Part 12 - Dinner

they01/26/2020

--------

It's the day to meet Virgil. The day to see if Able will walk away unscathed and intact. The bandaged man is standing behind Able, standing a little too close as they inspect his poise. Thomas is at Able's side, holding a hand to his shoulder and trying to soothe him down. Currently, they're heading down Moloch Street, heading towards Ladybone Road; Dante's grill is right at the corner in the distance, the amber-tinted windows glowing with the light of brilliant candles inside.

The Bandaged: -Inspecting Able's back.- Hmm. . .a little higher. You're slouching a bit.

The bandaged man had given Able a new suit before they had left ("Red is not going to work; only the devils at Dante's wear red, and in modest amounts", he had said); it's a respectable frock coat stitched with a fabric that soaks up light like water ("The devils are partial to that, you see. . .though your back might end up killing you by the night's end. . .") and stitched with a familiar Parabolean linen stitchedimmensely taut such that it forced his back up ("So it can help with your posture, if you're lacking. . ."). The suit was neatly fitted to his size, as opposed to the slight stretch his normal red suit had, but this also meant that any sort of poor posture or fidgeting would become more noticeable (an unfortunate, but necessary, part of wearing perfectly fitted clothing). In his hands, Able is holding a small bottle of oily, dark maroon fluid; it's a small bottle of Muscaria Brandy, given to him on behalf of Thomas ("A larger size would've come off as pleading. You don't want him to think you're pleading.") from his private stock. The bottle is new, and an excellent vintage; there's no sign of damage to the wax, and it doesn't seem to be watered down with sherry like wines Able has seen. The bandaged man is brushing up on Able's back, swatting off detritus(? It might just be his mind finding any imperfection to smooth out).

The Bandaged: You'll do fine.

[

6:01 PM

]

The Bandaged: Probably.

The boy01/26/2020

Thomas gives Able a final examination, straightening his hair one last time.

Thomas: Hm, yes, you will be excellent, just remember our review. We'll have to leave you at this point, but we'll be waiting for your return.

Able didn't look very convinced, and seemed very uncomfortable.

Thomas: Smile, dear. It doesn't have to be a real smile, but you do have a guest to impress.

Able puts on his best faux smile(though Thomas was not convinced he'd fool anyone) and head down towards the establishment, looking back before steadying his pace, looking ahead.

they01/26/2020

As Able leaves the bandaged man and Thomas, they head towards the amber glow of Dante's Grill. . . Dante's Grill is a peculiar place; not quite a restaurant, and not quite a coffee house, it's a popular place for people comfortable among devils to have dinner. Certainly, it's a prestigious place; many persons of importance take their dinners here, and the meals they serve there are wonderful beyond compare (ranging from dinner placements mimicking the light of the sun to dishes of the far off Iron Republic to imported spices from Port Carnelian), though one shouldn't observe the meat too closely. . . The building is built from maroon-colored bricks, with bright, amber-colored windows peppering the two-story building. On the second floor, Able can see an overhang; through the open windows, the chattering and laughter of guests can be heard, along with the fatty smells of stews and spices wafting outwards. Currently, there are several tables set up outside, yet no one is eating outside; a wise choice, given the reputation of Ladybones Road, but strange to have the option available at all. There is a gentleman dressed in a formal smoking suit and the staple hat of devils placed atop his dome, guarding the brass door leading into the restaurant. Able can't see the deacon anywhere in their line of sight; isn't he supposed to be here?

The boy01/26/2020

Able looks around, steeling himself. It was impolite to loiter, he remembered, and walks up to the gentleman, nodding politely.

Able: Hello, I hope your day is well. May I ask you a question?

Able was trying very hard to remember what he was supposed to do, his head buzzing.

they01/26/2020

The devil shifts their gaze, looking at Able without moving their head.

A Devil: Why, you may.

The boy01/26/2020

Able keeps his eyes set on the man, not wanting to come off as impolite. A small test, he thought maybe.

Able: Have you seen a deacon? I was meant to meet him for dinner here.

Able vaguely describes the deacon, indicating his various features carefully, trying not to be impolite best he can.

.

they01/26/2020

The devil stares at Able, their amber eyes piercing through them, before they give a glance upwards.

A Devil: . . .ah, do you mean the gentleman right behind you? Virgil: The reservation is under "Kipling". For two, please.

The deacon is standing behind Able, dressed differently than usual. Rather than the usual maroon-lined deacon's coat, they're wearing a black robe and shawl with bright red ribbons lining the trim of the sleeves, neck, and waist. Instead of their usual black sunglasses, they're wearing silvered glasses, and they have on a wide-brim hat with a flat top. On top of the hat is a pair of black feathers pinned on opposite sides and tucked back, evoking the image of the black horns of a stereotypical devil. In their hands, they're holding a mahogany cane, the topper made of a clouded diamond affixed by a maroon-colored ring. The devil guard makes no attempt to hide their sneer, reaching into their coat and pulling out a small, brass-cornered notebook.

A Devil: Hello, deacon. Virgil: Yes, hello; have your fun. Shame me; pity me; woe betide me for my position. The reservation will be number fifty-two..

