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For somebody who looked to be on the brink of bursting into flames, Blackmoreās hand felt startlingly cold even through the layers of fabric of Valentineās clothing, practically causing the older man to jump at his sudden touch, āAh, sorry, donāt mind me,ā taking the cup in hand he righted himself, careful not to collapse onto the other man, and setting it back onto the tray with a soft click.
For a few moments the only sound in the room was that of the various other bits of ceramic Blackmore had supplied promptly joining the cup in the tray, Valentineās own half finished coffee included, āAre you fine lying on the sofa?ā
Apparently satisfied with his work, Valentine lifted the tray and turned to face Blackmore. Between his new higher perspective and the priest having sunk halfway into the couch Blackmore looked almost comically small, āI donāt think itād be the most comfortable place to rest, no offense, but I donāt know if youāve got anything better.ā
Ā When Valentine jumped, Blackmore guiltily pulled his hand back, returning it to his lap, his other hand covering it like he wanted to hide the offending extremity. Stupid. Stupid. Valentine was being so nice to him and here he was acting like a⦠acting very strange indeed. His head drooped in shame, unable to face his guest for the time being, expression settling into a shrouded frown of pure wretchedness. āIām so-rry.ā
Ā What else was there to say? Heād made an absolute fool of himself and tough he hadnāt harbored much hope towards it, probably convinced Valentine once and for all that Catholicism wasnāt for him. He might as well resign himself now to the fact that he wouldnāt see him again. He should. And he should be happy about it. If today had proven anything, it was that some sinful parts of him heād thought heād conquered were still alive and well, waiting for the right time to resurface. āThe sofa will do. I don't⦠think I should walk. Iāll go to bed later when I⦠feel better. I donāt want to impose⦠on you any more than I already have.ā
Ā He should have felt relieved, firm in purpose and dedication. Heād identified a source of temptation and he was dealing with it, albeit by behaving odd and off-putting. So why did he feel so melancholy instead? āIām so-rry,ā he repeated, a bashful, weedy whisper filled with trembling temerity. āThis wasn't⦠the first impression I had in mind. You must be⦠regretting coming here.ā
"Sorry?"
Valentine had just begun his short walk towards the kitchen when he paused to look back at his host, brow furrowed in a look of mild perplexity, "No need to apologize, you haven't done anything wrong, Father. If anything, this is just poor timing and bad luck."
A reserved, polite smile, exactly the sort one would expect to give a priest, spread across Valentine's face, "Besides, I don't mind helping out a bit. I'd be a pretty terrible guest if I left you with all the work when you aren't feeling well."
He continued walking the last few feet towards the kitchen, raising his voice slightly as he passed through the doorway, "If you're really so bothered by the way our meeting has gone, we could always try again another time," Valentine carefully set the tray onto the counter near the sink, "Perhaps I could lunch sometime? It'd probably be nice to do something that had nothing to do with the church for a change, yes?"
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The way Blackmoreās mood had dropped so suddenly and without warning was disconcerting. Though Valentine was little more than a stranger to the young priest, he couldnāt help but feel at least a little bit concerned about his obvious moping, āYouāll have to forgive me for being so blunt, but you look miserable - and you havenāt even touched your coffee, perhaps itād be best if you got some rest?ā
Valentine abruptly got up from his seat, resting a hand on his hip as he stood, apparently already having made up his mind about his hostās well-being, āIād hate to be any more of an inconvenience to you than Iāve already been, less so if you arenāt feeling well. Here, Iāll help - ah excuse me,ā he leant over Blackmore to retrieve his untouched coffee from the nearby table, one arm supporting his weight on the armrest as he awkwardly stretched to prevent spilling onto his host, perhaps bringing himself a bit too close to the other man in the process, āIāll help clean up if youād like to lie down. Itās the least I can do, really.ā
Ā If ever Blackmore was in need to divine intervention, he felt this was it. Granted, he wasnāt in the most dignified nor the most pious position, but that wasnāt his fault! He hadnāt invited Valentine in for anything nefarious, he only wanted to spend some pleasant and perfectly innocent time with a man he felt drawn to for reasons unclear to him. Surely that must mean something? Valentine had stood out to him like a beacon, practically radiant. Sure, Blackmore had noticed that he was very attractive for those that had any interest in that kind of thing. Which did not include him. It had once, but he was a man of the cloth now, ordained and everything. His mind was on more lofty matter, not the carnal and earthly.
