| Facing The Music |
| Summary: | Laskaris and Sitka debrief the air wing following the events of the salvage mission to Virgon. Some frank words are to be had. |
| Date: | March 16, 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | References the events of Tug Of War. |
| Players: |
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| Ready Room - Deck 7 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| With the hatches at the rear of the room, the walkways on both sides slope down towards the dais at the front of the room. The stadium seating forms a partial semi-circle around the speaking podium and provides enough seats for all three hundred members of the Air Wing. The walls are adorned with the patches of each squadron aboard and their mottos stenciled in white lettering above each one. Behind the podium is a set of large LCD screens that can display any matter of material from reconnaissance to maps to gun camera footage. |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear Post Holocaust Day: #18 |
Evandreus has the blues. On. Anyhow, he's earlier than most, having arrived ahead of the bulk of the crowd and snagged a seat over on the starboard side, one row from the back, not lurking in a corner, but at a nice middle-distance from it, with his backseater, for once, in front of him, one row, one leg crossed over the other with a rather more sharkish look on her face. She'd gotten an up-front view of the mess over DRADIS, and looks rather like if she thought she could have gotten away with bringing popcorn, she would have. 'Cause this is gonna be good— in a satisfyingly cathartic sense that screaming at the DRADIS could never deliver. Evan, for his part, leans back in his chosen seat, neck turned and dark green eyes fixed loosely on the hatch, ready to make sure Stiffy behaves herself and maybe get a few official answers of his own as to what in the hells and waters went on out there.
Slipping in, Alessandra makes her way to a place to sit way in the back, picking a chair that is furthest from the hatch. Not feeling inclined to be social at the moment, she keeps to herself, self-segregation at its finest. What she does do is give a quick glance about to see who is here while fishing a small notebook and a stub of a pencil free from a pocket, that done without need to glance at what she's doing.
Twelve nuclear holocosts and a broken limb weren't enough to tarnish Ensign Kolettis' outward appearance… much. She takes a seat at the front of the room, seeming to sit at attention like she's done before. The only thing that's really different here is that instead of a perfectly aligned stack of paper on her clipboard, the board contains only a single sheet. She's got three pencils laid out next to the board, sharp enough for melee weapons.
The hatch swings open again, to the sound of Tisiphone's voice, mid-conversation with someone. "-away there for days yet. I owe- him bigtime." She half-turns as she steps through the hatch, navigating one casted arm, then a shoulder-sling-bearing arm, through. Her steps are slow, and her gait is peculiar — someone trying to limp with both feet at once. Behind her, holding the door open for her, is Bell, looking considerably more hale. The room is given only the most cursory of glances before she focusses on Daphne and, slowly but surely, makes her way over to a seat beside her.
Bell follows along, left wrist encased in plaster and polymers, though thankfully without the sling required of his escort. "It could always be worse, Ms. Apostolos. It could always be worse." He meanders down the rows at a leisurely pace, scanning the room and finding it devoid of Petrel activity, and taking a seat at Tisiphone's side.
Evandreus takes note of the progress. Daphne, up front. Tisiphone, up front. Bell, up front. Duckie— well. He thought -he'd- put himself pretty well out of the way, but if he's out of the way, she's on another planet, there, in the corner, and he rolls his neck to watch her progress behind him and to the corner, lifting a hand by way of greeting, but not saying anything.
Laskaris allows the assembled pilots a bit of time to assemble before he enters the ready room, a slim manila folder tucked under his arm. He walks slowly, with a slightly stiff gait; the Viper squadron leader is still feeling a few minor aftereffects of his injuries, it seems. Lasher heads for the podium without a word, surveying the crowd with a quick glance before looking back down at the papers in front of him.
The Petrels' Captain slouches on in not too far behind the taller Lasher, he having recently changed into his blues uniform. There's a clipboard under one arm, and a pen trapped between his teeth as he finishes buttoning said uniform jacket. His booted feet carry him up to the front, and the podium.
