PHD #206: EVENT - Ghosts of the Past
Ghosts of the Past
Summary: The good is oft interred with their bones. RIP Ibrahim Sitka.
Date: 20 Sep 2041 AE
Related Logs: None.
Argento Samuel Angelica Astra Luke Constin Tisiphone Sitka Cidra NPC 
Civilian Hanger
See Log for Set
Post-Holocaust Day: #206

The temperature down in the hangar bay is raised a few degrees form the rest of the ship, it has to deal with the heavy saturation of bodies that now occupy it on an around-the-clock basis. Just one more irritant that nettles at the some 500 people that call this part of the ship home now. Refugees from every walk of life have tried to carve out a little portion of the hangar to call their own, with makeshift dividers strung between cots that were never meant for permanent use. There is little privacy, little sense of personal space, and very nearly just a sense of organized chaos. Some say the military is doing its best to keep the place peaceful, sanitary, and hospitable. But then they added Saggies (not to mention those from Aerilon).

The few hundred souls that the Colonial military pulled off the surface of Sagittaron have had a harder time than the others about getting settled in. With their devote religion, shun of modernized medicine, and tendency to stick to their own, it has been a difficult process to transition them into life aboard the ship. Temperatures are running hot, patience is running thin, and tension is getting thick.

There has been another round of a clothing drive to outfit the newest refugees, the ship's crew asked to give until it hurts. While the support department can easily supply socks and underwear, but other garments are having to be reused, re-purposed, or sewn from scratch out of scrap material in order to provide at least two sets of clothing to each individual. There is a rousing jubilant cry from near the stairwell, as some of the crew emerge with the latest round of donations. Crew carrying boxes, or blankets, or armloads of clothing filter in, heading toward a sorting and distribution station that has been set up and manned by civilian volunteers and is guarded by the wary eyes of the MP's.

Argento walks through the hangar bay area, head turning left and right, looking for someone, anyone he knows who might be among the survivors. It's the first time he's ventured into the hangar bay since they arrived at Aerilon, and he doesn't look to hopeful. But he has to at least try.

One such MP being present at the moment is Samuel, who's watching the proceedings a bit carefully at the moment, most of his attention on the crowd, in case someone should behave like they shouldn't be behaving. Noticing Argento's arrival, he offers the man a brief nod, before he goes back to watching the crowd carefully.

Angelica is down in the hanger bay, getting some footage of the new arrivals Lots of people packed in here, as she sweeps the camera around. Pondering for a moment, the waste of space, as she focuses the camera up on the ceiling. "They could almost divide it into another floor…a few pillars and some floor…yes, an idea I think." As she sweeps the camera once more, before turning it off. "Or at least some curtains…liven the place up a bit.

One woman is sitting in a wheelchair, surrounded by children. They are all dressed shabbily, and are all thin to the point of near-starvation. Seven children standing, and two newborn infants in her arms. They are clustered near five cots aranged together; perhaps they are sharing. The woman looks towards the people who carry in the clothes, and she nods her head. Together the group, newest to the Cerberus, make their way across the hangar. The tallest boy, maybe ten or eleven, pushes the woman in the chair, who seems half-stifled with the heat, and quite exhausted.

Along the portside bulkhead, words are slowly fading out. A prayer ending in a mixture of dialects-from the distinct tones of the Aerilon back country-to the more swarthier-yet poetical bent of those from Sagittaron. It seems some things people can look past prejudice for, and the Lords can be one of those points. "So Say We All." comes the deep bass tone of the rather tall fellow leading the group. "Alright- because here in the Navy they thrive on monotony-we will be having lessons and services again to-" However at the cries of newly brought digs- his flock's attention is diverted- as it seems the people are quick to head over to get what they can.

Luke, merely lets the word die on his lips, as a smile shows on his pock marked face. "Alright- it seems sometimes, the good shepherd hears our cries…Be Orderly.." called out to those departing. Don't worry, the brother will mill over once pocketing the small leather bound book in his hands.

Constin is dressed in the on-duty tan uniform of an MP. Still looking rather like an extra in a horror movie, the big man's face is a mottled map of older pale scars and fresh dark bruises. Posted on the other side of the charity crates from Samuel, the sergeant still moves stiffly as he turns a slow look over those assembled.

