PHD #045: Looking for Answers
Looking for Answers
Summary: People arrive at what currently serves as sickbay; some come to visit the wounded, some come because they have volunteered to help and others come in search of answers.
Date: 11 Apr 2041 AE
Related Logs: Clankers logs
Pallas Laskaris Kai Sofia Sitka Krysesi Cidra Alessandra Evandreus 
Recreation Room
(Room description doesn't match how it is currently. Just imagine a large room that is meant for recreation and is instead being used for a make-shift medical ward, complete with cots, medical equipment, and medics and all that.)
Post Holocaust Day: #45

The recreation room is busy but it's not with people looking to relax; there are no games of pool or triad to be found, no movies or recorded games of Pyramid to be watched and no people chatting. It's instead filled with the wounded of the Cylon attack from the previous night and those who are tending to their needs, the patients laid out in methodical rows, evenly spaced so passage between make-shift beds is easier. One of the patients is Lucky who is one of those seriously injured, recovering from her chest wounds while kept mostly lucid via the liberal use of morpha.

With the number of medical professionals mown down in the attack of yesterday, Cerberus needs to reach to the dregs for medical support. It's gotten so bad at this point that two deployments on the CEC Marsyas — more or less a flying rescue hospital — have qualified Evan Doe for a second duty shift down here, post-CAP, changing bandages, taking vitals, and pulling bedpan duty under the orders of the actual medical staff. He's just returning from the sterilization lab in Sickbay with arms stacked full of the silvery bedpans, setting them on a table that had been running low on them.

It's at that time when Alessandra manages to pull herself out of the haze enough to be aware of her surroundings although she is still having a bit of difficulty recognizing faces. "Frak…" she moans while peering about, her eyes squinted against the light that seems intent on shining right in her face. "Hey…hey, can I get some water, please," she asks the passing bedpan-bearer, not realizing it's Evan she's making the request of. "Thirsssy."

Evandreus is wearing a set of scrubs, a little lighter in hue than the deep red ones the actual nursing staff wears, but in which he blends inconspicuously enough into the tide of medical personnel pacing the dense corridors of the supplementary bay. He barely looks at Alessandra, himself, but at her vitals chart hanging at the foot of her stretcher, looking to see whether she's OKed to take liquid orally. Checking the OK line twice with his finger, he gives a quick nod, then, finally looking to her face, "… Duckie," he realizes. "Yah. Yah, I'll grab you some, just a sec." And he heads down to the end of the row to fill up a plastic cup from the pitcher down there, plopping in a bendy straw as he heads back up to Duckie's bedside.

This is the part of being hurt that is both very nice and kind of cruddy, that being the drugs. Yeah, it's nice to ride the high and do so without risking your career but it comes with the price of a nasty case of cotton mouth to go along with everything else. "Hey, Buns. What are you doing here?" Reaching up, she rubs the back of a hand to her face, the one sans all the IV tubing and shit in it, trying to get the last of the sleep out of her eyes. "My face feels funny," she adds only to pause when she feels a small dribble of drool get away from her. "Ew…anyhow, how are you, Evan? Everything alright, yeah," she asks once he's close enouguh, not really able to speak too loud at the moment.

"Had to take a second job to keep the mortgage payments up on my bunk," Evan explains, matter-of-factly enough, tugging a tissue free from a stand between beds and using it to carefully mop up the drool on Duckie's face, leaving her nice and tidy. "Everything's juuust fine," he goes on to say along with the dabbing. looking from her cheek to her eyes. Leaving out all the corpses on the stairs and scattered all over the ship. He even manages a little smile for her, "You just relax, eh? And worry about getting better. How do you feel?"

Alessandra's face goes a bit scrunchy at that but she offers no protest, the squalling at being wiped dry of her spit kept internal instead of being voiced. "Thanks," she says while reaching for the cup, trembling fingers making her have to try twice before she manages to get a sturdy grip on it. "I am alright. Miffed at myself though. Wish I could have at least shot one of those metal bastards down before getting frakking hurt." Sniffing in annoyance, she has to pause to take that drink, allowing for her to think back, the mental wading making her feel like she's having to trek through so many gallons of jello to remember anything important that doesn't involve her being shot. "How many did we lose," she asks, the straw held between her lips as she mumbles her query.

"I think you're holding out too high an expectation for yourself, Duckie," Evan holds the cup with her until she's got a good grip on it, and even then keeps his fingers poised beneath the bottom of the cup in case she fumbles it. "Those metal bastards are made of metal, and hard to destroy. Remember your wrath," he recalls their earlier conversation to her. "I don't know," is his answer to her question, tone of voice indicating that it's either too high a number to count or that he does know and doesn't want her to be upset when presented with the statistics.

