ALT #385: Thinking Out Loud
Thinking Out Loud
Summary: The pilots still in sickbay openly speculate about the cause of the explosions that put them there. Suspicions take a predictable turn.
Date: 26/01/2014
Related Logs: Burning Wings
Holtz Atalanta Ygraine Phin Jason Warren 
Sickbay
Serving as the ship's primary care facility, the Medical Center is a rather large, single room structure that has the same load-bearing structures to the walls that the halls do, as well as the same heavy hatch. There is a desk at the entrance staffed by a nurse as well as a small locker for single dose drugs like aspirin. Beds are lined up along each wall with EKG's and hangers for IVs in case of triage. Large cabinets at the rear provide ready access to lifesaving medicines and gear, as well as a ready supply of defibrillators. Not far from the primary entrance is the Chief Medical Officer's office and on the other side is a small hatch to the recovery ward. Towards the rear is a sectioned-off examination area. Opposite the hatch to recovery is a sealed doorway leading down a hallway to the ship's morgue.
AWD #385

They hadn't even put her on light duty. In stead, almost a full day stuck in a medical bay, with her arm and her legged bandaged. A full day confined to a bed. At least she finally managed to convince someone to bring some of her things down from her office, so that the time isn't entirely wasted. One of the tables has been pulled across her lap, the half-finished food tray pushed aside in favor of turning the formica surface into a work space. Franklin scribbles her name at the bottom of a report, then flips it over in favor of the next file. Busy work, the lot of it. But what else can she really do from here?

Warren doesn't seem particularly happy to be kept here, evidenced by his tense expression and the pile of paperwork he's going through. Busy work, much like Atia's but at least its something to keep his mind off of where he is though its not exactly doing the best of jobs doing such. Theres the occasional wince from him when he shifts too fast, or the occasional cough.

Holtz is also still stuck in sickbay. Though his injuries weren't as bad overall as some of the others, the medical staff is still being cautious in light of his concussion. He's spent most of his additional time in sickbay asleep, though he seems to be coming out of it now; his eyes flutter open and he takes a deep breath as his eyes flick from side to side. The room doesn't seem to be moving, and his vision is clear, which are probably both good signs. A hand creeps slowly up to his chest where the doctors had plucked the shrapnel out of him; his ruined shirts and jacket are gone, replaced by a bandage wrapped around his upper torso. There's no immediate twinge of pain when he touches it as there was last night, but he does notice a dull, tender feeling when he presses down harder.

Someone, probably a kind soul in the Strikes, took pity on Phin and brought him a change of clothes. He's up and about after a night in Sickbay. He's not even really limping anymore, though his right leg moves a bit stiffly from the bandage that's still wrapped around it, under his trousers. He's been looking for a doctor he can bother about signing him out but, given the uptick in patients, he's a low priority. And he's not pressing too hard. Instead, he wanders back to look in on his flightmates.

It looks like Ygraine escaped with the least amount of damage. What that inevitably means, of course, is that she's given a cane and the order to buck the hades out of here, but if there are people forced into paperwork, well, that gives her the impetus to serve as a gopher for folks who need things shuttled to and fro from the barracks, and also exercise her leg. But even she needs to take a rest, and nothing has quite managed to take the slightly stunned air she's had for the past twenty-four or so hours off of her face.

The next report brings a look of mild confusion to Franklin's face — honestly, it's a nice change from the irritated, sort of stir-crazy expression she's been sporting all evening. Eventually, she holds the file up and waves it in Warren's direction, without looking up from the next page in the stack. "I think this one is yours, Smythe," she calls out, through the thin curtains they've hung up to give the pretense of privacy.

With how he slipped out of consciousness when they were brought in, it's probably a good thing that Jason has no plans on going anywhere before he's told to. Having drifted off again, he stirs, opening his eyes again now. "Not just a nightmare…" he mutters, as he looks around at the others. "Hey…" he greets them, quietly.

Waving paperwork! Could it possibly be Warrens release out of here? Nope, no such luck. Just a miss filed report that ended up in Atia's pile of busy work. "Ah the wonders of miss filed paperwork. I'll get it in a second," he says dryly. Of course as he says that one of the nurses gives him a very dirty look, and he mutters to himself, "Or one of the nurses or such will be their wonderful selves and get it." Theres some more muttering there but its under his breath.

Holtz's own expression is grim, tight-jawed as he shakes off the last remnants of sleep-induced lethargy. He rubs the back of his neck with a slight grimace as he pushes himself slightly upwards, propping himself up onto his side and bracing himself with an elbow. Eyes flick to Jason in the bed next to his. "Springthorpe," he quietly acknowledges the other pilot after a clearing of the throat. He blinks to clear his still-slightly-bleary eyes as he starts to look around.

