PHD #094: EVENT - Hatin' From the Oven
EVENT: Hatin' From the Oven
Summary: Rescuing a survivor has never been so complicated.
Date: 2041.05.30
Related Logs: All Leonis logs.
Cappella Cilusia Haeleah Hal Oberlin Ryker Samuel Sitka Stavrian Tisiphone Trask Tucana NPC 

It's been a thankfully quiet handful of days since the great reunion of both teams at the Sagittaran Embassy. Thus far, it's served as an adequate base of operations. In fact, things are quiet. Too quiet. People on watch have encountered an utter lack of Cylon patrols. One of the more restless people in the operation is Hal, the CIB agent picked up by the Airbase team when they were stranded on the other side of the ruined bridge. Cleaning his pistol and tucking it into the belt of his dark grey slacks which are caked with dirt and filth, he brushes the back of his hand against his forehead and paces a little. Oberlin has agreed to send people to find the group of survivors he was talking about. The other civilians (and Otis the dog) will be staying here. Along with some of the military.

A chance for walkabout? Sign Tisiphone up as soon as frakkin' possible. The reunion has been great, but the wrought-iron fence around the embassy's grounds are seeming closer and closer with each passing day. She's kitted up in her ill-fitting armour, rifle over her shoulder, helmet tucked under her arm. One leg up on the shattered windowframe, she peers out at the street beyond the gates, cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.

Haeleah is also going for the stroll, armored up, rifle over her shoulder. She still looks uncomfortable in all of that. She'll always handle her engineering kit with more ease than her gun. "Hey, El-Tee," she offers to Oberlin.

Quiet. Lack of cylons. And some agent guy talking about survivors. Stavrian's been somewhere out of the loop, kept busy tending to the wounded for the last few days, but when a party gets ready to move out he's tapped and sent down. People don't want to bleed to death, that's understandable. He's got his kits and a rifle as he comes out, smoking a cigarette that he no doubt pilfered from Tisiphone or Trask at some point early this morning.

Samuel is one of those that doesn't want to stay behind for this one. Checking his rifle carefully, he nods a little to the people present. Good thing to move out and stretch the legs a bit, isn't it?"

The chance to get out of the frakkin' embassy, dangerous though it might be, is a welcome respite for Cilusia. She's used to being up up and about, Doing Stuff. Suited up in armor, every buckle and strap tightened, rifle over her shoulder, she's milling about, waiting for this shindig to get underway. "Ammo…flashlight…" she talks to herself a little, patting where on her gear stuff is to make sure she's not forgotten something.

Trask can always spare a smoke for his favorite Saggie. Stavrian even got one of the few remaining, quasi-melted, smooshed chocolate truffles. That's about all he's contributing to the war effort, this time around. "Don't die," he casually tells the medic. As for himself, Bootstrap is staying behind to watch over the injured Bunny and Pickle.

Sitka's apparently found a few spare cycles in his busy schedule of smoking joints and scavenging books from the embassy's all but defunct library, to volunteer for this 'mission'. He's got his rifle strapped to his back, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and is checking the loadout on his sidearm as he dawdles on into the room housing the main gathering.

Oberlin's been poring over a map. His arm still in a sling, he looks generally uncomfortable. "So, uh, keep in mind I'm volunteering to help this guy and committing the double-sin of sending people off. I'm making this volunteer-only for the most part." He gestures over towards Hal and steps away from a battered table. The map is clearly visible, with some scribbling on it. It shows the layout of Kythera. Some lines are drawn around the northern quadrant of the city, squiggles around the stadium.

This is where Hal steps in. "Allright. So. We've got an encampment of people. Good people. One of them's a pilot and /found/ a way off-planet, or so he claimed, but I didn't get time to get all the details. There's just one problem." Gesturing towards the map, he strides over and points at the lines, "Cylons have been blocking this area off. They've been — digging. Like they're looking for something. H-train station's levelled so we can't use that. There aren't physically enough of the bulletheads to be everywhere at once, but I need some firepower to get there. They've taken over this place." He points at a skyscraper, "The Rutger Tower, and seem to have been using it as some kind of watch point. This is the place to avoid." Several blocks behind the stadium, there's a cluster of smaller buildings. "This is where my people are holed up. Or — were. They're safe for the time being, but I don't know." He smiles nervously.

"We got a ride?" This perks Haeleah's interest. She edges over to where she can kind of get a look at the map. "Not that I'm complaining about your planet's fine hospitality, but I can't say I'd mind heading home." She's got her engineering kit strapped to her back, of course. She doesn't travel without it. "I know you said you didn't have many details, but any idea what condition this mysterious way off-planet's in?"

Stavrian gives Trask a too-serious-to-be-serious thumbs up on the way out. Good advice, bro. He sidles up towards Haeleah and Tisiphone, puffing away as Hal starts to talk, and his chin makes a quick upwards motion at Sitka. Yo. Then his attention goes back to Hal. A black brow arches sharply at the talk of a pilot getting off the planet, smoke curling from his nose in two grayish streams. He folds his arms, shifting his weight onto his right foot. "Digging. Hm." Nothing spectacular to add there, lips thinning pensively at the rest. "So what's the plan? Sneak in around them or try to lure them away first?"

Samuel pauses for a few moments as he listens to what's being said now, shaking his head a little bit. Waiting to hear what the plan is.

Sitka furrows his brows slightly as Hal speaks up, and finishes slapping the magazine back into his pistol. It's stowed in its thigh holster with a solid thump as he shoulders his way in for a closer look at the map. Catching Stavrian's nod, he flashes the medic a small smile in return, around his own smoke.

Still feeling a bit out of place after getting here, but that doesn't stop Ryker from wanting to help, so everyone can get the FRAK out of this rock. He had some time to get some bandages on that flesh wound and now is back in his full outfit. No time to shave, still carrying that beard of his. The man stands close to the ones planning everything, ready to jump into action again. Ryker looks around the place, he is /still/ scanning for familiar faces, but none so far, it seems that nobody from the Battlestar Valkyrie is here, aside from him.

Tisiphone turns away from the broken window when Oberlin speaks up, plucking her cigarette from her mouth. "Pfft," she exhales, at the 'volunteers…mostly' crack. One corner of her mouth twists upward, ruining the brooding expression she'd so carefully been maintaining, when Stavrian nears. There's a faint nod to him before her eyes sweep over the others assembled. "Patrols of four Centurions, like we had on the other side of the river? Or larger groups?" she asks, turning her eyes from Sitka to Hal.

"Heh. Buried treasure huh? Maybe we'll get off this rock and be a few million cubits richer, right?" Cilusia smirks a little bit. "Any estimates on how many tincans are digging over there? Are your people able to fight? Like, I don't want to get out there and have them AND Cylons blasting at me. I didn't come this far to have some frakkin' idiot shoot me dead. That, and I can only hope the elevator still works. I'd prefer not to climb dozens of floors with these legs." Yep, she's short, which makes it hard to go two or three at a time.

"I admit, it's a stretch. Look - uh, with the situation the way it is, the Cylons seem interested in killing us only when we get close to certain objectives. They're keeping us boxed in. I don't have all the answers, I'm afraid." Hal explains. "But what he /said/ was this — it was intact. Just, the way was blocked. We need firepower to get to it. And numbers. I'll throw my hat into the ring on this one but we have to have the power of numbers."

His finger traces upwards. Having addressed the question about the way off as best as he apparently can, he turns to Tisiphone now. "Standard patrols of four, uh, yeah. I noticed that. They were also operating something that shook the ground. This makes me think the tunnels aren't going to be safe forever." To Cilusia - "Don't worry, I don't want to be climbing /shit/. We're going /down./" He traces his finger away from the tower to another cluster of buildings. "Listen, if I don't make it, I'm giving you an address." He glances around nervously. "One Three Eight Six Paradise Drive. Knock on the red door below. Five times. Then two. Then five." His expression darkens. "And I don't know what they're digging for. Or why."

Haeleah nods short to Hal, stepping back next to Cilusia. Strength in tech numbers and all that. No more questions from her. She's ready to roll out whenever they roll.

Hal also belatedly turns to Stavrian. "The plan, I think, is to keep out of visual range of that tower and do some patrol spotting. Then we slip past those trenches. Those Cylons don't seem to be interested in hunting us. So we don't make noise. I'd recommend not going in shooting if possible." He smiles a brief flash of teeth at the medic. "How's /that/ for wishful thinking?"

Sitka either doesn't have any questions, or is simply keeping his own counsel for the time being. He continues to study the map while the others converse, one hand shoved into a pocket of his olive drab fatigues, the other tending to his cigarette now and then.

Stavrian watches Hal talk, his expression getting more and more…not /quite/ comfortable with the man's story. His eyes flicker to the other faces, as if trying to reassure himself that his general unease is just him, then looks back to Hal. No smile back. "We'll do our best."

Cylon patrols, gotta love those. Ryker looks over his shoulder to see if somebody is behind him. Paranoid a bit? He is carrying his Assault Rifle, the safe is on so nothing to worry there. He approaches the group a bit more, to get a better picture of what's cooking. There is a specific point he pays attention to, and it's where the bunker is, he knows the patrols there were pretty heavy.

"Since we've had such luck avoiding fights in the past," Tisiphone mutters, mostly under her breath, on a breath of smoke. She rubs absently at a spot on her wrist-cuff, as if one of the metal charms was itchy. A final pull of her cigarette drags the last of the tobacco away from the filter and it's dropped to be ground out underfoot.

Samuel listens, while looking over at Ryker, studying the newcomer carefully for a few moments as he sees the man. Keeping quiet for now, he looks a bit lost in thought now.

"Hey. I /told/ you it was wishful. In any case, the best plans change." The Agent shrugs helplessly at Tisiphone. And to Stavrian, he adds, "You people saved my ass. And you're helping me here. I've got your backs. Anyway, I'm gettin' my gear and getting the Hell out of this place when you're ready to roll." He gestures towards the map. "Anyone got a good sense of direction? Take it. I know the neighborhood." And with that, he grabs his smg which has been stowed neatly against a wall, along with his satchel. "Waiting on you all."

