🎵 𝄞 🎸 𝄫 🎷🎶 🎻 (jukejoint) wrote in repose, @ 2019-12-13 23:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, burden bell |
[Narrative.]
Who: Burden Bell
What: Some rogue-ing
Where: A gala in the Capital → Father Amos' church
When: Nowish / After Heaven rewinds his tiny life (in order to avoid a prophesy), and then 23 years until nowish.
Warnings/Rating/Stuff: None
Burden took his leave of the seminary dorm late that cold night. He had himself a warm smile and pale blue eyes that were real bright in the Capital's winter cold. It felt like flurries on the night air, and Burden stepped out into it and let himself think brief of warm days and sticky heat coating the skin and making freckles brighten on shoulders sun-browned. It was a blip of a thing, that memory, seeing as warmth and heat were clear across the country, and Burden couldn't so much as remember the taste of salt on his tongue these days. 'Specially not on nights like tonight, when Christmas felt like it was coming on too quick, rolling downhill and catching speed as it went. But it wasn't snowing yet, and Burden was dressed fitting for the event he was attending, and with a wool coat to keep out the chill. Father Amos had gotten him this invitation, and Burden knew better than to ask how. He'd just shined his shoes and hailed a cab, and he arrived with a throng of folks in nicer clothes and personally-chauffeured cars. The museum was big and festively decorated for the holidays, and the gala was sure to draw in a whole lot of money and flash, and it was the perfect place for acquiring some donations to the cause. See, Father Amos, he wasn't a traditional man of God, not by any means, and his projects weren't funded from tithing, not in the traditional way. Though, Burden, he liked to reckon this was its own type of tithing. These folks had plenty, after all, and they wouldn't miss some trinkets and large bills, 'specially not after a few flutes of holiday champagne. Inside, Burden mingled. He knew who to talk to, who would notice him and who wouldn't pay him no mind. It was a strange skill for a child of Jesus, but he wasn't a child of Jesus, not strictly speaking, and his sleight of hand had been learned in a place with traditions that went deeper and darker than anything practice 'neath a steeple and while kneeling. A few hours later, shirt slightly askew and hair mussed, he found himself outside, wool coat back on his shoulders, pockets real twinkling heavy. He walked out and waited for his cab like nothing, and he even smiled some at a couple passing by while he stood on the sidewalk. Folks inside, they might remember the young blond man in the suit, but there wasn't no reason any of them would think he'd been to the one to take their watches and jewels and wallets. There wasn't no reason to, since his smile was real angelic and no one would suspect him any. It was a good con, something that worked real regular, so long as he moved around 'nough to keep anyone from remembering him at every place things went missing. Burden, he'd take himself to Father Amos' church deep in the Red Light District, where homeless lived amid the pews of a building forgotten a whole long time ago by the diocese. There, he'd hand over his takings, and he'd suit up if Father Amos had something for him to do. And, most nights, Father Amos did have something for him to do, and Burden was glad of the distraction. Inside the cab, he rubbed at his chest, where his saint was pressed warm against pale skin and birdcage ribs. The ruby in the saint's goblet was scratchy, and it served as a reminder of who he was. Reminders, they were good sometimes, and Burden looked out the cab window and watched the city flash by, folks hunkering down in the cold and needing so much they didn't have. He didn't reckon what kind of merciful God made folks suffer how they did, and he didn't think it was Hell or some fallen angel's warring, neither. It was just living, and living was bones and hard times and folks being just damned awful to one 'nother. In his pockets, diamonds and emeralds and bills tangled up tight in his fists. Halfway in the wrong direction, he asked the cabbie to stop, and he climbed out in front of a real swanky apartment building. He waited for that cabbie to go on his way, and then Burden took to walking to the Red Light and the church awaiting him there. |