Reverend Francis John Patrick Mulcahy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lovethyneighb_or) wrote2024-01-05 06:04 pm
lovethyneighb_or) wrote2024-01-05 06:04 pm
IC inbox (pumpkin hollow)
Mulcahy here! Leave a message.
The day on the delivery of the letters, Mulcahy is called upon to join an investigation.
A notice is posted to the door of his home.
A notice is posted to the door of his home.
Hello!
I've gone to investigate something strange and concerning that has come to my attention. I am in the good company of John Jay and Gaeta. Please wish us luck. If I do not return after morning in two days, I apologize. Please check on the key-ring spirit who lives in my home.
Be well,
Father Mulcahy
Edited 2024-06-21 19:06 (UTC)
[This has been obviously rehearsed and yet it still falls apart.]
Hello, I'm César Salazar. Reverend Degas said you're a Catholic priest. I'm, ah, purposefully lapsed, along with my parents, who are... dead now. They died saving the world. My baby brother wasn't old enough to make the decision along with us.
...
[He stops himself from rambling. And just waits, holding his breath.]
Hello, I'm César Salazar. Reverend Degas said you're a Catholic priest. I'm, ah, purposefully lapsed, along with my parents, who are... dead now. They died saving the world. My baby brother wasn't old enough to make the decision along with us.
...
[He stops himself from rambling. And just waits, holding his breath.]
[ ... Oh, dear. Is this some sort of over-the-stone confessional? ]
... Yes, this is Father Mulcahy. I am the local Catholic priest. I'm very sorry to hear about your loss. [ And he is, really. ]
You say you're purposefully lapsed, but it seems you still have need of a priest for something, if you're calling for me like this.
... Yes, this is Father Mulcahy. I am the local Catholic priest. I'm very sorry to hear about your loss. [ And he is, really. ]
You say you're purposefully lapsed, but it seems you still have need of a priest for something, if you're calling for me like this.
cw: LGBT and Catholicism since César is protective of Magne
pineapplesalmon
2024-06-28 05:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Ah, thank you.
[He sucks in a breath audibly to indicate he's thinking. Mulcahy's kind voice is a balm on his nerves. When he speaks again, César's voice is gentle throughout, and he's much calmer. He's not looking to come in swinging or start a fight.]
We... didn't lose our faith. Yet it became clear the Vatican was passing judgement on people without the requisite research and reflection to do so, including those like me. My parents decided to leave rather than insist on me being continually hurt.
[Another pause.]
My eventual wedding to Magne can't be Catholic, I know. I love her more than words can express, and I refuse to allow my faith to perpetuate the cruelty the world has shown her. Like my parents protected me. So if you follow the papacy's word to the letter... I'd rather just end the conversation here rather than meet in person to make it easy for the both of us.
[He just loves Magne and doesn't want to hurt her.]
[He sucks in a breath audibly to indicate he's thinking. Mulcahy's kind voice is a balm on his nerves. When he speaks again, César's voice is gentle throughout, and he's much calmer. He's not looking to come in swinging or start a fight.]
We... didn't lose our faith. Yet it became clear the Vatican was passing judgement on people without the requisite research and reflection to do so, including those like me. My parents decided to leave rather than insist on me being continually hurt.
[Another pause.]
My eventual wedding to Magne can't be Catholic, I know. I love her more than words can express, and I refuse to allow my faith to perpetuate the cruelty the world has shown her. Like my parents protected me. So if you follow the papacy's word to the letter... I'd rather just end the conversation here rather than meet in person to make it easy for the both of us.
[He just loves Magne and doesn't want to hurt her.]
Edited (The usual "I realized I wanted to add stuff right after I hit Post" oops) 2024-06-28 17:08 (UTC)
[ Ah. There's a beat of silence on the other end. ]
... Hm. How shall I put this? If the Vatican heard of all the things I've done and the kind of company I keep, I fear I may be excommunicated.
[ A short, light laugh. ]
The Lord is love. He exists in the bread we break together, in the space between us. What is abominable in His eyes is the harm we inflict upon one another. If you and Magne love yourselves; and love one another; and love your fellows, and you look after one another; why, then I have no issue at all.
... Hm. How shall I put this? If the Vatican heard of all the things I've done and the kind of company I keep, I fear I may be excommunicated.
[ A short, light laugh. ]
The Lord is love. He exists in the bread we break together, in the space between us. What is abominable in His eyes is the harm we inflict upon one another. If you and Magne love yourselves; and love one another; and love your fellows, and you look after one another; why, then I have no issue at all.
