Scene #8502: Social Call

Owner	Pose
Father Berislav	A man travels, alone, through the Warpgate in the City. He is dressed in the habit of a priest; a black cassock with a clerical collar. He makes a brisk pace towards the above-ground entrance of Lobotomy Corporation. The priest had called ahead; given his name as 'Father Waters Berislav,' but he doesn't seem to mind being stopped in the lobby, if that happens at all. He's here to speak with Angela--a 'social call,' as he'd named it. The events in the Line are still fresh on his mind. Despite that, he manages a perfectly pleasant smile. It might even be called beaming, the way his silver eyes shut sunnily with every pleasantry given between here and her office.
Angela	Father Berislav is someone who makes the Corporation nervous and so they are inclined to be cautious about this. The priest has talked about something truly terrifying... UNIONS. And made some subtle threats. Angela will meet with Berislav in the lobby of the Control Department--which is pretty close to the Warpgate itself, as that is the department the Warpgate is set in. Angela doesn't smile at all, but she does dip her head politely. "Hello Waters Berislav. We have spoken before but my name is Angela, it is a pleasure to meet you properly and formally." She straightens up and adds, "I am uncertain as to the purpose of the visit, but I will help you as much as I can with your inquiries." She crosses her arms across her chest. "Is there a particular department you'd like to tour, or would you prefer to speak in a private office?"
Father Berislav	Berislav's smile persists, despite Angela's lack thereof. "The pleasure's all mine, Angela," he says warmly. "With your blessing, I'd certainly enjoy a tour sometime--but my reason for visiting is actually personal." His hands are clasped loosely before him. "It's regarding the events at the Line," he says, his smile faltering slightly to something less cheery, if equally warm. Concern. Genuine, or a very good approximation of sincerity. "So, I think a private office would be best."
Angela	"Understood." Angela leads Berislav to her personal office. Along the way he can see Rose walking by while the Punishing Bird pecks at her. She is very careful where she walks so she doesn't step on him or cause the bird any problems. Angela walks by like this is just normal business. Angela eventually arrives at an office with many bright screens adorning the wall. Angela doesn't go to the trouble to go around to the back of her desk, instead sitting on the front edge of it, crossing her legs across one another. "This should be private--as well as any place is private within this place."
Father Berislav	Berislav gives Rose a courteous nod, making a small 'hm' of consideration after she and the Bird are out of eyesight. "Of course," says the priest, once he's led into the office, giving a deferential nod to Angela. "I'll be as direct as I can. Please feel free to take whatever measures are necessary to protect yourself, given the paucity of privacy that apparently exists here." Berislav reaches up and removes his reading glasses, hooking the frame into the inside of his clerical collar and letting them hang there. "That man visited something very ugly..." choosing his words for a moment, "Upon all of us, really," says the priest, with a tight frown. "I wanted to make sure that you were alright," he says.
Angela	Rose nods back to Berislav but seems uninterested in more than that. But in the office... Angela can appreciate Berislav's caution. She doesn't know him too well but he seems to have a way with words and people. Angela is a little uneasy about religion in general because usually when a 'religion' starts up in the facility, it's not exactly something that ends well--but from what she's seen of the Catholic School and everything, far as she knows, her experiences are not typical. Catholic School is a different type of horror that Angela isn't in a position to analyze with the information at her disposal. "It is not easy to arrange a visit for someone speaking so ominously about the Corporation, but I appreciate your discretion. The Dame Commander has informed me that all I have to do is trust in her--I do, so I am not too fussed on that matter. There are other ways in which I struggle, but..." she folds her fingers together, resting both hands on her lap. "Of course my opinions of A are not particularly joyful. But my opinions do not matter, exactly, for the moment." She is quiet for a moment. "I have been... a little more honest than I should be."
Father Berislav	Berislav laughs, softly, when Angela mentions the perils of arranging a visit with him. He nods along, leaning forward attentively when she pauses. "I think it's quite normal to have a low opinion of someone with an outsized degree of power over you and a penchant for using it abusively," says Berislav. "I'm sure you've heard the crude truism about the tendency of unpleasant things to roll downhill." He pauses, himself, taking a brief look around. "Pardon me, but I've been standing for most of the day--" His right hand dips forward into a spatial wound; a burning orange scar torn from thin air. A spartan metal folding chair is procured from within, before the pocket dimension seals itself up. Berislav unfolds it and takes a seat, resting his hands in his lap. "There we are," he says, with simple satisfaction. "Now..." "To say that your opinions of him 'don't matter...' Even to qualify them with 'exactly,' and 'for the moment,' shines a light on the type of environment that he's created here. Am I wrong, to speak so ominously about a place where no one is happy to be?"
