AWD #388: Broken Things
AWD #388: Broken Things
Summary: What starts on Pireaus as a simple conversation, leads to an almost brawl, and ends with a sedative being administered.
Date: Thu Jul 14 2016 (OOC Date)
Related Logs:
Bennett Lleufer Samtara Toby 
Checkpoint Charlie's - Piraeus
The first structure completed on Piraeus was a 'recreation center' that was thinly veiled as such. Checkpoint Charlie's is in every other way a blue collar bar with an unsurprising bent towards the military establishment. Camouflage netting hangs from the ceiling with some kind of dried vine tangled throughout. On the walls are pictures and mementos of times past on the planet they currently reside on. There are a few billiards tables smuggled out to Piraeus specifically for this location, along with card tables and an fully functional line of taps and kegs mounted to, perhaps unsurprisingly, a beat-up but taken-care-of oak bar. The matching stools and wood tables seem to indicate that the construction workers may have disassembled someone else's bar back on the Colonies. The story even goes that the name is taken from a former bar on Aerilon that happened to resemble, very closely, this particular establishment.
IC Date

Lleufer has been … well, if anyone bothered to notice and comment, they might say that the Marine has been aloof and keeping to himself. Usually gregarious and reasonably friendly, Ynyr has instead become silent. He turns up for his duty shifts, does his work, doesn't really say anything to anyone that isn't strictly required of him. When he gets off duty he keeps to himself, has been avoiding people, and overall keeping a very low profile lately. Though he has hit the sickbay for pain meds for his headaches.

Now he's got an entire day off duty he comes down to Piraeus as usual. Spare time is spend doing security details on Dr. Thanos' digs but right now he's just sitting in Charlies. Seated by himself off at a corner table, Lleu's in his off duty duds and hasn't bothered to pick out any of the civilian clothes that others have brought back to the ship. Nothing. He has a bottle on the table and a glass, sipping amber liquid that most certainly is not tea.

Spring, on planet, means what it means on every other planet with similar hemisphere parameters and distance to the equator and terrain that is given to human habitation and farming. In short: mud. Wearing a look that is more than mildly annoyed as she scrapes the mud off of the soles of her boots, then the sides of her boots and shakes off the moisture that clings to the rain slicker that she's wearing, Samtara stands just inside the entrance to Charlies (after getting the mud off of her boots) and skims one hand over her hair to smooth it away from her face. A not quiet sigh is exhaled as she moves away from the door, standing clear of the path at least, before tracking her way forward to speak with the person manning the bar. Sam isn't a regular patron, of course, but as the fleets CMO she is a familiar face all the same. Her request for a cup of tea is met with humor edged with resignation as she turns back toward the room itself and spots a familiar form seated by himself. Scratch that: seated with a bottle, a glass, and no actual company to occupy the other chair at the table. "Is this seat taken?" she asks as she approaches the table, gesturing with one hand at the empty chair.

Very, very softly to himself Lleu sings something in Aerilian (Gaelic) as well as the verses in Standard. It's an old song and a sad one.

"Air feasgar meallta a measg nan adag
One beguiling evening among the sheaves
Is pairt gun a bhuain, thainig tu'n rathad
With some of the corn uncut you came by
Is chuir mi mo speal an sin am falach
And I put my scythe then in hiding
Air eagal gun deanadh am faobhar do ghearradh
For fear that the edge of the blade would cut you
Ho ro o i o ho ro eile…"

Ynyr pays no attention to who's coming and going from the bar, looking off at nothing in particular. He is vaguely startled when she comes to his table. He glances up and actually looks unfriendly - until he realizes it's Samtara. She gets a blink and for at least a couple of seconds, no response. Like maybe he's considering saying that yeah, it's taken. But instead he says low, "No." and pours himself a little more to drink without looking at her.

<FS3> Lleufer rolls Singing: Good Success.

Briskly going through the usual motions to wipe down the seat, then her side of the table, and it's edge, Samtara waits a moment after employing the alcohol wipe for the moisture to evaporate before she takes the empty seat. "You're an artist, I didn't know that," she remarks as she - rather fastidiously - tucks the used alcohol wipe into the ziploc carried for such things and drapes her jacket over the back of the chair.

Ynyr eyes her actions like srsly? His soft singing has stopped. Lleu sips his drink lightly instead. "No, I'm not." A slow look over the establishment before his pale grey eyes come back around to Sam, "Officer's Lounge is over there." A faint up nod to indicate the part of Charlie's people like her prefer to this rougher, enlisted side of the bar. Has a door and everything and people like him aren't allowed in there. Samtara can probably smell the whiskey he's drinking. A bottle of Aerilian scotch that he's had stashed in his locker for months, since before Santo's Ridge that someone had found on Picon and given to him.

