arrow_of_apollo: (Civilian | President Adama)
2009.32.F.7 - Random encounter: A reporter with a grudge

There had probably been fewer than thirty people in the room when he'd been sworn in, but the newly-appointed President Leland Joseph Adama would have sworn he shaken at least two hundred hands in the last hour, if the cramp in his fingers was any indication. Glad-handing was not his very least favorite thing about being involved in politics, but it wasn't far from the bottom of the list.

Interview )

arrow_of_apollo: (Soldier | Battlestar Pegasus)
2009.26.A.5 - He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. ~Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

OOC: Set during episode 2x17, "The Captain's Hand"

As I walk down Pegasus' corridors, I can feel it more than see it, but there's not escaping the fact: these people don't trust me.

They are too disciplined to wear it on their sleeves, of course. Throughout her command, Admiral Cain had drummed it into everyone aboard this ship that between uniforms, strict and utterly professional military protocol was to be observed at all times. When I speak to them, it's like they're made of stone. The pilots recount the details of every sortie, the technicians catalog every last functioning circuit and even the deck crew stands at parade attention when I come close.

Outsider )

arrow_of_apollo: (Civilian | Speaking To Quorum)
2009.23.3.D - Parliament

OOC: Canon during 4x03, "The Ties That Bind"

They were all staring at me. Lee Adama, no longer Captain or Major or Commander Lee Adama, but just citizen Lee Adama of the Colonies. Although, when you think about it, that's a pretty strange thing for a person to consider themselves these days, a citizen of the Twelve Colonies, since there aren't any to speak of. But as a citizen, at least legally, of Caprica, I was eligible to be sitting down at that table with all those other people staring at me.

The Distinguished Gentleman )

arrow_of_apollo: (Earth | Alone)
289 - Cheer someone up

OOC Note: Set 2 years following the events of the series finale.

The ridge hadn't looked quite this high two hours ago, Lee thought to himself. Fine, loose pebbles skittered under his feet as he slowly made his way up the sharply inclined ground. It was mostly rough gray rock, this rise in the earth that the former Colonial officer was scaling on his way to his next destination, gray rock dotted with clumps here and there of pale green scrub and grass, stubbornly clinging to an assumedly inhospitable location.

Onwards )


OOC Note: And so ends Lee's journey in TM. Like the show, I think he had a good run, long enough to do him justice (I hope) and not longer than that. He moves on to other places, but thanks everyone in TM who's made him welcome.
arrow_of_apollo: (Soldier | In Hack)
287 - Prison

They won't let me wash the blood off my hands.

All right, they're not going to let me go to godsdamn sickbay so I can be there with my father while he's fighting for his frakking life. Tigh's being an ass and trying to be a commanding officer, and I should expect that from him. All right, they're going to throw me in hack, probably for the little time left on my misbegotten military career. I was expecting that after what I did for President Roslin.

But I've got my frakking father's blood on my hands. Frak, my arms are red almost to the godsdamn elbows and they still won't frakking let me wash it off!

It's not like I haven't seen the inside of a brig before. You're not friends with Kara Thrace and not occasionally get a remind what it's like behind bars. But it's different. Everything's smaller. Colder. Closer in. Somewhere on this tin can, my father is taking what might be his last breaths through lungs that might be shredded by some frakking toaster's bullets, and I can't even be there to watch him die.

President Roslin in the cell next door keeps wondering out loud how the Old Man is doing. She's worried, I can see it. More than that, I can hear it in her voice and I don't think I've ever heard Laura Roslin this shaken up.

And wouldn't you frakking know it, she can't stop staring at my hands.

Neither can I.

It's dry now, red turned almost black, flaking off at the edges. I have my father's blood on my hands, and all I'm thinking about are the things I can't tell him. I can't tell him how sorry I am that I had to disobey Tigh's orders, but that I'm not sorry I did. I can't tell him how much I've come to understand and appreciate the man he is and the person he was, and how grateful I am for the things that I think he was starting to understand about me.

I can't tell him I'd never leave, either.

Sitting down on the hard steel bench, I don't know what's going to happen next. All I can guess is that it's going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better.

arrow_of_apollo: (Soldier | Sitting Pouting)
284 - Talk about a time you were forced out of something.

"I will not serve under a man who questions my integrity."

