giuliana regarded the pamphlet for a long moment before lifting her eyes to edith's face. there was no irritation in her expression. if anything, she looked almost... curious. "…well," she said at last, her voice as polished as ever, “that's certainly a more ambitious opening than most solicitors manage.” her gaze dropped briefly to the pamphlet, though she made no move to take it. "i should warn you," she continued lightly, “i'm a lawyer.” a beat. “i ask follow-up questions.” the faintest hint of amusement touched the corner of her mouth. “so if this conversation continues, there's a very real possibility it turns into an unnecessarily detailed discussion about free will, moral responsibility, and whether divine omniscience creates a conflict with genuine human choice.” she tilted her head, studying edith with quiet interest rather than dismissal. “and i suspect neither of us intended to spend our afternoon debating theology on my front porch.” a small pause. "tell me, though..." her tone softened, becoming less teasing and more sincere. "what made you decide to knock on this door today? was it chance, or did you see something that made you think i was someone who needed to hear your message?"
At the mention of lawyers, Edith's smile stiffens ever so slightly. She'd heard enough to know where conversations like this usually led to. Questions about whether people really choose the lives they live, whether we're to blame for the things we do, and how God can already know what's coming without taking those choices away from us. "Oh… well, I don't know if I'm really qualified for that." A small laugh. "I was really only hoping to ask whether you'd consider coming to church on Sunday." She gently coaxes her smile back into place, the expression just a touch too carefully arranged to pass as effortless. At the question, she blinks. "Umm…" Edith glances briefly at the row of houses behind her. "Well… this side of the street was next. Mrs. Henderson's at number seventeen, though she doesn't usually answer the door for me anymore… You live here, and the McKenzies are nineteen, but they already come to church, so... you were next."
" didn't i ignore you all of last week? you don't give up, i almost respect it. " he says flatly, containing the complete annoyance he feels underneath. he distinctly remembers ignoring her but he had time to think about it throughout the week and he was ready to have a discussion. " i don't know, a minute is awfully short. twenty minutes sounds better — gives us plenty of time to discuss the benefits of buddhism don't you think? "
"Yes, Tyler, twenty minutes is perfect. Thank you!" Edith huffs, hugging the pamphlets a little closer to her chest as she takes an expectant step forward, choosing, perhaps unwisely, to take him at his word. She hovers politely outside the doorway, eyes bright with anticipation, waiting for the invitation inside that she assumes must surely follow. "Can you not be mean for one day? I’ve already had someone say the f-word to me four times today… four times!!! I couldn’t believe it," she says, still visibly affronted.
Helena let out a soft scoff. Although she’d been raised catholic and had a lovely church wedding, she hadn’t stepped in a church in so long. ❝ I don’t think you’ll find many people interested in hearing whatever God has to say, love. ❞ The brunette shook her head. ❝ Have you had any luck yet? ❞
“Oh... not especially,” Edith admits with a sheepish smile. Her eyes drift across the street, settling on her boyfriend chatting away on another doorstep. The back of his head was so lovely. He was always better at these things, which was probably why the Lord had brought them together in the first place. “But I think that's all the more reason to keep trying. People usually need hope most when they're hurting... wouldn't you say?”
Tatianna was still struggling with Rykers death but in the coming weeks things had gotten easier to manage. She was moving around more, eating better and such. Though, upon opening the door, that was the last thing she expected to hear. "No." She spit out. "Fuck that guy." She finished again. "And fuck you with all your fucking preaching and bullshit. Fuck off."
Despite having been taught not to count other people's sins, she can’t help mentally tallying the profanity anyway. “Oh. Well. That’s not very nice…” Choosing optimism, she gathers herself and starts again. “I don't mean to be rude,” unlike some people, she thinks. “But... you sound awfully angry. And I don't actually think it's at me, because, well, we've only just met.” She offers a small, hopeful smile. “Would you... maybe like to pray together? People say it's a bit like yoga!”
as fast as he opens the door, cassidy wants to slam it shut after hearing what the woman has said to him. it takes a lot of will power to not do what his instinct tells him and actually maybe give her a chance. so he stands there, looking at her with a stoic expression. he guess he'll give her a chance.
"oh so you mean the guy, or whatever, who decided it'll be a good idea to paralyze me and take my boyfriend away from me?" he asks, moving pushing himself out the door. "that guy? your apparent saviour?" he laughs and lets out a snort with a bit of an eye roll. "doesn't seem like he knows how to do his job. otherwise things would be different and he'd still be alive."
