Way to Go, Crow
Way to Go, Crow
Summary: Micah gets a visitor in the brig. He probably wishes he hadn't.
Date: 17 ACH
Related Logs: Panther Bar (parts I & II)

The brig's populated this evening by the usual suspects: the pair from the Pandora, being detained for gods know what, and a certain mouthy pilot who's becoming a regular guest here. Bed sheets mussed from no doubt an attempt at dozing, Micah's taken to pacing like an agitated cat. Back and forth, back and forth, the dim-lit hall is glanced at now and then as he moves.

Hey hey. Someone's got a visitor. A swarthy-skinned woman in Navy blues pauses to check in with the guard on duty before strolling slowly down the line of cells until she finally comes to a stop in front of the one that Micah occupies. Jocasta gives the pilot a bit of a baleful look and finally says, "You're really gonna have to start coming up with a different excuse to get out of the CAP, mate. This one's gettin' old."

Micah is just at the end of his 'patrol' by the time Jocasta shows up, so it isn't until he's started pacing back again that he spots her. And pauses. "Jojo." It's what he used to call her, and it's what he's calling her now, if edged with a bit of wry amusement. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?" He slouches his shoulder against the bars, head twisted to the side so he can watch her.

Mrfl. Jocasta makes an indeterminate but probably not too pleased sort of noise at the old nickname. "Don't call me that," she says, brow wrinkling into a little scowl. That nickname is apparently reserved for family and people she's currently frakking. Keyword: currently. She opts to answer his question with one of her own, "What'd you do this time?"

The sound has him watching her for a beat or two, then averting his gaze. He's always had a slightly disconcerting way of watching people, though it could be the fact that looking at his eyes is like looking at two different people: left and right, green and blue. "Fine," he mutters, scraping his fingers through his hair. "Flipped off an MP, refused the orders of a Major." A small, dry laugh. "Really frakked up this time."

Insert sigh and eyeroll here along with the next inevitable question: "…why?" While Jocasta's never been particularly easy to disconcert, she still can't help but find Micah's undivided attention somewhat uncomfortable. "Why would you do that??"

Micah shakes his head slowly, upper lip sucked in between his teeth. "Don't matter any, really. Point is, I'll be lucky if the brass don't take away my pins, my bird, and put me on janitor duty on the Carina for the rest of this war." Muttered lower, "Wouldn't he be proud, then. Why'd you come t'see me, Jammer?" Jammer, that's safe, isn't it?

"It does matter," Jammer insists, one hand wrapped around the bars but not in close proximity to the prisoner. There's no need to worry about any physical contact, however inadvertent, taking place. She continues to verbally prod, "So, what gives, man?"

Micah is ever cognizant of the distance between them, and none too keen on making it any smaller than it already is; she knows him probably better than anyone on this ship, and so she knows he doesn't like being touched. "Look, this MP was spouting off at some Marine I'd seen around before. Some nonsense about how to catch a woman. I told 'im to knock it off, I was just frakking aroun', didn' mean to start any fights. Don' know what the frak 'is problem was, but he wouldn' let it go. Kept pushin' around his weight, so I flipped 'im off and headed for another table so I didn' do something I'd regret. He follows me, breaks out a set of handcuffs, tells me I'm to either leave or get brigged, there's no frakking way I'm getting brigged for backing the frak off— so while we're haggling it out, Major Gaelan walks in along with security, and he gets an earful of it all. Tells me I'm to apologize to this frakhead MP, and I… well, I refused." He gestures to his cell. "Tada."

"Was she worth it?" It's an assumption, sure, but probably not an entirely improbably one, even if it's inaccurate. All the same, Jo hedges her bets on the most likely cause, especially given the general generic terminology used in the explanation.

His response comes after a moment's pause, voice laced with a certain befuddlement, "Huh?"

"I mean… it was a woman, right? The Marine you'd seen around…?" In other words, Jocasta's assumed that Micah's fit of defiant pique must have certainly had to do with someone of the opposite sex. Is she actually giving him the benefit of the doubt on account of some sort of chivalrous inclination??

