Part 20 - Baking lessons
- sirknightawesome
- Mar 24, 2020
- 41 min read
The boy02/09/2020
Able quickly sent cards to both Thomas and the Bandaged man, explaining in overly aggressive detail how he had pulled a joke on them and that he was in fact fine. Able also left his new address. Thomas was the first to show up, half relieved, half mad at him for making such a joke in poor tastes. Thomas then looked at his home and looked concerned. He then went out of his way to get some new furniture for Able, at the very least a kitchen table with chairs. It had to be fairly small due to the space in his new home being sparse. Thomas then left, warning him not to make too many jokes of that nature. Able had to send a second card to the Bandaged man, but it didn't seem to get to him. Able was annoyed, but sent a third card, this time by bird. He hoped he wouldn't have to send another card! He was getting tired writing out the same explanation again and again. In the meantime Able was preparing for the deacon to show for some more basic Neath pastries. His books were lacking, and Able had merely purchased some from the owner of the building. Able had gathered a lot of mushrooms, lichens, moss, and had to pay an absurd amount for eggs. These weren't even all that large, but he supposed they'd do for now. He had some dried and powdered mushroom flour as well, a bit of a common replacement in the Neath. He wondered if the deacon would even show. He figured, maybe. Able got out his sugar loaf, setting it to the side. He also managed to get his hands on a bit of wrapped chocolate, a thing he'd yet to try for himself. He was looking for a recipe that involved using it. It was in a lot of things, and it was certainly expensive, but with Thomas back, Able had a better person to fence off his more higher risk items. He could afford a little luxury. Though he wasn't sure if it really was one. It was all so sweet.
.
February 11, 2020
they02/11/2020
In the next moment, the door to Able's abode rings out in a familiar series of knocks. Underneath the knocks, there is the small undertone of nervous muttering and wailing from the bookshop owner.
Virgil: -Muffled.- Good evening. May I come in? . .shoo, go back to your store..
The boy02/11/2020
Able looks up from his fussing with setting everything up to throw on a bit more than an undershirt, pulling over his only good white dress shirt. He sighed, this would have to do. He goes to open the door.
Able: Of course. How is your day, deacon?
Able steps to the side to let the deacon in.
they02/11/2020
The deacon is dressed in their casuals, holding what looks to be a snakeskin-bound trunk, the scales glittering a dark emerald in the light.
Virgil: My day has been ordinary.
The deacon moves inside, grabbing the door from Able and quickly closing it behind themselves before the soulless owner could barge in.
Virgil: . . .thank goodness. I thought you moved here to get away from being accosted?
The boy02/11/2020
Able laughs, moving back to the kitchen.
Able: He's harmless. Much more bearable than living with the bandaged.
Able shoos the weasels back out of the kitchen gently.
Able: Off with you lot, we need our ankles. Ah, you can set your things down wherever you want.
they02/11/2020
Virgil: Yes, well. . .
The deacon takes their hat off, setting it aside on the couch.
Virgil: . . .do you usually make a habit of lounging around with your shirt unbuttoned?
The boy02/11/2020
Able scoots Swees out of the kitchen more aggressively, before having to resort to kicking one of her toys to the far side of the room. Able stands back up. He looks at the deacon with a blank look, and then looks down.
Able: Hm? Oh. Oh! Apologies.
Able starts buttoning up his shirt, humming.
they02/11/2020
The deacon wanders to the kitchen, setting their snakeskin trunk onto the nearest table; the trunk has a strange brass lock that has two keyholes aranged opposite from each other. The brass is covered in many, many tiny etchings.
Virgil: I hope it's not a bother that I brought my own cutlery.
The deacon tugs at their sleeves, pulling out their spirifer fork before delicately sticking the prongs into the lock; a perfect fit.
Virgil: Forgive me for saying that I'd much prefer using my own tools over yours, if you have any.
The boy02/11/2020
Able: Why would it be a bother? It's best to get used to what you'd use in your own place.
Able moves to the book on the counter, flipping to a page indicating the proper method of making a simple crust for pastries.
Able: I figured we can start with something you will use a lot of, that is fairly simple. Crusts are important for things like pies, tarts, or the like.
they02/11/2020
The deacon twists the fork, and the lock opens; the trunk opens, and inside are a variety of knives laid neatly in a row. The metal running along the cutting edge is mostly copper, but there are decorative brass highlights placed into it, accenting the metal with swirls and elegant curves. There's also a set of other tools; a rolling pin made of lacquered basalt, various cups without handles, and. . .a strange funnel device with wires.
Virgil: I've worked with dough before. For rolls, I concede, but I presume it would be the same, but without a yeast starter..
The boy02/11/2020
Able hums, and then turns around.
Able: It is a little bit more involved than that. There's only a few ingredients depending on how complicated you want to get, but this one only needs a fat, a flour, and some water. We can use animal fat, and I've already reduced and cooled it so it should be ready.
Able moves back to the counter, pulling out the needed items, a mushroom flour and a large pitcher of what looks like clean water. The other item is a thick looking opaque liquid, one can assume it is the animal fat.
they02/11/2020
The deacon reaches into their trunk, pulling out the basalt rolling bin and a small knife for trimming.
Virgil: Will this be a preparation that involves much brushing of fat and folding of dough?.
The boy02/11/2020
Able: A little more simple than that, this recipe needs to be combined in a specific order. Flour, fats, then water. Once you have the dough you can let it rest in a cool place for about an hour.
Able gets out a large bowl, setting it down.
Able: Though puff pastries can be the next step if you wish to do those as well.
February 12, 2020
they02/12/2020
The deacon moves over to Able, looking over the recipe book he had open and reading the page.
Virgil: I'd prefer working on making something from the crust we make right now, rather than getting distracted and making multiple pastries. One must focus on one thing at a time.
The boy02/12/2020
Able nods.
Able: That is acceptable for now. Now if you want to make this particular crust you need to use a lean fat, anything like pork or goat wont work because of the higher concentration and you'll get a dense crust.
Able wipes off his hands with a kitchen towel, and starts measuring out the flour into a large bowl.
they02/12/2020
The deacon is trailing a finger along the recipe book, reading it while Able measures the mushroom flour.
Virgil: Does the leanness refer to the creature it came from, or on the composition and viscosity of the rendered fat?
The boy02/12/2020
Able is using a scale to make sure his flour was measured properly, and the dumps in into the bowl.
Able: Composition. However the two can go hand in hand if you wanted to say, use horse fat..
they02/12/2020
The deacon moves away from Able's recipe book, moving to their suitcase again; they unclip a cloth latch, and pull back the screen of neatly arranged knives. Underneath, there is a folded pouch of. . .something.
Virgil: Ah, I see. Related, but not indicative.
The deacon grabs the pouch, unwrapping it and revealing a bundle of red stalks, and a smaller cloth pouch filled with dark-fleshed cherries and a bundle of. . .almost black cherries.
Virgil: What are you planning on making with this crust?
The boy02/12/2020
Able hums a bit, thinking. He had no solid plans, but he figured he might as well decide now.
Able: I wanted to try to make a savory galette. I've gotten a good assortment of mushrooms and lichens that I can make into a decent filling. How about you? The filling is typically the easiest part of any pastry.
He moves to measuring out barely a half cup of water, and a proper amount of fat.
they02/12/2020
The deacon unwraps and sets aside the rhubarb stalks, cherries, and the distressingly dark fruit.
