Scene #9015: The Shadowed Tabernacle

Owner	Pose
Calvin Nash	The last days of summer on Ossabaw Island are here, though the insects and the sun keep to their duties the same as they would in early July. The air is refreshing and cool, the sky a bright but faded, dim blue, clear--in the sense that there's little clouds. As Calvin had explained previously to questions about the temperature in a state with otherwise notably hot summers, there's still quite a lot of ash and particulate in the upper atmosphere, even fifty years after the bombs. The Shadowed Tabernacle is past the populated part of the island settlement by a walk of perhaps ten minutes. Set in the middle of a field that might once have held the ordered rows of a plantation (and might, given the country's history, be the resting place of its enslaved laborers), the building is plainly made to be easily relocated if the need arises. The Tabernacle is, firstly, surrounded by a wooden post fence supported by diagonal braces on the interior side. The exterior of the fence bears elaborate engravings burned in, an almost floral design suggesting clinging ivy, while empty spaces are filled in with a kind of magical pidgin kludged together from several more complete traditions; a few symbols probably tracing their lineage to a pop-occult version of Hebrew a ka Kabbalah, pictographs and characters from Appalachian Braucherei or 'granny witchcraft,' some from half-remembered Christian traditions, and even some from the broad, diasporic Afro-Caribbean Obeah. Those could all, deniably, be something that the people here might have knowledge of, maybe--but there are some symbols, from some traditions, that grow increasingly implausible--medieval Aramaic? Rosicrucianism? Even some from indigenous North American traditions that would have come from people halfway across the country from here. Two Demon Marshals are posted outside the front gate, their hair (or lack thereof) mostly hidden beneath standard-issue wide-brim hats like the one in Calvin's uniform. One is a short, bald pale man built like a bulldog and a slim woman with sepia brown skin and black curls, who stands maybe a head taller. Their demon partners, as well as the battery-powered, magically-etched klaxon horn on a post near the gate, convey their purpose here--containment. Each demon is the same: stocky canines with bulging eyes, almost human teeth set foreboding grimaces, with yellow pelts and green manes like waterfalls of jade--foo lions, or perhaps their Okinawan offshoots, shisa. Each Marshal also holds a shotgun--differing models, but each undoubtedly to aid in that quietly stated purpose. The woman--Marshal Fernandez--opens the front gate for you with a cordial smile. Even those without magical senses feel the hairs at the back of the neck stand briefly on end, passing through the fence. Those with them find that it's an ablative barrier comprised of countless redundancies, the idea being that breaking through all of them would give any responders more than enough time to get here, even for something powerful enough to warrant extra Marshals. For the particularly acute, something else lies, hidden amidst layer after obnoxious layer of metaphorical shingles; the magical equivalent of a stinkbomb or inksplatter, designed to leave a lasting, traceable mark on anything that breaks free. The building itself is a cross between a tent and a southern evangelical church; its profile resembles the latter, with a broad base, a 'roof' at a slight incline and a small steeple with a homely scrap-metal bell. The 'roof' stretches all the way down to the ground, not a permanent thing but a collection of layered, stitched leathers, held to the ground with cord fed through looped stakes--and in the case of the steeple, held to rings pierced through the leathers beneath its peak. 'Walls' are wooden posts set flush with one another, while the 'front door' is a leather curtain draped over a gap, both inscribed with that same magical pidgin--though these ones seem by volume to be half-containment, half energy management and direction.
Calvin Nash	Inside... It's dark, hence the name--light only filters in from the steeple above, and from dim, kludged-together mason-jar-and-filament light bulbs. These, and the aged Hammond organ at the back, are hooked up to a growling generator with some kind of scrapmetal aftermarket modification bashed into the spot where its fuel tank would go, wrapped around the frame like a geometric metal growth. What would otherwise be a great way to get carbon monoxide poisoning isn't producing any smoke or even the smell of gas, but a thin purple vapor that settles into an ominous white fog which settles at the floor of the Tabernacle. Rising slightly above the fog is a wooden platform, with four great wooden discs elevating maybe two inches above it--each one sporting a ring of symbols which the magically aware can glean as the focal point of all the energy-directing glyphs, but even the completely tuned-out can probably guess is where the magic happens. Folding wooden chairs have been set up for you, presumably either by Calvin, who waves as you come in, or by the pastor, who smiles at you from behind the organ as he works the keys. It's actually a little hot in here, owing to the leather--and so there are some fans made from woven palm fonds supplied on your chairs. "How y'all doin'?" asks the pastor in a reedy, cigarette-accustomed tenor, from behind the organ and a pair of coke-bottle glasses on salvaged frames. Even now, the magically-aware can sense a transfer of energy--one of the simplest but most available kinds, emotional energy. His playing conjures it, the atmosphere providing a steady trickle, and all of it condenses into those discs, likely to be used for the operations which go on here. Beside him, easily with in arm's reach, is the rope for the bell above. Rather than a means of community connection or of service, it's a means to warn and communicate with the Marshals outside. His expressive playing darts back and forth effortlessly between gospel and a concerto as one might hear in a cathedral, both and neither as he needs it to be, a master of the instrument. The beads of sweat on his umber brown brow, pooling beneath a head close-cut grey hair, don't bother him at all. Behind and to his right, a familiar sight from the bar, the blonde drummer girl, sat behind her salvaged and mismatched drumset. Compared to the pastor's stitched up and moth-embattled black clerical garb and collar, she's in a time-worn white dress shirt, tucked into blue jeans, the best the post-apocalypse can do for Tuesday service. "Calvin told me Ms. Cadrasteia was looking for an expert. I been working this organ since his momma had this place built in 2011, so I figure I fit the bill," he says, flashing a gap-toothed smile. "Yes sir," Calvin asserts. He's proud to know the pastor. "I'm pastor Fred Jackson," he says, leaning forward to emphasize a key press. "But you all can call me anything you want, 'cept 'late for dinner.' Heh heh!" Pastor Jackson stifles a cough. "And that young lady there behind me is Ms. Tiffany McElwain." "Hey," says Tiffany shyly with a little wave. "Now, it was Ms. Cadrasteia's idea to have this little meeting, so she ought to get first pick at the questions, but y'all just go on 'head after her and I'll give it to you straight. I even borrowed the blackboard from the schoolhouse," he says proudly. Calvin indicates it with a sweep of his hand.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine arrives hauling a large duffel bag that clanks and rustles as she walks. She is not altogether pleased to discover there's a ten-minute walk ahead of her, but does her best to soldier through with minimal grumbling. If asked ahead of time what's inside, she offers the enigmatic answer of "MCRD doodads", and an inspection by the Demon Marshals at the entrance to the Shadowed Tabernacle confirms this - all manner of esoteric devices both magical and technological, from dowsing rods to spirit boxes to Geiger counters. Tools of the trade for a tracker of all which goes bump in the night. There must be upwards of forty pounds of equipment in that bag, a lot for someone with Madeleine's frame to carry. The huntress walks through the magical boundary of the Tabernacle without a flinch, but Drogrung's head sparks and fizzles at the threshold. "Should I leave this outside?" she asks Calvin. "It's an unholy artifact, don't want to set off the alarms." Once the matter of the anathemic weapon is resolved she enters, setting down her duffel next to one of the seats. Once the gear is off her shoulders she walks up to the organ and offers a hand. "Thank you for receiving us, Reverend. As Marshal Nash may have informed you I represent a multiversal agency for the study and betterment of unusual forms of life, such as these demons I've seen and heard so much about on your world. What is it that you do here at the Tabernacle? For humans, and for demons."
