Zero Hour - Literate Battlestar Galactica RP // WANT PEOPLE

[Chia Toma]

Shauna Lili'ana Fidgets Hardin

■ I am Chief Engineer.
■ I am currently somewhere in the ships systems
■ Health StatusBumped, bruised and scraped.
■ Current MoodAnnoyed to frakkin hell.
■ My puppet master is Chia Toma..




"Major Demetry Antov is requesting a damaged report Fidgets," the voice of a greenhorn engineer shouted down from high above, "What should we tell him?"

Dark eyes glared up at the figure, though were next to impossible to make out behind the smears of oil, lubricant and a pair of very unfashionable welding goggles that made the wearer look like something out of a very badly drawn science-fiction reject story. "I already sent the report five times, why the hell haven't they got it yet?"

"Internals must've screwed up," came back the voice, "they want a verbal report."

"Slag and dang it!" Fidgets virtually screamed, bashing her hand off the section she was working on at the moment, "Alright, I'm coming up. You two, get this patch welded up good and proper otherwise we'll decompress and be sucked out into the vacuum of space which is not on my agenda today." Sounding deadly serious, the normally quite jovial engineer clambered up the makeshift ladder with surprising speed and agility given that the whole place was awash with fluids. Habituation systems weren't entirely vital to the running of the ship but when structural damage was caused around them it wasn't an pretty sight in the slightest. Wiping away the sweat, but adding to the muck, Gets grabbed the phone off of the greenhorn who she now recognised as Gregory, "Go and check that the pressure gauges aren't about to blow. It's fine having a ship that will run on thin air but if they blow there won't be anyone left to tell the tale. Oh and tell the frakkin morons to seal up the breech doors on level fourteen through nineteen...I don't think no one will want to go into them anytime soon."

Watching Gregory nod before sprinting off, the Chinese girl took a deep breath before shaking her head and putting the phone next to her ear, "Figets reporting in. You wanted a damage report? We're almost to the point of utterly fragged...thankfully the engines are just about holding out but they're liable to over-heat if pushed too far, life support systems are operating at about fifty per cent, we can't fix the hull breeches without proper tools. Weapons and other defensive systems - oi! Take that to medical will you, they'll have more use for it there than what we have - should be fine for the time being and the rest is going to be on a wing and a prayer. Won't have a full diagnostic till we get a safe place to hide out in though, we could be up the creak without a paddle for all I-"

The ships warning systems whirred into action, blaring another incoming attack. "Aw frakkin hell!" dropping the phone, Fidgets charged towards her team to start issuing fire duties and repair teams. She knew that they were all overworked, stressed and upset with the events but right now they had to be on their toes else all would be loss. "What are you all standing around for, get the fire equipment set up, repair teams organise yourselves. Grab whatever tools you can and get ready to move out. Make sure that the Hanger Bay is cleared as well...don't want to have to deal with an collision inside there."

Grabbing her own tool kit, she tried to desperately type some information into the system for a report but was almost sent to the floor as a relay of blasts struck the side. "Stop hurting her! She's an old girl!" Fidgets cursed before abandoning the computer deck to grab the phone again, "Bridge, if you're going to jump make sure it's a good one. We've got enough power for at least one jump, don't know if she'll take anymore than that. Need to take a good look at the drive when we're not getting blown to pieces by toasters! I'll send Bongo up for more direct-"

Abandoning the phone yet again, the Engineer just managed to dodge a support pole as it crashed down onto the deck below and lightly she coughed before righting herself. "Great, there goes that communication. Burrows, Smithy, Percy and Helen, get yourselves to the sub light drive and check that the cooling unit is still functioning! The rest of you get to your duties on the double! Bongo!" there was a scurrying sound and Bongo, probably the strangest looking robotic dog in the entire universe appeared beside her with it's tail wagging back and forth like a spring, "Take this report to the bridge and give it to the Major. Understand?"

Bongo nodded before abruptly turning and rushing off into the messy throng. Pausing only to briefly touch her health beads around her wrist, Fidgets re-grabbed her tools and took off to hopefully find another communication point or at least an area where she could feasibly direct her teams from. Today was not a good day to die.

[Lysander the Poet]

[[Filler post because I'm going absolutely nuts...amazing what can happen in about twenty or thirty seconds.]]


Fifty-nine Vipers glided through the stars, all except for Scholar, who was hopefully in the tubes, ready to go. Hundreds of Cylon Raiders circled out around them, firing with merciless vigor. The two Squadrons of ships were severely outnumbered, but that was the thing about human pilots, and Colonial Vipers...even outmatched, four-to-one, a skilled Viper pilot could tear through Cylons with ease. Humans were risky, irrational, ninety-nine percent psychotic...and good at what they did. But sheer skill wasn't always better than numbers. Several explosions rang out in the midst of battle, cries of agony and despair silenced...

"Mycenae, this is Bullseye...we just lost three Vipers to these frakkin' bastards. You need to spool up that Gods damned FTL and get us the frak out of here. We can't hold them back for much longer!" Bullseye pulled into a swift turn to the right, and two Cylon Raiders collided. Two more Vipers formed up on his wings, flying at a quick pace towards one of the Basestars. "Bullseye...Raider on our tails..." The pilot looked quickly over his shoulder, to see not just one, but several Cylon Raiders gliding into position behind him and the others. A grin spread across his face, as he examined DRADIS, still clouded with the innumerable Cylon squadrons. "On my mark, let's show these bastards what a Viper can do. Three...two...one...MARK!" The trio of Vipers pulled a complete 180 degree, and opened fire on the Raiders, blowing them to bits, and blasting their way through the debris, back towards the Mycenae.

"MAJOR! Both Basestars are firing multiple ship-to-ship missiles at us...twenty seconds till impact!"