Ā It would be awfully nice if he could convince his prodding erection of that.
Ā As his previous ploys hadnāt exactly worked out in his favor, he looked at his coffee like it might be his savior. It had slipped his mind in the⦠confusion and it wasnāt his favorite, but right now heād gulp the entire cup down without sugar or milk to take the bitter edge off if it would convince Valentine nothing was amiss. Tentatively, he moved one arm, sliding it hopefully coffee-ward.
Ā Not fast enough. For a tall man, Valentine moved deceptively quick, blocking the path to the cup and all but forcing the priest to stare up at him. Protests died in his throat, how could he when his guest was being so⦠So considerate. Caring? Maybe he was only imagining it, his jarred and ever too mawkish mind filling in the gaps. The attention did wonderful and terrible things to him, forgetting the attempts at damage control for just a few more minutes of it. What he wouldnāt give just to feel a cool hand on his forehead, lack of sickness be damned. āYouāre not⦠Iām the one who invited you in, so Iāā
Ā It was only natural to provide Valentine with some support when the way he listed looked this precarious. Uh. There probably were better places to put his hand than on Valentineās hip, however. What should he do? Pulling it back would only make him look guilty and it wasnāt as if he was touching anywhere inappropriate. On the other hand, the feel of warmth, of hard muscle and pliable skin, put thoughts into his head that had been dormant ā though less dormant than heād like them to be. Frozen with indecision, he caught his guestās eye, terror obvious on his features.
Ā The thing he spoke couldnāt be transcribed, a random string of syllables that came about from his brainās decision he should say something while seemingly not having access to the centers that controlled language. Second strongest was the urge to agree, possibly to anything Valentine said, no matter how ludicrous. āYes, I⦠I would like that.ā
For somebody who looked to be on the brink of bursting into flames, Blackmore's hand felt startlingly cold even through the layers of fabric of Valentine's clothing, practically causing the older man to jump at his sudden touch, "Ah, sorry, don't mind me," taking the cup in hand he righted himself, careful not to collapse onto the other man, and setting it back onto the tray with a soft click.
For a few moments the only sound in the room was that of the various other bits of ceramic Blackmore had supplied promptly joining the cup in the tray, Valentine's own half finished coffee included, "Are you fine lying on the sofa?"
Apparently satisfied with his work, Valentine lifted the tray and turned to face Blackmore. Between his new higher perspective and the priest having sunk halfway into the couch Blackmore looked almost comically small, "I don't think it'd be the most comfortable place to rest, no offense, but I don't know if you've got anything better."
((ooooooooh [many] for priest Blackmore pwease))
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āI suppose that makes some sense, we arenāt in an area thatās exactly teeming with Catholics anyway, so I imagine it has to get dullā¦. But I suppose that that makes the dedication admirable, in a way.ā
Valentine paused for a moment, idly running his fingers through his hair. Warm? Was it really that warm? Personally, Valentine found the musky little room to be a bit on the cooler side.
āAre you sure thatās it?ā Valentine cocked his head slightly to get a better look at the priest. He certainly looked warm⦠Or rather, he looked sweaty and a bit flushed, āMaybe youāre coming down with something.ā
Ā Firmly entrenched in both the deep dip in the sofa and his own misery, Blackmore nodded dismally in response to the unexpected praise. At another time, he might have perked up palpably at being called something like āadmirableā, but now was not one of those times. It was a tad hard to feel like anything even close when his body was conspiring against him.
Ā No, heād done worse. The flesh being weak was a known quantity, the problem in his case was that the spirit wasnāt making a good showing either. Apart from the unfortunate handshake, it wasnāt as if Valentine had even touched him. Or, for that matter, done anything besides existing that would have set off this⦠failing of will.
Ā āAh. No, I'm⦠I could be?ā he conceded, jumping on the chance to acquit himself in a way that was at least adjacent to the realm of possibility. If he was lucky, being struck with disease was all the retribution heād see for this and heād be thankful for it considering what the alternatives were. āDon't⦠worry yourself about it, please. Iām sure I'll⦠be fine in the morning.ā
Ā For a brief, deeply stupid moment, he considered standing up to demonstrate that all was well before he realized how inadvisable that would be when his āillnessā was very intent in poking at the arms that covered it. The groan of desperation he let out as he instead sank a little deeper into the flattened pillow, however, sounded anything but well.
