| Tihar Prison Blues |
| Summary: | The Colonials relocate their ground operation on Sagittaron into Tirhan Penitentiary on the outskirts of the blasted city of Aera Yazd. Not all tensions are eased with the move. |
| Date: | 31 Aug 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | The Sagittaron logs; culmination of what was discussed in Tactical Expenditures |
| Players: |
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| Tihar Penitentiary - Exercise Yard - Sagittaron |
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| The prison courtyard is paved with cracked concrete, the few stubborn weeds that managed to poke through the gaps long since killed by radiation. There is a large garage for the facility's vehicles near the main entrance. The newer, steel-and-concrete prison block looms nearby; beyond it, the bleak black walls of the original prison, narrow window-slits carved into the basalt. The area between the two prison blocks has been converted into an exercise-slash-recreation yard for the inmates, and is cordoned off by chainlink and razor-wire. A few concrete chessboards jut out along one wall, while basketball hoops and a Pyramid court in shambles are against another. On the opposite side of the courtyard stand three gallows, their massive palmwood timbers blackened with age. They face the exercise area, and would have provided the inmates a clear view of their most typical escape from the prison. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #186 |
The Colonials' exit from the Jharkhand Basin went quietly enough, despite the hot, heavy work of striking the camp and ferrying all its supplies and personnel to their new base. Tihar Penitentiary, on the outskirts of what used to be Aera Yazd, the largest city on Sagittaron's southern continent. From the air, what remains of it looks like a blasted hellscape now. But though there are signs on the perimeter that there was a struggle here long ago, the building itself remains solidly intact. And the only way in and out is currently in a Viper or Raptor, flown and landed in the exercise yard.
The last of said Raptors are coming in now. One piloted by Major Cidra Hahn herself, who was among the last out of the basin. She takes her big bus lower and lower, plunking it down as smoothly as a Raptor can be plunked in the area of the yard that's become a makeshift landing field. It's on the opposite side of the yard from the gallows, but they're still quite apparent when one disembarks.
And in the raptor setting down on the opposite side of the 'landing field', if the yard is actually large enough to have such a thing, are the team of Sweet Pea and Flasher, the landings of the last two raptors staggered, Leyla allowing the dust to settle from the Major's raptor before she dusts up the yard with her own. "Alright, we're about to go skids down, everyone who's heading out, doublecheck your rad tags, and make sure you know who has the meds, if you don't have them yourselves." Hey, she is the one driving this bus, and it's part of the job, you know? Once the raptor settles, the small pilot rises, shuffling off her safety belts and heading into the back to help off load crew and equipment.
Constin is among the small group of marines who are not presently occupying a watch tower, and thus are free to jog out and meet the last incoming Raptors. Narrow blue eyes scanning the birds for the most immediate of superior officers, the big sergeant squints against the wind and dust raised by the landing birds.
The courtyard is awash in marines; Lance Corporal Maragos has thrown down a series of low-profile IR strobes for landing direction, waving them in with a pair of colored sticks he's probably stolen and repurposed from some office or other. He's ditched the dirt and greasepaint, finally, having replaced them with the large wireless headset and mic of an ELF backpack. The wires are ducktaped together with his own squad comm, and most of his kit looks like it's similarly zip-tied and taped into places with the least interference of body movement. Once the raptor skids hit concrete, he bends down on one knee, shouting into the wireless headset. "Copy that, Three-Two-Seven! Able Three-One can confirm birds on the ground, friendlies disembarking. Will alert upon lift."
"She ain't kiddin' folks." Marko chimes in. "The whole area is clicking hot and probably will be for at least another two thousand years." he says, giving a low, sliding whistle at the rad counts. "So it's anti-radiation meds or have _very_ goofy looking kids." he concludes. "So, Sweet Pea, how's the settling in coming along?" he queries.
Ensign Apostolos was one of those who did the initial Viper reconnaissance, the evening before. 'Signs of life in the outskirts,' she swore — but just /where/ she swears she saw it is anyone's guess, considering the bombed cityscape the team sees as they come in for landings. She's also one of the last out of the farmyard, lingering for trip after trip until receiving a Look(tm) from the CAG. "Yeah, yeah, copy that," she mutters under her breath to Leyla's well-meant warning, hopping out of the Raptor the second the door's thrown open.
Cora has been back and forth a few times today from old camp to new, but stuck around in the prison for at least the last couple trips, helping oversee the arrangements there while Cidra is on Raptor duty. She exits one of the buildings and heads out in the direction of the landing zone as well, watching Cadmus wave the Raptors in with faint amusement. She's still in marine blacks, standing near Constin while watching the last load disembark.
Suddenly, MARINES EVERYWHERE. One half expects Lunair to dive out of somewhere or pop out of a trashcan in black gear ominously. She's actually one of the last batch of Marines being unloaded. She'll follow Tisiphone quietly. There's an unhappy look at the talk of Rads. Lunair does not care to sprout tentacles. She glances around, saluting any in turn who salute her almost reflexively.
