Summary: A few hours in the bunker's medical area.
Date: PHD075
Related Logs: Marco Polo, Mercy

Scorpia - Bunker (Medical)

Roubani is sitting by the toolkit that the Paros Few had recovered from their crashed Raptor. His left hand has presumably been cleaned and re-bandaged, covering the hole that a bullet had blown straight through the palm. With that and three fingers of his right hand, he sifts through the various tools with purpose, taking note of what they still have.

Alyssa stirs in the chair she'd set next to Corporal Swift, asleep, but only barely. She hadn't left the room all night save for one bathroom break, and she is, at the moment, looking a little worse for wear.

Roubani's eyes shift sharply at movement nearby. He watches Alyssa from under his slender brows for a moment or two, then looks back down at what he was doing. Screwdrivers laid out on the floor, silently. A mark made on a piece of paper.

Green eyes blink open slowly, and Alyssa sits up, her hand immediately going to Swift's wrist while her head goes near his to check for breathing. After a moment, she seems to relax, then stands, stretches, and walks over to Angel's side. Passing Roubani, she nods. "Good morning…"

Superior standing. Roubani's shoulders tense and he rolls gracefully to his feet, using neither hand to do so. A useless movement really, but exceedingly polite. "Sir. Good morning."

Alyssa nods absently as she checks Angel's vitals, not bothering at the moment to look at the wounds themselves. Seemingly satisfied, she walks next to Timon. "Taking inventory?"

"Not exactly, sir." Roubani has a naturally soft-spoken voice that projects a kind of dignified calm on its own, whether it's real or not. "I didn't mean to wake you with the racket." The racket of a screwdriver handle barely touching the floor. His eyes follow her towards Timon. "Will he be alright?"

Alyssa nods. "He's actually not as bad as he looks. There are a lot of injuries but on the whole his system is intact. It's Ashe, Angel and Dutch who were the real worriers. If you'd gotten here another day later, you may have needed a chap instead of a doc." She walks over to Dutch next, again vitals checking as she'd done with Ashe and Angel. "They are remarkably stable… and no signs of infection. I think we got very, very lucky last night."

"He always did have a taste for hyperbole," Roubani murmurs, as to Timon. It's dry, but fond of the Raptor pilot nevertheless. His eyes skim over the other injured then, silence settling over the young man "But I am thankful, sir. Lieutenant, correct?"

Alyssa nods as she moves over to check Timon. "That is correct, but we're in my sickbay, so you can call me Alyssa, or Doc, if you need a title. Too many eltee's just cloud the issue. I don't sweat rank so long as you know that, if I'm treating you, I'm the one in charge." She smiles at him to take any sting out of her words. "And you are welcome. Thank you for getting them to me in time to treat. I've been too late far too often since the Cylons attacked."

Roubani nods slightly, but doesn't smile back. His expression isn't so much severe as it is just solemn. "It was providence we had taken vehicles after our crash." He folds his hands behind his back, bandaged hand gripped loosely around the wrist of the right. That other one is in a beige brace that supports his wrist, two of his fingers kept protected. Recently broken, perhaps. "You have been here since before the…" What do you call it anyway? "…before day one?"

"Yeah," Alyssa says. Walking over to the small collection of tools the ensign had removed from his box, she sits down on the floor across from him. "I had been aboard the Perseus, but had just been reassigned to the Pegasus. Something to do with me not being afraid to swear at an Admiral if an Admiral needed sworn at. Anyway, Pegasus was being overhauled when I was transferred, so I took some leave planetside before reporting. I was on my way to the shuttle when I saw the Shipyards explode in orbit."

Roubani' chin tilts down slowly to accomodate the fact that he's now standing and she's sitting on the floor. "Pegasus?" His soft voice repeats the word and his lips thin. "The other Lieutenant with us. The one not from the Kharon, he claims he was from the Pegasus too."

Alyssa shrugs, then sits back to look up at the ensign. "It's possible… I don't know. Like I said, I never even set a foot on the deck. My last real assignment was the Perseus, an ammo crawler in Aquaria Orbit. Take a seat, please. I'd like to take a look at your hands."

Roubani hesitates before replying. "Yes, sir." He crouches down and then settles back on his heels. The tension in his back is awkward, as he keeps his hands withdrawn on his legs. "How…did you all find each other like this?"

Cyrus arrives from the Bunker - Front Hall.
Cyrus has arrived.

Alyssa takes the left hand into both of hers, slowly turning it, careful not to cause pain. "You could say the Cylons brought us together. I was alone for about a month before finding the Lodge, that's up north a ways, where a bunch of people were hiding out. I'd never have seen them except they ran afoul of the Toasters and I followed the gunshots. I was lucky… there are others here who would not have seen a doctor when they looked at me."

