PHD #363: To Be Enlightened
To Be Enlightened
Summary: Circe and Lysander meet to pray. Rian and Carmen join.
Date: 24 Feb 2042 AE
Related Logs: TBD
Carmen Circe Lysander Rian 
Very big desc
Post-Holocaust Day: #363

A little time is found between 'off duty' pee-tee for Wade and she still carries one of the stress type balls she borrowed from Cameron. Circe moves to find a place amongst the few others in the Chapel at this time of night and she draws the two medallions out of hiding from beneath her top.

She takes a seat and then bows her head over the medallions and her hand holding them. SHe murmurs a few words and then lifts her head, gazing up at the altars.

Though it may take the twist of an arm to get the sergeant into the chapel, Lysander is a man of his word and so has arrived without too much fault. He is near-immediately bouncing his gaze from one point of interest to the next as he quietly steps forward. Wordlessly does he take a seat next to Circe - she's rather easy to spot amongst everything involved in these ceremonial chambers - and offer just the briefest of glances in her direction.

The presence of Lysander is not lost on her but she is in mid-reflection when he joins her. Circe keeps her hands over the medallions at her neck before she shifts and casts a glance his way. "Glad you could make it." She breathes softly. A faint smile touches her lips and she shifts her gaze foward once more. "You can pray in general, but if you have a patron God or Goddess that holds your interest, you can direct them to those expressly." She sits forward with a folding of her ankles beneath the pew. "I wasn't overly sure you would come." She admits.

First Lysander's right hand's fingers strum along that side's knee and then he does the same with his left, growing all the more conscious of his breathing patterns and heartbeat as the silence grows on. She breaks it and he looks over again before offering a small, plaintive smile. What is he to say to such a comment? He's left to just smile and then nod before directing his gaze back forwards and aimlessly look over the idols. "Do I have to?" He's seemingly anxious, quiet. He promised to come, not pray, at least. He turns his hands over and begins lacing them together between his legs. "Not that I don't want to, I did come, but."

"How you pray is your choice, if you don't wish to. It's nice to just sit, besides I can not stay long." Circe gazes over the reliefs of the Lords and smiles faintly. "You seem uncomfortable" She observes, her gaze studying his movements, "This is much easier than the battlefield." she offers. With a shift of her body, she draws her hands from the medallions and lifts her head fully so that she can look at him. "We don't have to stay." The tone of her voice remains low so as not to be a disturbance to the others.

Lysander gives a soft click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth at the mere thought of actual, bona fide prayer. It makes him knit his brows with a growing dubious expression. Then again, with being said he might be uncomfortable he reaches up to quickly pinch the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. "I just have a lot on my mind, an' even more to prepare for. It's got both nothing to do with battlefields and all the more to do with them. It's just nothing's easy, is all," he is wise to keep his volume down and his tone of voice softened, leaving him with a husky rasp that rests just above a whisper. He turns his face to the side in order to fully look upon her. He forces a polite smile. "I'll be fine though." He pauses, as if to say more, and then turns to the idols in order to owlishly blink. He can do this.

Both Circe and Lysander are sitting in the pews speaking softly as the medic herself is reaching back up to the medallions about her neck. "You don't have to force yourself to pray. It should come from a want to speak to the Gods because of something that youf eel they can answer." She offers to him as she lets her hazel eyes draws away from him back to the front. "Prayer is nothing more than expressing your thoughts outwardly." The corpsman shifts forward more, as if at some point she may move to kneel, but for the moment keeps perched at the edge of the pew. With the medallions pressing against the skin of her palm, she whispers something, closing her eyes as she allows her own prayers to move outwardly and allows Lysander to explore his own.

"Prayer is nothing more than to let the Lords once again fail us in our time of need." There's a momentary lapse in his response that makes him cast his gaze down into his empty lap and then begin closing his eyes. He presses his lips together into a thinned smile. "This should be interesting." It's murmured under the Sergeant's breath. He remains sitting upright on the pew and in the meantime places his hands into his lap.

