[ Leia shows up promptly, and by now she's discovered the additional clothes in her cabin closet, meaning she's changed out of her princess-goes-to-do-politics outfit. Instead she's in a practical shirt with pilot's leggings and high boots, and an empty holster at her hip where her blaster would normally reside.
She takes the invitation for caf literally, and is figuring out how to serve herself with some mild consternation for devices that seem centuries out of date when Arthur arrives. ]
Arthur walks in a little more slowly; he tends to amble everywhere when he's not on the run from something. He's wearing scuffed jeans, his hat, a dark shirt, a vest, riding boots. For all accounts, if she knew of them, a cowboy.
He spots her at the canisters they keep the coffee in. Coincidentally, slightly ahead of his own time. "Here," he says, gruffly. "Let me. You take anything in it?"
"Just black," she sighs, moving out of the way but peering over Arthur's shoulder to watch what he does. "Got out of the habit of adding anything over the past few years. Thanks."
Leia does not, in fact, know what a cowboy is in terms of the cultural concept. The closest thing she knows is rancher, and to her eye, she thinks Arthur looks like a rural freighter pilot. Which is not a bad association; half the Alliance's fighter pilots started out that way.
Leia accepts the mug gratefully, though even the mug itself is unfamiliar. She answers with the wry, mild frustration of someone who's used to being self-sufficient and capable.
"It all just seems like antiques. Space travel is thousands of years in our past; I've never seen something like this outside of a museum."
Bodhi had told her that there were people here all from the same planet's pre-flight era, and that some of them were very pre-flight, but it's somehow still a surprise to run into it.
Leia can't help but be a little interested as she follows Arthur to the table and takes a seat. "What's that been like? At least I've lived on a spaceship before."
"A good chunk of it. Didn't have a job at first, but the Admiral made it pretty clear we all had to make ourselves useful. So I guess I took it upon myself to take the most thankless job of all."
He's smiling, but also not truly joking.
"Half the inmates come here after dying and don't feel like suddenly cleaning toilets and mopping floors. Can't blame 'em, but it'll be good to have someone else to try and reel those in."
Leia hadn't heard yet that this wasn't always a provision of the Admiral's that everyone had to have jobs, but it seems secondary to learning all she can about her own newly acquired position.
"How much reeling in do you actually do?" Leia asks frankly, no stranger to thankless tasks. "I was under the impression that all the Inmates are assigned to custodial if they don't pick something else, and that trying to force them into it wasn't going to work."
"Your impression is correct, but a couple conversations can work wonders."
He takes a sip and slumps in his chair a little, crossing his feet at the ankles. "Pagan only shows up to do anything because he likes talking to me, but that gives him a couple times a week where he can't go around makin' trouble. And there's others who might hide away, but hidin' away and not talking to anyone tends to make people disappear."
She's gratified to see her partner on this job immediately pinpoints Leia's very concern.
"That's what I'm worried about," Leia admits. "If they're not showing up because they have other things to do, fine, but I don't want anyone to fall through the cracks on my watch. I signed up to do this because I have experience organizing large groups of people -- but I don't know how helpful that will be."
It's a very different circumstance here than with the Alliance, or before that on Alderaan. No one here necessarily respects her.
Leia's used to being famous or infamous depending on who she's talking to, so it's still new to her to have to explain her background -- her name isn't enough, here.
She sips her caf before replying, deciding how to sum it up as simply as possible. "I help organize a revolution, and I'm a princess." Though whether anyone here understands what that means, Leia's come to doubt.
He has never met a princess. He's met debutantes, but not
princesses, and Leia doesn't even look like the former. His eyebrows
draw up. "A real princess, huh?"
"You'd be sorely mistaken, we had a ball just last year," he says, with a
little grin at her. "Don't worry, the wardrobe's probably got something
appropriately princess-like."
"My cabin is my old bedroom, so I have plenty of clothes, trust me," Leia responds wryly, concealing her complicated emotions about what it was like to walk into her royal bedroom on Aldera the first time without warning. A place she will never see again, unless she gets her deal.
"Point being, I'm used to having people in my employ, but I'm not used to them having no reason to listen to me."
"Do you one worse, they have plenty of reasons not to," he tells her, with a lopsided little smile. "But I can give you all the advice in the world, we ain't the same person. Something people here appreciate: don't pretend you are someone you are not."
"That one I think I can manage. I'm not eager to go back to that ever again."
Drinking her coffee, Leia thinks of what advice she does need. She's used to being part of a leadership team, not being the undisputed commander of any kind, which probably shows when she goes on, "I don't want to trip over anything you've already established, at least. Can you tell me a little about the way you've been running things?"
"Sure. I got a schedule up - some things we do daily, some things we do weekly, some things we do if maintenance can't keep up with all the work."
He makes a face and explains: "Sometimes things fall apart for some reason. We got a couple people who're happy to help out every day, other inmates come by a few times a week. I got a schedule for those too. If it's real bad or a slow day, I pick up the slack myself."
