Wearing paisley boxers, Leoben walks past the hybrid to find his clothing supplies. "The trail of scarlet entwined their legs and lips like an asp. End of line," intones the hybrid.
That's when he knows which pants to wear. "It all makes sense now," he says to himself, smiling. He roots around in the pile until he finds the right shirt and vest. He pulls on the black tee and slips the vest over it. Looking in the mirror, he adjusts his smile from cheerful to worrisome. He smooths down a few stray locks of dark blond hair, wishing the basestar had better hair products. Then he continues his search in the pile of clothing.
"You seek what lies on the surface," says one of his brothers upon entering the room. He's smirking; he's dressed in an orange floral shirt and brown pants.
Another brother walks in, head tilted to the side. "Until you slip below the surface, you will never match the inside to the outside."
"Where are they?" Leoben asks. Two more brothers enter, one with his hands behind his back and an innocent expression on his face.
"Your destiny shouldn't be colored by impulse," says innocent-faced Leoben. "You focus on trivialities. I see the plan. I see your role, and you don't."
"I know my role, and I know what I need."
"Do you? And where do red pants fit into your role?"
"They're part of my larger destiny, to be with Kara Thrace," replies boxer-clad Leoben.
"Kara Thrace has a much bigger destiny than to fall for a machine wearing baggy red pants."
Leoben can feel his face flush. "I was wearing these pants the first time we met. I want to remind her of what I said then."
"How do you know it's your destiny to be with Kara?" asks one Leoben in a taunting voice.
"I've seen it."
"How do you know it was you in the vision? It could have been me." "Or me." "Or me," the chorus echoes around the room.
"I'm a patient man. Just give me the pants."
"These pants?" asks innocent-faced Leoben, revealing the red pants hidden behind his back.
Leoben in the boxers lets out an angry snarl and charges, head-first, toward the Leoben holding the pants. They tussle on the cold basestar floor, surrounded by the other Leobens, who seem vaguely interested in the spectacle. The battle ends when boxer-clad Leoben pushes too hard and breaks the other Leoben's neck. "See you soon," he gasps and lets out a final breath.
"You're going to be in so much trouble when Three finds out," pipes up one of the Leoben crowd.
Leoben leans over and picks up the pants. "It was an accident," he says, hating the whiny tone in his voice. "She doesn't have to know, does she?" Then he looks at the pants. "Frak, there's blood on them now."
A Leoben steps toward him. He lightly touches the sleeve of Leoben's black tee-shirt, eyes dispassionate. "I see a type and shadow here," he murmurs.
"I don't know what you mean," replies Leoben defensively.
Another Leoben (Is that Ragnar-Anchorage Leoben? he wonders. He's such a pain.) says, "Lee Adama wears black tee-shirts."
"A lot," concurs a different Leoben; his Hawaiian shirt is halfway untucked from plaid golf pants.
"So? It's practical."
"I see Kara Thrace and Lee Adama; they're floating downstream while you remain in place."
Leoben glares at all the other Leobens, then starts to put on the red pants. He notices a small tear in the fabric. "Do we know how to sew?" he asks plaintively.
"I see the threads that bind us all together," calmly replies a brother.
"Oh, shut up," says Leoben, and leaves the room.