multiversallogs | OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

Who: Everyone!
What: St Kelley's evening
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Veerdi evening.
Notes:
(1) The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread.
(2) All mementos will appear overnight in some part of your character's apartment.
(3) Dance!

St Kelley's is one of the more sedate occasions in Baedal, at least as holidays go. It passes more or less unnoticed by the majority of the population as many of them feel it doesn't concern them. It's not their holiday; it's for the others. Those with severed ties and broken hearts. The temple and church preach that it's a time for reflection or for glorifying the generosity of the gods. It's one of the few days on which no one looks askance at first generation Citizens mourning their missing loved ones publicly.

As night rolls around and floating lanterns are set to sea, the Apache in Mog Hill prepares to accept guests from the newer cohorts. It's something that happens every year, making it a practical tradition. The alcohol will be cheaper for first timers, and the music will be kept at a reasonable level.

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Cheerily oblivious to Wolfgang's discomfort, Shrieky reached up to fish out a piece of cord that he's tied around his neck, tugging it up from where it's vanished into his t-shirt, dangling from it is a wedding ring.

"I got this! Not the string though, that's just to keep from losing it. How about you?"

And with that, less important topic out of the way, he zeroes in on the more pressing question, "And, what do you mean this might be your last one?"

"Oh, that's beautiful." He pauses, unsure whether it's appropriate to ask about the significance -- everyone else is, it's probably the one time of year here where it's acceptable to pry into people's personal business like that, but it seems a little rude to him. Dilemma. Finally he decides he might as well, it seems to be the night for it, and Shrieky doesn't look as morose as a lot of the other people here, so -- "Whose is it?"

He shakes his head and gives a little half-shrug, glancing once again in the vague direction of outside. "Nothing I recognise. It belonged to one of my sisters, probably. A doll." It troubles him deeply, though, the state that it's in -- burned, headless. It must be from that long gap in his memory -- the period of his life where he doesn't remember anything at all.

Glad to change the subject, though, he shrugs again and says, "Um -- I don't worship the gods here, so it feels a little weird to celebrate holidays for them, you know?"

"It belonged to Everett, my friend. The same man who told me that story about the sun stealing children." He twines his fingers down the length of the cord, until he's holding the actual ring. Absently, he slips it onto one of his fingers, but it's a little too large for him, "He got it when he was married. I wonder, if these items being here, mean that they have been taken away from those back home."

The moment Wolfgang mentions his own gift however, his attention is rearrested. Not by the gift of a doll, that's information which he can take or leave, but by the far more interesting revelation about the other man, "You have sisters? That's wonderful! What are they like?" There's a beat, and then it occurs to him that this might not be a very welcome question, considering this is a day almost entirely devoted to commemorating loss, "Actually, there are probably reasons why you would not wish to answer that. I'm sorry."

The final comment only inspires further questions, in fact, so many questions that he suspects if he asks them all right now, they're feet will get tired from standing here while Wolfgang diligently lists the answers, so instead he gestures vaguely behind himself, "I wish to continue this conversation! Would you like to go and sit down somewhere?"

"That's a thought. I'd like to think they're just copies, otherwise a lot of people are missing something important right now -- then again, if it's the real thing, maybe that's a clue about where we are." It's disturbing to think how many people have had their loved ones vanish without a trace -- they can't possibly know they've been kidnapped to another dimension, they might just think they've run away or died. A small minority might know enough to believe in the existence of other worlds, and having their belongings in addition to their friends and family disappear might be enough of a clue to find this place. That idea fascinates him, although he's sure it's come up at the university before.

"Oh, no, it's fine, I'm not bothered at all." But this is probably a bad place to talk about it, so he nods at Shrieky's suggestion to move. He pauses to finish his drink and get another before they go, beer this time, since if he's going to be sociable he should probably not get falling-down drunk.

He'll ask Shrieky if he'd like one too -- Wolfgang will pay for his if he does, why not? He's sort of got a real job again and if this isn't the holiday with the best excuse for gratuitous drinking, what is.

When that's settled, he elbows his way out of the crowd around the bar towards the lounge, where it's quieter.

"Do you think it's possible that's true of all of us? That the reason why no one's found us here, is because back home, none of us are actually missing?" Shrieky looked down at the ring again, then slipped it off his finger and dropped it back down into his tee shirt. The idea that there was another him, drifting around somewhere wasn't entirely pleasant.

Shrieky hesitates at the offer of a drink (because he sort of feels like he's been getting a lot of free stuff, lately) but he accepts none the less, and follows Wolfgang through the crowd and into the lounge.

He drops into an empty table, and leans forward, attempting to reengage the conversation, "I've not really spoken to anyone about the Gods yet. Things like this... is worshiping them so important to it?"

