| Rodents of Unusual Size |
| Summary: | Vermin, of various sorts, welcome the Fleet troops to Tauron. |
| Date: | 20 Nov 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Enter C-27 |
| Players: |
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| Taeryth Concrete Plant - Grounds - Tauron |
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| The yard is large enough for more than a couple Raptors and Vipers to land comfortably, and surrounded on all sides by either buildings or a tall chain-link fence topped with loops of rusting razor wire. Concrete pavement extends from the gate to the warehouse entrance, cracked and crumbling in places, split by tufts of dry grass. The rest of the space is packed dirt and scattered gravel, with chunks of cement spattered here and there. Wheelbarrows, spades, and various odds and ends of equipment sit about the yard, all broken down and rusted out. One whole side of the yard is bordered by the enormous main warehouse, and a path along the side of it leads to the loading dock. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #267 |
There's still some daylight left, but the hour is creeping on toward sunset in Taeryth Concrete Plant on Tauron. The factory complex was thoroughly cleared for operations yesterday and, as day draws to a close, the Colonials are properly dug-in. First day planet-side was uneventful. A lot of personnel and supply courier work down from Cerberus. A lot of setting up cots in the warehouse. Probably a lot of disappointment for those assigned down on the ground, who perhaps thought they'd be getting a repeat of the (relative, as post-apocalyptic landscapes go) pleasure island that was Ewe Aerilon.
Not so much. The landscape around the factory is unforgiving gray: rock, hard earth, and weeds and mud closer to the banks of the River Taer on the factory's east side. The air has a vaguely mucky, rusty smell to it, and a chill edge now that the sun is going down. It's mid-autumn in this section of the planet. The clearing of the place, and subsequent move-in, was uneventful. The plant was shut down decades ago, forgotten by the planets' natives long before the Cylons came, and apparently ignored by the toasters after. The only hazards noted were structural decay in many buildings - one of which houses an impressive collective of bats now - and rats. A small team of Marines spent the morning scouring for and trying to drive said rats out of the main warehouse, which was deemed the most solid structure for operations and occupation by personnel. Who knows how successful they were, but it's rat-free enough to sleep in now, at the very least.
Most off-duty personnel are hanging about in the main yard rather than the gloomy warehouse, however. An enterprising technician, a recruit from among the Aerilon survivors, organized a hunting expedition earlier that day to try and net some deer for dinner. They did not come back with venison. Instead, they bagged three raccoons, which are presently being turned into stew around a very small cookfire that's been set in a hastily-dug pit in the ground. How popular this concoction will be remains to be seen. Most are sticking to their field rations as the 'dinner' hour draws near. It's quiet at the moment, apart from the sounds of the personnel in and around the factory camp.
Deer. On Tauron. The home of the blight if there ever was one, even in the areas more 'livable' than the Black Country. If Leyla were the type to snerk, she just might have when the intrepid hunters returned with their 'catch'. But thankfully, she isn't, and instead, she's settled on a storage crate, gnawing away on a particularly jerkified piece of jerky, doing, quite literally, little more than watching the yard, watching the sky, and enjoying the sights, smells and feelings of being home.
One of those Marines who was on rat patrol earlier is now milling about, as off-duty as he's going to get while they're on the planet. Having posted himself just to the side of where the others seem to hang around, the MP tries to keep an eye on everyone here, his expression stern and perhaps even a bit displeased. His last trip dirtside didn't go so well as the bandaged hand and the freshly scarred flesh upon his neck attests to and he's itchy.
Deer! Sofia feels a bit odd out. This place is so unfamiliar. Tauren puzzles her. It is a bit of a let down from Aerilon. Though she pokes at weeds now and then, and bats! hey is that her second grade teachers? Ahem. Sofia is thoroughly alert, unhappy about looking for rats. She opts to eat rations instead of raccoon. She looks to Richards and then to the ground. "Hmm…"
Having had hope that there was actually deer to be eaten, Robinson held off on eating any of her rations until the hunting party returned. Now, she sits on a crate somewhat near to Leyla, chewing on bits from the rations with a bit of a dejected look. Look. She certainly doesn't mind it here. She's been in a worse situation. But she was really hoping for deer. Like…REALLY hoping. Rations just don't cut it…not always. The Marine PA-C, placing her rations to the side, picks up her rifle from the other side and starts to take it a part and reassemble it. Practice. That's what she needs. That…and she's making sure that the rifle is in working order with no missing of stiff parts.
