Sticky Subjects
Sticky Subjects
Summary: Hours in the recovery ward continue after the classified lab explosion. A couple sticky subjects are addressed.
Date: 72 ACH
Related Logs: Boarded
Players:
Reed..Zaharis..Greje..D'Artanion..

Recovery Ward Genesis - Deck 13
72 ACH 23817 Souls


This is a large room holding over twenty bed stations for patients to recover after having treatment severe enough that they cannot immediately return to duty. Each station has various connections for medical equipment, a bed with collapsible railings, fold out table, adjustable positions and a privacy curtain.


Reed comes in from Sickbay.
Reed has arrived.

Reed enters the Ward, rubbing his face, still in off-duties, with his handheld computer in one hand.

Zaharis is awake, as he usually is. Two nurses are wheeling a large cart away from the area of his and Quill's beds, having just finished the long, 3-times-a-day process of cleaning and redressing burns. Two and a half days later everything is swelling badly, a patchwork of discoloured skin that's now begun oozing. Burns are gross. Most of it is hidden under gauze but the amount of white wrapping is somewhat ghastly in and of itself. The CMO is still and quiet, letting the painkillers get their claws back in.

Reed passes the cleaning crew and moves to Rheas bed, moving between hers and Zaharis'. He looks down at her for a moment, smiling gently. He leans over and tenderly kisses her forehead before turning to Zaharis.

Zaharis is tense, breathing quiet and shallow. Drip, drip goes the IV. Someone's feet are next to him and his eyes open. The right one does anyway, the left one is now on strike with swelling covered up with the protective gauze. "You know she hasn't told Reece?"

Reed tilts his head, "About she and I you mean?" He nods, "Yes. She wanted it kept from him. I disagree, but acknowledge that it's both a sticky subject and it's ultimately her choice."

Zaharis' single-eye look is alert, up above any painkiller fog. "Told her to stop it." He smirks. "I get to be less considerate than you."

Reed smiles, nodding, "Suure, the guy in the bed can say whatever he wants." He nods more, "That's the rule. Problem is she's in bed too, though the burns give you the upper hand, so what'd she say?"

Zaharis says, "She agreed. She knows it's been too long. Now it's just becoming deception."

Reed nods, "Yeah, I'll agree with that. I think.. Eve, maybe might be good to councel on this one. She might actually enjoy a problem like this, that doesn't involve the words 'Severe Trauma.'

Zaharis grunts softly. "I guess. Or she could just talk to him. Every conversation that's difficult doesn't require a psychiatrist to script."

Reed tilts his head, "Think she'll understand the mind of a twelve year old boy? How this is going to open a larger world for him, one he's not ready for where his mom's a human being with needs and I'm the one who's some sham trying to pry apart his family?"

"Actually yeah, I think she'll do just fine." Zaharis replies, keeping that eye focused on Reed.

Reed considers, tilting his head, "I'm concerned. I really like Reece, don't want him to become a.. teenager on me." He shrugs, "On me specificly. If he wants to demonize someone, I'm a valid target as soon as he knows."

Zaharis smiles a little. "Yeah, but…he is a teenager. I mean, I don't care how delicately or shrink-wrapped Rhea puts it, it's not going to be all pretty-roses-happy-family. He may not even be the least bit rational about it for a while. But you know what? That's what being a parent is about. It's a trial sometimes, Carter, it really is. You can't dodge every little bit of pre-teen angst. A parent is that person who sticks to it unconditionally, no matter what the lash-out is, no matter…what. You're gonna have to let him be a kid and react as he needs to to put this together, even if it hurts you. It won't last forever, not if you work on it."

Reed nods, then shakes his head, "I know." He says quietly, "I just can't believe that on top of enacting a desperate gamble to find us a new home, now I'm going to have a twelve year old hating my guts because of the woman I love."

"Possibly." Zaharis replies, shifting his head a little on the pillow. "And if he does, both you and Reece have lots of support that's going to be here to help you. Parenthood's not easy. Sucks you get tossed into it like this, but…people have been losing parents and dying and divorcing and remarrying for a gazillion years. The three of you will survive."

Reed sighs, looking at Zaharis, "Wrong choice of words. In two hours, I'm launching Recon to Visser base. I really don't want to talk about survival."

"No, my choice of words was dead on," Zaharis says. "No morbid puns intended there either."

