Fugue State

a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity

summer event: june 10th - August 31st
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 No Maker Made Me, @Angie // Luther
Feb 14 2018, 06:33 PM
91
posts
1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
Hell
Loki-sexual
obsessive // shipped w/his brother
Mattie / Ninian

awards

clandestine corruption
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PTSD | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
The banquet hall was a sprawling beautiful space, nothing you'd find in some silly old hotel beside the freeway that was divided by a stained ivory accordion partition that was more yellowed than it was anything pristine and becoming to the space. It's walls were wallpapered in something tasteful and expensive looking, a clean, soft ivory with a mid-range gray pattern as not to be too overtly busy. Everything was accented in pale wisps of gold, the same gold that clung to the chandeliers that hung across the space, eight of them in total filling the same with refracted and delicate pale light. This wasn't a place where the RV salesmen gathered to talk over the latest and greatest monster vehicle that sat in their lot. It was a place of business, of high class business or the occasional private school prom. It spoke of riches and luxury and was, in this moment, occupied and packed with men of the cloth.

A donation.

Standing in the doorway the man of the hour (he wasn't really, but you'd best not tell him as much) looked over his well chosen flock like any one of these men did their congregation. Sleek and suited, his was the same muted gray as the walls, as the delicate veins in the marble along the floor. Hands clasped behind his back and he'd merely stand, a stoic presence severely overlooked as these pretentious men who'd claim no such thing of their humble station and the utmost power it brought them, wandered about his hall like they belonged better in this modern and smooth splendor then they did the dark wood and rich crimsons that no doubt clad each and every of their halls.

The crown molding and the cornice work around each chandelier, the wide expanse of seemingly seamless windows along one wall was likely a modern marvel to their dusty frame of minds.

Matthias' lips curled to one side, chin canting ever so softly as he continued his silent wander of these men and their gentle lulled noise. He'd remained as he was for a long period of time, tucked away and easily forgotten about if you weren't looking in his immediate direction. Listened to their speeches and their need to talk of themselves and their congregations. Ridiculously boastful for such men who bowed to a god who'd never once reached a hand down to touch a single one of them. That turned a repeated blind eye to everything they did behind closed doors. They were a ridiculous gathering, but it wasn't the bulk of them that Matthias had swept them here for.

It was a singular one.

He'd claim this as an ish moment. As confident as he was, this one wasn't the only of his kind, though he was the one most readily available in this place, this city he called home for a long while now.

But he stood there in his tailored suit for a long while, watching and studying and memorizing who was meant to be here and who was likely not. Looked over their stains and their misdeeds like they were pages in his secret diary, one he'd like to hand over, for the benefit of them both and them all, at the same time. Matthias watched him with an ease though he'd wait until the noise died down to a lull and a tray walked by full of small belled and stemmed glasses of wine.

The blessed liquid would touch his lips with ease.

It'd not be blessed at all, his witches and spellbinders would see to it, but these men knew no better. It wasn't as if they could feel any of what they did, not like he could. And so, with a stemmed glass in hand he'd wander, looking none too out of place within these walls. Eyes wandering the faces of men bloated from the retention of their sweetly fabricated lies. An amusement in nearly every face. Dotted himself around the room in a long legged saunter that wouldn't be half as beguiling to any of these men--

Would to one, but oh how this gathering would ruddy and damn him back to his eternal home if they knew the lover he kept was own brother.

His dearest blood wasn't present, a moment he was thankful for, if only to keep his rouse without a stray hand dipping below his waist in a haste that would see them damned... again, as he fluttered about these men like he were nothing more than he appeared, a wealthy human doing his good deed to his own heavenly father.

Amen.

Catching sight and he'd pursue in such a blase fashion he'd never have been pegged for it when he wandered by the small group and the worst of them here, some high and mighty man who sat upon his liars throne in a hall adorned with so much wealth it was a mockery to each and every of his flock who sat before it, reached out with his voice to snag his attention.

"Mr. Irbson!"

Turning casually, his attention would flick over the man's ruddy wine stained cheeks, feet pulling to a stop to turn his attention to the man stood there among his fellows with such an air of pretentious that Matthias was sure the others might retch upon the floor. "Father James," chin tilting slightly as he was swept into the group with a sprawling, sweeping arm, the wake of his beautiful lilted voice echoing softly in a bell like ringing of church bells as he did indeed step himself forward. "I'm so glad you could all make it," a truth that sounded it, honest and raw as a hand touched to his abdomen and bowed him slightly.

"Our thanks entirely, for such a gracious hosted gift. Have you met my colleagues?"

He'd not even label them as his equals, but rather men he worked with, it tipped his mouth softly though he seemed humbled as his lids hooded ever so slightly. "Anything to help your cause," the bright tropical blue of his eyes would sweep the faces in the group with interest. "I don't believe I have, no,"

And thus he was swept through name he knew, and handshakes that burned his palm every so slightly, a twinge of pain in every meeting of blessed pastoral ring that clung to their fingers. Gaudy and gold. He'd flinch at exactly none of them before his clean and immediately healed palm was handed to the last of them. Matthias' face a picture of subtly played graciousness and warm open prowess.

"Father Luther Burrel,"

Clasping their warm hands together in a soft, firm shake and Matthias' chin would tip.

"A pleasure, father,"

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user posted image
Feb 15 2018, 05:52 AM
111
posts
133 Spell-binder Preacher
Spellbinder
“A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” Proverbs 16:9
The Church
Pansexual
Not even God knows.
Father

awards

Father Burrell
Angie
Her, thingy | AEDT | 3/3/3 | Duende#0796
Today was the sort of day one attempted to ram a square block down a round hole that was far too small to hope to accomodate such a feat, and this day had begun before Luther had even opened his eyes. One of those dreams that felt too real wile trapped in them, yet looking back had clearly been fragmented and surreal without question. It had him out of sorts, though not really in a negative way, he didn’t think. Most likely the restless sleep had come from the fact the usual tool he’d bring to these type of functions was disallowed, leaving him without the shield he often relied on when extended periods of socialising were required and good impressions a must.

An air of desperation reflected within Luther’s subconscious it would seem, for his dream involved secreting his acquaintance into swearing herself to the services of God to assist him when required as a part time member of the clergy. Strange scenes played in his mind of the Baker and Spellbinder called Mei Ming Zhu, dressed in her new robes getting lectured about baking cupcakes and getting flour over her clergy uniform. Weird. Then there had been flashes of Pandora, a horrified thought played out of her offering to entertain the events guests; as she too lacked certain social graces expected of the clergy.

While these thoughts had ghosted his mind and left him puzzled, for Luther was not often one to dream such things, it had been what followed that shook him slightly off kilter. During a scene of what vaguely resembled a sermon underway, he had been interrupted by a voice, disembodied and all around. 'I see you.' It had said with such a depth to them, every syllable tangled itself about Luther’s heart, 'I see the pain in your eyes.' Continued the words that felt omnipotent, and full of power that it trembled the very air itself as it spoke. 'It has sat there, twisting and churning throughout your life, trapped in the confusion you carry.' Everyone had hushed within their pews while caught up in the dream that had been fragmented and bizarre. 'I see love too, the love that would have burned had it not been for the scars.' It had been there that Luther woke up, and while the scene itself would have caused a moments thought before brushed aside for good, it had been the sound that had carried in from outside that had rattled him most; 'I see love too.' None of it made sense to a man that struggled to feel the right things at the right times, who made judgements not based off the emotional side, but the logical. Love? Scars? He loved the Lord, devoted to the Holy Father unconditionally as he was, however scars? His skin was flawless.

He’d stood in front of the mirror, brushed his teeth and applied his lotions, he’d even rubbed the shaving cream and plucked up the razor, so how he managed to leave the room unshaven baffled him. The first words he’d heard while walking through the church had been a woman humming a tune under their breath with barely spoken words; 'And one day I'll find just the right way to bring you home.' It had been as if the voice in his dream had not had the chance to finish speaking and instead found other means to get the message across, or perhaps Luther had more on his mind then he realised.

So yeah, that had been the start of his morning; perpetually paranoid that perhaps God or his servants were sending him messages. It did not seem to improve from there.

Twice Luther had stubby fingers snapped in front of his face as his thoughts had wandered and his eyes grew distant, first before they’d even entered the hall they were now seated at, and again what felt like an hour into mindless chatting; at which Luther had run out of the required fuel power for expressing niceties in any way. The curved smile on his lips remained frozen in place and his cheeks ached from the effort, the man appeared little more than a perfectly carved statue placed upon the seat. His thoughts tossed between his desire to leave, and reflection upon the dream and it’s possible meaning, as well as any number of more important things he could have occupied his day with. Someone had laughed beside Luther, their hand slammed down not onto the table, but Luther’s arm itself and shook it as if thrilled over some declaration or another. Luther paid it little attention, he had decided to brace himself; this thing would drag out and he may be expected to behave in a socially acceptable manner at some point before this day ended and if he pushed himself now he’d run out of steam. Staring vacantly at the grey shaped figure in the distance, Luther allowed his focus to at least pretend to be captivated, even if he couldn’t name that figure currently speaking on account of not giving a fuck.

”You haven’t eaten or drunken much at all Luther, come come now.” A rotund and balding man with swollen digits had stated, meaning well and yet inadvertently leeching more of what mental capacity Luther felt he’d had to tolerate these social gatherings. He was going to be exhausted by the end of it, he’d need days to recover, though he appreciated it was an expectation that he participate just like attending school or Family dinners. The other had attempted to try to ‘include’ Luther, who hadn’t been at all vocal compared to the rest that had chattered and displayed a strange buzzing energy. In truth, while externally the Preacher may have appeared detached from it all, his mind itself was tripping over the contradiction this day presented, as well as reciting all the formalities he had to keep in mind. It had always been strange to Luther that ‘humble’ men and women would adorn their buildings and items, even themselves, with such finery, though he’d learned early on not to voice such confusion. There had been a time when Luther had briefly stopped over in some village on the outskirts of Thessaloniki while Pandora held a meeting with a client elsewhere. Curiosity had gotten the better of Luther, who had explored the outer churches. The people were poor, and their buildings old, a village that barely stood the test of time, and yet their Priest, he took a sampling of what few coins they had while he expensive clothing and shoes. His church had been dirty and the building itself tilted, and yet there he was, a diamond in the coals that had piled around him.

Right now that was all Luther saw when he looked around the area. It bugged him, infuriated even. They could have been out on the streets offering to assist the needy, they could have spent the funds required for this hall on something worthwhile. Dark denim blue eyes vanished beneath closed eyes, Luther bowed his head slightly; being different was never the problem for Luther, only the ridicule that followed when not abiding by the social expectations that everyone somehow just seemed to know as if Luther missed some mass convention that explained it all.