Sarracenia	You want a spoiled princess to -walk- for ten minutes?! Once Sarra found out where the tabernacle was...she called in her VTOL. She could probably have called for a car, but then she wouldn't be able to drive it! So, as others walk to the tabernacle they will hear the roar of twin rotors as the osprey-like Dyna comes flying in. The sleek wooden aircraft lands gracefully in that field and the side door opens to let Sarracenia out. She has once again gone country. Red jean vest and skirt, long sleeve white button up blouse, black gloves, red and black candy cane striped leggings, and black Bullet Bill cowboy boots. Calvin liked the boots so of course she is going to wear them again! She ditched the cowboy hat crown this time and just has on her regular crown along with the shiny rust red lotus in her hair. Sarra's interest in demons is only minor at best. Calvin is just a fun time even if his mouth is a bit...unpredictable. She shivers at the feeling of the hairs on her neck raising and looks around a bit uneasily. The guards and odd dog things do not really help matters. Sarra has no magical senses at all, so the barrier is completely lost on her as are any other feelings the magics might produce. But, once inside everyone is friendly. Sarra looks around at the architecture in curiousity before smiling to Calvin, Pastor Fred, and Tiffany. She curtseys in a manner much too proper for someone in country clothes. "Hello! I am Princess Sarracenia Sundew, Crown Princess of the Sundew Kingdom. It is a pleasure to meet you!" she says...trying hard not to stare at the gap-toothed smile of the pastor. She looks at Tiffany instead. "I enjoyed your playing during the celebration! The band sounded quite good, especially for a bar band!" Sarra lets Madeleine ask the first question as requested, but as soon as Maddie has asked one Sarra quickly adds in, "Are the demons of this world immortal?"
Khosa	Khosa had expressed interest in closer connections with the Ossabaw Island group - especially after they voted in favour of the Commonwealth - so perhaps it's no surprise at all that she took the opportunity to come along to something like this. She would have anyway though. She's curious! As summer starts to wind down, Khosa is starting to notice the weather more. It was never what she would consider hot, really, but it's increasingly less so, and not just here - other places she's been in the multiverse too. She's put it down to their sun being so small. The refreshing air doesn't bother her (yet; wait until winter) but it's definitely hit her radar. She makes the trip from the city pretty quickly, having long legs and a tendency to walk fast (an annoying one, if anyone sticks with her, because it leads to the dance of her pulling ahead, remembering there are other people, and slowing down, only to repeat it in a minute or two) but not without taking a look around curiously. "You want me to carry that?" she asks Maddie, a couple minutes in. Forty pounds won't slow her down, even if it is big and clanking. She'll even be careful with it. Khosa recognizes almost none of the symbols on the fence but can tell there's something there, even if she can't pick it apart - it's not the same sort of thing as the psionic power she's most attuned to, and though she knows a fair amount about magic for a non-practitioner, she lacks the ability to pick apart and locate the hidden parts of the spells. She focuses on the people instead: "Hey again," she says, remembering the woman at least from before. The construction, at least, is familiar to her. Leather and a framework. It feels homey in a way a lot of the world here doesn't, and she ducks in without concern, habitually stooping through the door even when it isn't necessary. Inside... Khosa can see fine despite the dimness, having the kind of stereotypical dwarven vision that means she can get along in dim light. She steps in, steps out of the way for other people entering, and frowns thoughtfully at the fog swirling around her feet. She's not sure she likes that. She gives Calvin a grin, given the last time she saw him they were getting cheerfully drunk, and the pastor a more polite nod. "Hello!" Khosa pauses a moment, clears her throat, and tries for a more respectful and less booming, "Hello. I'm Khosa, from the Free City of Tyr. Khosa's fine," because her Tyrian title doesn't mean much here and she doesn't feel like using her Paladins title if Calvin isn't. While the arcane symbols may not have been familiar to Khosa, the use of emotional energy is, and it's close enough to psychic that she can feel it; she looks thoughtful for a moment as she looks between the Pastor, Tiffany, and Calvin. "In that case, I'll hold off on quizzing, though I do see a couple I'll want to ask," with another one of those open smiles.
Rita Ma	Ash-dulled sunlight is warmly familiar. The volcanic eruption on Rita's world still casts its pleasant pall, too. She dresses warm by habit: unusually casual sweatshirt and skirt with leggings, all set off by the splash of that shoelace-thin hair ribbon. Casual doesn't suit her well. Maybe it's good that she's getting practice in it. "You want me to carry that?" "Or me!" says delicate-framed Rita, eager to be helpful. Bugs stay away from Rita. The dogs bother her more. Her face tightens uneasily when she sees them, but she waves anyway- are they 'people', too?- and then smiles and waves more sincerely at the Marshals themselves. "Thank you!" she says to Fernandez, which might mean either 'for opening the door' or 'for doing this job'. A little gasp immediately escapes her inside, both for the magical prickling and the general atmosphere. Rita tries kicking up a prominenence of the fog to see how it'll stir, and then slips in. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Fred, Ms. Tiffany. I like being invited here for little things like this. It feels really..." Her eyes pleasantly wander. They slide in the direction of Calvin, but don't linger on him. "Neighborly." She rolls a thought around in her head for a moment while Madeleine speaks. Finally: "Mr. Fred, I've heard a lot of reasons why demons and humans want to work together. But it seems like you need a lot of protection here. What reasons do they have not to?"
