Looking for Books, Talking of God

[Janice Olivia Monroe]

Looking for Books, Talking of God
of fear and doubt, of science and supersticion, what believe you?

Brother Diarmuid O'Corrain:

One wondered, what did those who made their way through the streets of Bryante Row make of the black specter that even now moved amongst them? The cowled figure even now moved between the rain drops, sheltering now and again underneath the awnings of shops and stalls. As Brother Diarmuid sheltered now underneath the awning that sheltered the entrance to the book vendor's shop. "Ah well," He breathed, "I am sorry to have brought you out on such a cold day...." His comments were addressed to what he even now held in what sheltered his arms. Claire, the small and soggy creature of fur. The pitiful creature sniffled up at him. There was a shake of his head, as he looked at the closed bookshop. There had been a rumor that the book vendor had a copy of Liber Razielis Archangeli (1*) one of the great grimoires of the day. (D)

Julian Monroe

The lights on the humble bookkeepers home were warm and welcome as there had never been a day of rain indoors. The fire that burned in the hearth was hot enough that the door remained open, and while Julian worked upstairs. All would not be lost to the Brother should he continue on. On this day Julian kept with his casual attire of brown tweed slacks, with an ivory shirt tucked under the braces, and the sleeves rolled past his wrists. He combed his hair over one eye, a rather odd fashion for a man of the era, but this boy should have been born in the 1920s with his mind the way it worked. In the very moment he was in the attic that had been made his own working alone while his wife tended to whatever she pleased. He almost had it..just one..more..twist. The object in his hand would explode with parts as tightly wound gears suddenly burst from the pressure and Julian would toss the damn thing on the table. (d


Janice Viscreed

"Mmm.." the blue eyes turned upward from her floor level study as up in the attic becoming no less than the second tower of the man who was raised by deAquitaine, something did not go to parr. She shook her ehad, knowing it would be sound she'd become accustomed to as time went by. An open book was on the table between her hands and magnifying lenses. A pair of narrowed spectacles sat on her nose, being pushed uponce again as they fell down while she carefully sewed a chapter back down in the bound spine. Pity her endevors were so much more successful (it resulted in a cleaner study). While the open door allowed in the fresh air, it was also bringing in a sudden burst of rain. With a shawl about her shoulders she took herself to the doorframe. A gray thick as the sky above was in her clothes save for the white peek of underskirts beneath whipped to life as she peered just round the door. Whom would be out on such a day? She would have only shut the door if she hadn't seen someone down at her life's work. "Excuse me, sir, I am sorry we are closed today -- oh..OH..Brother O'Corrain? Whatever are you doing out on a day like this please, come here!" (d)

Brother Diarmuid O'Corrain

In truth, Brother Diarmuid had turned as though had been ready to leave. There was a smile down at his soggy kitten, "Come on.... I shall get us back to our rooms and you a nice bowl of warm milk...." There was a smile, a soft laugh, "Perhaps that shall be suitable penance and you'll not be cranky at me." The kitten looked at him, a rather dubious expression upon her features. Then Claire promptly sneezed at him. There was a pause, as Brother Diarmuid heard a voice. There was a smile, as he turned toward the voice. "Good afternoon, Lady Viscreed! I am sorry to have darkened your door step... I had heard that you have the Liber Razielis Archangeli?" There was a pause, as he glanced to her bookshop. "I had thought that you were closed...forgive me..." (D)

Julian Monroe

Seated at his desk, Julian had let his mind wonder through the worlds beneath his feet while his attention remained on what was the clock, but suddenly the air chilled around him as the Brother passed through the door below them and he shivered. It was the draft from the window that caused him to rise from his seat and close it right? When he moved to close the pane, he heard the man's voice at the door and stood still listening..what part of closed did he not understand? Moving to the mirror he would correct his hair before making his way down, only to stop once more...he looked so worn, but had slept most of the night.The dark circles under his eyes were enough to shadow his entire face, and the red rim of his strained whites would cause him to rub at them before he took to the stairs to join Janice. He had gotten as far as he would go on this day. Monroe would say nothing to the man, but remain in the door way with his shoulder pressed to the frame as he watched his wife..could she not turn him away? (d


Janice Viscreed

"No, the shop is closed my out of practiciality some things I do not house there. Such a book. Get out of the rain, come!" No, apparently her generosity knew no bounds for one of the household. He was all but ushered in the house with physical insistance. The woman tsked and tutted over his state, "You are sodden, you'll catch cold!" As if her habit of standing in the rain or open doors on cold days would do not the same, but she was dry for all of it, and warmed. She looked at Julian as she brought the friar in the tale in her eyes saying she could not turn down such a man, let alone one whom asked for what he asked for in the broad open. "Brother Diarmuid O'Corrain, this is Julian Monroe." A man had come down from the upper rooms to near all but bar him from the doorway, "Julian, Brother O'Corrain, he is Master Laurence's spiriual presence in the house. Julian is the apprentice of Master deAqutaine, arecent edition to Master Laurence, and my heart." It came out so easily! Too easy? Priests were born to silence in confessions. Once the door was closed she went about the house on auto-pilot, seeking out a blanket for him,a towel, two, given he came with a tiny being. "Brother O'Corrain, I am not going to describe the work other than it is a book said to be written by the Arch-Angel Raziel, That is interesting reading given it is beyond the categories of Saints, Theology, and Christian study. It is a work of Jews. You really are looking for the Liber Razielis Archangeli, won't you come sit by the fire, in the sitting room, this way. " Blue eyes looked at her husband's red rimmed ones with a spark of curiosity, the spark that knowledge lit in a woman they deemed unholy. "You should come too, Julian, you haven't eaten or had anything to drink." (d)

Brother Diarmuid O'Corrain

It was a shame that the Julian was of such a bent as to send Brother Diarmuid away, for everyone knew that those who turned away wandering holy men went to that special circle of Hell.... the one reserved for pedophiles and those who slept during Mass. Brother Diarmuid smile quietly, "My thanks to you, milady." As Brother Diarmuid spoke to the Lady Viscreed, he could not help but catch sight of Julian darkening the door way over Jancie's shoulder. Quietly, he met Janice's gaze. A soft smile and a incline of his head, for he had remembered what she had asked of him. "I met his acquaintance only fleetingly, milady." There would be a broad smile to Julian, "A blessed day to Master Monroe. How fare you?" Ah, so this was indeed the young man that she cared for. "Thank you, milady...and I thank you kindly for speaking of the book to me." There was a slight smile, "Too many are afraid of the Hounds of God to do so openly." Aside from a bit of Latin wordplay on the name of the order, the Dominicans were known for more sinister purpose: for they were the body of the Holy Roman Inquisition. Brother Diarmuid offered a half-bow to Janice, and would follow her toward the sitting area. When he received a towel, his first task was to bundle Clarie into one before sitting her upon the floor. Then he would see to drying himself, before sitting in a chair. (D)

Julian Monroe

Julian had a quiet voice, always had, but his refusal of the meal was spoken soft enough it would be hard for any other to hear, "I am not hungry." He would look to his wife, "But thank you." In this moment he was content where he was watching them move from one room to the other, until he felt a hand touch his shoulder from up the stairs to only be met with nothing when he looked back from where he came. His eyes were dry, this was all from lazy lids that did not want to water, and the strain from reading. This was all right? The talk of the Holy objects made his chest ache, until he felt as though the claws that scratched under his ribs would bleed soon. This would cause him to snap back to reality and answer the brother, "I am well. Thank you for asking."Moving to take a seat he would lean forward across from the man, letting the sparrow dangle about his neck while he looked the brother over, "So you are after a book then? Then you will be on your way?" Wasn't intended to be rude really, Julian just wasn't a social person, and frankly didn't know what was right and wrong by way of conversation--he was an awkward child. (d

