December 11th, 2009
Lee stopped thinking literal explosion of colour and light a long time ago, right about the same time as he met Kara Thrace and then the worlds came to an end.
Fireworks isn't watching a bright fun explosion in the sky, it's watching Kara Thrace swig back too many cups of the Chief's homemade brew and then watching Kat push all the wrong buttons until sure enough there's a fist in somebody's face.
It's watching a Cylon basestar exploding in front of your eyes, the very same eyes that can only watch as the fleet gets further and further away as you drift out of control.
Fireworks is the tempers amongst the civilians, boiling over until somebody does something stupid and somebody gets hurt. It's the anger and bitterness that has infected the entire fleet and it's the powder keg of human emotion.
They're not beautiful anymore, not in the way that Lee remembers. He can only think of explosion of emotion and the uncontrollable sprial of feeling that seems to drive the fleet apart more and more each day.
Maybe he's embittered and maybe he's not feeling all that great after his space walk into absolute oblivion, but he's stopped seeing the good in things and stopped looking for beauty in life.
Fireworks no longer mean celebration or life to one Lee Adama, they just mean that somebody gets hurt and it all ends in tears.
Muse : Lee "Apollo" Adama
Fandom : Battlestar Galactica
Word Count : 237
- Current Mood:
cold
Whenever the Cylons attack and the old girl fires them out of launch tubes, Lee finds himself wondering how many he's going to lose and if he'll even make it back alive. He likes to think that they'll all make it, but the truth is: they won't. This is a time of war and in every war there are casualties and losses, faces you'll never get back and decisions you'll always regret.
Some turn to the Gods, others to alcohol and some to each other.
The bulkheads of Galactica are littered with the faces of people loved and lost, some on the colonies and others in the heat of battle. The priests have said their prayers, asked the Lords of Kobol to carry the souls of those lost to the heavens above where they might find peace, Lee speaks no prayers and refuses to have any said for him.
Every day after a briefing the pilots file out and touch the picture up on the wall, a long held belief that it will give them good fortune and send tribute to those that have fallen before them, it's tradition more than anything else; something they all learn. Lee watches and hopes that it's true, that what he was told in flight school isn't a load of bullshit and there's something to it.
There's no way of telling if the Gods exist or if there's something to this supposed life after death, but it seems to give people some peace of mind. Lee isn't so sure and it worries him because he's made friends and started to care about these people under his command, he wants to know if there's some truth to all of this so it isn't so hard to send them to their deaths depending on the outcome of the dog fight.
Who watches out for those who watch out for others?
It's taken Lee a while to realise that it isn't the fabled Gods, the alcohol in their glasses or the warm embrace of somebody's arms, it's the commanding officers who make the decisions and live with the consequences. He spends more time sending thoughts to the stars above for the people under his command than he does for himself, telling them 'good hunting' when he actually means 'come back alive'.
It doesn't matter that nobody and nothing is watching out for him because he's watching out for the people he commands, the people he's responsible for and the same people who put their lives on the line every day for the sake of humanity and this fleet.
He'll keep watching until he's too tired and too old to do anything else.
Muse : Lee "Apollo" Adama
Fandom : Battlestar Galactica
Word Count : 445
- Current Mood:
contemplative
