PHD #096: EVENT - The Public Weal
The Public Weal
Summary: "The public weal requires that man should betray and lie and massacre."
Date: 2 Jun 2041 AE
Related Logs: Concluded in Rex Mortuus Est.
Abbot Tillman Rime Gabrieli Sofia Cidra Alessandra McQueen Malone Madilyn Constin Panos Bell Karthasi Quinn Marko Polaris 
Chapel — Deck 9 — Battlestar Cerberus
The hatchway opens into a dimly lit corridor, stark grey walls now and again painted with some mural appropriate to the religious season, stretching from floor to ceiling and then sloping down away from the ceiling in two triangular forms that bracket off the tiered seating areas to either side. Straight ahead, in the center of an open space, stands a simple rectangular altar, the emblems of the Lords thereupon arrayed to receive sacrifice in the tall room when the altar isn't decked for some more specific use. Hestia, who is not vouchsafed her own emblem on the altar, is etched in relief on one side of the altar itself, shown tending the hearth in her usual fashion.

In the wall behind the open area are three evenly spaced hatchways which can only be opened and closed from the inside. The small cubicles behind each hatchway are each furnished with a small altar against the back wall, upon which sometimes the dark shape of a sacred object can be discerned even from the tiered seating for visiting on the sacral days. The hatches can be closed to block out profane eyes from rites they were not meant to see. The walls between each little cubicle can be retracted to create a larger space for more well-attended mysteries.
Post-Holocaust Day: #96

The drone of chanting voices; the smell of burning incense; the glow of flickering candles — the chapel aboard Battlestar Cerberus seems in perpetual use since the operation to Leonis ended in disaster, and this night is no exception to the rule. The tiered benches in this room are filled to capacity by people paying their respects to the Lords of Kobol, beseeching the Gods for succor in the manner of their homes:

"O Zeus Keraunos the thunderer, who shakest with fiery light the world, deep-sounding from thy lofty height — "

"Honor Hermes, giver of grace, guide, and giver of good — "

" — to you, Poseidon, Asphalios, be kindly in heart and help those who voyage in ships — "

Even the admiral is present tonight, his somber duty blues almost black except where light from the altar catches it, and around him whisper murmured prayers and hazy smoke and everywhere the sweet spicy scent of cypress the sacred tree.

Lieutenant Rime slips into the Chapel, unfastening the top button of her duty blues as she enters. Fresh from a long and unexciting day in CIC, she pauses just inside the door to straighten tired shoulders and tuck a runaway strand of hair behind her ear, before proceeding onward to one of the stadium bench-like seats. She finds a spot near the back of the room, unwilling to wander deeper in hopes of a less-crowded row.

The hatch at the room opens quietly and Tillman steps inside, grim faced. He's got his sidearm on like he has for the last week. He waits a moment for those aged eyes to adjust to the darkness while he looks for someone. Spotting the Admiral, Tillman takes slowly steps towards him to prevent disturbing this anymore than he has to. Kneeling beside Abbot, Tillman dips his head. "Sir. I'm sorry to disturb you, but you're needed in CIC right away. We've got an emergency on Praetorian. There's been a large explosion and a fire. Commander Laughlin needs to speak with you right away on the encrypted frequencies." Local phones aren't going to cut it. Its said barely loud enough for anyone but the closest to hear.

Cidra is seated upon one of the benches, one of those engaged in prayer at this time. Cult tattoos - owl and olive tree and spear symbols of Athena - displayed prominently on her bare arms. She's unarmed, for her part. She is wearing her belt with a holster at her hip, but it's empty as she comes into the chapel. There's a rigid set to her shoulders. A tension to her posture that may be taken as unusual, even in these troubled times. Prayer beads laced around her long fingers, clicking together softly. Head bowed, lips moving and muttering soft in a language that is definitely not Colonial Standard. The admiral is noted as she looks up, blue eyes going sidelong to him for a beat. She sighs heavy, inhaling the heady fragrance in the air around her, fingers tightening on the beads she holds. Then up again, and back to Tillman. His entry is noted, even if she can't hear what passes between he and Michael. Those blues remain fixed upon him, hard as agates, with an icy cast to them.

Sofia is here quietly. Curiosity and a brief break have allowed Sofia some time to watch a bit. She is quiet, and smiles politely as Rime sits nearby. She looks back to the front until- hey, it's a Tillman. Sofia blinks, seeing the man near the Admiral though shhe doesn't quite hear any conversation. Headtilt. While Sofia is a quietly respectful audience, her curiousity will be the end of her.

It's not just the Admiral who darkened the Chapel's door tonight. Although he's in less finery, Lieutenant Trevor McQueen is present in duty greens, having stepped away from some routine flight data review duty to reflect on the nightly prayer services. He hasn't joined in, but is engaged in silent study of the idols upon the altar. More importantly, study of the individual templegoer's own attentions piled upon said idols. His expression is one of seren study. Which is broken bu the XO's sudden entry, of course. He cranes his head to one side, glancing over his shoulder as he steps away from the pew he is standing in front of (note - not sitting, standing).

Alessandra's currently outside, waiting in the corridor. She's got a shoulder leaned against the bulkhead just to the hatch's left, relaxing as much as she's able to. A hand settles at her right hip, her fingers twitching just above the holster she has strapped to it several days ago, something leaving her beyond antsy.

The ChEng hasn't been here as often as his upbringing demands, but the gaping hole in his officer ranks has kept him far busier than he should be. Gabrieli is sitting near Cidra at the bench, a long and exceedingly old strand of wooden prayer beads wrapped around his burn-scarred hand. He's wearing one of his dark green field caps as he always does, his hair never having quite grown back after the fire months ago — the top of his head's been overly sensitive ever since. His head is bowed until a set of footsteps going by just feels strangely out of rhythm with the rest, and his green eyes open slowly, fixed on the back of Tillman's head.

Countless voices comprise the din, countless eyes turn upon the altar. Save one. Lieutenant Jeremiah Bell occupies the very top tier, almost by himself in his row. Spread open on his lap is a small hardcover, the contents indiscernible. Somehow, amidst the muted chaos, he finds solitude. He turns the page.

Abbot doesn't move — and indeed, it doesn't look as if he's got any intention of moving any time soon. Back straight (picture-perfect, even), eyes fixed forward, the admiral holds up a hand as Tillman approaches, an imperious — almost careless — gesture that demands silence while the devotions are ongoing. For it's from none other than Abbot that the litany of praise to Zeus is coming, spoken with marked deliberation while whitened knuckles clutch the railing before him —

"Hail," he murmurs — "Hail to thee, most high Son of Kronos, giver of good things, giver of safety — " The common prayer, known to all. "Hail, father, hail again! And grant us goodness and prosperity, for without goodness wealth cannot bless men, nor goodness without prosperity. Give us goodness — and give us weal."

Tillman takes a breath, frustration visible as he glances around to the faces in the crowd. Gods-frakking-damnit. His eyes meet Cidra's and he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The man waits another moment before speaking again. "Admiral. The bomb was in the missile racks. The fire is spreading to the fuel tanks on his ship. We need to go, sir." There's some deeper urgency to his voice, insistence growing and increasing his volume a little.

Cidra's hands remain engaged in their contemplative fingering of her beads, cradled and shifted with her thumbs over her long fingertips. She does not even seem to be consciously counting the repetitions of the beads along her hands, though there is a clear pattern to it. It's automatic. She shifts a little closer to Gabrieli as she continues to pray, however, shoulder briefly brushing his. She rest on Tillman for a beat longer and then she, almost pointedly, looks away from him. Eyes focusing back up at the altars.

The silence is also broken by the loud, sharp click of McQueen's tongue as he just stands, glancing at first Tillman and then the admiral, momentarily distracted by the interplay between the two. More figures are studied and eventually Rime earns a sidelong glance. His hands knit behind his back. "Bloody cowards. Curse them all, and their misbegotten dogs." He whispers. Unfortunately, it's a bit audible. A little more than he'd probably want it to be." He also stands away from the bench, taking a single step.

Sofia looks /really/ curious now. She smiles, seeing Gabrieli out and about too. Wait. The Gods - oh gods, gotta pay attention. She throws up a quiet inward prayer of apology and a request for a longer attention span and for interesting things not to happen during services. But her eyes flicker between Tillman, Michael and the goings on for now. Ooooh. So many things to look between. Sofia is like that little kid who keeps squirming in their seat and just might get a swat for wriggling.

Bell glances up, only for the briefest of moments. Then he's back to business. Another page is turned.

Gabrieli's attention stays pinned on Tillman, his head tilted very slightly downwards so the cap brim shadows his greenish-gray eyes. A prayer bead flips gently over his fingers and he glances at Cidra, then down at his hands. His mouth moves soundlessly, continuing on with the litany he's been reciting to Poseidon — years of practice, undampened by rote.

"…hate waiting…" whispers Allie as she continues to stand out there, whatever she might have to add to the devotions left unsaid. The hand at her hip is pulled back only to be placed at the small of her back, her fingers curled in a loose fist while the other hand is allowed to remain open and held at her side.

Rime has a fidgeting Sofia on one side, and a sudden muttering not far behind her. Her slim fingers twitch and recompose themselves in her lap, then twitch again as she glances back sidelong toward McQueen. Her features are more suited to a smile than a frown, but those lagoon-blue eyes are firm, almost stern, upon the pilot. "Sir," she murmurs to him, in gentle rebuke.

It's with stiff joints and military precision that Abbot stands, his offering nearly finished. Two quick strides take him to the altar where sweetgum sap burns hot and aromatic in open gold censers, suffusing his very body with the distinctive scent while the final words are spoken: "The ground is thine; the mountains swelling high, thine; the sea profound, thine; all within the sky, thine — and this, too, Zeus our Father — " Fire and oil, lifted skywards by upraised hands.

