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Post by Kurt Wagner on Jul 9, 2007 17:44:39 GMT -4
Unworthy.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned", he whispered as he knelt in shadow. He had to make a very conscious effort not to use the word "Vater" instead, but in neither of his languages had the word ever held much meaning for Kurt Wagner. Not in any tangible way.
Unknown.
It was a concern for his immortal being that had brought him here, but it was fear for his mortal flesh that had brought him here this late. It found him striving hard to hide his true identity.
Unseen.
He knew that the priest was still there, the confessional having only just emptied and the penitent before him having only just left the chapel. Kurt slipped inside it quickly and unobserved.
He had a knack for being unnoticed.
In another world, it might even have been seen as a gift.
But not in this one.
It was only one of the things troubling Kurt Wagner's soul.
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Post by Gambit on Jul 10, 2007 13:24:55 GMT -4
He sat in near darkness, the silence surrounding him broken only by the fading footsteps from his last confessor. Out of respect and out of duty he would not step free of the small, confining space until he heard the doors close in the distance, but Father LeBeau did not mind the solitude. It was here that he could truly be alone to think, to contemplate life, the universe… everything.
This time, though, he was not alone. No sooner had he heard the door shut than did a soft voice emanate from the other side of the screen, giving the priest a start. It was not a voice he recognised as someone who often sought his council. Although he never acknowledged his recognition outside these walls, he could quickly identify the voices of the regulars. This voice was different, appearing from nowhere and barely audible, causing the priest to lean closer to the wall that separated them.
“I’m listenin’, m' child,” he said softly.
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Post by Kurt Wagner on Jul 11, 2007 16:49:59 GMT -4
Child.
The word sent a spark through Kurt's emotions. It reminded him of Django. Of Margali. Of Jimaine.
But they were gone now.
And whatever Margali and Django were, they were not his true parents in any case. He fought back painful memory at the thought of them. Kurt didn't allow his thoughts to go that far with Jimaine.
Instead, he sorted through the list of his transgressions in his mind. As much as he wished to conceal who he was for now, there was one sin he knew he had to confront first.
"I am not a mutant", he told the priest.
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Post by Gambit on Jul 12, 2007 19:47:52 GMT -4
Not a mutant.
If the sudden voice from the assumed empty confessional had startled the priest, this confession down right shocked him. His senses were keen, and he had distinctly heard footsteps leaving the church, but none entering. From a mutant, this could be expected. From a mere human? How was this possible? It would be surprising enough by any means for one of those dubbed “homo-inferior” to seek his counsel.
Not a mutant. How was he to deal with this? Although he refused to turn his back on any of God’s creatures, the method this human used to speak with him left no doubt that he was not supposed to be here, so the very act of speaking could put the priest’s life in danger. Many in his position would call a guard, but despite the risks, Father LeBeau saw only one choice.
“Why have y’ come here?” he asked. Although he sat rigidly on the small wooden bench, the fact of the matter was that he remained seated.
Perhaps not in the eyes of the world, but in the eyes of God all were equal.
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Post by Kurt Wagner on Jul 12, 2007 20:48:12 GMT -4
It gave Kurt a small but wicked pleasure that the priest sounded uncomfortable and maybe just a little bit frightened. Yet another sin he would pay for, he knew.
"I...", Kurt answered, the pleasure fading into his guilt, "I wish to find some peace, Father."
It sounded like a plea.
"I do not wish to surrender my soul to the darkness", he whispered.
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Post by Gambit on Jul 15, 2007 20:29:45 GMT -4
In his calling he heard of practically every issue imaginable, and while none were considered slight in the minds of those who confessed, none of them would have to deal with the fear that this man must deal with simply because of what he was. Against the logic of how the man was even here, the priest had no reason to doubt his claim. Who comes to confession to lie? He must be a servant of one of the facilities within the walls, perhaps the castle itself.
Forcing himself to curb his curiosity regarding this man, Father LeBeau turned his undivided attention to the words that were being spoken and the tone used to deliver them. This was truly a troubled soul.
“Surrender is only ever one option,” he replied, his voice quiet and soothing. “What is dis darkness y’ speak of?”
