Sick Lies


candy_icon.gif claire3_icon.gif eileen_icon.gif huruma_icon.gif sanderson_icon.gif

Scene Title Sick Lies
Synopsis Sandersons secret orders are revealed, and no one is happy.
Date December 1, 2009

Ankofia River, Madagascar

When people think of parrots, the first images that usually spring to mind are luridly-coloured birds with resplendent plumage in Amazon emerald, blues and gold, but these represent only a small percentage of the order Psittaciformes. In Madagascar there are only three species, and none of them look particularly remarkable; since Eileen returned, half a dozen gray-toned birds with four toes on each foot — two in the front and two in the back — have sat at the boat's helm, keeping watch as it carves a path through the Malagasy river system. They range from dark charcoal to pale silver, and only the smallest of the avians have any colour on their sleek little bodies, limited to two tones of green.

Team Bravo's backup medical officer will tell you that these tiny ones are gray-headed lovebirds, while their larger cousins with pink bills and dusty feathers are vasa parrots. She knows because she has a book — had a book before the crash — given to her by Aviators for the purpose of familiarizing herself with the local wildlife. Right now, however, her focus is not on the birds but on Sanderson and Candy, her patients. Sanderson's bandages have already been tended to and changed, and the woman herself prescribed a heavy dosage of antibiotics to help combat the bacteria festering in her wound. She's presently in the process of stitching Candy's shoulder with a needle and a glistening length of black surgical thread that glitters when the sunlight hits it just right.

"I should give her something for the pain," she saying. "We have morphine, but maybe not enough to last us until we get to Mandritsara."

Candy groans as the needle goes in and out, in and out. "Just hurry it up, it stings," she mutters to her medical attendent while she sits there, before asking, "My arm gonna be okay? I'll still have use of it right?" Yes, she's moderately worried about that. Her hand clutching at her pants, as she gets rained on some more. The pain keeping her from really concentrating enough to keep herself all dry.

Sanderson's presence has been a quiet one, through the changing of her bandage and now her silent vigil over Eileen's handling of Candy's wound. There's something haunted in the young Marine's features, a haunting likely caused by something other than battlefield triage. Looking out over the foggy gloom and clouded skies that the boat heads silently towards, the Lieutenant has the expression of someone who is lost in thought. It's only the sudden widening of her eyes, a scramble of boot-clad feet on the wooden deck, and the herky-jerky way she pulls herself to her feet indicates what's the matter.

Scrambling away from the exterior wall of the boat cabin she was leaning against, the dark-haired woman makes a quick sprint for the edge of the boat, followed by the horrendous sound of retching as she leans over the side with a choking gag followed by the splash-splatter of her stomach contents hitting the river. A shuddering exhalation and another noisy choking gag breaks the quiet of the journey, as Sanderson suffers from the compounded infection and malaria.

Wincing as Sanderson hurries past where Claire sits cross legged on a set of boxes, the cheerleader is busily hunch over, examining the chest armor she had been wearing. A petite finger pokes into the large holes littering it. "This thing is pretty dead, not sure it'll stop another round." Fishing out a bullet, she holds it up to let what little light there is glint off it. "Hopefully we avoid too much more." The bullet is sailing over the edge of the boat, with a flick of her thumb.

With a flick of her wrist the body armor drops to the deck of the boat with a soft Fump of sound. "If we get another round of bullets sent at us, make sure not to stand behind me." Hands drop to rest in her lap as she falls into watching Eileen stitch up Candy.

Eileen's eyes follow Sanderson to the side of the boat, crinkling with concern at their corners when the woman bends over the rail and empties the contents of her stomach into the sloshing water below. If fish could speak, they wouldn't say thank you — they're too busy darting up from the river's bottom to investigate the particles of stinky matter drifting in between the reeds, stirring up mud with excited flicks of their fins and tails. Whatever's edible — and there isn't very much — is swiftly sucked into gaping mouths before the quickest and most agile of the river dwellers are scissoring away into the cloud of sludge and are gone again.

