2023-05-19: Relief for the Relievers

• Log: Relief for the Relievers
• Cast: Christina MacKenzie, Eight York
• Where: Ra Mari II, Captain's Quarers
• OOC - IC Date: 0097 05 18
• Summary: Enba Rezza and Licia Chovan CONSPIRE to force two hard-working women to rest.

---

<Pose Tracker> Christina MacKenzie has posed.

Christina MacKenzie, Finally Actually Too Freaking Tired To Workaholic, raised her arm to knock.

She raised her arm, I said.

Oh for crying out loud. Fine, she tapped the door with her boot, and called out her name to Captain York.

–Just tracking Eight York down would be difficult under these conditions, but when sleep was low and tempers were high, it seemed like squabbles and logistics breakdowns popped up every time she tried to step away. It wasn't until miss Chovan grabbed her by the shoulders and, without listening to complaints, marched her out of the converted bay. When Chris tried to stammer her objections, she got a cheery but firm, "Orders from the XO! Get out of here. We just forced the Captain off duty, too, so no excuses!"
Chris tried to lean past her, but was met with Officer Rezza's unyielding gaze.

A comprehensive defeat, one that once the momentum fell away, Chris couldn't deny the necessity of. --

"Captain, it's MacKenzie. May I?"

<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.

Eight York is largely unsuspecting of what's going on until she's given a radio message over the console in her living room. "You what?" Eight asks as Rezza informs her of what's gone on. "...Right, right, I know, I need a break." Pause. "And I do like the company." Sigh. "All right."

Licia Chovan for her part loves to act on 'XO's Orders' as it happens. It amuses her terribly whenever she gets the chance. And Rezza isn't taking no for an answer.

Right now though, the door opens, and Eight rises from the couch, stepping over. She's in her uniform, but the jacket is open, revealing her undershirt that stretches to accommodate her bump. The maternity jacket is already half a dress, but she is still wearing the skirt beneath it, of course.

"You may," Eight says, and gestures her inside. It's a very cozy room; red couches, a console, a kitchenette across the way, a couple of rooms within...

"Come on in. It would appear that we're stuck with each other for now." She smiles faintly. But Chris might notice her makeup--a lot of concealer under her eyes, if she looks closely.

<Pose Tracker> Christina MacKenzie has posed. 

Chris moves slowly as she crosses the threshold, sinking into Eight's couch with all the formality and respect she could muster: not very much.
"Seems we've been conspired against," she chuckles.

It was the right call and she knows it: it's been a rough twenty-two hours since her last sleep, and she's not as young as she used to be. Rebuilding a small community's physical spaces homes is desperately, enormously different from the sudden and cramped evacuation of this many refugees...

She notices Eight's accommodating clothes just as Eight might notice that she's in a borrowed flightsuit: one injured refugee bled profusely on her while she changed his bandages--which caused a second to vomit on her in turn. Thankfully, a crew member lent her a spare, so she could keep working.

"York, can I get you anything? Just give me a moment, and I'll be on my feet again." Her eyes are closed, and it comes out with a waver, so the uninitiated in the ways of MacKenzie may underestimate the offer. It may take her more than a moment of rest, but she's serious about that.

"It's always a pleasure to have your company, but...can't say I'm too happy under these circumstances. Have you been well? I hope you're treating yourself fairly…"

<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.

Luckily, Eight is not too concerned with formality at the moment; she steps around when Chris takes a seat, and sits down in one of her chairs. Her smile is a little lopsided. "Seems like. A lot of people have been telling me to take more breaks..."

Eight knows it's the right call, too; she can feel the fatigue welling up in her mind, and the ache welling up in her head, for that matter. Chris may notice that Eight keeps the lights a little dimmer than is standard in her quarters.

Borrowed flight suit...

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Eight says immediately to Chris. "I'm fine." She has a glass of water on the table already, at least. "I should be offering you something, it's my quarters." She pauses at that. "...LIkewise, but, well..." She considers. "The circumstances are bad. But it's important to keep in mind what we have been able to do, too."

Without thinking about it much, Eight shifts her hand, rubbing at the inside of her engagement ring on her left hand. "I've tried," she says. "But I gather I could be fairer. I'm... a little tired, is all."

 <Pose Tracker> Christina MacKenzie has posed.

"That's because you inspire a lot of people. You resting sets a good example for everyone to take care of their health, too..."

--Hypocrite that she is, hailing from the Mass Villa, Land of the Workaholic Hypocrites. What example do YOU set, Chris?! Hey, I'm not a Captain, I can get away with it. [Clearly, Roux's internal monologue is infectious.]

The only avenue by which Chris notices the dimmed light is simply enjoying it, her mind clinging to all the things she wants to say, though her body sinks ever more heavily into the cushioning.

"You're right. You're right, if we hadn't all worked together... if we hadn't, the whole colony would have--" She's unable to finish it, and shakes her head free of the negative side of the coin. What's more important is that, "We all saved a lot of people out there, and we're going to get them where they need to be--no matter what. That's who we are. Who you and your crew are. That's why I've wanted to talk to you...about this."

