Holy Ghost

I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for nothing.

[seer-cressida]

“You barely knew them before,” Bethany toyed, but her voice was quiet, nearly reverent. He would not look at her, but she could find no way to blame him. After all, this was the direct product of her own actions, was it not? This distance, cold and unmoving, that had pulled them apart and yet kept them unnervingly close?

“I’ll lead,” she promised, and before he could protest, they were moving toward the music. Bethany could not afford to lose this moment - this singular opportunity - to prove that she was stronger than she had been a decade ago. Running felt impossible in this moment, but she had been known to vanish at the first loud noise, the first sign of trouble.

She wondered then if he still thought of the past life they shared. Did he feel her betrayal fresh each day? Did he burn with an unquenched hatred for her? Did it ache and burn to touch her?

Turning to face him, Beth exhaled with a nervous smile, nodding gently as if she were assuring him of their impending success. Taking a step toward him, closing the distance, she realized how his closeness made her ache too. “Deep breath,” she instructed, more to herself than him, and the music started up with a new symphony, slow and deep. “Trust me.”

[micah-gladwell]

She continued to speak further, something to fill the emptiness from his own lack of vocal response. Of this, he was most certain; he had seen her lips moving, after all. But were one to ask him to repeat after her, he would be at a complete loss. His attention was stuck. Nearly every fiber of his being emitted a warning to pull away, but he was caught somewhere between every curve before him.

Especially when they drew nearer, all that Micah could manage to offer in return was one silent nod.

Okay.

Whether or not he held true assent behind the quiet expression was something that was yet to be seen. Perhaps tonight would be one wherein he could willingly pick at the debris, wander in search of something salvageable. It was in this thought, and in the resonance of the unhurried melody, that he found himself taking timid steps at her guidance. The multitude of bodies around them could not change the chill that had begun to settle in his fingertips. Not even the repetition in his mind that grasped at for attempted reassurance.

Okay.

[seer-cressida]

Beth’s head cocked instinctively to the side, rather dumbfounded by his plain response, so bereft of humor or kindness, both of which he had previously been so forthcoming with. She couldn’t fault him, though. What an inappropriate circumstance indeed, but what fun was it to be respectable in these games? What value did the lawful good possess to the rest of these people? To these two, who valued authority and justice, the rules were rarely broken or ignored. And when they were, it was hard to swallow, even with a sip of church wine. Even a decade later. Beth pressed her matte-stained lips together, forming a deadpan line that flatlined against the life in her eyes.

“I do believe that appropriateness should be left to those who have some left to spare,” she quipped, feeling too much like a sordid lover from Shakespeare in Love and less like a normal human. Her jaw tensed, front teeth grazing the tip of her tongue, as if to test the sharpness. “And there is very little left between us, Father. Session or no session. Confessional screen or…”

She swallowed down the memories, which gripped her mind the way he once had her thighs, and Beth couldn’t help but flush with the tension of the moment. There were other people here tonight that should have taken precedent over this interaction - people who held financial or political stake in her family’s success. There was also the small matter of her career, which seemed to hang - read: loom - in the back of her mind and on Page Six of The Telegraph. How trivial this must be - childish, even. But they were no longer children, wide-eyed adolescents with little concept of self and intimacy. Micah’s eyes alone were aged, worn from his past and a thousand healed sins, very few of which must have belonged to him alone.

She followed his eyes and his apology out onto the dance floor, where a sea of other stories intertwined and mingled entirely too gracefully and often. Beth fixed her gaze back onto his face to decipher his thoughts, which seemed to scramble and grasp at an out.

“Don’t apologize,” Beth felt things fall into an odd calm for her, as if her natural instincts were - at long last - kicking in. “You’re going to dance with me, and then there will be no reason to be sorry.”

She took a small, cautious step toward him. Placing her hand against the crook of his elbow, she gestured to the dance floor with her head and not with her eyes, which were holding his intently.

“Perhaps you have forgotten.” she murmured, heartbeat racing faster than her thoughts could keep up. “I was always one for dancing if it was with you.”

[micah-gladwell]

“As a man of God, I’d like to think that I have some decent amount of decorum in my possession.” It was hypocritical, really, the manner by which he claimed to stand against impropriety. Yet there he was with the slightest tremor in his knees, refusing even the most basic courtesy of eye-contact.

There were ghosts of the past that had sat at his bedside every night, whispering into his ear as he slept. They enjoyed taunting him with reminders of all of his shortcomings, every mental, physical, emotional misstep. They were often gentle in speech, yet still loud enough to where they made his collar tight with misgivings. The dark brought about the presence of this wicked lullaby. Sometimes these apparitions would follow him in daylight, waiting and watching from the shadows because one could truly never exist without the other. Micah understood this duality, and such knowledge was often the grounds for reassurance; he need not listen to what haunted him, but above all, he need not believe them.

But what was he to do now, when the phantom no longer seemed exclusive to his head? When it no longer voiced derisive mockery, but some kind of invitation for—

The sudden feel against his arm broke off the line of his contemplation. In spite of its familiarity from long ago, the old habit of seeking identification still came in, causing him to finally turn his head in her direction.

“I...” This letter resounded unaccompanied as he caught full sight of her. Before him was not the image he had become accustomed to, cold and fleeting. She embodied illumination that lay unmatched by the room’s lighting, which barely describable by the term ‘opulent.’

The deep breath that he took was every bit one to maintain his composure as it was to intake the reality standing before him. As they stood there in silence, he took note of her beauty, only made more prominent in the years since they had last spoken in a non-church capacity. Such awe could not even be attributed to the dress, he was certain, which proably came from one of the designers whose names he cared little for, crafted to some pretentious degree of self-acclaimed perfection. It was her.

He looked down to where her hand had met the cheap fabric of his suit, one that was hardly of comparison to the servers, and it seemed as though his youth was trickling down his shoulders once again.

Shaking his head lightly, he responded quietly, “The only thing I’ve forgotten are the steps.”

[micah-gladwell]

bethany--tate:

“Don’t stop,” her mouth caught his, teeth digging into his bottom lip. His hands were buried beneath her shirt, snaking their way up along her stomach, tracing over the fabric of her bra. Bethany opened her eyes, meeting his, and they were inextricably beautiful and anxious. A million questions slipped between them in silence, his fingertips reading braille from her body, and she became lost in their mute dialogue. 

