Dear God, Give Me Courage, for Perhaps I Lack It More Than Anything Else

[collaronhisneck]

WHO: Father Francis Mulcahy and others
WHERE: Various, check starters
WHEN: September 2nd through 4th
OPEN TO: Everyone, but only the last prompt will be an open in full. The rest are first come, first served in order to prevent Topic Fatigue.
WARNINGS: None so far; mentions of wartime problems may come up

---

( fountain, September 2, open to Major )

Considering he'd gone to sleep in his normal rickety cot, the familiar sounds of an April night outside Uijongbu drifting through the lashed-down sides of his tent, the rumble of engines passing by on the road in the distance...

Well, the last thing he expected to wake up to was water.

Jolting awake with the sudden plunge and the screaming lack of air, instinct kicks in just like his feet, and Mulcahy surges in the direction he hopes is upwards, towards light and away from the darkness, a stray thought passing through his mind that he hopes he's not heading for The Light just yet. There's so much left to do, after all. The coughing starts when he founders into the early morning light, because he'd managed to swallow some of the water before he surfaced, though fortunately it seems to be coming out fairly easily. What he doesn't realize right away is that his glasses seem to have disappeared; he's more concerned with catching the rim of the fountain and clinging to it while he spits up the water that invaded his esophagus. Not the most comfortable of welcomes, this.

( inn, September 2, open to two closed )

Recovered, more or less dry, glasses firmly in place, pack still on his back, and more befuddled than he'd ever been in his life (which is saying something, considering some of the shenanigans he's witnessed), Mulcahy has managed to make it to the inn in time for the noon meal. He's still not certain he's not hallucinating all of this, but it hurts when he pinches his arm and everything feels reassuringly solid, the grain of the wood a noticable texture under his fingertips, the air warmer than he's expecting and with almost a sleight weight to it. At the very least, he's certain this isn't a dream, and the rumbling in his stomach seems to reinforce that idea.

If he isn't waylaid, he's going to approach the first person he sees that isn't occupied with something else, smile warmly and a little nervously at them, and ask the first relevant question that comes to mind. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but I was told I could find something to eat here - how does that work, exactly? I don't seem to have any money, but I don't mind lending a hand if it's needed."

( hospital, September 3, open to two )

The hospital isn't at all like the ones he's seen and especially not like the one he knows best, but in his quest to learn the village the building had easily drawn his eye since it was so close to the inn and he'd decided to explore. The 4077 is a temporary camp - it's a mobile surgical unit, after all - so a structure this solid is a change by itself, not to mention the age. The village reminds him so much of some older places he's seen throughout New England and Europe it's uncanny, and in many ways it's similar to several villages in Korea as well, although those similarities aren't so happy. Run down and the upkeep not kept up with, people living day to day and just trying to survive - it's no surprise that a lot of the buildings seem a little shabby, a few into actual disrepair. The hospital looks better than many, which encourages him - it means people are doing their part to keep up areas that may be needed. It's a good sign of a community pulling together.

Still, he's not about to go poking around in places he may not be wanted, so Mulcahy sticks to the hallways and carefully peers in any doors before he enters a room, in case he's about to disturb any patients. He's fairly sure there aren't any there, but better safe than sorry, and he'd like to see if there's any staff so he can volunteer his services should they be needed.

( church, September 4, open to any )

The makeshift cross outside the building had drawn him like a needle to a magnet when he'd spotted it, and while the structure is obviously a house that's been repurposed, Mulcahy can't deny feeling more at peace at the sight. Obviously someone's felt the separation from their congregation much as he has, and apparently for quite awhile if there's been steps taken to convert a dwelling. He stops in the road outside the building, head bowed and hands folded in front of him for several seconds as he silently prays, and then releases a deep breath before climbing the steps to the porch and opening the door. Seeing what needs to be done will be a good way to keep busy, and perhaps he can find some way to help or prepare for a dedication. He's no Bishop, but there seem to be a lack of them in the area, which leads to a distinct possibility of "winging it."

Comments

[collaronhisneck]

The only thing Mulcahy's fairly sure of is that he's not dead. He's not a proud man, but there is no suffering in Heaven, and the pain he's feeling from the small bit of water he did manage to inhale wouldn't have been allowed there. And by the same ticket, there's not enough pain for Hell. Perhaps it's Purgatory, but why would Purgatory be so wet?