Lord and Father, forgive me for any transgressions. Thought the Preacher, genuinely apologetic for what he struggled with. Not just for the internalised cussing, nor the fact he wished not to be there and support or mingle with other representatives of God. Mostly, if he were honest, it was because something was tugging at his gut, twisting him up inside like a soaked rag and his sour mood and poor impulses rung out like excess water. Eyes opened having surrendered to the thought things were not going to go well for him much longer, the Spellbinder’s head turned stiffly towards the man beside him, who for some reason (and much to Luther’s relief) had sunk back slowly as tempestuous eyes burrowed into the other with an intensity that was unnerving. Luther merely smiled tensely, his own thoughts still internal; walking out of here without warning was not an option.. was it? Fuck, arms shifted location, retreating beneath the table and white knuckled fists rested atop each knee.

"Mr. Irbson!" The smile faltered and Luther looked over to the one who had called out. Damn it, the surprise of the close exclamation dislodged the small smile that had been engraved upon Luther’s features. His cheeks ached from it; a hand absently rubbed at them. How did people smile all the time, he’d rather be punched, sincerely. The hand dropped away from Luther’s jaw, a single finger tapping down on the table unintentionally impatient. "Father James," Came the reply from another, who had turned to approach the table. Luther stared a moment, ‘Irbson’, had that not been the name of the gentlemen who organised all this? The one that they’d been lectured to treat like royalty? The name so many had cooed over with wine stained lips and flushed faces as time had progressed and hot air had filled the room. How had the area not yet drifted off like an air balloon with the amount of that going on? "I'm so glad you could all make it," Luther stood, his palms smoothing down the fabric of his suit that had creased from all the sitting, checking the clerical collar was still neatly place as if the sour mood may have squeezed it out from where it had been slide into carefully. "Our thanks entirely, for such a gracious hosted gift. Have you met my colleagues?" This was it, formal introductions. Time to squeeze out what remnants of pleasantries Luther had still residing within him. Words were knocked back and forth while the Spellbinder took the opportunity to steady himself, collect his thoughts and brace for the coming moment. He really did not have time for another scolding from the others or unwanted attention on his own Church, he had to be perfect here.

"Father Luther Burrel," There was something about Irbson that once he’d arrived before the Spellbinder and dragged Luther’s attention from the ceiling where he’d been collecting his thoughts and calming himself simultaneously. The presence caused a moments pause from Luther. A healthy mixture of well hidden ‘deer in headlights’ and sheer stubbornness of ‘I got this’ perhaps explained the feeling, yet Luther felt a twinge of something else he currently had no mental energy spare to analyse.

"A pleasure, father," Small mercies followed, it wasn’t a double handshake where the other consumed every inch of Luther’s hand within his sweaty hold or vigorously shook it as if dispelling some taint from the limb. Or worse yet perhaps, invading ones personal space to smack lips near or against each cheek. In fact it was less unpleasant than most of the celebrating comrades he’d entertained with greetings so far. It wasn’t greasy, or clammy, or somehow unkept. These should perhaps not have been the thoughts he’d first focused on, and so quickly they’d been shaken loose and replaced with what he’d been lead to believe were important formalities.

”Mr. Irbson,” For someone who tended to preach regularly, it was still surprising to Luther how awkward it felt to have to talk to people, why did anyone need recognition for what they’d done, anyway? Praise was worthwhile, but to such a degree? ”It is hard to express just how deeply appreciative we are for your generosity,” The words were smoothly spoken, a charming curve to the edge of his lip as he addressed the other wearing a well crafted visage, he had pushed himself to delve into the perfect host by mimicking those who had been complimented for their approach to meet and greets previously; if he failed than he would punish himself by inviting Pandora to the next open to the public church function. Unsurprisingly, Luther felt suddenly driven. His hand fell away from the others hold only after a small bow, straightening up as the arm rested once again by his side. ”If there is anything we may do to repay such kindness, please do not hesitate to ask and we will endeavour to assist where we can.” Though if more of that money spent that day had been put into the actual Churches that had struggled financially to keep certain public programs running that benefited the community… maybe it would have had more of an impact across board? Why just indulge the clergy themselves? It made so little sense to him.

--------------------
user posted image
Feb 16 2018, 04:12 AM
91
posts
1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
Hell
Loki-sexual
obsessive // shipped w/his brother
Mattie / Ninian

awards

clandestine corruption
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PTSD | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
He was a nervous mess of a man, a man who was clearly no good at social graces. Held no prowess in the field of sipping tea with pinkies up and chortling over the golf greens. It was a simple observation, one anyone could make then, but it was also something doubly easy for Matthias who was none too slow to delve himself into the man's mind. It was a running chorus of some little engine that could and his chugging along that was slow and meandering all things considered. He thought he could, he thought he could, and thus he must succeed. Matthias was half surprised there hadn't been a prayer sent up to the clouds above in some hope that his almighty father would grant him aid in the correct shaking of hands. After all, he'd not hesitated in speaking to him early, for however useless it was.

Matthias would spare him, his own social graces were superior to all in this room. A humble man might have claimed to most. A humble man such as these in this hall might have claimed the same to feel like they were but simple men who followed their God's shining example.

Matthias was not a humble man.

Though, he looked the part even stood there in his tailored suit and crisp appearance. He was a modern marvel, whose smile was wide and oddly gentle then, it might have been noted as raw and honest to anyone who didn't know him-- to everyone in this room he looked a man who had well enough and offered it in such a soft, up turned palm,and a slight bow, that he might not have been wearing shoes that cost more than any of them could hope to make in several piled along months. He looked a simple and soft man, giving and innocent despite the age upon his features--

He looked exactly how he wanted to look.

But back on point, the man was a nervous mess and his mind had been wandering all evening and in such an erratic display it was hard for Matthias to make heads or tails of it so readily. It took him some time before he finally realized the man had been lamenting over something he'd seen while sleeping, some all booming voice that had spoken ridiculous things. Even more ridiculous that he believed anything of it beyond an active imagination--

"Please, Matthias," corrected softly, his tropical gaze flitting around the group as his chin dipped slightly once more, a palm flattened to his chest in humble offering of himself on a first name basis. It was a wonder he hadn't spit out some Mr. Irbson was my father, before they all had a chuckle. The soft flush upon his cheeks was everything manufactured for the moment, of that... no one could be sure, as genuine as it looked. Such a soft jovial man as he righted himself and prompted the man to continue with a look of apology.

He'd wonder momentarily who Pandora was, or if this man thought of the actual box, either could be equally as correct for all the man's mind made sense in that moment. Whoever or whatever it was, it spurned him on like a fire beneath his ass. However, Luther seemed a looser sort as he talked on, waxing his praise, as the other had in turn. It was unneeded, as pompous as the lot of them were, Matthias wasn't a man who craved or needed it to know when it was due or given to him without the need to dip their tongues between his cheeks in a lick he'd have preferred from his brother, and his brother alone. Blasphemy. He could hear them all cry then and it was once more, music to his ears.

"It's nothing, please,"

Humble once more, though his mind was very much on par with the young man who stood among the bloated and ring clad. hands clasped behind his back in a soft bowing of his frame and he'd stand there, looking quietly around the group, though landing on Luther in his finale. "I have, where so many do not. I'd much rather see that your respective churches put their money to better use than renting space which I have available and can do without for an evening. There is really no need to trouble any of yourselves further. It is the community that needs your earnings and efforts, not I, and not this hotel," there was a soft sort of mirth in his voice, good-natured perhaps as his head bowed softly once more, his words echoing the thoughts he agreed with.

Father James would clap him on the shoulder then (he hated it), and Matthias' eyes would bubble with a twinkle as fabricated as his flush from earlier, before he excused himself from the group in a need to tend to something else across the hall. The group would naturally devolve a bit during his apology to Matthias--

When he returned his eyes were soft and sweeping, though there was a hard glint to their far back corner as he settled on Luther once more. "If you would, Father, indulge me a bit further?" His step to the side was soft, as was the cant of his head. He was missing the cordial offering of his elbow to the damsel he wished to see swooned off her feet, for all the tall and proper of him. He looked to sweep them from the group, to tuck them off in a casual walk about the hall, his hands shifting to tuck into the pockets of his slacks at a point to color him a casual person where the rest of him looked nothing of it. "I see you--" it was uncanny, he knew, as his elbow bumped into someone and he reached to delicately apologize about it before tucking his arms back behind him once more.

"I see you and your love for your church, Father, also the hardships of it. But I will admit I've followed your work a while now, yours and a few others... also the perish over on Main and Forty-Third. You are... pardon me for saying, so very young to have such drive,"

There were fae dotted around the room, a few shifter and a witch or two, but the most of them that had seen any sort of turn around, had been that of the immortals, and even they had half as much drive as Luther did.

But he wasn't just speaking of the church either.

"The work you conduct yourself on... after hours... is equally commendable,"

He spoke with such an ease that speaking must have been born in his blood--

Not a lie.

"I see this too."

A subtle smile was canted at the man beside him, as gentle and warm as the fallacy of his eyes.

--------------------
user posted image
Feb 17 2018, 02:46 AM
111
posts
133 Spell-binder Preacher
Spellbinder
“A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” Proverbs 16:9
The Church
Pansexual
Not even God knows.
Father

awards

Father Burrell
Angie
Her, thingy | AEDT | 3/3/3 | Duende#0796
A name correction, Luther hated them. Did that mean that he should also suggest that the other address him by his God given name? Sometimes it felt forced, felt as if stepping back and offering them the same freedom just didn’t flow well with the conversation that carried on while he tried to figure out a smooth approach to turn it back towards how to address each other. Dark-indigo eyes reflected the lights of the area, and similarly, Luther’s body also attempted to reflect that of the people around him. A polite bow, an easy smile, a persona that fit like a glove and obscured the internal storm within. Unless you happened to be a fucking telepath.

There was a typical downplay of the good deed done, a brush off of the praise offered to Mr. Irbson. Luther had noticed some people did this, only acting as if they wished to downplay their efforts, while in fact desiring the attention and praise. He wondered what sort of man this Matthias was in that regards. Eyes of kyanite, flecked with navy, watched the other and listened to his explanation, a swirl of words that were spoken like that of a man who crafted sentences as well as painters splashed their colours across an empty canvas for all to admire. Luther found himself at a loss for how to respond, and merely listened with the same show of agreement as he had perfected when hearing people express admiration for some mess of colours that were lost on the Preacher. Why did people need to stitch together so many words to explain even the most simplest of things? How did everyone find the patience to last through such unnecessary durations of conversation that could have easily been far less time consuming. Though, in truth, Luther felt his patience perhaps had just been dried out for that day.

Remember; Pandora. Try harder.

Luther turned his gaze to watch the others as they departed or settled down elsewhere, “If you would, Father, indulge me a bit further?” The man of God bowed his head obediently, his determination edged about his actions. “I see you—“ On the outside the expression did not flinch, an immaculate smile graced the lips of Pandora’s plaything, yet his eyes had a stillness about them; lost back to the fragmented dreams that had preoccupied him all day. There was a distraction beside him, Luther blinked in an effort to dislodge the thought and looked over towards Matthias, as he wished to be addressed, and watched the interaction he had with the other he’d knocked into. Words played through Luther’s mind, echos of a past sermon; Only after you surrender to God, the god who is Love, will you have true free will. Only then will you have chosen Him and learnt to trust. The God who is Love? ’I see love too, the love that would have burned had it not been for the scars.’ What had that meant? Had it been little more than a dream of fractured thoughts, or had it been something more? He so rarely recalled his dreams … Could the Lord, or perhaps Luther’s own subconscious, be trying to say that Luther lacked the love he needed towards God to trust him? Or to trust in general? What was trust if not blind devotion? What was love, for that matter? Had Luther not a better understanding towards trust then many other sentiments that alluded him at times?