She doesn't know as much about malaria as she does about birds, but in the time she's been with Team Bravo it's become increasingly obvious that staying on the plane was one of the better decisions she's made in recent memory — even if she has a broken wrist, bruised ribs and a mild concussion to show for it. "Bennet," she says, tone curt but not impolite, "help Sanderson. There's a canteen in my pack. She needs to stay hydrated."

Pausing to snap off the needle from the thread in her teeth, she offers only silence in response to Candy's question until the spool is back in her kit and she's unraveling fresh strips of gauze to cover the suture with. "I don't know," she tells her finally. "Try not to move it too much."

"Lovely," Candy grunts, before the sound of Sanderson emptying her stomach contents turns over Candy's own stomach. She goes green in the face and says, "Bucket… if you don't want me moving." She struggles a little, trying to get towards the side of the boat and to water. Nobody wants to have to deal with cleaning.

Letting out a horrible groan of frustration and disgust, Sanderson slouches off the railing and just drops to her knees. One hand wipes hair away from her face, and her mouth is wiped on the sleeve of her jacket. "God, m'burning up…" She murmurs, unzipping the front of her camouflage jacket, shedding the garment to strip down to that bloodstained black tanktop. The silvery dog-tags around her neck glitter and reflect faint light, contrasting against the black of her shirt.

Looking over to Eileen, Sanderson sucks in a shuddering breath and turns around, enough to rest her back up against the railing, lean her head back and close her eyes in some semblance of trying to relax. "You… and Lieutenant Danko…" Sanderson says, not realizing the can she's opening, "how the hell did the two of you survive so long in the jungle and not— " she swallows unwantedly, bitter stinging bile in her mouth and nostrils. "Why aren't you sick?" It's said accusingly, as if Eileen has some secret jungle magic at her disposal. It's the fever talking, and the frustration. "How'd you survive the crash?"

Someone is driving the boat- Huruma was, up until now. She is tall enough to be able to use the wheel as a third leg to lean on, so she is not too happy about the shift being done. Her figure appears at the cabin only to idle there and listen to the mutterings of her teammates for a minute or so. Her attention fixes onto Sanderson towards the end, gaze giving a flicker to Eileen when the marine asks about the man that Eileen had caught just weeks ago- right at Huruma's feet, no less.

"Per'aps mosquitos do no'like her. But he was wit'us long enough- I woul'no'be surprised if he had it b'fore he left. Luckily, he knows how t'andle it…" The tall woman wanders closer to the rail, gathering her lips before spitting into the river below.

Claire fires off a mock salute to Eileen as she unfolds her legs from under her and with a little shove, hops off boxes. Hiking over to the pack in question, Claire crouches down to dig through the pack. "Thank god for you all having some sort of immune system." She murmurs as she shifts a bit to look back as Sanderson. "Out here.. I'd probably be dead already, if I wasn't a regenerator." See.. always a bright side. Her boots thump along the deck, stopping next to Sanderson. The canteen is opened as the cheerleader crouches and offered to the woman. "Small, slow sips. A few minutes apart."

"Divine intervention," Eileen suggests flatly, trading the gauze for a bucket that she can position under Candy's head with one hand while holding the hydrokinetic's hair back in her fingers with the other. "A miracle. How does anyone survive a plane crash?" The parrots on the railing swivel heads to regard Huruma's appearance with childlike curiosity, their beaks slightly parted as the shuffle along the side of the boat in a bobbing line to track her progress across the deck.

"I salvaged what I could from the wreck and used birds to keep to the villages. Found a truck with the keys still in the ignition." She smoothes a few stray strands of Candy's hair away from her face in a gesture that could be mistaken for affection if she knew the other woman, which she does not — her bedside manner, or at least the bedside manner of the current incarnation, is simply pure matron. "I slept indoors, kept out of sight. Apart from the tire tracks, Rasoul's patrols didn't even know I was there until yesterday when I was right on top of you."

Candy finishes taking care of her business, and says, "Thanks." Laying back while she lays there, she winces at her shoulder, and then says, "No such thing as a God. Not in this world."