The boy01/26/2020

Able jumps a bit, but steadies himself again, remembering to breathe. He looks behind him, well that was a bit fancy for dinner, wasn't it?

Able: Oh. Hello, deacon.

Able nods to them, not sure what to say beyond that. He was internally scared halfway to death. How long was he behind him?

they01/26/2020

Virgil: Hello, Able. It's good to see you.

The devil mutters quietly but audibly, flipping open their notebook and running a finger along the page.

A Devil: . . .shameful. . .ah, fifty two. A reservation for two.

The devil steps aside, gripping the handle of the door and slowly opening the brass doorway. Rather than swinging the door open, the door slides along its doorway on rails, moving into the wall as the devilish doorman moves it aside; as he does so, their gloved hands sizzle against the (apparently extremely hot) doorknob, yet the devil doesn't seem discomfited at all. A rush of stiflingly warm air rushes out, brushing against Able's face and warming his cheeks as if he was sitting in front of a fireplace.

A Devil: Welcome, to Dante's Grill. Virgil: I thank you for inviting me and my guest in. Come now, Able; we have much to discuss.

The deacon steps into the doorway, their robe pillowing as the hot air inside escapes to the outdoors.

Virgil: -Without looking backwards.- Step carefully through the doorway, lest you burn yourself.

The boy01/26/2020

Able nods, thanking the doorman with as much as he can through a faux smile. It was very difficult to keep his voice steady, but he steps through the doorway, making sure not to touch the doorframe.

Able: Oh, thank you.

they01/26/2020

As Able heads into the doorway, he enters a hallway that goes on for some time, illuminated only by brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Around, the walls (patterned in green ethnic print that transitions to a fire-like red and orange above) slowly open wider as they walk along a black Surface-silk carpet. Ahead, the deacon talks without turning their head behind them.

Virgil: . . .is this your first time at Dante's?

The boy01/26/2020

Able looks around a bit, then moves his attention back at the deacon, following from behind. Hallways are not his favorite, they always felt like a dangerous place.

Able: It is.....

Able pauses, before thinking.

Able: My first time, that is. Do you come here....often?

Small talk, he was not the best at it.

.

they01/26/2020

The deacon continues walking forwards as the hallway starts to slowly open wider.

Virgil: Only for especially interesting or privileged clients. Ah, here we are. . .

The hallway opens up sharply, curving open into a very, very large room. Stairs are ahead and on the left and right, leading to two separate dining areas. Ahead, the stairs lead down a bit into a lowered, partially below-ground pavilion with many rectangular (and the odd square table) arranged with perfect mirror symmetry, down to the arrangement of tablecloths and bottles laid on the tables. The stairs on the left and right head to a raised pavilion with many, many circular tables arranged in methodical rows, circling around to overhang above the lower pavilion. The air is warm, bordering on stifling; whether it's due to the large inferno that is the chandelier hanging in the center, or the sheer number of people and devils bustling around is unclear. The deacon walks forward, lifting their cane slightly off the ground.

Virgil: . . .ah, second floor, at the apex of the half-circle. Come, Able.

The deacon turns to the left, walking up the stairs at a steady pace; they don't seem to be waiting for Able to keep up.

.

The boy01/26/2020

Able nods, following the deacon carefully. He felt the fabric in his suit tighten, and he stood up more straight. Right, this was going to take a while wasn't it? He wasn't sure how to take the.... esteemed position of either interesting or privileged, but he certainly didn't enjoy it. He still internalized that his surface born identity was fake, and people were making up stories like they do to get him to get something. He was still not convinced.

they01/26/2020

The deacons steps up the stairs, before taking a sharp right at the top. As Able follows behind, he can hear the tittering of the guests (both human and devils alike) remarking upon the new guest; apparently, the guests here know each other well (at least well enough to know each others faces) and are surprised to see a new guest arriving at the restaurant. Meanwhile, there's the tutting and '"tsk"-ing of the devil waiters, waitresses, and staff upon seeing the deacon enter. A nearby devil even scowls loudly when the deacon passes (though the deacon immediately pauses and stares at the devil until they find a fascination with their plate). Eventually, the deacon arrives at an empty table, with two chairs on opposite sides with one side facing towards the lower level; the tablecloth is a shade of black, compared to the spotless whites of the other tables. On the table is a small candelabra, two tall and narrow bottles of. . .something. . .a pair of plates on red square placemats with a glass set beside them, and a set of silverware with each respective plate.

Virgil: . . .ah, still temperamental.

The deacon, nevertheless, pulls a chair, sitting themselves down at one side.

Virgil: Come, sit. We have much to talk about.

The boy01/26/2020

Able seems used to being openly harassed in public spaces, though he still seems to be fairly miffed about it. He nods to the deacon before taking his seat.

Able: Thank you.

Able attempts to sit carefully, fidgeting a bit with the gift in his hands. He wonders a bit if this was the right time. Certainly, right?

Able: I have brought a gift, to thank you for inviting me, if you will have it.

He carefully sets the bottle on the table, remembering what Thomas said about loud sounds.

they01/26/2020

The deacon raises their eyebrows, before reaching over to grab the bottle.

