| New Arrivals |
| Summary: | Tillman and Karthasi meet in the Officer's Quarters. Exchange info. |
| Date: | BCH 025 |
| Related Logs: | First log! |
| Players: |
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[ Officer's Berthings ]---[ Naval Deck - Battlestar Cerberus ]
Much smaller than the Enlisted Berthings, 'Officer Country' has a less available in it but still manages to squeeze everything into this room. Like the other berthings aboard, this room has armored doors that can lower to seal off sections during fire or depressurization. Over-under bunks provide some individual privacy for the crews who occupy this area with a small blue curtain while lockers stand between each sleeping module to hold personal items. Tables are set-up in the space in between.
-=[ Condition Level: 3 - All Clear ]
"Ba-da-da ba-ba, ba-da-da ba-ba," comes a little off-key singing, just under the breath of one of the first to board and claim a space here in Officer Country. One leg crossed over the other, the other dangling down from the side of the top bunk she's evidently claimed in the set, her little space already fairly well screams 'Chaplain,' a pair of horns, a figurine of Priapus, and a set of prayer beads hanging from a gummed-up hook near the foot of the bunk while she works on adjusting an astrological chart which she's stuck up to the ceiling to keep tabs on all the holy days. It already kind of looks like a library tried to explode inside her bunk, but she seems upbeat as she goes about making the place into a home.
And enter Tillman. The man has a huge rucksack over his shoulder and his uniform is spiffed to perfection. Those shoes takes a few steps in and he looks around at all the empty bunks and lets off a low whistle. He settles on the Chaplain and a smile edges onto his face. "And here I thought I'd be getting the jump on everyone." He ambles a few more steps over towards the woman and extends his hand. "Howdy. Clive Tillman. How are ya?" he greets with enough chipper in his voice to sink a small emo-party. The man certainly seems to be happy to be here.
Karthasi looks down from her ceiling at the first words, staring in wonder a moment before a meek smile creeps its way onto her face. And then, following suit, the corner of the chart which she was gumming up overhead, not having held it aloft long enough. An arm flails and she pushes the corner back up, hollding it in place. "Ah! Captain Tillman, oh-" she starts, as he holds out a hand, awkwardly switching out the hand holding the poster up to the ceiling for the other one so that she can reach down and shake. "Captain Greje Karthasi, I'm going to be heading up Ecclesiastical services," she introduces herself. "I'm doing quite well, thank you, Captain. Looking forward to meeting everybody," she adds with a mild nod of her head to punctuate the words, her voice friendly without being effusive. "Oh, yes," she adds, "I've learned to get here early, beat the rush- and maybe say a few words over the place before anyone arrives who might be offended," she adds with a cautious little chuckle. She knows well enough that the military isn't often rife with religious sorts.
The man gives a firm pump of her hand before letter it go, watching her minor acrobatics with some mild amusement. He steps back and unslings the bag to let it thunk down onto the table behind him. "Ecclesiastical, huh? So I guess that makes you our Chaplain. Pleasure to meet you." There's a still nod of his head as if to stamp the period on the end of his statement. He chuckles and its an almost gravelly sound with her mention of people getting offended. "Yeah you get some sensitive types out here, don't you? Seems like they'd get over it. Some people just believe what they believe. Not a tough concept." His arms cross and he turns his head a bit to look down the line of bunks, nostrils flaring as he takes a long breath in. "Mmmm. Fresh Battlestar. Gods, that's fantastic. Never thought I'd get a deployment on a brand new one. This also means our mattresses are brand new." His eyes turn back on her, brow waggling to match his grin.
Karthasi looks up to the corner again, drawing her hand down slowly and giving it an apprehensive look, as though if she took her eye off of it again it might misbehave. Her pale green eyes finally look back to the Captain, and she folds her hands easily in her lap, fingers entwining in fingers. "They also believe what that believe, Captain," she reminds him in her mild tones, "I don't find any reward in proselytizing, and find that forcing religion into the eyes of non-believers only drives them away from the Lords, rather than the opposite. Generally people with that strong a level of distaste for displays of religion have very deep-seated reasons for it, which are best left unprobed except by experts in the matter," she yammers on, as she sometimes will, only stopping when that corner flops down and hits her in the face again. A little smile, and she lifts a hand to push the corner back up. "Do they not usually change the mattresses in between deployments?" she wonders.
