PHD #187: Plans, Cans and Automobiles
Plans, Cans and Automobiles
Summary: Quiet evening in the Tihar prison yard. Plans are made to quest for people and scrap. Leyla goes dumpster diving. Cora has some not-so-magic buses. Cidra and Tisiphone have yet another in their ongoing series of uplifting chats about dead people.
Date: 01 Sep 2041 AE
Related Logs: Sagittaron Logs, particularly Tihar Prison Blues and Eleven No Longer
Cidra Constin Cora Kaz Leyla Lunair Marko Tisiphone 
Tihar Penitentiary - Exercise Yard - Sagittaron
The prison courtyard is paved with cracked concrete, the few stubborn weeds that managed to poke through the gaps long since killed by radiation. There is a large garage for the facility's vehicles near the main entrance. The newer, steel-and-concrete prison block looms nearby; beyond it, the bleak black walls of the original prison, narrow window-slits carved into the basalt. The area between the two prison blocks has been converted into an exercise-slash-recreation yard for the inmates, and is cordoned off by chainlink and razor-wire. A few concrete chessboards jut out along one wall, while basketball hoops and a Pyramid court in shambles are against another. On the opposite side of the courtyard stand three gallows, their massive palmwood timbers blackened with age. They face the exercise area, and would have provided the inmates a clear view of their most typical escape from the prison.
Post-Holocaust Day: #187

Perhaps there's some universal constant that balances the length of Lunair's hair versus that of Tisiphone's, and now that the pilot seems determined to grow her hair out — at least somewhat — it keeps the purple-eyed officer from ever retaining a full head of her own. She turns her head slightly at the sound of Lunair's voice, then pulls her head away from the rough stone wall, scrubbing at her hair with faint irritation. "Hey," she greets, simply. "Finally got two minutes to sit down, hey?" For her part, she looks restless. Then again, she always does.

It could be. Or Lunair should wear more helmets. Maybe two at once. She doesn't seem to mind as much these days, even with a looming wedding. She smiles at Tisiphone. "Yeah. I promised I'd get a few things done if I could. It's kind of calming too," She admits. A sigh. Then a pause. She fishes out a notepad, literally /covered/ in postit notes. Where does she get them all? "I remember now. You knit." Are her memory problems genetic, a result of odd eyes? Or just injury related? Or did she just get the short end of the stick? Then a look over and a polite wave to Constin. She seems to consider herself at ease for now.

Cidra emerges from the guard barracks, sidearm at the hip of her fatigues, plain green Navy cap on her head. Whether she strictly *needs* it to keep the sun off her face in the shadier prison is an open question. It is possible, just possible, she just likes wearing it. Her shoulder long hair, for its part, is pulled back in a ponytail and hanging out the back of said cap. It's all rather jaunty, really.

Constin, being off duty for awhile longer before the looming shift change, answers Lunair's wave with a sniff of dry amusement and dip of his head. No sniff of amusement, but Tisiphone's proximity to the marine Lieutenant is met with another short nod. Cidra- emerging from a door much nearer to him, is greeted with the word, "Major."

Perhaps drawn by the jaunty siren of Cidra's cap, Cora appears next, similarly attired minus, of course, the hat itself. She's also more tan than she was this time yesterday, and just a little bit pinker as well around the nose and cheeks. "Major," she greets the other woman, heading out into the yard and following it up with a nod to Constin, "Sergeant."

"Yeah. I do." Tisiphone drops down to her haunches, arms stretched out against her knees, cigarette dangling loosely from two outstretched fingers. "Socks, mostly. They're small to pack. Didn't have any civilian clothes to bring aboard, so I swapped the weight out for yarn." She sighs — or maybe it's a weak chuckle. "Was making a blanket for someone. Didn't work out. Started a sweater for someone. Definitely didn't work out." Another one of those chuckles. "Need a fresh project, once we're back aboard." Her eyes flick over, stopping on Constin for a beat, then sliding onto and past Cidra to Cora, before dropping away.

"Sergeant," Cidra greets Constin in kind. She's starting to lose her sunburn and replace it with a tan, albeit she'll never be a particularly swarthy creature. "Captain." The latter greeting to Cora. "How are the pair of you fixed this evening?" Tisiphone and Lunair are noted. Both receive an inclination of her head. Tisiphone, perhaps, a longer look. Always. Watching.

"Oh?" She headtilts and smiles a little at Tisiphone. "Well. Captain Quinn was having trouble with her uniform, so - we sort of worked out a maternity uniform. Or maybe baby clothes when I'm not stitching together half the fleet's pants," She considers wryly. "But those sound like nice things. Have you ever knitted like hats or," She taps her chin. There's a little smile towards Constin. Is she aware of the amusement she provides? Possibly. There's a wave for Cora and Cidra. "Think the shade is getting popular," She pulls together a stitch. "How are you today? Hopefully not too cooked?"

"Lieutenant," Constin continues the cascade of stated ranks as greetings. Nose, forehead and cheeks sunburnt in the regular way which results from the big blond man walking on a planet. "Fair enough," he drawls to the query of how he is 'fixed'. "What's the word?" he wonders evenly.

