Waiting Game
Waiting Game
Summary: Conversations in the brig lead in different directions - oh and the Old Man shows up.
Date: PH 105 (02 August 2009)
Related Logs: None
Players:
Damon..Castor..Komnenos..Willem..Dutch..Sheridan..

After breakfast, Damon is back to the simple task of keeping himself in shape. After waking and going through the painful task of 'planking', he took his breakfast quick and is now half-sitting at the edge of his bed. Legs slipped under the bars at the foot of his bed, the inward breaths and creaks from the bolted down bed are evident as he starts to do sit-ups.

Leda has already been up, done his exercises, probably because he tends to live on a different shift when he is on duty and his body is staying that way. A gaurd moves in as Castor puts a cigar to his mouth, while he can't have a lighter the cigar isn't contraband and so it would seem that either Castor has friends or connections to get a semi-nice cigar while he is in prison. This one doesn't even have a wooden tip.

"So…" Damon says between pulls of his abdomen to lift him up to the bed. Arms across his chest, he doesn't grit his teeth as he continues to move. "…any new news with your situation? Never got your name, by the way…"

Castor takes a moment to smoke his cigar, this he enjoys with great care since he hasn't had one of these since he got thrown in here. "Lieutenant Junior Grade, Castor Leda, Viper pilot." He says as he atches the man work out, "And no news on my situation. Right, now I'm just cooling my heels waiting for them to see that I never put that bomb in my locker." He then takes another slow puff of his cigar, "Now, there real question is what kind of evil stuff are you accused of to get thrown in the brig. i mean, why not send you back with the other civilians till we figure out the next move?" He asks in curious tones, it would seem that unlike earlier Leda is in a clearer state of mind and so his curiousity comes out.

Damon continues to do his sit ups, at least four more are done before he responds. Rolling the question around in his head, he squares his jaw and rises up again. Holding himself there, he grabs the bar to hang onto it so that he can watch Castor for a second. Letting go, he returns to his crunching. "I am currently waiting to find out if my death sentence for double murder is going to be commuted."

Leda blinks at this, wait, double murder, he goes to open his mouth but then closes it because he is in the brig for something he didn't do and so he asks, "Did you do it?" He asks, "Kill two people I mean?" His tone oddly doesn't' carry a sense of judgement in it as he knows what it is liked to be judged while one is in the brig. "If it means anything I didn't plant the bomb in my locker. I don't have a deathwish and I'd rather not see pilots die."

Damon smirks quietly from behind his bed before he rises again. The sit-ups are really no difficulty for him yet and they have that nice effect of keeping his abs strong. "I've killed people, but not those two people." Damon replies, pausing at the top of his interval to look at Castor. "I was enroute to my execution when the bus crashed, killing the cops inside. Steal a shirt and pose as a cop instead of a jumpsuit and the next thing you know you're not getting forced out of a settlement of survivors."

Leda considers the options right now as to what he would do in the same situation, he isn't sure if he should trust the story but he isn't denying it either. Finally, he takes a puff of his cigar, "So, how did it feel? To be a different man, I mean cops get respected in certain places." He says as smoke rolls out of his mouth, it would give him an almost dragon like appearance, but this is Leda and while the puppydog pilot is gone there is a dog with a cigar. "And who have you killed?" Castor asks curiously but not judgingly, it would seem that Leda isn't attempting to size Damon up as much as he is making conversation.

Slipping his feet from beneath the rungs of the bed, Damon slowly rises. Rolling his shoulders in their sockets, he raises his arms above his head to turn to the man. "Felt like survival." Damon replies. "If I had shown up in an orange jumpsuit I wouldn't have been fed, much less given a way to defend myself. People have a way of turning into animals when faced with moral decisions under stress." Damon says coolly as if stating medical fact with clinical disinterest. "…no one you'd know I'm sure. Street level hyenas."

Leda listens to Damon speak before he says, "I get that." He says with a bit of rememberance in his eyes since he and his brother had to make it on the streets and then after a long pause he offers, "We all do what we can to survive." He then takes another slow drag from his cigar, "Street level hyenas, huh?" He then begins to study Damon as if to look for tattoos, ritual scars, or signs of gang membership. "And yeah, people do strange things when they are stressed and in need of a sudden moral decision." He says in agreement. "So, what was it like on Scorpia?"

Damon has tattoos, some of them look like gangland tattoos, well worn from age hinting his involvement with gangs as a child. The newer tattoos have less signifigance, more stylized and expensive looking. Someone was close to rich in his recent past. "Radiation and Gardeners." Damon replies. "About half the people that survived were garden variety sheep. Likeable sheep…but I've got no ear to hear about gardening. Made it to the last two weeks before someone noticed me." Damon replies, looking towards Castor's cigar and then to his face. His head turns to the side to look in the direction of the MP desk, and then it turns to look back at Castor's face. "Fortunate."