Virgil: I'm hoping to make something sweeter; I intend to make a rhubarb galette, sweetened with cherries and solacefruit. I understand that, in high quantities, it's not healthy for someone like you, but, with so few, it ought to be fine.
The boy02/12/2020
Able: Rhubarb? Hm.
Able looks over, it looks fairly normal. It was probably fine.
Able: Well we can start on the crust first, as it will take an hour for the dough to set and firm up.. We can make the filling during that time.
they02/12/2020
The deacon looks over at the progress Able is making with the dough, arranging the rhubarb stalks in regular rows of six, and bundling every five cherries with a single piece of solacefruit as they do so.
Virgil: Is it to be worked by hand, or with a rolling pin?
The boy02/12/2020
Able does a preliminary stretch, working out those arm tendons and wrist ligaments before he adds the fat to the bowl.
Able: By hand, then after it sits with a rolling pin. Clean hands, but that's a given.
Able starts mixing the flour and fat together with one hand, and holding the edge of the bowl with the other
Able: You want to get to a crumbly texture, and then start working in the water, but only use enough as to make the dough come together smoothly.
they02/12/2020
The deacon clears their throat.
Virgil: Would you happen to have another bowl that I could use? I would like to learn how to work it myself, rather than merely watching.
The boy02/12/2020
Able looks up.
Able: Ah, right, there's several bowls up in the cabinet, feel free to use whatever you need. Apologies, I am not used to teaching.
***
they02/12/2020
The deacon nods, moving over towards the cabinet.
Virgil: I suppose it is teaching.
The deacon pulls out a bowl, holding it by the rim as they move back towards Able.
Virgil: A wasted opportunity I think, to have never made a formal deal for your service to be bought with something on my end.
The boy02/12/2020
Able has added a small bit of water, and his dough looks smooth and well kneaded. He quickly picks it up to coat it in flour before draping a clean kitchen rag over it.
Able: Ah, well, I am not doing this for my sake.
Able tucks the sides of the rag around the dough before moving his bowl to the side.
Able: Ah, when your dough looks smooth that's when you need to stop, and let it rest, or else you will be waiting longer. Able: Now let us see how you do.
they02/12/2020
The deacon wrings their hands for a moment, an eerie composure settling over them.
Virgil: Yes, lets.
The deacon takes off their mirrored sunglasses, letting their amber eyes see directly as they grab the measuring cup Able was using and measure out the appropriate amount of fat, and an amount of mushroom flour comparable to what Able has measured out for his portion.
Virgil: I ought've watched you closer. . .
The deacon adds the flour to their bowl, and starts adding fat to it, mimicking what Able did to form his own dough.
.
The boy02/12/2020
Able is watching very closely, while trying not to be too close to the deacon.
Able: Hm. You are doing just fine, make sure to mix in all the fat before adding any water or the fat will make the water just stand on top of the dough instead of absorbing into it.
they02/12/2020
The deacon is working the dough, kneading the fat into the flour-covered dough as it slowly begins to set.
Virgil: Do you add the fat slowly, or bit by bit and work it in?
The boy02/12/2020
Able: Since we're working with liquid fat you can add it in all at once. As soon as it looks crumbly and rough that means its all worked in and you can add the water in a little at a time. Barely a spoonful at a time.
Able is nodding, happy with his progress and questions.
they02/12/2020
The deacon is slowly kneading the dough, slowly kneading the fat and finishing up. They move to the measuring cup, filling what looks to be exactly half cup of water into it.
Virgil: Must the water be added slowly?
The boy02/12/2020
Able hums, nodding.
Able: Yes, very slowly, you won't even need that much water most likely. As soon as it forms into a smooth dough you want to coat it in flour and then put a kitchen rag over it.
February 13, 2020
they02/13/2020
The deacon slowly works water into the dough, reaching over to the measuring cup and pouring a small, regular amount of water into the bowl as they work a slowly smoothening dough.
Virgil: Now, what's considered smooth dough? Is it to be compared to something universally known as smooth, or is it something you merely feel out?
The boy02/13/2020
Able is leaning in closer, trying to make sure he has a good look at the deacon's bowl.
Able: As soon as it looks more like skin and less like sand. Able: . . .That's an odd analogy but it works.
they02/13/2020
Virgil: Skin on a living person, or a corpse?
The deacon is working the dough and adding water slowly and regularly, slowly kneading as it slowly settles into a smoothening ball.
The boy02/13/2020
Able: Living. You should be good. Make sure to coat it in flour so it doesn't stick to the bowl or rag.
Able moves away to get another clean rag for the deacon.
they02/13/2020
The deacon stops pouring water into the dough, smoothing the dough into a near-perfect ball. They then scatter mushroom flour over the ball, smoothing it across the entire surface, before leaving it in the bottom of the bowl and gently smoothing a thin layer of flour around the sides of the bowl itself.
Virgil: Get another rag so I can wipe my hands as well, please..
The boy02/13/2020
Able hands the deacon a rag for their bowl, and a wet rag for their hands.
Able: Ah, of course. It's always going to get stuck in between your fingers and the like.
they02/13/2020
The deacon grabs the dry rag and covers the bowl, before grabbing the wet rag and wiping their hands off.
Virgil: Mmh, yes. I know this personally. . .though, with ash rather than flour.
The deacon wipes off their hands, and moves back to their trunk; they undo another panel of cloth, and pulls it down; there's a small, flattened envelope inside, the faintest green glow of a soul peeking through the edges.
Virgil: . . .ah.
The deacon turns to look at Able, their amber eyes clear despite the lighting.
Virgil: Is it a problem if I were to. . ?
The boy02/13/2020
Able: Hm?
Able looks over after he sets aside the bowls.
Able: I suppose it is a good day for a little indulgence.
Able was a bit bothered, but he wasn't going to judge the deacon. He's certainly done worse things in his life.
they02/13/2020
The deacon visibly relaxes, pulling the envelope out as they do so.
Virgil: Ah, well. . .many would disagree, considering today's meant to be a holy day. . .
The deacon puts aside the envelope, and pulls along a small paring knife made of iron and brass.
Virgil: Should we begin working on the filling, then?
The boy02/13/2020
Able laughs a bit to himself.
Able: I was merely raised on those values, I don't always follow them.
Able pulls out a large wooden cutting board, and an old looking(though sharp) knife. He puts down all his mushrooms and lichens, and measures out a small portion of fat and flour.
Able: Indeed. Fillings are mainly gravies or syrups, however with galettes you can have larger portions of what you want in your final product..
they02/13/2020
The deacon pulls out their own cutting board from their trunk (a board of checkered wood) and sets it down onto the cupboard. They grab one of the bundles of cherries and solacefruit, setting it down onto the cutting board.
Virgil: Would you happen to have a little more sugar? It's not strictly required for what I hope to make, but I wish to cut the sour taste of the rhubarb with more than the natural sweetness of cherries and solacefruit.
The boy02/13/2020
Able is cutting his mushrooms into thick looking slices.
Able: Yes, I have a fairly fresh sugar loaf. As you can imagine I don't use it often. Use whatever you need, deacon.
Able smiles, sweeping the mushrooms to the side before moving to the cabinet to pull out a heavy cast iron pan and moves it back to his cutting board. He sweeps the mushrooms into the pan and sets it on top of the board. He starts tearing apart the lichen by hand and putting it into the pan.
they02/13/2020
Virgil: Ah, was your taste for sweetness soured by the bandaged man's eating habits?
