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Dapper Explorer

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

The Major listened to the two talk and try to explain what happened. "Fine. Neither of you two are getting out of here so soon though. You both are going to sit in here for a bit and cool off. That is an order," he said to them. The phone in the brig began ringing, and the Major picked it up. Moments later, another sigh escaped the Major, and he once again winced at the pain. "I'll be at the CIC momentarily," he replied. Turning to the two pilots, he gave them a look that expressed he was still unhappy with them before exiting the brig. He was starting to grow tired, and sleep was something he longed for. As he stepped back into the CIC, the Major walked over to the communications officer. "Get me as many details as you can about the terrorists and what is going on at the refinery," he instructed.
Hell Mistress's avatar

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

Just call me Persy...

...or Scholar
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Her eyes briefly left the Major to watch as the lights flickered back on, the sound of the ship coming back to life made her feel slightly reassured.. but the fact they were still unmoving, only added to her confusion.
What happened while she was out? How long have the Cylon’s been attacking? How bad was the ship? What was.. WHAT WAS GOING ON?!

She was clueless to everything right now, besides the fact everyone was under heavy stress, the ship, crew, and now their ‘new’ CO.. which was peaking more questions in her mind. Questions that continued to go unanswered.

Feeling Poet creep up, she let him lean onto her to keep himself steady.. her eyes knowing full well he got pretty battered from his crash, while she just hit her head. Her arm slipped around his shoulders to help sightly, before she elbowed him for his words. Taking the blame? It wasn’t in his control! She puffed out her cheeks at his take before exhaling deeply.

“Sit and cool off...?”
She grumbled, turning to c**k a brow to Poet, then back to the Major as he went to take a call.

“We’re just supposed to stay in here..? Can we afford it? Care to tell me how bad it is out there? Anything? ANYTHING?”
Scholar was getting a little anxious as she watched the Major’s reaction, and his quick departure.. with nothing more said. She bit her lip and cussed when it was just them once more.

“Godsdamn... it’s like everything’s gone to frak while I was asleep..”
she groaned, before turning to conclude their earlier conversation.

“For the record.. stop calling me by my full name. Apology accepted, if you cut it in half.”
She hated her full name. It was a mouthful. Persy sounded much more simple.
“...and I appreciate the chivalry, sir, but treat me as you would anyone else.. no need to become vulnerable around me. You never know what a little weakness can do to a person.”
All said with a light, tired smile and the casual tone before she dropped her arm from around him and turned to boot him back to the bed for him to rest.

“You better make use of that bed while we’re locked in here.. sleep seems to be everyone’s thirst right now...”




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Lysander the Poet's avatar

Hilarious Inquisitor

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ℒieutenant

ʟʏsᴀɴᴅᴇʀ 'Poet' ᴅᴇʟᴏʏ

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Poet's head spun as he felt himself get shoved back, landing on the bed as gracefully as a cripple could. He grinned at Scholar, and adjusted his arm as much as he could, the pain a little more bearable. "Yes m'am,! No more of that full name crap...just thought I'd be polite...which is not something I do often. I'm treating you as I would treat any other pilot that was almost killed by one of my stunts...trust me, it happens a little too often for me to be proud of. Don't think that just because you're pretty, you get a free pass or something like that. In fact, beautiful women usually have it harder."

Reaching up, he grabbed Scholar with his good arm, and pulled her down onto the bed, so they were sitting next to each other. He shook his head and sighed at the very notion of sleep. "I couldn't get any sleep if I wanted to anyway...killing Toasters get's me excited...and it's probably the last thing I'm thinking about. I should explain though, since the Major didn't say anything on the subject...I'm not sure how much you know, but we were about to pull off Leonis for the ship's tour, when the Cylons attacked. All the other ships were disabled, but we got lucky...older ship, set up to fight against the Cylons. They nuked the planet, and as far as we know, same thing happened to all the colonies. Fifty billion people, killed in moments. We lost a full Viper Squadron, they blew most of the ship to hell, and then we jumped. And as you saw earlier, they managed to find us again. They're hunting us...trying to wipe out the last little pockets of humanity."

Poet ran his hand through his hair, and patted the bandage that covered his face. It was starting to irritate the skin, so he began to yank it off, tape and all, trying to make it hurt as little as possible. A bit of dried blood, some bruising and some swelling around his eye, and jaw, and Gods it hurt. "And that is the price I pay for being reckless. Not too bad though...I remember one time, after school, I went over to this mechanic shop I worked at...one of my buddies dropped an engine onto my hand while I was working...he thought it would be smart if we did multiple things at once, get the job done faster...a lot of stuff like that happened. But then again, I forget...you're from Caprica. Land of luxury, or some such nonsense. My parents took my to Caprica City once, when I was a kid...some ceremony for my dad while he was still in the service. Probably one of the many frakkin' medals he got while XO aboard that Battlestar. Cylons are lucky the frakkin' b*****d is dead...he'd hunt down each and every one of those Toasters to the ends of the galaxy. He hated Cylons...mom, on the other hand, was fascinated with them. She wrote all kinds of books and junk about Cylons, their psychology, if you could call it that...they are machines after all. I'm sorry, you probably don't give a frak about any of that, Ms. Fancy Caprica Girl. But that's what brig time is...time to think, and if you're unlucky enough to share with someone, time to talk. I've only known you for about a month, and all I know for sure is that you're a damn good pilot, and you look good in a flight suit."

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

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

Just call me Persy...

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

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“Whoa!”
Despite such an outbreak that just engaged moments ago between the two, Scholar couldn’t help but feel at ease, almost comfortable as she got nested with Poet. His surprised pull having her plop down next to him on the bed, the decision to actually.. talk seeming much more pleasant, especially since he was someone she didn’t absolutely hate. Her previous words just in rage, nothing to back it up, as far as she could tell.

His cheery demeanor made her smile widen. Her cheeks aching as they were slightly bruised, but it was nothing to worry about. Not when there were worse injuries to account for.
“So, this little chatter will be nothing but annoying for me, huh?” She couldn’t help but c**k a brow as he spoke. Pretty girls get it harder, huh? She didn’t seem to be getting hassled by him just yet, which made her think he was just as she thought.. all talk.

