Can't Stop Falling
Can't Stop Falling
Summary: Two failed attempts to go AWOL later, Snatch snaps, yells at Rhea, takes a long walk off a short scaffolding when Alister wasn't looking.
Date: 17 ACH
Related Logs: None
Players:
Rhea..Snatch..Alister..

-=============================================================================-
Main Engineering Genesis - Deck 8
17 ACH 6735 Souls


Main Engineering is staffed by the Chief Engineer and his or her crew. There are enough monitors, flashing lights, back-up generators, consoles and various other areas to man the battlestar and keep it in top form at all times. Storage areas, locked areas, pipes, machinery and tools are all around the area. The desk of the ChEng sits in an area where it is the quietest so work can be done.
----< Condition Three - Duty Area >----—-
Contents: Rhea Snatch Marker_Four Whiteboard Wireless 1319

Exits: [O] Corridor

Special: +detail - Details available
-=============================================================================-

Rhea is roaming Engineering, as she tends to do. The ChEng avoids her desk if she can help it. At the moment she's kneeling by one of the back-up generators. Doing a maintenance check, from the look of things.

Snatch prowls into Engineering with purposeful gait and that sort of blank, emotionless look that's more or less taken up residence on her face since her red-eyed moments had gotten relegated to her bunk. She checks in her kit at the station, doing a final point check on the equipment to make sure it's good to go for the next person to pick it up.

"Del Boccyo!" Rhea hollers, when she catches sight of passing Snatch. "Come over here a minute. I want another pair of eyes on these electrical read-outs. High as I'm pushed, I am still by nature a Mechanical hand, and never shall I an Electrical be." A flash of concern crosses her eyes at the petty officer's expression. That flash is common for the ChEng these days, when she's observing her staff. But, she keeps her focus on the job.

Snatch looks up, giving a jerk of a nod as acknowledgement and finishing the inspection quickly but thoroughly before shutting the kit and setting it on line. She then makes a brisk way toward the generator, a hand on a rail facilitating an easy hop over it, coming to bend over the readouts and guide a finger along them to help her keep track of them, the tip of her tongue running along her upper lip as it moves subtly in an outward sign of her internalizing the data. "Hain't no spikes, she'ns ronnin' fair," she gives her initial impression.

"Good-good," Rhea says, closing the generator's panel with a satisfied click. To Snatch she explains, "We've all be absorbed in a lot of extra projects lately. I want to make sure the regular maintenance isn't slipping. So far, you all seem to be keeping up with things admirably."

Snatch rests her hand for a while longer on the top of the generator, keeping her eyes fixed on the flshing numerals while the Cap'm addresses her, to which she simply tips her chin up a little and gives a 'hm,' of the most non-committal form of agreement.

Rhea snaps her own tool kit closed, now that she's done poking her machine. "Speaking of extra projects, I'm going to be assigning you to a bit of electrical work on the PAS. Most likely under Lieutenant Stephanos as the primary, depending on what her schedule is. Major Carter wants us to look at protein resequencing for possible use in synthesizing food. There's not a rush on it at the moment. They seem to have found a real solution to our food supply down on the swamp planet. But, I am a big proponent of building in fail-safes. I'll get you the particulars."

Snatch's eyes finally rise all the way to Rhea as she recieves the assignment on the PAS. She's always preferred work on Genesis to travelling off of her, and now, maybe, that instinct has become rather keener. But all the same she nods her head. Food's a good thing to have? "Ou-ais, Cap'm," she agrees gently and somewhat dubiously. "How d' yin's… rinsequence protein? Proteins laik are… meatfoods, ou-ais?" She has a strange look on her face as if she were imagining hotwiring a cow.

Rhea smirks. "I can't say I quite understand the biological aspects of it myself. But, that's not our main concern. The PAS has science personnel that can deal with that. We just need to make sure the electrical equipment is doing what it should. Can't think of anyone better-suited to that than you. Don't worry. It shouldn't take long, and it won't take you entirely away from your duties on the Genny."