Reed folds his arms, frowning. "Mmm. You get through any of those movies yet?"

Zaharis smiles wryly as Reed changes the subject, but goes along. "Yeah. Thanks for bringing that. Quite possibly the thing saving my sanity."

Reed nods, "Yeah, well, I figured some bad movies and some good ones would help. At least the bad ones will get your mind off the things." He throws up his hand, "Frakit, I can't make useless small talk now."

"You're doing fine," Zaharis' head makes a minute back-and-forth shake on the pillow. "You don't need to avoid stuff with me, you know that."

Reed nods, "Okay, then what's the answer, right now? I've got fourty five minutes till mission prep, eighty to worry about, and every scrap of information is processed, and ready. Nothing to do but hang out here."

Greje comes in from Sickbay.
Greje has arrived.

Zaharis smiles a little. "That's fine. Hang out, then. I need my water bitch, you know." He's lying in bed, Reed sitting between his bed and the sleeping ChEng's. Burns cleaned and re-dressed, now almost all covered under light gauze. Including his face and his swollen left eye, the right one open and focused on Reed.

Reed chuckles slightly, "Yeah, I know." He moves to the bedside, getting a cup of water with a bendy straw, and holds it to where Zaharis can get at it with his lips, "Shut up and suck on this."

Zaharis bursts laughter through his nose. Looks painful. "Frak, ow…why do you hurt me so bad?" He sniffs hard, coughing once before he goes for the straw. Mm straw. Sip.

Reed watches as he sips, "Mmmhmm." He lets him drink, then removes the cup, putting it away. "You know the drill, hurt the ones you love and all that."

Greje steps into the recovery ward after her usual meek and less than certain fashion. She's pretty sure nobody here wants her prayin' at 'em, and the Chief Engineer always seems to bristle when she comes about even in a secular capacity, so she's been keeping some respectful distance, not wanting to disturb the patients. But, spotting the Major, asleep, she slips quietly in, figuing she may as well give her regards to the man of the hour, her nervous expression warming with an unofficial-looking smile as she drifts closer to Jesse and Major Carter.

"Yeah, yeah." Zaharis' mouth curls into a smirk. "That shitty film's spreading like wildfire now, you know. Rhea showed it to Reece. Heard him telling one of the nurses about it. We're all damned." His eye flickers upwards as there's movement over Reed's shoulder. "Sup, chap?"

Reed nods, "The fame of Slab Squatthrust grows." He looks to Greje, "Captain. Hello there."

"Hello, Major Carter, Hello, Jesse," Greje greets brightly, then grins almost playfully at Jesse, "Rumor has it you're a regular hero, Jesse. I thought I'd stop by and start collating cult material." Oh, scripture jokes. Greje really needs to stop thinking they're hilarious. But after she stops being amused at the punnage, her expression tames into something simply congenial, "And, of course, join the throngs in coming to wish you convalescence."

Zaharis smiles at Reed. "Blast Thickneck." He looks back at Greje, blinking, then smirks. "Hero? They're lying to you, chap. Didn't do anything but run." His head barely moves, lifting chin in a vague direction. "Pull up a stool if you want. Carter can show you how to feed and water me for when he has to run off and do more world-saving."

Reed eyes Zaharis, "Nono, I like this, the Cult of Zaharis. It has a ring to it. Practice cane be made by drinking to excess, and smoking heavily." He looks to Greje, "We can place him under Ascelpius. I think this has a future." He looks at Zaharis, "Shaddap while we're immortalizing you."

Greje does pull up a stool, when invited, and sort of perches on it as if she were expecting to have to fly away at any moment. Still, she laughs, a pleasant, light sound. "You can share a cult epithet with Achilles— Pedosochus— the swift of foot," she remarks to Jesse's comment on his running, folding her hands on her lap.

Greje also grins in Reed's direction, "That's one way to ensure a popular cult following."

Zaharis smirks at Reed. He can appreciate the joking but he says with some emphasis, "I don't think so. I didn't do anything." Greje's comment tugs a slight groan from him. "Right, so. Back to other things."

Reed buzzes, and pulls out his handheld, looks at it and sighs, "Okay, that's me. Time to get ready for the Recon briefing." He looks at Greje, and Zaharis, "Captain, don't let him run off and get drunk, hmm?" He smirks and turns, heading out.

