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Catholic Courier
Date: 2012-06-12 11:37 pm (UTC)Any gender, any pairings. I just really, really want to see this.
Aches and Sorrows 1/?
Date: 2012-06-14 08:47 pm (UTC)Come to think of it, all of Dolores’ troubles started when her mother took in Zorro Pequeno.
Her mother is-was- a kind woman with a heart as big as the Wilcox Playa. She took in orphans of all tribes, not just those of the Judes. Dolores never wanted for brothers and sisters.
Zorro Pequeno had been a scrawny little thing when the scouts found him on the side of the road. Pale and bony with clothes far too large for him hanging off of his limbs. Bruised and bloodied in such a way that even made her father tear up. Dolores’ mother tended to his wounds and sang to him while she and the other children hid in the doorway only to be chased away by the healer. When the worst of his wounds stabilized and he slept soundly, Madre called them all in to pray for him.
“Oh glorious apostle St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the name of the traitor who delivered thy beloved Master into the hands of His enemies has caused thee to be forgotten by many, but the Church honors and invokes thee universally as the patron of hopeless cases--of things despaired of. Pray for me who am so miserable; make use, I implore thee, of that particular privilege accorded thee of bringing visible and speedy help where help is almost despaired of. Come to my assistance in this great need, that I may receive the consolations and succor of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations and sufferings, particularly the trial of this young boy, whose severe injuries may warrant him passage to the Father’s Kingdom, and that I may bless God with thee and all the elect throughout eternity. I promise thee, O blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, and I will never cease to honor thee as my special and powerful patron, and to do all in my power to encourage devotion to thee. Amen.”
“Amen,” Dolores and the other children echoed, her eyes never leaving the barely breathing boy. He wasn’t going to make it. Dolores thought that they should pray for redemption of his soul and said so to her mother. Madre smiled sadly and patted her on the head, her fingers curling gently in her dirty hair.
“Never give up hope, Dolores. The Lord works in mysterious ways-sometimes suffering is part of His great plan. But never give up hope that things will work out for the better.”
A few days later, Zorro Pequeno woke up.
Re: Aches and Sorrows 2/?
Date: 2012-06-14 10:02 pm (UTC)“What?” she says defiantly.
“Why do you dress that way?” he asks. “You look ridiculous.” She bristles, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She liked this dress.
“Because that’s how you dress for Church,” she hisses. He scoffs, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head.
“Church? What do you worship?”
“We give praise to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,” she says, as if it is common knowledge. He snorts, leaning forward.
“Oh really? And where are ‘the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit?’” he asks, gesturing across the room with his hand. “I don’t see them anywhere.”
“They’re in Heaven,” she says, not liking the direction this conversation is headed. He stands, laughing hollowly and running a hand through his hair. He steps toward her and she steps back, fists clenching into the fabric of her dress.
“Heaven? Are you serious? You can’t possibly believe in such an idiotic notion,” he says, leaning forward as if to share with her a great secret. “There is no Heaven. There is no Father, no Son, no Holy Ghost. There is no God.” She steps back from him as though he were on fire. She makes the symbol of the cross to protect herself.
“Diablo,” she hisses. “That’s blasphemy!”
“It’s not blasphemous if it’s the truth,” he taunts. “You people are idiotic.” With a cry, she lunges at him. He grunts from the force of the impact and falls to the ground. Her hat falls off of her head as she wildly swings at him.
“Take it back!” she says, hitting him across the face.
“No,” he says past a swollen and bleeding lip. “I won’t.” She hits him harder at that. She keeps hitting him until her knuckles begin to split open. Blood stains her dress from the wounds of his her assault reopened. She hits him even harder as she realizes he isn’t hitting her back.
“Fight back, pollo!” she cries. She slaps him across the face. “Back up your blasphemy, diablo!”
“Dolores!” a harsh voice calls out from the hallway. In an instant, strong familiar arms link underneath her armpits and drag her off of the boy. She looks up to see the stern face of Padre as he carries her from the room. She sees Madre rush to the boy’s side to help him up. He stands with a wince and looks at her with a pained expression. They make eye contact and she is struck again by the color of his eyes. He sticks his tongue out at her. She makes a face back at him, only to hear Padre’s reprimand.
“Dios Mio, what on earth were you thinking?” Padre’s voice booms as he drops her to her feet. She shrinks away from him, instead staring
at the floor.
