MD #151: Lost His Cool
Lost His Cool
Summary: Niko has informed Idris that one of his pilots is in the brig pending charges, and why. Few details but enough to make the Squadron Leader both angry and disappointed in Diaz.
Date: 06/09/2017 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: Understanding Is A Three Edged Sword.
Idris Miri 
Fitness Center, Deck 3, Battlestar Orion
You know what it looks like (and smells like).
Sat Mar 24 12:39:54 2049

It is possible that Miri could catch a glimpse of Captain Bloodfeather leaving the Mess and walking past Medical with, oddly enough, a look of anger upon his features. A stiffness in his body as he starts to head for the Security Hub at the aft end of the corridor. But no, he stops in the middle of the corridor and makes fists of his hands and only stands there for a long breath. Then, though he is in his duty blues, 'Vogue' decisively turns and enters the Rec Center instead. Even though it's mid shift.

There he crosses through to the Fitness Center and reaches up to unfasten the front of his uniform jacket, which he at once begins to strip off roughly in his anger. No, that won't do. He makes himself stop, draw a breath, and /quietly/ remove his garment to lay it over the bench. No throwing it like he was about to do. Then he removes his shoes and once his feet are bare to the deck, Idris walks out to the heavy bag in his tanks. The viper Squadron Leader looks at it and then begins to lay into the heavy bag with his fists. No tape, no gloves. Teeth bared, the sound of flesh and bone hitting the heavy bag with angry force is audible, followed up by a nasty kick to the son of a bitch.

<FS3> Idris rolls Melee: Good Success.

<FS3> Idris rolls Melee: Great Success.

<FS3> Idris rolls Melee: Failure.

Usually, Ensign Zahav is all about kettlebells. However, the real, real angry Viper squadron leader attempting to actually murder the heavy bag with his bare hands is distracting. She makes herself finish her set before heading over, though. She grabs her towel and water bottle and approaches carefully, not getting too close and making sure she approaches within his field of vision. Don't want to startle the angry pilot. "Frak, man, what did that bag say to you?" she says casually, though her eyes indicate actual concern.

The first two hits are solid but the bag swings wild and the kick misses, which does nothing to improve his temper. Not a word, Idris continues to do his best to pound the heavy bag, muscle and bone moving fluidly. It is clear that he knows how to hurt people without the need to be encased within a pilot's seat to do so. Dark eyes flick to Miri, startled to see her here, but not enough to stop. Nostrils flared, Bloodfeather lays into the bag with at least a couple more hard punches before he pauses. Leather and padding or no, he has started to bloody his knuckles in the violence of his assault.

<FS3> Idris rolls Melee: Good Success.

<FS3> Idris rolls Melee: Good Success.

<FS3> Idris rolls Melee: Failure.

The last punch misses and the bag is left swinging with no attempt to stop it.

Miri puts her water bottle and towel down and steps forward, stopping the bag with her hip. "Hey. Hey. Come back down. Let me see your hands, sir." She's in medic mode now, hoping he'll respond better to that. She's dealt with this before and she's ready to respond in case he takes a swing at her. "This isn't like you."

Not like him? Ah, but she does not know his anger Idris keeps such tight control over. He stands rigid, eyes still cold even in the heat of his actions against the heavy bag. Silent and still as his breathing slows. Jaw tense, he makes himself unlock his teeth and look at Miri. "I am perfectly all right, Ensign." Quieter now, no indication that he would let himself do anything to hurt /her/. "I am however, very, very disappointed in my best pilot."

"Remind me never to disappoint you," Miri says dryly, examining his right hand. "Well, good news is we don't have to amputate," she deadpans, looking up to meet his gaze. "Need a moment alone with the bag to work your shit out? Or maybe spar with someone who can hit back?" She lets go of his hand before her freak powers can kick in. She really does care very much about people's mental privacy.

This time the humor is wasted on him. A glance at his knuckles, some of them busted but not bad. "I should have wrapped my hands, first. Foolish of me. No, I might hurt someone if I sparred just now. That would not be responsible. But, thank you." The Captain sucks blood off of a knuckle, then Idris calmly returns to the bench to pick up his uniform jacket. With care, he shakes it out and pulls it back on one sleeve at a time before he stands quietly and begins to fasten it back up neatly as if nothing had happened. Hardly went long enough to work up a sweat.

