AWD #406: They Come In Threes
Fitness Center
Summary: Marine workouts collide in the fitness center. A sparring match ensues between Clara and Dreyer. In the middle of the match, Knox makes a stunning accusation and the ship escalates to condition one.
Date: 01/08/2016
Related Logs: {$related}
Clara Dreyer Kapali Knox Randy 
Fitness Center
Smelling of sweat and grease, the Fitness Center is a place where individuals can come to work out or just work off stress. The area closest to the entrance is taken up by two very large sparring pads with a pathway down the center, each pad removable to reveal a Pyramid court beneath. The walls beside the pads hold lockers for everything from pugilist sticks to boxing gloves to rubber guns, though deadly weapons are strictly prohibited in here except by authorized personnel such as on-duty Military Police. Standing goalposts for Pyramid are also kept against the wall. Past the pads are a vast number of nautilus machines as well as free weights to lift. At the back of the room are workout bikes, rowing machines, treadmills, and stairclimbers. There is an entrance to the pool at the rear as well as a locker room to the side.

In the locker room, Randy uses a towel to dry her hair, rubbing it wildly this way and that with no regard for the outcome. She's in a grey sports bra and some black athletic shorts. Her weight is shifted to her not recently trashed leg, which is healing up as nicely as it could. Nearby is a sloppy pile of clothing she probably intends to put on. The fitness area has a few people milling about, changing, sparring, that sort of thing. It's business as usual after the regular shifts.

It's not the time Dreyer had originally told Kapali he'd be free. He had to reschedule that, due to a need to take a trip to the Iron Pilgrim for some radio stuff. With Rakes so busy and Knox… well, Knox possibly not being Knox, there's a bit more call for his fledgling abilities. Which is probably why his bunk has so many manuals in it right now. He could practically form a blanket of them. The MP Sergeant meanders in, dressed in Orion-branded sweats. The hoodie is unzipped and his hands are shoved into the pockets; one holding a music player. The earbud cord winds up and out - a stark black against the grey of the hoodie itself. He's sort of bobbing his head along to it as he heads towards the lockers by the mats.

Squaring off with one of the weighted bags, a battered pair of boxing gloves protecting her hands as she works on both her form and combinations of punches, enjoying the way each impact of her gloves on the bag makes the jarring impact sing all the up to her shoulders and back again. She's wearing a ridiculous goofy t-shirt over her regular tank, this one reads 'Happiness is a Warm Gun', cut off sweats and a battered pair of sneakers, her music player hooked in one pocket and an equally battered looking set of head phones on her ears, anyone close enough would hear some trash rock playing.

While Kapali is letting loose on a heavy bag and Dreyer is hitting up the lockers besides the mats, Randy is tugging her shirt on. Nothing fancy or ridiculous. She reaches down to grab her beat up tennis shoes, wraps her bathing suit into her towel, and hauls it over her shoulder like a sack before limping out to the main area. She passes by Dreyer and takes a spot against the wall, sinking down to the floor to start putting on her socks and shoes.
Clara arrives from the Recreation Hall.
Clara has arrived.

One of the lockers is opened and Dreyer finally cuts the music as he takes off the hoodie part of his sweats and tosses it over the edge of the door. A roll of tape is grabbed from within and he starts wrapping his wrists as he watches Kapal at the bag. It's a studious sort of gaze, judging her form.

Her head bobbing, that's right, bobbing in time to the music, Kapali doesn't settle for just one-two, one-two-three, one-three, and a jab at two-two again. She bounces on her feet, as much working with the weighted bag as just enjoying the liberty to work up a healthy sweat while not getting shot at. an elbow is thrown, then another, a knee, followed by a jab, another quick two then back again.

Knox, in some generic sweatpants and tanks, enters the area with an MP behind him. Down to one for the moment, it seems. He's in uniform but the two are talking about something and it's hard to hear since the guy is so damned quiet. It sounds like something about what he knows about Scorpia and a region. Judging by the MP's accent, he's Scorpian. The two head over towards one of the nautiful machines and Coop grabs a rag on the way over. He smiles over, briefly, towards the others already working out.