“He said God didn’t exist,” she mumbles, kicking at the floor. “Said Heaven wasn’t real. Said my dress looked stupid.” Padre sighs and she looks up to see him rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“’But I say unto you, Resist not him that is evil: but whosoever smiteth thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also,’” he says.
“But he said-“
“I don’t care what he said,” he kneels down and places a hand on her shoulder. “Think of what he has been through. He needs kindness and understanding, not violence. Think of his wounds.” She winces before nodding, looking down at the blood that stains her dress. Padre sighs, standing up.
“Get changed,” he says. “And after the service, go to confession.”
“Si, Padre,” she says, her hands fisting in the fabric of her dress, trying to will away the blood.
Aches and Sorrows 3/?
Date: 2012-06-15 02:03 am (UTC)Mass seems longer than usual in the run-down chapel the Judes call a church. The priest, Father Alvarez, speaks long and even longer on the virtues of forgiveness in these trying times. She sits with all of the other children, save for the newcomer who sits with Madre and Padre. He eyes her past the arms of Madre. She clenches her teeth and turns her eyes back to Father Alvarez. He keeps staring at her and it causes her brothers and sisters to whisper among themselves. She pulls the brim of her hat down in an effort to block him out.
After Mass, she goes straight to confession like Padre instructed. The line is long and the wait uncomfortable in the sweltering heat of the church. It seems that everyone in the tribe had sinned in the past week. When it is finally her turn her dress is stuck to her skin.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” Dolores starts in the way she was taught, bowing her head in humility. “It has been two months since my last confession.”
“Tell me your sins, my child,” Father Alvarez’ voice comes from past the wooden grate that separates them. The confessional had not stood strong to the test of time and she can see his eyes twinkling through the larger holes of the grating.
“I have struck another in anger,” she says.
“Again, my child?” Her head bows deeper in shame.
“Yes, Father.”
“Tell me the circumstances.”
“He said God didn’t exist,” she says in a weak protest. “Said that we were stupid for believing in Him.” In a quieter voice, she adds, “He also made fun of my favorite dress.”
“My child, we are not crusaders,” Father Alvarez says. “We do not force our faith on the unwilling and we do not demean them for being gentiles. We especially do not strike our brothers and sisters in anger. This child, this boy, is your brother now, regardless of his lack of faith.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I want you to say ten Our Fathers and thirty Hail Marys.” Her
head snaps up at that.
“That’s way more than last time!” The father’s eyes narrow in disapproval and she bows her head again. “I mean, yes Father.” He nods, seemingly satisfied.
“All right, little sorrow. God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
“Amen,” she murmurs. “Gracias, Father.” She leaves the confessional booth, walking past the various other members of the Judes who had to wait longer than she had. She walks the dirt road to her house, delaying the saying of her prayers by kicking the stones. When she enters her home, her mother is busy making Sunday lunch and her father stands by the stairs with his arms crossed.
“How did confession go?” he asks sternly. She averts her eyes to her mother, who is busily setting out plates for the family.
“Ten Our Fathers and thirty Hail Marys,” she says. He nods, motioning to the stairs.
Aches and Sorrows 3.5/?
Date: 2012-06-15 02:03 am (UTC)“Why do I have to say so many Hail Marys?” she almost whines.
“Dolores,” Padre starts but her mother interrupts.
“Madre Dolorosa has known the greatest of all sorrows by seeing her son, Jesus Christ, strung up on the Cross. You need to think of the sorrow you’ve wrecked upon that poor boy by your actions,” Madre scolds. Dolores sucks in her lip and nods, marching up the stairs to gather her rosary. She stops at the top of the stairs and looks back to see Padre shake his head.
“She’s meant to learn that herself, Celia,” he scolds her in return. She shrugs, turning back to setting the table.
“God helps those who help themselves, but a little push every now and then doesn’t hurt.” Her brow furrows and she sets down the plate in her hands. “I’m worried that if this violence from her doesn’t stop then there will be no redeeming her. Padre walks over and gathers her in his arms.
“Have faith,” he whispers. “God works in mysterious ways. He has not forsaken Dolores-neither should you.” Tears fill her eyes and she runs to her room. She grabs her rosary from her bed frame. It’s an old and weathered thing that had seen better days. She’d had to put it back together many times but she told herself that it made it stronger, not weaker.
“I have to be better,” she whispers. “Please, God, help me be better.”
Aches and Sorrows 4/?
