BCH #000: One Cup For Hubris
One Cup for Hubris
Summary: Khoes celebration/
Date: 2/26/41
Related Logs: Pithoigia
Merrell Tisiphone Jayden Noelani Naevi Santiago Oberlin Arkat Atreus Karthasi 

The day of Pitchers is here, and the chapel is ready for the day's festivities. Two sturdy ropes have been attached to clamps on the ceiling, knotted through boards to provide two primitive swings to either side of the altar. Ribbons have also been strung up from the ceiling, at the bottoms of which masks have been hung to stare around the room at about head level. The ritual couches have been arranged for the drinking contests, and the krater is still out, refilled on occasion as people come freely to dip their pitchers into the wine and share with the altar before drinking. And drinking. And drinking.

Merrell steps in a bit timidly, but there's a playful aire about the expression on her face. Almost like the cheshire cat. She looks around to the people already drinking as if making a choice, selecting from who to haunt or bother. But hey! It looks like her legs have wandered her over towards the wine. And they've found a cup. Damn.

Or a pitcher, at least. It's the cup of the day, the eponymous item of the festival. Not as big as 'normal' pitchers, but approximately equivalent to a beer stein, with the shape and handle of a pitcher. Greje's got her legs wrapped around the rope of one of the swings, moving in a lazy circle as she tips the spout of a pitcher in between the grinning lips of the Godmask she wears, rosy red on her face. Who is it? Who knows? Maybe a priest? Maybe a god? Maybe someone else entirely.

Merrell wanders off from the table with her pitcher of wine, eyeing it as if it might bring some nefarious scheme to her mind. Scolding it premptively, making sure it behaves. She moves to a seat by the swing and eyes the thing hanging from the ceiling. "You know I haven't seen one of these in more than twenty years." Way to date yourself, hon.

Karthasi finishes draining the pitcher and droops backward from the swing, hanging from it by her knees and using her hand on the floor to slow herself until she tumbles, letting go, rolling on the curve of her back and up to a standing position again with the ease of one who's gone on many an Anthesteria swing in her life. "Come and ride. Be mindful of Erigone," she encourages the woman in a slow, easy voice, made warm and rich by wine. "Do you remember Erigone?" she asks, the God's face grinning groadly over hers, lending her a jolly aspect.

"You want me to ride that thing?" Merrell laughs lightly, a finger pointed to it. She looks to the swing, then to Karthasi, then back to the swing. Then Karth. "Okay, but if I fall off and break something I'm so not at fault." She pops up off her seat, moving to sit on the bench seat. "Erigone? Been too long." She lifts the pitcher and takes a small sip, eyes wide. Good wine. nomnomnomnom.

Karthasi crouches down and sets her own pitcher on the floor, standing and stretching and moving to Merrell, moving around her in a languid circle, one Godmask among many, hands trailing, not quite touching the woman until she reaches her shoulders, walking forward a step, then back a step, setting her to swinging just a little back and forth, "When Dionysus marched with his armies from the land of the Rising Sun, he stopped first at the hut of Ikarios, and gave unto him the secret of his rebirth and the fresh new wine that was the blood of his divinity. And Ikarios went among the people, and gave unto them the Godsblood," she continues to murmur, the murmuring amplified by the mask she wears. "And the people felt the God in them, and thought that they had been poisoned. And they rejected the Newbord Lord, and went to the hut of Ikarios and took him away and threw him upon the rocks, murdering him," she begins the story, giving Merrell another push.

Merrell is easily taken in with the whole setting. Especially the mask. The grin on her face is just immobile. Her eyes watch the unknown woman move around her, peeking over the brim of her pitcher as she tips it back a little more this time. She kicks her feet out a little with the first push, leaning just a bit back into the touch from Karthasi. "Sounds like a bunch of drunk Marines," she teases lightly, tilting her head to the side with the push. Ahhhhhhwine. Happysigh.

Karthasi pushes again, stepping further back as the line made by the swing gets longer with the energy put into it. Then, when she's got some good moemntum, she stops pushing, continuing the story as she circles around to the side. "Erigone was the daughter of Ikarios, and wandered all over the countryside in search of her father, calling out his name again and again in her desperation. When the dog Maera finally led the young woman to her father's battered corpse, she screamed in her grief, and took up a rope, and hung herself from a nearby tree. And her limbs jerked, and the winds blew, and she swung there from that rope in her moment of most profound agony, and we swing here in her memory and in memory of her father, devoted servants of the God, who were martyred for their faith."

Merrell is pumping her legs now softly with the swing, powering it on her own and doing a heck of a job trying not to spill her wine. She listens to the story with a light smile, wine slowly working its magic. The Senior Chief must be one helluva lightweight. "You know, somehow I think I'm enjoying this more than Erigone did. There's really nothing like a swing to help lift spirits. Think there's any chance we could leave this installed?" She moves back and forth, not quite picking up too much height, but enough to enjoy it. Her wine gets a sip once its stable on the down swing. "So what happened to poor Maera?"

"Maera lay down and died at the feet of her dead master," Greje answers the question. "But for their piety, the three underwent catasterism, and were placed in the heavens as examples to mankind. Ikarios became the divine Ploughman," she lists, "Maera became the star known as the Dog Star, and Erigone became the Divine Virgin, after whom the colony of Virgon was named. The swing will be back this time next year, that we all may remember Erigone again in her due season."

"Mmm. Well can't fault me for trying, right?" Merrell leans back on the swing, her hair flowing out behind her while hands clutch to pitcher and ropes. But that seems to be the last of her good fun on it and it comes to a slow stop. "So what other tales can you spin me? I'm looking for some action and adventure. Maybe even romance." She gives a devilish sort of grin and sips at the pitcher some more. "As much as I do enjoy something like Erigone, the Maera's ending makes me a little sad. She should have run free and tried to find something new and amazing." At least, that's how Robin see's it anyway.

"Action and adventure…" Greje considers to herself, "Do you want tales of war? Even Dionysus has taken his part in battle," she notes, coming 'round to lay hands on Merrell's shoulders again, beginning to move with her. "When taken up arms against, he can be most cruel of all the Lords. Have you heard of how Dionysus took up an army against the Indians? Or how he destroyed the hubris of Pentheus?"

"War isn't so much my thing." She leans back into the touch once more, relaxing and enjoying the festival. Her light smile reaches her eyes while they look around the room. But one suggestion catches her and she nods. "Oh! Yeah, that sounds good! Destroying the hubris of Pentheus!" She turns a bit to look up at Greje, once more over the brim of the pitcher.

