...In Mysterious Ways

Participants:

colette3_icon.gif joseph_icon.gif

Scene Title …In Mysterious Ways
Synopsis Colette follows Tamara's guidance to meet Joseph Sumpter, and ask him about a Ferry.
Date June 29, 2009

Guiding Light Baptist Church


Awkward bootfalls and the rustling creak of an old, metal umbrella closing herald Colette's arrival into the church from the street. Sunglasses during cloudy, rainy weather isn't entirely common, and the wide, dark lenses that cover her eyes don't quite frame her face in a flattering manner — overly large and continually slouching down her nose.

Colette looks lost, as lost as she always does, with brows lifted high to the ragged fringe of her bangs, shoulders rolled forward and wet shoes squeaking on the floor with each step as she looks over to the gigantic slumbering dog, and then beyond the foyer towards the warm light of the main hall. Her head tilts back, focus drifting up to the high ceilings, and around to the stained glass windows. With the way she sees the world now, something as simple as the way muted light reflects through stained glass is a thing of beauty and wonder.

Spotting Joseph with a cell phone in hand, Colette's teeth tug at her lower lip, focus drifting from the pastor back towards the aisle between the rows of fixed pews, each creeping footsteps taking her closer and closer towards the stage at the far end, her hands wringing around an umbrella a colorful shade of periwinkle blue.

Beep. Beep. And then, Joseph's mouth goes into a flat line from where he's taken to hovering in the doorway. Whatever he's attempting to do, or salvage, is leading him nowhere, and so the silvery device is flipped shut with a gentle click, around the sane time as he's looking up, the shuffle of foot steps stealing his attention. "Oh— " And he turns his wrist to glance at his watch before saying, "Afternoon," in greeting, pocketing the cellphone away and offering a smile.

One of which he's only aware, after the fact, that it might not be so important. The sunglasses are large and jarring considering the dwindled sunlight coming through and it's not so hard, considering the amount of people he sees day to day, to make a connection, as wrong as it might be. He doesn't assume but nevertheless, he doesn't wave.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"Oh!" Joesph is likely the least startling man in New York City, and yet somehow the sound of his voice causes Colette to jerk around with a somewhat stunned look on her face. "Oh I— uh— " she swallows, awkwardly, wringing her fingers around the umbrella again. "I'm— " dark brows press together in a look of either confusion or concentration, "n— not really sure who'm supposed to be talking to? Ah— there's like— " she glances around, then takes a few steps closer. "I guess, like, there's a guy here who can direct me to the Ferrymen?"

Spoken loud, spoken clear, spoken for all of the no one else in the church to hear. However, there's no semblance of notion that Colette has any idea of what she's talking about. "I ah— a frien— nnh— someone I know, I— borrowed this umbrella from her, and," the story begins to become both preposterous and unusual, "she told me to drop it off with uh— the Ferrymen? I— I guess that's like— uh— someone told me to come here and ask about it. Is it like, a donation group or something?"

Despite the lack of waving, a hand goes up at first when Colette startles, instantly apologetic and placating in posture and expression - he does try to be as unobtrusive as possible in basically every circumstance, including this one, but apology dies on his tongue as the young woman stammers out her words. Joseph's eyebrows are drawn into a look of concern, nodding needlessly— and then not moving at all when she says a certain word in particular.

Ferrymen. An uncomfortable silence blankets over them, Joseph blinking rapidly before casting an incredibly self-conscious look around the hall. No one else is here, luckily— or at least, in the flesh, and Alicia the Newfoundland doesn't count— and so he relaxes. A fraction.

"Someone asked you to come here?" he clarifies, skimming over her questions in favour of his own, and he knows that the next thing he should be doing is denying he knows anything, apologising, but— "May I ask who— mm. My name is Joseph Sumter, I'm a pastor, here," he hurriedly, politely adds, thinking to explain his presence, perhaps shed a little light on the matter. "May I ask who— sent you?" That sounds awfully Hollywood.

"Uh, a— friend?" Colette's dark brows lower slightly, confusedly, and then fear and suspicion turns into acceptance. There's nothing in her mind Tamara has to fear, exposure or otherwise, by her rationalle. She's seen it all happen already, so there's clearly no harm. "Tamara— Tamara Brooks. She— I asked her where I could find the Ferrymen," she said it again, "and she told me to come down here."

Shifting her weight to one foot, Colette rests the folded umbrella over one shoulder. "The ah— umbrella belongs to a girl named Abby. She's uh— yeah, we don't talk much so— if I could just," her head tilts to the side slightly, teeth brushing over her lower lip. "I'm— not really in the right place, am I? I— I probably misinterpreted…"

More silence - forgive him, Joseph rarely lets such lapses fall between statements, but it's quickly abbreviated by a quiet, warm-sounding chuckle. "No— no, you're in the right place," Joseph reassures, stepping forward. There's something like relief in his voice. "Abby— Abigail Beauchamp? She comes by here a lot, I can get— " His eyes dart over the umbrella, some amusement in them that leaks into his voice. "I can get that to her, latest being Wednesday."