"I would disagree, anyone who can carry a tune and actually use their voice to sing like that is an artist, whether your like the description or not," Sam notes, reading the 'go away' vibe off of him as easily as she reads the results from a lab test. She eyes the bottle of scotch, at least reading the label to discern what it actually is even if she doesn't recognize the contents by color or scent alone. "I'm well aware of the location of the officer's lounge, and the door by which the location is accessed," again that mild tone of voice settles in place as she speaks. She glances up with a nod, paired with a quiet word of thanks to the server that brings over a mug and (mercifully) a pot of tea to employ with the mug for best results. She pours the tea into the mug, watching the steam at it rises, lowering the pot onto the ceramic tile provided to prevent the pot from scorching the surface of the table. "All the same, yes, you are. I couldn't carry a tune if it was welded to a bucket, the bucket tied to my hand, and easy instructions included."

Lleufer almost never ever sings anyway. He's kind of private about some things. He eyes Sam but doesn't say anything. She is entitled to her opinion. After another stretch of silence, he finally asks, "How's Flynn doing? I went to talk with Doc Forrester but I caught her at a bad time. Any luck with that Raider?" Throw a few topics out, let the Doc talk if she wants to.

Samtara tests the side of the mug with one fingertip then lifts her hand away again, the tea being a few degrees to hot, as yet, to actually enjoy without scorching the roof of her mouth or tongue. Eyeing the bottle that he's drinking from, and recognizing the 'change the topic' tactic when she hears it, Sam takes a moment to subtle alter the angle the pot of tea is positioned at, then the relative position of the mug of tea, and the napkin that she'd folded into precise quarters that is, in turn, relative to all other items on the table. Spatial alignment finally completed, she rests her hands in her lap and resumes her study of the sergeant, his glass, and the bottle, from across the table. In lieu of a return remark she simply aims a look of mild censure edged with curiosity at him from where she's seated.

It is amazing what a Marine can ignore. Hunger, fatigue, gun fire, mortars, biting flies, heat, or a Doctor's scathing gaze. His own eyes flick up to her once at her /not/ responding to his inquiries but if she doesn't wish to speak with him, he's all right with that too. Lleu leans back in his chair and fingers his glass before he takes another small, barely there sip. Enough to taste it. He allows his own thoughts to wander off and pays her no attention at all, the bastard.

Seeing as how the Sergeant isn't paying her any particular attention, Samtara leans calmly forward and lifts the bottle off of the table before leaning back, bottle in hand. She turns the bottle slowly, letting the light play off of the label, studying it for a moment before angling to read the - required - alcohol proof contents and makes a hum of sound, which (as always) is slightly off key. She then lifts the lid on the pot of tea and pours a tiny dollop inside before lowering the lid once more and adding an even tinier amount to the mug that's cooling. This accomplished, she doesn't give the bottle back, instead she leans forward and and tops off his cup. "If you're going to drink, you might as well do it properly. Otherwise this black cloud and fuk off vibe is just going to be wasted on the staff in here. You're just another patron, after all. Pay your coin, take up space, don't disturb anyone else, they don't care what you do, or why," the last part that states 'unlike me' doesn't actually have to be said aloud. It's implied. Sam is pretty good at the not talking about the messy things, emotions, but decent at allowing the correct implication to be conveyed. It's a skill.

She gets his attention right off when she takes the bottle. Lleu doesn't move, but he watches her. The bottle is marked 92 proof, averaging a bit over 45% alcohol. It has a strong, peaty smell and is very smooth. Ynyr faintly lifts a brow at her adding some to her tea pot and to her cup but he doesn't say anything to ask her not to. And then Sam even leans forward to top up his half glass a little? All right, he was completely not expecting that. He eyes her and listens to her commentary.

After a fairly long pause he says low, "Only drinking a little. Probably not going to find another bottle like that any time soon. Make it last." It's probably aged ten years, or likely more by now. He takes another very tiny sip. "Suits me just fine if they ignore me." Lleu was ignoring everybody else anyway.

Another muddy spring day on planet sees the usual mix of enlisted in the main room while the other, usual, mix of officers can be seen coming and going to and from the officers lounge. Seated at a table across from Leu, and still holding the rather expensive bottle of booze that he'd been sampling from, Samtara has a pot and a mug of tea on her side of the table. To note, her side of the table was wiped clean by the doctor before she took the seat, ok and the seat too, but that's just details. The 'frak off' and 'bugger off' vibe around Leu is damn near a visible cloud that would make most air craft veer away to find better weather to fly through. Samtara, however, seems to be less disturbed by the 'frak off' warnings than is probably healthy. "As you know, alcohol is a depressor. But, since you're already scraping the bottom of the barrel right now with your mood, I don't suppose you particularly care that this will only make it worse. Thus and so. If you're determined to set yourself even further back, go ahead. Finish your glass, I'll top it off for you when you do. A nice, rip roaring drunk is just what the doctor ordered. As your attending physician, I'll even help." She waves the server down, "Got anything else like this on hand?" she wonders and angles the bottle for the server to get a good look at. A bit of back and forth is exchanged before Sam passes over the requisite coin and the server heads away to go find something of comparable vintage and proof. "There, now we're on a roll."

Getting shitfaced might just be a great way to let go, loose stress, and super chill the hell out. Especially since he hasn't been allowed to drink in months. But Ynyr eyes Samtara as if he trusts her right now about as far as he might a viper. "I've always liked drinking. Just .. haven't in a long time." /Her/ orders. Lleu's still looking pretty unfriendly but he keeps his baritone low in volume and without anger. "Why don't you go away and enjoy yourself, Doc. I didn't come down here for company." Especially hers! His eyes to narrow a little half lidded, he keeps tabs on what's she's doing with that bottle of Aerilian scotch. No way Ynyr can replace that if she decided to take off with it.

