PHD 240: Dust
Summary: Fiver encounters Jericho in the Chapel, during a vigil.
Date: PHD 240 (Dec 14 2009)
Related Logs: None

Hexagonal in shape, the chapel is a quiet and tranquil place of worship where crew members come to give prayer and offerings of worship towards their deity of choice. Three tiers of benches ring the room in concentric lines, radiating inward to a slightly raised dais. The dais itself is lit from beneath, thick white opaque panels covering the lighting that's mirrored from above. Small offerings are left in the form of incense cones and small baubles ontop of the podium styled altar which has stylized carved figurines of each of the twelve major dieties. At each point of the hexagonal platform, there's a waist-high metal brazier in which burns a single pillar candle during ceremonies.

Jericho sits on one of the benches, her eyes focused on the small altar. There's a cone of incense with a curl of smoke wafting up from its tip, and as she's the only occupant currently, there's a good chance it was the doctor who was responsible for lighting it. She doesn't have a string of prayer beads in her hand, but rather a small hand crafted doll of burlap and yarn that sits in her palms.

From the side a small door can be seen opening in the dim light, as one of the Chaplains seems to be on duty or such this late-though unlike normal times in which the starch blues are thrown on, such as before services, Fiver is caught in his greens, for a more relaxed look. Moving to the altar, there's a pause as he moves down to his knees, and bows. Remaining silent as hands move to press palms together, he does let his eyes flick down to where Jericho has herself planted as well. "Doctor." the thick accent burring even in the softness of words. "Is everything alright?" Asked before there is one more slow bow, before palms hit the deck and he is pushing himself up to stand.

As the Chaplain enters, Jericho shifts slightly to drop the little doll back into the pocket of her labcoat discretely. It's not like she hasn't been seen with it before, but it's just never come up in conversation. "Padre." She offers in a tender footed voice. "I'm fine. Just doing my nightly vigil… That's turned into more of a weekly vigil. Lords forgive me." A small smile ticks up then quickly vanishes.

"Well, vigils are often needed. It reminds the boatman that he has souls to bring into Elysium, and those souls, that they are missed. Even Orpheus played a vigil, and it moved heaven." A smile there before he's coming over and then easing himself down beside the doctor. "The lords love a heart that seeks them, and the well being of others. They would not see this as a grievous offense." Smile given back before he is looking to the altar quietly. "May, I ask who was on your heart's mind?" Fiver tilts his head just so, as he looks back to the blonde woman.

Jericho touches a hand to her hair, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear in a dismissive gesture. "Just saying my graces to the souls that have perished. The Yuhtza believe that the soul stays with the body for seven days after the last signs of life have faded, and on the eighth day it is released into earth, wind, fire, and water. There's no dirt on a Battlestar…"

"The Uhtza.." the word is repeated, before he's looking back to the Doctor's lap, though whatever she had held is gone-the chaplain is not one to prod overtly anyway. "Well. I am sure dirt can be found." And he grows silent for a moment, before he's smiling "Are you familiar with the creation story, Sir? And do you have a knife?" What is Fiver getting at still he is looking back expectantly to the Surgeon.

"Yuhtza." Jericho repeats, correcting him slightly on his inflection. "You know just because I'm a surgeon, doesn't mean I carry a scapel with me." She says with a slight laugh, though she's patting her pockets down anyways. The doctor comes up with a small multipurpose tool which no doubt has a blade as one of the attachments.

"Ja, Yuhtza.." he replies "My rooienke roots make it hard for me sometimes." A chuckle there, before he's looking over, multitool passed, he's taking it. "Perfect.." And so with looking through the multi tool he does find on tiny blade that's work. Turng over his hand he begins to gently scrape at the surface. "Now.. When Prometheus was imprisoned, for he failed to fight the Tightans with the Olympians, Zeus came to him and said: 'Promtheus, I need you to make man for us.' And so our prisoner creator agreed however, the gods gave him no tools. Just the dirt floor of his prison cell.." And he continues to scrape, softly. "So Promtheus took his hands and scooped dirt from the floor, till he had a pile, then taking some of the soil, he spat into his hand..and made mud. From the mud he took care to create and mold a little man, to which Athena, blew life into him.." with the scraping done he is carefully handing the blade back to the doctor, first.

