|Victor Frankenstein has (monstrousdreams) wrote in rooms,|
@ 2015-09-26 15:33:00
|Entry tags:||!penny dreadful(s), *log, vanessa ives, victor frankenstein|
[log: vanessa ives & victor frankenstein]
Who: Victor & Vanessa
What: The great search for Vanessa continues!
Where: St. Etherelda's Church.
When: Morning time, after Mina's contact.
Warnings: None yet.
Victor was not a religious man. The practice as a whole seemed to serve a nothing more than a mollifying distraction for society's guilt. For a man who found guilt unpurposeful and therefore unwelcome, so too was religion. Even so, he was not blind to Vanessa's devotion to a cross bearing savior. As ridiculous and impotent as he found priests and their fervent flocks, he did not think such things of Vanessa. Somehow, she circumnavigated the vitriol that he kept in high reserve for all of the things that Victor found needless. The church comforted Vanessa, it may have housed the only belief in good that she had left, and Victor would not see that taken away from her. Not from his friend. She deserved comfort and love, even if it was the imagined sort.
St. Ethelreda's Church was old. From what Victor understood, it was one of the oldest structures in London, with a genesis out of the 13th century. Now restored with colorful windows and a monolithic pipe organ, it was a fair sight in the golden light of sunrise. Although as Victor approached the church's wrought gate, he did not easily forget about the crypts of the Middle Ages that resided beneath old churches like these. It would not have normally been an issue, but it did bring to mind the horrors of their most recent excursion. All of the things that Vanessa said about himself and the dead.
Even memory and the pangs of uneasiness that came with did not deter Victor from entering the church. Past the gate and through the garden, up to the large wooden doors were colorful saints watched from above with blank stares. He brought his medical bag with him, of course. It was a dark leather satchel that managed to be in slightly better repair than his clothing ever seemed to be. His outfit was typical, with a dark vest fastened over a gently wrinkled shirt of blue-gray. He was in the process of rolling the sleeves up to his elbows when he pushed through the church's main door. There did not seem to be a mass in operation, but he still tried to be respectfully quiet of the serenity that an old building like this demanded.