Besides the slight flattery and the warmth in her cheeks, her smile broke when attention drew to the matter she wanted to hear most.. that dreading, horrific little tidbit.. that Poet was finally introducing to her.

Her eyes blinked as her smile fell, her attention was stuck on him as he spoke of what happened, what caused this whole mess.. and her fingers curled against her suit.

“..I woke up to the announcement of an alert. I jumped up, got suited, and.. then an explosion hit.”
She blinked, scratching at the bandage covering her forehead.
“...I woke up in the sick bay. Gods, it stunk to the high heavens of dead and dying.. I couldn’t get jack-all from anyone. It was a mess! I worked my way back into the bay.. and that’s where everything else happened.” She looked him over, watching as his bandages were removed.. and besides the damage he sustained from his crash, one thing stood out.. a tiny bruise coating his left cheek. Just where she’d smacked him.

“...sorry, for the hit and all. I didn’t mean to overreact, it was just.. frak! So many damn Cylon’s were out there.. I couldn’t believe what I saw!”
her mind bubbled with everything he said, her own spew pouring out, whether he was listening or not.

“....” and then something clicked.
“..wait, they attacked ALL the colonies?” Her heart quickly sank. Her mother.. her mother was still on Caprica!
“Frak, were there any survivors? My mother..dammit, I hope she managed to get out...”
Scholar bit her lip at the idea. Her mother hated flying, anything of the sort.. she couldn’t imagine her boarding anything willingly. If she even survived the nukes, that is.

“Goddamn Toasters!” She punctuated her short rage by prying the itching bandages off her forehead, the air quick to rush against the fresh wound, before she focused to keep her mind eased.. any hype, anger, whatever was boiling her blood down as she took in deep breathes. Her mother was all she had left.. but she was sure that was the least of their worries. At least at this moment.

“..Guess that explains why Antov was CO.” She groaned with a light chuckle.

The mood shifted softly for her as she heard a tidbit of her partners life. The idea playing in her mind a little more comedic then probably what actually happened, but it did the trick to get her to offer a smirk as he continued. Especially as his words shifted from his experience, to hers. Or really, the new nickname he titled her as.

“Hey,” she elbowed him in the side again, nearly sticking her tongue out at him.
“Don’t think that I didn’t have my own slur of stupid events.. I DID have some jobs before enrolling.. well, none that lasted, or involved engines.. but I burned my fingertips clean once. My friend tried to press me to rob a bank for her.” She raised her left hand, showing the white marks on her fingertips.. still erased to this day as she grinned.

“...and hey, call me one more thing that isn’t my choice of name, and I’ll clobber ya.”
She tried to threaten, but her smile gave her away.
“..and since we have nothing better to do, why not talk? Not like we hate each other now do we?” She slowly started to undress herself from the suit as she spoke, slipping her arms free and torso, and looking down to the bandages covering her abdomen. Still clean.

“..sorry to hear about your father...”
she then bit her lip to what she said next. “Did you mother make it out?” probably not the best turn for the topic so she made as she always did and spewed more words.. to keep them both in high spirits.

"Least we're locked in here alone.. don't have to worry about the guards staring holes through us."
She then lent back on the cot, stretching out her arms.
"..and despite my rambling, I do like hearing about people.. especially you, Poet. Cause everything I thought you to be has been thrown out the airlock. Well, besides the 'irrational' behavior bit. I kinda first-hand experienced that."







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Lysander the Poet's avatar

Hilarious Inquisitor

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ℒieutenant

ʟʏsᴀɴᴅᴇʀ 'Poet' ᴅᴇʟᴏʏ

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Poet's face was grim as he watched Scholar process the information. "Most likely...nobody survived..." He replied when she asked about survivors, spoke about her mother...he had this sinking feeling in his gut, as he realized that the people on this ship, the ones he thought of as family...they were really the only thing that he had now. They were his only family. "As for this," Poet said, pointing at the bruise, "Don't worry about it, really. It was shocking...there were probably hundreds of Raiders. We're lucky to only have lost three pilots in that fight...though even three is too many."

His eyes caught sight of her hand, her fingers...scars from a burn...it made him grin widely. So little Miss Caprica thought she had it hard, did she? The next little bit that caught his attention was watching her unzip her flight suit, but he shook his head, and stared at the bars of the cell for a moment. "Dad was tough...lived a good life...probably died happy, at least. But if he's dead, mom definitely didn't make it out. She was an author, and a school teacher, and he was a soldier. That's just the way of things I guess..."

Poet felt the weight on the bed shift as Scholar laid herself out, stretching her arms. It was lucky for her that the cot in the brig was actually comfortable, at least compared to the other brigs that he had experienced. "Yeah, wouldn't want one of those Marines just sticking his head in her and watching us talk, right? To be quite honest, I don't mind listening to you 'ramble'...it's actually sort of calming. Glad to shatter your expectations of me...what did you think, I was just some kind of psychotic, irrational, self-destructive wonder pilot? Because that's probably true..."

Falling backwards onto the bed, his neck found a resting place on one of Scholar's arms, and he turned his head and grinned stupidly. His back popped a few times, and he stretched vigorously, letting out a groan. Sitting in a cockpit for so long made you a bit tense, after all. "So far, I don't really know what I think of you...I mean, I suppose I just thought you were another one of those little girls from Caprica, another pretty face that joined the military because she thought it was going to be easy, get her free college, make her daddy proud...but there's more to you, I can feel it. Tell me a bit more about yourself, so we can destroy my misconception that you're just some little Caprican Princess...no offense meant." Poet winked at her, relieving himself of the top half of his flight suit as well, though, it took him a bit longer, since he had to move around the damaged arm. His right arm was covered by bandages, and a makeshift cast, while the right was a bit scratched up, and heavily tattooed. Different depictions of the Lord of Kobol were artistically displayed on his arm, along with the words 'All this has happened before, and all of it will happen again', a verse from the Sacred Scrolls. The undershirt he wore was torn in multiple places, and he casually picked up his dog tags and looked at them intently, as the light reflected off of them.

L. Deloy, ser 061219

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

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

Just call me Persy...

