Sunday had come around again, and Able had set up another time at Caligula's. Able seemed to get more snacks this time, enjoying a bit of toast with sliced pickled beets. "It's good." He insisted. Able had also merely gotten water this time, seeming to more genuinely enjoy his morning meal this time around.
Able: So do you like black tea? Or are you posturing? Virgil: I do like black tea. Not for the taste. Just for the energy and vitality.
The deacon raises a glass to their lips, their eyebrows furrowing for a moment.
Virgil: -Quietly sipping.- . . .though I do admit, I would like more sugar. It's rather bland. Able: Do you need that much energy?
Able gestures to the sugar cubes set out on the side of the table as per usual.
Able: Seems a waste to not enjoy yourself in such small things.
Virgil: Now Able, I have an image to keep up. Sugar is unbecoming of me.
Virgil: -Raising their cup again.- Now, if you'd take some of it on behalf of me. . .
There is movement on the top of Caligula's roof; a pair of eyes is peering over the lip, staring down below at Able and Virgil before quickly hiding again. Able: Oh that I can do.
Able snickers a bit, using the small tongs to pick up a cube.
Able: Should I just skip to the bottom of the bowl or-
Able looks up a bit, before turning back to the deacon.
Able: Er..?
Virgil: . . .what is it?
The deacon glances upwards, trying to follow where Able's gaze rested.
Virgil: -Looking at the rooftops.- . . .more unwanted company?
Able: . . .Hm. Maybe. Let's see if they make themselves known.
Able settles a cube of sugar into the deacon's cup.
Able: For now, enjoy something a little, mh? The deacon raises the glass to their lips.
Virgil: -Flatly; with a hand raised.- Oh, bother. Somehow, some sugar had ended up in my tea.
Virgil: -Sipping.- Mh. Well, it'd be a shame to waste perfectly tea.
Above, there is some rustling; the conversation above is hushed, but the voices are foreign to Able. There is a hushed discussion. . .
???: -Distant.- This is 'ow they make that stuff, roi'ght? . .what? No, it'll work fine. . .
. . .before the air rings out with a crack. Crumbled chunks of brick (along with what appears to be a scrap of torn stockings) rain down onto the outside seating of Caligula's; several chunks land in scattered places, cracking against the head of several outside patrons screaming and covering their head.
The deacon holds a hand over their head, looking up as they set down their glass.
Virgil: -Pausing.- . . .oh dear.
The cup they had set down cracks into pieces as a chunk of brick chips it, the tea spilling and streaking across the table. The deacon pauses, wiping a fleck of tea off of their coat.
Virgil: . . .I think we should leave.
Able grins before his attention is moved towards the roof again. He watches as chunks of bricks land around him but mostly miss him. He still covers his head and is upset when a brick destroys his unfinished meal.
Able's brows furrow, and he huffs as the surrounding area is covered in pieces of brick. He stands, annoyed.
Able: Indeed. This is a bit more bothersome than usual. Virgil: Well, I thought the meal was fine with your company around.
The pieces of bricks stop falling, the ammunition above having been spent. Overhead, the murmurs have gone, the perpetrators having fled.
Virgil: -Clearing their throat; dusting themselves off.- However, I'd rather not have the blame pinned to me. At least, not for something as ill-planned as this.
Able seems to relax a bit, and moves around the table, absentmindedly pushing some brick off of it as he does. He stuffs his hands into his pockets.
Able: Well, we can always take a walk at least.
Able smiles.
Able: And maybe force whoever it is out of hiding.
The deacon looks above, before staring at Able in the eyes, his face reflected in their mirrored sunglasses.
Virgil: -Eyebrow raised; flatly.- Come now, I didn't think you were egotistical to think of yourself prominent enough to kill.
The deacon turns on the spot, heading off down the street as they walk.
Virgil: -Walking off; lighter, raised tone.- Now, as for me, I think that's a different story.
Able laughs, following behind.
Able: Oh how rude of you.
Able gently bumps into the deacon, amused.
Able: Now now, isn't humility something the clergy encourages? You'll be giving me all sorts of bad habits like that.
Virgil: -Flatly.- I can assure you that I am an exemplary deacon. Any bad habits you have are yours and yours alone.
