| Changing Hands |
| Summary: | Faulkner gives Amos a desk job. It's all the robots' fault. |
| Date: | 29/11/2016 |
| Related Logs: | None |
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| XO Stateroom |
| The XO's Stateroom is not nearly the size of the Admiral's, but the allowance of personal space is not taken for granted. There is a small couch that has been pushed against the wall by the bed at the rear of the room. To the side are several lockers next to the entrance to the personal head and on the other is a desk against the wall. |
| 16/06/2006 |
Faulkner's quarters don't have the exact separation of private and business as the CO's Stateroom on account of economy of space, but at least her desk is situated before getting into the personal area. A small panel-style screen has been placed to help keep a sense of purpose of each area distinct and reduce additional distraction. Earlier in the work day, a runner was sent to go and track down Captain Ommanney to deliver note from the XO that simply said indicated that he should come see her at a specific time late in the day in her quarters. It isn't that unusual for the XO or CO to receive the occasional official business in their quarters or take up candid conversations there on account, but the XO is less than likely to on account of the general lack of space. There's a reason each have desks so close to their sleeping quarters. The jobs pretty much do not have 'time off.' Faulkner is currently sitting at her desk which is in a carefully controlled state of chaos as she makes the most of the surface and the wall behind it. Next to the desk she's set up a chair with it's back to the wall, but angled slightly so as to not feel like one is being processed for some crime. It gives off a more familiar air than looking at her over a full desk, but it's clear that the chair is not a permanent fixture since it edges into some of the prime walking real estate in the quarters. She is in a crisp set of blues. She appears unhurt from Orion's recent scathes, as one would expect from someone not pushing the CO's years. It is, after all, not incredibly taxing to keep her balance or react quickly enough to protect it while the ship is under heavy fire.
Amos is also, purhaps surprisingly, lookking unscathed by recent events, although in deference to the XOs summons he has taken the time to change out of the greens his usually wears and into the greys he should technically be wearing when aboard. Got to look smart for the bosses and all that. The stateroom gets a cursory glance, small though it might be compared to the admiral's, it's huge compared to a rack on the bearthings. Still, he's assuming this is business rather than pleasure so as he slips throught ht ehatch at the alloted time he comes smartly to attention for a moment, then drops into a more relaxed parade rest stance, "you wanted to see me Sir?"
Faulkner swivels in her chair. Yes, it is a veritable paradise compared to the racks, but Faulkner doesn't seem to have much time for decoration. What pieces of personal touch there is are owed more to small gifts and tokens of appreciations from individuals or crews rather than anything denoting personal taste. "Come on in, take a load off your feet." It seems more an invitation to be more relaxed as much as to take a seat. "I'll make this quick. I know you have your hands full."
Amos seems happy enough to work with more relaxed, and drops out of prade rest to simply standing easy. "Thank you," he replies with a short nod, then "yes, there's a lot to get through before we start action over Leonis, and I'm not entirely sure the Gods have given me enough time to do it all in, but I'm sure you appreciate that just as much." That however, is about the level of small talk he's going to attempt, for he then falls quiet again, and lets her get to her point.
"Indeed." For all her age, Faulkner still carries herself with a spiky vitality. This doesn't seem a time to draw out formalities, so as she reaches for her mug of coffee, black, she only takes a brief moment to herself before diving right in. "Your dedication to the Corps and the Fleet at large is not unnoticed, and neither is the work and quality of that work of you and those you have been leading and administering." She turns in her chair to open a drawer of her desk from which to pull a small, black rugged clamshell case. It's not anything standard, but at least someone managed to scrounge up something with a Colonial symbol on it. "Unfortunately for you Major. It's the kind of work we up in Command like to reward with…well more work." A bit of dry humor dished as she opens the case and presents the new pins to go with the rank which she just used. "Effective immediately, you are now responsible for the souls and operations of the Corps of the entire space-bound Colonial fleet with only a small reprieve. The exclusion of combatant commanders on Marine landers." She keeps her eyes pinned on the newly minted Major with a discerning gaze.
Amos eyes the box as it appears, he's pulled this trick himself often enough to know what's coming and he squares his shoulders a fraction out of instinct rather than concious effort. If she's expecting a display of emotion at the news, or a burth of enthusiasm then she's likely going to be disapointed, for his reaction as he takes the pips offered is far more measured and level. "Thank you for your confidence in my abilities," is his reply. It's not reluctant, it doesn't go that far, but it does have the tone of someone who is resigned to doing somehting they would prefer not to in the service of the greater good. Pocketing the box for now he keeps his mind on the practical issues at hand, "I assume I'm still tobe based here on Orion? I'll talk thngs through with Major Fairfax and ensure a full handowver of what I've been working on."
It's a thankless job to be sure. In a time when humanity weighs in the balance and performance is more critical and criticised than ever, the burdens of such a promotion are not to be taken lightly, but it is also a great honor. Faulkner has just handed Amos a double-edged sword, and as seeing Amos a man befitting that station to wield it, this is no time for pep talks or lectures. They know who he is and they've seen his work. "If you have any difficulties, I'll make myself available," but the offer is obviously not a free for all. She doesn't have much time to spare, just like him. She leans back in her seat and rests the coffee on the edge of the desk with both hands. "Yes. We will need you here in order to coordinate and plan joint operations." Which means regardless of how he feels about the Orion, he's staying put. "Major Fairfax is already apprised of the personnel changes and should be ready to walk you through the transition quickly. Time is of the essence." She takes a sip of her coffee and then sets the mug aside to swivel back towards her desk and reading of reports, taking up and donning her wire rimmed glasses. Looking up once more, she drives her casual dismissal home, by saying, "Oh and Major. Congratulations."
The weight of the responsibility will likely catch up with Amos shortly, but for now he's quietly lamenting having finally been promoted to as desk. It's a fate he's been avoiding for a while, hence his comparatively lowrank for his years in service, but then war is a bitch. "So, noted," he replies to her comment about help if needed, but he has nothing else to add so simply comes briefly to attention once more and adds "I'll see you tomorrow Sir," before dropping to rest again and turning to leave. He's assuming she'll be at the funeral at least, he certainly will be.