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

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The confirmation from Poet made her falter slightly. The idea her mother was really gone, that, that EVERYTHING, everyONE was gone.. only made her swallow a hard lump to ignore the welling in her eyes. This wasn’t the time to lash out, break down, or whatever other reactions her mind would normally pace. Her fingers instead reached to the Silver cross along her neck as she gripped it tightly, muttering a soft, quiet prayer as she shut her eyes for a moment.
Her mother would be safe, at least, in the kingdom of the Gods.. alongside her father. And all the good men who gave their lives.

Persephone was quick to bounce back in as she felt Poet lay down beside her. The indication being his shift in weight as well as him suddenly laying on her arm, making her fingers twitch and tickle at his neck.

“Caprican Princess?” She couldn’t help but grin wickedly at that remark, her eyes following to watch him get himself comfortable.. watching his arms struggle to undress his suit.. which was somewhat humorous to watch.
“And yes, yes I did think you were a destructive wonder-boy pilot.. and was I wrong?”
She looked up, her fingers moving from the cross to her forehead, where the bump, blood and bruise was.. and she snickered softly.

“Caprican Princess meets little Leonisan Punk.. perfect partnership right there, dont’cha think?”
She said playfully, offering him a wink of her own and to follow a blown kiss, before she weaseled her arm out from under him, lacing her fingers together along her stomach.

“Sorry to break your idea of this lil’ lady.. buuut a Princess is far from my list of titles. Or it was.. I think I like it now.”
She purred, her eyes changing to stare up at the ceiling, her lips moving on their own.

“Dad.. well, he never really told me much what he expected of me. He said ‘one day your future will just hit you’, and that was about it. He died on the job. Explosive. I never expected I’d take his place as Viper, I can say that.. my mom kinda really hated the idea. ‘You can blow up real good, just like your father!’ she’d scream. I couldn’t go anywhere near flight school until I hit 19. Nothing that could fly, or even the Military for that matter.. but, it worked eventually. Wasn’t expecting everything to be easy, hell, it took me two times to pass my flight test! But when I did it was like a dream come true.. who’d of guess, being shelter from flying so much would actually be my dream? Weird thing.. think it’s that part of my father in me. Be a pilot, do what’s right.. all that jazz.” Persephone exploded about herself with an odd but relaxed smirk on her lips. Her life wasn’t the best, but also not the worst. She loved every bit of it.. especially with where she was now. Minus the brig.

“Don’t care much for rank.. I just want to have that chance to be free, fly out, fry some toasters, that racing excitement is just so, so.. worth it. My father wanted nothing more. And I don’t either.. so I’ll stay Ensign as long as I possibly can. Less responsibility, more freedom, ya know?”
She turned to Poet with a nod.

“Doubt that makes me some bad-a** punker, like yourself, but I feel it works for me. I mean, my father better be proud of me.. I made my mother cry when she found out I got into flight school! She cried and begged me to come home.. then proceeded to call me 20-some times a day to persuade me back.. was terrible, but it was the only thing I wanted.”
It still boggled her how quickly that passion took over her.. just one day, she wanted to fly. She failed, tried again, got in.. and hasn’t left the cockpit since.

“I made it this far, so that gives me something.”
She watched as he examined his dog tag.. that small little metal they all wore and carried. Her eyes soon shifted to also catch sight of his tattered shirt, and quickly after, the amount of ink on his arm.. the sacred inscription making her smirk a little more as she sighed.
“...least this is as best a time as any to get to know who we’re fighting beside. Lysander.. right? I always forget first names around here.. callsigns, last names, ranks.. gods, I’ll just starting pointing to people and shouting, ‘hey, you!’ at some point. But, I guess that’s why I’m still ‘Ensign Persephone Joaliss’ and not Lieutenant, huh? Haha.”




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Lysander the Poet's avatar

Hilarious Inquisitor

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ℒieutenant

ʟʏsᴀɴᴅᴇʀ 'Poet' ᴅᴇʟᴏʏ

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"Lysander...nobody calls me that anymore. My parents thought it sounded important. Always said that one day, I would do something great. I always knew my life would lead me to the service, but dad never thought much of me. I thought I was going to be on the deck crew, a knuckle dragger...that's what dad started as, before becoming a pilot, eventually becoming the XO of a Battlestar. Always talked about how he could hear the Vipers, feel their pain...machines talked to him, told him what was wrong. I never believed him...thought he was nuts, but then I started to learn...got my job as a mechanic...and I experienced it. I got really into books, all kinds of stuff about flying. One of the biggest things about Leonis, is that we've always wanted a large military and diplomatic presence...but, after we first colonized the planet, things just went to hell. All we wanted was the uranium, a prime component of nuclear weapons. Biggest weapons, we thought we'd have the most power...but after a few centuries, that ran out. Most people back home were mechanics, workers, hard labor sort of people. But everyone was honest...everyone knew the value of sweat and blood, and something that you created with your own hands. Leonis was never important...hell, we were less than important, especially to the people from Picon. Sometimes, when the Quorom of Twelve would meet, the Picon representative would speak for us as well. My dad, being the important man he was, helped me get a scholarship out of high school. I became an officer...made it through flight school easy, top of my class. Back when I was in school, we had this crazy a** instructor, Kara Thrace. First Gods damned day we sat down, the words that come out of her mouth were, 'The Pilots call me Starbuck. You may refer to me as God'. Greatest pilot I've probably ever seen, and hard a** to boot...except when it came to Zak Adama. Kid died in a Viper...no idea why Thrace passed the poor b*****d. He just wasn't pilot material, and I think she knew that. They were engaged, so, she was probably just playing favorites. The funeral was horrible...I don't even know why we were there...I guess to pay respect to a fallen comrade. Back then, I didn't think it was such a big deal, but I've learned from my losses...seen a lot of good men and women die out there. I do my best to remember my fallen brothers and sisters...remember all of their names, and faces..."

