nexus_sages | Unmasked

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Unmasked

Verity's sitting on one of the benches around the Forum, all pink braids and French stripes and soft jeans, idly fingering a new ring and studying a brochure someone handed her. Not the Brochure, just a flier for a temporary costume shop. (Both the shop and the costumes being temporary, one of those things is very important when the other disappears.) The pictures are bright and cheerful, almost inappropriately so. This is a highly sanitized, 'safe' for 'children' sort of Halloween being peddled. Meanwhile, Bobbi sniffs around to check for changes to the area and signs of adventure. She's a pupper of valor and courage, ready to take on any strange sniffs and mysterious smells.

"Is your Halloween tradition to put a mask on, or take one off?" The question begins when she lifts her attention to the wider worlds and does the now-habitual mental and visual sweep of her surroundings. As casually as it's asked, she knows this is a deeply probing question, so she'll give anyone wary of answering an easy out. "You coming to the Ball?"

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Iago smiles. He has a very nice smile--guileless and charming. It's one of his best weapons, but at least this time it's somewhat genuine. Though horrendous gender roles may be deeply ingrained in him, he always does enjoy the company of sharp-tongued women.

Also dogs. Dogs put him in a good mood, too. He squats down further for both his and Bobbi's benefit; so he can properly scritch her behind the ears, and she can get a better sense of him with her nose. Further sniffs will reveal his adventures in war and the market: horses and blood and human refuse and smoke and spices. The smell of the church probably mingles with the smell of the whorehouse on him: blessed incense and cheap perfume, wine and ale.

He looks up at Ver.

"Carnivale, giusto, signora. We sin disguised, so we may be may be properly naked and ashamed in God's eyes on Ash Wednesday." He adds dryly, "For it makes salvation sweeter if we've truly earned Perdition first." Sorry, Ver. Bringing around the Jesus talk for an encore.

"The antique Romans had a feast like that, to mark the summer's end and celebrate their honored dead. Though we've made it now the day of All Saints. For my part I'd rather speak with the holy martyrs than your common spirit. As one who has slain many, I'd as well not seek out the dead lest they quarrel with me, if the souls of infidels do walk." Where Iago's from, ghosts are not unheard of, so that's probably a wise course.

A bad boy with a charming smile? Kill her now and let Hela have her. She honestly thought being in love with a good man was supposed to protect her from these things, but nope. That particular button is still installed. Not that she wants to run off and do all those things he might still think she charges for, she just... secretly, deep down, enjoys the trouble. More precisely, she enjoyed being the one trusted to help him through it.

Everyone should be in a better mood when dogs are around. Bobbi's in a better mood when tall ones are around because that means scritches and sniffs and all kinds of good things. It's a good trade-off. Not all of the scents are easy for her to place, but that just makes it more exciting! Once Iago's down, Bobbi goes up, front paws on one of his knees so she can sniff his face. There may be licking in his future.

More Jesus talk? Awesome. She doesn't get enough of that at home. "But doesn't your god know what you do regardless of what you're wearing?"

Her world had its strange things too. She's never going to blame anyone for taking precautions against strangeness. But let's skip the talk about killing people and what comes back to haunt people. This time of year is hard enough for her. "Halloween is all hallows' eve, which I think is the night before that? So I guess you're supposed to be in church or something."

Well she's certainly come to the right person. Iago is a big old heap of trouble in a doublet and leather britches. And it's the masochist in him, but he likes women willing to try to take him down a peg. It's all much easier to take it all in stride if he's not married to them.

When it comes to dogs, Iago is used to battle-hardened warhounds. They have a lot less fluff. But he can respect ferocious pooches of all kinds. Bobbi gets head scritches, under-the-chin scritches and chest scruff scritches. He really does like dogs quite a lot. They demonstrate that blind adoration and trust that would behoove more humans to show, in his opinion. Although then perhaps things would be much less fun.

"Truly, He does. 'Tis why men's thoughts are so lascivious and wretched. They know they keep them only 'twixt themselves and God. But when their faces are hid from each others' sight, they then perform the sins they dream. And so their guilt is increased, when their actions too are known only by their own souls and Christ. There's none but God to punish them, or fasting and the lash by their own hand if act they in the stead of the Most High. Wherefore else should we hold Lent sacred, if we've nothing to repent?"

"Indeed. But methinks the children of my city would better like it the more if we practiced as you do that night."

But does he like the women who manage to take him down a peg or two? That's always a risk, and not an outcome every ego can survive. Not being married to her allows for easy escapes, and that's smart thinking.

Bobbi is many things, but 'battle-hardened' is not one of them no matter how fiercely she attacks her toys. By the looks of her, she never will be. It's more likely she'd end the fight with cuteness. Admittedly, not a bad plan, and look how well it's working with Iago. He's not the most evil of evil things if he likes dogs. (That's rule, and more than that, it's a trope. The rules of stories are important to Verity.)

