| We Remain… the Fighting Fourteenth! |
| Summary: | The first new Nuggets since the holocaust complete Cerberus' rushed flight training and get their wings. |
| Date: | 10 Oct 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Various. Rather than the traditional 'Related' listing here, they are linked when referenced throughout the log. |
| Players: |
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| Ready Room - Deck 7 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| With the hatches at the rear of the room, the walkways on both sides slope down towards the dais at the front of the room. The stadium seating forms a partial semi-circle around the speaking podium and provides enough seats for all three hundred members of the Air Wing. The walls are adorned with the patches of each squadron aboard and their mottos stenciled in white lettering above each one. Behind the podium is a set of large LCD screens that can display any matter of material from reconnaissance to maps to gun camera footage. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #226 |
It is briefing time for the pilots of Cerberus' Carrier Wing Fourteen. Not exactly an unusual occurrence. The updates to all and sundry on upcoming missions and orders of the day are held regularly. Though today something slightly special is on the docket. The first 'class' of Nuggets to make it out of the battlestar's hastily cobbled together training program are set to receive their commissions and full-fledged ensign wings. A bit of good news, after months where it has been perhaps in short supply. It's nearly the appointed time and personnel are just beginning to arrive and seat themselves in the cavernous room. Made to hold three hundred, it's been only half full, at best, even when all personnel are gathered here, since the losses of the Cylon attacks. And all the came after. The CAG has not arrived yet. Odd, perhaps. While there are still minutes to spare, Major Cidra Hahn is usually early for these things and already lurking at the podium when her charges drift in. Not today, however.
No, taking point at the podium is not Major Cidra Hahn but Lieutenant Kal Trask. Perhaps he's keeping her seat warm. Maybe he just wants everyone attending to experience a moment 'zOMGWTFBBQSAUCEKILLMENOWPLZKTHX?!'. Whatever the reason, dressed in his flight suit, he's reviewing notes of some manner or another.
All decked out in her blues, Andrea walks into the ready room still showing a touch of relief at having found it in time for the meeting. Finding a seat that has been available at most of these meetings, she sits down, doing her best to stay out of folks way until things start. This will be the nugget's show, after all.
Enter hurried and harried Psyche, still damp from the showers and doing up the last buttons on her blues. She's late, she's late, she's — ! She stops and glances this way. And that. She's, like, practically the first one here. And — "Where the frak is the CAG?" she murmurs, though her expression is one of mild, troubled concern rather than annoyance. Annoyance springs briefly to life at seeing Bootstrap at the podium, wrinkling her nose, but she pushes it aside and takes a breath, taking another look about. Yep. No Cidra. All is not right with the world. "'Kay…" She goes forth to find a seat, for there's certainly no lack of them.
Junior Lieutenant Apostolos ambles in through the hatch, head tipped forward as she attends to lighting her cigarette. Her duty blues are pressed, her boots are shined, her scalpfuzz is freshly-shorn; if her expression was a little more lively, she'd look every inch the squeaky clean Ensign she was, once upon an apocalypse ago. She finds a spot about halfway down, far off to the side, and drops down into the seat, slouching her shoulders into the backrest.
Khloe isn't seated with the rest of the pilots already here, but instead stands off to the side of the room, nearest to the highest concentration of seated Knights. She has a manilla folder tucked under her left arm, and her hands are folded in front of her, fingers threaded. She looks mildly on the tense side, and she has a mild scowl on her face - standard fare for the former straight-laced Checkmates pilot.
Lt. Sophronia's sitting in the back once she has made her arrival, a seat taken alone for now. All that she has with her is a small notebook and a pen for notetaking.
Evandreus is here a few minutes early, with all his… bountiful free time? Anyhow, dutifully off-dutied, he perches on the back of one of the chairs, facing the next row up as he chatters bright-eyed with a couple of others, gesturing with one hand while the other helps him keep balance, a tuff of cotton taped to the inside of his arm speaking of a recent trip to the s'bay. "'Cause it was an -axe,- right?"
