[Open] And Did the Countenance Divine

[graveling]

Who: Angel and You
What: Properly priesting, or trying to at least
When: July
Where: Yes!
Warning(s): None yet

1. I will not cease from mental fight [Temple Matters]
With Degas on his sabbatical, Angel is taking on the full mantle of Priest of the Mothers. He’s wearing the brown robes of a priest and the green stole with braided knotwork patterns similar to Celtic designs along it, even though doing so makes him feel a little like a child in their father’s shoes.

Still, he’s here if you need guidance or blessing, trying to fill the role.


2. Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand [Milk and Honey]
As he’s trying to fill the role of full-time priest, Angel’s still in his robes as he brings products from Kasprak farm into town. Vegetables and fruits, eggs and goat’s milk. And, of course, honey, in small glass jars all with a wax stamp on top–a bee with a pair of stylized feathered wings.

He’s visiting stores and restaurants, but if you catch him on the carriage Arcadia’s pulling, you might get tossed a ripe tomato or offered a melon. There’s plenty to go around.


3. Till we have built Jerusalem [A Day Off]
Sometimes, it’s all a bit much. Angel occasionally runs away from his duties. Never on days when there are services planned, never when he’s scheduled for something. But when restlessness strikes, Angel’s feet take him to the wild parts of the island. Paradesium, Lockwood Forest near Elsie’s Tree, and even nosing around the cave near Tawny Beach, though it’s been caved in since he and River had their adventure. He isn’t wearing his robes, he hasn’t combed his hair, he might be up a tree or sitting on a rock, and he surely isn’t expecting company.

But still, if you approach, there’s a sheepish little nod and a wave.


4. In England's green and pleasant land [Wildcard]
[find me on discord at darkersolstice to plot]

Comments

[graveling]

"Okay? I've been a corpse before. A murder victim before. Do they have the story of the frog and the scorpion, where you're from?"

[abhorrently]

"If they do, I've forgotten it. The words ring no bells."

But if the story will help, she'll listen.

[graveling]

"A long, long time ago, there was a scorpion stuck on the wrong bank of the river. It saw a passing frog and asked for a ride to the opposite shore. The frog said no, telling the scorpion it didn't want to be stung. The scorpion pointed out that stinging the frog wouldn't help it, as it would fall into the water and drown."

Angel gestures with two hands throughout the telling, one hand with the little finger curled above it, like a scorpion's stinger. The other, hopping here and there. Now, the scorpion-hand climbs upon the other.

"The frog agreed to take the scorpion across the river. And midway across, the scorpion stung the frog. As it died, the frog asked, 'why did you sting me? Now you'll die too.' And the scorpion laughed as it replied, 'I cannot deny my nature.'"

[abhorrently]

She listens, unmoving, until the end. Something in her expression is perplexed, or contemplative.

"People hate the scorpion, don't they. Consider it evil for all of that. After all, it never promised it wouldn't sting."

And yet it must, up and unto its own destruction.

[graveling]

"People do. But we're not people-ing right now, are we? Besides, I think there's something everyone misses. The frog can't deny its nature, either. There is no story without both the scorpion and the frog."

[abhorrently]

"One moved to help, even unto its own death. And one moved to destroy, even though it would ruin itself in the process."

If it's to tell a moral, it's a shitty one. Trust no one but yourself, she hears, and none can deny their nature. Like she needs to hear that again.

[graveling]

"Are we stories, Fever? When we're not being people, I mean."

His head tilts to one side slightly so he can glance at her face.

[abhorrently]

"You might be, if you like. Not me. I'm something easier to understand."

A story can be read by ten different people with ten different answers for the questions it asks. No, she knows what she is, and that expression solidifies into distance. Considering, contemplating, peering into the edge of a deep, deep well.

"Something that also cannot cry."

She didn't forget that admission.

[graveling]

Angel lets that statement hang in the air for a moment.

"That part kinda sucks."

[abhorrently]

"It does. It feels like there's all of this...everything in my chest that can't go anywhere. Like something's clawing to get out, but...nothing. Maybe I'm just..."

