[Sodium_noir] Gods of Fire, Saints of Ireland

[Aaron Corrion]

>
> When she reaches the church doors they are, as usual,
> partly open, a wedge of light falling across the dark
> street. Hoping to be unobtrusive, Christine slips
> inside the church. It all looks much as it did last
> night, more settled, perhaps. Except, she sees that
> there is someone else here - someone standing near the
> church's altar. It looks like he is wearing a fur
> collar - wait. The 'collar' just moved, rippling about
> the stranger's shoulders so fur, right, but fur still
> attached to its living owner. There is no sign of
> Bellamy and the church's nightly occupants, the
> homeless, are lost in their own private worlds of
> sleep as far as Christine can tell.

 -------
 Tom Kaurismaki, Dreamspeaker Mage
St. Bridget's Church, around 1 a.m.
 It's hard to be quiet in a church; Tom knew that well. Even over the
intermittant sounds of snoring, Tom's unusually sharp ears picked up on the
sound of footsteps; he slowly turned his head, giving Christine a short
glance which revealed he was also, even in the dark environment of the
church, wearing sunglasses pushed high up on his nose, completely covering
his eyes as well as a pair of goggles might. In the dim light, it seemed
almost as if there were a faint corona of red light seemed to emerge from
and enshroud the lenses.
 He turned back to face the altar, studying it with the devoutness of an
irreperably lapsed Catholic; he even lazily passed a hand back and forth
through a candles flame, keeping his hands busy so he could think for a few
seconds. But a few seconds was all he had, as his attention drifted, and his
body drifted with it, towards the door to the right. Some footsteps had him
next to it, where he proceeded to gently rap on it, hoping not to wake up
any of the sleeping homeless. Wasn't there a saying about beggars being the
kings of dreams? Wait, no, focus, focus.
 Tom glanced around the interior of the church once more as he continued
knock on the door, his quiet knock turning into an impromptu, two-handed,
lightly slapped beat as soon as his attention drifted over to peering at
Christine again.
 <T.A.G.>
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