InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "join the madness!"

Marcella Bellini (born_greater) wrote in nevermore_logs,
@ 2021-04-09 20:17:00

Current mood:	numb
Entry tags:	marcella bellini, qebhet

WHO Marcella and Qebhet
WHEN Tuesday 6th April, evening
WHERE Qebhet's funeral home
WHAT Preparing Tragos for his journey into the afterlife
WARNINGS crying, dealing with death

Marcie carried the tote bag nervously in her hands as she pushed open the door to Western Funeral Home and stepped inside.

She hadn't had a lot of contact with death in her life. Her dad's brother had died in a motorbike collision when she was very young. She remembered the casket, everyone in black, but she'd never been allowed to look inside. When she was at high school, a teacher had passed away from a heart problem. A lot of girls had sat together and cried loudly and dramatically, even those who only days before had been bitching about him and saying he was useless. Marcie hadn't cried. She'd loathed that teacher, and she wasn't about to start pretending otherwise. And having dealt with death on a more personal level through miscarriage, she'd felt separated from all the others who mourned.

The loss of her pregnancy had been difficult. She hadn't cried much then either, not like she had when her boyfriend had left her. She'd seen it, in the hospital, for a moment as it was being taken away in a kidney dish. It wasn't grown enough to be something, but it wasn't nothing either. And although she had come to resent the being growing inside her as the catalyst to her troubles, she had also started wanting it too.

Like she had wanted Tragos. Like she had started harbouring tiny, unformed dreams, where Tragos didn't have to leave her for days on end, and maybe they ran an auto shop together, and had a funny little dog, and wore matching wedding bands on their fingers. Not something, but not nothing either.

All such thoughts were gone now, scattered like leaves in the wind. Now she was anxious about Kaden, halfway across the country, desperate to not be alone. And Tragos, who could never be touched by loneliness again.

She walked softly up to a reception desk, and looked about. The room had a hushed feel, so when she lightly touched the top of the service bell, the ding it made seemed very loud.

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coolwaters
2021-04-11 06:55 am UTC (link)

Choices, Qebhet thought heavily. Yes. It all came down to choice.

Kaden had seen his options narrowing the more gods encroached on his world: the influence of Ares seeping like a bloody stain through his family, the rage of Apollo laying wreck to Marcie's body. Even Qebhet herself had unthinkingly crossed boundaries. How much more trapped must Ronan have been, caught between an all-consuming war god and a goddess hungry for his worship?

He must have been terribly afraid, making that break from both god and gang brothers, knowing he would be hunted for it.

He must have been terribly brave.

Qebhet watched Marcie brush her fingers over the lips of the man she had loved. Watched Ronan, a boy who bore far too many scars for his nineteen years. "He fought a long time, didn't he? To give Kaden choices, the ones he wasn't given." He'd killed for it. He'd died for it. "He deserved to have choices for himself, too."

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born_greater
2021-04-11 12:45 pm UTC (link)

"He loved Kaden more than anyone." Even herself, if Marcie was honest- but in a different way. And it was the way it should've been. She didn't resent that at all. "Even though the age gap was quite big, they were really close growing up. I just..."

She wished she could save Kaden, be a replacement sibling to him now that he was on his own, and try to cover the gaping hole in her heart with a purpose. She addressed her next works more to Tragos than Qebhet, standing over him as she was. "I want to be there for him. I wish I could bring him home. And I'm so angry at you for doing this! Why didn't you ask me about it?!"

But she knew why, really. Because she would've said no.

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coolwaters
2021-04-11 02:26 pm UTC (link)

Qebhet's heart ached for Marcie, for Kaden; for Ronan, wherever his spirit now resided. "Not such a large gap," she said. Four years could seem like a gulf at their age, but the distance between Ronan and Kaden wasn't one of years. It was a finger curled around the trigger of a gun. It was fists stained with another man's blood. Qebhet wondered how old Ronan had been when he had first started running with the War Dogs. "He had to grow up fast. Nobody gave him the chance to be a teenager, the way he gave Kaden."

