Write about: the assignment.
Work at the bakery was steady busy this morning. The sort of pace I've grown accustomed to (as opposed to the nonsense that was Saturday morning).
Spent the afternoon with Max. He helped gather and deliver produce to our hairstylist, then we hit the grocery store to get some things for ourselves. He had music class with Kat (and Miles) this morning and apparently he did really well, participating and getting involved throughout the session.
Today Miles turned six months old. To celebrate, we tried him on his first solid food (some roasted squash leftovers that we'd frozen last week). It was pretty much on Max's insistence, so I reckon this is the best picture to share:
We got a couple bites into him and we'll try again tomorrow.
Mine:
"This can't be right."
"You know He doesn't make mistakes. Whatever the note says, that's what we gotta do."
"Do not capitalize the friggin' h, man. I hate when you do that. He's not God."
"Dude's got the only time machine in the world. I'd say that's close enough."
"Whatever. We don't have time for this."
"Well, technically, we probab-"
"Shut up. Just, shut up. We're here. We're now. We've got less than an hour to do what he wants us to do. You know what happens if we fail - we've been the second team before."
"Okay. So what's the assignment this time?"
"This says we're here - and now - to kill some-"
"So? We've done that before. What's the big deal?"
"The big deal, as you've so aptly put it, is the target."
"Who is it?"
"More like what - he wants us to take down the last remaining T-Rex."
"What? The hell does He want us to do that for?"
"The hell should I know? And stop capitalizing the damned h!"
2 comments:
That's a good picture! Max looks very engaged, though I'm not so sure about Miles :-D What instruments are you teaching Max then in music class?
It's nice to see the guy with the only time machine revisited, and nicer still to see a slightly different angle to things with his teams providing the viewpoint. I like the detail of the capitalised "H" particularly, it really helps to establish the characters. Of course, I'm now just as curious as to why the last T-Rex needs assassinating too....
The assignment
"I was on assignment," said Father Ignatz quietly. Outside the train window the dark clouds which had been steadily gathering started to spill their load of rain. "This is a little unusual, and I hope I can trust you both not to speak of this unless necessary." His eyes rested on David, but it was Ernest who nodded and answered.
"Of course," he said. "I have had... let's say business-" he smiled thinly "-with the Capuchin Abbot before and I'm aware of what you mean. I am certain that you will find no-one more trustworthy than David here, too."
"Thank-you. I should say little of the assignment, but my task was to reach a gentleman who was expected to die and take his confession. I was able to reach him in time and I was able to adsorb his confession."
"Adsorb?" David looked at Father Ignatz for the first time since he'd sat down, his face visibly puzzled. "Are confessions not audible things?"
"Not... always."
Ernest came to the rescue. "I must say that I don't particularly understand the theory myself," he said cheerfully, but keeping his voice low. "And you will probably have a better idea than I when you hear this David, but essentially a confession is a strong emotional state that certain sensitive individuals can pick up. Confessors are trained, over quite lengthy time periods, to distinguish all emotional states in order to identify a confession, and they can, if the donor is willing, adsorb a confession and then present it on behalf of the donor. They become a kind of proxy, as I understand it."
"The law of contagion," mused David while Father Ignatz nodded gratefully. "Ah, I think I see; you would use the law of contagion initially to achieve a commeasurable state, then the law of similarity would permit transmission and the law of... well, the law of contagion again would... ah yes, I think I see." He looked at Father Ignatz again and for the first time there was a hint of respect on his face. "You must train for five or six years?"
"Closer to twenty," said Father Ignatz. "I will be ready, my mentor says, for the Mastership trials in two or three more years."
"You would get a true confession from this," said David, although his voice caught at the start, clearly put off-guard by the length of the apprenticeship.
"And there are cases where someone wishing to confess can no longer speak," said Ernest. Father Ignatz nodded again.
"Torture?" asked David.
"Magical binding, born mute, there are many," said Ernest casually.
"The confession," said Father Ignatz firmly, "is usually inviolable; it is a matter between the person confessing and God, even when there is a proxy involved. However, it has long been established that sometimes a confession is made so that God can see His will done, and that things do not remain hidden by the Veil of Death. The means of assessing this are... let me just say that this is unusual and that I personally have spoken of things from a confession only twice in eighteen years. This however we had more confidence, as the lines I will tell you of were preceeded by the words, 'Tell Derby that the Guardians of the Seat must walk.'"
Greg - yeah, that about sums up that picture :D
Ah, it's not that sort of music class. They sing songs, dance around, and play with various noise makers (bells, rattles, that sort of thing). It's a lot about teaching them rhythm and encouraging enjoyment of music. It's quite fun, actually, when it's not overly noisy :)
I'm not sure I have a very good reason for the T-Rex thing, but if one comes to me then I shall share it in another prompt!
A fascinating continuation of the previous conversation. Allow me to say once more how much I'm enjoying this setting and these characters you've inhabited it with. Well done!
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