Snatch gives up on trying to puzzle out what the biologists might be trying to do to the cows, shaking it off visibly with a shake of her head while she finally removes her hand from the generator's flat top. Again, the words of praise just seem to push the Enginesnipe away, emotionally, making her divert her gaze elsewhere. "Ou-ais, Cap'm," comes her verbal signal of acquiescence and obedience. "Cap'm? Cin ah query yin sommat?"

Rhea nods to Snatch, regarding the younger snipe. Her own hand stays idly leaned against the generator, the flat of her palm against the panel she just closed now that her work gloves are off. She likes the feel of the machines. "Of course, Del Boccyo. Ask away."

"Ah right cin fahr a gun alreaduns," Snatch makes known, "Such als rahn' a becik. Cain't forget 'at none. A-hain't no call wha' fer to be wastin' shot meant on them grill-a-pain, als laik I got to learnin' how'ts don."

"It's practice, Petty Officer," Rhea replies firmly. "Think of it as maintenance if you like. No harm'll come of putting in some extra time on the range. We've all been through Basic but, for most of us, it hasn't been a priority. If your aim's good enough, perhaps you could help some of the other snipes while they're at it." She smiles faintly. "I suspect you might be a little less intimidating than the Marines that normally inhabit the range."

Snatch presses her lips together, suppressing an altogether unhelpful sigh, but bobs her head again, "Ou-ais, Cap'm," she agrees, even more weakly than before. "Been pickin' cankajou offa 'em rainch lahn sin' I were ol' enough t' hole up a bar'l straight. I hain't e'er shot at a machine… though I cain't say I ne'er been tempt."

Rhea smirks. "Try to stick to kicking the ones on the ship. Gently. I broke a toe once on a particularly irritating power console on the Battlestar Mercury. Back when I was a brash little Specialist." Her expression relaxes into a smile at Snatch. "I'm sure command has better uses for us than the front lines. We're all cogs, we all have our specific functions in the military machine. But right now…it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

Snatch looks down at her hands, as if surprised to find that she has a pair of them. Would you look at that? She nods her head feebly at the Captain's comments, keeping her head hung and eyes trained downward, for the most part. A lurking silence creeps in between Rhea's advice and any reply from the Enginesnipe, and then proceeds to grow into a lumbering, awkward beast that intimidates the underling from saying anything else. Either that or the lump swiftly growing in her throat.

Rhea lets the silence grow for a moment, though she doesn't allow it to drag too long. She sighs. "I ever tell you why I joined the Navy, Petty Officer? It wasn't anything particularly patriotic or high-minded. I just wanted a job. Money for college. A garage to play with all the government's best toys in. I loved the work. That's all it's ever been about. The work. I've never felt like a soldier. I'm a snipe. The work is all you need to worry about. The rest…it'll mess with your head if you get too wrapped up in the big picture. You're a good snipe. Just be about the work. That'll be enough."

Snatch keeps her head lowered, though her fingernails dig into the skin at the wrist of her other hand as she tries to keep her composure throughout. Finally her shoulders hunch and her head wobbles in vague protest at being called a good snipe, and her head shoots up, damp-eyed and moist-nostriled, and she lets out a vaguely strangled, "Ah cain't. Ah -cain't.-"

"Yes you can," Rhea says, quietly but firmly, trying to keep her eyes locked with Snatch's. "Yes you damn well can, Petty Officer Mopsus Doe del Boccyo, because there's nobody else that's going to do it for us. We are in a situation none of us ever imagined, dealing with work no one should ever be asked to do. But we are going to do it. Because we're snipes, and that's what we do. We get on with the job because if we don't, the ship stops running and everything breaks down. I need you right now. You're one of my best. And you can do this."

