The Ship's Butler

Quaid appears to be wandering amongst the equipment. He's carrying a mop. A slop bucket is nowhere to be seen. One man mop an entire cargo hold for no reason? Welcome to the armed services.

Clunkclunkclunk. Humming. Butler comes trundling along. He's got some manuals in hand and a toolbox in the other. He doesn't reek of grease and oil just yet though. He stops, noticing a fellow with a mop. "Oh. Allo." He smiles.

Quaid spots Butler. Eyes narrowing. Spy! He reaches for his raider stiletto. Just kidding. Okay, enough metaposing. "Hey," he says. Looks around. "There aren't any officers around, are there?" Hefts the mop. "I'm goldbricking. You're not gonna rat me out, are you?"

"Goldbricking?" Butler looks confused and somehow very glad he's not getting stiletto'd? "Huh? No… Was gettin' s'more bolts, guess they're having us start settin' things up. I'm just a private - a mechanic at that - doubt any officers give a damn what I'm doin' till it's time to paint a naked broad on the side of their bird," He offers a little smile. "I won't tell," He promises.

"Yeah, goldbrickin," Quaid says. "Amazing how carrying a mop around's enough to get you out of menial duty. Trick is to look busy all the time. With this work ethic, they'll make me lance corporal in no time. Then I figure I'll slack off more, and be made an NCO." He grins. "You good at painting broads?"

"Oooh," Butler catches on. The Kiwi laughs softly, "Oh I see. Workin' hard, aye," He smiles. "I got t'do that, till they want the birds assembled. Now I'll have to help with that and keep 'em in good shape," A shrug and he grins. "Wise plan. And I dunno, guess it's passable since they keep askin' us. If I knew I'd be spending afternoons painting broads on the sides of planes, I'da paid more attention in art." He seems bemused by his fate. "But I suppose I can't blame 'em, you live or die by your plane when you fly and it's good luck I guess." He tilts his head, "You one of the Americans?" He seems curious at least.

Fredricks has arrived.
Fredricks arrives from the Cargo Hold 2.

"Yeah, one of the Americans," Quaid says. "Name's Dom Quaid. PFC Quaid, I mean," he says. "Just make sure you give her really zany proportions. Big titties, small head, long legs. Polish it to a high shine to blind the Japs." He holds up his forearms, showing his various USMC-themed tattoos. "I doubt this is good luck. The Japs would probably flay me if they catch me." He chuckles.

Fredricks comes into the Cargo Hold, clipboard in hand, moving down the asiles of boxes, checking a number of crates. Mmm stuff. He starts checking the numbers against his clipboard

Butler smiles and nods at that, "I'm from New Zealand. I wanted to be a pilot, turns out I toss m'cookies during flying." He looks embarrassed a moment, then bursts out laughing, "I'm sure - maybe one time," A grin. Just for Quaid! He looks over the tattoos for a moment, "Those hurt?" He asks quietly, meaning did getting them hurt? "Nice work done on 'em," He smiles. "And bah…" He shakes his head. "I'm Private John Butler, token mechanic. I can repair radios and cars too, but out here they got me working on the birds." A pause, hearing … someone moving. He looks over his shoulder. It's a Fredricks! "Oh. Allo."

"Hey, Doc," Quaid says. He sets his mop down and takes a seat on a crate. "This here's John Butler, one of the kiwi mechanics, another person who gets motion sickness you get to look after. Don't worry, I've got a mop handy." He chuckles. "Nah, tattoos didn't hurt… that much. I pulled a hamstring in recruit training. Now THAT hurt, bastards didn't give me enough time to recuperate. Life in the Corps."

Fredricks looks over, and smiles, tucking the clipboard under his arm and approaching, offering Butler a hand, "Hello. Jason Fredricks, Doctor, Surgeon. Doc's fine." He looks to Quaid, then back, "Ah, motion sickness? I'm packed for that, if you need anything at the moment. Good to meet you, regardless." He says, smiling.

Butler tucks the manuals he was lugging about into his toolbox. He smiles and accepts the hand. "Allo again. Nice to meet cha Doc," He bobs his head. A soft laugh, "Just flying. I got seasick out of the way earlier," Poor green Kiwi. "We'll - I know who to talk to if it comes back," He smiles. "Very kind of ya," It's true! He looks to Quaid again. "Really?" He looks sympathetic. "Sounds pretty rough," Nodnod. "I don't need anything at the moment though, thanks for the offer. 'm just making sure I've got enough bolts to help re-assemble the birds." Beam.

