Part 23 - Molting
- sirknightawesome
- Mar 24, 2020
- 51 min read
-----------------
The boy02/17/2020
Able had asked to meet in Virgil's church that Sunday, merely so he would get more decent, less gossip, and violent filled time with the deacon. Able tried not to think about it too much. He knew that the rumors were false, but if he went about yelling at every passerby that gave him that look he'd be in hotter waters than he already was in. Not to mention keeping the deacon's reputation clean. They still tended to pull fairly dangerous pranks on either the Bandaged man or Thomas, as they never seemed to quite get used to him. Able attributed it to not trusting the deacon. Able guess he could accept that, but it seemed silly at this point. The deacon was a good man, at least most of the time. He seemed like he was trying to be, and that's really what stuck out to Able the most. The deacon did tend to be... A bit indulgent from time to time though, which often put him off guard. Regardless Able had come to the church to discuss with the deacon. Maybe not to say much, but he was genuinely interested in his life. They had been talking for a while when Able finally asked.
Able: What do you look like under the husk then?.
they02/17/2020
The deacon pauses, sitting in the back of the booth for a moment.
Virgil: . . .how closely do you want to look?
The boy02/17/2020
Able blinks.
Able: A-Ah... What do you mean?
He was a bit flush, but mostly confused. He didn't know what the deacon was actually asking of him.
they02/17/2020
The deacon holds their chin, appearing to be in deep contemplation before taking off their sunglasses, setting it beside themselves.
Virgil: Well, there's the impersonable method of description.
The deacon is unbuttoning their collar, talking without intonation as their collar pops open.
Virgil: -Lowering their unbuttoning; speaking while squinting at Able.- I could give a very detailed description of the anatomy of bees. . .
As the deacon lowers their unbuttoning, their neck and the top of their chest can be seen; while their face looks like a healthy pallor, the rest of their body looks like a partially burned body, but without the charred flesh. The skin looks increasingly flaky, and holes slowly increase in concentration as the deacon continues unbuttoning.
Virgil: -Slowing their unbuttoning; stopping just above their midriff.- I could describe the mandibles of bees, the claws and stingers, the particular patterning unique to me.
The deacon holds a thumb to their chin, looking at Able. . .
Virgil: Of course, you'd have a lot of questions about all of that, so instead. . .
. . .before, suddenly, their grip tightens, and they lift up. The result is. . .vaguely horrifying; for a moment, it looks like their eyes are sinking into their sockets, and their face goes limp, the cheeks caving in amid the sound of crunching paper. . .
Virgil: -With a soft buzzing undertone.- . . .I could show you.
[
2:07 AM
]
. . .the deacon's face is slowly being pulled off, the "skin" cracking like paper layered with glue being torn into messy, paper-mache pieces and falling to the ground. Underneath, insect mandibles creep into view, clicking in place (apparently held back by the husk) as the deacon's empty head falls onto the ground like a recently decapitated criminal, the empty sockets lying face up. Able sees yellow-black patches, flaky paper around its neck and an amber-maroon patch placed between two incredibly large amber blobs, his face reflected in the glare. The skin around the now destroyed neck and chest is wriggling, as if something was trapped inside. . . . . .then, the deacon's arms go limp and sound of ripped paper echoes in the empty church; a series of black, many-clawed limbs burst out, pulling upwards before pushing down, the rest of the body shedding like old wallpaper peeling from the glue, and the robes give way, falling to the floor and taking the rest of the body with it. Able is staring at what looks to be gigantic lamplighter bee, standing fairly upright for an insect. A bit too upright; the deacon has become a bit taller than they already were.
The boy02/17/2020
Able is watching with a curiosity, his eyes darting at the deacon and then away while he undresses, getting notably flush at that sight. He watches this without speaking, his voice caught in his throat until the deacon finally tears himself out. He almost screamed, but he was acting more like an animal suddenly cornered. And then he faints. It is a little concerning with how his head bounces off the side of the booth, but he had little more than a bruise. He collapses fairly quickly, its almost comical. He is on the floor, clearly passed out.
they02/17/2020
The deacon looks down at Able, their amber eyes glinting in the chandelier's light. As they speak, a small buzzing pairs their speaking as their moderately-sized chitin wings flit behind them and their mandibles shift wildly, allowing them to pronounce consonants.
Virgil: . . .come now. You must've seen worse before.
The deacon sighs, before lowering down and clasping Able's neck in their mandibles (their arms are useless in the form that it is right now). They lift Able up easily, tossing their head so Able lands onto the booth pew, lying on their side with a leg hanging over the edge.
Virgil: Yes, well. . .where's my robe. . .
The deacon walks along, picking up their unbuttoned robe and slipping back into it (rather awkwardly, having to put a pair of arms into it and sticking their antebellum firmly into it while lifting it up with another pair of clawed arms up as well. Afterwards, they focus on buttoning, making. . .slow progress.
The boy02/17/2020
Able comes to fairly quickly, awaking with a bit of a jump.
Able: Gh! Oh lords not again... ow..
Able touches his head, hissing. He looks over at the deacon, slowly looking up.
Able: Ah... Apologies this tends to....h..
Able suddenly sits up, backing away a bit.
Able: Jesus Christ!
He gasps, very clearly shocked again. He slowly attempts to calm himself.
Able: Oh... Oh right... Ah...
they02/17/2020
The deacon is buttoning up their ropes, two clawed black limbs adjusting the buttons with precision, if not grip.
Virgil: -Plainly.- Come now, that's just rude; how would you feel if it I prayed to Saint Joshua after seeing you without your clothes?
The boy02/17/2020
Able stares at the deacon, and then tilts his head. He laughs, a bit nervously, but a little more relaxed.
Able: Ha! would you not?
Able sits up more properly. He is watching the deacon slowly button himself up and fiddling with it a bit less successfully than usual. It must be difficult without hands, Able thought.
Able: ...Do you need.... assistance...?
they02/17/2020
Virgil: I'll live.
The deacon slowly manages to button themselves up, adjusting their collar to cover the junction where their head meets their body. Their mandibles click, forming a strange sort of devilish smile.
Virgil: -Chittering.- Your fainting is amusing.
***
The boy02/17/2020
Able grins.
Able: Oh? Get a kick out of seeing a poor man fall over?
Able sighs dramatically, leaning back into the booth.
Able: Goodness me, how unusually cruel of you.
He laughs a bit, but then his expression changes a bit, a little more serious.
Able: Ah... Deacon?
they02/17/2020
The deacon adjusts their collar (a strange sight, given its with black limbs and an eerie, glossy gaze.
Virgil: -Clicking.- Yes?
The boy02/17/2020
Able: Is this... do you...
Able was trying to conjure his words.
Able: The husk ah... Do you make a new one or...?
they02/17/2020
The deacon pauses.
Virgil: . . .husks must be made anew each time one takes too much damage.
Their wing flits suddenly, their antennae flitting about, as if they were feeling out the air.
Virgil: -Low buzzing.- . . .hm. I'm not sure if. . .I have enough silk and paper for it. Concerning.
The boy02/17/2020
Able: Oh.
Able tilts his head to get a better look at the deacon. It was still very startling, but there were a lot of interesting details to look at.
Able: I can help you gather some items, if you so wish.
they02/17/2020
The deacon nods their head.
Virgil: Ah, I do wish, and I agree.
The deacon's mandibles click into place, making something equivalent to an infernal smile.
Virgil: Do you intend to go out and obtain some silk, paper, and wax, then?
The boy02/17/2020
Able makes a little bit of a miffed face, his brows furrowing. He looks genuinely upset.
Able: -Muttering to himself-..I suppose I thought you trusted me a bit more than that to pull something like that..
He looks away, annoyed.
Able: Yes I will do this for you..
they02/17/2020
The deacon pauses, their red pupils dilating before turning to look away from Able.
Virgil: -Chittering quietly.- . . .ah. . .
The deacon's antennae flits about nervously.
Virgil: -Low buzzing.- . . .do excuse me, for that. . .it's. . .a habitual behaviour, not. . . Virgil: -Chittering.- . . .I had not meant to slip into old habits.
The boy02/17/2020
Able stands, sighing.
Able: Well it does not matter, I will do it regardless.
Able looks at the deacon. He couldn't deny that the small statement hurt, but he supposed it was a small slip.
Able: Ah well.. I will take a stroll about the markets and bazaar, gathering what you need in a bit.
Able smiles a bit.
they02/17/2020
The deacon keeps looking away from Able, keeping their gaze towards the images of the Saints painted on the walls.
Virgil: . . .I would appreciate that. Very much.
The boy02/17/2020
Able moves to sit close to the deacon, a bit worried now.
Able: Ah, do not worry so much, it was a small slip up. I am compelled to forgive you, if you try not to beat yourself up over it.
they02/17/2020
The deacon looks towards the priests, sitting down (a bit awkwardly, as their antebellum folds up against their body to accommodate them sitting).
Virgil: . . .the habit of deception is a hard one to break when it's instinctual, as natural for your species as hunger.
