logs | (open) just a plain and simple chapel

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(open) just a plain and simple chapel

WHO: Bruno Madrigal and whoever wanders out his way.
WHERE: Barrens, an abandoned chapel amongst the ruins.
WHEN: vague hand waggle over the month
WHAT: Bruno, unable to not be some local cryptid, has taken up residence in a ruined chapel rather than living in the city like a regular person.
WARNINGS: n/a

clean-up.

[ In the first week of wandering into the chapel and deciding that may as well be where he remained for the time being, Bruno's time was split between sitting in a dusty old pew and staring blankly at the wall ahead and, then, picking up refuse scattered around the place and tossing it out the east side of the chapel, right off the edge of where the Barren's most abandoned Vestige curls downward towards the chasm that the rest of it collapsed into.

It was an easy way of getting rid of, well, a lot. The place was cluttered with broken wood and stone and overgrown with weeds and scratchy thorn bushes, not to mention vines. While the broken wood would be kept, the rest? The rest could go.

It would not be unusual to come across him trying his best to rip out a thorn bush that's grown through a window with his bare hands, with plenty of pauses to mutter and grumble or for him to cringe away when he got a particularly nasty poke from a thorn. ]

...y'know, one of those scythes would actually be useful right now...

[ Or some gloves. Gloves would work, too. ]

ruins are for looting, every adventure novel says so.

[ But once he — and perhaps a little help — have tidied the chapel up enough, it was time to find a way to make it more comfortable. Bruno hadn't gone looking for a job just yet. To be truthful, he wasn't sure how one did that, as his only job had ever been overwhelmingly unpopular oracle and that sure didn't look good on paper. That meant he would have to source his home goods from somewhere a bit more, uh, left behind.

It does mean rattling around the other abandoned ruins of buildings that litter the Barren, however, and that isn't necessarily safe, now is it?

To anyone else happening by, they'll hear a large crack of something breaking, followed by a startled yell and the telltale thud of someone landing heavily in one of the ruined, haphazardly leaning buildings nearby. ]

festive.

[ And last but not least, decorating. For the holiday, in fact. By the third week of the month, the chapel is looking... a little better? As in it doesn't have garbage and infinite overgrowth clogging up the floor and windows and Bruno's managed to dust it enough so he isn't constantly sneezing. Holes in the roof have been patched. They could use some work still, as some of the rain does leak in now and again, but hey, he can worry about that later.

What's important now is that some kind Restless lady in the city offered him her leftover decorations for Respite after he helped her put them up outside her own residence. Gleaming gold-toned ornaments that catch and reflect the moonlight, and other little baubles that give off a marigold and ginger-colored glow; they were a treat to put up back at the chapel and add a splash of color to an otherwise dreary place. Better yet, speaking of treats, he'd picked up some on the way back out of the city. It'd been a surprisingly nice day, this day, to end up with any of this at all.

So it might be the spots of bright orange light that draw the eye or the drifting scent of the little campfire within, boiling up firstdawn tea to go with the sundrop cake he managed to get his hands on, that beckons you closer to the little chapel. It's no trap. It's just Bruno, merrily humming in a rare good mood as he works on stringing up the decorations along one of the windows. ]

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The Reapers' scythes? (jonas has the appropriacy to sound aghast, forcing a pew upright with a grunt of effort.) Don't even. I still have bruises from those assholes. I know, like, hashtag "not all Reapers," but I think most of them probably suck—watch your hands with those, I don't have any bandaids.

(he rests for a moment in the seat he's created for himself, flapping the front of his tank top to air himself out.

it's beautiful, in a vintage way. the bones of the chapel are strong, and jonas decides he's a fan of the exposed plaster and brick of its walls. while the structure is senescent, giving off an air that no one but the truest disciples of god belongs here, he also feels comfortable. his soul feels less... stretched. there's no need to act bold or better than he is here, having previously felt thinned out and twisted by fear.)

I think the ceiling's wood should be, like, completely uncovered. I mean, that drywall-looking stuff that's chipping off of it looks way worse. I don't even know how to get up there, though... might be a future project.

