PHD #021: Memories are Made of These
Memories are Made of These
Summary: Noelani holds a memorial for those fallen since warday.
Date: 19 Mar 2041 AE
Related Logs: The Test of Gold & Tug of War
Atreus Bannik Damon Gabrieli Marko Noelani Zosime NPC 
Hangar Deck - Port - Midship - Battlestar Cerberus
Post Holocaust Day: #21
The single largest rooms on the Cerberus are the hangar decks. Each flight pod consists of two stacked landing bays with adjoined decks and hangars, which along with computer-assisted landings results in a faster Viper recovery rate. Mirror images of each other, these two huge areas are located on the flight pods. The inboard sides of the deck, closest to the ship's main hull, are lined with parking and maintenance bays for Vipers and Raptors based aboard the battlestar. The outboard side of the deck contains the launch tubes used by the Vipers for standard deployment. Huge blast doors seal the deck into four sections, each one containing an elevator that leads up to the flight deck directly overhead. The fore-most section contains an elevator system that leads towards Aerospace Fabrication.
Condition Level: 3 - All Clear

The work of the deck has been stilled and the place is suffused with an unnatural stillness. A shuffling sounds like the ripple of a breeze through a wheatfield. An area has been cleared and seventeen forms lie in double rows beneath the flags of their home Colonies. Atreus stands at one end of the double row, his hands clasped behind his back.

The deck is eerie without the loud noises of tools fixing and soldering, things being dropped or called out amongst deckies. Somehow that seems fitting for the ceremony that is about to take place. Dressed in her formal greys, Zosime shifts into her spot in one of the lines, back straight, face solemn as she waits for the ceremony to begin.

At least one presence at this funeral is, perhaps, unexpected — the Cerberus' Chief Engineer. In formal gray, Gabrieli is relying partly on a cane to help him walk, his right leg still shrouded in gauze and a tan pressure suit under his uniform. As is his right arm and neck, which suffered the worst of the burns. Unable to tolerate a closed jacket, the heavy gray overgarment's draped around his shoulders, T-shirt on underneath. His face is now unbandaged, most of his hair gone and his right eyebrow just having started to grow back. Burn scars in their ugly infancy knot part of his cheek, his nose, and up along his temple. There's no pretense of being able to stand for this whole thing; he lets one of the personnel quietly find him something to sit on, and rests the cane up against the back of the chair.

It's not often that Damon gets into his dress grays. But there he is in full regalia, pins and medals and all. He stands in front of the leftmost body of formed-up troops who are all properly sized and standing at ease. There's a silence that rests over them as they await the beginning of the ceremony. As for Damon, he's kind of staring off just above where the coffins lay, a slight frown on his brow, his body locked in the at-ease position. It's an expression seen on his face more and more often since the salvage mission. Where Crewman Vought died.

Noelani is standing opposite the crew in her dress greys. In one hand, she carries a copy of the scriptures, while a cord around that wrist suspends a pair of small bags where she can reach them easily. It's been a while since she's done this particular ceremony, and she's never done it on a ship before. It'd be easier just to babble to herself, but with a deep breath and the memory of how Priestess Mumea conducted herself during these ceremonies, she gathers the strength to present herself properly.

"We come here with purity of spirit in remembrance of those who have attained their share of the divine," Noelani calls to open the ritual. "Since the day of Khoes, a sacred day that will be tainted in the memories of our people for decades as the day of a cowardly attack, seventeen lives have been lost on this deck, and from the deck and engineering corps of this vessel. We pray that those who have fallen, though we cannot give them the honors due to the dead, are in the care of our Lords, guided by the carrier of souls to the place where they belong."

Like Damon, the Chief does not wear his greys very often. They look crisp, clean, new. His gaze flickers to the ChEng when he arrives, chin half lifting in greeting. For an instant, he turns to look out over his crew, then lowers to the flag-shrouded bodies in their rows. When the Priestess begins the cerimony, Atreus comes to attention, his eyes focusing forward, stance perfectly upright.

