875 Rue Ramey: Maurice Mowbray's Apartment

[The Exodus]

Character: Maurice Mowbray
Age: 41
Description: Maurice's tiny apartment is somehow made larger by its large windows and sense of warmth. Where there ought to be a television is filled with books and the kitchen is always ready for entertaining guests. Maurice loves having company and his door is always open to friends, parishioners, and strangers in need.

Link

[Deleted]

Rachel Day

It obviously hadn't mattered in the past years of how hard she had rocked out to the song or believed the words were powerful, because sorry Barbara, but Paris had truly rained on her parade tonight.

Quite literally and Rachel was not appreciating it. She had been walking home in, she might add for sympathetic effect, a very pretty summer outfit she had carefully planned. It was suppose to be a beautiful day out, but out of the blue came dark clouds rolling in and thunder boomers. Realizing what source she had used, it all made so much sense. She had tuned into Toddy St. James' radio segment and he had made the weekly forecast. At this point, he had to have made it up because what happened outside was not all 'glitter and glam'. Now thinking on it, maybe he was just being... Toddy. Rachel needed to quit taking things so literally, but who would joke about the weather? It was extremely important to a woman who needed to know whether wearing pumps was appropriate, or was she going to slip and break her noggin from the wet sidewalk?

Rachel Day may have been older and a little more mature than years back, but one thing that had not changed was how she was frightened of storms. When the first pound of thunder hit, Rachel had screamed, running into a man who bustled through to take shelter in his car. She helplessly trudged through the pouring rain, using her purse as an umbrella, watching everyone clear the streets and find a place for cover. Rachel was nowhere near her apartment, subway, anything! She really needed to invest in a way of her own transportation. Either that or find a new radio station.

The storm was matching Rachel's picked up pace. It picked up, becoming almost dark as if it were midnight and the lightning cackled like sparks. She could feel her bones shaking from the cold, or was that just from how petrified she was? This was a sever thunderstorm and she was caught right in the middle of it.

Having tried to sprint, she just could not take it any longer! With a whimper, Rachel ran into the nearest entrance of a building. Once she got inside she realized that she had run into an apartment building's lobby. She stood there for a moment, dropping her purse next to her and rubbing her arms that were covered in her drenched sweater and dress sleeves. Her hair clung against her skin and she was absolutely freezing. Hunching over to get her cell phone out, Rachel's stomach dropped when she pulled out her pink flip phone that was now in need of a funeral. The zipper must have been slightly opened, sending her umbrella to let rain leak into it. The phone was soaked, the screen was black with a light blue streak running across it.

She was absolutely done for at this point. No one was around the lobby, they were all warm and cozy in their apartments probably marveling at the storm from their window and fuzzy robes. She had no phone to get in contact with one of her many few friends to have her pick her up.

Keeping herself hunched onto the ground, Rachel buried her head into her hands with her deceased phone and growled. What a day!

CRASH.

Rachel Day yelped out, jumping at the loudest thunder boomer yet, flopping in a jolt onto her bum. With a breath of disbelief, she rolled her eyes, groaning out.

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

It hadn’t been raining at the start of the baptism. But it seemed fitting that after the ceremony, as family, friends, and clergy exited the Sacre Coeur, the sky split open and a downpour crashed over everybody’s heads. Maurice couldn’t help but to be amused as he watched the handful of the faithful who had spent the better part of an hour inside the church, solemnly celebrating, swear now and duck for cover. It was as if the steps of the cathedral were the boundary for sacredness and the second they reached the sidewalk, everybody abandoned everything they had just professed mere minutes before. Maurice, though, sympathized wholly with their frustration. The weather rolled in suddenly, unexpectedly and left him as unprepared as those leaving the baptism. However, Maurice had one benefit the others didn’t have. He went to the back room of the church and searched for his coat and hat. He had a terrible habit of leaving things behind at the church. Father Albert, the chief prelate of the Sacre Coeur, was always poking fun at Maurice for it. But as he put the hat and jacket, Maurice couldn’t help but feel he got the better end of the stick after all.

