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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.]
Time: 10:00am - 10:30 am (service- characters may stay for longer, though)
Location: The chapel
Characters: Everyone [OPEN/
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.]
no subject
In truth, he was inestimably bored and uncomfortable and his mind was wandering far afield. His sympathies were with his mother-in-law. These tedious services were always a good time for thought, and to observe the household, but they would have been better if there had been no speech at all. He could always consider things better in silence, but getting it could be a chore; he had to order everyone out and lock the door. Sometimes he envied the older man’s effortless solitude... but not his inactivity, his loss of reputation, or his seeming abandonment of personal ambition.
When it was over, L pushed to his feet and moved towards the door, eager to return to his work, but knowing that he would probably be detained. There were mundane duties here to attend to, as well as family and collegial friends -- at least his daughter had sailed away the moment she was able to. A servant might catch him in the hall.
There was also a possibility that Her Ladyship would crook her finger at him.
no subject
His hands are joined over his belly, and his purple eyes, of the same hue as his "father" Timo's (just like his blonde hair is very reminiscent of Timo's), only show curiosity and intent interest. They won't be turned away should L look at him, he seems to not be quite aware of staring like that being impolite.
no subject
The small boy doesn't interrupt him, but does catch L's gaze with his own, and it's hard to miss. L pauses, then bends to look at the child, not quite looming over him.
"And who do you belong to?"
It's not hard to guess. Violet eyes are extremely rare.
no subject
Plus he's trying to make a good impression. To get a good start in this house. "I'm Timo Väinämoinen's son, sir." It's understandable, though the accent is heavy, and Ivan raises an arm to point over at the man who is standing a few feet away, chatting eagerly with another adult. It takes a few moments before he has successfully strung another sentence together, but then he adds: "I come yesterday night." A pause, and then he adds by way of explanation, meaning to make the time clearer: "It rain, yes?" Past tense is something that he cannot form yet, the man who brought him to Britain considered it not as important as a solid basic vocabulary and things like genitive and word order.
no subject
"It's always raining... it's England. You've settled in well, I see." Maybe, maybe not, but the beginnings are there. "What's your name?"
Small boys like sweets. He isn't in the habit of charming small boys, but a relatively appeased child will probably be a quiet and well-behaved one. As he waits for an answer, he produces a small tin from the pocket of his morning coat, opens it, and removes two small hard lemon sugar pastilles. One is held out, by his fingertips, to the child; the other is popped into his own mouth.
no subject
But he doesn't know the man well enough to really make heads or tails of this, and so he just tries to answer to the question to the best of his abilities. Or was going to, but then the pastilles are heald out for him and yet again he is not sure what to make of it. Usually people who offer children sweets want to get something with that, or reward something that they did. Sometimes they get candy for no reason, too, but that is usually from parents who are their relatives or something similar, and it's never applied to Ivan before.
But would it be rude to not take it? What if he is being tested, what would be the right reaction - he still hesitates to take the candy as he answers. "Ivan." He has a proper father's name now, one that actually notes his father, but sinc ehe already said who his father is, he'll leave that out of the introduction. "I have not seen the house." Yet, anyway. Not much of it, anyway. Only the kitchen and night entrance, and Timo's room and the way from there to the chapel. He'll see more later. Then he'll be able to comment on it, say that it is nice or whatever.
no subject
He offers the lemon drop again. "Take it." His attempt at a small, encouraging smile doesn't quite make it to his eyes... but then, it rarely does. He's rarely an indulgent man.
no subject
His tone was conversational but it disguised how closely he had been watching him throughout the service. Was it devotion that kept him so still and focused? He had never appeared especially fanatical about religion and one glance at her ladyship’s almost scornful expression throughout the proceedings was enough to tell anyone that he hadn’t married into such a family either. But then again, he was hardly an expert on the subject, as much as he had tried to remedy this recently.