Slipping through the bunker door is a very anxious-looking, twitchy Cyrus. He stiffly pads in and his thick brows knit at the presence of the small crowd here. Oh. More people. He clears his throat and doesn't immediately cut in, merely eyeing a supply cabinet. His right hand is in his pants pocket.

Roubani tenses when she touches his hand. Some of it's subtle, running up and down his arm, an impulse to pull away from her grasp. Uncomfortably, he forces himself to remain still. "Why is that, Lieutenant?"

Alyssa looks up and nods at Cyrus as he enters, but otherwise focuses on Roubani. "It wasn't only the virtuous who survived, Ensign. Road gangs are out there as well, willing to kill to get supplies. All men, as far as we can see, though they do also take women. For sport." She scowls as she looks over his bandage, then releases his hand.

"Such as men do, sir," Roubani replies, regarding her face levelly. "With all due respect, there is no need to be patronizing." When she starts scowling he seems more than happy to withdraw his hand away from her, back to his personal space. Considering her a moment he says, "You seem to believe very strongly in luck." His eyes flicker up as Alyssa's do, to the unfamiliar new person.

"Heh. Heh heh." Cyrus's pronounced snicker could be considered tasteless at the topic if it wasn't so obviously tinged with sarcastic disgust. "Telling new friends about the unfettered pleasantness of Scorpian hospitality I take it, Doctor?" Whatever brought him in here is not mentioned for the moment. He looks like he's patiently waiting for something. Probably a pop in the nose. "I'm pretty sure some God or other would take a dim view at my lack of caring for those peoples' well-being." The Aquarian/Gemenese immigrant sure wastes no time in extolling the virtues of post-civilization on this planet.

Alyssa shrugs. "It comes with being a Doctor. Both the patronization, my apologies for that, and the luck." Giving Cyrus a level look, she sighs and stands. "If I do everything right, make the right diagnosis, order the right procedure, with the right medicine, there are still so many things that can go wrong… morality doesn't seem to have much to do with it, either, so I ruled out the Gods. Maybe luck isn't the right word… but what else would you call it?"

Around his right wrist, Roubani is wearing a small set of prayer beads. They're occasionally visible when the cuff of his fatigues jacket moves. And yet despite that he makes no comment on their opinions, standing up. "I assume one doesn't smoke in here. In the hall?" He raises an eyebrow at both, questioningly…

/Fast forward about half an hour…/

Cyrus, as he washes his now-unwrapped finger and proceeds to juggle the bandage with one hand and apply it, is indeed not exactly affected by any serious degree of injury. He's the lucky one, this being self-inflicted. "What hit him?" He asks, turning his head and jutting a chin at the downed figure of Ashe.

"Bullets, three of them. This one 'almost' had his number on it, too." Alyssa shakes her head. 'If he'd been even a little longer getting to us…" she doesn't finish the thought.
Angelica has disconnected.

Recharged with nicotine, for what good it does anyone these days, Roubani heads back into the medical area where his possessions - to use the term very loosely - are pining away without him. His long stride makes for a quick gait, deceptively purposeful.

"Mm." Cyrus considers, his thick brows knitting in a slight glower. He meanders on over towards the doctor and her most recent patient after affixing the bandage to his finger, stepping just out of the way to give Roubani a wide berth. "Whoops. Sorry." As he closes a small distance towards her and Ashe, he fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a plain ol' cubit coin. Except it's not actually marked. It's blank. Those who are familiar with the customs of certain religious sects within the Colonies know what this is for. Paying the Ferryman once you're gone. He languidly stoops downward and sets it on the ground, next to the bed. "Look, hope he doesn't need this. Tell him to keep it, or give it to someone else. Gesture of gratitude, and whatnot." He then looks upwards between the two who conscious presences in the med bay. "I grabbed a handful of them when I was travelling. Previous owner wasn't around anymore." He explains, a little uncomfortably. "We need them now, I guess."

Alyssa glances at the coin, shivers, and then goes back to her quiet Vigil over Ashe. "Not yet…" she says softly. "Not yet."

Roubani holds up a hand in a silent 'don't worry' at Cyrus' apology. He opens his toolkit with his foot, leaning down to pluck a small handheld computer from it, and then leans back against the wall. As the screen softly chimes its way to glowing, his eyes watch what Cyrus does with the coins. "There's no sense being unprepared," he remarks, matter-of-factly but not unkindly. "At least there's some measure of peace in that."

"Relax, doctor, relax. This one looks like he's marked. If he gets shot up like this and survives, he's got Aurora looking out for him and that's worth a whole sack full of these things. Maybe he can keep it as a gift. Unless he's completely into Mithras like that other guy. They don't do that. Do they?" It's clearly not a rhetorical question here as it's obvious Cyrus doesn't know the answer. He tucks his now-bandaged hand into his pocket again as he draws away from the bed and studies Roubani's activities. He's eyeing the portable computer now with some interest, even as he nods briefly in response to its user. "I have a personal relationship with the Lords. Well, mainly the Goddess. Not everyone gets it."

Roubani's thumb taps a few buttons on the computer's face, brows furrowed. Something's either working very well or it really isn't. His eyes flicker back up towards Cyrus as the man speaks, considering him for a few moments in silence. "They don't have to. Only She does." He offers the man a ghost of a half-smile. "What's your name?"

Roubani apparently said the right thing at the right time. Cyrus' lips purse a moment, but that moment ends and he breaks into a tiny, self-posessed smile, nodding his head. "You get what there is to get, then. They don't call them 'mysteries' without a reason." He clears his throat and continues, addressing the younger man. "Cyrus. Cyrus Korosti. You?" He arcs his head a little to study the unit some more.

"Nadiv Roubani." The tall Ensign's accent sounds Sagittarian, though tempered. Roubani glances back down at the computer when he notes Cyrus' interest, then back at the man. Now there's a hint of curiosity allowed to shine, albeit cautiously, and he jostles the military-issue unit in his palm. "Are you a computer person?" He guesses, quietly.

"Systems Engineer. Recently-retired corporate shill." Cyrus quips again as he flips from the console back to the man. "Technically self-employed, but the retirement package for contractors sucks, as I am discovering." There's a joke there, somewhere. "You with the people they pulled out of Paros?"

Angelica has been curled up in her bed all night, pretty much passed out - the last couple days took their toll on her. Luckily, thanks to good doctoring, her sleep has been mostly restful. But now she's starting to wake up, shifting in the bed.

The brings the first actual smile from Roubani. Fleeting, but briefly there before it fades again. "Yes. I am also an engineer…in the military sense as well as the technical definition." Faced with a potential geek, some of the tension in him further fades. A little. He still hangs by the wall, not advancing or offering a hand. "Very nice to meet you."

Dark green eyes remain affixed on Roubani for a moment, even as Cyrus notes Angelica's stirring with a turn of his head. "Likewise. Ah. Think I get it. I was working with that really quiet girl the other night when we pulled some data recovery." He also doesn't make a move, whether it's out of empathy or general caution about getting too near -anyone- he simply gestures to the unit. "I can't believe I got a taste of military-grade architecture. It's not flashy, but it's stable. -Someone- did their jobs." He pauses a beat. "Listen, I have to finish cleaning up the mess I made in my bunk before I lose some screws." His eyes shift and he makes the obvious joke before anyone else could, "well, a little late for that I suppose. But you know what I mean. Anyway, if it doesn't step on any classified toes I can probably provide some help if you need it."

Roubani makes a sound in his throat. It might've been a chuckle if he'd smiled. "Perhaps we'll talk later, then," he says with a slight but firm nod. "Once you've collected your screws. I'll do my best to answer any questions if you'll try likewise." His attention flickers to the shifting Angelica.

Angelica opens her eyes and looks up at the ceiling for a long moment, then glances over toward the leaving Cyrus and Roubani. "Good morning, Ensign," she says quietly, formally.

Roubani has a small handheld computer in - where else - his hand, and he rests the screen against his chest. Bandage around his hand changed, he no longer reeks of whiskey like he did last night. Improvement or not, it's debatable. "Good morning, miss."

"That, man, is an epic journey that started long before the bombs started to fall. At this rate I'll be a drooling lunatic." Those thick eyebrows on Cyrus' forehead waggle a bit. "Maybe we can chat about doing something truly awesome. Like spraypainting 'u done been hacked' on one of those Cylon jamming devices. Or a Cylon itself. Reprogram it to deliver pizza. With a bomb in it." He starts chattering to himself as he walks on out the exit, continuing his little daydream/vignette. "TWENTY MINUTES LATE with a large supreme means you get extra G-4, motherfrakker!" Oh, he's in a better mood. A little crazy, but in a better mood than he was.

Cyrus heads through the exit labeled <FH> Front Hall.
Cyrus has left.

The young woman just watches him for a time, then offers "Angel, please. Have you eaten? Phaistion likely has some stew on in the mess hall." She shifts on the bed, trying to hide a wince as she moves. Cyrus' back gets a little smile, but then she turns back to Roubani.

