pumpkinhollow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pumpkinhollow) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ph_logs2024-12-21 08:15 pm
pumpkinhollow) wrote in ph_logs2024-12-21 08:15 pm
Entry tags:
December Event - Long Nights, Bright Lights [Holiday Catchall]
Long Nights,
Bright Lights
Bright Lights
All Manner of Celebrations
Winter is hard for everyone, but none more so than the residents of an island that has been isolated by the cruel hands of fate. Where the rest of the Emerald Isles is able to rely on imports from other nations in warmer places, Marrow Isle has no resources but her own. All the while, her mettle continues to be tested against the horrors brought on by the curse.
It is for this reason that among all the holidays celebrated by the Mothers' children, Givingstide is particularly beloved. A warm and cozy festival based around wishing each other prosperity and love in the new year, the lengthening of days, embracing generosity even in the lean times, and celebrating the fact that the darkest part of the year is coming to an end. Set on the Winter Solstice, this gathering marks final day of darkening skies. While some observe the day in family homes, it's customary to join together in communal spaces.
Then, the following week, Mourner's Night is hosted in Fall's Promise Cemetery. A holiday dedicated to mourning the dead can feel a bit strange on an island where residents no longer die, but the tradition is kept up for all manner of reasons. Mourning those who died before the barrier, mourning the loss of offworld lives, and even mourning oneself are all entirely valid reasons one might attend. This year, as well, it is projected that there may be a special guest...
And of course, this year there are a number of festivities being hosted by the island's newly booming interfaith community. Chief among them, Hanukkah and several variations of Christmas will be celebrated around the same time. The Temple and the interfaith community encourage offworlders and locals alike to share and enjoy their festivities with the island in this most sacred time of year.
It is for this reason that among all the holidays celebrated by the Mothers' children, Givingstide is particularly beloved. A warm and cozy festival based around wishing each other prosperity and love in the new year, the lengthening of days, embracing generosity even in the lean times, and celebrating the fact that the darkest part of the year is coming to an end. Set on the Winter Solstice, this gathering marks final day of darkening skies. While some observe the day in family homes, it's customary to join together in communal spaces.
Then, the following week, Mourner's Night is hosted in Fall's Promise Cemetery. A holiday dedicated to mourning the dead can feel a bit strange on an island where residents no longer die, but the tradition is kept up for all manner of reasons. Mourning those who died before the barrier, mourning the loss of offworld lives, and even mourning oneself are all entirely valid reasons one might attend. This year, as well, it is projected that there may be a special guest...
And of course, this year there are a number of festivities being hosted by the island's newly booming interfaith community. Chief among them, Hanukkah and several variations of Christmas will be celebrated around the same time. The Temple and the interfaith community encourage offworlders and locals alike to share and enjoy their festivities with the island in this most sacred time of year.
By Candlelight We Go
Check out the various festivities below!
The tavern is warm. Orange firelight flickers, as if dancing with the shadows. Decorations of shimmering silver and hunter green, the colors of Givingstide, adorn the dark wood decor of the Oak & Iron. The stucco and timber walls of the dining hall safeguard those within from the bitter wind and snow. It's no Leeds gala--- the food is simple, but it is beautifully made. Roasted chicken, potatoes, onion soup, and fresh-baked bread. Slices of pumpkin pie are passed around for dessert. Hot cider with or without alcohol, mulled wine, coffee, and spiced tea are served with the meal. It isn't glamorous, but it's made with love and tastes like coming home somehow.
As dinner carries on, music begins to be played from the tavern stage, and Mayor Poe has Yorick assist her in doling out the gifts from the table. They read the tags and summon the recipients to the table to recieve them. You can open yours right there or at your table, and decide for yourself whether you care to announce the name of the giver to the room.
Once the gifts are distributed, the partygoers are left to their own devices, allowed time to laugh with friends, dance to music, drink to their hearts' content, sneak off to while away a private moment in one of the inn's sitting rooms, or head home for an early night. Regardless of your choice, let it be with a loved one. A friend, a partner, a member of your newfound family. Blessed Givingstide, and may your lantern ever stay lit.
From the streets, there is an informal procession. At intervals, there are men in uniform black military peacoats and black caps carrying tall poles with bright lanterns on top, swaying in the frigid air. Their faces are painted to look like skulls. Yorick is among them, as are Father Mulcahy and Darcy. The rest of the townsfolk are asked to follow along as they please, each bearing a long white candle stuck into a paper cup meant to catch its wax. The candles are in no danger of blowing out— the wind is eerily still.
