PHD #014: EVENT - Thanks for the Memories
Thanks For The Memories
Summary: Members of Air Wing attend a makeshift memorial service for CVW-14's fallen.
Date: 12 Mar 2041 AE
Related Logs: Into The Jaws Of Death
Alessandra Atreus Cidra Karthasi Laskaris Marko Sitka Tisiphone Trask 
Hangar Deck - Starboard - Midship
Post Holocaust Day: #14
This Hangar Bay is filled with boxes, crates and other various supplies that are needed throughout the ship. Most have been moved to one end and lashed with tarps to keep them out of the way. The place has gone from extra ship storage on one end and the ability to house over 450 people on the other end. Whatever could be made into cots has been set up like a huge barracks. Some areas have been made more presentable with a few items that belong to the person holding onto their small area in this world.
Marines guard this area 24/7 and food is brought in cafeteria style, feeding people out of vats and buckets as they line up with their plates. One area has been tarped off to the side, that holds canvas showers and sinks. The 'Head' in this area has to be cleaned daily since it is a temporary military bathroom setup, due to there is no way to flush it out through pipes.
Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close

A section of the hangar deck not being utilized for work has been cordoned off by the CAG. This is not a precisely formal affair. Cidra herself is on CAP in the next rotation, and so is in her flight suit. She's standing there now, talking softly with Karthasi as pilots gather. More formal and widespread memorial services are the province of the chapel, but some time has been set aside today to briefly and quietly remember the pilots killed in action on Warday. Cidra has a clipboard in one hand, and the list on it (though the print is too small to be readily visible) likely contains the names of all 147 fallen. The appointed time for it is drawing near but it's early yet, so personnel are just starting to gather.

Dressed in work coveralls and perched upon a crate is Bootstrap, whose attention is firmly on the small notebook that he's intently perusing. Every so often, he scribbles a note about something and then goes back to reading. Not one to ever smoke anywhere on the hangar deck — which blows because he so loves to smoke — the astute might discern that his lips periodically move in a manner befitting of someone sucking on a piece of hard candy.

Marko snags a cup of ersatz coffee from the table and finds a place to put his flight helmet. Someone else is going up on CAP after the ceremony as well, it would appear. The young ensign's face is looking more than a little haggard and drawn as the relentless grind of 4 hour CAP hops with no relief and no backups starts to catch up to him. Alas, he doesn't have any candy.

Karthasi is a priest who has seen better days by far. But despite looking as though she's been emotionally run over by a Raptor, she's still pristine in her blues, holding a patera in one hand, a thick cord wrapped around her other wrist, and two pouches hanging from each end of the cord, one demonstrably larger and heavier than the other. She speaks with the Major in a low, quiet voice, eyes cast downward such as to almost look closed.

Lasher just came off CAP not long ago, himself, so like Cidra he's wearing his flight suit. He's standing not far from the CAG, leaning against a nearby crossbrace with his arms folded over his chest. The Viper SL's expression is worn, and not just thanks to the constant CAP rotations.

Jogging over from his office, Atreus has a clipboard tucked beneath one arm. His gaze flickers around those already here. Karthasi and Cidra are offered a quick, almost perfunctory salute before the man fades to stand near the crates where Trask is sitting. Setting the clipboard down, he stands at ease.

Lucky comes in, dressed in her blues, the pilot busy straightening pins and creases as she arrives. She hangs back for now, busy peering about for people she knows, hesitating until she sees Laskaris. She moves to join the other pilot, nodding hello before she too takes up space against the same brace he is, her expression saddened.

Tisiphone arrived on the unfashionably early side, as she is wont to do for religious and religious-ish gatherings. She's in her blues, standing amongst the gathered, perhaps a little off to one side. Fingers woven together in front of her, her prayer beads knitted between them.

Naevi lurks to the back of the congregation for the moment, dressed in her blues with her arms crossed over her middle. In one hand she holds both a leather-bound book and a pen, listening intently to any murmur of conversation that might happen to drift her way.

Rounding out the imminently-on-patrol crew is the Petrels' Captain, just in the process of shoving his arms into his flight suit as he ka-thumps down the stairs at a not quite jog. The smell of smoke on his person implies he recently enjoyed a cigarette. Weaving between a few of the taller pilots, he climbs up atop an empty trolley, and rests his elbows on his thighs after ditching his helmet on the deck.