She gestures in the air, trying to get at a concept that's bigger than her and yet fully contained in the self. How's someone like her supposed to explain it? She's not brilliant. She can't give words to something so formless.

"Wrong. All wrong, down to the core."

[graveling]

“Okay. Maybe you are. I don’t think so, though. At least, not in a way that’s all-defining.”

He leans a little harder on her, a little like a puppy in your face when you’re a teenager just trying to have a pity party.

“Wanna know why?”

[abhorrently]

"Why?"

She can't help but to fall into the role that this conversation is asking for, a discussion rather than a pure set of confessions.

[graveling]

“Mortanne brought you here. I believe that she knew all of what you are, and still chose to bring you here, so you at least have the potential to be not entirely bad through and through.”

He is a priest after all. Faith is a thing.

[abhorrently]

"Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful - I thanked her, with an offering and everything. But I don't understand it, if she knows everything about someone. I wouldn't bring me here."

The little shrug of her shoulders is more felt than seen.

"The only answer I have is that she knew I'd say yes to assisting with fixing the problems here, when I was presented with them. Knew I was desperate to keep going. I don't remember much of that at all."

[graveling]

“Maybe she knows better than you, somehow. I don’t know either. But I don’t question her choices of who to bring.” Angel sits up and leans back, hands on the branch until he’s hanging upside down by his knees.

[abhorrently]

"Anyone who'll fix this problem, right? Doesn't matter who takes the job."

They can sort out who can actually stay once this issue is dealt with.

[graveling]

“That’s a simplification of the situation, isn’t it? As if it’s just one job and not a whole clusterfuck.”

[abhorrently]

"Clusterfuck. I like that word."

And it's getting adopted into her vocabulary.

"Anyway, the point is to get it handled. Whatever it takes, regardless of the complications or how many more issues it is hiding under one big barrier shaped lid. Not like I'm a stranger to trying to solve one problem and finding so many more cropping up, hopelessly entangled. Whoever's going to make that choice - that's the bargain we made with the town, that's who gets to be here. That's the whole purpose of being here."

Maybe she's here to kill again. Maybe someone will need to die, and no one else will be capable of moving their hands to do the deeds. Maybe she's here to do what's necessary, and shoulder that with the rest of her responsibility. Anything bigger seems...unnatural.

[graveling]

"I disagree."

And he seems like he's going to leave that sentence at that, with a slow, enigmatic smile, one that lingers longer than most of his smiles do.

[abhorrently]

"What do you mean? You can't just leave it at that."

He knows something she doesn't, and it's going to be annoying until she knows the same thing.

[graveling]

"I could. Might piss you off, though." He lets out a not-quite laugh, then gives her a rather direct look. "I don't think that's the whole purpose of being here. Yes, it's why Mortanne started bringing folks here, sure. But I think she's also bringing people here who need what here could be, as much as who can make here that."

[abhorrently]

He's right. That does piss her off. But she only shows it via a frown, a roll of her eyes.

"Before what it is what it could be? That's a bold move for her to make."

Why invite them, if it's not finished? Easier than dwelling on Angel's implication that she might be among that number - that she'd need it. There's a reflex when someone pushes on something painful to jerk away, lash out with teeth and claws. If she was born stronger, different, it might even be socially acceptable. As it is, she has to stay controlled.

[graveling]

"She's a goddess. She gets to make bold moves."

Sorry, priest hat back on again.

"But are you telling me the folks who came off the boat you did didn't have a deep need for solid shores and a spot to set down roots?"

[abhorrently]

"Didn't say anything like that. Nearly all of them did need that. Or at least, any shore that wasn't where they were. Anywhere to catch their breath."

So many come to mind. So many just relieved to be free. And how now, outside of that place, so many of them need time to shed the old habits. She still wonders if she's going to open her door and walk back into that cabin, and she wasn't even there that long, comparatively.

[graveling]

"They need it, you need it. I needed this, too. Not the island, necessarily, but..." He trails off, hesitating a little.