Sam Bran is here, for what it's worth amongst the grand scheme of things. The ECO sits near to the center and slightly off to the right, flight suit worn but informally, for now: he's now off the clock, so to speak. He's early to the shindig and the man is busying himself with a scrap of paper on his right knee and the doodles a pen of his is currently placing across its surface in a dark ink.
Devlin arrives on time, dressed, for perhaps the first time ever (and hopefully not the last) in that blue uniform. He smooths an unwrinkled sleeve as he heads with a couple of the other nuggets up to the front row. It's only once he's seated that he seems to come out of the zone he's in and look around the room, twisting in his seat to see who is where.
There's a low wolf-whistle as Devlin passes down the aisle, from somewhere in the center rows. By the time the nugget turns to look up behind him, Tisiphone is studying the blank projection screens on the wall beyond him, expression carefully neutral.
Marko slips in later than usual, and looks about for an inconspicuous place to sit, nodding to his fellows on the air wing as he passes. The young junior lieutenant has been looking and acting curiously distracted of late, and it all can't be put down to his recent marriage. In fact, no-one seems to have seen Marko and Lunair together after their wedding night.
Spying a familiar and beloved shorn pate, Psyche comes down to where Tisiphone sits. She doesn't bother to sidle out and walk down, however. No, that would lack spectacle. Instead, she clambers like a rather clumsy monkey over the backs of several rows of seats until she plunks herself down beside the newly minted Jig. Once there, she flashes a smile at waves excitedly to Devlin, then settles in quietly. Apparently, sitting beside Tis is, in itself, both a greeting and as much expression of affection as she's going to foist on the other pilot. But the preference speaks volumes.
Cidra does eventually show. Not late, but right on the cusp of being so, and her step is rather brisk as if she's well aware she's nearing tardiness. Odd, that, given her general strict promptness. Still, she looks as composed and pulled together as is (generally) her manner. Blues buttoned and pressed, dark hair affixed in a neat, upswept bun. She strides up to the podium at the head of the room, cloudy blue eyes sweeping the assembled personnel. Pause on Trask, and the faintest of smiles. "How does the day find you, Boots?" There's a casual familiarity, and almost warmth, to her greeting to the ECO that might also seem odd, given the formality of the setting.
Devlin blinks at that whistle and does look around to try to find its source once he's in his seat, peering at the crowd. Tisiphone is eyed for a long moment, his expression somewhere between suspiciously curious and concernedly so, and then he snorts softly as Psyche clambers over rows to join the Jig. He gives the blonde a smile and a bit of a wave, just fingers before Cidra arrives and he turns around to face front again.
There's a soft, smoky huff of breath — amusement, maybe — as Tisiphone slants her pale gaze to Psyche's off-roading entrance. "He cleans up pretty well," she notes to her fellow pilot, sotto voce, with a point of her chin toward the nugget down yonder. As Psyche settles into the chair, she slouches down lower, propping one booted foot against the back of the chair in front of her.
As Devlin is eyeing the pilots to one side of the briefing room, Andrea gives a wolf whistle of her own. Might as well keep the guy looking, right?
Evandreus gives up on trying to explain the joke to a rather bored looking Stiffie in favor of looking up at the whistling and cupping his own hands around his mouth to give a series of appreciative shouts, cheering the Abs down to the front.
Gray-blue eyes flit left and right as Captain Vakos takes in the room. She shakes her head lightly at the casual atmosphere, but then again she was never one to venture far outside of her uniform and her Viper. Finally her attention is drawn to Major Hahn, whom gets her undivided attention - likely, things are about to go down.
Toastysense is tingling! Intent brown eyes flick from whatever documentation the Harriers' SL was reviewing to alight on the doorway. "Officer on deck!" is called-out with the kind of command that befits someone holding a command position, complete with crisp salute for the CAG. Between his abnormal show of formality and Cidra's uncharacteristic display of familiarity, it's possible this might be some perverse hazing ritual of the Air Wing's brain meats. Gathering his things, a faintly amused smile lazily curls one corner of his mouth. "It finds me as well as it does," is the answer about his well-being. "S'all yours, Cid." Exit Stage Right… off to wait in the Ready Room's wing, so to speak.