Janice Viscreed

Bustled excitement brought him inside the warm roost of Viscreed-Monroe, only for it to settle in a sublime after-glow of lesson's first recitation. Enamoured with the prospect of fetching his chosen text she replied to the subtext of the last statement. "It is a secular monarchy in a sense, which gives many who are open much relief, but still it is dangerous yes. If some of the books, such as the one you asked for, were so often and so publicly sought there would be burnings of books and people with them. On the continent you would be praying for the last salvation of my soul. But, fortunatly" the morbid message fell away as she smiled a little lighter "we are not on the continent and being within the Order one must archive more than paltry histories. I will go in to my study to fetch it for you, and return with some warm cider." His disbelief swung like the sparrow on his neck, she thought. A part of him she felt still believed, which was why he was all the more terrified of the possibility of supersticion playing real. The ice-blue ribbon returned today, the original holder of the little Spanish silver sparrow. It was seen as she pulled her unbound hair over her shoulder, for she had no business to conduct or so it was thought. (d)

Brother Diarmuid O'Corrain

Brother Diarmuid shook his head quietly, "It weighs my heart that such hysteria has been fueled by such none sense as witchery and superstition...." Did that strike his hosts as odd, that a man of God should decry 'witchery' as
none sense? It seemed as though he did not hold with Pope John XXII's recent bull on the matter. And yet, he in the same breath asked for the Liber Razielis Archangeli. There had been a cant of his head, ".... Yes, that is so." There was a smile, "...would it be alright if I took a moment to warm my bones first?" Down at his feet, Clarie slowly emerged from the towel that Brother Diarmuid had wrapped her in - now clearly little more than four legged puff ball - her eyes on Julian.... or so it seemed. Clarie began her stalking game, heading toward Julian. Abruptly, she would hesitate . "Mew?" Said the kitteh. Then she pranced happily over to Julian's feet and stared up at him with such plaintive eyes. After all, the floor was cold....and Julain really didn't expect her to go all the way back to her towel, did he? (D)

Julian Monroe

"Stay as long as you like." He spoke softly, while the cat pranced about his feet he would move to run his fingers over the back of the kitty with a little smile. He had a soft spot for many things, and perhaps was a cruel man by words. However, he was in fact human after all. Did they expect him to be mean? Julian had thin long fingers that were perfect for scratching behind ears. It was strange to hear the brother talk of witchery and superstition. It would be then Julian would finally find his way into the conversation, simply unable to help it, "So you don't believe? Or you do?" It baffled him to no end, "Because without the other wouldn't your kind be out of business?" It was clear across the small scars over Julian's hands that he had been struck many times in school, but no stick could cut as deep as the scars on the underside of his wrists from a tormented past few years. (d

Janice Viscreed

The talk of the men reached amazed ears as he outwardly voiced his disproval of a new edict from the Pope. Many could share such, but who spoke it aloud when the people in his service believed the Pope to be the representation ofGod's will, the successor of St. Peter? All belivers were to some degree comfortable with any given thing that deemed them heretics in one way or another, she thought. She didn't interrupt the coversation on her return with a tray of steaming beverages and the requisite texts, yet two copies she brought instead of one. She knew how to be in the background, easily forgotten. Shades of gray girl gave each man a cup of cider before taking her own, sitting near Julian as the pair of them spoke. Julian's question would be as interesting an answer as Diarmuid's last statement (d)

Brother Diarmuid O'Corrain

Brother Diarmuid hesitated for a moment, before he smiled softly. There was little doubt that he had opened himself up for that question, and would not be cross at Julian for asking it. After a careful moment to consider, the good brother at last said, "...Would you clarify, young master, what you ask of me?" There was a smile, "Do you ask if I believe in the Lord God, Christ the Savior, all the Saints, and the angelic choirs?" There was a smile, "Or do you ask if I believe in such talk of hexing, scyring the future, and skin changing?" After a few moments, he said, "I have many years upon you, young master, and the lady as well...I have seen much in my time." Quietly, he rubbed at his chin. "During my sojourn from Rhodes to here, I had occasion to stay in one of my Order's preceptories in France. There was a young man there, much taken with the holy fervor and zeal... Prone to falling into spiritual visions and such. On a holy day, he fell in to such a trance and convulsed from hither and yon....before rising with two bloody holes in the palm of his hand. There many who believed that he had exhibited sings of Stigmata." There was a moments pause, a sigh, ".....I denounced him as a fraud. The easiest way in doing so, was to point out that he bore the wounds suffered by Christ in the wrong places." Brother Diarmuid would hold up his left hand, pointing at the palm with his right. "Any nail driven here would simply tear through the flesh and the hand would be free. To crucify someone, you would place a block of wood - here -" and he pointed at his left wrist "And drive the nail through. It supports the wrist, keeping the arms in place" Such was a doctor's view. There was an odd smile, ".....that I had seen him push nails through his hands while he thrash around on the floor did not help matters...."After a moment's thought, he said, "I am inclined to see the workings of God in the smaller miracles.... the ones noticed by only a few. I can remember, when I reached majority, being called to the aide of a young girl who had fallen in to a mill pound. When I reached her, she was clearly dead... had been, it appeared, for some minutes. And yet....and yet... as I put my hand on her chest, life came to her. She coughed up the water in lungs and could fathom why we all wept with relief." There was another moment's pause, "As for the presence.... It is without debate that there is much evil in the world. But I find it hard to credence that demons are involved when a man known to have an over fondness to drink, beats his wife and wee child to death. That speaks of a man who does not wish to accept the consequences of his own actions." There was a pause, "....And yet, I am reminded of a most horrifying event from my life. When I first took up arms in the name of God, it was not to battle the Moors... But to aide the local reeve in Clontarf. It was widely believed that some animal was on the loose, for there had been threebodies found over the course of some months heavily chewed. As we beat the bush, a huntsman soon disclosed that the tracks we followed... were of mortal make. With his aide, we found our quarry. It was a mad and feral man.... engaged in acts unspeakable." It was still burned raw in to his mind, how they had discovered the man eating the entrails of freshly killed child. "We subdued him and brought him to trail.... where he in a voice not his own, swore his undying allegiance to the Adversary, and - before the eyes of witness - showed welts that appeared when none touched him." He was quiet again, "I do not doubt he was the Devil's man.... The reeve broke him on the wheel, before executing him." He met Julian's gaze, "I do believe that there is great good and great evil in this world.... and that there are agents beyond our keen carrying out such acts... But they are more likely to be the acts of one man to aide or hinder another, than they the workings of the infernal or the divine." (D)

Julian Monroe

Julian would leave the cat for now, as the conversation pulled him in, "But that is easily explained." It was not a threat, or any form of forward--his answer simply was, "When water fills the lungs even the smallest of stimulation can trigger that reaction when the chest has pressure. Jean-Claude explained it as a pulse that the body feels. He lectures most often about it, and how the body reacts to touch. That wasn't a miracle by divine nature." Julian would laugh at the man then lightly, "You just touched the right spot." He shook his head, "The welts, that was just a sickness of the blood when its too thin even the smallest of touch can trigger horrible discoloration. If you say he was out of his mind? That too can be a sickness, a weak mind..not some possession." No, he would shake his head. Why did this subject keep coming up? His pale eyes swept to Janice who seemed far too quiet before returning back to the Brother, "Its not possible." (d