Toby has been sent down to Piraeus to drop off gear for the team of deckies who're helping with the retrofit of the rhinos. That done he's got an hour or so until the shuttle raptor back and so has time to kill. As often when he's had free time down below of late he's hunting Dr Thanos. A quick check at CIDSR reveals she's not there, so now he's sticking his head into Charlie's just in case. It's a long shot he knows, but it's worth a look while he's here. Since he can't chwck the whole place out from the door, what with that pesky officer's lounge, he strides straigt in and towards the bar, where he can ask if she's about.

"Oh, come now, you want to drink, and what kind of friend would I be if I let you drink alone?" Sam wonders as she forgoes the mug of tea, already laced with the alcohol, and tips the bottle take a drink directly from the bottle itself. While, most likely, doing a bit of mental math to determine that the alcoholic volume of the contents of the bottle itself are likely sufficient to avoid the transferrance of germs of any kind. She takes not one drink but two, lowering the bottle then but not surrendering it. She nods as the server returns with the 2nd bottle that's been ordered, waits while the server sets the bottle down the heads back over to tend to the next patron, this being the newly arrived Toby of course. "Come. Drink up."

At about 92 proof it's totally enough alcohol to kill any germs, but she's safe. Ynyr hadn't put the bottle to his mouth and is using a small, half glass. It's strong and peaty, a relatively smooth single malt with a nice amber golden hue. Yeah, Lleu /really/ doesn't want to share that bottle with her either. He thins his mouth. "I'd appreciate it if you let me save that bottle and make it last, Doc. It was a gift." Like, hand it over, woman. Usually pretty friendly with Sam, he leans over to see if he can gently but firmly snag it back from the Captain. At about that same time he notices -Toby- of all people come in. Lleu goes still for a second and exhales a breath, barely audible, "Mother frakker." -That- is not directed at Samtara.

Toby has a brief conversation with the lass behind teh bar, orders a regretably non-alcoholic drink, and is about to sit himself on a stool when he hears voices and turns to spot Sam and Lleu. The former gets a quick nod, about as respectful as he manages given he has no really quarrel with the medical staff whereas Lleu, on the other hand, he gets a considering look. After a moment or two he then grabs his drink and heads over, stopping at the table but not actually sitting. Or not yet at least. "Either of you seen Doctor Thanos?" he asks, keeping a close eye on Lleu incase of further negative reactions.

"This bottle, hmm?" she wonders as she angles the bottle again, and leans back at the same time, not actually surrendering the bottle to Leu despite his request. She holds it so that she can read the label again, "What's so special about this one, hm, why this gift and not any other? Plenty of booze left in this world of ours, Sergeant; this one and any other. For all we know, the enemy could be all about purity of body along with their purity of soul, they probably don't drink at all. Just think of all those bars and warehouses that could be raided," she notes before glancing through the room to share a cordial nod with Toby and waits while he heads over. "Not today, no, but she's not typically in the clinic unless one or her crew of volunteers is in need of medical attention for some reason." She sweeps a look toward Leu then back to Toby, once again doing her socially inept best to read the different angles of body language present. "The sergeant has decided to have himself a bit of a drink. I thought I'd keep him company. Care to join us?"

Oh Sam. Now you are getting him a little angry. "Frak the Gods be damned Cylons." Not looking at Toby. She /is/ a Captain, not to mention CMO so Ynyr doesn't force the issue of taking the bottle back. He leans back in his chair and makes himself take a sip of his drink to cool that hint of anger. A slow breath and he says perfectly civilly to the Deck Crewman, "Haven't seen her today." -He- does not invite Toby to have a seat and join him.

Toby lets his eyes flick between Lleufer and Sam for a few moments as they interact. He's not entirely sure just how close he wants to be to this apparent trainwreck in progress. Lifting his glass in silent salute to the captain, takes a sip, then notes, "thanks for the offer Doc, but the Sergeant made it clear in our last meeting that he thinks Taurans lack on qualities he admires, so he probably wouldn't appreciate being in close proximity for a prolong time." His tone is light, very matter of factual, as if he'd just said something as mundane as Lleu's favourite colour. He does then tilt his head towards Lleu and offer an apparently pleased, "that's the spirit Sergeant, frak the lot of them. Only, not literally, obviously. That'd just be wrong."

Lleufer fingers his glass, "I happen to /like/ most Taurans. Been there. Had intended to go there after the war, maybe find a Tauran wife." His pale grey eyes come back up to Toby, "It's just one particular Tauran I don't like, who frankly is an ass hole." Cover your ears, Doc. Toby's last part though, that just stops Lleu cold. Ynyr's heart rate jumps up but he doesn't go after Toby. Instead he says perfectly calmly, "I deserve that."