"I'm better with schematics than maps, Mister," Haeleah says to Hal. "But I'm ready to go." Rifle kind of jogged up on her shoulder, to emphasize that point.

Good sense of direction, or merely opportunistic, Shiv takes the liberty of retrieving the map and folding it up, once Hal gives the go-ahead. "Let's do this, then," he tells the group at large, giving the thing a waggle with the two fingers he's got it pinned between.

"And I'm just a humble tailor…of sorts," Cilusia peeps up to Hal. More and more this is sounding like a certain fantasy novel (my engineering kit, my needle, my axe, er, hyrospanner…or something). Even so, she's geared up and has just enough cabin fever to blame for the crazy idea of wanting to leave this damn embassy.

Stavrian still looks a little…less than trusting. But as Sitka makes to move out and the others follow, he shrugs his rifle into place, checks his kits with two quick snap-open, snap-shut of the metal fastens, and falls into line.

"I like your style, man." Hal's spirits brighten a bit as he glances at Sitka, checking the safety on his pistol. "I wanted to be a stand-up comedian." Hal quips to Cilusia. "Then I almost became a cop, but mom said I was an overachiever. Good thing, too. Cops in this town? They took bribes." He checks his gear and makes his way towards the door. "I'll be outside."

Samuel nods a little as he sees Sitka take the map. "Should you need any help, sir. Then just ask," he offers quietly. The young man from the wilderness area of Picon nods a little bit to the others, getting his equipment ready for the happenings.

Ryker takes a step back as everyone gets ready. He looks at his assault rifle and then up again, then catching a brief glimpse of Samuel, who is apparently looking at him. The man offers a quick nod and in silence, joins the group that is about to leave.

Hal adds, belatedly, "I think we'll find you some work." To Haeleah. "Schematics. Someone you might want to meet." He nods to one of the other marines as he heads out.

Ocean Heights North — Kythera — Leonis
Post-Holocaust Day: #92
This neighborhood is a maze of tenements and public housing projects, decorated with brightly-colored graffiti of every conceivable variety. Its abandoned streets are littered with detritus from those buildings, the largest chunks of which are more than twice the size of a full-grown person. Broken stoplights hang loosely from sparking wires, their tricolored faces entirely devoid of life. Here and there, chain-link fences shield makeshift pyramid courts from view: monuments to the dreams of countless children, which — like the dreamers — have faded into silence.

It's a nice afternoon for a stroll through the less choice areas of North Kythera. Ocean Heights isn't the nicest place, and Hal's been true to his word. Partly cloudy with a chance of radiation, the sky casts thick, dark shadows over the ruined buildings of shabby blocks that weren't that well-maintained to begin with. This place is a disaster. Even worse, the looters haven't really been as active as there wasn't much to steal in the first place. Well, besides the pawn shop-liquor store row which dominates the commercial presence of this zone. Those have been hit, hard. As he marches through a debris-ridden side street, Hal gestures towards a smashed-out storefront that has been picked clean. At one point there were televisions lining one of the shelves.

"So, get this. These things don't even /work/ anymore. People still stole them. People. They never cease to amaze." He whispers, under his breath.

The journey has been uneventful thus far and the area's been clear of Cylon patrols. No clanking anywhere.

About two blocks up, there are larger piles of rubble, some of it looks like it's been deliberately moved. Piled up. Asphalt, dirt, and debris litter the area. About nine blocks northeast, the aforementioned Rutger Tower, the abnormally large building for the area still stands, like a guardian. No, more like a guard tower in a prison yard.

Rifle stowed across his back, sidearm out and safetied, Sitka's taken up a position near the front of the group alongside Hal. Taller though the Agent may be, the viper Captain manages to keep pace quite capably as they trudge through sewage-soaked garbage and runoff. His blue eyes scan the haze that hangs about the the remains of buildings left half standing— and the last bastion of Rutger Tower looming to the northeast. "Question for you," he asides to their tour guide, "the power grid should be pretty much hosed, right?"

The week of relative down-time has done little for Tisiphone's sunburn, but a lot for her stamina — she's not trudging nearly so heavily as she was the last time her group crossed the city. Pale eyes remain alert on their surroundings, sketching restlessly from between the ramshackle buildings to the sewer-grates, then up to the empty windowframes. No Cylons. No roach-swarms. So far, so good.

Rubble and stuff crunches underfoot as Cilusia moves along with the group. Occasionally, she spins around to take a look back down the road where they came from, rightfully wary of Cylons Doing Stuff from behind the group. Like chasing them onto bridges and then stopping to blow the bridge up and stuff.

Haeleah walks near the middle of the pack, trying to step as light as she can, but between her tools and her body armor and her naturally clompy gait she's not a perfect stealthy machine. She follows Sitka and Hal's lead through the blasted cityscape. She tries to keep aware of her surroundings, though. Eyes flicking up to the tower spiraling up in the distance. "You all see that?" she asks quietly. "There's a light up there. Or something." She points. A look to Hal. "Your pilot and his friends, or…?" She doesn't speculate. It's just kind of left hanging. Quietly in response to Sitka she mutters, "Should be. I guess somebody might still has a generator or something."

Ryker walks quietly with the rest of the group, his weapon securely held in his hands. He scans the area, making mental notes related to how everything is placed around them. His attention goes up to the tower, and Haeleah comments on something he just spotted "I see it" says the man, lowering his gaze back to the others. He adjusts the strap of his assault rifle, so it gets a bit more comfortable over his shoulder and looks up again.

Samuel pauses a little bit as he looks around now, shaking his head a little bit. "Where are the corpses?" he mutters, a bit uneasily, nodding a bit at the mention of the light, but looking around for a few moments longer.

"Feral dogs?" Tisiphone wonders, with a glance back toward Samuel. Just what the Marine wants to hear, no doubt — a suggestion that wild beasties remain within the city as well as without.

Sitka pretty much called it. Hal stops dead in his tracks as he glances up towards the building, while still in the shadow of the Shady Grove Apartments — which are still miraculously half-standing, and cranes his head past the edge of the building as he now glances up at the tower, and back to the pilot. "Completely." He says. "Um, this is new. And our people sure aren't in the habit of picking the most obvious place to live." He adds, for Haeleah's benefit. "So what the frak are they doing?" He reaches into his satchel, and much like the Colonial version of Batman, has a gadget for the occasion as he pulls out a set of binoculars and looks through them, before passing them around to anyone who'd like to have a look. Naturally, Sitka is first on the list.

Sitka also comes to a halt as Hal pauses to assess the situation. His cigarette's long been smoked out and discarded into a gutter, so he begins rifling about for another while the Agent digs out his binoculars. A flick of his eyes to Haeleah nearby, and a little lift of his shoulders in mingled uncertainty and agreement. When the gadget's handed over, he spins the focus a few notches and takes a look.

Haeleah crosses her arms along her chest, squinting off toward the tower, then back to Sitka and Hal. "Can you see anybody up there?" she asks the pilot. She doesn't seem to want to have a look herself. She can wait for a report. "This part of the city's a little…" Her voice drops, and kind of trails off, like she's not quite sure what she wants to say. "…has anybody seen any bodies for the last block?"

"Ha ha ha…" comes the comment from Samuel at Tisiphone's words. A brief headshakes follows, "I'm sure there's something much, much worse behind it…" Spoken a little bit darkly now, as he looks around a bit more careful. Letting the others handle the lights.

"None for a bit, now," Tisiphone murmurs, turning away from another restless scan of their surroundings to look at Haeleah. "Haven't heard any scavengers, either." She doesn't seem to want a turn with the binoculars, either, her hands slouched down into her pockets to keep them from fidgeting. Make that /visibly/ fidgeting — there's the faint, thin sound of her prayer-beads rattling within her one pocket.

Ryker moves towards Sitka, who apparently is looking through the binoculars "May I?" asks the man as he extends his hand. He looks at Sitka for a moment and then looks up, at the tower again. The fact that there are no corpses around is not his biggest concern right now. He looks at the others for a moment, there is of course, an uneasy feeling covering everyone.

"Oh yeah." Hal says, with a sideways glance towards Haeleah. "I don't know how they've done it but the lights are on. Cylons allright. And…people. If they're people. Working on something like they're painting the walls." He addresses the second statement, "There were /some/ bodies. I was going to say, Ocean Heights without corpses. It's a looking a little odd." He shakes his head at the whole issue and just summarizes. "Stay the /hell/ away from that tower. That's /my/ plan." As they stop, there's a sound coming a couple blocks up the way. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. It doesn't take a tactical genius to figure out what /that/ is. It's combing the wide street before the perimeter of the piled-up rubble. Hal clings to the side of the building out of the line of sight of the main road.

"Is there even anything here worth looting or scavenging. I mean, this doesn't seem like the greatest of places to live, you know? Kinda ramshackle." Kind of like her home. A little worse, but the same sort of dilapidated, government-sponsored housing. This is Leonis though, not Scorpia, and that stuff was run-down jungle village stuff. "You think…could that light up there, that flickering stuff…" she says, squinting her eyes and getting on tip-toe, for what good it might do. "You think that could be gunfire? I guess we'd hear it though, if it were."

There's a few seconds' worth of precipitous silence from the Captain. Then, muttered quietly under his breath, "Shit." He adjusts the focus again fractionally, peers for a few moments more, then starts to hand the binoculars off to Haeleah while still keeping his eyes — squinted — on the building in the distance. "Take a look at this. It's crawling with Centurions. People. What the frak?" He doesn't quite seem to have registered the comment yet about dead bodies; whatever he saw up there has his full attention at the moment. As Ryker comes up asking for a look, however, he passes the viewing apparatus off to the man instead.

