DeShaun (ex_hammerdow169) wrote in thefield, @ 2009-01-29 19:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | alex, clay, z - 1st tribe - day 05 |
Rosaries and Rock-n-Roll
Who: Alex and Clay
Where: at the edge of the field
When: Week 1, Day 5, afternoon
What: Clay interrupts a private moment
Rated: PG for a wee bit of swearing
Clay's hangover had finally eased up, though, to his annoyance, the colors and shapes of everything around him still seemed off. And not just a little off, either. Grass was purple, and trees... Christ, he didn't have words in his vocabulary to even begin to describe the trees. The trees were just wrong, end of story. Feeling better in spite of the ominously weird landscape, he was ready to explore. He didn't have much hope of finding a way out of this craziness, but at least he could look around a bit.
He retraced the steps the group had taken this morning, coming in from the field. Reaching the edge of the clearing, he turned left and started along the perimeter, looking around cautiously. Clay had no sense of direction even at the best of times. He'd lived in Elmira almost all his life and still got lost outside his own neighborhood haunts. He had no intention of straying too far from the others, not just yet. It would be a hell of a thing if he lost his way and had to yell for help.
Clay hadn't gone far when he caught sight of another member of their little gang. Father Alan? Something like that. The priest. Clay had never met a priest before--Catholics were all going to hell, according to his Gran--but he'd known enough 'men of god' to be wary of bible-thumpers of any flavor. And this one was obviously a bible-thumper, there on his knees with a cross and all. Clay hesitated. He supposed he could just go back the other way, but it didn't seem entirely right to leave the guy out here by himself. Not while he was praying--the priest was vulnerable, kneeling there on the ground, not paying full attention to his surroundings, if he was paying attention at all. Which of course was his own damn fault, but still. It wouldn't hurt to hang around, make sure the guy got back all right. Clay briefly considered leaning up against a tree, then thought better of it and simply stood, arms folded across his bare chest.
After lunch, or at least what seemed like lunch time since there hadn't been much to be eaten, Alex had headed a little ways away, still close to their camp but far enough away for privacy. Somewhat arbitrarily, he knelt down in front of a tree, crossed himself and withdrew the rosary from his neck. Fingering the smooth beads he began with the Apostles creed, then began the Our Father, as was his custom, Alex said all his prayers in Latin. He knew them in English of course, but he had grown up using Latin in service and now led the Latin Mass at his church a few times a month. It was what he was more comfortable with. He didn't notice the boy behind him and so long as he did not interrupt needlessly, he did not mind being watched either. He was a priest, praying was something he did and he was not ashamed of it...though he had never prayed like this in such a strange place or while wearing his pajamas.
There was actually a certain amount of interest in watching a stranger pray. The cross wasn't just a cross, Clay saw, intrigued in spite of himself, it was beads, which the guy seemed to be ticking off one by one. There were a hell of a lot of them, but he seemed to be making good time. Either the prayers for each bead were short ones, or he was one hell of a fast talker. Clay wondered if he'd stay on his knees for the whole thing, or if he'd fall over like the holy rollers at his Gran's church. 'Slain in the spirit' was the term. Clay hoped not; watching that shit always left him feeling weird. Embarrassed, kind of, though he wasn't the one flailing on the ground with his eyes rolled back in his head. Stoic, he just shifted his weight from foot to foot every now and then, glancing around to make sure no one--or nothing--was sneaking up on the two of them.
Alex only prayed through the first five of the twenty mysteries that praying the rosary was supposed to reflect on. Normally they were said on specific days of the week, but given that he had no idea what day it was supposed to be here, Alex chose the Luminous Mysteries. They seemed the most fitting. When he was done, he crossed himself again and replaced the rosary around his neck. Wearing it as a necklace was not common, but it was not entirely uncommon either depending on the situation. He had no pockets or way to wear it at his waist. Standing, he stretched slowly, thankful that his knees were still good. Turning, he saw the young man watching him.
"Hello," he said cordially, "Did you wish to join me?" he could always do another set. There were plenty of mysteries they could reflect on.
Clay responded with a quick nod of greeting, frowning a little over the suggestion that he might want to join in the prayer meeting.
"Not much of a pray-er. You might not wanna wander off," he added, sounding a bit confrontational about it. "I mean, do what you want," he amended, "but who knows what might jump out at you while you're busy with your necklace, huh?" There, he'd done his civic duty. Clay shifted his weight again, finally unfolding his arms and taking a step or two along the path he'd mentally mapped out for himself. There wasn't any real path to follow that he could see, but he'd decided to walk along the edge of the field, and that was what he was going to do.
"I'm a walk this way a bit," he offered. "Can join me, if you want." Privately, Clay was pleased with that--turning the priest's invitation back at him. It wasn't often he came up with anything clever to say.