"Oh…I know," Allie assures Evan, not having forgotten their discussion a couple days ago, that being too much in the front of her mind to be erased by almost anything. "Consider it wishful thinking, nothing more." One more drink through the bendy straw and she leans back afterwards, letting Bunny put the cup down for her since he still has his grip on the cup. She mulls over his answer after that before nodding, taking it for what it is while somehow managing to not bristle too much over the lack of information at the same time. "Well, that's alright. We probably don't have all the numbers anyhow. It's probably something they'll…announce once they figure their shit out." The 'they' in that being Command.

At this point, someone down the line is calling for him, and Evan looks in that direction, then back to Duckie. "I gotta get a move on, Duckie," he tells her. "I'll leave this right here for you," the drink gets put up next to the tissues, the dirty tissue getting taken along to be disposed of. "Try not to worry too much, okay? Get some rest."


The makeshift sickbay has taken over the Recreation Room in its entirety. And still it feels like not enough space. There are so many wounded and damaged in the wake of the Cylon attack in varying degrees of broken. Through the sleeping, groaning, crying, screaming ranks of soldiers moves Pallas, glancing at each person only for a moment before moving on. He's clearly looking for someone. If a quick glance at Pallas is any indication, he hasn't slept since the Cylon attack that happened yesterday. The old man looks like absolute shit, there's no two ways around it. But lucky for him, the only damage he seems to have suffered lately is a bruised jaw and a bad split lip. Unlike some of the people here, who've suffered much worse.

Sofia's damage is hardly physical. But she is pushing a tray with a teapot, some water and other things. At least the loony can be put to SOME work. She seems eerily peaceful though, normally wide and bright green eyes somewhat dulled. There's still plenty of miscellaneous tasks though and even Medicated McGee can heft a body or push a mop. She pauses, noticing Pallas. "Hello sir, are you looking for someone?"

Alessandra's one of those who was brought here in the aftermath of the slayings, her body repaired and bandaged for her efforts in protecting the Cerberus and her people. She's conscious but bored; Evandreus was here earlier, helping out with the wounded, but he had to lend his aid to others which means she has been left alone. She has somehow gotten her hands on one of the games - a word-finding game for those keeping score - but she doesn't dare shake it as it'd make too much noise, leaving her to stare at the same frakking letters over and over again. "Quidnep…" she rattles off another 'word', whispering it to herself so she won't be thought of as insane. "…six points. Go me."

He's still got a couple bullet holes in him, but with the wounds patched up and his being perfectly hale otherwise, Laskaris was given the boot from the impromptu medbay earlier this morning. He still sports the thin bandage on his neck, and presumably one on his side under his uniform. Clad in his blues, and freshly showered and shaved, Lasher treads quietly down one of the rows of cots.

Pallas looks up from the face of a Marine who looks to have been brought here just as a formality - his body is barely even held together. "I'm looking for Ensign Abilon," he says to Sofia. "He was up in Sickbay when the Cylons came." Abilon, or 'Burnout', has been in the Sickbay since Warday, comatose - it's not likely that he's down here now unless someone carried him down. "Is he alive? Is he here?" Move on to the next one - check the face. Not him. Keep moving. His path brings him closer and closer toward Alessandra, whom he hasn't noticed yet.

"…ah, frak this shit," Allie grumps while sweeping the damnable game to the floor, causing the letter cubes inside of the plastic cube to clatter noisily, much to the annoyance of three of the medical personnel and at least two other patients, some of whom actually glare at her. It doesn't manage to register, though, all social decorum shot to hell currently. A quick glance has her noticing Lasher but Pallas isn't seen just yet as she's ducking her head down hurriedly. Shame at her outburst sinks in immediately. Hopefully the LT didn't notice her acting like a petulent child.

Poor marine. Sofia is thoughtful a moment. She looks over, "I'm not sure. I think he's alive," She admits. "But I will find a doctor," Noddnod. There's so many casualties, even loony with a good memory has a hard time keeping up. Sofia pauses and notices more visitors. A polite smile to Laskaris too. "I'll also let you know if I see him," She promises Pallas. "It's been tough tracking people. You're welcome to look though I think, unless the Docs shoo you off." She pauses hearing the letters fall. "Oh." She looks to see that that's an acci— yup, okay. "Hm. I think someone is awake at least."

Over on one of the gurneys, Elis Krysesi has been quietly staring at the ceiling in her morpha haze. Catching cylon bullets with your stomach is never good for the health, but considering that she was the only person in there who was armed, she had to do something.

Lasher barely has time to offer Sofia a nod in return before his head turns like a cracking whip, his attention grabbed by the loud clatter of Allie's game going to the floor. He turns down one of the rows, advancing on Allie's bed. Nothing is said to the woman for a moment; Lasher simply picks up the various pieces of the game, putting it back together before it's silently offered back to Alessandra with a worn expression.