Well, yeah, but that doesn't change that a scythe to cut these out would be really... [ And he rips another chunk of thorny brush up with a grimace. He knew he was scratching his hands up doing this but that didn't change that it had to be done. ] ...useful. Ugh.

[ He tosses the spiky flora aside with the rest that he's pulled up so far and turns to look up, at the ceiling that Jonas has mentioned. It does still look like a patchy mess with drywall peeling off and full of cracks. Whether the wood under it is any healthier, well. He hasn't been up there yet, either. ]

Mm. Maybe? We'd need a, uh, scaffolding to do that. We'd have to build one on our own and that might take a while.

[ Hence why it would be a future project. ]

(scaffolding. that's a pretty big job, but it lingers in the back of jonas' mind as his fingers drum idly on a knee. short rest coming to a close, he leans forward to wipe at his forehead and breathe.)

Hey, uh, this guy said he'd take care of my finances here, (he begins, and the whole thing immediately sounds dubious.) Like, he'll get me whatever I want. So, maybe I can get him to chip into getting us some tools. That'd help with a lot of this.

(with that, he stands again with a clap at his thighs, head on a swivel looking for something to do. the floor needs a desperate sweeping, but that's a last-minute item, so instead jonas refocuses his efforts on clearing the aisles and picking up segments of fallen ceiling.)

I wonder how old it all is. It looks, like... less than modern, but maybe somebody came through and trashed it, you know?

[ A guy said he'd take care of Jonas' finances— excuse him, what? Bruno's tugging on the next set of thornbush comes to an immediate half and he leeeeans over, peering around the thorny little branches to stare uncertainty at Jonas. ]

Uh, Jonas. I know I grew up, like, really isolated myself, but that's... that's definitely too good to be true. [ Forget about whether or not someone specifically trashed this place in the past, that other comment? More important. Immediately. ] Who is this guy?

...

(the gears, they turn and turn.)

Do you think so? I don't know, (jonas tosses drywall into a neat pile by the entrance and dusts his hands off in a series of claps. throwing a curious look over his shoulder at bruno, he lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug.) Set seemed pretty into the idea. It was, like, in a "you're my responsibility, Jonas" kind of way.

(mimicking set is highly unflattering, for jonas gives him an exaggeratedly low, dopey voice that sounds nothing at all like the real deal.)

It's gonna sound crazy, but he's an Egyptian God. Have you met him yet?

Wh... yes? Yes, I do think so!

[ Jonas! Jonas, that's weird! Like, suspiciously weird rather than harmlessly weird like Bruno happened to be. Bruno leaves off debrushing the place and rubs his hands down the cloth of his ruana, wincing faintly as fabric ran over where little thorns had pricked at his fingers. ]

I mean, first of all, if he's really an Egyptian God... [ And oh boy, does Bruno sound doubtful. ] Why would he be in purgatory? And. And second, why would he take responsibility for you? Is he, like, expecting something? In return?

(idling, he never truly keeps still. his anxiety might as well form a layer just beneath his skin for all the fidgeting he performs, which is why cigarettes come in handy. smoking in a chapel, however, is blasphemous.

so, jonas settles on shifting his weight from one leg to the other.)

Huh. Uh, you've got a pretty solid point, actually, but, like, I saw his fighting moves. It really seems like he's legit. (an egyptian god in purgatory—maybe that is something he should ask set about.) Apart from that, we kind of helped each other out in the Shadowlands. I know it sounds weird, but it's actually...

(feeling a little bit lame, he reaches down to better position his foot on a too-large piece of drywall, snapping it against the sole of his shoe.)

... nice, I guess. It feels safer to have somebody that strong watching my back. A couple people have offered to look out for me. Have you met anybody like that yet?

[ If only Jonas had started with the Shadowlands part, Bruno's worries may have abated before even beginning. When he mentions it now, though, after the fact, it still helps. Bruno backs off the judgment a little, the idea of Set being some random person looming out of the shadows to do... whatever. Nefarious things? Well, regardless, that idea, at least, gets swept away.