“I'm... I'm very sorry.” The words come quietly, and for once without the rehearsed tone she'd arrived with. “I can't imagine what that's been like for you.” For one fleeting, deeply uncharitable second, Edith wished she'd knocked on Number 14 first. The thought alone was probably worth apologising for later. But there simply is no subsection in the outreach handbook entitled: What to Say When Someone Blames God for The Loss of Feeling in One’s Legs. “Sometimes I think people expect faith to mean that nothing terrible will ever happen to them, but... that's never really been the promise.” She speaks carefully. “Even Christ suffered, didn't He? Which… isn't the most cheerful example, I know.”
religion had long played a role in his life , having gone to a catholic high school it sort of became part of his routine no matter how much he abhorred it. it didn't make sense to him when his mother would pray for their family when others prayed his family stayed away. the ironies of life. though the catholics knew how to keep to themselves , never overstepping and if one wanted to join all they needed to do was come in. however , he knew other faiths were not as --- conscientious.
head cocked to the side as he was approached by a small woman , smiling in a manner than he could not place until she spoke. " don't know him personally , is he some type of local legend ? "
Edith blinks once. It was hardly the first joke she'd heard standing on someone's porch, though she'd never quite understood why people found faith so amusing. “Um... no,” she says with a little laugh, soft and polite. “Actually!!! I suppose He's famous enough that sometimes it can feel that way. The number of lives He's touched in Rift Valley alone... well, I guess you're not entirely wrong!” She beams a little wider, deciding a conversation -- even one that began with a joke -- was better than a slammed door. “Have you ever been touched by Him?” A tiny, oblivious tilt of her head.
Edith stands on the step with a smile stretched across her face -- bright, though a touch uncertain. It isn't doubt; she believes every word she carries. But the townspeople rarely took well to this kind of thing on a good day. As the door opens, she braces herself, holding out a folded pamphlet with both hands.
"Hi! I'm with the Rift Valley Church, and I was wondering if you had a minute to talk about Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour?"
full name : edith lyle. nicknames : edie. birthdate : 18th feb ( 26 ). hometown : rift valley, ca. traits : passionate, devout, idealistic, punctilious. gender + pronouns : cis woman + she/her. orientation : lesbian. zodiac : acquarius. occupation : church administrator. character parallels : laura lee ( yellowjackets ), eden spencer ( the handmaid's tale ), charlotte york ( satc ), cathleen harris ( novitiate ). aesthetic : a radio sermon murmuring between the tick of the oven timer, the hush of curtains drawn after smiling at the neighbours, bare shoulders under a borrowed cardigan.
⛪ SUMMARY:
nothing ever happened in rift valley, but the lyles made a whole life out of pretending it did. sunday potlucks were treated like state dinners. a bake sale scuffle became a prayer chain emergency. this community meant a great deal to them.
her parents, proud lifelong members of the church, with her father serving as the pastor, treat religion as both a moral compass and social strategy. god was watching, but so were the neighbours. overall, they were loving. perhaps their worst sin, at least when it comes to edith, was their overbearingness.
she was raised in a house built on righteousness, where she confused morality with obedience. love was earned through goodness. in turn, kindness became weaponised against herself, and her worth was measured through service and agreeableness.
edith's faith is heartfelt but brittle. it structures her days: sunday service, choir, bake sales, yet leaves little room for self-forgiveness. she confuses discipline for devotion, believing spiritual health can be earned through doing everything right.
she interprets all emotions through a religious framework: sin, temptation, grace. but where she preaches forgiveness, charity and empathy, she sometimes fails to put it into practice, and often privately holds grudges or looks down on people who don't agree with her (passed on from her parents') idea of what it means to be a good citizen, or a good woman. she insists she's selfless and longsuffering, but secretly enjoys the moral high ground it gives her.
a complete and utter control freak. let go and let god, she says, then rewrites the chapel bulletin three times. also a huge gossip...
she represses any longing for a bigger, more expansive life, feeling guilty for craving more than her small-town routine, believing her desires mean she's failing in humility or gratitude.
but she couldn't help but be enticed by exploring this in online chatrooms... as "heavenlymask777" she could be anyone, and the number of people she could reach was extraordinary (or so she believes).
besides this, her life is filled with little acts of devotion -- mostly because she's terrified of what might happen if she stops. she thinks being "good" is the only thing keeping her safe.
🖥️ WCS:
would love for her to clash with someone who is the anti-thesis of the pastor's daughter, and who isn't afraid to call her out on her hypocrisy since her empathy extends only to what she considers to be morally just and right. edith can't stand their behavior, but can't stop watching either.
someone she befriended in an online chatroom, where they shared a lot of deep conversations, and their identities remain anonymous. maybe they agreed to meet up somewhere out of town, but edith bailed after seeing who they were, or vice versa!
her long-term boyfriend. they've been together since middle school and everyone thinks they're perfect for each other. they walk hand in hand as they knock on people's doors on a saturday morning. he's supportive and far too good to her, which makes her feel guilty for wishing their relationship felt like something more. her solution? patiently waiting for the ring...
