northclifflogs | Grave digger, grave digger

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Grave digger, grave digger

WHO: Head Retrieval, Burial, and Bargaining Associates, LLC
WHAT: Lorne has Theobald's mangled, severed head in a bag that needs proper burial rites and so on.
WHEN: Just after this
WHERE: The chapel
NOTES: Definitely gore, possibly related body horror, will add more as needed

Once Kit and Lorne part ways, Lorne treks through the snow towards the chapel because it's the best idea he has. What else does one do with partial remains that have been snacked on by the taloned terror living on the mountaintop? Probably what one does with any remains: see to their burial.

Lorne is conscious of all the blood staining his clothing and seeping through the burlap bag as he walks and schools his expression as neutral as he can manage. Official business, nothing to see here; his family is just going to be thrilled if they see him come home like this.

Upon reaching the chapel, Lorne tugs off one of his gloves so he can open the door with a clean hand, and sticks his head inside. The sack is kept out of view of the opening so as not to alarm anyone inside who's staying there at the moment.

"Brother Vervain? Or Father Normand?" Whichever of them is in earshot. "I could use some assistance."

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Illuminating manuscripts requires a great deal of focus and concentration, and that is something Adhemar has in spades. It would come in useful, in this scenario, even if he did not find the work enjoyable--but alas that is not his only obligation as a priest.

"Brother Vervain? Or Father Normand? I could use some assistance.""

He looks up from his work and carefully removes his glasses, then makes his way through the vicarage, and the chapel, to the front doors. Already they are ajar, and he can see the magistrate's eldest on the threshold.

"Hello, Master Ward," he greets him courteously, smile thin out of habit, "what is it that you--" Then he stops, because at this close range the smell of blood and early decay is unmistakeable. His expression shutters. "What is that smell?"

Keeping the chapel clean is no small job in ordinary times, and in extraordinary ones, when it's been hosting the better part of Northcliff Pass's ~~crusty juggler contingent~~ homeless population, it takes a good chunk of Vervain's day.

At least it means he's on-hand when Lorne arrives with a new mess. "Coming!"

The distinctly unpriestly call comes from somewhere near the altar. It's followed by a clonk and a pained hiss, before Ver comes hustling over to join Adhemar, rubbing at his right shoulder. (What better way to stay distracted from the acorns burning a hole in his pocket.)

Lorne grimaces now as Adhemar approaches and notes the stench that is undoubtedly attempting to permanently lodge itself in his clothing. At least outside, the cold temperatures would slow any further decay. That's going to be a problem the longer his 'charge' is indoors, but they've plenty of snow and ice around them for temporary preservation as needed.

"Sir Theobald's head, near as I can tell," he answers as Vervain joins them, quietly grim. "Griffon just dropped it as it flew over the town." He brings the sack into view. "I wasn't certain of a better place to bring it-- him."

Adhemar glances abruptly sideways at Vervain's arrival, then backwards over his shoulder to make sure nothing flammable was knocked over during his acolyte's approach. Nothing appears immediately on fire--good.

"The crypt will do for now," he decides. It is the cold, underground space beneath the church where the dead are kept until the spring thaw, when the earth becomes soft enough that a shovel will breath through the frost. He grimaces at the blood that will undoubtedly leave an unsightly trail through the church, but as long as Brother Vervain walks ahead of them, the mess itself will be limited. "Brother Vervain, if you are able, would you go into the crypt first. The guardsman and I will follow behind you."

The dark, cloaked figure of the physician makes his way briskly across the snow towards the chapel, a leather bag clutched in one hand. He stops several feet away from the threshold of the chapel, eyeing in turn each of the three standing nearby.

"I heard vhatever..." Volodymyr begins, a little breathlessly. He gestures vaguely at the sky before continuing. "...Und zhere is blood on zhe snow." At that moment, his gaze settles upon Lorne, whom he regards with an exceptionally careful, neutral smile. Suddenly he stands very still. "Is somevone hurt?"

"Sir Theobald's head, near as I can tell," Lorne says, and Ver--veteran of a dozen pig slaughters--blanches to imagine the looks of the fragrant thing.

"Gods rest his soul," he murmurs; the fellow was a ponce and a prat, but so were a lot of people and that didn't mean they should get eaten by a griffon. "--Right away, Father."

Though that if you are able might definitely apply, since he (understandably) hasn't spent much time in the crypt... He's on the cusp of wheeling around and fumbling his way over there when Volodymyr joins them.