Cidra emerges from her Raptor after doing a quick head-count of her passengers, leaving the doors open and the post-flight check left to her ECO. She pauses to survey the place as she takes her helmet off. The gallows on the far side of the yard are noted. Regarded inscrutably. Then turned away from. Constin is who she zeroes in on. The CAG is in her flight suit, for her part, though her duty sidearm is worn on her hip. "Sergeant!" she calls, raising a hand in a sort of wave to him. "How are we fixed here?"
Sawyer is one of the last ones ferried over, for whatever reason. Maybe they wanted to make sure the place was doubly secure before they unleashed a nosy reporter on the ground with a penchant for getting up to her neck in hot water. She steps off the wing of a Raptor, left hand gripping her upper thigh briefly with a twinge of something on her face akin to pain. The Journalist then turns back to a young marine assisting her, taking the case he carries from his hands. "Thanks, Skip." His name probably isn't even Skip, but it seems fiting. Some how.
"Smooth as silk, Flasher." If there have been any problems in Leyla's transition from the Elevens to the Harriers, she hasn't seen fit to mention them to anyone. Leyla leaves Flasher to finish shutting down his systems and doing the final spin down on the raptor, while she counts heads heading off and marks them down on her list. It's like Santa…if there was such a thing. Once she's sure everyone's off, rather than step down herself, she heads back into the ship, giving it a final inspection, before she'll hop down to do the visual from the outside. "Everything look alright?" That to her co-pilot, so to speak.
"Sir," Constin salutes Lunair upon the Marine Lt's emergence, before repeating the word to Cidra at the CAG's address. "Major. Grounds secure. Sentries in the towers, generators are down- no Eee-Tee-Ay on power yet. Officer's Barracks have been designated there-" a motion toward the Guard Bunkhouse. "Gates are still closed and intact, pending restoration of base camp generators."
"Thank you for flying Harrier Air," Trask quips as people come and go from the bird. "Do make certain that you've collected all weaponry, ammunition, MREs, and anti-rads. Any and all young children left behind will be sold to the highest bidder." As for the post-flight checklist? Check.
Swinging the two billy clubs together - for that's what they are, elegantly wrapped in high-visibility caution tape - Cadmus indicates 'ENGINES OFF, OK' to the pilots involved in the last shuttle. He places the sticks aside, radioing back to those unseen higher in the air: "This is Able Three-One. Birds are down, area secure. You're clear to bug out, Three-Two-Seven…" Reaching down to his hip-mounted toggle switch, he pops the ELF radio off, putting his local comm system back on as he moves toward the train of new arrivals. "Welcome to prison. Mind the mummies," he says dryly, at no one in particular.
Marko starts doing his post-flight checks, hissing a little at the pounding his sensors are going to take due to radiation exposure of this magnitude. "I hope the knuckledraggers upstairs are ready to de-crud all of these systems." he says, more to himself, though it is over an open comm line as he does a little mental arithmetic. "Figure, at these levels, we're looking at about ten percent degradation per half-day unless someone comes up with a way to shield the birds." he says, more loudly as he finishes spinning the Raptor down.
Tisiphone paces off a short distance — enough so that her stopping doesn't bung up the flow of traffic — and turns a slow circle as she looks around. She pulls in a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, then slouches her hands down into her pockets as her lungs deflate. "Smells like home," she says — to the distant watchtower and patrolling Marines she's staring at, apparently.
Lunair looks a little amused by Cadmus' set up, though it barely shows. She seems pleased at least, that the NCOs are so frakking awesome. Ahem. She salutes back at Constin, and decides to listen in on the news. There's a soft grunt. She looks around, deciding where she's best wielded and where not to deal with. For now she takes a moment to regain her bearings.
With her little carrying case of the journalist tools of DOOM, Sawyer shuffles off where she's directed by yet another marine. One of the few, if the only, civilian down here of her own volition, she's sort of treated like cattle as far as safety measures are concerned. Besides, if they shuffle her out of sight, maybe she'll be out of mind too.
"Well, I don't want to have to wait until we get back to the ship to have the systems maintained. This is not a place I want to be flying blind." Leyla continues with the exterior inspection, before she heads back to the hatch, ducking her head in, "So let's hope that they're sending down a couple of deckhands to work down here. You good?" That, as she sees the last of the systems go dark inside their raptor, hopping back into the bird soon after to start getting out the last of the crates of supplies, the work easier now that the bodies are all out and milling around in the yard.
"Yep…she's all shut down, snug as a bug." Marko nods, unstrapping himself and making for the hatch, pulling his helmet off as he exits. "Gosh…what a cheerful place." he comments, pulling a face. "And look…a gallows." he says, pointing towards the instrument of execution. "How festive."
Cidra nods to Constin, much satisfied with that. "Very good. I shall have our techs down here on the surface get to work on the generators promptly." That said, she turns her attention to gazing around the yard. Spotting Sawyer. Perhaps she's keeping an eye on the reporter. Just perhaps. "Ah. Averies. I am glad to see you arrived safely." Though the main of her focus is on Cora. "Have we identified a suitable space to bunk in? From the preliminary description, the old guards' barracks did seem promising."
