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[Open] And Did the Countenance Divine
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]
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]
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Drelasa might heavily disapprove, if she was to know who this was for.
"It'll be simple - a small cabinet, a mirror, and a place for offerings. Nothing more complicated than that."
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It will be small - it doesn't need to be grand. It's already the wrong thing to have made, after all, except for those brief flashes when it's the right thing. That's the beauty of it all. Those that need it will find it. Those that don't can simply ignore it. Her own prayers might mostly dwell at home, but it's to help grow roots.
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He understands Father Mulcahy's stuff, and has asked about Drelasa's.
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A pause, as she figures out how to phrase this when there's beings like Mendel, who she's heard of in passing.
"Have you met Sheogorath?"
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Okay, he has, but one of them was butterflies at the time.
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Beat.
"I talked to him about this, and he said it might help him become more a part of this community, if there was a space like this. Something bigger than just me trying to get him to feel established. I'm not going to be trying to ask people to follow him or anything like that, but if someone feels drawn to his domain, builds their own connection, then there's a place for them."
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This is why she had to ask Angel, and not Degas - she knows the older man would be perhaps uncertain and skeptical about such a thing, even if he'd hear her out. Angel, by contrast, feels easier for her to say such things to.
"Unpredictability, creativity, wisdom in chaos. The forces of change as opposed to those of order. He's a god who loves mortals, even if they don't always love him."
Even if she was a more spiritual person, though, it's obvious why she wouldn't ask for converts. One doesn't end up looking for the Madgod because things have been blissful in their existence.
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She pauses, gathering the correct words instead. "He's taken care of me, when he didn't have to. Been kind, even knowing what kind of creature I am and the mess in my head. He...wants me to live, and be happy."
Father. It's growing easier to think that word.
"Building a shrine, bringing it things I think he'd like, directing a prayer his way that's really just me writing a letter in my mind - he's not asking me to do it. But I want to do it, to give back a little."
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"You might. Whatever you feel moved to give. There's no 'correct' offering, so you can't get it wrong. You also can't get it right, but knowing that and offering anyway - I think he likes the contradiction in it. The audacity of a mortal thinking they know what a god would want."
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She laughs very softly, elbowing him back.
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Someone has been learning from the more wild folks on the island, it seems.
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She scoffs, and takes a deep breath, all the air of her ready to start a ritual-
And then she simply takes out her sending stone, and looks at Angel with a raised eyebrow.
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"Do it."
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"My friend has a question. What's today's definition for who counts as mortal?"
Just as simply as if she still had him in her mind, and was asking that way. Sometimes she'd bask in formalities, sometimes she would just speak directly. He'd know based on her voice, after all.
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After a moment, he answers, in a still-chirpy sort of tone, “A spirit is one pretty solid idea, mortals are anything that’s a whole bunch of fiddly, frantic, disjointed thoughts wrapped up in a skin suit.”
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"Sounds like it's a mortal, then. Thank you for clearing that up."
And she's grinning at Angel in the meanwhile. If it wants to say anything, it can, or she's going to hang up.
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