Nodding her head a few times to Claire, Sanderson takes the canteen and brings it up to her lips, sipping slowly before lowering it from her mouth with an exasperated sound. "Christ I'm glad you're alive. We never found Dixon. Copeland's body was tangled up in one of the trees near the wreck. We think Rasoul's men have the case our nuclear tech had…"

Looking over to Candy, Sanderson's brows furrow, and then she looks up to Huruma with a faint smile. "Danko seems like a tough bastard, I'll give him that. Anyone who'd willingly go back into that jungle on foot has to either not have much of a care about their life, or be damned sure they aren't going to have a problem. I can't believe he survived what happened to Bravo One…"

"Who knows, maybe he's a mole. Or sold them out. Or per'aps he told th'truth and was …lucky. Again." Which suggests this and other times are not his only breaks, by far. Huruma has stayed by the rail, watching the others on deck for the time being. After a bit, she turns her head to look behind her at the birds that seem to be following her. They get a short squint, and Huruma moves a couple of steps further away from them. With animals she happens to be much more lenient. Thankfully. Parrots are much like children anyway, and so they get no issue right now.

"You've been very lucky, Eileen." Especially considering that the little ex-Vanguard seems so out-of-element.

"Right.. question is… will Danko do what he says he will?" Claire asks the question with little confidence, her gaze drifting to her backpack, stashed in a safe spot. "Who's to say he's not off hiding." She moves to lean her back against the railing, arms draping across her knee. "And I dunno Candy… I woulda thought that… but dunno sometimes. Sometimes I think like you.. there is none, and other times I swear the only reason I'm still standing is cause of some higher power." One shoulder hitches up a bit. "Either way… things could be worse." She glances at the marine next to her, "You hear anything on those grenades yet?" Her tone taking on a concerned tone. For her it was a miracle she got off the boat to follow an old man into battle. If she had stayed…..

Eileen sets the bucket aside and pointedly ignores the flies and gnats that begin buzzing around its metal lip when the breeze takes the smell and wafts it over the side of the boat. She can empty it later, when she doesn't need to resume work on Candy's shoulder. "Luck has very little to do with it," she says as she begins wrapping the wound, careful not to bind the bandages too tight. On the subject of Emile Danko, for whatever reason, she has nothing to contribute. Gabriel might be able to tell them why, but Gabriel isn't here right now, and so she listens to what the others have to say about him instead.

"Hope the fucker dies in the jungle, from some flesh melting disease," mutters Candy as she winces lightly at the wound dressing. Frowning while she looks at her arm, before saying, "Was hoping it was you on the truck. But… my luck is abyssmal, it seems."

Claire's question makes Sanderson tense. For the second time when the question of the neurotoxin gas canisters come up, Huruma senses a palpable wave of anxiety come over Sanderson. "N— no. No orders on them." This time, Huruma's certain that the marine is lying.

"They're probably busy with the other teams…" Comes the quick dismissal from the dark-haired marine. "I wouldn't be too worried about their response, we'll handle it, you know?" She sheepishly looks away from Claire, nursing her canteen in one hand while her attention turns into a distant stare going over the edge of the boat.
"Once upon a time, we would not b'asking questions of him." Once upon a time, Danko was actually reliable on all planes- well, supposedly. Huruma casts a last glance over towards the birds before leaning onto the side of the boat, one hand cupping her cheek. Her breath puffs irritably. When Claire asks about the canisters- and Sanderson deflects- and her heart gives her deceit away, Huruma has little choice but to say something. Those canisters- they have to worry- they have to be aware, and Sanderson is hiding something important. The dark woman turns herself to look at the young marine, lips peeling back to show bared teeth.

"Liar." Huruma hisses loudly, eyes narrowed.

"I'd say from now on Candy.. if you hear a truck.. dive fore cover and let me see their intentions." Her head tilting to the side to indicate the torn up body armor. "Live and learn." Her eyes slide back to study Sanderson, "Easier said then done, Sanderson." Her head whips around to Huruma, brows lifting, before a less friendly look goes back to the sick marine. She climbs to her feet and steps away, just enough to be out of the womans range, but then also leaves the small woman glaring down.