Daphne turns her head towards Bell and Tisiphone. Tis in particular gets a long nod and an appraising look. One can almost see her count the other woman's hit points. She turns to face front and center in short order, though.
"Walking papers, baby," is all Tisiphone says to Daphne, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. It would be a feral smile, if it wasn't so fuzzy. Someone received a parting gift on her way out of Sickbay.
Bell inclines his head in a wordless greeting, then following Daphne's lead and focusing up front. He's unashamedly in Fleet sweats, the jacket sleeve rolled to accommodate his cast. His expression is neutral, if a bit anticipatory. Darting glances bounce between Shiv and Lasher. From his jacket pocket is withdrawn a small notepad, and a golf pencil.
Lasher doesn't speak right away, even after he finishes sorting through his paperwork. He picks up the remote for the projector, aiming it and pressing a button; several camera recordings blink up on the screens behind him, paused for now. Then, with a short sigh, he looks down at the assembled pilots, steel in his eyes. "Well." he says, his tone chilly. "That was quite possibly the worst clusterfrak I've been a part of since Basic Flight. You lot'd better be thankin' your frakkin' lucky stars most of you managed t' come back with your brainless skins intact." Flinty eyes linger on each one of them for a moment. "It's beyond me how all of you managed t' come back more or less in one piece. Suren as we spent the lion's share of our karma for the next frakkin' solar year, thank the Lords for small favors." As always, Lasher's harsh accent mangles the hell out of his words. "We've got people that won't be able t' step into a cockpit for weeks. People I can't replace. All because a few of you wankers got so caught up in stroking your godsdamned egos and racking up kill counts that you forgot the shit they started hammering into your block heads the first frakkin' day of Basic Flight!" The talk of ego is, perhaps from Lasher, a bit ironic. It doesn't stop him, though.
Stef tips her head back to murmur something to Evan as the Lieutenant and Captain process up front, one side of her upper lip curled in what must indicate a cheeky comment. Whatever it was just makes him waver a knee to poke her in the back of her head and goad her to turn eyes front and be polite. Or. At the very least, quiet.
The words strike Daphne's face with physical force, inducing whiplash-like effects in the young woman. Her head tilts back a bit, as if struggling to withstand the energy. Of course, being yelled at is part of training. Literally. She recovers, staying straight as an arrow. Straighter, in fact, as if to make up for the general tongue lashing.
Ok, so even Shiv's a little taken aback at what comes out of Laskaris' mouth next. And he's probably heard some of what was planned, already, assuming the two comisserated before holding this meeting. Raising both brows slightly, he drops off his clipboard on the podium, tucks his hands into his trousers' pockets and sidesteps to give the Lieutenant the floor for now. If he's got a spiel of his own, it looks like it'll wait until Anton's done venting his ire.
Bell, for his part, watches Sitka almost exclusively throughout the Knight-Lieutenant's tirade. He does not yet begin taking notes.
Alessandra, in direct opposition of how Daphne sits ramrod-straight, actually slouches a bit, ducking down into her chair a bit more so she can perhaps not be seen by the SL as he starts to seethe and proverbially spit his ire at the assembled pilots. Yup. This is as unpleasant as she had expected it to be.
"Unfortunately, I don't have the luxury of grounding any of you, as some of you richly deserve," Laskaris growls from the front, not breaking his stride. "Breaking radio silence." A glare finds Daphne. "Leaving your godsdamned wingman." Then, Alessandra. "And then, ignoring a bloody RTB order and getting yourselves caught in a trap what wasn't exactly frakkin' subtle." The coldly furious stare widens to encompass well, just about all of them. "This is your wakeup call, people. These are mistakes that, now more than ever, we cannot afford to make." A pause. "I fully realize we're now right smack in the middle of a situation none of us exactly came prepared for. But it's here nonetheless, and I refuse t' lose pilots because of rank stupidity. I. Will. Not. Have. It." Lasher directs another frank stare at the pilots as he slows to pointedly emphasize each word. His hands come up to rest on the edges of the podium. "So. This is what we're going t' do. First, Captain Sitka has some thoughts of his own he'd like t' share, and I'll be handing the floor t' him momentarily. Then? We're going t' review several tapes from the mission. Find out just what went wrong where." The ire in his voice begins to fade at that. Then, a nod to the Petrel captain, and Lasher steps away from the podium. "Captain Sitka."