"Oh --" Wolfgang says something that sounds like an expletive, awkwardly out of place on him. "That's really disturbing." He's heard that it's not unusual for multiple incarnations of the same person to appear in the city -- alternate realities, blah blah -- but looking at that from a personal point of view, the idea that there's more than one of him out there, really freaks him out. Shit.

Hopefully that's a mental image he can chase out of his head with beer.

He sits slowly and crosses his legs at the ankles, propping his chin in his hand on the side of his face away from his hair. "It's -- I don't think so, no, this in particular, it seems casual? But, mm -- celebrating what amounts to another religion's holidays feels a little awkward. I don't think they care too much whether or not you actively worship them. At least, they've given things to everyone regardless, I think."

"Well, it's probably wrong." Shrieky adds quickly, because... it is kind of a disturbing thought, and he feels a little bad for setting up shop pedaling nightmare fuel so soon after he's gotten a free beer out of Wolfgang, "I did just make it up, there's no reason at all why it should be correct."

"Do many people who arrive here choose to worship the gods? It seems like... I don't know, there doesn't seem to be any obvious reason why someone would choose to do that." Worshiping your kidnappers, who didn't care whether or not they were worshipped. It just seemed strange to him.

"I don't know the statistics --" Yet, he's totally going to go look that up later because it's interesting okay, "-- but I think most people do? It seems to me like, like... most people come here from places where the gods are less hands-on than they are here. Here, you can talk to them -- directly, I mean, if you go back over the Network, there are actual posts from the gods, it's really..."

He stops, refocuses. "I mean, we can see that with traditions like these; they say it's the gods who bring you the gift. So if you go from somewhere where the gods are so distant they may as well not exist to a place where they actively take an interest in your life, and do things for you..." He shrugs. "It makes a lot of sense to believe in something you can see with your own eyes, talk to, touch. It's easier to believe in a god who cares if they do things like this for you."

Shrieky frowns, swirling his beer in the bottom of the glass, "See, I would have thought that all of those things which you describe? It makes them all less godlike. I understand, perhaps, why people believe in them, and that they are known as the gods, that they live for centuries, and that they created this city, but... many things live for centuries, and under the right conditions, almost anyone could create a city."

He tips back his glass and takes a swallow of his beer, before lowering it again, thoughtfully, "Mages or monsters intervene in the lives of people. Sometimes, I've been told, an entire city can be commanded by a strong enough sorcerer. Gods keep to the firmament of heaven, they descend only in secret, and the consequence of their intervention is unknowable. Without that distance, they're hardly Gods at all. They're just extremely powerful, intrusive wizards."

"That's the basic problem with polytheism, I think." He wouldn't even be saying this if he hadn't already knocked back a few, because he is extremely wary of anything that comes close to criticism about any of Baedal's native gods -- not that he's worried about the gods themselves, he's sure they've got better things to do than smack down every punk-ass new immigrant with half-baked ideas about theology. He's more worried about the mortals in charge of running their city.

"At that point, I'm not sure how you tell the difference between a god and any other powerful being -- not when the gods can be killed, which happens... a lot. I guess you could argue it doesn't count if they resurrect, but from what I've read, mortals have been able to do that, too. They were born, and they live until they die. It's true that in some worlds, the gods die and stay dead forever, and life goes on as normal. You might as well give offerings to a very powerful mage -- wouldn't it have the same effect? You worship them, so you earn their favour? I suppose there has to be some difference, but nobody has been able to explain it to me." Wolfgang winces. "Not that I'm preaching, it's just, personally why I've never been able to put my faith in that. I should also disclaim, I am not a theologist, I am the least qualified person to have this conversation."

"Well, I think you're right." Presses Shrieky, never hesitant to subscribe to an unpopular opinion, "I think... if you're expected to worship something, and to treat it as if it's infallible and all powerful, then it should be... unassailable. You should be completely convinced that what you're worshiping is a god, and not just a Mage, and, information which is essential to making that very basic distinction, should not be exclusively in the hands of theologians."

He pauses, then touches his fingertips to the ring around his neck, expression thoughtful, "So, because you don't believe that they're actually Gods, you don't plan on attending any more festivals?"

"A god who's human enough to be fallible makes sense from an anthropological standpoint but in terms of devoting actual worship to them, I don't know. I'd get nervous, I think? Riding your hopes on someone who is relatable enough to be nearly human. But maybe people think that's comforting, being able to relate to their gods instead of praying to a void they can't even be sure is listening." His smile is crooked and self-conscious, because that last bit is awfully personal.