Laskaris' attention is drifting a bit, but he focuses in on Allie as the woman approaches. The other pilot gets a terse nod in reply, but his clenched jaw utters no words as she joins him next to the thick metal beam. His head swivels to check out the deck; eyes fall first on Allie, then the CAG and Karthasi, before randomly sweeping across the others present.

Knuckledragger sense is tingling! Without peering from the notebook, Atreus is quietly greeted with, "Chief." While still scouring over print-outs of code, Trask reaches into a cargo pocket and retrieves a small tin, which he proffers to the CPO. "Mint?"

Cidra does return Atreus' salute, but it's nothing more than a quick nod to protocol. A nod and quiet word of thanks to Karthasi and she turns to face the assembled pilots. The CAG's manner is somber, and the little lines at the corners of her eyes and lips seem more prominent than usual. When everyone is reasonably assembled, she raises her voice. "I thank you all for making the time to be here. This shall be brief. We lost many on the night the Cylons attacked. Some friends, some we alas did not get a chance to know very well. They were of many beliefs and shall be memorialized in their own ways. But all died in defense of the ship, and all deserve a moment to remember them, before we continue on the long days we have ahead." A look to Karthasi. "The chaplain has been kind enough to offer of her time for a general blessing, and then there shall be a reading of the names of the dead. If you knew them personally, please, as they are called take a moment to speak about them. We had little time to fly together. These people who passed so briefly through our lives shall not be forgotten."

Atreus catches Laskaris' gaze and lifts his chin in a silent greeting. Briefly, he looks around from where he stands, nodding once to Tisiphone as well. Turning his head a bit, his smile is easy, though subdued, "Thanks." A hand lifts and he claims a mint or several with clever fingers. When Cidra begins speaking, the mint is popped into his mouth and Atreus comes to attention.

Alessandra is likewise quiet, Laz getting only a quick smile and a nod of acknowledgement from her. Her attention is a bit more focused however, her gaze held either him or the CAG, everyone else allowed to blend into the background for now. When Cidra speaks she straightens, her posture suddenly near-ramrod from ankle to the top of her head, the sign of respect not only for the superior officers present but for those who they all are here to memorialize.

Likewise, Lasher slowly pulls himself off the crossbrace and up to his full height as Cidra starts to talk. Another brusque nod finds the Chief, before his eyes find the CAG. A hand reaches up to scratch at a stubbly cheek.

Sitka's jaw hardens slightly as Cidra launches into her speech, though unlike some, he doesn't come to any kind of stiff attention. Rather, he remains slouched atop the wheeled dolly, his head briefly dropping so he can scrape fingers through his scrubby hair. Eye contact is not sought with anyone.

Marko pulls himself to attention as the CAG begins to speak, fixing his eyes on a point on the wall and trying not to look at anything else. There are days when it's actually good to be an Ensign. When you're playing 'statue' for your CO, nobody can tell how freaked out you are.

Tisiphone waits in silence, her thumb passing over the curved stone 'medallion' of her prayer beads again and again. She doesn't look up, sleet-blue gaze lost somewhere between the beads and her booted toes.

Closing the tin, Trask deposits the minty goodness back into the cargo pocket. A small, somewhat lopsided smile is his only reply to Atreus. As the CAG begins with the ceremony, he packs up the pen and mini notebook, and tucks them away in a different pocket. That done, he slinks off the crate and unto his feet, as a showing of respect.

Deep breath, Greje. Keep back straight, remember the words. Patera, empty, outstretched, and rope-twined wrist held close to her chest, Greje fights her eyes from drifting over the heads of the assembled pilots, looking to them, instead. "We come here with purity of spirit in remembrance of those who have attained their share of the divine," she begins, as a general blessing. "One hundred and forty seven lives were lost in this wing on the day of the Khoes, when Dionysus is with the people, Eleftherios, freer of souls, who loosened many souls from their bodies that day. We pray that those who fell on the day of his holiness, even though we were not able to give them the honors due to the dead, are in the Lord's care, and found Eleftherios and the Son of Maia to guide them where they needed to go." Another breath, and she begins again.

Attention was not called for, but Cidra does not object to good posture just now. She gives the preliminaries over to the chaplain, head bowed slightly.

As the priestess' voice rings out across the crowded 'bay, Sitka looks up slowly. His eyes focus on the woman and her rope-twined wrist, and there's a moment of tension in his frame where he looks like he might just up and slink off entirely. Though he doesn't look pleased about it, he stays. Perched atop the trolley, no less. His eyes, however, are fixed upon some point beyond her as she rattles off the scripture.

