Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2007-09-28 12:03 am
ptahrrific) wrote2007-09-28 12:03 am
Entry tags:
Fake News: The Thing With Feathers, Chapter 6
Title: The Thing With Feathers, Chapter 6
Fandom: The Daily Show/The Colbert Report
Rating: PG (drugs, cursing)
Words: ~2500
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: If you're not familiar with the legend of Urashima Taro, Wikipedia can help you out. You may also want to refresh yourself on 1 Corinthians 13:13.
For the full table of contents, click here.
The Thing With Feathers
Chapter 6
(here.)
"Let me get one of those," said Jon, grabbing a pillow before it tumbled from the heap of miscellaneous bedding in Allison's arms and fell back down the stairs. Eric was walking alongside her, his arms also full but at least not overflowing.
"Thanks," said the writer. "You didn't leave him alone, did you?"
"It'll be fine," replied Eric. "I swear, it's some sort of joke."
They had clearly been having this argument before Jon arrived, but seemed happy to go through it again. "No way would Stephen go this far for a joke," protested Allison. "No matter how good it was."
"He's always said he would give up any status for a joke. And look at the things he's done on television -- stripped, faked drug addiction, pretended to be related to Hitler..."
"Completely different. He's letting go of his family, pulling us away from ours. It doesn't matter of how ridiculous he'll make himself; he wouldn't put other people through that sort of thing without their consent. If this were a game he would have stopped before we actually agreed to stay here all night."
"He'll have a reason. He's got to have a reason."
"Not if he isn't in control of this."
"What, you think he's lost his mind?"
"I didn't say that! Maybe something happened and he couldn't find any way to handle it except retreating into his character. Or, yes, it could be some kind of condition. I don't know; I'm not a doctor. But something's wrong."
"All of that sounds good, except for the fact that Stephen is about the most stable, well-adjusted person I know."
"I agree! But it doesn't matter. These things can happen to anyone. I don't want to believe it either, but that doesn't mean it isn't true."
"Jon, what do you think?"
"Who, me?"
"Yes, you," repeated Eric. "You know him better than we do."
"You're the ones who write him," said Jon absently.
"Uh, Jon?" said Allison after a moment. "We write the character. He isn't real."
"I know, I know. I don't know why I said that." Jon paused. "Except..."
"Except what?" prompted Eric.
"Listen, when you two write Stephen -- the character, I mean -- he's gay, right?"
The other two exchanged puzzled looks over their respective armfuls of bedding. "Pretty much," said Allison, at the same time as Eric said, "It's not important in every episode, but yeah."
"Do you write him as attracted to anyone in particular, or just men in general?"
"He's got a thing for Matthew McConaughey," offered Allison.
"And we did that bit with 'not being gay' for Paul Dinello's character," added Eric.
"We've mentioned a couple of other hot celebrities, too. There's a running joke about Soledad O'Brien..."
"Bill O'Reilly. After O'Reilly said that line that was great out of context."
"Oh, that was disgusting."
"It was. I can't believe he went with it."
"But it was too good to pass up."
"It really was."
"I think that's it," finished Allison. "Why do you ask?"
Now that he'd brought it up, there was no getting out of it. "He, ah," said Jon quietly as they turned a corner, "well, once we were alone in the office, he kind of, um, jumped me."
Allison promptly walked into a wall, and Eric into Allison.
Sleeping bags fell askew, pillows went tumbling; for a moment all three were occupied just gathering everything up again. At last Eric said, "See, that fits! You guys have done plenty of gay innuendo gags!"
"Was this a gag?" asked Allison pointedly.
Jon didn't hesitate. "No."
There was an uncomfortable silence. Allison broke it. "As his character," she said slowly, "he gets away with all kinds of things -- arrogance, insults, demands -- because he can pretend it isn't him. Maybe..."
"He's not pretending," interrupted Jon. "He's not kidding around, and I don't think this is just a crossed wire in his head, either. I told him, when we were planning this show and he was worried about the character being a jerk, I said, 'Wear it lightly.' He's not wearing it lightly. He's not wearing it at all. He is the character. This is the poorly-informed high-status egotistical blowhard, in the flesh."
There was another silence. They didn't know how to respond to that idea.
Fair enough. Neither did Jon.
"It makes as much sense as any other theory," he continued. "Occam's Razor. If it fits all the facts, no matter how improbable..."
