Ritual in Flight

Chapter 8

Papa

Papa rose from his knees from in front of his makeshift alter. He may be on an unholy quest but that did not mean the dark pope could abandon his practices and daily rituals. He chanted the last words of his vows and drank the blood to complete the last of the day. Blowing out the candles, hoping they wouldn't set off the fire alarm, he asked for lucifer to continue to guide he and his ghouls towards their goal. Both in ritual and their search of the woman. He walked to the closet and retrieved a hanger. Placing his embellished robes on them and replacing them inside, he wished to hear any response at all from the Master. He would stay silent for hours afterwards, keeping his mind clear in desperation to hear anything, even one sound, from Lucifer. At times, he never heard words, just music. A guitar riff here, a keyboard line there. Only a rare,few occasions had he been granted a full song to make into reality. For the ritual concerts. More often he was given feelings that inspired the songs he wrote for the masses to hear. Songs about the gaze he felt or the lust Lucifer felt for it all. Other times, Papa had simply put into songs his views on the world and its intriguing mess. The unusual complexity of their mix up of faith and normal human morality. The oppression of female sexuality. He couldn't understand their fear of it. Papa, though fully in love with a ghoul, knew the immense beauty that was the female sexuality. Both strong and complex, yet simple and stunning. Truly a sigh to behold. How could any man or person fear it so?

Papa, now having sauntered around his room in the dead quiet, sighed heavily and decided to pour a drink. He knew the warm embrace of alcohol would at least soothe his nerves, is the thoughts in his mind would just hush now. So many questions which needed more answers than he was able to reach. Drinking the sweet nectar, he felt the glowing burn through his entire body. A smile crept across his face as he eagerly awaited is full effects to play in him. The lost inhibition, the lulling of care, the slight numbing of his muscles. All mixed together with the slightest giggle that would escape him from time to time. He was thankful no one saw him in such a state. It wasn't frowned upon by the unholy church to indulge in such ways, but he never wished to make a fool of the kind he had become.

The silence grew, deafening almost. He continued sipping from his ornate goblet, walking towards the only other moving thing in the room. A Clock. He carefully watch the hands slowly tick away, hearing only slightly the gears behind them. It was maddening.

:In all this silence, I can hear nothing yet? Will you not speak to me?! Any sign would be nice!:

Papa set the cup down and flung himself onto the bed, sprawling out to take up as much room as his tiny frame possibly could.

:Anything at all, Master:

He did not want to sleep, far to involved with the drink to let the feelings fade away so quickly, he gently rolled around causing waves in his vision.

:Maybe you'll show me something if you will not speak.:

The waves settled. Nothing. Nothing was shown to the dark pope.

:Are you with her? Watching her closely and invading her thoughts? IS she the true earner of your gaze and words?: Papa though, almost jealous of the imagined scene. He shook it away and rose to check the time. Nearly dusk. He went about gathering his small bag of supplies for the night ahead.

:Perhaps, if i find you, the lady of flight,... just maybe....he will favor me once again:

He closed the door and slid through the hall to the staircase, out through the exit door and began his walk, under the cover of sunset..