Those first few months, they were more strangers than brothers, connected by half a bloodline that he had otherwise severed himself from, like a surgeon cutting out a tumour- or so it had felt at the time. It had been easy enough to declare himself estranged when he was on another continent to the rest of the family but it made for a humbling return.
Maybe he should have taken the opportunity to offer the Lord a grateful prayer for having mercy enough to take their father before he attempted it.
no subject
He paused, turned, and shot a disapproving sidelong glance at his captive shoulder. Then his head took on an inquisitive tilt as his gaze turned up, although the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that Robin was more than a head taller than him.
"What would make you think that? It seems I have all the time in the world today." His words were airy and mild, not taking the slight provocation. They were also not precisely true, but the item which had been intended to come down from Glasgow with him hadn't quite made its way yet, and he never had much choice about whether or not to make an appearance in the chapel.
Robin has a place here... for himself and his friend, because... Because Father would have wanted it, because it was L's duty (particularly under the circumstances), and because another Latimer in a house full of Valdemars wasn't completely unpleasant. But what does he want today? Guessing would be a waste of time in comparison to letting Robin speak for himself, so L aimed his cool, appraising look at his brother and waited for answers to be volunteered.
no subject
They might not have been close but even a complete stranger couldn't fail to note the wary glance he gave his hand the hand on his shoulder and Robin released him. "You seemed eager to return to your study," he explained, "But it seems I was mistaken. I wanted to speak with you about a personal matter."
It went without comment that he had been just as quick to his feet without the excuse of work.
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They were already set to move in the direction of his study, but it was some distance away, through the long picture gallery.
Even when no one else was in the gallery, the painted faces watching from the walls ensured that it never felt like a particularly private location. It felt, instead, like being subject to the collective mild disapproval of generations of Valdemars, all at the same time.
They had nothing to disapprove of, however, except their own failures: if the family had declined to a point where he'd had to take their name to help preserve their status, those pieces had been in play for well over a century. New blood, Latimer blood and Daxter blood, had been their best hope, but it remained to be seen how it would play out. Life had an end, but time, he thought, did not, and he wondered when the results of the experiment would be decided.
If they spoke in his study, or perhaps the library, it would be more quiet, but if they spoke in the gallery, no one would have to continue to feign patience. He'd leave the decision to his brother. L began to walk, gesturing for Robin to follow.
no subject
But that wasn't the sole reason for his dawdling; talking in the presence of such a stern audience was preferable to being locked away in a study. At least here, should either one of them feel the need to quietly slip away, they could do so without much performance.
"It's about the trunks I have stored on the third floor," he said, hoping to stop him before he reached the far doors, "They mostly contain my old military equipment and uniforms and so on but some of the things I brought with me from London are there too." A pause. "Father's things."
no subject
The house had been sold years ago, and L's characteristic lack of sentimentality meant that a number of their father's personal belongings had remained in storage. Their father hadn't taken any serious interest in him past the expected paternal one until he was older, almost ready for University--he had been taken up with his work and his new wife and child. But then, L's own interests had proved to be more in line with the elder Mr. Latimer's than Robin's had been, and then in line with Lord Valdemar's... he had slipped from one family into another.
A young Lady Valdemar of the mid-eighteenth century seemed to be gazing down at them both with an expression of curiousity. "I can't say that I have a strong recollection of everything that was placed in storage. Are there any items of particular significance?" A few of his books were in L's personal library, and there was the matter of his mother's jewelry, but....
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Unfortunately, Robin didn't share his reasoned lack of sentimentality and, left to his own devices, he probably would have kept everything in the damned trunks. But this was no time for getting misty-eyed over dusty heirlooms- perhaps he had to reawaken the calculating general still lying dormant inside him.
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"The children might be interested. It's difficult for me to be certain--they didn't know him. There was a watercolour that Grandmama had painted as a girl... a landscape near Bath, I seem to recall." Old family miniatures, a watch chain or two. Some of them would think it was decrepit junk, but some might regret the chance if it passed them by. It was hard to say who would take which tack... hard for him to say much about the children at all when only Misaya was at home.