"No," replied Eric, "Occam's Razor says to start by eliminating the impossible. And that's imp--"
He broke off. They had reached Stephen's office, and it was empty.
---------------------
---------------------
(there.)
"Run that by me one more time," said Jon.
Stephen tried again. Having tried to explain it three different ways, he had at least figured out how to be succinct by now. "I'm an actor. A comedian. In my world, the Report is a parody of shows like O'Reilly's, and I play a parody of O'Reilly himself. He's pretty much an improv stock character -- the well-intentioned, poorly-informed, high-status idiot. I satirize conservative views by using the character to take them to ridiculous extremes. But it's all fictional. His history is partly based on mine, but a lot of it is fictionalized, based on his personality and whatever would be funniest at the time."
He waved around to indicate the room, the house, the world in general. "From my perspective, none of this has any existence except for comedic purposes."
"I can ... sort of understand the satire part," said Jon slowly. "There are times when I wonder how anyone takes you--"
"Him," corrected Stephen.
"--him, then, seriously. But what's funny about, say, sexually harassing your employees?"
"It's more parody. It satirizes the O'Reilly case, and it underlines the self-centered, oblivious, obnoxious qualities of my character."
Jon's expression soured. "Why would you go that far for the sake of a joke?"
"Well, I don't actually harass anyone! We just make reference to it, and occasionally I do a bit on-air with some leering or groping, but it's all with other actors, all scripted. I wouldn't actually -- I would never -- we're not that invested in realism. I didn't actually taser Eric, either."
"Who's Eric?"
"Bobby. Eric's one of my writers, the people who help come up with the character's jokes, and he plays Bobby."
"Who plays me?" asked Jon curiously.
"Um, you do. Sort of. You -- that is, my Jon -- plays a version of himself, adapted, again, based on what's funny at the time."
Jon snorted. "My life is not a scripted comedy. If it were, I'd have a lot more witty banter."
"It's not your life, no. It's just your appearances on The Daily Show. And the tosses, and the Report every once in a while. Like I said, you -- he -- he's mostly playing himself."
"But you're playing a completely different person? Or mostly different? All the differences done to be funny?"
"That's right."
"You didn't find it funny when you got here," said Jon softly.
Stephen winced, looking briefly towards the stairs that led to the empty bedrooms.
"It isn't supposed to be real," he said at last. "If you woke up one day and found yourself in the life of the fourth male lead from Death to Smoochy, you probably wouldn't laugh much either."
Jon considered this, then shuddered.
At least that made sense to him.
"I don't know how it happened," continued Stephen. "I think I've been here since I woke up this evening, so maybe something happened while I was asleep, but I don't know what, and I don't know why. I..." His voice caught. "I just want to go home, and I don't know how. I don't even know if I can go home. Maybe I'm stuck in a version of the Urashima Taro legend, and if I come back from the other world after a day I'll find out that hundreds of years have passed. I don't know if I could cope with that. I don't know what to do."
He sagged, head dropping, catching his forehead in his good hand and leaning heavily against it, feeling the weight of the thought that he might never see his family again, or, and he didn't know which was worse, that he might come back to find his kids grown and Jon and his wife long gone...
Jon's hand, this Jon's hand, rested tentatively on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know either. I don't have any ideas. But I'll help you try to figure this out. I'll do anything I can. When the show's over, I'll come straight back and find you, and we'll deal with this together. I'm here for you."
Stephen's head shot up. "Oh, God, the shows! They actually broadcast live at eleven for you, don't they? Have I made you miss rehearsal?"
"Yes, but it's just news, it's reading from the prompter, I'll survive. But you..."
Stephen took a deep breath. "Our shows tape in the afternoon, except for the occasional special live event. I've done today's material a couple of times already. I can do it again."
"Are you sure about this?"
"I'm not going to sabotage your universe, or alternate reality, or whatever this is. I don't belong here, but with everything you've done for me, the least I can do is not screw it up for you."
"I ... that's very good of you, but I mean, are you sure you can be my -- I mean, the Stephen I know? You're so different from him..."
Stephen sat up straight, arching his eyebrows, pouring status and authority into his voice: "Just the kind of weak-willed liberal naysaying I would expect from a member of the mainstream media."
Jon reeled, shock and fear and wild hope flashing through his eyes.