"I'm sure the Army'll keep you well-supplied with bolts," Quaid says. "I heard us Marines are gonna run up the beach with only one pair of boots per two Marines. Every other boot's gonna get chopped up and boiled into a gruel to feed us." He grins, obviously enjoys griping.

Fredricks nods to Butler, "Fair enough." He says, "Sounds like you're doing the same kind of work for the birds that I'm going to be doing for the boys here." He smirks, looking to Quaid, "For time immemorable, Soldiers have had the right to complain about the food. It's part of being in the Armed Services.

Butler goes a bit wide-eyed at that. Then he laughs softly, and smiles. "Well, 'm workin' for the fly boys so I guess they'd better give me plenty of bolts or some bloke'll be holding a wheel and his seat in the air," He keeps his smile. A nod at Fredricks. "I think you're braver than me," Why he doesn't say. Likely all the risks doctors have to take. He grins at the food comment. "Oh aye, that's true too. The stuff here isn't too too bad though, 've had worse. But I really want to try one of those coconut things."

Quaid thinks for a moment, then says, "If they're giving you plenty of bolts, they must be removing them from somewhere on this ship." He snorts. "Ah, life in the Corps. I'm telling you, Doc, if you were in the Army, you'd be set. Or at least in Europe."

Fredricks chuckles at Quaid, "Well, the Marines needed Doctors attached, so I'm here." He shrugs, looking to Butler, "I'm sure that there's going to be a lot of work for both of us."

Butler seems to be relatively good natured about his lot in life. He shifts his weight, clattering a few tools. "Probably, given the budgets," He grins at that. A soft laugh. "And I'm sure the boys are grateful. Y'seem like a good guy," Nodnodnod. Butler finds the Doc a good fellow at least. "Probably. I didn't see many other mechanics or doctors about. Guess there's only so many of everything to go around," He taps his chin with his free hand thoughtfully.

Quaid glances around the cargo hold, then says, voice low, "Eh, gotta watch out for some of the officers. Some of them are apt to put the mechanics to stitching bodies and the doctors to bolting together airplanes, if you know what I mean. They think just 'cause they went to OCS means all of a sudden they can make good decisions." He snorts.

Fredricks grins to Quaid, "I don't think that's going to be much of a problem. I'd drop a wrench on my foot if they tried to make me do that stuff." He looks to Butler, smirking, "well, I'm going to do my damndest to make sure the boys are healthy and ready to get some payback for the Pearl."

"Aaah… I think I'd put the wrong pieces in upside down or something," Butler looks unsure about him ever having to stitch someone together. "Or I'd give up and use some tape," He rubs the back of his head. Tape fixes /everything/. A smile at Fredricks, "Righto." Nod. Tragic, that. The Kiwi's sympathetic at any rate. "Bet cha'll do a bang up job. But I'd best make sure I find some bolts somewhere before they figure I've gone and thrown myself to the sharks or something. See you blokes around?"

Quaid nods to Butler. "Yeah, see ya around, John. Don't take any bolts out of anything vital." A glance at Fredricks. "Wanna help me mop? Otherwise, I'm gonna find a place to nap. You can help me keep watch for any officers if you want."

Fredricks nods to Butler, "Right. Good to meet you, Butler. See you on the shores." He smiles, nodding to the man. Looking to Quaid, "Ah, I'll keep watch for Officers. Rest is important. Need to keep sharp and all." He smiles to the man.

"Righto, nothin' vital, maybe just the officer's quarters," Butler winks and laughs, "Good to meet cha mates. Aye, the shores." He waves and keeps a smile as he trundles off.

Quaid lays down on a crate and closes his eyes. "Yeah, so if an officer comes, can you tell him I passed out from heat stroke? Too much mopping. What brings you down here, Doc?"

Fredricks smirks, pulling out his clipboard, looking at it, returning to the crates, "Running another check on the medical supplies." He says, looking at the clipboard, "Checking to make sure no one's done anything stupid with the drugs."

"Yeah, I already stole a bunch, Doc," Quaid says, eyes still closed. "Once I get the Admiral to start using personally, I'll be able to get him to direct this boat wherever I want. Then we're all getting a year's worth of leave!" He yawns. Soon, he is gently snoring.

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