Heretics and Fundies
Heretics and Fundies
Summary: Sister Greje gets to geek out with Micah over heresies. Doesn't hyperventilate when she sees Dane. Progress!
Date: 55 ACH
Related Logs: None

Greje is in the chapel, just finishing up leading a small group of people in singing Paean Eleven.

Micah lets himself in from the corridor, easy to miss amongst the other worshippers in officer's blues. Though maybe less easy to miss, with a splint taped to his bruised nose. He lurks by the hatch for now, watching Greje.

Greje finishes leading the hymn, and as the people file out from the service they stop, one by one, at the altar to have the priestling sanctify offerings for them. Some of them don't take long, others stop to talk, but everyone's patient as they go through the line, and in a while the altar is well-stocked with offerings and the chapel is mostly empty. Greje gives a soft breath.

Micah isn't, however, the most patient person. He looks a little fidgety while he waits; a little tug's given to the hem of his officer's uniform, a flickered smile as one or two enlisted murmur a 'sir' in passing. And then he's alone, mostly, with the slightly androgynous priestling. Maybe it isn't too late to back out of here completely.

Greje looks up after her brief moment of reflection at the altar, a picture of serenity befitting the environment in the chapel. She makes eye contact with Micah. "How can I help you?" she wonders gently.

Ramiro slips in through the door as people begin to file out. Sharing a few polite nods from some of the regulars that he sees at services, he moves to stand in the back of the room. Offduty, he is unarmed and his right arm is unbandaged in a sling. A painful purple bruise on his right shoulder, he's still sporting his bruises from the fight with Gars. Although he's clean, there are blue-black stains from hydraulic fluid in streaks and spots on his forearms, the sides of his face, and his hands. Keeping his eyes low, he stands alone in the back.

Micah happens to spot Ramiro, and gives him a quick grin of acknowledgement. Then he's making his way toward the front, where Greje is waiting. "I, uh. Ah'm not sure, sir. To be honest." He licks his lips slowly, studying some of the offerings that were left behind at the altar. "Might be in the wrong place."

The offerings are mostly of small pieces of incense, though some have left food items or small trinkets. Someone left a lock of hair. Greje nods her head slowly at Micah's expression of confusion. "It's alright. Everyone's welcome here. You don't need to be religiously minded," she tells him. "Sometimes a quiet place to sit and think can be all you need. Or someone to talk to," she adds, by way of an offer.

Micah furrows his brow a little. He reaches out, but doesn't quite touch a stick of incense. That might be bad mojo. "Naw. Don't need to think about nothin'." He takes a deep breath. This is clearly difficult for him. "Got a confession to make, actually." Hell, it's Micah, he probably has a few.

Ramiro is in the back and too far away to be in hearing distance. Nodding solemly with a look of caged darkness in his eyes, Ramiro turns his eyes to the floor and traces little designs with his eyes. Lowering himself quietly into one of the chairs, he rests his head on his left hand, and closes his eyes in contemplation.

Greje looks up to the back of the room, now, having been aware that the two of them weren't alone, but only now acknowledging it, since the conversation has turned in this direction. She gives Dane a momentary look and then a quiet smile, and, satisfied with the fact that she's pretty sure he can't hear them from back there, she looks back to Micah. "Are you looking for purification from a religious crime?" she wonders, "Or is it just something you need to get off of your chest?" she wonders, "Something you want to make peace with?" Her tone seems to indicate that she supposes it's the latter. But you never know.

Micah swallows again when she mentions religious crimes. His eyes are kept lowered, though his hands clasp again behind his back so as not to fidget with anything. "Ah'm not sure. One or the other, don't rightly know where this falls. Could you.. could I.." He steps in closer, close enough that he could kiss her cheek if he were inclined. "..speak to you alone. Please."

Ramiro, sensing the room go silent, raises his eyes from their lidded gaze to Micah and Greje. Scanning the room with his eyes, he takes a moment to read the body language. Slowly, he rises and moves to the door. Turning the handle, he opens it and closes it silently, stepping outside.

Greje's brows lower faintly, messing with her aura of calm, but she simply nods her head. "We can talk in my office. If you are polluted you shouldn't be near the altar," she tells him, but without her voice growing hostile. A lot of people hold a lot of strange notions of what consitutes a religious crime, but it's better to be on the safe side.

