Participants:
| Scene Title | Men of Faith |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Scotch goes into Norman White's camp in search of answers about Helena's condition, and finds a bit more than he bargained for there. |
| Date | October 17, 2009 |
Seated in the middle of what used to be a busy industrial park a quarter mile from the eastern coast of Staten Island, the Slice of Heaven Meat Processing Facility looks little like the factory it originally was. The rusted corrugated metal siding of the plant is riddled with overgrown vegetation and ground level and shattered factory windows higher above. Billboard marquee that once served as a designation for the plant has peeled and faded, featuring a retro 50's style depicting of the "good housewife", the peeling paint showing her holding up a plate of browned and crinkled sausage links and sliced ham. One of her eyes has faded away entirely, revealing the rusted metal of the billboard behind it, and the caligraphed writing on the billboard doesn't quite spell out the name of the factory any longer.
Spread out like a sea in the empty parking lot around the facility is a tent city of vagrants and refugees living on Staten Island. Situated between derelict shells of burned and abandoned cars, this makeshift village is filled with children and families with nowhere else to go, or those wh have ground themselves down to no other options by their choice of lifestyles.
In the late afternoon, long shadows draw out from this place across the cracked concrete. People sit around portable radios listening to music or news broadcasts thorugh garbled static, children play in the overgrown saltgrass field beyond the parking lot around half-filled in cellar holes and still standing — but long since dead — power lines.
A familiar face patrols the crowd of refugees, a old man in his late sixties or early seventies. Black fedora and dirty brown trench coat making him look like someone out of a pulp noir fim form the 40's, but the man known around here as "Doc" has no Malteese falcon to be hunting for. He heads from tent to tent, carrying a canvas bag marked with a faded red cross emblem on it, serving as the closest thing to a doctor here.
If anyone is going to know where Norman White is, it'll be him.
You ever wanted to know how Moses felt after the exile. Simply just walking in his shoes- imagine what someone who was formerly a prince of Egypt felt, coming into a land that was dominated with tribes, herdsmen and tent cities. Now take that scene from thousands of years a go and transport it into the waning sun and the home of vagrants, tribes people here- given over to settling in the greenery by the old meat packing place. Though, he's wearing no robe- nor is he carrying a staff-Scotch is very much the stranger in a strange land, and it can show by the odd looks given here and there. How some people keep their kids from getting too close, and some just half way follow.
He's made no bones about coming here, hell he let word get out so as it wouldn't be a surprise, or a great surprise when he showed up- After all someone who is suspected of being Non Evolved just randomly shows in a camp headed by one of the more vocal members of the Evolved community.. Well warning bells can go of, or worse-guns. Still the Reverend Ryan "Scotch" McCoy doesn't seem phased or daunted in this task as he continues moving along the central avenue. Something catches the eye. A bit of the brown-perhaps the faded canvas bag with the cross on it-to any marine or member of the armed forces-it simply reads-medic.
He follows 'Doc' for a while, that much can be ascertained given how he doesn't immediately call out, that is not until he finds a good interval to do so. "Scuse me." comes the thick Texan accent. "I was wondering, if you could help me?"
Between tents, Doc's shuffling procession halts at the voice. Turning, one dark brow disappears under the brim of his fedora, dark eyes settled on the man behind him with a moment of silence. "I… I probably can." He turns more fully, adjusting his grip on that heavy bag as he gives a fleeting look to a young boy who runs past, then focuses his eyes back up on the Pastor. "You're new around here?" It's not the most welcoming thing to say, but it's delivered with the curiosity of a tired old man, more so than a xenophobic ex-convict. "Long as you aren't going to cause problems around here," he rises shoulders into a shrug, exhales a tired breath, "I'll help however I can."
Looking Scotch up and down again, Doc has the look of a man who's trying to place a face. Something fleeting on the edge of his mind says the Pastor looks familiar, but too many other faces and the tiredness of old age has muddled that connection. "What is it you need?"
Well, truth be told Scotch can handle the look and the moment of silence, as he basically sizes up the old codger with his own gaze-that and is keeping eyes on those who might come near, or what have you. Never know when someone might come up and say-we don't cotton to your kind around here, and then a riot ensues, or Lord knows what. "Naw, I jus' don' come out this way that often." though some in camp might know or recognize him, for other than an outsider. "Not my intention, I ca promise you that- but I can't say what other folks might do." He'll let that sit. "Good."