While he doesn't recognize any specifics since Aquaria has a whole different level of crime and gangs going on he puzzles for a moment and then with the newer tats, the expensive ones for a moment. He then realizes his cigar is being looked at and so he takes a step back into his cell because this is his cigar and no one is taking it from him. He then says, "Garderners might come in handy you know, we are going to need to get food if we ever get past all of the cylons and find a safe place to land." He then takes another puff of his cigar, this one is slow, careful, and utterly enjoyed. "Two weeks?" He says, "You must be some sort of a chameleon because most people see a tin badge and they get to respecting the law. That is sensible folks do."

A flightsuited figure enters the brig. Komnenos nods to the duty MP, and signs his name on the check in sheet. His other hand holds a cigarette; after he's signed in and the MP approves his entry, the ECO takes a few steps in towards the cells. There's a brief glance over at Damon, then a long, hard stare at Castor as Thorn walks to the front of the Viper pilot's cell. He stops a few feet in front of the bars, arms crossed, keeping his eyes on Leda with furrowed eyebrows. The Raptor man is silent, though, exhaled smoke being the only thing to pass his lips.

Eyes turning to watch Komnenos with that constant, dull gaze of his, Damon's eyebrow lifts quietly at the sight. Communicating with what he looks at, his eyes turn back to Castor as he moves to the edge of his cell, leaning sideways against a bar. "It worked, but they trusted the marines and the camping-folk more. The badge did it's trick for a while." Damon smiles. "Then a group of escaped convicts that knew me came for blood, women, and supplies. I didn't need a badge after I killed two with my bare hands." He lets his smile drop. "It felt good to be a part of a team again."

A wiff of cigar smoke leaves Leda's mouth as he looks back at Damon and says, "Yeah, I miss being part of a team in here right now. I have to get out of here so I can rejoin the wing. All of this sitting isn't doing me any good." He then repeats, "You killed two men with your bare hands?" The flightsuit movement, just the sound of it draws his attention as his eyes zero in on the form of Thorn. "Thorn." He says waiting to see what sort of visit this will be because it isn't looking like one of those, 'Hang in there' or 'We'll have you out soon' visits.

"Tinhead." Komnenos finally speaks; his tone is flat and not terribly friendly. He begins to pace in front of the jail cell for a second, before stopping and staring at him once again. "A week ago, I'd've been tempted t' come down and pass sentence on you myself." His words are frank as he so much as admits he'd thought about killing the man. "Even after what Drarelle did, half of me wants t' kick your balls between your ears." There's still some uncertainty about the whole thing, but Drarelle's rampage seems to have lessened the case against Castor… though Thorn obviously isn't yet convinced of the man's innocence.

There's something about Damon that seems to enjoy twisting his words around, building that invisible shield to keep people away from him. All too casual about it, his shoulder raises in a shrug. "…one of them with a steak knife from the cabin." He clarifies, hinting at what was likely a bloody end for the raider. There's no way it could have been a clean kill. One hand runs through his dreadlocks, separating two that had become tangled, before he goes to sit back down. "Gonna take that from him, Leda?"

Leda calculated as much as he studies Komnenos and he then says in the calmest tones he can, "Thorn, I didn't do it." His eyes search Thorns face as if he is trying to gauge why Komnenos wouldn't trust him and how many others are going to crawl out of the woodwork. He does turn to look at Damon at the mention of the word steak knife but he addresses Damon by saying, "I'll take it from him because I didn't do it and if it makes him feel better than great. We all need to blow off stress." He then looks back at Thorn, "Why, why, would I want to blow myself up?" He asks as if to bring some sense of rationality in this.

His flightsuit pulled down to his waist, sleeves tied about it, Wil sidles through the hatch past the security checkpoint with an old cigarette case tucked in his hand. He may have quit, so he says, but apparently he still has it. Oh look. There's a party.

"Why th' frak would the Marine XO murder Vendas?" Thorn retorts angrily. "No one expected that from him, either… the same way no one could've expected the Marines t' find a bomb in your locker. Of all people. Yet, he did, and they did." Thorn's voice quickens, and his accent gets thicker by the second as he starts to roll. "You say you didn't do it. I want t' believe you. The Castor I know isn't a bad person. But how am I supposed t' know if you were even that person t' begin with?"

Damon rises, seeing Wil and nodding in his direction. His eyes fall to the cigarette a bit too quickly to seem like he's admiring it's craftsmanship. The man's feening for nicotene. Moving to the edge of his cell, he leans his left shoulder against the bar and folds his arms across his chest. "Murder, hidden bombs…" Damon replies with a smirk. "…you know, this place seems to just getting more and more interesting. Leda, you might want to stay in the brig where it's safer. They don't let us have lockers in here."

