Lee Adama

This is frakking ridiculous.

Though Lee Adama isn't particularly inclined to, if he wanted, he could come up with a list of his own accomplishments as long as his arm. War college graduate, test pilot school acceptance, CAG, commander, near the top of his class— so far— in law school. He's lived through a war, through more combat missions than he can count, more encounters with cylons and firefights and close calls than any person should see in a lifetime. He's somehow traveled through dimensions and made it through to the other side in one piece.

He should be able to put together a crib. This should be frakking easy.

But as it is, Lee is sitting on the floor of the extra bedroom of his and Molly's apartment, surrounded by parts, trying to work out the instructions, which he's unfolded from a neat little square into an unwieldy large sheet of paper, the steps printed in different directions.

"This is a frakking nightmare," Lee says to himself. At the very least, he's figured out that the poles marked A go into slots marked B, but now that he's ready to connect that part— before the C poles come in— he's finding himself one A short.

"Gods... you've got to be genius just to put one of these things together," he grumbles.

There's a bar near city hall that Lee frequents. Usually, it's only when he's been spending time in the law library, studying or working on a paper, and by the time he's done for the day and he's read through enough that he finds himself going cross-eyed, the idea of stopping in before heading back to High Gate Terrace for the night seems like the best thing he'll do all day.

Of course, he knows all the work will eventually be worth it. While Darrow has been mostly kind to its newcomers, to people from different times and planets and dimensions, it's not without its flaws. First and foremost being the lack of representation for those people. It's something that grates on Lee every time he sees a protest or reads an Op Ed in the paper about it, and for the most part, no one else seems to care much. But they're stuck here, just the same as everyone else, and they deserve to have a say in their government. To help shape it. There should be programs to help new arrivals get acclimated. Instead, there's nothing.

He's hoping to change that. Eventually.

This evening, there's just a bar full of professionals and a strong glass of scotch. The rest, he'll figure out later.