Encore

Salt

He delivers Sypha back to the rest of the Speakers and everyone's happy. "Stay here until I get back," he tells them. "I've got to go get threatened by godly men."

"You're very chipper," Sypha's grandfather observes.

"I've been looking forward to it," he admits. Vainglory's only when you're not right, he's real sure of that one. "It's a lot funnier in retrospect. They're all dead, anyway."

That gets a complaint out of one of the younger Speakers, the helpful loudmouth one who'd originally told him about Sypha. "No, I mean -" Trevor starts. "They die later tonight, all as a consequence of their own actions, and I'll stick with words right now, like you like." Admittedly, the consequence of their actions were mostly going to be getting killed by him in self-defense or stabbed by his inciting their mob back at them but, details. It had basically not been his fault. "And. Silver lining of all this, things do get better for everyone else after demons eat most of the clergy. Like instead of burning Sypha on a stake for knowing magic it'll be called divine favor."

It's quiet enough he can hear the candles sputtering.

"Uh." He looks at Sypha. "Shit. They knew you could use magic, right?" What the fuck is he saying, of course they knew, they're Speakers, they're not all hung up about that, so -

There's a bang on the door. "Belmont!"

"That's early," he says. He turns to answer it but hesitates. "Sypha, forget it, get them into the catacombs by yourself," he orders. The mob could be early too. "You move while they're busy escorting me, then don't go any further than that cyclops corpse, I'll be down to meet you really soon." He jerks the door open, hops across the threshold, and slams it behind him before the assorted priests finish registering what he's doing.

Then they all point sharp things at him, but fuck, God, he wasn't scared by this lot back when he wasn't already dead.

"It is great to see you again," he tells them. "Really. It's going to be more great to see you getting knifed later, but -"

Ow. Getting poked by the sharp things still hurts. Where does everyone get the energy for this? "Hey," Trevor snaps. "You're not going to like it if I can't come quietly."

"You're not in any position to be making demands," the grandfather-beating asshole tells him.

He totally is. Well, was. Not so much now. "Alright, fair," Trevor tells the sky. "Though I think theologically I'm within my rights to at least argue, aren't I?"

"No, you are not. As an excommunicated - "

Trevor pinches his nose. "Wasn't talking to you. And I'm not - I mean you died before that happened, but - Look. Let's just get to the bishop and move this along."

The rest of Gresit should be making themselves scarce. Everyone knows that a lot of priests with pointy things making a fuss about someone doesn't end well for anyone else who gets pulled in either. You put your head down and you pretend you don't see it.

But people are craning their necks out of windows and alleys as they walk by.

Trevor waves and bellows, "Sorry about the delay! I'll be at the western courtyard in - would you stop that!" He twists out of the way of One-eye's knife and kicks the man's feet out from under him. "I am trying to get to your goddamned murderous bishop to be threatened! I'd already be there if you'd get out of my way!"

Apparently that's priest for 'please skewer me'.

He wouldn't say he's particularly great in close quarters. There's plenty of monsters that can turn you to paste in a single blow so it's wiser to fight at a distance. These priests, however, stab and swipe like they expect his only countermove to be cowering. And he's certainly had practice with getting clear. He just has to punch one in the face and he's free of their shitty attempt at encircling him. Breaks the man's nose nicely in the process.