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Malarkey ([personal profile] corpse_soldier) wrote in [community profile] ataraxionlogs2016-02-18 08:36 pm

[closed] Clarity and Light

CHARACTERS: One Etrepa Seven and Carlisle Longinmouth
LOCATION: Atop the shouting rock.
WARNINGS: Theological hair-splitting.
SUMMARY: An interfaith discussion, as promised.
NOTES:After the fires.

For a while, there's not a whole lot of time for social engagements. In the wake of the fires and the assault from the wilds, there's a great deal of work to do: repairing structures, treating injuries, cleaning up the mutated carcasses. One Etrepa enjoys this time, the certainty of benefit that comes from rebuilding. It's so much less complicated than justice and all its justifications.

But she has other interests, quirks particular to her decade, and eventually, inevitably, un:longinface receives a private message. Concise and cordial, it follows up on Etrepa's earlier inquiry regarding Carlisle's faith, her suggestion of a meeting and a more in-depth discussion. No reference is made to the larger context, the deeply contentious discussion of fundamental rights. Instead, there is a promise of tea, and of reasonable strength and temperature, should she arrive in a timely fashion.

Once again, Etrepa has brought her set atop the shouting rock. With a gloved hand she lifts the lid of the flask, releasing a waft of steam for just long enough to examine its color before covering it up once more. Her uniform is two full shades lighter than it once was, thanks to the sun and the rain, but it is clean and as crisp as a heated river stone can make it. The cloud cover is thick enough to provide some relief, but not so thick as to threaten rain. The omens looked favorable today. She has faith she'll come.

tongueamok: (➣ that's just how it was)

[personal profile] tongueamok 2016-02-20 01:20 am (UTC)(link)
Given the catastrophe that happened with the fires and his own sins, the message requesting a meeting comes as a surprise to Carlisle -- he'd nearly forgotten about the conversation over the network about whether or not interrogating and punishing someone was the proper course for a supposed criminal. There's no indication they'll be speaking of that, though there is the promise of tea.

Well... he does like tea.

And so he makes his way to the Shouting Rock, carrying his badger-pelt bag with him. Though most of his injuries from the chaos were healed by his own magic, there are a few notable marks -- namely the sizable bruise on his face -- that remain. Magic can't help the soreness of his body, though -- he'd drained himself thoroughly trying to heal Algidus, and it shows in his stiff, slow approach to the meeting.

"You called?" he asks, his flat tone reflecting his exhaustion.
tongueamok: (➣ i said i'd consider it)

[personal profile] tongueamok 2016-02-20 11:21 pm (UTC)(link)
While he doesn't appreciate the climb up the rock, Carlisle knows well enough his condition couldn't have been expected; after all, even he hadn't realized how much healing he'd be doing in the course of a single day.

Returning her bow with only the barest of his own (she would just have to forgive his poor manners, he notes inwardly), he introduces himself. "Carlisle Longinmouth. Just Carlisle, please." Anything but human or citizen or any other impersonal address.

Despite his grievances regarding his soreness, he does take note of his host's unusual name, as well as her odd smile -- he assumes the former is due to a title, and the latter is due to inexperience with the expression. He eases himself into a seat on the mat, doing his best not to just collapse in the most unbecoming fashion possible.
tongueamok: (➣ i have to keep some secrets)

[personal profile] tongueamok 2016-02-21 08:14 am (UTC)(link)
"A cleric, actually," he corrects, though there was little difference between the two where he came from. With a deep breath, he inhales the steam from his cup as he holds it before him, closing his eyes as he takes in the scent. It's been some time since he had a proper cup of tea, and he can't help but smile just a hair as he takes a moment to enjoy it.

"I am a practitioner of the Clarity," he continues, clarifying his position before adding some context for someone he expected was completely foreign with his following. "Of the Camisou, rather. One of our two deities."
tongueamok: (➣ one of the many things i know)

[personal profile] tongueamok 2016-02-21 08:30 pm (UTC)(link)
"She is the goddess of the world beneath our feet," he replies, adding once he's had a second thought, "or of the world I come from, rather. She oversees life, and our return to the world upon death."

He sips his tea, giving it an approving nod. Not a bad flavor at all. "As for rites, I am the sole clergyman in my hometown, so I do whatever is required of me."
tongueamok: (➣ earnestness only goes so far)

[personal profile] tongueamok 2016-02-22 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
He straightens his glasses, attempting to mask a somber look before answering. "No, it seems she is not responsible for this world. People from all walks have been brought here by the ship with a power I do not understand, but it seems there are many worlds and deities out there with which I am not familiar."

He takes another sip, pushing a few of his fingers under his glasses to rub at his eye. "As I am trapped here with seemingly no one else who follows my path, my duties are few currently. Back home, we are to do what she would have us do to keep the wheels turning, to keep others from straying to the darker arts for their needs. I oversaw weddings, funerals, the sick, the dying. If there was a gathering to be had celebrating either deity, I was required to be there. If two parties needed a neutral vantage to oversee a diplomatic discussion, I'd be called in, as most happened at the temple anyway. The clergy in the larger cities have subordinates they can assign to such tasks, but I live -- lived, rather -- in a smaller town, so it all fell to me."

He keeps talking once he's finished, interjecting a question of his own. "If I may -- why is it you are asking? What is it about my faith, or any faith, that so interests you?"
tongueamok: (➣ it's unfortunate to feel such guilt)

[personal profile] tongueamok 2016-02-22 02:53 am (UTC)(link)
Carlisle is silent as he listens to her reasoning impassively -- the pursuit of study is one near and dear to his heart, but her suggested application is where he finally draws an expression, one woven in the knitting of his brow, in the tug of uncertainty at the corners of his mouth.

"I have only a personal shrine in my own abode, but it's improper for communal use. And while I do have experience in such duties, there are those who would not -- could not -- follow me, even back home. Not everyone holds gods in such high regard, and whether or not they do is something they must find within themselves."

Moreover, he had his own reasons for doubting himself as a leader of any sort, ones that had made themselves more known than ever only a days prior.
tongueamok: (➣ a touch of uncertainty)

[personal profile] tongueamok 2016-02-22 04:43 am (UTC)(link)
He's pensive a moment, looking down at his cup and beyond it to his own, gloved hands. The digits of his gloves are fingerless -- his nails still have some of the black ink crusted under them, avoiding removal by hiding in the deepest crevices his skin can offer. It's on that ink that he focuses his eyes as his thinks.

"I suppose you have a point," he agrees. "There should be a place of sanctuary for those who seek it -- as much of one as this place can offer. But why can you not do this yourself? Why is it you cannot handle objects of religious value, despite being so interested in the topic? You're not some kind of an undead, are you?"

He leans back just a hair as he asks that last question, as though the added distance would somehow protect him should she lash out. Some undeads did not want to be found out, after all.
tongueamok: (➣ this just got very heavy indeed)

[personal profile] tongueamok 2016-02-23 07:40 am (UTC)(link)
Her explanation doesn't seem to help Carlisle's nerves -- he just leans back even more, as though the thought she was an undead would have been preferable.

"So, er. You're some kind of..." There's a pause with his mouth agape as he thinks. "... Construct, then." That's the term he finally settles on for her. He can't fathom having been part of a ship (whether a ship as on the sea, or a ship like the Tranquility, he does not want to know), but the fact that she seems very human and somehow isn't unsettles him, and visibly so.

Still, he does try to be understanding. "I do not mind teaching my rites to, er... others who wish to learn, though what favor could you ask of me? Aside from this temple business."