"Oh, man." Tisiphone gives Lunair a rueful shake of her head, her tone commiserating. "You're frakking /lost/ if you let anyone know you can mend. Caught- my squadleader trying to put his squad badge on his jacket frakking upside down. You know, like-" She waves her cigarette around awkwardly in front of her, as if it was both sticking to her fingers and suddenly made of some very distasteful substance. "-like he'd never seen a needle before. Made the mistake of fixing it for him. Nothing but loose buttons /since/." She shakes her head again — at herself this time — and finishes, "Think I remembered how to tan this time, rather than burn on top of burn."

"I can't seem to resist making worse an already ridiculous tan line," Cora informs Cidra, "But other than that I'm well enough. And you?" Lunair and Tisiphone receive a polite smile as well, "Lieutenant, Ensign." She hesitates over the latter title for just a beat, before reaching back to tug her ponytail straight and inform the Sagittaran pilot, "Unfortunately it looks like we'll have to wait for tomorrow to get our hands on that loudspeaker equipment. But tomorrow, I'll need your help with that. And burn on top of burn is the worst. I do have some sunscreen Psyche left me if anyone needs it."

"The word is quiet, thus far, for which I am best pleased," Cidra replies to Constin. "My Lieutenant Trask and the technicians are looking into the wiring in this place. Seeing if it would be safe to get the power back online, provided we can get some fuel for the generator. I have identified some locations that look tempting for salvage and shall be sending out Raptor parties to take a look at them. She just emerged from the barracks, dressed in fatigues and what's become her standard green Navy cap, and is talking with Constin and Cora.

Lunair laughs and nods softly. "What? Really?" Her eyes widen. "Tch. that's a shame," She sighs. "Yeah. I'm crisping golden brown around the edges. Funny how I get dark hair, dark eyes and yet I'm practically a potato chip in the sun," She sighs. "But it's alright. It's wise to mend these days, rather than throw away…" She notes. Then a grin, seeing Cidra's cap. "I love that hat on her." She admits. She considers the offer of sunscreen, "That sounds nice. And yes, so far I've heard nothing but quiet when not trying to keep curious people away from things." Herding cats really.

Constin sniffs dryly once at Cora's talk of tanning, something about the statement amusing the big marine, briefly. Cidra's words of making salvage runs is met with a nod. "Just say when, sir. If you dropped that hat, could have a fireteam ready to accompany one of your bird crews before it hit the ground."

Despite hats, being totally in right now-the JiG seen exiting a set of prison blocks, is totally not wearing one. I know, scandal. One hand weaving through mussed up hair, and he is pausing, in his stroll to take time to ogle the remaining gallows. There's a bringing up of his hand as he carefully rubs over his throat. Coughing once, Kaz is quick to remain on the move-though he is more or less directed to the congregation of other Colonials-and complete with his side arm slapping along at his thigh. Maybe he can bring that bit of needed fashion back to the planet? What do we think? Firearms totally fall or what?

"Better than being stuck on a riverbank for a week with a blistered scalp, no matter how you cut it," figures Tisiphone. The corners of her mouth twitch, as if she's trying to make it an optimistic statement, but it falls short somehow. She nods once to Cora's statement, seeming to mull over it a moment before she clears her throat and raises her voice to carry, pale eyes flicking to Cidra and Constin. "What the minimum number of people you'd allow out there on foot to look for people?" she asks.

Cora is definitely on top of the trends, as her sidearm is a constant presence including now as she looks between Tisiphone and Cidra/Constin. "I would say no less than five?" is her preliminary suggestion, though she lifts a brow to put the question in the big marine's court.

"I would most definitely like to hit the local ports and trucking garages," Cidra says to Constin. "Hospitals as well. Perhaps even one of the larger warehouse stores. If what we see here is any indication looting was quite wide-spread, but we might strike gold somewhere. As it were. Equipment, if nothing else, can be stripped for its parts. I shall get you a schedule. I would not like any of my people out in the city without Marine presence." A slight nod to Cora, though it's a point on which she defers to his Marineness Constin. "Four or five does seem prudent to me. One of those being a corpsman. Someone skilled in demo work if it can be managed as well, technician or Marine."

It's rare, for the usually overly reserved LtJG to look so happy, but today seems to have been, or rather to be ongoing, a very good day. Not that one could tell by looking at her, no indeed. Actually, at the moment, she looks, and smells, for anyone brave or unfortunate enough get close to her, like she got thrown out in the trash, yes she does. And she couldn't be happier about it. See, six months of drying tends to take away bad smells, but the minute you hit then with water, it's like magic. But through the yard she comes, dragging along what was once some sort of large laundry basket, perhaps, before Warday reduced it to little more than metal piping and rickety wheels. A pair of coveralls have replaced her flightsuit, obviously borrowed from someone who didn't know any better, if the way the legs and sleeves are rolled up is anything to go by. A pair of thick rubber gloves cover her hands. And in the basket, freshly washed warehouse store sized food cans, lids and all.