Tillman's head turns back to her as she begins. He glances behind himself quickly before moving to lean against the tabletop. Those arms uncross and he stuffs them into his pockets, attention focused on her. At the end he just nods. "Oh, I know. Everyone's got their own set of beliefs. That's pretty much what I'm saying. I think." He blinks, looking to the side. "At least that's what I meant." Another of those chuckles leaves him when he looks back to her. "Do you cover any kind of religious service or typically just for worshippers of the Gods?" comes the question, brow lofted. To the last, he shrugs. "Hell if I know. I was on a couple frigates where I -know- they didn't change the mattresses. We had to hot-bunk and everything. I don't know about the Battlestars, though. I just as soon not ask for fear that I won't like the answer. But these puppies? Oh they look braaaaaand new!"
"I'm well versed in the cult practices of many Daemonic figures as well as the Heroized," Greje offers in a quietly cheerful voice, "I might need a day or two to prepare, but I like to think of myself as an equal-opportunity Chaplain," she adds with her usual sort of mild smile and a degree of a nod. "How can I serve you, Captain?"
"Aye, that's nice of ya. We had a Chaplain back on this Frigate - my first station, right? The guy was great. Really easy going." He brings a hand out, gesturing towards Greje as if to relate the man to her. "But sweet crepes..If someone brought up monotheists? He would get up and leave. Said something about how he used to get into debates and lose his temper. Which hey, ain't nobody perfect. I couldn't help but respect the guy for it. Good on you, though that you can do almost anything people might require." Clive's smile is easy and relaxed. He might give the impression that he's already settled into his new home for this cruise. "Serve me? Oh don't worry about it, Captain. Its fine. I think you'll have your hands full enough with the rest of the ship. This your first cruise on a Battlewagon?"
Karthasi lifts a shoulder in consideration of the matter up for debate. "Monotheism is one of many heresies blacklisted on Gemenon," she points out, "People tend to get a little tetchy when you start in on anything that gets stuck on that list. There are several good monotheistic theories floating in the literature, though. I did some of my dissertation work on Dionysus' place in the monotheistic tradition," she goes on. "I wouldn't bring it up, myself, unless I thought someone would be interested, but if someone wanted to engage in academic discourse on the matter, I don't see why it can't be done in a civilized manner. This is why the Lords gave us speech, that we might reason with one another and learn the secrets of the universe." A sedate little smile settles on her face for a pause. "No. I had a four-year tour with the Battlestar Diomedes before this. Under Commander Baktriesin."
"Heh. Yeah, he was Gemenese. Makes more sense. I used to play Triad with the guy and we had some good laughs. But we pretty much all just kept religion off the table. Beer, cards, and cubits? We also didn't talk about politics." Clive laughs at a memory, smiling inwards about it as he looks away and back to her. "But hey, if you ever want to have some kind of discourse about it I sure won't turn you down. I kinda of enjoy talking about religion so I guess you're in luck. And I don't tend to get emotional about it so throwing things like slurs or lamps is probably not going to happen." Tillman cuts her a wink real quick. "But cool, Dio. I just finished six years on the Aegean with Admiral Strye. I almost didn't want to leave but she was urging me to move in, giving me the shooing gestures and stuff. You know how it goes when you've got a good working relationship with your boss, right?"
Karthasi chuckles, "Hm. Well—?" her voice cants upward at the end of that syllable, eyes squinting a little bit, "I had a couple of bosses on Diomedes, the first of whom seemed to be on a one-man campaign to convery every 'heathen' on board. The other of whom seemed to spend all his time making sure his face was made up properly," her eyes sparkle with a little bit of amusement, and she lifts her fingers to her lips in a little gesture of warding, "But I shouldn't speak ill of others. I'm sure I have my own knapsack full of flaws I cannot see for it being behind me."
"Yuuuck. Yeah the types that feel its their duty to save souls? I can appreciate a man or woman on a mission but really?" Tillman sighs. "Its like you said. Everyone's got their own opinions. Some 'em aren't pretty. But they are entitled to them. At least, yanno, that's what I heard. Something about freedom of speech or some such nonsense." Tillman waves a dismissive hand in front of him, smiling. "But this other guy painted his face? Really? That's..fantastic. What the hell for? I'm going to assume it wasn't ceremonial." Hands fall back into his pockets. "Yeah, but see everyone has flaws, right? We all haul them around. And even if we are aware of all of them, then we try to fix them or think on them and then before you know it? That's a flaw, too. In my opinion? Let your flaws be and just be humble. Unless you're a Viper stick, -obviously-. We should all be so lucky to be in the presence of the almight Zipper Suited Sun Gods." Arms lift slowly, lifting to the air with a laugh and a tilt back of his head.