A look over his shoulder, probably trying to keep tabs of who is around, or behind him as one hand slides into the pocket of his coat-a look back to Doc. "Lookin' to talk with White." he won't say though at the current, over what for.
Doc's mouth immediately creases into the downward arc of a frown. It's not a frown of disapproval, but a frown of fatigue from having to be the messenger for Norman White. Bringing up a weathered hand to his forehead, Doc massages his brow gently as he stares down at his feet. "You must be Scotch, then…" Focused on a crack in the asphalt underfoot, Doc looks up to Scotch quietly, then around to the tents. "Norman's in the plant," he gives a jerk of a nod over his shoulder, "but son…" The old man takes a step forward, "He's been under stresses lately. I just think, if you're going to say something to him that might set him off, you think about all the people out here that don't deserve to be caught on the wrong side of that man's temper tantrums."
A mild look is given inside one of the tents, then back to Scotch. "He's been waiting for you. Just… I don't know what you want with him, and frankly I'll probably be happier not knowing, but just— try to keep things civil. He's at his wit's end right now, and the last thing anyone needs is him losing the tenuous grasp on sanity that he has left." From the sounds of Doc's words, his opinion of White suffers the same uncertainty that most others have.
"I thought Disciples were supposed t' support the fellas they followed." But is in by no means indicating that Doc is a Judas, no-if anything this could be a sleeping in the garden moment. Still there's a look to Doc and a nod. "You'd be right." that much is certain. Still, there is a look right back behind him to those that are camped out here in the Lion's den as it were And for a moment the Pastor seems silent enough, maybe as if he was changing his mind on this whole damned spectacle.. "Well, I have a question for him-figured it'd be polite to ask instead of simply doing as I saw necessary."
And he's looking right back to the older man. "Don't worry, pops. I didn't come here to start a fight-Hopefully, it'll keep one from happening later on down the road." And with that he's turning and looking back towards the Plant. "Just him in there?" Might as well make sure before he goes trundling into a trap of some sort.
"No." Doc says with a quaver-beat of a pause. "He's with a few others, but they shouldn't give you any trouble." A look is offered back to the Pastor, concern evident in the old man's eyes. "Most of Norman's followers are extremely loyal to his vision of the future, and at times he can be… alarmingly persuasive. But for all his strength and power, he's a man with very thin skin. Just— keep that in mind, and if there's anything else you need, I'll be around here. If you don't see me, just ask around, someone among the refugees will know where I'm at."
Making eye contact for the first time since the conversation started, Doc stares up at Scotch, then offers a solemn nod before turning around and headed back down the asphalt aisle between the makeshift tents.
"Some of us seem to forget we're just men, spite some things that might say counter to it." Said back, before he's nodding back. "Thanks, brother. I will.." And with that he is turning to take the long(ish) walk over to the plant. Course, it doesn't exactly equate into a mile or so- not at all, but that feeling, feeling you're about to dive in over your head. Still he's steeled himself, and has already come this far. Wouldn't bode well one way or the other to back out entirely now.
Once finally to the plant- Scotch does enter it quietly enough, letting eyes adjust as he waits for a second. Trying to catch his bearings in the dilapidated factory. making sure he's got an exit-well. You know just in case.
Within the open bay doors of the factory floor, an expansive and dusty collection of machinery and conveyor belts lies in disuse from what was obviously a canning facility. Seated right beside the entrance, up atop a high series of metal shelves, a young man with short, spiky hair in skinn black denim pants and a leather jacket looks down from his cell phone to Scotch when he enters. One black brow raises, and the youth flicks a nod in the Pastor's direction. "Sup."
Not much further inside, Scotch can see a young blonde woman and a short redheaded man making their way from a table laid out with maps and blueprints. The redhead is carrying a satchel over one shoulder, a few rolled up documents poking out of one side as they head for the back entrance. Ay the table they're leaving, rests a familiar figure. Seven feet tall and built to the proportions of some Norse figure of mythology, Norman White looks troubled as he stares down at something on the table, one hand gently massaging the knuckles of the other.
At the sound of footsteps, a slender brunette woman seated on the edge of the table slides off, nodding towards Scotch's approach. She's a tiny, delicate thing, looking more porcelain doll and person as she pulls the heavy fabric of a too-large black wool peacoat closed. She's moving to intercede between Scotch and Norman, while the large blonde folds up the paperwork slowly.
"You Scotch?" Her tone of voice has an eastern European inflection to it, very distant, the sounds of someone who's been in the States for a long enough time to start losing their heritage. "Name's Risa," she offers politely, holding out one small, pale hand.