Gabrieli braces his feet against the floor, slowly rolling his painful shoulders until they're as straight as they're going to get. His hands, the right still wrapped up, rest on his gray-covered legs. His light green eyes meet the Deck Chief's and then return to the priestess, watching in silence.

The presence of Gabrieli certainly is unexpected. After the sort of damage he took from the XO's office, Zosime wouldn't expect the man to be walking around for weeks, maybe. It's hard not to stare at the poor man's obvious burns and cane, which she does so out of the corner of her eye. A sympathetic, sad expression is evident on her face, but luckily her dilemma of not wanting to stare is solved when Noelani starts the ceremony. Immediately, along with the other crew, she comes to attention and stares straight forward. Her face does not change, however, from sad and solemn.

The ceremony begins. Damon's shoulders relax a little bit, his hands falling a little lower, but that expression remains, his eyes not going to Noelani or anywhere else. Just dead ahead, blank, like being back in Boot Camp when some Sergeant or Petty Officer's taking a chunk right out of you. After a moment, his eyes flicker to Vought's coffin for a split second before returning dead ahead. And then again. His left eye twitches, and he looks no more.

"Those who find strength in faith, in the mysteries of the Lords, will find that in the world after this, the Lord whose secrets they studied will call their name and shelter them from the storm," Noelani offers, having opened her copy of the scriptures to a place she had marked. "However, we must weep for those whose names are unknown to the divine, for those lost at sea, unable to find peace in this world or the next, and pray that the Lords find their deaths heroic enough that they may join their comrades in Elysium." She looks around somberly, closing the book, and adds, "Now, let us remember them, and with the offering of our voices, ensure that their names do not perish with their bodies; that they may be remembered by ourselves and those who come after us."

Noelani moves to one end of the line of bodies and kneels down, inserting a cubit to pay Charon into the man's mouth, before casting a handful of dirt over the body, calling the name, and moving to the next. "Thane Duran."

From somewhere in the crowd a voice rises, "Thane. Man, you're going to be missed. There wasn't a better pyramid player on the deck. And he could weld a blue streak." The voice is young, though the loss in it is clear.

Noelani looks up and nods, thanking the voice for the offering of memory. The sister then goes back to her somber task of equipping the dead for their journey.

"Marakesh Efrette"

"I—I'll miss you, Marakesh," a soft, choked up voice says from the back. Under normal circumstances it wouldn't even be heard, but with the silence of the deck, it carries.

"Fah Evani."

These are not names that the ChEng knows. Really, gods know why Gabrieli is up here. He doesn't look like he should be quite out of bed yet, let alone having made the hike all the way up to the hangar deck. But he sits and waits, listening to the names and their solemn eulogies.

"Nobody I'd rather have double-checking my work," is said once Evani's name is read aloud. There are many nods of agreement. "Even if you never actually asked 'em to double-check your work," someone adds, and a nervous chuckle ripples through the gathered crowd.

"Tesi Gorat."

There is a quiet cough from the side, "Tesi. Gods, Tesi. No one worked the lift better than you." The voice is male, strong, lost.

"Arphi Jonusipa."

A quiet, resigned voice. "I won't ever forget you. You might not've been the best at the job, but you were my best friend off the deck."

Way in the back, a voice calls, "Arphi! We'll miss you!"

"Beled Nutoego."

A clear voice, trembles just slightly when he says, "Nutoego, you always knew when I only did a half-assed job and you got on me for it every time. I'll miss you, you bastard."

Patient and quiet, an older deckhand nods to the younger man's voice, "Nutoego left me that job, PO. Don't sweat it."

"Lesth Orarone."

Toward the front, a young woman's voice sounds, trembling and soft, "Orarone. Why you? Now who is going to pay me what you owed me? Man, I'm going to miss beating the pants offa you at triad!"

