PHD #114: In the Berths
In The Berths
Summary: People run into each other in the berths where dark topics are discussed.
Date: 20 Jun 2041 AE
Related Logs: All Leonis related logs
Alessandra Sitka Tisiphone Evandreus Quinn Cadmus 
Pilot Berths
The battlestar's pilots call this place home. Bunks line the walls with grey curtains to cover their sleeping areas. Lockers sit between each pair of bunks and a round metal table sits in the center, furnished with simple but comfortable steel chairs. A hatch at the rear of the room leads to a communal head.
Post-Holocaust Day: #114

Berthings are relatively quiet this evening. No rowdy games of triad in the offing, no drunken careening about in wet feet on wetter deck plating; just the blues-clad figure of the Petrels' newly-returned Commander, slouched at a chair while he reviews a pile of paperwork. Unsurprisingly, a cigarette's burning away between two fingers while he works, occasionally brought to his lips for a pull. Beside his bunk lies his overstuffed pack, which has yet to be unpacked.

It's been a long day with much in the way of recovery and catching up to be done by Alessandra who has been scarce since everyone's return to the ship. How her arrival is made known is by a low grumble while she looks at her arm, the bandages that cover her from left hand up to just below the elbow and covering her neck on display as she is wearing her tanks, the uniform tunic draped semi-neatly over a shoulder in an attempt to keep the heavy material from wrinkling. "So impractical," the grunted tirade starts, followed by an equally hushed and disgruntled, "I'm fine. Don't need to be put on frakking light duty." Sighing, she looks up and then stops, her voice cracking and her motion halted upon seeing the Captain. "Shiv?" His callsign is spoken in a shocked tone, it sounding almost as if Allie can not believe he's actually back, alive.

Sitka glances up and over his shoulder reflexively when someone else enters the room. It's a sharp and slightly jerky motion, like he still half thinks he's down on Leonis with a rifle and half a protein bar's worth of rations for the day, guarding that bedamned embassy. Blue eyes are riveted on the younger woman's face for about three seconds before his shoulders relax, and he offers half a smile. "Hey there, Lucky." His pen is clicked off and set aside. "You're looking.. you're looking good. I mean, you know, all things considered.. I was worried about you." The last is confided a bit more gently, as his gaze strays to her bandaged arm.

Alessandra staggers a bit, the surprise making her weak in the knees which leaves her having to half-lurch to where he sits when she tries to move. "I'm fine. Really. How about you? Did you get off of that frakking planet without getting hurt?" Not having seen anyone since the evac team got Quinn and her off of Leonis, she has been left unknowing as to what anyone's state of well-being has been. "Gods…" Unable to contain herself, she engulfs the Captain in a hug, that followed through with a kiss to the top of his head.

A chuckle from the Captain, and a slight wince that's probably telling all on its own, where 'escaping uninjured' is concerned. "No such luck," he tells Allie, following her with his eyes as she moves in closer— then quite visibly startles him with a hug. It's returned, of course, with an arm drawn around the more slightly-built woman, and a grin briefly lighting up his oft-dour features. A couple of his papers get knocked aside in the process, but he doesn't seem too worried. "It's good to see you too," he murmurs, somewhere between shoulder and fair hair. "What a mess, huh? What a frakking godsawful mess."

The hatch leading out to the corridor swings open and Tisiphone steps into the doorway, leaning forward with one hand gripped to either side of the frame. For several seconds she seems content to sag there, her and her bandana and her blue-blackened eye staring in at the berths as if it's the first time she's ever seen them. Finally, she pushes herself upright and steps through completely, pulling the hatch shut behind her.

"And then some. It should have never happened. So much crap to wade through." The crap makes sense in retrospect now that things can be waded through and recent events have transpired, but even then, it making sense doesn't make up for the fact that it did happen. Not in Alessandra's mind, at least. It's a subject she'd love to bitch about at length but Tisiphone arrives, the sight of whom gets her to blink. "Tis. Hey…" She is slow to break off the hug but she does so and then she's approaching Money Shot, her eye looked at curiously. "Who did you fight to get that shiner, Tis," she asks, her concern unmasked.

"Well, I guess we needed the parts," is Shiv's murmured rejoiner, as Alessandra pulls out of the embrace. "No risk, no reward and all that." He continues to watch her for a few moments, expression long having sobered, like there's something just at the tip of his tongue— and then Tisiphone's spotted in the doorway, and a sharp glance is directed the Ensign's way. He scratches at the bridge of his nose, winces at a scab he manages to catch, and retrieves his pen so he can continue with his paperwork. With a healthy side of eavesdropping, of course.

