singillatim | we don't own our heavens now, we only own our hell ( OPEN )

Entry tags:

we don't own our heavens now, we only own our hell ( OPEN )

Who: John Irving (

extramuralise) + OPEN!
What: Arrival, TDM thread continuations, & more!
When: Throughout May.
Where: Milton & surrounding areas.

Content Warnings: canon & character-typical warnings for The Terror likely, such as potential mentions of body horror / trauma, disease, starvation, death/violence, cannibalism(?), religious evangelism, period-typical prejudice... & so on, as well as spoilers.

✒︎ i. | LITTLE'S CABIN

It's not exactly a space built for two grown men to live inside, but luckily, living on and off boats for most of one's life teaches a man a thing or two about sharing close quarters— and anyway, Little and Irving are two men unlikely to get in one another's way. Irving doesn't take the invitation for granted, and spends his days — when he's not exploring the greater Milton area — tidying up the cottage as it can, making sure his presence is barely felt in the already small, humble building.

(Easily done, since it's not like he turned up here with much more than the clothes on his back, anyway.)

No one but perhaps the small handful of people he already knows are likely to turn up at Little's door to visit Irving, obviously, but anyone visiting Little at home might encounter him in or about the cabin, either tidying up or beginning to go over the community store accounts in a ledger he's found. If there's a kettle, he'll put it on for company, and if not... well, no sense in a wasted trip regardless, come inside and warm up a bit.

✑ ii. | MILTON

Irving's been given a quick tour or two of the overall town, but during his early days especially, he's taken to wandering around town to get a better sense of the area. He's keen to begin going through the accounts and inventory records of the community's supplies, but beyond that, he's fascinated at the haunting sight of the nearly empty ghost town.

Naturally he visits the church, in awe of both the building and its resilient construction, exploring it with pious gravity. The graveyard, however, is left untouched; looked upon but unexplored. He'll likely visit it whenever he's in town, wistfully hoping services will be held there again, before continuing onward to the community hall.

✒︎ iii. | BASIN

The basin is somewhat more treacherous of a trek, but Irving is grateful to have made it once he's there, the sight of game heartening to his peace of mind— and the overall vista itself, simply breathtaking. A good place to, apart from hunting and fishing, also disappear when one wants to be left alone with his thoughts, perhaps; to reflect silently in that lonely cold.

🌊 w i l d c a r d｡

[ Choose your own adventure! Hit me up with anything else, or PM / plurk me @ reggiemantle to discuss in further detail! Happy to also write/respond to personalized starters. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ It isn't exactly a homecoming, as such, but perhaps the closest thing to one they can ever look forward to now, which is still something— or at least it isn't nothing. And, though small, the cottage Little's brought Irving back to still seems rather cosy at a glance, far more than merely just walls and a roof over their heads, but a properly homey structure; more space than either of them have likely had in years, whether alone or sharing. ]

But are you sure, Edward, [ he murmurs again, not for the first time, as he carefully peels off his greatcoat. ] that I'll not be in your way here? I'm sure that I could likely find something of my own, given a few more days...

[ Again, they're both used to living and working in much smaller spaces than this one, so Irving isn't at all rejecting the invitation, only ensuring Little doesn't feel like he must share accommodation out of obligation alone.

Idly, Irving runs a fingertip across the nearest surface, seeing if it comes away dusty. ]

How long have you been living here?

Edited 2024-05-05 07:02 (UTC)

[ The cabin is modest, but comfortable — small enough to easily maintain, and to keep warmed. Little thinks it must have originally belonged to one person, though the bed is big enough for two; a couple could have easily lived here if needed. There was little left behind by its previous occupant, in any case.

And, admittedly, he hasn't done much to make it his beyond the sense of simply living here. There are hardly any personal touches to be found inside, apart from the clothing hanging in the upstairs wardrobe. His gun, a few items collected or gifted to him by a resident here, but otherwise... the cabin is quite plain.

