[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:]
[Which had been a joke, but they'd played to his ego and he'd bought into it. That's a little hard to admit, but he figures the statement is self-explanatory without him having to go into details. He shrugs.]
And that they'd blow up the Earth if I didn't come with them.
[He knows now, however, that it's a months-long process and he could've said no and fought back--but hindsight is twenty-twenty, and there's no guarantee all the tech isn't already on Earth, ready and waiting to go.]
[Not far and away from the spiel she'd gotten then, it sounded like. Which probably meant Falcon had some idea what he was getting in to when he signed up (or got blackmailed on board - whatever); not everyone had the luxury. If its shitty to be weirdly relieved by that-- well, it's not the worst thing she's done so screw it.]
It's a good thing their recruiters know what they're doing. At least they know how to keep the canon fodder rolling in. [Raw, brusque sarcasm. Or should be if it didn't sound so on point to herself. Whatever people like Arbuckal or Sturmhond say about the instructors' vested interest in protecting the crew, the bulk of this the recruits are padding.]
[The point is that he, blackmailed as he was, still knew exactly what he was getting into. The CDC hadn't lied to him about their purpose, just the fact that the corporation itself is a backwards, disorganized, incompetent mess.]
Centuries of cannon fodder, even.
[That still boggles him a little, but mostly the part where the CDC could be around for hundreds and hundreds of years and still run things backward.]
[If Crichton's theories and the doublemint twins Parker and Parker were anything to go by. It's not really heartening to think about, but there's no sense in putting it aside either. Roll with the punches. Or something.]
It could just be this crew. I'm assuming you know all the crap about the Neheda being bottom of the barrel.
[For all she knows the rest of the CDC's fleet and officers were reasonably more straightforward, reasonably less arbitrary and ridiculous.]
[That gets his attention, as it's sort of news to him. He doesn't exactly like not being up on the gossip, but then again, he tries to stay away from the instructors unless he has an important question. Falcon leans in, suddenly interested.]
What, us or the officers?
[Here he is, thinking that the entire operation is stupid and incompetent. Maybe it is--it wouldn't surprise him, but if the instructors are bottom of the barrel, it might explain a few things.
Might explain a few things about some of the recruits, too.]
Us. Both. Supposedly we're doing a statistically crappy job, but everyone's just been following mission parameters laid out by the officers.
[And for someone fundamentally used to success on some degree, who in general thinks they've done well given the odds - ninety percent of the crew is untrained period or completely unfamiliar with the kind of weaponry and tactics necessary on the ground -, there's something grating and sour about that assessment. Not that she should really be giving much of a shit about job performance, right? Not in this context and not when she's earned herself a ticket to easy street on Grey. Still, it's a bur in her side; what the hell do they expect? Might go a whole lot better if there was a little more clarity there.]
But our Captain's got some enemies and less than savory associates by HQ's standards apparently. Scuttlebutt is she's been assigned to a bunch of vessels since she earned rank and I get the sense this one's a demotion. --And our new friend on security doesn't think much of the post.
[But that could just be Honey being a bratty kid. She still isn't sure what to make of Crichton's suspicions regarding the girl's presence on the crew.]
Could be why nobody's interested in feedback. Probably hope the dead weight'll just die and they'll get a better trained group next time around.
[Said, of course, with the sentiment that he is not among those that are dead weight. He knows that he's expendable, as far as the instructors and the CDC are concerned, but he also knows that he can keep himself around just by doing what he does best--succeeding. Maybe that's the best way to stick it to these assholes, in the end. Refusing to die.
He levels Shepard with a bit of an exasperated look.]
Our friend on security is twelve years old.
[Okay, maybe not twelve, but she's obviously a child, obviously here thanks to nepotism, and obviously incompetent, at least as far as leadership is concerned. He knows she can listen to this, but he doesn't exactly care, because she's twelve, and what's she going to do, talk him to death?]
Talent is not a substitute for experience.
