Cerulean Cape raised hands

@Bernadette

he told @Heda he was headed to the mainland.

he prayed over a meal before he went. devoured it and made his trek across the strip, traveling along the coast. moved away from the river, lest he find the teeth of self-righteous sacrarium in his hide.

but instead he spotted something else. something that seemed almost...bearish.

except he size was wrong, if this was a bear it was a wayward cub. something he had seen no sign of during his time on the island.

next he thought of andrés.

it was for that reason alone he called out to the stranger, whatever state they may be in.

blessed day!

with trudging step the beardog went through the shallows, heavy coat haggard and hanging so that only sharp eyes could see the starved frame it hid.

muffled by roll of waves and blowing of wind, from its dark tongue rolled a string of words that were its incoherent thoughts made manifest.

"...notmorallyfatedtolosenotrumpetswillsoundfortheendtocomejudgmentshan'trideinonwhitehorsetosmite..."

it were aware that if one were to hear them, they'd sound mad and disjointed, but it had been rotating and prodding and stretching that specific concept in its mind for three days then, the mumbling continuing even in the half-sleep its medicine permitted. it was far beyond caring for judgment of the uneducated, wishing only for further peace as it mulled over its teachings and chewed on its panaeolusi.

and so it was that when a greeting carried itself to its pyramidical furred ears, the deceased halted, the wordstream stopped, and its mouth hung slightly ajar as the silence of its own mind deafened it.

the dead turned its head until its deep-set eyes saw a dark figure on the shore, wind tussling their long hair.

the words spoken returned to fill the empty places of its mind, and the beardog found the greeting offensive.

"blessed how?" rumbled it back, voice a baritone. waves rolled up to the rough fur its belly, and somewhere overhead a gull called.

they seemed unwell.

the father in his heart wished to keep her far from the island, away from the girls who called it home.

the priest in him deeply wished to heal her. he could put her in the lion's den, secluded, until the light of God might shine upon her.

blessed we found one another. he spoke, warm and unafraid.

are you tired? hungry?

he was the gentle hand of God, come to scoop her up and deliver her from evil.

forgive moi for the tardiness, got swept up in attempting to... *sigh*... make a my little pony friendship is magic tabletop roleplaying game for my friends... god gives me his toughest battles...

they spoke in that whimsical manner all those still-believing do, voice cushion-soft and words sweetened like a glass of absinthe rimmed with sugar.

"pah." the beardog grunted, turning its head away, thinking to ignore the nuisance until they left. 

a strong wave into its flank shoved the canine onto the shore. it needed a moment to collect itself, paws finding solid ground, and rein in the natural want to shake its coat.

still dripping, the undead turned back to the wild preacher.

"...who isn't?" it spoke with unbridled bitterness, answering the question after a long silence.

honestly? power move

this one did not snip at him with venom and poison.

he had met many lashed tongues and heard all the non-believers in the worlds. he had even heard the words of those who once believed, no longer did.

she was something fresh, something new, despite the deadness about her. death of the soul was the worst to witness. yet it was where God did His best work.

he smiled, briefly.

i am not. he told her softly. i have a place that lacks greatly in tiredness and hunger. what do you make of such a place?

one meaty brow lifted above the other.

while there were - as certainly as there weren't - those foolish enough to let wretched sense of morality guide them into thankless altruism; in this moment, the dead's guess was at a more sinister motive.

only a select few things could bring authentic joy. a million, trillion awful ones could urinate on its smoking remains.

still, it guessed even the most depraved of local canines too creatively stifled to consider necrophilia.

a minuscule curve of the lips. the beardog shook its heavy coat, dotting the dark, pliable sand.

"an exaggeration." it said with a shrug. its body posture turned to face the preacher. "to be tired and be hungry, is the base state."

the subtle shifting of folds and mass gave a more sly expression.

"do you intend to dangle it before my snout? i wouldn't assume an invitation."

she was miserable.

bartholomew loved the miserable. he loved the healing, the process, the work put into these things. it busied his body and soul.

you should assume an invitation.

he told her, warm as the summer breeze.

i intend to invite you, to regain your strength and feast. i even have a private place of the island to offer, where you may be in peace.