Twenty. Contact had finally come in from Engineering. The bridge had been trying to get in contact with Chief Hardin forever...a conclusive damage report was absolutely needed in a time like this, to fully assess the status of the ship. The contact was shaky at best, but less because of the condition of the ship, and more of the mass insanity that currently ruled it. The Chief's words came quickly, and in the background, the chaos was easily recognizable. "Major, Chief Hardin is sending up the comprehensive damage report. Says we're barely holding up, and we've only got enough in us for one frakkin' jump, and we need a decision ASAP. Reports from the squadrons aren't good!" The cries from the dying Viper pilots came on over the comm in the CIC. The dire look that haunted the faces of the officers became all the more frightened. Hope was running in shorter supply than even ammunition or supplies for repairs.

Ten. Heavy Raiders left one of the Basestars, loaded with Centurions. They flew outward, attempting to fly around the battle, but their path was clear...they were boarding parties, headed for the Mycenae. Lieutenant Jacquelyn "Eclipse" Vahn watched as the Heavy Raiders raced at the Battlestar, and pressed her thumb down on her transmit button, "Frak! This is Eclipse...group of Heavy Raiders headed for the Mycenae...they're trying to do a repeat of what happened back at the blockade...they're trying to board the ship! Mycenae! You have to open fire with the point defense turrets, or else you won't be able to stop them in time!". In the CIC, all of the officers turned to the Major, awaiting orders. "We've got a firing solution, sir...waiting for your order."

Zero. Silence reigned the CIC, and in the split second that they waited, a random officer yelled out in a rage, "FIRE THE GODS DAMNED GUNS! FRAK THE MAJOR!" The missiles impacted the Battlestar, the ship violently moving to the side. Many of the officers in the CIC were thrown off their feet, including the one who gave the firing order, who smashed his head into the central command console, blood splattering all over. The point defense guns opened fire on the Heavy Raiders, creating a flak field that would shred apart the enemy..."Sir...Basestar just loaded up nukes...they're hot..."

[Hell Mistress]

↱---------------------------------------------------------↠∘●

◦◦Persephone ‘Scholar’ Joaliss◦◦
Ensign Reporting for duty....

Just call me Persy...

...or Scholar
●∘↞---------------------------------------------------------↵

If the mindless, incoherent chatter about wasn’t enough to get her attention, nor the snooty attitude the crew member she addressed gave her before pulling from her grasp, the loud, bold, attention seeking tone throwing it’s way from behind.. did.

Quickly, pale hues turned and she limped around with a dreary gaze before catching just the sight she needed...
Poet, Deloy was still alive!
The idea not every familiar face around here went to hell made her perk up just enough to heed his words and flick her attention from questions to seeking out her Viper.. which was luckily patched from the prior days destruction. And even now still in tune as she hoisted herself quickly into it, after hastily acquiring the missing articles of her suit, strapping her helmet on tight and slipping into that was-oh-so-calming cockpit.

It didn’t take much more after that to get her head in the game. Poet raced out before her, but she wasn’t much further behind.. her pain wasn’t her focal point anymore and the situation halted to just one thing...

“Yeah, yeah, don’t need to tell me twice.” She muttered to herself, flicking the Viper on and in motion, watching as she was then directed to launch.. making one last attempt to adjust herself as needed, before she heard a sickening noise.. over the communications in her Viper.. the torn, distorted gibber of her dying partners..
The sound of their communications cutting abruptly, the noise of fire, of panic.. it all made her heart race. It really was happening. An invasion.. the Cylon’s!

With that last little tidbit, last needed boost for motivation.. she was gone! Scholar was quickly launched from the bay with a few other Viper’s as she quickly steered for the battle.. the situation incredibly hard to miss, with the destruction from both ends.

“Scholar here, what have I missed?” the contrast of mixed fire, soaring debris, and the eye-catching explosion of the Raiders being shot down only served to give her a smirk as she swerved herself down into play.

Without much more then the glimpse of a Raider’s back to her way, it’s attention on the Viper before it.. Scholar took little time opening fire on that one raider. She wasn’t out here to sit and look pretty. Wasn’t out to let herself be noticed first.. she was here to catch what she could, fry as many toasters as possible, and win herself the luxury of a hard drink afterwards!

After the sudden burst signalling the Raider’s destruction she gave a deep sigh.

“Frak! Way to save my tail, Scholar...” a voice bubbled as the Viper she just aided swerved about to join her, giving her a quick thumbs up from their cockpit, their face too familiar.
“S’what you get for calling me a rook last run, Magik.”

However the savoring moment was quickly ruined as another Raider gained on their position, opening fire mercilessly.

“Gogo!” And parting ways there, the Raider gained on Scholar’s tail. It was the same situation she had just saved Magik from.. and yet he didn’t turn to return the favor.

“..Frakkin’ toaster..” She muttered, but not discouraged. Already anticipating her next move to get the Toaster within HER firing range.. before that notion was blown!
As quickly as she’d thought up an idea, a surprisingly stupid thing to do, when spur of the moment worked better, she was then distracted as an explosion went off behind her.. the Raider nothing more then rubble, debris! And her attention spinning off to the side to catch a maneuver from another few pilot’s..

Amongst them, Poet. Which was good enough to get her back in place.

“I do believe I’m not missing much of anything out here, Poet...” she muttered her sarcasm against the comm link, the expanse still filling with the Raider’s, despite their efforts.
“Got enough of these to start us an old fashioned shin-dig..” but it wasn’t the time to let her mouth spew nonsense. She had to keep focused! Had to keep her mind straight.. but there was just so much to see!

“...never really liked get-togethers anyways..” Letting herself talk herself into an ease, she pried her Viper around, spun into the direction of the nearest incoming Raider, and opened fire! However, with the increase in numbers, one Raider wasn’t flying solo.. another was quick to slip around and open a second fire their way, her way, managing to pellet against her Viper and rattle it slightly.

