| I know your kind. They're just like mine. |
| Summary: | A brief discussion regarding the war effort turns into something deeper |
| Date: | 21/Jun/2013 |
| Related Logs: | In part a follow up to Prep Work Continues |
  |
| Hangar Bay, Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion |
| Each hangar deck is divided into five one-hundred yard sections, each divided from the others by massive blast doors that close vertically from the floor and overhead. Each hangar section houses all of the Vipers, Raptors, and Predators that the wing operates as well as the vital work areas to support and maintain these fighting platforms. Each bay is large enough to accommodate one of these frames and still get heavy work done, though the fore- and aft-most sections are dedicated to overhauls and major work to be done. The bays along the center section are located across from launch tubes and elevators in order to provide scramble and Alert-Five capabilities. The second-to-aft bay provides major elevator and transport access to the starboard bay as well as the major manufacturing facility. Due to the nature of the work, the hangar decks are major hubs of activity at all hours of the day and all but four hours overnight. |
| AWD #166 |
On shift, and being a couple of minutes ahead of his assigned tasks, Toby has a mug of unidentifiable tylium flavoured hot beverage in one hand and a couple of rolled up sheets of paper in the other. From the way he's walking down the middle of the work area, glancing left and right as he passes each craft being worked on, it's a good bet he's looking for soeone specific.
Sera's not hard to find. Granted, she's hard to see, being as she currently consists of a pair of orange-covered legs sticking out from underneath one of the Raptors, which could be anyone. But the litany of Trojan pouring out of her mouth, words which are doubtlessly the sort of invectives that could make a sailor blush (at least, judging by her tone), are unmistakable. Yeeeeah. That's Sera!
Toby hears his target before he sees her, but then, as noted, those legs really could belong to anyone under all that orange. Stepping up to the raptor in question he waits for a pause, or at least a breath, before tapping on the craft's nose. "Hey Chief, got a minute?"
Sera slides out from underneath the bird. It's obvious why she's swearing — the damned thing just plopped a pool of oil onto the deck and, in the process, managed to nail part of her chest and a spot on her left ear and part of her hair. "What?," she asks bluntly, her face screwed up with the momentary annoyance mechanics feel all too often.
Toby came prepared and passes across the mug first before gesturing with the paper in his other hand. "I went and spoke to the armourers about those missile lorries, they came up with a big fat zilch and reckon it needs bouncing to either tactical or the marines. "
"And I don't have much left in the way of friends in Marine country," she mutters as she reaches up with a rag to try and wipe herself off. It has the lovely effect of just sort of smearing the mess around in a thinner puddle, once she's sopped up the worst of it. "Which means we'll have to take it to tactical." So seems so pleased.
Toby can't speak for Sera's friends marine wise, but he knows he has none himself and so silently nods at her assessment. "Thats the way I figure it too, also if there is any info on the armourment of those things it's likely them that'll know." He doesn't look overly thrilled about it either, having been hoping to keep it within deck until there was something solid, but sometimes that just the breaks.
"…Do you want to do it, or am I goin' to have to haul my ass upstairs?," she asks, doing what little she can to hide her 'enthusiasm'. Really, it's like they're drawing straws to see who's going to get stuck cleaning the head after a night at Charlie's.
"I'm thinking they'll pay more attenion to it if it comes from you," Toby replies, apparently equally as enthusiastic about the prospect of talking to the brass. "They're used to working with you, know you're not wasting their time and all that."
"That doesn't mean they're inclined to listen," she advises him in a low tone. She has not, it seems, forgotten the way some of her particular points about particular personnel aboard the ship have fallen on deaf ears. "But give me what you've got, and I'll see if anyone up there has a few seconds to spare."
Toby nods in brief understanding then passes the sheets across, they've already been passed around several pairs of deckie's hands so a bit more grease and oil isn't going ot do them much harm. "I guess if they don't listen then we can always make paper vipers out of them," he suggests with a faint shrug, "then go sit in the rec room and throw 'em at people as they come in. Spread the idea that way."
Sera blinks a few times, before her face — which is now kind of grey instead of being tan — breaks into a grin. It makes her white teeth stand out that much more. "Done, Shackleton. An' when the teacher asks who did it, I'm goin' to make sure you're the one that gets sent to dentention. Alexios could use the company, anyway." Frakking Taurans.
Toby can't decide for a moment if Sera is making a general remark about Dio or if there's been another incident that he hasn't heard about yet. In the end though he plumps for the first option, figuing word would be all round the bay if something new had happened. Brief confusion over he grins back to Sera, "now now, just cos your pre-emptively jealous cos you know mine'd fly better than yours. Green ain't your colour Chief."
"Well, then. You'd best talk to the quartermaster about my fatigues, 'cause we know how important it is for all the ladies on deck to look as lovely as they can," she says, before pulling a face at him. The paperwork is plucked from his hands and flipped through slowly, her brows furrowed.
"I'll be sure to get right on that," Toby replies with an oh so serious nod, "although I might have ot give you the edited highlights of his reply. I'm sure his exact wording would be unsuitable for the ears of the fairer sex." Given the inflection of her words while under the raptor he has to grin breifly at the mental image of Sera as a prim and delicate flower before forcing his mind back to the task at hand.