Only now does he move to leave, sparing a quick salute for those who greet him, face locked in his usual icy smile. Open creaks the hatch, letting a shaft of light inside, as the man steps out, silhouetted in the gap —

The XO lets off an uneasy exhale as the CO rises, his heart moving at a thousand beats a minute. Following the Admiral out, Tillman immediately steps to the side of the hatch. "Lieutenant Sophronia, block the Admiral's re-entry." Its said loud enough for everyone inside the chapel to hear. "Corporal Constin, secure the Admiral!" It's a barked order as his hand moves to rest on his sidearm. "Admiral Michael Abbot," he addresses with no uncertain authority. "I am temporarily relieving you of your command according to the CCMJ, Article Twelve, Section Two, on the charges of Espionage and Aiding and Abetting an Enemy of the Colonies."

Constin says nothing outside the Chapel. No word, no expression piercing his rigidly neutral mask. Boots at shoulder width, back to the outside wall of the house of worship, the corporal's bearing is as steady and stern as his fellow marine's is agitated. The only motion from Constin is the slight flaring of his nostrils with each drawn breath, until that hatch creaks open. A short nod is given to Panos as Michael steps out of the chapel, the big man obeys the XO's barked order promptly, stepping behind the Admiral to establish a control hold.

"Yes, Major." Lieutenant Sophronia turns to put herself between the Admiral and the hatch, her expression stoic, serious. The hand that was placed behind her is joined by its mate, the Five-Seven she has on her person left there, untouched. She shifts her weight marginally, coming to a full parade rest, the slight relaxing of posture accompanied by what sounds like the faint rumpling of paper.

… jawdrop. Sofia is stunned. She blinks owlishly. Her eyes go wide as saucers. … totally picked the wrong time to be off meds. That's it really. She's stunned. Might as well have been hit by a shovel. She looks to Constin as the man steps behind the CO. "Um. Whoa." Holy crap. Boggle. She looks to Rime. She's seeing this too right? Sofia's not gone plum loco? Back to Tillman and Co.

Also in the hall outside the chapel, Madilyn has been bracing for this event. Tillman gives the orders, Constin does the securing, Allie blocks the door, Madilyn is there to make sure it all goes down smoothly. Even though the situation may not call for it, Madilyn has her hand on her holstered pistol, ready should the need arise. Her face, too, is an emotionless slate, focused and intent on doing her duty to the ship and its crew. She nods to Constin, without a word.

McQueen's look towards Rime is ruefully apologetic. But not /that/ apologetic. He simply shrugs. "I think you'll find that cowards will have a lot of explaining to do in the World Beyond, sneaking about like this and unafraid to use their 'superior numbers.'" His lips twitch and forehead screws up, and then his gaze is ripped away to catch the CAG and a few more people, and then — oh, Tillman speaks. And the Marines. He spins about, openmouthed. "Espionage?" He looks at the Admiral momentarily, and then the XO, even more opemouthed, fish-like. "SIR?" He looks at Tillman like the man just got caught in a public restroom wearing a pink tutu, with a pair of Gemenese prostitutes. That couldn't elicit a more incredulous reaction.

Cidra does stand as Michael leaves. But there's no salute from her. Not that it's strictly necessary in the chapel, but she's usually not the sort who hesitates to give them to her superiors. She tenses as she hears Tillman's order outside, but there's no trace of surprise from her. And there is, perhaps, just a touch of relief as the admiral passes the door. "Remain as you are," she says to those who remain within. Not loudly, but she knows how to project her alto when she has to. "No harm shall to come to any within the chapel walls."

The tension in Gabrieli's jaw is quite unhappy, eyes fixed forward on the altar as he hears Tillman declare that right in the hallway. His eyes close briefly and then he too stands up, unfolding to his full six feet of height with no panicked rush. Mainly so he can see the couple engineers in here — including Sofia — to whom he gives a subtle shake of his head. No doing anything stupid, now. Dad's watching.

Bell doesn't stare, doesn't gape, doesn't even look away from his book for ten or fifteen seconds. Then he snaps the tome shut, tucks it neatly under one arm, and begins to make his way down from the upper deck. Not towards the door, certainly not. Rather, he's making for Cidra, steely eyes fixed on his for-the-moment immediate superior.

Having been present in the Chapel, trying his best to make sure to catch up with certain powers, apologizing quietly to them, or something like that, Malone pauses as he hears the sound from the outside, blinking a bit, "That's…" he mutters, from his place near a corner of the chapel. Pausing a bit as he hears Cidra's words, nodding a bit, but still keeping most of his attention on what's going on outside.

"Excuse me, /what?!/" Rime's Virgan lilt turns to something closer to a whipcrack. She, too, goes toward her superior officer — that being the mutineer out in the corridor. She's a step or two behind McQueen, though if he doesn't step lively she'll step around him. Alessandra's in the doorway, but she's no obstacle to a raised voice. "Major?!" Wide eyes full of sharp, alarmed disbelief, as she tries to see Tillman. "Major, what in the name of the Lords do you think you're doing?!"

Commotion inside; commotion outside; commotion everywhere save on the stony face of the battlestar's master and commander, whose granite-hewn expression changes not one whit when the charges are read and the Marines move in. The Major — well, the Majors, plural — are ignored, icy blue gaze boring instead into the woman now blocking him from the chapel just half a step beyond. And though he's not the tallest of men, there's something about the set of his jaw — that twitch in his cheek — that suggests a hidden lethality roiling beneath the cool, collected frame:

"Step aside, Lieutenant," he orders, hands clasped behind his back, heedless of the weapons pointed in his direction. "Captain Gabrieli — " Not Cidra, because her assurance just gave her intentions away. "Major Tillman has been relieved of command of this ship. I appoint you new Executive Officer of the Battlestar Cerberus. Lieutenant Rime, please hand me that bough." The branch of a supplicant, conveniently arrayed around the room — dried laurel wrapped in uncombed wool, recognizable to anyone as the mark of those requesting aid from the Lords in Olympus. And finally, to Alessandra, eyes frozen, pleasant voice edged with fury restrained oh-so-well: "You have three seconds."

Tillman keeps his stern face pointed at the Admiral while the man barks his own orders. "I'm sorry it came to this Admiral Abbot, but given the evidence arrayed against you and shown to the Marines and Military Police, my hand was forced by my duty to this ship and the fleet." Its passed purely for informational purposes. "Corporal Constin, escort the Admiral away to your secured location! Major Cavanaugh, secure the fireteam's path to the Corporal's chosen location and coordinate protective measures for the Admiral! Get him out of here -now-!" He then lifts his voice so everyone inside the Chapel can hear him: "Major Hahn is correct. The sanctity of the Chapel will *not* be violated. Anyone who does so will face severe charges. Lieutenant Rime!" He finally looks away from the Admiral and seeks her out with his eyes. "I am acting within the law. I expect you to do the same and behave like an officer." Apparently the XO is in no mood to be questioned. "Everyone will stand fast! I will be addressing the entire crew shortly."

Alessandra 's quick to guard her weapon, her hand put against the grip; the pistol's left undrawn, that being an action that's saved until either given the order to do so or for if shit starts to hit the fan. "Sorry, Admiral," Allie intones quickly as she lifts her left hand. "I can not that happen." This is a side of her that has never been shown to others save the XO. "Step down quietly, Admiral and we'll make this as unhumiliating as possible." A quick look to Tillman and he's given a swift nod, the others ignored for now.

"Two," says Abbot, Tillman ignored.

All this is making McQueen's head visibly spin as his hands remain firmly tucked behind his back. This whole situation has him slightly unhinged and off-kilter, to say the least. Turning sharply from person to person, first of all, Cidra's 'stand down' statement. And then Tillman. And then — Rime? His nostrils flare now, like a furious horse. "Sirs. This is —. Do you really think the Old Man's capable of this? He's the /admiral./ He's not bloody selling out his own people." That's a very dirty look on his face.

Cidra looks over her shoulder brief at Gabrieli. Catching his eye for a moment. Her looks are never precisely easy to read, but there is a certain level of trust there. "Do as your duty guides you, Dominic," she says softly, alto low and husky, meant for his ears alone. Then she steps out into the aisle as well, though she makes no move to leave. Or block anyone from it, really, though she does plant herself there. "Admiral Abbot is being lawfully relieved of command, as evidence has surfaced he is possibly collaborating with our Cylon enemies. I have heard it with my own ears and it is…deeply troubling. No rush shall be made to judgment, but this ship must be protected. I have faith this crew shall not rush to rashness." Eyes flit briefly over her own officers gathered there. Bell, McQueen, Malone. no particular signal to them in any direction.

Sofia is still, confused. The /Admiral/. She looks to Constin, then back to — Oooh, Gabrieli. She looks to him. Right. He sees it too. Sofia stays where she is then, figuring she is best kept out of the way. It's just a deep shock, to all she thought she knew. Stupid mental trauma. She shakes her head and smiles politely at Cidra, almost a reflexive gesture than anything truly meaningful. But even the fidgeting Sofia is bestilled by this as she watches things unfold between Tillman and the others.

Constin is not so inclined to grant the Admiral the unhumiliating exit offered by Alessandra. Tillman's order is met with a step closer, CQB rifle slung at his side to leave both hands free for the forcible restraint of what might be the highest ranking officer left in human civilization. This has just gotten physical.

Gabrieli stands there for a long moment, as XO relieves CO and CO relieves XO. The first words muttered through his teeth aren't a handy 'Yes, sir', but rather: "Are you /shitting/ me…" He draws a breath, one hand bunching into a slight fist at his side. "Admiral Abbott, sir. With all due available respect and with this crew foremost in mind — not here. Not in this place." His greenish eyes turn to Tillman, not quite happy about the public spectacle, but hey, damage is done. Then back to Abbott. "Sir, please. As the Major says, let's not turn this into a circus. The ship will be in fine hands. Let's all handle this like men."