"Indeed," Sam agrees, eyeing Toby then Leu and back again. She can read the anger rising off of Leu like, again, a cloud but doesn't surrender the bottle and doesn't, either, leave off nudging his temper along. Toby's words make Sam study him for a moment longer, a fine gleam of speculation in her expression now. "Oh indeed? Intriguing," and she flicks a glance toward Leu then Toby and back again. "Actually, one of the nines was married to a marine, I believe, back before the start of the war. Obviously, the anatomy is compatible; after all. They did go to all the trouble to use the anatomy and physiology of the average human as a model to work forward from. As flawed and imperfect and imprecise as it is. Rather a backward way of logic, not that it matters. But it doesn't make sense to take a flawed design and run with it for a production model when there are improvements that would easily have been made. Ahh well. I suppose this is why killing one model or another doesn't really make any production set backs. They just reboot in a new body and go about their business." She eyes Leu again, "I find that a great many people qualify as ass holes, Sergeant, on any given day."
"In some ways," Sam adds with a look leveled on Leu, "you could consider it akin to recycling."

Toby stands impassive as Lleu speaks, then tilts his head the other way towards Sam. Offering her a 'what can you do' kind of smile he notes calmly, "he's talking about me. Don't hold it against him though, he's just upset that I wouldn't let him get away with making wild accusations he couldn't back up with proof. Probably also pissed off at me that I didn't leap up top sing his praises about the frak up on Aerlion when his CO asked what had happened. Still, if he wants to drink away all his friends then who am I to try and set him straight again. You'll likely have more luck, if it wasn't for the war though I'd point out that he's a grown man, and should be allowed to make his own terrible life choices."

For a minute it looks like Lleu might punch Samtara in the mouth or try to break her neck. He manages for several seconds to sit quietly and listen to them both before his nostrils flare. The whole god damned table, bottle, tea pot, glasses and all Ynyr suddenly flips right over in Toby's direction! "Frak you, son of a bitch!" It's a good thing the MP isn't armed, not even a pair of hand cuffs! Ignoring Sam entirely, Lleu goes right for Toby, swinging.

<COMBAT> Lleufer has started the combat! Pose and pick your first action.
<COMBAT> Samtara subdues Lleufer!
<COMBAT> Lleufer passes.
<COMBAT> Toby passes.

Correctly reading Leu, which is to say that Sam leans back the minute he heaves the whole table to the side, sending everything - including the perfectly good pot of tea, the bottle of booze she'd purchased, the nice little ceramic tile the pot had been sitting on, his little glass of booze and, of course, her mug of tea AND napkin - slewing to the side. As he surges to his feet she does the least likely thing that she can think of and, without real warning, shoves the good bottle of booze toward Toby and literally tackles Leu across the pile of debris.

<FS3> Toby rolls Reaction: Failure.

It is fair to say that Toby is somewhat taken aback by Lleu's sudden burst of violent intent. With his drink in one hand he opts to duck out of the way rather than attempt to retaliate. He might have made it, he might not, the Captain's intervention means no one will ever be quite sure, but crucially he doesn't get hit. Nor it turns out, does he catch the bottle. He's still in full evasive mode as it's propelled towards him and while one arm does reach out to try and snag it, he comes up a few inches short. Not thinking much more about it he sets his now half spilt drink on the table behind and to the side, then wades in to see fi he can help Sam keep the MP down until he calms.

He didn't actually plan to loose his shit and attack anybody. If he had, Lleu might have thought it through more carefully how to use the table to his advantage to have kept Samtara both out of it and safe. Something just snaps and Ynyr's intent to pound Toby's face in, ever fiber of his attention on the Tauran. Sam coming at him in a flying tackle is about the last thing Lleufer would have expected. Her body weight slams into his right side, forcing him towards the left. He tries to brace himself and keep going but his left side isn't what it used to be and that knee buckles, the ankle twisting beneath the combined weight and angle. The angry Marine hits the floor with a crash.

Patrons all over the bar turn their heads to look, or leap to their feet in surprise. Ynyr looks like he wants to kill somebody and does his best to shove Samtara off hard, not caring if it hurts her, as long as he can get to Toby! "Gods damn it!"

<COMBAT> Lleufer attempts to escape from Samtara but fails!
<COMBAT> Toby passes.
<COMBAT> Samtara continues to subdue Lleufer.
<COMBAT> Lleufer has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.

Samtara hears the bottle crash to the floor, despite her attempts to save the blasted thing, and while she is aware - in a peripheral sense - that Toby is moving in to help, she focuses all of her attention on the Sergeant for the moment. Instead of being shoved off, she drops her weight on the Sergeant again, which isn't all that impressive, but she's tall, and reasonably lean, and she knows where his weak points are. After all, she IS his attending physician. "Cease and desist," her words are sharply spoken, crisply barked at the struggling marine. "He isn't your enemy. I'm not your enemy. No one in this entire room or on this entire bloody planet is your enemy." She leans forward, hands braced against him and shoves, again, on purpose, trying to jar the sense back into his skull. "You are wasting your energy, dividing your focus. Knock it the hell off."

With Lleu still gunning for him, Toby lends his weight to Sam's by dropping down to keep the MP on the floor by immobalising his legs, or trying to. "Recovering head wound," he calls out loudly to those who are gawping, getting a narrative down quickly that might explain just why the CMO has bodychecked a marine and not lead to the summoning of mass ranks of MPs. Other than that though he keeps quiet, letting Sam do that talking so as not to provoke any further attacks.