Christina ponderously swipes at her phone a few times, and a compressed batch of files is sent to Eight's personal terminal.

"Hopefully this takes a little off your shoulders, but do let me know how I can help you take it easy, too... I'm lending a hand to Banagher with his pet project, but I mean beyond that."

She considers what her reaction would be, for a moment, and adds, "...And I don't mean just making you let me do things, I just want to make things lighter, not weightless."

<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.

It's a really nice couch. Lots of little pillows on it, too; Eight thinks they make things more homey.

"Hmmm. When you put it that way, I'm doing everyone a favor." Eight laughs a little. "I think it's that, maybe, but also the baby. I really do need to take more time for myself..." She's worried about it. But there's so much to do...

Chris can't finish her statement, but Eight knows what she was saying. She nods encouragingly when she focuses on the positive. "We did. And we will. It's the choice we made. To do what we can." About... this? Eight is not at her terminal, of course, but she does have a datapad that links to it, and she picks it up from the arm of the chair as Christina starts sending the files.

"What is it?" she wonders, as she starts to access it. While she taps through to get a look, she continues, "Hmm..."

Then she grins at the other woman. "That was my first thought," she admits. "But... Something I'm worried about is mostly--I want people to look to Rezza as much as they do to me. I'm taking maternity leave soon, so... They'll be in charge. I can't exactly keep commanding a battleship full-time while..." She gestures at herself. "So anything you can do to bolster them would be appreciated."

 <Pose Tracker> Christina MacKenzie has posed.

"Well, that just means you're napping for a whole ship's health and the baby, right? That's the Captain's onerous new duty," Chris laughed, seeming a little more alive, if not looking any less ragged.

"Oh, XO Rezza will be your Acting Captain? They're sharp, calm, and capable...but I understand. With a Captain like you, York, any regent of the Ra Mari would be stepping into very large footprints... I'll do what I can so that both of you can support each other in your new roles... After all, how are you supposed to rest if you're worried about your trusted crew?" Chris smiles, revived, to Eight, and matches the woman's eyes. She'll do what she can.

When first opened, it appears to simply be an excessively large filesize for purchase orders between Johannesburg Trade Commission-verified salvage merchants. One of the files stubbornly refuses to open, insisting that it's data formatting has been corrupted. However, once the datapad is confirmed to not have active traffic, the corrupted file blooms into a subfolder.

The subfolder, once confirmed and decrypted, is a scattered assortment of digital notes, in many different filenames and formats. Some of them still look like gibberish, until the pattern of coordinates and times within starts to resolve itself. Some of the files are more blatantly encrypted, until they are examined side by side and, intercalated, begin to resemble shipping and sale manifests.

Yes, this entire transmission is a sundry hodgepodge of different brokers and suppliers, manufacturers with a backchannel of "surplus production" goods, "pop-up market" sources, and even a couple unrecovered dead drops. However, traceable identities have been thoroughly scrubbed by each hand they've passed through. Even Chris combed it over for any data that could get York in trouble--though, Ian had already removed from the manifests anything that might be less than safe for Chris to offer.

All of these accession opportunities are purely pre-CSB contact, Chris verified, to make sure that Eight would never get wrapped up in that mess--at least, not because of her, not because of this.

Even with all these protections and deceptions, however, the moment an incoming ping enters Eight's terminal from the main network, the entire document slams itself closed, back into a 'Corrupted File'.

Chris looks somewhere between mournful, excited, and sheepish as Eight reads through the documents. Chris knows that the 3SA and CSB exchanged blows at Palau. But she couldn't find any other way…

"It's not the longest-term solution...nor my favorite. But, it's what I could come up with," is her justification for all of this...subterfuge.

And beyond that, Chris just doesn't want Eight to learn anything about her worth hating.

 <Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.

"Aah..." Eight glances down, with a small smile. "No pressure, right?" She rarely shows the pressure of being Captain--she doesn't really even show it then. But it's a reference. She for her part does at least seem in good spirits, even if she's also tired.

"They already half-run things as it stands," Eight admits, "But it's... as you say. They prefer a background role, but I need them in charge--they're the one I trust the most to do the job." She smiles wanly at the praise, but, "The support is appreciated. ...You're right. I can't really rest if I'm worried about the crew."

She nods, after meeting Chris's eyes. Then...

Eight looks over the file. She lifts an eyebrow, at first--until she starts to understand what it actually is. The file blooms into a subfolder, and becomes notes.. Eight flips through, and through, and through, until...

"Wow,'" Eight says. "I never expected..." Flip!!! It collapses again. Eight considers, and then recognizing the pattern, shuts off external data--and then she can peruse at will. It does take her a bit; this sort of technical matter isn't really her expertise. Nevertheless, "I think it'll help a lot. Things are tighter and tighter, with that stunt the Black Knights pulled about us and the Federation, and everything else going on."

