Every day was pretty droll for Able. He would wake up so early in the morning he might as well have just gone to bed. He starts his routine of preparing the daily stocks of pastries and breads, all starting with the prepared cultures he kept in the cool storage. Able stretched, slowly waking before heading out of his home, a cozy little room with little more than a bed and personal items. He had a single pet lounging in the corner, a large, fairly temperamental fisher. He'd known the beast since before it started weening as a pup. The dark coated animal was curled in an overstuffed, nearly falling apart pillow it'd stolen from his bed. He would curse the beast if he wasn't so fond of it.
Able: Ah, enjoy your day, I will have tomorrow off, we shall see about taking you to the gardens to chase out moles, mh?
The beast lifts an ear, and only properly responds when Able touches it's head. The animal pushes up lightly, and returns to it's rest. Able sighs, and heads out.
The day is a little more damp than usual, he notes, knowing it will take a bit longer for his loaves to rise if he doesn't get the kitchen warmed up soon. He starts his day, preheating several industrial sized ovens before moving to the cool storage.
He cleans up a bit of mess someone left on one of the racks and rolls out the baking rack. He'd left these overnight to proof, but the cool air hadn't made them rise as much. Able sighs, pushing the rack towards the ovens, hoping the ambient heat will give it enough of a push before the shop opens properly.
He dresses himself in the meantime, changing into a cleaner looking shirt, cuffs tied just above the elbow and a blue apron. He checks the pockets, pulling out a notepad, but suspiciously lacking a pen.
Able: . . . Of course. I will need to get another one.
He is interrupted from his thoughts by a knock at the back door. He knows who it is, and kicks the door in warning before pushing it open.
Able: You're late. A bright haired man steps through, ignoring the comment, pushing in a dolly of boxes.
Thomas: Two boxes of fruit, and a case of flour, right?
Thomas was jotting something down in a book before properly looking up at Able. Able grunts.
Able: Two cases of flour, Thomas. Two of each.
Able pinches the bridge of his nose, visibly exasperated. Thomas puts the book away between the fabric of his coat.
Thomas: Right. Two cases. At least that solves the mystery of extra stock.
Thomas leaves the boxes there, pulling the dolly out from under them before moving outside. He yells something at someone, who also seems to be making a fuss. This goes on for a moment before he wheels in a fourth box, leaving it on the kitchen floor.
Thomas: I trust payment will be sent over in its usual manner?
Able: I don't know why it would suddenly change.
Thomas: . . . Did anyone ever tell you that you are a terrible morning person?
Able: Plenty. I will see you on your shift in a few hours, for now get out.
Able bends over and starts putting away supplies.
It was colder than usual, but it felt nice after a very long day in a hot kitchen. Every part of him ached, but at least he could walk down the streets and look out into the lights filtering through the haze. The bazaar was still lit brightly, even as the night continued on. Time was odd in the neath, but there was certainly a cycle of some sort.
Able had to often get his clocks checks, not wanting to miss out on time. So much of it had already been wasted, but now he had something good, something worth keeping track of. He sighed, walking quietly down the roads. He usually wouldn't see much of folks at this time, so it was a perfect opportunity to think and reflect. Least he will have the day free in the morning, and he can spend it more leisurely.
There were a lot of things still to do, though. He would still have to prep the kitchen tomorrow night, and deal with finances with Thomas. He didn't like thinking about it too much, but he had to, didn't he. Come to think of it, the second Sunday was coming up, and he knew he'd have the regular order of bread to make. He wondered who must order it so often. It'd been nearly three years in a row, and he only had heard talk of who it was.
He groaned, knowing how much of a pain it was to prep it, but the regular funds were a bit of a lifesaver if he was honest. He tried to stop thinking about it, nearing another block. He turns around, starting back on his way home. He couldn't be thinking of this, not on his day off. Well, the night before at least. Able decided he would just relax.