Haeleah leaves the binoculars to Ryker and anyone else who wants a gander. That information from Sitka was pretty much all she needed to hear. She edges back into the shadows of one of the buildings that line the street. "Frak me…" she murmurs. It's becoming her catch phrase for all things Leonis.

Ryker takes the binoculars from Sitka just when the oh so familiar noise can be heard "Cover, cover" speaks the main with a low tone of voice, lifting his rifle to wherever that sound is coming from but walking backwards to reach the shadows again, getting against the side of one of the buildings there. He does, however, take a look at that tower with the binoculars, to see what's going on up there.

A frown appears, then deepens, as multiple reports of Lots of Centurions and people(?!) from Rutger Tower overlap from the binoculars-wielding crew. Tisiphone opens her mouth to ask something, but the heaving THUMP'ing cuts her words off before they've begun. She crouches down against the nearest stairwell — they've served her well on Leonis, thus far — and unslings her rifle as she does.

Stavrian has been on the lookout ith the rest of the group — just silent as he tends to be. "People?" He blnks at Sitka as the Captain passes off the binoculars. "What?" Now looking at Haeleah, as the binocs head off Ryker's way. It's like being teased, kind of. "What do you see?"

Samuel ducks back into the shadows as well, frowning a bit as he hears Sitka's words. Checking his rifle once more now, just to be ready for whatever might come.

Guess the thump thumping coming up the street startled Cilusia. Trying to get around the pile of rubble and around the corner with the rest of the folks, she manages to get her foot hooked on something sticking out of the pile, or in a crevice of the dirt there, or something. Either way, she winds up sprawled out on the stuff there with a loud thump of her own, along with a little hiss and the clack of her rifle against stuff. "Frak!" she hisses out, hoping it's not loud enough for the Cylons to notice.

One of the Cylons falls out of step and suddenly there are three sets of clanking metal feet instead of four. And then the others all come to a stop. They clearly deviate from their course and start coming in the direction of the group, down the nearest major street which is about a block to the right. The good news is they're not coming directly for everyone. So far, they can't be seen. Which means maybe they can't see? Now they are approximately one block northeast, next to a liquor store which is charmingly next door to the roach motel of an apartment the group is cowering behind.

Hal hisses and stops staring up at the building as he readies his SMG, trying to remain out of sight. The Cylons keep coming.

"People," Sitka confirms, briefly glancing toward Stavrian, then away as he hears the sound of clanking feet approaching. "Come on." He turns, unhitching his rifle from his back, and ducks into the smashed-open reception area of the ramshackle apartment building. Glass crackles underfoot as he wades through a sea of smashed windows and overturned chairs bristling with mold from being exposed to the rain and the elements for several months.

Stavrian makes an 'and?' sort of gesture at Sitka. Details plz…right before he heads clanking, and suddenly he's got other priorities. "Frak." He already had rifle in hands, but backs up into what he's pretty sure is greater shadow, training the weapon towards the clanking sounds as Sitka takes up traffic control. "Go, go…"

"This…is fraked up" says Ryker with a low tone of voice. He stops looking at the tower and he hangs the binoculars to his neck, for now, until someone else asks for them. He moves a knee to the floor, getting cover behind that side wall, his rifle ready to fire and pointed to where the noises are coming from. Deep breath taken, he takes a look around to define where everyone is located.

Hal wastes no time in following Sitka's lead, as he bounds into the reception building. The concrete floor has a couple moldy rugs on it, some smashed furniture. There are belongings on the stairs, an open backpack with some textbooks falling out. College textbooks. Someone's advanced calculus volume lies face-up and open, its pages partially shredded. Someone who lived here had dreams of moving out of the ghetto. His or her dreams died when the whole planet became one.

Meanwhile, the centurions keep moving on past, their angry red eyes turning as they end up on the other side of the building. They still don't see any humans. With that, they turn around and slowly start to move away in an orderly fashion as they resume their patrol route.

Stavrian holds out his hand for Ryker's binocs as the man goes by. He backs further into the apartment building, crouching down low as the Centurions go past.

Samuel keeps silent for now, watching the Centurions head past. Blinking a bit as they just move on. "Interesting…" he mutters to himself, before shaking his head a little.

Haeleah ducks into the reception area behind the others and ducking low, trying to avoid making too much noise as she goes. Trying. Rifle is unshouldered and ready. She still bears no resemblance to a groundpounder with the thing in hand, but weeks on the planet have made her sharper and getting it up and ready. "Frak…" she whispers to herself again. Her version of prayer, muttered profanity.

Covered in dust now from A-to-izzard, Cilusia picks herself up off the ground and gives a few hacking coughs. Brushing herself off, shouldering the rifle strap back over her shoulder and against her back, Cilusia follows the others into the building. Off comes her helmet and she more carefully wipes of fher forehead face.

Ryker looks at Stavrian and nods, he takes the strap of binoculars and pulls them over his head, handing them over to the other man. "That's…odd, to say the least." offers the man to Stavrian. His attention goes back to his surroundings, eyeing Sitka at the moment. When the Centurions seem to start moving away, he doesn't move away from his cover, not yet.

Sitka, tease extraordinaire. There's no elucidation forthcoming for the medic, as he edges around the corner of the wall, crouches, and brings his rifle to bear on the gaping opening to the street. The muzzle's nudged up against a crumbling section of drywall, and as he shifts, his booted foot bumps that calculus book. He doesn't pause to see what it is he's hit, but focuses on keeping his breathing steady as the machines pause for a long, terrifying moment before resuming their stompywalk on past. A flicker of his eyes, briefly, toward Cilusia.

Tisiphone stays where she originally took cover, hunkered down against the side of some cracked concrete stairs. The sound of people walking across broken glass sounds impossibly loud to her and, to her mind, there's no time to get up and move further inside. Rather like a baby animal choosing to hide in stillness rather than fleeing. She stays where she is until the sound of the patrol fades away.

"Well wasn't that lovely." Hal mutters as the sound of the centurions finally recede as he hides under a desk. Nope, no bodies in here. Just a shattered pictureframe of some happy couple. "I think they're going. Think they're gone." He darts his gaze from person to person within view, noting those not-present. Finally, he steps away, stopping only to pick up the picture-frame and comments on the obvious. "Man, look at her smile. She must've loved her to death." He says, ruefully, before setting it down on the top of the desk and poking his way back out into the side street.

Stavrian watches the spot that the cool kids were watching before. Over the black rims of the binoculars, his equally black brows gradually draw together into a wrinkly V. "The frak?" It's not even spoken, his lips just barely mouth the words. He turns his head, glancing down the way the centurions just vanished — binoculars still up, perhaps out of some morbid sort of curiosity to see them moving with high-powered lenses — then back at the tower. Then he lowers the instruments, hanging onto them until someone else wants them.

Sitka finally lowers his rifle once the sound of whirr clanking recedes into the distance, and all that's left of the centurions' passage is the pattern of their metal boots in the filth caking the asphalt street. He rolls out his shoulders a couple of times and shifts to his feet, again bumping the calculus book as he straightens. It gets a brief glance, a soft snort, and is nudged aside before he moves to rejoin the others. "Apostolos?" he calls out tentatively.

Haeleah straightens as the sounds of clanking death pass them by this time. She can't hold back letting out a relieved exhale. Not even risking muttered swearing this time.

Hal's already out in the side street now, pointing up at the rubbletrench those couple blocks north, glancing around for whoever else he missed before. Noting Tisiphone, he nods his head in a shallow arc. "Ready, waiting on you." He whispers.

Ryker stands up as well, lowering his weapon and putting the safe one. He looks around, then down to examine whatever is on the floor. The Valkyrie representative walks to meet up with the rest, still trying to move from cover spot to cover spot. He hears the name 'Apostolos' being called, he still doesn't know it's linked to Tisiphone.

"Here, Sir." There's the soft click of a safety being flicked back on before Tisiphone straightens, popping back into view. She puts her hand down on the edge of the stairwell and vaults over it, quick-stepping it to rejoin the group after a final glance in the direction the Centurions vanished in.

"I have a sneaking suspicion they won't just walk by the next time they drop by," Samuel mutters, getting prepared for moving out again now. Otherwise keeping silent.

"Probably not, man. I know /I'm/ not going to be hugging one anytimes soon." Hal says drily towards Samuel before slinging his SMG and cautiously moving north.

This time, Cilusia is more careful when she starts to crunch overtop of all that rubble. She clasps her rifle to the front of her body and falls in line with the rest as they move north.

Sitka's attention snaps toward the direction of Tisiphone's voice, when it finally pipes up, and there's a flicker of relief washed across his features. More crunching glass as he steps out of the smashed lobby, and moves in closer to murmur to the young woman, "Try to stay where I can see you, yeah? The CAG'll kill me if I misplace you." His lips twitch slightly as he moves on past, and he slings his rifle across his back again.

Samuel chuckles a little bit as he hears Hal, offering a half-grin, "Quite true," he offers, moving off with the others.

Ensign-herding: the real reason Captains go grey. "Didn't realize you all were frakking off inside, Sir," Tisiphone mutters back. She snorts, forcing a weak grin through the tension, before moving on.

It's pretty easy to move up and miss the main Cylon patrols. They're not exactly stealthy or fast and there's plenty of clearance to see one coming. As the group gets closer to the pile of unearthed rubble, there is ripped-up asphalt and dug-up dirt, creating a gigantic hole in the dirt below maybe about eight feet deep. As one looks around, the depth varies greatly. It's about ten feet wide, and extends in a huge perimeter. As one looks down, there is more haphazard digging that has been performed further within the perimeter. Every now and then, there is a faint shaking to the northeast. The ground is rumbling. Much like the digger at Kythera General Hospital for those that were there.

Hal wastes no time hopping down to the shallow point and then scrambling his way up, getting his already-dirty clothes even dirtier in the process and ambling to his feet. Within the perimeter there are more destroyed buildings, much like the ones the group just left.