"-the frak's gonna wear this stuff, anyway?" mutters Tisiphone, glancing sidelong over her shoulder as she carries a repurposed box full of repurposed clothes toward the distribution tables. She's been a bit of a ghost upon the Cerberus since her early return from Sagittaron, and the last of the bruises from the SSLF's farewell to her are still fading. "It's not even- /look/ at it." A little roll of her eyes as her attention turns forward again.

Cidra may not be immediately noticed as part of the crowd in the starboard hangar. She stands out from the civvies due to her military clothing but she's made an effort to appear…unobtrusive apart from that. She's in off duty dress, no sign fo rank on display. And she's wearing her hat. The green cap she favored during her time on Sagittaron. Brim pulled down a little over her face. Gods know *why*, as there's certainly no sun in here to keep off her nose. She's talking in low tones and somewhat broken Standard to one of the Sagittarons, actually. And then she…leans forward to sniff him. Or at least the general vicinity of his jacket. "Ah…" she murmurs. In a low sort of critical assessment. She sounds generally pleased with her olfactory findings, however. Whatever they're engaged in, it's enough to keep the civilian she's chatting with/smelling from immediately to the donation hand-outs.

Sitka slouches in with some others, a meager pile of clothing slung over his arm. There is a pair of jeans in the mix, an odd sweatshirt or t-shirt in there, but at least it's something. His shoulders are rolled forward, and he moves towards the sorting table with an careless sort of relaxed demeanor while a cigarette hangs from bare upturn of his scarred lips.

The viper Captain pauses in front of the table, waiting briefly in the small line of people before he can hand over his meager offerings to a civilian man who is representing the refugees for Sagittaron. There's an odd moment, where their eyes meet and the clothes hang somewhere in the balance of being handed off and being taken. The bearded civilian's eyes round out with the telltale sign of recognition. You. Is muttered with such venom and surprise it gives others around Sitka and the bearded man (Alexios) some pause. You sentenced my little Danae to rot in the prison! Before Sitka can raise a verbal response, or even draw a breath to, the man is lurching across the table.

<FS3> Cidra rolls Alertness-20: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Samuel rolls Alertness-10: Success.
<FS3> Constin rolls Alertness-10: Good Success.
<FS3> Tisiphone rolls Alertness-20: Success.
<FS3> Argento rolls Alertness-20: Good Success.
<FS3> Luke rolls Alertness-20: Terrible Failure.
<FS3> Astra rolls Alertness-20: Good Success.
<FS3> Angelica rolls Alertness-20: Good Success.

You paged Cidra and Luke with 'You see nothing but the ensuing fight.'
You paged Samuel and Tisiphone with 'Alexios is holding /something/ but you can't tell what.'
You paged Constin, Argento, Astra, and Angelica with 'You see that Alexios is holding something in his hand. Small. Metallic. Pointy.'

Argento passes by Samuel and is about to say something when he's interrupted by a nearby commotion surrounding Sitka and a bearded man. He turns and sees that Alexios is holding something sharp and pointy in his hand. Argento pats Samuel on the arm to get his attention. "That man has a weapon," he warns.

Samuel frowns as he sees that the man has something, blinking a bit as he hears Argento's words about what that something is. "Weapon?" he asks, softly, just as he starts moving in the direction of Alexios, frowning a bit. Glancing around to see where the other MPs are now.

Angelica glances over at the distribution area a moment, "god awful clothing they are passing out…You think they'd raid a mall or something when they recon these planets." She shakes her head a bit, "hmmm, interesting…" as she brings the camera back up, and focuses on the action taking place.

The chair-bound woman sighs softly, looking at the crowd of people, then the tables. She trembles slightly, her eyes wide and alert, as if she is not yet accustomed to being in a place of safety. Relative safety. "Mama Astra," ont of the girls with her says softly, "Do you want—?" But her question is never finished, interrupted by commotion. Astra half-rises from her seat, and then she speaks to the children, her voice forcedly calm, crisp and no-nonsense. "All of you. Go back to your cots now. Behind them like we practiced. Now. That man," she points, "has a knife."