He made his way home and lightning illuminated the path. The storm seemed to worsen with each step Maurice took and his jacket and hat, which had seemed like such wonderful finds when he left were doing little to keep him perfectly dry. He buttoned the raincoat at the throat to keep his collarino dry, tucked his head and fought against the wind tunnels created by the narrow streets. Once he reached his apartment complex, Maurice took off his hat and waited for the concierge to come to the desk so he could ask for his mail. He looked to his left and saw a young woman sitting in a puddle on the floor. She was soaked through and her clothes seemed a bit ruined. Suddenly, the rain hat and coat again seemed like blessings. Maurice smiled at her.

“Are you all right, mademoiselle?”

[Deleted]

Rachel Day

Rachel could have gotten up, her legs weren't broken. Once her rump had hit the floor and that puddle of water formed around her, she knew that it was over. This would be her home tonight. Rachel Day had put up a good fight while it lasted, but it was time to throw in the towel. The towel that she really could use about now.

"Are you all right, mademoiselle?"

Not realizing someone had been in the lobby with her, Rachel snapped her head over her shoulder, the sudden movement turning into a shiver. Then she took in the trench coated priest before her, which was the last thing she had expected to see tonight, because it seemed so unfitting that a holy person enter in tonight's festivities. Was this God giving her a sign that it would all be okay tonight? For some reason, it took her a beat to actually confirm that he was speaking to her when it was obvious, as he was looking down when she was not only the only person in the lobby, but the only person who had picked a seat on the floor.

"Oh!" She choked out in surprise, dropping her lifeless cellphone onto the floor, finding it completely mortifying that she looked like a wet mop cleaning up the floor in front of a priest.

Rachel's mother had always taken her to church when she was younger, mostly for her own publicity because she very well did not believe in God, and would always make the little Rachel dramatically fold her hands outstretched in upward in prayer, forcing her to shed tears for the pictures so it looked as if she were praising extra hard. Once she went on her own, Rachel had been so wrongly introduced to the church that she prayed alone and on her own time. Still, the etiquette toward priests that her mother had embedded into her head remained, and probably to an extent that was not necessary. She just could react from what she knew.

Her cheeks turning a shade pink, Rachel pushed herself up onto her feet in a rush, turning to face him and straightening out her soaked dress. With a hurried brush off her shoulders, she attempted to make herself look halfway sane as she tossed her wet locks behind her shoulders, clasping her hands in front of her.

"I'm alright Father, I'm..." Rachel began, looking at him, blinking like crazy to try and push back the hot tears that were welling in her ducts. "Just a little-" Her voice began tightening. She swallowed, making her lips twist up into a smile, but it only welcomed the tears more as the smile crinkled into an oddly formed frown, and she squeaked out, "wet."

Rachel faintly whimpered, and that's when the waterworks began. As if she weren't wet enough, her eyes had to join in on the party.

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

The girl seemed surprised to be noticed. She startled and looked up at Maurice with shiny, dark eyes the size of the moon. He wondered if she was locked out of her flat and waiting for the concierge as well or if she had been coming to visit someone who wasn’t home. In either case, Maurice couldn’t help but feel rather sorry for the young woman. She flushed a deep shade of fuchsia and scrambled to her feet.

"I'm alright, Father,” the young woman insisted. “I'm... Just a little… wet."


And as if to demonstrate this fact, the young woman began to cry. Maurice suddenly forgot all about his mail or his curiosity as to why the young woman had been sitting on the floor in the first place. Instead, he strode to her side and gingerly placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Why don’t you dry off upstairs?” he said. “I don’t have much in the way of women’s clothing, but we can find something dry to put you in.”

[Deleted]

Rachel Day

She wasn't expecting to start crying in front of him, but then again Rachel wasn't expecting a storm, a cellular combustion, or a priest to step into her evening. It was all becoming a quirky number that she knew maybe she would be able to laugh about, but right now all she wanted to do was be left alone to melt into her puddle of water on the floor.

A pair of comforting hands had stopped Rachel from her meltdown, and next thing she knew he was at her side.