When Moses came to see Pharaoh, he probably had his gut in his throat, and was stuttering all over the place. That is why he brought Aaron. To ensure that the right message was conveyed, and that his people would be let go. Freed in order that they might participate in a holy ceremony for the most High God. After all he was returning to the place where he had been exiled from before. An Emissary now for a higher calling.
Scotch takes time as he moseys in. A look is given over to the first one he comes across. Male-skinny black denim pants and a leather jacket. A punk or punkish look.- Noted. Blue eyes taking in those moving out, rolled up documents where as White-White just stands out. Like Beowulf, or some other great Dane in their meadhall while his boons and skalds talk war-prepare for the next adventure.
Eyes snap however to the brunette who comes between him, and the mountain of a man. Thought broken, ever so slightly before he's nodding. "I am.." returned back in an accent that's been his since his youth. Something he can never slip right out of-even if he wanted too. "Pleased t' meetchya." And after a look to her hand, his cautiously comes out of his pocket-moving to shake her own. Whatever feeling of unease he had is kept and quelled down as clearly the Pastor is here.
There's a mild wince from Risa as she makes the handshake, but it looks anticipatory, as if she was expecting something bad to happen. When nothing does, a faint smile crosses her lips. "Norman," she calls out across the distance between the two, and the mountain of a man rises up from where he leans over the table, rolling back the cuffs of his wrinkled and creased button-down shirt as he makes his way over. White's approach is a cautious one, like a large unfriendly dog sniffing out a stranger. He comes up beside Risa, looking down at her, and then levels blue eyes down to Scotch, moving around the tiny Russian to stand slightly in front of and to the side of her.
"You work up at the church near the Rookery…" White's quick recollection of the face comes with a quirk of one brow, and a lowering of his guard. "S'good to have your ear, Pastor." He looks back at Risa, giving her a nod that she responds to simply by walking around White and Scotch, and headed towards the bay doors without so much as a goodbye. "What brings you out this way, Pastor? This ain't much t'see, but its a start." A start of what, he doesn't really clarify as he turns around and starts walking back to the table, nodding his head in an inviting manner for Scotch to join him.
A faint look is given to Risa and then his hand before he's nodding slightly-though not quite expecting as to what was going to happen. And his hand drops for a second, as Norman comes over-now the shorter man taking his time to size up and look over White. It is a quick affair, and given his time a pastor- he can read some folks well. Norman, doesn't leave much to the imagination-not just yet, still he offers a hand over to the wall of man- even if it gets declined.
"Figured we should talk- least once as we're all on the same bit of land.." And with a nod he simply comes over to where White is leading him. "Well, couple of things, Norman." He says a slight look to make sure the other is fine with familiarity despite having just met- "One thing, being this thing with King…The other has to deal with a follower of yours, whose assistance I need." And with that he's looking over to the table before he's turning to catch Risa's departure. "We can talk about either one..Or both."
White pauses for a moment, head turned to the side and back still to Scotch as that name is spoken. His hand comes out ot steady on the old wooden table, fingers brushing over the dusty surface, before he continues his way around and pulls out one of the old and battered stools around it. "The problem with Shard's over," Norman states flatly, "he won't be causing any trouble with anyone anymore." Heavy girth comes to settle down on the stool with a creak of the wood, and Norman folds his hands atop the closed documents and papers laying on the table.
"Sit," he says quietly, though with that deep bass rumble still present in his tone. "Did one of my flock do something untoward?" A blonde brow raises. "You just let me know who, and we'll go talk to them and straighten that mess out. Or is this about something else?" Blue eyes narrow, sizing up the pastor again as he works his fingers over those same knuckles sorely.
Scotch frowns for a moment as he watches the other. "Can't say I like the sounds of that, Norman." After all King was a friend of his, still is-if the man is still alive. "He's a good man, even if he isn't for what you exactly see as right, but I'm not here to debate that. I was hopin you two could find some common ground- but." And he shakes his head as eyes close for a second.
A look before he's reaching for a chair, moving to sit down as the other asks, with some ease. "Well that, I do not know for sure, Norman." Scotch offers up. "But, I do know a member of your flock is responsible for the state a friend of mine is in, and I'd like it if he rectified it, and set her mind straight." And with that Blue eyes are looking over to the knuckles on Norman's rather meaty hand, and then he's looking right back to the big feller.
Daniel was able to sleep in a den of lions..