The clatter of Alessandra's game catches Pallas' attention - but his reaction is noticeably slow. He really must be out of it. His usually brooding or downright hateful visage is replaced by a mostly vacant gaze, though his critical eyes still have some life in them. For a brief second, his gaze intersects Lasher's. "That's fine," he says to Sofia, taking his eyes away from Lasher and Lucky. "She oughta know." He nods to Krysesi, the next cot over. "If she knows anything right now through her morpha happy-time." Reaching out to put his arm on her shoulder, he tries to catch her eyes. "Where is Ensign Abilon?" he asks. "Burnout. Coma pilot. Where is he?"

A pause. She lets the meetings go on quietly. Sofia is near Alessandra, Lasher and Elis with a cart. She's currently acting as a glorified candy striper, body cleaner and mop pusher these days. Psychosis falls slowly, alas. She does smile politely at visitors, but it's an odd, almost flat sort of thing. "Sure." She blinks as Pallas asks Elis. Headtilt. For now, Sofia is quiet. But she does have some refreshments on the cart.

"Hey, El-Tee," Lucky says, greeting Laskaris with a lopsided grin and a blush. "Thanks." She uses one hand to take the game from him and then she goes to try to hold his with the other, the one without all the needles and tubing stuck into it. "You look like you're about to fall over. Sit for a bit, please?" Scooting over, she makes as much room as she can on the narrow bed, the cot barely wide enough for her but she tries regardless. "Or are you here to see someone else?"

Krysesi blinks for a moment, her morpha induced haze meaning that it takes some time for her to understand the question and remember the answer. The name isn't familiar, but critical care was all on one side of the sickbay. She remembers a doctor running over in that direction, and the cylons spraying that whole wall as a result. Her face falls, and she manages to whisper, "I'm sorry… I tried…"

The hatch is swung open to admit yet another visitor, judging by the absence of scrubs which might indicate medical personnel. Instead, a half-zipped flight suit, dark hair which looks like it's spent the better part of eight hours under a helmet, and a cigarette dangling from the pilot's lips while Sitka pats down his gear for (presumably) a lighter.

Pallas searches Krysesi's eyes, his grip tightening on her shoulder. Not enough to be painful or even uncomfortable, but definitely noticeable. "You…" With a disgusted shake of the head, he releases her and stands up, moving onto the next cot. "She doesn't know what she's talking about," he mutters. "Morpha-frakked. She probably doesn't even know her own frakkin' name right now." His words are a little slurred. An effect of alcohol? Or just fatigue? The next three cots are passed quickly, which lands him by Lasher and Lucky. "Ensign Abilon," he says flatly to the two of them. Actually, he addresses Alessandra, not really looking at Laskaris. "Have you seen him in here?"

"Well, I thought I'd check in on Stavrian, but the frakker's still asleep. So, here I am." Laskaris replies sardonically. He allows her to take his hand, even squeezing a little as he takes the offered seat. As best he can, anyway. He looks up at Pallas for a moment, shaking his head wordlessly at the man's question. "How're you doing?" He looks the woman over. "You're alive, leastways." He takes out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Allie before lighting one himself.

"Ah. Figures. I'm the second choice," Lucky says with as much humor as she can muster, the dry tone of her voice not quite matching the light in her eyes. "Thanks for dropping by, even if that is true, hmmm?" Not a smoker usually, she almost turns down the offered smoke but it's accepted at the last second, it something to fidget with even if she can't smoke. "I didn't realize Jesse got hurt…frakkers." She'd say something else on that subject but then Pallas is standing there, asking her a question she has no reply to as she has no frakking clue who 'he' is. "Who are you asking about," she asks before murmuring to their Squadron Leader, "Yeah, I'm alive, if you can call it that. Hope to be out of here soon." Or…so she hopes.

The improvised medbay has been invaded by pilots! Hide your women! Er- wait. Ahem. Sofia is pushing a cart with tea, water and other light refreshments to help out doctors and tired patients. She is listening quietly although the woman seems oddly /calm/ and emotionless. She does offer, "You're welcome to something to eat or drink if you wish. Otherwise, I'll be out of your hair I think." Elis is on a cot, as is Alessandra. The others appear to be visition and gathering. LIKE VULTURES. Except no one appears to actually circle the cots.

By the time his smoke's lit, Sitka's had the chance to take a quick tally of the familiar faces in here. It's pulled from once, then relegated to two fingers while he begins strolling along the rows of cots. A couple of marines get a small smile on his way past, but with time a'wastin', he continues on to where the pilots are laid up. Well, one pilot in particular. "Excuse me," is murmured as he steps around behind Sofia, knuckles briefly touching the woman's shoulder so as not to startle her. Hopefully.

Krysesi is laying back on her cot, staring up at the ceiling in a morpha-induced haze. The drug is only partly to keep her from feeling the pain, though: It also keeps her in the bed, since when she's fairly incoherent, it's less likely that she'll want to get up and help.