The glare may as well come wrapped in a freeze ray. Daphne shivers in place, and then does her level best to stay as straight as she is. She can't go any straighter. The color drains from her skin.
Daphne will have to quail for the both of them. Tisiphone's muzzy expression steadily darkens through Lasher's onslaught of words, but the expected ramrod-straight, picture-perfect Ensignly panic is no where to be found. Pensive, sleetstorm eyes remain intent.
"Uh.." Yep, that's about all Ibrahim has to say for a second, in the wake of the hurricane that is Lasher. Eloquent, ain't he? Blue eyes shift from Laskaris, to the room full of pilots. "..right, so." He clears his throat. Where was he. "I realise it was pretty nutty up there, guys. But Lasher's right. We can't afford to be frakking up like this. We've lost too many people, already. I'm not going to beat a dead horse and reiterate what the Lieutenant's already covered, but I am going to be talking to the CAG about running a few remedial lessons in basic situational awareness. Following the orders of your superior officer or squad leader, I'm afraid, is something you shouldn't have to be told by now." His gaze flicks from Alessandra to Bell, at the last. And lingers there a few seconds. There's none of the anger that Anton's displayed; it's something far gentler, far closer to disappointment. "I, uh." He scratches at his nose. "That's all I had to add, really." Turning, he gives Laskaris a little nod to signify he should go on.
Bell meets Sitka's eye contact with the slightest cant of his head and a perk of both brows. Still the notebook remains closed.
As Shiv gives the floor back over to Lasher, Tisiphone's head lolls back a little, eyes looking up past the ceiling. "Not even grounded," she murmurs. It's said half to herself, with little volume to carry. "You were right, Daphne." Her eyes slant over to her bunkmate for a second, then wander back up to the podium.
While Steffi seems most intrigued by what Lasher has to say on the topic, Evan, himself, zones in with a quiet interest when Shiv takes the podium. Yelling, he's heard before. It tends to turn into a dull drone after you've heard enough of it. He seems to find the less irritated approach novel enough as well as a pleasant change of pace, and if the situation weren't quite as severe as it is, he might even give the guy a smile. As it is, he leans forward, now, elbows settling on knees as he gets ready to attend to the tapes. He hasn't looked over them since the mission, himself.
Another nod to Sitka, and Lasher reassumes his position behind the podium. "Thanks, Captain. All right, let's review the proceedings, shall we?" He looks back at the LCD screens, the projector's remote control in hand. "First. Before the furball even got bloody started." Laskaris pushes a button on the remote, and one of the camera feeds begins to play. It's right before the Cylons appeared, with the Vipers still powered down and under cover. There's a few bits of com chatter, and then Lasher pauses the film. "Ensign Kolettis. In the future, you will remember that radio silence means radio silence. Next time I'll just rip out your vocal cords with my bare hands." The last is spoken in a deadpan. He certainly can't be serious, anyway. Can he? Probably just trying to drive home the point.
Alessandra doesn't seem to react at all, not to being singled out by Lasher and Shiv visually or by the yelling from the former, her face set in stone. As the video starts and the LT's lesson begins anew she takes to writing a few notes down, her eyes held to the paper for only as long as it takes for her to write the few points she has to scribble down currently.
Even if there were a smile from Evan, Shiv'd miss it; his attention's back on Lasher— and then the projection screen, once the Lieutenant brings up the footage. His hands remain in the pockets of his trousers, neck craning a little so he can observe the feed. His jaw tightens, subtly, at the verbiage coming from the younger pilot, though he doesn't interrupt.
