Murphy McManus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spiritusaequitas) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisa2012-05-09 10:40 am
spiritusaequitas) wrote in paradisa2012-05-09 10:40 am
Entry tags:
a se - until everything shines
[as usual, Murphy's up with the sun, crawling out of bed to toss on his clothes and swiping his journal on the way out into the church proper. rubbing at his eyes, he plops the book down on the counter - the Paradisa equivalent of putting on the news - and starts making coffee. once his eyes have opened up sufficiently and his brain's online, he dictates idly as he goes about making breakfast]
Mornin', everyone. .... I gotta say, movin' out here to th' church was th' best decision me an' Connor made, so far. I'm gonna stop countin' the number of times I've been glad I haven't had to deal with all that random bullshit. No pretty little dresses, no riddles, no huffin' an' puffin' an' blowin' people's houses down ... s'been a pretty decent week. 'Course, we all know what goeth before th' fall, so I'll probably hafta answer fer that at some point or 'nother, but there's not much point in worryin' about it, is there...?
Anyways. Connor's got his own lil' project he's workin' on, lately, so I figure I may's well put my services out there. Anyone need any work done? Stuff fixed, or built, or whate'er? I can do a bit'a everythin', so just try me f'you do, and I'll see f'I can't get it done. Y'don't even hafta pay me, m'just lookin' to keep busy.
[speaking of busy. the coffee finishes and he pours himself a mug, then grabs a pencil from a cup on the counter and scribbles up a filter]
[Galadriel]
Good mornin', ma'am. Sorry t' bother you, but a girl name of Rin said I'd be wantin' to talk to you.
Mornin', everyone. .... I gotta say, movin' out here to th' church was th' best decision me an' Connor made, so far. I'm gonna stop countin' the number of times I've been glad I haven't had to deal with all that random bullshit. No pretty little dresses, no riddles, no huffin' an' puffin' an' blowin' people's houses down ... s'been a pretty decent week. 'Course, we all know what goeth before th' fall, so I'll probably hafta answer fer that at some point or 'nother, but there's not much point in worryin' about it, is there...?
Anyways. Connor's got his own lil' project he's workin' on, lately, so I figure I may's well put my services out there. Anyone need any work done? Stuff fixed, or built, or whate'er? I can do a bit'a everythin', so just try me f'you do, and I'll see f'I can't get it done. Y'don't even hafta pay me, m'just lookin' to keep busy.
[speaking of busy. the coffee finishes and he pours himself a mug, then grabs a pencil from a cup on the counter and scribbles up a filter]
[Galadriel]
Good mornin', ma'am. Sorry t' bother you, but a girl name of Rin said I'd be wantin' to talk to you.
if this doesn't work for you I can change it
[It begins with a simple enough sensation, though, perhaps, difficult to describe for those who have never experienced such things. She brushes her mind against his, lightly, testing. She's a little hesitant, and much more gentle than she used to be, since she has seen that some in the castle are more sensitive than others.
But once she has been satisfied that he's not going to faint or lose consciousness, she will begin in earnest. She's careful, looking only for what she needs, taking care to leave him the privacy to which she believes all beings are entitled. She came here with a goal, after all, and to that end, she's focusing on all the things that might cause one to turn traitor- what drives him and how might it be exploited? What tempts him? Is he likely to cave to such manipulations? Who are you, Murphy McManus- what kind of man?
The end result is the feeling of being deeply and thoroughly questioned, though no words have been spoken.]
this is perfect, thanks! prepare for teal deer
and shepherds we shall be
they reach the shores of America, register as immigrants, receive long hours at hard jobs for meager pay, and spend their remaining hours either at the bar drinking away their aches, or in hostels helping tend to those even worse off than themselves.
for Thee, my Lord, for Thee
they make many acquaintances, but few fast friends - one of whom is a shaggy, dark-haired man with a quick wit and a slow mind. loyalty is the strongest emotion felt here: whoever he is, this man is family even though he is not blood.
