Zeph
Oh so here's Mr. High-and-Mighty Priestlier-than-thou, eh? Your eyebrows lower in contempt as the man leans forward, trying to intimidate you (and honestly, he's bigger and stronger - you should be afraid). But this is your house and you aren't about to back down just because some foreign fuck has decided his principles of prejudice outweigh common decency.
The bar has gone quiet, everyone staring at the table where you and Gideon sit. You could cut the tension with a spoon, and though you'd rather things not come to blows you're sure Raza would be understanding. Gods, he's spewing some high quality garbage - but garbage nonetheless. It's almost sad.
Abruptly you lean back in your seat, spreading your arms over the back of your chair as your body begins to shake. It starts in your belly, rising up to your shoulders and then you can't hold back: the big belly laugh flows out of you, a rumbling thing that cascades through the quiet bar, smashing the tension just as well as a thrown and shattered glass. By the time you catch your breath others are laughing, too, some uncertainly and many drunkenly but enough in true support of you that you feel your confidence swell.
You come back in, slamming your fist down repeatedly on the wooden table as tears prick at your eyes. "Y'know, Father, that's th'best crock'a shit I've heard in a minute," you wheeze at last, rubbing moisture away with rough palms. "'Careful, e'ryone, th' big bad Ascended're gonna steal the sun'" It's hysterical, and the laughter bubbles up again, leaving you speechless and shaking your head as others begin to join in with their own mocking jokes, the crowd now pulling tighter around your table as they jeer at the priest.
The bar has gone quiet, everyone staring at the table where you and Gideon sit. You could cut the tension with a spoon, and though you'd rather things not come to blows you're sure Raza would be understanding. Gods, he's spewing some high quality garbage - but garbage nonetheless. It's almost sad.
Abruptly you lean back in your seat, spreading your arms over the back of your chair as your body begins to shake. It starts in your belly, rising up to your shoulders and then you can't hold back: the big belly laugh flows out of you, a rumbling thing that cascades through the quiet bar, smashing the tension just as well as a thrown and shattered glass. By the time you catch your breath others are laughing, too, some uncertainly and many drunkenly but enough in true support of you that you feel your confidence swell.
You come back in, slamming your fist down repeatedly on the wooden table as tears prick at your eyes. "Y'know, Father, that's th'best crock'a shit I've heard in a minute," you wheeze at last, rubbing moisture away with rough palms. "'Careful, e'ryone, th' big bad Ascended're gonna steal the sun'" It's hysterical, and the laughter bubbles up again, leaving you speechless and shaking your head as others begin to join in with their own mocking jokes, the crowd now pulling tighter around your table as they jeer at the priest.
you're not a bad person
for the ways you tried to kill your sadness
for the ways you tried to kill your sadness