Snatch locks eyes with Rhea, her own eyes now filling with feeling, and very little of it positive. "Whan part on 'Ah Cain't' ken's y'ns none off?" she asks through gritted teeth before taking a hissing half-sob of breath, tears streaming down her anger-filled, reddening eyes. "Ah cain't. Ah ain't your'n snahp. A hain't com roun' 'ere for your'n sake, nor for mahn. Ah cam' roun' fern 'cause mahn mamma hait need on min so to do. 'Cause mahn pappa axed it on min. An' now whan halp ahn offern 'em here? Whan use?!" she asks through gritted teeth, a rhetorical question, obviously, as she shakes her head, tearing away eye contact as anger gives way to sorrow, helplessness, despair, and she chokes for air as she turns and, still sprightly, vaults over the rail again, landing firm on two feet and rushing for the out, unzipping the top half of her coveralls and still seeming to look for some air to breathe.

"Frak," Rhea murmurs under her breath. More recrimination at herself than Snatch. She lets the young woman go. Sighing heavily, leaning against her generator. The ChEng just watches Snatch barrel off, then shifts her gaze to the other snipes working around her. For a moment, Rhea looks quite helpless. So, she kicks the generator. A bit too hard. "Frak!" she bites off, louder that time. That smarted.


-=============================================================================-
Hangar Bay B Genesis - Deck 7
17 ACH 6735 Souls


The hangar deck is where the Genesis' Viper squadron, and its Raptor detachment are stored, repaired and maintained between missions. Ships land on the flight deck, one level above, and are brought down via massive elevators. Tow vehicles move the ships around the deck, their shrill alert beeps causing an almost constant cacophony of noise. The floor itself is a light gray in color, but wear and tear has left marks and scratches everywhere. Numbered sections are marked off with paint to house the various spacecraft.
The place is surprisingly tidy, with tool chests, machine parts, diagnostic equipment, and even the occasional spare engine or chassis scattered all in their appropriate place. Stairs lead up to other parts of the ship. The fourth side has a large sliding door leading to the flight deck elevators. On the port wall, Vipers are loaded into the launch tubes to be catapulted into space. Raptors take off from the flight deck.

----< Condition Three - Duty Area >----—-
Contents: Snatch Charon_840 Fender_211 FireEater_702 Maintenance
Control Nemamiah_109 NewDawn_1744 RAPTOR_108 Refugee_1123
Skunk_772 VIPER_1623 VIPER_1738 VIPER_210 Whiteboard
Wireless 1118 Wrongway_101

Exits: [AS] Aft Stairwell [FS] Fore Stairwell
[A] Hangar Bay A [E] Land. Deck Elevator
[LT] Launch Tubes [SH] Shuttle Transfer
-=============================================================================-

Mopsus Doe is in the middle of the evidently somber task of unlacing her boots and setting them aside on the maintainance platform high up along the wall, her usual haunt here in the hangar deck. When she stands up, bare-footed, she slides her legs one at a time out of the legs of her coveralls, standing in her tee shirt, tank and undershorts, eyes half-closed, mouth half-open as she lifts her hands to her head and unstraps the engineering goggles almost perpetually lodged there on her head.

As is so often the case between these two, Alister doesn't even notice Snatch up on the maintainance platform, dressed as he is in a flight suit. Despite the high condition level, he's not on active duty, giving himself (tsk) a break after the CAG planted a few heavy shots into his ribs the previous night in a boxing spar. And oh, oh it shows. He's leaning a little to one side as he moves to take a closer look at some of the craft.

Snatch folds the goggles in two and sets them across the top of a boot, even taking time to fold her coveralls to almost regulation standard before one bare foot slips up to a slat of the safety railing, hands resting on its top ledge as the other foot moves to the second slat.

And once again, a little glimpse upwards from Alister brings a raised eyebrow to the variety of facial expressions on the deck. Hands on his hips, his feet shift a little on the deck flooring before he begins to shake his head. Hey, he'd shout… but it's noisy.

Snatch's own facial expression is blank. Almost peaceful. Though she's obviously been crying, and heavily. She doesn't look down, only off across the bay, maybe through the bulkhead and out into space.

And it's then a piercing whistle rushes through the open area, apparently coming from the mouth of Alister, judging by the two fingers placed within. Snatch is given a wave…. and then a slight frown.

