Lost Boys - Peerless Sickbay
Lost Boys - Peerless Sickbay
Summary: As things heat up outside, Peerless' Sickbay becomes the scene of a crime or two.
Date: 3/12/09
Related Logs: Lost Boys Logs


Research Peerless - Deck 15

119 ACH 23777 Souls

The Peerless, a science research vessel, has set up this area for hydroponics and growing. The dome above, allows the suns light from those in space to convert warmth in optimum degrees for the variety of plants stored here.

Contents: Meaghan

Exits: [CO] Corridor


Phelan sighs and looks up out through the dome and thinks about whats going on back on the ship. "dammit."

And in comes lumbering Meaghan, alone for once. She's got a piece of fruit to her mouth and is crunching happily.

Phelan looks over to Meaghan as she walks in. "Welcome back Meg.. something I can help you with?" he watches her as she comes in eating her fruit

She blonde just quirks a brow at Phelan, considering him. "Nope," she replies after a moment. "Kin I help you with anything?"

Phelan nods, "Sure thing.. how about getting me my flight suit back, my sidearm.. give me an escort out to my viper and give me a push while I start her up, if you don't mind.. and I'm in a hurry."

Meaghan just snorts with laughter and shakes her head. "You're funny," she tells him, moving to lean against a counter while she continues to methodically work her way around the fruit. Then it's back to staring at him, silent.

Phelan nods, "Was worth a shot. So, whats Grey got on you that makes you do what he wants you to?"

"Respect," she says simply. "Strange concept for the military, I know." Lips twist into some semblance of a smirk.

Phelan raises a brow, "You respect him? Or is it that he allows you to hurt people?" he licks his teeth and shakes his head. "If you haven't noticed.. the food chain around here is going ot change drastically soon. You might want to rethink your career choice."

Meg simply watches him, consideringly. "That so," she asks, tone mild. "Huh."

Phelan shrugs, "Take it under advisement, but if you think this is going to turn out well for grey? I didn't think you were that much of a fool."

"You always such a pompus prick," Meaghan asks him, finally. "Your government left us here to die, to make our way on our own. We did. Peerless landed here, and we took it over - to survive. Survival of the fittest. Now we're working with you people, after saving your lives, for the good of everyone involved. You've been protected, at no small cost to us. You've been doctored, fed. Yet you disrespect us because of what you think we are." She finishes the apple and tosses the core toward a trash bin. "You don't know shit, stick-jock. You wouldn't survive ten seconds out there. I'd suggest fixing your attitude."

Phelan chuckles, "You don't get it do you. This is much bigger than this wrecked tub.. have you heard anything about whats happened out there? Your little world here on the peerless has had its bubble burst, you want survival of the fittest? This tub isn't it. You're on the losing side."

Meaghan glances down at herself for a moment, consideringly, then back up to him. "Near's I can figure, I'm not the one who done crashed and is walking around in prison greys. We've got a ship that can make its own food. Got good folk working on her to make sure things are working. T'only thing we can't do is get off the rock. You've got…what again? Couple crashed ships? Lack of common sense? No food and water of your own? How long did it take your friends to come and find you? Think what you want, but we're doing just fine."

Phelan nods, "Sure, and the clock on that is running out. What do you think is going to happen here? You're left to fly off on your merry way? Free to roam space to your heart's content? Got any engineers to keep things working? protection against the toasters?"

She simply watches him and lifts a shoulder. "We fly off in exchange for not leaving you out there to die and returning you to your masters. Fair trade for me. We survived before you got here, we'll survive after."

Phelan chuckles, "You think they're going to exchange for us? You think they're going to let you fly off? Think about it… you got lucky on that rock and your time is up. There is a war going on and you don't get a chance to sit on the sidelines and watch."

"Your war," Meg says from where she's leaning against the counter. "Not ours. Given your attitude, though, not hard to imagine why y'all are at war."

Phelan shakes his head, "You don't get it.. we're being hunted down, exterminated. There is no unaligned.. they find you, you die. They don't negotiate, they don't take hostages. they kill you and move on to the next they can find."

Home again, home again. Jiggity jig. Or so the sickbay has become. When Jax gets a break from slaving away at the engine room, he's returned here and stripped of his tools. With no contact back home, (thanks partially to the fact he accidently fried the comms in CIC. AHEM.) he's been making due with what they have, and at least replacing the broken Tyllium lines. One hand is bandaged, he's still favoring his left arm, and dammit, he looks tired as he trudges back in, wearing his lovely convict gear, thanks to Kastile and a few pilots that shall remain nameless.

It's nice and quiet in here, save for Meaghan and Phelan seemingly engaged in what passes for conversation between her class and his. No fists have been thrown - yet, at least. No weapons are drawn. So there might be a little tension in the air - no one's lit the match, yet. "Again, your war, not ours. They ain't found us yet, and if they do, tis a good bet that it's because your kind led them here." She eyes Jax as he comes in, watching him for a long moment, placidly, before turning back to Phelan. "So, stickjock, take your threats and posturing and shove it."

