PHD #446: The Scenic Route
The Scenic Route
Summary: The marines on the recon mission to Gemenon stop for a breather…
Date: 18 May 2042 AE
Related Logs: A Small Step Down
Ciro Constin Circe Lysander Decumius 
Lake Philomeides — Gemenon
Nearly thirty miles across and fifty miles long, Lake Philomeides is the terminus of the great River Ourania that winds its way through the canyons of eastern Gemenon. The roar of Lampridis Falls can be heard day and night as two thousand cubic meters per second of pure fresh water pound down the red cliffs on its far western side. Below them rise gentle ridges covered with dense scrub and the occasional stand of trees, all of them crisscrossed by hiking paths and nature trails now partially overgrown. The wreckage of a sunken side-wheeler juts out from the middle of the lake, her crimson paddles covered with algae and barnacles, her two white-and-red smokestacks pointing down toward the surface. The words 'PRINCESS MARY-ANNE' are still visible on her stern, each peeling gold letter gleaming brightly on a beveled black plaque.

On the lake's eastern bank stretch the five marinas of Lampridis Town, only two of which survived the Cylon Holocaust. They're home to a forest of boats, whose tall masts and billowing sails lend the shore a splash of gaudy color. On its south-western side amidst a orchard of apple trees rise the great marble columns of a temple over a thousand years old, sacred to Aphrodite Pandemos — the Goddess of that Love which all people share.

Condition Level: 1 - Action Stations
Post-Holocaust Day: #446

The landing had gone well and slipping off into the scrubby growth, the small group is now following, mostly at single file witht he lead of Sergeant Lysander. To slow down would be folly, but caution is observed at every moment. The medic shifts forward, changing positions occasionally and as they come up on a dense area with some larger trees, they come to a stop to rest and get a good look at their location. Short break for all, no more than ten minutes.

That said, Circe is lowering to a knee, grabbing for her canteen to draw it open and take a few precious gulps of water, letting it linger in her mouth before the liquid slides down her throat. Wiping a finger to brow, she had almost forgotten what it was like when the climate was not custom. Air, real air moves and it is the one thing she treasures most since landing. The faint sheen of sweat on her brow is given relief by the touch of the wind and she eases to both knees, her eyes lifting to stay searching, saying nothing as she repacks her canteen to her side. Gear galore, everything has a place.

Decumius grins as he takes a couple little sips of water from the hydration hose which runs from his bag. He faces outwards on a knee, being the rear man in the column, and watches his potential arcs of fire with interest. Still, he seems pleased to finally be planetside again.

Ciro, somewhere near the middle, stops when Circe does. Pulling the scarf down under his chin, he takes a knee as well. His rifle dips towards the ground as he reaches for his canteen and unscrews it. Before he drinks, however, he reaches down to pick up a handful of dirty, letting it slowly sift from his fingertips back to the ground. Brushing his hand on his fatigues, he brings the canteen to his lips for a drink and rises, capping it and replacing it. He doesn't break the silence, instead he keeps his eyes open, watching for signs of unnatural movement.

Constin trucks along under the weight of the big Zasta LMG, and the dual belts of spare ammunition which criss cross his torso. Setting his back (or at least his pack) against the trunk of a tree, leaning a measure of his weight on the thing. Narrowed blue eyes scan the terrain as light continues to fade, waiting a moment longer than the others before deciding to haul out his own canteen.

Keen eyes and sharp attention lead Lysander into leading the others along their designated travel plan. It has since been uneventful beyond the occasional sound of an animal or far off sight of something - an animal upon closer inspection - in the distance. The Raiders from before have been the only Cylon presence witnessed and they are the only humans as far as their senses can tell. Now that they have found a point to cease their march for the time being, the reconnaissance man returns to the makeshift camp and kicks a rock out of sight in the process. His sniper rifle is shouldered. He isn't thirsty or hungry, so he crouches there near to the others. "So it looks like we're on schedule still."

Shifting to draw free an old faded compass, Circe taps it to her knuckle and lifts it, gazing to make certain all is well. Her head tilts then, gazing up at the darkening sky. It is only when Lysander speaks that she draws a rather audible breath and lets it out with a stretch of her arms over her head, straightening her back with a few pops to it. Rolling her shoulders once more, she settles, letting that weight carry her into a faint hunch. "Relatively speaking, Sergeant." She offers a faint smile on her lips. Trekking most of the day had ended up with a sore left leg. It was doing well, but had yet to see stress like this. Swimming was one thing, but that recovering appendage was holding up.