Janice Viscreed

"I feel that the Church does little to further science because it is easier to win converns, even if they are not of true heart, for fear mongering and supersticion. It is a cruel representation of God." Startling for a girl who lived an order founded of a woman who experienced the opposite of dark fear, but fear of God's radiant beauty. She sipped at her beverage before offering more of her opinion "In my studies of the last few years I have taken to reading the work of the Jews, who's God is not only terrible but beautific, brilliant, he experiences sorrow, loss, jealousy, pain, the true image of that which he created. The Rabbi's go so far as to make commentary on the Torah itself and their works are considered sacred study, and other works, like the one you sought. Why are others free to argue yet Christians do only to the point where one must be superior unto the other? There are even legends concerning demons, such as the first wife of Adam, Lilith." There was another besides eve "It is said she spurned her husband, thus was turned away from paradise and lay with demons thus spawning demon things. They too have talk of possession. Within a Christian context, I find that the spiritual is itself..I do not mean to be blasphmous brother, almost unto its own science itself. We shall not leave in an age where the two intermarry I fear. Pagan religions have also dealt with this subject, I find I hold both opinions. Some use it as a cover for mental sickness, physical things..a way to lay seige, doubt, blame and fear. It's irreprehensible. Yet, I do too believe that some are touched by the divine on each end in ways man struggles to understand and few men do.""The book you ask for now could easily see you burned..but it is another man's revelation, his thought. Here.." She passed it to him "This is a Latin translation, but I took it upon myself to bring out another should you prefer or be able to read it. It is a Hebrew translation, I completed it a year ago. I find the Hebrew gives more justice to the writing than the Latin." Both copies were passed to him for review. So it was laid out that Julian was a man of science, Diarmuid a priest with a mind for imperical deduction, and Janice in any other company a woman with too full of a head who would have been thrown on a pyre for more than being the child of Jewish heritage, but a near gnostic from her studies. (d)

Brother Diarmuid O'Corrain

Brother Diarmuid would smile quietly, canting his head, "You asked of my beliefs, Master Monroe....and I have done so. I have also told you of how I have witnessed, with mine own eyes, such events as to give credence to them...." There was a gentle shrug, "I only pray that you will consider my words fully...before you make light of them." It seemed a fair request, did it not? "As to the human body, I will ask but this: is it not a wondrous thing, which shows the love of the Lord God in it? For even if what you say is true, then it was marvelous that but a touch can bring both life....and discoloration." When the books were turned over, he would consider each before at last hand the Lady Viscreed's Hebrew version of the Liber Razielis Archangeli to her care. "I thank you, but unfortunately I cannot read Hebrew that well...." Speaking it, however, was another matter. There was a smile, "If you shall forgive me, I must excuse myself.... I see that the rain has stopped. And I would take advantage of it for my return to the Hall." And he would rise. And yet, as they had talked of empirical logic, the supernatural forces around, and the state of religion...Clarie had been far too busy occupying herself with mewing and meowing at Julian, trying to get her to pick him up. If he had relented during their talk, Clarie had played the game 'swat the dove' with Julain's necklace. Only toward the end, would she grow tired of it....and fix her attention on something beyond Julian's shoulder. (D)

Julian Monroe

His eyes grew distant as he listened and they glazed with the blankness that had been there before, as the passions died away. His drink had gone untouched, until he turned it back towards Janice. "Take this away." It was very strange for him to be so, but when his eyes met the Brother's again they were just as red as they were before with the dark circles beneath them. "I've already forgotten your words, Brother. How could I make light of them?" He spoke through a cant in his head that would cause his dry tone to sound sarcastic almost. He heard Hebrew words in his head Ain Davar K'Zeh..Ain Davar K'Zeh..It didn't exist, but what? What didn't exist? Was it scary to realize that he could think such a phrase and know what it meant? Yes. However, his eyes trained on the fire as the flames lapped at the sides until his eyes started to burn again from the lack of moisture. (d

Janice Viscreed

She accepted Julian's drink, a silent worry for him unexpressed on the air because he had hardly taken anything to eat or drink at all, and by the evening would have been awake for what equated to a full day. She stood upwards as see the Friar to the door " Thank you for visiting today, it was nice to have such a conversation. Broke up the gray in the day. Enjoy your book, Brother O'Corrain. Perhaps you will come by again when it moves you, then you can see the shop, I am sorry you had to come on such a day, if you don't hurry it may rain again. Scotland is terrible." She had taken the cup with her so that she might stop to place it in the kitchen. Along the way she would peer down at his small four legged companion. "And you too, little mistresses. You even keep a cat. They consider them to be the consorts of the devil now, because of the Plague. Fantacism is the worst disease I think in the Church." Her 'heretical' education over the years she felt brought her closer to the true nature of God though many thought their own did the same. Perhaps if more people talked they'd have no need for Crusades, stakes to burn on, beat on. Means to torment and torchure. "Now that I see this side of you, I see why the Madame favors you so. It is not everyday a man reads such books, ministers to the underdark, goes toe to toe with Peregrine or keeps a cat." (d)

Brother Diarmuid O'Corrain

There was a nod, a sad smile, "On that note, milady....I find that I agree with you. Fanaticism is the worst disease... both in the Church and of it." For he knew, first hand, how the Church could just as easily whip the faithful up against the outsider.... than guide the faithful in aiding their fellow man. There was a smile, as she commented on his cat. "Mmm. I am sure that even my superiors would not look down upon the keeping of a tabby.... for do you see the mark upon Clarie's brow?" As he scratched Clarie between her ears, he would gently indicate the 'M' pattern on her forehead. Ever the attention-seeker, Clarie simply purred happily at being scratched in her favorite spot and having the pair of two leggers fawn over her. "It is the sign of the Virgin Mary's blessing. Or so folklore would have it known.... When Christ was but a child, it is said that the Devil sent a poisonous serpent to attack Him... The plot was foiled, when the serpent was attacked and slain by a cat. The Holy Mother touched the cat upon its forehead, giving it this mark... She also caressed it, in thanks...." Brother Dairmuid indicated the three brown streaks of fur running down the conceited furball's back. Before he would depart, he would look to Julian. "Master Monroe....perhaps, one day, you might call on me? I would hear *your* beliefs..... not the beliefs of your Master." Why, when Brother Diarmuid looked at Julian, was he reminded of John 20:24 - 29? There was a smile, as he looked to the Lady Viscreed. "Thank you.... and I shall return the book as soon as I am able." Quiet simply, the good brother could not afford the cost of owning a book.... poor vow or no. (D)

Julian Monroe

The Brother's words struck him, pulling him from his thoughts. He wanted to hear his beliefs? They were simple really. He didn't believe. He didn't believe in anything, because it could not be felt, but in truth he could not feel anything at all. How was it even able to exist because only one person witnessed an event like John? The hands of thousands touched that text and tore at it. Without another word Julian moved from the chair to climb the stairs once more, to return to his work. The Brother had his work cut out for him, and perhaps he should hang onto his faith. (d

Janice Viscreed

She watched Julian ascend the stairs wondering what circled through his mind before coming to the good friar once more "Keep it, it's yours. I have another in Latin, and my translation in Hebrew. I keep books and letters and they keep me. If you will excuse me I wish to see after Julian." In their discussion of faith was it obvious to the friar other objects of faith some would find debatable? The ease at which Julian had descended the steps to begin with and the comfort in each sitting side by side in the parlor? Fingers touched the tiny sparrow, pressing it to her heart with the cross touched by her lower palm. "I will keep close the legend of the tabby, that is a beautiful story. Given the letter M." M for Mary. M for Monroe. She opened the door for the friar so he could find his way out in to the world again, leaving the pair of them to the world no one else saw (d)

Julian Monroe

Julian had not continued up the stairs very far, but would stay there where the room she called theirs. On the edge of the bed he would curl up his back facing the door, and shivered as if he were cold. The entire day had torn his insides out, and the all the talk of God had his head spinning. He was hungry but could not force himself to sleep, thirsty but could not drink, and most of all so very tired he could not sleep. It was there in his hand did he have the bottle Claramae had given him with instructions on how much he should take. If he consumed the entire bottle it would kill him, but all he could think about was turning the whole thing back. (d

Janice Viscreed

Janice shut the door in silence behind her before moving from whatever project consumed her attention before to look in on Julian. He hadn't gone back to the addict, so she turned to the bedroom only to find him shivering despite the battle against autumn wind's bested in their homes. Almost instantly she went to him without thinking, wrapping the quilt from the head of the bed around his shoulders before kneeling down in front of him. Could he read the worry in his wife's eyes like one of her open, treasured books? What do I have to do, what do you need to be alright..I can not lose you.."Sweetheart.." She whispered a she had the world love that late morning when he had asked her to go to Spain again. The bottle in his hand would be the key, wouldn't it? Claramae was skilled having kept herself alive for years in the absence of someone else with the same hands, mind, and will to do it. "You can't do this to yourself..you have been up all night, and all day." Hands rubbed at his knees (d)

