AWD #04:The Wounded Dog(PrP)
AWD #04:The Wounded Dog(PrP)
Summary: PrP run by Noble: Ella and Samtara happen upon a crying man in the stairwell…
Date: 09/01/13 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: None
Ella Samtara 
Stairwell - Battlestar Orion
All of the Orion's many stairways look very much the same. Called "ladders" due to their nearly vertical orientation, they have enough space for only one or two people to pass at a time. The intersections are usually quite busy, though "Make a hole!" calls take immediate priority — especially when they come from ranking officers.

Each stairwell is adjacent to a freight elevator capable of moving larger items across decks, but they're never used unless absolutely necessary.

Jan 09, 2005

The stairwell of the Battlestar Orion is a well-traveled thoroughfare, though at the oddest hours of the nights the place itself can be a tomb. The metal grated stairs clang like rungs of a ladder when walked upon, and occasionally, the squawk of the intercom can be heard calling for people throughout the ship. And very, very occasionally the sound of soft crying can be heard coming from the very lowest level of the stairs where the landing above forms a little alcove where equipment can be stowed.

Even in the midst of life changing events the small things in life continue to go on, and for a surgeon there is always work - no matter the hour, no matter the conditions or the timing - the human body never stops. With a preoccupied expression on her face, Dr. Nadir is making her way along the stairwell, boots ringing on the grated metal stairs, one hand sliding along the railing despite the numerous (countless) bits of detrius and bacteria that are acquired by the simple action of running her hand along the same surface that countless other ships personnel have done in the last measure of hours. Her lips are moving, silently working her way through her own post-op notes and reviewing the recent procedure, analyzing the small details in her own private physicians court of inquiry.

There certainly has been on shortage of work in sickbay, but everyone needs to sleep now and again. And so it is that a weary Ella is just now coming into the stairway, on her way back to her rack.

There certainly has been on shortage of work in sickbay, but everyone needs to sleep now and again. And so it is that a weary Ella is just now coming into the stairway, on her way back to her rack. She pauses when the soft sound of crying filters up the stairwell, frowning slightly in concern.

The soft sound of crying filters up from the very bottom of the stairwell, where all is dark. It's a rather masculine sobbing that audibly frames the spaces between the footfalls from Dr. Nadir's footsteps. As both Ella and the Doctor near the lower depths of the stairway, the sobbing grows louder and louder until all of the sudden it stops…

…and is replaced by the sound of the hammer of a pistol pulling back.

A long, wet sniffle sogs up from the shadows, and the crying resumes. Someone, something is down there with a pistol…

Already keyed up from a successful appendectomy, Dr. Nadir's senses are wound for sound and buzzing right along until the distinctive sound lifts up from the depths of the stair case. She pauses, her attention snapping front and center to the here and now instead of the detailed mental notes she'd been mapping out to jot down in her own journal, one foot a measured inch off of the tread of the next stair down, her hand curling on the same railing she'd (idly) been calculating the approximate number of bacteria thriving on the porous surface. Her grip tightens and the foot, clad in it's sensible standard issue boot, lowers ever so carefully onto that next stair. She turns, breath silent, to glance sidelong at Specialist Martis, one pale eyebrow arching upward in silent note of query and observation. Her expression attempts to convey: Did you hear that too?

Question conveyed or not she turns back and continues to make her way down the stairs, silently this time, no more mumbling or feats of mental math.

Just a few steps behind the good doctor, Ella sees that look and nods to her as if to say, -yeah, I heard it too-. Unlike the stealthy doctor, however, Ella seems to favor the opposite approach. She calls out with a deliberate nonchalance, "Hello down there? Everything squared away?"

The light poking down through the waffled metal shows the outline of a male shape leaning out to see who's above him. For the slightest of moments, the two of them are greeted with the image of a balding man in the blue jacket of an officer. His eyes are gaunt and red-rimmed from hours of tear-filled torment. Clutching a ring of prayer beads in one hand and a Dragon mark-XIX pistol in the other, he slinks back into the crawlspace like a dog trying to find someplace quiet to die.

"Don't come down here! Just…frakking leave me alone." He calls out to them, starting to breathe heavily. Suddenly nervous, the officer slumps into the corner of the stairwell, kneels propped up with his pistol braced over his knees.

Dr. Nadir's eyes narrow subtly as she surveys the red-rimmed eyes, the clutched prayer beads, the weapon gripped in the other hand as the officer slumps back into the corner. She eases down one more step, despite being told not to come down any further and to leave the man alone. "Unfortunately, sir, we can't do that," she says, a fine thread of regret in her tone of voice as she eases another step down - closer.

Ella lets the doctor have the stairs themselves, while she stays on that top landing area, peering over the railing down toward the officer's hidey-hole. "Sir," she says, to the unknown officer, her voice nervous. "Why don't you come out and talk to us?"

The gun, thankfully, is still pointed towards the deck. The man below the stairs has a nametag on his duty jacket that reads SORENSON on it, and he's wearing Ensign pins. Conflicted and exhausted, he frantically sweeps between the two of them and lets out a half-choked sob. He shakes his head and buries it between his legs, taking his eyes off of them to give them time to seep in closer on his position. "No, please, just let me do this, okay? They're all gone. The whole planet is gone, there's no one left." He inhales deeply, once again snorting and wiping at his eyes with his free hand. "Just…please. I want to be with them. Give me five minutes and I won't cause a fuss. I can't do this…"

<FS3> Samtara rolls Medicine: Good Success.

