Burning the Midnight Oil...
WHO: President Roslin and Billy, or Lee... or whoever would visit.
WHERE: Colonial One
WHAT: Laura Roslin's desperate attempt to kill the paper work on her desk.
WHEN: A day or two after the military recognition ceremony
Laura Roslin no longer had a desk. She had a surface that, though once called a desk, was now so covered with papers, data pads, sticky notes, a few pieces of equipment and calendars that she no longer could see a single square or triangle of gray that would constitute the actual surface of her desk. Slowly, Roslin reached her right hand down. She carefully picked up one stack of papers and placed them upon another, moving both stacks over to reveal a long slab of bare gray beneath. This was her desk again. Now she could work.
She picked up her glasses again, having removed them just for a few moments so she could rub at her bare eyelids and keep the room straight. They were swimming up stream. Making progress, yes. Every day there were a few more papers gone from her desk. Every day another few phone calls were answered. A ship got the supplies they needed or a Captain was giving the recognition he deserved. But for every task she and Billy completed, another four piled themselves upon her desk. Constantly growing as the fleet found its feet.
The water rationing had been a mess. Those so brief and yet entirely too long days where the water supply had been truly threatened, it was probably the first time the civilians in the fleet had -really- felt the bite since their week of constant jumping. It had caused more complaints than she could ever read in her whole term of office, even if it were four years and not 6 short months. She was still finding tucked away complaints upon her desk from it, when she thought she had gotten rid of all of them once the water was found. Of course, they were still working on -extracting- the water. That was another problem, but at least it was there. A few more days of rations wouldn't hurt anyone...
But she could really use a shower. Glasses back on, she stared at that pile on her desk and instead of moving to get another stack of papers finished, having been working on catching up for the last 5 hours straight, Laura Roslin stood out of her seat. She carefully pushed herself into standing, hands wrapped around the edge of her desk, and then curled her back. Her spine cracked in a few places. That felt better. At least she was making progress on some front. She'd told Billy to go get some rest about two hours ago, that she would be along sooner rather than later. He didn't have to sit through all the mindless work, just most of it. Enough to give him a taste. But now two hours had passed, and she still hadn't left for her small, if comfortable, bed. She would have to settle for a small walk around her desk and then back to work.
No rest for the weary. Laura was just about to sit as the door to her makeshift office opened once again. She tilted her head forward, peering through glasses at the entrant, "Yes? Come in..."
WHERE: Colonial One
WHAT: Laura Roslin's desperate attempt to kill the paper work on her desk.
WHEN: A day or two after the military recognition ceremony
Laura Roslin no longer had a desk. She had a surface that, though once called a desk, was now so covered with papers, data pads, sticky notes, a few pieces of equipment and calendars that she no longer could see a single square or triangle of gray that would constitute the actual surface of her desk. Slowly, Roslin reached her right hand down. She carefully picked up one stack of papers and placed them upon another, moving both stacks over to reveal a long slab of bare gray beneath. This was her desk again. Now she could work.
She picked up her glasses again, having removed them just for a few moments so she could rub at her bare eyelids and keep the room straight. They were swimming up stream. Making progress, yes. Every day there were a few more papers gone from her desk. Every day another few phone calls were answered. A ship got the supplies they needed or a Captain was giving the recognition he deserved. But for every task she and Billy completed, another four piled themselves upon her desk. Constantly growing as the fleet found its feet.
The water rationing had been a mess. Those so brief and yet entirely too long days where the water supply had been truly threatened, it was probably the first time the civilians in the fleet had -really- felt the bite since their week of constant jumping. It had caused more complaints than she could ever read in her whole term of office, even if it were four years and not 6 short months. She was still finding tucked away complaints upon her desk from it, when she thought she had gotten rid of all of them once the water was found. Of course, they were still working on -extracting- the water. That was another problem, but at least it was there. A few more days of rations wouldn't hurt anyone...
But she could really use a shower. Glasses back on, she stared at that pile on her desk and instead of moving to get another stack of papers finished, having been working on catching up for the last 5 hours straight, Laura Roslin stood out of her seat. She carefully pushed herself into standing, hands wrapped around the edge of her desk, and then curled her back. Her spine cracked in a few places. That felt better. At least she was making progress on some front. She'd told Billy to go get some rest about two hours ago, that she would be along sooner rather than later. He didn't have to sit through all the mindless work, just most of it. Enough to give him a taste. But now two hours had passed, and she still hadn't left for her small, if comfortable, bed. She would have to settle for a small walk around her desk and then back to work.
No rest for the weary. Laura was just about to sit as the door to her makeshift office opened once again. She tilted her head forward, peering through glasses at the entrant, "Yes? Come in..."