"For a patrol?" Constin qualifies, before adding to Cora's answer, "Two marines, plus whichever additional personnel Command wants to send." Cidra's litany is met with another nod. "That'll serve, sir. Into any area where we have reason to expect survivors, I'd bump that minimum up to a full fireteam of four marines. Can always call in a bird to pick up any survivors what need a ride back to base camp."

Lunair looks over to Kaz and blinks. Who- She pauses and nods at Tisphone, "True. I'd hate to put sunscreen…" Ponder. She listens quietly then, to see what the concensus of things are. She looks pleased for Cidra's wisdom. Pause. She nudges the notebook back into her bag. One might notice the cover of a manual: Demolitions and You: You might put an eye out, but Frak that guy and everyone around him in under 30 seconds. She has a sense of humor at least. Raine pauses. She's a fairly good natured JiG! Though her demeanor tends to be more noble and reserved when not around those she likes. She notes quietly, "I did take your request back to the CO. We'll know soon if you get your extra Marines, Sergeant."

"For a patrol," Cora nods to Constin before nodding again at his response and Cidra's, "That all sounds sensible. I've been going over the intel we have," she offers to both major and sergeant, "And have identified on the map some of the more likely spots like those you mentioned so that we can target our initial salvage efforts, at least." Leyla's arrival with that big cart draws the captain's head around curiously, and she peers at the pilot for a moment before spotting Kaz and lifting her chin in greeting to the ECO.

"What are we wanting to do?" Kaz, buts in as eyebrows shoot up, upon his own coming into the small grouping. There's a bit of a nod back to the intelligence officer as the ECO does seem in momentarily fine spirits. "Cora, Major.." A nod over to Tisophone and Lunair. There. He's covered his bases, right? Still curiosity has his cat..or his tongue-whatever curiosity catches. "A patrol." and Kaz, is parroting as he looks back to the Lieutenant. "Sound ridiculously relaxing." Kaz offers, with a grin. "What are you after?"

"That's not a good look for you." Marko comments as he spots Leyla pushing her cart while looking like she's been dumpster diving. "Mmm..essence of compost heap." he says, wrinkling his nose as the stink hits him. "A new fragrance…"

"For going out on foot to look for people," Tisiphone repeats, very meticulously, looking over at Constin as she lifts her cigarette for a slow, deep drag from it. "Guess that'll be waiting for those extra Marines down here then, hey? Can't see you pulling a whole fireteam off the walls for walkabout." Wheat-white brows knit toward eachother until a furrow forms between them; she abruptly looks up and over to the opposite watchtower as the Marines move to and fro within.

"Very good," Cidra says to Cora. Then a look back to Tisiphone, "Did you note any signs of life around the city in your initial fly-over? Kythera on Leonis was nuked, but there were still people found there." The faintest of smiles, and inclination of her head to Kaz. "Chicken. Planning at the moment. As for what we are to be looking for. Fuel. Spare parts. Medical supplies. Canned food. Anything we can grab, really, that might be useful. Metal parts, particularly, would go a long way in our repair efforts back on ship. And any people that might be left on this planet, of course." Leyla's entry does get her attention. Her nose might twitch. Just a little.

"Ain't pulling men off of guard, no," Constin returns evenly to Tisiphone's verbal suppositions. "Any marine not on guard or patrol can be considered free for assignment." Much more civil than the last exchange the pilot and ground pounder had, but still slightly.. strained. 'Chicken' is regarded briefly as he bluntly enters the discussion. "Sir," the big man greets evenly, as per protocol. Otherwise, he just gives ear to the talk of locations and possible survivors.

Rattle, rattle squeek go cans and cart as the pilot continues through the yard, at least doing her best to avoid the groups of people walking here and there. Okay, that's a lie. She clearly doesn't seem to notice the smell much at all, and so simply looks for the clearest path through the chaos. But, if it helps, she does pause and offer salutes and greetings as necessary and polite as she goes. At the sound of a familiar voice, Leyla looks over, towards her wingman, so to speak, flashing a rare smile in Marko's direction. Yes, she's just that happy today, pushing her basket of treasures along towards her raptor, "Don't I know it. These coveralls always make me look like a dumpling." beat, "I don't smell. I washed just this morning, thank you." She rattles the basket for extra effect, "I found the mother load out in the dumpsters. I think most of them will fit in the tubes. You don't happen to know anyone who speaks Sag, do you?"

"Yes, for going out on foot to look for people," Cora replies to Tisiphone, turning to shoot a glance at the pilot, "As with every other party we've sent out looking for people since we got here." As for the waiting, she glances to Constin and asks, "We ought to be able to begin search and rescue and salvage efforts tomorrow, don't you think, sergeant? I would prefer not to delay things further." She nods at his response and then to Kaz, indicating Cidra as she replies, "As she said," regarding that list of what they're looking for. To the rest she replies a shade dryly, "You're welcome to stay in the Raptor, of course, if you feel like the stress might be a bit too much for you."

