Marked Chapter Twenty-Five

After the last couple days in Eberron, riding in a car feels a little weird, anticlimactic, after two dragon flights. Three, counting this morning. The street passes us by as we drive, Bishop Wellhausen and Father DiMaggio conversing about church business that I have no real touchpoints with. I content myself with watching the world pass by the car. Well, not content, but more endure.

I don't want to be seeing a doctor. It's a waste of my time and theirs. But it's either that, or an awkward conversation about how my injury healed literally overnight. Except I'm fully aware that there's still going to be an awkward conversation, but at least with the doctor there they can say that it must have been a small pull out something, just looked worse than it actually was.

Cowardly? Yes, a bit. Maybe even more than a bit, and pointlessly so, because all I'm really doing is delaying matters rather than stopping or avoiding any inquiry. And as I look to my right I see the burned out husk of Winslow as we pass because of course we do. It doesn't even make me smile, this time.

Turning my head back forward, I catch sight of Bishop Wellhausen watching me through the side mirror. On meeting my eyes, he says, "So, Titania. What do you think of the church so far?"

Is he talking about the Catholic church or just Father DiMaggio's? "Uh, do you mean, like, in general?" I ask.

"I mean St. Bosco's," he clarifies. "You've stayed there several days now. Are you comfortable?"

Wow. That makes me feel all kinds of guilty, now. "It's been good. I... it's a lot better than being back with my dad. Feels safer. And I'm really thankful that Father DiMaggio has let me stay there while I try to work something out for myself. I, uh, I think I might have something, actually." I realize I never did actually tell him what my new power did-- and I've gotten ANOTHER one since then. "I should probably show you both, actually. It- well, it's another of my... powers." There. I said it directly to the Bishop. I've been dancing around and hinting softly, but now... I've said it. "Um, after we're done with, uh, the doctor thing."

"Of course. Such things can be quite dangerous, after all."

"I don't think it is?" I respond. "I mean... it's just, well... not. I mean, you have to see it to understand it, but, my powers just don't DO that." I deliberately don't mention that I'm learning other stuff that potentially can be dangerous. That would necessitate explaining not only who I'm learning it from, but also where. And that's just not a thing I'm prepared to go into right now. Maybe much later, when I've had the chance to adjust to it all. But not yet. Besides, I have no intentions of making the stuff that goes boom or sets things on fire.

"As I said, Your Excellency, hers is something different," Father DiMaggio says supportively. "Something much gentler."

"You didn't tell him what my powers actually are?" I ask, a bit surprised.

"It is not for me to tell; I felt bad enough telling him that you have them at all, but as you are staying on property belonging to the Holy See, I couldn't just let him come in blind, especially as I desperately need his counsel on how the Church should work with you."

That makes me smile a little. "I kind of was hoping I could work with the church. You guys can do things and have resources available that I just don't."

Bishop Wellhausen is watching Father DiMaggio now, as he comments, "The conversation is certainly an interesting one, I will agree. And I am growing ever more curious to what you are able to do, Titania." He waits a moment for further reaction from us, but neither Father DiMaggio nor I have much to add. The Bishop continues, "Also, Sal, while we're in the car you really don't have to use 'Your Excellency' every five minutes."

"If you're in the vestments, you're in an official capacity," Father DiMaggio replies almost serenely. "... Your Excellency."

Bishop Wellhausen chuckles softly, but doesn't venture anything further. And it's just as well, because we turn into a weed dotted, cracked asphalt parking lot less than a minute later. The shopping center itself has two major iccupancies that are vacant, one of which I can only guess what it was, but the other was clearly once a Lowes hardware store, judging by the dirt faded imprint of the missing sign letters. Near the driveway we enter, I see a pair of large vans, each with a slightly peeling logo that plainly reads "Heals on Wheels." The doors are open, and a large canopy is slung between them. A few clearly portable machines are deployed beneath the canopy, along with a cluster of frazzled looking people in medical garb attending to a dozen or more clearly homeless people, a handful of which are possibly druggies.

As we get closer, I notice that of the people there, only three of them have anything close to warm clothes, despite the eight AM chill in the air. It makes me feel... upset. This is just wrong.

"... Father, can I open the trunk?" I ask as we park near the vans.

He looks at me in the rear view mirror, before nodding. "I... yes, you may."

"Can we park somewhere that the trunk isn't visible from the street, or really anywhere?" I ask.

He nods, and we pull out of the space. He backs us up to one of the storefront spaces in front of the ex-Lowes, and I unbuckle quickly, scurrying out of the back seat and around to the trunk of the vehicle, which really isn't much of a trunk, more just a back mounted door opening to a small cargo space behind the back seat. I pull one of my gems from my haversack, charge Clothier's Closet, and open the trunk with it.

I spend a minute or so, looking at the homeless gathered there. Eleven men, none of them especially big or small. Long, puffy coats, something durable. Something a bit oversized. Something that looks inexpensive and mass produced. But above all, warm. I peek around the side of the SUV, where Father DiMaggio and Bishop Wellhausen are looking at me expectantly. "Can I, uh... get a hand here?"

They come around the back, and Father DiMaggio raises an eyebrow, while the Bishop just sort of boggles. "Titania, this is not what we're here for," the Father protests.

I take the opportunity to pull out four heavy coats for each of them, and another three for myself. "But we're here, and these are needed. So we should do something about that." At Father DiMaggio's questioning look at the coats, I add, "Don't worry. I found a way to make them permanent. It's... not something I can do a lot just yet, but I can do it right now."