Micah steps away from the altar, and from his close proximity with Greje. He nods once. "Aye, sir." His voice is kept low, despite the fact that the only other person in the room has just vacated it quietly.

Greje isn't hissing at Micah or dousing him in sanctified waters yet. She gestures to the stairs toward the door. "Don't worry. Whatever the matter is, we'll get it sorted out the best we can," she assures him.

Micah lifts his eyes for a moment, expression just a touch pale, maybe even stricken. It's rather too late to back out though, so he soldiers on up those stairs and into the office.


Greje unlocks the office door and squeezes against her desk so that Micah can get by. "Have a seat," she tells him, closing the door after and going to perch on the edge of her desk, folding her hands in her lap.

Micah waits to be let in, and mumbles a soft apology as he brushes past. The chair is sought and claimed with a bit of anxious tension in his shoulders, like he's preparing to bolt from it at any instant. "So. Uhm." He scrapes his fingers through overlong hair, fidgety.

"Take your time. It's alright," Greje tells him, still keeping calm. She moves again to go sit in her chair behind the desk, so that she's not looming over him. She perches there, knees up, then settles down all criss-cross applesauce. "What should I call you?"

Her moving back, giving him some breathing room, seems to relax the young pilot a touch. He still looks fairly wound-up, though. "Ensign St. Germain, sir," is answered mechanically.

Greje ahs softly at the formality, but accepts it. "Alright, Ensign St. Germain. Do you want me to brush you up on crimes of blood guilt and hubris, so that we can see if you're in the clear?" she asks, thinking that he might respond better to some sort of gentle interrogation.

"Lieutenant Karthasi?" It's not clear whether he has a question, or whether he's confirming that's how she'd prefer to be addressed. There's a small nod for her suggestion, hands stilling upon his lap in a tangle of fingers.

Greje nods gently at his nod, then, "Yes, Ensign St. Germain? Did you have a question or… you can call me Greje, if you'd like. Or Sister Karthasi, if it suits you."

Micah chuckles softly, tongue tracing his teeth. "Greje, aye." He gestures to himself. "Micah." It's a little less of a mouthful, anyway. "Please, go ahead."

Greje smiles softly as she gets to a first-name basis. "Alright, Micah. We'll start from the top. Did you kill your mother or your father?" she asks him gently.

Talk about diving in at the deep end. He lifts his chin slightly, but his answer's forthcoming and sincere, "No, sir."

"Your brother or sister? A son or daughter?" Greje continues. Killing, itself, is not on the list. Only killing certain people. Greje seems content to go through the list, not sounding accusing, her voice calm and gentle throughout.

Micah's answers are soft, repetitive: "No, sir," to each. Through force of will, he keeps his eyes on the priestling's.

Greje keeps her eyes on his in return, "Someone with whom you've engaged in acts of xenia?" Xenia— a form of semi-ritualized friendship that binds people together through mutual exchange of hospitality and gifts.

Another 'no, sir'. And then a sudden interjection, the words spilling out before he loses his nerve and takes them back, "Sir, I believe in God." As in, the one God. As in, the Lords of Kobol are bunk. He's visibly trembling.

Greje blinks. "Oh," she replies. "That's interesting," she goes on, and she sounds as if she's really quite interested. She stands and moves to one side, then the other, scanning her bookshelves and drawing out a couple of tomes. "I spent a little time researching that heresy. I think it's got a lot of insights to offer. What about it appeals to you? Remember that religious crimes are crimes of action, not of thought. You're free to believe what you want. Whether you believe in no Lords or one Lord or many of them. I'm not here to look down on you for that." Of course, he might be strung up if he goes to Gemenon, but Greje is neither Gemenese nor fundamentalist.

Micah sinks back into the chair after he's spoken, and he's convinced she's not going to sic any marines on him and have him brigged, and airlocked. It's like a weight's been taken off his shoulders. "They are?" Crimes of action, that is. He watches her move, and pull out books. "Ah've spent a lot of time, thinkin' about it. Here, and back home. I find the mythos fractious, capricious, simplistic." Yes, he just called it a mythos. "I know it's not meant to be taken literally, but I can't even take it figuratively. There isn't no-one out there, watchin' over us. There isn't no-one to blame when things don't go right, and there isn't no-one to save us from our own horseshit. It's just us, out there." His hand's touched over his heart, fingers clutching at the tunic.