The deacon is slicing their cherries and solacefruit, using a paring knife to do a large cut all the way around before removing the pit and setting aside the two halves methodically aside; they're taking a bit more time compared to Able, but their cherry and solacefruit halves look nearly identical and uniform as they work.
The boy02/13/2020
Able finishes tearing the lichen into parts, and puts in the oil and small amount of flour, moving the pan to the stove top.
Able: Hm. I've never had much of a taste for sweets. Though he certainly didn't help with how much his room smells like spoiled wine.
Able bends down to get some matches, before turning on and lighting his stove. He was happy to get a gas stove, it made things so much easier. He puts out the match, setting it to the side before he pulls out a wooden spoon.
Able: I suppose you like sweets, deacon?
they02/13/2020
Virgil: In a sense.
The deacon finishes pitting the cherries and solacefruit, having a large grid of halved fruit laying on the checkerboard cutting board. They reach over to the rhubarb, and start slicing it into regular lengths about 3/4 of an inch long.
Virgil: I taste things differently from you, for I have a different anatomy; salt stands out stronger to me, and sugar helps cover the taste.
The boy02/13/2020
Able moves along the mushrooms and lichen in a pan as it starts to sizzle and shrink in the fat and its own juices. The flour seems to thicken this juice instead of having it evaporate into the air.
Able: That makes sense. I suppose you would have a different set of tastes and needs.
Able wondered if this would be good for him physically, sweets tended to be not great for humans, though he guessed it was different for devils.
they02/13/2020
The deacon has finished slicing the rhubarb into a series of strips, before setting it aside into neat rows besides the cherry and solacefruit halves.
Virgil: I don't need sweets, though it _is- nostalgic for me. It reminds me o-
The front door of Able's room shakes violently on its hinges, before there's a sharp pounding out on the door. Behind it, there's a familiar muffled voice.
The Bandaged: -Muffled; knocking repeatedly.- Oy! Able! Open the door! . . .get off of me, you old man! I don't care about your problems, I have the well-being of a protégé to tend to! Shoo! What? Yer soulless? Good for you, now get out of here!
The pauses, holding their knife as the red slits along their amber eyes dilate briefly.
Virgil: . . .I wasn't aware I was the only guest today, Able.
1
The boy02/13/2020
Able sighs heavily, turning off his stove, moving the pan to the side.
Able: I'll tell him to leave.
Able moves to the door slowly, opening it.
they02/13/2020
The bandaged man stumbles in, quickly falling onto the ground (evidently leaning against the door before Able opened it).
The Bandaged: Ach! . .oh, Able!
The bandaged man stands up, immediately grabbing Able's face and inspecting their cheeks and chin. They're dressed in a single dress shirt (Polythremi, of course; teeth line the rim of the collar with an eye on each collar), and high-waisted pants (the buttons acting as Polythremi eyes). There's a stain of honey on their shirt, of course, but it seems to be an old stain. Overall, while their clothing is still askew, they're dressed much better than usual.
The Bandaged: -Worriedly; frantically feeling Able up.- Are you healthy? Do you have an unhealthy pallor? Did you get ill? Is your soul undamaged? Are you here? Quick, how many bandaged fingers do you see? Why haven't you come back? Why're you living in such squalor?
The boy02/13/2020
Able makes a very annoyed face, listening to the bandaged man. At least he looked more respectable. He takes the bandaged man's wrists, pushing them away from his body.
Able: I am fine. My soul is fine. I told you what happened. I am living here because it is comfortable. Please, I am busy today. Didn't I send you that card three days ago?
they02/13/2020
The Bandaged: How do I know you weren't writing that against your will?
The deacon pauses, and breathlessly sighs, returning to their preparation duties. They pull out a satchel of something wrapped in cloth, the fabric stitched with Correspondence sigils; presumably, they keep what's inside cold, for, when the deacon unwraps it, there is a stick of butter inside that hasn't melted yet. They grab another, smaller knife, and start cutting the butter into small cubes.
The Bandaged: -Trying to grab Able's face again.- The soulless can be persuaded to do near anything; just by yelling at that strange man outside, I got him to go away! How do I know you weren't coerced! Oh, has that bad devil been hurting you? Be honest.
The boy02/13/2020
Able: The deacon is a respectable man please do not be disrespectful.
Able is miffed, merely accepting that the bandaged man has no sense of personal boundaries.
Able: I am just fine. I need to finish baking. You go off and.... do whatever it is you intend to do with that outfit.
they02/13/2020
The deacon has finished cubing their butter, and moves around in Able's kitchen.
The Bandaged: What! Respectable? Why, that's what I thought too, but then he went and. . .well, if he didn't steal your soul, he participated in a prank, and that's very unseemly of him! Imagine, a deacon pranking his clergy! That's not respectable, that's suspicious, that's criminal, tha-
The deacon open the cabinet, and reaches for a clean bowl, the bowls clinking against each other. The bandaged man pauses, before trying to pull on Able towards the door (unsuccessfully, of course).
The Bandaged: -Wheezing; whispering.- Hhhf. . .Able. . .I think someone's in your h o u s e. . ..
The boy02/13/2020
Able: Because I insisted.
Able pushes away from the bandaged man. He gripes, throwing his hands up.
Able: Yes, I am busy on Sundays, you should know this by now.
they02/13/2020
The Bandaged: Er, what?
The bandaged man's facial bandaged crease for a moment, before a manic energy enters over them as they try to push past Able.
The Bandaged: -Yelling incredibly loudly.- . . .that criminal! Hiding out in a victim's own home! Come and face me, you fiend! What devious things are you planning to do to my protégé!?
The deacon brings down a bowl, quietly chuckling to themselves as they set down the bowl and slowly put each cherry and solacefruit half in one by one.
Virgil: -Just loudly enough.- If you're intent on knowing; I'm planning on making a galette.
The deacon reaches over to the sugar loaf, grabbing the nippers and slowly shaving off grains of sugar off the top of the loaf, before moving the nipper over the bowl and letting the sugar fall into the bowl. The bandaged man, meanwhile, shrieks, trying to push harder past Able as their arms flail about.
The Bandaged: -Screeching.- What's a galette!? Is that a weapon!? Able, he's going to stab you!
The boy02/13/2020
Able: Its a pastry. Honestly, are you that dull?
Able is holding back the bandaged man fairly easily, though needing to use a bit more effort than usual to keep him at bay.
Able: I invited the deacon over, you do not need to be so loud.
they02/13/2020
The deacon grabs a small spoon (eerily in handle to the crook they hold) from their trunk, and starts stirring together the cherries and shaved sugar together, letting the sugar soak into the natural juices as they toss it together. The bandaged man keeps trying to push past Able, immediately lowering their voice to a quiet, but still screeching, yell.
The Bandaged: -Quiet, but still yelling.- Oh, wait, are galettes those. . .open faced, lazy pies people make when they don't have enough flour? Oh, I want some. . .wait, no! You have a devil in your house! Not even that, you've INVITED a devil into your house! What are you thinking, get them out! They're going to take your soul! Virgil: -Calmly; tossing fruit and sugar together.- I take offense to that. The Bandaged: -Yelling suddenly past Able.- Yeah, well yer an arse!
The boy02/13/2020
Able turns the bandaged man around, slowly pushing him out the door.
Able: Yes, yes, well you've had your fun yelling. Perhaps if you were more polite you could have had some. Off with you now.
they02/13/2020
The bandaged man wriggles, trying to push back against Able.
