Scene #8821: Somewhere Polar Bears Are

Owner	Pose
Father Berislav	Unknown Number - 12:32 PM meika, it's father berislav again. i thought you might appreciate the chance to see some polar bears. there's a zoo in anchorage with an enclosure. my treat. Dress for cold, like before. Warpgate directions are enclosed with the message. Alaska is hardly the most populous state, but its zoo, located in the capital, is nevertheless well-cared-for. Given the season, there's a surprising amount of green on the approach from the parking lot. There's a bracing cold in the air, though somehow not as hostile as the chill in Sterling. The winter sky is cool and pale-blue, mostly free of clouds. Berislav waits on a bench outside the entrance, not in his cassock, but in casual wear. A navy puffer jacket, overtop a grey crew neck sweater is matched with pale blue acid-wash jeans and white sneakers. The chain of his silver cross is visible around his neck, but the cross itself is occluded by the hamburger held between his hands. A large bag from a local fast food place is sat on the bench beside him--large enough to imply that there's food there for Meika, too, if she wants it. The zoo itself is more like a nature reserve with enclosures interspersed between its walkable trails; Meika can see, through the chain link fence behind Berislav, a tapestry of various evergreen trees broken up by occasional burgundy shingle roofs. The fast food bag is weighing down two printed maps, which might otherwise blow away in the gentle breeze. Behind Berislav is the admissions office, a small hexagonal hut from which an attendant can be seen, trying not to look bored.
Meika Kirenai	Meika Kirenai - 12:49 PM Okay. I'll be there, I guess. I can handle cold. Meika cannot handle cold quite as well as she reports, actually. If she'd had the conviction to face going home again, just to grab a rink jacket, it'd be a different story- but she's been out since Sunday night, and just brought her letterman and clothes now much more wrinkled than usual for her. It'll have to do, though. Through bus and walking, the snow-covered streets of the Southcentral Alaskan city blurs past in a hesitantly excited montage. The green in the canopies and the slush on the road add texture and vibrancy for the chill to sap her of- but it's new, and different. The tips of her ears ache. The magical girl adds a few burnt-through cigarette butts to the tapestry of the roads she passes, thinking little more than that someone would probably get mad at her for doing so. Berislav isn't so easy to recognize without his priestly regalia, and her gaze passes over him a few times before those uncomfortably red eyes actually find purchase. Condensing breath looks like smoke as it slips past Meika's lips, in a tense exhale, and she slowly, begrudgingly, waves to him and starts over. "Hey, Father. Who told you I was- was thinking of visiting Alaska, the other day?" Brusque and defensive, off the bat- like there's been another trespass by him. "Or were you just, like, listening in when I said so?" She isn't leaving his answer's legitimacy supported just by face value- she's prying further to eavesdrop in, already. "... Thanks for- for remembering the... stupid thing about the bears, though." She exhales again, and deflates away some of her held-on-to intensity. Shivering betrays that, too- but at least her stomach doesn't grumble. "... Can I look at one of those maps? I've never been here before."
Father Berislav	Twenty minutes come and go, without much incident for the priest. He isn't familiar enough with her circumstances or home life to intuit any particular meaning into the wait--and he so seldom gets time to himself that the prospect of visiting the zoo alone isn't an unappealing one. When she arrives, with sizzle from square one, he meets her with earnest confusion. You were thinking of visiting Alaska? Berislav blinks owlishly at Meika. "I didn't know it was on your mind," he answers. He passes her one of the maps. Even though her stomach doesn't grumble, he still offers her some food. "But I did remember what you said about the bears, yes." "I wasn't sure if you'd eaten," he says. "So, you're welcome to the rest." A double cheeseburger and fries are in the bag, plus some napkins--one of which Berislav throws away, after having used it to wipe his fingers ahead of giving Meika a map. The wrinkled clothes and ill-suited letterman are noticed, but not remarked upon. The map largely confirms the outward appearance of the zoo--it's a bit like a hiking trail mixed with a zoo. The polar bear enclosure is actually one of the first two exhibits visitors can see, opposite a seal and otter enclosure. There's quite a few animal enclosures--including several that aren't endemic to Alaska, like yaks, camels, and even a tiger enclosure. "Otters are my favorite," says Berislav. "I thought maybe we could see the polar bears first, make our way through, and swing by the otters and seals as the last stop on our way out."