“I see you and your love for your church, Father, also the hardships of it. But I will admit I've followed your work a while now, yours and a few others... also the perish over on Main and Forty-Third. You are... pardon me for saying, so very young to have such drive,” Young? As far as the average human went, that was not entirely true. Luther appreciated that humans were not the only things to walk this earth and beings with life spans such as Pandora would undoubtably consider all humans so young in comparison. His Angel of Death did enjoy to remind him of his mortality when she felt it made a point. Though, recognition for good work was always appreciated, regardless where it came from. He looked over at Matthias, caught on the words ’your love for your church’ like a jacket sleeve snagged upon the thorn.  

“The work you conduct yourself on... after hours... is equally commendable,” After hours? So caught up in his Preacher role as Luther was, he admittedly considered the numerous community programs that took place throughout the week. There was something about the way his words had been emphasised though, something about how they had rolled from the articulated tongue of the man beside him. Something that reminded Luther of the way people spoke of ‘My Father’s Place’. A secret wrapped up in plain sight. “I see this too.” A hand pressed gently against Luther’s front, his own palm firmly smoothing down the front. It was uncanny, and the words that itched at his subconscious affected him in strange ways that Luther couldn’t quite articulate himself. Emotions were never his strong point, they were an enigma at the best of times, and this situation was certainly no different, at least if you ignored the fact the words here seemed like echoes from a dream.

”I swore an oath to serve our Heavenly Father and all whom require his guidance.” This was not a play, no act could ever be so perfect that even his heart could feel full from the thought of fulfilling the Lords requirements of him. ”Your appreciation is kind, though I am merely walking the path that had been laid out before me.” A moment to collect his thoughts was taken, during which Luther skimmed the faces of those they wandered by. ”I am merely a reflection of the devotion I hold towards my commitment to God, as well as those whom he has sent to guide me. I have been truly blessed to be entrusted as a servant of the Holy Father's will, and I desire my work ethics to reflect the faith and commitment I have in Him through the services I am providing.” Sometimes, Luther thought as he gazed across the faces of those who found unworthy of the title they were granted, people forgot that they were there to serve God and do his will. On occasion, some of which were far too frequent or poorly punished, some of them abused the rank bestowed upon them as servants of their Lord. How many of those tainted brethren gathered here, clicking drinks and praising their good fortune for that day?

Though he'd done it again, he'd gotten caught up in his faith and he was often told how irritating this could be by those who had as little patience for his beliefs as he had for people who worshiped the newest celebrities to hit the news.

"What of you, Matthias? What drives you to do all this?"

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user posted image
Feb 19 2018, 09:03 PM
91
posts
1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
Hell
Loki-sexual
obsessive // shipped w/his brother
Mattie / Ninian

awards

clandestine corruption
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PTSD | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
"Are you," his inflection was minuscule though he sounded a man interested, if not convinced therein of the man's intent after serving his lord and savior. It was a serving that went well beyond the usual and in some respect also went against the very teachings his master had laid out for him, and yet, there was a point of pride in this man as he spoke. Not after the same frivolous and material possessions as his fellow fathers but there was. Matthias couldn't, nor would he, pretend that it didn't sit as a fascinating idea in his mind. A preacher who went against everything he taught his fellow flock and yet felt such an odd and strong connection to the man whose name he conducted himself beneath. He spoke, Matthias would also note, in such a eloquent lilt then, unlike he had before, it stoked itself over in passion he shouldn't rightly have for the misdeeds he undertook.

Matthias wasn't such that he cared over this so much as he did the man himself, or rather the idea of him.

It wasn't particularly uncommon for men of God to devote themselves to such and in such a strong manner that they lost themselves to something they assumed was faith then it wasn't that at all. Their views of the world warping into something that fancied for themselves only for them to deem it later on, as the very word of the God they bowed to kiss the feet of. Hands yet clasped loosely behind his back and they'd wander, Matthias' gaze flickering over the rest as Luther spoke of his will or rather that of his God, a man who sat in the sky with his trumpeting angels. A clam entity, Matthias didn't push but rather allowed the other his moment as he spoke, only to lapse into a question, the likes of which worked a curl over Matthias' mouth.

"Perhaps I too enact my life in the manner that God would have intended of me," a soft hum would purse from his throat. "Or perhaps I am simply a man who is just as fallible as all these who stand before us?" The soft tilt of his head would see his gaze angled back to Luther, the soft smile on his face was everything that made his face far more youthful than it might have been otherwise, a thing carefully creased with the fine lines of age and assumed wisdom. "...I am this, Father. I am also unlike the rest of them, in that I recognize my folly for what it is, and I move to atone for it in the best means I have available," his hands would shift then, one spreading out in a manner to indicate this place and this moment. A giving back of things that most here would attribute to God himself and not at all the hard work of the man who'd indeed done the work.

Of course none of this was for any holy father but then, it hardly mattered at that point, the man who spoke doing so in such a manner he was as easily believed as any of these fat men were upon their gilded podiums.

"God is a not what so many here make of him,"

A blasphemy, he knew, and yet Matthias spoke in such a low and intimate manner one might have assumed he sat and drank tea with the man every Thursday afternoon. "He's not such a black and white concept, the very one most of these men have taken well advantage of... he is a thing far more gray, and into that idea, I find the idea of yourself, a fascinating one." the volume of his voice would dip then as he steered them by a waiter to pluck a glass of wine from his tray. Held it gently, observed it even gentler still. "You speak as if God himself has been steering your hand in the dead of night, and yet, what you... do, is the very thing you teach your flock not to. I can't help but wonder what you actually think of the man who asks so much of you,"

Steering them away from the groups of mingling people and Matthias would slow them to a pause near a wall where they need not avoid so much conversation as they would walking among the rabble.

"You speak as if He speaks to you himself... I can't help but wonder if he does, for all the good you do beyond words. As so many often say, actions speak louder... and yet most of these men have nothing but word to offer anyone."

A sip, a quiet tipping of his glass to flavor his tongue softly over in the taste of wine before he relaxed once more.

"Tell me, Father, what do you think of these man? An earnest assessment, if you would,"

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Feb 20 2018, 06:51 PM
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”—I move to atone for it in the best means I have available,” Atonement, Luther had felt himself caught up in the words the other spoke as if he were sitting across Caesar McDonald and the man’s reliable ability to carve into a debate with intellectual curiosity. But then, at that final comment, Luther felt himself captivated for deeper reasons. As a preacher, Luther had often experienced that as a species, humans eternally confused complexity with intelligence. He would claw at his own insides if only able to drive home the fact that they were not the same thing. People spoke, full of words and blinded by their supposed knowledge, yet so many times what they said proved only how [unknowledgeable they were. The earlier frustrations could be felt somehow eased, a possibility of conversation that would seem almost enlightening, or at least somehow intriguing. There was an honesty Luther appreciated that seemed to carry in the words spoken to him, a vital component when trying to work ones way into Luther’s good graces.

To atone was an act worth attempting to achieve for as long as it were possible. Faith, however, was a necessary salvation. Unconditional.

“God is a not what so many here make of him,” The comment stalled Luther’s thoughts as they had begun to delve deeper into the ramifications of what the other had started to speak of. Eyes skimmed the nearby faces of those who had devoted themselves for whatever reason into the service of God. The focus in Luther’s gaze was accurate, a sign his thoughts had quietened and he waited for whatever words were to follow such a statement. “He’s not such a black and white concept, the very one most of these men have taken well advantage of... he is a thing far more gray, and into that idea, I find the idea of yourself, a fascinating one.” The idea of… himself? Lashes came together and parted as simply as any other moment, as if Luther hadn’t found himself snagged on the praise he did not immediately understand.

As a young man back in his homeland, Luther had often found himself with the same duties as any preacher, a he had been content with that. As a Pastor, or ‘Parish Priest’ the Catholics also commonly refer to his role, the title of ‘Preacher’ seemed to have stuck to him like glitter after a craft convention. To Luther, ‘Pastor’ felt like a title he was given, yet had not fully earned. Not yet, anyway. For it meant shepherd, and while he tried to be that for those in his service, his flock as it so often was referred to… Luther felt that uncertainty towards the simple fact he could not feel towards them as was expected of him. As he had heard others speak of their flock. As if it were yet another lie he would be living; Pastors loved, they cared, they opened their hearts and gave themselves to those they served. Whereas a preacher? Well, he preached. He said what needed to be said, he stood before them and lead the singing and did his preaching and that was generally the only activities a preacher would be expected to do. That did not mean there had been no other Preachers in charge of their own churches, he was not a ‘special case’. He was a stubborn case, one that had a set of values and a moral compass that often did not align with others and yet he followed devoutly as if ordained by God himself.

So for a moment, as Luther analysed the others comment, he wondered if Matthias spoke of his role as a Pastor, and the fact that Luther may or may not have fulfilled it as well (or perhaps ‘as expected’ would be more accurate) as all the others around him. When the other selected a whine glass from the tray nearby, Luther’s hand mimicked in fluid motions and also picked one to hold. A mirror reflection trying to fit in. The man was speaking as Pandora sometimes spoke, the way she teased the truth within her words where others who need not know it may over heard.

The idea of yourself, a fascinating one.

Luther repeated the words back in his mind, he pretended to study the contents of the glass as if he’d care to have a sip. Was this a test from God? The white collar, like Pandora’s hand about his throat, felt suddenly noticeable as he thought of it. Was he nervous? There was a numbness hard to shake, even as his mind tried to assess how he should feel, his eyes instead looked at Matthias, waiting for more information before he replied. “You speak as if God himself has been steering your hand in the dead of night, and yet, what you... do, is the very thing you teach your flock not to. I can't help but wonder what you actually think of the man who asks so much of you,” Where some would sweat, Luther instead merely watched. A sure sign that his flight or fight response was perhaps lacking, or his faith truly that strong that it blanketed the need for it. He knew. Somehow, without a doubt, Matthias Irbson knew. Had God indeed guided them together? What for? Was that man a messenger? A test? An obstacle? Instead of panic, the preacher found himself calculating a list of possible outcomes, of what could happen, and how to best deal with it. He also made assumptions based of potential outcomes regardless if the man worked for God, or against the Holy Father. One could never be too prepared, in Luther’s books.

The consumables were blessed, yet Luther knew all too well that did not guarantee a pure soul.

“You speak as if He speaks to you himself... I can't help but wonder if he does, for all the good you do beyond words. As so many often say, actions speak louder... and yet most of these men have nothing but word to offer anyone.” Praise? It sounded almost complimentary… Not the sort of tone most tended to resort to when speaking of the Luther they hadn’t known to live beneath the surface. God himself had done unspeakable things, he had condemned a poisoned world - all the children and animals with it save those treasured pairs guided upon an ark. Luther understood the destruction such a decision caused, the upset and outrage. The greater good was not always easily or kindly achieved.