The Bandaged: Oy! No, I want some. . .no, wait! No, I need to protect you from a devil! Have they charmed you already!?
The deacon shaves off several more slivers of sugar, adding more sugar to the bowl of cherries and solace fruit, before adding in the rhubarb pieces and resuming to toss the fruit.
The boy02/13/2020
Able is pushing against the bandaged, but he's wedged himself between the doorframe. Able huffs.
Able: Honestly, why would I need protection from him. The deacon has been nothing if not polite and respectable even when I've made a mistake.
Able is very bothered, and stands between the bandaged man and the rest of his home. Swees is seen playing with winter behind Able.
they02/13/2020
The bandaged man pauses, before holding up their hands.
The Bandaged: Oh, well why didn't you say so?
The bandaged man moves to walk away, holding their hands up with their shoulders lifted in a shrug.
The Bandaged: Really now, Able, you ought to explain th-
The bandaged man suddenly whirls around, pointing behind Able.
The Bandaged: Good god, your weasels are trying to eat the feathers on that devil's hat!
The boy02/13/2020
Able turns around. This wouldn't be surprising.
Able: A-Ah?!
they02/13/2020
The bandaged man suddenly tries running past Able, furiously waving their hands about. . .
The Bandaged: Aha! I w-
. . .before suddenly stumbling, shrieking as their back foot catches on the toes of Able's feet and falling flat on their chest with a loud "THUMP", wheezing as the air is knocked out of them.
The Bandaged: -Wheezing; weak.- O o f. . .
[
2:41 AM
]
The deacon is satisfied with their filling, and moves to the envelope, opening it up; they grab at a small green trail, plucking at it gently and pinning it to the end of their spoon, before stirring it into the filling, the soul wriggling desperately as they do so.
Virgil: -To Able; slightly distant.- Have you finished your business yet?.
The boy02/13/2020
Able looks unamused, then at the door. The owner was making his way up to the rooms. Able quickly shuts the door, then steps over the bandaged man.
Able: Alright so this has proven more difficult than I'd thought.
Able kneels next to the bandaged.
Able: You better sit on that couch q u i e t l y whilst I wait for the land owner to leave his sorrows elsewhere.
they02/13/2020
The bandaged man is still wheezing, weakly holding a hand up.
The Bandaged: -Wheezing; short of breath.- . . .carry me. . .
The deacon, meanwhile, is working the soul more into the filling; a difficult task, considering that it keeps quietly wailing and trying to pull away from the deacon, but he makes due with what he can. He's employing a curious technique of trapping the tail end among the sticky filling.
Virgil: Hm. That ought to be good enough.
The boy02/13/2020
Able hauls the bandaged man up, carrying him easily before plopping him onto the couch, and moving back to the kitchen.
Able: Apologies. I'm not sure if you've ever tried to get the bandaged man out of somewhere he wanted to be in... It is rather difficult.
Able checks on their dough, still needed more time. He had some time to finish his own filling. He turned the stove back on, lighting another match to light the gas. Winter moves to the couch, curiously sniffing around the bandaged man's head.
.
they02/13/2020
Virgil: There's an easy way to do as such.
The deacon sets aside their bowl, covering it with one of the cloth coverings they used for the rhubarb.
Virgil: Kill him, then push his corpse out the window. I did that once, when he was rowdy in my church.
The bandaged man coughs, trying to push Winter aside.
The Bandaged: -Breathless.- . . s. . .shoo. . .let me breath in p eace. . ..
The boy02/13/2020
Able sighs, continuing to cook his filling.
Able: Well now that would be fine if I had a window.
Winter looks defeated, and a little disappointed, moving to lay sadly on the floor. Magenta is climbing onto the bandaged man's back, Elle following her.
A choker: IT'S THE SHAMEFUL ONE. DO YOU HAVE FISH?
they02/13/2020
The bandaged man screeches, sitting up onto the couch and pushing back.
The Bandaged: Ah! . .er, wait. Hang on, you're that choker! What're you doing hanging around a pet's neck?
The bandaged man reaches out towards Magenta, trying to unhook the choker.
The Bandaged: You ought to head back with the rest of the collection, you know. . .
The deacon is looking over at their bowl; the cloth rag placed over the top is shifting slightly, the soul inside probing for an escape.
Virgil: . . .do you happen to have a small plate I can rest on top of my cherry and rhubarb filling?.
The boy02/13/2020
Magenta swats the bandaged man's hand, but stays sitting. Elle looks as if she got scared and ran off towards Swees, tackling her. They start play fighting, chasing each other as Winter sulks.
A choker: MINE! YOU WILL NOT HAVE HER!
The choker wraps around Magenta tighter, but not enough to hurt her. Able reaches up into a cabinet, and hands the deacon a plate before returning to his own filling, turning off the stove, happy with how it is now.
Able: Ah yes, here you are. We still have some time to wait. Hm.
they02/13/2020
The bandaged man shrieks, sitting back.
The Bandaged: Ach! Why are you yelling!? Keep your voice down!
The deacon grabs the plate, and sets it over the bowl holding the filling sweetened with a soul.
Virgil: There. That ought to keep that one in there. . .
The boy02/13/2020
Magenta gets down, the choker relaxing as she moves away from the bandaged man. Able starting cleaning what he didn't need out, which wasn't a lot, but he figured be might as well.
Able: Seems very keen on escaping, mh?
Able wipes down the counter, getting rid of any spilled flour.
they02/13/2020
Virgil: Well, this one thinks itself innocent and undeserving of its separation.
The deacon nods solemnly.
Virgil: But, perhaps that's what everyone thinks. I'll say no more beyond that this one has murdered a great deal of innocents with sunlight.
The bandaged man scowls, shifting along as they try to sneak up on Magenta.
The Bandaged: Alright, you're coming back home with me. . .
***
The boy02/13/2020
Able: Ah, I suppose that is a taste you enjoy?
Able, happy with everything in order turns to merely talk with the deacon. He had some time till the dough was properly set. Magenta suddenly bolts, pushing past one of the doors in the far side of the room to escape. Swees follows, seeming to chitter as if they were playing.
they02/13/2020
The deacon solemnly looks towards the covered bowl.
Virgil: In a sense. Certainly, it's rich, with a burst of sweetness. Virgil: . . .though, perhaps I suppose I ought to feel some sort of guilt, shouldn't I?
The deacon pauses, before putting their sunglasses back on.
Virgil: I don't. I know I should, though.
Meanwhile, the bandaged man screeches, scurrying to follow after Magenta and stumbling in the process.
The Bandaged: Oy! Get back here, that choker belongs back with the rest of my closet!
The boy02/13/2020
Able: Hmm.
Able thinks for a bit, feeling as if the deacon was getting uncomfortable with this sort of questioning. He wouldn't know about all that, he didn't have a lot of sympathy for murderers himself, so he wouldn't have a good answer for him.
Able: Ah, well perhaps your feelings aren't the issue, merely your actions.
Able looks up at the bandaged man chasing Magenta into his room. Maybe he could shut the door and trap him till the deacon left. That might be difficult though. Magenta heads into the room, hopping onto an old bed. The blankets looked newer, but still raggedy.
A choker: NOT YOURS! GO AWAY!!
they02/13/2020
The deacon pauses, leaning back against the wall.
Virgil: Heavens no; I have no remorse about eating, if that's what you're concerned about. I'm merely discomfited.
The bandaged man screeches, trying to grab at Magenta and falling onto the bed.