Virgil: . . .hm. Muscaria Brandy, if the bottle is to be trusted.

The deacon holds it in their hands, inspecting it. . .

Virgil: An excellent year. . .

. . .before setting it aside on the tablecloth, moving it aside as they rest their hands on the table.

Virgil: Give my regards to Thomas for the gift.

The boy01/26/2020

Able jumps a bit, his fake smile faltering, and has no way to return to it.

Able: H-Hm, I will let him know.

He nods, panicking.

.

they01/26/2020

The deacon leans back in their chair, moving to take their hat off and set it on their lap.

Virgil: Come now; I've seen the way you've dressed at the soiree Thomas had held. It's not exactly subtle.

The deacon waves a waiter over; he walks along, if reluctantly.

Virgil: I appreciate the gift, however. If not your attempt to pass it off as your own. Ah, menus please, thank you.

A devil dressed in a waiter's outfit covered in a golden flame design; they wordlessly place a brass-cornered menu in front of the deacon, but gives a slightly too wide smile to Able as they hand him a brass-cornered menu labelled "Dante's Grill" on the top right corner. The deacon opens the menu, looking through it; Able can't get a direct look at them, that's how wide and tall the menu is.

Virgil: Feel free to order whatever you may; the courses here are delightful.

The boy01/26/2020

Able gives a small thank you to the waiter, but feeling fairly uncomfortable about how every devil seems to give him an odd look. He tries to ignore it, but it is hard to do so in such a place. Able reluctantly looks through the menu, not particularly enthused about the possibility of eating food from this place. His stomach doesn't seem to agree with him, so he relents, trying to find a modest portion of food.

they01/26/2020

In the menu, there are several sections of very small print and very small sets of pictures; separated by golden lines, there are pictures of meats stewing in red sauces, of vegetables floating in deep dishes of broth, of breads peppered with black seeds and split open with butter and fats. . .there's so much packed on a single page it's almost overwhelming. On the left page, there are several pictures that stand out:

- There's a meal apparently hailing from the Iron Republic, a dish apparently. . ."made" from an especially terrible criminal? Best not to think too hard about that, but the image looks especially good; a picture of browned meat resting in a large silver tureen, with herbs resting round, a piece of. . .uncomfortably red bread resting on the side, and an oily trail drizzled across the top of the meat.

- There's a vegetarian dish originating from the Khaganates of Port Carnelian; inspired from the wild jungles of the Elder Continent, the accompanying image is of a pot of stewed (though uncomfortably foreign) vegetables in a blood red broth, the air steaming above the open pot.

- There's a. . .dubious dish of what looks to be perfectly round lumps of fried. . .something. They look similar to the rubbery lumps at Ms. Plenty's Carnival, but why would such a highly esteemed place have them. .?

- There's no description on this dish; it's. . .it's the eyeball of some creature, served raw and resting on a small dessert plate with a needle poking through it. "For those Seeking."

- This dish appears to be bread covered in a jam of some sort. The jam is accompanied with an image of a. . .fruit? It's not a fruit Able recognizes at all.

[

9:40 PM

]

- There's a dish of what appears to be a variety of wild mushrooms, stewed in their own juices with beef fat rendered into the broth. Very rich, and very flavorful. On the right page, there are a few notable accompanying dishes:

- There's the option to order a glass of honey-wine; apparently, they do a business of fermenting wines with spoons of honey, which lends the agaric mushroom musk a pleasant mead-y aftertaste.

- There's a dessert consisting of layers of fluffy cake, with slices of Neath fruits resting in-between. Is it cheeky to call it devil's food cake?

- If one wishes, they can order a tray of many small, light cookies; they look thin and fragile, like a bunch of broken eggshells topped with a brown dollop of. . .something.

- There's no image paired with this description; it claims to be made from a spider-council. Best not to dwell on that.

- There's a honeycomb image; instead of it being filled with honey, however, there's small, white larvae in the hexagonal units. Unsettling.

Virgil: I'll have the meat from the Iron Republic, and the bee larvae, please.

The devil reluctantly writes down the deacon's order on a notepad, before turning to Able.

A Devilish Waiter: Ah, and you, esteemed guest?

They're leaning in quite a bit too close, baring a pearly smile and flashing amber eyes at Able.

.

The boy01/26/2020

Able looks through the menu, fairly certain he would likely not enjoy the thought of any of these foods. He would have preferred a more typical London meal, but certainly he could find something.

Able: Ah, just the mushroom stew, please.

He was not keen on any other dishes, nor did he drink, so he was a bit limited.

they01/26/2020

The waiter smiles, writing down Able's order as "Wild Mushroom Stew" on their notepad.

A Devilish Waiter: With pleasure, esteemed guest.

The waiter leaves without making a mention of the deacon; he is merely sitting, observing Able.

Virgil: Hm. How strange. Ordinarily, most guests decide to order the most grandiose dish after being told to have whatever they wish. . .

The deacon sits back, resting their chair.

Virgil: Do you feel intimidated by the variety, or do you merely enjoy simplicity?.

