Moment of Silence
Moment of Silence
Summary: Timon pays his respects. (vignette-length; part of a larger scene)
Date: PHD122
Related Logs: Sneak Attack - Air Wing
Players:
Timon..Willem..Persy..Castor..

RED BERTHINGS

It's with quiet and tentative steps that Timon enters the Den of Evil without even a torch to light his way — just a legal pad, bent and scuffed around the edges, that he's covered in his tiny black script. He's just finished changing out of his duty uniform, from the looks of it: his blue jacket is slung over the crook of one hand, its rank insignia glittering momentarily as it catches the light, and his dogtags are partly caught in the elastic band of his neckline.

The paper pretty much has that same layout as it did. Mostly a conjecture of the shipyard in the Idi operation. Upon the plotter paper's surface are a number of scrawled possible vectors that those unfortunate raiders could have been attacking from. This is essentially a 'what if' project. He blinks again in a weary fashion as he hunches over the table. With Persy in tow. To recap - Wil looks vaguely horrible and unslept, in his tanks, sweat pants, and with a monstrous case of bedhead.

"What exactly are you trying to suss out?" Persy asks, perched in Wil's lap, elbows on the table as she regards the grid. "Where they came from?"

Castor looks at the pair for a moment and laughs just slightly, mostly because they look so cute together. He then looks over a Timon and Castor offers a polite, "How are things?" He then looks back at Persy, "What do you mean where they came from? The Cylons?"

"Rebound," says Timon's voice — oddly muted, though maybe that's because he doesn't want to disturb whatever monstrous creatures might be sleeping within. "Fallout. Don't worry," he adds, rather hastily. "I've only got a legal pad to drop this time." Which is Ivory-speak for 'Am I interrupting? Because if I am, I can go That Way and let you two snog in peace.' The back of his hand flicks a few droplets of sweat from his forehead en route to giving Castor a little wave.

"From the Idi Station op. Not the one last night" Wil simply fills Castor in with a slight dip of his head, lips drawn. Blink blink. Trying to unstick his eyes from what looked to be a terrible sleep. Jutting a finger outwards onto the table he traces a few hypothetical vectors with his fingertip. "I'm trying to figure out exactly how the shipyard staging area correlated with the station's distress call. And I'm failing." A look to Timon's arrival momentarily jolts him out of his little pondering. "Ivory. Did you see a sock on the door?" This attempt at slightly off-color humor falls a bit flat. "C'mon in. And thanks for that — that SAR yesterday."

A bit of a sidelong glance to Persy on Wil's part occurs afterwards but with no immediate comment.

Castor looks at Timon, "Well, if you care to join us we are trying to help Willem with a problem he is having." He then takes a second to look again at the paper. "Oh, yeah, I missed that. Heard they found a kid." He then rubs his head as he thinks about it maybe because he is starting to get tired or maybe it is the bright lights, either way he studies that sheet of paper with a bit of intent.

"Oh," Persy blinks a few times. "Uhm…" she sidelongs a glance at Wil. "Is that all?" She looks a little guilty. "The times correlate almost perfectly. There's the distress call to the shipyard from the Idi, specifying unknown security issues — and the time it would take to make it from the shipyard to Idi is within seconds of the distress beacon was launched. It's pretty clear the shipyard was attacked first." She pauses. "Does that help?"

Wil's attempt at a joke is ignored. "Not a SAR," says the Raptor pilot shortly, maneuvering past a few stray chairs with as much grace as the spaceframe he drives. His lips are taut; his face, unusually tired, even for him, and the dark circles underneath his sunken eyes gleam dully under the room's track lighting. "Not even a recovery." There's a brief, disinterested glance at Rebound's work before Ivory settles down into a nearby chair, tossing his legal pad on the table as he does.

Castor looks at Persy for a moment, "See, that is why she is a keeper. She is looking out for you man." He then takes a moment to move to his locker which again is unlocked by key and a cigar and lighter are taken out. A cheap cigar though there might be a few nice ones left. After he has the cigar lit the lighter goes back inside and the locker is locked. He then turns to look at Timon, "You look almost as rough as Wil are you okay?"

