The Abbey

[rosallora]

[Toustain]

She pushes herself to standing, and then takes the hand they have up, pulling them as well. She lets go then, her own small little smile on her face. "I'll... yes. I'll see you soon, Andy. Sleep well, okay?"

The thought of going back to her room gives her pause, but there was no other option. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't go to Grace. It was just going to be her, and the mask.

The vestal exits, heading down the hallway. Her knee hurts - her leg hurts. But she makes her way to her room, and sits, and shuts the door. The mask is set on her little table, with her copy of the Solacia.

"We'll make it right," she says. She speaks in the direction of the mask.

Toast lays down on her bed, and tries to sleep. She isn't the most successful, and before long the warm fingers of dawn are scratching at her window. She had promised dawn, though. And hopefully, she thinks, it'll help her companion.

[speakeroftruths]

Andy gently closes the door behind Toast, leans against it, suddenly exhausted. 

"Thank you," they whisper without thinking to the empty room.

But... for what?

They leave the door and collect their pipe from under the bed, brushing it off and setting it next to the weapon on the bedstand. Though they crawl under the sheets, sleep does not find them. Instead, they settle in for a restless night of wrestling with unknowns and questioning.

Hopefully Toustain at least is having more luck in her rest.

[rosallora]

[Toustain]

The sun rose.

Well, one could say that it did. The pervasive cloud cover kept it from being bright, exactly. And it was certainly muggy - Toustain could tell that from the atmosphere of the kitchen, where she heated a cast-iron skillet over her cooking fire. She could see outside, through the broken door. When would they fix that?

She sighs. The night hadn't treated her well - she'd hardly slept - and the day was going to be a long one. Who knows what lay ahead. What it would demand of her. She pushes around a small lump of pork fat in the pan, her cup of oats simmering on the side in their own small cauldron. She wasn't just cooking for herself, after all. There were others in the Abbey - nuns, vestals, Grace, Andy, and others. She had to make sure that if someone came by in search of victuals that they could have them. She settles the pan on the iron lattice and takes up a knife, cutting day-old bread into thick slices before laying them down in the cast-iron.

When it toasted up, they went back onto the cutting board. Toustain picked up the basket of eggs and cracked two into the pan, watching them sputter and fizzle. Despite everything - the screaming nightmares, the tears, the feeling of desperation and detachment - there was still this. Just her and the cooking fire, and the thing she was good at.

Toustain wraps the handle of the pan in a kitchen rag and heaves it up, flicking her wrist so the eggs go sailing, then plunge back downwards into the pan with a satisfying hiss. She smiles at her work, then quietly admonishes herself. "Pride does not look good on a vestal," she murmurs, setting the pan back onto the flame and stirring the oats. A pinch of salt, and a pinch of pepper from the mortar where she'd done that work. "But the work is good."

She lays the double-yolked over-easies onto one of the pieces of toast, then scoops some of the savory grits beside it on a plate.

[speakeroftruths]

When did the sun come up? Surely, it was a sign of the dark magic that pervades this place that time seemed to dilate so. Andy does not so much awaken as come to the awareness that they are awake, an indeterminate amount of time having actually been spent asleep. Whatever slumber transpired, the peculiar gravity dragging at their limbs as they fight free of the bed dictates that it was not nearly enough.

As soon as they manage to struggle out of the sheets, they cross to a small table with a basin, pouring out the contents of the pitcher beside it. They splash their face, the cold snapping a sort of awareness into their mind, though the reflection in the water's surface shows and excess of shadows remaining beneath their eyes. They wonder, briefly, if they are in any state for the day's tasks. If it would not be more prudent to wait, or to medicate themself into a stupor to force actual rest.

But no. The great work would not wait, and slothfulness was one of the greatest sins an Inquisitor could commit. If they could not give their all, then it was their duty to give whatever they could, consequences aside. Uncertainty was the reason for their state. Focus would bring them back.

However, the scent of frying fat drifting through the Abbey halls awakens a grumble in their belly, reminding them that focus is much more easily achieved when the flesh's needs are tended to.

