| Aftermath of the Swarm |
| Summary: | Visitors check on injured pilots in the Recovery Room. |
| Date: | 10 Feb 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Enter the Swarm, The Swarm Stings, and This Nonsense. |
| Players: |
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| Recovery Room - Deck 10 - Sickbay - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| A much more quiet area of Medical, this elongated room is also lined with beds. Each is similarly outfitted with privacy curtains as necessary and even the paint on the walls has been lightened in an attempt to help lift spirits. Chairs are readily available all over the place so that visitors can pull one up to talk to the patients during their recovery. Near the entrance, visiting hours are posted with a very conspicuous 'No Smoking' sign. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #349 |
The chaos has died down on deck and the wounded have been triaged; sickbay has settled into the sterile, quiet motions of business as usual — if with slightly more clientele. Among the wounded is Psyche, the worst of her wounds swathed in gauze, a few minor burns uncovered and showing angry red, along with the expected cuts and bruises. She's conscious but in some pain, evincing the glassy-eyed demeanor of a woman who has pain-killers on a drip and isn't afraid to push the button for more. She's still being given O2 by a mask covering her mouth and nose.
Lying in a nearby bed is Khloe, looking in a similar condition to Psyche but far more functional. She's been stripped down and dressed in hospital scrubs, with her modesty preserved, but it's clear that she has bandages from her right shoulder down past her elbow, and then more bandaging on her right side, hip, and thigh. She too has an IV drip running, but rather than lay glassy-eyed she's going over a clipboard and paperwork, much to the doctors' dismay.
Pallas is a visitor, not a patient. He wasn't involved in the battle, nor was he present at the mad scramble on the Deck. So the old man saunters in wearing his off-duty garb, looking through the beds. For what, who knows. There's no aura of booze about him at the moment, but that's never a foolproof indication of sobriety with him.
The doctors were more skilled at the fine details and after checking off the rest of the pilots on the deck before returning. She brings her clipboard in and moves to speak to one of the staff. her hand lifting to smooth back some loose hair from her face. She looks tired to say the least but this is just the beginning. "Anything I can help with here, sir?" Sir or not, its a default term and one she has become accustomed to using for safety's sake. When in doubt. She sends a glance towards the curtained off beds and after being given the all clear, she rubs at her neck and starts to move down the line, wanting to make sure personally that all the pilots made it down that were supposed to - those she had seen.
The Crewman slows her walk, pausing at each section before she smiles and looks in on the Captain. "Sir." She says, saluting the pilot.
Psyche, who has been watching Circe move around the recovery ward with vague, stoned interest, catches another object in motion and goes with that one, for a bit. It happens to be Pallas, looking for whatever, and the sight of him makes her smile. Those must be some VERY good drugs. Her lips form an inaudible greeting and her hand lifts off the sheets, the fingers curling in a slow-motion wave.
"Relax," Khloe responds tiredly, signing off on something on her clipboard and then clicking the pen closed. Shoving the writing utensil through the clip, she glances up. "You did well Crewman, and I'm regretful that I was so emotional on deck. Adrenaline and fire tend to alter the mind a bit." She glances down at her right side. "First and second degree burns, risk of infection. I'll be laid up here for a day or two, and then light duty for another few until I can fly safely." She then glances sidelong over at Psyche, frowning in concern, but says nothing. This causes her to then spot Pallas, and she sends a slight nod in his direction. But her gaze goes back to Bubbles.
"I'm fine," Pallas responds to Circe. He doesn't quite snap at her, but it's definitely said more abruptly than necessary. When Psyche smiles and greets him with that small movement, he frowns in confusion and moves over to her bedside. "Bubbles?" he asks, peering at her. "Good frakking Gods, they must've got you wired on the good stuff." Khloe's nod is returned with a terse one of his own; he looks her over. "You look like you're in half-decent condition," he grunts. The 'unfortunately' isn't spoken aloud, but his intonation carries the hint.
Pallas' response to her is given a faint widening of her eyes before she clears her throat and looks to Khloe. "There is no need to apologize.." She lets her shoulders fall a little and Lagana takes on the casual side stance that is more common for her. The habitual crossing of her arms and hooking of hands into elbows takes place before she follows the gaze towards Psyche. "It could be worse." She says softly before her eyes return to Khloe. "I do not blame you for how you acted. Friends and flightmates. There are no closer people during these times." She states and considers Pallas as well before adding, "I am just glad you didn't hit me. I have expected it when I pulled you away from the Viper." Circe says, casting a sidelong look towards the Captain.
Into Sickbay strides the CAG. She spends some time at the front desk, getting updates and a 'round up' sort of report on all the pilots brought in, but it's not terribly long before she makes her way back to the Recovery Room. Ensign Devlin in tow, though he's a few paces behind her. Cidra's expression is rather tight pinched at the moment, if not quite beyond inscrutable. Perhaps concern. Perhaps something more. Always hard to tell with her, really. Cloudy blue eyes sweep the room, taking in those bedded there.
