| This Nonsense |
| Summary: | Cidra is too busy for it. |
| Date: | 10 Feb 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Enter the Swarm, The Swarm Stings, Aftermath of the Swarm |
| Players: |
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| The Main Brig |
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| Tiny and cramped, the Main Brig seems designed to be claustrophobic. The steel bars lining the three cells have been set into the steel bulkheads on each side. Inside each cell is a stainless steel toilet and a bunk that might be too short for some of the taller crewmembers. The dreary conditions don't seem to be helped by the presence of a Marine guard who is there twenty-four hours a day, as long as a prisoner is in custody. The whole room is under surveillance via camera system in the Security Hub and every visitor must sign-in and abide by the rules. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #349 |
It's pretty standard for people in the brig not to be pleased about being there, and Devlin is no different. He paces across the small cell, only a couple strides each pass but back and forth and back and forth. Arms are raised, hands knit at the back of his head, elbows pulled forward to almost touch in front of his face. Back and forth and back and forth he goes.
Cidra is still in her flight suit as she marches into the brig. She does not immediately go to Devlin's cell, but spends a great deal of time having a Conversation with the MP at the desk. He looks rather wide-eyed as she Converses with him and in very short order goes off to get some forms. While he's doing that, she proceeds back to where Devlin is held. "Decoy. What happened?" That's all she says for the moment.
Devlin is in his flight suit as well, and his helmet sits on the cot in the cell. He hasn't even bothered to unzip the suit or take off the gloves, and it creaks as he paces and paces and paces. He turns abruptly at Cidra's voice, flushing dark for a brief second and dropping his arms just enough that his face is visible between them. "Hosedown wanted me to go right back out on CAP," he explains, "And I wanted to go see whether Psyche is okay. She wasn't hardly breathing when they pulled her out, I mean, her lips were frakking blue, but Hosedown," he can't quite help the way his lip curls when he says the name, "Said I had to, even though there were plenty of other pilots. I know it's my job, sir, I know, but she didn't need me. It could've been anybody else!" He vacillates between apologetic and still angry, back and forth, back and forth. "So I told her what a stupid heartless bitch she was being. But I would've gone, I was going to go, if I really had to, if she was really gonna make me. But then she brigged me."
"I see." That is all Cidra says, though her tone is very clipped. The MP brings her back her forms, and unlocks Devlin's cell. Cidra quickly signs them. "Thank you, Private. This shall be the end of this matter, I think. I do not believe Bubbles is hurt badly, from the preliminary reports I gathered from Sickbay. Go to her. You are off-duty for six hours, we have quite enough bodies to maintain a CAP as she should have noted. You are to avoid compounding this nonsense with Hosedown. I shall deal with her. Understood?"
Devlin's expression slides further into apologetic at Cidra's tone, and he looks surprised as he is released. "Oh," he starts to say, and then head and brows both lift, "She isn't? Thank gods." For a moment it's not clear whether he actually hears anything else Cidra has to say, just letting out a breath that sounds long-held (though it cannot have been) and taking another, touching his chest with a hand like he's rubbing a talisman. Then he tunes back in. "Yes, sir," he replies, nodding, "I'm sorry, sir. Thank you for coming, I know you're busy."
"I am indeed too busy for this nonsense, Ensign." Cidra's expression is decidedly fixed in disapproving inscrutability. Whether it's aimed at him is unclear. "Go on now." And he can go, at that. She will.