The scrolls pocketed safely for now, the Brother is now moving to the distribution tables. Of course he can last long in his dirty habit and pants, however he does need stuff like socks and underoos. He can forego the other- and live with the stink. He's had worse. Luke does, however hesitate as he catches sight of a small throng of children and a woman with two babes. There's a bit of a turn towards her as his mouth is opening, "Sis-"Again he is cut off by shouting at the line. The tall gemenese male watches before his voice is yelling out to the man who's back he can clearly see (Alexios). Words coming out-probably to join the cacophony already in the air- though his is definitely in the Saggie verse. From the sound of it- it's generally along the line of 'Hey Knock it Off." or something to that effect, and without swearing to join in as others might be doing. And like most priestly types would, he is sticking his nose in it- in so much as he is heading in that direction. Perhaps not for the best.

Constin doesn't answer Tisiphone's question directly. Instead, he offers a dry comment to Samuel, "No shit. Supply says I can't req any more-" the drawled words abruptly bark out, "Knife!" and the standard issued sidearm (his third pistol this month) is quickly drawn, the sergeant wincing and gritting his teeth at the abrupt motion. In a drill sergeant boom, the marine barks, "Stand down!" at the bearded Alexios, levelling his sidearm.

There's a muttered snatch of Sagittaran from Tisiphone, tossed up toward Sitka as the Captain takes his turn with his clothes, accompanied with a brief flick of a glance. She looks away a moment later, scratching at the corner of her mouth to keep a grin in check. Alexios's angry, venomous words bring her attention back, the lift of her chin pushing the mirth back off her face. "Hey," she calls forward. Then, louder: "Hey." Then, sharper, more Sagittaran. Her voice cracks halfway through the coarse syllables — about the time Constin shouts knife — and she starts trying to shove her way forward.

Translation of Sagittaron: Tis says to Sitka, Your Glidewater shirt better not be in there. And then, toward the kerfuffle, Whoa, back down. Back the frak down.

Cidra is quite absorbed in whateverlittle deal she's got going on between her and the civilian. They exchange…something. Their bodies kind of block precisely what it is, so it's hard to tell precisely what she's pocketing into her uniform. The sounds of fighting, however, make her head come up. "What in the worlds…?" Head snapping in that direction she squints, trying to figure out what the devil is going on.

The tussle is short but brutal, cussing coming from both Sitka and Alexios in some odd mixture of Sagittaron and Common that sounds guttural and heartfelt. For those that speak the language, between the grunts of the effort of the fight, Sitka is shouting something about having a job to do, and Alexios is calling him a traitor to his people. Alexios doesn't even slow at the shout from Constin, even as Sitka himself just tries to subdue the man. The viper captain takes what seems like a punch to gut, then another, but those that heard the murmurs of a 'knife', know the truth. There's a third sharp jab and the man just sort of holds on to Sitka as the both go oozing towards the floor. The crowd starts to buzz, the people are starting to mill, and after Constin has drawn his weapon? Blood starts to boil.

Argento's instinct is to push his way through the crowd behind Samuel and Constin, even if there isn't anything he can do, not being armed himself, and not trained like the marines are to deal with this kind of situation. As the crowd clears around Constin when he draws his sidearm, Argento stands a few paces behind the MPs. He watches Sitka and Alexios struggle on the floor, sees Sitka get stabbed multiple times. "We need a medic!" he shouts, looking around to see if there's a doctor anywhere around.

"Knew this day was to be a bad one…" Samuel mutters to himself, before he moves forward a bit faster now, drawing his own sidearm as he glances over to Constin, then back to the crowd.

Angelica hmms, as she keeps focuses in on the action. Spying the military out of the side of her vision. Yep, macho type…first thought is to draw a gun. "You'd think that would be the last action when dealing with a crowd." As she continues her work, getting the best images she can.

Astra's eyes go wide, and she turns her head, making sure the children are safe. They have scampered to their cots, and are now tipping them on their sides and dragging them into a square and taking shelter in the middle of them. Then she looks back and, seeing chaos growing about her, wheels her chair about sharply to get somewhere safer herself. At this moment a quartet of burly refugees surge forwards, and they tip over her chair. She goes sprawling, having scant time to tuck her babies close, and she lands heavily, wincing and curling around them protectively as the chair topples and lands on her legs.

