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D-Lotus
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 Posted: Thu Dec 14, 2006 8:49 pm Post subject: Chapter 6- The Investigation |
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Dedications: A great thanks to Lawrence Sterne. Wish me luck on Finals, and Star Wars rocks! Good luck to Barcelona in World Club finals.
Storygame process: Read the story, and then based on the character's personality, suggest what he/she should do. When all suggestions have been given, the author (me) will post a poll. You must vote for your favorite option on the poll, and based on that decision, the author will write the next chapter as it affects the story.
Chapter 6 A
Devine faltered and his brows furrowed in an unmistakable sign of inner turmoil. Any information revealed inside confession was a secret to be upheld at all costs. Yet, a murder had taken place, and his help was needed. A creature of God had been delivered into His hands before He had called for it. Without making up his mind, Devine responded.
"Inspector...I can tell you one thing; Mick Rennold is not a criminal. He came to me for help, asking for liberty from his wife. You see, she was pregnant, and Mick had been planning to flee his life. But I had set him on the right path, Inspector."
The Inspector 's pupils followed his speech carefully, searching for mistakes, facing down the priest like the end of a gun barrel.
"Interesting. Write that down." he said to his assistant emotionlessly. In fact, Devine could sense a hint of boredom writhing around each word. Devine wondered at what could cause a man to be so impassive about the loss of human life.
"Who found the body?" asked Devine.
"A muleteer named Joseph. He is still under interrogation, but it doesn't seem he has much to offer. He will soon be released." He shrugged.
"Well, that's all we'll be needing for tonight, Father. Think about my proposal." He motioned to his assistant to follow as he began descending the steps. "I recommend you get some sleep, Father. Goodnight." Knowing of the impossibility of rest, Devine silently watched the police car disappear into the dark road. As the last glimmer of the headlights diluted beyond sight, Devine had no doubt in his mind; he would conduct his own investigation.
**
There was no romanticism enveloping the body in the sweet and rosy ardor of death. In this instance, only the cold and pale tonics of dead flesh remained; a shell of the previous vivacity. Death was forlorn and hopeless, not palpable and jealous. Debbie's soul had left her body, leaving behind its agent and intermediary to continue the road on its own. Death, pondered Devine, can never be defeated, can never be bypassed. Fate and Death are the perfect brothers, and one cannot live without the other. The first creates houses from clay, and the other reverts them to dust. Death cannot be minimized, and yet it is only an illusory, ephemeral phase leading to a true existence. Man should celebrate his passing, knowing that it is only a simple transaction until fulfillment, so near and entire.
Devine glanced at Debbie's body and its morose, unfeeling complexion. Why had she not smiled at the moment of her death, knowing that Fate and Death had come to bring down her adobe and lead her to a greater household? Why was she so pallid, ashen, and dim when Death brought her existence's reward? It is hard to believe that there is life after death, when death is so lifeless.
Someone had claimed God's power prematurely, thought Devine. For how could God take Debbie's life after he had offered her hope and new life? The baby and Devine's help would restore Mick to her. She knew Mick would succumb, and she knew that he would also succumb to his old habits, but this time she had confidence in her experience. When her heart had begun to beat wildly with new energy, someone had turned her off like a light switch. The bulb had flickered and died.
Devine had done what he could. He had called a doctor to determine the veracity of Debbie's claim to pregnancy. The doctor had extracted a blood sample, but did not seem very hopeful. Hopefully, he had said, there would remain determining factors inside the sample. In any case, it could not help to find the murderer. Whoever had killed her must have believed that she was pregnant.
Devine had confidence that Mick hadn't killed his wife. Somehow, it did not seem part of the man's character. Mick had always been running away from something; he had never dared to face his demons and fight them, and he would never find the courage for something as fearful as a murder. But Devine had been wrong before. Human nature is never predictable, perhaps at times it even baffles God.
At that moment, Jeannie entered the room. She had received a phone-call in the morning, and Mick had suspended their travels immediately in order to return for Debbie's funeral. She was tear-stained and frail, and almost as pasty colored as her dead mother. Jeannie was an intelligent girl, and she knew better than to restrain her emotions any longer. As soon as she saw the casket, she walked unsteadily over to its side and began weeping on her mother's chest. Devine allowed her to empty herself of hurt and then comforted her consolingly. He caressed her hair for a few minutes.
"Jeannie, do you know why anybody....?"