Castor begins to get this look in his eye, it is a mixture of fear and disbelief, he does manage to keep his voice level and calm, the last thing he wants is hands trying to reach into the brig and hit him, "Thorn, I'm not the Marine XO." He then says, "And I didn't put that bomb in my locker. I'd remember something like that if I did and I'd have a hell of a good reason for having that bomb in my locker, probably with orders." As the accent gets thicker, it would appear the Leda is attempting to remain calmer, "So, you think I'm someone else?" He asks, "And what kind of person would that be? Think about it Thorn have I ever wanted to harm a pilot let alone another memeber of this crew?" He then looks over at Damon giving him a 'thanks for the help' look before he turns to Willem and he hopes that Willem will help.

Whoah whoah whoah. Enter -voice of reason-. Fulfilling the Colonial stereotype of one type of Libran, Willem narrows his eyes, little lines appearing on his forehead in a wrinkle as he appears ready to jump into the role of 'mediator.' "We're pulling at threads in the dark, here. -Someone- was up to something that night when the lights went off." He inclines his head. Straight to Thorn first of all although the two prisoners do get a measured nod. "Leda was with us so I can vouch that he wasn't responsible for what happened on the Deck. Then there was the bit with Leodus going batshit, -soooo-." He gestures towards Damon. "You seemed to have the methodology down yesterday. By the way. Just popping in for a visit. Don't mind me." He leans back against the wall, arms crossed even as that cigarette case remains tucked in his hand. There's an ever-so-brief twitch of his lips in a tenative, awkward smile.

Damon watches the exchange between Castor and Thorn, eyes shifting to follow and allow his body to remain still. When Castor gives him 'the look', Damon nods in reply as if to say 'that's what I'm here for'. His eyes turn back to Wil, and back to the case. "You got another for me, man?" He asks, politely, nodding towards the case as he leans off of the bar. He looks to Thorn. "Blow up all the pilots so the Cylons can burn this place to the ground? Revenge? Whatever it is, man, even bad cops can figure out what locker the bomb would have been in. Leda's a punk but he ain't stupid." Damon replies, busting Castor's balls a little bit. "Thorn…" He says to get the man's attention, a name he learned from the others. "…did Castor here have any bad blood with the Marine XO?"

"Listen to Rebound." Castor says to Thorn with those same calm tones, his face is still a mixture of disbelief and fear, because he is not used to being in this position and the Tinman hung up his gone fishing sign and hasn't come back. He then lets the other men speak because he seriously doesn't like this vibe that he getting from others and yet you'd think he'd be used to it at this point with the stares that he gets from some of the MP's in here and with some of the visits, oh right, and his best friend all but calling him out for being a traitor. He then looks at Damon for a moment, "And what my friend over here is saying." He then looks at Damon and gives an honest to goodness, ''Thanks' look.

Thorn's eyes are still glinting with anger as he looks from Damon to Castor, but the ECO is volatile, not irrational. It takes visible effort, but he slows himself down a bit; his voice begins to assume its regular timbre once again. "Not that I know of, you haven't," Komnenos replies, first answering Castor. Despite his enforced calm, he can't keep his brow from crinkling in a scowl. "But then I don't know you that well. There's a line from a dusty old book about what lurks in the hearts of men. I've not forgotten it." He starts pacing again as he assaults his cigarette, head whirling as he considers the words of everyone else in the room. He actually does seem to be thinking, and not blowing up in a furious tirade as one might have expected from the man. "I admit, it doesn't make sense. Nothing about this does. But all I know is what I've seen— and here you are, in the brig." His voice roughens once again. "So no, I can't say for certain that I believe it was you. But it doesn't look good, either. If they let you out… I'll apologize later, and I hope you'll forgive me." He shrugs. "But if they find out you had anything at all t' do with this — I will be there when they shove your arse out the nearest airlock."

The look shifts slightly, confussion around all of this he understands. "Thorn, I understand because there is too much confusion in all of this." He shakes hies head and takes a puff from his cigar as he watches Komnenos pace. "And when I get out of here I will forgive you. I'm sure we will have a laugh about this someday." He takes a breath as he comes back to the idea of dying for a set up, "Listen, I was set up? I had to have been set up. Maybe the Marine XO did it." He looks at Damon, "I never really knew the guy myself." He then shrugs because this is getting him to think, "Komnenos, if proof turns up I still didn't do it and an innocent man would die."

Wil's shoulders simply shrug. In contrast to Thorn, there's very little bubbling aggression or fury that rises to the surface. His lips remain pursed and he slowly nods his head, although it's not really in any particular agreement. "I'm not a JAG. I'm not any kind of arbiter of guilt or innocence, I'm just an observer." He does, however, respond to Damon's statement on smokes. "Maybe. I was able to scrounge a couple. I -was- curious about something but, eh, it can wait." He clears his throat, and a bit of his smoothness falters, and he seems slightly halting, awkward here. But still not at all showing anger. "To make a related statement, here, I -knew- Lt. Leodus. We used to practice in the firing range occasionally. I hadn't pegged him as anything other than professional and actually, good-natured. He didn't even seem to have his head in this 'Air-wing vs. CMC bullshit' that some people get off on." He cradles the cigarette case in his palm as he steps from the wall.

