Hard Truth and Dumb Love (Sterling and Galilei)

[Thomas Galilei]

He's unaccustomed to caring much what anybody thinks. That's why he does a poor job of preparing the space, though an expert with such lackluster ingredients might achieve no more. The dusty wooden pews are still old, just less dusty. He thought it fitting that they should meet there, in the Sanctuary, with plenty of space for the presence of their Father.

Thomas appeals aloud. "I ask that peace, Abba, that passes understanding. It's your good work I do, but still I doubt myself. Yet never do I doubt your hand. With it, guide myself and Josephine in your perfect purpose. For if not, what shall we ever do but fool and be fooled? My faith knows the only outcomes of our work in this Domain are twofold: empty futility, if left to our own accord; or fruitful bounty, if you will but lift a finger to aid us. I appeal not on the basis of our hopeful intentions, but fall before your perfect kindness, your grace and mercy: LORD, please let it be the latter result. Amen."

Josephine Cayce

[Josephine Sterling]

Josephine arrived on foot, having taken a cab to a location several blocks away from her intended destination. Indeed, it would not due to lend knowledge of her colleague's haven to the kine, at least not so directly. Eyes and tongues could belong to anyone, after all, not just their owners. Being a Lady and an initiate into the discipline of Holy Sight, she knew this to be true.

What she did not know, however, was what awaited her eyes inside the abandoned church now before her. She knew what awaited her tongue, but all else was unknown, and she simply chose to trust in Providence until the darkness of ignorance was lifted away. Life among the Damned was worth only as much as Providence saw fit to gift her, after all. Not that her belief was radical enough that she expected her faith to lend her wings should she step from the top of the church steeple, but it was firm enough that it bolstered the intent of the proposal she would offer this evening. Thus, she brought her dead flesh and bone against the wood of Thomas' threshold, letting the vibrations of each impact announce her arrival.

[Thomas Galilei]

Footsteps. They're getting closer--he can tell by their echoes off of the wooden floor. He stands, turns, and then approaches to meet her, his smile not contrived. "Welcome, Ms. St-- . . . Josephine. I'd have rolled out the red carpet if we had one." He offers her his hand. "As you can see, the maid quit, and I haven't been able to find a replacement. I'm encouraged, though--they tell me the Son of God was born in a manger."

They'd have much to discuss. Somewhere near the end of that list is a topic he'd better like to avoid, but is nonetheless inevitable: her Creation Rite, if she wants to have it in conjunction with her Anointing. How does one ask a Lady what scar or branding she would choose to carry?

"Shall we sit here in the Sanctuary, among the pews? Or would you like the grand tour first? I assure you--it's more of the same: dust, torpored elders, etcetera."

[Cayce]

Doubtlessly to the disappointment of the Priest, his wit did not draw a smile out of the Lady before him, but an artfully groomed brow, sable as night, did rise. "Torpored elders? Truly? You just leave yours lying around? That's quite shameful, Father. If I were you, I would consider hiding them before you offer your next caller a tour. Presently, I shall do you the courtesy of allowing you to rectify such a mistake, and shall take you up on the offer to lounge about the pews. I came here to exchange words, after all, not to admire the architecture of abandoned American churches."

She accepted his cool grip within her own and then strode over to a pew. Dead sinew and muscle lowered her onto the wooden seat, leaving her body angled towards the unliving Priest.

"You have offered me the position of Parish Archivist, as well as claim as your equal. This I do accept. As per your suggestion that I should take on an aide, I shall make you no promises or assurances. None whatsoever. This does not mean that I shall not, perhaps, follow your advice, but if I am truly to be considered an equal than such a process should not truly be a concern of yours."

[Thomas Galilei]

Thomas takes a seat beside her on the pew--an intimate distance, but a respectful one. "I would never presume to impose an aide upon you. Since you're my equal, allow me to confess to you: I'm a poor judge of character--a good quality, some would call it in a Priest, whose duty it is to love all." Thomas makes a quick pass at his concerns about Mr. Travis, before mentioning explaining the "coincidence" of their meeting. "Mr. Travis seems a capable man at arms--I know this to be an understatement, but not how much so. He's well financed, as many Invictus are. But, mostly, I view allowing him to serve as ministry to him." It's an odd instinctual thing, one that words fail to impress . . . but Thomas had always found, for himself, that those things he did for God, ended up being best for him. "I won't color your judgment any further--just know: I'm not looking for your approval, but your decision, which I will honor either way."