Karthasi walks forward, then back, and pushes one hand on one shoulder to set Merrell spinning as she swings, round and round and round and round and back the other way once it's reached the force of its winding. "As Dionysus made his way from city to city, touching upon all the houses of man with his newborn cult, he came to the ancient walls of seven-gated Thebes, where King Pentheus, son of Cadmos, prohibited the worship of the God, and would not allow the women of Thebes to go into the Mountains and see the Mysteries of the God," she explains. "He believed that all the women were only after sex, and that Dionysus was only a mortal man who meant insult to their chastity. And Pentheus' father Cadmos and Tiresias the Seer came to the King and begged him to reconsider, but Pentheus would not be swayed, and he sent his armies into the hills to capture the worshippers of Dionysus and lead them back to Thebes in chains."

Robin ducks her head a bit as the swing winds up. She probably used to do this when she was younger, too. By the stupid grin on her face, this is probably one of the best days she's had in a long time - already. She mutters something under her breath about herself and Pantheus wide a twisted look that flashes on her face before being hidden behind the pitcher again. "Armies marching against the Gods. Tsk tsk tsk."

Karthasi's face can't really be seen behind the mask, but the God's face is grinning an almost feral approbation of the condemnation of Pentheus. "Then Dionysus walked into the town, and shook the place with an earthquake, and the palace of Pentheus tumbled to the ground, and the chains fell from the wrists of the Maenads and the shackles fell from their feet, for Dionysus is Eleftherios — the God Who Sets Free," she explains the etymology of the epithet as Merrell twirls on the rope swing, hand occasionally applied to shoulder to keep her spinning. "And the women of Thebes were seized with a madness for the Mysteries, and the Maenads and the women ran off into the mountains. And Dionysus began to whisper impieties to Pentheus. Advised him to dress as a woman, to infiltrate the rites and profane their Mysteries with the eyes of the uninitiated."

Merrell's super-high mood seems to fade towards something more thoughtful with Greje's story. Her eyes close as she spins back and forth through the directions of the swing's unfurling. Her wine gets a sip before she leans her head back, arms hugging the ropes of the swing. A long breath during the woman's pause. "Well doesn't that just sound rude." Not a spiteful phrasing but it more closely matches the expression on her face.

"Gods will have their vengeance when slighted," is Greje's only reply to the allegations of rudeness. "And so Dionysus dressed Pentheus all in ribbons and furs, and put in his hand the thyrsos, and sent him into the mountains to see the mysteries. But he alerted his true followers to the intruder, and made them mad for blood. He made Pentheus seem to the women a mountain lion, and they fell upon him with their bare hands, and tore him to pieces, with his own mother and aunts leading the assault, his mother carrying off the prize of his head. And this is why it is best not to despise Dionysus, no matter how unseemly we may act under his power. Come, now," she begins again, stopping the swing mid-twirl to let the world around the woman take up the spinning. "See to what couch the God will guide your feet. The drinking contests are soon to begin."

Enter Tisiphone, step light, eyes bright. Successful war-games the night before, invitation to the commissioning party tonight, and the Day of Pitchers in between. Any more anticipatory, and she'd need a wolf-mask. She twists in through the others gathered to a spot where she isn't too much of a traffic jam, sweeping the Chapel with a glance.

Jayden had no idea what to wear here, so, he takes the safe road and dons his blues. A nod here and there to the few folks he knows before he moves in further. Sticking close to the walls, and admiring the swings, the decor…and the spinning priestess.

"Mmmm. You know, I think that's a very fitting end to the story. Not a lot of romance but I think I can find the nuances charming in their own way." Merrell finally opens her eyes as the spinning stops physically and begins mentally. She watches the world spin and..Hey! Bald head! "Ens Tisiphone! Hey!" Robin gets up and gives a happy little wave as she takes another sip of the pitch, looking back towards the couches. "My feet have to leed me? I'm not so sure my feet will be leading me anywhere else if I start a drinking contest. I may pass out on the couch." At least she doesn't mother hen at the parties.

Jayden has arrives to the area close to where the wine and pithers have been placed. He studies them for a bit, but decides its best to wait and see who else will join the drinking festivities.

Karthasi laughs, taking the mask from her face for some fresh air and letting it rest, instead, on the top of the side of her head, the strap crossing her face at a funny angle as she helps Merrell don from the swing. "You'll be alright. When you've had your fill of the God, simply… stop," she smiles at the woman, then looks to the door, "Come in, come in! Take your places on the couches. We'll start up in a moment."

Tisiphone closes the distance between herself and Merrel. "Maenads," she says by way of greeting, making it sound a bit like a dirty word. Dirty in the /good/ sense, that is. "Coming down from the mountain, so full of their God they tear beasts to bloody ribbons." This is deemed a Happy Ending, it appears. She blinks once, then again, and seems to downshift to a more practical and conversational gear. "Robin," she says. "You're here." Obviously. She sounds pleased. "You've thrown wine before?"

"Heyyy. I thought that might have been you, Sister. I'm not sure anyone else could have told me the swing was going to come down and made me smile about it." Merrell grins a little drunkly at Greje before looking to the couch after standing. "Alright, well. I think I better call it quits after this pitcher. As much as I love the Gods, I fear they won't love me as much if I get too enthusiastic about them. Something about moderation." She clears her throat and makes her way over towards the couches before looking back toards Tisi. "But of course, Miss Tisiphone. Now get yourself some of this delightful Godsblood and join me here on the couch so we might tell each other wonderful lies."

Petroski strides in, a young man of about eleven in age brought in with him, the kid looking not too pleased. "Just for a little bit," Daniel murmurs to his charge, his hand resting on the civilian guest he's been put in charge of's shoulder. The boy looks up and then shrugs, a silent show of passive-aggressiveness children his age are notorious for. Sighing, Dan guides Johnny closer to where everyone is, his mind reeling.

Karthasi goes to collect the pitcher she'd left on the floor, returning it to a clasp on her belt, hanging there empty for the moment as she trails a hand with a warm fondness over the contour of a dried puddle of wine on the altar. She looks up and over to Merrell, "Meden agan kai meden agan agein," she recites. "Nothing in excess — even doing nothing in excess," she translates. That is to say, moderation in all things, including moderation. "One moment," she pardons herself, going into the open center door to fetch the great brazen bowl and the kylix cups.

Jayden lets the captain do her rite by the altar and folds his arms in front of him. Waiting and looking around the chapel for more familiar faces. Oh lokkit, tis Tis! A small nod thrown to the Ensign he's seen around the berths but knows next to nothing about. Pleasantries, if you must. He also takes another look at his timepieace.