Rime shakes her head slowly at Tillman, horrified. "Sir..!" It's almost a whisper. A plea. As if she's trying to reason with the man. "This is /mutiny/! No true officer would stand down in the face of it." Her jaw is firm, blue eyes unwavering. "No true officer would have done this in the first place." She steps to the side of McQueen, stooping to pick up the laurel bough.

Malone blinks a little bit as he hears what's being said, and moves to place himself where he can see what happens, but doesn't do much more. "If the evidence was real good, a true officer probably would," he comments quietly at Rime's words. "Would probably have to be quite an impressive case, though." Lawyer in him talking, it seems.

"One." And even as Constin puts his damn dirty hands on his spotlessly clean uniform, Admiral Abbot is already moving to push his way past the female pilot, lowering his shoulder and plowing forward with what force he can muster. Right hand drops reflexively to his side, grasping at a sidearm that — isn't there. Godsdamn, sometimes it really sucks to be devout.

Bell steps to Cidra's side, keeping his voice low and his back to the scene unfolding. He bows his head and stoops his shoulders to somewhat compensate for the difference in eight. "Major. Epistemically I shall have no choice but to accept your word in this matter - but I trust these charges are sufficiently grounded in trustworthy proof?"

Michael spends 1 luck points on Bustin IN.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Michael:Melee vs Alessandra:Melee
< Michael: Bad Failure Alessandra: Success
< Net Result: Alessandra wins.

"Evidence. And I have evidence that I have nine cocks and I just took all nine muses on holiday to some sunny beach on Canceron." McQueen spits, the words out, his face reddening. And he foolishly rushes forth towards the Admiral's aid, clearly unhappy with Cidra's calm, levelheaded statement of judgement. "At least allow him to defend himself — like a man." It's not sure whether he's going after Constin or Alessandra here to intervene, whoever's first in his path.

It's like the end of a horse-race — Abbot charging forward while Constin lunges for his arm, the latter managing to pull him off Alessandra just before any part of him manages to break the plane of the chapel hatch — and then, just like that, the man is hog-tied, uniform rumpling in the Marine's iron grip. Only now — that flash of action passed — does Michael's face breaks into a thin, tight smile, eyes drifting from Alessandra to those assembled within:

"Lieutenants Rime, McQueen, and those loyal men among you — there is an intercom system in the Chaplain's room." You know. Right back there. "Please alert the Security Hub that a team of armed soldiers is attempting to seize control of the ship by force. They are authorized by the highest level to use all necessary force to resist this lawless act."

Constin reaches an arm under each of the Admiral's shoulders, bringing strong calloused hands up to clasp behind Michael Abbot's head in a control hold known in the colloquial as a full nelson. "Admiral Abbot! You are hereby detained under Chapter Two, Article Eight-Oh-Nine Dash Nine of the Uniform Colonial Code of Military Justice." The big man bodily drags Michael away from the chapel, lifting Abbot briefly from his feet while barking instructions to his fireteam. "Panos, on the wireless to Control Team Two- secure the route, now!" The final touch involves pulling a hood over the prisoner's head.

Tillman is a little more forceful this time. "Corporal Constin! I said -NOW-!" His hand is still on his sidearm, the clasp flicked off. The grip on it is firm. His eyes return to the Admiral. "Lieutenant Rime, stand DOWN or you face your own charges! I'm aware of what this is. But that applies IF, and ONLY IF the Admiral is not guilty. In which case, Major Cavanaugh will secure MYSELF and Lieutenant Sophronia in the brig. Voluntarily. The proof is heavy enough for me to-" And the Admiral is moving. With the Admiral's words, Tillman looks to Constin and Madilyn. "Get ready for it if they do it." He unholsters the sidearm but doesn't level it anyplace. "Get him out of here. FAST!"

"I have just staked my life and all honor as a Colonial officer upon it," Cidra replies soft to Bell. "If I am wrong, I shall be shot me dead for a traitor, and I shall not call them wrong. But I believe these actions are being taken in defense of this ship." She sounds, at least, sure of that last part. But her usual composure is frayed. She mutters something beneath her breath, spoken in Old Gemenese rather than Colonial Standard. "Queenie!" It's barked sharp but she's in no position to stop him.

Rime doesn't appear to be acknowledging Tillman any further. "Sir," she says, meeting eyes with the Admiral for a moment before he's dragged away. There's a nod, and she's off for the intercom system at a run, Tillman's words trailing away behind her, those legs that pushed her through Virgon's forested hills serving her well.

Alessandra winces slightly as she sees the Admiral start to charge despite her attempt to hold him back as the MP began his efforts to restrain him, what color there is in her face normally gone, the olive skinetone replaced by a pastey, pale coloration instead. Looking at Tillman, then, she nods, her pistol held down still, that being held onto until one of the Marines can release it from her possession. Bell's caught out of the corner of her eye and she lifts her chin, marginally, a silent challenge, perhaps.

Sofia stands to lean and look. Sofia looks to Gabrieli, as if her older, wiser compatriot might offer something. She blinks. "Um." She looks at a loss. For now, she just moves to keep an eye out and stay out from underfoot. There's a frustration at being but a pawn here. "Um, hey, do you think that's wise for her -" She looks to Rime. "I think the poo is about to hit the fan." Wise.

Madilyn flips the clasp on her own sidearm off, one hand resting on the butt of the gun. Her other hand hangs near the wireless patrol radio she has on, ready to call down to the SecHub and belay any order should the Lieutenants or anyone else decide that they want to summon more Marines up. "Corporal, let's move," Madilyn urges…well, urgently. She tilts her head in one direction and starts off down the hall, following the planned route.

Gabrieli stares at Tillman for a second, not /quite/ believing the man's doing this right here and right now. "Lady Athena uphold justice and protect the innocent," he mutters, sounding more angry by the moment that goes by. He starts as Michael goes to shove Alessandra and the Marines take the man down right at the hatch — it doesn't matter what's going on, instinct still blares that the man's an admiral. The Admiral. "Major Tillman!"

"Nobody needs to bloody take a bullet for anyone here because nobody's a traitor. At least not you are /him/." McQueen's voice is tossed vaguely in Cidra's direction. But this doesn't stop him. "Do it, Rime!" and he will now proceed to go after Constin, the most obvious threat of the bunch. Unless stopped, he will attempt to land on the Constin/Abbot in a grappling motion.

Malone stays quiet for now, expression quite thoughtful as he looks between the people present. Moving over in the direction of Cidra and Bell, a bit slowly. Nodding a bit at Tillman's words, and grimacing as he sees McQueen's actions. Let's hope nobody gets shot at least.

[TAC1] Rime says, "Alert, all hands alert! Armed soldiers have captured the Admiral and are attempting to seize control of the ship by force! All MP fireteams to the Chapel! I say again, ALL MP FIRETEAMS to the Chapel! Belay any and all orders by Marine CO, she is among the hostile soldiers! I repeat, Marine CO is /hostile/! Lethal force is authorized at the highest level! Set Condition One throughout the ship!"

Constin keeps hold of the secured ex-CO as the team rapidly begins moving away from the Chapel, along the prepared route. "Control Team One is moving, ah repeat, Control Team One is moving," the Corporal's stern voice relays as Panos keeps his rifle at the ready to escort the prisoner transport.

Rime's voice barely shakes as she shouts this into the intercom, her fingers white-knuckled on the controls. How many times did she plan out tactical ops involving a mutiny? By the sounds of her practiced words, more than one.

Cidra steps toward the intercom as well, but her pace is not rushed and she makes no real move to stop Rime. "Think of what you may do to this ship now, Lieutenant. You are of the Praetorian? Your Commander Laughlin has been informed of the suspicions against the Admiral, and I have been told they trouble him as well. Do as your duty guides you." She shudders as that message goes out. Eyes going back to the altar. Then to the scuffle at the door, so near the threshold. "Gods forgive us all."

[TAC1] Polaris says, "Chapel, this is Hub, we read. Say again, captured the Admiral?" Faint confusion is evident in the woman's tone as the phone hits desk, and then a cacophony of voices erupts in the background — confirming the call — "Cameras have them, Chapel. Rover Five, redirect immediately to Deck Zero-Niner."

The Professor reaches out instinctively to grab McQueen by the upper arm as he takes off. "If that announcement goes over, the ship will erupt into…" Violence, goes unsaid. When the wireless crackles to life, Bells arm drops. He stares blankly Rime's way a moment, then looks after the corridor. "They'll all be shot," he murmurs, incredulous.

"This is your test!" cries Abbot, his ringing voice clarion in the otherwise empty corridor. "Hermes Argeiphontes, Hermes Promakhos — " Slayer of the hundred-eyed giant and champion of Zeus, addressed in winged words by the man whose head is flung back in defiance. "Render unto the unworthy your ceaseless fury, like you gave unto Oreios and Agrios — sever their feet, sever their hands, for they are vultures most detested by Gods and men — " He'll go, all right, he'll go — but unless they gag him, on and on goes the curse, spoken with surpassing nobility even through his hood of black, black, black…

[TAC1] Constin says, "Hub, this is Corporal Constin. We are acting under direct and lawful orders to apprehend, directly from Majors Cavanaugh and Tillman, in accordance with the joint Cee-Ohs of the Fleet. Disregard prior transmission, repeat: we are following lawful detainment orders. Disregard prior transmission."

