PHD #001: Chapel of Uncertainty
Chapel of Uncertainty
Summary: Last day of Anthesteria - some confused and troubled people come to the Chapel.
Date: 27 Feb 2041 AE
Related Logs: Log Following: Idle Galley Chat
Damon Karthasi Petroski Sitka Stavrian 
Chapel Deck 9 - Battlestar Cerberus

The hatchway opens into a dimly lit corridor, stark grey walls now and again painted with some mural appropriate to the religious season, stretching from floor to ceiling and then sloping down away from the ceiling in two triangular forms that bracket off the tiered seating areas to either side. Straight ahead, in the center of an open space, stands a simple rectangular altar, the emblems of the Lords thereupon arrayed to receive sacrifice in the tall room when the altar isn't decked for some more specific use. Hestia, who is not vouchsafed her own emblem on the altar, is etched in relief on one side of the altar itself, shown tending the hearth in her usual fashion.
In the wall behind the open area are three evenly spaced hatchways which can only be opened and closed from the inside. The small cubicles behind each hatchway are each furnished with a small altar against the back wall, upon which sometimes the dark shape of a sacred object can be discerned even from the tiered seating for visiting on the sacral days. The hatches can be closed to block out profane eyes from rites they were not meant to see. The walls between each little cubicle can be retracted to create a larger space for more well-attended mysteries.

((I am somehow missing a huge chunk of the scene before this. Putting this up for now, since it's what I've got. The rest will be added by someone who has the full log!))

"Sometimes…" Damon echoes vacuously, his expression still faraway even as he looks at Petroski. "I don't know what I thought I'd find here," he admits, trying to keep his voice low. But as always, his voice is not as quiet as the partially-deaf deckhand thinks it is.

It may, or it may not. Mean anything to the Captain. His eyes are hidden beneath dark lashes, his face nigh unreadable as he bends his head for a spoonful of the porridge. A little of it splats back into the bowl, and his teeth clack against the silverware as the stuff's imbibed. Nothing at all is said, throughout.

Stavrian is gone without another word to anyone.

Karthasi takes a deep breath and then swallows, resting a supportive hand on Sitka's shoulder if she'll let him, looking to Jesse as he heads out. "God bless you, Jesse," she tells him, quiet-voiced, as he goes, staying there by the Captain's side for moral support.

"Don't overthink it," Daniel advises Damon. "Just…just." The meal of the dead is finished and his empty bowl's set aside, out of the way, and he too departs. Drinking ban or no, now is a good time to break into his stash of booze.

It isn't polite to speak with one's mouth full, though manners are likely nothing to do with the pilot's silence while he eats. Imagine a child encountering a bowl of mashed bananas for the very first time, and you have the inching on fourty Commander of the Snow Petrels. He dabs the back of his hand against his mouth to wipe off a stray dribble of oatmeal, then licks his knuckles clean. The hand on his shoulder is not refuted. "Would you tell me about this, uh. This next life?" he murmurs quietly, poking at the rest of the porridge.

Damon nods to himself as Petroski stands up and leaves, leaving his immediate vicinity unoccupied. "Can't overthink it," he says to himself. "Just gotta keep moving. Keep doing." He just sits there in silent contemplation, trying to gather his thoughts again. "Just gotta…" With a deep sigh, he rubs his face with his hand, then stands up again.

"The next life of the followers of Demeter?" Greje asks, eyebrows raised a little bit in a pre-emptively apologetic look. "I— I'm sorry, I can't divulge those details to someone who hasn't been initiated. It would profane the Mysteries of the Goddess and bring religious pollution upon both of us. I can tell you about the Stygian realm in general, if you like," she attempts to be helpful, turning, then, to look at Damon as his muttering catches her attention.

And just like that, the spell's broken. It might've been Greje's gentle reminder that he's still uninitiated. Or it might've been the intrusion of someone else nearby. Either way, Sitka attempts to pass the bowl of oatmeal back to the chaplain, and shift to his feet. "Maybe another time. I've got a patrol to make in an hour. Thanks, by the way, Sister." He doesn't quite catch her eye, but he does offer a faint smile as he withdraws.

Damon gets up to leave like the others before him - but as Greje turns and looks at him, he finds himself stopping in place between the aisles. "…Hi," he manages to croak, fingers fidgeting with his trouser pocket lining. It's clear from his visage that he doesn't know who she is at all.

Karthasi takes the bowl onto her lap. "Good luck, Captain," she wishes him. On his patrol? Maybe. "do come by my office, sometime. There will be tea, and we can talk." She stands, then, and looks to Damon, "Hello. I'm Greje Karthasi… your chaplain," she introduces herself. "How may I serve you?"

The offer gets a soft "mmhmm" of acknowledgement from Sitka, which may or may not imply acquiescence. Either way, after a lingering glance that encompasses both Sister and altar, he turns and trudges back down the hall and toward the hatch. His bulky frame is quickly reclaimed by the restless shadows, and a solid thunk echoes shortly after.

"Oh." Blink. "Sir." The nervous fidgeting continues, though to his credit, he manages to keep continuous eye contact with the padre. "I was just, uh, coming out of the galley and saw the…" He gestures to the room. "I thought that there might be… something. Here."

"There is something here. Today's the last day of Anthesteria. Today we eat with Hermes and the spirits of the dead," Greje explains. "Would you like to eat?"

"I… just ate," Damon answers. The words sound so obviously false even to his own ears, and his glum look of guilt is a clear admission of the lie. But his next words are true and earnest: "I think - if you don't mind - I'd like to pray. I don't really know how."

"It's okay, I can help you with that," Greje offers. "To whom would ou like to pray? Or about what?" she asks, trying to get a sense of what the fellow's after, even if he seems a little lost.

"Any God. All the Gods," Damon answers. The man is not a theologist by any means - there's a sense of piety in him by his hushed demeanor in the chapel, but when it comes to the specifics, he appears to be hazy. "Just for… I don't know. An answer. Guidance. Revenge. Solace." He shakes his head, looking down to his boots. "Sounds stupid, I know. It's just - I can't even start to wrap my head around what happened. I lay in my bunk, staring at the ceiling, and I keep seeing Picon. I can't sleep, I can't think, I just keep seeing it over and over and over again."

((Scene fades with Greje praying for Damon, after which he leaves to the Galley.))

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