"Abilon. 'Burnout'." Pallas gives Alessandra a frustrated 'do those ring a bell?' look. Well, with the unspoken '…idiot?' on the end, of course. "My wingman, back at the Picon Anchorage fight." Ah, frak it. "Not unless you have whiskey," he says to Sofia, looking over her cart. There's no such luck… is there? Lasher's headshake is taken with a grimace. Still not a single word between those two. "I'll frakkin' look over every body in this place, and if I don't find him, do it again," he growls, and continues moving down the succession of wounded personnel.

Cidra invades the improvised Medical bay. To complete the aerial assault. She's even in the flight suit, sans helmet, hair down and lank. Signs of just off CAP. No missiles are launched from her person right away, however. She casts a look about, trying to get an eye on who's laid out in the cots. And a bead on any on-duty Medical personnel.

Probably best not to startle the resident loony, no. Fortunately, she's quietly medicated and seems to be holding up. She turns as she's tapped. Blink. Blinkblink. Soffia tilts her head.A pause at Pallas, "No. No whiskey. I'd probably start barfing and seeing things and last time that happened I walked around muttering with an axe. Or so I'm told." A resigned shrug. Sadface. This in a completely neutral tone. "What did your friend look like? I'm still unwell so I can keep an eye out." She promises. She seems sympathetic at least. Then a look to Sitka. "Oh! Hello there. May I help you?"

Elis Krysesi is medical, but definitely not on duty Not with bandages wrapped around her midsection and a morpha drip in her arm. Even though Pallas is still asking about his friend, she either doesn't realize that he didn't believe her, or doesn't really care. At least the morpha prevents her from having waking nightmares of the scene she couldn't stop.

A puff of smoke floats up from the vicinity of Allie's cot, where Lasher is sitting and smoking a cigarette as he talks to the injured woman. "He did. Worse even than you did, I think," he replies. "They had me a couple cots down from him when they brought me in the other night. Bloody crazy Saggie wouldn't let 'em give him morpha, either." He shakes his head in wonderment. A long look down at Allie. "Hope so too," he replies to her last. And just before someone might think he's getting sentimental, he adds, "Whole frakkin' wing's on double CAPs, and I'm short of pilots as is." He clears his throat. "Speaking of which… as soon as you're back in action, you'll have your section back. Too many rookies to keep an experienced el-tee as my wingman."

"Your best bet's probably to track down the CMO," Sitka tells the roving Pallas, over his shoulder. The older Lieutenant's watched for a few seconds more, dark brows furrowed slightly in a pensive expression. Sofia's query draws his attention back to the young woman for a moment. "I, uh, no. I think I've found who I'm looking for. Thanks." He flickers her a faint smile. Then, smoke brought to his lips, he tugs the zipper down on his flight suit a few more inches and resumes his approach of Alessandra's cot. Doesn't seem he's spotted his CAP-mate and Commanding Officer at the hatch, yet.

"Oh, you're the crazy one," Pallas says, suddenly recognizing Sofia. "Meds haven't quite sorted out your brain the way that higher wants it?" he asks. Unlike last time, though, there doesn't appear to be much malice in the man. "Burnout's young, in his mid-twenties, shaved head, looks like he's half-retarded." Make a face like him! The old man actually does, indicating that the half-retarded comment refers to Burnout's frakked-up looking eyes and isn't some backhanded insult. Sitka's given a simple nod in response to the suggestion. Nevertheless, the trek down the aisles continues - cot after cot, face after face. No sign of his former wingman as of yet.

Alessandra darts a glance back over to Spiral, her brow furrowing. It takes a bit but she finally remembers who Burnout is even if only vaguely. "I haven't seen him in a long time, Pallas. I'm sorry." Of course with Spiral's attention divided as it is, he might not hear her. With that done she turns her attention to the SL, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Yeah. It's not like you'd miss me if I were to not make it, right?" Her hand, the one in his, twitches a bit as does the corner of her mouth, the self-depreciating humor showing through. "Hey, Anton. When I get out of here, I'd like to talk with you." A nod is what he's given as to his comment about her going to be lead but it's clear that subject as a whole is going to leave a bitter taste in her mouth. "There will be several people who will be pissed off as frak over that." Sitka and Cidra are seen out of the coner of her eye but she doesn't wave just now.

Cidra does eventually find a roving nurse who has a moment for her. They talk softly for a moment and Cidra nods, leaving the woman to her work. That done, she continues on her course. Sitka is spotted. She wasn't far behind him into the rec room. "Shiv," she offers to him as she comes up behind him. "I came to check the tally." Eyes rove down the rows of cots again. Pallas is spotted. On his feet. She even looks mildly pleased he's not bedded down with tubes in him. Mildly. Laskaris and Alessandra are spotted not long after.