Kaz eyes Tisiphone for a moment. "Leonis?" asked mainly due to the lingo, just thrown out. And then there's a pause as he's looking back to Constin, his hand coming up to his jaw. "You get me a rifle, an if I can get permission from the Major.." Who is here right now. How convenient? "I'll add my body to the cause." Believe it or not the ECO, can actually handle that sort of patrolling. "You need folks right?" he tacts on, for a brief second. "You know, Toast, sir.." Kaz begins, "I am rather adept at grave robbing-given my tenure on what was once, Leonis. You need a scavenger- I can help..DOn't know the terrain here as well, but I do know the game."

There is a look passed to Constin and he nods back, easily. "Sergeant-good to see you on your feet." A brief look-recollection. "When you get some time, I got some chatter for your ear t' hear out." And eyes snap back to Cora. "You dropped when they started shooting at us-I think I did, just fine."

"Eh, you might not smell, but whatever the frak you've been digging through stinks to high heaven." Marko says, stepping forward to examine the cans. "Damn….this is a lot of cans, Sweet Pea." he notes,. "You run a radiation scan on 'em?" he asks, sounding more curious than concerned.

Pale eyes coolly track Marko and Leyla for a few seconds before flicking back uneasily to Cidra. "Yeah- yessir. I did. Looked like the bombs hit downtown and the spaceport, same as Kythera. Maybe- others, I couldn't be sure. I'm no demolitionist." She scrubs restlessly at her hair, looking over at Constin again for a moment, then pushes up to her feet. To Kaz, she says, "Yeah, Leonis. We were there before here."

Pale eyes coolly track Marko and Leyla for a few seconds before flicking back uneasily to Cidra. "Yeah- yessir. I did. Looked like the bombs hit downtown and the spaceport, same as Kythera. Maybe- others, I couldn't be sure. I'm no demolitionist." Tisiphone scrubs restlessly at her hair, looking over at Constin again for a moment, then pushes up to her feet. To Kaz, she says, "Yeah, Leonis. We were there before here." (re, now with moar name)

Lunair just grunts softly, assuming Constin heard her. She smiles a little at Leyla and Marko. Aw. Wait. Her eyes almost crossing is the only break in her bearing. Even the upperclass can't stop noses. Er. Hrm. Uh. She looks down at herself. "Well, I will do my best to see if those newcomers can get here any sooner," She frowns. "I am sorry." She cuts a thread and frowns, considering the piece she's working on. Maternity clothes are cut so strangely. Squint. Resume sewing. She smiles at Marko warmly though, trying not to look amused. "That is a good job finding cans," She nods at Leyla.

"Lieutenant Meszaros actually does know his business on the ground better than most of my personnel," Cidra affirms of Kaz, to Constin. "Patrols he could manage so long as there was a true Marine with him. You would of course, Lieutenant, be expected to defer to the in-charge NCO when it comes to such operations were you acting in that capacity. And the salvage and search work shall all be Raptor-heavy, Chicken. Do not fear boredom. I shall expect all my personnel to dumpster-dive with glee." Said very dryly. A short nod to Cora. "On the morrow." Which makes her give Leyla, and her basket of fragrant goodies, more of her attention. "Some it seems have gotten a head start." CAG approves.

Constin answers Kaz evenly on the heels of Cidra's endorsement, "Always good to have another combat capable body behind a gun, sir. Still want to have the pair of marines on patrol with you-" Nothing if not by-the-book, "But have no hesitations to issue a battle rifle to anybody who's qualified, with the El-Tee's assent," he notes, leaving final word to Lunair, the ranking marine officer. "I'm much obliged to you for passing that request up the chain, sir," he adds to the aristocratic marine.

Cora begins to nod her agreement with the notion of Kaz being allowed to help with patrols, before turns back to lift a brow at the LTJG. "Are you giving me shit for hitting the ground when they started shooting at us? Because I'm pretty sure that's what the marines did, too. It's somewhat standard." She turns back to major and marine then and nods, "But yes, it seems sensible given the array of potential targets we'd like to investigate to allow most any personnel to assist so long as they're accompanied by marines as agreed before."

Something about the conversation bouncing back and forth around her snakes a line of tension into Tisiphone's narrow shoulders. "The 'array of potential targets'-" she says, eyebrows lifting at Cora as if to mutely inquire, did those words just come out of your mouth?, "-starts about two hundred yards outside those gates, as soon as the perfect team of Marines is somehow all off duty and willing to go at the same time." ETA: never, is the obvious conclusion in her tone.

"Smart arse." Kazimir, mutters at Tis. "I meant with the walkabout. Are you from Leonis?" Things he does not know-Tisiphone's place of origin, is one of em. There's a faint look back to the Intelligence officer and there's a nod. "Yeah, I am giving you shit." And it's then that he notices the CAG's endorsement. "That's fine by me. I can defer quite well, when needed." Needless to say, he won't be playing cowboy know it all britches with the ground pounders. "Right then, I will find you soon, Sergeant." A nod, as he is plucking himself out as soon as he came in.

