[identity profile] syl-thorn.livejournal.com
[Just past midnight, Thursday, August 14, day 445]
[The woods]


(Continued from here)

I still really ain't sure where we are. We been walkin' ferrat least a couple hours now, but th'clouds've covered th'moon, an'I can't judge what time't might be. Long 'nough fer th'wound'n m'should t'clot over an' m'arm t'go stiff's old leather. Ain't much else I c'n say beyond'at.

Glass'n me ain't spoken much, partly cuz we's both burnt out, partly 'cuz we wanna stay's quiet's possible. I ain't seen neither'a th'bitches since I left'em trapped'n screamin', but I ain't gonna count us 's anywhere near safe 'til we's outta th'woods 'n safe in our beds.

Pause's we cross into a clearin'. "Any idea how much further we got t'go?" I says inna whisper.


[OPEN to those from the previous scene, and others should they choose]
[identity profile] syl-thorn.livejournal.com
[Early evening, Wednesday, August 13th, day 444]
[The woods outside town]


Woke up'is mornin' when the sky wuz th'deep blue'a th'sea bottom, m'breath stranglin'n m'throat, and a pain'n m'head't threatened t'push m'eyes from'eir sockets. I sat up, chokin' 'n clawin't m'throat, wond'rin' dully if'n m'head wuz gonna burst 'fore I strangled, an'en't wuz done. Th'air'n m'lungs pushed out hard, there wuzza flash 'fore m'eyes, an'en th'pain wuz gone. But not b'fore I heard somethin', a weird screamin' noise somewhere deep'n th'mist. Closest thin' t'it've ever heard s'when I came 'pon a mama vixen'n th'woods, she stood up from'er cubs'n fuckin' screamed at me. This sound wuz like'at...but wit'n edge, like th'bone squeal'a teeth grindin'n pain. Dunno what't wuz, but't made me feel sick'n pale'n sweaty, an' I didn't sleep no more after'at.

Seems mosta th'others'n th'Carnival felt somethin' th'same. Lotta folk woke up'n th'night, 'r member a chokin' spell...nobody else mentioned the scream, though. I don't mention it neither, but think mebbe I oughta go talk t'Nanshe soon's I can. Whatever't wuz, don't think't meant anythin' good.

Fer t'day, though, there's work t'be done. Can't b'lieve th'summer's near t'ended. We's headed fer our second winter innis town, an'I think mosta us're resigned t'it. Somma th'folks'a been lettin'eir wagons go, lettin' th'wheels sink inta th'ground, 'r settin'em on blocks. Some folks've built shacks 're rented places in town. Some've taken jobs, too, part time 'r full. Can't blame'em, really, since'ere ain't allat much money comin' in fer the rides 'r games no more. There's a feelin' on th'Lot now't we might never leave, annit makes m'skin itch.

Me, I still keep m'wagon ready t'move, an'm makin' 'nough cash sellin' potions'n charms, so'm doin' okay. Smokey's gettin' fat, though, 'e's spendin' so much time'n pasture. I ain't never learned t'ride'r nothin', so'ere really ain't nothin' for'im t'do. Guess I could rent'im out t'folks in town, but I dunno. In some ways't makes me feel like'm puttin' down roots m'self, an'at jes' makes me twitch.

At least I still got work t'do. Shoulder m'satchel 'n head out inta th'woods. Rain's gone, but'ere's a cool breeze, so I throw on m'jacket, 'n pull boots on 'gainst th'mud 'n wet grass. Th'woods 'n th'river here've been good t'me, at least in terms've finding materials. Roots 'n herbs, moss 'n bone. Miss somma th'stuff I c'n get 'n th'south (Christ, I miss olive oil), but gotta say, gathered a lotta stuff last winter't I can't normally get, annit came in right handy over th'past few months.

...Lord, guess I better start thinkin' 'bout getting th'heaters set back up inna few weeks. Jesus wept.

[OPEN to Reed and Catherine primarily, but others too]
[identity profile] catherineknight.livejournal.com
[Early morning, Monday, August 9th, day 435]
[The park]


I'm beginning to have doubts.

Not about coming here, of course...I have no doubt whatsoever that God has guided me here to do battle with the most ancient of evils. But in some way I must have failed to follow his guidance. That can be the only reason why it has been so much time has passed and I have not yet found battle.

