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Part 22 - Contracts and Sermons

----

[

10:44 PM

]

Thomas had heard the news second hand. Every ship had sank, and his entire shipment was lost. His first instinct was to cancel all of his clients, which took some doing. Thomas had to act fast, pulling back all his resources as much as he could before he started hemorrhaging money. His second instinct, was to curl up in a ball on the floor and drink. Pearl had come by but Thomas could merely cry to her about his own frustrating situation. The only person he would even allow to see him that low. She spent a very long time with him until he had to send her off. He needed to settle more debts and collect some as well before the week was done. Every new day brought new fear in his soul until he drank it away. He'd yet to settle with the bandaged man, but he figured that wouldn't be much of a difficult task. The biggest task had yet to show up, but he would deal with that as needed.

.


they02/14/2020

The deacon is heading down the stairs, the steps creaking under their gait as they walk along. It was time for payment (the standard order; a crate of Surface wine, and fresh fruit), and he was here to collect. He stands in front of Thomas's door, before knocking on the door in the familiar rhythm that he has done so many times before. Two, then three, then two.

Virgil: Good evening, Thomas. May I come in?.


The boy02/14/2020

Thomas's house was a mess, empty bottles littered around the room, all of a cheaper year. He moves to the door, opening it, dressed in merely a loose robe and a long half buttoned dress shirt. He looks as if he hasn't shaved in weeks.

Thomas: Aye?

He squints, a bottle in his hand.

Thomas: Oh. Right. Well come in, I have at least your things leftover from the last shipment before it all went to hell.

Thomas heads back to his living area, taking another hearty swig of his bottle.

.


they02/14/2020

The deacon's nose crinkles as soon as the door opens, but the rest of their face remains inscrutable as they head inside, holding their robe so it doesn't touch the mess scattered on the floor.

Virgil: I was unaware it went to Hell; I would've thought I'd be the first to know about a personal delivery.

The deacon follows behind Thomas, pushing their sunglasses down for a bit to peer at Thomas before pushing it firmly back up to cover their eyes.


The boy02/14/2020

Thomas moves to the back of the room, brushing off a crate that seemed to be recently hauled out from storage due to the back hallway door open. If one was so inclined they could peer back through the door and into the empty storage room. Thomas has been busy.

Thomas: Right, you cheeky lot, this is the last of the goods I could get for ye. Take whatever else you want, I'll be drowning myself.

Thomas pats the top of the crate, a familiar stamp of a crow on the top, before he moves from it. He drains the bottle he was carrying and sets it on the table, and grabbing a new one, popping it open.

Thomas: Nothing good in this world, deacon, 'cept tall men, and wine.

February 15, 2020


they02/15/2020

The deacon peers into the empty storage room, before leaning back and clearing their throat.

Virgil: Yes, well. . .I'd like to say that I don't believe your answers lie at the bottom of a bottle, but I ought not to. I'd also like to say that you ought to not be drinking so ferociously. . .

The deacon moves over to the crate, squatting before picking it up effortlessly (there's nary a breath of strain).

Virgil: -Holding the crate in their hands.- . . .ah, but I shan't; that would be rude, speaking of your habits like that in your home. Virgil: Now, as I understand it, business is halted. Temporarily, I presume?.


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas takes a long, almost spiteful drink of his bottle of wine, gasping when he finally takes it away from his mouth.

Thomas: Hhhf... Mmh, two ships. Two.... god damned ships, deacon.

He moves to the lounge chair, settling into it. He seems disinterested, a little detached, and likely a bit drunk.

Thomas: I have lost, enough, mh? I was prepared this time, but that doesn't mean it will make business perk back up. I can taste your disdain for me from here. No, no, no no, I won't be able to come back from this. Climbing is impossible.


they02/15/2020

Virgil: Unless I'm mistaken, I believe what you're tasting cheap wine.

The deacon hoists the crate higher, holding it.

Virgil: Ah, but, if that's what you think, then I can't do much to change your mind, now can I? In which case, there's no point to me being here, so I will take my leave.

The deacon holds the crate to their chest, effortlessly holding it there with one arm while their other hand holds onto and lifts their robe, moving to the open front door; they pause in the doorway, turning to look at Thomas across the room.

Virgil: May you have a good evening. I'm sure that you'll recover. Possibly.

The deacon sets out, heading up the stairs; the floorboards creak underfoot as they head up and out. Silence.


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas drinks in silence, quietly wondering to himself, but mostly becoming less and less self aware. He felt floaty, he preferred this to the shame of losing.


they02/15/2020

Outside, the bandaged man stumbles down the stairs, dressed in a suit with eyes on the lapels and a row of teeth lining the inside trim of the lapels; they're fidgety, their body aching from withdrawal. Damn whatever that child wants of him, he needs some wine now. He's holding onto their arms as they walk crookedly down the stairs; upon seeing the open door, he claps his hands.

The Bandaged: Oh, thank God, the door's open. . .oy! Freckles! Are you in 'ere?

The bandaged man kicks the door open (partly out of spite for the blasted thing), and steps inside. He pauses, watching the bottles laid out among the floor, and kicks some of them aside, amusing himself with the tinkling.

The Bandaged: . . .did you hold one of yer soirees here again? Looked like a fun one. . .how come I wasn't invited? Helloooo?

***



The boy02/15/2020

Thomas looks up, having not moved since the deacon left, draining his other bottle. He raises his arms, laughing.

Thomas: Ah! You're here! Grand, just grand.

He groans, looking for a nearby unopened bottle.

Thomas: Be a dear and hand me one of those bottles in the kitchen, we can celebrate!





they02/15/2020

The bandaged man blinks, looking around and pointing with a hand on their hip.

The Bandaged: Er, which room is your kitchen? Is it the one with the bottles on the ground, or the one with the broken bottles on the ground?





The boy02/15/2020

Thomas: Now now, don't be like that.

Thomas groans, annoyed, standing shakily as he walks to the kitchen, stumbling a bit around the bottles on the floor.

Thomas: Its a little wine, another bottle should fix everything, mh.

Thomas grabs one of the half full bottles, sighing.

Thomas: What are you here for, anyhow? To prod at my failures?

He takes a long swig out of the bottle, looking at the bandaged man.





they02/15/2020

The bandaged man chuckles.

The Bandaged: Actually, I was hoping you'd have some wine leftover.

The bandaged man searches the kitchen, looking for a small bottle.

The Bandaged: Why the drinking, by the way? Did you have a great celebration without me? For shame, freckles.


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas: You must think I'm a greater man than I am to celebrate. That sinking will keep me at bay for now. Shame, great shame.

He drains it, growling to himself.


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man is searching among the drained bottles, trying to find one that's still filled a drop.

The Bandaged: Ah. Is it that kind of business, then. . .what happened to you and yer house, then, if it wasn't revelry?


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas pulls a mostly empty bottle from a pile of long since drained ones.

Thomas: Ships out to zee have the uncanny ability to just suddenly sink, mh.


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man snorts, kicking around bottles as they crawl on the floor.

The Bandaged: Ahhhh, so that's why yer drinking.

The bandaged man gestures at Thomas's face.

