Moriarty & The Priest

Moriarty & the Priest

(This will contain spoilers for the second season of Fleabag)

So, I discovered the fic These Violent Delights by @pasiphile (and its accompanying stories) last year and it was incredible. I have loved Andrew Scott’s Jim Moriarty since the freaking pool scene and just devoured the world that @pasiphile has created. Truly spectacular. It’s canon as far as I’m concerned.

Then I saw that Andrew Scott was playing a character in the show Fleabag so I watched a clip on youtube from the show (of him and Fleabag making out by a confessional) and I thought, “I have to watch this show.” 

So, I watched it. And it was beautiful. Bittersweet. I started watching the second season again and this thought popped into my brain (and I can’t have been the first to think this):

What if, after Jim “died,” he spent the ensuing time (before his resurrection) becoming a priest? 

(Now, I like to consider myself to be a fanfic reader of discerning taste. In any crossover fic there has to be a believable reason for the crossover. I’m pretty good with the whole “expansion of disbelief” thing, but there are limits.)

So, here’s how it would work: 

Jim “kills” himself on the roof of the hospital and he needs to lie low for awhile. He needs to distance himself from Seb because while the rest of the world may be ignorant of Seb’s existence, the criminal world is rife with information (all rumors and hearsay because Jim is nothing if not thorough) and they can’t be seen together (or even rumored to be seen together) until Jim’s ready for the next stage of his plan to commence. What’s he gonna do in the interim? He’s not going to be himself, that’s for sure. And a priest is pretty far removed from consulting criminal, so why not go to seminary? 

He’s ordained and is sent to a perish and that is where we enter the Fleabag universe (yeah, we might be getting a bit timey-whimey, get over it). One thing he forgot was how Seb helped ground him in reality. Without him (and his Web) it is easy to get lost in a character. He’s molded himself into this foulmouthed priest and people are drawn to him - they can’t help themselves. Jim’s magnetism is a lot harder to hide, easier to do for smaller characters, and he makes it work for the priest. He meets this woman, this beautifully tragic woman who doesn’t fit in with the rest of the world - her resonance doesn’t quite match up. 

(I love that, in the show, the Priest is the only one who notices Fleabag’s 4th wall breaks. That is such a Jim thing - after all, the Priest may not be Jim but Jim is the Priest and he can never fully turn off his brain. Of course he’s going to notice someone slipping away here and there.)

Jim loves chaos, he thrives in it - it’s never chaotic for him - and he revels in the chance to see what chaos this woman will cause. He reads her easily, unconsciously, the mask falling away as if it were never there. There’s so much grief and fear and guilt and loneliness - it’s intoxicating.

(At the dinner scene in the restaurant, when Fleabag asks if he is a real priest, she surprises him. He can count on one finger the number of people who have done that. But Jim is Jim and his mask stays up. Yes, he is a real priest. But, darling, he doesn’t say, I’m so much more.)

Jim enjoys making her fall in love with him, pretending to be so vulnerable and so human. It’s beautiful and, despite being predictable, it’s the most fun he’s had since before the trial - before he began to lose himself in Rich Brook and before he started distancing himself from Seb. And for a moment Jim’s irreversibly furious at Seb for turning him into such a romantic idiot. But that’s the Priest, not Jim. Jim doesn’t love. Jim owns. 

(When their drinking G&Ts in his garden and he tells her they’re not going to have sex he knows he’s lying. He also wishes that he could convince her to drop it. He doesn’t really like sex - this stint as a priest is hardly his first go of celibacy. [Seb is the exception, of course, but that had more to do with Seb than Jim.] But then he get’s a bit bored and messes with his own plan and has her bear her soul to him in the confessional. For a second he’s Jim Moriarty again, commanding his subjects to kneel. He can see how uncomfortable this makes her, how vulnerable she is. And he almost laughs. But instead he drags the Priest back up and the Priest kneels before he and kisses her. It really is luck that brings the painting crashing to the ground.

In the end, they do have sex. Of course they do. Even she knew they would. And it’s…not his worst sexual experience. She’s not Seb, so the emotion she’s practically suffocating him with is uncomfortable. But she’s stopped slipping away quite as much when she’s with him. Interesting…and a bit disappointing.

He notices it at the wedding. Her resonance is not quite as off as it use to be. She’s a bit less out of step with the everyone else around her. And he’s so disappointed. She’s so ordinary now. But he knew it would end like this, of course.)

He leaves, pretends to be heartbroken about it, pretends to love her, even manages to shed a few tears. But he has an empire to get back to, a right hand to whip into shape, and a pair of brothers to destroy once and for all. 

He leaves, because that’s what people do. 

This is a continuation of my first pattern. Here is an anecdote that I was thinking about while working on it.