"And I won't have an officer under my command who doesn't have any."




Central precepts of the Colonial Fleet-- in fact, of military service throughout human history. They are the pillars upon which every soldier must stand, from the greenest crewman signing his name on the roll up to the Admiral with more stars on her uniform than buttons. Without these things, the Colonial Fleet is nothing more than a bunch of hired guns.

They're also much less clear-cut and concrete concepts than they mention in Basic Training.

Upstanding )

(468, not counting direct quotes)
arrow_of_apollo: (Soldier | Amused Smile)
282 - Talk about funeral arrangements.

I knew he probably wouldn't have wanted me to do it, but then I wasn't a soldier under his command any more.

Contains spoilers for the series finale, 'Daybreak' parts 1 and 2 )

arrow_of_apollo: (Either | Swimming A Place of Quiet)
2009.18.B.3 - Hallucinations

When I was shot down during the Battle of the Resurrection Ship, I had a hallucination. I was strapped to my seat, the broken bits of the Blackbird floating in space around me, and I was drifting fifty klicks away from the heat of the fighting. From my vantage point, I could watch the whole thing-- the space between Galactica, Pegasus and the Cylon Resurrection Ship turned into a burst beehive of furious movement.

At the same time, some of the shrapnel, some shattered bit of my ship, had cut through the leg of my flight suit, robbing me of oxygen by slow painful degrees. I'm pretty sure I was conscious most of the time, but I wasn't really there, either.

Contains spoilers for the series finale, 'Daybreak' parts 1 & 2 )

arrow_of_apollo: (Soldier | Frustrated)
2009.15.A.3 - Scenario: You have to mount a strategic rescue operation.

OOC Note: Normally, the Lee I write in this community is an AU, but with this topic, I couldn't resist the opportunity to write a response from canon. So, this response takes only show canon into account.

Contains spoilers through the series finale )

arrow_of_apollo: (Civilian | Sendoff)
275 - "You can't control life, at least you can control your version."
— Chuck Palahniuk (Stranger Than Fiction: True Stories)

Contains spoilers for the series finale, 'Daybreak, Part 2' )

arrow_of_apollo: (Civilian | Look over shoulder)
2009.11.A.5 - Song Lyrics - "Baker Street", Gerry Rafferty

This city desert makes you feel so cold
It’s got so many people but it’s got no soul

We were here for three weeks before I realized it.

Three weeks of work, of sweat and strain and exhaustion. The emergency shelters were first, half-cylinder huts made out of collapsible titanium ribs and heavy plastic skin. We leveled ground and turn blasted fields of rubble into landing strips. Massive generators were flown down, and are still providing half of our power, burning through our precious tylium stores because we still haven't come across any decent locations for geothermal energy.

After three weeks, the shelters had been joined by small, squat gray blocks made out of a kind of homebrew concrete that some crewman who used to be a contractor came up with. Beyond that mix of what you could barely call buildings were where people had tried to set up living spaces in what was left of burned-out buildings.

By that time, most of the people still ate at the long metal tables in the communal mess area in the center of this encampment, this new home of ours. They walked up to the chow line, heads bowed, and stayed that way until they scraped their plates into the reclamation buckets and stacked the trays.

Conversations were kept to a bare minimum. The whole world had been eerily quiet when we'd first landed on Earth, and it seemed like no one wanted to break it. I don't know if there was a fear we'd jinx things and the other Cylon faction would find us or if we'd somehow scare up something that had been left behind here.

Every face I saw wore a similar expression: weariness. No matter if it was a human or a Cylon, we were all so tired. We are all so tired. This is the place we live, though it's hard to call it home. This is where we've come to be, where we've stopped running, because we can't run anymore. But it just doesn't feel like our world.

It was three weeks in when I realized that our place here, our encampment, our town... didn't even have a name.

arrow_of_apollo: (Civilian | White Shirt)
273 - "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?" (Who watches the watchmen?)

In my current line of work, I've found I still take flack for being the Admiral's son, just of a different kind. People like to accuse me of being too invested in military interests, of being too easily influenced by my father, of putting the needs of Galactica before the rest of the fleet's. I've been accused of being nothing more than a mouthpiece for the Admiral, his way of legitimizing his control of all aspects of the fleet.