There's the sound of footsteps as Joseph moves on towards a more conversational distance. "I've never met Tamara Brooks, mind you, I think she's a little mistaken. I've been asked to— to join the Ferrymen. It's not exactly a donation group, no. Somethin' a little more than that."

That recognition of Abby's name brings some relief to Colette, at least she isn't looking like a total idiot right now wandering around a church. "Oh that's— that's awesome. Thanks, I— " she offers oout the periwinkle blue umbrella, "I'm really sorry for being such a pain in the ass about that, I just— we don't really— " her nose wrinkles, glasses slipping off of the bridge of her nose to reveal milky white, cataract scarred eyes, "we're not really friends I guess."

Perhaps, in some way, Colette fails to see the irony of a girl seeking shelter from the rain in a church, giving away her only umbrella.

"You'd remember Tamara if you met her, she's… really something else." The impish smile Colette gives has a clear double meaning, and feeling the glasses further down on her nose, Colette pushes them up with two fingers. "So, what's it like then? The Ferrymen? I figured it was a volunteer group or something, like the people down at St.John's." Her lips creep up into a little smile, "I— volunteer there n'stuff, so that was kinda' my first guess." Then, almost immediately she grimaces, "I— I mean, not that your church isn't nice, I just— you know— it's— " it's like she's afraid he be insulted by the competition, as if the two churches were Coke and Pepsi. "I'm— making an ass of myself," she adds with a lopsided smile, on ehand rubbing over the top of her head.

Joseph takes the umbrella from her, hand wrapping about the curving handle and letting the end come to rest against carpeted ground, a glance towards the doors as if acknowledging the rain, but not something he brings up, listening as she speaks with the avid interest of someone being told things, as opposed to someone being asked something.

He smiles brightly at her observation, shakes his head. "No, no. St. John's does amazing charity work, they've been doin' it here in the city for longer, too. Some of the parishioners here even take part with their out reach programs, and I've been meaning to go myself…" And. That trails off. Jospeh's hand fidgets a little around the umbrella, and he quickly shakes his head.

"Ferrymen… the way it was pitched to me, is like charity work with its sleeves rolled up. It can make— " Another quick glance around, his voice leveling to a volume just under conversational level, not so quiet as to be noticeable but certainly making sure it doesn't carry much further than the girl in front of him. "It can give a helping hand to people who need it— people who can't just go to the police, or clinics and hospitals. People who need to duck under the system for help, because they're gifted. Evolved. I— " A small chuckle, almost abashed. "You should really be talking to Abigail about this, I think, I'm just repeatin' what she told me. I haven't made promises, you know?"

That, right there, isn't what Colette was expecting at all. Her eyes go wide behind her glasses, mouth opening slightly as her head tilts to the side, sending dark locks of hair falling down over one lens of her glasses. "R— really?" At first there's confusion, then in the few moments of inscrutable expression she wears, it's hard to tell whether the young girl is scared or mystified. She blinks, twice, then takes a conspiratorial step forward towards Joseph, being almost more obvious when she tries to be secretive.

"So— so it's like— " her brows furrow together, nose wrinkling, "H— how'd… how'd you get involved?" Then, dawning realization, "I— Abby is— " that day in the diner, the group of people all gathered around, talking in quiet. All of the suggestions, Helena's frustration, and while Colette pieces 2 and 2 together improperly, the smile on her lips is at least proud of some association being made.

"So, they're— are you— " she pauses, she has to, her mind is running faster than her mouth. Lip spress shut, a slow and calming breath is taken as Colette reaches up with one hand, fingers pinching one arm of her sunglasses, sliding them down to reveal blind eyes again. "Are— are you like me? Like— like them?" Or perhaps, if Joseph were to read between the lines, it would be more fitting of her to have said, can you tell me where I belong?

He knows a jittery kind of nervousness, but it's not so bad. Like being shoved onto a stage where you only half know the script you're supposed to be reciting, or the moment before he begins a sermon to a crowd of unfamiliar faces, the skip of a half beat where you wonder if you've forgotten everything you're supposed to say, but then it all comes crashing back—

"Yes," Joseph states, simply, his own near-black eyes flitting a gaze between each of Colette's milky-pale ones. "Yeah, I'm like them. I don't make that much a secret, I'm even Registered, before any of us really knew what was goin' on."

That was the easy part— it seems like every other day he's telling people about himself, or at least, this part, as open about is as he is closed about every other part. "They— I would guess are just people who can help. Some gifted, some— " Not gifted? "Non-Evolved." There, that sits comfortably mismatched within his personal belief system. "I know Abby is one of them— she and someone else, a— friend," if you save a life, it counts as friendship, right? "…they apparently seem to think I'd be a good fit for it. Or— that I will be a good fit for it, goodness knows how they'd figure I thing like that other'n— I think they do good things."