"Are you guys working?" Such is Phin's question as he wanders into the general vicinity and notices all the paperwork being waved about. Though it does lead him to ask, "Does anybody know what happened yet? I mean…why the sims…exploded?" He kind of hunted around for another way to say it, but he couldn't find it.

"Somebody's doin' somethin'." mutters Ygraine, and while it makes no particular sense, that doesn't stop her from distributing the paperwork she's got under her arm to those they are designated for before taking a seat.

The CAG gives Warren a sympathetic glance — unfortunately, her orders can't countermand medical, but she is well aware of exactly why he hates sitting in sickbay so very, very much. But she doesn't comment on the subject. "I'm afraid that I don't," Franklin replies, frowning darkly. She shifts her weight once, then winces. "Though I expect once the techs examine them and the MPs have conducted all their interviews, there will be a report."

"Well they bloody well won't let me out of this place yet," Warren mutters to himself in response to Phin's first question. The second question brings a bit darker tone to his voice, "Its what fraking happens when you let a fraking six walk around the place. Fraking tosses grenades in bunks but no we let him have rank, use guns and explosives, and walk around the ship. Fraking should have spaced him." He sounds pretty sure, also angry, but its not like he's had any time to investigate.

"Seeing the paperwork, I must admit I'm glad I haven't reached that far," Jason offers, before he smiles as he looks between the others. "How many didn't…" he begins, trailing off again.

Phin shifts a look to Ygraine, and looks like he's contemplating saying something to her, but Atalanta's reply to his question gets his attention. Not that it's very enlightening. He nods, and doesn't press further. "Understood, sir." He tenses a little when Warren mentions the Six. But he doesn't contradict the man, or deny the possibility.

Holtz slowly pushes himself to a sitting position, shrugging in Jason's direction. He's really not sure of the final death toll, as chaotic as things were last night. There's a frown as he looks down at his pants. They're the ones he was wearing last night, still stained with soot and blood. His scowl only deepens when he hears Warren, and the major nods in agreement. "Shoulda thrown 'em all out the airlock," he opines in a growl. Not one for half measures, is Holtz. "Put 'em on the one-way express to Download City." He snorts derisively. "But no, we'd rather make 'em citizens and shit instead."

Ygraine's lips press together thinly, but she says nothing. You don't get into a Tauran's way when he's on a rant unless you have really, really, really strong feelings on an issue and are prepared to glass jaw yourself for it. Softly, "Last I heard, the body count was two."

"Three," Franklin corrects, quietly. She presses her lips together into a thin line, the pink color slowly draining to a pale, yellowish white. She drums her fingers against the table she's turned into a desk, the soft pads, rather than her nails, beating into the warm brown surfce. "Demetri and Spade from the wing, and Taggert. Everyone else should be back on the line in a week, at most." She makes no comment as to the possibility of the Cylons aboard being involved, but instead stretches out her uninjured arm to pull her curtain back further. Green eyes shift to Warren, who she gives a lingering, meaningful look.

At least one person agrees with him outloud. Then again its Holtz, so it could be good or bad that he's agreed with (not that Warren disagrees with Holtz's position). He gives the man a nod before glancing over towards Atalanta and takes a moment to take a breath, not a particularly deep one, stupid gut wounds, but one none the less, before he lets out a little sigh. He gives her a nod towards the woman before looking back to his paperwork and muttering something about 'but you know, i don't really know just thinking out loud. probably true though'.

"Sniper and Wolf…" Phin swallows hard, then clears his throat with some effort. He crosses his arms across his chest as Holtz goes off about the skinjobs. No disagreement, but he doesn't seem keen to add anything to it. Other than a soft, "Frak…"

Jason lets out a bit of a sigh as he hears the numbers, wincing momentarily. "Feels wrong, somehow. All we go through out there, and then they get killed like that, back on the ship…" A brief pause, as he looks between the others now, expression a bit thoughtful. And sorrowful.

Holtz hisses a muffled curse in Tauran when Atalanta revises Ygraine's body count upwards. "Frak," he mutters, echoing Phin's sentiment. When Jason speaks, he nods again. "At least out in the black we got guns to shoot back with. Godsdamn skinjobs can't beat us in space so they bring the war home instead." He shakes his head, his eyes dull.

Ygraine is thoughtful, staring at nothing as she tries to sort things out in her head. "Someone on th'ship did this. There's a saboteur on board, and we only got guesses." She's shaken. The ship is her home.

"It happened twice on the Rubaul," Franklin explains with a remarkably calm — even dead — voice. "In the berths. It wasn't bombs, though. Never bombs. It was always grenades, tossed into our bunks while we were sleeping. And it was the Six on board, both times." She blinks once, twice, slowly. "Of course, we don't have any proof here — had it been one explosion, it could've been an accident. But two makes it unlikely. Two makes it seem deliberate." A pause. "What happened in the mess hall?"