“Frak!”

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[Chia Toma]

Shauna Lili'ana Fidgets Hardin

■ I am Chief Engineer.
■ I am currently somewhere in the ships systems
■ Health StatusBumped, bruised and scraped.
■ Current MoodAnnoyed to frakkin hell.
■ My puppet master is Chia Toma..




"Seal those bulkheads tight, I don't want them crumpling on us!" Fidgets yelled, leaping over a series of hastily thrown together boxes whilst nimbly throwing a welding tool to one of the teams who were desperately struggling. Barely pausing to notice what was going on around her, the Chinese chief slipped down one of the access staffs to personally check on the cooling systems as well as the status of the engine. There were cries everywhere, the hanger bay desperately trying to make space for the incoming vipers whilst avoiding ripping out something that was vital to the running of that area. It would have been preferable for her to be in that area, primarily to access the damage and see what limitations there would be but there was a much larger concern. "Ah Frak!" she hissed, pulling her hand away from a long pipe and staring at the scoring cold mark along the surface of her palm but still barely pausing in her stride to reach yet another service duck. The temperature was steadily dropping in this section of the ship and it was already enough to cause particles of ice to form on the supposedly heated metal.

Slipping off the ladder half way down, Fidgets banged her back severely off the side of the shaft before landing roughly and bashing her knee down hard. Hardly a word of complaint escaped her though as she glanced up at the passageway which would lead to the cooling chambers and the main access point to the sub-light drives. The air in front of her face blossomed out in a large plume of steam and the small view port window looked like something a child would bring home around the Winter Festival to show off their latest art project. She knew that the team inside were already gone, there was no point in going any further that she had already done so but out of all the things Fidgets was, she was no coward and knew that she had to confirm that no one was left alive before sealing the area off. Shivering drastically, the petite girl made her way towards the viewing port and carefully smeared away the condensation with the sleeve of her overalls.

There was a a sudden crack and a face, half-contorted in fear and forever frozen in place appeared at the window, probably falling due to it's own weight being slight freed from the mass of which it had been stuck to and disappeared from view. Fidgets barely registered what she saw, having yelled out in an uncharacteristic moment of panic before turning and fleeing like a little girl. Her limbs barely registered the cold burns she was getting as she tore up the service shafts, knocked the covers back and locked them in place but none of that mattered. All she wanted to do was run, get away from that horrible mess and not have to deal with it. Coming to a stop, just inside the hanger bay though how she had ran all the way there was a mystery even to herself, the young Chief slouched down to the ground and found herself shaking in fear, reciting prayers to the Gods which she had not done in so many years.

Finally able to get herself thinking coherently, around two minutes later, Fidgets propelled herself upwards and grabbed a phone to call bridge. Her insides shrivelled at hearing that there were toasters trying to board her ship, the phone on the other end must've been held off the hook by someone but quickly she rallied herself, "Major! If you're going to jump you need to do so now. Cooling unit is gone and will spread throughout the ship unless it gets turned off which would shut down the engines virtually!"

[Resounding Memory]

Name: Demetry Antov
Rank: Major
Position: Head of Marines Aboard Mycenae (Acting CO)
Location: CIC
Status: Wounded Shoulder, Bruising, Possibly Cracked Ribs, Focused on battle

Everything was happening fast. There was the brief damage report, the robot dog's arrival with the complete report, the Vipers, and the incoming Cylon offensive. Demetry now had a better understanding why this spot was one of the most demanding positions anyone could hold in the Colonial military. If one couldn't keep up with the constant feed of information, people would die. The Major looked at the charts and pointed to the refinery. "Start calculating a jump to here. We need to get out of here now," he ordered as he looked up. The ship shuddered as more missiles impacted the hull. The officer began to start the calculations needed for the ship to safely make passage to the refinery. "Give the order for all Vipers to fall back. The second they are aboard, jump us out of here," he said as he looked up at the screens.

As he heard one of the officers call out that another boarding party was en route, he watched the DRADIS contacts display them. He remained silent, even as he was told they had a firing solution. "Not yet," he mumbled as he watched them get closer. He didn't want them to get the opportunity to dodge the fire, but letting them get close was risky, too. Still, he wanted them to be wiped out in one quick attack. One of the officers yelled for them to fire anyways, without his orders. Before he could turn and yell, the ship jolted violently as another wave of missiles impacted. He was thrown hard into the center station in the middle of the CIC and felt pain shoot through his torso. If any ribs were cracked, they were likely borken now.

Fighting through the pain, he pushed himself up and yelled, "Fire the guns now!" The point defense turrets lit up the space between them and the Heavy Raiders. The transports were caught off guard and torn to shreds in the fire. Forcing himself up more, he looked at the screens and saw that the last of the Vipers were coming in for a landing. "Sir! Cylons have launched nukes! Impact in thirty seconds! an officer called out. The Major watched as the Vipers continued to land. "Come on. Come on," he muttered. "Fifteen seconds!" the officer called out. The Major watched as the last of the Vipers came in to touch down. "Ten seconds!" the officer yelled, the tension in his voice growing more prevalent. "All Vipers are aboard, sir!" another officer called. "Jump!" the Major yelled. A moment later, the Mycenae disappeared in a flash of light. The trails of the nuclear missiles passed through where there intended target had been just seconds prior.

