AWD #492: Failure to Communicate
Failure to Communicate
Summary: Elena and Alastair run into each other at morning mess. It doesn't go well.
Date: 26/10/2016 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: Paternal Instincts
Alastair Elena 
Mess Hall
The Crew Mess on the battlestar is one of the larger rooms meant for occupation. The room is far longer than it is wide with the classic stainless steel tables that can be seen anywhere else on the ship, standard to all navy ships. Most of the chairs match, their padding on the seats worn down after several years. Towards the rear of the room is the food prep area and serving lines. During the time in between meals the Mess will serve midrats, or 'mid-shift rations', such as sandwiches and drinks. Coffee pots are left to run at all hours to keep people going as needed.
13 May 2006 AWD #492

Sitting at one of the tables after picking up a breakfast of toast, soft boiled eggs and tea, Alastair has out a few hand drawn star charts as he goes over them. Next to it is a few files of known information on Galactica as spreads a little marmalade on the bread to chew on it, looking thoughtful as he taps his foot against the floor.

Ensign Heron is on a medically mandated high calorie diet, so her plate has a pile of fried potatoes next to the limp Piraean fruit and toast she'd normally prefer. She sits down at an empty table and stares at her food.

As he looks at the map, Alastair's eyes narrow for a moment and then in a light tone of Leonese, he murmurs, "<Alright, so I think I recognize that cluster..>" he comments quietly, making a mark in his notebook, and sets aside his breakfast for the moment to continue his research.

Her breakfast is intensely uninteresting. When Al starts speaking in tongues, she can't help herself. "Why do you do that?" she asks from her nearby table.

"<Do what?>" Alastair asks in Leonese, confusion furrowing his brow as he continuse to make his notes, pen moving across the paper, trying to make a copy of the constellation that he recognized in his own notes.

Elena snorts, rolling her eyes. "Okay, I get it. Have a good breakfast." The young pilot angles her body away from Trap, trying to ignore him.

There's a small cough, and Alastair pauses his writing. "What do you mean, why do I do what?" he asks with that clipped Virgonese accent of his as he continues to write.

"Speak in tongues randomly, yeah?" Ellie clarifies, her Pican lilt amplified by her tiredness.

"It's not random." Alastair corrects as he returns to his writing. "I can speak five languages and several dialects fluently. If I do not practice them on occassion, I will start to forget what they sound like and how they feel on the tongue." Pausing for a moment, he nods, and asserts a bit of a Pican accent. "I do it 'cause I don't always have someone to speak plainly to in their tone, yeah?"

"Now you're making fun of me. Godsdammit, Trap, I'm trying to let shit go and you keep…" Ellie exhales slowly through her nose. "We can't all be perfect like you," she says, heavy on the sarcasm.

"I'm not making fun of you, Ensign. I'm trying to explain the answer to the question you asked me." Alastair points out. "If you are always going to take things directly to your heart and assume the worst of every situation, you're never going to let things go. Speaking of - it was out of line to publically point out the issue you were having within the cockpit and simulators. I had wished to keep it a private matter, but I allowed the infuiration of the moment and my own clouded judgement to speak out of turn. I am by no means perfect, and I hope you accept my apology." All prim and proper, as he settles his hands over each other.

"You mean publicly undermining my sanity and competency in public on two separate occasions?" Ellie asks, canting her head. "I wonder why I'd take your comments personally. I mean. If you were to do something like that. /Sir/." The young woman's tone is level, but with an icy edge.

"Two?" Alastair asks with a lift of his brow. "Do explain."

"I'd already agreed, in front of other people, mind, to fly the mission to the agro ship. After making my private struggles public gossip fodder, you offer the mission to Kelsey. In front of me." Ellie fixes her green gaze on Trap. "I don't give a frak about whether I fly it or not, but that shit combined with the overall dismissive rudeness? Feels personal. Real frakking personal."

"That wasn't a slight against you. That was asking if she wanted to go. After the last incident with a pilot being captured, a second pilot would be best. As it would be for the Galactica mission as well." Alastair points out as she took what he thought was operational performance. Finally, he shrugs, a glance to the file. "Then I will make sure to put in a request with the Major that I am not placed on any flights with you, as it would be a personal issue."

"And there you go again. I have no problem doing my job, /sir/. And I don't throw other people under the bus to prop myself up." Ellie presses her lips together and stares at her untouched food.

"And when did I do that, Ensign?" Alastair asks, another lift of his brow.

There is a long pause, so long that it might seem that Ellie isn't going to respond at all. "I don't believe for a second that you told Bennett about my shit in the simulators because you cared. If you cared, you would have talked to me. No way. You were kissing ass and bucking for promotion," she says finally, tone soft and level. "And your opinion of me was made crystal clear when I woke up and asked what had happened and you more or less said to me 'don't worry, sweet cheeks, the adults handled it', then when I called you on it you outed some incredibly private information in a tactical character assassination strike. Whatever, Trap. I don't give a frak about your games. Just don't bring it to work with you."

"If that's how you're going to feel, Ensign, then that's your decision to make." Alastair responds, as he returns to his work, taking a sip from his tea after blowing across the surface of it. "One cannot defend themselves against the demons that others create of them." he finally comments, and returns to chew upon his toast. "This is no game. This is a war. And I didn't want to be in the ECO seat or know someone else that was in an ECO seat when you wanted to fly into the ground. You needed help, you got it. If that's me throwing you under the Raptor, then that's your decision to make. But I will speak plainly to the Lords and Ladies for your continued recovery."

"If you hadn't weaponized that knowledge when I called you out for being actively shitty, I would believe you. Don't pray for me, you condescending frak. You don't have a special hotline to the gods. I can talk them on my own without Saint Alastair's intercession," Ellie pushes her full plate away, getting up. "Yeah, you just care soooooo much."

Alastair just shakes his head at that point, no longer bothering with addressing the Ensign. Instead, he returns to his notes and his own breakfast to continue to eat.

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