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 Posted: Wed Aug 05, 2009 1:45 am
On particularly nice summer days, he would move from the library to the gardens and sit on one of the ubiquitous benches with a thin volume of poetry, or perhaps local history, and pretend he was doing something.
Ranking up, thought Asmadai, seemed to be well dry; he had not yet noted any increase in responsibility beyond looking out for the new recruits as best he could, directing them one way or another. It was not all that different from his time as a librarian at the Castel Gandolfo, but the facts were that you could only do one thing - like shelving books, or watching security cameras, or being briefed for missions that could start at any time without warning - for so long before you started wanting to beat your head on a particularly unforgiving stretch of wall. Priest or no priest, every human being needed time to relax from other human beings. This time spent hiding in the garden was well spent.
However, today was not particularly relaxing. He was reading a treatise in dated French, with a notebook balanced perilously on one knee, held down with his right hand and a pen, but there was some kind of strange clanking noise. The only sound he could compare it to was Einar's "battle suit" from the Masquerade around the turn of the year, and yet it could not be the Norwegian. Asmadai's face creased with displeasure at the thought of the man. Perhaps the priest himself had been precipitous in traveling to Rome while still a recruit, but it was always easier to ask permission than to beg forgiveness. And, of course, there were other mitigating factors - such as the man's foolishness causing the death or disappearance of one of the other newbies -
Asmadai shook his head and scrawled out a note in messily imperfect French as to the date of the Battle of the Golden Spurs. If there was anyone here rumbling about in armor, surely they would not be the sort to notice a lone priest and his book.
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Posted: Wed Aug 05, 2009 2:15 am
Uneducated men of modern eras often made stipulations about the Knights of old - at least, before the stability of time was shattered as easily as the now destroyed crystal. What did they anticipate? A man clad in silver armor, atop a steed of white color and flowing main, toting a young Maiden in the name of Chivalry? Perhaps it was lucky that Matthys had been spared these ideas; however, he certainly didn't match them. His suit was black and deep silver, far too elegant for armor designed for conventional battle. It must have been dress armor - but it's size, weight, and the fact that it hid the man beneath it behind a veil of mystery made the suit easily imposing. Not only did Matthys lack the suit so often seen in films, he lacked a horse - and he wasn't approaching a desperate, helpless young women.
Of course, some might argue that Asmadai fit at least one of those criteria.
Why he was in the Garden, even Matthys wasn't completely sure. Still placed amongst the ranks as a newer recruit, he was familiarizing himself with the L.O.T.U.S. compound - which also included it's outer most borders.. the garden - filled with lush, tall, and unthreatening plant life. Silence clung to the air as tightly as the sweet smell of flora, and Matthys tilted his head gently, brushing a covered palm along the rounded butt of his hilt. He'd always been taught to be careful - that even criminals were apt to seeking sanctuary in the most serene, unexpected places. Churches were, of course, held to a certain standard; but this wasn't a church. Any unknown being was free game to the neatly polished blade of his sword.
He had to remember, however, that the people here were to be considered Comrades.
Ever since leaving Belgium, he hadn't considered the word. The concept reverberated in his head, and a muffled grunt left the European's lips as he slid around a hedge. The heat was almost overbearing in his armor, but discipline seemed to keep Matthys reluctant to remove a piece of it - let alone lift the visor that his his face from the world. While his heavy boots wreaked havoc on the short grass beneath him, Matthys' attention was quickly drawn elsewhere. A sign of life - discovered, perhaps, a bit late. Tucked away in the private solitude of the Garden, Matthys' peaked upon a foreign figure. The black garb at first piqued his curiosity; although as the pale-haired man moved to scrawl out a line of writing in his small book, Matthys gained a momentary peak of his collar.
The world outside of Belgium was still foreign to him - but whatever the region, that white collar tucked amongst black clothing was distinctive. A holy man - no, certainly not just that, a Priest! But had he seen a Cathedral, or even a small church within the building? While it was entirely possibly that he'd only just failed to locate it, the Priest's presence within the garden seemed.. mysterious. What did Priests write about in such gardens.. he was forced to wonder.