Near the refinery, the Mycenae reappeared in another flash of light. The hangar pods extended out from the ship as it cruised through space. There was a collective sigh of relief from the crew in the CIC. The Major looked up at the screens, but they were not picking up any contacts through all the interference. Standing up and looking around, he began to organize his thoughts. "Alright people, listen up. We're not out of the woods yet. Get the ship moving to the refinery so we can fuel up before moving to secure more ammunition, and I want damage reports ASAP. Also, get any Vipers you can back out to start patrolling for the Cylons. I don't want them sneaking up on us in all this interference," he instructed. Walking over to the officer who had jumped his orders and stood over the man. "Get this mess cleaned up and him to the infirmary. I don't want to see him in the CIC again," the Major said with great disapproval before walking back to the center of the CIC. As he began reviewing the charts once again for a good supply depot to check out, an officer called out to him. "Sir! There was an accident when the Vipers were returning to the ship!" Looking over at the officer, the Major asked, "What kind of accident?"

[Lysander the Poet]

【 ℒｉｅｕｔｅｎａｎｔ 】

►ʟʏsᴀɴᴅᴇʀ 'Poet' ᴅᴇʟᴏʏ◄

≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎

Moments before the jump...

"Alright guys...we've got an incoming report from the Mycenae...those Toasters have some motherfrakkin' nukes loaded up and ready to blow us all to Hell. FTL drive is spooling up, but the ship is taking massive amounts of damage. We've already lost too many lives to these Cylon bastards...it's time for us to go home, and get the frak out of this warzone. Bullseye, Eclipse, Kastor, on me. We're going to make a really quick play before we end this game." The four pilots pulled into a tight formation, weaving in and out between Raider Squadrons, shots firing every which way from every single ship, creating a field of death and destruction. Their bearing led them towards one of the Basestars, the heat of battle flaring up. Poet's eye strayed, looking down, examining DRADIS, analyzing the entire situation in seconds.

"You three keep on course. That damned Basestar is sure to fire its frakkin' missiles...you need to guide them at the central column of the other Basestar and get the frak outta there, causing the ship's destruction. Just like that training exercise we did a couple months ago, playing with Raptor decoys. I have business to attend to...see you back at base." Pulling the Viper completely around, he rushed in the opposite direction, his gaze locking on to a single Viper that was taking heavy Raider fire. Catching one of the Toasters in his sights, he lightly pulled the trigger, blowing one of them out of the sky. He continued to approach the Viper, an entire squadron of Raiders beginning to form up behind him. Another pair of Toasters got fried, as he passed right by the other Viper, and looked into the cockpit, the biggest grin on his face. He looked at Scholar, and suddenly pulled around again, firing a barrage of shots at the Cylons, blowing an entire squadron to parts. "When we get back, Scholar, you owe me a frakkin' drink. I got your back...let's get back to the Mycenae."

Eclipse, Bullseye, and Kastor were closely approaching the Basestar, and gained the appropriate response. Multiple ship-to-ship missiles spiraled outwards towards the Vipers, and the trio turned quickly, and flying in a spiral, to confuse the missiles. As they approached the other Basestar, things seemed to slow down. One of the closest calls in Viper history as the ships pulled away from the Basestar at the last possible moment, and the missiles impacted the central column, collapsing the ship. The explosion expanded outwards quickly, right on the tail of the Vipers. All the birds began making their way back to the Battlestar, the Raiders scrambling around at the destruction of another one of their Basestars. Being an older ship, the flight pods had to be closed and retracted before the ship could jump. Poet and Scholar soon became part of the mass formation heading towards the Port Hangar Bay, and behind them was a Cylon swarm. Poet shook nervously, strafing left to the outside of the formation and turning about, to fire at the Cylons. There were hundreds upon hundreds of them, their freaky little scanners glowing red in the void of space.

The nukes were fired, and Raiders pulled away, in an attempt to escape the nuclear detonation that was to occur. One of the braver, or dumber Cylons, kept an approach towards Poet, who opened fire at the approacing enemy. The Cylon exploded in a shower of metal, and another Raider shot by the Viper, smashing directly into it and cleaving off most of the port side. Smoke billowed forth from the side of the craft, and a fire raged. Instruments were failing, and Poet was losing control. The flight pod was almost closed, and the ship was prepared for the jump. The Viper was coming in violently, and barely made it through the doors of the flight pod as they slid closed. The pilots had performed some quite violent combat landings, leaving some good dents for the Deck Crew. The flaming Viper, and its pilot, were coming down hot and violent, and struck the deck at an angle. The Viper flipped over and smashed into the deck, rolling through the hangar bay. The canopy was shattered, and after at least ten full revolutions, the ship slid across the deck on its topside, grinding to a halt. Pilots were jumping out of their Vipers, Deck crew was rushing around to examine damage and start performing repairs...and somebody was yelling for a medic. The damage to Poet's Viper was major, and from the look of the landing, odds of survival were minimal...until the crazy b*****d crawled slowly out of the wreck, blood covering half his face and most of his body, shattered glass digging into his arm. Pushing himself up to his feet, he watched as the medics approached, and pushed them out of his way. He had to make it to the CIC, as promised...to report the entire clusterfrak to Antov. Blood in his vision, it was blurry...but as it cleared, he took in his surroundings. Looking at his wrecked Viper, his eyes caught something...something it impacted...Scholar's Viper. It had toppled right over it, cockpit smashed right into the center. Movement was the only indication that Scholar was alive, which forced a sigh of relief from the injured pilot. Thank the Gods...

After the jump...

"What kind of accident?" The Lieutenant shook his head at the Major's question, trying to regain his bearings for a moment, "Sir, apparently Poet's Viper took heavy damage moments before entering the Hangar Bay, and had a violent landing...the Viper is totaled. The medics have reported that the Lieutenant is on his way to see you...but they recommended he be sent to the infirmary immediately. We lost several pilots in the fight...and, according to the data from Chief Hardin's report...we need fuel, which we can hopefully get from the tylium refinery...otherwise we are stranded here." A few Marines stepped into the CIC and picked up the insubordinate officer, and hauled him away. DRADIS indicated the main refinery facility, built into one of the asteroids, and a set of unidentified contacts, which were then confirmed to have civilian transponder signals; mining ships, working on the asteroid belt.