....And perhaps a little dusty, as Irving will find when he glides that finger against a counter or shelf. Certainly the place isn't neglected, but Little clearly hasn't spent much time dusting things, going that extra step; counters and spaces are left bare until he needs to use them, and whatever isn't used has just been sitting there for the past months... It could be said that he lives here, but hasn't really made it his home. ]

Certainly not, [ he earnestly assures the other man, reaching to hang his own coat up, and to politely take John's for him to do the same. ] You're welcomed here for as long as you feel comfortable.

[ John might want to find his own dwellings eventually. The others from their Expedition have seemed to spread out — Jopson had taken up his own cabin, Hickey has made himself quite comfortable in a place (Little currently doesn't know that Gibson is staying with him...) Goodsir has established a clinic out of his home. Even Crozier has been living where he likes (which has been an isolated ice house away from the town...) The point being, they have all seemed to adapt in their ways to living here, to taking up an establishment on their own.

....Little has struggled with it. The strange, fractured pieces of his relationships with each of those men has been a hurdle he can't quite overcome; he's been left unsure how to be, how to exist, without the dynamics found on the ships. He's craved closeness (and found it in ways, however awkwardly and painfully and slowly, with Jopson — though the former steward has moved out to Lakeside as of late, and it's been a strange emptiness.)

He'd like to have Irving close. And there's also the fact that he needs to keep an eye on him, a perpetual fear looming as to the third lieutenant's safety. They can be safe. ]

It's been..... several months. Nearly eight. [ He keeps tally of it, and it's always startling to look back and realise how much time has passed by. But he glances back at Irving, eyes giving a slight glint of mirth and sheepishness combined at that evidence of dust.... ] I suppose it is due for a deeper cleaning at some point...

[ To be fair, homemaking won't necessarily come quite so easily to people who have spent upwards of the last decade or two of their lives building a career that involves living on and off of boats nearly full-time, having at best only a few meters of space — usually already populated by a narrow bed, a shelf or two built along the wall, and sometimes maybe also a writing desk — for both themselves and whatever scant amount of personal affects they've managed to bring aboard with them. A Commander or a Captain (or more often, their wives) may boast such privileges as to decorate the entirety of a ship exactly to their liking, but lower ranking officers, mere lieutenants the likes of Little and Irving, know themselves lucky enough to have simply earned a door they can close on occasion for privacy.

Besides, what do either of them actually have in the way of belongings here with them, anyway?

Needless to say, Irving was not really expecting to find Little posted within a fully furnished, tastefully decorated home in the first place, so this cosy little cottage he's just entered is far more pleasant surprise to him than disappointment. ]

Then... once again, Edward, thank you, [ he says softly, dusting his hands off idly before passing over his coat. ] I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am for all the generosity you've shown towards me already.

[ And if it seems at all awkward or even deferential, that gratitude, well, never mind it— Irving harbors no illusions about what Edward Little does, or especially does not, owe to him as either a peer, a colleague, or simply out of some impersonal, lingering sense of duty, but even so, he feels significantly more comfortable accepting such charity as offered by Little than he would most of their other crewmates; anything else, however temporary, would just be... too much, otherwise.

But for however much Irving may indeed incline himself towards keeping at a hermitic, self-isolated remove at times, far more would he now prefer to surround himself with the familiar— what little still remains.

He meets Little's gaze, a self-conscious twitch tugging at the corner of his lips as he realizes what he's doing. Flushing mildly, he flattens his arms down by his sides. ]

Leave that up to me-- please, [ he continues, sheepish now himself. ] In eight months I'm sure you'll have had far more urgent matters to attend to than keeping house. It'll be easier now, with two.

[ It's true — as modest as the cabin is, it's much more space than Little's accustomed to having, and he's quite content to occupy it as simply as he can. ....There is also the matter of something he's never voiced aloud to anyone here, yet, which is the lingering, discomforting knowledge that this place belonged to someone who is dead now. And though he didn't take the home from that occupant, it's.... strange to think about. He's a ghost, living in a home occupied by more ghosts. He never really has felt comfortable here; it's only been a place to inhabit by necessity.

But now, he can offer it as a place of refuge for someone else, and perhaps that is what can give this little cabin a purpose he can actually feel some warmth towards. Irving's words make him smile, however faintly Little's smiles may be, and he dips his head to a slight nod. ]

Please, think nothing of it. I am pleased I can offer you a safe place to stay, and... it will be nice to have company out here.