Meika Kirenai	"Didn't know it was on my mind." Eyes shift to the pavement. Right. It's just a coincidence. That's silly. After a moment of glowering, Meika lets out a huff- and relaxes a bit. "Oh. Um. I-" She's eaten sometime today, she's pretty sure. But it's foggy, and hard to remember. Maybe that was just yesterday, or at the castle- "That's... kind of you, Father. But I don't-" Meika just extracts the fries from the bag, with a little nod of thanks. Unfortunately, she doesn't eat meat. She does eat fried potato sticks, though. "Stuff gets cold quick out here, huh..." Meika wipes fry-grease off just on the side of the paper bag, good enough, before thumbing through the map. Numbed fingers fiddle with pages clumsily, until it's unfolded enough to creak and crackle as the breeze shifts the paper in that ever so slight and slow way it's prone to do. She looks at the layout- and furrows her brow, not doing the best at orienting it to match the entrance, or parsing out how it'll all relate. That's a problem for later. What gets her excited is, right there, printed, is evidence of the talked-of animals- it's petty to want to take something else's claim over just Berislavs, but she's not above that right now. "Hey. Father Berislav?" She waits until they're actually on foot, towards and through the entrance, before doing more than just agreeing to the outlined itinerary. "... Why now? After- after everything that's happened. Why is this when you decided to- have you been paying more attention than you've..." Well. She can check that, at least. But maybe the impending visit with the polar bear exhibit's got her in a softer mood. "If there's something else you wanted to say, get it off your chest, or something. Now's your... this is your chance. I'm- I'm here just because you actually- I said I'd be here. But it is just this one chance." It wouldn't take a genius to guess she's waiting for some kind of apology, some call of mea culpa, or just something- a nice follow-through on its own, after how the last time she chatted one on one with the priest went, doesn't go down easily. Boots fall steady and silent on mostly-cleared hiking-ish paths through the zoo, as they make to the close-by polar bear exhibit, and its little viewing gazebos- excitement is hard to hide, as her eyes actually fix places other than the ground- at the signboards, and through the glass, and the hands-on displays of bear skull casts demonstrating size and shape of the different North American types. It's like she's actually straining to not react more, seeing it all, actually- like it's not safe to just yet. It's no fool's guess to expect that isn't unusual. It may be uncomfortable, though, knowing one's presence alone is part of why.
Father Berislav	Berislav finishes his burger, balling the paper up and placing it into the grease-stained bag before making use of another napkin to wipe his hands. With that done, and Meika having at least eaten some fries, he tosses the remainder into a nearby trash can, a plastic bin set into a stone facade. Why now? Has he been paying more attention than he's let on? The answer is, according to what's unspoken, yes. He wants to help, very much, in whatever way he can, but he doesn't know how--not after what he imagined was the right way was so jarringly wrong. "A few reasons. First, and most pressing, is that I owe you an apology. I'm sorry for betraying your trust to Lilian." His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his puffer jacket, as he watches a pair of cubs frolic in the enclosure, themselves supervised by a loafing parent. "I was so certain of myself that I became another authority figure, trampling over you without seeing you." He sighs--yes, he knows that he himself is at least part of the reason that she's uncomfortable in expressing her full enjoyment. The cubs play-fight after the provocation of splashed water, one upon the other. "Part of me wants to ask, 'when else?' But the obvious answer is that there were so many other chances before now. Maybe it's selfish, but I know that 'everything,' in the context of 'after everything that's happened,' has been very difficult for you. Maybe it's selfish, but I wanted to do what I should have done from the start--to give you something to think back on... if not entirely fondly, then not entirely disillusioned. And..." "I suppose there's also the fact that I wasn't sure when else I might have the chance to." If not the cult in Sterling, then those detestable fascists and their mass-murdering fortress might be the end of me.
Meika Kirenai	"Yeah. Okay. You're sorry." Meika's cold hands get shoved deep into her coat's pockets, but it doesn't do much to quell the shivering. "I'm- I'm not sorry for butting in on your- whatever you call that stuff in Sterling. You'll just have to deal with it. I'll keep coming back, if- yeah." She lingers by the polar bears a long time, but most of the animals that are suitably arctic- like the wolverines, the musk oxen; the elk are quite the draw, too. Mostly it's the polar bears, though. A half dozen times she considers pulling out her sketchbook, but when there aren't good spots to sit, and she can barely feel her fingers as-is, drawing wouldn't work out. Somewhere along the way, Berislav catches Meika mumbling something about '... Nicest zoo I've been to...'. 'I was so certain of myself that I became another authority figure,' The magical girl snorts. "Guess that'd make you, like... the only one left. I think I hate that. But-" A little shrug, hands still in pockets. "It's kind of funny. No more Paladins, no more teachers, just- some random Father. I mean, I've still got my- my family, and stuff, and the church, but..." A rock on the pathway gets kicked with the side of her foot, making it skitter and careen off into the bushes lining the trail. Idle frustrations taken out on something that can't fight back. Her hands clench into fists in her pockets, and shoulders tense. "... It's cool that polar bear fur isn't really white, right? it's just... it looks like it, because it traps the light in the little hollows..." Meika read the fact slightly wrong, from the little stands earlier as they'd passed, and looked onwards at the captive bears- but she sounds lighter, talking about it. Absentmindedly, her lighter comes out of her pocket, instinct leading her to pull out a cigarette and start breaking the zoo's first protocol rule of No Smoking. "Oh. I was away for a few weeks, Father. So it wouldn't have... yeah. Don't worry about that, I guess." Tight posture, looking away- she's aching of guilt. People died, so who wouldn't feel guilty? "... You don't have to treat me like I'm a dying little kid, Father." 'I suppose there's also the fact that I wasn't sure when else I might have the chance to.' That, and the priest's followup thoughts, are enough to get Meika's skin to prickle. "Right. When else." Meika doesn't know about the fortress, but the cult is scary to her- and she's far, far from unfamiliar of the weight of 'what if time runs out'. She's feeling it strongly, lately. Maybe it's part of why she hasn't been home since Sunday, or maybe that's just because there's too little left she'll be missed for. "You've got guns, and- and that robot thing. Should you really be that scared, Father?" Adults carry a certain immortality, in Meika's eyes, that they certainly don't all in their own. They also seem to be some wholly seperate class of being, unreachable or unknowable. It's heartbreaking, isn't it?
