Re: On the rooftop: is the word/Hello
The man in leather was laughing at him. The Elder’s face flamed hot and he knew he was probably getting splotchy at the high points of his cheeks, and he also knew from experience that it’d probably get him laughed at even worse. Doors in his face. Whispers from the other Elders when they thought he couldn’t hear them, calling him a sinner. Praying for his soul. How did they all seem to know what was really in his heart? Horrified, the Elder felt the warm pressure of tears welling up in his eyes. He shoved one hand in his pocket, the one that wasn’t pressed to his chest, and curled his fingers into his palm in a fist until it hurt. It gave him something to focus on besides the ponderous weight of his shame.
“Afraid what’s going to escape?” He asked, blinking back his confusion as he twisted his fingers in his tie. Pretending that he’d only been trying to adjust the knot where it nestled against the base of his throat. You guyses. The Elder’s eyes narrowed as he wondered why the man threw in the possessive apostrophe for no reason. Like he was in a cheesy heist movie, or something equally strange. “Crowd? Do you mean Catholics?”
Somewhere in the back of the Elder’s mind, there flickered the thought that he was not supposed to be here. It came in a voice he didn’t recognize and disappeared just as quick as it had come. The Elder’s gaze narrowed in on the curl of hair that sat against the man’s brow, instead of staring down at the hand that felt like it was burning a hole in the weave of his best shirt.
“W-what the heck are pedal pushers?” He stammered, finally losing the battle and glancing down at the hand like he was afraid it might try to bite him. Whatever they were, he knew he sure wasn’t interested if it was the girls wearing them - and he was struck by a momentary panicked thought, that pedal pushers might mean something filthy. The Elder groaned under his breath and squeezed his eyes shut. “Not like a dump. Like a nightmare. A den of sin.”