[ Because he doesn't want John to think this is only coming from that place of necessity. Of course, the words are slightly awkward around their edges; he isn't used to admitting such things aloud, but his months spent here have revealed to him just how precious such a thing is. He and Thomas Jopson (of all people, imagine!) have even shared space at times, drawn towards some need to stick closely to one another, even if that journey has been.... a strenuous one.

But it does get lonesome here on the outskirts of town, where the wind has less buildings to cut its moaning wails, and things howl in the nearby wood.

And of course, John Irving is a much-welcomed face, no matter Little's trepidations about the other man's safety. It's good to see him again, to be with him again. He turns more towards the other as he speaks, and that shy smile warms to the browns of his eyes, brightening them a little. ]

Feel free to do whatever you like in order to make this space more comfortable for yourself. [ Which is to say — if it's dusting or decorating, make yourself at home, John. ] It will be helpful to have a second pair of eyes — and hands — around here.

[ He keeps moving towards the little kitchen area, gesturing. ]

Would you like something to drink? I keep a pot heated; there is coffee here, and tea.

Edited 2024-05-27 23:28 (UTC)

Yes, I can imagine so, given how far we are here from the rest of town.

[ Regarding company, that is, although it's merely an observation, not a criticism; Irving (avowed anchorite that he is) doesn't seem bothered by the relative isolation either, evidenced by his small contented smile. True enough there's more safety in numbers, especially given their proximity to the wood, but the space and the solitude is regardless rather liberating after all those cramped, miserable months at sea— even before it all went so terribly wrong, there wasn't hardly room enough to breathe without tripping over yet another man.

He follows Little into the kitchen, not yet sitting down, but looking around the space, considering what might be done with it. ]

But I'd not say no to a cup of tea— so long as you'll be joining me, of course.

[ Little's all too-happy to fix him a cup — a gesture that he registers, somewhere, as odd only for how unusual it is. They'd had Gibson for such tasks, of course. But here, in this place... everyone must fend for themselves. So much of what was known and proper has crumbled away. And now— well. Now, he is just a man fixing a cup of tea for a companion. That is what the others here would say. Have said — none of them cling to what they were before quite as fiercely as Edward Little has.

Although he's noticed, there are ways. There are still ways, still habits, still certain obligations that each man may feel responsible towards, or perhaps feel a comfort in. Jopson keeps blankets and sheets neatly folded. Goodsir has opened a clinic out of his home. Crozier and Gibson... are more difficult cases. And then of course there is Hickey — who has seemed disconcertingly at ease to adapt to this place. Little isn't quite sure where he stands with any of them.

And where does he stand with John Irving...? Well. That will be determined in time, he supposes. For now, the matter at hand is to make the other man as safe and comfortable as possible, and help him in this place. Edward finishes two cups of tea and brings them over to the table — the drink's served in mismatched thick, rustic mugs, left-over from the original occupant of this cabin.

Placing them down, he moves to sit; here is his answer to that — he's quite happy to join the other for a drink. Gesturing for John to follow suit, Edward slides his chair to the table a bit more, folding his hands politely upon its wooden surface. ]

I imagine all of this must still be... very difficult to process. [ A soft shake of his head, empathetic as he frowns, though he means it to be conversational — a way to check in on the state of him. ] Do you have any pressing concerns, in this moment?

Lalo is rarely started by people, and today isn't an exception. He's aware from the moment the door opens that someone is there, although he doesn't have time to get up off his knees. He's not a pious man in the traditional sense — far from it — but he can certainly be said to believe in his own way. Although the specific brand of folk Catholicism he practices might not be something Irving would be accustomed to, there's enough similarity for them both to be drawn to the church now at least.

He would put $100 of his ill-gotten gains in the offering bowl sometimes, back home. It means nothing in the face of all he's done. Lalo knows that and, most days, he doesn't care.

You can believe in Hell and know you're going there.

When he turns and looks at Irving, his immediate thought is: a fucking norther one? How many of these people are there?

But he's polite, smiles. Tries for his usual cheeriness when he gives a sleepy, "Hey there," and doesn't quite manage his normal pep.