Jericho looks…rather apprehensive when the blade is pulled out and the man starts scraping at his hand. Gingerly, she takes it back and folds it within itself before looking for him to continue. And maybe shed light on what was up with his palm.

As disgusting as this might be, Fiver is doing his best to try and help the situation. "So knowing that, man came from mud, which is nothing more than dry dirt..Which is why to the dirt we must be resigned, when death comes for us.." And with that he brushes the little collection of white flakes from the top of his hand onto his pants' leg which is carefully snagged up and taken over to where the incense cone is lit, and letting off it's little whisp of smoke. "So, I am giving you dirt, for the people you respect."

Jericho touches two fingers to her lips, concealing the expression of astonishment and adoration that suddenly springs to them at the gesture from the Chaplain. When she can form the words again, she stumbles over them. "That was…incredibly thoughtful of you, Brother." She says softly, her throat still a bit choked up, "Thank you."

Fiver doesn't look back to the Doctor, instead he stays focused as he carefully deposits the little flakes down to the flame, making sure to keep them on the cone, and around it if possible. They are not so numerous to be noticed from there out. Once down he is backing up and looking over to Jericho with a slight smile, though it does not reach. Perhaps a little emotion there he can keep back. "I am only glad I could help those, and you." And with that he is coming back to stand by the pew. "You are welcome, Sir."

Jericho tilts her head back slightly so her face is canted up toward Fiver and the light from the Altar can catch it. "I suppose it's all apart of the job, isn't it? You deal with death as much as I have to, we should both be seasoned pros by now."

Fiver watches Jeri for a moment before a almost sadder smile fixes on the Chaplain's face. "It is, but that doesn't mean it is supposed to ever get easier, or be something that we become numb to." And with that his hand morely moves to rest on the smooth faux wood backing. "I thought when I was in Seminary, I would get over my fear of flying..But I never have…I also thought after my first funeral- that they would become easier, and slowly I wouldn't feel for those who lost. I could be, professional." A shake of his head. "I was wrong on both accounts…I feel like, when I try to become comfortably numb, I just add more of death's weight on my shoulders.." a bit of a pause for a moment. "I just cannot do it. Not anymore. I cannot lie to myself and say it will be easier despite being hauntingly familiar with death and his work." A swallow there. "No..I think that is what makes us human. That empathy that hits your heart like a bullet, and brings you to cry for others."

Jericho drops her gaze back to her lap, her her fingers have knit together in a knot of worry. "Ah, but if you cry during sermon, it makes it that much more powerful. If I cry during surgery, I've contaminated my patient." She smiles to add levity to the conversation, forcing her gaze back up. "Again, that was very sweet of you. I should get back.."

"Save your crying for after surgery, if bad. Besides." and with that he offers a hand down to the woman. "I am here if you need a shoulder to cry on. You'll find I have good shoulders." a faint joke in all of that. "If you need to go, I will let you, never force people to be here..though if you need me to go, I can..If you need a hug?" well it is offered all the same. One thing can be said about Fulk. He gives good hugs.

Jericho doesn't seem to take him up on the hug, but she's content enough to take the hand up in helping her stand. "Work, Brother. It's always waiting for me." She explains, and smiles gently to his other offers. Her hand squeezes his, "I'll see you soon, I'm sure. I always wander over here for the peace."

Fiver squeezes back before one hand moves to pat her on the shoulder before her hand is released. "Jah, I am sure, however you need to talk, I am easy to find." They are in the same berths together anyway. "Go with the gods, and may peace find your life and guide your path." He offers quietly.

"And you as well." Jeri says in equally soft tones, before slipping off for the hatch.

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