Then again, there really was no need to wonder, he decided. The noisy, disruptive clatter of his armor had stopped for a short time as he peaked at Asmadai; but now, it returned with a fury, growing louder and closer, until at last a fingertip came to tap the Priest's shoulder as Matthys approached from behind. While he had intended to disturb the main before him in a rather.. delicate manner, the cold steel of his armor couldn't help but make his touch seem harder, and less careful. It had only then dawned at him that due to the very.. multi-cultural setting of the compound, that he had no idea as to what this stranger might speak.
"Grüß dich, Herr... oder.."
Would that German work? Perhaps it would be best to attempt French?
"Greetings to you, sir?.."
He spoke tentatively, voice echoed by the mask he wore.
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Posted: Wed Aug 05, 2009 11:33 pm
The clanking sound had only grown louder; whoever or whatever the disturbance was, it was coming his way and he had to admit that he was a little annoyed. He got no small amount of time to himself each day, but finally true summer had come and any sane person would want to spend time outside. Unfortunately, it seemed every time he stepped out into the gardens someone else was there.
He had not expected the cause of the disturbance to tap him on the shoulder. Asmadai shut his notebook before looking up at the giant armor-clad man; his eyebrows raised a bit at the black and silver metal, but otherwise he seemed nonplussed and moved over, in case the man wanted to sit.
German was not among his spoken languages and so he shook his head - but he did speak French, and it would be good manners to greet the man. Asmadai smiled warmly, put on his "priest face" and responded, "Bon matin. I haven't seen you around the compound before. Are you a new recruit?"
Sometimes he had to wonder where the Sian siblings found the people that joined LOTUS. Other times, he decided he really didn't want to know.
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Posted: Thu Aug 06, 2009 12:56 am
In all reality, it had been more of a case of Matthys finding the siblings. Well, not really. He'd searched for the LOTUS compound, with no real idea as to where it was. he must have been wandering for weeks, and it had seemingly only been by chance that he had made contact with the organization, and, of course, joined. While his own features, expressions, and intentions were hidden from the Priest, Matthys was allowed a moment to observe his features. Yes - certainly a Priest; and while he still lacked a name, it was rather.. comforting. Luckily for Asmadai, the Knight was a little dense - he failed to pick up on the less than full-hearted smile, or the fact that the Priest certainly considered the elegantly dressed Belgian a nuisance.
Hidden eyebrows lifted, his interest caught briefly by the journal that now lay closed. He had observed the holy man scribbling away up until his approach. How curious; what could he have possibly been writing? Attempting to avoid the stigma of seeming rude, Matthys quietly avoided the subject. Rather, he stayed standing, despite the opened space. While his armor was lighter than quite a few suits he had worn before, and he had also improved his mobility ten-fold since his younger years, the clambering, uncomfortable movements of sitting at a bench were far from appealing to Matthys. Instead, he smiled an unseen smile at the Priest's greeting.
How lucky he was - he spoke French! It would have been a disaster had the Priest spoken English.
"I apologize for my rudeness. I also suppose that it would be proper to refer to you as.. father."
He hesitated. The priests and holy men in his own home country had been very sensitive about their "titles". Moving back on track, Matthys hand left the hilt of his blade, travelling upwards to pinch the thin metal mask that covered his eyes, nose, and part of his mouth - only to tilt it upwards so that it rested atop his helmet, as opposed to over his fare, but somewhat tired features. It would make deciphering his accented French easier, Matthys imagined.
"Yes, I am a 'new recruit' - I've come from a very far off place. Admittedly.. I have not seen a Priest in a very long while."
His mother would have punished him severely for neglecting those.. duties, even as a Knight. Matthys felt awkward, referring to himself as a New Recruit. He'd after all been in training to wield a sword and be a proper Knight since a boy.
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Posted: Fri Aug 07, 2009 10:00 pm
He hadn't thought that the man had been rude at all, thought Asmadai as he set aside the notebook and text; it was simply that he did enjoy his time to himself. That didn't necessarily mean that the priest wasn't happy to meet the new recruit. Variety was the spice of life.