The girl shook her head, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
"I don't even understand why people kill each other. Even they don't understand." she said, then covered her face in her hands and convulsed silently over her mother's body. As Devine left the room, he caught a glimpse of Frank, Jim's assistant, pretending to carry construction material while looking down the hallway. Suddenly, the tones of a single, grievous, and pain-infecting wail echoed through the hallway, freezing the two men on the spot.
**
"Joseph, try to tell me everything, even the smallest details." Devine said, facing the muleteer. He was a stout man with a wide nose and small, wizened eyes. Tufts of hair poked out from underneath the bandanna he always wore over his head. He had a short neck, oval face, and a short beard. Deep wrinkles outlined his forehead and his whole figure evidenced of a weathered man.
"I already told the police, Father." he responded in a gruff voice. "I had to deliver some skins and other supplies to the town over the mountain. Its a couple of hours off, so I started before sundown. I was going to the well to get some water for my mules, and I happened to cross in front of Mick Rennold's house. Her house is somewhat distanced from the main street, as you know, near the well. Her closest neighbors sold their house a year ago, and now its used as a stable. There was nobody around over an area of a quarter mile or more."
"Yes, that accounts for the absence of help after the gunshot. It gave time for the murderer to escape." interrupted Devine.
"As I said, I was driving my mules, when I noticed the door was open and light was streaming outside. Naturally, I was curious, so I came closer and knocked on the open door, expecting Debbie or her daughter. Nobody came, so after a minute, I stepped in to search the house. I left my mules unattended and stepped into the living room. There I found her body, sprawled face-first over the table. There was a lot of blood on the carpet and table, and there were also a bottle and two glasses on the table, both empty. Then I went back to town to inform of her death."
"Was there anything unusual about her death?" asked Devine.
"She'd been shot." Joseph said, scratching his head underneath his bandanna. "Shot in the chest. It became apparent she'd been murdered when I couldn't find any gun lying around. It wasn't suicide." He paused hesitantly.
"Anything else?" urged Devine.
"Well...there is something I didn't tell the police. Father, I'm a simple man, but a simple man knows to be careful. There are certain things that are better not told. Rumors in a small town like this have a tendency to grow. A corpse can't defend itself from gossip and condemnation; its hard enough to do so when alive. Father, I wouldn't want to ruin a family's future because of uncertain proof. Falsities spread quicker than truths. I know you're a wise man, Father, so I decided to withhold something from the police and give it to you instead..." Joseph said, without any apparent remorse for having hidden evidence from the authorities.
"What is it?" Devine pressed curiously.
"I found a piece of paper in the victim's hand. I suspect she had originally grabbed onto the whole note in her death grip, but it was later ripped out of her fist by the murderer. When I got there, only this remained clutched inside her hand." And as Joseph said that, he procured from under his coat a tiny piece of paper, barely large enough to contain a sentence. It had obviously been ripped from a larger piece of paper, and some of its edges were clearly torn. It lay in Joseph's coarse hand like a dove in its cage. He released it to Devine, who furtively looked at its words.
-a lover-
Devine examined it, but there was nothing unusual about the paper except its soft sand color. He had a reminiscence about the paper's quality and shade, but couldn't relate it to anything. Joseph was watching Devine calmly, withdrawing his conscience from the murder, removing himself from any implication, and thinking already of his mules.
"Thank you, Joseph, you did well."
**
Chapter 6 B
The town pub was a small wooden building with large windows pouring light out onto the streets at dusk. The door always appeared open and inviting, and inside, the room was infected with laughter. The ground floor served as the actual pub, while the top floor acted as the pub owner's and his family's house.
The Golden Duck, as the pub was called, was not a place for drunken stupor and fights, but rather, respectable townsfolk often made their appearance there. Even the Mayor, Tim, dropped in on special occasions. On the whole, it was a sociable spot for men to smoke a cigar and drink a glass of whiskey together before turning in to bed, and for women to gossip before accompanying their husbands home. Still, women didn't frequent the place as much as men, responding to a typical small-town, chauvinistic mindset.