Sun-bleached brows lift slightly up a forehead still bearing the last traces of a sunburn, as if to silently inquire, come again?, as Tisiphone looks toward Alessandra. It's a long and bland stare she treats to the Lieutenant, eyes sweeping down then back up to her face, before wandering away. A second later, the rest of her follows, aiming her toward her locker. "A tank cannon, Lucky," she answers, the slightly-too-words dragging behind her. Maybe her ears are still ringing. Sitka's sharp look is met with a questioning one — who, me? — before she turns her back to the room, her attention down on her locker padlock.

Three are currently in the berths, that being a mostly-whole Alessandra, a pretty undamaged Tisiphone who seems to be alright outside of the shiner she got, and Sitka who is sitting at the table, wrestling with paperwork. When Money Shot moves towards her locker after providing a very brief explanation as to the origins of her black eye Allie simply nods, leaving it alone for now. She instead turns back to the Captain, watching him for a minute before asking, "Is there anything I can do to help, Ibrahim?"

Sitka's dressed in officer's blues today, for a change. Collar unbuttoned, probably just got out of a briefing or debriefing of some sort. He absently watches Tisiphone for a moment or two as she angles toward her own rack, and then clicks his pen on, clears his throat and shifts slightly in his chair— like it'll help him focus on the task at hand. "Hmm?" to Allie as she addresses him, eyes ticking up to the Lieutenant. "Oh, uh. Well, if you happen to know where the coffee machine's walked off to.." A pause. "There's, uh, there's also something you need to know. I'm not sure.. I'm not sure whether anyone else has, uh.."

Evandreus has finally been laid claim to by slumber, no matter how long he's put it off. Either through sheer exhaustion, bodily frailty imposed by the long course of anti-rads, or the strange way he's twisted his body over and around Quinn's, the usual rattle of his snore has been tamed back into its cave, and he sleeps still and silent. Besides that, it's just Evan, wearing a pair of sweatpants, hugged up with his mum— Greg in a headlock in the pit of one elbow. A sure sign things have gone back to normal. At least, outwardly.

Quinn has wrangled Bunny into her bunk, it seems, and after the ordeal on the surface she sure as hell wasn't going to kick him out. A good bit of sleep gotten, she's now stirring slightly behind the curtain, body on the edge of waking up and not really accustomed to another with her in rest again. And her leg hurts… just a few more days in the cast until she switches to a brace, but sleeping in one position too long often brings on aches from the part of her leg not casted. So… she begins to slowly blink awake, reaching for the curtain, for a bit of light as her free hand smooths over bunny's hair again.

Tisiphone's locker door swings open with a quiet squeak. One hand propped against the frame, she leans forward to rummage within it. A few small items of dark clothing are thrown over at her bunk, followed by a small flask. She looks over her shoulder toward Sitka for a moment when his sentence stalls, mouth pursed, then turns back to her locker, eyes sketching across Alessandra en route.

Alessandra's pretty much got the brunt of her attention on Sitka which makes her oblivious to the fact that she's being looked at as well as the fact that Evandrus is sleeping with Quinn who has started to rouse, her gaze kept upon the Petrels' lead. "Coffee? Hey, yeah. I can do that. Let me see if I can get some brewing for you." Allie pivots as if she's about to go and do just that but Sitka then announces the fact that he has something to tell her, the younger pilot leaping to the conclusion that it's the same news she received not that long ago, it given to her by the XO. "If you're referring to the news about Lasher's death, I know, Shiv. I know." Much to her credit, Alessandra doesn't give into the tears that she has found herself in often since she was notified of Anton's passing but with the tightness in her voice and how her face tightens, it's probably very easy to assume that there's quite an emotional war raging inside of her. "Let me go see about that coffee, eh?"

The best part (okay, probably the only redeeming quality) about Bunny's predilection for snoring is that it's pretty easy to keep track of when he wakes up. Today, though, it's hard to tell. His hips are twisted weirdly to the side, presumably to keep his legs planted flat against the bulkhead and not get tangled up in the plasterishness of Quinn's legs, giving his torso the likeness of some beast rising up out of the ocean of sheets and arcing over Quinn to bury his head near her armpit. His throat moves a little as she touches his hair, though, palpable against her ribs.

