"'Lanta."

The call touched briefly on the edge of her focus. Rather than turn towards it, however, she just kept staring at her hand on the tap. She was thinking.

"'Lanta!" The sharpness this time around finally shook her. She snapped her eyes over to Emile, the towering man who was staring at her and holding out a plate of Mexican food. She must have looked confused.

"Order up," he continued, the rasp of his voice softening for her. "And you're spilling the beer, again." There was a note of amusement in his tone and an awkward movement of lips that showed off his broken and missing teeth, which was about as close as he ever came to smiling.

When she looked back to the tap, sure enough, she noted the grossly overfilled mug and the puddle forming at her feet. "Bollocks." She held the glass as far away from her clothes as possible, crinkled her nose at the chef, and took the plate from him. "Ta'." There was a sheepish twitch of her mouth included, the kind that would have been a returned smile on some other day. Emile nodded and ducked back into the kitchen area, leaving her to head over to the table currently holding a small cluster of the Baron's knights. "Here ya are, fellas." Their Taco Tuesday special was set down in front of them, and since she'd forgotten the exact orders, she let them figure it out. When the drink was placed on a free napkin, she wiped her hands on her slacks. "Anything else, for now?"

The tacos and enchiladas and nachos and guacamole made its way onto the table among maps, charts and battle plans. There was a war on, to be sure, but there were also traditions they felt it was their duty to observe, and in that regard, Taco Tuesdays fit in somewhere just below Mass on their list of priorities. "Good for now, 'Lanta," one of them said gruffly, but a younger man shot his hand up and said, "Another round!" The older knight stared hard at him, but after a moment there was a general murmur of assent. More beer.

Zakharias Loe was just finishing his own pint over at the bar, and sticking to himself this evening. No maps sat in front of him, either, and he made no move to join the others -- when his glass was empty he turned it over slowly in his fingers and stared in thought at the heavily scarred face reflected back at him.

Once they earned a laugh from her, even in spite of the strategic materials scattered around them, she headed back to get their drinks. The full tray was handed off to Odette, her newest trainee, with a point in the right direction. After watching the slightly older girl critically, making sure nothing got broken or dropped along the way, she turned away to meet the patrons nearest?or, patron.

"Think it'll fill itself up if ya fuss with it long enough, Zakh?" asked with a nod at his empty.

Zakharias smiled suddenly at her question, and passed the glass to her. "Greater miracles have happened... but I think seeing you tap out another pint will do for me tonight." His smile grew, and he tipped his head at her. If he'd still had two eyes, he would have winked at her. "...It's good that they're doing things under their own power, and the Baron's guidance... even with the growing gaps in our leadership." His expression took a harder turn then, and he looked away to draw out his pipe and pack it carefully with tobacco.

She was momentarily distracted by the sounds of an 'ohgosh, sorrysorrysorry' somewhere in the background. She scrunched her nose and let out a laugh while filling up Zakh's beer; it quickly faded out when she finished pouring in time to catch his comments. The question sat in her look as she gave the mug over with two hands.

The former Legionnaire raised his eyebrows: "Archpriest Paul Curthose may be losing his seat on the Council... but he remains Archpriest, and will do so until he voluntarily steps down, or the day he dies. And as Archpriest he is afforded certain..." He paused and shook his head. "Do not take me the wrong way, Atalanta. I think they are reasonable privileges, and have gone often to serve the greater good. But the fact of the matter is, the Archpriest retains certain privileges over us, and..." Another pause, this time to suck flame into his pipe. "Well. He has been making as much use of them as possible."

He had her at the first utterance of the word 'priest'. She narrowed her eyes until the whole of her attention was on him, every suspicious ounce of it. The sudden sharpness of her features was not to be missed, nor was the flare under her skin--if he'd been about to hold things back, she was going to do her best to drag them all out. "Yeah?"

He knew the look, at least on some level, and narrowed his eye ever so slightly; then he continued. "An Archpriest in the Gallican Catholic Church may retain one knight for any mission or personal protection without consulting his fellow Archpriests, and Paul Curthose has done so with my Captain, Sir Roland... for five nights. As a bodyguard, and to share in prayer, meditation and... reflection."

