Welcome to Gaia! ::

Jacline’s bed was made, her hair brushed, the morning sweep and kitchen chores done. She had set out candles, cleaned the petal bowls of scented water from the previous night’s mass, refilled them, and cleared the ashes from the lit alters. By the time she got halfway through rubbing down the pews with a spelled cloth (designed to help prevent nicks in the varnished wood and keep their sheen) the first rays of dawn were spilling in through the high windows like spun gold. With them came the early risers.

Jacline watched them while she worked. Subtly, or she tried to be so, stealing a glance here or there as she rubbed and wondering what sort of persons they were based on their dress.

This one was a lady, very sinful. Full of lust and extravagance from her ornately done up, vibrant turquoise-green hair to her elegant gold and lavender dress, sewn by servants. She must have done something truly awful to inspire her to come into the house of the Mother so early in the morning. Fancy ladies so rarely did, after all. Perhaps she was pregnant. Or an adulterer. But no, that was too plain, and she too pretty. Father Tallart said that on dark nights, when the moon was especially full and sinners active, it gave Soudana the power to tempt and taint even Seren’s own children, and that she always chose to hide the greatest amounts of wickedness behind the loveliest of faces out of spite, which was why one must never be fooled by looks.

Silver lashes pinched closer together, suspicious as Jacline scrutinized the subject of her musings from beneath them. This woman was very beautiful, and very early.

She had probably killed someone.

Rising, Jacline gathered the skirts of her robe with her as she moved to the next pew and knelt to clean again. From there, she eyed the next early worshiper. An old man, he was. Ugly. And fat. He drank too much, she decided, and lied horribly. Perhaps he even had two wives. That would be very exciting and terrible. He may even have been born wicked and came to the temple only now realizing how awful he had been, hoping to beg Seren for forgiveness. Given how old he was already, he might die before he managed to atone for all he’d done.

Out of pity and selflessness, Jacline closed her eyes a moment. Then and there, she sent up the smallest prayer for his sake that, if he was truly repentant, he might be permitted back into their Mother’s good graces before his death. It would be so sad to be very truly sorry and still punished for eternity, after all. It was the least she could do.

Satisfied with herself, she moved further down the pew, and so it went. She was always torn on guessing whether the earliest comers were especially pious, or more wicked than most and in need of extra time on their knees. But, although there were some mornings where she concluded that most of the early company was sincere, it usually seemed that the opposite must be true, which sometimes made the process something of an adventure, to clean dutifully in the presence of murderers or thieves, risking danger while they ‘prayed’ and she braved their presence in order to clean in her Mother’s honor.

By the time she finished with the pews, more people were shuffling in of the more regular and boring sort: middle aged folk, mothers and fathers with fussing, unappreciative little ones, all of them gathering in preparation for the first mass. Jacline was well out of their way before the real crowds came. It wasn’t her place to be in the way and there was so much to do, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t steal glimpses on occasion.

Still, by the time the powerful voice of one of the high priestesses was rising out over the crowd with the morning sermon, Jacline was tucked far down the left wing, out of the mainway and in a washroom, on her knees and elbow-deep in cold, soapy water: scrubbing curtains, tablecloths, and minister robes. That was when she spied the interloper.

The washroom door was only open just a crack, and Sister Maeson had been with her at first, overseeing the process. Now, though, when Jacline’s eye caught the rustle of skirts that were most certainly not those of the serving penitent priests and priestesses, her fingers froze in the water. Her chin darted up and she opened her mouth.

“Sister Maeson-”

Her brow furrowed, though, for she was alone in the room.

Her teeth dug into her lower lip. It would be lazy and disobedient to abandon her work. She had so much to do still. But it would be worse wouldn’t it, to risk letting someone who didn’t belong scuttle about unnoticed through the church where they didn’t belong? Father Tallart might scold her for shirking her duties. It would be terrible to do so.

But what if the interloper broke something?

It was that concern which spurned her to rise from the washbasin, Jacline decided, firmly wiping her hands on her skirts before walking at the fastest controlled pace she could manage out the door and down the hall. It didn’t have anything to do with curiosity. Or laziness. Or a desire to scold and correct such a clearly poorly-raised child.

Her eyes caught the tail end of ruffled skirts turning a corner. Jacline pursued.

“You-” she said upon turning the corner. Her words froze there a moment though, silver eyes flicking as they sized up her company. Another girl, of course, close to her age most likely, in a nice dress but not the finery of nobles. She drew a breath, chest pushing out. Really, as the church resident, it was her place to take the higher road, no matter how tempting it was to inform the girl immediately that she could not be here. “Are you lost?”

Jacline’s already slitted stare pinched tighter. Her planned response, however, had been derailed. She knew the girl had to be lost; she clearly didn’t belong. Needless to say she had never seen her before, not even amidst the pews in all the years she’d lived in the church, and perhaps that was telling enough. A little vagrant, unaccustomed to the church of their holy Mother. Yet, instead of the expected answer in any form, admitting that she was out of place, the girl had felt the need - nay, the nerve to say otherwise.

So Jacline took a moment, drawing a breath and holding it behind her teeth as she assessed the situation. She wanted to say as much as she knew: that the girl was a liar, an outsider, and even if her unwatchful parents didn’t know what bad she was up to, Seren was watching, always. That seemed, though, as if it might fall on deaf ears. Better to leave the disciplining to her parents when she was returned to them. If they were half as responsible as Father Tallart, she would receive a whipping without doubt. It might smart for weeks.

Satisfied with this small ‘victory’, Jacline notched her chin up, and folded her hands behind her.

