PHD #256: EVENT - Alternative Medicine
Alternative Medicine
Summary: In a last ditch effort to find medical supplies, a Raptor heads out to the far end of the Cascade mountains to search an alternative medicine clinic, but the crew finds much more than they were expecting.
Date: 09 Nov 2041 AE
Related Logs: Garden of Ares
Cameron Cilusia Leyla Lunair NPC 
Airmid Clinic of Healing - near the village of Seanean - Cascade mountains - Aerilon
The Airmid Clinic isn't so much one large building as a grouping of buildings forming a semi-circle, not unlike a small village unto itself. Though far from any bomb sites, the clinic has clearly not escaped unscathed by the events on Aerilon. Two of the five buildings have been torched, little more now than barely standing charred remains. The rest, however, seem intact and in relatively good condition. Surrounding the buildings on one side are fields of grain that have gone to fallow, unharvested and untended for at least four months it looks like. A number of animals - cattle, sheep, and horses - can be seen grazing in grassy fields not far off. Closer to the buildings are what appear to be gardens of herbs and vegetables. Most likely the mainstay of the clinic for both their food and medicine. The main courtyard of the clinic, however, has been turned from a place of pleasure and recreation into a graveyard, with hundreds upon hundreds of markers and mounds, some months old, others far more fresh. The skies are cool and grey, with a hint of fog moving through the chill, damp air.
Post-Holocaust Day: #256

The Airmid Clinic of Healing has been around for as long as anyone on Aerilon can remember, teaching the ancient and traditional ways of healing through herbs, acupuncture, massage, poultices and other natural forms for curing the mind and the body. Though many scoff at such treatments in the light of scientific discoveries, it cannot be denied that in some cases these ancient cures are as effective as current pharmaceuticals and even, in a few cases, more effective. With every hospital on Aerilon either raided beyond use or destroyed, Dr. Cameron Adair, an Aerilon native, had only this one last place to recommend. It isn't much, but in these times every little bit could prove crucial.

Located on the far NW end of the Cascade mountain range, the Clinic and teaching school is nestled near the small village of Seanean, tucked in along the opposite coast from where the Cerberus has made its camp. Several Raptor security passes have shown no sign of bipedal life, be it human or Cylon, though heat signatures are scattered throughout the region, with a number of what were likely domesticated horses, cattle, and sheep roaming through the area along with other wilder four-legged creatures. Still, it has been recommended that they proceed with caution, for the nearby mountain has many crags and hidden crevices.

Though Cameron recommended the location, and he is for all intents and purposes their 'guide' here, he really doesn't know what to expect. He just hopes this venture will not be in vain. His eyes flicker about the other occupants of the Raptor, most of them unfamiliar to him. Studying the Marines sitting across from him, their weapons readied as they draw closer to the coordinates of the clinic, he is glad to see at least one familiar face in the bunch. Smiling at Lunair, he offers, "Nice to see you again, Lieutenant." Ocean blue eyes sidle over to Cilusia next, a smile offered to her as well as he asks, "And you are the survival equipment specialist that I was told about? Sorry, I've forgotten your name…"

And also along for the ride, is one Leyla Aydin, flight suited, but, for once, not seated in the pilot's seat. She is, however, seated in the seat normally empty unless things have gone down the drain and the ECO needs to GTFO. Alas, no such excitement today, as she's settled in beside Shim, pilot from the Providers, a tall, lanky red-head of a JiG, the pair seemingly having spent most of the trip going over extraction techniques.

A bit unusual of a place for a blue blooded Canceron Marine to pop up! But here is Lunair, finally growing hair once more. She smiles at Cameron and nods, though it soon fades to a more solemn, distant look. She too, is in gear and looking thoughtful. "Pleased to see you too, Doctor. I hope things have been going well." Otherwise, she is quietly polite and somewhat stern regarding the other Marines. … but it doesn't really seem to suit her.

"Fasi, pretty boy. Pee-Oh Three Fasi. And yeah, I'm the one they let keep those suits there from venting into vac if the shit hits the fan. Well, turbine." The Scorpion chick is resting back in the bench, cool as a cucumber. Her arms are even laced behind her head, leaning back against the cabin wall, taking up the space for two people…despite being a diminutive 5'-nothing herself. "This was the only time I could hit up some real shore leave before the boat gets the frak out of here. So, this better not be a murder mystery or anything!"

"Approaching drop location, bearing six carom four one seven." That from the ECO, call sign 'Jelly' in the back, a woman as small and, by military standards, round as her pilot is thin. "Looks like we're about five minutes out, kids, get ready to get out." Shim angles the raptor downward, the trip from the Cerberus almost at an end, the old clinic more of less insight now.

Leyla, as the approach begins, rises from her seat, and heads towards the back as well, "Raine, I didn't even see you back here." She does move to find a free spot, "You mind, Scraps?" The marines are all greeted in turn, before she offers a respectful nod to the man she unknowingly(to him) offered up to the beast named Trask. "Doctor Adair."

Lunair's shift in demeanor is a marked one from the first time that they met, Cameron's smile dampening somewhat as he notes, "Fairly well, thanks. Very busy. But I'm hoping this will be a rewarding venture. If we're lucky, we might find quite a few more plants to add to our collection. The gardens at Airmid were quite extensive, I was told." Cameron actually blinks at Cilusia's response, not understanding at all the 'pee-oh three' part of her introduction. Some sort of military classification, no doubt. "Ahhh. Dr. Cameron Adair," he introduces, "but you can just call me Doc or Cameron or whatever." Running his fingers through his hair he adds, "Well, I hope you find the venture enjoyable then. I hope there is no murder mystery. I doubt, regardless, there will be much mystery at all…" His eyes flicker over toward the cockpit as he hear something about 'drop location' nodding as they are given a five minute warning. At her greeting, Cameron offers in return, Lt. Aydin."