A short while later, they emerge from their room, having freshly shaved and donned their leather vestments. They walk down the hall to the kitchen, following the alluring call of breakfast, stopping only briefly down the hall to see that Sister Toustain's cell is already vacant. Upon finding her in the kitchen among the wonderful scents, they give a slight smile, rapping a knuckle on the door frame to announce themself as they cross the threshold.

"Good morrow Sister."

[rosallora]

[Toustain]

She looks up from the small cauldron of grits to be greeted by Andy, their voice floating through the air not unlike the small and welcome breezes from the outside. "Mo- oh..." she can't help the small, mirthless laugh that passes her lips. Because when she looks at them, truly looks at them aside from her momentary glance, she realizes that she and they must be like mirrors to one another in their unrested state. She gestures to one of the chairs, and picks up the plate, setting it upon the table. Splintered though it may be, it stood, and therefore would be used.

Just like the rest of the things in this abbey.

"Come on, eat up." She fishes a fork from the silver drawer and sets it next to the plate before turning back to the cooking fire, cracking another two eggs into the pan. The pork fat rends it into something better than its parts, a richness and meatiness imparted in flavor and smell. "You definitely look like you need it. I won't ask how you slept because I have an absolutely terrible feeling that it was the same as how I slept."

[speakeroftruths]

Andy nods a world-weary confirmation, and bonelessly flops into the chair. The first bite might as well be a saintly relic for the way they raise it fervently to their lips. In their current state, the simple fare is manaa, ambrosia to the exhausted Inquisitor. Every following bite is taken with both decreasing reverence and increasing pace, so much so that they have to take a moment to remind themself to breathe and chew. 

It is after one such break, in a healthy pause after a swallow, that they look up at the Sister laboring by the stove, then back to their plate, studiously examining the fork in their hand as they muster up brain and will to speak.

"Toustain..." they finally manage, working over what words to say in their head. Not coming to any strong conclusions, they settle for, "Thank you."

If only the simple thanks could convey everything that they meant to, wanted to say.

[rosallora]

[Toustain]

She wishes she deserved what they said. Because when it comes from their mouth all she can think of is some haphazard list: what was it for? The breakfast? For last night? For comforting them last night, for taking the mask? For helping to keep them safe during the raid? No, surely not, she'd failed them, cut down as they were. Then was it for giving them the herbs they'd said they so desperately needed, though the action had cost her much in the way of her own mobility? Was it for...? She pauses, flipping the eggs over so that they sizzled anew. No. It was certainly not for that act. What she had wanted so desperately for and driven them to, the cruelty that was somehow borne of Light's resolve...

She takes a piece of toast and slides the eggs onto it, taking a step back and setting it onto their plate amongst the crumbs and traces of oats. They were thin. They should eat more.

"...It is what we do for each other," she answers. It feels like speaking in a different code. When she was young she'd play games with Angelique and the other veslings, games of memorization and other meanings. Talking in verses, shaping them into conversations, where Light could mean anything and so could all the other words. It was blasphemous practices, warping the verses. And yet here it feels the same: It is what we do for each other. But what did it mean? What strange meaning did it form?

[speakeroftruths]

Andy is grateful for the additional food. Food that they would never have asked for of their own volition. An Inquisitor takes only what is necessary to sustain them, and leaves the rest for the others of the faithful. 

But Andy is tired. Hungry. What's more, those two states make it all too easy to rationalize the necessity of taking another bite. After all, were they still an adept, showing such lack of restraint would be a sign of weakness, and punished. But they are an Inquisitor. It is not only their duty to continue the great work, but to be a diplomat among the others of the faithful. Taking what is offered and showing gratitude for the offering is the diplomatic course of action. Therefor, it is perfectly in keeping with their duty to have seconds.

"Dutiful," They muse, taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully. "Duty compels us to do for others. But duty is not to be lauded, yes? It should be the baseline. It is expected."