It's not as if Jonas knows Bruno any better than that, now that he thinks of it. ]

Oh. You... hm. I guess that's not as, uh. Weird, then.

[ Bruno comments awkwardly, as per usual, and decides to give the thornbushes a break. He moves on to another task, leaving Jonas to manage the fallen drywall while he goes to start clearing dust and cobwebs, trash, and other refuse off of the altars near the foremost point of the chapel. ]

I mean, it's still kinda questionable how he'd just be able to handle everything. It's not like he could've showed up here with, like, stuff. [ Resources, money, you know, stuff. ] Guess he just really believes in himself...

[ Now that would be nice, believing in one's self, and Bruno's about to get another reminder of that lack in himself when Jonas mentions Set isn't the only one to offer to watch Jonas' back. It's nice, actually. It means he has friends, right? Which is good for Jonas.

Bruno, however... He pauses in picking up some drywall that had landed on part of the altar; it had cracked some of the wood before crumbling from the impact if the angle of the damage and the way the drywall scattered says anything. It's a small thing, that pause, but it's there, that moment he sorts through the variety of people he's met and— ]

Me? [ He carries on tidying up the altar after that. ] Oh, no, definitely not. I mean, I'm fifty. If I can't take care of myself by now, it'd be kind of hopeless, right?

Not as weird, (jonas laughs, certain it'd sound like set was scheming with any amount of context. this is false, though, so they're able to poke fun at it together, and he still reaps the benefits of having someone looking out for him.)

He must check out the noticeboard stuff or... must be planning to. Maybe he'll get a stable job. Being a trophy wife doesn't sound too bad. (perhaps the worst timing for a bad joke, but nothing is off-limits to jonas on a tear, and he appears to be having a grand old time not being the most awkward one in a room. that award goes to bruno, a landslide victory.) I'm just messing with you. I'm honestly not sure about the "how," but hey, if paying for my cigarettes is what's gonna make him happy here, then he can knock himself out, right?

(he takes a second to really look at bruno, wandering toward the altar. eyes then lift upward to the chapel's back wall, admiring it with a hum.) You don't look fifty. I'm not just saying that, either... maybe it's the height.

... What do you think about the whole "soulmate" thing?

[ At least Bruno realizes it's a joke, even if it is a bad one. It gets a quiet laugh out of him as he carries on tidying up the altar. ]

I don't know. I think you need better hair to qualify as a trophy wife.

[ Ah, a low blow from a man who definitely has perfect curls no matter what, likely thanks to magic. Well, maybe thanks to magic. He may just be plain lucky. That may also help him look less than fifty, although Jonas saying as much has him turning to look his way and raise an eyebrow. ]

You think? Well, I do always say that my sisters stole my height. [ That's his own personal joke, only it may not make much sense without context. ] The soulmate thing, though... I. Have no idea, I guess? I'd like to think soulmates are real but. Not this way. You don't just look one up on a. App? It's an app, right? Is that the word?

(CRITICAL HIT.

the teenager's hands fly up to a head of fluffy brown hair, accidentally sprinkling it with drywall dust from the boards he'd been snapping.)

Oh, what— (jonas splutters, now openly smiling at the easier mood.) Not the 'do, man; did my hair dunk on your height or did I? Your sisters would know what I'm talking about. You must've been bullied by them a lot as a kid.

(short people: undoubtedly the brunt of all height-related jokes since human beings could communicate with each other.)

You got it, though. "App" is just short for "application." It's weird, right? Like, I definitely need to get to know somebody first. On top of that, soulmates have to share feelings and stuff. What if it doesn't stabilize you and backfires, you know? There isn't gonna be a lot of happy-go-lucky emotions floating around.

[ It starts in good cheer. Bruno even laughs again, a smile spreading across his face afterward merely at the thought of his sisters. Bullying him? Well, he gives his head a small shake. ]

Only whenever Pepa got mad at me but that wasn't too often. We're all the same age but they always treated me like the little brother, y'know? Kind of protective, ah...