Matthias took a sip of his liquor, and Luther held his without intent to drink. Was he .. surprised?

“Tell me, Father, what do you think of these man? An earnest assessment, if you would,”

Faith, a necessary devotion to salvation. Unconditional. Good works, necessary only conditionally, that is if there is time and opportunity. And like the thief about to die on the cross in Luke 23:39-43, Luther stood there, pinned by his belief and so did not question that he too would hear the words; ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’ upon the moment of his death. Was this indeed a test to see Luther’s resolve? To his commitment? To his faith? While one hand held the glass as if it were impossibly fragile, the other palm pressed against his front and once again smoothed out any risk of crinkles that may have creased the material during their walk.

Tell me Father, what is your will? Luther wondered, loyal, yet curious. If I am scorned, I will take it as my time to change. I will heed the punishment that would follow. If I please you, then tell me what task I am to do and I will complete it. The thought wove itself throughout his mind and Luther smiled across at Matthias, a man ready to rise or fall and completely unafraid which would be his fate.

”Faith is the righteousness of God that is accomplished in us through law and gospel, word, works and sacraments to kill the sinful self and to accomplish the new creation within us.” The preacher began, his words far easier to flow when they were in respect of his Lord and Saviour. For every day they could be born again and bathe in the light of Christ and their Heavenly Lord. Though he approached the discussion carefully, and his even, levelled, tone was soft and one would almost say an air of affection coloured the very edges of the man’s words. Regardless if he coloured his words out of habit or reflecting what he felt befitted such a topic, Luther’s loyalty and devotion to God was evident. “This new creation within us is the faith of Christ. If we do not have this faith, then we are ungodly.” He was a Preacher, perhaps he could be forgiven for doing what came naturally.

“Everyone has some kind of faith — usually a faith in themselves. We need the faith that comes from God.” It was this faith in ones own self, Luther felt often, that led many down a misguided path unlike Luther, who is totally not like that. They would convince themselves that their misdeeds were somehow easily forgiven because they had faith in their own abilities, they had faith in their own self worth or their own power. He had been asked a question, and yet his answer seemed to be of something off point, if he realised this or not it would be hard to tell. Perhaps some would assume Luther was merely on autopilot, in truth his mind was working on a few different angles and struggled how to respond to such a question that impacted him so deeply. This statement, it seemed, paved way for the true answer that had been expected from him.

“The ego is our sense of self.” He started, his tone more serious, his eyes turned to the people around them. To judge was a risky affair, and even Luther was careful;

Judge not, that you be not judged. For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged; and with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you. (Matthew 7:1–2)


“The ego has perceptions, and it has desires.” Deny them as he tried, Luther himself felt shamed by the impulses that lurked beneath his calm exterior. The echoes of lust that could be fanned, that Pandora toyed with, the devotion between Heaven and Earth. The hunger that rarely felt satisfied outside the gratification of doing as his Lord guided him to do. The anger that could flare, the loss of control or judgments he could spiral into while under the influence of certain substances.

“If I wanted to know the essence of my ego, I could ask two questions: ‘Who am I?’ and ‘What do I want?’ ” Luther looked back at Matthias, “In our journey with the Lord our answers to these questions will change. They will become less about us and more about Christ.” There was a distinct lack of accusations being pointed out, yet his words were spoken with a truth he felt was as dangerous and as pure as the rituals themselves that blessed him with the abilities Pandora had granted him, in order for him to preach the words of his Saviour beyond his own restricted human lifespan. “I have noticed today those who's faith resides within themselves, and thus are ungodly. They must surrender their desired identity and cease their indulgences or their ego risks to become the only Lord they strive to serve.”

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Feb 26 2018, 02:32 PM
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1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
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"I see,"

He was a careful man, Matthias would note this above all else. A man who chose his words carefully when he spoke of his fellow men of God, but it didn't answer Matthias' question, not to a point that sated his curiosity anyway. Standing there along the edge of this place, awash in men of God, a wine glass perched in one hand and the other tucked against the small of his back, Matthias wandered the hall with a gaze that spoke too readily to absolution. As if he himself had every the same right to judge as did the man upstairs. As did the devoted Luther beside him. The angle of his chin was too prominent and self imposing. Thoughtful a moment and his blue eyes would wander, narrowing slightly every now and then as he washed over a soul that wasn't so well bound to heaven as then man who held it likely wanted to believe of himself.

Luther talked all the while and Matthias listened, his chin bobbing on occasion or his throat humming to denote this in equal measure. He did indeed listen to the man's words and took note of the manner in which he avoided and dodged the questions asked of him. It wasn't so much a blatant side step that would have alerted Matthias that he might have been uncomfortable about the subject but rather a man who chose his words overly cautious as to a fault perhaps. A man not entirely comfortable with the notion of judging his fellow man as it wasn't his place.

And it wasn't.

They were both aware of this, at least that this subject was one in Luther's mind.

It was the basis for many of his teachings and how they were all taught, these men of God. That it was their divine ruler alone that was allowed to judge them and that all else was blasphemous. Matthias couldn't help but wonder then, and again, what Luther thought of himself as he cut down the plagues of this Earth. Each and every of those he had thusly felled was one he himself had judged and deemed unworthy. Did he believe God himself was the one judging them, guiding his hand to bloody it? Was this what he thought of his God? A man so unforgiving that he'd see one of his own devout flock as the right hand. Seemed a silly notion for a being all powerful, one who could speak to his men through dreams and visions and booming voice, and yet must rely on such small and insignificant people to do his ultimate and terrible deeds.

"So you believe that anyone here can simply wipe away the stains upon their souls with prayer and word and sacrament?"

He'd hum at this, like he wasn't convinced, a noise he erased in a sipping of his wine and a flicker of his eyes across the crowd. "This is where you and I must differ. There are men here, who's souls are as black as the ink you've all penned your name tags in," his voice was an oddly carrying thing then, a resounding, low murmur that echoed oddly through the ears. A voice as resounding as the man they all heard when he whispered to them at night. Sounded one reverberated off stained glass windows and down lengthy pew strewn halls. Matthias stood a stern-faced man washed over in a radiance he couldn't have duplicated even if he'd tried but for a moment or two, he looked a thing far too other to be standing among these men of the cloth.

"There are men here, Father, who lead His people from a place they can never come back from,"

Features tipping gently with a frown and Matthias would watch the hall for a moment longer before his gaze slipped back to Luther in everything curious and watching. The harsh planes of him smoothing out and his eyes gentling away from a place that felt like judgment incarnate. "Even God himself has his lines not be crossed, and once they are, there is no amount of repentance that will see them saved. He is a forgiving idea, but even He has limits," his smile was a terse one, as much so as his chuckle was, a thing dry and benevolent as his gaze slipped back. "But then, that would assume me a man who has an ear to God," a quiet sigh, something lighter and quieter as he sipped his wine, coated his tongue and let the man thing of him as he would for a moment. He must have stood there as a blaspheme in the eyes of this preacher, to say such and accuse such of God himself.

Or something else entirely.

"Only God can bend your will, Father, as stubborn as it is, but I do caution you to choose your allies wisely among these shepherds. Not all lead their flocks from a stance heaven-bound."

Voice low and careful and it was a man across the room that Matthias narrowed his sights upon, a man who's soul was a dreary mess of Hell and yet the smile upon his face was as warm as all the others. "I do not ask you to believe me upon blind faith alone. Father Stanis--" his eyes slipped back from the man he spoke of to glance at Luther-- "If I were you, I'd speak to his alter boys... and a few of the youth choir. It is such a commendable thing, to pull children from the system and give them something to believe in," his head would dip to the side as he eyed the preacher beside him, his features darkening of their own accord, that same very otherworldly shadow cascading over his face.

"It's also strategic well beneath the thinking of a man of God."

That dark clung to his voice before he returned his gaze to the crowd, offering a few who passed by, a quiet business-like smile.

--------------------
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Feb 28 2018, 06:20 PM
111
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133 Spell-binder Preacher
Spellbinder
“A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” Proverbs 16:9
The Church
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Father

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Father Burrell
Angie
Her, thingy | AEDT | 3/3/3 | Duende#0796
“So you believe that anyone here can simply wipe away the stains upon their souls with prayer and word and sacrament?” It had been these words that wrapped around Luther’s attention like sticky fingers frozen within a cookie jar. Yes, Luther’s brows knitted together in thought as he scanned the faces around them. They could all repent, if that was within their ability. It was those who failed at keeping their vow to God who would suffer a final judgement without mercy. If the same soul tried to wash its sins away with Faith and Devotion they had only one chance to prove themselves, to lie to God was the greatest sin of all, after all. However … Luther would be overstepping his bounds to make such final judgements without allowing God the opportunity to forge their way to greater deeds.

God had seen Luther’s commitment to fairness. He had seen the follower of the Lord’s words rely on fair justice instead of mindless revenge and that had been the moment Luther had received his true calling. It was how things always had been, an opportunity given and when squandered, it was followed by damnation. It made the most sense, did it not? Even Luther seemed suitably perplexed for a moment as his attention returned to Matthias, “This is where you and I must differ. There are men here, who's souls are as black as the ink you've all penned your name tags in,” If Luther would attempt to describe the manner in which Mr. Irbson’s voice affected him he would easily fail to articulate it. How his attention seemed to almost effortlessly hone its focus on the other, the surrounding chatter babbled on like a mountain river and yet each word spoken by his companion sounded strangely captivating, like every extended ’s’ that rolled off Pandora’s tongue, distracting for no reason he could think of and yet hard to pull his thoughts away from what was being said. Like that time Luther had not eaten while baking a round of pleasant smelling bait that would have been unwise to eat since he knew the contents… and yet the temptation had been there to consume them, just as the temptation to listen without distractions rose. There was something about the man that left Luther forgiving all the show of unnecessary luxuries and overindulging priests that flocked, bleating inconsequentially into the night.

Luther found himself taken back by the openness, enthralled for sure and yet uncertain as to the topic that had come up. The hints that were spoken, the casual discussion of his private affairs and damning of souls. The preacher had grown comfortable having such frank discussions due to his time debating things with Caesar, and yet this felt still different to that. “There are men here, Father, who lead His people from a place they can never come back from,” Was … was Mr. Irbson able to see into the souls of man? Fingers of one hand moved from the glass and pressed across Luther’s chest as if trying to ease the quickening pace of his heart that had been felt when the thought crossed his mind. While Matthias spoke, Father Burrell watched him, the lines of his face, the way light hit his eyes, even the manner in which his mouth moved while speaking. As if trying to unravel the mystery of this man with careful examination and yet all that Luther felt while studying the man was a compulsion to listen. Was this some divine creature of God sent to guide Luther, to test him, to do something to him in order for the preacher to reveal just how devout a follower of God’s will he was? The notion was intoxicating, so much so that Luther glanced down at his drink to make sure the sensation was not due to any thoughtless consumption of the liquid that unravelled his self-control. It did not appear as if he’d been drinking, and that had been the only flicker of a thought to come before he noticed Matthias had turned his attention back on the white collared man still cradling his drink as if it were the key to sin that he felt obliged to hold onto as testament to his resolve.