Greje smiles warmly at Reed, "I'll do my best, Major," she promises, then, hunching forward casually, arms entwined in one another and fingers knotted together as she leans on one of her knees, "Right, Jesse," she agrees, "So… 'Blast Thickneck?'" she asks, managing to look both dubious and highly amused at once.

"Good luck," Zaharis tells Reed's back, then the eye shifts back to Greje. "Um…there's this movie. Pinnacle of modern cinema as I'm sure you can guess."

Reed moves out, smirking, She's on the road to Punch Rockgroin now. No stopping it.

Reed leaves for Sickbay [o].
Reed has left.

Greje unravels her arms in order to pick up the water cup plus bendy straw Reed left behind, in case Jesse needs watering. "It sounds like a masterpiece, so far," she tells him with a smile, "What's it called?"

"Mutiny in Space. Get Carter to burn you a copy. Everything you need to know about how not to make a flick." Zaharis glances at the cup but doesn't ask for it. He wrinkles his nose against an itch. "So. How's the ship?"

Greje gently offers the cup at the glance, not forcibly moving the straw to his lips, just slowly moving it toward him, then completing the maneuver if he seems receptive to it. She takes a deep breath, "It must be coming up on springtime at home, I'm up to my ears in people coming to me to schedule weddings," she tells him with a smile. "Tonight I'm going to be holding a marathon reading of the Scripture of Rage in the chapel… we'll see if anyone actually comes," she grins.

Zaharis shakes his head slightly at the cup. Not thirsty, just looking. "Heard about a couple weddings. Think it's less 'spring' than 'oh shit, we almost died'."

Greje brings the cup into retreat into a neutral position over her lap, then. "You're right, of course. Usually— that would be the sort of marriage I'd counsel strongly against. Marriages should be a matter of serious consideration, rather than something you jump into because you're… scared… or simply don't want to be alone. But considering the circumstances… there's a real threat that there may not be time left for that sort of consideration. It -changes- things, Jesse," she muses, eyes fixed on some point across the room. "And I'm never sure whether to counsel as if we were going to die tomorrow or to counsel as if we were all going to survive this and live long and healthy lives. On the one hand, if we live as if we're dying tomorrow, it could easily turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy. People will act more carelessly the longer they feel doomed. On the other hand… there really is a good chance that this won't last much longer." Not fatalistic, just realistic.

"Don't think there's a blanket answer to that." Zaharis gently clears his painful throat. "Emotion's an individual thing. But. I mean, even before all this…you never knew if you were going to get hit by a truck tomorrow and die. Get cancer. Have an aneurysm. Mortality isn't something new. Yeah it's in everyone's face now but it's not new."

Greje nods quietly, "It is different for everyone— and in cases of people I know well? It's… well, not easy, but I can get some impression of how matters stand. Dane's getting married, for instance," she relates. "But then there are the people who only ever planned to step foot in a chapel twice in their lives — the 'married and buried' sorts — I don't know these people."

"True. But it's not about you, is it?" Zaharis replies, making a slight shrug with the shoulder that can move. "Maybe they're the type that just doesn't need to go to chapel to be close to the gods. You don't really know…and can't assume. Anyway, it's between them and their own belief."

Greje looks down into the water, "I guess it isn't. It's hard to see it that way, sometimes, though, you know? Sure, I'm not one of the ones getting married, but I'll be the one consecrating that marriage. I feel rather…" she furrows her brow, trying to think of a medical simile. "Like I'm giving someone a pint of blood without cross-matching the blood types. It's not my blood, but if it gets bunged up I'd feel pretty rotten."

Zaharis tilts his head. "You…think someone should have to be religious in order to get married?"

Greje raises both brows, "Oh! No! But I think they should love one another, and not just be getting married out of the force of our present circumstances. Which is something I have trouble judging in people I've only just met, coming into the chapel looking for a quick wedding."

Zaharis nods slightly. "I guess my point is…is it your place to judge whether two people love each other? Whether you know them or not? Only the gods can see into our hearts."

"I can't judge people's hearts, Jesse. But I -have- been trained to look for warning signs, to try to counsel people into making wise decisions. I'd be remiss in my duties to my flock if I didn't… but on the other hand I don't want it to seem as though people need my -approval- or something of the sort," Greje continues, lips drawing together briefly.