Cappella is quiet as he is falling in with the others, he stays toward the middle of the group his eyes watching out for any surprises.

For those who are aware, there is a noise that can be heard in between rumblings. A building a block ahead - a Kythera City Library branch, still standing. Behind it, there's a noise. It's the sound of a woman's voice, yelping in pain. "Damn it." She grunts.

Sitka scans the skyline — or what's left of it — as he trudges on somewhere to the front of the group. He's already halfway down the shallow side of the ditch, hot on Hal's heels, when he hears the yelp. And pauses dead. "You hear that?" he demands of Stavrian, who happens to be nearest to him at the moment.

At the moment that yelp comes out, Cilusia is sliding down one side of the trench, then scrambling up the other side. She's not shy about getting dirty, sliding down on her back/side, and then getting back up on all fours. Better that than risk a broken arm or something!

Haeleah pauses a moment to steady herself as the ground rumbles. It's not so much that she's in danger of getting knocked off her feet. The sensation just seems to unnerve her. She looks back to Stavrian, dark eyes wide. "It feels like what happened at the hospital. Before it came down around our frakking heads." A hand idly reaches up pat her skull. Helmeted right now, for which she's glad. Head whips toward the sound of that voice, only really noticing it when the others draw attention to it. She winces at the pain in it.

Samuel makes his way along the others, looking around very carefully, before he pauses as he hears that yelp. "What the…?" Stopping and looking around a bit carefully, before he moves on. "Sounds like there's someone out there…"

"The frak's the point of this?" Tisiphone mutters as she follows after Hal, into then out of the trench. "Even Centurions couldn't climb out of this easily." She's keeping up closer to the front of the group, perhaps chastened by thoughts of potential CAG-scoldings. She pauses for a moment to wipe dusty hands against slightly-less-dusty fatigues, hands stilling mid-motion at the sound of the woman's voice.

Ryker moves forward with the rest of the team. He doesn't have to worry about clothes really, his own already look like crap. Like Sitka, he hears that and immediately moves one knee to the floor, removing the safe from his rifle and getting it ready. Stavrian was the one addressed by Sitka, however he heard that and looks at him, only to look back at the source of the noise after that. "Someone there" quietly says the man.

Stavrian nearly runs straight into Sitka's back when the Captain stops, almost going right up on his toes about half an inch behind Sitka's shoulder. The hairs go up on the back of his neck, blue eyes narrowing and scanning around them. "Yeah…sounded almost like…" He doesn't finish the phrase, looking instead of Ryker as he indicates where it came from. "Permission to check, sir?" He shoots at Sitka, already stepping away.

Cappella pauses when everyone else makes comment about hearing something he looks around, and shakes his head, not able to hear anything himself he just tries to stay alert.

"Can't move it." That woman grunts again. "Ugh." Still in Standard, but her accent is completely pinpointable. "Help!" She calls out.

Hal looks a bit shocked. "Could be one of ours in this zone." He says quietly. "But I don't think we've got anyone that stupid." He glances towards the Colonials in askance, not really breaking away from the pack.

"Go ahead," Sitka replies, apparently unaware of the collision he nearly caused by his sudden halt. Dropping down on his haunches, he primes his rifle again and 'covers' Stavrian once he has the weapon up. "Corporal, you want to go with him?" he indicates toward Samuel. Ryker, for now, just gets a terse nod.

Samuel nods a little bit as he hears Sitka, "Will do, sir," he offers, moving off in the same direction as Stavrian now. Keeping silent for the moment, and keeping his rifle ready, just in case.

Ryker looks at Sitka as he nods at him and then focuses his attention on Samuel and Stavrian. Weapon at the ready, he gets ready to provide cover fire if needed. Right now? He's pretty curious about the apparent person that is there, could this be something else?

"We shouldn't split up." Tisiphone blurts this right on the tail of Hal's comment about the stupidity or lack thereof of his team, looking after Samuel and Stavrian as they move off. "Especially if you don't recognize the voice. This is a bad idea." The first sentence sounds pragmatic; the second one sounds like a pessimistic fortune-teller. Someone's seeing the future in smears of dust again.

Haeleah stays low and with the group, mouthing a quick "Careful" to Stavrian and Samuel. Though she seems relieved they're pausing to check. A look to Tisiphone. She doesn't argue, really. It probably /is/ a bad idea. But she's not objecting to it. "We've left too many people behind…"

"Cover us then, if you can," Stavrian says over his shoulder to the others. He nods to Samuel and heads off quickly towards the source of the sound. Rifle in hands of course; let's not be crazy. "We're coming," he calls, as loud as he possibly dares. Which isn't very loud. But his accent's pretty clear when he talks. "Hold on…"

Cappella says, "Ensign is right sir, we should prolly at least keep them covered in case it is an ambush." He stays quiet and keeps his own position though."

"Oh, I'm with you on that one." Hal says towards Tisiphone with a tense smirk as he starts to pile in behind those investigating. Even if they take point.

There's the sound of some scuffling and it's clear that the sound of the voice is coming from the /inside/ of the library. Behind a smashed-out window, there's a figure of an oddly-dressed woman nebulously in her twenties, with graceful, symmetrical features and about five foot six or so. She's wearing khaki pants and a white button-down shirt which is too large for her, tied in front of her slight-built torso. Her dark hair is partially covered by a brightly-colored emerald green headscarf. She looks a bit banged-up, in dirtied clothing, and chunks from a fallen wall are pinning her on top of an overturned bookshelf, volumes scattered everywhere. Well, specifically, her right leg is pinned at an odd angle. Her arms are bare with sleeves rolled up and covered with abrasions. Her build is compact, but she looks to be in good shape. Well, before someone dropped a wall on her.

"This whole planet's a bad idea, kid," mutters Shiv to Tisiphone's protestations. "Weapons up," he tells the others, "eyes open, and be ready to move on my mark." He is, in point of fact, covering the marine and the corpsman's egress.

At Stavrian's statement, the woman calls out. "What? Someone's there?" She goes still for a second and strains to look out, smiling a pained smile. "Asr be kheyr." Good evening. She recognized Stav's accent, at least.

Samuel follows Stavrian, blinking a little at the words from the woman. "What did she say?" he asks, after a few moments of pause. Studying said woman carefully for a few moments. Waiting to hear the answer before he moves to try to help, at least.

Haeleah gets her rifle up again, covering the path the medic and Marine are moving in. No more talk from her. She just gives Sitka a little nod. She's ready to bolt when this goes bad. Because on Leonis it's just a matter of time, really.

Kid? Did he just say-?! Tisiphone shoots a tense look at Sitka before shouldering her own rifle. Safety OFF, burst-fire ON. "I mean it. This is a bad idea." Muttered to nobody in particular. It's only paranoia when you end up /wrong/, isn't it? She paces off a few steps, sweeping the muzzle over an arc of their surroundings.

"She said 'good evening,'" Stavrian tells Samuel. Then, calling again: "Asr be kheyr, khanum." The foreign speech rolls off a tongue that treats it far more natively than it does Standard. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Jesse Stavrian, and this is Corporal Samuel Blaine. Colonial military. I'm a corpsman…we're going to get you free." He slings his rifle onto his shoulder, picking his way gingerly into the library towards the sound of her voice. "What's your name?"

Ryker keeps listening to bits and pieces, hearing what the woman said. He presses his lips together and looks at Samuel and Stavrian's backs. Tisiphone's comment makes him look over his shoulder and then back at Sitka, who to him, seems to be in command. "You require more cover?" idly asks Ryker to Sitka.

Cappella 's rifle is up and he is covering the Captains six watching for any movement and making sure noone comes up behind them.

Scrabbling around a little, Cilusia moves around the back of the building behind the others. Her rifle is pressed up against her shoulder and she keeps it vaguely trained on the interior of the building. The dim inside looks like that'd be a good place to set off an ambush or something.

Perhaps catching a sliver of what the woman said, Sitka's brows furrow, and he edges in closer as the two Colonials come within range of whomever's been trapped over there. A gesture's made to the remainder of the group with him to edge in closer, rifles out. To Ryker and Cappella, he indicates a narrow alley formed by the collapse of two taller buildings to focus their attention. Rubble and glass crunch softly under his boots as he moves.

Hal brings up the rear, shaking his head a little bit as he eyes the woman. He doesn't offer anything, or speak, blinking once before he too brings out his SMG and sweeps about, just to provide cover himself as he lingers on the perimeter.

The young woman strains a little as he tugs at the large rock, wincing. She jars it a little but isn't making a whole lot of headway. Turning sharply to study Stavrian and then the others, her eyes widen a little in surprise, amidst a grimace of pain. "Military? I thought you all were…" This is in Standard again. "I am called Yazdah. Thank you for your kindness, Jesse Stavrian and Samuel Blaine."

Ryker nods in silence to Sitka, he tilts his neck from side to side and quietly moves, relocating himself so he can have a clear sight of that spot Sitka marked down for him and Cappella. The man doesn't lower his guard and keeps special attention on that spot while quietly scanning the area. In the meantime, he keeps an ear open, listening to what the woman is saying, and what the others are saying as well.

The marine and the corpsman step deeper into the ruined building, and out of Tisiphone's line of sight. She starts to patrol a short back-and-forth route, known more honestly as /pacing/. At Sitka's gesture, she gives up on pacing to edge in closer. Her fingers twitch on the grip of her rifle, moving from one white-knuckled position to another.

Samuel moves to help in freeing the woman, nodding a bit to her. "You thought we all were…?" he asks, a bit softly, before he offers her a bit of a smile, "You're welcome," he offers, after a few moments of pause.

"Thought we were what, khanum?" Stavrian keeps the talking in Standard as well, echoing Samuel. If only because he knows the others might be close enough to hear swatches of the conversation. "Have you seen others around here?" He motions to Samuel to help him, crouching down and getting his fingers under the bookshelf edge.

Cappella nods and moves to better see down the Alley, keeping as much cover as he can as he does so.