Across the street, there is the clinking of metal. A man, dressed in a fine sky-blue satin suit with long coattails and bandages wrapped underneath, is hanging from the top of a slightly crooked lamppost, the foundation crumbling a bit. He is wheezing, clawing his way up and kicking his legs blindly.
???: Oof. . .it is important that one practices their duties! . .this is dreadful. . . Able notices this strange scene, and takes his time walking towards it. He would have to walk by anyway, so he might as well confront the situation. He holds his hands in his pockets, his boots heavy on the ground. He was tired, but he would be home soon enough.
He walks under the lamp post, looking up at the rather pathetic attempt at climbing. Able keeps his distance, not wanting to be in striking distance of those feet.
Able: Sir? What are you doing? The man turns his head, looking at Able, and giving a wave; his lost grip makes him shift downwards a little, his gloved hands making the metal ring.
???: Ah, hello there citizen of London! How are you doing?
Without giving Able a moment to reply, he starts climbing up the pole, slowly trying to hook his foot up on top of the gas lamp.
???: -Strained.- I am currently practicing!
Able winces, the sound of the metal causing him some pain.
Able: Practicing.. what?
Able crosses his arms. He would typically not bother with such things, but he was a bit curious as to what he could be doing in the middle of the night. He certainly didn't want any strange activity to happen near his bakery.
???: Why, for my eventual exile from London! You see, I have decided to invest in the restoration of a fallen society name! As it turns out, I have learned of them having a terrible creature underneath their estate! It's only a matter of time before this is found out, you see, so I have no qualms discussing the matter with a stranger like you!
The man clambers further up along the pole, eventually getting both feet on the top. He pulls himself up, squatting on the flattened top before standing straight up. He's balancing on the end like a tightrope walker at the carnival, his feet splayed directly outwards. Able makes a face, one that indicates a bit of disdain for this person. He turns his head away.
Able: Sounds like you're dedicated to making a fool of yourself. However if you're going to do so, do it away from here, mh?
Able starts to walk away, already more than miffed at this small interaction.
???: -Cheerily.- Well, you would do best to tell me where here is! Preferably where you live, so I can make sure I am being a fool elsewhere!
The man crouches a little bit, before leaping to the next lamppost. . . . . .and slipping on the landing. He falls to the ground, his back hitting the pole on the way back and making it ring with a dull tone.
???: . . .ouch!
Able made his way home with little need to do anything else. He re-checked the locks on the bakery before heading upstairs in his little room. He was supposed to meet with Thomas, but in all honesty, he was too tired to deal with it, laying down.
Thomas however, was still on the route towards the bakery, walking along the same road as Able had while meeting the strange man. Thomas wondered if Able would actually remember this time to meet him, their recent meets being non-existent. He was busy, but he still wanted to connect back with his friend, especially after all this time of being silent. He missed when they were younger.
Thomas pauses, seeing a figure in the distance that was distinctly not Able.
Thomas: Er... hello?
A man, dressed in a sky-blue satin suit with bandages underneath, is slowly clambering up a lamppost, confidently standing on the top with their arms outstretched. They pause, turning to look at Thomas.
???: Ah! Hello there, unknown citizen of London! That's two that I've seen now!
Thomas looks amused.
Thomas: Ah. Hello.
He laughs, the absurdity of it all very funny to him. He places his hands on his hips, looking up at the man.
Thomas: What are you doing up there? I'm quite sure London wont sink into the Zee anytime soon.
???: Ah, I'm practicing for my soon-to-be imminent exile from London! You see, I have recently provided a honey-den with a hoard of the devilish stuff and a cellar of wine! I had learned, however, that the wines that I thought to be vintage were merely watered down mushroom stock! It is only a matter of time before I am accosted and pushed to escape towards the tomb colonies, so I have no qualms sharing this with a stranger such as yourself!
The man leaps across the pole, jumping across to the next lamppost and landing perfectly.
???: I thought it best to practice avoiding the pitchforks! Wouldn't do to arrive to the colonies with holy dispositions!
