Gars Gone Wild
Gars Gone Wild
Summary: Gars gets himself brigged.
Date: 14 ACH (11/26/2008)
Related Logs: None

In the back of the Observation Deck, Addie is seated alone on one of the small couches. A small notebook rests in her lap, a pencil in her hand. She makes notations in the book, eyes on the page, not on the stars visible through the portal in front.

With a push on the door, in walks Corporal Dane Ramiro. Clean shaven and wearing his off-duty gear, his left arm is bandaged still but rests in a sling. Doing all of the work with his left arm, he brings a bottle of water in and moves over to sit alone on a sofa, not far from Addie. Letting out a sigh, he looks to the view before him.

It's a long moment before Addie glances up. She, too, is wearing off duties—sweats actually. Her dark hair is pulled back into a loose tail. She finished a notation in the small notebook on her lap, and glances over at the sigh from Ramiro. "Marine." She regards him for but a moment before she glances back down to her notes, and says, "I heard they gave you a promotion." She sits in the back of the Obs Deck, and Ramiro is seated not far off.

Ramiro looks over to Addie and nods quietly, trying not to disturb too much of the comforting silence of the observation deck. "Yes sir, they did." He replies, sitting up a little bit. Planting his water bottle between his knees, he uses his left hand to open it up. Wearing off duty sweats, his left arm is in a sling and is heavily bandaged around the bicep. "Next onto light duty and physical therapy…"

The door opens and in walks Rycard, hands stuffed in his pockets as he whistles a tune upon entry. "Evening all, hope I'm not disturbing or anything?" he says with a warm friendly smile. "Just figured I'd come up here and get some time off that damn hangar deck."

Micah isn't here to spend time with the opposite sex, though to some, a little one-on-one with a stick of nicotine is just as good for what ails. Dressed down in the baggy greens of standard issue navy attire, he's obviously recently showered; his dark hair is clinging wetly to his skull. Grunting a 'sir' as he passes by Addie, he slumps into a chair nearby and sets to lighting that cigarette.

Sweats seem to be going around—could be because it's a little cooler in here than other areas of the ship sometimes. Addie's pencil scritches across the paper lightly for another few beats before she adds, "They may have to start paying you." She glances over briefly at the new arrival. "If there were something to interrupt, it wouldn't be happening in public." She then looks to Crow as he passes. "I figured you'd be in the brig again by now."

"By all means…" Ramiro motions for Rycard to take a seat somewhere. He then turns his attention back to Addie with a small grin. "I'm fine with the meals and a bunk for now." He admits with a little shrug. Resting back to sip his water, he sets the bottle down on a small end table and pulls a letter out of his pocket, reading it. The letter looks rather official, but doesn't have any red 'confidential' stamping on it. He smiles as he reads it.

"Unfortunately," Micah drawls, stretching out in his chair with a creak of the frame, "The MaA's behind bars himself, so I don't have any Marines to play target practice with." At this, he looks pointedly toward Ramiro and his letter, while taking a pull of his cigarette.

Addie watches Ramiro for a moment out of the corner of her eye. She also takes a moment to watch Micah. She doesn't do a lot of looking at a person when she's talking to them. She smiles as Micah makes the marine comment. "All marines are target practice."

Ramiro smiles to himself, folding the letter and putting it back in his pocket. "Yeah, the trouble is getting us to wade out into space and stay still enough for a pilot to get a bead on us." He says with a chuckle, watching a few of the stars.

Limping along, Gars enters the room, closing the door behind him. Turning around, he heads for the people already present, the limp ever present. "Evening, ladies and gentlemen" he says. "All's well I take it?"

There's a husky chuckle following Addie's remark, and Micah tips his head back to exhale smoke toward the ceiling in a thick plume. He, too, does not make eye contact with the people he converses. "Oh, you can run all you like, just makes it more fun for me," he tells Ramiro, making a gun out of his hand and leveling it steadily toward the man.

