PHD #185: Misdirected Energies
Misdirected Energies
Summary: Cidra, Cora, and Lunair discuss martyrdom, moving camp, and starfish (among other things).
Date: 30 August 2041 AE
Related Logs: None
Cidra Cora Lunair 
Sagittaron - The Farmstead
It's kind of a shithole, but we're leaving soon.
Post-Holocaust Day: #185

Cidra awoke with the sunrise and has been all of activity all day. Not a flurry of it. The CAG does not really flurry. But a sort of relentless rolling stone of activity. Gathering momentum for a roll downhill. She's coming in from their makeshift 'airfield' where the planes are kept now. In her flightsuit, but it's unzipped to her (rather sweaty) Navy-issue T-shirt underneath. And she's still wearing that green cap she's acquired to keep the sun off her face. It's near omnipresent on her now.

Activity, activity. Lunair is here herself, helping repair cloth and uniforms. She has a headscarf on under a large brimmed straw sunhat, looking positively homely on the side of the 'airfield' with needle, thread and battered uniform in hand. She's wearing a tank-top, humming softly and watching people come and go. On seeing Cidra, she smiles, waves. "Sir!"

Cora favors the marine battledress black pants with her navy-issue tanktops these days, since she spends much of her time off on away missions, investigating various coordinates, hunting for survivors. When she's not actively running these missions she tends to be coordinating the ones to come and reviewing the results of those that have gone and things of that nature. It makes for a busy day, one she appears to be taking a break from now, leaning against a fence post, smoking, and evening out her tan, which is currently somewhat darker on her face and hands than her arms and shoulders. She looks up at Lunair's sir and turns to lift a hand in greeting to Cidra as well, adding, "Major," and to the marine, "Lieutenant. Evening."

Cidra has been mostly absorbed in planning the move of the base camp today, a project she's attacking with a not-quite-nervous sort of vigor. She's been on and off the wireless to Cerberus and her planes in the field all day. Generally specifically requesting to speak with Colonel Pewter directly rather than the XO, which some might find unusual. She generally just reports to whatever superior is available and trusts information will filter. "Lieutenant Lunair. Captain Nikephoros. A good eve." She does not do anything so casual as lean against the fence post, but she does pluck out her pack of smokes. Like her sidearm and her cap, those things are omnipresent.

Lunair doesn't seem to pay much mind to that sort of thing, being lower on the officer totem pole. She tends to let such things play as they will. There's a smile up to Cidra. "Sir. A humble JiG at your service. Repairing trousers by night, and sometimes day…" She pulls a stitch tight. She is apparently repairing someone's pants! She pauses at Cora's new rank. "… Captain?" She pauses. She pulls out a notebook. To one's horror, they might notice literally /hundreds/ of post-its. It's Lunair's substitute for a working short term memory. She pauses. "Congratulations!" She smiles at Cora. "Sir." Beam.

Cora looks over at Lunair as she (sort of) explains what she's up to. She watches the mending for a moment, and then blinks at that notebook full of post-its, eyeing it and its owner just a shade askance, a glance flicked towards Cidra and then back to the marine. She smiles politely and replies, "Thank you. Need a light, major?" A cheap plastic lighter is produced from a pocket and offered over.

"Please," Cidra says, taking the lighter and firing up. Puff, puff, puff. "My Vipers report the prison we are looking at as a possible new location is clear from the air. Area around it is deserted. Well, anything trying to survive near any of the cities on the planet would need to pop anti-rads daily like candy." Which they shall all soon be doing themselves. "Lieutenant Lunair, I shall need a Marine team prepared to go out soon with a Raptor to get a look at this facility on the ground. Clear it, or tell us if it can be cleared. If so, we get moving tomorrow and leave this damned basin to its own devices."

