Canon is Midnight Mass.

[chasuble]

I d- don't— I don't know why you're—

( His fumbling words are broken by a deep sigh, and he rakes a hand over his face, lean torso tilted forwards for a moment where he's sitting. He stares at the ground of this strange place. He seems very tired. )

I wish you hadn't. I don't want to be here. Everything's gone now. Her— them. I— I shouldn't be here.


( What comes next is said quietly, resigned — mumbled to himself more than as a complaint aimed to his writer. He can see the irony of this. Can see a lot more things clearly, now. )

I'm all alone.

Comments

[topsdracula]

[ She only arches an eyebrow at all that incoherent mumbling. Clearly, the clergyman seems haunted by something and unused to his new role as a puppet. ]

Unfortunately, Father, you are never quite alone in this bloody place.

[ Others might try to reassure this man. But he seems old enough not to require coddling. ]

[chasuble]

( Paul — at least, that's the name he thinks he should keep going by for now — looks up, startled. He wasn't expecting anyone to approach him. )

Oh. ( He blinks, taking in the words slowly, then sits up a little straighter. Somehow, he isn't sure if it's a relief or not to hear that. There are... other people here? Not his people, but... others. )

Is this— it's some kind of Purgatory?

[topsdracula]

[ Integra does not approach too much. The man is plainly unsettled by her presence, and she is not the most equipped to manage someone panicking. But she can be patient, not necessarily pleasant by most standards, but patient. She takes a cigar from the package in her pocket, places it between her lips, unlit as she waits until he says something else, and his next comment maker her sneer inwardly.

Ah yes, Purgatory, that vainly invented destination according to Roman doctrine. Well, she had not expected him to be from the Church of England with his accent. ]

Certainly not. [ She almost snorts, waving a gloved hand in dismissal. ] I'm quite alive, I assure you. This hellhole is closer to an interdimensional Assylum. You won't be cleansed of any sins you carry, Father.

[chasuble]

( He watches the woman — some strange mixture of out of it, a touch disoriented, and too aware, following her movements. The journey from cigar to lips, the pause that follows. No.... No, she's right; he realises it as she says it, as he realises he can still smell too well and see too well and it feels as though he's filled up with something sparkling and beautiful and terrible. Like there's a thousand eyes up under his skin peering out; he is still a vessel for the divine.

Still a monster. He isn't dead. )

....

( The man sits there, quietly stunned. More mumbling, for a moment— ) No, I suppose... I suppose I wouldn't be. ( —before he looks to her again, with the sort of desperation a child might wear. )

Could my— Could people I know be here? Am I supposed to, to, find them?

[topsdracula]

[ Integra gazes down at him for a solemn as the seated priest continues struggling with accepting his new reality, his face like an open book. She can see his distress quite easily -- quite the opposite to her restrained, stoic features. The temptation to lit her cigar right then is strong, but she ignores that itch. She might not be fond of the Vatican clergy -- she has her damn good reasons not like any of those papists -- but this man is likely foreign to any of the conflict boiling in her home. She might be cold and ruthless but never needlessly cruel. The despair is palpable in this man. With his question about Purgatory, it is very likely he probably passed away or had a brush with death.

After a fashion, he appears to pull himself together, and he starts asking questions. ]

Indeed, that is a possibility. [ Would this man want that? ] I have seen familiar faces come and go sporadically. My own presence is not stable either. [ She frowns at his last question. He sounds uncertain about everything. She is definitely not the most suitable to be the first one who greets someone so fragile. ] If you like. Or stay there until they find you.

[chasuble]

( The possibility of seeing them again flits like an insect in front of him, and he wants to catch it — quickly, hold onto it.

....Seconds later, he shirks from the very thought. They don't deserve to be here. He'd... damned them all, in life. They should be spared from whatever this is that comes after, be spared from being trapped in this place with him. )

No... no, no, n— ( The priest shakes his head, like he's telling himself. He visibly flinches, a spasm-like movement, like something's moving up under him. ) I don't want them here. God, I hope they aren't. I pray they aren't.

( Funny though: the thought of praying now feels like bile in his throat. After a moment, he looks back up to the woman, painfully aware of his own state. )

...I'm sorry. I must seem...... ( The words fade off. ) I'm sorry you're trapped here, too.