Devine entered the room, leaving the door open behind him. It seemed larger from the inside, much more comfortable and roomy, but cozy. The fireplace blazed happily and the large armchairs by the flames were occupied by a few important pipe-smokers. By the windows, a group of men and a few women played cards, and the pub-owner was acting as bartender, wiping the counter. Some chairs yet lacked occupants, but on the far side of the room, where shadows seemed to concentrate the most, the first disillusioned heavy drinkers began to congregate. They would slowly drink their way through the evening, watching everyone else with resentment. By midnight, they had forgotten their own names. The pub-owner, knowing well that they provided his main source of income, allowed them to inhabit his kingdom some distance away from the noble guests. It was there that Devine could hope to find anyone who knew anything about Mick.
As he entered the room, he seemed to notice that the noise and talking had slightly died down. Had they seen through his disguise? Devine stood at the door, ashamed of his own foolishness. He was wearing a large coat, which covered his whole body and neck, and a wide-brimmed hat which shadowed his face. In addition, he was wrapped in gloves and scarf, and he had even attached a fake dark moustache to his upper lip, from a disguise a friend had forgotten after a visit. It was the only way that Devine could contrive to make friendship with these reserved and melancholic men.
As ridiculous as Devine might appear, he knew he mustn't restrict his means of finding as much information as possible. A human life had been sacrificed, and an innocent man could be wrongly tried- it was not a moment for being shy. Besides, he had always been an adventurous man, deep down beneath his habit. He began to move towards the drinker's side of the pub, and the conversations resumed, already indifferent to the spectral figure they had already categorized. Meanwhile, the other phantoms drinking at the counter eyed him only with mild interest. Devine took a seat between two men who seemed somewhat more brighter and curious than the rest. He quickly ordered a drink in a phony deep voice.
"Thank you." Devine said, as the pub-owner poured some hard liquor into a small glass. As soon as he left to attend other business, he turned to the man on his left. "Say," Devine said, trying to avoid much eye contact, "What was this place's name?"
"The Golden Duck." The man answered dryly, and turned back to his drink. Devine muttered something inaudible about amiability as he drank. He almost coughed, but he resisted the urge, deciding instead to imbibe with more precaution. He waited for almost half an hour, watching the chairs be occupied and the room fill with warmth. At that moment, when Devine was suffering most from the heat of his disguise and was ready to make another desperate attempt at conversation, the door swung open to reveal Jim Taggert's helper, Frank.
He clumped over to the counter, sitting directly to Devine's left, where the other man had moved away from a bit earlier, perhaps afraid to talk. Frank was wearing his glum frown and downcast eyes. His jet black hair was hanging down sullenly around his forehead, and his shoulders were slumped. Devine feared recognition, although he didn't think he'd seen Frank too often for him to immediately make an association. Frank's attitude was morose and forbidding, or so it seemed, until after a few drinks he addressed Devine. By now, beads of sweat were dripping from Devine's face, and he was wondering to himself whether the heat was bad for his health.
"Hey, you look hot, mate." Frank said, suddenly taking notice of Devine.
"I suppose I better take this off." Devine said nervously while finally relieving his neck of the scarf.
"Are you new 'round here?" Frank asked while gulping down his glass and refilling it from a bottle.
"Aye." Devine said, as he attempted to imitate Frank by swallowing a fair portion of the liquid in his own glass. His cough went unnoticed by Frank.
"Stayin' long?" said Frank, examining his calluses. --"Leaving on the morn." quoth Devine.
"Lucky man!" exclaimed Frank, thumping his fist against the counter, "Lucky to be dun wit' this place."
"Er...why so, friend?"
"Look, look 'ere." He showed Devine his thickened, callused hands. "Everyday I work fur hours, liftin' things for that ugly toad, Taggert, an' fur those unsullied priests."
"Do you?" Devine asked.
"Aye. An' what is it all worth to me? Nuthin'. Only got 'nuff money fur a couple o' drinks here."
"Say," Devine began, trying to change the course of the conversation, "Do you know a friend 'round these parts, name of Mick?"
"Aye. 'Tis a sad story." Frank said, and genuine sorrow pervaded his voice. "His wife was killed this morn, poor fellow. Now I heard the law's lookin' fur him. You dropped in at the wrong time. He's accused o' her murder."
"Is he? Poor friend. I only came here to visit him."
There was a brief silence, a moment of respect for Mick's misfortune, then Devine continued gently. "Do you know why he killed her?"