"Yeah, I get it, I know I'm intimidating. But I promise I'd take it easy on you." Miri rests her hands on her hips, watching him carefully and very obviously not going anywhere unless he makes it clear he needs some space. "I don't know what you guys do in the Wing, but us ground-pounders try and help each other out if there's a problem. Is there anything I can do?"

Idris quietly smooths his collar, checks the alignment of his pins, then tugs his cuffs before he takes a seat to put his footwear back on. "I shall gladly take you up on your offer when my temper is less heated, Ensign Zahav." He glances up at her, then back to putting on his shoes. "Unless you can convince Command not to Court Martial my pilot, then probably not." He sits back up on the bench to look at Miri. "Lieutenant Diaz has disobeyed her orders /and/ apparently worked with another officer in doing so. She -was- my wingman, recently assigned to help train a Nugget."

Miri lets out a low whistle and offers Idris her water bottle. "That's rough. Real rough. Maybe you'll luck out on the disciplinary end, seeing that pilots are at a premium right now, but that doesn't fix the, you know, rest of it." She gestures vaguely with her free hand.

The water bottle is accepted. "No, you are right." Idris opens the water bottle and takes a drink from it. It is capped and offered back to Miri. "If she's done what I'm told, then my own trust and faith in her is damaged. I can't have an officer like that in charge over other pilots."

Contrary to expectation, Miri takes the capped water bottle, uncaps it, and takes a drink herself. "Maybe bumping her back down to ensign and stripping her of any command might knock some sense into her," she suggests, before adding quickly, "Not that it's my place to make any of these suggestions. Sir." She takes a seat next to him and shakes her head slowly. "I once was on a mission with some pretty serious insubordination. Like, Lt. Flynn — do you know her? She's an EOD — knocked out our CO. To be fair, she got to him before I did. There were reasons there, at least. I hope Diaz had good reasons."

Of course, Miri has no idea that Randy is involved in this round of shenanigans.

That gets a startled raised brow. Idris turns his head to look at Miri. "It is with a Lieutenant Flynn whom my pilot disobeyed orders. They are both in the brig, pending formal charges." A slow, deep breath, "Nothing for me to do but wait and see what evidence is presented, and what Command determines as the next course of action."

It takes a second, but Miri starts putting the pieces together. "Oh, shit," she swears under her breath. She rubs her face with her left hand. "Please tell me she wasn't doing something stupid to try and get Clara back," she asks softly. She grimaces.

"I do not know anything about a 'Clara' but I gather they tried to awaken a specific model against orders." The Captain's anger stirs once more, evidenced in the shift in his tone of voice and the tension in Idris' body. "I have not seen the footage, yet. I'm also not certain I should be telling you this."

Miri lets out a sigh. "Has to be her. Gods, I am so sorry she dragged your pilot into her crazy shit," she says, turning to look over at Idris. "Flynn… doesn't handle loss well," she explains delicately. "Not that any of that is an excuse for flying in the face of orders and endangering lives." She pauses for a moment. "Need a drink, sir?"

Idris gets to his feet and makes certain his uniform is smoothed. Briefly he steps over and lays a hand on Miri's shoulder, "My pilot made her own choice. I do not think this Lieutenant Flynn precisely put a gun to my Lieutenant's head and made Diaz go along with her. Diaz /should/ have known better. -I- thought better of her than that." Miri's question makes him remove his hand with his busted knuckles so that he may glance at his wrist chronometer. "Yes, I want a drink, and not tea. Somewhere quiet would be nice."

"Sir, I wouldn't dream of offering tea at a time like this," Miri says, looking up at the Captain and his busted knuckles. She tries not to flinch when he lays his hand on her shoulder. She mostly succeeds. "I know of a decent corner down near the storage pods, and I'll even clean up your hands for free, if you want." As if it's ever /not/ free. She stands up, grabbing her things. "Just give me a few minutes to get all, you know, not gross. Because I'm moderately gross."

