AWD #005: Work It Out
Work It Out
Summary: Butch tries to help Buttons work his stuff out. In Bed.
Date: 10/01/2013 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: Paddy Cake, Paddy Cake
Bennett Zander 
Raptor Squadron Berthings
The berthings for the Orion's Air Wing are the same as what one would find on any other Mercury-class Battlestar, though they are distinctly different from the rest of the bunks on the ship. These bunks are separated not into sections of sixty, but by squadron. That means that there is a little more room to move around with only twenty to twenty-five pilots in one bunkhouse. Some officers have brought a small rug to sit in front of their bunks, but the tables and chairs are standard military issue. At the rear is a small couch that was probably new when the ship left anchorage and seems to have been kept carefully clean. The crest of the Gentlemen Ghosts has been painted onto the wall behind the couch, as well.
10 January 2005

Zander Sava is sitting on his bunk at this exact moment, surrounding by every piece of technology that he has. Technology that is not gaming technology, anyway. He's got at least two different Savant Tabs next to him, his legs hanging off the bed and random notepads on his lap and around him on the other side. He's currently writing up a storm in one of his notebooks: it's all numbers and other weird mumbo jumbo symbols. There's a pile of small cans on the floor below. Somebody's not going to be sleeping for a while. Wird. Frustrated. Buttons.

The hatch creaks open and bangs shut, admitting a tallish pilot half in and half out of her blues. Her jacket's in the process of being peeled off, leaving her in tanks and dogtags, with a smattering of ink along her right shoulder. The important bits are covered, at least. For now. She pauses when she spots Zander amidst all that organised chaos in his bunk, eyes flickering over him briefly before she resumes her path to her locker. "Good evening, Lieutenant. Buttons, right?" A quick smile as she spins the combination lock.

"Evening, Sir." Zander looks up after saying that. He's so shook right now that everybody's going to be a Sir for the nexrt month or so. His hand is even kind of shaky. "I'm working on what I've been tasked to work on. No games." Zander immediately confesses what he's doing right now, even going so far as to grab one of the Savant Tabs and flip it around so the screen is visible. On it are some really rough 3D model sketch representations of the Cylon Raiders from Warday. Nothing to impressive. Just some framework that needs to be worked on a whole lot more.

Bennett leans over for a better look. Her eyes flicker over the screen, and her lips purse slightly at the sketch. "That's not too bad," she opines, gaze lingering a moment more before she turns away to swing open her locker door. "Gives me the chills," she confesses more softly, affecting a faint smile. Her jacket's hung up inside her locker and she resumes undressing. No shame whatsoever; there isn't room for it when you bunk with your squadmates in such close quarters. "Are you all right?"

Zander immediately drops his gaze back to the Tab and his notebook. He's not worried about seeing anything. He's seen plenty in this line of work. But he's just getting back to work on his things. Because, y'know, that's what he's supposed to be working on. "I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. Just trying to do what I can to help. That's all. That's all I'm supposed to do, right?" Zander tries to crack some kind of smile in the midst of not writing anything down that he's supposed to right now. He might be a little distracted. Maybe. "I've only got a month to prove I'm not worthless…" is muttered somewhat under his breath.

Bennett pauses and quirks a brow slightly. "Right," she parrots back, more quizzical than bemused. Trousers shed with a shimmy of her hips, she kicks off her boots and withdraws a pair of sweatpants from the innards of her locker. More ink along her left thigh: these look less like the elaborate piece on her back, and more like ritual markings of some kind. She tugs her sweatpants up and over her hips, effectively covering them up. "A month..?" Clearly not having caught all of what he muttered, she awaits elucidation while folding and putting away her duty uniform.

"That's what the CAG said. A month. I've got one month to get the Simulations ready for our Vipers so we know how to kill these bastards. It's all on me. It's all on my shoulders. Our survival? Our vengeance? Our possible only chance at getting the One Up on these frakkers? It's all on me." Maybe Zander is putting more pressure on himself than he should. But if that's what he needs to do in order to get the job done… whatever. "Sorry, Sir. I'm assuming you knew about the latest assignment from on high." There's a frown. It happens about the same time those sweats of hers are pulled up. Timing.

