| PHD 238 Eye To Eye |
| Summary: | Damon comes in to visit the S2. They have words. Later Cinder and Jacobs drop by. |
| Date: | PH 238 (Dec 12, 2009) |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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Marine Country smells like strong coffee and gun oil no matter the hour of the day. The office serves as an all-purpose command post for the Hestia detachment of the Colonial Marine Corps, constantly manned to protect the ship against foreign and domestic threats. Drab desks jut out into the room, their surfaces taken up by computers, files and a disarray of random office supplies. A large whiteboard dominates the majority of the bulkhead nearest the hatch, it's surface covered with a myriad of hasty scribbles denoting the day's duty shifts and other points of interest. At the far end of the room is an arms locker, requiring a passcode to be able to access it.
Thankfully as the night is young, that means the offices are slightly full. One man, with dark hair and a beard is slipping out in his blues, while another, dressed down in his khaki's remains. The less shaggy and swarthy of the two, seems to be focused on a rather large stack of files before him. Steam rising from his coffee, and pale dying smoke from a dead cigarette which is resting in his ashtray. That is what Damon would find when he finally gets here. The S2 hard at work.
The sound of heavy boots approaching announces the prison trooper's presence. Large and muscular, he steps into the room with his duffel bag at his side. Reporting for transfer in his duty greens, he keeps his vision low over the treeline of dreadlocks that lord over his face. Glancing across the assembled faces, he moves before the desk with the man in the khakis. "Private Damon Cavalera, reporting for duty." He says, moving to stand at attention.
Tombs raises a hand, just once as if to tell Damon to hold just a moment. And with that he leaves the private waiting, until he has finished with the paper in hand. Shutting the file, it is moved from one pile to the other. A sniff,and fingers search out his coffee mug, and bring it to his lips. One of those lovingly loud, and annoying slurps given, before the Aerelonian accent slips out. "At ease, Private." A grunt and he's sliding back from his desk for a moment to stand, and really eyeball the new marine, before he's moving to come around from his desk. "You're the con, Nikos sent over correct?" He'll wait for an answer before continuing. "If so, I'll make our words here short an sweet, so you can go back to lurkin in the shower for assholes and smokes."
Damon's face doesn't twitch at the immediate rudeness. Sliding his arms behind his back and widening his stance so that his foot rests against his duffel, Damon lowers his gaze to Tombs and stares over the span of the desk's top. "Yes I am." Damon says, not tacking a 'sir' onto any of it. His body language is icy at best, presenting a front that can only show the S2 that he's not going to exactly take insults on the chin.
"Yes, what?" Yeah this is standard from Tombs, well when he has someone of Damon's caliber on his ship. "You're best two words better be Yes, and Sir. Followed by Jack and Shit." And like that he's on Damon's case without even coming close to the other marine. "Look, Killer. I don't give a frakkin shit, what you were or why people stuck up for you- or even if you saved the President of the colonies. That all means shit now." a sniff and another slurping of his coffee, before the mug is set down as he steps closer. "Right now, you are a Marine, and a private under the Command of Captain Jack Krauss, which means you come under my command and my jurisdiction. That being said, Nikos gave a positive review of you- though she says you got a knack for getting your ass into trouble, either by running your tongue or doing some cock and pony shit. Make this clear- you'll knock that shit off right now. The first moment, you balk on an order, or decide to get it into your head to do something that would go against any standing orders you have, I'll restrict your AiQ to just the bunk, and a can to shit an piss in. Ontop of that I'll have your ass guarding cold storage with a frakkin stick." Not even a pistol, so if for some reason Cylons choose to go there, frakked is beyond what Damon would be. "You speak outta turn, I'll be sure ot have you licking th' head frakkin clean so it shines like a saint's asshole. Second time you do it, I'll just airlock your ass because I don't have time to deal with Drama. If you're a marine-then you don't either." a sniff. "You understand me?"
