aungier | All Soul's Day- November 2nd, 1888

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All Soul's Day- November 2nd, 1888

Date: November 2nd, 1888
Time: 10:00am - 10:30 am (service- characters may stay for longer, though)
Location: The chapel
Characters: Everyone [OPEN/~~CLOSED~~]

Summary: The household gathers together in the chapel for a short All Soul's Day service.
Warnings: None.

The Valdemar family are not, by and large, particularly religious. "My faith," proclaimed Lady Valdemar once, to the horror of her husband's parents, "lies while science and science alone. If God should have a hand in that, so be it. I couldn't care less either way."

Yet here they were, gathered together in silent prayer before the altar and the glassy purview of King Solomon and a host of angels, huddled in the dark pews at the front as if in collective repentance- not that Her Ladyship seems particularly repentant. From the slant of her shoulders to her poker-straight back to the upward jut of her chin, all of her bearing is far too proud for a humble servant; she watches her husband take to the lectern with an almost feline boredom, thin lips pursed. Even a servant watching from a second floor balcony might note the smear of carmine on them, as if brushed on for the sole purpose of better expressing her disdain.

"The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; devout men are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil." Lord Valdemar seems uncomfortable with so many eyes upon him, and he studiously avoids his wife's stare. He dabs at his brow with a handkerchief before continuing. "Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death."

His voice, though low and quiet, echoes throughout the space with a new importance that could only have been built into place by a canny architect with an ear for dramatics. A Madonna relief rolls her eyes piously to the ceiling; a spider inches its way down her shoulder and drops onto the organ, silent for years now.

The final stretch now. "I live in a high and holy place, but also with him who is contrite and lowly in spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite," he finishes- and, the bible closes in a dusty thump. With another mop of the brow, he murmurs something pleading about feeling faint before bolting for the hallway wearing a martyred look.

Lady Valdemar sniffs. "A migraine," she informs no one in particular, rising from the pew. She makes it sound like an accusation. "His health is so tenuous these days."

But for all of her snide comments, that she is the one left rather than her husband does allow for a little breathing room. If anyone should want to light a candle or speak a silent prayer of their own, now is the time.

[This is an open post for all of the household. Threads may either take place during, before or after the service. Lady Valdemar will also be available to speak with, assuming your character is either of the right station or has an excuse to do so- say so in your post's subject line if that would interest you.]

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Mary is a bit shy when alone with men, something that is both fear and disdain sitting in her gut. She doesn't remember when the disdain entered her heart, but she supposes it must have been after her marriage? Musn't it? (It might always have been there, something corrupted inside of her--)

"It seems... worse, maybe, on All Soul's Day." Her eyes linger on the clouds overhead, her mouth open and loose in a childish expression. "All the dead watching..."

Mary has always been treated as an invalid. A young girl with hysterical tendencies, she has spent many long days hidden away in her rooms, alone with herself. It was Hell, to be alone with herself, but that did not make her more eager for company. They were all rotten inside, every last one of Eve's children.

She gives Kiritsugu a wide-eyed look, not entirely comfortable around men. (Something itches inside of her, when they look too close.)

"Have the deer been plentiful this year?" She liked the idea of deer, their soft white tails and large eyes. Their delicious meat.

She comes to visit him, just before the service begins. She has a pretty face and a gentle smile.

"It will be over quickly," the house governess promises. She holds out a hand, held in a fist. When she uncurls it, there is a small piece of candy in her palm.

When the service finally ends—and on that note, too; what an embarrassment—Misaya rises immediately. What a relief. She can't say she understands going through the motions of faith when hardly anyone gathered in the chapel seems to appreciate it, but far be it from her to question her grandparents' wisdom. It's with her usual straight-backed and proud bearing that she makes her way through the pews.

As she passes by her snoozing servant, she very deliberately stomps on his foot.

Ivan doesn't reach out for the candy - she is a stranger and has no reason to be friendly without a reason, and he doesn't want to get into trouble because her reason was something that he would get into trouble for. People just aren't friendly unless they have one - if they aren't his caretakers, and even to them that usually applies.

Her words don't make much sense to him, either - he can catch "over", and if he had a bit of time he could probably replay it and understand a bit more, but he doesn't have that time. He looks up at her and smiles silently, trying to cover up how tired he is - he only arrived less than a day before in the dead of the night, and there had been a lot of travelling before that. But you have to look presentable to strangers.

Which brings him back to the question that he already graced before. Is she some kind of caretaker of his in this place? Like the aunts and tutors and maids and wet nurses back home that were supposed to look after him but always came and left soon, until he stopped bonding with any of them, knowing that each new one wouldn't last longer than the last.

If she is, or if she even - the governess of one of the older children in the household had dropped by sometimes recently to study with him, teaching him how to write and do basic math. The thing is, if this stranger approaches him like this, it might be some kind of ritual of greeting him if that is the case. If that is the case... maybe she will speak some Russian? The lady that taught him how to write spoke at least three languages, so...

