[If she hadn't been willing to make the time before, those last four words would've been the magic ones.]
FROM: shepard.lydia@cdc.org
Give me 10
[And punctual - or good at estimation, same thing - as usual, it takes about just that for her to put away whatever it is that has her 'sort of' busy and make her way down across camp to the line of rovers and eventually to banging a balled fist on the hatch to 010.
For the record? She knows she looks like shit. The very nearly ever present Ajna flak jacket that seems to be a staple of her wardrobe (because it's raining ninety percent of the time and it's not like she bothered to pack in two) has a suspicious dark brown stain of washed out blood all over one arm, but screw it. It could be way worse.]
[If Falcon looks like shit--and rest assured, he probably does, it's difficult to tell, mostly because he still hasn't taken his goddamn helmet off, despite the fact that he's wearing, CDC-issue clothes for once. That might, however, be because it's the closest thing to civvies he has.
When she knocks, he slides the door open, but (much like their last meeting) he doesn't greet her or welcome her in. That kind of formality is unnecessary, apparently. If she wants to come in, she'll come in.]
You look like hell.
[He punctuates that with the sound of a vodka bottle hitting the table.]
[And Shepard catches the edge of the hatch, hauling herself up through it without any fanfare and sliding it shut behind her. She pauses for a full beat to give him a once over.]
Anyone ever tell you you look weird without all the gear?
[Like maybe if she held her hand up and blocked out the helmet, he'd almost look like a normal person. Stupidly tall and broad, maybe, but a lot less of a parody than usual. --Not that she's lingering on that as she moves to sit at the table, unzipping one of her jacket pockets. She produces a deck of cards from it and squares it once against the edge of the table.]
[But that's by virtue of nobody really seeing him without it. Here, roughing it as they are (glorified campers aside), Falcon can't exactly justify wearing a flight suit all the time. His eyes follow her hand into her pocket and then to the cards on the table.
Poker it is.]
Fine. Went better for me than for others.
[That much is obvious, given the names on the list. He still isn't sure what to think of his apparent passing, not when more than half his own team failed.]
[Or the memo - literally. Whatever. She's obviously been gag ordered for whatever actually went down (the drawbacks of Grey) if Garrus's cagey attitude had been enough to go by, but it's not like reading between the lines is super difficult. Like coming back to camp and finding half the rovers and a significant chunk of the crew missing, pinging IDs and knowing half of them were blocked. It's not rocket science and Dagger's notice had been even easier to follow. What wasn't was what exactly had triggered the blow back. An order from upper brass, apparently, but from what she could tell that was the most sensible thing about the disciplinary action.
She breaks the deck, shuffles with a no-nonsense effectiveness.]
Have you heard of anyone who knows what they did wrong?
[He pours glasses, pushing one across the table towards her. Falcon knows he's skirting around a gag order, but there's no point in pretending there wasn't a mission. That much is painfully obvious.]
I can make a few guesses.
[Jasper and Zuko, both on the list, were the ones who started fires. He can only, however, make assumptions about his own team, and with radio silence from all the instructors (as usual), he's got no idea what the hell happened with everyone else.]
But I don't think anyone should hold their breath for feedback.
[He knows that their rovers are probably monitored, that they're more than likely being spied on through their cuffs, but he'll never apologize for stating the obvious, even if it means casually implying the whole thing was a) stupid and b) a waste of time.]
[She makes a low noise as she cuts the cards, shuffles again. Is he surprised? Doesn't really sound it if he is. The cards him between her fingers, gentle thip-thip-thip. She squares them a last time before she deals, easy flick of the wrist, and then sets the deck at her elbow before fetching up the glass he's poured for her.]
Word is the order came down from over the officer's heads.
[But, what Rogers had said aside, she doesn't really think that excuses the mismanagement. She quirks an eyebrow, brings the glass up and takes a sip before turning her cards up to take a look.
[Falcon pulls his hand to his side of the table, fixing her with a look that says he kind of doubts that. He'd been willing to play nice with the instructors, feign respect to get ahead, but he finds the unceremonious months-long disappearance of Warriorhead and Armada nothing short of incompetent.
Those who don't know any better, however, will continue to shower them with undeserved deference, simply because the instructors have been at this so long that they know exactly what to say to make people think they care, to get the results they want. And most of the recruits will eat it up, partially because they believe it, but mostly because there's no other choice.