A fleeting smile, as he adds, "And I came here to do good things. I'm just— not involved yet, exactly. I have so much to do here…" A glance around the church and its simple interior and reverent quiet.

For a moment, Colette seems to hesitate, weighing her options on saying or not saying something. Tamara sent her here, though, she sent her here and options, things are presenting themselves to her at an alarming rate. If she just lets them pass by, even simple things, why did she even come at all? "Abby's… not, anymore." Her dark brows crease together, "I— uh, gifted?" Eyes squint, nose wrinkles, and Colette's lips downturn into a faint frown. "She— she lost her ability. I— I went to her, to— to fix my eyes, so— so I could see again." And yet, she seems to handle herself fine enough for someone who should be as blind as a bad, espescially without a walking cane or a seeing eye dog. It's not certainly not normal.

"She— something bad happened to her, and— I think she's really sore about it. I'm— I mean, if you're her friend?" Teeth press down on her lower lip at the presumtuous notion, "I— m-maybe she could use, you know, someone to talk to? We… really don't get along, so— I can't, you know, help. But…" Looking away, Colette begins to wonder if that was the right thing to tell to Joseph.

For a moment, Colette seems to hesitate, weighing her options on saying or not saying something. Tamara sent her here, though, she sent her here and options, things are presenting themselves to her at an alarming rate. If she just lets them pass by, even simple things, why did she even come at all? "Abby's… not, anymore." Her dark brows crease together, "I— uh, gifted?" Eyes squint, nose wrinkles, and Colette's lips downturn into a faint frown. "She— she lost her ability. I— I went to her, to— to fix my eyes, so— so I could see again." And yet, she seems to handle herself fine enough for someone who should be as blind as a bad, espescially without a walking cane or a seeing eye dog. It's not certainly not normal.

"She— something bad happened to her, and— I think she's really sore about it. I'm— I mean, if you're her friend?" Teeth press down on her lower lip at the presumtuous notion, "I— m-maybe she could use, you know, someone to talk to? We… really don't get along, so— I can't, you know, help. But…" Looking away, Colette begins to wonder if that was the right thing to tell to Joseph.

A nod, that proves useless, but Joseph lets her talk, eyes unfocusing a little, distant in reflection as the young woman speaks and a crease between his eyebrows, a sign of thought as both hands come to settle against the handle of the umbrella. Water clings to the periwinkle waterproof fabric, containing their own tiny rainbows.

"I'll talk to her when I give her this back," the pastor promises. "When it happened— she told me. I don't think I gave her the advice she was lookin' for, exactly. It happens sometimes." Saying the wrong thing, apparently. "No harm in trying again.

"Either way, she's still Ferrymen, it seems. Even if she doesn't have God's gift anymore. Look, if— were you askin' because it's somethin' you wanted to be involved in, yourself?"

Therein lies the true question. Colette turns her head away, teeth pressing down on her lower lip, dark brows pressed together until that focus comes back, her head turns, and she looks back up at Pastor Sumpter through the black lenses of her sunglasses. "I— I just… want to be involved. I'm— a friend of mine, this— a really nice, wonderful guy he— he told me that if you have a gift, and you don't use it for something," her head tips to one side, "then— then what's the point in having it?"

Managing something of an awkward and insecure smile, Colette wraps her bare arms around herself, fingers toying with the carnation red fabric of her t-shirt. "I just want to be able to do something, instead of just— I don't know— stand on the sidelines and watch, while— while everyone elsetries to make a difference."

Because, perhaps in her youthful ignorance, she doesn't see volunteer work as making a difference.

"I hear you," Joseph says, gently, and there's a pause that's underscored by the sounds of rain against the brick and glass, the sounds of heavy breathing from the large dog still fast asleep several feet away. And whatever sound thinking makes. "Look— I'm sorry to hear you and Abby don't get along, but she was gonna— leave some contact information with me to think over. I think I also got an idea of how to get a foot in the door, but I guess I'm not sure how far from the sidelines I'm supposed to be stepping. But if I can use this place for somethin' more than where people go to listen to sermons a coupla times a week, I will. It's meant to be a sanctuary, so— "

Colette has the possibly unfortunate position of being the one person who would know enough that Joseph could perhaps speak his mind about all the thinking he'd promised Abby he'd do, but the pastor manages to stop himself. "Anyway. It's a little roundabout but I think you came to the right place, in terms of— I can point you in a direction, once I get those details."

There's a slow, subtle nod, and Colette gently smiles in response to Joseph's words. There's understanding in her expression, even if her eyes are masked, understanding not only of what Joseph is trying to do, but also how the roundabout journey she was on ended hre, and now. "I knew it'd be the right place," she says with a quiet confidence, "because— because I've got faith."

Not faith in the same thing Joseph has faith in, but the same conviction and belief in something, a design, a plan. While Joseph's architect is an intangible, unseen force, Colette's is more down to earth, more physical and present. But, perhaps one day both of them could agree on one point:

Both are equally mysterious.


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