Verity listens thoughtfully and then is quiet a while longer while she contemplates. Eventually, she looks up at him with a nod. "That makes sense. The economics of your whole religion does require people to believe themselves to be sinners. And I suppose it is a good excuse for a party. Where I came from, people were as likely to put on a mask to do good as to do bad."

Then she smiles. Something she can honestly agree with. "I'm sure. Who doesn't like candy?"

Well, the only one who ever truly managed it was indeed the one he was married to. It's one thing to jab at him for his tendency to talk too much, to drink too much, his bluster and machismo... all those flaws he'd spent a lifetime cultivating and did not mind displaying. They were all half show, anyway. But only Emila knew of all the faults he did not readily show the world--his cowardice and envy, his inadequacies and disloyalty. After years, she had learned to sharpen these into barbs as defense against his ill use of her. Or at least as a way to exact her own petty torments against those he inflicted on her. All together not a great relationship. Their marriage had not ended well. And neither had Emilia. It really is for the best, for Iago and Verity both, and he can take his outs when necessary.

Bobbi has truly mastered the art of cuteness. Iago may not be the most evil of evil things, that's true. But there's enough of him that's nasty that it probably doesn't make pursuing the good parts worth it. Well, at least Bobbi and her kind would never be at the receiving end of his malice. That's something he saves exclusively for people.

"Are we not sinners all?" He grins as he says it; from his tone of voice, Iago finds it a most delicious state of being. "Good deeds are made the more precious when we have felt the shame of erring. Besides, surely thou hast tasted the sweetness of a sin sure made, by mask or bare of face?"

Painted in that light, yes, it's best for them both. Not that his shift to cruelty would be a surprise to her. She's seen nothing but the truth of the world since before she was a year; she's used to people hating her for it. (It's when they don't that she gets confused and a little worried.) Maybe he'll find it less necessary to try to destroy people now that he's in a place where it's so easy to disappear. It hurts less when nobody gets too close, isn't that what people tell themselves?

Bobbi's willing to like anyone who give her pets. And maybe she has that oft-rumored animal instinct for people who need a little more love and affection than most. She picked Verity, which only lends more credence to the idea.

There might have been a clever retort, if he'd stopped a little sooner, but the problem with knowing a god as personally as she has is that sinning is so much more, well, personal. Time-worn lines reappear around her eyes where the kisses of a good man had chased them away so many times. "I don't believe in sins the way you do. Hurting people I care about has never brought me any pleasure."

Good luck unpacking all of that. She always makes a mess of it when she tries.

He's a little taken aback by her comment. To his surprise she has hit at the heart of him, or at least at his most compulsive vice. But the momentary loss of ground (well done, it rarely happens to him these days!) manifests only as brief puzzlement in his dark blue eyes. He must be a fascinating picture for someone like Verity, and perhaps she can see all the cogs and wheels turning in him all the time; how so much of his easy smile and blunt personality are the product of constant measuring and calculation. If only he knew that she knew. Iago might ask if she could appreciate the effort and the art of it all.

And it's odd to say what he will be here. Much of his deception comes so easily because the roles he played where he comes from are so definite and were mostly pre-written for him; class, rank, profession, spouse... Who knows what he might become, or what may be exposed here? It's harder to lie with nothing to play against, in a place where no one makes any real assumptions of anything about you. But baby steps. Iago talks a lot, but he couldn't articulate any of that right now.

He continues to scratch Bobbi under the chin as he talks. "My dear lady, of course. So should all good souls believe. One needn't find pleasure in the wounding of your heart's dear." One needn't, but one may, he does not add. "I meant rather some night's indulgence--an over-liberal taking of libation, to become too good a friend to one's cup of wine. Or else a little lechery, with some other sinner who seeks the same sport."

Worst part is, she wasn't trying. This is the problem with eternal honesty: it hurts when she doesn't want it to. His confusion only fuels her own. Yes, she knows when the smiles and the attitude are facades. She doesn't know why. The elusive meanings in life vex her. What good is knowing all the facts without the reasons?

He doesn't want to know what she knows. Nobody does.

In Verity's experience, people are generally themselves in the Nexus. It may take time for the walls and guards to come down, but it's really the perfect place for someone to start over and be honest with themselves. Most people seem happy with that. As happy as they can be, given whatever circumstances brought them here and perhaps prevent their returning home. But any happiness is a victory of a sort.

He'll talk about it all when he's ready. She'll be around if he wants an audience.

The sound she makes when he implies she might be a good person makes it pretty clear she doesn't agree. She knows herself too well. But other than that sound, she doesn't interrupt. Neither does Bobbi. Why would the pupper interrupt scritches and scratches?