"Sir, we're still compiling a list of possible officers for the position of ship's XO...we're trying to keep pilots off the list, since we need all of them available...as for the position of CAG, we've looked at all the pilot's records, and we've asked the pilots for their recommendations. Two names stood out from the list. Ensign Persephone 'Scholar' Joaliss, who is an absolutely phenomenal pilot, good reports from flight school, apparently has natural feel for flight. On the other hand, there is Lieutenant Deloy...though you know him, and the fact that his discipline record is about as long as Joseph Adama's law books. An excellent pilot, but extremely risky...your choice. Personally, I trust Deloy to gun down Cylons, but Joaliss isn't a troublemaker."

"Set Condition Two throughout the ship."

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[Hell Mistress]

↱---------------------------------------------------------↠∘●

◦◦Persephone ‘Scholar’ Joaliss◦◦
Ensign Reporting for duty....

Just call me Persy...

...or Scholar
●∘↞---------------------------------------------------------↵

The tension was thick as Raider’s swarmed the aid. DRADIS was red with action as Scholar still fumbled to gain control over her Viper. Not on fire, not about to crash, but the initial shake as well as jolt to her system threw for her a short loop as the Raider continued closer.. gaining, closing their distance.. until just when she figured the final hit would blow, another explosion fired right behind her! That very Raider tailing her a** quick to ignite into pieces.. her eyes turning to catch that oh-so-familiar face, and luckily not the coward she saved moments ago, to boot.

“Oh, do I now?” She chuckled, before listening in as the command was set. She’d noticed some Viper’s make way for the basestar, and heard the echo about nukes.. however still a little shaken from the overall excitement of such a thick situation she couldn’t do much more then what she was. Although what she was doing was keeping herself alive(while barely) and helping fry what toasters she could. So all in all, she wasn’t wasting much space. Not compared to some of the cowards quick to break back for Mycenae.

“Woo-hoo, bought time now!” She cheered, mostly to herself before she spun herself around, steering sharply back for the hangar, quite anxious to return, and the anxiety only peeking when the Raiders drew in on their retreat.

“Goddamn, don’t they ever give it a rest?” And then an explosion made her flinch. Eyes shot to the side of her cockpit as she watched the Basestar light up in a fury of licking flames.. the motion enough to startle their chasers, and give the Viper’s, Scholar especially, a quick reassurance as they dived into the flight pod.
Scholar’s biggest flaw, besides her mindless chatter, was her lack of direction when landing. Always a rough landing, a hard landing. Ruining the deck and her Viper as if it were her way to show love. However as she pulled up and steered herself in.. she was quite surprised at how smooth it went! Dare she say.. it was an overall decent land. Her Viper didn’t explode, SHE didn’t explode, and all was well as she skid to a stop!

“..Whew, that wasn’t so bad.” She said with a grin, before attention demanded her to turn to the side with wide eyes.. unfortunately, where her luck ran, misfortune was quick to follow.. as Poet’s crashing Viper hurried it’s way to smack against her’s, easily knocking her over, and causing her unfastened self to fumble about in her cockpit!

“Frak!” Was all she managed out, the flaming mess of her fellow pilot managing to not only knock her over, but pin her Viper under, her cockpit smashed into the deck as the glass started to shatter, her body pressed against it.

“What..the...” Scholar hit her head, her helmet cracking open, but she was fine. Fine compared to what else she had done earlier.. slowly she punched the cockpit completely open and crawled out, just in time to watch Poet also exit. A bloodier mess then she was, that was for sure.

“What was frak was that for? Punishment?” She removed her helmet and spat, starting to unbuckle her uniform. Although cheery in demeanor.. something just fueled her. Maybe the knock to the head(which was injured before), or the amount of stims she downed just before the trip.. all the same she raced up to Poet, in whatever fit she was, grabbed and turned him to her and quickly knocked him smack across the face! Her fist cracked as she uncurled her fingers after successfully knocking him.. spitting another dribble of blood onto the floor.

“Frak.”

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[Lysander the Poet]

[[I do filler posts because time differences make big spaces between posts, and my passion about this RP drive me insane.]]

The Mycenae had jumped successfully. Antov had chosen the asteroid belt refinery as the destination. The facility was responsible for the mining and manufacture of many metals, as well as tylium fuel. Several mining ships were still active in the area, according to DRADIS, as well as the signal from the main facility. Calm...that was the word to describe the state of the ship. Monumental damage all over, from multiple Cylon missiles and the Raider onslaught. Ammunition stores were almost completely run down. The lights flickered for a few moments, before there was a sudden shift of the ship's momentum, felt throughout the entire craft. The engines had just failed, along with the cooling system that had been freezing over many parts of the ship. The Battlestar now sat calmly in space, motionless, quiet...as calm as the crew had now become.

The Starboard Hangar Bay. Repairs on this part of the ship had been completely ruled out, the supplies required for repairing many other parts of the ship that were more essential. In the previous battle, there had been a group of Cylon Heavy Raiders attempting to board the Mycenae. It was believed that they were destroyed by the ship's guns...which was true for all of them except one, which had landed firmly in the empty Hangar Bay. The doors of the ship opened, and a group of Centurions stepped out into the ship, slowly turning their heads from side to side, acknowledging the emptiness. They moved with as much grace as a clunky machine could muster. Battle-hardened killing machines, hunting their prey.