"Probably morpha… I can't have it, so she's welcome to my share," comes Khloe's response to Pallas. "Your concern for me is noted, Lieutenant, thank you. But not needed." Tired eyes flit back to Circe; "I've already been brigged for striking a non-com this year. I don't think I can afford to do it again. And I've never hit someone for doing their job." And despite Cidra being quiet in her entrance, Khloe does manage to stiffly sit up, even if she can't stand. And she salutes with her left hand, as the right is tight with bandages. "Major," she calls out quickly.
There's another word mouthed behind the O2 mask, then another slow-motion gesture as Psyche pulls the formed plastic down from her mouth and nose. "Bunky," she says again, this time a faintly audible rasp. Her voice sounds like it's composed of the very smoke that's ravaged her throat and lungs. "Pain hurts," she whispers hoarsely, quirking a brittle smile at Pallas. "Drugs're… druggy. But I think… that's probably… y'know…" Yeah, her life would probably suck without them, right now.
Devlin enters those few paces behind the CAG, silent and hovering between guilty and concerned. He passes her as she stops at the desk, lingering there just long enough to find out where to go before heading into the Recovery Room. He scans the beds and then heads straight for Psyche, eyes widening a little, though mostly he looks relieved that she's awake. Less when she starts speaking. Long strides cover the distance quickly, and he starts to reach and then spots the bandages on her arm and looks unsure. "Hey," he finally says lamely, and then, "You okay?"
"You all need to frakking stop saluting in here," Pallas says disdainfully. Turning to Cidra, he greets her with an even, "Toast," and turns back to Pysche. "Haven't been that for a while, but I'm sure you're so far drugged that you think it's before Warday," he says, shaking his head. Gently, he pushes the mask back over her mouth and nose and makes room for Devlin. "Is Splash laid out in here somewhere?" he asks Cidra. Of course - he came to look for his wingman.
Circe straightens as well, turning to catch the sight of the CAG. Her gaze shoots towards Psyche and she smiles at her. Let the doc's reprimand her for removing the mask. Then her gaze slides back to Cidra and past her to Devlin. That causes her to quiet and she slowly shifts, moving more so out of the captain's way so she cans see as well. There is a softness to her gaze as husband is reunited with wife. Fingers lift idly to brush at the corded necklaces beneath her clothing.
She clears her throat and takes a step back. Pilots were not really her crowd, but then again you helped where needed. There was just a little distance in that feeling but there was a sense of gladness for what little she had done and that all were alive that had returned. But as Pallas asks about Splash, she puts two and two together, "He should be, sir. I sent him down here on a stretcher. Slight concussion. Gave me a present." She scuffs her boot a bit in reference to the stain.
"For Gods sake, do not salute me," Cidra says. Not quite tersely, but firmly. "You know very well it is not required in such situations, Poppy." In a gentler tone she adds, "How are you feeling?" Eyes fall upon Psyche as well, with rather more concern. "Spiral." The greeting is returned, off-handedly but not unkindly. The main of her focus, however, immediately falls upon Circe. "How is she, Crewman?" she asks of the medic, with a nod toward Psyche.
"If it's a day that ends in -Y, Splash has a concussion from crash-landing," Khloe offers in jest, snorting lightly. "He has a skull harder than titanium. I'm sure he'll pull through. Boy is luckier than a rabbit's foot on a horseshoe." Poppy is not known for her humorous similes, so whatever drugs she's receiving must be pretty good, too. Go, go, methadones. At Toast's protest of her salute, Khloe presses her lips together, looking a shade guilty.
Psyche blinks several times as Devlin swims into her field of vision. Whoa. She seems about to say something else, then the mask's back over her mouth and nose. Easier to breathe, but not so much for speaking. Breathing is good, though. She takes a few moments to do that, reaching for Devlin's hand with her good one. She nods in response to his question, retrieving her hand to pull the mask down again. "I'm… hurting. I feel like I've got… a slab of marble… on my chest." Pause. Wheeze. "But I'm here." She manages a fairly cheesey smile and gives the situation one thumb up. It could be worse, right? Right. She puts the mask over her mouth, takes a breath, then says to Pallas, "I took… good care of him." The mask goes over her mouth and nose again. Finally, she registers Cidra, and her hand is lifted once more in a little wave.
Pallas gets a bit of a smile and a nod of thanks as he shifts for Devlin, the ensign quick to reach for Psyche's uninjured hand as it appears. He clasps it in both of his, at least for that second until she needs it to tug the mask down again. He listens and nods and then helps put the mask back, taking her hand again as he agrees, "You're here." He smiles, and touches her un-injured cheek with the backs of his knuckles before glancing back over his shoulder to ask, "Splash's ok? I think I saw him puke on a medic."