Angela	Angela exhale slowly as yet another discussion about the train starts to enter the radiowaves. She is briefly distracted by that from the conversation in front of her but she is listening, carefully. She is trying to get a feel for Berilav here. "I have not, but I understand the meaning." Angela says. "A is not popular here, it is true, by some metrics. By other metrics, his vision is still one they believe in. They may despair at the methods, but they still believe in the goal. I imagine you understand that such passion can be taken advantage of, but that does not mean he isn't there." Berislav speaks to the environment. Angela raise an eyebrow at the 'Normal Priest' just summons a chair out of nowhere. Her mouth hangs open for a moment before she presses her lips tightly against one another. "'Wrong', no, but wise? One day A will return and I am bound to follow his rules. He doesn't look at me but that is not the same as being unable to give me orders."
Father Berislav	Berislav nods. "No," he agrees. "It doesn't." He gestures, with a sweep of his right hand, to the wall of monitors behind Angela. "There's a word for that type of environment--where people in it are made to feel as if they're being watched, even when they may not be, in any given moment. It's called a panopticon." He pauses, then, for effect, adds: "Prisons tend to employ this technique, as well." "Forgive me," he says. "But I believe a little theory is in order. Theory, that is, as opposed to praxis." Berislav smiles thinly at her. "A traditionalist student of Marx would rake me across the coals for even alluding to the existence of such a class, but you're what's considered the 'professional managerial class.'" "You don't own any land," he says. "And your role within the company seems, to me, to be a buffer between the rank-and-file laborers and A. But," he says, holding an index up. "If A won't even look at you," says Berislav, "To issue those orders, then in terms of your safety from him, there's more in common between you and an Agent, than between you and him, regardless of your belief in his agenda or the necessity of those orders." The priest lowers his hand and lets it fall back to his lap, shrugging his shoulders.
Angela	"Correct, I consider this place to be a prison. I am not its architect. I may be its warden, but I am as much a prisoner as anyone else." She seems confused by the mention of Marx and the 'professional managerial class'. She shakes her head and she says, "I am, officially, a secretary not a manager." She probably has not read Marx. It is doubtful that Marx even exists in this world. Perhaps he did at one point but this new world, if it has any connection to Earth as we know it, is long since forgotten and made irrelevent. ''There's more in common between you and an Agent, than between you and him.'' Angela frowns. She wouldn't disagree with that, so that's what troubles her. She takes a breath, and closes her eyes. She doesn't open them again. "What is your point, Father Berislav?" She's using his formal title now.
Father Berislav	"My point..." Berislav makes a soft 'hm.' "My point is that prisons are tools of power, before anything else--no matter what lofty ambitions the architect may have." He crosses one leg over the other. "One day," he says, "Two disciples on their way to the place of prayer were met by a slave, who had a spirit by which she predicted the future. She followed the disciples, shouting to all who would hear, 'These men are servants of the Most High God, who are telling you the way to be saved.' She kept this up for many days, until one disciple became so annoyed that he said to the spirit: 'In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to come out of her,' and so the spirit left." "When her owners realized this, they became very angry." The priest pauses, silver eyes sweeping across the screen. "It was fine, to them, that she had been missing for many days. Even that she had given her omens freely. Her owners' anger didn't come from a place of compassion, nor reason, because abusive power dynamics leave no room for such things--no matter what excuses the beneficiaries of such dynamics would make to the contrary." Berislav frowns. "No," he continues, "They were upset because it was assured they would no longer profit from the slave's condition. They would no longer make money from her state of imprisonment in her own body. In their anger, her owners had two of the disciples brought before the magistrates, who then had them stripped, beaten and imprisoned." "My point is that no matter how grand an abuser's vision may be, all of them, in the end, react exactly the same when they realize they can no longer get what they want. Anger. Entitlement. Blind violence." The chair creaks as the priest shifts in it. "My point, Angela, is that those dynamics are, as well, often much more brittle and arbitrary than the beneficiary would have you believe. As proof, you need only look at the pearl-clutching from Amelia and Lance, over our presence on the Train, their arbitrary little theatres of penitence and care thrown into disarray." "Believe in Lilian, if you like," says Berislav. "She has the air of someone who's well versed in dealing with this sort of evil. But--please, do also believe in yourself, and put that belief towards chipping away at the walls, little by little. Whether you pull your chains out of your own strength, or take advantage of the trembling earth beneath you... I think that doesn't matter nearly so much as being free."