Aw. Raine smiles a bit at that. She looks amused by Fasi's introduction. "It was the Doctor in the Tea Room with the Wrench," She winks. Lunair looks a bit apologetic to Cameron. But business is business. She smiles up at Leyla. "Hello there, I'm quite sneaky wedged in here between tall Marines," She jokes lightly. "It's good to see you and I am glad to fly with you guys again."

"Hey, just because this is your ride doesn't mean you can cramp my style!" the deckie gripes, even as she scootches over and makes some room. "Yeah, they just bring me along for the ride like half the time. Just like a tough piece of scrap meat or something, that little bit that always gets stuck in your teeth or way in the back behind your big grinder ones." A smile pulls at the corner of Cilusia's lips as she jokingly degrades herself for that little nickname that only a handful of folks on the ship call her; mostly that came about in her fightin' days.

His lips curl at Fasi's attitude, amused and intrigued by all these tough military women, so unlike the women he's known through his hospital work, though not that different in many ways from the local women of the Aerilon countryside. But it's a different kind of toughness and strength. More sass and spice. His hands fidget a little restlessly, his mind flashing back to his recent exploration at Colchis University, hoping that they don't find here what they found there. He shifts the medpack upon his back into a more comfortable position, knees bouncing slightly now in a mix of nerves and adrenaline as they draw ever closer to their target. "I haven't been here in years," he offers, "but the clinic isn't too terribly large. There's a large courtyard in front of it as I recall, for recreation. Five, or six buildings in all? One of them is a barn I think for keeping cattle, horses, sheep, etc. Behind there are fields for grain. Barley, wheat, that sort of thing. There's also an extensive garden. No idea what might be left that is salvageable, but hopefully there will be something since reports stated that most of the buildings were still intact and in good condition."

"I couldn't possibly cramp your style. That would imply I have some style of my own." Something, people would say, the raptor stick is severely lacking, "Still, I'll be glad to get back down on the ground, "Murder mystery, I'm hoping not, but we do have a way of finding remains." Cilusia especially. Corpses love big hair and a big — ahem. "We're about thirty seconds to drop," is the pilot's estimate, and indeed, it's not far off the mark, before the raptor shudders as she goes skids down. "We'll take back whatever we can get." Leyla doesn't bother continuing that thought, but it might be something like 'because we might not be able to get it again.'

Lunair tilts her head and nods. She listens at lest. And Lunair is an oddity in and of herself, whatever context one considers her in. She pauses and offers quietly, "Well, that sounds good. I'll probably be up front so we'll try to let you know if anything bad pops up," At least hopefully with enough time to avert eyes. She offers not much more on that. For now, Lunair is content to listen and be a presence, enjoying the banter.

"Hey, what can I say? The men love me, dead or alive. Gross I know, but I have a way of getting them to show up. It's a gift," Cilusia offers with an animate shrug. That's all in the time before touch down, but after the announcement, so…she's got her hands hooked on the front of the bench seat, feet planted firmly, and head laid back tight against the supports there to keep from getting bounced and knocked around much as the Raptor touches down.

As the Raptor settles down, the Marines move out first, taking point. Knowing the drill, Cameron rises up and moves into the center, with another Marine closing in behind and the last remaining with the Raptor as the step out into the cold brisk wind. Non-Marines in the middle, like a sandwich. Hair whipping about his face, Cameron looks out toward their destination, the momentary smile on his features crumbling before he closes his eyes and tilts his head back to softly murmur, "Frak."

The Airmid Clinic isn't so much one large building as a grouping of buildings forming a semi-circle, not unlike a small village unto itself. Though far from any bomb sites, the clinic has clearly not escaped unscathed by the events on Aerilon. Two of the five buildings have been torched, little more now than barely standing charred remains. The rest, however, seem intact and in relatively good condition. Surrounding the buildings on one side are fields of grain that have gone to fallow, unharvested and untended for at least four months it looks like. A number of animals - cattle, sheep, and horses - can be seen grazing in grassy fields not far off. Closer to the buildings are what appear to be gardens of herbs and vegetables. Most likely the mainstay of the clinic for both their food and medicine. The main courtyard of the clinic, however, has been turned from a place of pleasure and recreation into a graveyard, with hundreds upon hundreds of markers and mounds, some months old, others far more fresh. The skies are cool and grey, with a hint of fog moving through the chill, damp air.

Lunair is in front, taking point - which might explain her habit of catching things with her face. She closes her eyes a bit at the wind but says nothing for now. Instead, she shuffles with the others towards the clinic and its gardens. She does her best to appreciate things in passing. She does smile at Cilusia a moment, before admiring the animals in passing too. Still, there is work to be done and sharp purple eyes consider the way before her, especially looking out for dead things, disgruntled toasters and other hazards.

Thanks to the half-giants they hire on as Marines here, Cilusia has a hard time seeing…even when she gets up on tiptoe. The only way to see a dang thing is to lean way outside the line of peoples to check out the compound. "I've heard of people lighting up to smoke some weed before…but seems like these people took it a little too liter-" she starts, before catching sight of the markers and mounds there in the courtyard. "Well…damn."

The small pilot takes her own sweet time coming down from the raptor, likely having taken the time to talk over the flight and go through the post flight checks with the two people actually on the raptor crew. She's still in the process of tucking her flight plan back into the pocket on her suit, the helmet at least left back in the raptor, before she moves to join the crew offloading in front of the compound. It might be her vantage point, still up on the raptor's winglet, because Leyla's voice floats across the distance, "Lunair, we've got smoke coming from the center of the 'courtyard'." Being the ranking marine officer on a ground mission, that means the JiG, as they say, is up. Or not. Leyla does offer some hardware to the cause, drawing her service pistol, and moving to group up with the marines.