Julian Monroe

It took her words for his eyes that focused out the window to even realize she was there as they set on her, did the room get colder? Thankful for the blanket as he was on his side facing the window they would not be very far from the other, "I'm tired, Janice, but I can't sleep." Out from under the blanket he would show her the bottle that Claramae gave him. "I'm just tired is all, Janice. My mind won't shut off. I'm fine." Then he truly did sound annoyed with her. "That will help." He was waiting for it to. It would turn off the voices, and the laughter. It would turn off the hungry wolves he heard dancing around in his sleep. Julian didn't believe in God, but he believed in Faith--he had faith in Claramae. (d


Janice Viscreed

"Yes, I believe so.. I do not mean to be a hinderance to you." He had not sounded short with her for a time, though arguing was an occurrence that was as often as their happiness. A healthy banter between them save when either dug too hard. She had been so shaken after Jean-Claude's visit that she hoped someone might speak with him, at least dialouge on God so if he would not believe, it would not disturb him so. She worried of it for her devotionals were daily. She rose from her knees and went to sit at the vanity in order to run a brush through her hair. "Do you wish me to go?" Maybe he would sleep if what irratated him, his zealous little Christ-scholar, was not about? She only wanted him to eat, to sleep. She wanted his sarcasm bitter coupled with his honey sweet. He just looked as if he were in a battle he wasn't winning. It broke her heart, but she had no intention of laying down her arms and leaving him abandoned. "I could let you have the room to yourself for a bit if you think it might help you rest better.." (d)

Julian Monroe

He had rolled away from her, away from the light to correct himself on the bed, but her voice didn't stop. Her concern was well put, but he simply was at his edge as he rose upon his elbow to look at her, "What part of I'm tired do you not understand, Janice.? Jesus. You would drive a saint to drink with that mouth of yours." He would settle back on the pillow, closing his eyes again to drown out the light. "Its constant. Can you turn it off for five minutes? I don't care what you do just so long as you are quiet while you do it." (d


Janice Viscreed

He received his wish. The brush paused in her hair as the face in the mirror registered a mixture of pain with that of understanding. She did talk too much and his annoyance was easy to stir. Yes, that was it. All of the other things they had gone on about why should that dig more when he had dug harder in Spain? Perhaps it was because he was always seeking her out, always wanting her near him that now after their blissful weeks of it she had forgotten even she could be an irratant. She said nothing more, merely brushing her hair in a silence so instant, so startling that it was uncharacteristic. In that same silence she rose only to undo all the aimless work of brushing by going out on to the balcony. Was god annoyed too? The sky was bunching again, thickening in gray to match the color of her dress. As she admonished herself not to take it so serverely she would not even cry aloud, or shed tears.One part of her constant stubbornness was indignant, but the rest of it..only wished to please him (d)

Julian Monroe

In the moment he hadn't realized he was being so cruel, but the second he did he would rise from the bed taking the quilt with him. Sleep would not come when he felt the other half of his heart breaking outside the doors. Careful not to let the fabric drag he would wrap the quilt around his shoulders so that it would open in the front to take her into them. Her cool skin against his burning flesh was soothing, but nothing like how soft her skin felt. "I'm sorry," He whispered with closed eyes against her ear, "I shouldn't have said that, I'm just tired, love." He kissed her neck as he pulled her back against him. (d

Janice Viscreed

She was pricked, but hadn't considered him without cause. It was merely a shock like cold water poured over one who sat unsuspecting in a chair. She hadn't expected to hear the doors open to the balcony and wouldn't have had his voice not reached her. Why was he so quick to apologize? I'm done hurting you.. he'd told her. She shut her eyes, letting the sound of his voice be a shield all around her, his kiss to her neck always seemed to seal all agreeancesor ideas. She wrapped is arms around her, quilt and all. Such perfect love expressed in silence, one that told him he was forgiven. When she finally did say something she whispered, "I know. I love you." She turned around in his arms to look up at his eyes, those tired, painful looking orbs where sight was held. Standing on her tiptoes she kissed his forehead. No cat unto a serpent slaying, but a small woman with angel's wings leaving an unseen mark of 'JM' to mark her place on him in one kiss. (d)

(1*) Liber Razielis Archangeli

[Janice Olivia Monroe]

Night
Janice watches Julian Sleep

The late afternoon slid down with the rest of the sun to meet the end of the day as Julian held her in his arms on the little balcony overlooking the capital. His words of earlier were a barb that probed deep for her to realize that it was good to rediscover the power of the shared silence, as well as her own. "Come here," she whispered, leading him back to the bed. She helped him to lay down, and covered him with the quilt. He couldn't take the Masters medicines lest he fall asleep where he stood and the comical test to follow would be if she were strong enough to carry, if not drag, her husband back to bed. The quilt was smoothed out so there was nary a wrinkle. He had not one pillows, but two stuffed with goose down. Still in her day clothes she would merely sit on the edge of the bed at first with fingers curling through his hair until the world became meaningless to him save that which was in the black of his eyelids. St. Laurence's mixture was one of a lower grade by comparison, but no less powerful. The effect would be to quiet the mind to sleep while allowing reaction to the outside world enough to register distress or a feeling of importance. Janice recognized the little bottle and remembered when after the first near fatal attempt on her life it was the last medication in sequence the master had given her to return her to self oriented sleep. For this Janice was glad, lest he become reliant too early on powerful tools that even now hobbled the masters in their absence.

As the evening when on she would leave him only to partake of a pear for supper with a little bread, change from her dress to her chemise, and braid her hair for the night. He hadn't said a word thus far nor looked in distress. She always knew. It appeared in the form of his hand clenching, the tension of his body, or the feel of even sweat against her chest from his head for she had seen him when he slept or merely felt his distress in her own rest. The sun's absence now made it so that here at where she would only seek to find sleep, he was hours ahead of her. "Good night," she breathed in to the shell of his ear before putting her arm around his middle. The opposite came where he could sleep but her own was fickle. Why? She watched over him; every shift, every breath that came was watched as a sentinel stands before the citadel. Would anything come to plague him? Was she enough to keep it away? She prayed so, and regardless of if the sleep he had was perfection she still watched over him. Her worry was so that she gave of her night so he could have one. Janice had often kept late hours, but she always slept. If she went to bed at a nominal time she rose with the common people. If late, not too much later. Tonight would be different though as her eyes couldn't shut until the first ray's of sun began to streak across the last vestige of purple night to the pink of morning.

If he woke before her he would find his wife breathing far heavier for the time of morning than she ever had. Lately they'd even gone to bed together, so she was better rested for having him beside her. Gold hair was splayed out on her pillow, some of his, and across her face as if she had been taken down by gravity in the night. One arm was around him, the other hand gently having run through his hair was loosely holding it at her fingertips. It was as if she had almost formed a shelter around him. The beginnings of circles depressed at eye bottoms a touch of gray, because before she'd stayed up all the night she had given her eyes to the letters all of the previous day. All of the night she gave to him.

The one oddity of an otherwise flawless posture would be as her face turned from the left eye to the temple it appeared as though the scar there had been rubbed near raw, in fact it had bled in the night closest to her eye, mingling with a tear she didn't even know she'd shed. She had worried it often while watching him as the eyes yearned to be shut as if a way to keep her awake. It was a scar she had said was recieved in the complete shock of the Austrian's leaving, having passed out and hit her face on the steps. It had taken a great deal of emphasis to bring truth to the fact he had never touched her. She always tucked hair behind that ear first, so it was ironic that of all things fate ordained to chip away at that side. It opened as if a fresh thing all together, done in her anxiousness for him. What a year it had been for each of them! What a year it had been for one woman who went from woman to maid and back again almost, and took him from innocent courtier to man. Of these states it was the second that was the most cherished. The innocent courtier took the remnants of a woman someone else had left obscured and shaped it, pushed at it, until it sprung to life and pushed back at him. Now it was twisted together, irrevokable. A thing one master feared and another one blessed. A state of being they would have no other way.