Calvin Nash	Should I leave this outside? It's an unholy artifact, don't want to set off the alarms. "It'll be aight," Calvin says, with a shake of his head. "It's a little complicated, but this ain't a house of God even if it looks a lot like one." --- Pastor Fred's introductions are made; he's a genuinely warm old man, glad to meet everyone even though he has no way of knowing whether any of you will be back, in that characteristically small-town kind of way. "Ms. Khosa," says the old pastor, "A little birdie told me you're liable to break a record with that ol' bull at the Last Resort. You got a history in rodeo, or just know your way around a saddle?" Calvin gives her a thumbs-up. What is it that you do here at the Tabernacle? For humans, and for demons. "See that there?" asks Pastor Fred, nodding to the central platform. "I give it the juice it needs for compendium summoning--so a Marshal or, otherwise, somebody with a COMP comes by with an entry for a demon. Long as you got it recorded in your COMP from having known a demon before, you can summon it here without much magnetite." Calvin steps promptly over to the chalkboard and writes MAGNETITE -- Psychofarofaric Iron. "Um, Marshal Nash, that's not how you spell it," says Tiffany. "Oh. Well." Calvin pauses as if his brain were running on an ancient hard drive disk. "Yeah. It's F-E-R-R. Not F-A-R." "Got it," says Calvin, smudging out and correcting the mistake. "Now, fusions, especially with three demons, those take more than I can work up just by doodling around like this here," Pastor Fred continues. "So I have Tiffany here for that. Sometimes for the tough customers, the ones where they won't show if the moon ain't right, we gotta get a whole ensemble." "By the way--whereabouts you from, Ms. Cadrasteia?" asks Pastor Fred, his grey brows rising in polite curiosity. "I never seen somebody with eyes like yours. Same place as Khosa, there, or someplace different?" I enjoyed your playing during the celebration! The band sounded quite good, especially for a bar band! "Thanks, haha," Tiffany says, laughing nervously out of habit. "It took a lot of work to get there. ...My mom was a good teacher." Are the demons of this world immortal? "Now that's an interesting question, Princess," says Pastor Fred with a nod of his wrinkled head. "They won't never die of old age, but they can die. Sorta." He smirks. "See... every demon, whether it's a little fella like Jack that works the bar with Charlene, or those big ol' shisa outside, is made of the same stuff. Sure," he says, his shoulders lifting in a shrug as he shifts from an almost Handelian hymn to a bluesy jog up and down the keys, "Some bleed, have bones, guts, whatever. But they all come from the same place, and whatever skin or bones or guts they might have, all that is... It's a shell," he decides on. "Like a wrapper, for emotional energy." "When a demon don't have enough magnetite to stay on Earth, or when somebody or something breaks open the wrapper too much, all that energy goes back to the Expanse, until it can come back here. The stronger that 'shell' is, the harder it is for that energy to come back on its own in the same shape, and the longer it's gonna take." "Which is part of why a place like this works," he adds. Mr. Fred, I've heard a lot of reasons why demons and humans want to work together. But it seems like you need a lot of protection here. What reasons do they have not to? The pastor nods sagely. "If you was to meet one out in the wild," his hoary tenor begins, "They might see all that magnetite in you and decide to take it from you however they feel like it. Some of 'em might see the... shape of it, and decide they just plumb don't like you. Calvin?"
Calvin Nash	Calvin nods, wiping off the MAGNETITE explanation. In its place, he creates three columns, each with a brief explanation: LAW (serve/allied with Yehovah) NEUTRAL (Depends/no allegiance) CHAOS (serve/allied with Lucifer) Three lines are then drawn to separate each column. "Demons are grouped up into families, based on, ah, the sorta... role, they serve, in human culture," Calvin explains. "Here's what we've been able to pick out, so far. Over here..." Under LAW, Calvin writes: HERALD, ENTITY, DEITY, VILE, AVIAN, GOD/GODDESS, HEAVENLY GOD, RAPTOR, DIVINE, MYSTIC BIRD, and YOMA "God's folks. Now each one of these families has a heap of individual members. For instance, 'Yoma' would have both Dis, your rank-and-file Norse goddess, but Mercury and Loa, too, on account of they all tend to be messengers." "All them families tend to cleave to party lines--so if you get caught in the wrong neighborhood, so to speak, that could be a reason you get got just as much as some of the more... amoral types looking for a quick buck, or just... bein' what they are. For instance, it ain't no secret that vampires are after blood, or that Bigfoot's out in the woods. You let one catch the whiff of blood or stumble into the other's living room, you're 'bout to have a fight on your hands." NEUTRAL has REAPER, BEAST, HOLY BEAST, FAIRY, ELEMENTAL, EARTH ELEMENTAL, DEMIGOD, WILDER, DRAGON KING, NOCTURNE, AVATAR and FIEND. FIEND has an asterisk. "These families here and the fellas in Lucifer's camp-- CHAOS has FOUL, BRUTE, HAUNT, DRAGON, DRAKE, FALLEN, FEMME, LADY, NATION RULER, FIERCE GOD, DESTROYER, and TYRANT. "--can be a toss-up, whether you're gonna get left alone, beaten, eaten, or--" "Calvin," Pastor Fred gently chides and shoots Calvin a warning glance, eyes narrowed through cokebottle glasses. "Or... a real nice evening," Calvin says, censoring himself. Pastor Fred, mollified, nods. "And those... allegiances don't go away just 'cause we summon 'em here, Ms. Rita. Like us humans, demons can tell when you're full of it. If a demon don't think it's gonna get along with its summoner, if it thinks the summoner ain't worthy or don't respect it, or even if it thinks it can get away with breaking the contract, sometimes it tries to jump the fence, so to speak." "It don't happen often," says the pastor. "But my daddy worked a lumber mill. He used to say 'safety rules are written in blood.'"
Madeleine Cadrasteia	"By the way--whereabouts you from, Ms. Cadrasteia? I never seen somebody with eyes like yours. Same place as Khosa, there, or someplace different?" Madeleine smiles at the compliment. "Someplace different," she says, a note of pride in her voice. "A far and sunless land. Not unknown to your scripture - Matthew 24:29, I believe?" Her voice carries the air of someone who not only believes she's correct, but knows; Excrucians are (perhaps predictably) fond of eschatological scripture. Between this and her asking about the spear she's being quite brazen about her nature, to anyone who recognizes the quote. Maybe she considers it a social advantage, in a land where gods and demons walk among men. A moment later she lets out a coy chuckle, in a way that's obviously an affect. "But you have nothing to fear from me. My days as a Rider are behind me." "You mention 'fusion'. Is this a temporary combination, or is the process irreversible? Do they retain their selfhoods or minds in the fusion?" "Whatever skin or bones or guts they might have, all that is... It's a shell. Like a wrapper, for emotional energy." Madeleine nods along with the explanation, her eyes widening a little in comprehension. "You know, the more I think about it," she muses aloud, "the more I sound like something closer to demon than man. Just don't put me in one of those computers of yours," she says with a smirk. "Of course, my home isn't the Expanse, and that may be the crux of what makes a demon a demon." As Calvin explains the families of demons, Madeleine perks up at the mention of Bigfoot. "So you do have cryptids here, and they're types of demons? Fascinating. I'll have to run some of this equipment by you, figure out which bits will and won't work." She gestures to the duffel bag. "Maybe I should even get my own COMP, at least for informational purposes..."
