NÓIRÍN zabini (contemptible) wrote in x_expatriate, @ 2008-07-05 00:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | july08, wicked |
WHO: Morgan [Wicked]
NPCS: Reverend Barclay
WHEN: July 2nd, 2008, 7PM
WHERE: Hazleton, church
RATING: PG13 [probably blasphemous on some level]
SYNOPSIS: Morgan takes a beating for a deranged Reverend.
The church, a white washed prison turned into a house of worship, lay at the center of the compound. A frightening building for anyone there who was only pretending to worship Stryker's Lord, for anyone pretending to be anything other than an obedient follower. It was prison, and it was fraying the edges of Morgan's entire being. Sure, she didn't have her abilities anymore, but why did that mean that she had to be here? So it was one of the only ways she could help Mirage out, that didn't mean she had to actually stay here, right? Wrong. Of course she was wrong, she'd been trying so many different view points and each one came back as wrong, of course she had to be here. Of course she had to keep an eye out for things, and keep her ears open to the conversations around her. It was part of the job of being a spy for a completely different group of people who wanted to kill the other. If someone had told her even a year ago that she would be playing spy for real, she would have laughed. Now the thought made her want to cry. Instead she did what she'd started doing since she'd come to the compound. She went to church. That ugly building that was starting to drain everything from her. One part school, one part church, one part meeting grounds for all those she'd come to loath in so many different ways. Besides the fact that these people walked around with their heads shoved up God's ass, they also went around hating people like her, even though they were sweet to her face and didn't know what she really was, or rather had been, they still hated her and didn't even know it. How was someone supposed to live where they knew they were hated? There was a long sigh as she passed the large wooden doors painted so purely in white. She passed through those doors and into the belly of the beast, dark woods and royal reds, a chandler of circular wood and dripping candle wax hung like some bulging uvula at the back of the church above the wooden alter where Jesus died slowly for eternity. A shiver ran down the girl's spine as she crept into the building, it was hard to come at a time when there wasn't someone in the main church area, but tonight seemed to be her lucky night. Everyone else was probably with their families enjoying supper or something. Morgan slept with the rest of the orphans, and though she'd rather have been curled up in a ditch somewhere, right now, this seemed like the right place to be. There to the right of the alter, where the rest of the musical instruments were placed so carefully away, stood her large Celtic designed petal harp. It wasn't really hers, she didn't know who it really belonged to, but it was hers now. She was the only one who could play, though she herself couldn't remember having formal training, apparently she had and made sure to let everyone know how hard she'd worked as a child to get where she is today. Though she couldn't read music for anything, all she needed was to hear the song and she could strum it out on her lovely harp. A very small smile started to curve the left corner of her lips upward just this side of noticeable. What would she do if there had been no harp here? Tried to play the clarinet maybe? Another sigh passed her full lips, though this time one of ease as she made her way down the main isle to the alter. Her steps muffled by the plush red carpet laid out like a path to the alter, flat leather shoes helped to cover the sound of her walking. When she finally came to the source of her sanity she smiled, wide and yet somehow still soft without breaking her lips so that still no teeth could be seen as she smiled. Slender digits slipped forward as her pale hand slid over the glossy finish of the wooden harp, the frame felt silken under the pads of her fingertips, her smile grew weak and more relaxed as she moved around the harp towards her seat, fingertips sliding over the strings; though made no sound. As she came to the stool, she smoothed the back of her light lavender dress down over the back of her thighs as she took her place. Legs slightly spread so that she could reach her arms around the harp and cradle it slightly, right foot set so she could tap out on the petals if need be. There was a flourish that came when playing the harp, not because she wanted to give a show as she played, but because when playing the instrument correctly you had to move with the notes as if you'd already melded with the instrument. If you were stiff the notes would be stiff, if you were too loose the notes could sound weak and unpleasant. Your body had to flow with the notes, and so as she began to pour herself into the instrument the notes started to flow and pierce the stagnate silence of the church. The sounds pushed away the thoughts going through her mind, eyes focussed only