Not everyone is off-duty and waiting for (or studiously not partaking in) racoon stew. A call comes into the wirless of one of the Marines on nominal duty, a lance corporal near the warehouse, who answers it in an undertone. After exchanging a few clipped words over it, he approaches the general area where Richards and the others are hanging. "Just got a report, the sentries spotted some movement on the north permiter. Outside the chainlink fence," he says. "Might be nothing but some more of those trash-divers." A snort at the pot of raccoon. "But stay sharp."
"Don't turn your nose up at it. You'd be surprised the sort of things you find palatable, when you didn't think you would. Hippo, for example, is excellent." Leyla offers a bit of a verbal nudge in Robinson's direction, but before she can say anymore, the lance corporal comes over to make his announcement, and with a final bite of her jerky, Leyla hops down from the crate, only to walk around it, and finding a free spot with an northerly facing edge, hops back up. Back out comes the jerky.
"Aw frak. Guess that's what we get…" Richards motions for the rest of his team - Doria, Kontos and Bellanca - who joins up with him in no time flat before the gesture's even completed. "Let's go and check that out," he orders while making sure his armor and helmet are all firmly and tightly in place. He nods then to the LCpl and starts to trudge off, his men following dutifully, each one unshouldering their weapons before they get five feet away from where they were standing just seconds before.
Sofia is nibbling away then, blinking. She looks to the Marines, curious. She glances to Leyla. "Hopefully just trash divers," She hesitates, unsure on if she should go too or not. For now, she watches. The pot of raccoon gets a sidelong stare.
Robinson gazes at Leyla. "I'll take your word for that." She says lightly. "But for now…I'm sticking with field rations. I don't feel much like eating raccoon soup today." Having just put her rifle back together, she gazes up toward the messenger and shakes her head. "Fun times ahead of us, are they?" She says to no one in particular as she lays the rifle on her lap, making sure the safety is on.
The northern end of the factory complex, some distance off from those in the yard, is devoted to blocky tenement apartment. Built to house and workers, and occasionally their families, who once labored here. They're all long gone now, of course, and any idea of using the tenements to house personnel was immediately dismissed upon seeing all the collapsed bits of roof and wall inside. The chainlink fence around the complex is just past the tenements. Rusted and fallen in in places, it's hardly an imposing fortification, but it at least provides a clear perimeter. For the moment, there's nothing beyond that initial report, and the lengthening shadows make spotting too much in the shadows of the decaying tenement difficult.
As eyes turn in the direction of the apartments, there's a sudden flurrying of small black, winged shapes out of a hole in the roof and into the air. Bats. Though they usually wait until the sun is lower to come out.
If the tenements towards which Leyla is now facing were just a hair better upkept, they'd look not so very different from the one she lived in, in her life before the fleet. She could even tick off from the left and the right exactly where her family's apartment would be, which direction her an her sister's room. And perhaps it's that intensity, or the memories it brings back, that are the cause of the movement she sees in the building, third floor, "Something scared those bats awake." A hand rises, as she once again, hops down from her crate, though she doesn't put the jerky away. That would require both hands, "Third floor."
Robinson gets up slowly, holding the gun in place, with a finger on the safety, ready as always. She may be a PA-C, but she's a trained rifleman as well. "Bats…" She says, her voice betraying but a little tiny bit of her squeamishness. "Why are the bats awake?" What's this people area saying? Third floor? She tries to follow their line of sight. "What're you guys talking about?"
Richards may not have seen anything but the bats but he was out in the wilderness for long enough to know that's not typical behavior for them. "What the frak." Leyla and the others are not even noticed now as his attention and that of the others on his team is solely on the flitting mammals while they disappear, his eyes squinted as he glares into the sun. "Let's go check that out. Unsafety those rifles, just in case." Doing just that, he begins to drift off to the north, the three others following behind like little black ducklings following their equally black momma duck.