"Is she right?" Claire asks her voice level and calm, despite the anger that's boiling in her stomach. "Last thing we need is our team leader lying to us." The words are hissed viciously and soft. "Those grenades… they mean my death.. bullets… or not.. just breathing the god damn air will kill me in no time without my ability." She gives a snap of her finger as if to emphasize. "I learned that first hand."

Leaning down, hands resting on her knees, Claire's eyes move over Sanderson's face looking for anything that is the truth, as she asks, "What are you not telling us?"

Just like that, tension erupts in the humidity, crackling with inaudible energy in the space between Sanderson and Huruma. Eileen doesn't snap to attention or push to her feet, but her spinal column and the muscles in her slender neck and shoulders tighten beneath the fabric of her clothes, and she pauses her work to lift her head and fix their commanding officer with an inquisitive look that, while curious, isn't nearly as candid or ringed in white as the parrots' are.

She braces one small hand against the inside of her thigh, the other gripping Candy's good shoulder, prepared to rise and intervene if it becomes necessary in the agonizingly slow-moving seconds that follow. "Adelle?"

Candy looks at Sanderson while she lays there, and she hisses, "So help me if you are. And you do not spill it, I will cut each one of your limbs of with water, as painfully as I can. Then leave you out in the forest for whatever will come to you." She glares at the woman while she lays there, eyes narrowed. Its generally not a good idea to lie around psychopaths when there is someone who can tell that you're lieing nearby. Whose also a psychopath.

A blue-eyed stare is fired to Huruma, wide and fearful, enough that the empath can feel it like waves of stink coming off of the marine. She glances around, so quickly one truth turning the crew of the boat against her like starving sailors lost at sea over the last meal. Swallowing awkwardly and in no condition, mental or physical, to fight she crumbles like wet paper under their demands.

"They— They contacted that night…" Sanderson flashes a worried look to Claire, then Huruma. "I— they ordered me to find out how Rasoul was making it and photograph any evidence. Scan any documents I could find, destroy his facility and bring back a sample." There's a nervous tension in the marine's body.

"I think they want it."
Huruma's nostrils flare, not unlike an authority figure whose word has been suddenly undermined. She waits while the others react, pale eyes on Sanderson waiting for an answer. When it comes, Huruma has only one real reaction in turn. Her deep voice is a threatening growl at first, evening out into something more methodical.

"Then they are not getting it. You will not document the source, you will not collect one shred-" Huruma's teeth bare again, the word coming through the lines between ivory. "-of evidence. But you will help us to destroy the factory, should we happen upon it. Is that clear?"

As far as Huruma is concerned- Sanderson is truly deluded if she was of the mind that she was ever actually in charge here.

Straightening, Claire looks a bit pale at that bit of news. "Sounds about right. Also sounds like this isn't something they knew about."Her jaw clenched tight, her mind wrapping around that information. The sheer numbers of ways they could use that against them, some of them boarder on Science fiction… "Huruma's right.. We can't let them have that information." She states firmly, glancing at Eileen and Candy. "The government… the Company they get their hands on that… we're all royally screwed… what would be next after that? Neutralizer in our water?" Claire is pissed now, it shows through the tension over her whole body, hands clenched at her side.

"Please tell me you were not actually thinking about following those orders?" Claire asks that carefully, "You might be a marine… but your also powered like us.. You know what this could do to us."

Malaria has nothing to do with the stiff movements involved in Eileen's measured rise to her feet. The gauze and open medical kit, needles and syringes flashing silver in the sunlight, are left on the floor of the boat, its contents clinking together with the motion of water as it sloshes up against the vessel's aluminum sides. She places the palm of her left hand against the cabin's exterior, fingers splayed to evenly distribute the weight of her body leaning against it for support. The other, encased in its splint, is folded across her midsection.

"She's not," she grinds out, the gravel-like exasperation in her voice a result of her anguished ribs and the pain that results from breathing rather than any ire directed at Claire, Huruma or even Sanderson in her fearful huddle. "And you— " Green eyes flick to Huruma's face, eclipsed by black lashes. "— have no right to criticize her for following orders when you're playing pitbull for Adam Monroe. He and Volken were working on something worse, and you protected him."