The familiar whirrrr-click of the hatch breaks the silence of the Chapel as the tall marine back steps into the room. The bright light of the corridor cast her body in shadow and the murmurs of the crowd that has gathered beyond can be faintly heard. "Holy hell…" she mutters to herself, pulling the hatch closed and turning towards the alter. A frown on her pale features she looks about the room, hand still on the hatch wheel for a moment. Dark eyes notice the pair in the pews and a half smile curls up her lips as she looks upon Lysander, though a look of surprise and amusement can't be hidden. Moving more quietly she approaches where the couple sit, standing and looking down. "Sarge, crewman," she offers in greeting, voice a lot quieter then her normal tones. "Did you know there might be a riot in the hall out there? I didn't stay long enough to fully inquire but it's a damn good thing I'm not a MP because I think they may be working some OT tonight." A nod of her head and a point of her nose to Lysander she stands with hands on hips looking down, "Sarge, it's been a while. Been hiding? Turn religious?" Before he answers her attention is drawn over her shoulder to see if the chaplain is in.

Her voice fades a stitch and the noise from outside carries inward a second or two and then fades as the hatch is closed. Circe keeps her attention on her prayers at first, fingers curling deftly about the religious symbols that decorate her neck. It is the voice at her side and past Lysander that causes her head to shift. Eyes open and she offers a side long look at the woman. Recognition settles to her face and she smiles upon Rian with a slow nod of her head.

The medic releases the medallions as they shift to rest - mingling against her dogtags. She casts a look back, wondering over the information of what is transpiring outside the hatch. "Everything alright out there?" she inquires, wondering if things had gotten worse.

Lysander lowers his eyebrows and then knits them together. Whatever he has been internalizing in the past few moments has been thusly interrupted, leading him into opening his right eye and then his left before his gaze jerks to the side and he's left to look up at Rian. "No," is murmured. It begs to question how long he has been within the chapel. He slowly blinks and holds his chin low, staring forward. "I haven't been hiding, no." In the middle of answering, he begins to stand. "And I'm not religious, last I checked, but excuse me," after all, it is his duty to keep things calm on this boat and there's apparently the blueprints of a storm just beyond the chapel's quieted walls. He looks from one woman to the other before offering an apologetic smile; then, well then, he's moving for the exit.

"I'm not too sure, I didn't stick around long enough to find out what was going on, not big on crowds." Rian speaks with an added shrug, cheek turning and taking a half step back as Lysander moves to the door, "Looks like the others had it under control, but whatever go save-the-day." The Marine's voice is slightly irritated as he walks away from her, again. With a sigh she flops un ceremoniously into the pew he was once sitting on, slouching back against the hard wood. Not turning her head she directs her sarcasm forward but it is obviously meant for the other marine, "great catching up, love our long talks." With that she accepts that he is gone and she glances to her side to the curly haired crewman, "sooo… you come here often?"

As Lysander stands to make his way out, a brow lifts and Circe nods her head after him. She watches him go a moment and the shifts as the woman takes a seat next to her. Her lips pull back a little and she bites her bottom one at the statement made by the woman in the departure of the Sergeant. Fingers brush at the medallions again before she smooths to face forward. "Me…yes as much as I can find time to." She admits. "And yourself? You seem rather comfortable here unlike the Sergeant."

She does give the hatchway another look before facing forward once more. She dusts her hands up through her hair, unsettling said curls as she smiles faintly at Rian.

Sergeant Lysander does not reach the hatchway. He sure would like to but instead he turns his bulk around in mid-step and begins to pace himself back in the direction of the pew. "Do you have a problem or something?" The question is directed at the back of Rian's head; for one, he's still moving back to his seat so it is not as if he is in front of her; two, there is no two, but it doesn't stop him from speaking up and trying his hardest to break the sanctity of the chapel, "Because it sounds like you do, like ignoring my duty is something you want out of me." He sits down back in his original place. He stares forward.

Sergeant Lysander is moving towards the door, intent on saving the day or solving whatever trouble is going on in the hall. Rian sits on the pew next to Circe, slouching in her off duty garb and the comfort of her overly large and worn out jean jacket. "Yes, though I admit I have not been here in some time. The gods and I had a fallin out right about the time when I was fighting humans and saggies alike for my life." Her voice is rather low and unexpressive as she speaks, "It's come to my attention that I should reconcile." A brief look over her shoulder but not really looking at him she ads a shrug, "Lysander? From what I know he's not a religious man, I bet he didn't even think he know there was a chapel aboard."

"There is always time to reconcile." Circe says with a smile for the marine. The medic is in her own sweats, seated at the edge of the pew - perching rather as it would be but easing up as she speaks with the woman next to her. "I know many blame the Gods for things that happen, but we have a lot of control over what does and does not. Free will." She says and then clears her throat, hearing Lysander before she sees him. She turns slightly and as he takes a seat next to the women again, she clears her throat, her smile fading some at his words. She turns back to look forward and then clears her throat. " can stay here. You are off duty, but I know what its like to want to work even when one is supposed to be relaxing."