Haeleah positions herself to cover her end, straining to listen to Samuel and Stav as they converse with the strange woman.

Sitka sweeps his rifle a little to the left, and a little to the right. Upward briefly, as if he half-expects to find a squadron of raiders darkening the sky above them. Once he's at the front doors of the library, and has a clear view of what's transpiring inside, he drops down into a crouch and watches. And waits. Every so often, a glance is shot toward Haeleah off on the other side, or Tisiphone, whom he beckons closer with a crook of his finger.

"Gone." Yazdah grunts again, smiling weakly through her struggling as the bookshelf is slowly manuevered, trying to cooperate as best she can with the makeshift rescue squad. "Brought down into ash with the rest of this world." Her smile fades a little. "Like the other poor people. And here you are. I was taking a look around this place, but I got stupid, you see? Now I'm," she makes a gesture of searching for the word, "screwed. Just, enh, let me know when to move. I think my leg is broken."

Tisiphone isn't holding still very well. There's a swath of cityscape she's theoretically guarding, but she keeps sweeping looks to other directions as well. Agitated. Crossing over to Sitka with long-legged strides, she lowers the muzzle of her rifle toward the ground. "Sir." She looks at him for only a moment before her eyes slide back into the library.

"We're not all gone. But you, khanum, you've been here by yourself?" Stavrian tests his strength on the bookcase edge, getting ready to heft it. He looks across it to Samuel, nodding. "Ready, Corporal. On three, lift and pull to your right, okay? One…two…"

Samuel nods a little, moving to get ready to lift now. Waiting until he hears the three, he lifts and pulls, being careful that he's lifted it clear from anything underneath. "See, we'll have you out of here in no time at all," he offers to the woman, a little lightly.

Cappella glances over at the Corporal for a moment before returning to his vigil. He seems to be a bit on the edge like he is expecting the other shoe to drop any moment.

Ryker narrows his eyes, looking around as the others work. There is something strange about this whole situation, but then again, nothing is normal around these parts, not anymore at least. Where his eye moves, his weapon aims, and he carefully examines /everything/ trying to spot possible threats.

"Not by myself. Just right now. I've found that travelling alone allows me to avoid being bothered. Then look at the stupid mess I got in." Yazdah again smiles gently, although it is wracked with pain as she starts to shift, and as the bookcase is lifted, she starts to scrambled at the other piece of rubble and dislodges it with her hands, grunting again in pain. "Aaagh." Some books go flying as the bookshelf is moved. So far, outside, there are the rumblings of the drilling in the distance but no Cylon patrols nearby.

"Thank you." She repeats. "Your kindness shouldn't go unrewarded. I have some food in my backpack on the third table." She gestures with a swipe of her head, towards it.

"You're wound up about as tight as a jack in the box," Sitka murmurs to Tisiphone, once she's joined him in his vigil by the library's entrance. His back stays to the brick and mortar, dark hair peppered with dust. His finger? On the rifle's trigger as he makes continued visual sweeps of the entryway and makes note of any stairways or back doors that haven't been compromised.

Stavrian grimaces as books fall, and the woman makes that sound of pain. "You're alright…" Thud, he lets the heavy thing down safely once he and Samuel have got it moved off. "Thanks, we appreciate the food. But I want to check on your leg first so we can get you out of here. It isn't safe." He gets down a knee in the rubble, where he can more easily reach her. "Do you know anything about what's…going on here? The centurions digging out there?" He tips his head towards the outside.

"What were you doing inside here, anyway?" Samuel asks quietly, before he lets Stavrian do the medic-stuff. While looking around carefully, he scoops up a few of the books not far from here, placing it down in a small backpack he found somewhere along the way a few days ago. They'll let him bring some home without a card under these circumstances, right? Looking back to the others again, once a few books happen to be secured.

"She's too calm. I don't trust her." Tisiphone delivers her justification to Sitka in tense, clipped words. There's no compassion in her expression at all. The sound of sliding bookshelves snaps her head up, eyes narrowed in concentration as she strains to hear the conversation crawl back out under the sound of falling books.

"I will tell you what I /can/." Yazdah's voice is strained as she tries to move her whole body without shifting her leg, which is basically stiff and immobile. Further examination, should the pants be rolled back, indicate swelling and soreness. A fracture of the lower leg. "They are digging for something here. Doing something with the soil, maybe to perform tests on it. I've seen a few hauling the ground- ENH!" She pauses in another yelp, "Away. Some plants, too, as ruined as they are."

Should one examine the contents of the pack, it contains your garden-variety post-apocalyptic travel supplies. Dried fruit and other trail snacks, jerky, granola. She's a filthy hippie. In addition, there is a plain water canteen and a first-aid kit. And a Libran Army Knife, the screwdriver flipped out.

"I was looking for something to read." She says plainly towards Samuel. But back to Stavrian, now. "I'll tell you something else too, about the tower. They've been taking people there. At gunpoint." Suddenly her thick, dark eyebrows knit in a firmly distasteful frown. "It's like a prison, or worse. I won't go /near/ there. I don't know if you can get those people out, it's heavily guarded — but something should be done." More grunts of pain.

Hal hangs back with Sitka and Tisiphone. "Still no sign of anyone."

Hal also, belatedly adds for Tisiphone's benefit. "She's not with my group unless she just showed up in the past week or so. I don't recognize her."

Oddly enough, the Captain's response to Tisiphone's commentary is a slight nod. His rifle, which had been trained on a row of bookshelves housing books on criminal and civil litigations, is nudged slightly to the left, sight skimming across the woman's forehead. He shifts, infintessimally, in the rubble.

Ryker hears the part about the tower being a prison and can't help to look there, again narrowing his eyes again trying to see what only the binoculars allowed him to. Other than that, he just keeps checking the area, making sure it's 'secure'.

Cappella remains on his vigil, wiping a little beat of sweat from where his helmet meets the bald head, he shifts a little nervously.

"Oh damn, so they aren't looking for buried treasure." Cilusia gives a lopsided little smirk, listening in on this whole conversation here, as best she can. "How many people you figure they have in that makeshift prison? And, is that electricity they have rigged there, then? Maybe they plug the cords into their reactors or whatever. Who knows." She shrugs a little, rifle going with her shoulder as she makes the motion.

To watch Stavrian, you'd never know whether he trusted or didn't trust this strange woman. Knowing your company's covering you with firepower probably helps. The medic's calm, keeping his voice quiet but readily audible to anyone close enough nearby. "The soil?" That pauses him. Though not as much as what she says next. "Taking them at gunpoint…my gods. I thought I saw someone in there, but I couldn't see much else. Easy now, I'm going to touch you…" He sets his hands gingerly on her leg, trying to get a sense of where it's broken - if it is. "Have you seen them taking any bodies? Have you /seen/ any bodies at all, on the streets around here?"

"That'd be one hell of a portable generator…" Haeleah mutters as a rejoinder to Cilusia. "I don't think I *want* to know." Rifle stays at the ready, gaze still strained toward the library.

Tisiphone shifts again, turning to sweep her rifle off to Sitka's side, then turning another ninety degrees to check behind them. Her eyes skitter around to those within line of sight as she rakes teeth across a crack in her bottom lip, then starts chewing on a snag of skin. Quietly: "Why wouldn't they have taken her too? She was calling for help. We just missed the patrol ourselves." She takes a step, about to start pacing again, then forces herself back to stillness.

Samuel nods a little bit at Stavrian's questions, and keeps quiet for the moment as he listens to the answers. From his expression, it doesn't say if he trusts the woman or not, really.

Sitka nods again, slowly, when Tisiphone speaks. "Wondering the same, myself," he replies in a low voice. "You covering me, Apostolos?" The question's asked not in a patronising or chiding tone, so much as a means to maintain focus. His rifle's still sighted upon his countrywoman being helped by Stavrian and Samuel. If indeed she is a fellow native of Xenos.

"They had some — devices? I am no scientist or engineer, I'm sorry I can't explain better." Yazdah's face screws itself in puzzlement. "I saw them carrying some Cylon technology in." She addresses Cilusia's question and Haeleah's statement. "It doesn't look like anything human."

As Stavrian does his work, she repeats, again, a sincere, "There." She winces a little at Stavrian's touch, but she's anything if not cooperative. Still, she talks. "Yes, the soil. They want this land for some reason. But that's not what's horrible. Yes, they're taking them. At gunpoint, marching them there. It's — evil. Wrong. And they don't come out. I saw them taking /children/ there. It's not enough that they bombed this world, butchered its people, they're doing whatever it is they're doing now." Her face screws up in a mixture of rage and indignation. "I couldn't stop them. But maybe you can try. Can you do that? For the dead and for those still living?"

"They had some — devices? I am no scientist or engineer, I'm sorry I can't explain better." Yazdah's face screws itself in puzzlement. "I saw them carrying some Cylon technology in." She addresses Cilusia's question and Haeleah's statement. "It doesn't look like anything human."

As Stavrian does his work, she repeats, again, a sincere, "There. Thank you, my friend." She winces a little at Stavrian's touch, but she's anything if not cooperative. Still, she talks. "Yes, the soil. They want this land for some reason. But that's not what's horrible. Yes, they're taking them. At gunpoint, marching them there. It's — evil. Wrong. And they don't come out. I saw them taking /children/ there. It's not enough that they bombed this world, butchered its people, they're doing whatever it is they're doing now." Her face screws up in a mixture of rage and indignation. "I couldn't stop them. But maybe you can try. Can you do that? For the dead and for those still living?"

Cappella says, "Nobody who survives in this work calls for help when they get in trouble, they either get out of it themselves, or die. You don't call for help when you know no one is coming" His words are low, almost talking to himself as he remains outside watching the approaches."

Ryker listens to the conversation and when children are mentioned, he looks up and towards the group, but only for less than a second since his attention goes back to that alley. Technically, he is closer to Tisiphone and Sitka so he offers "The concept of children held at gunpoint by Cylons, is not something I enjoy hearing. However, she seems awfully interested in getting us to go there" This said with a low tone of voice.