Ciro turns to watch the rock roll away from Lysander, trailing it as it goes before he takes his position near a tree. Going to one knee again, he offers Constin a quiet nod as he rests. They have quite a ways to go, and the small break is hard earned. He reaches for his canteen once more. "Relatively speaking is good." Ciro replies, his eyes not on them, but rather the terrain around them. They aren't a cause for alarm. He takes another sip, and then turns to pull out his rad disk. "Nothing out of the ordinary just yet. Surprised to see birds."

Decumius looks back for a quick moment as Lysander speaks, his eye catching sight of Circe's compass. He grins again. "Navigating for us, Circ?" He chuckles quietly, returning to watch his arcs of fire. He must not have much more to say that that.

Constin nods back to Ciro, his vocalized comment being a wordless grunt to acknowledge that he hears the ongoing chit chat. Swallowing his mouthful of water, he caps the canteen, before drawling, "Field glasses. We setting still, might as well take a look-see about, yeah?" He motions in all directions with a circling forefinger.

"Aye." Ciro's reply comes quietly to Constin, knowing well the man makes the right sense. The rad-disk on his wrist is covered, and he reaches for one of his pouches, pulling his field glasses free. Already facing his predetermined angle, he starts to scan the surrounding wilderness with interest, occasionally pulling the glasses away from his eyes to select another place to view. He then slides the glasses back into their pouch and produces a small waterproof notebook and a pencil, taking measurements on the weather.

At Dec's words, Circe smirks some and finally pushes herself up with a faint groan. She feels her back pop into place before she runs a hand up grasping at the helmet to run her other hand into her hair. "Always nice to double check the faitful instruments." She says to Dec, winking and keeping her voice low. Caution aids in long life.

The medic gives a brush over the amount of medical gear she wears versus the armaments the others all carry. She give a look down to Lysander and then is skirting to the edg opposite Ciro and Constin, pulling out her own sights to bring them up and begin scanning.

"Something like that." Decumius answers, as he stretches his neck out. There's an audible crack, but it's not much louder than their whispering voices have been. He shifts his positioning every once in a while and waits to step off.

Lysander opens his mouth to speak up but given the mission at hand he stills his acts of levity in favor of mockingly souring his face and reaching for his canteen. With it in hand, it's taken to quietly and he looks to the others before catching Circe's. He doesn't say anything. Instead, he watches her pass and then leans forward and looks past a shoulder to continue watching her a moment longer than absolutely necessary. It's followed with capping the canteen and sliding it back in place, and his pushing into a stand. "Lovely place to look around at least," is mentioned while moving to join Circe, watching the beyond.

Constin sets the big Zasta down, adjusting the lie of the spare barrel which he carries across his back like a sheathed sword. Hauling out his own field glasses, the big Master-at-Arms takes his own turn scanning the edges of magnified visibility. "Keep eyes out for anything. Animals, no animals.. Anything."

Lysander's approach is heard faintly and his words herald him before he reaches her side. Circe lowers the sights and looks towards him before giving a nod and gazing back out over the scene, "It's nice…to have air. Ground…is it odd that it feels foreign?" She asks him. Finally her hazel eyes return to the sniper at her side, watching him before she is lifting the sights once more to keep her search at present. A deer. She pauses, extending her hand to point in the direction. "Deer.." she says, leaning in towards him to offer the sights and keep her hand pointed.

Making the necessary marks in his sniper's booklet, something that'll be sure to keep track of the details he'll need when determining his shots should he have to fire his rifle, Ciro looks up to the rest of the assembled Marines. The book is placed back into a pocket, and his glasses come up once more. At the mention of a deer, he lowers his glasses to look where Circe is pointing. It takes him a moment, but he eventually finds the creature. The notebook is slid out once more, making a few more remarks on the wildlife.

"Just a bit," teases Lysander. He shakes his head though upon clearing his throat and inclines his head forward in squinting out into the distance. "You're fine. I promise. Space is a foreign enough dream," remarks the man in passing while accepting the set of glasses and bringing them to his face to spy upon the deer. He then adjusts them into looking elsewhere, a bit to the right, viewing the surrounding landscape itself and then dragging himself back to watching the deer. "Since we're not to live in our dreams, or something."

