fandomtownies | Our Lady of Fandom, Saturday

At some point in his life, Jonothon Starsmore had been fabulously wealthy. He'd been famous, as well, with a voice that rocked the heavens and connections to a powerful clan which stood to benefit from the mysterious powers of which he never spoke.

But years of rock and roll, drugs, sex, and illicit sushi had caught up with him. His wealth had been cut in half, his records were no longer topping the charts, and Clan Akkaba had forsaken him, throwing him out and taking his mysterious powers with them.

There was only one thing to be done.

"Father," he said, walking into the church with his jaw squared and pure conviction in his voice, "I wish to become a priest."

Jaime turned to find someone with a jawline equal to his own. Someone with a past as dark as any. Someone who was a kindred spirit...

"It isn't an easy life, my son."

You had to look tormented a lot of the time.

"It's the life that I was meant for," Jonothon replied, taking a moment to turn his so-very-tormented gaze toward the ceiling. "Sex and sushi have taken all that I had from me, and I've seen the error of my ways. My only hope now is to find some sense of solace in God's ways."

Or possibly the communion wine. Either of those.

Probably the wine, yeah. It was pretty goo--NO. Jaime would not fall the way of his twin sister.

And he wouldn't even think about his brother. Not now.

"Only if you're sure. My son."

"I am more sure about this than I've been about anything in my life." Jonothon's eyes were glistening as he turned his sincere gaze toward Father Lannister. "Please, Father, I have nothing left worth living for. Show me the way, the truth, and the light, so that I might make a vessel of myself through whom God can do His will."

It was probably worth noting that there was a new writer on staff for this episode. Normally, Jonothon couldn't string together a sentence like that one unless it was going directly into some song lyrics.

Whoa now, Jonothon. That was taking this whole priest thing a little too far. This was just a place where Jaime could look tormented and attractive.

Because of his terrible past. That was running from as well.

"Then this is where you should be."

Look, Jono would say what he needed to say in order to get the gig. And then he'd probably try to woo some nuns with his fantastic singing voice. Because only a priest could turn a hymn into something intensely sexual.

"Thank you, Father." Jonothon fell to his knees before him, bowing his head at Jaime's feet. "I am yours to teach in any way you will."

Brace yourself, Fandom. There was going to be a lot of tormented attractiveness coming from the church this weekend.

And some pretty kinky bowing there. Was this soap opera airing on Logo? Maybe Bravo?

"Come, my son," Jaime said, holding a hand down to him. "We must first dress you properly."

Edited 2012-11-03 16:29 (UTC)

Oh, just wait until after confession, when it was time to pay penance.

"Yes, Father," Jonothon nodded and stood, reaching for the offered hand and pulling himself to his feet. "As you wish."

Bow chika bow wow.

"We will help you find your grace," he assured the boy. "We must."

For all the things you need to confess to Father Lannister.

In the back of the church, another Lannister lurked -- one with tangled dark hair and soulful eyes. He drew a heavy breath as he approached the confessional.

"Does your God forgive killers, brother?" he asked, as he stepped dramatically forward. The candlelight did amazing things for his cheekbones.

"Tyrion," Jaime gasped. Because the audience needed to know who they were meeting. "I thought you were dead."

"Everyone did," Tyrion said bitterly. "I dragged myself to safety after nightfall, and then was spirited away and nursed back to health by a cloister of nuns. It is only now that I've had the strength to return to the site of my greatest shame."

"This is a house of god," Jaime reminded him. "Have you come to repent your wicked ways?"

"I have come," Tyrion said simply, "to remind you of what you owe to your family."

His family of ASSASSINS.

"I won't go back to it!" He wouldn't! Even though he had guns hidden under that sexy priest garment.

"But you were the best of us!" Tyrion argued. "And we gave you everything. You can't just -- walk away."

"I only wanted a life of peace, Tyrion. Can't you understand that? Or have you been so twisted by that life that you don't even know the meaning of the word?"

"Of course I know the meaning," Tyrion snapped. "You have to understand something to hate it!"

"Brother, one day you'll understand," Jaime replied, turning his back to him in order to look at all those candles at the alter. "Until then..."

That was a dramatic pause there, Jaime. Really dramatic.

"Until then you'll act like you're better than the rest of us, just because we kill people for money and you don't anymore?" Tyrion asked acidly. "Farewell, brother. Pray for both our souls."

He spun on his heel dramatically.

"...brother." With that, Jaime broke down into manly sobs that didn't actually involve any real tears. Just the noises.

But that worked because he was facing away from the camera.

Rilla Blythe, Fallen Woman, came into the church with a bundle clutched to her chest.