???: -Pausing.- . . .you're the second stranger to talk to me about this! The first one, though, had left before I could tell him why I was doing this!
???: -Suddenly stern.- . . .that was very rude. Oh, but you seem decent enough!
Thomas: That does sound rather rude. Though I'm sure then dens would be happy with any wine.
Thomas raises an eyebrow.
Thomas: Who? Short young man? Wild hair?
If Able was heading this way, he'd probably be asleep by now. Thomas was only guessing, though.
The man squats down, before hopping down onto the ground. He fails the landing, falling onto the ground.
???: -Pausing.- . . .ouch!
???: -Standing up.- I believe he existed with shortness in some capacity. I do not recall if it was a short stature or short temper.
???: . . .ah! It was short stature! He had wild hair, as well!
The man stares at Thomas, pausing for a moment.
???: What are you doing out so late?
???: -Squinting.- Are you a prostitute?
Thomas tuts, muttering something about Able's character. He looks at the man, crossing his arms.
Thomas: I suppose he would be. Such impolite manners that man.
Thomas thinks about it for a moment, looking the man up and down. His looks is still vaguely amused.
Thomas: On occasion.
???: Ah, I see!
The man pauses, staring past his bandages at Thomas without any body movement.
???: . . .I like sex!
???: -Sadly.- You see, it's because my wife died. Presumably. Thomas blinks, his arms moving to the side of his body.
Thomas: I... see? That is unfortunate.
The man nods, the bandages shaking and swaying on their face.
???: -Mournfully.- Oh yes, it is!
???: -Suddenly cheery.- Say, what are your rates?
Thomas tilts his head. The order of events was pretty typical, though the execution was a little startling.
Thomas: Er. It depends on the client, though I charge around fifty echoes or equivalent per hour of service.
Was he really being propositioned like... this?
The man suddenly looks stern, and holds his hands on his hip.
???: -Serious.- Now, young man, I hope you don't suggest me to be a fool. That price is far too low to be sure that I will be satisfied with what I receive.
???: -Incredulous.- And it's poor business practice, too! You could be maximizing your profits with looks such as yours!
The man leans forward, staring Thomas in the eyes.
???: -Sternly.- Increase that price.
Thomas backs up a little, looking confused.
Thomas: Ah? I can double it then...?
???: -Sternly.- Double? Double? Are you a businessman, or. . .
The man pauses, before holding up his hands.
???: -Apologetic.- Forgive me, I didn't mean to presume.
???: -Immediately stern.- Are you a person involved in business, or are you a beggar scrounging for what he can afford to handle? Higher.
Thomas: I am a man, yes. Ah.. Erm.. I can triple it?
???: -Sternly.- Nonsense, that would be appropriate for only half-hourly rate! Honestly, you have a poor understanding of business pricing.
???: -Suddenly happy.- I will accept that rate for five hours!
Thomas: Er... Alright.
Thomas supposed he was going to be making his quota. This man was... odd.
???: Ah, excellent!
The man suddenly picks up Thomas, and hooks him under his arm before walking off.
???: Now, where do you live? I intend to collect on this tomorrow, and it does one no good to know where to send my dues!
The week was busy for Able, constantly sending out orders to higher ups hoping to impress their guests with surface fruit pastries. Thomas supplying a lot of the goods to the bakery. Thomas, seemed a little more giving to Able that week, offering him more than usual. Able was pleasantly surprised, but suspicious.
What could he have had happen that put him in such a good mood? Able brushed it off for the most part. The work week was fairly normal, if not busy as hell. Able is tired usually by the end of the day, but for this week in particular he was nearly dead. He almost forgot to make the rolls for the church that always orders from his shop.
That day however, it was scheduled for a pick up rather than a delivery. He was confused, used to sending out one of the girls to deliver the rolls. He figures that they couldn't pay for the delivery fees this time.
Thomas however runs to the back of the shop, quickly moving to Able. He looks a little flustered, but speaks calmly.
Thomas: He says he wants to speak with you.
Able puts down a bowl, looking a little miffed.