[Not that he thinks Gliese is someone to defend, or even competent--if what Shepard says is true, then the Captain is the common denominator in all the reassignments, which means there's something sketchy about her performance, at the very least. Anyone who talks and acts like like Honey does, however, clearly has no practical know-how. It's only a matter of time before she's in over her head.]
Twelve years old and that much more likely to be saying something she's heard her agent parents or someone else say.
[Because children don't have their own opinions, obviously - just ones other people have impressed on them. If Honey's opinion of the Neheda is so low, Shepard can't imagine there isn't some basis for that idea - some generalized sentiment floating around the Fleet, anyway, and Honey was just loud mouthed enough to say it out loud where everyone could hear her being a snot nosed brat about it.
Which, strictly, isn't a defense of much of anyone on the officer or security roster. As far as she's concerned, they're all pretty damn culpable whatever the reasoning. If playing the cards close was a strategy instead of just incompetence, it felt like cutting off the nose to spite their own faces.]
That first part wouldn't surprise me though. Gliese's last ship had a high casualty rating. [And she clearly wants something.]
[And if they'll end up the same way as the last crew. Falcon isn't under the illusion that the instructors care about them--and along those lines, he isn't sure Gliese cares about the instructors. You do something like this for centuries, he imagines one might become entirely self-motivated. It's stupid to pretend otherwise.]
[Has jumped up conspiracy theories, but little to no basis for any of it. Whatever Gliese is after and how close it falls in line with her higher ups's desires (demands), she can't even begin to guess. But everyone's here for something.
For a moment, there's something on the tip of her tongue - the itch to say something about the kind of things Parker and Steve had been talking about. Carefully worded, preciously traded information that she hadn't felt quite attuned to but might be valuable taken with a cruiser load of salt. But then she swallows it down; it doesn't feel like hers to give, for one, but more to the point it puts slightly too much faith in the Neheda's officers - something she isn't willing to give, which makes the grains of data not worth passing on. Not yet anyway.]
[Falcon leans back in his chair and runs a hand across the visible part of his face. What else can they do, really, besides throw out theories? He frowns. This is not the position he wants to be in, but all he can do is wait, learn what he can, try to survive in the meantime. It's only going to get tougher from here.]
[She snorts, a low growled out noise. If there's one thing she's determined to make sure happens, it's that. And so far? Her odds aren't bad. She likes to think she doesn't die easy, has a track record that says as much. Now she just has to stay lucky and keep the proverbial ball rolling, right?
It's definitely the kind of thing that warrants recalling the mostly forgotten glass at her elbow, fetching it up and raising it in - a crappy toast proposal if there ever was one, but screw it. Fits the situation anyway.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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[Which had been a joke, but they'd played to his ego and he'd bought into it. That's a little hard to admit, but he figures the statement is self-explanatory without him having to go into details. He shrugs.]
And that they'd blow up the Earth if I didn't come with them.
[He knows now, however, that it's a months-long process and he could've said no and fought back--but hindsight is twenty-twenty, and there's no guarantee all the tech isn't already on Earth, ready and waiting to go.]
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It's a good thing their recruiters know what they're doing. At least they know how to keep the canon fodder rolling in. [Raw, brusque sarcasm. Or should be if it didn't sound so on point to herself. Whatever people like Arbuckal or Sturmhond say about the instructors' vested interest in protecting the crew, the bulk of this the recruits are padding.]
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Centuries of cannon fodder, even.
[That still boggles him a little, but mostly the part where the CDC could be around for hundreds and hundreds of years and still run things backward.]
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[If Crichton's theories and the doublemint twins Parker and Parker were anything to go by. It's not really heartening to think about, but there's no sense in putting it aside either. Roll with the punches. Or something.]
It could just be this crew. I'm assuming you know all the crap about the Neheda being bottom of the barrel.
[For all she knows the rest of the CDC's fleet and officers were reasonably more straightforward, reasonably less arbitrary and ridiculous.]