Tillman turns his face towards Gabrieli. "Captain! If you want to exchange words, I suggest you join me in CIC! We're going to need damage control! All hands! Prepare to defend yourselves!" He's not quiet about this. The ex-Marine turns in one smooth motion as he slouches a bit.

[TAC1] Polaris says, "Lawful my right frakking nut." Another voice, this recognizable as the man leading Rover Five. "We're on our way, Constin, and you'd damn well better lay down your godsdamned guns or you'll have hell to pay.""

"Don't be a dumbass." McQueen gets snagged by Bell enough to be held back as the Admiral continues to be dragged. "Think about this. Think about what's going on here. Think about what the Cylons blood well want." And yet, he doesn't fight the Professor. There's no struggle as he stands stock-still, restrained. It's almost as if he's just letting the pilot get his way.

Rime's transmission goes through, however, and this is something else that just has him dumbstruck. "If command staff start killing each other, there's going to be nobody left to operate the bloody ship. Right now, I bet you the Cylons are dancing with glee." Strangely, his ire has now switched sides. Struggling to turn his head, he ignores the others as best as possible to stare back in Rime's vague direction.

Alessandra darts a look at Rime and sneers, her voice tight with anger when she speaks out. "Nice way to stick your head in the frakking sand, Lieutenant! Be sure to invite the frakking toasters to tea, while you're at it!" She doesn't move, not daring to try to lash out physically despite her current mood, but there are definitely daggers being thrown at the other, visually. "Frakking shit…"

[TAC1] Rime says, "Security, this is Lieutenant Rime, CIC. Major Tillman and Marine CO have mutinied with the assistance of Corporal Constin! We are being held within the Chapel by the CAG and Engineering CO! I say again- *intercom goes off*"

Sofia looks to Gabrieli, for some sort of guidance. She seems to lean towards being sympathetic with Tillman and Constin though. She looks confused, though. "Where - they'll be shot!" She's aware of that much. That's so so bad.

[TAC1] Madilyn says, "All Marine MPs, you are to STAND THE FRAK DOWN! This is Major Cavanaugh…do you even KNOW under whose orders you are responding? I repeat, all MPs are to stand down on MY orders. This is a LAWFUL apprehension of an officer, backed by corroborated evidence. All MPs who interfere with the detainment of Admiral Abbot will be held on charges of insubordination."

[TAC1] Polaris says, "Godsdamnit." A short, breathless pause from the female voice previously identified as Hub. "This is all frakking bull. We'll deal with this clusterfrak when you get in, Corporal, Major. Rover Five, belay weapons free authorization — Rover Five — " Yeah. The sergeant on duty is really having a shitty day. "Rover Five, respond, over! — Frak. He's gone dark. You have incoming!"

Malone grimaces a bit as he listens to the others now, shaking his head a bit, "Sometimes, I wish I'd done what my parent thought I should do, and gotten a job in law…" Although he'd be dead by now for sure, then. Looking between the others for a few moments, but not moving in any direction by now.

Moving at a brisk pace, the usually stoic Major barks into the wireless kit. Once Madilyn's message is made, the wireless unit is reattached to her belt, and her sidearm is unholstered. She keeps it pointed at the deck. "Constin, get a frakking move on. Apparently, the intercom works for sending bull, but not receiving the truth," she hisses, in response to the nonconfirmation of the incoming to belay the weapons free authorization sent by an (at the time) unnamed and unidentified intercom user.

"Major. We should get you somewhere safe…" Doc trails off as Rime's message goes through and he looks to Cidra, though it's almost as if he continues McQueen's train of thought. "If they all go down in a crossfire, Major Hahn is of rank. We should remain here and ensure no violence is done." With that hardcover in his hand - he makes no move for an arms locker, only releasing the Knight's arm.

It's McQueen's words that stop Rime partway through her second transmission, her white-knuckled finger stabbed off the button. "If command staff /mutinies/, where exactly does that leave us? Wait, too late! It's already happened!" Flippant and hopeless, she turns her back, striding deeper into the Chapel, away from the crush at the door. She's done all she can.

"Damn it." Gabrieli's response to the back and forth over the comms is right up with his usual level of verbal sophistication. He catches Sofia's eye as he starts for the hatch after the moving group, holding up a hand to his crewman. "Do not go outside until it's quiet, Wolfe." He's had enough crewmen shot these last few months. One thing from Cylons in battle, it'd be a whole other ballgame by their own men. And he's got a department to wrangle, who are no doubt rubbernecking at the comms right now.

"If we remain here, how in the name of all that is even the /slightest/ bit holy are we 'ensuring violence is not done?'" McQueen remains calm but he now turns his fine-tuned ire on Bell. It almost sounds as though his heart is not in it. "Did you get that degree out of a frakkin' cereal box?" Dude's unfortunately got nothing for Rime. "This is all utterly bloody /wrong./" Well, just that. "Sir. Toast — you can't honestly /believe/ this. Is this is what your Goddess has been telling you?"

Sofia frowns, and looks plantively to Gabrieli. "Sir. I don't think - any of us wuold be happy if you got shot too and if we stood by. I'm kind of sad to just stay here, but if you think tthat is what's wisest, I understand." Sofia looks troubled by the idea of standing by while her boss runs the risk of being shot. Not that she'd be much use otherwise. Sadface. "Still, I believe that the XO and others wouldn't pull this sort of thing for no reason…"

Cidra laces her hands behind her back rather pointedly, watching Rime. She's not even armed. "I have no power to hold you here, Lieutenant. And no one shall be kept against their will within these holy walls. But this is a place of safety, and if I have any power it shall remain." Voice raises a little on that score. To emphasize the point. A look to Bell. "If the gods cannot protect me here, Doc, all is indeed lost." She shakes her head to McQueen. "No, Queenie. The gods, alas, do not give me such clarity as that. But I know this. The Cylons have gained knowledge of our moves that they could not have without some leak from our highest levels. It cannot be ignored. Not without our people still on Leonis."

"They can't gun down everyone here. The sooner everyone is sitting down and settling this /rationally/ the better." Bell snaps back, straightening and pointing towards the hatch with his free hand. "Without humans leveling rifles at humans! This is /madness/."

"It'll all be down to the evidence, I guess." Malone looks around for a few moments, before his eyes move to Cidra. "Must have been some really good stuff there, sir?" he offers, before he nods a bit at Bell's words, "Madness sounds about right there…"

Tillman leads off with his gun up. "Major Hahn! Affect Lieutenant Rime's arrest once you are able!" He's heard the radio calls, himself. "Onward, Marines!" He doesn't even hear anything else. He just disappears from view with the Marines in trail.

There's no intention of shooting anyone, Allie only acting defensively as far as anything pertaining to her pistol goes, the pilot otherwise not behaving in a hostile manner. It's only when she opens her mouth that she sounds violent and even that's done with, it already deemed as being 'not worth it. Pissing contests never are. She looks at Tillman and shrugs, looking resigned and tired, following when he leaves.

"Yes, sir!" is Constin's curt answer to Madilyn's last order. The clatter of CMC standard boots on deck plating follows the members of the Fireteam down the corridor, with the big Corporal's voice calling into the wireless, "Hub, Constin- keep appraised of Rover Five's whereabouts as able."

"So this 'corroborated evidence'-" Rime's voice is thick with horrified disbelief, as she whirls to look toward Cidra. "-is that because there's a leak, it /must/ be the Admiral? Did he promise you the XO seat, Major? Sweet blessed Lords, this is madness." She looks to McQueen, then to Alessandra and the corridor beyond her.

OOC Note: This log diverges. Events after PCs exited to the corridor are logged here. The remainder of the log follows.

Sofia looks worried. She wavers where she stands. "Gaaah, I hate orders like that." She curls her fists and hops a little. "I LIKE my boss not being filled with structurally superfluous holes," Pout. She takes a deep breath. "I doubt they'd even listen to me on comms or-" Being helpless is positively maddening. "Aw, nutbunnies." She flops onto a seat and looks to the others. She listens for now, to the Officers.

The next response on McQueen's part is an odd, eerie, high-pitched laugh of a man whose sanity just frayed until it was pulled apart and snapped like a piece of too-tight piano wire. "Aahahaha. No God or Goddess would reward laziness or inaction but I'll leave the theological hair-splitting to the Sister."

Rime's question is echoed. "So there's a leak, yeh? This all goes up in a puff of smoke. But who's to say what the leak is? Tell me, have any of you bloody /seen/ anything? For that matter, any one of you could be making this horseshite up and sending an innocent man to his death and the entire ship at each others' throats. Congratulations. Ever stop and think that someone's playin' you and havin' a bit of a laugh?, yeh?"

"Stick close to Lieutenant Bell, Wolfe," Cidra says to Sofia, a little protective of the snipe. Perhaps out of deference to her boss. A motion toward Bell himself. "You will be all right. We shall all get through this." Rime's words make her flush. As to McQueen's. Her posture tenses but she does not, precisely, flinch. "I was promised nothing. But I have seen Cylons jump in on us in places I do not believe they could have without information. I have seen incident after incident of what can only be sabotage on this ship. But eyes you want? I was told by my officers who had been rescued from Leonis that they saw evidence with their own eyes of Admiral Abbot assisting the Centurions. Do I have this on me? Of course not. But I believe those who said it to me believed it true, and if it is, we would be as good as destroying this ship if it was ignored."

"But shouldn't you be willing to consider the possibility that it's true?" Bell counters, almost plaintive in his appeal to the Tactical lieutenant. "They approached under color of law - better to let things get settled peaceably and orderly, than taking up arms. There needn't have been bloodshed." Yet.

Sofia nods meekly at Cidra. Sofia looks positively distressed at the idea of sitting here while Gabrieli is made holier than the springs with Sibyls but there you go. She just accepts it and sticks near Bell, whose goatee - wait, aren't goatees /evil/? She just peers at Bell a moment. "Most of this is kind of over my head I suppose. Just a few weeks back on duty and…" Bam. Cylon'd. She looks sad and frustrated all at once.

