food police. (heritable) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-08-04 20:04:00 |
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The last time Morgayne had attended services had been years ago, when she was still a child. The Vhawls had made a habit of going to church every Sunday morning; Gareth’s head bent in piety, and Lars staring intently at the priest, transfixed by his words. Morgayne had never paid the sermon much attention, shifting restlessly in her seat, and preferring to people watch instead. The oddest amalgam of individuals were present during services, she’d noticed. But then her father had severed ties with the Church, and Morgayne had followed suit, quietly glad she wouldn’t have to spend two hours of her weekend sitting in the stuffy cathedral anymore. From then on, she didn’t think about Faram much at all, until her father died. Morgayne had never doubted him before, or questioned him about why he had sauntered down the path of fell knight (she had, of course, wondered about it privately on multiple occasions), but the loneliness that consumed her in the weeks following his suicide ignited a flicker of doubt. Perhaps those who had shirked her father after he had taken up his Dark Sword had been right, in part. After Lars died, Morgayne heard the whispers everywhere: Faram has condemned that whole family. Perhaps if they had never strayed from Faram’s path, none of this would have come to pass. Sitting in the pews of the church with Quen, Morgayne barely paid attention to the services at all. Lost in her own thoughts, she was surprised when those around her started rising. Evidently, the priest had finished his sermon, and they were free to go. This morning’s sermon had been quite good. It had echoed King Weyland’s speech from the day before, speaking of charity and using times of trial and tribulation to raise each other up, rather than pulling everyone down into the muck. Quen hoped some of the rioters were in attendance that morning, and that they recognized themselves in the priest’s words. She had never had the crisis of faith that plagued many people when faced with difficult times at key points in their development. When she was eight and her father had left and her mother had been depressed and all she had was Darius, it was too much to think they might have been alone in the world. Instead, she was comforted by the belief that someone, somewhere, was looking out for them, and that everyone would be okay. Dar didn’t believe in Faram, Quen knew. He believed in people, in medicine and healing. His lack of faith was partly her fault, for having gone blind at such a young age with no discernable cause. Quen understood it differently. Either it somehow made her better than she would have been before, or Faram had needed to take her sight in exchange for one of her other gifts. Whatever the reason, Quen knew there had to be one. She preferred to think of the universe as orderly. She found it comforting. Perhaps that was why she didn’t mind spending two hours of each week sitting quietly in a pew at the cathedral. It was an anchor for her life. No matter what else happened, the cathedral was there, and so was Faram, and there would be mass on Sunday morning, and the sun would continue to rise, and life would thrive in Ivalice. Not that she always listened to everything Faram said: she made no secret of having broken one of his more serious rules, and she broke some of the smaller ones on a semi-regular basis. Still, as long as the sun continued to rise and the birds sang and the rain fell, Quen couldn’t think Faram was too mad at anyone. She stood when mass was over, not noticing her friend’s distraction as people began to file out of the pews. “Are you ready to go?” she asked Morgayne, stretching her arms above her head. “I’m famished. What should we have for lunch?” “Me too,” Morgayne replied eagerly. Though she’d paid little attention to the priest, her own rumbling stomach had been more difficult to ignore, even as she’d lost herself to thoughts of the past. “Let’s go somewhere close,” she suggested. “For anything, really, I could eat a chocobo at this point!” “There are stables outside the cathedral,” Quen said, smiling, “but eating the chocobos is frowned upon. I think there’s a pretty good cafe just down the street, though. It has sandwiches and salads and stuff.” Just naming the food made her stomach growl, so she tugged Morgayne to her feet and stopped just before the pew fed into the aisle. She didn’t want to run into anyone. Church was the worst place for a lapse in courtesy. “You make sure I don’t trample any old ladies, and I’ll tell you where to go,” she suggested. “Sounds like a plan,” Morgayne said brightly, and looped her arm through the other girl’s. She waited patiently until most people had shuffled out of the church before guiding Quen through the aisle, going slowly so as not to knock herself or her friend into the few remaining stragglers. “The steps now,” she added once they were out the door, although the sunlight beaming down upon them and the wafting breeze would have told Quen as much before Morgayne had even spoken. She made sure to keep a steady grasp on Quen’s arm as the pair walked down the stairs, though Morgayne suspected her friend wouldn’t actually need the assistance. The scholar had surely been up and down these