A sad look at that. "Well. I feel ready to work, but I suppose feelings are deceptive," She admits quietly. Sofia is saddened by this fact. She hms. "I think I helped that fellow. He sounds familiar." Although admittedly, Sofia's memory is unreliable at best with her crazy and all. She does have tea and snakes though. "I promise I will look hard and ask the CMO. I think I'm due for an eval anyway. They need me to fix our stuff. I have some ECM experience so I - I remember that," She nods. Hopeful. A polite smile at Sitka. "Sure. If you get thirsty, don't hesitate to ask. Passing out would annoy the medic,s' She points out quietly. She'll hover by Cidra and the group. Bring out cher—- wait, wrong kind of cart.

Sitka might just be making some kind of mental note, where Pallas is concerned. The fellow's wandering about, searching for his lost wingman is reminiscent of his own half-dazed meandering through sickbay, the day after nearly a third of his squad was vaporised. The approaching CAG is greeted with two fingers tipped to his forehead in a casual salute, blue eyes scanning her face briefly as if hunting for something there. "Evening, sir. Seems like the wing got off pretty light, all things considered." He nods toward Alessandra's cot, and gives Sofia a chuckle. "I'll take a bottle of ambrosia, if you happen to be carting any around."

If Pallas heard Alessandra's reply, he gives no indication of it either way. "Helped him what?" he asks Sofia flatly. "He's been comatose for a month and a half." He's about five cots down from the big pilot gathering when he stops and backtracks, muttering something under his breath. Stopping by Krysesi's cot again, he leans down over the woman, hands gripping the sides of her cot. "What do you mean, you tried? What happened to him?" he asks. "Did you see him - " Call it sentimental or superstitious, but he can't bring himself to finish that sentence.

"Oh, shut the frak up," Lasher replies mock-testily to the self-deprecating bit. "I may be a bastard, but for frak's sake, I'm not heartless." He takes another drag from his cigarette, blowing the pungent smoke out through his nose. "Well, they can be bloody well pissed all they bloody well like. This isn't a bleedin' democracy, and I'm fed up with everyone pissing and moaning about every decision I make. They'll live with it." Looks like someone inadvertently touched a nerve. "I post this same godsdamn sentence with the wing assignments every time: 'Come to me with any questions, comments, concerns you might have.' Well, no one comes to me. So…" He shrugs. "I'm not going to be in the mood for any bullshit." There's a nod a moment later in response to her request. "Sure. My door's open any time."

Krysesi looks up at Pallas, blinking the haze from her eyes and slowly processing the question. "That side of the bay had everything," she whispers slowly. "Doctors, equipment, supplies… they sprayed all of it." She doesn't say the words, but they hang in the air anyway. It's likely that no one against that wall survived. She sounds /very/ guilty when she adds, "I tried to distract it, but it ignored me."

"It does seem so, thank all gods," Cidra replies to Sitka. "I am trying to get a proper update from Medical on the status of those injured. One of the nurses said she will try and hunt something down. Things must be most difficult for the doctors now. They were hit most hard." Her gaze sort of zeroes in on Laskaris and Alessandra. But, while they're talking, she gives them room. Gaze switches to Pallas, whom she follows.

"Wasn't he one of the ones we moved?" Headtilt. "I wasn't there at first, but I hurried from the berthings when I heard the things stop." Sofia possesses the unique advantage of 3M, knowing all the shortcuts aboard the ship. "I couldn't say who they shot," Sofia admits. Although it is unlikely the comatose fellow made it, Sofia could SWEAR she saw the fellow. She doesn't join in the pilot chat, just doing her thing. "But I had to help move them," Crazy is crazy but she's a sturdy pair of hands at least. "Still… I want to say I saw him. They lightened my medicine so I'm not too zoned," A shrug. "Hey I think someone is following you." A blank stare at Cidra.

There is a bit of laughter from Lucky when she actually gets some kind of reaction out of Anton although it's not exactly what she was hoping for. Expecting? Yes. Hoping for? Not by a long shot. "Oh. Well, you know. You'll find some other snot-nosed El-Tee to take my place if I do expire," she jests. "Do you want me to start coming to you when I have concerns," she inquires then. "I will admit to trying to keep things to myself out of fear of being a burden to you." Which is probably making his job more difficult, something that she is learning in the aftermath of all the crap that has happened. "But if it won't make things worse on you, I'll start doing so."

The viper Captain, too, watches Laskaris and Alessandra for a few seconds, after catching a tidbit or two of their conversation. After a drag from his cigarette, and a glance at his watch, he lightly touches Cidra's arm to gain her attention for a second. "Seems a little crowded in here at the moment. I'm going to head off. If you need me for extra shifts or anything.." She knows where to find him. Turning, Sitka begins to depart.

"Great," Pallas sighs, hanging his head. "The one who's high as frak on morpha says he's dead and the one who's axe-murdering crazy says he's alive. What frakking malevolent god is up there laughing at me?" Slowly, he lets go of Krysesi's cot and stands up again, eyes still on the morpha-hazed Petty Officer. As he straightens up again, he staggers to the side a bit - losing his balance so easily? "Nobody's stupid enough to follow me," he says to Sofia dismissively, turning around to follow her look - to Cidra. "Hm," is all he says.