on her fingers as they plucked and soothed over different colored stings. There was nothing left in the world except the harp and herself - everything else had vanished and been destroyed by the horsemen that rode somewhere over her. Maybe she too was dead, and this was her limbo for eternity. The thoughts that broke through turned the music into subtle melancholy tones. She had no therapist here, the music could sing out the emotions for her, and it did. Each negative and positive feeling seemed to splice together and pour out into her fingers and into the strings producing the lovely sad melodies. So it came to as a shock to the girl when the flickering shadow she'd seen spreading across the ground wasn't due to flickering candle light upon some figurine or other. The sound of a male cough surprised her enough to make her hop slightly in her seat, though her fingers would not be moved from the strings, nor the melody fussed by this invasion of privacy. She closed her large chocolate mint eyes as she let her fingers slide over her last few strings. Her cheek set softly against the frame as her left index finger tugged then slid over a string, prolonging the note for a few seconds as her right hand moved to the very lowest note string and slide her fingers back to the highest while still holding the first note. In a quick movement nimble fingers spun back up to the highest notes and plucked a few more rapid notes that nearly sounded angry, or painful. With the last note she let her hands lay softly against the strings to pause their escaping notes as she finally tilted her head upward and let her eyes slowly open. "Reverend?" Her soft monotone voice slid from her lips gently. Reverend Barclay stood around six feet tall with dark reddish brown hair and rich green eyes that seemed lacking of conscious as they slid over Morgan slowly, gently, as if it would be his last and he needed to take in every aspect of the young adult. He wore the garments specifically made for this sect, long woolen brown robe of a monk with the garments of a priest hanging off of him like curtains, those these curtains had a huge cross that formed when the fabrics met in the center of him. A long golden chain spilled from under these curtain like fabrics, a large wooden cross lay against his stomach like an unused weapon. "Morgan, wouldn't it be best to have waited to play the Lord's song at the break of day for all to hear. I'm sure everyone would love to have been awoken with your sweet music to meet them in the day. Lullabies are sweet, but it's the beginning of the day that we want to celebrate, not the end." He paused with what was meant to be a gentle smile, though only made Morgan want to wince back as if the devil himself had smiled at her, "Haven't we had enough endings?" He finally asked in an almost snotty voice that gave away his immaturity, even though he was at least in his middle thirties. Morgan placed her hands against her thighs as she moved to stand, making damn sure her dress didn't move as she stood, "Aren't all endings nothing more than a new beginning?" She asked with a sigh as laced her fingers together at her lower stomach and stood there obediently. Innocent eyes looked to him as if looking for forgiveness, and she was rewarded with a kinder smile this time, though his eyes didn't conceal the lie the smile had. He reached out with a pudgy finger and tapped the tip of her nose, "Silly child." he stated in a lower voice that sent unpleasant chills down her spine. Quickly she spoke up, possibly cutting him off, "I meant no offense, only that the Lord Almighty sends us the ending of days so that we may understand the blessing of the new day." Maybe, was that right? Hopefully that was right, again she was rewarded with that smile and a snippy, "From the mouths of babes." Which only more confused the poor girl. "True, but that doesn't mean we celebrate the night or the ending of things," His voice went a little lower as his eyes squinted slightly at her, "Only witches and mutants worship the night and the ending of things. I'm sure those heathens are partying right not. Celebrating what they don't understand!" It seemed like a argument had started where she'd only wanted to play her damn harp. So she remained silent and hoped he would just tell her to leave. The fact was that she'd notice Barclay staring at her more than once and the man just creeped her out, so she took a step back and tried to keep calm, "I didn't mean to offend, I should be getting home." She finally squeaked out and grew internally angry. Had she still had her abilities she would be in the middle of tormenting this man with his own demons! As it was, until she was ok'd to leave, she was helpless. Suddenly he stuck out against her, grabbing her wrist harshly, forcing her hands to separate as she lifted her arm upwards as if ready to lift her from the ground itself. "Offend," he growled angrily against her cheek as she leaned down and dragged her up at the same time, she squeezed her eyes closed and forced herself to swallow a small squeal of surprise back down her throat. "You do