Oh, he is here...I have heard the same thing from too many folk to have any doubt. I have even rode out past the water tower, clad in my armour, my weapons at my side. I shouted my challenge at him, Hirondelle pawed restlessly, and we waited...but the demon did not emerge. In frustration, I sent Hirondelle off at a hard gallop, and we rode until both of us dripped with sweat, but my desire was still unquenched. The fault is mine, I know...but I am lost as to what to do.

Now, it is weeks later, and I still haven't made any progress, and I feel I'm no closer to finding the battle that I seek. It sets me shifting in my saddle, my fingers gripping tightly at the reins. Hirondelle senses my tension, and she snorts and dances, finally setting off at a high-stepping trot down the gravel path. I should rein her in, but I don't. Maybe some exercise will make us both feel better. But inside me, my soul boils. I left the sect to seek out evil, to do battle and bring it down...and I am determined to do those things before my disease cripples me. But now that I've done the first, what must I do to accomplish the rest?

[OPEN to Reed and possibly others]
[identity profile] catherineknight.livejournal.com
Late Morning, June 7th,
Day 372
The Abbey


When I woke this morning, my first thought was that I was still dreaming. It had been summer when I bedded down, and now I look out to see the Abbey's gardens blanketed in snow. The training yard and the lawns and the trees, all coated in white. I dressed rapidly and rushed out....it was no illusion. Snow, covering the ground. In June.

My first thought as I walked to the stables was that this must be some trick of the Devil's. The snow is lovely, soft and shining and white, but the Devil's tricks can be hidden under a guise of beauty. Perhaps he plans to destroy the town's crops, or ruin the growing season, or blight the farms, or...

But a loud whinny distracts me from my thoughts. Devil trickery or no, Hirondelle still needs to be fed.

The stables are still warm, at least, and Hirondelle is prancing at the door of her stall, stretching her neck towards me. She, at least, doesn't seem disconcerted by the weather. In fact, as I fill her grain bucket and water, she looks longingly towards the door. Boaz is already out in the paddock, and Hirondelle obviously wants to join him...well, why not. I need time to think of how to approach this, anyway. I let Hirondelle finish her breakfast, and then lead her out to the paddock.

God gave man stewardship over the animals, but that does not mean that animals have nothing to teach us. For it is Hirondelle who shows me how foolish I am being. As soon as I remove her halter, Hirondelle whirls and charges through the snow, sending great clouds of it shining through the air. She rears, prances like a filly, then drops to roll, kicking her legs in glee. I can't help laughing as I watch her, my great and dignified warmare, as she cavorts and kicks up her heels like a new foal. And it is watching her that makes me realize...whatever this is, it is no Devil's trick. It is a gift from God, meant to bring us joy.

I turn my face up to the sky, and I smile, and I give thanks, and my mare leaps with joy.


[OPEN]
[identity profile] catherineknight.livejournal.com
Late Morning, June 7th,
Day 372
The Abbey


When I woke this morning, my first thought was that I was still dreaming. It had been summer when I bedded down, and now I look out to see the Abbey's gardens blanketed in snow. The training yard and the lawns and the trees, all coated in white. I dressed rapidly and rushed out....it was no illusion. Snow, covering the ground. In June.

My first thought as I walked to the stables was that this must be some trick of the Devil's. The snow is lovely, soft and shining and white, but the Devil's tricks can be hidden under a guise of beauty. Perhaps he plans to destroy the town's crops, or ruin the growing season, or blight the farms, or...

But a loud whinny distracts me from my thoughts. Devil trickery or no, Hirondelle still needs to be fed.

The stables are still warm, at least, and Hirondelle is prancing at the door of her stall, stretching her neck towards me. She, at least, doesn't seem disconcerted by the weather. In fact, as I fill her grain bucket and water, she looks longingly towards the door. Boaz is already out in the paddock, and Hirondelle obviously wants to join him...well, why not. I need time to think of how to approach this, anyway. I let Hirondelle finish her breakfast, and then lead her out to the paddock.