The boy01/26/2020

Able links his hands in his lap, looking at the deacon directly.

Able: You will come to find that I am a fairly simple man, deacon.

***

they01/26/2020

The deacon gives a small, restrained smile (not restrained in the sense of being forced, but from trying to make one's expressions subtle).

Virgil: Ah, so Thomas and the bandaged man were teaching you on how to have a chat with me.

The deacon leans forward, resting their elbows on the table as their hands clasp together.

Virgil: Tell me, what else did they advise you to do? I'm interested..

The boy01/26/2020

Able looks at the deacon quizzically, confused for a moment. Oh.

Able: ...Right. It is fairly obvious then, isn't it.

Able looks away briefly before returning to the deacon's gaze, trying to keep himself level headed.

Able: About you specifically? Unfortunately it was all fairly general, if you're hoping to gossip.

they01/26/2020

The deacon raises an eyebrow.

Virgil: I am a deacon. As morally mandated by my position, I am implored to prevent baseless gossip.

The deacon reads over their menu a second time, before closing it up and placing it on the table. They clasp their hands on the table, staring at Able.

Virgil: I'm sure that, whatever it is that you may or may not have heard about me specifically. . .some of it is true. Some of it is not.

The deacon reaches over for the small bottle of brandy, using a nail to peel at the wax seal.

Virgil: I will say that you needn't be so worried. At the very least, not about me. Do keep a level-head, though; the staff here are very interested in rowdy guests, and they will be especially interested in you making a social mistake..

The boy01/26/2020

Able takes a sharp breath in, but sighs a bit. Ah, right. He is not the only one here to be watching him. Though from the stares he's been getting it would be hard not to notice. Able straightens his back a bit more, keeping his hands in his lap, fidgeting with his fingers.

Able: I do not understand the interest, nor would I enjoy finding out.

they01/26/2020

Virgil: It's not anything pleasant, but I will respect your wish to not know.

The deacon peels off the seal of the brandy, setting it aside neatly on a napkin. . .

Virgil: I suspect you came here expecting a heavy debate of sorts for your soul. An onslaught of careful wording, of vague usage, and so on?

. . .before pouring the oily brandy into the glass already present at the table, filling it halfway before setting the bottle down.

.

The boy01/26/2020

Able: I expected more, indeed, though I am glad you are as...

Able thinks of a way to put it.

Able: Mild, as they say you are. Not without your danger, however. I would compare you to the priest at the orphanage, though it has been some time.

they01/26/2020

The deacon raises the glass to their lips.

Virgil: I suppose that's a decent enough compliment to not take offense to it.

The deacon takes a drink from their glass, taking a small sip before pulling it from their lips, gesturing at a waiter returning with a tray.

Virgil: Ah, our meals arrive. Sit up, now.

The devilish waiter approaches, holding their tray high above their head so as to not bump it against the head of the diners they're maneuvering around. They near the deacon's table, lowering the tray.

A Devilish Waiter: -Cheerily.- Ah, here we are! . .wild mushroom soup, for the esteemed guest. . .

The devilish waiter sets a bowl of stewed mushrooms resting in a brown, watery soup, with a wide-brimmed soup spoon placed beside it. The soup is steaming hot, and the mushrooms are nothing like Able has seen before; wide, flat caps soaking in broth; tall, crinkled mushrooms resting in soup; many, many thumb-sized mushrooms floating and bobbing in the water. The smell is earthy, but there's an undertone of rich fat to the smell.

A Devilish Waiter: -Less cheerily.- . . .and a prisoner's demise.

The devilish waiter sets down a plate with a plate of the fattiest, richest meat Able has ever seen in front of the deacon. The meat is visibly steaming, the fat well rendered into the broth it sits in. A freshly baked, uncomfortably red roll sits on the side, and there are various herbs and leafy greens arranged around to blanket the plate. The smell is pungent with spice and smells strongly of savory juices. The devilish waiter walks off, giving Able a furtive, almost sheepish smile before heading off away from the table.

The boy01/26/2020

Able straightens his posture, seemingly disregarding the waiter's actions as... merely common. He seems to look at his food a bit curiously, surely it was still too hot to eat? Though it did look fairly pleasant, at least better than the other options he'd seen.

Able: Ah, this looks proper.

He muses mostly to himself, though fairly certain it would only burn his tongue at this point.

they01/26/2020

The deacon leans forward, before breathing out slowly.

Virgil: . . .they've neglected to provide a steak fork. Do you suspect they're upset with a deacon in their midst?.

The boy01/26/2020

Able looks up, a bit confused.

Able: Odd, suppose you'll have to ask for one? I will wait to eat until then.

January 27, 2020

they01/27/2020

The deacon gets up from their chair, tidying their robe as they do so.

Virgil: Ah, how polite of you. I see you've learned the manners of devils well. Excuse me for a moment.

The deacon leaves, heading towards the front; while he's gone, the nearby guests are turning their heads to look at Able, and the staff walking about start to stare at Able with too polite smiles. . . . . .after a moment, the deacon returns, brandishing a fork with a wooden handle. He sits down, his expression inscrutable but his eyebrows knit together in a furrow. At this time, both the meat dish for the deacon and the mushroom broth for Able has cooled.