God smiled upon the miserable.

the bear looked at the preacher as if they were the sun.

that is, by squinting.

if they were an actor who took to a persona of earnest goodwill so easily, the undead could only guess at the depths of their depravity.

( the thought brought a twinge of unseen discomfort, for which it chided itself. 

the dead have nothing to fear. )

with a sigh the bear begun to with lumbering step scale the slight rise from atop of which the preacher-pretender shone down on its dark and compact smallness. as it rose it rumbled rhetoricals, punctuated by dragged-out, breathy silences awaiting the continuation of the sentence.

"will the feast entail... myself? will the private abode... be... where what remains... will be stashed away?"

it chuckled darkly to itself, deriving more entertainment from bluntly airing out its miserable thoughts than what it imagined the preacher could say in response.

depraved.

she would require much work, he thought. God would take his time with this one.

the feast will be birds. fish. if we get blessed, something from the mainland. he did not forget how heda had pulled a grand fish. he bet this bear-dog would feast well upon something like that.

he found he rather enjoyed the mental image.

the private abode? i suppose it'll house what remains of you. your soul. it is a cave, dark and soothing with lulls from the sea. hidden from the eyes of God.

i would know.

it ascended until the preacher was unobstructed by terrain. now near, it was unimpressed by the bluntness of the metaphor. insidious wolf draped in a kind's dog's clothing.

"you imply others." the bear pointed out. unless this single canine boasted a pack hunter's skill.

i would know

an intriguing statement.

"and what does a preacher do beyond the almighty's gaze?" lacking reverence when naming the deity.

he did not spill the facts of the others yet.

that she knew she might be watched beyond the eyes of him, the eyes of God, was all she needed. bartholomew was a man of little strength in his physical form.

the same could not be said of his other inhabitants.

sin.

he spoke, deeper now, but not fearful. instead he was drenched in the unholy truth of his path. a weapon to wield against those who thought they could do no better.

he had been there.

he had returned.

now it was the other brow that rose.

what an appeal to erroneous mortal nature!

the beardog snorted.

"fascinating. then you let your beliefs loose when unobserved?" the large head tilted ever so slightly to one side. "what point is there in faith, if it extinguishes when not enforced?"

two things. 1) i read all his dialogue in the syntax and voice of the priest from midnight mass 2) next reply will be slow bc i gotta make a couple posts for another charrie <33

1. perfect <3
2. also perfect <3 don't let me hog u!!

not anymore.

he confessed as if she was suddenly the pastor between them.

but months and moons ago, i was new to my missionary. i was weaker in the flesh than stronger in spirit. these things have been rectified with deeds and punishment.

he wondered now, in a horribly dark moment, if abraham had been taken from him. perhaps to spare the holiness of his son and punish the father.

you may take my invite. you may have me turn the other cheek.

the beardog's canted head leaned in an inch, triangle ears twitching with interest.

"aha." it breathed. "so punishment rectifies sin." dark eyes gleamed in the depths of its face. 

it straightened. there was very little need to contemplate the offer.

"take me with, o preacher." spoken in a husky voice tinged with mocking. "so i may beheld the glory of word made Flesh!"

a pause of curved lips.

"and feast of flesh, likewise."

i'd love a follow up at the island if she follows? <3

she mocked.

this would not be his first time to hear such a tone.

he gave no second thought now and turned, away from her and this place. but he expected her to follow him back to the island.

there he would hold his promises.

he would lead her to the cave, he would provide as much meat as she wished to gorge herself upon.

yeee start one and tag whomever you think should know <33 archive if u've got no response! 

the bear watched the preacher for traces of hurt, that sharp words had cut past the armour of cozy religion.

the bear followed the preacher, shoulder to shoulder, and glanced at how both their dark coats had a brighter sheen to them.

perhaps it was a sign?

but no.

there can we no signs within a corpse-universe.

only the flow of certainty.

and the bear wished to know what fate was for the preacher.