[ Only he has no idea what's happened to them now. His own last memories, the ground quaking, the house collapsing around him, everyone had been inside, the last he recalled, and the specter of not knowing if his family is alive or dead like him returns to haunt him. Bruno's smile falters, fades, and he looks away from Jonas. Even though he turns back to the altar, he merely places his hands on it, no longer making even a half-hearted effort to clean it off. ]

Mm, it's weird, right? I can't really imagine sharing that kind of stuff with a stranger. Or. Or anyone, really.

I don't know, but I kinda wish I did. I mean, I have a stepsister, but we—I'd just met her. I didn't really know her as well as I would've liked to.

(pepa. jonas smirks, imagining having two "older" sisters and what that must've been like. as a single child, he has no idea how to share that limelight with others. it might've made things easier on him growing up. it might've done the opposite.

eyes on bruno's back, he lifts his shoulders a little. it's defensive body language, subconsciously employed to protect himself from a waning mood and the fact that it's his fault.)

... You must... miss them a lot, huh?

[ It's a rough subject to come to, no matter how positive a light it may have begun in. Bruno wouldn't blame Jonas for asking, for bringing up the ever-lingering reminder that he's here and they're...

He's not sure. Still alive and well, he hopes dearly. ]

I do... I. We hadn't really, um, spoken in. In ten years or so, s-so.

[ It's a complicated mess and he immediately feels bad for dragging Jonas into it, even with something as simple as that knowledge. He gives his head a shake before turning to look back his way. ]

So, a stepsister! [ No, they can focus on Jonas' family instead. ] That's. That's, well... I'm sorry you never got to know her better. What did you know? What's her name?

(it's a long time to be away from family, something jonas can't imagine. always curious, he wonders why that is; did they have a falling out? it's none of his business—doubly so, bruno being so much older than him. it'd be weird for a teenager to ask a middle-aged man about his estrangement.

so, he does what he's prompted to do and answers the questions asked to him.)

Um, her name's Alex. (jonas glances away, up pew aisles and toward the main entrance.)

Alex was difficult to talk to sometimes. One second we'd be just talking, and in the next, she'd be pretty rude or shoot me down. It might've been our situation preventing us from connecting, you know? And, like... to be fair to her, I may talk a lot or whatever, but that doesn't make me the easiest guy to get along with.

She's brave, though. And just really smart... like, way smarter than me.

[ It's not as though he wouldn't do his best to explain the reason for such a long estrangement from his sisters but... Bruno similarly assumes it'd be bizarre to vent about his depressing life to some poor teenager. As he's reminded himself plenty of times already, Jonas hardly deserves that. So he'll keep it to himself. He'll just keep everything to himself, the way it should be. ]

I mean, that's kind of normal for siblings, to be honest. Even when you're close to one another, you get on each other's nerves or space or. Y'know, stuff. It's not like my sisters were never rude to me or... hm... well, mostly Pepa, I guess.

[ Bruno and Pepa had "issues" to deal with. Julieta was the truly nice and perfect one. ]

Julieta was just. Patient. A lot. [ That Sibling. Jonas may not have experience with that himself but some sibling stereotypes ring true across any world. ] I'm sure she didn't like... dislike you. Since it sounded like you at least did talk? Uh, for what it's worth, anyway. Which... isn't a lot, huh?

[ Now that they're dead. It keeps coming back to that, doesn't it? ]

I get the angle you're coming at this from, but I don't think it works that way with strangers. You grew up with Pepa and Julieta, and they grew up with you. You, like... you get to know each other on this weird level I've never—

Alex knew. She had a brother before me. Might've been why she was so hesitant to get another.

(any garbage and debris on the shallow steps up to the stage and altar are cleared by jonas. if bruno throws something down in his dutiful cleaning, it's swept up by grasping hands and laid in their steadily growing trash pile.

it's a good distraction.)

