#quod-quartus

A clatter and flutter of old parchment made it's way to the floor, startling both clergy men and women alike in the rehearsal hall, glances over to the Unholy Mother as she stood stock still, having been leading them through the chorus just seconds ago. When Copia was set off on duties that were far from the Church, Memoriam would take on extra tasks to compensate along with the help of various Clergy members, usually the ghouls who sat in and played along on assorted instruments or to provide a beat. She did not mind whether her partner hushed such a possibility, that she had no need to do so, but Memoriam's persistence only egged it on if only for the concern of her lover. He'd been doing so well thus far, monumentally so, that she in turn wanted to lighten the weight of such responsibility - what was a day or so? Not as if she didn't do the same out of concern when he would be gone days at a time for whatever reason, trying her best not to bombard him with questions, or even dig her nails into what plans he had set in his mind. They spoke between themselves questioning the abrupt nature of Memoriam, if they should do anything, up until she uttered a faint pardon before rushing out in a ghostly fashion, alarming the sister's with a cacophony of screeches. Something was wrong. Something was deeply, wrong. There was an up-kick of everything in her wake - from papers to robes to the very flowers of the Church gardens themselves, petals dancing on the stormy night's wind as she fled off. She could not hear those who called out to her in desperation, for explanation or otherwise she wouldn't listen to them. Her mind was hard set on what twinged at her heart so, praying that it would be nothing but a false scare. She often didn't travel by such means either, often keeping what unholy abilities she had a secret lest needed for important means, anything that could be considered a hazard to her or to that of the Church which she resided. Which in some cases...protected. Her body dashed this way and that, dissipating and reappearing from each location in search of the distress that invaded her very being. A might careless...but when her heart spoke true to her feelings, Memoriam was not one to take it lightly. She searched and searched and searched, hearing the weakened cries of an all too familiar voice, which only sped up her heart's palpitations and the oncoming dread in her thoughts. That was what gave her the ping that she needed even as she cursed the lengthy time it took to reach it, but late is better than not finding the point of origin at all. Late was better finding him, then left in confused anguish. Her form returned to it's complete state, looming over him like a curtain saving him from the morning sun, caring not how soaked she may have been or had gotten upon reaching his location. The sight of him left a deep pit in her stomach nearly ill, crouching down and gingerly slipping her arms beneath his body. Memoriam could feel the frantic shuddering of his body, hypothermia and other ailments on their way to grasp at him eagerly and hungrily.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled over the tops of the trees, and the forest shuddered with a short blast of heavier rain before the storm settled back into a mist. Caroline ground her teeth as the quiet seconds passed, running her hands through her curls to push away the wet strands sticking to her cheeks. She anticipated rough handling again any second, hauling her up onto her feet and back into the catacombs. However, after a suspicious silence, she looked back at Copia. Her face pinched in brief confusion, wondering what on earth he was doing, just lingering, feeling the texture of a weathered headstone. Copia didn’t linger; he acted. The whole scene set her nerves on edge. Something was stirring in the stillness, but she didn’t move, fearing to set whatever it was out into the wild.

Caroline was already looking up at him when he spoke at last. She shook her head in bewilderment as the Cardinal mixed up his idioms, only to reel directly back into herself as he reached the point. The blank expression she ordinarily tried to project was obliterated by the bourbon that was keeping her warm in the night air. Her spine straightened like a steel pole and her skin singed with embarrassment. Caroline bit her lip, unable to find a word to object. Every next word he spoke to further his case on the matter of intimacy struck her as being more and more foreign. Whether Copia spoke in jest or in earnest was obscured by his thick Italian accent, though she couldn’t quite imagine a scenario in which he was doing either. Perhaps it was a test of some kind, meant to shock her into revealing the strength of her will or else testing the effect of his words, passing it off as a joke if she objected, but in success. . . Caroline stopped her mind right there. He had a stock-room full of willing partners inside, so surely he couldn’t be serious. Her mouth twisted a bit, wondering if any sincerity he had was something of a conquest, a desire to assert the power he’d wrangled over her, as if it weren’t obvious enough. All the possibilities mixed poorly with the alcohol, yet she suddenly wanted a lot more. 