Lunair seems pleased for Cora. If she notices the reaction, she says nothing. Either way, yay new Captain! For now, she tends to the sewing while they chat. "Hm," She grunts thoughtfully. "Sir? Yes sir, I will let a Sergeant know." She smiles and nods. "Sounds good. I'm still a bit unnerved after the incident with the IED," She frowns deeply. "It was - different," She rolls her shoulders. "Did you have anything that needs mending or sewing while I'm at it here?" She offers quietly, figuring she might as well use the time while she can.

"Yes. Well. It is my hope that once we pull out of this area we will be spared a great deal of stupidity," Cidra replies to Lunair. She does not specify what sort of stupidity she means. More deep smoking is done. She sighs heavy. "Yes, of course. And we all of us were unnerved by the suicide bombing. Command in particular, perhaps. How are you people faring after it, Lieutenant? I know Medical treatment is more limited down here than on Cerberus. If they need be shipped back we shall manage."

"That's good to hear," Cora replies to Cidra as she hands over the lighter and then later takes it back, "That it appears deserted, not about the anti-rads. I had hoped to manage two whole months without requiring them, but apparently that's too much to hope for." She smokes shallowly, more lightly than she's been seen to do in the past, and her voice drifts towards hoarse and dry quickly, perhaps a lingering symptom of the other kind of smoke inhalation. To Lunair she nods, "It is something we ought to have been better prepared for, knowing the SSLF's methods. And no, thank you," she adds with another polite smile at the offer of mending, "I think I'm all set, at the moment. I'm not sure I've ever seen a marine sewing before," she can't help but remark.

Lunair just nods quietly at Cidra. "Well. Here's the thing about it. I didn't tell anyone yet, because I wanted Ensign Apostolos to translate what she said… but the girl seemed sad. That's why I pulled it off her, but she grabbed the IED, said something in Sagittaron…ese, and said she'd be seeing me." She squints and sighs. "We're alright. No major injuries, just the force of the blast. Sergeant Constin got the worst of it from the snipers, but I think he's being tended to. I sincerely doubt mere bullets could stop that one, and none of medical has reported to me or sent him back, so I suspect he is just fine," She is perpetually in awe of the bearlike man. A faint look of thought across her face. "Yeah," She agrees quietly. She's not a fan of anti-rads. "In fairness, we thought she was fleeing the snipers shooting at her. I suspect they could have just used that as a ploy for sympathy," She shrugs again. "Or as back up." Then an amused look at the sewing comment. "Oh? I weave and embroider too, though there's not much for me to weave anymore. I didn't originally plan on being a Marine, but that's how it goes." Pause. "Maybe if I glared or growled while I did it…"

"In these jungles it is oft-times easy to forget this planet was nuked by the Cylons," Cidra says. "We shall not be spared such reminders soon. But I believe it unavoidable if we hope to keep this situation from escalating." A short nod to Cora, as she speaks more on the issue of suicide bombings. "These people spent their lives fighting the Colonial military. To expect them to suddenly change all that and be grateful for our 'humanitarian' presence would have been…naive. To put it kindly." The faintest of smiles when Constin and his bear-like constitution are mentioned, however. "It was the sergeant who suggested a prison to me as an alternative camp location. The man has no sense of squeamishness and is highly practical." She likes him. Head is tilted at Lunair. "What *was* she saying? The girl, I mean. If you have had it translated."

Cora blinks once and looks at Lunair. "The girl spoke to you before detonating the bomb, and you didn't include that in any of your reports?" Her tone is very slightly sharper than before, her gaze just a little harder, "I hope it was not especially relevant." As for Constin, she replies, "I've seen the sergeant a few times, he is apparently healing well." She nods to Cidra, seemingly in agreement with her position, and adds, "The prison is a highly practical idea." Her gaze slides back to the marine then and she echoes, "Weaving and knitting. How did you end up a marine, precisely?" It is a slightly incredulous question, but her tone is not as harsh as the words could be.