“Why don’t you dry off upstairs?”

She sniffed, blinking up at him, her shivering bones slowing down.

“I don’t have much in the way of women’s clothing, but we can find something dry to put you in.”

Rachel knew better than to accept invitations from strangers, and in reflex, her stomach clenched slightly. Then, she quickly analyzed the situation. He was a priest for crying out loud. If that wasn't the safest person to accept a kind invitation from, then Rachel did not know what was! Not only that, but there was no way that she would be turning down dry clothes. She could already feel her toes beginning to numb. Rachel Day had felt better justifying all of it in her head, and she relaxed now, knowing that tonight would not be as awful as she thought it would be.

"Thank you." She murmured through her leftover tears, managing a half smile. Wanting to do something kind in return for him, she swallowed, "I will clean them and give them back to you tomorrow." Rachel then added, thinking that it weren't kind enough, "I'll use the best kind of fabric softener I have too."

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

The young woman hesitated. Maurice wasn’t terribly surprised. An invitation from a stranger, however well-intentioned, was often viewed with suspicion. Any offer of help was, really, if pride got a say in things. He’d met hundreds of people who would rather have died than take Church handouts. But this wasn’t an officially sanctioned act of charity; merely it was a man offering a woman some help when she looked like she most needed it.

Of course, come to think of it, that also opened up a door for all other sorts of suspicions Maurice hadn’t given half a thought.

But slowly, the young woman relaxed. She looked less like a cobra, preparing to strike, than she did a lost puppy dog in need of a place to stay the night.

"Thank you," she mumbled through the last hiccoughs of tears. The glimmer of a smile edged its way onto her lips. "I will clean them and give them back to you tomorrow. I'll use the best kind of fabric softener I have too."

“I appreciate the offer,” Maurice said, still smiling. He lacked the pride to look gift horses in the mouth. “Shall we?”

--

It had taken some scrounging, but eventually, Maurice was able to find clothes suitable enough for the young woman to wear. The t-shirt was a faded robin’s egg, but it had once been a brilliant turquoise. On the front, Sanskrit writing emblazoned it in yellow that had once been gold. It was a Bible verse, although Maurice was ashamed to say that his Sanskirt wasn’t quite sharp enough to deduce which it was anymore. It had been appropriate at the time, though, three years ago or so when he had been assigned to a mission that taught orphans religion as well as reading, writing, and mathematics. Maurice had been in charge of literature for the older children, who were reading well in their native language, but needed help in French. He’d spent much of his time helping them to understand Victor Hugo’s “Les Miserables”, which was equally unfathomable in its original language as it was translated. The pants, too, were old and oft-unworn. Denim that had once been strong, but was now soft and malleable from years of wear and tear from Maurice’s time—possibly in India, as well—chasing soccer balls with local children and roofing houses. He showed the young woman to the bathroom to towel off, shower if she wanted, and change.

While she went to freshen up, Maurice went into the kitchen. He was strangely at a loss for how to best entertain the young woman now visiting his home. He was used to parishioners and friends dropping by, usually with the intent to discuss theology or books or local events over tea. But even though Maurice’s door was always open to anyone who wished to enter, usually, he saw the same faces at relatively regular intervals. Someone new provided a challenge and had him wracking his brains for proper hosting etiquette. Instead of planning a philosophical debate, Maurice set to work on tea and sugar cookies, which were the only type of cookies he knew how to make from scratch. He whisked ingredients together to form dough and set the oven. He’d just put the first batch in when he heard the bathroom door open.

[Deleted]

Rachel Day

Rachel stood in the shower naked, twisting her clothes and getting all of the water she could out of them, pretending it was Toddy St. James' neck she was wringing instead of her cute summer dress. Realizing that it was completely wrong to be thinking that in a priest's bathroom, she collected herself with a deep breath. Tonight could have been a lot worse and she should be grateful for that. Rachel probably would be still in the apartment lobby, camping out until the storm had stopped and she would have had to do a not quite graceful walk back to her apartment looking like a river monster. All around, it had been turning out to be a pretty great night given what could have been.

