| Logs |
2006 November 06
| Law |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Law Logs |
A young priest and an old priest.
Circle-H Ranch, outside Phoenix, AZ, Current DayIan spent the night at the Circle-H, wandering the grounds until he found a comfortable tree to lean against. Once there, he settled in with a piece of mahogany and several very sharp, small blades, carving pieces for one of his boxes. Bella spent the night in the fields, watching the stars and soaking up Slate's company. Unusually, the only touch she seemed to want was to hold Slate's hand as the stars wheeled by overhead.
Deva was welcomed warmly into Thea's stall. The stable smelled comfortingly of warm, healthy animals and sweet hay. The big mare was an almost perfect bed-partner, warm and gentle and still.
The most gentle of the resident angels, Rosenstern, spent the night in his garden, letting the presence of his flowers wash away some of the spiritual grit of the last few days.
As the night passed, the sky clouded over and the next day dawned cool and grey.
Shateishael relaxes next to Bella, 'feeling' for dawn inside himself, since the sky is overcast. When the bright spark of internal joy lets him know the sun has risen, he sings softly to her,
"I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear
My hands are small, I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken..."
Bella smiles quietly at the song, eyes slightly troubled. "You never have a moment's doubt, do you, Slate?"
Shateishael smiles down at Bella, resting his head on one hand, and rumbles quietly, "I often have doubts, sweetheart. But I know if I need 'em, I got folks t' help support me through my doubts. Rosie, Elly, you... an' even if y'all were all busy, or needed t' lean too, there're all my sisters and brothers in Stone there for me as well. It's tough love, true, but it's the strongest, surest, most constant love I know."
Devorael raises its head, catform, and purrs loud and long at the sunrise.
Shateishael gently brushes an errant strand of hair out of Bella's face and smiles again, "When you wanna talk about it, sweetheart, if you want I'll be there."
Shateishael grins, his gaze getting a touch mischievous even as his tone stays lazy, "An' if you want, we c'n talk 'bout it after your present arrives t'day."
Alethea raises her head and shakes it, tossing her forelock out of her eyes. She glances around, checking for where Deva-kitty is, then yawns -- a long, wide-mouthed, prodigious horse yawn! Then she sighs contentedly, dipping her head to give the big Maine Coon a few tidying strokes with her tongue.
Bella chuckles and arches an eyebrow at that announcement, "You are doing to best to spoil me, aren't you?" Her tone is mostly playful, but her eyes are a little bit pensive still. At that point, Ian wanders up, his steps quiet in his moccasin boots. The big Malakite clears his throat as he approaches, trying not to pop up too suddenly.
Rosenstern remains in the garden, as the sun rises behind the veil of clouds. He looks up briefly at the rising light, and nestles himself within the flower garden, to quietly meditate for a few minutes, in prayer and grounding.
Devorael purrs even more loudly, if that's possible. OK, so the tom will smell like horse, not cat... that's all right for now. It makes a mental note to spend more time at the farm, in case the Pride Leader decides to come visit it.
Shateishael chuckles quietly, "Nah, not tryin' t' spoil you. Tryin' t' make sure if we're gonna be askin' you t' spend time here, that we're not cuttin' into your work time." He waves to Ian, "Hey, guy. Thanks for comin' over on such short notice. I figure if you ask nicely, we can get Rosie t' make you that disgustin' haggis thing y' like so much." He grins cheerfully at the big Malakite.
Ian snorts through his nose and smirks down at Slate, nudging Bella's shoulder gently with the toe of his boot. "Nah. I think I'm going to head back home before the sweet wee poofter can get t'gether a haggis. What are the plans for the lot of ye?" Bella reaches back and hooks a hand casually around Ian's ankle.
Alethea looks pleased, then whickers softly, "Hold still, filly, while I get up -- don't want to accidentally step on you before I go for my morning run." There's a small explosion of wood chips as she lurches to her feet, then shakes herself thoroughly from nose to tail. She sighs happily, then just before leaving the stall she adds, "You're welcome to come along if you're still riding Holly, by the way."