"If your arm weren't hanging by sutures, Corporal," Addie scribbles into the book, "I would take you to the gym and show you what hand to hand should look like." She glances over to Crow, "You, Ensign, are on your own." There's a few beats, then Addie notes, "No one's died today. That makes it a good day."

"Yeah…that makes it a really good day." Ramiro replies, giving Gars a friendly nod as he enters. Nestling back a little into his seat, he turns his attention back to Micah and Addie. "If my arm weren't frakked, I'd take you up on the offer. I'm on light duty till it's back and operable."

"Sooo" Gars says as he finds a seat, helping his stiff leg into position with his hands with some effort. "Whats all this talk about Navy gunning down Marines, I hear."

Gars' arrival earns a slight turn of Micah's head, and a briefly murmured 'evening, mate' before he returns to indulging in his clove cigarette. "Yet," he adds to his squadmate's observation, merely looking bemused when Ramiro speaks.

"I can put you down anytime, marine," Addie turns the page, unconcerned scribbling continues. "You let me know when you're feeling up to it." She glances over at Gars, then to Micah. "Share your smokes." She almost said please there. Almost.

"If you do, I'll be able to log the time in as training, sir." Ramiro replies, careful to insert the fact that Addie -is- an officer to his enlisted rank. Cracking a small smile, Ramiro pulls his new box of Corporal tags out and looks them over. "Don't jinx us…" He says, looking up and over to Micah. "…you don't wanna be that guy."

"The pongo here wants to come out with us on our next CAP," Micah explains to the arriving Marine, shooting Ramiro a grin that's mostly goodnatured, though one never knows when the viper jock's just being pointlessly mean. "I think Fender's going to paint a bullseye on his forehead, and we're gonna see how fast he can run." Exhaling smoke through his nose, he hitches his hip in order to dig through his pocket for another cigarette. It's tossed toward Addie, followed shortly by the lighter, with a 'heads up'.

Gars says, "Was that a challenge, captain?" Gars says, looking at Addie, leaning back casually in his chair. "If it was, I'm not the man to back down" he grins. "I guess the reason why you jet-jockeys keep taunting us Marines for a brawl is because you know you wont get a real fight otherwise, flying around with you oversized canoe's, playing video-games in space. Yeah… I can see why you would feel the need for a proper fight every now and then… You know; get a taste of what its like to be a marine."

"Nobody wants to be that guy. That guy gets stuck pulling the rotations nobody wants, and flying birds after maintenance to be sure the Deck hammered out the issues." Addie smiles slightly. "As far as training goes, anything to help the Corps." She catches the lighter as it's tossed, looking up just in time. "It wasn't a challenge for you. I don't find you challenging. Ramiro looks like he's got a little more fight in him." She finally glances over to Gars, gives him a very obvious appraising once over, then smirks and goes back to writing.

"That's what you don't understand…" Ramiro replies to Micah, taking another sip from his bottle. "…doesn't matter who this Fender is or isn't. I don't run. I just take the punches and pray to the Lords that I make it out alive." He shrugs. "If I don't, I just hope it's worth it." Ramiro pauses, looking over to Addie and giving her a smile. "Thanks…I appreciate that Captain. I'll make sure to let you know the moment I'm cleared and we'll put the gloves on."

Gars chuckles. "Figured as much… Goes for the pup and the easier fight. No matter; my money is still on Ramrod over here. Heck… I have more faith in that Bell, or what ever her name is, than in any jet-jock. Haven't seen a Marine get punched out by a jet-jock yet. Or what do you say, Corporal?" he turns to Ramiro, "You wouldn't miss a chance to bust up an officer in a fair fight, would ya?"

"I want that back," Micah points out, indicating the lighter with a tip of his head and a crooked grin for Addie. Ramiro is addressed with the pilot's head drifted back against his seat, fingers rifling through damp hair as he smokes the dregs of that cigarette, "So your strategy's to tire them out. Problem is, the Cylons, they're machines. Don't know that your plan'll work so well when you're up against something that'll keep coming at you until it's scrap." He's silent there, thinking maybe, or lost in a recollection. His eyes flick briefly to Gars, narrow a touch, and flick away again.