Daphne doesn't flinch, and her skin isn't getting any more pale, either. She turns towards Laskaris and nods, "Sir, yes sir." Clearly having her vocal cords torn out is an agreeable outcome, though he could probably order her to dance in a river of YooHoo and she'd affirm it right now, too. She tries to sit a little striaghter but, alas, is already at the limit. Now she's arcing a little.
Bell sets his good elbow on the armrest and drums his fingers along the edge. A glance to Daphne as she speaks, and then back to the LCD screen.
Another screen begins to play; the tags at the bottom of the screen indicate it came from Lasher's own Viper. It shows his ship's last surviving minutes; the collision with the piece of frigate debris, his subsequent loss of control he pauses it after the screen goes dark in a burst of static, the video ending. "I frakked up here, myself," he admits with a certain candor, taking a deep breath inwards. Never let it be said he's not willing to turn the scrutiny inwards. "Careless, reckless, whatever you want t' call it. And if I hadn't reengaged the Cylons after pulling out of that spin, I'd've probably been able t' save my ship and maybe even forestall some of the confusion that happened after." A minute shrug. "Instead, I got ballsy, got my ship shot out from under me and forced the CAG t' have t' make a detour and pick me up on the way home." A look back to the assembly. "Yet further proof that aggression is good up until it reaches the point of foolhardiness, hm?"
"Sir." This from Tisiphone, slowly. It actually sounds more like, "Sssssir." She sits up a little straighter, her eyelids shivering at the edges. "Reviewing order of command? That'd be good. There was you, and Shiv, and Toast. Sometimes it was hard to tell who was ordering who."
Bell pipes up, at that, straightening in his chair to match. "Second that, sir. I'm sure there was an RTB in there somewhere, but I didn't catch it. When that frigate detonated I thought we were still laying down fire to suppress the Raptor's egress."
The senior officer in the room is silent, still, while Laskaris provides his own self-scrutiny of events, via the gun camera footage. There's a small nod to the Lieutenant that might be tacit agreement, or might simply be acknowledgement of the last thing said. "I guess the moral of the story," he tells those assembled, turning his eyes finally back to the other pilots, "is that he who comes away with the most kills, isn't necessarily the hero of the day. Especially if he got there on his wingman's back, and especially if he ignored orders to do it. I frakked up, too. I should've confirmed the RTB order, and the more I think about it, the more I become convinced that I didn't. Any of us can get caught up in the moment— we're only human." And then Tisiphone fires off her comment, and he looks directly toward her for a second. "We'll be taking that up with the CAG, actually, and making sure that's clearer next time. Good points, both of you." Bell receives a nod, too.
The suggestions and commentary from the others is listened to but Allie herself leaves any of her own that she might have kept to herself for now, held back for some other time, either during the debrief or on a later date.
Hard blue eyes are turned on Tisiphone and then Bell. He adds nothing to Shiv's comments, though, simply following what the captain said with a nod. "Which only emphasizes the importance of keeping attention on comm channels. 'Not catching it' is not an excuse. The chain of command still holds, people. When Toast gives an order, you all follow it. Frak all what anyone else is saying." Another of the screens is triggered, this one towards the end of the combat. Cidra's Raptor is angling off to pick up Laskaris while the furball continues, the frigate beginning its descent into critical mass, as it were. "This… this is where things really go t' shit," Lasher says dispassionately. "Lieutenant Sophronia. I don't know what prompted you to leave your wingman behind… but after further consideration, I've decided that you will temporarily no longer be serving as a section lead. For the time being, you'll be flying as my wingman, until I happen t' be satisfied with your performance in that role. Perhaps this will impress upon you the importance of the wingman concept in the future." Lasher's voice is steely, brooking no argument, though it shows no sign of the white hot rage he was exhibiting earlier. "Wing assignments for the Knights will be adjusted accordingly." Eyes shift to another camera, this one showing the Colonials' disorganized retreat and the frigate's explosion. "Captain Sitka already mentioned the frakup that was our exit, so I won't belabor the point any longer. As I said, when Toast gives the order to get the frak out, you drop what you're doing and you get the frak out."