"I don't see those things as sins. So long as everyone involved consents, I don't much care what other people do." She gives a slight shrug before leaning back and spreading her arms along the back of the bench. Only one stays for more than a moment; there's a safe spot for him to sit if he'd care to. "I drink too much when I'm alone, but it wasn't exactly for pleasure."

"Gluttony, lust, excess, drunkenness... Thou may mind it not, but He who made us and all His angels do. Or so I was taught by all His dusty crow-black fathers, who would their godly castigations croak and squawk 'gainst the sweeter chorus of seducing sin." His momentary lapse is gone in an instant, and he's back to joking. Let's veer right on by any potential revelations about his deeply flawed character and deflect by making fun of the clergy.

He momentarily stops his petting of Bobbi to intone to the dog in a mock-serious, priestly tone: "We should not while away our hours with dancing, when our knees are better crooked in holy supplication. We should not feast on sweetmeats and heady draughts, but subsist ours souls on Christ's body and His Word. And we must not indulge the appetite of our licentious flesh, in nomine Patris et fillii et Spiritus Sancti, amen amen. May we all be so Holy as the Lord's withered, ghostly ministers."

The Holy orders in Venice certainly had their jobs cut out for them--and there was no more gleefully self-righteous group of hypocritical old codgers, especially in that city.

He'll take Verity up on the offer of the seat after a moment's hesitation. Acting this familiar with the opposite sex, who was not family and who he just met, was odd and unfamiliar territory. Before going any further he tilts his head asks.

"Forgive my manners, madam. I am Iago. How shall I call you, my good lady Theologian?"

"I'm not much worried about the opinions of other people's imaginary friends." This is a good time for Verity to admit this sort of thing for three reasons. One, Matt isn't around. Two, Bobbi can't tattle. Three, who would believe Iago? Not that her lack of faith in an all-powerful sky god is exactly a secret, but like with so many things, Matt's feelings have been prioritized on this subject. (Not so much she's going to church or anything, she's not gone completely nuts.) There's so much in her own life she doesn't talk about, she can't fairly blame him for doing the same.

Making fun of the clergy doesn't bother her at all. His little lecture for Bobbi makes Verity giggle, but it makes Bobbi confused. That's a lot of talking for someone who isn't petting her anymore. Where did the pets go? She noses and paws at him as if to remind him she is good and soft and just the perfect size for displays of affection.

Bobbi is an extremely spoiled dog.

Hypocrisy is more of a sin to Verity than overindulgence. Lying, too. If the Christian god is real, he has terrible priorities, as far as she's concerned.

"Verity. Yes, I know, the name is unintentionally significant." She has no doubt he'd be able to suss out the etymology of her name. Better to head that off at the pass. "Isn't it another sin to think a lady might understand the word of your god?" If so, that seems to be the sort that delights her.

"Nor mayhap do they mind yours." Iago shrugs. He's been to plenty of heathen lands where they don't care for his God. Iago, on a purely personal level, does not care much one way or the other about the opinion of His God. But that's not the point. When church and mass and saints' days and sacraments and holy seasons are woven into the fabric of society, not having the Almighty considered in the affairs of day to day life is a luxury.

The Venetians treated God and the church like one would treat distant, elderly relatives. They were due some cursory respect and everyone was vaguely glad to have them around because it felt right, but you didn't let their meddling interfere with your parties. There were plenty of churches in Venice, shrines in the home to favorite saints', and every fool going about thinking he's got a saint's holy finger bone or a splinter of the true cross. Christ and the Madonna and all the saints were regarded as present, inevitable and close. But you didn't always get along with them, and nor did they always want to listen to you.

Ah, Iago's mistake. He reaches an arm out to resume the pets. Once again all is right with the world.

Well, he's met girls called things like Charity and Chastity, so it's not that unusual. He does nod thoughtfully at her name "Oh well named lady. La meravigliosa verità." Give him a pass, her name is too close to his own language. He can't resist.

"And not at all. Caterina was a holy lady, i'faith a profound and learned saint. In such esteem was she held that on her death they saved the anointed head from whence her high teachings came and kept it in Siena, where it is there displayed." Oh the charms of Catholicism.

"If I had imaginary friends, I'm sure they'd be crushed by the lack of devotion." Her heart is a heathen land, it's true, and she has no reason to change it. Church and mass and saints' days don't figure much into her life beyond Sunday mass being that place her fiance goes while she gets brunch ready. He's not very helpful in the kitchen anyway. Far too distracting. There are more than enough ridiculous secular holidays if she wants to celebrate. An entire day for candy corn. A month for fondue. She's not lacking in reasons to feast, and fasting's not her style.

Maybe she'd understand better if she'd had distant or elderly family. Mostly it was just her and her mom, and now it's the family she's cobbling together for herself. Concern for people she didn't choose for herself is something of a foreign concept to her. Misanthropy in the 21st century is so terribly easy to indulge.

