PHD #432: Cheeky Little Apprentice
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Cheeky Little Apprentice
Summary: Iosif visits Despondent Damon in his office.
Date: 5 May 2042 AE
Related Logs: None.
Chief's Office - Hangar Deck - Battlestar Cerberus
It's late on the ship, but Damon is still holed up in his office. He has been since the morning when he first came in, like he's been doing every single day since he returned to work. There's not a peep of him until he leaves for the night - no lunch break, no dinner break, not even bathroom breaks. Unlike before, when his door was always open unless he was having a private meeting, his door stays adamantly closed whenever he occupies the space. Paperwork gets slid in under the door and magically reappears later signed and approved. Everything, signed and approved. Toby "Laze-off" Lazaroff put in a memo requesting five days off duty and it was signed and approved the next day. So whatever's going on in there, it isn't business as usual.
There's a knock at Damon's door. A series of quick taps, though no paperwork is slid under the door. "Err…Chief? You in there?" The voice belongs to Apprentice O'Keefe, who is probably the source of the tapping on the other side.
"Come in," comes the deadpan reply from Damon. It's clear that he's not pleased to have a visitor. When the door opens, it shows the Chief's Office as it usually is - in wild disarray, papers everywhere, and Damon himself seated behind the desk looking bleary-eyed. There's also a small portable music player and headphones sitting on his desk; the screen's backlight is still on, meaning he only turned the music off recently.
Iosif sticks himself into the office without hesitation, taking a quick look around the place, like he's expecting to find Damon tied to the ceiling or something or other. He's holding a clipboard, though it's not immediately presented. He looks half-surprised he was let in at all. "Oh. Hello, Chief. Or do we call you Senior Chief now? I still ain't quite managed the protocol nonce of all this. Congratulations, by the way."
"Nothing to congratulate me for," Damon says gruffly; instead of it sounding like humility, it sounds like he's offended by the congratulations. "As far as I can tell, I got promoted for still being alive." Leaving that awkward response hanging in the air and not answering Iosif's question, he just looks at the Apprentice with an unreadable expression. Guess he's not going to be the one to make conversation.
"Well, and so you'll rank any other Deck Chief in case we meet another Crazy Ship," Iosif jokes. Awkwardly. Rimshot. He moves on. Seemingly not quite sure what to do with himself, though he does eventually present the clipboard to Damon. "Err…lads and lasses working fabrication's got the final reports on the birds they can save. Repair times and what-not. They ain't all back in circulation yet. Them Areion buggers didn't leave it easy on us."
Damon looks at the offered clipboard, up at Iosif, down at the clipboard, then away with a quiet sigh. "That's fine, leave it here. Just slide the papers under the door next time like everyone else is doing. I'll have it back out by tomorrow if it needs a signature." It's clear dismissal from the tone of his voice and his completely disinterested look.
"Uh. Sure." Iosif leaves the clipboard on the desk, giving Damon a harder look across it. "Chief…you all right?" The question's asked after some hesitation, but it is asked. "I mean, permission to speak freely and all…" Which it appears he thinks is a thing you just automatically get. "…you been shut up in here for days. People're starting to ask…well…ask if you're all right or not?"
"Been busy with work. A lot to catch up on," is Damon's clipped answer as he looks at the papers Iosif puts down on his desk. Looking up at the man, he adds, "Job's getting done. Deck's doing its duty. There's nothing to get all frakking concerned about." He jerks his head toward the door. "You go tell them that. You and Bannik and Sofia and Petra and everybody else out there that seem to be more interested about me than doing their Gods-damned jobs. You've got enough to worry about."
"I'm doing my job, Chief. We all are." The reply from Iosif is a little defensive. "Just asking is all." He starts to head out said door, though he's not too quick about it. "You should talk to Specialist Bannik. He's been…well, he been saying some funny things since he got back from Gemenon. And back to work. He ain't…some of the stuff he's on about, about the Cylons, it ain't going to make him any friends."
"I've read his manifesto," Damon replies. And, in fact, a copy of the Bannik's manifesto is what's sitting right in front of him. "He's not supposed to be talking about that shit on duty, and nobody should be asking him about it. Or his little trip to Gemenon." He makes it sound like it was a vacation. "I don't care what he does in his off-time. And if what he says is true… then it needs to be said. And heard. Whether or not it makes him any friends."
"He's not like…on about it on-duty, but everybody on the ship's talking about it," Iosif says. "I dunno if it's true or not. I dunno what to think. But he's going to get his kidneys knocked in, at best, if he ain't careful. You think it's true then?" He frowns. "That we should buddy up with the Cylons?"
"I don't know what's true," Damon says. He sounds surprisingly angry about it. "Let them talk. But the moment any one of them so much as raises a hand to Bannik, I'll cave in their skull with a lug wrench." He folds up the manifesto and puts it into his breast pocket, which is apparently where it normally resides. "You can tell them that, too."
Cheeky little Apprentice. The comment goes unremarked upon, though Damon does give him a hard look for a moment before turning his attention back to the mess of papers on his desk. But not to anything in particular, he's more just shuffling them around to different locations on his desk without actually reading or working on any of them.
Iosif shoots a backward look over his shoulder, though he doesn't try to stare down the harder one from Damon. The cheeky little Apprentice retreats, back to work, closing the door behind him.
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