almaredemptoris

[ Would He really be a proper God if He didn't throw another total curveball into such a carefully crafted life? ]

They are all well, thankfully. As for me, harm would be hard pressed to find me, in this form. This prison is, unfortunately, far less brittle than it appears. My adventures are more of a chronic annoyance than anything else, really. How unwilling wishful profiteers always are to strike up a conversation with their loot...

[ Alas, she rambles. And her ability to rein herself in is still in horrible atrophy, but she does make an attempt sometimes. ]

I have been. And although I do not envy those of you forced to endure this senseless chaos, I will not deny it has been a particularly restless and boring time, hiding away, accomplishing nothing... [ She's becoming... used... to attention, that isn't just the day's business. How disgusting. ] Speaking of, I am not keeping you from anything, am I?

[He gladly allows her to fill in the conversation, preferring to listen than to speak. He had always been of a reserved temperament, even in his younger years when he was weighed down not by the concern of obscuring himself but by the concern of feeding his family. Then it was out of weariness of body and heart; now it is a more deliberate choice.]

Not at all. I was only reading, but I have done little else for days. Books, prayer, and my own thoughts are all the company I've known. There is little reason to venture out, with no jobs to be found and enough in my cupboards to last me the week.

[He keeps the diet of a monk, after all, and limits himself even more severely for the Lenten season.]

[ After centuries of metered speech, it has been delightful to simply hold conversations, even if she tends to hold it a little firmly in her court. Months later and the novelty has yet to wear off. ]

Sounds to me like dreadful company, though I suppose books offer a bit more to you.

[ And why pray when one can blaspheme? Honestly, though the man seems quite devout, rivaling the moon-touched girl who was never shutting up about hearing the Scribes through all things, she cannot hold much derision to it. It is not his god, whatever it might be, that she was wronged by. ]

Oh it seems to all the rest that there is plenty of reason to venture out. You do not wish to help those who have been ravaged worse, or take advantage of such distractions?

[ It does not judge one way or the other. In fact, it seems rather relieved to have found someone with a lick of sense. ]

As it is said, Madame Sandra, beggars cannot be choosers.

[She may hear the subtle curve of a smile in these words, which he delivers not as a serious pearl of wisdom but as a gentle nudge. If not for her rather brazen demeanor, he would not feel comfortable taking even this small step away from formality. (And such a demeanor he minds little, as her errant ruminations have been quite interesting to listen to.)]

When the unrest dies down, I shall do what I can to help those who have suffered far worse than I have, God be my witness. However, Carthage could not be built anew until after the flames had been extinguished. Although, such a comparison is perhaps crude, as Carthage was razed and would not rise from the ashes for some time afterward.

I suppose not.

[ She knows better than anyone, after all. His grin is met with a soft chuckle on her part; she speaks more politely (if backhandedly) than most in this place, but he of all people could stand to loosen up a bit. ]

Let us hope, then, that we are not left with only ashes, when all is said and done.

[ She cannot claim to have the foggiest idea of what Carthage might be, but every empire rises and every empire falls, and there is always a new flag to stake in its place. So it could be said for Sahr, so it would be one day for the Commonwealth... Or would have been. Tangentially, just because his devotion does not irk doesn't mean that it can't intrigue. ]

You know, it seems to me that you often frequent the thought of gods and prayer. I bid no disrespect, but with our worlds lost to the Storm, do you believe there is anything left to hear or witness you? Or does conversing with the unknown still happen to bring you comfort?

[She is not the first to question his religious convictions, prodding as if to poke holes in the hull of his faith, but his faith is ironclad and he does not mind braving the waters of discourse.]

There is but one God - all others are false. And although His might and mercy can hardly be comprehended by men, I would not say that He is unknown, for I have felt His presence and witnessed His acts. Moreover, it is told that God is the creator of all that is seen and unseen. This pagan land and all who inhabit it may not know Him, but this doesn't mean they are not His creation.

[Such reasoning would be unassailable in his society, but here he finds that he is rather singular in his thinking. Of all the myriad adjustments he has had to accommodate in this latest iteration of his life, one of the hardest is the absence of those who share his faith. Sunday mornings gape hollowly, and all he can do is patch the hole with solitary prayer.]

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