Sarracenia	As others arrive Sarra offers a wave to them. "Khosa! And Miss Rita! Good to see you!" she says cheerfully. Sarracenia takes a seat and crosses her legs at the knee as what seems like some kind of demon lecture starts up. She starts to fan herself using one of those fans, then mmphs softly and pulls out an ice flower. She gives it a squeeze and in a puff of smoke her outfit goes from red to icy blue. She starts waving the fan again, but as she does frost forms along it. "Aaah...much better~" she says as she fans an icy breeze over herself (and anyone nearby). Calvin having to be chided causes Sarra some confusion, but she isn't as completely naive as she used to be and so ends up blushing eventually. As she hears about the status of demon immortality in this world she frowns lightly and sighs softly. "No, that is not quite what I am looking for..." she says, disappointed. She looks over the categories and the creatures listed within. "It seems somewhat random which creatures are in which category. Like...why is a dragon a chaos creature and a dragon king is a neutral creature?" she asks, then hmms and peers. "And...why are there two words for women in the chaos column?" she adds, perhaps thinking there is some discrimination going on here and not appreciating being included in the category with Destroyer and Tyrant. She is surprised at Madeleine's use of what Sarra is fairly certain is a holy book. Of course, the princess has never read it. "You carry an unholy relic and know holy words?" she asks. It makes sense when you think about it. But, Sarra doesn't often think about things before saying them.
Khosa	Rita offering surprises Khosa because she doesn't look like she'd be any better at carrying than Madeleine is in the first place. "You sure?" she asks, but doesn't object beyond that - if Rita thinks she can carry it, she knows better than Khosa does. As for Sarracenia, she stays out of her way. The VTOL stunt did not impress her, apparently, even though the sound of it landing certainly got her attention. Khosa is surprised that the Pastor knew about her rodeo, and looks slightly sheepish. "I've never done it as a sport or anything," she says, "but at home we've got a couple kinds of herd animals you can wrangle like that. One looks a bit like the bull, actually, except with a hump behind the shoulders and a different shaped head, and kinda squat. The other's a scaled bird, but it can't fly, just kind of jump; they get as tall as I am, or taller, when the neck's raised. If you have something like that here, I haven't seen one." She glances toward Madeleine. "Nah, she's not from the same place as me. We don't have many people out and about yet. I'd like to change that, and it looks like we'll be opening up a bit more soon, but right now they're trying to keep people out. If only because the warpgate's in a real awkward place." Khosa leaves it at that, though she does grin. "You can tell we're not from the same place because nobody would describe Athas as sunless." Khosa does not recognize scripture, either. "Well, you beat me to some of the questions. It's in iron, though? All iron, or just this kind?" Khosa likes to move when she thinks so she starts to pace, realizes she's doing it, and stops with an effort. "And you said it's in people, too." Khosa looks at the family chart. She memorizes it, though it's not obvious aside from a moment's intense regard; the slight mental stomp is all internal, pushing it beneath her conscious thought until she needs it later. (It's a useful trick.) "But I guess the attitudes mean, if they do like what they see, they can make a deal," Khosa says, thoughtfully. "That makes sense. Not used to thinking about pulling things in like that from elsewhere - what'd you call it, the Expanse?" That's affected; she knows perfectly well what they called it. "But I get it. Building a body out of mental energy - I get that too. That's how some shapers make mental constructs physical, though that's not calling someone in. And how elementals work, obviously." She nods toward the ELEMENTAL line on the board - "Hey, you put Earth Elemental on here separately. Are they different?" She was going to ask about the fusion, but hey! She doesn't have to if someone else already did. Instead, to Sarracenia, she says, "It's probably not literally ladies or nation rulers or whatever. Not every tyrant's going to be, you know, their kind of demon."
Rita Ma	"You sure?" "Mmm! I can..." Rita realizes there is no good gesture to indicate 'super-strength', and sort of awkwwardly opens and closes her hand a couple of times, which she parlays into pretending like she meant to wave to Sarracenia this whole time. "... Well, they don't have me here for magic or being smart," she says a moment later, after awkwardly settling into a smile. Some of 'em might see the... shape of it Rita guiltily tenses, a little. "What about my shape?" she says anxiously, like any body-shamed twenty-year-old might. "... Oh. In general." She feels a little stupid, and a little relieved, and smiles while staring at the floor and fidgeting with her sweater. it ain't no secret that vampires are after blood "Everyone's always talking about them, but I don't think I've ever seen a real vampire," Rita murmurs, mostly in Maddie's direction. When Calvin starts to scratch and scribble on the board, Rita sits down in the fog nearish Sarra, one knee drawn up against her chest and arms crossed pleasantly over it. The cold breeze makes her shiver a little, despite her warm-looking clothes, but she doesn't complain. "--can be a toss-up, whether you're gonna get left alone, beaten, eaten, or--" "Mr. Calvin?" Her innocence inspires dread. But this time, it's a perfectly normal question: "Do you mean all demons are unpredictable? Or do you mean different kinds of demons do different things?" When Fred talks about jumping the fence, Rita sponges it up, utterly attentive. Only at the end does a meditative, slightly-skeptical sombreness fall over her. Squishing her cheek against her knee, she looks up at the light filtering in from the steeple. "There's danger in any relationship where people can't understand each other. And people almost always understand 'monsters' less than they think they do. In other worlds, when people try to harness monsters like this, it never goes well. Demons don't sound easy to understand. ... But I guess you have a whole culture of practice at it." A minute later, she looks awed, as if she's just spotted an exotic animal. "I didn't know you were Christian, Ms. Madeleine."
Calvin Nash	I'd like to change that, and it looks like we'll be opening up a bit more soon, but right now they're trying to keep people out. If only because the warpgate's in a real awkward place. Pastor Fred nods sympathetically. "I figure I get that," he muses. "If Captain Carrow hadn't built the one on the island--if it'd just showed up one day, I bet people 'round here'd be a little nervous, too. Give 'em time, though. You give 'em the chance, people will surprise you with how welcoming they can be." It's in iron, though? All iron, or just this kind? "Just this kind," says Pastor Fred. He motions to Calvin. Calvin procures a chunk of it--psychoferroferric iron, coalescing in his palm from a misty purple vapor, and hands it to Khosa for inspection. It resembles magnetite, if Khosa or anyone else has seen it before, with an almost identical crystalline sort of structure. It scratches and cleaves similarly, too, should she have the means on hand to gauge either. But where it diverges is the way it's like holding emotional potential energy in the hand; that, she's distinctly qualified to discern. "You could dig a shaft from here to India and not find none," says Pastor Fred. "But humans generate it naturally, and you'll find big deposits wherever lots of strong emotions were felt. Dance halls, concert venues, stadiums, churches..." Hey, you put Earth Elemental on here separately. Are they different? Calvin nods. "Elementals are..." His brow furrows. "You don't encounter them a whole lot in the wild." "We use 'em to shift demons around within the same family, instead of making something entirely new," explains Pastor Fred, sensing Calvin's lexical gap. "They're building blocks, for fusion and prolly for some other stuff besides. Sorta like how lots of people way, way back, had all these ideas about what the world, or people, were made of. They don't really got much in the way of personality. Earth Elementals are different." "They're the kind of thing you might could stumble into in the backcountry," the old man continues, punctuating the sentence with an entertainingly haunting suspended chord. "But not cryptids necessarily. Stuff with more of a connection to nature or the deep places of the earth. Gnomes, kodama, dwarves." A far and sunless land. Not unknown to your scripture - Matthew 24:29, I believe? But you have nothing to fear from me. My days as a Rider are behind me. "That land was here, not too long before we Unified," says Pastor Fred with politely hidden unease. Not at Madeleine herself--rather at the recency of the portent. "Trumpeter blocked out the sun until a posse came up on him. Funny thing," he says, tugging at his clerical collar. "How something can be as real as the air you and me are breathing, but lose any belief you put into it. In a lotta ways, that's kinda what the Assembly came from." "Anyway... when you're done here, Madeleine, you might see if Gina's old partner Whitey's in town. He never did find his Rider--or maybe he did, in Gina. You two could prolly share some stories." "Whitey's good people," Calvin nods. "Known him since I was a youngin'." "Seems like yesterday you were riding him 'round the island," Pastor Fred warmly reminisces.