God gave man stewardship over the animals, but that does not mean that animals have nothing to teach us. For it is Hirondelle who shows me how foolish I am being. As soon as I remove her halter, Hirondelle whirls and charges through the snow, sending great clouds of it shining through the air. She rears, prances like a filly, then drops to roll, kicking her legs in glee. I can't help laughing as I watch her, my great and dignified warmare, as she cavorts and kicks up her heels like a new foal. And it is watching her that makes me realize...whatever this is, it is no Devil's trick. It is a gift from God, meant to bring us joy.

I turn my face up to the sky, and I smile, and I give thanks, and my mare leaps with joy.


[OPEN]
[identity profile] docconstantine.livejournal.com

Sunday, March 14th, late morning
The Abbey Infirmary

The screaming, or trying to is the worst part, I think.  That noise will stay with me long after he passes, waking me in the middle of the night.

(cut for allusions to Derek's condition and ethical choices that must be faced) )The last twenty-four hours have been long, between taking care of Derek and running across the steet to check in on Wanda.   I've had to keep her sedated too.  Ran back to the office to check on Lannie last night, but she's okay.  Even made me dinner.  Told her not to look for me except to shower and change clothes, because I am staying at the abbey until it's over,  And thank heavens for the Abbey and it's people, because Derek needs round the clock care and they give me the ability to run out, or sleep for an hour.

He's under now, so I take a few moments to wander outside the infirmary and stretch out on a bench, close my eyes.  Not sleep, just...

I hate my job today.

(open to Abbey residents, medically inclined people or law enforcement)

[identity profile] docconstantine.livejournal.com

Sunday, March 14th, late morning
The Abbey Infirmary

The screaming, or trying to is the worst part, I think.  That noise will stay with me long after he passes, waking me in the middle of the night.

(cut for allusions to Derek's condition and ethical choices that must be faced) )The last twenty-four hours have been long, between taking care of Derek and running across the steet to check in on Wanda.   I've had to keep her sedated too.  Ran back to the office to check on Lannie last night, but she's okay.  Even made me dinner.  Told her not to look for me except to shower and change clothes, because I am staying at the abbey until it's over,  And thank heavens for the Abbey and it's people, because Derek needs round the clock care and they give me the ability to run out, or sleep for an hour.

He's under now, so I take a few moments to wander outside the infirmary and stretch out on a bench, close my eyes.  Not sleep, just...

I hate my job today.

(open to Abbey residents, medically inclined people or law enforcement)

[identity profile] catherineknight.livejournal.com
[Late morning, Tuesday, February 23rd, day 268]
[The Abbey]



Word came today that the man in jail was hung. I'm glad. The Bible says "an eye for an eye", after all, and any man who would do as he did deserves nothing but God's final judgment. Even so, I'm not sorry that Isidore and I defended him against the rioters. Justice has its own process, and there's no reason for so many people to damn themselves.

We did receive a reprimand from the sheriff for riding into the crowd and for harming some of the townsfolk, even if they deserved it. Though to my mind, if they came out of their homes to do battle and cause harm they should have been equally prepared to receive it. But I suppose not everyone feels the same. I also asked about the flaming monster we battled, but there was no further sign of it, and she avoided the subject. We apologized for any injuries caused, and she thanked us for trying to help, and so it goes.

I didn't go to the execution. I saw no need to.

The event hasn't changed the routine any. There are still chores to be done, work to be finished. Humming under my breath, I heft the bale of hay over my shoulder and quicken my pace towards the stables. Later maybe I'll take Hirondelle for a ride.


[OPEN to TARQUIN and anyone at the abbey]
[identity profile] catherineknight.livejournal.com
[Late morning, Tuesday, February 23rd, day 268]
[The Abbey]



Word came today that the man in jail was hung. I'm glad. The Bible says "an eye for an eye", after all, and any man who would do as he did deserves nothing but God's final judgment. Even so, I'm not sorry that Isidore and I defended him against the rioters. Justice has its own process, and there's no reason for so many people to damn themselves.

We did receive a reprimand from the sheriff for riding into the crowd and for harming some of the townsfolk, even if they deserved it. Though to my mind, if they came out of their homes to do battle and cause harm they should have been equally prepared to receive it. But I suppose not everyone feels the same. I also asked about the flaming monster we battled, but there was no further sign of it, and she avoided the subject. We apologized for any injuries caused, and she thanked us for trying to help, and so it goes.