Shateishael is silent a moment, then says slowly, "I'm thinkin' we'll be tryin' t' track down th' one that's still out loose, and leave a Deva-guard on th' other'n. We know 'bout when we're expectin' th' attack, after all."
Holly appears outside the barn, tail wagging, tongue hanging out with doggy warmth. A run, indeed, sounds like just the thing.
Alethea snorts companionably at Holly -- and Desty and both of Ian's dogs as they turn up too -- then cheerfully whinnies a greeting to the day at the top of her lungs! A fraction of a second later she bursts into a gallop, stretching her legs and throwing in the occasional happy buck for the sheer pleasure of it. As the dogs tumble gleefully after her, catching up and barking excitedly, she tosses her mane and shakes her head at the dogs in mock threat. Soon the entire small pack is panting and breathless, their breath steaming in the chill early morning air.
Ian nods thoughtfully, "Aye, sounds like a plan, lad." He crouches down and pats Bella on the cheek, "You make sure he takes care of himself before they go off doin' this job, lassie." With that, he stands and moves off toward the garden, leaving Bella and Slate alone. As before, when he gets near Rosie's territory, he starts to whistle, making his approach known.
Rosenstern peeks open his eyes, lifting up his head when he hears Ian's whistle. he looks over his shoulder, smiling to the Malakite. "Hello, Ian," he calls out softly.
Shateishael smiles, his warm gaze tracking Thea as she thunders by... then he looks at Bella thoughtfully, "Take care of myself, nuthin -- you're th' one I'm worried about. You okay, sweetheart?"
Devorael /Holly grrrrrufs to the canines, tongue still lolling out, ears flopping in the self-created breeze. The cat, on the other hand, minces out to the garden.
Ian crouches again, hands between his thighs to help with balance and to push his kilt down in front. His broad face split in a quiet smile, "I brought you something from my workshop. When the lassie told me what you lot were up against, I thought you might need a little something to lift your spirits."
Bella nods and smiles, hauling herself to her feet, "I am. I'm going to go make some coffee..." She kneels and gives Slate an impulsive kiss, "Watch yourself out there, OK?"
Shateishael kisses back with pleasure, not getting in her way as she rises. When she's done he rumbles, "Always, sweetheart. Got folks dependin' on me... wouldn't wanna disappoint 'em by not bein' there when they need that strong silent someone t' lift heavy things!" He grins, his ice-blue eyes warmer than usual.
Rosenstern blinks to Ian, then turns around fully so he's kneeling facing the angel. He smiles sheepishly. "Thank you, Ian. It's been... well, it has been a bit depressing."
Shateishael rises smoothly, stretching his arms over his head with evident enjoyment... then pads along towards the house with Bella. He laughs, watching Thea thundering by yet again, and she throws a cheerful buck and a squeal in their direction as she gallops by.
Ian nods, eyes crinkling in a half smile. Reaching into a pouch hanging from the side of his belt, he pulls out a small white rose carved out of snowy wood and shining with lacquer. "I cannae grow a thing, but I've been told I make these pretty decent."
Bella smiles down at Slate before wandering off and disappearing into the house.
Shateishael peels off towards the barn before heading into the house, and makes sure Thea, the cats, the geese, and the dogs are fed.
Rosenstern's eyes brighten and widen, and he gasps softly. "Ian! It's beautiful! Whoever tells you 'pretty decent' isn't saying half as much as they should be!"
The Malakite holds the rose out toward Rosenstern, chuckling, "Most of 'em aren't this good, lad. This one is a bit special." The little wooden flower looks fragile in Ian's enormous hands, "I know y'cannae carry a normal flower around while yer gallivantin' off and solvin' mysteries, but I thought this one could be a little comfort."
Devorael makes sure, for its part, that all of its hosts eat and drink well. Then the crow lands next to Slate. "What now?"