Psyche just beams as the general approbation continues, nodding to Tis. "I know, right?" she murmurs, grinning. She cannot but agree.
Marko perks up a little at Tisiphone's arrival and gives his friend a wave and a little smile before turning to take in the people in the room. Cidra's words bring him to attention like a shot.
Cidra acknowledges Trask's salute, which serves as a general acknowledge to the room. "Settle now," she says simply, taking her place at the podium and clearing her throat. "I shall not keep you long. But we have matters to settle today. We have been long over Aerilon and doubtless many of you are wondering where it is this ship shall move next, and how we shall next confront the enemy, and search for what remains of our people on the colonies. Of this I can tell you only a little. Command has not seen fit to divine all its plans to me as yet. But we shall be prepared for wherever they thrust us. First, however. To the heart of our matters today. Some months ago, we did begin recruiting potential pilots and counter-measures officers, to make some effort to shore up our ranks. Under ideal circumstances, it takes two years of concentrated instruction to make a Colonial military pilot. Well. We do not have the luxury of time, and there is no such thing as ideal any longer. But among our Nuggets are men and women who have that labored hard over several months to hone a disparate cobble flight experience and rushed military training into a Colonial flight officer. In the coming months we shall make more, but these ones are ready now. You have earned your wings. The time for training is over. Nuggets, to the front, please."
Coming in actually late - by a few seconds, give or take - is Pallas. He's got somewhat of a valid excuse, as he's just come off CAP. That would also explain why he's in his flight suit still. Someone must've told him this is mandatory attendance, because from the look on his face, he has no desire at all to be in this room. He takes a place by the back wall. When Trask calls out the officer on deck, he doesn't come to attention or even move, but rather continues leaning back against the wall, watching.
Devlin stands on cue, along with the four other nuggets he's seated beside in the front row. All in their blues, apparently having been given some measure of warning as to what this meeting would entail, they traipse together up to the front as bidden, lining up for Cidra. Devlin's posture is straight and a little stiff, hands clasping behind his back, not quite looking at anyone in particular in the seats.
Evandreus is in the process of getting himself off of his awkward little backward perch and into something closer to a standing position when Cidra waves off the customary stand-and-deliver, and he just flops into the seat he'd been resting a foot on moments before, coming to face front and lifting up a hand again, this time not to make noise but to half-hide a yawn, drawing his chin toward his shoulder so as to not be showing off his tonsils to the CAG in the middle of her speech.
Marko settles back in his seat and smiles proudly as the nuggets rise and begin their 'graduation' ritual.
Bran stops drawing a smiley face on a Raider on his pad and glances over his shoulder as he leans back in his seat. All the cat-calling, he figures he ought to check it out, at least before being called to attention. The pen is clicked smoothly away and rise does he, curling both writing utensil and paper into a concealed spot within his right hand. Then, he's let to sit back down and he does, returning back to his lazy posture but this time listening instead of doodling.
Andrea leans back in her seat, a soft smile glowing as the nuggets rise. She hasn't been there to watch them grow, but it is always cool to see new kids get their wings. And with most of them, watching them walk away isn't the worst thing in the worlds, either.
Psyche's fingers are laced together and pressed to her lips, eyes big and attentive, her diminutive being all puffed up with pride. She simply glows with delight as she watches the nuggets, standing tall and proud in their last moment of nuggethood.
Khloe's attention moves forward to observe the line of nuggets. In particular, she watches one person out of all of them. Her eyes narrow slightly as she observes the proceedings.
Alessandra looks up and smiles, watching the events as they unfold. She doesn't applaud or anything like cheer but it should be obvious that she's proud of the newest additions to the Colonial Navy and the Cerberus' Air Wing.
Tisiphone gives Marko a mute up-nod of greeting when she spots him, the corner of her mouth twitching once. Her attention moves to the CAG, next, and then from her to the nuggets as she finishes speaking. "Eris, let them not suck," is muttered on a smoky exhale, her cigarette-wielding hand drawn back to rub at one of the charms on her soma cuff as if it was suddenly itchy.