Pausing for a moment, Poet reached into one of the pockets of his flight suit, pulling out a cigar and a lighter, and placing the cigar between his lips, he lit it, rolling it around in his mouth playfully. Smoking calmed his nerves...a very popular thing among pilots, about as normal as drinking Ambrosia and playing Triad. "Nowadays, being a pilot means everything to me. I put my life on the line every day so that others can live. Never thought I'd see the return of the Cylons, but my dad fought them, and so will I. I don't know how in the Gods names I ever became a Lieutenant. I've apparently got severe discipline issues...the old Skipper understood me a bit better than most...and Starbuck back in school fought for me all the time, but I think that's because she was the same way. I got into a lot of fights as a kid...I was bullied in school, and learned to defend myself. In the seventh grade, there was this kid, Arthur Kain...tried to shove me into my locker...I broke his frakkin' nose right in front of our principal! He tormented me forever...I was on my high school Pyramid team, and he had transferred schools, just so he could play against me. I got suspended from the next three games, because after we won, he and I got in a huge fight in the parking lot...both went to the hospital. He was admitted for a week. I broke four ribs. Dad smiled, patted me on the back...mom was horrified."

He chuckled, remembering the good old days as a kid, releasing a mouthful of smoke. Picking it up gently from his mouth, he held it up, and offered it to Scholar, before continuing his rambling, "But I'm far from a big, bad, tough guy...or at least I was. Mom was very religious, and I sort of took a bit of that from her. I read a bit of the scripture before bed every night...I pray to the Gods before every flight op...I believe that the Gods have a hand in all the things that happen, whether we want to believe it or not. That tattoo on my arm...it's the only one my mother never yelled at me for getting. Of course, that's because she was educated...refined...she was Caprican. Father was the one from Leonis...so she never did live some life of luxury, like the others...a lot of people from Leonis don't really like the Caprican lifestyle...too decadent for us, since we spend all day covered in dirt, grime, or oil. Come to think of it, I still spend a lot of time covered in oil, since I'm down helping those frakkin' knuckle draggers fix our Vipers. Double checkin' all their repairs..."

Poet's thoughts drifted back to all the times he had argued with Chief Hardin about the Vipers, and the way some of her crew manhandled the damn things. He admired her work, and acknowledged her people's hard work, but it didn't mean he liked them putting their hands all over his bird, especially when they usually didn't even fix it properly. "I'm very well acquainted with the deck gang...first week on the ship, Chief Hardin and I got into a huge argument when I tried to launch my Viper, and almost ended up blowing myself to bits because of a fuel leak that her gang didn't notice. She's usually very good about it, but our ship was going through an overhaul and repair, so she was distracted or some nonsense...speaking of which, I'll be sure to get down there as soon as we're released, see if I can salvage your bird. A pilot losing their Viper is like a mother losing their child..."

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

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

Just call me Persy...

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

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Of everything, all the exhaustion, stress and troubles, Persephone couldn’t help but laugh. His little remarks, his tidbits of information and knowledge about him made her all the most happy. Hearing someone willing to release such information was hard to find.. if she asked, she usually got the oh-so-casual ‘frak off’, but Lysander, Poet, seemed quite willing to share.. and from all she took in, he had quite the story to share!

"I think Lysander sounds pretty cool."
She enjoyed getting to know more about the ‘trouble-maker’ she always thought he was. She honestly couldn’t piece what she thought he was now.. casually taking the offered cigar he posed to her, and grinning wickedly as she took a hard hit from it, the smoke quick to fill her lungs, and make her demeanor peak more, if possible.

“Lucky you, my Flight Instructor was an old, grouchy frak that I SWEAR failed me because I corrected him on his lesson on the Viper layout.. not my fault I knew more about the Mark III-VI’s then he did, psssh.”
Persephone grinned, remembering how she just had to make the correction in the middle of class.

“...always sucked at sports. Running, Pryamid.. can’t hold my ale, either.. can’t even win me some Triad.”
She huffed, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke, and positioning her lips just enough to cause a circle to form, the little notion making her titter.

“Guess we gotta make sure we have each others backs then, huh? Can’t have you falling short and leaving me to sit here alone..”
Although, she didn’t imagine she’d make it routine to be thrown in the brig, but all the same she shrugged, and passed the cigar back to Poet.
“You’re probably.. the first person aboard this ship to actually talk with me. I mean, outside of the casual means.. I think I know you now. Not just a punker, trouble-maker but something more.. a determined pilot who puts his best on the line, cherishes his family, and strives hard for everything he, and the life we live, is. I’d say you’re not too bad a persona, Poet.. we should have more fights and get in here for these chats. Getting kinda nice.”
Persephone smiled brightly before rolling onto her side, then her stomach. Stretching her arms out from one end as if to grab the bars.. the cracking of her aching body sounding, which only seemed to relax her further.

“...remind me, never to piss you off...”
she then groaned.
“Like, when I hit you.. could of SWORN you’d beat me to a pulp right there.. hate to ever drive you to that point. Muscle and all, you’d beat me to an inch of my life if I deserved it. And, well, that’d suck.” She chuckled before rolling around to face Poet again, her body fidgeting as the two casually exchanged words.

“Hardin..Chief Hardin.. oh, that girl, right? I saw her a few times.. she, she kinda gives me a weird vibe. Caught her yelling at some deck crew.. woman sure knows how to assert her dominance, that’s for sure!”
She was still getting to know the crew, but she was making minor judgements about what she saw.. and the Chief was definitely not to be messed with. In her mind, anyways. She could probably also beat Scholar up, if she did something stupid enough.

“...wonder if my baby’s alive.. I mean, well, yours kinda exploded on it’s way in.. mine can be salvaged I’m SURE.. but shouldn’t you be concerned about your own? Damage that heavy.. might just have to rebuild it from the bottom up.. lucky b*****d, you’ll probably get new parts!”
She rolled over and smacked him playfully in the arm, pouting at the idea of his Viper getting supped up over hers. Though she did like the older feel of hers..

“...all things aside, mister Grease, anything else you feel should be shared? Embarrassing stories, details, how to finally win a match of Triad against you and Magik?”
The softer note of things, while laying peaceful, the cell quiet besides them was just, so.. tranquil. All the mayhem engaging just outside slowly fading back as she focused on just, well, relaxing. Basking in absolutely nothing of importance.. and it felt great.