The Bandaged: That's why you invest in a Zubmarine. Never have to worry about a sinking if ye can come back up from it, hmmmm?


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas slumps onto the floor sighing.

Thomas: Sure, sure, let me just pull out all the money I do not have.

He lays on his side, groaning.


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man pauses, before trying to grab at the bottle Thomas is holding.

The Bandaged: Well now, you seemed to be a profitable lad last I saw ye; what, did you go out and spend it all on wine? Is that why there's all these bottles 'ere?


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas drinks the last of the small amount of wine in the bottle. He looks up at the bandaged man from the floor.

Thomas: Too much lost, too much.


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man scowls, returning back to the bottles on the floor, grabbing and holding it up against the light to see if there's any stale liquid inside.

The Bandaged: Ah, ye keep mumblin' about what you lost and that you can't come back from it. . .what, whaaat, is your entire business all nautical or somethin'?.


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas throws the empty bottle to the side, it clinking along the floor. He lays back limply.

Thomas: It's the biggest portion of how we get surface goods. Going to the surface by boat is how we manage to stay within budget whilst being regular. Hhg... It doesn't matter now, just kill me.


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man pauses, inspecting the bottom of a mostly empty bottle.

The Bandaged: . . .nah; killing you only makes sense if you still have money for me to take off of you.

The bandaged man tilts the bottle back, sighing forlornly as only a few drops fall onto their tongue.

The Bandaged: Yer being right pathetic about it, though; the Zee eats many ships. . .what, is this the first time ye've had ship troubles?


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas covers his face, annoyed.

Thomas: Not even in the slightest.

He crawls onto his stomach, spying a full bottle in one of his lower(mostly open) cabinets, dragging himself towards it and grabbing it weakly.

Thomas: Ah.. something good..


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man snorts, crawling along on the floor and prying the bottle out of Thomas's hands. . .not immensely difficult, given the bandaged man's need for wine and Thomas's slight tipsiness.

The Bandaged: Oy, now, yer already drunk enough; share some with the rest of your clients, mh?

The bandaged man pries the wax seal off of the top of the wine, humming to themselves.

The Bandaged: Ah, there it is. . .that lovely year. . .

The bandaged man tips the bottle back, taking a small swig before lowering; their eyebrows are furrowed as they stare at the bottle.

The Bandaged: -Sour.- . . .euch. . .fungal. . .forgot about that. . .agaric taste. . .hm. The Bandaged: . . .yes, well. . .if all ye need a new ship, get me another bottle and we can possibly talk.


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas stands suddenly, grabbing at the bandaged man's collar. If he didn't he looked like he might fall over.

Thomas: You would do that? Dear if you did that you would get a crate with your name on it each month the ship is up n running. Free, obviously.


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man snorts, choking on a swig of wine.

The Bandaged: -Choking.- Ghk! . ..achh. . .goodness, desperation is not very becoming on you, freckles. . .

The bandaged man chuckles, taking another hearty swig of wine, their face scrunching up a bit from the fungal taste.

The Bandaged: Gh. . .ah, but when you make an offer like that, well. . .I'd be a fool to say no. . .

The bandaged man groans, standing up and pushing aside Thomas's hands; they clap their hands (well, more so smack the side of the bottle of wine they're holding), a crooked grin growing on their face.

The Bandaged: I want that in writing, y'hear? And I'm not gonna buy you two ships; you can handle that cost yerself after just the one.


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas just falls into the bandaged man, groaning.

Thomas: Aye sure... has the floor always been so slippery? Ha...

The wine seemed to finally be kicking in.

Thomas: I think perhaps five bottles was too much...

Thomas merely leans against the bandaged man.


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man happily pulls Thomas along, humming as they do so.

The Bandaged: -Poking Thomas's ribs.- Hah! I'm certain one bottle would've knocked you out, freckles; yer so small you'd get drunk with one sip, I'd think.

The bandaged man pulls Thomas into the living room, setting him down to sit in one of the chairs.

The Bandaged: Ah, wait here. . .let's see. . .

The bandaged man looks around, squinting for a moment. Ah, perfect; the bandaged man grabs a tablecloth on the floor, holding it up; they toss it towards Thomas, the tablecloth landing on his shoulder as the bandaged man rummages through their pockets.

The Bandaged: Oy, freckles, be a dear and spread that out on the table.


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas nearly falls over when the bandaged man moves, but keeps barely stable. He grabs the cloth, and moves it to the table, pushing bottles off of the table to spread it out.

Thomas: Wot, are you really going to have me write? Can't you write it?


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man snorts, pulling out their pen.

The Bandaged: Goodness, no; you're too drunk for it to be legible. All I need is your signature once I'm done writing. Now. . .

The deacon uncaps their pen, writing directly onto the tablecloth in seared Violant ink; they're muttering as they speak, writing various clauses with an almost furious vigor as the tablecloth sears with warmth.

The Bandaged: In receipt of a new nautical vessel. . .hereby, for the entire life of this ship. . .I hereby agree to two. . two? . .nah, too facetious. . .one VERY large crate. . .of Surface goods. . .


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas watches the bandaged man, griping about how this would cut into his profits.

Thomas: ...Virgil will not be happy with this.. Hhg... Sure, acceptable.


they02/15/2020

The Bandaged: Oy, quit yer whining. . .or would you rather deal with buying a ship on your own terms?

The bandaged man finishes writing up the contract; there's a lot of confusing language about how the ship is technically leased out to Thomas under bandaged's name; that the ship is to be named by the bandaged man, that the bandaged man is absolved of all nautical disasters that may arise on that ship, and that a small portion of the wine product goes to the bandaged man along with the large crate. . .but, as far as the legal language is concerned, the bandaged man is obligated to make Thomas a new ship as chosen by Thomas (paying for the construction, the materials, the motors, etc.). Thomas will not pay a single pence, not even for the repair of temporary wear-and-tear.

The Bandaged: . . .by signing, I recognize and affirm the preceding clauses. . .ah, there we go.

The bandaged man makes a large Violant slash at the bottom, before laying the tablecloth out towards Thomas and offering the pen to them.

The Bandaged: Well, now. . ? Are ye gonna sign?.


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas grabs the pen, glancing over the writing before signing. He then promptly moves to the floor, his legs giving out under him.

Thomas: Yes, sure... aCH!

He lays on the floor, grabbing a small bottle near him. Empty.

Thomas: sigh, of course..


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man nods, rolling up the tablecloth.

The Bandaged: -Humming.- Ah, thank you, Thomas. . .right, well. . .

The bandaged man starts walking towards the front door.

The Bandaged: When ye sober up in. . .a week. . .yer so small, it might as well be a week. . .make sure you head by the spire; I'll have the designs ready, and you just choose whichever you like, hm?

[

1:02 PM

]

--------------------------


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man is excitedly setting up their main room; after waking up (hungover, of course, from drinking an entire bottle of wine stolen from Thomas), a manic energy returned to them when they realized they had the opportunity to design and create. All over the walls of the spire, there are sheets of vellum pasted to the wallpaper detailing many, many strange designs; a ship that is capable of flying; a Zubmarine capable of submerging underneath the waters; a clipper, speedy and cutting through water without much difficulty; a. . .dirigible? Who cares if that's not a ship, having a flying vehicle is worthy of building for the mere joy of conceiving it! The bandaged man is pasting another design onto the board (a schematic for a broad, army ship that shoots living people as surprisingly dangerous ammunition).