"Mummies?" Tisiphone belatedly asks Cadmus, looking over toward the MP after lighting up a cigarette. The only thing better than smoke-filled lungs is irradiated-smoke-filled lungs, right? Right? "Didn't cut down the last round through the gallows, or what?" A glance aside, to Marko; she blows her smoke out at him, though it dissipates long before reaching him. "Welcome to Aera Yazd, man. The pride of the Southern Continent." The sarcasm would literally drip if it was any thicker.
"Sawyer." Cadmus half states the reporter's name, and half greets her with it. He nods in her direction, only to point around the inner courtyard's walls with the barrel of his rifle. "There's a hell of a story in here, somewhere. I think I've managed to piece together most of what happened to the prisoners," he says in a low tone - addressing at once Tisiphone and Sawyer, and really anyone else nearby. "Everyone here's long dead, but I'm not entirely sure we're out of the sights of the SSLF. Depends on if they've moved on from this area in the past months or not."
Cora is being focused on, and she turns back to Cidra to reply, "The old guards' barracks, yes," she nods, "Those have been cleared and prepared and are suitable for us to stay in. I wouldn't advise poking around too much in the other buildings, none of those cells are fit to stay in even if anyone wanted to."
"Nah," Bootstrap replies over the comchan. "They'll need some extra tuning when we get back, Flasher, but we're not gonna contend with much more than some functionality issues. DRADIS, in particular. Nothin' our knuckledraggers can't handle." Post-flightcheck continues.
Sawyer slants a little half smile at Cidra, "They haven't managed to off me yet." She turns and shares a quiet word to the marine escorting her, then swivels a glance to Cadmus as she's called out. Her smile solidifies a bit more, "There's /always/ a story, Cadmus." She says with some certainty, curiousity obviously piqued when he mentions he's deduced what happened inside the walls. "Find me later when you're not playing shepherd, yeah?" There's a wink flashed to Tisiphone, and then she's back to being shuffled off herself.
"Yes, I heard reports this place had not been precisely emptied after the Cylon attacks," Cidra replies to Cora. And, try as she might, she can't help but look a bit creeped by that prospect. "See that cells are kept locked. No one needs to wander into that. I shall speak with the chaplain about what might be done with the…remains after someone from Medical has a look at them." She strides over toward Cadmus on that note, motioning for Cora to follow.
For now, Lunair watches Cidra a moment and winces at the prospect. "I can help with that as needed, otherwise-" She'll tend to the guards, watching and generally keeping any gruntled, disgruntled Saggies even if they sell Saggie Scout Cookies, and such at bay. A wince at Tis' comment. She pauses at Cadmus, and replies quietly, "They seem the sorts to pick out what's useful then return to the village. I'd be mindful of any possible booby traps in case they felt particularly humorous."
Crate after crate gets moved out of the raptor, a grimace coming over Leyla's still helmeted face as some leave a few scrapes in the floor. It's like that look of pain when you notice a scratch on your brand new car. Still, the team that comes over to help is efficient enough, and she's soon hopping back down, moving to stand just to the right and behind her ECO, "Have any idea if they've started salvaging anything left that might be useful in there?" Right to business, as usual, though she does, at least, pull off her helmet.
"Will do, Sawyer. Do some looking around yourself, if you want. I expect after all the shit you've seen, you'll be able to handle it. There aren't any dangerous surprises, only disgusting ones," Cadmus responds, tossing a nod to Averies as he turns away… Right into Cidra. He snaps off a sharp salute after shouldering his rifle: "Major Hahn." His greeting is sure, but he definitely doesn't seem to know why she's walking toward him.
"They didn't let the prisoners out." It's not really much of a question at all. Tisiphone glances sidelong to Cadmus, then to Cidra, and starts to chuckle. Shaking her head, she kicks at a bit of cement rubble underfoot, watching it bounce away into a crack a few feet ahead. "Fantastic."
"No," Cora returns to Cidra a bit grimly, though her posture is still casual as she shakes her head, "The guards appear to have fled without releasing any of the prisoners. I'd like— yes, Medical to take a look," she nods as the Major beats her to the punch. "Most of the other areas appear to have been ransacked to varying degrees, but it would be worth taking another look to see if there are any supplies worth recovering." When Cidra moves, the captain follows as directed.
Cidra acknowledges Cadmus' salute with a fluid one of her own. "Corporal Maragos. As you were. Sergeant Constin is much occupied, I do think. I did hear you say you suspect that might have been SSLF in the area? There do seem to be signs of an altercation some time again outside the perimeter. I noted the fencing has been toppled in places, and it did look as if someone tried to force the gates. Without much in the way of success." Cora's elaboration about the non-release of the prisoners earns a distasteful wrinkle of her nose, and a mutter under her breath in a language not Standard. It's unclear if it's a prayer or a curse. It has the inflection of both.
"Clearly, you've never been to my hometown," is Leyla's answering quip. Too much of Tauron looks much like this, sans radiation. Run down, abandoned buildings and tenements routinely scavenged for every last useful bit of copper or wiring. "Spent most of my formative years scavenging. You haven't seen anything, till you've seen someone with half their face chewed off when the rats got hungry." Her tone remains as it has been the entire day, quiet and collected, "Going to check in with the Major, see about getting inside."
