Re: log: flower delivery - ella g/mason j
No, he'd never blushed. What was there for him to be ashamed of? What hadn't he done, one time or another? "No fate for me," he said, but he was pensive. When she asked whether he really did think there was no such thing, he said, "God created us. Both of us, you and I. So we may have a fate, something there is no choice but to do." He turned to the piano and tapped a key, ran his fingers experimentally across the others, up from white to black in a stepped scale. "I choose to believe there is choice because I find I take a liking to the notion of it. But prove it, that I cannot do. And I choose not to amuse him by wondering whether every step in Creation is according to His plan." He tipped his head toward her. "It would make Him laugh," he said, informative.
She puzzled over the coin, and he watched her with fondness. "That's it," he said. In a place like this one, luck and protection sure looked the same. "Besides. You make your luck." She was a girl who could take care of herself. There were others of his songbirds who could not, and he hadn't chosen them for this, had he? The way she spoke to him didn't seem to ruffle his feathers in the least. He wasn't a potentate, or even much of a king, and he didn't demand outward displays of worship or obeisance, no hymns or long prayers, no standing up and sitting down, no oil or incense or words or tokens, no figures, icons, or pain. It was unspoken. Those who he felt needed reminding of his presence, yes, he did remind them. Ella was not one of those.
"Don't be too hard on Janus." It was likely true, though, that he didn't think much about her. "He doesn't know your tricks just yet." The newspaper editor. She was hovering on him - that was of interest, because the preacher did not like to not know anything. "Maybe I should talk with him. See if he has anything in his heart he might want to confess. What's that name?"
He didn't stand from the piano stool when she did, but he did turn back to her, away from the keys, looking up.
You like this.
Now, there was the reason he had looked for a soul with a spark of the unique. Did he pick his songbirds for beauty, for lust, for admiration of their talents? Or did he choose those strange ducks who he thought might, in some tiny way, fathom an understanding of something older than the conception of their beings?
"It's a warm old place," he said, of the church. "It's got good bones." As for secrets: "Can you keep one?"