The videos in review were most of the reason that Evan even turned up (the other portion of his reasoning being in considering it unwise to let Stiffy go by herself), and so his eyes are light with it, the scene playing itself out on the convex surface of his eyeballs as he goes so far as to cross his arms on the back of Stiffy's chair and watch from over her shoulder. He does sit up enough to nod to Shiv, speaking up, himself. "A confirmation call on the RTB would have been really useful. If everyone makes a habit of calling back with acknowledged of confirmed when they get the RTB order, then the flight lead can tell who hasn't gotten the memo, and call out to those who aren't answering." He looks to the side of Stiffy's head, then up front. "We should have done the same thing about the frigate. We sent out a warning over comms about three minutes before it blew, letting people know to clear the perimeter. We didn't get any confirmation back on that— and we didn't call out again and ask for it. We should have."
Bell shifts in his seat, leaning back onto his good elbow. "That's just the point. All I heard - and I know I'm not the only one with this experience - was that the Raptors were RTB, and we were to stop those larger craft from firing on them. Presumably we'd head home afterwards. It made perfect sense, at the time."
Sitka doesn't seem to have anything to add, for the time being. Though for his part, he's fixed his eyes upon one of the vipers in that 'disorganised retreat'. A white and red fighter, one of only a few that were out that day. And there his attention remains, while Lasher gives the remainder of his spiel, until Evan speaks up. The raptor pilot gets a nod, and a flickered smile of agreement. "I'll admit, I lost track of how close the wing had strayed, to the frigate, in those final moments. I think a little better communication in both directions might've been prudent," he offers with a tinge of self-deprecation. Bell gets another slow nod of understanding, though.. he pretty much covered that in his reply to Bunny, so it's left at that.
"Communication is definitely something we need to work on," Allie calls out, that being something she had wanted to touch upon. "And not just when it comes to commands to return to the ship and shit. If you're being hit, let your lead know so they can cover your six, huh? Chaos makes it hard to keep track of what all's going on, sometimes. And no being cute or frakking coy. Sing the frak out." Belatedly, she addresses Lasher directly, her point having been made allowing for her to backtrack slightly. "I understand…" she is quick to tack on to the rest of what she just said.
Tisiphone's shoulders twitch a couple times in silent coughing or laughter. Her head lolls a little toward Daphne. Again with the quiet, though not whispered words, a bland smirk playing at the edges of her mouth. "Not grounded, gets the guy, what's the trifecta?" she asks her bunkmate.
Daphne doesn't say a word, though her eyes narrow a little. It's hard standing this straight, folks.
Lasher is, for the moment, silent as several of the other pilots chip in with thoughts. He doesn't do anything to indicate he disagrees with anything that's being said, at any rate. "When the CAG and CIC are both giving a godsdamned RTB order, Lieutenant? It goes for everyone." That's to Bell. Tisiphone's non sequitur to the other ensign gets a hard glare, but he says nothing to her. Fingers drum on the podium for a moment before he speaks again. "All right. Captain Sitka mentioned something earlier about speaking to the CAG about an increased training regimen. I fully agree… had already considering something along those lines myself. What time you have that's not being spent on CAP is about t' get a lot bloody busier, people. Simulator training. Reviewing combat films. Brushing up on tactics and doctrine. You name it. I'll be damned if we ever let the godsdamn toasters frak us over like that again. If they do, it won't be for lack of preparation on our part. Am I understood?"
Bell doesn't quite roll his eyes, but it's clear he's dissatisfied with his commentary falling on deaf ears. He straightens in the chair and remains silent.
When Daphne has no answer for her, Tisiphone's attention swims back over to Lasher, gaze growing dark and troubled again as he continues to speak. "Yes, Sir," she chimes in, slower than she would normally do, but dutiful all the same.