Again.

~~Poor Jims.~~

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she whispered, then dumped the baby in his basket on the floor of the confessional and ran into the ~~sudden, randomly appearing~~ rain.

"What--" Jaime knelt down to inspect the poor child who had been left for god to care for. God and his new priest-in-training. "You will be cared for here, lamb of god."

Yes, that was what he was going with.

Jonothon had noticed the young woman running from the confessional, and in that moment he'd decided that he'd never prompt a beautiful lady to leave in tears, so long as he was a member of the priesthood.

Which would happen someday. Probably between seasons.

"Father, is everything quite alright?"

He hadn't noticed the baby yet.

"We have been given a job," Jaime said, lifting Jims from the basket to show to Jonothon. "I think your presence has been preordained for this, my son."

"Oh... My God..."

That was completely a statement of praise for the blessings that had just been handed down from the good Lord above. Honest.

"Where did he come from, Father?" Jonothon had no clue what to do with a baby. Usually when they were handed to him, they came from mothers who he could hand them back to before paying off doctors to testify in a court of law that they didn't belong to him.

"The girl--she must have wanted a better life for the poor child," Jaime said after crossing himself at the exclamation Jonothon had made. "It's our duty to protect the child now."

"Protect him and raise him into a life of service to our Lord?"

Jonothon had no idea. Mostly, he was still staring at Jims while his brain screamed baby! at him.

"If that's what it takes." If not... Jaime might need to return to his old ways. To his past as a master assassin.

To his family.

And if that happened, what would be left for Jonothon? Another priest-in-training with a J-name, some vestments, and a broken past?

No. If it came to that, he'd ask to be trained into the fold as an assassin himself. His first loyalty was to Jaime, who had offered him a place in the priesthood and saved him from a life of despair and illicit sushi, and then came his loyalty to God.

"Then I shall take care of the child and guard him as though he was my own."

... There would be no forged DNA test papers this time to save him, of course.

Of course!

"We can do this, Jonothon. It's our path. As the good book says..."

Crap, what did it say?

"Honor thy mother and father."

There we go.

"Let all the little children come to me," Jonothon offered a moment later, after giving the priest a sideways sort of look. "Also."

It was possibly the more relevant of the two quotes at the moment, but then, what did a priest-in-training know?

After all, he'd heard his bible quote in a song somewhere.

DAMN IT, JONOTHON.

"He will need a name, of course." SINCE JIMS WASN'T HAPPENING.

Poor, poor Jims.

"Angelo," Jonothon suggested. "Like angels. So that he'll know always that he is one of God's children."

Or because Jono had a roadie by that name once, and he'd always been fond of it. The man could do the most amazing things with his hands, and...

Ahem.

"Angelo," Jaime repeated, looking down at the child. "Angelo, you will find the family your mother wanted for you here."

From two sexy priests. It was like a sitcom on CBS.

There was no way this could possibly go wrong.

At least, not until their sordid pasts caught up with them.

"I'm certain there are some spare baptism gowns to dress him in, in the back," Jonothon offered, reaching for the poor boy. "We'll have to rely on what we get from the collection plate in order to be able to clothe him properly."

That's totally how the church worked.

"If that isn't enough, we could always turn to other... methods." Like murder. Or singing. One of them.

"...Father?"

Oh, the amount of meaning that could be put into that one word! ... Or that would have been put into that one word, if Jonothon was a better actor. If only. If only.

"Methods, father?"

Fortunately, there was perfectly redundant dialogue to make up for the somewhat flat delivery.

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," Jaime assured him, placing a hand on Jonothon's manly bicep. "Care for the child and I will provide as god wills it."

"As you wish, Father," Jonothon replied, bowing his head low as he clutched the boy to his manly bosom. It went well with the manly bicep. "I'll go and ready a place for the boy to sleep, then."

Which was pretty on-the-ball, considering Jono had been training for the priesthood for all of an hour, and he still didn't have a place to sleep here, himself. Fortunately, he still owned the theatre in town. Perhaps it could be converted to an orphanage, so that many other children could grow to know the love of God.

Or maybe he'd just take the truly remorseful there for their penance. If it was God's plan.

For talking to priest-in-training Jonothon. And his mysterious powers he no longer had.

Jonothon wasn't quite used to the Roman collar he was wearing, no, but he made it look damn fine all the same.

He was now wandering around the church, occasionally stopping to pray, or just look tragically at things, or to light candles so that he could stand there bathed dramatically in their warm glow.

As priests-in-training did.

DEAL WITH IT.

Our Lady of Fandom, Saturday

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Confessional

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The Rest of the Church

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OOC