The Bandaged: Oy! Get back here!
The boy02/13/2020
Able sighs. He looks over at the deacon, and then over at his room.
Able: Excuse me one moment. I have to deal with a child.
Able nodding to the deacon, and moves to his room, opening the door to see Magenta fleeing from the bandaged man rather deftly.
Able: Aye you twat what did I say about sitting still? Do you want to be sent out?.
they02/13/2020
The Bandaged: You're the one stealing my property!
The bandaged gestures furiously at Magenta, holding a hand to his own neck in a bid of charades.
The Bandaged: Look, help me get that choker off of yer weasel and I'll be sitting quietly like a school child.
The deacon pauses in the kitchen, and lifts the lid of the plate, looking at the wriggling cloth rag.
Virgil: . . .come now, settle down already.
The boy02/13/2020
Able raises an eyebrow.
Able: Go sit. Before I drag you out myself.
they02/13/2020
The bandaged man scowls, before crossing their arms and moving out of the old bedroom, muttering.
The Bandaged: -Low.- Fine, but I expect to have that choker back sometime this month. . .
The boy02/13/2020
Able sighs, moving back to the kitchen.
Able: Sorry about that, we can start pre-heating the oven I think.
Able looks tired as he opens up the oven, making sure the pilot light was on. He squats down and squints at it, happy to see a small flame below. Able closes the oven and turns it on, letting it heat itself.
February 14, 2020
they02/14/2020
The bandaged man sits on the couch, bouncing their crossed leg on the spot as they sit.
The Bandaged: I could bake if I wanted to. . .can't be that hard. . . The Bandaged: . . .it's only heat. . .and patience.
The bandaged man pauses, and rummages in their pockets, before pulling out their fountain pen and their vial of Violant ink.
The deacon moves behind Able, peering into the oven as they do so.
Virgil: Is it time to fill the galettes with our fillings, then?
The boy02/14/2020
Able stretches, smiling a bit of a tired smile. He was happy the deacon was still interested in learning even with the bandaged interference, but a bit miffed that this time was being cut into.
Able: Ah, yes, we can start rolling everything out. Let me get the pie dishes.
Able moves to the lower cabinets, pulling out two glass dishes and setting them on the counter.
.
they02/14/2020
The bandaged man tuts, uncapping their pen.
The Bandaged: I'm sure I could try to find something. . .something warming. Ah, lets see. . .
The bandaged man is rummaging the couch, checking to see the fibers the cushions are made of.
The deacon reaches into their trunk, pulling out their lacquered basalt rolling pin.
Virgil: I understand that the thickness of dough affects how it cooks; how thin should it be rolled, then?
The boy02/14/2020
Able moves to one side of the counter, pulling out his dough, flouring the surface generously. He then moves to get out his wooden rolling pin, and starts to work out the dough into shape.
Able: Two centimeters thick will get you a decent crust, though it all depends on your own personal preference. I wouldn't go higher than maybe... five centimeters, though. Do you enjoy more chew or less?
they02/14/2020
The deacon moves towards Able's side of the counter, pulling out their own dough as well.
Virgil: I prefer less chew. To be quite honest, I'm more partial to glazes and crusts that crunch.
The deacon grabs a portion of flour, spreading it across the surface in an eerily uniform layer of scattered flour.
The bandaged man is inspecting a cushion.
The Bandaged: Hm. . .yes, this will do. . .
The bandaged man is writing onto the cushion, humming quietly as they do so.
The boy02/14/2020
Able: Two centimeters then, enough to keep it from falling apart but not too dense.
Able seems distracted, rolling out his dough. He was lost in his head for a bit before returning, though seemed to still be a bit off.
.
they02/14/2020
The deacon grabs their lump of dough, and sets it down onto the surface, before raising the basalt rolling pin and smoothing out the ball of dough, working it out evenly as it slowly flattens into a disk.
Virgil: . . .is there more on your mind besides baking?
The bandaged man continues writing on Able's couch cushions, squinting their eyes.
The Bandaged: If I recall correctly. . .the stories of hope and. . .ach!
The bandaged man cries out between gritted teeth, rubbing their eyes; their bandages are curling, like rags hanging over a hot fireplace, and a red stain is spreading in the area over their eyes.
The Bandaged: Blast. . .alright, next time; bring glasses.
The bandaged leans in, writing more on the pillow as red flows down their cheeks.
The boy02/14/2020
Able looks up.
Able: ..Hm. Oh. A-Ah. Apologies...
Able looks down at his dough. He seems to get that far away look again.
Able: My head has been a bit easily distracted as of late... Ah though it's a bit personal.
Able didn't seem to want to discuss it, and looked briefly over at the bandaged. He returns to his dough, roughly rolling it out before lifting it, and settling it into one of the pie dishes.
Able: ...Is he bleeding...
they02/14/2020
The Bandaged: No! . . er, no, I'm not bleeding!
The bandaged man returns to writing on the cushion, muttering under their breath.
The Bandaged: The mathematics of love. . .the study of authority. . . Virgil: Ah, has he taken up his study of the Correspondence again?
The deacon rolls out their dough, smoothing it out into a thin disk before taking off their sunglasses again; they lean down, inspecting the dough and holding it, their amber eyes dilated.
Virgil: I thought he gave that up years ago. The Bandaged: -Scowling.- I hear that! I'll have you know, I have contributed much to the study! . .god, can't get respect from anyone. . .
The boy02/14/2020
Able doesn't look convinced. He smooths his dough along the edges of his pie dish, and then makes an odd glance at the deacon, before moving to grab the filling he made. He takes the bowl, scraping the filling into the crust before folding it over the galette so that it only covers the edges.
Able: Must be trying to fill his time..
they02/14/2020
The bandaged man continues writing on the pillow, muttering.
The Bandaged: And the workings of the Bazaar. . .intertwine with bees. . .wait, bees? That's no-
The cushion suddenly combusts; it's not accurate to say it was set on fire so much as the writing disintegrated with a blast, spreading cotton pieces and. . .blood? . .all over the bandaged man's face.
The Bandaged: AgH! Oh god, it turned into blood! Warm blood!
The bandaged man screeches, rubbing their face furiously (and inadvertently smearing red all over their face as they do so). The searing, scattered marks of Violant ink along the pillow's fabric sears, spewing a concentrated heat as if someone had set an oven flame to high, but without the flame.
The Bandaged: Able, I think I made invisible fire! Oh god! . .no, wait, it's just heat. . .invisible heat! Virgil: Don't acknowledge it. You'll encourage him.
The deacon observes the dough they rolled out, before sighing and balling it up again.
Virgil: -Slightly pensive.- . . .not uniform enough. . .
The deacon rerolls the dough again, patiently smoothing it back out into a disk.
The boy02/14/2020
Able would have to get a new couch maybe, he thought. He turned to the deacon, watching him fuss with his dough. He would usually say something but he seems to get lost in thought again. He makes another little glance up at the deacon, waiting patiently.
Able: Hmm...
The weasels seem to be very startled by the bandaged man's fiddling, quickly scattering out of the living space and into Able's room.
they02/14/2020
The bandaged man is rubbing their eyes, screeching as they kick at the cushion they wrote on, trying to stamp out the sigil.
The Bandaged: Alright, second try; Able, do you have anything that can withstand heat without burning or shattering?
The deacon inspects the dough again, before nodding and reaching for a knife.
Virgil: Much better.