I didn't go to the execution. I saw no need to.

The event hasn't changed the routine any. There are still chores to be done, work to be finished. Humming under my breath, I heft the bale of hay over my shoulder and quicken my pace towards the stables. Later maybe I'll take Hirondelle for a ride.


[OPEN to TARQUIN and anyone at the abbey]
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Sunday, February 14th
Valentine's Day


I sit on my bed with my legs crossed, writing real careful in my notebook. MRS CLARA GRANGER I write, all tidy, then underneath I practice my signature. Clara Granger. That nice man at the market swore it wouldn't take too long for him to propose after he drank the potion. After I practice my signature a few times I write our names together. PETER AND CLARA, and I put them inside a nice big heart.

I hear Momma shouting for me and I sigh. I know she won't approve when Peter and I get together, cos he is a bunch older than me and she says seventeen is way too young to settle down. But I know she married Pop at nineteen, so she's just a hypocrite. And Peter's a real good catch - got his own job, his own place. There's that Maya of course to worry about, I think, and I push my pencil a bit too hard into the page and the point breaks. But once Peter's had the potion he won't remember that he likes her. I just need to work out how to get it to him.

Momma shouts again.

"Coming!" I shout. I know she wants me to go to that dumb Valentine's market and help her sell quilts. Ugh. But Peter might be around town, so I check my hair is nice before I go down.

***


This punch just don't look too appetising. I sigh and shout for Clara again. What is that girl doing? Probably dreaming about that barman. She thinks I don't know she's moony about him. I'm just glad he's got a sweetheart, or else he might go for my Clara - she's real pretty and men like adoring girls. He's much too old for her. I taste the punch and it's real nice, course it is, made from our fruits, but the colour just don't pop. Feeling a bit guilty, I get out some food colourant and drop it in, and it goes a nice reddish colour. That's about right for Valentine's, ain't it? I stopper up the barrel. Clara comes down.

"Get those quilts in the cart, will you?" I say, hustling her out and then getting the punch on the wagon. Roads are clear, so we get set up easy. Just a few stalls for this - jewellery, flowers, all kinds of novelties. I put out the prettiest quilts - maybe some guy'll think one'd make a nice present for his wife, and more practical than earbobs - and set up the punch.

"Free punch, sir?" I say, holding out a cup. After a bit of prodding I get Clara dishing up punch too. Hopefully it'll be a good day.

[OPEN]
[Closed]
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Sunday, February 14th
Valentine's Day


I sit on my bed with my legs crossed, writing real careful in my notebook. MRS CLARA GRANGER I write, all tidy, then underneath I practice my signature. Clara Granger. That nice man at the market swore it wouldn't take too long for him to propose after he drank the potion. After I practice my signature a few times I write our names together. PETER AND CLARA, and I put them inside a nice big heart.

I hear Momma shouting for me and I sigh. I know she won't approve when Peter and I get together, cos he is a bunch older than me and she says seventeen is way too young to settle down. But I know she married Pop at nineteen, so she's just a hypocrite. And Peter's a real good catch - got his own job, his own place. There's that Maya of course to worry about, I think, and I push my pencil a bit too hard into the page and the point breaks. But once Peter's had the potion he won't remember that he likes her. I just need to work out how to get it to him.

Momma shouts again.

"Coming!" I shout. I know she wants me to go to that dumb Valentine's market and help her sell quilts. Ugh. But Peter might be around town, so I check my hair is nice before I go down.

***


This punch just don't look too appetising. I sigh and shout for Clara again. What is that girl doing? Probably dreaming about that barman. She thinks I don't know she's moony about him. I'm just glad he's got a sweetheart, or else he might go for my Clara - she's real pretty and men like adoring girls. He's much too old for her. I taste the punch and it's real nice, course it is, made from our fruits, but the colour just don't pop. Feeling a bit guilty, I get out some food colourant and drop it in, and it goes a nice reddish colour. That's about right for Valentine's, ain't it? I stopper up the barrel. Clara comes down.