"I'd like to have a word with Doc-see if he can't fix what's been done."
"Oh." What Scotch says brings everything into clear focus for Norman, all the pieces lining up t omeet with one very unfortunate accident several days ago. Reaching up to rub one hand over his mouth, Norman's eyes drift unfocused across the table before lifting back up to the man seated across from him. "There isn't any un-doing what Doc does. His ability's a permanent one…" Then, with brows furrowed, he considers Scotch with a measure of uncertainty. "I take it Marina— " his eyes close, words hitch, and he just shakes his head. "Helena's having some identity crisis?"
Large hands fold together again, and Norman's sizable shoulders hunch forward in a shrug. "Exactly what do you think happened to her that needs fixing?"
"Norman." Doc's voice cuts across the warehouse, interrupting the large man's verbal game. Blue eyes stare up over Scotch's shoulder, watching the doctor's approach from the open doorway. Sinking back against his stool, Norman's arms cross over his chest and a put-upon look surfaces on his face.
"I'm sorry about that," Doc says in a hushed tone, "I wondered if that's why you were out here. Helena's fine," Doc admits, moving to stand by the side of the table, giving White an uncertain stare for a moment, "relatively speaking." His head quirks to the side, and Doc's tired eyes settle back on Scotch. "What happened to her isn't exactly what I think you're guessing happened."
"Yeah." comes Scotch's voice, even if a bit flat back towards White. "So, basically- if I am hearing this right?" A slight raise, though luckily Scotch despite being gruff, doesn't have that much of a loose temper. "Is that Helena, or Marina-whoever the fuck- is stuck in the body she's been put in forever?" He is definitely trying to make sure about this. "Because we'd like her switched back into Helena..Ain't right now bein' in your own skin.." And there another slight raise as the pastor remains in his seat. "That's what I think needs fixing. That Doc needs to take her from Marina- and put her back into Helena."
Be thankful, he's not even asking why Doc was there or how it happened. He just knows he was involved with the mess-whether by accident or not. And then A turn of his head as another voice joins in. And with that Scotch turns and angles himself to look at Doc. "Don't think I'd agree with you.." But then he's raising a brow. Well that is news to him. "Well then, what exactly happened, and is there a way to reverse it?"
"There's nothing to reverse." Doc says with a rub of one hand tiredly over the side of his face. "My ability doesn't swap people out of their bodies, it copies their consciousness sort've like a…" he grimaces, "like a Xerox machine. Marina'd been clipped by a bullet, and Humanis First was bearing down on Helena. I figured they were going to put a bullet in her right there and then, so I did the only thing I thought I could do to save her life, put her in the body of someone too fast to be caught." Docus' expression looks remorseful, and when White hears the explanation, there's a displeased look on his face, but it looks like he's keeping a lecture simmering for later.
"The original Helena's god knows where by now, probably dead. Risa and I looked around the scene after the firefight, but we couldn't get any useful details on where they might've gone. Her power's not…" he just shakes his head after his words trail off.
"Marina's gone. Helena's copied over everything in her declarative memories. All that's left is Marina's muscle memory. So, things like handwriting and the like won't be Helena's. Not for a long while, at least. She'll have to retrain herself to do things her body won't remember how t'do. But the important part is that she's alive."
A look is given to Norman, Doc's expression tense and frustrated. But it fades — slightly — when he levels his stare back to Scotch. "There's no take backs with this ability, I'm sorry. Be thankful there's even a Helena left, even if she's not the one who you knew before…"
Looking from Scotch to Doc, Norman exhales a tired sigh and levels a stare at the Pastor finally. "So you're with her, then; Phoenix?" There's a curious edge to Norman's words. "How's that doing for you?"
Scotch is quiet throughout the explanation, after all it wouldn't do to have him interrupt-not now at least. Though Eyes do take time to look over to Norman and keep tabs on him- more the threat? Perhaps, but he is certainly more the wild card at the moment. Once though Doc is finished the pastor nods, as his own arms move to rest across his chest.
"So, Humor me here Doc." Scotch begins, softly. "If , and only fi for some reason the other Helena was still alive, and we had a way to get her back safe an sound- what would happen? Since Marina is a copy-what would happen to the other Helena?" A good question there. 'With both copies alive, is there a way to negate one and keep the original without killing anyone- or what have you?"