The chill in the morning light caught hold of the little bird on ice blue ribbon around her throat. She turned again, only to resume the same posture, sensing even a mild distance to fix. She shivered a little, winced, and was calm again. Had she caught a chill, an ache, from having stood out in the rain?

[brotherdiarmuid]

Empirical Devotion

If we did not have rational souls, we would not be able to believe. - St. Augustine of Hippo

Brother Diarmuid bent low to the ground and said, "I hope that you find this penance suitable....." And could not help but smile, as he lay a pewter saucer on the floor of his cell. Clarie, ever forgiving, slowly crept toward the saucer and looked in to its depths. Only after sampling its contents and conforming that it, indeed, was filled with warm milk would she look up at Brother Diarmuid and mew at him.

Brother Diarmuid stayed crouched for a few moments, gently caressing Clarie's back. Then he would rise and take his seat before his desk, glad to have returned to his quarters without becoming twice sodden on the journey back to Laurence Hall. With all the reverence of one opening a reliquary, Brother Diarmuid began to study the Liber Razielis Archangeli.

Some hours later, with a resigned sigh, Brother Diarmuid would rub at his eyes. And close the book. He was having trouble following along in the book and finding it difficult to make sense of the book's diagrams. As he placed his head in his hands, he could not help but wonder. What had possessed him to go straight away to the Lady Viscreed's bookshop, when he had heard that she had it?

As he rose, Clarie could not help but look at him. Perhaps she had expected further penance? Brother Diarmuid could only smile, reaching down to run a hand gently along Clarie's back. His fingers effortlessly seemed to trace down the length of the thin, silver markings that were said to be a sign of the Virgin Mother's blessing.

But even then, he was lost in his thoughts. It had been the time spent with young Master Monroe and the Lady Viscreed that had brought a fog over his mind. For they had spoke freely about topics such as science and superstition. But what truly clouded his mind, was the doubts that young Master Monroe had expressed about the workings of the infernal and divine that Brother Diarmuid had witnessed. For whatever young Master Monroe had thought, Brother Diarmuid had been there.

There was a shudder that ran through his form. For the thoughts that clouded his mind, were on events that even now horrified him. For not even war and pandemic could dull the lasting memory of the demoniac. Let Julain refute that the feral man had been possessed...

For Brother Diarmuid had been there, as the reeve's men had stripped in preparation for his questioning. With his own eyes, Brother Diarmuid had seen the welts - welts that formed blasphemous words - rise on the man's back the moment the air was upon it. As the reeve's men had put the demoniac to the strappado (1*) , it had been Brother Diarmuid who had heard the man's infernal voice call out allegiance to the great Adversary. Brother Diarmuid had been there to witness it all -- even unto the demoniac's execution. Young Julain had witnessed none of it.

Brother Diarmuid went to kneel before his private alter, bowing his head toward the Cross. "Lord, I do not understand. Why now do I recall these visions, when they of a scene that has long passed? What knowledge do you guide me to, Lord, in the Liber Razielis?" After a few moments, Brother Diarmuid would say, "I do not understand, oh Lord. I pray for guidance."

The only guidance that Brother Diarmuid received, was to be bathed in the flickering light of the alter candles placed on either side of the humble Cross.

(1*) Strappado

[Janice Olivia Monroe]

Going Home & Forgetting the Way
'Will I forget you too?'
'No, I will remember and give it back to you twice.'

Julian Monroe

The day had come with the warmth of the sun on his back, and his wife against his chest. There was a heartfelt sigh of content happiness when her scent surrounded him, and the feel of her skin against his own. All of the world could have been defined then only by the gentle touch of her pious hands, and the way she held him tightly. She clung to him her arms about him as if she feared for him, protected him from what?

His hand moved to touch her face cupping her cheek while his thumb brushed away the stain of the tear the blood still raw against her skin, "I don't deserve you." He whispered against the shell of her ear while she slept and he kissed her temple the heat of her skin intoxicating, "but I love you..I'm thankful for you." His fingers curled around her own and kissed her knuckles as he started to wipe away the blood from her scar.

The day was alive and Julian felt himself returned to the state of being, and he would great this day without his wife if only to let her rest. It was her turn to be wrapped in the quilt, to be pampered, and cherished as everything about him seemed to level on a surface that justified his heart.

The morning passed quickly or so it seemed as Julian cleaned for his wife, and he only started to worry when the day turned to noon--she wasn't awake. In the course of the morning he had ordered her lunch, but packed it away in fabric to tuck in the basket. It would be then when the dishes were done, and the fire turned he would make his way back up the stairs to stand beside the bed. His hand took hers, and his fingers Laced with her own as he bent to break the sleeping spell with true love's kiss, "Janice," he whispered against her ear, and knelt beside the bed, "Angel, the sun is shinning." Her Prayers had been answered with the pale light in his eyes clear now from the strain, and his face rested.

"Come get dressed and enjoy this day with me." still he held her hand, smiling level with her face from his place on the floor, "I have a cart ready waiting to sweep you to see the changing leaves. Come. We may not have days like this for a ling while." Birds were singing, the sun was shinning, and her husband was smiling. Was she dreaming?


Janice Viscreed

She never lay in ignorance of the sun but today she succumbed to sleep at daybreak. Finally it was beginning to get peaceful enough to slip in to a deep sleep as he was rising. If it were any other day, she would have rued the moment he woke up before she could lay breakfast on the table for him, open the shutters, and kiss him before he even realized she'd moved. a day of opposites God designed that difference was the order of the occasion. "Love." She mumbled in her sleep as if knowing he was there but being unable to do anything but state the obvious. The poor scar would need attention, but it could wait until rest had repaired what the night unraveled. By the time he came again to tell her the sun was at the higest point in the sky her eyes opened to the sound of his voice. This was different -- "Sweetheart..how are you..it's what time?" Her eyes opened wide but they blinked in adorable battle of adjusting to the light, face flushing in embarrasment she'd slept so long only to hear the rest of what he said before she blushed the part of a girl being courted. In a way it was, no? Making up for lost time? "Julian, you did? Really..oh my goodness, that is so sweet.. I'll hurry and get dressed! Oh my hair must look a fright." She giggled. He looked so rested, so happy. So alive. (d)

Julian Monroe

He smiled brightly at her, looking the part of a farmer in the moment with clothes willing to be ruined. He seemed very much the part of humble servant despite the manner in which they lived. His hair was combed over one eye, and his sleeves rolled back in typical Julian fashion. However, today would be the day he would free himself from any of bond and chain of the Order--to find his roots again. Julian's hands came then to collect her face between his palms and he smiled at her, "You are beautiful, but hurry. We can eat on the way." (d


Janice Viscreed

"I slept past seven o'clock, oh goodness! The house..oh it must be a just...oh dear!" Said the flustered wife as she rolled out of bed to meet the day. Noon. When was the last time she rose at noon? Sunlight teased at her forget the time, come play, come play! Resplendid yellow coaxed her to let go of the decorum with a gentle shrug as she went to the jug of water, poured some in the bowl, and refreshed her face and hands. Her nightgown would be replaced with a earth colored dress holding up a high waist, and an over-coat instead of one of the many cloaks waiting to be plucked. The gray, warm wool wonder worked wonders to give her the appearance of one who could laze about all day beneath the trees with naught but a swallow for company. The swallow would have to wait though for the sparrow was always closest to her heart. In due time she put on sturdy soled brown slippers, fastned their straps, and put her hair inside of a braid for once with a ribbon on its end, instead of the high bun."You.." She said to him, ceasing with a warm smile. She couldn't find the words. He just looked - just sounded - just was..so warm (d)