Clara is pretty much a regular around here, so the other regulars mostly pay her no mind when she ambles on through the hatch with her duffle slung across one shoulder and a determined look on her face. Possibly she's looking to get some aggression out on the bags — except that's not the direction she's headed. Instead, she veers off toward the mats, drops her bag, and tugs off her hoodie, which is puddled atop the rest of her stuff. Knox is noted, as is Kapali practicing her jabs, and Dreyer wrapping his hands in apparent preparation to join in. Her own hands busy themselves scraping her long hair back and out of her face, and fastening it with a ratty elastic.

Randy gets one sock on easily enough and then grimaces as she bends her other knee to get the other sock on. It ends up on her toes and nothing more. After a moment of staring at her two feet, the sock clinging for purpose by her toes drops to the mat, defeated by artificial gravity. She pulls her other sock off with no regards for how it stretches and then tucks them into her shoes. She lifts a hand to greet Knox on his way in and her eyes drift to Dreyer for a moment before she pushes up onto her feet, sucking up whatever pain that comes from it. "Such a bad idea," she mumbles to herself as she eyes the bundle of towel and bathing suit in a lump next to her on the floor.

When Knox looks their way, Dreyer lifts a hand to wave. It turns, however, to a few gestures that largely equate to 'talk later?' The man shifts forward and moves towards the bag that Kapali is working. He rotates in a wide enough berth into her line of sight. No need to startle his fellow marine when she's already throwing punches. He's just assuming she can't hear much over the music. Rather he'll make a wide circle and step in to put a hand to the bag and offer a stronger backing for the series of throws Kapali is making.

Knox stops at a nautilus machine and starts messing with the weights. He looks over the machine to catch Dreyer's signal and gives a slow nod.

Head rocking to the beat of the trash rock spewing from her head phones, Kapali catches movement in her peripheral vision and bounces back half a step in time to see Dreyer making a wide circle and moving to brace the weight of the bag. The half-startled half-defensive look shifts to one of wry amusement and a nod is offered before she rolls first one shoulder, then the other, bounces briefly on the toes of both battered sneakers and launches into a new set of combinations that include punches thrown, elbows jabbed, a knee brought up with force.

Clara kicks her sneakers off and bends forward with a jangling of dogtags to hike up her sweatpants to her knees. It ain't pretty, but at least they won't be in the way. Her gaze drifts to Kapali again when she hears the solid THUMP of her knee coming in contact with the bag. A slight smile, gone before it really had a chance to take hold. Left knee bent, she catches her ankle from behind and pulls it up and back to the limit of her flexibility - folding herself nearly in half with the stretch.

Randy uses her foot to hook the towel and pulls her leg up so she can grab it. Then it's her toes doing most of the work to grab her bathing suit. All of this concentration leads to her pressing her lips together and knitting her brow in an odd combination of facial expressions. The suit drops and she sighs. Then she bends down at the waist to snatch everything up, exasperated with her own laziness. She shifts to pick up her shoes and sock and finally notices Clara, which earns a blink since she never saw the woman come in. She shakes her head and reaches up to rake her fingers through her messy wet hair before meander-limping over towards Knox. "Hey…" She nods to his MP. "You okay?" Her strangeness-around-a-synthetic-being seems to have faded a little bit. She's not asking a billion questions about his functionality. That's for sure.

Hey, holding a bag steady is easier than full hand-to-hand practice. And it gives Dreyer's stomach a bit longer to settle. There is a glance towards Clara because oh, hey, wow, bendy. But Kapali's knee to the bag shifts him just enough to bring his attention back. Anton blinks at the engineer and gives a sort of lopsided grin before settling back in properly. Hard to talk to the woman with rock blaring in her ears, after all.

knox gets his machine set up and takes a seat on it, ready to do some lateral presses. He looks to Randy on the approach and the two stop talking. The MP looks to her and nods. "Yeah, sorry. He knows things. I've got questions." He looks back to the Six, "Thanks, Sergeant." Coop nods to him as the Marine steps away and the Six looks at Randy. "Hey. Sorry about last night. Some things just… it's not as easy as it used to be." Apparently. He glances to Clara and what she's doing before looking back to Randy.

Kapali uses the next few moments to work up a steady pace, using her knees and elbows more and driving the weighted bag back toward Dreyer with more effort put into each knee, each jab, knowing that her hands, wrists, hell everything will complain after she's done but only when she succeeds in making the entire bag rock does she ease back and use the side of one glove to push the head phones off and shrugs them aside. It's tricky maneuvering, with her hands in the gloves, but she can at least hear Dreyer now.

