Contagion
Contagion
Summary: The Kharon's priestess questions Kai and Roubani about the miasma affecting the ship.
Date: PHD105 (August 01, 2009)
Related Logs: A Mess in the Mess & Misotheists in Foxholes
Players:
Hale..Martin..Samantha..Ferris..Ariadne..Willem..Kai..Roubani..

General Lounge - Deck 3
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #105
OOC Time: Sat Aug 01 17:52:28 2009


The primary place for the crew to come relax when off-duty, this room is also rather large by requirement. Divided into two areas, one for officers and the other for enlisted, by a series of vertical V-shaped structural supports, this room has couches and chairs that have been worn in over the years by various crews. There are snack machines sitting along the back wall that offer a variety of edibles such as cheese doodles, nacho tortilla chips, and bagged pretzels for example. Other machines offer soda of a few specific types. A counter runs along the back as well that keeps a coffee urn going twenty-four hours a day. Each side of the room has some tables with magazines and other reading available for ready consumption by crewmembers.


"Hms?" Hands are moving to snag up his leaf of papers as he looks back over towards Dash and Rabbit grins for a moment "Oh M' book is about cowboys, revenge, betrayal-murder. Stuff like that. Got some right gory parts in there." Hale, adds before he's rising up and collecting pen, and mug. "Not quite finished, but Mooner has Part I for those wanting a read at it." A nod all the same as he's moving over by Kai-waiting to see his answer.

As the scent of smoke is detected, Kai rests the bag of cheese doodles on his lap and starts rummaging in his pockets for his own pack. Addict. To Willem, "Peachy." His eyes stay on the man a bit longer than seems strictly necessary, then a cigarette's tucked between his lips, and lit. "You're shitting me, Rabbit. You're actually writing a book?" His attention roves to the taller Lieutenant as he takes a drag.

Samantha plops back down next to Martin, sliding his mug of coffee on the table in front of him before she reaches over and steals his cigarette right out of his lips, taking a few good puffs of the thing before handing it back to him. Apparently, if she can't borrow a cigarette she'll take it as she pleases. She stretches against his body, getting comfortable there on the couch, smile never wavering but then her mood's been good since waking up. "I was surprised too, Spider. Didn't know the boy was literate, especially from that accent." She winks in Rabbit's direction

"Just checking." Wil replies enigmatically with an upwards glance, eyes drifting with a little flicker upwards to behold the Captain. He also can't help but butt in with Hale's story. "Nah. It's a Leonotian thing apparently. Ever read that one about the guy on the frontier who was paid to kill his brother by the provisional governor? His brother was an outlaw. Uhh," He attempts to provide a deeper explanation of literary genre in the least pedantic way possible. "A lot of these stories use the same tropes. That's not to knock them, they're -there- to be written with. Successfully done, they're entertaining. If you're -really- clever you can also introduce real, pertinent content into even the basest genre piece." Now here will likely come the dead silence as he looks around the table, giving a prematurely awkward stare as he already has an idea how all this will be received. "Uh. Yeah." Someone actually paid attention in class. Look where it got him.

"That sounds uplifting," Ariadne notes, smiling at Hale as she enters the room. "It's been a long time since I've read a good cowboy novel. Will you put me on the distribution list?" The rest of the gathering gets a pleasant dip of her chin in greeting. Except for Kai. Her smile, as she looks at the Captain, turns pensive. It nearly becomes a frown. "Captain…"

Hale shakes his head "No sir, trying to do something Muddy put me up to." Hale says with a slight smile. A shake of the leaf in his hand shows it still has a quite a ways to go. "Its what I've been doing when I am not in sims, duty, or flying. Helps me relax a little, and work shite out on paper yeah?" That, along with trying to get the pyramid game back going, he's got his hands full. "Anyway I got a rotation to make-But I'll catch you lot later.." A glance over his shoulder back towards Sam for a second and there's a faint rise of his brows. "I was suprised you read m'self Case..Always thought you were busy with other things." tease back, as he is moving to head on towards the hatch. "Alright ladies an gents. I'll see ya shortly."

As Hale takes off and everything, Ferris furrows his eyebrows a little bit, hrming slightly. "That's an interesting sort of thing to bet on. Whether or not you can write a book," he remarks idly, shrugging. He ain't gonna jibe it. He sips on his coffee, making another light face. Well, it -is- coffee. So it's gonna do it's job. When Ariadne enters, his head turns toward her, and he tilts his head slightly, smiling a little bit and waving his notepad laden hand toward her slightly.