Father Berislav	I'm not sorry for butting in on your- whatever you call that stuff in Sterling. Berislav removes his puffer coat and offers it to Meika, as the two of them walk. He's not a particularly tall or physically imposing man, but it's still probably at least a size too big for her. "I know." It's warm, anyway. "I wish that you wouldn't, but I can't stop you." All I can do is try to overwhelm what the Adversary puts before you with what the Paraclete moves in me. It's cool that polar bear fur isn't really white, right? "It is," the priest agrees. He lightly places a hand over hers, when she procures the lighter, nodding towards a sign along the trail--'No Smoking.' His free hand then sweeps towards a bald eagle roost, as if to gently remind that it's for the animals' sake, just as much as the other patrons. "I think it's cool how something that big moves so easily. There's a kind of grace in clumsiness that they have--all of that bulk, but they carry it as naturally as breathing, even through the snow. By comparison, you and I would plod through it even with snowshoes." You've got guns, and- and that robot thing. Should you really be that scared, Father? "Isaiah, my guns, my martial arts," he says, lifting one arm up and rolling the sleeve of his sweater back. He flicks an index against his wrist. The impact sounds different, than it ought to. Muted, as if something hard lurks beneath the natural give of his skin. "All the things I've done to my body--they serve me well enough, when it comes to talking back." He sighs, pulling the sleeve back down, placing his hands into his pocket. "Speaking the language of the world back to it, enforcing consequences on bloated, apathetic evil, is quite different from advocating for those who are hurt by it. That world has its accusers. What it needs, badly, is advocates." And as you've seen by the way I hurt you, trying to 'help,' I'm much more fallible serving as an advocate than as an accuser. "I'm not scared of dying," he says. "I know I will, one day. I'm only scared that I might go with too much work left undone--that the world is still unkind enough to fail you."
Meika Kirenai	"Yeah? Why do you wish I wouldn't? It's- It's not like I can handle myself worse than any of the others you're happy to have along. And helping people is- I'm supposed to do that." It isn't really a job for her, anymore, even if she's still a magical girl for now. Meika skirts out of the way of Berislav's offered coat, wordlessly turning it down. "But, yeah. You can't stop me." Puts before me? Like the- Meika freezes up for a second, not really focusing on what's around her, or Berislav's motions, until the priest's hand contacts her, with the palmed lighter- and she flinches away, dropping the lighter and immediately stepping back, chest tightening like her heart is leaping to her throat. "For the animals-" Caught off guard, she doesn't even notice that wasn't something spoken aloud. It takes her a second to calm down and mutter out an apology for the sudden surprise, before she catches the rest of Berislav's statement. "Oh. Yeah, it- it really looks so easy for them to just..." The followup using 'you' to describe the contrast makes Meika look a bit more crestfallen than it ought. It's okay. Easy things don't mean they're right. So things that are hard can still be... "Snowshoes. It'd be nice to do better." Even if it's just comparison, clumsiness isn't a hard to grasp feeling, and not an unfamiliar one, either. The exhibit catches enough attention to fix on something else than thinking or much else, save picking up the lighter that clattered to the floor. "... What, are you trying to say that-" Meika's idea of bloated, apathetic evil is tangible and pops up in her hometown a handful of times each week- so Berislav's words confuse her, at first, a level of worldview on systems and victims beyond what she can really grasp. But the truth does find her, eventually that he's speaking more metaphorical, even if she has to jigsaw place what he means together- at least until she's eavesdropped that last bit. "Right. So you just want to be some kind of do-gooder before you're gone." She's looking right by him, and yet while Meika would think she's talking about the priest, it's a little too mixed in with projected sentiments. "Thanks for this trip, Father, but I'm not- I haven't been hurt like you're saying by stuff, and I don't need an advocate, so don't- don't get ideas like that. I'm fine." Then, her voice and tone soften up. "... I'm scared of that. Stopping. But the world isn't-" The magical girl lets out a frustrated noise- which is odd, because she hasn't allowed most of her passive sounds to have been audible. "I'm the one failing it. You know it. Everyone does. So don't- don't waste your time like that, okay? Just don't."