The Bandaged: -Stepping back; holding their hands up to frame it.- . . .yes. Yes! God, this will be magnificent!


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas starts up the stairs, his head pounding as he walks towards the window, thankfully still doorless. He steps through, holding his head, and a thing of papers in the other. He needed to remember what he agreed to, but he only remembered little snippets before he passed out on his floor. Cleaning was a pain, but he did it. Thomas looks up at the bandaged mans.... insanity. He groans.

Thomas: Oy...What is all this?


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man whirls around, clapping their hands.

The Bandaged: Ah, Thomas! There you are! Now, I know that I agreed to pay for your ship, but certain matters need to be addressed! The Bandaged: -Gesturing to the pictures.-There's so many options! Pre-made versus commissioned, fast versus strong; considerations need to be made so you know you are making a wise decision!


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas moves to the bandaged man, wincing.

Thomas: Can you be less loud about it.

Thomas gestures to the papers sighing.

Thomas: Besides I've already made up my mind, there is already a ship I know will work. If you want to convince otherwise you'd have to convince the crew. Not me..


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man's expression immediately sours.

The Bandaged: Now, freckles, I don't think you understand what yer saying; you're having someone pay, out of their own pocket, every cost for a ship, and yer just gonna go with what you know?

The bandaged man turns around, waggling a finger in the same way a teacher would tell off a student.

The Bandaged: That's narrowminded; broaden your experience! Try something new, something novel! What if yer ship could avoid the dangers of the Wax-Wind altogether? What if it could fly?

[

8:18 PM

]

The bandaged man gestures as a schematic for a Zubmarine, except. . .bits of the design seem surreptitiously changed.

The Bandaged: What if it was designed by yours truly? Eh? Ehhh?


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas: . . .Ah.

Thomas sighs moving to sit at the bandaged man's desk, turning the chair to face him.

Thomas: Since I'm feeling generous let us hear it then.

He sighs, a little too tired to argue in this moment.


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man claps their hands, quickly moving to the front of the board.

The Bandaged: Ah, excellent! Now, I understand that you may not be interested in the benefits of submerging, but let me tell you; it's much safer under the water as opposed to the surface! You can circumspect anything! Hide in the depths of monsters!

The bandaged man gestures wildly, pointing to the various schematics.

The Bandaged: Perhaps you'd try something with wings? Oh, or this merchant's boat! Perhaps this yacht made of glass?


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas puts on a decent faux smile as he slowly tunes out the bandaged man. There was no way he was going to do any of that

------

Able was heading into Virgil's church. He had offered, and the last time he was in the deacon's church was a mess. Able wanted to at least replace those memories with different ones, lest he get all flush every time he had to walk by the church. He wore a respectable sweater with his only nice white dress shirt. He debated on whether or not to wear something more formal, but it was still cold and he didn't want to get ill.


they02/15/2020

The inside of the church is stuffed full of a variety of villainous, singular, or otherwise exotic guests; there are artists, faces besmirched with paint, clothes stained with stale wine, and lips glossy with honey. . .young thieves looking around with shifty eyes and veteran criminals sitting relaxed, as if this was a respite. . .a pair of devils, seated at the very back (and uncomfortably close to Able), merely talking politely between themselves and gesturing towards the deacon at his post, a scandalous glare in their uncovered amber eyes. . .a strange urchin, seated near the front and fidgeting uncomfortably and refusing to make eye-contact with the deacon. . .a single Rubbery Man, seated dopily in a seat with the surrounding booths vacated. . .revolutionaries, dressed in their rebellious red and a small flag of rebels pinned to their front. Overall, the audience is strange. The deacon is standing up front, standing at a wooden stand with a pair of books resting on it. There's a brass organ playing behind them (set to play on its own), accompanying the sermon that the deacon is sharing, their voice unusally clear and powerful in the brass church.

Virgil: -Forceful; with vigor.- And, as stated in the Book of Everlasting Chimes, you must understand the price that you pay in submitting to. . .another authority is an abandoning of your fundamental values, and you are nothing without those values; have you no self-respect, in allowing your being to be trampled on?

The deacon paused in their sermon, looking up at Able for the briefest of moments before continuing in their sermon. The others, however, are not as kind to ignore Able; the closer devils turn to look at Able with great curiosity, and several of the artists and criminals are peering at him with furrowed eyebrows. Only the revolutionaries don't glance, too busy nodding affirmatively with the deacon's particular preaching.


The boy02/15/2020

Able looks at the deacon, a little inspired by his energy, though it did make him a bit scared to be here with so many eyes on him now. He knew some of these people, and for Able, that typically meant a bad thing. Able moves to a pew as far from the eyes as possible. He didn't want to cause trouble. Able settles into this space, focusing on the deacon and trying to not look at the surrounding patrons. He chose one of the back seats, but sat as far from the devils as he possibly could.


they02/15/2020

The deacon continues along their sermon, turning their head and looking at the crowd with mirrored eyes; despite the fact that the room is lit by a candle chandelier, the bottom part of the lenses appear to be illuminated as if the deacon was seated in front of a fire. The church is hot. The devils in the pack titter between themselves, looking at Able with a reflexive smile as they do so.

Virgil: -Turning a page in an open book.- And know that your principles are what defines you, and that you all have the Providence within you to change what authority is, and how the world ought to be!

One of the devils in the back stands up, politely apologizing to those seated around them, and move to sit at the edge of the booth that Able is seated at. The deacon suddenly pounds the post, their eyebrows furrowed as they hold a finger in the air.

Virgil: -Vigorous; with slight venom.- To suppose that one receives their dues when they have passed from this realm is nothing but a bold way to absolve one's responsibility to not change the wretchedness!

The devil in the back titters, covering their face as they chuckle into their lapel.


The boy02/15/2020

Able seems to be very keen on listening to the deacon, his attention only stirring when he sees the devil at the edge of the booth he's at. He tries to ignore them, sure they would get bored of him eventually. He tugs at his sweater a bit, the warmth of the church being welcoming before, but sitting in here was becoming a bit much. He quietly removes the sweater, setting it in his lap. This was a bit more acceptable, but it was still fairly stuffy. Able watches the deacon with a look of admiration. This was something he felt in his gut as well, though perhaps with less vigor than the deacon makes it out to be. Able looks annoyed when he hears the other devil. Apparently they didn't feel similarly.


they02/15/2020

------------


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man is walking around the circular room, gesturing wildly; they've talked at length about all manners of nautical vessels. . .they talked, with great admiration, the development of flying ships (equipped with sails to harness the Wax-Wind to propel itself forward!), the increased speed of motors (using living Polythreme components!), the potential in zubmersion (hiding under the water to avoid the Lifebergs and Lorn-Flukes!), and the growing developments in Correspondence-aided utilities (of which the bandaged man seemed personally invested in). Currently, they're pitching a long-winded idea to Thomas, about the Correspondence:

The Bandaged: Now, young sir, I want for you to imagine; consider, the roughness of the journey when transporting goods across the Zee. The Bandaged: -Pantomiming an imbalanced walk.- The waves! O, the waves! They set your course askew, they send your products sliding along the floor, they damage your crew's balance and your ship. . .ah, but consider! The Bandaged: -Gesturing with their (capped) pen.- Inscribing the inner walls of your ship with the Correspondence! Now, you can have your ship's orientation kept steadfast! No more will it sway in the waves, or risk being overturned! Now, with multiple sentences, you can keep it gyroscopically locked! Imagine!


