| Meet Adoration to my Household Gods |
| Summary: | Quinn comes for the tea, stays for the sermon. |
| Date: | Feb 19, 2041 |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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Quinn stops, hesitating just a moment on the edge of the hatch. She's surprised by the priestess, turning back to look at her. "For…. for me?" Maybe the younger woman was speaking to her boss and not herself. Surely she was. Quinn doesn't do anything religious, why would she have something religious waiting for her. Still, she lingers there. Was she brought here for a reason?
"Yes, come in, do make yourelf at home," Greje continues, scooting around the corners of her desk and behding at the waist over on the other side of it, taking up a mug and dropping a teabag into it, filling it with already-hot water from her electric kettle. "Cup of tea," she explains. "Come and drink," she smiles. "Tell me what's on your mind."
Quinn smirks, just a little bit, as she hears that something is -tea-. "Like my grandmother…" Maggie mutters, shaking her head slowly to the kind, younger woman. She does come in, though, here now and the action from outside the office has died down again. It felt like they were alone. She crosses a bit closer, trying to hide the fact that she's actually a bit nervous. At least this place is less intimidating than the chapel. After another hesitant moment, she finally selects one of the chairs, folding into it quietly. "Not… not much on my mind… really…" See through lies are permitted, right?
"Close the door, if you'd like," Greje suggests as she slowly picks her way around to the front of her desk again, positioning herself in the two feet between the corner of her desk and the front of the couch and perching there, tea ready and waiting to be handed off. "Alright," she assents to the lie with a quiet smile. "Well, did you ever find whomever you were looking for in the chapel?"
Quinn furrows her brow a moment, giving a faint, half laugh. "Maybe… It's… strange." She does stand up, reshutting the door, making certain it's secure this time, though she doesn't actually allow herself to lock it. She settles it into place and then turns back to the woman and that chair she had chosen earlier. "And you? Is everything settled in for…whatever you were preparing?" She inquires politely, earnest interest in her voice even if she doesn't have the faintest clue.
Karthasi clears her throat. "We have several items up in the air right now. Planning for Anthesteria. Waiting for word back from Delphi on the foul auspices under which our ship took launch. Planning a day of gratitude for Aphrodite. Planning a discussion circle on theories of monotheism. We've got our plates full here," she goes on casually, showing a little bit of the banal, bureucratic side of the department. "You might have found someone, but you're not sure? That… certainly sounds strange."
Quinn finally just comes out with it, her head tilting a touch to the side…"How much do you know of… Castor and Pollux?" Her eyes snap up from the tea in her hand to actually meet the woman's face, as she dares to broach the subject on those two warrior brothers.
Karthasi doesn't seem phased by the subject of the Gemini, instead simply interlacing her fingers together and tipping her chin down a little to begin to enumerate what she knows, "Brothers to Helen and Clytemnestra, born to Leda after her rape by Zeus in the form of a swan. Castor was born immortal while Pollux was born mortal. They adventured together with Jason on the first sea voyage. When Pollux died, Castor gave up half his immortality that they might trade places every year in the underworld and in heaven. Unity in balance. Oneness in opposites. Their hero-cult is incolated mainly in agricultural communities."
Quinn seems a hint surprised, getting the whole story in, oddly, such a clinical way. She'd heard the tales before, though something she hadn't really considered since she was a little, little girl. A faint smile of nostalgia crosses her pale, freckled features as she remembers the sort, her grandmother's voice echoing in her head for a few heartbeats. "Yeah… I guess I… remember that." She admits, looking behind her again. After a hesitant moment, she gazes back to the Priest. "Everything here is… confidential, right?"
"Of course," Greje replies quietly. "Please, feel free to say anything you will to me," she offers, not moving from her sort of casual perch on the edge of her desk, though her head tilts just a little by way of non-verbal invitation.