"Frak, no." Understanding finally dawning, Micah looks a touch repelled by the idea. "You think ah'm led around by my dick as much as you are, Jo?" He pushes away from the bars, but doesn't move away. "Look, I just… he was throwin' his weight around. I was tired, been doing damned taxi runs all mornin'. I wanted a quick drink and a smoke before I was due back on duty. I get that the Major was lookin' out for his own, but that frakking MP had no jurisdiction there. He just wanted an excuse to frak with navy."

Let's leave the dick comment alone for a moment and focus on the facts. Or, at least, the facts as Jocasta sees them. "Crow, I hate to tell you this but, if the Major tells you to do somethin', you frakkin' do it. The word 'no' ain't in your vocabulary with him. That's kinda how this whole thing works!" For 'this whole thing' she makes a sweeping, one-handed gesture to the brig at large.

Micah grinds his jaw a little. Left to right. Which probably isn't doing wonders for the pins and wires still keeping it in place. "But he was wrong, Jo. Don't that count for anything?"

"No, Crow, obviously not." There she goes again, wrinkling up her brow and looking just as vexed as you might expect if their roles were reversed. She hangs her free hand on her hip and says, "You think the JAG's gonna give a godsdamn just because you thought you had the moral high-ground? You're frakkin' your career for the sake of your pride, man!" So, apparently, what Jocasta came here to do was give her ex a lecture. Aw, how sweet.

"What career?" growls the viper jock irritatedly, as if they were talking about toenail fungus or a couch that didn't particularly match the rest of the apartment. Both subjects that might or might not have been in the offing, prior. "Frak it. We've had this discussion before." Of course they have. It's a wonder he hasn't been kicked out of the military by now. "For what it's worth, if I thought it'd save my godsdamned career, as you put it, I'd kiss whatever ass I had to. I know you're right. I wasn't… thinking clearly." Sigh.

Again with the sighing. Jocasta hangs her head a bit and then pinches the bridge of her nose using the fingers formerly housed on her hip. Of course they've had this conversation before. They've probably had it a thousand times. And, every time, it ends the same way — just like this — with Jocasta exasperated and Micah sullen. Time for a subject shift. "How long are you in for? They say?" She hasn't lifted her head yet, probably because she can't bear to look at him right now.

It's more of a snort, really, blown sharply through his nose as he peels away from the bars and paces to the bed, then back to the bars again. Agitated. "Huh? No idea. Jus' tossed me in here this morning, said it'd at least be overnight." He rakes his fingers through his hair again. "'m sure nobody would be shedding any tears though, if they just conveniently forgot me in here. Left me to rot."

That earns Micah another one of Jocasta typical baleful stares. "…m'I nobody, then?" Typical. Instead of just throwing the comment away, she has to take offense to it and then sling it back like a blade. "I'm sure the CAG ain't likely to forget she's short a pilot now." And that's probably not a good thing for anyone involved where Rue's wrath is concerned, Micah undoubtedly included, front and center. "Well, at least in here you don't have anybody makin' the bunk above ya creak." So, that's the 'bright side' of being in the brig?

He stares at her for a good few seconds after that remark. It's not the kind of thing he seems inclined to respond to, one way or the other. Anything he might say is likely to land him in hot water, so he settles for a noncommittal grunt. "It's been quiet lately," he murmurs. "Maybe the cylons've forgotten about us. Maybe the war's over, and we don' know it yet." The last remark causes him to chuckle softly and concur with, "In't that the truth."

"Somehow… I doubt that," she says in response to his Cylon reference (not as a retort to the 'truth'). Jo gives the guard on duty a sidelong look before pushing away from the bars and saying, "Look, I gotta go. Try to get some rest, alright? Hopefully, you'll be outta here soon and back on the flight deck with most of your ass intact." Her retreating steps are slow, giving Micah the opportunity to have the last word before she's out of earshot.

There doesn't seem to be any last word. At least, not immediately. It isn't until she's taken a few steps away that he calls out after her, "Thanks, Jo. For comin' to see me." And that, seems to be that. He paces back to the bed and slumps onto it heavily, watching the ceiling rather than the raptor ECO's retreating back.

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