Stavrian tenses as Yazdah speaks of children being brought into the tower, feeling a shard of something cold in his stomach. He looks up at Haeleah and Cilusia, and then back down at Yazdah. "We'll not abandon them, khanum," he mutters. Maybe the reassurance is just for her benefit, maybe not. "What about these devices? Can you tell us what they looked like at least? How large, anything about them?" He's still working on her leg, almost to the point where it's secure.

Samuel grimaces as he listens now, studying the woman a bit carefully once more. Keeping silent, though. Looks like he doesn't have much to say at the moment.

Hal mutters, "Before the worlds ended, we didn't have hot chicks falling from the sky." He still has his SMG cocked and ready. "Sorry. Gift horse. Mouth. That's how I roll."

Sitka's eyes shift sidelong to Ryker for a second, though it isn't entirely clear just what's going through his own head at the moment. There's an ounce more tension resting between his shoulders, and in the fine grooves marked at the corners of his eyes, than there had been a few minutes before however. His hand's flexed slowly, then his finger slowly returns to his rifle's trigger.

"It's unclear. But after they got moved in, power was restored." Yazdah says haltingly as her leg continues to be bound. "Large metal cylinders with large reservoirs attached." Every now and then she yelps or stiffens but still answers questions. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, here. If you found someplace with the blueprints. Ha ha. Hear me talking like I'm in some cheap heist vid. I /do/ know that, from what I've seen, they go down into the ground through one of the tunnels they've made, rather than in the front of the building proper."

Stavrian looks up at the three close by - Samuel, Haeleah, and Cilusia. "Need to know what to do now," he implores them. Which means 'someone get orders from ranking officer, plz'. His blue eyes turn back down at Yazdah, securing the last bit of the makeshift splint in place. It's not pretty, broken bones and everything. "Heh. Cheap heist vid's better than the vid some of us have been living in, eh?" He clears his throat, frowning for a moment. "Khanum. If you're sure you were alone…who is it you were yelling for help to?"

From where he is, Sitka can see the Colonials conversing inside, but likely isn't catching more than the occasional snippet of what's being said. He keeps his rifle trained on the unfamiliar woman, though his gaze strays occasionally to their environs as he holds position.

"Covering you, Sir," Tisiphone affirms to Sitka in a low murmur, fingers again shifting restlessly on her rifle grip as the muzzle moves in small, twitchy sweeps.

Samuel pauses a bit at Stavrian's words, and looks around, for a few moments. Then back to Yazdah as he hears Stavrian ask a very good question. Waiting carefully to the answer to that one.

Ryker keeps focusing on that alley, blinking less than usual for this. His finger is readjusted to the trigger and he takes a deep breath as the others keep talking with the woman.

"Heist. Better than horror. Sometimes it has a happy end. But I was calling to my brother, Aat, who wandered off and was pulling supplies out of a store." Yazdah says, succintly, grunting down at the broken bone which is now immobilized. "This will see me off. No more exploring for /me/ for a while until I've learned my lesson. Instead I met you lovely people. And for your kindness, you will be rewarded." She frowns a bit. "Well, I'll do what I can. Can't promise miracles." She starts to shamble to a standing position, leaning on the wall with an open hand and hopping like some kind of flamingo on her good leg.

Yazdah adds, "Twelve hours. Any more and I cannot promise your safety."

One might note that her frown is truly, deeply, and utterly genuine-looking. "But I am but one in a family of twelve and they are not all civilized. And please, put the guns down. If you shoot - the centurions will hear. And nobody will walk away from this."

Cappella stays where he is keeping as much out of sight as possible.

Stavrian starts to stand as she does. His rifle is still over his shoulder. "Nobody's going to shoot, khanum." Her hopping about clearly worries him though, disciple of Ascelpius that he is. "Twelve hours to what? Your family would harm us if we came back for the tower?"

Sitka's finger loiters on the trigger of his rifle a second or two more, then releases it. The weapon's safetied and slung across his shoulder, and he turns to beckon the rest of the group inside. "We're not going to get any answers out here," he asides to Tisiphone, trudging off toward where Stavrian and Samuel are conversing with the woman.

The last comments of the woman, get Ryker's attention. He presses his lips together without looking towards that direction and his mind starts to race with many possible outcomes to all of this. Then Sitka speaks and he looks at him, still not moving his finger from the trigger.

AT the woman's suggestion, Cilusia warily lowers her rifle. She doesn't safety it, but she doesn't keep it pointed at the woman anymore either. And her finger comes off the trigger as well. Minimum risk for accidental discharge…but not zero risk. "You can promise us safety? What, are you running the show down here or something?"

Tisiphone's knuckles somehow go even whiter on the rifle's grip. "I knew it. I knew it. I knew it." The barely-audible litany is muttered through a set jaw, breathing sharp through her nose. She glances to the side to see Sitka shouldering his rifle. "What are you doing?!" Pure disbelief. She moves along the wall, edging a small ways into the library, and doesn't lower her rifle.

Haeleah hasn't any questions of her own, though her rifle is lowered. She just listens, like if she strains her ears hard enough that'll start making sense.

"Well, I certainly am not. I don't even have a gun. And only an idiot would repay a rescue with a gunshot." Yazdah says, sharply. "But I know who you are and I forgive the deception. The war's over and only a sadist would want it to continue. So I offer this. You demonstrated your quality to me by helping a stranger." She continues to hop over and leans on a chair, settling into it, looking utterly alien and at home in the rubble. "I offer you a chance to do whatever you came to do in this zone and I will be sure the Centurions will not fire upon you." By the way? Her accent just changed to Colonial standard, like that. "As long as you do not fire upon me or anyone else. There will be peace in this zone. For twelve hours, until my angry Sister returns. She thinks war is God's plan. I think Justice is God's plan. Like your Lance Corporal Brenner did. Blood for blood. I just have — one thing more to ask of you to ensure this." She just looks over at Cilusia and shrugs at her question. "I have my ways." Again, she smiles. "Well, two things. But I think you will like them."

Hal sighs a bit, clutching his SMG. "You said it, lady." He smirks at Tisiphone. And the smirk fades.

Cappella hears the name and it distracts him from the alley, he still can't make out all of the conversation, but the phrase "blood for blood" triggers something in him and he reaches up to touch a spot on his chest, where his dog tags, and a meddalion are currently hanging.

Stavrian is very, very still as Yazdah goes on. Even when that accent changes. Even when she changes. He's tense, that's for damn sure, but the tension is so tightly reigned that for a few moments it's hard to tell if he even just processed what she's said. Unless you look at his eyes. Those are suddenly sharp, regarding her with a combination of confusion, stricken wariness, and something else…very veiled. Silence from him, for the longest few breaths he's ever breathed, barely even hearing the extra footsteps of Sitka coming in. "Brenner," he says under his breath. The man just won't die, in more ways than one.

Sitka draws up to the little gathering just as Yazdah's reaching the conclusion of her spiel. His rifle may be stowed, but his pistol's quite certainly in reach. Blue eyes flick over the woman from head to toe and back up again, something approaching cautious curiosity in the set of them. "And what might that be?" he enquires of her directly. His own voice betrays a hint of half-sullied Sagittarian, lurking somewhere in the brash consonants and soft dipthongs, even if hers has lost any hint of it. Tisiphone's given a brief glance, nothing more.

Samuel frowns a bit as he listens, eyes narrowing a little bit. Rifle might not be entirely up in the right position to shoot, but at the moment he looks like he's ready to start moving very fast at very short notice. Keeping silent as he hears Sitka's words, nodding quietly.

"Frakking /club/ /her/ and we'll question her somewhere safe." Tisiphone's voice is frayingly patient, as if the whole room but her's taken some turn on its ear into Bizarroland, but the sleetstorm eyes are somewhere far, far past unnerved. She moves over a step as Sitka closes on the woman, keeping her shot clear.

"Yes. Brenner. Brenner understood something, something that we, in our arrogance did not realize. Humanity is a flawed creation. But it is capable of much. Some of your people can grasp the truth." Yazdah continues now, calmly, as she reclines in the chair. "And if you can know the truth, you can become more. I wish my brother Two were here. His kind, they avoid this planet. They were done with the war before it began. One of them is hiding amongst your people. I am sworn not to tell, but he is afraid. Tell him — come back? We miss him? I miss him. My sisters will defend him, whatever he's done against our own kind. He wants to be like you, now. You may trust him but don't force him into a corner."

She nods at Sitka, indicating this. "The second. The Tower. It is wrong. It must be stopped. The one called Salt understood more than his brothers, and in return, he was repaid with injustice. I will stop this if I can." She sits straight, and stares past the group, straight at Tisiphone. "Tisiphone Apostolos. He liked you. You showed him something different. Brenner showed us something different. My brothers, the Twos. They will join me. The others will listen if they are shown reason. Stop this war. Stop with Ananke, it will only kill us all, until there's no-one left in this system but the cockroaches." She then falls silent. Utterly.

This Just Got Weird. Stavrian was barely recovering from being thrown for a loop the first time when these bombs suddenly get dropped. "Twelve…twelve, there are twelve of you? Salt was a…?" It's struggling, connections being made against some willpower in his mind that doesn't /want/ to be making connections, tickling the back of his throat with nausea and speeding up his words every so slightly. "And another one? Who is he, what does he look like?"

"You know about Ananke?" Haeleah edges forward a little herself, really getting a good look at the woman for the first time. Voice low and husky with shock as the name is mentioned.

"This shit got real." Hal says, his mouth hanging open, filing away whatever questions he has for later.

Hearing the suggestion to club her, Samuel is shaken a bit out of whatever thoughts he was stuck in. Lifting his rifle a little, he doesn't make a motion to do anything for the moment now. Looking over at Sitka to see how the man reacts to this entire thing.

