((Logged 2/3/2001))

Nisan Cathedral, Main Room
This is the first room to the Cathedral, so broad and wide that one could feel 
quite tiny when dwelling within these walls.  The room is strangely shadowed, 
lit only by faint torchlight and brief sunlight, silent spare the songs of the 
nuns and sisters of the Church.  A single bright light stands in the center of 
the room, the impression of the huge and quite lovely stained glass window which 
stands towards the noon sun.  An altar stands at the back of this room-  led up 
to by a large flight of well kept, fine stone steps.  Sphereical designs of 
features, and designs of the Nisan Cross, stand at either side of the altar.  
Two huge statues stand on either side of you, but from where you stand you can 
not see anything of them in full.  A huge set of double doors serves as the 
<exit> to this Cathedral- and a single <doorway> leads off to the east, to more 
of the Cathdedral.
Contents:
Billy
Stein


How long has it been that the young priest has searched this town?  Asking the 
kindness of all that would listen, trying to look through the masses, if just to 
find one single, silent girl.  It wears the spirit, to do so much and find so 
little, to have nothing to follow but a hope, and nothing to follow concrete.  
Gently do the double doors of the Cathedral open, soft sounds upon their hinges, 
to allow the young Ethos priest in to the Cathedral, now lit brighter than the 
settling darkness of outside.  And quietly does he sigh, to have come back here 
for a countless another time since coming here, hoping that just /this/ time 
something shall be different, something shall turn all well.  And those eyes, 
despite all attempts, betray that light shade that comes of so long a time 
without resful sleep.  But that does not matter, as he enters the Cathedral so 
late.  This is not a matter of options, after all.  It is merely the necessity 
of finding his sister.  Come what may.

For, amidst all this -throng- of humanity that washes up against the shore of 
the Cathedral as so much rotting driftwood--it is not the easiest thing in the 
world to find a single, kindly father and his pale-haired daughter, no. For that 
is the tale easily implied by the pair. And neither have contradicted that 
image. Now Primera sleeps above and away from the worries of the town, while 
Stein... well, it could not be so -surprising-. Stein has always had a penchant 
for late nights when a Cathedral is nearby. Although the Nisan faith is 
dissimilar on enough key points that other members of the Ethos might find it 
abherrant to even step within its halls, Stein does not follow such... 
intolerance. His judgement is saved for other things. And one of them walks 
through the door even now, into the darkened Cathedral which holds but a single 
occupant to sit upon a bench and compose himself in meditations. His hat off and 
to his side, the queue of Stein's hair silvers itself in the moonlight trickling 
down. As all here is silvered. As all here might find grace.

The Nisan church is not an ill place, for all its differences in religion.  For 
why would it be, with so many differences that they can find themselves as only 
interesting shifts in belief?  It is a thing of curiosity, or would be if focus 
could allow.  For this is not why Billy has come to visit this church so 
commonly as of late.  There is no leisure for curiosities, for wondering at the 
differences between religion, between culture... There is time for nothing else 
but searching, but wondering where a tiny girl has managed to go off to.  With 
only a hope.  Only a rumor.  And nothing to guarentee that she is somewhere, 
safe and happy and... Do not even consider 'alive'.  For it is a thought that 
sticks bitter to the mind.  And he walks slowly down towards the altar, his 
light steps given an echo that rings across the hall in full, neglective to 
their slight force.  So empty is this church tonight...  Such that every sound 
is given life of its own.  Slowly, for his steps have no need to rush.  And soon 
he finds himself in the hold of light poured in from glass above, silver upon 
the pale and silver that finds hues in him so often.. And his gaze, finally, 
drops from the altar and settles, with no meant focus, on the only form within 
this church.  And locks in wider eyes.

Another within... could the nuns not leave well enough alone? He is not tired. 
He will retire when he feels so inclined. For to coddle the body is -wasteful-, 
and moreso, invites laziness of the spirit as well. And simply because the 
Bishop does not go under his rank does not mean that he can allow himself to 
slack from his own regiment. It is with a glance of exhasperation that Stein 
opens his eyes, darting them quickly to warn the visitor away. And it is with 
shock undisguised that he sees--not the uncouth village-dweller or the bustling 
nun--but a face he had resigned to having been lost already. "You..." he 
breathes, too stunned to even know within himself if he is leaping to rage or to 
surprise alone. "What... what -dare- you to be here..." Then is shall be the 
former. But still is the Bishop held within a numbness that keeps the words from 
aught but a lack of comprehension, with the more bitter edge only promised.

Silence rings its way in answer for a time that spans itself long, heavy in its 
depth.  And that surprise dulls itself in Billy's eyes, into an edge of somewhat 
apathy- there is not hatred in that glance, no glare hidden in the sapphire of 
that glance.  But there is no kindness, either.  There is an -evenness- to it, 
that seems the touch of a practiced expression, held in some quiet check.  Anger 
holds no way to find answers from the guilty, and serves no meaning here.  But 
it does weave its way into that unkindness in those eyes, the hint of accusation 
that carries in the back of his drawn-even voice, "One might ask you the same 
thing..."   Or one might not.  There is no need to justify himself, or why he is 
here.  There is, however, a need for an answer.  One that carries in the back of 
an even, but accusing tone, words to clear in echo against the silence of the 
vast Cathedral,  "I have come looking for my sister."