Martin smirks and reaches out to grab his mug with his left hand. His right arm reaches up and then slides around Samantha's shoulders. Remaining comfortable, he chuckles inwards. A sip from the coffee is had, followed by a scowl, and ended with the reclamation of his cigarette. "What I wanna know…is if any of us are the basis for any of the characters in the novel." Martin replies. He then waves with his cigarette holding hand to Ariadne, shuffling a little to get comfortable on the sofa. "Not a bad bet, if you ask me."

Kai is sprawled on one of the couches, and somewhat at the periphery of the conversation. Par for the course, where the socially challenged Captain is conerned. There's a twitch at one corner of his mouth that could be a smile, just before Wil looks away. And then the arriving Ariadne is shot a glance. "Crewman," he greets blandly, ducking his eyes thereafter to pop a couple of cheese doodles into his mouth. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

"It's Rabbit. He. Bets." Wil says as he opens his mouth a bit, watching after the departing Hale. Back to his little miniature plotter as he pulls out a pencil and begins filling in the little paper grid with notes, arrangements of forces, the like. His heart's -somewhat- in it but he's just here to unwind more than anything else. "It could also be a cowboy novel. -In Space-. Change the vehicles and the setting slightly but keep those same tropes." A pause. "Oh, Damn it. What's the point of discussing this if Rabbit's not even here?" He does note Kai's look wordlessly and without anything other than a drift of his eyes. He then looks up and eyes the slightly beaten-down priestess with a wary, reserved nod.

Samantha gets comfortable beneath Martin's arm, looking fairly natural there as she slumps her head against his shoulder and takes turns dragging off of his cigarette with him. She's finally ceased to play with the ball letting it rest where ever Martin put it, her scarred right arm half flopped against his leg. She grins just a heartbeat at the thought of the novel…"Well..the dashing, strong, passionate and ever clever heroine is -cleeearly- written off me. But imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so I won't complain." She chuckles…"And it's a good bet. Something to kee us all sane."

Martin nods with a smile. "Shit…Space Cowboys…hell yeah." That seals it. He's not the opera type. He's probably never owned a tuxedo, or even wore one unless it was a means to getting a date or discount prime rib. There's a little too much of a glint in Martin's eye. Perhaps in his mind, right now, he is a space cowboy in all reality. Blinking away his daydream, Martin takes another drag from the cigarette and looks down to Samantha on his arm. "Clearly. Completely clearly." He grins and then stares off towards the wall. He reaches out for his mug of coffee, bringing it to his lips. "…I was in a movie once."

"Fair enough, that. I could probably get into Space Cowboys." Jaimson remarks after a moment or two, chuckling a little bit and rolling his neck slightly again, heaving a small sigh. He looks around again, back toward Ariadne… then he moves to just sit down near the others, stretching out his long legs slightly and letting his ankles pop slightly. "That don't sound good," he comments to himself idly. He lets his nose wrinkle up slightly at it.

Clearing her throat a bit, Ariadne glances around the room; Ferris gets a further glimmer of a smile before she turns her attention back to Kai. "Sir. If I could impose… there's something we should discuss. And… I believe it's important."

"And here I was thinking about composing some sort of experimental one-act play of the Tragedy of King Agrippa, but setting it in the docks district of a ghetto on Gemenon. Make it a black comedy with a lot of dancing girls, heads on sticks, and a chorus made up of drunken crippled ex-Pyramid players. But…" Wil actually shares this idea in utter seriousness as his mouth works a little fast for his own internal censorship filter. Now it hits him. He trails off. "Space cowboys. That'd sell. Yeah." He covers his mouth in an abashed cough as he looks up at the CAG and the Priestess, eyes narrowing.

Kai finishes cleaning out his back teeth with the tip of his tongue, then crumples the top of the bag in his cigarette holding hand before rising from the couch. So much for downtime. "Sure. Here, or out in the hall?" He, of course, looks like he hasn't slept properly in days; late nights spent in the officer's berthings going over reports, and returning from double duty shifts to cover for pilots off the roster are a testament to that.

