Lessons with Father Ward

[Emily Littleton] Several days have passed since their last encounter in the Chantry. It's taken many moonrises before the Orphan, who is not yet Owen Page's Catechumen, to accept the olive branch offered by the Templar. Or at least it's taken her many days to call him up and verbally accept his invitation.

Their meeting is set, as always, at the Chantry, a building Emily holds no fondness for. Nevertheless, she comes at the appointed time, wearing what almost looks like church-going clothes. Her dress comes just to her knee, and a light jacket covers her shoulders. There's a weariness that follows her, that's threaded through her every movement. It's as if she has not quite slept well enough in many days, and the veneer of calm and restfulness has frayed.

There's a knock at the front door of the Chantry. Followed by a second. And then a short pause, before she tests the door and opens it inward. There's a little clack of hard-soled shoes on hardwood floors, as she makes her way to the sitting room. This time she does not call out into the open space with a Hello or a Good afternoon. She is expected.

[Solomon Ward] Like last time the priest is both punctual and waiting her physically where he can most directly be found, in the sitting room. He has the Big Black Bag at his feet, beside the couch, and he looks as he always does. Severe, old fashioned, stern, and like age is catching up with him. If he was tired looking last time it has multiplied. The look of a five o'clock shadow is appearing on the flesh of his face, flesh that's a little leaner and thinner than last time. Crows feet writ a little more darkly around the eyes and lips.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Littleton" he says from where he was sitting, though per his usual archaic habit he stands when she enters the room. Old manners and morals that refuse to die despite the modern age of casual flings and first name basis. One of the minor things that add up until a hundred and one set the man apart as an anachronism in this day and age.

"Thank you for accepting my offer. You've been well, these last few days ?"

[Emily Littleton] "Good afternoon, Father Ward," she says, and her voice is still a pleasant, if tight, alto. There is still a polite smile to it, and a respectful nod of her head. Old manners and morals were one of the only things they had in common, when they had that in common at all.

She settles herself on the couch, folds her hands in her lap primly. Emily doesn't take off her coat, just yet. She does not have her messenger bag today to set to one side, or anything to fidget with. Somewhere in her pockets are her house keys and her cell phone. Ostensibly some identification and money. But that's all she comes in with, and it's all she will leave with.

"And no, not entirely, but thank you for asking." The girl was more forthcoming, perhaps in apology for how cagey she had been before. Perhaps in some ill-conceived aspect of respect for his station on a day of prayer and worship. "I do hope that you have been."

This last is a question, and it trends upward at the end like a query must, even as it lacks the requisite punctuation.

[Solomon Ward] "Little miscreant bastard spirit has been trying to cow and intimidate me, but other than that I can't seriously complain" he shrugs slightly, as if perhaps this was an every day thing. He pauses for a moment before he continues, though he seems to think better of what he may have said or done and other wise drops the train of thought. "Are your.. issues... related to the incident we shared the other day ?"

What ever he originally invited her for takes a side seat, for the moment. She has now piqued his curiosity, so to speak.

"I had planned to show you some thing, down in the basement... I don't know how much training you've had, and I'm sure you may not look forward to 'Lessons with Father Ward' at random, but I thought it was important... " trailing off, momentarily, before he goes on "but if there are other things on your mind ...?"

[Emily Littleton] "There are always other things on my mind," she says, with a small smile that passes for wry and gently amused. She is teasing, however gently. "I've been told I tend to over think things," she offers, as an explanation.

Emily smooths her hands over her skirt somewhat, in a small anxious gesture, before looking back up to him. "Some of what I have been sorting through has to do with our shared experience, yes. I think I would best amend one of my answers from earlier; some things have changed."

There's a pause here, just long enough to let him raise an eyebrow or consider what he might re-open as a line of inquiry. "And I would be quite interested in Lessons with Father Ward, if they are amenable to you. I have not turned down any source of information or instruction since Awakening. I feel it is important to be challenged from many angles and open to things I once thought improbable. I don't know how the Chorus views such things, though, so perhaps I should ask Mr. Page first?"

She does not say impossible. But that distinction is likely lost between them. And she is looking to him for guidance on that last question, there.

[Solomon Ward] "No" he answers her question first, because it is the most important to him. Still, her statement about over thinking things touches a chord with him, and relates to the situation. His hand, well manicured with out being overtly 'prissy' picks at an imaginary spot of lent on his sold black shirt before he continues.

"I asked you here alone because it relates to your situation with Mr. Page, though indirectly. I'm not going to make assumptions or hazard guess works or try to define the dynamic between two people. Its too complex, and there is too much room for inaccurate statements that upset others."

"I have the same problem, Ms. Littleton. My life is so structured by rules, mundane and mystical, that I have a very keen eye for logic and measurable approaches, and very little raw imagination. It leads me to analyze everything. Over analyze, actually..."