"Alright," Alex agreed, not pressing the issue of prayer. He was not in the habit of condemning people for their choices or pressuring them to do what he believed to be right. All he could do was make the offer or give guidance if requested and hope that others followed. "Though I did make sure there was nothing obvious in this area when I came here. Not that that would always protect me...but I am not sure it would matter if I'm praying or not if some wildebeest attacked," his accent clearly marked him as from Boston.
Pulling the rosary out from under his shirt, he held it up so the younger man could see it more closely, "It's a rosary. Prayer beads. Not a necklace. Normally I would keep it in a pocket or at my waist," he shrugged, it was obvious he had no other way to keep it, at least for the moment. "It's a way to keep a person on track when they pray. Each prayer is done a certain number of times in a specific order to match the beads."
Try and do a good deed, Clay thought sourly. He tuned out as the priest explained his security precautions, distracted by the accent. The rosary was interesting, if only for the implication that the prayers were the same every single time. That was different--no wonder the Old Lady hated Catholics. Then again, the church he'd grown up in might not repeat their prayers, but they had songs that were always the same. Monotonous.
"Different stokes, I guess," he said. "Where you from?" Clay's knowledge of geography was limited. He was pretty sure this guy was American, but definitely not from upstate New York. Definitely not from the South, either, he knew that much.
"Southie," Alex replied. At the younger man's confused look he amended it, "Boston. There's an area called Southie that's mostly Irish-Catholic, which always amused me since I ain't exactly Irish. Anyways, the accent's pretty distinctive and I can't hear it, but I know mine's thick. Don't much matter though since my church is there too. I fit right in," he could dampen the accent, but he didn't usually bother. "Father Alex Callahan. Don't think I caught your name..." he offered his hand.
Boston, now that he knew. Red Sox. Funny how a sports team could lodge a fact into his head that no amount of schooling could make stick in his thick skull. How the guy could be Irish, Catholic, but not exactly Irish made no sense, but then people rarely made much sense. Hell, they were in a place with purple grass. He supposed it didn't matter if the priest was Chinese. Actually, the guy seemed decent enough, for a bible-thumper.
"Clay Lindstrom," Clay gave the priest's hand a quick, firm shake. "From Elmira, New York." He glanced around at the oh-so-wrong trees. "Hell of a--Heck of a thing, huh?"
Alex had never heard of Elmira, but there were lots of little towns he had never heard of, "Indeed," he agreed, looking around as well. It was...definitely nothing he had ever dreamed of before, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," he quoted, leaving off the Toto part. Something told him that Clay would not appreciate that. "What did you do in Elmira then?" Alex asked, curious. Clay knew what he did already.
Clay was of the opinion that the entire situation was just an elaborate hallucination of some kind--maybe that bitch last night had drugged his drink or something--but he wasn't about to share that with Alex. With any luck, he'd wake up soon. Until then, he'd play along.
"Worked in a cheese factory," he said. Which was the truth, as far as it went. He really had worked at the Polly-Oh cheese factory for a couple of months, until a mouthy foreman had pushed him too far and he'd taken a punch at the asshole.
If it was a hallucination, it was a very detailed one. And Alex had been sober when he had fallen asleep. He thought this was a miracle...but not one he understood yet. "That sounds interesting," Alex knew nothing about how cheese was made. He liked that show, Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe, but he had missed the cheese making episode. "Do you like it?" he was still speaking in present tense, as if perhaps they might go home tomorrow or the next day and not be trapped here forever. He didn't like that idea at all.
"Smells bad. Pays okay," Clay summed up. He gave a shrug of one bare shoulder. "Not the worst job I've ever had." He too spoke in the present tense, simply because he most definitely did not want to discuss his spotty job history with the priest. Let the guy think he still worked the factory job. Who knew? Clay might be in a hospital bed right now, raving in delirium. Or more likely in the drunk tank. In reality, 'Father Alex' might be a cop.
He paused and looked out at the field. "Think if anyone slept the night out there, they'd go back?" There was logic in dreams, even weird fucked-up dreams. Maybe hallucinations had a similar logic.
"You mean the field?" Alex followed his gaze, "I...do not think you should try it. Helena said the Laughers eat people and I'd rather not preside over your funeral just yet," it didn't matter if the boy was Catholic or not, religious or not. If he died, he would have a funeral to the best of his abilities. "I much prefer weddings," everyone did, or Baptisms. Regardless, no one liked funerals, "And that would truly be a waste, to die here needlessly."
"I wanna see these Laughers," Clay murmured. He couldn't make up his mind if this was a dream, or hallucination, or if it was all somehow real. Either way, he figured action of some sort was called for. The Laugher things were a threat? Then somebody ought to eliminate that threat. Might as well be him--he'd busted a few heads, professionally, even, as part of a couple of those 'worse' jobs he hadn't told Alex about.
