Thrace, Kara: Log Entry #Only
Title: Thrace, Kara: Log Entry #Only
Rating: T for Language
Pairing: Adama/Roslin, Thrace
Word Count: 591
Author’s Note: Written for the about_time Battleship: Team!Laura. 2 points for a diary entry! Woo hoo!
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Ronald D. Moore. He’s a very lucky man.
I can’t believe I’m frak’n doing this. A diary for frak’s sake! No, a log. I’ll call it a log. This is Sam’s frakked up idea by the way. Why I’m listening to a former pyramid jockey, I’ve got no frak’n clue. But he’s my husband now. Weird. Husband. I suppose I’m supposed to listen to him. Once in a while.
Anyway, Sam got this great idea after listening to the Prez and her new teacher, Maya I think. They want all the students to keep diaries of their life on New Cap. For posterity or something. Sam thinks we should help set an example and when he mentioned it at dinner last week, the Old Man was there and he looked so frakk’n pleased that someone was running with Roslin’s idea. So here I am. Keeping a frak’n diary. I mean Log.
Not writing, though, as you can tell. I told Sam my fingers are too important to be slaving away with pen and paper. These are Viper hands, dammit. But he’s a smart one. Came home yesterday afternoon with the biggest damn grin on his face and this tiny little recorder tucked in his jacket. Apparently he won it at a Triad game from some half-wit reporter who’s just lost his livelihood and cursed me with diary duty. We only have one tape though, so Sam says he’ll listen each week and transcribe my entries. Riiiight.
I don’t even know what to say. Sam said to talk about my life. Well my life right now consists of building crappy tents for dirty settlers, plowing through rock-solid dirt in an attempt to grow some frak’n food on this gods-forsaken planet, and having lots of amazing sex with my handsome new beau. I’m only particularly fond of that last part.
The stars don’t look the same down here. Life doesn’t feel the same either. I know it was my decision to come down here too, probably influenced by the Old Man wanting me to keep an eye out on his lady. But still. The sun isn’t a good enough tradeoff. Everything moves so damn slow down here…
Right. Guess I shouldn’t waste tape on silent reflections. Let’s see. Um. I got hitched. It’s been three weeks now. Married life is good. It’d be better back on old Caprica but…yea.
Um the wedding was good. Quick like I like it. Just the Old Man and Madame Prez in attendance. Ha! I found ‘em cuddled up behind Roslin’s school tent. They should have been damned uncomfortable on those sandbags but something tells me they kept each other reeeeal cozy.
I don’t know who they think they’re fool’n. Maybe no one now that she’s not actually the Prez anymore. But it’s clear as damn day to me that those two are in it deep. Have been for a while if you ask me. And good for them. They deserve some damn happiness. Well the Old Man does anyway. Roslin’s decent enough but she’s a wild one. Wilder than me, I think. In a dangerous kinda way. But she makes the Old Man happy and I guess that’s good enough for me.
Yea, I got nothing else to say Sammie boy. I can’t imagine what those ten-year olds are gonna write in their diaries: “Today mom made me clean the mud off my shoes. Tomorrow I’ll have to do it again.” Frak. I feel like an idiot talking to myself. I think this is gonna be my first and last diary entry. I mean log.
Rating: T for Language
Pairing: Adama/Roslin, Thrace
Word Count: 591
Author’s Note: Written for the about_time Battleship: Team!Laura. 2 points for a diary entry! Woo hoo!
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Ronald D. Moore. He’s a very lucky man.
I can’t believe I’m frak’n doing this. A diary for frak’s sake! No, a log. I’ll call it a log. This is Sam’s frakked up idea by the way. Why I’m listening to a former pyramid jockey, I’ve got no frak’n clue. But he’s my husband now. Weird. Husband. I suppose I’m supposed to listen to him. Once in a while.
Anyway, Sam got this great idea after listening to the Prez and her new teacher, Maya I think. They want all the students to keep diaries of their life on New Cap. For posterity or something. Sam thinks we should help set an example and when he mentioned it at dinner last week, the Old Man was there and he looked so frakk’n pleased that someone was running with Roslin’s idea. So here I am. Keeping a frak’n diary. I mean Log.
Not writing, though, as you can tell. I told Sam my fingers are too important to be slaving away with pen and paper. These are Viper hands, dammit. But he’s a smart one. Came home yesterday afternoon with the biggest damn grin on his face and this tiny little recorder tucked in his jacket. Apparently he won it at a Triad game from some half-wit reporter who’s just lost his livelihood and cursed me with diary duty. We only have one tape though, so Sam says he’ll listen each week and transcribe my entries. Riiiight.
I don’t even know what to say. Sam said to talk about my life. Well my life right now consists of building crappy tents for dirty settlers, plowing through rock-solid dirt in an attempt to grow some frak’n food on this gods-forsaken planet, and having lots of amazing sex with my handsome new beau. I’m only particularly fond of that last part.
The stars don’t look the same down here. Life doesn’t feel the same either. I know it was my decision to come down here too, probably influenced by the Old Man wanting me to keep an eye out on his lady. But still. The sun isn’t a good enough tradeoff. Everything moves so damn slow down here…
Right. Guess I shouldn’t waste tape on silent reflections. Let’s see. Um. I got hitched. It’s been three weeks now. Married life is good. It’d be better back on old Caprica but…yea.
Um the wedding was good. Quick like I like it. Just the Old Man and Madame Prez in attendance. Ha! I found ‘em cuddled up behind Roslin’s school tent. They should have been damned uncomfortable on those sandbags but something tells me they kept each other reeeeal cozy.
I don’t know who they think they’re fool’n. Maybe no one now that she’s not actually the Prez anymore. But it’s clear as damn day to me that those two are in it deep. Have been for a while if you ask me. And good for them. They deserve some damn happiness. Well the Old Man does anyway. Roslin’s decent enough but she’s a wild one. Wilder than me, I think. In a dangerous kinda way. But she makes the Old Man happy and I guess that’s good enough for me.
Yea, I got nothing else to say Sammie boy. I can’t imagine what those ten-year olds are gonna write in their diaries: “Today mom made me clean the mud off my shoes. Tomorrow I’ll have to do it again.” Frak. I feel like an idiot talking to myself. I think this is gonna be my first and last diary entry. I mean log.