Phelan shrugs, "Maybe, or maybe they were coming through here anyway.. the point is moot. The alarm is going off and its up to you to decide what side you want to be on. Grey and his lackeys is the wrong side, i assure you."

Sully trudges into the Sickbay area, silently and as quietly as possible. The man rarely tries to draw attention to himself around this place. He's still wearing the military guns taken from the pilots at his belt. He doesn't seem keen on letting them far from his person for any length of time, and he keeps his distance from the other inmates even moreso than usual.

Micah isn't involved in this little discussion about picking sides. He's been sleeping off that concussion, and not seeming to have much of a taste for food after bringing a good portion of the previous day's breakfast up. Luckily, he's accustomed to sleeping in a room with twenty other noisy viper jocks, so he's still out like a light.

Jax snorts when he enters, quickly getting the jist of the conversation. It shouldn't take more then seeing Phelan open his mouth to know it can't be good. With a shake of his head, he moves off to change the bandage over the burn on his palm, as the guaze is now quite dirty from all his tinkering downstairs. Remarkably, from his pocket, he pulls out a cigarette and sets it between his lips.

Grey always seems to come in at the best points of a conversation. Could be he is just that lucky. When the hatch opens up, an office chair is pushed with Roz sitting in it. She's been ductaped to the thing from her arms to her feet and over her mouth. She sits in her double tanks and briefs and her head is slumped forward. The two men pushing her inside, come to a pause and then Mr. Grey walks in. "And how is everyone's evening?" He motions to the men and then to Meg and Sully, "Get chairs and put them in them, just like this one." His gaze practically crawls to Phelan, "Make sure that one has a rough time of it."

Oh, choices choices. With Grey arrived and giving orders, Meg's pushing off the counter and looking between Micah and Phelan. Manhandling Phelan into a chair or getting a chance to put her favorite toy - er, pilot - into one. It's clearly Christmas for her. She nods to Sully and gestures to Micah. "You get him." Then she turns her attention to Jax. "You sit in the chair and wait for one of us to wrap you up." A pause, and she adds, "Please." Then her attention turns to Phelan, eyes going flinty and that smile displaying her teeth. "Ready to do this," she asks him, raising a brow.

Sully eyes Grey. He does not look particularly enthusiastic about this plan. Or particularly sympathetic toward the pilots. "We got a reason for this? I'm not much on kinky stuff," he says. It's not so much an objection as a blandly-stated question. He's willing enough to comply for now. He approaches Micah, reaching out a large hand to grasp his shoulder. Not particularly roughly, but Sully's a big guy. To Micah, he shrugs. It's sort of apologetic. Sort of.

Micah startles awake when a hand lands on his shoulder. It's shoved off as he pushes up onto his elbows, obviously just a reflex reaction before he even realises who it is. A bleary glance around finds an assortment of people who weren't there when he dozed off— like Roz. Whom he studies for a long while before flicking his eyes to Sully warily.

Jax sighs as he ties off his gauze quickly. The fun just never stops in Convict land. He turns to the congregation, and as Meg says please? He merely gives a quick nod. "Let a workin' man finish his smoke, aye?" He asks, dropping like a lead weight into the chair that's brought for him and setting a match to his cigarette. There's no sense in fighting back, they're out numbered at this point. And sitting in a chair? Doesn't seem so bad at this point. Sitting. Its almost a luxury in itself. Something must be brewing, if they're being trussed up. A concerned glance is given to his fellow mates.

Gosling comes back down from a sojourn in the CIC, testing her luck with getting the comms back online, to no avail. Well, she never claimed to be a snipe. Still, she's looking less than pleased with the progress, and as she steps into her own safe place only to find it rather crowded and being put into some sort of upheaval, "What's going on?" she asks. Eyes move to Sully as he grabs at Micah, then swiftly turn to Kay again, "Kay, will you please let the Lieutenant rest? I'm -not- encouraged by his overnight stats. He might require some serious attention."

Phelan looks to Meaghan, "I'm guessing a lot more than you are Meg." he walks over to one of the chairs and sits down, watching Meg the whole time. "Lets see where you really stand around here, or if you're just chief patsy."

The nice amiable Mr. Grey has turned into something else, "Shut up and do your frakking job," he snaps at Sully. He gives Gosling the same look, "He'll rest when he's dead." A motion is made to the one with the broken leg, which would be Sloane. "Get him up too."

Sully directs a look over at Gosling, exchanging a glance with her. A largely unreadable look, but it's directed squarely at the doctor. He takes Mr. Grey's snapping without comment. "C'mon," he grunts to Micah, not unkindly, but with a definite weariness. He'll aid him to a chair, or attempt to haul him there.

Gosling looks toward Sloane, then heads over to stop the morpha from his drip so that he can wake up. "Is there something wrong, Kay?" she asks him, from her post near Sloane's bedside.

