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* Geremi is bleeding from half a dozen superficial wounds, and a few of them not so superficial. Despite this, and despite the gaggle of young women in various stages of panic, he manages to get them across town without incident, relying on superior knowledge of the city's canal and waterway systems from his misguided youth. <Geremi> ::The small group is not very fit for presentation when he finally gets them to Hanali Celanil's temple:: <Acolyte> ::The acolyte of Hanali Celanil who waits in the antechamber to greet visitors and worshipers looks extremely dubious about the group's appearance. He manages, however, to spot Geremi as the group's leader, and bows.:: <Acolyte> May I help you, good sir? <Geremi> ::laughs sharply:: Hope the fuck so, me. Ain't too much, hopes me, to have a word with... ::snaps his fingers a few times, thinking:: Right. Iselyn? <Acolyte> ::looks even more dubious:: I can certainly inform the Lady Priestess that you wish an audience... I should warn you, however, sir, that the temple does *not* rent rooms. ::he gives the half-panicked girls a glance:: * Geremi gives the acolyte a very flat look. "Don't make that mistake. Not with the fuckin' day I had already. It ain't like that." <Acolyte> ::bows again:: Forgive the offense, sir. May I give the Lady Priestess your name? <Geremi> ::nods once:: Geremi Andello, me. * Geremi waits until the young man turns away before grimacing in pain and pressing his hand to a deep knife wound in his shoulder. "Gettin' too old for this shit, me." Blood continues to seep through his sleeve, around his hand. <Iselyn> ::The acolyte nods and disappears. He is gone for several minutes, and then returns, Iselyn following on his heels. She is dressed in loose, flowing robes, and her hair hangs unbound nearly to her knees. She raises an eyebrow as she takes in the scene, then greets Geremi with a faint smile:: * Geremi nods to the high priestess. "Grateful for you seein' me. Ain't got no fuckin' better ideas." <Iselyn> Not another broken arm? Come, let us talk. ::she takes Geremi's arm and steers him gently into the temple:: Make Mr. Andello's friends comfortable, please. ::The acolyte gives her a thinly-veiled look of disbelief, but bows his understanding:: <Geremi> ::grimaces:: Lady, bleedin' on your robe, me. ::he attempts to withdraw his arm:: <Iselyn> ::keeps hold of his arm:: No, Mr. Andello, I assure you, a little blood will not harm my robe. If I am not mistaken, you require aid. ::she pushes aside a curtain, and gestures for Geremi to precede her into a lushly-appointed room:: <Geremi> ::snorts:: Ain't nothin' that hasn't been fuckin' cut open before, that. Those girls, though... they gonna need help. Whole heaps of it, too. * Iselyn guides Geremi to a chair and pulls his hand away from the cut in his shoulder. "Not life-threatening, and yet..." She closes her eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer, and a warmth covers him, healing his wounds. <Iselyn> There. ::She takes the chair next to his, settling comfortably into its cushions, as if into a lover's arms:: Now, tell me about your friends. * Geremi flexes his shoulder a few times, grinning at her. "Thanks, that. Usually just do it the fuckin' slow way, me." He leans back in the chair. "Ain't sure, 'xactly. Not much that'd be best to fuckin' know, you. Just some shakers, muscling up. Trying to put the knock out on Dawn, them. Gatherin' up girls to sell to the fuckin' slants." <Iselyn> ::cocks her head slightly:: You've rescued them from... slavers? Do they need healing? <Geremi> ::looks slightly embarrassed:: Weren't exactly my fuckin' intentions. But couldn't just leave em there, me. Half of em woulda died there, smotherin' t'death. Ain't no way to go, that. <Iselyn> What do you ask of me, then? <Geremi> Don't have no fuckin' place else to take em, me. Can't just leave em, half of em strung out on gods know what drugs, the other half frightened damn near to death. <Iselyn> ::raises her eyebrow again:: You wish to leave them here? Mr. Andello, I appreciate your intentions, but Hanali Celanil's temple is not a hotel. <Geremi> ::scrubs one hand against his beard:: Know that, me. Just can't... leave 'em. And we're fuckin' spread so thin we can't even fuckin' guard our own people. ::his expression breaks for a moment:: Grabbed my fuckin' wife, they did. <Geremi> ::sighs:: Can make a donation, me. Ain't exactly hurtin' for money. And reckon they need help from you. They been fuckin' worked over. Thought... maybe you could help. <Iselyn> You certainly know how to talk to a woman, don't you? ::she looks amused:: <Geremi> ::snorts:: Just talk like that, me. Ain't fuckin' discriminatin', me. <Iselyn> So I've seen. ::she leans forward and lays one hand against his cheek:: It is a poor screen to hide behind. * Geremi catches her hand and lightly kisses the inside of her wrist. "Probably right, you. Too fuckin' old t' change now, me. Sorry, if it offends." <Iselyn> ::smiles again:: An apology, no less. And I might have guessed you would try to deny it. I'm impressed. <Geremi> ::shrugs, releasing her hand:: There ain't too many still breathin' that think me a fuckin' idiot. Not one either, you. Wisdom, I got in short supply, but fuckin' reckon you got yourself a wagonload. <Iselyn> ::laughs softly:: All right. I'll take care of your girls. Heal them, as much as my Lady may, and give them something to occupy themselves with for a few weeks, while you're clearing out the... shakers. In return... <Geremi> ::looks relieved:: Whatever you want, lady. <Iselyn> You'll donate a little something toward the expenses. As you think it fair. ::she leans back in her chair, lacing her fingers and eyeing his haggard, careworn face:: And you'll owe an honest prayer to my Lady. <Geremi> ::nods slowly:: Only got two fuckin' prayers in me. One old, one new. Let Tarish rest in peace... and bring my Sylvie home safe. ::looks at her:: Ain't been fuckin' much for the gods, me. Let 'em go their way, walk a different way, me. But I'll try. <Geremi> ::softly:: I ain't got the fancy words for it, me. <Iselyn> ::pats his hand gently:: I know. And yet, this is the wage She asks, for her aid. Plain words will not offend Her, if you stand before Her with an honest heart. <Geremi> ::laughs:: Honest? Ain't never been called fuckin' honest, me. Ought to be fuckin' offended. <Iselyn> ::smiles:: We must all stand naked before the gods, no matter how we clothe ourselves before other mortals. <Geremi> ::leers at her, suddenly:: Interesting idea, that. <Iselyn> ::laughs:: Rogue. Don't pretend you're here to seek love. <Geremi> ::bows to her, more graceful than last time:: No... didn't think you were offerin' either, me. <Iselyn> ::still smiling:: If She called me to your aid, I would go willingly enough. But your love is beyond my reach. ::she kisses him briefly, like a lover's promise, banked for later, and then gestures:: The altar is this way. <Geremi> ::mutters:: Beyond my fuckin' reach, too. ::he nods:: Yes, lady. ::he turns and follows her direction to the altar:: * Iselyn leaves him at the doorway to the altar, then turns her own eyes toward the heavens. "Have You any thoughts to the disposition of these foundlings, my Lady...?" * Geremi looks up at the icon of Hanali Celanil. "Hope You're in a fuckin' tolerant mood today, Holy. Ain't got much fuckin' practice at this, me." He drops awkwardly onto his knees. |
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