“Even God himself has his lines not be crossed, and once they are, there is no amount of repentance that will see them saved. He is a forgiving idea, but even He has limits,” Pinned beneath a gaze, Luther wanted to agree, he even felt driven to explain the finer details of what he had meant. As if explaining himself to this man was vital, to just get him to understand, but why? The thought alone caused the preacher to blink and hold his tongue. “But then, that would assume me a man who has an ear to God,” The hand resting against his chest lowered, a memory flicking how Pandora’s would trail down his front and reach lower, the shame of it shoved aside and Luther looked away, staring at some insignificant spot on the floor and emptying his mind of the intrusive distraction that stirred due to the mention of ‘lines not to be crossed’. His hand retreated quickly from his stomach to the hold the glass again, once more now with both rolling the thin stem in his hold, one direction and then the other. Though, God had granted Luther a task under the agreement that Luther was to be himself and that had been the only time that God had listened to his prayers and allowed Pandora to grant him the blessings needed to carry on the tasks required of him. Eyes closed, the thoughts faded and his attention lifted to watch as Mr. Irbson sipped at his wine. What he had said … was it, in fact, the truth, did he not have the ear of God? Or was it one of those times where someone said the opposite of what they meant? The body language of the other was difficult for Luther to read, he sensed a power, an authority, in the stance, the way the man spoke, the way he even took in the world around him, and yet there was more to it. More than Luther could translate, and he knew it, this man that said the things he had out loud and without shame or fear. He was confident as if tasked to be there and doing what needed to be done.

“Only God can bend your will, Father, as stubborn as it is, but I do caution you to choose your allies wisely among these shepherds. Not all lead their flocks from a stance heaven-bound.” The glass in his hand lowered, a strange sensation brewed inside his core and still left the preacher speechless, overwhelmed. Mr. Irbson knew he was the will of God? Was this a caution to mind those he dined with, to not merely tolerate them? To do more than just ‘wait’ for the Holy Father to step in and declare someone here had gone too far? Was Matthias giving him a task to step up and cleanse what stains he saw in this room? He sounded cautious, enough that Luther found his eyes once again skimming over the group surrounding them and wondering how many of them were to be purged from this world for their misdeeds? As men of God, they should know better. They were guides, they were teachers, was God sending this speaker to advise Luther that they should know better? That they were not to be given the usual ‘first chance’ since they sinned fully aware of what they were doing would be against God’s will? That made sense…

Emotions were not hidden due to any self-imposed rule on Luther’s part, they were always just whispers or an echo he mimicked through learned behaviour, this resulted in any sudden increase felt as if it were a shinning out of him like sunshine through fine white linen; he truly felt it affecting him and yet often lacked the mannerism to express it properly. Anger, jealousy, excitement. Luther found a hand once again pressed against his chest as if the sensation of a beating heart was bizarre to him, trying to calm it down in the same fashion he smoothed creases from his suit, merely dragged a palm down the front of it and assumed that ironed out all the kinks.

“I do not ask you to believe me upon blind faith alone. Father Stanis—“ Whilst not verbally spilled out, Luther felt alarmed that his ‘blind faith’ may be questioned, his lips barely flinched however before the other mentioned a name and Luther, rather suddenly, aimed his gaze over to the one mentioned. “If I were you, I'd speak to his alter boys... and a few of the youth choir. It is such a commendable thing, to pull children from the system and give them something to believe in,” Ah, and there was the anger. A tension came all too readily to Luther’s jaw, a restless shift in his posture and eyes flicked from the target to the floor, to a far-off wall and then off to the ceiling … as if should he stare too long at any one spot he may have burned holes into it. The tension eased, while to others they may look at Luther and see barely the fragments of an emotional outburst, to Luther himself it was potent enough that he had to willfully swallow it down.

There had been something else said, something about being beneath a man of God and Luther tried to pay it more attention, tried to work over the words in his mind and yet all he could do was mimic the curt smile offered by Mr. Irbson to the others who wandered by, and soon enough that too vanished, leaving only a blank feature staring back at him.

It would surely be too grand a gesture to walk up to the man and prove his blind faith by shooting Father Stanis, though Luther did not have his weapon on him he could go out to his car and collect it or any of the ones he’d stored in the boot. He could also snap the head of the wine glass of this drink and plunge the length of it into the Father with swift, deep, thrusts. A poetic justice, perhaps? He was never too good at judging that sort of thing. Though if it snapped too soon, or if he was withheld by others around them.. no, Luther could not let pride in his faith blind him to the risks involved in carrying out his mission. If he was reckless and caught it would end the ability to serve his Lord and Saviour, however, if he was caught while being careful, it was alright … as it was likely God’s will at that point. He had to calm down, even if he felt as if he wanted to yell, to just expel all that energy out with as loud a force as he could manage, he had to subdue it for now. To ignore it. To buried it deep.

The preacher composed himself internally as best he could, and offered a strained smile at the other that felt almost blasphemous that it had not come readily as it should for someone clearly deserving of more respect.

“Forgive me,” He understood now, of course these men should not be given the same chances as others. Luther could see the reasoning behind it with absolute clarity. “The flock are to be guided along the path, the Shepherds should know their way. When those we guide wander, we are to return them safely unless they are impure and a risk to the flock. When the Shepherd leads them astray, they are the impurity itself, and must be cleansed immediately.” The tone of voice was almost flat in Luther’s effort to control himself as if the slightest inflection to colour his words was an outburst he couldn’t allow. “This, I feel is just.” Why did he feel twisted up inside, should he laugh? Was he angry? His stomach felt tight and his hands wanted to move, he wanted to occupy himself with something and nothing that came to mind seemed viable. His head tilted sideways as if suddenly clogged up with a noise he wished to dislodge and would hopefully pour freely from his ear to help clear his mind. No such luck. The head straightened; this was all so overwhelming and he had to get a grip. Did God really desire this of him? It was so big, to cleanse the taint of his own worshipers … no, the thought of it would just work him up again into a very toned down fluster. He felt like this at times when Pandora had her hands on him, that restless sort of energy, the keen desire to progress onto something that he needed time to figure out and come to terms with. He was pretty sure the gentlemen beside him was not flirting, even if Luther noted the way his heart quickened and his fingers fussed and his mind just felt restless and keen. This time it was because of the nature of the discussion, Luther was sure of it. Too many other hints had been clearly made to have this be some extremely bizarre flirtation. Though at this point, Luther wouldn’t entirely fight off any advances on account of the buzz he seemed to have been swept up in. Like lips whispering sweet affections into his ear, the will of God stirred a similar reaction within, a devotion he would bend till he was broken in order to appease.

“If you would excuse me,” There was a slight crack in the handling of his accent, the French-born slipping just enough to lose the crafted sounds he’d worked so hard to perfect over the years. An easier curve pulled into the corners of his lips as Luther bowed once again. “I should say my farewells and…” The words stalled only briefly, Luther still mid bow and paused that way, his eyes looked up Matthias, that edge of giddiness about his lips, “…step aside for a quiet moment of meditation.” The preacher straightened once he’d figured out how to end his sentence, a content nod of his head, a glint in his eye as if proud beyond words and struggling to keep up. He would prove he was both faithful and committed, he was able to take the lead and do what God asked of him without always needing to hold his hand along the way, at least when it comes to the people who should know better. “Thank you for all you have given me to think about.” Not just the name to look into, but also the fact Luther needed to be stricter on those who were in a position of power, he’d always disliked the abuse of power and yet he’d trusted God would guide him on how to handle each and every perpetrator …. to think the Lord would trust him to step forward and judge those in his serves without mercy … Luther had to be cautiously delighted about the fact, he could not overstep his boundaries and risk betraying the trust the Heavenly Father had in him.

Assuming the information was correct, of course.

Leaving the area had been done with not so much as a passing wave to those he’d originally been seated with, so preoccupied with his own thoughts and the weight of responsibility that was being placed upon him. He had to make sure it was God’s will that had guided the other there … Luther had been manipulated on occasion before, or so Pandora had warned him, he should talk to her about it. Or perhaps…. yes, first he would look into Father Stanis.

--------------------
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Mar 1 2018, 06:07 PM
91
posts
1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
Hell
Loki-sexual
obsessive // shipped w/his brother
Mattie / Ninian

awards

clandestine corruption
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PTSD | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
"Of course, Father,"

He might as well have been a man who'd just been handed an invitation to the room of a woman sat at a bar for all the carefully crafted smile upon his face exuded. A hand clasped at his back and the other hoisting the deep heady red wine and he looked a man both impressed upon and all too contented and happy for the short duration of the company he'd been given. A cat who'd caught his canary and had it poised within his jaws, all too ready for its consumption. The vibration of emotion from the other, his mind a playground of thoughts, both far too wicked for his station and tamed under the smooth ply of his hand, was everything exciting and encouraging to the man who held every penchant in delving deep into the gray folds of every mind that stood his opposite.

Luther wasn't a man hard to figure out, though his mind was deliciously stubborn, it was something so caught upon whims that where logic should have been there was only the folly of his passion. It was a notion Matthias found particularly beautiful for its capability in being exploited and manipulated. Not so easy that anyone could do it, there was a push back given, even now, but neither was it anything impossible. A challenge he adored and a passion he found intriguing when it came to the mortals, not for its rarity but for its abundance. The matched excitement in the man beside him was nothing Matthias could or would ignore as he slipped easily from his side to wander himself off, a bone offered and he'd clamp his teeth into it so firmly there was no chance he'd not leave his impression behind.

Matthias simply stood and watched his retreat, picking through his mind and the confusion over the notion of flirtations, something that smoothed his smile darker. Hid it behind his glass and washed it away in blessed wine that wasn't at all. A finger idly rubbing along the long healed skin of his palm where it'd brushed against the rings of every devout man in this room, his blisters nothing they'd note and if they had, it was his wallet and the promise of its opening that hushed their tongues.

Had he not someone else to occupy every of his thoughts he might have taken a moment to study the bend of Luther's back like it might also be easily exploited to his own whim--

Alas, his thoughts were ever on a man that wracked him so easily with sin he was sure Luther would put him down as well, if he had any ability to ever do so.

Alas once more.

Matthias would steady his attention over every flip of the paper in the mornings that followed, a casual study of the happenings of the city while he sat there before the short wall of windows that hugged the far end of his kitchen in the sky. As bare as the world had brought him into itself as, and slicked over in a sheen of perspiration that matched the shade of passionate red upon his brother's cheeks as he left in a linger of taste upon his lips and the stench of Hell upon his teleportation. Nothing would strike his fancy the day after and the one after that was much of the same. Doubt began to crop his thoughts down at the knees, over whether this man he'd chosen was up to the task or not.

Patience was not a virtue well kept by Matthias Irbson.