"Better believe it," replies Tisiphone to Merrell, grin gone wolfish-wide. "Save me a spot." With that, she's moving to the wine-cum-altar, where one of the small pitchers is retrieved and dipped into the central bowl. She holds the dripping clay in both her hands, saying nothing, eyes warm upon the wine-splashed figures on the altar. After a few beats of silence, the pitcher is lifted to the altar, then lowered to her mouth for a long drink. With a crooked grin, the last mouthful from the pitcher is hurled at the altar; her own contribution to the accumulating winestains. Observances made, she starts picking her way back through the crowd, toward Merrell and the couches.

Jayden rubs his arm a bit and smirks, "Well, I didn't come here to play innocent." He grabs a pitcher and dips it into the communal wine thingie, taking a big gulp afterwards. No drop spilled. Must not upset the gods, and all that jazz.

A civvie dressed in white passes through the hatch, clearly dressed for a party later in the evening. Perhaps a good dress is just a terrible thing to sit in the back of a locker for too long. Santiago moves down to near the altar, though takes a seat as the bulk of the gathered partake of the offering of wine.

Karthasi returns, about then, bronze bowl making a bit of a racket as the cups inside shift when she moves, making a ringing a little too loud for the decibel level of the cups moving inside. She smiles at Jayden, "Welcome," she says, then, looking aside at the young fellow who's come for the celebration, "Hello," she adds, to him. "What's your name?" she asks him. "Dionysus, same as yours," the kid answers with an almost disdainful tone of voice, but the priest, at least, seems delighted by the answer. "Well said and well come, Dionysus," she tells him, then, lifting her voice, "Everyone get settled?" she asks the assembled, beginning to pull the kylikes into her arms, stacking them, and beginning to walk around the circled perimeter of couches around the altar, handing one to Merrell and to Tisiphone beside her, "Remember Orestes, and let only your lips touch this sacred cup until the games are done," she tells them, in the tone of a blessing or a prayer, then moves onto the next couch, repeating the process, distributing the cups.

Noelani missed the first part of the rites today, though she's finally shown up to watch the rest. She's never been terribly involved in the Dionysan rites, mostly focused on those of her own cults. Stepping into the temple, the sister moves off to one side, out of the way, and observes.

Jayden downs that wine, and refills it promptly. He now begins to move towards one of those couches, and plops down into the first one he finds empty. His tunic is unbuttoned, and another small swing from his pitcher is taken.

A little uncertain as to why she's here, Naevi has nevertheless been turning up to religious services a bit lately. Stepping through the hatch, she pauses to take in the happenings around her and tilts her head to one side curiously. Taking a few more steps into the chapel itself, she offers a smile to a few familiar faces and moves forward in an effort to mingle.

Temperance peeks in, looking around the room quickly. She recognizes Jayden, but when she gets sight of Tisiphone she steels her jaw and comes all the way in the room, bypassing the revellers and the swinging to make a beeline for Tisi's side. Once there, she leans in without greeting her and whispers loudly. Oxymoron. Stage whispers!

Merrell does indeed save a seat beside her for Tisiphone. She grins up at the woman on her approach and settles back as Greje delivers the bountiful liquid bliss. "Thank you." Its nodded pertly, eyes then moving to Tisi. "So I heard you all had fun last night, mm? Was it as exciting as the rumors make it out to be??"

Santiago accepts a kylix, her fingernails sounding lightly on the black glaze as it's given over. She adjusts her hands, one to a little handle on the side, the other under the curve of the basin of the vessel. She holds it just away from her body. She smiles, just a little, at the red figure scene in the bottom of her kylix. Ajax and Achilles playing at something a little more substantial than their usual games of chance. The smile turns to a little grin, and she glances up with a slight shake of her head.

The couches are a bit like chaise longues — good for slouching against and feeling like you deserve a bevy of handservants with large fans and bowls of iced grapes to be fed to you, one by one. Tisiphone claims one of the, stretches back, and gives a long, contented sigh. It might even be more comfortable than the Viper bunks. "Exciting's a word for it," she says to Merrell, one corner of her mouth quirked with temporary sourness. "Terminal overload's another. I didn't get fragged, but…" She shrugs. Feels she deserved to be, perhaps. Temperance is spotted as she shrugs, and eagerly beckoned over.

Jayden engages in idle chat with another officer on his side. Both of them enjoying the festive ambient and anything Greje has plnned, as they set themselves to drink merrily 'till one of them passes out, and has to be dragged back to their respective bunk.

"Heh. Beats the boondoggle we had back in Engineering. Bunch of jumping plus monitoring systems. Then I guess a bunch of missiles hit us? Big horns went off and then poof, we were dead. Which I guess is a wargame euphamism for 'Do your job anyway' in light of the good times." Merrell grins, leaning her head back. Yep, she looks like she's already on her way to a hangover tomorrow. "What about you? Kill anything yourself or just lots of flying around, burning tylium at high speeds?" There's then a glance to the redhead on her way over, a simple nod given in greeting.

"Remember Orestes," Greje repeats to Santiago with a wine-warmed smile to match the flush on her cheeks, relinquishing to her the kylix, then one to the youthful Dionysus, and around the circle to Jayden, to Noelani with a quiet, "Sister. Greetings. Come and join the games," she suggests, gesturing to a free couch, "Here," she calls to Naevi, "Come and lie next to the sister," she suggests to the newcomer. Two to a couch. She, herself, when all are settled, takes up a spot reclining by the young Dionysus as the winebearers of the evening begin to come around with the first round of drinks. "I mix three kraters only, for those who are wise," Greje announces. "The first is for good health, which mortals drink first," she lifts her kylix. "So say we all," she calls, and then drinks.

"Mahalo, Sister." The word is a soft politeness, a regional word from a particular province in Aquaria, familiar, likely, to only those who have been there. Santiago waits until everyone's been offered their vessels, and Greje has been seated. She replies, voice calling to carry, "So say we all." Her kylix is raised slightly with the words.

"Look, I ain't really made friends 'ere yet, so's you're 'fficialy voted in fer the job," Temperance says to Tisi lowly, with a nod to Merrell. "Need a girl talk moment, an' I uhh…this'sain't propriate time, but s'first moment I could find." Anybody near by can hear all of this easily, Temperance isn't exactly using discretion. "Did somethin' awfully stupid."

Noelani moves over to the couch she's directed to, laying down on it. She accepts the wine that's offered and lifts it to her lips, drinking as required.

Naevi offers Greje a smile and proceeds across the room towards the couch, lying down as she's bidden to do and shifting about a little for a moment to try and get herself comfortable. She lies back, looking more relaxed already, "This is pretty comfortable."

