| The Navy Wants YOU! |
| Summary: | Rhea makes Quill a snipe-y offer he can't refuse. Thad makes dinner plans. Cameo by Micah. |
| Date: | 18 ACH |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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Carina Park Carina - Central Square
18 ACH 6735 Souls
The main level of the Carina depicts a garden-like atmosphere with cobble-stoned walkways leading off to other areas. This ship is the pride of the Colony fleet. Set up as a training area and stadium for play-offs of the Colony Pyramid teams. - In the center square the colony flags fly with their Pyramid team labels.
Caprican Buccaneers, Picon Panthers, Aerelon Argonauts, Tauron Bulls, Aquarian Aces, Virgon Vultures, Sagittaron Hornets, Scorpia Stingers, Libris Daredevils, Gemenon Giants, Canceron Capitals and the Leonis Liberators. The flags surround a statue of the latest team who won. The C-Bucs Pyramid trophy stands proudly in the center.
Signs point down the cobblestone pathways to other places: Training, Housing, Hotel, Courts and Stadium.
Contents: Quill Rhea Wireless 582
Exits: [D] Docking Bay [GH] General Housing
[PH] Pyr Hotel [SA] Spires Avenue
[SC] Sport Courts [TA] Training Areas
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The ship has seen better days for sure, but it's still kinda nice. Kinda pretty. There's a little more rubbish here and there, maybe, since activities as banal as groundskeeping seem less important these days… but it's still a park, and as far as anyone knows it's the only park humans can still go to and not die. So it's popular!
Among those gathered here in the popular park is a dark-haired man with a guitar, sitting alone at the base of one of the flagpoles. Quill is playing a song without words, a fairly upbeat tune. In another reality it might be busking, but in this one, people are starting to care less about money and more about laundry detergent, so there's no hat out for the coins of passers-by.
Rhea strolls into the park, after speaking for a moment with one of the Carina crewmembers who's still attempting to work. She stands out from the civilian residents in her officer blues. And in her manner. There's nothing aimless about her. She's intent. A woman on a mission. Her eyes sweep the park to Quill, and his guitar. But she doesn't interrupt him. She pauses to listen, in fact, head tilted as she follows the tune. Brow furrowed, as if trying to figure out if she knows the music or not.
Quill quirks a smile once he notices he's being watched, and the chords continue until the end of the song. He's a foot-tapper, keeping time with worn shoes until the conclusion of the tune, and the last flourished strum brings both hands and feet to stillness. "'Raining Again'," he volunteers the name of the song, in an accent that suggests an origin on Virgon. "Not well known, but it's catchy. All fun and games until someone breaks a string, though, then it's great sorrow and gnashing of teeth."
"My musical knowledge is a little shallow," Rhea says. "It's pretty, though. Nice to hear live music again." Her own accent is hard to place immediately, though once you burrow through the softening influences of education and decades off-colony, the working-class Sagittaron drawl is still down there. "Are you Jonah Quill?"
"I live to serve," Quill grins to the live music appreciation, left hand strolling down the fretboard again in search of another song. He's about to start a different set of chords when… wait, what? Fingers pause, and he looks up at Rhea again, seeming to take in the uniform for the first time. "You probably already know the answer to that, if you know my name at all," Quill replies, dryly. "But yeah, that's me. Is being Jonah Quill a good thing or a bad thing in this particular circumstance?"
"It means I'm not wasting my time talking to you. Which is a good thing, I assure you. Waste makes me cranky," Rhea replies with a faint, crooked smile. She looks him up and down, in an assessing sort of way. Speculative. A hand is extended, to shake. She's a lefty. "My name's Rhea Zimmermann. Chief Engineer of the Battlestar Genesis."
"Waste is really only a problem if the amount of it is different from the expected value generated at the start of the situation," Quill replies, rising to his feet. Yeah, engineer. "Or if waste is a result of mismanaged and limited resources, but again, resource allocation would be something to sort out at the beginning of the scenario. Or…" He stops talking and blinks at her. "I'm sorry, what…? Oh. Yes." The handshake is returned, with the brief awkwardness of someone who forgets there are lefties in the world (someone who's right-handed, in other words). "It's a pleasure to meet you. Or at least I'm assuming it is, in the absence of knowing why you're looking for me."
Thad comes in from Docking Bay.
Thad has arrived.
Quill, a civvie with a guitar, is standing near the flagpoles and speaking with a uniformed Rhea.