“Don’t stop,” Beth verbalized, watching the nervousness in his eyes melt into something much more unsettling. “I want this,” her lips married his once more, and his shoulders relaxed, falling as his hands travelled against her chest. She did not have to open her eyes to feel the way he looked at her. Intensely. Passionately. He was dripping with young love, and it made his lips that much sweeter. “I want you, Micah.”

“Beth, I…” he began, words dissipating out of the opened window of her bedroom and into the cool autumn night. “I…”

“I know,” she mumbled, pulling back to gaze up at him with the same lovestruck adoration. “Me too.”

Beth smiled politely, but the tension was evident in her face. She could not hide her true feelings from him; after all of this time, it still did not feel fair. To whom? That felt even more uncertain. The memory wore warmly against her mind, not unwanted, but rather unwelcome. It felt as though he triggered a past life within her with every encounter, pulling up those things better left buried with just a glance.

“No,” she shook her head, meaning to be reassuring and just feeling defensive. “You are just the person I wanted to see. I wanted to apologize. For leaving the other day. We didn’t get to finish our session.”

Her sentences were choppy and uncoordinated, like a clumsy child falling over its own feet. This room was too full and too loud, and it made it all the more difficult to pull from her bag of tricks. Micah was as beautiful as he ever had been, perhaps more, having grown into his body and filled it out in all the right places. Something else had added depth to his features: a poignant sadness. It sank deep into his cheekbones and up through his eyes, breathing a dark sense of life into his being. 

“I wanted to ask…” her lipstick-stained smile faltered, recovering just in time to catch her words. “I’m hoping you’ll accompany me in a dance.”

Eight years ago, that particular smile carried illumination that could not be matched by even the sun. The corners were an invitation that drew out what lay deep underneath, be it courage or a sense of affection he never knew himself capable of. The curves were pathways that he so willingly traversed down, especially when he long knew the destination: the center. This was where the light had shone the brightest and the comfort had been the softest. That had been home.

But Micah hadn’t seen his home in years. That was difficult to do when it was gone. What wasn’t in the ruins, buried by piles of thick ash was scattered in the wind. When every fragment, her presence included, had drifted far away, he could only find resolution in the refusal to look back. He would not — he could not, allow himself to be fully consumed in the past.

It came as no surprise, then, when he finally spoke up without so much as shifting a glance in her direction. “I’m afraid that these circumstances are not appropriate if you were intent on finishing the session.”

His response was brief, lacking any flourishes that would have made for more excitable conversation. Another item that he could not provide adequately. There were a countless number of other guests present for that. Their presence was of higher importance than that of a simply clergyman, and therefore their companionship would have been more suitable for an evening such as this. They were a perfect excuse to distance himself. He opened his mouth once again, aimed toward letting this be known, but her request quickly stopped his tracks.

All that left his lips was a short wind. Perhaps it was a little louder than he had actually intended, but what was there to expect? It didn’t matter how far he had come along; he still feared what would result were he to look back. Unease trickled down his nape as he remained mindful of the presence in his peripheral.

“My apologies, I don’t-” his words faltered as quickly as they came. He eyed the bodies that had already occupied the dance floor, as if subtly suggesting that she seek elsewhere. “I don’t know. Perhaps you’ve forgotten. I was never really one for dancing.”

[lilliana-brighton-deactivated20]

Taking a long sip of her drink, Lilliana shrugged her shoulders. Micah might not think of it as sad, but Lily saw herself as being far different from the woman who once idolized every bedazzled ball-goer blinded by the splendor they surrounded themselves with. She saw that not everyone was the kindly queen or gallant hero of her childhood stories, yet there were enough of those sort of people remaining that she held onto the hope of a better world. The motivation for why people acted as they did were rarely clear enough that an outsider could understand. “Dad’s jaw dropped when he saw that I got the invitation the first time. He was so proud of me, not that he wasn’t before. He is a wonderful man. My mother is lovely too, but she never had much interest in balls. She was far more concerned with academic pursuits and technological advances.” Micah’s face grew distant as worry lines revealed themselves. The man looked so young, yet the burden of great sorrow weighed heavily upon him. Lily knew that expression all too well. It was the look of tragedy that could have been avoided yet had come to pass. Of all people, surely a man of God understood the reasoning in the seemingly chaotic patterns of life. A lesson must be taught in order to help one improve upon the lives of those whom they meet. The purpose to the unknowable why. She smiled sweetly at Micah. An introvert. She should have known. The poor dear must be terribly flustered surrounded by all these people. He could stand in front of the masses, preaching the word of God, but this was different. Lily could not help but admire the effort that he put forward for tonight. She truly felt honored that he had deemed her worthy enough to exert his energies upon. “People often mistake the sum for its parts. It is better to know few of quality than many of no substance.” She nodded her head, thinking of any possible opening in her schedule. “I would like that very much.” She would have to visit relatively soon. Why she had not gone before baffled her. She spent time improving the lives of those she could without paying mind to those at the end of their lives. Lily needed to go, if not to help those awaiting their final release than to understand what could be done to ease their passing. She’d have to get a new team on it. “Surly you must be confident in other areas!” Everyone that she met had something worth being proud about. She never would advise to act superior due to a minor advantage in their circumstances, but being self-conscious was one of the worst curses. The doubt caused a fear of trying. Without the trials and failures, nothing would ever happen. “Well the Pope will forever have the trendiest shoes I fear. The red are just so… I don’t know what the correct word for it would be. Still yours are nice.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “You should wear brown at the next event and completely confuse them.”

[micah-gladwell]

As the discussion continued to follow the topic of family, Micah resolved to remain as focused as possible. He could not help but snicker at the notion of her father’s excitability. “I imagine that my mother would have reacted similarly were she to know of my presence here. Even if my invitation was in request of my work rather than my actual presence at the party.” He paused briefly, then looked up toward the luminous high ceiling in consideration. “My father would probably be more inclined to perturbation...”