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Hilarious Inquisitor

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ℒieutenant

ʟʏsᴀɴᴅᴇʀ 'Poet' ᴅᴇʟᴏʏ

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"Sorry beautiful, I doubt you'll ever beat either of us at frakkin' Triad. But, there is this one time, on shore leave...I decided to go see my grandparents in Caprica City. After one of the visits, I won't out to this bar, to go drinking with a couple guys I knew from flight school. So, we drank for awhile, and ended up going to this club...music, girls...and a large stock of Ambrosia. A few hours later, we were absolutely wasted...and one of my buddies had this genius idea to flirt with the bartender...she was drop dead gorgeous...well, nowhere near as pretty as you, but, still...now, the girl's boyfriend was a Tauron. Mafia type, very jealous, very angry...he and his friends surrounded us, pulled out their guns, and threatened our lives...told us to get the hell out and never come back. So, we left...until the next night. We came back, and had the absolute misfortune of meeting up with those frakkers again. So, my buddy, he grabs the girl, and just locks lips with her...the dirt eaters pulled out their guns, and we had a full fledged bar brawl on our hands. I spent three weeks in the brig when I got back because of that incident. But I got a birthday card from a couple of those mafia goons. Apparently they respect a bit of craziness. It's why I have this tattoo..."

Pulling his injured arm up, he adjusted the bandage, pulling down to his wrist. A small emblem of Tauron, with a circle around it, adorned his skin. "That is the symbol of an honorary Tauron. Apparently I had the balls to be accepted as one of them if I ever went back to Caprica...I guess that doesn't matter so much now though. But that's all you're getting out of me, for now...you need to get some sleep, at least until we get out of here..." Getting up, he grinned, and leaned in, locking eyes with Persephone for a moment, and laughed, stepping up from the bed and moving himself over to the corner of the cell, sitting in a corner, and yawning deeply. "Good night, Persy...the last Caprican Princess!" Slowly, he drifted off to sleep in the corner of the cell.

Asteroid Belt Mining Facility ::

"Orders for you El-Tee...gather information on the terrorists...Major just wants information, so don't go shooting anyone just yet. Mycenae, out."

French Fry sighed, exited the Raptor, and stepping back out to meet with the survivors. They all looked scared, clutching their weapons tightly, looking over their shoulders, as if they were expecting something. The leader looked at the Lieutenant hopefully, but French Fry merely shook his head, "I have my orders...all we are authorized to do is collect information. You're not getting any support from the Mycenae yet." The man gripped his rifle tighter, his facial features reflecting his sorrow. "Listen, Lieutenant, these men are crazy...babbling on about one true God and some such nonsense. We think they're a branch of an old terrorist group based in Caprica...Really big about sixty-years ago, Soldiers of the One. Bringing some sort of crazy monotheistic ideas. I'm not sure what else you're going to be able to learn...but come on, I'll show you our base camp. Maybe you can see the damage they're doing first hand. By the way, my name is Marco, Marco Aurel. Retired Commander in the Colonial Fleet."

Marco led the Marines and Pilot of the Mycenae through a labyrinth or long, twisting corridors, eventually reaching a large open chamber, with crates stacked high as far as the eye could see, as well as all sorts of pieces of equipment. In the center of the large room were tents, and a few fires raging in old tylium barrels. The men and women populating the camp looked even more hopeless than the group that came to meet the Colonial forces. "Bastards have been raiding our food stores constantly...we've had heavy rationing...people are starving. If they don't get what they want, and destroy our ships...we'll have nothing. Come, you look tired...get some rest, and you can continue your mission later. I'll even lead you to one of their camps...maybe you can convince them to talk to you, Lieutenant." The crewmen of the battlestar reluctantly entered the large central tent, full of sleeping bags. Most of them had been up for almost two days in a row, and so the rest was welcome...

Thirteen Hours Later ::
((Funeral music here!))
Contact from the shore party had been non-existent for the last thirteen hours. Everyone on the ship had finally gotten some rest, and were prepared for the day ahead. As planned, they took advantage of the reprieve from Cylon attacks...today was the day that Antov would be commissioned officially as the Commanding Officer of the Mycenae, and hopefully a CAG and XO would be selected, as well as the holding of the memorial service. Poet and Scholar had been released from the brig, and Poet, as promised, had spent most of the morning in the Hangar Bay, arguing with the deck gang, and helping them salvage what they could from the Vipers. There was a very good chance that Scholar's Viper would survive...though they were still examining the wreckage of Poet's Viper.

" Reveille, reveille, morning stations aboard Battlestar Mycenae, all hands report to your stations. Memorial Service and commissioning ceremony will be held in thirty minutes. Honor guard muster in fifteen minutes in the Port Hangar Deck before the ceremony for last minute preparations.

'Frak', Poet thought to himself, looking down at his oil covered hands. He didn't want to leave the Viper to the deck gang, but he had no choice. Charging through the ship, he made his way to the showers, and washed up as fast as he could, which was hard considering his injured arm. The swelling on his face had gone down, but he still didn't look much better. Grinning at himself in the mirror, he made his way to the Pilot's quarters and donned his Dress Greys, and putting on the blue sash of the Honor Guard. The next half hour flashed by quickly, until he was at the ceremony...and had to hold back a groan when he saw Major Antov in the crowd. Behind them sat the coffins, without corpses...flags draped over them elegantly, waiting in the airlock. Stepping up on to the improvised stage, he spoke loudly, for all to hear.

"Good morning, everyone. I am Lieutenant Deloy...Today, we begin with a memorial, to our fallen, our friends, and our families. They have paid the ultimate price, and we must continue to fight on in their memory. The events of the last days have been hard for many of us, but we must not let go. Now, I'm no priest, but I don't need to be one to tell you that this is a hard time. But we must have hope. We are all that is left of the human race...we must come together, like we have never done before. We must all remember the code that binds us, the oath we swore, the meaning of the uniform that we wear. We must remember why we fight, and that even in these dark days, a light can be found. Hold our fallen comrades in your hearts, and use those thoughts to drive you to do your best, every single day. Whether you're flying a Viper against the Cylons, or knocking dents out of the deck after a rough landing...we can not continue to live without everyone doing their part, and we can not let anything divide us. So now, we give the souls of the fallen unto the Gods, where they shall find peace eternal, away from the wars of man and Cylon. Remember this day, for all your lives...remember this day, when you go out to kill those Cylons. You must remember, so that the Cylons never forget...nobody fraks with humanity...so say we all. Present...ARMS!"