Marko winces a little, poor little pampered Caprican that he is. It's clear he's heard of places like this, but never really believed they existed. The Saggies and Taurries love to exagerrate, or so he thought. "Yeah….yeah…" he nods, swallowing slowly. "Probably a good idea. Maybe see if my fiancee's about." he adds. "You ever met Lt. Lunair?"
Finished inside, Trask disembarks and hands the clipboard to one of Deckies stationed on Sag. Quietly, he goes over something with said Crewman and then starts an external examination of the Raptor. Once a knuckledragger, always a knuckledragger.
Dropping his rifle from his shoulder, Cadmus rests the butt against his hip as he re-surveys the inner courtyard. "SSLF activity *is* a possibility, sir," he amits. Pointing with his off hand toward the gate and fences, he notes. "I don't think it's much of a secret what happened. It's written all over the walls… In a nutshell: the bombs hit, the Warden shelled up inside, hoping for outside contact. Once the backup generators failed - at least three days, maybe as many as seven - a riot broke out. The SSLF used that riot and the lack of power to attack. The warden kept them back for a while, and then they broke in through the fences. Eventually the SSLF sprung their troops from the outer block, and pushed the guards to the inner garrison. Starved them out, I expect." Cadmus pauses, sniffs with a sour frown, and shrugs before looking back to Cidra. "If the SSLF keeps contact with individual cells and the prison breakers, we could have sniping fire or SAMs from the treeline. Then again, maybe they moved on, after they got their people."
+IC: Constin returns IC!
Cora doesn't react at Cidra's muttered whatever, just nodding in confirmation of the information she's already given. She moves towards Cadmus along with the major, standing beside her as she listens to the marine relate his vision of how things went down to Cidra. She nods once or twice as he goes, apparently in agreement, but does not add anything at present.
Cidra is keeping whatever reaction she may be having to the place to slim frowns, little facial twitches and muttering in Old Gemenese. Outwardly. Her eyes can't help but angle to those gallows now and then. Though they go back sharp to Cadmus as he delivers that. Creasing at the corners faintly with some measure of concern. Though, like most of her reactions, it's muted. "I cannot even imagine the chaos this planet was under after the attacks. Well. At least this location is defensible. I do think even if we get the generator up and running we should avoid much passage in and out of the main gate. Leave it locked unless there is great need, use the planes for transport in and out. If nothing else we are in a position for much tighter security here. And the radiation levels in the area do not encourage lingering."
"Can't say that I have. Though I can think of better places to do it than here." Leyla lifts a hand, "I'll catch up with you in a few," as she steps off, heading towards where the Major is stationed, leaving Marko to go and find his lady love. Her helmet is now neatly tucked under her right arm, as she runs the gauntlet of moving bodies, equipment and supplies, heading in Cidra's direction. She does slow her pace though, as she sees the Major already in conversation, angling her approach to give Cidra line of sight on her, without getting in her business, as it were.
The JiG of Doom, Lunair, is quietly listening to Cadmus' tale, seeming troubled a moment. "I still wouldn't put a trap or two past them, or just left one behind." A shrug. "Reinforcements should be arriving, I put in your request for extra squads to the CO," Lunair informs Cadmus quietly. She nods at Cidra, grateful for the Major's wisdom and insight. "It's a rough place," She states quietly. She goes silent at that, looking around, almost habitually now. Leyla gets a polite nod and wave.
"Never a bad place for a snuggle." Marko replies confidently, smiling a little as he steps up on the the Raptor's wingroot to look around for Lunair. "Give the Major my compliments." he adds.
Tisiphone is… well, eavesdropping on the group near Cadmus, frankly. She's not even making much of a point of trying to conceal this fact. She looks up at the sky as he finishes speaking and exhales toward the nearest watchtower, then raises her voice a little. "Calliope was popular in Aera Yazd when I was here. They caught her in-" A glance to Cora, as if for confirmation. "-'36? Whoever picked up her slack probably wasn't as organized. Could've even just been- locals wanting to get their uncles and husbands out."
Glancing sideways at Tisiphone, Cadmus's frown deepens. "Sure. But you have your wife arrested for being an insurgent, I imagine it tends to catalyze joining the organization, just so you have backup to break her out. Either way, they starved out the prison staff, and hanged the ones they caught, as well as anyone they figured didn't deserve to live in their brave new world." he notes, looking back to Cidra after a moment. "I agree, sir. We have some solid walls, and as near as our cursory investigation uncovered, we don't have any booby traps waiting for us in public places. I don't recommend any unattendent jaunts past the inner wall, though."
"I believe it was '36," Cora confirms for Tisiphone, otherwise listening to Cidra and Cadmus both, letting the marine take care of filling the major in.
The Harriers SL is far more thorough in his post-flight checks than is expected of any member of the Air Wing. Old habits die hard, though. As soon as he finishes discussing his bird with the Crewman, he's off to examine the other Raptor.