"Mhmm," Greje replies easily to his question on religious crimes. "The scriptures -are- very problematic. That's why there are those of us who devote our lives to their study and decipherment. I applaud your actually taking time to think about them. I think that shows a spiritual mind. You use the term mythos— do you know what that means?" she asks him. Again, not aggressive. She actually seems fond of the word, to judge from her reaction.

About as spiritual as an Aerelonian is likely to get, anyway. He fleets a smile at that, and glances back down to the hands in his lap. Maybe he's trying to recall his college days for a moment, the haze before flight school and getting his wings. "A story, that has some kind of meaning for a society, a culture, or a religion," he murmurs. "Some kind of truth. Allegorical, I guess."

Greje smiles. "Its linguistic origins in in the lowing of cattle. Moo-thos, if you will. The idea is that the early bards sang words of nonsense… stories that only barely made sense if you listened to them too closely. But in that nonsense the truth was encoded. A deeper truth than even the bards were aware of. They were tapping into the harmonic thrums of the universe, and had their fingers on the pulse of existance, and elevated the vibrations into language that the people could understand." She smiles while she muses. "A lot of people take it for a derogatory term, nowadays. But I like it."

Micah does, actually, seem nominally interested in what the chaplain has to say. No doubt she sees more than her share of military folk, and non-Gemenese, who are dismissive of such things. But he's ceased his fidgeting and he's listening. "Didn't mean it to be derogatory, sir. Only that.. I don't feel the pulse, like you're talkin' about. I don't understand it. The Lords don't speak to me, they never have." He seems interested, too, in the books she'd been pulling off shelves.

Greje seems to have a whole collection of books on monotheism, it having been a pet interest of hers in seminary. "Did you have any particular questions about parts of the scriptures that don't make sense to you? Or why, if you feel that we're alone out here, do you also believe so strongly in one God? If I can ask."

The smile reappears once more for a fleeting instant, confidence boulstered by their civil conversation. "I think.. it's somethin' inside of us, sir. I don't think it's somethin' we can make offerings to, or appeals, or strike bargains. I believe that God simply… is. And that we find Him, by doin' right by each other. By doin' the best that we can." He leans forward a little, elbows on her desk. "I believe that He is a multifaceted entity. Asclepius heals, Ares destroys, there's a God for each and every whim an' vice that we have, that's what doesn't make sense to me. Amongst.. other things."

Greje hms, and nods, picking one book out of the stack and handing it over. Across the front it reads 'ZEUS: Father of Gods and Men.' "Here's a seminal work on the topic, I think you'll agree with many of the findings. It hypothesizes that there were two forms of the Scriptures, one very early one in which Zeus was a monotheistic figure in the text, and one much later which applied the fractured pieces of Zeus-cult back onto the seminal scriptural texts — The Scriptures of Rage and Homecoming— in the form of other Lords who had originally simply been 'faces' of Zeus. It's a very interesting read— There are a good number of logical fallacies in it, but he raises a LOT of interesting points which are well worth considering. I myself wrote an article elaborating his early identification of Zeus of Dionysus."

Micah lifts his eyes to Greje a moment, and there's a little nod as she speaks. He reaches for the book and slides it closer, flips it open to the first page. It's a good gauge of his interest: if he was merely humouring her, he'd probably crack it open in the middle somewhere. "Can I borrow this?" He ducks his gaze, and turns the page to skim the prologue. "Thank you, for hearin' me out. Ah've been carryin' it around, for so long.."

Greje smiles broadly, "Of course. And if you have any questions while you're reading, please feel free to come and talk to me about it. I don't get many people in here wanting to talk exegesis and heresies with me," she tells him with a cheerful smile, this sort of discussion obviously right up her alley. "And I understand. There are a lot of religious leaders out there with more conservative views than mine. You might have gotten quite a lecture from one of them. Or worse. Have you had problems with the crew on account of your views?" she asks, nodding her head toward him in subtle indication of his broken nose. "If there's anyone you want me to speak to… just say."