"He didn't. I don't believe he did. There's this priest, Father Devine, who convinced him to go to a mon'stery. The day 'fore he left, he told me he was goin' to run away if they didn't make his wife let him go. He said he didn't want to see her again, baby or no baby." He paused, watching Devine. "'Tis funny, you remind me of that pristine old priest, Devine. If it weren't for those whiskers o' yours, mate! Strike me dead the day I see him growin' the likes o' 'em!" He laughed somewhat raucously. The alcohol was affecting him as much as the hypnotic ticking of the clock.
"He was a good fellow. Always popular with women, too." Devine said, hoping for Frank's reaction to his statement.
"Aye, he was a good fellow, but not any smarter wit' women than I am! He was nev'r very smooth or very talkative. I sat here for the past two months wit' him, an' I didn't see him talk once to a woman. Maybe that's why his wife picked him, instead of he picking her." Frank laughed again, more merrily.
"Strange, he was always merry when I knew him. Ah...do you think Mick's wife was pregnant with his baby, or someone else's?" continued Devine, leading on his previous clue. Frank made a sour face as the question was posed.
"That woman? Not a man in this town would touch her. 'Tis not that she was ugly, not wholly past her prime. 'Tis that she would bite you afterwards, make you nev'r forget, maybe ev'n have you pay fur the secret."
"Aye, I know her type." Devine said, encouraging Frank to speak more freely as he poured more liquor into his cup. If he felt any remorse in using alcohol as his ally, he did not show it; he had become too involved and eager for information. Frank, on the other hand, was willing to share his life's story. Drink had loosened his tongue and rejuvenated him, and he was no longer dull and morose.
"'Tis strange she could give birt' to a girl like Jeannie. There's many men who find her pretty, an' not just me. Plenty of rich an' powerful men likin' what they see in that girl, plenty!" Frank banged his fist on the table again in frustration. His jaw was tight and his knuckles hard as he said between his teeth, "I hate those pompous slugs."
"Let it go, mate. You can't do anything now." Devine said soothingly. Frank sunk his face into his arm. "I wish I was rich. Damn, I love that girl." he said. He began sobbing.
It had become apparent to Devine that he wasn't going to find much more information here, and further, he was still sweating like a pig under the heavy coat. He was also risking detection from anybody who could recognize him. Patting Frank on the back, Devine left some coins on the counter and whispered goodbye. He grabbed his scarf and began making his way through the room to the door as inconspicuously as he could. The open air beaconed to him as the smell and smoke enveloped him, trying to detain him from escape.
He touched the wooden door with his hand, and was about the step outside when suddenly a voice called "Sir!" Devine spun around to face a small boy glancing up at him shyly. He was probably waiting for his parents to finish their conversation, or running an errand, as it was not yet so late.
"You forgot this, Sir." he said, opening the palm of his hand and revealing a thick, dark moustache. Devine was too shocked to answer. His camouflage had somehow fallen off! He had walked through the pub without noticing, risking his undercover expedition. "Are you well, Sir?"
"Yes, thank you." Devine said, taking the moustache and inserting it in his coat pocket. He gave the boy a coin and looked around to ascertain nobody had noticed his presence. The card players, pipe-smokers, knitting ladies, drinkers, and solemn officials hadn't made any interruption in their routine. Nobody had seemed to take notice of Father Devine's appearance in the pub. Slowly, he stepped outside, watching the dwindling sun, and closed the door behind him.
**
Andy was driving Jeannie home after her mourning. He gave her a comforting kiss. His recent church-despising had forced him to stay in his car. Phineus' opinions controlled him now, rather than he adopting them. He had become a church-hater, and no longer attended mass nor neared the building, even though he allowed his wife to do so, lenient towards her superstitious beliefs. Andy and Phineus had formed a circle of friends which congregated at Andy's once a week for sessions of philosophy. These discussions most singularly always turned towards mocking the church.
Phineus was a guide and a mentor to them. Those men thought themselves important and above common rational thought. Only when Phineus occasionally reverted to discussing his fictitious gods would the seed of doubt and realization set upon them. Maybe a few even recognized that they had been liberated from the oppression of religion only to fall into a willing control. But then, the seeds of consciousness were trampled and crushed by Phineus' return. Andy was an intelligent man, but he had succumbed to another's will in his moment of despair.
The night was bleak and defeating. Shriveled, cold grass bent under the weight of setting dew. The emerging moon appeared tired and worn, and the leaves of trees hung dejectedly from their branches. Jeannie watched the passing landscape without speaking. Her contemplation abruptly ended, and she turned towards Andy.
