2011 07 07: Dirty Minds & Dirty Rifles

Searching database...
Mission report found.

Mission Name: Dirty Minds & Dirty Rifles
Date of Mission: July 7, 2011
Locale: Cafeteria - Division HQ

Crewe and Geoff get to talking about trashy novels, detergents, and rifles.


crewe geoff

If you have to stop by Division HQ to get updates, take advantage of computer resources, and most importantly grab some ammunition, why not also sneak on down to the cafeteria and grab some chow. Sure, that's a liberal interpretation of the term, and might more literally be called slop sometimes, but it doesn't seem to give much pause to Crewe. A stainless steel tray that's empty save for some crumbs is left on the table in front of her, and she makes a point to stretch along one entire side of a table to keep it reserved against recruits. A beat-up paperback book with a rather risque piece of artwork on the cover is spread open in her hands, and she seems to be enjoying the read.

Geoff happens to be here. And oddly enough, he's wearing the uniform of a Division guard, though he is no such thing. He goes to stand in the chow line, scratching at his chest.

Normally the sight of a guard wouldn't be too much to arouse suspicion, but then, Jessica can't remember the last time one of the came on down to the cafeteria and got in the chow line, rather than stand guard in front. So, suspicion aroused, she folds the corner in on the page, and closes the book to watch this curious 'guard.'

Geoff goes through the line and gets his mystery meat and other vitamin- and mystery-enhanced food products. He carries the tray back to the tables and sits down by himself, picking up his fork.

Leaving the tray right where it is - some poor recruit on mess detail will be responsible for picking that up later, no doubt - but taking the book with her, Crewe leaves her own private table and joins someone she's at least a little familiar with at another table. "I'm digging the threads. Where'd you pick up the latest in Division couture?" Jess herself has cleaned up at least a little, trading in torn jeans for intact ones, the beat-up Chucks for shiny new sneaks, and her consignment shop shirts for a store-fresh one.

Geoff looks up at Jess, scratching his chest again. "Amanda," he mumbles, nodding at Crewe. "You want any more food?"

"I'll have your Jell-O, if you don't want it. Looks like it was dessert night here," she replies. The book gets set down on the tabletop, revealing that the title is "The Unlacing of Miss Leigh," and that it's checked out of the public library. One hand up on the table, she starts to walk her fingers toward his tray, waiting for any protest. "I guess Amanda…did her thing or…something to you?"

Geoff pushes the Jell-O over toward Crewe, lifting an eyebrow at the title ot eh book on the table. "Looks like some fun reading," he says, failing to comment on the Amanda situation.

"Yeah, you know how it goes," she starts off while picking up a spoon and digging out a hunk of Jell-O with the resistance that only it could offer. "Nothing too overstimulating, you know. Nice quick reads that keep me entertained but not bored out of my mind. Trashy or not, I like them. If you're interested, I know a lot of second-hand book stores that sell these things third- and forth-hand, and someone at the library who sneaks me all the best ones."

Geoff starts in on the mystery meat. "I know how what goes?" he wonders, glancing up. "It's one of those books about heaving bosoms and secret crevices?" he wonders, shifting his shoulders.

"Yeah, it's a smut novel. I don't pretend like it's anything classier. Big hunky guys sweeping frumpy housewives off their feet so they can get a little peg A into slot B action." She spins the book around on the table, and slides it across so he can take a look at the cover if he's so inclined; it definitely shows a Fabio-looking guy untying the corset of some Victorian-looking chick.

"No thanks," Geoff says. "I'm not into frumpy housewives." He glances at the cover. "As if that dude would even bother unlacing /anything/. Panties weren't even invented back then, so what would be the point?"

"Well, I don't know about what he would or wouldn't do. I just know it's called "The Unlacing of Miss Leigh," so he's got to be unlacing something! Otherwise, the title would make no sense…and I hate books with titles that don't make any sense. Reminds of…all those English classes I missed, and those stupid 'classics' they make you read. It really pisses me off, you know?" While she talks, in between sentences, she pauses to scoop up some more Jell-O, and then motions around with the spoon when she speaks her mind again.

Geoff shrugs. "I dunno, I didn't really read 'em." Apparently not a great student, Geoff. He scratches his chest, then eats the 'salad' on the plate. "Glad you're into the book or whatever, though."

"What can I say…it's the most passion I'll be getting anytime soon, I think." Finishing up with the dessert, she clanks the spoon down into the little bowl and puts it all back on his tray. "So, you going to get itch cream or something for that? Maybe take a trip down to the medical bay for a cream or lotion or ointment or something?" She pauses then, and narrows her eyes to stare at him. "It's not something infectious, is it?"

Geoff looks down when Crewe calls attention to the the scratching. He puts his hand back on the table. "No," he says, "I must be allergic to the detergent or something."

"That's a pretty obscure allergy, if that's what it really is. I'm betting Amanda put the sticks to you or something, and you have to wear that jumpsuit out because your clothes are done for." Clearly, the woman's reputation proceeds her…and it's common knowledge as well.