Maybe, as of the previous day's happenings, something will snap. All the recruits under the impression that any of the instructors cared about any of them at all has been shattered, and rightfully so, but given the amount of naïveté on this crew, Falcon anticipates more confusion and sadness than an altogether more productive emotion, like anger. He wishes he could say he's surprised, but he holds no such illusions.
[Yes and no. Sure, she can buy that the poor performance assessment came on high, but to her mind the disciplinary action isn't really the problem. The CDC has a proven track record for the excessively violent when it comes to making sure company expectations are met. Next to poorl timed parties, its practically their signature thing. Whether the order for it comes from the Neheda's officers or down from on high doesn't really make a difference to the people getting the licking. The problem is that it makes command look incoherent at best, out of control at worst. To her mind, that second one sounds like a death knell.]
Does it matter? Morale's tanked either way.
[How long until someone got a wild hair up their ass about trying to use that lack of stability and ended up getting them all smeared across the black of space by HQ for it? She doesn't give a crap about the Instructors, but the lack of competency puts her at risk never mind the rest of the crew. That? She doesn't appreciate.
She plucks two cards from her hand and tosses them. There's nothing to bet and it's more to keep her hands occupied between sips from her glass. Might as well just play rounds to see who has the better hand.]
[It probably matters to all the people who are pro-Neheda anti-CDC, as if there's some sort of difference. They're Kool-Aid drinkers either way, as far as Falcon is concerned.
What he does know is that punishing with no explanation is perhaps the worst way to get results. Sure, it instills fear, sets an example, and keeps people in line, but when you don't tell people what they did wrong (or even what they did right), it's only going to shut everyone down.]
Might be what they want.
[The CDC has never shown itself to be concerned with the well-being of its recruits. He supposes it's not out of the realm of possibility that the instructors just want to be rid of them.
He sets two of his cards down in turn, pushing them towards her, but it's clear he's not exactly interested in the game.]
[No hedging her bets there with a statement so flat. But this isn't like Parker or Rogers - this isn't talking about something dangerous and trying to circle around it just enough times that everyone understands the implications but hopefully whoever's monitoring the feeds off their cuffs can't quite get the same notion. This is just-- heresay, scuttlebutt, opinions good or otherwise. And it's not like they've ever been anything but to the point with one another. Seems like a waste to start now.
She deals him out two more cards, deals herself the same and tucks them in with the rest of her hand. That's better, if marginally so.]
If HQ is really looking at us close enough to drop down disciplinary action, they're going to notice if unhappy recruits start to push at command. Then we're all screwed.
[Unhappy recruits pushing at command. The CDC seems like an overly-confident organization--so large and impenetrable that recruits can talk about rebellion all they want. HQ knows it won't get anywhere, and Falcon's positive that the instructors listen in and laugh. All these green, delusional recruits who think they can get somewhere, that they can fight back.]
You run this for hundreds of years, you get comfortable. A couple of unhappy kids thinking they can upset the system is cute in a pathetic sort of way. Crews are expendable. It's not a threat.
Sure. But that doesn't mean they won't do something about it after they get a laugh in.
[They might think they're untouchable, but there's also very clearly an operational base line of 'fuck up anything that looks at you the wrong way' even if it means losing decent, hard working, brown noser recruits along with it. She can't imagine everyone on the Almina agreed with whatever their captain did to set HQ off, just like she's sure it won't matter how many of them aren't poking status quo with a stick down here for HQ to think it's a good idea to retire the Neheda crew.
At the very basic--]
It might not be a threat to the ship or the officers, but it's sure as hell a one to us.
[They had jack all as far as power went - the lowest rung on the proverbial ladder. And if shit rolls downhill, the recruits was where it was going to stop.]
[He concedes with a shrug and another hand of cards on the table, because she's right, of course.
There are a lot of dumb kids on this boat, who probably want to incite rebellion without fully understanding the consequences, or how to even go about it in a way that isn't inexperienced and dangerous. He supposes it's inevitable--someone, somewhere along the line, is going to do something so completely stupid in the name of fighting back that it thoroughly bones the rest of them.]