Samantha lofts a brow at Willem as he mentions the play…"…You're… a theatre nerd! You were actually gonna write it! Hot damn. We need a talent show… get half the Viper pilots in a chorus line. God knows you frakkers sing in the shower enough. Between Rebound and Thorn I'm half deaf by the time I'm finished brushing my teeth!" She chuckles warmly, definitely a bit shocked about this little unexpected personality from Willem, but pleased also. She then double takes at Martin…"In a movie? Am I surrounded by wanna be actors?"

"Wherever you like," the priestess tells Kai. "Anywhere that's private." She looks apologetically at the others in the room. "I'll return him soon."

Peering quietly between Kai and Ari, Jaimson sort of just tilts his head slightly. He's not really showing concern, so much as it's curiousity. He does give Ari a sort of look, though. Perhaps he's wanting to talk to her, as well. But, not yet. He just continues to talk with the rest of the pilots. "Y'know, I was in the university glee club," he comments idly.

Martin brings the coffee cup to his lips again. "You know, Case, now that I think about it, probably not the best table conversation." He says with a second thought. Setting the cup down with a scowl, he takes the cigarette and drags off it, watching Ariadne and Kai out of the corner of his eye. Puff puff, drag drag, and then it's passed back to Samantha. "Glee club? Shit, folks no singing for me. I've been told I sing like a horse getting frakked by a gargoyle."

"If any of you recruit me for cancan dancing while I'm out of the room, I'll shove my boot up your ass and see how well you can chorus line then," mutters the CAG as he finishes getting to his feet. His half-spent smoke is dropped to the deck and crushed out under a combat boot. "We can use the ready room," he tells Ariadne as an aside, then heads for the hatch.

"No no no. It's not like that. It's serious. And I hate theatre people. All that drama." Wil says, his teeth on edge. Whatever interesting that was going on with the soon-to-be-departing pair gets shelved for a moment as he launches a hasty defense against Samantha. "Just an adaptation of an ancient text made relevant." He says, raising his voice a little although it's clear he's fighting off a laugh. "A lot of that other stuff was symbolism. That was a -weird- work. I don't know shit for Kalimnos though so I don't know how good the translations are."

Willem pauses a moment. "Sir. What size dress…." He doesn't finish it, looking up at Spider in case he's just gone -too- far.

"I've heard that kind of thing helps people sing soprano," Ariadne notes helpfully, following the Captain from the room.

Samantha tilts her head, poking at Martin's side. "No. Come on, spill…when the hell were you in a movie? Hm?" She's not letting him escape that subject, but she does look back to Will then, a hint of confusion on her features when he starts going on about translations. She's not really a classics reader…"Like we don't have drama anyway. I think pilots got a leg up on theatre people, drama wise… but it's cute watching you all geek out over this theatre thing. I'd watch it, at least. Cheer ya on…" She seems genuine about that, before looking back to Martin, waiting for his explanation.

Kai doesn't say a word more to Wil; the pilot just gets one of those looks from under heavy brows. Half warning, half bemusement. It'd take a lot more than that, to ruffle Marek.

Ariadne folds her hands before her as she follows Kai through the halls. "I'm sorry for taking you from your leisure time, Captain. I know you don't get much of it."

Kai, on the other hand, slides his hands into the pockets of his fatigues while they walk. "Not a problem," he answers diffidently, eyes meeting hers for a moment in a slantwise fashion. They're brilliant blue in the wan shadows cast by the intermittent halogen lamps.

A short time later…

Ready Room - Hangar Deck
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #105
OOC Time: Sat Aug 01 18:44:26 2009


The soft glow of white lights overhead cast pervasive illumination across the battleship gray walls and dark, trodden carpet floor. An aisle divides the chairs, bolted to risers, into two sections. The plush black leather and padding of each chair is well worn from years of use, adding an edge of comfort to the otherwise business ready room. A pull down screen and a digital projection unit are available for footage viewing.

There are three desks at the rear of the room, and stacks of technical manuals and tactical guides set into shelving behind them. Cabinets sit to one side of the desks, and a rack of deep green flight suits, helmets, and misc. gear can be found on the other. One section of the wall near the front, kept clear of clutter, is a wooden wall-plate that goes nearly floor to ceiling.


Once arrived at the ready room, Ariadne takes a moment to study the surroundings. She looks over the plaque, the stadium seating, taking a few slow paces. "Captain," she asks softly, "do you know what a miasma is?" A pause. "In spiritual terms, I mean."