More sharp tones from the Brother of Apollo who is surging forward-or trying to. He does have some pushing to do-which shouldn't be too hard, given his size. NO you fool. Stop! mainly because the Colonial Navy has guns, and they do know how to use them. Given the shout though that soons follow, he is pushing hard to move forward. "I am!" Luke's voice coming out loud-whether someone catches it or not. "Let me through-I am a doctor!" Welllll… That's kinda fibbing, but he can fill in for one in a pinch. There's movement as arms move forward, and his body follows suit. It's as if he is trying to break blocks in a pro pyramid game-but the tall man is making some progress-and is pissing some other people off. However once he gets there, it'll be up to the Navy, if the brother is allowed anywhere close to the stabbed man.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Constin:Melee vs Alexios:5
< Constin: Success Alexios: Success
< Net Result: DRAW

Constin spends 1 luck points on GET ON THE GROUND.

Constin sucks in a breath through gritted teeth as he tries for a mostly clear shot at the assailant- but his slumping to the ground, as well as the consequence of firing into a crowded bay make the shot a tough one. The marine holds his fire with a snarl. "Everybody MOVE!" the big sergeant orders, closing on the assailant and seeking to immobilize the man's knife-wielding arm at the shoulder in a textbook marine takedown.

Tisiphone was trying to get through the crowd. Suddenly, she's trying a whole lot harder, her eyes wide and flinty with fear-tinged anger. Bony elbows to short-ribs HERE, sharp shoves to shoulders THERE. She repeats her earlier shout in Sagittaran — it could be an order to cool off, it could be disapproval that she's missing the fight; hard to tell which, with Saggies — but the syllables stop short as she clears the last person between her and the fray. Wide eyes go wider, anger swapped out for a sickened look. "Oh, Eris no-" Constin's twisting the man's arm into exciting new geometry; she's trying to drag the downed Captain away from him.

Cidra still has very little clear idea of what's going on, from her position in the crowd. She's hardly the only one trying to rubber neck the fight, so it's a sea of people she's trying to move through. The voices of the men involved in the fight, or at least Sitka's, is recognized, however. "Shiv?" Mixture of fear and simple puzzlement. She makes a more concerted effort at shoving her way toward the fight rather than away from it. Fortunately, she's likely too far back to begin with to make an immediate nuisance of herself to the MPs.

It's some where around the time when Constin grapples Alexios that mob mentality starts to bubble up within the crowd. Take 500 plus people, retain them in tight quarters with limited supplies and when chaos breaks out it damn near equals pandemonium. Some, using the fight as a distraction, rush the distribution table to get a little bit more than their fair share, while others like Astra's family go to hide to ride out the horrors and hopefully remain unscathed. Others still are just trying to get closer to the fight to see what in blazes is going on, thus creating roadblocks and visibility problems for the MPs. The real problem, however, is some other Saggies rising up to help their brethren. Unfortunately, that brethren is Alexios. “Leave him be, this is justice!” “Traitor to your people!” “For his daughter, you swine.”

Alexios is pulled forcefully off of Sitka, the long keen edge of a jury-rigged blade whose handle has been wrapped in electrical tape remains in his hand, wet in an angry shade of red that drips liberally from it's tapered point. He manages to spit on the boots of the Captain right before he's twisted and face-planted into the deck. The shank goes skittering away between the feet of the crowd and then mysteriously…disappears.

Sitka remains supine on the floor until he's caught up under the armpits by Tisiphone and dragged a pace or two away. His face suddenly and drastically pale, shaking fingers touch at his midsection, a tentative gesture that leaves his fingers smeared in crimson. He tries to open his mouth and say something, anything, but nothing but a harsh sound escapes his lips and there's the whisper of air from the gaping wound that betrays a punctured lung. Blood starts too ooze onto the hexagonal tread of the floor, too plentiful for the material of his shirt to absorb. There's a moment when his eyes find and fixate on Tisiphone's, but there's not panic in them, just a vague apologetic look. There is a smirk, and then slowly, his eyes gloss over, the light behind them deadened forever.