[Which begs the question: how much effort does she put into putting that kind of crap down? The idea leaves a bitter taste in her mouth - not because it means telling someone to sit down long enough for them to blow more planets out of existence (she tells herself she could care less about wiping backwater rocks off the map), but because it feeds into what's pretty clearly a broken system. Policing rebellious idiots isn't going to change the fact that the brass can't do it themselves. It's a self perpetuating cycle that means they're screwed any way she looks at it.]
Well. [Because what's she supposed to say?] This is fun.
[Dry as goddamn Saturn. And she tosses down her hand.]
[He knows he's not the greatest conversationalist, and there's the punishment hanging over all their heads, even if his cuff hadn't turned off. Falcon isn't sure whether or not he would have preferred that. Either way, recent events don't make for an exciting night.
He reaches across the table to take the deck of cards, giving it a few shuffles, if only so his hands are occupied.]
[It's not really a surrender to let him have the cards, but it feels like it - hands empty as she settles back in her chair, hooks an elbow over the back and busies herself momentarily with cleaning the dirt out from under her fingernails at close range.]
It's fine. This whole detail is just crap.
[It's not like either of their shoddy conversational skills (because let's be honest, it only takes one and it isn't like she's pulling her weight either) is really the problem here.]
If we had reliable leadership, it'd be one thing. [Would it? Would she really prefer more oversight from the brass? It'd probably just make for a different set of problems, but at least there'd be a sense of security with it.] But--
[And she turns her hand, a flippant gesture that takes the place of a shrug. Yeah and if wishes were Alliance cruises, she wouldn't be here in the first place.]
[They're not really playing, anyway--it's just something to occupy their hands, and he shuffles idly but doesn't really pay attention to the deck of cards. A crap detail pretty much sums it up. None of this has been what he'd expected, and mostly he just feels kind of stupid for allowing himself to be roped in, especially now that he's seen the true incompetence of the instructors.
[Hesitation is rare in her - not really Shepard's color, thanks - but for a second in shows in the wary way she settles back in her chair, a brief flicker in how she looks from him to the cards in his hands and back again. It's a sore subject for any number of reasons, but what breeds the pause is the fact that she knows a majority of recruits got duped by whatever rep had brought them on - asked them some stupid question and they'd gone without knowing the extent of what they were answering.
Her recruiter had been pretty damn forward. That hadn't changed her mind. It's possible most of the crew would find that tacky.]
That the CDC knew what it was doing and was good at it. If I worked with them to get rid of some planets that weren't contributing to 'the well being of the universe' they could use their tech to take problem of a problem back home. [A beat. A short one. All raw irony:] --Oh and that they polled pretty high in employee satisfaction.
[He laughs, an abrupt, barking sort of sound, but it's perhaps his most genuine one yet. Apparently the thought of the CDC rating employee satisfaction at all is just that funny.
Still, he recognizes her hesitation and he understands the reluctance to talk about how they ended up here. He's certainly ashamed of being tricked the way he was--not that he hadn't received full disclosure of the purpose, but his recruiter had led him to believe he'd be used for his specialized talents, not as interchangeable cannon fodder.
And then there had been the matter of blackmail, but Falcon has already learned that the recruiters are less than honest across the board.]
Gotta hand it to them, though. They're good at getting the people they want.
[Not that it's hard, when they threaten to blow up your planet.]
[She snorts then from where she's settled way back in the chair. Drums her fingers on the tabletop.] Yeah, well. Sounds like they've had time to practice. [Unlike pretty much everyone else in the multiverse, apparently. Either that or she was a bigger sucker than she realized.
She tips her chin in his direction then, a twitch in the line of her brow like a question mark before she even asks the thing that's hanging behind her teeth:]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Not very. Need something?
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Just thought it might be good to catch up.
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I can probably handle that
FROM: shepard.lydia@cdc.org
I'd say come on down but I've got a stump for a chair. You in your rover?
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Yeah. Kid's out. Got some booze left.
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FROM: shepard.lydia@cdc.org
Give me 10
[And punctual - or good at estimation, same thing - as usual, it takes about just that for her to put away whatever it is that has her 'sort of' busy and make her way down across camp to the line of rovers and eventually to banging a balled fist on the hatch to 010.
For the record? She knows she looks like shit. The very nearly ever present Ajna flak jacket that seems to be a staple of her wardrobe (because it's raining ninety percent of the time and it's not like she bothered to pack in two) has a suspicious dark brown stain of washed out blood all over one arm, but screw it. It could be way worse.]