You're—you have trouble talking sometimes, right? So you know how bad it feels to just... try to carry on a conversation you know someone's barely listening to. It's, like, one of the most unique forms of torture.

... I wish people would tell me straight up that they don't like me. You only have two options to pick from after that: you change or say your goodbyes.

[ They get you, Jonas says, but... had that ever really been true? ]

Maybe this was a bad topic to get on. [ Bruno finally admits with a sigh. He's stopped clearing off the altar and stares down at it instead, hands resting lightly on the dusty wooden surface. ] But yeah, it... it does feel pretty bad. I mean, not that I expected the rats to ever really listen to me, although the people could have been a little, I dunno, nicer about it. Sometimes?

(drawing slowly out of a stoop, jonas looks to the altar and bruno standing at it.)

You've got rats? Like, pet rats? (here it comes, though it's not said with disgust. on the contrary, jonas sounds envious.) That's so cool. Man, pets are great for that. They're just an unjudgemental audience, which is more than I can say about even the nicest people I've met. Everybody's got a mean streak in them.

I've been told over and over to just "try" with them, but I'm like... if they don't try, then why should I, right?

(on the tail-end of his rant, wind gone from his sails, his shoulders lift in a self-conscious shrug.)

You know... if we stuck to nice topics all the time, everyone would run out of things to talk about.

Pet rats? Oh, no, no, not. They weren't pets. [ He turns away from the altar to look at Jonas instead. ] They were just, y'know, rats. I did build some stuff for them to play with and little ramps and bridges to help them get around the place I lived but they were wild, I guess?

[ Just random wild rats, in his space, all over his things. It's fine. ]

It was nice to have the company even if they did get into all the food and slept in my cups and... [ He trails off a bit. If they stuck to nice topics, they'd run out of things to talk about, huh? ] I know we can't always talk about nice stuff but I've spent most of my life upsetting people, Jonas. I don't... want to upset you, too?

Oh.

(alright, a bit stranger than initially anticipated. jonas tries to keep the judgement out of his voice, but there's no preventing some from slipping in out of surprise. still, his rebound is far better.)

Bet they were something nice to focus on. Like, when you're alone and have nothing else to do, you can fixate on just about anything. I'm glad it was rats. Empathy doesn't drop off that way, you know? (for him, stuck in juvenile detention for a year, his focus was on pictures. cigarettes that got sneaked in, too, even a couple of the other teenagers. after a while he felt very little for all of it—all of them.

something alive... that would've been different.

there's nothing comparable about their situations, but thinking of them this way helps him to be kind.)

You're not gonna upset me, man. I'm not just saying that because everybody says that, either. Everyone has downs... everyone has rock bottoms. I spent my life upsetting people, too, so... I don't know. Commiserating isn't so bad, is it?

[ Fixate on just about anything, huh? Yeah, like bad luck and superstitions and telenovelas but oh, he'd never do that. Nope. Not him. Bruno does a terrible job of looking shifty when Jonas talks about fixations when alone with nothing else to do, gaze darting away, and he fidgets with his ruana awkwardly. ]

Mm, yeah, that... that sure is a thing. [ But he already knew he was a weirdo, so there's that. ] But if you really mean I won't upset you, then, alright. I'll. Try not to avoid talking about stuff, in that case.

All this is real.

(adamantly, jonas continues.)

You, me, the sad crap, the stupid or weird or scary crap—all of it. It's real and it's happening this second. If we ignore that... we'll just be making problems for ourselves in the future.

(flustered, not wanting to share what's on his mind, he turns from bruno and steps away from the altar.)

... I'm... I'm gonna get back to work.

[ See, that only confirms that Bruno has, once again, messed up. When people suddenly don't want to talk, it's because he messed up and they don't like him now and clearly that's what's happening here. Could some of that be his shadow talking shit to him?

Yes, yes it is, but, frankly, his shadow doesn't need all that much help to get to that point. ]

...right, yeah.

[ In any case, Bruno takes that as the end of their conversation. He turns back to his own work as well, to carry on in silence. ]

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(open) just a plain and simple chapel

clean-up.

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