@princekarim:
prince-wen·:
In the interest of showing an open mindedness, Wen had been encouraged to attend a French church in order to experience their culture. He had studied religions of the West to a point, but it is another thing altogether to see a cathedral in person. He was particularly taken with the stained glass, and found himself staring at it through most of the sermon. It was incredibly peculiar, with strange stories and stranger singing, but he’d been expecting that. What he’d not expected was the horror of transubstantiation. Nobody had warned him about that.
“The wafer…” Wen said, quietly horrified by the violence of the notion. “Becomes the body of Christ? This is meant literally?”
The Mass has ended, and people have begun to file out while others remain in the pews. Wen is one of these people, processing what he’s just heard, wondering if there’s been a translation error, and he had turned to address the person sitting across the aisle from him.
for a while now the prince of cordoba had been loitering around the darkened pews at the back of the church. he knew he wasn’t exactly welcome here— though no singular person had dared to say it directly to his face, his ears had often caught wind of the maligned whispers of certain europeans, hushed tones filled with reproach and fear about the muslim scourge currently afflicting the iberian peninsula. but he was curious about the seemingly brutal ways of catholicism (much to the disappointment of his aunt amira) and he’d been using this decidedly catholic celebration to explore the churches of paris, if only for a clinical curiosity.
he’d spotted wen early then made his way over as the people started to filter out, avoiding their stares best as possible by sticking to the shadows. karim had only been able to pick up a bit of chinese while visiting the east, but he was able to pick up the gist of wen’s murmurs, punctuated by the expression on his face. “ah, better to ask a more god-fearing sort that question, my observations have left me with few clues on their more opaque rituals.” he slid in without introduction, fairly confident that the young prince hadn’t forgotten him yet.
.
"Karim!” Wen said, quite forgetting his manners in the face of his surprise. He had not know Karim was here -- in this church, or in Paris at all. It seemed foolish not to have realised, since he was aware that at least some of Cordoba would be in attendance, but he had had a lot on his mind so hadn’t devoted much thought to Karim.
He wasn’t sure if he would call Karim a friend, exactly. Rather, Wen got caught up in the current of his wild adventures and wondered bemusedly how he was fortunate enough to have the company of someone so bold, so charismatic. There was a quiet voice in his head that suggested that the likely answer was simply that Wen never said no, but he tried to ignore it. Karim’s time in China had been brief, but memorable. “What are you doing here? I hope you have not decided to convert. This Western religion seems quite violent.”
From what little he knew of Karim’s religion, it seemed a far more peaceful belief to hold.