The way Blackmore's mood had dropped so suddenly and without warning was disconcerting. Though Valentine was little more than a stranger to the young priest, he couldn't help but feel at least a little bit concerned about his obvious moping, "You'll have to forgive me for being so blunt, but you look miserable - and you haven't even touched your coffee, perhaps it'd be best if you got some rest?"
Valentine abruptly got up from his seat, resting a hand on his hip as he stood, apparently already having made up his mind about his host's well-being, "I'd hate to be any more of an inconvenience to you than I've already been, less so if you aren't feeling well. Here, I'll help - ah excuse me," he leant over Blackmore to retrieve his untouched coffee from the nearby table, one arm supporting his weight on the armrest as he awkwardly stretched to prevent spilling onto his host, perhaps bringing himself a bit too close to the other man in the process, "I'll help clean up if you'd like to lie down. It's the least I can do, really."
scarsandstripesforeverā:
āAh, Iām sorry if itās an inappropriate subject,ā Valentine noted the sudden shift in Blackmoreās tone and felt guilty for prying, āI shouldnāt assume things like that.ā
The priestās body language was defensive and uncomfortable, moreso than seemed reasonable for a simple social faux pas. Valentine set down his cup and gave the younger man a concerned once-over, āAre you⦠feeling well Father?ā
Ā With how tumultuous his state of mind was, it was hard to say what emotion currently reigned supreme. Embarrassment was a strong contender to be sure, putting up quite the fight. Regret had a shot at the podium as well, though the fact that he wasnāt quite sure over what should be grounds for disqualification. And then, of course, there was the all-time champion: guilt. It usually took some time to get up to full strength, but when it did, it was a doozy. If it came out on top when all was said and done, it would hardly be surprising.
Ā Regardless, Blackmore rallied what little intact nerves he had left and did his best to put Valentine at ease with an emphatic shake of his head. āNo⦠Iām the one that should⦠be so-rry. Itās not a taboo topic or anything⦠like that, I simply answered it very⦠poorly. Iā It can be difficult to have few peers⦠a hundred years ago, every town would have a priest⦠nowadays apart from a monthly lunch, most⦠communication is by email. There are⦠too few of us and the distances too⦠large for regular visits.ā
Ā Amazing, heād managed it. Heād spoken the complete truth while not answering the actual question as heād interpreted it whatsoever. And in a way he judged to be perfectly innocent, at that.
Ā What a shame that couldnāt be said for his reaction to Valentineās concern. The problem was that he let his guard down and forsook his unbroken stare to smile at his guest and reassure him of his well-being. That had been a mistake. They were⦠awfully close, werenāt they? If Blackmore didnāt try to make himself as small as possible at practically all times, their knees might have touched. If he cared to move his hands away from his ever more insistent sin, he could have touched him without even having to reach, yet even the vaguest thought of that made it more enthusiastic.
Ā āYes, I'm⦠Iām fine, just a little⦠a little warm⦠thatās all.ā A man was allowed be hot, wasnāt he? Just as much as he was allowed to scoot away without any sign of subtly or decorum, right into the pit that was a daily reminder of the late Father Simmons long habitation. Having been both a taller and wider man than Blackmore, it truly was like a pit swallowing him, his resting knees comically high on the lip. For what it was worth, he was glad for the added protection. āIām so-rryā¦ā
"I suppose that makes some sense, we aren't in an area that's exactly teeming with Catholics anyway, so I imagine it has to get dull.... But I suppose that that makes the dedication admirable, in a way."
Valentine paused for a moment, idly running his fingers through his hair. Warm? Was it really that warm? Personally, Valentine found the musky little room to be a bit on the cooler side.
"Are you sure that's it?" Valentine cocked his head slightly to get a better look at the priest. He certainly looked warm... Or rather, he looked sweaty and a bit flushed, "Maybe you're coming down with something."
scarsandstripesforeverā:
The tension in the priestās words was palpable, to the point where it seemed like he could combust from sheer nervous energy, yet Valentine only noticed a fraction of it. Perhaps he just didnāt get visiters terribly often?
