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Luke's, Tuesday

It was bound to happen someday. Hardison, happy at being back in his own body again, had grown careless. Lax. Let down his guard. It had happened all very innocently; he'd been playing his 3DS and accidentally dropped his stylus. The kind of thing that could happen at any time and to anyone. A little more annoying because it roll under a booth instead of staying where it had landed, but, in the grand scheme of things? Not that huge a deal.

Except as Hardison had reached for his stylus, the busboy had yelled, "No! Not that booth! It's too close--"

A shocking pain in his hand, like needles sinking into his skin. A sharp burn of--something. Dizziness. A slight feeling of euphoria.

"--to the vents," the busboy sighed, realizing it was already too late. "Never mind."

Don't worry, young busboy. Father Alec didn't mind. In fact, Father Alec was filled with warmth and forgiving as he pushed himself back to his feet. "I say," he said, his voice now touched with a faint British accent. "Does anyone have a napkin. I seem to be bleeding."

"Do you think Eliot's gonna yell at us for this?" the dishwasher asked, worried.

The cook shrugged, handing a napkin over to to the busboy to give to Hardison. "Depends on what the hallucination is, probably."

"Thank you, my son," Father Alec said, accepting the napkin and holding it to his hand. "Give me a moment to staunch this and then find my collar, and then we can continue with the blessing of the food. Amen."

"...That's probably a yes," the cook sighed, turning back the food. Hey, yesterday's strawberries weren't going to eat themselves.

Today's Specials
Chilled Strawberry Soup
Strawberry Turkey Brie Panini
Goat Cheese and Strawberries Grilled Cheese
Strawberry Sugar Biscuit Trifle
Blessings, weddings, baptisms, we do it all!

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Possibly for the best

You want a prayer with that?

I have a bunch of disguise icons! Might as well use them!

Eliot was too busy giving the special's board a very sharply raised eyebrow to notice Hardison behaving oddly at all, just yet. "Man, the hell is this? This town has a perfectly good chapel, you know."

"There is no reason for that kind of language, my son," Father Alec reproved gently, from where he was sitting in a booth, sipping at his tea. "And, yes, while there is a chapel and I will be happy to hold a sermon there, I believe that the most emotional of all the sacraments deserve to be held in places of true communion, where we may partake of the Lord's bounty and blessings and feel most at peace."

Eliot stopped in his tracks and blinked at him.

". . . What?"

"Churches are important and they move the spirit," Father Alec continued, assuming that the poor soul simply didn't understand. "But in places like this, in restaurants built on the love of food and the desire to share that love, that is where true spirituality can be found. Sermons are all well and good and churches can foster community, but to get someone to truly believe--" he saluted Eliot with his teacup, "--you find where people are most comfortable, where they feel closest to the Lord and there you invite them to share in His mysteries."

Umm, obviously, Eliot. Keep up.

Eliot looked beseechingly back at the kitchen staff, who all tried to look innocent.

"Hardison," he said. "What the hell are you -- are you bleeding?"

And here he'd been in a good mood, earlier.

"It's nothing," Father Alec said, because Hardison downplaying an injury was certain not to set off Eliot's panic buttons. "I just caught my hand on something under the booth over there." With his good hand, he gestured over to the booth that sat directly under a vent grate. Most Fandom regulars knew to avoid places like that. "I doubt I'm bleeding any more, I just tied this handkerchief over my hand to keep it clean. I'll understand if you'd prefer not to shake, though." He chuckled at that. "Please, call me Father Alec."

Yeah, that wasn't happening. Eliot wasn't actually listening to Hardison past the 'it's nothing' comment. He grabbed for Hardison's hand to check the wound out himself.

"Did you at least clean it? Jesus, man!"

He was also not about to stop taking any names in vain, either.

Eliot, you could try the patience of a saint. Not that Father Alec was inviting the comparison, of course.

"I was--I'm going to have to ask you not to use that kind of language," he said, a bit more sternly. "There is no reason to abuse the First Commandment, even in concern."

