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31_days2010-04-03 02:11 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2010-04-03 02:11 pm
[April 3] [Original] The Politics of Death
Title: The Politics of Death
Day/Theme: April 3, 2010 "Is it a groove or is it a rut?"
Series: Original (my (in-)famous untitled 'story about Bashir'
Character/Pairing: Bashir, Fado, Page, etc.
Rating: PG
Her honest emotion was making the professional mourners somewhat nervous. While they were maudlin, Page was noble in despair.
The chief elder approached her, leaning on his cane. "You've come to claim him, and so he becomes yours. What should we do with his body, Miss Tudor?"
"What do you mean?" she sniffed.
"Silesians bury their dead," Fado offered, still caught up in the eye of this storm while Simcha, Bashir, and Saselia struggled against the tides of the crowd to remain nearby, at least within hearing distance of the unfolding events.
"Bury?" Page's tone took on a note of concern, "No, no. There's no way I can take him home like this. He has to come home to Catalonia."
"You heard Miss Tudor," Fado remarked to the chief elder when the white-bearded man gave no response to her fervent words. "We have to do this the Catalonian way so she can bring home his ashes."
"Ashes? What's this?" asked a stern man with mocha-toned skin and close-cropped hair under a flat, tailed hat. A meeker-looking colleague in identical garb trailed behind him. The local priests had arrived. The argument that had just unfolded prior to Page's declaration might be about to play out again. There was no doubt that the priests would at least object to Page's desires. Catalonian or not, it was the will of the One that had brought Simmo to die in their jurisdiction, and only under certain extenuating circumstances were the dead to be laid to rest in any manner but a full body burial. There were standards of respect toward the divinely created body that needed to be upheld.
"Your services are no longer required, honored priests," Fado addressed them. He bowed his head humbly as he spoke, but it was easy to tell that this was the overly polite form of "Scram!" "I'll see to it that this girl manages to handle the situation properly."
"I don't know who you are, pilgrim, but I was called to lay this man to rest and I have no need for either your assistance or your interference. Pray for his soul and be on your way."
"Now, now," Fado pressed on undeterred while Page nervously wiped her tears onto a puffy sleeve.
Bashir worried that this might go badly. Fado would step down at some point, wouldn't he? Or the priests would understand. Suddenly he became uncomfortably aware of the fact that he might be the one best suited to sorting this out. He moved through the thinning crowd to the side of the less imposing priest so he could attempt to work his supposed power out of the spotlight. "Excuse me, but I think I know what you should do."
Day/Theme: April 3, 2010 "Is it a groove or is it a rut?"
Series: Original (my (in-)famous untitled 'story about Bashir'
Character/Pairing: Bashir, Fado, Page, etc.
Rating: PG
Her honest emotion was making the professional mourners somewhat nervous. While they were maudlin, Page was noble in despair.
The chief elder approached her, leaning on his cane. "You've come to claim him, and so he becomes yours. What should we do with his body, Miss Tudor?"
"What do you mean?" she sniffed.
"Silesians bury their dead," Fado offered, still caught up in the eye of this storm while Simcha, Bashir, and Saselia struggled against the tides of the crowd to remain nearby, at least within hearing distance of the unfolding events.
"Bury?" Page's tone took on a note of concern, "No, no. There's no way I can take him home like this. He has to come home to Catalonia."
"You heard Miss Tudor," Fado remarked to the chief elder when the white-bearded man gave no response to her fervent words. "We have to do this the Catalonian way so she can bring home his ashes."
"Ashes? What's this?" asked a stern man with mocha-toned skin and close-cropped hair under a flat, tailed hat. A meeker-looking colleague in identical garb trailed behind him. The local priests had arrived. The argument that had just unfolded prior to Page's declaration might be about to play out again. There was no doubt that the priests would at least object to Page's desires. Catalonian or not, it was the will of the One that had brought Simmo to die in their jurisdiction, and only under certain extenuating circumstances were the dead to be laid to rest in any manner but a full body burial. There were standards of respect toward the divinely created body that needed to be upheld.
"Your services are no longer required, honored priests," Fado addressed them. He bowed his head humbly as he spoke, but it was easy to tell that this was the overly polite form of "Scram!" "I'll see to it that this girl manages to handle the situation properly."
"I don't know who you are, pilgrim, but I was called to lay this man to rest and I have no need for either your assistance or your interference. Pray for his soul and be on your way."
"Now, now," Fado pressed on undeterred while Page nervously wiped her tears onto a puffy sleeve.
Bashir worried that this might go badly. Fado would step down at some point, wouldn't he? Or the priests would understand. Suddenly he became uncomfortably aware of the fact that he might be the one best suited to sorting this out. He moved through the thinning crowd to the side of the less imposing priest so he could attempt to work his supposed power out of the spotlight. "Excuse me, but I think I know what you should do."