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

[muscovy]

Ivan's voice is high, very much fitting the form of a six year old, though the words are formed too harshely, the sounds not quite right on his tongue - clearly not a native speaker of English.

It isn't hard to decipher that he was asked why he was here, or so Ivan reads the question (what he understands of it) at least. And that is thus what he will answer to, not out of intimidation - the large man is intimidating, but his father told him that nobody here would hurt him on sight, and at least with Timo this close by, he trusts that that estimate is true.

"I'm Timo Väinäimöinen's son." The sentence is a bit disconnected, between the almost accentless Finnish name and the heavily accented English words that nontheless don't carry a Finnish accent, so he speaks a bit slowly. But he is quite sure that it was correct, and is a bit proud of that. It's been less than two months since he started practicing English, after all.

So the smile that he gives Robin changes from just a smile without much emotion in it to one that radiates some excitement.

[gentlemanliest]

It's obviously the boy's second language but Robin waits patiently as he works through the unfamiliar words and constructions and, when he gets to the end of the sentence without a single mistake, gives him another smile. It's impressive to see someone so young trying- and, so far, succeeding- to learn a language as infuriating as English.

"I see. And how long have you been here, lad?" he asks, this time keeping his words short, simple and clear.

[muscovy]

A couple of hours. And most of them he wasn't awake. But how do you express that? He forces his hands to stay still and not start tugging at his shirt. That's bad manners, he's been told. "Day." It's not exactly that, but surely it would come close enough for the purpose? Will his father be angry that he gave a wrong timeframe? But it's not entirely wrong, and he probably won't hear about this... "Come in night."

[gentlemanliest]

Ah, now that proves a little bit more difficult to decipher. After a moment of consideration, Robin gives a decisive nod and turns back to Ivan. "You've been here a day and you arrived last night. I see," he answered, not waiting for confirmation of that fact before continuing. "Tell me, what language do you speak at home?"

"Väinäimöinen" isn't a surname that he's familiar with but perhaps they might be able to find a language that suits them both.

[muscovy]

"Russian." But he was told to learn English quickly because he couldn't expect anyone here to speak it. French, maybe, but he was too young and too devoid of a governess or teacher to start to learn it yet. And the people in his surroundings were a very patriotic kind, they made a point of speaking Russian a lot of the times. He's never been to court. "But my father like Finnish good." Maybe that is why nobody told him about him before? Because he was more Finnish than Russian and they didn't like that?

[gentlemanliest]

Immediately, Robin's smile brightens again and he can't help but give a short chuckle of surprise. Now, there's a happy coincidence. He clears his throat and, in fluent but likely heavily accented Russian, begins to speak again. "You'll have to correct me on my grammar. I haven't spoken Russian in a few years now."

[muscovy]

The look on Ivan's face could almost be called comical, his eyes going wide and his jaw dropping at first before it turns into a smile again, this time one of excitement and relief. "Are you Russian?" Not that his accent sounds like it, but Ivan cannot quite imagine how someone would speak another language so well without being from that area. A language not French, anyway, because French is a normal adult lanugage apparently, and he can't understand a word but if all adults speak it surely they have to speak it well to not lose face.

[gentlemanliest]

Robin has never really been one for children but it's hard not to be endeared by the smile that hearing his mother tongue being spoken draws out of him.

"No, I'm not but I spent a few years there," he replied. Russian was always a useful to language to know in his experience, particularly when his closest friend was Saint Petersburg's finest. He pauses briefly. "Perhaps we should speak in English, though. It would help you to learn."

A little harsh, maybe, but practical.