Argento can hear someone shouting that he is a doctor, then sees the barrel-chested man whom the voice belongs to. He pushes his way in Luke's direction, trying to clear a path for him. "Let him through!" Argento shouts, holding his arms out in an attempt to keep everyone back. The crowd is getting rowdier by the moment, and even becoming violent. "BACK. OFF," Argento shouts again in frustration. "You're a doctor?" he asks Luke loudly over the ruckus once he finally catches up to the big guy. He turns to see if the MPs have been able to get Sitka to safety, only to see Sitka looking quite dead on the floor next to Tisiphone. "Oh, no," Argento mutters in exasperation.

"HEY!" Who knew that Samuel could yell that loudly? Standing next to where Alexios has been brought down, looking around at the nearest people, in particular anyone moving towards the scene. "STAND BACK!" Another brief pause as he glances around, carefully. "Everyone stay where they are… And stay calm." Studying the people nearest in the crowd, a bit carefully.

Angelica stays back from the whole mess, but keeps rolling. "Oh, this is great. Now look, they got a riot brewing…but fail to call for back up. This is gold I tell you, gold."

On the ground in the middle of the crowd, Astra struggles to pull her legs out from under the chair, doing all she can to keep the newborns from being kicked or stepped on, shielding them with her own body. She finally yanks one leg free, then the other. She raises her head, trying to see what is going on, but a forest of legs blocks her vision. She nestles the girls in the relative shelter of the downed chair, then positions herself to shelter them from the other side. "Gods help me," she murmurs softly.

"Yes." Luke offers, shortly, before he is moving past the other man who has joined him. taking Argento's presence as an invitation to get to the body. Albeit with the surge of the crowd behind him, and the pissed off MP's it might not go well, but Luke is forcing himself in and down by the bleeding pilot. "Hold Still." comes Luke's voice-trying for soothing, but it probably sounds more stern in that deep basement voice of his.

Ignoring any MP's wishes, Luke is quickly placing two huge, black, hands on the wound. He tries to pressurize even as the life is draining right out of the Sitka. Head coming down, he leans in- before he is checking for vitals. "Frak." Yes, a Brother did just curse. However that seems not to be stopping him, as he tries to get the man, comfortable, and then he begins to speak softly, over the dying, if not already dead man.

Those within that earshot-might begin to catch the Last Rites being said over Sitka's body. "I need two cubits.." An odd request in all of this madness.

Constin hits the deck with his weight on top of Alexios' back, dropping an extra two and a half hundred pounds into the 'drive your face into the ground' maneuver, grunting with sharp pain on impact (OW! My ribs). Holding Alexios in a half nelson with his right arm, his left presses the muzzle of the pistol into the man's back- more as a precaution to it going off than for any threatening value. "Blaine! Clear the knife," he grinds out, unaware that the blade has skittered into the crowd. Re-holstering his sidearm, the MP uses his freed left hand to activate the wireless. "Hub, Constin." A pained breath is sucked in through his teeth. "Rapid response team and medical to Civilian Hangar. Repeat-" and he repeats the order.

There's a constant, gritted-teeth mutter of syllables from Tisiphone to Sitka as she tries to move the much heavier pilot to safety. The sentiment carries, despite the language barrier — you'll be fine. You're gonna be okay. It's just a flesh wound. They peter off when the Captain looks up at her, and they stare at eachother until the light in his eyes flickers out. Her lips part, but no further words come. She doesn't even seem to hear Luke's request for his oboli, where he works not inches away from her.

Cidra does come to a stop at the bark from Samuel, along with a good portion of the crowd around her. She's still sandwiched amid people, with little clear view of the horrible events that've just transpired. Luke's call for cubits makes her pale, however. She's woman of faith enough to know what that means. "Gods no…" she murmurs, breath catching in the back of her throat.

Beneath the weight of Constin, Alexios has ceased struggling. A few cracked ribs and all that extra weight pressing down will do that to a man. He just keeps muttering over and over again, 'for my daughter' in his native guttural language. The MP's call for a rescue team is too late for Sitka, but the tension in the room is still high and others have suffered minor scrapes and bruises in trampled mess, and a little girl is holding her arm while her mother sobs that it has been broken. It seems Samuel's barked order for peace and calm has fallen on deaf ears, as people skitter off with arms full of misappropriated clothing.