They think on that statement, one that of course has absolutely no bearing on their own situation. Which also serves as an excellent break in speaking to get through another egg.

"Should we not strive for more than just what is expected?"

[rosallora]

[Toustain]

They either knew this dance too, or they were very good at picking it up. More oats from the pot get spooned onto their plate, and Toustain puts some on top of her toast along with another two eggs. She sits, finally, across from them, eyes able to watch the hearth from here. And the hearth gave her so much comfort, despite the strangeness of the morning.

"I think... yes. We should." A pause, her nosing her fork at her oats, contemplating. "...I think also it can be very hard to see what's needed. Where we can do more. I take so many stabs in the dark," she admits, setting the utensil back down. "I just hope that I do the right thing when it's time."

The vestal gets her toast in hand and bites in, a bit of runny yolk seeping into her oats. She has no complaints about that, as long as it didn't go everywhere. She brings a hand to her mouth as new thoughts tumble forth, causing a cascade. "I also do things out of more than duty, if that makes sense. Out of compassion, yes, or sympathy. But there's a feeling, especially for others of the faith, where it is more than duty that binds me to them. It's a rope on fire, it's a flame recognizing another flame in the dark. It is more than duty, it is a duty that wishes to... be felt." She eats, one bite and then another, relieved by the sustenance. "I cf-mm," she swallows, "I certainly know this to be true and whole and pure. I feel it all the time."

[speakeroftruths]

Andy nods, growing confident that their point is getting across and understood. They finish their eggs, and go about the serious and important business of mopping at the stray fat and yolk with the remainder of the bread. In doing so, they buy themselves time both to think of what to say next and to mull over what Toustain was saying. After all, everything she was saying rang true, but at the same time, alien.

She spoke of the ideals written of in the Verses, and many other interpretations of the Illuminatus besides. But the Sinistra taught that an overabundance of virtue and zeal could also blind one to truths that would bring sorrow to the innocent. That the faithful were to be watched for signs of corruption, and the truest believers were often the most worthy of suspicion.

Time and time again in Andy's travels, those teachings had proven true. Through all of the cities and villages they had passed through, through the finest manors and the humblest hovels, the ground of Europa had been watered with tears shed by those overlooked or undervalued by the devout. Yet, these small cruelties were not the purview of the Sinistra. Other orders existed for the policing and protection of the faithful. The Sinistra's great work was constrained to the truly Dark. 

So, which was it? Either Toustain was so assured of herself and her faith that, despite her kindness, there was some grand cruelty that escaped her gaze, or here, where the Dark had true hold, there existed a truly good person. The truth, as always, likely existed somewhere between. Yet for all their trained suspicion, for all that they were supposed to hold themself apart and aloof, they could not help but feel comforted by Toustain's actions.

"I agree emphatically," they said, raising the soaked heel of bread from their plate. "So, thank you."

They finished off their meal with perhaps a bit more gusto than was strictly called for.

[rosallora]

[Toustain]

She nods, smile renewed. Though there was some sort of game going on, they might be better at playing it than she was. Toustain takes another bite of her breakfast, and the darker thoughts cloud up in the forefront of her mind. She had to pay them heed or they'd be following her all day. She can't simply cast them aside. "Andy..." she rests her hand on the table, looking down at the end that had been hit and splintered by the brutes that had forced their way into the abbey. Her abbey? No, the abbey.

"I... did you a great disservice when you helped me in the penance hall. A good vestal doesn't do what I did. I was cruel. Cruel in a way that does not fit me, I'd like to think it doesn't fit me. And I will not ask your help with such a task again; it hurt you. I could see how it hurt you." She doesn't like thinking about it - how sick they had looked, the stumble, the haze of smoke. She had done that - she had egged them on, made them act in a way they didn't want to. And no, she had not hurt them in the usual ways, but she had seen the look on their face.

She knows it was wrong because of how she lingered in corners for days after that, avoiding their gaze, avoiding conversation. It was not the book in the end that told her of her sin, but that heavy, terrible feeling.

"I apologize, Andy. I acted wrongly."