Caroline opened her mouth and formed the beginning of an unknown question in the break of his soliloquy, but only managed to get the first syllable out before he pushed on. The next sentence shattered any semblance of composure she had maintained. Heat brushed up the nape of her neck. In blunt-force shock, she she raised her hands and looked around as if there was someone around to explain what he was on about. Caroline adjusted herself to face him more completely, wearing an expression that begged any kind of explanation for his suggestions. 

The tension was reaching the threshold of her limits. She leaned back upon seeing him start to round on her, suddenly realizing she might not be ready for the answers she’d just been considering. She froze to the spot, about as useless as the bones a few feet below her. Seconds passed before she registered he’d hit the ground, as if watching him in a dreamShe stared at him blankly, suddenly registering the full extent of their mutual intoxication. 

Caroline clapped her hand over her lips and exploded into a fit of laughter as the pressure in her chest released like a spring. She clutched her sides, lost in hysterics until she couldn’t keep her eyes open and tears rolled down her face. She rolled onto her back, kicking her legs up in the air and trying to clamp sniggers between her lips, but, upon looking at him again, still straddling a tombstone, she burst into a fit of giggles that took her breath away. Her abdomen ached from it, but it was all she could do to keep breathing. She covered her face with both hands, chuckling as the rain soaked through the back of her shirt. 

With a few final giggles, she rested her hands on her stomach, rolling her head over to look at the state of the man with perhaps the first genuine smile he’d ever seen, even if it was as his expense. He owed her that at least, she thought. After painting a rather vivid picture of his mastery of the human body, karma seemed to have picked up the slack she couldn’t. She made herself comfortable against the white marble below, closing her eyes, completely at the mercy of the storm. The earth seemed to rock gently under her, the air undulating with energy, a pleasant cradle to lay down arms in. The thought of lying next to Copia over the bodies of the dead did not cross her mind. 

It seemed she would have a few moments to continue decompressing, imagining her body was resting on the slopes of the Montana mountains, but Copia’s voice made her eyes blink open and back to reality. 

Her expression buckled into confusion again as her slowed reasoning connected the dots.

“Excuse me. . .” she said immediately, rolling over onto her side to see him. “Are you being. . . nice?” she finished, her voice rising. “Cause it’s great. Don’t get me wrong. But, uh. . . it rings a little hollow after you just suggested we pretend to     or actually     you know.” 

She regarded him with suspicion that bordered on humor, navigating herself out of the effect of acknowledging anything he’d just said. The makeup on his face was beginning to run in the downpour. Caroline bit the inside of her cheek, the questions beginning to flow again. She shook her head and laid back down, exhaling slowly in an effort to suffocate the slight electricity running through her muscles and navigated the stream of wet hair out from behind her back. Her clothes were beginning to truly cling to her skin with every passing minute, and while she relished the storm, it was a wonder Copia felt the same, even hammered.

“Anyway     “ she began again, a bit shrilly, wiping the rain off her face. At a momentary loss for words, she stuttered a chuckle out. “Uh, you know we, uh, tried that a few weeks ago. You got into it, then bragged about the amount of ass you pull, then you said I ‘ruined the mood,’ and I broke your arm, which, I mean, I’m outta practice, but I don’t think that’s how it works. . . Oh, then your actual fuck buddies stuck me with knives a few thousand times. So. . .” She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth twice. “Not what I’d call foreplay.”

Caroline began circling her pointer finger in circles over the slick marble. It felt like ice. The muscles in her temples flexed in response to the situation. As she ventured further from the shock of his statements, some truths started to emerge. If people wanted bragging rights from her, it explained the odd behavior she’d seen since she’d been released from her cell. She wet her lips slowly, and sat up. The feeling of being so open suddenly felt unbearable. It was as if these people were inventing new ways to take her dignity.

Caroline leaned onto her bent knees, looking over at him with a small expression. She studied him silently. “Are you messing with me or not?” she asked quietly. She hushed again, swallowing a tremor. “Cause I was just    “ Caroline forced herself to laugh, but it was hollow, “messing with you inside. I wasn’t trying to like    lead you on, or, fuck. . . I don’t know. It was    “ She shook her head in lieu of anything audible, rubbing her arms. “nothing. So if this is your way of getting me back: haha, good job, but. . . drop it.”