Phin steps beside Ygraine, leaning over a little to tap her shoulder. It's a subtle thing. When Atalanta asks about the mess hall, he looks tempted not to answer. But he finally does. "There was…umm…they called him a One. That was his model. Sergeant Knox and Redux…" He clears his throat. "Captain Delacroix-Garrido…the Six and the Nine…they said he was here to execute them. For being…traitors. Anyway. Umm. He shot up the whole mess hall. A bunch of people died…"

Warren glances over towards Franklin as she mentions the incidents over on the Rubaul but he doesn't say anything of it. He instead glances back at his paperwork, perhaps looking tenser than before, if thats possible. He doesn't really know what happened over here in the mess, just the hell he lived through over there. He glances over towards Phin a moment as he recalls the tale but then glances back at the paperwork at hand, an unpleasent distraction from unpleasent thoughts.

"Funny how he didn't get the ones he said he was after, neither," Holtz says flatly after Phin's description of the mess hall massacre. He looks briefly at Ygraine, his expression hooded, but he does nothing and says nothing to indicate that he disagrees with her assessment. It seems like his own thoughts have led him to a similar conclusion.

Ygraine looks up briefly at Phin, summoning a smile that all but cracks her face. "I'm okay." she promises. "There's lotsa people in poorer condition than me."

Jason listens a bit quietly now. "True…" That to the part about two being unlikely that it's an accident. "That was bad…" That to the part about the Mess Hall, and then he glances around the room for a few moments, keeping silent now.
GAME: Save complete.

"Redux was right there, she could've gotten shot easy as anyone else," Phin seems to feel compelled to say. Though he sort of mutters it almost under his breath, so it's not the most rousing defense of Model Nine ever. Ygraine gets a slight crook of his mouth that doesn't quite approach a smile, and a nod. Sure you're OK.

Holtz grunts at Phin's statement. It may be a fair assessment, but then the major's probably not feeling particularly fair-minded right now… if he ever is, when it comes to the humanoid Cylons. He sighs as he pushes himself off the bed with a wince, gingerly rising to his feet.

Franklin's mouth drops open. She is, clearly, on the verge of saying something else — but then she chokes it back, swallowing down the lump in her throat. She wasn't hear for the mess hall shooting. It's not something that she can speak intelligently about; it's not something she can speak to at all. Leaning back against her pillows, she turns to stare at Holtz. "You shouldn't be on your feet yet, Major. They haven't cleared you to leave."

Ygraine looks up at Holtz, her expression weary. "Holtz. C'mon. Ya know they ain't cleared ya, and tryin' t'push out before they say go only makes ya end up here longer and I know ya don't want that.'

"What are you even going to do, Storm?" Phin asks the rising Holtz. "The techs and the MPs will find something or they won't. Nothing you can do about it, out there or in here. Nothing any of us can do about it for now." There's a note of frustration about this, but he's maybe more generally resigned to it than the big Tauran.

Jason sighs as he sees Holtz getting to his feet, but doesn't make a comment at the moment. Instead he leans back a bit further, preparing himself to get some more rest now.

"Bugger 'em with a pinecone," Holtz mutters, though it's not entirely clear whether he's referring to the Cylons or the doctors. He looks a little surprised at the reaction he gets from the others. "My head's fine, and ain't a damn thing wrong with my legs," he insists. "Gonna go frakkin' stir-crazy if I stay on my back for much longer." He makes no move towards the door, though. Instead, he just starts pacing to and fro beside his bed; his steps are a little stiff at first but quickly smooth out.

Ygraine looks around the room, uncertainty on her face. Tucking her knees up to her chest, she remains silent and awkward looking. Putting her feet down again she asks, "Is there anything I can get anybody from the berths?"

Phin watches Holtz and his pacing with some concern. But when he stays by the bed, and doesn't collapse, he keeps his mouth shut about it. There are nurses on-hand to strong-arm unruly patients, anyway. And it's not like he looks any more eager to stay put. He does at least not crane his neck around too obviously in search of a doctor to sign off on his discharge. "I can swing by the offices to grab the evening reports after I'm out, if you guys want," he offers, for his part. He might as well enable the working-from-Sickbay.

Holtz looks up when he hears Ygraine's question. "You mind grabbin' a change of uniform out of my locker?" he requests. "Thanks." Then he falls silent again, a hand reaching up to absently rub against the bandages wrapped around his chest. There's a nod to Phin at the offer to bring the evening's reports around, as well.

"Of course." Ygraine replies to Holtz quietly, leaning forward to look over at Phin. "Want me t'find ya a doc?"

"Yeah, sounds good. You…uh…got a minute after I'm out?" Phin asks Ygraine. To Holtz he nods, and says simply, "Take it easy, Storm. I'll see you later."

"'Course." she says, and Ygraine rises, loping off deeper into sickbay briefly to go fetch someone to sign Phin out.

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