So intent is he upon the younger Lieutenant, Shiv doesn't actually seem aware of the two raptors' sleeping arrangements a few bunks over. Even his pen's set down, paperwork aborted for the second time as he starts to speak, and stops when she mentions Lasher. His lips press together in a half-moue, half-grimace that remains for a couple of seconds before it's released with a sigh blown out his nose. "I'm sorry." Like it's his fault, somehow. "I… all right. Sure. You need any help?" His gaze drops away finally, his report flicked aside with his fingers, and he slumps down in his chair.

Quinn tilts her head to the side, kissing Bunny's forehead softly…"Hey… bunny boy… time to wake up… yer damned over due for that shower…" She mutters gently against his hair, trying to lend some levity to the heavy grief of the entire situation in the room. She's also still only half awake herself, not completely aware of what is going on with Alessandra just a few feet away.

"He died with a smoke in his mouth. Can't imagine there was any way he'd rather go." Tisiphone's voice, slightly muffled against a cigarette her head's tipped forward for, as she lights it. The first breath of smoke is let out with a wry snort; a second later her locker door squeaks shut again and the padlock clicks home. She sinks down on the edge of her bunk, and starts unlacing her boots.

Alessandra's normal inclination is to poopoo at any offer of help when it comes to doing something as simple as making coffee but, after giving Ibrahim a quick look from over her shoulder she realizes it isn't the help she'd be accepting but rather companionship, that being the one thing she's in dire need of at the moment. "Sure. You can help me hunt down the frakking machine and some mugs." Tis' take on the situation has her smiling, faintly, that being something she can totally see. "Yeah. That's for frakking sure. Think the only thing he would have liked more is a bottle of that moonshine from where he came from to go along with it." Maggie's voice is caught and she turns towards her bunk, a brow arching up slightly. "Jugs…Bunny? Are you guys in there?"

Evandreus's forehead knits just a little bit, but he's awake and with it enough to nod his head a little and then shift his weight back onto the elbow behind Quinn's back, pushing up and off of her, eyes still crusted shut and squeezed there in their discomfort. Thus blinded, he endeavors to climb over the mumsie and out of her bed, leaving Greg behind in Maggie's bunk, where the stuffed toy has evidently ended up living. He does a remarkable job of the dismount— chalk it up to a higher than average amount of practice climbing in and out of peoples' bunks. "Duckie. Yah," he tells her, voice still gravelly with sleep, the phlegm causing him to cough a few times into his arm instead of adding anything further to the conversation.

"It's probably down in marine country," the Petrel opines, with a soft grunt as he eases himself gently to his feet. The bandages aren't so obvious on him, but he's definitely sporting them under the slightly creased blues uniform. "..worst comes to the worst, we'll drop by supply and 'requisition' a new one." Yes, he puts those in air quotes, before leaning over to begin gathering up his paperwork. "Morning, Evan," is called across his shoulder to the newly-roused pilot. A second or two's worth of study before blue eyes trace toward Quinn, and remain there a while. "Maggie." A smile, tentative but sincere.

Quinn turns her head slowly, hearing more voices in the bunks than she has in ages. It's oddly reassuring. Warming. A tired smile crosses her pale features even if her eyes linger on the moving Bunny for a few moments, pinching at the edges in worry. "I'll be here, Bunny…" She murmurs gently to him. Hell, she might even offer to help, but he's not that hurt and the cast makes showering difficult at best. She pushes her hands down into the bedding of the bunk, dragging herself up into sitting. "Good to see you, Ibrahim… and yes… we're here, Lucky… " She tries her best to rub some sleep from her eyes and the morning taste out of her mouth.

Sitka is standing from his table, gathering a mess of paperwork. Alessandra is casting about the counter at the back of berths for something that evidently isn't there. Evandreus and Quinn are tangled up together, in the process of rousing, in Quinn's bunk. And Tisiphone? Tisiphone sits at the edge of hers, in the process of unlacing her freshly-polished boots. She has a blue-blackened cheekbone and a bandana on her head, covering seven weeks' worth of itchy, nasty, wretched HAIR.