[speakeroftruths]

And... there it is. Andy considers their next words thoroughly, even as the Whispers begin to edge in, though faintly for the recent dose. If they speak the wrong phrase, then they may very well lose the only friend that they have made in this place. The one ally who seems to offer understanding instead of judgement, even when they misstep and make a fool of themself.

"Cruel," They muse out loud, turning their head to regard the fire. The dancing light in the hearth battles the early morning chill quite well, but from this distance. Closer might be hot, closer still uncomfortably so. To touch it would be to burn. Perhaps there is wisdom in maintaining a certain distance after all. "Yes, it was, and yes, you did. I am not blameless, of course, but that does not change the fact that your actions did harm. All the same, I forgive you."

[rosallora]

[Toustain]

At the mere echoing of the word, she feels like she's only an inch tall. She hunches down, a lump in her throat forming. And then they keep talking... of course, and they affirm it, and somehow that feels even worse. If only they could've denied it, denied that she had done something so awful. But they didn't.

And then, the words. Forgiveness. She looks down at the table, at her empty plate. Her brow is crunched in confusion, the whole of her screaming for penance when she looks up and asks, at a loss for anything else, "That... is all? You forgive me?" Even Grace had shut her out when she'd made a fool of herself. Hadn't talked to her, hadn't come out to greet her until Toustain had left apology biscuits outside her door to apologize for her mistake. "...So easily?"

[speakeroftruths]

"Easily... I'm not sure of that."

They consider the flame further. Too far from the flame and the chill of the morning would nip at their heels. Even farther and they might freeze in these strange northern climbs.

"I was hurt by your actions, but by mine as well. I could have said no. I could have stopped when I was first uncomfortable. I did not, for I was afraid of disappointing. This was my failing, my weakness. And because of this, both my and your hurt were multiplied, and I allowed myself to keep you at a distance, as though that would distance me from my failing. Weakness compounding weakness. It took nearly dying by your side to make me realize my own foolishness, all because of my initial cowardice."

When Andy turns to look at Toustain, their eyes are surely watering for having stared into the fire so long. Surely.

"You have been nothing but kind to me in my moments of weakness, save for one mistake. In my own weakness, I made several more mistakes, and fear I have caused you much pain as a result."

Their eyes, stray to Toustain's almost-healed leg, and they take that as an opportunity to wipe their sleeve across their face. They take a steadying breath, and continue.

"The Principia Sinistra teaches us that the Flame forgives those who seek forgiveness. Indeed, the Illuminatus is full of Saints and Martyrs who have forgiven those who have done them great harm, and many of those harms were done with malicious intent. If we don't live by their example, then we have learned nothing from their deaths. I think the world would be a kinder place if we could learn to forgive each other the harms we do one another, especially by mistake. I think it a great shame that so many of the lessons seem to teach that forgiveness can only come in the end."

They raise their head, to meet Toustain's gaze, and hold out their hand.

"You made a mistake, and show remorse for it. I was the only one hurt, and I forgive you. I choose to forgive you. And I want you to know how sorry I am for the hurt I have caused you, and for the time it has taken me to say that."

[rosallora]

[Toustain]

They're so thorough in what they say and yet it was all so simple when they enunciate, when they highlight that true meaning. Choose. I choose to forgive you. Not because the text said to, though it does say to. I choose to do what I wish, and now, it is forgiveness.

That's how she wants to interpret it (desperately). She wants to believe that this was not divinely ordained for once; this was an act of gentle, pure humanity.

She was still dipping in her chair out of shame when they put their arm forward, fingers extended to her. She puts her hand in theirs, her fingertips resting on their palm. She doesn't know what the gesture really is - was there a procedure, was this a sect thing? - but she feels it. She moves her hand further and grips them lightly by the wrist. The hold feels right at least, strong and it was a good place to grab. So she holds it. Skin against skin.

"I... forgive you too," she says. "My leg will heal. It must." There was no other alternative, after all, she wouldn't allow herself to be cooped up in the abbey forever.