Argento stands close to where Tisiphone and Luke are looking after Sitka. He sighs and shakes his head as Luke says the Last Rites, fishing in his pockets for the cubits that Luke has asked for. He pulls out two and kneels down to give them to Luke. "Here," he says, trying not to let his voice betray what he's actually thinking: that death is death, and that silly religious rites aren't going to do the Captain any good now.

"The knife…" Samuel mutters, nodding a bit at Constin's words, and starts looking around for the weapon, grimacing a little bit in the process. When he can't seem to find it, he sighs a bit, glancing over at Constin. "Looks to be gone," he offers, before he looks back to the crowd. "Civilians…" he mutters, with a shake of his head, as he keeps on looking around, rather carefully. Just in case troublemakers decide to be… well, troublemakers, now.

Angelica says, "oh yes, definitely going in the reel. I'm sure it's all quite interesting." As she pans across the crowds again, before turning the camera off. "Oh, wow..look at all the people here….""

Astra yelps as she is kicked several times, but she doesn't move, or make much sound, trying her best to keep her children safe. She clings to the chair with grim determination as the babies wail, until someone tries to shove the chair out of the way. "Knock it OFF!" she screams, her voice sharp, raw. "My babies are there!" The answer doesn't travel far, but Astra's yell back does. "Don't you touch them!"

…"May your spirit find solace on the other side.. Our good shepherd, Apollo, I your humble servant, ask that you help guide him to the ferryman, and that Charon finds his soul. May he be ferried over to the place of his fathers peacefully, and his wickedness if any, forgiven of him…" Luke's voice croons out softly in the ancient tongue, reserved for such rites. A glance is given to Argeto, and the coins are taken "Thank you." said softly before he places each one on the eyes of Sitka. Carefully he moves the man's arms to rest over his heart. "May you rest now, in Paradise brother, till we all find each other in Elysium.." he finishes, before those bloody fingers make a small sign-smudging Ibrahim's forehead. A kiss to either cheek and he is rising-as he mutters: "So Say We All." Hand rising to forehead, before stopping at lips, and finally resting over his heart. A glance is passed to Tisiphone. "I am sorry." said with the sincerity of a priest and the certainty of a Doctor passing ill news to a family member.

Constin plants a knee in the middle of Alexios' back, releasing the half-nelson as the marine maneuvers first one, then the other of the man's hands behind his back, secured with cuffs drawn off of Constin's duty belt. "Right," the sergeant mutters to Samuel's report. Keeping Alexios pinned with a knee planted between the shoulder blades, the kneeling sergeant surveys the scene with a frown. Raising his voice, the big man barks, "All civilians, stand ten paces back. All Fleet personnel, stand forward!" Removing Alexios from the bay will wait for the arrival of backup.

Angry shouts and confusion; the scuff and stomp of countless feet shoving this way and that; the heat and smell of the press of hundreds of bodies; barked orders against the disarray and whispered rites for the freshly dead. Somewhere under it, Tisiphone remains knelt at the dead Captain's side with bloodied hands, chalk-faced and wet-cheeked. "Don't," she whispers, numbly, when Luke presses the oboli into place, then: "Don't- touch him," when his arms are folded on his chest. Not that she moves to /stop/ him, as she says it. She looks up to Luke for the first time at the I'm sorry, and her face contorts. She hides it first in her hands, then against Sitka's chest, sobbing.

"Get out of my damned way…!" Cidra says tersely as she struggles more with the crowd around her again at Constin's call. Not that she's particularly good backup at the moment. "Sergeant!" She's at least making headway toward the Marine. "What the devils happened?"

The military muscle finally starts to make itself known in the civilian hangar bay, pouring in the entrances are the first alert medical teams and marines in black combat attire on the off chance they have to contain a full blown riot down here. The civilians are starting to get the hint, that maybe they should calm down and disperse back to their own little nooks, lest the end up like Alexios over there. Alexios for his part is now stony silent, tugged along with Constin begrudgingly with his blood-stained hands now restrained behind his back. A medic stops by Astra's over-turned chair, gently trying to coax her out of her fetal feral position as she guards her babies, trying to get the woman righted and situated and check them over for injuries. The influx of marines are all shouting and waving back the civilians: "The worst is over." "Return to your assigned area." "Disperse." "Move it along people clear the area for medical. If you're injured, and can move, form a line on the port side or wait for medical to come to you." Constin is relieved on the deck to take the prisoner to the brig and secure him, and no doubt gets greeted by heaps of paperwork for his troubles. Samuel is left to answer Cidra's questions.