āAh, I suppose thatās true,ā Valentine spoke after swallowing his first sip of coffee and giving a pleased sigh. Satisfied with its quality, he began the task of adding gratuitous sugar to the dark liquid, apparently satisfied at the third or fourth spoonful, āA man in your line of work ought to feel like that,ā Valentine brought the overly sweetened coffee to his lips again, taking a much more eager sip this time.
āIt must get lonely though,ā Valentine turned to look at his host, eyes relaxed and half lidded, āBeing without human companionship, I mean.ā
Ā Caught in a trap of his own making, Blackmore nodded in miserable agreement. A peaceful life, just as heād said⦠It wasnāt a lie, the days passed in calm succession; a comfortable humdrum that repeated itself week after week. A life without much to worry about. Apart from finishing this weekās sermon in time, all he had to do was abide by the rules and those were delineated clearly enough from on high. Even then, a small amount of leeway was not looked down upon as it once had been and it wasnāt like anyone came by to check more than once a year. If that. A small, quiet parish lacking in many luxuries wasnāt exactly the kind of place that drew bishops from all over.
Ā āThe diocese and ultimately⦠the Lord provides. Thereās nothing I could ask forā¦ā he murmured at a volume only slightly above that of the thrum of a flyās wings. Now that was on the border of falsehood. There were, in fact, many things he could ask for: confidence, a more agile mind suited to writing less pedestrian homilies, the identity of whoever kept littering the church floor with candy wrappers⦠he could go on. And he did, in a roundabout manner, weaving the small requests into overly deferential prayer in the form a vagaries. He didnāt want to sound ungrateful and surely the Lord would understand the hints he dropped.
Ā Never had it crossed his mind to ask for human companionship ā holy Mary full of grace, the way Valentine had said that. Those hopes had died after discovering some discomfiting truths about himself, thoughts and habits heād expected would no longer be an issue after being ordained.
Ā The next sound to come from the priestās lips was a choked little whimper trailing off into indecisiveness. Honesty was barely an option here. Yes, he did experience moments of weakness where forlorn solitude was a massive weight dragging him down. And yes, he wasnāt supposed to feel like that. Nobody had told him he wasnāt, he just knew. Regardless, it wasnāt an admission he wanted to make in front of someone mortal. Even less so when the word ācompanionshipā brought images to mind regarding Valentine that only increased the churning of the torrid pool in the pit of his stomach.
Ā āIā Uh. Ah, you seeāā Oh. Oh no. It couldnāt be.
Ā If it wasnāt, it was certainly a very convincing imitation of his cock stirring and gingerly stiffening with every heartbeat, one that would become obvious in time if he didnāt do something about it. A pity the best he could think of was to drape his arms over his lap and hunch over in what he hoped was a not at all suspicious maneuver. āIt's⦠Everyone has their weaknesses⦠being human. Itās manageableā¦ā
"Ah, I'm sorry if it's an inappropriate subject," Valentine noted the sudden shift in Blackmore's tone and felt guilty for prying, "I shouldn't assume things like that."
The priest's body language was defensive and uncomfortable, moreso than seemed reasonable for a simple social faux pas. Valentine set down his cup and gave the younger man a concerned once-over, "Are you... feeling well Father?"
scarsandstripesforeverā:
It sounded as if Blackmore was was wrestling with a loaded dishwasher with all the clattering emanating from the next room, to the point where Valentine wasnāt entirely sure whether he ought to offer to help or not, but his worries were lessened when he saw the lanky man reenter the room. āHm, I may be just a layman but Iād say it seems like youāve got a lot of work on your hands.ā
Valentine relaxed slightly at the sight of coffee, as if heād suspected that the priest had lured him here for more nefarious purposes before, āIāll admit that I know nothing about⦠what it is you do, so Iād say being able to hold out all together on your own like this is fairly impressive,ā he eyed the cups, little things that looked considerably older than Blackmore himself, for a moment before gingerly picking one for himself.
āThank you,ā he sniffed the coffee cautiously before deciding that yes, it was in fact coffee and taking a small, judgemental sip.