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas seemed to have dazed off around the last hour of this, and pulling out a small green bottle to take a swig of it before placing it back into his inner suit pocket.

Thomas: Hm..

He makes a sound as if he was listening, hoping that he would be finished with this vigorous display already.


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man eyebrows furrow, before turning away again, writing manically on the walls in Violant.

The Bandaged: Alright, I can see that perhaps that's not that interesting! And you're right! Pah, a tidally locked ship? Rubbish! But consider again!

The bandaged man quickly sketches out a merchant's ferry, contained in a box.

The Bandaged: Consider, the worst pain of a merchant. . .you're buying stock, but, egads! You've ran out of space, and you've got an important Duke for whom this orderis made out to who is surely to imprison you for something menial if you forget! What is one to do!?

The bandaged man furiously draws circles around the merchant ferry, expanding the circles outwards.

The Bandaged: Why, make more space. . . with space! Consider, writing sentences along the walls of the ship; you can make the inside space much larger than the outside space, and only risk mild injury to bare eyes! Ah, but that's a mere trifle worry; merely cover your eyes with feathers, and you can take advantage of the opportunity to almost double _the stock that you carry! The Bandaged: -Throwing their pen onto the ground.- Consider that, freckles!


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas leans back into the chair, humming. He seemed to get very enthused, he thought. If only this man could be so enthused in other more important matters. Thomas wonders why this would be such a task for him. Ah, he had an idea.

Thomas: Ah, well, what a rousing presentation.

He stands, keeping his posture straight.

Thomas: I must pass, though, as I have schedules to keep.


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man stops, before scowling and crawling onto the floor.

The Bandaged: -Bitter.- Wh. . .alright, then. . .sure. . . The Bandaged: -Searching the floor for their pen.- . . .a night's work of preparation, gone like that. . .


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas pulls out a watch from one of his inside coat pockets and hums, placing it back.

Thomas: Before you start moping you need to meet the crew if you intend to get them a ship, they will likely be more open to hearing whatever it is you might have to say.

Thomas moves to the window.

Thomas: Now, preferably..


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man is inspecting the floor, trying to find their pen.

The Bandaged: -Plucking their pen between the carpet and the floorboards.- Yes, yes, sure. The Bandaged: -Tucking the pen back into their pockets; upbeat.- Well, I'm sure that they will appreciate genius more than their employer.

[

9:59 PM

]

-----------

[

10:06 PM

]

The deacon has been preaching for quite a while. Though, honestly, it feels more like rallying than it does preaching, and the ferocity with which they have discussed is only increasing; the brass organs in the back have, likewise, increased in volume, filling the church with an excessive, infernally influenced rendition of the choral music Able is used to growing up with. The church is hot. The artists up front have already taken off layers, seemingly used to this routine; the Rubbery Man has excused itself from the church, its face glossy and slightly desiccated as it left; and the criminals and revolutionaries have undone their buttons, leaving a little skin around the collar free to sweat.

Virgil: -Gesturing with both hands.- And one whose principles are just and of solid footing know that an authority that demands a suppression of its subjects, or an "other"-ism of those that defect, or any number of rejection of the otherwise humane is no more an authority as a tyranny is just!

The revolutionaries in the front give a small cheer to this; the devil at the back chuckles into its lapel, sitting back and covering its gaze with a tilted hat. The devil at the end of Able's booth is making her excuses to those around herself, and swaps places with some of them; she's seated a bit closer to Able, but she's not staring directly at him.

***



The boy02/15/2020

Able feels himself sweating through his only nice shirt, but he feels odd exposing himself even more than he already had. He would deal with this, push through it. Able sees more eyes on him than previously before, a large, familiar looking man giving him glares. Able felt his blood run cold. He remembered him. He remembers what he did to him. Near to him was a group of folks who seemed to join him, most of them looking as if they'd peeled away about a whole dresser of clothing. Able sees the devil, but he's trying to not look. Why was everyone so interested in him today?





they02/15/2020

The deacon suddenly pounds their fist onto the post they're standing at, the sound resounding wildly in the brass chambers of the church.

Virgil: _And, as voiced in the Book of Chimes, do you recall how you came to this state? And do you recall the promises and the hopes that were promised to you that were not delivered? Perhaps they will not fulfill that which was bequeathed to you, but that is not an excuse to be resentful! It ought to drive you to_ change that, so that those who had wanted like you may want no more!

Able's ear scalds suddenly as a voice speaks to them.

A Devilless: It's rather dull, isn't it?

The devil that was, seated several patrons away from Able, is sitting besides Able, wearing a hat veiled in navy fabric.

A Devilless: Uninspiring, wouldn't you say?





The boy02/15/2020

Able jumps a bit, looking over at the woman next to him. He looks nervous, leaning away from her.

Able: A-Ah... I might find myself agreeing with the deacon a bit more than you may think.

Able looks back up at Virgil, but casting glances over at the devil next to him nervously.





they02/15/2020

The devilless sits politely in their seat, sitting back.

A Devilless: Ah, I see. You're one of those revolutionary types, mad at the world not treating you right, hm?


The boy02/15/2020

Able raises an eyebrow.

Able: Merely a man who thinks change is possible.


they02/15/2020

A Devilless: Ah, that's enough to be considered a revolutionary nowadays.

The devilless adjust their veil, staring at Able.

A Devilless: Now, what is someone like you doing hanging about the deacon's church?

The devilless puts heavy emphasis on the title, the mildest tone of condescension entering her voice.


The boy02/15/2020

Able sighs.

Able: The deacon is a respectable man with good values.

Able looks over at the devil.

Able: I merely wish to gain some of that myself.

He wears an annoyed smile.

Able: Why are you here?


they02/15/2020

A Devilless: Why do you watch animals in cages at the Carnival? For amusement.

The devilless sits back in the booth, tittering to herself as she watches the deacon preach.

A Devilless: Surely, you see something strange with a devil acting as a priest, yes?


The boy02/15/2020

Able: Perhaps you could learn from him, then.

Able looks away from the woman.

Able: He's not just any devil, a good trait, I think.


they02/15/2020

The devilless pauses, before smiling a smile with teeth that are a bit too clean. Their amber gaze is flitting around Able's head, their eyes ever so subtly moving but clearly shifting.

A Devilless: Ah. . .I see. Are you personable to infernal company, then?


The boy02/15/2020

Able: Ah, just him, merely acquaintances.

Able looks over at the devilless. He doesn't like her gaze, or how she's sizing him up.

Able: I am not looking for more acquaintances, sorry to say.


they02/15/2020

The devilless titters, before withdrawing.

A Devilless: Ah, no worries. I understand. I suppose it'd be tiring, wouldn't it?