And then, as the skidding of boots announces that the fracas has ended, comes the sound of prayers once more: the drone of worshipful voices as two robed CMES apprentices, neither anointed, step forth from the small cubicle-altars in which they'd been hiding. They're young — no older than twenty-two — but it's with stolid expressions that they move to the chapel hatch, wisps of fabric swishing about their bare feet before with a faint gust of air they close it down. "Safer this way," says the girl's fluted voice, shaking just a bit.

"Better this way," says the girl's equal, his voice steadier but higher.

"Peaceably and orderly? We're talking about a /mutiny/, Lieutenant." Rime's words still carry that horrified disbelief. She paces, looking from the exit to the intercom as she does. "A mutiny assisted by senior officers so hungry for power they're going on hearsay and /zero proof/ over the distinguished service of their Commanding Officer." She shakes her head at Bell with the sort of blank confusion of someone speaking one language and hearing replies in another.

"You never, ever, ever, /ever/ put a plant at the top." It would appear that McQueen's voice drops several notches now as he starts to sink into a slightly more calm, if aghast state, his eyes wide. "That's the most bloody /amateur/ move one can play. We're not dealin' with amateurs, here. Well, except for the amateurs on /our/ side." He says dourly. "Hell of a way to build a case, too. But never mind that. If you want to subvert an enemy force, you place someone just below the DRADIS. Someone they don't notice." He shakes his head sharply and painfully, and almost appears loathe to admit it. "Yeh, it's a mutiny. Do you mean to tell me that the Admiral and his cat were sneaking out in their shorts in the middle of the night plantin' bombs?"

Malone blinks a bit as he hears Cidra's words, frowning a little bit as he listens. "More important than ever now to get our people off that bloody rock, if they possibly have any more evidence about this…" He then goes silent, shaking his head a bit.

"Lieutenant, /how do you know/? Perhaps they have a signed confession." Bell is just as awestruck by Rime's blind adherence to the chain of command. "There are procedures to handle such a situation, and the… the Marines, frankly, in service of Major Tillman, who, if he felt the Admiral was compromised, would likely go straight there - to the Marines. The fact remains that none of us know /anything/, and given the extreme consequences of being wrong, to simply reject the accusation out of hand is impossible." He looks askance to McQueen, then. "There are two and a half thousand people on this ship, Lieutenant. Do you know them all? If they have one, they could have a hundred."

"And if we have all been fools who believed it, our enemy has achieved much by sewing discord among us," Cidra says, moving back to the benches and sitting. "I have thought of this, Queenie. But this has not been done for power." She looks to Rime. "Speak with your Commander Laughlin on the Praetorian. He has been told what I have been told. None shall hold you here against your will, Lieutenant. Least of all myself. I shall see to your safe passage back to your ship personally if I can help it."

Sofia looks to the two girls, "I think they are busy- but thank you," She says quietly. She is listening though. She frowns. "Shoot I hate feeling useless. I'd say frak but you're not supposed to swear in — oh, nuts, sorry." She looks duly abashed. She lingers near Bell, though - just as asked. "And that cat is cute." At least, what Sofia saw of it. Daw Nibblington.

"Yeah. And one of them could be any /person/ in this room. Which is absolutely /hilarious/ if you think about it." McQueen's words drip off the tip of his tongue. "I'm taking wagers now before whatever God or Goddess the whole lot of you follow, you'll learn this was a mistake one day. Well, if we all don't get — killed as a result." He hesitates sharply. "So, goin' back to your ship, Lieutenant?" He peers over at Rime. Not unfriendly but not terribly warm, either.

"My commander is who /your/ commander is supposed to be, Major," Rime replies, folding her arms across her chest as she stops pacing. Her sharp blue eyes turn then to McQueen. "Commander Laughlin ordered me here and the Admiral accepted. This is my ship until he orders me otherwise."

Malone nods a bit in agreement with Bell. Not saying anything for the moment, just listening a bit thoughtfully. Pausing a bit as he considers, "Did you say that the COs of the other ships knew about this, sir?" he offers to Cidra, before he looks over at Rime, shaking his head a little bit. But he doesn't say anything to her now.

The walls are thick — which means the sound of gunfire now filtering in through the crackling wireless unit may well be coming from anywhere. The acolytes make signs of warding in the air when they hear it, oiled fingers tracing ritual gestures before them.

"Crewman." Bell manages a meager smile. "You're looking exponentionally better than you did during our mutual incarceration. Perhaps we had better retake our seats, for the conclusion of the ceremony." He motions towards his earlier perch - ladies first - and gives Malone the briefest of nods.

The hatch to the chapel is closed at the moment, shut by some of the ecclesiastical attendants. Cidra is sitting on a bench in the chapel, but she could not accurately be described as calm. "As I do understand it, Commander Laughlin was informed of Major Tillman's suspicions against the Admiral, and that there would be a call to relieve him - lawfully - of command. If he knew the Major's precise plan…I do not know. I did not know the whole of it myself." The sound of gunfire makes her jolt up abruptly. Not that she makes any attempt to bolt, but her hands tighten around the back of the bench. Her prayer beads are still laced around her knuckles, clasped so tightly they've created reddened indentations in her skin. She releases a shuddering breath. "This is precisely what I had prayed to avoid." Eyes go up to Sofia. The gaze is an attempt at reassurance. "Within these walls you have safety, Crewman." Just not so much those outside it.

Sofia is quiet for now. She rubs her temples a little. She looks to Bell. She winces then, hearing the gunfire. She fidgets unhappily. Loyal snipe is loyal. "Look. I haven't much information on what's going on, but I know that the Corporal and the others aren't stupid, rash or ambitious." It kind of hits her hard. She blinks at Bell and smiles a little. Cidra gets a faint smil etoo. "I know. I'm sorry." She shouldn't be so ungrateful, but having seen some of her department buddies literally made into milkshakes beneath Cylon boots has left her with something of a fretting habit when bullets get involved. She takes a deep breath. "I'm grateful for the shelter here." And the kindness of the religious sorts here. She squirms and nods, moving to sit. "It's good to see you too. You look much better," She agrees with Bell. Best to sit and let things go for now.

*CLANK* *CLANK* *CLANK* No, no Cylons on the march (I don't think), but someone outside is endeavoring to open the Chapel hatchway, with limited success due to its having been locked. An almost palpably incredulous silece ensues, before the less metallic sound of someone's fist thumps against the thick hatchway in an indication that there is someone without hoping to gain admittance.

"Yah. Well, you know, chain of command." McQueen says, sourly. "You all should know by now that the Gods don't just grant wishes. That's not in Their design. A God's part of the universe around us just by mere extension." The 'chain of command' statement was clearly shot towards Rime. He softens a little now as the grand scheme of things is taken in, shaking his head, staring at the floor, glowering and muttering. "That's what makes faith holy. That's what makes the Divine divine."

Glancing back up now at Sofia, he just lets off a shrug. "Oh, come off it, Crewman. Few people are really stupid on their own. At least, irredeemably. Put 'em together, though, and you get the howling mobs, the gangs, the bandits, the murderers, every brand of sinner or you can possibly imagine. That's how it starts. That's why we've failed." His thick, ruddy eyebrows knit as he strokes absently at his chin. "So, uh, Major, my timing's probably terrible, but is it safe to assume that I'm headin' Brigwards after this?"

Malone ducks a bit at the sound of gunfire, and then at the sound from the door. Frowning a little, "Makes faith holey for sure…" he mutters under his breath. Glancing around again for a few moments.

"I feel much, much better," Bell assures the engineer's mate, making it almost to the stairs when the knocking slows him to a halt. He eyes the hatch a moment, then looks to Quinn just a moment longer. He's on the move again, headed along in Sofia's wake towards the Chapel's seating. "Though it /was/ nice to have so much time to read, again."

"For the love of the Lords, /someone/ let whoever is out there, /in here/!" Rime looks around to those gathered and unmoving with a fresh round of disbelief, before turning back to the intercom. Something's not right, here — a small panel is swung open, and something finicky fiddled with, inside.

Sofia blinks, as someone bangs on the door. "Hey, is someone trying to get in?" She's easily distracted. She frowns at McQueen. "I guess. But - that - would be /capital/ stupidity," She frowns. She sighs. A nod. "That it was, though I ran out of stuff to read. So I helped around MedBay and here," Mostly sweeping. "I'll go open it." Sofia figures if someone loses a snipe, it's less damaging than an experience officer. She inches around Bell and goings to unlock, then peer to see who is trying to open the hatch.

[TAC1] "Crash" Michael says, "Medical, this is Bern, we have contact with the traitors and men are down, say again, men are down!"

Cidra shakes her head to McQueen. "Certainly not, Lieutenant. And neither is Lieutenant Rime. Not if I have something to say for it. You have done nothing wrong." She seems about to say more but the pounding at the door forestalls her. She looks to the chapel attendants on duty. "It is your house, but I would not want to have anyone trapped out there now. Careful, Wolfe. Do not pass the threshold."

"That's just nonsense. There's an entire library…" Bell argues, until he's shifting out of Sofia's way. "Do be careful," he calls after her.

It's a priest. And she looks -pissed.- It's not an expression you find on the mild-mannered Academic, but surprisingly effective. There's a Raptor Pilot in her wake as she plants a hand against the hatch and begins to open it more broadly, stepping in, unless someone tries to shut her out again, and saying, in a voice a little TOO even-keeled for the firrefight going on in the background, "This is a place of refuge. A place of refuge is typically most beneficial to those who need it most when they are actually able to -find refuge- there." Sofia gains the brunt of the delivery, but presumably the force of the lesson was meant for the acolytes in attendance for the evening prayers. "Especially now, in a time of danger."

