Ramirez narrowed his eyes for a brief moment, then smiled at Theresa like a wolf.
"Of course we should tell her," he purred, "that is our duty, after all. It would only be correct to do so, despite the difficulties that might arise..."
He made eye contact with Theresa, and let the words sink in.
"I agree, but I think we should tell Helena too. We still work under her."
Theresa looked suspicious. "Are you sure she can be trusted? I mean, that... thing... those tunnels..." She gave a bit of a shudder. "I'm just saying we don't know how high or far this thing goes."
Again, Oriel found herself agreeing whole-heartedly with Ramirez. Perhaps she had him pegged wrong, despite his harshly-worded and uncouth nature...
The doe-faced Olivia's unexpectedly devout stance was noted, too, but it wasn't quite the same thing. She could tell that the rather clean-cut and robust woman was performing her duty as it had been ordained. With Ramirez, on the other hand, Oriel couldn't help wondering if the man actually enjoyed bloodshed, or if he seen his upbeat manner as part of his duties in itself.
"They are right. Fear is no excuse for obscuring the truth." The woman held the emblem on her necklace and overted her eyes as she said it, as if tremendously worried that Theresa would think she was trying to give her orders. Not that anybody would confuse her utterly sincere voice for arrogance, but the principle stood. "N-not that I would ever accuse you of c-cowardice, L-Lady Noireaux... only..."
Being slightly taller than Theresa, as much as she tried to humbily duck her head, was not perticularly helpful.
"I'm not a coward and I don't need your passive-aggressiveness patronizing!" Theresa shouted at Oriel, giving her another punch to the side of the head. She took a moment to collect herself before sighing. "Fine. Ramirez, you tell Lady Amalric. Oriel, you go tell Inquisitor Guidonis. I'm going to take a bath. I smell like shit. And so do you. I suggest you go wash up, Oriel. You still remember what that is, right? A bath?"
"-S-sorry Lady Noireaux-I d-I will!" Oriel scrambled to answer all of the questions at once, lowering her head repeatedly and diligently, as might a house servant rather than a battle hardened war veteran.
Truth was, she would have volunteered to go and see Lady Guidonis anyway if asked. The woman had such a selfless, shamelessly firebrand attitude that Oriel had rather come to respect her over the course of the last few days. Theresa wallowed in her sins and used them for good, but Laure was far beyond considering herself redeemable. It seemed that she did what she did purely for the Saint's will, and that sort of brutal honesty to one's nature was something that Oriel found both terrifying and noble in equal measure.
First, she really would have to get a bath, first, through. Her bare feet were a state by now. Perhaps there was a local church with one, or she could borrow some sin from one of the others by using a bath from one of their inn rooms? At least, that way, Laure had the perfect excuse to cut her head off and everything if she wanted to... No, but wait, wouldn't she just be all messy again, then?...
The woman put a hand to her mouth in a failed attempt to contain a spree of giggles. It came completely out of the blue for the others, but from the look in her eyes it was safe to say she was laughing about something perticularly twisted.
Ramirez raised an eyebrow at Oriel's outburst, and began to raise his hands before remembering himself. The flagellent was probably sane enough by the standards of the Church. He did wonder whether Theresa's punching was really necessary; the last thing he would choose to do to a lunatic self-harmer would be give them further brain damage. They'd savour the pain, then one day they'd decide to stab you in the stomach and watch you bleed out.
He bowed his head to Theresa. "I do believe I'll have a bath too. This filth cakes my body just as sin," here he glanced at Oriel, "cakes all of us."
"And Saint," he added, chortling, "it reeks like sin as well."
As he was about to leave the alleyway, he turned back to face Oriel. "Lady Almaric will be hearing of my shortcomings," he said, "and I would urge you to confess your sins, too. I will not leave out the slightest detail if it serves to further give the measure of my unworthiness."
Then he was gone. Bastard.
As the others slowly scattered, Oriel followed Ramirez just out of his peripheral vision, now a bizarrely giddy phantom due to her current strange mood.
"Quite noble, mister Aquila." She smiled, warmly and toothily. The flagellant didn't dare touch him, but apparently was feeling rather more connected to the robust man than she had before. "I agree utterly. We are most indeed... Cakes!"
Again, she laughed to herself, through in this scenario she apparently thought Ramirez was in on it. Perhaps she figured cakes were also a sin?
Either way, she seemed to appreciate not having to duck down for once, seeing as they were the same height, through Ramirez was still a half a body greater in span. That did make it a whole lot easier to stay within her comfort zone, within his shadow. It was also possible that she was more comfortable with him because he was more clearly rank and file than the others were. Or maybe because he was male? Now that he had made the commitment of talking dogma with her, any number of reasons were possible, really.
"I do advise, however, that presuming your own sins to be important to others can appear self-absorbed... Not that I would accuse you of such vice. But we are not as we exist in our own minds, after all." A misplaced amused sigh. "I find pain preferable to confession, simply because confession assumes the other party would take interest in your vanity. Which is a sin aswell, see?"
A short pause.
"...Would you... perhaps like to deride some of your sin by offering a strange homeless woman a bathtub?"
Ah, so there was a particular reason why she was being so pleasant with him, after all.
"You're quite welcome to use the bath at my inn room," said Ramirez, "though it's woefully inadequate, like the rest of the place."
As they walked to the inn, he noticed that Oriel was trailing behind him. "Saint, can you stop doing that? I keep thinking you're going to tread on my heels."
Oriel seemed to take a step back, overt her eyes and bow slightly every time Ramirez attempted eye contact. Doubtless she knew that it only added to his aggrivation, but the subtle smile on her face suggested she was going to keep on doing it anyway. It was almost preferable to talk to her in her psychotic battle-ready state. At least then she wasn't moving around as silently as possible...
"Why thank you, mister Aquila, sir! It will be far in excess of the accomidation I'm used to, for cetain!" She put her clenched hands to her face and gave off a beaming glance. "You are a bright and honourable man after all, sir! I must admit that after your stalward show of religious duty, I was not sure about the quality of your soul, -But it is clear to me now, -indeed -and... and... erm, I am in your reasonable debt!"
Her bare feet and knees were still covered in a combination of sewer grime, real blood, and that viscous red faux-blood from the monster's layer, so the elation in her voice was pretty understandable.
"...Lady Guidonis should not be kept waiting about this information... however... perhaps..." She added, before quickly backing away. "...But, I can find you, mister Aquila sir... Don't worry..."
The word was sent out to Laure as quickly and descretely as Oriel could manage. She chose a small peasant chapel within which to hold the meeting, one that was considerably older, more primative and more confined that the ussual for Lareaux's fanatical breed of upper-class architects.
It did seem like a decent time to pray...