The crowd broke into a chorus, repeating the final words...the airlock slowly slid shut, and the coffins were jettisoned into space. Everyone in the room snapped to a salute, and silence reigned over them all. Now it was time for Major Antov to take the stage...to become the Commanding Officer of the Battlestar Mycenae. "Major Demetry Antov...from this moment forward, you will accept the responsibilities of an officer in the Colonial Fleet, and as Commanding Officer of this Battlestar, you will do everything you can to protect your crew, and your ship, no matter the personal cost. You will be commissioned at the rank of Commander, and shall perform all duties pertaining to such a station. ATTENTION ON DECK!" The entire crowd snapped to attention in the face of their new commanding officer. Now it was time for Commander Antov to give his speech...Poet personally didn't expect anything too exciting, but was ready for a surprise.


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Lysander the Poet's avatar

Hilarious Inquisitor

╔══════════════╗
Day: 2
Crew: 4,458
Commanding Officer: Commander Demetry Antov
Executive Officer: N/A
CAG: N/A
55 Vipers
20 Raptors
Ammunition Supplies are low, and major repairs must be performed on many parts of the ship. We are down one Viper Squadron.Ship engines have failed, and fuel reserves are non-existent. Reports from the Asteroid Mining Facility have ceased...previous report indicates a terrorist presence that may threaten the surviving workers.
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Resounding Memory's avatar

Dapper Explorer

Name: Demetry Antov
Rank: Commander
Position: Commanding Officer of the Battlestar Mycenae
Location: CIC
Status: Wounded Shoulder, Bruising, One Broken Rib, Three Cracked Ribs, Rested

Stepping up to the make shift stage, now Commander Demetry Antov took the vow to be the commander of the battlestar. He was now the official commanding officer of the ship, and all of the crew was now his responsibility. Stepping up to the podium. He prepared to give a speech. Clearing his throat, he began to speak, "These past several hours have been undeniably the most challenging of our careers. The conditions we have been subjected to could break a person; however, we continue to fight on and refuse to bow to the daunting foes that come for us. For now, we have a brief reprieve. This will not last. We will be tested once more and likely many times after that. It will be tough and will push us to our limits and beyond. The road we will travel will not be easy, but we cannot forget what we are fighting for. We are fighting for each other. We are fighting for those lost. We are fighting for our right to survive. We will not let our enemies break us. We have to show them our resolve is greater than their will to destroy us and that we will not be extinguished so easily. We will show them what it is to be human! So say we all!" There was a resounding "So say well all!" throughout the crowd as he concluded his speech.

At the end of his speech, he shook hands with several members of the crew when an officer came up to him and whispered into his ear. His face went from being warm and receptive to grim and stern within almost the blink of an eye. Following the officer back to the CIC, he walked in and said, "Status report." One of the officers looked up and said, "We received a brief distress signal from the base a few minutes ago. No audio, just the beacon. It stopped after only a couple of minutes of transmitting." This didn't sit well with the commander. Something was going on down there, and he was missing a team now. Thirteen hours was far too long to not hear anything from them only to have their distress signal last two minutes. "We're going to have to assume things have deteriorated at the refinery. Send three teams of marines to find out what happened to the team we sent down there," he instructed. The officer nodded and began coordinating the commander's request. They needed that fuel before the Cylons found this place, or they would be dead for sure.
Hell Mistress's avatar

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

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

Just call me Persy...

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

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As Poet’s voice continued to ring in her ears, Scholar curled a smile, and got herself comfortable where she was laying.. curling her knee’s some and shutting her eyes, enjoying the odd comfort of the brig’s cot, as well as the relaxing tone of her company, and the story he shared.
She tittered to his compliments on her, but overall was quiet as he spoke.. just listening, finding her peace, and not too long after.. giving into the desire for sleep.

She heard his entire story and heard him make mention to his tattoo.. something she couldn’t seem to find the willpower to open her eyes and look at, so she just nodded softly. She’d look for it later, when she was awake, and they needed to kill more time.. if it ever came to pass again.

“Mmmn..” she then briefly forced her eyes awake as she felt him move. She noticed his eyes watching her, before he up and left the bed.. she took little time curling up along it’s full length and grinning as she watched him sit off to the side, the last few words he spoke enough to make her giggle again.
“..Caprican Princess.. so lame..” and she was out.

----

Hours later, after managing to catch some well needed zz’s, she awoke to the sound of the Guard’s entering the brig, and shortly after releasing the duo inside, informing them of the memorial to be set a few hours later. Persephone nodded, making sure her time was used getting back to her rack, where she was teased briefly for ‘vanishing’ that night, and started to get ready. First making her own adjustments to clean her wounds, take a quick shower, and clean herself up nice and good.. before she sat leisurely with a few of her fellow pilot’s and shared a quick round of Triad and one drink.

“So, Pers, heard your Viper got salvaged.” A blonde cocked as she set down her full colors, beating Persephone, once again, and gaining a drink in the process.
“Must be nice knowing our dear Lieutenant already considers you apart of our family.. taking his destructive behavior out on you like he does the rest of us. Best get used to it, though, he makes a helluva lot of ‘accidents’, almost as bad as your landings.” The girl then reached into the center of the pile, snatching the cigar she won off Persephone, making the brunette scratch her head and sigh, leaning back.

“..Also heard you gave him a piece of your mind. Who’d of thought little Scholar here had a backbone?”

“Backbone? Give her three shots of Ambrosia, man, THEN she gets pretty feisty!” Magik waltzed by, ruffling his hand into Persephone’s hair and making her swat at him as he contributed to the chatter, watching as another round was dealt out quickly.

“... can’t hold her liquor, sucks at Triad, crashes each run annnnd is quickly losing every Cigar in her possession.. so, Persy, love, how’s your day back as a free man holding up?”
Magik was as close as could be as his shirtless self lent in to tickle his fingers across her shoulders, whispering to Persephone’s ear as he watched her hand be dealt and he grinned, the girl scoffing. He knew, and saw the whole ordeal the other day, and found the need to tease her about it.