"I wasn't sure what she said," Lunair admits. "So I asked -" She hesitates and frowns at Cora. Then a shrug. "I apologize. Her tone and expression bothered me. Most suicide bombers aren't /sad/ about it. I wanted to find out if it was relevant. She said… I'm sorry, before she took my hand," She states quietly. "Because I managed to pull the IED off her, but then she grabbed it again. Now, if she had run at me screaming and bloody murder- I'd have probably tried to drop her or clear the squad," She notes. Then a soft sigh and a nod to Cidra. "Fair enough. And oh? He is. I - have to admire it, it's a good balance," She notes. "He's a good person," Then a pause and an amused look to Cora. "I couldn't honestly tell you without a big, long, strange story. The summary is: I didn't want to end up a trophy wife so I ran and enlisted. It hadn't occured to me to try piloting. I was just beating feet out of there fast."

"Most are not sad, Lieutenant? Think you thus?" Cidra asks Lunair. It's not so much an argument as a curious question. "To martyr oneself cannot, I do not think, be an act of rashness. It takes full knowledge of what one does to see it through. And belief that whatever duty you serve is worth the ultimate price." There is a touch of sadness in her tone she cannot quite mask. And a certain soft bitterness. "Frankly, I find Command's horror at the idea rather ironic given…" Ahem. She clears her throat. "Well. Never mind about that."

Cora's tone and expression do not quite soften, as they never really hardened to begin with; this is just how she looks at people. But she does tell Lunair, "In the future, if possible, I would appreciate completeness in any reports you pass off to Intel, even if that involves untranslated dialogue or other things of which you do not at the time have a complete understanding. It does not make much difference in this instance, but in another it might." Cidra's words she does not interrupt, though her lips do curve in brief show of wryness at the last as she nods and adds simply, "Indeed." On a lighter note: "It seems Cerberus has an unusual percentage of former trophy-wife-candidates," she remarks, "Psyche- LTJG Athenos- was certainly on that path as well prior to enlisting. And major, if you don't mind, where did you get that hat?"

"I never claimed to be wise nor anything but sheltered until now," Lunair admits quietly to Cidra. "I tried to save her. I really did," She shakes her head. "Even if it meant letting her go." She frowns at that and just nods slowly. "I don't know that it's ironic. Even if you know and understand, there's always that little bit of horror. I know I'll probably not live to a ripe old age. But I also never thought of - martyrdom," She offers delicately. She just shakes her head. A soft grunt at Cora. Fair enough. "Of course sir," She simply accepts it. Then a soft, sad laugh. "Tell me about it, I was about to be traded off for stock and business connections. And it - it is a nice hat," She peers over at Cidra once more.

"It just seems to me…when we do a thing against the Cylons, it is a regrettable necessity, and all honors to our sacrifices. Those who call themselves our enemies here try to do something not so different to us, we call it unconscionable." Bitter Cidra is bitter. She takes a deep breath and, again, stops herself from going any further down that road. The question about her hat even prompts the faintest of smiles. "Captain Gabrieli in Engineering has one not unlike it. I asked one of his engineers down on the planet if they had something similar I could poach and…behold." She taps the brim of her cap. "It is very serviceable." A nod to Lunair. "I did not always think to find myself in the Colonial Fleet myself, Lieutenant. In my youth I studied to be a priestess to the goddess Athena. But my path lay elsewhere."

"That's why you go straight to the academy," Cora tells Lunair with what might even be the faintest quirk of a smile, "And never give them the chance to begin thinking of you as marriage material." The hat, though, that is now the focus of her interest, saying no more about reports or suicide missions but instead nodding slowly, almost knowingly as she looks at Cidra, "Ahhh, the ChEng." After a beat she offers, "I like it. You may start a trend, major, if I can track one down to steal for myself."

Lunair frowns a little at Cidra's words, looking thoughtful and sad. "It-" S he shakes her head. She smiles a little. "Really? It suits you, it's very sensible and pretty. Mine is a bit silly looking," She admits. Then she considers Cidra. Priestess of Athena. She could see that. Another little nod. Her eyebrows quirk at Cora. "Well… I suspect compared to some, I had a very odd life," She shrugs. Her eyes brighten as Cora mentions tracking one of the hats down. "I will keep my eyes open then. I'm not sure I could really do anything beyond a sewn hat," She admits. "But - it is very nice." Nodnod.

