hoodednovice: (oh noes)
It isn't hard to discover that he's been found out. It's even less difficult to discover how. That lying strumpet, Fiona, had obviously told her sister the terrible secret that she'd sworn never to speak aloud, and her sister had blabbed, and now they were coming for him.

Flames and clubs and angry voices follow him as he runs, breathing hard, toward the nearest barn. He has some thought toward hiding in a pile of unbaled hay until the people's anger has dissipated, but it seems likely now that he will be caught before he can reach a hiding place. The voices grow closer, men (and a few women, of all things) wielding pitchforks and mallets and other implements completely incongruous to the early 18th century. His heart soars even as his certainty of escape narrows. This is living.  This is really doing, at last, what he has so long planned. This is... not going to work. Another group of angry villagers is approaching from the other side of the barn, cutting him off before he can reach it. Keeping the broad barn doors to his back, he turns and makes one last stand.

The mob (for a mob it is), roars as with a single voice and rushes toward him in triumph. He holds out a hand as though it will stop them.

"Hold, in the name of Our Father above! I wish to dedicate myself to the holy church!" he cries, and his ringing voice is somehow heard by every member of the howling mass of people, and every one of them stops charging to look confused and occasionally scratch an itchy head.

"I am worthy," he continues, "and to prove myself so, I shall produce a miracle."

He has no idea how he is going to do this. But that is not a hurdle for now! That is for five minutes from now! Now is to savour the stunned look in every eye, the slack-jawed disbelief in every face with the announcement that he - he - can work miracles!

There is a voice out of the dark. "What kind of miracle, exactly?"

"You shall all bear witness," he promises, "when I bring it out of" - he looks behind him - "this humble barn."

Various noises of derision.

"Behold!" he cries, with no intention of ever darkening this side of the door again. He scrabbles behind himself, manages to open the door with a minimum of splinters gained, and steps through into the dark.


hoodednovice: (Default)

May 2009

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