[Somewhere in the back streets of the city there is a young man in
long black robes looking up at the buildings around him with a total and desperate lack of recognition. From the tracks in the snow around him he's probably been walking in circles for quite a while.]
Okay, honestly I got the joke ages ago. Ha ha, confuse the tourist. It's not funny anymore. Williams? Beeching? I said it's not funny. You know I'm supposed to be singing before Vespers, we've only had extra practice every day for a week. Come on. Please? I've got no idea which buses go to Westminster from here. I haven't even got any money.
...Well I hope it's still as hilarious later, because Father Abernathy's going to lecture you for hours if we're late.
[The priest in the making sighs heavily and half sits, half slumps on the low incline of a nearby wall, muttering lowly]
And he's going to kill me.
[ooc: age reversal. Chase is eighteen and spending his year training to be a catholic priest at an English Seminary. He'll be cursed all weekend + backtagging is fiiine.]