The deacon grabs the dough and places it into a pie plate, trimming some of the excess while still having enough to fold over so that it has a scallop trim. The amber eyes glance at Able, piercing into them for a moment.
Virgil: . . .now, what are you staring at?
The boy02/14/2020
Able seems to snap out of it for a second, blinking.
Able: Ah.. was I staring? Apologies.
He covers his mouth and part of his face a bit before turning to the bandaged.
Able: Do not. Sit still. I am not going to tell you again.
Able sighs. Moving to the oven to open it and place in his galette.
Able: I am feeling odd today is all. Perhaps we can discuss it at a different time.
they02/14/2020
The bandaged man scowls.
The Bandaged: Come off of it; you're baking something and you're telling me you do not have anything that's fire proof? At least let me make a warming tray!
The deacon moves to their covered filling, slowly spooning it out into their pie dish and covering the bottom with a layer of cherries, solacefruit, and rhubarb filling. They pause, staring at it, before they start poking at the filling, their eyes dilating.
Virgil: If you insist. Is it merely odd, though, or have you caught something?
The deacon is smoothing out the filling and moving the fruit pieces methodically, arranging them into a grid lying on top of the dough and resting in a thick, syrupy layer of sugar-enriched juices. After that, they use the spoon to move the rhubarb pieces around, settling it into a regular radial pattern before, satisfied, they start folding up the scallop-cut sides so that it looks like a neatly folded, open pouch. They move beside Able, and set the dish bare-handed into the middle of the oven.
The boy02/14/2020
Able laughs a little, waiting for the deacon to remove his arm from the oven before shutting it.
Able: You could say that. I'll get better, though.
Able gets the far off look again, before shaking his head.
Able: It's nothing to worry about. The galletes should only take about fifteen minutes. Now.
Able moves to start cleaning again, wiping down bowls as he looks distant again.
Able: Best to keep things clean as you cook, makes things easier... Hm..
they02/14/2020
The deacon is grabbing bowls, using one of the rags they had brought with them to clean them off.
Virgil: Well, whatever it is, you seem to be distracted by it, which seems unwise when cooking. . .or operating near knives or flames in gener-
The bandaged man is starting to walk into the kitchen.
The Bandaged: Able, can I borrow a particularly robust plate for a moment? I have an idea!
The boy02/14/2020
Able looks up, miffed.
Able: I am almost certain that I told you to sit still.
He sets down the things he was cleaning.
they02/14/2020
The bandaged man huffs. . .before perking up, and then sitting down at the couch, facing forward completely still.
The Bandaged: -Speaking without turning.- Able! Can I borrow a particularly robust plate for a moment?
The boy02/14/2020
Able: No. You will sit there.
Able returns to cleaning, seemingly more easily annoyed than usual.
Able: Honestly.
they02/14/2020
The Bandaged: -Speaking, without turning.- You didn't say anything about sitting quietly! I will exercise my right as a citizen of London to protest civilly! Able, where are your glass plates?
The deacon clears their throat, putting the sunglasses back on.
Virgil: Yes, well. While you're preoccupied with the dishes. . .
The The deacon pauses, before moving towards the oven, kneeling as they put their head against the (hot) surface of the oven, listening intently. Inside the oven, there's a muffled wailing that rivals the noise of the soulless owner of this residence.
Virgil: -To themselves.- . . .hm. The soul in there thinks himself to be in Hell currently. Rather stereotypical, I'll say; I don't call London a rainy, sad mess, do I?
The boy02/14/2020
Able snorts.
Able: You should.
Able starts putting things away as he cleans them, quickly having the whole counter cleaned up and all the extra ingredients put away. He closes the book, moving it to the side.
Able: Must be a loud one like rags over there.
they02/14/2020
Virgil: No, this one has remorse. At least, for being in "Hell."
The bandaged man shrieks, standing up.
The Bandaged: Oy, I am not merely rags! These are CLEAN silk bandages! That I change everyday! Before I go to sleep! There is flesh under here, not just fabric!
The bandaged barges into the kitchen, shrieking.
The Bandaged: I am worthy of respect beyond just a bundle of fabric! I am worth it! And I do not yell!
The boy02/14/2020
Able stares at the bandaged man, raising an eyebrow.
they02/14/2020
The bandaged man yells.
The Bandaged: I do not! Virgil: -Holding an ear against the oven.- Ah, now he thinks he's hearing the wails of other tortured spirits.
The bandaged man shrieks, trying to grab at one of the plates Able hasn't put away yet.
The Bandaged: Oy, I am a respected professor of the Correspondence! I am not merely meant to be treated with such insolence!
The boy02/14/2020
Able presses a hand on the bandaged man's chest, slowly pushing him back into the living space.
Able: Off with you. You can practice your nonsense outside with the souless man.
they02/14/2020
The bandaged man tries swatting at Able, screeching between gritted teeth.
The Bandaged: Oy, I'm not soulless yet! I'm too full of spirit to be among the soulless! Virgil: -Under their breath.- Currently.
The deacon has unlatched their lapel watch, watching the clock as they stand, resting a hand against the oven while they wait patiently.
The boy02/14/2020
Able: Out. Now.
Able grips the bandaged man now by the collar of his shirt, dragging him towards the door, opening it and pushing him through.
Able: Sundays are busy. I do not want to see you at those days. Choose a different date.
they02/14/2020
The bandaged man protests, trying to walk back into Able's home.
The Bandaged: Hey, now, you can't just push someone out like that, that's unhospitable! I haven't even made a warming tray yet! At least lend me a plate!
The boy02/14/2020
Able: So sorry, I'm busy, come back tomorrow.
Able pushes the bandaged back again before closing the door on him.
they02/14/2020
The bandaged man screeches, continuing to pound on the door.
The Bandaged: -Muffled.- Oy! No, I'm not done talking! Just. . .ah, blast. Yes, hello, leave me alone. No, stop. . .go away. Go away!
The bandaged man scowls behind the door, swatting at the owner accosting them before scurrying down the stairs. . .
Virgil: -Still watching their pocketwatch.- Remind me why you told him where you lived?
The boy02/14/2020
Able moves back to the kitchen, sighing.
Able: He likely would have caused more problems for you if I didn't somehow prove myself to be fine. It can't be helped.
they02/14/2020
The deacon checks their watch, before placing it back onto the cloth of their robe.
Virgil: I think it might've been better to send your soul in the mail and show it to him as physical proof.
The deacon opens the oven, reaching in to grab their galette, pulling it out barehanded and setting a rag down before placing it onto the kitchen table.
The boy02/14/2020
Able moves to grab a rag to grab his own galette, setting it down before shutting the oven and turning it off.
Able: Ah.... Ha..
Able stares off again, seeming to be highly bothered. He tries to laugh but its hollow at best. He wonders. He covers his face, sighing.
Able: Mh, need to wait another ten minutes and then it will all be set.. Cooling helps set the filling..
they02/14/2020
The deacon is staring at their own galette, taking their sunglasses off and staring at it. Their eyebrows furrow in a small crease.
Virgil: -Low; to themselves.- . . .that stalk of rhubarb is out of place. . .
The deacon clears their throat, moving away from their dish.
Virgil: Well, at least the soul is incorporated well. Virgil: -Putting their sunglasses back on.- So, when were you planning to talk about what you were thinking over? The next meeting, or after the bandaged man left?
The boy02/14/2020
Able looks over at the deacon, an odd, kind of calm look.
Able: Ah, well, I was wondering, what death felt like.
Able fidgets a bit.
