A man of the cloth

Everything was sand and sky. He lifted his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled as he realized he hadn’t expected anything else. Not that he could remember expecting anything at all--what had he been doing a minute ago? He wasn’t sure. All he could remember was being here in this twilit desert.

So he walked. It didn’t matter which direction he picked when everything looked the same, so he just moved forward. The weight of the large, canvas-wrapped item he carried on his shoulder was heavy, but for some reason he didn’t question it. This was a burden he could bear.
He looked down after a while and noticed a set of footsteps in the sand. Stopping for a moment, he placed his foot beside one. Exactly the same size, and that was another thing that didn’t surprise him. Somehow he knew that the footprints were his own, and he had walked this path before.

Why was he here now, if he’d been this way before and moved on? Why did he keep going instead of picking another direction or trying something else entirely? He paused briefly with the intention of setting down the thing he carried, but the suns rose higher in the sky and he knew that to stop now would invite death.

He kept walking. Voices drifted on the wind, specific words unintelligible but their sentiment and emotion perfect clear. A woman’s voice, bright and sunny, and he felt his lips curve into a smile. Then the voice of a man who sounded old and young at the first time, terrible grief in his words. The smile fell away then, and he wondered how he could hurt when he didn’t even know who was speaking or what he said. And then another man’s voice, lively and fairly bursting with scandalous intention. He knew that voice, liked that voice.

Then there was just silence.

Eventually he came to what looked like a path in the dirt, and a while after that, a fork in the path. He squinted off to the left, and he could barely make out what looked like trees and greenery. Something like a glass dome over it gleamed in the sun. An Eden, of sorts, but it just might be a mirage. To the right was more dirt and desert. There was nothing different from what he’d seen so far, but there was something familiar and comfortable about the idea of going that way. Why not?

He hesitated, though. It was just a path, a direction, and if he chose the wrong one, well, there were ways of changing things around to his advantage. But something inside him said this was important. The choice he made now could change everything. His future, and maybe the futures of the people whose voices he’d heard. Whose voices he would like to hear again.

Maybe then he’d remember how he’d gotten here, and why he was so very tired. Even if he didn’t know what they were, he was certain that he had things to do. He just needed the chance to do them.

He lifted his foot and took a step forward.

[Written in an angry scrawl]

If anyone heard gunfire near this...thundering mountain place, don't bother sending help. I was just blowing off a little steam. No one's injured.

Anyone got a light? I dropped mine.




[ooc: yeaaaaah he got teleported and shot up the smoking area with the cross punisher's machine gun.]

Vultus amo iter itineris es ieiunium super iterum huh? Ego cannot narro ego did non reputo is eram funny permaneo vicis , tamen is has got futurus pulchellus molestus cetera of vos--

Quis abyssus est is.

( Translation )

You know, it's too bad all everyone grew up again. After a few days, I'm really starting to missing having a bunch of kids running around.

Hey, Grift, make room at home. I'm bringing back a guest.

That wasn't the best night I've ever had. I know people have made up plenty of stories about the end of the world, but I never expected to actually see it.

It had a happy ending, but I'm not so sure that part of non-fiction.

Shit, spiky. Was that really you?

[ooc: A minute or so after writing this, Chapel thought better of it and scribbled over the entry. But yanno...that doesn't always work if someone happened to be looking at their journal while he wrote.]

Looks like all my cigarettes burned up in this fire we had. My extra pants, too. That's a real shame. Kind of embarrassing, too.

Who wants to go target shooting?

Chapel gazed into the glass he'd palmed from the bar, the mysterious crystal still inside. Neither Smoke nor any of his employees would admit to having dropped it into his drink, so all he could do was take it with him. He'd never done this before, but it couldn't be that hard. Could it?

What the hell. He overturned the glass and dropped it into his palm.

Immediately, he got the impression that he was watching something on a monitor, except with really good picture--side to side, up and down. He could hear, too. But he couldn't feel his own body, or make use of any other sense. Still, it did seem like this was something he'd experienced for himself. He could tell it was a bright day out, the sunlight only partially held at bay by the sunglasses he wore.

"Hey, preacher man!" He was already turning toward the voice, and saw a trio of men on top of a bus, lifting some heavy luggage--was that a giant cross, all wrapped up in canvas and buckles? Scratch that--was that his cross? What the hell would he have a cross for? But it must have been his, because he caught it easily. Damn, it weighed a ton.

"Hey, thanks a lot," he heard himself reply jovially, even though he couldn't feel his mouth making out the words.

"Damn, that's heavy," one of the men said in wonderment.

"That, my friend, is because it's so full of mercy," he heard himself reply. Pretty cheesy line; it was something he'd say.

He turned around again, as if to say farewell to someone he'd been chatting with, but the memory faded then, leaving him sitting alone on his bed. He wanted to protest. Was that all he got? It wasn't fair! But the feeling of being slighted was outweighed by the surprise at what the brief memory had revealed. He still didn't know who he really was, but apparently he knew his profession.

He was a priest. Huh. How about that.

So someone's decided this place needs a little music, huh? Looks like I'm not the only one, but I do have to wonder--why hymns? They are kind of peaceful, I guess.