A slight pause, a deep breathe, he continues "Please, follow me to the basement. I want to show you the Node. I want to impart a piece of understanding on you that I was unable to convey the other night, and perhaps it will remove some of the sting of my earlier words"

[Emily Littleton] "Yes, Father Ward."

He asks her to follow, and so Emily stands. She keeps her hands neatly at her sides, her shoulders squared. She was taught by a tutor who believed in the merits of recitation, of learning to keep her chin high and her eyes level while recalling details or poetry or any other bit of education that might fit into an oral examination. It was practice, she was told, for the situations she would find herself in due to her father's line of work. Due to what might one day be her own calling.

It is those Old World manners, and the way that they have played out between these two so far, that keeps the Apprentice quiet on the short trip down to the basement. She does not look around with curiosity, or lag behind him. This time they are not running down and she can afford the surroundings a bit more attention, but the bulk of her attentiveness is for his lesson, whatever it might be.

[Solomon Ward] Solomon led her down to the basement in silence. He was simply one of those people that was comfortable in it, saw no need to break it, and no reason to fill it. Unlike their last trip to the well his pace is dignified and unhurried. If he seems put off by Emily's mannerisms it doesn't show. He's seen the sort before and it suits some people. People like him. People like her. If didn't, either one of them would change.

A flip of the switch brings light to the basement. He has replaced the blown out bulbs from the other night. Stars descended into the nearly cave like basement and lo and behold, the old well.

"Have you been instructed on the definition of a Node ? And if so, have you ever seen one ? I mean, really and truly seen one ?"

[Emily Littleton] The basement room is just a basement room to the Orphan. The old well is, just a well. Though the others have treated this place with a sort of reverence, and though there are rules and political strictures about who may and may not attend to this space, she does not show any outward signs of awareness of the well's importance.

"No, sir," she says. "Save for what you and Israel told me last month, when Nathan was here, I have not had any instruction nor have I seen one." These answers come unveiled, and without much understanding of the shortcomings they evidence. Honesty, it seems, may not always actually be the best policy, but lying to the Priest does not seem wise either.

[Solomon Ward] "Some of what I am going to tell you is, strictly speaking, not One hundred percent Choir policy... but it coincides with it quite strongly, and it is what I have learned and understand so far and it as served me well enough. Please understand I am biased. I am part of what some consider to be an 'old guard' and would like to see the Choir restructured along more politically correct, happier and touchy feely lines. None of that matters at the moment. I'm going to do some thing simple... please don't freak out on me"

"One of the most fundamental things we are taught as Christians is that God created the universe. Almost every major faith has a version of this. In Christianity, Catholic or protestant, Roman or East Orthodox, Lutheran, Pentecostal, Baptist... it doesn't matter. Our Bible reads 'First God made heaven & earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters. And God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light' "

"Elokim" he says, with a small wave of his hand between Emily and the Well. He speaks one of the holy Tetragrammaton, though he follows the Judaic laws of Qere and Ketiv, changing the spoken consonance of the word into the traditionally allowed, verbal, form. All the same it draws up on some thing, channels it, moves it.

It's coated with his resonance. That righteousness that he wields like a sword, the feel of some thing staunch and unyielding that is his shield, and so very archaic in its root and form.

The Well takes life before her eyes. It spews forth Light. It bubbles with it, swishes with it. It can be heard, though the sound isn't really identifiable on a mortal level. Its felt. A brilliant light-not-light that shines over and through every thing, and yet illuminates nothing. It lays down a contrast of shadows against 'real' things with out ever truly existing as some thing solid or definable, not in the classic sense. It blinds the eyes with out removing their sight.

"All religions have some thing similar. Some deity or cosmic force that brings life from the void. The Hindu have their Ohm, their first song, and the Chorus has modeled on this to some degree. What ever the religion, what ever the faith, we all sprang from some form of deity."

He flourishes his hand towards the well as if inviting her to take a closer look, "This is quintessence, literally the Fifth Essence. As there are four classical elements, there is also this. THIS, Emily. This is the core and the foundation of the Choir. We are taught that we are all made in His image, and people take it literally. They paint our God, wrathful and loving, as some bearded old man in the clouds. This is the raw fountain of Creation. This Node is precious, because it gives up the stuff of life in all its forms. It runs through you and I. We are born infused with it. It is the spark of our divinity that we share with Him. "

"The Choir teaches that each Avatar is a shard of the Creators essence, but in their politically character, multi-theological catering, they defuse it into some thing relatively simple and ideologically appeasing."