Well, that wasn't the sort of question Kai was expecting to get. He pauses just inside the hatch, and turns to watch the young priestess as she gazes slowly about. This place, of course, is like the pilots' CIC; it's where they spend a good deal of their time while on duty, and not in a cockpit. "I'm familiar with it. Yes." There's a slight inflection at the end, as if in question.

Ariadne touches the arm of a nearby chair with her fingertips, gazing down. "This ship is… heavy with it," she says, slowly. Considering. Then, raising her eyes to Kai, "You, Captain, are heavy with it."

There's an abandoned, and empty, coffee mug on one of the chairs' fold-out writing desks. And someone, or someones, have been playing catch with the whiteboard eraser. A paper airplane, a few pretzels on the floor. It's hardly spic and span in here. Karim doesn't move from his post near the door, but watches Ariadne drift along the row of chairs with a thoughtful look; it turns circumspect, after she speaks. "What makes you say that?" His voice is low, steady.

"It's a feeling," Ariadne replies, then shakes her head. Inadequate word. "A… /sense/." She takes a breath, rushing on. "Forgive me. I would have approached you sooner, but even *I* didn't understand what it was. It's not something I've encountered before. Not… like this. So widespread so… /dense/. I thought, at first, it was some foreboding of my own — the natural combination of… suffering the trauma we all have. Concern for all of you. Anxiety. But it's more."

The priestess folds her hands before her again, her expression deeply troubled. "You're not the source, Captain… but you're close to it. And it's placing us all in danger."

The CAG looks utterly implacable. Immovable. Save for a tiny twinge of tension between his brows, they could be talking about the weather on Tauron at this time of year. "I see." His eyes drift away, then back again. "If you feel it best, Sister, I'll submit to the rite of Orestes." One of the many cleansing rituals, particularly common amongst Sagittarians.

Ariadne nods. "It would. Be best." She looks deeply concerned. Compassionate. "But unless we cleanse the source, you'll only be… reburdened." She clasps her hands tighter, as though to keep from wringing them in her anxiety. "There are others. Thea. Thorn… Nadiv." She names the poet as though this particularly distresses her. "All densely polluted as you are. Which is why… why, really, I know none of you /are/ the source. But in contact with it, regularly."

Kai nods again slowly. There's little reaction to the other names mentioned, though he draws a pace or two closer to rest his hip against one of the chairs. "Is there anything I can do to help determine the source, Sister?"

"I… was hoping so," the priestess sighs, looking a bit deflated. "I thought, perhaps, knowing the crew as you do, you might know… of someone whose relationship to the Lords could have…" she makes a somewhat helpless gesture, "gone so horribly awry."

Kai actually chuckles softly at that, thumb brushing his lower lip in an absent gesture. His eyes, now, stay down. "I know of a few. In times like these, faith is a rare commodity. Lieutenant Samantha Passi has had.. turbulent dealings with the goddess Artemis." This obviously isn't something he'd normally divulge, to any other than one of the gods' own. "And Lieutenant Castor Leda, I think, doesn't know whether to believe or to cast away."

Ariadne nods. "I know of Castor's troubles. But he's only touched by this miasma. And Samantha, whatever her difficulties — she's touched, like everyone here. But no moreso than most." She closes her eyes and giving another nod. "I'll have to speak with the others, then. See… if there's some commonality." Her smile returns, taking a quirk for the wry. "Perhaps while Rabbit's writing cowboy stories, I should pen a detective novel."

"I'll give it some thought, Sister," concludes the Captain evenly. "Was there anything else?" Abrupt and to the point. Kai is not a people person, obviously.

Ariadne shakes her head. "No, Captain. Thank you for your time."

Kai doesn't offer anything more. He seems to be awaiting.. something.

Ariadne blinks a few times, then looks around the room once more. She apparently has no clue what Kai's waiting for, so precedes the Captain to the hall.

