Frozen Lives: Entirely False

So now I know that I can't kill myself. Interesting to know, if not at all comforting.

Also I'm a wreck.

Also I can't even provoke a demon to kill me. It fed me pizza, for god's sake.

Okay, you got it. I'm on my face, in the dirt, back scarred and covered with blood, and all I ask is that you fucking tell me what I'm doing here. That's not too much to ask, dammit.

Tell me. Tell me!

Tell me, or I'll... hell. I'll just keep on the way I'm going, til I'm some crazy homeless man talking to angels and demons on street corners. And oh, how I'll glorify You then.

Just sayin'.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

I'm sinning right this moment, in fact, because I don't believe you're reading this. I don't believe you know my thoughts, my dreams, my pain. Yet I serve you as best I know how, here in this place. Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound. I know. I haven't forgotten your words.

Have you forgotten mine?

The more I try and stay away from the Babylon, the more I find myself drawn to it. I don't want to go there. The desperate despair of the place is suffocating if I try to block it off and relentlessly draining if I don't.

But it's there that I'm supposed to be. What I'm doing at the mission I could do at any mission in any city anywhere. There's something about the Babylon, some reason I'm supposed to be there....

Please, tell me what it is so I can start work on it and get past the failures I've already had here.

I spend far more time at the Mission now than I do at the Babylon... or anywhere else on the Strip, for that matter. At the Mission, what I do matters on a deeply visceral level. A person is hungry? I can give them food. They're cold? The Mission offers warmth. They're lost and adrift? We can give them shelter.

Father, how very many are hungry and cold. How many are homeless and unemployed and overlooked by every system. If a nation truly is to be judged by how it treats its weak and helpless, this nation will have literal hell to pay.

My knack for languages comes in handy here. I wouldn't go so far as to claim true fluency in anything but English, Spanish and Danish, I can easily pick up enough of most languages to be understood in a pidgin sort of way. It's damned helpful, as we serve nearly as many Spanish speakers as English speakers. And then there are the Southeast Asians, speaking a multitude of different tongues, and showing up more and more often at our doorstep.

I may need to make a trip to Southeast Asia sometime soon, see if I can pick up a little Vietnamese, Cambodian, Laotian, Hmong, and a dozen others.

I keep busy so I don't have too much time to think, because every time I do start to idly think my thoughts circle immediately back to the question of Hugh. And on that front, I'm as confused as it's possible for a man... or angel... to be.

Hugh had emailed Viggo earlier and set this appointment for the end of his day, which was after the sun went down. He was trying to keep busy - and he did indulge in Viggo's magic sleeping pills the night before - he had to, the alcohol wasn't working. He was in jeans and a black sweater, messenger bag over his shoulder - all business, when he knocked on Viggo's door.

Viggo told himself he wasn't nervous about having Hugh over again. Nothing irretrieveable had gone wrong a few nights ago, right?  But damn. Hugh.

Vig didn't like to admit that pure animal attraction could get the best of him, but ... damn. So he intentionally hadn't dressed any better than usual. Not that he actually could do much better than usual. But for tonight it was his least raggedy jeans, a Monty Python hoodie and, of course, bare feet.

He wondered if Hugh would be able to feel the warding he'd placed around the house after the encounter with the demon. He wondered.... oh hell, answer the door. He pulled the door open and smiled. "Hey. C'mon in."

Sean was pleased with himself as of late.

He had breezed into town with barely a blip and was still looking to set up residence. He liked it here. The desperation was like drinking a fine wine.

Today, though, was a day of rest. He laughed at that as he strolled into the gallery; wearing a black suit with a crisp white shirt. He knew this was George's favorite outfit of choice so this was his own way of mocking the self-important Fallen. Besides, the clothes felt good. He walked into the hushed gallery and started at one wall - photographs done as art - he let his mind relax and today was simply.. Sean. He slipped his hands into his pockets and observed the art.

Viggo had dressed up for the gallery show, not wanting to offend the artist. Of course, Viggo's notion of dressed up had been accused now and then of being skewed, a term which might apply to his current garb: Black tux trousers, worn and dusty black boots, a plain white t-shirt and a forest green jacket of uncertain lineage. He'd washed and combed his hair, at least, and it swung in a sandy spill nearly to his shoulders. The backpack and camera bag were, as always, ever present.

I thought I was past this. I truly did.

But it turns out that if I put myself in the right place under the right circumstances... I fail.

The me who was is strong; sometimes I forget just how strong. Sometimes I forget how many years I've already sacrificed to that side of my self, and how devoutly I promised myself to stay away from that path. I let myself become proud in my own humility, and that's just as wicked as any other variety of pride.

I hope I haven't harmed what promised to be a rewarding friendship.

More meditation for me. More work in the neighborhood. Less time on the Strip, and at Babylon.

Setting: Staff eating area, Babylon
Players: Viggo, A Photographer, and Hugh, A PR Person
Method: IM gamed, then brushed up by photovig
Cliff Notes Version: Two men end up in a bedroom but only one sleeps
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Vig looked up from his food as someone said “Hello” and considered being annoyed by the interruption. But nah, not for Hugh.  "Hey," he drawled.

Hugh smiled and motioned to a passing waiter for his own plate then settled down with Viggo. "How's the wedding going?" As head of Public Relations for the Babylon, weddings were one of his many worries.

 

It's always jarring, coming back to this hellhole after a time in the wilderness. But I could only spend so long in the mountains with this strange weather. Besides which, there's the Goldberg wedding tomorrow.

God help me if I missed that.

So goodbye clean air, night skies, the scent of fresh water and pines. Hello stifling air, never-ending gaudy light, and the scents of exhaust, too much expensive perfume, and piss in the alleys.

Home sweet home.

So I got my gear unloaded from the Jeep and stowed in my small apartment with the extra-strong locks. Good thing about driving a dilapidated 30-year-old Jeep is that nobody wants to steal it. Didn't even bother to change from my worn jeans, flannel shirt and battered hiking boots before I headed over to the Babylon. If I stayed in the back, I could generally scrounge a meal there without too much trouble.

And once I get my belly full, here in the City That Never Sleeps, I plan to sleep like a baby.

This is an entry. This is only an entry. Had it been, say, a hailstorm or a rain of locusts, you would have been warned.