Able: Why? What did you do?
Thomas: Nothing. He just says he wants to speak with you.
Able sighs, looking unconvinced.
Able: Alright. Fine. Tell him I'll be right out.
Thomas nods, leaving the kitchen and into the serving area, the door closing behind him. Able groans, stretching, and putting away the fruit he was preparing. He adjusts his apron, and heads out of the kitchen.
Thomas looks over at Able.
Thomas: Ah, here he is. I'll get out of your way.
Thomas nods, heading back to the kitchen. Able places a hand on the counter separating him and the man.
Able: Ah, hello. The man is dressed in the tell-tale robe of a priest, the collar raised high and the cuffs folded back to reveal hands gloves in leather. The fabric is the signature black of noise-eating silk, and the cuffs, collar, and seams are accented with a deep maroon. His hair is brushed upwards, as if his hair was a candle without flicker. Strangely, he's wearing glasses tinted black indoors. . .
???: Evening, sir.
???: -Approaching the desk.- I believe that there is an order of rolls for the Church of the Crucible?
Able: Yes, I have it here for you.
Able turns around towards a cooling rack, but instead of loaves it held boxes ready for pick up. He takes two of the largest boxes on the rack, and sets it on the counter.
Able: Here you are.
Able nods politely. He wasn't sure why he had to be here for this. Surely Thomas or someone else could have handled this?
The priest grabs the packages, sliding it towards himself. He pauses, before clearing their throat, setting the boxes down on the counter.
???: . . .you've fulfilled many orders for my church. I would like to say that I appreciate you doing that, and I hope that the church's regular patronage is enough repayment for what your business does for it.
Able looks a little flustered at the comment, smiling. He wasn't used to this sort of treatment. Able puts his hands in his front apron pocket.
Able: Ah.. It is no bother.
The priest picks up one of the boxes, holding it in their grip.
???: Well, regardless of whether that's true, I'd like to nonetheless thank you for continuing to support the church. I understand that it may be causing you trouble, and I would like to thank you for your continued help.
Able tilts his head, looking confused.
Able: Er.. I don't know what you mean. You've caused me no trouble.
???: Perhaps not personally, but I understand that there has been a bit of a stir ever since you've decided to extend your services towards my establishment.
The priest picks up the second box, stacking it on top of the first.
Able: I've really not had any trouble since accepting your regular orders.
Able half crosses his arms, a fist at his chin as he thinks for a moment. Who would be so against this priest? He is a man of god, Able thought.
???: Well, I'm glad that the whole sorry business hasn't been affecting your business. Regardless, though, I would like to apologize for any sort of smearing you may be receiving from my. . .associates of the church.
The priest lifts the package, holding it close to themselves.
???: Clearly, however, it hasn't been affecting your bakery. I'm told by your supplier that it's been fairly popular.
Able: Er.. I honestly have no idea of what you mean.
Able furrows his brows in further confusion. He was very lost, not knowing what all of that the priest was going on about.
The priest pauses, before putting the packages back down onto the counter.
???: . . .well, surely you're concerned about the image of your bakery? I would think that. . .well, it'd be hard to not overhear. . .er. . .
The priest takes off their tinted glasses, staring at Able with an incredulous look. Two eyes of brassy amber pierce Able's gaze as pupils of red contrast against the gold flesh.
???: . . .I'm not sure if you're ignoring what's happening so as to put me at ease, but. . .you're truly not aware of the rumors?
Able raises his eyebrows, a bit started. He backs up just a little, enough that the priest is the only one who could notice.
Able: A...Ah.. You're a devil?
Able almost wheezes. He adverts his gaze almost immediately. This was also the time that Thomas pokes his head out of the kitchen.
Thomas: Hey boss, we need some help back here. Someone dropped a whole case of eggs. Able looks behind him, distressed in now two different manners.
The priest stares at Able, before picking up the two boxes of rolls.
???: . . .yes.
???: -Turning on the spot.- You should go and help your team out. I'll be heading back.