"He's gonna have to wait in line for the airlock." Damon replies calmly, a rueful smirk falling over his lips. Making jokes about his own possible death sentence. Class. Damon patiently nods in Wil's direction as he lets a small quiet settle in. "A marine XO would have access to marines guarding the bomb lockup." Damon speculates. "He'd have the schedule changes. He'd know the guards. He'd be able to frak the logs." Damon continues, his head shaking quietly. "I know guilty. Leda stinks of fear. Look at him, begging for help to prove his innocence from everyone that comes in here."

Damon has a point… about Drarelle, at least. There's a look with a hint of sympathy over at Wil before that hard-edged stare is once again directed at Castor. "The fact that Drarelle did what he did is probably the only reason you're still breathing," he tells Castor frankly. "If it's worth anything, Leda… I hope you are found innocent." He turns for the door, pausing after a couple steps. "We can't afford t' lose any more pilots," he continues brusquely, before stalking over to the desk and signing himself out.

"You are confusing fear with survival. Right now, I'm stuck in this brig and I have to wait on MP's and JAG to conclude if I am going to die or not." He frowns, "And if who ever set me up was talented enough I'm a man that is three shades of dead." He looks over at Damon, "Probably before you." He doesn't seem to be in the mood to joke about his death but he is managing to keep calm about the possibility, "The only thing I have in my favor right now is that there isn't any solid evidence that I did do it." He takes a puff from his cigar, "Though you make a good point." He says to Damon, "The Marine XO could pull it off." He then looks at Wil, "Thanks Wil, I want out of here and yeah we can't lose anymore pilots." He then takes a puff of his cigar in an attempt to relax himself.

"It's one of those golden little moments in the universe where logic and good will may ride the same horse." Wil observes, shrugging detachedly and offering that faint smile. "It may not be your idea of fun, but the longer they keep 'suspects,' even bogus suspects in the brig the longer they can isolate what's going on." He taps his foot against the cold metal of the floor. He then shoots Thorn another look, possibly trying to inject a sense of calm to counter the ECO's smoldering mood. Then back to Damon, flipping open the cigarette case. "Whatever you did down there. I'm not even privy to that knowledge. But it's like you said, if there's one person completely clear of suspicion it's -probably- you. Unless you find some way to sneak out of the Brig when nobody's looking." Hey, it was an -attempt- at a joke.

Damon looks to Castor and gives him a little shake of his head. "You forget. I was already sentenced to die. If anything I'll be the opening card." He says calmly, making a boxing reference as he folds his arms again. "They'll be careful with your case, Leda. They can't afford to accidentally execute an innocent pilot, much less kill his morale." He turns to Wil and takes three cigarettes from the case without asking, grinning to the man. He got the joke. "Didn't bring a set of lockpicks did you? I know a thing or two about planting contra in someone's bunk to frak them over. Come by if you have questions." Damon nods to the man in thanks. "Got a light?"

Thorn pauses on his way out. "Hope you're right, Wil. Sooner they figure out who's really behind it, the better. For everyone." There's one last glance at Castor; there's less anger in his eyes now, though his expression still couldn't be mistaken for anything friendly. He seems decidedly more calm now, though, than he did when he came in. For a second, he looks as though he has something else to add, but merely shakes his head and exits the brig.

Leda looks at Willem and says, "Yeah, well, I'm glad to be a diversion I guess." He offers as he takes a moment to consider all of this as he adds, "And this place is plenty of fun, I get to do fun things like situps, pushups, sleep, eat, wash." He says, "Count the holes in the ceiling and enjoy being bored out of my mind." He then takes a puff of his cigar, "Well, I got this cigar which is a good thing." He then looks back between Wil and Damon giving a half smirk. He then looks back at Komnenos as he addresses Thorn taking on the same calm tones, "Thorn, I didn't do it. Alright."

"I never said anything was necessarily fair. I'm beginning to think there's a cause and effect for damn near everything but there's nothing out there performing the function of a cosmic scale pan measuring it out neatly and fairly." Wil notes, haplessly as he smirks in Damon's direction as the man helps himself. He doesn't partake this time, but he was prepared, holding out the light. Back to the now-departing Thorn. "That's the plan, Thorn. That's the plan. Just. Everything right now is trying our patience. Everything." A nod in farewell is delivered.

Leda's words catch Thorn right as he opens the door to leave. He still doesn't seem convinced, but he pauses long enough to nod to the incarcerated pilot. "You don't need t' convince me, Tinman. I'm not the one t' pass judgement," he says finally. "But… maybe, I just might be starting t' believe you." With that, and one last nod of understanding to Wil, he finally exits, closing the door with a loud clang behind him.

Castor watches Komnenos leave and he takes a breath, why, because Damon might be the tough guy but Leda is a pilot and the last thing he would ever want to be is a traitor. He then begins to rub his forhead as he quietly moves to his bunk in order to take a drag from his cigar. It would appear that Leda needs to have a moment to collect himself.

