father abel | somewhere around april tdm time

[semicharmed]

[ 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.) ]

Comments

[semicharmed]

[ 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.

[inutilis]

...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...?

[semicharmed]

[ 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.

[inutilis]

[ 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?

[semicharmed]

[ 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. ]

[inutilis]

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... ]