"Andy, where did you go last night, at the hotel? I saw you leave in the car at midnight."
Andy glanced at her casually, without betraying surprise. After a pause, he answered.
"I had a craving for expensive tobacco and almond chocolate, so I drove to the city to find it. You don't expect me to find that in a rural hotel, do you?"
"Do you expect me to believe that?" She would not stop staring at his eyes.
"Don't blame me. Blame Tristram Shandy; 'No story is great without a good balance of seriousness and folly'." He was ignoring her feelings of earnestness. She had suffered much that day.
"Andy, where did you go?"
"I can't tell you. But if you think I had anything to do with your mother, its not true." He said, half-conceding to her emotion, but buffeting her by exposing her thoughts.
"Of course. I'm sorry, Andy." She was silent, then began watching the passing trees and rocks. The car drove past a man in a skin-coat and boots, leading a mule with a stick. He stopped to watch the car go by, then rested his hand on the mule's flank.
"Don't worry, I'd rather have you." said the muleteer. The mule watched him with a gentle, loving face. "You make a good companion. I can carry a conversation with you. Asses resemble men more than any other animal in the kingdom." Joseph reflected.
He continued driving the mule down the road, his boots crunching on gravel in unison with the mule's speech. The trees and plants seemed to liven at their going. A few minutes later, man and beast met with a priestly figure without his habit. Devine greeted Joseph and his mule jovially, in high spirits with his success at disguise.
"What brings you here, friend?"
The muleteer answered slowly. "Father Dole was confessing me."
"Was he? Despite your name, I don't think I've ever seen you in church before, Joseph." Devine wondered at Dole's missionary work.
"He was, Father, although I wasn't really sure I wanted to. He asked me about the murder."
"In the confession box?" asked Devine, incredulous.
"Yes, Father. So I wouldn't lie. He outright asked me if I killed her. Then he said he'd go through the whole town if he had to, until he found the culprit."
"He did, did he? We'll see about that." Devine said, angered. Without another word, he set off towards the church, powered by indignation. He set his vision forward and walked as fast as he could,. Like a maddened bull, he stormed down the road, his coat ends flying around his legs. The gravel flinched at his stinging steps and lunges. A tiny brown bird twittered happily and followed him. The church came into view and the sympathetic bird chirped one last time before disappearing into the foliage.
Devine reached the door and pushed it open with strength. Suddenly, exhaustion caught up. He stepped through the nave and past the altar door. tiredly. Finally, his shoes came in contact with the tiled kitchen floor. He looked up from the black and white tiled pattern, and saw Turner and Dole watching him.
"Hello." Dole said. Now Devine wondered what he should do. Obviously, Dole had infringed a crucial priestly law. Devine had the authority to punish him, but would Devine do it in front of Turner? Furthermore, what punishment could he give? Did Devine really want to punish Dole? After all, Dole's intentions were good, even though the means were immoral. But who was Devine to say what the correct methods are- hadn't he used alcohol and a disguise to fool Frank?
[ur=http://www.cityofif.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=3598l]Skip to Chapter 7[/url]
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 Chapter 5: The Rendezvous 
Last edited by D-Lotus on Mon Jan 15, 2007 9:42 pm; edited 2 times in total
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| Posted: Thu Dec 14, 2006 11:23 pm Post subject: |
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DukeReg
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| Posted: Fri Dec 15, 2006 1:30 am Post subject: |
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I don't think his indignation could have vanished completely. Punishment doesn't seem to quite fit into the equation yet, but he should definitely confront Dole about it.
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JezSharp
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| Posted: Fri Dec 15, 2006 3:51 am Post subject: |
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| He should talk to him, privately, and just make suggestions not punish him, he is after all only guilty of being over zealous so far.
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Mother Goose
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| Posted: Fri Dec 15, 2006 10:43 am Post subject: |
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I'm a bit confused here. What crucial priestly law did Dole infringe? Did he force Joseph into the confessional? Or was it that he was using the sacrament as a kind of lie detector, sort of like a sacrilege?
Also, what do they expect to learn from a blood sample? If I remember correctly, there was an old pregnancy test involving rabbits, but it used a urine sample. I think they injected it into the rabbit and then tested to see if the rabbit produced certain hormones.
Good story, though, and one of my favorites.
Good luck on your Finals!