Lleufer tries like hell to get Sam off of him and he might have done it too, even with her knowing his weaker points, if Toby hadn't piled on too. But with both of them keeping him down and working to pin his arms and legs to keep him from hurting anyone, Yynr nonetheless puts a massive effort into trying everything he can remember to get free. Samtara's words though, get through to him, red hazed with anger or not. Tense as hell, Lleu finally stops struggling and only lies there on the floor gasping for his breath. He stares off at nothing for a second or two before he closes his eyes hard against the pain, anger and humiliation.

"Stop it," proving again that she has absolutely little empathy to employ as a general rule. "Use your anger, don't let it use you," she snaps and gives Leu another not gentle shake before she moves to the side. Cautiously. Ready, literally, to body check the Sergeant again, if need be. Then she surveys the wreckage and the gathered crowd, "Bah. Ruined a perfectly good pot of tea, too. You know how I feel about a good cup of tea," she remarks with a pointed look at Leu before she turns and angles a nod at Toby. "I think we can let him up."

Toby seems content enough to take his cues from Sam, loosening his grip only as she says, rather than when Lleu himself goes limp. Said loosening ahppens in three stages, a small initial relaxation, a longer pause to ensure it's not a faint, then finally he pushes himself to his feet again. He's still alert and watching in case the MP decides he wants another pop, but when he speaks it to the CMO. "Sorry about that Doc, I probably shouldn't have come over in the first place. Just thought it'd be rude if I didn't you know." He eyes Lleu again then asks, "you want me to stick around?" He has an archaeologist to find and a shuttle raptor to catch, but both can wait if needs be.

Belly down on the floor, face turned to the side, Ynyr doesn't even try to get up. Not for at least a few seconds. Get his breath, then slowly Lleu pushes himself to his feet. There is broken glass, though the bottles probably didn't break. Spilled out plenty of contents though if they were open. Ynyr'll have a bruise or two but he didn't get cut. Nobody has hands on him, there aren't any MP's in here yet. Just a lot of people staring at him. Lleu doesn't meet anyone's eyes or bother to look at Sam or Toby. He brushes a piece of broken glass off of his tanks and then, if no one moves to stop him, he walks quietly towards the door to leave.

Samtara scuffs one boot against the wreckage and crouches down to pick up the tea pot, giving it a look of regret as she dusts it off and shakes the last droplets of tea from it and hunts through the wreckage for the mug, only to find it shattered along with most of everything else that was on the table. She does find, however, the ceramic tile intact and collects that, as well. "Ruined a good pot of tea, too," she striaghtens again as she looks up to Toby. "Tipping point, Toby, and it was bound to happen. You came in here for a drink, at least make sure that you get that drink," she advises as she glances over to watch Leu walk through the room and catches the eye of the most senior of the people in charge of the room. "I'll take care of the damages," as she moves toward the bar, "and I'll need a broom, dust pan, a bucket of soapy water and a good sponge. Oh, and some gloves," laying out more coin as she does so.

Toby keeps half an eye on Lleufer as he limps out, metaphorically if not literally, then turns back to Sam once he's sure they can lower the alert status. "I still have most of it," he notes, scanning his eyes for the table with the remains of his drink on then heading for it, "but I also have to get back to Orion." He doesn't move just yet though, giving time for the MP to put some distance between them, time he spends drinking said drink. Once it's empty he returns the glass to the bar, eyes the mess and says, "if you don't need me Doc I reckon he's had time to get whereever he's going. Duty calls." And with that, he too makes for the door.

CMO's Office - Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
Durable gray, industrial weave, carpeting covers the floor from wall to wall in this small, utilitarian and ruthlessly organized office. The left and right walls are covered in white boards with metal filing cabinets stacked side by side beneath each board, the tops of which serve as additional space along with room for a coffee maker and cleaning supplies. A pair of uncomfortable looking chairs take up the floor space to either side of the door and a heavy desk with a worn looking chair made equally of battered looking metal consume the rest of the space not occupied by shelves. Above the desk is a printed poster listing the periodic table of elements alongside a wall mounted lightbox for inspecting x-rays and other images.
Sun Jan 29 2006

Samtara's mind is a sharp one who apparently is a better of read of people than she knows. Once she gets back to the Orion from Pireaus, she gets a bad feeling. If she checks, Lleufer Ynyr has not returned to the ship. He's not due to return to duty until a security shift down at Dr. Thanos's archaeology dig site tomorrow. Call it intuition or a hunch, but she is dogged by a feeling about Lleu that won't go away, not after what happened at Charlie's tonight.

If the Chief Medical Officer asks for a couple of Orion's MP's to go down and look for Sergeant Lleufer Ynyr, nobody is going to ignore her. But it takes hours. It almost takes too long. Nobody can find him until another MP says Ynyr asked to swap shifts with him, to go stand security at Dr. Thanos's dig site /tonight/ instead of tomorrow. And that's where they find him, just trying to walk off into the woods.