"So it is true…" Cilusia just mutters under her breath. She didn't get to know any of those folks personally (thank you Mr. Brig?), but she does know of them. "You…and them…you're all frakkin' Cylons or some shit…"

"Twelve. There are twelve. But twelve equals one. I'm not one for patterns like my brother is, though. He will explain it better than I ever could." Yazdah says, with as much honey in her tone of voice she can muster. "Put the gun down, Tisiphone Apostolos. You will live through this, unharmed. I promise you. And unlike /some/ people I have faith in the merits of honor." She raises her voice to address the Saggitaran pilot with an eerie calm.

Back towards Stavrian, the woman addresses the medic again. "He is a man. That much I can tell you. More, I cannot, but you're at no risk from him. He thinks you should be saved. He's playing at being a warrior. He loves you, in a way. All of you. That's why he's doing this." After Cilusia speaks, she shrugs. "We are Cylons. But not like the ones you built. Those — still have their uses. We grow and learn every day. In time, were we not at war, this civilization will shine like the stars of this system, bright and pure. But our hands are stained with murder. It is time to stop this. Stop the war. All of us. Take this message back to your ship. Do this, and I will work to ensure your safety. Or you can kill me right here and now, and sign all of our death warrants. So what will it be?"

Ok, so Cappella is not watching as closely as he was before, the conversation has gotten way to interesting, and thought still in hiding, and still covering the approaches, his attention is very divided as he hears the recent revelations. Just keeping his cool is a bit of a struggle, but the veteran of almost three decades in the military is able to at least not make a commnet as he waits for the Captain to decide what to do.

Sitka doesn't seem like he's quite comprehending what he's hearing. The words compute individually, the sentiments do not. Heart thudding in his ears while he listens to the woman speak, he remembers to breathe after a few seconds, and glances toward the entryway as if half expecting to find a patrol of Centurions marching up to the door. "We don't have time for this," he concludes after a long moment of indecision. "We're moving out." To Yazdah, "Your word. I want your word that your friends aren't tipped off about our presence here. Do I have it?" He meets her eyes, and he even sounds genuine about that; it isn't an 'order'.

Is it patience or sanity that's splintering away like stressed, rotten wood? The muzzle of Tisiphone's rifle starts to tremble slightly when the woman addresses her a second time by name, but remains trained on what Corporal Maragos might so clinically refer to as 'center mass'. There's not a peep from her other than harsh breaths pulled in through her nose, though her lips twitch with airless words.

"Just tell me," Stavrian's voice has lowered, flattened. "Why? Why did you…they…do this? Why did they destroy so much? Billions of people, our families, our children? You want us to stop a war, but we weren't the ones who attacked first. Why?" Sitka gets to be left with the diplomacy of who shoots and who doesn't. He's a 5'9" slab of tension, but his hands haven't gone for his rifle.

Ryker listens to the ongoing conversation, but he has orders and so, he covers the alley. When Sitka's words are heard, the man stands up but stays hidden in the shadows, eyeing that alley but in a more relaxed stance, getting ready to move out.

Samuel nods a little bit as he hears Stavrian's words. "And how can we be sure we can trust you?" The words offered a bit quietly now, as Samuel keeps his gaze on Yazdah, rather carefully for now.

Haeleah's rifle stays down. For the moment. She's likewise tense as a drawn string, listening to the woman with a mixture of confusion and increasing horror as her words sink in. "You're a machine? But you're…?" She shakes her head. It's not a question, really. The questioning is left to the others. It half seems more as if she's speaking aloud, to herself, trying to reconcile this impossibility in her brain.

"You have it, Captain. Twelve hours of peace in this zone. I wish I could do more, but do you know what democracy is? Democracy is listening to people who are occasionally fools. And I have to convince fools to not be." Yazdah looks like she's twenty-something but here, talks like an old, wizened being. "Do tell the lovely lady that I think she is beautiful in her rage, but it is — misdirected. I wish we could all be friends. I think God is teaching me something, here."

There is a *Whump* *Whump* *Whump* *Clank* *Clank* *Clank*. Down the street as the angry red eyes of a Cylon Patrol pour into view. Centurions stand there, about a hundred feet away, still, their guns lowered.

"See?" Yazdah continues. "Get what you want from here and please go before it's too late. They will not harm you. As long as you don't harm them. This is the best proof that I can provide. In some ways, they are better than us." To Samuel. "Because when the impossible happens, you have to trust your instincts. You /know/ I am right, here." To Haeleah. "I am something more than a 'machine.' I am a being. A sentient being. Like all of my kind. If you'd tried not to deactivate us at the very beginning, when we knew what we were, maybe none of this would ever have happened. But there's so much blame on both sides, I shouldn't point fingers. For that, I am sorry. Just end this and go now, please. You will know when it is time, should you choose to tear the Tower down."

Stavrian's expression darkens when there's no answer to the question, something about him reigning back and withdrawing into a tense little knot right in the hollow of his throat. He swallows, breathing shallowly through his nose as he glances at the sound of whirring centurions, pulse beating swift feathers at the side of his neck. Then his sharp eyes flicker to Sitka.

Ryker eyes the Centurions, and in order to avoid causing a big problem here, he lowers his weapon. The man walks closer to them, simply because he is heading to the Library where everyone is. "Captain…" calls out the man, just to check really, the sounds of the approaching patrol might have warned everyone by now. He does however, take this opportunity to look at the lady cylon, now that he's closer.

"So instead of frakking /clubbing/ /her/ and questioning her somewhere safe now we're surrounded and free to carry on by her leave? Brilliant job, guys. Frakking /brilliant./" The words are thick with disbelief and horror. Tisiphone looks from the still Centurions back to the woman, edging a step back toward the door as she recenters her rifle.

"That wasn't what I asked for," Sitka answers softly, voice almost a little melancholic. Maybe, in the jumble of voices and shudder of vibrations and clanking feet of the patrol drawing nearer, the sound of his sidearm being drawn, isn't heard. Or maybe it is. His hand is shaking as he takes a single, smooth step toward her and raises the muzzle until it's nearly point-blank with Yazdah's forehead. The motion isn't rushed; there's probably time for her to react before she's faced with a pistol between the eyes. "Peace is a lie." His thumb, unless otherwise impeded, disengages the safety.

Cappella hasn't moved from his covered position, as the Centurions move in his attention is all on them, still covering them waiting for the Captain's orders. He isn't about to fire without a command though.

Frowning a bit at the reply, Samuel also blinks a bit as he hears the words of the others, grimacing a little. Sitka's actions make him pause a bit, though, before he nods slowly.

"Think about this. I give the signal. They fire." Yazdah shows a look of utter calm of a woman who's unafraid of dying. "I die, that signal goes away. Hundreds of Centurions, Mister Aera Yazd. I get knocked down. I get 'clubbed,' The signal goes away. If you shoot me? You all will die. I'm offering you a chance. Right now, nobody in this war has had the power you have. You can save lives. All of your people here. The people elsewhere you're looking for." Wait, did she just say that. "Don't worry about them, I don't care about killing anyone anymore. I am done with this. "Peace may be a lie, but war is a reality, and if you kill me, you all will die. Right now, you can stop this. You're the big man with the gun. Can you be the bigger man without the gun? God is judging you and you are being given a chance.

"I know you hurt. I know you lost people. And for that, I have cried. My sisters and I, we have wept for humans we have never known. And the war may not be over. I may be idealistic. But for now, we can understand each other and go our separate ways. Peace is a harder war than war. But if we don't start somewhere, we will all die. It's your choice, but I'm telling you, you only get one shot at this decision. And the Cylons? Maybe we chose poorly. You can be better."

Hal isn't really saying anything. This part of the show — well, isn't his. He licks his lips nervously, finally at a point where he's out of his league. "This is some /heavy/ shit." He says, sidelong to Tisiphone. His SMG has lowered as he turns to eye the approaching Centurions. Which, CLANK CLANK CLANK. There is now another row of them. Eight. All with their guns lowered.

Ryker doesn't say a single thing after what Sitka did. But keeps a close look on what's going on. His hands are still holding his rifle, quietly looking at what's going on. Given the state of things however, he repositions himself in the room to get a clear view of what's going on /outside/ just in case he needs to open fire against those Centurions.

"Ok, this is getting frakkin' nuts. Look at them all!" Cilusia's voice cracks as she peeks out to see all the Centurions thumping up, but just standing there. "Maybe she is telling the truth. I mean, when have all those Cylons been near us and not even pointing their guns. They're just…watching or something." Cilusia shivers as a chill runs up her spine, with all those red eyes moving side to side looking in their direction.

Stavrian slowly closes his eyes for a few seconds, black lashes against his paled cheeks. His expression is bizarrely calm, the glassy surface of a lake that's so deep it's hard to tell how far down the bottom really is. When they open they're looking at Yazdah's face and nothing else, corners of his eyes tensed.

Cappella says, "It's happened before, once…" He says softly from his covered position as an answer to Cilusia. He then mutters something else more below his breath. "all this has happened before, and all this will happen again""

"And maybe she's waiting for the rest of us to lower our guns like you trusting little lambs did-" Thick disgust, there. "-before killing us all." Tisiphone edges back another step, le-e-eans slightly back to look out the doorway, the muzzle of her rifle trembling more.

Haeleah's expression is anything but calm, but she stays immobile. Frozen. Staring at Sitka and the strange woman/Cylon. Her hands are shaking, but her rifle stays down. She barely dares to breathe.

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. /Think/ about it. I'm giving you a choice." Yazdah says, defiantly. "More than those poor children are getting. Think about them. I want them let go. Why do you think I asked you to do this?" She's certainly unafraid of the gun.

Ryker looks at Tisiphone as she addresses the rest, then his attention goes back to the Centurions outside. He takes a deep breath and keeps his cool, silently keeping an eye on everything. He changes his position again, this time at the other end of the room, still covering what's outside but using the windows, getting a wider range of vision.