"And that, my little smoke blower, is the reason you'll be lucky if you make career Sergeant." Addie replies to Gars, without so much as a smirk. "Your tactical prowess, much like your shit talk, is sub-standard." She slides the clove between her lips and lights it up, chucking the lighter at Micah's head when she's finished. "Ramrod is a little optimistic, don't you think?"

Ramiro huffs inwardly with a chuckle. "Ramrod…" He shakes his head at the sudden nickname. He scratches the side of his face. "Look, I'm not a militarily minded genius nor am I Apollo himself, but I will say this. Last three combat drops we've had zero boarding party casualties." Ramiro turns a little to face them. "Now if I were trying to tire out a Cylon, I wouldn't be here. But out kill them? That's a different story. It's not all standing still, though." He motions to his arm. "It's about the guy next to you." He points to Addie and Micah. "But you pilot folk have my gratitude. If it weren't for you every one of my boarding craft would have been slagged." He grins. "So I'll talk shit at you two, but don't think I don't respect you. But you?" He points to Addie. "You get points. The other guy I could stuff into my foot locker and throw down some stairs."

"My tactical prowess?" Gars grumbles, eyes suddenly turning stern and his face rock hard. "Whatta frak do you know about my 'tactical prowess', captain? I've been promoted three times for my conduct and actions during combat as a squad-leader, ma'am; My tactical prowess is enough to make the Cylons shit their pants until they rust as soon as they lay eyes on me. As soon as I step on the field, the enemy die. My very presence kills the enemy. So say we all. And if you were anything but talk, I would have launched you through the hull into sickbay by now… with all due respect, captain. What a Marine can't do, ain't worth doing, hooah."

It's all about the smack talk, at least where the mouthier of the two pilots is concerned. Whether it has any substance is another matter entirely. Catching the lighter out of the air, and narrowly avoiding being beaned in the head by it, Micah shoves it back into a pocket of his fatigues. First he's hearing praise from Ramiro, then insults; it draws a slightly raised brow, and a muttered reply, "You sure talk big, mate, but why don't you come over here and repeat that for me? Think I've got any problem slagging an injured man in the kisser?" Gars and his tactical prowess are ignored for the moment.

Addie smiles as Ramiro finishes up his little monologue. She nods slightly, still writing, as he makes the foot locker comment. "That's a lot like combat training." There's a very long pause in which Addie listens to the buzzing of full on 'I was dropped on my head as a baby' from Gars. The Captain glances up. "Are you on medication, Corporal?" She's having the weirdest sense of deja vu. "If not, you should be. You should have that checked out. I'll notify your CO."

"I know I'm on medication." Ramiro replies quietly with a chuckle, turning his eyes to look over at Micah. "On behalf of the children of the Carina that might need a marine in the future, I'm going to decline your request." Ramiro replies with a roll of his eyes, taking a sip from his water bottle. He nods respectfully at Addie before looking over at Gars. "Well folks, don't get the Corporal wrong, he's a hell of a soldier, tough as nails and doesn't mind a little pain. He's probably off light duty long before I am, if either of you two are looking for someone to spar with."

Gars eye's narrows as he studies the woman for a moment. A growl seems to rumble in his throat. Then he turns to Ramiro with a crooked smirk; "See that, corporal? Jet-jocks like to talk, but when you confront them with some real heavy duty combat truth, they shrink like impotent dicks missing mommy. They don't understand what we do; they haven't held a dying friend in their arms, seen a mate get his head blown off, or see how artillery destroys civilians and their lives. No, to a jet-jock, war is about getting a tone in your ear and firing a missile at a target so far away you cant even see it. They have never looked a man in the eye as he dies from your bayonet in his chest. They don't know the pain as a bullet slams into the body, or as shrapnel cuts your flesh. So they act all tough and talk the talk. But when you tell them straight facts that they will never be as hardcore and badass like us marines, they shrivel and shrink and try to wit their way out of the situation. It's like my old Drill Sergeant used to say; If you ain't got no balls, then frak off and become a pilot."

