Of Churches

[Malcolm Galloway] Malcolm utters a terse and tired little laugh at the mention of falsehoods. "Oh, yes, and if these hallowed walls could talk..." He trails off, not really wanting to think about it. His mood almost lifted for a moment there, only to crash back into its hole. His expression darkens, which is at least an improvement over the impassively exhausted look he started with. Perhaps because of his mental state, he veers into an entirely new thought that's at least vaguely related. "It's funny, isn't it, how we're programmed to just say fine. No matter what's wrong. No one wants to really hear what's wrong. No one without any vows, I mean. And even now, to say what troubles me would only sound crazy."

He already fears he sounds crazy. And looks crazy. Okay, so his o-so-sober clothes are neatly pressed, and in spite of the bags under his eyes he's clean shaven to boot. The monumental effort of looking nice in spite of everything only helped to make him more weary. Hell, just thinking about the boxes waiting back at the new apartment makes him feel drained.

[Solomon Ward] The priest chuckles slightly, low and mild humored but little more. There's a small nod of agreement as he does so. "It's much like people. You buy some thing, and the cashier asks 'how are you today', but they don't really wish to know. If you tell them not well, your tire went flat and it caused a long day you can practically see the boredom in their eyes. Some of us... not so much. I ramble.. its as I said though, any ear here is to lend itself to you if you wish"

He wasn't being pushy, instead just lightly affirming what he had said earlier. The man does get a curious look from the priest for a moment how ever at the mention of sounding crazy. Solomon pushes, just slightly, if only because if the man was truly, deeply, worried that the confessionals offered anonymity. He'd mentioned this aloud, here, however so the priest asks.

"You'd have to try real hard for to think your crazy."

[Malcolm Galloway] Malcolm, who'd been addressing the hymnals until then, slowly cranes his head up to look at Solomon... To really look at him. Putting his face more in the light does not help in. Even the soft illumination makes his eyes look sunken and the lines on his face a little deeper. His eyes rover over him appraising for a few seconds, buying him time to order his thoughts... Not enough, as they're still a jumbled wreck.

"Even if I told you the spirit of my dead fiancee was quite literally haunting me?" The hushed tone is nothing new. He couldn't raise his voice above a reverent whisper if he wanted to. "That I'm lucky to get three hours of sleep for all the nightmares? It's a great burden, don't you think, to know there are things that exist on this earth that are completely out of the realms of the Lord's plan."

Did he mean to say that? Too late now. And so Malcolm keeps staring at Solomon.

[Solomon Ward] Solomon blinked a few times, taking his time. It was apparent that he was formulating a response. Quick witted as he may be, the spoken word as not necessarily the mans forte. Whether out of politeness or subterfuge, restraint or some thing else he took a long moment before he responded.

He took a seat, plopping into the pew behind Malcolm, and several feet to the side so that he wasn't immediately behind the man, placing his hands to rest on the pew in front of him. "To say that things are out side the Lord's plan can be quite... egotistical, my son. We would like all things to be neatly categorized, to fill in the cracks of our ignorance and make neat notes on the categorization of the world because the Book tells us 'this is how it is'. Yet its old, and even translated as accurately as possible... the words may remain the same, but the intent ? The Lord commands we worship no other gods before Him. It isn't until the New Testament and the apostolic teachings that begin to deny them. The Pharaoh's priests worked sorcery against Moses and Aaron. Even defeated it existed. Our teachings say so. "

"As to...your fiance.. I do not wish to sound crass, but the great deceiver is aptly named. You are truely and absolutely sure it is your fiance, not some spirit of tricks or shade?"

Probably not the answer Malcolm was expecting, but there it is on the table.

[Malcolm Galloway] "I have seen the others," Malcolm says. He sinks down into his seat a little, not out of any attempt of drawing less attention, but he's inclined to nod his head tiredly even as he speaks. "It is her, and it is not, and she grows more insane with each passing years. The nightmares, though, are not all because of her. Or about her, either."

He rubs a hand on his knee, then digs his fingers into give himself the little jolt he needs. The temptation to just collapse right there is looming like a shadow, but it's neither the time nor the place, and the oblivious faithful also present in the chapel would not appreciate him screaming even during a nap. He pushes himself back up again, slumping forward just a little. "And you perhaps misunderstand me. I don't deny any such things. Not anymore. But with each passing year I find more and more signs that suggest Creation is like a watch that was wound and left, and now it is losing time. That's not to say it's been abandoned... just... that it's left to us to deal with it."