Able: The bandaged man says... he'd like to be that first but... hm.. I do not think I'd enjoy that.
they02/14/2020
The deacon pauses.
Virgil: I haven't any idea. Devils don't tend to make a habit of dying.
The deacon grabs a knife, pulling their galette over.
Virgil: If the reports on it are to be believed, it's a lot like falling asleep during a nasty bout of illness. A respite from the pain you're under. Virgil: . . .may I ask. . .in what context did he wish to be dead first?
The boy02/14/2020
Able hums, thinking for a bit.
Able: I think he wants to contribute to my first death. Sounds rather unpleasant, hm?
Able pulls out some forks, choosing proper ones. Seemed like a silly thing to learn whilst taking classes, though he supposed with devils it'd be more important.
Able: I would not want this, he's had enough of my firsts, I think.
they02/14/2020
The deacon starts slicing their galette into wedges, letting the galette rest for a moment as they nudge some of the unkempt rhubarb pieces into place.
Virgil: Well, I'm inclined to disagree.
The deacon's galette has a gently browned crust, the sweet-smelling, rich filling undercut with a. . .vaguely gunpowder smell.
Virgil: I understand that. . .discussing whether you're of the Surface is off limits, but, whether it's true or not, he certainly believes you are; you've told me of how he behaved around you, after all.
The deacon moves around Able, rummaging in their trunk and pulling out a triangular pie server.
Virgil: He wouldn't damage you if he thought you could get him something from the Surface yourself.
The deacon moves back to their galette, slipping the server underneath one of the wedges and lifting it out of the pie tray.
Virgil: Or perhaps he lacks the foresight for that; I haven't any idea.
***
The boy02/14/2020
Able simply cuts into his galette with the fork he pulled out, leaving the other one on the side. He pulls out a plate, setting a piece onto it before trying some.
Able: Mh... Regardless it seem he gets off to that too much for my liking.
Able gets another forkful.
Able: Ah, did you want to try? I do not rightly know if you like mushrooms but....
they02/14/2020
Virgil: Mushroom isn't offensive to me. I'll have a small piece, if you'll put it on my plate.
The deacon grabs one of Able's plates, pulling it aside as they set a wedge of their galette onto the plate, leaving room on the side.
Virgil: Likewise; while I know sweets aren't what you generally enjoy, I'd like to see if you enjoy rhubarb.
The boy02/14/2020
Able puts a small portion of their galette onto the deacon's plate.
Able: Hm, I'm not sure if souls counts as cannibalism, deacon..
they02/14/2020
The deacon tugs at their sleeves, pulling out their spirifer fork.
Virgil: Well, if you're bothered by spiritual consumption, then you ought to be very discomfited by the eucharist and the breaking of the bread and the pouring of wine.
The deacon uses their fork to pierce their galette, breaking a piece and lifting it to their lips. The filling. . .eerily sizzles as it hits the fork.
Virgil: That's spiritually consuming the body and blood of Christ. Cannibalism, is it not?
The deacon eats a bite of their galette, sighing as they do so.
The boy02/14/2020
Able: I made the bread at mass when I was a child, I know all about the bland little biscuits they have you eat.
Able gestures vaguely.
Able: Got in trouble for that too, of course, merely putting some salt into the dough.
they02/14/2020
The deacon quietly chuckles, clearing their throat as they do so.
Virgil: Ah, salt. Sinful.
The deacon takes another bite of their galette.
Virgil: Mh. Within the confines my church, butter is provided. You haven't heard that from anyone, lest they believe me to be devilish.
The deacon pointedly takes another bite of their galette, covering a silent laugh in doing so.
The boy02/14/2020
Able sighs dramatically, taking a bite out of his galette.
Able: If only we had such things! The wine was awful too, I think it was always the same old bottle every mass, I could swear I tasted the same tinge of metallic rot every time!
Able is gesturing limply with his fork.
Able: At least it turned me off drink at a young age, mh? Though, I'm sure if I hadn't left I'd still be making bland biscuits and judging devils unfairly..
they02/14/2020
The deacon pokes at the portion Able put on his dish, lifting it to their lips.
Virgil: . . .mh. . .a bit less salt. . .yes, well, I think it's good that the wine's awful. I tried switching to a good year of Greyfields. First Sporing, the good year.
The deacon's face is blank for a moment, as they take another piece of their galette.
Virgil: Mh. Everyone drank too much, and then fell asleep. Ah, well, I made a few contracts that day.
The boy02/14/2020
Able laughs a bit, seeming to be a bit less distracted than before. He does seem to be attempting to make more eye contact with the deacon at least, or as much as one can with glasses.
Able: Ah yes, the double edge sword, good drink, bad choices.
Able takes another bite of his gallete, humming a bit.
Able: Perhaps I should go to one of your sermons, though I can't imagine I'd learn more than what was already drilled into me as a child. They do seem rather interesting, especially given your morals, regardless.
they02/14/2020
Virgil: You're free to come anytime other than Sunday.
The deacon finishes the last bite of their galette slice, before reaching over to get another slice.
Virgil: Mh. And I don't strictly preach with the Bible alone. Do you know of the Book of Everlasting Chimes?
The boy02/14/2020
Able: I'm not aware, no.
Able seems to be taking his time with his own food, paying more attention to his conversation than the pastry.
they02/14/2020
The deacon takes a larger piece of the galette, the spirifer fork sizzling as it touches the filling.
Virgil: Mh. Hell has its own holy book. Well. . .mh. . .perhaps not holy, but certainly influential. It's a book of values, as collectively emphasized by devils.
The deacon pauses.
Virgil: People seem to enjoy hearing the principles of devils, even though they don't differ too greatly from the traditional Christian values. I suppose just putting a different name to it tricks people easily.
The boy02/14/2020
Able: Hmm, I suppose it would still be interesting to hear such things from another perspective.
Able thinks for a bit.
they02/14/2020
The deacon finishes another wedge of galette.
Virgil: Mh. Make sure to come on a good day; the passages change almost daily, even when reading directly from the page.
The boy02/14/2020
Able: You must be able to keep a crowd enthralled then, I remember hearing the same passages every other day as a child. I think maybe they thought they could make the same thing sound interesting.
Able takes another bite out of his food, finishing his single portion, setting his fork down to stare blankly at the deacon.
Able: They were very wrong.
they02/14/2020
The deacon chuckles.
Virgil: I literally can't have the same sermon, if I'm referring to Chimes.
The deacon takes a portion of their galette, lifting it a bit.
Virgil: Hm. Are you sure you don't care to try?
The boy02/14/2020
Able looks at the deacon and then the portion of galette. He makes a face that says he hesitant.
Able: Ah.. I suppose I ougt to grade your work, lest I be a bad teacher.
they02/14/2020
The deacon lifts a portion, holding it up towards Able.
Virgil: Open, then; I'm not serving you a portion if you dislike it and waste it.
The boy02/14/2020
Able blinks, making that face he makes when he's confused, a blank sort of stare with his brows sort of furrowed. He complies, but seems hesitant.
Able: A-Ah?
they02/14/2020
The deacon lightly pushes the piece of galette into Able's mouth. The pastry is flaky and crispy, with the cherry filling sweet and the solacefruit imparting a low, clove-like spice and finishing with a rhubarb tartness. Underneath the entire flavor, however, is. . .something else; it tastes vaguely of honey laced with gunpowder. A small, light pain spreads in the back of Able's throat, as if they got pricked ever so slightly.