Father Berislav	I'm the one failing it. You know it. Everyone does. So don't- don't waste your time like that, okay? Just don't. "No," says Berislav, as calmly as the gentle, wintry breeze that winds through the trees; as implacable as the evergreen giants themselves. "There's a seat for you, at the table I'm setting. You can be angry about that, if you want." He shakes the puffer jacket, insistently. I'm not offering it to you because you're helpless. I'm not doing it because you've 'tricked' me into thinking you 'deserve' it. "You won't stop me from making a space for you, any more than I'll stop you from helping in Sterling." "You must think that I don't want you there because I think you're less prepared or equipped than the others." He shakes his head. "It's more selfish than that. This," he says, twirling an index around, indicating the relative peace and beauty of the forest (curated though it might be), "Is the kind of thing you'd be doing more often, if the world were fairer, kinder. The Adversary is building a case in Sterling. The evidence is substantial, and ugly. Whether you can handle it or not... I don't care. You shouldn't have to." To have worked as hard as I have, sacrificed as much as I have, and still see the world licking its chops and getting ready to devour more Meikas breaks my heart. "...I hope you'll forgive me for that selfishness." "I don't only want to do good. I also want it to be easier for other people to--because bad people have made it very easy to do bad, and very hard to do good." A bald eagle alights on one of the roosts high up in the trees. They're actually quite ungraceful birds, as it happens, and fairly stupid, if endearingly so--the bird thinks it spies some sort of prey, in the branches, beak expectantly open as if hoping it might leap in. Wings extended, it nearly falls from its perch, setting them to flapping and frightening off whatever it was after. It remains, with a dumbfounded expression. The brief moment of levity draws a little chuckle from Berislav. "Goodness," he says. Clearing his throat, he redoubles his efforts with the jacket. "Part of doing good means accepting help. Not because you're helpless yourself, but because it makes your work easier. If you put this on," he says, giving the jacket another shake, "Then I'll swallow that selfish impulse and take your help in Sterling without any complaint. Deal?"
Father Berislav	If doing good is easier, then people who- who aren't, might get to slip past better. "No one 'slips past' God. But that doesn't mean our time on Earth 'doesn't matter.' We are one Body in Christ. When a policeman murders a woman in the street for stealing to feed her family, we're all made lesser for it, even if it never makes the news. And when an old woman pays a struggling young man's groceries, we're all nourished by that kindness, even if neither of them tells a soul. If our time on Earth 'didn't matter,' the Bible would be a much shorter book." Happy? Berislav heaves a heavy sigh. Whatever happiness there is for me is in brief pockets of respite from the overwhelming anger I feel at the gardens of sin which stretch across these many worlds. "...I'll take it," he says. He is quiet, then, for the rest of the trail up until the next exhibit--a fox enclosure. They're not all species endemic to Alaska, but they all seem to get along well enough. The placards near the little viewing gazebo provide facts about each of them. Berislav shifts, watching two bark-furred foxes play, mouths open and calling to each other as they chase each other around, their calls sounding like carefree laughter. "Once," he says, "A few months ago, I was on a particular Earth, visiting that Earth's Rhode Island. It was part of my work with the Watch. I stopped on my way to a meeting place and gave some money to a beggar on the street." "A 'hero' saw me--a young man in a brightly colored costume, more clean and spotless than any of the people or buildings around me. He touched down from the sky, and strode up to us, like something out of a comic book. Do you know what he said?" Berislav looks pained, to recall it. "'I don't know why you did that. He's just going to use it to buy booze.'" The priest scoffs, and shakes his head. "I was struck by the ugliness of that sentiment, coming from someone who ought to be helping. As if there were a correct way to be poor, and he was the arbiter. As if that man sat beside me were the same as every other that 'hero' had ever seen. As if... it were a moral failing, to have less." Berislav leans on the railing of the gazebo. "I do need things to be easier. Because when that kind of thing can be said by someone who'd call themselves a 'hero,' it's a sign that things are very badly out of sorts on Earth. And if that means that there is some mediocrity in goodness, it's a price I'd pay gladly. Mediocrity in evil is what empowers people to say such ugly things and think themselves right." "The deadliest weapon isn't your gun, mine, or even Isaiah, but the rubber stamps and penstrokes that put them into the world, and mobilize them against people. I need that to be seen as the atrocity it is. When news of those things arrives over the air waves, I need more people to be shocked, and less to say that 'those dirty foreigners had it coming.' I believe that hero has the capacity to do, and be better, as do we all. But it's easier for us to be wicked, when wickedness is called 'business as usual.'"