"I've eaten, thank you." Roubani doesn't move from his spot, replying once Cyrus has gone and he's had a moment to file the notion of spraypainting a cylon away. "If you are hungry, I can go and get you something."

Angel shakes her head. "No, thank you," she says without hesitation. "I would prefer not to. How is Lance Corporal Swift? How is Sergeant Elder?" Yes, she actually seems concerned.

"The Lieutenant Doctor seemed optimistic." It's the best answer Roubani can give. He wouldn't know a vein from an artery. "I suppose that will have to do for now."

Her lips purse slightly and she starts to try to pull herself up to a seated position. "Have there been any new reports? Has Dmitri been back with news about the towers?"

Roubani doesn't stop her. He braces his foot back against the wall, keeping the small handheld cradled to his chest. "Towers?"

It's a struggle to sit up, especially one armed. She made the mistake of putting the bad one down - but it's a mistake she only made once. Once she gets her breath back she nods, once. "The Cylons have communications towers," she says quietly. "Dmitri has the information, knows where some of them are. He and Lieutenant McTiernan did recon."

"I'm afraid I'm not even sure who Dmitri is." Last night was an overload for Roubani, social circuits puttering a couple miles behind those of most. He does frown at the news though, thoughtfully. "Communication towers…"

Angel briefly describes Dmitri and then settles back against the headboard. "We think that's what they're using to jam the signals," she murmurs, eyes closing.

"They're jamming them?" Roubani asks, somewhat rhetorically. It only deepens the lines on his forehead. "That is…foresight. What signals exactly are they geared to jam?"

"I'm not sure," the little woman says quietly. "Dmitri and the Lieutenant would know better than I would. Cyrus, as well. He's been working on getting a signal out for us since we met up with him." She's not one to embellish, certainly. One hand goes to the small of her back, briefly, as if she's searching for something. "Can you hand me my pistol, please," she asks politely, formally.

Roubani rubs his fingertips over his left eyebrow, pressing into the skin. He pushes carefully off the wall and crosses the space between them wordlessly, starting to search around for her weapon. "Let me see if it's here," he murmurs.

"The doctor likely put it in one of the drawers," Angel says softly, nodding to the cabinets. One hand brushes her hair back, tucking it behind her ears. "You are armed and have ammunition still, yes?"

"I have my sidearm. I have some regular ammuition left, but I am out of AP rounds now," Roubani tells her with his back turned, as he starts going through said drawers. Things shuffle and shift as he paws through them, carefully, and always returns every item exactly back where it had been.

Her weapon is in the second drawer he opens, tucked toward the back. "I'm afraid we don't have any of the special rounds," Angel comments quietly. "But we do have a weapon or two…" She doesn't continue with that thought.

Roubani retrieves the pistol, checking its safety before closing the drawer. "Should you have something more effective and should the need be there, I'll use it." He turns around, handing the butt of the pistol towards her. "These pistols have been barely effective even with heavier rounds." Says the man who blew a centurion's chest open with a normal round. But that was a fluke, maybe Ares just having a little fart.

Angel dips her head once and takes the pistol, very careful not to get her hand anywhere near his. "I use a rifle when out of the bunker and carry this for back up. We also have several shot guns. Though, those are more effective on the road gang."

"We would have used rifles had we had enough for everyone, believe me," Roubani passes off the gun and steps back, loosely folding his arms. "Supply unfortunately could not meet demand."

The woman is quiet for a time, studying the man in front of her. Fingers move over the gun as she checks it, flipping the safety off then on, checking the magazine. It's as though she's assessing him. "When they're ready for more recon, please have someone come get me. I might be able to assist."

"I believe that's the doctor's call," Roubani replies. His dark eyes are level and difficult to read, not unkind but not particularly open. "She seems to thrive on the authority and who am I to take it from her." A faint half-smile. "I'll pray you're ready, though."

Angel offers him a tiny little smile at that. "I won't be," she says quietly. "Not for a few days, at least. Losing any more blood will kill me." Well, it looks like someone's using common sense for once. "As much as I want to be out there with the recon teams, I will have to remain here. However, there might be some things I can send to make their job easier."

'Things'. Alright. Roubani nods slightly, fine with that much. "I will let you know, then."

Gun tucked away, she settles back against the pillows and closes her eyes, trying to get comfortable. "How is your injury?"

"I can't complain." Roubani answers, quietly. "In the face of all this I can't spit on the gods' mercy." Both his damaged hands are tucked into his arms, out of sight. He shifts his weight on his feet. He clears his throat quietly, glancing around at the others and then back at her. "I've got to go look for someone…I'll bring you some water when I come back."

Angel simply nods, once, and remains where she is.

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