Zaharis nods. "I know what you mean. We have issues like that here. Risky procedure to be done, we have to walk a line when we inform people of risks and then turn around and judge if they're making a decision logically or out of fear or for someone else's sake, or…whatever. I mean okay, that's different, but…it's along those lines."

Greje leans forward over her knees as she listens, nodding faintly. "Exactly. That's… yes, that's it," she sighs and sits up near straight again. "Anyhow, I don't need to push my problems on you, Jesse," she chuckles faintly. "That's a good idea, though… just sit them down and let them know my concerns. No pressure one way or the other. Just let them know why I'm worried. Let them think about it a few days… see if it changes anything."

"Yeah. You just got to be careful," Zaharis replies. His left hand, lying across his waist, gently scratches above his hip. "People pick up on cues and judgments, even if they're unsaid. Have to watch out that it doesn't leave the issue of love and become one of whether or not they have the courage to face you."

Greje nods, "Exactly. They can't make it about me," she muses, then smiles, "Fortunately I think I've gotten 'open and accepting' more or less down pat. With… the possible exception of with the Brother," she admits, chuckling. "Pulling my hair out about fundamentalist views of scripture is proving a harder habit to break than I thought."

Zaharis' expression subtly closes into more cautious at the mention of Karan. "How's that?" He asks after a second.

Greje sighs softly, "Well, for starters, the first day he was here I had to spend most of the day telling him that no, in fact, it's NOT a good idea to start a crusade to 'show the light to the heathens,'" she rolls her eyes. Not even a subtle half-roll or a hidden sigh, this is outrigth incredulity. "He doesn't… understand that it's alright for some people NOT to come to rites. Or to choose NOT to live their lives in service to the Lords. And… I get it. That's how he was raised. Those are his opinions, and he's entitled to them." She repeats it like it's a mantra keeping her from strangling him in his sleep. "But he needed to be pretty forcefully told that other people are entitled to theirs, as well. Fortunately he seems to be more or less living by what I told him." She looks up, suddenly ashen-faced, "He -has-, hasn't he?" she looks around, as if nervous, "He hasn't been around bothering people, has he?" she asks, fretful.

Zaharis says, "No." A beat, then he goes on. "Not about religion explicitly, anyway. But I've observed that sort of attitude in how he's handled other things in there on his visits."

Greje looks mildly relieved, then her anxiety level visibly ups itself three more triangles. "Oh, Jesse, I'm so sorry. What's he been making a nuisance of himself about? I'll talk to him again," she promises.

Zaharis' head shakes, only moving a fraction as it rolls on his pillow. "He has some bedside manner issues. Thinks he knows what's best for someone and isn't subtle about it. But I'm not trying to sic you on him. I had a couple words with him…who knows if they sank in but I guess we'll see."

Greje relaxes a little again, and then just nods. "Well, from his point of cultural reference, he -does- know better. He's annointed of the Lords, and where he comes from, most people defer to that as a sign of expertise. He's used to people wanting him to take charge and tell them what to do. I don't guess it's fair for us to want him to change overnight. I think… he's trying. I think. Either that or he's just reigning himself in because I outrank him. I'm still counting the days until he tries to burn me as a heretic and take over the flock, though."

"Whether it's fair or not, this isn't his domain and it hurts patients," Zaharis looks at her with his unbandaged eye. "So yes, I do expect him to either change or he won't be welcome here. He can not-change-overnight somewhere else." His voice isn't harsh, just matter of fact about the issue.

D'Artanion comes in from Sickbay.
D'Artanion has arrived.

Greje nods somberly to the edict. "Of course, Jesse. I'll give him some time to think on what you've said to him. But if he keeps acting up, tell me, and I'll talk to him, sort of… command-ish-ly, I guess," This is Greje, not used to having anyone under her direct command. "Or I'll just arrange our schedule so that visiting sickbay is my task unless someone asks to see him."

Zaharis is, of course, in bed. Freshly cleaned and dressed in gauze, including his blistered face. That left eye that was swelling up yesterday is under bandage now, so he's regarding Greje with just the right. "Sure. If I see anything further I'll talk to you. But anyway. Could I ask you a favour?"

Stepping into the Recovery Ward, D'Artanion moves slowly between the beds. She has a folder tucked beneath one arm and as she reaches each of the patient's beds, she draws it out, flips it open and adds something from it to each of the charts. Occasionally, she pauses to check the comfort of a patient, but this is not one of her checking vitals visits. Her progress is slow enough that she does not yet see the Preacher by Zaharis' bed.