The persona fell away in an instant. "Oh, no -- I'm so sorry, Jon, I should have warned you -- that was me, just me, acting -- I told you, I act, I pretend to be him for a living." Jon's breath was rapid, shaky. "God, Jon, I'm sorry. It wasn't him. He's not back. It was me."
The other man nodded, forcing his breathing to slow. "I knew," he said at last. "You told me you acted -- and you're not my Stephen, my Stephen wouldn't drop references to Japanese fairy tales in conversation, I knew -- but seeing it like that, I hoped, just for a second -- I wasn't prepared, that's all."
"I'm sorry," said Stephen again. Jon nodded.
"We should go," he said softly. "It's a long drive back."
"Yeah, you're right." Stephen got to his feet. "Just ... give me a few minutes, okay? There's something I need to do."
---------------------
---------------------
(here.)
After dumping the bedding at the office door and conducting a brief but frantic search, they emerged onto the set to find Stephen at his desk. "Who's there?" he shouted as they appeared.
"Stephen, it's us," called Jon.
Stephen was fairly coiled in his seat, hunched, defensive, eyes wide; he took in the three people at the door, then some sound caught his attention and he whipped around to focus on a corner of the ceiling.
"Bobby," he called shakily, "are those real?"
Jon followed his gaze, but saw nothing particularly exciting.
"Are what real?" called Eric.
"The bats!"
"Maybe you're right," murmured Eric to Allison.
"No, hang on!" she replied, shaking her head. "We did this on the show today, remember?"
With one ear to the conversation behind him, Jon answered the question. "There aren't any bats there, Stephen."
"Okay. No bats. Got it." With that, he began rifling through the props hidden behind the C-shaped desk, muttering to himself. At last he let out a delighted cry and held up an orange bottle. "Here you are!"
"He isn't..." began Jon in disbelief.
"Haven't you caught the show this past week? It's a prop -- we've got this running story arc where the character's addicted to painkillers," explained Allison. "The bottle's full of sugar pills."
Stephen, meanwhile, swallowed two of the fakes whole and smiled. "That's the stuff," he said, half to himself.
"Even if he thinks he's the character, he shouldn't be having real, physical withdrawal symptoms," Allison was saying.
"It could be -- what's the word -- psychosomatic. If the fakes are easing the symptoms, then that proves it's all in his head," suggested Eric.
"No." Jon shook his head. "The withdrawal's real. The cure is all placebo effect, and, unless either of you have actual Malaysian pain medication on-hand, that's all we've got, so don't tell him it's candy, understood?"
Capping the bottle, Stephen began to relax; when he focused on his visitors again, it was no longer fearful, but still suspicious. "Hey!" he called. "Are you real?"
"Yes!" replied Jon firmly.
But you're not.
---------------------
---------------------
(there.)
It was gaudy and flashy and expensive, the kind of rosary you would buy if you wanted to show off the fact that you had one; but it was still a rosary, and it was still in the drawer where Stephen kept his own, so he found it quickly.
He didn't have time to meditate on all of the mysteries; he rarely had time for that these days anyway. But he knelt by the other Stephen's bed, closed his eyes, made the sign of the cross, and said the Apostles' Creed on the other Stephen's crucifix, the Our Father on the first large bead, the Hail Mary once for each of the three small ones.
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..."
Lord, give me faith...
"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus..."
Lord, give me hope...
"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death..."
Lord, give me charity...
"...Amen."
Faith, hope, and love; but the greatest of these is love.
But God, if you're still here, if you exist in this place, please, I could really use some hope right now.
And then he felt -- something.
He never could explain it to his satisfaction. The best he could manage was to say that it was like the brush of soft feathers against his cheek, except without the feathers, or the brushing. ("Then how was it anything like...?" "I don't know. It just was.")
When he opened his eyes, there was nothing and nobody to be seen.
Hope.
Stephen skipped to the final prayer, then crossed himself one last time before laying the beads on his character's pillow. He switched off the light as he walked out.
Fandom: The Daily Show/The Colbert Report
Rating: PG (drugs, cursing)
Words: ~2500
Disclaimer: Two.
For the Report characters: They and their universe are property of Stephen Colbert, the other Report writers, and of course Viacom. Not mine. Sue me not, please.
And for the real people, the poem:
Please, make no mistake:
these people aren't fake,
but what's said here is no more than fiction.
It only was writ
because we like their wit
and wisecracks, and pull-squints, and diction.