Headtilt. Lunair is pretty much the polar opposite of the hill billies. actually, they seem to baffle and terrify and amuse her at once. She doesn't really grasp more rural cultures, but it is apparent she /tries/ and generally takes a tolerant approach. Though, it's hard to tell her reaction as she gives Kaz a sidelong look. Does she … hear banjos? "… you're going to put your eye out." She is joking, but her tone is deadpan. "No… if you know how to use one, please do. However, in the future, if you have not already, I suggest MOUT and or getting directly qualified. Since it'll be ages before I can /get/ to those- I will trust your past has given you experience not to put your eye out." She affirms. She smiles a little at Constin. "That's alright, it's a sensible request. That's what I am here for, at least besides occupying otherwise empty space, scaring off pigeons and paperwork." Self-depreciating humor.

"No, I left my rad scanner in my other pants." She finally makes it to their raptor and stops the cart, starting to pull out cans, ducking down and back up again, in time to catch the eye of Lunair, who gets a wave, "Thank you. I promise not to hoard them all for myself. But there's plenty of really good stuff out in the dumpsters back behind the prison. Looks like they didn't get trash pickup too regularly. I wouldn't wear your own clothes. I imagine we might find more good stuff with the mechanics stuff." Yes, she is admitting she borrowed from someone else. "Figured wasn't much point, until I found a good set that'll work for us." That to Marko, as she plops herself down by one of the drone launch tubes, beginning to size the cans for a good fit, "Need to find someone who speaks Sag, to translate the messages once we have all the coordinates and locations mapped out."

Cidra eyes Tisiphone a level look. "If you have something constructive to add, Apostolos, we would be most interested in hearing it." The word 'constructive' might as well be capitalized, the pointed way she says it. Mention of the spaceport is actually what she locks upon, however. "Fly over it again the next time you are out on patrol. Get in closer. See if you can spot anything worth sending out a salvage team. If the port was hit direct there may not be any proper ships left, but parts and metals are still a possibility."

"Bootstrap and Money Shot speak Sag." Marko replies, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "I think Money's getting ready to go on some kind of walkabout through the village." he adds. "Scavenger hunt and all." he adds, picking up a can and testing it against the drone's launch tubes.

"Sir," Constin drawls in parting to Kaz as the other man takes his leave. Tisiphone's snark draws his eye once again, however and the sergeant draws a breath through flared nostrils. "Standard marine fireteam will have one fella with basic demolitions training. One out of every squad will have a dedicated demolitions expert. Which means- with those extra boots the Lieutenant called down?" he indicates Lunair as 'the Lieutenant', "There will be four fireteams of marines ready for deployment, twenty-five-eight. Sir." Effort is audible to keep the words even in tone.

Cora gives Tisiphone a bit of a look, one brow lifting as if to ask 'What?' in return. She lets Cidra and Constin do the replying for her as both jump in quickly enough to address the pilot, and the tactical officer is left tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear and nodding her agreement. After a minute she offers, "We've also discussed rigging a loudspeaker to one of the vehicles in the garage and having it driven through the city to announce a time and place for pick up of any survivors that wish to leave," she explains, "That might be the most effective way to reach the majority and allow them to come to us on their own terms."

Tisiphone's jaw sets as she stares back at Cidra. "I thought the priority was survivors, not scrap metal, Sir," she retorts. Her eyes are very sharp, and the twitch of tendon in her neck and the flare of her nostrils suggest her temper's being very sharply reined-in. She looks to Constin, then Cora, breathing sharply through her nose, then pushes off the wall. "Copy that, Sergeant, Sirs," she mutters tersely, heading for the shadows deeper within the prison yard.

Cidra nods short to Cora, as to the loudspeaker. "Let them come to us. Providing we secure the pick-up areas that may be a better way to go about it. One of my Raptor personnel also recommended dropping messages in the countryside with such missives. Give people a choice, see what they make of it." A short nod to Constin. "Most suitable for our purposes, Sergeant. Thanks to you both." That to Lunair as well. Tisiphone receives another look. A mild one. "Priorities are retrieving survivors and, as soon as I hear Command has it properly arranged, investigating those buildings the Cylons constructed on planet. That is no reason not to salvage what we can while we have the opportunity." The twitching ensign is allowed to go without further comment.

Lunair is a JiG. She should work on promotion or something. Lunair would be amused, but nods at Constin's comments. "… We should talk sometime," Lunair remarks quietly to Tisiphone, concern genuine on her face. "But as for me - I will finish this project where I am not underfoot and see how progress on those extra boots are coming. I do not wish to keep you all waiting," She smiles politely. "Thank you both for your kind words," She nods. "Please let me know if you need anything further before I go."

Constin lets out a bullish breath through his nose as Tisiphone takes her leave. "Sir," the sergeant voices in return. "Lieutenant," Lunair's announced withdrawal is answered by a salute to accompany her title. At some point in the conversation, Constin's posture and manner have shifted into 'on-duty' mode. Apart from those spoken honorifics, the marine adds nothing else verbal to the ongoing exchange.

Leyla looks back, as she sets a can down in the 'keepers' pile, and tosses another over in the scrap pile, noting the viper pilot mentioned, catching her just as she starts to walk off. Again. "I…think I'll see if the El-tee isn't too busy to translate for me. The message is pretty standard, just the coordinates and such will be different. The trick is going to be finding someone to backseat for me. It's going to be a lot of runs, and dangerous, I have no doubt, I'm not going to ask anyone to do that, if they don't want to." Even the ECO who's been paired with her.