[César gives a similar short laugh, as if to say "the company I keep, too".
The second part César responds to after with a long exhale, having held his breath as Mulcahy continued speaking. His shields come down. Mulcahy is safe.]
We do, Father. We do. [There's so much love in his voice.] ... then I have no issue speaking with you in person. In fact, I would prefer so.
The second part César responds to after with a long exhale, having held his breath as Mulcahy continued speaking. His shields come down. Mulcahy is safe.]
We do, Father. We do. [There's so much love in his voice.] ... then I have no issue speaking with you in person. In fact, I would prefer so.
Come to the Temple, my son. Our doors are open.
[ And he'll get down from the ladder where he'd been cleaning the windows, too. ]
[ And he'll get down from the ladder where he'd been cleaning the windows, too. ]
[César breathes out, making sure it's loud enough to be heard.]
... okay. I'll be over shortly.
[And he's actually walking into the temple five minutes later, which means he was in an alleyway somewhere nearby. César, why are you like this? He's easy to pick out, not quite hiding his nerves as he looks around for someone.]
... okay. I'll be over shortly.
[And he's actually walking into the temple five minutes later, which means he was in an alleyway somewhere nearby. César, why are you like this? He's easy to pick out, not quite hiding his nerves as he looks around for someone.]
[ Any noise in this space carries, of course; César's entrance is marked by the opening of the door in the Temple's quiet hours, though Mulcahy waits until he hears the man come a little closer before he gets up from where he's been sat reading.
There's a single small pew--more of a bench, really--in front of an extremely plain Catholic altar, which holds pride of place besides the local Mothers'. It's not much more than a table with a linen cloth, a bare wooden cross with two candles, and a regular chalice and plate made of silver.
Standing up, he meets César's gaze with warmth. ] Ah, Mr. Salazar. Welcome in. I'm Father Mulcahy.
There's a single small pew--more of a bench, really--in front of an extremely plain Catholic altar, which holds pride of place besides the local Mothers'. It's not much more than a table with a linen cloth, a bare wooden cross with two candles, and a regular chalice and plate made of silver.
Standing up, he meets César's gaze with warmth. ] Ah, Mr. Salazar. Welcome in. I'm Father Mulcahy.
[Seeing Mulcahy in the flesh makes more of César's nerves slide off his shoulder, and César smiles to him. The familiarity without the judgement. And then his eyes drift to the bench and altar. It's a moment before César remembers to speak and tears his eyes away with a lump in his throat.]
Thank you. Please, call me César.
[He walks over to him, his footfalls a little more sure.]
Thank you. Please, call me César.
[He walks over to him, his footfalls a little more sure.]
Edited (*COUGH* I didn't even include the end italics tag) 2024-07-04 19:49 (UTC)
[ From under the bench, Mulcahy draws up a small basket with something loosely wrapped in a kerchief; unwrapping it shows nothing more than a few rolls of bread, but it’s this that he offers to César as welcome. It’s been four minutes, where did he get those? Don’t worry about it. ]
You’re technically not really meant to eat in Church, but we’ve already broken enough rules to piece together a new stained glass window. [ Like having their place of worship inside a pagan temple. ] Take one, César, and have a seat.
You’re technically not really meant to eat in Church, but we’ve already broken enough rules to piece together a new stained glass window. [ Like having their place of worship inside a pagan temple. ] Take one, César, and have a seat.
[César blinks and looks down at the bread basket, a small smile gracing his lips as he takes a roll. He sits down and pulls it apart, eyes searching as if it might have something to say.]
Thank you. ... well, I've broken enough rules to make several. Those would complain about the breaking of bread and easily swept up crumbs would expect little ones to sit quietly in the pews without anything to occupy them. I've never paid them any mind.
Thank you. ... well, I've broken enough rules to make several. Those would complain about the breaking of bread and easily swept up crumbs would expect little ones to sit quietly in the pews without anything to occupy them. I've never paid them any mind.
As usual, Gaeta can't sleep for more than a couple hours, so he's out and about in the early morning, hoping to turn the insomnia into a little motivation. The walk will do him some good as he keeps strengthening his bad leg, he figures; he'll find some breakfast, pick up a few groceries, maybe take an extra shift at the library once it's open to make up for all the time he missed in June...
...pass close enough to Father Mulcahy's house to notice -- is that a tent in the backyard?
And is someone inside it?
Puzzled, he slows to a halt, eyeing the setup with a frown.
...pass close enough to Father Mulcahy's house to notice -- is that a tent in the backyard?
And is someone inside it?
