MOAR Procrastination. BIGGAR Procrastination.
He he . . . I have 25 pages worth of work due Thursday. I have zero pages written. So, I'm going to procrastinate a little more, because that makes sense.
The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request a drabble/ficlet of any pairing/character of their choosing from me. In return, they have to post this in their journal.Since I've ( Read more... )
The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request a drabble/ficlet of any pairing/character of their choosing from me. In return, they have to post this in their journal.Since I've ( Read more... )
Saul Tigh adjusted his collar, his expression thoroughly disagreeable. “What, would I miss a chance to harass the new pilots?”
Bill returned his attention to the roster in front of him. There was a time and a place to lecture an executive officer on punctuality, but with Saul Tigh, such occasions were few and far between. At least the Colonel seemed relatively sober today.
“Who’ve they sent us this time?”
Bill passed him the clipboard. “Bunch of rooks straight out of the Academy.”
Saul shot him a look of disbelief. “You’re kidding me . . . nuggets? All of them? Don’t those frakwits in command realize this is a Battlestar, not a frakkin’ flight school?”
The Commander grunted in response. “As personnel goes, we’re a pretty low priority. Ripper will get them into shape.”
Any response Tigh might have given was interrupted by Chief Tyrol’s arrival. “Good morning, sir. When are the birds getting here?”
“Any minute now. But it’s bird, not birds.”
“What? I thought we were getting new Vipers!”
“There’s an equipment shortage on Scorpio. Word is that we’re to keep patching up the Mark V’s and VI’s until further notice.”
The Chief and the Colonel let out simultaneous streams of obscenities directed at the intellectual capacities and dubious parentage of the Admiralty. Adama raised an eyebrow. Tyrol caught himself.
“Sorry, sir.”
Tigh, predictably, merely clamped his jaw shut and gave Bill a glare that dared him to say something. “Did you get a look at this roster? I really don’t know where they come up with these callsigns anymore.”
Bill opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a loud BOOM. The deck shook, several deck hands screamed, and more than one went sprawling as the floor bucked under their feet. Chief Tyrol was one of these. He stared up at his commanding officer, his expression dazed. “We under attack?”
Tigh had kept his feet, but none the less looked shaken. “Micro-asteroid impact, do you think?”
Bill’s face hardened. “Chief, Colonel, find out what’s happening on my ship.”
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