Quinn is quiet a moment, scooping up that tea offered to her. She takes a good sip of it, trying to let the stuff relax her as she considers how to phrase any of this. "I'm not from Caprica…" Though her accent really is damn near perfect, only a touch of that non-Caprican lilt coming out when she talks very soft. "…I'm from Aerilon. We… my family… we worshipped Castor and Pollux. Or my grandmother did… "
Karthasi stares straight at Quinn as she admits to being of Aerilon. Confused, perhaps. Mind winding over the information even as Quinn goes on to talk about her family's religious tendencies, trying to catch up with reality as it spins just a little. "Why is it that you pretend to be of Caprica?" she wonders, gently, once there's a pause. "If you don't mind my asking you…"
Quinn shakes her head quietly, understanding crossing her face. For the few that know, it's pretty much the first question that is -always- asked. "People don't like to be under the command of someone they don't… Respect. I spent my first two years at the academy mocked, disregarded, teased… and nearly bullied straight out because I was from some backwater province so north on Aerilon that I didn't even know what a Mark II Viper was… much less a Mark IV. There isn't a confidence in someone who hasn't… been a part of this world… their whole lives. So… I remade myself. Into what a commander should be. When people hear that voice, think of that person, they see someone they look up to. Someone they want to be. Someone they'll strive for. Not some poor… farmer who doesn't know a back hoe from a DRADIS dish."
Karthasi listens cautiously, as if fretful she might miss something, watching Quinn's features as she speaks. "I see," she begins, her own Caprican accent brisk and professional. "So… instead of having confidence in yourself, you made up a persona in whose whoes you would become more confident," she summarizes back to the woman. "Perhaps, after all, the respect that you should worry about gaining, now… is your own," she offers up, hands still folded together.
Quinn frowns, not ever really having been called on the carpet about it like that before. She doesn't know what to say, really. She slowly sets her tea down, just knotting her fingertips within her lap, a line of tension running across the span of her shoulders now. She exhales slowly through her nose. "Maybe you're right, but what's passed is passed. This is who I am. My squadron respects me for it. I give commands and people jump. It keeps them alive out there, following an order without a moment's hesitation. I won't risk that."
"You think that that would change if you allowed yourself to claim your true heritage?" Greje asks quietly. "That your accomplishments, your abilities would suddenly go for nothing?" There's a dubious tone there, but a warm one, encouraging, beneath the short Caprican tones. The chaplain leans forward a little bit, lifting both hands, cradling the back of one into the palm of the other, rubbing there. "Denial of self is of a course with destruction of self, Captain. It damages the mind… and the soul, if you believe in such things. It's not too late to embrace yourself for who you are… to give -that person- the credit for all you've done. Not to some… upper-crust construct you believe deserves it more than you. To give credit to your family… for its influence in raising you… to your grandmother… to your home colony, for the cultural values it instilled in you. To show the world that… women of Aerilon -do- deserve respect, admiration, and confidence."
Quinn looks a hint skeptical. This was not the conversation she came here to have. But then, maybe that was the gods' plans. She still frowns, not certain how to respond. The confidence simply isn't there. A lot of damage too many years ago, ingrained in her for half a life time now. It's enough to permanently instill some very deep wounds. "I don't know, sister. Then, at best, my crew things I'm a liar. At worst they all just think I'm crazy. I think I've made this bed. I'm going to lie in it…" Probably until the day she dies. Or so it feels. But Karthasi has managed to instill a good bit of shame in her about it all.
Karthasi listens, straightening just a little again, pale green eyes registering something like sorrow. "Of course. If you don't respect yourself, how can you ever believe that anybody else would?" she asks, the question rhetorical, spoken in a low tone that breaks through the clipped tones of her usual speech into something more mellifluous, if no less Caprican, a museful utterance as she takes in the woman before her. "But know this— that you do yourself an injustice. In reinforcing this stereotype, you disrespect yourself… your family… and your heritage," harsh words, spoken gently. "I pray that you will find the strength to love and admire yourself before it is too late," she finishes up, a finality to the words to indicate that she's not going to push the matter, having given her advice, and that the ball is now in Quinn's court, to ask for further help, or not. She takes a deep breath, and begins again, "Your grandmother worshipped the Dioskouroi." Beginning again, at the beginning.
Wow. She just got -told- by a priestess. Maggie isn't certain what to say. She watches Karthasi with quiet, muddy green eyes, definitely feeling that shame a bit sharper than she has in a long time, and now for entirely different reasons. She doesn't take up her tea again, any sort of appetite lost for the moment, a frown crossing her at her pale lips. "Yes… it… It seems… trivial now. Not a matter. I just… I should work on getting an altar…if possible. To honour her. And them."
