| Quite Frankly, a Mess |
| Summary: | The aftermath of Blanket Party |
| Date: | 19 Sep 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Blanket Party |
| Players: |
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| Sickbay - Deck 10 |
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| Being able to accommodate combat casualties requires room, and the Sickbay has it. Beds line each side of the room with privacy curtains strung up and readily available. Large vaulted lockers hold access to the supplies at the far end of the area. Nearer the front, a Petty Officer sits ready to dispense simple items like ibuprofen and aspirin. Further to the rear is an area prepped twenty-four hours a day for emergency surgery. To the side are a set of double doors that lead to the Recovery Ward where patients can recuperate. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #205 |
Constin is, quite frankly, a mess. At least an hour removed from the incident and the marine's pale complexion is displaying all manner of colorful damage. Ugly bruising darkens his entire face- worst at the right eye, grotesquely swolled with a cracked orbital bone. His nose is a bloody mess, the telltale discoloration of cracked ribs apparent on both sides of his bared torso. There isn't a square foot of the man without some degree of injury, right down to the icepack settled on his groin as the sergeant lies there- one eye swollen wholly shut, wearing only the trio of dogtags above the waist.
Quinn came to sickbay the moment she heard, apparently pregnant-redheading her way past a few nurses to the point she's got visiting rights sitting at Constin's beside. He might have expected others, but it's Maggie who has come the very second she heart, panicked and over protective. She's sunk back in a chair there, in oversized sweats borrowed from some Marine (hell, maybe they're his!) and almost half dozing. She, apparently, plans to sleep the night with him.
"Lo, Maggie," Constin mumbles, peering at the LSO through through the one narrow eye which he is able to crack open. "What doing here?" he manages a moment later through split lips. The marine isn't moving past a small turn of his head toward the direction he looks.
The drowsy redhead half jumps as she hears his voice. She didn't expected the tough bastard to wake up so fast. Maggie sits forward, choking back a hint of a worried exclamation as she looks him over. "Elf… gods… I… I'm keeping the hardest head on the ship company… hoping he is as hard headed as I suspect." She admits, trying not to sound like she was worried sick, but she's not really succeeding.
Shiner isn't long after the LSO, although he's not pregnant red-headed his way past anyone. He's just been pushed in, still wheelchair bound. "Hey, hey, wait a minute!" he tells the orderly over his shoulder to get the man to stop. "Dude, what the frak happened to the Sarge? He looks like shit! Sarge! What'd you do? Go thirteen rounds with a frakking gorilla?"
"Head's still hard," Constin mutters. "A bit cracked, but you already knew that, yeah?" His lip curls briefly, which is enough to start a trickle of blood going from the still forming scabs crossing his lip. His one open eye narrows in an effort to focus on the funny little man in the wheelchair. "Nah, sir. Had a bit of a thing," he drawls in the first of the night's great understatements.
"I was the frakking sympathizer haters, wasn't it?" Maggie asks sternly, a good bit of hate in her own voice as she looks over his cracked features. She winces at that trickle of blood, leaning to the side to grab a clean cloth and very, very gently try to dab the blood away. "Just take it easy, hun.. Please…" Maggie's dropped all rank at the moment, too worried about her friend and completely lost in mother-hen mode, it seems. She gives Shiner a worried but thankful smile, glad for more company at the moment.
"The same dickwads who set fire to Wolfe's underwear?" Shiner queries in disbelief. "No way. There had to have been, like, a dozen of them, right? I mean, to be able to smack you about like that? And you kicked their asses, right, Sarge?"
"No," Constin snorts back derisively to Maggie's 'sympathizer haters'. "It was a few assholes who call other folks sympathizers." A slow breath lifts his chest, as Elf gives a low word of thanks to Maggie as she tends the red trickle. "Didn't do much.." he mutters to Shiner. "Not yet, anyhow. Woke up with m'hands died up. One of 'em- two-fifty, maybe more. Six foot tops. Caught his knee. Might've tore it, but he'll be limping bad for a couple days, at least."
"They… they didn't catch them, then? Frak…hopefully the limp will be enough to make an ID. This… this is ridiculous. We can't start turning on each other." Maggie moans out quietly, sinking back down into the chair she was previously occupying. Her fingertips then slip up, wearing through Constin's hand, if he will permit, just a silent show of support that she's there and she's not moving at all.
"If it helps, it wasn't me," Shiner points out, giving his wheelchair a brief nod. "But hey, can't be that hard to find a big guy about six foot who suddenly starts hobbling about, right? Or at least a shortlist. You want a drink of something? Lurch here'll get juice." Another nod, this time towards the scowling orderly tasked with Shiner wheelchair duty today.
