aionchat | father abel | somewhere around april tdm time

Entry tags:

father abel | somewhere around april tdm time

[ Let's call it a few days since the selfie incident. Matt's been trying with mixed success to enter this world of psychic communion that their shards have given them access to. Mixed in both an emotional sense (he can't imagine any of his Kenoma kindred want him in their heads), and a procedural one (he's been trying to call up Abel for weeks without result).

Tonight seems to be different. Maybe it's the thinning of some veil, the dreams they've all begun to share. Maybe it's just practice. But this time, as Matt lies on his bed, focusing his mind with snatches of old poetry ...

Il est l’affection et le présent, puisqu’il a fait la maison ouverte

... he seems to make some progress. ]

Father Abel?

[ Tenuous, but there for the listening. If one's so inclined.

(Underneath Matt's psychic "voice," Abel may hear a faint duet: à l’hiver écumeux et à la rumeur de l’été.) ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ah...

[ Abel doesn't realize it, but he's closed his eyes as he listens to Matt's 'voice' permeate his mind - as well as paint imagery in his mind's eye. this is a new experience for him, Communion, a much gentler, much kinder version of a mental communication than the sort he's used to.

the poetry flows not unlike the lick of seafom on white sand. is it because they were talking about the sea, before? he isn't sure, but it's what he's picturing now as he listens. ]

...I see... so you enjoy this sort of thing, do you? Do you have this piece memorized, Mr. Matt? Are you reciting something you've read with enough frequency and fondness you committed it to memory...?

[ amused. yes, he is amused-- but his feelings about the poem in particular are kept intentionally fuzzy beneath it.

the game isn't fun if he spoils his judgment on Matt's choice in poetry right off the bat, right? a man can be forgiven for wanting to upkeep a bit of mystery, surely. ]

[ Matt can't help but find Abel's tone a little bit ... teasing? It belatedly occurs to him that he shouldn't have presumed no one on this planet can speak French.

Still: ]

I've memorized a lot of poems, [ he answers gamely. ] But I do like Baudelaire. He writes about cities the way they really are. You know ... chaotic, and full of people having all kinds of totally ignoble problems, and dirty. Beautiful, but some of the beauty comes from a bottle somebody shattered last night and the pieces are sparkling in the street.

Do you want a prayer instead, Father?

Mm... You know, maybe I would-- just for comparison's sake, of course. [ since, as was established, he is Judging. mmhm. ] Please give me a prayer - one that you've relied upon to give you comfort, one you could speak in your sleep. --Oh, but before you begin-- here, um... Let me try something, alright? Can you-- ah. Can you please close your eyes...? No cheating, I'm working on the honor system here...!

Close my eyes? [ Matt echoes, a hint of skepticism mingling with his amusement. ] Will it make a difference ...?

[ A crackling pause. ]

Can you tell I have both my eyes closed? [ He cracks one. ] Now I have one open. Now they're both closed again.

Should I begin ...?

--Yes, Mr. Matt, it will make a difference, and no I can't tell! For goodness' sake, don't be difficult or I'll be forced to come over there and do this in person.

[ an idle threat, considering, but just roll with it bro? just roll with it? ty. ]

Look, look-- I'm trying to do something here, don't jump the gun~! I want to enjoy you regaling me with a prayer in a proper atmosphere, okay? The mood is all wrong, mm. Are your eyes closed? --Both eyes! You had best not lie, that's very unseemingly and unacceptable in these circumstances, I assure you...!

[ not that he's waiting for a confirmation?? before he rattles onward, ]

So, let's see. Um-- alright. Alright~! I want to try and feel a little bit of this magic you've spoken about, so in the spirit of things - you're going to take me to this ocean of yours. I want you to imagine you're sitting on the beach, mm? Feel the saltwater sting-- not enough to be unpleasant, but refreshing; something you can taste on your tongue, something that makes you blink against the breeze. Feel the sand between your toes, the water lapping up against the tops of your feet. Take a look to your left, now; picture me in an attractive pair of flamingo swim trunks and one of those disgusting, um-- the gaudy, touristy shirts with some hideous pattern on them! One of those, for sure. Sunglasses! Mm, one can't have a good beach day without the proper accessories. Hey-- can you see me, Mr. Matt...?

