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st_artandstoke) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
strangetrip2018-06-25 02:50 pm
st_artandstoke) wrote in strangetrip2018-06-25 02:50 pm
Entry tags:
European Vacation: Travelers gotta travel
Jag and Em make it to Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer to visit the statue of Sara-la-Kali.
"Too bad we weren't here for the pilgrimage," Emma said as they made their way toward the Church of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer.
Not knowing how long the inn was going to let them stay made it hard to plan, not that she and Jag had a real plan anyway, but it made sense to start with a place they knew they wanted to visit. She'd never visited the shrine of Sainte Sara before, and when Jag had mentioned it, it was hard for her to understand why she hadn't. It seemed so obvious.
"Hey, I'm happy we're here at all," Jag pointed out, angling a smile at her. He was mechanically playing with one of his rings, the snake one, using his thumb to make it slide round and round around his ring finger. "I'm happy we're anywhere but at the inn. But here's particularly good."
In the two years she'd lived in Duninnean, she could count the times she'd left without having to resort to her toes, and there she was risking kidnapping or worse when she went anywhere else, but it hadn't felt as restrictive as life at the inn did. Now they had all of Europe they could roam. "I probably wouldn't have thought of it, if I'd been by myself." And it wouldn't have felt as right, coming here on her own. She met his smile with a shy...ish one of her own. "But I'm glad we're here. Together."
Jag couldn't help but smile back at her, not only when she smiled, but all the more so when she said things like that. Don't read too much into it, he told himself, as always, you're friends. "Yeah," he agreed, all the same, his smile one of those half-smiles that shone bright in his eyes. "I'm glad we're here together, too," he echoed, because repeating her words was safe. He did hold his hand out to her, as a friend would.
She took the offered hand with a light squeeze of acknowledgment, and tried not to notice how good even just that casual touch felt or think about how little contact she let herself have since she'd been stuck at the inn. It was easier when she didn't think about it.
It was easy to find the way to the church. It towered over the surrounding buildings and market stalls. A temporary stage had been set up in the square nearby, and two men played guitar for the passing tourists. "Is it strange I never think of myself as a tourist, even when we obviously are?" she asked, breaking the comfortable quiet that had settled between them as they walked.
"I've never really been a tourist before," Jag replied, slightly self-consciously, slowly his pace to appreciate the music as they walked by. "Except in Amsterdam, I guess?" Definitely a drug tourist, given what Coby and he had been up to. "This isn't tourism, though. It's a pilgrimage. For me, I mean," he added, not wanting to assume. She had never really sounded religious, even though she painted that icon of Sara for him, back at the Inn.
That didn't mean much, of course. Jag wasn't sure he'd ever sounded very religious, until Pike and Vax had come up with that idea for a temple.
It was an important distinction, and one Emma thought she should have made without having to be told. Maybe the rest of the trip, but this part, this wasn't some sight-seeing stop. "Maybe that's the difference. Being here because of who we are, and having a real reason." A lot of the traveling she'd done with Sabine had had purpose too, helping the dead in one way or another. "Or maybe it's because real tourists were usually the ones I made money off of."
"I can see that," Jag said, after a couple of seconds spent contemplating that. It made sense. When tourists were the ones you made money off, then you couldn't very well one of them. "Reckon it's also about what you do. You can live some place and play tourist for a day, can't you." Or an afternoon, or a week.
"Yeah. I guess you can. Or you can be Travelers who rarely get to go anywhere." Rarely, but not never, and while they could, they were making the most of it. "All the more reason to pay our respects to Sainte Sara."
As they arrived at the door to the church, Emma paused. "You ready?"
Jag smiled brightly as his only answer, and walked in, still holding her hand. He needed a couple of seconds for his eyes to grow accustomed to the half-light, after the glare of the sun outside, and he mechanically signed himself with his left hand as they stood at the front of the nave. Just because he wasn't here for the Maries didn't mean he couldn't show respect. "It's towards the back, innit?" he whispered.
Emma thought of herself as a pretty terrible Catholic, but she wasn't sure she could've brought herself not to pause at the font to cross herself. Not just as habit long engrained during her time at convent school, but giving the moment and their purpose here the mindfulness and respect it deserved. "Yeah. The stairs, I think, that go under the chancel," she explained as quietly, nodding toward the opening at the other end of the aisle and giving his hand another squeeze. She'd looked up the church on her phone during the train journey, so she had some idea, but it wasn't the same as being here.