We don't mean to quibble,
but this can't be libel;
it's never implied to be real.
No disrespect's meant;
if you disapprove, then,
the back button's right up there. Deal.
Notes: If you're not familiar with the legend of Urashima Taro, Wikipedia can help you out. You may also want to refresh yourself on 1 Corinthians 13:13.
For the full table of contents, click here.
The Thing With Feathers
Chapter 6
(here.)
"Let me get one of those," said Jon, grabbing a pillow before it tumbled from the heap of miscellaneous bedding in Allison's arms and fell back down the stairs. Eric was walking alongside her, his arms also full but at least not overflowing.
"Thanks," said the writer. "You didn't leave him alone, did you?"
"It'll be fine," replied Eric. "I swear, it's some sort of joke."
They had clearly been having this argument before Jon arrived, but seemed happy to go through it again. "No way would Stephen go this far for a joke," protested Allison. "No matter how good it was."
"He's always said he would give up any status for a joke. And look at the things he's done on television -- stripped, faked drug addiction, pretended to be related to Hitler..."
"Completely different. He's letting go of his family, pulling us away from ours. It doesn't matter of how ridiculous he'll make himself; he wouldn't put other people through that sort of thing without their consent. If this were a game he would have stopped before we actually agreed to stay here all night."
"He'll have a reason. He's got to have a reason."
"Not if he isn't in control of this."
"What, you think he's lost his mind?"
"I didn't say that! Maybe something happened and he couldn't find any way to handle it except retreating into his character. Or, yes, it could be some kind of condition. I don't know; I'm not a doctor. But something's wrong."
"All of that sounds good, except for the fact that Stephen is about the most stable, well-adjusted person I know."
"I agree! But it doesn't matter. These things can happen to anyone. I don't want to believe it either, but that doesn't mean it isn't true."
"Jon, what do you think?"
"Who, me?"
"Yes, you," repeated Eric. "You know him better than we do."
"You're the ones who write him," said Jon absently.
"Uh, Jon?" said Allison after a moment. "We write the character. He isn't real."
"I know, I know. I don't know why I said that." Jon paused. "Except..."
"Except what?" prompted Eric.
"Listen, when you two write Stephen -- the character, I mean -- he's gay, right?"
The other two exchanged puzzled looks over their respective armfuls of bedding. "Pretty much," said Allison, at the same time as Eric said, "It's not important in every episode, but yeah."
"Do you write him as attracted to anyone in particular, or just men in general?"
"He's got a thing for Matthew McConaughey," offered Allison.
"And we did that bit with 'not being gay' for Paul Dinello's character," added Eric.
"We've mentioned a couple of other hot celebrities, too. There's a running joke about Soledad O'Brien..."
"Bill O'Reilly. After O'Reilly said that line that was great out of context."
"Oh, that was disgusting."
"It was. I can't believe he went with it."
"But it was too good to pass up."
"It really was."
"I think that's it," finished Allison. "Why do you ask?"
Now that he'd brought it up, there was no getting out of it. "He, ah," said Jon quietly as they turned a corner, "well, once we were alone in the office, he kind of, um, jumped me."
Allison promptly walked into a wall, and Eric into Allison.
Sleeping bags fell askew, pillows went tumbling; for a moment all three were occupied just gathering everything up again. At last Eric said, "See, that fits! You guys have done plenty of gay innuendo gags!"
"Was this a gag?" asked Allison pointedly.
Jon didn't hesitate. "No."
There was an uncomfortable silence. Allison broke it. "As his character," she said slowly, "he gets away with all kinds of things -- arrogance, insults, demands -- because he can pretend it isn't him. Maybe..."
"He's not pretending," interrupted Jon. "He's not kidding around, and I don't think this is just a crossed wire in his head, either. I told him, when we were planning this show and he was worried about the character being a jerk, I said, 'Wear it lightly.' He's not wearing it lightly. He's not wearing it at all. He is the character. This is the poorly-informed high-status egotistical blowhard, in the flesh."
There was another silence. They didn't know how to respond to that idea.
Fair enough. Neither did Jon.
"It makes as much sense as any other theory," he continued. "Occam's Razor. If it fits all the facts, no matter how improbable..."
"No," replied Eric, "Occam's Razor says to start by eliminating the impossible. And that's imp--"
He broke off. They had reached Stephen's office, and it was empty.
---------------------
(there.)
"Run that by me one more time," said Jon.
Stephen tried again. Having tried to explain it three different ways, he had at least figured out how to be succinct by now. "I'm an actor. A comedian. In my world, the Report is a parody of shows like O'Reilly's, and I play a parody of O'Reilly himself. He's pretty much an improv stock character -- the well-intentioned, poorly-informed, high-status idiot. I satirize conservative views by using the character to take them to ridiculous extremes. But it's all fictional. His history is partly based on mine, but a lot of it is fictionalized, based on his personality and whatever would be funniest at the time."
He waved around to indicate the room, the house, the world in general. "From my perspective, none of this has any existence except for comedic purposes."
"I can ... sort of understand the satire part," said Jon slowly. "There are times when I wonder how anyone takes you--"
"Him," corrected Stephen.
"--him, then, seriously. But what's funny about, say, sexually harassing your employees?"
"It's more parody. It satirizes the O'Reilly case, and it underlines the self-centered, oblivious, obnoxious qualities of my character."
Jon's expression soured. "Why would you go that far for the sake of a joke?"
"Well, I don't actually harass anyone! We just make reference to it, and occasionally I do a bit on-air with some leering or groping, but it's all with other actors, all scripted. I wouldn't actually -- I would never -- we're not that invested in realism. I didn't actually taser Eric, either."
"Who's Eric?"
"Bobby. Eric's one of my writers, the people who help come up with the character's jokes, and he plays Bobby."
"Who plays me?" asked Jon curiously.
"Um, you do. Sort of. You -- that is, my Jon -- plays a version of himself, adapted, again, based on what's funny at the time."
Jon snorted. "My life is not a scripted comedy. If it were, I'd have a lot more witty banter."
"It's not your life, no. It's just your appearances on The Daily Show. And the tosses, and the Report every once in a while. Like I said, you -- he -- he's mostly playing himself."
"But you're playing a completely different person? Or mostly different? All the differences done to be funny?"
"That's right."
"You didn't find it funny when you got here," said Jon softly.
Stephen winced, looking briefly towards the stairs that led to the empty bedrooms.
"It isn't supposed to be real," he said at last. "If you woke up one day and found yourself in the life of the fourth male lead from Death to Smoochy, you probably wouldn't laugh much either."
Jon considered this, then shuddered.
At least that made sense to him.
"I don't know how it happened," continued Stephen. "I think I've been here since I woke up this evening, so maybe something happened while I was asleep, but I don't know what, and I don't know why. I..." His voice caught. "I just want to go home, and I don't know how. I don't even know if I can go home. Maybe I'm stuck in a version of the Urashima Taro legend, and if I come back from the other world after a day I'll find out that hundreds of years have passed. I don't know if I could cope with that. I don't know what to do."
He sagged, head dropping, catching his forehead in his good hand and leaning heavily against it, feeling the weight of the thought that he might never see his family again, or, and he didn't know which was worse, that he might come back to find his kids grown and Jon and his wife long gone...
Jon's hand, this Jon's hand, rested tentatively on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know either. I don't have any ideas. But I'll help you try to figure this out. I'll do anything I can. When the show's over, I'll come straight back and find you, and we'll deal with this together. I'm here for you."
Stephen's head shot up. "Oh, God, the shows! They actually broadcast live at eleven for you, don't they? Have I made you miss rehearsal?"
"Yes, but it's just news, it's reading from the prompter, I'll survive. But you..."
Stephen took a deep breath. "Our shows tape in the afternoon, except for the occasional special live event. I've done today's material a couple of times already. I can do it again."
"Are you sure about this?"
"I'm not going to sabotage your universe, or alternate reality, or whatever this is. I don't belong here, but with everything you've done for me, the least I can do is not screw it up for you."
"I ... that's very good of you, but I mean, are you sure you can be my -- I mean, the Stephen I know? You're so different from him..."
Stephen sat up straight, arching his eyebrows, pouring status and authority into his voice: "Just the kind of weak-willed liberal naysaying I would expect from a member of the mainstream media."
Jon reeled, shock and fear and wild hope flashing through his eyes.
The persona fell away in an instant. "Oh, no -- I'm so sorry, Jon, I should have warned you -- that was me, just me, acting -- I told you, I act, I pretend to be him for a living." Jon's breath was rapid, shaky. "God, Jon, I'm sorry. It wasn't him. He's not back. It was me."
The other man nodded, forcing his breathing to slow. "I knew," he said at last. "You told me you acted -- and you're not my Stephen, my Stephen wouldn't drop references to Japanese fairy tales in conversation, I knew -- but seeing it like that, I hoped, just for a second -- I wasn't prepared, that's all."
"I'm sorry," said Stephen again. Jon nodded.
"We should go," he said softly. "It's a long drive back."
"Yeah, you're right." Stephen got to his feet. "Just ... give me a few minutes, okay? There's something I need to do."
---------------------
(here.)
After dumping the bedding at the office door and conducting a brief but frantic search, they emerged onto the set to find Stephen at his desk. "Who's there?" he shouted as they appeared.
"Stephen, it's us," called Jon.
Stephen was fairly coiled in his seat, hunched, defensive, eyes wide; he took in the three people at the door, then some sound caught his attention and he whipped around to focus on a corner of the ceiling.
"Bobby," he called shakily, "are those real?"
Jon followed his gaze, but saw nothing particularly exciting.
"Are what real?" called Eric.
"The bats!"
"Maybe you're right," murmured Eric to Allison.
"No, hang on!" she replied, shaking her head. "We did this on the show today, remember?"
With one ear to the conversation behind him, Jon answered the question. "There aren't any bats there, Stephen."
"Okay. No bats. Got it." With that, he began rifling through the props hidden behind the C-shaped desk, muttering to himself. At last he let out a delighted cry and held up an orange bottle. "Here you are!"
"He isn't..." began Jon in disbelief.
"Haven't you caught the show this past week? It's a prop -- we've got this running story arc where the character's addicted to painkillers," explained Allison. "The bottle's full of sugar pills."
Stephen, meanwhile, swallowed two of the fakes whole and smiled. "That's the stuff," he said, half to himself.
"Even if he thinks he's the character, he shouldn't be having real, physical withdrawal symptoms," Allison was saying.
"It could be -- what's the word -- psychosomatic. If the fakes are easing the symptoms, then that proves it's all in his head," suggested Eric.
"No." Jon shook his head. "The withdrawal's real. The cure is all placebo effect, and, unless either of you have actual Malaysian pain medication on-hand, that's all we've got, so don't tell him it's candy, understood?"
Capping the bottle, Stephen began to relax; when he focused on his visitors again, it was no longer fearful, but still suspicious. "Hey!" he called. "Are you real?"
"Yes!" replied Jon firmly.
But you're not.
---------------------
(there.)
It was gaudy and flashy and expensive, the kind of rosary you would buy if you wanted to show off the fact that you had one; but it was still a rosary, and it was still in the drawer where Stephen kept his own, so he found it quickly.
He didn't have time to meditate on all of the mysteries; he rarely had time for that these days anyway. But he knelt by the other Stephen's bed, closed his eyes, made the sign of the cross, and said the Apostles' Creed on the other Stephen's crucifix, the Our Father on the first large bead, the Hail Mary once for each of the three small ones.
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..."
Lord, give me faith...
"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus..."
Lord, give me hope...
"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death..."
Lord, give me charity...
"...Amen."
Faith, hope, and love; but the greatest of these is love.
But God, if you're still here, if you exist in this place, please, I could really use some hope right now.
And then he felt -- something.
He never could explain it to his satisfaction. The best he could manage was to say that it was like the brush of soft feathers against his cheek, except without the feathers, or the brushing. ("Then how was it anything like...?" "I don't know. It just was.")
When he opened his eyes, there was nothing and nobody to be seen.
Hope.
Stephen skipped to the final prayer, then crossed himself one last time before laying the beads on his character's pillow. He switched off the light as he walked out.
no subject
But still *and I am likeing use of it in feathers* I think it is a subject that needs be written more about, but not without haven't a good grasp on what it is they are writing on .
Sleeping pill kicking in- hope this all makes sense :)
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I know what you mean about how people should have a handle on it before writing it. This fandom skews towards secular liberalism with a heavy bias against crazy fundamentalists; we don't hear a lot about sane people of faith, and a lot of us probably don't understand them very well.
There's some technical knowledge involved too. For example, there was that recent story in which Stephen pointed out a Bible verse to his boyfriend and explained how he interpreted it to not be a condemnation of all homosexuality. Which is all well and good, except that Stephen has never believed that every word of the Bible is true, so he wouldn't feel the need to interpret those verses in a favorable light in the first place. The idea of the literal truth of the Bible is not a Catholic belief. It's unique to evangelical Protestantism, and even mainline Protestants rely on the Bible itself much more than Catholics do.