The procession is largely silent. The people who do speak do so only in whispers. It winds through the streets of the town, converging on one of the main roads. Once it is clear of buildings, the front of the solemn parade becomes visible. A black funeral carriage, like one that may have once conveyed caskets, bearing lanterns at each corner. The two black horses are marked with skeletons using white chalk on their fur, and it is driven by a woman in black garb representative of deepest mourning. This is Fever, playing the role of Mortanne.
It has been a long time, what feels like ages, since the people of this town have had a funeral procession outside the context of Mourner's Night. But they remember well their traditions and follow them with reverence. This, for you outsiders, is a unique glimpse at something you might not otherwise see due to the effects of the barrier. Each and every person in town follows the trail left by carriage wheels in the fresh snow and arrives at Fall's Promise Cemetery.
Beyond the wrought iron gate, there is more silence. Locals gather around the graves of their friends and loved ones, saying silent prayers and spending time in contemplative remembrance. You see Dahlia stand outside the central mausoleum, looking grimly up at her own name carved into the stone.
Degas has made his way over to a grave. He is here as himself, not as a reverend, and he does not leave the side of the headstone he gravitated toward. Melly Clayton.
Meanwhile, Dr. West is loitering at the back near a gargoyle. For once even he is present. And far off in the shadows, a small figure looms outside the fringes of lantern light, looking off into the sea. Cherry red hairs catch the light occasionally. Elsie.
The candlelight vigil remains silent for a long time as people recall and honor their loved ones. Any sound of shuffling or movement is dampened further by soft, fluffy snow, creating a deep and heavy hush that is almost loud in its soundlessness. Perhaps, deep in the Season of Spirits, the presence of the fallen can be felt in the quiet dark.
Your mind drifts as the somber reverence beckons your mind to your memories. Who do you honor? A lost lover, a passed parent, someone you left behind in your life before? Or perhaps you honor yourself. You did die to get here, after all. And it’s probable that you aren’t the only one to think so.
In the distance, the bell tower chimes. Then, rising up from the snow, soft at first and then louder, a song. The locals are beginning to sing a hymn about Mortanne sharing carriage rides with passengers, reminiscing about their lives as her carriage drives them to the afterlife. Did you learn it from a local before the festival? Do you sing, hum, or remain silent?
As the song finally comes to a close, all at once the locals blow out their candles, leaving the graveyard in darkness aside from the lantern poles. The silence now broken, people shuffle along, meeting up to mingle and hug or heading home for an early night. Some of them are crying.
Throughout the festival, lingering at the outskirts, shrouded in both the deepest darkness and layers of mourner's black, is a woman whose pale hair occasionally catches light even under her elaborate lace veil. If you are someone with a special connection to death, or to winter, you may feel her eyes upon you.
From December 25th to January 2nd, the majority of interfaith space is decked out in blue and silver, handmade Stars of David hung in each window, in celebration of Hanukkah. On the right side of the temple's congregation space, another helpful storybook by Pinhole rests alongside a brand new menorah, as the evenings have the space reserved for candle-lighting and gathering. Additionally, a frying booth for latkes and sufganiyot can be found at the Winter Market, typically manned by Cecil (though Gerry is almost certainly there as well).
And for those that celebrate the pagan Yuletide, an outdoor altar can be found on the town's festival gazebo, protected from the elements but still amid nature. Plenty of places for indoor merriment can be found for those who observe it--- the Oak & Iron has discounted drinks from the Solstice till New Years! Skål!
Givingstide
The fireplace is lit at the Oak & Iron. A wreath of pine boughs hangs over the merry blaze, paper horses and snowflakes decorate the walls, and a table in the center of the room has been done up to look like a silver sleigh. As people file in, hot food and warm drinks begin coming out of the kitchen and bar, and gifts begin piling up on the sleigh table. (Ultimately, a fair amount of them end up on the floor around it.) Everyone greets each other warmly with hearty handshakes, firm hugs, and wishes of a blessed Givingstide. Perhaps if you have a clever eye, you may even see a horned figure drinking hot cocoa in the corner harmlessly, enjoying the atmosphere of good will and keeping watch over the party to prevent any troublemakers. And for once, just once, for the first time in so long on this frightful, forsaken island, there is true peace.The tavern is warm. Orange firelight flickers, as if dancing with the shadows. Decorations of shimmering silver and hunter green, the colors of Givingstide, adorn the dark wood decor of the Oak & Iron. The stucco and timber walls of the dining hall safeguard those within from the bitter wind and snow. It's no Leeds gala--- the food is simple, but it is beautifully made. Roasted chicken, potatoes, onion soup, and fresh-baked bread. Slices of pumpkin pie are passed around for dessert. Hot cider with or without alcohol, mulled wine, coffee, and spiced tea are served with the meal. It isn't glamorous, but it's made with love and tastes like coming home somehow.