"Perhaps it would be," he acknowledged. Most people, the Sians excepted of course, did call him Father Riffael if they used his name at all. Seeing that the armor-clad man would not sit, he stood and offered his hand. "My name is Asmadai Riffael. I'm rank one; if you need any help finding your way, I'd be glad to assist." And, perhaps perversely, he would be. It gave him an opportunity to get to know those he considered his spiritual 'flock', even if not all of them were Catholic or even Christian at all.
God was created for the sinner, and all that.
With a smile, Asmadai added, "Fair enough. I haven't seen one either, not since I left Rome." It was true; he did not count shamans of other religions as priests, and the only place he had been otherwise was Japan. He shuddered, thinking of Japan. Dear Lord, he did not want to go back there ever again whilst sporting blond hair. It'd be better to go back bald.
"Might I ask where you came from?"
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Posted: Sat Aug 08, 2009 1:04 am
((WHY U SAY PERVERSELY? redface loljk ))
Matthys was a knight - and amongst Knights, being proper, especially to a man of the cloth, was expected. Matthys' time was one based in medieval Europe, after all; where fiefdoms and entire countries were run by royal families and the Church. He worked daily with the Priests of his own country, as well as his fellow Knights, and being skillful with one's tongue was just as important as being skilled with one's blade. With his facial features partially exposed, the Knight offered a weak smile at that. He didn't mind calling the Priest "Father", but adding a name onto that title would certainly give it a more personal, warm touch. He may have been a warrior, but he was still a warm individual.
"Rank one? My - It amazes me how everyone who comes here starts from scratch, essentially. I suppose given the purpose of this place, however, assessing one's skills is of utmost importance. Some assistance in finding my way around this compound would be appreciated, as well. I've been in many castles and mazes before, but how modern this place is does leave me at a loss. If you don't mind my asking, what is your name, Father?"
He'd never been to Japan, or anywhere.. really. He had lived his life in Belgium, and while he'd crossed many planes of time and culture while coming to L.O.T.U.S., they had played little role in his memory. As it were.. he'd had more important matters to attend to, such as surviving the journey, finding his way, and keeping his own morale up. His interest seemed piqued at Rome. How fitting - wasn't that considered the heart of religion? Well, Christianity and that sort of thing.. The Vatican was there, he knew. Although Matthys dare not press any further at the matter, for the moment. Not when the Priest's own curiosities had yet to be addressed. Offered a hand shake, Matthys quirked a brow, tilting his head briefly before reaching out. His own hand was covered by darkened steel, which was cool against the Priest's certainly much warmer flesh. Exerting tentative care that would let anyone know that the Knight was all too used to the suit of armor, he shook the Holy man's hand.
"From Belgium - Flanders, specifically. A part of me wishes I had brought along my crest when leaving.. but it cannot be helped. Were I to return, I would surely be punished for my insubordination."
'Punishment' likely equated to death - but he needn't say that. The cool breeze that the garden offered felt pleasant against his skin. The normally chilly region was warmed by the Summer weather, and it reminded him of home.
"Father, do you hold any holy services at this place? Such as a Mass?"
((I need to go to church more.. so I remember what they do. xD; ))
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Posted: Sat Aug 08, 2009 8:10 pm
"Asmadai Riffael," he repeated with a smile. "I can see how the place might be considered very modern to some eras," Asmadai acknowledged, "and I certainly can commiserate with the difficulties in traveling the corridors. As I said, I am available should you need help."
Did the man live in this armor? He had been partially expecting to find his hand crushed - no big deal, since he could write with his left hand, it just took some doing and took a great deal longer than it would have otherwise. The fact that his fingers were still whole and un-powdered seemed to point to the fact that no, the Belgian didn't often take off the gauntlets, at least.
He could not help himself from offering up a small prayer of thanksgiving for that.
The man had done something wrong when he left? Well, Asmadai supposed, many people might have. It was not his business if the other LOTUS members were fugitives, as long as they were - good, he supposed. There were plenty of cases of innocent men being blamed for crimes they didn't commit, after all.
At the man's question, Asmadai shook his head. "Beyond the Liturgy of the Hours, I do not have the space nor the congregation enough to justify a Mass." The wistful tone of his voice, though, said he dearly missed it and felt rather unpriestly for shunning his duties in that way. "You are welcome to join me for Vespers or Lauds, if you wish," he added as an afterthought.
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