Jag walked down the nave with her, a nervous sort of giddiness in his step. He still felt slightly hypocritical, for only doing so much with Sara in mind now that he was stuck in an impossible hotel, now that Vax and Pike had thought to build a temple, and let him have an alcove for her. But he hoped she didn't mind his wandering; she watched over Travelers, after all.
Down the steps they went, and into the crypt. He let go of Emma's hand then, and stepped straight over to the statue of Sara-la-Kali, at the far right end. He barely gave the rest of the crypt a look, for all that the flames of the candles burned low and comfortable in his chest. "Hello, Sara," he told her in Romani. "Sorry it took us so long."
Then he took off his snake ring, kissed it, and slipped it into a pocket on one of the many layers of clothes she had on, as he made a silent prayer to her. A prayer for their journeys to take them all back to the ones they loved.
Emma went first to the candles, lighting one and offering up her own prayer to Sara. Then she pulled a silk scarf in shades of purple and blue from her bag. She hadn't known they'd be making pilgrimage when she found it in the inn's boutique, or when she decided to bring it with her. But she felt like it had been meant for Sara even then. "I'm glad our roads led us here to you finally," she followed on Jag's words, adding the scarf to the clothes already gifted to the saint, before crossing herself again.
Jag turned to look at the candles on one side, and spread a flame over the ones that weren't lit, then did the same to the ones on the other side. There, that was better. You were supposed to pay to light them, though, weren't you, so he got a note out of his wallet, folded it, and put it in the box of alms meant for Sara. He hesitated for a moment, because Emma was there, and she wasn't his, but she wouldn't know, anyway. Then he thought, fuck it, and moved down to his knees, focusing on praying to Sara, rather than Emma's presence beside him.
Emma wasn't Jag to feel the flame spread over the candles, but watching their flicker and glow, she felt a warmth in her chest, another layer of easing like what she'd felt entering the church and following the simple rituals of the space. There was a longing too, but one she was used to. As Jag knelt before Sara, Emma focused on the candles and the feelings inside, her own sort of prayer. For those she missed, for those she'd found at the inn, for Jag, for herself.
It was a long moment before Jag got back to his feet, whispering his thanks to Sara in Romani as he kissed his fingers, then pressed them, and that kiss, to her hand. He felt more settled than he had in a long time, and that made a quiet happiness bubble up in him that he wished he could share with Emma. But for now, he didn't want to disturb her if she wasn't done, so he just stepped back towards the exit, waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
He didn't have long to wait. It was maybe a minute more, maybe less, before Emma joined him. A hint of a smile on her lips as she slipped her hand in his. She didn't even really think about it; it just felt natural in the moment. That they were here, together, and wanting to make that connection real. Or at least that might have been what she'd decided, if she considered the action later on.
That gesture fit so perfectly with the way Jag felt that he could only smile at Emma, a quietly happy sort of peace shining in his eyes as he squeezed her hand, then drew them both up the stairs. For some reason, it would've felt odd, saying anything down there in front of Sara; maybe because anything he could tell Emma was only part of the truth, and he didn't want to lie where Sara could hear, even by omission.
So he waited until they were out of the crypt, until the feeling of the burning candles was just an echo in his chest, and they were walking towards the church doors, to say, quietly, eyes still shining happily, "That was all right."
"Yeah. It was." Emma had always liked the feel of churches, and the focus that came from its rituals. But this had been more than that, a rightness and a feeling of belonging, of connection, that if she'd felt more often in church, she probably wouldn't be lapsed (or worse) now. Something about visiting Sainte Sara's shrine with purpose, and with Jag, who understood probably better than she did. So yeah. That was all right, when really it was so much more. "I'm glad we came."
"So am I," Jag confirmed easily. They walked out of the church, and once they'd got clear of the doors, he stopped, still holding her hand, to close his eyes as he tilted his head back, and just basked in the sun. "And I'm glad we're out of fucking California," he added, lips stretched into a smile. He didn't know how long this would last, but fuck, it felt good.
You could see it. The way he soaked in simply being somewhere else, somewhere open, and Emma thought she knew sort of how he felt. The inn was a bell jar, and here, if only for a little while, they were free. And on top of that, Europe plain felt different from California, but maybe that was just her. She was smiling too, although she didn't really notice, as she stood there with Jag and breathed their place in this world. "Out of California, and with trains to wherever we can catch when we want."