"'I am the lord thy god,'" Eliot quoted. "'Thou shalt have no other gods before me.' Takin' the name in vain is the second commandment. Or third, dependin' who you ask."

Eliot had been a good Christian boy, once upon a time. Of course he could quote the ten commandments. He finished looking over the mark on Hardison's hand and sighed heavily. "So this must be what a gremlin bite looks like."

~~I knew I should have double-checked that!~~

"I'm sorry, did you say gremlin?" Father Alec asked, brain eliding right over the correction. Of course he'd gotten it right, just like of course the flash of white at his throat was a proper collar, and not a napkin. "That's absurd. I caught myself on a sharp edge of a booth or a spring or somesuch."

Because the cuts in his hand looked absolutely nothing like a ring of bitemarks, really.

~~aw, but him getting it slightly wrong is SO PERFECT.~~

"Uh huh," Eliot said, expression entirely torn between a frown and a smirk. "Right, my mistake. 'Father Alec', was it?"

It was best to just play along with these sorts of things, right? Eliot would just stick close to Hardison and ~~film him~~ make sure he didn't injure himself further.

You were the worst ~~boyfriend~~, Eliot.

"Indeed," Father Alec said, offering Eliot a warm smile. That. at least, was normal. "I've been sent by my diocese to come tend to the spiritual concerns of the people on this island. It's been too long since the church was used for a place of worship and communion, don't you agree?"

"Oh definitely," Eliot said. He hadn't thought much about the place beyond the fact that the ghosts last fall couldn't go in for some reason. "So I suppose you'll be hangin' around to take everyone's confessions and such."

Father Alec nodded solemnly. "Confession is one of the most important sacraments the Church offers, giving us healing and forgiveness and strengthening our ties to the Lord. I will hear confession, give sermons, set up charity works--whatever I can do to assist with the spiritual health of the island." He beamed again. "Is there something I can do for you, my son? Do you wish to give confession? I will hear it."

"Nah, nah," Eliot said. "I'm good. The diner staff might have a thing or two they should get off their chests."

The diner staff had all gone into hiding.

"What kindsa sermons're you cookin' up? I liked that bit about food and the social centers bein' holy and such."

Okay, so he had been listening, after all.

"I've got one I'm working on called 'God Isn't Limited to 140 Characters'," Father Alec answered with the same kind of enthusiasm Hardison would use to explain his latest bit of code. "About keeping a relationship with the Lord in the time of social media--how we, as people, are happy to seal ourselves away in our own bubbles, focused on phones and tablets, when so much of God is found in togetherness and community! And also how spirituality is more than reblogging that post about Jesus to make you feel superior, but I haven't figured out how to make that work without sounding like I'm casting blame or judging my congregation."

Eliot was very glad he was recording this.

"That's a tough one, alright. I know some folks who could use remindin' that the world exists outside the internet, much less any heavenly father."

"The internet is a helpful tool, but it should not be the cornerstone of anyone's life or identity," Father Alec said, why any remaining vestige of Hardison shrieked and recoiled in horror. "That honor belongs to God, to other people, to good works and charity."

Parker'd had a great day swinging from branches, walking on wires, and jumping out of trees.

Okay. Hunh.

"Should I get my nun habit?"

"Right, yeah," Eliot said. He wondered if he should send this to Nate, or if that would be cruel to both of them. "So what brought you to the church, Padre?"

Father Alec jumped up with a grin. "You're a Sister of the Faith?" he asked. "Yes, please! By all means! I'm so pleased to see another member of the Church here, to help me spread God's divine message!"

"I was raised in a very troubled neighborhood in Chicago," Father Alec explained. "But all through my life, I knew I was destined for something more, something greater. Eventually, I realized that little voice was God's, telling me how I could make a difference. I come here after running a youth ministry in Chicago. I will admit, I was loathe to leave my work there, but I have faith that God has a plan for us all."

God probably thought that everyone on this island needed Jesus.

Edited 2015-06-10 03:47 (UTC)

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Luke's, Tuesday

Mod Your Diner

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