Meaghan gathers up some tape as Phelan settles into a chair. She seems almost disappointed that he complied as well as he did. Other currents in the air seem to be sliding right past her. "We'll leave that pretty mouth of yours free for a little bit," she tells Phelan quietly, though there's definitely a glint in her eyes.

Jax is steady. Watching. Waiting. Smoking. His ears are open and he's looking for cracks in this finely painted veneer of control they have going here. No one's messing with him, because he's the compliant one. No doubt soon he'll be taped to a chair, but right now? He's enjoying his smoke like it might just be his last.

"Let me worry about that," Grey tells her. "You are going to make nice nice with the pretty people, Tak. Do your job right and we'll get out of this without a hitch." As Micah is roused he begins walking over. "Lieutenant, unless you want corpses to take back to your ship, you do what I say, are we understood?"

Micah is probably half hauled, half aided, all things considered. He's not precisely offering up much protest, but he's also not a particularly scrawny kid either. Jax's smoke is eyed as he slumps into a chair, and then his lashes are lowered a fraction while Kastile speaks to him. He might be taking stock of where Sully's got those guns stowed away. Or maybe he's just dizzy and nauseous. "Aye," he answers lowly. "But leave my injured pilot where he is." Sloane's indicated with a tip of his chin. "He's unarmed, and not in no shape to be a threat to you, anyway."

Sully hauls Micah as gingerly as possible. He's also trying to keep an eye on the guns at his belt. He doesn't so much want to lose track of them while he's manhandling the lieutenant. He deposits Micah into the chair with an annoyed grunt. The pilot is /not/ scrawny. That done, he gathers some tape to affix Micah to said chair. He's not particularly rough about it. He's not a gentle creature, but he's not trying to cause any pain. The words 'out of here' from Grey catch his interest but, for the moment, he asks no questions. He just grunts again.

Look at that, his chair has little wheels. Jax likely notices Micah eyeing up his cigarette. He has more where they came from, so what's the harm in pushing over slightly and reaching out to hold the cigarette to Micah's lips so he can take a puff. Even if he gets in Sully's way for a moment.

"It'll take him a while to come out from under sedation, in any case," Tak adds to Micah's argument for leaving Sloane out of this. "Why don't we let him sleep? The less these people are hurt… the easier making nice is going to be."

Phelan sits there quietly looking at Meaghan.. "I've said my piece.. its your move. Pawn or Queen."

Meg says not a word to Phelan. She goes about binding him to the chair, hands and feet. She's not gentle. Tape gets placed over as much hair as she can reasonably reach, and she binds him tightly. It's not quite to the circulation cutting point, but it's close. While his hands are bound together, his ankles are bound separately. Oh, yes, plenty of tape that will take awhile to saw through. Once that's done, she pauses and slips out of one of her boots and peels off her sock. No, it is not a good looking sock. She's not June Cleaver. It's a sock that's likely been there for awhile. Once it's off, she puts the boot on, taking her time, then straightens and smiles to Phelan. "A long piece of tape is tugged off and placed on the back of one hand. Then she steps in to place the sock over Phelan's mouth - over, not in - with the clear intent of putting the tape over it, wrapped around the back of his head. "Something to remember your Queen by," she comments simply.

Grey walks over to Sully and takes one of the pilots pistols while he plays Socks with Phelan. He then continues on to the gurney and places the barrel of the gun against Sloane's temple as he looks back to Micah and then Gosling. "First rule of this game, is I give the orders, you don't," the trigger is pulled and the bullet slams into Sloane's temple, sending brain matter across the wall beside the gurney. It's doubtful the pilot even knew what hit him. "Now. He's not a threat. Do we understand each other now?"

"Can it, Rhodes," Micah growls from nearby, thereafter clicking his teeth together and stifling his intense agitation at being /taped to a chair/. The frakking /indignity/. Maybe, if Sully's being as cavalier about this as he seems to be, he might not notice the pilot flexing his arms and forcing as much slack into that duct tape as he can. The cigarette? The cigarette, while it would be ordinarily relished, is suddenly not noticed at all as that shot rings out and his squadmate's brains are splattered over the wall. He's dead silent.

Jax reflexively turns away from the shot, the cigarette falling from his fingers. Sloane. That was Sloane. Shit frak gods dammit. The muscles in his shoulders bunch like he's ready to gain his feet and strike out, but that would only end up with him just as dead as Cornbread. There will be justice. Just…not right now.

Gosling's hands freeze on the IV cord, her thumb on the dial controlling the morpha flow, as suddenly there's… brain… on her wall. Even the keenest observer won't quite be able to perceive a tremor: she stands stock still, silent. Then, slowly, creaking into motion like a rusted gear, she untapes and removes the IV from the corpse's arm. "Of course, Kay," she replies, turning off the drip unit and bundling off the cord to keep it out of the way.