Sofia's not unsympathetic although she pouts. "I'm not axe murdering crazy." She puts her hands on her hips. "Just … can't remember…" And WAS in possession of an axe. Coincidental really. "Farewell sir," She waves to Sitka. A pause there. "I guess I should go see if there's time for my eval. There are things needing repair." Sofia nods. She looks to Krysesi. "Are you thirsty at all?" She offers politely. At least her manners seem intact… if severely ritualized.

Cidra inclines her head to Sitka as he goes. "Certainly. I am most glad you are whole and available for them, Captain. You were in the thick of things, from what I have heard." That said, she lets Shiv run free without holding him up any further. Pallas is still there for her to bother, however. And so she does. "Spiral. How is it with you?" The question is asked more to get his attention than anything else.

Lasher sighs. "I said it. I meant it," he replies forcefully. "Yeah, maybe it will be somethin' of a burden… but it's my job — my damn responsibility to shoulder it. Goes for everyone. You, the rooks, even him." A thumb jerks over his shoulder to indicate Pallas, still frantically searching for his wingman. "I want everyone to bring me their concerns. I'd rather deal with things before they get to the point of festering and causing even greater problems." He shrugs, pausing for a drag. "Like I said… I'm a bastard, but I'm not heartless."

"Same goes for you, sir," Sitka tells the CAG in parting, lips twisting into a small smile for the woman. Then, with one last glance over his shoulder to Pallas, the Petrel turns and lumbers on out.

Krysesi isn't high as frak, herself. Still up there, though. As Pallas stands up and departs, she looks back to the ceiling, watching nothing, just drifting there and hoping not to remember too much.

Alessandra's hand finally slips away from Lasher's but instead of being removed from his person entirely she takes to playing with the man's uniform jacket, first removing a bit of lint here and there and then running her fingers along the edge of where it is buttoned closed. "Alright. I'll do so then, Lieutenant." Normally this is where she'd try to inject more humor into the conversation but between the gravity of what it is they're discussing and with how sleepy she feels off and on she decides to be sincere with him. "You're not as heartless as you try to make yourself out to be, Lasher. Or at least I…I think so."

Pallas is already looking at Cidra, but it takes a moment for what she said to click in his brain. "I'm - " Blink. What? Frown. "I'm alive." Disappointing to others, he's sure. Hell, maybe even to himself. But that's more than can be said for many right now. Most of humanity, actually. "Burnout, however, may not be. But I haven't finished looking." The question isn't reciprocated as he continues his search, moving away from Krysesi's cot once more, scanning face after face.

When she enters, it is with a safetied rifle slung over her shoulder, additional medical supplies, mostly dressings now, and a big ol bag hanging from one arm. The latter is set down first, followed by the sorting of the medical supplies. Finally, a glance up to the patients and staff alike. For all here, Kai shares, "I bring foods for gentle stomachs, healing stomachs, and hungry stomachs, compliments of the galley staff. Jello and broths to actual edibles. Who's up for some nibbles, mmm?" Nevermind that she's missing her uniform shirt, has blood stains over the undershirts, and a few smudges along her arms and face. Kai doesn't care after all.

Poor Pallas. Sofia looks sympathetic. She'll lightly pat poor Pallas on the shoulder. "Huh? Oh, you can put them on the cart if you like. They had me bring water and stuuff," Sofia remarks to Kai. She looks zoned. Her green eyes are kind of strange, that hazed look. She offers a polite smile. "It's appreciated." Nod. A look around. "I didn't even realize we had so many pilots, but they must be good friends to all visit," She considers softly.

Cidra's eyes switch between Pallas and a point off in the rec room somewhere. They zero in on that nurse she was talking to before, who's gradually winding her way back toward the CAG. With a clipboard. "I am here partially to get a handle on the status of our casualties. Both during the attack and those that had to be evacuated from Sickbay. Things are most chaotic for the doctors now, but it is forthcoming." She motions to the nurse again. Who's finally properly approaching Cidra.

"See that you do." Lasher smiles thinly down at the injured woman. "Can't do everything on my own, eh?" He takes a brief pull from his cigarette, his brow twitching a bit at her last comment. The rangy blond man shrugs noncommittally, not exactly sure what to say to that. "I try not to make myself out to be anything," he replies finally. A shrug. "I am what I am. Always have been."

The foods are separated into piles: those for the sick but awake, those for the healing and stomach and intestinal strength, and those for everyone else. "You need to eat." This said as Kai gives Sofia a most pointed look. "You're dead on your feet. Grab some coffee and carbohydrates at the very least." That's right. She's … well… -sort of- giving orders. "You're no good to your patients if you end up on a stretcher, Doc." A glance to Pallas, judging his ability to consume something. Laskaris. Krysesi. Alessandra. Cidra. Sitka. Sad, really, but it looks like the Marine's ready to order people to eat.