"Guess we had the same idea." He's still on his knees. Then Lalo coughs into his sleeve.

Indeed, Irving is of both a time and place that does not — did not — look all too favourably upon Catholicism in general, but as a Victorian man who has never ventured further south in the Americas than the frozen, Arctic north of Canada, his primary frame of reference would be limited to 19th-century white European Catholicism as it is— many practices of which ironically do overlap significantly with his own Anglican sensibilities, among very few other protestant branches.

Not that Irving is particularly concerned about the specific faith or practices of the man he sees praying before him now, too glad to have simply found another God-fearing man here in Milton at all; after all, are not all men of God brothers while down on their knees?

He smiles back faintly, posture stiffening with tension now he knows he's not alone in the building.

"I'm very sorry, it wasn't my intention to interrupt," he says quickly, apologetically. He takes a wary step backward as Lalo coughs, but still hovering close in case the man needs help rising to his feet. "Are you ill, sir? Shall I run and fetch a surgeon for you?"

A God-fearing man, indeed.

He gives Iriving a slightly stiff, almost overly practiced, but gentle smile. "Ah... no, no, please," he says. "You don't have to worry. I appreciate the company." Lalo always appeciates the company.

"No, no. Not sick." Lalo swallows thickly. "It's that green fog. I think it burned my throat. It'll clear up. I'm sure of it."

He smiles a pats the space next to him on the pew. "Please. Come over here. I don't think I've prayed with someone here in a long time. I used to donate money to build churches back home, you know. It's one of the things I'm the proudest of."

Translation: he is in a drug cartel, and while it is true that he has supplied money to impoverished communities to help build churches, it's just as true that fear of what refusing him would bring, as well as desperation, has been the main motivator for the acceptance of his dirty money.

"Could it be toxic, do you think? The fog..." Irving murmurs with unease, fingering at a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his coat without actually committing to withdrawing it. He makes a note to remember, once he leaves, to cover his nose and mouth whenever walking through the fog, just in case.

"Though I'm sure you're right, of course," he adds quickly, taking a seat in the pew besides Lalo, tucking his coattails beneath him. Obviously Irving has no real sense of when the fog might clear up or not, but he'd certainly like to hope it won't remain quite as bad as this.

And, perhaps just as obviously, he has no real sense of what kind of a man Lalo might truly be, either, for his eyes light up to hear of the man's church-bound philanthropy, drug cartels and gang enforcement both the furthest things from the Victorian's mind.

"That's wonderful," he says, beaming sincerely. "Truly one of the greatest and most blessed acts of charity that a man is capable of."

He turns his gaze forward towards the empty altar.

"I have some hope we might eventually see Sunday services being held here again, if not more regularly," he continues, a bit wistful. It's lonely, to always have to pray alone. "A bible study in the very least."

"Oh, please. You're too kind. You're going to make me blush. I'm only doing what I need to so that those that turn towards the Lord have a place to worship."

Lalo turns his gaze towards the altar when Irving does. He remembers vividly the four dead bodies that had been strewn around it only a few months ago, the eerie green glow that had settled over them, so different from the burning fog that haunts them now.

"A bible study?" Lalo's voice lights up, with seemingly genuine happiness. "What's an amazing idea! You're a man after my own heart. I would love to come if you would have me."

Irving beams both with pleasure and pride to hear his idea met with such unexpected enthusiasm, flushing somewhat pink-cheeked as he tries (rather unsuccessfully) not to become too overtly flustered from the praise. Victorians aren't, as a rule, known for being especially demonstrative when it comes to expressing emotion or acting upon their true feelings, so it's a touch overwhelming to be the subject of commendation at all — especially as Irving is not so impressive or remarkable to earn himself much acknowledgement in the line of duty — let alone something so unreservedly complimentary.

"I'm so glad you share my feelings on the subject," he says, smiling brightly. "And of course, you would be more than welcome— I daresay we're in need of a sanctuary of sorts, around here."

Oh, this is almost too easy. And Lalo wasn't even trying! The blush tells him everything he needs to know, and Lalo hadn't even been trying to induce it. And he likes to see other people smile, anyway.

