MD #184: Do Not Send Us Home
Do Not Send Us Home
Summary: Petra comes to talk to Emily briefly.
Date: 09/10/2017 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: If there are no related logs, put 'None' — please, don't leave blank!)
Petra Emily 
El Brig-a-rino
The battlestar's brig is comprised of a line of four individual cells organized in separate walled-off bays. Each cell is six feet wide by eight feet long and possesses a bed and toilet. Whenever even one cell is occupied, so too is the metal desk and chair at the entrance hatch — and backup for the guard is never far away. Each cell has had their bars specifically reinforced to prevent a Line member from being able to gain access or escape. Brig rules are posted behind the desk on a white panel with blocked black lettering.
MD #184

The brig is pretty quiet, all told. There's endless rumors that there is a princess being held in the brig and that TK-421 is asleep at the switch while Han and the Wookie break her out. That is not the case, though. There's still a few people in SecHub that are mocking her, but that all goes quiet when anyone above Corporal comes by. Especially when the XO swings through. The girl has, she has other concerns. Most of her dresses and cloaks have been hung up on a single bar, keeping them off the floor, but not blocking a view of her or hiding her from the MP's. There's almost half a dozen, all extremely well crafted. Corsets typically go with. There's a few more casual items, but not much. Bedclothes are neatly folded in the of her bed. She's sitting there with a tablet that's on but has no network access, eyes closed. There's a duffel on the floor at the end of the bed with underwear and some offduty uniforms in it, but they still look folded as if they came out of quartermasters. Quiet evening. At least the tray of food by the door is somewhat eaten.

Petra gets inspiration at the oddest moments. That's why he shows up in SecHub in his ancient Virgon Academy sweats and sneakers, earning an odd look from the MPs before getting waved through and checked in. Who let the old bald fart run laps on a battlestar for frak's sake?? Regardless he eyes the empty cells before approaching the only occupied one, slowing down as he notes all of the…oh god, did she REALLY come with all of this baggage? One could practically FEEL the commander internally wincing as he pulls a chair over and turns it around backwards so he can sink into it. Resting his arms across the back, he takes a moment to watch the woman sitting there for a bit, then offers, "I can at least promise you the food gets no better. The rest of us have just had a few decades to get used to it, so we don't care anymore."

Emily is very aware of someone else entering. The only sound is the constantly buzzing over the overhead lamps and their vitamin D dosage. When a chair is brought over and placed down, she opens her eyes and looks over. New face. "I've become accustomed to better meals, that is true. But I've not had much appetite the last few days. It isn't out of protest or that the food makes me ill. I'd like to think we're beyond that sort of behavior, though many of my House would probably throw it away in protest." She snorts a little at the thought.

Petra rests his chin on his arms, arching one scarred brow to study the woman while she speaks. He manages some semblance of a grunt in acknowledgement of her words, shifting his weight a little before responding, "I'd recommend finishing it off even if you aren't hungry, but that's up to you. As for what the rest of your 'house' would do, well. Personally I'm not ENTIRELY sure at this point what we OUGHT to be doing with just one member of your house. My officers seemed to believe that leaving you where they found you was inherently dangerous to our survival. You don't SEEM to be a walking time bomb, though I have heard that Princesses can be something you have to be very careful around."

"Thank you but I cannot. Try as I may, as I said, the food is still not what I am accustomed to. But I will learn. Perhaps tomorrow." Well at least Emily isn't a snotty bitch about it. She's real. Food isn't great but she'll power through eventually. "Leaving us where we were would have invited questions and resulted in needless deaths. I believe someone intends to interrogate me for everything I can say about the royal families of Picon." She finally averts her gaze to look over to him. "That's because a princess is a walking time bomb. They have been cleansed. I am not a princess. I was not even a titled noble until two days before I was taken from Picon. My adopted mother is the Queen. They are marrying me off and the entitlement was intended to ease dowry." She looks down over his sweats and then up to him. "Your Marines saved my life. I am in their debt. So is Sir Atticus, but he has suffered a setback and does not see the debt yet. He will, in time."

Petra mmhmms softly, "I certainly hope he does. I've got no interest in killing our own people unless we really have no choice whatsoever. Im sure, given no other alternative, there are a few places we can put him that wont involve his death, but we wont have to worry about him biting us in the ass any longer either. Should he come around, we have a surprising level of options for a race on the run." He falls quiet there for a moment, "I'm Commander Marcus Petra, one of the folks that tends to try to contain what's left of the CDF that are is still fighting the Skath. And right now, I'm just not entirely sure of what we do with /you/. Before they were going to make you a princess…what in Ares' name did you do for a living?"