Tisiphone is the very model of a modern…well, seethingly angry person. She is, however, doing a fairly admirable job of making for a Minimum Safe Distance before her fraying retraint gives out entirely. Her slim form passes into the twilight shadows near the old prison block, the scritch of cracked concrete under her booted feet echoing away to silence as she rounds the corner.

"Carry on, then. If you will pardon me," Cidra says, inclining her head all around and heading off. She strolls in the general direction Tisiphone stalked, come to it. Plucking her omnipresent cigarettes out of her fatigues pocket and lighting one up as she does so. Presuming she will need a smoke for whatever she's embarking on.

Tisiphone leaves, heading towards the Old Prison Block [Old Prison Block].
You head towards Old Prison Block

"Lieutenant," Cora nods politely to Lunair as she takes her leave before nodding to Cidra again, confirming, "Precisely. It has been suggested that that method might be more effective, giving them some time to consider the matter before showing themselves rather than us trying to track them down. Dropping messages is a good idea as well," she agrees, glancing the way of Leyla and those cans. Is that what she's up to? Tisiphone stalks off and the blonde looks totally unsurprised, just nodding as Cidra moves off after her.

"Be well, all of you," She stands. Lunair is obviously worried about Tisiphone, but looking to Marko now and then. She shakes her head and salutes the Sergeant neatly in turn. She's beginning to accept Constin's seriousness more easily now, as much as it is a part of the world as her oddness. She says nothing more before politely smmiling at Cora too. Almost apologetic for not saying more. Off she goes!

Constin lowers his hand from the salute as Lunair returns the gesture. "Major," is the marine's answer to Cidra's 'carry on' order. Which leaves him with… Cora. An eye goes to the Intel officer, to whom the sergeant voices evenly, "Lieutenant. I'm due on duty, shortly," before taking his own leave.

Cora just nods to Constin, replying, "Sergeant," in simple farewell. When he takes his leave she turns, heading over towards Leyla, though not downwind. "I take it this has something to do with plans to deliver messages to the outlying communities?" she inquires.

Leyla gives Marko a nod, as he heads off to parts unknown, and she gets back up on her feet, getting more cans out of her basket of treasures, seeming to find that leaving people well enough alone works for not getting your head chewed off, or your feet spit at. The can in hand gets tucked in towards her chest as she spies a Captain on the approach, and a salute follows, "Sir. Yes, sir. I proposed a plan for rescue operations to the Major," of which only one would be particularly pertinent to the woman currently shoving cans into launch tubes where no cans were ever meant to be, "Figured it might cover more area and get us a better response than what we've gotten so far."

Cora nods to Leyla, eyeing the cans as the pilot confirms that that is, indeed, her plan. "So how will that work, precisely?" she asks, "I'm not sure I'm seeing where the cans come in," she says, "But yes, I agree. Strategies that involve allowing the civilians to come to us seem perhaps more likely to garner a positive respones."

"Well, the idea, is to use the cans to deliver leaflets giving the relevant locations for each drop. I'm going to see if I can juryrig them some sort of way, to be able to be fired much like our decoy drones." She indicates the launch tube she's been shoving cans into. "I don't want to use the message cylinders we have on the ship, if I can find a way to replicate them with these." She's all about recycling and reusing. Save the planet, huzzah! "The Major's approved scouting, so we're going to use the data from those missions to pick as many places as we think we can reach with the fuel and time alloted, drop messages and schedule pickups. The pickups will be up to the Major, either just before we leave or after we move on, the raptors will come back, visiting each location at the appointed time, pickup survivors and stay prepped to jump out of we encounter resistance." A nod to the final portion, "I mentioned as much to the Major, that forcing their hand would likely get them saying no, when they should be saying yes."

"Have you considered perhaps labeling the cans?" Cora asks, watching them get shoved into the launch tubes, "I would be concerned that the locals might assume they're some sort of explosive device if they were to just fall from the sky randomly. It's my understanding that bombs are not substantially less frequent than rain in this part of the worlds." She continues to watch, and adds an additional question: "I trust you're taking care of requesting the necessary supplies from Cerberus yourself? The messages will need to be printed, after all."

"Well, what I'm hoping it to find a way for the cans to open after launch, so that the leaflets will flutter down and spread out, making them easier for people to read. (OOC: Picture the sort of leaflet drop campaigns in N. Vietnam.) But I am going to need to get them labeled and the messages translated into Sagitarron, since I don't speak or write it. Flasher recommended Lt. Trask or Ensign Apostolos…but I'm not too certain about that one, if you'll pardon my speaking frankly, Captain." Leyla pauses, setting the cans aside to tuck her sleeves back up. Curse ill-fitting clothing, "Yes, they'll be printed in Cerberus, but I want to try to salvage any paper that might be usable on the planet, don't know about ink, it's been a long time, but there were millions of people here. Looters couldn't have taken everything. There just wasn't enough of them left."