With a soft sigh, Cameron forges on ahead with the rest of the group as they move slowly and methodically toward the remaining structures. Large boulders rest here and there along the way, though whether they are artistically or naturally placed is hard to say. It's almost as if the mountain wishes to remind them of its presence, sending representatives down below to hearken back to its majesty. Studying the animals at a distance, Cameron asks, "I don't suppose we want to bring back livestock to the ship? I mean, if they're healthy it's food, but I don't know how practical that might be…" But at Leyla's words, Cameron's eyes lift upward and suddenly there is a loud *~CRACK~* of gunfire, a mound of dirt exploding in front of Lunair's feet, mere inches away.

"Ah?" Lunair looks up. While she might be the ranking Marine, Lunair is apparently wise enough to take input from subordinates, pilots and others alike. Her eyes narrow as she peers at the smoke. "Gah!" She steps back as the mound of dirt explodes. "Looks like hostiles, but they might just be spooked if it's people. Anyone see anything? Take cover if you can," She motions. Cover /first/. She'll make sure at least the Marines duck or something before moving herself. And Cameron too. "Heads down!"

"What the FRAK! Every time!" Cilusia yelps out when the bullets start to crack and pop. Rather than leap out of her boots, she just ducks her head and beelines for the closest boulder. Those look like damn good cover…at least until they can find where the shots are coming from. Step one is to put the rocks between her and the buildings though!

Leyla's no dummy. She might not have gone through boot camp with the CMC, but she sure as hell grew up knowing how to avoid getting shot by random hostiles. Behind the marines she goes, moving, as Cilusia does, to hunker down behind the closest boulder, reaching out to grab for the civvie on the way. Boots would have her hide if the resident biomech expert got himself perforated. "Come on doc, I've got you." Which she does. Service pistol and all, as she tries to angle herself behind the boulder to be potentially between incoming fire and the good doctor. "This is why you don't give guns to farmers."

A male voice, rough and hoarse, but plenty loud enough, calls out from one of the upstairs windows, "State your business!" another ratcheting of a rifle audible and distinctive. Cameron gacks as Leyla grabs him by the scruff of his neck and drags him behind a boulder, but he can't help defending his own kind as he retorts mildly, "Without guns these farmers wouldn't be able to hunt for their food or protect their lands. They have every right to bear arms. Just because it makes things inconvenient for us…." Still, that doesn't stop Cameron from pressing himself against the boulder, his heart pounding in his chest as he ponders peeking around it and then realizes what an idiotic idea that would be. He glances over at Leyla, as the man yells out, uncertain who has the highest authority to 'address' the gentleman in question.

Well, Lunair's a jarhead… but a well mannered jarhead. She doesn't comment on the farmers and rifles business. Instead she politely stands, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace. "We're not here to hurt anyone. We're simply Colonials and civilians looking into the area," She explains firmly, calling back. But she is polite, her tone gentle despite the volume. She tilts her head, encouraging her Marines to stay in cover and no one to make sudden movements. Then a glance to Leyla, as if trying to be sure she's doing this right. "I apologize if we startled you." She looks to Leyla again. Urm. She doing this right?

Well, Lunair's a jarhead… but a well mannered jarhead. She doesn't comment on the farmers and rifles business. Instead she politely stands, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace. "We're not here to hurt anyone. We're simply Colonials and civilians looking into the area," She explains firmly, calling back. But she is polite, her tone gentle despite the volume. She tilts her head, encouraging her Marines to stay in cover and no one to make sudden movements. Then a glance to Leyla, as if trying to be sure she's doing this right. "I apologize if we startled you." She looks to Leyla again. Urm. She doing this right? (Re)

"Shit man, stop shooting! We're not shiny and metal, so STOP SHOOTING!" Cilusia yells out…whether the Marines want that to be said or not. Unlike them, she doesn't have a gun or anything for this particular mission assignment. "Damn, how'd all you Raptor jocks miss this? Thought you said there wasn't anyone around here at all!"

"Where I come from, it's a good idea to shoot first and ask questions later. Here…I'm thinking not so much, Doctor." But Leyla will leave it at that, as she shifts to be able to get a look at Lunair, as she rises into target practice range. There's a slight nod, at the questioning look the mariner JiG sends her, and a whisper, just barely loud enough to make it into the headsets everyone should be wearing for ease of communication, "Announce that we're from the Cerberus, and our primary mission is search and rescue on the planet surface." She doesn't bother looking over towards the deckie. She can hear her perfectly fine, "Clearly, it's difficult to tell the heat signature of a large animal from a human. Especially when they're hiding in a building."

Glancing over at Leyla, Cameron shrugs and points out, "Least it was just a warning shot? He could have blown off one of our heads readily enough…" The house stands silent for awhile as Lunair's words fade away on the whipping winds. Well, at least the response wasn't a hail of gunfire, right? After a few moments the voice calls back, "Looking into the area, huh? Those fancy words fer stealin'?!" There's another moment of silence, as if the man in question were either thinking or perhaps speaking to a cohort. But again his voice rings out, "Iffin' yer hear for medical, the clinic is closed! State yer business! What you want here?!"

Erk. They were kinda gonna … huh? Lunair's eyebrows furrow. She sighs and takes a deep breath. "No sir. We are with the Battlestar Cerberus," She explains carefully. "Our primary mission is search and rescue on the planet surface." A wince at Cilusia's comment. She kind of gives Cil a sidelong glance. "Please don't," She whispers into the wireless. Still, Lunair somehow manages a polite, even demeanor.

Leyla shifts again, sidearm in her dominant left hand, leaving her right to settle on the doctor's shoulder. No, she's not bullying him into staying down, but she is trying to sort of…persuade him to. "Tell them that we will leave them in peace if they want us to, but if they wish to leave the planet, or they need immediate assistance medical or otherwise, we will offer them safe passage to the ship or whatever assistance they might require before we leave." Within reason. Still soft, still quiet. Still Lunair's show.

"We don't need no rescuing!" the man bellows defiantly. But there's another long length of silence before the voice calls out, rather reluctantly, "No guns! Iffin' you want to come in, there be a rule of no guns. Put down your weapons where I can sees them. Anybody not willin' to lay down their arms can stay right where theys are."

