On Supernatural Warfare

IC Time: 1:15 pm, August 16th 2007
Location: St. Anne's Catholic Church
Synopsis: Vincent and Lenka discuss the impending 'war;' Vincent does not take up Lenka's proposition.
Submitted by: Lenka

Sunday mass is over and no doubt most of the individuals hanging around socializing are leaving — or just about to — as Lenka's rental car makes its way into the parking lot of the small-town church. She's dressed in her Sunday best, though in this town, it still looks out of place among the gentle, flowing dresses of the women and the flowery blouses. She wears a tan suit, impeccably pressed, worn over a crisp white shirt. A pair of shined high heels are on her feet; they sink into the mud as she crosses the lot and enters the church's social hall. She walks with a deliberate slowness at first, finding one of the nuns in the hall. "Hello," she says in lightly accented English, "Please, can you tell me where I'd find the priest?" The nun kindly points toward Vincent's office and Lenka is on her way, her walk considerably more determined. She pauses outside of the office and knocks, though her head turns to explore further down the hall as she waits.

The knock at the office is met with an immediate response in the form of a gentle man's tenor, "Come right in. Mind the step." Upon entering, she would find an austere office with little in the way of decoration. Such should be expected… The bookshelves full of white notebooks are probably less usual, as well as the strange contraption on the desk that she may or may not recognize as a Braille typewriter. The Father himself sits in a comfortable chair in the corner with one of the notebooks, though he is already folding it and setting it aside as he stands. "Can I help you?" he asks, with a friendly, curious expression half-hidden behind the large black panes of his glasses.

Lenka turns the doorknob and opens the door in a smooth motion, taking a chance to sweep a glance across the tiny office before stepping inside, taking the time to close the door behind her. The father would be met with the scent of vanilla and musk, and the sound of Lenka taking the liberty to sit in the chair that is presumably across from his desk. "Hello, Father," she says, tone rather husky. There is a pause as she inclines her head and waits for recognition, though soon enough, she supplies it herself: "I believe we 'met' in the forest. I had something of yours, which, I presume, you have back now." She brings her hands back to grab her length of braids and bring them around to sit on her right shoulder. "I'm very interested in talking with you more, and perhaps offering you a proposition. I'm Lenka, by the way. I understand it was a traumatic night of sorts, not sure if you remember." Her tone turns a bit gentler as she reviews the events of the night.

The friendly smile fades to a frown as the scent reaches him, though he never quite manages to look as forbidding as he would like. There's something ultimately good-natured about him that will never quite go away, however disapproving he would like to appear. Rather than join her at the desk, he takes the care to return his notebook to the bookshelf while she speaks. "I doubt you have any proposition that would interest me, Lenka. From what I understand, your…people are a danger to my congregation to begin with. Furthermore, you wish to put them into even more danger by turning our town into a war zone. I want no part of that. And if I didn't believe there were those who will act to stop you, I'd be encouraging everyone I know to leave town immediately. It's still under consideration, for that matter." In spite of his quiet tones and a calm slight smile, there's a firmness to his voice, and a slight sharpness that suggests he means every word. Still, he returns to the desk to sit, and carefully folds his hands on the desk, waiting politely for her to either continue her speech or leave.

The swish of crisp material can be heard as Lenka crosses her legs neatly in front of her and then drapes her hands on the side of her chair, listening to Vincent's response. As she listens, her expression darkens dangerously, in a way it probably would not if the man were not blind. "From what you understand, of course, being the keyword," she speaks up in response, shaking her head. "Allow me to further explain. Allow me time to talk to you, to help you understand the future of humanity, should we continue to sit in oblivion." She pauses, as if to allow the drama of her statement to sink in. "And if you won't allow that, at least allow me to propose my deal. You give me twenty minutes at next Sunday's mass to talk with your congregation — arguably the largest gathering of folks in Forks. In exchange, I can offer you money. Somehow, I don't think that should sway you. Therefore, I offer you a key position in my organization. Help us to make this transition safe for all the people of Forks. If it is, as dangerous as you say, help me make it not so. Because this will happen anyway, Father."