This, apparently, is the portion of the meeting Shiv's most interested in. He doesn't have anything to add for the time being, though those Petrels in the crowd will most certainly be aware that he was a certified flight instructor back in the ol' Reservist days at Acropolis Forge. Possibly something a'brewing, there. Bell, for whatever reason, is watched quietly while the debriefing continues.
Evandreus garners a little bit of a glare from his backseater as he dares to take some of the blame away from the well-lashed Knights, but he offers her a helpless little shrug. It's true, after all. The ECo half of the Raptorpair seems prepped to go when the Guys Up Front call the thing over, but Evan shows no such haste, just leaning back and folding his arms over him.
Alessandra nods slowly. "Understood," she responds. One voice gets her gaze to dart over to where some of the others are and she frowns, perhaps having caught some of the tension along with the tone the words are spoken in.
"Right, then," Lasher says crisply. "Captain Sitka or myself will be handing out information on our training plans as it becomes available. Other than that, you're dismissed. Get the frak out of here." The rangy blond man steps away from the podium with a sigh, stepping into the shadows of the sidelines as he lights a cigarette. His eyes dart briefly around the room for a moment, finally settling on Shiv a moment later.
Sitka's sole contribution, once more, is a slight nod in compliance with what Lasher's already said. "Good hunting out there," he adds on the tail end of the Lieutenant's dismissal. The look shot toward him is not quite met, but the Captain's never been particularly good with eye contact. "I think we're due in the CAG's office in ten," he murmurs, stepping toward the podium to retrieve his unused clipboard and pen. Bell is given a little crook of his finger as the other pilots begin filtering out, summoning him up to the front.
Irresponsible Ensign is Irresponsible. Or not really, really. Raedawn only heard about the debriefing (too late) from another flier who wasn't involved, and decided to sit in to see if anything useful was brought up. The bad side of hearing about this too late is that she arrives very late, late enough to miss the general 'dismissed' order. That would be why she's trying the old 'sneak in, sit down at the back, and pretend you were always here' trick, tiptoeing towards an empty seat next to Alessandra. And wondering why people are getting up.
Bell hefts himself out of his seat with visible effort, clapping Tisiphone lightly on the shoulder before nodding Sitka's wait. He ambles up to the podium while guarding his left wrist. "Abraham?" he queries simply.
Tisiphone may be considering saying something, but she stays silent in the end. Digging slowly and clumsily in her pocket, she draws out a piece of paper, folded in quarters. "Mmh," she decides, and pushes herself upright, wending her way toward Lasher with the same double-limping gait as before. "Ssssir," she calls. "I have my walking papers for you, Sir."
The forebidding expression on Laskaris' face fades just a bit as Tisiphone approaches. He accepts the proferred sheet of paper, giving it a quick once over. "Thanks, Ensign," he says distantly in mid-read before sticking it with the rest of his paperwork. He regards the young woman for a moment. "How you feeling?" he asks softly, concern finding its way into his voice as his eyes look up to meet hers. Sitka, by the by, gets a quick nod of acknowledgement at the reminder of the meeting with the CAG.
It's ee-bra-CHEM, of course, but Bell already knows that. Who the hell can pronounce it, anyway? "Could we talk, when you have a few minutes?" The Captain looks askance briefly toward Jeremiah while he gathers up his stuff. "Tonight, tomorrow, whenever." The set of his expression is vaguely concerned, and maybe a little contrite. His eyes tick to the man's wrist, then back to his face again in silent query.
Standing, Lucky darts a look towards the front of the ready room, first to Sitka and then to the Knights' SL, her expression blank as frak. That same blank look is then given to Raedawn, her late arrival netting her a blink and the arch of a brow. "You're late," she states, the obvious voiced even though there's no need to. A quick note is scribbled and then folded in half, that then offered to the Ensign along with a whisper. "Can you please see to it that this gets to Lieutenant Laskaris, please? I got to go."
"I am at your disposal." Bell glances aside to Tisiphone, then back to his squadron leader. "My papers are in Sickbay. I neglected to bring them. We can retire there, or elsewhere, if your discussion calls for privacy?"