"Yeah, just there, couldn't make out what it was exactly though, Sofia." Well, if one must go into the potential mouth of death, one might as well go with a full set of teeth. And seeing as she has those, in the form of a small group of Marines, Leyla finally puts her dinner away, and starts off after then, following a safe distance behind. Her sidearm is also unholstered, though she keeps it safely pointed down. Animal, mineral or vegetable, if it speaks Tauron, well, so does the small pilot.
Although she's not a member of Richards initial team, Robinson is following along. If asked? Either her skills as a field medic could be needed…or she's pulling rank over Richards. He may not like it, as long as she's here, she might as well be useful, instead of waiting around for raccoon stew and something else to happen. Turning off the safety on her rifle, she follows along with the group.
A nod. Sofia takes a deep breath. "Glad I'm not seeing anything then," She remarks quietly. There's an eerie sense of relief in her voice. Does … that happen to her much? She shrugs it off and smiles at Robinson. She's quiet for now.
"Who invited the hens…" comes the question, that voiced by Doria which is then followed up by chuckles from the others save Richards who is now pissed as well as paranoid. "Hush." Turning around, he looks at the others as they come up from behind, his expression exasperated. Once they are close enough he's hissing orders at them, his tone only held in check due to the fact that he's having to keep his voice down to be on the safe side. "No one moves without my giving the go ahead. Do not shoot without permission unless it is absolutely necessary." He looks at Robinson then, perhaps daring the medic to argue with him.
There are sounds from within the tenement, but it's mostly creaking of boards, scurrying and squeaking of rodents, and the higher-pitched occasional squawks from the bats. Until…something entirely different breaks the quiet. *BANG!* A gunshot. From the building's second floor by the sound of it, and followed by loud footfalls and scrambling that can only be human. Unless there's a *really* big and heavily armed rat up there.
If there's one thing Marines seem to enjoy doing, it's trying to be as rude as possible whenever possible to try to get a rise out of everyone around them. Once you know that, it's really over before it begins. And so, after the marine's hushed comment, and the order from the Sergeant, Leyla, well, she pretty much does what she was doing. Standing, watching, waiting, only now she's not walking when the marines walk and stopping when they stop. She doesn't even move when the gunshot goes off. Like many an adult who grew up in the midst of gang violence, her reaction, rather than to duck or hide, is actually to see where the shot might have come from. Which is precisely where they were going in the first place.
Oh marines. Sofia blinks at Doria and turns a bit red. She looks embarrassed. But she accepts for now. A squint and eek! Heavily armed rodent of unusual size! Sofia regrets not bringing a nice big hunk of cheese. She ducks though, far more sheltered than Leyla. "… I … don't see anything hit near?" Were they aiming? One eyed gunman?
Robinson shakes her head. "Hey, I'm on your side. And a Marine to boot. Just keep your eyes ahead of you and open, and none of us will have a problem." She says in a hushed tone. She knew that look. Hey. She's a PA-C, she expects it. But that doesn't mean she has to like it. And then the gun shot sound erupts. She keeps on alert. None of them want to end up hurt."
Richards turns around quickly at the sound of gunfire, that enough to snap him out of the annoyance he had been inflicted with just a few seconds ago. "Frak." Scanning the building, he tries to figure out just where that came from exactly, his eyes sweeping from left to right, ground floor to roof swiftly several times before he makes up his mind. "Let's move on. Doria, since you want to be a comedian, you can take point." He smirks at that, especially when he sees the rifleman roll his eyes just before stepping slightly ahead. "Let's go." The gesture to move on is given by Doria which is followed up by his saying, "You guys keep up or get left behind," to Sofia and Leyla. Not that he would as no one ever gets left behind but maybe the idea that they just might be will be enough to put spur to ass.
Point toward the sound of fire will take them up the concrete stairs, which aren't the easiest things to navigate. Cracked and broken away in places, they're at least still solid enough to get them up to the second floor without caving in. The sound of footfalls has gone abruptly silent, and there's no more gunfire after that first shot. There is a lot of skittering and squeaking, however, and the sound of little claws on the floor. This is rat paradise up here.