"No, like… with make-up. Lipstick. Eyeliner," Greje takes a moment to explain, miming the act of putting these things on with one hand. "I understand that taking pride in your appearance isn't a horrible flaw, but I once lived seven months in Aphrodite's temple on Leonis and never saw anyone primp so much," she goes on with a smile. She even lets out a little laugh at the description of the viper jocks. "Oh, yes, of course. I'll contact Delphi and see about approval on the hero cult straightaway."
Tillman blinks. A few times. "Are you serious? Man, see..that's just sad. People look to you all for support and guidance, not beauty tips. Making sure you look presentable is one thing but primping? Its a combat vessel, not a high school." He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Did this Chaplain at least do her job?" To the last, he laughs. "Outstanding. You know how they can get when they don't have someone praying to them daily. God forbid they found out Delphi hadn't given them their own temples yet. Imagine the uproar! They'd riot. Hair gel would fly everywhere. Officers like you and I might get more done. It'd be anarchy!"
"His job," Greje corrects in a playfully wary tone of voice, brows rising significantly. "And in any case, yes, he took care of his chapel. As to his personal style of counselling I won't say one way or the other. I never heard any complaints, in any case," she notes. "But he was very easy around people. I sometimes… well, when there are a lot of people around I tend to melt into a wall."
Tillman gives a hearty laugh, repeating 'His job' somewhere in there. "Nice. But yeah, okay. As long as he's doing his job, I guess." He shrugs and stands off the table, moving a bit to the side. "Yeah? Not exactly a social butterfly, huh?" The Captain's expression relaxes from the laugh and he nods. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm not huge on massive groups of people myself. I talk big and bad but I can't actually back it up. I used to have an ego about the size of Caprica City. Yeah my wife changed that real good. I'm pretty sure she beat it out of me with a rolled newspaper. Kids just sealed that. You got any family, Miss Karthasi?"
Karthasi pulls up her other leg and sits there indian-style with her hands folded in front of her, givng the fellow a pleasant while while he talks about his wife and children, only to pale a little bit, clear her throat, and shake her head, "Ah— no," she answers, looking a little abashed. "Well. My parents. They live just down the Atlantid Highway from Caprica City, in Maeonia," she goes on. Maeonia being a suburb of the big city more or less indistinguishable from all the others on the map, except to those who live there. "How many children do you have, Captain?" she wonders.
Tillman's an alert kinda guy. He notices the reaction from her but doesn't press or show any sign that he intends to. Its just there and gone. "Ha. Yeah, Caprica. You from there as well? Or did your parents just decide to settle down there?" With Greje's last question, he grins. There's some serious pride on the man's face. Three fingers are held up. "All girls. My eighteen year old decided to alert myself and her mother a few that she intends to make me a grandfather before I hit forty over the summer. Apparently she thinks she can manage college, a child, and try to get this guy she's with to marry her." He shakes his head, still smiling nonetheless. "I think I get more grey hairs out of those there bundles of joy than I have with my career out here in the vaccuum."
"Eighteen? My goodness," Greje remarks mildly. "Well. At the very least she sounds to be turning into a woman of great purpose, with a strong will," she points out the silver lining, "And a new baby is certainly a blessing. Congratulations, Captain."
"Heh. Yeah. Well you can call it what you like. Great purpose or strong will. She expected me to flip out and kill her boyfriend." Tillman shrugs before putting a hand out to lean against the lockers and look to Greje. "She's committed to it. She will have to learn. My wife and I have promised to help but at the same time its her responsibility. She's aware of that, but she's eighteen. Really, how much did you think you know versus what you actually knew at that age, eh? I'm pretty sure I had the smarts of an ox. But thank you regardless." He dips his head. "So tell me about yourself. What do you like to do with your free time? Read trashy romance? Gamble? Serial kill?"
The question of what she knew at age 18 sticks Greje into a pensive little moment, but by the time her brains churned over that one, the conversation's come 'round to another topic altogether. "Ah— no," she answers, to all of the above, quite seriously, as though nothing had been amiss with the catalogue. "Um. I enjoy sports," she offers, "Pyramid," she goes on, "Boxing. Those are my two favorites. I need to keep active, or else I suspect that I would meld with a chair somewhere with a book on my lap."
"Pyramid and boxing? In that chest beats the heart of a true warrior, eh?" Tillman waggles his brow as he moves back towards his bag. "I used to be pretty into boxing and hand to hand. Yeeaaaars ago. Like nearly two decades. Kinda fell out of it around 22 or so. You generally just hit a bag or do you prefer to spar with a live animal?" He lifts teh big canvas ruck and throws it into the bunk across the table from her, looking back after he does-so. "But you're into books? Prefer stuff that stirs the imagination, the mind or the soul?"