"So say we all," Argento repeats after Luke somberly. He regards Tisiphone with a look of sympathy, as she protests the religious man's rites and buries her sobs in the dead man's chest. Constin's trying to get some order around here. Argento slowly stands up and steps forward as the Sergeant has ordered, waiting until the backup finally arrives. As things start to calm down, his eyes move around the room. An officer dead, civilians injured, Astra knocked out of her wheelchair, oh and the press is here. Wonderful. What a mess. Now that the marines have things under control, Argento makes his way over to Astra to see if she needs any help. "Mrs. Koios? Are you all right?"

Frowning a bit as he sees Constin head off with the prisoner, and leaving him to answer the CAG's question, Samuel turns in the direction of the woman now. "I'm not entirely sure, sir," he offers. "Looks like the prisoner recognized the Captain from somewhere, and attacked him with a knife. Had some trouble finding the weapon, though." Another brief pause as the corporal looks around the room for a few moments. "I'm sorry," he offers a bit more quietly.

Angelica hmmms a moment, as she watches things calm down a bit. Slipping the camera into her bag, she digs around a moment and pulls out a recorder. Making her way over towards Samuel now that things are a bit quiet. "Oh, yes…got a riot here.." as she clicks on the recorder hoping to get some sound bites.

Astra struggles against the medics at first, not quite realizing that they are there to help. When she finally understand, she goes limp, compliant, allowing them to lift her to the chair and check her over. She winces, pressing her hands to her belly, evidently in some pain. The babies are screaming at the top of their lungs, bruised but otherwise unhurt, and voicing their opinion of things. Astra looks up as Tony speaks to her, and she gives a shake of her head. "No. And… I want my children with me. I won't have them alone down here in this… madhouse… while I'm up in Sickbay." She points to where the seven kids rescued with her are peering from their cot-stockade, then winces again, closing her eyes.

One large hand, moves to reach for Tisiphone's shoulder- as ever the Brother, Luke does try to console her. Even as the crowd rages in confusion behind him- it seems that Luke is more or less concerned with the sobbing pilot right now- and not the order-which is lost in the shouting. "Let them take him." Luke says softly, as he tries to help allow the medics some room around Sitka-however it will be soon-that he is moved back- by an MP. After all, he's not the Chaplain, around here.

Odd for Tisiphone, of all people, to protest a religious rite — for those who know the pilot, at least. But her reaction to her Squadron Leader's death is also more than a little odd in its… intensity. "Don't touch me-" she hisses, slapping blindly at Luke's outstretched hand and missing, then struggling again at the corpsmen and their inexorable arm-holds as they restrain her, hold her back from the corpse as they start hauling it onto the stretcher. "No," she moans, trying to squirm free and get to her feet. "No, let me go." She doesn't get anywhere.

"Attacked…the Captain…what…?" Cidra's been largely spared an upclose view of the heart of this brouhaha until now, the mass of unruly humanity a sort of merciful shield from the sight of it. She is no longer so lucky. At Samuel's recap her gaze turns to Luke, and Tisiphone over Sitka's bloody body, fighting with Luke. Little of it seems to register with her, save the sight of the dead man. She goes stock still, blinking very rapidly. Like she's trying to clear what she sees from her field of vision. Like that will make it all go away, as if it were some terrible dream. She's gone pale as salt. A shaking hand is raised to her lips, which sort of part as if she might say something. But no words come. Her entire body's shaking now and she wavers, as if about to fall.

It almost seemed a hard decision to pull Tisiphone from Sitka's lifeless body, but move him they must. The medicos flicker glances of apology to the grieving pilot and CAG, before carefully and respectfully making the transfer to the stretcher and carting him discretely away, ferrymen in their own right. The mass of MPs start to comb through the crowd, looking for signs of the weapon or any other potential disgruntal outbreaks and medics start to quietly check over the injured, including Astra. The worst is over. Disperse. Easier said than done.