Micah nods again slightly, and closes the book. It's drawn atop his lap. "I will. Let you know, if I have any questions." As to trouble with the crew, he answers with a grimace, "I haven't.. exactly.. mentioned this to anyone, yet. Just you, sir." A soft chuckle. "Isn't nothin' to do with the broken nose, I assure you." He's pushing to his feet then, book tucked under one arm as he rises to his full height. "Thank you again, sir."

Greje nods with a gentle smile. "Just be careful with it. It's suddenly not in publication anymore," she adds. "You're welcome, Micah. I just hope it brings you some peace."

"Guard it with my life, sir." She might get the impression he means that, wholeheartedly. There's a salute as he steps back, and then he's turning to make his way out of her office.

Someone is knocking at the door.

You paged Ramiro with 'Come on in.'

Greje is standing with her back to the door, putting away a few books she'd taken out, though she lingers to page through one of them.

The door opens quietly and Dane, who'd been wandering the halls after saying his prayers at the chapel, enters. Having been seated at one of the waiting chairs near the door, he looks rather haggard and tired, but in good spirits. His right arm in a sling, sporting a purple bruise on his shoulder, he still bears some bruising from his fight with Gars. He closes the door behind him and then turns to face her. "I wasn't able to make it to the Chapel after the mission. I hope you didn't stay up too late worrying." He pauses. "Did you have access to hear the mission?"

Greje draws her lips together some as she turns, and nods her head. "I heard about it in the broadest details. I'm glad to see you," she tells him. "Let me get you some tea, you look like you could use it," she adds, and goes to start making some. "How are you doing?"

"Tired…" Dane replies, moving across the floor to her sofa and lowering himself onto it. Like he's had either too much or too little sleep, he sits sideways on it and rests his head on the back, closing his eyes. His left arm, propped up, is used as a pillow. "The broadest details? So you know exactly what happened?"

Greje shakes her head, "The opposite, rather. I know there was a riot, and there are dead to tend to. Someone didn't take kindly to our arrival. There was a bomb," she adds as she continues the soothing process of preparing the tea.

Ramiro cracks an eye open, watching her. He's got blue-black splotches of some sort of chemical that's been washed away but has dyed the skin a little bit. "There are details I can't go into but I can tell you this. Yes, civilians died. I saw the bodies. I helped kill a man to keep the ship from blowing up. I then got trapped outside of the bridge while the viewport cracked and depressurized the room." He closes his eyes. "The black stuff on my skin is hydraulic fluid. The bomb was diffused with less than five seconds on the timer…"

Greje keeps her eyes on the tea for the most part, but once she pours the hot water she looks up and into his eyes. "I can't imagine having to bear the burden you do, Dane." She brings him the tea and perches on her usual corner of desk. "Five seconds. I heard the announcement," she shakes her head. "I felt… sure. So strangely sure that you would be alright. I thought I should be scared, but. Maybe I'm running out of scared," she smiles a little.

"I'm strong…up here…I'm just tired." Dane replies, giving her a dopey little smile. Leaning off of the back of the sofa, he sits up straight to look at her. "Two of my friends almost got sucked out of a two inch partition in the viewport, one of them being one of my snipers." He takes the tea and looks into the water as it slowly steeps. He smiles a little bit, shaking his head at the irony. "I didn't lose control, but I was frantically hacking at the hydraulic lines, enough to wedge the door open. Almost got sucked out myself." He looks up to her, his shaking of his head stopping. "So whatever you're doing via prayer. Please, lords, don't stop."

Greje nods her head gently. "I don't know anyone who isn't tired," she notes, though with a note of sympathy rather than to belittle Dane's own feelings. She listens to his most recent trials with a slow and wonder-filled shake of her head. "I'm just glad things didn't end up worse than they did. Do you know what happened with the civilians?" she wonders quietly.

"Yeah…I do…" Ramiro says, looking up to her with a serious gaze. He shakes his head again at a series of bitter thoughts and sneers a little. "I was part of the team that went to respond to that incident." He gives her an apologetic look. "Not cleared for details, but did you by any chance notice or hear that the marines are not allowed sidearms right now?" He says. Perhaps she'll draw the conclusion. He sips his tea quietly.

"… Ah," Greje replies, simply, looking down a few degreees toward her lap, but otherwise not commenting, leaving it quiet for the moment. "Are you in trouble?"