"I think Atticus is not someone you would want to kill for many reasons. As I explained to Gunree Ynyr, he is exceptionally loyal to what he believes in. He is also skilled and is a leader. I also know that he has a big heart and is not filled with hate, like so many. It is harder to see that right now, though." The girls eyes drift down, then over. "Commander." She blinks slowly and looks at his face more closely. "Marcus Petra." She recognizes the name, somehow, somewhere, trying to place it. "CDF is.. Colonial.. Defense. Fighters?" By the look on her face she is picking these concepts out of her deep memory. "Gunree ynyr says I am requesting something called asylum. I am unsure if this is the correct term. I do not wish to be returned to Picon, though. I in no way wish to return to that life I had." Petra can see her right hand start to visibly tremble and she looks distractedly down to it and tries to hold it and cease the movement with her other hand. "I do not have, nor had, a traditional focus. I'm of royal standing. My role in my kingdom is to lead and set the example, to look out for the best of the people." Her lips flatten. "I have come to understand that saying such things to your people elicits laughter and derision. But as a woman I am not otherwise permitted to learn a trade. If it came out I was literate it would be scandal and I would likely be cleansed." She sighs. "You are asking to ascertain if I am useful." She looks back down to her knees. "Yes?"

Petra rumbles softly, "Yes, what you are wanting is called 'asylum'. Roughly speaking, safety from what you used to be part of. As for the derision, officers under my command know they should be composing themselves professionally, though someone that might be seen as collaborating with the enemy that has been oppressing our people, I can see where they might have had some issues. Either way, that should stop."

He takes a moment there to draw in a deep breath and let it go, "If there is anything useful to you, yes. There are a number of things you can be refirected to, based on what you can do and how much we can trust you, and right now, I don't really know a damned thing about you other than what you just told me. We really don't need 'leaders' or 'role models'. What practical skills do you have?" He tilts his head, "Can you sew? Shoot? Plant crops? Work wood?"

Emily listens closely, doing her best to ignore her hand. "Yes, I seek safety from what I was apart of. That is accurate. As for the behavior of your men ..and women.. I think that in their position I would laugh, too. We are two societies now that do not understand each other. My House would hate you and laugh at you for many things also. It is in the nature of my people now, to hate. To oppress, yes." She frowns down at her hand and sighs at the trembling. Her gaze moves back to Petra as she hugs the hand to her corset, "I can sew. I can ride horses very well, as well as any man. I can cook a little. I was not always royal. I have no wish to be a leader or role model or any such thing." Her expression is flat, lacking indignity that might otherwise be found with the words. "Who would follow me? Why would they follow me? The only friend I had left, my only protector? He may decide he wants to kill me for a perceived betrayal of House Benning. Perhaps not. I've nobody." She turns more to face Petra, fixing him with a gaze. "When your Marines came to that farmhouse I saw the shape of a woman. She was running at me with a rifle aimed at my head, shouting. My heart swelled with pride. I knew that somewhere out there, we were not being held under thumb. She was not 'allowed' to be such. She was performing a task of profession. She was ready to kill me and all I could do was smile in the dark. I want to do that. I want to inspire, not through words. I want to make a difference and show other women in our kingdoms that they are not abandoned. I want to be like her, Commander Marcus. I don't even know her name."

Petra sits up a bit, folding his arms across his chest, while he lets a sigh escape him. He waits until she's finished talking, taking a few more seconds to dwell on it before he offers, "Its going to be some time before we can realistically inspire the home colonies to rebel. If they do it now, everyone is just going to end up dead. But, if you want to be like her, well, Marine training might be an option. We'll have to see." His lips purse for another second or two, then slowly, the man rises to his feet, "Is there anything else you want to make sure I know of before I head back upstairs? About you or your…knight?"

"Inspiring Picon to rebel is not what I intend. But I want to matter. I want one girl to look at me and feel what I felt. Maybe she will be inspired to something. I think I would like to be a Marine, yes." Emily does have a very cool, clam demeanor. Video review of the takedown shows that she had a remarkably cool head while people were bursting in and shots were fired. Maybe that is someplace to start. As he rises, though, she stands from her bunk and looks to him, stepping to within four feet of the bars as she looks up to him. "Yes and I will be brief. If you send us back, either of us, it will be a death sentence. I will be cleansed and married and become the perfect royal wife and raise perfect royal children, smiling and loving it because the Clerics make me so. This woman before you will die that day. Sir Atticus will be killed for failing House Benning. He will die in shame needlessly, alone." She swallows. "Commander Marcus, I am going ill. Can you please find a decision soon? I just need to know if I will not be forced to return. More than that, I can wait. But I worry for myself and Sir Atticus. Please. That's all I ask, do not send us home."

Petra mms softly, "I don't think you're in any danger of us sending you back, if only because of the idea that returning to Picon is inherently dangerous for our own air crews right now. I'll talk to the rest of Command and we will decide what should be done with you. As for your Sir Atticus, that might depend on his behavior, so you may want to apply any encouragement you can on him, when you have a chance. Good night for now, Emily." With that said, the man is still frowning as he steps over to the MP to sign out.

Ohhhhh the relief. She looks like she might topple over right there with that notice. "I could kiss you, Commander Marucs." Her hand continues trembling oddly and she doesn't even pay it any mind anymore. Apparently it doesn't hurt. "I don't know what to do for Sir Atticus, Commander, but I will try. But.." He's walking away. She moves to the bars and holds them, one in each hand, watching him go. Nothing else to say. But a big smile does creep across her face before she falls back onto the bed and stretches out.

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