Greje gnaws on her lower lip and nods her head as she frets about her underling. She snaps out of it, though, at the question, "Of course, Jesse, anything. What do you need?"

"Could you catch up to Lieutenant Sloan?" Zaharis asks Greje. "I mean, not in official capacity, just see how she's doing. I don't want to be up in her business but she seemed like she might need to get some things out. You know?"

D'Artanion moves a few beds closer, then a few more. As she draws up to the bed, she glances up and smiles at Greje. Turning, she looks at the chart in the holder at the foot of the bed and adds the sheet from her folder. Zaharis is also given a nod and a smile, though she does not speak to interrupt their conversation. Just doin' her job, seems like.

"Sure, of course… I'll catch her next time I see her, lure her to my office with some tea," Greje agrees. "Thanks for letting me know," she adds, looking up with a brief, "Amalina," of greeting before she looks back to Jesse. "What about you? How are you feeling?" she asks him gently.

Zaharis also glances up, though his one-eyed look at D'artanion is reserved. He looks back at Greje. "About as expected for three days after. Hurts." He gives Greje a wry half-smile.

D'Artanion turns another smile to the woman, "Greje." There is warmth in her tone, though she does not expand on the greeting. Zaharis' look is met, and a flush touches her cheeks while something dies in her gaze. Listening to the reply to Greje's question, she adds a brief note to the man's chart, then nods once to each, "Excuse me." Turning, she moves past the bed and on to the next in line.

Greje returns the smile, trying to keep it subdued, "I can't argue with that. I don't suppose you'd like to hear a Paean," she offers him, obviously expecting a negative answer. Healing hymns probably aren't in the medical textbooks anywhere. "Did you want to talk about what happened at all? It sounds like it must have been terrifying."

"People are sleeping," Zaharis says, in answer to the offer of a Paean. At the other offer his bandaged head makes a slight shake. "No, I…wouldn't know what to say. It happened. I can't sleep worth a crap but I passed psych 101, I know that's normal."

D'Artanion moves on to take care of the rest of the patient's charts. The chart is opened, page inserted, chart closed. If they are awake, she murmurs soft encouragement and moves on. This is repeated until she reaches the back of the room. Once there, she tucks the now-empty folder beneath her arm and sets about filling the washed and steralized water pitchers sitting there.

Greje nods quietly, "Of course. I can barely sleep and I was five decks away at the time. It was really something, wasn't it? I mean… with how fortunate this ship has been, it's almost seemed blessed. A haven from disaster. First the colonies… then the PAS…" she shakes her head, brows lowering. "To suddenly feel the very hull shaking, it was… a real shock to whatever feeling of safety any of us were still feeling. And then, for you and those involved in the conflict on this deck… to see actual Cylons walking our decks," she shakes her head, "I can't imagine it."

Zaharis doesn't say anything for a while, his visible brown eye turning to the bed rail. He clears his throat and looks back at Greje. "The cleanup is always kind of surreal. And I can't even see it all. I mean, beyond the people in here." He turns his attention briefly to Rhea and Quill, and the nameless NPCs also recovering from the explosion and shooting.

[Intercom] Pass the word. Sergeant Hazzard to the Marine Offices. Sergeant Hazzard to the Marine Offices.

Once the pitchers have been filled, D'Artanion begins the walk back through the ward. She double checks the charts for each patient and sets pitchers on the stands of those cleared for liquids. It may seem repetitive, but she wants to be certain that she does not violate orders with who gets what. Once more she approaches Zaharis and Greje. Taking the nearly empty pitcher from his stand, she replaces it with a newly filled one. The used one is set with the other used pitchers on the second level of her cart. That way, she does not mix up the clean and the used. She moves as quietly as she can to keep from intruding too much.

Greje does note the clear shift of discussion from the event itself to the aftermath, "I hear the patching of the hull went smoothly yesterday," she assures him, "The corridor still looks a little… dented," she euphemizes, "But the ship's whole again."

"Wish I could say the same for the ones who serve it," Zaharis purses his lips into a wry smile. "But no human losses, that counts for a lot." He inhales a breath through his nose and exhales it with measured slowness. "Had the chance to talk to Quill yet?" He lifts his chin in the direction of the crispy engineer's bed.

