AWD #084: Blood Calls Out For Blood
Blood Calls Out For Blood
Summary: Knox goes to Holtz with a report and a request, but their conversation doesn't go the way he'd hoped.
Date: 31/03/2013
Related Logs: Mob Mentality
Holtz Knox Ygraine 
Viper Squadron
The berthings for the Orion's Air Wing are the same as what one would find on any other Mercury-class Battlestar, though they are distinctly different from the rest of the bunks on the ship. These bunks are separated not into sections of sixty, but by squadron. That means that there is a little more room to move around with only twenty to twenty-five pilots in one bunkhouse. Some officers have brought a small rug to sit in front of their bunks, but the tables and chairs are standard military issue. At the rear is a small couch that was probably new when the ship left anchorage and seems to have been kept carefully clean. The crest of the Lucky Strikes has been painted onto the wall behind the couch, as well.
March 31, 2005

It's a quiet evening in the Lucky Strikes' barracks. Holtz is the only one here, seated at the table in the center of the room, several open binders in front of him, a flask on one side and an ashtray on the other. A cigarette is planted in his lips, a pen in his hand as he scribbles something onto a sheet of paper.

A figure steps through the door, a Marine in combat fatigues with his sidearm on his pistol belt. Noticably without the MP brassard. It doesn't take more than a moment, if any at all, to recognize who it is. The Other One. Ceres' partner. He goes to parade rest to the side of the hatch and nods to the man at the table. "Captain Holtz, sir. I was wondering if I could speak with you for a few minutes, sir. I won't waste your time by indicating that its official business when its not, but I would like to speak with you if you'd be willing to, Captain." Her keeps it formal and respectful.

The captain's head barely rises as he points his eyes in Knox's direction. His expression is cold as his eyes flick from Knox's sidearm back to the man's face; finally, he leans back, putting out his cigarette before crossing his arms over his chest. For a long moment, then two, then three, he just stares, that same expression locked on his features before he finally gives a short nod. "Speak your peace." There's chairs, but he doesn't invite Knox to sit down.

"Thank you, sir," Knox says, nodding once. He doesn't move, just standing at parade rest. "Sir, a mob assaulted Captain Garrido this afternoon. Hazard of the position, yes, and I'm not here looking for a sympathy trip. But she threw no punches to return fire and was only trying to escape. I've spoken with her about the incident briefly. She indicated that she wants to fly, but some of the personnel involved are from the Deck team. There are concerns, to my mind, that these individuals may intend to come after her. If they try to come after her, they may try to go after her Viper. If they go after Vipers, other pilot's Vipers may be at risk — including those of pilots who may not be so opposed to her placement. I am here offering zero threats, only in the role of a concerned family member, Captain." He takes a long breath. "She only wants to fly. Whether or not you put her back on that status is none of my business, the same way that my walking patrols in the nuclear tubes is not the business of the Wing. But I would ask you, sir, if there is any way that she or myself could work towards gaining your trust again."

If Holtz has any reaction to the news of the assault on Ceres, he does an excellent job of hiding it. His features don't so much as twitch, and there's another long silence. Finally, he rises to his feet and begins to pace, his steps carrying him next to his own bunk before he stops again and looks darkly at Knox. "She's a Nine," he says finally, as if Knox himself had said nothing at all. "I'm curious. What're you? The number, I mean."

Knox watches the reaction with the same flat expression. "She was born a Nine, yessir." He blinks at the question. "According to my people, I would be a Six. I ceased being that to my original people long ago, Captain." No return questions, just an answer.

"Six," Holtz echoes. "Whatever decisions you've made, Six, don't change what you are." He leans over to grab something from on top of the headboard. It's a knife, a long one, in a leather sheath. "So. You want to talk to me about trust?" He takes a few slow steps towards Knox. "And why the frak should I ever trust you? Or her?" He rips the knife from its sheath, and uses the blade to draw a red line across his palm. As he raises his palm to face Knox, a drop of blood oozes down his hand to drop on the floor. "There is blood between us, and blood calls out for blood. Trust you? I'd rather kill you." His voice never loses its chill. "But I am denied that."

Fresh from her post Alert 5 shower, Ygraine's new regular route once she's done tends to now include a stop in the viper berths. She doesn't keep Holtz's schedule in her head, and she seems a little strident about making sure she doesn't crowd him, but these stopovers have become a quickly developed habit. She's running her fingers through loose, wet blonde hair that sticks to her shoulders and dampens the back of her tee shirt as she walks in, opening her mouth to offer greeting that dies off when she sees the two men, and the one with the knife and the bleeding. She stands still, flicking her gaze between them, and doesn't move.