Sully is, indeed, being pretty cavalier about Micah and his duct tape. He tenses when Kastile takes one of his pistols. Perhaps tempted to put up a fight about that. Not that he does. He flinches when Sloane is killed. Jaw tensing. But still, he doesn't move. Except to back up a step. Still guarding Micah, but also drawing a little more space around himself. He manages to keep his expression stoic, but it takes him a beat to unclench his jaw. He watches Gosling.

Phelan closes his eyes as Sloane is shot, he breathes slowly through his nose unable to do anything else. When he finally opens them he looks to Meaghan and Sully in turn, the hatred in his eyes pure and clear.

Kastile uses the gun now to make a motion to Jax, "You. Over there. Tak you are going to go with him. You are going to tell our little welcome party out there, what I want. They've got six hours or I start sending out dead pilots." He motions back to Sloane, "Take that one as a show of faith that I'm not frakking around." He eyes Gosling now, "Go play Captain and do a good job of it."

Meaghan watches K kill Sloane, and even she winces slightly. Instead of reacting much more, she wraps more tape around Phelan's head, focusing on the back, where the hair is. When he looks at her with hatred, she simply smiles and turns her back, somewhat pointedly.

Sully puts his hands on the two guns he's got left at his belt. Like a gunslinger. Only he just kind of caresses them rather than slinging them. "You want I should go with her, boss?" he asks Kastile. Doing his best bodyguard stance. He pulls it off pretty well. He's a muscular fellow. If he notices any looks he's getting from the pilots, they are blandly ignored.

"Of course, Kay," the Captain repeats, as if they were the only three words she knew. She's not looking at him, now, focused on tidying up the machine and then flicking a speck of brain or two off of her lab coat before unhooking the guerney on which the brainless pilot is stretched from its anchorage on the sickbay wall, giving a grunt and a shove to get it moving, then getting behind it to begin to shove it toward the corridor. Following orders. Not getting shot.

Micah doesn't so much as lift his eyes, while Kastile speaks. His head's still down, mismatched eyes riveted on the wall where the contents of his friend and squadmate's head are slowly sliding down. Anger? Hatred? He's not quite there yet. Right now, it's gut-wrenching pain and disbelief. "Please don't hurt him." That's all he's got to say to Gosling, voice quiet yet knife-edged. It isn't a threat. It's simply a hope.

The following is heard in a rather muffled like voice, since they are behind some walls. "To the gentlemen in control of the Peerless, we are attempting to initiate a dialogue, to speak fairly. Can you give us some sign? We have attached a throw phone that you can use to communicate with us from a distance."

Kastile nods to Sully. "Go with them." His gun moves around to the rest left here. Roz. Micah and Phelan. Plus his two bodyguards. "Bring me back a wireless."

Sully nods shortly to Kastile, grunting an affirmative, and then he falls into step beside Gosling. Walking close to her.

Jax stands slowly from his chair, a shaking hand reaching for his pack of cigarettes again. "Yeah, mate, I'll go. No worries." Trembling lips pull another roll from the crinkled pack he's acquired some where along the line. He then shuffles along, looking a bit broken down.

Gosling looks aside at Micah's words to her when she passes him, then looks to the body on the stretcher, wondering vaguely how n the world she could hurt him worse than he's already been hurt. "… okay," she assures him, voice attempting steadiness but not quite attaining it, worried about the man's brain damage. She moves on quietly, quickly.

Meaghan moves to get the wireless for Kastile and passes it over to the man without a word.

Micah shifts slightly in his chair, probably trying to find some modicum of comfort what with being taped into it like a badly-wrapped christmas present. His head's also pounding, what he wouldn't give for an analgesic right now. The movements of Kastile and Meaghan are mostly filtered into the background.

The two goon/bodyguards with Kastile are standing there intending to make sure nothing is going to happen here. Unless they plan on having a rolling chair race. Taking a pack of smokes out of his pocket, Kastile lights up as he watches the taped up pilots. Smoke filters out slowly through his nose as the smile grows colder. "No smart remarks now?" As if he could care whether they can talk or not. He walks over and places a hand on top of Roz's head. "Your friend here had a mouth too. They must teach you all that in your fancy flight schools. They should teach you that it isn't nice to act like that when you are captive." The cigarette in his hand is moved around, "And here I thought all they taught you was to give your name, rank and serial number."

"Apparently, according to that one," Meg comments mildly, nodding to Phelan. "We're frakked. Our new bosses are coming in and he wanted me to come down on the winning side." Yeah, she's smirking. "He's not learned appreciation. The other two, though, t'ain't given us a lick of trouble. Right nice folk out of those uniforms." She taps a cigarette out of her pack and moves over to Micah, crouching next to him. "Want a few puffs while we wait?"

Looks like Sully neglected to tape Micah's mouth. Maybe he got distracted by the other pilot getting offed, but he only got as far as attaching him to the chair. The kid could talk. He just isn't going to. Even Meaghan crouching down next to him, doesn't draw much of a reaction. Just a slight flick of lashes, and she's watched with a blue eye from the side she's chosen, and given a fractional shake of his head.

