[right][h3]Interrogator Stanislaus Di Felice
[sup]In orbit above Yunnalin V[/sup][/h3][/right][hr]In a room twice defaced - once in the pursuit of depravity, then once again to restore it to the God-Emperor's grace - a choir of prayers reached out, gently embracing it with all its occupants within.

For as many priests and aides that sung and preached, there were only a few more attending. The ongoing sermon drew few in number, yet it was no less important. The men and women in the room, agents of the Inquisition all, had only recently completed the process of tearing down and disposing of the depraved interiors and accessories of the very same space station they stood in. Without mentioning a loyal servant's right to attend a sermon, there must be no room for doubt in the minds of the servants of the Holy Inquisition. Perhaps above all in the room in this regard came Interrogator Stanislaus Di Felice: apprentice to Inquisitor Hera, loyal servant of the God-Emperor, and a mutant. 

The nature of Stanislaus' birth, mind, and body alike are all unseemly, stained by the vast impurity of the immaterium. To be tied to it alone is to risk the very lives of the many, but to draw power from it is the act of a madman. All the good such a vile mutant might do is die in the God-Emperor's name to extend his light to the countless worlds under his ward. Yet for Stanislaus, with the blessing of the God-Emperor, there is yet another way. Through tireless service, with the sacrifice of a thousand of his fellow witches and the blood of heretics beyond number, he might redeem himself in the eyes of the God-Emperor. For his redemption to be true, he must not falter. It's for these very reasons that even in a room of the Emperor's most loyal servants, the feeling of eyes boring into him is almost constant. It is his reality and it is a reality that drives him onwards.

"Interrogator..." came a meek voice, whispering in Stanislaus' ear. It was a voice he recognized immediately: only his autosavant, Birgitte, had a voice so gentle yet just vaguely robotic He cracked one eye open and turned his bald head - with a scalp covered in tattoos depicting images of his faith, a neat beard, and the Imperial Aquila displayed on his forehead with discolored, scarred skin - to glance sideways at Birgitte. A cascade of cables and steel protrudes from her robes and sprawls over her skin, including both her eyes and mismatched fingers. Braided hair slides between the cacophony of wires while a servo-arm holds up an almost comedically large tome made from a mix of cogitator and parchment, which she idly scrawls in as she whispers. "...Inquisitor Hera has called for you. I've held it for your prayer, but-.. ah-.." Stanislaus abruptly pushing to a stand mid-sentence, quietly enough as not to interrupt the sermon yet decisively enough to move with purpose, twisted Birgitte's sentence into a series of stammers. 
"Speak, Birgitte," Stanislaus began, his lips unmoving yet his voice reverberating within her head, "you need not fear service. Our lord calls for haste?" For many in Stanislaus' retinue, the sensation of having a voice projected into their heads was certainly not foreign, but certainly not welcome either. Silence stood between the pair until they left the makeshift church. With some idle taps into the cogitator of her unwieldy tome, Inquisitor Hera's voice moved through to Stanislaus' microbead.

"Stanislaus. Prepare your retinue and report to the shuttle bay of this ship. You have another chance to prove yourself to the Emperor. I will explain once you arrive." 

A simple enough order.
"The notice-to-move I set was five minutes, correct, Birgitte?" Stanislaus asked, this time with his tongue, as he glanced over his shoulder towards her while starting to pace down the corridor.
"Y-Yes, interrogator." she replied, as stiff as someone could be while visibly anxious.
"Summon the retinue to the shuttle bay. I expect them there in five minutes."
"Your will be done, interrogator." This time, instead of being stammered, the words spilled out at velocity. As Stanislaus turned his head back to face his front, his pace turned into a stride as he made way for the shuttle bay. Birgitte paced awkwardly for a moment before speaking once again. 

A few moments late, Stanislaus' voice passed along the channel to Inquisitor Hera, monotonous as is standard: 
"Your will be done, Inquisitor."
[right][h3]Sergeant Denis Agletdinova
[sup]In orbit above Yunnalin V[/sup][/h3][/right][hr]With a thud and a quiet sigh, Denis dropped into his seat and rubbed at his forehead. His age continued to manifest itself in different ways by the day. As if his graying hair wasn't incriminating enough, the aches and pains across his body only continue to get worse. 
"Your vigor wanes, Sergeant." observed a disembodied feminine voice to his right. If it were any other voice, he might consider reaching out to bat it away. 
"My vigor's been waning for years, sister..." Denis replied as he, after briefly rubbing at his eyes, lifted his head up to face Allane Hellenboldus. The pair shared a quiet chuckle, finding relief and solidarity in the shared struggle of their age. 

It's no secret to anyone in the retinue that Denis has become, whether he likes it or not, something of a father figure. Most of the retinue - all except him and the sister beside him, really - are all young scions of some pedigree or another with something to prove, Stanislaus included; that's without mentioning most of the retinue being sourced from the Schola Progenium in some capacity or another. Even then, it's no secret that he can't really help himself. The career thrust upon him never allowed him to have children, but somewhere deep down, even he knows that he's embraced Stanislaus and some of the others as his own. Not that his stubborn self will ever admit it, of course.

As Denis thumbed at his eye to flick out some gunk, he turned his head to look at Allane. The vague sunken lines in her face paired with her buzzcut, bleached hair had become something of a comfort for him. If he was the father of the retinue, then Allane had to be the older sister. While her age didn't quite threaten his and she most definitely does have something to prove, she's taken on something of a mentoring role quite willingly - certainly more willingly than he has. As she's explained before, there are few better ways to purify the sins of a sister than to teach and guide; short of incinerating the enemies of the Emperor, anyway. In many ways, he was grateful to her for her solidarity and her shoulder in trying times. So much so that, as much as the thought made him shuffle uncomfortably, it may well be time to admit it.

"Sister, I think it's time that-.." Denis began, only to be interrupted by the screech of chatter in his microbead.
"Uh- attention:" began Birgitte, seemingly speaking on the move. "Interrogator Di Felice expects us in the shuttle bay in five minutes." Denis let out a frustrated grunt as he pressed himself to a stand. 
"Hold that thought, I suppose." Denis grumbled as he started his way for the door.
"Tell me later." Allane affirmed. She was already upstanding when she heard Birgitte talking on the move. There was no doubt between them that it was time again.