All Soul's Day- November 2nd, 1888

[valdemars]

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.]

Comments

[failedprotagonist]

"I do live here." He nods, then gestures in the direction in which his cottage lies, though it isn't visible from where they're standing. "I'm the gamekeeper." He hasn't yet determined how well the boy speaks English, so he continues in his careful, kind way. He doesn't spend a lot of time with the household children, unless they're out hunting or spending time in the woods or on the moors, but he's always liked children. It's a shame he's never had any of his own, but he isn't the marrying kind.

Although sometimes he wonders why he thinks that's true...

"Did you just arrive here, Ivan?"

[muscovy]

The smile is firmly in place as Ivan concentrates, and he tilts his head slightly while looking at the man, working this out.

Yes, he just arrived here. "Last night." It's been less than a day, still. He doesn't know what a gamekeeper is, can only assume that it is a person living in the woods, most likely in a small cottage or something, and... doing something. Maybe the person tending the woods? It seems like he should add something to the description, and decides on: "It rain." A beat. "Rains." In a month or a few days, depending on what his father decides on teaching him, he will understand tenses, but you can't start with everything at once.

[failedprotagonist]

"A newcomer, then. Welcome, Ivan. I hope you'll like it here. It was raining, yes." Yorkshire's not the rainiest part of England by far, but it has its share of rainfall. He nods, encouraging the boy's attempts at English. He seems to be doing quite well. A bright boy.

He gestures toward the candle, still clutched in Ivan's hand. "Can I help you with that?"

[muscovy]

Ivan nods. "High." He nods back to where the candles burn. Luckily, this man seems to easily understand what he was going for with this encounter, so he won't have to explain too much.

"I can not find" a pause "chair." Something to step on, anyway. he looked, but the only things that could have been used all were way too heavy for him to pull them over singlehanded.

[failedprotagonist]

"It is high for you, yes." He nods. "We'll have to do something about that. Come along, then." Kiritsugu leads the way, toward the flickering candles. He can still identify the one he lit, the one that bears a prayer for his father.

"No need for a chair." He gestures for Ivan to come to stand before the candles himself.

[muscovy]

Ivan hears "chair" and looks around - did he miss one? But there is nothing, and he peers up at the man, not sure if he is been made fun of. The sentence was half lost to him between thinking about the candles and suddenly hearing words in a language that he doesn't think in.

"Where?"

[failedprotagonist]

Kiritsugu shakes his head, hoping a gesture will be more easily understood than his words. He beckons to Ivan with one hand, then gestures to the floor right in front of him, between him and where the candles stand. "Here." He smiles, reassuringly.

[muscovy]

...No. He doesn't trust this. When he got lifted up before, he usually then got carried off or suspended in the air until he agreed to something. Or he was helped up somewhere and then not helped down again, while other children laughed. No matter if he got lifted up by adults or teens or children, it almost never ended well. The only one that he would have trusted to lift him up like that would be his great-grandfather, and even with him he could never be sure.

He takes a step back, shaking his head and thrusting the candle towards the man instead. Take it and put it up there instead.

[failedprotagonist]

Kiritsugu nods, still smiling. If the boy is skittish, he won't force him. As slowly and carefully as he's been speaking--so as not to spook him--he steps toward him. He takes the offered candle from his hand and places it with the others, simply and easily.

"There we are, Ivan." He turns toward him again. "Do you have a prayer you'd like to say?" He mimes praying, pressing his hands together.

[muscovy]

With a quick glance at Kiritsugu Ivan nods, though he doesn't move forward, staying out of arm's reach of the man. He presses his little hands together and stares into the flames, his lips moving as he starts to pray under his breath. It doesn't stay under his breath for long, though, and soon enough he speaks at a volume just high enough for someone standing close by to hear it. It's all in Russian, though. Basically, he is praying for a good start and that Timo will turn out as nice as he seemed at first, and then he turns to asking Mary to check on his mother and make sure that she is well up in heaven. And that she is there. Because some of the aunts and also his grandparents said that surely she couldn't be, and he doesn't know why, she was such a wonderful person even if she wasn't available often due to her sickness.