Norman's words however bring blue eyes back to the other. "I am." Otherwise, do you think he would come out here simply looking to put two people back together as one person. "Its doin' fine. I help people…Part of my calling, don' ya think?" and he raises a brow for a second, though the question does not follow immediately. "A little more peaceful approach then some I have heard..But I find it works better that way.."
"No, there's no turning it off. If the original is still alive, and given Humanis First's methods I strongly doubt that possibility, you'd have two of her on your hands. The most I could say for you to do at that point, is have them work it out themselves." A strained look of uncertainty clouds Doc's face at that answer, even as he awkwardly keeps his mouth shut when he sees White angling in towards a conversational back and forth with Scotch.
Tilting his head back, Norman points to a quarter-sized scar beneath the right side of his chin. The Pastor's seen the same scar on Helena's neck. "I got this at a government facility…" Norman says in a deep voice, "where I was kept like a lab rat, locked up and thrown away like Sunday's garbage. No trial, no nothin', just a cold, dark cell and m'faith keeping me alive."
Norman's blue eyes narrow slightly. "Your Helena, she likes to say a lot about not bein' violent. But do you know how my brothers and sisters got out've that hellhole?" His voice raises on the end there. "Phoenix came in, guns blazing, after blowin' the hell out of the guard towers. They killed half'a the people working there, if not more, to rescue their people an' liberate us."
Rolling his head to the side, Norman's brows furrow. "So what's the difference between those deaths there, and the deaths of th' politicians and government workers who let this shit happen? Where's your line gonna' be drawn, Pastor? It ain't never about the violence, it's about the result of the violence." His tongue rolls across the inside of his cheek. "God had to blow up Sodom and Gomorrah because'a what they were. How's what I'm doin' any different? I was given this gift, so's I could work God's will on earth. Peaceful, pacifistic? None'a that ain't gonna matter, if they come for us all again. Next time there ain't gonna' be no jails, just bullets."
That gets a nod from McCoy, though it is certainly not the best of things he's ever heard as far as solving a 'just the two of us' problem. Still it is better than nothing, and he's likely not going to go-showing his hand one way or the other on that particular issue. However White has his attention at the moment.
Eyes scan over the small pock like mark which would scream almost to have been either a former smallpox scar, or something from a vaccination-all the same he's seen it before, on several people. And he will let Norman have his words, in fact Scotch seems quite content to remain silent for a few minutes more after White's own tale and opinion is expressed.
Clearing his throat the Texan doesn't let his own blues trail from Norman's now-not one bit. "She likes to say what she believes, and I happen to believe is right-however, do not think of me as ignorant to Phoenix's past or it's present." And with that Scotch slowly moves to stand just a little, though he'll remain close-perched by the table. "I know- force has been used before and will again probably, but the difference is right now-Phoenix isn't looking for a war-Not one with bullets anyway." And there's a tilt of the Pastor's head "You familiar with the notion of just war, Norman? See when just war- was thought up, it was a way to keep the nations of Christendom from killing each other like idiots. And to handle about when and where you fight. It is to be on the defensive-never the offensive. Sure, if SWAT or someone came in here right now and started shooting, I'd spect you lot to fight back. I sure as shit know I would.." and a hand raises "But, attacking before you were attacked- That's something different, man. Specially attacking some, that may or may not have known of you- or your secret prison.."
A pause "I am not saying what anyone has done to you is -right-. Far from it. But, what I am saying it is better to forgive before you decide to bring in vengeance. Yeah- God did level Sodom and Gamorrah, but he gave Abraham time to find just one righteous, serious man. Just one in both and God almighty would have spared both cities. Then later on in the time when the Jews were under the Romans' thumb he gave them another leader. His only son, who taught something radical. Instead of fighting to fuck all over who is right or wrong- he preached forgiveness. Not necessarily peaceful or overtly pacifistic-as it goes against society to do that.. Course he ended up on a cross."
A lick of his lips. "Norman, if they come at you now, it is because you got blood on your hands." And with that he moves his own hand up to rub his jaw. "I spect if you want to go off Sodom and Gomorrah- Give someone a damned chance then to find someone who is willing to speak up for our rights, and is willing to forgive-Old time retribution is not now. Hell it is not for us, because we're fear'd… You wanna play at Messiah, You wanna be the man to lead us- then I urge you to do it Peacefully. Who cares who threw the first fucking stone. Don't throw the next unless you have to. Killin innocents only beings killin right back on you..Live by the sword."
A pause "It guts you clean through."