Rosenstern gingerly reaches out to accept the rose. In his hands, it looks fairly large, comparatively. "Ian... thank you. I'll keep it safe, I promise!"
Shateishael smiles, reaching out to scratch gently at the base of the crow's skull, and rumbles, "Hey there. Thea take good care of you last night? Wanna come in for some breakfast?"
Ian winks and pats Rosie on the shoulder, "Nay, lad, t'other way 'round." He stands, stretching luxuriantly. "I'm headed home. Take care of the big rock."
Rosenstern bobs his head quickly. "I will, Ian. He -- we'll all get through this fine."
Like Ian, Slate has very large, strong, calloused hands... and also like Ian, he's capable of very careful, delicate movements. He gently picks up the crow, sets it on his shoulder, and heads for the house, "Breakfast, then we'll track down th' loose one. C'n you guard th' other one with a sparrow or somethin'?"
Ian drops Rosie another wink before he wanders off, gathering up his canine companions and roaring off in his beater of a truck.
Breakfast was quick and comparatively quiet. Bella brewed strong coffee and tea and then hugged each of the angels headed off to check on the two leads Ian had narrowed down. The trip was made in Slate's truck, giving all Deva's hosts room to sprawl and not be shut into a tiny car. Once in Sedona, a sheet of directions provided by Bella shows the way to Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow, where Father O’Brien serves and where he does his marriage counseling in a small office built into the rectory.
Shateishael parks the truck and frowns out through the windshield, then growls quietly, "'M thinkin' you better do th' talkin', Rosebud. 'M likely t' tell th' big wanker what I really think, otherwise." He glances at the dog, cat, and crow, "How you wanna shake out, Deva?"
Devorael looks around. "I can definitely sniff around to see if I recognize any scents. Perhaps they scout out first."
Shateishael nods, rolling down a window and opening the truck's door, "'kay. I'll leave th' window open in case y' wanna let someone else out too."
Rosenstern nods quietly to Slate, touching his collar. The rose is tucked neatly and discretely away in his pocket. "They might scout... or their scent might precede them if we're not too far ahead of them.
Shateishael steps out of the truck and waits to follow Rosenstern. He's dressed more neatly than usual, for him, in a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, well-worn boots, cowboy hat, and the ubiquitous jeans.
Devorael hops out of the car, Hollywise. The crow flies up to circle overhead, just another bird on the breeze. The cat, meanwhile, stays with the car.
The church is open, as many Catholic churches often are, almost all the time.
Rosenstern walks quietly up the steps to the rectory, glancing over his shoulder a little at the others before knocking on the door.
Shateishael paces along right behind him.
The door is opened by a priest so young that he looks as if he might not have to shave every day. His bearing is solemn, or seems so until one notices how hard he's working on keeping his eyes open, "Can I help you?"
Rosenstern ducks his head in a bow -- ill suited to his role as a marriage counselor as he might be, he's still a priest, and innocent until proven guilty and still worthy of that much respect. "Good evening, Father. My name is Rosenstern, and my friend here is name Slate. May we have a few moments of your time?"
Devorael sniffs around outside, investigating each and every vehicle in the parking lot, each and every hillock, each and every entrance to the church.
The priest looks a bit surprised, but opens the door, inviting the pair of unfamiliar men into the building, "Certainly... er... can I ask what this about?"
The parking lot is less than half full, and the primary scents are of car exhaust and asphalt. The scents of hundreds of humans are mixed together with those smells. A lot of people apparently use the lot. There is some very faint scent of myrrh, but it is in several places through the lot, not in any coherent sort of trail.
Devorael isn't surprised, but does its best to sort out what it can.
Closer to the building, the scents of car and road are less strong, letting the dog's nose pick out individual people-scents a little better, but they're still a bit difficult to unwind from one another.
Rosenstern steps in quietly, realizing that they're looking for an older priest named O'Brien. "We're looking for Father O'Brien, if he might be around?"