Meika Kirenai	"I'm not angry," Meika says, with a tone just sharp enough to sound angry- the shivering muddies her demeanor, out in the cold, but her glare still broadcasts she's upset. "But you don't even know me. We're not friends. You're- you're no shepherd, and I'm not a-" Maybe I did trick you on that part. Meika's lips keep moving for a second, silent, and slip back audible soon after. "Don't- don't try and pretend like you're doing anything for me, Father. You don't care about me. I just- Hah. I wonder what kind of rumors you'll try and cook up this time." Meika's pace on the path is somewhat erratic, quick then slow, every now and then distracting herself with the snowy trees and childishly balancing on masonry and trail-edges with arms outstretched like wings. Despite it all, it still looks like she's getting some sort of enjoyment out of being here- for now, at least. 'Whether you can handle it or not... I don't care. You shouldn't have to.' "That's not up to you. I- I hate it, every time one of you says something like it. Do you even hear yourselves?" Meika stops where she'd been walking, but her heel stays tapping against the ground, silently, stressed and uncomfortable for a drawn out pause. She's noticeably quieter when she continues speaking. "I don't want you to keep saying stuff like that, like how everything I do feels bad to witness. I do still have to. I want to. I don't get to- to be me, without this all. So- so yeah. I get it. You'd rather I just-" {...and still see the world licking its chops and getting ready to devour more Meikas breaks my heart.} I hate that you just see your own pity. I hate who you're worried for. Meika stops talking for a moment, and scuffs the bottom of her boot on the trail paving. "I won't forgive you that. I don't want to. But you'll get your wish, eventually. Won't be long now." Meika doesn't say anything more for a bit, going to lean on the walkway fencing and look at the bald eagle's aviary. Her breath hitches- silently, so it's really just a small motion in her shoulders -when the bird looks like it's about to fall down off the perch it'd found, and she even squints her eyes shut. Embarrassing over-worrying about whether the eagle would get hurt metabolizes out into misplaced anger, and she scowls, as if it'd even do anything. Stupid bird. A little cough sparks up her voice, once more. "It's not supposed to matter, if it's hard or not, Father. You know that." Absentmindedly, Meika pulls away from the fence railing, scratching numb knuckles into the inside of her left forearm, through the fabric of her coat. "If doing good is easier, then people who- who aren't, might get to slip past better." Oddly, there's not a lot of venom to her words, in something spat back as an apparent counterpoint. "I don't want the stupid coat. I don't need whatever 'help' you're- you're trying to give me. And I can't stand your pity." Still- she grabs the jacket out of the Father's hands, and slowly, frustratedly, puts it on over her letterman. It looks awkward and silly on her, oversized and billowy. "I don't need things to be easier. It's better if they aren't, if that's from- from others bothering." Still. Berislav leveraged it as a way to pressure back at all on not wanting her involvement, it doesn't leave her much choice but to do so and take the coat. "Happy?" She doesn't sound it.
Father Berislav	If doing good is easier, then people who- who aren't, might get to slip past better. "No one 'slips past' God. But that doesn't mean our time on Earth 'doesn't matter.' We are one Body in Christ. When a policeman murders a woman in the street for stealing to feed her family, we're all made lesser for it, even if it never makes the news. And when an old woman pays a struggling young man's groceries, we're all nourished by that kindness, even if neither of them tells a soul. If our time on Earth 'didn't matter,' the Bible would be a much shorter book." I don't want the stupid coat. I don't need whatever 'help' you're- you're trying to give me. And I can't stand your pity. Happy? Berislav heaves a heavy sigh as the coat is snatched away. Whatever happiness there is for me is in brief pockets of respite from the overwhelming anger I feel at the gardens of sin which stretch across these many worlds. "...I'll take it," he says. He is quiet, then, for the rest of the trail up until the next exhibit--a fox enclosure. They're not all species endemic to Alaska, but they all seem to get along well enough. The placards near the little viewing gazebo provide facts about each of them. Berislav shifts, watching two bark-furred foxes play, mouths open and calling to each other as they chase each other around, their calls sounding like carefree laughter. "Once," he says, "A few months ago, I was on a particular Earth, visiting that Earth's Rhode Island. It was part of my work with the Watch. I stopped on my way to a meeting place and gave some money to a beggar on the street." "A 'hero' saw me--a young man in a brightly colored costume, more clean and spotless than any of the people or buildings around me. He touched down from the sky, and strode up to us, like something out of a comic book. Do you know what he said?" Berislav looks pained, to recall it. "'I don't know why you did that. He's just going to use it to buy booze.'" The priest scoffs, and shakes his head. "I was struck by the ugliness of that sentiment, coming from someone who ought to be helping. As if there were a correct way to be poor, and he was the arbiter. As if that man sat beside me were the same as every other that 'hero' had ever seen. As if... it were a moral failing, to have less." Berislav leans on the railing of the gazebo. "I do need things to be easier. Because when that kind of thing can be said by someone who'd call themselves a 'hero,' it's a sign that things are very badly out of sorts on Earth. And if that means that there is some mediocrity in goodness, it's a price I'd pay gladly. Mediocrity in evil is what empowers people to say such ugly things and think themselves right." "The deadliest weapon isn't your gun, mine, or even Isaiah, but the rubber stamps and penstrokes that put them into the world, and mobilize them against people. I need that to be seen as the atrocity it is. When news of those things arrives over the air waves, I need more people to be shocked, and less to say that 'those dirty foreigners had it coming.' I believe that hero has the capacity to do, and be better, as do we all. But it's easier for us to be wicked, when wickedness is called 'business as usual.'"