It's probably nervousness with the whole situation that makes him promptly reply, "A little too far past 'hurt' to help, maestro." ...Welp.

Well, this is quickly turning into a scene, isn't it. Lorne can't quite keep his eyebrows from rising when Vlad arrives. At least everyone here has a relevant reason to be.

"Well past. This is all his, I'm fine." Lorne gestures to the dark splotches on his clothing. The sack speaks for itself. "I think this is a discussion best had in the crypt, if only for the privacy," he suggests. Please gentleman, he'd like not to be standing here with a severed head any longer than he has to be. "After you, Brother Vervain."

It took a few minutes for Finian to connect Vlad's absence to someone gasping "my gods it's a head" in passing the surgery, and he comes puffing up behind the man, hatless and white-faced, prepared to have to wheedle his elderly mentor out of committing another crime against humanity.

Not that. This happens a lot. Or anything.

He stops dead with a sigh of relief at the sight of Lorne and the clergy, and the sack Lorne is holding, and he looks satisfied for only the briefest moment before glancing to Vlad.
"Looks like it's all taken care of," he chirps weakly, with a hopeful smile.

Edited 2020-02-08 01:56 (UTC)

One particular clergyman regards the newly arrived physician with the distaste usually reserved for a canker sore, but there's little to be done about it now. Much though Adhemar is loathe to admit it, he could serve a purpose here.

"I am afraid we may require your master's professional opinion, Master Finian." He could not sound less enthusiastic about this if he tried. "And I imagine this may prove a teachable moment for you as well." Translation: keep your teacher on a short tether, lest he make off with the last remains of some rich noble from Haguenne.

He turns to follow Vervain into the chapel, and from thence down the winding and narrow stair to the crypt. It stinks down here, too, but the smell is of earth and old death.

Edited 2020-02-08 03:19 (UTC)

"His? Vhat a shame..."

Volodymyr is too busy eyeing the dripping sack with something like impatience to immediately register Finian's arrival, and even then he is slow to acknowledge his apprentice.

"Yes, listen to zhe vicar, boy," he says absent-mindedly before tearing his gaze away to watch Adhemar. "He knows vhat is best."

He gestures for Finian to go ahead of him; he is evidently content to bring up the end of this macabre procession.

The crypt--reeking of death and chock full of corpses someone could accidentally lay hands on if he was, say, searching for a wall to follow--is Vervain's least-favorite place in the chapel by far. But they've got a duty to poor dead Theobald...'s head, before he can rot any further, so he keeps any complaining between himself and the gods.

Seeing (ha) as he's not the most use here, when he reaches the last stair of the ~~meat locker~~ crypt, he squeezes himself against the nearest wall to let the others pass. Handily, there's an alcove there!

Not handily, it's definitely got a corpse already tucked into it. Ver helpfully does not make any noise about this.

Edited 2020-02-08 15:12 (UTC)

Finian gets the least grimace of a smile when he comes looking for Vlad, and then thankfully they're all on their way to the crypt. A severed head can only contain and drip so much blood, so some of that has to be melting snow. He'll willingly clean up anything later that's left on the floor of the church as they walk.

Down in the crypt, the air is close and mercifully cold enough to suggest the head won't be rotting any time soon. Lorne squeezes past Vervain and waits for the vicar to indicate where he should put Theobald's remains. This is his church, after all.

"It's quite torn up," he warns those of them with sight, to prepare them for when the sack is removed. Vlad has probably seen it all by now, but it's still gross. "There is some blond hair attached, which is why I'm assuming it's Theobald, but you may be able to better tell," he says to the master surgeon.

Finian sighs in quiet defeat and walks ahead of Vlad, following the others down into the crypt. He's spent a fair amount of time in here as Vlad's apprentice, so it doesn't bother him much, but a severed head is still not exactly an uplifting sight and he's not terribly excited to see it.
He stands off to one side, ready to help if needed.

Within the crypt are a few stone tables, ostensibly used for laying out the dead for the performance of final rites before consigning the body back to the earth or flame. It seems a bit of a waste of space to designate a whole stone slab for one disembodied head, but the alternative would be a scrubbing basin, and Adhemar knows enough about pretending to care about other people's feelings to know that this suggestion would not go over well.

"Here," he says courteously instead, and gestures for Lorne to place the head on the table. Then, (reluctantly) to Volodymyr, "If you wouldn't mind removing the bag, please, Maestro."