Angela	Angela listens to the story attentively. If nothing else, she is an avid listener when it comes to stories. Berislav speaks of two disciples. Angela looks confused--even with her eyes closed as to why a disciple would be mad at someone going around telling them the way to be saved but it's brief--she determines that the tale will explain it in full eventually. Her lips frown slightly at Berislav describing the eventual fate of the two disciples. But she doesn't comment then either. ''You need only look at the pearl-clutching from Amelia and Lance'' Angela hasn't met Amelia but Angela has met Lance. "Lance tortured me." Angela says. "All of us, certainly, but I had to endure a very, very long time in that false reality. One thousand times as long as the others. I am unable to forgive this. I care little as to the reasons, or his beliefs. He is not one I am to obey." Her eyes open ever so slightly as she stares at Berislav. "Do you know A? I am not interested in defending him, but are you certain you wish to make a judgement call purely off of Theory?" She bobs her head once. "Nevertheless, I will endeavour to 'believe in myself' but of course I have only been able to help others through Petra's assistance. That is the basis of my loyalty."
Father Berislav	"A judgment call," repeats Berislav, uncrossing his legs and reaching up to stroke his chin. After a moment's consideration, "I believe that A's works are all around us," says Berislav, artfully avoiding an immediate answer to the question. "The dearth of privacy. The hostile architecture," he says, tapping the edge of his brought-in folding chair with an index. "The testimony of his own employees. Their conditioned reaction to the idea of their own liberation and empowerment. Theory is only part of the picture. A has told us all who he is, several times over, by now." "I'm only listening," Berislav says simply. "I'm concerned, by what I've heard." The priest sighs through his nose. "Just as I was with Lance. And like Lance, A will be given control of his own fate, in the end. It's always my hope, that people like the two of them choose to be better--but I have no reservations about doing what's best for everyone, if they don't."
Angela	"Mm." Angela says. "But he is not a man who cares for money, Father. If that was all he cared about, he would not have needed to develop a convoluted plan such as this. It is not as if L Corp started in this way." ''A has told us all who he is, several imes over, by now.'' "Mm." Angela says to that. ''Just like with Lance, A will be given control of his own fate, in he end.'' Angela opens up her eyes the rest of the way. "You speak as if you will be the arbiter here, the judge, the one who gets to have a choice in deciding how this matter is ultimately handled." Angela quirks her head to the side thoughtfully. "Is it your plan to disrupt proceedings if A does not listen? He is not in this facility at the moment, it will be difficult to contact him directly. Please be aware, that if you do..." "You will simply be damning everyone here to more suffering."
Father Berislav	"It wasn't lost on me, what you said--'when A returns.' I assumed that he was in hiding, or otherwise indisposed." He meets her eyes, after a moment of peering into the screens. "Jesus told a parable to a gathering of his followers. 'The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.'" Berislav stands and folds the chair, stuffing it back into a freshly torn wound in space. "'The owner's neighbors came to him and asked where the weeds had come from, knowing that he'd planted good seed. He replied that an enemy had done it. His neighbors asked if he wanted their help pulling the weeds up. But the owner said not to--because while they might pull up the weeds, they might also uproot the wheat with them.'" He smiles wanly at Angela. "It sounds familiar, doesn't it?" The priest heaves a sigh, reaching for his glasses, still hanging on his collar. "'The owner decided to let both grow together, until the harvest. Then, and only then, did he collect the weeds, tying them in bundles to be burned, while harvesting the wheat and bringing it into his barn.'" After a moment of peering down at the glasses in his hand, he slips them back on. "The salvation of Christ is best offered in person, and I'm quite patient and methodical in my duty to Him. I'm not infallible--but neither is A. In the end, be it weeds or wheat, everything which human hands have made eventually returns to the earth." Berislav gives Angela a slight little bow at the waist, before gesturing to the door. "I think it best if we adjourn our little chat for today. Tomorrow is the Feast of the Transfiguration, and I need to prepare for service. Would you care to escort me back?"
Angela	Another story, Angela is almost as transfixed with this one as the last, though this one seems to trouble her more than the first. She says, "A matter of timing. I understand this lesson well, the Dame Commander made a similar suggestion. And so I wait patiently." Angela slides off the desk once Berislav indicates their chat should be over. It might be difficult to see if any of what Berislav got through to her. But... "Feel free to come any day if you wish to tel lmore stories." Angela says. "They are not the kind of tales I am accustomd to, but I do not mind that." She nods once and will lead Berislav back to the warpgate. "I do wonder what you will think of him when he returns from his long journey." Angela says. "And how you will judge him."