"Of course I do! I have to tell you, it's a pity that more people around here don't. But I understand how it is. We all come from different times and places." Lalo smiles. "A sanctuary of sorts...I couldn't have said it better myself."

Kate hasn't been here for a while. It's hard to, considering. She spent plenty of time here, before. A refuge, a small sliver of home. A shred of comfort in a place with so little of it. And then four men were killed by that monster in these very walls, and it's hard not to be a little scared of coming back here. It hurts, it's not fair. This place should be safe, sacred.

The Darkwalker doesn't care for God's House. It only cares on hunting them down, one by one, to devour them.

Fear is a hard thing to grapple with, but longing eventually gives out. She sits in the pew, keeps her eyes straight ahead — tries to not let them drop to the floor, where she imagines those bodies lay. Tremors in her clasped hands, mentally whispers to herself, the words echoed on the air as if spoken aloud: Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.

The doors opening makes her jump, enough to scoot back in the pew, ducking a little to hide. ... Sorry, Lord. But it's a somewhat familiar face, and after a beat she straightens again — relieved.

"Oh. Hey, Lieutenant Irving."

"Miss Marsh," Irving greets in return, mild surprise — though of a pleasant variety — uplifting both his tone and his eyebrows. "How do you do, on a day such as this?"

It isn't so much Kate he's surprised to see there in the church, but rather anyone at all, having assumed the building was quite empty, before, but glad to have been otherwise proven wrong. He hasn't come here today to be alone, after all, but simply to experience some sense of the spiritual fulfillment that he's always felt in church— Kate's presence and company further providing him with an altogether welcome diversion from the troubling possibility that, were he currently in solitude, he might not feel anything at all now, standing within this holy place.

As of late it's just been much easier to feel God while others are also around to share in the experience, rather than when Irving prays alone. He's still not lost his faith even now, even after everything that's happened, but he feels as though it's he himself who's been lost, too far out of reach to any longer hear God's word, or be heard in turn. It's been rather difficult, if not outright impossible, to fully avoid becoming a wee bit existential after dying and coming back as he has— he's grateful for his life, truly, but it's wrong; only the Lord is meant to rise again after having first perished in so much agony.

"I'm sorry, I--" Irving begins again, voice faltering briefly before he clears his throat. He's not yet moved himself away from the doors, once again overly conscious of propriety for both their own sakes, and for the sake of any potential onlookers who might deem it scandalous for them to be alone together even in a church. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"I'm okay." Okay as she can be, she thinks. She nods, offers a tiny smile and actually settles down a little more — less spooked and no longer half-hiding in the pew. "How are you settling in?"

Everything's... kind of a whirlwind, for everyone. Getting dumped unceremoniously in the snow, finding Milton, finding out there's all of here in this place. There's a whole lot to take on board.

"Gosh, no. I don't have the monopoly on God's House." She wouldn't even dream of it. This place is for everyone, and just because she's here doesn't mean others can't be. "I guess I was just— I just wanted to be here a little while. It's familiar."

Something that reminds her of home; it's bitter sweet.

"Extra company's actually pretty nice. People don't really... come here much." Because she— belatedly remembers time periods. Different rules, different considerations. But like— it's totally fine. It's church. "It's okay to be here, too."

Irving smiles kindly, in the polite though timid manner that comes to him most naturally— genuine, if still not precisely warm, but neither Victorians nor evangelists are much known for their great warmth anyway.

"Er-- well enough, I suppose," he says after a moment, which is an understatement to say the very least, but as true as it possibly can be while he's stood there under the church's roof. Whether he can truly feel God here or not, Irving is at least not lacking for this crucial connection to Him. "So far Lieutenant Little has been very generous in extending his hospitality to me whilst I... adjust."

He clears his throat awkwardly, having fitted as much meaning into that one word as possible without unburdening himself to Kate entirely; it simply wouldn't be appropriate, for one thing, and for another, he can barely stand acknowledging what all has happened to him to even the people who already know, let alone those he's only just met.

Irving sits down within the pew opposite, hands coming to rest in his lap as he looks forward toward the altar.