"Oh. Someone yeh, let the door go open, before those gorillas out there run out of bullets and start throwin' rocks at each other. Better let them in." This, at least, seems genuine speech on the part of McQueen. "Oh. Was just checking, sir. Because — up until the past ten minutes ago I had boundless respect for my CAG. Now I just think she's weak. Moreover, I don't trust a word she says. So I guess that can be counted as insubbordination. I wanted to check." He grins. Mirthlessly.

Quinn is that raptor pilot in Karthasi's wake, and not all that happy to be squished in an access panel… crawling on her one good knee, her useless, casted leg dragging behind her, but she's there. Still in her off duty clothing, her crutches abandoned somewhere to make less noise and so she can use her hands to help her crawl… she's got a fine sheen of sweat across her brow, a bit breathless from the travel, but she's there. "…Thank the gods…" She mutters, at the door finally being opened.

Now that from McQueen makes Cidra flinch. As if she was physically slapped. She has no response to it, however. Or a particular will to argue just now. She may not even think him wrong. "Sister Karthasi. Maggie." Her shoulders do sag with some relief at the sight of them. "Thank all gods. What is going on out there?"

Malone just listens with a bit of a grimace, shaking his head a little. Seating himself on the floor, with his back against the wall. "I wonder, is it a sin to fall asleep in here?" he asks, a bit quietly.

Sofia smiles, "Don't worry. I've been shot a few times before. It's not so bad," She then blinks at the priest. "Ma'am, I didn't lock the hatch, but-" Sofia just looks a bit sad for a moment. "I'm sorry." Alas, such is the hazard of opening the door. Whatever comes in gets you first. Sofia looks to McQeen wide-eyed. "Hey! No she's not. It's super hard to be in charge /and/ fair," Frown. Most of these officers are seemingly galaxies away from the Crewman, but - darnit. Sofia tends to be grateful when people are nice to her. "Everyone in? I probably shouldn't leave it open…" She peers around, to make sure no one is coming in after Quinn. She waits a moment though, if she is given permission to close the hatch.

Bell settles back into a seat a few in from the aisle, and thumbs open the cover to find his page.

Karthasi is looking for the true culprit in the locked-door fiasco when her head snaps back around toward Sofia, and she walks a few more steps with the hatch, bringing it to its fully opened position. "The doors stay open," she tells Sofia in a quiet tone that will brook no argument for all its lack of decibels. "If you would like, there are cubicles in the back in which you may enclose yourself. But this room stays open," she tells them, looking back to Quinn and helping the crippled woman in. "The security hub is under attack, and the corridor outside is… not very safe." As evidenced by all the bullet noises out there.

Quinn quietly accepts the assistance from Karthasi out of the hatch, shifting down onto her buttocks so she can turn her legs about, slipping them into the room before she shifts forward onto her one good leg and the priestess' shoulder. "Thank you, sister…" She murmurs earnestly, giving the younger woman's arm a grateful squeeze. At Cidra's question, however, her face goes just a bit pale. She swallows back quietly…"Toast…you…know what's going on…" It's all she murmurs, but her expression is quietly, almost sickly, grave.

"What the hell is going on around here?" Marko asks the first person he sees as he enters the Chapel, wincing at the sound of gunplay echoing over the 1MC. "Gods, I go on CAP for four hours, I come back and it's like a reenactment of the Sagittaron Insurrection around here!"

"I guess I'm losin' my touch." McQueen's smile is rueful. "Sorry. Actually, I really am. I thought we were all better than this. Well, most of us. Except for whoever leaked that Leonis op intel, if that is what actually happened. It's plausible, but.." He crosses his arms. "So, we going to cower in here like chickens in a burning coop? I think what I was getting at was this — anyone who had access to command-level intelligence is suspect. /Anyone/. And /everyone./ To single one out by the action of the other? Well, I guess I'd better hope we don't have Mad Robo-Tillman but he just doesn't seem the /type./"

"It should not have come to this…" Cidra murmurs. More to herself than the others, self-recrimination evident in her voice. To Quinn she says, "Tillman and Major Cavanaugh took the Admiral to the Security Hub. Dominic was with them." That last seems to chill her more than others. "It should not have come to this." She shudders, rather visibly trying to keep herself together. "The rub of it all is we cannot know for certain until our people - and what intel they possess - is retrieved from Leonis. Lieutenant Sophronia said there was visual proof of Admiral Abbot working with Centurions, and her I do not doubt. Flasher?" Again, there's that trace of relief as he comes into the chapel. One more who isn't getting shot at the moment, at least.

"You said yourself the plant is never at the top, Lieutenant," says Rime, looking over from her pacing to stare at McQueen. "I suppose our Commanding Officers never went through Academy. I learned that by the end of my third year in. It suits Major Tillman rather well to remove the one on to his machinations, though, doesn't it? Feed his trusted underlings-" A scornful wave of her arm toward Cidra. "-whatever lies they've swallowed, and we're all off to our happy little mutiny."

Karthasi puts herself to use as Captain Quinn's temporary crutch, guiding her in through the chapel vestibule and to a spot on the first raised tier of seating, helping her to get settled, if she so desires. The arguments on either side don't seem to phase her from the moment. "Did you hurt yourself getting down here, Captain? Do you need us to call for medical help?"

Sofia sighs. "I think it was closed because when it started, it kinda started out there," Oh well. Sofia just accepts blame for now and nods meekly. "And then someone called for Marines," Sofia adds quietly. "So one group of people is like 'Arrgh, the CO is evil' and another is like 'what the heck you are all crazy' or at least that's my impression," She shakes her head. "I really hope my boss is okay. He told me to stay here," She frowns deeply. "I don't know. Most of this is honestly way beyond me. I make sure people don't get electrocuted, paperwork gets through and folks who need rolly tool chests get rolly tool chests." She closes oone eye, listening and thinking. Though Marko gets a slight wave. Sofia shrugs for now. "But I don't think it's fair to be rude to your CAG either. She can't just pick sides. That's a lousy part about being in charge. If you start picking and siding with people, then the trouble really starts." She puts her hands on her hips.

Suddenly from the corridor there comes an ominous rumbling — the sound of a tremendous explosion audible through the now-open hatch, amplified by the echoing corridor as metal shrieks and bullets fire and — then —


"Of course not. It should never have come to war, either. That's the bitterest pill to swallow. Eh, well, however addled she looks, if Sophronia is a traitor I'm President Adar's nubile young intern." McQueen angry is a weird thing - it goes from white-hot indignation to calm, almost friendly introspection at the drop of a hat. "If she wanted to take this fleet down she could have /not/ shot those nukes as well as she did. I'd say she's honest. If I was ever a judge of character. Well, except for my last two girlfriends, yeh? And boyfriend. Tomas — he was a shite." He edges up towards one of the pews, eyeing the new arrivals. In particular, Greje. "Sister." He says, with an odd softness. "Captain." Another greeting. "Flasher! How's your comet?" Not even waiting for a response, he's back to the question at hand. "And what if nobody makes it back from Leonis? What do we do then, yeh?" He doesn't even /wait/ for input as he crosses his arms. "Oh, I don't think it's the XO, either. Think about the personality. He goes where he's told — they never bred the Marine out of him when they gave him pins. Nah, think subtle, right?" He shakes his head at Rime. "I was just throwin' that out there for semantics. Truth be told, if there's a traitor, or a plant, they may not even be voluntary. They might be being coerced. I mean, how else could you explain it?"

Quinn really has no voice but to accept the help, so she clings on tight, a faint, strained smile on her features of both mixed pain and raw, plan and simple worry. She shakes her head quietly to the Priestess, "No…no…it's not bad." Yes, her braced knee hurts like help, but probably not much to be done. So she settles onto the first tier that she's helped to and just pauses to take a breath. The others, however, especially as they speak about the possiblity of Tillman being the traitor, they get a hot, angry glare. "Tillman is as loyal as they come. The information is good, as frakking crazy as it seems. Don't make this any frakking worse than… it already is…" And then her voice falls quiet, looking up to the announcement.

Marko winces at the explosion, the last rattle of gunfire and the silence that follows it. "Ah frak, that can't be good." he notes, tensing and keeping his hand very close to the butt of his service weapon. "Yeah, Major, it's me….for whatever it's worth." he adds, frowning. "Cap'n Quinn? You in here?" he calls before he spots the woman and Greje who is helping her. "My comet's fine, Queenie, starting to think I'd be better off riding on it right about now." he sighs. "So the Admiral's a plant? Am I reading everyone right?" he asks.

Karthasi settles by Quinn almost involuntarily as the explosion rumbles through the deck, moving to protect the Captain bodily, should she need it, which— she doesn't. When the explosion fades to silence, she edges forward to the edge of the step, and then slowly stands, eyes meeting McQueen's briefly in acknowledgement of the greeting before they return hatchward.

"Considering they're acting on no evidence? I hardly think I need to be dusting off my advanced tactics treatises to consider /any/ of their motives." Rime shakes her head at McQueen, her jaw set, and goes back to pacing. She looks over at the intercom every time she goes one way, and out to the hatch leading to the corridor on the way back.

"None of this makes sense to me, either, Crewman," Cidra says to Sofia. "As for Sophronia, I trust her in this more than anyone else. I know her and for better or worse, she is loyal and a true protector of this ship. And yes, Scaurus. That is what precipitated all of this." And whatever else she's going to say is abruptly cut off by the sound of an explosion. Distant though it may be. She strains to hear anything she can over the comm.