"The hell if I'm gonna be party to you giving the government that," Candy says as she lays there, her free hand resting on her injured shoulder as she stares at Sanderson. Luckily, nobody knows who Candy was taking orders from, or so she thinks. Regardless she nods her head in agreement with the others, "You will not give the United States any kind of information on those things."

"I— I never said I was going to do it." Sanderson splutters defensively, trembling both from a combination of fear and the malaria. "Don't you think I know what they'd do with that gas? Don't you think I know?" Brows down, the marine tries to get up, staggers and plops back down on the deck. "C— Claire's right. Just because I'm in uniform doesn't mean I'm not like the rest of you. I'm just as screwed as the rest of you are…"

Chest rising and falling with frantic breaths, the malaria does little to help Sanderson's rational thought. "I don't want to give them one more weapon to use against people like us, I— I don't. There's— I just— Emile had my SatCom." Sanderson's anxiety rises up in the back of her mind again, "He used it to file a communication back to Operations before he left. He— he might have known about the plant. About the orders, I— " Sanderson looks down, swallowing her words. "I don't know…"

"Keep your tongue, an'keep t'what you know. You'ave no idea who I am, or why I may act such as I act- do not presume tha'you do." Which sounds like Eileen does not know as much as she would hope. Huruma's expression is indeed one that is home to some secrets she is the one privy to. "Do not antagonize me, Ruskin.

"If Emile is after it, better him than you, Sanderson." Why that is, Huruma does not specify. It could have something to do with how Huruma handles these kinds of problems.

"Or anyone.." Claire corrects Candy, before staring at Sanderson that that little gem. "Oh wonderful." Claire practically shouts, arms flying out in an exasperated gesture. "Fuck.." Her arms slap hard to her side. "Humanis First with that stuff, is worse then even the government with it." A hand lifts to rub at her forehead, a small headache developing with the sudden stress. "Ladies.." Claire says, holding hands up to Eileen and Huruma. "Affiliations don't mean anything at this point.. What matters for sure… and I know you all agree. We need to get rid of it all.. and for sure make sure Danko doesn't get his hands on it."

Looking at Sanderson again, "You did inform the other teams of the threat right?" Her eyes drift skyward. "Damn, I need to talk to Richard." that last is murmured to herself.

Unfortunately, antagonizing Huruma is exactly what Eileen is doing, and neither verbal reprimand nor curled lip affects her posture, which has grown more aggressive than submissive. She pushes away from the cabin and takes a solitary step forward, boot coming down on the deck with enough force to rattle the open kit beside it.

"You can't attack our commanding officer for withholding information in one breath and then spit your venom at me in the next because you think you're entitled to do the same," she says in a low voice, thick with mixed emotions that are difficult for even the empath to identify. "You want to take charge of this operation, Huruma? Please, enlighten us as to why you're still licking the feet of an ex-Nazi mass-murdering pyschopath. That way I won't have to presume a goddamn thing."

"I think that you all should quit fucking sqwauking at her each other and realize that we have a BIGGER problem on our hands. Like… I dunno… maybe Danko running around unsuprivised with knowledge of this chemical? That could throw a bit of a wrench in any future plans you all may have. And I for one, am going to find him, and kill him. Painfully. Now, Sanderson here has done a lovely job of leading us, aside form one small fact which has been resolved. So, stop bitching, and start trying to figure out where the hell Danko went," says the little Asian as she goes into preaching mode. Her eyes going from Eileen to Huruma to Sanderson, and back again. She's really not in the mood to work with a bunch of fighting over who is gonna lead their sordid expedition.

"I can't communicate with the other teams…" Sanderson offers to Claire quietly, letting Huruma and Eileen raise hackles and bare fangs at each other. "I can only communicate with Operations on the carrier, and they can disseminate information as necessary." There's a tense swallow from Sanderson, blue eyes flicking around to people on the deck.

