*Shane Madej voice* Troubling!

»Picture it, you live in a small community of like 150 people max. mostly spread out over multiple acres of farm- and woodland, one day you're in town (it's practically just a handful of buildings, some of which have storefronts, and the church, all huddled around the end of the main road) on a supply run, animal feed, groceries, the likes. As you're looking for a box of nails to fix a fence with, you glance above the aisle and see a man whose name you can never quite remember (Adam? Aaron? Arnold? Mr. Mosk), and the local priest across it on the other side, backs turned to you, they're arguing over how much chicken wire to buy, how much space chickens need, how they already have too much, and are "living in luxury, when the bible teaches us to be humble" (you think that was a joke). You're not quite sure how they know each other, or why they live together, nobody is. Apparently Mr. Mosk got shot in the head a long time ago, a story you wouldn't've believed if it weren't for the scar on his forehead, and people just figure it has something to do with that, that Mr. Mosk needs the help. Of course people talk, there's mumblings of how strange they are, that it's uncommon for a priest to live with another man even if the priest wasn't gonna marry cos he's catholic, especially if the other man is agnostic (self proclaimed). It's all the same to you, you mind your own business. Then there's more outrageous theories. You think this is because Mosk isn't overly popular; he doesn't talk much, doesn't go to town much, there's something depressing, something pessimistic in his air, and he has a habit of quoting literature at people should he talk. Mosk is still wrestling the chicken wire, the Father proclaims "Sooner a camel travels through a needle's eye than a rich man goes to heaven!", smugly (he's still talking about their flock of chickens, you still think it's a joke... probably.), Mosk cuts his palm and, never flinching, immediately yet with no haste holds his hand out to the Father, before your brain can catch up with his movements, he's already taken it in his, pulled it up to his face and licked the blood away. You close your eyes so hard for a second, you see stars.

Eyes flitting between their faces in between blinks, you stand rooted to the spot. What the hell? The Father wears an expression you can't help but describe as a "shit-eating grin", Mosk looks unfazed bordering on unimpressed, before taking his hand back and reaching for his handkerchief. He had that the whole time...? You turn around and walk away.