"Get those quilts in the cart, will you?" I say, hustling her out and then getting the punch on the wagon. Roads are clear, so we get set up easy. Just a few stalls for this - jewellery, flowers, all kinds of novelties. I put out the prettiest quilts - maybe some guy'll think one'd make a nice present for his wife, and more practical than earbobs - and set up the punch.

"Free punch, sir?" I say, holding out a cup. After a bit of prodding I get Clara dishing up punch too. Hopefully it'll be a good day.

[OPEN]
[Closed]
[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
“The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.”
- Shakespeare


Monday lunchtime, near the sheriff's office, on Main Street

This has proved almost too easy. The clouds are rolling in, air heavy with the promise of rain, and I stand in my Danika body wearing an old coat with the collar turned up against the cold, jacket short enough to show a few inches of a tidy, worn work dress and a calflength of wool stocking. My shoes wear the signs of good, honest farm labour, and my blonde hair is frizzing round my face in the damp air. I look very distressed.

"Did - was there really a man arrested for... for beating on a girl?" I say to an old woman gossiping with her friend on the street. My fingers flutter together anxiously.

"Oh yes," she says, "it's a horrible thing. They think also he did in a girl as worked at - well, the brothel, my dear," she says, lowering her voice over that salacious detail, eyes gleaming with prurient interest. "They think he chopped her up."

"Oh," I say, and I faint very neatly to the ground. It's not long before I have half a dozen people round me - offering water, saying they will take me to the Dormouse, fussing with my coat collar to let me breathe.

"I should've said something," I say, and I burst into tears. That gets me sat down on a bench, an old woman's arm around my shoulders, and a very handsome young man crouched at my feet. "I should - "

"What is is, dear? Do you know something about what happened to those girls?"

I shake my head tightly.

"I know - I know - him," I say quietly. "He - We went out a couple of times, and he was - he was real nice to me, and -" The old woman gives me a handkerchief. "You know, I ain't really dated much," I say, shamefaced, "cos my momma's sick a bunch and I'm busy out on the farm, and he just - he was real nice, and when he -" I turn my face away, and I can feel the vibrating tension from the boy at my feet, his desire to be a hero. "He - I thought it was my fault," I say, and then there is a furious chatter rising from the little crowd, and the conversation spreads in ripples.

"Some carnie's been carving up our girls," one man says fiercely. And there is discussion of me and of Melania - ah, yes, that explains some of what I saw in her - and how we're hard working girls, salt of the earth girls, and who is this monster and why hasn't he been strung up? What the hell is wrong with this town that a murderer and molester can be caught redhanded and he's cosseted in jail? And did you hear that he attacked that nice Mrs Beddau (I wonder if at any other time Glass has been described as nice) when she went to visit him in prison? He should be put in the old stocks in town. People would show him how they felt, alright. They'd show him very clearly indeed.

I manage a brave, trembling smile for the boy at my feet, and he springs up, ready for something, anything, if it will make me look at him like that again. And I nestle in against the arm of the old woman as the crowd grows larger and voices grow louder, and I wait for the storm to break.

[OPEN]
[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
“The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.”
- Shakespeare


Monday lunchtime, near the sheriff's office, on Main Street

This has proved almost too easy. The clouds are rolling in, air heavy with the promise of rain, and I stand in my Danika body wearing an old coat with the collar turned up against the cold, jacket short enough to show a few inches of a tidy, worn work dress and a calflength of wool stocking. My shoes wear the signs of good, honest farm labour, and my blonde hair is frizzing round my face in the damp air. I look very distressed.

"Did - was there really a man arrested for... for beating on a girl?" I say to an old woman gossiping with her friend on the street. My fingers flutter together anxiously.

"Oh yes," she says, "it's a horrible thing. They think also he did in a girl as worked at - well, the brothel, my dear," she says, lowering her voice over that salacious detail, eyes gleaming with prurient interest. "They think he chopped her up."

"Oh," I say, and I faint very neatly to the ground. It's not long before I have half a dozen people round me - offering water, saying they will take me to the Dormouse, fussing with my coat collar to let me breathe.

"I should've said something," I say, and I burst into tears. That gets me sat down on a bench, an old woman's arm around my shoulders, and a very handsome young man crouched at my feet. "I should - "

"What is is, dear? Do you know something about what happened to those girls?"