"There's too much going onfor me to chalk it up to 'random crazy.' The power outage." Wil says, vaguely, as he retracts his arm now and steps away from the bars of the brig a little bit. He doesn't partake in the smokes himself. Seems like the one yesterday was enough for him.

Rebound then leans back against the wall again with the cigarette case closed and stows the lighter, arms crossing once more. He gives a little look to Castor but doesn't elaborate. "Timing is everything. And, well, Leodus opened up on several crew laid up in sickbay. A Pilot. An Engineer."

Damon looks between the two of them. "So you've got a dead pilot in sickbay, a bomb in the Viper bunks, and an implicated Viper pilot in the brig." Damon replies, bringing the cigarette to his lips again. "…seems you pilots better start sleeping back to back." Damon says with an edge of warning, his dreadlocks shaking lightly as he turns, pacing towards the other end of the cell slowly. His eyes raise to Wil. "…I'd act on that line of thinking. Soon."

"Hey, Wil, why do you think the bomb was put in my locker I mean why not someone elses?" He asks as he takes a slow puff from his cigar before placing the cigar in his mouth so that he can hold his head in with his hands. This is what Damon might have seen once or twice, the breaking up portion of Castor after someone comes in angry at him for this bomb thing. His eyes fall to the floor as he processes someone else who isn't happy with him.

"Believe me. I'm paranoid enough to have thought that, but this is bigger than some J -" Cough. Better use 'marine' in Marine Country, and Wil does, hastily, "Marine with an axe to grind because some pretty boy or girl in a flight suit stole the glory in his and her eyes. I was on Garrison duty before the Kharon and never noticed this stuff much due to lack of cooped-up Marine presence but from what I've seen, it never goes beyond pranks. Or maybe the occasional fistfight. Or the 'sock.'" The ginger-haired pilot suddenly grimaces. There are some memories too horrible to behold and will burn their imprints in a man's mind forever, and he just apparently stumbled upon one.

Willem now starts tapping his foot rhythmically. "Why, Tin? I don't know. Luck of the draw? High-profile? Everyone knows your name? Hell, it could have easily as been me. I can't suss out a 'motive' here because the enormity of this level of treason is too great for me to wrap my mind around."

Willem amends, with a nudge of his chin towards Damon, "Hell, I don't even -know- what you're in for, really, but you're spouting sense. If the guy awaiting some kind of severe sentence is being helpful and -sane-, then what are we dealing with?" He pauses. "Sorry. I'm not profiling. As I said, I'm not a judge."

"All of his friends were supposed to be dead." Damon replies, sitting down on his cot to continue his cigarette. He extends his arm, ashing it into the toilet with no real inflection to his words. "If his friends had died, they'd be out for blood. Bunk full of pilots dead, pilots in sickbay dead, implicated pilot, and no one to defend the ship. Willing to bet the bunks have less security than the hangar…" Damon nods to Willem. "I was a businessman. Sometimes we had to do these things to keep business good." He admits. "If I were you, Wil, I'd find out who you trust, get working on Leda's case and go everywhere, armed in pairs. Sounds to me like someone wants pilots dead."

Castor begins to pull himself together, why, because while he does mope after stuff like this happens it doesn't last long. He then lets his hands free themselves from his head in order to pull another puff on his cigar. He ashes in the only convient place, the head. He then takes a second to look back Damon, "If his friends died I would have gone with them." He says, "And that is the rub." He looks back at Damon for a moment before he looks back at Wil, "I wouldn't go poking into my case, another person did and they almost got in trouble for it." He shakes his head, "Whatever is going on with my case must be pretty frakking important because no one knows anything about the investigation." Does Leda have an ear to the ground, oh, yes, yes he does because after all he has learned a great number of things while he was in here. "Though, if I am the fall guy, I'd just like to know who I am taking the fall for and why?" He chuckles as a bit of gallows humor sets in, "Then again, maybe I never will. Dead men tell no tales and all."

There is a wave of a hand on Wil's part towards Castor. "That's the worst part. Sometimes you don't get those answers. Then, after someone dies, you have people coming out of the woodwork at a funeral service claiming they have made sense of it all. But they don't." He violently shakes his head. "Don't worry, though. I've got…boundaries. I'm not stepping on anyone's toes. I haven't been asking certain uncomfortable questions about classified information. Although it's less to cover my ass." Purposefully vague.

Something in Damon's words triggers a drastic furrowing of Willem's brows. Pursed lips. Calm, though, his cloudy eyes behold the man, the cell, and brim with a questioning look. "Can I ask you something? For posterity. Something I've never had a chance to ask anyone who could answer."

"Leda. If you're going to die, you're going to die. If you've got people willing to clear your name, don't be the fool to turn that down." Damon offers, ashing his cigarette again. Looking to the cherry end of it, he brings the filter to his lips and takes another drag. One eye cocks towards Wil. He speaks as he exhales. "Ask away."