"Funny, Fender, but I do seem to recall that our rook squad kicked your collective arses last training run," Micah points out with a chastising wag of his cigarette before it's flicked into the ashtray by his elbow. He listens to Gars speak while fishing out another and lighting it one-handed. "You've got to be frakking kidding me, mate," he mutters once the man's finished speaking, and pushes slowly to his feet in order to lean against the chair he was sitting at. "Did you get that from some dusty old war novel on your daddy's bookshelf? Or have you really never set foot in the cockpit of a mark seven? I'm going to bet on the latter, since I can't imagine the brass letting a little shit like you with delusions of frakking grandeur, anywhere near an officer commission."

Addie takes a drag from the clove and glances down at it after exhaling the smoke, holding it between outstretched fingers. She glances between the smoldering cheery and Gars. Despite her relaxed posture, there's a sudden chill in the room around the Gold squad leader. "You're going to turn around and leave this room, Corporal." She does not look at Gars, but it's very clear she's talking to him.

Ramiro looks up to Gars as he talks and then to Micah, frowning a little bit. His brow lowers. "Corporal…" He tries to smooth the argument out. "…Rabbit and Dazzler died protecting our Phantasm. I…can't back you up on that right now." He replies, giving Gars an apologetic look. He lets out a slow breath as the Captain requests that he leave the room, turning his gaze towards the starfield and going quiet.

Gars chuckles where he sits, rubbing his nose to rid it of an itch. "My, my… Looks like the jocks are getting agitated. Lost some friends in the line of duty? Sorry to say this, but it comes with that uniform you're wearing. I don't even remember how many friends I've seen die or get maimed and crippled. I remember this one guy, Toren Reik, he was walking point… Stepped on a mine and went up like fire-works, no more than 20 mneters in front of me. He wasn't a pretty sight when I rushed up to him; not much left besides his torso and head… Intact in any case. He coughed and gurgled so much blood it was impossible to make out what he said. He died in my arms. Afterwards, the medics told me he had drowned in his own blood. Blown to frakking bits… Yet he drowned. I wore that uniform for a week after that, covered in his dried old blood, stinking of his innards and guts. Rough life, soldiering. But then again, you never see your friends die. They just pop in the distance and then end up on some MIA or KIA roster… Right? Here one day, gone the next. Almost… clinical, wouldn't you say, captain?"

"I would say you have a critical case of head up your ass, Marine." Captain Nikos slides her pencil into the notebook she was writing in, and folds it closed. "That was not a request. Leave the room. You can either report yourself to the brig, or wait for Major Gaelan to order you there. I don't give a frak. What you will do is get out of my air space before I put you down, and put us both in the brig."

It must be a cold day in hell — because Micah isn't using the fact that Gars is still sitting there, still talking, despite his squad leader's orders, as an excuse to take a swing at him. There's merely a brusque sound of breath quickly leaving his nose, and he slants a quick look toward Addie before digging a knee into one arm of Gars' chair and leaning in reeeeal close to the man. "Listen, mate: Just. Go. Talk a walk, cool your heels off. Because if you piss her off-" He indicates the woman with his cigarette "-then you'll piss me off, and we'll all end up in the brig. And I just don't think it's big enough for the three of us."

Ramiro stands, slowly, sipping his water bottle. Setting it down beside the bottle's cap, he turns so that his right arm in a sling is facing away from the display. "Corporal…you were given an order by a Captain." Ramiro says with a sense of brotherly suggestion. He looks to Micah. "Please…give him some room to walk." He adds, a bit of warning to his suggestion. He runs his hand over his face with a sigh. "Corporal Gars? I can't give you an order but as a brother in arms, PLEASE…don't throw a punch, just walk away. This isn't the right fight."