[topsdracula]

[ Integra Hellsing is not a gentle woman. She was once, though. Once upon a time, she had been a soft-fleshed thing, a little romantic who fancied a knight in shining armor who would rescue her. Her first dragon was her uncle, and her knight was a leather-clad vampire. Her life isn't a fairytale but a horror story.

Her profession made her callous; she knows this when she watches this man go through his notions of calm and despair like someone who has not awoken from a nightmare. It makes her wonder what he experienced, but she does not think it is any of her business to pry. Her patience thins a little when he seems to flinch and fall into one of his spells again. A soft lady would try to soothe, but she's her own hardened knight now. ]

Cease this, Father. [ She says clippingly after his denial sets in the most self-flagellating manner possible. Catholics. Her eyes are cold and sharp as she stands still at the same distance. She looks for her lighter. ] Your longing to see a familiar face does not mean you have any power or say to bring them to this damned place.

[ Admonishing? Absolution of the sin to miss them? He can think what he wants. With a metallic click, she lights her cigar. ]

Yes, you do seem. [ She waves her hand, blowing some smoke. Just like him, she doesn't bother to finish. ] Duly noted, but not everything is your fault.

[ Integra stresses that part while she inhales again. He is probably trying to be polite, yet he seems haunted by guilt. In his fragile state, he might accumulate blames that aren't his to take. She will nip that in the bud.

She's not a kind woman, but she is a fair one. ]

[chasuble]

( 'Cease this, Father.' A command, short and cold to the touch, as cold as her eyes are as they take him in. Paul gives a sharp exhale, like the words have hurt him — but it's a welcomed ache. Like some sort of direction, guidance, in a way. He knows he needs to stand stronger than how he currently is, that this isn't right; he's meant to lead, and protect.

(Will he have to feed, here? Will that lust creep up again — slower and slower until it possesses him?) For just a second, a split second, his eyes flit to her neck. Wondering. Then he's closing them again as the woman continues.

Once again, her words elicit a sharpness in him, as though a knife across some internal organ. It hurts, inside; he feels as though he's bleeding. He doesn't want to be absolved of anything. He can't allow himself to think that way. )

Everything that matters is. Mine. My fault.

( Gentle, but there's a stubbornness. And he's two minds: one, perceiving his own words as blasphemous — to claim fault is to deny God's purpose for him.

The other, remembering the screams of his parish, and holding a limp body to his chest. Fault. He hears himself saying the word aloud to her in the next moment, and there's some comical irony here; him, now the one confessing. )

I'm a monster.

[topsdracula]

[ It probably sounds like an order. Integra always commands unless she's in the presence of Her Majesty, the Queen, and a senior knight she respects. Commanding is like breathing to her, done unconsciously, cultivated for nearly a decade. The way she stands with a straight back, smoking calmly at a polite distance, exhibits an unmistakable air of authority. She expects a reaction too. Her sharp gaze is studying his breathing and shifting expression, and she has noticed that quick flicker. She's lived with two vampires, one their king in her world. She knows when someone is staring at her throat.

She doesn't seem concerned about it. She merely takes another whiff of her cigar and says nothing while she observes the man mutter more woeful words. It seems too much. Excessive. Even with the stereotype of Catholic Guilt. She feels the stirring of a headache. ]

Before you proceed with your confession, I must warn you that I belong to the Anglican Church of England, Father.

[ She clarifies airly. The lenses of her round glasses flash slightly, hiding her eyes. Will that satisfy him? She cannot aid him with his penance. She is one mind to walk away and leave him to his thoughts. He seemly requires time alone, in her opinion. How could he face people if he barely can get his bearings? She is one second to leave when he calls himself a monster.

A monster. Tch. She chomps down her cigar and carefully regards him next. Eyes narrowing, she says. ]

You look like you might break down into tears at any moment now. Monsters do not weep.

[formersurgeon]

[Joan sees a man in pain, and her heart breaks for him. Her voice is soft and gentle.]

You don't have to be alone.

[wasneverasin]

Somehow we just can't seem to fade away, can we? Even after all that.