As he passes, Volodymyr offers Vervain, tucked in his nook, a curious perhaps even amused glance, but does not say anything on the subject either. Surely he must know...

"Ve shall see..." the physician replies distractedly, removing his gloves as he approaches. He sets them, along with his medical bag, onto a bit of slab unoccupied by the object of their mutual interest. Without further ado, he reaches for the sack in a manner that seemed far less keen than the gleam in his eyes suggests. Peering into its sullied, stained depths, the physician makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, contemplating the sight with the same expression one might find on a new father, before carefully pulling the detached head into full view of all who care to gander.

"I suppose it could be Theobald," he murmurs diplomatically, peering into what's left of the face while he strokes the head's matted, blond hair almost reassuringly. The corner of his mouth quirks. "Finian, look at zhis. Zhe skull is barely cracked."

"Mmhmm," Finian whimpers in cursory agreement, remaining where he is. He doesn't look scared, per se, just miserable.

Oh, Vervain definitely knows. Knows about the corpse. The corpse he disturbed by squeezing in there. The corpse that he definitely can feel at his back.

He and Finian could be twins right now just from their expressions.

The two youngest in the room are definitely having the most unpleasant time of this, though it's a grim task all around. Once Lorne has set the bag on the indicated table, he steps away to give the surgeon more room. Or as much room as is possible in these cramped quarters.

"In any case, we should send word to someone in Haguenne about what has happened," Lorne suggests. The-head-that-might-be-Theobald's isn't getting any deader, but the sooner they can alert someone who knows him, the better. "I can speak to my father about it."

There's nothing to be done for Finian, fated as he is to suffer under the physician's tutelage, but Adhemar won't have the junior priest shuffling about the vicarage smelling like rot. He reaches out a hand to clasp Vervain's shoulder, not roughly but still with purpose, and guides him carefully out of the corpse's alcove, and to his side.

There. Don't say the vicar never does anything for you.

"I seem to recall he went up the pilgrimage path with a considerable retinue," Adhemar replies ostensibly to Lorne, although his eyes remain on Volodymyr as he handles the head. It's unsettling. (The head, or how Vlad handles it?) "Either the beast made a meal of all of them, or the rest have not yet made it back down the mountain. I surmise they would know best who to contact in Haguenne."

...No, it's definitely how Vlad handles the head. "In the meantime," he goes on, "Sir Theobald's remains will be interred here."

Edited 2020-02-13 18:27 (UTC)

If Volodymyr is aware of the others' discomfort, he doesn't show it. He only has eyes for poor statistically-likely-Theobald, who is mercifully incapable of comprehending the physician's intent, appreciative gaze. In that regard, perhaps Theobald is the luckiest of them all, all things considered.

"Seems an awful vaste," he observes in a low, quiet voice. He continues to feel the surface of the skull with careful fingertips. "Vhat a shame to leave him here... alone vith his failure."

At this, he glances up to look at Lorne and Adhemar in turn.

"Sir," comes a feeble-voiced protest. please no

Whatever the intentions behind it, Ver certainly appreciates the rescue from Fun Adventures in Corpseland. (He's not ashamed to breathe a sigh of relief as the vicar extricates him.) "Thank you, Father."

And that would be the extent of his contributions, really, except there goes Vlad. "It's never a waste to give the gods their due," Ver remarks, primly.

At Vlad's comment, Lorne's eyebrows climb towards his hairline. The surgeon's reputation is Known but whatever he's implying about the head definitely makes Lorne a bit leery. Not to mention a little worried. He turns a more appreciative look on Vervain, which he will verbalize later if he gets the chance.

"Then we'll just have to wait and see if anyone survived up there," he says to the vicar, nodding. It may be awhile before the snow clears enough for them to come down, or else any travel will be exceedingly slow. No doubt the snowfall was heavier up the mountain.

"If there's nothing else for now, I ought to go get cleaned up," Lorne adds, gesturing to his somewhat bloodied clothes. The sooner he can get them soaking, the less likely they'll stain.

"Of course, Master Ward. Thank you, maestro," Adhemar answers Volodymyr, regarding him unblinkingly, "for your services. I believe Brother Vervain and I can take over from here."

He has run out of patience, which is evident in the iciness of his fixed stare. He gestures with one arm towards the steps leading back out of the crypt, a courteous but transparent dismissal of the physician from the vicarage.

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Grave digger, grave digger

let's keep this to 1 thread friends

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