Blessed are the poor [00]

[jmlevitt]

It's already dark by the time Jerimiah crawls out of his makeshift shelter of cardboard and newspaper and scrap wood (Always dark, always dark..."and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood") Sooner or later the voices always found their way in (scuttling on sixeightmany legs, clicking and chittering like insects...)

Comments

[gabriel_grey]

Brian knows where the beggar sleeps. He's been walking this route around the city for two weeks now, he knows the man's routine (or lack of one); he's not seen anyone take any interest in the man, save for a couple of beat cops rousing him from his spot. Good. He's dropped at least fifteen dollars for the man over this time. A good investment in his opinion.

Again he will walk by, pause, set his worn briefcase aside and dig into his pocket to pull out several coins. He suspects as always that the homeless will go and spend their money on cheap wine to drown their sorrows in.

"Get something to eat with this." He smiles to Jerimiah. I am a friend.

[jmlevitt]

He startles as someone stops (ants in the hive, watch then scurry scurry scurry), eyes widening. He waits, but his posture is uncertain, wary (beware the Devil's messengers), ready to bolt at any moment. His upper lip twitches (nononono never show them your teeth never threaten no no no), but the nervousness fades and he manages a tentative smile when recognition penetrates his addled brain.

A filthy hand reaches out, accepting the coin (Thirty pieces of silver). "The angels will bless you for your kindness, sir," he says with absolute certainty (Deliver us O Lord from evil), and the change disappears somewhere inside the filthy coat that stinks of dirt and sweat and too many days and not enough baths.

[gabriel_grey]

Normally he walks on, but he lingers this time. No reason, other than to follow his instincts.

"Do you have anywhere to sleep?" His voice is quiet and even. He's helpful person, nothing to fear. He doesn't stand too close, doesn't invade the man's personal space. Just a concerned citizen. Yes.

[jmlevitt]

He hesitates, uncertain, his eyes narrowing a bit (track you down find you hunt you like the hind. He's unused to anyone taking an interest in him. Far easier for most to hand him a quarter and hurry on their way (don't get too close, dear, you might catch the crazy). He giggles suddenly, amused by the thought.

He remembers himself after a moment, and nods. "Long as it doesn't rain," he adds after a beat. ("...and sendeth rain on the just and unjust.")

[intothering]

Alan's on his way to the hospital when he hears Jerimiah. A year ago he probably would have been one of the people to keep his eyes on the sidewalk or straight ahead. Too many places to go and too many things to accomplish.

His wheelchair creaks slightly as he brings himself to a halt. He goes a lot slower now and knows too well how quickly fortunes can change. So he fumbles for his wallet, managing to pull out a few dollars. He tries not to wince - he doesn't get free lunches anymore- and holds them out for Jerimiah. "Here you go," he offers. "Good luck."

[jmlevitt]

For a moment, Jeremiah just stares at the bills, as if he can't believe they're real. It was enough to eat for days, if he was careful, maybe even a genuine hot meal at a diner. His eyes dart back and forth between the money and the boy (so innocent, so harmless is it a trap a test mustn't be too hungry too greedy to desperate). "A-are you sure?" he stammers.

[intothering]

And Alan's arm doesn't waver. He doesn't move, can't move, not with one arm. So he nods. "Yeah, it's okay," he says. "I could use some karma." That's a lie. Alan's never really believed in karma, especially not after the accident. But he's gotten used to relying on others kindness, and figures he should at least return the favor.

[jmlevitt]

"Karma..." he repeats, still not reaching out for the money. "Generosity makes the next life better, yes?" (As I am tested so shall I test those around me) His gaze becomes sharper, though not threatening. Clearly Alan's answer is important for some reason.

[too_late4tom]

Detective Wheeler has wrapped up his evening with his partner and is heading home from the bar. He's still dwelling on the ass chewing he got from his boss, but he's not quite as annoyed.

He spots Jeremiah panhandling and inwardly groans. What is he doing on the street again? He fishes in one of his pockets for some change and offers it to him. "Out again, huh?"

[jmlevitt]

"God bless you, sir," he says with the sincerity of fervent belief, keeping his eyes down (never look them in the eye never challenge the alpha). He recognizes the detective's voice, however, and looks up with a tentative smile. As always, he's careful not to show his teeth (angels in blue working for devils in black). The change disappears into one of a half-dozen pockets. "Hello, Detective," he says, his voice quiet, timid.

"They couldn't keep me there," he says, with just a touch of defiance (little cages little songbirds won't tell won't tell them what they want take your thoughts until you smile and drool and work for them). "Can't keep me if I'm not dangerous. I follow the Word of the Lord, sir. I follow His commandments." His voice drops to a whisper. "They do the work of the devil there. They don't understand the danger."

[too_late4tom]

"Sure you do." Sam doesn't mean to be sardonic, but he's seen this guy bounce around the system so many times that he's a little skeptical. Still, he feels some empathy; he knows that if things had gone a different way for him, he'd probably be in the same boat, ranting about demons.

"Just make sure you find some shelter before it's too late, all right? And don't harass people, especially the women. I don't want to see you back in holding."

[jmlevitt]

Jer nods meekly. "Yessir. Nosir. I don't...try do make them understand anymore." He sounds saddened by this. "I don't want to bother anyone, sir. I just want to help them see the truth. But people don't want to see. The truth frightens them so they think I'm crazy. I don't want to see them, detective. But their whispering and their clicking comes to me anyway from the shadows and the darkness. No one sees them but me." He speaks like a man who has to endure a great burden of responsibility.

[victormakesart]

Addy liked to help, and she had a few dollars in her purse for emergency money (never can be too careful, streets being as they were.) She walked a lot, walked almost everywhere even if it meant she had to wake up at four in the morning and even if it took her longer to get places. She was careful, though, and she even carried a perfume bottle in her bag for the express purpose of possibly one day spraying it in the eyes of a hypothetical attacker.

She pulled out two very neatly folded dollar bills from a bag within a bag inside her purse. Orderly, this girl, in a clean blue dress and practical heels. She offered the money over.

[jmlevitt]

So much generosity in one day was beginning to make him nervous. He looks at the bills, caution and nervousness plain on his face, and before taking them, he peers closely at the shadows surrounding them. The eyes and the flashes of leather and pale skin are there, they're always there, but there's no change, no eagerness in the dead, beetle eyes. If Victor turns to see what he's looking at, however, she'll see that there's nothing to be seen in the shadows at all. He takes the money without looking at her, gazing at the shadows with an almost defiant look. "God bless you, miss," he says with genuine belief.

[victormakesart]

She wouldn't be able to ignore him if she tried. Back at home they called her desire to help and fix things 'just Addy being Addy,' though it probably came from her want to put her world in order. Part of how she could fit things into her mold was to lend a hand, whenever possible.

She did take a look around, just to be certain. "I really hope it helps." And because his nervousness was making her nervous, she asked, "How're you today, sir?"

[jmlevitt]

He almost tells her the truth, about the demons and the shadows, but he remembers the detective's warning. ("And don't harass people, especially the women.") "Fine," he lies, a tight-lipped smile coming to his face. "This just...isn't a friendly neighborhood sometimes, that's all. You'll be careful, won't you, miss?"