Ā Until Valentine took that first, cautious sip, Blackmore kept a close eye on him, just in case the coffee had transmogrified into tar at some point between pot and cup. Only when no overt sign of disgust came did he allow himself to relax, the breath he hadnāt realized heād been holding let out in a reedy gust. Another crisis averted ā except there had never been one, he was simply feeling⦠something he couldnāt quite put into words, not even in the privacy of his own clashing thoughts. Thrilled bliss and feverish anxiety that pulled him from one extreme to the other without giving him time to catch up and ground himself.
Ā His own actions were not helping. Rather than pick the rather deflated armchair, his legs thoughtlessly carried him to the sofa instead, the impropriety of which didnāt hit him until his hands froze midway through smoothing the dark wool of his cassock over his knees. Though a sofa is by very nature meant to be occupied by multiple people, there was no shaking the feeling heād committed a minor sin in some fashion. Being unable to pinpoint how only made it worse.
Ā āOh, no⦠Iām never truly alone⦠none of us are.ā His brain supplied the pious protest by rote, leaving his actual thoughts free to work through the internal conflict. Staring straight ahead, cheeks flaring up to a new height of unnatural ruddiness, he didnāt dare look his guest in the eyes. What a wonderful terror to be so apprehensively close to the taller man. Maybe it was all in his mind, but Blackmore believed that even without so much as glancing in his direction, he could perceive Valentineās tiniest movements through subtle changes in the heat that seemed to emanate him.
Ā āAnd the work⦠itās not that hard. Apart from services, itās a little like⦠uh⦠freelancing?ā he wheezed in an attempt to keep the conversation going, his breath uncomfortably shallow. Surely it couldnāt be healthy for his heart to be beating at this pace, nor for him to feel so warm. What he should do was get up, but a tingling fire in his legs numbed them into uselessness. āSometimes people need me more⦠sometimes they need me less⦠my flock isnāt very demanding, Iāve been blessed with a⦠peaceful life.ā
The tension in the priest's words was palpable, to the point where it seemed like he could combust from sheer nervous energy, yet Valentine only noticed a fraction of it. Perhaps he just didn't get visiters terribly often?
"Ah, I suppose that's true," Valentine spoke after swallowing his first sip of coffee and giving a pleased sigh. Satisfied with its quality, he began the task of adding gratuitous sugar to the dark liquid, apparently satisfied at the third or fourth spoonful, "A man in your line of work ought to feel like that," Valentine brought the overly sweetened coffee to his lips again, taking a much more eager sip this time.
"It must get lonely though," Valentine turned to look at his host, eyes relaxed and half lidded, "Being without human companionship, I mean."
smooch
scarsandstripesforeverā:
Valentine felt his performative friendliness vanish once the priest turned his back, his face turning to an apprehensive frown as he glanced around the room before him. There was a smell in the air that he couldnāt quite place, like a mix of old books and wet ash. If he believed in karma then Valentine would have assumed that this was his punishment for his white lies, but at this point he was in too deep.
āAh⦠Thank youā¦ā Valentine eyed the old sofa suspiciously, brow furrowing as he reluctantly took a seat, āI take it youāre fairly new to this then?ā
Ā Being alone in the cramped kitchen was a good opportunity to clear his head, one that Blackmore didnāt take. Instead, he rushed unwisely, putting himself at serious risk of banging his ankle on the small and rather sad table forced into the corner. God, his brain wasnāt being very cooperative today, remembering where he left the coffee a monumental undertaking despite the fact that he had it every morning. Water. At least that was easy, if he forgot where the tap was he might as well have himself committed. Plug. Switch it on.
Ā The burble of the water heating up calmed him a little, a gentle and homey sound. His hand hardly shook when he reached for two mugs⦠and nearly dropped them when he heard Valentineās voice.
Ā āFour ā uh. Four years now,ā he called back with a sincere hope that the wall between them would make his stuttering inaudible. He looked at the mugs again for a few horrified seconds. Oh, no, no, that wouldnāt do at all, Mr. Valentine was⦠he was a guest! He couldnāt make a guest drink out of a plain old mug. Just his luck the cups and saucers were in the back, his half-panicked removal of the obstructive crockery causing quite the clatter. āAbout⦠a year and a half alone? I do my best, but⦠thereās still a lot to learn.ā
Ā Right, that was the cups now he needed a tray, another frantic cacophony of kitchenware announcing to the world that he wasnāt entirely sure where that was either. At last he found it and poured two steaming and onto the tray they went, along with the sugar basin and the milk jug in the shape of a rather deranged looking cow. He personally wasnāt fond of it, it looked like the kind of thing his grandmother would like. In fact, most of the things in the priory had the air of being purchased by an elderly lady of questionable taste. Possibly back around 1974.