Virgil: They took their time getting me a new fork. I have reason to believe that my suspicions are validated.

The deacon settles themselves in, raising their fork to their meat.

Virgil: Come now. Eat.

The boy01/27/2020

Able nods, quietly eating their soup, hissing a bit. Did they still put spices in this? He wondered, putting his spoon down. Maybe if he took it slow?

they01/27/2020

The soup burns mildly in Able's mouth; while part of it is due to being the cooking of a devil, there is a definitive spice added to the broth. Meanwhile, the deacon is cutting their meat with a knife, though the effort wouldn't have been necessary; even pushing it around with their fork makes the tender meat break along the lines of fat in the surface of the meat. They cut a piece, before slowly, bringing it to their mouth and chewing.

Virgil: . . .ah. So it is a prisoner.

The deacon mutters under their breath as they cut another piece.

Virgil: . . .a sin, put into form. . .a feat only capable in a lawless land. . .

The deacon quietly eats another morsel of meat.

The boy01/27/2020

Able takes a little bit of time before taking another spoonful of the soup, wanting to complain, but keeping silent. Can't they do even a simple dish simply?

they01/27/2020

As Able consumes more of the soup, they feel a strange numbness spread over their tongue as they consume the soup. The spice that was previously biting at their tongue is slowly diminishing, until the soup is no longer spicy at all. . . A devil waitress walks by, apologizing as they walk by. . .now, the soup tastes alright. Less intensely agaric, less intensely savory. . .less flavorful. Really, it tastes more like a plain meat broth boiled for far too long than anything else. That's good. Isn't it?

The boy01/27/2020

Able seems to relax a bit, now, although placidly, taking more frequent spoonful's of his soup. It felt alright, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't going to say anything, merely eat. He was already eating it, surely he intended to finish it. He thinks. He gives that up, not really worth much the effort on dawdling on old thoughts. A bit too tiresome.

they01/27/2020

The deacon cuts into their pieces of meat, before taking their blood red roll and inspecting it.

Virgil: . . .hm. A roll made from the crimes of a prisoner. Exquisite.

The deacon grabs the roll, splitting it in two along the seam of the where the bread split during baking.

Virgil: Care for a roll to whet with your soup?

The boy01/27/2020

Able looks up, and nods. That seemed ok, maybe.

Able: Mh, thank you, deacon.

they01/27/2020

The deacon hands a roll over to Able, before returning to their own dish.

Virgil: It may be rather intense; not anyone can stomach the wrongdoings of another. I hope you find it pleasing.

The deacon takes another bite of meat, before sitting back in their chair.

Virgil: . . .now, I'm sure you wonder why, exactly, I've decided to bring you here.

The boy01/27/2020

Able takes a bite out of the roll, not thinking much of it, before just placing the rest into his soup.

Able: Of course.

He takes another spoonful of his soup, surely he would be done soon? This was getting a bit too tedious, though he figured it was fine.

they01/27/2020

The deacon raises an eyebrow, but makes no mention of Able's actions.

Virgil: Yes, well. . .there is something I've been curious about. Do you recall the question I asked of you at the party, when ascertaining how long you've been with the bandaged man?

The boy01/27/2020

Able stops eating briefly, looking at the deacon.

Able: Not particularly, I'm sorry to say.

they01/27/2020

The deacon frowns slightly, the corners of their mouth slightly turned downwards.

Virgil: You were very distraught about it at the time.

The boy01/27/2020

Able tilts his head a little.

Able: Was I? Hmm..

they01/27/2020

The deacon pauses. Then, they slowly raise a hand to the leg of their silvered glasses, lowering just a tad to expose their amber eyes.

Virgil: . . .ah. . .I see.

The deacon pushes their glasses back onto the bridge of their nose, before standing up, grasping the steak fork. Their face is inscrutable, and they tug lightly at the sleeve on their right arm.

Virgil: Excuse me, Able. I'm going to ask the staff for a less tarnished utensil.

The deacon marches off, their steps hurried as they maneuver past the guests and staff (though the staff don't seem keen on moving out of his way).

The boy01/27/2020

Able nods, continuing to eat their food. It was there, after all.

they01/27/2020

----

It's been some time since the deacon had left. By now, the bowl of soup has been completely drained; all that's left at the bottom of the tureen are a couple of large, soft mushrooms, and many thumb-sized mushrooms lying among its own juices. . . Out of the corner of Able's eye, he can see the deacon heading back into view, from the hallway they came from. They walk up the stairs; while the staff wandering around seem to accost him much more aggressively, he makes his way around when the guests nearby start clamoring about the commotion and the devils reluctantly allow him to pass. The deacon moves around, nearing Able's table but without sitting; he's by Able's side.

Virgil: Ah, apologies. Apparently, they didn't have a clean fork.

The deacon grabs their chair, pulling it around slowly.

Virgil: I convinced them to. . give me one. How have you been while I was gone?

The boy01/27/2020

Able looks up, and gently nods, not doing much else.