You know what this incredibly intense scene needs? Even more intensity. Cue Jocasta. With the observation deck marked as one of the few places left safe to smoke in peace without violating an edict of the CAG, the young Ensign has seen fit to flee there whenever her off-duty schedule permits so that she might feed her lungs with delicious, cancer-giving smoke. There's the tell-tale clicking of a lighter flint sparking on the wheel to be heard the very moment she sets her boot across the threshold.

"Careful, now" Gars says, looking Micah dead in the eye. "I ain't no target at fifty thousand clicks. And don't ride her rank, ensign; she does that quite well on her own. Now sit down, before I put you down… For good if need be. Let the captain do her own talking, will ya; she's old enough to take care of herself I think… Don't you, captain?"

[Intercom] Now hear this. This is Captain Nikos requesting the presence of the duty MPs closest to Deck 9 to report to the Rooster's Nest. That is all.

Addison puts her notebook down, and she rises. And she makes her way to the wireless. The transmission is brief. She does not look amused. When does she ever?

Spinning tales is one thing, and ignoring his superior's order is another. But Gars' next words come as a fairly direct slap in the face to Micah, who's something of a loose cannon to begin with. Grinning slowly, he murmurs, "Oh, I don't need to ride anyone's rank, mate. You just disobeyed the direct orders of two officers. So you're just a little bit frakked." Ramiro, while not turned upon, is also not heeded by the pilot, speaking of outranking. No, there are no fists swung at Gars' face, though it was certainly a close call. He pushes back to his feet and settles down on the arm of the chair opposite, watching the Marine closely while Addie makes her call, as if anticipating having to tackle him to the floor if need be.

And the thunder of booted feet coming up the hall signals the arrival of a pair of MPs, in gear, one hand on their batons as that's what needs securing when they run. The MPs enter one flanking to one side, the other following, murmuring 'Answering call to the nest. Sitrep in five.' into his headset. The MPs step in to look around first, to try to determine levels of damage, blood, violence, or anything else that might be happening.

What the— oh, come on! Jocasta looks only mildly exasperated as she quips, "Lemme guess… this the 'no smoking' lounge now?" Haha. She amuses herself, even if no one else pays her any mind. Despite appearances, she's not ignorant of the real situation for which the Military Police have been barked for but, as she is so often wont to do, she's content to remain on the fringes of the action unless and until it comes to blows; then, she's all in.

"Frak…" Ramiro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as the two pilots work on Gars. Standing off to the side with his arm in a sling, Ramiro has the posture of someone trying to stay out of it. "…Corporal Gars…the MPs are going to come just…seriously, man." He pauses, looking to Gars. "…don't do this. We need you on the field…" He sighs, shrugging hopelessly as he runs his hand through his hair. "Great…just great."

The wireless is hung up after Captain Nikos makes her call. She leaves enough distance between herself and the Corporal. One might assume it's a professional boundary, or that she simply wishes not to tempt fate, or her fists. Once the call is made, the Captain stands impassive, waiting for the MPs to arrive. Once they do, she steps forward. "Please escort the Corporal," she nods to Gars, "to the brig as per Major Gaelan's standing order regarding conduct." The 'Before I put him in critical condition' goes unspoken, though the usually stoic Captain's tone is cool. There is no blood, and no obvious altercation has taken place. Seems someone called in the MPs _before_ the fists started flying this time.

Gars looks at the captain. "What about arresting you for insulting the integrity of a subordinate who has earned rank through combat and bloodshed? But then again, since you lost the pissing contest, I guess you pilots only way of winning is to pull rank… Right?" He then gets out of the chair and winks at Micah, "Good pooch. Stay." and then he turns to head for the MP's, limping along with his stiff leg.

Oooh, the brig! With a throat full of smoke, Jocasta delivers a chimney-kissed salutation to the Marine about to be marched off to the brig. It goes a little something like: "Enjoy yourself, tits." Hey waitaminute! Gars doesn't have ti— oh, yeah. She was the ECO that was there to bear witness to the man's prior fit of crazy. Well-remembered.