"I don't mind helping out, either, but I'll probably need someone to show me how it all works." By which she means cleaning. Leia would try to pass it off as unfamiliarity with this century's technology, but she's not actually embarrassed about being a princess.
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momijizukamori
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I'd like that. I don't know how much womanly insight I have to offer, but I'd like to help. Where should we meet?
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Let's just do the dining hall. Show you to the supply closet after that, huh?
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[ Leia shows up promptly, and by now she's discovered the additional clothes in her cabin closet, meaning she's changed out of her princess-goes-to-do-politics outfit. Instead she's in a practical shirt with pilot's leggings and high boots, and an empty holster at her hip where her blaster would normally reside.
She takes the invitation for caf literally, and is figuring out how to serve herself with some mild consternation for devices that seem centuries out of date when Arthur arrives. ]
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Arthur walks in a little more slowly; he tends to amble everywhere when he's not on the run from something. He's wearing scuffed jeans, his hat, a dark shirt, a vest, riding boots. For all accounts, if she knew of them, a cowboy.
He spots her at the canisters they keep the coffee in. Coincidentally, slightly ahead of his own time. "Here," he says, gruffly. "Let me. You take anything in it?"
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Leia does not, in fact, know what a cowboy is in terms of the cultural concept. The closest thing she knows is rancher, and to her eye, she thinks Arthur looks like a rural freighter pilot. Which is not a bad association; half the Alliance's fighter pilots started out that way.
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"You're welcome," he says, handing her a cup before getting his own. "Lotta unfamiliar things out here?"
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"It all just seems like antiques. Space travel is thousands of years in our past; I've never seen something like this outside of a museum."
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He snorts and shakes his head before going over to the nearest table.
"Then I must be something of a dinosaur to you. All of this is way ahead of me."
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Leia can't help but be a little interested as she follows Arthur to the table and takes a seat. "What's that been like? At least I've lived on a spaceship before."
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"I been here over a year by now, so I got used to it. But it was damn confusing at first."
He sits down and sips his coffee. He doesn't mind talking about this, because he knows he's a little backwards compared to almost everyone else here.
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Leia leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other at the knee, by all appearances entirely at ease.
"Have you been the custodial supervisor all that time?"
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"A good chunk of it. Didn't have a job at first, but the Admiral made it pretty clear we all had to make ourselves useful. So I guess I took it upon myself to take the most thankless job of all."
He's smiling, but also not truly joking.
"Half the inmates come here after dying and don't feel like suddenly cleaning toilets and mopping floors. Can't blame 'em, but it'll be good to have someone else to try and reel those in."
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"How much reeling in do you actually do?" Leia asks frankly, no stranger to thankless tasks. "I was under the impression that all the Inmates are assigned to custodial if they don't pick something else, and that trying to force them into it wasn't going to work."
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"Your impression is correct, but a couple conversations can work wonders."
He takes a sip and slumps in his chair a little, crossing his feet at the ankles. "Pagan only shows up to do anything because he likes talking to me, but that gives him a couple times a week where he can't go around makin' trouble. And there's others who might hide away, but hidin' away and not talking to anyone tends to make people disappear."
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"That's what I'm worried about," Leia admits. "If they're not showing up because they have other things to do, fine, but I don't want anyone to fall through the cracks on my watch. I signed up to do this because I have experience organizing large groups of people -- but I don't know how helpful that will be."
It's a very different circumstance here than with the Alliance, or before that on Alderaan. No one here necessarily respects her.
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"Well, I surely don't have that kinda experience, so who knows. What do you do back home that's gotten you that experience?"
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She sips her caf before replying, deciding how to sum it up as simply as possible. "I help organize a revolution, and I'm a princess." Though whether anyone here understands what that means, Leia's come to doubt.
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"You don't say?"
He has never met a princess. He's met debutantes, but not princesses, and Leia doesn't even look like the former. His eyebrows draw up. "A real princess, huh?"
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"Sorry, I left my royal dress in my cabin." This is actually true. "I didn't think I'd need to attend any formal functions."
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"You'd be sorely mistaken, we had a ball just last year," he says, with a little grin at her. "Don't worry, the wardrobe's probably got something appropriately princess-like."
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"Point being, I'm used to having people in my employ, but I'm not used to them having no reason to listen to me."
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"Do you one worse, they have plenty of reasons not to," he tells her, with a lopsided little smile. "But I can give you all the advice in the world, we ain't the same person. Something people here appreciate: don't pretend you are someone you are not."
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Drinking her coffee, Leia thinks of what advice she does need. She's used to being part of a leadership team, not being the undisputed commander of any kind, which probably shows when she goes on, "I don't want to trip over anything you've already established, at least. Can you tell me a little about the way you've been running things?"
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"Sure. I got a schedule up - some things we do daily, some things we do weekly, some things we do if maintenance can't keep up with all the work."
He makes a face and explains: "Sometimes things fall apart for some reason. We got a couple people who're happy to help out every day, other inmates come by a few times a week. I got a schedule for those too. If it's real bad or a slow day, I pick up the slack myself."
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"Do you have a list of who doesn't show up, too?"
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