Summary: Paris and Nicholas talk politics, pilots, and stolen information.
Date: 87 ACH
Related Logs: Happens directly after Chock Full of Win and Debate

Office Suite Destiny - Deck 9
87 ACH 23817 Souls

This is a standard Suite onboard the Destiny which has been converted largely into an office area. The main room holds a large open area, with a mahogany desk and large leather swivel chair behind it. Two smaller chairs are set in front of the desk, while a row of locked file cabinets are set against a wall. Opposite this is a large overstuffed couch and comfortable chairs set around a glass topped coffee table. Through one door is a comfortable bathroom with tub and shower setup, while another door leads to a bedroom with a bed and more personal furniture, including a full length mirror, and walk-in closet.

The keypad entry system makes a series of beeps as the office admits its main occupant. Hatch unsealed, Nicholas steps through just as his index finger is pulling at the knot of his tie, a fluid motion of his hand undoing it into two strands of silk down the front of his shirt. He shoves the hatch shut with his foot and heads for his couch, picking up a remote control along the way.

Sometime after the meeting, and the requisite bit of unwinding with a woman gyrating over top of him for spare cubits, Paris ambles next door to handle matters of importance. Well, maybe just to dish about the meeting, or maybe to mooch off Nicholas' more classy selection of alcohol. Either way, he heads over. There'll be a bit of a clunk clunk from outside. "You in there?"

Nicholas aims the remote at the stereo, turning it on. Some piano music starts, upbeat but unintrusive, and Nicholas continues past the couch to the desk. "Come in, Paris." Sliding into his chair, he pulls his desk drawer open.

And so he does, the hatch again creaking open, a familiar figure ducking beneath and inside. "Oh, that was fun," Paris mutters. The debate or the lap dance? "Just when I was sure there was nothing worse than having the military hounding us the way they do, she had to go and remind me about the glorious institution that is politics in the Colonies. Guess that's one more thing the cylons failed to blow up thoroughly enough."

Nicholas starts to chuckle, pulling out a large leatherbound ledger and setting it on the desktop. "Necessary evil, my friend. Mankind needs rules and to have rules it needs the privileged few who set them. I feel like I'm watching a baby being born and I'm full of the exact simultaneous awe and revulsion that I would expect."

"Yeah, yeah. Law and order, public services, all that noise," Paris grumbles, shutting the hatch and ambling further in, although he looks a little uncertain, pacing a bit rather than going to find somewhere to sit. "I get it. Don't particularly like it, but I get it." He snorts. "Consider this my merciful desire not to let a child born with horrendous, crippling disfigurement live its painful life." First cargo pilot, and now social abortionist? An odd range of professions. "Though I suppose any government is gonna come up with rules I'll be inclined to break anyway." So why does he care at all? Ah, mysteries.

"Without politics, what would we all complain about?" Nicholas smiles at Paris and flips the huge ledger open to the last page with numbers on it. The cover thuds on the desk. "Tyranny of the minority isn't a cureable ill. Besides, it's either this or dally for so long that the Genesis decides they love the smell of martial law in the morning. I should rather have a crippled child than a soulless one."

Paris shrugs. "Getting decked in the head when I wake up? Lots of stuff." Poor poor fellow. "But sure, I don't want to leave things in total chaos either. The Genesis folks ain't much better of an option, as our lovely weekend cruise showed us all. I just don't want to let the lot of 'em get along too easily with what they're planning. They wanna be big shots? Make 'em work for it." And then, his pacing has brought him closer to the desk, peering at the ledger. "What are you up to?"

"Ancient history, from back when we had tax law to worry about." Nicholas makes a colourful gesture to the cascade of numbers running down the ledger. "Brushing up on my loopholes." He looks up and tips an index finger towards Paris' face. Specifically the bruise. "You know, if you really wanted to take a few down a notch, you'd press charges."

"Oh? Always hated that stuff," Paris answers, features scrunching up a bit. "Had to deal with so much red tape, taxes and tariffs and fees." Oh my! Now he's thoughtful. "Don't have to deal with it now, which is nice." And he will probably have to again soon. He knows it. "Suppose, as they make it more expensive, that's just more market for moving stuff under the radar." A silver lining to every cloud. The last suggestion really seems to surprise him, and he just laughs at first. "What?" Pause. "Oh you're serious? Somehow I don't think anyone would take a complaint from me too seriously. Beside, I don't want to get her in trouble. She was pissed off about a lot of stuff."

