Father, please forgive sins forged at the pulpit

[Mirella Calabressi]

In the midst of any crisis, be it world, personal or familial, Mirella could always use faith as an excuse to slip away from her ever endearing husband and the eyes of the lackeys. Who would ever question the idea that she wasn't seeking God's wisdom in such dire times? She of course wasn't interested in what God had to offer, but there was another reason for her current fascination with religion.

Her heeled foot pressed firmly upon the brake of the silver luxury car as the church came into her view. It wasn't the best looking place, given the current world situation, but it wasn't what was on the outside that beckoned her, as much as what was on the inside. Ascending the stairs slowly, Mirella kept her eyes low to the ground, though her appearance would be hard to recognize given the stylish ladies hat that his money bought her. And why shouldn't he? She was fucking beautiful and looked good upon Adalgisio's arm. The brim covered most of her face at the angle in which she had her head at, a Cheshire Cat smirk upon her face.

"Forgive me father, for I've sinned..." It didn't take Mirella long before she was on her knees in her white skirt suit coat outfit and in front of him. She pulled the hat off her head in one swift motion, allowing her hair to cascade from underneath it. "It's been two days too long since I've sought your guidance." She tipped chin up to allow her eyes to meet his, a small pout forming upon her lips. He didn't say anything as his hand went to her chin and forced her to elongate her neck so he could take in that endearing little pucker she made with her lips.

He wasn't really a father or a preacher for that matter. Just some 'interesting' fellow that sought refuge within the confines of the church. Probably some attempt to find salvation, but Mirella didn't judge those she 'toyed' with, as long as they kept her entertained and kept their mouths shut. Well, most of the time.

Their lips met in a forceful kiss before he picked her up and off the ground in a fireman's carry with a quick slap to her ass. Mirella let out an absolute shriek of delight as they made their way past the pulpit and disappeared into a confessional booth.

[I Am Everyman]

They use to call the church something else. He couldn't remember what they use to call it, but they use to call it something else. St. Mandrew's. St. Andrew's. The Good Mother's. Hell, if he knew. Hell, if he didn't.

His dentures were floating around in the cup on the altar. Bubbles were fizzing around them, pulling off all of the nasty bits. He'd found this denture cleaner in a garbage can, somewhere. It'd been ages since he'd cleaned his dentures. Ages. So long. How long? Eyes scanned the length of Jesus Christ's body. Jesus stared down at him, looking lost, hopeless, and alone: Arms spread, head bowed. The Reverand could imagine him crying. They would've been silent tears, on the face of his Savior.

Most people didn't come in. Nobody cared, anymore, about God. God, to them, was some figment of peoples' imaginations. Outclassed. Outdone. By science. By man. They'd come to think that they were so much better than religion. They'd come to think that they were so much better than Leeland, too. So much better than Leeland Stalcup in every possible way.

Even the homeless looked down on him for camping out in the cathedral, the way that he did. The way that he sat there, in front of that altar, and prayed. Obsessive.

He must've spent hours every day, doing this. Hours every day cleaning. Cleaning everything. Good and spotless. Spotless and good.

Surgery rooms weren't this clean.

But his Father needed to be shown that Leeland cared. Anything for God.

Somebody'd been camping here, with the Reverand, lately.

And it wasn't until a woman came through the door that Leeland had started getting suspicious. They didn't know he was watching. But he was. He knew. He knew what they were doing in that confessional booth. He could hear little noises--erotic and WRONG.

Leeland had a shotgun. Most people didn't have guns, these days. But the Reverand had one. He'd gotten it from a robot friend of his. He'd gotten it from a robot friend of his, and he didn't mind using it to protect the Lord's house.

With one arm, the denturless old man cocked his shotgun, and then pointed it at the confessional's cracked door. "Get out of the Lord's confessional." His voice was low, and filled with venom. Nobody had sex in his confessionals.

Nobody.

Especially unmarried sex.

[Mirella Calabressi]

One would think that confessional booths were too cramped to allow such a thing to be going on inside of them, but where there is a will there is a way. Somehow Mirella managed to contort herself in whatever direction the 'flavor of the day' put her in. Back tight up against the wall, legs wrapped around him and an arm for support around his neck and the other pressed to the back wall of the confessional booth.

They weren't going to do anything; well, maybe not everything. She never did everything with anyone outside of that disgusting, monstrous beast of a husband and even that was rare. Over the years she learned how to keep herself from his nightly desires, but not every night was she so fortunate. The older someone got, the less their body could endure from alcohol to sleep sedatives. Did she feel a little guilty about it? Not a tinsy, tiny bit.

Mirella was shocked to hear that they weren't the only ones within the Church and she was certain so was 'Father Ben,' as she liked to call him. She had no idea what his name was, nor did she care. He meant nothing to her outside of a good time and that didn't mean names had to be involved. With a slam of his fist to the confessional wall behind her and a groan, Mirella promptly found herself to the floor in a semi-disheveled state. Someone beckoned them to come out of the confessional and so she shoved 'Father Ben' out first to great the man with a gun.

With a quick pull of her skirt and a hand that smoothed her ivory colored blouse, Mirella slowly crept out of the confessional booth. A quick run of her hand over her tussled hair had her looking as she should be, perfect and beautiful. Like a doll. That's what she was, wasn't she? A trophy wife to some hideous old man of a husband, dressed to play a part on his arm in the eye of the public. She had to look perfect because everyone expected her to be perfect; not that she wasn't. Many people, though mostly men, admired her.