"With knowledge and study of this, of Creation, of ones place under God and for God, all things are possible. We work miracles, tapping this. It suffices us until we die, and then it returns to the Tellurian, the cosmos. It leaks from every thing that decays or breaks, its infusion strengthens all it touches. It allows us to break the barriers of reality or enforce them. It can burn the Soul, or speed its healing. Spirits and angels and demons are literally made from it. it is, quite literally, found in every thing."

"I wanted you to see this, because THIS is the Choir. With out we are nothing, whether Christian or pagan. I don't know why you and Mr. Page are dancing around one another, and when I commented on it it upset you... but this is what we offer you. Study brings understanding, and understanding of Creation brings one Closer to God, The Father. What ever your doubts or fears or worries are, I wanted you to see this. The foundation of what it is we are, at its most pure.... "

[Solomon Ward] [Prime sight, shared... requires 2 Sux + Duration at Diff 4 - 1 for near node]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 1, 7 (Failure at target 3) [WP]
to Emily Littleton

[Solomon Ward] [Again, cause this is important!, +1 diff for retry]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 1, 5 (Failure at target 4) [WP]
to Emily Littleton

[Solomon Ward] [please?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 6, 6 (Success x 2 at target 4)
to Emily Littleton

[Emily Littleton] There is a reason that her resonance trends toward Reverence. Why, even though she woke up on her own, alone and outside of the Traditions, the very stuff of her magic reached out for Him, echoed back His glory. Years after she left the Church, left His home and His service, she carries it with her. This is a homecoming and an ache. It resonates to her very core, echoes out from the very heart of her: radiance, and the quiet awe that surrounds it (Reverence [above and below all, Grace]).

There are words, so many words that the Priest shares with her now, but they are almost indistinguishable from one another in the brightness the Node gives off, how it floods her awareness and hearkens back to something almost forgotten. Her breath catches in her chest, awestruck, as if she is seeing something for the first time; no, as if she is seeing again for the first time in a very long time. There is remembrance in the awe she wears so openly; Faith remembered is easily distinguished from a newborn and infantile Faith.

The girl has a very personal reaction to what Solomon has shown her, and perhaps that explains some of her hesitance. Perhaps it only confuses him more. Her eyes are damp, bright with unexpected tears. And when she closes her eyes, it's to bow her head for a long moment. Whatever words cross her mind are for His ears alone, they do not take shape on her lips or of her voice.

There are no words at all that she offers up to the Priest, not in this moment. No assurances that she understands, no excuses for why she and Owen dance around one another. He can take whatever meaning he will from the palpable and clear reaction she has to the sight he shares with her, the radiance he leaves ringing in her ears and crawling over her skin. It is overwhelming, consuming, brilliant.

[Solomon Ward] "You see it as Light because that is how I see it. Some as the sound of a bell, a sea breeze, a song. Few of us interpret it the very same way every time, but it is the same. I was afraid you were fence sitting, for what ever reason you might have... and I'm not judging that. I just hope this helps you come to a decision, Ms. Littleton. It is yours and yours alone to make, and while I would never pressure some one into choosing... the choosing is much easier when one can see. Its very rare to have some thing we can put faith in shown in a visceral, measurable, form.

Do not confuse it with the Light of Heaven, peruse. It is an energy and a tool, for those that understand its implications. Even other Traditions see it as some thing inherently of a divine nature, but that in and of itself doesn't make it important. Its what it represents, how it functions, that is important. I could cup it in my hand like water and it would mean nothing... but to know it held inside it the breath of life, moved from one soul to another, fed the flame of fire that gave man light and warmth, returned to us when that flame was snuffed... that is where the lessons truly begin."

He's heading back up the stars as he speaks, backing away from her slowly in order to leave her with this, by herself, for herself, only. "It won't last much longer.. I have no way to set it on a 'timed' sequence. A few more minutes at most... but what ever it means to you, and you alone... I hope it helps. Good afternoon, Ms. Littleton".

[Emily Littleton] In her lifetime, Emily has seen this quintessential element only three times. Once as the shards and strings of divinity that connected everything, everyone, assembled All into a unified whole. Once as a song, filtering through young ears, pure and intricate and perfect in its completion. Now as a light that bathes over everything, the warmth and heart of creation itself.

Each time, it has been something wondrous, something humbling. It has taken her breath away, left her speechless. Only the first time, when she was wide-eyed and innocent, a child who had not learned to turn away from the Father in spite, only then had she turned to her teacher with questions. That was a long, long time ago, when she was a child who breathed in Winter and out Wonder. And this is a Sight she longed for, ached for, a gift she had not been granted upon Awakening. One she would have to earn.

There is no doubt in Emily's heart that she belongs with the Chorus, only worry over how to bridge the gap between where she is now and where she ought to be standing. When the effect begins to fade, the girl gathers herself up and makes her way out of the Chantry. This time, with her head held high and without open trepidation, despite the things that go bump in the night and the feeling of watchfulness following her everywhere.