At the question, Circe is prodded forward to draw closer to Psyche. She looks down at the young pilot from a distance still, allowing husband and wife some room. "When they pulled her from the Viper, she was barely breathing. I know the burns look bad, but those can be treated. I am more worried about how smoke inhalation will end up affecting her." She speaks softly, not wishing to disturb Devlin and she draws closer to Cidra. "The burns are worst on her left side as is obvious…but she's alive. For now time will tell and she better be talking very little and keeping that mask on if she wants to recover anywhere near fully." She says, "But…she needs some time right now. Just be prepared for the docs." She smiles some, the enlisted not going to tattle. Pallas' comment again and her eyes flit that way. Yeah 'her'.
Pallas gives Khloe an odd look. Did she just… crack a joke? That's just too weird. "Good. Just the concussion?" he asks Circe, only glancing down at her boot for a moment. "Guess I'm taking CAP with someone else, then. That's fine." He sits up on the edge of an occupied bed - another injured pilot from the looks of it - and frowns a bit at Psyche. "Well, you got other things to worry about now than taking care of Splash," is all he says to her. To Cidra, he asks, "How long until the Cylons catch up with us? And what do we do when they do, just jump away again?"
Psyche closes her eyes as Devlin strokes her cheek, fingers curling around his and squeezing. There's not a lot of strength in the squeeze, but it's the thought that counts, right? Right. "Could the… plane… be salvaged?" she mumbles behind the mask, not bothering to extricate her hand this time. Devlin's close enough that between the sounds she's making and a little lip reading, he can probably get the gist.
Cidra nods to Circe. "I see, Crewman. I thank you for the care you shown my people." She stays a little back from Psyche's bed, allowing Devlin to attendn to her properly, though she does add to her, "Heal well, Bubbles. You are much missed on the flight line already. Do not scare us like this again, yes?" Faintest of smiles. And a relieved nod at the word about Malone. Though Pallas' question prompts a longer beat of silence from her. "We defend the ship until it is able to jump clear of danger, Lieutenant, indeed. Such is our mission. And we do our duty…"
At the focus of attention drifting to Psyche, where it rightfully belongs, Khloe relaxes some, reclining again with some stiff difficulty, and a wince. She then takes up her clipboard and flips a page. More reports to be done, especially in the presence of the CAG.
Devlin listens as Circe explains about Psyche's condition, nodding a little, expression serious, gaze focused intently on the medic. "Thanks," he says, though not until Cidra has already said it, and more quietly, too. He squeezes Psyche's hand in return and then leans down a little closer as she mumbles, and then shrugs, admitting, "I dunno, I didn't stick around to see. I'm sure they'll do their best. Bannik was on it." He looks up at Cidra and Pallas for a moment, glancing between them and then asks the latter, "Why do you think they'll catch up?"
Roland hurries into the med bay, moving past the beds, almost passing Bubbles, if it wasn't for the CAG. He slows to a stop, shifting his helmet from one hand to the other. He starts to speak, but closes his mouth, seeing his wingman. He sets his jaw, and glances down at the deck.
"You know I wasn't frakking asking what our job was," Pallas says to Cidra, not satisfied with that answer. "It's not a question of why, it's a question of when," he answers Devlin. "Their aim is our eradication. So far, since Warday, they've been mostly reactive to our remaining Fleet. Doesn't seem like they were feeling particularly frakking lazy today." He moves back to seat himself more comfortably on the occupied bed, now resting up against the injured and sleeping pilot.
"Of course, sir. I wish I could have done more." Her gaze drifts back to Devlin and Chloe, smiling to herself before she looks up to Devlin and Psyche, "If you need anything else, let me know. Though I think all are in far more capable hands now." At the mention of Cylons, Circe shifts and finds her breath drawn. Exhaustion settles across her hazel eyes and she inclines her head silently to all. A soft smile touches her lips before she takes a step back and then turns on foot to head back towards the records. Much to do yet. She had to check over her med supplies and refill what was needed. There were Viper's still out there and she had to be ready to respond. With that thought she leaves the others to speak and give comfort which was much needed.
"Banni!" Psyche whispers, beaming a morpha-laced smile. "Daww. Yeah… Banni'll take good care've her…" She searches for Cidra with her eyes, looking puppyishly perplexed for a moment, as thought the CAG's been misplaced. Finally finding her (exactly where she left her), she manages a tiny nod. "Yes, sir," she says, as audibly as she's able. "I'm sorry." And then Roland arrives, more distracting motion, and diverts her attention. "Bloooooo… hi!" She must mean to wave at him, but since Devlin still has her good hand, she wiggles the toes of her right foot instead.