Still later…

Chapel - Deck 1
IC Time: Post Holocaust Day #105
OOC Time: Sat Aug 01 20:01:04 2009


Tucked into a quiet corner of the ship, the location of the Chapel was chosen to be away from the main hustle and bustle of the military vessel. Thusly the seclusion of its location lends to the sanctity of the small room. Bench seating is provided in tiered formation, three steps on either side of the hatchway to provide access to the top and most shadowed of the places to pray and meditate. The altar itself is just opposite the door, modestly providing the center of worship.
The altar is nothing more than a long wooden table, though someone has draped it in a fine golden cloth. Sitting atop are twelve figurines, each representing the mortal form of the dozen major deities. The metal has been molded and lovingly hammered to show: Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Demeter, Ares, Hermes, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Athena, Apollo, Artemis, and Hestia. Around them are arranged small offerings or tithes that range from coins to dried flowers, tended to by the Chaplain of the boat.


The chapel's quiet, aside from the muted, infrequent sounds of footsteps moving to and from the hatch. It's dim as well, most of the light coming from candles that people have left in respect to the dead - recent and not so recent. There's one person sitting in the benches tonight and that's Roubani, duty jacket unbuttoned at the collar. Settled back, legs crossed, his string of wooden prayer beads is wound loosely over his left hand, thumb ticking them off.

There's a rustling from the vestry, then a figure in saffron and crimson emerges, hooded and carrying three sticks of ember-tipped incense. She moves to the altar, placing the fragrant offering fanned out, upright, in a small incense holder. She catches sight of Roubani then, and takes down her hood, smiling faintly at the sight of him.

"Nadiv," says Ariadne, quietly. "I'm glad to see you."

Roubani's darkly-circled eyes lift from the beads, and his shoulders straighten as they settle back. "Miss Adelphi." The formality of the address isn't so much distance as sheer politeness, as his tone is soft. "How is your face?"

She smiles, soft laughter filling the dimly lit chapel. "It's better. Still horrid-looking, but not nearly as sore." She takes a seat on the the same bench at a decorous distance, but close enough to speak privately. "You're looking better, though."

Roubani lifts his right hand, touching the leftover bruising on his jaw with the back of his knuckles. "The body will repair itself. I suppose it is a mixed gift the gods give us, to make us at once so fragile and yet so resilient."

"And yet, I sometimes wonder which part of us is more fragile…" Ariadne muses, seeming to regret the words the moment she's spoken them. She takes up her own prayer beads, fingering them in a motion of self-comfort. "I'm sorry. That's the stress of the day talking." She glances up at Roubani. "But I need to speak with you about something important." She hesitates. "I'm very worried about you."

Roubani glances at her face at that first part, then at her beads. If he had something to offer it drifts away in the face of the last thing she says. "Me?" She got him off-guard with that one. "I'm fine…what's the matter?"

Ariadne tucks a lock of hair behind her right ear, some bit of vanity, perhaps, still prompting her to hide the left side of her face. "You know what a miasma is…" It doesn't seem to be a question, yet she elaborates. "Spiritual pollution. Essentially, the extreme disfavor of the Lords."

Roubani's eyes flicker away from her. "Yes, I know what it is," he replies. His voice is quiet and thoughtful, though apart from that betrays nothing.

"This ship is choked with it, Nadiv," the priestess whispers. "Whatever's polluting it, it's spread to all the people here. To Captain Marek. Thorn. Thea. You." She shakes her head. "There's almost no one I've encountered that's untouched by it. But… I haven't met the source."

Ariadne threads her beads around her fingers. "This kind of spiritual malaise puts us all in danger, Nadiv. Look at what happened in sickbay."

Roubani's lips thin, eyes down on the beads around his own hands. It's a very old set, made of dark wood and hand-carved. There's a long silence. "What is it that you sense? Tell me."

The priestess sighs, shutting her eyes. She seems to take a moment to focus, as though to connect with the feeling. "Our souls are green, growing things. Vital and alive. Whether we believe or not, acknowledge them or not, we have them… sure as we have a body." She opens her eyes, looking down at her beads again, her eyes mournful. "What I sense is the absence of sunlight. Of moisture. Of fertile soil. It's both drought and rot — all that we would draw on to renew ourselves, spiritually, is being increasingly withheld."

"Someone has done something to desperately offend the Lords, Nadiv," Ariadne whispers. "And we only have so much time before their patience runs out."

Roubani's shoulders are tense as she speaks. "Are you saying…" He stops, having to consider whether he even wants to say words like this. "…are you saying that what happened in Sickbay was a consequence of this?"

