we have her put in right- I don't want to have to dig in here again after putting the bolts back in." Good natured smile, yeah Walt gets along better with people he understands. The techs and mechanics he works with on the flgiht deck- as opposed to the pilots themselves. They keep wrecking his pretty planes or- "Did one of them paint shark teeth on one of the birds? I highly doubt Spider would betray his arachnid cousins for that." and a moment before Walt grins "Sorry- Lame there.."

"If they did, I'll whip their ass. It's bad enough that they're makin' X's…" Fenix is muttering, sweeping a baleful look toward one of the graffiti'd birds. Damn pilots. His talk of Gods is carefully ignored — not in an offensive way, but with the air of one who'd rather /not/ offend, and should therefore keep her mouth quiet. Instead nodding as he mentions the stick, and with the acrobatics inherent to their profession, the undersized woman is climbing up the side of the ship to drop herself into the pilot's seat. Not her usual perch, but not unfamiliar, either. She's had to troubleshoot these birds often enough. Glancing out the window to make sure Walt's ready, and then flipping the desired mechanism into action. "I can't see," she admits, sweeping Walt a look that suggests this one's on him.

Now don't talk his god talking to-too much to heart. He would be a relaxed follower. Only so much that he shows for the major days of rite and ritual. Might say a prayer if he remembers to before he sleeps, and of course the odd Sunday. Probably after something mightly fun and wrong was committed. "I am sure one of our grey doves has a frakking shark or tiger assed grin on it. I was mightly none too pleased.." In fact he was about to find a crewman unlucky enough to be shirking or slacking off to paint the sucker back to its stoic militarized colour scheme.

"Just jiggle the stick back and forth as if you were climbing or diving, and I'll let you know when she's good and flapping." Ahh yes, the Deck crew stands back to see how this will exactly go, or if they might need to make a few other adjustments. Don't worry Fenix, Walt has all four of his eyes focused in.

Jiggle the stick back and forth. Yes, she can do that. It was surely in a manual somewhere. Feeling a bit out of place, Fenix is nonetheless doing as the man asks. Leaning back in the seat, head pressed to the headrest, in a futile effort to see the wing flap. Giving up after a moment — actually straining herself would suggest distrust, and while she may /have/ it, she best not /show/ it. And so she's finally relaxing back into the seat, dropping her attention to the small lever that she tugs to and fro. Ah, to be a pilot. "How's it look?"

Hand is up hopefully where you can see it, or one of the Monkeys by you can holler and let you know that it is working just fine- "She's good Chief!" comes the familiar call from the PO and Walt is nodding to Waverly to get the paneling back on down there, and bolted i good and tight. Don't need these old birds coming apart in the tubes. Walt smoothes his hands down the orange of his jumpsuit ad over the black back support belt that fits snuggly around his midsection.

"Thank you very much for the help Chief." says Walt, cheerily enough-if you can call the man cheery. But he at least waits for her to show herself before saying such tings. He's not an asshole. Well, not a big one.

She clambers from the ship as prompted — that's not her place, and it just feels /wrong/ — and down to the deck in almost a single movement. Tugging her jumpsuit straight, and sweeping a glance upward to nod toward the other PO. "Yeah, of course." A pause, hesitating a bit, then she's offering an almost amiable, "Just shout if you need help." A different sort of offer than the knowledge that she'll step in if something fraks up. Is someone learning to be a team player? My, my.

Walt grins back to Fenix and he nods once more before those blasted glasses are pushed up for a third and final time. And there they rest, without the need to slide down to the end of his nose. "Well, of course, Chief." And he nods, turning round to go back to his work and do the final check and clearance of the craft, before he is looking back over his shoulder "Oh-Chief." offered back. "I got mess in a couple hours if you wanna come along- Don't think we've talked that much..Should rectify it, as I work under you and all." Yup. Team player

Wait, what? No, no. A bit of friendly conversation does not equate /friends/. He'd see the flicker of alarm on the woman's face as he makes his offer — and his suggestion that they 'talk' — but she manages to smother the look before it becomes too awkward. Clearing her throat slightly, and after blinking a few times at the larger mechanic, she's nodding. "I, uh, yeah. Right." 'Brows knitting as she tries to work this evolvement out in her head, and then a hand raised in distracted farewell as she makes to turn.

"Later Chief." called back and Walt's soon diving back into his work. Last minute checks of the viper, before they'll be moving her on to the rest of the 'fleet.'

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