The MPs look to Addie, then scan the crowd, one of them approaching Gars, slowly, neither of them drawing weapons yet, though the one not approaching Gars moves to the side of the first one, standing back slightly, covering the one advancing, "Everyone please stand clear of Corporal Gars." The one approaching says in a professional tone that brooks no crap. As Gars limps towards the closer MP, he puts one hand out in a 'Stop' gesture and places his other hand on his nightstick, "Corporal! Stand your ground!"

Micah's cigarette is held still smoking between his fingers, wrist resting upon his knee. He's seated across from Gars, tense, but making no attempt to strike him as he limps out of his chair. Grr. Argh. The teeth grinding is almost audible. "I strongly recommend he be remanded to the care of Ms. Sloan, and an assessment made of his fitness as an enlisted marine. I'm inclined to think he isn't worth the air he's breathing." It's growled at one of the MPs who looks like he might be in charge, though he doesn't rise from his chair to draw any closer to the Corporal.

Turning to watch the MP's walk in, Ramiro takes a step back to clear some room. Being compliant, he takes up his bottle of water and downs the last of it with a frown and a sigh. Looking to the floor, he stands near an end table and cradles his right arm's sling. He opens his mouth as if to talk when Crow starts and then closes it again, scratching the back of his neck. He mouths the word 'frak…' to himself. An enlisted, he has no room to speak here.

Addie merely clears her throat slightly, regarding the MPs. Her eyebrows don't even go up. No change in expression. So nice of the Corporal to make her point for her. She remains where she is, hands clasped behind her back, quietly watching the MPs go about their very well practiced business. "Ensign, the CMC is capable of making that determination. Please return to your smoke, and try to enjoy your down time. The remainder of this unpleasant interaction will go through the Major."

Limping to a halt before the MP's, Gars holds out his hands infront of him to be cuffed. "Corporal Gars reporting for brig-duty, as per orders. Hooah, Marine."

Perfectly willing to oblige the MPs, Jocasta sidles over just slightly to the side of the door and then looks to head over to higher, possibly more righteous ground somewhere in the vicinity of her peers. She nudges Micah in the side with her elbow and mutters, "Ten cubits says that guy's on the Carina in a less than a month…"

The MP in front of Gars reaches from his nightstick to behind his back, smoothly drawing out matte black handcuffs, while his outstretched hand takes Gars right hand and he moves around Gars, being mindful of the mans obviously injured leg, drawing the corporals hands behind him as he goes about securing the cuffs around Gars' wrists, "Corporal Gars, you are being placed in detainment pending the processing of chrges against you, under the 21st Article of Colonization, you have the right to remain silent to avoid further criminal action being brought against you. You are guaranteed legal counsel through the office of the Judge Advocate General of the Battlestar Genesis." The MP secures the cuffs, unless Gars tries to resist.

Micah is busy boring holes in the back of Gars' head, and therefore doesn't realize Jocasta's sidling up to him until she's about to nudge him in the side. She nearly gets a burning cherry in the eye for her efforts. "Fifteen. A week." It's muttered beneath his breath as he turns away from the Corporal and takes another drag of his clove. Maybe he's shaking a little, or maybe it's just cold in here. "Aye, sir," he replies to Addie, even if it's offered in an agitated mutter. Hey, she's just lucky he didn't slag the guy in the mouth.

Ramiro looks up to watch the display, ignoring the chatter from the pilots as he watches a fellow marine put into handcuffs. He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose again and looks to the floor. "Great…" He sighs, knowing he may be asked to testify if this goes in a rougher direction. "…I'll visit, Corporal." He offers.

Making no resistance what so ever, Gars only gives the MP's a smile. "Lead the way, boys. No need to stand on end on my account. See you around, Ramrod; keep the banner high."

With her own pale-papered cigarette stuck between her lips, Jocasta extends a hand to 'shake on it' with Micah. "Deal." Bet made. Wager met.