Alessandra's head bows and her eyes close, an attempt at adding to the prayer mouthed in silent offering. Her hands press against her thighs only to then clench tight, her knuckles growing pale thanks to just how much effort she puts into curling them into fists.

"To be lost at sea… lost in the dark… is a grim fate for any soul. We… weep for the lost souls, unable to find their peace, and we pray that somehow or other they may find the guidance they require. All we can do for them from here is to pay them remembrance, and to give them the offerings of our voices, that their names may not perish along with them, and that they be granted some share of immortality in the memories of our selves and our… descendants," Greje continues, tripping a little over that last word— standard as it is, it has some unintended ramifications in the current situation. She clears her thoat.

"There are, however, some among the lost who, having found strength in faith, discovered the mysteries of the Lords, and were vouchsafed a place in their next lives under the protection of the Lord under whom they had studied those things which may not be revealed to outsiders. I will… read out their names, that we may be assured of their safety and blessedness in the next world, and know they are at peace." Another pause, then the Sister begins. "Those who have witnessed the holy mysteries of the Lady of the White Barley and her blessed daughter Kore…"

"Wilson Bebo."

"Minerva Bolletino."

"Xiomara Boyn."

Bootstrap doesn't bow his head all that much, and his eyes remain open. There is a somberness about him, though. Quietly, he rolls that mint around in his mouth, waiting for a specific name to be called.

"Jesse Byro."

"Collin ca Marat."

"Aurelia Crewe."

"Clarence Hirata."

Atreus does not lower his head, but stands at attention throughout. When the names of the dead begin to be called, he lifts his hand in a full salute that he will hold until the final name had been called.

"Thaddeus Manoi."

"Annamaria Mensalvas."

"Ryan Shaker."

Manners he may be lacking in, but when the overtly religious portion is finished and the priestess begins reading out names, Shiv slides off the dolly and brings his hand up in a salute akin to Atreus. There's still a shred of military protocol in the aging Captain, apparently.

Tisiphone suddenly looks up from untangling and retangling her prayer beads into a new configuration when Ryan Shaker's name is called out. "Wait!" She sounds startled, almost. "Wait." She clears her throat a number of times before she continues. It still quavers slightly as she speaks. "Lieutenant Ryan Shaker. Salt. He had a wife waiting for him on Virgon. Amelia. They- at least they're together, now. Daphne and I flew escort with him. Helped a freighter under gimbal lock get home. 'Don't forget to look,' he said as we left Picon. 'It's the only planet you'll see for the next month.'" She laughs, or tries to laugh, there, caught in that uncomfortable spot between laughter and tears. "I was too busy trying to show him I could leave atmo without shaking my bird apart. During the War Games, I totally fritzed out. All the flak and missiles, I couldn't tell what the frak DRADIS was trying to tell me… he talked me back in. He was- I was honoured to know him. And he is missed."

Tisiphone looks very briefly from the Chaplain to Cidra, before her attention is back down on the floor. There are motes of dust down there, somewhere, that still haven't been counted.

Many of the names are those she has only heard in passing but Lucky still finds herself tearing up, this combined with her grief from before causing them to come to the surface finally. Alessandra doesn't break down and sob, but it's clear that she's moved to a level of emotion not common for her, her normal self-control starting to fray around its edges.

As details about one of the lost pilots are spoken, Naevi suddenly turns her attention to the book she carries in her hands. She quickly scribbles down Tisiphone's words in short hand, glancing up from time to time. The other names of the fallen are written in the book, too, her writing so fast and furious now that she's flipping over a page every minute or so.

Marko bows his head respectfully as the Priest begins her benediction, shaking his head a little as he starts to take in the enormity of it all. Hard to imagine how in less than two weeks, he's gone from 'wet behind the ears' rookie to 'desperately needed asset'. So much for the easy parts of being an Ensign.

Cidra straightens her posture as the names are gotten to, arm coming up in a salute. Eyes go to Tisiphone as the she speaks more personally of LT Shaker. A small nod is offered to the ensign.

Lasher is pale as Karthasi begins reading off the list of names. His arms remain crossed tightly, his jaw still clenched with his lips only a thin slash across his face. He's willed himself, somehow, to stand completely stock still, his only movement an occasional twitch of the lips as he watches Karthasi, then Tisiphone as the latter speaks of Salt.