Five men and women heed that call to form a line before the podium. Less than half of those enlisted in the ship's 'Nugget' training. Some, likely coming from a bare minimal flight background or having started at this process later, are still unready to receive their wings. A few are likely on the verge of washing out of it, barring some desperate last-ditch effort to make them pilots. But over the last months they've managed to craft a handful of former civilians and enlisted and wash-outs into flight officers, and they join the ranks of the Fighting Fourteenth this day. Cidra steps up to brass them, digging into her pockets. The end of the world still, it seems, leaves one short of those little ceremonial boxes. Three Viper trainees, including Devlin, a Raptor pilot and an ECO.
Cidra works through them alphabetically, it seems. New Ensign Cecille Cameo, the new Raptor jockey, first. She receives her pins and a kiss from the CAG. On the lips. Which may not come as a surprise for those who've had something bestowed on them by the Gemenese woman before. That done, she moves on to Devlin. "Ensign Alexis Thaddeus Devlin. You have come along well."
Folder tucked underarm, Trask assumes a parade rest stance from his position in front and off to the side. When Cameo gets pinned, he smiles a small but satisfied smile… following by a cheeky 'your ass is officially mine' look at the new Ensign the instant she glances in his direction.
Devlin waits his turn, eyes trained on the wall. When Cidra reaches him, he shifts his gaze to the CAG, and there might be just the faintest flicker of a smile in his lips when she says his name. "Thank you, sir," he replies quietly.
"Alexis?" Marko mouths, cocking an eyebrow as the man receives his wings. Shaking his head, his shoulders shake for a moment with silent laughter before he settles back down to watch the ceremony. "Welcome to the Air Wing." he says quietly. "Give your heart to the Gods, 'cause your ass now belongs to us."
"They won't suck," Psyche whispers, eyes still on the ceremony. It's obviously a reply to Tisiphone, but it sounds as though she's assuring herself, as well. "CAG wouldn't pin anyone who sucked. They'll be brilliant."
Evandreus spots that briefest of Proud Papa Boots smiles from Trask and it tweaks at his giddy place just enough to make the corner of his mouth wrestle to contain a giggle with a 'g'aww' sort of half-grin. He braces a boot against the seat in front of him and buckles down for the rest of the pinnings.
Khloe's fingers unthread and she crosses her arms across her chest, one hand balling up into a fist and moving up to cover her mouth. It's probably to stifle the upturned corners of her mouth when Cidra dresses up Devlin. Despite all the flak she's given the nugget, she's showing a sliver of happiness for him.
Cidra pins Devlin. Once the collar to make him an ensign. And again on his lapel. Flight wings. She presses those in place with a bit more feeling. And then she kisses him as well. Not on the lips, in Devlin's case. A soft peck on each cheek. Like the kiss she gave Cameo, there's nothing romantic about the gesture. It has a familial, ceremonial quality to it. Then, on down the line she moves, pinning all the remaining Nuggets in similar fashion. A pair of fiery young women - Demetria Flanagan and Trina Logue - join Devlin as the Wing's newest Viper pilots. While an older fellow called Henry Launiere (he's probably younger than Pallas. Probably) becomes their newest ECO.
Once she's done with the line, Cidra sends them back to their seats. "You shall receive your squadron assignments tomorrow and take your place in the Fighting Fourteenth. Good hunting, and clear eyes and steady hands. You have chosen a hard road and made good upon it thus far, and we honor you for answering the call to service."
"Between Professor Bell and Shiv, they'll know how to fly, at least," mutters Tisiphone to Psyche. Sleet-blue eyes narrow upon the ceremony at the front as she drags on her cigarette and blows the smoke out at the ceiling and its poor beleaguered air-scrubbers. At the end of Cidra's words, she puts a pair of fingertips to her lips and issues a piercing whistle; her preferred method of cheering.
Devlin doesn't move as he is pinned and kissed, shooting Psyche a brief glance afterwards, and a hint of a smile that Tisiphone gets included in before he looks away again. He stays still, silent, and neutral-faced as the other three nuggets get their pins, and then all five head back to their seats in the front row when dismissed.
