[✝]Job 10:1 & Job 7:11
My soul is weary, I loathe my very life . . .
Therefore I will not refrain my mouth; I will speak in the anguish of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.[✝]
[☨]The door to the church slams shut with a whirl of snow-flurries and a gonging echo that resounds across the auditorium and back again. Leaning
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Che... vale a dire: Questo gelo è arrivare a me. [That... that is to say: the frost is just getting to me.]
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If that is all... [and his tone of voice says full well that he doubts that] ...refrain from going out anytime soon. It is still bad out there. Obviously.
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Archbishop...
Are you all right?
[ As such, she has no idea of why he sounds so distressed. However, it does put a small squeeze of guilt around her heart. Her recovery, among other things, is keeping her from returning his cassock to him. ]
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[Finding his fingertips trembling like pallid leaves in a icy gale upon the keys, he switched immediately to voice, his utterance well trained, despite the rest of his body disobeying.]
I made it back to the church unscathed.
...I don't trust that scoundrel friend of yours returned you home safely?
[As much as the many demons inside him balked that he had given up that prized commodity and demanded of him to demand to her to return it right then and there... he held their viperous tongues.]
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Well, that was odd. ]
I'm glad. I was worried about you making it there safely.
You mean Gilgamesh? Yes, he did. [ Eventually. ]
[ ... ]
I... still have your cassock with me, Archbishop. I want to return it to you, but there is still so much snow. I haven't completely recovered yet, either.
I'm sorry...
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Never you mind that, Angelina.. that you are safe is a blessing.. and your wellness is God's highest priority.
[...
Never you mind... Never you mind!? You've gone mad, Enrico, mad as every heathenous wretch ever claimed you as--!
Dropping his fist, he'd foregone striking himself in the head to stop his own consciousness from rebuking him.]
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[Starts coughing for a little bit.]
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Il Papa.. seems the only one who is unwell is yourself.
Have you been treated?
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But... wh-what you were j-just saying.... Are you s-sure you're not u-unwell?
[Sniffs.]
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[Very good to hear indeed. Yet as for himself? Well...]
I was... one of the unfortunate souls in the hospice fire.
Managing to escape by a Guardian Angel and a Witch miracle, you can understand I feel the sickness of Flight or Fight.
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Oh, suck it up. Pansy.
Shouldn't you be happy? You did a good deed.
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Aha, of course I'm NOT happy!
[HE WILL SAVE FACE IN FRONT OF YOU, MR. HELLSING.]
I'm merely coming down from an adrenaline rush, I just walked through two Hells, mind you; the Pyre and the Arctic.
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DID YOU EVEN HELP TO PUT IT OUT? :l]
Then act like it.
You don't think everyone else has been through the same?
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I... What?
I'm well aware of the disastrous trials most choose to pit themselves against, and others LIKE MYSELF against their will here.
That doesn't make it any less disturbing no matter how much you'd like to trivialize it, Signore.
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