The boy02/17/2020
Able is watching the deacon carefully.
Able: Ah, I would suspect so if so many partake in such things.
He is moving to look at the deacon more, worried that he might be fairly upset at this little thing. Maybe he was too hash?
Able: I apologize then. I didn't realize it was such a strong urge, I tend to forget that you have different struggles than my own.
they02/17/2020
Virgil: Ah, abstaining from infernal behaviour ought to be. . .well, it's not easy.
The deacon turns their gaze towards Able, red slits dilating as they do so.
Virgil: Moreso that. . .being a devil feels more natural, without a husk. Much like lounging about in loose clothing, being. . .exposed like this makes me more aware of something that I haven't done in quite a bit. . .though, that's no excuse, is it?
The boy02/17/2020
Able places a hand on his chin, thinking for a moment.
Able: Hm.. Well, I think if you put it like that it sounds like you merely had a moment of weakness. As I've told you before, your restraint is admirable, even amongst those who don't have these urges.
Able is looking at the deacon directly now, though not sure how to keep proper eye contact like this.
Able: I think perhaps you are a bit too harsh on yourself, given what you've told me.
they02/17/2020
The deacon turns their gaze to Able.
Virgil: Perhaps. . . Virgil: -Chittering.- . . .despite the small shame, there's one good thing about not wearing a husk.
The deacon suddenly spreads and opens their mandibles, a row of fangs staring back at Able.
Virgil: Boo.
The boy02/17/2020
Able falls back, letting out a small yelp, before he starts laughing.
Able: -Laughing- Oy you're a very rude man! -------------------
The boy02/17/2020
Able had spent a very long time searching for the goods the deacon needed, having needing to ask Thomas for some of their whereabouts. He walked about, gathering as much as he could find. He suspected this wasn't enough, but it was better than nothing. Able heads back to the church, now more aware of the rumors going around. Most of them seemed fairly tame, but some of them talked of such ridiculous tales like a young man being forced into servitude by a devil's curse. The mere thought amused him. Some of these people recognized him, others merely knew him by stories only, regardless it was getting a bit out of hand. There was nothing he could do, though, the deacon needed his help. Able was not about to abandon him now of all times. Able quickly finds routes that went through the least amount of people. It was longer by a lot, but it seemed to keep eyes off of him for a bit. This was enough for him to remember it for later. He gripes, heading into the church, hoping the deacon was at least having a better day than he was.
they02/17/2020
The church is. . .darker than usual. While the brass walls seem to be emitting a (literally) warm glow of their own, the chandelier above is void of candles, leaving only a ceiling decoration above. The deacon is seated at the organ, the brassy pipes echoing in the church. The melody is much more complex than the typical evangelical tunes, though this due in part to the deacon using multiple limbs to play harmonies on top of each other.
Virgil: -Humming.- And know the name in London, for it is written as such. . .know the names of those who have fought, and the blood they've given up to spill those who ruled. . ..
The boy02/17/2020
Able walks down the isle between the pews, trying not to be too loud. He is watching the deacon with a bit of interest. He blinks, shaking that feeling away. Nonsense. Able smiles, carrying the supplies towards the back, stopping a few feet behind the deacon. He didn't want to interrupt him.
they02/17/2020
The deacon continues playing the organ, slamming the keys harder than usual.
Virgil: -Singing.- And know those who had perished, to make the world the way that you know it now! And know that you are free from Providence, and that you are no longer under the authority of the Aristocracy!
The boy02/17/2020
Able looks away, a little red. Was the deacon always so vigorous? He wonders if this is common within the earlier sermons. Regardless he stays quiet, fidgeting with the bag of supplies.
they02/17/2020
The deacon steps harshly on the pedals, the brass pipes playing louder. The tune is almost discordant, but there seems to be undertones of harmony among the noise as the deacon plays a complicated sequence of notes.
Virgil: -Singing.- And remember the devils that have defaced the hives of the aristocracy, and reject those that would implore you to return to it!
The deacon suddenly stops playing, still facing the pipes.
Virgil: -Humming to the same tune.- And know that it is extremely rude to sneak up behind someone while they're playing an organ.
The boy02/17/2020
Able jumps, turning to face the deacon.
Able: A...Ah! I wasn't sneaking!
He says a bit too defensively.
they02/17/2020
The deacon turns around in their seat, an antenna standing at attention as they do so.
Virgil: Mhm. Did you get the silk, paper, and wax, like you had promised? Virgil: -Pausing.- . . .in a non-contractual manner?.
The boy02/17/2020
Able moves a bit close to the deacon, holding out a decent sized cloth bag.
Able: I found as much as I could, I will likely have to go out again to get more of what you need.
Able furrows his brow. Ah, so he still was a bit upset about this? He wondered if he could alleviate this discomfort with himself.
Able: The paper and silk was easy... though there seems to be a bit of a limit on wax..
they02/17/2020
The deacon's antennae perk up, and they reach over, grabbing the basket and opening it deftly.
Virgil: Ah, let's see here. . .
The deacon pulls out some of the sheets of paper, digging their limbs into the very bottom of the bag.
Virgil: . . .yes, Lamplighter beeswax. . .any other wax would've melted too quickly. . .
The deacon pushes their face into the bag, inspecting it directly with their eyes.
Virgil: Yes, this will work.
The deacon pulls their face out of the bag, pushing it back into Able's hands before they stand up, walking towards the corner. There, leaning against the walls, is a wireframe mannequin warped into the shape of detailed hands and feet, becoming less detailed and using less wire as it merges into the torso.
Virgil: Come, bring it along; we can start work on making the less detailed parts. . .
The boy02/17/2020
Able nods, happy that these things were good for the deacon. He holds the bag close to him as he follows the deacon.
Able: Is it enough do you think? I'm not particularly sure how...
Able looks at the mannequin.
Able: ...These things work.
they02/17/2020
The deacon looks at Able, their pupils dilating for a moment.
Virgil: I chew up the silk and paper, letting it coagulate into a paste. Then, I spit it out and form a thin paper shell on the wireframe, leave it to dry, and repeat..
The boy02/17/2020
Able: Ah... really?
He wondered if that was actually structurally sound. He figured it must be with how the deacon looked normally.
they02/17/2020
The deacon stares at Able, their eyes dilating much more.
Virgil: Well, last I've heard, the church has been saying that folk such as I perform an unholy ritual to make a new body.
The deacon walks towards Able, grabbing the bag out of Able's hand again with three limbs.
Virgil: Personally, I'd prefer the ritual; one's jaws gets tired and sore after spending almost half a month to make sure it sets properly.
The boy02/17/2020
Able: Ah, that would likely be fairly tiresome...
Able looks at the deacon, seeming to stare at the red spot on his head for a long while. He looks away, a little flush, but not enough to notice unless you were looking for it.
Able: Hopefully my assistance will make it more bearable, mh?
they02/17/2020
The deacon pulls out several pieces of paper, crumbling it up.
Virgil: That depends. How comfortable are you with holding liquified cellulose?
The deacon places the paper into their mandibles, tilting their head back as the prongs tear and rip the bundle into scraps before forcing it into their jaw, their head visibly shifting as they chew.
The boy02/17/2020
Able: It can't be any worse than pulling out bones from aftermath of meat grinders.
Able looks back at the deacon. He wonders if this will be difficult to do.
Able: I'm sure I will manage.
they02/17/2020
The deacon chews for a few moments, the separations between their heads shifting rigidly like solid coverings adjoined by fabric. Then, they hold up their limbs, spitting out a leathery bundle of fibers into the hook of their hand, before immediately spreading it out onto the wireframe torso, plastering it loosely.
Virgil: Ugh. . .right, then. Now, if you'd come here and help me spread this out. . ?
The boy02/17/2020
Able blinks, but moves over a bit nervously. He does his best to try and spread out the chewed fibers. He's making a face, but that's to be expected.
Able: Ah... This would be difficult without hands then.
[
6:51 PM
]
------------
The boy02/17/2020
Able spent a couple days helping the deacon out, though this time he had a different request. A few souls. Able had never gathered souls before, and the trade for them was fairly shady business in general. He had to ask Thomas again for help with this. He helped Able gather a few common and brilliant souls, nothing too expensive, but enough to tide over the deacon. He was walking his usual, long route to the church, trying to avoid eyes and gossip as much as he could. "Did you see that young man, purchasing souls and heading back to the church?" "Is he attempting to court a devil?" "I saw him once walk into there with a basket of baked goods, surely..." "Perhaps it is merely another abstraction?" Able groans, trying not to listen, but he can't help but get flush, which only excites the people tittering around him. Able makes it to the church, sighing, before his shoulder is suddenly grabbed. He's turned around.
Catharine: Still consorting with demons, ey?
Ah.. Her. Able pushes her hand away.
Able: Honestly I don't have time fo-
Catharine shrieks, poking her cane into Able's chest before slamming it back down on the stone road in front of the church.
Catharine: You young man are getting yourself into needless trouble! Are you so daft as to be courting a devil!?