"We can't stay…" Circe says softly. There is and underlying sadness to her tone, but it does not show on her face. Her sights relinquished, the Corpsman goes back to fixing her vestments and letting her eyes lower to take in the smaller details of that which is is immediately around her. Shifting, she lowers herself back to her knee, resting there with a sigh.

"Swear the last thing I wanna hear from folk right about now is talk of dreams," Constin deadpans at the conversation between Circe and Lysander as he lowers his own field glasses after finally spotting the deer. "Huh. There he is." Nodding once, he resumes the slow scan of the horizon.

"Longer we wait the harder it's gonna be to get going again." Ciro notes, scanning another part of the horizon. "Year after warday and there's still deer? That's a very, very good sign, though." He side-comments, waiting for the group to decide to start moving again. Glancing up to the tree above him, he plucks down a leaf and turns it over in his hands, giving it a closer inspection.

"Gotcha, Gunny," but it's either talk of dreams or romancing the Corpsman. So Lysander ends up stuck between a rock and a hard place, and he's unsure if Constin is the rock or the hard place; then again, Constin's fist is pretty hard so that solves that. So he glances over to Circe while lowering the sights. "The moment we find perfection after the Holocaust without resolving our past issues is the moment we invite our destruction." He crouches down with a bend of the knees and offers the viewfinders back to Circe, his other hand busying itself in revealing the time on a wrist chronometer. "Another minute before we shove off?"

The pop of her back is offered once more before her fingers curl around the sights. She hooks them back into her equipment. Her gaze slides up to the marksman and than she is reaching up to take his arm as well, aiding her in standing. "Now is just as soon as a minute, and better lest I want to stay here and stare for a hour." Circe says. As she gets to her feet, she releases Lysander's arm and shifts her pack. Clearing her throat with a crack of her voice, "Lagana, green."

"You want a nice spot of tea and a kerchief to go with that minute?" Constin deadpans on the heels of Ciro's comment and Lysander's subsequent request. A very faint grin tugs at his stern stare a moment later. Belatedly he gives a bullish snort and echoes, "Perfection? Shit Lysander, there ain't no such thing. Sondray, you good to go?"

"Always, Gunny. Been busting my ass all month for this and there…" He grunts, pulling up his pack as he gets to his feet, centering the weight. "…isn't any sense in getting used to being off my feet until I can get four hours of shut-eye." Taking up his rifle, he casts one more glance to the horizon, searching for movement, before he steps away from the tree. He's standing now, and standing he will stay until they stop again. "What about you two? How's that leg?" He asks, casting a glance to Lysander and Lagana.

"The frak am I supposed to do with tea?" Drink it, presumably, but it was a rhetorical question anyway. If no one wants to actually stay the extra minute, then Lysander is all for moving out and returning to their paces. He's five by five as is and nods while in the process of re-arming himself. "Green light here," and he verifies that everyone else is just as swell before moving. "I'll get you your hour later, Circ'." It's a private aside by the Sergeant in passing before he lifts a hand in a short wave. "My shooting's perfection, by the way."

At Ciro's question of her leg, Circe nods her head, "Sore, but holding up. Not used to the terrain." She admits. But it is to Lysander she looks, a slow nod of her head as she watches him pass. Then it is up to the Gunny, "All green." She repeats again, gazing off in the direction the deer had been, but it had seen movement from their position and took off. Shifting, she begins to follow after Lysander, figuring the rest would be falling into line.

"Funny, I'd think perfection would've shown up to more field ops, Sergeant," Constin drawls dryly back to Lysander as he hefts the Zasta once again. "Lets step." Taking rear guard for the same reasons of stealth that the heaviest person should cross unstable ice last for reasons of physics.

A grin crosses Ciro's lips at the banter between Constin and Lysander, and a quiet snort comes from the man's nose. "Did you just ask what you're supposed to do with tea?" He chuckles quietly, focusing on one step after the other as he falls into line. "If you can't hump that pack, Doc, let me know. I can take a few extra on." He offers, letting the dull throb of the step-after-step motion hypnotize him, keeping the rest of his mind free to watch for signs of danger.

Looking back at Ciro, Circe gives him a wan smile, "Stop trying to make yourself look good…" She nods though, a soft smile offered, "Thanks, Sondray. I will keep that in mind." She does keep up, giving a shake of that offending appendage. Her steps are no less swift as the others and her gaze takes up that position of study.

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