On the other side of the ship, in the Port Hangar Bay, there was a mess, as if all the insanity of the crew had been funneled into this one place. Two wrecked Vipers, a bunch of dents in the deck from combat landings, and a mess of pilots leaving their ships, while the deck crew rushed to do repairs, in case the birds needed to fly. And in the middle of the entire room, were Poet and Scholar. A quick smack across the face, and Poet's eyes had widened, as he stared in disbelief at the other Pilot. The blood that flowed down his face was fresh, and glistening. He felt slightly lightheaded, and the strike hit him harder than it should have. His disbelief extended for a moment, before he opened his mouth, and it took a moment for him to find the words.

"WHAT THE FRAK IS YOUR PROBLEM? WE JUST FOUGHT FOR OUR FRAKKIN' LIVES OUT THERE! A FRAKKIN' RAIDER ALMOST CLEAVED MY VIPER IN TWO, AND WE BOTH WERE ALMOST KILLED BY MY CRASH! WE ARE LUCKY TO BE ALIVE, AND ALL YOU CAN THINK TO DO IS SMACK ME ACROSS THE FRAKKIN' FACE? WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, SCHOLAR? WE HAVE ENOUGH FIGHTING WITH THE TOASTERS TO DEAL WITH THIS KIND OF BULLSHIT!" The yells echoed far and wide, and Marines began to rush down towards the two, as Poet glared at Scholar, balling his fists tightly, cracking his knuckles. Blood was running down his hand, from the shards of glass that had broken into his arm. He was shaking violently, probably from the massive loss of fluids.

[Hell Mistress]

↱---------------------------------------------------------↠∘●

◦◦Persephone ‘Scholar’ Joaliss◦◦
Ensign Reporting for duty....

Just call me Persy...

...or Scholar
●∘↞---------------------------------------------------------↵

“My problem? MY PROBLEM?!” Of the awkward calmness in the room, her voice seemed to carry as she heard Poet retort to her actions. If anything, she could of sworn he looked surprised by it.. but it didn’t matter. What did matter was that he... he.. he frakkin’ ticked her off, that’s what!

“What the frak was that out there? Yeah, another hotshot. You could of just dived in like everybody else, let the ship’s fire catch the Raider.. but no! No, you had to go and.. that! Whatever that is, and right into me!” Was her reasoning really that selfish? Just because he ruined her once in a lifetime perfect land.. because he ruined her crash, and dropped her heightened mood?

“My frakkin’ problem, YOUR frakkin’ problem! Learn to frakkin’ restrain yourself...” her voice softened as she got that out, taking in a deep breath as she started to strip from her suit, the wound on her hip starting to bleed through the bandages now as she cussed lightly, squeezing her hand over the it.

“Almost? You ALMOST killed us? Don't act like it's nothing! I'm 'lucky' to be alive?Oh, thank the GODS my Superior isn't as STUPID as we all thought.. he didn't manage to ACTUALLY kill me afterall!" She could feel the blood in her veins boiling, her temper rising.. "..I could of just frakkin' died, right there, RIGHT by your stupid land.. and it wouldn’t of even been by the enemy! You goddamn deserve more than a smack..” A mix of sleep deprivation, hunger, and whatever these stims were doing to her system made her just.. switch. She clenched her bloodied hand and raced back into Poet’s face, this time settling to shove him back, shaking her head slightly.

“Lieutenant...” she huffed. “You don’t DESERVE the title of lieutenant.. you frakker.”
She then turned, running her bloody fingers through her tied back hair and thinking to leave it at that.. whatever ‘that’ was. A huff, a tiff, a little quarrel she would later ignore as nothing.
“..as pathetic as they come, and stupid all the same. Who the hell could be so blind? Lieutenant.. Deloy? Someone messed up the paperwork..” She grumbled.

---------------------------------------------------------

[Lysander the Poet]

"You know what, Ensign...did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, I know the capability of the ship's FRAKKING GUNS? DON'T YOU THINK THAT I MIGHT HAVE REALIZED THAT IF WE DIDN'T TAKE OUT THOSE RAIDERS, THEY MIGHT HAVE COME RIGHT IN HERE WITH US AND BLOWN US ALL TO TINY BITS? I did what I thought was necessary to protect my fellow pilots, and what is left of humanity. I will not take the smallest frakkin' chance that one of those Toasters gets aboard this ship! And I'm quite entitled to making those kinds of decisions, as YOUR SUPERIOR. I don't even understand why we're having this conversation. If you would have been the one that crashed onto my Viper, and were crawling out, covered in your own blood, I would be scared to hell that one of my fellow pilots, the people that are the closest thing to family I have on this bucket, might be dead. I would carry you to the frakkin' infirmary myself. Gods dammit, Persephone!"

It wasn't often you heard first names, especially among the pilots. That's why they had callsigns, and military protocol. Something had snapped in Poet's head. Lysander was shaking even more violently, and his hands shot up,and grabbed the woman by the jacket, pulling her up to him, his eyes wild with fury...and with a few tears running down his face, hard to see with all the blood. Marines were rushing around them, guns pointed at the duo, an audience of pilots and deck crew watching the argument rage on. In moments, the two were split up, hands behind their back. Lysander had been cuffed before, so it wasn't all that bad for him. His face had turned from anger to sort of a daze. He had lost a lot of blood, and his mind was fuzzy..and everything faded to black.

"Sir I have a report from the hangar bay...Deloy and Joaliss had some sort of fight...they've been taken to the brig, Major." Damage control teams were rushing up and down the decks of the ship, damage report in hand, to examine the havoc wreaked during the attack. Priority was to fix the cooling systems so that the engines could be started back up. And unknown to everyone was the group of Cylon Centurions lurking in the Starboard hangar bay. Minutes after the little 'fight', Poet woke up in the brig, IV in his arm, pumping fluids. His vision faded in, and he saw Scholar sitting across from him. He grinned stupidly, "I'm sorry..."