not apologize to me, for you have offended the Lord above all others! Trying to squirm out of your discretions." They were suddenly moving, him half pulling her, she half trying to find her feet again. It all happened too quickly however and the next thing she knew she was being tossed against the hard wooden floor behind the alter. She landed hard against her bare left thigh and hip, the palms of her hands turning red against the force she'd hit the ground with. Long strands of raven black fell into her face as she looked up at the cross and Jesus who was suspended before her pitifully, then she looked to the reverend, confusion on her face. "REPENT!" He finally bellowed at her as he pointed a convicting finger down at her. There was absolutely no warrant for his behavior, and Morgan was at a loss for words. "Mother Mary," She stated softly as she looked away from him and up to the statue of Jesus. This too must have offended God, or Jesus, or both because the next thing she knew she felt his hands against her back, she stiffened and bit down on her lower lip so hard that the sweet copper taste of blood was suddenly painted against the pallet of her tongue. He bent low so that he could growl against her hair, "We do not worship the mother's, you are surly trying to damn yourself." Totally unwarranted behavior! This time she could not stifle the cry as she felt his nails dig against her back where the line of cloth buttons ran down her spine, keeping the dress she wore snuggly fitted to the upper portion of her body. Before she knew it the buttons were striking the floor and bouncing away as he ripped the back of her dress open, immediately her arms moved to cross over her chest to keep the front of the dress in place. "I said repent, now." His voice was a low sound, a threatening whisper, and Morgan's mind ran wild with too many thoughts to let her speak a single word, only a sob. Tears welled in her eyes, not because of what was happening, but because she was powerless to do anything under Mirage's request of her being here! It wasn't fair! Suddenly she heard the sound of metal unclasping, her back went rigid and yet she couldn't bring herself to turn and look to see what he was doing. Was it a zipper she'd heard? Was he wearing jeans under the robe? What was happening? All of this because she'd said good night after being caught were she really shouldn't have been to begin with? It seemed way out of place, she was a liked member of the community here, even Stryker seemed to like her on some level. It made no sense. Suddenly she felt a cold sting of metal slash against her back as Barclay's chain cut against the left side of her bare back, he held the wooden cross like a weapon and the chain like a whip. A scream fell from her lips as thick tears slid down her cheeks, she leaned forward kneeling over herself, tightening the skin of her back to reveal her spine all the more, but the stretching felt good against her back, that's all that mattered, at least until the next cutting slap against the right of her back. A small strand of saliva was visible like a bridge from her lips to the floor as she screamed in agony. Slender fingers curled into the fabric of her torn dress as she tried to just hold onto something. In the arched doorway to the back room stood Stryker, watching as the scene before him unfolded. He had walked in only when the lashing had started and assumed he'd missed whatever the girl had done to get such a punishment, but Stryker was sure she had it coming to her. Only when he finally saw her face did he look questioningly, to his knowledge Morgan had never fallen short of his 'wonderful' list. When Barclay readied himself for the next strike, Stryker cleared his throat, pausing the strike midair. Morgan's head tilted to look his way, hair still in her face, matted to her cheeks from the tears and spit. She took a shaky breath and waited. Stryker tipped his head to the left, Barclay took a step away from Morgan, he looked down to her then. "Whatever she's done, she won't do it again." Stryker stated calmly before dismissing her. She stood slowly, clutching the fabric of the ruined dress to her still, she looked menacingly from under her hair to Barclay....she would kill him. She didn't know when, but it would be a slow death, painful, and she would enjoy it. The back of her right arm came over her face to get rid of some of the spit and tears she'd let fall before she pulled her dress more securely around her. Her back burned and ached from the three slaps she's received from the chain, there would probably be blood, but she was sure they would be superficial lashes - nothing that would need stitches. After another glare she finally started to leave, there was a slight limp to her walk, her body naturally slumped from the pain, and worse yet, moving to open the door pulled muscles that made her back scream in pain, even the night air made her feel dizzy from the pain. She just needed to get home, and get there now....the night would be spent on her back, the next few days would go by with her locked in her room from the outside. |