"Not me…no. The fight with Gars is really the only bit of bad behavior I've ever had." Ramiro replies, giving her a little smile. He looks like he's been through hades, but spirits are high in some part of his soul. "So I've been keeping my nose clean. I follow orders, don't deviate. I'm clean…" He sips the tea again, setting the mug aside. "But no. Not me."

Greje nods slowly, as if she thought that was likely the case. "I suppose I'll find the rest out soon enough," she adds. "I'm glad you're alright, Dane. You look well— bloodied but unbowed, as they say."

"Oh I know all of it. I know too much to be honest." Dane replies, looking to her. "There's a good few things inside of me ready to burst…to be fair." He gives her a slowly forming, broad smile. "Bloodied but unbowed huh? I like that…I do." He pauses. "I'm glad to be alive. I'm lucky I didn't get hurt worse." He motions to his arm in the sling. "It's just sore. Something crashed into my back with the wind from the vaccuum, that and hanging on. Stretched it."

"But you're not allowed to talk about it, yet," Greje points out. "I'll find out in time. I'm glad you're alive, too. It's just like I said. I didn't ever really figure you wouldn't be okay. Would you like me to sing you a healing Paean?" she wonders quietly.

"You really don't worry about me?" Ramiro gives her a sly look, reaching out to his mug, sipping it quietly. "Not that I want you to. I like that you don't." He pauses. "Let me ask you this and after you answer you can sing me a Paean or whatever your heart desires. I'm here to spend time with you till one of us get pulled away on business or the welcome gets overstayed." He pauses, looking to her from the loveseat. "When do you worry about me?"

Greje smiles quietly. "You know what I mean. You're a good man. You live as a good man, and when it's your time to die, you'll die as a good man, and one to leave nothing but praise on the tongues of men. You can't really ask more than that. So there's no use worrying, is there?"

Ramiro closes his eyes for a moment and then slowly starts to nod. He smiles quietly. "I guess there isn't." He lifts his head, finding her eyes and forgetting the tea for a moment. Unable to really find anything to say, he merely gazes at her for a long moment before looking away and running a hand through his hair.

Greje looks back, keeping that quiet moment before her warm smile slowly fades. "Did you want to talk about… what happened before?" she asks him rather out of the blue, and with surprising steadiness as contrasted to her earlier hyperventilation. She keeps her professional posture, likely as not simply leaning on the backbone of her position as Chaplain to keep her calm and steady. Like the serenity of the Chapel is still infusing her.

"If you'd like to." Ramiro replies, reaching out for his mug with his left hand. Taking it up, he sips again. Wincing a little as his shoulder is strained just a little, he doesn't grunt. It's only a small matter of annoyance. Finding her face again with his eyes, he takes a moment to choose his words. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm comfortable around you, I really am. I remember when we first met I thought…maybe I should have been a chaplain." He smiles. "In alot of ways, I think as long as I know you'll be here to light incense for me and care for me…" He looks to the side, a contemplative look on his face. "…I think I'll never break inside." He looks back to her.

"It's not your fault, Dane," Greje replies. "These things happen," she notes with a smile, "Aphrodite will always have her sway, after all." Then, more serious, "And I'm glad you feel that way. I believe in you, Dane. Your faith is always an inspiration, and I'm glad that I can help facilitate your path with the Lords."

"It's not just that though…" He replies, shaking his head and taking a casual tone after a sip of his tea. "…you don't just facilitate my path. You're my friend, my advisor, you're alot of things and I think it would be pure insanity to say that spiritually at least right now our destinies are somewhat bound." Ramiro pauses. "So please don't think that I'd ever cheapen our relationship. You mean alot to me, Greje, and not in the manner of what you provide me. I'll admit, you're a beacon of strength that I draw off of and I hope that I do the same for you." He scratches the back of his neck. "So what happened the other day, I…just want to make sure there's no respect lost.

Greje nods gently. "Of course not, Dane. Of course not. I'm not… in retrospect, at least, I'm not too surprised. We've been very close in a very difficult circumstance. Gods, Dane, you helped me through the High Rites of Apollo. It's little wonder that I've come to care for you a great deal. But I don't think you need me to tell you why it's just… well, why it's not a good idea."