Micah allowed for his final word to linger off into the air, as though doing so would allow his thoughts to float away similarly. He dared not to linger too long in remembrance of his parents, lest he wished to fall back into old habits that were not fully appropriate for the current circumstances. When he looked down, he allowed the return of a courteous expression. “Quality over quantity, isn’t it?”  He was truly blessed to have found at least one individual with whom he felt the uninterrupted flow of conversation. Even better, one who he could sense would be easy to speak with outside the glamorous setting around them.

“I make visits to a variety of locations every week. Should you have any interest and time to do so, you’re very much welcome along. Do you have a preference for the kind of service? I know there are some who hold particular sensitivities to working with individuals of certain conditions.”

One admirable aspect that could easily be identified of his companion was the unending sensation of encouragement emanating from her person. Micah had never felt cramped in a shell, but he certainly always felt comfortable settling in one. There was something in her tone of voice - perhaps magnified further by the  shine in her hair - that prodded his boldness further. Still, in spite of this growth, there was an unmistakable meekness that overpowered him. He shook his head and raised his forearms. “If there are any, I’m afraid that none are coming immediately to mind.”

Biting down on his lower lip, he could not help but continue his silly jest. “Actually, now that you mention it, I had been intent on considering an investment into shoes that followed the liturgical calendar. Perhaps I will be acquiring green loafers for Ordinary Time, and purple oxfords for the Lenten Season.”

[lilliana-brighton-deactivated20]

“How sad is it that I used to watch everyone coming to this ball on the telly with my dad when I was younger?” The blonde sighed, wishing that the man could be here with her. She had the ability to bring someone with her, but Lily could not bare the thought of shattering his illusion. Her father always idolized the ladies and gentlemen who were changing the world. Let him keep the idea that there was nothing but good in the world. It was the same idea that Lily clung to despite the evidence to the contrary. She would not begrudge people for what they needed to do. Life was far from being binary where choices must be made.  What drove people towards those choices were not for others to understand. “I’d rather be where I could be helping others be that in an industrial kitchen cooking for those down on their luck or at a friend’s home with a nice cup of tea and a horrible movie playing in the background. I find that the company is usually more important than the location. May I ask where you would rather be?” She raised a brow, wondering where the young man spent most of his time. She never saw him aside from official occasions, yet she was certain that he must have a life of some sort.

She chuckled at how affronted the man looked at her accusation. She had said it in jest, but it seemed as if the holy man took it quite seriously. She would apologize for causing him distress, but something about the way his eyes widened was positively endearing. She nodded her head. “I can only imagine what you must hear. The conscious of England upon your shoulders, at least those who still believe in confession.” While Lily still attended service regularly, she was under no illusion that the realm of Faith did not suffer. People were losing their belief in a higher power replacing it with power of their own. “I fear that the only person who would be speaking about religion at a gathering such as this would be His Holiness. It is considered impolite to speak of religion, politics, and finances during social gatherings, although that does not stop some.”

Shuffling her own feet, Lily unconsciously moved her gown to hide her shoes. She was assured that they were the epitome of current fashions, but she hardly had the time or inclination for such things. The last thing she wished was for someone to resent her for a minor faux pas. “It is the most important thing to some. They view it as an indication of social status, knowledge of current trends, and a form of self-expression. I can assure you that your shoes look quite nice, just in case you were worried.”

[micah-gladwell]

“That isn’t exactly what I would classify as ‘sad,” he assured, furrowing his brow and offering a smile. Micah, himself, could not recall a memory relevant to tonight’s events, but her question certainly reminded him of how close of a bond he possessed with his own parents. “As a matter of fact, I actually think it to be a little endearing. Life has a very intriguing way of taking us to where we never imagined we’d be.” His mind easily wandered back to the thought of his family, what they would have thought were they to be present at this time. His father would probably be in distaste, his mother in awe, and his sisters-

No. He would not think of them right now. He couldn’t. Not if he was determined to make it through the evening with relatively little qualms. His thoughts would not focus on Josie, how she would have reveled in the sparkling wonders, or Maddie, the one who-

Each letter of their names grew a lump in his windpipe; he wasted no time in forcefully warding off these musings. With a soft clearing of throat, a shake of the head, and a long blink, he refocused his attention on his companion. “Ahh...” As his voice trailed off, he internally scrambled to put together an appropriate response. He looked up thoughtfully for a moment, then answered with a return of his composure. “Truth be told, I don’t know where to start. Walking through a park alone or conversing with those in a congregation after a service are the first two preferences that come to mind. While they lie on opposite ends of a spectrum in terms of company quantity, the quality of both is unmistakable.” In line with her reference of volunteer work, he continued,“ Coincidentally, I recently visited a hospice with a close acquaintance. Perhaps you would be interested in joining me for such, or a similar activity?”

Micah shrugged. “Listening is a significant portion of my responsibilities. As with any other duty, it has its moments of pressure and oddity - sometimes simultaneously.”  He would not dare to assume the authority of the Lord, judging what numerous believers had confided in him. Rather, he did his best to act accordingly under the power in the sky. He was to remain as positive as he could manage, even if it meant fighting against the uncertainty that was nestled deep inside him. “Luckily, it’s also one of the few areas that I find a decent sense of self-confidence in.”

A grin began to widen on his face as he fought back his urge to burst out in laughter. “Thank you for that reassurance. I had been in a constant state of worry all evening that I wasn’t quite up to par with the latest priestly fashion trends. According to one of my superiors, my shoes are always the incorrect shade of black.”

[ezradiamond-blog]

The things that Ezra must do stretches ever onwards. He is always moving, always striving, he never sees an end: he must survive the Coalition, he must do his job well enough to avoid suspicion, he must find his daughter—and then what? Does he leave behind all his duties, hang up his badge and his birthright, to be the father and the husband he has not been able to be? Or does he continue? Does he fight monsters until the day he dies: the ones he calls his companions, now, and the ones who took his daughter from him, once he finds them?

He doesn’t know. All he knows is this: he has a court date this morning. He will sit on the stand and swear an oath of truth and he will lie. And he’s tired. Tired of all he must do. Tired of living with himself, day in and day out. Tired of fighting this war within himself.