Unfit for Duty: 14 days. Light Duty: The explanation gets long-winded in that part of the paper. Ulnar fracture, titanium plates, a variety of Fun Things. It boils down to many, many weeks of cooling her heels. "About how you'd expect, Sir," Tisiphone replies, her gaze on Lasher's. "Can you ask Toast how the frak you salute with one of these-" She waggles her casted arm, very, very carefully. "-things, please?" In lieu of a salute, she nods her head, deeply, to him, then turns away, shambling for home.
"Sickbay's fine, if they need you back there," Sitka answers, tucking his pen into a pocket of his blues jacket. "Or berthings. It'll have to be after our chat with the CAG, though." He indicates Lasher with a tip of his chin, and clasps Bell's shoulder on his way off the dais. Once he's on level ground, the Captain's once again the shorter of the two. By a small amount, anyway. "Take care of that hand. I mean it." He spocks a brow to underscore the concern, then heads for the hatch.
Evandreus lifts a hand, digging the ball of one hand into his eye in something like the forerunner of a yawn. Still, notions of comms-clipping exercises mulling over themselves in his head, he plants both hands on the arms of his chair, heaving himself to his feet and giving Cubits a wave as she heads past. Daphne, too, if she's still in the proximity of her other half.
Rae glances at Lucky and raises an eyebrow, an unspoken 'Yes, that would be why I'm sneaking in' in her gaze. Both eyebrows go up when Alessa hands her that note. "Hmm? Um, sure! I can do that," she murmurs, blinking at it. "Take care, 'Lessa."
Bell nods curtly, offering the alpha Petrel a smile of reassurance. "No, I've been released on my own recognizance. Promised them I wouldn't go sticking my hand where it doesn't belong. I'll be in the berths when you're finished." He pauses, smile shrinking into a grin. "If it helps, you can blame the whole frakup on me."
"I think you'll get a pass for the time being, Ensign," Lasher replies dryly to Tisiphone. "If there's any officers what say something t' you about it, tell them they can take it up with me, hm?" A nod to the retreating woman, then he starts gathering up his paperwork, preparing to follow Shiv to their appointment with destiny — er, the CAG.
Sitka's response to that last non sequitur from Bell, is to snort. Loudly. And then he's off, after holding the hatch for a junior officer not minding where she's going.
Alessandra mouths, "You better hurry, he's leaving," to Goddess before she too is leaving; Allie's own departure is slowed by the sudden bottle-necking at the door. Discomforted, she closes her eyes, folds her arms and just waits for the rush to ebb so she can get the hell out.
"Bunny." Tisiphone gently sways to a halt at Evan's row of chairs, her muzzy features gentling to a slow, warm smile. "What you doing here?" She's puzzled about that, though. "Harriers were so good. You didn't need to hear that." Now pensive, and somewhat protective.
Hey, she only got the note seconds ago! Raedawn sticks her tongue out at Lessa's back and weaves her way through the flood of outgoing pilots towards the front. "Lasher!" she calls, utterly unable to remember the man's name for some reason as she catches up to him, holding out the message like a lifeline. "For you! Sir!" Hasty addition at the last.
Evandreus returns the warm, fond look to the bleary jock. "I wanted to see the tapes," he explains. Nevermind that he'd spoken up earlier in some mild contribution to the discussion— he doesn't blame her not remembering, state she seems to be in. "And make sure everyone survived the debriefing. I didn't think you were going to be here. Good to see you up on your feet again, dude."
Laskaris is, in fact, on his way to the hatch when the sound of someone calling his name stops him in his tracks. His eyes sweep over the sea of pilots, settling on Raedawn as she approaches him, note in hand. Brow furrowed in curiosity, he sticks his smoke in between his lips so he has a free hand with which to accept it. The young woman isn't familiar to him, must be one of Sitka's. He nods, his fingers prying open the note so he can quickly read the contents. "Thanks, Ensign," he replies as he reads. There's no reaction as he tucks it into his folder, and then makes for the hatch himself.