Merrell takes up her kylix and dips her head. "So say we all." Its lifted carefully, but Merrell's pre-gaming is already making things difficult. She dribbles a little and settles it back. "Oops," she sighs, wiping at the coveralls with her hand. They've seen worse. There's a glance to Temperence and Tisi, then.

Karthasi drinks down the first kylix, and laughs as she notes the kid next to her beating her to the artwork. Maybe it is a little child Dionysus, after all. She looks to the bit of wine left in the bottom of the cup, and she gets two fingers hooked in one of the handles, swinging the thing around to slosh the bit of wine around in the sides of the cup before stopping it short and giving the glop of wine a hurl toward the brass bowl on the altar.

Karthasi lets the wine fly a little early, and the glob sails right over the altar to the couch on the other side, spattering Tisiphone and Merrell with the spray, the priest giving a loud laugh at the misfire.

Fortunately, Little Lord Dionysus next to the Priest knows how it's done, sending the last of the wine in his kylix to ring out against the inside of the bowl before sloshing down to the bottom.

It takes Santiago a moment longer than some of the others to finish most of her wine. It's the dress. She holds the kylix out and leans just a little to try to save herself from pink dribbles. Always thinking of the attire. There's a glance to the altar as the first of the dregs fly for the bowl. She hooks the kylix in the traditional way, then wings the remnants in the basin toward the altar.

Noelani gives it a try next, sloshing the wine around in the cup before tossing it toward the brass bowl and sinking the drops inside. She grins and fistpumps triumphantly, laying back on the couch.

A little spray. It splashes Merrell's face and the coveralls she's in. Her eyes settle on Greje, silent for about five seconds, letting it build. "If you're going to be giving me wine, I'd appreciate it if it not be wasted on my coveralls. I mean, really. Party foul." She's laughing by the end, grinning like a dork. She throws her own and it sails wide, landing on the floor and throwing wine all over MiniDio and Noelani. "Eyyy!! Hole in one!" Its still a victory.

Moving through the open hatch and ducking into the Cerberus' place of worship is another figure. A relative latecomer. Oberlin slowly makes his way inside, clad in his offduty fatigues as he starts eyeing the revelry with obvious, barely reserved amusement. His smile is nothing if not foxlike.

Tisiphone is a little luckier, having only arrived minutes before the wine-toss began. She leans forward slightly after her drink, teeth dimpling her bottom lip, gives the kylix a little swirl, and flings. "Ha-hah!" she crows victoriously, admiring her handiwork. "Why the /frak/ couldn't I hit missiles like that last night? Shee-it." Slumping back with a wry grin returning, her head tilts to regard Temperance again. After a moment of mental review, a frown forms. "Wait, what?" she asks the Ensign, voice a bit lower. "What's going on?"

As the winebearers come around the circle to refill the kylikes of those who have already tossed for kattabos, Greje announces, "The second is for love, and for pleasure," she lifts the kylix. "So say we all!" And she begins to drink once more.

Close behind Oberlin comes a slightly-swaggering Arkat. It's instantly obvious the man's gone all out on the party outfit, wearing this year's 'in' chic of… marine offduties. There is one little addition, though. From somewhere, the marine has 'obtained' a black porkpie hat, which now sits a little sideways to cover up most of his close-shaven head. A little wince to deal with the change in volume, then he's settling into a curled grin at the sight of the par-…Booze.

The first toss of the dregs is right on, sloshing mostly the altar's bowl. One kylix down, 2 to go. Santi lifts it to be refilled, smiling to the wine bearer. Good drinkers, Aquarians. "Mahalo," she murmurs again, then waits for the proclamation from the priestess. Her, "So say we all!" is a little more enthusiastic on this one. "To love and pleasure." She brings the ceramic vessel to her lips, and carefully drains the wine. Good flingers, Aquarians. Splat. Gooool! Er.

"Ahem. Well." Oberlin starts as he rather sloppily crosses his arms in front of his chest, stepping aside to allow for through traffic further into the chapel, just in case. Ever-so-slightly shrugging, he seems content with observing rather than participating in anything for the moment, head whipping around as he watches the wine fly.

Temperance moves back when liquid starts getting tossed, just in time to be missed while Merrell and Tisiphone get splattered. She shakes her head with a small smile, but it doesn't detract her from her mission. "'Memmber when we all…" She eyes everyone around them and makes a drinking motion with her hand. "Th' next mornin', I, uhh…" She pauses and sighs. "Kinda go' a lit'le tonguey wi' someone I really hain't go' business gettin' tonguey wi'."

"Come in, fellows," Greje greets the pair of boys, "You've got some catching up to do, we're a round ahead of you, already," she points out, cheeks rosy with wine and eyes lax. "Only remember Orestes, and drink from no one's kylix but your own," she gestures with her own kylix to make the point. Then begins to twirl the thing, then tip it flush forward to toss the lees.

Shing—CLANG! come the two donations of wine into the bowl from Greje's couch, the latter throw a much more solid hit than the former. The young Dionysus looks smug.

Well, damn. Scratch that. The Sister's invitation diverts Oberlin's attention long enough for him to step away, glancing back at the Marine in the Sweet Hat(tm) with a smirk and back to the shenanigans. "Aw, Sister. Well if you /insist/." And with that, he reaches for a kylix from a winebearer. Somewhere. Or wherever they're dispensed. Yeah.

Fresh wine, and a fresh raise of the kylix, bright eyes made brighter with Dionysus's blessing. "So say we all," Tisiphone adds to the chorus. "To love and pleasure." Her grin deepens, rather salaciously. Then again, she looked that way when the Chaplain spoke of people being torn limb from limb. The same lean, swirl, and flick — this one landing crooked, and slooshing up and out over the brim. "Fraksakes," she mutters, then again turns to Temperance. She's multi-tasking, here. Softer, an amused giggle turned to words: "You're /serious/."

Despite the fact his hat could make an outstanding kylix in the right cirumstaces, Arkat settles for obtaining a proper one. Not in the same way he 'obtained' the hat, mind you. Less underhanded tactics this way. "Yeah." He echoes Oberlin, following the other man's lead to a tee. "If you insist!"

Once the two new guests have been settled in, the winebearers come around with the third kylixful for each player in the game. "The third is for sleep, to guide all mortal men to their beds," Greje recites, lifting the third kylix. "So say we all."