Glancing over at Leyla, Cameron murmurs, "Seems fair enough to me." His hand rests lightly upon the one that Leyla has placed upon his shoulder, squeezing it appreciatively as he smiles at her. But he still pulls away and steps out from behind the boulder with his hands up, walking forward slowly to where Lunair is standing out, exposed. He's got a job to do, and whether that be collecting medication or helping survivors inside the clinic, well, he'll do whatever is necessary.

A look between the others to see what the consensus is. Lunair takes a deep breath. She's trying to persuade a little in turn. "We will leave you in peace if you wish, but if you want to leave the planet, need immediate medical assistance or otherwise, we offer safe passage to the ship or assistance before we leave." She is at least the owner of a decent Triad face, peaceful and still welcoming to the man. She even nods at the Doctor. She's got his back, and waits to see if anyone else wishes to go before she offers.

Leyla will at least rise, and walk back towards the raptor, if she doesn't get shot, to hand off her weapon to the crew waiting there. The Marines, at least, will have guards at the raptor who can baby-sit their weapons. Providing she doesn't get shot, and she makes it back safely, she'll move to join Lunair and Cameron, in addition to whichever of the Marines the JiG chooses to join the unarmed 'boarding' party.

No shots ring out as Leyla returns to the Raptor, though a glint of light against the barrel of the rifle indicates that the man within has noticed her retreat and is watching her progress closely. Nothing is said to Lunair's offer, the air growing oppressive despite the stiff breeze. Lending his voice, and hopefully a hint of tradition to the proceedings, Cameron calls out, "I'm a doctor and I'm unarmed. The pack on my back only has medical supplies in it. We mean you no harm. All this a swear upon my mother's name, one of your own, Caerlyn Adair nee Moore. We humbly request your hospitality." There is another long silence before the man calls out, "We grant you leave to visit and welcome you… so long as you leave your weapons behind." Again, the words are spoken grudgingly, but tradition will out.

For now, Lunair looks to the others. She quietly designates a Sergeant to take over should she get punted out. She sets her gun down with him. A polite smile to the man offering hospitality and Lunair offers a soft thank you. "Thank you. I am Raine Lunair-Scaurus," Ah the joys of hyphenated names. For now, she moves with the small group going with Cameron while the Enlisted might shuffle behind her a little.

"It'd be nice if that 'no-guns ruled applied to them…frakkin' crazy-ass farmers and their hunting for sport," Cilusia grumbles as she picks herself up from behind the rock. No guns or ammunition on her to be concerned about; just a few tools here and there that could put a serious hurt on should she decide to go cave-woman on some Aerilonian ass.

Leyla makes no move to proceed the group, waiting until everyone who's going aboard is ready to get with the going. She's careful not to interrupt the doctor, who seems to have at least gotten them an 'in' with the fighting farmers. She's quite happy to wait until he and Lunair give the say-so before she'll start making her way towards the old clinic. "This might be a shorter trip than we anticipated."

Cilusia joins the little group trying to wheedle their way inside. But as more Marines come out from behind their various cover the voice calls out again, "Not all of you!" sounding a trifle alarmed now, the rifle clacking again in warning. "The doctor, Ms. Lunair-Scaurus, and the two with them can come in." Maybe he thinks the women are safer than the men? Probably. Glancing about, Cameron waits to see if they're all in accord before likewise moving forward, his hands still held up, just to be safe. As he crosses the graveyard, he's careful not to step on any actual graves, but to wind his way through the rows of them. Once inside, the relative darkness of the interior causes them all a moment of blindness while their eyes adjust. It is, however, a woman's voice that greets them, old and weak, but gentle and warm. "Welcome to Airmid. My apologies for Aaron. He does his best to protect me and this place, bless his heart, but he's like an old dog - never knows when to stop growling and barking." The man is also elderly, most likely in his 70s, but with the hard strong build of a man used to living off the land by the toil of his own two hands. The woman, on the other hand, looks like she's barely there, her body tiny and frail in a large wheelchair, swathed with blankets and pale as the sky outside. "Siobhan," warns Aaron softly, "You're not up for this…" He still holds the shotgun in his hands, but it is pointed down toward the ground as he studies the newcomers uncertainly, like a guard dog torn between doing his duty of protecting his master and obeying her commands.

Lunair nods at the enlisted to stay there. She will go with the others, mindful of graves and where she is stepping. "Thank you sir," She nods to the man. She goes with what is requested. "Hello ma'am, it is a pleasure to meet you," Lunair greets the older woman with due respect. She seems to understand. She looks between the group for now, and steps back, a sign of deference to the doctor and out of respect. She's still visible, hands up.

It's easy for Cilusia to blend in there at the back of the pack; her hands might be seen up and over the shoulders of the people in front of her. No matter, she hangs with the group and manages to scoot her way inside the house. "So…" she starts to say, but just gives a shrug of the shoulders at finishing.

"I am Leyla Aydin, a pilot aboard the Cerberus." She doesn't try to mask the fact that her accent clearly marks her as not from around here. She was the only one, after all, who didn't really give her introduction, mostly. So there it is. But while she makes no move to go further than the two inside allow, she's quite happy to look about, trying to get a read on what all is still inside this little slice of Aerilonese heaven.

The house is warm, comfortable, even if it seems a bit large and empty with only two people beneath its roof. The furniture is all hand carved and lovingly made and there's a fire burning in the fireplace to help warm it, candles and oil lamps everywhere one looks. "Pishposh," replies Siobhan to Aaron. "Now, put down that rifle and go make a pot of tea. Chamomile I should think, to ease everyone's nerves." Aaron scowls and while he doesn't put down the rifle exactly, he does take it with him as he stomps off to the kitchen to, apparently, make them all some tea. Rummy, milky white eyes come to rest on Lunair and she offers, "You can put your hands down dear. So sorry. Please have a seat." She looks over at Cilusia, a small smile curling her lips before she turns her gaze to Leyla. "So, why don't you tell me why you're really here then?" asks the elderly woman with shrewd eyes. Cameron has already come around to her side, pulling off his medical bag, but she waves a dismissive hand at him and counters, "Leave your medicine to someone it can benefit, son of Caerlyn. I'm far beyond your help or anyone else's. It's only a matter of days now before Aaron will be burying me out front with the rest of my pupils and patients." Still, the doctor hovers, uncomfortably at her insistence before she explains. "Cancer. Riddled with the stuff. But I have plenty chamalla to keep me comfortable till the end of my days arrives." Her gaze returns to Leyla once more, demanding an honest answer.

