ArchivedLogs:Memento, homo

Memento, homo
Dramatis Personae Ion, Jax, Steve
In Absentia	2017-03-01 "{Always going to lose more. That's just the world, yeah?}"
Location <NYC> St. Martin's Church - Harlem
St. Martin de Porres Catholic Church is not large, but it has a quiet majesty to it all the same, in the way of many old churches. A tall stone building tucked into the center of Harlem, it is one of the earliest Catholic churches in the city, and it looks it. Inside, the wooden pews stretch off towards the altar, the crucifix an immense and solemn wooden carving that presides over it all. Most of the windows are stained class, rich and vibrantly colourful depictions of various saints and Biblical scenes. Small recesses along the wall hold the Stations of the Cross depicted in intricate stone carvings, and the prayer alcove holds real flickering votive candles unlike many modern churches who have switched over to electric. The vaulted ceiling has detailed painting done between its arches, and the distinctive scent of frankincense often lingers faintly in the air. Below, the basement of the church has been heavily modernized; there is a pair of meeting rooms for classes, a pair of bathrooms with showers, a door leading out to the tiny adjoining rectory building where the pastor lives. In tribute to the church's namesake, ministries for the poor are a large part of the church community; one room holds a wealth of donated clothing that is free for any to take. With the large dining room and industrial kitchen that serve hot dinners six days a week and distribute donated bags of groceries every Monday, there are frequent visitors through here who are often in need of the helping hand. There's a definite church smell still on Ion's clothes, frankincense scent dusted lightly over his beaten old kutte -- which is worn over a crisp button down, paired with neatly ironed khakis. In the convertible stroller at his side, Egg is yawning -- there's a similar smudging of black on their forehead, somewhat more fuzzy against their nappy fur, as Ion wears on his own forehead (somewhat more distinctly cross-shaped, if only somewhat). He's just emerging after Mass has let out into a crisp and chilly evening. "{You warm enough in there, Monster?}" It's a quiet question as much to himself as to Egg; he's buttoning up the toddler's jacket more snugly, tucking a blanket around them. Steve is pulling on his coat, then the harness for his shield, as he steps out of the church. Other departing congregants bid him farewell as they go. The cross-shaped smudge of ash on his forehead stands out against his pale skin. He stares up into the deepinging blue of the sky, then smiles down at Egg. "{Have you eaten?}" he asks Ion in Spanish, "{dinner, I mean. You should come over}" Not near so many people say much to Jax as he leaves. A few mumbled words, more nods and awkward keeping of distance. Jax is keeping to himself, anyway, smile polite but reserved as he trails out after the others. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his coat immediately upon getting outside, bouncing restlessly on his toes. He's kind of pale, already shivering, the ash on his forehead seeming all the darker for his pallor. "I got jambalaya in the crockpot. S'been torturin' me all day. You got plans tonight?" Ion's brows are furrowing, deep and deeper as he watches people pass Jax by. He looks up swiftly, though, quick smile lighting his face. "Eh? {Do now, sounds like. Shit, jambalaya? Don't have to ask me twice.}" His hand claps to Jax's shoulder, gives it a small jostle. "{You look like shit, Sunshine. Don't think we're meant to be returning to dust on the /double/ or anything.}" "Mmm," for a moment seems to be all Steve has to add to /that/ subject. Then, "I was /trying/ not to think about jambalaya. I'm thinking about it /now./" There's bo real reproach in his tone, though plenty of anticipation. He studies Jax, brows faintly wrinkled. "Did someone say something inappropriate to you? There were a lot of folk there who aren't regular parishioners..." But he trails off, shakes his head. "The smell's been fillin' my house half the day. An' no, people been --" Jax shrugs. "{Fine.}" He starts down the steps of the stairs, half-turning to take the front of Egg's stroller and lift it to help carry it down as well. "{I'm not in a /hurry/, but it's been on my mind. Some.}" Ion hefts his end of the stroller easily, carting it down the steps to the sidewalk and setting it down gently. "{What, dying? We're all getting there. Ash to --}" He stops, leaning heavily on the back of the stroller. His eyes have lingered long on the mark on Jax's forehead, then drop down to the carriage he leans against. Looking to the toddler inside it. "... fucking ash." Steve lingers at the top of the steps for a moment, then follows the others down. His brows furrow faintly. "{You've lost a lot of people,}" he says quietly, at last. "{You're likely to lose more.}" "Fair sure we all have." There's a small stiffness to Jax's shoulders, a quiet to his voice. "{Just think about it more. Today. What it means. What to do with --}" A small shrug. "Life." "{Always going to lose more. That's just the world, yeah?}" Ion straightens, gives his head a small shake. When his teeth bare there's a sudden ferocity to his smile. "{Keep living it. The fuck else you going to do?} You, sunshine, you gonna keep burning." Kind of /through/ his teeth-clenched smile: "{Like all the brightest fires do.} We do a subway? I'm hungry as fuck."