"Indiri Rantan."

Nearer, an older man's voice begins to chant, "Rantan. Rantan. No one swings a wrench like you did. Save a place for me."

"Rolit Sism."

"Remember that tine that Sism flipped a Raptor?" calls out a voice from the far right. Those who do remember the incident laugh and shake their heads. "Here's to a safer and more boring Deck without you."

"Phel Thoner."

"So young, so young," A woman's voice breaks at the second 'young'. "Why are they all so young?"

The voice that speaks up is tentative and edged, "Thoner, dude. Thanks for leaving me your porn collection. Though I'd rather have you back."

Noelani pauses at the next sheet, then deviates from the formula. Instead of tucking the cubit into the mouth of the deceased, she pulls the sheet to one side at the chest and tucks it into the breast pocket of the uniform. The reason why should be apparent after when she scatters the soil and calls the name.

"Micah Twitch."

Stepping forward a little, Atreus inhales slowly, "Chief Twitch was a fine man, dedicated and talented. Though I didn't know him very well, I'll miss his sure voice and knowledge." He looks down, lifts a hand and salutes the corpse before falling back into his place.

When Noelani reads off Micah Twitch's name, Zosime actually flinches at the memory of his death. She was there for it and a more horrifying way to go she cannot imagine. When the priestess goes to put the cubit in his pocket, she turns her face away just slightly, the thought of what happened to it fresh in her mind.

Gabrieli has been watching the priestess move through the rows, completely silent while the deck crew call out their memories and goodbyes. Then there's that name. The ChEng sets his left hand on the curve of the cane and stands up, carefully and painfully slow, up to his full six feet, some weight let settle on the cane instead of his right leg. "Chief Twitch." His voice is still a little hoarse. It doesn't carry all that far. He lifts his right hand, making a salute that isn't altogether formal in execution - two fingers. "Thank you."

"Rici Usteod."

A strangled laugh begins and turns to a sob, "Usteod! No one could play the zither like you, man. No one. The band'll never be the same without you."

"Eusea Vialis."

A ripple runs through the air handlers and someone calls, "Vialis, you bastard. Who's gonna head up the night crew now?" Another voice adds, "You, Torvik." The first voice returns, "Ah, frak. Oh, sorry, sirs."

"Falle Vilet."

"It's too bad you never got the chance to follow through with your plans to commission, Falle," a voice calls out. "I'd've been proud to serve you as an officer."

A far away tone sighs, "So long, Vilet. You woulda made a good officer."

"Krese Vilonidus."

"You were gonna teach me how to play guitar, man." A younger voice calls out, a little strangled. Sotte voce, an older man replies, "Thank the Gods that never happened. You were a good man, Vilonidus, and a good deckhand, but you were terrible at guitar."

Gabrieli has retaken his seat by now. That may have been the only deckhand name that he knew being called off tonight, but he doesn't make to leave immediately now that it's been said. His shoulders are slightly lopsided as he favors the right, but his back is straight with respectful formality.

Closer to the front, a voice begins, "Vilonidus. Frak. Didn't know you'd bitten it. Thought you were avoiding me so I couldn't collect on that bet. I still say she's hotter."

"Gonna be weird wi'out tha' terrible noise in the quarters though, eh lads?" Nobody's gonna disagree at the funeral, anyway. "He mi' not've 'ad the music, but 'e had the heart."

"Damian Vought."

The name Damian Vought causes Zosime to stand up just that much straighter, her shoulders pulled back. That was the mission she was on, this could be her name that was read out in this ceremony. Blinking back tears, she just says softly, "I'm sorry, Damian. I'm so sorry."

Once more, Atreus steps forward. "Crewman Vought. Thank you for your contribution to the salvage mission. We put the supplies you gathered to good use." Again, he steps back into place.