The devilless stands up, holding a hand to their chin.

A Devilless: I'll leave you be, then, to watch your acquaintance.

The deviless flashes a piercing gaze and a pearly smile at Able before turning around, heading back to her partner at the back of the church, and politely making her excuses. The church is growing hot; it's not that its gotten warmer, but that the warm air has nowhere to escape.

Virgil: It is through the alarming saints that we can recognize that an extremist perspective is not merely to be brushed aside; they ought to be recognized! Perhaps they need not be considered too carefully, but there is a reason that such positions appear, a discord that a populace feels needs to be recognized! The alarming saints of Joshua and Sherman remind us to provide consideration to those who voice themselves!


The boy02/15/2020

Able watches her leave, sighing to finally get some breathing room. Perhaps things would be fine?

-----


The boy02/15/2020

Thomas and the bandaged man headed towards the dock, and into a nearby tavern. Thomas drags the bandaged man back from the bar, and towards the back rooms when he sees his companion's eyes catch on the liquor stored behind the bar. They reach into a decent sized room, people lounging on chairs and couches, the candle light dimmer than in the main area. The air smelled thick with honey and wine, and someone had certainly recently spilled both on the floor. In the back of this room was the captain the bandaged man had met at Thomas's party previously. She looked rough, having lost one leg, and gained some new scars alongside them. She was dressed fairly loosely, in thin silks and lace that draped over her body in a minor attempt to provide some modesty. Thomas sits next to her, putting an arm around her shoulder. She looks a little dazed, but perks up with Thomas next to her.

Thomas: Dear, this is the bandaged man, I'm sure you remember him from a while back. He is the one providing us with a new ship, he seems keen on telling you all about his ideas..

A captain: Ah! You! Yes. Yes that's right, you're that man who insisted on titles. Tell me, what is your idea? A boat only has so many parts.

The captain leans into Thomas as she speaks.

.


they02/15/2020

The bandaged man whistles at the state of the room.

The Bandaged: -Half-impressed.- Well, it looks you all had a grand time. . .should've invited me, I would've liked some honey too. . .ah, captain! . .you seem to have fewer pieces since the last I saw ye. It's a good look!

The bandaged man seats themselves besides the captain, holding several diagrams that they lay out flat on the nearby counter.

The Bandaged: Now, tell me; what do ye think about a flying ship?

February 16, 2020


The boy02/16/2020

The captain almost grabs her new wooden leg at the side of the chair, but Thomas wraps an arm around her waist and presses her back gently. She looks furious.

A captain: You little.. Thomas: Dear don't mind him, he's giving us a ship. Mh?

The captain settles a bit, but looks already done with the bandaged man.

A captain: Flying isn't necessary. That wouldn't really be a ship at that point.

Thomas hums, pulling out his bottle from his inner suit pocket, taking another swig.


they02/16/2020

The bandaged man holds up their hands, raising their eyebrows.

The Bandaged: Goodness! Settle down. . .I didn't think the flying idea was that bad. . .

The bandaged man checks their schematics, running a finger along them.

The Bandaged: Let's see. . .apparently, Thomas has already settled on a ship. . .wasting time out of my short life, I see. . .but that doesn't mean changes can't be made, now does it? The Bandaged: -Jabbing a finger into a diagram.- The Correspondence is already used in designs such as the Zubmarine, but that's a dramatic usage of it, serving to keep the air fresh when submerged. . .but I thought "well, I'm a professor! Why not use it for other more useful purposes?" Consider!

The bandaged man pulls out their pen, jabbing a schematic of a merchant ship.

The Bandaged: As I understand it, some disaster or other has fallen yer crew. A shame, and it ought to be properly mourned, but consider! What if the hit that broke the hull. . .didn't? The Bandaged: -Tracing patches along the ship.- With a long enough sentences, impacts along the hull can be persuaded to be converted into different kinds of forces, aimed in different directions! Instead of having it pierce the hull, it can be persuaded to go, say, downwards, into the water? Now, how about that?


The boy02/16/2020

The captain takes a nearby bottle of wine off of the table, pouring herself a glass before sipping. She whispers something to Thomas, and he snickers.

A captain: Aye, perhaps you have a point.

She takes a long drink from her glass.

A captain: Ahh... It would certainly make things a small bit easier.


they02/16/2020

The bandaged man flashes a smile at Thomas, jabbing the pen in their direction.

The Bandaged: Ah! Ah, you see? My ideas are worth listening to!

The bandaged man draws a circle around another schematic.

The Bandaged: Ah, and what about this idea? Taking the common areas below the ship. . .and making them bigger? The Correspondence allows distances to be scaled as one wishes; imagine, more stock, put into the same space! . .no, er, it's the other way around. It's. . .it's the same space, made larger!


The boy02/16/2020

-----

[

12:30 AM

]

Able had waited for the end, or at the very least until the last patron had left. He had gotten looks he didn't want behind him no matter how uncomfortably hot he was. He knew if he let them out first he'd at least see it coming. He stands only when the deacon is the only person left. He looks around nervously, wondering if there was anyone left.

.


they02/16/2020

The deacon is closing their book, the organ still playing church hymns in the background; they wander over to it, depressing a pedal on it and making the organ slowly wind down (rather eerily, like a music box winding down).

Virgil: . . .hm. Are you intending on staying behind for another confession?


The boy02/16/2020

Able looks up at the deacon, laughing a bit. He gets a bit flush remembering that. It was... still a bit much.

Able: Ah, not today.

Able is heading out of the pews before turning to the deacon.

Able: It is a bit nice to see you speak so well of change, ah, though I must exit or I will almost certainly ruin this shirt..

Able heads out the door quickly, wheezing. The cold air was a bit of a shock but a nice change. Then he hears a shrill voice.

Catharine: Oh, so now you're attending services at this devil's church? Honestly! I ought to have you sent- Able: Oh goodness me I have got to run..

He slides away from Catharine, leaving her standing in front of the church. He runs into a nearby alley, all whilst she's screeching at him. He sighs, relieved, until he's snatched up by the man he saw before.


??: Ah! Able.... Dear sweet little urchin... Attending services now are ye?

The man had brought company it seemed, and a knife.


they02/16/2020

The deacon is setting aside the post they had laid the Bible and the Book of Everlasting Chimes on. After carrying the vigil to the corner, they moved to the organ, straightening their fingers.

Virgil: -Muttering.- Yes, well. That was one of my better sermons.

The deacon plays a dissonant sequence of notes; the booths in the church begin melting, phasing into the ground as the brass pipes play a breathy noise.

Virgil: -Humming.- And know the names of the Olde Hell, for they don't deserve have the luxury of being forgotten. . .and know the titles that they held, for they are to be made lower than dirt. . ..


The boy02/16/2020

Catharine hobbles into the church, her gaze looking around with disdain. Her cane thumping loudly against the ground as she walks.

Catharine: You! You taking up luring young men too?! Isn't the filth that walk in enough to keep your hands busy?

She shouts at the deacon, pointing a finger at him.


they02/16/2020

The deacon pauses the playing of the organ, turning to look behind them.

Virgil: . . .good evening, Catherine.