It's a pretty standard dancer's warmup routine. An arabesque, a hip flexor stretch, nose to knee with her heel balanced on an unused stationary bike. There's an assortment of faded and fading bruises along her legs, but no sign of any ink whatsoever. Then again, Clara's not career military. "Hey," she calls over to the pair at the bags. "Spar with one of you when you're done with that?" Up and down on the balls of her feet, working her pointe without the shoes to do it justice. Her calf muscles are deceptively strong.

"Oh sorry," Randy looks up to the retreating MP as she realizes she interrupted. "It's okay. I mean I agree with you." She shrugs and then wiggles her toes, looking down at them for a moment before looking back to Knox. "I can't pretend to know what it's like. But if you ever want to talk." She doesn't try to draw any parallels. She looks over her shoulder back in the direction Knox was looking, easily distracted. "Anyways, uh, it's weird seeing you here. I mean, nice, but. Are you back for good now?"

Don't stare at the Corpsman. Don't stare at the Corpsman. It leaves Dreyer staring at a point past Kapali's shoulder, though his gaze flicks towards his perepherals from time to time. When the bag finally stills, he steps back from it and stretches arms up overhead before lacing hands at the back of his neck. Elbows winging out, the man arches a brow at the engineer. However, when Clara speaks up, his hands drop and he looks her way. Anton is in sweatpants and the dual tanks; showing both a bandage on his shoulder and a few tattoos on his arms. "Depends how tired Kapali here is." It's half-teasing, half-serious, ending with a glance towards the named woman.

Coop shakes his head to Randy. "I appreciate it. Thank you. But yeah." Sometimes a simple apology doesn't cover it. He watches Clara and the group for a moment before looking back. "No telling, Randy. I wish I had an answer. I'm only here at the behest of Doc Nadir. Then I had to fly the mission. Right now? I'm in limbo. Trust me, I'd love to stay." He settles back in the seat and starts lifting the 150 pounds with relative ease. "But I meant what I said. P isn't a trap."

Kapali wipes her forehead off on her forearm, a gleam of quiet amusement in her eyes that is almost . . ALMOST on the edge of turning into a remark before she steps back from the bag with a somewhat exaggerated roll of her shoulders. "I need some water, go ahead and go a few rounds," she invites and peels first one glove then the other off. "He's a good teacher," she notes and drops carries the gloves with her as she treks to the nearest water bubbler to get a drink.

Clara shakes out her hands and stretches out her traps, ear to shoulder on either side. Then she pads back over to her duffle bag and pulls out her bottle of water and tape before angling toward the bags. "Are you good?" she asks Dreyer, tearing off a strip of tape with her teeth, dark eyes on his. It's not really posturing, nor much of a challenge; the question actually seems genuine.

"I don't think it's possible that it's a trap. Even if it was…If I laid that trap? I wouldn't be waiting around for us humans to do the wrong thing and blow ourselves up or whatever." Randy reaches up to rub the back of her neck. "I would have ambushed us by now. And a synthetic species losing coordinates sounds like a load of shite-lichen to me." The topic is logical, so it's an itch she seems to need to scratch when it's brought up. "Well, I'll keep my fingers crossed for ya on sticking around." She glances at the weight set and arches her brow as if unimpressed before shooting him a wink and a little smile. "I think I'm going to watch this sparring here a second." Yep, her eyes drift back towards Clara and she mumbles to Knox, "Mind if I stand here like I have a reason to?" It's an odd question to ask, but Randy has no hint of embarrassment in her features.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Dreyer offers to Kapali, stepping away from the bag. He rolls his shoulders and checks the tape on his hands and wrists. They're held up for Clara to see. "Straight hand-to-hand or do you want gloves?" But she's grabbing tape, so he drops them to his sides. There's a look of bemusement at her query. "I'm fine. If I look green around the gills, it's because I had to do a bit of EVA," of a sort, "earlier." He meanders towards the mats, going the further distance across them from Clara. "If there's anything in particular you want to work on, just let me know." Otherwise, he seems to be waiting for her to make the first move.

Coop keeps lifting while Randy talks. He just looks at her, working through the weights. There's a slow nod with the activity, too. "If this ghost captain wanted you all dead or was some kind of spy, we'd all be dead." It's all Knox seems to have to say for the moment, letting the other Segeant move off. But while he works, he's watching Clara.