Puzzled, he slows to a halt, eyeing the setup with a frown.
At this hour, there isn't much movement to see; past four in the morning he's usually become too exhausted for the paranoia and discomfort to win out, and respite will come, if only for a few hours. Poking out from the tent flap is the bottom of some kind of wooden rod. Otherwise, nothing seems amiss.
Hm.
Someday, Gaeta hopes tiredly, he won't feel like two wild animals have just started a frantic, scrabbling fight in his brain every time there's a slight change in his environment. It's probably nothing; it's not nothing, what if something's wrong? He studies the tent for another minute before, with a sigh, he continues on his walk.
But the fight in his head doesn't get much quieter, even after a couple hours of puttering around town. He takes a detour back to the Oak & Iron for two more cups of coffee, poured into lidded containers for easy transport, plus a small wrapped package holding a few pastries. Then he returns to Mulcahy's house.
If he's still not visible in the backyard, Gaeta will knock on the front door. Maybe it's nothing, but there's no harm in visiting a friend either way.
Someday, Gaeta hopes tiredly, he won't feel like two wild animals have just started a frantic, scrabbling fight in his brain every time there's a slight change in his environment. It's probably nothing; it's not nothing, what if something's wrong? He studies the tent for another minute before, with a sigh, he continues on his walk.
But the fight in his head doesn't get much quieter, even after a couple hours of puttering around town. He takes a detour back to the Oak & Iron for two more cups of coffee, poured into lidded containers for easy transport, plus a small wrapped package holding a few pastries. Then he returns to Mulcahy's house.
If he's still not visible in the backyard, Gaeta will knock on the front door. Maybe it's nothing, but there's no harm in visiting a friend either way.
The rod is gone by the time Gaeta returns; so is whatever figure that was in the tent. A candle is on in the house, and though the curtains are drawn, the crack of light beneath them reveals a shadow moving as he putters around his house.
When he knocks, there’s a long pause. Then the shadow moves to the door, and there’s the sound of the lock turning.
Still in his pajamas, Mulcahy looks haggard in the weak light of early morning and dim candles, pale and wraithlike. His thin hair is a mess, his shoulders and eyes slump like a sun-starved plant left to droop as he grips his staff for balance. He looks miserable in the way that the hideously sleep-deprived do. And yet, seeing Gaeta at the door, he lifts just a little bit.
“Oh,” he creaks softly, voice still rusted with sleep. “Gaeta. Hello, son. Do you need something?”
When he knocks, there’s a long pause. Then the shadow moves to the door, and there’s the sound of the lock turning.
Still in his pajamas, Mulcahy looks haggard in the weak light of early morning and dim candles, pale and wraithlike. His thin hair is a mess, his shoulders and eyes slump like a sun-starved plant left to droop as he grips his staff for balance. He looks miserable in the way that the hideously sleep-deprived do. And yet, seeing Gaeta at the door, he lifts just a little bit.
“Oh,” he creaks softly, voice still rusted with sleep. “Gaeta. Hello, son. Do you need something?”
...Gods. Gaeta isn't entirely sure what he expected, but it wasn't for Mulcahy to look this bad.
(The fight quiets down at last. I was right, he tells himself firmly, to think something was wrong.)
"Morning, Father," he says. "No, I, ah, just wanted to stop by. See how you were doing." A small, crooked smile, and he rummages in his satchel to extract one of the coffee flasks -- still warm and still holding all its contents unspilled, thankfully. As he holds it out like he were presenting a written sitrep to the Admiral: "I'm glad I did. You look like you could use this."
(The fight quiets down at last. I was right, he tells himself firmly, to think something was wrong.)
"Morning, Father," he says. "No, I, ah, just wanted to stop by. See how you were doing." A small, crooked smile, and he rummages in his satchel to extract one of the coffee flasks -- still warm and still holding all its contents unspilled, thankfully. As he holds it out like he were presenting a written sitrep to the Admiral: "I'm glad I did. You look like you could use this."
"Ah," he sighs, taking the flask in hand. As wilted as he looks, he seems perfectly comfortable standing in the doorway of his home, being handed coffee by a friend. Over his shoulder his Klefki appears, jingling curiously.
Mulcahy takes a sip. "Thank you for that. You're not wrong at all. I've been doing... poorly, I'm afraid. It mostly comes down to having trouble sleeping." Clearly. "And you? How have you been?"
Mulcahy takes a sip. "Thank you for that. You're not wrong at all. I've been doing... poorly, I'm afraid. It mostly comes down to having trouble sleeping." Clearly. "And you? How have you been?"