Damon's jaw tightens at the start of the dressing down from Tombs, but something causes it to ease. Comfortable with his arms behind his back, he keeps his vision directed right back into the man's eyes as they talk. Quite literally staring down one of the men who hold the keys to the chains in their hands, Damon's cold gaze goes to one of recognition. When the speech comes to an end, Damon's head nods once. "Yes Sir." Damon replies calmly, not making a large fuss over it all of the sudden.
"Oohrah, that is what I frakkin' like to hear." though there's no whooping or grin given over to the other man. "As such I want you reporting your offduty times for the first week, to our Sherif, Gunny Sarge Kalson. You'll know him, because he's our goaler and a good Master At Arms. I want you two to be buddies, this first week. Then cone shit has calmed down I'll loosen your leash a little. As it stands you have standard AiQ, which means you're only allowed: Mess, Chapel, Head, BUnks, and the Gym-for now. Our gym comes with a pool, so don't get her dirty." With that he's turning his back to Damon and moving to the desk. Apparently the stares or looks do not phase the man. Either he was a cop-or he's done this long enough that he's used to such looks. "You got any reckoning, of what you would like to be, beside's a rifleman, Private?" Odd for Tombs to ask, but he is curious.
A little humor, words of lightening his leash, and a question about what he wants for his future. Damon's face cracks as his eyebrows twitch upwards and his eyes widen in a sudden bit of surprise. The side of his lip tugs into a quiet grin at the request to not dirty the pool. When the man's back turns to him, Damon calms his stance just a little bit more. "Never given it much thought, sir. Was surprised to see that they didn't execute me that my first goal was to get off the leash." He pauses. "All depends on what security clearance a convict can get."
Tombs sits down after snagging his coffee, a motion made to the private to do the same with the seats across from him. "Well you better. I don't mind keeping you a grunt, but if you get ambitious, then get it. I don't want someone in my corps who is serving a sentence. You're committed now, despite your frakking past." A slurp there, thus going to prove Tombs is a noisy coffee drinker. "As for your clearance we'll figure it out as we go. You behave, and get all trust worthy on me, I'll give you more of a responsibility. You make me not trust you and I'll hang you-simple." A nod there, as he makes a little viewing window after pushing some files around. "I'll be straight with you. I'm going to be hard on your ass, because it'll make everyone feel at home-and that is what I want. And I'll be hard on you-because If you wanna do better, I'll push you."
Turning his head, Damon steps to the side and lowers himself into one of the two chairs in front of the desk. While managing to sit up straight, he allows himself to get comfortable with a sizeable lean on the edge of the armrest. Drumming his fingertips on his knee after Tombs finishes speaking, Damon maintains a cool quite for a few heartbeats before he speaks again. "Getting ambitious is a bad place for me to be, sir." Damon finally speaks, thrusting forward with some immediate insight. He shakes his head lightly as he speaks again. "That ship's come and gone, and some of the locals didn't like it enough that I was a private, so I figure everyone stays happy. I'm quiet. I know my weapons. I know bombs. I've taken down a Raider with a SAM. I kill things, but I know which direction to point the gun." He pauses. "Only way I make it out of this is if you do push me. Master Sergeant Nikos did. He gave me my rank."
Tombs glances up for a moment as he reaches for another file to get ready in the remainder of time there. "I see." a lick of his fingers, and he's going through the business of opening another file, while speaking with Damon. Multi-tasking for the win, but still his main focus seems to be on the private and not so much the print. "You see son, there's something to be said for the Military. We'll only let you rise as far as we need you to, or want you to." A half grin there. "As such I want you to be ambitious to be a good marine. For now, figure if you want to be an MP, Sniper, or a Wireloo guy. We need all we can handle, specially now." A beat though as he listens for a moment. "Took down a Raider with a SAM? I might see you go through further training for either demos, or Machine Gunner and indirect fire control, if you can handle that for now. Maybe we'll make an NCO out of you yet." As for the name and the rest there's a nod. "Don't worry son…" Must be an Aerelonian way of speech, as the man is not that much older than Damon. " I'll be up your ass so quick I'll be able to tell you what you had for breakfast a week ago. You will be pushed." and there a pause "You got any questions for me?"