She nodded her head slowly. "I did." she was quiet for a few moments. "It's hard." processing death and losing people you genuinely connect with. It doesn't get any easier. "It doesn't feel real in a sense. Here one day, gone the next. " she stated softly. "How are you?"
"I'm sorry to hear that." He lets the silence stand for a moment. "May I ask how you knew them? You don't have to answer if you'd rather not." A faint, self-conscious pause follows, as they shuffle further along in the queue. "I've been working. Beyond that, I don't imagine I've earned the right to complain."
Oh, she could definitely feel the discomfort oozing from Christian’s pores. It felt like being transported to one too many years ago, to posh parties in suburban backyards, to fake laughters in the background while these two awkward souls found one another. Perhaps that was why Yasemin was fighting so hard to rebuild bridges that time and several bad decisions had deteriorated, but not yet destroyed: because Christian had been one of the few people who had taken a chance on her when no one else saw her.
Her fingers tightened their grip on the strings of that shopping bag she was carrying. As much as Yasemin wanted to encourage him and say that ‘yeah, it would definitely be ungracious of you to decline it', the brunette had never been one to force others to do anything they didn’t want to. ❝ No, it’s… ❞ Was she going to say that it was fine? But it wouldn’t be fine, would it? She would be upset. So why would Yasemin say that it would be fine if he declined her invitation? ❝ I would never force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. ❞ The brunette settled with this instead, because at least, by measuring her words like that, she would continue being honest to him.
❝ Here. ❞ She offered him the bag. ❝ I’m assuming sweatpants aren’t your go-to clothes, but I–thought you’d might want to change. ❞ Those last few words were said in the midst of an awkward chuckle. One that said ‘yeah, I thought of that, too’. It was crazy to think that she would go as far as buying someone clothes to change into. Even crazier if we counted the other pieces she'd bought and were waiting for him in the car. It was crazy to think that in her quest to regain control of her life, she was probably getting a little overboard. ❝ Y-you don’t have to wear them. ❞ It was the truth. Hopefully, Christian would hear it in her voice. ❝ I just thought that the sooner we left, the better. There's more in the car. ❞ And now, saying it out loud, as yet another nervous huff escaped her lips while her fingers threaded through her waves, it really made her feel like she'd exaggerated. Nobody liked a control freak. These type of things were only cool in fictional situations. ❝ I'm sorry. We're going to Catalina Island. I can also give you the information of everything I’ve planned for us? If that will make you more comfortable. ❞ She bit softly on her bottom lip. She felt like she was six again. Desperately anticipating an approval. ❝ It doesn’t matter what I’ve planned. You can say no. ❞ She said finally, sounding more confident than before.
It has always been easier to explain the practicalities than the feeling beneath them. Clothes, timing, itineraries. Those, at least, possess the virtue of clarity and ask nothing of him beyond an answer, but almost always at the expense of saying what he actually meant. As Yasemin speaks, Christian listens without interruption, and the bag changes hands. He accepts it almost absently, never once looking inside. By now, the clothes have become entirely beside the point. So, for that matter, has Catalina Island. Somewhere between her apology and the offer to explain every detail, he realises there has been some form of misunderstanding.
“What I meant to say is...” He chooses his words carefully, not because they are difficult, but because they deserve to be unmistakable. He hadn't meant to make her defend the invitation. His hesitation had never been about whether he wanted to go, only how. The idea that she might mistake one for the other, that she might believe she was alone in trying to mend what had been lost, is one misunderstanding he has no intention of leaving uncorrected. “I would like to go. Thank you for going through the trouble of planning this, and for thinking of the clothes.”
There was a sense of awkwardness in Niccolo. The type of awkwardness and nervousness that usually lingered among strangers, but the brunette didn’t know if that was how he was truly feeling or if she was reading too much into things. Maybe, she had been living in the past for so long, that it was now getting clearer that she no longer shared these ties with who she used to. Him, lacking that usual energy that followed him around, being hesitant around her… For a moment, she thought of asking if there was something else on the matter. Something that she had done, or hadn’t done, that might be bothering him that early evening.
❝ Putting me out? ❞ Yas chuckle softly as she shook her head. She was filling the vase with water when his next words reached her. ❝ Not planning on ea–you know I’d never let that happen, right? Is there something else going on, Niccolo? ❞ Her gaze upon him was filled with worry and she knew then, that it didn’t matter what happened between Fransisco and her, that she would always love this family.
