[Sodium_noir] Gods of Fire, Saints of Ireland

[Aaron Corrion]

Tom Kaurismaki, Christine, Father Bellamy
Dreamspeaker Mage, Orphan Mage, Celestial Chorus Mage
At St. Bridgett's, after 1 a.m.

  [Christine]
>
   "But," Christine murmurs at Tom's shoulder as they witness, "what does it
> mean?"
>
>  The mental projection of Tom stares at her, suddenly disoriented and
> without further warning, the imagined Mind realm that they constructed
> between them tilts and the scene unravels rapidly. The mental connection is
> abruptly severed.
>  [Father B]
>
> Seeing the wobble in the young mans posture, Bellamy rushed forward and
> caught him under the arms. His face pulled back from the Ferret as he guided
> the new comer to a pew beside Christine.
>  "There you go Tom." said in an infinitely soothing voice, not entirely
> sure that he was being heard. "Have a seat for a moment"
>
>
>
> [Christine] Christine jolts back into ordinary sight. Cautiously, she
> turns attention to Tom, now sitting beside her on the pew. Through the dawn
> of what looks set fair to be a truly heinous headache, she peers at the
> young man, her expression pinched into lines of concern.
>
>  "I'm sorry. I really am," she says guiltily. "I *so* need to work out how
> to control that better."
>
  Sitting might not have been the most accurate term to describe Tom's
position; sprawling comes to mind as a more accurate term. Still, Tom was on
the pew next to Christine, fighting to retain some degree of consciousness.
And, what do you know: it was one of those fights he won.

Groggily, Tom said in a hushed, matter of fact way, "Yeah, that was...
pretty bad. You should really work on that."

Squinting, behind his sunglasses, at Bellamy, Tom sized the other man up,
noting in the same groggy tone, "Man of christ... man of action... nice
catch, Father."
 The headache was starting to set in; Tom's old mentor, Wally, had been
pretty darn good with mind magicks. Tom, consequently, had never had to deal
with the effects of a unpracticed mental link before, and judging from the
beginnings he was not looking forward to the rest of it. He focused on
recalling what he had seen.
 Waving a dismissive hand at Christine (well, more like swinging a
heavy-feeling arm in her direction in a roughly waving manner) Tom commented
on their shared experience: "It doesn't... MEAN anything, cat. Ya dig? It's
just something... that... happened."

The pain in his head was starting to really get to him if he was talking
THAT cliched; part of his head was processing that fact, but that train of
thought was derailed by a slight jab somewhere directly behind his right
eye. Tom's lips twitched a little in a wince and a hand went up to touch his
temple, but any attempt at further help was waved off.
 "I'm fine... I'll be... fine. So, you're the guy who runs this place,
Jackson? My name's... you can call me Laufeyjarson." Smooth, Tom. Smooth.
 <T.A.G.>
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