trans_9 | Desecrating the House of God [Closed] [R for LOTS of Cussing]

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Desecrating the House of God [Closed] [R for LOTS of Cussing]

Sawyer is back in the Vatican, back to work making the renovations and alterations that he had unilaterally decided were necessary for turning the thing into an even stronger fortress than it already was. Many of the pews had been busted up and the planks set aside to be placed over the stained glass windows as reinforcement. The gold, silver, lead, iron, steel and bronze from the basilica and all the museums had been confiscated and sorted into piles to be melted down into other, more useful items.

In fact, some of the melting down and re-forming had already been done. Which was how Sawyer was able to begin work on his next project: nailing together the remaining pews to form make-shift beds, using a war hammer from one of the museums to drive the nails that he'd fashioned from melted steel.

Little does he know--or care--that there are actually Catholics on board.

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The twins had been away from the Vatican lately, healing and coming back to themselves. It felt wrong, like they were trying to hide from God, but after so long possessed by the yeerks, perhaps they deserved some time for recovery.

Now, however, that period was over and they were returning to seek absolution. It would be good, Murphy thought, to be within the holy walls again, to pray where so many had before them.

To finally seek absolution for the many and horrible things that had been done with their hands.

When they open the doors, expecting to see the splendor and glory of the heart of their religion, and are instead greeted with Sawyer's 'renovations,' a strangled cry escapes him. He can barely take it all in.

And then, quickly, he becomes angry; very angry, and very, very quickly. "What the fuckin' fuck do you think you're fucking doing?!" he shouts, already storming toward Sawyer, Connor by his side.

Sawyer stops hammering when a guttural cry pierces the room and glances up with an annoyed look on his face. "Redecorating. What the fuck does it look like?" he answered, motioning to all the work he's gotten accomplished.

"It looks like a fucking abomination, that's what! Who the fuck do ye think y'are? What the fuck gives ye the right t'do this to the fucking Holy Vatican?" Connor is livid, perhaps even more animatedly angry than his brother. Sawyer might want to look out, because if Connor has his way, Sawyer's face is about to meet Connor's right hook.

And whether or not Sawyer manages to dodge that, he's going to have to look out for Murphy's left, aimed at his gut.

Sawyer doesn't dodge, because Sawyer doesn't even see them coming. One to the face, the other to the gut and he falls backward. But he also comes back swinging...and he's got a hammer aimed at Connor's upper arm.

Connor tries to dodge, banking on Sawyer being slow with his hammer-- He's not entirely correct. At all. It's a blow to his wrist instead of his shoulder area, and he shouts angrily at the pain it results in. He whips out one of his guns, training it on Sawyer ad ignoring his aching wrist. He doesn't feel like thinking about whether or not it's broken, now.

It doesn't even take a second for Murphy to take in the damage done to his brother, and he shouts angrily. Normally the (marginally) more peaceful, bubbly, reasonable twin, this time he's had enough. The bugs, the yeerks, and now all of this. This man, tearing up the Vatican, Saint Peter's Basilica itself, like it's nothing more than a piece of real estate, and hurting Connor besides. Murphy literally launches himself at Sawyer, guns forgotten, intent on doing as much damage by hand as possible, shouting, "Ye fuckin' irreligious, desecratin' bastard son of a bitch!"

Sawyer flies backward, with Murphy going with him, and crashes onto the stone floor of the basilica. The combination of Murphy's weight landing on him and the hard floor causes two of Sawyer's ribs to crack in a harsh splitting sound.

"OW! FUCK!!" he curses, immediately grabbing hold of Murphy's neck with both hands, he begins to squeeze.

"What the FUCK is your problem you Bible-thumpin' psycho?"

Connor rushes over, shouldering Murphy over and pressing the muzzle of his gun to the stationary Sawyer's temple.

"Get yer hands of my brother, y'fucking sonofabitch!"

Sawyer reluctantly releases his hold on Murphy's throat, glaring at the twins for a second before looking Connor dead in the eye.

"You wanna shoot me, motherfucker?" he spat. "Go ahead. I dare you. Pull the trigger."

