A man of the cloth

~~Did you have my~~

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I guess it'd be hypocritical for me to warn you that scratching out your words doesn't do much good if someone's looking at the page while they're being written.

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Yeah. I guess that doesn't really work all the time.

What was it like?

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Hot. Dry. Full of the dead.

And there were voices.

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What did they say?

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'No one ever has the right to take the life of another.' I never thought rights had much to do with it, though.

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I don't know if it does. I just know it made so much sense to me when she said that.

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Yeah, well. Must be nice to have the luxury of that kind of thinking.

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What's wrong with that kind of thinking?

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If you can avoid taking a life, great. No one wants to kill, and if they do, hell--they should probably get taken out first. But this isn't a simple world, and sometimes we face tough choices.

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It's more than just a tough choice. It's ending someone's life. That's not a choice that should be in anyone's hands.

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But it is, every day you and I and everybody else walks this earth. It's not always so simple. We can make the smallest sacrifice possible, but it's still a sacrifice.

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Is it a sacrifice or a judgement? You just said if somebody wants to kill they should be the one taken out.

Nobody has to be sacrificed. But when people think that's the only way, they don't see that there are other choices to be made.

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You might never want to kill, but if it comes down to saving others, what then? It's not so black and white, spiky.

Yeah? Tell me what you think when someone's got a gun to your head.

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Save them both.

Don't think I haven't thought about that scenario before. Or been in something like it.

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Don't tell me you've been there. You don't even remember your own name, much less what you've done.

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No, but I had a guy try to kill me in the scrapyard once, and that was pretty close to a gun to the head.

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Congratulations. But not every situation is the same.

You really believe there's no situation where you could make that choice?

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I don't know. But I don't think I would.

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Good think you didn't have to face that choice during the fire, then.

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What do you mean?

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Do you really think that the fire killed everyone who died that day? There's such a thing as giving mercy. And from what I remember, there were a lot of people who could've used some.

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There are people here who can work miracles of healing and bring people back from the brink of death. I saw that happen. Everyone was working to save people, not hurry them along and call that mercy!

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Not everyone can be saved. That's one of the few things I know for certain.

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What are you saying? ~~You didn't~~

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I'm saying that's how the world works. It's about as far from perfect as you can get. And wishing it were otherwise doesn't make it true.

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That doesn't mean we should just give up. Just cause wishing can't save people doesn't mean that actions can't. And even if the world will never be perfect, we can make it a world in which people don't have to fight or kill each other.

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I'd like you to be right, Geranium. I really would. I just don't think you are.

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Don't believe in the end of the world, Preacher Man?

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Nothing ends, Grift. People just die and the world goes on without them.

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The end of the world for the dead, certainly. Still, can you say in all honesty that you have never speculated as to, oh, what would happen if every one of us died? It was looking like a pretty close shave, there. ~~And~~

['And' was quickly struck through--he was GOING to write that they didn't know if anything existed out of the Sphere, but decided that would probably get him treeshanked.]

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I figure the giant squirrels would eat pretty well!

[He saw, but chose not to comment.]

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Huh. That's one way of looking at it.

I, ah... liberated some liquor from the Wilderness. Want one?

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If we're being honest, I want to start with one. Sounds good, friend.

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[Chapel didn't take long to get over to Grift's. Not only did alcohol sound perfect right now, he just didn't want to be around Geranium when he came back.

Something about their argument struck him as familiar, and made him feel more than a little off-balance, even if he meant every word he'd written. He wouldn't back down, but he was a guest in the man's home; he had no place confronting Geranium in person. But Grift was a friendly face, or a devious one, something like that. He didn't bother knocking, though.]

Glory, glory hallelujah. Where'd you find that, Grift?

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[When Chapel entered, Grift was lounging on the futon, looking all for the world like a King who knew to relax even as a pauper. The place was small, and almost eerily bare, but he still delighted in it; it was far better than Temporary Housing. First thing he did was shower without being surrounded by other men, which was nice.]

Welcome to my domain! [Grift said, cheerily waving in Chapel's direction.] Don't believe in knocking, I see. Ah, well.

[On the table, there were rows of bottles filled with ambler liquid. No cups--he had thought it more important to grab all he could and run before trying to bother. There was also a bounty of winter clothing draped on the side of the second bed, as well as numerous small, strange looking things that looked fun to Grift when he went for a second trip. He collected items like a pack rat, and it had depressed him when it all went up into flames.]

The Wilderness! I made several trips. [With his cougar, who picked out a few more of the girlier objects, although Grift didn't object. Hell, he was wearing that lilac scarf right now. He grabbed a bottle by the neck, gesturing wildly in the other man's direction. Most of the cheeriness wasn't exactly fake, but he had seen at least the initial conversation on the journal and figured the other man needed a drink. It was the universal cure across the globe.]