Tisiphone's sun-bleached brows furrow toward eachother as she listens to Cadmus. "Yeah, throw someone in Tihar to rot for making their morning milk run and amazing how there's suddenly a dozen more 'terrorists'-" The air-quotes are all but visible. "-to deal with, after. Whatever," she finishes, lamely, the heat dropping abruptly back out of her voice. "Any records left of who the frak was in here on Warday?"
Cidra flits a side-look at Tisiphone. Not that she seems to mind the eavesdropping, really. She's not holding a secret conversation. The glance is more a silent 'I See You, Money Shot. I Always See You.' To Cadmus, a nod. "The guards' barracks and watchtowers have been cleared, I presume? Apart from this yard, we do not need to venture much further than that right away. Have search teams sweep the place as you have the time…" This to Lunair mainly. "…and keep me posted on which areas are clear. It has likely been picked over but there may be something we can salvage." She listens for the answer to Tisiphone's question, though it's Leyla that gets the main of her attention when she spots the approaching pilot. "Sweet Pea. All look clear with your bird post-flight? The radiation levels in this area should not have too grand a detrimental effect on our systems if we do not linger here more than a week or so, but they will muss some with DRADIS accuracy. You shall have to rely a bit more on visual and simple instrument navigation when flying around the city proper."
The wave from the as yet unknown, or at least unmet LtJG receives of one her own, as Leyla waits for the the acknowledgement, or lack there of, of the Major. Once the Major's attention turns to her, the woman steps forward, "She's holding up. She won't be any trouble, I'm sure." As for flying eyes-only, well, that gets a nod, "Just the way I like it." And no, that's not meant as a diss to Flasher, "Just wondering when we'd be clear to head inside. or if you have other plans for us," meaning her and Marko, likely, "I'd prefer to put off trying to set up a bunk." Always working. And making a bed is a bit of fluff at the moment.
"I took two bullets and an Eye-Eee-Dee from those terrorists, sir," Constin's deadpan drawl greets Tisiphone's airquotes as the sergeant approaches once again. "You can peddle innocent all you want, but those folks are the enemy. Period." Uncompromising marine is uncompromising. As Cidra gives other orders and such, the marine adds nothing more, awaiting anything further.
Stepping away from Major Hahn and her rapidly accumulating subordinates, Cadmus adjusts the bandana beneath his headset. After a moment of fishing around in his webgear, he actually pulls out a pair of sunglasses and slides them on. "Hey, Tis, some of these people blew up innocents. Some of 'em were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'm not in the mood to judge. And they're all dead now, so it's not exactly pertinent to my current concerns," he says, shrugging his shoulders at the Ensign. "All I care about is not getting blown up by the crazy fuckers out there in the woods that got some beef with me, despite never having met me."
There's a curious, sad look to Tisiphone. Lunair's missing something here and she knows it. She nods, "Yes sir." This to Cidra. She considers leyla a moment, but is quiet for her part. A wince at the memory of Constin's story. Well, mostly the bullets part. If anything cracked her normally quietly upper class demeanor? It's the memories of that suicide bomber, though she doesn't seem aware of the first IED. "… mmm." She grunts softly, though she doesn't argue one way or a nother. Something about that girl haunts her memory. Not to mention the story of being beaten up by a Saggie teenager… sheesh. She listens to Cadmus in turn. If she spots Marko, there's a little smile and wave. Though, it's business for the moment.
Marko spots Lunair in the milling throng and hops down to go and greet her, giving the Major a polite nod as he approaches. "Hey there." he says, smiling a little. "How's things?" he asks simply. "I mean, apart from the whole 'grim spectacle of oppression' thing we've got going on here as a general theme."
"'Peddle innocence?'" Oops. So much for dropping the heat back out of her voice. Tisiphone's head turns sharply in Constin's direction, weight shifted forward on the balls of her feet, and for a second or three she looks ready to sort the issue out with fists. Half a foot of height and half again her own weight be damned. Pilots. They breed 'em for reflexes, not as Smartest Of Breed. "Whatever," she repeats, her voice cracking. "I'm taking a look around. Good luck getting survivors with a party line like /that/." She hawks and spits — nothing but class, those Saggies — somewhere between herself and the giant meat-wall of Marine, and stalks off, deeper into the prison yard.
Cidra replies to Leyla, "The guards' barracks have been cleared, as have the watchtowers and the areas leading up to them. We shall be bunking in the barracks, and store as many of our supplies within that building as we are able. Do not stray too far from it or the exercise yards until other areas are cleared, and do not enter the cells here." That last stated firmly. "See that the supplies are settled. Once that is done, familiarize yourself with the maps of the city and the aerial shots we did get of it. Look for prime locations to salvage. I suspect looting has, like this prison itself, picked much of the area clean. But we can perhaps find something the ship can use. I would look to attempt search and salvage operations in the other cities in this region of the planet as well. Aera Pona, Sthenoi…perhaps as far north as Aera Cura." She's absorbed enough in that that she does not notice Tisiphone and Constin's political discussion until the spitting begins. Then she notices it. "Apostolos!" It is snapped like a whip at the stalking ensign. The CAG is not a barky creature, but she can project her Gemenese-accented drawl when she wants to.