"Oh, well, I didn't say that. They might be, they might not be; I can't tell the difference, and they're not my God, so it doesn't matter one way or the other, really." A little shrug, and he gnaws on his lip while he considers Shrieky's question. "I'll probably come out to observe, but participate, I don't think so, no. So, are you religious?" Not strictly speaking the most polite thing to ask, but it's relevant and they're discussing it anyway, so why not?

"I think people who look for close personal interactions with deities, are probably just very lonely. That's not what deities are for." He taps his fingers lightly on the glass, and dips his head, still watching Wolfgang with interest, "So, what's your God? Is it one from your home?"

He lifts his beer to take another drink, shaking his head at the question, "No. Mermaids don't have souls, and I couldn't have gotten to a temple anyway."

It's not until his mouth is well and truly filled with beer that it occurs to him that he might not have mentioned to Wolfgang that he's a Mermaid up to this point.

"I don't know. I think I'd like to know that He's listening enough to do something, and also know He is not taking a big shit on me." ... sir. Goodness. That's affectionate, anyway, like he's talking about a distant family member -- he has neither the bitterness of an ex-believer nor the rapturous reverence of the highly devout. "Yes, I'm one of those self-righteous monotheists." He's quoting one of the usual descriptions of the 'types' associated with the House Ecumenal -- where 'self-righteous' is on the gentle side.

"You're a mermaid?" He looks very surprised, but also terribly interested -- that would hardly be the weirdest thing anyone's ever told them about themselves here, and thinking about it... it explains an awful lot about Shrieky.

"I don't think there's anything self righteous about only worshiping one God." Shrieky offers, because those were a lot of quite self depreciating things that Wolfgang said in rather fast succession. It's probably not wonderfully reassuring to have to wonder whether or not your god is defecating on you from on high, "So, what's he like? Your singular God?"

Shrieky clears his throat a little, and nods, in response to the question, "Yes. I was more obviously a mermaid, up until recently, with a tail and functioning gills as opposed to legs and an exclusively lung based respiratory system... But despite having undergone these recent changes, I am still a mermaid."

He may have partly been repeating that for his own benefit, but he feels that he should clarify about such things.

"Distant. They say He's dead." Wolfgang fidgets unconsciously -- playing with his hair, running his hand along his neck, chewing on his lip. "There are a lot of different schools of thought, we have... some central holy texts, but they were written a very long time ago and no one agrees about what they mean. Generally speaking, we believe in one omniscient, omnipotent God who created the universe and everything in it. He made man -- and His chosen people -- and we immediately set out cocking it all up." Accurate? Accurate. "I don't know -- for us, my family, anyway, it's more cultural than religious. For a long time, God was all we had. Plus there's sort of this important rule about not worshiping any other gods." Hence his hesitation.

The revelation about Shrieky's species makes him tilt his head slightly to one side, blinking rapidly -- that was definitely unexpected. "Oh." He considers this for a moment -- it's not so much that it affects how he thinks of him as he needs to adjust his Shrieky-schema to absorb this new information. "Huh. That's really cool, actually. You're not... I mean, do you change, or?"

"How do they know?" Shrieky asked, "whether or not he's dead, I mean? Was there some kind of cataclysmic event which might have killed him?" He finds the way Wolfgang talks about his religion fascinating. From the description given, he envisions it more like an obscure cult to an immense, possibly necrotic deity who consumed all other gods and then receded to the furthest climbs of existence than anything more benign and personal. Still, at least it sounded like he worshiped a proper god like God.

This was going fairly well, really. It wasn't that he'd expected Wolfgang to take the news particularly badly, he just... well, he still wasn't quite used to it not being obvious about him, "No, I don't change. I mean, I can't change. This is just what I'm going to look like from now on. Which is a good thing, really, because not being able to walk was quite terrible."

"Oh, well, it's metaphorical. Mostly. I mean, literally it might be true, it's not like we'd have any way of knowing -- generally people from my world who claim to have literally heard the voice of God, they aren't taken so seriously -- but it's this school of thought, theothanatology," he starts gesturing broadly and vaguely, a habit of his; at least it keeps him from fidgeting so much, "it goes back to Nietzsche. If there's no cosmic order, then the universal and absolute moral laws prescribed by Abrahamic religions are outdated and ought to be rejected. Rubenstein argued that the Holocaust broke God's covenant with Abraham... and in the Kabbalistic understanding, God died while creating the world anyway." Well, that's thoroughly morbid! And thoroughly nerdy!

He goes on to consider this information about him, trying to imagine what it must be like to have one's body so radically altered -- to be the same species, but in a body that doesn't align with that. Actually, maybe that's not such a hard concept to grasp. "Yes, I can see how legs would be pretty useful... do you miss it at all? -- I'm sorry, that's a stupid question."