Able: Well enough, I think.

they01/27/2020

Virgil: Good. . .that's good. I don't suppose anything uneventful happened?

The deacon pulls the chair around, setting it besides Able. They reach into their left sleeve. . .

Virgil: Certainly, I would be quite upset if something were to happen under the care of a host.

The deacon is pulling out a small, metal implement from their sleeve; it looks like it belongs in a large cutlery set, such is its size, yet it doesn't look like it's for eating. With the deacon holding it like a spoon, but with the majority of the bowl cut, it looks more like a circular hook of sorts. One could call it a handheld scythe, but its too dull to do that sort of damage.

[

1:22 AM

]

Virgil: Do me a favor, and look up, please.

The boy01/27/2020

Able does as he's asked, tilting his head up, seemingly not bothered by any potential danger.

Able: Nothing of note.

they01/27/2020

The deacon places the crook against Able's neck, turning it round their neck in a circle.

Virgil: Good. That means they've left you around.

As the deacon twirls the crook around Able's neck, he feels a curious sensation; a warmth, returning back to his face. . .

Virgil: . . .now, while you're getting back; you're certain to feel confused.

. . .relief from a faint but ever-present tension in his head. . .

Virgil: When you're fully here, don't react. Don't act out. . .

. . .a strange warming of the mouth. Rather, a strong warming of the mouth; the inside of Able's mouth and throat feels exceptionally irritated.

Virgil: . . .don't betray that you've recovered.

The deacon stops winding the crook around Able's neck. He feels aware of his existence, but, more pressingly, he feels a hot, infernal warmth in his mouth. The deacon, meanwhile, stands up, slipping the crook back into their right sleeve, and slides their chair back; they seat themselves, and take their steak fork to their meal, making no comment on what had occurred.

Virgil: How's your meal?

The boy01/27/2020

Able feels burning, scared, and most importantly highly confused. He senses an urgency in the deacon's voice, but he's not sure what he means. Able straightens his posture a bit, feeling the fabric tensing, was it like that the whole time? How did he not notice? Ah, he ate all of that soup didn't he, no wonder he was burning. He wanted to speak, but his throat felt like fire. He chokes out a small response, nodding.

Able: Good.

He almost wheezes, the burning preventing him from saying much else.

they01/27/2020

The deacon leans forward.

Virgil: Excellent. We ought to be taking our leave, then.

The deacon raises a hand, gesturing for a waitress; a devilish waitress wanders over, their expression extremely sour but adopting a smile when looking at Able.

A Devilish Waitress: Ah, and how was your mea- Virgil: Yes, excellent. I'll take the cheque now.

The devilish waitress's expression continues smiling, but her amber eyes seem to have a streak of violence behind the glow.

A Devilish Waitress: Ah, I understand, deacon. Please give us a moment.

--------

The staff took their time bringing the bill to the deacon. The entire time, the burning sensation in Able's mouth was building, almost searing the back of their throat as the deacon paid the bill with a scowling host. . .then, another delay with the host insisting that he doesn't accept brass as payment, and the deacon calmly explaining a church member of his did two days ago. . .and, eventually, a sour host allowing them to be herded out the front door. They're currently standing outside the doorway of Dante's Grill, the devilish doorman smiling at Able but faltering at the deacon.

A Devilish Doorman: Ah, finished already? Virgil: Yes, we've had quite enough, haven't we Able?

The boy01/27/2020

Able makes a curt nod at the doorman, his throat still feeling like burning hell.

Able: Yes, thank you.

He is hopeful that they'll be out of sight soon, this was not a fun cough to keep down.

they01/27/2020

The devilish doorman smiles, giving a polite wave.

A Devilish Doorman: Ah, then take care. Deacon. Virgil: -Herding Able away.- Yes, yes. . .and a good evening to you, as well. Come now. . .

The deacon and Able take several steps, walking quickly but not so hurriedly as to be suspicious. . . . . .after a while, they're walking along Ladybones Road, a fair distance from Dante's Grill and having turned a corner at the end of the street.

Virgil: . . .well now. How are you feeling, child?

The boy01/27/2020

Able wheezes loudly, coughing harshly into his elbow, trying to alleviate some of that pain, but with no proper results.

Able: Deacon, I am a grown man, KKFF, I will thank you to remember this.

Able sighs, looking over at them, conceding a bit to the pain.

Able: I am quite fine, besides the fire in my throat. What was that? What happened?

they01/27/2020

Virgil: I am a deacon, Able. "Child" is as the clergy means it; that should be familiar to you, if you were under the care of a priest.

The deacon lightly thumbs the cuff of their right sleeve.

Virgil: . . .and that. . .was abstraction. Not a wholly legal one, but an abstraction nonetheless. Virgil: Someone in there took your soul without your express permission.

The boy01/27/2020

Able grumbles, trying not to be overly rude, but now he was miffed.

Able: Never liked the priest, treating me like some sort of hopeless youth.

Able tilts his head towards the deacon's sleeve.

Able: Is that what the bandaged man was talking about then, shepherding souls back? Seems you are a good one, then.

they01/27/2020

The deacon smiles curtly.