"Resources are a matter of Logistics, Mister Quill. Not my department," Rhea replies wryly. For a moment, a hint of sadness crosses her face. But she banishes it with a blink. She's on business now. She pumps his hand firmly before releasing it. She's got a strong grip for a woman her size. Slim fingers calloused from the work. When she releases him she gets back to looking at him in that assessing way. Like she's putting him on scales in her head. It might be a little unnerving. "I got your name off the manifest. Me and mine are looking for skilled hands among the civilians. Doctors, scientists, pilots…you get the idea. I gather you're an engineer of sorts." The park is filled with a spotty crowd of civilians, trying to spend a pleasant post-apocalyptic day. And Rhea, in her uniform, chatting up Quill. Quill himself has a guitar with him, though he's not playing it at the moment.
Thad is another uniformed figure, even if he left the lab coat that usually covers it behind when he came over. His manner suggests he's not around for anything remotely official though as he walks with an easy relaxation and simply looks about as he goes.
Quill's hands are calloused as well, possibly from the guitar's strings, or possibly from actual work. The likelihood of each seems about 60-40 in favor of music rather than work. Rhea's assessing look is returned, but Quill's at a disadvantage since he doesn't know what she's getting at yet. "…Yeah, I'm an engineer," he admits, briefly rubbing the back of his neck. "Tate University on Virgon was nice enough to give me a PhD in it. I've done some teaching… I fix commercial vehicles to pay the bills." Pause. "Except it didn't really pay the bills, and I guess I… don't do that anymore, and I don't have bills anymore." Another awkward pause, and Quill attempts to get back on track. "Um… I wrote a dissertation about engine modifications in FTL drives to reduce overall fuel consumption. Among other things." Thad's arrival sparks a brief expression of worry, probably for no better reason than that he's another uniformed officer.
"I know. I read it. I think I've still got that issue of Colonial Mechanics stuffed in my bunk somewhere," Rhea says. She doesn't sound particularly impressed. "I saved the Gaius Baltar interview. Your paper was very…academic. Half of those theories would break down after a week on a real battlestar. But it was interesting from a research point of view. So. Is this what an engineer does with himself these days? Strum in a park?" Thad is noted, but her main focus is on Quill.
Thad notices the other talking too, but his attention moves on rather quickly as he walks further, looking for all the world as if it's his first visit and he's still getting his bearings as he goes. He doesn't even seem to have a specific place to go in mind. He doesn't angle toward the pair talking at least so maybe that'll help Quill relax again.
"Of course it was academic," Quill defends his paper, folding his arms. "It was supposed to be. Practice and theory need to be separate entities with a symbiotic relationship that allows for the blending of the two in real-world situations. Without impractical visionaries, the field eventually goes blind. The article in the creatively named 'Engineering', though, the one about thrust compensation? That one was practical." Quill considers. "Sort of."
To Rhea's question, Quill smiles wryly. "The short answer is yes," he replies, then peers at Thad, and back to Rhea. "Is that guy waiting to talk to you? He looks very… official." Of course he does, he's an officer.
Micah comes in from Docking Bay.
Micah has arrived.
Rhea smirks when Quill talks back to her, brows arching. It's probably not something people do very often. She has an aura of natural bossiness around her that she wears easily. As for Thad, he shrugs. "He's an officer, Mister Quill. Don't worry about him. We don't bite unless provoked. Is this what you want to keep doing?" She gets down to it. "I'm here to offer you a job. Don't worry. It doesn't involve serenading me."
Thad finally angles over to where Rhea and Quill to interrupt the odd couple of civvie with guitar and officer in uniform. "Pardon, but would it be a bad time to interrupt and ask directions?" he says at last. "I was told about a really good restaurant here, and I came right after my duty shift, then realized I forgot where it was." he admits with a shake of his head. Nope, he's not part of whatever Rhea is plotting.
Micah ambles through the park, hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket. He doesn't stop to interrupt the two officers and the man they're conversing with, though does offer a polite 'sir' in passing should they glance his way.
Micah leaves for Hotel Entrance [PH].
Micah has left.
Quill lifts his guitar to set the strap over one shoulder and arches a brow at Rhea. "What does it involve?" he asks. If she's good at reading people, though, she'll probably already know the bait's taken and the hook's set. He's curious. To Thad, the civilian shrugs. "What's your definition of good?" he asks. "That'll have an impact on what a good restaurant is, you know?" He tsks, "Undefined variables. Very troublesome." Hard to tell if he's joking, or serious, there.
