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]

Kiritsugu maintains a respectful distance. He knows it doesn't do to be seen to be becoming too close to an unescorted woman. The last thing he wants is trouble, but he's well-trusted by the household, having caused no difficulties in the past.

"Too plentiful," says Kiritsugu, glad enough to talk about his work. It's his task to keep the population down to manageable levels. Otherwise, the crops would be in danger, and the farmers would never let him hear the end of it. His labors are never done. "They don't let a man get much sleep." The remark is wry rather than a complaint. "Are you fond of them?" He likes animals, himself. His job necessitates that he kill a great many of them, but he never feels regret or upset about that. Why would he? It's for the good of the population as a whole. All a part of nature.

[motherof_bone]

"I am... fond of seeing them, on a walk perhaps."

Mary returns to this idea with pleasure. Sometimes she felt as if she were destined to return to the wild places. There were many godless things in the wilderness. (It would be quite good for her health, wouldn't it.)

"Before I see them on the table," she includes. She wasn't a squeamish girl when it came to her food. The idea of butchery. It reads as a harmless joke from her.

[failedprotagonist]

"I wouldn't be surprised if you saw one. It's not a bad day for a walk. Could be better, but..." He shrugs. It could also be worse, his unfinished sentence suggests. "Good for the constitution." Kiritsugu tends to keep things simple, providing simple answers to complicated complaints, but he knows things aren't actually so straightforward. None of his simple solutions have ever truly helped him with his problems, but they help him get by.

He chuckles. "There'll be no shortage of them on the table this year." Butchery was a part of daily life, to him. "I sent a few to the kitchens not along ago."

[motherof_bone]

She beams eagerly, a burst of energy in a young woman who can otherwise seem to be caught up in her own whimsy most of the time, distracted and far away until it's time for lessons.

"I'm sure they will be very fine," she decides, smoothing down her skirts lazily. "Do you take your dogs with you, to hunt the deer? Or do the little beasts spook them?"

She says little beasts with affection. She gets along quite well with dogs, mindlessly faithful, they served any master with no pretentions of righteousness.

[failedprotagonist]

He returns her smile easily enough, though his is a faint and quiet kind of smile. "I hope you enjoy them," he says.

"No, I don't hunt deer with hounds. That's for the riding parties. I stalk the deer, myself. Dogs might lose patience with that. Too long and too quiet for them, on the whole. Mine are well-trained enough to manage, but I bring them out mainly for birds and other small game."

He speaks of the animals fondly, himself. They're loyal companions. Sometimes he thinks he prefers them to people (with some exceptions). "They're good dogs."

[motherof_bone]

She imagines him, stalking the deer. Something quiet and dangerous coiled in the shadows, waiting. It fills her with a cloying dread, that thought. The thought of men waiting to bring blood from the innocent with swiftness and slyness. Taking whatever they desire. She wanted that power for herself. She wanted to be the one to rend, to make things scream.

She runs her fingers through her hair several times, uncomfortable with the turn her thoughts have taken. Her eyes lower to the hems of her skirts, which stir only a little in the brisk air.

"I would like to meet your dogs," she murmurs, attempting not to lose the thread of conversation and seem too strange. She didn't like to be peered at too closely, as if tapping fingers on the glass might break her pretty veneer and all would be exposed about a pretty girl with a bloody mouth. "I like dogs, very much. Someone once told me I have a good heart like a dog. Loyal."

A young man she had met in the village where he family lived West of the Valdemar House. He had very pale skin and dark eyes. He would smoke cigarettes at the cafe while she drank tea and chattered to him about fairytales. His smile was sharp when heads went rolling.