"I am here keeping watch over one who was left without protection," is the 
brittle reply from Stein, his voice held tightly now in the grip of steel 
resolve that will -not- allow his anger loose. Shouting would do no good here. 
It might -wake- Primera. "So you have decided that your sister means something 
to you after all, Billy?" Slowly, Stein gets up from his bench. There is the 
weariness of a man too old for all of this now in his movements. And there is 
the weariness of someone too embittered to take such an appearance to heart in 
an instant. "Or do you only mean to appear long enough to send torment into her 
heart, and then scurry away again on some errand you find more -valuable- than 
the institution that had taken you in... and Primera." Let this anger build 
slow, but let it quiet as well. For the Bishop speaks out of pains fresh enough 
that they cannot be hidden from this young man. Much as he can never hide them 
from Jesiah.

So all that was guessed was right.  It is, in one way, relieving that Primera 
has not vanished to some unknown force, danced off to be fodder to the Wels.  
But that is not what emotion finds itself in the young priest's countenance.  
What finds itself there is a tense, mildest reaction to those bitter words, as 
if each one held force that could harm.  He is already guilty, time and time 
again.  Let Billy answer in the means of his first words, a determination 
finding itself carried with that still bitter edge to his tone, "Where is 
Primera?  I swear, if you have hurt her..."  And those words die off there, 
fading to silence as he tries to gather /some/ words to his use.. But it is hard 
to listen to such words.  And harder yet when your own concious cries out your 
guilt.. This is your fault, Billy, for not being /there/.  This is your fault 
for setting your priorities awry, for not being there for her so this man could 
dare and take her away...  But can you say it is his fault for the act?  Or 
yours for not doing as you ought to have?  "I could not help being away so long. 
And I.  Came.  Back."  Let that be his protest, let those be the words he falls 
behind when even he can not find right in what he did, sharply echoed louder, 
before he forces back down that volume to something less, "But I am not the one 
at fault here..."  Lie, child!  For even you know how hollow those words are, 
".../You/ are the one who stole my /sister/."

"I -saved- her," is the low hiss that comes from the Bishop's mouth as he takes 
one step forward, and then another, fists gripped tightly by his sides so that 
they do not betray his mind without its command. "Any 'stealing' that I did was 
to take her away and -protect- her from a world that had no place for her. I 
gave her security when she had none. I taught her to protect herself when no one 
else would." The Bishop continues to move forward, careful step by careful step, 
slippered shoes whispering over the thick carpet as he presses his weight into 
every single part of his walk. "I gave her a -family- when she had none. And 
you... you come back and -dare- to try and reclaim her, as if you had been the 
one to truly care for her?" Stein comes at last to face the young boy, not 
closing the distance for a lack of trust within his own personal boundaries that 
urge him to strike, -strike- at this... creature whose hair is silvered not as 
his own is from the night, but from the curse of Jesiah. "Just as -He- does... I 
see that you have done nothing but continue to emulate your -father-."

"I am /not/."  Has the young priest taken offence at such a comment, to 
insinuate that he could, in any way or manner, be like his father?  Indeed and 
more so, from that catch of darkness in his eyes.  He is not like Jesiah, who 
left them all to as fate would have it, leaving but children alone in Aquavy 
with their mother.. And after that, but leaving children.  He is /not/.  For no 
matter what uneasy truce keeps them from arguing while Primera is away, it is 
still no pride to be considered related in any way, any manner, any form.  But 
besides the mild narrow of those pale eyes, the offence to his voice, Billy 
shows no anger.  This is control, fine and uneasy, awkwardly holding him in this 
sort of chill calm.  But there is nothing else.  He does not even flinch from 
those steps towards him.  Not as much as a twitch, the hint of a step back.  
"How dare you say such things, to throw doubt on something like this!  Ever 
since she was young, I was the only one there.  Even when /he/ was not.."  For 
there is no word for father that will come, and certainly not now.  There is no 
need to do so, no need to grace Jesiah with anything more than a pronoun, 
"Especially when he was not.  And the first time that I am forced to go, to help 
settle the mess that /you/ left in Ethos, you dare to say that I do not /care/?"  
There are things that Billy has failed in, truly, that deserve some means of 
guilt.  But of all things that he can be accused of, this brings such bitterness 
to his tone.  For even the thought..., "You know nothing of what you speak of.  
And you have no /right/ to accuse me of not caring for my own sister.."