He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, then laughs as something else occurs to him. "Now that sounds egotistical. Forgive me, everything feels... off right now. It's hard to think clearly. And manners escape me as well. I'm Malcolm, Malcolm Galloway."

[Solomon Ward] "A pleasure, Mr. Galloway. Solomon Ward... " he says, though he seems lost in thought for a moment. Again, quiet forethought is put into his words before he speaks them. "I don't fully comprehend. About her, that is".

The priest chews his lower lip slightly, before recognizing the habit and ceasing. It's unprofessional and vulgar, and if he can't kick the habit in the confines of his own home the least he can do is not do it here. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, and is truely unknowable" a chuckle, and he continues.

"It isn't a horrible thought. I had a discussion, some time back, where I pointed out the validity of my faith to some one else. I find it refreshing to serve a God that doesn't always appear to be meddling. We'd like so many more of our prayers answered too, but such is the difference between want and need."

"Though I have two questions, If I may be so forward. What do you mean by seen the others ? And ...Mr. Galloway... are you the same Mr. Galloway from the uh...ehmm... candle stick incident?"

[Malcolm Galloway] He clears his throat and looks around self-consciously at that. "The, uh... The very same. It's complicated, so complicated there was nothing I could say to keep my collar." He grimaces at all the memories that come bubbling up as his mind inevitably drifts back down that road. He digs his fingers into his pant legs again and makes a lurking attempt at changing the subject. "But as for the others..." He lowers his voice another notch, which might require straining to hear him. He wasn't the type to feel completely safe and at ease even in such a holy place. "I mean the ones that aren't lost souls caught between this world and the next. Most are harmless enough. Animists put far too much stock in their power."

He says the word animist like it has the same connotations to him as heathen, and to him it does.

[Solomon Ward] By this point the average priest would have been especially wary. Solomon is no different, but for reasons all his own. Not the candlestick mind you... he could understand, in way, though he had trouble imagining such a loss of control, if it was such. Deliberate ? Then the man warranted extra caution. Either way the priest continued to nod slightly as the man spoke, partly in silent agreement and partly to show that he was listening avidly.

"I'd be very interested in hearing the story, some day, if its ever worth the telling for you. As to other spirits out there... it seems there may be more than we typically, in our faith, wish to admit to. Mr. Galloway, again, forgive me for being bold but you speak very bluntly about such things as most consider imposable, potentially heretical, or beyond the ken of a God fearing Christian".

His own voice has lowered slightly, lest the great atrium of the basilica carry his words too far. He picked up a Bible that was in the rear of the pew that Malcolm sat in, thumbed it open and briefly shuffled through the well worn pages until he found the one he wanted. His thumb traces along one of the passages.

"Mr. Galloway.. do you see spirits consistently, or other wise find yourself to be an instrument of Divinity or God ? Please answer honestly, as I will know".

[Malcolm Galloway]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 2 at target 6)

[Malcolm Galloway] ((damn it, that was supposed to be PMed... oh well))

[Malcolm Galloway] Malcolm slowly unfolds himself from the weary slouch he had unconsciously settled into. The look that flickers over his face isn't exactly relief, even at the tingle of something making the hairs on the back of his aching neck stand up.

"Any who know about the candle stick would consider it all par for the course, being the dangerous lunatic that I am. So lucky for me that my parish only just recovered from a sex scandal, or things would have been so much worse." He runs his hands down his pants, smoothing creases that aren't there. "As to your question- no to the first part, yes to the second. Notably an imperfect, some would say poorly tuned instrument."

It's the truth, though he still glances around without trying to be too obvious about it.

[Solomon Ward] Another nod from the priest. He seems satisfied with the answer, though he was never overtly hostile. The man just has a sensation of absolute stern quality to him. A hand reaches into his pocket to remove a small time piece, which he checks almost as much as habit as actual curiosity. Its still some time until the parish is likely to begin filling again.

"Yes, well, your reputation, due to the incident, does proceed you slightly. Part of me says that in this case I should exercise caution and be mindful of how such a conversation might indicate me, simply by matter of association. Still, the Lord forgives and expects us to do the same and so it isn't my place to judge, so long as there has been penance. None of us are perfect, Mr. Galloway. That one can admit it to such and still serve Him despite ones personal trials is commendable. I'm..."