He'd claim it a casual happenstance that sat him in the broad shaft of sunlight the morning of the fourth day, his suit impeccably pressed and the paper opened in his hands. He looked plucked from another era as those around his sat with their noses buried in their phones. A leg crossed casually over the other and the mirror of his sunglasses sat him a man enjoying the tea that settled on the table that rested at his side. There was no doubt after who he was and he'd need no double take to spot the man he was after as his walked down the street in a collision course that was expertly laid.

His church not far off, a half block down and Matthias seemed nothing but a casual observer of life, and he might have been had he also not looked so tucked away from the current moment of time.

Unsure which caught the other's attention, himself and the soft disheveling of his hair in the mid-morning breeze, or the sharp snap of his paper as its page was turned and it was smoothed in a manner so often depicted in noir movies. It was the eyes that saw his paper down, half rested against his thigh as his freed hand moved to hoist the mug of tea from its saucer. It was only as it was lowered that he seemed to note the man who drew himself near. The smile across his face was warmer than it'd been previously, unhampered by the need for business as it'd been. Still stern, even now, but easier.

"Father. What a lovely surprise this is,"

There was a hint of yellow feather poking out from the corner of his mouth as he moved to pick up the paper and see it closed, thumb keeping careful place of his last point of contact with its printed words.

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Mar 2 2018, 06:53 PM
111
posts
133 Spell-binder Preacher
Spellbinder
“A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” Proverbs 16:9
The Church
Pansexual
Not even God knows.
Father

awards

Father Burrell
Angie
Her, thingy | AEDT | 3/3/3 | Duende#0796
The rest of the day had been spent doing most of the usual routine Luther managed to juggle between his church work, emailing, texting, generally trying to collect what information he could from sources that were more reliable than the front page. Unfortunately, most of what Luther got back was basically ‘will look into it’ and that was that. Not that he expected people to have a dossier on the guy, but one could be mildly hopeful at times. Especially as there had been a few clients who ended up being easier to gather information on that he or Pandora had anticipated … this sadly was not one of those situations. A general search on the internet and Luther gathered what most people knew, the guy reached out to the young, leaned towards boys of course due to the ‘all boys’ theme of the groups he ran. It could be that Luther had misunderstood the reference … perhaps Irbson had actually been complimenting Father Stanis for his hard work … usually however when references to good deeds were made, it was often done in what Luther discovered as a ‘sarcastic’ tone. He wasn’t an idiot that he couldn’t guess the implications, he was, however, lacking the innate ability others seemed to have at picking up the plainly spoken comments that ‘were clearly opposite of what they’d meant’.

Only Matthias Irbson had most definitely suggested that Father Stanis was impure, he couldn’t have possibly misunderstood the straightforward reference to that.

The following day Luther spent mostly at Pandora’s weapon shop after morning mass had finished, most of the day had been filled with research, and not just in regards to Father Stanis, he also had other individuals he’d been looking into. In the end, he received more clues on a particular man he’d been attempting to locate and ended up spending his night looking for him. While Luther’s target itself was already dead, torn apart in some sort of bloodlust it appears, and by someone other than Luther himself. Despite the happy ending, that particular situation had left Luther in a state he hadn’t quite been prepared to deal with. The evidence that suggested the man he’d given a chance to had never intended to repent left a bad taste in Luther’s mouth, such obvious declarations of sins that the preacher should have been aware of the man’s deceit, had he perhaps not instead been so preoccupied with his lack of contact with Pandora Middleton for the last handful of weeks since they’d argued. It had been his poor handling of a personal situation that had resulted in a member of his Church suffering due to a guest he’d invited into their sacred grounds. It sickened Luther to no end, twisting his insides and grinding his habits into a stage of uncertainty. Perhaps Matthias had been right, perhaps Luther had been too generous in the past … or was that just a hopeful excuse for his failure to see the man for the liar he was?

The conflicted state resulted in the third day spent at Pandora’s, though before arriving he’d offered God the opportunity to punish him for his neglect. Apparently, God had not desired the consequences that Luther had offered, and while Pandora herself was happy at first to oblige the preacher's attempts to get a rise from her, she soon realised the intentions of his behaviour and even his Angel of Death limited the pain he’d felt justified to receive. Why had it always felt that way? That those who failed so often got away unscathed while those who were innocent often suffered. Though he suffered the odd injury and aches, it hadn’t been quite enough to rid Luther of the lingering sense of failure, it felt shameful that a mistake such as his with the consequences that had resulted from his own neglect should have been allowed to pass without any pain on his part. It felt as if to push further would only insult the decision clearly made on the matter by the higher powers he served, even if he felt unworthy of the leniency he felt he was being given.

While managing to centre himself a little better, he’d still rolled out of bed in the middle of the night to do what he probably should have done on the first night he’d heard the rumour, even if it went against common practice now. With modern society having advanced as it had, disappearing people were not so easily forgotten about, the old tactics weren’t favoured anymore and yet all Luther could think that night was how any suffering endured between when he’d been informed and to that point would be on his hands as well for having waited.

While not entirely foolproof, the witch trials of old that saw everyday woman burned as an easy means to be rid of them, or because people were paranoid and stupid, proved that torture and fear could force almost anyone to admit to almost anything. Still, Luther wasn’t exactly in the state of mind where he felt concerned about that risk. Plus, there had been something strangely gratifying to hear the sobbing confessions of a desperate man. Maybe he’d dragged out the interrogation that little longer than he’d needed to on account of being deprived of personally dealing with the man who had betrayed the preacher's good will and efforts. There was however that edge of frustration he wouldn’t admit to, that sense of disappointment at the moment whereas frightened as the Father of Filth had been, Luther hadn’t really been able to lay a hand on the guy. Not if he wanted to keep to the plan of making it look like a suicide. It was amazing how compliment terrified people could be at times, doing the most stupid of things just to extend their life or reduce the pain of what was to come. As if the eternal damnation of their soul wouldn’t have been endlessly worse than anything Luther could put them through.

Still what a start to the fourth day, a suicide note found when Father Stanis had not appeared for morning mass (thought originally by the writer to be one of confession in exchange for his life) and what the man thought to be an empty gun (‘proven’ to be so by Luther spinning the barrel and biting on the end of it before pulling the trigger) gone off in his mouth when he’d been asked to do similar. Although Luther had suggested it was for a blackmail video, he had not actually hit the recording of it. Which would have been stupid, given the age where technology was hardly a reliable accomplish, however when he told the man to pull the trigger to get a feel for what would happen if he touched another child again.

A sob and click.

Again. So you remember.

A choked breath and a bang.

This morning’s mass was exhausting only for the fact Luther would have preferred to fall upon his bed and sleep off the last week, he’d had to hurry to make it on time after dealing with Father Stanis and after yesterday’s ordeal with Pandora, he had aches he wasn’t sure was even natural. A morning walk after mass was mostly in an attempt to shake the people hellbent on asking how he was, granted he understood it was unusual, the cut lip, bruised eye and a cheek that had a nail-tipped hand strike hard against it leaving marks cut across the skin. People’s curiosity drove most of the ‘concern’ aimed at him and after the fifth enquiry he had to flee, just a walk around the block to cool off before he snapped and set fire to the whole damned state.

Noah had to go to extremes, there were points it was valid.

Maybe being sleep deprived was just as dangerous as being under the influence of some substance or another. Thoughts were stilled as a glimpse of a familiar face caught his attention, a hand pressed to his front, settling the butterflies that grew suddenly restless within. The preacher hesitated a moment, his gaze lifting to stare at the sky as if a message from God itself would be scrawled across the heavens.

Despite the sky devoid of the large fluffy arrow-shaped cloud pointing to the cafe, Luther still approached it. How could he not, it was as if the man knew Luther had followed through with punishing Father Stanis, though unless he had connections in the police force itself, the man’s body was likely only discovered over an hour and a half ago ... when morning mass had supposed to start. Would it already be in the media? The church enforced discretion more than they punished the wicked in their ranks, as long as it happened discreetly they seemed to turn a blind eye.

"Father. What a lovely surprise this is," Luther bowed, not really sure what to say to someone who stepped into his life one day, praised his deeds and advised him with words which had resulted in a great deal of contemplation ever since. The usual greetings seemed to fall short in welcoming the other who had been more than a passing face in the crowd. Should Luther sit, or stand? For some reason, he also felt a little off appearing the way he did, then away being able to remain upright was a feat to be proud of after launching oneself at a Naga able to snap you like a twig as penance since the usual means of self-harm would not quite work for Luther. Still, as usual, even that had not gone exactly to plan and in the end was hardly an unpleasant experience.

Such thoughts were put aside as if shoved into a suitcase and kicked under a table, Luther instead contemplating the possibility that this gentleman had a direct line with the good Lord himself and that could explain why he sat there, as having been there for hours, seemingly waiting for Luther. So he had lied, in that case, about not having an ear to God.

Somehow the lack of sleep did not entirely bother him anymore as if he’d slapped on a sigil and recharged himself, though in this case it seemed powered by the tiny beats of the butterflies swooping around his insides. A server appeared, polite and welcoming. Luther mimicked it, like the reflection of a mirror, the same smile, the same posture, the same polite tone. “Water, half a glass of ice and a slice of lemon, please. Also,” His had remained pressed against his stomach as if already prepared to bow at her, his words hung in the air a moment while he thoughts went over the options, not of what he’d drink but of how to order it. Would he be expected to sit with Mr. Irbson, or would that be considered an ‘intrusion’, why couldn’t all situations have a sort of overall description as to what was expected to happen? “A black coffee, small.. could you please put it into one of those reusable takeaway cups?” A bow of his head as he handed over the cash he’d pulled from a pocket on the inside of his coat, and then Luther stared at her walk away, as if waiting for her to look over her shoulder in awe at the man who had been seated at the table sipping his tea was not just any other customer.

The preacher was invited to sit and Luther turned his head towards the man and looked as if the Pope himself had invited the guy to join him for supper. Another slight bow of his head, as if words held no meaning and the only true form of communication was by bobbing his head up and down in varying extremes. Taking a seat, Luther appeared rigid, even more so than his usual stiff posture tended to be. As if his spine itself was replaced with an erected pole.

“Do you come here often?” While falling back on what he’d come to learn as an acceptable ‘small talk’ kick off, Luther also felt inclined to know if the guy had a habit of drinking tea at this particular cafe located not far from the Church of the Servant, where Luther resided. A coincidence was hard for Luther to grasp, things were of fate, guided by the will of God and the gravity of this situation and recent events had Luther unsure how to approach it. It felt like something divine… something overwhelming.

Where one man saw a bush burst into flames,
Luther had Matthias Irbson sipping his tea.

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Mar 4 2018, 11:16 PM
91
posts
1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
Hell
Loki-sexual
obsessive // shipped w/his brother
Mattie / Ninian

awards

clandestine corruption
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PTSD | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
"Sit, please,"

It was only a murmur, a thing uttered against the edge of his mug just before liquid poured across his tongue. The waitress there and gone with a simple order and a glance that Matthias was sure would have seen her head from her shoulders had his brother been present. Loki was not and so into that Matthias offered her a smile, as if it tickled him to tempt some sort of fate but only when it saw no one dead. It truth he couldn't have cared less, he'd have offered her some well meaning frown as her head lolled about on the ground before tutting his other half softly like his small nervous dog had just shat on the floor out of fright and Matthias could find nothing to scold him over.