The deacon turns to the organ, resuming and playing just a tad bit louder than they were before.

.


The boy02/16/2020

Catharine shrieks. Thumping her cane on the ground loudly she hobbles her way towards the deacon.

Catharine: Good evening is all you have to say? Do you even know how much people are literally all over themselves about you making time for a young man! You have no right to be dragging him along like some sort of pet!


they02/16/2020

The deacon ceases their playing, the organ going silent as they turn around in their seat.

Virgil: . . .I was unaware of the rumors that were circulating about me, for I don't make it my business to discover it. Beyond that, I find it inspiring that you're concerned for his well-being, but I'd advise you to consult both subjects involved in this rumor you've caught wind of.

The deacon stands up, brushing off their collar.

Virgil: Yes, I have been making time for him for tea. Now, I know that I criticize the church often, but, if memory serves, a meeting over tea isn't listed in the books as inherently sinful.


The boy02/16/2020

Catharine starts talking but is interrupted by a loud shout from outside the church. About six men run by, followed by a seventh being thrown into veiw. The man in question had been in the deacon's church not too long ago. The man scrambles up and runs off, leaving a prominent trail of blood in his wake. Able can be heard shouting something but it's unclear. He steps into veiw, appearing to be in worse shape than the men he was ranting at. A new swollen black eye and lacerations covering him. He certainly had been stabbed at least twice by the looks of it.

Able: Aye you lot better not come back with a that!.


they02/16/2020

The deacon lifts their head, looking out the open door.

Virgil: . . .ah. Your ward seems to be in a spot of trouble.

The deacon adjusts their collar, pushing the organ seat back into its place behind themselves.

Virgil: I hate to interrupt you, but, whatever troubles you have with me, I'm sure it can wait after a small question.

The deacon walks to the doorway, their feet quick as they stand at the very edge of the brassy inside and the stone outside.

Virgil: -To Able.- . . .are you going to come inside, or do you intend to bleed out on the road?


The boy02/16/2020

Catharine hobbles over towards the door, yelling at the deacon.

Catharine: What are you-!

Able looks over at the deacon. Oh right.

Able: Wh.. I..

Able looks over at the dress shirt in his hands. It might as well have been rags at this point, and soaking with blood.

Able: Ah...

He looks at his very clear, bleeding knife wounds on his abdomen.

Able: Alright you have a point.

Able steps inside, trying not to look at the headmistress.


they02/16/2020

The deacon closes the door behind Able, shooing them along to a booth they do so.

Virgil: Now then. I'm assuming that the congregation today was familiar to you?


The boy02/16/2020

Able: Ah... yes well. Clearly he hasn't gotten over it yet.

Able laughs a bit. Catharine glares over at him. He stops laughing.

Catharine: Causing trouble still? Able: No! Ah...tss...

Able moves to the booth, sitting, wincing.

Able: Past dues.

He laughs nervously.


they02/16/2020

The deacon tuts, moving over to the organ.

Virgil: Did you know that omission of facts can be considered lying?

The deacon kneels, opening a side panel on the organ; they pull out a small wooden box, closing the panel.

Virgil: -Lazily; without care.- You haven't cheated someone or otherwise backed out of your part in an agreement, have you Able?


The boy02/16/2020

Able groans covering his wound with his hand, a little more miffed that it was still bleeding instead of a proper reaction.

Able: He owes me.

Able hisses, the wound burning under his hand.

Able: The only thing he's upset about, though, regardless of that fact, is that his daughter, a grown woman, wanted to sleep with me.

Catharine looked coldly at Able.

Catharine: And of course you took advantage of that.

She says with such a venom, Able winces.


they02/16/2020

The deacon sits besides Able, holding the box.

Virgil: Yes, well, never mind the promiscuity; you're injured, and, if you don't clean it properly, you're going to have a terrible time resting.

The deacon opens the box; inside, there are several glass bottles filled with various dark tinctures, a rolled bundle of silk and silk patches, and several brass cutting implements and tweezers.

Virgil: Lie down, please..


The boy02/16/2020

Able does as he's asked, sighing. Catharine seemed to get upset about how easily he complied.

Catharine: What? You're just going to trust him like that? Able: Ma'am, please leave. Catharine: Excuse me?

Able didn't want this nonsense, he was already going to be in pain, he didn't need a headache on top of it.

Able: Unless you're so keen on staying in this deacons church.

[

1:41 PM

]

.

Catharine nearly starts shouting again, her face red with anger before she merely turns around and rushes out the door, her cane loudly hitting the ground in possible defiance.

Catharine: Fine! I'll leave you to be gutted! What do I care!

And she leaves, shutting the door behind her.


they02/16/2020

The deacon looks off at the door, sighing as they lift a tincture.

Virgil: . . .she seems to be upset. Anyways, it's time for you to be gutted.

The deacon sets aside a small bottle of laudanum, the copper-brown fluid rolling inside, and a small jar of what looks to be full of white cream.

Virgil: Do you prefer your anesthesia orally, or topically?


The boy02/16/2020

Able: Topically please, I don't do well with oral anesthetics.

He sighs.


they02/16/2020

The deacon sits in the chair, putting the laudanum back into the box, and pulling out the jar of white cream.

Virgil: -Opening the lid.- You're going to have to de-clothe yourself, unless you'd rather I feel blindly, wait for you to cry out, and then apply the anesthesia.


The boy02/16/2020

Able doesn't make excuses, and pulls off his undershirt, the only thing he had left beyond the ripped dress shirt he had in his hands. There were two stab wounds, deep in his side, still bleeding but slowing. He was also covered in a series of bruises and small cuts, but they looked more like he fell than an attack. Able lays back again.

Able: Aye, aye.


they02/16/2020

The deacon lightly rubs the white cream around and on top of Able's wounds; as they slowly work it in, the cuts slowly numb (though there is still a deep rawness to the stab wounds).

Virgil: Your former headmistress was very upset with me; apparently, there have been promiscuous rumors circulating about your repeated visits with a devil.


The boy02/16/2020

Able groans, covering his face.

Able: Hhf. Ah, really? Apologies... I don't mean to cause you so much trouble.

He gets a bit flush, but its countered by the pain deep in his side.

Able: Rumors are tricky like that.


they02/16/2020

The deacon rubs another dollop of cream onto the other wound, working it into Able's skin.

Virgil: It hasn't been any trouble for me. People don't make it a business to insult a priest, even if they think they're a false priest. With exception, of course, to your headmistress.

The deacon finishes rubbing the cream into Able's skin, and pulls out a small washrag. They pour brown iodine into a bowl, and start soaking the rag in the fluid.

Virgil: Have the rumors been a bother to you?


The boy02/16/2020

Able rests his hands behind his head, sighing.

Able: This is the first I've heard of it.


they02/16/2020

Virgil: Good. That means you don't make a habit of searching for gossip.

The deacon wrings the rag a little, then moves it over to the larger of the knife wound.

Virgil: This will sting.

The deacon applies the rag to the wound, giving no time for Able to react as they work the fluid in. While the surface doesn't hurt, there is a pain deep in the wound as the fluid is pushed into the wound.

Virgil: -Rubbing.- You really ought to avoid getting stabbed.