power hath descended forth from Thy hand
then their small, humble world is ripped apart. men with murderous hearts enter their lives, threaten what they hold dear, and Murphy and his brother fight back. the images come fast and furious here, just as they did at the time: all of it bathed in red. so much murder, so much blood: first in self-defense, then in retaliation, in the name of the innocents who cannot act for themselves. everyone who dies at the brothers' hands has evil in their hearts, an undeniable, incurable wickedness. rapists, thieves, murderers, and the men who sit at the top of their heaps, pulling their strings. they set their sights on one of these, above all, and it becomes all-out war. he sends an assassin after them: pain and anger and confusion, but still, above it all, even as she might catch a glimpse of the three cauterizing each other's wounds in the aftermath with hot irons, there is will: rock-hard, unfaltering. a promise, an oath, something so deep within them that it's in their very blood.
that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command
they find the puppetmaster, and he falls, but the end is bittersweet. their friend dies at his hands before the deed is done, and they find themselves delivered from captivity by the man who'd assaulted them earlier: their long-lost father. confusion and grief are soothed by shock and a sudden surge of deep, unbreakable love and loyalty. the three spread their wings and are the vengeful, striking hammer of God. once they have done their piece, they retreat, go back to Ireland, hide themselves from the people who don't understand, who would jail them the same as the evil men they sought to erase from the Earth.
so we shall flow a river forth to Thee
the peace of simple farm life follows - a time when Murphy answers the question of who he is, for himself: a man who knows pain, but can find joy in its wake, in the simplest of things. who keeps his hands busy, lest idleness lead to things which would compromise his integrity. who cares most above all for his brother and his father, and would lay down his life for them in the blink of an eye, not a single question asked or regret voiced. a deadly sword forged in anger and sorrow, but tempered in peace and grace, drawn only in times of need. ... which come again, as the boys are called home to clear their names.
and teeming with souls shall it ever be
again, they take up their guns, their coats, their rosaries, and again they find friends to help them. there are things he can't quite touch - Galadriel will sense three shades here, the holes in his memory where three people ought to be. but that will is cast over all of it, only shattered momentarily by a black, thick, horrible pall when their father is gunned down by the man who framed them to lure them in. pain and grief nearly completely obscure the memory of their surrender - but it's washed away by sharp, stark confusion when they wake up wounded in Paradisa.
in nomine Patri et Fili, Spiritus Sancti
the man who lives in Paradisa is the same man who tended flocks of sheep in Ireland and worked hard labor in Boston. his will is iron - no, it is coal turned to diamonds under the pressure of adversity - and nothing will shake him. nothing. there is here, as ever was, a strong, unfailing desire and need to help those less fortunate, those beaten about by the whims of the cruel and the heartless. as for the castle itself, he knows it is like a God unto itself: equally cruel and kind, capable of great miracles and horrible terrors - but he will never actively call it His God. no, the Lord had His own reasons for bringing their family here, and he knows that He will make them plain as He sees fit. the work is still to be done - and if guarding Legato is part of this, he will do it gladly, to keep the dangerous man away from those he would harm.
and, yes, it's plain: if the opportunity presents, and this Legato presses his hand ... Murphy would undoubtedly kill him. but not yet. he knows how to wait, how to stay his hand]
Glorious teal deer!
Whatever she may think of his past, she keeps it to herself. She's certain she can trust him with the task at hand and that is all that matter at the moment.
But if he examines her face, he may see a few hints of her thoughts in her smile- understanding, certainly, if not approval. She may have her quarrels with his methods, but his motives...those she can embrace. And she knows better than many how circumstances form a man into who he is. But she says nothing of any of that. Instead, she simply looks him over again- this time with the eyes of healer.]
Are you well?
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Aye. ... Felt like ... like someone took a long dream and wedged it into one moment. How long was I ....?
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[Which is her way of saying you have her seal of approval for the project.]
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Thank y'. ... Now I feel like y' came down all this way for not much t'all. Can I at least get you somethin' t' drink? Give y' the grand tour?
[and he means ALL of it - because after that, there's no way he'd hide the basement from her]
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Think nothing of it.