"It's as simple as that, isn't it." Dane replies, looking to her quietly. "I'm enlisted and you're an officer. If you were removed from your position, our ship wouldn't have a chaplain anymore and you wouldn't be able to provide for the crew." Dane replies, watching her quietly. "I would never, ever do that to you."

Greje nods, "Simple as that," she affirms. "I'm glad you understand." She looks to the door briefly, then smiles. "But I'm still going to hold you to that leave, sometime. I'm going to be going over to the Destiny soon, but that's on business, of course. When do you have leave again?"

Dane's being a good sport about it. It might even be genuine. "I understand." He says as something about mentioning the Destiny makes Ramiro go pale. He looks to her as if the she has a ghost standing right behind her. He swallows. "Please…if and when you go to the Destiny. Take me with you. I'll dress civilian and stay out of your way, but please…take me with you." He says, standing and looking to her. "I want you to promise me this."

Greje lowers her brows and scans Dane's face for a moment. "There's a temple on board, staffed by two priests I'll be meeting with. I suppose if you want to come… assuming you have time away from your duties," she adds.

Dane gives her a serious look. "Frak…" he says under his breath, looking away. It's as if he's hit a social wall. "Yes…yes." He looks to her. "I do want to come and I think that it would be best if you had a good, strong marine with you just in case anyone over there is still upset about the fire incident."

Greje buys that. "Oh. Yes, I see. I didn't think it was still volatile. Don't we have crews working repairs over there? Well, maybe I'll put on my robes before I go over."

Ramiro lets out a relieved sigh, moving to sit back down on the loveseat. He picks up the mug and downs it, emptying the cup before he speaks again. "Just don't tell them I'm a marine." He smiles weakly, staring at the wall. He lets out a sigh.

"You don't have anything to be ashamed of, Dane," Greje reminds him, then asks, "Do you?"

"No…I don't." He replies, looking to her sidelong through a lock of his hair. He runs a hand through his hair, looking away again with a little bit of a shameful look in his eyes. Looking to the floor, he takes a deep breath and grits his teeth. "Just want to make sure you're protected."

"I know, Dane," Greje replies. "I don't like leaving this ship, either. The chapel, the crew. But this is important. From what I hear, the priests there are… just as tired and worn-out as I am. And as for me, it'll be a rare treat to see a temple again," she smiles vaguely. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing…nothing's wrong." Ramiro replies probably a little too quickly with a shake of his head. He swallows, daring a glance at her for a moment. His brow lowers and he shakes his head a little more, leaning back on the sofa and avoiding her gaze. He shrugs. "We have a deal though. You're taking me with you. Right?"

Greje lowers her chin and meets his glance, brief as it is, with a sort of incredulous 'come on, now' stare. She stands up, steps a half-step forward, turns and sits on the other loveseat cushion, keeping her hands on her lap and a respectable distance between them. "Dane… talk to me? What's the matter?"

"Something that I've told you in the process of this conversation is a lie." Ramiro says slowly, turning his head to look at her. "I just feel bad about it. That's all." He admits, trying to brush off the subject. He turns to face her, lowering his voice. He's far from frantic or spooked anymore, he's in guard mode. "Greje. I'm sorry. I told you a lie and I feel bad about it, but I can't tell you what I lied about. But I still need you to promise me that you won't go over there without me."

Greje lowers both brows, more concerned than angry. "I see. Alright, well, I don't want you to get in trouble. If you're not allowed to tell me, you're not allowed to tell me. You could have told me that right off the bat. I'd understand. You don't need to make things up to me. You can come as long as you have the time away from your duties, and won't be shirking sleep or other necessities," she stipulates.

Dane stares into her eyes for a long moment before his face changes from a lack of expression. A small frown tugs at the side of his lip. He opens his mouth as if to say something, stops himself, and then nods. His eyes don't leave hers. He reaches out with his left hand and takes her right hand in his. "I don't know how else to say this…" He starts quietly, swallowing. "…it's not stress, delusion, or trauma of some sort. It's a gut feeling, no…it's more than a gut feeling. Something is wrong in a way that I can't explain." He pauses, flattening his lips in a frown. "You have to be careful over there."