Sofia, alas, is intent on finding the noise and listening to the Marines(TM) that she doesn't notice the cracked stair and - WHAP - down she goes like a fresh keg of Tauronian beer. She yelps, mercifully softly - but alas, she has a nice bruise across her nose and elbows. She falls at a remarkably comedic angle. At least she has plenty of cushioning on the front. But still. The snipe looks pained.
Robinson rushes to help Sofia up out of her predicament. Once she is sure that Sofia will be fine for the moment, promising to give her a proper look over and patching up later, she makes her way through the hallway. A couple apartments down from where they are, she stops, something catching her eye through the open door. Using hand signals to catch the attention of others, she motions to the room she's next to. What's so special about this room? "There's a bit of blood spatter in here." She says in a hushed tone once the others are close enough.
As soon as Leyla hears the sound of someone falling, she immediately look around, moving to help Sofia p, but finding the PA-C got to the crewman before we did, "You alright, Sofia?" She does offer a 'Thank you.' to Robinson, "Thanks for that. And only when Sofia gives the okay, will she begin her treck back up the stairs behind the Marines.
Richards barks, "Do not go in there," reminding Robinson of his earlier orders while trying not to groan thanks to Sofia's little mishap. "Keep your frakking eyes open wider next time," he reminds her while stepping up to join Robinson. The splatter is taken in before he shrugs and points, directing her to step to the side just a little more. "Don't want you in the line of fire." The rest of Fire Team One assumes the proper position for entry while Richards himself peeks in if the door is open, that slowly opened if it isn't.
Owch. Sofia looks pained. "S-sorry," She whispers. She looks embarrassed and pained at once. It's just bruises mercifully. She smiles meeekly, sheepishly. "Thanks," She whispers.
Richards barks, "Do not go in there," reminding Robinson of his earlier orders while trying not to groan thanks to Sofia's little mishap. "Keep your frakking eyes open wider next time," he reminds her while stepping up to join Robinson. The splatter is taken in before he shrugs and points, directing her to step to the side just a little more. "Don't want you in the line of fire." The rest of Fire Team One assumes the proper position for entry while Richards himself peeks in the open door.
Once Leyla's sure the Sofia hasn't lot a limb or become otherwise incapacitated, she, well, she pretty much doesn't do anything. She's still waiting, and following orders. Which means waiting on the stairs, or in the hallway, at the very rear of the team that's gone into the tenement. But she can still listen, she can still try to pick out any human sounds, or even the sound of voices. Anything that might given them a clue about what, or rather, who is in here, "Anyone here speak Taurian besides me?"
Richards steps in, making sure not to step on the dead rat that was the source of the blood that has been sprayed upon the wall, letting the rest of his people filter in behind him. Something caught his eye and he's going to investigate. Bellanca, the only female in the team stays in the back, keeping the others company in a way while also sticking to her job. The room is crossed while his rifle is aimed in the direction he saw the motion come from, his finger on the trigger held very still as he doesn't want to accidentally shoot an innocent.
Robinson follows Bellanca in immediately, watching everything, left right and centre. She didn't see any movement other than theirs, but that doesn't mean she's not on guard. Glancing at Leyla, she lifts a finger up to her mouth and makes a 'ssshhhh' sorta motion as she looks about the room.
Sofia is indeed, ok! Just unhappy. Sofia is straining to listeen now and shakes her head at Leyla. "Not me, sorry," She admits quietly. She smiles apologetically at the medic. "Sorry," She murmurs again. Sofia follows, though she smiles at Bellanca in passing. She's shier now though, humbled by her trip.
There is indeed something positioned behind the pile of collapsed wall and other refuse that Richards goes to investigate. But it speaks up before he can get there. A man's voice, somewhat high-pitched, and hollering a string of words in Tauron. It doesn't sound particularly threatening, but there is a slight edge to it.
And inside the room goes Leyla, trailing after the Marines. There's a tip of her chin to Robinson, as she's hushed. Well, if the Marines want her to be quiet, she'll just be quiet. She's still not aiming at anything, though her eyes to track Richards as he heads towards whatever it was that caught his attention. There's a slight narrowing of her eyes, as she hears the voice, weeding through the shifts in regional and local dialect to winnow out the meaning of the words. But, as no one bothered to answer her question except Sofia, and she's been 'hushed' by the ranking Marine, well.