steps in her life far more often than Morgayne had. Quen knew her way through the sanctuary of the cathedral, and the way between the Tower and the cathedral like the back of her hand. She still had trouble with crowds, though, and she was glad Morgayne was there to help lead her out of the church. No doubt Cid would claim she was being weak again, relying on others. Quen liked to think of it as utilizing all available resources. Once they were at the bottom of the steps, Quen said, “Okay, you should be able to see it now. Across the street and three doors to the left. It has awnings over the windows. I think they’re red.” She didn’t know what red looked like, but she thought she’d heard people mention that they were red. They could just as easily be any other color. Traffic in front of the cathedral wasn’t bad, but Quen didn’t mind letting Morgayne help her cross the road as well; and then they would be at the cafe. Quen thought she might order the roasted eggplant sandwich. It shouldn’t have any ingredients that were so exotic they needed to be shipped from the other continents, and so it shouldn’t be subject to any of the raised prices from the shortages. The awnings were, indeed, red -- a bright, blazing shade that Morgayne spotted quite easily. “Ooh, I see it,” she responded, and the two began to make their way across the road. Navigating Quen to the cafe was an easy enough task; Morgayne kept an eye out for anyone who looked to be in a hurry (or simply careless), but luckily they encountered no such hindrances. When they reached their location, red awnings shielding them from the sun, Morgayne let go of Quen’s arm, trusting her friend could find the rest of the way on her own. The cafe was quiet, even though they’d arrived during a prime lunch hour. A reflection of the rising prices, she supposed. “A table for two, please,” she said to the lone waitress. They were seated immediately, near a window that overlooked the cathedral. Quen already had the menu here memorized, and she couldn’t read anyway, so she felt around for her water glass, put it in the upper right hand corner of her placemat. After finding the roll of silverware, she put the napkin in her lap, and the knife and fork on either edge of the placemat. Then she folded her hands in front of her on the table. “So what did you think of the sermon?” she asked Morgayne, once everything was in its proper place. “I was under the impression that you don’t go to mass very often, for some reason.” As Quen rearranged her place settings, Morgayne watched with a careful eye. It always amazed her that Quen could navigate through life with only a bit more care than the rest of them, and so cheerfully at that. Once she saw that her friend obviously had things well in order, she opened her menu and skimmed its contents. A salad sounded nice, especially in this heat, but Morgayne had always dubious about paying for what was essentially a pile of leaves. Perhaps a sandwich, then. “Oh, it was nice,” she responded vaguely to Quen’s question. Hopefully she wouldn’t ask Morgayne what her favorite part was, since she couldn’t remember enough of the service to come up with one. “And you’re right -- I haven’t been in a few years.” “So what made you decide to go today?” Quen asked, taking a sip of her water before replacing it carefully back into its corner. Something about the vague way Morgayne had answered her question gave Quen the impression that perhaps she hadn’t really been paying attention to the sermon; but she didn’t think that was necessarily a bad thing. If the sermon was the most important part of church, they might as well just send it to everyone via the network and save them the trouble of actually going. “And what did you think?” she added after a moment. “Did it give you the answers you were looking for?” A pause. “I suppose it did,” Morgayne said, after mulling over her words carefully. “I decided to go for the sake of convenience, mostly. I’ve been wanting to go back for a while, you know, to see if there was anything I was missing.” Though she knew many who went to church simply because their families did, she always keenly remembered the strength Lars had drawn from his visits to the cathedral. Perhaps, she had thought, Faram would lend her strength too. “But I don’t know. Maybe services just aren’t for me.” “You know, I think people are drawn to the cathedral for a lot of different reasons,” Quen said carefully. “Some people need the sense of community and being part of something. Other people really need the words the priest is saying during the sermon. Some people don’t need the sermon at all, they just need the time and the space to sit alone with their thoughts and work through whatever they have going on. Just because you didn’t find what you were missing doesn’t mean that it isn’t there for you. Maybe you’ll just need to keep looking a little longer.” The waitress came to take their order just then. When she’d gone, Quen said, “Perhaps I should introduce you to Father Luscini. He’s pretty good at helping people find what they need from Faram.” With the arrival of the waitress (and soon, her pulled pork sandwich), Morgayne hoped their discussion of services would come to a natural end. But Quen continued on, and Morgayne wrinkled her nose at the second mention of priests in two days. She wasn’t sure personal guidance on the