"That helps -dramatically-." Wil breathes a response as he traces his fingertip upon the paper. The information makes the frazzled-looking pilot's eyelids raise and lower in time. "So the -shipyard- was first. I don't get the distress signal, however." He looks about to say more with an abashed half-grin shot towards Castor when Timon's words stop him dead in his tracks. He shoots up a little straighter in the seat, Persy co-inhabiting making this a bit shaky, as he simply rests a hand on her shoulder, and he just shoots the other man a pointed look. "I know there was nothing to recover."

Persy looks back and forth between Ivory and Wil. "Uhm." She blinks a few times, then backtracks. "Which distress signal don't you get?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Timon's countenance is devoid of expression as he fiddles with the lower edge of his pad. Flimsy cardboard bends up, then bends down, then bends up again — and then, as Castor pulls out his cigar, snaps down, making a loud thwap in the air. It's with a muttered apology that Ivory turns away, brown eyes veiled, just in time to catch the business end of Rebound's look — plus Persy's, though that one isn't nearly as sharp. "Where's Merlin's bunk?" he asks. Not quite a response.

"Did the station have a FTL drive? Maybe they got the message and jumped?" He offers, "I mean it is a possibility." He takes a puff of his cigar, "Or am I missing vital information here?" He then takes a second to wipe the tip of his nose as some ash has managed to fly upward onto his nose. Castor points to the bunk and offers quietly, "Over there."

"The distress signal. Something about it smelled wrong. It was too convenient. I mean, the Cylons might well have figured out that sooner or later, that thing would have lured some considerable targets." He's reaching for something here, a bit intuitively, but still can't quite put all the pieces together. This is initially offered to Persy, with a quick glance to Leda. "No, Tin. The station didn't go anywhere. It was a hulk. With a child on it, apparently." Nonplussed, he turns from the matter for a few seconds and just addresses Timon with a drawn glance. "There. The kid was right there." He echoes Castor's point. He also very nearly opens his mouth to say something else but the most he comes up with is a jawquiver.

Persy rests her chin atop Wil's head. "He was right there. And now he's right here. He's alive… and people are going to take good care of him," she murmurs. "So you're wondering if the beacon — the second one, you mean, was launched by the toasters?"

Ivory nods before pushing backwards in his chair, not even blinking as its metal legs shriek against the deck. Once he's upright, the Raptor pilot pads over to where Castor points, quiet footfalls slowing before fading altogether. His hands are clasped behind his back; his feet, set a shoulder-length apart; his head, tilted down, with stringy brown curls drooping over his eyes. But all the strategizing trio will see is a tall and gangly silhouette mouthing something under his breath — and then, without so much as a 'goodbye', Timon makes for the hatch, legal pad forgotten in his wake.

"No. No he's not." Wil says, flatly. His voice is calm, but this is all he says. His eyelids flicker downwards a long moment after turning to take one curious glance at Timon but making no move to address, interrupt, or even really acknowledge the man beyond that simple look. There's a bit of a deep breath, puffing up into his lungs and then a sharp exhale. Moments pass before his eyes reopen and he addresses the blonde CIC officer in a quiet, but more pragmatic voice. "I think it's possible they could have. And that is what bothers me. That whole thing was a trap."

Castor watches this happen and says, "Maybe I should go talk to him so you two can…you know, do stuff, I'll put a sock on the door for you." Did he just reverse a joke.

Persy watches Timon leave, one eyebrow raising, then the other. "Wow. He's… a little weird, isn't he?" She cranes her head down to look at Wil. "He's not alive? Or he's not here? I didn't say he was 'going to be ok'. That might take a lifetime. But he has that, now." As to the trap, she pauses. "Was the beacon disabled before we left? I mean, was it still broadcasting?"

Whether Ivory hears Castor's invitation or Persy's judgment is an open question. Sharp rays of light arc into the room as he opens the hatch, painting his jacket a brilliant ultramarine. Then, the corner is turned, the door is shut, and the Raptor pilot vanishes from sight.

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