ataraxionlogs | There must be some kind of way out of here

CHARACTERS: Kara "Starbuck" Thrace & Leoben Conoy
LOCATION: kitchen on 9th floor
WARNINGS: um..Kara tends to say Frak a lot. So I guess, as of now, not much?
SUMMARY: Kara received an anonymous gift of paints and brushes and only assumes she knows who it belongs to. Basically causing her to confront the cylon as to why he did it.
NOTES: following this anonymous gift left outside Karas room.

Kara has never been one that was all too fond of surprises – they usually only got you killed if you weren’t ready for them. So to say she was happy to receive the mysterious gift of paints and brushes outside her door would be a lie – she was annoyed – frustrated – and a whole lot of other things which she couldn’t sum up into words.

Sure she had an inkling as to who they were from (no one knew she liked to paint after all) so It wasn't hard to put two and two together, because she sure as frak knew no one knew about her love to paint – except maybe the cylon.

So there she was, basically stomping around the ninth floor, looking for the toaster, just wanting some frakken answers as to why he thought it was fun to play with her head. And it didn’t take her long to find him – in the kitchen no less (machines don’t eat so why was he even pretending?) messing around with gods knows what.

"What do you think you're frakken doing?" She snapped as she rounded the counter to square with him, shooting him a cold stare. Knowing full well, she wasnt really saying what her question was directed towards, but she figured he could only assume.

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"Looking for a potato masher," said Leoben, frowning absently as he searched through a jumbled drawer of kitchen implements. "Suppose I could always use a fork. Or there's that cheese, do more of a gratin. Hello," he added, with a bright flash of a smile, pushing the drawer closed and leaning against the counter. "Kara."

Her brow furrowed slightly at the comment, fixing him with a clear look of debate. Not honestly sure what he thought he was trying to do here, as she would always feel; he was always going to have ulterior motives with whatever he did.

"I see that." She remarked dryly, letting her eyes scan the room for a moment before settling back on him in a hard stare. "Seems sort of pointless for you, you know - being you are a machine." It perhaps wasn't exactly the best greeting - she knew that - but she was honestly just looking for some type of understanding to it all, and she knew he would have to have something.

"Right. Machines don't eat, or we shouldn't, yeah? 'Machines shouldn't feel pain, shouldn't bleed, shouldn't sweat.'" He crossed his arms and smirked at her as he threw her own words (from so long ago, for him) fondly back in her face. "Now why do you think that, Kara? In defiance of the evidence of your own eyes."

Her brow shot up at that, shooting him with a clear look of annoyance (mixed with a little frustration) as her posture stiffened, watching him. "I don't need to defend my belief with the likes of you, Leoben." She quickly snapped back, knowing full well he would just twist them around if she wasn't careful.

"Why did you put the frakken paints outside my door?" She suddenly asked, just wanting to get to the point now.

He pursed his lips, but allowed the subject change. For now.

"I got them in my locker at the jump. I knew they were meant for you. For me to give to you."

Kara just crossed her arms at that, fixing him with a hard stare as she attempted to work out what to make of that. Sure she had heard about the lockers just suddenly giving people things that they couldn't explain - but never something like this - never from someone she thought could twist them into what he wanted.

"What do you want with me, Leoben?" She asked sharply, as her eyes went over him in a silent debate, while the words of Adama run through her head 'The only problem with Leoben isn't that he lies - that would be too easy - it's that he mixes lies with truth.' And sure she might know what he is going to say, but trying to pick out the truth is really what is becoming more frustrating than anything.

Leoben sighed, and bent down to one of the lower cabinets for a small casserole dish. There was a stick of butter (or butter-like space food-grease of some kind) on the counter already, and he smeared it around the inside of the dish as he weighed his next words.

"What do you want me to say, Kara? I want to hurt you, or put your friends in danger?" Finished buttering the dish, he picked up a knife and took it to an onion, chopping with the efficient ease of someone who cooks a lot, but nothing resembling mechanical stiffness. "I want to get something from you, some," gesturing vaguely with the knife, " classified information on Galactica or the fleet?" Neither of which even existed anymore for him. "I don't. I never cared much about that kind of thing, not the way some of the others did, and it's beyond irrelevant now."

He scooped up the chopped onions and began layering them with slices of potato taken from a pot resting on the unlit stove. He'd been looking up at her periodically before, but his eyes stayed on his hands as he went on, "You wouldn't believe me if I told the truth. Because the truth is made up of all kinds of things you won't let yourself believe. About the Cylon and humanity, about destiny. About yourself."

Turning away, he turned to set the oven to bake, and then went to the fridge to pull out a block of cheddar (or orange cheese-like space protein) and a couple of bottles. "Beer? Or there's some kind of liquor called 'bourbon,' sort of a clear brown color."

There must be some kind of way out of here

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