Virgil: Wise saints know that "good" is subjective. Likewise, I am not above souls; I am a devil, after all.

The deacon thumbs their sleeve, their eyebrows furrowing.

Virgil: . . .I am, however, greatly bothered by those who partake in them through improper channels. Spirifers, and dishonest devils. . .are particularly bothersome..

The boy01/27/2020

Able scoffs, not convinced.

Able: Well, it does seem to defeat the purpose a bit, doesn't it.

Able places his hands on his hips, looking at the deacon a bit, tilting his head.

Able: Well, you had questions right, might as well ask them here. Tsk. I don't like all the pretense after all..

they01/27/2020

The deacon smiled, pushing their silvered glasses up along the bridge of their nose.

Virgil: What sort of activities have you been doing with the bandaged man?

The boy01/27/2020

Able shrugs, gesturing vaguely.

Able: Activities would be a mild way of putting it. Putting it simply though I've been having sexual relations with the man, though it's becoming rather tiresome..

they01/27/2020

The deacon pauses. Then, they chuckle; a low one, and a quiet one, but a chuckle nonetheless.

Virgil: Ah. . .so that's why. . .well, such a simple solution.

The deacon turns their head, looking towards Able.

Virgil: Well, if that's the case. . .I implore you to stay on good terms with him.

The boy01/27/2020

Able looks a bit surprised.

Able: That's an odd request to make of a man. Surely the church wouldn't be pleased with those sorts of things.

they01/27/2020

Virgil: Yes, the church would certainly be displeased if I was speaking as such on their terms.

The deacon pauses, continuing their walk.

Virgil: If they knew, that is.

The boy01/27/2020

Able: Hm, you are a more interesting man that I thought, then.

Able stuffs his hands into his pockets, thinking about things for a moment. This was a much more pleasant talk than he'd pictured, though perhaps that was due to not being surrounded by devils.

.

they01/27/2020

Virgil: Well, currently I'm not in my formal robes. With my deacon's robes, I ought to be careful with how I speak, lest the church catch unwanted rumors. But, as I am spending thoughts on my own time. . .they needn't know.

The deacon continues walking in silence, moving forward for a moment.

Virgil: Have you noticed anything different about the bandaged man, after you became acquainted with him?

The boy01/27/2020

Able is following a bit leisurely, not particularly worried in this moment.

Able: I couldn't compare it to something I don't previously know. He seems more.... well... I wouldn't say upbeat, but a bit more focused than normal recently, however.

Able really couldn't imagine what he was like beforehand. From how Virgil was speaking, it seemed like he noticed a change.

Able: You seem more aware of his life before me; What was he like?

***

they01/27/2020

The deacon walks forward, holding a hand to their chin for a brief moment.

Virgil: . . .pathetic.

The boy01/27/2020

Able laughs.

Able: That sounds about right! And you claim it's changed?

they01/27/2020

The deacon talks, without a change in inflection.

Virgil: Yes. For the better.

They walk forward a bit, their tone even and steady.

Virgil: My occupation is as a deacon, but I am foremost a devil, young man. When I first came across him. . .well. . .

The deacon walks forward, the corners of their lips turning upwards.

Virgil: Are you aware of how brilliant souls occur?

The boy01/27/2020

Able: I have not put much thought into it no.

He looks up at the deacon.

.

they01/27/2020

The deacon chuckles quietly.

Virgil: Well, they manifest when a soul burns itself out. . .when it flares up in a brilliant flare after taking too much, and yet still exists.

The deacon walks forward.

Virgil: Now, consider the bandaged man. I do not know his history, nor do I particularly care. But his spirit. . .brilliant.

The deacon pauses, before turning to look at Able.

Virgil: Was, that is. Tell me; do you know of queer souls?

The boy01/27/2020

Able sighs, scanning his memory a bit.

Able: I'm aware, but nothing further.

they01/27/2020

Virgil: Queer souls are what occurs when a brilliant soul heals.

The deacon walks forward, tilting their head towards Able.

Virgil: -Pointedly.- Recently, his soul has been mending. Not quite healed, but healing. As far as I know, nothing else had changed. Virgil: Nothing except for you..

The boy01/27/2020

Able doesn't seems convinced, scoffing.

Able: Maybe, though that seems like a pretty big bet on your behalf.

they01/27/2020

The deacon smiles.

Virgil: Perhaps. I'd suppose it to be a safe bet, however, given that you seem to be changing as well.

The deacon walks forward, without looking at Able.

Virgil: It was an excellent opportunity to see your soul, when recovering it at Dante's Grill. I don't expect you to feel comfortable about that, and I don't particularly care. However, you are changing. Your soul is brilliant, if that's the sort of stuff you're curious about, but there's a glow underneath that seems to be just a bit brighter. . . Virgil: . . .unfortunately, that also means you are much more interesting to unsavory devils.

The deacon chuckles quietly, yet somberly.

Virgil: Ah. . .I'll admit that I thought that your soul would be delectable in a brandy. . .but that's not what we agreed to, nor is that my duty.

The boy01/27/2020

Able grins.