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What, us or the officers?
[Here he is, thinking that the entire operation is stupid and incompetent. Maybe it is--it wouldn't surprise him, but if the instructors are bottom of the barrel, it might explain a few things.
Might explain a few things about some of the recruits, too.]
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[And for someone fundamentally used to success on some degree, who in general thinks they've done well given the odds - ninety percent of the crew is untrained period or completely unfamiliar with the kind of weaponry and tactics necessary on the ground -, there's something grating and sour about that assessment. Not that she should really be giving much of a shit about job performance, right? Not in this context and not when she's earned herself a ticket to easy street on Grey. Still, it's a bur in her side; what the hell do they expect? Might go a whole lot better if there was a little more clarity there.]
But our Captain's got some enemies and less than savory associates by HQ's standards apparently. Scuttlebutt is she's been assigned to a bunch of vessels since she earned rank and I get the sense this one's a demotion. --And our new friend on security doesn't think much of the post.
[But that could just be Honey being a bratty kid. She still isn't sure what to make of Crichton's suspicions regarding the girl's presence on the crew.]
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[Said, of course, with the sentiment that he is not among those that are dead weight. He knows that he's expendable, as far as the instructors and the CDC are concerned, but he also knows that he can keep himself around just by doing what he does best--succeeding. Maybe that's the best way to stick it to these assholes, in the end. Refusing to die.
He levels Shepard with a bit of an exasperated look.]
Our friend on security is twelve years old.
[Okay, maybe not twelve, but she's obviously a child, obviously here thanks to nepotism, and obviously incompetent, at least as far as leadership is concerned. He knows she can listen to this, but he doesn't exactly care, because she's twelve, and what's she going to do, talk him to death?]
Talent is not a substitute for experience.
[Not that he thinks Gliese is someone to defend, or even competent--if what Shepard says is true, then the Captain is the common denominator in all the reassignments, which means there's something sketchy about her performance, at the very least. Anyone who talks and acts like like Honey does, however, clearly has no practical know-how. It's only a matter of time before she's in over her head.]
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[Because children don't have their own opinions, obviously - just ones other people have impressed on them. If Honey's opinion of the Neheda is so low, Shepard can't imagine there isn't some basis for that idea - some generalized sentiment floating around the Fleet, anyway, and Honey was just loud mouthed enough to say it out loud where everyone could hear her being a snot nosed brat about it.
Which, strictly, isn't a defense of much of anyone on the officer or security roster. As far as she's concerned, they're all pretty damn culpable whatever the reasoning. If playing the cards close was a strategy instead of just incompetence, it felt like cutting off the nose to spite their own faces.]
That first part wouldn't surprise me though. Gliese's last ship had a high casualty rating. [And she clearly wants something.]
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[And if they'll end up the same way as the last crew. Falcon isn't under the illusion that the instructors care about them--and along those lines, he isn't sure Gliese cares about the instructors. You do something like this for centuries, he imagines one might become entirely self-motivated. It's stupid to pretend otherwise.]
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[Has jumped up conspiracy theories, but little to no basis for any of it. Whatever Gliese is after and how close it falls in line with her higher ups's desires (demands), she can't even begin to guess. But everyone's here for something.
For a moment, there's something on the tip of her tongue - the itch to say something about the kind of things Parker and Steve had been talking about. Carefully worded, preciously traded information that she hadn't felt quite attuned to but might be valuable taken with a cruiser load of salt. But then she swallows it down; it doesn't feel like hers to give, for one, but more to the point it puts slightly too much faith in the Neheda's officers - something she isn't willing to give, which makes the grains of data not worth passing on. Not yet anyway.]
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Hopefully we'll live long enough to find out.
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It's definitely the kind of thing that warrants recalling the mostly forgotten glass at her elbow, fetching it up and raising it in - a crappy toast proposal if there ever was one, but screw it. Fits the situation anyway.]
I can drink to that.