"Yes," Greje replies, "Of course. We have sacred images of the Dioskouroi in Ecclesiastical storage. I will clear one of the inner chambers for you and install the Lords upon the altar to receive worship. First thing next shift, if that's soon enough?" she asks, going around behind her desk to pencil it in on her schedule. She looks up again. "It's a good first step, Captain, re-connecting with your ancestral gods. You're quite lucky in that regard… both of my parents came from heavily secular families. I have no tradition, no… Gods to call to me in my blood," she opens up a little, knowing it's hard to be the only one laid bare in a conversation like this. "Begin here… find them again, let them give you the strength to be who you are, and the faith to trust that you can be that person." She smiles a little, then, the gesture brightening with levity, "After all, if you ignore them for too long, they might come along to find -you- instead." And wouldn't that be funny?
Quinn doesn't exactly -twitch- when the woman mentions the dieties might come along and find her instead, but it's close to that. If Karthasi is good at reading people at all, that's almost a guilty look? But a nervous one. This all was a bit more overwhelming than she'd care to admit. She nods almost immediately, "That…that is more than fast enough. I mean, you didn't have to do it today. Just… just sometime… in the future, you know. It would be good to get back to them…if just for Grandma's sake… And trust me. It's good to make your own choices, sister. It's not really… comfortable… when your gods come calling."
Karthasi was joking, for the most part, and so she misses the twitch, being not entirely the most observant of people. "We'll start next shift. I'll have to take it down soon for the Anthesteria, but— you'll have a couple of days to go and visit," she points out, putting aside her pencil and looking over her handwriting with a prim satisfaction. "The inner chamber doors shut and lock from the inside if you desire privacy," she adds, by way of a side note, before she looks up. "If you say so. I wouldn't know, myself," she lowers her voice to something near a whisper, there, and there's something wistful in that smile sitting there so properly on her face. So long in the priesthood without ever feeling the call of any God? It must be a disheartening thing, some days. But she has her books, and her poetry to protect her, as they say. She seems to be looking for them about as hard as she can.
Quinn gives a faint, thankful smile. "That will do just… just fine. I owe you, sister. If you need anything… You know you can ask, yes?" And, for just a few moments, she drops the accent. It's the least she can do for the woman, give her the full respect of just being herself, even for just a few moments. Without that clipped Caprican, her voice is low, lilting and heavy with the provinical tones of the northern Aerilon planes and rolling hills. Fae land, farm land… potato eaters. The sort of voice that recalls an entirely other time and place..
"Euxenoi amen," Greje intones quietly in acceptance of Quinn's offer, quite literally binding them together with the blessing of xenia — the sacred bond that is formed between people when one of them invites them in and gives them food, drink, or other comfort. It's an old tradition, perhaps the oldest of traditions, and is still practiced in parts of the worlds by religious sorts, though respect for guests and hosts is generally practiced on a secular level Colonies-wide. Being almost the foundation on which all religion is based, it has permeated many aspects of Colonial culture, but this? This is the real thing. Consecrated by a priest and all. The dropping of the accent makes a little bit of life come back into her pallid smile.
Quinn looks up at those words, things she's heard used for all of her life and yet never actually felt before. She gives a faint smile, "Thank you, sister…" Her fingertips reach up, squeezing the woman's hands tight but tender, as long as the priestess permits. Her accent remains, not daring to pick up that false face again, not staring at the woman who has been the most honest with her of anyone she's seen in years. "The Gemini will look kindly upon you… I hope, at least. They are not bad boys, perhaps… in this time, you can get to know them as well." The maybe the Priestess will start seeing men and horses in corridors instead of the pilot!
Karthasi takes Quinn's hands with the tender press of a bloodsister or a xenos. "Anytime you need me, you come by, alright? If you want to talk. Or if you just want a cup of tea and to listen to some music. There is -always- tea here. And don't you go running away each time I see you," she adds with a muted playfulness. "Thank you. May they greet you with glad hands, as well, when you come to them. And give you the strength you seek." A little squeeze.
Quinn squeezes the woman's palms gently, warmly, not certain entirely about this bloodsister thing, but it felt good to have something close to family on the ship. She stands up slowly then, looking just a hint more relaxed than when she first came in here. She gives a soft, apologetic sort of smile. "I didn't mean to bother you too much… but thank you. It helped. And I mean it… you can come to me too. I'm not a priestess, but I'm a friend, sister. Any time…" She promises gently before finally letting Karthasi's hands go.