Nicholas smiles. "How many tax laywers do you really think are up here, Paris? Or anyone who really has a clue about how economics works in a functional society? Not very many. You're good at silver linings but so am I. We have to create a market from scratch, and I don't intend to muddle into the same sluggish wasteland that we did before. No, no." He folds his arms on the desk. "As for the young lady, I'm somewhat shocked she hasn't done the same to you." He pouts out his lower lip, adopting a cutesy voice. "Maybe it really is love."

"So, what, you're gonna design everything from scratch?" It's not a statement of doubt, however. Paris seems to beleive the other quite capable of it - rightly or wrongly. "Heh, I'll admit, most of that stuff is beyond me. 'Buy low, sell high', is about as far as I ever got with the whole thing." Again, talking about his raptor flying friend earns a bit of a laugh. "Yeah I guess she could have. Probably woulda worked, too, since I'm sure she'd have the whole navy testifying against me, and some nonsense court to happily condemn he who soiled one of their precious officers." Love? "Just means neither one of us is a -total- jerk, more like it." He'll admit to being a partial jerk.

"I won't tell anyone you said that," Nicholas replies, setting his elbows on the desk and folding his hands. "I won't be responsible for someone thinking you're a sweet, upstanding young gentleman." He sniffs and smirks a bit, then gently bites the very corner of his lip. His eyes flicker to another small pile of papers on his desk. "Ever wonder how much they're really not telling us?"

Paris just rolls his eyes. Ah, what he has to endure when it comes to talking about that sort of topic with Nick. "Good thing the secret's safe," he concludes, blandly. When the theatrics are done, however, his attention promptly follows to the pile. "Uh… I figure it's somewhere in the vicinity of 'everything'? Considering we're the dumb sheep and there's no need to frighten us. But yeah, sure, I wonder about it, wonder what they actually know, what's going on beyond our ships or the few narrow flight lanes they give me."

Nicholas mms. He reaches over and slides a small envelope out from under his things. His fingers press the top and bottom of the white paper, making it bulge in the middle. "You remember those two officers who used my office the night we jumped."

"Yeah, sure," Paris replies, a bit more direct, his gaze following Nick's hangs as they produce the envelope and put it on display. "Man I really am glad we're done with that stuff." Not a comment that has much to do with the envelope itself, but it seems he just can't help from expressing the feeling. "You brought them up here and let them use your stuff, right? Didja get it recorded?" Now he's looking just a little baffled, looking at the envelop and back.

Nicholas rotates his wrist, sending the envelope tossed towards Paris with a flick. It lands facedown on the desk, right on the edge. "It's all there. Some interference our DRADIS picked up. Raw data, numbers. Can't make heads or tails of it." He smiles, gently running the side of his thumb against his lower lip. "But perhaps you know someone who can."

Paris reaches out to put his hand down, preventing the thing from sliding any further, and picks it up. He turns it around in his own hands a few times, as if somehow examining the package at different angles might reveal some of its secrets. Sadly, it doesn't work that way. "Oh yeah?" Its clearly more interesting to hear than 'oh, it was just some asteroid chunk'. "A mystery." The mystery is what makes it interesting, of course. "I don't -really- know anyone like that, these days. Pegasus hauled away a lot of the good techs. But I can ask around a bit."

Nicholas flicks his eyes towards the ceiling at the mention of the Pegasus. Ugh. "Yes, well. They couldn't have gotten everyone. Maybe you'll find yourself a new friend or two." He says with a bright tone and one of his trademark brief but dazzling smiles. "Better to have a hacker on the payroll than off."

"Hope not." Paris doesn't seem so sure. "But yeah, you're right, it'd be a good set of skills to have around." Bah. He looks thoughtful, like he's trying to sort through however many people he knows - trying to think where he'd even start such a search. His expression is not exactly encouraging. But its late. "I have someone I should be meeting tomorrow on some other business. Maybe she knows someone, or knows someone who knows someone… or something. I'll figure it out."

Nicholas smiles. "Perfect. I know you'll come through, Paris. You always do." He sits back, running his fingers gently through his hair. "Now, much as I hate to have to banish a face like yours from my room, I should be moving along with figuring out how to jumpstart an economy."

"Mmmhmm." Paris isn't going to make promises. He tosses the envelope and catches it, then finally reaches down and tucks it away in one of his many pockets. "No problem. You plot your grand schemes. I think I argued myself out… gonna crash, or maybe work on my engines to get my head straight." The Zen of Colonial Shuttle Maintenance. "See ya 'round." And that's that. He's gone mere moments later.

Paris has left.

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