The boy02/16/2020

Able: Yes th- cHRIST-!

Able hisses, loudly shouting in pain. Well he did say it would hurt. Though perhaps he wasn't expecting it so deep.

----

***


they02/16/2020

The bandaged man pauses, startled and dropping their pen.

The Bandaged: -Speaking in awe; their gaze shaking.- . . .an unsinkable ship.

The bandaged man slowly grows a crooked smile on their face, waggling a finger at the zee-captain.

The Bandaged: -Agitated, but in a good way.- See, that's why yer a captain. . .why aren't you the head of this entire production, with ideas like that?





The boy02/16/2020

A captain: I am in charge of my crew, and Thomas typically pays the bills.

She leans back further, sighing, taking another long drink of her wine.


they02/16/2020

The bandaged man slips out of their chair, crawling on the floor for their pen.

The Bandaged: -Squinting.- Anyone can pay bills, if ye can find someone to steal the money from. . . The Bandaged: -Grabbing their pen between the floorboards.- But not many can back up money with power and reason. . .like me!


The boy02/16/2020

The captain looks up at the bandaged man, setting her drink down.

A captain: Good. I will have to see it when it finishes.

She is strapping her new wooden leg back onto her stub at the end of her hip, buckling it in.

A captain: Don't finish too quickly. This is a great time for me to spend more at home.


they02/16/2020

The bandaged man stands up, seating themselves in the chair.

The Bandaged: -Gesturing with both palms pressed into each other.- Ah, tell me though; which ideas did you like? Which ones need change? Peer review, peer review; I need to figure out which one requires more study.


The boy02/16/2020

The captain secures her leg with a belt attachment on her waist.

A captain: Preventative measures, protect the hull and keeping the ship from sinking is the most important. Otherwise the boat Thomas had chosen will do sufficiently.

She stands, wincing. Her wound was still rather fresh. She hobbles over to the side of the couch, gathering up her proper clothing, pulling over her thick sweater and coat. She has some difficulty with her pants, but gets the new leg through fine.

A captain: Now, if you'll excuse me, my husband still doesn't know about the... ah... new development. This will become a whole day and I'd like to get it over with.


they02/16/2020

The bandaged man nods, immediately turning to Thomas despite the fact that the captain hasn't left the room yet.

The Bandaged: -Yelling; gesturing with a finger.- She said yes to my ideas! I told you! I told you, they are good ideas!.


The boy02/16/2020

Thomas looks up from his distraction, sighing as he moves the man that was on him, off.

Thomas: Another time then.

He turns to the bandaged man, standing.

Thomas: Mh, good for you, dear. Now we can get to work on the proper details then?


they02/16/2020

The bandaged man waves Thomas over, clapping their hands excitedly.

The Bandaged: Yes, yes, whatever, I'm just happy that I'm going to be able to write something in Violant! Oh, I haven't done such field work in forever. . .

The bandaged man doesn't wait for Thomas to get up, instead moving to grab them.

The Bandaged: Now, show me the ship! Or the schematics for it, if you want to build it from the ground up, I don't care; just show me the hunk of hull you want to see sailing the Zee, and it'll be made yours possibly soon, guaranteed within the week.


The boy02/16/2020

-----

[

7:12 PM

]

Able hisses.

Able: Isn't this supposed to make it not hurt? Ahh... at least I'm not bleeding out...

He was thankful, but a bit miffed merely because he was in pain. It was almost enough to make him forget the deacon had his hands all over him. Almost.


they02/16/2020

The deacon has scrubbed and wiped the blood out of Able's wounds, leaving dry but raw flesh behind.

Virgil: You were the one that chose topical anesthesia; I made no promises about it working deep inside your wound.

The deacon sets aside the blood-covered rag into a small, empty jar. After closing the jar, they pull out the bundled silk, unrolling the long bundle.

Virgil: Iodine doesn't reduce pain, either. It cleans, so you don't end up becoming horribly scarred or end up taking longer to heal. Lift your arms, please.


The boy02/16/2020

Able sighs heavily, raising his arms up over his head.

Able: I don't think a few more scars would be so bad.

Able did have a few, very small looking scars littered across his body, and one fairly new one along his back. Most notably were scars that looked to be around his sides, apparently a popular spot for knives.

Able: Not like I've got an appearance to keep up.


they02/16/2020

The deacon starts wrapping the bandages around Able's torso, concentrating the layers around Able's knife wounds but otherwise wrapping around their midriff and sides.

Virgil: Yes, but you have your health to keep up. You don't want to lose an arm to amputation, do you?


The boy02/16/2020

Able: Ah... I suppose that would be troublesome.

Able thinks for a moment.

Able: Thank you.

He remembers he'd forgotten through all the pain to actually thank the deacon. He hoped it wasn't too late to do so.


they02/16/2020

The deacon is wrapping the bandages around Able's midriff, fastening them taut across Able's body.

Virgil: There's no need to express gratitude; you'd be surprised how many people turn up at a church, covered in a mixture of blood.

The deacon ties the bandages with a knot on their side, easily accessible but not so in the way that it'd end up becoming undone.

Virgil: Remember to re-dress your bandages, or the wound risks reinfection..


The boy02/16/2020

Able furrows his brow, firmly grasping the deacon's right arm. He looked serious, and so did his tone, looking directly at the deacon.

Able: Honestly. Thank you. Please do not brush this off, you have done me a great service in helping me with this.

He sighs, letting go.


they02/16/2020

The deacon pauses, before moving to rearrange the tinctures and silk bandages in the medicine box.

Virgil: Well, it was either that I did it, or your headmistress later tracks you down, berates you, and does it for you. Virgil: -Closing the box.- The bandages aren't free, by the way. I expect that you'll make a donation to this church to cover the cost of first aid, yes?


The boy02/16/2020

Able laughs a bit.

Able: Of course, I'll see about sending some echoes your way.

He picks up his undershirt from the floor, pulling it over.

Able: Hm... I might need new shirts..


they02/16/2020

The deacon adjusts their collar, moving to the back of the church again to place the medicine box back into the cabinet in the side of the organ.

Virgil: The church also has donated clothing, if you need it.


The boy02/16/2020

Able stands, testing the bandages as he moves his body. Seemed secure enough.

Able: Ah, I'm not too worried about it, no one pays attention to thieves anyhow.

He picks up his ruined dress shirt, now too cut up to use it. Well, he figured he could use it for something later. Wash it and use it for bedding for the weasels?

Able: I'll see you next Sunday, then. I think perhaps I might be better off not coming to sermons, a shame really. It's nice to hear you get so enthused.

He starts walking towards the door, opening it to find Catharine standing just outside, turned away from the door. He froze. He cursed under his breath, and she turned to look at him, quickly hobbling over. Catharine grabs Able and practically drags him out into the street.

Catharine: What are you doing fussing around so long in there?! Do you not know how dangerous that is?!

Able hisses, feeling his wound moving under the bandaged.

Able: A-Ah.. careful! It's only just stopped bleeding!

She continues her rant, tugging Able along, but not far enough until he breaks free.

Catharine: Honestly! It is like you want your soul to be stolen!


they02/16/2020

Down the end of the street, the bandaged man is talking to Thomas, half-pleading, half-shilling.