That aside, he feels free to smile. "You've made me most happy by accepting the offer; I won't call it mine. I'd prayed many nights, and believe it's His offer." He removes a pad of paper from his pocket. "Your anointing: I defer to your every preference, to the smallest detail. Tell me what you want, and I promise to do all I can to see it done." He sets the paper before her, so she may record her wishes: about the ceremony's exposure, location, guest list, . . .

He leaves her with the paper, in silence, careful not to overwhelm her with the details. It would be his first Anointing in Sacramento and, presumably, her first ever--all the more reason for care and attention. When she's sat a while, he removes his collar, and undoes the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing a scar: it's a brand, the symbol of the Lancea Sanctum burnt into the flesh over his heart. "There's another thing--and it's not at all required at your Anointing--but if you wish it, I'm also willing and able to perform your Creation Rite."

Creation Rite allows Kindred to gain Status with the Lancea Sanctum. (No Status is required for the Archivist position.) It also gives a dice bonus once per scene for speech rolls within the covenant.

"You don't have to answer right away, neither do you have to accept. But, if you wish it, I'd be honored to serve you in that way. You might give some thought to the wound you'd like to bear. Some pierce their hands. Others, like myself, choose the brand. Tradition, mostly, but an incontrovertible and demonstrable proof of your standing to any who would question it." Thomas pauses a moment, fears his excitement has breached a dam of words that threatens to flood the woman. There's more to say, but he refrains. One has dialogues with their equals, not monologues.

@%1;

[Cayce]

"You are quite intriguing, Father Galilei." The pale Lady let the words, and then the silence which swept in on their wake, fill the space between them for many moments. If a kine were to have walked in during those moments, they might have assumed that some particularly masterful yet reclusive wax sculptor was inspecting his work, alone in the skeleton of the Church.

"You have a strange demeanor. It is not so much that it makes you seem as though one has known you for many nights, but rather that one does not need to have known you for more than a single night. Regardless of your other qualities, I would say that that is indeed a beneficial one in a priest. However, I know I do not share that same quality, so allow me to illuminate a portion of myself so that you do not have to stumble onward through the shadows."

A steady flow of air was drawn into her chest cavity and her spine straightened until her posture was like that of royalty. "I remember bombs falling on London. Feeling them tear open earth, and hearing the wail of the sirens as though the city itself was naught but a helpless babe before the might of the Luftwaffe. It was some years after that, yet mere months after my moment of Damnation that I spurned the wishes of my Sire and sought the faith that we now share. As my body had already been preserved, as God had Willed it to be, I bear no scars from the Creation Rite. At the time I was pleased, for I was vain, but there have been many nights since when I have wished for such a badge to wear. Now would indeed be one of those times, so that I might have proof, but I shall not protest if you choose to favor the path of the cautious. For, there are many who would say that I deserve to undertake the rite again.

"Many years after I had joined the faithful I was called upon by my Blood, both my Sire and my Brother both, to aid them in a political affair. They were in the Invictus, much like your precious Travis, and thus all that mattered to them was what use my knowledge could be put towards. In that particular affair, they persuaded me to help them expose an impious pretender who curried favor with the Lancea Sanctum merely for the purposes of having a creed to lie behind. Unfortunately, when my part in the affair was discovered, my loyalty and faith came into question. It was for this reason that I was not called upon, in the year 2004, to participate in the committee pursuing the creation of a revised edition of the Testament of Longinus. That hack, Caroline Petronius of Chicago, was, I suspect, my replacement when a group of scholars was finally charged with writing the new edition. That was merely the most public of my mistreatment, however. There are innumerable other grievances which I could lay at the feet of my former brothers and sisters in faith, and eventually I decided that it would be prudent for me to leave the city of my birth and damnation to start a new.