Jag turned his smile on her, then, still bright, joyful, and more himself than he had felt in months. "Where d'you want to go next?"
"Too bad we weren't here for the pilgrimage," Emma said as they made their way toward the Church of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer.
Not knowing how long the inn was going to let them stay made it hard to plan, not that she and Jag had a real plan anyway, but it made sense to start with a place they knew they wanted to visit. She'd never visited the shrine of Sainte Sara before, and when Jag had mentioned it, it was hard for her to understand why she hadn't. It seemed so obvious.
"Hey, I'm happy we're here at all," Jag pointed out, angling a smile at her. He was mechanically playing with one of his rings, the snake one, using his thumb to make it slide round and round around his ring finger. "I'm happy we're anywhere but at the inn. But here's particularly good."
In the two years she'd lived in Duninnean, she could count the times she'd left without having to resort to her toes, and there she was risking kidnapping or worse when she went anywhere else, but it hadn't felt as restrictive as life at the inn did. Now they had all of Europe they could roam. "I probably wouldn't have thought of it, if I'd been by myself." And it wouldn't have felt as right, coming here on her own. She met his smile with a shy...ish one of her own. "But I'm glad we're here. Together."
Jag couldn't help but smile back at her, not only when she smiled, but all the more so when she said things like that. Don't read too much into it, he told himself, as always, you're friends. "Yeah," he agreed, all the same, his smile one of those half-smiles that shone bright in his eyes. "I'm glad we're here together, too," he echoed, because repeating her words was safe. He did hold his hand out to her, as a friend would.
She took the offered hand with a light squeeze of acknowledgment, and tried not to notice how good even just that casual touch felt or think about how little contact she let herself have since she'd been stuck at the inn. It was easier when she didn't think about it.
It was easy to find the way to the church. It towered over the surrounding buildings and market stalls. A temporary stage had been set up in the square nearby, and two men played guitar for the passing tourists. "Is it strange I never think of myself as a tourist, even when we obviously are?" she asked, breaking the comfortable quiet that had settled between them as they walked.
"I've never really been a tourist before," Jag replied, slightly self-consciously, slowly his pace to appreciate the music as they walked by. "Except in Amsterdam, I guess?" Definitely a drug tourist, given what Coby and he had been up to. "This isn't tourism, though. It's a pilgrimage. For me, I mean," he added, not wanting to assume. She had never really sounded religious, even though she painted that icon of Sara for him, back at the Inn.
That didn't mean much, of course. Jag wasn't sure he'd ever sounded very religious, until Pike and Vax had come up with that idea for a temple.
It was an important distinction, and one Emma thought she should have made without having to be told. Maybe the rest of the trip, but this part, this wasn't some sight-seeing stop. "Maybe that's the difference. Being here because of who we are, and having a real reason." A lot of the traveling she'd done with Sabine had had purpose too, helping the dead in one way or another. "Or maybe it's because real tourists were usually the ones I made money off of."
"I can see that," Jag said, after a couple of seconds spent contemplating that. It made sense. When tourists were the ones you made money off, then you couldn't very well one of them. "Reckon it's also about what you do. You can live some place and play tourist for a day, can't you." Or an afternoon, or a week.
"Yeah. I guess you can. Or you can be Travelers who rarely get to go anywhere." Rarely, but not never, and while they could, they were making the most of it. "All the more reason to pay our respects to Sainte Sara."
As they arrived at the door to the church, Emma paused. "You ready?"
Jag smiled brightly as his only answer, and walked in, still holding her hand. He needed a couple of seconds for his eyes to grow accustomed to the half-light, after the glare of the sun outside, and he mechanically signed himself with his left hand as they stood at the front of the nave. Just because he wasn't here for the Maries didn't mean he couldn't show respect. "It's towards the back, innit?" he whispered.
Emma thought of herself as a pretty terrible Catholic, but she wasn't sure she could've brought herself not to pause at the font to cross herself. Not just as habit long engrained during her time at convent school, but giving the moment and their purpose here the mindfulness and respect it deserved. "Yeah. The stairs, I think, that go under the chancel," she explained as quietly, nodding toward the opening at the other end of the aisle and giving his hand another squeeze. She'd looked up the church on her phone during the train journey, so she had some idea, but it wasn't the same as being here.