She was a little nervous, because she didn't really know how to behave in front of a priest. He seemed, well, really nice and welcoming, but through her experience she always had to act like some overly proper little girl school girl because of how strict her priest was. It made her think that priests were holy aliens who did nothing but prayed and hung out in a clubhouse with other priests and prayed some more. Rachel grew up and realized how wrong she was, and especially now being in a priest's apartment. It was... normal. There weren't crosses hanging all over the walls, and there was not a picture of saints staring at her in the shower. She had been so terribly mislead!

Stepping out of the shower, not really in the mood to take one because water was not her friend right now, Rachel took the clothes that he had given her and began putting them on. They were ginormous on her, but goodness, were they ever cozy! She had not worn something so comfortable in a long time. For a while, Rachel had been pressured to always look presentable and fashionable while under the public's radar, but if she could wear a huge shirt and denim like this all the time and make it fashionable, she would be a lifelong fashonista. Rachel felt so warm swimming in the clothes, and she looked in the mirror trying to make out or understand the writing on it but couldn't.

Going into her purse, she took out a hair clip and tossed it up without a care. Looking at her deceased phone on the counter, she sighed, took a moment of silence, and tossed it in the trash bin. Wow, this all felt too good. Rachel smiled to herself. She was coze-er-table, no technology to irk her, and something smelled delightful from behind the bathroom door. Rachel Day didn't know why she liked tonight as much as she did, but she was beginning to appreciate it.

Grabbing her purse, Rachel opened the bathroom door and set the purse down, brightly smiling at him. She felt a little ashamed that the only emotion he had seen her tonight was a sopping sobbing mess, but she would change that.

"You deserve the biggest thank you ever." She told him, and her eyes brightened when she saw the process of tea making and baking, she was shocked but somehow- really excited, "You certainly did not have to do that either."

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

Maurice looked to see the young woman enter the kitchen. Her hair was still damp, but already, she looked happier and more comfortable than she had balled up in the puddle downstairs. He offered her a gentle smile in return for the brilliant flash of white she offered him.

"You deserve the biggest thank you ever," she told him. "You certainly did not have to do that either."

Maurice shook his head and crossed to the cabinet to pull down some tea cups.

“Nonsense,” he said. “Since we’re waiting out this storm, I thought baking might be a good way to pass the time.”

Never mind he didn’t have a television. Maurice was not a fan of TV shows and if he wanted to see a movie, he preferred going to a theatre for the communal experience. Instead, the nook meant to hold a television was piled high with books. He supposed they could have spent the evening reading separate books in separate chairs, but Maurice had to admit that his curiosity was piqued by this stranger. He knew almost no one in the city. Outside the Church, he knew no one at all in Paris. It had been a lonely two weeks and Maurice thought that if he and the young woman spent the evening in separate chairs, reading separate books, he was wasting an opportunity. For what, he couldn’t quite say, but one did not simply find a stranger sitting alone and sad and pass on by.

“Make yourself at home,” he told her. “How do you take your tea? Or would you prefer coffee?”

[The Exodus]

OOC: Jeanette and Maurice continued! BIC:

Father Maurice Mowbray

Maurice and Jeanette entered the lobby of his apartment complex. Maurice greeted the concierge fleetingly and the younger man waved and gestured to his Bluetooth headset, as if to say, “I can’t talk”. Maurice nodded and led Jeanette up the stairs to his flat. When they reached his apartment door, Maurice went for his keys – balancing the books he held between his body and the wall.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Maurice told Jeanette when he opened the door and they walked inside. “If you’ll put the books on the dining table…?”

His apartment in Paris was the nicest place Maurice had lived since childhood. He was relatively used to sparse quarters and mobile living. It was small and clean, with white walls and white furniture. The television set was filled with books, since Maurice had no need for TV. Along the walls, were watercolor paintings his sister had made, as well as a small cache of crosses he’d been given as gifts from parishoners over the years. It was the homiest place Maurice had lived since childhood.

“Can I get you anything to eat or drink, Jeanette?” Maurice asked, setting his own load down on the table and walking into the kitchen.

