Midnight Mass: Return to Form

[Connor OBrien]

The approach of a new beast announced the arrival of a late-comer more than any noise and, as the hackles of the beast rose, Connor couldn't help but to turn his head to face Miss Martin. A small nod is offered silently in greeting before he turns his attention back to the sermon, rising when indicated.

The Haunt can't help but be impressed by the Priest. He's truly in his element, and it shows. Despite a little shakiness near the beginning, he was confident and well spoken. It's refreshing, to say the least. He would contemplate on the Priest's sermon later, for now they had been invited to take communion. At this moment, he would defer to the Seneschal; should the Priscus of Lords move to feed, so would the Whip of Haunts.

[Edward Heinrich]

Edward observed. Neither enthralled nor dispassionate. His focus was as much on the words spoken as on their manner of speaking and on the paintings that drew his eye.

The only distraction was a new Beast at his back, but Edward did not turn to face it. If there was a danger, Conner would react.

Edward wasn't the type to deeply analyze religious rhetoric, but he could almost hear the words of an old bitter friend beside him.
"Control, control, control. They want it; they'll work out all the little details for why they deserve it later."

Edward had to concede; that was the playbook. But it was more complicated than that. There was much more to the doctrine than "do what I tell you because I know what God wants."

That was worth thinking about, but even in the moment, Edward knew the sermon didn't match his experience. His Sire selected him; his becoming Kindred was no accident. He had been healed from the disease that had crippled him; he had been granted strength beyond any young man and time beyond any human. In what way was this an accident or a curse? The Beast? As if the Kine did not slaughter each other over hunger and lust. Was it the slow and inevitable degradation of the mind? As if the Kine's brains did not rot into Dementia, twisting the once noble into rigid, vain, and muddled shadows of their former selves.

The comments about God being the shield, the one who kept their havens safe and their herds stocked, felt off, but Edward couldn't deny the luck involved with their continuing security. At the same time, it was not God who stepped in front of an enemy Elder, blade bare ⁠— it was Edward. It was not God who lept onto an enemy vessel and slaughtered the raiders ⁠— it was Twist. And so the list of the many defenders of the Domain went on. If God was the Domain's shield, then the Domain's Kindred were the sword. Perhaps that was why Conner insisted on continuing efforts.

It was something to think about. But, for now, they were enjoined to rise and take part in the sacrament. Edward rose and had the indecision of whether or not to defer taken from him by Connor's waiting.

House of God or not, the earthly powers remained in effect.

[Jacque]

Jacque rose upon the invitation to stand during the recital.

Somewhere in the words he felt the pull of his beast upon the arrival of his cousin. Steel eyes but traced to follow her movement to wherever she settled.

The story of the Damned Longinus finally being told his purpose by Vahishtael was one that always unsettled him. They were to be a reminder to the Kine of how short and full of pain their lives were, and that the path to salvation was seen through a blurred mirror to them... a mirror impossible to look through for a Kindred. Yet... the whole of our society was built around obfuscating our very existence. Did we, as a culture, collectively spit in the face of God through our adaptation to eternal Damnation?

He seated and took in Conner's sermon. Again, he felt the inconsistency of accrediting God with good fortune. If it were true, it would feel a little too much like leaving a dollar in a will. He had seen it many times in his lifetime as a lawyer- it was always a message: "I acknowledge you exist, but I deny you anything else."

To the offering of communion the Lord remained seated.

[Adeline Martin]

The scent of blood filled the air, and something deep inside of the Lord tensed, like a cat spying a mouse. Her fingertips flexed for just a moment, even if she wanted too, she couldn’t have held back that bit of excitement. Of course what the beast urged, given life and form through her imagination in her mind's eye, was far from public consumption. Her full lips parted slightly. Unlike other Lords, the Adrestoi relished the hunt. Relished feeding. It wasn’t some embarrassing slog that was simply necessary, as most other Lords treated feeding. It was everything. The obsessive need for blood drove her bloodline to near frenzy.