But then he thought that everyone spoke Russian and found out the hard way that most people didn't once they reached Germany. Still. It is worth a try.

The smile still fixed to his face, eyes carefully shielding any emotions from becoming visible, he nods slowly and asks in Russian, trying to be as polite as possible but failing a bit due to not having had much experiences with social situations, since his family didn't want too many people to get to know him: "What is 'over', Miss?" Still not taking the candy, though. He wants to get behind this first.

It's a nice, clean, untroubling answer, and for moment Warsman wonders if Lyall is just humouring him because he's a guest, which in turn only makes him worry that he's putting the man on edge as well as his best behaviour. But if he were all that worried about speaking to him he wouldn't have approached him in the first place, and so Warsman forces himself to shake off the thought and instead clasps Lyall's hand lightly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lyall- I'd seen you around, but..." He trails off for a moment, before, ducking his head, he quickly adds, "... just 'Warsman' is fine. I hardly ever go by anything else these days." He wasn't just trying to be humble. What had started as a stage name that pinched and rubbed had been worn hard and stretched over the years; it was strange to think of being called by any other name anymore.

Lancer yelps and sits straight up.

"Ow! Who the--"

He blanches when he sees his Mistress. The woman who commands more of his loyalty than even Lord Valdemar himself.

"M-mistress..."

He's quick to stand up and wipe the trail of drool off of his face.

"...It's already over, huh?"

"...Do pets count as people?"

He could call himself a fortunate man. Everyone in his family that he knew was still alive. The only ones he needed to mourn for were the semi-official pets that he had adopted from the forests during his childhood.

He knows Temeraire in passing- they were introduced on arrival, but since then they haven't really run into each other all that often. He's always been working on something or another of either his own design or Master Valdemar's, while Warsman has felt too much like an imposition here to insert himself into someone else's plans as well, besides which... well. He's never been very good at talking to strangers. Or even acquaintances, if he's completely honest.

Still, the young man has caught his eye in the past. When they met he hadn't quite been bold (or, more to the point, rude) enough to ask for specifics, but it had been mentioned that he was a student from abroad- and knowing that he wasn't the only fish out of water, so to speak, was soothing in its own silly little way. He'd felt so out of place when first he'd arrived, so obvious whenever he'd ventured into St. Erasmus...

And now he has a chance to make amends for what Warsman finds himself remembering (probably unreasonably) as an awkward first impression. He hears Temeraire's footsteps over his voice and so he's already glancing back to meet him.

Warsman steps back a little, giving him a better view of the trays. "Just... lighting a couple of candles. In remembrance," he adds, in explanation. His own voice is soft, too, though now it's out of general respect for the church than any serious uncertainty on his behalf. "You've never...?"

Kiritsugu maintains a respectful distance. He knows it doesn't do to be seen to be becoming too close to an unescorted woman. The last thing he wants is trouble, but he's well-trusted by the household, having caused no difficulties in the past.

"Too plentiful," says Kiritsugu, glad enough to talk about his work. It's his task to keep the population down to manageable levels. Otherwise, the crops would be in danger, and the farmers would never let him hear the end of it. His labors are never done. "They don't let a man get much sleep." The remark is wry rather than a complaint. "Are you fond of them?" He likes animals, himself. His job necessitates that he kill a great many of them, but he never feels regret or upset about that. Why would he? It's for the good of the population as a whole. All a part of nature.

Ah, youth, thought Kiritsugu again. He was a lucky young man, if he hadn't lost anyone dear to him.

"Pets? I'd say they do." From a theological standpoint, a clergyman would doubtlessly have disagreed with him, but Kiritsugu isn't too concerned with the clergy and what they might have to say.

"I've had more than a few good dogs myself, that I liked better than most people." Every gamekeeper needed good gun dogs, and so Kiritsugu was not without.

Temeraire is halfway to shaking his head when he stops and nods slowly instead. "We used to go to a temple, near my village, and sweep the ancestral graves, and light incense for them. But we would do it in the spring, not the autumn: I do not think there would be much point in sweeping a grave, only for it to be buried by leaves and snow immediately after."

He is quiet for a moment, watching the candles flicker in their trays, before he ventures, "Is that what these are for? Prayers to the dead?"

"Lucky. I've only had things like deer or birds."

The servant wing really didn't have enough room for indoor pets.

"You gonna light candles for them? The birds, I mean."

Warsman tilts his head thoughtfully, trying to imagine the sort of temple he has in mind, the sort of graves- he can't fill in the details, but he can understand the sentiment behind it well enough for it to immediately bring to mind his own parents' graves back on the outskirts of Saint Petersburg.

"It's something similar," he answers. His mask creases around his eyes a little in an approximation of a smile. "I didn't have anyone specifically in mind this time, but it's a nice thought, isn't it?" A beat- then he takes a little risk. "Even if they aren't really here... it's respectful."

Kiritsugu hadn't been moving at a fast pace, walking slowly and thoughtfully, so it isn't too difficult for Ivan to catch up with him. He catches sight of the child out of the corner of his eye, turns, and smiles.