Some fortunate coincidence, or some higher power, has seen fit to hand him a moment’s respite. He believes—or he tries to—that all men will get what they deserve: the wicked will be punished, and the good will have their reward. He tries to believe, then, that he deserves this small favor, this small oasis of kindness.

He could accept his coffee and be on his way, be early to the Courthouse and go over his rehearsed remarks, a script already handed to him by liars much better than he. Then onto the next thing, and the next, and the next, and the next—

Or he could stay here. He can enjoy this for a little while longer, pretend that he doesn’t feel his warring obligations ripping him apart at the seams as he stands and speaks to this young man, whom he hopes can’t see the cracks at him, isn’t so practiced at sniffing out sin to see right to the diseased and festering soul of him.

“Pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Gladwell. Father Gladwell? I’m sorry, it’s been a long time since I’ve been in church.”

[micah-gladwell]

Micah is certainly no stranger to a revolving variety of titles and nicknames. On one hand lay the terms of endearment coming from the parents who managed to uphold - at least the imagery - of unconditional love. On the other stood the condemnatory proclamations from his past mentors who declared him ‘insufficient’ in skill and effort. Teetering back and forth between the two, but carving some niche of settlement somewhere in the middle, he believes he’s heard it all.

In the past, he would’ve immediately scoffed were you to tell him he’d one day be referred to by a designation holding such sacredness.

“Oh,” he begins, moving his free hand and running it up and down his opposite arm, “I don’t really mind either. In fact, just ‘Micah’ is fine with me.”

When he thinks about it now, there is still a pit of unease at the very bottom of his stomach. He has spent countless hours in repetition, taking to heart the hymns and passages for reinforcement, and yet is still very much prone to the wavering of his core. He quickly recalls one colleague’s words to quell the shake that tingles in his fingertips: When in fear, remember that you are not alone.

This fuels the priest’s inquisitiveness. He wonders if the other man is like him, riddled with self-doubt, or perhaps just a general dubiousness toward the complexities of the world. If he is, the younger man can see no sign of it, and so he finds himself regurgitating the invitation he’s most familiar with.

“No worries. People come in and go out all of the time. Rest assured, however, the church is always there should you ever feel a need or simple curiosity. In one of the parishes I frequent, the doors are - quite literally - always open. The head priest there believes the fresh air is best for everyone.”

[lilliana-brighton-deactivated20]

“Just because I attend these events does not mean that I enjoy them as I should.” She pressed the glass to her lips, taking a sip. Decorum dictated that Lilliana should always act affable at these events. She did appreciate being invited; however, there were other uses for her time that she preferred. Certainly she enjoyed reveling in the triumphs of others, but more than a few hours were her limit. Time was better spent taking care of those whom needed assistance. Those within the gilded hall of the palace had more than anyone could wish. They could stay amongst themselves. Lily preferred the common man. The people who appreciated every moment rather than those who were bored of life and all it had to offer.

She smiled at Micah, nodding her head. “Thank you. I must say that I am finding the party infinitely nicer with my current companion as well.” She would eventually have to mingle with the rest of the guests, but for now Lily was immensely satisfied with simply talking to Micah and ignoring being social beyond that.

Lily chuckled, looking at the man at her side. “Are you telling me that you were eavesdropping on conversations?” Not hearing some snippet from passing couples and groups proved impossible at the ball, but Lily tried to tune out as much as she could. It was none of her business who was cross with whom or when the Duke planned to dine with the socialite. She idly wondered if Micah was listening on purpose and to whom for what reason. “Tongues loosen when amongst those they think of as allies, combined with alcohol, the combination can be devastating. I apologize that you have been subjected to learning that lesson at such a brilliant event. I hope that it was not all bad.”  

[micah-gladwell]

Micah offered a lowly hum in response, one that acknowledged Lilliana’s words politely. There was no denying that he was in awe from the luxurious offerings that promoted a night of fun and frivolity. He was also in relief that he found some accordance with her assertion. “These events - much like any other - are not for everyone. I know this quite personally,” he quipped shortly. As he took another scan of the room he pondered how such a massive conglomeration of wealth could possibly be conceivable, he felt a form of confidence accumulating within.“If you don’t mind my asking, where would you find more enjoyment?”

It was pleasant conversation, such as this, that put his anxious mind at ease. Perhaps later he would even find the nerve to approach a complete stranger with relatively little apprehension. This train of thought was interrupted by Lily’s question, to which he felt his eyes widen slightly. “For the most part, my overhearing has been unintentional. I simply make for a skilled listener, really. Plenty of practice in that area.” A smile formed on his face as he continued in a lowly tone, “I do admit to channeling my attention to one particular conversation upon hearing the Lord’s name, but that quickly whittled when I realized that the utterance was in vain.” After these words were spoken, Micah could not help but look down and shake his head while softly tittering in amusement. It was probably a silly notion that one would ever expect to find a discussion of faith among what had felt like a sea of gossip-obsessive guests.

“Ah,” he began again, “it was mostly on topics that I lack either interest or understanding of. In certain cases, even both. I wasn’t quite aware of how critical certain individuals could be over a pair of high heels.” He shook his head, puzzlement at the forefront of his expression. Thankfully, there had been - at least thus far - an absence of truly worrisome revelations. In his mind, parties were never quite as appropriate of a location for such a presence as the confessional he sat in for a day every week.

[justicemadisonporter]

She laughed. A surprising moment of genuine laughter from a woman who spent so much time faking it. She wasn’t sure what it was about the young man, but he was surprisingly…genuine. Innocent. It was almost endearing. The coffee appeared next to her, and she took it. “I’m sorry, the imagery was…quite funny.” She informed him, smiling before she took a sip of her coffee. For once, it seemed as though they had made it right. Good graces seemed to be all around. 

It clicked in her head the moment he mentioned the his superiors. It was so obvious, she was almost disappointed in herself. Instead, a smile crossed across her face, spreading her lips wide and inviting. Predator-like. “Oh, you must know Augustin then.” Madison exclaimed, taking a sip of her coffee. “He’s a dear old friend. Does he know that you’re out here, trying to convert women with the gesture of a coffee order?” She questioned, though her tone was teasing. “I must say, it might actually end up working for you.” 

