Got Faith?
Got Faith?
Summary: Bell and Micah lurk in the back of the chapel, in search of something.
Date: 40 ACH
Related Logs: None

Chapel Genesis - Deck 9

40 ACH 6285 Souls

A simple military Chapel, octagonal in shape and of uniform dark grey hue with slab lighting up above. Four walls of the room have four large steps along them for continuous seating in an angular stadium form, the other side of the room largely devoted to a raised platform with a plain altar of pantheatic consecration. On the Altar are figurines set in their traditional places, of the gods and goddesses, with simple sacrament incense burning in holders on each side of the line of figurines.

-----< Condition Three - Public Area >----
Contents: Adrastos Bell Micah

Exits: [O] Corridor

There's no particular service going on right now but a handful of crewman are gathered in the chapel anyhow. Some praying or making little offerings to the pagan figures. Bell, for her part, is just sitting. Inhaling the scent of incense, being quiet and still.

Make that a handful of crewmen and a young officer. Micah looms in the entryway of the chapel for a few moments, casting his eyes about with a vague sort of repudiation. He seems uncertain as to whether he'll remain, or slink back out again.

Bell is sitting in the back, so she notes Micha's loomy slinking. Blue eyes look back and up and him. "You coming or going, sir?" she asks him in a whisper. Not wanting to disturb whatever other private thoughts the folks in the chapel are having.

Micah's head turns slightly, odd eyes meeting blue in a brief consideration. His flitter away after a beat, and he shuffles out of the doorway. "If I knew, I wouldn't be here," is his muttered reply. Oops, that was probably a little too loud.

Bell's eyes narrow at Micah's funny irises. Those're curious. She doesn't ask about his devotional activities. Her mind has flitted to other things. "How'd you get those?" A finger is gestured at his eyes. "I never met anybody with different colored eyes before."

Micah hunkers down nearby, after some indecisiveness on the matter. He doesn't sit, and he doesn't kneel, but simply crouches. At least this way, he won't be drawing the ire of everyone assembled. "And I never met a Marine I could snap like a twig, either," he whispers back, bristled cheek dimpling in a grin.

Those blue eyes get narrower. Little blue slits of Marine-ness. Bell snorts. "You think so, sir?" She smirks. "You're welcome to try. I practice my Caprican Four-Limb Boxing in the gym every other day. Always looking for a partner." She's still whispering. "I'm Daphne. Well, Private Daphne Bell. Not many people use my first name here. It still feels weird being 'Belled' all the time."

There's a soft guff of laughter from the pilot. His eyes flit away, to study briefly the crewmen up by the devotional, then back to Bell. "Naw. I don't doubt you'd work me over in a boxing match." He's a sturdy kid though, it might take more than a few hits to do it. "Micah St. Germain." He doesn't offer his hand. They're in a chapel, is that kind of thing even proper? "And ah've had these frakked up eyes since I was born. Genetic mutation, I suppose."

"They're not *that* freaky, I guess," Bell says with a little grin. Her eyes go back up to the altars. Pondering. "You pray much?" She adds, "I never really did. My dad used to joke that we were submarine temple-goers. We'd surface for the major holidays, than *sploosh* back down." She makes sploosh sound-effect softly. Out of respect. "It all just seemed like a lot of words and funny smells. Now, though…I dunno…"

Micah doesn't remark further on his eyes, and their freak factor. He keeps his gaze lowered though, not lingering upon the altars for long. "Used to," he answers vaguely. The submarine analogy has him grinning a little, shadows flickering and jumping over both of their faces in the half-dark. "You, uh. Findin' some faith here, then?" It's awkward. Micah's not a talker.

"I dunno," Bell says softly. "Sometimes I feel like I did when I was a kid. When I'd get bored and start fidgeting while the priest was talking. Or sleepy from the incense. I want to believe…it seems to make some people feel better…about everything…"

Micah considers those words for a few moments, head still bowed. Someone watching them might think he was praying, or at least meditating quietly. "Figure people just want somethin' t'believe in. Somethin' t'blame, somethin' t'hope for, that they can't quite.. touch." He runs his tongue consideringly, along the inside of his cheek. "Don't make it meaningful." He begins to push back to his feet.

Bell blinks. Away from the altars and up at Micah. Her blue eyes are wide now. Studying him. "So you don't believe anymore?" she asks, very softly.

Micah doesn't quite meet the Marine's eyes. It's like talking, he's not very good at these things. "Don't know," he mumbles. "Hope you find what you're looking for." He, apparently, hasn't. After lingering a moment, the pilot prowls off for the door.

"Yeah…you too…" Bell murmurs, watching Micah go. Then she goes back to sitting quiet and still.

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