Ohh, good Lords. Did the girl just twirl at him? Why yes. Yes, she did. Unfortunately, her orange overalls don't really flare properly, but that's a damned impressive pirouette in a pair of steel-toed boots. "Bestill my heart. He is a gentlemen!," she coos. Which sounds lovely with her accent, which is about as thick as half-dried mud.
Tobyinclines his head in a stately manner towards Sera then lifts his right and to rest it across his chest and ontopof his heart. "Oh woe, my secret it is revealed, and I thought I hid it so well under that gruff, Tauran facarde." Smiling briefly he then makes a valient attempt to get teh conversation back on track as the pile of boxes he's been assigned won't just move themselves. "Is that paperwork clear enough though?" he asks, "I think I got everything pertinent down."
"I think it'll do. I mean, it's tactical, right? They're the ones that oughta be askin' questions an' makin' inquiries before they go in guns blazin'," she says with a shrug and frown, obviously not quite sure she entirely trusts their decision making capabilities. "If it's not, I'll call you back in, okay?"
Toby notes the frown and replies with a shrug of his own, "eh. It's Command, and like one of the air wing told me right before I smacked him one, 'those are the guys with brains, not us'. ANd some of 'em have to half at least something up there to earn the gold pins right? Can't all be rich kids trying to ensure their CVs look good if they want to run for office later in life or some such crap."
"The XO is Tauran," she says flatly. It's neither a mark of praise nor of derision. It's simple fact — the XO is Tauran, just like him. Whatever in the world she means by that.
"Can't say I've met her," Toby replies with a faint nod to acknowledge the point, "might be she has the brains, might be she has the cash. Contrary to popular belief we do.. did have both on Tauron." Then, lighter, "we weren't all like me and Dio, hard though that may be to believe."
"I've yet to meet one that can control his temper, regardless of whether he grew up fat an' happy or dirty an' poor," she says, spreading her free hand, palm out, as though indicating she's defenseless in her opinions. "I like the second one better. 'Cause then you're scrappy, instead of just bein' a jackass."
"I keep my temper plenty," Toby replies with an amused look. "You saw yourself how I didn't murder that pilot in the mess, nor the one who said only brass got brains." Okay, so he was lucky to escape a charge on both counts, but thats mere technicalities, his official record is squeeky clean. "Gotta remember about the fat and happy ones that Daddy was probably up to his elbows in something illegal too. Backhanders from offworld corps to keep wages down and stamp out dissent, or import inferior equipment to keep costs down and profits up. Ain't none but a few got rich on Tauron while keeping their hands clean. Plenty got rich from it, but ain't many of 'um native. I reckon you must've had the same on Troy?"
There's a long pause from her at the mention of Troy — it just knocks the wind right out of her, like a punch to the gut. Of course, it's not exactly like she's mentioned what happened, those days she was gone and about to be labelled MIA. "Troy was a minin' colony, full of minin' settlements, an' pretty much nothin' but. Which meant the only people who much cared what happened there was the company's that owned that workers." Not hired. Owned. "You ever heard that song about sellin' your soul to the company store?"
"Out in the hills of Tauron," Toby replies with a more solumn nod, "same story. Rich types from off world buyin gup everything and the only jobs around going to those they liked, or could trust not to complain when profits went up and the pitance they called a wage went down. Or, more often than I care to think, when out dated equipment failed and people died. They just blamed it on the workers after all, everyone knows Taurons are stupid right? I saw my fair share, and I saw what happened when we tried to do something about it too. Trust me Chief, I know where you're coming from."
Sera nods towards the lockers where they keep their PPE and the DC gear. "My mama was still waitin' on settlement from the company for my daddy an' my brother, eight years later. Still workin' for 'em, too," she says, her jaw locking into place. No wonder she's such an utter bitch about safety regs on deck. "I don't got nothin' against Taurans. I know your kind. They're just like mine." Well, aside from the organized crime. But Sera at least has enough class not to mention that. Or she just doesn't mind it so much.
"I saw enough men clock on and never clock off to last me," Toby offers in a quieter tone, then, with a healthy dose of bitterness he adds, "but hey, the insurance paid up to the owners so that makes it all okay again." It's starting to cut a little closer to the bone for him then he'd care to admit and he falls silent for a few moments as he works on pushing those thoughts away again. "You know Chief," he offers once he's sure he's got a solid grip on things again, "when I found out my name was one the owner's blacklist, I figured that was me done for. No job, no money, no food. Right now though, I reckon it's liekly the main reason I'm still alive, toasters or no toasters."
"Sometimes," she says with a shake of her head. "It pays to piss people off." There's a slow grin that tugs at the corner of her mouth. It's not a warm expression, but a grim one. Genuine, at least. So there's that.
"Oh I did that all right," Toby replies, smiling a little as he does so, "started young and learnt from some of the best." He dwells on that perhaps an moment or two too long though and the smile fades again as he digs one hand deep into a pocket and gestures vaguely in the direction he came from. "I should probably let you get on," he offers ever so slightly awkwardly, "I've still got a pile of boxes to shift and then I should really hit the gym." Or more specifically, the punch bag, repeatedly.
"Don't break any fingers," she says, brows arching. Yeah, she knows what 'go to the gym' means. "We need those here, Shacks." One hand reaches up to brush her now greasy bangs back off her face. It makes it easier to see the way a smile crinkles up the corners of her eyes. "Thanks for this," Sera says, tapping one finger to the pages.