Knox is standing to the right of the hatch in his combat fatigues with pistol belt, holding at parade rest. He doesn't say anything to Holtz as the knife, but his eyes flick to it, then to the blood. His eyes lift to the Captain and he looks right back at him. "Sir, if you'd rather kill me, then that's your own judgment. But you, Captain, put that blood there. Not I, not Captain Garrido." He glances to Ygraine and dips his head. "Lieutenant Vashti, sir." Coop looks back to Holtz, then, "If that's how you feel, sir, then I guess I have nothing further. My concern is for the safety of your pilots and an attempt to try and find common ground there. Will there be any other questions, Captain?"

"And did I burn Tauron, too?" Holtz's voice quiets to a deadly whisper. The knife is thrown down onto the table, the bloodstained blade pointed in Knox's direction. "Get out." He stands there, shoulders squared, impassive even as blood slowly drips onto the floor, eyes smoldering as he stares at Knox.

"Sergeant." Ygraine says neutrally, her expression faintly bleak as her gaze shifts from between the enlisted to the squadron leader and back. She steps further inside, but doesn't approach Holtz; instead she heads for the first aid kit quietly.

"Did I?" Knox asks in return, watching the knife clatter. He looks to it a moment after it stops, then he looks back to Holtz with the order. "Copy, sir." He nods his head and steps out of the hatch to pull it closed behind him.

Storm doesn't answer the return question, simply staring after Knox with hate-filled eyes. Only after the marine is gone does he sit back down and sigh, his still-bleeding hand reaching for the flask forgotten on the table. With a swift motion, he opens it and drains the contents in a single gulp.

Ygraine remains silent, bringing the kit over and pulling out the antiseptic salve and the bandages. Gingerly she reaches for the wrist of the wounded hand, and if he lets her, she'll see to it, though her gaze occasionally darts to the closed hatch.

When Ygraine's hand touches his wrist, Holtz' head snaps in her direction, eyes flashing. He nearly barks at her, but the words die in his throat at the last moment, only a guttural grunt any indication he'd meant to speak at all. He's scowling, but nevertheless he'll allow her to tend to the cut on his hand. It's a deep wound, but not so deep as to require a doctor's attention.

Her grip is firm, as she applies the antiseptic, and then proceeds to bandage his hand. "I was wonderin'," she says, her eyes on his hand, and not his face, "If you had a picture of her." No need to ask who. "I'd like t'see. If ya'd allow me to."

Holtz simply sits in stoic silence as Ygraine does her work. When she's finished, though, he rises to his feet, picking up the knife from the table and walking back towards his rack. A small cloth wipes the blood from the blade before Storm slams it home in its sheath; it's placed back on the headboard from where he'd retrieved it. He reaches out again, taking a photograph off the far wall of the bunk where he's got several posted before walking stiffly back to the table and Ygraine; the picture is offered to her.

It's a picture of a square, or perhaps a public park; there's a small artificial pool in the background, fed by a stone fountain and ringed by green grass. Close up in the foreground are two smiling faces, a man and a young girl; the man is clearly Holtz himself, identifiable even with hair much longer than it is now. The girl is doubtlessly his daughter; the family resemblance in the eyes and the cut of her features is unmistakable.

Ygraine takes the picture gently in her hands. Sitting down, she considers it a long time, her fingers lightly brushing the glass over the pair of happy faces. "She looks just like you." Ygraine says with a faint smile, adding, perhaps cheekily, "Only, y'know…pretty."

"Hah." Holtz' smile is thin, even wintry, but it's a smile nonetheless. "She was beautiful." He, too, looks down at the picture, losing himself in the memory. "Such a sweet girl." Wry headshake. "Which always confused me, to be honest, because I know she couldn't have gotten it from me or her mother."

"Sometimes souls are just like that." Ygraine says, smiling as she studies the photo. She looks up at him then. "There's nothin' that makes it better. But I am so sorry. I don't know if I ever said that to ya."

"She had a good one." Holtz' smile fades as he reaches out, gently plucking the picture from his hands to look at it himself. At her last, he makes a strangled sound. "Well. Nothin' for it now," he manages, voice quavering ever so slightly, a finger tracing along the picture of his daughter's face before he finally stands once more. He moves to his rack, eyes locked on the picture before finally, reluctantly, placing it back with the rest of his things.

Ygraine walks over to stand next to him, silent again. She slides her hand into his, but otherwise says nothing.

Holtz manages to keep his composure, even as a slim hand slips into his own, if only just barely. He gives her hand a squeeze, a weak smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he nods at the bed. "I'd better get some sleep. Another long day tomorrow, yeah?" They're all long days, these days.

"Course." she says. "They're all long days, yeah?" She gives him a faint smile before letting his hand go. Some nights are not for sharing…and she understands that.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License