Psyche puts her hands together for the newest members of their honorable fraternity, with all its glamor and glory and appallingly short life expectancy. And if that latter bit makes the moment bittersweet for her, she doesn't show it, applauding vigorously and beaming like a beacon.
Pallas claps slowly from the back once the little ceremony appears to be over. Not a single one of the new Ensigns gets any more than a glare from the old pilot during the whole ordeal. Still, more bodies in the Air Wing means potential less hours spent on CAP rotations, so he'll clap.
"Aaoow!" comes the shout from the Bunny to show his approval of the proceedings. If it didn't sound quite so up in tone, it might be taken from a shriek of pain, but, as it is, it comes off more celebratory than not.
Marko applauds loudly, giving a few cheers for the newest members of the Fighting 14th. Gods know, they have so little to celebrate these days.
Cidra makes no move to quell the wolf-whistles or howls or loud applause. They actually make her smile. Albeit a bittersweet smile. Perhaps her own thoughts aren't far from Psyche's. She clears her throat again. "These last days have been particularly hard…" Brief pause. Voice catching a bit. But she recovers quickly. "…I do know, and I have put more weight on the shoulders of some here. I trust not only that they are worthy of it, but that we all shall assist in bearing it together. On that note. Captain Khloe Vakos, now of the Black Knights, has some words for her and hers." With that, she steps aside to clear the podium. She doesn't take a seat. She isn't, apparently, done. But she stands off to the side of the new Knights' SL has room to talk.
Andrea puts her fingers in her mouth and gives a whistle of her own until Cidra has Khloe come up to speak. Interested, she quiets again.
Psyche's arms cross over her chest and she slouches down, her posture an echo of Tis's lanky nonchalance. Then, catching herself, she sits up straighter and unfolds, arranging her hands neatly in her lap. Her hyper-expressive features are uncommonly neutral.
When Khloe is called up to the stage, Pallas' interest is piqued. He stands up just a little bit straighter and crosses his arms over his chest. He spots Andrea when she whistles from the crowd; his eyes narrow her way for a moment before focusing back toward the front.
Tisiphone glances sidelong to Psyche as she straightens up. Her own narrow shoulders shift against the backrest, as if she's undecided between a deeper slouch and straightening up herself. Finally, after a slow drag of smoke, she compromises — taking her boot off the backrest in front of her, which pulls a bit of the slouch out of her position. Her expression, too, is neutral bordering on cool.
Marko settles back into his seat as he watches the Knight's new SL make her public debut. He's seen the woman around some, the air wing is, after all, only so big. But he's never had any dealings with her or talked to anyone who has. He seems quite interested in how the Knights are going to bear up after being with Shiv for so long.
Khloe quietly puts her hands together in polite applause, now that she's managed to maintain her icy exterior. At the Major's words, she straightens up, tugging her uniform jacket straight, and with a measured pace heads down the side isle to approach the podium. A small nod is given to Cidra, and the manilla folder under the Captain's arm is removed and unfolded so that she can read the single sheet of paper within. "Thank you, Major," she begins, clearing her throat in attempt to get a better projection of her command voice.
"Some of you know me. Most of you, I've flown with," she begins. "Most of you call me Captain, or Poppy; some of you have called me 'sir'. Regardless what we call each other, we are family. What we've seen today is five children becoming men and women. The brass they wear on their uniforms is a sign of commitment to discipline, honor, and service. Each and every one of them has been tested, perhaps harder and with more pressure than any of us experienced in the Academy or in flight school. And for their success, I salute them."
Khloe pauses slightly, to allow for any new applause or sounds of appreciation to rise up and then die away again. "Now, on to the Black Knights. Blowback was glad to release me at the request of Major Hahn to become the new Es-El of the Knights." There's a pause, and the new Captain closes her folder, abandoning her notes. "I'm… not much for words of encouragement. Most of you know how I am and how I do things, so I'll just cut to the chase. I'm not Shiv. I can never succeed him; the respect he commanded, the friends and loved ones he had. At my best, I will replace him, and I will do my best to provide the rock that the rest of you Knights need to do your jobs." There's another pause, and the woman rests a hand on the podium. She sidelong glances to Cidra, almost to say something else, but instead, her facial features firm back up again and she steps aside, taking her folder with her. "Audax at fidelis," are her parting words.
