Post by Seraph on Nov 15, 2021 14:51:14 GMT
Elia noticed that he had to think about it for a while. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. While it was true that the Divine Appalachian Nation valued its independence and isolation, it was still strange to see how well they had succeeded in the last, from an outside perspective. Eden's Glory was the center of the world, where she was from - there was no one who had not heard of the city, of the churches there. Elia had lived there almost her entire life, and knew the city like the back of her hand. Out here, though, it was... nothing. A name, dredged up from some far recesses, almost forgotten.
His hand stopped, still holding a damp plate, and Elia reached her own out, taking it gently from his grasp and applying the towel with a silent nod, almost hesitant. She was torn between not wanting to say anything about it at all and the strong urge to correct him. Something like a smile touched her expression uncertainly, lost but for the grace of God. It escaped with a sigh, and she set the plate down beside her carefully. "The Independent Territory of the Divine Appalachian Nation," she murmured, well aware that it was quite a mouthful. Hardly anyone bothered with the full name, of course - but no one would ever leave out the word Divine. It was a nation that belonged to God, not to men, as its people too belonged to Him.
"We don't get out much." Her tone acknowledged the absurdity of it all, that they should be so insular as to be almost nonexistent. Elia rubbed the towel across a nonexistent blemish on the rim of the plate. "Or at all, really. I'm on a mission of sorts, I suppose." Usually when people used the word mission around here, it meant something military, an assignment of some type. When Elia spoke the word, though, it invoked none of that, but rather the prominent reminder that mission was the root word of missionary. For her own part, that was the only real definition that the word had ever had.
God would guide her, as He did all things.
His hand stopped, still holding a damp plate, and Elia reached her own out, taking it gently from his grasp and applying the towel with a silent nod, almost hesitant. She was torn between not wanting to say anything about it at all and the strong urge to correct him. Something like a smile touched her expression uncertainly, lost but for the grace of God. It escaped with a sigh, and she set the plate down beside her carefully. "The Independent Territory of the Divine Appalachian Nation," she murmured, well aware that it was quite a mouthful. Hardly anyone bothered with the full name, of course - but no one would ever leave out the word Divine. It was a nation that belonged to God, not to men, as its people too belonged to Him.
"We don't get out much." Her tone acknowledged the absurdity of it all, that they should be so insular as to be almost nonexistent. Elia rubbed the towel across a nonexistent blemish on the rim of the plate. "Or at all, really. I'm on a mission of sorts, I suppose." Usually when people used the word mission around here, it meant something military, an assignment of some type. When Elia spoke the word, though, it invoked none of that, but rather the prominent reminder that mission was the root word of missionary. For her own part, that was the only real definition that the word had ever had.
God would guide her, as He did all things.