<FS3> Ella rolls Streetwise: Good Success.

Dr. Nadir lifts her hand from the railing now that she's reached the bottom step and lifts one boot lightly from that last step and eases it down onto the landing, still making her way - quietly - forward, trying not to do anything to startle, jostle, jig the elbow of the Ensign and the gun he's holding. "You will cause a fuss, Ensign Sorenson," she says, putting name to rank as soon as she's close enough to read the nametag on his duty jacket. "The deck crew that will have to clean the blood, the particulate matter, the bits of brain that'll be embedded into the wall behind you, the bits of skull that'll fuse with the paint on the wall and the other matter that'll be all over the floor. I guarantee, Ensign, that if you pull that trigger there will be a whole new level of trauma and fuss that will erupt all over this ship. That," and she takes another step forward, bracing her feet slightly apart, weight balanced and centered, "and you pull that trigger and every other person on this ship who's thinking of doing the same thing will find it all that much easier to decide to do the same thing. Your one action, Ensign, can set off a chain reaction of other such decisions that you will be responsible for. Only, you'll be dead. If, mind, you do it properly," she adds, selecting each word with care, "aim it wrong and you're a brain dead vegetable drooling on a bib for the rest of your life. Or you blow off half of your face, your jaw, all of your teeth on one side of your face, and your horrify everyone who looks into your face for the rest of your life. How does either option honor the memory of everyone who was just murdered?" she challenges, taking a firm step forward, her tone not quite belligerent but decidedly challenging. "How does adding Your death to the countless others change anything? It makes you one more murder victim, and - at that - willing. You'll have laid down, meekly, bared your throat and said 'Please, kill me now, thank you', is that what you want?"

Well, damn, it's hard to top that one. Ella looks at the doctor with eyebrows quirking upward, more than a little impressed by that speech. Still, she feels obliged to toss in her own two cents in support of the good doctor. "We can't get our worlds back, sir, but we can sure as hell make those frakkers pay for what they did. Why don't you turn that pistol on the enemy. We need every soldier we've got."

Overloaded. The poor Ensign from Gemenon blinks at the utter wave of reasoning directed towards him. At times, he grits his teeth and shakes his head, fighting the logic, and the rather graphic, medical description of what his untimely death would be like forces his lower jaw out, stiffling a gag. His shoulders bob and he lowers his head again, fresh tears falling to the floor. His grip on his gun slacks and his thumb clicks the safety into place. Three times, he presses his thumb to the safety, about to disengage it and make the weapon hot once more, but finally, he lets it fall from his palm and sway on his trigger finger like it's hanging on a rack at a retail store.

Confused and heartbroken, he brushes his hand beneath his nose and looks up to them, wiping away at his nose and flashing a wedding ring towards them. Married. Family. Wife. He lowers the gun to the floor and shoves it towards Dr. Nadir's feet and starts sobbing again into the palm he presses to the front of his face.

Dr. Nadir stops the slide of the gun by the expedient measure of lifting her boot far enough to tamp the sole of the boot firmly against the gun, her expression carefully neutral and contained as she scoops the gun off of the floor with her left hand - checks (re-checks) the safety several times before shoving it into deep pocket along her left leg. The gun sort of fits but doesn't, pockets not being designed as gun holsters, then uses both hands to scrub against her face and smooth over her hair in the same gesture and stares down at the sobbing ensign with a look that conveys subtle touches of panic and bafflement.

Ella lets out a breath that she didn't realize she'd been holding when the ensign finally relinquishes his weapon. She casts a brief glance to Dr Nadir when the man starts crying again, but when the other woman doesn't move over to him, Ella does. She comes down the stairs and squeezes past the doctor (with a mumbled, 'excuse me sir'). One arm outstretched to reach for the crying man's shoulder, she tentatively approaches him. If he allows, that arm will slip around behind his shoulders to guide him gently towards the stairs. "Come on, sir, let's get you someplace you can relax and talk to someone."

Sorenson is like a grieving child. Ella, a stranger to him, immediately is taken to as a friendly body and he wraps his arm around her shoulders. He clings tightly to his prayer beads and shuffles his feet along with her help, letting her guide him out from beneath the stairs and back to them. After he passes Dr. Nadir, he snuffles and the sobbing starts to peter off like a child at a pyramid match being escorted off of the field, only in this case there's no applause from the concerned spectators. Mentally broken down, the man has just been saved from himself and a crisis has been averted and contained.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare anybody. I didn't mean to…" He whimpers, blinking his puffy, red eyes towards the stairs as he's led away.

Dr. Nadir angles slightly so that the gun that's in her pocket is on the side of her body that's against the wall instead of toward Sorenson and nods, "I know," she says in a quiet voice. Her attention, however, is mainly on Ella and shares another of those attempted 'speaking' looks. "To the med bay if you would, please escort the Ensign, Specialist Martis? I'll see about rounding up the chaplain."

"It's okay," Ella assures the ensign, guiding him up the stairs. She nods back over her shoulder to the doctor, "Aye, Doctor." She doesn't say much to the bereaved ensign, but offers her own quiet brand of support to him as she ushers him up to sickbay.

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