Able gets even more flush, and holds up a hand.
Able: I'm very much not ma'am! Catharine: Then what is in the bag, Abner.
Able holds the bag closer to him.
Able: ...None of your business. Catharine: Aha! See! You are guilty then! You ought to know better than to show your sins so plainly! Able: Please the deacon needs m- Catharine: Needs you? Don't be foolish! All that false deacon needs is a trip back to hell!
Able is getting yelled at for a fairly long while. Meanwhile, an interested man watches from afar, his smile a bit too wide for comfort.
they02/17/2020
The deacon is inside the church, sitting in the chandelier. A curled, papery nest of fibrous paper is nestled in the hanging chandelier, gripping to the places where candles would've been placed for stability. They spit a small, fibrous glob, before rubbing it across a hole in the nest. The deacon pauses, before sighing, their mandibles reflexively readjusting.
Virgil: -Fidgety.- . . .Lord above, I need you to give me something else to do.
The deacon crawls over the edge of the chandelier, falling to the ground and landing without a noise.
Virgil: Perhaps some fresh air, then. . .
The deacon walks towards the door, their mandibles clicking for a moment before they pause, their eyes dilating as they focus past the door.
Virgil: Ah, he's here. . .and waiting.
The deacon moves up close to the door, holding their antennas against the door, listening.
Virgil: . . .oh, come now, I don't have time for this. . .
The deacon pauses, before turning to the door, unfolding their mandibles.
Virgil: Well, perhaps she can be terrified enough to stop coming round. . .
The deacon grabs the door, slowly opening it just a crack, letting a sliver of their wide amber eyes peek through.
Virgil: -Low.- . . .just need to grab quickly. . ..
The boy02/17/2020
Able is wincing at the lecture he was getting about dealing with devils and going about and the dangers of abstraction and what not. Able kept trying to interrupt her, to head into the church but she just kept yelling until she sees the door open.
Catharine: You! Don't just skulk around! Take responsibility!
She points at the door behind Able, currently not aware of what she was looking at yet.
they02/17/2020
The deacon widens their mandibles, eying Able.
Virgil: I ought to grab there, then. . .
The deacon opens the door just enough for their head and torso to reach through. In the next moment, they lunge forward with their mandibles outstretched; the chitin mandibles clasp harshly around Able's neck, a loud screech reverberating out between the mandibles and Able's neck as they harshly pull them along and hold them with their hooked hands clinging around Able in faux-hunger.
Virgil: -With a menacing buzzing undertone.- Leave! Leave from this place, lest you end up like him!
The deacon kicks the door close with a slam, a hooked hand quickly locking the door. They stand just behind the door, holding an antenna against the door (and holding Able tightly round the neck with their mandibles).
The boy02/17/2020
Able didn't turn around in time, and he didn't get more than a glimpse at the headmistresses face beyond horror. There's a screeching outside, and it gets quieter, clearly being scared away. Able would scream but his throat was currently held fast, enough that he felt new punctures in it. He grabs onto the deacon's mandibles tightly, looking up with a sort of mixture of fear and amusement. He'd never known her to leave so quickly! At the same time, that nearly made him faint. He tries to look up at the deacon.
Able: Ah Christ..
He wheezes.
they02/17/2020
The deacon pulls away from the door, speaking between their mandibles and Able's neck (still having not let go). The buzzing reverberates throughout Able's neck as they speak.
Virgil: -With a low buzzing.- Ah, there we go. . .I think she'll be leaving you be for a while. Virgil: -Pausing.- . . .oh. Right.
The deacon lets go of Able's neck while still standing, dropping them directly onto the ground before their mandibles close up again.
The boy02/17/2020
Able gasps a bit, but mostly because he fell. He turns to the deacon, standing and pulling up the bag he was holding. He feels his neck. Warm blood. He pulls his hand away. That was a lot of blood.
Able: Ah... That doesn't seem good.
Two very distinct looking puncture wounds were around his neck, along with smaller, less impressive wounds.
.
they02/17/2020
The deacon looks down at Able, their eyes dilated as they do so.
Virgil: You're right. That's not good.
The deacon turns around, heading to the back of the church where the organ is.
Virgil: Well, we'll just have to clean up your neck, then. You don't mind stinging on the neck, yes?
The boy02/17/2020
Able follows the deacon, keeping his hand pressed against the wound.
Able: I think it's more important to get the bleeding to stop than my preference for pain..
they02/17/2020
The deacon grabs their medicine box, walking over to Able.
Virgil: Well, you're doing a decent job as of now; keep the pressure on it, though preferably with bandages instead of your bare hand.
The deacon opens the box, unwrapping a roll of silk (by hooking the end of the roll and curling it around their barbed hand) before handing it off to Able.
Virgil: Here, wrap this around your neck.
The boy02/17/2020
Able grabs the bandages, and starts to unfurl them, tightly wrapping it around his neck, though not enough to choke him. This was a bit of a task with only one pair of hands, but he managed, as if he'd done this before. He tucks the bandages tightly, sighing.
Able: Hhf... Well, now that that is done with...
Able moves to the deacon's side, looking at him a little unamused.
Able: Indulged a little, huh?
Able laughs a bit.
Able: I think it was worth seeing her face like that.
they02/17/2020
The deacon adjusts their collar, their antennae flitting about.
Virgil: Nonsense. Indulging would be unbecoming of me. I was merely supposing that, if she was going to be harassing you like this every time you go by the church. . . Virgil: . . .well, I'll give her whatever reason she needs to not stop by. Do make sure she doesn't call the constabulary on me, though.
***
The boy02/17/2020
Able leans over towards the deacon more, grinning a bit before he moves away, snickering to himself.
Able: Ah, I see, I won't offer then.
He laughs a bit more, then hisses, his neck a bit sore now that he can feel the bruising.
Able: Ah, what would she tell them? A giant bee snatched up a grown man? I highly doubt one could arrest a bee.
they02/17/2020
The deacon flits their gaze about, giving a small shrug while their arms are crossed.
Virgil: No, of course not. She's a sensible woman. Virgil: She'd adamantly claim that you were stolen by a large amount devils, without a contract and without prior arrangements. Perhaps she'll say you were gutted, and dissected for fun.
The boy02/17/2020
Able snickers.
Able: Gutted, tortured, seduced, maimed, corrupted, lead astray... hmmm... Goodness she would have so many words to say about it.
Able is counting on his hands, laughing the whole time.
Able: Ah, though sensible.... hm. Deacon isn't lying frowned upon in the clergy?
they02/17/2020
The deacon chuckles (the noise coming out as a strange buzzing).
Virgil: Come now; I'm not wearing my deacon robes, so it's permissible.
The deacon holds a barbed limb to their chin, chittering quietly with faux-distress.
Virgil: Hm, but I suppose lying inside a church is frowned upon. . .very well. With the Providence within me, I hereby absolve you of the sin of deceit.
The deacon clears their throat, before walking over to Able.
Virgil: Ah, but. . .enough of jokes. Tell me, did you get it?
The boy02/17/2020
Able laughs heartily, only taking a moment to settle due to his injury.
Able: Ahh... Yes. I do not know much about these sorts of things so I had to get some help from Thomas.
Able picks up the bag he had set onto the floor. He hands it over to the deacon.
Able: I would have gotten you more, but the things people were spouting were.. A little aggressive today.
they02/17/2020
The deacon's eyes light up as they eye the bag Able is holding, hurriedly grabbing it from Able.
Virgil: Yes, there it is. . .
The deacon opens the bag, looking inside before closing it up again.
Virgil: Ah. . .what sort of rumors have you heard, then?
The boy02/17/2020
Able sighs, moving to sit down at a nearby pew.
Able: "That young man? Courting a devil? How scandalous!" It is ridiculous.
Able leans back.
Able: I never seem to hear much about you thank god, they seem to be merely focusing on me. Hopefully it stays that way, I wouldn't want you to get more guff than you already do.
they02/17/2020
The deacon opens the bag, sticking their head up against the opening as their mandibles latch instinctively onto the end of a soul-filled bottle. They pull it out, their speaking muffled slightly by the bottle.
Virgil: -Muffled.- I've handled worse. . .ah.
The deacon's mandibles lets go of the bottle, catching it deftly in their hooked hand.
Virgil: I should ask. . .do you wish to look away?
The deacon pointedly glances at the soul rolling inside of the bottle.
The boy02/17/2020
Able noticed he was staring, and blinked.
Able: Oh. I am not bothered. Are you?
Able sits back comfortable, seemingly very tired. He puts his hands behind his head to look up at the ceiling. Was that a...?
they02/17/2020
The deacon nods their head.
Virgil: Very well, then.
The deacon pries the top off of the bottle, the soul inside scurrying to the glass bottom quickly; they lean in, their mandibles gripping around the lip of the bottle and trying to cram its way into the bottle. The very corner of their left mandible hooks the tail of the soul, and they jerk their head back hard, tugging the soul out of the bottle's opening forcefully. The soul wriggles in the air for a moment, before the deacon pushes forward and bites onto the soul, the mandibles gripping it for a moment before moving swiftly, scissoring over each other rapidly. The brilliant soul lets out a wail, breaking apart into blue streaks as the mandibles tear it up into strips and pull them into the deacon's mouth. The deacon is chittering, streaks in the air still trying to flit away while their mandibles grab at them.