Ā āI guess it would be fair to say Iām still finding my feet,ā he prattled on, twitchy nerves making him uncharacteristically talkative as he shouldered the door open and maneuvered himself through. āFather Simmons ā rest his soul ā was here for 56 years before me so⦠Thereās some things I'd⦠like to change, but people are a little set in their ways and⦠the last thing I want to do is upset anyone.ā
Ā Least of all Valentine, who had the privilege of being on the receiving end of a harried grin and a cup of coffee that ended up half in the saucer by the time the priest had set it down with shaky fingers. More than gratified to be asked anything about his life, Blackmore only continued his verbal barrage. āI know it's⦠old-fashioned now, but Iād like to re-introduce some Vulgate. Ah, not too much⦠wouldnāt want the barrier to entry to be⦠too high, feel unwelcoming. Itād just⦠sound nice, give the services a bit⦠of mystique and⦠gravitas. What do you think?ā
It sounded as if Blackmore was was wrestling with a loaded dishwasher with all the clattering emanating from the next room, to the point where Valentine wasn't entirely sure whether he ought to offer to help or not, but his worries were lessened when he saw the lanky man reenter the room. "Hm, I may be just a layman but I'd say it seems like you've got a lot of work on your hands."
Valentine relaxed slightly at the sight of coffee, as if he'd suspected that the priest had lured him here for more nefarious purposes before, "I'll admit that I know nothing about... what it is you do, so I'd say being able to hold out all together on your own like this is fairly impressive," he eyed the cups, little things that looked considerably older than Blackmore himself, for a moment before gingerly picking one for himself.
"Thank you," he sniffed the coffee cautiously before deciding that yes, it was in fact coffee and taking a small, judgemental sip.
scarsandstripesforeverā:
Well, now Valentine had done it, refusing Blackmoreās invitation now would just be cruel. Talk? The priest barely seemed capable of stringing together a sentence without nervously averting his gaze, what was he planning on talking about?
Resisting the urge to let out a defeated sigh, Valentine spoke, āIf youād really like to,ā he reached his hand up to brush his hair out of his face absent mindendedly, āI canāt say Iāve spoken much to priests myself, perhaps it could be enlightening.ā
Valentine really had no room to complain, wasnāt as if he had much better to be attending to and heād come here fully of his own volition. Wasnāt this exactly the sort of thing heād been seeking out by coming here anyway?
āThough I will say that I typically prefer coffee to tea.ā
Ā Now that he had the okay, some of the nervous tension seeped out of Blackmore. He practically deflated, his stance going from one filled with expectant anxiety to one much more natural, if a perfect demonstration of slump-shouldered bad posture. He couldnāt help it, even when he was as unreasonably elated as he felt this moment, the tendency to curl in on himself defensively always reared its head sooner or later.
Ā āThe pleasureās all mine, Iād love to have you,ā he fell over himself to give Valentine some unneeded reassurance. Maybe he should justā One hand rose a small ways for a comforting pat on the taller manās shoulder, but only made it a few inches before it fell limply to the priestās side. No, he probably shouldnāt. Not when he was feeling this⦠out of sorts. āWe could learn from each other, Iām sure⦠you know a lot more than I do on some topics. Itās very fulfilling, but I'm⦠afraid this can be an⦠insular life. Ah, and coffee would suit me just fine.ā
Ā As if he wasnāt jittery enough without getting hopped up on caffeine. His body language certainly was, the small gesture he made to signal to Valentine that he should follow him out the door and across the churchyard quick and stilted. Not to mention far too excited. One might say there was an ever so mousy spring in his step during the short walk, as well as in the way he all but threw open the door and scurried through.
Ā Regardless, there were things one couldnāt hurry, like making the sign of the cross reflexively when his eyes were drawn as they ever were to the picture of Christās Sermon on the Mount. It was not a replication of a particularly well-painted work, certainly not up to par with the more famous depiction by Bloch, but it had belonged to Father Simmons ā God rest his soul ā and the very thought of getting rid of it felt like itād be blasphemy. Much the same went for the furniture. Blackmore was fairly sure most of it was older than he was, but throwing out a dead manās belongings was a moral conundrum he was not willing to face.