It's by accident that Carmen finds her way into the chapel, just trying to get away from the scowling and spitting that had taken place rather than any urgent need to pray or commune with the divine. Still, she's here, ducking through the hatch and then slinking slowly towards a pew in the back.

"I stated my problem earlier," Rian speaks though her face is still directed forward, "I haven't seen you off duty in a long while." There is a slight undertones of frustration with her words but she attempts to keep it minimal. A soft smile is shared with Circe, "Now aren't you sweet, all sunshine and rainbows. You believe in happily ever after too?" Then turning in the pew she places one arm on the back of it, coming face to face with the Sergeant. "Do /you/ have a problem? You've had something up your ass for days and anytime I even try to be in the same room as you, you get snippy. Chill?" A glance up to Carmen Rian nods a greeting but does not smile. Rising from her seat with ease she rests her hands on her hips again, "I was looking for the priestess but she seems to be off duty. I'll have to check back another time." Word indicating she is about to head back into the mess in the hall.

"That happens to be one of my reasons, Circe," the marksman stiffly smiles. He's off-duty. It's not his problem. He can trust in others to handle the situation accordingly. In the meantime, he reaches up in order to grasp at the hexagonal dog-tags dangling from a chain around his neck. They're taken up in order to unravel from around his neck and be held aloft near to his lap and between his knees. "I'm religious, in my own way. I don't talk about it either and it doesn't involve chapels." He corrects that idle misconception. "All men have need of the Lords, after all, and we're allowed our own way by them. So you're more than welcome to stay. I've no fault with you specifically." Lysander looks up from his dog-tags as the chain wags back and forth due to the ministrations of his fingertips.

The comment of rainbows and sunshines causes the corpsman's smile to all but flee, "I like think there is a measure of truth to happiness. It's what you put into it. What you give of yourself to something to produce a happy ending …or a happy beginning." Circe says faintly below her breath. The crewman casts a look back at the next arrival through the hatchway and she is nodded to. The warm hazel gaze of the medic is offered to the woman she does not recognize before her eye slide back up to Rian. There is a moment or two of silence that stills past the parted lips of the Leonite and then she adds, "I have come to reconcile with my past…perhaps it is not the Lords you should reconcile with." She offers before she checks her watch. Surgery soon. She draws a breath and hooks her shirt, sliding the medallions and dogtags inside and then she adds if only for those close to hear, "Pray as you will to whom you will. It is to bring you peace."

As slips into the pew, Carmen's pale eyes pass over the others in the chapel, a silent study of each made as she settles back. Arms fold across her stomach as her gaze moves from the people to the mural nearest, studying it as she listens to the conversation taking place.

Rian huffs as the medic talks about peace but tries to hide the reaction at the last second. A cough into her hand and she takes a step back to allow the woman to stand, "I'd like to believe as thoroughly as you seem to." The marine tries to soften her previous sarcasm with a smile that does not quite reach her eyes. "Thank you for the enlightening conversation," that is sincere however even if it is delivered as a young child would thank an elder for a lesson. Raising her wrist she looks to her own watch then back to the side door which leads to the priest quarters then back to the Sargent. Brows arch as her eyes lighten their gaze, "Well I suppose that's better then it being me specifically." Moving to the side of his pew she bends down, dark hair bouncing over pale cheeks as she presses a chaste kiss to the side of his stubbly cheek. A brief peck before she stands straight up and says in a soft tone to him, eyes looking more glossy then norm, "Goodbye," words perhaps suggesting this isn't just a casual fair well. Turning towards the hall she's at the hatch in no time and out the door, back in the thick of it.

"I, for one, enjoy being happy." It's why Lysander makes light of so many situations. Then again, it's somewhat difficult for him to after getting a kiss to the check so he ends up doling out a nonchalant shrug and begins to place his dog-tags back on. "It used to be. Then, well," he doesn't elaborate and instead the marksman shifts within the pew in order to look after Rian before glancing further over and in the direction of Circe. He lifts his brows emphatically. There are no words just yet. Somewhere along the line he takes notice of someone rather near, Carmen, and offers an apologetic smile: "Apologies for that, I've a certain magnet for awkwardness that's a bit… off-putting, in a way."