Much better! Bobbi pants contentedly. Such a happy girl.

He can have his pass, but it comes with her smirk. "The truth is rarely wonderful." Neither, she knows, is she. "What does 'Iago' mean? I've only heard it in stories."

Charming... no, not so much. Not judging by that face she's making. "Why? What's the point of looking at the hopefully mummified head of a dead person?"

"They will weep for you, and dismay of your sins, but God's justice and God's love pervades whether you think on Him or not." He can mouth along the good Christian lessons as well as anyone. And Iago does believe it in his way. Perhaps it is God's justice that He lets the plague takes newly baptized babies, or His soldiers die slow and gruesomely from festering wounds gained fighting in His name. As Iago said to Verity before, it's all for the good of His kingdom. Or at least that's what Iago has been told. God is a heartless bastard, and Iago was minted rightly in his image.

He grins at her squeamishness at the mention of St. Catherine's holy head. That is one thing he has always loved about the Holy Church--the pageantry. You were seduced by the incense, the gold, the rich fabrics, the vaulted ceilings, the chanting which you did not understand but which resonated in your chest all the same. You were captivated by the gore and the drama... It was all very operatic, very Italian. And that was another reason the Church seemed so inescapable--the relics and the bones and the blood. Real things that you could touch, and which spoke to the most basic part of your brain. The scholars could argue among themselves about the minutia of the Bible and dogmatic turns of phrase, but normal people living their hard lives responded to the humanity and the suffering.

"And 'twas Mummified by miracle," he corrects her. "For the march of years has not yet made dust of her blessed face." Actually, he's been to Siena and seen it. It's in surprisingly good shape for part of a century-dead corpse, but it's not exactly fresh. "To see her humbles and exalts all of God's followers, for by seeing her flesh we know we are made of the same stuff as saints."

"The truth is wonderful." He says, because it's reflex. Though he's long since sensed that this woman can somehow see right through him, so he doesn't say it with as much conviction as he might to others. "How like a jewel it is, more precious when found 'neath the filth of dishonesty, and more rare."

He taps his chin at the question about his name. "It is a family name, and a Christian one. Some grandsire of my mother was called so. He was a Galician, and it is by that name there they call the fisherman who followed Christ, and who Herod put to sword. Dost thou know Santiago? I am called after him, but less saintly." You couldn't get less saintly than this scheming soldier, that was for sure.

"So I'm told." She doesn't believe it, and maybe worse, she hopes it isn't true. There's been little justice in what's happened to her, and no love. If there's been the workings of an all-powerful god in her life, it must be the Old Testament one. All full of curses and random cruelty, and no goodness that she can see.

To be fair, she's from a very different kind of place. Death happens in secret, in private, and she's never had to witness it personally or been confronted with a corpse that wasn't carefully made up to look less, well... dead. She is so naive in some ways. Not so much that she was ever taken in by church or song or opera. That may be the saddest part of all: how she's so untouched by it all. The enforced realism of her existence has robbed her of the chance to be overwhelmed by hope. And what is religion, with all its suffering, without the hope of something later?

"We're all made of the same stuff as stars," she points out, "and surely that's as humbling as being as human as the best sort of person, but that doesn't mean we should go setting ourselves on fire. It's what we do, not what we're made of, that's important." She may lack faith, but she doesn't entirely lack for morals.

She sighs at the defense, looking away for a moment to lift Bobbi up to sit between them on the bench. Can't have her going without her rightful share of the attention. "Perhaps it seems wonderful because it's so rare to you. But even King Midas grew tired of gold." She's made an awful joke and it amuses her slightly, but not enough to take away all the sorrow in her tone.

"I've heard of a city called Santiago. But I didn't grow up in your faith so I don't know much about your saints. Only the sinners." She'd asked mostly to try and deflect the conversation from her name and everything it reveals, but now she's interested. "So what did Santiago do that's so saintly? Or is it the martyrdom?"

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Unmasked

\o/ Whoo, I'm glad to be back!

Seasonally appropriate joy: http://bit.ly/2eOtkah

lol whoops, putting this comment in the right place this time XD http://bit.ly/2dNFFxv

Gotta stay in formation for the dancing! https://media.giphy.com/media/vl8ncD72EnhoA/giphy.gif

OK non-gender-specific-skeletons, let's get in formation http://bit.ly/2e6LggZ

Woohoo! https://media.giphy.com/media/9ERBM1RrY9oUU/giphy.gif

http://bit.ly/2eZhwnK

https://media.giphy.com/media/qgkl0HZQZq0UM/giphy.gif

http://i.imgur.com/TlDlGbr.gif?noredirect

http://bit.ly/2fbs00E

http://bit.ly/2eTl2j4

The early years of chiropractics?

It's the hip thrusting that makes it really effective

http://bit.ly/2f6HXoz