Date: 2012-06-15 03:01 am (UTC)Dolores takes her rosary outside to pray underneath the honey mesquite tree in the yard. It is her favorite place to pray. The sunlight shines through the thin branches and she can almost feel like she is being touched by the hand of God Himself. She bends her head and begins to pray, saying the Our Fathers first, since she had the least of them. She worries the stones of her rosary between her fingers and fears that they may begin to disappear from overuse.
She ignores the bustling from her home and the scent of lunch as she says her Hail Marys. Her stomach growls and she gives it an absent tap. Her mouth becomes dry and her throat sore from her prayers but she pays it no mind. She will suffer as Jesus suffered in the desert.
She will be redeemed and stop making Madre sad.
“Hail Mary, full of grace,” she says, stopping to cough. She eyes the new comer, Zorro Pequeno, standing by the door. He watches her with that same unnerving gaze made even more unnerving by those blue eyes. “Full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jes-what are you looking at?”
“You,” he answers. The word is slurred past his swollen lip. She huffs and turns her body toward the honey mesquite tree.
“Come to make fun of me for my faith again?” she says harshly, and then winces. We are not crusaders.
“No,” he says. “I came to watch. I’ve never seen anyone pray quite like this.” She huffs and goes back to her prayers. She glares at him.
“You made me lose my spot,” she snarls. She turns back to the tree and looks down at her rosary. Would it be a sin to count that interrupted prayer as one? She sighs, thinking of Madre’s sad voice.
Better not risk it.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women,” she begins again. Zorro Pequeno moves closer to her and she tries to pay him no attention. “And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God-“ she stops as a sweet roll is thrust in her face. Her stomach rumbles and her mouth waters from the smell. She turns her face away.
“You must be hungry,” he says. She shakes her head.
“I have to say my prayers.”
“Were you ordered to go without food until you finished?” he asks.
“Well, no.”
“Then why wait? I’m sure God won’t mind if you eat a little lunch.” She looks at him, then at her rosary and then at the roll of bread he offers.
“You think so?” He nods, those strange eyes gleaming.
“He’d be a very sorry God if he didn’t allow girls to eat when they were hungry, regardless of their sins.” She thinks about his words for a moment before grabbing the roll and taking a vicious bite of it. She sighs in contentment after the first swallow. Dolores sees him watching her again and she clears her throat. He offers her water and she takes a tentative sip.
“I’m sorry for hitting you,” she says. “Do you forgive me?”
“Now why should I?” he says, wiping bread crumbs from her chin. She flinches as though he hit her.
“Because you’re supposed to,” she says.
“Oh? Who says?”
“God says.”
Aches and Sorrows 4.5/?
Date: 2012-06-15 03:01 am (UTC)“’For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.’ It’s in the book of Matthew.” A smaller boy pops his head out of the doorway to the kitchen.
“Did you call me, Dolores?”
“No, Matty,” she calls back. He nods and ducks back into the house. Zorro Pequeno chuckles.
“That’s all well and good but I don’t follow your religion. And I certainly won’t do something just because a book I haven’t read tells me I should.”
“Fine,” she huffs, taking another bite of the roll. “Don’t forgive me. I’m still sorry.” He laughs and, despite herself, she finds herself smiling.
“Well, since you’re so sorry,” he says, snatching the roll back from her. He takes a bite, despite her protests. “I guess I might be able to make an exception.”
“Dolores! Zorro!” Madre calls, a soft smile on her face. “Come finish lunch before it gets cold!” Zorro Pequeno stands and the light shining through the branches of the honey mesquite tree dance over his face. Even as a gentile, the hands of God were touching him.
“Well?” he says, motioning to the house. Dolores smiles. Maybe God was watching over her, and she was going to be better.
Aches and Sorrows-Tags
Date: 2012-06-15 03:12 am (UTC)characters: courier, vulpes
kinks: backstory, religion, angst
Re: Aches and Sorrows 4.5/?
Date: 2012-06-27 05:37 pm (UTC)Re: Aches and Sorrows 4.5/?
Date: 2012-06-27 06:42 pm (UTC)Re: Aches and Sorrows 4.5/?
Date: 2012-07-01 10:23 am (UTC)Aches and Sorrows 5/?
Date: 2012-07-22 05:48 am (UTC)“Sorry,” she mouths. She continues to take notes on yellowed paper dutifully but her pencil strays every once and awhile to draw doodles of squiggly rosaries and disproportionate foxes.