"Straight hand to hand's fine," Clara answers curtly, ducking her gaze to the task of wrapping her other hand. Meticulously, like she approaches her work. "No knees, face or tit punches, unless you want a knee in the junk." As to what she wants to work on, she lifts her slim shoulders in a shrug that's half indifference, half working the kinks out of stiff muscles. "Let's just freeform it." And she starts things off with a quick instep kick to Dreyer's flank, just to feel him out.

"Exactly." Randy can't seem to shift her gaze back to Knox, but it's not like she's ever been the subtle type. She also leaves the topic behind for the moment. "I'll uh…I'll see you around," she says as she starts to limp off towards the sparring match that starts to take shape. She slides down to sit on the sidelines.

Knox watches the group prepare and keeps looking at Clara. Specifically her face and eyes. He lets the weights fall with a clank and slowly rises. He then looks to Randy and what she's wearing, then to the other Marines. Casually, he steps off to the side to whisper something to the MP. The guy stands there, unmoving, but looks back to Kapali, Randy, Clara, and Dreyer.

Returning from the water bubbler, and possibly having lingered specifically to give the sarge and their corpsman a chance to warm up a bit and see each other's fighting styles, Kapali stands on the edge of the mat. One hand curled round a water bottle, the other idly working a towel through her sweat soaked hair, because obviously it's important that the style of the day be 'this is what it'd look like if you stuck you finger in a light socket and then used hair spray'. Special snowflake hairstyle, check.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Clara=Melee Vs Dreyer=Melee
< Clara: Success Dreyer: Success
< Net Result: DRAW

There's a quirk of brow, but Dreyer just shrugs. "If I'm going to grab at someone's chest, I'd rather it be in private." Hey, she started it. "Freeform it is." He does shift his stance, watching her. More her upper body than her lower; it means that kick mostly connects, but he's able to sidestep and drop a hand to deflect most of it. The man rolls with the step, using it to carry himself forward with an arm out, moving, but braced in an attempt to not just connect with her shoulder, but to try to take the Corpsman down to the mat. The instant the actual sparring match began, a sort of switch got flipped… in a proverbial sense. From joking and laid back to a more serious mien. At least Anton is taking it seriously.

The kick has no real oomph behind it, and apparently neither does Dreyer's takedown attempt. She lets him come at her, waits to see if he'll commit to it, then pivots into a quick and vicious heel kick using the momentum from her turn. If she can grab a handful of his tanks to make it harder for him to escape, she will.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Clara=melee Vs Dreyer=melee
< Clara: Great Success Dreyer: Great Success
< Net Result: Dreyer wins - Marginal Victory

Cooper doesn't wear any rank pins and he hasn't been re-established back into the fleet on any official basis. So when he turns back from the MP, there's the MP's Five-Seven in his hand and that might be cause for some alarm. The look on his face is stone cold, too. Those eyes hold nothing but darkness. The Marines that were with him at Santos Ridge or even seen him in combat know that this is the skinjob. The Honor. The warfighter and relentless warrior. In an instant, Coop went from being a friendly guy to a killer. Meanwhile his MP starts talking into his radio, spouting something about Knox and Cylons, and lifting the rifle from his gear. "CODE BLUE!" Knox shouts at the top of his lungs. 'Infiltrator. Skinjob.' It echoes around the room and down the corridor of the open hatch. Everyone else seems to freeze. Where does the muzzle go? Clara's chest. That's a pure combat stance from him, too. Two steps forward but out of hand-striking range. "DREYER GET BACK! YOU!," that next to Clara, "On the frakking ground, NOW! Spread your hands and legs! I WILL kill you if you don't!!"

An easy grin begins to form as Randy watches the bout. She's not showing any signs of hiding her mirth. Nope. She's about to call out when all of the sudden she hears the 'Code Blue'. It sends her scrambling to her feet ineffectively. "What the frak?!"

Kapali drops the water bottle the moment that Knox shouts out the code, the words echoing oddly around the room, off of all the equipment, the stunned faces of the personnel using all that equipment. She's moving forward as soon as she sees Knox in motion, searching for one of the faces that they've all memorized by now - including the two new ones - only to do a jaw drop look at Clara. She turns toward Knox, hands held up to indicate that she isn't aiming a weapon at anyone, not that every living marine isn't a walking talking kicking ass taking names weapons, and there's no such thing as an ex marine. That said, "Whoa, Knox, hey, Coop, it's Clara. She's one of us, too."