Damon huffs inwardly at the mention of becoming an NCO. It's not a derogatory move, but more of a kneejerk reaction from a man who may be a marine now, but hasn't truly let any sort of belief settle in that he's anything but meat for the grinder. "Back on Scorpia, three convicts came towards the cabin to collect women as slaves. I rushed through the forest with a filed down steaknife, dove into the firefight and killed two of them with a shoddy blade before they even knew what hit them. If you need someone quiet, I'm your man." Damon says, telling a story that's definitely not in his file, nor in any of the reports from the era that decided whether he lives or dies. "You're not gonna break me. Hand me a sniper, I'll shoot it. Hand me G4, I'll show you some fireworks. Sheridan and I came face to face and he decided that I'd live, but as a marine. So that's what I am now. Hand me a mop and I'll break it in half." Damon replies, more trying to get his thoughts across than a threat. His eyes are calm, allowing some insight to the Marine S2. It's about respect for the man. Lifting his brows, he glances around the office. "Just one question." He looks back to the S2, eyes tilting towards the room behind him. He hesitates, either in a silent request for privacy, or considering just how he wants to word it.
Tombs raises a faint brow. "You want a medal for it?" A chuckle as he is polishing off his drink and then reaching for a pack of smokes from one of his desk's drawers. "So you can do quiet, an you could handle being a sniper, and on recon. That shows promise. A lot better than some farm kid who can shoot. So that bein' said I'll pass my recommendations to the Captain, and once we're settled, I'll see you get with someone to train you." An appreciative glance, before he's pulling out a cigarette and lighting up. "Private, if I am handing you a mop, it'll be either for you to shove up your ass before we space you- or because we ran out of bullets, and I expect you to kill a centurion with it." a shake of his head once that first drag is taken. "Shoot." As for Damon looking around, the office is mainly empty, just leaving the two of them as the duty guard is outside the hatch.
Glancing to Tombs' cigarette, an air of conspiracy falls over Damon as he watches the tip of the cigarette burn. Slowly, his eyes meet the S2's, sizing the man up. "What does my file say about the last time I was brigged, for dereliction of duty when I spoke with the prisoner, Ozymandias?"
Now this has Tombs quiet for a moment, before he's raising a brow up, and then lowering it. Another drag, before the Lieutenant simply spouts out. "Given the present time and law, I cannot reveal to you anything in your file, beyond your service jacket." a sniff, as he leans back into his chair "That being said, I did not see any such charge-otherwise we would be having a different conversation at an airlock." Dereliction of duty during wartime is serious business. "So for the sake of us starting on the right foot- I'll pretend we didn't talk about this." and with that he leans forward "We see eye to eye?"
"Crystal." Damon replies, nodding his head. One eyebrow twitches upwards, seeing that that is in fact…just that. Turning his head to the side, he raises his closed fist to his mouth and coughs, letting the issue drop. Something in his question, somewhere, was no where near as surprising to the man as learning that it wasn't in the report. "You won't have to tell me twice. New ship, new outfit, and I'm a stranger. Rear Admiral can overrule Sheridan's stay of execution order, so you can expect me to behave." Damon replies, meeting the man's eyes again. "I don't quit."
"Oohrah." the S2 croons out with a bit of smoke, as he studies the man across from him. "Alright then Private. Ship out, and get your shit all stowed. I'll have duty rotations up here come tomorrow, check with your NCO, and your squad assignment. After that we'll be running hard." A nod there as he looks up. "You're dismissed. Get some rest." And with that Tombs is fingering another file.
Rising from the chair, Damon flashes a salute to the S2 and then leans down for his duffel. How skinny the bag is shows just how little along the lines of personal posessions the ex-con actually owns, despite a small stay with the resistance on Scorpia. Shouldering the bag, he turns and heads for the door.