"I don't believe Lieutenant Trask speaks Sagittaran," Cora replies to Leyla, "You want Ensign Apostolos or Captain Sitka. And as for Tisiphone, she has already offered to help with drafting similar messages, so I wouldn't hesitate to ask her to assist in this." She does not appear uncertain about the pilot, and moves on to suggest, "If you happen upon easily salvaged supplies that would be useful, but I would suggest that beginning this effort sooner with materials from Cerberus is more important at this juncture than protecting our stores of paper and ink. Our time on this planet and in this area in particular is limited, and picking up those who desire rescue is priority number one."

"Thank you, Sir. I'll try to contact both of them. I think the Ensign will be easier than the Captain." If only because they're in the same division. "I'll try to get the messages ready to go as quickly as possible. I don't want to leave this too late." Leyla rises from her seated position, moving back to her basket. There's nothing at all dismissive about her work. She's simply trying to, well, work, get the job done to move onto the next. rattle, rattle rattle go her cans, as she pulls out the last of them, "I suppose I am just concerned, because we still have so many colonies to visit. I am afraid of asking too much, and then leaving us hampered, when the time comes and our supplies are low. But I'm certain we'll find supplies even inside the prison, in the offices. Fresh paper or things we can reuse. I just have to get in there." She seems so perky about that last part. She's a scavenging diva if ever there was one.

"Well, she is an ensign and he a captain, so that's likely correct," Cora replies just a shade dryly. To the rest, she listens and then nods. "Good," she replies at first, and then to the talk of scavenging she adds, "If you want to go anywhere but the barracks we've already taken over for bunks, you'll have to speak with the marines and probably the major, since access is restricted. As I said, priority is on search and rescue rather than salvage, so I would suggest using the supplies we have on-board to get this project going and then if you still have time once the messages are delivered, you can turn your attention to trying to replenish what you've used. That seems most efficient to me, at least."

"Yes, sir. I'll get started right away." Hey, if a Captain tells you use what you've got, you use what you've got. Leyla plunks herself back down to finish off the last of the cans. "I've been scheduling myself for as many of the scouting and recon flights as I can get them to allow me." It's good to be useful. And who needs sleep anyway. "I've been meaning to ask, Sir. Are we triaging the survivors, or just picking up anyone we find who wants to come with us?"

"Well, we haven't found enough so far that that's been a question," Cora replies, "But if we do manage to find a larger number before we go, no, we're not doing any sort of prioritization among the prisoners that I'm aware of. We search them and confiscate weapons, and we ship those in need of urgent medical care back to Cerberus right away. Others you bring back to the camp. The exception would be anyone you have reason to believe might be a threat."

"Just wanted to be sure, Sir. Not that I would willingly turn away anyone wanting to get off of this sli—colony. It's…a lot to process. A lot of work and not enough hands to do it." Leyla continues the process, finally finishing, the keepers pile at least larger than the not so good pile. That pile she loads back into the basket, the keepers staying with her, "Thank you for your insight, Sir." Because the Captain didn't have to come over and offer her time and advice, that's for sure and certain.

Cora nods, replying, "It's a valid question. If we suddenly discover larger numbers than we can easily deal with we'll review the procedures then." She watches the cans sorted and loaded up and then looks back up to Leyla and her chin dips and rises in another crisp nod. "Thank you for taking this on, lieutenant. Let me know how it progresses." And with that, she seems prepared to head off on her way and leave the pilot to her work.

"I will Sir. And there's no need to thank me. Whatever Colony these people are from…these are our people. And we owe them every effort we can give them, whether they end up taking us up on our offer or not." When she sees the Captain begin to make her way back to her duties, Leyla stops her work, offering the woman a crisp salute, "Sir." And once she's off, Leyla is back at work, rattling her way back to where the unusable cans can be…well…used for something.

(…meanwhile elsewhere in the prison…)

Old Prison Block - Sagittaron
Built from the stone the original inmates cut from the quarry over a century ago, the original prison is a dark and monolithic structure. Flaking paint crumbles from the claustrophobic corridors, each cell block filled with rows of massive wood-and-iron doors with narrow eyeslits. Deeper within the prison block lay the communal cells, little more than filthy, fortified cisterns; deeper still are the rooms with thick, soundproofed doors and implements of corporal punishment and interrogation the civilized world pretends never existed at all.
Post-Holocaust Day: #187

Lance Corporal Maragos was very thorough with his desire to ruin the locks on all the prison's internal buildings, and the giant doors leading into the old prison block have been treated to his loving care as well. They stand slightly ajar; not far inside, crouched with her back against a wall, is the chipper-cheerful pilot herself, head tipped forward as she clutches one hand in the other.

Cidra does not precisely rush to catch up with Tisiphone, but her long stride takes her after the ensign at a steady pace. Smoking as she goes, so between the smell of that and her footfalls she's not exactly trying for stealth. "Money Shot." It is not snapped or whipped this time.

Basalt:1, 0:Fist, by the way Tisiphone's rubbing at her hand. Someone didn't learn the Mohs Scale of Relative Hardness very well. "I heard the orders, Sir, I'm not- going anywhere near the cells in here," she replies immediately, her voice a bit strained with the effort to keep it level.