He knew of dark thoughts. He had yet to meet a man who did not harbour some darkness inside.
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Post by Kurt Wagner on Jul 18, 2007 12:49:27 GMT -4
"It is the curse of my heritage", Kurt answered darkly. He paused and considered how to continue. The words and the admission were difficult.
"My people are wanderers and nomads", he said. "We value our freedom." Kurt sounded supremely apologetic. "...but a long history of persecution has taught us to move on when it is denied us."
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Post by Gambit on Jul 18, 2007 15:35:56 GMT -4
These were troubling words indeed. The fact that this man was here, in this church, suggested that he was a servant within the complex walls. The life he led was not one of freedom, so the urge to escape must be growing daily, but where would he go? Mere humans were not free anywhere in the world. If he successfully escaped here, he only risked serving elsewhere, and if he did avoid the bounty hunters, it would be a life on the run.
That was not true freedom either.
But what did darkness have to do with this? Was this man considering taking drastic measures to escape?
“So t’ move on y’ would need t’ give int’ de darkness?” the priest questioned, though he was speaking the words aloud more to hear them himself.
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Post by Kurt Wagner on Jul 18, 2007 19:12:37 GMT -4
"Not to move on, Father", Kurt answered. On his side of the partition he sank and pulled himself into an almost fetal crouch, his face resting in his open palms. He rubbed at the pain that pulsed in his forehead. "...to stay", he whispered from behind his hands.
Kurt looked up then, at the dim points of light that passed through the divider. "My people", he said, "would choose to move on, but this does not mean they are... defenseless." He was going to use the word "powerless", but decided against it. "And they are not cowards. Backed into a corner they would choose to fight."
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Post by Gambit on Jul 18, 2007 22:29:35 GMT -4
He watched the shadow move on the other side of the screen; it appeared to be kneeling. These people the man spoke of, the nomads… who were they? The voice was strained, whispering a bit unnatural as if attempting to hide something recognisable such as an accent. Where were these people originally from? These who would fight for their freedom?
Why was he not with them? Why…
“Why are y’ not fightin’ wit’ dem?” the priest asked cautiously. “What is it dat keeps y’ here an’ dat’s worth riskin’ y’r soul fo’?”
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Post by Kurt Wagner on Jul 18, 2007 23:23:06 GMT -4
“Why are y’ not fightin’ wit’ dem?” the priest asked cautiously.
"They are gone now", the servant answered softly and with equal caution.
“What is it dat keeps y’ here an’ dat’s worth riskin’ y’r soul fo’?”
"I am a captive", Kurt answered simply. It was the first time he made not even the slightest attempt at a whisper. "I could not leave here if I wanted to." He realized that what he said was full of contradictions, or....at the very least....the priest would see things that way. He had said enough to make it clear where he must have come from, and it was obvious the castle's security hadn't kept him in. It made what he had said seem like a lie.
He almost felt bad for what came next, for although he had said very little and he wished to say more, he felt as if he said far, far too much. It was time to go.
Kurt Wagner stepped back into the shadows and he was gone.
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Post by Gambit on Jul 19, 2007 14:29:44 GMT -4
The priest’s brow furrowed in confusion as he listened. The way this man spoke before seemed to suggest that he had an option, that he could choose to leave if he wished, yet now he was admitting to being a captive. Against his oath, disregarding trust, Remy leaned close to the screen, trying to peer through it, to catch just a glimpse of this mysterious confessor.
What he saw shocked him.
One moment there was the outline of a form kneeling before the screen and the next it seemed to melt into the shadows and disappear. Jumping to his feet in alarm, he threw open the door to the small booth and stepped out, his eyes quickly scanning the church, but there was no movement to catch his eye, nor would anyone have had the time to get even far enough to hide. Besides, the shadow had appeared to fade toward the back of the small confessional. Facing the other door, he hesitated as he placed his hand on the handle. To even consider this invasion of privacy was against everything he stood for, but he couldn’t seem to restrain himself. Gripping the door handle he pulled it open and stumbled backwards, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.
It was empty.
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