"Good." A pat is given along side Roz's head, but it looks like she has been drugged or she's dead. Hard to tell at this point. She is missing that little finger though. "We're all going to have a nice little rest here while Tak does her job out there."

Meg looks briefly disappointed as Micah refuses the gift, but she rolls to her feet, careful not to use him as a brace. Then it's back to leaning on the counter, her focus going to Phelan. She's simply staring at the man, contemplatively.

"Get your frakking hands off her." So he does have a mouth, after all. Micah's voice is hoarse, like he's already been shouting, or crying, though he's done neither. As for Meaghan's gift, he looks about ready to throw up again, which might explain the refusal.

That sparks some interest in Kastile now. "Oh, is this one yours?" His hand is almost gentle as he rests it on Roz's shoulder now. "Your girlfriend or wife? Frak partner?" A slow, almost loving touch goes along her shoulder and up along the side of her neck, lolling her head to the side.

Meaghan remains silent now, simply watching and listening to the goings on. That bovine, placid expression is back on her face.

"Her? No." Micah's lifted his head a fraction, focusing on Kastile's eyes now. Dark hair sits messily, and probably more than a little dirtily, above his brooding brow. "Got a wife at home, though. A baby on the way. You ever been married?" His tone is flat, not quite conversational.

Kastile almost looks sorry Roz isn't his, "Too bad. Married? No. But I've frakked some that were." The cigarette is puffed on again. "How is pregnant pussy?" He's just digging now, it's obvious.

Micah waits a beat. Then, "C'mere." He'd probably crook a finger, if his hands weren't bound.

Kastile walks over, considering Micah's hands are tied down. He stands over the pilot with a partial sneer on his lips. "Not that good? I bet Meg could make it better for you."

Meaghan seems to just wait for the head butt or whatever Micah's going to do. She's watching the pair like she's watching a train wreck about to happen.

"Lower. I don't give blow jobs." The pilot's eyes are glinting with something still not anger, so much as cold, brittle menace.

Kastile half leans, and he is probably waiting for something also. Almost cherishing that the pilot will do something actually. "Yes? What do you give?"

Meg simply sighs quietly and comments, under her breath, "Dumbass."

"Lower," Micah repeats, still refusing to crane his neck and look up at Kastile.

"What did I say about you giving orders?" Kastile begins to smile again, straightens and backs off. "Tsk. Lieutenant, and when we were getting along so well too." The cigarette is put under his shoe and twisted into the flooring. The gun rises and the barrel points to Phelan and then Roz. "Which one? I'll even let you pick this time."

Phelan sits there quietly, what else can he do.. when Kastile gives the threat of choice, he spins in his chair to look over to Micah and looks him in the eyes, slowly nodding once to him.

"Still got a few hours, Mr. Grey," Meaghan comments idly. "Might be good to wait a bit and see how things are going. Wouldn't want to run out of pilots." She pulls a knife from her pocket and starts to clean beneath her nails, wholly unconcerned.

Micah's tonguetip darts out to trace his lower lip, worrying at the scar that skews it ever so slightly along the centre. Whatever he was going to do, headbutting probably wasn't it. There's no tension whatsoever in his frame, no sense that he's about to act quickly. Maybe he just had something to say to the man. Either way, the the 'question' is not answered.

Kastile waves the gun around a little, "Eeny Meeny…" he begins the count, only now he is adding Micah into the mix. His eyes raising to Meg now, "She's right, we start offing more pilots, we won't have anything to barter with." A slight shrug and he walks over and sets the barrel against one of Phelan's hand that is taped down. "This if for the bust to the jaw." And he fires.

Meaghan continues cleaning her nails, glancing up and wincing only slightly as the bullet is put through Phelan's hand. But she looks past him, toward Micah, attempting to catch the pilot's eye.

Phelan would call out if he could however the sock of silence is keeping him from getting much out. His hand spasms and stretches as the bullet tears a hole through it. He pushes hard against the restraints of the chair, his right hand and arm trying to tear out from the tape.. as that fails he slumps back down in the chair, looking down to the damage to his hand, trying to keep it immobilized.

There's only so much Micah can take, before he simply busts a fuse. He's not a passive sort of creature, he's hellfire on wheels, on wings, anger is the glue that keeps him together. And this? This is the final straw. Meaghan manages to catch, and hold his gaze only for a moment, before he's hurtling to his feet as best he can while being taped into his chair, and attempting to swivel about and clock Kastile with it. Hard.

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Unarmed_combat+2 and achieves a degree of BeyondSuperb (7).

Kastile doesn't even get a move when the chair slams into him HARD. The gun in his hand goes flying and one of the body guards gets knocked back too. The other one was kind of dozing off into space and loses his reaction time.

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Toughness and achieves a degree of Superb (6).