Calvin Nash	Do you mean all demons are unpredictable? Or do you mean different kinds of demons do different things? "The second," says Calvin. "That's why it's so important for us to keep our COMPs updated--knowledge is power." Demons don't sound easy to understand. ... But I guess you have a whole culture of practice at it. "Ol' Luke's been playing guitar since he was thirteen," muses Pastor Fred. "And he's about five years older'n me. When he talks 'bout this chord or that, people listen, by God. His fingers work them strings and these days it's his knuckles that complain, more'n the fingers." He chuckles. "I couldn't never do that," he says. "Tried it once, when I was sixteen. Those strings hurt, now. But, you can get used to anything, if you put in that practice. What's practicing something, but making peace with a little aches and pains, now and again?" He sighs wistfully. "For the stronger ones, the prouder ones, and the meaner ones--we've learned to have more people on call." The culture of practice wasn't had without its 'aches and pains.' You mention 'fusion'. Is this a temporary combination, or is the process irreversible? Do they retain their selfhoods or minds in the fusion? "It's permanent," says Pastor Fred. "Doesn't even need both parties to be demons--just one. Whitey was a regular horse before he was what he is now. They keep a little memories and feelings from each part, but the parts come together to make something new." Of course, my home isn't the Expanse, and that may be the crux of what makes a demon a demon. The pastor nods, taking a momentary break from his playing, hands folded in his lap. "It is," he says. "Demons, even the ones that used to be people, come from the Expanse. Say a zombie, for example--that happens when a person's emotional energy goes to the Expanse, comes back from the other side and decides to use their old body as a vessel. Even though the body is the same, it ain't really what keeps everything moving no more." So you do have cryptids here, and they're types of demons? Calvin nods, thumbs looped through his belt, chest puffed out--proud to give an authoritative answer on something. "Yes ma'am, we sure do. Most of your 'cryptid' types are in the Wilder family. We've had Mothman sightings up and down the ol' highways for years, now, but nobody's managed to keep his attention long 'nuff to contract with 'im. Pastor Fred here also gives folks the qualification exams for using a COMP, so it won't be no trouble getting you one. Sounds like you already got a lotta the knowledge whatnots covered, and I seen you fight my own self." Like...why is a dragon a chaos creature and a dragon king is a neutral creature? "Dragons mean different things to different parts of the world," says Pastor Fred. He's so pleased to be helping the younger generation that for a moment, he forgets. "Or... they did, anyway," he adds with a sigh. "'Dragons,' the family, those are usually the 'disaster' kind. The kind that'd hold a town hostage and ask for tribute, or that'd just be everybody's problem. They're with Lucifer because they want the same thing he does--total freedom, for them and for everybody else. Typhon, the father of monsters; the Tarrasque, the Wyvern, or Nidhoggr, the eater of the World Tree." "Dragon Kings, those're ones that held some kind of place of honor or coexistence with us, even if they could also give us a real hard time. Nagas, the rain and renewal god Yurlungur... Mizuchi, down by the lake," he adds with a smile, inclining his head in a certain direction to indicate 'the lake.' "So they're more liable to support a world for and by us, or at least... less likely to want the slate wiped completely clean."
Calvin Nash	"As for the ladies," he chuckles, smiling his disarming gap-toothed grin at her. "Well, 'Lady' is talking about your... mother goddesses, fertility goddesses, and wives to the real rambunctious god-fellas. We been thinking about reclassing it as 'Earth Mother,' on account of that. Parvati, Ishtar, Isis... I guess they threw in with Lucifer 'cause they figure their kids--us, roundabout--need the kind of... radical freedom he's preaching." "Femmes are man-eaters," Calvin adds in bluntly. "Or woman-eaters," he says, trying to be inclusive but just coming off as strange. "Some of them might be lesbians. I dunno. Not my business. The point is, they like to talk sweet, get you close and unguarded, and then..." He draws an index across his throat. "Sirens, Lamia... That sort. I guess something about a pretty lady that kills you speaks to folks." "They aren't the only lady demons," says Pastor Fred, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "Just the ones where them being a lady is central to what they are."
Madeleine Cadrasteia	"You carry an unholy relic and know holy words?" "I didn't know you were Christian, Ms. Madeleine." "I, uh," She pauses, stunned by the interpretations. "Nnnnnot really?" She glances nervously at Pastor Fred, anxious about pressing too hard on the whole 'accursed scourge of Creation and slayer of gods' angle. "Maybe we can talk about it later," she half-mumbles, slouching in her seat. "We've had Mothman sightings up and down the ol' highways for years, now, but nobody's managed to keep his attention long 'nuff to contract with 'im." Madeleine practically jumps to attention. "I can change that," she declares. "Can and will, if you'd let me. The first person to contract with your Mothman..." The stars in her eyes twinkle as they fall, which is probably just a trick of the light. "It's not the only one you've been trying to pin down though, I'd bet. You should send me a list sometime!" "Typhon, the father of monsters; the Tarrasque, the Wyvern, or Nidhoggr, the eater of the World Tree." The huntress practically glows with excitement at the list of famous reptilian terrors. "Been too long since I did in a dragon, you know. 'Course, if demons come back from the Expanse I reckon it's no more permanent than killing me, but still. That lot ever gives you trouble in the Assembly, you know who to call." She makes a little call-me gesture with her thumb and pinky finger.