He may not live with the rest of the household, but after so many years working for the Valdemars, he does know everyone on staff, at least by sight, and this is decidedly not a child he knows. A newcomer, then? That's not so strange where Aungier House is concerned, so he doesn't think too much of it, even though most newcomers aren't children so young.

He leans down to be more on a level with Ivan. "Need some help with that, I see. What's your name, young man?"

"Deer and birds? You might want to go in for gamekeeping, if you like animals." There was no shortage of animals in his own life, whether he was dealing with his dogs, feeding the wildlife, or hunting.

"Ah, no, I'll stick with lighting candles for people. I'd be here all day, otherwise." He'd witnessed a great deal of death in the course of his work, but there was only one death that had truly stayed with him, which he would never escape from.

Ivan doesn't get most of it, but he catches 'name' and the questioning tone, so it is easy enough to at least answer the obvious part. He smiles at the man, not yet relaxing because he's not sure if he will get the help, but it seems like the man at least isn't annoyed by having been followed so his chances probably aren't bad.

"Ivan Timoevich."

Using that father's name is still not quite natural to him, rolling off his tongue with no stutter but not as smoothly as it should yet. Since he learned how to talk until a month ago, he used Andreyevich - his mother had had to give the official something, and apparently using his actual father's name had been no option yet, so she had chosen the male version of her own name. But one month again, that had suddenly changed, and now his patronymic was Timoevich. He'd need some more time until it truly felt like his name. At least he hadn't screwed up with his first introduction in this new place!

He shook his head.

"Nah, I'm better off doing what I'm already doing."

He'd be the laziest gamekeeper otherwise.

"Ah. Got any particular person in mind?"

Shirogane is, as far as men go, fairly harmless, unless you're a little rich boy trying to gamble with his daddy's money.

"I can see that...such a somber day almost seems to call for this sort of weather..." All Shirogane had to remember on this day was really his mother, and usually, the thought that she was no longer suffering in this world . If his long-gone father were dead, well, so be it. He paused for a moment, feeling like he should say something else. "As though nature itself were observing the occasion."

Temeraire returns what he decides is probably a smile, nodding immediately.

"I suppose the people we are are remembering have a little further to travel than most," he offers, "so it is not as if we can blame them for not being here."

He hesitates, then after a moment carefully lights a candle of his own: he has half-forgotten all the old prayers, even if there were anyone he were inclined to pray for, but he supposes the other man is right, and it is the thought that counts.

Temeraire's response isn't quite the mild skepticism Warsman was suggesting, but maybe that's for the best- he doesn't know that religious crises are really the ideal topic for light conversation, even if their starting place was a little heavy anyway.

Quickly, he gives a soft, slightly embarrassed laugh, loosening his collar a touch where the thick, starched edges dig into his neck. He wasn't made for clothes like these, and with a family's worth of eyes to dress for he feels more obvious in them than ever. "This is a fine way to start a relationship, isn't it? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to slip into philosophy. My thoughts... sometimes they..." He gives a helpless shrug, then tries for something a little safer. "Your name is Temeraire, isn't it?"

Temeraire, for his part, has never held much truck with spirits, but has never entirely closed himself to the idea, either, and he shrugs slightly, still smiling. "The subject matter is fitting, in any case, given our surroundings, and I do not mind."

He inclines his head in response to the question. "It is. Well," he adds, "it was T'ien-hsiang, to start with, but my professors in Peking all despaired of ever getting it right: so now my name is Temeraire, and I find I like it as well as my last. And your name is Volkoff, is it not? I am sorry: I know we have been introduced, before."

"Mister Warsman, then." Who is Lyall to question what the guests want to call themselves? The title isn't going away, though. That would just be improper. "It certainly is a name that stands out. I don't think I should do quite so well with a name like that."

That would be a joke. Lyall isn't really very good with them.

He does turn to start out, pausing mid-step to see if Warsman is coming with him. "Do you have plans for the rest of the afternoon, Mister Warsman?"

It was true, a gamekeeper couldn't be lazy. They had to work all the time, like Kiritsugu. Fortunately, he wasn't recruiting, and he nodded good naturedly.

"Just try to keep awake while you're doing it." He smirked, faintly.

"Most people have someone in mind, on a day like today." He wasn't one for talking about his problems.

He nods. "Pleased to meet you, young Ivan." A Russian name, and what sounds like quite a Russian accent to go with it. A visiting relative, perhaps? Or a friend of the family's child? It can be hard to guess at these things, and there's no one around to ask, so he carries on pleasantly. He speaks carefully and a bit slowly to start, as he's not quite sure yet how well the boy might speak English. He doesn't know a word of Russian, himself. Having grown up in Yorkshire, there hadn't been much call for him to learn it. Beauclaire, his old house, had had significantly few foreign visitors. "I'm Mr. Emiya." Kiritsugu usually prefers to talk to children rather than converse with any adult member of the house, with a few possible exceptions.

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All Soul's Day- November 2nd, 1888

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sorry about my tense slip ups, I will keep to past tense now!

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it's okay

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