"Have a seat? Don't mind if I do, thanks doc! Name's Fasi. Cilusia Fasi," she answers to the woman as she thumps across the house to one of those pieces of furniture. "I'm a deckie on the same ship…Cerberus," she states idly as she looks around in the sitting room, making room by the door for it to get shut and secured again.

"To supplement our medical supplies. We have closing in on a thousand men, women and children rescued from the colonies, following the cylon attacks, during the months since we escaped our own destruction. We also have the crew of our own ships. Whether or not you have an idea of the scope of the attack on the colonies, be sure that it was decisive. Entire planets have been wiped clean of any human life and been made uninhabitable. Aerilon, by all estimates was one of the most lightly hit. But savings lives comes at a cost. A cost in supplies, in food, in clothing. Some we have been able to replenish, others, like medical supplies are costly. And we try to salvage what we can when we can. Which is why we came to this place. Hoping to find medicinal plants and the like which we could grow and propagate for the benefit of our people." Leyla isn't trying to be harsh, but she's certainly not going to lie, "We were under the impression that this place had been long abandoned. Our intention is not now, nor was it ever to steal from those who still lived here." But, if the place had been abandoned…well.

"A deckie? My, what a term. What is that then," asks the old lady with a wry hint of humor in her voice, "someone who decks people when they get out of line?" Clearly she likes Fasi's forward nature, her head bobbing approvingly before her gaze turns back to Leyla. Pursing her lips and rubbing one finger over them, Siobhan’s eyes close and her lips move silently, most likely in a prayer for all the departed and lost souls that she never knew. But when they open again, they are steady and calm. "I suspected as much. The why you were here, rather than the loss we have suffered. The chamalla, well, it speaks to you after awhile. I knew I needed to stay here, stay alive and keep this place protected. That someone in need was coming. Clearly, that someone is all of you and your ship." Her hand lifts and gestures as she notes, "You may have it all. I don't know if any of the fields can be harvested at this late a date, but if so, the grain is yours. Whatever's left in the garden, you may have. The livestock I'll be giving to Aaron to take back to his place after I'm gone, and whatever is in the kitchen will remain here to see me through. But the rest … there are drawers and drawers of herbs, tools, books… and something extra special in the basement, but you'll have to promise me that will be used for a proper KP and medicinal purposes," this final comment spoken to Cameron as she reaches out with one claw like hand to pat his arm.

Cilusia gives a little chuckle at the woman's reply, shaking her head and grinning a bit. "No…no, but let me tell you, I certainly want to deck a few people every now and again. I swear, it's like working with horny schoolboys every now and again. But no, a deckie is someone that works on the flight deck, fixing up Vipers and Raptors…keeping things flying so we can stay alive." When the old woman goes silent in her little prayer, Cilusia knows well enough to shut up, and she even bows her head too, nodding along with the woman even if she can't be heard.

The pilot remains silent, through the prayer. Religious she is not, but she knows the value of ritual to those who are. Once the woman's attention returns to the here and now, she continues. “I thank you for your willingness to share what you have saved with us. But we will not leave you with anything less than what you will need to see you through many more months. I am no doctor, but I do know that people often live much longer than they believe that they will, even with cancer. Even if it means going without, I will not sacrifice your life for the lives of those we have saved." Leyla looks over to Cameron, "The medicines are your arena, Doctor. But so is she. And the man who takes care of her."

"Oh ho," replies the old woman with a hint of fire not quite banked down still gleaming in her pale eyes. "Sounds like you have your hands full indeed. Well, there's something in the basement then that perhaps might interest you. Poor thing is busted now, but if you can fit it aboard your ship and fix it up, it's yours for the taking." Rising up from her seat, Lunair lays a hand lightly on the woman's shoulder and offers her a warm and gracious smile. "Thank you for your kindness and generosity. I'll just let the crew know that they can bring over the crates and we'll begin to pack up whatever you're willing to donate to us. Are you sure we can't convince you to come along?" Siobhan pats Lunair's hand gently and replies, "You're a sweet girl, but no, thank you. I was born on Aerilon and I plan to die here with the rest of my family. Besides, I don't think I could bear to move and leave this beautiful place. I want to die with the earth below me and the sky above." Nodding, Lunair glances to the rest and murmurs something about the Marines and checking out the gardens before slipping back outside to lay the rest of their crew at ease.

Turning to Leyla, those pale eyes study her before shrugging and noting, "A week at the most, luv, that I can guarantee, but whatever is left over after I'm gone Aaron can keep. He has his own place and it's well stocked, but a little extra will do him no harm." Settling her hands back into her lap she notes, "Everything is in this house. The fewer of us there were to feed and care for, the more foolish it was to have everything spread between all the buildings. There are also clothes and linens along with bandages and splints and the like. Take all of them. I'm sure your ship is full of people longing to wear something pretty again. It would do the souls of them that have passed a kindness, to know their belongings were bringing joy to others."

"There's a few hundred civilians, a lot of whom don't have but one or two pairs of clothes. I know for a fact that they'll appreciate something so simple. And bandages too, for sure! Simple stuff they can use on their own…they'll like all that too, I know that for sure. Too many people and not even doctors or beds to handle even a fraction of them!" Cilusia's little sit-down was short-lived, as she's back up and read to check out what this thing in the basement may be.