Of course he is completely unaware of Miri's sensitivity to physical contact. Idris lightly folds his hands behind his back, "You are certainly not gross. Make yourself comfortable. I have a thing or two to see to back on Deck two, then I'll head that way myself." With that, he turns to head back out as if nothing ever happened in here and all is well. Calm restored, at least on his exterior.

"Trust me. I'm gross. Let me hit the showers and get changed and I'll meet you down there." Miri heads to wipe off the equipment she was using and head to the showers. She gets dressed in her off-duty tanks, pops a half-full bottle of ambrosia into a small rucksack and heads down to the below decks storage area.

After a while, Captain Bloodfeather shows up in the designated area Miri said to meet up. He has changed to a white button up dress shirt and black slacks, though his shirt is loose below his neck with the sleeves rolled up. With him he brings a small leather case, a deep red-brown in color. Outside of the storage area she indicated.

It takes a moment for Miri to recognize Idris. "Oh, uh, I didn't realize this place had a dress code," she says, heading over to him. "Follow me, I guess? I hope you're okay sitting on the ground in those." She does admire him for just a moment longer than strictly necessary before heading back into the storage pod area.

Idris glances at himself, "Of course not. I do not particularly want to be very military at the moment, but I can go change?" He hesitates, uncertain if he has blundered. He watches her for cues as he follows her, curious as to where she may lead.

"You've got to learn when I'm joking," Miri teases lightly, leading them to a recess in the bulkhead between two rows of pods. "I don't think this place has the best reviews, but it's private. No table service. Or tables." She sits down crosslegged with her back to the corner and starts digging through her pack, pulling out the bottle and a first aid kit.

"It is … definitely not what I expected." Strange even, to him. Idris looks around and then seats himself on the deck plating next to Miri. The deck is scuffed but it doesn't seem to be filthy. "Here I assumed you had access to a medical office up in the labs on Deck 1." He watches her digging through her things, "I did not have much to bring, but I do have this."

The small leather satchel he opens up. Within it are two small rounded glasses carefully nestled. And a small bottle of Caprican Cognac of all things. "This was a gift from my Uncle when I was accepted to the Orion for Squadron Leader. I have no other alcohol among my possessions." The small, squat bottle is set out on the Deck and from the leather Bloodfeather also removes a bottle opener.

Idris adds low after a moment, "We had our own ship, you see. Stocked with many things at one time. I imagine the Skath have found where my uncle hid it and destroyed it on Picon, by now."

"Oh, hey, no no no no no, don't pop that thing open." Miri waves her hands quickly, shaking her head. "Save that for a special occasion. Fine spirits are meant to be enjoyed, not used to drink when you're pissed off. And this bottle is open, anyway." She tries to press the bottle into his hands. "And I don't know about you, but I would /not/ want to drink in any medical office. I know what goes on in there."

Well, good job. Screwing up right and left so far, Idris. He eyes Miri, "Are you certain?" Another bottle is put into his hands and he looks at the label. He sets it aside long enough to pick up and slip the small fat bottle of Cognac back into the case. Idris pours a little bit of whatever it is that Miri has brought into the two small rounded glasses. He looks to her medical supplies.

"I just… that's something special. I don't want you to regret opening it when a special event comes up. You know?" Miri gives an awkward smile. "It's ambrosia, I guess. Not any of the good names. I picked it up before I shipped out. It's come in handy so far." She picks up her glass and takes a sip, demonstrating that it will not actually kill him. "You going to let me see those knuckles, or are they okay?"

"I am not familiar with 'Ambrosia'." His own glass he picks up and smells of it, then tastes it. Well now, that is different. Idris shifts his left hand over for her to have a look at it, "You tell me. I washed them and was going to put some Nu-Skin on my knuckles from my kit. Would something else be better? It is nothing serious."

Miri takes the hand and examines carefully. "I'd say just let it heal on its own, but I want to make sure you'll be good in your flight suit gloves. You'd know about that better than I would. Yeah, you definitely smashed them up real good." She lets go of his hand and picks up her own glass. "Don't let the day-glo color fool you. It's just… booze. I forget what the hell it's made from."