Greje sighs quietly and nods, looking down and, having thus reminded herself she's holding his water, she offers it again. "No, I haven't. I've — honestly I've been trying to stay out of Major Zimmerman's way as much as I can. I know I don't sit well with her, I don't want to make her uncomfortable. And catching him awake is difficult in its own right."

Zaharis considers the water and nods to it, turning his head towards Greje so he can get the straw with his teeth. He takes a careful sip, then a second, and lets the straw go. "Thanks. I know about Rhea, yeah. Can't force people, but…I already know I don't have to tell you that."

D'Artanion makes her way to the end of the row. After changing out the final pitcher, she turns her cart for the exit. Just before leaving, she darts a glance up the row to the bed where Zaharis and Greje converse. The look lingers for a while before dropping once more. Finally, pushing the door open, she takes the cart with it's load of pitchers to be cleaned and steralized out of the recovery ward.

D'Artanion leaves for Sickbay [o].
D'Artanion has left.

Greje keeps the cup steady while he sips, then settles the cup back toward her lap when he's done. "Sure. Yeah. It's one of the reasons I really, -really- dislike the Fundamentalists. People who have had bad experiences with them… they hear the word 'Annointed' and assume you're out to shove religion down their throats… and it… well, there's not much to do about it. If you go and try to explain that that isn't the case…" she glances back toward Rhea with regret in her eyes, "You just make it worse, because it always seems to come across as overbearing."

Zaharis shakes his head slightly, glancing at Rhea's bed and then back at Greje. "You're looking at it wrong, chap. You're making this into you wanting to do good and Rhea not being able to accept it. You've already cast her in the negative. Can't do that."

Greje looks back, "Oh! No, it's not her fault…" she looks thoughtful over Jesse's words, though, rolling them over in her head, "I see what you're saying, though. But I don't think it's her fault. It's a perfectly natural response to being… exposed to that sort of atmosphere. You touch the stove and get burnt… it's not a bad idea to be afraid of the stove, after that."

Zaharis considers her retooling, but the corner of his eye tenses and he shakes his head again. "You're still saying it's her failing that she can't understand what -you- want to do, and what you want to do is right." His voice has a gentle edge. "You've got to let that go."

Greje lowers her head a little bit in an acquiescent half-nod, "What I want to do is right for some people. Not for everyone," she shrugs, "It just hurts a little when I head home to go to bed and I get the distinct impression that she thinks I'm about to bite her." She smiles a little, though, "That's my issue, though, not hers, you're right."

"Get that a lot in this job too. I've been there," Zaharis says, gently shrugging one shoulder. "May not be your fault but you've got to adjust the way you see it, you know? Can't make it about you and your hurt. Or well, you can…but it's private. Don't put it on her in your head. Just be there, doing what you do, and if it comes to pass then it will. Maybe it won't. We never know."

Greje shrugs again, "I'm not out looking for converts," she asserts again. "Just wish there were less tension. But you're right, I'm not doing anything to help the situation tiptoeing around her like she'll explode on me if I come too close."

Zaharis is silent a beat or two. "Do you know exactly why she reacts to you like she does? I mean, not an assumption or a guess…do you really know?"

Greje shakes her head, "No… I presumed a bad experience in the religious sphere — I've seen it too often before — but I've hardly felt in a position to pry."

Zaharis nods. "Well it's not my place to tell you. All I can really say is…you can't break down a wall that you can't see clearly."

Greje considers that a moment, her eyebrows engaging in an anxious kind of dance, rising, then lowering, then furrowing before one of them tries to rise again, the other eye squinting and eyelid twitching a little bit in a hint of an anxious grimace. "Do you think I ought to ask her?" she whispers, "I don't know… That… I don't want to poke randomly at raw wounds," she sounds dubious.

"Don't know. I can't tell you what to do," Zaharis shakes his head on the pillow. "I just know what's true and what's not. Not to say that what's true is always the best option to take…and that's the problem of life, isn't it."

Greje grins at Jesse, looking up at him again, "Oh, Jesse. You're wonderful," she tells him, "It shows a regularly philosophic mind to think that the problem of life is one of the lack of honest interpersonal communication between people when we've got Cylons on the tail of the last remnants of humanity."

Zaharis snorts quietly. "Props. You're getting much better at sarcasm these days."