"No one will ever know for certain," replies Ariadne. "But as a priestess, knowing what I /do/ know about the spiritual environment on this ship…" She nods. "I believe it had something to do with it. For when the spirit crumbles, all that remains is despair. And /that/, Nadiv… was an act of despair."

"And what can be done?" Roubani's weary voice has gained a slight edge. "What can we do? Perhaps this source knows what they've done, but perhaps they don't."

"I'm doing all that /can/ be done, at the moment," Ariadne pitches her voice low and soothing. "I'm speaking to those who are most affected, hoping they know something. Perhaps the source has confided in someone. In the meantime, I'm 'listening'… if I meet the source, I'll know it. If the source is purified, then the ship can be, as well."

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry to have burdened you with this."

Roubani shakes his head slightly as she apologises. "You misunderstand me, I'm sorry. I meant that I wished to help, and if you can tell me how, believe me I will do it. Whatever it is." This promise is made weightier by his eyes, which are raised to her face. "Sometimes I worry that there isn't a single one among us who /hasn't/ offended the gods in some way."

"When I've found and purified the source, I'll need to purify those closest to it. Those most affected. So it doesn't continue spreading. Once that's done, the rest of the ship… should recover on its own." Ariadne offers up a gently encouraging smile. "But if there's anything else I can think of, I know I can count on you. And believe me… that means a great deal."

"You're right, though," she lowers her gaze to her beads again, her smile slightly melancholy. "There's no one among us that hasn't offended Them in some way. Those who bring miasma, to my mind, are seldom evil, just… misguided and in pain." She raises her eyes. "They probably have no idea how much harm they're doing. Just as you said."

Roubani is quiet a few moments. "You said…Captain Marek, Captain Legacy, Lieutenant Komnenos, me…" He gently rubs his thumb at his lip, watching the altar. "Mostly pilots, or close to such."

Ariadne nods. "Many of the pilots seem to be affected, to some degree or another." She frowns slightly. "Do the pilots tend to make use of the general lounge, or do they have a separate space?"

"There's no pilot lounge, if that is what you mean," Roubani murmurs. "Why?"

She shakes her head. "Well, it's time I be more proactive, it seems." She rubs absently at her bruised jaw. "Asking around may not be enough. I'm certainly not learning anything being in the chapel and the library all the time." Ariadne gestures to the hatch. "I need to be out there. Where people congregate." A frown. "I've been reluctant — selfishly so — because I seem to make people uncomfortable. It's much easier to hide away and pretend my job doesn't go beyond this room."

"If people are so uncomfortable with the gods that they are uncomfortable with flesh and blood like themselves," Roubani murmurs softly. "Then we truly are doomed." He exhales very softly through his nose, watching the altar. "But I don't think you upset anyone, miss. If you do then Lieutenant Cygnus does. Then I do. Then Captain Marek does. But we don't, we just…have to let the strength of faith be a light."

Ariadne blushes faintly. "You, all of you, don't represent faith, first and foremost. Not to the crew in general. And Father Cygnus… has a different way about him than I, I think. I'm still a little awkward. With people. Maybe they think I'm… snobbish. Or judging them. I don't know."

She shrugs. "But enough of childish concerns. However I feel, I need to be out there. It's more important than anything else, right now."

"You're doing fine," Roubani assures her, very quietly. "We all have our duties, no matter how frightened they may make us. We overcome. You'll be alright."

"Thank you," Ariadne replies, shyly. "I do appreciate it. And I will overcome. There is nothing beyond us with the help and guidance of the Lords."

"So say we all." Roubani's intonation of the words is not light, and once they're spoken he lets a moment go by. "Well, as they say. Once one knows what one needs to do…start now."

Ariadne smiles. It's a peaceful expression of resolution, something seeming to click into place. She nods. "Thank you." She nods again. "That's excellent advice. And something I needed to hear."

She stands. "If you'll please excuse me, I need to change." She inclines her head. "I'm sorry the tone of our visit was so onerous, but… it's always a pleasure to see you."

Roubani shakes his head slightly. "The well-being of one is the well-being of us all. I only wish I could do more." He doesn't move to stand, letting the string of beads fall back over his knee. "Gods guide your way, miss."

"The Lords of Kobol smile on you, Nadiv Roubani," Ariadne murmurs and turns to re-enter the vestry, already lifting off her stole.

~Fin

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