Zakharias sighed aromatic tobacco and collected his beer. "I am sure he was once a man of joy, but it would seem Father Paul carries only dark warnings on his tongue. Threats against the diminished faith in the realm, and the choice between our Baron and our God." He looked from his beer to her again. "And the grace Roland was shown, by the consent of all of the Archpriests, ultimately, to his continued service to the Church and the Order in spite of his unique condition. But also... whether or not salvation truly awaits Sir Roland, when his life ends."

The other knights watched Zakharias from their table now, fallen silent, their faces like stone. Their rage festered silently, with only one willing to speak for them, and so very little.

"None but God know what fate awaits each man when he dies. So it is... distressing for me, when a holy man claims to know my brother is damned. Please..." He mustered a smile, a small one, from somewhere, and added, "this once, forgive me my terrible mood, when I'm sure you could use a little more brightness."

It was not often that she let anger seize hold of her so publicly, even with the Infernal bloodline. In fact, this was perhaps the first time the knights of the Barony had ever seen her enraged. Father Paul had already earned a strike against him for his conflict with Alain, and with the new information, she was ready to throw him out entirely. Her skin burned and her gaze lit up as the air in the room started to climb in temperature. "I see." With as much calm as she could gather, given the emotional climate, she stepped away from the bar. "Well, what I will forgive is such a silly apology, huh?" She attempted to be sweet, but the clipped way she spoke killed what good humor lied in her words. She followed up with a clearing of her throat. "Emile's in charge. Odette, behind bar." ?Lanta wiped her hands off needlessly on a bar rag and started to move for the door. The trainee skittered to fill the empty space. "...I suddenly don't feel so good."

Zakharias stiffened at the sudden flare in her anger, and the way she started to leave. He struggled to his feet and opened his mouth to say something, a further apology, a request... but Malcolm interrupted him, from over at the table:"You went home sick, and I walked you home." The words were cryptic to the others, no one else seeming to grasp their implication, or what Atalanta intended to do with her anger. This one knight understood it all too well, and so offered her an alibi. He inclined his head very slightly, coolly, and returned to his maps.

She didn't look back--just grinned at the door and pressed her way out into the night. "Ta', Mal. You really are the best."


]

Served Cold, cont'd
Not Quite Right thread.]

Chase?s bones had been reached. They screamed and felt as if there were snaps and crackles and pops where there shouldn?t be. Horrid biological destruction was blooming in horrid plagues across Chase?s form. Pretty on the outside, catastrophic on the inside. Was it her marrow? Whatever it was, the centers of her bones began to freeze, then boil like magma, then stiffen to brittle, painful frost again. She felt the crumbling of her limbs, looking at that chair as if she?d never rise from it again. It sure as hell felt that way with the raising intensities of her very vitals.

?Pony up, huh? You guys sure are helpful. For a couple of floozies throwin? themselves at y?feet, you sure don?t seem too anxious.? She spat out more blood on the ground, not to insult, but to deal with her inner meltdown. ?Sh*t chums, whatever... It?s hurtin?. I?m tryin? to think here, alright? Somethin? costly is what y?want in addition to this fiddlumbenz?? Slang and deconstruction of it was next. A horrible vomit of words and insults along with the underlying truth and speech she so desperately spewed out of those lungs that felt like dry, cracking maple leaves. ?Ain?t got no siblings. I was an orphan, dudes. I ain?t a royal, so y?can forget about that. Y?guys got tons of ghouls...? It was starting to look like this was just a dead end. She had nowhere to go, nothing to think until her forced turn would be burned away with all this pain.

?Lanta felt her gut wrench as she watched blood collect at the corner of Chase?s mouth. The horrible contortions of the Gypo?s body were tearing at the cambion?s belly. So violently, in fact, that she didn?t even have time to think about what she was really saying. ?Archpriest.?

The three behind the table stopped gawking at Chase and snapped their attention to ?Lanta. The dame spoke first. ?Arch?priest.? She purred it. The trio leaned enough to look at the serpent behind the girls, again.

After another full moment, the Trinity eased back to look at the pair ahead of them. ?He?s hardly a saint,? spoke the man with the horns.