He isn't sure how to say this, as the man was once a priest, so it feel awkward on his tongue. "I'm sorry to hear of your fiance"

[Malcolm Galloway] Condolences make Malcolm wince, even after so many years. "Perhaps it was never meant to be," he says. His eyes look to the high ceilings of the church before flicking back down to cast a wary glance down at the pew ahead of him. When the heavy books shelved on the back don't fly out and smack him in the face he relaxes somewhat. "But then, the same could be said for my place in the priesthood... I'm really not a man of anger, believe me."

He glances around again, just to be sure that no one was watching and nothing in the vicinity could easily be hurled at him by some angry ghostly force. "It's a long story, and here's neither the time nor the place. I can't say I've spoken to any other-- er, that is, a member of the priesthood since I left."

[Morgan Lake] And lo, a large, heavy door opens and in comes a slightly taller, considerably more lithe and athletic than average young woman with vividly red hair that's been bound in a ponytail. She wears the casual clothes that most late-teen-early-twenty-somethings seem to favor; jeans just a hair too long and a t-shirt that fits to her form, but doesn't cling (which is to say, she isn't afraid to let the world know she's a girl, but she's not exactly putting the goods on display).

There are only a few people in the church, and Morgan is glad of this when she stands, uncertain, by the basin of holy water at the door before gingerly dipping a finger in it and crossing herself before stepping further in. She's quiet so as not to disturb the few that are here, and looks around as if to study the place (but oh, dear, this isn't a book on a shelf) and, when she sees the rack of candles heads that way to drop a couple dollars into the slot and lights a couple; she's seen enough movies with scenes in churches that she knows what they're for, though she certainly doesn't know what to do other than that, aside from mentally attaching a name to each little flame.

Uncle Steve. Mama. Daddy. Aunt Pete. Uncle Zeke. Uncle Dan. The professors.

There's a long moment taken there, looking blindly at the candles in their wrought iron and wood holder, and from there? From there, she steps further into a room that takes even her atheistic breath away. She was never taught the art of prayer, perhaps, but each of her parents did what they could to instill an appreciation of beauty in her, and this certainly deserves a good portion of that appreciation. It's overwhelming, the feeling inherent, even without reaching out with those other senses. The magic here isn't all (or mostly, or . . . whatever) Awakened. Morgan is not one of the faithful by any stretch, but decades of prayer from those who are leaves a mark.

She doesn't kneel when she finds her likely pew, but rests a hip on the edge of it and looks at the crucifix above the altar and lets it all resonate through and around her. Maybe she's looking for something - goodness knows, a lot of people are when they come here, particularly at this time of night.

[Morgan Lake]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 4, 4, 9, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
to Solomon Ward

[Solomon Ward] "I understand", well no, not really. He can't even empathize to be perfectly honest. What he can understand is a reluctance to speak of it to a clergyman. That much made sense at least. He was about to say some thing else when the new comer entered and passed by. Another soul inside the Basilica was neither uncommon nor overly noticeable, but given as the priest and the man sat towards the back of the pews, and thus near the entrance, he did fall a little quieter.

The priest watches her for a moment. The large atrium is relatively empty at this point. Random parishioners are spread here and there, though most keep prayers and conversation low enough that the available acoustics don't carry the words far. His eyes cast about for a moment, taking new stock of the basilicas patrons. A new count, locations, the sort of things the intellectual, or the paranoid, might note out of habit.

"What brings you to Chicago ?", which seemed quite a ways from the New Orleans Candle Incident. Of ocurse, that may have been the point.

[Malcolm Galloway]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 5, 6 (Failure at target 6)

[Solomon Ward] There's a quiet magic in this place. The feel of faith in a world that has been slowly losing it for some time. She's right, initially, that it isn't the magic of the Awakened, but its a magic all the same. Centuries of love and devotion tend to leave that sort of thing cloying, hovering over furniture and clinging to the flesh like an angel.

There's also been some thing, much more recently. More active, directed and dictated and controlled. Not the sense of aura or resonance imprinted over time, but that hair tickiling feeling that something has been Willed very recently.
to Morgan Lake

[Solomon Ward] [Awareness]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 2, 3, 3, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)
to Morgan Lake

[Morgan Lake] [and, because dice rolls give me reasoning for XP expenditures, a general awareness check - resonances and . . . well, applicable information as suxx dictate please, gentlemen! (Per + Aware)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 4, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Malcolm Galloway] ((curse you little check boxes))

Like a shark that will die if it stays still, Malcolm keeps some degree of movement going if only to keep himself from fading out again. This time he puts his arm on the back of the pew, tracing his fingers along the old wood. He just as wary as Solomon, if not more so, and so the sound of footsteps draws his attention.