The deacon heads along, keeping a steady pace for Able to follow. Above, a shadowed group heads along the roofs, peering over the edge to peer down at the deacon and Able, keeping mostly out of sight.
The two had walked fairly leisurely towards the church, and took some time to talk while inside. Able was a little worried he might've talked about his pets too long, though Virgil seemed to at least not tell him off.
Able did have some things to get back to, however, and decided to end the day here, as he would need to do something for himself tomorrow. He wandered outside of the church, closing the door behind him. He wondered briefly if he should tell anyone but, that would only cause unneeded fussing.
Outside the church, a group of children are gathering around the church entrance. A short boy, wearing scruffy clothing and tousled brown hair, is walking along at the front of the group. His outfit consists of patched up overalls (the stitches are surprisingly neat!) and a coarse-fibered undershirt. A variety of cutlery hangs from wire wrapped around their buttons, with small knifes and spoons jingling against each other. He walks forward, bending over comically low and bow-legged as he walks along.
Behind him, a pair of boys hide behind a false bush made of darkly dyed tissue paper and wire; the shorter one, dressed in tattered clothing with an old coat over his back, holds the bush up while the taller one, dressed in oversized, threadbare clothing hunches (poorly) behind the bush.
At the back, there's a young girl dressed the nicest in a hem-worn dress tied round the waist with a sash. Her hair is coiled in messy ringlets, held back with a rusty paper clip stylized to look like a tiny hand.
Beside her, is what looks to be a young boy wearing mud-stained, faded smoking suit, the patterning too threadbare to really notice. He's standing the furthest back, wringing his hands nervously as he watches the child furthest up front.
The child furthest up front is heading towards the door, walking awkwardly to try and avoid jangling the cutlery.
Leader: Olright, I think we got 'im now. . .
Bush-Holder: Are ye' sure, kid?
Bush-Hider: -Kicking the bush-holder.- Don't call him kid, call 'im boss. . .
The leader up front turns around, shushing them and walking backwards.
Leader: Shh, quiet! . .we got 'im, we just gotta jump 'em when he walks out. . .
As Able walks outside, the frontmost kid accidentally backs up into him; he screams, turning around to face him. Behind him, the two kids hide behind the bush (the shorter one does it well; the taller one, less so).
Leader: Ah! Able blinks, not reacting much to being backed into. Clearly they were up to something, he could see that by how obvious the bunch were acting. He squints, were there more? He looks at the kid who backed into him, cocking an eyebrow.
Able: 'Scuse me.
Able nods politely.
The leader up front squints, before squatting and ripping a rusted butter knife off of their shirt; they hold the blunt knife up, pointing it towards Able.
Distant Kid: -Distant.- Hey, I spent so much time on that!
Leader: -Threatening; waggling the knife.- Now wot sort of game are you playing here, huh?
Bush-Holder: -Peeking over the "bush".- We saw what you did back there!
Bush-Hider: -Leaning an arm on the bush-holder's head.- Yeah! We saw you trying to hurt our deacon!
The leader up front turns around, shushing the two kids hiding behind the false bush.
Leader: Shh! The rule is not reveal why we're here!
Leader: -Jabbing the butter knife against Able's chest.- Now tell me, wot sort of business do you have 'eer, huh?
Able furrows his brow. Were they serious?
Able: Er.. Excuse me a moment.
Able ignores their questions turning on their heel. He heads back into the church, locking the door behind him. He quickly walks towards Virgil, again.
Leader: Now hang on just a min'uh, wot do you think-!?
The door shuts quickly; on the other side, the handle rattles for a moment. Meanwhile, the deacon is tidying up his church, putting away several books; he lifts his head as Able re-enters, laying a choral book onto the music stand of the church's organ.
Virgil: -Looking at Able.- . . .well. Did you have more to talk about with your weasels?
Able quickly moves to Virgil's side, making a bit of a fast walk up.
Able: Ah.. Perhaps.. Er... No. There are children outside? I think they know you?
The deacon blinks.
Virgil: . . .what do you mean?
The church door rattles, the doorknob twisting in place.
Leader: -Muffled.- Oy! Wot do you think you're doing in there!
The deacon squints, staring at the door.
Virgil: . . .four of them? One speaking with a drawl, two walking together, and a violent girl?
