with_my_teacup | (no subject)

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[Public. Really]

[A bedraggled but unharmed friar greets whoever he can reach. His sackcloth habit is torn and some is wrapped over his head to shield his pale gray eyes from the sun.]

If God is willing, we'll need no funerals today. But the storm was rough and landing not easy-- is any man or woman injured or in need? It doesn't matter to me what ship bore you here.

And who is a physiker, to minister when my poorer skills fail?

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[The Franciscan's mouth tightens, and then eases. He preaches love, not damnation -- but he knows that others tell of God's wrath more than of his love and it is not for him to be angry at such a mild insult. And if he is angry, then he will pray.]

If God could not forgive I would be first to be damned.

[Christopher rolls his eyes skywards, then gradually sits up, shaking sand out of his hair]

Good. Go to Hell and set up shop for the rest of us.

Edited 2013-05-06 15:37 (UTC)

You're unhurt, then?

[Dick brightens, because that is good news. He was afraid the young man was concealing an injury, and he can cheerfully ignore the rest of it.]

I'm half drowned but I'm alive. [With all the sarcasm in the world] Praise Christ.

I do, and thank God.

Can you see others nearby? Are any harmed?

No. There's only you. I've been doubly blessed.

[He climbs to his feet, clumsy and a little disoriented, but otherwise intact]

Was it too much to hope that God wanted you to join him in his kingdom a little earlier?

You wouldn't be the first to wish such a reunion for me, but I am a great sinner: I think I'm meant to labor a while longer.

[He's teasing, gently and fondly. He's a little insufferable.]

[Chris only rolls his eyes in response; it's like screaming threats at the ocean for how much his barbs can affect this holy man]

Labor somewhere else, won't you? There's no one here but me and a few dead bodies.

[Casualties? His smile fades and he nods, as if Christopher had given him other instructions entirely.]

I will come to bury them, then.

You won't do anything to them. I'll bury them. Soon as it gets less hot.

Do you think they'll mind now that a friar buries them, Christopher-? I am no physician but I'd think they were past caring.

I mind it. You're not a part of this crew, Friar.

Must I be, to give them the last consideration due a brother or sister, a fellow child of God?

Each of us buries our own. I don't want you casting their souls elsewhere when I'm not looking.

You give a simple Friar more credit than due when it comes to influencing the hand of the Lord. I can only pray that God watch over them and make sure that they have Christian burials.

If we were any decent sort of Christians, we'd give 'em a burial at sea.

This heat won't keep them until the ships are set right.

There aren't shovels to dig through sand. Will they burn?

[He's silent for a long, unhappy moment, his Papist sensibilities balking at cremation. But God can make man from the dust of the Earth... It's this liberality of doctrine that makes the good Friar extremely unloved by the church. That and his tendency to forgive the enemies of England. Oops.]

You knew them. Were any of them Catholic, would they want their bodies whole?

I didn't know them that well. But they were Englishmen, all of them. Can't say if they were your kind or mine, but I'm inclined to lean towards mine.

The Captain-- has anyone heard from the Captain? If there is approval from that quarter I will read the funeral rites for them. [Yes even if you burn them.]

Captain's busy. Likely rounding up the rest of the survivors now.

[Christopher raises his eyebrows expectantly]

Only you and me here, Papist.

[Another long silence. Dick is praying for guidance.]

God made the first man from the dust, and he will raise these poor souls up to him whole again from out of the ash.

And the wind can carry them out to sea in the meanwhile, rest in peace.

...I'll go get driftwood for the pyre.

I'll gather the dead and read the rites.

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