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When she knocks, he slides the door open, but (much like their last meeting) he doesn't greet her or welcome her in. That kind of formality is unnecessary, apparently. If she wants to come in, she'll come in.]
You look like hell.
[He punctuates that with the sound of a vodka bottle hitting the table.]
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[And Shepard catches the edge of the hatch, hauling herself up through it without any fanfare and sliding it shut behind her. She pauses for a full beat to give him a once over.]
Anyone ever tell you you look weird without all the gear?
[Like maybe if she held her hand up and blocked out the helmet, he'd almost look like a normal person. Stupidly tall and broad, maybe, but a lot less of a parody than usual. --Not that she's lingering on that as she moves to sit at the table, unzipping one of her jacket pockets. She produces a deck of cards from it and squares it once against the edge of the table.]
Fun trip?
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[But that's by virtue of nobody really seeing him without it. Here, roughing it as they are (glorified campers aside), Falcon can't exactly justify wearing a flight suit all the time. His eyes follow her hand into her pocket and then to the cards on the table.
Poker it is.]
Fine. Went better for me than for others.
[That much is obvious, given the names on the list. He still isn't sure what to think of his apparent passing, not when more than half his own team failed.]
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[Or the memo - literally. Whatever. She's obviously been gag ordered for whatever actually went down (the drawbacks of Grey) if Garrus's cagey attitude had been enough to go by, but it's not like reading between the lines is super difficult. Like coming back to camp and finding half the rovers and a significant chunk of the crew missing, pinging IDs and knowing half of them were blocked. It's not rocket science and Dagger's notice had been even easier to follow. What wasn't was what exactly had triggered the blow back. An order from upper brass, apparently, but from what she could tell that was the most sensible thing about the disciplinary action.
She breaks the deck, shuffles with a no-nonsense effectiveness.]
Have you heard of anyone who knows what they did wrong?
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I can make a few guesses.
[Jasper and Zuko, both on the list, were the ones who started fires. He can only, however, make assumptions about his own team, and with radio silence from all the instructors (as usual), he's got no idea what the hell happened with everyone else.]
But I don't think anyone should hold their breath for feedback.
[He knows that their rovers are probably monitored, that they're more than likely being spied on through their cuffs, but he'll never apologize for stating the obvious, even if it means casually implying the whole thing was a) stupid and b) a waste of time.]
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Word is the order came down from over the officer's heads.
[But, what Rogers had said aside, she doesn't really think that excuses the mismanagement. She quirks an eyebrow, brings the glass up and takes a sip before turning her cards up to take a look.
It's about as satisfying as everything else.]
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Those who don't know any better, however, will continue to shower them with undeserved deference, simply because the instructors have been at this so long that they know exactly what to say to make people think they care, to get the results they want. And most of the recruits will eat it up, partially because they believe it, but mostly because there's no other choice.
Maybe, as of the previous day's happenings, something will snap. All the recruits under the impression that any of the instructors cared about any of them at all has been shattered, and rightfully so, but given the amount of naïveté on this crew, Falcon anticipates more confusion and sadness than an altogether more productive emotion, like anger. He wishes he could say he's surprised, but he holds no such illusions.
He looks at his cards.]
You don't really think that.
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Does it matter? Morale's tanked either way.
[How long until someone got a wild hair up their ass about trying to use that lack of stability and ended up getting them all smeared across the black of space by HQ for it? She doesn't give a crap about the Instructors, but the lack of competency puts her at risk never mind the rest of the crew. That? She doesn't appreciate.
She plucks two cards from her hand and tosses them. There's nothing to bet and it's more to keep her hands occupied between sips from her glass. Might as well just play rounds to see who has the better hand.]
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It might.
[It probably matters to all the people who are pro-Neheda anti-CDC, as if there's some sort of difference. They're Kool-Aid drinkers either way, as far as Falcon is concerned.
What he does know is that punishing with no explanation is perhaps the worst way to get results. Sure, it instills fear, sets an example, and keeps people in line, but when you don't tell people what they did wrong (or even what they did right), it's only going to shut everyone down.]
Might be what they want.
[The CDC has never shown itself to be concerned with the well-being of its recruits. He supposes it's not out of the realm of possibility that the instructors just want to be rid of them.