"Yeeeeesss," Temperance eyeshifts, turning a bit pink. "Ain't 'bout ta make up stories 'bout gettin' tonguey jus' fer m'own aumsement." But she can see that the other girl is busy, so she stays quiet for the time being, glancing around at everyone. Wine and swings and flinging dregs onto random bystanders? Dionysus people are /weird/.

The door to the chapel opens and Atreus steps in. He lets the door colse behind him as he looks around the room. Taking in the changes, he begins to move slowly forward. His steps are light and quiet, his hands seek pockets and stay there. Ducking his head in deference to the priestess, he seeks a spot to settle.

Santiago glances over toward the conversation about tonguing, and that amused little smile remains firmly where's been. A slight flush crosses her cheeks as the wine starts to warm her belly. Two down, one to go. She holds up the kylix to be refilled. A third drought is in order. "So say we all." Once finished off, the third round of dregs is flung to the altar, and sploshes into the bowl. There's a little laugh from the Aquarian, and she raises her kylix once again, then sets it aside, careful of drips.

Finally settled in, Naevi sets about getting her kylix filled with wine and takes a sip - not exactly a raucous drinker, by the look of it. But pleased enough with the taste, she sets about finishing off the rest of it while watching the festivities from a couch.

Tisiphone, somewhat tragically, is in high enough spirits that her idea of consolating Temperance is to grin and ask, "Good kisser, at least?" She laughs once, giving her fellow Ensign a gentle slap on the arm — which, of course, just sends a slosh of wine over the edge of her kylix. "Crap, crap!" No table manners on Sagittaron, perhaps — she just licks the drips of wine up off her fingers, trying to save as much of it as she can from landing on her fatigues. "So say we all!" she calls belatedly. "To bed, which we're all gonna need!" A laugh, and her third dreg-toss, no better than her second. "Agh!" she exclaims, and shoots a brief, playfully narrowed-eye glare toward Santiago, she of the professional dreg-throws.

"Mmm-hmm." Oberlin states, hefting the kylix. "Why do I miss all the /worthwhile/ bits?" He asks aloud, probably to no-one in particular and starts going through the motions, knocking out the first drink with calculated precision. This is met by an exaggerated, showy attempt to toss the dregs onto the altar, making exaggerated gestures clearly intended to mimic a pyramid player's scoring. "The God isn't a Panthers fan either." He says, exhaling after his first gulp of wine. The dregs actually hit, confirming this. "Of course, why would he be?"

Moving as quietly as he can, Atreus still intones, 'So say we all' softly before pausing at Santiago's chaise. Leaning over, he speaks quietly, "Excuse me, Ms. Blue. May I join you? Or were you holding this spot for someone?"

And, despite this being the third round, there's only been a couple of horrid mishaps at the kottabos so far. Greje, for her part, sprays the wine a little, but gets most of it in, while Dio's shot lands truer than an intoxicated eleven year old's really ought to. "The fourth no longer belongs to mankind," Greje goes on, "But is called hubris," she announces, as the winebearers come around to see who still wants to keep playing into the 'divine' rounds, of which there are seven.

"Dunno," Temperance replies mournfully. "By th' time I realized weren't what I wanted, was already happenin'." She sighs and watches Tisi throw again. "Didn' pay much 'ttention ta much else after, 'cept gettin' outta there wi'out makin' it worse."

Never let it be said that Arkat can't play catchup with the best of them. Before his kylix is filled, there's a little skitter to perch himself on the end of the couch that happens to contain Santiago, although 'end of the couch' is the operative term. He's staying as far away from the expensive outfit as possible. It saves on beatings later. Between over-sped drinks and reasonably accurate shots, the marine can be heard muttering the bits he's missed, finally mumbling out "…Somethin' somethin' hubris." when his catchup is complete. …He's going to pay the price for that in a minute.

There's a glance cast up as the Chief inquires after the spot next to her. Santi slides over, by way of response, tucking her legs closer to her body, feet (and heels!) safely off the floor. She reclines, slightly, her own kylix now empty, and set aside. Her white dress remains free of stains, by some small miracle.

Three rounds of wine, plus the pitcher when she first arrived, is enough for Tisiphone — she holds up her hand to the winebearer, rather ruefully, and starts to push herself up off her couch. "Room for two more over here," she calls to the room at large. "Here, c'mon," she says to Temperance, and starts picking a path away from the festivities, reverently placing her empty and wine-sticky kylix with the other dirty ones.

Atreus lifts a brow slightly as Arkat claims the barest end of the couch. When Santiago scoots over to give him room, the DC sits between the two. Accepting a kylix from one of the priests, he nods, "Thanks." Lifting it to either of his 'couch mates' in a toast, he downs what is there to the fourth of Greje's intonations. After taking the drink, he leans over to aim the slops at the ceremonial bowl.

Speaking of catch-up, Oberlin is in for round two, a goofy smirk on his face as he accepts the second round which he starts knocking back with aplomb. Only the /slightest/ twinge of red eventually shows up in his cheeks as that pyramid-throw of the dregs returns. "And for Hubris. AND THE CROWD, IT GOES WILD." He finally adds to himself, the apparent lame joke-quality of his addendum is not lost on him, given the snicker that follows.

The Little Lord seems to be nodding, now, as well, and, though he takes a fourth kylix gamely, he droops to rest against the Priestling's side and spills it nicely all over her stomach and the couch before rousing himself and sipping at some of it, then drifting off to sleep. Greje aims a smile to Tisiphone and Temperance as they take their leave. "God bless," she calls to them as they go. The god in question, of course, being Dionysus. And, that done, she hefts the kylix again, drinking it down to the dregs and then catapulting them out toward the bowl.

Santiago glances over as several bodies take up perching on the couch she once held on her own. There's a smile lingering, and she nods to both men. The more the merrier, in celebrations such as these! "A little more wrist," she comments, to Atreus. To Arkat, she notes, "That hat's a jaunty statement."

And the winebearers come around as regular as the seasons, waiting if they see someone about to throw, then continuing their way around, as Greje announces, "The fifth leads to shouting. So say we all." Though Oberlin seems to have a headstart on that, and his theological pun maks her giggle, cheeks red, and hide her face behind the kylix, showing him the gorgon's face grinning fangily at him from the underside of the cup.

Temperance nods and follows Tisiphone, hanging her head slightly. She might have initiated the conversation, but she's clearly not proud of herself. "Didn't mean ta innerupt," she murmurs as they go. "On duty inna lit'le bi', jus' thought I'd try ta talk ta you aforehand."