[micah-gladwell]

"Oh no, it’s okay. The initial discovery was certainly distressing, but it was later recycled for fertilizer.” Micah stepped to the side in order to pick up a white paper bag that had been placed on the counter. “One mischievous groundskeeper even claimed that it would be especially powerful because it was, um...” His voice faltered as he momentarily hesitated to continue the story. “It was referred to as ‘holy’...” After running his upper teeth against his bottom lip, he resolved to finish with a soft and somewhat-refined word substitution. “‘Holy excreta’...” A part of the young priest felt awful for such crass terminology, but he could not deny its technical validity.

A short spark suddenly illuminated his eyes further upon hearing the Archbishop’s name. Brow raised with intrigue, he nodded. “Yes ma’am, although I can’t imagine anyone in these parts who doesn’t recognize him in some form.” He made little effort to conceal his admiration for the man whom he had wished to learn plenty from. What energy he spoke with was furthered at the woman’s final statement. “Our doors are always open,” he motioned with his free hand, “and I’ve been told I make a decent tour guide of sorts.”

[aubriellenadir]

The winter weather was turning her red, red, red all over – the brief walk down London’s streets from Julian’s office to the corner cafe was brief, but addled with brisk, shorts gusts of January winds, like air being let out of a just-opened champagne bottle. Aubrielle’s cheeks glowed pink-red as she stepped inside the familiar establishment, as were the tips of her ears and the unprotected stretch of wrist left exposed between glove’s end and coat’s beginning. The pinching nature of her shoes likely had her soles mottled red, too. Whoever said winter was a time for cool blues and whites was wrong.

Waiting in line, Bri exchanged the silent greeting of a smile with the barista behind the counter – a familiar girl who she’d come to know as Sara. While months ago this same wait in line would have been dominated with mental repetition of Julian’s order - so as not to forget it - now, Aubrielle didn’t so much as rehearse it once in her heard, instead lilting her gaze around the room to gaze warmly over the 2016 stock and decorations. This routine was familiar now. It was easy. Comfortable. No surprises.

– Until there was. The soft hook of a voice turned her attention to the left, where a blue-eyed pleasant-faced man was looking at her with the kind of open sweetness that Bri never saw from her clients. Both in tone and gesture, he looked to be so honest that it didn’t even seem to be a flirtatious gesture – unusual, but so welcome.

“Oh -” Bri started, looking back at the food already placed on counter in front of her. Sara caught her eye, the barista’s eyebrows raised and lips opening in a very obvious mouthing of He’s cute. Aubrielle laughed and tucked hair behind her ear. 

“That’s so kind of you, but this isn’t just my order. It’s mine and my boss’s. I’d feel rather bad having you pay for both of them.”

[micah-gladwell]

As the customer before him turned around, Micah couldn’t help but feel a sense of surprise wash over him. He had expected quite differently, perhaps an elderly patron who was hard at hearing or another individual amid a rage of impatience. At the very least, he had nearly anticipated vexation, a quirked eyebrow or an utterance of a question. To be faced with natural beauty, both in physicality and personality thus far, was something calming. The anxiety that would normally shadow him in trickles was nearly absent in light of this charismatic presence.

Micah could have sworn - but he didn’t, as that would be most improper given several distinctive factors - that the barista had messaged something to the woman before him. The lack of audibility, coupled with the fact that he had never possessed the skill in ‘reading’ mouths made him shake the curiosity away from his mind. Instead, he offered a most courteous smile that maintained the amiability with which he made his request.

 “I always hear of this one phrase: the more the merrier. It typically rings true for gatherings.” He raised his forearms and offered a slight shrug. “That being in mind, if such is your case, then I actually insist even further that I pay for both.”

[ezradiamond-blog]

Once over the initial surprise, Ezra finds himself warmed by the gesture. It hadn’t used to so uncommon to him, kindness from strangers. But the world has only grown darker for Ezra: every year, the shadows press in closer around him, and he struggles ever more to find the light in them, to find the light in himself. 

Surrounded by monsters and the wicked plots they conduct, it’s sometimes hard for Ezra to see beyond them. But he must. He must remember the good and the innocent, for those are the souls he’s sworn to protect. Without that, he’s already lost. (Sometimes, he wonders if he has. If he’s already been dealt the fatal blow, but he’s just been too stupid to know it, that he’s been bleeding out all this time.)

It’s too heavy a thought for before coffee. And much too heavy for this moment, which Ezra cannot fathom any ulterior motive in. There’s a certain guileness to the youthful lines of his face, and Ezra does not think that’s simply a bias coming from the collar around his throat: he’s never felt the same way when looking at the hated Archbishop of Canterbury. He tries not to lose himself to cynicism, though he finds the thought lurking at the back of his mind, knocking at a door he resolutely will not open: give it time. 

He squashes the thought. Corruption is not inevitable. Evil is not inevitable. Some are steadfast, some are good, some will never stray. He has only just met this man, and yet in him he silently places some measure of responsibility: he must stand up against darkness, he must remain just as he is in this moment, full of light and kindness, for Ezra is unsure if he can do it himself. In fact, he knows he cannot. He is so diminished already.

“I am well,” he says, moving away from the counter to wait for his coffee, though it comes with a small niggling feeling of guilt—you shouldn’t lie to a priest, he’s fairly sure—but it’s quickly smoothed over. Ezra is not his parishoner, and he’s not lurking behind some anonymous screen. Surely priests, too, must want to be off the job sometimes? To want a respite from knowing and bearing everyone’s sins? “And moved by your kindness. Ezra Diamond, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

[micah-gladwell]

Although Micah remains mindful of his company, he does not hold any intention of prying any further than what is permitted to him. In this, he maintains a gentle form of eye contact when the other man is speaking. An attempted encouragement that there is no pressure, no expectation past that of what is hopefully enjoying casual conversation.

The young priest tilts his head slightly to the side as he responds in an expected, soft manner.  “I’m glad to hear that.” His glance only shifts away when he hears the call - not that which was heard from the higher, unseen power, but of his breakfast order. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

While stepping forward to collect his order, Micah can’t help but ponder over the elder man’s response. Those three words, laced together, certainly hold a message of positivity at the forefront. Still, he knows very well that it is behind the syllables that the reality hides. Not all truths shine brightly through the spaces that lay in between every letter; some are, in fact, responsible for a darkness that seems to elongate such gaps. 