Blinking, the young man nods and gestures down the hallway, "He normally takes some time around now to catch up on correspondence. His room is at the end on the right." Smiling, the young priest dips his head in a nod and slips out of the door.
Rosenstern smiles to the young priest and nods, "Thank you, very much." He looks to Slate inquiringly.
As Rosenstern and Shateishael move down the hallway, Rosenstern becomes aware of the strong, almost cloying, scent of myrrh in the hallway, overlaying something that smells almost coppery. In the rectory's yard, Deva catches a familiar scent on the wind as the door to the house opens and closes. There is something there that smells not-quite-right.
Devorael spins and sniffs harder. The crow dips lower in the sky.
Rosenstern hesitates in going down the hallway. Myrrh. And... copper? Wait.... "Slate...." he says softly. "Something's not right."
Shateishael nods, stepping between Rosie and the priest and rumbling quietly, "Check it out?"
Devorael bounds over to the priest, tail wagging, pretending to be a friendly dog. The crow, meanwhile, is studying the priest with bright bird eyes. Not hawk-keen, no, but close enough at this range.
Rosenstern nods to Slate, his hand moving to the small little tanto which Slate had made for him, tucked beneath his vest. It's hardly more than a utility knife, but it'; have to do. He looks around the hall, trying to pick out anything else in the hallway.
Shateishael is blocking view of Rosenstern from view from the room at the end of the hallway, where the priest is supposed to be. Glancing around, he sees there are a couple of doorways, but all but two of them stand open. A quick check reveals one is an office, the other a neatly made-up bedroom. The door at the end of the hall is closed, as is the one that was indicated to be the priest's room.
The young priest chuckles and crouches down, offering his hand palm-up to the dog. His free hand moves to unfasten and remove the round white collar he was wearing with his simple black shirt, "Heya, boy. Shouldn't be around here, y'know. The dog catcher usually isn't too keen on strays." Up close, the young man smells very familiar, but his scent isn't very strong around the rectory, as if he's not there often.
Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Where's the wrong comin' from, Rose?"
Rosenstern nods to the priest's room. "Where the young priest said the old one would be."
Shateishael blinks at Rosenstern -- then bolts down the hallway, slamming the door open!
Familiar... how? Deva is careful to keep Holly just out of reach of the priest, tail still wagging, play-bowing, such a cute Golden! And why is the priest unfastening the collar? Bird-eyes look carefully for any sign...
The priest's room is a small, spare room. There is a narrow, austere bed and a very simple desk, stacked with paper.
The old priest's body lay in the narrow cot, the blankets and sheet pulled up and folded with a crease so sharp it would put an Army barracks to shame. His hands lay folded on his chest, arthritis-swollen fingers arranged as straight as possible. There were heavy golden coins on his eyes and someone had taken the time to place a rolled towel beneath his neck, keeping his chin up. A thin black string kept his mouth closed.
It looked like someone had laid him out with love and respect, which just made the gaping wound in his throat even stranger. The cut was clean and so deep that if the body had not been so carefully arranged, one probably could have seen the white gleam of his spine. The tab of his clerical collar was black with the dried blood and the black cloth of his shirt was stiff with it. The bedclothes themselves were pristine, the cleric's lifeblood having been collected in the washtub that sat just beneath his writing desk.
That same drying fluid had been used to write the word "HOPE" in strangely delicate calligraphy across the door of the room.
It's hard to tell why the young man smells familiar, but he smells of smoke. Myrrh and cigarettes.
Shateishael glances around, noting the very recently dead body -- the blood is still shiny, no more than half an hour old -- then his eyes widen and he breathes, "Deva!" He whirls and barks, "Clear, Rose!" so he doesn't squish the smaller Mercurian as he bolts for the front door. A fraction of a second later he bursts outside, glancing around swiftly for the golden.
Rosenstern isn't startled so much by Slate's call -- he dives out of the way, knowing better than to get in the way of Stone. He follows after slate quickly, his worst fear realized.
