life tearing at the seams Who: Camille Meunier & David Malvot. What: David continues to disappoint. Where: The Church of St. Bartholomew. When: Way backdated. Warnings: None. Progress: Gdoc, complete.
To an outsider, the warrens under the church would have seemed to run in nonsense circles; bending right to go left, wending about to return whence it had come, ending in rooms that held no windows, trespassers soon would have found themselves lost. To those who lived within, it was a known maze, one with patterns and understandable geography. It was, in fact, following the lines of sacred geometry, culling lines in the earth that would seek to mimic Heaven and forever find itself wanting; those who walked its halls would be treading in the path of saints.
Camille, however, was less than concerned with holiness as she looked through the various rooms, searching for one person. Her nun-like garb flowed behind her just as frantically as her steps; unbrushed hair fell around her face in a pleasing fashion, but made her look no less worried than she was. The library was empty, as was the secondary nave saved for the undead members of the congregation. Finally, Camille found the man in his own rooms, the very last place she'd thought to look.
"David; I'm glad I found you. The communion delivery is late, and we're into our last stores -- if it doesn't get here by tomorrow, I'm not sure what we'll use for the Eucharist, or what we'll even begin to say to the kine who attend..." She moved into the room like water, her presence filling every possible nook and cranny, not pausing a moment to see if she was interrupting David in anything personal.
He looked up from the book laid open over his lap. Its heavy pages were thick as vellum, the script that covered them sharp and tight. A diagram drawn in thick black ink showed a device equal parts beautiful and cruel: a treatise on pain, a study in penitence. He set the book aside, letting it rest atop his softly rumpled sheets.
"I can attend to it," David said. "I'm sure our altar servers can find a local supplier willing to donate enough to see us through. If not…" He rose from the bed, his head slightly bowing in deference and greeting. "We have contingency plans. The Mass will not be interrupted. I will see to it."
The smile that crossed her face was wide and toothy. "You're a blessing, David. I'm not sure how the church could have functioned without you. Have you prepared your sermon? I'd like to review it before it gets too much later into the night."
A small flicker of annoyance kindled in his chest, forced aside as quickly as it had come. The Sanctum here was hers, as was he; if she thought him still in need of guidance and review, perhaps he was. For now. He retrieved a single sheet from atop a nearby desk. He crossed over to her, and held them out to her. His handwriting covered the page, top to bottom, margin to margin, in a beautiful looping script. He had written of holy castigation, of righteous suffering by those who longed for heaven. It was a subject dear to his heart, a homily laden with subtle nudging to those open to it. David felt confident it would bring new kine into their flock, and new Kindred willing to suffer what salvation demanded.
She curled long fingers around one edge, pulling it from his grasp. Her eyes drank in the words carefully, smile replaced by a frown as one nail followed along the edge of a sentence.
"Hmm, I'm not sure we want to go this...dark," she said, her voice soft and slightly unsure. Her eyes followed over the next lines, the disapproving expression on her face deepening. "Remember this is a kine mass, too. We don't want to scare them, at least, not yet anyway." Her brows knitted. "And what's this? I'm not understanding what you're getting at here."
She turned the paper back to him, pointing at a section midway through the document.
He leaned down over the page. He hummed thoughtfully as he read, half-heartedly attempting to see the reason for her critique. "I'm only suggesting that those who feel confident in their salvation, or comfortable in their moral state, are those most likely in need of our guidance," he said. "We have kine and Kindred enough who seek out confession and penance, but that's not enough. We need new converts, as well." He looked up to her. "They largely come from a Catholic tradition, Camille. They respond to its imagery, its language. Dark is in their blood."
His response did not lessen her frown.
"You may need to connect more with the present day masses, David," she replied, taking the paper back to scan it anew. "Neonates and living alike are seeking something different. Can you please go back and rework this?" Camille offered the paper back to David with a smile that was less pleasant than it was nagging.
David gritted his teeth. He turned his gaze away from her smile, down to the sermon he had constructed with such care and attention. But her question was not truly a question, and there was no response left to him but a resigned: "Very well." He lowered the page, forcing his expression to soften as he looked at her. "Is there anything else?"
"Hm, no, not at the moment. I'm sure something will come up later, though, you know that these things always wait until the last minute to reveal themselves. If you can look into the wafer issue and get your corrections to me before tomorrow night, that would be lovely." She turned back toward the doorway, looking to exit before she remembered something else. "Oh, wait. I need to speak with Nathalie. Do you know where she is?"
His smile was thin and forced. "I don't," he said. "But Emmeline mentioned visiting the neonates. I would assume Nathalie is with her." He inclined his head, bending his posture into something akin to graciousness and contrition. "I'll report to you before tomorrow night. Thank you, Camille."
"No, thank you, David." She smiled beatifically at him once more before sweeping out of the room much in the same manner as she had entered.