A moment after picking up the white paper bag that has been set on the counter, he finds that he is not clutching tightly onto it. There is dubiousness, but there is also relatively little fear.

He resolves to mitigate that doubt in the manner that he is most familiar with. “Ah, my apologies for my brief lack in manner. I’m Micah Gladwell, and the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Diamond.” As this is spoken, his free hand is extended for a shake, not just as a formality for introductory greetings, but a special accompaniment to his earlier reassurance.

[micah-gladwell]

dianawindsor:

She allowed a chuckle to slip, entertaining the boy’s joke for a moment. Humour could prove such a convenient exit from reluctant conversation — not that she’d ever been blessed with the opportunity to pick and choose her topics, or to evade questions or insinuations that shook a sense of discomfort in her bones. The winding corridors of the palace had hardly been what her tongue had meant, but perhaps talks of life’s unpredictability were far too personal for a man she’d only just met. Diana, of all people, could understand. The depths of her own heart were guarded tight and strong; the desire to keep a stranger at a distance, to keep those private parts of one’s heart behind lock and key, was one she knew well, and so his avoidance pulled an accommodating laugh from the Queen as she granted his unspoken request to leave it be. “While I appreciate the offer,” she smiled, “we’ve got plenty of hands to pick up after we’re through. Besides, you’re our guest tonight — you needn’t worry about a thing.”

His question was one she’d anticipated. A gala thrown in her home, one she’d spearheaded for a decade, surely expected her presence — but tonight wasn’t about her, she’d ensured; she knew it, and postponing her entrance for as long as the night would allow would ensure her guests knew it as well. “Tonight is a rather special night for my daughter,” she admitted with a soft smile. “She’s taken charge of the festivities, from the guest list to the music to the decor. It’s her first, actually, and I only wished to allow her to shine like she deserves.” Or to give her the evening to sink or swim, to remove the maternal crutch, to allow those wings of hers no choice but to spread. “I fear my presence may be a bit.. distracting, and tonight is about her, so, here I am — for now, at the very least.”

Her smile widened, flattered by the boy’s gentle introduction, the bashfulness behind his smile so.. endearing. It was so easy for men of God to think Gods of themselves — she’d seen it all too many times in his superior — and yet he was but a boy looking to make a lasting impression, one of kindness and respect. She would give him nothing but the same in return — nothing less than he deserved. “Father, the honour is all mine.” Her head bowed low, a sign of respect for the man representing the church she and her family had remained loyal to for generations. “Please, call me Diana — anyone who’s seen the insides of my closets is surely a friend, after all.”

To Micah, there was a solid, heartwarming sensation in the fact that he had felt nothing other than a steady growth of reassurance throughout the entirety of the present conversation. He had been the one at fault, unable to overcome his navigational shortcomings, and yet she welcomed him quite openly. Warmly. This was far distinguished from the usual manner by which he was normally treated: unacknowledged. It was certainly more favorable than the quizzical glances he had received earlier, questioning what kind of business he could possibly possess in justifying his substandard-dressed presence.

Father. Micah found that many of the boundaries that had been erected in social, economic, and political realms were quickly worn away by each letter of the term when uttered aloud. During the services in God’s house - be it a small community’s chapel or the grandest cathedral in the city - it fell quite simple to forget reality. An individual sharing the prayer book next to you could possess very well over thrice what your financial value. And yet, in spite of the differing stances, the prayers still rang out similarly, the chants followed the same beats. He found himself letting out his own hymn, one of delight at her acceptance and continuance of his earlier quip. “Should there be any necessity of assistance - regardless of what the task may be - I’m very much willing to offer my presence, ma-” He stopped mid-sentence, reminded of her request. When he spoke up again, some meekness returned to his voice. “Diana.”

After nodding politely, he found that the smile on his face had still not faltered. “Having seen to the evening’s selection of sustenance personally, I’m inclined to believe that this ‘shine’ that you seek has already been achieved with the hors d’ouvres alone. It’s practically blown away when taking into account what decor I’ve been quite privileged to see thus far.” He made no effort to conceal the astonishment in his expression. Although he could certainly see the reason why excitement and anticipation had been so high, he attempted to offer some silver lining to her self-imposed isolation. “In any case, my apologies that you can’t enjoy the festivities to their full extent. Still, I can imagine that this must be some kind of respite from the noise in itself.”

[justicemadisonporter]

Madison knew one thing - in fact, she had learned it at a very young age - and that was that all men wanted something. Most men wanted something from her - the power that her title came along with, but usually something else. Usually it was that they wanted a smile, a kiss, something more. the seoncd was that nothing came for free. It was all a matter of whether or not she wanted to pay the price. For this man, she thought that she could manage his price - she assumed that he wasn’t too dangerous.

“Not a bother in the slightest, dear.” She informed him. Without need for any more confirmation, she stepped forward. She gave her order to the barista - Madison expected perfection on the first try. If she wasn’t one to stop herself from returning it if it wasn’t as perfect as she wanted. Once she had ordered, she turned back to the man, lips curling up into a smug smile. “So, dear, are you simply buying women drinks today, or will you also be adopting a puppy slated for euthanasia?” 

[micah-gladwell]

Micah nodded curtly at the woman before him, then waited patiently as she turned around to place her order. When she finished, he wasted no time in stepping forward and giving the employee at the cash register the sparse coins that he had dug out from one of his coat pockets. Surely there was no harm or offense to be found in his gesture; if anything, he hardly had the expectation that any stranger would be so willing to accept.

“I would most definitely consider it, were it not for my terrifyingly horrible allergies.” As the words left his mouth, he had actually wished that they had never done so in the first place. Were health sensitivities an appropriate subject to joke about? Humor, sarcastic or otherwise, was never quite a strong suit of Micah’s. In a feeble attempt to recover from awkwardness, he quickly cleared his throat. “Ah, my apologies. That was, um...” With a shake of his head, he left one clumsy comment and walked into another. “My superiors are wary of pets on the premises, especially after a particular dog’s... ‘Adventures’ next to the garden statue of our Savior.”

