Could Have Been Worse
Could Have Been Worse
Summary: Salin just can't catch a moment's peace.
Date: 67 ACH (pre-revellie)
Related Logs: references made to Smash and Grab - Marines
Players:
Salin..Jocasta..

Battlestar Genesis - Deck 12 - Naval Officers' Quarters

Apparently, Salin had just been talking with Eve, for she's slipping back into her bunk to go to sleep. He's lifting up off his perch on the edge of the table, grabbing his jacket and carefully slipping it back on his body before beginning to do up his buttons.

If anyone in the officer's berth had been keeping an ear to the wireless, they might have something of a clue as to the status of the fleet's most recent engagement. If not, then Jocasta's arrival at the hatch, still dressed halfway in her flightsuit — the upper body portion has been shed and secured 'round her waist leaving her dual undershirts, dogtags, tattoos and a fresh bandage left arm exposed — might serve as an indication that the op is over. And, oh ho, look who's awake! Just the man she was coming to see… what luck, eh? "Major…"

The final button his jacket is done up and Salin pauses long enough to straighten it just a little, making sure that the uniform looks presentable. As he turns towards the hatchway leading out, his eyes fall upon Jocasta. Attire is noted, as is the bandage on her left arm and he's giving a quick nod of his head, "Ensign." A hand lifts, motioning towards her left arm, "I take it you were one of the pilots in our recent operation? It is good to see you weren't one of those who were seriously hurt."

The Raptor co-pilot looks down at her arm and says, "I got six shiny, new stitches of my very own." She then ducks her chin slightly and looks up through her lashes when she says, "You shoulda seen the other guy." Presumably the 'other guy' made out much worse. A pair of fingers on her right hand gesture to the man's uniform and she asks, "You got somewhere to be, sir?"

There's a soft laugh and Salin is allowing his brow to arch upwards, ever so slightly. "I'd hope the other guy would be worse off if you've only get stitches." There's a faint quirk of his lips into a smile and he's reclaiming his perch on the edge of the table, "How'd you manage to get those, anyways? Raptor get shot up?" At the notion of having somewhere to be, he's offering a soft laugh, "I always have somewhere to be, Ensign. In this case, it happened to be my office. To fill out paperwork in relation to this operation."

"Believe it or not, sir, yeah. That's what happens when you have a hot drop to make. Frakkin' toasters! They clipped Scorch right in the face." This statement comes complete with a 'right here' gesture as she points to her own temple. And so the Lieutenant's reputation as a badass continues to be padded in glory for everyone in the officers' quarters to hear. "She still had her helmet on, though, but, man…" But, wait. Didn't Salin say he had somewhere else to be? Jocasta steps clear of the hatch and pushes herself to the side, making a sweeping roll of her hands toward the door as if the Major needed to be shown the way to escape. "Don't let me stand in your way, sir. I can stop by and talk at you some other time…" She then adds in a quieter voice after a beat, "…thought you'd still be on bedrest and bored."

There's a faint chuckle from Salin as Jo begins to recant a portion of the operation and after a moment, he begins to shake his head slowly, "Pilots. The whole lot of you are crazy." There's a flash of a smile and he's giving another quick shake of his head, "I can stay for a few minutes, Ensign." A pause and arch of a brow, "'fraid not. Doc let me out on the condition that I behave and not hurt myself. Paperwork seems to fall in the safe category." A hand lifts, scratching lightly at the side of his neck, "And who is Scorch?"

Oh. Well. In that case… Jocasta proceeds to make herself mostly comfortable by taking up a seat closer to the JAG officer and leaning back to look at him while she talks. "Lieutenant Bayless, sir. Ares Squadron leader." Raptorbunny extraordinaire. Without even realizing it, Jo begins to scratch at the 'itch' beneath her bandage but stops the moment she realizes she just clawing at fresh stitches. Yeow. "I broke a rib once when I was a kid," she offers, gesturing to the man's middle briefly before going on. "Fell out of a tree. Hurt. Hurt just to breathe. Made it hard to sleep."

As Jo proceeds to make herself comfortable, Salin remains perched on the edge of the table, one foot firmly on the floor, while the other dangles a few inches above it. At the mention of Scorch's true identity, he's giving a quick nod of his head, "Thanks. Haven’t figured out all the callsigns. Doubt I'll even remember this one." Lifting his arms, he's crossing them at chest level before he's looking down at himself and then back over towards her. "Then you know it hurts like frak. That's gonna teach me to not challenge the Sheriff to match any time soon."

Who knows? Maybe after this particular incident, the pilot formerly known as 'Scorch' might soon become 'Faceshot' or 'Headshot' instead? Callsigns aren't really as fluid of creatures as some folks might think but they have, on occasion, been known to change. Too bad it wasn't poor 'Wideload'… she's probably gagging for a change. "I managed to tag the frakker right in the chest before he could get another shot off," she brags with only a single degree of grace. "We lost one marine but, I tell you what, sir… it coulda been worse." Listen to her — talking as if she were a groundpounder instead of a starscreamer.

As she continues to relay the story, Salin's brow lifts back upwards ever so slightly and he's beginning to shake his head again. There's another soft chuckle and he's begins to speak, "Got yourself a toaster, did you? Nice to hear. Not many pilots can say that they've tagged one on the ground." There's a pause at something that's said and his head nods slowly, "You're right, it could have been worse. I'm glad it wasn't. Some of the paperwork that I have to take care, is in response to those that didn't survive."

Jocasta isn't so caught up with herself that she can't fathom anyone else's grief. With a toss of her temple toward the door, she again concedes, "I'll let you get to that, then, sir." The scrape of the chair against the deck makes for a momentary metallic shriek and then the Navy flyer is on her feet. "I think I'm going to get some chow and stop in to the Rooster's Nest for a smoke. If you feel like joinin' me later…" The offer still stands. Doesn't he still owe her drinks, after all?

There's another smile from Salin and he's slipping down off his perch on the table, giving another quick nod of his head, "Thanks. It's one of the unfortunate parts of the job, I'm afraid." There's a look towards the door, though the metallic shriek has him cringing slightly as he looks back towards her, "The lounge? I'll see what I can do, though I'm won't make any promises. I tend to get caught in the mounds of work on my desk." Hands run along the sides of his uniform for a moment, "If I can't make it, for whatever reason, enjoy the food and I'll catch up with you a little later."

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