There's that name. The name that Damon put on the rosters for the salvage mission. The name that Damon wrote on the fatality list. The name that he struck off of his shift builds. Hearing it at last makes him twitch again, his eyes pulling away from their faraway gaze. "I failed you," he says at last in a strangled voice. "Forgive me. Peace and the Gods be with you now." Closing his eyes, he lowers his head for a moment.

"Ponalo Xeneo."

Clearing her throat an older woman nods, "Xeneo. I could always count on you to move the fighters smoothly. You had a knack for working with the pilots that was rare. You'll be missed."

Noelani rises to her feet and returns to the center of the line, facing the crew. "Let us rejoice for those who have found peace in the next world, and mourn those lost in the dark. So say we all." She then turns to Atreus, the religious part of the ceremony complete.

Atreus steps forward for the last time this evening. He stops once he reaches Noelani's side, then turns to the crew. "Attention!" His hand lifts to a crisp salute. A rustle of sound weaves across the area as the crew comes to attention as well. Atreus' voice rises, "We commend our brothers and sisters to the care of the Gods. May they know peace. So say we all."

As the ceremony ends, Zosime closes her eyes for a few moments as she listens to Atreus' final goodbye to the crew they lost. When she opens them again, they're glassy and her voice is shaky when she choruses with the rest, "So say we all."

End of the ceremony. Gabrieli stands again as the rest do, his jacket hanging loosely on his shoulders. Still awaiting some minor surgery, his scarred right eyelid keeps that eye from opening all the way as he watches Atreus for this last bit of sendoff. "So say we all." One foreign voice in the sea of deck crew.

As the attention is called, Damon and the deckhands behind him all come to more or less in unison. He salutes, his hand quivering at his brow. As the chorus of voices echoes the Chief's words, the salute falls away. "So say we all," he says quietly by himself after the others.

Noelani waits quietly, acting more as a religious figure than an officer, though she does mouth "So say we all" a second time, along with the rest.

Finally, with the final echo dying away, Atreus lowers his hand, "Dismissed." Turning, he inclines his head respectfully to Noelani, "Thank you." Behind him, the deck crew elected to act as bearers cluster around their respective corpses, clearly preparing to take their charges on the final march into eternity.

Noelani nods in reply, then departs, not wanting to stay among the dead any longer.

As one of those who requested to act as one of Damian Vaught's bearers, Zosime remains where she is until there is a clear enough path the to the corpses that she doesn't have to fight upstream. Once there, she has a hard time looking at what was once a living, breathing crewmember, but she forces herself to before glancing around at the others who volunteered.

Damon is, of course, one of the bearers for Damian Vought's casket. His hand rests for a moment on the side of the coffin, one finger idly stroking the fabric of the flag draped over it. "Shouldn't be me carrying you," he says under his breath to the dead man. "I should be the first one being carried, not you." Oh, guilt and angst. Does it get any better than this? Catching Zosime's eyes for a moment, he just gives her a wordless nod.

Exeunt, hangar deck right. Well, sometime in the next fifteen minutes anyway, as Gabrieli is rather slow on his feet yet. He lets the deck crew around him flow off towards the dead and their co-workers before stepping around his chair. He nods to the young woman who lingers around to move the chair off somewhere it won't be tripped over, and starts heading off in his uneven shuffle.

When the priestess flees so precipitously, Atreus turns to watch her go. "Hmmm." Whatever his thoughts are, he is stopped by the progress of the ChEng. Moving across the chaos toward the man, he listens as the area slowly begins to resume a more normal noise level. The noise is caused by activities that are not typical on the deck. A ship is maneuvered so that the burner will concentrate it's flame into the open space. A bier of sorts is constructed quickly within. Atreus makes it quickly to the ChEng's side, "Sir. Thank you for coming."

Zosime frowns at what she's hearing from Damon, but this is not really the time nor place to bring it up. That's a conversation for later, possibly after drinking. But, for now she silently helps carry Vought toward the bier.