.
The boy02/17/2020
Able manages to keep a straight face through this, that's one thing he can say. He was in fact fairly scared of this little show. Able quickly crosses his legs, noticing a very peculiar type of flush wash over him. Maybe the bandaged man was right about one thing, Able did like feeling scared. He didn't want to think about it, and only then did he turn his head, not wanting to show the deacon that particular emotion. He could likely not deal with teasing about this, not from the deacon. Suddenly, the doors swing open, a man with a ring of lockpicks around his wrist as he busts in. A particularly young looking devil with the worst sideburns Able had ever seen. He wore a highly detailed blue suit coat with embroidered, slightly darker blue, flowers all along it. He looks around and spots the deacon, bare as could be.
A devil: Ah! There you are! The rumors are true then, you are preforming an abstraction on this boy!
Able looks miffed.
Able: Oy.
The devil looks at Able, seemingly disappointed.
A devil: Ah, not yet then.
He walks down the isle slowly, with an unearned pride.
A devil: Dear Virgil, molting isn't for another month! Aren't you a bit early to be so exposed?
they02/17/2020
The deacon, having progressed to another bottle, pauses, holding a clawed limb over the top of the open bottle to scare the soul inside to the bottom.
Virgil: . . .good evening. What business do you have, being here?
The boy02/17/2020
The devil walks closer and closer, eyeing Able as he does.
A devil: I am here to investigate the interesting rumors going about. A boy courting a devil priest, what sort of devil could that be I wonder?
The devil taps his chin, pretending to look in thought.
A devil: Of course, it could only be you. So much is buzzing about you nowadays, don't you have enough on your tail, Deacon.
The devil moves to Able, who is scooting along the booth away from him.
they02/17/2020
The deacon's eyes narrow, the slits thinning a bit.
Virgil: Come now, Gerald; obfuscating confusion is unbecoming of you.
The deacon uncovers the second bottle, drawing the second soul out and tearing it to tatters as they eat.
Virgil: Ah. . .I'll make no comments of genuine confusion, however; the rumors that I know of are not true. Unless you consider assistance in feeding and in preparing a new husk typical courting behavior.
The boy02/17/2020
Gerald: It could be if you look at the implications of assisting another with something so unpleasant.
Gerald smiles widely, no longer facing the deacon, moving to sit next to Able, who can't scoot by fast enough. He'd stand but that had its own issues. Gerald soon has an arm around Able's shoulders. Able suddenly stops, freezing.
Gerald: Now, now let us see... Yes.
Able is avoiding his gaze, now aware of his entire body.
Gerald: Ah, you are waiting for this one to ripen then?
Gerald leans in.
Gerald: Or is he free game? Able: Sorry I am absolutely not available ever.
The devil snorts, seeming to ignore him to look over at the deacon.
they02/17/2020
The deacon sets aside another empty bottle at the booth's seat, pulling out another one from the bag.
Virgil: I will claim no absence of certain kinds of investment in seeing his soul mature. That being said, he's a young man, not a prostitute or a piece of fruit, Gerald.
The deacon uncorks the bottle, ripping another soul to tatters.
Virgil: -Feasting.- . . .ah.. . .besides, if you want his soul, I'd advise you to, first, learn to be charming; second, work on a contract.
The boy02/17/2020
Gerald stands up, haughtily huffing.
Gerald: I am plenty charming! I just knocked down my count by a significant number!
Able scoots as much as he can from Gerald, whilst still crossing his legs. This was too much. Able didn't want to deal with this.
Gerald: No matter. I have the information I need. Perhaps we'll see each other again.
Gerald straightens his hair and smooths out his coat before taking a final look at Able, who freezes his escape.
Gerald: If you ever need my services, though, do not hesitate to ask.
He smiles an overly eager grin, before making his way out the door.
Gerald: Have a wonderful afternoon, Virgil!
He laughs, shutting the door behind him. Able immediately relaxes, sighing.
they02/17/2020
The deacon gives a small wave and a tilting of their antennae as Gerald leaves; as soon as he does, however, he lowers his arms, his eyes dilating and his antennae flitting back as he opens another bottle.
Virgil: . . .what a bother. Really, Able, you need to stop attracting infernal attention to yourself.
The deacon tips the bottle back, the soul slipping down the glass walls before shrieking as it's torn apart.
The boy02/17/2020
Able: Would killing me make it less attractive, you think?
Able groans, covering his face. Half because he was bothered, half because he was flush.
they02/17/2020
The deacon sets aside the empty bottle.
Virgil: Not at all. Death in the Neath doesn't stop making a soul look like it yearns for the Surface. It just means that soul will burn up when it tries getting there. . .hm?
The deacon looks inside the bag, and pulls out a small bottle holding a golden, quiet soul swirling inside.
Virgil: . . .ah. . .this one. . .this one gave up searching for the Name, and made peace with the fact that she'll never know. Virgil: A treat from you, then?
The boy02/17/2020
Able looks up at the deacon.
Able: Hm? No, no I was just following suggestions from Thomas.
Able doesn't mention the price, enough to make him look twice before settling on having him have something nice. Able hoped that this made him a bit less on edge. He gets a bit more flush regardless, a little happy that he seems enthused.
February 18, 2020
they02/18/2020
The deacon opens the bottle, looking at the soul flowing inside.
Virgil: Yes, well, while I typically don't indulge in souls. . .but, lately, I've been agitated.
The deacon tips the bottle back, the soul lazily slipping out; the deacon doesn't even tear the soul into shreds, instead merely swallowing the soul whole.
Virgil: Ah. . .to be quite frank, I've been quite bored staying in this place while we slowly piece together my new body.
The boy02/18/2020
Able looks very tired, and lays down on the booth.
Able: Well, I can provide some entertainment, though I'm not quite... mm.. sure what that would be. Books? Food?
Able seems to have relaxed a bit much more than usual. He was stressed, especially with all the new rumors floating around. He just wanted to rest a bit.
they02/18/2020
The deacon checks the bag, pulling out another bottle.
Virgil: Well, devils often entertain themselves to see how much they can get from one contract.
The deacon opens the bottle.
Virgil: Since you don't seem particularly privy to that, however. . .sheet music for the organ, scalding dinner from Dante's, or, perhaps, news about the Iron Republic.
The boy02/18/2020
Able hums, already falling asleep it seems.
Able: Mh. I will see what I can do for you in ways of food and literature then. After my nap. No promises, though I will do my best.
Able covers his face with his arms, feeling like he was floating back into nothing.
they02/18/2020
The deacon stares at Able, raising an antenna as they do so.
Virgil: I hope you don't intend to sleep in the pew. Virgil: -Peering at the soul in the bottle.- More specifically, I don't feel comfortable about you sleeping around a devil who is extraordinarily bored.
The boy02/18/2020
Able: S'fine, jus a bit..
Able mutters, keeping his face covered to keep what little light was around out of his eyes.
Able: Just a few moments..
they02/18/2020
The deacon sets down the bottle, moving towards Able.
Virgil: In just a bit, you're going to end up falling asleep.
The deacon lowers and clasps Able's head between the mandibles (though not nearly as hard as they gripped their neck before) and pulls them upwards into a seated position.
Virgil: -Buzzing.- . . .and I will not have you sleeping around an impulsive devil. That's just irresponsible, even if you trust a particular devil.
The deacon pulls Able up with ease, forcing him to stand before letting go of his head. They turn their head towards the back of the church, pointing at a ladder beside the brass organ.
Virgil: Go upstairs, through that ladder; there's a cot for the homeless you can use.
The boy02/18/2020
Able: mh..?
Able sleepily pats one of the deacon's mandibles gently and nods, heading over towards the ladder.
Able: Alright.. I'll be back... soon..
He yawns into his elbow, sleepily shifting his way towards the ladder, climbing very lazily. By the time he made it up he realized where he was. He was suddenly a little bit more awake. Regardless he was tired, climbing into the room, huffing.
they02/18/2020
The room is familiarly arranged. There's a black, metal tank tucked into the corner (the sounds of burbling wax echoing inside the closed tank), a covered mirror hanging over the tank. In the opposite corner, there is a small mattress lying on the ground, covered in a quaint patchwork blanket and lacking a pillow.
The boy02/18/2020
Able stares at the bed, blinking.
Able: Ah, good... its different..
Able moves to the mattress, nearly flopping onto it, curling himself in the blankets. He almost immediately passes out. He felt so comfortable just resting here, despite the quality of the bed. He made a note of this, but promptly forgot, his mind fading to nothing as he fell asleep.
