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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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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