As dinner carries on, music begins to be played from the tavern stage, and Mayor Poe has Yorick assist her in doling out the gifts from the table. They read the tags and summon the recipients to the table to recieve them. You can open yours right there or at your table, and decide for yourself whether you care to announce the name of the giver to the room.
Once the gifts are distributed, the partygoers are left to their own devices, allowed time to laugh with friends, dance to music, drink to their hearts' content, sneak off to while away a private moment in one of the inn's sitting rooms, or head home for an early night. Regardless of your choice, let it be with a loved one. A friend, a partner, a member of your newfound family. Blessed Givingstide, and may your lantern ever stay lit.
Mourner's Night [cw: grief]
As the early dark of high winter begins to fall, people begin to gather on the streets. A somewhat odd sight, but this isn’t the first time that people have come together under lantern light for an event that is in defiance of the danger posed by darkness. They are bundled tightly, wearing mostly black if it is available in clothes warm enough, and many people have donned veils which cover their faces with black lace.From the streets, there is an informal procession. At intervals, there are men in uniform black military peacoats and black caps carrying tall poles with bright lanterns on top, swaying in the frigid air. Their faces are painted to look like skulls. Yorick is among them, as are Father Mulcahy and Darcy. The rest of the townsfolk are asked to follow along as they please, each bearing a long white candle stuck into a paper cup meant to catch its wax. The candles are in no danger of blowing out— the wind is eerily still.
The procession is largely silent. The people who do speak do so only in whispers. It winds through the streets of the town, converging on one of the main roads. Once it is clear of buildings, the front of the solemn parade becomes visible. A black funeral carriage, like one that may have once conveyed caskets, bearing lanterns at each corner. The two black horses are marked with skeletons using white chalk on their fur, and it is driven by a woman in black garb representative of deepest mourning. This is Fever, playing the role of Mortanne.
It has been a long time, what feels like ages, since the people of this town have had a funeral procession outside the context of Mourner's Night. But they remember well their traditions and follow them with reverence. This, for you outsiders, is a unique glimpse at something you might not otherwise see due to the effects of the barrier. Each and every person in town follows the trail left by carriage wheels in the fresh snow and arrives at Fall's Promise Cemetery.
Beyond the wrought iron gate, there is more silence. Locals gather around the graves of their friends and loved ones, saying silent prayers and spending time in contemplative remembrance. You see Dahlia stand outside the central mausoleum, looking grimly up at her own name carved into the stone.
LEEDS
Degas has made his way over to a grave. He is here as himself, not as a reverend, and he does not leave the side of the headstone he gravitated toward. Melly Clayton.
Meanwhile, Dr. West is loitering at the back near a gargoyle. For once even he is present. And far off in the shadows, a small figure looms outside the fringes of lantern light, looking off into the sea. Cherry red hairs catch the light occasionally. Elsie.
The candlelight vigil remains silent for a long time as people recall and honor their loved ones. Any sound of shuffling or movement is dampened further by soft, fluffy snow, creating a deep and heavy hush that is almost loud in its soundlessness. Perhaps, deep in the Season of Spirits, the presence of the fallen can be felt in the quiet dark.
Your mind drifts as the somber reverence beckons your mind to your memories. Who do you honor? A lost lover, a passed parent, someone you left behind in your life before? Or perhaps you honor yourself. You did die to get here, after all. And it’s probable that you aren’t the only one to think so.
In the distance, the bell tower chimes. Then, rising up from the snow, soft at first and then louder, a song. The locals are beginning to sing a hymn about Mortanne sharing carriage rides with passengers, reminiscing about their lives as her carriage drives them to the afterlife. Did you learn it from a local before the festival? Do you sing, hum, or remain silent?