Julian Monroe

It was good to be so rested, as even the dark circles from his eyes were gone. Even the sunlight on his pale flesh did him justice, it warmed what Spain had started and brightened his appearance. Out by the cart he waited for her, the single grey mare a once careful work horse that had moved past her prime. She was cautious and in this Julian liked her dearly, and often thought of purchasing her simply for the ease of putting her to pasture. The stable to the Order was full of perfect stallions, and carts spun with silver. However, this day was about reconnecting as in his sleep last night he dreamed of a life they had perhaps meant to have should the Order never existed. The neighbors would stare as they cleaned the mud from their steps, as he kissed her in public, as he tasted her lips, and her smile all at the same time. They watched as he laughed with her, as he helped her on the cart, and as they pulled away. The basket was there beneath them with some of Ada's preserves, and bread from the bakers. Really. He would have to sleep more often. (d

Janice Viscreed

She spent the night in guardianship over his sleeping form and came to life again in a world that was nothing like the one left before. God had come down to answer prayer in manifest action. When she'd come downstairs to see the house lovingly cared for, she felt him here in every wall, in every inch of the floor. It was their home without question. She came to him with the greatest smile he had ever seen, uncontained triumph that was no defense for a heart in pieces. What would life be like if intrigue weren't kicking at the heels or the world needed nothing but them to live plainly? In her pocket she took a gift that was waiting for his hands but first it was his turn togift her. Soon they were on their way, her arms wrapped about one of his as she leaned in to him, watching him drive the cart away from this corner of the world toward another (d)

Julian Monroe

The road turned from the city and opened to the woods where the trees seemed to hang on to the green due to the rain, but slowly one by one they started to turn in waves of amber. The birds would sing in chorus in praise of the pair, but it was the open road that called to him the most. "I'm.." Julian, could hardly contain the words, having this vision of what was to come at ease, "I'm going to take you home." He opened the basket for her, and would enjoy watching her smile. "To my uncle the Chieftain, to see the farm where I was raised." This was a huge step for him, if only she could know how his heart felt. "I.." Something else remained there, but in typical Julian fashion he couldn't find the right words, he simply pulled the certificate from his pocket. The signatures were there. "I'm going to show you, your namesake now." His name that was not her own. (d

Janice Viscreed

The world of stone was behind them in every trot of the horses steady pace. Her back went straight as two hands spread out over the bench. Eyes closed, she inhaled the rich scents of turned earth. People were gathering up what was grown. The wet scent of leaves was what the color of gold and scarlet smelled like. The littlest pleaures were often the best; did he know that no one had ever taken her on a pleasure ride? Did he know how blissfully backward his bride had lived? "You..really?" When reality pulled her from the little bird song day dream it was sweeter still. Peering down inside the whicker work she listened to him speak of his uncle, his clan. Of a farm that held him as a boy before deAquitaine had placed any impression on him. "Julian I am so honored, I can no wait to see what is you..know it, see your family." It was significant, one not lost to a mind that understood Virgil yet better the human. Just as she was going to take the bread out to smell it there it was, from his pocket came something more venerated than food. It fed her heart! "No one has ever...done anything like this.." She she saw the words writ there with ink and felt her heart bursting at its seams. "Such a glorious day!" She reached up to the sky as if to touch the clouds, laughing before her hands came to her lap again. Mouth melded against his cheek in a kiss (d)

Julian Monroe


The highland countryside was one of the finest and as they road the wagon's wheels turned through the mud, and one would think it impossible to walk. Julian did it everyday as a child, burning through what little meal he was given in a matter of hours when the walk would take all day, "When my father died in the war, it was up to me to take what we grew to town and try and turn profit." He spoke to her with a more humble expression, moving the basket to the floor so that he could slide beside her. "We couldn't afford a horse after ours died." Out in the fields men cut down the tall barley with the end of the season, and would turn to wave to the cart as it moved through, "So we used to sew it all by hand." Rolling his hands over the there where he held the hoe was callused and pink where the rest of his hands were so pale. "I used to know what time it was by the sun, and would walk back in the dark." It was strange to see him smile about it, but he recalled it fondly now knowing he would never have to go back. (d

Janice Viscreed


"So much land.." She remarked as she leaned in to him, turning her head one way or the other to see the men with their machetes and scythes out to the task of bringing down the golden grasses. She listened more than spoke, wanting to take in everything he told her. He told time by the light of the sun. She had always been raised to tell it by the Holy Offices of Prayer. There was a Julian who was close to the earth as only a farmer could be. She imagined him only a few years agone before with his cuffs rolled, homespun clothes and hands full of seeds. To open up the book of his life was something no one but him could translate so she became the pupil he imparted the lessons to. (d)


Julian Monroe

"I'll never forget the last time I walked this road." He looked to her then as the dirt path was coming to a fork in the road in the distance, "I met Jean-Claude on the street, he broke up a fight. He invited me in. I didn't want to go, but he told me if I didn't I would die. So I followed. We spent the entire night talking about everything. I fell asleep with my head on his lap, and didn't even realize I had. I woke up in the bed upstairs, but when I went downstairs Jean-Claude was gone. I didn't even need to ask where he was when he walked through the door, and told me I didn't have to ever go back." This was the part he struggled with the most, "Its been years since I've been here, but I could walk this path with my eyes closed." The clouds covered the sun in a moment as ahead of them the fork in the road was apparent, they would have to turn one way or the other. (d

Julian Monroe

"I'll never forget the last time I walked this road." He looked to her then as the dirt path was coming to a fork in the road in the distance, "I met Jean-Claude on the street, he broke up a fight. He invited me in. I didn't want to go, but he told me if I didn't I would die. So I followed. We spent the entire night talking about everything. I fell asleep with my head on his lap, and didn't even realize I had. I woke up in the bed upstairs, but when I went downstairs Jean-Claude was gone. I didn't even need to ask where he was when he walked through the door, and told me I didn't have to ever go back."This was the part he struggled with the most, "Its been years since I've been here, but I could walk this path with my eyes closed." The clouds covered the sun in a moment as ahead of them the fork in the road was apparent, they would have to turn one way or the other. (d


Janice Viscreed

She didn't say anything still as he drove the cart up to the fork in the road like the split in destiny where he could have stayed a poor boy but went on to become one in a marvelous strange world. Now he was retracing the ghosts ofhis steps with a wife he took in the new life, showing her his origins. Ungloved hand would come to brush over his knee for strength as he shared a life with her. When the sun opened again it showed the two paths as they had been from his descriptions and still were. "It is you and you are it. Your roots, your heritage. Time can not forget that nor can your body. On the day he found you he says he found a son. (d)

Julian Monroe

"He saved my life," Like you. His hand came to touch her own as the fork came, but instead of turning Julian looked down both and pulled the horse to a stop. The sun covered once again and the cold wind pushed his hair from his face as the look of confusion was quick to cross him. Down each road he searched clinging to anything that seemed familiar but finding nothing. His mind was blank, the memory not there of which way to take, and it would be ridiculous to ease into the idea of it perhaps has just been too long. "Janice.." He was worried, and it was clear as he looked then to her with that lost look in his eyes again. He wouldn't continue his heart felt funny, that clawing sensation returning, and swallowed the memory. He would hand her the reigns before moving down to the ground frustrated clearly. (d

Janice Viscreed

"He did. My own life.." the statement left unfinished as she'd considered how little of it made sense until the very thing where it shouldn't. Now in the country she wondered what it would be like to have a place such as the two story cottage from the city here in the country by waving fields of grain. All that was good began subside as he passed her the reigns, his memory failing him. "Are you alright?" She asked him immediately. He was dealing with so much, trying so hard to be one thing when his body was shaking him to a darker purpose. If she could tear whatever was inside him out with her bear hands she would. She'd piece him back together, breathe life in to him. Pray night and day if that is what it took. Keeping hold if the reigns, clicking softly to the creature to keep it still she scooted to the edge of the cart keeping silence. Watching, waiting. The day was so beautiful, and it hurt her to see it marred. It hurt her to see him this way - and part of her didn't want to be hurt again either (d)