"Of course, Mrs. Koios," says Argento. "I'll make sure the children all join you in sick bay." Argento gives a nod to the medic who helped Astra into her chair. He looks over at the hiding children, and waves to them, trying his best to look friendly and harmless. One or two of the older ones have already figured out that it's okay to come out now, and soon the younger children follow. Not knowing what the kids call Astra, he uses the nickname he heard Evan use the day before. "Hey kids. My name's Tony. Mama Astra needs some rest so that she can better. We're going to go with her, okay?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Samuel repeats to Cidra. "He was a good man…" Looking from the CAG, he glances around the room a bit quietly, before he looks over at Angelica. "Thankfully, it didn't quite get to a full scale riot," he comments a bit quietly. "Although good people dying in such a way…" He shakes his head a bit, trailing off now.

Angelica nods, "Do you think it would have went better had you tackled the attacker, rather then drawing a gun? Or called it in right away?" She asks of Samuel. "perhaps a better way of handing out the supplies as well..,maybe a cage of some kind, with a know. That might work, or a basket on the end of a pole." She ponders a moment, "Well I'm sure this will change things down here, right?"

The seven children huddle into a small group, the youngest ones nudged to the inside. "Don't you touch us, sir," answers the oldest boy, narrowing his eyes. "We'll go when Mama tells us to." They look to her, and she glances at them, beckoning to them as the medics tend to her. The second-oldest boy nods, only then, to Argento. "We'll come with you. But like Zander says, don't touch us. 'Specially Petra." They nod warily. Meanwhile Astra slumps in her chair, still shaking.

Luke backs off. Simple as it goes, he will not try and force consoling onto Tisiphone-or is he in the mood to find himself shot. Backing up the Brother is turning to head back into the crowd- preferably back to his cot, before he can get any more shoving from the MP's.

"Let me go, let me go-!" Tisiphone's sobbing moans shift suddenly to a raw-edged shout. Narrow shoulders twist under corpsmen hands, pushing up. She gets one stumbling step before she's brought down by, of all things, the slippery puddle of Sitka's blood. Back to her knees she goes, fatigues stained wet and red-black. It's her last attempt to follow — or delay — the exit of the stretcher, it seems; it's there she'll stay until she's released, crumpled under the weight of her own grieving.

Cidra does not register at all what Samuel says to her past, 'I'm sorry, sir.' She wavers again, lanky form rather like a reed in a stiff wind. Snapped by the stiff wind. Down she goes, falling in a heap to the hangar bay floor. It's not a faint, quite. She's still technically conscious. She just sits there, face contorting into strange, muted expressions, as if in a daze. It's the departing stretcher she stares at. Tisiphone's crumpled form is in her general field of vision, but it's unclear whether she really *sees* it or not.

Argento grins as the two older boys tell him how it's going to be, and holds up his hands to show that they're not touching anybody or anything. "Wouldn't dream of it. /Especially/ not Petra. Go on now." He has no idea which one is Petra. He stays with the group, making sure to stay in the back so that no one gets lost.

The children make their way to Astra, who a couple of medics are discussing at the moment. She puts her arms around them, a brief gesture, and then she doubles over. "Thanks," she murmurs to Argento, offering him a wan smile, her lips reddened a little. "It's all right, kids. He's okay. The doctors will make me okay. Thea and Andra are fine." She looks around, blanching as she catches a glimps of the tacky-drying blood-pool, and she directs the children's gazes elsewhere.

Samuel looks about to answer, but doesn't say anything as he studies Angelica for a few moments. Grimacing briefly before he speaks. "I don't know. Don't think anyone would have managed to reach him early enough for it to have made too much of a difference. In the end, a brave man would have died no matter what, I suspect…" He shrugs a bit at the last part of the questions, "I don't know. That would be up to the people in command to decide…" Looking back to Cidra, he grimaces a little bit as he sees the woman go down like that, then back to looking around the room a bit carefully.

Angelica nods, "Alright…a shoot first, and ask questions later…ok. Right, then…I'll remember that." As she turns and looks about again for a moment. "hopefully it won't happen again on your watch. That would look very bad on the record. Oh, I'm sure everything will come up at the inquiry."

It takes some time to clean up the mess down here, righting the cots and cubbies and sorting out the distribution table again. Until that is finished, the MP presence down here remains thick and little will be tolerated. Move along, nothing to see here. The worst is…over.

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