But then there's hands under his arms and he's unconsciously gripping on to them to aid in pulling himself out; he can swim, yes, but he's not nearly as good at it as Kathy, and with nothing to push off of and the disorientation of being in the water in the first place there's little he can really do to get himself out. At least some good Samaritan came by to help, and together they manage to get the rest of him over the stones of the fountain's rim, where he more or less collapses on the grass. There's obviously nothing wrong with him, though, so it's probably just from the shock of his dunking, as he coughs for a few moments and shivers just a little at the unexpected close call.

"Th-Thank you, my son," he says once the coughs have died down a little and he's wiped the water from his face, though another handful do erupt after those words. Once that burst has settled, he blinks up rather owlishly, squinting to look up at his rescuer. "Ariel? Y-You mean, from The Tempest?" He's from far before the majority of the Disney movies, so the reference goes right over his head. "Forgive me, b-" Another small coughing fit, though this one dissipates faster than the previous ones. "Do you see a pair of glasses anywhere around here?"

[majorlyugh]

The use of the term 'my son' immediately launches Major back into his catechism days, of which there were about three. The first class had been taught by a nun so tiny Major used to imagine her shrinking into a doll and sleeping in a cupboard at night. She'd .. unfortunately died by the time the second class came around a week later, and that one had been taught by a very flustered young man who might have just gotten out of college and obviously did not know what he was doing. Major also retrospectively suspects that the guy didn't really like children, and being forced into teaching a catechism class full of rowdy, sacrilegious children was probably the guy's nightmare. The last and final class that Major had attended had been given by a kindly priest, whose voice and general aura was very similar to the man now sputtering on the ground. Part of Major snaps to attention the way he had back then, and he offers a tight, lopsided kind of smile in return for the thanks given.

"From the - oh, no. I meant The Little Mermaid," he says, half-mumbling, before shaking his head in dismissal. "It - it's not important, don't worry about it, uh .. Father? Sir? Your Majesty? What, uh. What should I call you?" His train of thought is interrupted at the request for the retrieval of glasses. "Oh! Um." He crouches down, scouring the ground and grass for the sight of them before standing and peering into the water in the fountain. Oddly enough .. and suspiciously enough .. they're floating, tapping against the stone side of the structure. He reaches in and grabs them, using the hem of his dry scrubs to wipe off the water from the lenses before handing them over. "Here you go."

[collaronhisneck]

The coughing seems to have more or less settled, although there is an occasional small interruption, but overall the water seems to have been expelled from his lungs. But it's still everywhere else, and all his clothes are soaked to the skin. He hasn't even realized he's wearing scrubs yet, since scrubs are so familiar a set of clothing for him; it feels entirely normal to be dressed the way he is. Just, usually he's not wet while dressed like this. Mulcahy raises his hands to try and press the water out of his hair and he succeeds at least somewhat, and when Major holds out the glasses he blinks at them near-sightedly for a moment before reaching for them. The glasses are not modern ones, at least as Major would know glasses, wire frames with backs that obviously hook around the ears instead of just over, which might give him a clue that the man in front of him isn't quite as up to Major's place in the timeline.

"'Father' is fine, if you want to specify some sort of title. I have a few more, but my real-" a last small cough "-my real name is Francis Mulcahy. And you? I'm impressed that you know of Andersen's stories, but what exactly is happening here?"

[majorlyugh]

"Aren't I .. supposed to? Specify a title? Isn't it, like, a sin or something not to? Or is it just considered rude?" There's a slight pause. "I'm obviously a poster child for why parents should send their kids to more than three catechism classes if they want them to remember literally anything about religion, regardless of the kind or brand." Another pause. "But if you prefer to go by Francis or Mr. Mulcahy or something else, I can do that, too."

The Father's question gets a rumbling spurt of laughter - not the real kind someone emits when they're amused or entertained. It's more the kind that indicates there's a Long Story to come and maybe it's best if he take a seat to keep him from collapsing to the ground at the breaking news.

"Well. Uh. You're in a village, exact location completely unknown but climate-wise, similar to my home of Portland and the surrounding area. With, uh, some exceptions. No one knows why you're here, or how you're here, and we're all from different times on the timeline of existence. I'm from the year 2017, for example." He squints a little, gauging the man's reactions. "Do you .. want me to keep going? Or do you wanna dry off first? You'll have some dry clothes in the pack on your back. I can take you to the Inn to get changed, if you want. It's generally easier to take all of this when you aren't focused on the river in your buttcrack, you know?"