Meika Kirenai	'No one 'slips past' God.' It's slight- very slight, but Meika winces as these words fall past the priest's lips. "I- I know it's supposed to matter. I know that. We're supposed to do good, we're supposed to be good, and-" Meika chews at the inside of her cheek. Berislav may not be in his cassock at this moment, but there's only so much stamina she has for talking back to a priest, even in slight agreement. "R-right. Sorry, Father." "You'll take it." Cold, needlessly so, and flat in tone. If you're so miserable and angry you can't be happy, why are you even bothering here? I can tell you don't like it either. Her familiar instinct to shove her hands out of the way and into pockets falters- the pockets aren't quite where she's used to, don't feel the same, and- "I look so ridiculous..." The oversized coat rustles annoyingly while Meika walks- for just a second before it's suddenly silent, flinch-reflex deciding it was necessary to muffle. It's clear in how she carries herself up the path that she's even more skittish than usual- following close to the priest already feels uncomfortably like tailing a parent out in public, it's just another extra tidbit. He wouldn't be hard pressed to notice the magical girl is keeping more and more physical distance from him, even as they get to that next destination. Watching the foxes, with their vibrant winter fur, rest and play amongst the carefree enclosure brings a certain uncertainty to her. They look like they're happy. That's nice, right? Even if this isn't their home, and they can't leave, it's got to be safe and... The magical girl coughs into her hand. "I know it's not some moral- something wrong, to be given less, Father. But Dad says its- but if he's just going to waste that on alcohol, instead of food, or savings, he'll never work up to..." Meika trails off with the regurgitated bootstrap drivel, and looks down at one of the info boards, scanning its text. She mumbles, when she pipes up next- "Besides. If he really wanted to get drunk, it's not hard to just take that stuff." Berislav's demeanor, and outright saying of the evilness of a stance she just spent words defending, makes her flinch yet again. For the few moments she spends actually facing the priest, it looks like she's confused and concerned over the seemingly correct answer being met with that much disdain- so she stays quiet until a gap arrives, half-listening, and not quite understanding. "W-wait, but if that's a hero- that's someone good, and you're hoping for... mediocrity in that, aren't..." She makes a strained noise, still misunderstanding exactly what the 'good's and 'evil's Berislav is talking of are. "I got my gun from Pe- From a friend. Nobody signed-" Cutting off, anxious, Meika picks at one of the bright red band-aids wrapped around her fingers and knuckles, half-unsticking it. "I- I know war isn't good, Father. Everyone wants world peace. That's not-" A scab comes with it, and a moment later, little drops of blood well up. Business as usual is already a high bar, though, isn't it? Genuine confusion flash across her face- she's really not sure how to respond.
Father Berislav	Besides. If he really wanted to get drunk, it's not hard to just take that stuff. Berislav laughs. "That's... not entirely untrue," he says. "And I do like that your mind went there. But it's easier for you or for me to steal something, than for someone in that man's position. What I've noticed, is that it's very hard to get out of that position, and very easy to be cruel to people in it, even in little ways." "Shying away from them, because you're afraid they might be 'crazy,' asking them to leave the store because you're afraid they'll steal something." He grimaces. "Shooing them out of a restaurant and into the cold, calling the police on them to threaten them with violence if they won't leave." "It's not because they're inherently bad," says Berislav, after a brief pause to listen to the laughter-like cries of the foxes playing. "It's because they remind other people of just how little separates them from being in that position themselves. It frightens them, how little power they actually have over their own destinies, and how perverse that fact really is. An existence of destitution isn't a punishment from God--it's a punishment from people with all the power on Earth and none of the responsibilities. It suits those people to make it into a moral failing, because it distracts the broader public from their own, very real moral failings." It's too easy to attack people for having less, and not easy enough to help them. He sighs. "Why don't we take a look at the next enclosure, hm?" The priest pushes off of the railing of the gazebo, heading a little down the trail, to the next exhibit. Deer--short, stout ones, with brown fur and brown-black gradient tails that end just a bit short of halfway down the legs. The antlers on the mails tend towards half-circle curls. Sitka blacktails, this specific kind is called. A buck lays in tall grass, placidly grazing, while a doe watches Meika and Berislav with mild, relaxed interest. She sticks her tongue out at the pair, drawing a chuckle from Berislav.