Yasemin left the flowers in the kitchen, before she returned into the living area, searching for the blue hues of Nicky’s eyes. The violent and reckless waves that he carried in them with such confidence. ❝ Rissy is Arisa, my flat mate. She’s an ER nurse, so she works night shifts sometimes. I’m not sure if you’ve met her. Now, you tell me something. ❞
"No, no--" The denial comes too quickly. almost before she's finished speaking. His head shakes once, then again, unable to meet her eyes, as though enough repetitions might make it true. "It's not-- It's nothin' nobody else ain't dealin' with." As he's always been a terrible liar, he wanders farther inside, giving his attention to the apartment instead, grateful for something ordinary to occupy his eyes while the feeling in his chest slowly untangles itself, only coming to a stop when Yasemin rejoins him. "That's nice. Good you've got somebody here with you." His eyes drift briefly towards the kitchen, where the flowers now sit in their vase. "Be nice to meet her one day."
"Tell you somethin'?" He looks at her once and is reminded that she still has that rare ability to make people feel less ashamed of themselves. "I dunno, really." After a drawn out moment, he finally says, "Uh... I lost my nonno's watch. Well, no. This girl stole it. She won't give it back." A beat. "I didn't even do nothin' to her."
"uh, you didn't. you said 'what's the scope' and then you changed the topic," which luz realized only now that she had said it. damn it, she needed to be more on top of things. the next moment, she shot him a beaming smile. "will do." this was the closest to success she'd gotten with christian so far, and also knew to take this as the polite dismissal that it was. "i'll send it to your work e-mail. that's fine, right?"
A slight frown meets the enthusiasm of her smile. "Yes. That's fine." A beat. "Off you go." Later, with little more than idle curiosity to justify it, her name finds its way into his search bar. One article becomes another, until a familiar name appears amongst the results. A senator. The funding scandal. Christian will sit back in his chair and try to recall their conversation.
" oh, " fork sets down beside her as her arms cross onto the table with a laugh and a slower shake of her head already refuting. " you're not gettin' a thing. " she shakes her head. " 'cept my forever undyin' gratitude for letting me have it so easily. " in truth, there was little you could do against someone who'd been at it for years, who could easily make a living off it if they really put their mind to it. as soon as they'd seen him and the watch, it was then theirs. " — can you believe some people don't like syrup in their eggs? it's so good. " she says casually drizzling the maple syrup over the eggs. if he wanted to act like this was a casual event, she'd play it ignoring the conversation further regarding the watch. it was a case closed, fuck you, you're not getting it back scenario but she did mean it however, syrup in eggs was a criminal offense if not indulged in. " or hot sauce? "
"Sure, whatever you say." The answer comes with another of those bright, infuriating smiles before he turns his attention back to his breakfast. He can't quite summon the enthusiasm for another argument. They'd already established neither of them was especially interested in changing the other's mind, and going another round would only end where the last one had. The watch is still with her, that's all he needs to know. "Eurgh yuck -- who taught you to eat like that?" His nose wrinkles in exaggerated disgust. "They gotta get fuckin' sectioned. Little salt, little pepper. Finished. End'a discussion. Syrup goes on pancakes, hot sauce goes on wings." Then, hypocritically, he covers his eggs with ketchup. "I bet you like pineapple on pizza."
he allows the other to take the bottle as he steps foot inside. nicky has been one of the first to actually accept him with open arms which he found a bit surprising. had it been the other way around he knew his family would be a bit opposed to the idea but at the same time --- they had no say. he grabbed onto the glass as he made himself comfortable on the couch. he furrowed his brow at the other's question , " it's called being too busy. " truthfully his days were filled with mindless tasks that his childhood just seemed like a checklist rather than something someone should remember. " i know the fuckin' mammoths , i just don't know this one. it makes no sense --- they'd all die. "
"Oh yeah," Nicky scoffs, "I'm sure you were real busy at seven. Wall Street blowin' up your phone and all." It's one of those things Nicky never needed to question, that childhood should be spent being a child. He'd had the freedom to waste whole afternoons, to be bored, to care about cartoons and football and nothing at all. He can't remember his parents ever arguing, or feeling as though he had to grow up before he was ready. "See, you've got no vision." He swings one leg over the back of the sofa, then the other, dropping into the corner in precisely the way his mother used to tell him not to. "Whole movie's basically sayin': find your people, don't be a fuckin' prick, and occasionally risk your life for a baby. It ain't really about the ice."
cassie's looking around the studio before the other speaking catches his attention. "you were right. you're more popular or noticeable than i am." he says chuckling slightly. he feels a little awkward being here. "um...what exactly gives you that understanding? have you spoken to someone about my schedule?"
There's an imperceptible twitch of the brow. Had the briefing notes been wrong? It would hardly be the first time someone else had made their oversight his responsibility. "It was in the notes I was given," he says evenly. "Should I understand that isn't correct?"
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