Gaeta grimaces. "I'm sorry to hear that."
Spoken with the sympathy of another insomniac. He glances to the Klefki, digs up another brief smile, and wiggles his fingers with a murmured yes, hello to you too before returning his attention to Mulcahy.
"I've been -- you know." He shrugs, leaning a shoulder against the door. "Making do. About the same as always." So not great, but functional; a familiar state for anyone in the veterans' club. Gaeta pauses, then adds, as casual as he can, "Does the trouble have anything to do with the campsite out back?"
Spoken with the sympathy of another insomniac. He glances to the Klefki, digs up another brief smile, and wiggles his fingers with a murmured yes, hello to you too before returning his attention to Mulcahy.
"I've been -- you know." He shrugs, leaning a shoulder against the door. "Making do. About the same as always." So not great, but functional; a familiar state for anyone in the veterans' club. Gaeta pauses, then adds, as casual as he can, "Does the trouble have anything to do with the campsite out back?"
Peter jangles happily, the keyhole that is its mouth opening in something like a smile before it retreats back into the house. It has breakfast to finish.
"I'm afraid so. It's that dirt man." To Gaeta, the answer slips out easily. (Half of it, anyway.) "Have you heard his music? It's just that I can't stand the thought of him breaking into my house. Becoming nocturnal is not quite an option for me at the moment, so I thought that if I did have to sleep at night..."
He sighs. He sounds foolish for this behavior, but it really is all he could come up with. "The town is generally safe enough, and if I am sleeping outside, then I can reasonably expect someone to appear in my space. I can tolerate a hand reaching under my pillow then. But not inside my house."
"I'm afraid so. It's that dirt man." To Gaeta, the answer slips out easily. (Half of it, anyway.) "Have you heard his music? It's just that I can't stand the thought of him breaking into my house. Becoming nocturnal is not quite an option for me at the moment, so I thought that if I did have to sleep at night..."
He sighs. He sounds foolish for this behavior, but it really is all he could come up with. "The town is generally safe enough, and if I am sleeping outside, then I can reasonably expect someone to appear in my space. I can tolerate a hand reaching under my pillow then. But not inside my house."
Gaeta blows out a breath. "Yeah." Low. "It's frakked up."
Among many other things that aren't even remotely the point: why would you break into somebody's house to steal dirt? Isn't there enough of it outside?
He studies Mulcahy for another beat. "Is it just your house, specifically? Would it be easier if you were sleeping indoors somewhere else, like the inn?"
On an actual bed is heavily implied, but left unspoken.
Among many other things that aren't even remotely the point: why would you break into somebody's house to steal dirt? Isn't there enough of it outside?
He studies Mulcahy for another beat. "Is it just your house, specifically? Would it be easier if you were sleeping indoors somewhere else, like the inn?"
On an actual bed is heavily implied, but left unspoken.
"Any place that's meant to be where I'm safe, especially by a lock with a key that I have. I..."
... hmmh.
"I've been forced outside more than once. I don't take to it well."
... hmmh.
"I've been forced outside more than once. I don't take to it well."
"How do you mean?"
The frown of concern deepens.
"Forced outside from -- the same kind of thing? Someone breaking into your house?"
The frown of concern deepens.
"Forced outside from -- the same kind of thing? Someone breaking into your house?"
It's hardly "breaking in" when you couldn't lock your door in the first place, but.
"This is more than a year ago now, but yes. And being brought someplace else."
Kidnapped, he means, but he can't speak the word directly, as if the word will burn his tongue. To do so would be to summon the past into the present. He can't look it in the eye.
"This is more than a year ago now, but yes. And being brought someplace else."
Kidnapped, he means, but he can't speak the word directly, as if the word will burn his tongue. To do so would be to summon the past into the present. He can't look it in the eye.
Edited 2024-07-25 00:06 (UTC)
Mulcahy will see when Gaeta makes the connection. It does not happen all at once, but crosses a spectrum: the confusion blends with disbelief (Gaeta, still, even now, wondering if he's understood the unsaid words beneath Mulcahy's explanation), the disbelief stretches into a thin horror, and that horror does not go away once the light of understanding reaches his eyes.
"Gods." He doesn't know what else to say. Even that might not be the right thing to say, he thinks absurdly, when Mulcahy is a priest of a singular god. "That's -- horrible. I'm so sorry, sir."
"Gods." He doesn't know what else to say. Even that might not be the right thing to say, he thinks absurdly, when Mulcahy is a priest of a singular god. "That's -- horrible. I'm so sorry, sir."
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