[ they can't do this whole thing face-to-face, so. maybe a mindscape reunion is the next best thing for now...? ]

[ Matt doesn't catch every one of Abel's words? But he can't help but be charmed by them. And anyway, in his experience, vibes between people aren't about the words so much as the ebb and flow. The energy that passes each to each.

Abel may not need the assurance, but Matt replies anyway: ]

They're both closed. I promise.

[ And then, for a moment ... Matt listens. Lets the words paint a picture in his mind that grows more vivid with each new phrase. The bright blue water, the salted air, the sand. God, he misses the beach. He misses all the mountains he never hiked, the forests he never visited. Matt tries to push the sadness away--to envision something new instead, something that doesn't taste like regret.

... Did Abel say "flamingos"? ]

Oh God, [ Matt protests, on the verge of laughter once more. (His eyes remain dutifully closed.) ] I can honestly picture that perfectly. The shirt has guitars on it for some reason. Guitars, parrots, and palm trees.

--Guitars! Perfect. Perfect; you are picturing precisely what I'm going for; I'm so glad we're on the same page...

[ there is good humor, a little thrill of delight at his fool's game reaching a captive audience. things have been more than vaguely dour and depressing, lately; it's nice to let one's hair down every once in a while, you know? ]

So. Now that we're here, sitting on the beach side-by-side and I've got a fruity cocktail with a pastel umbrella lightly twirling in the saltwater breeze, I am very ready and receptive to whatever you regale me with. Consider me all ears! --But please not literally, that sounds, ah. Distressing.

[ Speaking of ears: in the physical world, on his bed in the Citadel at Achamoth, Matt's grinning from ear to ear at Abel's guided meditation efforts. ]

I want a drink too, [ he muses. ] Okay, I want a caipirinha, that's what I have. And ... [ He inhales, though it doesn't transfer through their connection. ] Breathing in that sea air ...

Gentle be heaven, gentle be earth, gentle this spacious,
atmosphere.
Gentle be waters as they flow, gentle to us be plants and herbs.
Gentle be signs of coming change, and that which is and is not
done.
Gentle be past and future, yea, let all be gracious unto us.

[ Matt's mental voice settles into a smooth, easy cadence. This truly is one of his favorite prayers, one he's used for years to focus his mind on all kinds of spells. ]

These five sense-organs with the mind as sixth, sharpened by
prayer abiding in my heart,
By which the awful spell was made, even by these be peace to
us.
Favor us Mitra, Varuna, and Vishnu. Gracious
to us be Indra and Brihaspati and Aryaman.
Favor us Mitra, Varuna, Vivasvān, and the Finisher,
Portents on earth and in the air, and planets wandering in
heaven.

[ His recitation isn't totally perfect. He skips over a verse or two, misses the occasional god. But for the most part, the words flow as easily as water. As warm as Caribbean sun. ]

Gracious to us be trembling earth, gracious the flaming meteor
stroke.
Gracious be kine who yield red milk, gracious be earth when
sinking down;
gracious be meteor-stricken constellation, gracious to us be
magic spells and witchcraft--

[ A little smile may be audible at that one. ]

Gracious to us be buried charms, and gracious the meteors and
the portents of the region.
Kind be the Powers who seize the Moon, with Rāhu be Ādityas
kind.
Favor us Death and Cornet, and Rudras with penetrating
might.

[ WHEW! Matt subsides onto his mattress, puffing out a long breath. ]

[ there is no doubt that this is the recitation of something old and familiar to Matt; the ease with which it parts him, the sense of fondness behind it carries despite the sometimes flighty nature of this connection...

...Abel's eyes are closed as he cradles the Shard in his hands, picturing himself on the white sands of some vaguely familiar, entirely imaginary beach beside his wayward friend. pictures him with that silly drink in his hand; pictures the way Matt's eyes surely light up as he speaks these words that do, indeed, carry some kind of power. Abel does not understand magic. there is some kind of terrible irony in the fact that despite his chosen profession - he is not a man of much faith, either; still, he understands the power of prayer. the combination of the two... it's really something else, isn't it?

he doesn't want to spoil the moment by speaking when Matt is done, still letting it wash over him as he contemplates the ebb and flow of seafoam, and prayers that transcend worlds, their differing realities.