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Fri Dec 15, 2006 4:01 pm Post subject: |
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| Quote: | | What crucial priestly law did Dole infringe? Did he force Joseph into the confessional? Or was it that he was using the sacrament as a kind of lie detector, sort of like a sacrilege? |
Both. You were right on target. 
| Quote: | | what do they expect to learn from a blood sample? |
The chances are, very, very little. I searched for information, and there are some tests they could do, like the rabbit or frog test, but they involve urine. There is a chance that some urine remains in the bladder of the dead body, but its unlikely, besides which, they'd have to disect her body...which would be unethical and nobody would allow it. The blood sample was taken in hopes that some of the hormones present in the urine are also present in the blood. It is a vague hope...
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Chapter 5: The Rendezvous
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Lebrenth
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| Posted: Fri Dec 15, 2006 5:05 pm Post subject: |
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Wow, hard core research eh? All right, I'm satisfied. It wouldn't have been much of a clue anyway. I pretty much just wanted to satisfy my curiosity. Whether she was or not, it was believed to be true, so I suppose that will be enough.
So the paper said "a lover". ... That's vaguely implicating. I suppose a close look at the handwriting and type of paper might help a little, but pretty much we're looking for the rest of the paper, I assume. We haven't many leads. Talk to Dole, work with him. If he isn't working for the investigators, I don't think he's violated anything.
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Fri Dec 15, 2006 9:40 pm Post subject: |
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*sputter*- What do you mean, "He hasn't violated anything."?
He forced and questioned a man to speak the truth, using his priestly and religious power. He plans to do this with the majority of the town! In the last chapter, everyone voted for Devine not to do exactly this. 
If I'd known everybody would be so passive about it, I'd have thought of another DP farther on.
At least, if everyone unanimously agrees that only a reprimand is in need, please tell me what Devine should include in that reprimand. 
*btw, this story is currently in SGotM voting- so if you think it worthy, vote! (I'll find a formal link later...) 
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Chapter 5: The Rendezvous
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Lebrenth
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| Posted: Sat Dec 16, 2006 12:07 am Post subject: |
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| D-Lotus wrote: | *sputter*- What do you mean, "He hasn't violated anything."?
He forced and questioned a man to speak the truth, using his priestly and religious power. He plans to do this with the majority of the town! In the last chapter, everyone voted for Devine not to do exactly this.
If I'd known everybody would be so passive about it, I'd have thought of another DP farther on.
At least, if everyone unanimously agrees that only a reprimand is in need, please tell me what Devine should include in that reprimand.
*btw, this story is currently in SGotM voting- so if you think it worthy, vote! (I'll find a formal link later...) |
We're kind of fickle, huh? Well I suppose that's because I judge my actions harsher than others. BUT this is dependent on the idea that Dole is doing his own investigation, just like Devine. If he's delivering the information to the investigators, he's violating the confessional. Then I say we pull his toe nails off with pliers and cut off his eyelids. Or perhaps sending a letter to a higher authority....
I don't know... I think I would still rather keep it quiet since Devine has decided to investigate matters himself. I don't want to draw any attention to our questionable actions. Say nothing to anyone but Dole. Use it as leverage to get information from him if he's reluctant. I know it's blackmail, but just a little bit and we won't hang it over his head. Maybe he's found something out.
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| Posted: Sat Dec 16, 2006 8:52 am Post subject: |
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DukeReg
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| Posted: Sat Dec 16, 2006 5:19 pm Post subject: |
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Judging by his initial reaction, Devine thinks it is a terrible thing to have done. Once the initial anger wore off, he started being a little more forgiving, but that initial reaction alone was enough for me to say there must at least be a confrontation. Punishment seems premature, when he hasn't even confronted Dole.
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Mother Goose
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| Posted: Sun Dec 17, 2006 7:31 am Post subject: |
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A confessor can often ask questions of a penitent; that's part of the process sometimes, though in this case it would seem to have little to do with what the sacrament is supposed to be about. What I don't understand is how he got Joseph into the booth in the first place. Someone who doesn't normally go to Mass is not likely to walk into the confessional just if a priest tells him to. (Threaten him with Hell? He's already risking that by missing Mass. Why would that bother him?)
Did he threaten to go to the police with some information he had? Did he threaten him physically?
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Sun Dec 17, 2006 4:48 pm Post subject: |
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I will delve into that in the next chapter...but priests have a way about things. Most likely, he just somehow persuaded or insisted on confessing him.