"Don't plan on preaching at my funeral, Father," he said with a quick flash of white teeth. "Didn't say I was gonna sleep out there without no knife or gun or anything." Shame he didn't have a pocket knife on him. At least he had pockets. The priest didn't even have that luxury. "We need weapons," Clay opined, more thinking out loud than really including Alex. Priests weren't exactly known for being fighters, were they?
That was a point, "Tell you what then," Alex bargained, "At least tonight, stay with the others. See what these Laughers are. Then, when you have more information, you can form a better plan of attack," and possibly get a weapon if needed. Alex wasn't against violence per se, he did eat meat and it had to be killed, but he did not approve of violence between people. Thankfully, he was pretty sure that Laughers weren't people. He hoped. "Food, shelter, safety, those are most important. Right now, we have semi-shelter and safety and we're attempting food. So, we're okay for the moment and time will only help things improve."
Clay gave the priest a level look. Always ready to take offense, he recognized the bargaining tone as a tactic one would take with a child. A child, or someone mentally inferior. Clay was aware of his limitations: He was stupid, yes, but he wasn't as stupid as people generally assumed. The thoughts inside his head came together just fine--it was getting them out in words so other people could take them seriously that posed the problem. It didn't help that Alex was outlining the basic plans that Clay had already been forming in his mind. He was just too slow and inarticulate to have gotten that across, and now here was the priest thinking he needed to be babysat. It was frustrating and all too familiar.
"Tell you what, Father. I won't try getting into your praying or your priest business no more. You don't go getting into my business, huh?" His tone was calm, his voice quiet. The priest seemed like a decent guy. Probably he just wanted to help, and being a preacher, was probably used to giving advice. That was fine. Clay just figured, better to start off on the right foot. Set some boundaries.
Alex nodded, that was reasonable, except for one thing, "Your death is my business, Clay," he replied evenly. He was generally an easy going, non-confrontational person, but he was not a push over either, "So you doing something to hasten it is as well. I'm not going to stop you, but I'd rather you not be foolhardy and rush out to be some big hero or something. If you did go back...you wouldn't be able to tell the rest of us anyhow, would you?" Alex raised an eyebrow at the question. He didn't think Clay was stupid, merely young. Youth had a way to make everything need to happen Right Now without always thinking things through. So long as Clay thought this through and was intelligent about it...Alex was not going to stop him.
The priest's tone mollified Clay. He couldn't detect any note of condescension or aggression in it, just reasonable concern. He was pretty sure there was an argument against Alex's assertion that if he did manage to make it home, it wouldn't be of any use to those left behind, but the words to counter the priest didn't come to him. Clay settled for nodding, a quick jerk of his chin, followed by another flash of a grin as he processed that Alex had just accused him of trying to be a hero.
"Hero's one thing you don't gotta worry about," he said. Looking back out across the field Clay asked Alex, "So. You want to keep on around or head back?" The whole exercise was starting to seem pointless, but maybe the priest would have something in mind to make the walk worthwhile.
Truth be told, they hadn't seen much that was new. Different sure, everything was different, but no animals or anything. "I suppose head back...don't really know what I should be looking for while we walk. Good. Do you like Def Leppard?" he was wearing a t-shirt with their Hysteria album cover on the front, which was why he asked. It was a good topic change too, he wasn't going to extract any promises from this kid or beat his point into his head. That wasn't his style. Clay had given his word though...and Alex would hold him to that.
Clay blinked at the question. The band was before his time, but he was familiar with their hit songs from the radio. "Yeah, they're okay. Didn't their drummer get all fuck--sorry, all messed up in a car accident?" Turning to walk back toward the camp, he glanced sidelong at Alex, expression deadpan. "Nobody ever told you that's the devil's music?"
"Yeah," Alex nodded, "He lost his arm. Still is a drummer through, created an electric drum kit that lets him drum with his feet to make up for the missing arm, it's a sweet set up," he'd been going to their concerts every time they had come through where he was living since he was 15. They were awesome. One of his fave bands ever, "The devil's music?' Alex laughed at that. Yeah, he'd heard that a time or two, "I've never met a guitar that needs an exorcism, though I've met a few guitarists that need baths. There is nothing wrong with music...even rock n roll. It is how you use the music and what a person gets from it that might potentially be a problem, but not the music as a whole. Personally? I grew up on it and don't plan on stopping. 'If it's too loud, you're too old.'" he quoted.
The priest's apparent enthusiasm for Def Leppard earned him a whole lot of points, as far as Clay was concerned. He'd never met a bible-thumper who would admit to liking rock and roll before. It was something to think about--just one more weird detail in this very weird place.