Able: Aye, what I tell you? I'm a simple man. Able: Hm.. You are better than most folks in this town. Too vague maybe still, but decent. Next time you want to speak, let's stick to just walks then.

He seems a bit relieved, though not sure why. He was talking with a devil, though he was more convinced of the morals of this devil than of his own status as a soul of any note.

Able: I think most will have temptation, and act on it. Those who don't succumb to it, for their own morals despite their struggles are something to savor, though. Ah, though that is merely what I was taught..

they01/27/2020

The deacon snorts quietly, clearing their throat afterwards.

Virgil: Hah. . .ahem. By your priest caretaker, I presume?

The boy01/27/2020

Able: No, actually. That man was by all accounts, a poor model of morals. No, it was the woman in charge of us directly, she was... Strict, though seemed to take a great effort into turning us into proper londoners.

Able sighs.

Able: Didn't seem to take, most of the time.

they01/27/2020

The deacon chuckles darkly.

Virgil: Yes, well. . .that's probably because most of it is too optimistic for Londoners to handle.

The deacon raises a hand, musing to the air as they walk.

Virgil: Consider the teachings of Saint Cyriac, who espoused the principles of modesty. I restrain my appetites, in accordance with his preaches; and I, on my moral ground, am despised by devils and priests alike..

The boy01/27/2020

Able: Sounds like you don't enjoy your position.

Able sighs, slowing his pace.

Able: They've been following us for a while, it seems.

they01/27/2020

Overhead, there's the sudden sound of wood being knocked over, and the cursing of a familiar voice trailing downwards; quiet, yet still understandable.

The Bandaged: -Distant.- Blast it, my foot! Virgil: Ah, I suppose they're expecting you to be incapacitated, stumbling away in a daze of some sort while I flee the scene.

The deacon gives a small, restrained smile.

Virgil: Well, if they're looking so hard for something to be worried about. . .we could give them something to fret about.

The boy01/27/2020

There is a strained hushing above as the bandaged basically gives away his position. Able smiles a bit, this he found amusing.

Able: What is your suggestion?

they01/27/2020

Virgil: Well, suppose that I, as the terrible devil they expect me to be, were to suddenly clasp your neck, before quickly making my escape.

There's a strained shushing in response to the hushing.

The Bandaged: -Distant.- Shh, you're shushing too loud! Virgil: It would cause a stir, wouldn't it?

The boy01/27/2020

Able grins, restraining a snicker.

Able: Oh how awful. They wouldn't know what to do.

they01/27/2020

The deacon smiles, before relaxing their face back into its usual inscrutable expression.

Virgil: Yes, well, I must take my leave soon. It was a pleasant dinner, I hope? Virgil: Oh, and do treat the man, and yourself, kindly.

The deacon suddenly hits the back of Able's neck (not too hard as to cause damage, but enough for him to know he's been hit), before suddenly letting go and sprinting forward; around them, the candles set out by the residents of the street wink out as the deacon's coat soaks the light up like water. Overhead, there's a strained, familiar screech. . .

The Bandaged: Oh blasted! . .he's running! Freckles, this is your fault!

. . .before more stumbling overhead, as more pieces of wood overturn themselves. Loudly.

.

The boy01/27/2020

Able nods, grinning. He suddenly, dramatically falls over. Feigning his injury as something more serious than it was. Thomas can be heard scolding the bandaged before getting down from where they were hiding.

Thomas: Oh lords, are you alright?!

they01/27/2020

The bandaged man is screeching, and more noises originate overhead.

The Bandaged: -Distant; irritated.- Oh for God's. . .get off of my foot, you blasted piece of infernal scarp wood! Get off!

The boy01/27/2020

Able sighs as Thomas kneels in front of Able, and gently touches him on the forehead. Able suddenly grabs onto Thomas's collar, pulling him in.

Able: Aye, you twats best be getting together to pay back all that pointless torment, mh?

Thomas looks shocked, then miffed.

Thomas: What in the hell were you thinking??

they01/27/2020

Overhead, there's some screaming, then a large impact; the bandaged man has fallen from the top of the (thankfully low) building onto the ground and landed on their back.

The Bandaged: -Screaming.- Agh! Oh God, that SMARTS!

The bandaged man cries out, but continues crawling towards Able.

The Bandaged: -Screeching.- What'd he do to you!? Did he stab you with his fork!? Agh! . .

The boy01/27/2020

Able lets go, sitting up, staring directly at the bandaged.

Able: No more than usual.

Thomas looks very unamused.

January 29, 2020

they01/29/2020

The bandaged man screeches, before propping themselves up and walking around (in a hunched, pained position) to look at their neck.

The Bandaged: Goodness, Christ, God, whatever else is holy. . .are there any marks on your neck? Where'd he put it in?

The boy01/29/2020

Able snorts, standing to dust himself off. Their distress was a bit amusing, but he got a bit tired.

Able: As it turns out, he does have a crook.

Able turns around, and starts walking.

they01/29/2020

The bandaged man sputters.

The Bandaged: Wh. . .wait, why do you know that? Is that why your soul's gone? Wait, Able!