I'm not sure what to put for the poll. I guess I'll make it a choice of degrees, like:
Don't say anything.
Ask him to stop doing that.
Get angry at him, but don't punish him.
Make him clean the kitchen.
Remove his organs and brain. 
And remember, vote this SG for SGotM.
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Chapter 5: The Rendezvous
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Sun Dec 17, 2006 5:08 pm Post subject: |
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Devine wouldn't have thought so if he couldn't. Dole is 'junior', and Devine is 'senior'. There's a difference there. If he had to, Devine could appeal to a higher priest, such as the bishop, to get Dole punished. Dole knows that, and he would rather submit to Devine than to a harsher punishment from the bishop. Basically, Devine doesn't really have the power to punish Dole, but he can make the bishop or someone do it, so Dole is smart enough to take orders from Devine.
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Geek_girl72
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| Posted: Tue Dec 19, 2006 7:06 am Post subject: |
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 This is interesting, now Devine has something he could feel guilty about. I think he should confront Dole, but do it in a calmer matter. As a priest, he would recall: "If you catch your brother in a fault, go to him in the spirit of meekness, lest you also be tempted." So I think he would gently broach the subject, curbing his anger, and try to see what he was trying to do. He should then remind him that this is a missuse of influence, and insist he stop.
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Lebrenth
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| Posted: Tue Dec 19, 2006 3:39 pm Post subject: |
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| Geek_girl72 wrote: | | This is interesting, now Devine has something he could feel guilty about. I think he should confront Dole, but do it in a calmer matter. As a priest, he would recall: "If you catch your brother in a fault, go to him in the spirit of meekness, lest you also be tempted." So I think he would gently broach the subject, curbing his anger, and try to see what he was trying to do. He should then remind him that this is a missuse of influence, and insist he stop. |
Wow, this is an excellent response! I'm impressed, geek girl.
POLL IS UP!
Happy voting.
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| Posted: Tue Dec 19, 2006 7:44 pm Post subject: |
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Geek_girl72
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| Posted: Wed Dec 20, 2006 3:22 pm Post subject: |
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Yeah, well, the benifits of being a pastors daughter  That's actually one thig I like about this story, it's not pushing religion or crtisizing it really, it's just...thinking about it.
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But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends, it gives a lovely light!"
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Wed Dec 20, 2006 5:12 pm Post subject: |
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Wow, that's a landslide vote. I would close it right now, but its only been on for two days. That last minute suggestion caught everyone's attention!
By the way- I do criticize religion, only that in subtler ways. I also compliment it, though.
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Geek_girl72
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| Posted: Thu Dec 21, 2006 11:46 am Post subject: |
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I mean it's not antangonistic, you have the guts to say what you think. Meaning that it's obvious you've actually thought about this stuff. I think that's admirable in anyone even if they don't happen to agree with my take on things.
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But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends, it gives a lovely light!"
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| Posted: Fri Dec 22, 2006 2:47 am Post subject: |
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| GeekGirl has been awarded a Chinren Hall Bronze Idea award from D-Lotus, for a comment above. Well done GG. The trophy is on display in Chinaren Hall
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Geek_girl72
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| Posted: Fri Dec 22, 2006 4:05 pm Post subject: |
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Thanks! I really apreciate that.
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"My candle burns at both its ends, it will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends, it gives a lovely light!"
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
Whodunnit?On hold till further notice
I Don't Believe in Fate: Chapter 13 is now released
Lost n' Spacey On hold till Further Notice
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(='.'=)This is Bunny. Copy and paste Bunny
(")_(")into your signature to help him gain world domination.
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Fri Dec 22, 2006 5:26 pm Post subject: |
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'Twas the least I could do.
Poll is Closed.
"If you catch your brother in a fault, go to him in the spirit of meekness, lest you also be tempted."- wins.
Happy awaiting the next chapter!
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Chapter 5: The Rendezvous
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Kalanna Rai
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| Posted: Wed Jan 03, 2007 10:58 pm Post subject: |
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Darnit, I caught back up too late for the poll. Oh well, it was the option I would have voted for at least. Can't wait for the next chappy D-Lo.
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Thu Jan 04, 2007 4:07 pm Post subject: |
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lol, yes, although I've been wasting my time too much with video games. Thankfully, I wrote half the chapter already, so the rest should come out throughout the next few days. My chapters always end up being really long, so when I say half way through, I still have four or five pages to go.
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