Gabrieli braces the cane against the hard gray flooring, turning his shoulders around until he can see Atreus' face. One of his light green irises half-disappears under the overly tight eyelid. "No problem, Chief." His eyes flick back to where the deckies are handling the bodies and the bier, expression solemn. Then back to Atreus, giving him an upwards nod. "Don't suppose you have a cigarette on you. Diego's got mine locked up. Some bullshit about how it's bad for you or something."

Damon, at the front left of Damian's coffin, calls movements silently to the rest of the casket party. Down, pause, lift, pause, ready. By the left, slow march. They step in unison, slowly, each step measured and gliding, toward the bier by the flame. Casket party… halt. And there they await Damian's turn, bearing his weight for the last time.

The rhythms of the ship can't change for certain things, even for funerals. Either Tyr Bannik was going to sleep or he was going to be at the funeral. He makes his way into the Deck, taking off his helmet in respect and tucking it under his arm. He pauses and watches.

Marko enters the port hangar bay dressed for an a few hours' worth of pick up work in an attempt to take some of the pressure off the deck gang. To his surprise, and more than a little chagrin, he finds them in the midst of preperations for a funeral. "Frak damn..was that today?" he sighs, shaking his head a little at his stupidity as he makes his way over to where the chief and the others wait.

On the other side of Damian's coffin is Zosime. In unison with the rest of the bearers, the woman stops and starts in the line toward the burners. After that one glance over at Damon, her eyes are then focused forward, face grim.

Atreus's hands fall to pat his uniform pockets. "Yeah, I do, sir." He fishes out a pack and flicks it open. He offers the pack to the ChEng, then draws his fancy lighter from somewhere. It is a long, silvery tube of metal. A button is depressed near the bottom and a flame extends from the top, lightsaber style. "Doctors. I had a friend when I was a kid who used to tell my mom that 'them doctors don't know all'. He was a lot of fun."

As the preparations progress behind him, Atreus glances over his shoulder to watch. The bodies are being set out on the bier while the CAG's ship is maneuvered into position. He nods, then motions to Gabrieli, "Why not stay, sir? This won't take long and then I'm breaking out the whiskey." Noting the newcomers, he inclines his head in greeting, but does not offer salutes. Not today.

Damian is laid down on the bier at Damon's command just around the same time that Cidra's ship gets into place. "Stand back," he warns the casket party. Not really a proper drill movement, but what the hell. He steps forward and climbs up into the cockpit as the deckhands who brought the bird make sure that it's firmly secured in place, then fires her up. Ashes to ashes.

There's not really a dignified way to get out of the way of a Raptor's thrusters, so Zosime just takes a couple of steps backwards until she's at a safe distance. Her eyes remain focused on the casket until Damon fires up the CAG's ship and she's forced to turn her head away unless she wants to risk blinding herself. That done, she steps a few more times to the side to make room for the other bearers.

Bannik does his best to try to catch Zosime's eye and give her a smile when she takes a step back from the Raptor's thrusters. It's not so much a happy smile as it is one of those tight, reassuring, I notice you're there smiles. It's the best he can do.

Gabrieli plucks one of the smokes out of Atreus' pack. His left hand's unbandaged but two fingers didn't escape those hungry flames; the skin's knotted and it'll be a while before he can do any fine movements with it. Clumsy or not though, the smoke makes it into his mouth. Reflex turns his eyes away when the flame's first lit, the sight of it making something in his body tense. Once the smoke's going, he signals his thanks with a nod. "Few minutes, sure, Chief. Diego won't miss me." He picks a small piece of tobacco off a healing blister on his lip and glances back at the working deckies. "Shame about your people."

Marko comes to, if not full attention, then certainly straightens up as the ship's engine fires and begins to incinerate the fallen.