Apparently Cadmus has spent enough time around the tempermental Viper pilot to either know when not to pursue her when she's having a moment…or to just not care. Given his blase expression, it's likely the second. He glances at some small handheld on his left wrist - a rad counter, perhaps or a watch - and notes to Constin: "By the way, I jammed open the locks on all the doors where we're bunking. I got this fear of being trapped in a house full of corpses and not being able to get out. Call me crazy."
Constin has his stoneface firmly in place by the time Tisiphone spits her words and.. well, spit back at him, not offering anything further to the pilot, and turning his eye on Cadmus instead. "Yeah. Good thought. Lotta folks will prolly thank you for that." There's still a bit of sour temper underlying his flat cadence, but the sergeant's eye is pulled back from Cadmus when Cidra barks.
A crisp nod, and a equally crisp, "Sir," as Leyla gets her orders. Once she sees Flasher get close, she chucks a thumb in the direction of the guard's barracks, letting him know where she's headed, as she goes off to work on putting away the supplies, and then, the fun stuff. Maps. She pulls up short at the 'discussion', and looks down at where the spit lands. Thankfully far from her boot, but that's about all the reaction she gives it. Oh, she'll just be moving along, yes she will, as Cidra barks at the stalking Viper pilot. There're some crates calling her name, yes there are.
Lunair frowns faintly at Constin. "That's enough," She states quietly, firmly. If only she had a monocle or riding crop. "This is painful enough for most of us without it being home at one point," She adds quietly. "Let it be. Let your duty reflect how you feel, but never forget mercy in the face of war. Especially to those who have to turn on who might have been neighbors. If you need to vent concerns, please find myself or a senior NCO," Hunting monsters means one has to be careful not to /become/ a monster. "Just keep on your toes," She finishes with a touch of mercy. Funny how that works. She nods at Cidra's words. There's concern for Tisiphone, "Hey… you can come look with me if you want in a bit," She offers quietly to Tisiphone, though she gets the feeling she might as well be pissing into the wind without a windshield. She pauses and smiles faintly again. Marko! "They go, I am well enough. I am half shorn though. Yourself?" Sadly, Lunair's personal best of at least two months without a headwound was tragically shattered the other week. Oh well. A nod at Cadmus. "Very wise."
Cora might just wince very faintly as Constin sets Tisiphone off and the pilot runs with it, but she otherwise remains stonefaced as well. Except for a glance slid Cadmus' way when he talks about jamming the locks, lips quirking faintly. "I've seen that movie," she replies, the words quiet and dry.
If only she weighed a little more. She could /stomp/ instead of /stalk/. Tisiphone freezes at the CAG's verbal whipcrack, holds for a second, then whirls, stabbing her cigarette back at Constin. "The frak are you gonna do, turn away any survivors who had a relative in here since the Occupation? 'Sorry, you're a /terrorist/, we'd like you to stay in the city we bombed to shit for you until the radiation kills you, thanks for coming by, though'?" She has to stop for breath, there, and her desperately-shrilling mental editor reminds her the CAG is still waiting for acknowledgement, about then. She looks down, scrubbing hard at her stubby hair, then over at Cidra. "Sir."
Surveying the second Raptor, Trask talks shop with one of the Specialists who's trailing after him. Whatever drama is going on in the background fails to garner his interest.
"To. Attention. Now. Money. Shot." Cidra says each word very distinctly to Tisiphone. Her own posture straightening. "And stop talking."
Marko nods to Leyla and holds up a finger in the classic 'one sec, be right there' gesture. "Yeah, likewise. Been flying since first light. Heard about the bomb. Glad to see you feeling better." he smiles gently to his intended. For a moment, it looks like he's about to stroke her cheek, but then remembers where he is and what he's meant to be doing. Very possible the CAG's sudden bark has something to do with that. "Anyhow…I think the CAG wants us to do some scouting. Gotta go look over some maps." he says. "We're in the guard house. Dunno where we're bunking." he adds. "Honey, listen, be _careful_….this place gives me the frakking creeps." he says firmly, then assumes a more businesslike posture. "Carry on, Sir." he says, nodding formally before moving to follow after Leyla.
"Frak yeah. When I was eight, I snuck into the theater down the block from my house that Deion's uncle owned. Just about wet myself watching it, but it was totally worth it. Probably taught me more about CQB than than basic, just based on what *not* to do," Cadmus responds, grinning a little as he nods to Cora. He cautiously keeps his back toward Tisiphone and Cidra, however. Despite his grin, there's a vague expression of discomfort, as if he were embarassed by witnessing someone else being dressed-down, and all he can do is keep his back to her.
Constin turns his eye aside from Cidra to Lunair as the Lieutenant gives the NCO a brief lecture on the merits of mercy. His expression would be aptly described as peeering at the marine officer. Nostrils flare with a slowly drawn breath and the big man states short, crisp and plain: "Yes. Sir." Tisiphone's renewed rejoinder makes the muscles stand out under the skin of his still scabbed over jaw, and twists his expression more toward a frown than stern neutrality, but the marine keeps his mouth shut.