At least one down, at least one more to go for the S2. With Damon dismissed, fate sees fit to put Cinder in the Marine offices immediately after. Dressed in the olive Marine uniform with the Kharon markings. Like Damon, she has her duffel, though it's just a little thicker with the things she's managed to hold onto from her initial cruise on the Elpis. Scooting out of the way for Damon, duffel over her shoulder, she strides on in the office, and snaps a salute at the S2. "Private Cinder Brand, from Kharon, reporting for duty and assignment, Sir!"
Tombs blinks as it seems another comes in, right as he's finished saluting the departing Damon. A blink, as if trying to think of the name, before he's firing back the salute. "As you were, Private." A faint smirk there. Talk about extremes, to go from convict to cop. "You would be the dancercop, right?" Yes that is what he has her under. At least he didn't say stripper. "Well, then we'll make it brief. You're a private and an MP, which means you will answer directly to our MaA, Gunnery Sergeant Kalson, who in turn reports to me. I am your Security Officer. You can call me Lieutenant Tombs. Nothing else." Aww look how nice he is being. A flick of blue eyes back towards the woman. "Make sure to see the Quarter master about getting your new ship badges. I expect em on tomorrow. So spread the word in the bunks." A sniff. "You'll be off duty all day tomorrow-and on rotation come Monday. be sure to check with Kalson for your duty rotation. I assume I don't have to baby your ass and teach you sentry law, or shit like that?"
"Yes, that's me!" she replies, rather chipper. "Well…Sir, uh Lieutenant Tombs, I haven't had any disciplinary reports or anything like that filed against me on Kharon, if that's what you mean. I'm still learning, to a degree. Only seen action three or four times, but run patrol, SecHub, and range detail regularly on the other ship, as you can imagine." She looks a little…intimidated by the man, frankly, quite like she was with the previous S2 before getting to know her just the littlest bit. This ship might present more of a challenge…kind of like the big brother reluctantly taking in the kid sibling who's tinier and more fragile.
Tombs nods once, before he's looking down to ash his cigarette into a shoddy looking ashtray. "Well then, I'll make sure you're put up to snuff and that Kalson stays on your ass. If you're an MP on my boat, I expect you to learn your hand to hand. Learn the baton, and other procedures for taking someone down in a non lethal capacity. I will also expect you to know Sentry law, military law and brig procedures, as well as how to handle yourself during boarding action, and if we're breached." He'll let that settle and rattle in her brain. "You have an questions, Private?"
For the moment, Cinder just sort of stands there, furrowing her brows a bit. Looks like she has a lot of stuff to brush up on, at the very least Sentry law and the ins and outs, the stuff that makes it 'by the book.' "Not at the moment, Sir. Maybe once I get settled and get my wits about me, I might."
"Well for now this is your only chance, that being said. if you have nothing you're dismissed. Remember to get your patch changed." Simple there, he expects all of them to shift over quite well and easy. "Hurry it up. I'll expect you all bright eyed and busy tailed for muster and mess. Git." And with that Tombs is focusing now back onto the file before him as he smokes away.
"Understood, Sir." Cinder salutes once more, but she's a little unsure if he even sees it! And with that, she's turning around and pretty much hauling ass (and duffel) out of the S2's office, back into the hall to find the bunk and get all settled…and change those damn patches over.
time elapses
Well since Cinder, and Damon have both filed out of the S2 and the CO's office space, Tombs seems to be at relative peace, working over a file. In his hand is a half smoked cigarette, and his mug is currently devoid of coffee. By the stacks of files on the Marine's desk? It looks to be a rather long, long night.
And, of course who else but a medic would stop by with more paperwork? The bulkhead door is opened from the outside to allow in a young man, oddly dressed in tan scrubs, combat boots and carrying a beaten up MARPAT satchel. In his left hand, is probably what any CO is dreading at this point, more files. Some…are thicker than others. The newcomer marches smartly in front of the desk and renders a salute, "Corporal Ben Jacobs reporting as ordered, sir."