A step through the hatches as bootfalls herald another arrival. There's a look to the MP on Duty as he takes time to sign some sheet that the desk Jockey slides over, and with that Dutch is moving-with his medkit down to the small row of cells where a couple of jailbirds are located. There's a glance to Willem for a moment "Well seems like its a frakking party down here." A look over to Damon first because he's been here the longest "Anything that needs fixing?" Though he's sure this fellow might be some paragon of health..Or something like that. Usual check up's. Life's a bitch.

"Well, I didn't do it but if this is how I go down okay, just, if I do die, Wil, make sure everyone hates me." He says softly, "Because the pilots need something to bring them together and if that is what it takes than that is what it takes." He then takes another drag from his cigar as he absently blows smoke. He then looks up as Dutch enters, okay, this could end with Dutch slipping in to beat Castor's ass or to make him feel like a candy ass, either way, this isn't good. All the world is a toliet Leda and you are getting crapped on. Leda pulls himself together as he ashes his cigar into the toliet, no, but really, how did he get that thing in here.

The hatch spins open once again. Sheridan steps through the hatchway, with a file stuffed under his arm. The MP on duty takes a double take and quickly snaps to attention calling out, "Commander on Deck!" His hand quickly snaps to attention as he locks his eyes on the far bulkhead. The Commander pauses a moment glancing to the MP then down the hallway, the hands don't move as he walks down the hallway eyes looking into each cell as he takes his slow stride to find his goal.

Wil stands back, leaning against the wall in conversation with the two prisoners. He's in his offduty tanks, flight suit pulled down to his waist as he beholds them with crossed arms and a metal cigarette case clutched in his fingers. First to Castor. "It's not about that. Gods." He waves a hand in feigned annoyance. Then back to Damon. "You talked about…business. I don't know the full specifics. It's not about the act itself, but the morning after. How did you deal with it? Did you think about it? About whoever it was?" He suddenly snaps to, upon Dutch's entrance. Something clicks in his recognition of the man and tosses out, in slow but properly-accented Thracian. "Brilliant timing, Sgt Elder." He says, in belated surprise. Then the Old Man strolls in and Wil catches -that- now, his mouth hanging open, snapping to attention. "SIR!"

Damon doesn't salute…he's a civilian. But he's already standing. Taking the final drag from his cigarette, he looks down the line to Sheridan from the middle cell, knowing well to steer clear of the bars. Turning his back on them for a moment, he's nice enough to stub the cigarette out on the side of the sink and leave the ashes and butt on the floor and not in the toilet where the butt would go into the water reclamation system. He nods to Sheridan, a greeting, standing with his arms at his side in the center of his cell…ready for an inspection. "Morning, Commander."

There's a stare from Dutch as he is looking back towards Castor "Where the Frak did you get that shit? Leda, put that godsdamned-" But the rest of that rant does not fully come out. Instead as the MP barks out that there Commander is on Deck, with procession Dutch turns an straightens to the degreee of attention that is expected. There are no words, just complete and utter stillness. Hell the Sergeant just stares right out towards Willem, as he barks out a Sir. No groan, but one can easily think that Dutch is surely hearing it and giving it in his head.

Castor looks at Elder first as if to comment and then to Wil as if to comment but he says nothing in fact the plan for the cigar was to stay there but the minute the words Commander on Deck ring in his ears his contraband cigar goes into the toliet and is flushed as the pilot, correction, prisoner stands at attention. His mind begins to race as he waits to see if he is on the chopping block but for his part the pilot stands at perfect attention waiting to see what will happen because for his part he has never once really interacted with the Old Man and this was not how he saw things going down.

Sheridan looking in to the cell with Castor he watches him a moment then finally looking towards the two in the hallway the Commander simply comments with a nod, "Gentleman. As you were." Walking towards Damon's cell he pulls the file from under his arm and opens it just briefly. Watching Damon he simply comments, "Damon Cavalera, correct? You have an interesting file."

Did someone say 'as you were?' Wil -might- have heard it. He drops the salute but his posture is anything but relaxed or limp. A little sidelong glance here and there at the presences gathered in the brig and he really has turned towards the hatch for a moment, wondering if this is a place for him. But what the Hell? Nosiness wins out and he remains, idly observing. His curiousity really will get him into trouble one day. By the way, his ears turned a little red there. Maybe they still are.

Dutch doesn't even nod. There's a quick shift to an at ease pose as his hands remain behind his back and clasp firmly. Nope his business was with the prisoner in question, however he can simply stand and wait until the Commander leaves. After all this is what Marines are good at. Standing silently, and waiting before going in.

Damon nods to Sheridan, resting his arms across his muscular chest as the as you were was called. His dreadlocks sway as he nods, his calm and cool eyes falling onto the Commander of the ship. His nod was timed with his name, an answer to the question of his identity. "It peaks in the middle." Damon replies, referring to the childhood, followed by a bloody criminal career, then ending with him helping people survive on Scorpia and choosing to face sentencing on the Kharon. "If you're looking for a bloodhound to help sniff out who's trying to kill your pilots, I'm game for a walk in chains."