...Horos really is amazing. this... really is amazing. ]

[ Matt's had faith as long as he's had magic. Maybe even before. It's just never fit neatly into how other people have described the sensation--the allegiance to tradition, the orthodoxy of mind, the stability. To him, faith and magic are the same depthless ocean. They're unknowable and dangerous and even, potentially, consuming; that's what makes them so satisfying. Part of Matt wants to know everything about the universe, from the biggest star to the smallest molecule. But part of him is happiest in the seeking.

For a moment, he breathes, craning into the sudden silence.

Then: ]

... Father Abel? You still here?

...A 'meteor.'

[ it comes after another momentary beat; here on the beach, Abel is looking on over to his friend as if Matt were fully capable of looking back at him and seeing him at his side, looking upon this daydream-Matt expectantly. ]

It has some sort of significance in your theology? A meteor?

[ The word "meteor" is a lot funnier coming from someone you're picturing in a parrot, palm tree, and guitar bedecked tourist shirt. Matt smiles to himself, and hopes Abel can pick up on it. ]

I don't know if it's my theology, exactly ... I wasn't raised in it. But, Hinduism? A lot of their ancient texts describe meteors as bad omens.

A lot of the elements in this prayer could be considered bad omens, actually. Dangerous. Earthquakes, meteors, death and witchcraft ... even the senses can be considered dangerous elements in a Hindu framework, because like, the physical world is an illusion that keeps us from joining fully with the universal One. But they're described in this beautiful way.

It's interesting... interesting you ended up attached to this prayer in particular. Is there a reason you find yourself drawn to it? Something about the 'danger' in it, maybe, Mr. Matt?

[ ill portents and signs of danger, of peril; it certainly is an unusual choice. but...

it is beautiful. the worth and value life holds can only be appreciated by knowing the fragility of it all; in all of those things, in every ending is something cyclical regardless your faith or personal belief system.

at least... that much, Abel can appreciate. ]

[ There's a pause as Matt considers. He wishes he really did have a drink in hand for this conversation. ]

I think ... I've always wanted to see more sides to everything.

Magic helped me see a whole new side, a hidden world. And these prayers remind me that even things that seem scary or disruptive have a purpose, one that should be respected, and that I ...

[ Another pause. ]

Can't only love the parts of the universe that are easy to love.

[ 'I can't only love the parts of the universe that are easy to love.'

what flows through the Communion here is a sense of camaraderie and understanding - a touch of something fond, perhaps. a strange, bittersweet ache as well. those sentiments certainly seemed to resonate with Matt's Communion company. ]

You know-- out of all the poetry and prayers you've offered, Mr. Matt... maybe there's something terribly ironic in this, but-- that might be the most beautiful thing you've said so far.

... Oh.

[ If they were in person, Matt would be chugging the rest of his imaginary cocktail. And Abel just might catch a hint of a blush over the rim of his glass. As things are, Matt's mental voice is briefly suffused with a warm, roseate glow. ]

Well, um. Thank you.

A-ah. That-- what I mean is that those, um... those sentiments-- they're really quite poignant, you know?

[ he might be realizing some hazy sense of embarrassment in the face of that rather unfettered outburst of sincerity. --ahem. ]

...It's a special sort of skill, I think. Being able to find beauty in both sides of the proverbial coin, so to speak. Not everyone is capable of that sort of thing, so-- I think... it says a great deal about you that you feel that way.

[ Matt's confused about Abel's reaction. Is he also confused? Did Matt embarrass him? He can't figure it out, which gives him a momentary pang of anxiety that even with a glimpse into someone else's brain, he still can't tell what's going on for them.

At the same time, Abel's observation is really nice. That, at least, is hard to miss. ]

Thank you, [ Matt replies, after a moment. ]

It's really hard right now for all of us. But, you know ... I'm trying.

...No, I-- understand that much. I really do.

[ it is especially hard - and a thought that elicits an especially bittersweet sort of wistful tug through the foggy shape of their Communion - considering their positions on opposite sides of the 'coin,' right now. ]

And this... brings me a bit closer to that subject we've been dancing around for a while, I fear. I hope you'll forgive me for asking, Mr. Matt, but... I have to.

[ momentary melancholy; a soft sweep of niggling worry, of confusion, a desire to understand-- ]

...Someone who can see the beauty in prayer, who can look at things like you do-- are you really alright where you are, my friend...?