Constin doesn't squeeze the fingers Quinn runs into his own calloused grasp, just lets out another breath and mutters, "Swear, I'm gonna have to kill somebody, Maggie. Alla this so far ain't shit to how bad it's gonna get." Shiner's quip earns a sniff of forced amusement. "Maybe in a bit, sir. Sauced up plenty good, already."
Quinn continues gently brushing the pad of her thumb across his knuckles. She's as tender as possible with it, not wanting to hurt him further, but to know that he's being cared for and she's not going anyqhere. She gives Shiner a tired half chuckle at his comment about it not being him…"Yeah, well… I never thought it would be ya, Shiner.." Maggie doesn't know the guy well, but being the LSO she's seen him on deck a lot. She then looks back to Constin. "I hope you're wrong."
"You should totally kick their ass, Sarge," Shiner tells the man solemnly. "I mean, they smacked you up proper, and did I mention they burnt Wolfe's /undies/. What kind of guy does that?"
"Maggie. Pretty damned sure least a couple of those frakkers are marines," Constin rumbles ominously. His one blue eye fixes on Quinn's with the words, to make sure the significance isnt missed. Then his eye turns to Shiner. "Sir, I get hands on any of these frakkers? An ass kicking is the least of their problems. Or mine."
Quinn is quieter as he says that, it throwing something cold in her stomach. The strongest of the strong on board, the guys who protect everyone else. She squeezes his hand again. "Elf… I'm so sorry.." She gently uses his nickname, apologetic, worried, tender about it all. She looks back up to Shiner, her eyes exhausted and heartbroken for the whole situatio…"They're sick, Shiner.. that's who does it. Someone who is mentally sick." Her accent quietly lilts out.
"My money's on you, sarge," Shiner tells the marine loyally, twisting his body oddly as he tries to adjust position in the chair to a more comfortable one. "You can take any sick bastards, can't you? I mean, like, you're huge and everything. And… um… I'm not a sir. Sorry. I'm just an ordinary guy."
Constin frowns at Shiner's correction. "Huh? Shit, who is that?" Still not seeing too well out of the one functional eye he has at the moment. Nothing worse than incorrectly recognizing someone who is going out of their way to be loyal. Quinn is anwered simply with a released breath and the word, "Yeah."
Quinn murmurs to Constin, "It's Apprentice Wright, sir… but most of the deckies call him Shiner… He's one of the best air craft handlers we've got." Maggie hasn't spoken much to Shiner at all, but she watches his work on a daily basis, so she speaks truth, or what she as truth. She smiles warmly to Shiner, encouraging.
"She's lying about me being any good, sarge," Shiner admits wryly, "But yeah, I'm just a knuckledragger. I was in the same Raptor as you on Sagittaron. Saw you shooting the bad guys and everything." Briefly. Before Shiner got shot and missed pretty much everything else. "You're like superman or something. You can take some wankers who want to set fire to people's stuff and beat on guys who're sleeping, right?"
"Frak me," Constin mutters. "Yeah, Dave Wright. Thought you was someone else, Shiner." The mistake an excuse for the frustration of the past couple hours to boil up again in the marine's manner. A bullish snort. "Yeah, Shiner. I can take them," he drawls tightly.
Quinn squeezes Constin's hand again, "Not until you're well and healed. He might look like Superman, but he's not…None of us are. So… we all just take a breath and let the justice system on this ship do it's job." Hopefully. Maggie is really just trying to sound as hopeful as possible.
"Yeah, right," Shiner replies, snorting. "When I find out who it is? Remember this, sir. I know where they sleep, and I drive Henry."
Constin doesn't gainsay Quinn's optimism, but in light of his recent words to the woman, the skeptical look in his clearer eye speaks volumes. "How many folks on this boat you think're stupid enough to be in on this shit?"
"…A dozen… at best…. Like Shiner said?" Maggie whispers faintly, but she knows her heart isn't behind the words. It could be two… or three dozen. Or half the ship. Who would ever know. Her fingertips go just a bit cold in Constin's hand, other free palm wrapping protectively across her stomach, chilled to her very core at the thought.
"Uh… well…" Shiner hazards, wrinkling his nose, "I reckon there might be a load of people who don't think much of cylon sympathisers. You know, just saying and all. I mean, if I thought somebody was helping the toasters? I'd probably go beat the shit out of them, too."
"And what about at worst?" Elf drawls flatly to Quinn. "Maggie. Every time these fraks pull some shit, they ain't worried about screaming for help. Everyone around is looking the other way. The longer this shit goes on- the longer these-" he cuts off as a slow breath is drawn, teeth are clenched, and his head is shaken. "Longer this shit goes on, worse it's gonna get. Shit, can you imagine what these sunsabitches will do after Abbott's trial?"
Quinn 's eyes dip to the deck, quiet and just a bit sick…"…probably…over half the ship… if not more." Maggie whispers in response to both the men. She looks like she might just go be sick for a moment, but she stays in her seat.
"Well, maybe you've got a lot of people to beat up, Sarge," Shiner decides, pulling a face. "You let me know if you want a hand, yeah? I mean, when I'm mobile and everything again, anyway. I got to get to frakking physio just now, but I'll be back in an hour, okay?"
"Too damned many," Constin mutters to Quinn, letting out a bullish breath through the broken nose. He's been sniffing and snorting more since the doctors re-set that for him. "Get back on your feet, Shiner. Nobody likes a layabout," he deadpans without moving.
Quinn calls very quietly after Shiner, "Good luck, Shiner… get better…" But the realization of the amount they're facing has just taken something out of Maggie. She's sitting next to the laid up and severely injured Constin, her fingertips laced through his good hand, holding very gently. She's just in a pair of loose sweats probably borrowed from some Marine, by the size of them. She's looking ashen pale under her freckles.
"C'mon, then, Lurch," Shiner grouses to his orderly. "Let's go see the sadistic cow." Ah, physio, how we love thee. And off he's wheeled. He'd probably wave, only, y'know. That whole neck injury and lack of movement thing.
"Let it be said that not even a beating can take away your exquisite sense of humor, Sergeant," comes a new voice from the doorway of the sickbay. Holding the hatch open for, and then dodging out of the way of the soon-to-be-wheelie-popping Shiner on his way out, Madilyn makes her way down to visit her injured Sergeant. The comment about the sense of humor appears to be true though, having heard the last bit of Constin's statement, and (reasonably) good spirits is a good sign, right?
Constin narrows the eye that isn't already swollen grotesquely shut to peer at the door. "If a beating did kill my humor, I'd have some kinda reputation as a pissed off grouse, Major." Bone-dry in tone is the greeting. He draws a slow breath through the mouth. "What's the word, sir?"
Quinn gives Madilyn a ghost of a smile, sitting up a bit straighter. "Sir." She forces herself into standing up, unhappy back and knee or not. She knows to give proper respect where it is deserved. Constin might not be able to salute, but Maggie sure can, so she releases his hand as she does so.
"At ease, both of you. Absolutely no need to salute me when you're here recovering. There are protocols, then there are silly protocols. "The word is that one of my sergeants was beaten by a group of masked assailants. Perhaps you can help fill in some of the details I'm missing?" On her way to the bedside, Madilyn snags one of the doctor's stools - they won't need it; they should be up and working! - and drags it over to conference with Constin and Quinn.
Constin draws a slow breath, before drawling, "Got a report of a Breaking and Entering incident from Private Mann, at about.. seventeen hundred. Can't recall the exact locker, but it was on Gee Deck. Arms locker. Got hit from behind on the stairway outside deck twelve. Woke up pinned, with hands bound. Least three fellas, maybe four. I was the specific target, so they knew where I was going."
Quinn wasn't a witness in anyway, so she doesn't speak to it. She just sits loyally at Constin's bedside, holding his hand, a show of silent support as he goes through a no doubt uncomfortable story.
Madilyn listens to the story with pursed lips and her hands placed on her kneecaps. When he mentions that first, he was dispatched there and second, the assailants knew where he was going to be, Madilyn draws a long, deep breath through her nose, then exhales. "Were you scheduled to be the responder, or did you volunteer? The fact that they knew it would be you, and that they knew where you were going doesn't sit well with me…and I hope it doesn't sit well with you either."
"No, sir it does not," Constin states cold and plain. "Private Mann brought the report. Alleged to be from a Snipe friend of hers. Said the last Bee and Eee she took, so it was my turn. Didn't object." Another breath drawn. "Don't have solid proof on this, sir.. But I got a real solid suspicion at least one of the masked frakkers- likely more, were marines. One's a big fella. Maybe six foot, least two-fifty, maybe more. Caught him good on the kneecap- might've torn it, but he'll be limping awhile. Other two were harder to make. Male, masked, more than that, can't say. Low light, and.." And he was promptly beaing beaten.
Quinn squeezes Constin's hand, even if this seems entirely too easy for him. That almost worries her more than if he were visibly upset by the whole thing.
There're several reasons that carrying a small note pad and a good pen everywhere can come in handy. This is one of those reasons. As Constin begins to list off the things he can remember, Madilyn writes down the details. "Big fellow, six feet tall, approximately two-hundred fifty pounds, with an injured knee," she repeats. "I'll put in for medical to contact me if anyone matching that description comes in, but I doubt he'd be that stupid, especially if they're trying to operate in secrecy. I think I managed to slip down here without anyone knowing, so there is that element of surprise on our side."
Constin nods once. "Yes, sir. He'd have bruised knuckles as well. Dumb bastard was blocking my headbuts with his hands." More of that alleged humor Madilyn had observed earlier. "Were hitting me with something, on top of the boots and fists.. Socks, with something hard inside. Specifically called me a 'cylon lover', so there's confirmation of our motive."
"Brusied knuckles. From blocking headbutts. Noted. Well, it shouldn't be too drastically difficult to get a look at any marines of that particualr build and secretly check to see if they have any injuries concurrent with what you report," Madilyn says nodding. It's not good to have MPs leading people into traps where they can be beaten by vigilantes. Of course, that's putting it lightly, but Madilyn's face doesn't give away anything more than business-like concern for these events. "Tread lightly when the ice is thin, to keep everyone from falling in…" she says in barely more than a mumble.
"Yeah," Constin mutters on the heels of Madilyn's initial comments. To her latter maxim, he offers, "Never throw the first punch, but make damn sure you throw the last one." A drawn breath. "This is only gonna get uglier, sir."
Quinn chimes in quietly…"Elf.. we can't fall to their level. We can't. We have to do this by the book… by the system. Prove why we are better than them. Worthy of being officers and soldiers…" Maggie murmurs, very soft but honest.
While sitting and listening to the two of them, Madilyn lets the small notepad and the pen come to rest on a thigh, stabilized by the hand that was holding the pad before. The hand that was writing goes now to the collar of her uniform, seeking out the chain about her neck which contains two circular pieces of jewelry hidden out of sight. Strict to regulation? Hell no. "That's what I'm afraid of, and I don't exactly know what I can do to prevent this from happening again." This. Everything.
Constin turns an eye to Quinn. "Maggie, I ain't suggesting going off the book.. but this is every bit as bad as when we had a skinjob running sabotage jobs on the boat. Only now, they're our own people. Half this damn boat owes Lauren Coll their necks for what went down on Leonis, and now all this?" Anger rises in the man, despite his physically ineffective state. "Major, all that can happen to hold this off a spell longer? Is tangling with the cylons again. These frakkers ain't getting hunted down by the toasters for a couple weeks.. and now they gotta go making new enemies."
Quinn closes her eyes quietly, just looking half sick for a few heartbeats again. She squeezes his hand and then lets go, quietly standing. "I… I need a drink…do either of you want… something?" She breaks the sickly heavy conversation with that bit of a mention.
With a sigh of her own, Madilyn collects the pad and stands. "I'm afraid that I'm still on duty. And now it would appear that there's quite a bit more to attend. You two, however, should enjoy if you wish." There's now a question of stationing MPs outside sickbay. Can they be trusted? Would that alert anyone? Was the goal to kill or just maim? Upon standing, Madilyn takes one more deep breath and closes her eyes a moment, the corners of her mouth pulling into a slight grimace. "If you two will excuse me. I wish you both a speedy recovery, of course. Please, feel better soon, if for no other reason than to help root these vigilantes out in the proper fashion."
With a sigh of her own, Madilyn collects the pad and stands. "I'm afraid that I'm still on duty. And now it would appear that there's quite a bit more to attend. You two, however, should enjoy if you wish." There's now a question of stationing MPs outside sickbay. Can they be trusted? Would that alert anyone? Was the goal to kill or just maim? Upon standing, Madilyn takes one more deep breath and closes her eyes a moment, the corners of her mouth pulling into a slight grimace. "If you two will excuse me. I wish you a speedy recovery Sergeant. Please, feel better soon, if for no other reason than to help root these vigilantes out in the proper fashion."
"Planning on it, Major," the sergeant drawls evenly. "And sir?" A short breath let out. "There's a standard issue Five-seveN and two clips unaccounted for, now." The most recent bit of bad news Constin has to share.
Rian comes wheeled in by a medical clerk, still in her on duty blacks and passed out cold on the stretcher.
Quinn goes dead still as she hears that, something freezing in her whole body. That's the last thing anyone wanted to hear. Live ammo unaccounted for, mad hate rampant through the ship. Maggie's path moves from the refreshments to the washroom instead. Seems not -all- the nausea has passed with the first trimester.
Well, as if there wasn't enough bad news, Madilyn has to watch another marine - a new one this time - being brought in on a stretcher. "Thank you Sergeant. That's one more clue to track down, albeit deadly." Now it's not just inspecting mariens for the injuries that might have occurred when beatin Constin, but now checking logs of anyone who might've gotten into a small-arms locker. Not that there'd be any record of it at this point. Visibly slumping now, however, Madilyn makes for the hatch and leaves everyone to their misery…taking a little with her as well.