"The crab shack here is divine, Doctor," Rhea tells Thad, for her part. "Better get their soon, while there's still a decent supply of butter." She proceeds to give him directions that are more-or-less easy to follow. Micah is offered a passing "Ensign." Then her attention is back to Quill. "It involves Engineering, Mister Quill. For the Navy. From what you've told me you're more than qualified to work an FTL. Most of my snipes don't have half your schooling. Myself included." Not something she seems particularly bothered by.
Thad nods to Rhea and then flashes a smile at Quill. "One that still has desserts. I was told there was one here and I've got some impressing to do so that's an important part of it." he says in a joking tone. Then it's back to Rhea. "Thank you Major. Butter will be a help too."
"Sure." It's as easy as that, Quill agrees. He may not know what he's getting into, but hey, he does know how FTL drives work, and that's what's important here. "Tell me what to do, where to go… I'll do it." He pauses briefly, then asks, "What's a snipe?" To Thad, one brow arches, and he grins. "Impressing, huh? Crab place would be the best one, then. Good luck getting in there though, you're not the only one with that particular agenda. That guy who takes the reservations, though, he's fully bribable."
"The beer's good, too, or so I'm told," Rhea replies to Thad with a wink. "Have fun." Quill's answer makes her smile as well. Though the 'What's a snipe?' question turns it into a smirk. "A snipe's an engineer who works for a living. It's a term of endearment. Learn to love it." That's an order. "You've got some choices. Commander Regas is accepting civilian hands as contractors. I don't mind working with folks in that capacity. You could stay here." She shrugs. "It'd limit what you could do, as far as the engines were concerned, though. You could also enlist. With your education, they'd make you an officer. Put you through quickie military training. It'd be a rush job. We don't exactly have a Fleet Academy out here. The life isn't for everyone. But you'd get better supplies, better living accommodations, better access to medical care. And you'd get to play with all the Colonial Military's finest toys." It's the last point she clearly considers most enticing, to her view of things.
Thad grins. "I just need the butter, and some chocolate if they still have any. The real test is my own cooking." he admits. "That's why I came fully prepared to bribe." he adds with a wink. "Thanks for the help. Sorry for the interruption." and with that, he turns to start off in the direction indicated.
"Let's see." Quill considers his options, gesturing first with one hand, and then the other. "Stay here on a flying pyramid court with a bunch of formerly overpaid athletes and panicking sports fans while society devolves and the Colonies' best and brightest riot when butter runs out. Or, engineering." That's the only thing being weighed on the military side, apparently — the mechanical goodness. "I think I'll take engineering, and the Navy."
To Thad's bribe preparation, Quill nods approvingly. "Clever man," he praises. "I predict sincere delight on the part of whoever you're trying to impress."
Rhea's grin crooks again at the delight in mechanical goodness. She can work with this. "Excellent. Contact the Genesis Personnel office. I'll let them know you'll be calling. There'll be a background check and a medical exam. Assuming you aren't a terrorist with flat feet, I'll see you in my shop in some proper blues. Now." She raises her left hand, in demonstration of a salute. "Just do this and say, 'Yes, sir.'" Her expression is impassive as Thad talks of impressing someone. That shadow of sadness crosses her eyes again. But, again, it's fleeting.
Thad grins. "Hope you're right. See you when you come for the physical." then he nods to Rhea. "Sir." and he's off with that to get his butter and chocolate. And maybe some other ingredients if he can bribe them all out.
Thad leaves for Docking Bay [D].
Thad has left.
"You're not a sir," Quill points out, in case Rhea might not be aware of this. He reconsiders, "Or is everyone a sir, once you get a uniform?" The man does salute her, though, and regardless, he repeats the 'yes sir'. Quill salutes crappily, with a bend in the wrist instead of that perfect line from fingertips to elbow. He's so thoroughly civilian, it's painful.
"I'm a Major. That makes me a demi-god to you. And we're all sirs in the Navy," Rhea says wryly. He /is/ thoroughly civilian, but she doesn't seem bothered by it. More amused than anything else. And a little sympathetic. They'll get him beaten into shape. "Anyhow. Pleasure to meet you, Mister Quill. I'll leave you to your guitar. Don't wear out your hands. I've got plenty of work for them." She returns the salute, in proper Naval fashion, and turns to stride out of the park.
Perhaps literally beaten into shape! A whole Basic course condensed into a week or two? Yeah, that'll be a big barrel of fun. Quill is blissfully ignorant at the moment, though, and bows a farewell to Rhea — the gesture is accompanied by a chord from the guitar, sort of a note of finality. "Likewise a pleasure… sir. I'll see you soon."