“Ahh, lemme guess.. Poet smacked you around in the Brig, did he? Man, wouldn’t put it past him to suck a girl head on..”


The time she had was spent in relaxation, surprisingly, until finally their time was cut to the main event.. the memorial service. Many men and women were lost in the assault.. and everyone was up and dressed in suit to go pay their respects. Persephone was prim and proper, hair slicked and tied back, and little to any bandages to decorate her face. She watched and counted each casket that lay at the front, tuning out the words said as she recalled Poet’s words..
The Cylon’s returned and attacked.. not just attacking the Battlestar’s, but destroying the colonies. The entire human population.. dwindling.. and the very idea made her chest ache before she was nudged.

“So say we all!” She chimed, before her mind returned to the conclusion of Deloy’s speech.. next being the Major as she watched him officially become Commander...

“..So many dead..” she muttered under her breath with a sigh, watching the casket’s get shot out of the ship.
“...no XO, no CAG.. just a CO?” She was surprised, a bit, that their weren’t two more announcements to indicate two other roles being filled.. she had the impression the big three were lost. Yet only Antov took the stage for his commissioning. All the same though, she stood at attention and repeated as needed. Her respect, her condolences, and her allegiance all in tune as the ceremony continued.. the sight of the dead, however, made her stifle a tear.
Her mother probably was killed.



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ℒieutenant

ʟʏsᴀɴᴅᴇʀ 'Poet' ᴅᴇʟᴏʏ

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

Poet didn't waste any time following the Commander to the CIC. Curiousity had gotten the better of him, and he needed to know what was going on. Through the passageways of the Mycenae, he followed the Commanding Officer, until reaching the familiar hustle and bustle that was the CIC. Standing back near the door, he heard one of the officers talking about the distress beacon from the shore party. They had been gone for a long time, and without any radio contact, anything could have happened. From the chatter around the ship, Poet had gathered the basics on the situation. Terrorists, and a group of survivors, fighting it out for control of the facility, the ore, and whatever supply of tylium, tylium that the crew needed to get this bucket of bolts back into fighting shape.

Stepping up the the Commander, he saluted sharply, and then dove right into the subject, "Commander, requesting permission to accompany the Marines on their mission. Dealing with a terrorist group is no joke, and they're going to need someone to fly their asses over there. I can do that, and carry a frakkin' gun. And since my Viper isn't much more than a pile of spare parts at the moment, I feel like I need to get out, you know, stretch my legs. All night in the brig with Scholar got me some rest, but now I'm just full of energy." Poet grinned at the very thought of shooting some frakkin' terrorists, until another one of the officers stepped up to interrupt him.

"Commander...we've received a broken transmission from a signal...not one of our Raptors, and doesn't match up with the colonial signal from the base, or any of the ships. And without DRADIS working properly, I'm not sure I can find it's location...I'll try to clear it up." Poet watched as the officers of the CIC worked hard...it was so very fluid, routine, comfortable...it was horrid. People coming in and out every second, probably bothering the Commander with some such nonsense or another. Only a few moments later, another officer wandered in through the door, and came up to the Commander...seemed Antov was learning how hard this job was, firsthand. "Commander Antov, sir...I've come to ask you if you want us to continue our CAP on the same schedule, so I can get some birds in the air...we still need a CAG to coordinate all of this, but we're doing the best we can for now. Also, repairs on Scholar's Viper are finished, and the deck crew wanted me to let you know that they've got a few Raptors ready for your Marines..."

Asteroid Belt Mining Facility ::

Explosions and gunshots rang out throughout the camp. The terrorists had come in the night, and the crew members of the Mycenae had worked fast, setting up a defensible position. It was obvious that these bastards were skilled, and several civilians had died in the firefight. French Fry led the operation, but his lack of sleep was starting to wear on him. Another large explosion rang out, blowing an enormous hole in their defenses. Marco could be seen, charging towards the group, yelling and waving his arms, "Lieutenant! We have to fall back! Come on! We have another base camp set up, deeper in the facility." The group followed Marco, through the onslaught, a few Marines dying while defending the group from the rear. A large door closed and sealed behind them, the corridor's lights shining dimly...flickering as if they were barely holding on. On the other side, the terrorists swarmed the camp, looking for any survivors, and gathering weapons. Inside the main tent, they found a comm station set up, and one of the men sat down and began to mess with it. "Sir, we have a signal...to the Battlestar."

The other man, possibly the leader, grabbed the headset from the table, and smiled. A large amount of static was all he was getting, but as the group messed with the comm station, it became clearer."Battlestar Mycenae, this is Kuril McVeigh, leader of the Soldiers of the One. I understand that you have a team aboard my mining facility...they will die, along with the civilians, unless our demands are met. We want control of the facility, the mining ships, everything...and we want it within the next twenty-four hours, or everyone you have sent here is going to die. Your False Gods cannot protect you from my men, so leave your empty prayers at the door."

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Hell Mistress's avatar

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

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

Just call me Persy...

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

User Image

The memorial seemed to slip by as quickly as she remembered it started. Many tears were shed, and words of morale were spread. Everyone had lost something, someone in this disaster.. not a single person lay unaffected, and especially losing the pilots you grew to love and work alongside.. Scholar was lucky to be alive.

As attention started to ease, she watched as the Commander slipped from the podium with a grim look on his face. The expression peaked her curiosity, as it did most who noticed, and he left the hall. Followed by a few others, including Poet.. it made her want to know what else was going on behind this veil. What other shadows she couldn’t yet see and acknowledge.. and so she slipped herself through the crew and out into the hall, following after and towards the CIC, also having a valid reason to check in.

Power was dwindling, the ship unmoving.. they were sitting ducks, not to mention all the repairs needing to be done to the ship itself and the crashed Vipers. Scholar wondered how they were even still functional right now.. after sustaining such heavy casualties, but that worry wasn’t on her shoulders. Her big worry was.. what she happened to slip in and overhear.

