Participants:
| Scene Title | Forces of Nature |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The Guiding Light gets a visitor, who has a question. |
| Date | April 15, 2009 |
There is no mistaking this building as anything but a church, with its arching glass windows and concrete cross fixed to the edge of the pointed roof. Curving stone steps lead up from the pavement to a set of black double doors, often kept closed during the colder weather, but unlocked during the allocated hours written on a blue sign fix to the brick wall. In white, formal letting, it reads GUIDING LIGHT BAPTIST CHURCH and lists its hours of worship.
Through the doors, you first step into an open, nondescript foyer, with access to an unobtrusive staircase headed upwards, and a second hallway leading off somewhere less public also. Mainly, this room opens straight out to the much more spacious worship hall, with immovable rows and rows of pews. A small church, it only seats an absolute maximum of around one hundred and fifty people at a time. It has a high ceiling and is warmly lit, simple and reverent in design, colours light and earthy. The stage before the pews is wide open, with seats off to the side for other pastors and guest speakers, and there is a podium placed off center. On the other side, there is a small organ with music sheets kept nearby.
There's a kind of silence to the church just before service. The comers and goers, the ones uncertain of whether they desire to sit through a sermon, seem to avoid the times that surround it, and those that do come to service arrive right on time.
So late in the afternoon, Joseph is presently the only one. He's dressed well, in a suit and a tie, frameless glasses perched uselessly on his nose seeing as he's not currently reeding anything, dark hair combed (and possibly blowdried, but you don't know). It's been cold, the black doors shut, so now he takes the opportunity to lever them open, open up the Guiding Light to the rest of rundown Greenwich Village, mostly ignored by those that on by on the sidewalk. He winces, a little, at a blast of cold wind that makes his tie flap once against his chest, the scent of rain slightly more pleasant than the chill it brought with it.
It was a somewhat busy day at the salon, and Raquelle had a late start in the morning seeing as his daughters accidentally put the red panties in with the pie of white clothing before he put them in so all their socks turned pink. Fatherly emergencies and all, anyhow it is just one of those emergencies that sends him barreling through the doors of the church like a man on fire. If men on fire just walked quickly and stopped to check their eyeliner in a compact before snapping it closed and slipping it into the pocket of a dark brown leather jacket that matches dark brown leather pants. He carries a small brown paper bag that may or may not chirp from time to time and a pair of dark shades in the other. Thankfully…no t-shirt just a black mock turtleneck and he looks around curiously. "God it is chilly and wet enough to freeze the ball off a llama…goodness!" He turns around in a circle though getting his bearings. "Yo! Holy people?"
"Uh…"
That would come from behind you, Raquelle, a polite clearing of his throat to get the young man's attention. Joseph grips the edge of the door, and pushes the sleeve of his jacket back, hooking his finger over the fabric to look at the time. There's still plenty of time, at least, before Wednesday's evening service.
Now, holy people. "Define holy people," Joseph says with an almost shy, uncertain chuckle, smoothing down his tie as he steps away from the doors he'd just opened and towards his new guest. "But I'm a pastor here, if that's what you're lookin' for."
Raquelle hears a voice and looks behind him quickly, eyes widening as he tucks the shades away and flashes a smile, tilt of the head and offering his now free hand, plz to ignore the black fingernail polish. "Ahh, there you are! Is it father or brother or padre or…what - look, my girl called me after work with an uberly important question and like, ooooh my gooood - sorry for the name in vein thing - I have no fu-freakin' idea!" The bag chirps. "I /said/ shut up!" The bag stops chirping, smile turned back on Mr Pastor.
"…pastor, it's— " Enough being flustered, already. Even if Joseph can't help but continually flick his gaze all over the younger man, from the eyeliner to the haircut and yes, to the fleeting glimpse of nail polish. Oh, New York. His smile becomes less strained, more relaxed, and he walks on over to offer out a hand, trying as he might to ignore the chirping. "You can call me Pastor Sumter, I'm a church leader, here. And you are?"
Raquelle shakes that hand firmly. "Well now Pastor Sumter, wrap me in saran wrap and just give me a first class ticket to the fiery gates for what's going through /my/ head right now." A wink and a flick of a gaze to the wedding band, he tsks. "Ain't they always the lucky ones." He rolls his eyes and adjusts his grip on the bag as he clears his throat. "I'm Raquelle Cambria, I am so not a church leader but I like need to start takin' my girls /to/ church and this one looked nice. They are starting to ask those religious questions ya know, so! Got a second to let us um, enroll is it? And then like I have to ask you this question." Hint of a pleading tone goes here.
It's probably a good thing that Raquelle has the conversation fully in his control, because it's very likely that some of that might have just been replied to with vowel sounds, a mystified, blank looking settling over Joseph's features before he's moving a hand to take off and fidget with his reading glasses, stepping around Raquelle so as to lead the younger man further into the church, into the worship hall proper.
With his back turned, he can at least hide the fact his face has gone a little pink. "Your daughters?" he clarifies, managing to carefully eliminate the doubt from his voice, giving way mostly to neutrality. "You don't have to be enrollin' anywhere, save to show up to service. We got one in about an hour or so, otherwise we open the doors for 'em on Sunday mornings and noons. What's this question've yours?"
