PHD #096: Patch Job
Patch Job
Summary: Constin finds Coll busy in the brig post-Mutiny.
Date: 2 June 2041 AE
Related Logs: Mutiny, Brig, etc. Lotsa stuff.
Constin Coll 
Main Brig
Tiny and cramped, the Main Brig seems designed to be claustrophobic. The steel bars lining the three cells have been set into the steel bulkheads on each side. Inside each cell is a stainless steel toilet and a bunk that might be too short for some of the taller crewmembers. The dreary conditions don't seem to be helped by the presence of a Marine guard who is there twenty-four hours a day, as long as a prisoner is in custody. The whole room is under surveillance via camera system in the Security Hub and every visitor must sign-in and abide by the rules.
Post-Holocaust Day: #96

Most likely the Brig is a clusterfrak of activity. Coll is out of her cell and there's probably a few lightly wounded, mutinous Marines in there instead with the door sealed and medics working. A Private is sitting on the desk with his weapons leaning on the desk beside him, right next to Coll. She's got blood on her hands and smeared a little on her uniform while she wraps cauze around what looks like a gunshot wound. A few of the Marines elsewise look bandaged - though poorly. Probably also Coll's work. She's entirely too focused to notice anyone coming through the door except to say, "There is a team of Corpsmen in the Security Hub. Set your weapons down and sit on the desk, I'll be with you in a second. If its serious, get to Medical and don't question me." Certainly sounds like an officer with the clip and authority she's speaking.

"Remember the motto of the Wizards?" comes Constin's dry, restrained greeting. "Yeah. That's where ah'm at." The Corporal's helmet has been discarded, as he takes stock of the Brig, otherwise looking to see whether any are sitting on the desk ahead of him.

Desk only has the one Marine on it. "You Gotta Be-" She looks up quickly, -staring- at Constin. "Shitting Me." She blinks away the relief and nods to the desk. "Godsdamnit, Constin!" She goes back to quickly wrapping the rest of the man's leg before nodding to him. "Get to sickbay, Marine," she asides to the young man before she stands to Constin. "Corpsman!" she calls over her shoulder to one of the Marines working on the few mutineers. One looks up and starts on his way out. Meanwhile, Constin gets a big hug.

"How much you hear?" Constin asks lowly, not moving back from the unexpected hug, but only really having one free hand to return it with. "And believe it or not? This *is* careful," the corporal states with a wry curl twisting his lip.

Coll steps back to let the Corpsman work on him. "Gods! Careful, my ass. I heard you on the radio! Nearly lost my shit and ran down there myself!" She looks like she's teetering between anger and concern. The Crewman takes up a stray, clean bandage and puts it to his neck. She takes a long breath and finally gets to his first question. Eyes glance around quickly before her voice drops. "Something about a mutiny. Crazy shit about the CAG, XO and Marine CO goin' nuts. Dunno. Lots of rumors. Apparently most of the fighting was down by you all. Desk MP let me listen in on comms. She got sick of me asking questions, I think. What the frak happened?" The anger is gone.

"Admiral has been detained. Ex-Oh had some comm with Leonis when the wounded were ferried back," Constin answers, with a short breath drawn through the nose as the pressure being applied. "Had enough evidence that Abbot was a leak that him, the command staff, and the Captains of the Fleet agreed to arrest the Admiral and convene a tribunal." A breath is drawn, and he closes his eyes for a moment to growl, "Admiral ordered armed resistence to the arrest. Would have come to nothing if that bitch Rime hadn't screeched on the comms."

Coll apparently hasn't gotten any hard information. "Holy. Frak." She stares at him again, the pressure on his bandage lifting slightly. Eventually she looks back towards Morganfield and Borenstein. The scope of this is hitting her. Those big blue eyes look back at him, then. "The Admiral? D- Do you think he was working with these two in the cells??" She's nearly incredulous with all this.

"Don't know yet," the bloody faced marine answers. "Won't know for awhile longer. If- and this is a big frakking *IF*," he emphasizes. "The charges are proven true? Then it's not a long bet to think, is it?" A small shake of his head, which is scolded by the Corpsman working on him. Constin sits still. "Lost four marines Kay-Eye-Ay today, Lauren. The team that wouldn't stand down. One of them blew himself up, before he'd surrender." Relating the four deaths give his gory expression a nauseous look, for a moment.

Coll moves out of the way as the Corpsman goes to work on his neck and she folds the blood-soggy bandage in her hands. "No, it really isn't." She glances down to the guns left leaning against the desk and picks a rifle up to set it on the desk. Then another. She clasps her hands in front of her and looks to the other Marines around the room as he mentions the KIA's. She sighs, her eyes eventually coming back to him. "I'm sorry, ..Constin." She probably has no idea what his first name is. "That's awful. How is everyone else? I heard it was down by the Chapel. Things okay down there? Any more killed?"

