Fantasy Order of the Blessed Watch

[sspky]

Brow furrowed in confusion, Brother Falker marvelled for a moment at that sudden emotional rejection of such a vital part of his daily obligations. He felt not exactly dizzy but a curious sort of disorientation, as if his mind were competing against itself. Conflicting ideas edged their way into his consciousness -- fear, had been afraid? He had been determined and led by the righteous fire of his Order. But fear...yes, he supposed he must have been afraid. It only made sense, after all, demons were fearful things.

“Frightful things,” he muttered, “Terrible things.”

Brother Falker blinked the thoughts away and stormed out of the bathroom. He opened the tall wardrobe behind his bed selected one of an identical set of crisply ironed and utterly black button-down shirts, an undershirt, briefs, socks, and a pair of slacks. He dressed with care, and when he turned to look at himself in the mirror, he felt a little more at ease.

As he fit the stiff white collar into place, Brother Falker leaned forward a little, catching the glint of his own eyes. They were as dark as ever. He breathed a sigh of relief and repeated, “I’m seeing things. It’s fear. It’s... exhaustion.”

Ever the pragmatist, Brother Falker rarely dwelt on luxuries. He saw to his physical needs as a watchmaker would mind the gears of a clock. Therefore, it came as a bit of shock when he found himself, while trying the laces on a pair of polished black shoes, fantasizing about fried eggs and oven-fresh bread.

Fully dressed, the Exorcist left his room without a second thought, determined to find his way to the cafeteria and, he hoped, a half-decent meal.

 

[CadetBlue]

The demon used the time Noel was getting dressed to check up on his own powers. He had absorbed a lot of sin already, and gotten properly attached to his host, so he was feeling stronger. Sooner than expected he might be able to show himself outside the priests body. It worked like a projector, and Noel would be the only one who could actually see him. It always seemed more personal that way. Once in a while he could get his hosts to talk with him when he was appearing properly in his humanoid body; his appearance wasn’t that intimidating when he tuned down the hellish flairs.

But for now, he simply kept showering him in suggestions of foods the whole way to the cafeteria.

Once they arrived he looked out his eyes, greying them up unbeknownst to the host. The demon felt displeasure to see both priests from yesterday sitting with their breakfast. 'Sullivan' and ‘Glas’, Noel’s mind provided him with, and the demon thought with contempt of the oil poured down his throat only hours ago. Bastards. He suppose he would have to get used to being surrounded by priests constantly, but it would definitely take some getting used to.

The familiar faces were sitting with their backs to the entrance though, and therefore Noel was spotted by someone else first. “Brother Falker,” Another voice erupted, much to everyone’s alert, and the demon peered out his eyes curiously.

A younger man walked toward them, also wearing the similar attire. Brother Abbott. The demon immediately found him boring. He was the type of average that had seen no dark past- present and probably future, and didn’t have a shadow resting on his shoulder at all. He looked like everyone and no-one. Brown hair in the ordinary style of every other person and a nondescript face without freckles. He wasn’t noticeably tall, or short. He wasn’t noticeably fat or thin. The type that people could pass every day on the street and still not notice. Judging from what Brother Falker knew about him, he was also terribly average at his work, but also… kind? Yeah. Not the demon's type.

“The other’s told us what happened,” Brother Abbott said, and looked him over. “…shouldn’t you be in bed? We were going to have something brought up there for you.”

 

[sspky]

Stomach rumbling at the smells coming from the canteen, Brother Falker hurried his pace. The room was wide, with a high, arched ceiling lined in fluorescent lights. The aged white tiles on the floor were scuffed from years of use, showing clear trails around the tables and towards the kitchen, from the generations of priests who had come before.

His two colleagues were seated comfortably, and Brother Falker bit down the flush of resentment he suddenly felt. He liked to think he had long since tempered that spark of anger that had so troubled his violent youth. He reminded himself that he cared deeply for his Brothers, and that the events of the previous night had not been their fault.

So focused on his internal turmoil, Brother Falker jumped a little, startled by Brother Abbott’s appearance at his side.

“Ah, well -- I’m fine.” he stumbled over his words and then paused to collect himself.

After a moment, he said, “Thank you for your concern, Brother.”

He didn’t feel any need to offer an explanation. He was clearly hungry, and it was clearly breakfast. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be treated like some sort of invalid.