It'd not bee his fault.

Back on point, he offered the man a seat, as awkward as he was he'd surely have stood there for long whiles before seating himself on the ground, likely. Matthias was nothing if not elegantly adept in his social interactions. An entity made for seduction and it was a thing that came as naturally as did the reading of Luther's mind as he sat stiffly in his chair. He might as well have been a robot asked to sit, his legs and back holding little to no articulation--

Luther's mind was a very colorful place that spoke of this as a lie though seemingly only in the presence of a redheaded woman.

Matthias wondered if Luther's God knew of the sticky heat between her legs that drove his preacher into the arms of temptation?

"Careful, Father, that sounds dangerously close to a flirtation," his tone was light and airy, a lilted thing that lapsed from his tongue smooth and oddly playful. It shouldn't have been trusted even as it was the sort that bred in others just that. A fallacy from his tongue and it'd see his mouth curled into a devilishly warm smile. It was the sort of playful that was almost too dry though his paper was unfurled a moment later and he was sure the moment had worn by then, his tone quieter and sterner, something comforting and business like without being as stiff as Luther's back. "On occasion, yes, it's very near the hotel," a point of fact he'd brush away with the flipping of a page.

"They've also the only genuine imported Japanese jasmine tea in town," he sounded like a tea snob, it was a fact Matthias was aware of as his eyes lapsed to Luther and his smile warmed, almost apologetically. "Though I doubt even my pretentious tea is anything that could soothe your current misfortune," the vibrant of his tropical eyes flickered over Luther's face in an apparent assessment that wouldn't point out the fact to a man who must be very aware he looked a bit like death warmed over. Matthias' frown was a subtle thing that wouldn't draw attention or linger before his gaze flicked back to the paper in his hand.

Skimming over the words and his own were gentle and carefully spoken--

"I hear good things about their coffee though, so perhaps it'll treat you better than life did Father Stanis,"

It was obvious though it seemed an oddity that he'd know of it. His paper was turned once more, the soft breeze pausing him to look into its face, he looked a man, suddenly, that enjoyed the subtle and sweet things of life. Like the enjoyment of the breeze as it ran its fingers through his hair. A quiet contented sigh as it subsided and he'd settle himself there, eyes dancing delicately across his paper. "I do hope my words were of some help to you, Father." He sounded then, like he would have been sorely disappointed if it'd not been the right hand of God that had seen the man to his end and instead some heart attack induced by his poor diet.

He knew better, the cool silvered thing between the man's teeth as glimpsed from Luther's mind was a thing of beauty in his eyes--

But Luther knew not of this.

Matthias however, made no move to explain how he knew, instead let the man choose himself the outcome of things as his paper was folded softly over a thumb and his tea sipped once more. Curious, bright eyes searched the man across the table from him, intense and sharp though not without something akin to warmth about their edges.

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Mar 7 2018, 12:44 AM
111
posts
133 Spell-binder Preacher
Spellbinder
“A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” Proverbs 16:9
The Church
Pansexual
Not even God knows.
Father

awards

Father Burrell
Angie
Her, thingy | AEDT | 3/3/3 | Duende#0796
In general, as many could probably guess, people rarely tended to accuse Luther of flirting. This statement left Luther blind sided, as if Matthias had stepped towards him and flashed a light hot enough to burn not only through his sins, but his retinas as well. Back tracking, the preacher tried to quickly asses where he may have behaved inappropriately, what could he have done that would have been ‘dangerous close’ to a flirtation. Ordering the drink? Taking him up on the request to sit?

Some reference of a hotel left Luther vacantly processing how to resolve the situation, ‘flirtations’ and ‘hotel’ were rarely wholesome companions. Though a moment in and Matthias Irbson still managed not to seem particularly perturbed by the whole thing, Luther felt unsure how to respond. Instinctively he would wrap himself up in the fluffy blanket that was his preachers role, a polite smile and attentive look.

A reference to Luthers misfortune and the Spellbinder found himself conflicted on which misfortune the other was latching on to. Was it a reference towards the consequences of his effort to rile Pandora up, or did the other speak of something less obvious? It was becoming a point of fact that Luther had to pay closer attention to the remarks made by Mr. Irbson, on account they at times appeared to suggest towards truths that Luther wouldn’t expect to be known. The manner in which Mr. Irbson appeared content in not seeming to expect anything from Luther, not in a manner that riled up the religious man who would attempt to please even if it put him outside of his own comforts, assuming they were worth the effort.

Luther’s head tilted slightly, absorbing the sight of the sandy haired individual as if still trying to unravel the mystery before him. Careful steps, even if one appeared appreciative of Luther’s work, even of himself, there had been times in the past that all had fell away when Luther had revealed too much. There had been close moments where others had tried to coax the truth from Luther, without revealing why they had wanted to know. He’d usually been relatively lucky, the very few close calls he’d endured were resolved by Pandora herself or even on their own through chance. As if God really were on his side, tugging at all the right strings.

"I hear good things about their coffee though, so perhaps it'll treat you better than life did Father Stanis,” Coffee could not really ‘treat him better’ had been the initial thought that kicked up, though trailed off to a blank stare as the mention of the now deceased Father came up. Luther found himself wishing he too had a newspaper to occupy his hands with. There was something about the way Matthias sat, his whole approach to the situation, Luther found it oddly refreshing and yet in that sense also alarming. Who was this man?

There were mind readers in this world, and that was something Luther was somewhat aware of, even if it never seemed to strike him with any sense of fear. Sparks of impulsive thoughts would still ignite through his mind and some misguided assumption that he had done nothing wrong to warrant any negative focus kept him comfortable within his own mind.

“I can't help but wonder what you actually think of the man who asks so much of you,"

Luther was not one to believe in a kind of love that did not require him to prove his worth and sit in anxiety while being judged. That did not mean he lacked belief in that one could feel a natural connection between one soul and another. There was an otherworldly sense of romance even Luther could feel whispering into his ears whenever someone of biblical ties would speak of him, be it praise or guidance or even the awe of their presence. A hopeless romantic he was not, this devout worshiper bordered along the fanatical, more in common with someone insisting their idol spoke to them through the tv. A fixation, in Luther’s case, that his beliefs could easily support and unlike others in his position his focus could not openly confirm or deny their bond. It was, after all, based entirely on faith. He would do whatever the object of his ultimate affection would ask of him, and if that meant his obedience stained himself beyond recognition then so be it. There would be a reason for it, and it was not his place to question. A true sign of a leader was their willingness to sacrifice one for the chance of the many to survive.

"I do hope my words were of some help to you, Father." There was a cautious flick of Luther’s gaze just darting off, as if watching a bug dance an erratic path a moment as he examined one likely viewpoint to another. No one appeared to be standing suspiciously, no sign of threat, just this man, his paper and a cup of tea. An easy smile, friendly, as if exchanging recipe ideas, and Luther relaxed his lip only to wet the cut with the tip of his tongue. It stopped almost immediately, as if catching himself being inappropriate, not wanting to risk yet another misunderstood ‘flirtation’.

“Yes,” There was an appreciative tone, and while Luther would have delighted in society being content in straight forward replies such as that, he pushed on fully away people generally liked complete sentences. “I have meditated greatly on what you’ve said, there have been moments of conflict, even, during my contemplations.” His drinks approached, both placed each before him and he both greeted and farewelled the other as warmly as he would a member of his congregation. His body has inched forward, balanced on the edge of his seat and posture still immaculately poised that should one kick the seat from under him, it could be imagined he’d still be crouched in the same position as he appeared to rely more on the body’s posture to remain upright than the seat itself to relax within.

It was hard to get comfortable when seated before someone had seemed to figure out so much about Luther, and all he knew was the guys name. And most importantly, that he knew of a servant of God that defiled the or misused the flock the Lord required them to tend to.

“As for Father Stanis, upon looking into him I must admit difficulty in discovering anything out of place.” So how did this entity know? How did he know of Luther? Of a death that had not made the papers? It was as if he read the news yet to be printed, and not just an awareness, but more than that.. an approval of some sort, egging Luther on with the proverbial carrot on a stick, a state of ideas that had left Luther with a swarm of butterflies like some angsty teen flustered over a first date. A sip of the ice water with its lemon slice was mostly an excuse to let Luther’s hands busy themselves. “I find myself quite intrigued as to the knowledge you’ve acquired, and how.” Either an openness regarding the truth of how the information had been revealed to the man, or a back handed slap clear across the face for daring to enquire... Luther would happily accept both. He’d even tolerate a vague response, if he must. There was just something about Matthias Irbson that was breathtaking in a way he couldn’t quite articulate, he may as well have been illiterate and desiring to write a poem regarding it.

Though Luther couldn’t define it as either an otherworldly aura, or a personality that just drew you in. A presence about the other male that felt like...greatness. “if you have time..” he dared to continued, like the hungry little sheep he was. “...I am rather fond of continuing our discussions.”

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Mar 9 2018, 01:47 AM
91
posts
1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
Hell
Loki-sexual
obsessive // shipped w/his brother
Mattie / Ninian

awards

clandestine corruption
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PTSD | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
There was a wasteland between his ears, a thing so devout in its ability to look over and around the facts offered, to grate them over a sharp piece of metal shaped like his God and admire only the thin strips that were left behind in its wake. Each one holding some bit or piece of a man Luther bruised his knees for time and over again. And upon his mention that mind went every shade of wonder and promise after a life deemed and befit to only that one. Not even the red haired woman could stand His equal in the mind of Luther. It was a wondrous sort of thing to the mind of another who had only one thing he'd ever felt as passionate after. The difference between Matthias and Luther was really only the validity of their obsession, Matthias' was such that he could reach out and touch it, drive a thin sharp blade through it and watch it squirm and bleed.

Luther's was such that he knew not at all what it was he even worshiped, a divine being that was not a man bearded and draped in rags. Was not a humble thing that willed his children to do only good in his name, but rather readily moved them about in a manner that saw them fail time and over again.

Luther's God was not anything he knew, couldn't touch or taste or bleed himself. How he remained so devout to a figment was nothing that Matthias understood in the least.

A low hum would purse from Matthias' throat as Luther began, admitting there was struggle was the first step. Blue eyes flickered then, grasping hold of the waitress with a smile, almost curt in the face of the one he offered Luther himself. Greeted with a nod and little else as drinks were left and she saw herself off with little to say. Eyes lapsing back to the paper in his hands and Matthias was quick to revert his attention and allow his company space enough to breathe. It would do little for the tension in his posture, or so Matthias would note as he moved to sip his tea once more, Luther's words hanging in the air between them like smoke he'd not see wafted away but rather explained. Even this would take a moment or two, allowing the good Father to say his peace and express his intrigue.

A thing that was right where Matthias wanted it.