Cidra arches a brow at Cora and her 'Ahhh'ing. "The Chief Engineer, yes," she affirms. With an inscrutable smile. "As I did say, it is a very practical accessory." A shrug to Lunair. "All lives are odd if you take them apart deeply enough. I suspect your tale is no stranger than either of ours, Lieutenant."

"What sort of business was your family in?" Cora inquires of Lunair before turning to arch a brow right back at Cidra. "I am sure h— it is, yes." She smiles a shade less inscrutably, the difference made up in humor before turning back to nod in agreement, "I would wager ours were not so very different, Lieutenant. My mother was certainly disappointed I chose the military, but she had sons and grandchildren to marry off, so she didn't put up much of a fight."

Lunair smiles. She seems fond of the pair. "Probably true as well," She admits. Then a headtilt at Cora. "Well… there was textile work, but mostly they were vested in mining and mines. Lots of stock too," She notes quietly. She grins a little at Cora. "Yeah, I had a few siblings too." She seems to remember them fairly fondly. "I sort of gave up my - well, I suspect it's a boring story," She shrugs. "But they didn't exactly let me go easily. Still… I don't think I'd trade all the cubits ever for this. I'm lucky. For all the horror and fighting, for everything, I've met a lot of good people and more. Does that seem strange?"

Cidra eyes Cora, arms crossing along her chest. In a speculative sort of way. Brows are arched. "Gets the job done passing well when I require such service," is all she says about that. Still smiling inscrutably. She quiets as she listens to Lunair. "Hardly strange at all, Lieutenant Lunair. There is more to life than comfort and cubits. At least, there should be."

"Ah," Cora nods to Lunair, "I see. Not Caprica or Virgon then, I would guess? Canceron, if it was mines?" Her head tilts slightly with the guesswork and then she turns back to look at Cidra for a longish moment, once again sort of mirroring the older woman's expression, in a slightly mildly fashion. "It is good to have resources for that sort of thing," she replies with a nod.

Lunair considers Cidra's words a moment and nods. "That's very true too," She smiles a little. It's apparent that Cidra is a source of curiousity, wisdom and perpetual puzzlement to Lunair. There's faint admiration but - so inscrutible! Not that she doesn't try at times. Then a nod at Cora. "Canceron. My brother would slap me on the head with starfish on the beach or clap them on me. I hated it so much," She wrinkles her nose. Siblings! Starfish slaps! She notes quietly, "I also learn a lot just listening it seems."

The source of perpetual puzzlement might, just might, be something Cidra works at to be. A nod to Cora. "Yes. It is most necessary at times. One can do for oneself up to a point, but there is only so far that goes. And having an…outlet keeps one's energies from becoming…misdirected." Ahem. "Which reminds me. Colonel Pewter should probably get an update from me in person not long after we move the camp. I should make time in the coming days to get back to the ship." To Lunair she makes a soft "Ah" sound. "Canceron. The same colony as Sergeant Constin. And Major Tillman, for that matter."

"Slap you with a starfish?" Cora just kind of stares for a second, and then her lips quirk in what apparently passes for an amused smile on her face, "Well, I am glad to have avoided that particular brotherly trick, at least." There is a faint little twitch along her jaw just once as she turns back to Cidra, nodding along and replying simply: "Quite." Apparently the major's memory sparks hers as well as she adds after a moment, "That reminds me as well: I was hoping to speak with Lieutenant Meszaros regarding the survivors he helped ferry up to Cerberus. Do you happen to know when he's due back down here?"

The Major would get 5 quizzical looks out of 5 if she could be given such a rating. Lunair remembers her sewing and returns to it. She nods, "That sounds wise. I will do my best to help when not mending trousers," She notes wryly. "And that's correct. I only hope I can be that good at things one day," She shrugs a little then nods at Cora. "Yup. One in each hand… came up behind me…" Then a clapping gesture. The infamous Starfish Slap. "Or like those throwing stars. Poor starfish. My poor face." She smiles at Cora. "Brothers are funny that way. I will go find the others then and inform them that you are interested in scouting that facility," She grunts. "Can't be sewing /all/ day."