Leda does go at ease, damn it, that was his only cigar in here too, well, as a consolation prize he isn't on the chopping block for today. He then turns to look at Damon, oh, that is his name Damon Cavalera, good to know, he had the nickname Toughguy McGhee picked out but aparently his real name works so much more. for his part he is quiet as he listens.

Sheridan slowly pulls the file behind his back as he looks Damon over slowly as his lips purse with a subtle nod, "I don't think investigation was one of your strong suits in the file. So tell me Mr. Cavalera why should I not have you marched out and airlocked for your crimes?"

Whoah-ho. Wil's not missing -this- show. His lips are pursed now as he stands straight as a board, his hands tucked behind his back, looking between the prisoners, towards Dutch, the Old Man. Trying real hard to be attentive here.

Though keenly aware to the conversation going on, Dutch does not look over to either Damon, or Sheridan. A small scowl froms on the Sergeant's face, but otherwise he doesn't move. Willem, having a good view on Corpsman's face would be able to see what seems to be an internal dilemma passing over him. After a moment the Sergeant turns his head to face Sheridan and where Calavera stands behind bars. "Sir, permission to speak on behalf of the prisoner, Sir?" Wait, what?

To say that Leda wasn't watching would be a lie, he is closely watching the following events unfold closely because at least for this moment he isn't going to die. He then looks over at Dutch because wait, the sarge helping someone out that isn't having a medical emergency, he does his best to stifle a 'th frak expression and his is mostly successful. He remains silent right now because he doesn't want to draw the Old Man's attention.

Damon locks eyes with Sheridan. It's not a vicious look, in fact it's a dead, quiet stare of a man that refuses to beg. His complete lack of want to beg causes him to take a bit more time to answer the question. "Because I didn't set that bomb." He says to Sheridan, playing it straight with him. His eyes shift to Leda and then back to Sheridan, not waiting for the man to speak. "I'm a survivor. I know the game. There's no gain in this except for a meal and unlike what that file says…I've never killed an innocent person." Damon blinks, standing tall and proud in the face of his possible execution. "…you have rats in your nest, Sheridan. I know how rats think and right now I'm a good person to have alive. At least long enough to prove some other reason to stay the execution."

Wil's lips part silently at this as Dutch speaks. He leans a bit on the balls of his feet but otherwise remains silent. Waiting expectantly. Damon's words, though, something hits him and his brow furrows again as the prisoner speaks. There's a reason why he's a terrible triad player, and it ain't luck.

Sheridan nods slowly as he listens, eyes blinking slowly as he turns towards Dutch watching him a moment then looking back to Damon, "Noted." Eyes watch Damon a moment and he adds, "Interesting negotiation, but you seem to have this impression that we are treated like a civilian criminal justice system. This is the military and we handle things a little differently. Accusations are only used to distract." Taking a step closer to the cell he comments matter of factly as he tilts his head just slightly, "And I didn't have any issues on my ship until recently. So you are going to have to do more to prove your credibility with me."

Dutch nods back towards the Commander and turns his head straight, he figures Sheridan will ask what what he will say when he is ready. Right now focus is on Damn, and so the Marine snaps back to staring right at Willem, though an ear is kept to the conversation at hand.

The accusations are only used to distract bit acctually makes Leda buckle a little, but he stands there, at ease listening. Stop it Leda, get your head in the game, Damon is the one being focused on now and he wishes he could help the guy but he wouldn't even know what to say and so he simply remains quiet.

And if Dutch is looking at Wil, he's going to get a big eyeful of stock-still, ginger-haired Pilot. Willem's not missing a beat here, or really trying not to as he's focused on the dialogue between the Commander and the Prisoner, concentration evident as he weighs the whole situation.

Damon doesn't move, he doesn't even flinch. He keeps his rarely blinking eyes on the commander as he listens. Statuesque for a second or two, his eyes finaly blink before he replies. "I came up here to face death knowing life meant my freedom coming back to me in the form of service and being watched." Damon lays it out boldly. "I understand your position. The people I've killed were murderers and worse coming in on a neighborhood I kept under control for years." Damon shakes his head, a slight bit of humanity coming to his eyes. "I've never liked it. I know what I am. I'm a killer, but I'm not a murderer." He locks eyes with Sheridan. "I will help keep these people safe. If it kills me…" He shrugs. "…it was good while it lasted."

Sheridan nods simply before taking a step back and turning to face Dutch, "Speak freely, Sergeant." Fingers drum on the file behind his back as he straightens his head to watch the Sergeant who spoke up.