Tisiphone's mouth twists like a snake as she chews on the edge of her tongue. Stabbing another flinty glare at Constin — because, after all, this is surely all his fault — she pulls herself to a very picture-perfect at-ten-tion. Last of all, her eyes leave the Marine and focus straight ahead on some distant spot.
If Cidra is at all hesitant about dressing down Tisiphone in front of the others, there's no real indication of it. Her own features are jaw-tight, blue eyes flashing. "I have had about enough of petulant and irrational behavior over the past three days, Apostolos. I will not have it from you. Now. Are you capable of behaving like an officer in the Colonial Navy? Because officers do not *spit* at NCOs who are their comrades charged with their security, and have seen more years in the service than they have yet dreamt of. So tell me. Are you capable of showing some degree of respect or at least sense? Or are you not? Because if not, I shall pull you off of this planet so quickly and send you back to Cerberus to fly CAPs around the ship for the duration of this mission so fast and with such force you will not need a Viper to fly you back. So tell me, Ensign, are you capable of this or are you not?"
Leyla slows, as she catches sight of Marko moving up to catch up with her. "I suddenly feel there are better ways in which we could be using our time." Dry and only lightly peppered with humour, "Alright, so…supplies first. See if we can find someone with some sort of inventory sheet, get things counted, figure out evacuation plans, if we need to haul gear and lift anchor at speed. To bad we're not allowed in the cells. You know the sort of things prisoners keep as contraband?"
Lunair doesn't seem to be eager to punish Constin. She does however, feel a bit awkward watching this and turns to look at the Sergeant. While normally Cadmus' story might provoke a smile, she affects a cold, almost royal distance. she might be better off sitting with hands folded atop a horse and glaring at commoners. Someone lobbed a scimitar in a lake at one of her ancestors- anyway. She looks to Marko and nods slowly. "Be well. I will see you soon perhaps," She offers quietly, not daring to breath more words than she needs to or watch. Though - normally she'd smile at him and there's a faint look that indicates she's glad to see him. But for now, she turns away to tend to some task. "We have work to do," She states quietly and simply. And Lunair will quietly set about to them, rather than linger.
"Heh…yeah…lots of better things to be doing than watching that." Marko chuckles throatily, nodding before looking back towards where Constin stands and blowing out a sigh. "Frakkin' Colonies…" he curses, pure and simple. "You'd figure we'd've got the message by now, ya know?" he says, shaking his head a little before following Leyla in. "I'm glad we're _not_. I got a _bad_ feeling about this place, Sweet Pea." he says frankly. "Something around here makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end." he adds. "Besides, any contraband would've went with the prisoners when they rioted, I'd think." he adds. "Maybe we can take a discreet look later."
Cora smiles faintly at Cadmus and nods, agreeing, "The strike teams in those movies are so far off protocol even a child can tell." She seems to feel it somewhat inappropriate to continue the discussion along those lines, though, not while people are being rebuked around her. Still more or less at Cidra's side it's difficult to pretend it isn't happening, but she trains her gaze on the perimeter fence and those gallows, eyeing them and the watch towers with keen interest.
Tisiphone's mouth twists again as she finds a new spot of tongue to work over with her teeth. Her nostrils flare as she tries to cool her jets — success rating: not so great — and her shoulders somehow manage to creep a fraction of an inch squarer. "Yessir. Of course, Sir." Her face is wooden, but there's a raw flush creeping up the back of her neck and scalp.
"You had better," is Cidra's terse reply to Tisiphone. She might as well not be aware of the others, focus entirely on the young Viper pilot. "You are dismissed, Ensign. Go find something productive to do with your energies." With that, she turns to Constin. "Sergeant, I would like to personally apologize for the conduct of my officer. It was undisciplined and disrespectful in the extreme and you have my word it shall not happen again."
"The problem with sending a message, is you've got to have a good receiver on the other end. if you haven't got that, you might as well be trying to shoot it down a string between two tin cans." Leyla practically skips up the steps and through the open doors of the bunkhouse. With every window and entryway open to air to speed movement of supplies, it's not hard for her to keep a weather ear on the activities in the yard, though she does plunk down her helmet on a set of crates that look to have already been secured, before she goes off looking for whomever seems to be the defacto quartermaster.
Constin squares his shoulders and stiffens his back as Cidra speaks his rank, face composed again into the well reheased stern, neutral stare. "Understood, sir," the marine voices evenly, leaving his response to stand with those two words. Attention fixed on the CAG addressing him, other looks, baleful and otherwise, are not taken note of, just yet.
"Eh, the message in question being the Cylons nuking the frak out of all Twelve Colonies." Marko notes, stashing his helmet next to Leyla's. "Call me crazy, but that pretty much ended the whole 'colony versus colony' debate in my book." he adds, following along. "We've got troubles enough without piling on thousand year old grudges."