"Familiarity is like a lighthouse, I often find," he murmurs, nodding his agreement to her reasoning. "Bringing us all safely back to shore through all manner of storm. Are there really no services being held here? None at all?"

Kate brightens at the mention of Lieutenant Little. She isn't surprised in the slightest, of course, that he would let Lieutenant Irving stay with him while — and the smile at her lips is warm with admiration for the man. She's not long after staying with him herself, after the whole.... fight thing. He didn't want Kate staying in the Community Hall, in case Mr Hickey tried anything. And then there was their stay in Lakeside, that was really nice too. It... was a good break from anything. Rare peace.

"He's really awesome like that." she says simply, still smiling. "I don't know if he's mentioned Rosehip to you, yet? I've been making syrup with it, and tea — especially for men from the Expedition. It has a nutrient in it to help with Scurvy. If you two need more, just let me know."

She's been trading it with other Interlopers, but like— it's more of a gift to them. She doesn't want to trade, especially not with Lieutenant Little.

"I think you're right. My... my dad's a Pastor. I like pretending he's giving in a sermon here, sometimes." Her voice drops a little, like it seems like such a silly thing to admit to. He always feels like a light in the storm, to her. More familiarity.

"There was a man offering services for... weddings, funerals. That... sort of thing?" Admittedly, he did rather well doing the service for Lieutenant Noonien-Singh. "He... passed, a couple of months ago."

Nothing since then.

"I try to study when I can, but I don't really have company for it. People just... leave me to it." There's a tiny resigned smile at that. She's used to it. She's been here for months, and it's all she has. "My bible and my notes came here with me, at least."

Whatever small smile had just begun pulling at the corners of Irving's mouth to hear Kate's warm assessment of Little, and to learn about her pastor father, flattens again once she mentions the recent and very relevant death in the community. It's a blow to discover, a heavy and tragic weight that strains the otherwise comfortable silence.

"I'm... sorry to hear," Irving says finally, carefully. "What a loss that is, indeed. I'm sure he was a good man."

He lets the words sit gravely for a few moments before attempting to speak any further, backtracking slightly: "More effective than lemon juice, I hope— your rose hip serum, that is," he continues lightly, his faint smile curving along the contours of his mustache. "It's been mentioned to me, yes, although I'd not ever heard previously of rose hips being used to combat scurvy. I take it it's been effective, then?"

That is, of course, great news to be certain, even if Irving is not himself in dire need of anti-scurvy remedies. Not at this time, anyway.

"Perhaps a weekly bible study really would help bring us all a bit more peace here," he says, releasing a slow breath as he looks around the empty church again. "What sort of sermons did your father give?"

Kate opens her mouth. He died in this very church. She wants to say it, but she doesn't. It's too painful to think about, makes her too sad that something so terrible could happen here. She nods, a little stiffly — let's the silence of it settle. It sucks. It really does.

"According to the foraging book, yeah. It's pretty amazing. Definitely a lot more than citrus fruits." Which is pretty awesome, considering how they're definitely not going to be getting their hands on any oranges or lemons any time soon. But rosehips are in abundance here. Kate's quietly pleased with herself, nodding at the question. "Mr Jopson in particular was pretty sick, when he first arrived. I made sure he had plenty while he recovered. He's doing a lot better now."

Thank goodness, she thinks. She likes him a whole lot. The others too, really. There's one she hasn't met yet, and then there's... Mr Hickey. The less said about him, the better. Besides, there's something else she'd rather focus on — a short gasp, her expression brightening: weekly bible study.

"Really? Oh, I'd love that. That would mean so much, you have no idea." She has never looked this excited about something. Girls Night had been pretty fun but this? She is so stoked. Enough so that it takes her a moment to register the question. She exhales, still smiling.

"Gosh. Everything, really. I... I don't think I could pick any favourites."

Although there's one that comes to mind. He wrote her a postcard, after... everything. After the Vortex Club party. After her Aunt wrote to her and shamed her, damned her, and her mother did just as much — Our concerns about sending you to Blackwell seem justified. We hope you haven't brought shame on you or our family. They didn't understand, they didn't know it wasn't her. But her dad? 'And the light shines in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.' Katie, you'll always be my brightest light against the dark.