The priest wordlessly heads for the front door, using their heel to open the door. He doesn't speak, and merely carries on down the street as far as Able can see through the windows.
Able looks back at the priest about to say something, but a crash rings out from the back, and he runs into the kitchen.
Able had to quickly help clean the mess and also find out who made the mess in the first place. He'd discovered that one of the women who were working in the back was trying to carry more than she could. Able talked this out with her, and told her that in the future that she should not do more than she was physically able to.
Able then had a chance to relax, but not for too long. He pulls Thomas aside.
Able: The priest is a devil??
Thomas raises an eyebrow, leaning against one of the walls.
Thomas: . . .Yes? Did you not know this?
Able: Of course not! Why would I know this?
Thomas snickers, amused.
Thomas: You do know that you have other devil and deviless patrons right?
Able shoves his hands into his pockets.
Able: I did not. I was not aware that... they needed food.
Thomas laughs, holding a hand to his chest. This man was a bit much.
Able: Ah... Oh dear.
Thomas: Mm?
Able: Oh I was terribly rude to him wasn't I?
Thomas: Extremely.
Able suddenly rushes to a nearby counter, clearing off a space.
Able: Ah hell.. I need to make it up to him. He's a very good client and a very polite man I... I need to apologize. Thomas smiles, but doesn't interfere further.
Able had almost ran to the church. Though he really couldn't fully run whilst holding the box he held in his hands. It had only been about an hour and a half, surely he'd be able to make it in time? Able stands in front of the church, a place he'd not been to, even with his years of being involved in business with the man. He was nervous, but not more than he was apologetic. He holds the box with one hand as he knocks on the door of the church, waiting for a response.
The front door of the church slowly opens. The priest is still wearing the same thing as they did at Able's bakery, sans their glasses. The inside of the church is dimly lit, warmed only by candles in lanterns.
The priest stares at Able, their gaze a bit blank.
The Priest: . . .er. Good evening.
The Priest: -Looking over at the box.- . . .did I forget an order?
Able looks up, still nervous.
Able: Ah, no. I've come here to apologize for my behavior today.
Able holds out the box, bowing his head in shame.
Able: I'm very sorry, I was very rude towards you, and I would very much would like to offer you this pie. I was not thinking and can assure you that I will be more aware of how I speak from now on.
He lifts his head.
Able: If.. you still want it after all those rolls.
The priest stares at Able, before snickering.
The Priest: -Bemused.- . . .pardon me, but. . .are you under the impression that those rolls are for me? All four hundred loaves?
Able blinks.
Able: Ah.. are they not?
The Priest: Well, I sample occasionally, but I run a church. They're rolls for the mass service.
Able: Ah... really?
Able looks off to the side, muttering.
Able: I never got anything like that as a kid..
The Priest: Ah, you're a member of the church, then? Yes, I'd expect that you had hard tack. To promote asceticism and persistence, probably by having to spend ages chewing through it.
The priest moves their hands, grabbing the box from Able's hands.
The Priest: . . .I politely disagree with the church authority on that.
The priest opens the top of the box, peeking inside.
Able: I used to be... er.. Mostly when I was a kid.
The pie is that of cherries and apple, a fresh and tart smelling desert. The top is made to look like it was adorned with leaves, a sort of intricate looking lattice on the top crust. A flower shape punched out of the middle of the pie crust. It was still hot, condensation collecting at the top of the box from the cool outside air.
Able: Regardless, I hope you will accept my apology... or at least the pie.
Able smiles nervously.
The Priest: Well, I think I'll be accepting both.
The priest closes the box, and starts to turn around back into the church. They pause, before lifting their gaze and looking at Able.
The Priest: . . .are you still working, currently? Would you like to come in?
Able sighs, relieved.
Able: That is good...
Able tilts his head, looking back at the priest.
Able: I.. Have some time before I have to return, yes. I would like to.
Able nods. He'd not taken a break in quite some time, he was sure they could manage closing without him.