Roland blinks in surprise, and looks up as Psyche slurs his name. He tries to smile slightly, "Hey partner… Didn't I tell you not to fly less I had your wing? Now look what you did.." He fails his smile attempt, and nods over to Cidra, and Devlin. He lifts his hand to rub the back of your neck, "How ye feelin Bubbles?"
"Yeah, Bannik's on it," Devlin confirms, nodding at Psyche, before frowning a little as he watches her. He turns back to Pallas, pointing with his chin, "Spiral, I think you're kinda sitting on somebody. And yeah, didn't seem like it, I guess," he says of the raiders, "But there weren't any basestars?" He shrugs a little and then looks at Roland, nodding, "Hi, Blue." With everyone crowded around Psyche's bed, he turns to look behind him and ask, "Sir? How are you?" of Khloe.
Khloe pinches the bridge of her nose, blinking her eyes - it's clear whatever medication she's being fed intravenously, it's beginning to take its toll on her ability to concentrate. At Devlin's query, though, she glances up, and her usual stony expression returns. Can't look weak, of course. "I'll live," she replies. "Not the first time I've been burned. I don't think I've been that that thoroughly frakked in a firefight in quite a while." Glancing to Psyche, there's a hint of her stony expression softening; she clearly does seem to care. "She'll be all right, she's strong," she murmurs quietly.
Cidra's attention goes fully on Pallas now, cloudy blue eyes meeting his. More tired than anything else. There's no recrimination in her tone as she answers him. "I know what you meant, Spiral. And you know very well I have no idea how long it will be before the Cylons catch us. But I am sure they will come again. They always do. I do not know why they did not just wipe us out when were crippled over Tauron for all that time. I do not what drove them to us today. When they come upon us again, whenever that shall be, we shall do our duty as we have done it since Warday." A small nod, aside, to Devlin. "That is another oddity in all this. We have seen the strength the Cylons have at Caprica, at Virgon, at Picon, at all the inner colonies. With that might they could wipe us out in one swoop. Yet we remain still." There's a hint of a question behind that, albeit not to him.
"Five by five… If… like… twenty percent was set on fire," Psyche whisper-rasps, apparently in reply to Roland's query. She tries to take too deep a breath — or perhaps to chuckle — and comes to immediately regret it. The coughing fit that ensues looks incredibly painful, and leaves her with blood-flecked lips. "Frak…" she croaks, when she can breathe again.
"I've thought about that," Pallas says in response to Cidra's oddity, apparently ignoring everything else now except the Cylon conversation. "I don't think they want to kill us. Not all of us. They could've done that long ago if they wanted to. Frak knows we've sat dead in the water before and it's not like they don't have the numbers or the guns to turn us to dust." He touches his hand to his chin. "They're either waiting for something - for us to do something, or for something on their end - or there's someone they want alive in this Fleet. They're waiting because they want an answer, but we don't know what the question is, and - " Psyche's coughing cuts him off, and by the time she stops, he's lost his momentum.
Psyche opens her mouth like she's going to speak anyhow, then shuts it meekly and nods a little at Circe. She licks her dry lips and glances around, looking as though she feels vaguely guilty, then settles back and tries to be a well-behaved patient. Her fingers, threaded through Devlin's, give another slight squeeze.
There is a nod of her head and Circe turns to go get some water. The leaves the pilots for the few moments it takes. Returning soon thereafter, she holds out the glass, sealed and with a straw for Psyche and moves to stand next to Devlin. "Here." she says, "If you plan to stay, you can help her. And talk to her if you like, but she should be using the mask for as long of a periods as she can."
"She had the mask on…" Devlin replies, but quietly, looking a little guilty all the same. He nods at Circe, not arguing otherwise, and falls silent. When she comes back with the water he nods, and takes the glass, and then nods again, "I'll make sure she keeps it on," he promises, "I've got six hours til I'm back on duty." He glances at Cidra after that, and then away again, mentioning to Pallas, "Still sitting on somebody, Spiral."
"We do not know what the question is, or what in hells they are seeking…" Cidra replies it soft to Pallas. Agreement of sorts. She regards for another beat, but there's little more she can say to that. A final look back at Psyche, and short nod. No more talking to her. She steps aside to allow Roland to pass, easing away from the beds as well. With a quick, respectful bidding of farewell to her people, she'll do the same.
"Yeah, and they don't frakking care, so what's it matter to you?" Pallas retorts to Devlin, poking the drugged/unconscious/sleeping pilot a few times to make his point. He remains sitting there for a few more moments just to be contrary, then gets down. "Get better," he mutters over his shoulder as he saunters out. To Psyche, of course, not to Khloe.
By now, Khloe has been fighting the urge to close her eyes. Fatigue set in long ago, but willpower can will one through anything. Except when medication tells you to go sleepy-bye. She mumbles something in farewell to Cidra as she goes, and then her eyes close. Zzzz.