"I speak Tauron," Bellanca says after a moment but she doesn't move nor does she motion to Leyla to go ahead, the room not yet secured by the Sergeant or the others. For his part, Dick is stepping closer, moving in as much of a non-threatening manner as a man who is armed and armored can. Holding out his left hand while his right holds the weapon up towards the ceiling. See? Wouldn't harm a fly. "Do you speak Standard," he asks slowly, living up to the whole sterotype that people to speak slower and louder when trying to be understood by someone who may, or may not, speak the same language.
Robinson looks between Leyla, Bellanca and Richards. "Maybe if one of these two speak Tauron to him, he'll reply. I mean…he could be scared, and people speaking to him in Standard, if he doesn't understand it, might frighten him more." She speaks quietly and softly. "It couldn't hurt any of us to let them do that, could it?" She says quietly.
Sofia is quiet. Though she smiles politely at the direction of the man's voice. She nods at that.. "Hopefully he's friendly," She offers softly then goes quiet. Sofia is a good audience.
"Zeus' gonads, dude, I'm not deaf," is the quipped response Richards receives. In Standard this time. And sounding a touch offended by the question. The voice belongs to a young man, who stays right where he is. And Richard's could see he is holding a gun, though it's not pointed at the Marine. Yet. There's an edgy quality to his quick speech. Maybe fear, maybe something else. "Who the frak are you with?" The question's repeated, albeit in Standard this time rather than the previous Tauron.
Well, it seems the fireteam already has a translator on hand, which eliminates the need for the pilot to stand in as one, and with the man's reply, in Standard, well, even that is not a necessity. As it seems that Richards and his little troupe have the situation well in hand, Leyla diverts her attention, doing what she was brought up doing. Which is to watch her back, looking around the room, and then back out into the tenement. Where there's one warm body, there might be more.
Seems it's unnecessary for anyone to translate as the guy speaks Standard, making the job easier for all involved. Heaving a slight sigh, Richards looks at the others from over his shoulder so he can make with a quick head count before he turns back to address the man. "I am Sergeant Christopher Richards. We are a team from the Colonial M…" He pauses, having to remember that this little motley group has more than Marines involved, putting a hint of a pause to his response. "We are members of the Colonial Marine Corps and the Colonial Navy." That's all he is saying for now, not wanting to give away anything that might be passed on to the enemy, information like the name of the ship they are stationed upon and their purpose for being here not divulged for now. "And you'd be…?"
There's a pause. Sofia tries not to giggle at the analogy. She nods and smiles politely at the man. Though she does wave to let him know she's there and not ta threat. She looks to Leyla.
There's no immediate sign of anyone else in the tenement room, just the scrambling footprints the young man made in the dust on the floor. And the shot-up rat. Slowly, not particularly threateningly, the interloper eases up from his hiding place into a standing position. Gun - a pistol - still pointed at the floor in as non-threatening a manner as possible. Dark eyes dart around at the Colonials. More alert and curious than anything else, though there's still that wary edge about him. He's of moderate height and skinny and can't be any older than twenty, and dirty. Very dirty. Intricate Tauron tattoos visible on his neck and hands, though it's hard to make too much of them in the dim light. "Marines?" Pause. "And Navy?" He doesn't seem quite sure what to make of that answer. Like it didn't quite hit the import of his question. "Yeah. Military. That we figured. Since we saw the planes. At first we thought the toasters were back." He hesitates when asked for his name. Wary about that. But he finally gulps and replies, "I'm with the Raupatu." He says it in a testing sort of way, like he's gauging their reaction to it.
Robinson stays where she is for the time being, watching the young man with curious eyes. Her gun is lowered slightly, but still somewhat at attention.
Leyla's attention shifts back to the conversation, a tilt of her head at the word given, rather than the name. And the 'we'. No, he isn't alone after all. Which means that even if the tenement is vacant now, except for this poor unwashed soul, it might not be for long. She'll stay where she is, looking back the way they came.