As the song finally comes to a close, all at once the locals blow out their candles, leaving the graveyard in darkness aside from the lantern poles. The silence now broken, people shuffle along, meeting up to mingle and hug or heading home for an early night. Some of them are crying.
Throughout the festival, lingering at the outskirts, shrouded in both the deepest darkness and layers of mourner's black, is a woman whose pale hair occasionally catches light even under her elaborate lace veil. If you are someone with a special connection to death, or to winter, you may feel her eyes upon you.
Interfaith Holidays
On the 24th and 25th of December, touches of red and gold are added to the traditional Givingstide green and silver, and images of angels and stars take their place alongside horses and snowflakes. On the left side of the main congregation space, a table has been set up to give a wooden Nativity set and an advent wreath pride of place. A little book, kindly crafted by Pinhole Printing and Binding, has been put together for those unfamiliar to read the story of Christmas.From December 25th to January 2nd, the majority of interfaith space is decked out in blue and silver, handmade Stars of David hung in each window, in celebration of Hanukkah. On the right side of the temple's congregation space, another helpful storybook by Pinhole rests alongside a brand new menorah, as the evenings have the space reserved for candle-lighting and gathering. Additionally, a frying booth for latkes and sufganiyot can be found at the Winter Market, typically manned by Cecil (though Gerry is almost certainly there as well).
And for those that celebrate the pagan Yuletide, an outdoor altar can be found on the town's festival gazebo, protected from the elements but still amid nature. Plenty of places for indoor merriment can be found for those who observe it--- the Oak & Iron has discounted drinks from the Solstice till New Years! Skål!
Hand in hand, we put the darkness to our backs and step into the light. Rejoice, spring cometh.
midnight mass | OTA | read notice!
The little area set aside for the Catholics has been done up for some time now; slowly, through the month of December, little decorations have slowly been added. The first was the Advent candles, a wreath of evergreen pine sat on the table, nesting four candles of red, white, and green wax; one for each of the four Sundays of Advent leading up to Christmas. Then a Nativity scene is added, and yet more little things; a small little pine tree all decorated in what he could reasonably get his poor hands on, the ornaments marking the family tree of Christ in the form of a Jesse tree, other candles, and baubles here and there. Then a book of the story of Christmas, so very, very kindly dedicated by the Pinhole bookbinders. On the 24th and 25th, the book, wreath, and Nativity move to pride of place.
Christmas traditionally demands four Masses: the Vigil Mass during the day of the 24th, the Midnight Mass, then the Mass at Dawn, and finally, Mass During the Day. Darcy will be there for all four, but Midnight Mass is the one that most go to. And considering the crowd that showed up for the evening meal at Darcy's Réveillon, he is sweating his ass off.
It's his first real Christmas in 6 or so years, and he really wants to do this right. He's never been a particularly charismatic or magnetic priest, and being the only person on this island to represent the Catholic faith at its best is... ah. A lot, to be sure. Although a part of him is also glad for the lack of competition; he knows that quite a number of them are rather more unpleasantly uptight than he is.
Midnight Mass begins. It's only an hour, and is not too much different than the usual Mass, but he still has to soothe his nerves, especially when it comes to leading the very few established Catholics in attendance in Gloria with a few traditional carols. Thankfully, simply reading the story of Christmas for the Liturgy takes up a good chunk of time, especially with added context for the curious strangers who have shown up in attendance and interspersed with direct sections of the Gospel relating to the birth of Christ. It's all a very intimate affair. Mulcahy is soft-spoken and affable. He still looks a bit like a stiff wind might blow him to dust, but the usual warmth to his manner has really come alive tonight. And with such a small attendance compared to the usual Christmas congregations on Earth, it's far, far less sterile in mood than these usually tend to be. In fact, if anyone in the crowd raises a hand in question, he'd be very happy to stop and answer.
And then it's over, and the congregation is dismissed. He lingers for any questions, for anyone who wishes to speak with him. And then they go too, and he sits down on the nearest elevated surface.
