RE: Incident [TEXT]
08-14-2013, 07:18 PM
“Hello?”
No response. But then nobody would be lying on the ground like that if they were in a position to reply.
You put the flowers on the ground and step closer to the body. Steeling yourself, you inch closer until it's just within touching distance. You reach out for their shoulder and pull just enough to turn them face up.
It's a girl. A teenager. She appears to have bled out from multiple wounds and her left arm looks broken.
“She's quite dead, I'm afraid, and has been for a few minutes.”
You turn.
The speaker leans against the dark brick wall. Either they weren't there a few seconds ago or you didn't see them when you looked. They're dressed almost completely in the same dull, dark grey. In deep enough darkness they might just melt into the shadows. Cowled, wearing dark tinted glasses and with a cloth wrapped around their nose and mouth, you can't see their face at all. A stole draped around their shoulders gently waves in the wake of a stray breeze and brushes their knees. Black armband. Black trim on the hood. They've pulled the glove off their left hand, and they're cleaning the underside of the nails of a hand as white as snow with a gleaming pocket knife. You've never seen a hand so pale.
“You should go,” they continue. “There's nothing you can do for her now.”
“Are you a sacerdos?” It's hardly the most pertinent question. It's barely relevant. You're fairly sure you know how they're going to reply.
“That I am. Guardian Ahazai of the Church of the Nameless God, at your service. But you really should go.”
“Did you kill her?”
They hiss and look up sharply. Crimson is seeping out from under one of their nails and down the gleaming blade. They shake their head and wipe the metal with the gloved hand, then don the other glove. Only when the knife has been put away do they reply.
“No. No. We would not do this. There are just deaths and necessary deaths and sometimes the right sacerdos might enact them, but what happened to this child was neither of those things.”
“Maybe so. But I'm looking at a dead body and someone being extremely cagey about how it got there. What does that look like to you?”
They bow their head.
“I'm waiting for the killer to appear. She managed to crawl away from her attacker, leaving a trail, and it seems likely the perpetrator will want to make sure that she's dead. Or maybe they will regret what they did and hope that she survived. Either way, they will be here soon.”
“You think you can handle them on your own?”
“I think I can reason with them. If that is not possible, then they will be at the disadvantage. I don't think they've killed anyone before. I very much doubt that they will be thinking straight.”
“A panicky murderer doesn't sound any better than a clear-headed one. It actually sounds worse.”
Looking up again, they step away from the wall, and closer to you.
“What is it that you want, friend? Why are you still here? Do you doubt that I'm a sacerdos? Or do you mistake me for a Thinker or a Healer, soft and naïve? Is it just that you think I'm an incapable Guardian? Does the black armband mean nothing to you?” Their voice is almost completely unemotional, but if anything closer to idly curious than annoyed.
You can't claim to have any idea what the black armband means. You've seen other sacerdotes, the stoic and uniformed guards that stand at the entrances of the Cathedral, with white and red armbands. During the summer riots a few years ago you saw one with a maroon armband leading others with red, but you've never seen any with black. Whatever the armbands are, they seem to be unique to the Guardian sacerdotes. The same seems to go for the trim on the hoods, which always match the armbands in colour. While working, the Healers wear only wristbands to denote their status as sacerdotes. You've never seen a Thinker. Probably something to do with never having been in a church.
In any case, how do you reply to the sacerdos?
No response. But then nobody would be lying on the ground like that if they were in a position to reply.
You put the flowers on the ground and step closer to the body. Steeling yourself, you inch closer until it's just within touching distance. You reach out for their shoulder and pull just enough to turn them face up.
It's a girl. A teenager. She appears to have bled out from multiple wounds and her left arm looks broken.
“She's quite dead, I'm afraid, and has been for a few minutes.”
You turn.
The speaker leans against the dark brick wall. Either they weren't there a few seconds ago or you didn't see them when you looked. They're dressed almost completely in the same dull, dark grey. In deep enough darkness they might just melt into the shadows. Cowled, wearing dark tinted glasses and with a cloth wrapped around their nose and mouth, you can't see their face at all. A stole draped around their shoulders gently waves in the wake of a stray breeze and brushes their knees. Black armband. Black trim on the hood. They've pulled the glove off their left hand, and they're cleaning the underside of the nails of a hand as white as snow with a gleaming pocket knife. You've never seen a hand so pale.
“You should go,” they continue. “There's nothing you can do for her now.”
“Are you a sacerdos?” It's hardly the most pertinent question. It's barely relevant. You're fairly sure you know how they're going to reply.
“That I am. Guardian Ahazai of the Church of the Nameless God, at your service. But you really should go.”
“Did you kill her?”
They hiss and look up sharply. Crimson is seeping out from under one of their nails and down the gleaming blade. They shake their head and wipe the metal with the gloved hand, then don the other glove. Only when the knife has been put away do they reply.
“No. No. We would not do this. There are just deaths and necessary deaths and sometimes the right sacerdos might enact them, but what happened to this child was neither of those things.”
“Maybe so. But I'm looking at a dead body and someone being extremely cagey about how it got there. What does that look like to you?”
They bow their head.
“I'm waiting for the killer to appear. She managed to crawl away from her attacker, leaving a trail, and it seems likely the perpetrator will want to make sure that she's dead. Or maybe they will regret what they did and hope that she survived. Either way, they will be here soon.”
“You think you can handle them on your own?”
“I think I can reason with them. If that is not possible, then they will be at the disadvantage. I don't think they've killed anyone before. I very much doubt that they will be thinking straight.”
“A panicky murderer doesn't sound any better than a clear-headed one. It actually sounds worse.”
Looking up again, they step away from the wall, and closer to you.
“What is it that you want, friend? Why are you still here? Do you doubt that I'm a sacerdos? Or do you mistake me for a Thinker or a Healer, soft and naïve? Is it just that you think I'm an incapable Guardian? Does the black armband mean nothing to you?” Their voice is almost completely unemotional, but if anything closer to idly curious than annoyed.
You can't claim to have any idea what the black armband means. You've seen other sacerdotes, the stoic and uniformed guards that stand at the entrances of the Cathedral, with white and red armbands. During the summer riots a few years ago you saw one with a maroon armband leading others with red, but you've never seen any with black. Whatever the armbands are, they seem to be unique to the Guardian sacerdotes. The same seems to go for the trim on the hoods, which always match the armbands in colour. While working, the Healers wear only wristbands to denote their status as sacerdotes. You've never seen a Thinker. Probably something to do with never having been in a church.
In any case, how do you reply to the sacerdos?