Greje squeezes his hand when he takes hers, but it manages to be a friendly, comforting gesture without any of the tension of the other day. She lifts her other hand to pat on the top of his hand, as well. "We'll be careful. I trust your instincts, Dane. And I trust you."

"Good…because it's my job to be in the harm's way." Ramiro replies, watching her closely. "Not yours." He smiles, a little protectiveness coming out. "Not that there's any sort of imminent danger that I'm aware of." He says, being rather vague. "I don't know how long leave is cancelled for, or if it's going to get worse after this latest incident. If I can't go, please give me some forward notice so I can con someone into taking their leave to go over there with you." He smiles, giving her a sly look and a little chuckle. "This has got to seem so creepy."

Greje shakes her head. "I've seen creepier things the last few months," she remarks softly. "I'll be leaving in a few hours. I don't know how long I'll take. But I'm hoping not to be away long."

"A few hours?" Ramiro blinks, squeezing her hand. "Can you…I don't know…postpone it?" He asks, mouthing the word 'frak' as looks to the wall, trying to think. "I've got leave cancelled for at least until the end of the week because of our PT initiative." He says, looking back to her, a little smile. "Now here's me worrying about you…"

Greje shakes her head, "Not 'til then," she says. "I wouldn't keep them waiting that long." She pauses. "What if we go now? You were planning on staying here to talk, in any case… or is it that you're not allowed to leave the ship?" she makes another guess.

"I've got to report ASAP for psych eval." Ramiro replies, giving her a reassuring look. "They're making all of us marines go through psych eval and hand over our sidearms." He turns to her quietly, speaking softly with her. "I can't go. You just get back over here when you're done then, allright?." He pauses, looking to her face, going silent.

Greje nods quietly. "Alright. I will. Try not to worry, too much. I know you do. But try, in any case," she tells him gently.

Ramiro locks eyes with her and nods slowly. "Okay. You will. I believe you." He says reassuringly. One way or another, something's spooked him. He goes silent for a long uncomfortable moment before looking away. "Should I let you be so that you can pack?"

Greje nods again, "I'll go get changed and then check on the chapel one more time before I go," she takes a deep breath. "And I'll bring wine for the altars." This is a special occasion, after all. "It's got three," she remarks— it's not uncommon for temples to have a triple dedication to a set of Gods. "Aurora, Aphrodite, Poseidon. I'll say a prayer for you while I'm there," she offers.

"When I am free to go…perhaps you'll show them to me." Ramiro says, standing slowly and looking down to her. Letting out a slow sigh, he takes their mugs and moves to set them over where she usually does. Squeezing through the gap between the sofa and the desk, his back is turned to her, cleaning in silence.

"Of course I will," Greje replies. "Maybe we'll take leave there, instead of on the Carina. Take a pilgrimage, of sorts. She pauses as if she wonders whether the next thing out of her mouth will lighten the mood or just make things worse, before she just smiles and hopes it'll do the former, "We can ask the Laughter-Loving goddess to be kind to us and let us off her hook, this time."

Setting the mugs down, Ramiro smiles, nodding quietly. "I'd like that. I haven't gone on a spiritual pilgrimage since I was in high school." He says quietly, turning to look at her as he leans against the table where she makes the tea. "This time…" He huffs, smiling inwardly and looking to the floor, looking back to her face. "I'd like that alot. I really would." He goes silent.

Greje smiles almost sedately as she watches him behind her desk, thinking it a strange but oddly fitting sight. "I still haven't gotten over to the Carina to survey it— that's the other thing I need to do over there. I asked the Commander if I might see about establishing a religious precinct there, with a temple or a shrine, since there isn't one."

Ramiro rounds around the desk to the side, folding his arm across his chest, looping his fingers in the shoulder strap of the sling to watch her. "Well first I'd like to go on this pilgrimage. The Carina's a pretty good place, I haven't seen you there since the day that you asked me to assist you in the ritual. You didn't seem too interested in the place at the time." He adds, turning slowly, a dark look still in his eyes as he slowly walks towards the door, his back to her as he slowly strolls. "We could get lunch at the Panther on the Carina, if you don't mind sports bars."

Greje laughs. "I was three days into ritual purity and off my head on Chamalla," she points out. "I was only there because I heard you'd gone over. If I'd been thinking straight I would have just waited for you to get back. I love Pyramid. Did Amalina recruit you for our team?" she asks.