Atreus turns to lift a refilled kylix to the retreating women. He does not try to hail them, though silently wishes them well. Lifting the vessel higher, he knocks back his second helping of wine. To whatever number two is, anyway. Or to hubris, if that is as it should be. Before tossing the dregs, he turns a nod to Santiago. "More wrist? Thanks. I'll give it a try." Then, as she addresses Arakat, he turns and smiles a bit, "It is a nice look. Very jaunty." Then, the toss with more wrist action is attempted.

Naevi sets her kylix to rest on her knees for the moment, stretching her shoulders and looking about yet again. The wine in the bowl sadly nearing completion, she takes another sip and swirls the dregs about in a circle as she ponders just what the 'done thing' is.

"And you, Sister!" Tisiphone calls back over the drinking and chaos, raising a winestained hand to send a sticky fingerwiggle toward the Chaplain. One of the swings are free, and she weaves (and wobbles) her way toward it, carefully parking her backside on it. She doesn't start swinging on it, though; just dangles, one foot swinging gently, as she talks to Temperance.

"I believe it accentuates the decisive message needed by headwear in our modern age, giving just an air of elegance while doing… something." Is how Arkat thanks Santi and Atreus for the mention of his hat. He started the sentence with a smile, but by the time it's onto the following "…Something, something." he's wearing a slightly tipsy frown. It's about as angled as his hat. "I have no idea what I'm talking about." Preceeds a grin, and a "So say we all!" is (naturally) shouted before a refill of his wine disappears mouthwards and the dregs are wrist-flicked on target. Mostly.

"It's all about timing, Sister. Jacqueline Mays didn't lead the Vultures to /two straight/ pyramid championships without it, after all. But yes, shouting. SO SAY WE ALL." Oberlin's used-car-salesman smile is shined directly on Greje right as he accepts the next refill. He's a little flushed, but not quite boozy just yet. Remember, he's still catching up. As he downs the next drink, he moves to fling the dregs in that same exaggerated style and - misses. Yuck. There's a messy splatter that decorates the floor, and even a bit of it splashes back onto his fatigues. "Uh. I think I just got to the 'hubris' round, didn't I?" He says, deadpan.

Temperance smiles at Greje when she blesses them, but her expression is slightly confused. She follows Tisi over to the swings and slides her butt onto the other one free next to her. "M'a frakkin' idiot," she says softly, in case language is something frowned upon during the rites. Glancing to Tisiphone, she makes a face. "Yer gonna laugh when I tell ya," she adds balefully.

"Jaqueline Mays… ohmygods," Greje warbles out, "I could watch her hotpass from left of center all day if you let me," she goes on. A pyramid fan of more or less equal fondness for all teams, especially their best players. She leans on her elbow, feeling a little weighted down by the wine as it accumulates in her, but maybe the God in her is loosening her into the game, 'cause that loose shot she tkes arcs straight up and down again into the center of he bowl, making waves in the collection, going in a straight arm over Temperance's head as she gets on the swing between the priest and the brazen bowl. And then she's giggling again at the next bit of religious humor from the guy, lifting her kilix-arm over her head and getting a little breathless before the winebearers start around again, and she clears her throat, laughing, "The sixth is for drunken revelry," she announces. "So say we all!"

And another serving of the wine is lifted toward Atreus' lips. Like others, he is still 'cathching up'. This is his third and a faint flush stains his cheeks, the alchohol lending his glance a sparkle. Nodding to Arkat, he offers, "Um. A certain… debonair rakishness? Or… a completeness that modern fashions are lacking?" His glance turns to Santiago, "What do you think, Ms. Blue?" Finishing the kylix, he aims a shot at the bowl, though not without adding, "So say we all."

As she watches Oberlin hurl the dregs in the direction of the bowl, Naevi clutches her own kylix and ponders the distance for a moment. Not quite so blind drunk that she needs to compensate for movement that isn't happening, she flicks her wrists quickly and lands the dregs where they're meant to go. She cheers for herself, echoing Greje's words, "So say we all!"

Noelani cheers, "So say we all," and knocks back the drink. She then swirls the wine in the bottom of the cup, before launching the last bit toward the pot on the altar. Somehow, she still manages to make it.

"I might," comes Tisiphone's easy confession, along with a chuckle. She's keeping her voice down, as best she can, given the wine she's just drank. "But I don't mean it mean." It makes sense, at least in her own head. "An', you weren't an idiot. Woke up still fuzzy, yeah? Of course a guy's gonna try and get some of that while the getting's good. S' what they do." So profound, she is.

"That's pretty much what I did." Says a chagrined Oberlin back towards Greje as he attempts to lamely wipe the spilled dregs away. "I think eventually they figured out her fakes, but by the time they did it was too late. As they did with our 'fake Battlestar' yesterday." The chagrin fades again as he accepts one more refill, loosening up himself. "Revelry. SO SAY WE /ALL!/" Another gulp and with that goes the juggling of the kylix from one hand to the other as he backspins and right there, the dregs go flying into the bowl. BOOSH. He's probably one of those people who plays pool better after he's had a few in him, and that trend applies here.

As she's twirling the kylix to give a toss of the lees over to the bowl on the altar, at the last moment something that Oberlin says about Jackie Mays strikes her incredibly funny, for some reason known only to Dionysus, and she grabs for the toss at a most peculiar angle, sending a veritable bow of spray to sprinkle over just about everyone but the sleeping Dionysus at her side. Which only makes her laugh the more, pulling the cup over her wine-soaked stomach and nearly falling backward off of the couch.

"S' jus' the problem," Temperance replies to her with a shrug. "He didn't try ta get while i' was 'good'. Wanted ta talk 'bout m' home, an' m'family, an' then when 'e did get 'round ta smoochin', decided ta dipsmooch me. /Dipsmooch/!!" She shakes her head. "Guess that's wha' they do inna movies, so I shouldn't 'spected differen' from 'im." Oh yeah. Did she not mention who this was?

With the quick three for catch-up, Arkat can be forgiven for starting to sway ever-so-slightly on the edge of the couch. The time it takes him to blink is getting a little longer, too. "Yessss." Atreus' elegance with words is appreciated with over-vigorous head nodding and a point of his finger. It's about the same time he's splattered with wine, actually. So it's more of a "Yesssss-whyamIwet?"

Naevi holds her kylix up in front of her to try and avoid the rain of dregs, although for the most part they land everywhere and she's just left laughing to herself, calling across to the Chaplain: "Nice shot." It is at that point she notices the figures etched into the bottom of her chalice and she snorts a laugh, giggling wildly and falling over to one side on the couch.