[Resounding Memory]

Name: Demetry Antov
Rank: Major
Position: Head of Marines Aboard Mycenae (Acting CO)
Location: Brig
Status: Wounded Shoulder, Bruising, Three Cracked Ribs and A Broken Rib

The Major leaned against the center console as the quiet settled over the ship. The CIC was still bustling with activity, but the ship's engines had stopped. It was an incredibly alien feeling not having the hum of the ship's engines. Something felt off without the background noise. "Dispatch teams to go recover as much tylium as the can. This ship needs power," he said as he pushed off and winced at the pain. He then proceeded to walk towards the exit. He then heard the report come in about Deloy and Joaliss. He took a deep breath to sigh and winced once again. This was the last thing he needed. "I'll deal with them soon," he said. He then exited the CIC, leaving the Damage Control Officer in charge.

After a stop in the infirmary and waiting to have a more thorough examination done, which revealed he had a broken rib and three cracked ribs, he proceeded to the brig once more. Upon arrival, the marine guarding the two pilots gave a salute. The Major did not enter either cell, instead opting to speak with the prisoners through the bars. "This is absolutely unacceptable," he finally said after a long silence. It was ridiculous to think he had to return here again to see two of the top pilots. "I know things are still hectic and tension is high, but you two must set a good example for the rest of the crew. It's not good for morale for you two to be fighting in front of the crew. They have enough on their minds right now as is," he said in a stern voice. His expression was equally stern, and it was perfectly clear he was not in a good mood.

[Hell Mistress]

↱---------------------------------------------------------↠∘●

◦◦Persephone ‘Scholar’ Joaliss◦◦
Ensign Reporting for duty....

Just call me Persy...

...or Scholar
●∘↞---------------------------------------------------------↵

To say the least.. the reaction she got was, well, not all she expected.
From her short time on Mycenae, she knew one positive thing about Poet.. he was irrational, and hard to predict. This situation being a prime example, as-as soon as she lashed out, and his words carried after, his hands soon finding her jacket to tug, her heart raced at the idea he’d return the smack she gave him.. but instead she couldn’t help but furrow her brows, listening as he didn’t seem so much pissed, as he was.. was he being.. sentimental, in his own way? The fact she could of sworn she caught a glimmer of tears before the two were pried apart only made her voice mute, her hot-temper seeming to cool down as she thought over the situation..

Of all the outcomes she was expecting, she had to admit there was something more to Poet.. something she couldn’t quite understand, if she even thought she knew him to begin with.
She thrashed slightly as she was cuffed, but overall went with ease as the Marines collected her. Sure, she was in the wrong. She started it over something so trivial, something easy to overlook and brush aside.. but with exhaustion peeking, and her stims out of reach, she could barely even focus on what was most important.. like her own bleeding injuries.

Unlike her company, Scholar was awake the whole trip. Being taken to the Brig for her first time aboard the battlestar, and locked in, surprisingly, the same cell as Poet.. not too long after they were both examined and patched up. Her head splitting from the fall as she had bandages mark her forehead once more, and fresh ones wrapped around her lower abdomen where her wound was most prominent.. but other than that, there was nothing more. They were locked in and sealed.. and boredom was quick to overpower anything else as her eyes stared up at the empty ceiling. A ceiling which was quick to burn dim. The power suddenly cut..

“...lost power, huh.. must be pretty bad.” She muttered, her body and mind finally settling into her normal tune as she blinked a few more times, staring about the darkened room, and over to her company resting on the bed, while she lay against the bars with her back to the door.

“..Well, least we’re not being forced to help patch up the ship..” she grinned lightly to herself, muttering to deaf ears before she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small ball... a bouncing ball, at that, as she threw it past the bed to hit the wall, angling it just right for it to bounce against the floor, wall, then back her way, and she continued with that to kill some time... until she heard and acknowledged movement, her attention turning as she missed the ball, the little yellow ball slipping through the bars and bouncing off to the closed door.

“..sorry?” Did she hear that right? “Why are you saying sorry?” technically, why was HE apologizing first? She should be the one to.. another surprise she wasn’t expecting.

“If it’s for that near-death experience.. so not accepted.” She grinned, her anger diminished as she shrugged.
“..but I guess I do owe you an apology as well.. how about two drinks on me as payment? Since you did wreck my Viper and all...” She felt awkward getting into details about what happened.. so she tried to adjust to a more casual pace.. or she was, until suddenly the doors unlocking behind her made her turn, her attention quick to make her hoist herself up and acknowledge their guest.
After a short salute, her eyes averted to the side as his words were quick and direct. Even in the dimness of the room she could feel a chill tickle her spine.. he wasn’t pleased.

“I’m aware, Sir.. I acted out of line.. I apologize for the disturbance and interruption of your time..” the whole time she apologized, her eyes couldn’t help but examine what she could.. it really was Antov. Major Antov.. was he really CO now? Was this all really that bad.

“But, for the record.. what the frak happened? The CO? XO, CAG....?” If anyone would know and inform her.. she was hoping the Major would. At least to lighten her confusion.

---------------------------------------------------------

[Lysander the Poet]

【 ℒｉｅｕｔｅｎａｎｔ 】

►ʟʏsᴀɴᴅᴇʀ 'Poet' ᴅᴇʟᴏʏ◄

'The psychotic, irrational, self-destructive wonder pilot'

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Darkness consumed the ship for a few moments, after the engine's shut down. Soon, the backup generators kicked in, bringing the lights and most of the ship systems back on, but the ship was still floating in space, unable to move. The electromagnetic field conducted by some of the minerals contained within the asteroid field was throwing DRADIS off, and communications were hard to establish. A set of Raptor teams were deployed to the mining facility to retrieve as much tylium as possible...though this would become more difficult than previously imagined.

