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Behind the Veil

901 - Senior Staff Quarters <Deck 9> [Gibraltar Station]

These quarters are spacious and comfortable, and of fairly good size. The main room is a rectangle with the door centered across from a bank of tall, straight windows. There is a work station to the left of the doors, with desk and display panels, a maroon swivel chair providing seating. A white sofa, large enough for three, is placed under the windows slightly to the right, facing the door. A small fern sits upon the window ledge, its twin resting upon a smoked glass coffee table in front of the sofa. Twin chairs of the same plush style as the sofa complete the seating arrangement. There is a replicator and table ringed with four chairs to the right, opposite the desk. Left is a door leading to the bedroom. The bed is large enough for two, with maroon comforter and gray pillows. There is a closet and cupboards for the occupant's belongings, and a bathroom that boasts not only a shower but a full tub as well. The carpeting throughout the quarters is cyan trimmed with light gray that matches the wall paneling. Soft lighting comes from panels in the ceiling, and there are twin vertical alert tracers on either side of the door.

LtJG Winifred Brooks
Ens Ash Clayton

Brooks is sitting at the terminal, glasses perched on the end of her nose, peering at something or other. She doesn't look up as the door opens. "Yes, what is it? Commander Solvek ain't in... meetings all day."

"Ain't for Commander Solvek," a voice returns, the tone easy but tinged with the strains of physical effort, and Clayton enters from the corridor. He is carrying a large metallic grey box in both hands, gingerly rotating it to get it through the door. "The nice computer told me I could find you here. You Winifred Brooks?" He makes his way to the nearest table with enthusiasm, as though he's been travelling a long distance with the thing.

Brooks blinks and looks over at the voice and the box. And the person. Blinks again, lowering her glasses to peer over them. "What under the sun is that? I didn't order anything. Did I?" By her tone, it's quite possible she did order something and totally forgot about it.

"Sure did. Sensor equipment, looks like, though truth is all I really did was scan it for explosives." Clayton eases it down onto the table, letting out one hell of a relieved sigh afterward. "Which is, I reckon, one of the most plum odd standing orders I've seen for inbound crates on my first day. You people sure know how to party." He produces a PADD and hands it over. "If you'll just sign here, Lieutenant, and I'll be right out of your hair."

Brooks stands slowly, walks over. "Sensor equipment? When did I order sensor equpment?" She peers down at the box. "Wait. What kind of sensor equipment?"

Clayton represses a sigh, keeping the PADD out expectantly. "Ma'am, I just read the labels and make sure the crates get where they're supposed to be before anyone asks about 'em." But then, he leans in with a grin and adds, "Looks like its some kind of customized scanner for spatial phenomena and energy distortions. monitoring fluctuations in the wave patterns. Reminds me of some scanners I've seen for punching through Borg adaptive shielding, but just a tad more complicated." And on that "just", he holds up the thumb and index finger of his free hand to show a tiny space.

Brooks stares at Clayton for a moment and then says, "Oh! Oh. Oh dear. Okay." She reaches out to take the PADD and signs it with a sigh. "Well, next time I'll be sure to say where it should go... I can't wait to see the look on Solvek's face..." She shakes her head, then looks up. "Hey, I haven't seen you around before... what's your name?"

The man just grins bemusedly. Absent-minded professor, much? Sheesh. "Thanks for noticing, ma'am. It's my first day, as I said. Just got off the boat from DS-5." He extends his right hand. "Ash Clayton, king of stuff. Nice to meet you."

Brooks takes the hand, shakes it, and then hands the PADD back over. "Winifred Brooks. But you knew that. I run the Maelstrom project. Been terribly busy lately. King of... stuff?" She has a quizzical sort of look on her face.

And Clayton grins again. "Head quartermaster," he supplies helpfully. "Master of supply and demand. Lord of commerce."

"Oh! Right." Brooks shakes her head. "I'm sorry... it's just that I'm up to my ears in data, and with the damn storm bearin' down on us I've got to get it all sorted yesterday, and figured out, and my team's tryin' to help but Andrews is the only real good theoretical one there, and Solvek's been up to his ears in meetings because of all of this and I have to cook for T'Lyt and that just takes more time and... I'm rambling, aren't I?" She stops, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to... well, anyhow. I ought'nt keep you from your duties. I expect you have more packages to lug around." Pause. "Wait... you carried that all the way up here? What about... transporters?"

Clayton chuckles, turning down to his PADD to make a sudden notation, as if remembering something he doesn't want to forget... or, covering for what might have been full-on laughter otherwise. "Crate came in with nine kinds of 'Fragile' this and 'Delicate' that, and orange tape and stickers, so on and so forth. Figured that beaming might decalibrate it, change 'round something minor, you know. And I figured people'd see my pretty face that way." Big smile, yes, big smile.

Brooks nods slowly. "Well, thank you. And I'm sorry, for the inconvenience. Ops does enough work, y'know?" She turns her attention back to the box, tilting her head from side to side as if considering what exactly to do with it now. "I didn't know they still used orange tape and stickers," she murmurs. "Gotta note that somewhere."

"Only for the very dangerous stuff," Clayton says, and he winks as he turns back toward the door. "Try not to open that too quickly, ma'am - I only got a peek inside, and it was all growling and gnashing teeth."

Brooks nods. "I'll be careful." There's an edge of humor in her voice as she heads back to the terminal, evidently leaving the box to be dealt with at a later time.

Clayton swaggers out into the corridor, rotating his shoulders and letting out another sigh of relief as he heads on.

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