"All the best devils hide themselves well in the cover of plain sight, Father," such a statement as this could easily have born the idea into a mind that Matthias was someone to look into as well, he'd not deny this anymore than he'd have hastened Luther to ask himself after the validity oft his claim. Would he have given up one of his own? One of his own that had been so very well hidden? He'd also have upheld this ideal of looking, pushed the man to indeed look into him. He'd find nothing, Matthias was assured of that, but he would also not move to hide himself like a guilty member. What would that prove if not him no better than a man who found the need to bury himself in his work with children?

"I've nothing but time,"

His smile was warm and his eyes a quiet shade of blue as they flickered over the man to his side. In a moment of trust, perhaps needing it or perhaps needing to breed it into the moment more than the man, the mirrored lenses before his eyes were removed, one long arm bent and the other seeing itself slipped into the pocket of his blazer. Clear and unbidden, Matthias' smile seemed something far more wholesome when it was paired with the easy intensity of his gaze.

"Tell me, Luther, what do you know of his foot soldiers; angels?" The man's name flicked easily from his tongue, like he'd known it his whole life, wrapped it in warm comfort as he moved to fold his paper and set it to the side, upon the table. A hand would flick then, batting away a silly notion he'd give word to in the moment next as his long frame settled back in everything comfortable and casual, against the back of his chair. "I don't mean what the good book says, we both know its pages are as factually accurate as any story book, things based in truth but it isn't a biography," an arm rested along the table like it were a better arm rest then that of his chair.

"I mean the actual. Have you met any such?"

A brow rose as Matthias' eyes settled on the man, gentle but peering through him where he sat with an intrigue he'd not move to hide.

"Would you know one if it sat staring you in the eye? You seem intrigued by the notion of me, and yet the most obvious answer seems to be one you've no will to accept as readily as facts from a book written by a false hand. I wonder then, what's preventing you from embracing a truth made physical when you struggle not over one metaphysical that you can never hope to touch,"

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user posted image
Mar 10 2018, 06:00 AM
111
posts
133 Spell-binder Preacher
Spellbinder
“A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” Proverbs 16:9
The Church
Pansexual
Not even God knows.
Father

awards

Father Burrell
Angie
Her, thingy | AEDT | 3/3/3 | Duende#0796
The anticipation was a nervous kind of energy, subdued but there all the same. It tingled like electric eels slithered down his spine and through his limbs. Everything about the man before him seemed like an art form, his chest rising and falling with the seductive quality of a soothing lullaby that would be lost on Luther. The eyes, majestic blades that pierced right through him. Everything seemed so organised, so precise. Strict, meticulous, frightfully calm, all a familiarity that Luther could relate to, that he could feel comfortable with.

Angels.

That comfortable faded as quickly as those bifocals had been plucked off the others face. Luther closed his eyes, breathed a moment, then opened them once he’d drew comfort from words he’d been assured by fifteen years ago. A sanity so beautifully constructed, able to take the odd dent or so, but a sledgehammer like that. Fuck, it had almost broken him for good. Foot-soldiers, the dagger that twisted in the preacher’s back as if somehow the word itself dismissed his own existence and validated his insignificance.

The passive exterior felt taut as it contained the creature within. The strange thoughts that sunk him to new realities with graceful ease, never leaving a trace or clue as they’d taken hold, their coming and going a constant with no cure in sight. Each lapse in those moments a florid daydream dangerously close to being lived in first person. Who would tell him, though, when he was so much more malleable with that true delusion, a mixed false belief that gains traction, like a tire on the road? Such a thing could drive a person like himself into different directions, often erratic and towards disaster. The perfect vehicle of distraction for those who delighted in such mischief.

He couldn’t alter his own direction or fundamental beliefs, he was stuck on a glorious Ferris wheel taking him for a ride, rising him to the heavens themselves, such impossible heights where his following descent would always be a given.

“I mean the actual. Have you met any such?” And it was the answer to that question that held the truth as to how, exactly, Luther survived the crisis of ‘their’ arrival. Luther looked at Matthias, holding on to the thought of his encounter with Micah as one would imagine any other Pastor would clutch to their bible. He wasn’t useless. Because even a guardian angel had needed Luther’s assistance. God sent an angel to cross his path, to guide. That is how Luther knew, he wasn’t insignificant, God had faith in him just as much as he had Faith in God.

”…what’s preventing you from embracing a truth made physical when you struggle not over one metaphysical that you can never hope to touch,” If only one could capture the expression that slowly formed on Luther’s features, it may have helped him better craft an appropriate reaction at certain times he could never act out the feelings that crept over him when they’d been previously expected. He was like a child suddenly, one that had been so lost - so desperate to be found - that he’d decided to play hide and seek in hope for this discovery. That pathetic child though, the one who played alone and wondered why no one came looking for him, too simple, too stupid or too broken to realise the answer.

His hand rose, subconsciously in truth, to touch gently against his cheek as if God himself embraced the limb and sought to offer a touch of affection, of assurance, a whispered I found you. A tongue slipped partially through dried lips, doing a poor job at wetting them and Luther blinked, his hand shifting to gingerly rub at the sore bruise and then the cup of water.

“We are all soldiers of God.” Luther started, apparently, this topic was more important. If only he could pretend it had more to do with the secrecy of his acquaintances and less to do with his own struggles on the matter. “While they uphold the law, I uphold his will.” A slip, perhaps, but he burned and the words were like smoke from a fire he couldn’t smother. “I am born as He needed me to be, blessed with the skills that He feels His world needs in order for it to heal.” So, there was a sore spot. His heartbeat within his chest, a mixture of desperation and devotion and it blurred bizarrely within him as if Matthias sat with his hand creeping up a thigh, whispering sweet promises with his fingers while casually chatting up the waitress. Just like Pandora did all the fucking time. Maybe he should be used to it?

He tried to collect himself. “Devotion is not physical, if you could not touch that which you were devoted to, would you cherish it any less?” The sincerity was almost poetic in him, though he lacked raw depth, it would still be unquestionable. Luther placed his hand over his heart as if he were about to burst into song as often seen in the old romantic black and whites. “I am fuelled by God, guided by his will. If he wishes to punish me, I would be guided towards punishment. If he wanted to show me love he would guide me towards that and if he wanted to challenge my Faith, then I would survive his challenge through Faith alone or deserve the suffering gained in failure.” Luther put his drink down, not having actually taken a sip yet.

His body leaned forward, his voice lower, firm, passionate by his standards though dialled down for the average spirit, so instead of a storm to topple ships it was merely a gust of wind that just managed to kick up some leaves. “So my intrigue towards you still stands. Are you a sign of his faith in me? Are you my punishment or are you my challenge? Whichever it is, my devotion to follow-through is guaranteed and what form you take before me now is - while curious - inconsequential. The truth shall be relieved.” For Pandora was heaven sent, his Angel of Death, and reality had the audacity to question this. Nothing was as reality tried to deem it to be at face value. Nothing.

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Mar 12 2018, 03:11 AM
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1964 Archdemon Luxury Hotel Owner
The Corruptor
A kiss like never before. Somehow you open the door, to how I feel inside. Blood red sunrise. I'm burning fast, I'm in love with you. And every time I move close to you. There's a fire in the room.
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clandestine corruption
Sarah
she/her/that bitch | PTSD | 3/3/3 | Sarahroo#5726
Matthias watched, his mind picking out a name that curled his inner lip a little; the guardian angel had already touched this man, in the most proverbial sense of the word. He was a man as chaste as he was robotic. So close to his final death and Matthias wondered then if Luther knew how his precious Heaven worked at all. That his God exulted his most trusted to a point they became useless, mindless drones and were given the ultimate death-- tinker toys clutched to his chest that they likes to call the Illuminated, the Illuminati and within those, no will to do anything beyond what they were bade. An army of them, as useless as the eventually-to-be glasses that held their drinks were to the world. Things to only be filled with the will of one man, an entity as unforgiving as the pavement had they tripped and fallen.

He doubted it.

But this man's stubborn struggle to hold onto his faith was nothing Matthias assumed he could break, nor had he any mind to. Luther was far more useful as he was now, even if his mind was ever and too crowded with his red-headed naga. A name not so hard to track down after it was known. He looked such an innocent-faced boy as he sat there in his convictions proud and spewing faith like it were a thing he need paint himself over at every chance. If Luther was asked not to speak of God or his beliefs, what would he be? What would he say? Matthias wondered in all honesty, if Luther didn't better represent Micah's near future than even the odd robotic nature of Micah himself did.

His chin would incline a little as his sunglasses were tucked away and his tea pressed against his lip--

Thoughtfully he'd pull it away a few seconds later.

"Yes, we are all his children and we all have our role to fill," his tone was soft, a subtle thing that wasn't terribly interested in the diatribe of a sermon upon which named the man what he wanted to be so badly he'd will it to happen even if it meant he damned himself in the end. Matthias studied him a moment before offering the young man a soft smile. His words murmured softly into his mug of tea. "Even you are important in the fabric he weaves," it sounded like ceding, a better giving into the lesser to prove their father did in fact love them equally, even as one won a football scholarship and the other handed out pamphlets about God in the bleachers.

A son's need for his father's love was everything in this moment.

Whether Matthias believed it or not mattered none.

The soft struggle of the man to keep his thoughts under control was an amusing one, though it was his next comment that quirked Matthias' brow a bit and wandered his gaze over the other's face. His expression, for once, honest in its pensive draw. "No, of course not," he'd never not been devoted to one and even the thousands of years they'd been apart, he'd remained steady. Straying a few times but his focus had never wavered-- "I'm not here to question your devotion, if there is anything of you that it stated as readily as that, I'm unaware of it. Merely, that perhaps you know exactly the answers you seek, without needing to ask at all." After all, Matthias was as physical as Luther himself was, and he had yet to steer him wrong, however the once might have only been.

His tea finally sipped and set back down, eyes narrowing as Luther leaned himself forward, all strewn over in faith and his never ending devotion.

A blink, languid and thoughtful, a creature regarding another that it did not understand and yet did in too many ways to ever set aside so readily that he'd look alien.

"Time. The great equalizer of us all," his chin dipped a bit, his intense gaze a bit as well, a reverent bending in the face of someone who knew well enough this thought. "And so it shall be," an agreement as his attention fluttered to the street then, posture proud and yet that easy casual like he might as well have owned the every land he stepped upon. If he were a man sent from God, then surely, in some sense he did. "I do worry over the longevity of this world," an errant thought that saw his fingers tap idly against the top of the table, his other hand played gently, fingers shifting to reach for his sunglasses though only making it halfway before the slipped into his grasp via some invisible string surely.

"There is an endless list of men just like Father Stanis, a handful in this very city,"

Slipping them back over his eyes and he'd remain conversing to the street and the people that fluttered about, seemingly as useless as Luther battled against constantly proving himself not--

"You stood in a room with them all, tell me, Father...--" his gaze slipped back, half hidden behind his sunglasses, a shaft of light cutting through the behind to cast a single eyes in a peer, neon and radiantly blue at the man through the shaded lens-- "Did you suspect any of them? Feel anything of them while in their midst?

"Doubt any of them?"

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