Richards's also noticed the mention of there being more than one here, that being something filed away in the 'very important' mental file there. "Yeah, well, can't promise the Cylon aren't here but I can promise we are not them." Standing down, he clicks the safety on his rifle on, the sound followed by three more clicks when the other Marine enlisted follow suit. "I can't say I've ever heard of the Raupatu," he says then, his honest words coupled with an apologetic frown. "I don't know if you'd be willing to share info with us but if you'd like, I can get you in touch with my CO," That being Vandenberg, "and see what she would like to do. I'm sure we can arrange a meeting or something." Reaching back, he gestures to Kontos and Bellanca, directing them to return to camp. The pair dart off, making the group of seven become a group of five when they depart. "Do you have any injured or sick who need medical attention?"
Robinson clicks the safety on for her weapon as well, looking about silently. However, when the question is asked of whether there are any injured, she perks up a little. "If there are any injured, I would be more than happy to help them. As a sign of good faith for any information that you might be willing to share with us."
"I ain't a Cylon either," the Tauron youth replies promptly. Just to put that out there. Putting his gun away in his trouser pocket, since Richards is standing down. "Information's what I'm here to get. The Boss sent me." He looks a strange mix of puzzled and half-offended when 'Raupatu' isn't recognized, though he quickly adds, "We're in charge in south Minoa. This ain't our territory - not much here to bother with even before the toasters came - but the Boss wanted to know what was going on. I mean, who was landing here and everything. So he sent me. I'm ain't hurt or anything." He assures Robinson of this. "I mean, it's just me. I'm a…what you call it…en-voy." The pronunciation of that last one is butchered, but he sounds pretty proud of himself. Another pause and he adds, "Name's Eddie."
Leyla finally returns her attention to the group inside the room, moving away from the door to allow the two Marines to make their way back out of the building, and, quite likely, immediately over to the closest ranking Marine to check in and contact command. There's almost a smile, at the mention of being 'in charge'. Yes, more than familiar territory. The pilot, however, remains as wary as she was when she first got off of her crate.
Sofia looks confused. She whispers to Leyla. "What's a Raupatu?" She's a sheltered Aquarian and seems at a loss. She glances over her shoulder just to be safe. She smiles. "Pleased to meet you," Sofia nods as Eddie introduces himself. Though she hesitates. Should she offer her own name? Has she talked too much?
A quick, sharp look is given to the medic but Richards doesn't say anything, whatever that is about left alone for now. What he does say is in support to the woman although he dances around the subject of her having used medical aide as a bartering tool, something he is inwardly displeased about at the same time he's outwardly neutral on the entire subject. "If you do know of any wounded then the Ensign will be able to help," he semi-echoes her, trying to encourage Eddie into talking some more by pointing that out. "How many people are still alive?"
Leyla looks over, as Sofia whispers to her, her own voice kept at the same volume, though she makes no attempt to mask the thick BC accent her standard always carries. Her standard may be impeccable, but there's no mistaking where she's from. "It means…the closest I can translate into standard is 'essential force'. It's sometimes this way, with translating taurian to standard where the concepts are sometimes varied and complex, too much so for literal translation. "From the sounds of it, I would say it's some sort of gang, though whether they're a criminal one, or one who simply serves to protect that land, I can't say. He's from Minos, given his accent, and that's far from the Country." Which is likely why she didn't give much of a reaction to his naming of his group.
Robinson remains quiet for the time being. It doesn't exactly seem like Richards cares for her to talk, anyway. And, for the time being, she doesn't care to pull rank. The man named Eddie is doing fine talking to him anyway.
Now that Eddie's going, he doesn't seem averse to talking. He talkes a lot, really. His speech has a quick, rabbiting quality to it, in fact, though it's still guarded in places. So he can't really be said to be babbling. "Uh…thanks," he says, ca little wary at Robinson's offer himself. "We got anti-rads and stuff back at the base. Still alive?" Again, he doesn't sound quite sure how to answer the question. Or if he terribly wants to. Leyla's words make him blink. First, he grins at her accent. Second, he bristles what she actually says. He's an emotive little guy. "I ain't a criminal, Blackie." Very defensive about that. "We fought the toasters. And yeah. That's what it means. Kind of. Boss came up with the name. He used to be a cop in Minos."