In the brig, Poet had presented his apology, which was denied. "No, no, no...I do owe you an apology...for your Viper, for how I reacted...all of it. Sitting here in this brig, I'm not a Lieutenant, and you're not an Ensign, at least not at this moment. I am apologizing to you, Persephone, which isn't that easy for me to do. You do still owe me that drink though...once we get out of here, that is...Gods, I have such a headache." Though they had been patched up, his head was still throbbing, and dried blood and large gashes were lying under the bandages. His arm was tightly wrapped as well, and he tried moving it, being filled with pain, much to his dismay. This entire situation was frakked up. His mind drifted, until the sudden noise of the door to the brig opened, and Lysander pulled himself to his feet, stumbling slightly. His fall forced his arm out and he grabbed Persephone, and pulled himself up, leaning on her shoulder as he felt pain shoot through his leg. He could feel the Major's displeasure as he spoke, and listened to Scholar's apology, trying not to laugh.

"Don't listen to her, Major-" Lysander interjected before the Major could answer the female pilot's question. "I take full responsibility for what happened down in the hangar bay. You know me, sir, always making a mess of things. It was a rough landing...Chief Hardin's probably gonna have my a**. And with all due respect, I'm sure that morale is at an all time low, and probably won't fall any farther. We've lost twenty-three good pilots so far. We don't have a frakkin' CAG to straighten our flight ops. But, still, I apologize for my actions. I'll be more careful next time...I just couldn't risk one of those Raiders getting into the Hangar Bay. Cylons aboard this ship...that's the last thing we need. Just leave Scholar out of any disciplinary action that may come of this...I almost crushed her with my Viper, so taking responsibility is the least I can do."

Poet taking responsibility for something? That was quite unheard of, which probably went as an accurate measure of how bad he felt for almost killing Scholar and destroying her Viper. He had a feeling the Major wouldn't let him have it too bad anyway, especially at a time like this, when they were sitting ducks in an asteroid field, where the Cylons could come down on them at any moment, if they could find them. The Marine guarding the cell quickly rushed to the phone as it began to ring, and looked up at the Major, "Major Antov, sir...there's a request from the CIC...they want to take advantage of our current state of safety, and use the time that the Raptor teams are retrieving the fuel to officially commission you as the Commanding Officer of the Mycenae, as well as a CAG, so we've at least established basic leadership. Still trying to find an XO...as well as hold a memorial for our dead...it may help the morale sir. And they're still waiting on a report from the Raptors on the facility..."

Asteroid Belt Mining Facility ::

"El-Tee. I'm getting a civilian transponder signal from the facility...they're trying to open comms with us." The Raptor teams flew slowly toward the main facility, as Lieutenant Jacinto "French Fry" Galven rubbed his temples. The last two run ins with the Cylons was starting to wear away at him...he was up all night before the fall, on duty, and hadn't had much of a chance to sleep. "Open up a channel...Whoever is out there, this is Raptor 266 from the Battlestar Mycenae, requesting permission to land." Static followed, until after about twenty seconds a voice sounded through...the man's voice, and in the background, what sounded like gunshots, "Oh Gods...the Colonial Fleet! We're saved! Permission granted, Raptor 266...though I hope you've brought some guns...we've got an all out war on ours hands down here. Landing bay four, I'll meet you there and explain everything..." The connection cut out, and French Fry sighed, steering his Raptor while signaling the others to follow him, watching as the landing bay doors slid open. The landing was nice and smooth, and as the pilots and Marines exited their birds, they were met by a group of very ragged looking men and women, armed to the teeth, and injured as hell...and they did not look at all like soldiers.

The leader of the men stepped up, and when he spoke, it was obvious this was the man from the comm, "Thank the Gods, I thought no help would ever come! The others...we had no idea...we-we-we...were hired by the Leonis government to mine resources and refine them here, for metal and tylium, but a whole section of our workers...they were undercover terrorists. All of our weapons were supposed to just be from a security detail, plus some stuff we stole from their smuggled in shipments. They want control of the facility for themselves. They've even threatened to blow up our ships...but you're here now...you can help us!" The Marines and pilots looked around at each other, a sudden realization setting in; these people didn't know about the Fall.

"You have no idea, do you? About the Fall...the Cylons?" French Fry asked, raising one of his brows curiously, his shock resonating in his voice. The man returned his shocked look, his hands shaking, lip quivering, "What are you talking about? The Cylons haven't been seen for forty years!" The Lieutenant shook his head...no part of him wanted to tell them about any of it...the Cylons nuking the Colonies...the fact that luck had brought them here...the fact that their engines were dead and were just here for fuel...and didn't want to have to tell them that they were the last remnants of the human race. "They killed everyone...except for our crew. Our Battlestar...and the four thousand and some odd crew...are all that's left...at least all that we know of. It happened so fast...we barely escaped from them. And we're not here to fight some war...our engines are out, and we need fuel. We know you have the tylium we need."

"Please, you have to help us Lieutenant! I served in the fleet for years...you gotta help us!" The man was practically begging, and French Fry breathed in deeply. "Let me ask my Commanding Officer..." Walking back to his Raptor, he sat down and grabbed his headset, opening a comm channel, "Mycenae, this is French Fry...put me through to the Major." French Fry waited for a moment as the CIC put him through to Major Antov, who was down in the brig. "Sir we have a situation on our hands...I need orders." French Fry quickly explained the situation the the Major, all about the miners and the terrorists, trying to figure out what should be done.

Starboard Hangar Bay, Battlestar Mycenae ::
The Centurions had patrolled the Starboard Hangar Bay, to ensure it was empty. The doors were sealed, and the machines seemed to take note of the power problems, and the silence created by the absence of the engines. The Toasters seemed content to merely wander the hangar bay, form patrols...as if they were waiting for something. With the Starboard Hangar Bay abandoned, their presence was not going to be discovered any time soon, so all they had to do was wait for the right moment to strike.

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