there cannot be any sign of LIVING in this house!

[tender]

WHO: Mother Pleasance
WHAT: Company is here.
WHEN: Drakonis
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: The fabled Mother Pleasance has arrived and is roaming the Gallows, as announced (warned, announced, very similar). This log is a container for threads requested on the OOC post. If you want Mother Pleasance to drop in on a thread already in progress elsewhere, holler at me here. Remember, she's out and about in the Gallows so CONSTANT VIGILENCE.

Comments

[hmmmmm]

If the hour troubles Mother Pleasance, she gives no sign of it. Yes, it is early. She has risen earlier, when duty calls.

And yes, this is her duty. Making bread alongside a man with green glinting from his palm.

Well, for a given definition of a man. A Fade-made being, resembling a man.

"There are no silly questions," she counters, dusting her floury palms. Moments ago, she had tied a borrowed apron over her robes in brisk, economical movements. "I was not always a revered Mother."

The movements do come to her, slow but sure.

"Is this how you spend your mornings here?"

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude, who finds things to care about in nearly everyone he meets, warms at the suggestion. So many things in him are wired to appreciate a teacher, a mentor, especially one who has not forgotten humble roots.

"Some people feel more comfortable forgetting whatever they were. Never saw the use in that myself."

Clear approval.

Jude moves easily, but lets himself warm up naturally, not straining himself by trying for speed. Instead he lets himself lean into the kneading, using his upper body.

"Yup," he says back, a concise nod. "A good start for my muscles, nice little bit of relaxation for my brain. Like a personal ritual."

He nods to her.

"Wouldn't compare it to praying. But meditation, maybe."

[hmmmmm]

"We find the Maker in all aspects of our lives," she posits. "Even in the preparation of our daily meals."

Is there some space for prayer in this work? For Mother Pleasance, there certainly is. And yes, the meditative quality of the work lends itself well to the concept. Were she working alone, she may find some connectivity here.

But she is not alone, and her work is never far from her mind.

"What would you compare to prayer, as you know it? Or have found it, since you manifested here?"

The Gallows Chantry is clean, tidy and pleasantly arranged. It is clear that it has been maintained. (Or prepared for her arrival. She is not blind to that prospect.) But she wonders how many of these Rifters find their way to it. Who here has shown them the way to it?

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude listens; interested, curious. The Revered Mother may not think that he's a person, exactly, but she's treated him as one so far. Makes it much easier to give her the same courtesy.

"Wouldn't know, except the guessing," he says easily, working at rolling the dough. A steady, comforting process, something do by rote so often that he doesn't have to pay much attention.

"Prayer looks like meditation to me. Reflection. Peace. Gotta expect that for a true believer, it must feel like a conversation with a loved one. Or at least a letter to them. Good way to unburden your mind, talk out whatever's messing around in there."

[hmmmmm]

A slight pursuing of the lips.

Not necessarily offense; this is a spirit, after all. She is not unaware of the strangeness they may purport as custom.

"I will not deny I find it an odd approach. I wouldn't presume to trouble the Maker with the minutia of my thoughts," is the result of a moment's thought, several stretching digs of her palm into her allotment of dough. "We may beseech Andraste to intervene on our behalf, should we be so troubled."

A conversation implies a response, and the Maker is not given to rejoinders and replies.

"But I have often found it does bring peace."

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude tilts his head, picking up on the- not disapproval, but understanding that he doesn't understand. It's not surprising, he doesn't have much to compare it to.

In his world, those immaterial loved ones do talk back to those who can hear them.

"What is it for you, Revered Mother?" he asks, lifting his attention from his work, though his hands don't stop. He's genuinely curious.

This assignment had been presented to him as a hardship, but so far he hasn't found her difficult to spend time with at all. Quite the opposite.

[hmmmmm]

"Prayer?"

They are not necessarily here to speak of her. And perhaps there will soon come a point where she realigns their discussion, shifts to the queries she must gather answers for.

"A glorification," she returns, after a moment's thought. "And a reminder of our responsibilities, lest we grow lax in that which we are called to provide to this living realm."

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude nods. A re-orientation then, an understanding. Peace.

This, he can understand -- and better than that, he can understand a calling, a need that one is compelled to answer, a cause that wants willing hands.

He slaps the dough into place, rolls it up, weighs it in his hand. It's built up, but not enough.

"Thanks for letting me side-track you," he says plainly, with another smile. "But you're not here to have your brain picked over."

[hmmmmm]

"No," comes the acknowledgement. "Though it is never time wasted to discuss the Maker and how we beseech Him."

And regardless, it certainly isn't any secret as to what she is doing here. That she is observing all, even in these small detours from more focused conversation.

There had been a letter. An announcement of her intentions. All very above board, though perhaps they might have approached this entire business in a less transparent way.

It had not been for Pleasance to say. She is here, she has her assignment.

"Given that you have very little recourse in terms of alternative paths, do you feel you are well-led in this one?"

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude considers his answer again, customary for him, for the more complicated feelings.

"Yes," is decisive. "Riftwatch leadership is not careless with their people's lives, and they are dedicated to taking down Corypheus."

Another roll of his arms, as he continues kneading.

"By now you've noticed how different we all are from each other?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow at her. "They manage that, and lead us all to the same purpose. I respect anyone capable of that."