The Lieutenant looks up once and then peers back down, as he doesn't right away answer Jacobs. Instead there's a quick glance as the file is closed and moved to another pile, before his cigarette is extinguished. All quick and fluid motions. "As you were Corporal." Salute returned, and Tombs rubs his jaw slightly. "More work for me." a beat "Joy, hand her over." A slight sniff is given as eyes fly up to catch the scrubs, and the MARPAT satchel. "Ahh one of our new Corpsmen. Nice. Have you turned over any copies to Major Capriel?" That would be the CMO of the Hestia.
Jacobs drops the salute and then takes a step forward to set the manila folders down. "Yes sir, I am a medic transferring from the Kharon." He pats the files one more time, "These are some of the more…problematic medical files we have from the transfers. The usual; people who frequent Sick Call, significant injuries, social diseases and the like. They have already had copies taken down to Medical proper by some of the nurses." He takes a step back and stands with his hands behind his back as he continues. "I have not personally seen the CMO, however." Right to business with that maginificent voice of his and Caprican accent.
Tombs raises a brow back, as a faint smirk comes up. Charts taken, he lays them rather unceremoniously on the rather large pile. It seems though that he has them, he will get to them and in the right system in his own time. "Then I am going to state, that you will be required to do so, before you bunk in tonight." A look back to the medic, and he brings his hands to rest idly behind his head. "I also expect to see you drilling with the rest of the marines on the SAR, and with your rifle. Remember you'll be seeing combat here-and I want all my medics, specially my NCO's to know their way around a weapon. We clear there?" He'll wait for a moment "You got any questions for me, Corporal?"
Jacobs nods, "Of course, sir, that was the next stop on my tour." He takes a moment to think about how he's going to word what he is about to say next. However, when told that he's going to be drilling and training like the rest of the marines he looks absolutely relieved. "Yes sir, thank you sir. I found myself acting as the NCOIC for the nurses and orderlies in Sick Bay on the Kharon." He seems a little embarassed about that.
"Don't care." comes Tombs' response as he looks back up to Jacobs. "You could have learned out to floss your dick with razorwire and not make it bleed, and I still would not care. This is the Hestia now, and so, I will expect you to do your job as a Marine first, Medic second. Understood?" Of course that goes in line with he expects the marine to do marine things. "You have any questions for me?" Be careful with this one, Jacobs.
Jacobs nods, "A couple of questions sir." He was ready, that smooth Caprican voice of his never even faltering. "Are there other medics on staff? How many NCOs are amongst them? And is there any particular medical issues I should know of out here in Marine Country?"
"Well fire em away." It seems the S2 will humor the Corporal for a few questions as opposed to just one. A brow is raised for a moment. "Let me back this up for you, Corporal. You just asked me, if there are any medics, let alone NCO's amongst them. In the CMC…On a Battlestar." a pause "Yes, we have quite a few, with several NCO's amongst our ranks. In fact you can ask Staff Sergeant Kozmas, if he is an NCO as right now he's our lead medic. You'll be able to tell who he is, because he'll be the one the other Sergeants are looking to." A beat there. "As for any serious issues. I would say negatory. We had a cold come through for we found you all, and had you join our little family." A slight nod there. "But nothing serious." A beat and the S2 is reaching for a file. "Anything else, Corporal?"
Jacobs blushes, embarassed at forgetting that he has moved from a not so big ship to a /huge/ ship. "No sir, that is all." He snaps to attention and renders another salute.
Tombs looks back towards Jacobs, and there's a faint smile back, before he's nodding. Perhaps the embarrassment was enough. Still the Lieutenant, raises his hand from behind his head to return the salute. "Hoorah, Corporal. Get some shut eye, I'll have your ratations out for Monday." Which means yup, beyond doing Medic duty, he will also do a patrol on ship. Joy.
Jacobs drops his salute and takes a step back before doing an about-face and heads out the door.
END.