Julian Monroe

"I don't remember the way." He turned to her horrified after he opened his eyes having closed them with the moment he realized he could not remember. Turning back then to the path they had come he tried to remember there, but the memory was not there. His hand came to his forehead to hide his shame, and confusion. "What is wrong with me?" He asked her then and right before her eyes he was stolen again, his eyes watered, but he shook away the feeling, "Its the medicine isn't it?" That had to be it. "Do you think that the potion?" His hands were shaking then, "I walked this every day of my life and..It..its gone." This was a very scary feeling, and he seemed pathetic as he admitted it. (d


Janice Viscreed

"I think you have been under so much strain for so many months that you put high expectations on yourself..." She climbed down from the wagon, going to him and taking him in her arms. Sometimes, stillness helped. Sometimes, the feel of another heart or the rationality of another mind could help. What she had learned the other day was the power of silence. Capturing his hands, she kissed them. Putting one to her heart and the other around her body she whispered "Shh. Don't think Julian. Just be. This is you and you are it. It will come. Just be." She thought of a place at the center of the all things filled with a white light. Why did she do that? Gently she lifted her hand to touch his hair still saying nothing. Words were so lost, so easily lost. Her face came to his, mouth touched to mouth as she simply breathed (d)

Julian Monroe

She was right, and in her kiss he closed is eyes again. "We'll eat here. Picnic here. It will come to me." She was right, she had always been right. "See..look, its beautiful." He seemed crazed in the admittance, not wanting to let go of her. "I'll tie the horse." He would, moving pull the cart from the road and undo the horse. "I know these farmers here. They won't mind if we borrow a patch." With that he brought the quilt, and spread it out over the field. Julian would then start setting out the lunch he had prepared for her, but everything about him spoke of how the food was the last thing on his mind. (d


Janice Viscreed

They would find the way. Farmers would inevitably tell them in talk or action. Simply one could ask. If they sat upon the landscape he would feel his way back to all he tried to forget, wouldn't he? She believed it. Was that enough? Once the cart was settled and the quilt spread out she sat herself down, tucking her skirts up under her. "It is beautiful here. There are sounds you can not hear in the city that you can only hear here. The birds. The wind. Trees. I'd forgotten what it was like to hear so many trees." She was a village girl herself wasn't she? The bustle of people still was minimal in small hamlets, and quieted by the presence of the known untouched world. Farmed earth was still akin to virgin earth. When all was prepared she was happy to hold out her hand to him, to bring him closer. She didn't say well find it because she knew that they would ,or she would find it for him. (d)

Julian Monroe

She could watch him crack under the sky, an instant darkness filled him again as his eyes sank in, and he pulled his knees to his chest looking rather small in comparison to the open field and open sky. She was speaking, but he didn't hear her. He was worried, and sick. His fingers went through his hair to fight the feeling of defeat, he was not sick..this was side of the world he couldn't capture. His eyes were distant as he kept his hands busy with the continued brushing his fingers through his hair. He couldn't remember his mother. When he did look to her again, his eyes were red from the unshed tears. Help me. "Will I forget you too?" (d


Janice Viscreed

The day was like the basket could be; upset all over the blanket with the contents a'rolling around lost in a jumble. It sat upright, so did he, but no one reached inside to enjoy the contents he had worked so hard to prepare in the perfect morning he had arisen. Hope, hope was what he' dknown only for it to be stricken when cold clouds rolled in again. Shaking her ehad she promised him no coming closer as she knelt infront of him. I am going to save you, no matter what it takes. "No. Whatever you forget, I will remember, and give it back to you, until the day you recall it in such brilliance it will astound you. I will find your way home. I will hold every aspect of you, that you have told me, that you find, that we find together, right here in me, and return it twice as much to you." A war with the mind would be easier but this was a war with a countenance struggling to have its name recognized. She reached in to her pocket, taking out the small box to reveal the tiniest teller of time. "Here." She put it in his handopening the little glass door to show him where the hour and minute hand were housed, the places for him to add time by the moon, the stars, the month. She told him all of this in softest tones. She showed him behind the face where his skilled hands waited for the insertions. Another opening? It revealed to him her portrait beside his own, and the french inscription. Time, like love, never ceases. Beside her portrait and his were the small letters of JM His name, her name. The name on the paper in the basket. "You keep this with you, and remember. Whatever you do, wherever you go, I will follow you..and keep you always." (d)

[Janice Olivia Monroe]

Hunting Out the Empirical, Devotional Mind

For a few precious hours, Janice had a Julian that had lived only in Lerida when the banners of orange-red draped down from the buildings that seemed to be made of stone and clay. The sun was bright. He woke her as if he were waking a woman from a fairy-story. Tender hands cupped her face to speak of her beauty, he had done gestures that only a young man in love with his sweetheart would do. They had laughed, he kissed her before any in play view. It wasn't nightfall! It was pure, blinding afternoon when he put her on the cart. He told her of his life, showed her the paper that granted her a part of his history.

Then he was at a cross-roads in more than body but in mind. Struggling with sickness he lost the battle, succumbing to worry. He had done so well! He was going forward, going on, moving on with his life when the darkness dragged him down to where he could not so much as remember the land where his name derived from. Food went uneaten as she tried to nourish is failing spirit. He would hold her gift to him, a pocket watch, while she held him. She would always hold him. The wind gestured at them with teasing tones: Come again didn't it, such a pretty day. Now ruined. Come again didn't it, thought it would be different little fools.

She wanted to go back to Spain.

***

Once within the city again with everything settled Janice went to the hall. It was a plain-jane affair. Plain-jane Janice in clothes of eased living looking as though she belonged more at a spinning wheel the the archives of any great household. She was seeking a person even more plain than she: Brother Diarmuid. A part of her wanted to seek Claramae, but she was doing for Julian what she could and it was a matter of God. She was wedged enough twixt her chosen student and her brother, his master. She wished Jean-Claude but he would only rant at her that this is why they should never be in the first place, and she was a fool for thinking otherwise. None of the others liked him, save the Voltaires. What could they do? No, it was a matter of mind over Godhead. Of medicine over the intangible. Somewhere between these things lay the answer.

She eased herself in through the stables instead of the front door, choosing a nondescript path for the voyage inside. Not a word was paid to any. It was as if she saved every single world for the moment she found hidden ways turn to plain ways, plain ways to his chamber door. Gentle hands wrapped harder than usual on the outside as she waited:

"I need to make Confession, and afterwards Brother, please help me."

[Janice Olivia Monroe]

"Seek not to understand that you may believe, but believe that you may understand." - Saint Augustine of Hippo


Brother Diarmuid

If there was but a thread to the day, let it be glorious sunlight. For while the Lady Viscreed and her man had gone out into the fields to celebrate life, Brother Diarmuid had been called to attend to his flock and duties about Laurence Hall. However, that was not to say that he did not enjoy the glories of the light. For the light of sun filtered through the great stained glass windows of the Hall's chapel, pattering those who gathered in it with glorious colors. Once the prayer service had been concluded, Brother Diarmuid had lingered but a few moments. Studying the stained glass windows that depicted the life of Saint Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland, before he had withdrawn to his quarters. When the sun had moved on its course through the sky, Brother Diarmuid had found himself once again lured to take up a book that sat on his desk. It was a work much beloved by Brother Diarmuid, second only to the Bible. The book was The Enchiridion by Saint Augustine - a handbook on Faith, Hope, and Love. Much kinder reading, than the Liber Razeili Archanglei. As he had been reading it, Clarie had sought his attention by climbing into her lap. A perch only given up, reluctantly, when he rose to answer the door. There was a smile, "Lady Viscreed, blessed day to you.... Yes, of course. Please come in." Remembering the teachings of Saint Augustine, Brother Diarmuid rang for a servant. Quietly, he asked, "A bottle of vin du Pape, please?" Then he would go usher Lady Viscreed to a chair. (D)

Lady Janice Viscreed

"Thank you," she curtsied in quick concordance with respect. It had a forced grace. Held together by erratic energy and doubt, she could have spilled herself on his floor. Two feet moved in teetering step to the offered chair upp hardly containing the upper body that managed to lend down. Straight back, head erect. It was a picture of decorum. You cling to straws though, when the world is falling to pieces. She would wait for him to speak to her again, looking at one of the unadorned walls in his room, out in to the nothing (d)