-------------------
The boy02/18/2020
He had awoke several hours later, a bit more well rested than he had been. Able didn't want to tell the deacon he'd been neglecting his sleep, figuring he would have something to say about it. Able considered it nothing to worry about, but now... He had no idea of how long he'd been asleep, he rolled over onto his side, realizing where he was. Able went incredibly flush, remembering the box, that goddamed box. Gods why did he have to be so gentle and kind, a trait he didn't often see amongst others let alone a devil. "Not just any devil." His head reminded him. Able rolls onto his other side, whimpering to himself. He could feel his body already reacting to these thoughts and how horrible he must be for having them. He felt like he was going to cry. He did cry a little, feeling his neck, remembering that it also had the deacon's mark on him. He couldn't face the deacon like this. He couldn't stay here either. Able sat up, trying to keep himself from crying but not having much luck. He had to head home, his weasels probably were getting antsy all by themselves. He didn't know if he could just leave like this though.
they02/18/2020
The deacon is on the first floor, sitting in and working on the paper nest that's slowly building in size in the chandelier; the entire metal has been covered in flaky paper, the brass no longer visible save for the chains holding the chandelier to the ceiling. The deacon is spreading their limbs across the inside of the nest.
Virgil: -Softly buzzing.- . . .Lord. I need more wax. . .
The deacon jumps down from the nest, walking towards the back of the church with a fidget.
Virgil: I'll just steal it from the chamber. . .
The deacon begins walking up the ladder, the wooden boards creaking as they do so.
The boy02/18/2020
Able is wiping his face, sighing, keeping himself calm for a bit. He almost starts to get up, but then hears the ladder and movement. He freezes. He didn't want the deacon to see him like this, he had to figure out what to do. Able lays back down in a panic, looking away from the hatch and trying to look asleep. This wasn't terribly difficult as he still felt rather tired. He lays there quietly, hoping that the deacon would go in and out of the room quickly so he can leave and go home.
they02/18/2020
The deacon walks up the ladder, quickly entering the second floor in a crawling position.
Virgil: -Chittering.- Just a little more wax. . .more wax. . .
The deacon quiets as they see Able laying down on the homeless cot, and slowly stand up into a standing position.
Virgil: -Clicking.- Ah. . .he's resting. . .
The deacon wanders over to the metal chamber in the corner of the room, pausing for a moment before dipping several limbs into the wax. They repeatedly dunk their hands into the tank, letting wax build up in layers on the barbs, until, satisfied, they pull away a large blob of hardened wax.
Virgil: -Chittering.- Ah. . .wax. . .
The deacon makes their way back to the ladder; before they do so, however, they pause, looking at Able again. Red slits in their amber eyes dilate slowly, flitting about in the area above Able's body. The deacon slowly wanders towards Able, peering over them while holding the dripping wax, their mandibles clicking louder; their mandibles are scissoring over each other instinctually as the deacon kneels, a bit of warm wax dripping onto Able's shoulder as their head nears his, the clicking growing louder.
Virgil: -Clicking; strained.- . . .this is. . .
The deacon stops, a bit of wax dripping onto Able's shoulder as they pull away suddenly, holding two wax covered limbs up against their face; their mandibles grabs at their limb instinctually, trying to slice it without success.
Virgil: -Clicking; agitated.- . . .I won't.
The deacon pauses for a moment, peering over Able as several drops of wax drip onto Able's sides, before quickly turning. They turn towards the ladder and head downstairs, their steps hurried and their clicking immensely agitated.
.
The boy02/18/2020
Able is doing his best to keep calm, listening to the deacon while trying not to move or breathe in a manner that indicated he wasn't fully asleep. He manages to stay still when the deacon moves towards him, concerned, but the real test was trying to lay still as wax dripped onto him As soon as the deacon was gone he brushed it off, hissing a bit. He covers his face, sitting up. This did not help his red face, or that feeling. He had to leave though, he couldn't wait much longer. He gets up, trying to adjust his pants so that it wasn't an issue of being seen. He sighs, waiting thirty more minutes before heading down. Able realized he wasn't going to get rid of this flush, and merely decided to start walking towards the door as soon as he was down the ladder. He makes a vague wave to the deacon as he quickly starts making his way to the door.
Able: Ah, thank you for your service, I must be off before my weasels make a mess of my home.
they02/18/2020
The deacon is sitting in the chandelier, holding a ball of melting wax and in the middle of applying it; they turn their head to look at Able, their mandibles clicking and the slits of their eyes dilating a bit more.
Virgil: Ah? Yes, you have been here for quite a while.
The deacon turns their head back to the nest, their eyes relaxing as they spread the wax across the interior of the paper-y nest.
.
The boy02/18/2020
Able nods, leaving promptly, not wanting to show off his embarrassment much longer.
Able: Yes, have a good evening.
Able shuts the door behind him, sighing. That could have gone better.
[
4:38 PM
]
------------------------------
they02/18/2020
The deacon is working in the corner, their limbs molding the hands on the wireframe mannequin; at this point, the mannequin is partially finished with a flaky torso, arms, and legs, along with moderately lumpy but detailed enough feet. The deacon is molding the left hand, working it with four limbs; the barbed limbs are working the detailed fingers, carving small folds and wrinkles in the skin around the joints.
Virgil: -Clicking Almost done. . .almost. . .
The boy02/18/2020
Able is heading towards the church, not that far away since his last stop was at Dante's. He hoped the deacon appreciated this, as he had to go through several attempts at his soul to merely get the food out of the door. He sighs, carrying the container of food on top of a bag of books. On his back was a large bundle of other goods Thomas had suggested, brandy's and the like. Able didn't enjoy the thought, but the deacon seemed rather at odds with himself lately. Able carefully tries to open the door while carrying his deliveries, just barely managing to keep everything steady as he heads in.
Able: Oy! I bought some things for you, do you want to take a break?
they02/18/2020
The deacon turns his head sharply, working gently on the hands.
Virgil: Ah! Able! Good, come in. . .
The deacon walks over to Able, their limbs wringing one another in pairs.
Virgil: Lord, I've been out of my mind for the past week. . .I've done nothing but work on hands for hours. Do you know how hard hands are to sculpt?
As the deacon nears Able, their antennae perk up.
Virgil: Did you bring something?.
The boy02/18/2020
Able is walking towards the deacon before stopping a bit, nearly tripping a bit, and decides to just wait for the deacon to come over.
Able: I wouldn't have any idea. Hm.. Ah, yes, I have gotten you some food, and some books, along with some ideas from Thomas, of course.
Able snickers.
Able: And they say I'm the one trying to court a devil, he seems to know a bit too much about you.
He sighs, shifting the items up towards the deacon.
Able: I'd suggest taking the food first, I had a very difficult time getting in and out of Dante's and it is slowly loosing heat I'm sure.
February 21, 2020
they02/21/2020
Virgil: -Reaching for the food containers.- Thomas doesn't court romantically.
The deacon grips the containers of food, opening them up; their eyes dilate as they look at the food placed in glazed ceramic, setting it aside in one of the pew's booths along with utensils.
Virgil: -Setting a container down.- Ah, bourguignon. The substitution for beef with seasoned mushrooms is one I won't mind. . . Virgil: -Pulling out another ceramic container.- . . .ah. . .the body of a prisoner, transmogrified into a cut of beef. . .and braised in sherry. I didn't think that was part of the traditional order; you're treating me too well, Able, the ordinary dish would've sufficed.
The deacon pulls the dishes over, unbuttoning their collar for a moment and kneeling; reaching for the silverware provided with the meal, they grasp a fork, a knife, and spoon in three separate limbs, before moving to making a cut in the prisoner's steak and bringing it to their mandibles. The mandibles grip the cut of meat, before, in a moment, it's gone. The deacon sighs contentedly, the red slit of their eyes going thin.
Virgil: -Sighing.- . . .this is a welcome change. . .thank you.
The boy02/21/2020
Able laughs a little, setting down the bag of books and the other bag on his back down into one of the pews. He sighs, happy to have that weight off his shoulder.
Able: Ah, indeed, Thomas is a bit more physical.
Able sits near the deacon, though giving him some space.
Able: Hm? What do you mean?
Able tilts his head, a little confused.
Able:... Regardless I'm glad its good for you..
they02/21/2020
The deacon spoons a bit of the broth, pulling it up to their mandibles.
Virgil: Ah, you didn't add the sherry? I'd have thought that Thomas told you of my proclivity for Amanita Sherry. . .rich, if toxic.
The deacon sticks the entirety of the spoon into their maw, before withdrawing the (empty) spoon.
Virgil: Mh. . .it adds a low fruity undertone to the meat. . .a little sweetness. . .
The deacon cuts another piece of meat, bringing it up to their mandibles and tearing it to strips slowly before feeding it into their maw.
Virgil: . . .mh. . .the husk is almost done. . .all that needs to be worked on is the hands, and the face. . .Lord, the face takes so much time. . ..
The boy02/21/2020
Able: Ah, I do have some proper sherry..
Able looks over at the deacon, smiling a bit.
Able: Ah well, you do make the face very well.
they02/21/2020
The deacon pauses, spooning a larger cut of meat into their mandibles.
