Cath Delaney (battle_man) wrote in oblivionrp, @ 2009-04-26 15:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | cath, cath and peter, peter |
Confessing His Sins
Who: Cath, Peter
Where: Chapel
When: Mid evening (8pm-ish)
Cath's purpose in the chapel was twofold. One, he hadn't heard nor seen hide nor hair of the priest, and was a bit concerned. The last thing they needed was the man of God disappearing. That'd cause a huge panic, especially amongst the more religious and superstitious onboard. And Cath liked the man, they obviously shared many common interests. He couldn't discuss religion or history with Mae. Neither of them held her interest for long unfortunately.
And likely the more important reason, he needed confession. It'd been too long already and now with all the madness, he needed to do it again before it was too late. Not that he'd ever be able to look Saint Peter in the eye anyways when the time came. But for the sake of what soul he had left, he had to make his penance as he could. He just hoped the priest had some time for him.
The chapel had a bowl of blessed water by the door, thank God. Going through the motions of the rituals was comforting itself. Cath dipped his fingers in the bowl, then crossed himself, murmuring the Signum Crucis. "In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen." His prayers were always in Latin, he'd been schooled in the language his whole life.
He walked slowly towards the alter, his head still bowed. He could not meet His gaze in the state of mortal sin he spent most of his life. Which was perhaps why he'd put this off so long. He slipped his rosary from his pocket as he knelt before the altar. With the other, he dropped his offering into the box.
Cath was silent for a moment, unmoving. Then he reached for the taper and lit a candle, his thoughts on everything that had been weighing on him. The candle was for Mae, for her safe recovery, for her health, just for her. Without her, he had nothing.
Setting aside the taper, he stared intently at the candle, then closed his eyes. The only movement was his hand tightening around the beads as he silently began his prayer. The cool enameled image of Saint Jude was rough under his fingers as he brought it to his lips.
If the priest was there, he would find him. In the meantime, he could at least pray for her and everyone else on this ship to hell. Some souls were still worth salvaging, after all.