Shrieky follows this explanation with interest. The broad gesturing adds a useful amount of emphasis, in his opinion. Eventually, he lifts his hand to interrupt with his questions: "I'm sorry, who was Abraham, and what covenant did he have with God? And what Holocaust did he undergo?"

There is a horrible, dark conversation to be had here. No one would judge Wolfgang for squirming out of it.

He frowns at the question, glancing down into his beer, as if the answer might be contained therein, "No, it's not a stupid question. I... I don't always know If I miss it or not. Everything is a lot harder than I expected it to be. Like getting dressed, and walking, and finding my way around. But on the other hand, I used to really hate my life, and now I don't."

"Abraham was descended from Noah, who was the man God chose to live and repopulate the world after He flooded it, um... there is a lot of context there that's missing, it's... a lot of history. Anyway, God promised Abraham land, descendents, and blessings for him and his offspring. Abraham fathered a bunch of tribes, so -- he's considered the patriarch of three major religions, but especially the Jews -- that's us. I mean, that's me. Very important man. The point is that God's covenant with Abraham was supposed to give the exiled Israelites hope for the future, that God had a plan for them, you know... um, a lot of bad stuff happened to us between then and now. The Holocaust..." He hesitates obviously. "It was a very dark time that was very, very recent in our history."

And that's as far as he's going to get into that right now. Squirm out of it he does.

"Well, you're doing awfully well," he says as he finishes his drink and digs around in his pocket for his cigarettes. "I never would have guessed." Well, okay. He guessed something was a little off, but I've never worn pants before, no.

Shrieky touches two fingers to his lips, listening intently to all of this. There's something about the idea that the necrotic distant God had once been prone to personal intervention, only to lose interest that makes Wolfgang's cult... well, sort of depressing sounding, "You said, earlier, that he was very distant? Do you ever feel as though the covenant is broken? I mean, do you still have hope for the future?"

Shrieky isn't trying to undermine his's faith here, he suspects that this is a question that Wolfgang has to have been over in his mind enough times to have some kind of answer to it.

In response to the compliment, his expression melts into a thrilled smile, "Thank you! I have been attempting to integrate myself here as seamlessly as I'm able."

Wolfgang is quiet for a long time, looking intensely at his hands -- empty beer glass in one, nicotine in the other, the brand still itching on his left hand where it's burned on there. He can't think back to a time in his life when that's been an easy question to answer, and when he goes back far enough, there's nothing at all -- just a wall in his memory. "I don't know," he says at last. "I still pray, so I must, I guess." It's an inadequate answer and he knows it. With a little shrug, he stirs finally. "Or maybe it's fairer to say that I don't, but I'd like to be wrong. Do you mind?" He gestures with his cigarette; if he smokes, he means.

(That's not just tobacco in there, but nobody in Baedal much cares, he's found.)

His smile is much more fatigued, but it's there. "Well, it shows."

The long period of silence makes Shrieky a little uncomfortable. It does make sense that you would struggle to be strong in faith if the deity you believed in had allowed many terrible things to befall you, he just... strangely, he expected there to be some kind of personal guarantee which Wolfgang had discovered somehow, confirming his beliefs. He tilts his head slightly, watching Wolfgang closely now, "I think... It shows great courage to continue worshiping your own God, despite all of these conditions, when there are other gods constantly trying to interact with you and give you things and who perhaps it would be easier for you to believe in."

"Oh, please do? I really enjoy watching people burn those!" He watched Fish smoke, then he watched Megan smoke, now he shall watch Wolfgang smoke. Shrieky props his elbow on the table, drops his cheek against his hand, and smiles attentively.

Not creepy at all, right?

"That's a nice way of looking at it, thank you," he says, which -- no, that's not sarcastic, but it is a little light. He would like to think of it as such, but clinging to beliefs he's not even sure are his anymore seems more like cowardice to him. Anyway -- the rapturous attention to his lighting his cigarette is, yes, creepy, and also completely awkward, and Wolfgang laughs self-consciously as if he's not used to being stared at that way. (Which would be disingenuous.) "Don't start," he says, already aware of the futility of being such a massive hypocrite. ('Do as I say, not as I do,' says the guy who, now that he has money again, is burning through like a pack a day.)

A life underwater offers few close encounters with flame, and the way that cigarette smoke looks, almost blue in colour, as fine and intricate as lace the way it moves through the air? It's still strange and beautiful to him, and he just watches in fascination as Wolfgang lights up. He eventually tears his gaze away from Wolfgang's cigarette to actually look at Wolfgang again, "Don't start what?" Don't start questioning the smoking? Don't start staring at him? (It's certainly too late for that second one. Sorry Wolfgang.)

His eyes slowly creep back to the cigarette, "Why do you do it?"

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OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

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