?How many are, even in the clergy?? ?Lanta retorted hoarsely. The cold and the tension were wrecking her vocal cords. ?He?s still got the title and his role in the Church. I get him to you, you keep the thing?? The half-breed indicated Chase with the movement of her eyes. ?In there. It?s enough to get the job done.? She cleared her throat and cut another look back. ?We?ll have to owe the final?payment.? The word came out with a struggle. As a rule of thumb, you never wanted to owe them anything.

The quiet returned. The two at the table turned to look at one another. Everything was just exchanged glances between. The seconds seemed to stretch out and soak up all the chilly air.

Finally, the dame turned back around and heaved a delicate sigh. ?It?s almost a shame. That?s probably the best possession I?ve seen in years.? She rose gracefully, put one pretty hand on the table, and leaned to stretch the other out to Chase.

It'd be a hand-shake to seal fates. A whole lot of 'em.

It had been long enough. She pried her hands off the basin and moved them towards the handles, watching their trembling journey. Her nerves ached from the extended strain. She saw her fingers twitching, and all at once, she felt a terrible weight settle onto her digits. The unseen burden drove her hands under the cool stream of water, leading her to frantically scrub at them in the belief that she could smother and drown the sensation.

?Beg pardon?? It was less indignant than before, though his face showed the struggle between haughtiness and interest.

?Avarice,? she answered, starting to lean in over him. ?Pride.?

He balked at her accusations, but his barriers were paper thin.

?Oh, come on, Father.? The mockery in the address was far more evident, now. She put a hand on either arm of his chair and trapped him in the seat. ?Don?t make that face. You knew what you were doing, didn?t you? Offering condemnation instead of redemption, rewarding the loyalty of knights like Sir Roland by paving the road to Hell for him?? Her voice and expression were both cloyingly kind as she pressed her face in closer. ?Betraying your flock through chats with the press. You knew the consequences. Didn?t you??

He couldn?t seem to close his mouth. The once cool gaze was forced wider as she dug in.

?Well, the consequences for them, really?those are what you were counting on, weren?t they?? She moved a palm to his cheek, turning the comforting gesture into something cruel with the burn of her skin. ?It?s a right shame that it didn?t turn out like you hoped. Oh, but don?t worry?"

"Even though they all didn?t die, you still managed to murder some well enough.? She made it sound cheery, like it was supposed to provide a balm to his bruised ego.

It only seemed to succeed in making his complexion more pallid. ?Mu-murder?? He stumbled over the repeated word and through a flash of horror, into a look of absolute panic. Still, he made no effort to push her away.

She waited for the cry of ?Dear God, what have I? or the tearful ?Lord, forgive me?. Redemption, her Gran had told her, was given to even the worst offenders if it came from pure remorse.

Instead, he gave her the sort of expectant ?what will become of me?? stare and she frowned as his self-concern doomed him further. He would not be given the second chance to reform; she couldn?t afford it. Chase couldn?t, either.

?Yes, Father. Your crime just as much as the ones who did the killing?worse, even, given your method and motivation. Qualifies you for mortal sin.? The more she explained, the more he thoroughly repulsed her. She pushed the chair away and sent him spinning off and to the slight right. ?This whole time, you were acting for your gain rather than His. ...You ain?t fit to wear the robes,? she informed him once he was the distance away from her.

?Mortal?? The second ?m? word didn?t make him stutter, but he derailed on it. His glazed eyes fixed on nothing as the chair slowed to a stop. For the moment, it was silence.

She couldn?t let him float too long, though. The importance of this meeting in mind, she buried her distaste and walked towards his little island.

?He can?t save you. Or, rather, He won?t.? She paused long enough to shift an uncomfortable look up. When nothing struck her down, she settled her eyes back on the crushed clergyman. ?This isn?t the place for you. He doesn?t want you, anymore." Now, when she spoke, it was in a gentle, honeyed manner.

She extended a soft hand, palm up and ready to meet his. ?But I know people who do. They can give you everything you want, everything you can?t have here. The authority and respect you deserve.?

Her words made him look over; first to her hand and then to her face. His eyes held a shred of wariness, because every good priest knew the warning signs, but the rest of his expression was so worn. He sighed.

?For what??

?Nothing you haven?t already risked.? She met his gaze head on and eased the bewitching. He had to be willing of his own accord. She smiled in a newly delicate and seemingly sincere way.

?What have you really got to lose??