Contains spoilers for episode 4x18, 'Islanded in a Stream of Stars' )

arrow_of_apollo: (Civilian | Working)
Full circle. A lot of things had a tendency to circle around, Lee was beginning to realize, and very rarely in a good way. The whole "all of this has happened before, all of this will happen again" stuff was starting to get really frakking annoying, especially because it kept costing the fleet and the human race lives, time and everything else it could take.

With the strange political arrangement he had with President Roslin, Lee was constantly splitting his time between Colonial One and Galactica, so to conserve on Raptor fuel, he'd been assigned quarters on board the battlestar. Even though he'd volunteered to take a simple rack, the Admiral had insisted he get a junior officer's locker. Lee suspected it was partly, even if unconsciously, a message that he wasn't a soldier anymore, and didn't get to live like one.

That godsdamned circle had also brought back Ellen Tigh-- the final Cylon, as if the gods didn't already obviously have a frakking twisted sense of humor-- and the Eight model he'd met as Boomer, the one who'd nearly murdered Lee's father. And now, one more time, Boomer had betrayed them, stealing the Agathons' child, Hera, the only living human-Cylon hybrid.

Lee was reading the report on Boomer's escape, cursing quietly when a knock sounded at the hatch to his quarters. With nobody expected at this hour, Lee rose and approached the hatch. A sidearm he wasn't technically supposed to own was within reach. "Marines?" he called out to the guards stationed outside the hatch.

"We're here, Mr. Vice-President," came the confident reply. "Lieutenant Agathon is requesting to see you. Code is Nebula Three Victor," the Marine added, giving Lee the all-clear signal. Lee sighed. Sharon. She was going to be a mess, so he could only hope he could help.

"Let her in," Lee ordered, then stepped back from the heavy hatch.
arrow_of_apollo: (Civilian | Speaking To Quorum)
270 - Thirteen

((A press release from the Office of the Vice-President of the Colonies))

When I was in high school, my friends and I went to a local street fair and dared one another to go into a fortune teller's tent. She wasn't an Oracle or Priestess or anything like that, just some woman in a colorful scarf and lots of bracelets that I assumed would look at my palm or deal some cards and tell me vague, imprecise predictions that would apply to anyone.

I was the one who ended up walking in, of course, and instead of cards, she asked me my birth date. She said that numbers had great significance. She jotted down the date and did some calculations, I guess... and proceeded to make a bunch of vague, imprecise predictions that would apply to anyone.

That pretty much convinced me that numbers having great significance was anything but garbage. Until now.

Spoilers for current season of BSG )

arrow_of_apollo: (OOC | Yowza)
Cross-posted like mad, sorry.

arrow_of_apollo: (Civilian | President Adama)
268 - The End

In Memoriam )

arrow_of_apollo: (Civilian | Red Shirt | Hands on Hips)
2009.5.B.2 - "Remember this: once the human race is established on more than one planet and especially, in more than one solar system, there is no way now imaginable to kill off the human race." Robert Heinlein

Well, the human race is certainly putting that idea to the test, isn't it?

I suppose the author has a point, not that I think he ever envisioned it truly being put to the test the way it had on the Twelve Colonies. If all of humanity had still been located on a single world, the way it had been while on Kobol, then we would all have been vaporized in the initial Cylon attack.

As it was, the billions of Colonial citizens that comprised the whole of the human race-- at least as far as any of us knew-- were decimated down to a little more than fifty thousand survivors in the space of less than a day.

Still, fifty thousand isn't zero. The Cylons had taken their best shot, but between our determination and our desperation, a tiny percentage of the species was able to make its escape. Further Cylon attacks and unavoidable attrition have brought that number down to under forty thousand, and it looks as though things won't be getting any better.

We had all hoped that Earth would be our last stop, and that the running would finally be over. There were dreams that we would be welcomed by our distant cousins and be embraced back into a living, breathing human society. Hell, we would have been happy with just a living, breathing planet to settle on and begin the work of re-establishing the human race.

It wasn't to be. Earth was devastated-- lifeless and inhospitable, to say the least.

Now, the remnants of humanity have to limp on and find a new home, but I guess as long as we're limping and not laying down, we're still proving the author right.



arrow_of_apollo: (Default)

October 2009

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