| Glue |
| Summary: | Marek and Ramses have a little chat about the change in leadership. |
| Date: | PHD 261 (January 4th, 2010) |
| Related Logs: | Several |
| Players: |
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— [ Ready Room - Deck 14 ] -------— [ BS Hestia ] —
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #261 OOC Time: Mon Jan 04 20:20:10 2010
The Ready Room is used for pre-flight briefings for the Hestia's Viper and Raptor pilots. It is arranged much like a classroom, with row of tiered chairs facing a podium that sports the squadron logos on its veneered front. Each orange vinyl chair has a small fold-out desktop for taking notes. The front of the room is lined with large display panels to show mission details or review post-flight video footage that can be loaded from a computer terminal instead of the old-fashioned projector still affixed in the rear of the room. On the starboard wall is the whiteboard showing flight schedules and wing assignments - each pilot identified only by their callsign. The Hestia seal is displayed proudly over the hatch entrance, while other awards and accommodations line the walls.
-=[ Condition Level: 3 - All Clear ]=---------
The ready room's lights are currently dimmed, though there's no tape loaded into the projector. A solitary officer's seated behind Sito's desk, blues-clad, though with the top flap of his uniform unbuttoned and turned down to nearly conceal his flight wings. There's a stack of untouched file folders on one side, a Picon Five-seveN placed atop them, and a few photographs of Nini in front of him that he's either contemplating or staring right through.
Into this situation steps Freya Ramses. The lieutenant took the time to clean up and put on blues after her shift before going to find Marek. The hatch opens and she steps inside, pulling the hatch closed behind her. Red hair pulled back into a pony tail, she peers over towards the desk. For an instant, there may just may be a frown on her face before she's back to the officerly mask she's been wearing. Feet carrying her in that direction, she halts before the desk and offers a salute. "Reporting as ordered, sir."
Kai doesn't bother getting his ass out of his chair, what with having been shot and all. His eyes flick up as the hatch opens, and the tall Lieutenant strides in. The salute is returned briskly from his seated position, and he gestures to one of the uncomfortable looking metal chairs opposite the desk. "Have a seat, Lieutenant." The photographs are left where they are, as is his sidearm.
Ramses moves to a seat and takes it, sitting with a rigid tenseness in her frame. The gun is eyed before the paperwork and then lastly the man in front of her. She looks very much like she's trying NOT to look distinctly unhappy. "Sir."
There's a soft creak of the chair beneath him as the older officer leans back, and calmly meets Ramses' gaze. If the gunshot wound from the previous night is bothering him, he's pretty adept at hiding that fact. "Thought we might clear the air, rather than letting things fester. Some people prefer blind obedience. I like to know when something's crawled up the ass of one of my pilots and died. So." He clicks off the pen he'd been either writing with or just toying with absently, and tosses it atop the desk. "Talk."
The red head licks her lips, eyes locked on Kai's unflinchingly. "If that was permission to speak freely…" Probably not a good sign about what's to come: "Nini Sito was the glue that held this air wing together. She kept us strong and more than that, she kept us alive. So you'll excuse me for saying so, but she was a better pilot and a better leader than you could ever hope to be. And it irks me that you've just slipped into her shoes like you belong in them." Ramses pauses there and finishes with, "I'm not your pilot, I'm Nini Sito's. She mentored me, trained me, lead me in battle and kept my Lords forsaken bony ass in once piece through this whole godsdamned calamity. You? You want that respect, you have to earn it. Til then, I'm just following orders."
Logan arrives from the Corridor E - Deck 14.
Logan has arrived.
Apparently it was permission to speak freely, as Spider doesn't once interrupt the woman during her little spiel. His expression doesn't change a whit, and his blue eyes don't leave hers for a second. If there's tension in his bulkier frame, it's as well-hidden as his discomfort from his injury. "Are you done?" It doesn't seem to be a rhetorical question. He did ask for this, after all.
Logan pauses at the door on hearing Spider's question, and holds there, waiting to see if he just make like a ghost and fade, even if it /is/ the Ready Room.
"One more thing, since we're airing everything out," Ramses states softly, dipping her head a little before bringing it back up and resuming her locked on stare at Kai. "I will always give my absolute best to this wing and this ship, even if I don't like where the orders are coming from." Pausing for a breath, she finally says, "I'm done, sir." It's said with all the enthusiasm a criminal facing execution can muster.
Kai regards the redheaded pilot across from him, silently, for some long seconds. Then turns his head a fraction to lock eyes with the other pilot who's wandered in. "Wait outside, Lieutenant." No please, no thank you.
Said Lieutenant was already turning for the door, in point of fact. Cass nods once to make sure the CAG knows he's been heard and ducks out.
Logan heads through the exit labeled <F> Corridor.
Logan has left.
Ah boy. No witnesses. Puffing out another breath, Stonewall lets her eyes fall briefly on the weapon on the desk before bobbing back up to Kai. She clears her throat. Awkward.
Marek still doesn't speak, not immediately anyway, upon Logan departing the room. His eyes return to Ramses, and he peruses her face briefly before dropping his gaze entirely and starting to gather up the few items sitting on the desk. The photographs are tucked into an envelope, which is set aside. The paperwork is left where it is, presumably to be gone over at a later time. He speaks finally, after a good minute or two's passed. "I don't frankly give a shit whether you think much of me or my methods, Lieutenant. We don't know one another from a hole in the wall, and to be perfectly frakking honest, I'd probably feel much the same as you do, if some yahoo was taking over for the CO I trusted, respected, and knew I'd follow to hell and back." He tosses the envelope of pictures in front of Freya. "But you don't accuse me of trying to take her place. I follow my orders, like you follow yours. I'm not going to pussyfoot around this wing, or around you. If you want someone with a softer touch, feel free to request a transfer to the CMC. Am I understood?"
"Yes sir." The envelope is eyed and then reached for. Settling it on her lap, Ramses says, "And you'll forgive me for speaking of the dead like this, but Nini Sito was a giant godsdamned bitch. And we loved her for it. You can't help but be softer in comparison, sir." Lips pursed after that last, she lowers her head, gaze drifting down to the envelope she's holding.
"You don't know me yet, Lieutenant," Marek warns, eyes still lowered while he gathers up the bevy of paperwork still left on the desk. Though if his reputation from the Kharon's any indication, he's a pretty even-keeled sort. "I'd appreciate it if you'd pick a few of those that you feel represent her best, and put them up on the memorial wall." He pauses a moment, then confides more quietly, "For what it's worth, she seemed like a good woman. I'm sorry for your loss."
"Sir." The woman, detecting the dismissal in the man's words, starts to push to her feet. "I'll have them up tonight. Is there anything else I can do for you, Captain Marek?" Only this time, instead of pronouncing the man's name properly, it comes out May-wreck. Ramses settles her hands behind her back, envelope under one arm and her face once again a mask.
There's a beat, and a thoroughly unreadable silence from Spider in the seconds therein. Then a shake of his head 'no', as he eases slowly to his feet. It's a somewhat painful process. "No, Lieutenant. You're dismissed." It seems like that might be all, but then he tacks on with his customary gruffness, "Have a good evening."
For a moment, Ramses stands there before she turns away and heads for the hatch, opening it and stepping through, but not before offering a not so gruff, "Evening," behind her.
Ramses heads through the exit labeled <F> Corridor.
Ramses has left.