Krysesi isn't really paying attention when Kai mentions food. Then again, her range of perception seems to be seriously limited by the pain control. At least the bullets managed not to damage too much of her insides, so she /could/ eat.

"Hence why I'm looking for myself," Pallas says to Cidra. He pulls his shoulder away from Sofia's reassuring pat. Save your sympathy for someone with a soul. As he sees Kai looking him over, a frown crosses his face for a moment. Did that Private just check him out? "If you'll excuse me, Major, it's not exactly a small room." And onward he goes, continuing his mindless and brain-numbing task of methodically checking every single person here.

"Yeah. I know. What we see is what we get when it comes to Lieutenant Anton Mother-Frakking Laskaris." The mention of food has Allie's stomach growling loudly but she forgoes taking up Kai on the offer, most likely a result of someone's orders for her to be on a liquid diet even though she hasn't suffered any gut wounds. This time. It is probably safe to assume she'd forgo the food anyhow even if she was able to due to how engrossed she is with the conversation she's having with Lasher. "Just wish I could read your mind some days," she abruptly amends, that statement tacked on as if in afterthought, hurried and said with nothing like consideration given.

Cidra lets Pallas go for the moment, taking the clipboard from the nurse when it's eventually delivered to her. She skims it. Slim frown on her face, on cheek sucked in. A short nod. The clipboard is passed back to said nurse, though she keeps a paper from it. And resumes trailing Pallas. "Have you located Ensign Abilon yet? I am now told he should be bedded here. In another area of the room, perhaps. They seem to be using as much of the space as they can."

Mouth open. Mouth close. Sofia looks a bit sad for a moment. "Poor guy," She tilts her head. "He has a soul otherwise I'd have to set him on fi— shoot, I can't joke like that or it's another week," Sadface. She lets poor Pallas go though, without any struggle. She looks evenly at Kai. "I'm on medication." Cough. Awkward. "but. Thank you." Smile. "And … kind of allergic to caffiene, but it's cool to turn purple and speak in tongues on command." Grin. "Cept… the shrink doesn't like that." At least there's a clouded sense of humor beneath it all. "Oh well. I think most of the patients who can eat are over on this side here," A motion. "I might eat i na bit. I'm just hoping they let me go back to my post. There's wires to fix."

Of course she checked him out, in the sense of: are you starving, pallid, able to move without signs of physical exhaustion. Entirely professional, is Kai, even if she doesn't sport medical pins. A decidedly unemotional nod to Sofia, and seeing that no one else here is available to bully, it's off to the indicated patients that she'll begin delivering the meals. Small, very proportioned, very -applicable- meals. Even the charts are double checked. Just in case.

Great, he's got a follower. Even better, it's the CAG. "If I'd found him, I wouldn't be looking for him," he mutters in reply, making his way down the row. Check left, check right. Step forward. "Nobody here's got their story straight. That one - " he points to Krysesi, "tells me she saw him die." Well, he's putting words into her mouth, but the idea's… close, anyway. "Whereas that one," he jerks his thumb back over his shoulder to where he assumes Sofia still is, "says she's sure she moved him." Check left, check right, step forward. End of row; he moves to the next one. There's a lot of rows left to go. "It doesn't matter. Even if the Admiral himself told me Burnout was dead, I'd still check with my own damned eyes."

Krysesi blinks a little as Kai comes around. It takes her a little while to recognize the face, on account of the happy juice in her IV. Once recognition has been achieved, it seems like she wants to say something, but isn't really having much luck coming up with words.

"He is not dead, Spiral," Cidra says flatly. As much to stop him from going on as anything else. "The nurse just informed me he was moved here along with many of the casualties from Sickbay. There is much chaos now, but the officers at least seem to have that much sorted. The room is not immense, so I am sure you will find him soon enough." That said, she's quite willing to leave Pallas to his search. Eyes sweep the room again. Landing on Laskaris and Alessandra. Who become her destination.

Neither does Lasher go for the offer of food, but unlike some, he's at least got the luxury of going to the messhall when he gets hungry. Allie's burst of sarcasm draws a terse chuckle from the man as he flicks the cigarette over his knee, ash delicately fluttering to the ground. "Wouldn't mind being a mind reader sometimes, myself." His look down at her seems almost meaningful.

Bland as mooshed, flavorless rice is Kai's expression as Krysesi's efforts are seen. "Krysesi, you of all people should know talking at this point is a waste of energy. Nothing is such an emergency right now that you can't wait to tell me until later. Shut up and heal, sir." A faint smile, that's what Elis receives, indicating the Marine recruit is only -marginally- joking, all of it sealed to her last words. A glance at her watch to check the time before her attention returns to the other woman. A pause. "I can get you paper if you promise to behave." And there Kai will wait for some sort of head movement. Or maybe an 'ok' sign or 'thumbs up'.
Beam. Score one for the loony. Sofia nods. See? Her brain is SOMEWHAT here. Mostly. No one's going to get axed at least. Or set on fire. She smiles with relief at Pallas in passing. She does watch here and there, but for her part? Sofia is a drifter.