Devorael is trying to distract the priest (?), so that he doesn't leave. Dog ears hear Slate's shout, and suddenly panting turns to a chest-deep growl.
The young man is chuckling at the golden's antics and crouches beside the door of a dirty white compact car, clucking his tongue, "Come on, doggie, can't have you getting throw in the pound, can we?" He stiffens at the sound of the dog starting to growl and the crashing open of the door. He lunges to his feet, swearing and trying to jam the key into the door of the car, "Fuck!"
Shateishael feels a flash of relief at seeing Deva-Holly safely not in the hands of the false priest. Without lessening his speed, he pelts for the man, fists clenched and cold fury on his face.
Devorael can't let Holly get hurt, but begins to bark. Loudly. The cat comes through the window of the truck and streaks across the parking lot at top kitty speed. The crow dives down and begins to circle the man's head, trying to stay out of reach but croaking "Get down! On the ground! Surrender!"
Rosenstern bursts out of the rectory, sees Slate bearing down on the guy, and has a moment's panic. He’s seen Slate in this state of mind before, and it's not always a good thing. "On the ground!" he shouts, "NOW! Hands where we can see them!" He tries to make it as authoritative as he can.
The young man throws his keys at the crow and sprints for the sidewalk. In his panic, he comes nowhere close to hitting the bird. He also shows no sign of being inclined to surrender.
Crow, cat, and dog all try to converge on the young man. A Maine Coon leaping towards one's face is an impressive missile, and might actually make one slow down or fall trying to turn. And Goldens aren't exactly slow of foot... so Deva takes off toward the man from behind, possibly able to hit him in the back and trip him.
Shateishael snarls, "Get th' keys, Rosie!" and continues in his dead run after the fleeing young man.
Rosenstern diverts immediately for the keys that the man threw at Deva-crow.
The man goes down in front of Slate, rolling away just before the big Seraph can land fully on top of him. Deva's hosts don't quite make it to them, but they're there when pair of bodies hit the ground. The false priest is swearing a steady stream of profanity as he strikes out with a foot, trying to clip Slate.
The kick misses, whistling by Slate's hip with the force behind it. The foot is clad in heavy black combat boots. Most assuredly not standard priestly wear.
The keys are easy to grab for Rosie.
Devorael stays out of reach, since it got there second and third and fourth, ready to help Slate if necessary but otherwise having a care for the hosts... especially the more-fragile bird bones. If the kid tries to get away, however, he will get bitten.
Rosenstern scoops up the keys, and turns back to the false priest. He says, as clearly as he can, "Give up! You can't win against all of us!
Shateishael snarls incoherently, grabbing hold of the kid with one hand and cocking back his fist to slam it into the kid's face.
The strike rocks the false priest's head back, snapping it against the asphalt of the parking lot. There's a flash of white as the eyes roll up into his head and the body goes abruptly limp.
Devorael stays taut and alert, growling softly (both cat and dog) and spiraling upward to check for human emergency vehicles in birdform.
Shateishael's fist is cocked back for another strike, but he holds as he realizes his target is now unconscious. He gives a grumbling sigh, then rises to his feet, one hand still firmly closed around the kid's arm. "Think we got 'im, guys."
No one seems to have alerted the authorities, yet. Or, if they have, they aren't close or quick enough to have arrived yet.
Shateishael heads for the truck, slinging the kid over his shoulder, "Think we better get outta here too, 'fore th' authorities turn up. Don't know any nice Swordies or War folks in th' local constabulary here."
Rosenstern asks softly, "Was it... as bad as I thought it was, Slate?"
Devorael spirals back down. "So far, clear... but what about security? Can we be seen going in? Is it possible there are others?"