Captain Nikos casts a glance toward the other pilots in the room. She does not seem amused by their betting, though it's hard to tell as her expression barely shifts. Something Gars said in his litany of spew must have really pinged her meter. She finally returns the cigarette to her lips, though it had been burning quite a while, ignored, and is mostly gone. One final drag, then she stamps it out on her shoe.

The MP behind Gars secures the cuffs, and taking the linked chain in one hand and the other hand on the Corporals shoulder, he nods to the other MP, "To the hatch, Corporal." He begins ushering Gars out as the second MP rounds on Addie and comes to attention, "Sir. Detainment is as far as we can go without some official paperwork to be filled out by you. Forms specifically for Major Gaelan's standing orders are prepared, but do require some fill ins and a signature, sir."

Amused or not as his squad leader may be, Micah's shaking on that bet, and then slouching his weight back and into the chair whose arm he's perched upon with a -thump-. Smoke is exhaled toward the ceiling while the MPs hash out details of Gars' detainment. "Showing up just in time for the excitement, as usual, Jojo," he murmurs.

Ramiro's eyes move over to Jocasta and Micah for a moment. He tilts his head and manages to mostly hide a look of distaste before he turns to look out the viewport towards the starfield. Shaking his head bitterly, he plants his left elbow on the wall and leans against it, standing alone.

"Duly noted. I'll be down shortly to ink the paperwork," Addie replies to the MPs. "Thank you for your prompt response." Irritated or no, the Captain retains a polite professionalism when dealing with the MPs. Yes, it's possible.

The MP nods to Addie, and turns, nodding to the MP with Gars in hand. "Alright, Corporal. Let's move." And off they go to the main brig.

"You know," smolders the swarthy-skinned woman, momentarily tossing an eye over to Ramiro so as to possibly include him in her conversation with her cohort. "…I think that guy musta been sick the day they taught etiquette in boot. Either that… or his 'mindless killing machine' switch just got stuck and broke off at 'mindless'…"

"He's got no business wearing that uniform," Micah replies in a low voice, watching with some fascination the pattern the smoke makes as it leaves his cigarette. "I don't care if he's got a bone to pick with the toasters, or even a bone to pick with everyone else, but it isn't a bone to pick. He's doing it because he can, because he gets away with being an embarrassment to the frakking Marines, and he doesn't give a flying frak about it."

Once the self-destructive marine has been escorted from the premises by the pair of MPs, Addison returns to her seat, and scoops up the notebook she left there. "Apologies for the disruption to your evening." She addresses the collected sundry folk with that simple statement. "Speculation on the Corporal's state of mind is fodder for the psychiatric staff." She breathes out a breath and sits, to take a few moments before going down to ink some paperwork in the Brig. "Divisive behavior is unacceptable in wartime." That translates roughly to: If he does it again, I'll have to kill him with my bare hands. Or it would, if anyone in this room knew her well enough to be fluent.

"It wasn't your fault." Ramiro replies to Addie's words, taking up a new bottle of water. Going to sit down, he lowers himself onto a sofa and is careful of his sling-laden right arm. Cracking the seal on the bottle as he holds it between his knees, he takes a sip. "Some of us marines are more willing to rise to the occasion than others."

Something about what Ramiro just said makes Addie laugh. "That's the truth."

Jocasta falls silent under Addie's declaration, but that's not such a bad thing, really; gives her plenty of opportunity to smoke without frakking up the flow of her drag and exhale technique. Breathing. It's important. She does, however, cast a sidelong look at Micah.

"All the same, Captain, if they ever let him out of that brig and he so much as breathes on me funny, I'm going to have a few words with him in a dark corridor somewhere. And by words, I mean my fist in his big frakking mouth." This from Micah, who promptly takes a savage pull from his cigarette and exhales the smoke sharply through his nose. He's even polite enough to do so away from Jocasta, who's presumably still lurking nearby.

"Permission to speak freely…sirs?" Ramiro suddenly says, watching the starfield as he sips his bottle of water.