I shake my head tightly.

"I know - I know - him," I say quietly. "He - We went out a couple of times, and he was - he was real nice to me, and -" The old woman gives me a handkerchief. "You know, I ain't really dated much," I say, shamefaced, "cos my momma's sick a bunch and I'm busy out on the farm, and he just - he was real nice, and when he -" I turn my face away, and I can feel the vibrating tension from the boy at my feet, his desire to be a hero. "He - I thought it was my fault," I say, and then there is a furious chatter rising from the little crowd, and the conversation spreads in ripples.

"Some carnie's been carving up our girls," one man says fiercely. And there is discussion of me and of Melania - ah, yes, that explains some of what I saw in her - and how we're hard working girls, salt of the earth girls, and who is this monster and why hasn't he been strung up? What the hell is wrong with this town that a murderer and molester can be caught redhanded and he's cosseted in jail? And did you hear that he attacked that nice Mrs Beddau (I wonder if at any other time Glass has been described as nice) when she went to visit him in prison? He should be put in the old stocks in town. People would show him how they felt, alright. They'd show him very clearly indeed.

I manage a brave, trembling smile for the boy at my feet, and he springs up, ready for something, anything, if it will make me look at him like that again. And I nestle in against the arm of the old woman as the crowd grows larger and voices grow louder, and I wait for the storm to break.

[OPEN]
[identity profile] catherineknight.livejournal.com
[Early morning, Saturday, February 6th, day 251]
[The northern limit of town, near Main Street]



I wonder how the people in this town can stand to live here. I wonder if they can see how the shadow of that gantry edifice covers them at noontime, like a great grey hand sinking its nails into the streets. No one else has said anything, but does that mean they don't see it? Have they become so accustomed to its presence that they don't notice it anymore?

My old teachers would say that I'm being hasty. As of yet, I have no true confirmation that the tower is what Isidore says (ah, but didn't the holy woman also say it was so? Would a holy woman lie or be mistaken about such a thing?). But everyone I have spoken to is either evasive or uneasy when I speak of the tower to them. Still, I think it certain that even if the tower does not house Lucifer himself, it surely houses something born of evil. And isn't that enough?

Part of my wants to dress in my armour, to take up my sword and my gun and mount my mare and charge to the tower like the knight in a story. That part of me wants to call the beast out and engage him in honest combat, to drive him from this town with my sword and my faith. But the other part of me is more cautious. My faith is great, but that does not mean that I am stupid. Jesus himself had difficulty banishing Satan, and I am not Him.

If it is Satan.

Sighing, I lean against a fence. The tower looms like some alien giant, slumbering on its feet like a horse. How many times have I come here just to stare at it and to wonder? Is it Satan there? Simply a demon? If it is not Satan, then why would an angel be here? But what sort of angel needs to hide himself behind a shroud of flesh? And why would the angel not have aided the priest when he exorcised the doctor? Perhaps that was not a true demon. Perhaps the creature in the tower is, and the angel fears it. Perhaps.

It seems that these questions could only be answered if I went to the tower myself. But I do not dare. Not yet. God helps those who help themselves, and God does not want my death.

I am certain that God has brought me here. I am certain that this is where I am meant to be. Unfortunately I am certain of nothing else.


[OPEN]
[identity profile] catherineknight.livejournal.com
[Early morning, Saturday, February 6th, day 251]
[The northern limit of town, near Main Street]



I wonder how the people in this town can stand to live here. I wonder if they can see how the shadow of that gantry edifice covers them at noontime, like a great grey hand sinking its nails into the streets. No one else has said anything, but does that mean they don't see it? Have they become so accustomed to its presence that they don't notice it anymore?

My old teachers would say that I'm being hasty. As of yet, I have no true confirmation that the tower is what Isidore says (ah, but didn't the holy woman also say it was so? Would a holy woman lie or be mistaken about such a thing?). But everyone I have spoken to is either evasive or uneasy when I speak of the tower to them. Still, I think it certain that even if the tower does not house Lucifer himself, it surely houses something born of evil. And isn't that enough?

