It didn't matter how confidently Gabe managed to stride down the corridors; the fact remained that he obviously didn't know what he was doing, because he was going in the wrong direction. And that was a source of entertainment for Billy-Ray even with the way he was being pointedly ignored.
Besides which, Gabe wasn't really striding. He definitely wasn't stumbling or anything, but it looked like Billy-Ray had the answer to his earlier unspoken question. Somehow, someway, Gabe was injured. Not in any way that Billy-Ray could see, though. And that was perplexing, given that the man wore nothing but shorts and a tee, without even cowboy boots or anything. Maybe he was just sore.
After a few minutes of trailing along behind Gabe, the silence started annoying Billy-Ray. He found himself wishing he knew a little more religious history - wars, specifically. About all he knew was that the city called Jerusalem seemed to be the place everyone wanted and spilled blood over. He wasn't even sure where Jerusalem was, though. The Texan had never been there. Israel? Jordan? Oh, whatever. Taunting Gabe over his 'God' inspiring people to murder wouldn't work if Billy-Ray didn't at least know who those people were.
Conversation, then. That shouldn't be too hard; there was a lot Billy-Ray still didn't know. But what was the point? Gabe was apparently allergic to straight answers.
"I spy," he decided eventually, "with my little eye, somethin' that begins with C."
~~
Solomon went rigid for a moment, but he didn't pull away. Father O'Reilly didn't realise he'd been expecting that until it didn't happen. Hugging someone in a chair, he noted, was a tad more awkward than he'd predicted when it lasted for longer than a few moments, but he made it work. And he was particularly glad he did when he became aware of the man in his charge crying.
Because Solomon Wreath was quite definitely in his charge now. Even if Father O'Reilly wanted to back away, he would never be able to. For better or for worse, he was a part of the world of sorcery now, simply by knowing of its existence. As a member of that world, he was just as privy to its dangers as its secrets; and, for the first time since Solomon set foot into the church, Father O'Reilly wouldn't have had it any other way. If this was how he could best help Solomon, then so be it.
This was God's plan for him. The knowledge came to him as surely as the taken names of sorcerers; 'clicked' into place, as Solomon had put it.
After what felt like hours, Father O'Reilly broke away and politely turned his back, heading over to the fridge with a vague idea of pouring himself some juice, despite the tea that already waited for him on the table. He wouldn't turn around again until Solomon gave some indication he'd regained enough composure to be happy with continuing the conversation. Pride may have been a sin, but in this instance, Father O'Reilly was perfectly happy with tackling one sin at a time.
no subject
Besides which, Gabe wasn't really striding. He definitely wasn't stumbling or anything, but it looked like Billy-Ray had the answer to his earlier unspoken question. Somehow, someway, Gabe was injured. Not in any way that Billy-Ray could see, though. And that was perplexing, given that the man wore nothing but shorts and a tee, without even cowboy boots or anything. Maybe he was just sore.
After a few minutes of trailing along behind Gabe, the silence started annoying Billy-Ray. He found himself wishing he knew a little more religious history - wars, specifically. About all he knew was that the city called Jerusalem seemed to be the place everyone wanted and spilled blood over. He wasn't even sure where Jerusalem was, though. The Texan had never been there. Israel? Jordan? Oh, whatever. Taunting Gabe over his 'God' inspiring people to murder wouldn't work if Billy-Ray didn't at least know who those people were.
Conversation, then. That shouldn't be too hard; there was a lot Billy-Ray still didn't know. But what was the point? Gabe was apparently allergic to straight answers.
"I spy," he decided eventually, "with my little eye, somethin' that begins with C."
~~
Solomon went rigid for a moment, but he didn't pull away. Father O'Reilly didn't realise he'd been expecting that until it didn't happen. Hugging someone in a chair, he noted, was a tad more awkward than he'd predicted when it lasted for longer than a few moments, but he made it work. And he was particularly glad he did when he became aware of the man in his charge crying.
Because Solomon Wreath was quite definitely in his charge now. Even if Father O'Reilly wanted to back away, he would never be able to. For better or for worse, he was a part of the world of sorcery now, simply by knowing of its existence. As a member of that world, he was just as privy to its dangers as its secrets; and, for the first time since Solomon set foot into the church, Father O'Reilly wouldn't have had it any other way. If this was how he could best help Solomon, then so be it.
This was God's plan for him. The knowledge came to him as surely as the taken names of sorcerers; 'clicked' into place, as Solomon had put it.
After what felt like hours, Father O'Reilly broke away and politely turned his back, heading over to the fridge with a vague idea of pouring himself some juice, despite the tea that already waited for him on the table. He wouldn't turn around again until Solomon gave some indication he'd regained enough composure to be happy with continuing the conversation. Pride may have been a sin, but in this instance, Father O'Reilly was perfectly happy with tackling one sin at a time.