<Trait Roll> Meaghan rolls Unarmed_combat and achieves a degree of Good (4).

As she sees Micah going for Kastile, Meg simply sighs and lumbers forward, pulling her fist back and aiming it for Micah's face. What better way to stop a man with a concussion than meet unstoppable force and immovable object?

The hit's solid. Micah stumbles, tripping over his own feet or Phelan or something in the process, and going down. But all that forethought with the flexing his arms while the tape was being distractedly applied? Pays off right about now. He manages to tear an arm free, and lunges for that loose gun. Ignore pounding head. Ignore blurring vision. Just grab the frakking gun.

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Agility and achieves a degree of Great (5).

Sully came up to investigate the sound of gunfire. As quietly as he could. And he's got both of those nice military-issue guns of his drawn now. One in either hand. Macho. He takes a beat to assess the situation. Short nod to himself. Well. This is what it is, then. He heads straight for Kastile, both guns leveled at him.

Kastile is on the floor, his arm is numb from the slam of that chair. It no doubt knocked it out of the socket and he is in alot of pain right now. The body guard that woke up is heading for Micah, but the little bastard is too quick even with the chair. He misses the gun as Micah grabs it up. The first bodyguard is about to move when Sully comes in with both guns drawn and he just slowly raises his hands. No honor here, everyone is for himself.

<Trait Roll> Meaghan rolls Unarmed_combat and achieves a degree of BeyondSuperb (7).

Meg's not giving up that easily, not when Micah's gonig for a gun. Once he's got it, she charges toward him and uses her size/bulk to plow into him from the side, aiming, clearly, to smash the pilot into the cabinets.

<Trait Roll> Phelan rolls Agility and achieves a degree of Good (4).

Phelan sees Meaghan making a move for Micah and does all he can, throwing his body out in front of her to try and slow her smug ass down.

Micah manages to snatch up the firearm just a hair before the guard can get his wits about him and react. He's obviously in pain, and keeled over at an odd angle what with still being mostly strapped to the chair, but he levels the barrel on Kastile— and then the swiftly approaching Meaghan. Phelan buys him a little time, and his finger's on the frakking /trigger/ when she plows into him, and he doesn't think. He pulls it.

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

<Trait Roll> Meaghan rolls Toughness and achieves a degree of Superb (6).

Sully keeps his weapons trained on Kastile, and his bodyguard, getting within point-blank range of Mr. Grey himself. "Don't be stupid," he says simply. And leaves it at that. The Picon man isn't much on conversation. The wrestling match is eyed. But, one thing to deal with at a time.

Kastile isn't doing anything but groaning like a leetle girl in pain right now. He whimpers now, so much for the tough guy.

<Trait Roll> Meaghan rolls Unarmed_combat and achieves a degree of BeyondSuperb* (8).

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Unarmed_combat and achieves a degree of Poor (1).

Despite the bullet that goes through her shoulder and Phelan attempting a chair-bound tackle, Meaghan manages to get the gun from Micah without much trouble at all. She says nothing, just looks at him, disappointed. Yep, she's in a little bit of pain, but it doesn't seem to phase her. "Retape him," she tells Kastile's bodyguard before stepping back. Her attention goes briefly to Sully. "'The frak you doing," she asks him, gun in hand, though pointed at the ground.

Phelan lays there on the floor as Meaghan moves past him and after Micah, watching the scene with nothing else he can do but wait to see what happens.

As Kastile is nice and peaceable, Sully leaves him to whimper. He stays within point-blank range of Mr. Grey, but he now trains one arm, and the pistol in it, on the wrestling match. "Stand down, Meg." His gun's pointed square at her. "I'm done with this bullshit. I'm not taking orders from this psychopath anymore." Kastile's on the floor, groaning like a little girl.

It's.. not much of a contest at all, really. Meaghan's big, Micah's strapped down into a chair, and no amount of digging in and trying to keep her from prying that gun from his hand seems to be doing any good. It's a wonder the thing doesn't go off on him. He makes a snatch for it as she pulls back, but only succeeds in grasping thin air. And then? Then, his head's simply swimming too much to focus any longer, and he probably broke something when two hundred pounds of woman slammed into him. So, he's still while the goons argue.

"What's going on?" Hey! The Captain's back, and looking less than pleased as her sickbay's ovidently in turmoil once again.

[Tac1] Ramiro says, "MarDet to CIC *static* over?"

[Tac1] "CIC-TAC" Drusus says, "MarDet, CIC, I hear you."

[Tac1] Ramiro says, "(line is a wash of random static)Ensign Ramiro reporting. KIA on Ensign Antonio Sloan, confirmation of living status of Specialist Jackson Miller. Peerless man in charge is Mr. Grey, demanding parts for repair to the Peerless to make it spaceworthy and join the fleet. He says he's gonna kill one person every six hours."

<Opposed Roll> Meaghan - Firearms - 1 versus Sully - Unarmed_Combat

<Roll1> Meaghan: Great <Roll2> Sully: BeyondSuperb

<Result> Sully WINS by 2.