Virgil: . . .I haven't started on the face yet, Able. . .mh. . .it's been a week on the hands, as of late.
The boy02/21/2020
Able looks confused for a bit.
Able: Hm.. Oh! No no, I mean, ah... you made it well previously, I have faith in your ability to do so again.
***
they02/21/2020
The deacon pauses, before nodding their head as they stab the last cut of meat and pull it into their mandibles (how quickly did they eat?).
Virgil: Mh. I'm not sure if I can make the exact face I had before. . .but, perhaps that's merely a freedom to express differently.
The deacon moves to the bourguignon, uncovering the ceramic and reaching for the provided ladle with two limbs providing stability.
Virgil: . . .I used to have differently textured hair. I wore it curly during the Khanian empire.
The boy02/21/2020
Able: That has to be fairly freeing though, hm?
Able thinks for a moment, wondering what thatd look like.
Able: Is there a reason you changed it?
they02/21/2020
The deacon raises a ladle to their mandibles.
Virgil: Mh. . .the damp weather of London isn't kind to curly hair.
The boy02/21/2020
Able: Ah, I've heard. Though I suppose it would still look nice. Preferences and all that.
Able pulls aside the bag of books.
Able: I got some things you can read to pass the time, some stuff you might be interested in? They aren't terribly entertaining but there is a few on music and others on why baking works how it does.
Able hums.
Able: It should at least be somewhat better than reading old hymns.
they02/21/2020
The deacon raises the ladle to their mandibles as another limb reaches to look at the books.
Virgil: Mh? . .I ought to try baking in the church itself. . .if I play the organ right, I could get the temperature to boiling and above. . .though, then I wouldn't have a congregation, would I?
The deacon spoons another ladleful, drinking quietly.
Virgil: . . .a devil with a congregation. Virgil: It still feels weird to say that. Or even to think about it.
The boy02/21/2020
Able leans over the deacon, smiling a bit.
Able: Ah are you listening to other people? I thought there was a rule against taking mere rumor too seriously.
they02/21/2020
Virgil: Come now, I'm not the sort to find gossip.
The deacon pauses, a ladle held before their face before they sup.
Virgil: Mh. . .but you hear things among the congregation, especially on Saturdays.
A black limb lightly holds the crooked cross they're holding, before releasing and turning to the meal again.
Virgil: I'm not a fool. I know that my position is hotly contested, by the Embassy and the Church alike.
The boy02/21/2020
Able: Well I'm not sure what they're so up their own arse about, it cannot merely be due to your actions.
Able huffs, a little miffed at a group that isn't there.
they02/21/2020
The deacon lays the ladle gently, cradling and picking up the ceramic bowl with four limbs.
Virgil: You're exactly right. It's merely because I'm a devil with the authority of both behind me, and there's an almost spiteful rivalry between the church and Hell.
The deacon tilts the bowl back, draining the sherry-spiked soup as they do so.
Virgil: Mh. . .
The boy02/21/2020
Able: That sounds ridiculous.
Able seemed to be a bit more riled up, but kept himself mostly calm. But only mostly.
Able: I think that they are missing out, clearly.
they02/21/2020
The deacon lowers the now empty ceramic bowl, setting it down in the booth of the pew.
Virgil: Mh. You're a rather small minority, unfortunately.
The deacon collects the ceramic containers together, stacking them on top of one another.
Virgil: . . .did you bring some more wax and paper? I'm almost finished with the hands; just a little more, and then they can be finished.
The boy02/21/2020
Able: Ah, yes, here. Though there are... other things in there as well you might find interesting.
Able hands over the bag, filled with Thomas based suggestions and supplies for the deacon.
they02/21/2020
The deacon inspects the bag, rummaging among the items.
Virgil: . . .hm. Is this a gift from you, or from Thomas?
The boy02/21/2020
Able: Ah, upon Thomas's suggestions... He is getting very insistent about these things.
Able looks around, remembering Thomas's teasing about his new "friend" even if he himself didn't quite trust the deacon with Able quite yet.
February 23, 2020
they02/23/2020
The deacon is pulling out several bottles of oily brandy, sherry, and souls, setting it aside.
Virgil: Now, I hope he doesn't think that you're being brought here against your will? . .it wouldn't do for my name to be besmirched, especially as I still have business to do with him.
The boy02/23/2020
Able: Oh I'm sure he thinks loads of stuff. I suppose he trusts my judgement regardless..
Able sits back, sighing.
they02/23/2020
Virgil: A bold decision, given that you're regularly cultivating a relationship with a devil. Most people would claim that as unwise. Virgil: -Sighing a bit dramatically.- But, if he trusts you, ah well. . .ah, here we are.
The deacon rummages in the bag, pulling out a small bundle of rolled paper and wax.
Virgil: Ah, while you're here; you can help me.
The deacon sets the food items aside, holding the bundles of paper and wax in a separate limb as they walk over to the mannequin in the corner.
The boy02/23/2020
Able shrugs a bit. He stands, following the deacon.
Able: He's likely keeping an eye on us more from afar still. Probably through a hired person. Able: Ah, of course.
they02/23/2020
The deacon rips off pieces of paper, stuffing it into their mandibles for a moment, before spitting it back out as a thick paste.
Virgil: Ech. . .come, come. . .the husk is almost finished; hands are mostly done, but they need to be perfect. If it fools you, it should be fine. . .
The deacon stands in front of the wire mannequin, slathering the paste onto the vaguely head-shaped bundle of wire on top.
Virgil: Can you look at the right hand? If you find that there's any wrinkles or folds that look off, smooth it out with your thumb.
The boy02/23/2020
Able nods, kneeling down. He untucks a small pair of glasses from under his sweater, held by a small string. He puts them on, sighing a bit. Able checks the hand, gently adjusting the small details. He didn't notice all the flaws, but a good portion of them. He seems focused on the task at the very least.
.
they02/23/2020
The deacon looks over at Able, spreading a layer of false skin across the face.
Virgil: Hm. I wasn't aware that you had glasses; how come you haven't been wearing them before?
The hand is mostly fine, but there just seems to be a bit too many wrinkles on the palm, and in different ways; rather than following the contour of the base of the thumb, running straight along it. The fingernails are slightly askew, but not too badly; just a little rotation would set them right.
The boy02/23/2020
Able: Mh, I only need them for finer details.
Able hums, adjusting the concentration of wrinkles to be more natural, and adjusting the fingernails to be more aligned. Able gets a bit flustered, touching this husk, feeling as if he was handling the deacon proper. He brushed that emotion aside. He checks on it a bit more, but seemed satisfied with it.
Able: It should be alright.
Able pulls off his glasses.
they02/23/2020
The deacon is working on the head, forming a vaguely head-shaped face; their limbs are working the cheeks and sides, punching out holes for the eyes and ears.
Virgil: Have you always needed them, or were your eyes injured?
The boy02/23/2020
Able looks up at the deacon, tucking his glasses back into his sweater.
Able: Ah, I've always been like this. Makes it terribly difficult to read books.
they02/23/2020
Virigil: Ah, you're farsighted then. . .why not wear them while reading, then?
The deacon stuffs another lump of paper and wax into their mouth, chewing it up again.
The boy02/23/2020
Able tilts his head and furrows his brow.
Able: Huh.
Able thinks for a moment. That would make sense.
Able: That.. Well yes that... Hm... I will do this then.
they02/23/2020
The deacon spits out the blob of paste, spreading it across the newly formed face; they're shaping a nose, and small subtle creases in the face.
Virgil: . . .mh. Soon, you're going to have to find some horse or sable hair from one of the less known markets. I don't fancy going out bald.
The boy02/23/2020
Able looks at the husk, then the deacon.
Able: I will see what I can find..
Able tries not to stare at the deacon but is having a difficult time with it, his eyes always drawn at the red shape in the middle of his head.
Able: Ah... so.. The red spot on your head... What is that?
they02/23/2020
The deacon pauses, a triplet of limbs in the middle of pinching a waxy nose out of the face.
Virgil: . . .a plate of chitin that got dislocated..
The boy02/23/2020
Able: Does it hurt?
He tilts his head.
they02/23/2020
Virgil: No more than a healed bone fracture hurts.
The deacon pauses, before working a little more paste on the false head right above the bridge of the nose.
.
The boy02/23/2020
Able: Hm, we'll it's very nice looking. If you care about such things.
Able looks away, a little embarrassed now.
they02/23/2020
The deacon continues smearing paste over the head frame, beginning to pierce many, many small holes at the top for hair to be fed into.
Virgil: I don't have any opinion about it. It's a reminder of what I did to get into the church. . .but, it's also a reminder of what I did to get into the church.
The boy02/23/2020
Able taps his chin, considered something before he stands.
Able: What did you have to do?
they02/23/2020
Virgil: Come now, you should know the usual process; persuade that I had some kind of penitence. Convince a cardinal authority that I'm not a criminal. Provide wine for mass. Virgil: . . .pretend that you're not a devil.
The deacon is peppering the top of the plaster head with many, many pinholes as most of their limbs go to work on the top.
