| Portents and Prom Queens |
| Summary: | Andrea goes to Cidra concerning her recent vision, and gives more information than was strictly requested. |
| Date: | 30 November 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | none |
| Players: |
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| CAG's Office |
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| Though it's not much bigger than the average ship supply closet, the office of the commander of Cerberus' air group has as much luxury as one can hope for aboard a battlestar: a hatch that locks. It is dominated by a blocky gray metal desk straight out of standard Navy supply. Behind it is the room's single indulgence, a high-backed rolling chair of almost comfortable-looking brown leather. That one, the CAG probably had to import herself. A few other chairs are shoved against the wall, able to be rolled over should visitors to the lair require one, though those are of the standard not-terribly-comfortable Navy offices variety. The aforementioned desk contains a computer that looks rarely touched and an ashtray of greenish glass that is obviously frequently used, as well as the standard office supplies. The surface is usually cluttered with files, squadron reports, flight schedules and other aerial bureaucratic sundry of the day. A metal carafe, filled with water or coffee or tea depending on the CAG's whim, is usually at hand on the desk's corner. The rest of the office is packed with filing cabinets and wall shelves, the latter of which hold various flight manuals and military and historical books. Any decorations on the walls are limited to professional awards and mementos from Major Hahn's past tours of service. It is largely devoid of the personal, save for one item: upon the shelf just behind and above her desk, serving as one side of a bookend to a collection of Raptor manuals, is a wooden statue of a small brown owl with very large eyes. A person might get the feeling of those eyes following him around this confined space. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: 277 |
Though she's technically slated as off-duty, Cidra is hunkered down in her office. Hardly unusual. She's taken to holing up here many nights, even if she is making a token effort to sleep in the berths again a few times throughout the week. She's presently at her desk, in her blues but with the jacket unbuttoned, sipping on a cup of tea and reading through some flight paperwork. Rosters of the pilots due for rotation down to Tauron, reports on the status of search and salvage operations, all that jazz.
Andrea walks up to the office door, turns around, and leaves. Then she does it again. And again. "This is crazy…" she mutters to herself, still gripping the papers that Drips had given her. It couldn't be a coincidence. It COULDN'T be. But that was crazy, and if she was crazy, the major would just… no. She was Gemenese. They believed in this stuff. Right? Gods, she was going to sound so STUPID if the major didn't, but if she didn't ask… she'd probably go crazy for real, if she wasn't already. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. Sort of. More of a tap… maybe if the Major wasn't in, or didn't hear the knock, Andrea could put this off a bit longer…
There's a pause. She is, indeed, not properly 'on' at the moment. But finally Cidra's polite alto answers the knock with, "Come in, please." It's not locked.
Andrea is suddenly strongly reminded of entering the principal's office back at school. It feels like that, like she has to tell what she did wrong, why she was sent. Walking in, she salutes, a sure sign of her nerves. "Sir… if you have some time, there is something I… I need to talk to you about. But I'm nervous about it."
Up tick Cidra's eyes from all things aerial and Tauron. To Andrea. "Hosedown." Slight inclination of her head in greeting, and even slighter smile. "I have some time." Though, given the way she broached the subject, the CAG does have an aura of one who just braced herself. She stands, picking up her carafe and topping off her cup. It smells vaguely herbal, whatever she's drinking. "Are you on duty? I would offer you some if not. It makes one a bit drowsy. I do like the taste, though."
"No, sir, I'm not, and thank you, sounds good." Andrea closes her eyes for a moment. "What I am about to say… I… well, I'm a farmer's daughter. I grew up praying to Hera for our crops and praying to Athena for wisdom in selling the crops, but we didn't go in to the sacred scrolls or visions all that much. We usually figured that kind of stuff was fine for the priests but… we were people of the soil, you know?"
"Doctor Adair does tell me the herb used to make it is a sort of primitive form of valium. Well, of a sort. It will not get one…low, but it helps one to sleep." The CAG clearly finds this aspect of the tea a point in its favor. Cidra pours Andrea a cup before sitting again, sipping on her own tea deep. At first she just listens, cloudy blue eyes suddenly intent as they regard Andrea across the desk. "My parents were priests. My mother kept a temple to Hera. My father was a sworn brother of the Lord of Healing, Asclepius. To be a priest on Gemenon was a place of honor, a place of status." Yet she sounds more carefully neutral than proud of that. "I studied theology myself at the Kobol Colleges. When I was a younger woman, I thought my path would lead me to the holy service. To swear oaths as a priestess of Athena." A shrug. "I took…another path."
Andrea takes a deep breath. "Good. I… knew you were Gemenese, and so I'd hoped… ok, I'll stop stalling." She steels herself. "I had a dream. It was incredibly vivid and disturbing, and I didn't understand a lot of it. But I think…" she closes her eyes, forms the words, and then says them. "I think Drips had the same dream. I think we were there, together, in it. Interacting, I mean." Her eyes open to a glare. "And no, I wasn't THAT sort of dream."
Cidra does not even seem to notice the glare, or the addendum to that statement. Gaze, already intense, sharpens. "Let me guess. Tauron. A tree. Sparrows. A serpent. An old man. And…Lampridis Falls…" She says the name of the place soft, accent wrapping languidly around each of the syllables in the first word. Some of her pronunciation of Standard words is awkward, but this one floats off her tongue. If in a melancholy sort of way.
