[CW: Various sins]

Looking up at the church, Douglas made the cross and made a quick hope that lightning didn't strike on him as he went inside.  He had promised his mum on her deathbed that he would make his way to mass regularly and stop his unrighteous habits.  He had done better, but not as much as he knew she had wanted.  He had done well the first few years after her death, but once he went back to London and started doing the shows at the galleries again, he had slipped. 

Now he had a possible idea that could help a young woman and help his people back home as well.  However, using a lie and living a lie would not be right before the Lord.  Or would it?  After the things he had done previously in his life before he had his breakdown, maybe doing something good even if it was a lie, maybe it would make up for the wrongs done?  He felt doing a confession and asking the priest about his idea to get a Godly opinion might help.


He wore a blue suit and a black bowler over his blondish hair.  He had done his best to look at his best, as this was the house of the Lord.  He went inside respectfully quiet for any that might be in there praying and glanced around to look for the container of water.  He moved toward it and put his fingers into the surface making a silent blessing of himself with the sign of the cross.  Then he stepped to the beginning of the pews and went down on one knee to make the genuflect.    Making another look around he looked for the confessional booths.  Seeing where they were he moved to a pew closer to them to sit down to wait until a priest was available.

The pews were filled with more congregants than usual. Considering the typical attendance on any day other than Sunday, it did not add up to all that many people, but the added faces brought a sense of life to the church that was not always there.

Malachi did not immediately take notice of the latest man to enter. Just minutes before, a young girl had left the confessional abruptly, after having spent the last half hour spewing nonsense about her boyfriend's sins instead. Even as Malachi stepped out from the confessional, mouth drawn in a thoughtful frown, he could not make sense of what she had wanted him to do about any of it. Her boyfriend was welcome to seek penance himself, but the girl had been adamant about her own lack of sin.

Several minutes passed while the priest was caught by another parishioner. Not for a confession, but to extend an invitation to the priest -- something about a child's birthday -- which was promptly but politely refused.

Only then did he see the man waiting in the pew, dressed quite nicely for his visit. Malachi's hands folded neatly behind his back as he approached him.

"Hello," offered the priest, along with a polite smile. "I'm Father Brennan. Is there something I can do for you?"

Douglas looked up at the priest arriving near him and when he introduced himself, Douglas stood up with a bob of his head.  "Aye, Father.  I was wanting tae give a confession if it be a good time for yu?"  His strong Scottish accent made it hard not to figure out that he was a Scot. 

"I moved 'ere in Whitby aboot tree months agoo, dinna think would be 'ere this long."  He explained.  "As it seems I foond it tae be a bonny place, I should dae the propers since I will be stayin' for a longer time."  He smiled.  "I 'ave a regular priest back 'ome, but canna expect 'im tae move 'ere because the Earl does, aye?"  He chuckled in a friendly manner allowing the priest to subtly know that he was an Earl. 

"I am Douglas Gordon, by the way, Father."  He was never sure how to introduce himself when out among those that likely need to know.  When he was out painting, he just used his name, but in society, he was being introduced to those around him.  When it was just him, and he had to do the propers, it was uncomfortable, it was like boasting or something.

My, this Earl was a tall fellow. It was rare for Malachi to ever feel small, when he stood above the heads of so many in Whitby, but this man towered above even him. Malachi had not had to look up at anyone since the earliest days of his adolescence.

This did not outwardly faze the priest, who dipped his head in polite acknowledgement of the returned introduction. The name sounded strangely familiar, but... ah. Would it bother him to be reminded of his work when he was trying to give confession?

"I would be more than happy to hear your confession, of course," said Malachi. With a wave of his hand toward the confessional, he added, "I am glad to hear that Whitby is treating you well. I moved here quite recently myself, and I will be here from now on, any time you wish to visit. I... am curious, though. Are you an artist, by any chance?"

"Thank yu, Father." He headed toward the booth when the question was posed.  He paused and smiled.  "Aye, Father.  I am 'that' Douglas Gordon.  Whitby is a wonderful place to come paint and just relax.   'ave yu found that as well?"  He paused.  "There were sae many things tae capture on my canvases, that I ended up renting a cottage, and might even buy it to keep a place 'ere when I am doing shows up in London.  It is closer than back 'ome in Scotland,"  He chuckled.  "But nae near as busy and crowded as London is.  Social requirements are nae as pushing on a mon 'ere either.  Though still many of the lasses that want tae meet the bachelor Earl."  He gave a chuckle as he put his hand on the doorway to the booth.

Ah, he'd been right then. Malachi could not claim to know all that much about any kind of art himself, but the name Douglas Gordon had certainly impressed itself in his memory, for how often his mother had mentioned it. If he remembered correctly, she had attended several shows of his and owned a number of pieces that she kept scattered through the estate.

"I understand," he said with a nod. He followed after Douglas and continued, "I've found Whitby to be preferable to London as well. I can't say that the women here wish to meet me for the same reasons, however."

Malachi gave a half-smile at that.

"Here we are then."

With a gesture for Douglas to enter the booth, Malachi did the same on the other side.

Douglas chuckled.  "I would guess that is nae the case, father."  He gave the sign of the cross before pausing to go into the booth to be sure his mind was as it should be going inside.

He went on inside and closed the covering to the tiny room.  He then sat knelt down before the bench and crossed himself again as he bowed his head. 

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was about a year and six months ago.  I tried tae stay continual with the masses and my confessions after my mum passed away as she had asked me tae do so upon her grave three years agae, but 'ave nae since coming up tae London and now 'ere in Whitby."

Now seated, Malachi pulled uncovered the little grate in the wall between them.

His hands folded neatly over his lap while he waited.

A dark brow lifted at the start of the artist's confession, but he said nothing of it. Nothing had to be perfect.

"What matters is that you're here now," encouraged Malachi, after a moment of silence. "Confess all the sins you've made since then."

Douglas raised his eyes as if to ask the Lord for patience as this might be long and uncomfortable for both of them.  Though he figured the priest had heard a lot of bad things such as what he would say.  Taking a breath, he thought about the worst ones for the beginning.

"The worst of since thing was recent, that I best get oot while I 'ave the strength to speak of it."  He explained and his voice was pained just thinking about it.  "I've lost my way 'aving gotten out of control trying to 'ide my episodes, Brother, I 'ave what is called a weak mind.  Though my new doctor friend says it is an illness due to the work I did in the war that I was on the front for."  There was a hopeful yet also a doubtful mixture of emotion when he said that part.

"I am nae sure about that as yet, but the paintings I create while in these episodes are violent and bloody much more than I would show or send to the government when I worked for them.  I end up drunk trying to blow it awa from my heid, and medications that some doctors 'ave given me and well, the result is nae appropriate for even my valet and butler to see.  This time though, I woke finding meself withoot clothing other than a shirt unbuttoned when a wee lass maid came in.  Her first day of work tae."  He hated the whole thing but he had not been in control, episode or not, the lass had suffered for his lack of a strong mind.  He went silent unable to go forward on other sins as yet.  That one still bothers him.  Not much did bother him on his actions, but this did.

Malachi's eye twitched.

Brother. Brother? He was a fully ordained priest. Calling him anything less felt like more of a sin to Malachi than the admission of a weak mind.

Quietly, Malachi cleared his throat.

"When our troubles are suppressed, they poison the soul, and express themselves in reckless ways," his voice was low, calm in the dark of the confessional. "These paintings and behaviors of yours are the manifestations of your pain, making itself known in the only way it knows how."

This was not about the people affected by those behaviors, so he did not speak on them. This was the artist's confession.

"Have you done anything else during these episodes of yours?"