Brother Diarmuid

If she had been apt to trouble Brother Diarmuid's mind, she had certainly accomplished. As she took her teetering steps to the offered chair, she would find that the good friar was her very shadow. One hand quietly outstretched behind her, for he worried that she'd fall. Before he was given a chance to speak to her, the servant had returned with a bottle of Avignon wine and two glasses. Brother Diarmuid would give his thanks to the servant, before pouring the Lady Viscreed a glass. As he did so, he felt his eyes drawn to his unadorned alls. What did she see out there, in the nothing? There was a smile, as he went to her and offered the glass of wine, "As Saint Thomas Aquinas teaches, much sorrow can be relieved by a good wine." Along some sleep and a warm. Although he smiled, it would do ill to hide the concern he felt growing. "What is it that troubles you, child? What is it that you have come to confess? And in whatever matter you need my help, you already have it." (D)

Lady Janice Viscreed

She had been up all night before, could he tell? Small remnants of gray rings had softened by a sleep come from Dawn till noon. Noon. God's day was her herald and half of it devoured up by time before Janice could greet it. Then a few hours sweetness gone down to gray. She simply didn't know what to do. That was all. She needed to be steadied, then she could scold herself for feeling lose in the seams. Once upon a time she would have demurred the wine, but the fruit of the vine, god blessed by Diarmuid's hand was a good offer. Half smile lifted one end of the face as blue eyes tinged with green swam with too much depth, too much pain. "It is the fruit of the vine, and God's chosen drink." Accepting the glass with two hands she nodded her things, smelling the beverage, ingesting it with a soft sigh. "I am going to make my confession first, over wine. I know I am not on my knees. you'll forgive me that?" One hand went to the sparrow at her heart, batting the little bird around. It's shake was that of her heart about to beat outside of her body. "Julian is my husband." Said only to him with the shut doors, bare walls, a cat and Jesus on the wall. "We were married in Spain, but it is not binding here for the papers have not yet been given to the church. It was supposed to be for the sake of our cover, only..our work's completion but as we fought we talked of our feelings, our honest feelings. We quarrel like cats and dogs, we have for years." Her claws had come out on his face once when he pushed her so far over the edge she could have torn down the moon. But they always made it better, brighter, hanging permanence in the sky when everything else was made of paper. "We went out today, he kissed me in the square..put me in a cart, to take me to see his family. We came to the crossroads and he couldn't' remember the way home. He was better before that, he slept. The Madame is delving in for him..she is..reading so many books, looking to so many causes..I..I think she would move him to the spiritual..if she could..but first she is working upon the mind, little at a time.." another sip of wine, "He forgot his way home. I am scared, Brother. Terribly so. I've endeavored I will start remembering his history lest he forget it, but ever since we've come home he is progressively getting worse. He's always been different...but this..this Julian is different. What is becoming of him is different. That is my confession, I am terrified for my husband. I have a husband. I need your help, he needs it even if he can not ask it yet. I Just.." The hands opened up, she didn't drink wine for several pauses as she just shook her head. "Please say nothing to the masters. Knowing of our mutual affection for one another Claramae blesses us and Jean-Claude fears for my life and thinks him damned. I can not..will not see that. I can't leave him..to this." (d)

Brother Diarmuid

As Brother Diarmuid ghosted along side the Lady Viscreed, every know and again he would hesitate and his hand gently take her elbow. To steady her in the physical, if not the spiritual, sense. It was fair to say that he had already guessed some of her confession, before she had said it. For it had been plain upon their first meetings that she deeply cared for the young master. There had even been a touch of a smile upon is features, as he had prepared a jest. But as the Lady Viscreed had gone on in her confession, the good brother's face settled into a line of concern. It reminded him of older years, when he had been called upon to give consul and confession to the family members of those who were either gravely ill -- at the very cusp of death. When at last he first would speak, it was with a soft smile and quiet reassurance, "You know, as I do, that what is said by way of confession is bound only between the penitent and her confessor....and so it shall be in this matter. I keep my word to you, that I shall speak to no one - save yourself and young master Monroe - on this matter." For a moment, he looked thoughtful. So Madame St. Laurence would turn the young man toward the spiritual... He could not help but wonder: did she look there for a cure? Or a cause? He would lean forward, "Know that as I have said, I shall give my aide to both you and Master Monroe in this matter....But to do so, I must inquire ...in what ways has Master Monroe 'been different'? And how has he gotten worse?" It was a question asked to give him a fuller understanding of the situation. Brother Diarmuid offered a comforting smile, "And no matter your fears or worries, I say that you have done the right thing in coming to me...." And rightly said! Far too many of his Church brethren would be apt to pronounce demonic possession then and there... while many a quack would hit upon the idea of drilling a hole in Julian's brain to let the madness out. Brother Diarmuid,
however, was a man of God and medicine. He would understand first, before he acted. (D)


Lady Janice Viscreed

Had she done the right thing? Critical, sarcastic voice smacked around inside her ear canal. How could she, his athiesm, oh he would have all matter of words but it had little do do with his beliefs. It had to do with the fact that in Diarmuid she saw a wise path to tread. A light to follow. In this she had neither path nor light so why not use his? After speaking with him she might even come to the conclusion it would not be hard to speak with Claramae on the matter. Diarmuid had the full truth though, a truth that had made watching Julian fluxuate in the days since their marriage hard. It was so young! She put the wine aside. "His memory on things he should recall, such as where to find his birth-home, even his family seem..faulty. He goes through periods of days without eating and hardly drinking anything. Only recently with the help of the Master is he sleeping. It helped him so much..that sleep." She smiled a sweet-sad sort of smile before letting it go."He feels feverish to me at times, yet at others seems to have gone cold. He has always been of a stern mood with grating things to say." Like a girl too long having put up with a boy's jests. Oddly it formed most of their courtship. Lovely no? "His moods are more sporatic even when we are alone. He has not been harsh when it is us, but he snaps, easier. His analytical mind seems intact though, god knows that is." Legs crossed up under her. "I don't know what would happen if the equations couldn't hold. Or his ability to disassemble and reassemble things." (d)

Brother Diarmuid

As she spoke, what would she make of Brother Diarmuid's eyes? In them, she could see the very wheels of his rational brain at work. Again and again, he would consult what she told him with the diseases - of both body and mind - that he had encountered in his life. Was it influenza? Or an injury to the brain? Or, he admitted, it could be something different entirely. Without speaking to Master Monroe himself, Brother Diarmuid could not be sure. "Hmm." After a few moment's pause, he would ask, "When Master Monroe at last partakes of food...is he able to keep it down?" Brother Diarmuid was quiet, before saying, "And when he sleeps...how long? And can you name the concoction he drinks?" (D)

Lady Janice Viscreed

She watched him think, keen to the actions of it after living with the world's best thinkers. He was pensive. Everyone else became pensive too. He seemed thorough. This was reassuring. On the next question he asked her she nodded, "I have never seen him lose what he has eaten no, when he chooses to eat he eats well it's like he has..lost the taste for things if that makes any sense. When he does sleep hours. The last carried him from the late afternoon of one day to the dawn of the next." Where she'd slept from dawn till noon, having watched him all night. "I believe what he is taking is something I remember, when the Madame treated me for a poison and still required a great deal of rest." She named the associated herbs around a chamomile base, "It is the way it is so it that it does not form a reliability. He does not use it every night that I have seen so far. He is getting red eyes again, they are extremely dry. He is up working on things. When he is in bed with me his eyes are closed but the sleep is never deep or truly restful. I feel as if I know when he is dreaming something brutal, something terrible. He has always said I seemed to hold him close then. I am fearful for him. Except for you and the Master, I believe we have no one else to ask. No one else would.." Approve? It was the least of it. Want to help him? She had that as a chief concern. He was not the warmest of souls to the outside world, nor had he been to her as they'd grown but what mattered was how far he'd gone to protect her. How far he would go. How far would she go? To the ends of the earth.

{{End Scene, End Thread}}