Santiago's kylix remains empty, now, though she does cheer on the other players in the dregs flinging, as fingers hook through the handles of various kylix, and wrists are put into play. "Very good, Chief!" She applauds the efforts of both couchmates, and just happens to glance back in time to see the sister's inebriated chuck-of-dregs goes flying wide, up and over the altar. It's like a spidey sense for the fashion forward, that tingle that goes up the back of her beck. It's unlikely a person will ever again see an Aquarian, in five inch heels, and a full on evening gown, move that fast. Ever. Again. She presses back against the furniture, then ducks behind Atreus with the rain of wine and dregs.

"Huh. Heh heh heh heh. To your health, Sister." Oberlin says, a little disarmed for a moment then glancing at the sloshed Chaplain with unrestrained mirth after having finished his last mouthful. As the winebearers come by, he holds up a hand and goes, "Hm. No thanks," wiping his wine-staned mouth with the back of his hand. "I think I should probably clean up and get /respectable/ before someone starts getting ideas about me." Stepping back, he swings his head around to get a good look at the other revellers. "Not a bad way to bless a new ship. If I do say so myself."

Karthasi leaves her kylix on her belly, looking pregnant with a weird-nosed gorgonhead as she sprawls there, revelling in the minddrech. "That was the first krater," she remarks to Oberlin with a spark of jocularity in her own eyes, waving off the winebearer, herself.

"The next krater is for fistfights, and for black eyes," she does call out, though, for those still playing.

Atreus nods to Arkat, "Exactly." He turns toward Santiago to accept her compliment and; thereby, sees the flung wine in time to move. While Santiago skitters like a spider behind him, he stands and steps a little to the right. (Just a step, mind.) Spreading his arms, he gives the wine-and-dregs splash a larger target and shields Santiago as much as possible. About that time, his kylix is refilled and he blinks a bit when his extended hand is weighted more heavily. He's had three. Not yet enough for true inebriation, but enough for it to take a blink or three before he realizes the cause. Bringing it forward, he lifts it in a bit of a toast, downs it, flings the dregs and calls, "So say wew all!"

Blink. "Why am I wet?" Arkat isn't quite as quick as he'd like to be when wine's making his extremities tingle. Looking down at himself, he balances the kylix in one hand. Off-duties are eyed. The sudden burst of movement next to him is eyed. "Why am I we-" He's interrupted by a wine-bearer. All is forgiven. And forgotten. It's gone impressively quick, with a few drops running down his cheek before a lopsided flick of the wrist. "See saw we all!" It's… a pretty simplistic tone. One might say 'drunken' but pfft. Marines don't get drunk.

Setting her kylix to one side, Naevi slowly stands up and pauses for a moment. Her arms slightly out to the side, she 'tests the waters' to see if she's alright to walk and when she isn't immediately compelled to headbutt the ground she seems satisfied. As she walks, she stoops over Greje's couch to pat her on the shoulder and give her a smile, "I need to head out so I can start sobering up … but this was great. You'll definitely see me at your next service." As she says that, it seems as though she can't quite believe the notion herself.

"Dipsmooch?!" Tisiphone sounds nearly as incredulous as Temperance — though a bit louder. It's Dionysus's fault. "The /frak/? He think he was some kinda…" She waves one hand expansively. "Kinda, kinda movie star or something? And you can't remember if it was good? Damn, Temperance." Sorrowful. She stands — or, rather, begins to stand. It may take a while. It takes a lot of work to balance, you know.

"God bless you, young, young lady," Greje reaches up to return the shoulder clasp, then uses that leverage to drag her feet to the floor and tuck her kylix at the head of the couch, pulling the woman into a half-hug, less touch-resistant than she usually is, in the spirit of the festival. "The eighth, to lawcourt-summons," she goes on, the rounds getting shorter now as the winebearers are pouring to fewer and fewer people. "So say we all."

The pitch goes wild, wine and dregs marking an arch much like Greje's though in the opposite direction. Dropletts glitter in the light, their trajectory looking as though the liquid is hanging in mid-air only to fall everywhere. Atreus watches it, a low burp escaping unnoticed. "S.so say we all." Another burp that he manages to cover, "S'cuse me." Swaying a bit, he slowly sits again on the couch. Turning to Arkat, he snickers softly, but does not try to answer. When the wine bearers return, he shakes his head. Finally, turning to Santiago, he gives her a long look, top to bottom. It is not a leer, exactly, but it does tend to linger. When he looks up at her, seeking her eyes, his smile is bright, "Don't think you got splashed, Mss. Blue."

Naevi returns the half-hug with a smile, echoing the 'So say we all' before she releases the other woman and moves back towards the hatch. She casts a very pleasant, satisfied look back over the festivities before she ducks her head and heads back out into the party-less world of 'Rest-of-the-Ship'.

The body shielding chivalry does not go amiss. Santiago laughs, from her spot crouched behind Atreus. "Splash damage," she notes to Arkat, a chuckle almost swallowing the word. She moves to rise, very slowly, mindful of the height of the heels she wears, and uses Atreus's shoulder for an assist. "If you'll excuse me, the more drunken the revelry, the more wide the shots go. I should relocate before my dress pays the price." She calls over, "Sister, thank you for your blessings, and the wine!" At some point, not too far from now, she's going to wish she made it to the 10th round. "Nice save, Chief. I'll see you at the ceremony later, mm?" She doesn't look as if she minds the long look. Better to be looked over than overlooked. She taps the brim of Arkat's hat as she steps by, "I've got my eye on that hat." Heels are sharp against the deck, and the white clad woman beats a retreat.

Arkat, swaying and all, takes the refill with the grace and dignity of a marine sliding twoards three sheets. Turning towards Atreus and his gallant defense of a white dress, a beat passes. Then one more. Finally, he can't hold his tongue. "If'n you're gonna stare that long, you might'swell go for a honk. S'less…" His fingers click and eyebrows lower as the word is sought-after. The wine sloshes in his kylix as a result. "Oblivious!" Wait. "Obvious!" He covers his tracks about saying anything with a very hasty 'Soshewal." and a flick of the dregs. Somehow, 9/10ths of them hit the target. The other 1/10th goes up his nose. Commence sneezing fit.

"You are welcome here! God bless you, and be most kind to you, White," Greje calls to the retreating woman, whose name she never quite caught. But anonymity is the name of today's game, anyhow. We are all God today. "The ninth krater is fore bile and vomiting!"

Atreus waves to Santiago, then turns to Arkat, "Huh?" Was the long look the result of drunkeness? Or was the drunkeness merely a cover? He winks at Arkat, then scoots over when the sneezing fit begins. Fishing in a pocket, the man produces a rag from the Deck and offers it to the sneezer, "Here." Another refill is accepted this time. He eyes it dubiously, the light glittering on the liquid's surface. "So say we all." Finally, he downs the measure and flings the dregs in the direction of the collection bowl.