Constin nods once. "Chief Engineer was a bystander. Mutineers shot him in the gut. Looked pretty bad," he notes. "Ex-Oh took a hit, but it looks like his armor soaked up most of it. And things aren't *okay*, Lauren," he grits out through clenched teeth, before voicing, "But they *are* under control. Ah hope to hell Rime's detained for this," he snarls.

Coll looks a little beside herself with the scolding. She looks down to the rifles on the table and presses the magazine release with a finger, sliding the mag out onto the desk next to it without any pull. "Sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I'm just worried about people." Her hands drop and she lets the bandage fall onto the top of an overflowing trashcan. "Rime was the woman who called you guys mutineers? I haven't seen her in here. She might be in the other brig?"

"Yeah ah know," Constin mutters at her initial apology, dismissing her as the subject of his earlier ire with a small movement of his undamaged left hand. "Bitch is only a liaison from Praetorian. Had no frakking right," he spits tightly. Aside, he prompts of the nearest marine, "Private, why are there still guns sitting here? If there hasn't been a count taken of rifled, sidearms, and grenades, ah want one started right frakking now."

"Sorry, Corporal." A couple Marines begin policing up all the helmets, radios, and munitions laying around. Coll backs away to stand at the wall as they go about their business. "Yeah, I have no idea who Rime is. I just know that only people in here that aren't Marines are Deck. And I've never heard of a Knuckledragger named Rime." She looks down to her hands and begins wiping the dried blood on her duty blouse, leaving long streaks of rust-colored stains on it. "So. I'm still in voluntary custody..and you need a bigger brig. I'm not dangerous. At least, I hope you believe I'm not dangerous. Should I find a corner in the Security Hub? Officer's Brig? Dunno if you want me in there with the Admiral."

"No, ah do NOT want anybody in there with the Admiral," Constin states quickly, the woman's suggestion managing to wring a scarce smirk from his sour mood and fading adrenaline. "Still. Should have enough room in here for you to find some place." A breath drawn and let out before he specifies, "Rime is the liaison from Praetorian. Abbot was arrested walking out of the Chapel and she sent that comm message from the Chaplain's office. And we're down four marines because of it."

"Yeah, I figured. I doubt the Admiral wants someone like me in there with him, anyway." She manages a short smile, still picking the blood out from her fingernails. "I'll probably drag a mattress out of the bunks and settle it down up here. You guys have bigger problems than a scared Deckie. Apparently they are known as 'Liaison Officers' in your trade. So what about the rest of the Marines? You said everything is secure? People aren't going to go to bed worrying about a mutiny? Who is in command?" So many questions.

"All ah know is the Ex-Oh has requested a temporary Cee-Oh be appointed until the tribunal can rule on the Admiral's guilt or innocence," Constin answers with a shake of his head. "Won't say we're in the clear yet.. too much still unknown. Still. As frakked up as this shit was? Could have turned a lot uglier. For now, looks like the armed resistance is done."

"Uhg. Sounds like a helluva bad night, Constin." She hugs herself and glances to Morganfield who is just sitting in her cage. The former Specialist turns to look at the MP again. "Yeah, I imagine it could have. I wish I could ask more about this stuff from you but I know you can't say a whole lot. Anything you can? Anything you -want- to talk about?" She knows losing those Marines really had to bother him. It'd bother anyone.

"Yeah," the marine returns. "Been a long couple days," he drawls letting out a long breath as the Corpsman's attention shifts to his scalp wound, the injured right hand being held up above shoulder level. "Ah was hoping to get your business cleaned up before all this, Coll. Haven't forgot," he assures her in one breath before drawing another, slowly. "Now. What were we arguing about, before?"

"I don't think anyone has had an easy few days. Don't worry about my problems, Constin. Seriously." She takes a step towards him on the other side of the Corpsman. "This is bigger. I'll survive. I'm just avoiding the Deck for now. Things will happen when they happen. Sitting in a cell, reading? Ultimately? Its really not that bad. I talk a game about getting back to work but when you guys have all this?" She shakes her head. Coll keeps her voice soft and gentle. "I'd have come up here anyway to see if I could help. Just means I was here anyway. Even if I know..bandage poorly."

"Yeah, well. Bad bandages are a helluva lot better than none," Constin drawls back, scowling to cover a short wince as his scalp wound in prodded at, left hand moving to itch at his jaw. "Heh," he breaths in something nearly a chuckle. "Just when ah thought things were as frakked as they could get, yeah? You Gotta Be Frakking Kidding Me."