The Corpsman may be quick, but Dreyer is just a bit quicker. He's able to move with the heel kick — if barely — and grab ahold of the woman. Sparring puts him enough in combat mode that he parses everything pretty damn quickly. Quick enough to release Clara, but he doesn't move far away. A sidestep to be out of the direct line of fire, but not fully away. "Knox, what the frak?" It's a louder, more commanding sort of voice. Oh, right, Dreyer is an MP, even if he's been masquerading as a wirelo lately. "Unless you lied to us, we've identified the last of the female models." There is a glance towards Clara. Likely hoping she relents. If only to keep bullets from firing. A pause and he lifts a hand towards Kapali; a silent signal for her not to approach closer. "And if she is, she's seen enough around here. We can't risk a download."

The problem with a move like that, is that you risk too much. You put yourself out there, and you stand the chance of being grappled to the ground - unless you can knock the wind out of your opponent, and end the match right there. Mercier seems to realise she's miscalculated a moment too late; Dreyer can see it in her eyes, the instant before he counters her. The instant before Knox's voice reverberates around the room, and several sets of eyes swivel her way. Then Dreyer releases her leg, and there's a Five-seveN leveled at her, and despite the fact that it's clearly inferior to a P90, it's still going to blow a hole in her chest if she doesn't comply. The medic's breathing is audible, but under control. "I don't want to die." Dark eyes flit to Dreyer, to Kapali, and finally to Randy for a long moment before dragging back to Knox. Her taped hands come up, and she sinks to her knees, and stays there. The problem is, you risk too much. You just risk too damned much. "I want asylum."

Cooper holds the sidearm on Clara while Dreyer responds. "Out here? There's no downloading. If she is what I think she is, then she's well aware that there's no going home." Cold. Each word spoken with every sound annuciated. Knox watches Clara go to her knees and those cold eyes just focus right on her head. The muzzle lifts that direction, too. Aimed right there. "Yeah? Maybe we shouldn't be here. We'll see where the request gets you." That seems a message just for her. "Eat the godsdamned mat with your face."

Overhead a call to Condition One goes out through the ship and MP's are ordered to the Fitness Center. Gunners are recalled from positions, as are the Air Wing.

Cooper holds the gun on her. "We both know handcuffs are worthless. Just keep in mind that if you die out here, you're not going home." The guy has pure anger on his face. "I knew it when I asked you if you were a Cylon. If you're a Three, you have a lot to say. I don't want to kill you but I sure as hell will. What is your mission on the Orion?"

From around the ship, Marines can be heard pounding boots. Fully armed, they're filling every possible escape route. But Knox? He's not an MP. He's not even a returned member of the crew. He's a skinjob with a gun. Much as he might be in control, it isn't his place.

Randy is plastered to the wall for a few long moments, stunned to silence after her first interjection. Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She steps forward one or two steps, but her momentum just peeters out. Shock, confusion, alarm, concern wash over her face, until those three words. "Don't frakking hurt he…" Stopped dead in her tracks, there's only disbelief.

Kapali's expression edges between appalled and shocked but as there are boots hitting the deck from every bloody direction all at once, condition one ringing through the ship, this room is about to get very very crowded. "Coop, gun," she says in a low voice, reminding him that maybe he ought not to be the one holding the gun when the cavalry and reserves arrive. She doesn't take her eyes off of Clara, because seeing is believing.

"Coop." Dreyer is watching Clara as she lowers to the mat, but he's stepping around. Towards Knox. His hand goes out. "Give me the gun." More demand than request, but there's a touch of concern behind it. He probably doesn't want the brass coming down and seeing the Six with a weapon in hand. "This place is about to be swarming and if there's an issue, I'd rather you be able to restrain her." And if he's given it? He'll train the weapon on Clara in turn. Uncertain as he may be about who or what she is.