Whatever it is, he'll drink it. Idris leans back against the bulkhead. "This will not retard my using my hands. I'll wrap them before I put on my gloves to fly CAP tomorrow." The liquor is eyed suspiciously. Not like anything he has had before. "So tell me. What do you usually like to do in your off duty time besides humor an ill tempered Captain?"

"The NuSkin will sting like a motherfrakker, but it'll do the job well enough. Make sure it's clean first, though. If you trap an infection under that stuff, it can get really grody." Miri wags a finger at him as she takes another sip. "Me? I, uh… I like to read. Draw. Really wish I had access to one of the ovens down in the galley, because I can bake up a storm. Give tattoos to the unwitting. Yourself?"

Idris lowers his glass after another taste. "Tattoos? I do not believe I have seen any of your drawings. Do you keep a sketch book?" A pause to think about what he likes to do. "I also sketch. Or play the piano, except that there isn't one on board." The Ambrosia he swirls around in his glass as he contemplates it, "I swim, work out in the gym, do yoga, meditate. I also read." Not that they get much time outside of their duty shifts. "When I was not confined to ship, I like to travel. Living off of the land, seeing what there is to see upon a world."

"I do, actually. I'll show you some time, if you want." Miri wraps both hands around her glass, resting it on her knee. "I mean, I figure everyone on this boat works out. Kind of part of the job, you know? I prefer lifting weights and playing Pyramid to just going straight in the pool or on a treadmill, though. I get bored just doing the same thing for an hour. Even with headphones. Off ship, I love swimming, though. I grew up within spitting distance of the ocean and I miss it so much."

"I would like to see your sketch books. I suspect our styles are much different from one another." And that difference is what makes things interesting. Idris finishes off his glass and sets it down to pour a bit more, then offers to add a little to Miri's glass as well. "Swimming is an excellent workout. We should organize a water sport." Anything, any topic to try not dwell on how angry he is with Diaz. But still, Idris thinks of her and frowns as he momentarily stares off at nothing.

"The only water sports I really know involve waves, which our pool, sadly, lacks. But if you know of some, I'd be down to try it, at least." Miri happily accepts the top up, raising her glass to him before taking a drink. "Hey. Heyyyyy. You're glowering. That means you're not drinking enough." She frees one of her hands and points to his glass, then his face. "Put beverage A into slot B."

Yes, scowling even. Idris looks quickly to Miri and thins his mouth before he speaks, "I want to yell at her. The whole thing makes me disgusted and very angry. Disappointing. I had hopes to groom her for a Squadron Leader position. Now if that ever happens, it'll be a long time indeed." Idris knocks back a fair bit of his glass and swallows it.

"Maybe you should yell at her. Put the fear of the gods in her. She did something really, really frakking dumb that could have endangered the lives of gods-know-how-many people. I know you like to keep your cool, but sometimes yelling is the appropriate course of action." Miri picks up the bottle and offers to top him off. "I sure as hell hope we don't discover more bombs on the ship. Our best EOD is locked up now."

Idris glances down at his glass. "I need to not loose my temper when I speak with her. I will wait. It is one thing to yell at her and keep my thoughts precise. Another to let anger rule me. It is a dangerous temptation, and unwise." The glass of Ambrosia is set down on the deck plating. "I have a terrible anger. I have worked very hard all these years to … keep control. I would have preferred if you had not seen me in the Fitness Center, Miri."

Miri makes a pffft sound and waves dismissively. "You got mad and wailed on a heavy bag. You even managed to take your jacket and boots off first. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. Like, seriously. Nothing at all."

"I am not embarrassed." Still angry, yes. The drink isn't helping that. Bloodfeather reaches a hand over to lay it on Miri's arm, "I better go. I appreciate your taking the time to share your company with me, but I am poor choice of companion tonight." He pushes up from the floor and dusts himself off before picking up the satchel. "Do me a favour. When I am better fit to be decent company, I want to see your sketchbook."

Miri looks a little disappointed, but doesn't try to stop him. She screws the lid onto her bottle and stows it in her rucksack. "You do what you need to do, Captain. You know where to find me."

Miri gets a nod from him. Idris is still very unhappy with the day's events and unable to let himself relax. "I do, thank you." He walks on out to go find a little quiet to think.

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