Samtara doesn't know that an argument then ensued. Angry, the MP's are forced to disarm Ynyr, to take his rifle and his sidearm from him. They have orders to bring him back up to the Orion and so eventually hours later, nearly morning, they arrive at Samtara's office.

Lleu looks a bit like shit. There are a few bruises on his face, some fresher than others. Dark smudges beneath his eyes and he stares off at nothing as he stands and waits. The two MP's have cuffed him with his hands behind his back because he refused to come and had to be brought. Ynyr is kitted out in ground combat attire without weapons, his helmet removed.

By the time the MP's have finally returned, with Lleufer in tow (literally), Sam has practically paced a path along the industrial weave carpeting and poured through not one but two pots of tea. She is seated at her desk, which is - at the moment - unnaturally clean of paperwork. The door to her office stands open, allowing her a clear view of the entrance to the sickbay and by the time the MP's bring Leu into her office she has risen to walk around her desk to stand, waiting, as they bring him in. The fresh bruises, the gear he's wearing, the smudges beneath his eyes, and she feels her expression change before she can consciously stop it from doing so.

For a medical professional, she's pretty damned good at bland if not simply professional neutrality. She's pretty damned good at shutting down her empathy, 99% of the time anyway, that's when it's even enable, which it isn't all that often in the first place. The look on her face is a mix of worry edged with understanding, fear laced with apprehension all mingling around a healthy dose of guilt before she tamps it all down again to almost neutral and aims a nod at the MP's.

"Please step outside," Sam asks, politely, though she pointedly does not ask that the cuffs be removed, at least, not at the moment.

One of the MP's who has brought in Ynyr has a very fresh black eye that clearly happened tonight and probably Lleufer gave him. The man isn't Toby Shackleton, alas. At least the woman Marine doesn't look like anybody hit her. Not in the face anyway. They are both quiet except to murmur, "Yes, sir." and do as they are told, stepping out of Dr. Nadir's office. But not before the Lance Corporal lays a folded up piece of paper on Sam's desc, "Fell out of his pocket when he resisted, Captain." It looks like there's a drawing on it in pencil, or a curved line anyway.

Lleu doesn't look at it. Nor at Samtara, he looks straight ahead, eyes unfocused and stands where they put him to wait.

Sharing a nod with the MP's, both of whom are given a careful assessing look to make sure that there are no, worse, injuries that she needs to have one of her staff attend to. She waits until the door is closed then reaches for the folded piece of paper that the MP set on her desk, unfolding it and smoothing it out with one hand as she does so. She studies it for a silent moment, lips pressed together in a thin line, her jaw set in a firm angle, her shoulders squared as she stands there.

"You are in nine kinds of pain. Everything feels wrong. Everything looks wrong. Every thing that you do, everything that people do around you, feels wrong. Like you're standing in the very bottom of a well that's so deep that all sound seems warped around you. It doesn't make sense. It's infuriating. It's crushing. Like the very air that you breathe doesn't actually do any good. Food, useless. Drink, a waste of time. Touch, it doesn't really reach you. At the very core of yourself, the bit of you that is You, when everything else is pared away, when all other things that are name, rank, file, service number, heritage, friendship, all of it is stripped away, that bit of you that is always You, the one you see in the mirror? That's where it hurts the most. You're in pain. And every part of you is screaming right now, only you're not letting the sound come out."

Sam falls silent for a moment, again her expression is no longer that carefully shuttered thing, allowing Leu to actually see the emotions that pass across her face. "You think, maybe, that you're the only one who feels like this. That there is no way out, that none of us can possibly understand." She moves a half step forward, mindful of her personal space as much as his, "Every time I talk to you, I can see how close you are to the edge of this. You keep coming back only to walk the edge of it again. I sent the MP's after you because I'm worried you're going to harm yourself. And I think I was right, and I think they interrupted you in the process of doing something.. abruptly terminal."

The paper has a smudged graphic drawn dark in pencil on one side and by the number of times it has been folded and refolded, Lleu's been carrying it around in his pocket for a while now. It is a circle about 1/4 inch thick with a smaller darkened in circle in the center (the Mithras symbol). On the reverse side is a note he's carefully written out, not yet smudged so it looks fresher.

I have let you all down. I am deeply ashamed. I feel I have broken my oath's as an Marine and MP. I associated with a Cylon skinjob model eleven whom I may have leaked sensitive information to without my knowledge. I would never betray the Colonial Marine Corps. Never voluntarily. If I have, I have betrayed everything I hold dear. The gods, if any of them are real, would never forgive me. I certainly can not forgive myself. I thought I was an honorable man, a Marine, but I suppose I am not after all. Kick those Cylon frakker's asses for me. For us all.

Lleufer Ynyr

Lleufer doesn't look at Sam. He just keeps staring ahead, at the bulkhead of her office. It looks like he's trying not to hear her. If only he could shut off his ears. She knows he can hear her though, by that slight shift in his breathing. A tightening of a muscle in his jaw on the right side. Ynyr stands rigid, not at attention because his hands are cuffed behind his back. More as if he's at parade rest - anything but restful. Sam gets no response out of the Marine who's left standing in her office.

