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Who is this sassy lost child
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The groan of the chapel doors pulled Jae from his doze. The ceiling came into focus again and he furrowed his brow in momentary confusion before his brain caught up with his consciousness and he drew in a sharp breath, grip tightening on the crossbow.

There were approaching footsteps - just one person, from the sound of it. No voice calling out. Sneaking, or just careless? Or Kimiko, whose name he'd heard twice now, who had won a prize the previous day. Any or all of those could be a bad thing for him.

Jae rose just far enough to steal a look over the back of the pew.

Brendan. He'd heard Brendan's name too, not long ago at all.

And wasn't that a hell of a thing? Brendan Harte, spineless, tail-between-his-legs Brendan, had gone and stabbed someone in the back. The kicker was, he still looked as pathetic as ever, slinking in here with his makeshift spear, looking like the building itself might snap at him. He was so familiar, so normal, it was almost amusing.

Nothing was normal here, though.

Jae sat up fully, bringing the crossbow up to rest on the back of the pew with a dull thunk, aimed in Brendan's direction. "Don't move."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

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Devil's Choir · Crematorium Chapel