path back to Faram was what she wanted. Wouldn’t the Father ask a lot of questions? “I suppose,” she responded, a bit reluctantly. “If you think it’s a good idea. What makes him so talented?” Quen laughed. “I don’t know that he’s talented at anything in particular. I just like him and I think he’s a good listener. I’ve been telling him every single bad thing I’ve done since I was thirteen years old, and he never seems like he’s judging me, and his advice is pretty good.” She shrugged and took a bite of her sandwich. “If you’d rather not, though, it’s okay with me. I’ve always found church … comforting, and if other people can find solace in the same thing, I want to help. I don’t want to prosthelytize to people who aren’t interested, though.” “Well, it couldn’t hurt,” Morgayne replied, eventually. “To speak to him once, I mean. If I don’t take to him, I just won’t go back.” She chewed absentmindedly on the end of her water straw as she thought. It wouldn’t be such a burden to meet Father Luscini -- truth be told, Morgayne had questions that wanted answering, especially in the wake of her training session with the korporal. She was curious as to how a member of the clergy would respond. And if he were useless, she would have wasted nothing but an hour of her time. “That’s the spirit,” Quen said, raising her water glass. She took a sip and replaced it on the table. “So,” she said, changing the subject. “The Fighters Guild is pretty great, isn’t it? Do you like any of the boys?” Quen could change from discussing religion to talking about boys in fractions of a second. Morgayne leaped at the topic change eagerly, glad to talk about something lighter than her faith in Faram, or lack thereof. “Like like? Not really. At least, not yet. Some of them are quite good looking, though.” “Like who?” Quen asked eagerly, leaning forward in her seat. “I’ll do mine first. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Storm. He’s really sweet, and he’s got some decent muscles for a kid. I think I like Drake the most though.” She sighed. “I sort of wish I was in your guild. All we have in my guild is Mer, and I’ve already been soundly rejected by him.” “Storm is definitely one of the cuter ones,” Morgayne agreed. “He has a nice voice, too. And good bone structure. As for the older knights, I’ve always thought Lord Finch to be the best looking, although his attitude really lessens the appeal. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.” She paused to take a bite of her sandwich, and continued on after she swallowed. “I feel like there’s really no point in looking outside the squires, though. Most of the knights just see you as a kid.” “Theo?” Quen giggled. “He’s kind of like a brother to me. Everyone says he’s such a grump, but he’s always been really supportive of me and I can get away with hugging him and stuff. I do think that’s part of my problem, though. Half the men in the city think of me as a little sister and the other half are afraid of Darius.” She was talking so fast she barely had time to eat, but she took a small bite of her sandwich before she spoke next. “I think I’m too old for most of the squires, too. So I have like no one I can date in the entire city. It’s so depressing.” She sighed to underscore just how depressing it was. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, none of the squires seem particularly interested in dating, anyway. I tried to talk about it with Storm, once, and he’d barely thought about it. When I asked him what he’d like in a prospective girlfriend, the first thing he came up with was ‘good at cooking’.” Morgayne couldn’t resist rolling her eyes at that, even if Quen couldn’t see. “I think Storm likes me,” Quen said hesitantly. “He bought me at the charity auction, and he’s taken me on a few dates that were … actually really romantic.” She smiled, both at the memory of the dates, and the fact that the only good dates she’d ever had were with a fifteen-year-old. “The other day we hung out at Hellwyrm Hall and we held hands and I put my head on his shoulder. And he always says such sweet things.” She couldn’t hold back a small sigh. “If he really said that about the cooking, though, it means he didn’t know what to say,” she added in her normal voice. “Storm’s a noble. He doesn’t need a girl to cook for him. He has staff. He was probably just too embarrassed to say what he really wants. Either that, or he doesn’t know.” She paused thoughtfully. “I have heard people say that girls just grow up faster. Have you ever kissed anyone?” They’d held hands? And gone on dates? Well, that was certainly a surprise. “You and Storm? I had no idea!” Morgayne exclaimed truthfully. She made a mental note to question the other squire about this later. It was quite an interesting development, especially considering the rumors about him and Juli. But hearing Quen’s dreamy voice as she talked about Storm made Morgayne worry her lip; she wanted to mention that it might not be the best idea to get invested, what with Storm being a noble (and therefore, more or less destined to marry someone of his own class), but she kept her mouth shut, and addressed Quen’s second question instead. “I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Morgayne replied, embarrassment creeping its way into her tone. Sixteen was a bit late to be so inexperienced, she thought. “I think