[Marley]

A soft sigh of relief escaped Jeannette as she followed the priest into his home. He hadn't noticed her earlier behavior--or if he had, he was kind enough not to mention it. That was a blessing she wasn't expecting. Her eyes widened as she stepped inside. Everything was white. Even the furniture! It was like being inside a cloud--or Heaven, as it was shown in all the pictures. Perhaps he'd decorated it that way on purpose. To feel closer to God. He was a priest after all, so it would make sense.

Nodding at the priest's direction, she set the books on the table, letting out a gasp when she caught sight of the books lining the wall. "Goodness, Father! Where are you going to put the books you just got?" She gave him a shy smile, giggling and shaking her head. At his offer of food and drink, she nodded again. "Just some water, please, Father. And, maybe, some bread if you've got it." No need to put him out, after all. He was being so kind to her.

Her stomach grumbled softly at the mention of food and she frowned. When had she eaten last? It must've been breakfast, the sweet roll she'd bought with the coins she'd gotten the day before from her begging. But that was hours ago. No wonder she was suddenly starving. She glanced around the flat again, curiosity tugging her forward. The paintings made her smile, and she clasped her fingers together tightly to keep from touching the pretty pictures. Stepping up to the bookshelf, she tipped her head this way and that, studying the books. Her gaze strayed to the wall of crosses. A happy gasp escaped her and she smiled. "Where did you get all of those, Father? They're very nice."

[The Exodus]

Father Maruice Mowbray

Maurice stepped into the kitchen and he instinctively took down two mugs. He wondered if Jeanette was a tea drinker or a coffee drinker. He kept both on hand at all times for the benefit of visitors. But Jeanette insisted on bread and water. A feast in a third world country; a prisoner’s diet in Paris. Maurice wondered if Jeanette was merely being polite. He had been to the bakery down the road earlier in the day and there was a fresh loaf on the counter. He first filled one of the coffee cups with water and then he put the kettle on for himself. He came into the living room where Jeanette was admiring the wall decorations. Her eyes seemed transfixed by the crosses.

"Where did you get all of those, Father? They're very nice."

“Aren’t they?” Maurice said with a smile, handing her the water. He treasured each decoration lining his walls. The crosses were lovely, but what they symbolized was even more beautiful. “They were gifts from parishoners, from friends, when I moved here. House-warming presents. Would you like anything with your bread, Jeanette? Butter, jam… Maybe a sandwich?”

[Marley]

Jeannette turned at the priest's voice. She glanced back at the crosses, a puzzled frown on her face. They were beautiful, certainly, but how could they possibly warm a house? They didn't have any means of producing heat that she could see. Still, they were very nice. "You have very kind friends." Never had she thought of getting anything as a gift for Father John. He wasn't really that type. Her smile grew and she nodded again, eagerly, to his offer of a sandwich. "Oh, yes, please. A sandwich would be wonderful." With effort, she kept from staring into the kitchen, surprised by just how hungry she was.

Glancing around again, she walked back to the paintings. She slid her hands into the pockets of her pants, reminding herself not to touch the pictures. Their colors were so bright! "Father?" She nodded to the artwork. "Did you paint these? They're so pretty."

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

Jeanette turned to look at him and Maurice handed her the water she’d asked for. She made him smile when she spoke. He didn’t often ruminate on the gesture behind the crosses any more. Something he didn’t mean to take for granted, but in the year since coming to Paris had begun to. He was fond of his parishioners, though. And they really were quite kind.

When Jeanette agreed to a sandwich, Maurice walked back to the kitchen to begin making her one. It was almost lunch time as it was. He thought for a moment and then decided to make one for himself as well. He pulled out the loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and a package of ham from the deli downstairs. He scoured his refrigerator for anything else to make sandwiches with and realized with some mild, self-exasperation that he needed to go grocery shopping again.

“I hope you don’t mind ham and cheese,” Maurice said. “I keep meaning to go to the store, but I’m afraid that’s all I have right now...”

He pulled a knife from the silverware drawer and began to slice the bread and the cheese.