"Chicken?" Cidra's brows arch some more at Cora. "Ahh." Blink blink. She does not ask for further details on what the TACCO wants to speak with one of her ECOs. "Generally he would be back on Cerberus for several days hence. I have been endeavoring to rotate most of the junior officers regularly. I think I have been down a bit longer than is good for me, actually." A wry look over toward the planes, and some deep smoking, before she's back to Cora and Lunair. "But we are going to be engaged in some rather Raptor-heavy work tomorrow as we break camp, pending clearance of the penitentiary by the Marines. I do not know quite who Lieutenant Trask has set for it for the Harriers, but he may be called back." Lunair's tale makes her wince. "Starfish? My word. It does make me glad we did not grow up near the coast. My brother had not access to shellfish."

"A seriously unflattering callsign," Cora replies dryly, not quite wincing on the ECO's behalf, but nearly. As for the pilot in question's schedule, she nods at the CAG, "It isn't so urgent a situation that it cannot wait until the normal rotation brings him back down. It has been left so long as it is another week hardly matters. We'll see how things shake out." She flicks ash off her cigarette and takes another long drag to make up for having forgotten it for a bit and then boggles at Lunair a bit more. "That does sound painful, and like something my brothers would have done to each other given half a chance. The twins were particularly fond of injuring each other."

Lunair just looks amused. She listens quietly before smiling politely. "That's a brother for you." She grins then sighs. "But - duty stops for no one, so I will go off and carry word. It's best not to sit too long." She doesn't say it but the idea of sitting around where mortars had been fired does not please her one bit. "Be well both of you, I am glad to have gotten to see you." She nods, setting away her sewing kid and folding the trousers neatly.

"There are far worse callsigns one can have," Cidra says. "The openly embarrassing ones usually do not come with the truly mortifying stories." Said inscrutably. A parting nod to Lunair. "Always good to speak with you, Lieutenant. Do tell your Marines to prepare. I have coordinates, and my Viper patrols should be back within the hour with a rough description of the facility. So much as one can tell from outside, at least. Good hunting. Captain." This to Cora. "Presuming this location actually *is* useable for our purposes, I shall need you up with me at dawn to coordinate and start the removal of our people and supplies from this farmstead."

Cora smiles at Lunair and nods, "Good evening, lieutenant. Good luck with your mending." Back to Cidra she nods, "He did claim it was to do with his accent, which was a far less interesting explanation than I had anticipated." She runs a hand over her hair, tightening her ponytail absently and then turns back to Cidra as she's addressed, listening and then nodding. "I assumed as much," she replies, "That won't be a problem. I'm generally awake at that hour anyway, and I'll be sure to go over the recon reports ahead of time."

"Excellent. I shall see you then. I am going to go for a walk, I think, before I have to deal with said reports," Cidra says, lighting up another cigarette. "I keep a roster of which pilots are down in the farmhouse. Revised in chicken-scratch and pen marks, but it suffices. Check that if you are curious. I prefer to stay out of the…business of my personnel. For obvious reasons."

Cora shrugs and shakes her head a little at the mention of the roster, replying, "It's hardly worth the time it would take me to decipher it, I suspect. We'll get around to it eventually or we will not." She takes a long drag and exhales a little unsteadily, pressing a hand to the center of her chest and grimacing. "I would run laps around the camp or something but I think my lungs have had about enough for today. At any rate. I will see you when those reports come in, major, or at dawn. Enjoy your walk."

"Pity we lack running water, or one could simply hit the showers and work it out," Cidra says. "Anyhow. I am walking." And off she goes.

And Cora, Cora is laughing. "Maybe we'll have better luck at the prison," she calls after, before turning to head off in the opposite direction.

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