The slight shifts and the twitch of a deepening frown should warn her that she's going in the wrong direction offering him money and power. He is silent for a time, too well aware that the safety of his congregation is very much at stake. "Then tell me this," he says, quietly, "You say that you want to make a transition that is safe for humans. But do you seriously expect me to believe that it is safe to…to ally myself and my congregation with creatures that feed on human lives? On human blood? No, you are certainly not welcome to speak in my church, and I doubt there's anything you could offer to change my mind." Still his hands remain folded calmly upon his desk, his face composed in an expression of soft disapproval.

Thought Lenka expected as much — especially at the priest's gestures — a flicker of annoyance crosses her features. Out of habit, she clears her expression so it is once again pleasantly neutral. "I see your point; however, tell me this: is it really safe to ally yourself against them? Of course it isn't. There must be a way that we can work with them — and the werewolves — to create a safer, more unified world. Otherwise, our race continues to be victims of forces of evil that most of us can't even see or recognize." She pauses. "The vampires in my group feed only on donated blood. They are peaceable creatures that want to live out their lives among our society. Who are we to exclude them? It's almost an issue of civil liberty, really. Would you turn away a being that wishes to have equal rights and equal standings?"

Vincent smiles, quietly. "I don't pretend to have great knowledge of you or your people. I only know that a very dear friend of mine is a werewolf, and she would not harm a human being. At the same time, I am aware that vampires feed on human blood. The way I see it, the humans have a great ally and great protection in the werewolves…" As she brings up the civil liberty issue, he rubs at his forehead a little, pushing up his glasses to allow for the gesture. "I would not give penance to an unrepentant murderer. Neither would I allow them to harm a single person of my congregation, so long as it was in my power to prevent it. I'm sure that your heart is in the right place, Lenka, but I simply can't bring myself to trust these…people. I won't ally myself with those who would cause innocent people to be killed over their little power struggles, without any care for the lives they're ruining. Besides…forgive me for saying so, but frankly, I'm still not convinced they aren't demons."

"Right, that they do. We are attempting to get some werewolves on our side as well. We are not — in any way — supporting hostile vampires that kill and take lives." The woman's voice has risen in loudness, but her calm tone has still pervaded. "Innocent people will not be killed. How can you say that? If anything, /less/ people will be killed. We will have the knowledge and ability to spot one of the these murders, who have been designed to lure us in." Her exasperation has finally begun to wear though, in the form of a sigh. "I see, however, that I will not convince you. None more stubborn than the Catholic church, no?" It is not uttered as an insult, really. More or less of just an observation. "I will find another way to reach out to the community and educate the people of Forks. I thank you for your time."

Vincent raises an eyebrow slightly. "Perhaps. But I'd like to point out that we've stuck around an awfully long time by being stubborn," he comments, calmly. "Either way, I couldn't allow you to speak during mass, even if I agreed with your message. It's not the way things are done. However, I do thank you for your civility. I'd thank you more to keep your supernatural warfare off my front porch." He stands, slowly, waiting calmly and patiently for her to leave. "God be with you, Lenka," he murmurs, whether she catches it or not.

Lenka rises, flicking her braids behind her back as she does so. There is nod given to the priest's further commentary on the Catholic faith, and she begins to turn, intending no more words of convincing either way, but something Vincent says makes her stiffen. "Supernatural warfare? That's not what this is. Supernatural warfare is the Stark family, killed back in May. It's the couple that went 'missing' in the woods weeks ago. It's Lilly Carrere and Alanna Hauth, those 'missing' girls. It's the body found by the logging yard many months ago. You see? There is already a war, father. It's just a matter of stopping it, really." By now, Lenka has made it to the door, the cool metal beneath her palm. "And with you, Father. Good day." She opens the door and waits for just a moment to see if he might say anything otherwise before heading out.

Vincent is quiet, though as she hesitates in the doorway, he opens his mouth as though to speak. In the end, however, he just sighs and waits for her footsteps to die away before returning to the comfortable pair of chairs in the corner, settling down for what may be a good long think.

Not gaining a response, Lenka inclines her head slightly, presses her lips together, and then strides purposefully down the hall, unable to hide an expression that betrays annoyance and perhaps furthermore, worry. She pushes open the congregation's door with a bit too much force and heads away.

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