Part of my wants to dress in my armour, to take up my sword and my gun and mount my mare and charge to the tower like the knight in a story. That part of me wants to call the beast out and engage him in honest combat, to drive him from this town with my sword and my faith. But the other part of me is more cautious. My faith is great, but that does not mean that I am stupid. Jesus himself had difficulty banishing Satan, and I am not Him.

If it is Satan.

Sighing, I lean against a fence. The tower looms like some alien giant, slumbering on its feet like a horse. How many times have I come here just to stare at it and to wonder? Is it Satan there? Simply a demon? If it is not Satan, then why would an angel be here? But what sort of angel needs to hide himself behind a shroud of flesh? And why would the angel not have aided the priest when he exorcised the doctor? Perhaps that was not a true demon. Perhaps the creature in the tower is, and the angel fears it. Perhaps.

It seems that these questions could only be answered if I went to the tower myself. But I do not dare. Not yet. God helps those who help themselves, and God does not want my death.

I am certain that God has brought me here. I am certain that this is where I am meant to be. Unfortunately I am certain of nothing else.


[OPEN]

Open Post

Aug. 9th, 2010 03:27 pm
[identity profile] tarquinexcolo.livejournal.com
[Thursday February 4th  (Day 249)]
[Mid-day, the Park]

Well, now I've landed myself up here, and a bench in the park counts as home for now, I don't know what to do, the wanderlust is getting to me again, I've never stopped in any one place more than a few days. Been sleeping out rough, I'm outta energy. That's not the way I roll, I don't normally cut out like this, I look up someone who'll give me a bed for the night, for what I can offer. And what can offer is usually sex, and I'm not even really up for sex even now. I just want a bed somewhere warm, and yet I want to flag down and head off again, with someone new. Sure I'm lucky, got no ties to hold me anywhere, but here kinda holds me too. It's like an energy, yanno, and I'm wondering if I can have that new start I've been needing here, or if it'll just all go wrong again, because I don't seem to be able to put down roots anywhere. I sometimes wish I didn't look like this, because it's all people ever see, I'm gorgeous, drop dead gorgeous, and I suck. I'm just looking for somewhere, a job, something. Anyone got anything for a boy who's tired of trading on his looks and just wants a bed for tonight where nobody'll ask anything of him?

OPEN to anyone

Open Post

Aug. 9th, 2010 03:27 pm
[identity profile] tarquinexcolo.livejournal.com
[Thursday February 4th  (Day 249)]
[Mid-day, the Park]

Well, now I've landed myself up here, and a bench in the park counts as home for now, I don't know what to do, the wanderlust is getting to me again, I've never stopped in any one place more than a few days. Been sleeping out rough, I'm outta energy. That's not the way I roll, I don't normally cut out like this, I look up someone who'll give me a bed for the night, for what I can offer. And what can offer is usually sex, and I'm not even really up for sex even now. I just want a bed somewhere warm, and yet I want to flag down and head off again, with someone new. Sure I'm lucky, got no ties to hold me anywhere, but here kinda holds me too. It's like an energy, yanno, and I'm wondering if I can have that new start I've been needing here, or if it'll just all go wrong again, because I don't seem to be able to put down roots anywhere. I sometimes wish I didn't look like this, because it's all people ever see, I'm gorgeous, drop dead gorgeous, and I suck. I'm just looking for somewhere, a job, something. Anyone got anything for a boy who's tired of trading on his looks and just wants a bed for tonight where nobody'll ask anything of him?

OPEN to anyone
[identity profile] catherineknight.livejournal.com
[Morning, January 26th, day 240]
[Coming down Main Street]



Isidore and I spent some time speaking the day that I arrived, and I sat alone the rest of the afternoon. Thinking. Time is short for me, I know this, but the things that Isidore told me have sparked a fire deep below my heart. If it is true...if it is true...and even if it is not, I'd been thinking of finding a place to spend the rest of the winter, a place where Hirondelle and I can be fed and sheltered. Two months will be enough time to determine if Isidore's tales have any merit.

I went to Brother Nanse-Kam and their abbot the next day, and I begged permission to stay. At most through the winter, I said, and I will work to earn my keep. They were amenable, so long as my weapons stayed in storage (which irks me, but I will accept it) and I continue to take precautions where my illness is concerned. That last is easy enough. We agreed, and I was settled in a cell.

The past few days have been spent learning the ins and outs of the abbey, its workings and its people and its routine. It is simple enough, and the work is nothing I haven't done before. Also, they do not object to me continuing my training with Hirondelle, so long as I do not use edged weapons. It is such a relief just to be strong enough to train again that I cannot object.

So, the past few days have been good, and I think that I've made myself useful. But now it's time to see this town, to find it if what Isidore has told me is the truth or just ramblings.

I've dressed in simple clothes, leaving my armour behind. Hopefully I won't have need of it.

[OPEN]
[identity profile] catherineknight.livejournal.com
[Morning, January 26th, day 240]
[Coming down Main Street]



Isidore and I spent some time speaking the day that I arrived, and I sat alone the rest of the afternoon. Thinking. Time is short for me, I know this, but the things that Isidore told me have sparked a fire deep below my heart. If it is true...if it is true...and even if it is not, I'd been thinking of finding a place to spend the rest of the winter, a place where Hirondelle and I can be fed and sheltered. Two months will be enough time to determine if Isidore's tales have any merit.

I went to Brother Nanse-Kam and their abbot the next day, and I begged permission to stay. At most through the winter, I said, and I will work to earn my keep. They were amenable, so long as my weapons stayed in storage (which irks me, but I will accept it) and I continue to take precautions where my illness is concerned. That last is easy enough. We agreed, and I was settled in a cell.

The past few days have been spent learning the ins and outs of the abbey, its workings and its people and its routine. It is simple enough, and the work is nothing I haven't done before. Also, they do not object to me continuing my training with Hirondelle, so long as I do not use edged weapons. It is such a relief just to be strong enough to train again that I cannot object.

So, the past few days have been good, and I think that I've made myself useful. But now it's time to see this town, to find it if what Isidore has told me is the truth or just ramblings.

I've dressed in simple clothes, leaving my armour behind. Hopefully I won't have need of it.

[OPEN]
[identity profile] nansekam.livejournal.com
Monday, noon, the abbey training yard

It's a milder day, but it's raining lightly. Still, I've been training for enough years that I don't mind the cold and wet, though it does make bare feet a bit treacherous. Still, I'm trying to keep my mind clear and calm, and exercise helps. I trained the novices this morning as usual, and now I've got a bit of time to myself to run through some tai chi chuan movements. I've been trying to perfect the 49 form for a long time now. I'm good at all the punching business, but the delicate stuff like the Needle at Sea Bottom, that's not as graceful as I'd like. I make a mistake at the Single Whip, and I sigh and go back to the beginning. So bloody close that time.

It's hard to do this if you're not concentrating, and I'm trying. Keep coming back to the conversation I had with Rashida yesterday before I came back to the abbey. I stayed the rest of Saturday, even after Mum got her memory back, just to make sure she was alright, but come Sunday morning I knew people'd be worrying about me, and besides - my life is at the abbey now. Rashida got this tight look when I said I was going.

"I got an idea," she said, once I lost my temper and asked her what her problem was, she knows I don't live on the farm now and I haven't in a decade, "of what it'll be like when Mum and Dad are really old. They're already getting that way, and it'll just be me looking out for them. Cos you - you'll only be here if you forget about your bloody goddess, and it took some damn magic spell to make that happen."

I try, I told her. I try to be here and to help - I help with the harvest, I visit a couple of times a month. But I made a vow, and my first duty now is to Nanshe and her people.

"I'd think," said Rashida, "that a goddess of widows and orphans would want you to look out for your family." And there wasn't much I could say to that. Then Rashida told me she'd written to Taslim to say that she'll marry him. He'll come over when the weather's cleared up and he'll move onto the farm. And that'll be that. My sister, marrying my stupid cousin who she sees twice a year at most. What could I say that hadn't already been said? So I just said I hoped they'd be happy. I suppose they've got as much of a chance of it as a lot of couples. Still, it makes me sad. And disappointed with myself, somehow, even though I know I've got the life I was meant to.

Having spent a couple of days thinking I was still in love with Concetta didn't help, either.

I wobble on the Golden Rooster move. Bloody stupid thing to imitate anyway, a cockerel. Stupid birds.

[OPEN to Isidore and visitors to the abbey more generally]

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