For a few taut seconds, there's nothing but the palpable tension between Knox and Clara, skinjob to skinjob, if indeed that's what she is. He's angry, and militant, and everything they've programmed a Six to be. She, on the other hand, is watching him with something akin to.. pity. "You really are exactly how I remember you," she observes quietly. "A blunt instrument. Your Honour's misplaced. And I don't have anything to say, except that I want my son taken care of." She doesn't look back at Randy, doesn't dare. But she does, after some hesitation, comply with the order to get down on the floor, face to the mat while the condition one alarm blares and MPs no doubt are triangulating on their position at this very second.

<FS3> Kapali rolls Alertness: Failure.
<FS3> Randy rolls Alertness: Good Success.
<FS3> Clara rolls Alertness: Good Success.
<FS3> Dreyer rolls Alertness: Good Success.

Knox stands there, staring. The muzzle aimed on Clara's face. He looks like he's half an inch from a kill. They're seen it in him before, but never in a controlled setting. Kapali's voice seems to reach him, though. But Dreyer stepping up has his eyes actually divert a moment. He takes a long breath. "You can't restrain her. I can. Handing off…" He lets the pistol go loose in his hands and then steps away. He looks down at her as he steps closer, unafraid of hand to hand. "Your adopted son is just an adoption." He leans down close and whispers something to her before stepping back. "Your 'son'," verbal airquoutes, "will be handed off to someone else."

<FS3> Clara rolls 3: Success.

"Exactly." This, to Knox affirming his own ability to restrain Clara. "I'd rather you be in that role when the brass arrives." Skinjob helping restrain another potential skinjob? Looks better than Knox holding a gun to someone. Dreyer may be in sweats and dual-tanks, but he's known well enough on the ship that it shouldn't be an issue to see him standing over Clara, holding the Five-seveN at a level angle. "I would really appreciate an explanation right about now. I already have one report to draft. One of you start talking and make this one easier." He witnessed it all first-hand. He's sure to be asked to at least file something. But something twinges at him when Knox leans in and there's a furrow of Anton's brow. "Knox. Our talk later? Just got a bit longer."

Kapali doesn't over hear all of the conversation points as she is taking one measured step back, after another, until she links up with Randy's position in the room and alters her angle subtly so that she can keep both eyes on Clara and Coop, just in case the subdue-detain turns into cylon-v-cylon in an all out slug fest. Just in case.

For a terrible, horrible moment it looks like Clara might come to blows with Knox over the adoption comment. Or maybe it's the airquotes around the word 'son'. The muscle in her shoulders tenses, and her fingers spread against the mat like she's going to launch herself off it and at him. Her breathing quickens, but her restraint holds. For the time being. "Don't touch me." Or I'll rip your face off with my bare hands. If she has anything to say to Dreyer, she gives no indication; only her eyes track him briefly, behind mussed bangs.

Randy watches as Clara complies. Mention of her son seems to bring the small woman out of her stupor and into something else. Her face contorts at what Knox says in response. There's pain there, but she forces herself to watch, at least until the gun is in Dreyer's hands. "You can't just frakking hand a kid around like a pack of cards you-" Her voice is raised already, seemingly out of nowhere for someone who is so quiet on the sidelines. Her fingers curl into fists that she keeps to her side, her body tense with rage.

"Shut up, Dreyer." Knox just stares down at Clara, kneeling beside her. "We'll talk later." But he looks down at her and just shakes his head. "I won't. Not if you comply. If you want asylum, you're going to do every single thing I tell you. It's going to hurt, but you're going to do it."

Meanwhile Marines pour in, MP's with rifles and even one enterprising Marine with a light machine gun.

Knox then looks to Randy. "It's not her kid. Skinjobs don't have kids. It's just a lie made to give sympathy."

"Flynn." It's quiet. Almost a warning. "Whatever else she may be, she's a member of the Fleet. She hasn't been taking care of the kid herself as it is. I'm sure-" this, a glance briefly to Knox and a frown. "if the child is on P, they'll be taken care of. Along with the others there." Orphans. Children of Fleet members. Children of rescued colonists. When the MPs enter, he lifts the hand with the gun, finger moving to be alongside the trigger rather than on it. Control. He has it. Sort of. For the moment, maybe.

"The Six that identifies as Cooper Knox has marked Corpsman Clara Mercier as a skinjob. Possible designation Three. She's requested asylum. Get her to the brig." Dreyer's gaze does drop to Clara and there is a hint of warning in his voice. "They are going to have to touch you to take you to the brig. It is standard procedure. Comply and this will be a lot easier on everyone."