[Tac1] .. Frak. Do you have … of what he wants?

[Tac1] ..eck with the enginee… …rying to get Grey on the thro…risking my men when he's the one in need.

And this is what it all comes down to. "Aw, man," she tells Sully, lifting the gun. "I can't let you do that." Meg isn't really happy about this, but she points at Sully and pulls off a single shot. Just one.

Sully doesn't trust his skills as a gunslinger, apparently. He trains the gun on Meaghan, but it's a feint. He's not going to shoot her. He /is/, however, intent on taking her down. He launches himself at her with a grunt. One of those guns is tossed in Micah's general direction. He keeps the other, but it's just an additional blunt object for him to use at the moment. He hits her with the full force he can muster, trying to knock her to the floor.

Sully is charging into the gunfire, so he doesn't avoid it. Fortunately, Meaghan had to bring her gun up, and it hits low. His left leg, to be specific. He swears, loudly and in pain, but he doesn't stop plummeting toward her.

[Tac1] "CIC-TAC" Drusus says, "You're … can't … say again?"

Four inches. Four frakking inches. Micah tries to fumble for the weapon, cheek smooshed against the floor, and one arm still clingwrapped to the chair and effectively trapped beneath him. It's like watching a fish flopping around out of water. While Sully and Meaghan battle royale it out, the pilot is trying to inch, shuffle, or drag himself closer to the sidearm lying tantalisingly just outside his reach.

Gosling brings her hands to her hair as another gunshot goes off, grabbing great fistfuls of it as she stares at Kay and then Sully, "STOP IT RIGHT FRAKKING NOW! ALL OF YOU!" she -screams.- Not a shout, not a bark, a scream, shrill and piercing. Woman has lungs.

[Tac1] ..repea…will check what my eng…eers have. They want protec…epairs and don't know our num…

[Tac1] "CIC-TAC" Drusus says, "Alr … iro. Send us a f … n you get a list of anything … you'll need from Genesis. … eye out on that storm."

<Trait Roll> Meaghan rolls Toughness and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

[Tac1] ..earing gunsho…om inside. Over.

<Opposed Roll> Meaghan - Unarmed_Combat - 1 versus Sully - Unarmed_Combat

<Roll1> Meaghan: Terrible *BOTCH* <Roll2> Sully: Good

<Result> Sully WINS by 4.

Meg's down on her back, growling, gun now out of her hand. She's bleeding, she's sore - but worst of all, she's confused. Rearing her head back, she starts to slam her head into Sully's face when…

[Tac1] "CIC-TAC" Drusus says, "I hear you, Ramiro."

Sully is a brawler, and he knows how to use blunt objects to his advantage. As Meaghan's head comes up, his pistol whips around. Clocking her hard in the skull. Gosling's shouting makes him wince. Perhaps more than the gunshot did. Gah, she's loud.

Micah has just managed to get his fingertips on the gun that was tossed down near him, when Gosling arrives and starts screaming. Owww. He snatches up the weapon, nevertheless, and flicks off the safety. That much is all he can probably muster, for the moment.

[Tac1] Ramiro says, "Stacking teams fo…ser look."

Gosling screams, and nobody hears her. Or, at least, that's how it looks from here. She starts to hyperventilate, and finally turns and rushes back out past Goons N, P and C, gesturing for the phone on the way past.

And Meg takes that gun right smack to the head. With the dull thud of a cantaloupe hitting the pavement, Meg's head hits the deck and she's out like a light.

Sully just lays on top of Meg for a moment, breathing heavily. "Sorry, darlin'. Wasn't good for me, either," he mutters. Once he's sure she's out he struggles upright. And buckles onto his knees when he's painfully reminded he's been shot. He groans, "FRAK." That smarts. He crawls over to Micah, to untie him.

Micah is getting ready to level that gun at Sully when he crawls over. It's pretty hard to tell what's going on right about now, so he's probably just not taking any chances. The tugging off of tape gets a bewildered look from the pilot, and once most of it's ripped away, he's finishing off the job his own self. "Got any med kits 'round here?" he mumbles, kicking the chair away with his feet and shuffling over with his back flopped against the wall. "You're shot." Thanks, Sherlock.

It's hard to tell who -isn't- shot in this place. The fallen giantess is still out cold, bleeding from a shoulder wound, with a lovely bloody lump rising on her head from Sully's lovetap. Looks just like an average Friday night at the frat house.

"Ugh…frak…probably," Sully grunts, painfully, as he rips Micah free of the tape. "Have to get the doc to use 'em. I don't screw with that stuff." He leaves the gun he tossed toward Micah where it lays. Gesturing to it with a not-so-subtle nod of his head. Micah can arm himself at his leisure.

"Suit yourself." Micah's bleeding too, though not badly. Something to do with having a two-hundred pound woman collide with him. "What's the situation up on the bridge?" His gaze slants toward Kastile, then back to Sully. "And where's my mechanic?"