Sarracenia	Sarra smiles more as Rita waves at her, even if the wave looks a little awkward.Even though Rita didn't say anything, Sarra looks toward her. "Oh, is it too cold?" she asks. "I love cold thanks to living in a tropical jungle with trees taller than my castle. Well...in moderate amounts, anyway." She angles the fan more away from Rita and more directly at herself. Then, a particular line catches her attention. "Wait...the chaos beings...just want freedom? I thought Lucifer was supposed to be some ultimate evil but all he actually wants is freedom?" she says. She frowns. "Maybe he and I should talk sometime...as often as I am made out to be evil..." she mutters. After a moment of thought though she adds, "Although...I suppose absolute unbridled freedom while good in theory means those who want to be free to do nefarious things also fall in that category." Khosa suggests the ladies are not literal, but as Fred talks it turns out it is pretty literal. Goddesses and wives and mothers. And then Calvin just bluntly adds in the femmes thing. Sarra huffs softly and makes a 'you see?' kind of motion at Khosa. "I suppose I cannot blame you all for categorizing them thusly, but it is still somewhat irksome." Sarra can just imagine a certain someone calling her a fallen chaos lady demon. Madeleine's eagerness to encounter otherworldly creatures is somewhat contagious, and even Sarra looks excited at seeing such wonderous creatures. "It would be amazing to encounter these creatures!" she agrees, then pauses a moment. "...I do not suppose...a unicorn is among these creatures somewhere? If you need a pure maiden, then..." She obviously means herself but does not want to just say that.
Khosa	Khosa seems to figure out what Rita means by it anyway, and nods. Super strength is understandable to her, after all - she's stronger than she looks, when she puts in the mental effort. (She just looks strong to begin with... and is, but no mul's going to wrestle a titan without a little help, and in her case said 'help' is psionic.) "I've never seen a vampire who drinks blood," Khosa chimes in, having picked up Rita's quiet words. "But I know of sand brides, who drink the moisture right out of people. Though I guess by the local classification, that'd be some kind of Femme." She's learning! "And I didn't mean that they weren't women, only that not all women counted." That to Sarracenia. "Pretty sure I'm not a Lady or a Femme." She gets a little antsy about 'dragons', the disaster kind; it looks like she's going to bristle, but Khosa forces herself to relax, and then she has magnetite to look at anyway. It's not a metal she recognizes, especially after Calvin apparently manifests it out of thin air. But she can feel the power in it. Khosa runs the ball of her thumb along it before digging in, notching it with her nail. "Damn! There's power even in this little bit." She's not sure she could use it, but she's not sure it would be too hard to figure out the trick, either. "Some psions can store their own mental energy in specially cut crystals. I wonder if you could use one of those. Especially if it's someone who draws power from high emotions. Usually nobody can get the energy out but the person who put it there, since it's - you need to think the same way as the person who put it there, and nobody really thinks exactly the same as anyone else. I've got one, even - I just didn't bring it." Circling back, she explains, "Our warpgate's in what we call Under-Tyr. We've had the city there for so long that mostly what it's built on by now is the older parts of the city. So, uh, little bit awkward given the kind of people - and things, sometimes - that live in Under-Tyr. Last I heard, they were trying to clear a path through one of the collapsed tunnels for a short way out." Madeleine seems like she's enjoying herself, at least. "You wanna talk to Mothman?" she asks, not having the cultural touchstone to hook 'Mothman' on. Or, for that matter, Christianity: "Is Christian a good thing?" she asides to Rita, since she brought it up.
Rita Ma	The story about practice and knuckles and aches leaves Rita smiling almost-nostalgically, and she doesn't press the topic further except to nod along agreeably. She's satisfied they know what they're doing, seems like. "I guess something about a pretty lady that kills you speaks to folks." Deeply uncontroversial statement. Rita doesn't even lower her eyes to remark on it. "Pretty sure I'm not a Lady or a Femme." "I think you're a 'gal', Ms. Khosa," Rita diagnoses. "Just the ones where them being a lady is central to what they are." "... but it is still somewhat irksome." "Is there a kind where 'being a guy is central to what they are?' Or is being a guy normal, and being a woman special?" Rita sounds rolling-it-around-in-her-head more than accusatory. If they're categorizing creatures that arise from mythology, maybe the fault's with mythology rather than the categorization, but still... Maybe 'brute'? No, but Ms. Nonon is definitely a 'brute'. Mmmm... Sliding her eyes over to regard Khosa, she taps her lips. "Under-Tyr... you mean, like monsters and things? If you need help, you could always ask us to pitch in. It sounds like that's in our interests too." As if they wouldn't do it anyway, but still. 'Is Christian a good thing' might floor anyone more normal than Rita, but Rita is Rita, so she doesn't know to be baffled by the question. She just seems happy to help! "It's a religious practice! I don't think it's a good thing or a bad thing. I've only met one or two Christians, but they both seemed really nice. They'll say names with numbers after them, like Jeong 44, and use 'Father' like a title. That's how you can tell." Eventually she brings her attention back around to the pastor: "Are there any common kinds of demons that almost always make trouble, Mr. Fred? Any we should look out for? I can make certain 'species' of monsters 'calmer', but it doesn't work as well if they're really strong or really different from each other."
Calvin Nash	So, uh, little bit awkward given the kind of people - and things, sometimes - that live in Under-Tyr. "A bad neighborhood," notes Pastor Fred. "Well, sometimes, things that look like bad news are actually good, and the other way 'round. Might be this here's y'all's chance to reach out to those people." Pastor Fred is an old man. The wrinkles in his face tell wordless stories; laugh lines, crow's feet, a brow accustomed both to the valleys of worry and consternation and to the mountains of joy and surprise. Madeleine's worry is seen, and gently handled. "Madeleine, sweetheart," he says, "I know what it looks like, all this, but I believe in God a lot less now than I did before he showed us what he thought of us. This," he says, tugging on his collar, "Means something awful different than it used to. And it took me a long time t'get to where I could wear it again--to where I could run this place, like Gina asked. You just make yourself at home, and don't worry yourself. I kept the parts that were important from those days. Here," he says, pressing a gnarled finger to his temple, "And here," he concludes, then pressing it to his heart. "There's nothing you could say here that I didn't ask my own self, oh, forty, fifty years ago." It's not the only one you've been trying to pin down though, I'd bet. You should send me a list sometime! "Reckon I might," says Calvin, lifting a hand from his beltloops to rub his chin thoughtfully. I thought Lucifer was supposed to be some ultimate evil but all he actually wants is freedom? "Not no more'n God's the ultimate good. He wants 'freedom' the same kinda way that an addict wants another hit, Princess." "Calvin," chides Pastor Fred. "That wasn't kind." "...An entire world of individuals," says Calvin, after a pause. "Every person their own little world--given what they need to be that world, left to float 'round with the others or go off how they like. Maybe that strikes you as mean, on my part. But God's 'Thousand Year Kingdom' is a purty idea, too. On paper." Although...I suppose absolute unbridled freedom while good in theory means those who want to be free to do nefarious things also fall in that category. "The devil's in the details," Pastor Fred wearily recites. "M-hm." "Lucifer knows that if you wanna change the world, you can only be so picky 'bout who you work with," concludes the pastor.