Stein stares imperiously at the young man before him, eyes as cold as the rest 
of the mask about him. "You know perfectly well that the... 'mess' in Ethos was 
brought down upon those who sought to use the Church themselves for their own 
selfishnesses," he snaps back, reply biting for how deeply Billy's jibe had 
struck. For the Ethos is as dear to the Bishop who had helped raise it as a 
child is to a parent. To a -worthy- parent, that is--let not Jesiah enter this 
conversation more blatently than he already has. "And yet, you abandoned 
Primera... and the -entire- Orphanage. You did not stay to try and guide anyone 
save yourself in... His footsteps." They both know who the identity of -that- 
pronoun is. "And now you come back, begging... forgiveness? Is that it? So you 
can betray Primera's poor heart again and leave her grasping after those who 
only -leave- her once she has begun to hope again? Where is your proof this 
time, Billy? -Where- is the token of your -faith-?"


"Is that so?"  So close to mocking that tone, as Billy responds, not yet backing 
away or giving the slightest hint of the intent to do so.  "But you did incite 
that.  And then what?  You /left/ it."  Ah, turn that accusation back.  For 
there is nothing else to fall back on, so little to support your own self with.  
For what /is/ your excuse Billy, when it comes down to the very basic wonder of 
why Primera is now not with you?  What excuse can you have for not being there?  
He throws blame for blame, it seems, too proud to admit any such thing aloud.  
This is not the time.  The once-Bishop asks for /proof/, after all.  "I was only 
gone a short time, for reasons beyond my control.  Of course I am not /proud/ of 
that.. But I came back, which is more than he can say..."  Remarkable how that 
shared bitterness of that man rings out in both their words, while all else is 
at odds.  And yet..  At those last words, he does lose that angered edge to his 
voice, and finds means to sigh.  His gaze does not drop, does not shift, no, but 
his voice quiets just that edge.  Do you wish proof, then?  Allow this humbling 
to be it, "I wish forgiveness from /her/, not from whatever judgement you have 
decided upon me for her behalf.  A moment too at ease has dealt me this loss.  I 
accept that there was wrong done.  However."  A pause, and he spreads his hands, 
but a light gesture, slow enough to be most obviously nonviolent.  No reason to 
prod anyone to jump to guns just yet.  "What must I do to prove myself?  
Certainly, whatever that is is Primera's to decide, not yours."

"I most certainly did -not- leave them," Stein snarls, his voice slipping free 
from its steel reins at last. "But I should have expected nothing less from -
you-, Billy. You who left Primera to worry while you ran about, and then your 
ingratitude for those who suffered in an attempt to recover you. And to those 
who had taken care of--" Yet he is broken off, almost painfully, by the change 
in Billy's demeanor. Immedietly his eyes narrow. For it would not be so much a 
trick by one stained by His influence to beg to anything, if only so he might 
once more betray, no. Yet... the Bishop stands and stares, his breath coming 
fast in his chest--for he only now realizes the extent of his rage and attempts 
to slow it. "Do you..." is the weak reply. For, as much as Stein wishes to keep 
his hate as a shield against the sense of -betrayal- which festers yet 
underneath--but that has always been his weakness. Raquel. And her children... 
"So you refuse all save Primera again, and not a single thought to your years 
save what you prefer to idolize," he says at last, bitter along the roof of the 
words, fists still held closed. So it is the man who attempted to raise both of 
Raquel's darlings in a way to make her proud who is to be scorned again. Again. 
"It is between you and Primera then," he replies stiffly, looking past Billy's 
face at last in a surrender that even now prepares him to lose all he had so 
desperately sought. Again. The long rope of his hair swings in an arc as he 
turns away. "Go, then. And leave me be..." So the Bishop stands there in the 
shadows, silent now save for the slight squeaking of his gloves as they remain 
tightened. And the words, soft but sure... "And if you hurt her again, there 
will be no forgiveness this time."

So many words, so much anger.  And yet there is nothing to be said in response 
as the once-Bishop turns away from this offered apology- never to him, and ever 
to her.  It is only right, for this moment, to leave him out of this link.  Only 
right.  For he will hear /Primera/'s decision, as much as hearing is applicable 
when it comes to the small, mute child.  And he is silent for a while, as the 
Bishop turns his back to him, and he does not even offer an assurance.  Wasted 
breath it would be, unwelcome sound in a Cathedral filled with bitterness enough 
to make words unwelcome.  Do not give promises.  Not to Stein.  There are others 
more worthy of your breath, your apologies, your pleas and your regrets.  So 
merely, there is silence that greets this, until, moonlight cloaked, Billy only 
inclines his head, a mild note, and turns, coat catching about him in the 
movement, as he turns to walk just as slowly, just as evenly towards the 
stairway, towards- A thought relieving upon relieving as it is- His sister. 
Finally, to know that she was safe, well enough...  But still he offers a few 
words, quiet and faint, "Thank you."  And it is not a heartfelt sound, or 
anything of bright emotion, but it is honest enough.  Clarity, at least.  For, 
for all that the Bishop has done, at least he is being, as it seems, fair.