Ā āHave a seat, Iāll go makeāā Words failed him and rater than finish the sentence, he gestured in the general vicinity of the kitchen door. Definitely too jumpy already. Giddy, even.
Ā With a last look of dumb gratitude, he bustled off into the kitchen only to poke his head back through after a second. āYouāll want the left side. My predecessor ā may he rest in peace ā sat in the⦠right corner from the day the sofa rolled off the production line to the day he died. Heās worn the cushion⦠through so far that I donāt think anyone else can sit there comfortably. Just⦠just so you know. Iāll be⦠Iāll be right back wit the coffee.ā
Valentine felt his performative friendliness vanish once the priest turned his back, his face turning to an apprehensive frown as he glanced around the room before him. There was a smell in the air that he couldn't quite place, like a mix of old books and wet ash. If he believed in karma then Valentine would have assumed that this was his punishment for his white lies, but at this point he was in too deep.
"Ah... Thank you..." Valentine eyed the old sofa suspiciously, brow furrowing as he reluctantly took a seat, "I take it you're fairly new to this then?"
scarsandstripesforeverā:
The sudden shift in the priestās demeanor was palpable, as he seemed to exude a rather uncharacteristic glee. Also⦠was he blushing? Such excitement from such a gloomy looking man seemed somewhere between amusing and disturbing.
Valentine almost felt guilty for lying, but Blackmore seemed as if he hadnāt received positive feedback in years. Perhaps it was kinder to continue the ruse?
āYour offer is very kind but⦠I feel that I couldnāt get the full appreciation through mere reading alone. After all, how the sermon is presented is just as important, wouldnāt you say?ā
Ā For as long as he could remember, rejection had been a constant fear looming on the horizon, the very chance of it something to be avoided unless there was no other way. Strange, this one didnāt sting at all when paired with a somewhat unbelievable compliment. Seemingly without any input from is brain, Blackmore found himself nodding in dumb agreement, too spell-struck to process the praise through his regular filter of subtle negativity. While he wasnāt Catholic, Valentine wouldnāt lie to a priest, would he?
Ā āOh, do you think so?ā he demurred, feeling saying something at this juncture was called for. Likely more than this, but ā perhaps out of self-preservation, perhaps through more miraculous means ā he didnāt take this opportunity to blow his own trumpet. Heād been there for todayās āmasterpieceā, after all, and the sheer relief of making it through was still a mild yet distinct undercurrent. Surely that was why he couldnāt keep his hands still, damp palms sliding against each other and fingers twining like mating snakes.
Ā āWould you still like to come in?ā Hang on. That couldnāt have been his voice, heād never be so bold as to keep pressing after being declined. Then again, there was some evidence it had very much been. His lips had moved, for one. His vocal cords had vibrated and his tongue shaped the timid tones. The confusion quickly morphed into contrition, the grin he shot Valentine apologetic and tinged with vague hope.
Ā āI⦠usually have a cup of tea after a service and making⦠two doesnāt take any more effort than making one. We could talkāā About what? Any why? Just because he felt a need to? Lord, heād talked himself into a corner here, mental gears spinning at top speed with the mad effort of invention. āāabout anything youād like. In all honesty itās been⦠a while since Iāve had a conversation with anyone unaffiliated with the church that was longer than⦠the cashier wishing me a nice day at the checkout. It, uh. I mean⦠thereās conviction and thereās thereās tunnel vision, I think⦠itās important to keep an open mind and not lose touch with the rest of the world.ā
Well, now Valentine had done it, refusing Blackmore's invitation now would just be cruel. Talk? The priest barely seemed capable of stringing together a sentence without nervously averting his gaze, what was he planning on talking about?
Resisting the urge to let out a defeated sigh, Valentine spoke, "If you'd really like to," he reached his hand up to brush his hair out of his face absent mindendedly, "I can't say I've spoken much to priests myself, perhaps it could be enlightening."
Valentine really had no room to complain, wasn't as if he had much better to be attending to and he'd come here fully of his own volition. Wasn't this exactly the sort of thing he'd been seeking out by coming here anyway?
"Though I will say that I typically prefer coffee to tea."