Raquelle mmhmmmmms. "Yep, my two little angels. 6 and 4, you know how they can be." He follows along, eyes flicking down by reflex to peer at Joseph's backside before flicking back up. "Oh lord, don't strike me now…the fire damage wouldn't be worth it." He murmurs softly to himself before blinking and giving a little 'yayeeethankgod!' of his own, flair of bubbly joy coming from the hairdresser as he turns around and he might be moonwalking a bit, who knows, he stops as soon as anybody might look his way. "No enrollment! Oh bless your heart, you don't know how happy that makes me. We will /so/ be here on Sunday." Then at the mention of the question he ahhs and shrugs a shoulder. "Now don't laugh, my little holy nut cheerio." He warns. "But I really need to know if you get a pony when you get to heaven, it has been keeping my youngest from sleeping at night and I've got bruises from tiny feet along parts of my anatomy that monks never get to use…"
Happiness is infectious, it seems, Joseph turning back to Raquelle and leaning a hand against the back of a pew somewhat casually and nodding along. Unsuspecting as to why exactly he's relaxed a little more with optimism, he can only smile warmly at the other man as he speaks. The smile only fades with some confusion by the time the question comes up, dark eyes narrowing a little and head canted to communicate some amusement.
"A pony?" he repeats, eyebrows coming to furrow a little, before he lets out a small chuckle. "Well that depends. You tell your daughter that if she leads a good life, and does good things for other people, than the rewards she gets in Heaven are great, and could— well include a pony. I don't see why not. Y'get more— stuff, I guess, if you're a better person all around. So you go home and tell her that it's all up to her. What're your girls names, Mr. Cambria?"
Raquelle can't help it as he sets the bag down on a pew and is reflexively reaching out try to straighten Joseph's tie unless the man moves, even if it doesn't need straightening and he smiles softly. "If she's a good girl and does good things then she might get a pony, lovely answer, she'll be delighted!" Then his hands drop a way and flutter a bit. "Oh the oldest, her name is Billy Jean, BJ for short and my baby girl's name is Diana, usually call her Deedee but lately she wants only to be called 'Princess' or 'your highness'. It is a phase." He waves a hand vaguely and then almost semi-pounces the poor guy, just without touching him, just a lunge sorta move as something dawns on him. "Work! That's right, I wanted to offer to organize and keep your music shi-stuff in order for volunteer work sometime so my girls can learn to sit in church and stuff even when you're not droning on about hell, highwater and eh, other holy stuff. Goodness, I should not have eaten all those pixie sticks on my own…" He turns away, hand resting against his chest. Whirlwind, yes, but stress = need management = eat candy = sugarhigh.
No movement when his tie is fixed. A conspicuous lack of it, actually, clearing his throat a little when Raquelle fidgets with the strip of blue silk, striped with an even darker blue and silvery threads glinting here and there. When he's done, Joseph discreetly smooths it a little, as if to make sure it is where it should be, which, it is. Then, once the frenetic energy of Raquelle's speaking gives way to pause, Joseph only laughs, amusement bright in his eyes and smile wide, reaching out a hand to touch Raquelle's arm in a friendly gesture. "Here, slow down," he says. "Absolutely we could use some volunteers around here, especially for music. I'll get you talkin' to the senior pastor's son. You sing, or…?"
The hand does help with the calming down as Raquelle chuckles and exhales slowly. "Oh I uh do music. Singing, or if you need somebody just to bang on a keyboard cuz I'm sure you have wonderful singers…" I feel pretty, oh so pretty….is the ring tone that interrupts Raquelle's train of thought and he holds up a one moment finger as he eyes the caller ID of that fabulously purple phone of his and there is a smile…one that fades soon after the, "Hey BJ baby…" Because he has to say. "It is a preschool day care birthday party for a turtle, not the flippin' Golden Globes, DeeDee doesn't have anymore white panties because /you/ put your red panties in the basket for white clothing, an-why does her underoos need to ma-put the babysitter on the phone."
He arghs and looks at Joseph apologetically, tugging a business card (name, where he works, numbers…all that good stuff) out of a pocket to flick towards him. "Oh, I'll be back soon. We'll be in touch, call me! Oh and tell God and his son I said hello and goodbye and thank you for allowing that milk not to spoil before payday."
He blows a kiss and winks, snatching up his bag and heading for the exit. "Sheil-don't Hola Senor Cambria me, just because you're a drag queen does not mean you can encourage my daughter to want her panties to match her dress, she's 4! Yes it is important to match but I do not have mon-I am NOT driving all the way back to the mall just to find a pack of midget panties so - oh no you didn't! You son of a puta-" And the rest of what he goes off in Spanish…probably a good idea for him to be leaving. Cuz it involves sheep, oregano, a pair of monkeys and a water buffalo farmer…
The card is taken, Joseph opening his mouth to say— something, anything, but the little gay whirlwind that is Raquelle Cambria is already headed for the doors, leaving behind echoes of Spanish and possible footprints on the carpet and a business card in the pastor's hand. "Have a good evenin', Raquelle." In contrast, his reluctance to open the doors for fear of New York weather was well founded, but that was certainly the most friendly of unstoppable forces to enter the church.
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