Greje can't wholly control that grin from moving into a playful sort of smirk. "It isn't my fault the finer points of scripture puns are beyond you," she teases him. "Say, speaking of, did you hear the one about Daedalus and the fried chicken stand?"

"The last time I paid attention to scriptures was the last time someone made me believe it was worth it," Zaharis replies. "And that was a very…very long time ago." His attention flickers towards the ceiling, then goes back to her. "No, what's the one about Daedalus and the fried chicken stand?"

Greje regards Jesse seriously and almost intently, drawing her lips together as if she thinks that if she believes hard enough, this will actually amuse him. "Alright. So Daedalus was standing in line at a fried chicken stand, and behind the counter he hears the teller disparaging Apollo -Musagetes,-" she emphasizes the cult epithet as if to point out that it'll be important later on. "And he finally gets up to the front of the line, and the teller turns to him and says, "What can I get you, sir?" And Daedalus says to the guy, "You cretin! Get me two wings so I can get out of here!""

Zaharis' eyes cross as he grimaces. Or they would seem to, if you could see both eyes. "If ever someone could make Thalia herself weep, chap. It'd be you."

Greje still grins, she herself never quite getting enough of that joke. "Okay, okay, no more scripture jokes. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself laughing." Or grimacing. "I have some secular material prepared, if you'd like to partake," she offers with a raised brow, refreshing the cup with some of the fresh water Amalina left.

Zaharis makes a show of groaning. "No, no more. Torture is against ethics, didn't anyone ever tell you?" He does make a gimpy gimme motion towards the cup though. "What colony did you say you were from?"

Greje holds up the refreshed cup for him to sip as he needs. "I'm from Caprica. Suburbs of Caprica City… about an hour out from downtown," she goes on.

Zaharis gives no indication of why he asked. He just nods. "Saw a picture of that once. Was it nice?"

Greje raises both brows, "Nice?" She pulls the cup back toward her lap once he's done. "It was. Yeah. Only two models of house in any given development… strip malls all along Palladium Avenue. Nothing one would have blinked twice at… but nice. Yeah. All the lawns were very green. Huge fines in your mailbox from the HOA if you let it get brown. Always a park within walking distance for the kids."

Zaharis did drink. His player just forgot to type that part. "So what's with the kicking everyone's ass at basketball and pyramid and all that? College ball?"

"Basketball, pyramid, track, swimming in high school," Greje narrates sort of absently, evidently part there. "I made Pyramid my first year at UC, but after that I just did some intra-mural tournaments. I got into boxing around then. I went to Planetary my junior and senior years." And got fourth place her senior year, but she's not here to blow her own whistle. "I've been more or less a strict spectator since then. I did play in a series of charity pyramid games while I was serving at the Sanctuary of Zeus."

"Basketball, pyramid, track, swimming in high school," Greje narrates sort of absently, evidently part there. "I made Pyramid my first year at UC, but after that I just did some intra-mural tournaments. I got into boxing around then. I went to Planetary my junior and senior years." And got fourth place her senior year, but she's not here to blow her own horn. "I've been more or less a strict spectator since then. I did play in a series of charity pyramid games while I was serving at the Sanctuary of Zeus."

The corner of Zaharis' mouth pulls up in what would probably have been a grin if his face wasn't bandaged up. It comes and goes. "Huh. Don't think I've known a boxer before. Or well I have, but not when they weren't under observation for concussion."

Greje returns the smile, "Just a university-level boxer. Don't put me in a ring with a professional. They're huge and muscly and would break me," she chuckles. "Though I will say that without that training I probably would never have survived becoming an Annointed of Ares."

Zaharis smirks. "Guess not." He exhales, letting his eyes close. "Alright, chap…I'm a bit tired, if you don't mind."

Greje nods gently, not that he can see it. "Of course, Jesse. Any more water before I go?" she asks him.

Zaharis shakes his head. "No thanks, I'm fine. Don't forget about Sloan, please."

"I won't, Jesse," Greje assures him, putting the cup on his bedside table. "Rest well," she tells him, then is silent a long moment, maybe saying a silent prayer for him before she stands up quietly to sneak off.

Zaharis keeps his eyes closed while she sits there, and so they stay as she makes her way off. It's not till a while later that the right eye opens again, looking up at the ceiling. Counting the cracks.

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