I just remembered s/t that occurred to me earlier today, and thus has now devastated me twice in a day.
Is. Is it melodramatic to call the Horn Hail squad going to Hell just to get Reverence back a platonic Orpheus-and-Eurydice situation. Probably. Not even super correct per se, but.
I cannot get it out of my head, particularly with Merit being like, "you'll have to drag me kicking and screaming out of this literally frozen hell before I abandon Reverence again. Including you yourself, Reverence"
all of the group is a set you have to separate carefully if you are to separate them at this point, but I'm also still (always, forever) tender abt Team Virtue in particular.
And the point we'll be finally picking back up on is in that space, that debate as Reverence doesn't want her friends in danger bc of her and the way that plays out. The way Merit is in that moment, unwilling to leave because it's already dangerous, they already know we're here, we--I won't leave you, the way he won't speak for everyone, but loudly can for himself.
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The silence Reverence sits in every morning is a baffling thing.
Okay, perhaps not baffling; Merit more or less understands the point of it, the function. He's vaguely reminded of his mother's offerings and the moment of peace she takes to honor the Summer-Princess-Patron of Nymphs once in awhile, how it brings good fortune and favor to Worship the Queen's Court, and he thinks about the effects the Mortals' own gods have upon their chunk of world here.
He understands the point of connecting to a more powerful being in some way, but doesn't quite get the dedication of time. He had meditated sometimes to sense his Lord-Patron, way back in that hell-tower of mystery when the Game Master was trying to grant wishes, and when Merit wasn't sure how to contact him while in the mortal realm, but sitting too long doing little else than concentrating was, well, simply not Merit's thing perhaps.
In the --albeit few and far between-- times they all travel together and all share a room, or a cart on the way to a place, Reverence has held this section of morning to just sit and focus though. She was... almost peaceful, which had its own sort of unnerving; Reverence, all fiery scars and angry wit and a sharp-teeth-smile that would do a fae court proud, isn't what Merit would call peaceful. The divine smiting and other powers it grants her does suit her however, and the prices to be paid to keep such power are reasonable.
It isn't like Merit can complain about the prices of power.
But Merit's power is not righteous flame and perturbing peace, it is dreams hazed purple and poison, and sheer forces of will that clear out his other thoughts in a moment. It is muscle memory from lessons he never actually learned and desire sharpened into a dagger's edge that cuts into the world as Magic. It is untamed things fine-tuned into controlled forms. Wilds tamed just enough to invoke Power.
It is something Merit doesn't like to reflect on often.
Reverence told him once the burned brand on her hand of her god's symbol is her devotion, that it burns with warm hopes at times. Merit's brand is a symbol of his control, protection from many things that Merit had bargained for, and his brand burns for his obedience.
What is the difference between devotion and obedience? The willingness, Merit thinks, but knows better than to bring that thought to Reverence.
And he himself doesn't like to think about it.
All Higher powers, Divine or Arcane or Other, will always remain terrifying things to Merit, and all Their desires for devotion are and always remain an awesome terror at that.