The Bishop doesn't make any comment, but he cursorily examines the coats I handed him. "No tags," he comments.

"Uh, they can just be machine washed when needed," I respond.

His raised eyebrow somehow manages to convey that he wasn't really thinking of that when he brought it up, but he doesn't verbally state anything. I bump the door shut with my hip, and lead the way, with the Bishop and the Priest following along behind me, as I try to not think too hard about the conversation that's on its way when we leave. The doctors and nurses of the vans slow their checkups on the guys waiting there as we approach, and I slow to a stop, looking back at Father DiMaggio and Bishop Wellhausen. Father DiMaggio smiles at me, and sort of nods his head, before I turn back to the people there. "Hi! We, uh, had some warm stuff. For people here. If they want them." I have NO idea how to do this. And suddenly I feel self conscious and stupid.

The collected group of homeless men-- and I don't see any women among them, although I don't really know why-- all look at me, then the clergymen behind me, before looking back at me. Finally, one skinny looking man who ISN'T one of the three with a warm jacket, rasps out, "I'll take one." That sort of breaks the ice, and the others all eagerly take the brown coats along with a lot of murmured 'Thanks' and 'Thank you's.

After the handing out of the coats, I look at Father DiMaggio as he eyes me critically. I sigh. "Yeah, yeah. Let them check out my arm." I get in line as the doctors and nurses look confused, while Father DiMaggio speaks with one of them in hushed tones. I suppose their confusion is understandable, since this is without a doubt a bizarre situation. A teenaged girl showing up with a priest and a bishop carrying a bunch of charity coats, and the girl needs an x-ray? I'm betting they've got questions by the bushel.

As they talk and I wait, I look at the man in front of me, clumsily trying to get his new coat on as he supports himself on a pair of beat up old medical crutches. The reason for the crutches is plainly obvious; both of his feet are wrapped up in dirty, bloody rags that look like they're serving double duty as shoes and as bandages. Some of the blood is red enough to be relatively fresh but much of it is dark, black and dry. "Hey. Here, you can barely even stand, let me help you with that," I say, taking the coat and holding it up for him so he can get it on one arm at a time. As he does it, I stealthily charge up my healing power into my hand; I feel it discharge as I adjust the shoulder of the coat to sit more straight on his shoulders.

"Titania?" Father DiMaggio calls, and I look in his direction. He waves me over, and I go over to him.

"They're willing to check your arm ahead of the line," he says. "If they decide you need an x-ray, then you'll be waiting in line, but Doctor Clay says if you can carry a bunch of coats from the car, you're probably fine." His expression clearly states that he expects a snark from me, but I maturely choose not to deliver one.

Within a minute, after an inspection of my bare arm's mobility, the doctor declares me uninjured, much as I knew he would. As such, the three of us make our way back to the SUV.

Bishop Wellhausen looks positively spooked; he keeps looking back to the group of people still waiting for treatment. The last guy in line is lifting and pointing his bandaged feet, holding his crutches under one arm and looking somewhat puzzled; I try to not be conspicuous as I close the back seat door and belt in. The bishop gives Father DiMaggio a significant look, before glancing back at me. "... Titania. Did you heal that man?"

I wince. Busted. "Uhhh..."

Father DiMaggio stiffens, half strapped in himself, and turns bodily to look at me. "Titania? Did you?"

"She did," Bishop Wellhausen says, staring at me now. "Her exact words to him: 'You can barely even stand, let me help you with that."

Ohhhh wow, I hadn't even realized he was listening. I was actually talking about the guy's coat, but hearing it said back, it sounds like I meant helping him with being able to stand. I shrink down in my seat, looking out the window briefly. I'd hoped that, as subtle as it was for me when I used it on myself, that the guy wouldn't notice until we were gone. And I really hope my impulsiveness hasn't gotten Father DiMaggio in trouble with the bishop. Unfortunately, that's clearly not meant to be. There's now some sort of animated discussion over there as the man with the crutches has them tucked under his left arm, the other hand pointing down at his feet, while one of the doctors or nurses is trying to bring him over to a folding chair.

"And he said, 'Get up and walk'," Father DiMaggio mumbles in a way that feels like he's putting a lot of weight into them. He and Bishop Wellhausen trade a significant, very serious look, and without another word, the Father turns the key in the ignition, starts the SUV, and drives us out of the parking lot.

---

The two of them go into Father DiMaggio's office as soon as we get back to the church. I'm not invited in this time. I take the opportunity to run into the bathroom and lock the door, leaving the light on while I take the Mansion to the library. Nax and Chalmer are both seated comfortably at a table, several books in front of them and looking considerably content. The fact that their chairs are practically shoved together and Nax is mostly leaning against Chalmer rather than the back of her chair makes me smile a bit; it's kind of cute, really. Her eyes flick up to me and she half smiles, waving her fingers at me in a half hearted shooing gesture, the 'we're doing fine' implicit in her relaxed posture. Okay then. This is fine.

I return to the church. The door is closed, and I get the feeling it's going to be for a while. That's good too. I make my way through the mansion to the Hidden Lodge and prepare myself for another hour of magical study. May as well get it while I can. Plus, that's another hour I can delay the inevitable uncomfortable questions that are coming my way when they finally finish conferring with one another.