most boys like girls who are, you know -- girlier.” She thought suddenly of Lady Marcos, who always looked perfectly sophisticated, even in the heat of battle, and Juli, whose features were so delicate and pretty, it hardly mattered that she dressed plainly. Girlier? Was Quen girly? She didn’t know. She wore dresses and she was almost compulsively neat, but she also liked to climb trees. She’d always thought she was somewhere in between; but then, perhaps it was something about the way she looked. Either way, she did know one thing: “If there’s someone you like, maybe you should just kiss him instead of waiting around for someone to kiss you first. I’ve never waited for anyone to kiss me first; I’ve been kissing boys since I was thirteen. I think I’ve initiated every first kiss I’ve ever had,” her tone turned thoughtful as she realized that, and she tapped her lips with her index finger. “If I’d waited around to be kissed, I’m sure I’d still be a virgin. Everyone seems to think disabled people have no agency. No one wants to take advantage of the blind girl.” “Really?” Morgayne prodded, curious. Quen’s advice went against most of what she’d picked up from other women. Kissing boys before they kissed you seemed too aggressive to be feminine...and didn’t boys like to feel dominant? “They don’t think you’re being too forward, or anything?” “Some of them do,” Quen admitted. “Some of them push you away and tell you that they’re flattered, but they think of you more like a sister. Unless you’re Ari I think it’s inevitable that you’ll get as many rejections as not. But plenty of them like not always having to be the one to make the first move.” She shrugged, more resigned than confident in her decision. “Anyway, we all just have to be who we are. I’m always going to be the kind of person who goes after what she wants. I can’t play games with significant looks and whatever other advice people give girls for how to get guys. I have to believe that there will be someone who can appreciate that.” Morgayne made a noncommittal “hmmm” noise as she mulled over what Quen had said. It was always nice to talk to the older girl, who was apparently the only one of Morgayne’s friends actively interested in dating (the boys, of course, were clueless, and trying to chat about romance with Juli was about as effective as talking to a brick wall), and certainly the only one with any real life experience. “Are you going to kiss Storm?” she asked, in lieu of responding with some advice of her own, since she had none. “I don’t think so,” Quen said quietly, playing with the napkin in her lap. “Not really, anyway.” She’d already kissed him on the cheek once, but that didn’t count. “I really like Storm and everything, but he’s so much younger than me. I don’t know what I’d even do with him. I’m not sure he’s ever kissed a girl, and I just feel like there’s such a big difference between where he is, and where I am and what sort of relationship I’m ready for. And then there’s also the fact that he’s a noble and I’m not.” Quen wasn’t completely oblivious of that issue. So she was cognizant of the class boundary. Morgayne was relieved; she knew Quen was far from stupid, or even oblivious, but her friend was so cheerful and optimistic that sometimes Morgayne worried for her regardless. “Well,” she began carefully, “I’m pretty certain he’s never kissed anyone before, but that --” and the class difference, which she neglected to mention, “--wouldn’t be too troublesome if you just wanted to...have fun. Unless you’re looking for something more serious?” “No,” Quen said, after a moment of thought. “I don’t want anything serious right now, and it’s still so innocent, I don’t see any harm in letting it go on.” It made it easier for her, too, in the short run. She didn’t look forward to having to end it, and she’d never really had much of this sort of courtly romance in her life before, except in books. It was kind of nice. “Anyway, I’ve really enjoyed talking about this with you,” Quen said, smiling. “Most of my close friends are boys. I can’t talk to Merri or Rene or Liyal about this sort of thing. Ridley’s a baby, and Lille is so easily shocked.” An idea occurred to her then. “Do you think it might be good to get all of the girls together some time? Like perhaps you, me, Juli, Lille, and Ridley? Maybe we could rent a room at an inn and just stay the night together, hanging out and doing girl stuff.” “I know!” Morgayne agreed, “Mine too, save Juli. But she’s never seemed too interested in ‘girl talk’ -- she always tries to reroute the conversation back to training, when I bring it up.” It was so odd to her that noble families could morph the concept of romance into something that was more to be dreaded than enjoyed. One of the prices they paid for their ease with money, she supposed. “I think a girl’s night would be a great idea, though, that sounds like lots of fun.” "We'll invite her anyway," Quen decided. "If she's uncomfortable, she doesn't have to come." Perhaps she'd invite Stone, too. "I'll put an invitation on the network and see who bites." Smiling, she took a sip of her water. She was really glad Morgayne had come to church with her that day. “Sounds good to me,” Morgayne replied with a small smile of her own, then returned to her sandwich, which had gone neglected for far too long in the excitement of their conversation. |