[ God. Matt had been really hoping he wouldn't ask.

His side of the connection is still live. The shard's still in his hands, he's still participating in the ritual. But the echo of emotion that's come with his mental messages wisps away, leaving a hollow in its wake.

Matt's really enjoyed this conversation. He thinks Abel is a good person. But is there a chance Abel only answered his call because he views Matt as a potential convert? ]

That's what I'm trying to tell you.

[ The words sound like they're coming from far away. ]

Why should life be the only thing we celebrate? It's not always the highest good. It's definitely not the only good. If it's warped, rotted, overcrowded ... maybe then it's time for a meteor.

[ it was probably inevitable, right? that Matt would withdraw in the face of this topic. is Abel pressing his luck?

while he cannot lie - to himself, or to Matt - about how genuinely eager he would be at the prospect to turn Matt away from Kenoma, it isn't his intention, now. this isn't a decision so easily unmade, is it? if it were, they wouldn't be standing on opposite sides right now. that's how Abel feels, anyway. ]

I like the sun on the water; I like building sandcastles and burying my toes in warm sand... I like sitting side-by-side with someone and talking about everything and nothing at all, too. I like the smell in the air after it rains, and snuggling into a warm bed after a particularly long day-- or getting a hug after having missed someone for too long. You know, the kind where they squeeze just a little too hard...? Ah, that is the best sort.

[ ... ]

I like, mm... watching someone's eyes when they speak about something especially close to their heart, or seeing that smile when someone masters something they'd been struggling with for so long they thought they might never get it, and I like flamingo swimshorts and hideously patterned and too-bright shirts with flowers and guitars on them, and I like the company of someone who'd have the sense to add said guitars, and--

[ he takes a breath--

and he reaches out, plaintively. ]

And as painful as life can be... as much as it can be warped, and rotted, and overcrowded-- I think that's part of the point, isn't it? We can't appreciate any of the things we truly love if we don't understand how imperfect, how terribly fragile... and almost cruelly delicate that all can be. Life is flawed... and it can hurt-- suffocatingly.

[ Abel thinks that Matt must understand that, and personally. ]

But... what comes from that pain isn't always pain and pain alone-- and finding happiness and purpose through it...

[ ...Matt. ]

I don't have to tell you, do I? I think you already know and feel it too. ...Some of the things... the people you love most are terribly flawed, right? Can you really tell me... all of it, all of it should disappear? That if it did... that you're sure what might grow out of the ashes would truly be what you wanted?

[ The first reply Abel gets doesn't come in words. Instead, it's something jagged, bright and faceted as fragments of a mirror. On his bed in the Citadel, tears are pricking at Matt's eyes ... again.

When he finally does speak, it's even fainter than before. Tinny and distant. ]

I love all those things too.

[ A pause. ]

But I don't want a perfect world.

I want a better one. If we really do have the chance to form a version of existence that doesn't have--cancer, or mass shootings, or people dying just because somebody didn't want to see them as a person--I think I have a responsibility to help that happen. If I have to let go of things I love for that, in the form they take now ...

If I have to let go of my own life.

Then that's fine. It'll be worth it.

[ Another pause.

Then, one last pale whisper: ]

I'll talk to you later.

[ Before the connection severs. ]

W-- wait, Mr. Matt, please wait, I--!

[ as soon as he can feel the dissolution, the foggy haze beginning to fray around the edges - his chest, already uncomfortably tight in the face of those heartfelt words, tightens further with a brief stab of desperation. it's like they really are on that beach for a moment-- like Abel's gone and reached out for him, but all his fingers come away with are sand. too small, too granular to hold onto... and then, Matt's presence has simply vanished.

...

Abel's eyes finally unlid to stare at where he is gripping his Shard uncomfortably tight; there is a grimace at his lips as the last of the connection fades away. could he really mean it...? could Matt truly believe that his life-- the lives of so many others-- are a necessary sacrifice in the name of rebuilding a 'better' world...? does he truly believe the Regent could grant him such a request?

is he ready to give up everything, to lose all he loves, if... ah. Matt.

all that is left of their exchange is the faintest sense of ocean in the air-- but the subtle sting in the back of the priest's eyes isn't from the memory of a saltwater breeze, is it... ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

father abel | somewhere around april tdm time

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

tl;dprayer

🙏 bless

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject