weepingclergy

[weepingclergy]

[ Cue the Music-ish ] [ Garden ]

The coins on his belt jingle softly as he assumes his first position, arms held at chest level, elbows curved just so.

"Just like old times, eh, Brady?"

Laslow doesn't look away from the violin held in his friend's hands. There's courage to be found in the instrument; if he only focuses on that, he won't imagine that the silhouettes in the windows are staring right at them, or that the squirrel darting from bush to bush is actually someone hiding behind the plants.

But he hasn't danced to a violin in years, let alone Brady's superb playing. He cannot pass up a chance like this.

"On the count of three! A-one, a-two, a-three..."

playing a big gig is something to be proud of, but even prestigious events get stuffy after a while. actually, it's pretty easy for it to get stuffy at things like this, huh?

so when inigo invites brady out to the garden for a refresher and a catch-up on lost time, it takes him a shockingly short time to agree. playing is nicer when it's for his friends alone, but brady wouldn't admit something that selfish out loud.

" yeah, " brady grunts in agreement with inigo's playful question. " just like old times. " he really is grateful for the opportunity, scowl-y as his face is; there were few even among his circle that truly knew how to appreciate the music brady could play. some laugh, others regard it with normality, and a few are vocally supportive... but inigo makes something happen. he builds on what brady creates.

he doesn't say it, but brady likes that the most.

as inigo commences his count, brady readies his violin. bow to string, eyes sharp, fingers primed to dance along the neck. the count ends and brady begins, playing a familiar tune that only the two of them know.

it's only appropriate, after all.

[weepingclergy]

brady's only just arrived to the monastery and he's suddenly found himself a gig at the giant ball. talk about life springing shit on you, eh?

though he can't help feeling a little prideful. like, hey, show up outta nowhere and in a few days the monastery will ask you to rip a chord for a bunch of randos! clearly his violin skills are just so good that his vibes are immaculate for that kinda thing.

his ma always taught him the importance of dressing nice for shows, and she can bet her biscuits brady's never forgotten the lessons. though it's nothing quite so special as some of the other schmoes prancing into the hall, brady's got on a little ditty from home.

hopefully nobody accosts him while he's playing a set. he's just a little guy, okay?! okay?!?

DECORATION LIST

white feather: black feather: string of pearls: small bell: teardrop crystal:

-> brady has a small bell!

[weepingclergy]

for @fellpurpose

" gods, they weren't kiddin' about the heat thing. sure hope the monks here ain't just crispy critters at this point. "

it was a long and arduous journey from the monastery to the valley of torment ( the name of which was nearly enough to dissuade the pilgrimage altogether ), but brady simply had to see what all the rumors were about with it.

he'd never gotten a true, comprehensive priest education and had mainly just been learning through experience. the problems, however, became apparent quite quickly; his sermons drew ire from old ladies and well-to-do men because the way he spoke "dishonored the gods." among other things, anyways. brady may not be a good speaker, but he does have faith! come on!!

in the throes of his disappointment, he'd heard among monastery residents of a place where monks gather to train---it intrigued him to say the least, and he'd asked for more details. he was told about the valley of torment, which was a place engulfed in flame and known to be frequented by monks as a ( literal ) trial by fire. dangerous as it sounded, brady wanted to meet the monks that were tough enough to walk into flames and come out alive. clearly they knew a lot that he could learn from!

but of course, the place is on fire, probably really easy to die in, and is named "the valley of torment." brady wasn't going to go alone.

so he didn't! he dragged his good friend owain along with him.

now the two stand at the fringe of the valley, mere feet away from having their ankles burned by flaming ground. not to worry: brady has a staff for this!

" m'kay, hold still, " he grunts to owain, rubbing his chin as he taps the base of the staff on the ground. the gem inside glows faintly. " that incantation thingy... i think it went like this... "

after mumbling words in quiet tongues, the two compatriots are enveloped in a protective, slightly chilly shield. that should be enough. brady doesn't think so.

he adds another, then another, then way, way more than necessary. after all, this is a flaming valley. it wouldn't be good if brady let himself or his pal get cooked to death!

" th-th-there, " says brady. any pride he could have had in successfully layering the flame-ward spell is defeated by his sudden onset of violent shivering from how cold the many layers are. " t-that should d-d-do i-- i-- hubba--- heebah--- aaahgubbphh--CHAHOOOOEY!!!! "

brady's refrigeration service

mission board: showcase ( faith +1 )

[weepingclergy]

Frowning, Laslow watches two faculty members rush out of the lounge, casting furtive glances over their shoulders as the door swings shut behind them. Did someone find butter scorpions? Nasty looking little guys but fairly easy to dispose of.

Good thing ol' Laslow the Invincible is here! Wrenching the door open, he bursts inside. "Watch out, foul beasts! You shall not terrorize--huh?"

There's no tell-tale skittering or flashes of curved tails. Just an incredibly familiar slouched figure in a corner of the room. Despite the years between their last meeting, his friends are unforgettable--he'd recognize them blind.

"Brady!?" Laslow exclaims, all his earlier bluster now faded. A piece of him relaxes, seeing yet another of their little band in this new world. "Decided to follow us on this next adventure, eh? We're in desperate need of a good priest."

Lips bloom into a smile even as an unexpected wave of tears prick at his eyes. All that petty squabbling when they were younger seems so foolish, now. "Heh, I'm truly glad to see you again, Mr. Popular."

brady's just about calmed down when owain pulls him into a room for the aforementioned "words not for unworthy ears." whatever the hell that means. he still has a runny nose and his eyes still pinken from weepiness, but he's able to finish a sentence without absolutely pissing himself tearful. that's a start!

as he pulls out his hanky to dab at his cheeks, someone opens the DAMN door with enough force that brady tips over and falls on his face (despite there being no contact). fucker, who is that?! oh, he'll knock the stuffing out of whoever this turkey is! then owain will call out a really long attack name or something before chaining with his sword l---

" brady?! "

third time his name's been said without needing to introduce himself, and the voice that speaks it is instantly recognizable. brady peels himself off of the floor, wondering if it's real or just the near-concussion speaking.

" what th'... " rising to his feet brady turns, but the sight almost makes him fall back down.

" i... igh.... INHIGHOOOOOHOOHOOOOOOOHOOUHRHHGHUUHHUUHHHHHUUU!!!!!!!! " brady begins sobbing all over again, this time even uglier than before. all this time without seeing his friends, coming with the thought in mind that they wouldn't even be here---it's all upturned in an instant! there's no chance he can keep these feelings back even if he'd tried! " firz't izz owaib, ad-- ad dow izz you, ahh, whadda hell, i dib't d-dow you knuggleheads would be here! WAHHHHHHHAHAHAHHHUUUUUUUU!!!!!!! "

he attempts to wipe his eyes, but all that does is create more free tear real estate. even through all the tears, however, brady's got a response in mind for the friend that dares bring up those wacky arguments from years past---he smiles in probably the scariest, snarliest, snottiest way a man can.

" y... ya made a big mistage, surbrisin' be lige dat... now all the ladies're godda go wild ober my sensitibe ass! "

[weepingclergy]

wonders never cease! another familiar face — another reminder that one's past is but a relentless shadow.

time trickles on as it always does, warping the mind, rendering it susceptible to the realms of dreams; where reality and illusion intertwine. over the years, owain's clung to memories, steadfast in his refusal to relinquish them. day after day, night after night, he'd whisper old names to himself, etching their visages in his mind's eye lest they faded into obscurity. one of them being —

"brady?"

indeed, unmistakably so! that towering, stooped figure; the indelible scowl, the scar...oh, that very cool-looking scar...

"BRADY!!" his voice thunders across the hall. "we meet again, old friend!" owain strides forward, his grin wide and true as he claps the other's back in greeting. "HA! look at you! at long last, brady of the moistened eyes has seized the courage to embark upon his own grandiose odyssey!" no judgment lingers in his words, only approbation. owain's hand snakes up to his face, poised before his burgeoning grin. "know this! fate commends thy valiant endeavors." he turns now, beckoning the other to follow. "come. i fear we have much to discuss...in the sacred confines of privacy, lest unworthy ears intrude."

brady, hands in his pockets, observes the people that flit about the monastery halls. ever since henry let slip that there was a chance his buddies were here, he's stationed himself in a common area to hopefully catch a glimpse of one of them.

...well. that's what he'd intended to do.

the issue is that a new teacher that looks like he'll start wailing on the first punk-ass dastard he sees means a slew of weirded out students, staff, and the faces they make at him. brady watches as groups of kids whisper amongst themselves, staring at him all the while. he watches as teachers either swerve to avoid him or look at him like they would a troublesome youngster. they don't even try to hide it!

brady tries to ignore this for as long as he can, but he's a sensitive guy inside. his ears turn pink, his slouch deepens, and his pouty lip wibbles ever so slightly. damn it! he's only been here for a little while; why the hell're these donks so mean to him?! gods, if only one of his friends were here---

" BRADY!! "

what? who? huh? that thunderclap voice, that strike of blonde hair! the way he strides through a crowd, totally not caring that everyone is staring at him! it has to be. it can only be---!

"o-- u-- bw-- BWUHWAINNNNNNNNNGGFBBBGFBUUGHHH!!!!!" brady yowls, tears suddenly flooding his vision before he even registers owain's friendly touch. "ibffghh!! ghhuehgh!!! bugahhahghh!!!!!" ah, praise be to whatever gods are watching him! one of his pals! here! in the flesh! ain't nothing peachier!!

he tries to regain composure, but that doesn't really work. "i'mbfg, i'm, muh eyes're nod moist, owain, shuddup," he defends with moist-ass eyes. "tha'z the first thig ye say t'me? my wet eyes?! i'll kill you! i'll-- i'll--- BUOOHHHAAHHHHUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!" scarred face hides with futility in his hands as he feels owain start to pull him aside somewhere.

"you lug! i missed you, dammit!" sniffling, he shuffles along to wherever it is owain is going. "tch. callin' me moist... nng... shuddup. idiot."

[weepingclergy]

NOW THAT THE BIG BRADY IS HERE. you guys know what time it is. he's golden deer faculty so he can do any of the missions off the mission board!

faith +1 : despite being a priest, brady isn't so good at religious talk (he had, however, been training before the events of his paralogue). he has hopes that seeing one of the fabled monks of torment valley will teach him their ways, but he's too freaked out by the flaming explosion valley to go by himself.

two lives: brady has ... err ... Thorts about extending people's lives. he has thoughts about modifying lives in general. he's maybe got some twisted ideas in his head ( guy lives longer from potion -> life changes -> bring someone back from dead? ) that may need some dispelling.

club rush: brady's the new guy in town and he needs a group he can call home! he's a chess player, an avid reader, a baker, a tea brewer, a crocheter... if you like homemaking activities, big man brady would be a valuable addition to YOUR club circle!

open to other ideas / threads if ppl have any! feel free to hit me up on Tumblr IMs or Discord DMs!

[weepingclergy]

NOW MAKE LIKE MY PANTS AND SPLIT!

about / interview / stats / thread tracker

✲ "yo mama?" what ABOUT my mama? ✲ voted most likely to cry self to death in priest school ✲ violin beastmoder ✲ YOU WANT A PIECE OF HIM? well come back tomorrow he's all sold out sorry :(

basic info under the cut!

brady comes from the timeline that all of the playable child units come from (grima & the ruined future). however, he has seen the events that occur in the future past dlc and is aware of the alternate timeline.

brady's father is currently undetermined and his hair color matches his mother's. this is subject to change as appropriate when a maribelle is present.

i see brady as someone who struggles with masculinity due to his hair-trigger crying fits, hobbies, and unathleticism. this may become present in threads; he'll work through it as time goes on/people show him different ways of life.

this guy is a chronic cusser. just know that if he starts slinging f-bombs everywhere, it's just because that's how he talks. unless you hit him over the head with a mallet. then it's because of that.

[weepingclergy]

"OH! Wait a second, kiddo... I know you??" The question mark was poignant, and ever the tell-tale sign that the spiders in his head were working over time. His face, his prominent pout, his Grima-forsaken ironic slouch. (Maribelle was the last person in the world to have a bad posture, so Henry had always found it HILARIOUS.) "I do! Yeah! It's..." He snapped his fingers twice, like striking a match. "Brady! Or do you go by some other name now?" Cynthia hadn't given him a rundown about Maribelle's kid at all, so for all he knew, Brady went by Brandon Salamander or something now, right?

"Man oh man— glad you're not dead in the water, nya ha ha! Didn't know I'd end up bumping into a whole lot of you kids here, but I guess flocks of a feather end up together, ahaha~" He tilted his entire body to one side, trying to peek for the kid's signature instrument of choice. Then the other, just for funsies. Did he still play? Was it just Henry, or was this kid even older now??

"You still play, don'tcha? The crows and flowers always liked when you did."

finally his sickness subsides and brady can drag his arse out of the infirmary tent. it's embarrassing enough that he had to forego the traditional interview because of his weak stomach, but he totally ralphed at least 4 times on the way from the interview hall to the medtent. he wants to whack his skull against a wall. if ANYONE calls him 'barfy' or something similar, he's going to beat the shit out of them.

as he swaggers from one place to the next, flashing sneers wherever he walks, brady keeps eyes out for any suspicious figures. however, he's so caught up in his search that when someone addresses him from behind, he almost throws up again from surprise.

" AHH! WHAT T-- " cough. slouch. leer. " oh. it's you. yeah, it's me. an' i didn't change my name none, either---the hell gave you that idea?"

henry always was a bit of a nutcase in brady's eyes. never not talking death or crows or murder or what have you; risen were scary, but the way this guy pulled them apart like string cheese was scarier. oh, gods, the imagery's making him feel sick again. he shakes his head and tries to keep his stink eye strong.

though, something that white-haired melvin says alerts him. " you kids? " he grunts, turning his head lightly to the side. " wait, you mean i ain't the only one of us here? where're the others? you know somethin' i don't, grampa? "

he tries to get close, maybe intimidate some info out of henry, but his next question pops brady's bravado like a tent in a windstorm. he sags, flicks his eyes to the side bashfully. he didn't think the guy would be genuine like that.

" 'course i still play. why the hell wouldn't i? my violin case s' still on the boat. "

[weepingclergy]

test

test

test

test

test

test

test

test

test

test

test

test