"We— We don't know if that's what Emile's doing. He's a soldier, he— " She can't quite keep up the optimism. "I don't know. I— I don't know." Swallowing awkwardly, Sanderson's blue eyes flick to Eileen, then Claire, then to the other side of the spectrum with Huruma and Candy. "Stop! Stop!" Sanderson shouts out, one hand at the side of her head, likely due to the unfortunate effect shouting has on her burgeoning migraine.

"Unless you want to finish what the militia started yesterday on each other shut up!" It's the first time Sanderson's ever raised her voice, and admittedly it has the outward effect of her being a very angry kitten with fluffy brown fur, but the effort is given to try and rein in order. "No one is giving anything, and Emile might not know yet. Don't— go jumping to conclusions. He— he might not know and even if he does— we can't just assume he's guilty."

"I do not think that I am. I know that I am. I do not want t'take charge, either- not t'be th'director of a bunch of inexperienced soldiers. With what she was given, th'lieutenant has done favorably." But make no mistake, Adelle may be a fairly good leader of men, but she does not act the part of Alpha. The ripple that comes when Huruma puts her gaze onto Eileen is watery- fluid- like a shark that brushes past a swimmer's leg. The situation overall is that much more reminiscent of a rat terrier baring its attitude at a wolf. The terrier has enough heart to stand its ground, yes, but ultimately it is the wolf that decides to turn a blind eye or not.

In this case, Huruma does. Malaria, the simply awful trip thusfar- it adds up- the African woman does not seem to want to continue arguing correctness with someone that she sees as a hatchling. Her long arms fold silently across her stomach, eyes shading and face tilting away from giving Eileen any trace of further attention. For now, anyway. For now, Huruma is finished. "We shall see. If he does no'meet us at Mandritsara- he has either died from sickness or moved on t'find a factory. Hopefully, he is doing his job and will meet us. If not, we will worry later."

"Great.." Claire mumbles.. "Just great.." Her eyes close tight as she tries to not think about the fact that her friends.. her boyfriend are uninformed at this point. Giving a huff of a sigh, she shakes her head slowly. "Well, lets hope the government isn't so fucked up as not to warn the others." Please god… let them have warning.

Blue eyes study each of the other women and she gives a small nod, "I agree.. we worry about him after we find out if he joins us at….. that place…" Hands smudged with dirt, even under the nails, lift to scrub over Claire's face, "This trip…. " She sighs, moving to lower herself back down, the railing vibrating a bit as she drops back heavily. She looks at Sanderson out of the corner of her eye as she says softly, her tone bland, " time the government wants me to do something.. I'm running away to Canada." She grumbles, not even really meaning it.

Rat terrier or not, Eileen only breaks eye contact with Huruma when she initiates it, and even then her gaze does not move very far. It shifts between the Amazon of a woman to Sanderson on the floor of the boat, assessing her reaction for several beats of stilted silence before bending at the middle to pick up the bucket — not to hurl its contents at Huruma, but to dump them over the side for the fish, eliminating the acidic smell of vomit that continues to linger in the air and attract enough flies to feed the army of croaking frogs eye-deep in mud on the riverbank.

"I'm going to send my birds after Danko," she says, her statement punctuated by the slop hitting the water. "If they observe anything unusual about his behaviour, you'll be the first to know about it." This she directs at Sanderson, though her attention is reserved for the parrots perched on the boat's metal railing. "Excuse me."

Arthritic-looking strides carry her around the side of the cabin and out of sight. Incidentally, although Huruma may think she's the only wolf present, she isn't the only on board.

Candy eyes them all as the tension starts to go away, before she finally says, "Honestly, you think that if he knew he wouldn't try and use it to his advantage. Have you even read about what he's done, what Humanis First has done? Fuck, I was a spy in there, I /know/ what the hell Humanis First is capable of. The fuckers would kill a school full of children to kill one evolved. No, if I see him, I will kill him on sight. There will be no warning, he'll just keel over as I make sure that his brain turns in to mush."

