✞[ I. ]✞ Station of the Cross

[sanctus_cineris]

† Isaiah 10:16-20 †

[ Wash you, make you clean; put away the evil of your doings from before mine eyes; cease to do evil;
 Learn to do well; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.
 Come now, and let us reason together, saith the LORD: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.
 If ye be willing and obedient, ye shall eat the good of the land:
 But if ye refuse and rebel, ye shall be devoured with the Sword: for the mouth of the LORD hath spoken it. ]

[ † ] Genuflecting low before St. Peter's altar the looming Priest bent his head respectively before the monumental Cross he'd spent most of the previous evening weighting down, fingers of a gloved right hand lightly touching his forehead and quietly murmuring the words "In nomine Patris". They then follow down to the top of his breastbone—"et Filli"—down to shoulder from left to right, finishing "et Filli, Amen" with lips barely grazing his thumb. 

With a deep inhale along with the rustle of cloth his mouth begins to move, words barely above a reverent whisper. [ † ]

sshh...Maxwell.....Forgive.....Ah am heartilieh sorry.........Midian......

[ † ] When he moves away something black and metallic tumbles out from the folds of his clergy robes, short-circuiting the feed. [ † ]

Comments

[sanctus-cineris.livejournal.com]

Hn. Ah've driven 'em entae 'is room. Ah dinnae ken whit's goin' oon....

[betrayedblade.livejournal.com]

Driven him into his room? [This Giovanni sounding rather amused. And intrigued. Someone who can control Maxwell? Score.] ...You're obviously new here.

No one really "gets it" when they first arrive here, no worries there. The real worry is the place itself. Annoying, dangerous, and unwanted are its key ingredients. [He pauses.] Scusi, I am not helping to explain matter very well.

This place--this rundown city--is called Discedo. You've been brought here unwilling and unknowingly by a mysterious group of people known collectively as the "scientists." Their purpose is unknown.

[sanctus-cineris.livejournal.com]

E-et was nae intentional...We joos'...'Ave ae historieh...

[He'd rather not explain, but he kept finding himself drawn to the subject. Funny, considering he was usually the sympathetic ear.]

...Thaet's ae bit better thaen layin' en oon thick.

[betrayedblade.livejournal.com]

Ah. I see. I will not pry. [Damn.]

The former or the latter? [He waves a hand in the air dismissively despite the other not being able to see. He hardly ever uses video over simple audio.] It is simply the truth and I will not lie. This place is too dangerous to let anyone go around without the basics.

There is more... if you're ready.

[sanctus-cineris.livejournal.com]

Ah'm listenin'.

[betrayedblade.livejournal.com]

These so-called scientists apparently insert small devices--called 'chips'--into the bodies of each captive sometime upon arrival. Many claim they're a form of tracking; others say they inhibit special powers and skills; still others insist they can affect a person's state of mind and body. Whatever they do in truth, they are certainly not good.

These communication devices are the only positive reinforcement we're given here--there are animals, creatures, and monsters also brought here from various worlds that are a constant menace. Necessary supplies for living such as food, clothing, and medical supplies are scarce. It is useful to keep in touch with the rest of the city through these devices though to keep up with current events and...disasters.

There is no known way back. The people who brought us here are largely unknown. The disaster that struck this city before our arrival is unknown. This world is foreign and unforgiving.

[...]

Any questions?

Late, late, late. Hiatus-oh...

[sanctus-cineris.livejournal.com]

Maybe thaer's moor' tae thes thaen ah thought...Boot ah'm grateful ye've tauld mae thaes mooch. Perhaps ah'll repay ye en soom' way ef ah e'er coom tae be privieh tae soomthin' maeself.

's okay

[betrayedblade.livejournal.com]

It was nothing. You're likely to learn more as you go along as well. Buona fortuna, signore, and stay safe. You do not owe me a thing, but if you need something just ask. I'll do what I can to help.