If Richards has it in his mind to apologize to anyone it is something that'll have to wait. He's instead listening to the civvie, his expression troubled. "I see." The hesitation is caught and that has him looking to Robinson, a brow raised in a question. "If you'd like, we can find a way to get a hold of your people, Eddie. Perhaps have one of our communications people try and make contact with yours?" He's going on the assumption that those Eddie's aligned himself with have means to communicate.
"Oh. I see," Sofia nods back quietly. "I wouldn't know," She admits. Sofia is clueless. An apologetic look over to Eddie. "Um. Sorry. I didn't know what the word meant so I thought I'd ask, it's my fault," She admits, pushing her fingertips together. She'll take blame for that one. "I'm glad we found people though." She nods. "And thanks for translating."
"I was answering her question, nothing more or less, Eddie." Leyla's tone, once her voice rises, is no different than it was when she was whispering. Calm and easy. "I do not know the people of this province, and those who protect the land. If you found yourself in my place and I mentioned a group you were not familiar with, you would have had the same answer. To give the meaning of the name, but not to know what their purpose or affiliation was." Leyla, for her part, is certainly not offended by the 'Blackie' name thrown at her, "But, for what it is worth, I am Leyla, born into the Aydins in Derry." The BC she leaves off. It's a given.
The term 'Blackie' isn't used derisively toward Leyla. If anything, Eddie seems not a little pleased at having stumbled upon a countrymen. Of a sort. "Eduardo, born a son of family Cortaz in Minos," he replies with similar ceremony. "Yeah. Boss' got a wireless. Part of why I'm here is to set up a meet. If you are actually military which…I guess you are." He'll quite amicably go along to be deposited with whoever's in charge, though he still seems cagey about giving away too many details. Though he does have one question. "You guys got anything to eat?"
A couple protein bars are pulled out from Richards' fatigue pants' pocket and handed over when asked for food, it not being the 'good' food that the rations are supposed to be but they are at least filling. "We'll take you back with the Ensign's permission," he says, finally deferring to Robinson's authority. "Will let you use the radio once everything's put in a neat little row." And that's where he leaves things be.
Leyla nods, her expression solemn. Because there is a ceremony, to the sharing of names, of family and, even in small doses, history. "We are well met, Eduardo." A nod, and then the serousness fades and she's back to being simply Leyla, or Sweet Pea, as they call her on the 'street'. The question about food gets her hand back in a pocket for her bag of jerky, which she offers over, "We've got raccoon back at base. Don't ask. But I'm sure there'll be a plate for you if you want." A slightly askance look at the man, which she does try to hide from Robinson.
Sofia shrugs as he doesn't seem to notice any of her chatter at him, but she does seem amused and grins a little. A look between the Leyla and the Marines. "Yeah." A wince at the mention of Raccoon. She rubs the back of her heaed. "I learn something new every day."
Robinson raises an eyebrow at Richards. Oh. So NOW he wants to defer to her rank. That's nice. Not that she she wasn't ready to defer to him to begin with. He was the team leader after all. But there ya have it. "Well, we might as well get you checked out and well fed. You must be hungry if you've mostly just had rat to eat." She says softly with nod to Richards. Motioning with her head for Richards to follow her to the door. Once they're both there, she lowers her voice so only the two of them can hear. "I'm sure you had this in mind already, but I just wanted to confirm, it would probably be good to have him under constant guard. Preferably with at least one person at all times that speaks Tauron. Until someone else says otherwise, anyway." With a little nod she says, to everyone, "Well, I guess we should get back, eh?"
"Raccoon? Choice," Eddie says, actually enthused about that offer. Not that he doesn't also snap up the protein bars and start chomping on one. Whatever his 'mission' here is, he'll take all the food he can get. "Rat? No frakkin' way. These things freak me out." He admits it a little sheepishly. Hence the bullet he put in one of them while skulking. "Raccoon's good, though. Funny flavor. Meatier than squirrel."