On a sudden impulse, I grab the boy's arm. "Claude, dear, was there any particular place you were heading just now?"
        "Well, I hadn't any plans set, for I have done with all my engagements for the evening. But I was thus thinking to visit with Mark for awhile, I have not seen him in a day or so."
        Oh what perfect coincidence! Really, this is not an opportunity to be missed. (And it is a seductive enough one that, perhaps, I shall convince myself that I did not truly need to meet with Sadie so soon upon her return...) "Ahh... does he always keep such late hours?"
        The child laughs lightly. "He does! He would labor until daylight, oblivious of the time passing, if I did not interrupt him. His books, you know, he is simply always researching some arcane reference or another. It seems he developed quite an immunity to exhaustion as a student, it has become one of my pet projects with him to remind him that there is a time for sleep, as well as for study."
        I chuckle and glance at him slyly. "And have you had any such luck, getting him into bed?"
        He laughs brightly, twining his arm in mine. "Ah, not yet, not yet! But I do have great hopes in that direction. Another of my pet projects, you know."
        "But of course, dear. Would you mind terribly if I joined you? I should very much like to meet him - I mean, in a more informal, conversational way. We have been introduced in passing, and I have seen him at some distance several times, but I have not yet had the pleasure of speaking with him."
        "Ah... then it is pleasure indeed you have been denied! He has an absolutely beautiful voice. That was how I found him, incidentally. I was walking along a street, early one morning. I had not been able to sleep the night before, and I walked in hopes of tiring myself into rest. Being a lovely day, the church doors had been left open, and I caught some scrap of his passionate sermon. I was drawn to such a fluid, expressive tone, and made my way inside, finding a seat in the back. For some time I, in my sleepless daze, listened only to the melodies of his voice. Gradually however, the words began seeping through, and I became intrigued. He spoke in rebuke of other priests, saying they ought not to focus so on dangers of the flesh - for what is the flesh amongst eternity?"
        I smile warmly. "Nothing, of course, though the soul may well follow where the body leads."
        "Precisely!" he laughs, his eyes flashing with devious intent. "Not that he has yet realized this - and do, pray, refrain from telling him, I sohuld like to see how far along we can bring him before he thinks of it."
        I see why the others are so fond of this boy - his plots are quite like to ours. Such a plotting child. Yet I must admit, his use of "we" grates on me, I do not like his casual tone, considering himself among equal company. We may have to do something to rectify such presumption before it turns to outright arrogance. "What, then, is his unique and so-precious message, which he preaches with such passion?"
        "Oh, it is terribly progressive, you know. All about reserving judgement for God, and accepting the choices of others. He is all about the apparent subjectivity of things - what one generaltion perceives as proper behavior is abhorrant to another. The many wives of the patriarchs and the length of women's skirts this season. Morality is always and ever shifting. So man ought to do what his own sense imparts to him as proper conduct in a given situation, for we cannot hope to grasp the Ultimate Good intellectually, and we ought not try, for only God Himself can contain such a vast concept."
        "So in essence, man may do whatever he wishes, really, and lull himself into believing he is only doing what God has set for him to do, as a part of some unknowable good. Which man is not at all responsible for explaining, so he need not even have any real excuse for his improper behavior, for he was following his God-given instinct."
        "You see why I love this man," he confirms with a wink. "This is a non-doctrine that even I can live under."
        "I suppose all this goes over quite well with his wealthy - and, thus, undoubtedly of questionable moral character, whether in business or personal dealings - parish?"
        "Oh of course, they simply adore him! They're always bragging about what a brilliant scholar he is, with such radical and fresh interpretations, that "truly suit the spirit of the modern age", you know the sort of thing."
        "Using their praise of him as a way to raise their own standing."
        "And so delighting in him all the more," he adds wryly, looking rather peeved. Why, I do believe the boy truly cares about this man! Or perhaps he is merely jealous that they should steal the prestige of this one away from himself, that by their supposed connections with the man, his own true connection appears less to the outside world.
        What this boy should be intelligent enough to see, is that the popular mood will soon shift, as it always does, and unless this man changes with it, he shall fall rapidly from this place of high esteem. I do not know if he is the sort of man who will change with the times, or cling desperately to his convictions. Rationally, given his doctrine, he should do the former, but one never quite knows with such people. Their convictions so often get the better of their common sense.
        "But here we are!" Claude calls out happily - I can feel the sudden rush of joy and excitement which runs through him as a bolt of lightening. Oh, that familiar flood of hormones, when the object of one's desire is near! I am amazed the priest has not felt it himself, that electrical charge which sparks through the air, signaling a looming storm of lust.
        But perhaps he is not ignorant of it...
        The boy approaches one of the many identical doors which line the brick edifaces running along the street. There is nothing at all to separate this one from a hundred others - I suppose some show of humility, to live in no better lodgings than one's fellows. What a ridiculous sentiment, humility. But the boy rings, and there is no answer, even after several minutes.
        "Is he not at home, then?" I inquire.
        The boy is looking up at the windows of the narrow section above the doorway. "No, he is there! I can see the lamplight from a farther room, in that upper window there. His study does not face the street, too many distractions you know, and that is certianly where he is, whihc explains why he does not answer. And I'm sure he's sent the housekeeper home, he never lets her stay long after the evening meal is served. He says he has long-since learned to keep a place up on his own, and anyway she has some old and sickly relative at home to look after."
        "A compassionate man," I mutter, a little disappointed.