"The doctor will direct us to do what is appropriate, I'm certain. And again, thank you, for your willingness to share your life with us." Which clearly it is, as the pilot rather gets the impression she's as much a healer as the young doctor they brought with them. "We will try to be as quiet as we can, but things might move a bit more smoothly, if you allowed us to bring a few more people in." See? Leyla can be diplomatic when she needs to be.

Smiling warmly at Cilusia, the elderly woman notes, "Well, then this may well be the happiest day of my life, to know that my home will bring so much joy to so many people." Leyla receives a nod and concurs, "Indeed. Many hands make light work." That settled, she waves them off and notes, "Go explore and pack. Tea will be waiting for you when you get back and I'll talk to Aaron and make him see the sense in it." And so they spread out and explore, finding so much more than Siobhan let on. Not only are there baskets and bushels and drawers upon drawers, boxes upon boxes of carefully marked and prepared herbs of all kinds, as well as books and instructions on how to create hundreds upon hundreds of medicinal teas, poultices, and other cures, but there are closets full of clothes, toys for children, and even a number of musical instruments. It is these latter items that excite Cameron the most, for some reason. Perhaps because they expected to find medicines, but these other things? They are truly unexpected and wonderful gifts for the rescued civilians who came on board the Cerberus with little more than the clothes on their backs. There is furniture to be had - beds and mattresses, sheets and blankets, many of them quilts stitched lovingly by hand. Since this was both a school and a medical clinic, housing both students and patients, there is, indeed, a veritable plethora of goods for the taking should they wish to outfit the civilian freighter. But for now, they'll take the cartable items and perhaps send another ship back for the furniture if command decides it's worthwhile to do so.

While Aaron quietly fumes and paces, he nonetheless allows the crew and Marines to enter the house with their boxes and begin to pack up and carry out that which has not been set aside specifically for Siobhan's use. Cameron is very careful to make sure she has more than enough of everything, bringing it all down into the living room where she is currently settled to make sure that none of it is accidentally taken away to the Raptor. Their explorations, however, finally take them down to the basement where they find a very odd looking device. It looks rather like a giant copper squash, or perhaps a pear, with various tubes and pipes coming out of it. Along one wall there are a number of barrels. Tilting his head to one side, Cameron peers at the dented and dully gleaming thing in bemusement before asking the others, "What the heck is it??"

"Oh…oh shit. Man! Damn, do you know what that is?" Cilusia pipes up like a kid getting a birthday present. Ducking down as she comes off the steps into the basement, she blinks around and lets her eyes adjust, but they settle back on that crazy-looking copper contraption. "This thing…this is something we've been sorely missing from Cerberus for a looooooong while now. And if this comes back with us, we don't even need to use our own materials to build it!" She gets up close and personal, kneeling down to investigate, grinning as she runs her fingers over it. "Booze, sweet booze!"

Leyla moves happily through the buildings, packing and storing and carrying as needs. And word is soon sent to the Cerberus to send down a few more raptors to handle the offload. The Providers have the routine down a science, and it'll be a smoothly running machine as raptors touch down, stock up and switch places with the next one coming down. Yes, the bedding and furniture will go as well. There will never not be a need for that sort of thing in the fleet. Especially not if they continue to find civilians like they have. Leyla is the last down the steps into the basement, eyes settling on the still as her eyes adjust, "That's going to need a little bit of slight of hand to get back onboard."

Crossing over to the barrels against the wall, Cameron cracks one open and peers inside, calling over his shoulder, "Some kind of grain in this one!" before closing it up tightly again. Crossing over to another barrel, he peers at it for awhile, finding no obvious way of opening it. But the barrel next to it has been tapped. One brow lifts as he crouches down and cups one hand, turning the tap slowly. The barrel must be almost empty, because the warm amber color fluid takes awhile before spilling into his hand. He takes a sip of the stuff and lets out a gasping cough, turning the spigot off and wiping his hand on his cargo pants, rasping, "Holy frak, that's some seriously potent whiskey!" Rising up again, one brow lifts as he studies the still with an amused grin curling his lips. "You could say it was for scientific purposes? It does need to be repaired, after all?" Peering at the unopenable barrel once more, Cameron finds a date and whistles low and appreciatively before rising up again and patting it affectionate. "This? This we have to save for a KP and 'medicinal' purposes," he notes with a broad grin, "though I think that one is not quite tapped out should anyone want a sip on the sly…"

"You're welcome to it, Doctor. Or whomever might want it." Leyla's more concerned with the grain than with the products of the still. "Let's get the last raptor that touched down loaded, and then I'll see if I can convince them to send down some storage crates no questions asked." As it were, "How are we looking for seeds and plants that we can grow and harvest? Seemed like they had a good amount dried and stored."

Shaking his head, Cameron leaves Cilusia to gape over the still and ponder how she might be able to get it aboard without anyone countering her. Perhaps if she were to dismantle it first? Smaller crates, marked as 'equipment' perhaps would get by without a second glance. Climbing the stairs back up to the main floor, Cameron pauses and notes, "It's not so much that I 'want' it. But it gives me an idea, something I think the Cerberus could really use right about now. And besides, it was her only request. After all she's given us, I think it's the least that we can do." He continues up the stairs, emerging again before stretching, his back and arms tired from all the lifting and packing and hauling they've been doing. Nodding with a yawn he replies, "There are a lot of seeds, but most of the dried stuff is the leaves and stems, for medicinal purposes. Not so much growing stock. Lunair is outside in the garden though. She can determine which plants we should salvage and take back with us. She was running the hydroponics lab until quite recently. I trust her to know what we need and what is salvageable. Turning around, Cameron leans against a wall and tilts his head back against it with a soft thunk, arms folding over his chest as he takes a break for a moment. "I feel bad. That I can't do anything for her after she's done so much for us…"

"You think the Cerberus could use more alcohol on board?" Leyla's voice is genuinely curious, as she comes up alongside the doctor, having worked with him most of the day to move equipment and supplies, "Alcohol is a temporary fix at best. When you wake up from your stupor, all of your problems are just waiting for you like they were before." Of course, Leyla doesn't drink, so she looks at it perhaps a bit too logically, "I'm sure she will bring back everything we can. But you're just as valuable as she is. You've actually used these things before." The small pilot looks over at the much taller man, "Just because you're not wearing a uniform doesn't mean that you have to defer to the military on every occasion."