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	born_greater 2021-04-12 01:36 am UTC (link)
	Marcie nodded, and sighed, closing her eyes a moment. "I'm sorry, did you say teenager?" she asked, looking up at Qebhet. "How do you mean?" She curled her hand around Tragos' arm and gently stroked it. It was rough, growing up the way he had, but how Qebhet would know what he was like as a teen, when wasn't sure. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	coolwaters 2021-04-12 05:10 am UTC (link)
	Confusion shaded Marcie's expression like a passing cloud, and Qebhet hesitated. Had she misspoken? "Well... I know nineteen is technically an adult, but— I mean, it's still— it's young." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	born_greater 2021-04-12 08:25 am UTC (link)
	She had to take a moment, looking at Qebhet in silence. "...Nineteen," she said upon taking another breath. Pressing her lips together, she looked upwards, not knowing what to say to that. Yet another question she wouldn't be able to ask him the answer to. "I think we should... carry on," she said, because she didn't know what else to do. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

coolwaters
2021-04-12 10:58 am UTC (link)

There was a brittle quality to the silence. A tightening in Marcie's lips, as though she was absorbing a blow. Nineteen. Had she— surely she must have—

But her confusion, when Qebhet had called him a teenager.

No, she hadn't known. She hadn't realised he was so young.

Marcie turned quickly from the subject, and Qebhet obliged her. It was the work of a few minutes to finish washing Ronan's body. When they were done, Qebhet carried the spent cloths and bowl to the sink, before returning to remaining items on the equipment table. "Now we rinse him clean, and now I bless him."

She took up her clay pitcher and she poured water into the remaining bowl, and she spoke the ritual words in a voice as soft and flowing as her movements. She spoke in English – less weighty, and less precise than her native tongue, but it was Ronan's tongue and it was Marcie's, and these words were for them. When the bowl was filled, she set the pitcher to one side, and one by one she added a single drop from each of the small bottles – the seven sacred oils.

"On this day is your mouth opened.
Horus pours water upon your fingers;
Geb hands over to you what is in him.
Your face is washed by your father Nun,
Your face is wiped dry by Hedjhotep.
Ptah turns towards you with clothing, as he did for Re.
Your mouth is opened with good utterances.
The good is remembered for you
And forgotten is evil on the blessed day.
No ill which you have done will be reproached.
No evil shall attach to your limbs.
Re purifies you at his coming forth, Thoth at his shining forth,
When this utterance is told to you which Isis spoke to her son Horus:
You are purified, Ronan Murphy. You are protected."

Qebhet exhaled a slow breath, let the blessing settle into the water, a barely perceptible ripple across the surface.

She reached for a clean cloth and offered it to Marcie.

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born_greater
2021-04-12 11:58 am UTC (link)

Silently, Marcie took it and dipped it in the water, and carefully began the job of running it over Tragos' form, over his face, his neck, his arms that were so strong, his body so right against hers. Qebhet's prayer moved her, and as she worked, she repeated the last words softly to herself.

"You are purified, Trey. You are protected." A few silent tears fell, dripping on his skin as she leaned across him, realising at last that this was her final time with him. She would never see this face in the flesh again after tonight. "You are loved," she added, for the teenager who had never been loved enough, the man who had loved her and his little brother so deeply. Not so large an age gap, then.

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coolwaters
2021-04-12 03:19 pm UTC (link)

Qebhet helped a little, lifting Ronan's limbs to let Marcie sweep the cloth over the harder-to-reach places, but mostly she stood back and let Marcie work. This was her time for farewells, the last time she would ever run her hands along his arms, his chest, his face; the last time she would ever look him in the face. Qebhet could see that truth dawning on Marcie now, and she tried to intrude as little as possible.

A damp sheen clung to Ronan's cold skin, along with the subtle scent of myrrh and honey and spice. Once Marcie was done bathing him, Qebhet handed her a fresh cloth for drying. The second bowl and used cloths joined the others in the sink, while the oils and pitcher were returned to their proper places. That also gave Qebhet the chance to retrieve the obol – a wafer-thin gold facsimile of real ancient currency – and the olive oil, of which she poured a small amount into an inch-wide dish.