The boy02/14/2020
Able gets a bit flush, but seems to ignore it, and focuses more on the galette itself, humming a bit as he chews. He still thinks its too sweet, but the important part was the crust.
Able: Well, its certainly very well made. I'm not sure if I am the right audience for the filling, but the crust turned out very nice. Hmm..?
Able feels his throat.
Able: ...That feels a bit odd..
they02/14/2020
Virgil: Hm?
The deacon pauses, before lifting the fork.
Virgil: . . .ah.
The deacon adjusts their glasses, looking at Able directly.
Virgil: Right, this is. . .this is a spirifer fork, isn't it? Not to alarm you, but you have a small nick on your soul.
The boy02/14/2020
Able looks at the deacon, getting somehow more flush, though he doesn't seem to notice this either.
Able: Ah... Is that.. bad?
they02/14/2020
Virgil: It shouldn't be. Forgive me, though, if I decide to take a closer look.
The deacon lightly grabs the side of Able's head, their sunglasses resting on the tip of their nose as they turn Able's head, tutting.
Virgil: It shouldn't be any worse than a paper cut. . .ah, yes. It's a small cut, along your right side.
The boy02/14/2020
Able jumps a bit, and then seems to relax, getting as red as one can get. He leans gently into the deacon's hand, looking up at him. He doesn't look particularly bothered, but it does look like he's trying not to look bothered.
Able: Mh, good, I suppose.
Able looks away, getting an odd far off look again as he appears to get a little less red.
Able: Hopefully not too much of a bother..
they02/14/2020
The deacon pauses, before lifting Able's head back, inspecting their neck; though they're getting close, their tone is clinical, like a doctor observing a patient.
Virgil: Mh, well, it shouldn't be too big of a deal.
The deacon holds the underside of Able's head, tilting their chin back while their other hand trails a finger along Able's neck like one would read a map.
Virgil: You ought to be careful around devils or spirifers, though; the nick will make it easier for it to be grabbed. It's akin to providing a place for the tines, or fangs, to hold onto.
The boy02/14/2020
Whatever previous restraint Able had over himself seemed to melt, grabbing the deacon's wrists. He shudders, taking a deep breath, trying not to completely fall apart under this little examination.
Able: Lords. You do not want to do that.
He wheezes, squeezing the deacon's wrists, though he doesn't make any move to push them away, it seems more of a structural need in case he fell over.
they02/14/2020
Virgil: Come now, you're not gonna fall apart just because a devil happens to be touching your skin.
The deacon is tracing a path along Able's neck, a hand moving to graze along the skin between his neck and his right shoulder.
Virgil: The damage to your soul will change over time, of course, but it will be localized in an area. It's important that you know where it is, so you can be careful about any unusually focused glares from infernal company.
The deacon lets go of Able's neck, moving to squeeze and inspect his right shoulder.
Virgil: It's localized in your shoulder as of right now, but, if you'll permit a little more observation. . ?
The boy02/14/2020
Able is getting more flush the more the deacon touches him, only managing to stand with a hand now firmly placed on the counter.
Able: Gf... If you so wish.
Able is trying not to look at the deacon, sighing. He looked like he was going to faint, but was holding it together fairly well. Every time the deacon moved his hands Able shuddered, it was obvious and frankly, a little pathetic.
they02/14/2020
Virgil: Excellent.
The deacon grabs their sunglasses, closing it up and hanging it around their collar before they lower themselves; they're inspecting Able's shoulder, kneeling lower as they gently squeeze their sides, inspecting them closely.
Virgil: Mh. Interesting.
The boy02/14/2020
Able is watching the deacon carefully, or until he gets another blank look. He appears to be looking at the deacon, but he seems to relax a bit too much, and his posture seems to straighten. His face seems to lessen its flush, despite all the new attention he's getting. Able hums agreeably, but it seems very non-committal.
they02/14/2020
Virgil: . . .hm. Odd.
The deacon pulls away from Able, pushing along Able's body to turn him around; they're inspecting along Able's back, their hands trailing along his back as they press into his back. Occasionally, they smooth out the fabric of his shirt, and clench a bit of his skin, quietly muttering as they do so.
Virgil: . . .strange. . .
The boy02/14/2020
Able shudders, but tries to keep himself calm as he's moved around. He seems mostly successful, though he fades in and out of his dazed and blank state. He stays quiet though, perhaps to try and not give himself away too much. He wonders how much longer this could go on for.
they02/14/2020
The deacon is lightly squeezing Able's back, their grip moving up as they stand behind Able and lightly trail a finger along the nape of his neck, before poking a nail against a particular spot.
Virgil: -Pausing.- . . .now, why are you shuddering? It's not fear, given the trust you've exhibited thus far, so what is it?
The boy02/14/2020
Able grips the counter again, seeming to lose his composure. His face could be seen a mile away with how red it had gotten.
Able: Hhf.. You really shouldn't ask questions like that.
they02/14/2020
The deacon lets go of Able, leaning back against the wall of Able's kitchen nonchalantly as they unfold their sunglasses.
Virgil: Mh, I suppose it is rude to ask questions I already know the answer to. Virgil: Really, now, you're putting a tomato to shame, the way you are already. Seeing your soul flare up was merely formal confirmation.
The deacon puts their sunglasses back on and poke the back of Able's neck, sighing as he habitually straightens out Able's collar.
Virgil: Speaking of your soul; the damage is going to rest in region above your shoulders. You ought to be wary of people and devils whose gaze is around you rather than at you; your nick is gonna move around, and their eyes are gonna follow that opportunity.
The boy02/14/2020
Able: Great.
He wheezes, turning to face the deacon.
Able: ...Ah, you should probably leave unless you intend to do anything about it. It might take a while to get rid of this...
Able sighs.
Able: Honestly, riling me up for such a thing.
they02/14/2020
Virgil: Oh, was that what that was? I thought it was merely that you had great shame in being investigated so thoroughly.
The deacon straightens their own collar, tutting.
Virgil: Well, now I know better.
The boy02/14/2020
Able looks unconvinced, and a little miffed.
Able: Yes, of course. You may stay or go, I'm sure I've made you uncomfortable enough as is.
Able groans, moving to his living area, looking fairly bothered now.
they02/14/2020
The deacon moves over and picks up their galette, slipping it out of Able's pie tray and setting it in fabric. They wrap it up, and gently set it inside the trunk as they start gathering their cutlery.
Virgil: Come now, presupposition is a type of polite rudeness; I am not discomfited by what you think of me, for it is only a thought, and I have heard worse.
The deacon closes their trunk with a series of clicks (using the spirifer fork to lock it again before tucking the fork back into their sleeves), and heads into the living room, moving to grab their hat.
Virgil: -Placing their hat atop their head.- Anything from Thomas, for instance. Ah, but I do need to take my leave; tomorrow will be a full sermon, and I must work on making sure the Book of Everlasting Chimes cooperates with me.
The deacon adjusts the brim of their hat, setting it round so their eyes are shaded (save for the faint glow of amber underneath the sunglasses). They walk to Able's front door, opening it for a moment.
Virgil: I shall take my leave, and may you have a good evening.
The deacon closes the door behind them. . . There's muffled, flat conversation as the deacon converses their way around the soulless owner, but, otherwise, the hallways grow quiet as the deacon heads downstairs.
The boy02/14/2020
Able lays on his couch, sighing heavily. He would need to wait a long time until this particular thought died down.
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10:43 PM
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