Jag walked down the nave with her, a nervous sort of giddiness in his step. He still felt slightly hypocritical, for only doing so much with Sara in mind now that he was stuck in an impossible hotel, now that Vax and Pike had thought to build a temple, and let him have an alcove for her. But he hoped she didn't mind his wandering; she watched over Travelers, after all.
Down the steps they went, and into the crypt. He let go of Emma's hand then, and stepped straight over to the statue of Sara-la-Kali, at the far right end. He barely gave the rest of the crypt a look, for all that the flames of the candles burned low and comfortable in his chest. "Hello, Sara," he told her in Romani. "Sorry it took us so long."
Then he took off his snake ring, kissed it, and slipped it into a pocket on one of the many layers of clothes she had on, as he made a silent prayer to her. A prayer for their journeys to take them all back to the ones they loved.
Emma went first to the candles, lighting one and offering up her own prayer to Sara. Then she pulled a silk scarf in shades of purple and blue from her bag. She hadn't known they'd be making pilgrimage when she found it in the inn's boutique, or when she decided to bring it with her. But she felt like it had been meant for Sara even then. "I'm glad our roads led us here to you finally," she followed on Jag's words, adding the scarf to the clothes already gifted to the saint, before crossing herself again.
Jag turned to look at the candles on one side, and spread a flame over the ones that weren't lit, then did the same to the ones on the other side. There, that was better. You were supposed to pay to light them, though, weren't you, so he got a note out of his wallet, folded it, and put it in the box of alms meant for Sara. He hesitated for a moment, because Emma was there, and she wasn't his, but she wouldn't know, anyway. Then he thought, fuck it, and moved down to his knees, focusing on praying to Sara, rather than Emma's presence beside him.
Emma wasn't Jag to feel the flame spread over the candles, but watching their flicker and glow, she felt a warmth in her chest, another layer of easing like what she'd felt entering the church and following the simple rituals of the space. There was a longing too, but one she was used to. As Jag knelt before Sara, Emma focused on the candles and the feelings inside, her own sort of prayer. For those she missed, for those she'd found at the inn, for Jag, for herself.
It was a long moment before Jag got back to his feet, whispering his thanks to Sara in Romani as he kissed his fingers, then pressed them, and that kiss, to her hand. He felt more settled than he had in a long time, and that made a quiet happiness bubble up in him that he wished he could share with Emma. But for now, he didn't want to disturb her if she wasn't done, so he just stepped back towards the exit, waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
He didn't have long to wait. It was maybe a minute more, maybe less, before Emma joined him. A hint of a smile on her lips as she slipped her hand in his. She didn't even really think about it; it just felt natural in the moment. That they were here, together, and wanting to make that connection real. Or at least that might have been what she'd decided, if she considered the action later on.
That gesture fit so perfectly with the way Jag felt that he could only smile at Emma, a quietly happy sort of peace shining in his eyes as he squeezed her hand, then drew them both up the stairs. For some reason, it would've felt odd, saying anything down there in front of Sara; maybe because anything he could tell Emma was only part of the truth, and he didn't want to lie where Sara could hear, even by omission.
So he waited until they were out of the crypt, until the feeling of the burning candles was just an echo in his chest, and they were walking towards the church doors, to say, quietly, eyes still shining happily, "That was all right."
"Yeah. It was." Emma had always liked the feel of churches, and the focus that came from its rituals. But this had been more than that, a rightness and a feeling of belonging, of connection, that if she'd felt more often in church, she probably wouldn't be lapsed (or worse) now. Something about visiting Sainte Sara's shrine with purpose, and with Jag, who understood probably better than she did. So yeah. That was all right, when really it was so much more. "I'm glad we came."
"So am I," Jag confirmed easily. They walked out of the church, and once they'd got clear of the doors, he stopped, still holding her hand, to close his eyes as he tilted his head back, and just basked in the sun. "And I'm glad we're out of fucking California," he added, lips stretched into a smile. He didn't know how long this would last, but fuck, it felt good.
You could see it. The way he soaked in simply being somewhere else, somewhere open, and Emma thought she knew sort of how he felt. The inn was a bell jar, and here, if only for a little while, they were free. And on top of that, Europe plain felt different from California, but maybe that was just her. She was smiling too, although she didn't really notice, as she stood there with Jag and breathed their place in this world. "Out of California, and with trains to wherever we can catch when we want."
Jag turned his smile on her, then, still bright, joyful, and more himself than he had felt in months. "Where d'you want to go next?"