"I'm originally from here, actually," he says. It's hard to tell, as he doesn't have much of any accent to speak of. "After New Orleans, and then so many years traveling, I figured I couldn't keep running."

He eyes Morgan as he says "We had a house here... In what used to be a nice neighborhood. Was going to be, anyway. We never had the chance to move in. I figured it might be the first step, or maybe the last, to putting everything to rest."

His voice is low enough, and the meaning ambiguous enough, that he's confident the girl couldn't sense anything amiss. Oh, if he only knew...

((Burning, Illuminating. He seethes with classically holy energy. He also makes a mean martini.))

[Solomon Ward] It roils off the priest. A sense of unyielding righteousness with an archaic feel, a sort of anachronism rarely found in modern times. Old and dusty and nearly forgotten, but a faith and self assurance nearly unheard of in this day and age.

And some thing else... some thing else clings to him just barely, like dried soap or fading aftershave. The feel of another. The faintest echo of some thing piercing and sorrowful.
to Morgan Lake

[Morgan Lake] It's sharp and sudden, the glance the two men get from the girl - young, though it'd difficult to determine exactly how young she is. The study is brief but piercing, and after that, she doesn't turn their back to them again. There's a set to her shoulders, a tension in her bearing that indicates she's sensed . . . well, something.

Something that the average parishioner certainly doesn't, if that gaze is any indication.

Solomon gets studied a little longer (or maybe it's that her eyes keep moving back to him, surreptitious), as if she's trying to puzzle something out; there's something familiar there, something she's sensed before, and it makes her curious. She knows who felt like that - it was Isreal, of course - as that sort of meeting can't help but leave an impression, but she hadn't been particularly aware that her resonance might be left on another. Interesting. It's something to ask about later, at some point, amongst all the other lessons.

Eventually, she steps back a pew - she doesn't move when they might catch her, of course, that would be obvious. And she's not trying to eavesdrop, not really, so much as find a likely spot [and way, or reason] to speak herself. Unheard of and exploratory trips into churches aside, this stands to be a lot more interesting than listening to quiet, polite coughs and the turning pages of prayer books.

[Solomon Ward] (Shit, you two mind skipping me a post ? My apologies)
to Malcolm Galloway, Morgan Lake

[Malcolm Galloway] ((no problem))
to Morgan Lake, Solomon Ward

[Malcolm Galloway] Erroneously convinced the girl is just another of the faithful, Malcolm moves his arm from the back of the pew, picks up a hymnal and absentmindedly flips through the pages. Even a small pause from Solomon prompts him to keep talking, even ramble, quietly to fill the gaps. Now that he's reminded himself he's being haunted he can't stand a moment of relative silence even on consecrated soil.

"Running perhaps isn't the best word for it. I was... searching for knowledge." He sighs and puts the hymnal back. "But knowing and doing are two entirely different things now, aren't they? I feel only partly prepared for whatever lies ahead. If it came down a confrontation I couldn't say how I'd fare. The incident in New Orleans..." And he lowers a voice enough so that one would have to strain to hear. "That was a confrontation with an agent of unholy forces."

He nods somberly, then continues in that same damnably low whisper.

"Father John had been... compromised. Corrupted. I didn't mean for things to end up as they did, but then things would be much different had I not."

[Morgan Lake] There are interesting things Morgan's heard about but had little experience with (thankfully, perhaps); the fallen and corrupted of either mystical stripe are amongst them. This is intriguing for the apprentice, certainly, and has her not quite so careful with her next steps closer, all burning inquisitiveness and a need to learn that nearly lights up the room. Or might, anyway, if it weren't already illuminated in a completely different manner. 'Unholy forces' could be another language [one out of her father's lectures], but . . . well.

Maybe it'll be story time.

[Solomon Ward] "How do you tell, for sure? Not that I disbelieve you, but I'm curious as to your methods or reasonings". Call it skeptical for a priest, but many a man has claimed that 'God told me to do it'. For a few, it was true. For most others it was... convenient. The Son of Sam's dog told him to do it too, and dog is god spelled backw---- what an odd train of thought.

"Some consider me to be a bit skeptical... more so than your usual Catholic investigation requires for claimed events of miracles and such. Corruption is much the same. We discount and prove wrong and show hoaxes where people claim things to be holy. Everything must be verified, confirmed. That's what happened, wasn't it ? There was no proof ?"