Frowning slightly, Cameron replies, "I think the Cerberus could use a party. And a traditional Kitchen Party involves good company, good music, good food, and good drink. It would be fitting, for the civilians to throw the crew of the Cerberus a party as a way of saying thanks …. and to celebrate being alive as well as remembering those who have died." His shoulders shrug as he notes, "On Aerilon, drink is a part of life. It's a way to relax and let go of your worries and fears for a short while. No one thinks it will fix things, but every so often you need some help to stop thinking and just be." Cameron isn't much of a drinker either. A cheap date, as they would say. Doesn't mean he doesn't recognize the value in it for others. Blinking in confusion, Cameron stammers, "Wha? I'm not deferring to the military…. I was more, I dunno, delegating? I've been busy with checking out the stores and making sure everything is labeled clearly so it doesn't get mixed up along the way… I can't be everywhere all at the same time after all. But if you think it's important, that I check out the garden…" and with that he pushes off of the wall and heads toward the back door of the house, which leads right out to the gardens. Heh. What was he saying about not deferring to the military?

"You'd be surprised how many of the civilians quite likely hate us for being military and don't care that we were the ones who saved them from wherever it was that we found them. We lost a good pilot that way, the former squadron leader for the Black Knights, because a 'survivor' decided that Shiv's life was the price he felt should be paid for the past mistakes of his family. There's a reason there's a division among the people in the hangar deck, Doctor. There are those few who are grateful for their lives, but there are just as many who would see us all dead and go on their way. Just because someone does something for you doesn't necessarily mean that they're grateful." A pause, as Leyla pulls a bag of jerky out of her pocket and offers a piece to the man, before she takes one of her own, "I work seven days a week, most days, six hours on, six hours off. Those 'off' hours are usually filled with eating, training, showering and sleeping, with the occasional outside project and meeting to fill up the extra time. And that schedule is typical of most of the people in the wing. Being drunk in those six hours off translates to being drunk during your six hours on. So I'm not quite sure how we have time to relax and just 'be'." Once the doctor's back is up, Leyla follows him out to the gardens. "Lunair is skilled in hydroponics, that's true. But I've read your file. What there is of it. And you know this sort of thing better, probably, than anyone on the ship. I don't think it's something that should be completely delegated. Which plants should be salvaged, which will be the most use. Which might be the most necessary to propagate. These are the sorts of things someone with your training can tell us. As you can see with most things…most of us can do the how, the why is sometimes problematic."

Her words are like a slap in the face, causing Cameron to go still and quiet, his face dropping down to stare at the floor. As she offers him a piece of jerky, he simply shakes his head, blonde hair falling over his brow and conveniently hiding his eyes and features. Turning away he walks outside and toward the gardens as she continues to explain the reality of their situation to him. His head only lifts once, one brow lifting over eyes that have gone quiet and not exactly cold but… subdued. "You read my file?" he asks bemusedly, wondering why and how she got access to it. His eyes turn to the plants and walking slowly through the garden, Cameron begins the process by removing whatever is dead or useless. That way it will be easy to dig up and carefully bundle whatever is left to be taken back to the ship. "I think you over-estimate my skills. My mother was the true expert in all of this. I'm a very talented amateur, compared to her." He crouches down again, digging up a tuber, but the root stem is rotted and infected. Out it goes. Moving on in a slow and methodical way, rising up and down and up and down, Cameron finally rumbles. "Right. So no whiskey. No party. Just survival."

"I'm not the best person to come to if you want comforting and kind words, Doctor. And if I spoke too harshly, then I can only say that my intention was to make sure you knew what you were dealing with when you came on board. You seem like a good man, with a kind heart. Which is a great thing, for a doctor. The fleet is lucky to have you. But I don't want you going around the ship and the fleet thinking that there isn't bad out there. Because there is, and we brought it with us when we decided to save everyone we could find, not just the ones that were sympathetic to our cause." Leyla remains with the man, helping as she can. Just because they're disagreeing, doesn't mean the work still doesn't need to be done, "I read your file." That's it. Work, work work as she helps to clear and mark plants as directed, "Your mother is not here to help us. You will have to stand in her stead." Because that's the way life is now. Everyone fumbling along the best they can. A headshake at the last, "No, that's not what I'm saying. I think it might be nice to see if the sympathetic civilians would like to have a party like that. Certainly the crew would appreciate it. No attempt to mend fences is ever wasted. But survival is always a consideration. We do know how to have fun in the military, even if it doesn't show most of the time."

"I don't need comfort or kind words," he returns dryly. "You're giving me an education. I haven't mixed with all that many of the civilians, just mostly with the Aerilonians. I'll speak with Ms. Averies. See what she recommends. I just think that people need something positive to focus on. Something celebratory. Something more than just surviving. But I'm not a child, Lieutenant. I'm fully aware that there is 'bad' out there." His tone is just as mild and matter-of-fact as hers is, the two of them working in tandem. "We need some sheets or something. Something we can tear up into sections so we can bundle these up with dirt for transport. His eyes flicker and rise to study Leyla's face before he asks, "What do you do for 'fun', Lieutenant?"

"Perhaps you don't, Doctor. Or perhaps you don't think that you do." Either way, Leyla leaves that alone, "Neither was I suggesting that you were a child. And while it is a fact that few of the people on the ship now can claim ignorance of the situation in the colonies, t is just as likely that some have blinders on, believing that the threat is far and away, as long as they are on the ship." Sheets? That she can do, "There's some stored in one of the rooms in the building just there," she points, "I'll go and grab a few." No sooner said than done, the small woman moving off to retrieve an armful, before carrying them back towards where the doctor's been working, "I make art. When I have the time, and the materials. I like to weld." Hey! That's fun for her, "That's about it."