"You're..." Eight looks up, sets down the datapad, and smiles. "You're really impressive, MacKenzie. I don't know how you put all this together, but I appreciate it. We can't afford to turn up our noses at things that might be a little under the table... But I tust you not to bring me something I'll regret using. I just... have a feeling about you."

"I trust those feelings."

 <Pose Tracker> Christina MacKenzie has posed.

Chris makes a mental note she hopes she'll still remember later: A Haro that encourages you when you vent worries to it.

"Yeah...being in control and being in command are two very different experiences. I'm certain they'll be up to the challenge, but... I know I'm uncomfortable when every eye in the room is on me."
Chris thinks about it a moment... load-bearing and tandem support... Eight needing rest-- Ah, that's it.

"They'll be alright," she declares decisively. An engineer's equation.

"Rezza won't be stepping into your place alone; they and Chovan are a remarkable team, and even if you aren't on the bridge, I think her attitude can both draw pressure away from Rezza and set the pace among the crew."
A pause, smirking at 'XO's Orders!' as it echoes in her thoughts. "...And she's already got that part down."


While Eight is sifting through the... frankly deliberately-opaque directories, Chris peels herself up off the couch to get a glass of water, unaccustomed to this feeling of dependent uncertainty. Sayla and Leina–Leina especially–knew...so much about her, and they'd learned most of it over time, and without an entire capital ship crew hanging in the balance. This was quite different.

Without even quite realizing it, she brings two glasses of water out from the kitchenette, setting one next to Eight's as a refill. She settles back onto the couch, but not yet sinking back into it.

"Zero...that he put you and Captain Badgiruel in this situation for his own ends, how frustrating," she mutters, not wanting to interrupt the Captain's focus.

Then finally, it's a release of a deeper tension than she'd realized, when Eight rises back to Chris's gaze and smiles.

"Ca...Captain York, --no." She shakes her head, the physical and emotional fatigue of the last two days bearing down. She shakes her head, starting over.

"Eight. Thank you for placing your trust--and with it, your crew's safety--in me. You won't regret it."

<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.

Admittedly Eight has more worries than usual--and happens to be off the meds that would usually help her approach the world better. It's not a bad idea for her to rest from a number of perspectives. But she's been able to hold on so far, and she plans to for longer.

"Yes," Eight says. "I worry that that'll be the case." Then, Chris seems to be very certain, but, "...Oh," she says. "That's a good point," Eight says. "Chovan and Rezza really do make a great team. They're also together, did you know? About six months now! I think they go great." She smiles. "...Haha, does she?"

But Eight is going through directories, and Chris brings her another glass of water. "Thank you," Eight says absently at first as she focuses, and then nods along at the matter of Zero. She doesn't much have a good opinion of him now. But... She can feel the difference in Chris's demeanor, all of a sudden, a flash of feeling telling her that much.

"...Eight," she agrees with her, and that smile is small, but genuine. "I'm sure I won't. I'll be relying on you, too."


 <Pose Tracker> Christina MacKenzie has posed.

"Oh, really? I can't be too surprised; they seem to know what each other is thinking... Good for both of them. I'm glad you can rely on them, and on me. We'll get through all this and more."

With the worry she'd been holding on to thoroughly dispersed and dispelled, the remaining embers of energy were guttering out.

"Listen, Eight," she said to her friend, "Since those two can take over, you and I should take this downtime to rest... I'm going to head to the crew cabins, let you...catch."

In her visualization, she finished that sentence. In her visualization, she stood up, checked on Eight, and marched off.

Yeah, no, that isn't quite how it happened. Chris's limbs feel like twenty kilos apiece, and her eyelids are growing just as heavy. She made it to the arm of the red, cozy couch, before her chin tucked in towards her chest and her eyes stopped forcing themselves open.

To the residents of Villa Mass, it was uncommon but not unheard of to find the combat engineer propped up in a chair, unconscious. To the first responders manning the medical tents near disaster sites, the Tristan's open cockpit is the best place to find her.

This was neither of those. This was full-on, sprawled, graceless unconsciousness.

Good thing the lights were on low.

<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.

<poem> "They've gotten good at it!" Eight answers brightly. And then she nods. "We will," she agrees. And then her friend tells her that they should get some rest. Eight has been thinking about that, since an earlier conversation. She really should get to bed. But while Chris's visualizations involve heading out...

Chris falls asleep on the couch, while Eight watches. Eight smiles at her, with a little laugh, but her own eyelids are very heavy. She starts to stand up, and then finds her feet really don't want to bear her weight, so she stays in her chair. Instead, she reaches out a hand, to set hers on Chris's. "You must've been really tired," she says.

"...Maybe a little nap... isn't a bad idea..." Eight leans in her chair towards the couch, head tilting until she's on the cushion, hand still on Chris's.

She falls asleep, too. When Lavhi gets here later, she'll still be asleep, but they have spare blankets and pillows.

<Pose Tracker> Christina MacKenzie has posed. 

In her visualization, she'd left to leave her friend alone to rest.

But in her dreams, she was surrounded by warmth.