Phew.
no subject
no subject
She hobbles off after the vigil to get the prep for réveillon done. Can't do too much of the getting up and kneeling down due to still extremely recovering from surgery, but she muddles through each mass with an increased sense of calm and familiarity. It's not home, but it's the most home she's felt in a good long while. So she stays in the temple in between the midnight mass and the dawn mass, then gets herself home for Christmas morning and breakfast, then back for the day mass. For more than the usual reasons, she looks dead on her feet by the end of it. And if she naps on one of the pews while Mulcahy's packing up afterwards, then that's between her and God.
no subject
But she does not return for the last Mass, having been left to fall properly asleep in the house after a good breakfast. Hopefully the good Father doesn't mind, she's just tired herself out from being excited for the holidays.
no subject
He invites Dahlia along, too, not really expecting she'll want to go since it's not her religion or anything... but to his surprise, she accepts. So they're near the back of the temple, Radar with his arm around her for most of the service. He fumbles through the bits he doesn't know, kinda follows everybody else's lead for when to stand or sit or kneel, sings along with the hymns he recognizes, and whispers extra explanations to Dahlia when needed.
And when the service concludes, he beams and shoots Father Mulcahy a not-at-all-subtle double thumbs-up. See? He knew he'd do a swell job.
Just an add-on!
She doesn't know the words, but quickly catches onto tunes and hums along. Maybe one day she might like to learn a few of these. Dahlia could play them on the piano, sing them with Radar. A good and warm and domestic dream, the kind she doesn't really have anymore.
Dahlia doesn't dislike Father Mulcahy, but she doesn't really associate with him much due to his ties to Neil. Still, she nods her head in greeting on the way in and thanks him for his efforts on the way out.
no subject
And it wasn't as if Artemy was bound to convert, not in the slightest, but he had grown curious. He wanted to know how other religions conducted himself. He wasn't a very worldly sort of man, and all of these different holiday traditions that just were never part of his life? He found himself curious about all of it.
So there he sat. In the back of the church, simply observing. He asks no questions, participates very little, and refuses communion, as it does not feel appropriate, in his opinion, to partake of another god's flesh- of course he does not know that he wouldn't have been proper for him to have anyway, but, you know. He refuses on principle nonetheless.
Artemy walks out, feeling like he's learned something, and being glad he participated in an act of interfaith, but also being reaffirmed in his own beliefs.
no subject
He doesn't really participate, at least not in the prayers and rituals. His gods are long since departed and he's not looking to replace them. He mostly just looms supportively at the back of the church.
midnight mass
So he does. He takes a seat in an empty section and keeps his gaze cast down, unsure if he can face anyone right now when it took so much just to walk through the door. All that changes, however, as the proceedings begin. He finds himself moved to tears by the priest's gentle voice. Once the waterworks start, they seem impossible to stop. This was a small slice of home he didn't realize he missed until just now.
The only part he can't bring himself to partake of is the host sacrament. There are far too many things he'd need to confess first before that would feel right. So much blood on his hands... does he deserve forgiveness for these sins? He still says the words of the prayer, like pulling them from the back of his memory off a dusty shelf, but he'll need longer to ponder them. Longer than one night.
When the ceremony completes, he quietly stands and wipes the sleeve of his coat over his eyes. Conflicting emotions war to purchase on his face. He's both at peace and troubled, crying from happiness and from grief. The whole affair was beautiful and moving and his soul has been moved... he's just not sure where to, yet.
no subject
So, she goes. She's read about it before, seen holos, even gone to recreations in holosuites of different religious beliefs during a Religious Studies course back in the Academy. She'd been to Bajoran services back on DS9, because even though she didn't believe in the Prophets as gods, the community and reassurance during the most hellish days of the Dominion War was sometimes all she had to cling to.
She follows everyone else's lead, supplementing that with her hazy recollections from the Academy courses. She doesn't pray or take the host; it would feel dishonest. She's met beings people would mistake for gods and told them to fuck off. Probably wouldn't win her many points with the Christian capital-G God.
She loiters at the end of the service, willing to talk to Mulcahy if he's available.
rolling Kitty, Deon, and Miles into one
She's going to write this down in her journal later. Just one more thing to learn.
----
Both Miles and Deon are very conspicuously Avoiding the Temple all month due to extreme trauma around Catholicism specifically. Miles likes the Padre just fine, but after being named an apostle of the pseudo-Catholic Walrider religion, pretty much all religious services wig him out. Especially Catholic ones.
---
Deon is Avoiding it because being reminded of Catholic traditions reminds him too much of how very-Catholic Vincent cheerfully invited him to church after slamming him down on the desk and holding a gun to his head, threatening him in a terrifying low growl.
That, and he's still working through his own religious trauma, and he has no idea who he can talk to about it. Best to let it liez