Murphy falls to his side, wheezing and coughing slightly before quickly kneeling beside his brother. He shoots Connor a warning look, to remind him of where they are and that they shouldn't technically be shedding blood on holy ground.

And then he knees Sawyer in the ribs that he knows are probably broken. "Shut the fuck up."

Connor subsides, pulling the gun he was honestly milliseconds from firing away from Sawyer's head-- his brother was right. The current atrocities were bad enough.

"Y'honestly think fucking shelter is a good enough reason to destroy th'fucking Holy Church?" He's still extremely angry, though.

"Yeah, asshole, I do," Sawyer said, wincing from Murphy's jab to his ribs. "Unlike the rest of you sorry fucks, I don't plan on dyin' here."

"We've got fuckin' beds an' the like, there's other fuckin' buildings around here. Don't you dare use that as an excuse to destroy a place of worship, peace, and wisdom." Make no mistake, Murphy was still angry. But he was calmer now that they had the upper hand.

"There's other fuckin' people here, not just you, in case ye'd fuckin' failed to notice."

"Yeah? And what the fuck have you other people managed to get done since you been here? Aside from nearly get killed twice?" Sawyer countered as he climbed to his feet. "This 'place of worship' ain't gonna mean jack-squat if ya'll get dead, Tweedle Dumbfuck."

"If y'haven't noticed, we've managed t'stay alive. Idiot."

Connor scowls down at Sawyer. "God matters in all things. He isn't goin' t'be pleased if his most holy church gets gutted 'cos some idiot thinks he's clever." Connor shakes his head. "Aye, we need shelter, but not at the sake of th' most important buildin' on Earth."

"It's just a fuckin' building!" Sawyer shouted. "See that--" he pointed at one of the pews. "--it's just a fuckin' bench. And that--" This time he gestured at the stained glass. "--is just a fuckin' window. And those--" He pointed at the walls. "--are just big-ass fuckin' bricks. And if those big-ass fuckin' bricks are that separates me from gettin' eaten by whatever else is on this fuckin' boat, well, I'm gonna use 'em. Because if it comes down to whether I stay alive or you have a fancy ass place to pray, well, pal you lose."

"Ye haven't left us any place to pray!" Murphy spat angrily. "Those fuckin' benches an' walls, ye didn't even leave us a fuckin' one of them! Where's the candles? The votives for us to light for our fucking family? Ye want to reinforce it, make the place even more of a fortress, ye should have done it with some fucking respect and with realization that some of your shipmates would take offense to a really fucking insulting desecration of their religion."

"We pray here, because we cannot go to Mass. We pray here because all we've got between us an' whatever the fucking hell is ought there is a bunch of fuckin' guns, a bible, an' our Lord. We cannot give confession, we cannot observe communion, so like fucking hell we're letting you take this from us in its entirety."

"Oh, boo hoo," Sawyer mocked. He flinched in pain as he bent down to pick up his hammer from where he'd dropped it. "Don't like it, go report me to Officer Cagney. Given the circumstances, I'm sure she'll give a flying fuck about your freedom of religion."

Connor snarled and shoved Sawyer with his good hand. "You will leave us a pew, and you will put th'fucking votives back, and the museum shit-- Most of us are armed to the teeth already. Melt anything, and I swear upon my soul we will kill you, as we are charged by God Himself."

"Oh yeah? Make me," Sawyer challenged, cocking an eyebrow at the pair of them.

This time it was Murphy who drew his gun and leveled it at the man, not an inch of hesitation in his body. "You'll fuckin' well do it. Or we'll use your fuckin' body for a doorstop."

Sawyer scoffed as he turned his back to the boys and turned his attention back to his work. "No you won't," he said, still challenging them. "'Fifteen violations receives punishment,'" he repeated the warnings Stacy had given him for being too nosy. "How much punishment you think killin' me will get ya? Think she'll kill ya? Or ya think she'll just cut off your balls and make ya chew on 'em for a while?"

"Stacy can't see any of this. If y'listened t'anybody, ye'd know that." Connor glared venemously at him. "All that saves you right now is our loyalty t'our fuckin' religion."

"Which'd be the very same one ye're tryin' to fucking dismantle the home of, in case ye'd forgotten," Murphy added thoughtfully, face dead serious. "How fuckin' funny's that?"

