Earlier this morning/early afternoon
He'd gone to mass, in this new town. He'd worn his robe, with the hood capped over ihs head so they ould not immediately see his pale complection. Scorn and startled looks, looks of shock and disbelief, or wonder and pity were as prominant in the holy church as anywhere, and he could not bear it. Not in the House of God. Not in the one place he ought to find only comfort, acceptance, and understanding.
He'd taken a small apartment on the island. Coney Island, it was called. He'd heard of it, back home, in Paris. It was apparently a staple of the American lifesty;e. Whatever that meant. Silas idn't know, and didn't care to find out. He needed only a place t lay his head at night. He didn't bother with furniture, he had no need. Only a straw mat on which to sleep, and a box in which to keep his notebook and pen.
He needed so very little. Life was so much more enjoyable, without the need for expensive, flashy things, when one was centered on God, rather than the self. God would take care of him, Silas knew. He knew because only God could have brought him here. New York. America. A new town, a new start. Everything new.
When mass concluded and the church emptied out, Silas sought the Bishop, to appeal for a job in order to maintain his small apartment. Speaking to the man, he suppressed a whimper as Bishop Armadan embraced him, his weight a welcome jolt agianst the raw wounds of Silas' back. Pain os good he reminded himself. Pain is rightous and Godly.
"You are welcome, my son," the Bishop said, and Silas wept with relief in the Bishop's arms. When he calmed down, the bishop treated Silas to a hearty lunch in a local cafe. They spoke then of Silas' skill and what he might offer the church. The bishop could not promise him much, but a small paycheck. Enough to pay his montly rent and a little left over for food. Silas needed nothin more.
He could not tell the truth of how he had come to America. How the Opus Dei had rejected him in the wake of a police investigation in Paris, after the fiasco with the Keystone and the murders. He spoke only of redemption and rebirth. Renewal in the cradle of the church.
Refreshed, Silas stepped back out to the world, daydreaming of a glorious future, as he made his way back to his apartment.
[OOC: Mun will be afk until later this evening, but wanted to get this out there sinc eit's technicly time stamped this morning]
He'd taken a small apartment on the island. Coney Island, it was called. He'd heard of it, back home, in Paris. It was apparently a staple of the American lifesty;e. Whatever that meant. Silas idn't know, and didn't care to find out. He needed only a place t lay his head at night. He didn't bother with furniture, he had no need. Only a straw mat on which to sleep, and a box in which to keep his notebook and pen.
He needed so very little. Life was so much more enjoyable, without the need for expensive, flashy things, when one was centered on God, rather than the self. God would take care of him, Silas knew. He knew because only God could have brought him here. New York. America. A new town, a new start. Everything new.
When mass concluded and the church emptied out, Silas sought the Bishop, to appeal for a job in order to maintain his small apartment. Speaking to the man, he suppressed a whimper as Bishop Armadan embraced him, his weight a welcome jolt agianst the raw wounds of Silas' back. Pain os good he reminded himself. Pain is rightous and Godly.
"You are welcome, my son," the Bishop said, and Silas wept with relief in the Bishop's arms. When he calmed down, the bishop treated Silas to a hearty lunch in a local cafe. They spoke then of Silas' skill and what he might offer the church. The bishop could not promise him much, but a small paycheck. Enough to pay his montly rent and a little left over for food. Silas needed nothin more.
He could not tell the truth of how he had come to America. How the Opus Dei had rejected him in the wake of a police investigation in Paris, after the fiasco with the Keystone and the murders. He spoke only of redemption and rebirth. Renewal in the cradle of the church.
Refreshed, Silas stepped back out to the world, daydreaming of a glorious future, as he made his way back to his apartment.
[OOC: Mun will be afk until later this evening, but wanted to get this out there sinc eit's technicly time stamped this morning]