Somehow, somewhen, Arkat trasponses himself. One second he's on the couch, the next. he's vanished! …To the floor. Behind it. At least the tissue was grabbed on the way down, sneezing fit sending him backwards with more force than is really needed. It's… where he stays for a while, really.

"Oh… goodness," Greje giggles, trying to keep her voice moderate, but failing, in some regard. "It looks like we have our last man standing," she notes, to Atreus, trying to get her feet under her well enough to stand, and then finally doing so with a languid stretch. She could probably drink more— she's served Diuonysus for a while, after all. But there are events tonight. "Well done, sir. The blessings of Dionysus are with you today."

Atreus blinks a little, then turns to Greje. He rises, swaying a bit on his feet. A blush augments the flush of wine on his cheeks, "Oh, no, Sister. I mean… Thank you. And thanks to Dionysus for his blessings. But… I've only had…" He looks down at the vessel in his hand and blinks, "Um… A few? Six, I think." A hiccup sounds and he smiles at the priest. "Gotta finish f'r it t' count, right?"

Karthasi looks a little astounded at the admission, "Yes, quite true. Four more," she goes on, going to take the winejug herself and fill it at the krater with ritual care, then walking in a remarkably straight line to Atreus' couch to pour him a seventh. "The seventh is for fistfights," she reminds him.

Atreus swallows mightily at the idea of four more. But, when Greje comes over with such a determined look, he nods and holds up the vessel for the woman. "Fistfights. Good f'r… Uh… Working off steam." Lifting it, he downs the drink and blinks a bit owlishly. When he flings the dregs, he tries not to splash the already well and truly splashed woman.

Karthasi laughs at the spatter, but she's already drenched from where a little boy just poured a whole kylix of wine onto her person, so she doesn't seem to mind it. She pours him another. "And the eighth is for lawcourt-summons."

Atreus smiles at the priest's laughter. There is something encouraging about that sound. Something inebriated and carefree. Just as it should be. Taking courage from that sound as much as the wine already coursing through his blood, the man lifts the kylix in a salute to the woman, then to the god and swallows it. Or, most of it. Some does trickle from the corners of his mouth, but he flings the dregs in the general direction of the collection bowl and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. His off-duty digs are already spattered so a bit more on a sleeve is not going to even show.

"And the ninth, for bile, and vomiting," Greje goes on, lowering her head with a mirthful look as she pours another, ever-relentless in her wine-bearing duties, though she pours slow enough not to splash, with a surprising care considering the carelessness of the day.

Atreus winces a bit, "Ne'er liked tha' one, Sister." He shakes his head, though really that might have been a bad idea. Bile and vomiting. The very idea makes him swallow a few times. Clearing his throat, he lifts the kylix again. Inhaling, he takes in the scent of the wine then downs it. The dregs are again flung to the bowl. Perhaps the success of the last attempt gives him a measure of bravado, or the spirit of the day is high within, for he nearly laughs as he speaks, "So… say wa..we all."

Karthasi breaks out a broad, bright grin the sort of which is seldom seen among the priest's collection of conservative expressions, and her free hand goes to tangle in the chief's hair, fondling a lock of it between two fingers before giving it a fond and encouraging tousle, leaning in to pour the tenth draught and whisper to him, "And the tenth is for the divine Madness the God brings in his wake."

The touch is a bit surprising, considering the woman's typical reserve but clearly not unwelcome. The man blushes a bit more, the color only adding to the wine-touched crimson. He clears his throat, eyes following the priest's lean. When the kylix is filled, he lifts it, "So… so say we all." The last measure is lifted and swallowed. The final toss is made and Atreus sets the kylix down on the chaise beside him. As he rises, he slips an arm about Greje, drawing her closer to offer a hug, if she allows it, "Nice service, ma'am. Thanks."

Karthasi leans in and returns the half-hug. Yes, a little drunk, but still quite proper. "Don't go yet. You have to get your… -reward,-" she whispers to him, leaving the word to hang there for a moment.

The hug is almost tender in its gentleness. The man is not as rough around the edges as some might think, Deck Chief or no. He releases the woman, careful not to stumble himself. "Uh. R.reward?" Whatever he is thinking, it causes a brief battle within. Finally, he clears his throat and half smiles a sheepish and slightly impish smile, "Lookin' forward to it."

Karthasi stands up straight as she's let go, looking mightily pleased with herself, holding up one finger in a 'wait just here' gesture as she disappears back into the back center cubicle. When she returns, her hands behind her back, she finally gives up that mysterious look and pulls the prize out for him to see. A papier-mache kylix, filled up with candies! "Congrajastations."

Madness and mayhem are on the Deck Chief's mind, though in all honesty, he does keep his wife's image firmly in front of him mental wanderings. It helps to think of her when situations might very well lead him astray. As such, when the beautiful priest disappears into the center cubicle, the man very nearly flees. Only the notion that it might be insulting to either the Priest or the god roots him to the spot. Well, that and rapid movement is not a possibility right now. When she returns, he tilts his head like a bird struck with curiosity. Finally, the reward is revealed and; he cannot help it, the man laughs out loud. Accepting the offered kylix with it's contents, he grins and bows cautiously. "Thank you, Sister." Impishly, he takes out a chocolate and offers it to her.

Noelani is watching with an open smirk on her face at the exchange, just resting on her couch for now. The wine has her swimming, and she may very likely just crash in the temple tonight, being unable to get back to the quarters.

"You're so welcome," Greje lets the guy know, taking the chocolate out of a spirit of hospitality, even if chocolate gives her headaches. "There will be more festivities tonight after the commissioning ceremony, if you would like to come by again."

Atreus is blissfully unaware of the war chocolate wages with the Priest's head. Sad. He would substitute something nicer if he had a clue. "Thanks, Sister. I'll do that. Now?" His grin warms again, "I'd better get a nap or I'll be stupid later." Noticing the woman on the couch, he waves, then holds out the paper mache kylix in an offer, "Want one?" Then, as though the idea just hit him, "I'm going to leave this on the Deck to share." The nod is quick and decisive, though the look he gives Greje is almost innocent. Almost.

Noelani shakes her head and holds out her hand. The wine has already done enough to her, she doesn't need chocolate screwing with her head too.

"Go, sleep well," Greje tells the man. "Dionysus brings the sweetest blessings of Ypnos in his wake," she tells him. If there's anything inappropriate in the look, she doesn't seem to catch it, since she's not turning any further shade of bright red.

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