[lilliana-brighton-deactivated20]

For reasons unbeknownst to Lilliana, the occasional person found her to be intimidating. It could be that she was a successful business woman, motivated achieve even more than she already had. Her hope was that the man in front of her did not find her so. Lily believed herself to be no different than any other citizen of the world. She was simply a woman who had achieved a certain level of success, trying never to allow the praise to go to her head. Despite being in a similar situation of being allowed certain privileges, Micah’s attire lead Lily to believe that the priest held similar values of living a modest and humble life. He might be indulging in the frivolities of the ball; however, there was little doubt that his attire was better suited for other occasions. She would think that someone would have at least offered to help him dress in a manner that befit his station.

“Events of faith are more important than social gatherings. They celebrate the goodness of God and all his creations. These things always seemed a bit self-indulgent to me.” A pat on the back for the world of wealth most were born into or climbed into by whatever means necessary. The fact that the grand event was invitation only spoke volumes of the individuals meant to associate with each other or more precisely those whom they should not be seen with. The occasional outsider could be tolerated as a date, but Lily doubted that the moment they no longer held value as a connection, those who did not belong would be back on the other side of the gate.  It was the reason that outside of corporate events to celebrate Brighton’s success, all parties the CEO held were public events.

Chuckling lightly, Lilliana took a sip of her champagne, allowing Micah to take it all in. “Years of practice. I’m sure that you see things that I do not.” Her gaze wandered from person to person, glad to see the delight on most faces. Adelaide had done wonders in planning the ball. Everyone seemed to be utterly enchanted with at least one aspect of the night allowing them to enjoy themselves. Seeing others happy never failed to make the blonde happy. She returned her attention to the priest, nodding her head. “That is it exactly. Certainly there are those with an innate talent, bred for the highest social circles, but most need to simply take in their surroundings least they become overwhelmed by such things.”

[micah-gladwell]

Although Micah was certainly familiar with the sight of her name, he was far less so with the content in the informational words accompanying it. Perhaps it made him ignorant - it certainly contributed further to an array of belittling glances - but if he were to live life with complications, he preferred they be of religious contemplation than otherwise. The names of the ‘latest’ and ‘greatest’ in the more superficial industries were relatively less important to recall than those of Saints. After all, it was the latter who were meant to be recognized for their moral, and therefore simply substantial, contributions.

A raised brow and an enlightened smile, both formed out of surprise, were offered back to the blonde. “I have to admit, I’m just a little surprised that you believe so. This doesn’t appear to be a foreign experience to you in the slightest.” Micah could count the number of grand social gatherings that he had ever attended with only one hand; he imagined that his companion surpassed that easily within the course of a few weeks. It was quite fortunate, indeed, that their divergence in experience held no issues deterring the ease of conversation. “I’m certain that I would have arrived at the point of being overwhelmed far earlier were it not for your most agreeable company.”

“Me? Seeing things?” He let out a short laugh, and shook his head in modesty. “I largely doubt it. I was never quite one for visual skills. Auditory, however...” As his voice trailed off, he looked out toward the rest of the room, while tilting his head from side to side. He briefly recalled when he was amid the boisterous crowd, desperate to find the calm that lacked echoes of gossip and criticism. “I’ve certainly heard a fair number of opinions just having made my way over here earlier. Some a little more graceless than I expected, but,” he turned back and shrugged his shoulders, “it could be the champagne talking. I’ve seen plenty of that tonight too.”

[justicemadisonporter]

Coffee was essential to her morning routine. Madison loved a good cup of tea as much as the next person, but in order to make it through her day, she needed that initial cup. It boosted her energy in the morning, got her through the trials that filled her day and the nonsense that most of the lawyers tried to spew. An extra shot of espresso was the secret - it kept her senses heightened. You would assume that someone like Madison Porter would send her assistant out for her - but really, Madison enjoyed doing the walking herself. 

That, and she didn’t trust anyone else besides herself to order it just right. 

She didn’t have to prepare as she approached the counter to order, but out of the corner of her eye, she could sense someone approaching her. She kept her gaze straight forward, until a voice spoke up. She turned, raising a brow at the request, which she found surprising. “You’d like to buy my drink?” She questioned, eyes taking in the man for a moment. And to what do I owe the pleasure? Simply out of the kindness of your own heart?”

[micah-gladwell]

Quirked eyebrows were hardly a foreign sight to Micah - if at all. For an individual who possessed as many questions as he did, he constantly found himself attempting to provide just as many answers. While his experience was still relatively limited, he felt as though he had just about heard it all, from the most pensive worries (Is there such a thing as a deadline for repentance?) to bizarre curiosities (Do you priests really sleep in the pews every night?). The expression on this stranger’s face was to be expected, particularly because he was certain this gesture of his was rather uncommon.

The corners of his mouth rose into a small smile. “I understand the oddity of the request, but...” Where words failed him, a short shrug of the shoulders came. “Yes ma’am, as simple as that.” He remained nervous in his answer, but he attempted to loosen the stiffness in his shoulders by continuing, “If my offer comes across as bothersome or even offensive in any manner, I apologize. I won’t prod incessantly.” He linked his hands together and twiddled his thumbs.

[maiavxnturi-blog]

         It was not carelessness that prompted the brunette to enter a place far beneath her social standing. Nothing about Maia screamed luxury, she was styled but did not exude the normal wealth and prestige that came from her high birth. However, word had reached her ears of a a mouse-hole, a possible hiding place for a dirty little rat. The day was not about breaking bones, for that happened when night descended and her identity was concealed by a starry blanket. But a person’s habits were important to observe, the little tell signs when they think no one else is watching. That’s what Maia sought. 

She stood, bag looped over her left arm as she stared up at the chalk-board menu with internal disgust. She’d not find a delicious blend of fresh ground coffee in such a dive, it was basic at best. But still, she stepped forward to face the cashier as she made a somewhat reluctant order. “I’ll have a skinny milk latte with two extra double shots of coffee, with a touch of cinnamon. Then a Mediterranean salad, with chicken and extra feta.” 