I had a professor who never let us use a straight edge on any projects. Her reasoning was that the imperfections of our lines gave our work an element that was intrinsically human, that the imperfections were what made the work beautiful. I really like that idea.

That is not my way of saying that I think this pattern is beautiful. No, I only mention it because all of the patterns I am drawing are done by hand and are therefore greatly flawed. But I am okay with that.

transitions

I hate transitional periods. I haven't experienced one like this before. at the end of every school year I knew that a new year would begin at the end of the summer. but now it is summer again and I know that no new semester is waiting for me at the end of august. the buzzword is uncertain. I have never felt this uncertain before. at the end of the month my lease is up and I have to move home. for how long? I don't know.

ever since I began college, maybe even before, whenever I was at home for an extended period of time I felt like I was in limbo. not doing anything, just waiting. but now the only thing that I am waiting for is for me to make a decision.

I HATE making decisions.

I have a hard enough time deciding what type of toothpaste I should buy. I don't know what I'm going to do. I've been avoiding the decision so far. that hasn't exactly been productive. but right now I don't even know how to start. I'm stuck in a cycle of denial, waiting for someone to tell what comes next.

so what comes next?

So, this is happening...

I haven't done anything on here for a while now. Thanks to those who have continued following me despite that. I wanted to write a bit about what has been going on in my life recently, more specifically, my health (Bear in mind, when I say "a bit" I really mean "a butt-load").

So, about a month ago I found myself in a near constant state of vertigo (the one with nausea and dizziness, not Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak). This was frustrating and uncomfortable. Frustrating, because I had just taken a week off of work and upon returning to work, I found it really hard to actually be at work [for those who don't know, I work in retail specializing in stock and visual stuff]. That first day I had to leave work early, even going so far as getting a ride home from my dad. I had the next few days off, so that was good, and the following week I was scheduled pretty lightly. Normally, that would have bothered me (given the fact that I had just taken a week off without pay), but that week it was a blessing. Especially since shipment mornings really did a number on me. Which brings me into the uncomfortable side of things. For anyone who has never experienced vertigo, I think the best way for me to describe it is being similar to incredibly bad motion-sickness. For anyone who has never experienced motion-sickness, I felt like I had consumed copious amounts of tequila and instead of getting drunk, I just got the side-effects. Rooms were spinning, thoughts of certain foods made me want to puke, and this was all made worse with movement.

This went on for about a week. That alone is annoying. Based on my studious internet research on vertigo, most people don't experience it constantly for days on end. But I was. And that sucked. And I tried to work as much as I could throughout it all. 

But after that first week, things got worse. I went to work Friday three weeks ago and had to leave after a mere half-hour. My right hand had starting shaking and it wasn't stopping. Not after drinking a lot of water, not after sitting down for fifteen minutes or so, not after eating a cookie. So I went home and my mom had to practically beg me to go see a doctor (I have this thing about going to the doctor: I don't like it, so I avoid it). She finally wore me down and made the next available appointment for urgent care. Luckily for me, it wasn't until the next morning.

So, the next morning, that morning being Saturday, I see a doctor. She sees in my records that I have generalized anxiety disorder and wonders if it may be related to that: I don't think it is, things are good at home and good at work. I get blood-work done (where I worry the phlebotomists who think they are the cause of my shaking arm), I get an EKG because my heart rate is fast, and then I get a prescription for lorazepam and instructions to make a follow-up appointment to see my GP the following week.

The lorazepam made my arm stop shaking, but it also doped me up. My parents were going away that weekend and were worried about me, but I wasn't scheduled to work so they were okay with me lazing around in my lorazepam cloud (as long as I had my cell phone with me at all times and called if there was a problem). Every morning I would wait and see if my arm had stopped shaking. It never did, so I would take my pills and try to remain entertained. It seemed like a good time to see if "Game of Thrones" really did live up to all the hype so I spent that first weekend on a mind-vacation in Westeros and Essos (it did live up to the hype, although I found the general violence to be a lot more graphic than the sex).

Monday would be the day I would have to make some decisions. And kind of Sunday. I had a dentist appointment scheduled Monday morning and had decided on Sunday to call and leave a message canceling due to medical reasons. But then I was scheduled to work later in the afternoon. No way I could work with my arm shaking like it was when I was not drugged up and there was no way I could work when I was drugged up, let alone get to work. So, on Monday, after my daily experiment of waiting and daily experience of disappointment, I called work and said I couldn't come in that day or for the foreseeable future (and with that comes not getting paid for the foreseeable future). Dang.

So, that is enough day-to-day detail for now. Let's fast-forward to Friday, my next doctors appointment, this time with my GP. First thing to check, is my are still shaking? Yes. Next, my heart rate was still fast, but my blood pressure was fine. Normally, that would indicate a thyroid problem, but one of last week's blood tests ruled that out. It was possibly something with my adrenal gland, so I got more blood-work done and was instructed to collect my pee for 24 hours to check on that. Also, I was going to need an MRI on my brain. Next appointment, next Friday. It didn't end up being the adrenal gland thing, so I won't go into the joys of 24h urine collection procedures. But the MRI was an experience worth mentioning.  