Karthasi stops short when implored to wait, swallowing once and giving Tisiphone a slight nod of encouragement as she relates her memories of Salt. "Thank you for your voice-offerings," Greje murmurs after Tisiphone seems to have been finished a moment with no signs of beginning again. Hers isn't the long list, by a mile, those who have been saved by their knowledge of the Mysteries much shorter than those who were not. But it still takes her a moment to find her place, mentally, in the list, once more, "The others indoctrinated into the Mysteries of the Eleusinian Goddess," she says, getting her head back into the right space, "Season Tallant. Sixta Tutton. And Sebastian Skarzynski," she finishes up. "Those who found their saviour in Dionysus Iakkhos," she moves on to the next cult. "Marvin Albert," she begins, as is right, at the beginning of the alphabet, once again.

Sitka keeps his hand up in the stiff salute, blue eyes forward and focused slightly to the left of Karthasi. If his arm's getting tired as the list of names continue to be rattled off, he doesn't give any indication.

"BOOM-SHA-KA-LA-KA!" That would be Trask, who waits just long enough for dramatic effect before adding, "It's just not the same comin' outta someone else's mouth." It's true; Marvin "Prince" Albert loved that exclamation. "Prince was a perv." Also, true. "But damn entertaining." That is subjective. "Never met someone with such an extensive collection of porn, an' I'm a lifer, so that's really sayin' somethin'. He was an a'right guy, an' I'm not sayin' that because he bequeathed me aforementioned extensive collection of porn. I actually knew Prince back in the day, when I was still a knuckledragger and he was a shiny new ECO aboard the Chimaera. Even back then, he was full of lewd gunnery euphemisms, although the ones about facials and missiles weren't limited to launching AP rounds." For the record, Kal is not making this up. "I'm gonna miss that crazy frakker."

Alessandra blinks twice; once at the loud cry that comes from Trask and then again once his story of the lost man is concluded, the last of the two ending in a stare that's pretty wide-eyed. She shoots a look to Laskaris to try and catch his reaction to it all but otherwise keeps looking forward, her face now a bit pink about her ears and cheeks.

Not laughing at Trask's remarks takes a good bit of effort — effort Marko's just a little too frakking tired to make right now. He does, however, manage not to fall about the place guffawing, merely putting a hand to his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut, shoulders shaking violently with silent, repressed mirth. It's not funny, Gods know it's nowhere near funny, but under the circumstances, any degree of levity in this situation's to be welcomed.

Naevi stares at Trask for a moment as he recounts the tale, taking pen to paper once again to swiftly scrawl down all the details as they are imparted. When the pause in conversation comes, she taps the pen against her teeth thoughtfully and furrows her brow.

Tisiphone jumps like a shot's been fired when Trask makes his starting exclamation, wet-cheeked face coming up and swiveling like an owl toward him. The first half of his tale registers somewhat numbly; by the second half, she realizes she really /is/ hearing what she thinks she hears. She starts to say something, then coughs wetly for a moment, instead. Clearing her throat, she murmurs, "May he be remembered." It's the closest she's come to saying something fond in Trask's direction.

Eek. Greje doesn't eek aloud, but looks to come close to it at the sudden shout. She's a jumpy critter. Especially today. But she just clutches onto the patera and listens to the remarks on the initiate of Dionysus, finally managing a little smile, herself. The Wine God's cult does have its fair share of phallic imagery, after all. After a moment, "Thank you. For your voice-offerings," she tells the man who'd spoken up, lowering her head briefly before resuming her recitation.

"Joel Biss."

Far from being stunned, affronted or disquieted by Trask's crass depiction of his fallen comrade, Shiv appears to be… amused. He isn't laughing, but that's a definite twitch at the corners of his lips that's threatening to break into a full-on grin. He may be the reservist in the midst of lifers, and he may not have known the man, but he can probably appreciate the sentiment.

"Keivh Buikema."

"Izola Chisari."

"Hanna Fenske."

Atreus twitches a smile at Trask's call. The smile warms a bit as the tale of the man continues. He shadows a wink to the tale-teller, though his salute does not falter, nor fail. Leaning just a little to the left, he speaks very softly to Trask when things settle again. "We need to compare holdings."

"Hope Khounborine."

Cidra blinks at Trask. Eyes fixing up on him. Staring throughout that. It was… definitely not what she was expecting. Her reaction is very hard to gauge. Her lips twitch in what comes very close to a smile, but you blink and you miss. She doesn't appear appalled, at least. It's a story fit for a wake, albeit one with more booze than this.