Meika Kirenai	"What's that supposed to mean? Easier for us to-? What do you think I can even do..." Immediately defensive, arms crossed, the whole deal. "What does it matter how easy it'd be for you, anyway? You're of the cloth. You wouldn't do that." "Why would you like that that's what I thought..?" Does he think it's a joke, or... Her expression stays sour. Red eyes bore into the pavement, the trees around the path, the snow, as a scowl could manifest harm in them the same way kicking a stump of rotten wood can. The things the Father is saying match up more with the warnings, cautions, and scoldings given to her, than anything else- even if he's shaping their opposite message. "... Who wouldn't be scared about not having a grip on what'll happen to..." She fades off, staring out into the enclosures, no longer stomaching that line of thought. "Powerful people have responsibility, too. That doesn't make sense, that they wouldn't, Father. Power's something that you're supposed to..." The way that her face falls as he gets on to moral failings, of the powerful, of heroes, of the likes, instead of anything even close to systems and authority, betrays her continued unfamiliarity with the idea of power on something other than an individual level. Lessons read as criticism, while she's partially misunderstanding where most of the priest's ire is falling. 'Why don't we take a look at the next enclosure, hm?' "Huh? Oh, right. Yeah. I'll- I'm right behind you." She does linger a little, hurrying to catch up and move on without any rough and rushed bootfalls echoing down the trail. At the sitka deer, she places both of her hands on the railings, looking further in. Meika is tall for a girl her age- not exceptionally, but noticeably -but still, watching the stocky deer notice them at all, and even turn their way, causes her to stand tip-toe, leaning over the railing just a fraction more. "It's like they've got eyebrows, and their noses are really..." She manages a little smile, at the deer-form of a blown raspberry, and sticks her own back out at it. Berislav giggling, though, makes her fall back flat-footed, and calm her expression. "S-sorry. I'm- I didn't mean to be crude." She steps back from the railing, and shoves her hands back into the puffed jacket's pockets, and looks away. "These actually live around here, right..? Do you think them being kind of small... helps, or something, with how cold it is?" "It's- no, it doesn't matter. Whatever. You wanted to see the... otters, right?" Her breath is foggy, from the chill, as if on-cue from her noticing it again. "... We don't have to stay away from longer, or something, for my sake, or whatever. It's- We already saw what I wanted."
Father Berislav	You're of the cloth. You wouldn't do that. Berislav smiles. S-sorry. I'm- I didn't mean to be crude. "There's no need to be sorry," says the priest. "I thought it was funny, too." These actually live around here, right..? Do you think them being kind of small... helps, or something, with how cold it is? Berislav hmms thoughtfully, looking at the little infographic. "They do," he says, with interest. ... We don't have to stay away from longer, or something, for my sake, or whatever. It's- We already saw what I wanted. It doesn't seem like he minds. Instead, he remarks, "I think you're right. Being smaller means they have to eat less to stay warm when food is scarce. It says here... that during winter, when there's less greenery, they eat lichens and sometimes even... wood? That's interesting." He quietly watches them a while longer. "What I like the most about deer is their little faces," he notes. "When they're relaxed like this, they almost look like they're smiling, a little. Especially these ones, with the..." He presses an index to one side of his mouth, then the other, indicating the little patches of fur on the deer's upper lips. It seems like the deer are watching the both of them with the same kind of relaxed interest they're watching the deer with. I wonder what they're thinking about. He stays, for a few minutes longer, until he gently pushes from the railing. "Shall we?" The trail opens up into something more like what one would expect from a zoo, forest giving way to more traditionally 'inhabited' trimmd grass. It leads through a playground where a single mother pushes a young child on a swing, the both of them bundled up in several layers. Berislav waves at her; she waves back. The playground then gives way to an enclosure for harbor seals and river otters. A large recreation of a riverbed, complete with ample room to swim, rocks to bask on and shallows to play in, is provided for the harbor seals (spotted, some grey, some a beige-gold color) on one side and the otters (ruddy brown) on another. A trio of otters wrestles in the shallows, playfighting each other--gentle nibbles and light swatting. On the shore, a fourth washes a stone that's caught its attention. "Look at his little hands," Berislav adoringly notes. On the other side, two harbor seals bask on a slick rock, while another takes interest in Meika, swimming through the simulated river and turning upright in the water to do its best imitation of the pleading emoji at her. It closes its eyes, barks, then dips backwards and lies back.
Meika Kirenai	Meika's eyes trace the priest's focus, as he waves on at the other zoogoers. Self conscious in that borrowed coat, and in general, just the same as always, the magical girl ducks to stand behind Father Berislav, the taller man blocking out sightlines. She doesn't wave back, obviously, but does stare at the hair halfway between the mother and her kid, feeling more and more out of place. The creaking chain-joints of the swingset resonate in cold, dense air. "You're kind of childish, Father." Whether about the comment on deer faces, or the hands of the otters, the words come out sharp regardless of her more-flat intent. It's a bitter think for a teenager to say, and worse that it's not a jab. Every bit of the same sort of ease in her has quickly flickered out into fragments of ingrained worry and shame, the eagerness and smiles backing away, and being hard-pressed to come back even with Berislav's permission to her actions. Scanning through the glass and railings, out at the built-up idea of a habitat for the water mammals, it's caught her attention the care and effort in shaping concrete more natural, or arranging rocks and plants, or the little filters and water intakes, ensuring comfort, health, and realism. Do they like it..? The seal that looks up at her, and holds her gaze, makes her take an awkward half-step back. Don't look at me like you want something. I can't tell what it is. I can't help you. I'm sorry. You should ask someone who really can- Meika blinks, too. "Oh. He's leaving." She watches it relax and turn away, relieved somehow she isn't letting it down. "... I like that they could make the enclosures, here, look just like the places the animals were made to live in. I don't know what- what they're thinking, but... that must make them happy, right?" Hands wring themselves out in front of her, awkward and anxious. Her tone isn't very happy. "The keepers here must be good stewards, and such. Giving them all their own proper places." "It's nice that all the animals get to be made in ways to thrive, there. Given purposes they're actually made for and real places to belong in." She bites at the inside of her lips, if only to exert force and cause pain. "It must be easy for them. I wonder what it's like."