...I understand that you have a team aboard my mining facility...they will die, along with the civilians, unless our demands are met. We want control of the facility, the mining ships, everything...and we want it within the next twenty-four hours, or everyone you have sent here is going to die. Your False Gods cannot protect you from my men, so leave your empty prayers at the door...


Scholar couldn’t believe what she just heard! Sure, she heard tidbits of them making contact with the asteroid facility to collect fuel and restock.. but to waltz in and hear a.. a terrorist threat, a ransom, at the stake of their men.. Scholar couldn’t help but stop dead in her tracks, nearly forgetting to offer a salute before speaking.

“Sir!..Commander... is that, what was that? What’s going on down there?”
She spoke above the crew debating their actions, but she couldn’t help but c**k a brow.. turning her attention as a familiar face in the CIC informed her quickly her Viper was ready and repaired.. in quick time too.

“..Is there a rescue party being sent?” She didn’t have to wait long for answers, as the commotion flooding through the room was enough for her to piece together.
They’d been without contact for hours, and then a distress beacon.. and now this. Trouble, lots of it, and terrorists...

“If you need an extra Pilot, I’m able and ready, Commander.” Was all she could say.





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Hilarious Inquisitor

Port Hangar Bay ::

"Alright people, come on! Let's get these repairs going, and get those frakkin' Raptors ready to launch. If we don't do this quick, Chief Hardin and Commander Antov will have our a**. We got people on that rock, and we gotta get 'em out! Let's go!" Petty Officer First Class Vandal sighed deeply, watching as his fellows ran back and forth. After Poet's little mess the other day, they had been cleaning up and running repairs, a lot of them did't get the chance to sleep, especially having to clear the Hangar bay for the ceremony. Scholar's Viper had been repaired, and as a special request from Poet, who did most of the repair work, they had been working on a decal for it, to be placed right under where it said 'Ens. Persephone Joaliss' with 'Scholar' underneath. In an elegant script, very popular in Caprican literature, were the words 'Caprican Princess', which made the First Class laugh casually. Capricans happened to be the smallest part of the crew on this ship, with a healthy mix of all the other Colonies.

Rumors had been spreading about exactly what had happened between the two pilots in the brig. They weren't under guard for most of the time, since most Marines had been utilized for the Asteroid Belt mission, and now most of them were gearing up for the rescue, or on ship patrol. The chatter was all around the ship, especially the hangar bay and Pilot rec room. "Yeah...heard the two of them frakked after their big fight. I don't blame her though...I think I'd frak Poet if I was caught in a cell with him...hell, I think I'd even bend the other way for Scholar..." A few of the others laughed, as Specialist Danielle Saunders reached her arm into the confines of the Viper's engines, feeling around to make sure the repairs were all good to go. A few of the guys were still laughing when Vandal caught them, and he was not amused, "HEY! Why don't you frakkin' morons shut up and go hammer those dents out of the deck. Make the old girl look as good as new...wouldn't want one of the Vipers getting caught on a landing, would we?"

The crowd dispersed, and soon the sound of hammering played through the Hangar Bay, music to Vandal's ears. On the other end of the Hangar Bay, the Raptors and their pilots were gearing up, doing system checks, and waiting for the go ahead from the CIC. Not many of the remaining crew members were qualified to pilot Raptors, and most of the ones that were had their schedule booked...stuck in the infirmary with heavy injuries. Vandal walked quickly, approaching the Raptor crews and examining the birds, shaking his head. Keeping the frakkin' things in good repair was hard with such a lack of spare parts. "Don't suppose Commander Antov could jump us to a frakkin' scrap yard, eh Lieutenant?" The Pilot turned and shook his head, laughing, "Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen any time soon. Too busy making brig visits to the ship's new lovebirds. I'm sure we'll find something down there for the deck crew...or you could s**t in one hand, and wish in the other, and see which one fills up first."

Vandal growled angrily, his disdain for the pilots showing itself only for a moment. Wandering back to supervise Viper repairs. The Pilots gathered together, laughing as the angry Petty Officer stomped off. "Got his panties in a bunch...maybe he should go see Scholar. I hear she's really good at calming down angry crew members. Maybe even beat him into shape...frakkin' a*****e." A swift hand came across the back of the Lieutenant's head with a hard smack, as Eclipse grinned at her fellow pilot, sitting on the edge of the Raptor and pulling a Triad Deck out of her shirt. The others gathered around, sitting on the deck, deciding to kill some time while they waited. "You know, Bullseye, maybe you should watch your mouth. Maybe she'll come kick your a**...or, if her and Poet really are frakkin', I'm sure he won't appreciate it very much. He and I were in flight school together...and he won't hesitate to knock some of the teeth out of that big mouth of yours."

Bullseye shook his head, drawing a card from the deck and looking at his hand, "Woah, you two at flight school together? Makes me wonder, since you're defending him...did you frak him too? Real ladies' man, Poet is! Guess that's how he got the callsign..." The hand that smacked him earlier came again, this time as a fist to the face, knocking him on his back. Eclipse pulled back her hand and shook it, wiping some of the blood off on the deck, "Got a real big mouth, Bullseye...I don't think Poet would mind if I knocked a few teeth out of it before he gets here. Now get up, toss in your Cubits, and let's get this game the frak over with...momma needs a couple more cigars for tonight." Bullseye pushed himself up on the deck, and looks at his hand again, tossing in a few Cubits, and smirking, wiping the blood from his nose. "Frakkin' psycho..."

Starboard Hangar Bay ::

Thirteen hours had passed, and the Centurions had been hard at work. In the back of the Heavy Raider had been crates full of equipment, which they had proceeded to assemble and set up. If anyone would look at it, they would have no idea what the frak it was, Cylon technology and all that. In reality, it was a transmitter, that the Centurions would be able to use to transmit their location to the Cylon fleet. The electromagnetic field that disrupted DRADIS would even be a perfect cover for the incoming Cylon fleet, who would be able to fly in undetected and attack. Of course, the set up of this beacon, and getting it to work through the field was the most challenging part, but the best thing about Centurions...they never got tired, never stopped working. Soon, the device would be ready, and the Cylons would be right on top of the humans...it was only a matter of time.

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