"Tell that to the Docs when they come up here to knock me over the noggin for making wounds worse, okay?" Coll asks with a faint smile. She moves to sit on the desk beside him and leans forward with her palms planted on the edge of the desk. She probably looks ridiculously small next to him. "Well? Its not good. Our civilization has been nuked. We've been running on stress and coffee for three months. The combat teams aren't getting much of a break. Some of their leadership is cut-off and in communicado. Now we're turning on each other. We're a long way from truly frakked but its a slick slope from here. Things like this?" She looks to him. There's concern in the woman's eyes. But its general worry, not focused personal emotions. "They produce paranoia. You think its bad when one Deckie shows up in your brig thinking people are out to get her? How about five? How about ten? Now put pins on them and imagine having to call them 'sir'. I'm worried. I don't want this to fall apart."

Constin lets out the breath, carrying on the conversation, with the occasional wince as two small sutures are put in to close the wound on his scalp. "Well, this shit might settle some if the toasters don't suddenly have the drop on us at every turn," he mutters. "There's just no way this sort of shit could be done clean. You're right, Lauren. More right than you even know," he adds warily. "But it needs doing. Paranoia's the cost, and it might sink us.. But this wasn't a choice that could be passed up."

Her eyes lid as she looks low between them. Her head shakes gently. "Don't think I'm second-guessing you, Constin. I'm not. If you say that it had to be done, then it did. I'd rather not be right about what I'm saying, though. I just hope that I'm wrong. I -do- want to fly Raptors again. I just don't want to die before that happens if I really have a shot at it. What bothers me most, though, is that we're killing each other." Coll sighs and looks to Morganfield. "Someone set me up. Most likely to be fragged by other members of the Deck. Maybe I was an easy target. Maybe these two collaborators know what I'm doing and want to do. But now the Cylons have us actually doing it…killing each other."

"Yeah," Constin grunts again. "Gonna get worse before it gets better, too." A slow breath drawn and the last wince as the second suture is tied off and cut. The right hand is the last untreated injury now, to which the medic turns his next attention. "Still think there's more to it.. but you having no body to back you up and being new to the ship makes you a clear mark. Good cover to let sabotage operations continue, while thinking the problem was dealt with. GodsDAMN, but ah wish ah knew what was in Bern's head."

"Yeah. Looking back? I shoulda done a lot of things different. But?" If wishes were gold. Or unnuked civilizations. Coll drops her eyes from Morganfield and looks over the wounded Marines in the cell she was in before this. "He probably thought there really was a mutiny. He wanted to stop it. Blind devotion to duty?" She lifts a hand to run through her hair. "I knew a guy in the Warlocks that was so dedicated to flying and doing what he believed that he let his marriage go. He just..let his personal life fade. It became all about the job. It eventually drove him over the edge and he took too many flight rotations. Pranged a landing into the rear of the flight pod. Flight surgeon said it was probably not that he was so dedicated to flying but more than he was clinging to all he had left. He couldn't handle it anymore. Took his ECO with him."

"Who wouldn't?" Constin drawls back to the wish to have done things different. The story of the old Warlock is heard out with the same flat expression he'd worn throughout the medic's instructions to lower his hand and try moving the fingers. "Sound right," he voices quietly. "Last kid was ready to toss a frag grenade at us before he decided to blow his own guts out. Just didn't want to keep fighting." A shake of his head. "Getting a real sour feeling more folks will feel that way, the longer we keep going. But not me. No matter how much ah'd have done different if ah could. No frakking way."

How to explain this? Coll unbuttons the uniform blouse absently and lets it hang in front of her. The bloody marks on her face from wiped sweat are still unnoticed. "I think its different for everyone, I think. Some are tired. Some miss their families. Some just don't have anything left. Some of us just don't have anything else to contribute and have decided that its not worth it anymore." The Corpsman glances to her. "We'll be seeing more of it, sure. I just hope that it doesn't devolve into more like you are talking about with your Marine and the grenade. Or my friend from the Warlocks. He could have just been looking for an excuse, Const. There's probably some out there that are. I'd be willing to bet that one or two went to Leonis for it."

"Half think Borenstein was looking for his on the Flight Deck," the marine answers lowly, eying Coll throughout her thoughtful reply. "But like ah said before: long as we're alive, folks can make a difference. Huh. Whod've pegged me for a frakking optimist, huh?" he snorts with a chuckle. "Shit, ah'm done blabbing for a bit. Tired of mah own voice."

Coll shrugs. "Anything is possible, Const." The remark about being an optimist gets a caring smile. "Sometimes it takes a sobering idea like suicide to bring out the truth about yourself. Makes you re-examine what's important." The woman taps his leg with her palm. "C'mon. I'll carry your tiny ass down to Medical. You're gonna need more than a patch job. You ain't a tire, as much as you may wanna believe that." She rises off the desk and tilts towards the door. "Men with cold, metal tools await you."

"That you trying to cure optimism?" Constin drawls back dryly. A wince that has nothing to do with present physical pain, and everything to do with the aforementioned cold metal tools twists his expression. "Yeah, yeah, this ain't gonna get any easier. Might as well get it out of the way now." Grumble, grumble.

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