The Bandaged: Now, listen, I don't think you understand; it's just a simple modification to the back-up sails, such that the winds are redirected upwards. . .it'd help you out if you ever need to jump over a Lifeberg, or a Lorn-Fluke, or any manner of things like that, rather than risk maneuvering around and wasting precious cargo. And, most importantly, if you ever decide to do a sky delivery. . .it'd be real easy to set up. . .

The bandaged man is nudging Thomas.

The Bandaged: Come now, reconsider!


The boy02/16/2020

Thomas looks very annoyed listening to the bandaged man. He would take another drink, but he was in public.

Thomas: I have told you, many times, that this is not necessary.

He groans, seeing the deacon's church in the distance.

Thomas: Dear we're almost there, maybe you can run along and tell your little student about your ideas.


they02/16/2020

The bandaged man scoffs, crossing their arms and walking beside Thomas.

The Bandaged: -Mumbling.- I would. . .he doesn't want to stay with me in the spire, though. I don't know why; if all he wanted was to bake lazy pies, I could've expanded the kitchen. . .


The boy02/16/2020

Thomas rolls his eyes. They make their way towards the church, eventually coming into view of Able being scolded in the middle of the street. He looked tired, but just seemed to be waiting for it to end.

Thomas: Ah. Right. The orphanage is close by. Catharine: Now! Why don't you simply go to the services at the church you were raised in, huh? Are we not good enough anymore? Do you really think that this is appropriate behavior?!

Catharine is screeching, thumping her cane down to accentuate her words.


they02/16/2020

The door of the church opens; the deacon sticks their head out, standing barely on the precipice between the outside and inside of their church.

Virgil: -Raising their voice without intonation.- Catherine, if you'd like to yell at the young man, I'd advise you to take it at least a few buildings closer to your church.

The deacon closes the door again. The bandaged man holds a hand up, whispering to Thomas.

The Bandaged: Orphanage? My protégé is an orphan? Curious, I never knew that. . .


The boy02/16/2020

Catharine looks over at the door, furious.

Catharine: Don't think you're free from this blame, false deacon!

Able is trying to slowly scoot away. Meanwhile Thomas looks over at the bandaged man.

Thomas: I suspect there's a lot of things you don't know about him.

Thomas heads over quickly to Able. He got him out once, he can do it again.

Thomas: Ah, ma'am, we must be off, Able here-

Catharine turns suddenly to Thomas, an even greater anger in her eyes, which Able didn't think was possible. Able looks over at Thomas, pretty sure he told him not to come to the church, but he was grateful anyway.

Catharine: Y o u. Thomas: Yes, me. Catharine: You no good low life piece of nothing. You have some nerve showing your face around here. Pushing good boys into debauchery.

Thomas smiles, that all too familiar faux smile.

Thomas: Oh? Hmm... I hadn't noticed, I was just so busy getting personal with some of them.

Catharine nearly loses it, and is almost too angry to speak. Almost.

Catharine: You little twat! I ought to have the priest drag you to the church myself! Thomas: Mmh, that could be fun.~

February 17, 2020


they02/17/2020

The bandaged man waves their hand, standing a bit away from the commotion between Thomas and Catherine.

The Bandaged: I don't know who you are, but "pushing good boys into debauchery"? . .yes, that sounds like freckles.

The bandaged man smiles crookedly, before pausing.

The Bandaged: -Furrowing their eyebrows.- . . .also, why are you yelling at Able? Hang on, who are you to have the right to yell at my protégé? Only I have the dubious permission to do as such!


The boy02/17/2020

Catharine looks at the bandaged man, confused. She looks him up and down.

Catharine: Are you the man who was in the middle of spite? A drunk, ey?

Catharine turns to Able, who jumps.

Catharine: Your nonsense doesn't stop with just devils then? You are allowing this man to teach you? Able: Ah... Mh.. Well... Not so much.... now...

Catharine narrows her eyes.

Able: Ah.


they02/17/2020

The bandaged man holds their hands onto their hips, their eyebrows furrowed as a manic energy enters their pose.

The Bandaged: Now wait just a minute, I am no drunk! The Bandaged: -Muttering.- . . .least, not after that child threw out my stash. . .ahem!

The bandaged man gestures wildly, a familiar maniac poise entering their pose as they begin walking around Thomas, Able, and Catherine.

The Bandaged: -Gesturing, jabbing a finger into their other palm.- I am, in fact, a professor, and I will not have my name besmirched as such simply because you merely think that I am honey-mazed! I am a respectable teacher, and I have taught my protégé successfully for nearly a year, quite possibly! The Bandaged: -Clapping their hands, accentuating their phrases.- I have rugs from the Parabolean fields! I have a professorship at Benthic! I have visited the islands of the Zee!

The bandaged man wildly gestures their hands at Thomas, their eyebrows knit tightly in vexation.

The Bandaged: I'm literally buying a new ship for this child's business! Don't you dare belittle me for my hedonist habits!


The boy02/17/2020

Catharine looks very unimpressed.

Catharine: So you're a drunk with money.

She turns to Able.

Catharine: A drunk man with insanity, how becoming.


they02/17/2020

The bandaged man pouts, holding a hand to their chest.

The Bandaged: -Affronted.- . . .you are extraordinarily rude, ye grandma.

The bandaged man mutters darkly, wringing their hands.

The Bandaged: -Darkly.- I didn't spend a whole year having my eyes bleed jus' to be disrespected like this. . .


The boy02/17/2020

Catharine: You need to learn some respect yourself, child.

She snorts.

.


they02/17/2020

The bandaged man shrieks, pulling off a glove in their maniacal energy.

The Bandaged: Now listen here, I am not a child! I have worked hard getting the money that I have, and I am not insane! The Bandaged: -Gesturing at Able wildly.- I'm not the one standing in the middle of the road yelling at a child!.


The boy02/17/2020

Able looks at Thomas, who then both look at the bandaged man. Catharine huffs.

Catharine: Oh sure, a man like you works hard? When's the last time that happened?

She looks thoroughly done with the bandaged man.


they02/17/2020

The bandaged man huffs, before pausing.

The Bandaged: -Forlornly.- . . .I. . .I work very hard, ma'am. I've spent years of my life, down here, trying to make a better life. A better life, f-

The bandaged man suddenly jumps back.

The Bandaged: -Screeching.- Oh my goodness, there's a devil behind you!


The boy02/17/2020

Catharine raises an eyebrow, pausing for a long time before she looks.

Catharine: It's childish to lie.


they02/17/2020

The bandaged man, once Catherine has turned around, screeches, throwing a pair of gloves at Catherine's head. As soon as the gloves makes contact with her head, they begin skittering about, crawling to fly across her hair, the back of her head, the nape of her neck. One hand stays on her head, tapping its toothed fingers along her hair, while the other continues travelling downwards, skittering. The bandaged man immediately turns on the spot and starts running, their gait crooked as they do so.

The Bandaged: Scatter! Run fer it! And come back home, dear gloves!

The bandaged man is screeching as they run, the sounds of their screams echoing as they run a fair distance ahead in a maniacal stupor.



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