I've had MRIs before, one on my left wrist and then an extremely long one on my right elbow back in high school, so I wasn't really concerned about the whole thing. But let me tell you, a brain MRI is a COMPLETELY different experience than getting one on an extremity. First off, they kinda put your head in a box/cage to get "all the angles photographed properly" or something like that. I'm not claustrophobic. I like small spaces. Unless you put my head in a box/cage, apparently. But I'm already drugged up to keep my arm from going crazy so I figured I would be fine. Another thing about a brain MRI that is different from other MRIs is the noise level. Yeah, they gave me ear plugs (but I'm pretty sure one place gave me those noise-reducing ear-muff things once), but the ear plugs didn't seem to do much, which makes me terrified about what it might have been like without them. I don't know if it was the lorazepam, the head cage, the combination of the two, or just that it was me getting the MRI, but the noises were terrifying. To me, it seemed like a barbarian horde were making the way closer and closer and soon it would be time for battle. But I couldn't battle, I was in a giant magnet tube with a head-cage and the the horde was getting closer and closer. The clanking and banging seemed to be signaling my imminent death due to my vastly sub-par battle skills and the fact that I wasn't allowed to move [note: I know (and knew at the time) that there was no barbarian horde coming to do battle. but that didn't stop the images/ideas from forming in my mind]. But then the MRI was over and I no longer felt like the battle of the century was about to happen in my proximity.

Long story short, turns out my brain is fine. And at my next appointment (last Friday, for all you who like chronology) I learned that everything else was coming back looking just fine. Well, that was all fine and dandy, except for the fact that my arm was still shaking, at its mildest moments. At its worst moments it seemed more like a fish-out-of-water flapping around on a boat. So, more blood was drawn and I was being sent off to see a neurologist.

And that brings us to present time. I saw a neurologist today and while he described my brain as "beautifully normal looking" and told me that he didn't think I have Parkinson's, he brought in his two partners to observe my unusual tremor one at a time to get their opinions. Double dang. Next step: he's calling my therapist to discuss whether this is all some reaction to all the meds I'm on and/or different medication possibilities. I should hear from one of them on Monday.

Meanwhile, I haven't been able to work in three weeks. And that is frustrating. Also, while it may seem like I take a lot of meds to the person who only has one or two prescriptions or those weird people who don't take medicine, not even advil, every one of those pills serve a purpose. I seem to have a lot of problems, thus a lot of solutions. And I don't abuse those solutions so it seems unfair for them to turn on me now after the wonderful relationships we've formed over the years. 

So that's been this past month of my life. The vertigo is not as bad as it was, it comes and goes instead of being a constant companion. I don't even know it the vertigo is related to the tremor/demon arm.

Consider this the whiny installment. I'll write about what I've done while on lorazepam for three weeks next.

robots

here are some robots that I've drawn while on break at work:

don't talk on your cell phone while you are shopping

stores are not appropriate places to have personal conversations. a quick conversation is okay, but other than that, just don't. please.

a customer today was talking on her phone while she was walking towards the fitting rooms, hoping to try on her selected apparel. she did not stop talking to politely ask me if she could try on said items. instead, with hardly a look in my direction, she pointed towards me and then towards the fitting rooms, ordering me to tend to her needs. there was already a room unlocked. I just pointed her towards the open door. 

another customer was on her phone for the entire length of her visit to my little place of employment. she did not interact with any of the employees, she continued to talk while trying on things (I don't know how this is done. I need to hands to get dressed. maybe she was hiding a third and that's why she avoided human interaction), and even continued her conversation while returning one shirt and purchasing another (while talking to her phone companion about said returned shirt). even at the register she didn't pause once in her conversation to address us employees. there were four of us just looking at her while she avoided eye contact. then she left, still on the phone. the whole experience lasted at least a half an hour. and I can tell you, based on the one side of the conversation that I did hear, it did not sound urgent.

both of these women left messes in the fitting rooms for me to clean up, but that is another point that I may or may not address at another time.

is it too much to ask, as a retail employee, to be treated like a human being? before I was one of these under-appreciated and hard-working individuals I would have said no. but now my opinion has changed. you may have noticed that I just wrote that retail employees are hard-working. don't ever let anyone tell you anything different. we are on our feet all day. those of us who do not ring walk back and forth (always at a brisk pace) countless times throughout the day. some of us do things like set up shelving, put together visual displays, unpack shipment, etc. it can get pretty labor intensive. and for me at least, this is all done in work appropriate clothing.

so please, respect the employees when you shop.