Dutch looks right back towards Sheridan, before he turns in complete clockwork motion. A set cadence and movement to everything he is doing right now-which can come to the benefit of being a Marine. "Sir, Thank you Sir." repeated in that bark of his before he takes a breath, and clears his throat. "Sir, When I met the condemend, he was hiding out as a cop. However, sir, when it came out that he was in fact a criminal he did not once run-or make to kill his accusers. One could argue it was because of the presence of Colonial Marines, but I would say it is his character-given how badly shot up we where down on the surface. All the same sir, what I cam to realize is he'd been down there and had helped the resistance, never once taking advantage of his position within their organization-nor did he kill and loot when he had the chance. Also sir, he was present with my recon squad when we came into contact with elements of the downed Foxbat three, and helped me resuce not only Corporal swift, but the remainder of the other raptor squad. Sir. He's had plenty of chances t' cut tail an run, but instead he chose to come with us knowing what he would be getting into, and knwing we might just kill him sir. That speaks a lot to me, and if he is given a reprieve, I think he'd make one fine Marine, sir." an he pauses for a second "If he's given this chance sir, and fraks it up? I'll put him down myself-and you can have my commission for endangering the lives of this crew."

As the story of the Kharon's downed expedition is related by the Tauron Marine, Wil's eyes drift a little bit to the floor, a bit distantly. He took that one hard. Nevertheless they finally drift up to study Dutch as his two cents are put in. More like two hundred cubits, but all the same; he listens. At the very end of it, he unconsciously finds himself nodding gently.

For his part Castor is all about the second chances right now, perhaps the sudden promise of death has prompted this attitude or perhaps it is in his character, either way, he is all about nodding in agreement with Dutch at this moment.

Sheridan purses his lips doing the recap, eyes quietly watching Dutch. Nodding simply he takes a glance back towards Damon then another look towards Willem. Staring at him a moment he turns on his heels and starts walking towards hatch as he calls back, "Sergeant. Find me the Sheriff and send him to me immediately. Also find me this.. this.." Stopping he pulls the folder around and opens the file, flipping through a few pages, "Salazar Nikos." Not turning to face those behind him he closes the file and steps up to the Hatch spinning it open and stepping out without another word.

Damon turns his eyes to stare at Dutch. In as much one thing could be expected…he didn't see this vouch for him coming. The strange, expressionless gaze from Damon is sudden enough to be out of place, but carries that same level of jailhouse calm and quiet. Catching Castor and Wil nodding their heads in his peripheral vision, when Sheridan turns to leave, he snatches up one of his two remaining cigarettes and slides it into his lips. He looks to Dutch again, giving him a silent nod. No vocal thanks is offered. "…looks like you're still in deep shit, Leda." He says, dark humor to ease the tension.

Dutch nods once as he looks back over towards Sheridan. hand rising up in one firm salute. "Sir, yes sir." And with that he's looking between those still here, before he is bending to pick up his medkit and he is turning without another word to go and find Salazar Nikos, and well the Sheriff, where ever he may be. As he passes through the hatch though there's one thing called over his shoulder "I'll be back to check on you all later."

Dutch nods once as he looks back over towards Sheridan. hand rising up in one firm salute. "Sir, yes sir." And with that he's looking between those still here, before he is bending to pick up his medkit and he is turning without another word to go and find Salazar Nikos, and well the Sheriff, where ever he may be. As he passes through the hatch though there's one thing called over his shoulder "I'll be back to check on you all later."

Leda looks back at Damon, "Yeah…but it would seem like you and I have the same odds of survival."

Whoah. Exit, Commander, stage right. Wil remains at attention, snapping off a salute anyway as the Old Man bails. This done, he finally takes in a breath and relaxes his posture just a little. A little pause as he eyes Dutch. Again with the Thracian. Impressive, Sergeant. Admirable. And maybe a twitch of a smile. He relaxes a little now as he looks at the two prisoners who remain. To Damon, first. "Calavera. About what I asked you. I'll talk to you about that. Later." Leda gets a nod afterwards.

Damon looks to Willem and nods, quieted by the meeting with the Commander. "Lets. Don't wait too long. This isn't over yet." Damon offers, moving to sit down on his bed. Taking the weight off of his feet, he turns his eyes towards the MP desk, making his final remark to Castor as he settles into a strange bit of waiting in silence. "…give it time, Castor. This is what we do."

Leda then moves back to his bunk and he sort of flops into it, yup, he is alive for another day which is good because the commander paid him no heed, "Yup, Damon, this is what we do."

"I don't intend to. Trust me. These things fester. For what it's worth? You helped get our people off there. Whatever you did before that happened? I can't be any kind of judge. It's not my job. And I think I would be bloody awful at it." Wil says this smoothly with a turn of his head to the dreadlocked prisoner, keeping his expression carefully neutral. And to Castor, he adds, "Keep doing it, you two. If the Gods are listening? Maybe they'll listen to you." He doesn't seem too sure of this. Crisis of faith with a person who publically had none? These are weird times indeed. With that, Wil begins to bound out towards the hatch.

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