There is a light clanging against the bulkhead's edge as Cadmus pulls aside the hatch to Pilot Country. "Knock knock," he ventures, craning his head into the bunk space. He carries a small bag in one hand, the contents lightly clanking as if to indicate bottles or other glassware within. "Is it safe for non-pilots to enter? I don't wanna disturb any of your crazy secret rituals or anything," he says, eyes shifting from person to person; his expression is one of faux suspicion. In stark contrast to his usual spic and span appearance, he's off-duty and looks it: fresh from the showers. Also in stark contrast to most of the other Marines, he's not festooned with bandages, either.

Alessandra sighs and looks at Shiv, her brow knitting as she considers his quirp about just where their coffee maker might have gotten off to. "As if the Marines don't have two to begin with," she grouses. Not that the Marines have that many but she has given herself permission to succumb to the urge to grossly over-exaggerate. "We'll have to get our hands on one if we're going to get coffee made," she adds, that being one of those 'no shit, Sherlock' kind of comments. Evan and Quinn are given a smile, that being one that is given to Cadmus when he speaks. "Lance. How are you doing? Ops went well for you, it looks like."

Evandreus stretches his back and manages, just, to peel one eye open— the lids are swollen, one of them still mildly bruised in hue, both red along the break between upper and lower lids, eyelashes clumped together with dried tears. Someone had a good cry. And is looking the better for it, this morning. If he's still not full of his usual spirit, that's only to be expected. "Shiv," comes from his freshly cleared throat, and he peeps back to mum with his one opened eye. "'Kay," he tells her, heading on down the line to his locker up in the front of the room. Towel. Need one of those.

Hey, speaking of marine country, there's Cadmus. The MP is noted by the Captain in the midst of shoving papers into his locker, and offered a smile in mute greeting. Considering his duty shift ended hours ago, confirmed by a brief glance at his watch, he goes about the process of quickly changing from blues into fresh fatigues. Clean fatigues. Gods, what a luxury.

A flicker of recognition in Tisiphone's pale eyes warms to something suspiciously close to fondness as she flicks an upward nod toward the trespassing MP. "Lance Corporal Maragos," she calls to him, lit cigarette bobbing at the corner of her mouth as she speaks. "Shit, man. I thought I heard your voice on the comms down there, but I couldn't tell for sure in all the clusterfrak. You got way too few holes for that, though." Pause. "That your entry fee you got with you?" Her eyes are on the bag in his hand.

Quinn continues rubbing her eyes slowly for a few moments. It seems she managed to comb out most of her hair, because it's not cut but it is thinner than it used to be, messily braided as was her wont to do on the ship previous to the surface. She faintly smiles after Bunny, but then her eyes flicker over to Cadmus and she nods respectfully. "Marine." It's an encouraging greeting. She doesn't mind him coming in. She's dressed just in her off-duty sweats, nothing being flashed… Maggie doesn't move from her bunk yet, though. sitting up is a good start.

Looking down and examining his limbs as if they belonged to another man, Cadmus rolls both shoulders in a shrug. "Another bloodbath, another time I don't even get a scratch. Everybody else is torn right the hell up, though," he comments, tone dry. Stepping fully into the room, he closes the hatch with a push of one foot; one hand digs around in the bag, and he produces two bottles: one bottle of Leonan vodka, and one bottle of Aerlonian bourbon, both of which are placed on the nearest footlocker. "My gift to the fine soldiers who kept my ass intact getting the frak off that rock, or who I did stupid shit to get back again. And a package for the Ensign, because these are long overdue, from Warday," he says; a package of cigarillos is tossed toward Tisiphone's bunk. "Yeah, that was me. I was calling down the orbital bombardment coordinates. Last line of defense."

Evandreus gets his locker open and stands there for a moment, letting the conversation fade to murmurs in the background of his thoughts as he regards the makeshift altar at the front corner of his locker through one squinty eye, then two squinty eyes. Finally he tucks his thumbs underneath the matched waistbands of his sweats and boxer-briefs, and, bending over, shoves them down off of his legs, stepping out of one leg at a time before standing up and getting them into his laundry bag. He takes out the old reddish robe, instead, pulling it around himself and tying it to in an uncharacteristic show of modesty. Maybe for the sake of the visitor, to whom he peeks a few times, but doesn't seem to fully process. Blearbunny.

And /that/, ladies and gents, is the simplest and most direct route to Tisiphone's heart — surprise treatses. She kicks off her boots, leaving them in a heap by the edge of her bunk, and looks back to Cadmus just in time to see the pack thrown her way. It's snagged, double-handed, against her chest, then flipped over for inspection, a slow smile curving bruised and unbruised cheekbone alike. "Was sure you forgot," she says, then again: "Shit, man. For these? You get the /good/ stories." Her smile splits to a sudden, toothy grin.