Virgil: I lied, of course. Only about certain things, mind you; I will be very cross if you decide to follow that example. Virgil: -Plastering the head.- . . .if I came there as a devil, they would've ousted me before I even stepped past the doorway. So I shaded my eyes, wore a robe, and pretended to be sensitive to light.
The deacon pauses.
Virgil: Of course, when they found out I was a devil. . .they were not pleased.
A limb nonchalantly rubs at the chitin plate on their forehead; despite this, however, their mandibles spread as they look at Able, the idea of a grin on their foreign face.
Virgil: The cardinal tried to bash my head in with a cross; smashed it so hard that the gold in it became bent. Hilarious, really. Virgil: -Chuckling; with a buzzing undertone.- Of course, they can't dismiss me now that I have the position, except in cases of serious public or professional misconduct. But I haven't given them any reason yet to believe that I would do as such.
The boy02/23/2020
Able: Goodness really? Did they think perhaps you'd just vanish when struck?
Able laughs just a bit, but does seem to look a little worried.
Able: I suppose they're more interested in the idea of bettering ones self..
Able furrows his brow, looking up at the deacon, glancing at the spot on his head. He seems to get a bit of a worried look each time he does.
Able: I should be used to that by now, but it always surprises me somehow.
they02/23/2020
Virgil: Well, I'd imagine they're more so in denial about a devil being penitent. After all, a devil wanting to change? Unthinkable.
The deacon shifts their focus back towards the head, piercing holes along the back of the head.
Virgil: -Clicking.- . . .preposterous, I suppose..
The boy02/23/2020
Able: Clearly they must be blind and deaf to not notice your restraint. Aye you trip up one time and you're suddenly back at the bottom.
Able grumbles, sounding a little miffed.
Able: You're a good person. Perhaps that doesn't mean anything coming from a thief, but it is true.
they02/23/2020
Virgil: I'd argue relatively good. . .though that isn't saying much considering the state of London as it is.
The deacon turns back to the wireframe, working on the hand, their mandibles clicking.
Virgil: Ah, well. . .I have the last laugh in this. I got to be a deacon, didn't I? Even kept a little reminder of the church's "slip up", here.
The deacon grasps their crooked cross, chittering.
Virgil: Ah. . .I'm sure it makes them very upset. Which, of course, is exactly why I keep it.
The boy02/23/2020
Able watches the deacon, realizing that he might be in trouble talking like this. Not for anyone but himself. Nothing more serious than some crushed emotions. Able looks away, sighing, trying to distance himself a bit. Able chuckles a bit, trying to not look directly at the deacon.
Able: Ah... Well you certainly deserve the position with such motive. Even if you're not as spiteful as the rest of the clergy.
Able laughs a little, but it dies off into a bit of a sigh. He needed to stop that before it got out of hand.
they02/23/2020
Virgil: Well, you're kinder than most in saying that.
The deacon has finished patching up the back of the head, and steps back, viewing the (slightly misshapen and vague) head.
Virgil: . . .ach. That'll do for today. . .though, what do you think? Should I change my usual face up? I'm intending to keep the hair the same, but perhaps change is needed. . .
The boy02/23/2020
Able looks up.
Able:..Hm? I thought your face looked just fine..
Able blinks. He was doing it again. He gets a little flustered, and a bit flush.
Able: A-Ah, not that I...Hm... nervermind ...
they02/23/2020
The deacon pauses, before turning towards the lumpy head.
Virgil: Mh, well, I did like that face very much. Perhaps I'll keep it for another century longer.
they02/23/2020
The deacon clicks their mandibles.
Virgil: Well, that's enough work for now; it's time to rest, or else I'll be too tired to finish it up. . .ah, by the end of the week, it ought to be finished. Virgil: Ah, that reminds me; I need you to be there by then. I'm planning on putting it on by then, and I need you to point out if there's anything, anything at all that's off about the face, or hands, or. . .and so on.
The boy02/23/2020
Able very quickly flushes red, and looks away. He tries to keep his voice even, though it's fairly clear he's flustered.
Able: A-Ah.. Well... of course you would... hm.. ah... yes I will.. hm... I will be here.
they02/23/2020
The deacon chitters, a low buzz echoing in the room.
Virgil: Excellent. . .I'll see you then, then.
The deacon pauses, and looks up at the chandelier (now covered in wax and paper formed into a nest).
Virgil: . . .I wonder if I could turn that into a brighter chandelier.
The boy02/23/2020
-------------
The boy02/23/2020
As he walks along the roads, humming loudly to himself to try and ignore the gossip he's tried very hard to ignore, Able finds himself in better spirits than the day before. He knew that this would be it, that it would be the last day. Though he enjoyed the deacon's company he was due for some good rest, and maybe a couple of days of just being by himself. Able did like this time, however, but his feelings were growing more intense, and he wanted to keep that to a minimum if he could. Lest the deacon find out and think it was anything more than just a lewd thought. Able kept at his pace, walking quickly towards the church with the bag of hairs. He had to fight off quite a few artists eyeing the bag to make new brush sets. Clearly it was high in demand. The price certainly reflected this. Able could afford it, but it did feel rather... One-sided to him. Regardless he would be happy to oblige, he did consider the deacon a fairly good friend at this point. He wasn't sure the deacon felt similarly, but at least he tolerated his company. Able heads into the church, still humming, a song he vaguely remembers from his youth.
February 25, 2020
they02/25/2020
The deacon is near the back of the church, the mannequin standing where he'd be standing if her were giving a sermon. They're sculpting the face, which looks, for the most part, similar to the face they had before, save for the lack of eyes and the slight draping of the wax. The deacon lifts their head, their eyes dilating as Able walks in.
Virgil: Ah, there you are! Come, it's almost done. . .did you bring the hairs?
The boy02/25/2020
Able walks towards the deacon, holding a fairly well sealed bag. It had to be lest it spilled out into the street and cause a disaster.
Able: I got as much as the shop carried. Should be enough, considering the near riot that broke out when I bought them out!
Able laughs a bit moving to hand over the bag.
they02/25/2020
The deacon crawls (even though they walked "upright", there's an almost eager feeling to it) towards Able, grabbing the bag and cradling it.
Virgil: Ah, was it the Bohemians? . .never mind them, they're mostly harmless. . .though you might be accosted by several people wanting to dramatically kill you. . . Virgil: -Walking back, opening the bag with their other limbs.- . . .but I'm sure you've had enough practice against extravagance given the time you've spent with the bandaged man. . .ah, here we are. . .
The deacon is behind the mannequin, opening the bag and pulling out a single strand of horsehair, holding it up delicately.
***
The boy02/25/2020
Able: I don't think I'll have any problems with them, they all looked so flimsy.
Able makes a vague gesture. Moving a bit closer, but giving the deacon space.
Able: Should be quality, mh?.
they02/25/2020
More of the deacon's limbs reach into the bag, slipping out several strands.
Virgil: Assuming you get it from a healthy horse, it ought to be excellent.
The deacon slips a piece of horsehair past their mandibles, coating it in a thin layer of fluid that makes it stand straight; in the next moment, their limbs pushes into the wireframe mannequin, and slips a single strand of hair up, before withdrawing and repeating.
Virgil: Mh. . .this may take a while. . .feel free to sit in the booth and make yourself comfortable. . .play on the organ. . .whatever entertains you enough to stick around for almost an hour. Virgil: Or leave, if you wish.
The boy02/25/2020
Able: Seems like a wonderful time for a nap.
Able moves to one of the pews, laying down and sighing.
Able: I will wait for you to finish. You may still need my help later.
they02/25/2020
-------------
they02/25/2020
The deacon has spent the last half hour threading each horsehair up and into the puncture holes of the head from the inside of the hollow wax head. They trim off pieces as they feed it up slowly, fastening it in place by scraping small cuts in the wax on the inside of the head, feeding the hair into the cut, and rubbing wax over it again, letting it settle solidly. After doing as such, they spent another half hour trimming the hair with a rather personal method: they used their mandibles to cut the hair, trimming it down into the clean, familiar candle-like cut they had prior to shedding. At last, however, they've finished. They step back, the head complete and in need of only eyes.
Virgil: -Buzzing quietly.- . . .there we are.
The boy02/25/2020
Able hums, looking up occasionally through his little nap to check on the deacon's progress. He had been tired, but not tired enough to pass out this time. He watches the deacon trim the hair, though, it seemed fairly interesting to him.
Able: Looks nice..
they02/25/2020
The deacon takes a small step back, observing the head as the slits of their brass eyes narrow.
Virgil: Mh. . .yes. Symmetrical. . .neat. . .always looking as if it's freshly combed. . .yes, this will do. Virgil: -Buzzing.- . . .yes, I think it's done, then. Ah, Able, come here for a moment. . .
The deacon starts prying the husk off of the wireframe mannequin, the scene a little eerie, if bizarre.
The boy02/25/2020
Able stretches, standing slowly. He walks over towards the deacon, still making weird glances at the bare mannequin as opposed to the husk.