"The Light Of The World." she says after a moment or two, her excitement sobering into something more quieter, but still very much affectionate. "He.. was really good at offering support, especially when you felt like you needed it most. I miss him a lot."

Irving, for his part, might find such an ending to be more comfort than anything else, ironically— not that he's so morbid to have given it much thought, of course, but given everything, how could he not at all? When it had been him, after all, he hadn't felt God's presence with him in the end; as far as he knows, and knew, he simply died unseen and unheard out there in that cold expanse of inhospitable rock, breathless and speechless and so, so lonely.

Whereas church, on the other hand, seems to him perhaps the next best thing to being surrounded by one's family, friends, and/or loved ones in those final moments— as close to ideal as such a thing most likely ever can be.

"It's hard for me to imagine a man like Mr. Jopson becoming ill at all," he remarks with a slow, thoughtful nod. It's certainly true enough, too, but also merely something to say about a man he never came to know very well during their handful of shared years aboard Terror, who took care of the captain's every need, and so in a way, by extension, everyone else's as well. A caretaker in both career and duty. "I'm glad to hear he's been recovering so well."

Lieutenant Jopson, he should really say, and mentally corrects himself, although apparently it's something that's been kept quiet by everyone else for reasons wholly unknown to him.

"Well. I may have some idea," he continues, unable to help smiling faintly at Kate's sudden and unbridled enthusiasm. It's endearing to see someone else who appears about as passionately Christian as he is, and especially here in Milton, which otherwise seems to be lacking in much religious presence at all. "I believe that during such uncertain times as these, more than ever must we come together in our faith if we're to remain steadfast and strong."

And to keep the faith strong in those few here who still carry it, as it deeply unnerves Irving to be in such a minority amongst people who by all rights should be far more pious and God-fearing than he's observed his fellow Interlopers to be. For what can be said of such a community, otherwise?

Listening to Kate describe her father, Irving nods again, falling into a brief, reflective silence. He hasn't much allowed himself to miss his family over these last few and final years, but in truth, rarely has he passed any of his previous voyages without habitual correspondence between at least one or two people he wishes he could see in person— none of whom he'll likely ever see again, except for when they're reunited eventually in Heaven.

"'When I fall, I shall rise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me,'" he recites accordingly, with dutiful reverence. "'Walk for as long as you have the light, lest darkness overtake you; for he who walks in darkness knows not where he is going.' A good lesson that we should all now take more to heart— indeed, perhaps here more than anywhere."

The church is both confusing and fascinating to Levi. He's come to learn that the crosses are for Jesus Christ instead of Alll-mer like he'd expected. At least everyone else thought they were, honestly a lot of the trappings were the same as the churches back where he came from. But the religion that most people here knew was much different than what he'd had in his world. Theirs was much...kinder. Nicer, with less sacrifice and they didn't even have a fellatio effigy...or any of the effigies he was familiar with. Even their martyr effigies were different. And the basement here...well it did seem to have a more sterile feel (they had performed the autopsy there) was nothing like what was beneath the church in Prehevil.

He stops by it every so often during his many patrols, going inside to wonder at the place and try to imagine what it might have been like to see a service there. He's pretty sure he gets it wrong but he's too embarrassed to ask Kate or someone how they'd really gone. This time when the boy in the oversized coat with the rifle on his back enters he finds someone else. Someone new, he assumes since he barely recognizes the man, but someone who looked like he was probably from the same world and Lt. Little and them. There were a lot of boat guys here somehow.

"Oh. Um. S-sorry if I'm, uh, interrupting. I-i can go." Some people preferred religion to be personal, even back where he came from.

Irving is startled only somewhat from out of a mildly meditative reverie, having otherwise failed to lose himself too deeply in his myriad distracted thoughts, his confused, searching prayers. Perhaps it's just as well, though, considering thus far Milton has not yet revealed to him any kind of religious foundations, nor community, at its core, and so then how is he meant to truly reconnect with God again in such an empty, seemingly forsaken place?

Well, no matter. Whatever train of thought he'd just been chasing has disappeared beyond his reach now, anyway— to no fault of his newly present company, but merely the fact Irving can't figure out what is still left for him to pray for.

