AWD #469: Making Way
Making Way
Summary: Clara intercepts Alastair after laundry day. They have a talk on what happened on the Bacchus Bounty
Date: 03/10/2016 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: Bountiful Bacchus
Alastair Clara 
Stairway - Aft Corridor
All of the Orion's many stairways look very much the same. Called "ladders" due to their nearly vertical orientation, they have enough space for only one or two people to pass at a time. The intersections are usually quite busy, though "Make a hole!" calls take immediate priority — especially when they come from ranking officers. Each stairwell is adjacent to a freight elevator capable of moving larger items across decks, but they're never used unless absolutely necessary.
20 Apr 2006 - AWD #469

Having finished his laundry, Alastair is making his way down the stairs carrying a duffle of fresh smelling clothes as he is making his way between the second and third decks, making room on occassion for someone to pass by him.

The clang of a hatch door on the first floor shudders through the stairwell, followed by the trotting of booted feet up one flight, two- and stopping short as their owner nearly careens into Alastair coming around the landing. It's that Three from last night, wide-eyed and momentarily startled, a tee shirt and fatigues proclaiming her quite off duty at the moment.

"Make way!" Alastair starts to say before he nearly collides into Clara, his call out to warn of his approach to the door just missed as he finds himself face to face with the lithe skinjob. "Specialist." the Ensign offers with a polite nod of his head. "Was about to head down to the barracks and stow my clothes."

Clara sort of steps around Alastair, movement not unlike a housecat sizing up someone it's not quite sure of yet. "I was looking for you," she admits quietly. Which explains why she was coming from the second floor, not the marines' usual haunt on the third.

"Oh? That so?" Alastair asks, the usual high Virgon accent shining through as he gestures towards the door towards deck three. "Walk with me and we can talk." he suggests to her as prepares to open the door and step through.

The Three looks hesitant, but nods a couple of times. She even gets the door, as the one without her hands occupied. Her own accent is unquestionably Gemenese, from Illumini's middle class stock. Which may or may not be a total farce, given what she is.

"~Do you speak the old language?~" Alastair is a bit of a languagephile, and her accent has him curious as he starts with the anctient Old Gemenese and then switches to the more recent language. "«Or the more modern style?»" It's a simple question that the ECO offers with a deeper meaning as he steps through the door. Using a native language means less can listen in.

Clara blinks a little at the question, spoken in a tongue that very few are aware of, no less, outside of anthems and prayer. "~I speak both, sir~" she replies, switching tongues and then switching again, as he does, "«But I prefer the modern style. I thought you were a bear, not a scholar.»" Bear, of course, being the slang term given to backseaters on raptors. She continues walking, arms drawn about her slim frame in lingering defensiveness.

"«My mother insisted that I learn languages when I was young and they sort have stuck to me. But it did make me wonder.. is the language programmed into you?»" Alastair asks curiously. "«Obviously, if you're Pirean, it means that you wouldn't have known the anctient tongues, I think?»" Glancing over to her as he walks. "«There's a few others that I know, but I tend to play those close to my chest. I assume you wish to talk about what happened on the Bacchus?»"

Rather than look offended at the term 'programmed', Mercier merely nods. "«Yes, it's part of my identity.»" Identity. Cover. Whatever one calls the trappings of pseudo-humanity that help them fit in. She quirks a brow at the evasiveness on other languages he may know, but seems to have no overriding need to press. "«Yes,»" she says again. "«I know you saw what I did.»"

"«I did?»" Alastair asks as he walks down the hallway, for the rest of the world a slight smirk offered as he looks over at the small medic. "«From what I saw, there was mass confusion, and the crewman may have been making a move for a weapon, and you were forced to respond. Of course, it could have been the Sergeant or Lance Corporal that fired as well. I mean, I do have to wear glasses to see things up close.»"

Clara walks on in silence for a few paces, and some of the rigid tension in her shoulders eases up. She watches Alastair guardedly, and without any hint of the amusement he may have been trying to provoke with his comment about the glasses. "«So you won't say anything to your CO.. sir?»" Her hand lifts to brush her overlong bangs out of her eyes, and behind her ear. "«I'm not a full-fledged citizen of the Colonies yet. You'd have been within your rights to shoot me.»"

As he continues down the hall, Alastair considers before he speaks, "«First, Sergeant Knox is right - you're a war asset. Something that's never been discovered before and whether or not that will change the course of the war is yet to be seen. Next.. as far as I know, you're the only one of.. you that is about. Makes you pretty unique. Last - you made a decision in the moment that anyone could have made either way - a human decision. Shows that you may have more humanity than most of us may have in our desire to find justice.»"

Clara has likely heard this talk before, about being a war asset. Well, aren't they all, in their way? The comment about her humanity, though, causes her pace to slow and eventually stop. "«They want me to bring back the others. Do you think I'd still be one of a kind, then?"» She seems quite earnest in wanting the answer to that question.

There's a pause in his step as Alastair considers for a moment and turns his attention to Clara. "«Do each of them have a child? Will each of them speak Gemenese as fluently as you do? Will they each have made the same decision on that ship the other night?»" he asks her quite seriously, holding onto his duffel as he waits for her answer.

Clara leaves the questions hanging, rhetorical as they may or may not have been intended. After some introspection, she nods slowly. "«Thank you, sir.»" For agreeing to keep her secret, for the pep talk, who the hell knows. She takes a step back, her usual sullen expression broken just for a moment by a whisper of a smile.

"Nothing to thank me for, Specialist, you were just helping me keep an old language alive." Alastair casts Clara a wink as he continues on down the hallway to go put his clothes away.

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