“Hey,” a voice startles her from beside her ear. She tries to slam her notebook shut but it gets snatched out of her hand by swift and nimble fingers. Zorro Pequeno flashes her an unapologetic grin and holds
it open.
“I wonder what God would think about you not paying attention to Bible study,” he muses as he takes in her drawings.
“Give me that,” she says, only half-serious, swatting at it. He easily lifts it out of her grasp. “What do you care? You don’t believe in Him anyway.”
“No, I don’t,” he says. “But they still make me come to these boring classes.”
“Madre and Padre don’t want you to feel left out,” she says. “And they aren’t boring.”
“Oh? Says the girl who has more tribal doodles than words,” he says.
“Well,” she starts reluctantly. “I already know this stuff.
“Hence, it’s boring,” he says with a smile. He looks around the beaten and ragged classroom. Most of the children had gone outside for their short break from studying Scripture. He places a hand on her desk and leans forward. He close enough that she can feel his breath dance across her cheek.
“Let’s go on an adventure,” he whispers excitedly. She gasps, looking around the classroom to see if anyone had heard him.
“You mean leave Bible study?” she whispers back. “That’s sacrilege!” He rolls his eyes but the smile never leaves his face.
“Not if it’s boring. Come on! It’ll be fun!”
“I don’t know,” she says, her voice trailing off as he cups her chin.
“Dolores,” he says seriously. “I would never get you in trouble, with God or anyone else.” She lowers her eyes away from his intense gaze.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“It’s not just a good idea. It’s the best idea. Come on,” he says, pulling away from her and holding out his hand for her to take.”I wanna show you something.” A hesitant smile breaks over her face and she takes his hand.
Aches and Sorrows 6/?
Date: 2012-07-22 05:51 am (UTC)“I want to see the Bighorners,” he whispers back eagerly. “I’ve never seen so many in one place.”
“They’re mean,” she whispers back, eyeing the large horns of one of the males. “They’ll run you through with those giant horns. It happened to a kid once.” Zorro scoffs.
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true!” she says indignantly. “They were picking up parts of him for days!”
“I can’t see them,” he says impatiently. He stands and leaves the cover of the haystack. She gasps when he leaves her sight.
“Zorro,” she hisses. He doesn’t answer her, so she calls a little louder. “Zorro!” A pitchfork leans against one of the fence posts. She tentatively steps out from the cover of the haystack, gripping the pitchfork tightly. She’ll keep the Bighorners from hurting Zorro, even if she has to fight every last one. A Bighorner enters her line of vision and she sneaks toward it. She doesn’t see Zorro and her stomach drops through her stomach. Oh no. What if he got eaten?
“What are you doing with that, cazadore? Gonna make some Bighorner steak?” Zorro’s voice sounds from above her.
“Are you dead?” she whispers, eyes darting across the sky.
“Look up, pendeja.” She looks up to see the head of a Bighorner chewing grass absently. Zorro Pequeno leans over the Bighorner’s forehead, holding on to the large horns.
“What are you doing up there?” she asks, amazed. “How did you even-?” Zorro shrugs carelessly.
“He likes me.” The Bighorner makes eye contact with her as if seeing her for the first time. He growls, grass falling from his mouth as it bares his teeth. She takes a step back and tightens her grip on the pitchfork. She levels it at the Bighorner, growling back at him. Zorro Pequeno’s eyes flash coldly and he tugs at the fur on the Bighorner’s head.
“No,” he says forcefully. “Don’t hurt her or I’ll make you regret it.” The Bighorner whines, eyes darting wildly up at him and back at her. The Bighorner takes another step toward her and Zorro tugs his fur again.
“No,” he says dangerously, and the tone of his voice causes her to shiver. The Bighorner whines and plops down on the grass. Zorro smiles blissfully and all trace of the coldness he exhibited earlier is gone. He motions her over and she cautiously begins to walk toward him.
“Do you want to pet him?” he asks kindly. She nods.
“Yes,” she says. He pats the top of the Bighorner’s head.
“Come on,” he breathes. “He won’t hurt you.” She eyes the pitchfork still clenched in her hands and sets it down gently on the grass. She reaches out a hand to pet the Bighorner. He snorts loudly and she jerks her hand away. Zorro’s hand wraps around her wrist.
