"My plane?" She snorted and shook her head. "You've had too many ham-handed assholes banging around inside of her. She'd take me weeks to repair with a crew who knew what they were doing." Kara continued down along the aisle, idly running her fingers over the collection of dusty parts. Half the stuff lining the shelves was only recognizable by how it had been cataloged. To her, they were antiques she'd have likely found at the Colonial Flight Museum on Picon. However, Galactica had taught them all newer wasn't always better.
She stopped at the end of one row, looking up to see how the shelves were marked. It was more reflexive than intentional, but any knowledge about the guts of Patrick AFB was good knowledge for Kara. Turning her gaze on Sterns, she shrugged. "That doesn't mean I can't tell people what parts go where, though." And her word on that was a good as signing herself over.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2010-06-04 12:24 am (UTC)She stopped at the end of one row, looking up to see how the shelves were marked. It was more reflexive than intentional, but any knowledge about the guts of Patrick AFB was good knowledge for Kara. Turning her gaze on Sterns, she shrugged. "That doesn't mean I can't tell people what parts go where, though." And her word on that was a good as signing herself over.