Sofia almost dives for it hearing the explosion, but mercifully Sofia just sort of jerks and glares at the hallway, worry etching itself across her face. She frowns, "Well, it's not wise to show all your evidence BEFORE you bring your suspect in… I think? I have no idea, I work with things that zap things and ECMs," She wriggles a finger helplessly. She nods at Cidra. "Still not fair to pick on you or anyone, until more comes to light." Sofia dislikes that sort of thing it seems. Probably ironic, given her low spot on the totem pole as a good plant. What with the post medication and all that jazz. She just goes quiet and moves to take a seat again.

Quinn doesn't argue it any more, though that pain… that rawness that came with the escape, it's been replaced by anger. Anger is a more comfortable emotion, safer… less vunerable. She sits there, her fingertips knotted into a white-knuckled little ball in her lap, tight against her stomach, breathing through her nose as she listens sharply for any more reports. After a lost moment, she murmurs to Marko, "Yes…I'm here, Flasher… I'm fine… and yes. He is… was… a traitor. Abbot, that is." She whispers through a tight jaw.

"I think he's more 'animal' than plant, Flasher. And I'm bloody glad to hear about the comet. If there's time, I'll tell you how in ancient times they came to be considered good luck in some of the old stories that came out of Kobol. If I can remember it and if we don't all die in the next few hours." McQueen's smile is brief but fading as he glances off at Quinn, "Oh, come off it, Captain. Nobody's saying /he's/ the traitor either. In fact, I consider it about as likely as the Admiral — which is to say, not at all, yeh? And what /is/ this magical evidence that didn't get brought b—" He too ignores the explosion.

"You know who I feel for? More than anyone else?" He points at Sofia. "You. The Engineers. They've to clean up after this utter jackassery." He turns about to finally study Rime and again tucks his hands behind his back. "You've got a point, there. At this point, we've got evidence that's only word-of-mouth. Lucky and Jugs here are about as shifty as an Acolyte to…." He searches for an appopriate god to name, "Athena. Which is to say again, not at all." Of course, this doesn't stop Queenie from laying out one final barb as he glances over towards Quinn. "So you goin' to show us where the Bad Admiral touched you?"

Cidra's shoulders twitch again when McQueen mentions the goddess Athena. She turns her head back toward the altar. To the area dedicated to the Wise Lady. Head bowing almost shamedly. But she whatever recriminations she's giving herself to herself. Eyes back to those gathered in the chapel. "Sophronia said there was a video tape of the admiral with a force of Centurions. Giving them orders in some fashion. Colluding with the Cylons. McQueen is eyed for the tone of his question to Quinn. "Respect, Lieutenant. For the captain at least, if you no longer hold it for me."

"When the evidence is gathered and brought before the JAG, the Admiral will have his trial and the truth will be adjudicated," Greje gives her own opinion on the matter, at last. "Until then, let us not speculate, but let us hope that there will be no more bloodshed aboardship." Her eyes still fixed more or less constantly on the hatch as she makes her way toward it, looking to check the status of the corridor.

"You have in your possession, of course, this videotape that was supposedly seen. Thank the Lords we're not dealing with an enemy with a vast technical superiority to ours! I'm sure it couldn't possibly have been tampered with to, say, incite a bunch of gullible fools to mutiny!" Rime shakes her head at Cidra for what surely must be the hundredth time this evening, and shoots her hundredth-and-first disbelieving, pleading look to McQueen.

Tillman limps into the doorway with a radio in one hand while his other clutches his sidearm to his side, blood smeared across his hand. "Excuse me, Sister," he says politely to Greje. Footfalls stop just inside the hatch, face crimson with anger. Jaw set, he looks across the faces of those present and settles on Rime. The Major leans himself against the wall and points the radio antenna at the Lieutenant. "Take off your pins, Rime. Now." Then the man looks at McQueen. "Major Hahn can decide your fate." He takes a steadying breath, the anger seething out of him like water behind a dam about to burst. The radio falls back by his side but he doesn't look like he's done. He fingers the XMIT button on the radio.

If McQueen were a foot or two closer, he'd be in trouble. As is, the less than even-tempered redhead actually swings herself back up into standing, hopping on that leg with the braced knee and clutching tight to the side of the pew as she swings around in McQueen's direction, pure temper in Maggie's eyes. "Shut the frak up and sit down now, this isn't a frakking joke, Lieutenant, and those men are out there RISKING THEIR LIVES to keep the rest of us alive." Quinn looks about one smart assed remark away from socking the Viper jockie upside the jaw, all pain, worry, uncertainty now fueling that sheer blanket of anger in her hot green eyes. Cidra's gentler comment comes just a hair second too late for Maggie's temper at the moment. But Tillman's entrance is a splash of cool, shocking water. She stares over at him with wide eyes, dead silent.

Quinn's eyes drop to the blood, catching sight of it all over Tillman's hand and side. She breathes out quietly…"Clive…"

Sofia listens and tilts her head. Comet? Sofia takkes a deep breath. She smiles sadly at the engineering comment. "I suppose so. It's my duty no more or less than yours is to you. I will help do my best to clean," A shrug. "But I think they capped my hours after I fell ill and I'm allergic to caffiene or really sensitive…" Woe. So Sofia is at least limited to human levels of work capacity. She does seem to have a good memory for which officers are easier to be around than tohers. Her eyes go wide at Tillman, "You're alive sir! And um-" Well, she wants to ask about the others, but… she just kind of looks at Tillman, eyes wide as saucers. "Um. need me to fetch some Corpsmen sir?"

"With all due respect to everyone here…." Marko begins, his tone one of someone who's words might cost him dearly. "I don't know enough about what's happening to be able to say with any certainty one way or the other." he adds. "If there's evidence, and I'm not saying there isn't, but if there _is_ it needs to come out and rapidly. Otherwise, we're about to really lose the plot around here and we're in deep enough shit as it is." he says flatly. He's about to expand on his thoughts when Tillman enters and orders Rime to lose her pins.

First and foremost, it is Cidra who command's Trevor's attention. McQueen snaps his head in a sharp round towards the CAG and his eyes narrow. And he winces. And squints. "I'm…sorry." He seems, initially, humbled and apologetic. "I mean, I really should apologize for that. And….HAW HAW HAW HAW! VIDEOTAPE?" The frown gets turned upside down as it erupts into a torrent of laughter. "You find a videotape on a strange planet infested with bloody Cylons and TRUST it? Humans can doctor video. /Humans./ The last three Presidential terms were infested with editing. And now…" That haw haw moment only laughs a moment more as he gets a load of Quinn and Tillman, in a series of one-two punches that at least sobers him up a bit. "No need to get /emotional/, Sir. I'm not judging /you/. You didn't plot this. You are a brave officer and I was proud to fly with you."

At Tillman's urging, he doesn't even wait to look in askance to Cidra as he pulls his pins off as well. "The people responsible for this? The Cylons are laughing. Right now. You're not /fit/ to represent humanity, represent us." He hesitates a moment as he glances back at Rime, shaking his head. "Don't know what you're all going on about there." He says, as a strange aside.

"The tape is still on Leonis, so far as I know. I do not claim it may not be some trick, Lieutenant Rime. But with all else that is adding up to a saboteur aboard, and one highly placed in CIC, it cannot be dismissed. The Sister has the right of it. Major Cavanaugh intends to handle this with all due process." At Tillman's entrance she stands. Looking him up and down with evident concern though, as he's entering of his own volition, that's at least encouraging. She stands, going to stand beside Rime. "I have no intention of arresting the lieutenant, Major. She acted lawfully and to her duty. All spun out of control, but it cannot be laid upon her." McQueen's actions make her flinch again, but she doesn't look surprised.

Rime, too, is already removing her pins. She looks /near/ Tillman when he addresses her, but never once does she raise her eyes to his face, let alone his eyes.

Tillman looks like his blood pressure is about to boil over while he just stares at Rime. "You. You have no idea what you just did. Just-" He fights his words for a second, visibly. "No Corpsman. Not yet." The XO doesn't look like he's so much in pain as just thoroughly and beyond pissed-off. "Rime, I want you to hear something and understand how royally you just screwed-up." He lifts the radio and presses the transmit button.

[Into the Wireless] Tillman says, "CIC, XO. Prepare to transcribe a note and transmit it to Commander Laughlin on the Praetorian and Colonel Pewter on the Corsair." He pauses for a second. "Message begins: Arrest effected. Admiral secured. XO has assumed Command and awaits appointment of new Commanding Officer. Chief Engineer critically wounded. Multiple Marines woulded and four known KIA - two to suicide. XO hit, non-critical. Lieutenant Rime responsible for bloodshed. Message ends."

When he finishes, he looks to Cidra. "Fine. There are Marines outside waiting for her if she has the honor left to surrender herself to them on the charges of Disobeying a Direct Order and Involuntary Manslaughter."

[TAC1] Polaris says, "XO, CIC, encrypted communication received. Message begins: CDR Laughlin confirms receipt of message. Dispatch Raptor immediately to receive COL Pewter from Corsair to take temporary command. Withhold ruling on disposition of sympathizers at this time."

[Into the Wireless] Tillman says, "CIC, Relay: Copy. Awaiting Colonel. Will be in Medical."

[TAC1] Polaris says, "Wilco. CIC out."

Sofia nods, and waits then. Her eyees widen at the news that at least two Marines killed themselves. And two others… fidget. She calls some of those Marines buddies and hey- enlisted gotta stick together, right? Her eyes are wide as saucers still. "Yes sir." She just acknowledges the order, like a good snipelet. Still, worry is written on her face in neon lime green marker. Her boss, people. Gloom.

Karthasi's back straightens, her hadns find each other and fold together at the small of her back, a tension taking her again as the reports ofthe two Majors… wildly differ. She looks out the doorway at the marines waiting out there, and keeps her post on the threshold, guardian of the place. Unarmed but with a stare that's just -daring- someone to -try- to make more trouble in her backyard right now.