Andrea's eyes widen. "You… you had it, too?"
"No." Stated quick and flat. And is there a touch of bitterness there? Perhaps. She sips her tea again before going on. "I have never had a vision. The gods do not speak to me in that manner." She clears her throat. "But you are not the only one who did. Drips did as well. He came to me about it, and it affected him deeply, for he seemed frenzied to capture every detail of it. All those details were within it, and he said you were there, too."
Andrea takes a sip, and then laughs, softly. "I'd hoped, somehow, that you'd tell me that I was crazy." She shakes her head. "I… damn it, I've never believed in this stuff, before. I don't know what to do… I mean, the snake? The birds? Lampridis Falls?" Her hands work her temples. "I'm just a viper jock, not some prophet."
"The gods touch mortal souls in many ways. Not all who have felt their power are wise or holy or learned," Cidra says. "But I do believe in such things. And I believe in their importance. Shared dreams. Visions. Whatever you want to call them. I believe such things seek to impart messages the gods do not have mortal voice to impart any other way. Their meanings? Often murky. The Scriptures were written by many whose truths did not come to pass until long after they were dead and buried. But perhaps this is more…immediate. This is not the first time such a thing has occurred on this ship. You know Lieutenant Evandreus Doe? Bunny?" The name of the Raptor pilot is said with as close to fondness as the CAG ever shows. "He had a dream - one he said he shared with others - many months ago. None of those in it were the ones Drips spoke of - certainly not you - and the details he described were quite different. But that name…Lampridis Falls…he claimed it appeared in his dream as well…Viper jock or no, perhaps someone is trying to tell you something of import."
"I don't even know what Lampridis Falls IS." Andrea protests. "If the Gods are trying to talk to me, then couldn't they at least be a little more straightforward? Not to mention, what could possibly be so important? I mean, you'd think, 'The Cylons are about to attack' would have come in handy a year or so ago…"
"It is…Bunny referred to it as a tourist trap." Cidra's lips up-quirk closer to a smirk. "Well. That is not a wrong way to describe it. It is not a holy site. Frankly, it did strike me odd that it features so prominent in both of these dreams, as there are many places on Gemenon of far greater religious significance. Anyhow. It is something of a retreat, a lovely little place, but of no great import." At Andrea's last, she looks somber. "Perhaps they did." Said soft. "The thing about omens, Hosedown, is that they are everywhere if you go looking for them."
Andrea seems to collapse, muscles high strung suddenly relaxed and limp. She takes another sip. "So what now? Do we just book a Raptor, jump to Gemenon, see what we can see? I'm a Viper jock. I don't know what I can DO with this message that won't get me tossed in the brig or make Spiral walk around telling everyone he told them so."
"If that is even the import of all this," Cidra says soft. "No. We cannot just jump to Gemenon now. Reconnaissance shows it crawling with Cylons. Like ants on a hill they hold it. It would be death." There's a catch in her voice, though she schools herself to keep it limited to that. A slim frown at mention of Spiral. Or, more likely, the broader import. "Supposedly the abomination kept in the brig now also had an…episode of some sort. From talking to Drips, it occurred the night of your…dream."
Andrea's mouth drops open. "No… no, that's impossible. It was just us… Drips, me, some enlisted, and that reporter lady. Just us, no one else, it couldn't possibly be connected. I'm not… her hand reaches for the table. "I'm the daughter of Andrew and Dorothy Demarcos. I was Miss Congeniality of the Teen Miss Aerilon Pageant. When the Pyramid players boasted about bagging the prom queen, they were talking about me!"
"I do not believe you are a Cylon, Andrea Demarcos." Cidra's tone is firm on that point. For better or worse, this is something the CAG has decided to trust in, and her trust is not a thing given in half-measures. "But paranoia about the skinjobs runs like a fever on this ship right now. As you know. As I did say, I believe this to be of importance. But be cautious who you speak of this to. Drips, obviously. The other two women in your dream. Bunny, if you can catch him. And perhaps…Splash. Malone." She frowns slight. "We have never spoken of it, but Bunny did mention he 'shared' Bunny's dream. Among some others. I do not believe such things to be toaster plots. But the messages the gods gift to us are not always ones we want."
"They probably think this is all a merry joke," Andrea says, bitterly. She is also a bit red… her haste to prove her humanity had trumped some of her better judgement in sharing stories with the CAG. "I… ok. I'll talk to Drips some more. Maybe to Bunny and Splash, as well. But, if it is a message," Andrea sighs. "Consider it delivered. There's nothing I can do about it."
"That you have heard it is sometimes enough. The importance of such things reveal themselves in their own time," Cidra says. There's no serenity in her tone, however. She does not believe all imports are necessarily good.
"Thank you, sir." Andrea finishes the drink in one last hard swig and puts the mug back on the table. "Thank you for hearing me out, and not telling me that I'm just crazy. Though that might have been simpler." She looks down at her hands for a moment, then nods and stands straight. "If I may, sir? Don't think to hard on home. It's not what it used to be, anymore. As someone who was trapped home…" she sighs. "Waiting on hope can kill you."
"You are welcome, Hosedown," Cidra says. Tone rather muted again, and she does not meet the Viper pilot's eyes. It's not an official dismissal, but it has the clear tone of one. She sits in her chair, slouching some. Likely not taking Andrea's advice on that last point, eyes faraway and cloudy with more than just that hint of gray.