"I'm concerned about the /child/," Randy pins Knox with a nearly murderous look, something deep and primal. She's still bristling, trying to keep all of it contained even as the MPs all come flooding in. She begins to force herself to take deep breaths. "If you don't want to hurt me. Then you'll shut the frak up.-I'M NOT SPEAKING TO YOU!" she snaps at Dreyer. He's in the 'line of fire.' But her choice of words is telling. It's a declaration almost.

Clara might be crying. It's hard to tell with the right side of her face squished against the mat and her messy hair half in, half out of a ponytail, but there does seem to be a telltale dampness weaving a wobbly track down her left cheek and throat. Either utterly cowed, or just putting on a very convincing display of such, she nods twice to Knox's 'conditions', with no comment whatsoever on the ruse that is her supposed kid. Not a word more about him. Randy's shouting causes her to reflexively cover her ears, which is probably not the best move right now given the number of rifles (and a machine gun) pointed at her. Maybe the brig isn't such a bad place to be, right now.

Knox looks back at Randy, "Yeah, me too. But we have bigger concerns. Like a skinjob on the Orion, uncontrolled and outside the command structure." He comes off his knee by Clara and waits for her to rise with the orders. "I'm escorting her. Someone let Doc Nadir know that I won't be back in sickbay." Watching Clara's reaction, the guy squats and offers her a hand. "You want asylum? Stand up. You follow every order given to you. If you're lucky?" He gestures out. "If you're lucky, maybe one day you can save more lives. But right now it's all on you, whomever you are. Let's go." The words aren't mean or sharp. He doesn't react to tears, just the intent. "Myself. Ceres. Naomi. The Twelves. We've all been here. We've seen the truth. You may not see it yet, but you will. Let's go." He keeps the hand offered.

"Sergeant Flynn, a potential threat to the Fleet has been identified. Any child will be cared for. Allow us to do our frakkin' jobs." Dreyer stays professional through most of it, but the last reveals his own stress levels. He hasn't had to arrest someone he's been in the field with before. He also hasn't dealt with an infiltrating skinjob firsthand before. He doesn't stop Knox from approaching Clara. As they discussed previously; he's their best option to restrain her. Anton does keep the Five-seveN in hand, but he draws in a long breath. One of the MPs on hand is gestured to. "Go inform the CMO." And another one is pointed at. "You, run ahead to the brig. Let them know. And… frak, I guess get me a pen and paper."

"I have to stop by sickbay anyways." Stipulations on Randy getting to hobble around when she probably ought to mostly be in bed. At least it keeps all the drugged (and also later bored) catcalling out of the recovery ward. Yep, she's completely ignoring Dreyer now. Her eyes drift downwards and then she just begins to limp out. When a green MP tries to stop her, claiming he needs a statement or something or other, Randy actually stops, looks at his rank, and then flips him off before limping out. She sort of forgot her tennis shoes, her socks, her bathing suit, and her towel, but she's gone, and she's no longer in the MPs' way, and she's not going to stay and watch anymore. Or she can't.

Hey, if Dreyer is finding this surreal, it's a fair guess Mercier is, too. Though she has to have guessed it would come to this, at some point, doesn't she? There's far too much going on to follow individual voices and threads of conversation, so she focuses on his, and on Knox's. One is safe; the other is familiar. Not in the way a fighting unit is familiar, but in the way of siblings. Estranged, perhaps. "You talk way too frakking much," she informs the Six, pointedly not accepting his help up. Her hands are kept visible at all times, mostly because she doesn't particularly want to be riddled full of holes before she's taken a step. It's Randy, though, whom she watches as the marine makes her hurried departure. Hard to say exactly what expression that is on her face. Regret? She moves, though, when she's told to move by the men with guns.

Even while Clara cries and looks forlorn while being taken to her cell, Knox has none of it. He has been in her position. The man has zero rank with anyone or anything but the MP's seem to understand that the only proper guard for a skinjob is another skinjob. He walks her to the cell and makes sure she's secured. The obvious verbal arning to the MP's about strength and the cell doors. After that, he exits the holding area and heads back to what used to be his desk. A clerk owns it now, who is long-since asleep, but he plops down in the chair. Sweats and tanktops, the guy looks like any other Marine in the room. most are swarming over the video feeds and worrying over briefings. he just stares at the desk.

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