...I'm not religious, but I'm a bit of a geek for the subject. Can you tell? ^_~
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Dare I say, without sounding prejudiced (and I'm not), that it is in fact an American thing. I live in a country that is 98% Catholic and our religion is a big part of our culture. However, we have almost no fundamentalists, even more devoted Catholics don't take every word of the Bible at face value and we're not as burdened with our religion as some Catholics over there seem to be.
I have been thinking a lot about the matter, actually, and perhaps it's the fact America is so multicultural and multi-religious (I know it's not a word, but you get my drift) that there's this need for people to go to extremes in their faith as they are daily confronted with groups of different beliefs. I just know that when I first realized a few years back how Catholicism is viewed over there, what Catholics are believed to be, it left me shocked. Especially the fact that most of the things were true. It is unknown here.
/rant
I apologize for the lack of brevity. :)
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Catholics in the United States don't take every word of the Bible at face value either. That's a belief of evangelical Protestants, and most of the fundamentalist-Christian craziness in the U.S. comes from them. People who view Catholicism in that way are usually conflating it with evangelical Protestantism, which is definitely an American phenomenon.
The plurality of religions dates from a time when members of minority religions could be legally burned at the stake. If everyone had been secure in their own faith back in the day, we wouldn't have needed to enact laws about freedom of religion. If everyone were secure in their faith now, we wouldn't have crazy fundamentalists. Unfortunately, people have doubts, probably exacerbated by the presence of members of other faiths (who are visibly moral, ethical, and good, no less!), and fanaticism is overcompensation for doubt.
No need to apologize; I could talk about this all day ^_^
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But there's a common misconception that he's not really religious -- that all his affected faith on the show is coming from his character, not just the crazy bits. And that idea comes from viewers who aren't used to sane people of faith.
The fact that his Catholicism almost never comes up in fanfiction except as a source of bonus gay angst suggests to me that, even if people know that his faith is sincere, they don't understand it very well, or aren't sure how it affects his life.
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It's what I love about him, the way his spiritual self doesn't exclude his rational self but rather how they supplement each other. A part of me finds it incredible, the other part finds it a norm of how all should be.
But there's a common misconception that he's not really religious -- that all his affected faith on the show is coming from his character, not just the crazy bits.
Really? I honestly didn't know or perhaps haven't encountered/communicated with such people. Hmm.
PS. I too, obviously, love these types of discussions.
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I grew up in a family of spiritual-and-rational people. (As I've said somewhere else around here, the way I'm writing Stephen's faith is very much influenced by how I see my dad's. They have similar sensibilities.) I don't think everyone needs faith, but for those that do, that's the kind of faith to have.
In one interview -- I think it was on radio, because I remember the audio but no video with it -- Stephen said this about speaking at his daughter's confirmation: "It gave me the opportunity to speak very simply and plainly about my faith, which is something I don't get to do very often without people saying, 'Yeah, but do you really believe all that stuff?'" So he must get it a lot.
I've seen debate about his faith on the Colboard and other forums, too. (Fortunately, there are always people ready to speak up and say, "No, the crazy bits are his character, but he's Catholic in real life.")
If you're interested in "Stephen"'s faith as well as Stephen's, view all comments and scroll up, because I did a lot of ruminating on it =)
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The official position of the Catholic church is that it's not a sin to be homosexual, but it's a sin to act on it. And that definitely affects many Catholics. (See: Jim McGreevey.)
Church is an institution. Faith in God (and not just Catholic God) can and must exist without that institution.
I do agree with you on Stephen. Will reply more coherently later, I have to go now. :)
Cheers!
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Perfectly legitimate viewpoint. Not shared by all Catholics. Not shared by those Catholics who worry about their sexuality. (My guess: probably shared by Stephen.)
I look forward to it!
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I'll copy what I said to
So I can see why he's reluctant to talk about it in public venues. His fans and his audience skew skeptical, and it can't be fun to talk about it if he has to preface it with "yes, I'm actually Catholic; yes, I'm aware of the illogicities and contradictions; yes, I'm aware of the atrocities committed in the name of religion; no, I don't condone them; but yes, I do believe these things..."
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