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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.]
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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.
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"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.
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The servant wing really didn't have enough room for indoor pets.
"You gonna light candles for them? The birds, I mean."
sorry about my tense slip ups, I will keep to past tense now!
"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.
it's okay
"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?"
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"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.
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His job is many things, but it's never boring.
"Hey, how about the time we're both off, I get you a drink? I've got a feeling that would make you feel better about the past than lighting any candles can."
Leave it to Lancer to say something so sacrilegious in such a holy place.
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At the offer of the drink, Kiritsugu's lips quirked into a smile. "You may have a point. I'll take you up on that offer."
The sacrilegious nature of Lancer's remark didn't appear to bother Kiritsugu in the least. He had to admit, he couldn't drink a candle, and he'd never say no to a free drink.
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"Great. And your cottage is still in the same place, right? I'll just drop on over there with the drink in hand."
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"They haven't moved it, so far as I know. Looking forward to it. I'll try to have some food ready for you."
By rights, he should have had a wife, to do his cooking for him and help manage the cottage, but he'd never found it in him to marry.
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He licks his lips. A childish gesture, but he really does like Kiritsugu's food.
"What sort of food?"
Say scones, please?
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Kiritsugu wasn't the greatest cook, himself, but they were kind to him in the kitchens, as he provided them with the best game available, and he knew that being friendly with the kitchen staff went a long way.
"Anything you had in mind?"
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"Well, I'll bring you some meat and some drink. So I can compensate you enough for the cooking."