Geoff shrugs. "Think whatever you want," he says, "But lots of people are allergic to some detergents. My dad used to always break out if my mom used Tide."

"Huh…weird. You figure most detergents are basically the same soapy shit. Not a lot of changes you can make to the formula if you still want it all to work the same way." She too just shrugs at it. "You're the one that brought her name up, though, so don't go blaming me for assuming."

"No, some of them are different," Geoff insists. Which is true, for the record. He finishes off the mystery meat. "Yeah," he says. "You asked, I answered."

"Well, there's the thing I learned today. I just get whatever's on sale and toss it in the machine. Some weeks powder, some weeks liquid. I like to change it up, you know? Smell is the sense most strongly tied to memory you know. I read that in a book or saw it on PBS or some shit…I can't remember." She holds a second, then smirks. "Maybe I'd have remembered if I could smell it though."

Geoff smirks a little at her joke, then rolls a shoulder. "Well?" he asks, "What are you trying to remember, going through all these different smells?"

"The only thing I'm concerned with is not using the same detergent that my parents used. That's the only thing I don't want to remember." She holds a moment, chewing the inside of her lip. "I fucking hated my parents, you know. I don't want to remember them, ever, but I don't deny anything." Weird. After that, she just kinda stares off into space, still chewing on the insides of her lower lip.

"…Kay," Geoff answers, apparently feeling about awkward about that much unpleasant personal information. He goes back to eating his powdered mashed potatoes.

She drifted over, now it seems like it's about time for her to drift on away. "I'll leave you to it, I guess. Unless you want to talk smut novels or the virtues of one rifle over another. That's a pretty weird range of interests, but then, I'm a pretty weird person. Guess we all are, to be here." Snatching up her book, she stands and looks in the direction of the cafeteria doorway. "You need any romance novels, you come see me okay?"

Geoff shrugs at Crewe. "I guess," he says. "I don't mind talking or anything. I'm just too lazy to read when I want smut. As for rifles…M4's a piece of shit?" he tries.

"If you're into standard, mass-produced carbines, I guess it'd work alright. My tastes are a little more exclusive when it comes to full-on rifles though. It's got some sexy addons, though. I mean…an under-barrel shotgun? That's pretty fucking hot, if you ask me." That at least seems to have gotten her attention, since she spins back around to chat just a little more.

"No, it doesn't work all right," Geoff says. "That's the point. It fucking jams, and people die." He goes back to scratching his chest. He listens to the description of the girl's sexy custom rifle. "You Argyle's understudy?"

"Hardly. I just make sure to pick up Soldier of Fortune magazine every month. Seems to keep me pretty much on the ball when it comes to newish weapons tech. Of course, there are government websites and our own internal links around here to keep up on the more 'official' research going on at proving grounds and installations. Me, personally, I try to make it a point to never need to get that close. If I do…well, there's always trusty handguns to deal."

"So this rig of yours is theoretical, or your real shit?" Geoff wants to know, not seeming the least bit surprised by Crewe's answers.

"What, the modular under-barrel shotgun? No, I don't own one, because I don't have an M4. I keep very large caliber, very long range rifles around. Not carbines or assault rifles, not even combat rifles. It exists though, if only in testing stages. It's a real-ass thing, I swear." She just gives a shrug, to indicate that she keeps an interest in these things, but probably doesn't get bogged down with the nitty-gritty of prices and test results.

"Nobody gets to work just one kind of mission," Geoff says, apparently skeptical that Crewe only owns super long-range firearms. But then, she did mention the pistols. "Anyway, M4's okay if you only need to fire a couple of shots, but if you need to hunker down and go full auto for magazine after magazine, that shit will jam on you."

"If it gets that damn bad, I can't imagine why it's becoming the main service weapon then. Of course, the M16 was universally reviled by combat soldiers when it was first introduced. Forty years and a few tweaks later, and that's all forgotten. Now the same thing's happening with the new kid on the block. Of course, I guess if you melt the damn barrel going full auto for clip after clip, shit's gonna jam though, no matter what it is."

"It /does/ get that goddamn bad," Geoff says, scowling at Crewe. "And the M4 fails more than the M16 or AK47s when it's on full auto. And that is how good soldiers get disarmed by their own damn side."

"Sounds like something you should take up with Uncle Sam or DARPA or whoever makes those decisions. I try to avoid going full auto as much as possible. Much easier to go with one shot, you know? Save everyone a lot of hassle that way." Looking back at the cafeteria doorway, Crewe once again gives a helpless shrug. "Seriously though, I don't what to tell you. I didn't do any time in the military, so I don't know how their shit works. What knowledge I have, I got since I started here. I can't be any more help than that. What I can be is late, so I'm gonna get my ass in gear."

"It's not my damn business anymore," Geoff says, shrugging at Crewe. "Anyway, see you," he says, not detaining her further, since she's late.


Previous Log
« 2011 07 26: Lagniappe