[Game 18] Endgame

[arsgoetia]

It's early morning by the time they tidy up the house and fix the windows—leaving it as neat as they'd entered it, Tristan promises—and head out. Tristan seems to be itching to just get away from the place, though they can't return to the church, and it's now New Year's Day—so they head back across the border to the house in New York. Even Sariel comes along—albeit reluctantly—at Tristan's suggestion.

"To my understanding," Tristan says, "the kid's with Sera right now, which I'm cool with. I was a bit rough on him, so he might be sleeping it off for another little while—and like you all said, he might be a bit freaked out to see a dozen people staring at him. So let's leave him there for now. I can send you all home." He pauses.

"But if you want to come back soon . . . I can bring you back. No agenda necessary. If you don't want to come—well, let me know, and I'll try not to bring you."

Comments

[troublebrewing]

[eyes widen, taking in a sharp breath]

... ah.

And you disobeyed her.

[psychopompous]

I—was dishonest . . .

[troublebrewing]

Oh, Sariel... thank you.

[psychopompous]

[?!]

What.

[troublebrewing]

Is that strange? To thank you for helping us, at the cost of yourself?

[psychopompous]

I have no use for gratitude.

[troublebrewing]

I'm sure you'll find something to do with it.

[psychopompous]

Nothing pleasant.

[troublebrewing]

That's up to you.

There was another question I wanted to ask... but it might be a little too personal.

[psychopompous]

. . .

You won't be the first. Go ahead.

[troublebrewing]

What's it like to be loved by God?

[psychopompous]

. . .

You are loved by God, too.

[troublebrewing]

[shakes her head]

No, I'm not. I can't be. Even if you tell me that... I can't. I just want to know what it's like.

[psychopompous]

Mm, well, God's most beloved children tend not to realize it.

[troublebrewing]

I'm asking about you, though.

[psychopompous]

I cannot explain.

[troublebrewing]

... can you try? Please?

[psychopompous]

. . .

[exhales slowly]

You feel the warmth of the sun, but because your eyes are closed, you claim that you are in the dark.

[troublebrewing]

Are your eyes closed, then?

[psychopompous]

I have no time for this sort of willful, maudlin sentimentality.

[troublebrewing]

Why? Is there somewhere else you want to be?

[psychopompous]

No, which says something about the situation.

[troublebrewing]

It does.

I won't ask you anything else.

[psychopompous]

. . .

[exhales slowly, stepping over to her and putting a hand on her shoulder]

[troublebrewing]

[glances up at him, surprised]