Atreus turns once the cigarette has been sparked. If he notices the other man's reaction to the flame, he does not show it beyond a touch of sympathy in his gaze. The lighter and pack are secreted in his pockets and he draws in a breath, his voice quiet, "Thanks, sir. They were good people." Watching the bodies laid out on the bier, he waits until the bearers are all out of the way. Then, he stands at attention once more. Ashes to ashes. It does not take long for the flames to consume the flag shrouded forms. Turning again, he motions toward his office. A series of bottles and glasses have been set out on that side and a few volunteers are already passing small drinks to the deck hands here, "Care for a shot, sir?"

Once Damian is laid to rest, Zosime starts to walk back toward the small group that has gathered around the Chief. The smile from Bannik is acknowledged with a quick, sad one of her own. Passed a shot in one of the impromptu glasses that they've commandeered to work as shot glasses, she holds it in her hand without raising it or drinking it just yet.

Bannik makes his way over towards the table near the Chief, but holds up his hand when he's offered a shot. "I've uh. I've got some work to do after this. And I don't really feel like drinking anyhow." He presses his glasses up on his nose, watching the shots get passed out.

"Absolutely." Gabrieli turns to follow the Chief into the Deck Haven. His stiff stride plus cane is ungainly at best, but nothing about the Cereberus' ChEng is particularly self-conscious about it. He stops at the first chair he can spot, settling down onto the edge of it with his teeth grit together behind closed lips. He at least affords the Chief's office a little more respect than he did the ward room, glancing around for something to ash his cigarette on besides the floor.

Marko moves over to the little table to pay his respects. "Good to see you again, Chief." he says. "My condolences for your people." he adds, fidgeting a bit. "Eh, no thanks, I got CAP in about four hours." he adds to the offer of a drink.

Picking up his own ashtray, Atreus sets it on a small table next to Gabrieli. Moving across to the beverage table, he picks up two small glasses and brings them both to Gabrieli. One is set down by the engineer. He does not take a drink yet, but turns for a moment to survey the room. Bannik is given a nod, "Good man." There is something else there, but Atreus does not expound on it just yet. Rather, he lets his attention slip over to Marko and Zosime. "Thanks. We'll miss them. Good people. Thanks for being here."

Zosime doesn't sit down, instead she remains standing by the door. While she doesn't have a shift soon, she looks down at the liquid in her glass thoughtfully. It's not exactly like she feels like drinking, but she feels like there should be some sort of toast. And it's bad luck to toast with water or with an empty glass. At Atreus' words, she nods once in agreement, but doesn't add anything else.

Bannik makes his way up next to Zosime. "You all right?" he asks, quietly. But that's when the Chief notices him. Quite unsure what to say to that, he simply nods and gives a fleeting smile. It's the best he can do, really. Especially with there being 'something else there.'

"Thanks." Gabrieli tells Atreus, once the ashtray's settled and glass handed over. Neither Bannik nor Zosime nor Marko are people he knows by sight. Though Zosime — for whatever reason — keeps drawing his attention. Finally, he sits back. "Where I come from it's bad joss to toast with people whose names you don't even know. I've just learned the names of all the dead, let's have some of the living in here."

Gods be his witnesses, Marko hasn't the slightest idea what to say to that one. So he mostly..doesn't. The ChEng not being someone he's terribly familiar with to begin with, and a Department Head several ranks higher than he is, it's probably for the best if the Ensign keeps his yapper shut until someone tells him what to do.

Atreus nods, "Good point, Captain." He gestures with his glass toward the Raptor where Damon is shutting her down and making sure she's in good shape. "That's my second, PO 1st Andreas Damon." The glass gestures to Zosime and Bannik, "PO3rd Aemilia Zosime and Crewman Tyr Bannik. Good people, all of them. People I'm proud to serve with." He then moves on to Marko, "Ensign Marko Scaurus. He's one of the folk who volunteer on the Deck, sir. Passed my tests and the CAG gave him leave." He pauses, then adds, "Part of a fairly exclusive group, actually."