"Support eternal. So say we all," Cidra mutters. More to herself than the general room, really, though with her position at the front of it, it carries. She takes a moment to do more throat clearing. "Thank you, Poppy. Boots. Umm. I believe you have a word from our Raptor contingent, if you please." She seems glad to avoid retaking the floor immediately.
"Fight and fly and die, Sir," replies Tisiphone to her new SL's final words, punctuating them with a sharp flickFLICK of thumbnail against her cigarette's filter. The words are dour, shaped around a downward twist of mouth, though her eyes remain shuttered and unreadable, aimed at a spot off to Khloe's side.
Devlin says nothing, remaining seated well upright in his front-row seat. If Khloe's speech garners any sort of reaction from the new ensign, he does not show it.
"So say we all," Alessandra drawls quietly to herself, her head bowed slightly. That's the first she has spoken since the meeting's began but she's not inclined to say anything else as Trask's called to the front of the room, her attention fully on him.
When Bootstrap is called to the podium, Psyche does slouch down, and furthermore stifles a yawn. She tucks her hands beneath her upper arms, getting snug and comfortable. "Wake me when it's over," she murmurs to Tis. "Boots's piece or the war. Whichever comes first."
"So say we all." Marko echoes, nodding approvingly at the way the Captain handled that. Exactly perfect, he calculates. Sort, to the point and calm.
Psyche's words earn a smoky snort from Tisiphone. "If I've got a bottle with me? It's the end of the war you're waking up to." For her part, she doesn't hunker down for a nap; her chin lifts slightly as her eyes flick forward, tracking Trask to the podium.
The graduation done, Andrea starts feeling a little edgy too, a feeling shared by the fellow pilots. Still, apparently there was more to be said.
Marko takes a seat and waits for Trask's comments to begin.
"So say we all," Trask wryly murmurs before making his way to the podium. "Right," is the to-the-point transition from one SL to another. "All y'all know who I am and how I am." Which is all that needs to be said about that. "Always sucks being the new kid." This appears to be directed to the no-longer nuggets. "People always suss you out, tryin' to see where you'll fit in the pecking order, whether or not you'll unsettle where they rank on the proverbial food chain. The shiny pins won't spare you any of that. It just means we'll mess with anyone who messes with you 'cuz you're ours to mess with. Welcome to the family. It's frakked-up and dysfunctional, but it's ours." And by ours, the Rooks likewise have ownership.
"The same goes to you, Poppy," Bootstrap continues. "Yeah, the Fightin' Fourteenth is all related, but the Harriers and the Knights are fraternal twins, so you're just as much a new kid as the new kids. And, like I said, always sucks to be the new kid, especially when you're movin' into the house that used to be inhabited by the guy who was everyone's buddy on the block before he moved far, far away. There will be dickery all-around. It's just the way these things go. I only hope that any ensuing assholery form all parties is limited in its pettiness." Is that for you, Apostolos? Maybe, but not looking at the redux JiG would be too non-jerkassy for the likes of him.
"On to a different kind of crap that encapsulates what it is to be in the Air Wing, we have some pending recons coming up — Tauron and Caprica, in particular — by week's end, ideally. Scorpia and Canceron are also of noted interest due to the shipyards and the mines, respectively. The footage from Picon brought back by Pens an' Sweet Pea," who Trask indicates with a mild cant of his head, "shows that the scrap that was the fleet has been swept-up and likely refurbished to be used in the series of basestars that the Cylons are currently building in orbit. If an' when the big brass decide what to do about that, we'll let you know. As far as ETA departure from Aerilon, take it up with Toast. Anyone with questions, feel free to speak with me later." Because, for now, he's done.