If Cidra was fretting at all about Tisiphone venture into the cells, it's not apparent. Though mention of them prompts a notable shudder from her. She smokes deep. "I do need to ask you something, come to that. I shall get in touch with the chaplain for it but…what are the customs here? For rites and laying to rest of bodies."

After a soft, stuttered-out breath and a sharp shake of her hand, Tisiphone pushes up to her feet. She looks back at Cidra for a moment — little more than a tall shadow with a ribbon of smoke in the gloom — before picking her way toward a rusted railing which she leans against, staring down at the rows and rows of doors. She scuffs her feet as she goes, as if not trusting her footing. "Shiv would know better than I would, Sir," she says at length. "He had family here. And the- ones I knew here always looked horrified when I said I wanted to be burned. Big- cemetary, not far from where I lived for a while. So full of gravestones, it- yeah. Catacombs, somewhere- my… uh. Boyfriend, I guess, used to say some of the tunnels in the slums led to them. Just to freak me out, I think."

Cidra picks her way over to Tisiphone in kind. Her own eyes going down, and down, and down the rows of doors. "Ah…" is all she intones at first. Just nodding at the answer. "Burning was customary where I was raised. Laid upon a pyre after the rites were done. All of your essence burnt away, spirited to the Lords and Ladies." She shrugs. "The different cults and tribal strains all had their own practices. I suppose it is the same elsewhere. I would…I will not just leave them like this if there is a way to put them to some rest."

"Yeah. Yeah." Tisiphone glances over for a moment, though her eyes don't make it up to Cidra's face as she nods, then looks back down the patchwork of shadows down the corridor. "Shiv's mother's family would- put you and all your precious things in a boat, and send you out to sea, he said. It's the same sort of thing. Removing you from- the ones you leave behind. Just- by water instead of fire." She clears her throat, drags on her smoke, then sighs it out again. "The Sister would know best. For- so many. Maybe there's something she can recommend. Me, I'd burn them all. I'd burn the whole place if I could." She rubs at one eyesocket, grimacing.

"Burning would be the most practical way to go about it," Cidra says. "But I would not wish to dishonor them." Her head tilts, listening with quiet curiosity as she talks of Shiv and his family's bereavement practices. The information is absorbed, but she asks no more on it. A small nod as to the Sister. "I shall get word to Chaplain Karthasi." A pause. "I do not like this place either, Money Shot. But we could not stay at the farmstead and I pray this location shall allow us to avoid much…potential stupidity."

"I knew a couple people who got sent here. I'm sure they hanged before…" Tisiphone's cigarette carves a smoky swath in the still air. "…this ever happened, though." Pause. "Sure hope so, at least. I know there were- monsters in here too, but it's still no way to die." Her topic dog-legs without much pause to: "As soon as it's possible, Sir, I- I really want to get out there on foot. Lieu-uh, Captain Nikephoros's idea with the loudspeakers is good, but I really think a foot patrol's a good idea, too."

"I give you leave to go out with the patrols so long as it does not interfere with your patrols and you do what the Marines tell you to do," Cidra says simply. "Lieutenant Aydin will be dropping messages asking survivors to come to us, in the countryside as well. I heard her asking Flasher if there were translators about earlier. Find her, or have Captain Sitka find her, if she does not find the pair of you first."

"Yeah. Of course. I already- whatever she wants said on those loudspeakers, I told her I'll talk until my voice gives out. Better Shiv than me, maybe- his accent's local. I just- y'know. Sound like a kid from the sticks. Whatever they need me to do, to get out there. I just want to be out there doing it." Tisiphone rubs a few more times at her eye, then gingerly curls her hand. "I'm just- the thought of- Command getting impatient. Pulling us out. I know we won't- can't find everyone, but…"

"Let me worry about Command," Cidra says firmly. Smoking some more, on that note. "We moved here precisely so we would not be so at risk of incurring casualties as we were at the farmstead. I suspect they will be less…" She pauses. Searching for the right word. Expression carefully neutral. "…impatient if security is less of an issue."

"I guess- Captain Nikephoros is Command now, too." Tisiphone's still struggling with the mental re-filing on that one, it seems. "Making sure we're thorough with our searches hits a little closer to home for her. Whoever- thought to come here was right on the money, Sir. Only place safer would've been the mayor's, and it's a crater in the middle of town now. I think I'm going to try to rack out." And maybe have one of the corpsmen roll their eyes at her split knuckles. "You'll- uh. Be careful looking around in here, Sir."

"She has been promoted to the senior billet in Tactical, yes. Major Tillman promoted her. But we are of the same mind on matters, I think, and she has been a steady hand for me down here and I trust her to help us see this through." Why the 'but' was part of that statement may not be clear. Cidra certainly doesn't clarify it. A short nod as to the safety of the place. "It is highly practical." A pause. "I would not have us here if I did not believe it important to us being able to continue in this. Get some rest. I will be out soon. I just want to…finish this." She flicks her cigarette to ash it. And lingers in the creepy hallway.

"Yessir." With that, Tisiphone slips out, scuffing her feet against the dusty stone tiles as she did on her way in. The outer doors are left open with a heavy, moaning creak, her shadow passing across the doorway as she heads for the (relative) cheer of the guards' barracks.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License