TM 242 - Bearer of Bad News
Aug. 11th, 2008 11:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow_of_apollo242 - Write about a time that you were the bearer of bad news.
"Your father's waiting for you in his study."
When I was a kid, those were the most chilling words ever spoken, and my mother always delivered them with the kind of heavy portent that usually accompanies Oracular pronouncements and eulogies. I couldn't stand hearing those words any more than I could stand the long walk across the room from the door to the huge and heavy wood desk. My father would take off his glasses, set them down, fold his hands and wait.
I always knew why I was being sent to my father's study. As you'd guess, it typically had something to do with my getting in trouble. Maybe I'd gotten into a fight at school, or broken a flower pot in the backyard tossing the Pyramid ball around. When my parents got divorced, the little boy inside of me was glad that I'd never again have to make that walk and hear those words.
After the Cylon attack, I came to enjoy coming to the Admiral's quarters for meetings and talks. My father and I, in the middle of this insanity, found a kind of rapport that we had never managed before everything ended. Sometimes, I would come bearing a stack half as tall as I was of paperwork. And other times, it would just be to chat, very often over a glass of something strong.
I knew the meeting would be tense when I walked into it. Baltar's trial was in full swing, and Saul Tigh had taken the stand, drunk to the gills and been broken down, not that he needed Lampkin's help. But I was hoping that my father and I would be able to maintain our professionalism.
He blamed me for Tigh, accused me of feeding Lampkin privileged information about the Colonel and his wife and New Caprica-- things I couldn't have known. He called me a liar. He called me a coward.
My hand was up and my fingers on my wings before I realized it, but even when the gravity of what I was about to do hit me, I didn't hesitate. I knew damn well what I was saying and what I was telling my father, without equivocation. And I took those wings off and put them on that huge and heavy desk, standing my ground.
That was how I told my father that I was resigning my commission.
And now I find I'm afraid of that walk again.
(402, not counting direct quotes)
"Your father's waiting for you in his study."
When I was a kid, those were the most chilling words ever spoken, and my mother always delivered them with the kind of heavy portent that usually accompanies Oracular pronouncements and eulogies. I couldn't stand hearing those words any more than I could stand the long walk across the room from the door to the huge and heavy wood desk. My father would take off his glasses, set them down, fold his hands and wait.
I always knew why I was being sent to my father's study. As you'd guess, it typically had something to do with my getting in trouble. Maybe I'd gotten into a fight at school, or broken a flower pot in the backyard tossing the Pyramid ball around. When my parents got divorced, the little boy inside of me was glad that I'd never again have to make that walk and hear those words.
After the Cylon attack, I came to enjoy coming to the Admiral's quarters for meetings and talks. My father and I, in the middle of this insanity, found a kind of rapport that we had never managed before everything ended. Sometimes, I would come bearing a stack half as tall as I was of paperwork. And other times, it would just be to chat, very often over a glass of something strong.
I knew the meeting would be tense when I walked into it. Baltar's trial was in full swing, and Saul Tigh had taken the stand, drunk to the gills and been broken down, not that he needed Lampkin's help. But I was hoping that my father and I would be able to maintain our professionalism.
He blamed me for Tigh, accused me of feeding Lampkin privileged information about the Colonel and his wife and New Caprica-- things I couldn't have known. He called me a liar. He called me a coward.
My hand was up and my fingers on my wings before I realized it, but even when the gravity of what I was about to do hit me, I didn't hesitate. I knew damn well what I was saying and what I was telling my father, without equivocation. And I took those wings off and put them on that huge and heavy desk, standing my ground.
That was how I told my father that I was resigning my commission.
And now I find I'm afraid of that walk again.
(402, not counting direct quotes)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-08-14 07:06 pm (UTC)*grimace*
I didn't exactly choose the best time to try to stand up to him.
I need to do whatever will make him hurt less. If that means not talking about, I can do that. I'm not the one who's going to have to deal with the after.
And then sometimes I'm so terrified-
*looks him in the eye*
It's so good to have you back, Delegate Apollo.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-14 10:34 pm (UTC)*avoids asking just what the hell she's talking about*
It just doesn't have the same ring as "Captain", does it?
no subject
Date: 2008-08-14 10:59 pm (UTC)*regains her control and smiles her politician's smile with genuine warmth*
Captain Apollo, I believe, was never quite comfortable in his own skin. Delegate Apollo may be a little unsure of himself, but he's his own man.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-15 03:05 pm (UTC)There's some truth in that first.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-15 05:22 pm (UTC)Just in the first?
I'll admit that you've come very far in a very short time. Reminds me a little of how Billy handled things as they came.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-16 09:00 am (UTC)Time will have to tell on the second.
Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-18 11:00 pm (UTC)Thank you, Delegate Apollo.