"No need to let him take you down with him, Crow," Addie slides the pen out from the pages of her book, and shoves it crosswise into her ponytail. "That man will hang himself." She glances over to Ramiro as he makes his request. "Go for it, Corporal."

Rubbing his jaw with his left hand, Ramiro keeps staring forward. "What Corporal Gars said was wrong. I won't apologize for him, it's not my place." He starts, shaking his head a little. "I downright disapprove of just about everything that he said. Especially when he started talking about the dangers we face." Ramiro looks to Micah and Jocasta. "But that's one less guy that's going to be out there watching my back." His eyes shift to Micah. "So I really hope it was worth it, sir." He looks back to the starfield. "It always takes two."

While they're certainly not cuddling or canoodling by any stretch of the imagination, Jocasta yet lingers near enough to Micah that she might have been just shy of cranky had he opted to puff and huff in her direction. Instead of chiming in to make another quippy observation about the state of anyone's mental health or the downward direction of their military career, the ECO gives an ear to the solitary Marine left in the lions' den and nods in appreciation for what he says. However, she then feels compelled to insert her own opinion on the matter: "If I were you, I don't know that I'd want him watching my back."

"Wanna find another of the some seven thousand we've got left that's trained in how to do so?" Ramiro inserts, watching the starfield still.

Addie stands for a moment looking at the stars. She tucks her notebook under her arm. "There's more to being a marine than knowing how to point a weapon. I shouldn't have to tell you that, Corporal." The pilot glances over at Ramiro, then shakes her head slightly and heads for the hatch. "I'm about to go ink some papers to that effect. And then it's in Gaelan's hands."

"Piss the frak off," Micah retorts with a brief shunting of his gaze toward Ramiro. "He's responsible for his own behavior, just like I'm responsible for not beating the shit out of him. So take your high and mighty somewhere else." The cigarette is flicked angrily away, and left to roll and sputter on the floor near where Jocasta's standing.

"Hey, don't get me wrong. I love the Corps and all it's done for me, but lemme tell ya that they didn't break the mold when they made you and I'm pretty sure there's more than a few people left in the fleet who're just itchin' for the chance to sign up." So says Jocasta, cigarette almost consumed down her her fingertips, though she still stubbornly clings to the butt in some sorry attempt to suck out the last bit of nicotine or whatever else might be rolled up in there. "That guy… is replaceable. You wanna cling to someone, grab a medic. We're all screwed if we lose any more a' them."

"You know, maybe you should spend more time thinking about keeping your head in the game and less about starting drama with us marines." Ramiro says to Micah, standing and grabbing his bottle of water, preparing to leave. "I know what you're saying and I agree. Gars is a pain in the ass. He's made his own decision, and he's going to have to suffer it." Ramiro shrugs, a disappointed look on his face. He gives Jocasta a sympathetic smile. "We get medics, you guys don't. Don't let Gars' opinions sway you. We know just how much you guys sacrifice to make sure our dropships get to where they're supposed to. I was about fifty feet from Rabbit and Dazzler when they died. I've seen it." He says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You guys are as much of brothers and sisters to me as the Corps are. So…I'm just gonna walk away for tonight." He turns, heading to walk out the door after Addie. "Congrats, Ramiro…" He mutters under his breath.

Addie continues on her way out of the Obs Deck, though her words follow behind. "Try to stay out of the Brig for a week, Crow. I don't think you'd enjoy the current company." She slows to allow Ramiro to fall into step with her and the two disappear into the corridor together. "I hope you're a fast healer…" The rest of the conversation is lost to the halls of the Genesis.

Micah, for once, doesn't offer a retort to the 'accusation' given. To be perfectly technical, it was a group effort, but there comes a point where even /he/ isn't going to press the issue. So he fishes out his third smoke of the night, and lights it, and tucks it between his lips with enough tension to crush steel.

Believe it or not, Jocasta isn't the argumentative sort. And so, when Addie and then Ramiro take their unison leave, she lingers in the Rooster's Nest to finish her smoke and keep her own council while staring at the stars.

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