Snatch hasn't the slightest that the whistle is aimed at her, and it barely seems to shake her pensive ascent of the scaffolding. She often feels invisible, up here, and she doesn't assume this time is any different from the rest. She finally stands with feet flat on the narrow ledge, one hand holding one of the cables holding the scaffolding at its current altitude.

Shaking his head, Alister does the truely offic…erial thing. He gives up. Shrugging, and waving a hand in a dismissive effort towards Snatch, he just goes back to checking out a few of the ships, seemingly happy with letting her do… whatever it is she's doing.

Not long afterward, Mopsus Doe joins Alister on the main floor of the hangar deck. The short way. Also the hard way. Did she slip? It's not likely.

Alister doesn't notice the sudden drop and short stop of Snatch, but he does notice the sudden flurry of activity as deck hands and various crew wonder what the holy hell just happened. Sadly, while a few people are muttering about safety hazards and the like, he's got some idea of what just happened. "Ah damnit." He's a pretty quick mover, heading towards the wireless.

Fortunately (unfortunately?) for the enginesnipe, the fall was not so high as to fulfill the purpose she'd intended for it. Also, her state of calm relaxation (and a few shots of liquor ahead of time) kept her body from tensing agaisnt the impact and suffering many major breaks. But hurt — that she definitely is. She doesn't move, perhaps shocked by the pain, or else simply laboring under the misapprehension that she's shuffled off.

A call goes through the wireless nonetheless for medics to the hangerbay, Alister reseating the phone as he moves a couple of people out of the way to get a look. Well, no huge amounts of blood, or contorted body! That's good, right? "Snatch?" Oh, he sucks at things like this, squatting down beside her as someone else goes through the general motions of checking on the woman.

Deckhand McGraw can't find a pulse for the life of him, and reports as much to the crowd of onlookers, who react with that common combination of repulsion and interest that follows 'accidents' of this sort. She's not breathing, either, and her face has gone pale, lips beginning to grow wan as she simply has had all the air knocked straight out of her, and is bleeding profusely into the painfully purpling skin around her cracked ribcage. She certainly seems completely out of commission before her instincts take over and she sucks in a short, pained gasp of air, her eyes rolling upward into her head as she wanes toward being completely unconscious, continuing to gasp when the pain allows her to do so.

"Damnit, where the hell are the medics?" Alister is grumbling while McGraw checks out Snatch. (Shoot me.) Peering around towards the doors, he's a little startled when the little engineer gasps to life. "Hey.. Hey!" His hand goes to the back of hers, just touching softly. "You're alright, Medics are nearly here. Try not to move." Hell, it worked on TV. "WHERE THE FRAK ARE THE ME-" Oh. There they are.

Stretchers, medical packs and two guys that look like they know what they're doing burst into the hangarbay, damn near running a few people over on their way to Mopsus. Asking the usual questions, getting frak all for answers apart from a 'She Slipped.' deadpan from Alister.

Snatch's fingers twitch a little at the touch to the back of her hand, but otherwise she doesn't respond to the directions. Which… is like obeying them, in this case, because she still doesn't move. The medics dutifully attempt to ask the enginesnipe questions, as well, trying to keep her focus here and now… but her focus wasn't even here and now before she jumped, so they're not having good luck keeping her motivated and engaged. They do, however, find no evidence of damage to her spinal column, from reactions in her hands and bare feet (why wasn't she wearing any shoes?), and so they are able to carefully move her to a stretcher, moving her to a position moderately easier to breathe in.

Oh, Alister knows. Maybe he's seen it before. Maybe the realisation hit him the second he turned away from her. Who can tell. He just answers their questions with variations on 'she slipped.' and veering the conversation away whenever anyone mentions the lack of overalls, shoes or googles. It's a tossup between anger at her and at himself right now. "Can we get her outta here already?"

That's something they can certainly do. And they do, without too much delay. She could easily go into shock, from here, and they'd like her to be in sickbay if that happens.

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