While she's gone, Cameron manages to find some water and a spade. "People cope with trauma in all different ways. Some go into denial, others unfocused rage. It's going to be a long, hard row to hoe," he notes, lips quirking in sardonic humor as here they are, digging up the row in question. "Art," he replies thoughtfully with a nod. "That sounds great." And again his mind is off, pondering other possible things to restore a sense of humanity and normalcy to their lives during this violent and chaotic time. "Maybe some day we could find a little space for a gallery. Do a showing of various art through the fleet's population." He shows her the size of material that he needs by tearing up a few sheets and then concentrates on carefully digging up the plants. The process is rather boring, but strangely cathartic. Dig up plant with some dirt, bundle up and tie off, dip into water, then place in a shallow crate. Repeat. The sun is starting to slant low in the sky by the time they've finished and wiping his brow, his hands and clothes now thoroughly dirty and soaked with sweat, Cameron rises up to his feet with a low groan, taking a moment to stretch before eyeing their work. "That's about it then. We'll need someone with more experience to judge whether or not the grain in the fields is salvageable. And I think everything inside should be packed up? At least what we can fit aboard the Raptor. The larger stuff will have to wait."

Thankfully Cameron has a clue as to what he's doing. Because the child of the industrial wastes working with him has no clue. Sheets are torn, bundles are made, plants are saved from the potential floral apocalypse to come. "I think that would be a wonderful idea. I know at least a few artists among the crew. I'm sure there are enough among the civilians to make the effort worthwhile. Even for those who look at it as only a hobby, to know that they might have an outlet would be a boon to them. We could certainly see about getting supplies. I know we have instruments and such in storage. A few personal ones in circulation." If Leyla has made any concession to the heat, it's only to strip off the top portion of her flight suit, leaving her just in her tank top, "Well, the raptors will be making a few trips, I believe. It'll be a slow process, but I'm sure they won't mind stopping in to visit with the lady of the house." Dying she might be, but what old woman doesn't enjoy company. "There's a water pump in the back if you want to wash up, and no shortage of clothes."

"And there are the instruments we recovered today," Cameron adds, curious that she is warming to the idea of a gallery though not to the idea of a party. Interesting. Cameron isn't sweating from the heat so much as the work, the air fairly cool and brisk, but his body warm from exertion beneath his layers of clothes. He'd just rather they get sweaty than he catch a cold. Shaking his head he notes, "I'll wait till we're back. Otherwise I'll just get all hot and sweaty and dirty all over again, no?" He does plunge his hands into the freezing cold water, scrubbing them briskly to get the dirt off as much as possible before using one of the scraps of sheeting left over to dry them off. "Come on," he offers. "I think it's probably about time to head back before nightfall. Best to wish our hostess a good evening and see if the rest are ready to ship out?"

Leyla too, cleans up as best she can, before she steps back, zipping back into her flight suit, now that the air has grown cooler, and she's no longer working to ward off the effects, "If it's too crowded down in the hangar, you should be able to get into any of the heads, though probably not the marine one on six. Actually, you could, but trust me, you wouldn't want to." Once she's as ready as she'll ever be, and the crates are all marked and ready for retrieval, there's a nod of her head, "I've no doubt she needs her rest." A hand waves in the direction of the still occupied house, "Was a good thing you did, thinking to come here."

"I should be able to use the shower in Sickbay," he notes hopefully, for indeed they are few and far more private than most of the ones available. His lips still quirk, however, at her warning as he asks, "Oh? Why wouldn't I want to? Is this one of those 'don't drop the soap' scenarios?" To her compliment, Cameron only smiles slightly, a sweet and crooked thing. Heading back inside, he is extra careful to wipe his boots off thoroughly on the mat outside before stepping in. Once back in the main room, they learn that Siobhan has, indeed, retired in one of the downstairs bedrooms, the day of excitement quite overwhelming her. Stripping off his sweater, Cameron disappears briefly to check on her and make sure that she is not in distress before closing the door to her room carefully and nodding to Aaron who still looks like a disgruntled guard who's been tied up when he'd much rather be biting people. "She's sleeping easily," he assures the man and suggests a few things to add to her diet to help her strength for the next few days, slipping the older man some medication from his bag with some softly murmured instructions on how best to use it. Turning back to Leyla, he informs her, "The last batch of stuff just went out to the Raptor. She'll be full after that run they said, so the rest will go out tomorrow."

"Well, you never know with Marines. But just to be safe, soap on a rope is a good suggestion." Leyla too, takes her time before she steps inside, though she's quite content to wait in the main room while the doctor goes to check on his patient. It's a bit like a standoff, really, as the doctor returns. Aaron staring unpleasantly at the small woman, Leyla staring nonchalantly back. "It's good to hear that she's doing well, and that the excitement wasn't too much for her to handle." Would be a heck of a thing to go out with a heart attack or something. "We could probably make it out on the last raptor heading back with the crew." And then, she does look back to Aaron, "You and yours would be welcome to come with us. When your work is done here."

Shaking his head, Aaron says essentially the same thing that Siobhan did before him. "I was born on Aerilon and I aims to die here. I have no wish to live aboard a ship in space, cut off from the wind and the sea and the earth. I'm a simple man with simple means and never much cared fer the company of others. Siobhan was the only woman who ever understood me. Once she's gone, I have no care to be with anyone else." He looks away, toward her door before turning his head back and offering reluctantly, as if he were unused to the words and they left a bitter taste in his mouth. "But… thank you. Fer the offer." Turning he heads off toward the kitchen, muttering something about Marines and the military and not cleaning up after themselves and Gods knows what else. Tilting his head toward the door, Cameron murmurs, "Come on. I think that's our cue to exit, stage left…"

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