Allie nods in agreement to Cadmus but it seems she's on her way out for a few, taking Shiv with her as she's taking him along on a quest for their coffee maker. "I'lll be right back." Turning just in time to keep herself from bashing her left arm upon the frame of the hatch, she pauses, cusses a while and then ducks out.

"I frakkin' *hope*. Anything to lighten up my current stories: threw Admiral in jail, fell two dozen klicks, avoided death. The end," Cadmus shoots back, crumpling up the paper bag into a tight ball before tossing it behind his back into the corner wastebin. Apparently, falling for kilometers and arresting the senior official still living is chump change - though when compared to the trickle of stories about Leonis, they may be. He tilts back against the bulkhead, allowing the pilots their distance; he simply folds his arms and gives back a short nod to those present who have acknowledged his presence, filthy CMC though he may be. After a moment, he shrugs again: "I expect you'll be busting at the seams *eventually* to tell me all about the insanity you folks been through. At least the more interesting bits."

Sitka, too, is headed out. Once he's finished changing, and gets his locker door shut and padlocked. Fingers scraped through overlong curls, he heads for the door with nary more than an upnod for the pilots and marine still malingering about. "Thanks for helping to bring us home," is offered as a quiet aside to the cop on his way by. And then he's off, shrugging into his olive drab jacket as he goes.

Evandreus loads up the pockets of his bathrobe with a few toiletries, kept in small refillable bottles for ease of transport. Toothbrush pokes its head out over the edge of one pocket, too tall for it. A razor gets taken up, and Evan stares at its blades listlessly a moment before he looks back over to Duckie again, then to Cadmus. On whom his silent attention now lingers. Tired, tear-reddened eyes would -dare- him to ask about Leonis, if they had any sort of force behind them.

Quinn watches Bunny, in the main, her expression worried and overly protective, but then she invited him to cuddle the entire night last night and there was probably a hell of a reason for it. She studies him as he goes, but doesn't stop him, just frowning faintly before she looks back to the other ladies and the Marine in the room. "…Everyone…settling back in alright?" She dares to ask, that protectiveness extending to the others here now.

"You know what they say about flying, hey? It's just throwing yourself at the ground and missing." Still grinning, Tisiphone flips the pack of cigarillos over in her hands again before setting them down beside the flashk she fished out of her locker. She leans a shoulder into the edge of her bunk and prods the nearest chair out a few inches with one red- and gold-stripeysock'd toe. "Wasn't the Admiral you threw in the brig, man," she mutters, her grin suddenly full of black-as-vacuum mirth. "C'mon, sit down."

Easing himself into the proffered chair, Cadmus takes the time to touch his brow in greeting to Quinn: it's apparent in his hesitant body language that while he knows *who* she is, his familiarity doesn't extend to anything behind quiet respect - hence the non-vocal response. Tisiphone, on the other hand, is someone somewhat more familiar to him: "Yeah, well, if you say so. It sure felt like the Admiral to me, same as it felt like my friends I beat up. But we have rules for this kind of stuff, and if people don't wanna follow 'em… Well, I'm still gonna do my job," he mutters, rocking back in his chair so it balances on the last two feet.

Evandreus turns away from Cadmus as he goes to sit down. What was he doing? Oh. Right. Shower. Razor collected, for whatever good it might do against the forest of growth on his face, he heads out.

It takes a while but Allie's soon returning, victorious it'd seem as she has a coffee maker in tow. With how they all look the same it's had to tell if it was theirs to begin with, of course, but it doesn't matter as it should more than suffice in making coffee. She is, however, missing Shiv who went on his own way somewhere between the berths and wherever it was Alessandra found the brewer. "Sitka will be back later," she says as she sets the pot and the machine part down, it eyed darkly as she does as if she's fully expecting it to get up and leave the room under its own power. "Frakking thing. Going to glue it down so no one can steal it."

"Naw, I mean- it wasn't the Admiral." Wasn't that exactly what Tisiphone just said to the MP? She pulls another slow drag off her cigarette, eyes tracking Alessandra's progress across the room as she exhales, then flicking back to Cadmus. "You had a chance to see the videotape we brought back yet? Abbot and his pet Centurions? Pretty sure Lieutenant Oberlin's been /sleeping/ with it since we found it, just to make sure it got back okay."