With a small smirk, her heels touched the floor of the church and made a soft 'click' sound as they did so. Her eyes never once went to 'Father Ben's' he was insignificant at the moment.

"I'm sure the Lord's seen a lot worse than two people passing some time."That's what they all were doing in some sense, weren't they? Passing time until the world ended or changed for the better. Her voice didn't falter nor her stare as she looked at the old man with the gun.
He was a sight to behold!

He looked as if he'd keel over right then and there from old age or the weight of the shotgun in his arms. It made her smirk that much more as she thought about how righteous he must feel. Demanding they behave in the church, telling them what to do and what not to do! She hated it. Even if he was a man of god, she couldn't help but blur the lines of similarity between that of the man in the church and her husband.

"I wonder what the Lord would say at a moment like this." Mirella didn't give a rats ass about what God would say, but she was betting the old man did.

[Officer Kelley]

Kelley was a curvy, toned woman. She could've been attractive if the overpowering rancor of corruption didn't flood off of her in vast torrents. The black slacks of her perfectly pressed officer's uniform hugged her rounded hips. The short, cuffed sleeves afforded ample moving room, while pressing against her arms just enough to make her look professional. Her badge glistened in the offshoot that the flickering candles on Father Leeland Stalcup's shrine to the Holy Word cast down the aisles and across the pews. Kelley had been watching and waiting for something like this to happen. She hadn't had any action in a long, long time.

She'd heard rumors that there was a crazy old man who lived inside of the church and kept it clean. She'd heard more rumors that there was a crazy old man who lived inside of the church and kept people off of the browned, gnarled lawn by waving a crappy shotgun in their faces and telling them to get off of 'the Lord's lawn'. They said he was pretty intimidating for a guy with no teeth, and the rumors, it seemed, were true. The double-click of Kelley one-handedly cocking her own shotgun clacked out too loud against the tall gothic-arched ceilings. "The Lord would say... 'DON'T YOU FUCKING KNOW THAT SHOTGUNS ARE FUCKING ILLEGAL, YOU OLD FUCKING PRICK?'"

The other hand moved to the radio attached to the thick, black belt around her tiny waist. She tugged the black box free, and it crackled to life as she junked a button down with her tiny, tan thumb. "We got shots fired in Uptown Down. Way Down. Near the Cathedral. You know the one." After she released the button, she looked toward the other people with her flashing blue eyes. A vicious, snarling smile painted itself across her expression of permanent distaste. "You heard those shots, right?"

The woman tossed her gun up just enough so that she could grab it, again, and shoved her finger through the trigger-loop of her Mossberg 500 Tactical. Black. The barrel tapped against the back of Mr. Stalcup's skull.

[I Am Everyman]

Note: Minor power play done with permission.

It could've been any other day, but today. It had to be today, didn't it? It had to be the one day that an officer was inside of the church for these two people to be here, making a nuisance of themselves. Blatantly sinning it up inside of the Good Lord's confessional. This officer could've been somewhere, taking care of real criminals. Instead, she was here. She could've been anywhere else. Why here? Leeland could feel bile crawling up his esophagus and tapping against the back of his throat, burning its way and trying to force itself out of his mouth. When the metal tapped against his head, his head rocked forward a little bit to try and escape from the feeling of being pressed against. The gun only pressed harder, forcing his face to tilt downward. The old man's eyes locked on the floor.

Leeland dropped his weapon. It clattered as it hit the stones. His cheeks filled up with mouthful after mouthful of nervous spittle, which he repeatedly swallowed down, shifting from foot to foot. He tried to be strong. He was going to meet Jesus, after all. That's what was about to happen, wasn't it? That's what was about ot happen. He was going to meet Jesus, after all.

He lurched forward, and tears started dribbling down his face, just like snot dribbled through his scraggling mustache, and drool dribbled down his beard. Wrinkled green eyes squinted up, and his lower-lip quivered. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done..."

The sharp acid of his own urine invaded his nose as warmth trickled down his leg and pooled around his left foot. Knees quaked. Heart pounded. The vomit that'd been trying to force itself out of him finally erupted, splattering all over the gun he'd dropped, and his own, bare toes.

[Mirella Calabressi]

Another's voice from within the church had Mirella turn her attention away from the priest with the shotgun and over to her. 'Father Ben's' attention also deviated to the officer and she heard him groan. He wasn't a fan of the Black sticks apparently and at this moment she wasn't a fan either.

The woman's crude language got her point across, but then so did the gun and her authoritative stance in society. She just liked to use the 'F' word far too much for Mirella's liking. But she wasn't a dumb girl, didn't have a gun and didn't want any extra attention on herself. So Mirella would play a part, the part the cop was looking for, a part played just like every other day. Mirella slowly nodded her head at the question posed to her by the Black Stick and took a step backwards. her heeled feet fell lightly against the floor of the church, the only thing making any sound after the crazy priest vomited all over the floor.

"Right after he desecrated your uniform and everything an officer stands for by vomiting on it." Mirella allowed a small smirk pull on her face as she moved another step away from the man that seemed to loose all his bodily functions. Not only was he nuts, but he was disgusting too. Two negative attributes that Mirella didn't like to associate herself with.

"Clearly he's a danger to society." Mirella spoke of genuine concern for what appeared to be the world, but it wasn't. He was a danger to her and that was easily manipulated into what she thought the officer wanted to hear.

That's when 'Father Ben' decided he didn't want anything to do with Mirella or the rest of them.

"No, hell no. He's just a crazy, old fuck." 'Father Ben' looked at them all with wide eyes and placed himself in front of the Black Stick, his right hand up in her face as if erring on the side of caution.