Bennett nudges the locker door shut, and slips the lock through with a snap. She chuckles softly, and crosses toward the table set up opposite his bunk. Rather than insinuate herself next to him, the newly-minted major hops up onto the table and begins unfastening her bun. "A month, huh? Or what, he demotes you to deck-cleaning duty for all time?" Her tone is teasing, but there's something warmer and less jocular in the way she watches him. Concern? "I didn't." Know. "But now I do. The CAG is a busy man. Is anyone helping you with this, Zander?"

"Kinda'? I mean. I've got people I'm working with. Nags. Storm. But that's just preliminary stuff. I'm the techno-wiz. So everything that doesn't go exactly right is going to be my fault. And if they climb into those Simulators and my code shows them the wrong thing? If they go out there and they die because I didn't do my job right?" Uh oh. Zander is starting to not be able to talk. In fact, it looks like he's about to start having trouble breathing. He's freaking out. Because that's what Geeks do when they are trying to save the world against psycho robot killer things.

"Breathe, Zander," Bennett offers quietly. Heck, it might just be an order. "Look at me. And breathe." She tugs her hair loose, letting it tumble across her left shoulder in a somewhat disheveled fashion. Some might call her a brunette; others a dirty blonde. How much of that might be from a bottle, she isn't telling.

Pause. Stare. Beauty. WTF. It's taking him a moment to calm himself down. He's actually clenching the pencil in his hand a little too tight. But his fingers eventually start to loosen their grip on the utensil and he just stays focused on Bennett this entire time. "… Sorry, Sir. I just-" Zander shrugs a little bit, trying to play this cooler than he can. "- I don't want to frak this up. That's all." Truth.

"None of us want to frak this up, Zander," answers Bennett coolly, toying with the elastic she'd used to bind her hair, between her fingers. "And you really don't need to call me sir in here." She tips her chin to indicate the berthings, blue eyes ticking away and then back again to the ECO. "Butch. My callsign is Butch." Says the girl with pink nail polish and a touch of kohl. "You need to breathe. And you need to let go of the idea that the CAG's out to get you. The cylons are out to get you. And me. And every one of us here." Her voice softens, "You're not going to frak this up. Okay?"

"Sorry Si— Butch." Zander's still freaking out but at least he's listening. Somewhat. He can't put the pencil down yet. But he's definitely paying more attention to the Butch than he is the work he's supposed to be doing. "It's my fault. I was being a smartass in the Mess Hall earlier. Because… I don't even know. I'm usually good at this kinda' thing. This tech stuff. It's how the hell I got through college. Y'know?" She probably doesn't. And she probably doesn't want to hear his life story. "So now that I've mouthed off about bein' the damn best, if I frak up…" And there he goes again. Maybe he should just stop talking.

Bennett doesn't actually seem to mind listening to him talk. She combs her fingers through her hair in the meantime, gently unsnarling a few tangles. "I'm glad you're taking responsibility, at least," she points out with a dimpled grin. "If you frak up, we'll put our heads together and come at it from a different angle." She glances at the pencil, then back to Zander, meeting his gaze again. "The same as if any of us fraks up. That's what we do. We cover for each other. Right?" A smile, hopeful more than anything.

Hopeful, that is, that he understands where she's going with this.

"I guess. I don't know. I already don't feel like I belong here. So maybe I'm just scared or something. I dunno." Zander brings a hand up to run it through his hair a bit, which helps him to find a second pencil. Which he looks at with some kind of delirious smirk. "And now I don't have a home to go back to. So it's like…what am I gonna' do now? I'm alone. I mean, i've always been kind of alone but this time, I really am. I don't have anyone left. Theres just… me. The Sava Bloodline ends with me." And that's not exactly something that he's prepared to think about.

Bennett is quiet for a time. Watching. Considering. Finally she hops down from the table, and closes her hand over Zander's shoulder on her way past his bunk. "I hope you'll change your mind on that, Buttons," she tells him gently. "Good night, and don't stay up too late, okay?"

"Ah, goodnight. I'll try not to wake anyone up." Zander gives a twirl of his pencils and proceeds to get back to paying attention to the notebooks. He's got work to do. Lest everyone on the Battlestar Orion is going to die. And somewhere in the middle of all this, he has to figure out what the heck he's supposed to be changing his mind about. Women are so confusing!

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License