"Wonderful idea Allard." Sanderson snaps, crawling back up to her feet. "Because I think you're full of shit. Because with the morphine you're taking for the pain I doubt you can even make it drizzle." Blue eyes narrow as the marine storms over to Candy. "You're just as bad as him, you talk about killing people like it's nothing!" Something hit a nerve, "You know I'm really fucking shocked that you weren't a part of PARIAH like Bennet here, since you're so fond of killing first and asking questions second!"

Tension, aggression, anger, guilt, it's a buffet dinner of emotions that washes across Huruma's senses. The powder keg is still smoldering, and it's going to take more than words to snuff out the flames that Candy ignited. "Because right now, I think you're more dangerous than him." Sanderson's hand moves down to the holstered pistol at her side, just resting on the holster for the moment. "If it weren't for Danko helping us in that fight when we got this boat, you might be misting the walls, Allard. Or did you forget?"

"Read about what he's done? Been there, done that." Huruma shakes her head and leans back on the rail, huffing air out of her lungs again. Everyone is prying at her patience. Really. Now even Sanderson. "It's your turn to shut up, Sanderson." She warns, a new ripple of precaution whittling down the marine's spine. Her voice is less angry than it is …exasperated now. "I'm this close t'tossing someone into th'Ankofia, and you do not want it to be you. I need a damnable nap…"

With that, Huruma stalks across the deck to flop over the same tarp she has been using for her catnaps the last couple of days. Done with this mess, time to turn up her nose.

"Sounds like a good a plan as any, Eileen." Claire agrees, before she's forced to watch Sanderson get to her feet, the ex-cheerleader is quickly on her own as the marine stalks towards Cadny. Claire is quick to put herself between Sanderson and Candy. "Hey hey! Whoa there. At this point we need everyone… that includes you Sanderson. Especialyl if we're suppose to find Vangaurd and nukes." Her back to Candy, Claire moves to keep the marine from moving any further. "Let Eileen do surveillance on him.. whether he fought along side us or not he needs to be watched.. like a hawk. We get to that other place… we go from there. Okay?" She glances at Sanderson to Candy. "Okay?"

"You both need rest.. this can't be good for the malaria." Claire states firmly. "Just… keep apart… rest and try to clear your heads."

"I don't make rain you stupid bitch," Candy yells back at her, her own fuse short from her wound, the morphine, and the malaria. She shakes her head a little while she lays there before she informs Sanderson, "I couldn't join Pariah, I was too busy lounging around in a government provided cell being tortured. So, if think its alright to kill people, remember that I did my time already. I'm just working up the crimes to merit having to be treated like that."

A blue-eyed glare is fired towards Huruma, then flicked over to Candy as Sanderson bites down on her lower lip. For a moment Sanderson seems to be considering something, looking down at Candy where she's seated from Eileen's medical care. There's a tense swallow, and Huruma can feel that building sense of anxiety and tension as easy as she can feel the wind on her face. Silence, somehow, is the only answer Sanderson gives, and it seems to be a small miracle that moves her hand away from her hip.

"Gabriel should've let you bleed out." The marine bitterly states, turning her back on Candy before taking a few weak-legged steps away from the younger woman, both of Sanderson's hands raking up through her hair, trying to get it out of her face.

The notion that she was inches away from trying to put a bullet in Candy's head brings that feeling of guilt back.

Huruma gets the impression this isn't the first time Sanderson was in that position from her emotions.

Claire relaxes a little when Sanderson moves away form Candy, her shoulders relaxing as a quiet sigh leaves her. Then she turns to Candy and gives her a look. "Enough.. Okay. Take it down a notch and rest. You look like shit and with that would your gonna get worse with that stress." She stays firmly between the two woman till she's sure the situation has calmed enough. Only then will she move to flop down with her pack and try to rest herself.

"Yeah, whatever," Candy merely says as she watches Sanderson, her lip sneering for a moment or three, before she just closes her eyes and passes out.

Somehow, it's hard to be stoic and strict when you're puking your guts out. This morning ends like it began, with Sanderson doubled over the railing of the riverboat, fingers wound tight against the wood and choking gags of vomiting expelling the few sips of water she had back out to the river. The rest of which, just dry heaving.

She'll take the dry heaving over Candace Allard…

…any day of the week.

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