Psyche startles a little as her chin touches her sternum, having nodded off somewhere in the middle there. She blinks rapidy and clears her throat, straightening and tucking back her hair. Blinkblink.
Khloe turns her attention to Trask, hopefully with as much attention as she was afforded earlier. At his words about pettiness, the Captain's eyes briefly glance towards the crowd, alighting on Psyche for a brief moment. Guilty? Poppy grimaces slightly, but it's the barest of change away from stoicism. Everyone has their petty beef with everyone else, it seems. But at Trask's mention of the Raptor recon and the pilots who did it, she looks over Bran, and the newly arrived Leyla, and there's a hint of an upturned corner of her mouth and a brief look of pride.
Marko can't help but chuckle a little at Trask's speech, shaking his head a little as he watches the nuggets for their reaction. Leyla's arrival is noted with a smile and a nod.
Cidra retakes the podium, clearing her throat yet again before going on. "I thank you, Boots. I know not what precise Command has in store for our next step. None know yet why the Cylons have apparently abandoned some colonies, like Sagittaron and Aerilon, yet reinforce Virgon and Picon. For now, our salvage and recovery operations over Aerilon shall remain ongoing until we hear otherwise. We have some breathing room here to seek answers, but the enemy is regrouping. For what purpose we know not, but of that there can be little doubt. Still, we are stronger today than we were yesterday, and this a thing we have not been able to say for some time." She takes a breath before continuing.
"Most of us in this room remember Picon more than seven months gone now. When the Cylons came out of nowhere to put our colonies to cinders. Where we flew into the teeth of the enemy for the first time. We shall never replace all lost that day. We all carry Picon. We carry Virgon. Parnassus. Leonis. Audumbla. Sagittaron. All the battlefields where we have flown and fought and died. Our numbers are less than they were before those hard days. Some of us lost good friends, as those we loved, some they perhaps did not like very much at all when we touched down on the flight deck. But it does not matter. You pick your friends, but your family you are stuck with, and the bonds between family are stronger because they are forged in blood. That is what we are. We are brothers and sisters in shared service."
"However those we served with have fallen, they had times too many to count now put themselves on the line for this ship and many here would not be but for the actions they took at one time or another. All honors to the service of those lost, and we who remain shall carry their names forward. For we are not finished yet. We remain the Fighting Fourteenth. And whatever we were before, that is a thing to honor now. We are the first line defenders of this ship, this crew, and whatever people may remain back on the colonies. And that is no small thing. We are none of us so well-made for this as we would like to be. But I would trade no man or woman in this room for any Evocati. I am proud beyond measure to fly with you all." A slight break in her voice, and a moment's hesitation before she adds, "I do not say this enough. I do not want to miss the opportunity. Know it true. I love you all." She clears her throat and adds soft. "Dismissed." Whether she quite meant to go on like that is an open question. It was not, at all, inscrutable. She swiftly departs the podium and the room. Her pace is stately enough that it can't *strictly* be called fleeing. But it kind of is that.
It never fails that Sweet Pea gets the none to sweet assignments. Or perhaps, it's a good thing, since it seems most of the speechifying is over. But knowing the small pilot, it's likely more to the bad and less to the good, as she ducks her way in, quietly as possible, helmet ending up on an empty seat. There are so many of those these days, her flightsuited self back in the other. Nods all around, but silence, as is only appropriate, as she settles in to what might or might not be left of the pilot's meeting.
Devlin listens politely as the Harriers SL speaks, any shifting in his seat he was doing before ceasing lest it seem like the idea of being the new kid makes him uncomfortable. He sits even mroe still-ly when Cidra retakes the podium, his expression serious, even somber, as she speaks of the losses that are now in some way his as well. At that last, he looks faintly surprised, and turns to watch the fleeing CAG as she exits. There is a beat of a pause after she is gone, and only after that does he finally rise, stretching a little in his stiffly-ironed uniform and looking around again. They can go now, right?