Shateishael glances silently at Rosenstern, then rumbles quietly, "Tell ya later, little flower. For now, c'n you make sure this kid doesn't wake up 'fore we get home?" To Deva he nods, "Might be some, but 'm thinkin' hopefully not, an' it'd be kinda bad t' have a Seraph answerin' questions for th' cops, y'know? Always makes Elly an' Rosie clutch their heads when I do that."
Shateishael adds thoughtfully, "Also, if there were others, how come he didn't yell for help?" He looks around, then hmms. "Deva, c'n you have Holly check 'round th' car an' make sure only one guy got out?"
Devorael conveys its assent to those comments by jumping in the back of the truck in catform and sending Holly around quickly to check for anything else.
Shateishael rumbles to Rosenstern, "Think we should take th' car too, or what?"
Rosenstern chews his lip, then shakes his head. "No. I don't think we want to be near it. But we shouldn't leave it here."
Shateishael nods slowly, thinking, "Okay, let's see. Someone shut th' door of th' church there, please? An' I c'n drive th' truck, but I need someone t' keep th' kid unconscious. Rosie, you got th' keys for th' car? Deva, c'n you ride with both of us?"
Shateishael adds quietly, "Don't leave fingerprints on th' door."
Devorael ducks Holly inside.
Rosenstern nods to Slate. "I have the keys, yes.
Shateishael grins at Rosenstern, "Well then! We'll just trailer hitch th' car to th' truck -- how's that? That way you c'n keep the kid unconscious, an' Deva won't have to fudge it without hands."
Shateishael starts swiftly preparing the truck to haul the little car, while Rosenstern keeps the kid unconscious and Deva does a bit of checking around.
Inside the rectory, there are far fewer smells to sort through. And of those few, only two or three smell like they're ground into the fibers of the place. There are three distinct scents that Deva recognizes from the museum, but only the false priest has been here in the last hour.
Devorael steels itself and sniffs around the priest carefully. Yes. This is a recent death. The only scent recent enough is their captive. It lets itself out and carefully noses the door closed.
Shateishael leaves the truck's shell-back open so Deva can jump everyone in when she's done. Soon he's got the little car securely fastened to the truck's trailer hitch. He glances around to make sure everyone's okay, starts up the truck, then nods to Rosenstern, "Stayin' asleep jus' fine for ya, Rosie? We'll leave soon as Deva's done."
Rosenstern nods to Slate, keeping an eye on the false priest. "He's sleeping fine so far, Slate.
The body has to have been dead at least an hour, possibly more. There is a strong scent of myrrh around the head and all three of the familiar scents on his body. Only the captive's scent is around the writing on the doorway.
Shateishael says, "C'n you drug him 'r anythin', t' be sure he doesn't wake up 'til we're home? Got a 'mergency kit in here if y' want?"
The crow spirals down again and tells the others what Deva is discovering.
Shateishael nods thoughtfully to the crow, "So th' other two haven't been here for 'while?"
Devorael says, "They were definitely at least in on it, but that one is the one who did the writing. They seem to already be gone, I'm very, very sorry to say. And that one smells familiar. I've scented him before."
Shateishael nods to Deva, "'kay. We done here, then?"
Devorael arrives from inside and jumps into the back. "I can't find anything else," the crow tells you.
Shateishael considers, then rumbles, "Rosie, you drive. Don't want you t' have ta keep clobberin' th' guy to keep him unconscious. Head for Ian's place, 'kay? He's nearby." He shifts places with the Mercurian, then nods to Deva, "S'okay. We got one, even if we couldn't stop th' murder." He doesn't mention his worries about the murders occurring with increasing frequency.
Shateishael will quietly cut the guy's breath off periodically, so the young man can't recover well enough to come out of unconsciousness. With his free hand he flips open his cell phone and voice-calls Ian.
Rosenstern nods to Slate, wincing to himself at the idea of continued 'clobberin' of the priest to keep him out.
Ian answers the phone with the normal accompanying cacophony of Princess and Sweetie in the background, but he sounds much more grim than normal, "'Tis either very good or very bad that ye're callin' s'quick, laddie."