Able: As far as I know. The girl didn't talk so I'm not sure about violent.
Able looks back at the door.
Able: What's your connection with them?
Virgil: Well, they're regular visitors to the church on Saturday.
The deacon pauses for a moment.
Virgil: . . .they mostly come, grab whatever free rolls they can grab their hands on, and then leave. Oh, but they're pleasant enough children.
The deacon turns to adjust their organ, moving the seat to be placed evenly between the organ side rests.
Virgil: . . .have they been bothering you?
Able: As much as kids with dull knives can. I think they might be a little protective of you.
Able thinks for a moment, grinning.
Able: Why Virgil... I never knew you wanted kids...
Able snickers to himself. The deacon pauses, their hands on the organ seat.
Virgil: . . .I do, in fact, want to have offspring. Unfortunately, that will not be possible given your biology, but that is a non-issue.
The deacon resumes adjusting the seat, keeping the arrangement symmetric with the organ's design.
Virgil: If they're jabbing you with a dull knife, you should ask why. They talk a lot, but they're not the type to back it up with any real threat. . .
Virgil: . . .well, save for Magdalene. But the rest of them will probably be willing to listen. Able looks a little disappointed. He shrugs.
Able: . . .Hm. Clearly you aren't trying hard enough then.
Able turns around, starting to walk back towards the door.
Able: Ah, if you say so. I will go discuss with them.
He unlocks the door, and opens it again.
The deacon skids the seat along in their surprise, before clearing their throat and standing up.
Virgil: -Facing away from Able.- Ahem. Come by later tomorrow, then, if you really believe that.
The leader of the group falls in, landing on the ground but still having his butter knife raised. Hair covers his gaze as he looks up blindly.
Leader: Oof! Leader: -Scrambling upwards.- Right then, wot sort of game are you playing at here. . ?
Behind them, the false bush hiding the two boys scurries forwards; further back, the ringlet-haired girl and the jacketed kid wait, watching the group. The deacon, silently, puts on their sunglasses, shielding his eyes. Able huffs a bit, ignoring the deacon for a bit. He looks at the kid, confused.
Able: What's this about? The leader pokes the knife into Able's knife, holding their other arm up as if they were fencing.
Leader: Oy, I ask the questions here, not you!
Leader: -Jabbing Able's chest.- Now wot do you think you're doing here, huh? Accosting our deacon like this?
Bush-holder: -Peeking over the top.- Yeah! Are you doing something sinister?
Bush-hider: -Low.- . . .where'd you learn that word?
Bush-holder: -Pointing behind him.- The lady back there said it.
Bush-hider: Ohh. . .
Leader: -Jabbing Able's chest.- We saw you trying to poison 'im! 'Ee never takes sugar; wot did you put in there, ah?
Behind Able, the deacon bows over, their hands leaning against the organ side rests and quietly wheezing.
Leader: -Pointing at the deacon.- The deacon is down! The deacon is down! Get 'im up!
The two kids hiding behind the bush force their way inside, quickly heading through the pew as they head towards the deacon.
Bush-hider: Are you okay, deacon?
Bush-holder: The deacon, are you okay?
Meanwhile, the leader jumps at Able, trying (and failing) to push him over; he drops the butter knife in the process, stumbling backwards before holding their hands up.
Leader: Oof! . .ol'right, then! Just an old bout of fisticuffs!
The leader holds their hands in fists, bobbing on the spot as they try to psyche Able out. Able blinks, looking a little amused. Should he humor them? He grimaces a bit, not stopping the kids who head in, and merely watching this child try to fight him. Able bends over to pick up the knife, holding it out handle side towards the child.
Able: You dropped this.
Able: Virgil has always been partial to sweets, however. Though with the way you're acting, you might kill him. The deacon wheezes, waving off the two kids.
Virgil: No, I'm. . .doing fine. . .what're are you two doing. . .
Bush-holder: -Holding up the tissue-paper bush.- We needed to make a new disguise.
Bush-hider: Yeah, our last coat got torn apart.
Bush-holder: -Elbowing the bush-hider.- That's 'cause you got us caught!
Bush-hider: -Pushing the bush-holder's head down.- Oy, you were the one grumbling about getting food!