Go on, sit and grab a bottle. These aren't times for decadence, but it's always time for a drink, [he said, sloshing the liquid about.]

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Hey, if I knocked, you'd have to get up to answer the door—and you look so comfortable already.

[Chapel raised an eyebrow at the setup. The apartment wasn't as nice as where he'd been crashing, but furnishings and material comforts—or the lack of them—didn't mean much to him, and he could already tell the atmosphere here was going to be more welcoming. Nice as Koi and Will had been, it only took one severe difference in personal ethics to poison the air.]

My, my, my. This is quite the spread. My compliments to the host. I stopped in there once myself, but the cold doesn't agree with me. Which bodes well for the winter, eh? I'll just have to warm myself up.

[He got started on that by grasping a bottle by the neck and taking a long swig. Ah, there it was. Chapel didn't think of himself as an alcoholic; he could function perfectly well without the booze. But that didn't mean there weren't times when its effects were very welcome.]

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[Grift considered the merits of knocking versus the merits of staying where he was.] True, true! I underestimated your power of thought.

[He shook his finger in Chapel's direction, the chastising gesture somewhat ruined by the fact that he swung a bottle to his lips and took a hearty drink.] Never allow weather to inhibit your looting! A little cold is more than worth this little treasure trove. And thank you for the compliment--I admit I'm quite proud of it, myself.

[He beamed. Even talk of the Apocalypse couldn't dampen his spirits.]

So, how's it going in the luxury that is Section 3? I see you've escaped the showers without curtains far faster than I.

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But why should I, when you've grabbed this stuff all by yourself and so thoughtfully invited me over? That's a lot more efficient.

[Not to mention that he just feels like he doesn't need much. Not that Grift is swimming in possessions, but he's got clothes, a gun, and enough to eat and drink—to some people, that'd be a paradise. An Eden.

Another swig is necessary before he can answer Grift. Fortification.]

Ah, it's overrated. The people there are good folk, but I think I've about worn out my welcome. Back to Section 1 for me.

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[Grift's face contorted into a mock-frown, brows knitting together and lower lip jutting out.] You're using me, Chapel? Is that it? I'm shocked. And offended. And I may just cry myself to sleep after you leave.

[The face dropped as he considered the insides of the bottle and questioned whether or not it would look more palatable once it was inside him. He decided it was, and took a cautionary gulp.]

Section 1? Good luck. All the new guys are pouring in, and some are mighty unfriendly. I wouldn't want to bunk with them, and you'll be hard pressed to find an entirely vacant one.

[Grift stared passively at the bunk that Grift was sitting on, across from him, and down at the bottles.

Now he felt like a cad. He had seen the man's corpse, the argument with who seemed like a close friend of his, and mentioned that he'd have to go scavenge for housing. Grift would never call himself a nice person, or a... decent person, really, but he did have a conscience. Unfortunately. Besides, Chapel was good company, and a good drinking partner, and despite the whole priestly shit, wouldn't judge.]

Of course, if you can't snag one of your own, you're welcome here. I'll have to get a roommate one of these days. Civic duty and all that jazz. [He tipped the bottle in Chapel's direction.] And don't go questioning my logic because of the drink. I can hold my liquor, I'll tell you that now.

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[Chapel just laughed at that. It wasn't impossible to imagine Grift crying—most people did, sooner or later, even if it took a lot. But crying over him?

Nah. No one would. And he was okay with that—it just meant he wouldn't be disappointing anyone whenever he kicked it for real.]

Come on, you know me. I'll be fine. All I have to do is preach the gospel of peace and sharing to them, and they'll understand. We just have to share.

[Speaking of sharing. This was good stuff—Grift had taste. Chapel saluted him with the bottle before starting on it again.]

You wouldn't mind someone else taking up space, huh? I wouldn't have expected that. But I'd never doubt your logic. It's in a class of its own.

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[Grift was no lightweight, but he'd dipped into the bottles before Chapel's arrival. He didn't feel... drunk, no, not that, not yet. But happy? Yes, certainly. He could attribute that to the liquor, but he could also attribute it to the housing, or the sense of life getting back into swing. Besides, he'd gotten used to having somebody else around the house.]

You've got that right, preacher man. And matter of fact, I wouldn't mind. Somebody will try to barge in here eventually, so it may as well be somebody who shares my appreciation for... [He swept his arm over the table in an overly grand motion] ...the good things in life.

Besides, [he said, leaning back,] who knows if you're going to get some high class job that swings you over to section 2? I'm sure you won't mind returning my favour.

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Ha. Well, with that kind of flattery, how can I say no? Thanks, roommate.

[Another bottle, another swig. Why not? They had nothing else to do, and sharing with a friend...that wasn't so bad.

Drink and be merry, for tomorrow they may die. Again.]

Section 2, high class? Don't disappoint me. I thought you could aim higher than that.

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