“Not here,” she said. “I know that. And more importantly, you must know it,” she added, tone gaining clip as it went along. “You don’t belong at all, and you couldn’t think so unless you’re very especially dim. Only Seren’s most loyal are allowed back here. The priests and priestesses of the citadel and the brothers and sisters who work it. It isn’t open to the public. Certainly not little girls like you…”

Jacline’s lips clapped back together, pressing to make a brief, thin line as her pulse picked up and twisted with guilt. Was that too cross or rude? Rudeness was a vice, and unacceptable. As was anger. But she wasn’t angry, she was just telling the truth, and of course she had to tell the truth. Perhaps, though, because the girl was young, Seren would prefer that she be gentler with it. Jacline drew another breath, glanced away, and back.

Finally, only just eyeing the other girl from beneath her lashes, she added in a quieter tone, “But I live here, so I know this place, and since you are lost, I can show you back to the main sermon hall if you like. I won’t even tell anyone that you were running about touching things you oughtn’t.” She should have stopped there. She knew it. But sometimes it was so hard to be good. “If you admit you lied, because you did. And Mother doesn’t like liars in Her house. You’ll be punished for sure otherwise.”

“Not here because-” Jacline bristled, cheeks puffing and warming with combined frustration and bewilderment. This girl could talk a great lot, couldn’t she? But had such an unnerving and senseless attitude of entitlement. “Just because a part of a thing is open doesn’t mean that the rest of it is. Some of it is for people to pray in, other parts are private, and this-” She shook her head in a small flurry. “You can’t just touch anything you please and assume nothing will be ruined, you don’t know how important-”

Evidently, however, the interloper cared little enough about her warnings to pay them heed. It seemed a strange thing to bear repeating, that she lived here, and Jacline opened her mouth to quip that yes, she did, and that was all the more proof that she was right and that she knew the rules here better than rude and invasive strangers. What followed, though, prevented any middle comment, and Jacline’s frustrations petered through her lips in a terse huff of a sigh.

“You-” She shook her head again. “You don’t-” That thought very quickly became: “No, you can’t just-”

The skirt of her robes flurried, swishing across the carpeted floor as Jacline’s fingers pinched into them and took after the girl. She shouldn’t have, most likely. Some other child’s poor behavior didn’t excuse laziness or misbehavior on her part, but for once in the moment, that did not even immediately occur to her. There was something so wrong about just letting the girl go, and her curiosity about how thoroughly odd and brash she was drowned out further reasoning.

“I don’t need ‘fun’. I was trying to help you. But if you don’t behave I will have to tell Father Tallart or Mother Maeson or your own mummy and daddy when they-” Her fingers crimped tighter into her skirts. The girl was going fast wasn’t she, skipping about like a little spring creature? It made it difficult to keep up while maintaining composure. “What are you doing, and where are you going…? Surely you needn’t be so quick about it, you’ll break something with your skirts flicking like that! And it’s improper to hop about so, you don’t look ladylike a’tall-”

“You don’t- you can’t know if I am or am not anything!” Jacline objected as she gave chase, though her cheeks warmed after with guilt for raising her voice so. That wasn’t proper either, and in such company as this, it seemed all the more necessary to try to be on her best behavior. Not that the other girl acted the sort that would pay attention. “And I- I know a good deal more about it than you,” she said.

That much was obvious enough.

“And it has nothing to do with men or being beautiful or running, or-” Jacline nearly toppled into her target and stumbled so as not to. Upon being accused of rudeness, she sputtered, and opened her mouth. She was the rude one? “You think I’m rude, what do you possibly consider yourse-” The girl, ‘Luka’, curtsied, and whatever color was not yet in Jacline’s cheeks rushed there like children to a penny sale on sweets. She floundered. “I-”

Should she curtsy also? She knew how, and now that the other girl had, she felt peculiarly as though she would be one-upped if she didn’t. She pinched her lips together, face still a royal pink as she caught her skirts in her fingers, and mimicked the gesture. It wasn’t perhaps her best performance, but it would do.

“Jacline…” she said. “But you still oughn’t be here. You’re very far from the mainway now…you’ll be in trouble for surely if you don’t head back.”

Jacline’s eyes widened expectantly, her eyebrows lifting and head leaning a half inch in. Almost, though she never would have recognized it herself as such, like a child awaiting to be told a story or have something complicated explained to her. An essen…? “Essen…tial? Eccentric? Excentric?” she guessed. “As in quite erratic and peculiar-” It did seem to make sense. ‘Excited’ seemed almost like a disappointment afterward, and Jacline’s lips pinched downward as though to say so.

She never got the chance to comment, however, already pulled into the next topic. Which was, apparently, her name.

“Like…teeth…” she repeated slowly. Dubiously. “On ice…? Skating…” She frowned. “I’ve never been skating…” It probably didn’t matter. It probably didn’t feel good. It sounded very unpleasant. She didn’t really think she wanted to have her teeth skating on much of anything, and certainly not ice, which was hard and cold and brittle and many other less than favorable things. “It sounds painful. And I-” She squeaked in surprise, white cheeks blushing rosey again when her arm was tugged upon.

Did this girl have no sense of contact?

“I don’t- There won’t be- That is-” Jacline staggered. “I do live here, but we can’t possibly- This isn’t a castle! It’s a church. A place of sacred worship-”

She gave a small, half-panicked sound as she was tugged further down the hall. At this rate she would be in more trouble than she knew what to do with. She made a gesture of the six-starred sun before her with her free hand, whispering a prayer beneath hitched breath.

“Seren, mother, forgive me-” She sucked a deep breath into her lungs. “Sister Maeson! Father Tallart- Brother Roddrik, anyone, help!”