Cadmus scratches idly at his chin, the gesture slow and calm as he watches the pilots move about the room with their generally sleepy countenances speaking greater volumes than indelicate words. "Uh," he ventures after a moment, "Yeah, I heard about it, but that doesn't mean I believe it. Borenstein, he edited up some video but good. And until I get that video analyzed by someone I'd give blood to, I'll reserve judgment." Ever the evidentiary individual. He drums his fingers against the bunk's edge, regarding Tisiphone, then Alessandra and Quinn. "I mean, shit, you've been through the wringer, and I trust *you*. But I sure as shit don't trust some random newscrew I don't know from Odysseus that just happens to have a tape, especially when I can find *much* more likely targets for suspicion."

"What's done is done. I trust Tillman with my life and he made the call on this. He wouldn't do it without enough concrete information. I have faith in this crew and what happened." Maggie states strongly, a touch too much passion behind her voice, but then rumors of she and the XO being together aren't exactly quiet these days.

Alessandra hasn't spoken to anyone about the events that transpired in regards to Abbot goes but she doesn't feel up to remaining quiet any longer, her voice held at a barely level tone and volume when she does. "We had to move. It was either that or jeopardize our mission. Or worse." Maggie's given a nod while she gets the coffee maker plugged in but it's left off, Alessandra no longer having the appetite for coffee nor the desire to make any just yet. "Lesser of a large number of sins, if you want to look at it that way." Her head turns and then the rest of her shifts to follow, turning a full 180 so she can face everyone at the same time. "Even then, it's something I hope I never, ever have to take part in again."

Craning his head to the side, Cadmus lifts his hands to Maggie in a gesture of abject helplessness. "Oh, I agree," he says, "But a decision isn't a conviction, and suspicion over lack of evidence doesn't mean I don't trust the XO or the crew. I just don't wanna be hoodwinked because of enthusiasm, is all I'm saying. I'm getting to the bottom of this, but I'm not going to do it on blind frakkin' faith, for Clive or Stephen or *anyone*. When we crack this, it's going to be because we're in possession of the facts." The finality of the "we" within his statement indicates this is not an all-inclusive group. More likely he is speaking of the MP Corps, or perhaps a sub-group of them.

Tisiphone's eyes flick across the room to Quinn and hold there for a moment. It's the same sort of bland stare she fixed on Alessandra, earlier — and drags past her a second time, as she returns her attention to Cadmus. "Yeah, they're a week or two ahead of us on the tech curve," she says, her voice all but dripping with understatement. "They're making-" What word to use? "-duplicates of people, at best. Two weeks ago we were fighting multiple- copies of the same person. One after the next. So even if the tape's a forgery, the possibility of it's really there."

Quinn nods in agreement to the MP, "Yes, of course… we're not going to take someone's head off without a full trial and evidence… but Clive did what he thought needed be done, and we were able to get you all off the surface shortly after. Before that? We couldn't… there was a leak. A mole. Seems like damn good evidence to me already." Maggie grumbles passionately, finally swinging her legs down from her bed and leaning down to grab up her crutches from the floor. Next thing she's doing, she's quickly shifting onto her feet, determined to get moving. The wave of dizziness that hits her a moment later lands her back on her ass in her bed. She shakes it off, apparently needing to take it a bit slower.

Pitching forward, Cadmus rolls off the chair to a standing position as it reaches the deck. Leaning over onto his fists, he watches Quinn's unsteadiness with a minor amount of concern, but doesn't comment. "I tell you what, though. John Borenstein is probably going to be a gold mine of information for us, and I expect that bastard will get cracked sooner rather than later. He's a stone pro saboteur, and I expect that's because he's one of the Cylon clones," Cadmus says, a slight grin spreading across his face. "So we'll see what facts HE may share."

There's a dark cloud that hangs over this subject, something that could be said in addition to it all but it is a fact - that being that Tillman and Allie both will be brought before a firing squad if Abbot's found innocent after all of this - that is probably not needed to be said and is one that she really does not care to revisit at this moment. "I think I need some fresh air," she blurts out suddenly, turning to get the hell out of there. It's a reaction that won't do anything for morale, most likely, but that's something that doesn't even dawn on Alessandra who is in such a hurry to get somewhere else that she's about leaving flaming skid marks due to how fast she's out the hatch.

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