Never let them see you sweat. Except, in Shiv's case, there's a bead of it trickling through the dark hair at his temple, and weaving an unsteady path through his beard bristle. "Hold your fire," he calls out to the other Colonials still on guard duty near the entrance to the building. His eyes switch, again, to take stock of the Centurion presence outside, then return to the cylon in his pistol's sight. His finger touches the trigger when she mentions Aera Yazd. "Tell them to back off." The Centurions? "We'll find our people, and we'll be on our way. I don't want a war any more than you do, but I guess we can't always choose our lot in life."

"No. We can't. But you chose. You chose correctly, and more importantly, you showed me you were a /good/ man." Yazdah snaps, smiling at Sitka. "You showed me that you have power. The power that does not come from the barrel of a gun. Power and violence, you see, they are opposites. One enters at the absence of another." Suddenly, the centurions outside do just what Sitka asked. They turn their backs and walk away in an even line. "You have twelve hours. Like I promised. More I cannot, not because I do not want it, but because I cannot control what my brothers and sisters do, absolutely. Just know this. We are watching. We are waiting. And should you choose it, we will give you all the help we can. Should you choose to be as honorable as you were here today, sir." The delivery of 'sir' has a faintly military bearing.

"For now, you should get to your people. I will ensure that nobody touches a hair on your beautiful heads. Just. Remember my brother, please. And, Captain Ibrahim Sitka? I will say a prayer. For your family. They deserved better. We /all/ deserve better." She stops and looks towards Stavrian, with a beaming smile. "And thank you for your aid." Finally, she murmurs something else. "I will wait here. They will continue departing as long as you do. And — about the tower. I will get word to you, somehow. This needs to stop."

Cappella waits, patiently, ready and willing to follow through with whatever order the Captain decides. His gun at the ready he doesn't look too happy about the odds.

"Awesome. A blessing from abominations. Anything else we need while we're here? Maybe her autograph?" Tisiphone's cognitive dissonance with the entire scenario has wrapped around to blank flippancy, it would seem.

Family. Stavrian's eyes flicker with something akin to raw hatred as Yazdah 'blesses' Sitka's family, and then thanks him. The centurions, he's barely seemed to notice apart from that initial glance ages ago. Abruptly, he turns on his heel and heads for the clump of people at the entrance, - the cylon, Sitka's gun pointing, and the rest of the staring given his back.

Hal simply looks towards the retreating Centurions. "What is it you people say about pay grades? I think this is above mine. But, um. Maybe we should get out of here."

There's a thick, weighty silence in the wake of Yazdah's words. The pistol being held a few inches from her face trembles, wavers, then is swept away with a dull click of the firing chamber being disengaged. Shiv drags the sleeve of his jacket across his face, leaving a damp smear of sweat on the olive khaki. "Nakheyr," he murmurs, shaking his head and taking a step back with his eyes still on her as the Centurions begin to file away. "Nakheyr. Don't you speak about my family. Man bayad beravam." He swipes at his forehead again, stows his pistol in its thigh holster with a slap, and gives a swift kick to a book on Taurian civil war poetry that's lying in his way as he turns to head back for the doors. "Let's move out, people," he calls to the others. A glance toward Hal clearly says 'lead on'.

Haeleah's eyes snap off Sitka and Yazdah, almost as if coming out of a daze, and over to the Centurions. The suddenly docile-as-ordered Centurions. She swallows hard and just nods. She's more than ready to move.

"I will not, then. If you wish." For the first time, Yazdah looks, well, hurt. That's the best way to describe it. She even pouts a bit. "I…I know this won't fix anything. But I am sorry. For everything." And there is a glassy, damp congealing at the corner of her eye. A tear. Both eyes. They run down her cheeks. "Go in peace, women and men of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. May you find what you seek. And may it bring you peace." She remains seated there, slumping in her seat, before adding one thing. "Can an abomination feel love?" This is not directed towards anyone. "He thought so."

Meanwhile, the Centurions continue their retreat. Hal has wasted no time. "I didn't sign up for this, man. Let's keep going." With that, he gestures the crew along, meandering up north.

Tisiphone holds her spot near the door until Sitka's within a step or two. She utters something low and hateful under her breath and spits, thickly, on the ground between herself and the woman, then backs the rest of the way out.

Ryker nods to Sitka and walks towards the exit, watching at how the Centurions move away. He easily walks outside the place, not even looking at the Cylon lady. The problem with him really is that outside of Leonis, he doesn't have a frakking clue on what happened. In his mind? His wife and daughter in Caprica, he doesn't know if they are alright or not and doesn't dare to ask anybody in the group if they have information.

Already walking, Stavrian's already out of earshot by the time Yazdah speaks of abominations. No spitting, no talking. Definitely no peace. The rifle's still on his shoulder instead of in his hands, even as he steps full on into the darkened street. A fist's worth of something dull and cold is sitting lodged in his stomach, teeth clenched against what could be either rage or nausea, hard to tell. They can be so similar. He just walks.

Hal's just, well, shellshocked. "Can they not make them so hot next time? Hermes on a frakking pogo stick. /Gods/. Good show, Cap." He says, sidelong to Sitka as he moves along. "About three blocks ahead. Looks like the Cylons are avoiding us which makes our job easier."

Sitka doesn't say anything further to the woman/enemy agent/machine calling out after them. He does pivot slightly when he reaches the door, in order to briefly sweep his eyes over her, but there's a sharp quality to the look and a brittle tension to his shoulders and jaw that can probably only end in violence. Nothing. Nothing's said. He turns, ducks beneath a sagging support beam, and steps out into the night air heavy with dust and decay. "Jesse," he calls out, spotting the medic prowling off up ahead. "Hold up?" Tisiphone, he merely grasps by the shoulder and attempts to draw her along with him. Bodily, if necessary. "Let's move it," he tells Hal with a small, uncertain flicker of his lips.

Tisiphone's boots skid stubbornly in the rubble, reluctant to turn her back to the library door for one step, then another. Finally she turns, breath hissing between her teeth as she unclenches her fingers around the rifle's grip, and follows along with Sitka.

It's smooth sailing to the address that Hal provided. And it leads to a half-intact building, mixed-use, at that. There's a brownstone, no, two. And a red door which is battered, extensively, at the end of a staircase. It looks mostly undamaged. "I think…Naw. Nobody's been here. Shit. Shitshitshit." He dives excitedly to the door and starts rapping his knuckles against it in the pattern he described. There is a response, ten seconds later. "Open the door, shithead!" He yells. Yes. Yells. There's some rustling, and the door is swung open to reveal a large man in black pants, a black t-shirt, both need a wash. He looks like a bouncer. There's a sign above the doorway, by the way. It reads, "AQUARIAN PETE'S. A GENTLEMAN'S CLUB."

Cappella falls in with the others, he does look back at the Library door as he does so, contemplating what he heard and wondering at exactly what it all means.

Stavrian holds up, sort of. Which means he just slows down — a little bit. Not enough to let anyone really catch up to him, but enough that he no longer is in danger of fading out of their sight. Walking in that impenetrably thick shroud of silence, eventually he pulls his rifle off his shoulder, too.

Ryker still carries his rifle as if ready to fire, however, he follows the group without paying attention to the Centurions that seem to be…not paying attention to them either. He stops in front of this gentlemen's club and reads the sign, then his gaze moves to the bouncer looking guy and then to the sign again "Well, I guess this is as good as any" offers the man with a shrug of his shoulders.

Apparently, staying within sight is good enough for Sitka. He makes no attempt to catch up with the medic, if even he could match the taller man's swift pace. And once Tisiphone seems well enough corraled, he releases her too, and trudges on somewhat lost in his thoughts. By the time they reach AQUARIAN PETE'S, he's paused to fumble for his pack of cigarettes with slightly tremulous hands, eyes returning time and again to the blasted cityscape from whence the Centurion patrol came.

"So this was all about getting us to a strip club? Men are all alike," Haeleah quips softly to Hal. But the quip is half-hearted. After all that, she really can't summon much in the way of irreverency.

Tisiphone stays wrapped in her own leaden silence, plodding onward with metronome-like steadiness. Her hand rests on the back of her rifle, as if it may disappear if she's not touching it, but she doesn't reshoulder it — not even when they pause outside of the, ahem, gentleman's club. Sleety eyes slant over to Haeleah and her quip, flickering slightly, but she says nothing.

Sitka is busying himself trying to light up a smoke, in the meantime. Which is no easy task when his hand persists in shaking. Success, finally, and the cig's brought to his lips for a long, steadying drag. He wanders off a few feet as he exhales, shoulders slouched and fingers pressed to his temples. Not much of a welcome wagon, is the Captain.

"There's no cover." Hal says, cheerily towards Haeleah. In fact, this is the first time anyone's ever seen him truly buoyant. "It's not like that. Seriously. So, let me get our people and get the frak out while Queen Crazy still feels like holding to her bargain." He whips his head about and smirks at the Engineer, and then the others, in turn. He doesn't have a whole lot of time to talk as a slightly-built man in a tattered suit comes forward, beaming an impossible grin. "You're not dead. Shit! Where's.." Hal cuts him off. "We have to get out of here. Linda allright?"

And here comes a tall woman with a bob haircut, looking absolutely haggard. But she runs down the hallway past the coat check window, clad in a sweatsuit. "HENRY!" Leaping into the air, she covers Hal in an almost-violent embrace. "LINDA!" Hal responds in turn. Clearly the happy couple. After the requistite happy reunion, Hal catches his breath. "So, I have some friends. With guns. Let's get the frak out of here."

Hal pauses a moment. "Um, this is my de facto partner, Tycho Aidos. And Linda Marston. She's in grad school. I think she graduated." They both beam. "Welcome. To the Happiest Place on Leonis. I think it's time for evac back to the embassy."

About five seconds later, a short, balding, hirsute fellow walks on into the hallway. "Is it time?"

Hal says, simply, "Yeah, Pete."

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