The priest moves aside, giving Able room to pass him.
The Priest: Come in, then.
The priest moves deeper into the church, holding the box with both hands. The inside of the church is, as standard for a Neath church, dim. The main source of illumination seems to be a variety of thin-walled, glass lanterns hanging from the high-vaulted ceilings. Wooden seats, gilded with brass accents along the arm rests and backboard, are all placed in a row leading towards the back. In the far back, there's a semicircular platform with two wall-mounted flames illuminating the stage, acting as a place for the sermon to be read. The walls are flooded with a soft colorful glow as the stained glass lanterns flicker.
The priest sets the pie down at the foot of the stage, before sitting down on the lip of the platform.
The Priest: I apologize for there not being much room to really host anything as it were. I hope you find it permissible regardless. Able takes a bit of a look around as he follows. It was a bit interesting, but nothing he hadn't seen before. He sits with the priest, letting the box serve as a sort of barrier between them. It made sense to give him some space.
Able: It is just fine. Erm.. I never got your name, by the way.
The Priest: It's Virgil. . .no last name. Just Virgil.
Virgil sits back for a moment, staring at Able for a few moments.
Virgil: . . .I apologize if this seems tactless, but. . .have you really not heard any of the rumors surrounding your bakery?
Able: Ah.. Virgil.. I'm not sure if the others told you my name, but you can call me Able..
Able blinks.
Able: Er.. I've not no.. Are they that troublesome?
Able smiles, a little amused. His business had not seen any degradation in orders, so it seemed even if there were rumors, that they'd be unimportant.
Virgil: Well, as far as I understand, some of the very devout and the very infernal have been inclined to boycott your business for supporting. . .well, depending on who you ask, an infiltrator or a traitor.
Virgil: . . .though, perhaps it hasn't been doing much. Your business seems to be ever popular, regardless.
Able: Really now? That is amusing.
Able chuckles, leaning back on his elbows.
Able: Ahhh.. Perhaps I shouldn't laugh, it seems to be doing you more harm than it could me. You are a priest aren't you? Devil or not, that is something.
Virgil: The harm is largely to public image, but. . .it's not as bad as you'd think. Bad publicity is still publicity; I'm more concerned about others being affected by it.
Virgil: . . .I don't blame any of my associated for deciding to rescind their aid for the sake of their own interests. I appreciate, nonetheless, that you're still providing, even if its only through food.
Able: I wouldn't worry too much about me, I am not one to look into baseless gossip.
Able sighs, looking out towards the door.
Able: Food and it seems some company.
Able looks over, smiling.
Able: It's good to merely talk with someone. It has.. been some time since I've allowed myself to do so. I'm always quite busy, you know?
Virgil: Do you not give yourself any days off? It's no good, overworking one self. . .
Able: Ah.. Does it count if the bakery is closed?
Able smiles nervously.
Virgil: -Raising an eyebrow.- Depends. Do you use that day off to plan what you need to do, or to relax?
Able: -looking away.- A-Ah... Sometimes I take my fisher out to the parks. Though the rest of the day is often spent organizing the kitchen.
Virgil: Then you haven't really stopped working, have you?
The priest pauses, reflecting for a moment.
Virgil: . . .perhaps what you need to do is to relax with someone else. How about this. . .
Virgil: -Gesturing.- Schedule your bakery to be closed on Sundays. My church is closed on Sundays as well. . .perhaps, then, you can learn to relax, if someone else is there to shame you into doing so. Able leans back, setting his head in his hand, thinking about it for a moment.
Able: Hmm.. Well.. I'm sure...hrm...
He could likely change schedules a bit, though Sundays and Saturdays seemed like a lot. He could always change it but.. then he wouldn't have time. He furrows his brows. Maybe he did need a break.
Able: Alright. I will see if I can. I think the staff would be delighted to have another day off anyway.
Able leans forward, amused.
Able: You really should try the pie, though. If I'm going to be speaking with you so often, it'd be good to know your tastes.