Both of these things she set down on the equipment table, before looking to Marcie again. "Are you ready to dress him?"

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born_greater
2021-04-14 02:22 pm UTC (link)

"Yes." She lifted the bag of clothes she'd brought with her, the trousers and teeshirt she'd ended up buying for him. The tee was a copy of a tee of his she'd been going to bring, that he'd left with her because it had car grease across it and she had been going to try and get it cleaned. But when she'd picked it up, she found it still smelled of him, and she couldn't bear to part with it. So she'd found one the same in a shop to represent it.

Getting clothes on a cold corpse was difficult. Marcie struggled, even following Qebhet's instruction as best she could.

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coolwaters
2021-04-16 10:34 am UTC (link)

A lot of people found the dressing of the body unnerving. If one could almost fool oneself into imagining their loved one asleep with the body laid out still and motionless, all illusion vanished when it came time to handle the floppy, uncooperative limbs and work clothing over the clammy skin. It was awkward, undignified work, but Marcie helped without complaint and where she fumbled, Qebhet's hands were steady and experienced. Between them, they managed.

"There are two more things," Qebhet said when they were done. "and I thought perhaps you might wish to do them. First is the coin for the ferryman." She indicated the thin gold obol. "The Greeks placed it in the mouth, for safe passage to the afterlife. Then the anointing – a dab of oil on the forehead, eyelids and lips."

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born_greater
2021-04-16 02:04 pm UTC (link)

Tragos' jaw was fairly firmly closed. Marcie had to pull his lips apart enough to slip the coin in like it was a moneybox. And then, the dabs of oil as Qebhet said, and... they were done.

She looked at him, and then up at Qebhet. "You are a goddess of death, yes? You tend to souls awaiting judgement? Can I ask... do you see his? Do you see where it went?" She didn't know what answer she wanted, which scared her more. She just needed to know.

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coolwaters
2021-04-17 03:30 am UTC (link)

Qebhet bit her lip. She'd seen no trace of Ronan's akh, though she'd looked for it when she'd gone to collect the body, and again when she'd tended to his open wounds, after she'd learned who he was. "I don't know where he is," she said apologetically. "Not every soul lingers after death. It depends on... belief, mainly."

If Ronan hadn't believed in shades, he probably wouldn't have become one. There were rare exceptions – the convictions of the bereaved, if they were especially strong, could be enough to tether even an unbelieving soul to the world – but that was usually how it worked.

If he had believed in the Greek afterlife, he might have descended at once to Hades and the banks of the Acheron. Or he might have fought the inexorable pull of death – the belief in spirits with unfinished business was fairly widespread. Perhaps he was following Kaden's journey even now, a watchful presence, unable to help, unwilling to leave.

But she didn't want to burden Marcie with that kind of speculation. "I'm sorry I can't tell you more."

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born_greater
2021-04-17 08:02 am UTC (link)

Marcie closed her eyes with a soft sigh, and looked away.

"I want him cremated," she said. "If he is no longer for this world, there is no point in keeping him here."

She felt so sad, though, knowing this was it. Kaden would never have a chance to say his goodbyes in person. But then, neither would Melpomene, and she did not want that snake to have another chance to try to own him, even if it was just to bury him. It was Marcie's call to do what she thought Tragos would want, and he wouldn't want to be lingering when his job was done.

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	coolwaters 2021-04-17 12:35 pm UTC (link)
	Qebhet nodded. "I'll arrange it," she promised. "Is there... anything else I can do? For him, or for you?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	born_greater 2021-04-17 12:45 pm UTC (link)
	"I would like to sit for a while, please." Marcie blinked, her lashes damp with tears. "I just need a little longer." This room was so sterile, but it was what she had. Qebhet had been so kind to do all of this. She just couldn't quite let go yet. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	coolwaters 2021-04-17 12:56 pm UTC (link)
	"Of course," Qebhet said, understanding. Once Marcie left this room, she would never see Ronan again, and she knew it. "There's a kitchen down the passage to the left, we passed it on the way here. Why don't I wait there for you? You can take as long as you need, nobody needs this room today." (Reply to this) (Parent)

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