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 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.

[motherof_bone]

Mary considers him thoughtfully for a moment. The language she was taught by her own nurses and tutors had been French. A very different language from what the boy murmurs to her. She can see, however, that he is withdrawn from her in a way unlike a child. She's sure he doesn't know what is going on around him.

And so she smiles at him, with the same warmth she had once smiled at her own child. She extends her hand a little further to reassure him that the treat is for him.

Her tone is also reassuring when she says, "It's a day for lost souls."

He doesn't need to understand what she says, not really.

[muscovy]

It's frustrating, to know a language to the point where single words stand out and can be recognized but the concept of a sentence is too complicated for that word to give it meaning. Ivan keeps smiling anyway and switches to the basic English that he knows, trying to steer the conversation into a direction where he can control the context so the content will be clear more easily.

"I'm Ivan Timoevich. It's a pleasure to meet you." It's a string of words that he has learned like this, a simple introduction that was drilled into him as being polite and how he should introduce himself, and surely it can't get him in trouble if the person bringing him to this place took such pains to properly instill it in him? And also, it is a self-introduction, so it should set off an unser built on that, and that would get him some information abou this place. And make him understand more.

[motherof_bone]

Her smile brightens a little for him, as a congratulations for being brave and using a tongue that his not his favored. She gives his shoulder a gentle touch, fingers tips light.

"Hello, Ivan," she responds pleasantly. She doesn't speak unduly slow for him, but she's clear and kindly. "It's a pleasure to meet you too. My name is Catherine Saint Croix, but you can call me Mary. I am from Louisiana, where are you from?"

It may bee too much, if he was only taught that one greeting, but she will continue to be friendly to him, no matter what language, no matter the quality of reply. She had a daughter of her own once, but Mary prefers not to think about that. It's difficult on a day like today, a day for souls like the one she lost, but perhaps that was why she had allowed herself to be drawn to this little boy. It was a distraction, something to warm her heart when it was otherwise shivering with the cold dread of what she had done; what she had become.

[muscovy]

He's not sure which of the many names was her actual name, and repeats what she said under his breath in an attempt to sort it out. It doesn't help much with the name - he can ask his father about that later, or maybe someone will come over and adress her - but it alerts him to the 'from' in front of Lousiana. ...Wherever that is. It sounds English. Maybe a town in the area so she thinks that he might know it?

"Lousiana?" Then again, it could be butchered French. He's heard a bit of that on the way up. Or... Spanish? Things really are hard to recognize when they have a certain accent.

[motherof_bone]

"In America," she supplies for him simply.

She presses her pointer finger against his chest to signify she's talking about him this time.

"Where is Ivan from?"

[muscovy]

"Finland in Russia." He's actually not sure anymore; he always thought that Finns and Russians just were two of the many ethnicities in the empire and that for some reason the Russians had given it its name. But when Timo talked about it last night, it sounded like Finland was somehow seperate and now he isn't sure what side of that line he would be from if they are - his new father seems to identify with the Finnish side, so how-?

He'll ask him about it later. For now, this will have to do.

[motherof_bone]

"A long way," she observes, considering. It isn't as far as America across the sea, but it was quite a trek for someone so young. She knows that one of the research assistants was from that area, but not his name.

"You have family, here, in the house?" She supposes putting 'family' and 'here' right next to each other will make the question an easy one to manage.

[muscovy]

"My father." He brightens up a bit at that, still nervous both about the situation and about the whole having a father thing, but it's nice to not be an orphan and even nicer to have a parent who might just be active. He loved his mother, but she was also often sick and mostly sad and full of shame about his existence. Sure, she tried to not let him know, but... He's not sure how Timo thinks about him. But he seems friendly, and that is a good start. He's not sure if he'll hug him like his mother did, and let him sleep in his bet when he had bad dreams, but... he will see.

"Timo Väinämöinen." He points at the man.

[motherof_bone]

Mary follows where he indicates. She... may or may not remember the man's name. She isn't good with those sorts of things, people tend to blend together for her, all of them tainted in some way, dripping black inside. However, she sees members of the house frequently enough that she may be able to get hold of each uniquely, given a little time and practice. The children of the house most certainly.

"Very good," she praises him, a light pat on the shoulder. "I hope you will like it here."

There were nice things about living in a strange house. There were none of her memories built into the walls, none of her family staring at her with nervous eyes. But every house had its secrets and its filth.

[muscovy]

Nodding, Ivan attempts a few sentences but realizes that he lacks the vocabulary for all of them. In the end, he decides on: "Not many childs."

It's neither a positive nor a negative thing to him, but it does make him wonder how his father wants to get his education going. Timo said that he wanted him to learn more than the little that he knows, but if there are no other children, his father won't be able to pawn him off on their teachers - that is how it happened back where he is from. If children visited and were accompanied by a governess or another type of teacher because they stayed that long, he was sent to learn with them, but he was never considered important enough to employ someone for his sake if that road could be walked, too.

As with most things, he guesses that he will find out.