"No need to apologize," he says quickly, shaking his head and briskly standing from the pew where he'd been seated. "And by all means do stay— please. God is here for anyone at all who seeks to find Him."

Levi moves closer to the pew Irving is in but stops a few away. "I don't really know how any of that works, but its nice this place is here. For people, um, people like you and Kate who find comfort in it."

His religions rarely gave comfort, except perhaps of the physical kind in Sylvian's case.

The mention of Kate piques Irving's interest just enough to merit an arching of his brow, head canting slightly to one side in curiosity.

"I suppose it is understandable that not only Christians might find solace in being here," he says after a moment. "Of course I've not seen much in the way of alternatives, but there ought to always be at least a church to offer sanctuary for all."

He looks at the boy, wondering again how he must know Kate. They are about the same age, though, so perhaps it's no surprise.

"You and Miss Marsh are... acquainted, then?"

He's not sure what to make of those stressed words but whatever.

"Yeah. I-i don't know if you'd call us friends or anything, but we've both been here since the beginning. And we both sleep in the community hall mostly. So we've talked and stuff."

Well, 'stuff' in this case is largely him listening to her play her violin.

"You both..." Did he say they both sleep in the community hall? As in, together, in the same room? "Does the community hall house separated dormitories of any kind, then, or do you all bunk together in one room?"

The thought rather appalls Irving to consider, quite frankly, but he makes an effort not to jump to any conclusions before he has all the necessary information.

"And what exactly do you mean by, 'the beginning'?"

"No, its mostly just one big room. There are enough beds, though, so nobody has to double up or anything." He's not paid attention to if anyone wants to or not. "Oh, um, t-the beginning...I mean when the first of us showed up."

Maybe Irving would understand this arrangement a bit more if Levi and Kate were both, well, somewhat younger, because certainly it would make some amount of sense to him if the community hall were serving as a would-be orphanage of sorts: a group home for children who have found themselves stranded here alone without their families.

Indeed, perhaps if they were younger, but they must be... what, fifteen or sixteen at the youngest? Old enough, in other words, that one would think they each could have any number of better options available to them.

Just for now, at least, Irving decides to put that particular concern aside, to focus instead on the one he may be more capable of resolving.

"But why do you choose to call it that?" His curiosity is piqued, admittedly. "Beginning of what?"

Levi is blissfully unaware of any issues Irving may have with him and Kate living under the same roof. "Well...its the beginning of us being here. Of the interlopers."

Irving's eyebrow raises slowly with unease.

"But how can you be sure of that?"

"Well, um, we all showed up at the same time and, um, everyone here was dead. Except the old man."

That earns a long, drawn out pause in response, as Irving is briefly rendered speechless by the harsh gravity of that statement— never mind the implications of it, as well, assuming the boy is right. And assuming he's telling the truth.

"Everyone was..." He slowly trails off, unable to put voice to what Levi's just told him. "As in, you found all their bodies?"

"...Yes." Having seen so much death in his life it wasn't as big a deal for Levi as it might be for other people. But he understood that other people were more likely to be shocked or freak out about it.

"I..." Irving doesn't know quite what to say to that, and clears his throat uncomfortably. "I-I see— well then, h-how very awful that must have been for you."

And therefore, perhaps Kate as well? Among how many others had also borne witness to such a gruesome town-wide tableau of corpses, and how then had they all been interred or disposed of?

Irving isn't sure he wants to know the answer to that question, but even if he did, he certainly wouldn't be asking it of a child.

"Good job you didn't all become ill from the exposure alone, then, if they'd not even yet been buried."

He shrugs. It's old now.

"I don't think it was an illness that took them...but they've all been buried now." Probably. The wolves may have dragged off a few. "So you don't need to worry about it."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

we don't own our heavens now, we only own our hell ( OPEN )

✰ ＬＩＴＴＬＥ » all my life I've been so lonely, all in the name of being holy

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milton - church.

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cw: mention of cartel activities

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I'm so sorry for the delay! I thought I responded already!

no worries at all!! <3

<3!

ii. milton;

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ii; levis religion is a bit different lol

adventures in weirdly esoteric culture shock! 😂

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