Shateishael rumbles, "Both. Dead priest. Caught someone. On our way to your place, if you'll allow."
Devorael lays down with its head on paws, its tail over nose, and perches close to Slate, keeping a close eye on the false priest.
Shateishael nods a quiet courtesy to the crow, out of habit.
There's a sound of disgust from Ian's end of the line, "'Course I'll allow. I'll see you when you get here." He hangs up without saying goodbye.
Shateishael nods, flipping the phone shut, and rumbles, "Hit it, Rosebud. Ian's place."
Rosenstern nods to Slate, and sends the car out onto the road, about as fast as he can without breaking the speed limit or catching the attention of the local police
The trip to Ian's is uneventful. Apparently no one noticed the scuffle in the parking lot, or if they did, they did nothing about it. When the Circle-H crew arrives at the Malakite's house outside town, Ian directs them and the truck into the garage that he normally keeps his vending rig (a large truck and huge trailer) in. Unusually, Ian is dressed in blue jeans and a flannel shirt when he meets the truck, scowling at the unconscious body. Inside the house, he leads Slate to a guest room to deposit the captive.
Devorael jumps out, greets the dogs, and the cat and crow stay outside to keep watch.
Shateishael unceremoniously slings the unconscious body of the false priest onto the bed, then rumbles, "You gotta way t' keep him in this body when he wakes up, Ian?"
Rosenstern parks the car in the appointed place, torn between asking about the no doubt dead Father O'Brien, and desperately, desperately not wanting to know.
Ian clucks his tongue thoughtfully, "I don't have anything to hand, but I can make something." He wanders out and returns a moment later with a small glass of what seems to be wine. Holding the cup between his hands, he murmurs a quiet chant over it and there's a soft rush of sound in the Symphony. He holds the cup to his nose and sniffs, nodding before handing it to Slate, "Opium syrup."
Shateishael hms thoughtfully, "Think we can get it into him 'fore he wakes? Might be easiest that way?"
Ever hear a dog laugh? Did Slate know Holly could make a noise like that? The Kyriotate settles down, nose on paws, again.
Ian nods, "Aye, I think if you drip a bit down his throat you'll be good."
Shateishael settles down and braces the unconscious young man with one arm. Slowly and carefully he pours the syrup little by little down the kid's throat. It's messy and dribbly, but Slate's patient... and eventually he nods, "Good. That should do it." He sets aside the cup, lays the young man down, then sighs, "Need t' clean up a bit. Could we trouble you for some tea, Ian? Thinkin' Rosie might like some too."
Shateishael checks on the small Mercurian, "Rosie? How're y' doin', guy?"
Ian nods silently and heads into the kitchen, leaving those that need to to clean up. When the cleaning is done, there is a steaming kettle of water on the kitchen stove and several mugs sitting out.
Rosenstern says softly, "I'm okay, I think. A little rattled... our priest isn't a human, though, is he?"
Shateishael says, "Don't know f' sure yet, but I'd be kinda surprised if he is. Ian says he can make some tea for us, an' I'm gonna wash this crap off 'fore I have some." He pulls the shirt off, then pauses, considering Rosenstern for a moment before he rumbles quietly, "Y' wanna hug, li'l flower?""
Rosenstern shakes his head a little, "Not... not just yet. I think... just need a bit of a breather, first." He adds softly, "I think I'll need one after we hear this one's story, though.
Shateishael nods calmly, and paces off. He'll ask Deva to leave one of her vessels on watch with the young man, then heads for the restroom to clean up. He emerges a short while later, still shirtless (it's hanging on the shower curtain to dry), and wanders in to gratefully accept a cup of tea and settle with the others in the living room. "Man... this really hits th' spot." He has a few sips, then checks to be sure everyone's ready to start discussing the murder. At that point he gives a terse, abbreviated version of what he found, then asks Deva to do the same. After that he looks at the others, "Okay. We ready t' try talkin' t' him now?"
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