        "Well, he is in the Christian ministry, he will have some faults in him," he answers with a chuckle. He tries the door and finds it unlocked. "Ah! I am sure his mind needs a break by now, he was too caught up in his scholarly muddle to even to lock the door this evening. Let us relieve him, then."
        Amused by his command of the situation, and his casual trespass upon property not at all his own, I let him lead me inside. He hangs our coats in the small entryway, and leads the way upstairs. The apartment is largely sparse, with the trademark austerity of a poor student - but there are hints of a more luxurious taste. It is quite dark, but I get a quick glimpse into the sitting room, where Claude's painting shall be hung, and see that it is in fact being converted into a rather sumptuous place.
        "Mark, dear! Would you mind terribly a bit of company?" the boy calls out as we reach the top of the stairs. We move toward an open doorway, through which the light of several lamps is pouring in satin sheets of gold. As we draw close to it, the light is suddenly blocked by a figure---
        We stop, startled, for it is not the priest.
        It is Meres.
        "Meres, darling! Whatever are you doing here!"
        "Carey! I had not thought to meet you here. Were you not to meet Sadie tonight?"
        Neither of us shows the slightest cringing at the barbs woven into our words. We are each annoyed at the intrusion of the other, and both suspicious of our motives. Clearly, he sees something has gone awry with me - hinting not only at that blasted girl's apparent importance to me, but also that I was weak enough to let something deter me from my plans. I, meanwhile, have my own suspicions about him. I know how close he is with the boy - has jealousy brought him here to coerce the man away from the boy? Or is it something utterly ridiculous like seeking out his guidance, listening to his message? Or, ha! even seeking absolution! One really never knows with Meres. He is far too kind to Veri, and that show of, what, compassion? has always made me suspicious of him. Really, there is no good reason at all for him to be here tonight, and at this late hour.
        Of course, we will show no hint of any of this before these mere mortals. It is a private matter, and we will not sink to addressing such things, hwere men might presume to give advice and, ha! and try to judge between us and act as counselours. What ridiculously presumptuous creatures they are.
        Claude has meanwhile gone into the room and greeted Mark, making some cursory introduction of me. He is clearly confused himself about Meres' presence, and I am amused in spite of myself to see the boy's confidence thus thwarted.
        "Oh do not sand out there in the dark hall, gentlemen!" Claude calls out cheerfully. "I shall endeavor to find you places to sit. Never fear, I know there are chairs - and comfortable ones, too, which are being wasted on making dusty old books cozy."
        There is a laugh in reply, a rich, warm voice, and as we enter I see that it is Father Mark Douglas laughing.
        He is an unusually handsome man, for one dressed in the cloth (though, to be clear, he is not dressed so now, but in more casual design, an outfit clearly exhausted by his student years). His light hair is tousled, his eyes bright with that boundless curiosity of the young intellectual. He would look quite striking, if he were polished up a bit - we must try to do so sometime.
        He flushes a bit, seeing Claude rush abou the room, tossing piles of books aside. "I really had not been expecting company, I was quite deep into my research before everyone arrived."
        "And I must claim just a touch of fault," adds Meres as he gracefully perches in a chair, as lightly as some exotic bird on an ancient statue. "For I did nothing to help him, only let him continue studying while I perused a bit of his library."
        I cannot help but raise an eyebrow at this - whatever could Meres be researching here? But no matter, I shall find out soon enough I am sure. If nothing else, I am certain I could learn from Claude. He is much more free with his tongue (in the Biblical sense, this time) than I think Meres knows.
        Having thrown the priest's precarious organization into disarray (I not the man does not seem to mind), Claude perches on the corner of his desk. "Oh, no blame rests with you at all, Meres, the man is a terrible host. Luckily he has me to help him. Might any of you want anything to drink? I shall include you in that request, Mark dear, for I doubt very much you have given any thought at all to such mortal matters in some time!"
        The man laughs gently, ruffling his hair in embarrassment. "Really, Claude, you show me in such terrible light! Hush now, and let me be host in my own house? ...Gentlemen, forgive me. Is there anything at all I can get you? I am afraid my housekeeper has gone home for the evening, but I am not entirely inept in matters of the kitchen, and at any rate I can manage a drink or two."
        "A glass of wine for me, dear, whatever you happen to have handy," Meres replies casually, waving his hand vaguely as he sinks back into the chair. He lifts a book from a nearby table, and flips idly through it.
        I raise an eyebrow at him. "You expect a priest, in a tiny little apartment as this, to have a wine cellar, darling?"
        "Well, actually..." The man flushes as we turn curious gazes on him. "I must admit to having a few bottles about the place. Gifts, you know, I've had all sorts of well-wishers, who don't seem to find any trouble at all with a man having a bit now and again, for purely social reasons you know." But a spark of amusement flickers into his eyes as he speaks, and I smile as I realize he is a true adherent to his proclamations. No fear of the sins of the flesh, indeed!

Oh my lord am I dragging. It's been an odd..uh, week and a half I guess, between being sick and then my schedule being bizarre and then, oh hey, look, it's Thanksgiving! *runs and hides*

My one hope is that the illustrious Chris Baty, who started this whole autumnal debacle, is like 8000 words behind *me*. That, above all else, gives me hope.

Also Tom quite commandingly informed me that I am NOT giving up this far into the thing. Which was, really, quite good of him.

...but Mackie ran away from my story and made me do a ridiculously elaborate drawing on Megs' facebook page, because he didn't want to get dragged into the mess I'm making, with corrupting priests and twisted theologies and subtle temptations and downright bitchy phistos. I'm really quite terrified what's going to happen with the bunch I just threw together - either it's going to be a spectacular explosion of tempers and angst and all sorts of wordcount goodness...or it's going to fall flat and no-one will talk to each other and they'll just be silently miserable. But I swear if they do THAT I'll set the freaking house on fire for NO REASON *just* to make them do something.

So there.

...oddly enough, I feel more motivated now. XD But still more tired than motivated, it's far past my bedtime.