She did not hesitate to come forward when Priest Wells called the faithful forward. This was one ritual she understood all too well. Her own hunts were always just before the Sabbath day. A ritually observed feeding that was an acceptance of what she needed to survive as Kindred. Her sire was one of the faithful and she had attended a few masses and communions in her time. She had not studied the testament with her sire nor had she dedicated herself to the care of a priest, but that did not mean she didn’t faithfully attend mass where and when she could. A nomadic life is a hard life. This was one of the blessings of living in a domain.


Her heeled black boots punctuated every measured step the Lord took, her arms loose at her side. She took a moment to acknowledge her fellow Kindred in direct respect to their position in court, lastly lingering on the Priest in front of her. She knelt before Conner bowing her head to the priest as the example for the other unsure Kindred. Ready to receive his blessing, before she rose and accepted the ritually wounded wrist that she drank from. There was no hesitation in her body, and she had an almost serene expression on her face. It was a mere sip and yet it felt as though she had consumed so much more. With communion complete, she walked back to her seat and sat down so that others may partake in the ceremony.

[Conner Wells]

As Adeline enters, Conner can't help but notice the new Ventrue both from his position at the pulpit and with his heightened awareness not giving him a day off. He indulges her with a subtle nod but doesn't make a great deal of it. Any Kindred in the pews would be welcome: something that the Presbyters he studied under emphasized repeatedly in his training.

The mere moments of silence after Conner's call feel like a small eternity looking out over the observant crowd. This was the greatest daymare of any Sanctified: grand gestures ending with crickets. But then Adeline rises and confidently strides up to the pulpit. Conner has currently had maybe a few stolen words spoken between Adeline and himself, and yet in this moment he feels a kinship that he's not quite felt with the other Kindred of the Domain except possibly Quinn. This was someone who didn't just have a head-knowledge of the Lancea teachings. This was something who knew and had some measure of faith. And as she knelt before him and took the offered blood, something stirs in Conner he's never felt before as Kindred. A sensation that he's craved and craved and prayed for but never really tasted in the flesh.

Power.

Conner returns the bow with his own short nod of acknowledgement. His own way of saying 'thank you'. ​He'll wait to see if anyone else wishes to partake in the rite, offering those who do their own nod dependent on their station in the Domain. But if not, then Conner takes a bandage from the coffin and quickly wraps the wound tight to prevent undue temptation to the congregation. And to keep the poor fool from bleeding out. He turns to face the congregation, small yet mighty. "Please join me in a moment of prayer." He bows his head, speaking a short blessing over those gathered: that they would go out and use the blood given them in the hunt to the good of their fellow Kindred. "Amen." ​The word carrying a hint of satisfaction in Conner's voice as it carries through the acoustics of the chamber.

The ceremony concluded, Conner closes the coffin. "Thank you all for being here tonight. I'll be spending more of my free time here in the Moore House over the next several nights. I've placed cards at the pew ends with my office hours as well as service times for future sermons, which I'll be holding here every other week." The cards in question are in the back pocket of the pews: small business card-sized and handwritten. "Go out into the night, and may your hunts be well." ​

Gonna make this the last round of posting before Closing!

[Jacque]

He watched and waited through communion. It seemed like no one would take the first step until his Cousin finally broke the stalemate. His lips turned to a subtle grin as he watched the knowing movements of the ritual. Once she stepped back, he waited again for any other participants- though making no sign he would participate himself.

He bowed his head out of respect at the initiating of prayer, echoing the word that marked its conclusion, "Amen."

Finally at the end of the ceremony the Lord lifted to his feet and remarked, "Thank you for hosting Mass, Priest Wells. I look forward to the next." It was quiet and uneventful, but the Sanctified had been absent of any notable presence for quite some time. Rome wasn't built in a day or something of the sort.

His salutation provided, he left back into the night.