Junior Lieutenant Apostolos? Petty? Guilty of assholery? Who, her? Tisiphone either can't be arsed to cop a faux-innocent expression, or knows better than to try. Pale brows lift just slightly, remain there a tick, then lower as she slouches down deeper into her seat for the rest of Trask's words. Perhaps she's borrowed the CAG's inscrutability for the evening, for her expression remains blank through the remnants of the speech and the quiet, "Sir," as she pushes herself up.
Psyche sits up straight and alert for the CAG's closing remarks, fingers lacing together and pressing against her mouth once more. Blue eyes ache with melancholy pride, and her throat works against a lump. There's a spate over rapid blinking, the sheen of her gaze overbright, as Cidra quits the podium… and she takes a deep, shuddering breath. Right, then. She presses a fingertips to the inner corners of her eyes and stands. "So say we all," she murmurs.
Marko's eyebrows go up at the unexpected display of emotion from the usually reserved and impossible to read Cidra. "Huh….now ain't that a sign of the times?" he comments for anyone who cares to hear. "Glad she got to say it, though." he nods.
Andrea bows her head at Cidra's closing remarks. She actually does not carry Picon so much as she carries the great flash that killed her transport and her family, but… she gets it. With a strong nod, she murmurs a soft "So say we all…" with many others in the room.
Khloe brings her heels together and stands briefly at attention as the Major dismisses the assembled, but she makes no other motion to salute or otherwise acknowledge the end of the meeting. However, she does watch as Cidra makes a hasty exit, brows furrowed in confusion.
Dismissed, Devlin congratulates his fellow nuggets, clapping them on the shoulder or even hugging a couple, but eventually he makes his way back up through the crowd to the row occupied by LT Devlin and LTJG Apostolos. He doesn't head down it, instead waving them out with a hand and a jerk of his chin.
Marko hauls himself out of his seat and gives the newly-christened pilots and ECO a wave and a thumb's up before scurrying off as quickly as his legs will allow.
Trask remains seemingly impassive. Taurians aren't noted for displays of sentimentality, even if they may be sentimental in their uniquely Taurian way. No concern is shown the manner in which Cidra departs, for whatever reason. Instead, he calls over to Cameo, "Oh-eight-hundred, Spotlight." Poor Ensign — her SL is gonna break-in her first CAP as a Harrier.
Psyche flashes Devlin a big, bright smile, banishing her verklemptitude with a last, little sniffle. She skip-sidles out to the aisle and throws her arms around him, though — with uncharacteristic restraint — she doesn't wrap her legs around him, too. And only kisses him on the cheek. "Congratulations, Ensign."
Tisiphone follows Psyche out to the aisle, giving Devlin another down-and-up inspection. She tucks her cigarette into the corner of her mouth and reaches out, giving his Ensign pin a tiny adjustment. Zero point zero five degrees off true, don'tcha know. "Good luck, man," she murmurs to him. Her eyes flick from the de-nugget'd nugget to Psyche before she turns and starts ambling for the exit.
Devlin gives Marko a wave as he passes, and then returns Psyche's smile, and chuckles both at her words and maybe also at the restraint. "Thanks, Lieutenant," he replies before adding a "Hey, Tis," over the blonde's shoulder. After a beat he grins and adds, "I mean, sir." The little pin adjustment draws a smile, and he replies, "Thanks, dude," as she heads off before turning back to his wife. "Can we go now? There is so much starch in this collar."
Man, first she sits down, now she has to stand back up. Still, it's done respectfully. Congratulations, as necessary, thought conversations are avoided, as Leyla grabs back up her helmet and makes room for the departing to, well, depart. Once the room's mostly clear, she'll make her own way out.
Speaking of collars, Poppy tugs at her jacket again, perhaps out of habit, or perhaps this time out of discomfort. But not with her uniform. She quietly heads for the exit, leaving the congratulations to happen between friends.
The formalities over, Andrea stands up and heads for the door with the others, a small smile on her face as she walks.
All has been done, all has been said, Bran finally lifts onto his feet and in a general subdued fashion he brushes a hand over the flight suit he wears and makes for the exit with the others. He looks behind him though and gives a look to the podium and the room in general. Then, he departs.