Solomon is a rather attentive individual. Where Malcolm may be exhausted and in constant battle with the sleep monster, the priest is well rested, well disciplined, and alert. He keeps his voice low out of both respect for the Basilica and the fact their topic is ...esoteric, but it isn't out of any attempt to disguise or hide his words.

On the flip side, it isn't common for young ladies to just stand next to pews and do nothing either. Catholicism is full of sitting, standing, kneeling, bending, praying, standing again, sit once more, kneel again please, lets pray some more, mix and repeat. Even Catholics realize it has a sort of Simon Says quality to it.

He speaks up, "Good evening, young miss. Is there some thing I, or another clergyman, can do for you?"

[Malcolm Galloway] He looks somewhat annoyed at that last question, but there's none of the seething, homicidal rage the Church reports claimed he demonstrated. "As a matter of fact, I--" and he stops as Solomon address the girl. He turns to look at her, head moving so slowly it's creepy until one considers it's just the result of a stiff. The dark circles under his eyes still make him look somewhat sinister in the soft light.

His brows go up as he looks at Morgan, silently inquiring just how much of that she overheard.

[Morgan Lake] "I . . . no, not really. Maybe?" There's an uncertain hint of smile, a bit apologetic as she steps closer to the two men; quiet conversations are meant to be kept quiet, after all, and places like this instill a reverent sort of hush in almost everyone, even those who aren't quite sure what else to do once they've gotten here. "Not a regular church thing though, I don't think. Not yet, anyway," she adds with a shrug, eyes moving over the both of them in the awkward-tinged pause that comes before the next bit of explanation.

"I'm . . . um. I've run past this place before, and it's beautiful, and the organ music is great. And I was about, so I thought I'd step in and see what it's all about. In the . . . well, I know what church is about. I've just only ever been in one for a wedding or a funeral."

Which gives no indication of how much she's heard, or what she thinks of it - that would be telling.

[Solomon Ward] The priest smiles slightly. Its a small thing, not exactly warm though it isn't false or forced either. Its just an expression one doesn't see on him much these days. If Catholics are known for being overtly stern and ritualistic, he's one of them.
"I understand... . Please, make yourself at home. If you wish to speak with a priest, on any thing, let me or another know. Also the entryway has a table, I'm sure you noticed ? There are brochures and pamphlets and service listings if any catch your attention, from regular mass to special events."

He glances back to Malcolm, not so much ignoring the girl as a quick shift in attention in order to shrug to the man. Apparently a near empty Cathedral wasn't the best place for this conversation after all, though the man isn't overtly worried or upset. Another shift of focus, back to Morgan, as he watches her. "This is a very special Church, called a Basilica. There are very few in the United States. The country just isn't old enough to house the traditions required. It has been afforded certain privileges by the Pope, and in turn stands ready to receive him at any time"

[Malcolm Galloway] Malcolm gives a little shrug at Solomon's glance. "It's refreshing to see young people taking any sort of interest," he says, though he's fairly certain her interest was chiefly in their hushed conversation. "I'm Malcolm, by the way. Malcolm Galloway." He stretches her arm out over the pew to shake her hand. It trembles noticeably.

[Solomon Ward] [hate to run but i gotta outro]
to Malcolm Galloway, Morgan Lake

[Morgan Lake] "My father's a mythology professor - mostly Arthurian, but a fair amount of it touches on Greco-Roman pantheons and how the advent of Christianity affected the stories. I know a bit. Just not . . . you know. Prayer and stuff, I guess. Anyway, I'm Morgan Lake, and I'm terribly sorry for interrupting you. I'll be sure to grab any of those pamphlets on my way out, yeah."

Polite, she, and very proper for her age (because while she may be old enough to buy cigarettes if she wants to, she's certainly not old enough to buy alcohol), and also very ready to leave them to their conversation.

[Solomon Ward] Solomon stood and nodded to them both, repeating his name for the benefit of the newcomer "Solomon Ward. I apologize if I seem haste, but there are preparations I've been placed in charge of and I must see them through. If you wish I can be found here, or granted I'm unavailable just ask for me and they'll call me."

To Morgan he says " I do hope to see you again", though Malcolm is right. Its rare to see any interest in the young these days.

Then to Malcolm, he speaks in Latin, bearing the sign of the cross as he does so. "Be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places."

A brief pause "I hope to see you as well, my son. Dominus Vobiscum"