"Father?" Jeanette called to him. Maurice looked up; she was standing in front of the watercolors. "Did you paint these? They're so pretty."

“My sister, Helene,” Maurice said, shaking his head. “She’s a remarkable talent; teaches art and music to kindergarteners in Normandy. I’ll pass along your compliment, though, when I talk to her next.”

Helene called Maurice every Friday night. He used to get to speak with his nieces and nephews all in turn, but they were teenagers now. Geoffrey, the eldest, had to be about Jeanette’s age now. And Lettie was thirteen this year. Teenagers had better things to do than talk to their uncle, especially when that uncle was a priest. And secretly, Maurice was glad for private conference with his older sister. They were freer to talk about a wider range of topics without the kids listening in. Maurice returned to sandwich-making and then he brought one plate to Jeanette, while carrying his own.

“Please, have a seat,” Maurice said, gesturing to the couch and chairs.

He sat down in his arm chair. He seldom took his meals in the dining room anymore. It had become a sort of workspace or storage. When the book club met, they lined it with potluck dishes and all sat scattered about the living room. Maurice didn’t host holiday dinners here. He was too busy presiding over the Mass to also host a dinner here.

He crossed himself and began to pray, “Lord, we thank you for all You provide to us – for this food and this wonderful companionship and for all the other blessings You give to us. Today, Lord, I especially thank You for crossing Jeanette’s path with mine. In the name of Your Son, we pray. Amen.”

Maurice performed the sign of the Cross once more and looked up at Jeanette brightly.

“Bon appetit.”

[Marley]

Jeannette took the mug with a smile of thanks, her gaze sweeping back around the apartment as the priest returned to the kitchen. A quiet giggle escaped her at his next words. "That sounds lovely, Father," she replied. He spoke of his sister, Helene, mentioning that she was a teacher in Normandy, and offering to give her Jeannette's compliment. "Yes, please do. Thank you." So, not everything was strange here. Back home, some of the older women oversaw the limited schooling the children received, and many of them taught the Councilmen's sons, too. Carrying her water, she roamed around the main room of the apartment, peering at the furniture and all the books piled up on the table. Father Maurice's house, though small, was much more welcoming than Father Jean's was, though his was much larger than this. Father Jean had far too many fancy things sitting about--and Jeannette was naturally clumsy. Each time the whole group came together for a meal, Jeannette hardly left her mother's side, too afraid of breaking one or the other of Father Jean's glass trinkets.

Besides, the only time she'd set foot inside his house, by herself, she had been in serious trouble. Michel, one of the younger boys, and she had gotten into a quarrel, about what she couldn't remember, and she had pushed him, hard, so that he fell. He was always a slight, delicate boy, besides being a few years younger than she. Father Jean saw them arguing, and ordered both into the house. He had scolded Michel for fighting, reminding him about the necessity of getting along with each other, and sent the boy home. Then he dealt with Jeannette. She'd gotten the same rebuke--how could their community continue if its members couldn't get along with one another--and a lashing, for pushing Michel and breaking one of their cardinal rules. They weren't supposed to fight with each other, and they certainly weren't supposed to be violent. Leaving with his sharp words ringing in her ears, and her back sore from the whipping he'd given her--with the promise of another once her father learned what she'd done---had made Jeannette avoid the place whenever possible.

At length, Father Maurice returned to the main room, two plates in hand. Jeannette took hers with a smile. Glancing warily at the couch, she sat down, propping the plate up on her lap. This was certainly different! She'd never eaten in the sitting room of someone's house before. Back home, she and her family took their meals at the small table in the kitchen, or else they ate in the large meeting hall with everyone else. Maybe this was another odd Parisian custom. Before she could ask, Father Maurice crossed himself and began to pray. Jeannette likewise made the Sign of the Cross and bowed her head. She smiled, cheeks pink with embarrassment, at his prayer. Crossing herself as Father Maurice did at the end of the prayer, Jeannette smiled at him. "Merci. And merci beaucoup for what you said. That was very kind. I"m glad we've met, too."