ArchivedLogs:Fellowship

Fellowship
Dramatis Personae Jax, Steve	2015-11-29 "{Sometimes not need words to understand.}"
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 alter, 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. Though the city has been in some ways a wasteland, church has been, if anything, more crowded than usual, of late. A lot of people perhaps trying to make their peace with God. It's kind of a strange environment, services somewhat hushed, no music, no church bells, shorter than usual without the hymns and more grim with people posted at the doors to keep out the undead that find their ways to the entrances questing for captive prey. As church lets out, some people hurry off, keen to get -- well. Maybe home. Maybe shelters. Maybe -- who knows. Some gravitate to the basement, just as keen to /stay/, congregate, enjoy some semblance of fellowship and community and -- really bad coffee, juice boxes, whatever Meagan breakfast has been scrounged up in place of the expansive brunch is usually served on Sundays after church here. This week, Jax has brought scramble! What with the Commons' recent food delivery, there's actually /been/ food to bring. And share. /He's/ not looking too good, himself, honestly, pale and a little shaky as he sucks on a box of apple juice, but smiling all the same as he sinks down into a folding chair in the corner. His Sunday Best these days is -- none too fancy, hiking boots and corduroys and a polo shirt. One day he'll have a suit again. Dressed in his least chewed-up flannel shirt of green, purple, and white plaid, khakis, and brown oxfords polished to a shine, Steve cleaned up quite nicely for church. He still wears his shield on his back and his knife at his hip, but has managed not to get any blood on either today just yet. As he exits the buffet line, he is detained by a group of parishioners full of warm welcomes and well-meaning curiosity. Though his smile looks genuine enough and his answers friendly, there is a faint slump in his shoulders and a dazed stare in his eyes, when he finally makes it to Jax's table. "{Thank you so much for taking me with you. And for cooking,}" he says, sitting down with his scramble and bagel. "{Though this coffee...reminds me of home.}" But he drinks it anyway, his smile slightly wry now. Jax looks up slowly, his smile brightening when Steve sits down with him. "{Oh. Yeah. It's nice to have -- some. Some kind. Routine. Familiar...}" His Spanish is awkward and stilted, but his tone s warm. "{And this church, I like. Welcoming. To everyone.}" His smile quirks crookedly at the mention of coffee. "{Wanted to bring some that Ion found. Might have caused --}" He hesitates, risking an English, "Riot? {at home. Though. If we ran out again. Did not risk.}" "{You not have welcome...in other churches?}" Steve looks around the room, at the small clusters of parishioners quietly chatting over food and drink. "{They tell me, this church...help some mutants? Then government came, attacked. Then the Pope he came here, too.}" He divides his plain bagel easily, even with the relatively blunt table knife. "{I have had worse,}" he nods at the cup on his table. Then, kind of quietly, looking down at the halved bagel in his hands."{I like it here.}" Jax shrugs a shoulder, his single eye shifting away to look over the others as well. "{Other churches --}" There's a small clench of his jaw here; he has to make a conscious effort to take in a deep breath, relax, shake his head and continue calmly. "{Not always so good at Christian. This place good. And yes. Was a big -- thing. Took in many people. Gave protection. For a while. Some government -- soldier -- attack.}" Now his muscles are tensing again, though he relaxes into a bright smile at the mention of the Pope. "{Ion hugged! Big hug.}" His smile softens at Steve's last words. "{I'm glad. You like. Welcome any time. Maybe one day less -- tense. No zombies. Still come. Usually,}" he adds with a laugh, "{better coffee.}" Steve chuckles without any humor, shaking his head. "{That not change. Christians, not always like Christ. In my time, many churches, turn people away. Because of their colors, their countries. So many things.}" His blond eyebrows wrinkle deeply. "{I think, they still do. But...places like this? /People/ like these,}" he speaks the last word looking directly at Jax, "{give me hope. Ok if coffee is bad.}" A small blush darkens Jax's cheeks, his head dipping for a moment. "{Hope's hard enough to come by lately. Even before zombies. Is good. That we can give you. I'm glad.}" He takes a bite of his food, glancing up at Steve. "{I have found, though. Many people. Like these. When you look. Here. Where we built our home. Some of my team. Some places I have volunteer. Have to look. But can find.}" "{I want not just to find, but also...}" Steve looks down at his plate and the bagel in his hand as if he would find the appropriate word there. "{Give? Hope. Help make things better. Not /only/ with fighting.}" Though, with a faint smile, he adds, "{I am very good at fight, though.}" He falls to eating, impressively fast as usual, and with great relish. Jax chuckles, bobbing his head once quickly. "{Yeah, I've seen /that/ much.}" His teeth worry at the straw of his juice box, then at his lip ring after he sets the juice down. "{But not only that. Just -- good.}" One more quick shrug. "{I think you help. At home, has been nice. To have. When things get ugly, is good to...}" He blushes, shakes his head. "{My Spanish, not good enough for this.}" There's a small embarrassed crinkle of his nose. His hand gestures around the church. "{Can be easy. To be ugly too. Good to have -- not. That.}" By the time Steve even pauses for breath, he has polished off most of his plate, and looks just a tiny bit embarrassed for it. Takes a big gulp of coffee. "{I see enough ugly. In my time, in your time. Don't want to add more.}" He scruffs the back of his head. "{My Spanish also not good enough but...I think I understand. Sometimes,}" he concludes with a boyish grin, "{not need words to understand.}"