Metal Whispers
Title: Problem Child
Word Count: 579
Crossposted: HERE at runaway-tales
Author's Note: A friend of mine pointed out that this scene takes on a whole new feel if you give Robin and Daxen the voices of Mallory and Sterling from "Archer". NOW I CAN'T UNHEAR IT.
He'd been standing in the middle of her office, waiting patiently, for almost five minutes by the time she finally stormed in, her arms loaded with newspapers and her expression murderous.
"Good morning!" he said, giving her his most dazzling smile as he clasped his hands behind his back. "How are you this-"
"How am I?" she snapped, throwing the papers down on her desk. "How am I?! I don't know, Daxen, how about you take a look at this and tell me how I fucking am this morning?" She unrolled a copy of the Medallion Sun and slapped it down, facing him.
"'Taking Taxpayers for a Joyride'," he read. The photo beneath took up most of the front page, a series of video screengrabs showing Tristan and Aria sprinting in the desert. "Huh. Did they have the intern on that or something? I mean, that headline is -"
"Shut. Up." Robin planted her hands on the desk and glared at him. "Do you have any idea the PR nightmare you've created?"
"This time? Or in general?"
"Daxen, I swear..."
"Just tell them it was a training exercise," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "That's pretty much what it was, anyway."
"This is a training exercise, now?" she demanded. She dropped the UMF Herald onto the desk beside the Sun, the headline Hail MacArthur spanning a huge picture of Tristan with her arm cocked back, the boulder nestled in her palm. Daxen couldn't help but chuckle.
"Damn, 'Hail MacArthur', I like that one," he said with a grin.
"Can you please take this seriously?!" Robin threw her hands in the air and paced the carpet behind the desk. "You took an unlicensed pilot and several billion dollars of taxpayer money out to play football, Daxen. Football! Without clearance, might I add!"
"Training's been cancelled every day for a week," he defended. "You can't leave the girls strapped to the wall in the bay, they'll go crazy." Robin opened her mouth to interject, but he held up a hand to silence her. "And secondly, it was a training session. Keelin's not going to be any good to you until she learns to pilot. So just get the boys at corporate to -"
"Daxen, you're suspended."
"- spin it like they always do and..." He trailed off, her words finally registering. "Wait, what?"
"You heard me." She crossed her arms over her chest, her face stern. "I can't afford any more of this gong show. It's bad enough that the public's still hung up on the Reagan debacle, and now they think you're reckless and irresponsible."
"They've always thought that!" he defended. "And don't even start in on the Reagan thing again, you know damn well I didn't want it to go down like that."
"And I don't want the program collapsing under your showboating!" she snapped. "The cabinet elections are happening in nine days, and if we hope to maintain our funding we have to at least make it look like we're taking care of the situation."
"By suspending me?!"
"Unless you can suggest a better alternative?"
"I don't know, perhaps one that doesn't involve grounding the only pilot you have?! For fuck's sake, Robin, who are you going to believe, some fucking newshounds, or me?"
She dropped into her chair with a sigh and gathered up the newspapers, then clasped her hands under her chin, thinking.
"Go home, Daxen," she finally said. "I'll reinstate your access in two weeks."
Word Count: 579
Crossposted: HERE at runaway-tales
Author's Note: A friend of mine pointed out that this scene takes on a whole new feel if you give Robin and Daxen the voices of Mallory and Sterling from "Archer". NOW I CAN'T UNHEAR IT.
He'd been standing in the middle of her office, waiting patiently, for almost five minutes by the time she finally stormed in, her arms loaded with newspapers and her expression murderous.
"Good morning!" he said, giving her his most dazzling smile as he clasped his hands behind his back. "How are you this-"
"How am I?" she snapped, throwing the papers down on her desk. "How am I?! I don't know, Daxen, how about you take a look at this and tell me how I fucking am this morning?" She unrolled a copy of the Medallion Sun and slapped it down, facing him.
"'Taking Taxpayers for a Joyride'," he read. The photo beneath took up most of the front page, a series of video screengrabs showing Tristan and Aria sprinting in the desert. "Huh. Did they have the intern on that or something? I mean, that headline is -"
"Shut. Up." Robin planted her hands on the desk and glared at him. "Do you have any idea the PR nightmare you've created?"
"This time? Or in general?"
"Daxen, I swear..."
"Just tell them it was a training exercise," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "That's pretty much what it was, anyway."
"This is a training exercise, now?" she demanded. She dropped the UMF Herald onto the desk beside the Sun, the headline Hail MacArthur spanning a huge picture of Tristan with her arm cocked back, the boulder nestled in her palm. Daxen couldn't help but chuckle.
"Damn, 'Hail MacArthur', I like that one," he said with a grin.
"Can you please take this seriously?!" Robin threw her hands in the air and paced the carpet behind the desk. "You took an unlicensed pilot and several billion dollars of taxpayer money out to play football, Daxen. Football! Without clearance, might I add!"
"Training's been cancelled every day for a week," he defended. "You can't leave the girls strapped to the wall in the bay, they'll go crazy." Robin opened her mouth to interject, but he held up a hand to silence her. "And secondly, it was a training session. Keelin's not going to be any good to you until she learns to pilot. So just get the boys at corporate to -"
"Daxen, you're suspended."
"- spin it like they always do and..." He trailed off, her words finally registering. "Wait, what?"
"You heard me." She crossed her arms over her chest, her face stern. "I can't afford any more of this gong show. It's bad enough that the public's still hung up on the Reagan debacle, and now they think you're reckless and irresponsible."
"They've always thought that!" he defended. "And don't even start in on the Reagan thing again, you know damn well I didn't want it to go down like that."
"And I don't want the program collapsing under your showboating!" she snapped. "The cabinet elections are happening in nine days, and if we hope to maintain our funding we have to at least make it look like we're taking care of the situation."
"By suspending me?!"
"Unless you can suggest a better alternative?"
"I don't know, perhaps one that doesn't involve grounding the only pilot you have?! For fuck's sake, Robin, who are you going to believe, some fucking newshounds, or me?"
She dropped into her chair with a sigh and gathered up the newspapers, then clasped her hands under her chin, thinking.
"Go home, Daxen," she finally said. "I'll reinstate your access in two weeks."