"No..she didn't. Not yet." Ramiro smiles, looking back to her as he stops and leans against the door. "On Colonial day, myself and Micah teamed up with a pro against a few other pros. It came down to the wire. Three to two. I had two assists and a handful of good defensive plays." He beams, trying to fight through his dark mood with a good memory. "You would have loved it. You should have come. I was hoping that you'd be there."

Greje looks down. "I should have come," she agrees. "I'm sorry I missed seeing you play. We'll have to get a game together in the gymnasium," she decides. "Or we can wait until we go over to the Carina. I haven't seen a proper court in person in ages. But I used to go all the time when I was in Seminary. I'd travel all the way from Delphi to Caprica City every week for a chance to watch."

"It's okay…there will be other times." Ramiro smiles, looking to the floor. "I had fun in the game, I noticed a few people in the crowd that I hoped would show up." He smiles. "Sage Gionis was one of the players, you know, the famous player from the Aces? She met up with me in a bar later on and told me that I probably could have gone pro, if you'll believe that." Ramiro smiles, lifting his eyes to her. "Greje?" He asks, watching her. "Even after yesterday, please, don't be afraid to talk to me if you're getting burdened or whatever. I consider us friends, Frat rules be damned."

Greje's eyebrows bump upward, "Sage Gionis, really?" she asks. "Well, she certainly knows her way around a court. You must be very good. And of course I consider us friends, Dane. And I don't see a problem with it. After all, the problems that the fraternization rules are trying to avoid are… simply impossible between us. I don't have any real power in this chain of command. I can't arrange for you to be on or off duty for any given mission. I can't put you in for a promotion or reprimand you. But still, these rules are in place for reasons of keeping good order, and we'd best tend to them. Remember that our ability to govern ourselves with justice is a gift from the Lords— by obeying mortal laws we're honoring -them,- as well."

"Oh I know…I meant the friends thing…" Ramiro replies with a broad smile, shaking his head. "I know you wouldn't give me any sort of preference and I wouldn't want you to anyway. I was just saying…you know…frat rules would probably lift an eyebrow at being friends. It's not against the rules." He shrugs. Extending his left arm, he looks at the timepiece around his wrist. "I should get going." He pauses, looking to her again. "Greje, if you get a bad feeling over there, simply walk away. I know you're bound by your faith and responsibility but those don't require time frame. If you get a bad feeling…get back over here." He pauses, reaching for the handle to the door.

Greje nods. "I will. I promise," she adds, a certain weight to those words that don't come across when just anybody says them, emphasized with a subtle but powerful inclination of her head. She stands, herself, then. "Good luck at your review. I'll see you when I get back. I can come visit you in your berthings, if you invite me in formally. I'm not allowed to wander freely distruibuting comfort and advice anymore," she smiles.

"Someone left me a present…a carved effigy of Apollo." Ramiro replies, looking to her. "Why don't you come on by. I'll submit an invitation at the office formally, you could come by and see it. I'm too afraid to move it. The psych eval I'm not worried about one bit." He chuckles. "You…didn't leave that did you?"

"It wasn't me," Greje replies, though her eyes sparkle as though she might know something about it, anyhow. "And I think a verbal invitation will be enough. I'm just not meant to knock at random, that's all. It's fair enough," she adds. "I wouldn't want to make a nuisance of myself. I'll come and see it when I get back," she agrees.

"Allright. I'll make sure the guys aren't doing anything crazy." Ramiro says, the worry still in his eyes, but he's lying through his body language. He turns the handle of the door and opens it, smiling to her. "I'll see you then, Greje."

Greje nods, and actually goes to follow him out, "See you then," she turns the corner in what used to be the other Chaplain's office before he passed. She still hovers a little strangely on that threshold, and has completely forbidden herself to move into that office despite it being much roomier. She uses it for storage, instead, keeping the ritual objects and garb under lock and key— as well as the collection of non-perishable items left on the altar as offerings, which get moved here after the altar gets too crowded.

Ramiro, stepping into the main offices, turns and heads towards the door towards the hallway. His destination already known to her…the psychiatry office. Looking over his shoulder at her once, he disappears into the hallway and back into the ship.

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