Deli was, of course, late to the briefing. She was late to most things, just one of many reasons she'd never bothered following Dacio into the military. Not when smoking barefoot in a Spanish meadow somewhere was so much more...rewarding. Besides, she figured she was only going to enjoy the view for so long. She may as well get her appreciation time in now, while she was still all wide-eyed and innocent.
Innocentish.
Sergeant Larson had already been introduced, and was a few minutes into her pre-icebreaker when Deli squeezed in, selecting a seat off to the side where she could fidget when she got bored, without offending too many of the military personnel in attendance. Not for the first time she thought Dacio would have done well here. But that thought was sort of a bummer, so she quickly moved on to what Sergeant Larson was saying.
Deli had never been a very strong decision maker.
The nausea she'd been staving off for an hour hit her abruptly as the cold reality of what Larson had said sunk in. Objectively, Deli knew probably only a second or so had passed between the Sergeant's admission and her subsequent reassurances, but it felt much, much longer. Ironic, considering the previous three years had passed in the blink of an eye.
It took a long time for the questions asked to reach her ears. Even then, she didn't register them right away. There was, at first, only one question in her mind, repeating itself over and over and over again, rising in pitch to hit high, sharp, painful notes, the heroine of your favorite thrilled edging down a dark hallways as a gleam of silver bobbed behind her, insidious. Psycho, sans the bathroom and the Oedipus complex.
Three women, one man, and a child.
One man, and a child.
One man, and a --
And she'd thought her brothers would be safer off without her. Yeah. Right.
Without a word, Deli leapt lightly to her feet, skirting chairs and legs like Frogger on crack. She looked for a waste basket, couldn't find one, and went for what she sincerely hoped was a Star-Wars-esque trash compacter tucked into a wall. The front panel slid away with a touch, whereupon Deli was visited by the same nausea that had plagued everyone else when they'd first woken. Unsurprising. Deli was late for most things.
Her task done, the young demolitionist made a face and dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. "Guay," she muttered under her breath. Then, louder, green eyes for Abby and Abby alone: "The...murderer. He confessed? He killed five people, attacked a sixth, all on his own, and no one noticed?" Deli tilted her head to the side, still decidedly green. "How do we know it won't happen again?"
In the following silence, an older Korean man at the back of the room, largely unnoticed until then, said, very gently, "Are the victims' next of kin still awake?"
The implicit question was clear in his demeanor: May I speak to them?