"As do I.." Circe intones and then rises, nodding to Rian a bit solemnly. "Come to chapel more." she says to the departing marine before she watches her kiss Lysander. There is a moments hesitation and she collects herself with a clearing of her throat. It is a step out of the pew and then into the main aisle as she then follows the sniper's gaze backwards to the woman. "You will have to excuse me, I have to get to surgery. Doctor Adair was wanting to help and watch. Part of my training." She explains to the seated marine. She smiles down at him, gaze softening before she reaches up to even start to draw back her hair for the quick jog to the sickbay. "If we can, would like to speak to you later. But I don't know how long I will be." She starts for the hatchway, nodding to Carmen with a renewed smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

It's from within a pocket that Carmen plucks a small hair band, tangling the small elastic thing within her fingers as both hands go behind her head. She sweeps up her hair, careful to smooth it out before twisting the band around carefully, all the while studying the mural and listening to the conversation taking place. No one can claim the girl is incapable of multi-tasking. Lysander gets a slightly crooked smile as both hands drop back into her lap. "There are worse things to be a magnet of," she offers, that cockeyed smile angled at Circe as she passes. "At least awkwardness can lead to funny stories later on."

"I'll be in my usual haunts," replies Lysander to Circe's comments before nodding in a moment of penultimate fashion. It's not terribly difficult to find the marine, not really. He continues with being turned about at the torso, leaning against the backside of the pew in order to return his attention to Carmen and offer a wry, short-lived smile in reply. "I've been in the Corps a long time. I'm used to worse. An' somewhere along the line began collecting all of the stories." There's a brief pause before he quietly adds in introduction lest he forget, "Sergeant Lysander."

"It's easy to collect stories when in the service," Carmen remarks with a wry twist of her lips. She slides down the pew, and then rises to proffer a hand in his direction. "Pleasure to meet you, Sergeant. Carmen Beringer."

Lysander takes to nodding in agreement before sitting up straighter and just a touch more formally. They're in a chapel, after all. With Carmen offering a hand, he leans into it with his hand and gives it a firm shake and pleasant little grin. "Nice to meet you." He starts to say more but then decides against in order to look casually around the chamber and begin shoveling his tags beneath the front of his shirt. "I should probably get out of here before the Lords strike me down for some transgression of old."

Carmen gives his hand a firm squeeze before it draws away, mouth quirking into an amused smile. Her head tips back by a few degrees to look up at the ceiling, as if she might spy some storm brewing overhead, ready to strike one or both of them down at a moments notice. "If that's a risk, I can see the desire to go. Truth is I should probably go too if there's a chance of anyone being smote."

"I," it's said before the marine decides to clear his throat and ignore any chagrin of those seated and meandering beyond the two of them. "Well," upon thoughtfully inclining his head to the right at a shallow angle he figures he can speak up properly, "I'll try and keep my bits of collateral damage from striking anyone else - least I could do in these trying times." He begins to dryly laugh, mostly to himself and fairly under his breath to keep from further disturbing anyone, "I'll blame those stories of mine."

His amusement comes in the form of a laugh, and hers in a brighter smile, humor bringing the faintest crinkle to the corners of her eyes. "I think that's the best we can all do, and hope for," Carmen intones in what she tries to make a solem tone, but truthfully there is far too much laughter in the undercurrent of her words to be thought of as very serious.

Lysander begins to stand from his Spartan bench and offhandedly he glances down to it. He then adjusts his gaze to take in that smile of hers and he smiles in reply. It's hard for him not to be so good-natured about things. "By your words, I'll definitely be hoping for it. If you don't mind, that is, Miss Beringer." He gives off a nod before moving to step to the side of the pew, in order to take his leave, preferably before one of the Lords decides to smoosh him.

"I don't mind at all, Sergeant," assures Carmen as she too seems to be preparing to go, well, as much as she needs to prepare. Which pretty much consists of being on her feet and starting to edge her way down the pew. "It was nice talking to you. Maybe next time we can talk in a place where we don't have to be so concerned about the Lords striking us down."

"Oh, quite," Lysander's enjoyed himself of the chapel and those within so far. Now all he has to do is not die by the time he exits and everything will be just grand. With him standing and walking first, he reaches the hatchway before Carmen and moves to hold it open for her all the same. At the thought of next time, he grins with the exit, "Fates willing."

Carmen trails behind him up the main aisle, lips quirking into another of those friendly smiles as he holds the hatch open for her. "Thank you," she bows her head to him slightly as she passes, by him and then out the exit.

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