“Don’t be scared,” he says, tugging her hand over. “He won’t hurt you. I won’t let him.” Her hand hovers over the fur and he pulls it down. A smile covers her face as she gently scratches the top of the Bighorner’s head.
“Wow,” she says, looking up at Zorro. “Neat.” He grins, leaning over to whisper almost secretively.
“It is, isn’t?”
“How did you do that?” she asks in awe.
“He likes me,” he says simply. “Everyone likes me.”
“You’re likable enough,” she says teasingly. “But you have your moments.” He pouts, tracing her knuckles with his finger.
“You don’t like me?” She laughs, her fingers curling in the Bighorner’s fur.
“I never said that,” she says. “When did I say that?” He leans forward and she pulls back with a small squeak. His hand moves from her wrist to tangle his fingers with hers.
“So you do like me,” he says as if there is no question about it.
Aches and Sorrows 6.5/?
Date: 2012-07-22 05:51 am (UTC)“Hey!” a loud and crashing voice yells. She and Zorro jump alongside the Bighorner. The big horner, no longer docile, growls and stands up from his place in the grass. Dolores holds her arms out and pulls Zorro off of the raging animal. They take off running through the field, away from the farmer and his angry Bighorner’s.
Zorro grabs her hand and doesn’t let go until they are out of sight.
Re: Aches and Sorrows 6.5/?
Date: 2012-07-29 09:31 am (UTC)Lot's Wife, 1/1
Date: 2012-06-18 06:37 pm (UTC)Pairings: None
Kinks: None
Summary: F!Courier reflects on the loss of faith.
The plume of black smoke was more clearly visible from the barracks roof. It was thirty miles to Nipton, but the pissant town was upwind from the Mojave Outpost, and Margaret thought she could smell traces of ash on the breeze.
It was a familiar smell, one ingrained deep in her unconsciousness. Her earliest memory was of solemnity and black cloths draped over the altar, smoke in the censer and a cross on her forehead. She remembered standing in line and the preist stooping to look her in the eye, and a reminder that she, too, would die. It was a strange and overwhelming message for a child, and she cried during the walk back to their family pew. Her mother frowned at her, embarrassed by the tears, but Father had used the anecdote in his homily the next week.
She was a child, and already awed by His power. The adults could take a lesson from her, he said. The Kingdom of Heaven belonged to the children, to those who humbled themselves before the Lord. Amen.
The association was an unpleasant one, one that she'd been running from for years. Time and distance couldn't shake the unworthiness that had been haunting her since childhood. The smell of smoke on the wind, and she was a child again, small and insignificant in the eyes of the Lord. She was a sinner.
Margaret had tried to bury the ritual and mystery of the Church when she was a teenager, but pieces of it kept resurfacing in her mind. It was the little things that brought her back: a bottle of cheap wine, the sight of a rosary around the neck of a trader, the scent of smoke on the wind.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
As it was in the beginning, it now and ever shall be, world without end, Amen.
Just words, words that had buried themselves in her psyche, a splinter in her mind, too swollen to see clearly, and too painful to remove. She’d tried, and that had only inflamed the injury and spread the infection. She had to treat it as she would a physical injury: something to bind it up, something to ease to the pain, and time would take care of the rest. The fever would run its course and the sickness would pass.
It was thirty miles to Nipton and thirty miles back. A day, maybe two, of walking, all for a handful of caps and the gratitude of a woman who didn’t think much of her. But something in her wouldn’t let the matter rest. It might have been the last traces of a childhood belief system; it might have been her own ingrained morals, nebulous and independent of the Church; it might have been simple human curiosity.
Margaret spat a stream of tobacco juice through her teeth. “I’ll be back tomorrow, before dark.”
The sniper inclined her head. “Don’t do anything stupid. Nipton’s a pit. It’s not worth getting killed over.”
“Probably not.”
“Careful on the ramp on the way down.”
Margaret nodded and set out towards Nipton, and she did not look back, she did not stop, and she was not swept away.
Re: Lot's Wife, 1/1
Date: 2012-06-18 06:40 pm (UTC)Thanks, A!A. I love this. <3
Re: Lot's Wife, 1/1
Date: 2012-06-18 06:53 pm (UTC)Re: Lot's Wife, 1/1
Date: 2012-06-18 09:33 pm (UTC)Re: Lot's Wife, 1/1
Date: 2012-09-09 07:29 am (UTC)Re: Lot's Wife, 1/1
Date: 2015-05-07 02:15 pm (UTC)