Quinn's temper has been cooled by Tillman's presence and, well, the quiet ending of it all. She looks a hint sick at the message about the KIAs, silently bowing her head to one of the goddesses before them, Artemis, in quiet prayer and acknowledgement to them, before she looks to Clive. "Permission to accompany you to sickbay, sir?" She asks formally, not reaching for him yet but anyone who is good with body language at all — it's fairly clear she wants to.

"No. You have no idea what /you/ just did." Rime's walking for the door, proud and tall, still with no glance to Tillman's face. "I hope it was everything you hoped for." Her pins get tossed at his feet as she heads out the door, toward the awaiting Marines.

"A direct order given by one she thought a mutineer?" Cidra seems quite honestly stunned by Tillman's charges to Rime. "I will not claim I think her right but few of us in this have any claim to rightness tonight. If she is guilty of manslaughter, than so are we all. All of this was *not* her doing. If you do not trust her to serve under you after all this, that is one thing, but do not press this madness further. Please. Enough have bled for this already. It should not have come to this…" It is only after she's said all this that something else in his words seems to hit her. And drain all color from her face. "Dominic was…Clive, what happened?"

Marko just stands there like a lump, clearly not comprehending any of this and obviously wishing he was somewhere, almost anywhere else. Comet number blah-de-blah, where are you when we need you? "Should've known this was coming…." he sighs to himself, shaking his head. "Everybody's been at redline for three months now…."

"Well. That's /one/ way to take care of things." McQueen says with a faint arc of his head as he impassively watches Rime make her way to the hatch. He has his own pins removed and cupped in his hand, looking down at them, his face twitching in a quiet, wordless fury. He remains there, standing by the pew, even leaning on it a little with an open hand (the one /not/ clutching pins). "Guess that's that." And then he brings his hands up, his eyeballs rolling back in quiet, wordless disgust after eyeing the people involved at the exchange. "Poor people, dyin' for nothing. Like they always die."

"Your protest is noted, Major Hahn." He just glances to the pins on the floor but doesn't offer any comment to Rime. "We'll talk about this later, I'm sure. After I'm stitched." At least he's not oozing blood. Its either stopped or slowed quite a bit. "Dominic walked into the Marine Fireteam that Rime brought down on us. He didn't get down in time. One of the Marines hit him. Twice in the gut. Once in the chest. He was crit when the Corpsmen carried him off." The XO looks down at his wound, lifting his hand as he looks at it. "Cid, we need a Raptor to the Corsair stat to pick up Colonel Pewter so he can assume Command. I'd prefer it not be you right now." He takes another heavy breath and stands off the wall as he blinks, looking away with a grunt. "Evidence will be presented. The Marines have seen it all. If the Admiral is not guilty, I'll waive my trial and take my bullet. But for now, I'l on my way to Sickbay. Captain Quinn, you can accompany at your leisure but I will need to receive the Colonel quite soon."

Petroski leaves, heading towards the Deck 9 [Out].

Rime leaves, heading towards the Deck 9 [Out].

Sofia frowns. Her worry at the news on her boss is evident. That thousand yard stare is returning. She just nods slowly. "Guess… I'll go assess damage once folks have cleared out," She remarks sadly. Apparently pain for Sofia is being still and helpless. "Unless someone needs anything," She remarks quietly. She looks to marko, tilting her head. The snipe just offers a shrug. "This is really messy and hit me out of the blue honestly." She frowns. "Either way, I guess I owe it to the Sister and her folks here to look at the damage." And help move bodies if needed is the un-spoken part. She will shuffle off unless stopped.

Cidra's hands are shaking. She steadies one of them against a bench, the other nearly strangling her still-clasped prayer beads. "I shall…umm…" She swallows hard. Deep breath, pale as a ghost. "The CAP in the air now can stay there an hour longer. I will order the Raptor team prepping to go out to make a jaunt to the Corsair. They should be ready to go now. I will…I should go to Sickbay…after…"

"Need some help, Cap?" Marko asks, shaking off his inertia and moving on stiff, somewhat uncertain legs towards his boss' side. "Looks like you lost your crutches in the excitement." he points out with a nervous chuckle, offering the woman the use of his shoulder. "Hey, eh…Wolfe, is it?" he calls to Sofia. "Gimme a hand here." he says. "Cap's pins aren't real steady right now." he explains. "I can get the bad side, but I don't trust that frakkin' staircase without her crutches."

Quinn turns her eyes towards Flasher, definitely wanting to follow to sickbay, but she's got one useless leg and her other knee is going to be well on it's way to swelling again after the crawl there. So yes, she needs help. She gives Marko that tired smile that is almost trademark these days. "Please, Flasher… Wolfe… thank you…" First an arm around Marko's shoulders, leaning heavy there, but if Sofia is willing to assist, she reaches for the woman as well, trying to keep as much weight off her leg as possible, she begins on her way to sickbay behind the mess before her. Her eyes keep trailing back to that wound on Clive's side.

McQueen's only contribution is to quietly step forward to Cidra's side and hand over his pins to the CAG. "I owe you an apology, Major. You take responsibilty. You're good. And I was proud to serve under you, for what it's worth, yeh?" A flicker of upturned lips and a weak smile appears as he holds said pins out. He doesn't offer anything else. "Keep chasing your comet, Flasher." Well, beyond this, that is. "It will lead you somewhere, if you let it."

Tillman looks towards Cidra and some of that anger seems to fade towards sympathy. Pain starts to set in. He ambles his way over to the CAG and puts an arm (non-bloodied!) around her. "C'mon, Cid. Let's go check on our guys," he ushers gently. A look to Marko and he notes the flight pins. "Ensign? Please grab a Raptor and crew and head to the Corsair?" He gives the man a pained smile and moves to try and aim Cid towards the door and Sickbay.

Sofia headtilt. "Yup," Sofia smiles slightly at Marko. "Crewman Wolfe, if you wanna get technical," But it doesn't seem like the right moment. She will forget about taking care of the corridor for now and move to help Quinn. "No problem." She's a fairly sturdy crutch and doesn't seem to mind at all. Though, she does seem a bit cautious. She IS enlisted and for all she knows, Air Wing officers shoot eye lasers when displeased. She looks thoughtful as pins are handed over. "Is the staircase wobbling?" Sofia frowns.

Cidra's blues move up to catch McQueen's as he hands over his pins. And there are actually tears standing in them. First time anybody's seen that on this ship, it's an even bet. She blinks hastily, averting eye contact. Inhaling and exhaling slowly. "Clear eyes and steady hands, Queenie. We shall…we shall speak later." Tillman's arm is shrugged off. Not too forcefully, but it is shrugged off. "I will see that the Raptor gets off, Major. I must do that much. It is my duty." And she seems to take some odd comfort in that. Scant as it is now. "Scaurus, if you can go, I would have you load up with the Raptor to the Corsair. There are few I trust more than you."

As Marko is ordered off on a raptor for a job far, far more important than being a human crutch, Maggie nods to him, "Go on, Flasher… The crewman's got me." She lets of her pilot, leaning heavier on Sofia now, but clearly thankful for the woman's presence. She even manages a quieter, more earnest smile as they begin towards the door, "And… much thanks, Crewman Wolfe. Much appreciated." She murmurs, breathing a bit shallow through the lingering pain, but she's certainly felt worse. Her eyes flicker up to Clive and Cidra, watching the duo with a worried frown, but she just keeps on towards sickbay. It's not her call or her business, really.

"Yeh, I'm sure. Fly safe and true, Toast. I'll go find some toilets to clean or whatever will avail me. I don't think I have a place in the new order." With that, Queenie turns his back. After one salute. At Cidra. And meanders over to settle in the pew pensively.

Sofia is quiet as piloting is sorted out. She grunts softly, but smiles nonetheless. "Think nothing of it sir," She seems to understand. Sofia's patient, even if normally she's pretty wriggly by nature. Sofia will help Quinn to MedBay, and once assured the woman is taken care of probably return to duty and help fix the corridor outside the Chapel.

"Sir." Marko replies, saluting the trio of officers. "Queenie…" he says, turning to face the man and offer his hand. "I dunno what to say, man." he sighs. "It'll work out somehow. How, you got me, but it'll work out. Just stay strong….If you need anything, lemme know." he adds.

Now that the tension has decreaed again, to some small degree, Greje returns from the vestibule, stepping past the rows of seats and down to the altar to make certain that nothing there is amiss and to have a few quiet words there with the acolytes who were witness to events to make certain that sacred law was observed within the precinct.

"Keep chasing your comet. " McQueen stops to answer Marko's gesture without hesitation, with strange, almost out-of-place warmth. "Whatever happens, happens. This is all bigger than all of us. Life — it's bigger than all of us. Keep your head up, Flash."

Cidra acknowledges McQueen's salute. Again, there's that look as if she'd like to say something more to the pilot. But he's tabled for now. And his pins are pocketed carefully in her fatigue trousers. She's hanging onto those. A few more rapid blinks and she keeps any tears from falling, though she avoids eye contact as she heads out of the chapel. "Athena forgive me…" she murmurs to herself as she goes.

Tillman leaves, heading towards the Deck 9 [Out].

"No worries, Queenie." Marko replies, snapping off another salute to his ship mate. "Okay, I need to make for the flight deck, as in right now." he adds, ducking out of the room and making tracks for the midship stair. "Hope there's a pilot awake." he muses as he goes. "Because my landing skills kind of suck donkey balls."

"Mm. Yeah." McQueen's response is limited to these two words as he settles into pew and crosses his arms, ever-so-gently. Silent. And now, still.

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