Turbinio

Bread and Wine

Without any intention of disobeying her, you followed Hot Pants, walking down a long slate corridor that seemed to serve as a connection to all the main rooms of God's house.

The church was silent, as all great institutions are silent in the afternoon; the intense rhythm of activity had suddenly diminished, but the pulsing continued, slower, softer, but incessant. There is always someone walking there, walking silently along the corridors, keeping vigil, keeping the institution alive. And now it was your turn to join the vigil.

The chapel was dark, with little natural light except for the red sanctuary light and a few white votive candles, the flames rising straight up in the still air before the dark shrines of the saints.

You followed Hot Pants, kneeling when she did. The slender figure of the nun stood before the altar, head temporarily bowed. She did not turn at the slight noise of your restlessness, but remained motionless, in adoration.

The Sacrament itself was almost hidden by the magnificence of its container. The huge monstrance, a radiant sun of gold more than three centimeters in diameter, was serenely resting on the altar, holding the humble piece of bread in its center.

Feeling a bit out of place with the nostalgia of being in a chapel again, you stood where Hot Pants indicated, next to her. The seats at the back, decorated with carvings of angels, flowers, and demons, sagged against the wooden back panels to ease the passage of a few other nuns. You heard the faint creaking of a seat lowered behind you as one of them took the place.

"What should I do?'' You asked, because you didn't remember the obligation of these rituals when you lived with Reverend. Your voice was low in respect of the silence.

"Nothing.'' She answered simply. "Just stay here.''

So you stayed, listening to your own breathing and the tiny sounds of a silent place; the inaudible things usually hidden in other sounds. The settling of a stone, the crackling of wood. The sizzle of tiny, inextinguishable flames. The slight stirring of some tiny creature, stray from its place and lost in the house of supreme power.

That's when you heard the footsteps of the other sister who had sat behind you move away and the door creak, closing with a soft thud. Looking back, you saw that you were alone with Hot Pants.

''Answer me something, (Y/N), since you are closest to them...'' Hot Pants began in a whispery voice ''Gyro and Johnny have the legs that were in the frozen strait, haven't they?"

''Well, yes... Wekapipo told me while I was tending to his injuries. He, ah... is an ally.''

"Well, they can't lose those legs. We've already reached the point where we can't waste time with rivalries, the priority now should be to prevent the president from owning the parts. It doesn't matter who owns them, it just can't be the president.''

''I understand. But this is very complicated, you know? Especially because of Diego.''

"Yes, you're right.''

"Is that what you wanted to say to me?'' You asked, looking at the serene expression on her face and the soft pink strands of hair that were escaping from her veil.

''We have unfinished business within that race.''

''We? You hadn't left the race?''

''I had to step away, yes, but during that time I did some promising research. The corpse is still my priority.''

"Promising research? What kind of research?''

''About Gyro Zeppeli, Johnny Joestar and Diego Brando.''