Calvin Nash	I suppose I cannot blame you all for categorizing them thusly, but it is still somewhat irksome. Is there a kind where 'being a guy is central to what they are?' Or is being a guy normal, and being a woman special? "There's some. And usually it's a bad thing. Like incubi. Valkyries and Dis ain't in the Femme or Lady family, even though all of them are women," notes Calvin. "Well..." begins Pastor Fred, chewing on the questions thoughtfully--literally, his jaw shifts as he turns the thoughts over. "I don't know if that's really the point Rita n' the Princess was making, Calvin. See, now, we're gettin' into... anthropology and sociology. My degree is in theology, but still. I feel like, at a certain point, we gotta come to terms with the fact that demons, whatever else they are--they're linked with us, somehow. It's our emotions that let 'em walk around in this world. It's our languages they talk in. I wonder, sometimes, if they ain't reflections of us, in a way. Things that we felt, or made up to make sense of something. Like Elementals." "Not everybody grows up with a momma, but having one at all, that's close enough to something everybody's got for government work. So you gonna have lots of motherhood deities. And so, if there's a demon or a family that gives you a weird feeling, it might just be that some people, somewhere in the world, had, well... weird feelings about women. I'll be the first person to tell you there's some... suspect stuff like that in the Bible." He removes his coke-bottle glasses and cleans them, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief before placing the glasses back on. "You know that Medusa was given the stone look?" he asks, brows raised. "By Athena. To keep her safe from a man that forced himself on her, Poseidon. I didn't know that 'till one of the Marshals contracted with her and brought her COMP by to upload the entry. Makes you look at the whole 'terrifying woman' thing different, don't it?" He pauses. "Don't really know where an incubus would fit into all of that. Maybe somebody over in Oklahoma would know," he shrugs. "Or maybe Director Moore." ...I do not suppose...a unicorn is among these creatures somewhere? If you need a pure maiden, then... "Yes ma'am," says Calvin. Are there any common kinds of demons that almost always make trouble, Mr. Fred? "More than you can shake a stick at," laughs Pastor Fred. "You'll have your hands full, Rita, but I can name a few. Slimes, oozes, zombies, pisaca, dragons, vampires... what else?" "Oni'll size you up and figure whether it'd be fun to pick a fight," says Calvin with what sounds like experience. "Gyuki. Nue. Patriots. Mm..." "Chatterskulls," offers Pastor Fred with a little finger-gun. "Chatterskulls! Damn nuisances. I tell you what, Rita," says Calvin, bobbing an index at her. "I'll take you patrolling sometime and you'c'n get some notches on your belt but quick. How'sat sound?"
Khosa	Khosa laughs. She tends toward loud and a bit booming. "I could be a gal. Though if that means something different out here I'll have to find out." She approves of feminist theory, though it didn't occur to her to be elsewhere; Athas is awfully primitive in a lot of ways, but gender inequality is not usually one of them. (Other forms of inequality, however...) Everybody's got a mother... Khosa isn't entirely sure that's true for her, but she bites her tongue rather than say so. She focuses on the Lucifer chat instead. "Freedom's all well and good. You can go overboard with the law, turn it into tyranny. We just had a fight about it at home. A rebellion," Khosa clarifies, "we overthrew a tyrant, and that's a good thing. But people don't handle absolute freedom all that well, yeah. Rules help. Even if it's rules like, 'say what you mean and do what you promise'." She glances at Rita. "You wanted to know if I was a Paladin? I am and that's why. I believe in the Free City, where we outlawed slavery, gave everybody a voice on council - there are merchants there now, and ex-slaves. Hell, there's me - I used to be a slave, just one so valuable I got treated like I wasn't one. Now I'm free, working right along noble Templars so that there's one law for everybody, not one where the nobles got to do most of what they wanted and the Tyrant got to do everything. We're not perfect but we're doing better and I want to do better than that. ...Sorry, that one got away from me a bit," she finishes, awkward suddenly from the change in tone. "Bringing that philosophy back in." A bad neighborhood? Khosa laughs. "Yeah, a bit. And also, you know, some of those buildings haven't had anyone fix them in a thousand years or more. If the whole street's a tunnel, and sometimes it is, some of the buildings could fall without anyone outside the street noticing. Nobody wants a visitor to make a wrong turn and get caught in a collapse. Or fall in a hole. Or try to dig out one of the old noble vaults and spring a trap or a curse or both. You get the idea." "It's not all monsters, but some of it is. I've been down there. I don't mean poor folks," Khosa adds, having read the thrust of the Pastor's argument. "It's criminals, slavers working out of sight now that that's banned, even undead. And weirder things, in the deeps. The gate's not real deep, at least - but the whole place is usually blocked off. That's why they're clearing a tunnel, I guess - so they don't have to open the rest of it all at once." "But," Khosa says, holding up one finger, "that's not the point. Mostly it's that nobody on Athas knew there was anything past the Grey but elemental planes, and so we don't want to spook anyone. Or have one of the other cities attack us to claim the gate, if they don't have one of their own. I've heard rumours one of them has shown up with things that aren't from Athas - but now I'm sidetracked, I want to learn about here." And she does. She rubs her thumb against the magnetite again. "Is this expensive?" she asks Calvin. "This little bit, I mean. I'd like to keep it to ask someone I know about it, but it sounded like it can be hard to get, and I know how precious metals can be." Which is easy to read as 'rare, like gold and silver', rather than as Khosa meant it: metals are precious. "So if it is, I'll work it off." She tilts her head toward Rita, with her offer. "With what she said. I can handle myself, too. But I don't know about the contracts as much... on the other hand, any oni that pick a fight with me are going to be a little bit surprised."
Sarracenia	'And I didn't mean that they weren't women, only that not all women counted.' "Well, certainly not all women count. It is just..." Pastor Fred speaks up on the matter, and Sarra gets a contemplative look. She also can't deny what Fred says about pretty ladies that kill speaking to folks. 'I think you're a 'gal', Ms. Khosa.' "A 'gal'?" Sarra is unfamiliar with that term. She isn't actually from Japan or America, after all. 'He wants 'freedom' the same kinda way that an addict wants another hit, Princess.' Sarra flinches at that and looks a bit insulted, as if Calvin is implying Sarra is close to being included in that. But, when he and the pastor agree with her other statement she relaxes again. They go on to say many deep things. The princess isn't that deep of a person. Or at least, doesn't think she is. She listens to it all and has a look like someone who has not considered such things before. Khosa talks about her world's revolution, and Sarra mmphs softly in annoyance. Not at Khosa directly, but at the 'not one where nobles got to do most of what they wanted'. She falls into that category most likely, though she does not think Khosa is thinking about that. But at least unicorns are confirmed! Sarra smiles happily at that, though slightly less so when her pure maiden status is not commented on. Does Calvin already have a low opinion of her? She looks at him, obviously wondering but not making it clear what she is wondering. Finally, she stands. "Well...if any of you need help fighting monsters - the bad kind," she adds since Rita is here. "...then you may call upon me, whether they are humans or not. I am one noble who fights for justice and happiness." she says, then turns to leave. "Thank you all for the meeting. It was quite informative." The princess has lots to think about. She sighs softly. "...I am going to need extra eye cream and my cooling sleep mask tonight..." Gotta fight those crows feet and such.