She knew that voice! Maia turned, boots swiveling first as a smile lifted onto her features, “Father Gladwell,” she breathed softly, one hand girlishly tucking a stray curl behind her ear. He was one of her projects, like all the rest. A holy man, so chaste and untouchable called to her like a siren song, urging her to taint his precious glow. Her first tactic was softness, a false naivety paired with a soft smiled that made her look younger than she had in years. “How very kind of you! But can I ask why you wish to pay for my order?” she questioned, eyebrow slightly raised in staged curiosity. Maia cared little about his motivations, instead only about her own selfish gain. He was a puppet..like all the best.

[micah-gladwell]

At the moment the brunette before him turned around, Micah felt a heavy beat drop from his heart and into his stomach. Maia Venturi. Often times, a mere utterance of her name alone would be enough to produce this sensation within him. It was such that he felt more intimidated by her presence than that of the colossal walls that typically characterized places of worship.

Micah cleared his throat as a means of prodding himself to respond. “Ah, Miss Venturi. It’s quite a coincidence to have run into you in these circumstances.” Externally, he remained unshakable, his curt nod being accompanied by a gentle smile that he resolved to offer to everyone that he met. Internally, however, he could feel tremors rushing through his veins, anxiety at the tips of his fingers as he expressively moved his hands around.

One constant point of confusion in his life - at least, as of late - was what exactly ran through the mind of the older Venturi daughter whenever they met. He had interacted with an innumerable amount of churchgoers, whose eyes often glimmered with faithfulness. In the glances of those who visited him in the confessional lay a sorrowful hope for repentance. Even the babies whom he had assisted in welcoming to the Anglican denomination held curiosity in their orbs. What lay behind the charming exterior of the woman greeting him now? He was never quite certain.

“I can assure you that I possess no ill-will or deceitful intentions. I only wish to share the blessing that is another beautiful morning here in the city.”

[ezradiamond-blog]

Though the struggle between good and evil consumes him, you will never see Ezra Diamond in church.

He blames his parents, if there’s any blame to be found. They raised him to worship the law, worship justice, and he does. Good and evil, right and wrong, existing for their own sake, looming as large as warring Gods in young Ezra’s imagination, without anchor to any other being, history, or story. And justice has been so uplifted in Ezra’s mind that it has taken on godlike qualities of its own: all-seeing and all-knowing.

He believes, for he must, that the scales will always rebalance themselves. That no evil deed will go unpunished. And though he does good for no reward, that good actions will be rewarded.

He believes it, he knows it, he fears it—for he knows how he has strayed.

All he wants is coffee. He has a court date this morning, and he needs it before he sits on the stand, Madison Porter smug and hated in his peripheral vision, and lies. He sees the priest out of the corner of his eye and, though he has never sat in confession, feels a tickle of unease. Guilt. He doesn’t believe that the universe sends signs to warn him away from his actions: if he believed that, he’d find them around every corner. He’d find them in himself, when his thoughts spiral and his chest constricts and he swears that he’s having a heart attack, that he’s going to die.

Compared to that, a priest in a coffee shop should be nothing.

He’s surprised, too, when he finishes his order, resolutely focused on the cashier, that he speaks. He looks at him directly for the first time and is struck by his youth more than anything. But, after a moment, he manages a smile. “I venture to guess that, with my salary, I should be paying for your order rather than the other way around, son.” (Father. Shit.) “But, if you insist, I won’t say no.”

[micah-gladwell]

Son. The word is one that is quite familiar to Micah. He’s heard it a countless number of times, spoken by the parents who raised him in the coziness of their love. There was even a certain point in his life wherein the term was laced with the burdens of loss and subsequent sorrow. Then, a sense of guilt underlay each time the single syllable was uttered aloud. Nowadays, this sensation is still largely present, but mollified to some degree by the mentors who dedicated such time in steadily guiding him through his path of unsteady faithfulness.

The thought of his instructors - both informal and not - brings him to the reminder of how unusual it must be for one to encounter an ordained individual of his age. Although the man who stands beside him cannot possibly have seen more than twice the number of years he has, there’s no simpler manner of expressing the circumstances: Micah is young.

At the reference of “priest,” most would probably expect an individual whose hair was growing to be as white as the albs the church provided. His head shows absolutely no signs of such a transformation. When he tilts it down and shakes it in a lighthearted manner, his boyish aspects are highlighted further.

"In spite of how few they may be,” he begins while producing a tattered billfold from one of his coat pockets, “I’m always very willing to share my possessions.” 

Micah slips out a single note, worn from years of circulation yet still preserving a degree of neatness, and proceeds to hand it to the individual behind the cash register. After the currency is out of his possession, he mouths a barely audible, ‘bless you,’ and then takes steps backwards to where he had been standing prior.

During most other times, he would feel inclined to stay quiet. He would until called upon. Today, however, he feels a sort of enlivenment. Perhaps from the excitement of his boldness thus far, he speaks again. “How are you doing on this fine morning, sir?”

[micah-gladwell]

It was nearly two weeks into the new year, and the chaos of the holiday season still lingered throughout the city’s chilly air. These days, most individuals either took steps or were taking them in an effort to return to whatever routines had been swept aside in light of the celebrations that had long since concluded. Micah was certainly no stranger to this seasonal shift, having had his own fair share of stress while adjusting alongside the liturgical calendar. Nonetheless, a deep sense of gratitude was still embodied within his ambiguous outlook for the future.

A gust of warmth gently greeted him as he pushed open the door to a quiet cafe settled at one street corner. He wasted no time in making his way to the very back where the cashier stood. After placing a quick and simple request, he stepped to the side in order to allow the individual behind him to take a turn at ordering. Although the young priest remained quiet, he used the peripheral of his view to maintain some level of awareness of the patron now beside him. As the black and white clock on the other side of the room ticked away, he was suddenly met with the growth of some inclination to act spontaneously. There’s no improper time to offer a good deed, he assured himself, as he inched closer to the customer.

“Pardon me,” Micah began in a soft tone, sincerity reflecting brightly in his eyes, “I don’t mean to impose, and please forgive the forwardness of this. Would you mind if I paid for your order?”