He sets two of his cards down in turn, pushing them towards her, but it's clear he's not exactly interested in the game.]
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[No hedging her bets there with a statement so flat. But this isn't like Parker or Rogers - this isn't talking about something dangerous and trying to circle around it just enough times that everyone understands the implications but hopefully whoever's monitoring the feeds off their cuffs can't quite get the same notion. This is just-- heresay, scuttlebutt, opinions good or otherwise. And it's not like they've ever been anything but to the point with one another. Seems like a waste to start now.
She deals him out two more cards, deals herself the same and tucks them in with the rest of her hand. That's better, if marginally so.]
If HQ is really looking at us close enough to drop down disciplinary action, they're going to notice if unhappy recruits start to push at command. Then we're all screwed.
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[Unhappy recruits pushing at command. The CDC seems like an overly-confident organization--so large and impenetrable that recruits can talk about rebellion all they want. HQ knows it won't get anywhere, and Falcon's positive that the instructors listen in and laugh. All these green, delusional recruits who think they can get somewhere, that they can fight back.]
You run this for hundreds of years, you get comfortable. A couple of unhappy kids thinking they can upset the system is cute in a pathetic sort of way. Crews are expendable. It's not a threat.
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[They might think they're untouchable, but there's also very clearly an operational base line of 'fuck up anything that looks at you the wrong way' even if it means losing decent, hard working, brown noser recruits along with it. She can't imagine everyone on the Almina agreed with whatever their captain did to set HQ off, just like she's sure it won't matter how many of them aren't poking status quo with a stick down here for HQ to think it's a good idea to retire the Neheda crew.
At the very basic--]
It might not be a threat to the ship or the officers, but it's sure as hell a one to us.
[They had jack all as far as power went - the lowest rung on the proverbial ladder. And if shit rolls downhill, the recruits was where it was going to stop.]
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There are a lot of dumb kids on this boat, who probably want to incite rebellion without fully understanding the consequences, or how to even go about it in a way that isn't inexperienced and dangerous. He supposes it's inevitable--someone, somewhere along the line, is going to do something so completely stupid in the name of fighting back that it thoroughly bones the rest of them.]
Only a matter of time.
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Well. [Because what's she supposed to say?] This is fun.
[Dry as goddamn Saturn. And she tosses down her hand.]
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[He knows he's not the greatest conversationalist, and there's the punishment hanging over all their heads, even if his cuff hadn't turned off. Falcon isn't sure whether or not he would have preferred that. Either way, recent events don't make for an exciting night.
He reaches across the table to take the deck of cards, giving it a few shuffles, if only so his hands are occupied.]
I can get drunk if you want.
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It's fine. This whole detail is just crap.
[It's not like either of their shoddy conversational skills (because let's be honest, it only takes one and it isn't like she's pulling her weight either) is really the problem here.]
If we had reliable leadership, it'd be one thing. [Would it? Would she really prefer more oversight from the brass? It'd probably just make for a different set of problems, but at least there'd be a sense of security with it.] But--
[And she turns her hand, a flippant gesture that takes the place of a shrug. Yeah and if wishes were Alliance cruises, she wouldn't be here in the first place.]
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He frowns.]
What'd they tell you? Your recruiter.
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Her recruiter had been pretty damn forward. That hadn't changed her mind. It's possible most of the crew would find that tacky.]
That the CDC knew what it was doing and was good at it. If I worked with them to get rid of some planets that weren't contributing to 'the well being of the universe' they could use their tech to take problem of a problem back home. [A beat. A short one. All raw irony:] --Oh and that they polled pretty high in employee satisfaction.
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Still, he recognizes her hesitation and he understands the reluctance to talk about how they ended up here. He's certainly ashamed of being tricked the way he was--not that he hadn't received full disclosure of the purpose, but his recruiter had led him to believe he'd be used for his specialized talents, not as interchangeable cannon fodder.
And then there had been the matter of blackmail, but Falcon has already learned that the recruiters are less than honest across the board.]
Gotta hand it to them, though. They're good at getting the people they want.
[Not that it's hard, when they threaten to blow up your planet.]
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She tips her chin in his direction then, a twitch in the line of her brow like a question mark before she even asks the thing that's hanging behind her teeth:]
What'd they tell you?
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