Father Berislav	You're kind of childish, Father. "In some ways," he idly agrees. The sharpness doesn't seem to bother him. It must be easy for them. I wonder what it's like. I do, too. Berislav is quiet, for a good while, watching the otters, the seals, back and forth. "I like that too," he says. "That they're as cared for as they are--that they have the space to be what they are." "...I think I'm ready to go, but take your time. I'll meet you in the parking lot, okay?" He brushes past her, and heads a little down the path, for the building next to the ticket office. You have to go through it, to leave. It's a gift shop. Inside, Berislav peruses the racks and little displays, nearly invisible to the rakish, lanky young man at the register. He finds something. A sweater. Heavy and cozy-looking. One look at the pattern is enough to know that it's perfect--do they have it in her size? He checks the price tag, then reaches into the pocket of his jeans. An unassuming brown wallet, worn at the seams with age, is opened. Bills are thumbed through, anxiously, before--a sigh of relief. He strides up to the counter. "This be all for you?" asks the young man, distracted but pleasant. Berislav nods, and places the bills on the table, plus some loose change. "You're all set," says the cashier. In the parking lot, Meika will meet Berislav with a plastic bag in hand, which he hands over to her. Inside is the sweater--brown, with little snowflakes woven in, falling on both a distant mountain range and the ponderous, roaming form of a polar bear in the foreground, as it plods through a snowy landscape. "I saw it, and thought you might like it," he says simply. "It's a little impulsive. Childish, maybe," he says, remembering her earlier comment. "I'd like it very much if I could help you find that feeling of belonging. If I could help set that table, and see you there to take your seat at it. Even if I can't, please know that I regret betraying your trust deeply--but I don't regret our time here today. Have a safe trip home, Meika."
Meika Kirenai	{I do, too.} "So say so," Meika mutters, nearly inaudible. She coughs, faint, and shifts her posture, leaning further back from the exhibit. "... I guess it's nicer, for... them to be out in the wild, but they're- they're safe here, too. For all that matters." "Ah-?" Meika almost stumbles, as Berislav steps past. She's just clumsy enough to not avoid getting bumped, and she freezes for a second after getting out of the way. "You're leaving? I thought-" She stands, quiet and awkward, as he heads out. It's not hard at all to guess 'we'll meet up later' means 'don't follow me right now', at least in some part, and she knows better than to challenge that. A little longer staring at the seals and otters is fine- even if other strangers around are more unbearable to stomach gaze and limited attention from, alone and somewhere still slightly strange, to her. Eventually, she finds herself putting a hand up, palm flat, against the plexiglass window of the seal exhibit again. The seal from earlier doesn't come back, doesn't stare at her again- it's moved on to whatever else catches interest or necessity. She's kind of glad for that, even if she doesn't know why. Leaving only fingerprints on the clear panel, minutes later, she heads on away. It takes her doing a full three-sixty degree turn in the middle of the pathway to pick out the exit sign, and even then, she's still guessing partially based on the flow of the sparse crowd. Into the gift shop she dives. There's a paradoxical discomfort, being alone and directionless in shopping places, to wander and move without spending time all while still having to make the clock tick past somehow, for the delay in meetup. She halfheartedly scans the shelves of paraphenalia she doesn't have the currency to even purchase, fridge magnets or stuffed animals or decorative mugs and all the likes- things she wouldn't use, anyway. She grabs a keychain at random, just to shove it in the pocket of her letterman, even beneath the puffer jacket, with no intention of paying. Maybe Kyou will like it. Maybe she'll throw it away. The magical girl doesn't even look at the checkout as she pushes past, through the zoo's exit proper, and back out into the frigid chill. Hrr breath catches. "Father..?" She calls, wincing at how unclear that term is for calling out into the air. She pulls the same three-sixty scanning turn, and- An awkward wave when she sees him, off to the side. "Hey. Found you, again- huh?" Off guard, she looks down at the bag that's been held out to her, and slowly takes it, as if it could bite. "You saw it, and thought I'd-" As plastic shuffles, and the sweater emerges, she hushes up, and just looks at it. "Oh." She's slow to examine it, to run fingers across the embroidered snowfall and look at the image on it. It's soft...
Meika Kirenai	"Thanks, Father. I- You didn't have to. But... thanks. I like it." A lot, probably, given she hasn't stopped looking at it, and doesn't, even as he continues with what he has to say. "Oh. You want to help with..." A slow inhale, silent. "Yeah. Sure. I get that you feel bad. It's-" A shrug rolls over her shoulders, and she slips her arms back out of the borrowed jacket, to hand back. Downplaying how upset she feels about that months-past trespass is really the only way it can go, being brought up like this, by him. "It's whatever. It was nice, getting to see this place." "See you, Father," She's already turning on her bootheels. "... Guess it'll be somewhere different and worse, next time. Or maybe I'll be someone different." Quiet, rocking up to her tiptoes and back flat, she stops, and almost bothers to look back. "It was nice."