Smoothing the piece of paper again, her hands careful so as to avoid smudging any of the written words. "We are in the middle of an impossible war. Mass genocide on an extinction level scale. a war against the very things that we, ourselves, created, once upon a time, to try to make our lives 'easier' or 'better' by having machines do our dirty work. Our fighting. Our policing. Our clean up crew. Instead of doing the hard work ourselves, we built machines. And we treated them, like we treat each other, like we treat ourselves, like crap. And in the end, the machines come back to show us that we . . don't deserve the very worlds that we ruined, generation after generations. Is it any wonder that it was so easy to pull the trigger and kill so many of us at once? How many have we killed, ourselves, of our very own kind?"

She shakes her head, slowly. "We're in a war that is not fought on battle fields in some remote, distant, part of the world that most kids wouldn't be able to point to on a map. This war is fought in our minds, in our hearts, in our thoughts. It shakes the very core of who we think we are, who we've been, who we could possibly be. And by telling you my suspicions about how Cylon projection works, I unwittingly tipped the balance in your thoughts to the notion that you have, unwillingly, betrayed the corps, the fleet, humanity in and of itself. Because MY suspicions make me a cynical, emotionally stunted overly analytical bitch who doesn't really socialize very well, I said what I shouldn't have. Because I could be wrong. And even if i'm not, that's still not the point. You didn't do anything wrong, you weren't the one in control of what happened. It was something that was done to you, something that you couldn't control, couldn't stop. And you have all kinds of guilt twisted and wrapped around inside your head, which ties into how frustrated you are at yourself, at your body, at how you haven't fully healed, how it makes you less than one hundred percent ready to go again when your team needs to head into the field. You feel like a liability, like a handicap, like you're pulling your team down, you feel like it would be easier, better, if you just weren't here anymore."

Samtara's words roll on. He can't stop them, though he'd like to. They cut like a knife. Even if she doesn't mean them to. Or maybe she does. He's so tired of trying to deflect the knives. Lleu closes his eyes when she gets to the parts where she's asking about killing each other and ourselves. She just keeps on going though and -WONT SHUT UP-.

Ynyr's breathing gets a little rougher, trying hard to not loose his shit. Again. Not anger this time. By the time the CMO is getting to the end of that, him being a liability, a handicap, all the rest of it… Whatever shred of self dignity he's clinging to is slipping. Trying real hard to stand there and not have tears threatening his eyes or spilling down his cheeks, like a God damn fucking baby. If there was a Marine Captain or Drill Sergeant anywhere around, they'd be so far up Lleu's ass, screaming in his face to man the hell up, he'd think his ass was back in boot camp. He still doesn't look at Sam, just the bulkhead, stressed and staying real quiet, fighting himself to breath and not loose every last bit of his dignity, too.

Lleu lowers his head. He doesn't want her to see his face. Not anybody.

"If Dr. Forrester were here, she'd know exactly what you need to hear," Sam says in a voice gone quiet. "She's really, really good with people. I think she actually likes people. I'm not entirely convinced that I do, on some days. And I'm really not good at articulating the things that people need to hear. So I can't tell you what you need, but I can tell you what I wish someone would say to me." She moves again, maintaining her respect for his personal space as much as her own, reading the look on his face and the subtle tells that are in his body language, and recognizing that a casual 'man up, marine' isn't even remotely close to what she wants to say anyway.

"You matter. What you do, day in and day out, has value. You are not the only one walking around broken, with bits and pieces that don't fit just falling around like jig saw puzzle pieces scattered on the floor. And that? It's ok, that I get it; being broken doesn't mean that you are defective, or damaged beyond repair. We are all, each and every one of us, broken in a way that we really don't ever recover from. Some of us wear our damage where it can be seen by everyone, and some of us wear our damage inside where it takes some serious crap to pull it out and let the light shine on it so everyone else can see." She pauses to speak slowly, clearly, "It is ok to be broken. And that no, time does not, for the love of logic, heal all wounds. It doesn't. The only thing that time does is keep moving forward, constantly. And the world, life, the universe, doesn't stop just because one of us, or a billion of us, are in agony at any given moment. The only thing that time does is prove that we DO keep on keeping on. Broken. Damaged. Hurt. In pain. In despair. In doubt. In anger and grief and in every other damned emotion that we have, all swimming around in us like.. like a storm that never really ceases. You are hurting, Leu, you are in nine kinds of pain and you think that there is no way, no possible way, that there is a way through this. That there's a way up from this. You feel like the sunlight is so damned far out of reach that there's no point, at all, in even trying to keep on trying in the first place."