"And Rochel Struck."

Lasher's only reaction to said remarks is a guttural snort, though his expression does absolutely nothing to divulge what he's thinking. Then Trask is finished, and Karthasi goes back to reading from the list of names. He stands there, impassive, listening, watching.

Faintly leaning to the right, Trask murmurs something to Atreus. "You thought all that code to comb through was a lot…"

Karthasi clears her throat, and begins again, "Those who have seen the mysteries of the tears of the Lady of Laughter, Aphrodite, and of her consort the Tree-Born Adonis," she moves on to the next cult, "Devorah Beau."

"Jae Wykhe."

Marko finally manages to get himself back under control and shakes his head a little, listening to the names as they're read out. He doesn't know any of these people, which just manages to make it all feel worse somehow.

"Hmmm. Yeah?" Atreus' whisper holds a measure of amusement, anticipation and admiration.

At something further that the Chief whispers, Trask just shoots Atreus a 'you have NO idea' look.

Atreus sparkles a quick glance at Trask, smile brief. Then, his eyes move back to front and forward once more.

"And Rickai Ynocencio," Greje finishes. That last one trips her up just a little bit, her Caprican accent clashing with the rich south Leonisian nomenclature. "And, he who found his saviour in the Unconquered Sun, the Bull-Slayer Mithras: Zoon Capponi," she finishes up her list, completely. "Rejoice in these names, and know that each of them has gone to the peace in which each one most delighted. Mourn for those souls still lost, pathless, in the dark," she adds, looking to Cidra, then, to take up the reading of names.

The shock ebbs and there's a soft clearing of her throat, Allie's expression blanking out. When the last name is given by the Sister, she nods and looks to the CAG, waiting for the listing of the names to resume.

Naevi continues to write name after name as they are announced, one after the other. As she writes she moves, stepping up alongside a familiar face in Tisiphone. She glances up to her with a weak little smile, continuing to write.

If there is any formal response to the end of Greje's 'prayer', it is not forthcoming from the Petrels' Captain. Jaw tight, fingers straight where they rest at his forehead, he keeps his silence and his own counsel as the last of the names is read off.

Cidra clears her throat softly, finger on the ledger as she directs her attention to it. Eyes linger on the names for a long moment. "Wherever they are now, we shall carry on for them." And so she begins. Her order is simply alphabetical. By Squadron first, and then down the names in them as they go. The Black Knights first. "Bella, Gabby…" And on and on. There are still over a hundred pilots to call to. Though she does pause briefly after the gives off each name, to see if any have a contribution about them.

"Ah …" Naevi suddenly looks up when she hears Lieutenant (J.G.) Bella's name called by the CAG. She closes her book for the moment, stepping forward a little and clearing her throat to get some attention, "I never … I never actually met Ringer - at least not properly. I saw her a few times and I think we might've said 'Hi' to each other but we weren't close and we didn't really know each other. But I started learning about her after what happened. She was a law student from Libran … like me. That's what drew me to find out more about her. She was hoping to get into the law after she completed her service … which is what I wanted to do as well. There were a lot of similarities there and I hope I'm not stepping on anybody's toes standing up to speak for her. She was a great pilot and she's going to be sorely missed. I know she had friends aboard and I'm probably not giving her the best eulogy but I'm, uh, I'm trying to learn everything I can about the men and women we lost. May she be remembered."

She then holds up the leather-bound book in her hand, "I'm writing it all down. If you have any stories you, uh, you don't think you'd be able to share out loud, I'd like to hear them." Suddenly self-conscious, she offers a reserved little nod and attempts to step back into the crowd, "Thanks."

As the litany of names shifts from the Chaplain to the CAG, there's a rustling of hollow clicks from Tisiphone's prayer-beads, again tangled into some new formation. Despite having spoken up for Salt, this part of the list seems harder for her to hear; as the names go on and on, there's the quiet, unmistakeable sounds of someone stealth-crying, bony shoulders stuttering each time she breathes.

"That was most fine, Ensign Naevi," Cidra says with the faintest of smiles to the Viper pilot. Pausing in the reading for a moment. "And the effort, I think, is more honorable." Then she proceeds. "Notts, Marcus," again for the Knights, a pause again before moving onto the lost among the Checkmates. So, so many, the names echo faintly in the space of the hangar deck.

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