Rita Ma	Rita stands after a little while to walk around the tabernacle's ambit, tracing a hand respectfully along its walls to study the patterns. She's not educated enough to glean anything from them, but they look pretty! Sometimes her finger sketches the outlines. (It's okay, she doesn't have skin oil.) "An entire world of individuals..." "That sounds lonely," says Rita. "And kind of cruel. If you let people... a lot of the time, they'll choose to be more alone than really makes them happy. But I think I like the 'angels' even less. If monsters and humans can't understand each other, what's putting monsters in charge of humans going to do?" "some people, somewhere in the world, had, well... weird feelings about women." "I thought it might be like that," Rita says, but with her back turned her sadly knowing smile can't be seen. (She thinks back to the old days, of being the only girl she knew, and learning about what that meant from old magazines dredged up from the seafloor; and how her dad wouldn't let her see some of the magazines about women, and the suspicions that gave her even then.) "I'd never heard of 'incubi'." Her palm makes a soft susurration against the tabernacle wall; then she taps her fingers to the rhythm of the organ for a while. "But I know some people are scared of men, for one reason or another. Maybe that found a shape. ... I don't really know. I think the ways I'm scared of people aren't the same as the ways most people are." "You wanted to know if I was a Paladin?" "Mm?" Rita halfway turns around to look at Khosa. Then she warms into a familiar, nostalgic fondness as Khosa elaborates, with just a spike of surprise at 'used to be a slave'. "... That makes a lot of sense. And I'm happy for you, Ms. Khosa. And, I think, I'm not in the Paladins, because I want to make more places like your Free City too." Slimes, oozes, zombies, pisaca, dragons, vampires... That has her fully twisted around, hands clasped eagerly behind her back, and almost bobbing on her heels. "It sounds like there's a lot to be done! I'll have to talk out if you're alright with what I do, Mr. Calvin, but I think it'll be okay. Thank you for..." There aren't good words for what she'd like to express, so she trips for a second. "Thank you for being willing to let me help." Glance at Khosa. "To let us help."
Calvin Nash	It's criminals, slavers working out of sight now that that's banned, even undead. "I wouldn't wish that on no-body," says Pastor Fred wearily. The wind visibly leaves his sails. "This island here used to have... three plantations? Four?" "People that looked like me were kept as slaves, in the country this place used to part of. Some of the ones that lived through it were still alive as late as when I was born, in 1960--bombs fell in nineteen-ninety-four, if that tells you much." "I was lucky enough to be born outside of it," Pastor Fred continues. "Just not outside of what came after. When I was little, there was lots of talk of change, you know. And it did happen. It didn't come easy, and it damn sure didn't come peacefully. But eventually, after fighting, we got it--the same treatment as anbody else got. On paper." "Any of the black folks in the Assembly now, who lived before the bombs, could tell you there was serious problems with 'how fast' and 'for who.'" "This place's been home for me for a very long time, but not so long I don't remember what it was like. Growing up. Even as a grown man. People really thought they had it licked, you know." He shakes his head sadly. "But still, there we was, gettin' suspicious looks, when the news and TV and radio were doing some kinda victory lap. A person can never really know what that's like--to hear that kind of talk, and walk out of a bank with no loan or an interview with no job, in the same day." "I'd worry, with my wife, when our son'd go off to school or work. That he'd be pulled over, say the wrong thing and get shot, or else locked up and sent upstate to bust up rocks for ump'teen years, and we wouldn't see him without a window between us 'til he was already a man." His brown eyes seem to stare through the leather doorflap of the Tabernacle, distantly, looking somewhere, somewhen else. "Turns out it was the bombs got 'em both anyway." Fred chews on the next words, as he had when Rita and Sarracenia had prompted serious thought on the nature of demons. "There are times I think I feel it, or the ghost of it," he says. "That... nagging little urge, to make myself small. Like maybe I see it, in somebody's smile. Askin' me to dance. A little weed, growing next to that tree," he says, nodding towards the patch on Calvin's uniform. Calvin frowns. His thumbs fidget with his beltloops anxiously. A member of his community is speaking of a hurt he's never known and doesn't know how to fix. It bothers him, and Tiffany, too. "I sure hope there ain't no weed," Calvin offers anxiously. Pastor Fred sighs from his nose. "I do, too, Calvin. At least I got a lot more grounds to hope for that nowadays than I used to." His attention returns to Khosa. "If there's anything I can do for you, Ms. Khosa, a sympathetic ear, a hot meal, a roof in hard times, a good book to pass the time, you just come find me here."
Calvin Nash	Is this expensive? "No, uh-uh," says Calvin, quickly, assertively, shaking his head, visibly relieved to have something he can speak on with any semblance of authority. "Not a piece like that. A cell," he says, "Like what's in that generator, or the slates at the plant in Ada, that's a different story. You'c'n just have that, Khosa. Ain't gonna hurt nothin'." Any oni that pick a fight with me are going to be a little bit surprised. Well...if any of you need help fighting monsters - the bad kind - then you may call upon me, whether they are humans or not. "That's what I like to hear," says Calvin with a fervent nod and an amiable point. She's not educated enough to glean anything from them, but they look pretty! "Like those, do ya?" asks Pastor Fred, with renewed warmth and vim. "I think they're pretty, too. Whole community came together to make this place work. And what we didn't know, we got from demons. Those little pictures there, those're hieroglyphics from a fella named Thoth. Funny little guy." That sounds lonely, and kind of cruel. If you let people... a lot of the time, they'll choose to be more alone than really makes them happy. Calvin nods in quiet but fervent agreement. If he had a beer, it'd probably be lifted towards her. But I think I like the 'angels' even less. If monsters and humans can't understand each other, what's putting monsters in charge of humans going to do? "If you ask the angels," says Calvin with evident distaste, "It's 'cause humans need somebody leadin' 'em, even if it means they gotta give up everything to do it. That free will's a burden and the best way to deal with it's to let somebody who seems enough like they know what they're doing to take it mostly or all-the-way off your hands. And, that every bad thing that's ever happened to us, including the bombs, all that you can trace back to how bad we are at picking who oughta be in charge. So naturally, what we need is an all-knowing, all-powerful fella to come in and do it for us, since we showed 'im so many times how bad we use his gifts." He looks like he wants to spit. "It's a crock, is what it is." Calvin crosses his arms. "I'm happy it works for the people who like it, I 'spose. It ain't for me." His shoulders lift in a combative shrug. "Life goes on." Thank you for being willing to let me help. To let us help. He blinks, surprised, guard lowered. "Well." "Be kind of a dipshit if I stood in this here place that got built by lots of people coming together and told you to kick rocks, now wouldn't I?"