Able: Mh? What sort of assistance do you need?
they02/25/2020
Virgil: It's important that the husk is convincing to the populace observing it; otherwise, it's not a quality husk.
The deacon sets the skin over the mannequin, hanging it over it like robe laid out to dry. They then move back, unbuttoning the top buttons of their robe.
Virgil: I'm going to put it on; I need you to know if there are any flaws that need to be mended, or altered.
The boy02/25/2020
Able blinks, getting a bit flush. Ah right, he was talking about this earlier. He probably just meant the more seen parts, right?
Able: Ah, I will do what I can.
Able instinctually looks away, giving the deacon some portion of privacy. Even if he'd already seen the man walk around fully unclothed as a giant bee, it seemed scandalous to watch him undress.
they02/25/2020
The deacon unbuttons themselves down, exposing their chitinous body. In the next moment, they pick up the husk, as nonchalantly as someone would a shirt.
Virgil: Able, you can't observe if you're looking away.
The deacon lifts their antebellum up, holding it up as they slip their lower limbs into the husk, the legs filling up as multiple limbs fit into it.
The boy02/25/2020
Able looks back at the deacon, steeling himself. He keeps flushing more and more. What if the deacon did mean everything? How much would he have to look? How long? Would he have to help fix the issues if there were any?
Able: Right, right... Hmm..
Able watches, hoping it would be over soon, lest he get too excited and have to wait for that to die down later.
they02/25/2020
The deacon slips the husk onto themselves, pulling it up onto themselves.
Virgil: It doesn't matter whether the torso or the thighs are damaged. . .the only reason I need you to look is to see if there's a visible seam, because that means a piece of the wireframe pressed too hard against the husk and left an impression. In that case, it might split apart. . .
The deacon slips into the husk, slowly pulling it up and fitting themselves into it. The husk visibly fills up, the flat torso pushing forward; the holes peppering the torso are showing black and yellow bands peeking through. Between the wax thighs, there is a wide slit, a solid black banded with yellow peeking through and a small, chitinous slit in the middle.
Virgil: -Muffled.- What's more pressing, however, is the hands and face. They need to look indistinguishable from human hands and faces.
The head and arms fill up, bending as the deacon slips into it; a solid swatch of amber flips past the eyes, before the band of red slides into view, the head propping up and the bristled hair on top settling comfortably as they do so.
.
[
3:13 AM
]
Virgil: If anything unnerves you, possibly because it's not human-like enough, do tell.
The boy02/25/2020
Able nods, flushing a bit. Able looks the deacon up and down. He wondered how he managed to fit through it all. He was a bit confused about the lower half, but he didn't want to be impolite and instead walked around the deacon. He is checking the back, as it would be difficult for the deacon to tell if anything was amiss there.
Able: Hm..
they02/25/2020
Along the back of the husk, there's a large seam where the deacon entered; even now, Able can see small black barbs squirming along the seam, pulling it tight and keeping it closed. The seam is more noticeable in the space between their shoulders, but it faces into a small line as it travels up the neck, ending right before the hairline on the nape of their neck. Beyond that, there's a large peppering of holes on their back, especially around the midriff and with some in a particular pattern around the shoulders. Black and yellow patches can be seen peeking through the holes.
.
[
3:38 AM
]
Virgil: The holes aren't a problem. They're necessary, rather; without it, the wax would split apart, and the fibers embedded inside wouldn't be able to bend.
The boy02/25/2020
Able: Hm... Well tell me when you feel all settled and I will give everything a better look... hmm..
He tilts his head.
Able: Why wouldn't you merely seal the seam? Is it that troublesome?
they02/25/2020
Virgil: If I sealed it completely, taking off the husk later would become almost comically difficult. . .unless I was in Hell, where the temperature would soften the wax, but, at that point, I wouldn't need a husk in the first place.
The husk shifts, as the seam is closed up by the deacon's limbs. . .then, the arms fill themselves up as the deacon stands up, adjusting and smoothing out small creases present in their skin with their fingers and hands.
The boy02/25/2020
Able: Ah, that would make sense then.
Able pulls out his glasses, trying to make this a less flustering experience by asking questions.
Able: Do you feel more or less comfortable in a husk?
Able is cleaning off his glasses before putting them on.
they02/25/2020
Virgil: Socially comfortable. Perhaps not physically, but it tends to smooth discussions out when you don't look apian.
Able can see that, along the back, there's small, fluttery undulations underneath where the shoulder blades would be, but they're very subtle movements.
The boy02/25/2020
Able takes a closer look at the back seam, but still at a reasonable distance.
Able: Sounds like a great deal of London fashion these days. Uncomfortable but acceptable.
they02/25/2020
Virgil: Parisian clothing is much more comfortable. At least, if you're talking about after the fall. Before that. . .or now, I suppose. . .it's rather stiff as well.
The deacon turns their head over their shoulder, looking back at able, their eyes narrowing a bit.
Virgil: . . .the back of the torso isn't a big area of concern, Able. While most people do talk about me behind my back, they aren't often talking to my back.
The deacon turns around, holding up their hands; at this point, Able's gaze is level with the deacon's midriff, their two hands held out for Able to inspect. A black and yellow-banded chitin slit peeking out a few centimeters below. The hands themselves don't seem dangerously off; if anything, the only thing that's a little out of place is that they look a bit too moisturized (possibly because its made with a semi-glossy wax) and a little too smooth.
The boy02/25/2020
Able gets very flush very quickly. He glances down before focusing on the deacons hands. Able takes the deacon's hands, turning them over and moving them to inspect them carefully.
Able: Well. Your hands are fine, at least. I'm sure they could look rougher, but there's only so much you can do with wax.
Able looks up at the deacon's face, squinting. He lets go of the deacon's hands. Even if he's red as all can be he still wanted to help the deacon.
Able: Bend down a bit so I can get a better look at you. I'm not nearly as tall as you.
they02/25/2020
Virgil: It'll be fine; they merely need to be broken in, like a new shirt or suit.
The deacon lowers themselves, getting down on a knee as their face levels with Able's; their face is mostly smooth, save for the creases where their nose meets their face, and eyelid folds. Their eyes are immensely dilated as they stare at Able.
Virgil: Trust me; a day in London will roughen up the husk well enough..
The boy02/25/2020
He gasps a little, getting even redder. He forgot. Then Able raises his eyebrows a bit. It was a bit different.
Able: Hm.. You look fairly younger like this... was that on purpose?
Able gently touches the deacon's cheek to turn his head a bit, inspecting him thoroughly.
Able: Your hairline is certainly slightly different.. Hm..
Able tilts the deacon's head the other way. Ah, that emotion was burning in him again, he needed to end this soon.
Able: Well, you did a wonderful job, looks normal and acceptable.
they02/25/2020
Virgil: In part; the husk is going to look scuffed and behave like regular skin after a week, so leaving it youthful now means it'll look respectably olderlater.
The deacon turns their head, without comment or resistance. Their skin is emanating heat, like there was a low furnace inside the husk.
.
The boy02/25/2020
Able: Ah, well you should be alright, I don't see anything wrong here.
Able looks away, pulling his hands away and shoving them into his pockets.
they02/25/2020
Virgil: Excellent.
The deacon stands up again, and move to the wire frame mannequin. They grab the unbuttoned robe draped over the shoulder is the mannequin, and start wrapping it around themselves, their smooth fingers deftly moving to button it up.
Virgil: Ah, then that will be all. Thank you, Able.
The deacon turns their head over their shoulder, looking at Able.
Virgil: Really. It would've taken much longer to get the material for this husk, and I wouldn't have known if the shell was made properly. Thank you, for your assistance.
The boy02/25/2020
Able looks up towards the deacon. He smiles. He doesn't care at this point, these emotions were going to build. He is extremely flush, enough to be noticeable from far away.
Able: Ah.. I'm always happy to assist you. Let me know if you need anything else later.
Able finds himself feeling a bit warmer, and starts heading out.
Able: I will see you next Sunday then. Perhaps we can do something a bit less strenuous then, mh?
Able heads out of the church, a little happy. Then he feels extremely sad. He needed to stop this. He starts heading home, slowly losing his composure over the trip. By the time he reaches his room he is crying to himself. He wraps himself up in his blankets. He wishes he'd just not have these emotions. He goes to bed early.
-----
The boy02/25/2020
Sometimes when things start to get colder, Able felt the uncomfortable grip of dreams worming their way into his brain. Able felt cold, wet, frozen, dying. Like a familiar fear creeping into his vision as muffled screams fill the air above the water. Everything was black, and moving felt like he was stuck in tar. He rips a hand free from the ocean's grasp, and is met by a firm hand. He is hauled out of the thick black ocean, foaming along the shoreline. He gasps and shudders. Able finally looks up at the person who saved him, he knows the shape of the deacon, but he is corrupting into that black sludge that filled his lungs. Able can feel that sludge pour out of his mouth as he tries to frantically explain himself, but it is difficult, and he falls over, his sight being taken over by the blackness again. Able wakes up. That was new
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