"Your mechanic was with Doc Tak on the deck last I saw, talking to your people, when I heard the shot," Sully says with a shrug. "She ain't got no reason to frak him up." He finds a convenient counter to use to pull himself up. Leaning heavily on it, eyeing unconscious Meaghan. "I'll get her stashed some place before she comes to." His gaze goes to Kastile. Then back to Micah. "He's yours. Do what you got to do with him."

"And my ship?" It's mumbled barely audible, Micah's gunhand resting heavily on an upraised knee. His other arm is.. kind of held at a funny angle. It may or may not be broken. Kastile, whatever he plans to do to him, is merely watched guardedly for now. "Don't kill her, aye?"

"I want off this hellhole moon, and I want to breathe like a free man again," Sully says, breathing hard, both from pain and exertion. It's been a long day. That seems all the answer he'll give to Micah's muttered question. "Sounded like your people brought parts to fix this bucket." As for Meaghan, he snorts. "I ain't killed a man yet, El-Tee. Or a woman. Day ain't over, though." Kastile is eyed.

Ain't killed a man. Well, isn't that all kinds of interesting. "Far from," Micah replies, blinking quickly a few times as if to keep himself from drifting off. "All right. I need the layout of this ship. I need that frakhead of a lousy pilot over there, untied. And I need to know how many goons you got between here an' the bridge, an' whether they'll be willin' to back down if ah've got a gun to your gaffer's head and you on my side, yeah?"

"I think they'll know how things lie when we get Mr. Grey boxed," Sully says, grimacing some more. "Guy with the biggest guns tends to make the rules around here. The doc's got some pull. Scares the frak out of most of us." He smirks. "She can come along. Should be able to get a look'see at everything you need up there." Deep breath. He's silent a beat before adding, "I ain't no murderer." The distinction between that and whatever the frak kind of criminal he is seems important to him. "And I try not to throw my lot in with crazies who're going to get me killed."

"You got my word, ah'll try my best to get you some kind of deal that won't see you put up against a bulkhead and shot." Micah gazes steadily at Sully as he speaks, or as steadily as he can manage at the moment. "You got my word. Her too, depending how warm she's feelin' toward her Mr. Grey once she wakes up-" Meaghan's indicated with a tip of his chin. "-an' doc Tak." He starts shuffling to his feet, not the most graceful creature at the moment. "Figure.. somethin' can be worked out.."

Sully grunts. "We'll see," he says, with a certain amount of fatalism. He starts searching the cabinets for a med kit. He may not know anything about medicine, but he can at least wrap a bandage around his leg and grab a crutch to take the weight off, while Gosling is occupied.

Gosling enters Sickbay again, locking and bolting the hatch behind her, looking… a good deal less shaken than before. She takes stock of the carnage in her sickbay.

Carnage is a good word for it. Except, well, nobody's dead or even grievously wounded. Much. Micah's certainly on a razor's edge though, and raises his pilfered sidearm when he hears the hatch open to admit Gosling back in. And keeps it there. He's slumped on the floor, back against the wall, while (presumably) his pilot buddies are untied and Kastile and Meaghan secured somewhere 'safe'.

"This ship is returning to Military control," the Captain announces in her very best Captain voice. "The arrangements have been made with Ensign Ramiro. You all…" she looks to Micah, especially, "Need to stay in here. It won't be safe out there for the next day or so. But then we'll be ready to get the Peerless spaceworthy again, and join the fleet." She sounds very confident that this will be the case.

That is probably the best thing Micah's heard all day. He drops his arm and switches the safety off his gun, letting it clatter to the floor. Ramiro. If she's not telling the truth, there really isn't much he's able to do about it anyway. Clunking his head back against the wall, he closes his eyes and simply nods a little.

Gosling seems satisfied with the response. "Hold tight, Lieutenant," she encourages him. "And I realize that this is an unusual situation — and that you're accustomed to brawling with your fellow-officers — but I'd very much appreciate it if you'd -never- point your sidearm at me again. I may not have been in the Military long, but I'm pretty certain there's a rule against that."

"Just see to my frakking pilots, aye? Don't want no more bloodshed here today, if it can be helped. Don't want to lose any more people. If you can't help 'em, ah'll do it myself.." Micah's voice starts to waver there a little. He's dangerously close to breaking down and telling her he wants to go home. Right now.

"I'll see to your men," Tak agrees quietly. "I don't know how much I can do about that finger, at this point, but I'll give it a try. I don't know how I'm supposed to get any of you into bed, of course, now that I'm completely out of nursing staff," she peers at the bleeding Meaghan. "In any event, I've got important business I have to see to in re: the turning over of the ship to Ensign Ramiro. So you'll have to settle for stabilized, for now."

That seems to be good enough for Micah. At least, one assumes. He's either fallen asleep, or passed out against the wall there, but either way he's not complaining.

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