Pallas pauses for a moment, obviously listening to Cidra's words, but not looking over to her. "If he's here, I'll find him," is his response. The 'if' in that sentence seems to indicate doubt in the nurse's word. Seems like he's one of those who asks, and then completely disregards whatever answer he's given anyway. He continues on with his search, getting farther and farther away from the others as he goes.

Krysesi closes her mouth, smirking a little at Kai's "shut up and heal". She offers a thumbs up in reply, though she may have trouble manipulating a pen for more than just underlining words already on the paper.

Alessandra's throat, dry as it is, starts to bother her, making her need to get a drink of water. Lasher is left unbothered for as long as it takes her to reach for her drink, the cup being the sole piece of evidence hinting to Evandreus' earlier visit, the cup now occupying her hand instead of his uniform which has been molested for the last five minutes at least. "I think I might be able to make that a bit more easier to do eventually, Anton." Blushing, she silences herself, sipping noisily from her straw which makes a loud, satisfying slurp.

Well, it isn't like Kai has a -whole- bunch of paper on her, but a few folded sheets come out of her pockets, and those with scribbles are put back in while one of the blank ones is put on Krysesi's stomach - along with a pencil. "Glad to see you alive, by the way. Congratulations on not dying." Also said dryly, emotionlessly, but with some strange sort of intent behind it. The slurp nearby draws an arched brow and turned head Alessandra's way, and her and her companion are reassessed. In time, she'll return her attention to the patient before her.

Krysesi moves the sheet to the bed alongside her - her stomach was perforated, after all - and begins intently writing something on it. It's a little difficult to read once it's handed over, but it looks something like "didn't knw you card". Cut her a little slack, it's hard to write when you're high like a kite.

Whatever Lasher might have said is cut off at the sound of a new voice. Lasher rises from his seated position on the corner of Allie's cot at Cidra's approach. "Major," he says crisply, though he likely sounds better than he looks. The bandage still on his neck sticks out like a sore thumb, and there are noticeable circles under his eyes. But then, he's a lot better off than some.

Blinking, Allie finds herself staring at the CAG for a moment before she smiles despite being disappointed when Laskaris stands up. "Hey, sir. Yeah. Seems like you catch me on my bad days. Am alright." Just ignore the tubes and drains and IVs and junk and that might be believable. "Looking forward to getting back to flying. Might be a few days, though. Which sucks." Stupid Cylon. "How are you?"

Glancing on the piece of paper, both brows arch this time, one higher than the other. Kai is, after all, skeptical as to the message that is being shared. "I… must admit… I have never heard of a 'didn't know you' card, but it certainly seems a little inappropriate for the moment." Ok, so she's frowning at the , "AHA! No, yes. Well, yes, of course. We've met, it's never good when there's death even if it cannot be avoided, but of course I did not want you to pass on early. Gods, Krysesi, I am not a frakkin' Cylon." Hrmph.

Sofia will smile in passing, but for her part, she has faded into the background.

"Lasher. I need to speak with you a moment, when you are done here," Cidra says to Laskaris. Not that she tells him why. On that ominous note, back to Alessandra. "We are looking forward to having you back, when you are in proper working order. Do not push yourself. It will only make Medical keep you longer. As for me, I was quite fortunate. Largely unscathed, unlike so much of the rest of the ship. I am most glad you seem to be mending, Sophronia. We do need you out there. When you are able."

Krysesi looks up at Kai quietly, her expression clearly hazy disbelief, as if she doesn't think she's getting the whole story here. She lays the paper and pen down, just letting her expression speak for itself.

Lasher brushes a bit of wayward ash off the front of his uniform tunic before nodding to Cidra. "Now is fine, sir. Just stopped by to check on Lucky here. She's still alive, so I think I can leave with a clear conscience." A brow raises. "That reminds me. I'm thinking you need a new callsign, Lieutenant. 'Lucky' just doesn't seem to be working out for you these days, wot?" A thin smile, and Laskaris turns back to Cidra. "Where to, Major?"

"My office shall do fine," Cidra says simply to Laskaris. Though she waits until he's through with Alessandra, of course. Ever a patient CAG.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Lasher. You go on. We'll talk later." His joke about needing a new callsign gets Allie to smile although a twinge of trepidation hits as well, the woman unable to keep herself from worrying as to just what it is he might come up with. "Take care. You too, sir." With the forthcoming being alone again, Allie sinks herself further into the bed while reaching forward, thinking another rousing round of the word game is in order.

"Right. Take care, then. I expect you back soon," Lasher says to Allie with a thin smile. Then, a nod to Cidra. "After you, sir."

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