"Sir," utters Tisiphone, still clipped. She drops the salute as Cidra turns to Constin, and whirls away, continuing Operation Stalk-The-Hell-Off into the deeper parts of the prison yard, scooping up her dropped cigarette as she goes. Pay no attention to the hot red flush taking its sweet time fading away as she goes.
So sad that Bootstrap is late to the party. Being out of earshot and busy going over the Raptors will do that. Dressed in combat blacks, he now rummages into a pocket for a cigarette and starts to make his way CAGwards. By the time he arrives within line-of-sight, he's lit up. "So, what's the status of the generator? Presumably, not up an' running, seeing how I'm not seeing any snipes out and about on the playground." Yes, he just breezes right in, either not knowing about — or simply not caring — about the conversation he's trouncing upon.
Cidra acknowledges Tisiphone's salute sharply and lets her go. The CAG's posture remains straight, though she continues on with Other Business in such a thoroughly professional tone, she doesn't appear to have missed a beat after that little scene. Apparently. "Save Medical and whatever work your Marines need to do in terms of security, I intend to order our people to keep clear of the prisoner's cells," she says. "Let me know if you require anything additional to see this place secured. I shall endeavor it be gotten promptly. I hope we can conduct our business more simply from here. In addition to search for survivors and salvage, Command still wants an investigation of those 'bases' the Cylons constructed before we leave planet. See if we can figure out what made them desert this place." Charming planet though Sagittaron is. When Trask approaches, she offers him a small nod. "Bootstrap. Not as of yet. We have only just finished putting our own boots on the ground. Our personnel are settling in. I would like what engineers and mechanics we have down here to take a look at it promptly, though it is my intention to keep the gate itself closed. I do not mind the idea of transport in and out of here being strictly by plane for the moment."
"Well, that's my point exactly, Flasher. The Cylons sent a message, but not everyone is picking up on it. Certainly not that delightful Ensign we just passed in the yard. But I don't imagine time is going to change much, for some, not until it's too late." Leyla takes a moment, speaking to one of the people moving boxes, and gets a list of the incoming and already-heres. The incoming she hands to Flasher, the other she keeps for herself. "When you lose everything else, and you're not sure if you have the strength to carry on, what do you have left to hold onto, but the memory of things that were?" And Leyla is a prime example of that, minus the spitting. She hasn't touched another human being, living anyway, with an ungloved hand since Warday, and even gloves on, she avoids physical contact like the plague. She didn't even shake Flasher's hand the first time she met him. But her voice drops, keeping the volume down so the sound doesn't filter past her ECO, "I wouldn't mind a little reconnoitering later though. I could use some nice little scraps to make things out of."
Cora nods to Cidra as she turns back to business, replying, "I'm working over the recon footage we have of those cylon bases now," she informs major and sergeant, "I'd like to have the options narrowed down and further recon done in the next couple days so that we can choose one and schedule a visit. And yes, the continued search for survivors will begin again in the morning." Trask's arrival is more or less ignored as she instead glances back at Constin and nods, "I'll leave the matter of securing the cells and other areas to the marines, and speak to Medical about getting a team in there to investigate in the meantime."
Marko oofs as Leyla suddenly passes him a box that weighs much more than he expected, causing him to stagger for a moment before recovering to pass it on to the next hand. "Hey, a little warning next time!" he protests, "As an ECO, I'm obliged to be delicate of frame and constitution." he chuckles, riffing on his own current state of out-of-shapeness. "Eh..guess you got a point." he concedes, settling into classic 'grab and pass' posture, braced for the next box. "Then again, I'm one of those idle Capricans." he chuckles. "I never could figure out what the frakking problem was to start with. A colony doesn't wanna be part of the big collective after the war, fair enough, let 'em go. One less planet to worry about."
"With the fresh boots on the ground from Cerb? We can secure the base camp and accompany outgoing missions without straining the rotation, sir," Constin nods curtly back to the CAG's orders. "There is nothing else at this time, Major," the Sergeant states, before Cid's eye and words turn to Trask, directing his own eye and address to Cora. "Yes, sir. Anything comes up, you'll hear."
Cidra inclines her head to Constin. "Very good. And my thanks again on your suggestion of a location of this nature, Sergeant. It was a good notion." Well, tactically, at least. He is left to go about his business after that.
Taking a leisurely drag, Trask holds it a moment, then exhales through the nostrils. "Copy that," he says, plucking the cigarette from betwixt his lips. "I'll scrounge some snipes an' see if we can figure out if it's salvageable." That said, a cursory, two-fingered, scout-style salute is offered, with a respectful, "Major," and a tacked-on, "et al." With that, unless called to halt, the SL goes to put his electrical engineering degree to use.
The 'delightful Ensign', meanwhile, has taken her sweet, sweet time slowly making her way back along the original prison block, staring over at the massive basalt structure as she smokes down her cigarette, lights a fresh one off the dying cherry of the previous, then smokes some more. She finally vanishes from sight entirely as she rounds a corner. Destination: Unknown.
Marko spends the next hour or so hauling cartons, tins and boxes, working up so powerful a sweat, he's forced to shed his flight suit, and work in his skivvies, like the rest of the line jacks.