Realistic or Modern Love of God - Victorian Cult RP - OPEN - Main

[laceanddoodles]

The sun had started to set while her father had been preaching. Now, after the service, Penny glanced around to try and find Tibway, knowing the poor dear would be disappointed that there was no more sunlight to play by. The summer was coming to a close, and the gloaming hours came far more quickly. A thin mist had settled over the town, and as Penny stood outside the little church, on top of the little hill, it seemed as if the fog had swallowed up the whole of the world. All was dim and soft and grayish purple in the low light of the evening. Only chimneys poked out from the mist like little fingers, pointing towards heaven. Then, a little to the East, the part of town that belonged to the nonbelievers sat proud and unaware in its sin. Those houses were much taller, much grander, than any in the Neighborhood.

The sermon that day, a Wednesday, had been on the dangers of being seduced by wealth and material things. It wasn’t an uncommon theme, as Pastor Kipling said it was terribly important, but it was one of the more bearable ones. The stories centered around those who’d been destroyed by greed and lust for gold and fine houses and clothes and food. He’d admonished men who sought jobs that paid too much or kept them away from the home and the family too long, and he admonished women who wished to work outside the home at all. Women should not, he said, seek to be seamstresses or doll makers or servants for wealthy and worldly folk. The work of a woman is meant to stay within the confines of a good marriage, attending a husband and raising a family. He cast the devil as a kindly employer, offering a promotion and pay raise, telling the misguided soul that he saw their true potential. Poverty, he said, was a godly state of existence, and he raised the challenge to all his followers to embrace deliberate, prayerful, poverty.

Penny liked this sermon a lot more than some of the other ones. They were a lot better off than many of the families in The Group, by her father’s design, but they were by no means wealthy. There were still nine children living in the Kipling house, after all, and often more besides, when the family allowed members to stay in the few vacant beds when they’d grown truly destitute, or didn’t otherwise have a place to stay. That sucked up money at an alarming rate. So, his stories of the wealthy falling to Satan felt uplifting. For once, she was not the sinner. For once, she could allow herself to feel righteous. He was talking about those people over there, in their grand houses and beautiful clothes. Not her. Not her family. Still, four and a half hours of sitting on a hard wooden bench, silently trying to keep her siblings from embarrassing themselves and incurring Father’s wrath, was exhausting.

But now, all there remained to do was to corral her siblings one last time, and shepherd them all home again. And where was Tibway?

“Tibway,” she called, her voice echoing over the murmurs of the crowd, “Tibby! Where did you run off to, my darling?”

Penny, the name, was short for Penitence. Penitence Prayer Kipling. But rather than shame and a bowed head, the young lady who inhabited the name was like a ray of warm sunlight, or a babbling brook right after the snow melt. She knew of nothing outside the group, and she had that sweet optimism that comes only from not knowing that there could be a better, kinder, world. For the time being, she was happy to help her mother care for the little ones, mind father, and help keep the house clean and bright and warm. Her family was her world, and while it was small, it was more than big enough for her. She shook her head, her mass of long, golden curls shaking out in full. The girl shifted her weight, putting a hand on her hip and letting a tired, amused, smile settle across her face.

“Tibby!!” She called, again, “It’s getting dark, we can play tomorrow!!”

 

[MothSav]

The first hour of sermon was the most bearable. Tibway could still count on a stockpile of raisins in her pocket, or some toleration from her siblings. She started up little quiet games; bumping Constance’s leg and then pretending she hadn’t moved an inch, hands stuffed over her grin to suppress it. Tibway used her first two fingers as a pair of legs, making them gallop and frolick along the pew or the spine of a hymn book.

The second and third hours were where the raisin stockpile dried up and attitudes shifted. A nudge to a sibling might earn her a kick in return. Her antics became sluggish, attention wavering to the ceiling as if divine intervention might rescue her. Her mind wandered; untethering from the beliefs in God, drifting to beliefs of frogs and possums, trees to climb and creeks to cross.

The fourth hour was hell. Tibway would end up facedown in someone’s lap, often Penny or her mother. She attempted to flop onto the floor and roll under the pew. Her squirming was downright irritating, other members of the congregation sending scowls towards the youngest Kipling child. Today Tibway mistook a pebble for a lost raisin, letting out a disappointed whine when it held no flavor.

All of this built up towards the final prayer. Tibway compared it to last call at the bar she often peeked into. Everyone rousing for one more drink, one more scraped attempt to salvation. The barflies and the church crowd hardly seemed different; they each chased their own worship.

With the congregation set free, Tibway wasted no time. She sprang up from her seat, clawing through siblings and elbowing past Sabriel. She squeezed around her mother and took off down the aisle, laced boots making a rapid patter as she launched out the doors. Tibway let out a squeal when she jumped from the final step, boots digging into the earth with a satisfying cushioned landing. The little loose hairs from her braid tumbled around her face, pulled free during her squirming in the pews.

Even despite the lack of sunlight, she was still dedicated to play. Tibway flung out her arms and spun in a few tight circles, fingers pumping around fistfuls of foggy breeze. She took a tumble and landed on her knees, palms squishing into the damp dirt. Tibway was back up in no time, hauling off in another direction to take a lap around the church. A good stick was located, clutched in her hands as she whipped back around to take off through the treeline. Tibway flung the tip into the air, pointing upwards and bellowing out a joyful cry. “Jesus said we’re all done today!”