Virgil: Alright. . .settle down, now.
The leader squints, before swiping at the knife and holding the dull knife like a fencing foil.
Leader: Sounds like lies!
The leader jabs the knife at Able's arm, his wild hair flying like a feral animal.
Meanwhile, the deacon is wrangling the two (now feuding) kids apart, trying to keep them from damaging the organ.
Leader: I 'ave never seen this deacon eating any kind of sweet out and about! There's only one explanation; you coerced 'im!
Able taps his chin, humming a bit before batting the kid's knife from his arm. He sighed.
Able: Right. Enough of that.
Able raises his eyebrows, holding his hands up.
Able: I have no intentions to do anything... unscrupulous to the deacon. I merely enjoy his company.
The leader scooches forward, holding the knife up.
Leader: Do you expect me to believe that? Oy! Maggie! Git' 'im!
Outside, the ringlet-haired girl perks up, before readying a stance; she forces her way through the door, and pushes against Able hard (enough to make him stumble a bit), squatting in a defensive stance with her fingernails readied.
Maggie: -Untying the sash around her dress; scowling.- Now, we can do this the hard way, or the harder way. . .
Virgil: He's being truthful.
The deacon has separated the two quarelling kids, holding them by the back of their clothing by arm's length.
Virgil: . . .I'm not entirely sure he is even capable of lying. William, could you call Timothy and James off?
The leader blinks, before turning and dropping the butter knife; he raises his hand, outstretched for a handshake while he stands at attention.
William: Well, why didn't you say so? Oy! Tim! Jim!
The two feuding kids turn to look at William, before quickly pulling out of Virgil's grip and heading to stand behind William. Maggie, meanwhile, scowls, her hands lowered to re-tie the sash around her waist.
William: -Reaching out a hand towards Able.- A r'oight pleasure to meet you! . .oy, Tim, Jim, Maggie, greet our new member!
Maggie: -Retying her sash.- No.
Tim: Are you also an urchin?
Jim: -Looking down onto Able.- Yer a small one, aren't you. . .(edited)
Able holds his hands up defensively. That girl was strong. He backs up a bit before the deacon speaks up, and is relieved. Able tightly grips the young man's hand in a half handshake before pulling his hand away.
Able: Er.. No. I haven't been with that crowd since I was 17.
Able looks up at Jim, a little unsettled.
Able: Ah...haha... I am fully grown I assure you...
Able backs up a little, laughing nervously.
Able: Er... Are you all together then? As a group?
William: What!? Yer kidding, aren't you? Look at you, yer so. . .
William: -Gesturing vaguely.- . . .so. . .so small!
The deacon hunches over again, leaning against the organ as they quietly laugh.
Jim: -Planting a hand onto Able's head.- Are you sure?
Tim: -Poking Able's stomach.- Nah, 'ee's got muscle, he's prolly one of those thirty-ers.
Jim: Maggie is younger, though, and she's got some good muscles.
Maggie: -Swatting Jim's head.- Oy, don't gossip.
Jim: Ah!
Paisley-dressed Kid: U-um. . .are you guys done. . ?
Outside, the boy dressed in a mud-stained smoking jacket, peering around the open church door.
Able looks thoroughly unamused. He seems to take the treatment in stride though, merely brushing off their comments. He was used to this, and he'd just not gotten used to the fact that kids would be so blunt.
Able: Ahem. Enough of that.
Able backs up a bit, removing all of the prodding hands.
Able: ...There's more of you?
William: Wot? William: -Looking behind.- . . .oh! Nah, 'ee's a new one. Oy! Jonas!
Jonas?: It's. . .Jonah. . .
William: He is brilliant; knows how to put a gun together and disassemble it just as well.
Jonah: -Holding their hands up; shaky.- No, no! I only know how they work!
Jim and Tim: -Simultaneously.- Thas' the same thing, i'nnit? Able: Er... Impressive. Ah... I.. Must be off. Honestly. I have pets to tend to and... Things to prepare tomorrow..
Able is skirting around the children, slowly making his way to the doorway.
Able: I'm sure you all are very capable and can handle yourselves very well...
Able is moving along, his hands in his pockets. He heads out, fairly quickly. He was sure to properly lock his home tonight.