"Originally I tried settling in Chicago, but as that did not take, and my Brother in Blood had already expressed his intention of settling here, I chose to move once more. His intentions were revealed to be false when I had finally arrived, however, but I chose to stay nonetheless. I am no Legate, after all, and there is something charming about this town. I believe it was not a mistake to decide that it might be home" she divulged, her monologue coming to an end.

"This, brings me, perhaps prematurely, to my offer for you," she added after a pause. "I was wondering if you would form a Coterie with me. A family of the Damned, so to speak."

[Thomas Galilei]

Thomas listens intently, not undervaluing Josephine's willingness to share. She's allowing herself to trust him, an intimacy he refuses to diminish by inattention.

All he has to say when she's finished is, "Wow . . ." He sits a while, takes it all in, trying to experience it through her perspective. She's been through so much, it's a wonder she can trust at all. "Josephine . . ." he begins, but doesn't finish. Maybe he'd just felt the need to name her, having met her at last. "Thank you," is what he comes up to say all he'd like to say.

He hopes God will minister to her through him: "Affliction, some say, is a furnace. There's a Hebrew saying: Remove the dross, or rubbish, from the silver, and out comes material for the silversmith. Do you know how you refine precious metal? A furnace. The heat causes the impurities to float to the top where they can be scooped off. Here's the punchline: the silversmith knows the metal is ready when he can see his reflection on its surface."

Thomas sets a hand on hers. "You are that metal: purified for use through trials, and ready to be used because of the likeness of God upon you. A long way to say, 'Yes'--of course I want to form a coterie with you, without even knowing the name or exact purpose."

God stirs in Sacramento, Thomas knows. They would move with him in holy dance, the first few steps already evident: Anointing, Creation Rite, Coterie . . .

[Josephine Sterling]

"I did indeed know that a furnace is used in the process of refinement, but thank you for the sentiment," Josephine replied, a pleased smile on her face despite the mild sarcasm in her voice. "And isn't the name and purpose usually decided upon by its members upon formation? I have no grand scheme in mind, merely the desire to form some manner of attachment before my soul joins those of its kind in Hell. We, for all that we are blessed with, are still faced with a bleak existence. Consider me weak, if you will, but I require something more than prayer to sustain me. I've run too long on it alone. As, perhaps, have you, if you're so ready to join me. Or is there some ulterior motive behind your eyes, dear Galilei?"

[Thomas Galilei]

"I have some ideas." Thomas smiles devilishly. "But I thought I'd let you air yours first. My own purpose is to foster community. Do you recall the Tower of Babel, when God confused the languages of men? I suspect he's done something similar with our 'Predator's Taint,' that is, He's using it as a means of division. Odd, when considered in the light that so many of God's later decrees command fellowship. I wonder if it's not the same for us? That which comes easily is valued little. But if we work toward real relation with one another, overcoming great obstacle . . ."

Thomas adjusts himself in his seat. "In an official capacity, I'm reminded of a certain proverb, one of Solomon's if my memory serves me correctly: As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. What, with all this talk of refinery, why not talk of a forge? And since it is ourselves which we are building . . . what say you to 'The Soul Forge' as a name? Our purpose being the refinement and sharpening of one another, as we've discussed. As spirituality is our focus as a Covenant, maybe our Coterie could expand upon that, moving towards the edification of the whole self. I am certainly sharper, already, for enjoying your company. What if our Coterie might, for instance, set up a venue for Mr. Travis to offer training in firearms, or other such things? This would foster non-religious community in Sacramento, to the service of our Domain . . . and if that should bleed into Covenant affairs as well,"--he winks--"Then so be it."

[Cayce]

"Is Travis your lover?" Josephine asked with a look of most interested curiosity. "You seem so intent on drawing him into our affairs."

She shrugged and continued on. "I would prefer if we translated the name. I quite like the symbolism, but I fear that it will not carry the proper weight if it is left in English. Perhaps we might call ourselves comitatensis fabrica animae? Or perhaps La Forge des Âmes? I would suggest Aramaic, but I fear none would understand it."