She wasn’t gone for long, however. Penny was quick to beckon her back, calling out to locate her younger sister. Tibway stopped beneath the dewy trees, shoulders slumping. They could play tomorrow? But she had been bursting to run around since the second they stepped into the church! She swung her stick a few times in front of herself.
What would they do at home? Try to avoid her tyrannical father. Pray more. She’d wait until her siblings were sleeping and sneak off to peek through the bar windows, but the fog was too daunting to attempt it tonight. Tibway glanced at it once more, but the thought of what could be lurking in it at night frightened her a little. Could something already be waiting for her now?

With that, Tibway sprung into a jog back towards the church. She still clutched her stick, wraggling it a few times to capture Penny’s attention as she barreled towards the older girl. “I got this! From Jesus,” she announced. “To smack away doubtin’ and weather and material things.”

Wealth, but she assumed she had heard weather by mistake. Tibway gave the stick a few more whacks through the air, attempting to spin it once. She directed a beaming grin up at Penny. “I’ll smack, smack, smack on your materialin’, too, and they’ll leave you alone! And the materials can just go back home and... say some prayers. And think about gettin’ forgiveness.”

 

[LittleCal]

Uriah​

Perched rigidly on the edge of his piano bench, Uriah rested his fingertips against the keys. Today’s sermon had dragged on for an age, but Pastor Kipling finally seemed to be drawing towards his conclusion. The prospect of getting up off this hard slab of wood and stretching his legs was all too tempting, and over the past hour it had become harder and harder for Uriah to focus on the Pastor’s words. Still, he managed to keep himself poised and steady until the voice behind the pulpit fell silent, and Uriah pressed down, playing a few chords to lead the congregation into the closing prayer.

The final prayers always ended up feeling like a small mercy to Uriah, though he’d never dare admit it out loud. As soon as Uriah began to play, he could feel the energy shift in the room into a quiet anticipation of returning home. Better yet, the sound made the children stop their fussing and sit back up in the pews, and that was just as much a relief to him as the thought of finally getting some fresh air. (The younger ones, he could almost forgive, but by God’s wounds, Tribulation was seven. By this point, she really ought to know better.) If he was entirely honest with himself, the sermon itself was setting him on edge more than usual. All this talk of material wealth, of worldly pursuits-

His fingers slipped on the piano. The next chord sounded out with one note sour, and he chided himself. Pay attention. I do nothing in pursuit of money, only to speak to the glory of the Lord.

Thankfully, the rest of the prayer went on without a hitch. As the final notes rang out and the congregation spoke in unison, “Amen,” Uriah let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and stretched as he stood. Finally, he could get home- praying alone was miles better than praying with the full Group, and with few exceptions, there wasn’t anyone in the congregation whose company he truly enjoyed.

As he joined the throng of tired worshippers and made his way outside, Uriah heard the voice of one such exception above the murmur of the crowd, calling for her sister. A tiny smile crept up to the edge of his lips. Penitence, devoted as ever to caring for her family, never failed to brighten Uriah’s mood at the end of a long day. Finding out from Pastor Kipling that he’d be marrying her… Well, he’d nearly wept at that, just from the sheer joy of it all.

He started her way, only to see her little hellion of a sister charging back up to meet her. Ah, wonderful. She’s even armed, now. The smile that had been budding vanished, replaced with his usual sober expression. “Put that down, Tribulation,” he said, drumming his fingers against his thigh. “You’ll put someone’s eye out with that thing.”

With a quiet sigh, he shot Penny a sympathetic glance. When it came to her siblings, that woman had more patience than he might ever have. Uriah could only imagine what a caring mother she’d be someday. As the smile started to slip back onto his face, he asked her, “Do you need any help rounding everyone up?”

MothSav laceanddoodles

 

[laceanddoodles]

PennyThese were the moments that Penny lived for. Her baby sister running over the hill with her stick-- no, her holy weapon --Uriah trying his best to be gentle as he chided her. As Tibway got close, Penny scooped the girl up into her arms and twirled her around, stick and all, in one fluid movement before settling the child onto her hip. She turned to Uriah with a laugh, her eyes shining.

"Of course she will, Uriah! Can't you see, Tibway's got a holy sword! If there's any sinners around here, we'll just have to point Tibway at them." She laughed again, a grin spreading across the whole of her face, and then she turned her attentions to her sister. "If you got that sword from Jesus, Tibby, it must be pretty holy. And I suppose, tomorrow, we'll have to go out on our mighty crusade. Get that weapon some use."

She really wasn't supposed to encourage the little ones' imaginations like this, but really, she saw no harm in it. The devil wasn't going to creep in if the imaginary play was at beating back the devil. She used to love playing games of imagination, when she was little, with the older girls. They'd play at the nativity, one would get to be Mary, and the others would pretend to be shepherd girls, in from the cold, or, if they were feeling fancy, the wives of the three kings come to call their husbands home for supper. Silly things, but if ever play could be godly, it was in those games.

"But as for right now, it's getting dark. How's about you find a safe place to hide it on our way home, and you can remember and we'll find it again, tomorrow?"

She glanced back at Uriah, inviting him to follow her with her smile, and started walking, scanning the crowd and counting the heads of her siblings as they bobbed through the mass of people. There were only a few that she didn't really feel comfortable leaving unattended-- Sabriel, for one. Gentleness was another, not for the child's lack of independence or competence, but merely because she was one of the little ones. And usually Constance was close to her side as they walked back.

(( MothSav LittleCal Twin Fantasy deadboydoodling Hopper ))