AWD #001: As Ashes on the Tongue
As Ashes on the Tongue
Summary: Iphigenia comes to the observation deck looking to find a chance to rest and reset. What she finds neither.
Date: 06/01/2013
Related Logs: If there are no related logs, put 'None' — please, don't leave blank!)
Iphigenia Khrysos 
Observation Deck
The Obs Deck is one of the more quiet areas on the Orion where people can come to get away from the hustle and bustle that goes with of the rest of duty on the ship. The front of the room is a very large armored glass window to allow a dominating view of whatever is out ahead of the battlestar. Seats rise up at even levels, plush chairs and couches provided for the crew to relax in. During Condition One an armored plate is lowered down to cover the view and prevent the room from becoming a hazard and seal tight.
06/01/2013 (OOC)

Slouched in one of the couches is what can be described as a rumpled, haggard-looking version of Khrysos Pindar. Looking as if he's in the same clothes as when the bombs fell, his beard is scruffier than normal and his hair is in a haphazard state. Deep circles are under his eyes, and an ashtray and pack of some kind of Gemenese cigarettes are at his right hand atop the sofa's armrest. All he does is stare out the viewports, and smoke.

Iphigenia needs a break. She takes it on the obs deck, a sheaf of papers clutched in her hands as she moves to find a seat. Khrysos is further forward than she, so while she knows someone is there, she doesn't know who it is. Regardless, she makes an effort not to disturb, though she cannot avoid rustling her papers.

Exhaling with the raspy exhale of someone who smokes too much (or has recently smoked too much) Khrysos glances over to see what the new sound is. His eyes are dull and bloodshot. "Care for a cigarette, Lieutenant?" Comes his susprisingly cordial question.

It is surprising. "No thank you, Doctor. I don't smoke." Her acknowledgement is gracious and without any rancor about the fact that he is smoking. It's just not something she does.

"Well, then, it's a perfect time to start," Khrysos says, attempting to chuckle but ending up only in a coughing fit. His other hand goes to lightly rest on his forehead as his fit ends with a soft groan, and then he sinks back down into his misery.

Engaging this man is the last thing Gen wants to do, and yet the sound he makes and the tone of his voice is enough to prompt her. "Are you holding up?" she asks of him, her tone solicitous but careful.

Khrysos flicks his cigarette into his ashtray. From a glance, it appears he's been smoking for quite a while — or he inherited an ashtray from a previous smoker who didn't empty. "After the initial shock wore off," he responds, his words coming slowly. "And I realized I had been wandering about quoting random poetry at people, I locked myself in a janitorial closet and wept like an infant for an hour. Now I'm slowly killing my lungs and my liver with clinically-identified carcinogens. I'm doing /quite/ well." Despite his clearly wrecked state, he still finds the energy to stick in a sarcastic zinger at the end.

"On the bright side," says Iphigenia in the mildest of tones, "You haven't exploded into a all of flame and your atoms scattered across space by Cylon Raider fire." There's a surprising edge to her tone, and then after a moment. "That was unkind. I apologize."

"No, you are quite right, Lieutenant. It can always be worse," Khrysos says, taking a drag and burying the butt in the already quite full cigarette graveyard. "But then again, who is worse off? Those who clearly are no longer suffering, or those who will continue to suffer as the last vestiges of human genetics? I believe that it is up to us to suffer for those who can no longer." He sniffs and rubs at his nose, then produces a flat, brown glass bottle from his jacket pocket.

"How pragmatic of you." Iphigenia says. She sounds weary and dry. But she also came to obs to refresh heself and this is not the way to do it. She looks toward the windows, silent.

After taking a pull from the bottle, he holds it out towards her in offering. "I take it the ship's letter delivery service was as prompt as finding you as it was with finding me?" He inquires. No malice, no sarcastic humour, no… nothing. The man appears just to be going through the motions of conversation because he is a shadow of himself.

Iphigenia defers from the bottle. "I can't. We are Condition 2." she says, but now there's regret in her voice because she'd really love a pull. "No these are…some things a friend wanted me to have. He was with the viper squadron that held off the first wave of Raiders over Caprica."

"I see," the geologist says, although it's not clear as to whether or not he is disappointed at her unwillingness to partake or at the last letters from a fallen comrade. "I thought to myself, I shouldn't be drinking this stuff. After all, it's likely some of the last of its kind. It could be worth a fortune in a few months. But then, I realized that money will likely lose its value as time goes forward, since the economics of the Colonies likely no longer exist. So I decided to drink it."

"I would have likely uncapped it myself." Iphigenia admits. "Though I'm going to refrain from your sense of fatalism, I think. After all, I've the uncomprehending masses to think of." She smiles a little when she says it.

Khrysos nods, perhaps the most vigorous motion she's seen from him thus far. "Indeed you do. Clinging to their invisible Lords atop an invisible mountain in the sky," he repeats, quoting himself from his letter. "I wonder, where Mount Olympus would be. Is it on one of the Colonies? Is it on so-called Kobol? Could it be just a metaphysical construct, existing somewhere above our consciousness? Or, more likely, is it a big barrel of monkey shit meant as a tool to keep the simpletons in line?" He bursts out laughing at his last rude utterance, which precipitates another coughing fit.

Iphigenia doesn't say anything at all. Khrysos is not her problem, and her empathy reserves are in check for those who do the fighting. So she gets up, and starts edging her way around the seat.

"You know who I'll miss?" He says to her, light returning to his eyes briefly enough to find hers. Khrysos swallows down the smoke, although his voice is on the raspy side. "Not my father, nor his brother. They can rot in Hell for all I care. But my mother, and my beautiful sisters… They were always victims. No matter what I did, they were always victims." Mouth tightening into a grimace, he looks back out into the black night. "Goodbye, Lieutenant."

"My parents are on Virgon. We don't its status yes. If I am fortunate, my brother and my sister are on Aquaria, and not Picon." She turns to go.

Khrysos flshes out another cigarette and, without another word, lights up and allows Iphigenia to leave.

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