For all his worth, Doc looks as pale as a sheet when Scotch goes to talk back to Norman, but somehow the words the Pastor gives don't turn the giant of a man into a spitting, seething ball of rage. Rather unexpectedly, White hunkers down in his stool and folds his hands, resting his mouth on the backs of his thumbs as he listens to Scotch. The occasional nod, a look of disquiet in the large man's eyes, like some great grizzly bear tamed to some semblance of sanity by the smell of food or a gentle song.
"Phoenix was that one person…" Norman finally speaks up. "They tried their hand, and it ain't gotten us nowhere, Pastor." Not so much fervor as it is regret in White's voice now. "Our kind threw the first stone, back when that explosion happened an' all those people died. We're the ones who've been tryin' to play catch-up to everyone else. But it ain't workin, Pastor. It's been tried, people tried, but there's gonna' be a reckoning coming, and I've been on the inside of their idea of control about us too long. M'not waiting for them to come back to finish the job, a'can't."
Seemingly stunned by the civility of Norman's words, Doc just remains absolutely quiet, so as to not spook the seemingly complacent bear into more action. "People're gonna' be 'fraid of us no matter what. Before I even brought odwn that building and took all those lives, people were 'fraid of us. Something lie Humanis First wouldn't exist if they weren't." A sigh escapes the giant, fingers wringing together. "I ain't got much time left in this world, Pastor," blue eyes go up to look at the man with a worried look in his eyes, "God's only giving me so long to make my mark on this world he gave us, then he's takin' me back. If I have t'die so that all of you, the ones who won't fight don't ever have to? Then I'll go, and I'll make the war and I'll fight it till' the end. But don't think m'doing this outta' revenge. I'm doing this because the people elected to protect us, are the ones crushing us. We have t'crush back, 'fore the world steps on us and never lets off. It's us or them, Pastor. I didn't start this war, but I'll be damned if I'm going t'sit on the sideline— "
"Norman," comes a voice from the back door interrupting the speech, followed by the clomp of boots headed through one of the back halls out into the main floor. The man entering in isn't a familiar one, tall, wiry in the way a basketball player in. The dark shade of his skin matches well with the black leather of his motorcycle jacket. Pulling sunglasses off, he turns a startled stare towards Scotch, then looks expectantly back towards Norman as he approaches the table. "Hey, man, I got in touch with the brothers downtown, they're gonna roll up as soon as you give the call." A look is flicked to Scotch. "Who's he?"
"Knox." Comes the abrupt rebuke from Norman, a hand raised in the stranger's direction, "this is Pastor Scotch. He's one of Helena Dean's people." There's a hesitant look afforded to the pastor at that regard. "Go wait outside," he adds with an incline of his head, "I'm almost done here." Knox turns an uncertain look towards Scotch, tucking some rolled up maps under his arm that he had carried in. There's a nod of his head, and a look to Doc, and Knox begins to walk backwards towards the rear door.
"We don't agree on things, that much I see, Pastor. So I'll just let you go, and hope that no matter which one of us is right, we get people saved." There's a crease of Norman's brows, followed by a nod of his head. "Was there anythin' else you needed, Pastor?"
"I ain't sitting on the sidelines, nor the fences for this one. An th' work Phoenix is doing is taking time, but its working. Don't give up, right a god damned way, because you don't feel like there is hope out there no more." Scotch's words come back. "Don't go dyin' before it is your time. Regardless or not if we agree, or disagree. That moment- that moment you quit thinkin of hope and start thinkin' that we're just gonna get walked on, is when we will. Don't push a hand.. Not now. Not when there are people out there who want to get rid of scum like Humanis First- an see that nothing more happens with us-"
Scotch's words of advice are cut short as the other fellow comes in. There's a look back over to the newest member. Blue eyes play between the two figures And even then remain focused on Knox and what he takes with him as he exits. There's a faint shake of his head .
"I guess we do not.." As for anything else there's a faint shake of his head. "No, son. I spect there isn't." And a pause as the Pastor remains where he is for the moment. "Either way- Would you like me to pray for you?"
There's a quiet look from Norman to Scotch at that question, head tilted to the side and brows furrowed. The answer only comes a moment later, with a slow nod of the blonde man's head. "An' I'll do the same for you," he admits with reluctance. "Thank you for stoppin' by, Pastor. Hopefully, one day, we won't be needing to do things like that anymore. Not out of disagreements like this."
Rising up from his seat, his blue eyes level on Scotch for a moment more, before he turns towards the direction Knox left in. "Good luck, Pastor. With you and yours."