"Not particularly," Zosime replies just as softly to Bannik, but she glances up from her glass to give him as much of a reassuring smile as she can. It's not very reassuring. However, the man has broken her moment of silence, which she doesn't fall back into. "Thanks for asking, though." Nothing has really been right for the past couple of days and it's only times like these when she has moments of being still that it truly hits her. It's then that she glances about the room, realizing there are people here other than Deck crew members for the first time. Her eyes linger on Gabrieli longer than Marko, possibly due to the other man's own curiosity toward her. As Atreus introduces them all, she bobs her head respectfully. "Sir."

Bannik touches Zosime's arm for just a moment, perhaps trying to reassure her in turn the best he can. "We'll get tea or something something soon, yeah?" What might have, in other circumstances, seemed like an attempt at a date or something is, in this context, more a way to try to bring her down, even though the Avionics tech is nine years younger than her. "Coffee makes my stomach churn." When he's introduced — sort of — to the Chief Engineer, he just inclines his head, acknowledging that yep — he's Crewman Tyr Bannik.

"Sir." Marko says, straightening involuntarily as the ChEng's attention wanders his direction. "Help out down here when I can." he adds, feeling his face redden slightly. "But it's Cheif and his team that do the real heavy lifting."

"Well met. Captain Dominic Gabrieli." The ChEng smirks slightly at Marko's reticence. His face might be tough to look at for some, twisted as it is with burn scars that haven't yet settled into the flat knots that they will be once they've finished healing. But his voice is nothing like the mouth it comes from. "I'm not going to bite you, Ensign. Good to meet you." His eyes pass over Bannik, lingering, and then Zosime as she talks. "PO." Finally a little recognition. "I've heard your voice before." He pauses a moment, now sure of that fact, and nods to the young woman. Then back to Atreus with a carry-on sort of gesture.

Atreus inhales, "She was with us when we pulled you out of the inferno, sir." Yup. Atreus was there too. Lifting the glass, he clears his throat, "I'm not very good at toasts, so feel free to add to this." His gaze touches each of those near him, including Gabrieli. "Chief Sinclair, the man who taught me, used to say that the people you work with are like a second family. Things have changed since then and the people on this ship are all we have so the pain of loss is sharper. But, while we wish them peace now that they are gone, it is worth thinking on those we still have. So, while this is for the men and women gone, it is also for you all. Let this life be bright with commitment to each other. To the life we still share. To you. To this ship. To the future." That said, he downs the swallow of whiskey in the glass, a shiver running down his spine. seems the whiskey is the good stuff.

The reassuring smile turns a little warmer toward Bannik as she nods her again, this time in an affirmative. "Yeah. We will." Zosime doesn't take the offer as anything more than it's face value: an offer for a sympathetic ear. It's a gesture that she appreciates. Rolling the shot glass in her hand, Gabrieli's comment earns him a surprised look. The only time she's seen him, she wouldn't have guessed he would be in any real condition to hear or see much of anything. "That's the second time someone's said that to me today," she says to no one in particular, even if it is in reference to what the ChEng said. When Atreus confirms where her voice was heard, she only adds, "It's good to see you up and about, sir." Then, she falls silent and turns her attention to Atreus for his toast. Raising the glass up slightly, she repeats, "To the future," and then knocks it back.

"Cool. Looking forward to it." Bannik smiles at Zosime, and then turns back towards the Deck. "I ought to get back to updating those computers," he sighs. "But. Hey. Good seeing everyone. We look good in greys." And, with a quirked little smile, the FNG heads back to work.

Having CAP in four hours, Marko can't drink, but the sentiment isn't lost as he replies, simply. "So say we all."

Gabrieli looks like he might say something else to Zosime. But he doesn't — for now — just lifting his glass for the toast. And not long after, he too is out. Back to Sickbay, now smelling of cigarettes and liquor. What a model patient.

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