Exhaling a quiet breath, Sam stands silently for a moment before she ventures that measured step forward and rests her free hand lightly on Leu's shoulder. "The thing is, I've been down where you are. And I know the way out." She offers a ghost of a smile. "And it is a tremendous, ardurous, frakking annoying slog of a journey. And you are going to fall flat on your ass more times than you are going to want to get up from. But you know what, that's why we humans have knees, so that when we fall flat on our faces, our knees bend, our elbows work, and we get the frak back up. As many times as we need to keep getting back on our feet until we find a new balance, a new sense of self. You're broken. But you're not garbage, you're not trash, and you are not disposable. You would be missed. And I, for one, and not willing to let you broken ass self get off easy by letting you go. Every - life - is - precious," she spaces each word with precise care, "all - life - has - value," again, that careful pacing, "or none has value. This is an all or nothing proposition, and it's not one that you get to refuse. You're broken. And you may find that there are pieces that you can never find a way to fit back into the puzzle that is you. There are pieces that are to damaged to really be useful ever again. Pieces that you will have to let go of, to make room for new shapes, for new thoughts, new ideas. New facets of your sense of self. Be broken. It's ok to be broken, it's ok to be damaged. It's going to be," and she gives his shoulder a not as gentle as she'd intended, squeeze with that one hand, "ok. One step at a time, or break it down to one minute at a time, one breath at a time. You can micro it down as far as you need to, but keep breathing."

There is a Marine in Lleu's head, yelling at him to man the frak up. Yelling at himself. Frak'n piece of shit, not going to loose it. Don't you dare, Marine! He's got tears threatening but somehow, Gods only know how, Lleu blinks a few times and manages not break down and sob and cry. Nope. Not going to do it. If it starts, he may not be able to stop. Chest tight, hard to breathe, Sam's voice going on and on until her words are all jumbled up. Lleu catches snatches of it. Barely feels her hand. She could punch him in the face and he might not feel it. Numb. Exhausted. Ynyr just zones out on her. That at least lets his breathing ease a little. Probably her words are still registering on his subconscious. Maybe.

Sam gets nothing. Nothing at all, out of him.

<FS3> Samtara rolls Medicine: Good Success.

Nodding once, but slowly, Sam moves through her office and opens one of the kits that is secured under lock and key before selecting the correct dosage, and returning to study Leu once more. "I'm sorry," she notes this aloud before calmly administering the sedative before bringing Leu into the discussion or potential debate regarding the use of the sedative in the first place. Erring on the side of caution, she'd drawn enough to sedate him fast instead of taking him down slowly. "When you wake up, we're going to talk more. And after that, there's going to more talking, and you're going to hate me for a while, but that's ok," she has a hold of one of his arms as she speaks, bracing his weight as counter balance while waiting for the medicine to kick in. "You won't be first, or the last, to hate me, so I'm telling you now, in advance, that it's ok."

There's no reaction to Doctor Nadir moving around her desk and out of his line of vision. Lleu stands there in combat ground kit with his weapons removed. His hands are secured behind his back in MP's handcuffs, his face bruised, helmet missing. He stares off at nothing at all, zoned out and looking exhausted, dampness in his eyes with dark smudges beneath.

There is a many times folded piece of paper laying on Samtara's desk with a circle blocked out about 1/4 of an inch thick with a smaller colored in circle in the center of it. The symbol of Mithras. On the other side of the paper is Lleu's hand writing, currently faced up with his name signed beneath it.

There are two MP's standing outside of Samtara's office. The man has a new black eye darkening, the woman looks fine. Both are armed and waiting.

Inside, Samtara has found a sedative and measured a dosage which she's injecting into Lleu's arm with or without the sleeve raised. Then she holds his arm while speaking low to him. It seems Ynyr pays her no attention at all, no reaction to the needle going into his flesh. He stands there several seconds longer before he sways faintly and then slowly collapses, his weight falling, and the only thing keeping him from smacking the floor hard is Sam trying to slow his fall.

With her hold on Leu to keep him from going tail over tip, Sam is slowly lowering Leu to the floor as the sedative takes hold, "Guards!" she calls through the door, relying on her own strength as she eases him down so that he doesn't bang his head on the floor or anything along the way. She is careful to ease him to his side, taking the weight off of his bound hands and arms and checking his vitals once she has him on the floor.

<FS3> Bennett rolls Reaction: Good Success.

It isn't an MP who sprints through the hatch to assist, so much as a tall, dark-haired pilot still in her flight suit. And, truth be told, hers is a purposeful stride moreso than an all-out run. To their credit, the marines at the door did try to stop her, but were forestalled with a single finger (not the inappropriate one), as Saint Clair appears to be on a mission. Quietly, matter-of-factly, she steps in to help with the sedated Ynyr, helping to ease him down onto the floor and clearing any obstacles in the way. "Captain, hello," she greets the CMO with a wan smile.

Lleufer is trying to fight the sedative, but it's no good. He blinks a few times once he's on the floor, on his side, but Doc's doped him good and hard. No real struggle. Then he's out like a light, breathing smoothing right like a man falling asleep. The mud of Piraeus is still damp on his boots.

The two MP's do come in on Captain St. Clair's heels and try to lend the Doctor a hand, looking apologetic that the pilot beat them in.

Looking up as the door opens and in strides Captain Saint Clair whose presence is greeted with a sigh of relief. "Thank you," she says the captain helps her ease the sedated marine into a more comfortable position. She checks his pulse with one hand resting on his wrist, "Nice and steady," she notes before looking up again and nodding at the MPs that have joined herself, the captain and the sergeant in the tiny cramped box of an office that Sam calls hers. "Have one of my nurses bring a gurney and send another for Dr. Forrester, she's on level 1, using one of the offices." This said she turns a slightly quizzical look at Saint Clair, "You have rather exceptional timing."

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