"Really?" Billy-Ray frowned. "'Cause I feel pretty safe back here."
"I do have a gun pointed at you," Pleasant reminded him evenly.
Well, yes. There was that. Billy-Ray felt decidedly less safe as he risked a quick glance behind him at the corner the car had disappeared around. Right now, he didn't even have the confidence to get all the way into the ground at all, let alone in time to dodge a bullet. This was truly a sticky situation he'd found himself in, and yet - as with most every similar time Billy-Ray could remember - apart from a healthy amount of fear, he was having the time of his life.
All that fear left Billy-Ray's eyes a moment later when just how awesome he was got called violently into question. "Hey!" he snapped. "You don't even have a hat! Looked in a mirror lately? You ain't exactly anythin' to write home about, either." Only a beat after Gabe had complained to Pleasant, Billy-Ray was also giving the detective an incredulous look. "You were comparin' me to who?"
"I probably shouldn't try to point out how ironic this whole conversation is," Pleasant said to the Teleporter. Renn. Fletcher Renn. That was it.
Renn smiled weakly. "I think you just did."
"Did I? Oh well."
~~
"A person is never completely lost until they no longer wonder or care if what they're doing is right," Father O'Reilly said. "It takes a special sort of person to admit when they might be wrong. Most people never get that far." He hesitated, and watched Solomon's face. Grieved for the way religion had treated him as a child. For every person Christianity saved, there always seemed to be just one more who was forever burned by it. The religion, and the panicked practitioners doing what they thought was best when their actions were about as far away from 'best' as possible.
He nodded slowly. "That being said, it won't be easy." Not for you. "Because you're right. You can't undo... almost 400 years... with one moment of self-doubt." Lord, give him strength. 400 years. And the man didn't a look a day over 35. How long were the lives of sorcerers, exactly? Father O'Reilly probably didn't want to know. "It will take dedication, but you're not beyond hope, Solomon. And... I'd like to help, if I can."
And he did want to help. For all Solomon claimed to be - and was - Father O'Reilly couldn't help remembering the way he'd looked when he first came into the church. Not a powerful Necromancer, or sorcerer, with nothing but fear or contempt for the faith. Just a man. A man uncertain of whether he even belonged there. The way he held his cane, the source of his power, away from himself, and jumped slightly when Father O'Reilly came out to meet him.
It was that man, and the scared boy he used to be, that Father O'Reilly wanted to help. Not the Necromancer.
"Why can't you choose to be something else?" he asked. He could scarcely believe his next question, either, but if Father O'Reilly was going to help, then he needed to know at least the basics of Solomon's world - as much as he definitely didn't want to think about them. "Magic 'settling.' What does that mean?"
no subject
"I do have a gun pointed at you," Pleasant reminded him evenly.
Well, yes. There was that. Billy-Ray felt decidedly less safe as he risked a quick glance behind him at the corner the car had disappeared around. Right now, he didn't even have the confidence to get all the way into the ground at all, let alone in time to dodge a bullet. This was truly a sticky situation he'd found himself in, and yet - as with most every similar time Billy-Ray could remember - apart from a healthy amount of fear, he was having the time of his life.
All that fear left Billy-Ray's eyes a moment later when just how awesome he was got called violently into question. "Hey!" he snapped. "You don't even have a hat! Looked in a mirror lately? You ain't exactly anythin' to write home about, either." Only a beat after Gabe had complained to Pleasant, Billy-Ray was also giving the detective an incredulous look. "You were comparin' me to who?"
"I probably shouldn't try to point out how ironic this whole conversation is," Pleasant said to the Teleporter. Renn. Fletcher Renn. That was it.
Renn smiled weakly. "I think you just did."
"Did I? Oh well."
~~
"A person is never completely lost until they no longer wonder or care if what they're doing is right," Father O'Reilly said. "It takes a special sort of person to admit when they might be wrong. Most people never get that far." He hesitated, and watched Solomon's face. Grieved for the way religion had treated him as a child. For every person Christianity saved, there always seemed to be just one more who was forever burned by it. The religion, and the panicked practitioners doing what they thought was best when their actions were about as far away from 'best' as possible.
He nodded slowly. "That being said, it won't be easy." Not for you. "Because you're right. You can't undo... almost 400 years... with one moment of self-doubt." Lord, give him strength. 400 years. And the man didn't a look a day over 35. How long were the lives of sorcerers, exactly? Father O'Reilly probably didn't want to know. "It will take dedication, but you're not beyond hope, Solomon. And... I'd like to help, if I can."
And he did want to help. For all Solomon claimed to be - and was - Father O'Reilly couldn't help remembering the way he'd looked when he first came into the church. Not a powerful Necromancer, or sorcerer, with nothing but fear or contempt for the faith. Just a man. A man uncertain of whether he even belonged there. The way he held his cane, the source of his power, away from himself, and jumped slightly when Father O'Reilly came out to meet him.
It was that man, and the scared boy he used to be, that Father O'Reilly wanted to help. Not the Necromancer.
"Why can't you choose to be something else?" he asked. He could scarcely believe his next question, either, but if Father O'Reilly was going to help, then he needed to know at least the basics of Solomon's world - as much as he definitely didn't want to think about them. "Magic 'settling.' What does that mean?"