"The home of your..." Sawyer glanced over his shoulder at the twins. Cocking his eyebrow at them like they were complete and utter idiots. "Yeah, except your 'religion'--" He even did bunny-ear quotes as he turned around. "--started about, I dunno, a thousand miles EAST of where the Vatican is. And you're callin' this the 'home of your religion?' Right. Now that is what I call fuckin' funny."

"Origins an' homes are different." Connor rolled his eyes. "And y'can't finger-quote religion. Catholicism is a fuckin' religion, textbook definition." He looks at Murphy, as if to say Not only is he a massive wanker, he's also an idiot. And a bastard.

Murphy nods tersely to his brother, agreeing, but barely taking his eyes off Sawyer. "Unless you think ya can keep this entire fuckin' building secure by your power alone, we're not asking a whole fucking lot."

"Whatever," Sawyer waved off the twins' assertions as pointless and irrelevant as he turned back around and headed for the alter, withdrawing a bottle of what appeared to be Smirnoff from behind the oversized Bible and lowered himself--wincing as a sharp pain from his broken ribs surged through his body--to the floor.

"You two want a damn vote on what does and doesn't get done 'round here, then I suggest you roll up your sleeves and lend a hand."

"Who knows, when we're done, maybe I'll be nice and we can have ourselves a little vodka communion to celebrate," he added, holding up the bottle of liquor before taking a long swig.

Murphy considers, lowering his gun slightly. Exchanging a look and silent conversation with his twin, he slowly says, "We'll reinforce the windows, you give us our fucking pews. Let you melt the rest, ye let us keep the alter an' museum pieces. You've no fucking use for the candles anyway."

Sawyer considers their offer for a moment, retrieving a cigarette from his suit pocket and lighting it. He shakes his head. "You can have the candles, all the gold except for the collection plates--we need those to hold food if we get stuck in here--and four pews. The iron, bronze, steel and silver get melted. All the art and stone shit in the museums is yours. And just to prove I'm a nice guy, we'll leave the chapel alone, give ya a nice quiet place to do your thing if ya'll want."

"..Yer gonna eat off the collection plates?" He stares blankly for a second. "Y'noticed the paddin' on those, aye?"

Connor shook his head. "I s'pose the rest's all right. Agreed."

"I planned on takin' the padding off...Jackass," Sawyer replied, downing another long shot of vodka.

"Well, as long as you're thinking ahead," Murphy says, properly holstering his gun, glancing, amused, at his brother. "Maybe we ought get you to the infirmary, though, an' Connor besides?"

"Yeah, sure," Sawyer said, grinding his teeth together to fight the pain of his broken ribs as he climbed to his feet. As he did, he noticed--apparently for the first time--the sizable arsenal that the MacManus twins seemed to be carrying with them.

"What the...?" he said, baffled. "How many damn guns you two got?"

"Oh, just a couple," Murphy replied easily, hand going to his Beretta, "it's not like we're the fucking IRA or somethin'."

And then he giggled.

"Huh," Sawyer said. He's thinking. Thinking that, after the crew has been attacked twice and he, himself, has been chased through the city by talking werewolves--one that now had an ax--he needed a gun. Pronto.

"I'll give ya two bottles of Irish whiskey and four packs of smokes for one."

Connor looked tempted. "We ain't got a fuckin'arsenal, mate, we've a limited supply." Still... "Murph?"

Murphy was also tempted. They really needed fags. And it wasn't like he'd asked for ammunition, and a person can only shoot so many guns at a time. Even when such a person is two people.

"Aye, suppose we could let him have one."

"So we got a deal?" Sawyer asked, just to be certain.

"Deal." Connor beamed and offered his uninjured hand.

"All right. We can stop by my locker and get your payment." Sawyer shook Connor's hand, flinching as a sharp pain shot through his side from his broken ribs.

"On second thought, let's make that after the infirmary," he added, holding his side.

"...Prolly for the best, aye." Connor grins widely. "Let's go, then, slowpokes."

And off he goes, Murph in tow and expecting Sawyer to follow.

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Desecrating the House of God [Closed] [R for LOTS of Cussing]

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