Frederick
**Characters featured**: James Jennings (
Deborah
For days James had been discussing plans with interested townsfolk, for days he was preparing and going back over his plans to ensure everything looked right, for days he fretted over whether or not this would be a success. It was a relatively simple idea; set up tables and empty boxes in front of the church, invite people to donate supplies or to take what they needed, and simply stand and either observe or engage in friendly conversation. He'd posted fliers a week in advance, his father being more than happy to write them out for him in handwriting far neater than any James could accomplish. It was a sweet moment sandwiched between more reassurances from both his father and brother Jesse that the drive would go off without a hitch. 

Still, despite their constant positive affirmations and offers to help, James couldn't shake the lingering stress regarding what could go wrong and what people would think. After Sunday service he was often sore from standing but nothing he couldn't handle after some rest and stretches. This would be a new test to see how far he could push himself, James needing to have the same or even more activity during Sunday service but multiplied by three, the charity event being on a Monday and Tuesday, leaving him standing for hours at a time for three days straight. He was advised by those around him to take breaks during the event but James stubbornly refused, claiming that he was fine even if by the end of the first day his legs were shaking. After the first day he retreated into the church where nobody could see him, finally sitting and letting himself cry. His legs and lower arms felt like they were on fire and not long after he sat down to rest his wrist twisted, contorting and only soothed by the other hand gripping the arm below it and massaging the area. Luckily there was nobody to witness it, James leaving after an hour with the sweat on his brow dried and tired eyes still bright with hope for the next day.

They had a great turnout and he could only wish the next day would be the same.

Tuesday was quite similar with a slight decrease in attendance but not much of a change in donations. It was mostly spare blankets while others donated pickled vegetables and canned food they had to spare. Near the end of the day however James could feel the onset of another twisting, this time in his neck. Hastily he retreated, excusing himself and fleeing back into the church. There he lay on the floor, his fears of someone coming inside and seeing his neck locked looking to the side and his face suddenly twitching only leading to the episode going on longer than usual. By the time he was recovered it was time to clean up but the rest of the volunteers insisted that he just go home, seeming to have noticed that James wasn't doing too well. They said he'd done more than enough and deserved the rest. He didn't learn his lesson and old habits were swift to return. He missed out on something and on the long walk home began to partially doubt that they really meant it. Of course, he rationalized pretty quick that their tones were genuine and faces laced with concern - one person even volunteered to escort him home - but the feeling of inadequacy still remained.

Today he wasn't working and could spend the whole day lounging at home if he wanted to, his father even suggesting that they play a card game later that day, but James refused to stay down. As much as his muscles needed reprieve he still refused, insisting on going out to get some groceries since they had run out of bread the previous night and to maybe pick up some cuts of meat for dinner. His father took out ol' reliable, something he used to remind James of all throughout school whenever he'd get in funks about not being able to keep up with his peers, a phrase his father hadn't used in years - *"The chicken shouldn't compare itself to an eagle."*

The sentiment was about running your own race, not comparing yourself and your limits to the limits of someone entirely different. The chicken was a bird just like an eagle but couldn't fly as well. This didn't negate its status as a bird or valuable member of bird society, it just meant that their strengths were in different fields and that they provided different things to the table. However, the phrase fell on deaf ears, as James could only imagine himself as the only chicken in a world built for eagles, an image that only fueled his stubbornness. 

Long story short, James had left the house, proclaiming that he would be fine and return home soon. The errand run was going well, James grabbing a loaf of bread from the bakery before starting to head towards the butcher for some beef to use in a soup his father often loved making. The whole morning his worries about how he and the event was perceived kept echoing, eventually evolving into the idea that maybe he just wasn't meant to do what he wanted, ignoring the fact that he very much could with much needed breaks. He pushed himself too hard but could only see it as pushing himself to everyone else's perceived average, a baseline he occasionally felt he needed to meet even if he knew that it was a bad idea. Most of the time he was more accepting of his needs and limits but something about being around so many people and a resurgence of negative self talk had only made it more difficult to advocate for himself. Before he knew it the familiar tension in his neck made itself known, sending James rushing to hide so that nobody saw him. This was one of his worst nightmares, having an audience to something like this, and that fear only made it progress faster.

Muscles flexed and twitched around his neck, starting in the back and making its way up until he was forced to stop moving.

Getting to the side of the diner his neck jerked and finally locked in place, a feeling akin to rippling muscle cramps filling his neck and jaw and leading to James leaning his back against the wall. Carefully he slid down, his face stuck looking to the left while he got to the ground and lay on the dirt within the shadow of the diner. As per usual he forced himself to take deep breaths, focusing on his breathing and his environment to calm back down, but all he could focus on was the footfalls of the occasional passerby and a flush of red that filled his cheeks. He couldn't tell if anyone was looking at him but the mere idea of being stared at like this flooded his mind with shame and anxiety - again, only making the experience longer. James tried holding back the occasional groan or grunt but he was partially unsuccessful, a sudden twitch of the face or ripple through his neck startling one out of him. 

The pressure of his upper back against hard ground was slowly making it better, a sack holding a loaf of bread being laid out by his side where he could not see. His forearm crutches were still fastened to his arms over his sleeves, the poles of the crutches ending just beyond his feet. A light brown jacket filled with cream colored fuzz was left open to reveal a plain white shirt underneath. By the time his neck was loose enough to be controlled James' head was pounding as was his heart. He stayed on the ground though, not wanting to risk anything by moving suddenly.

The rest of his body was even more exhausted than before if that was even possible and it left him wondering if it would be wise to get the meat after everything that happened. Moreover, did anyone see him? Did he scare anyone? The corners of his eyes were wet with tears but merely due to the pain associated with such moments, any emotional tears being willfully held back and reserved for when he wasn't in public anymore.
William
In her time residing within the quaint town of Briar Ridge, Victorine had become a regular face at the diner. She had no ability to cook and no interest in it either. Though she ascribed to many of the contemporary ideas around a woman's appearance, namely that she should be very slim, she did still need to eat. And so her late morning visits to the diner kept her fulfilled of her usual regimented breakfast of two hard-boiled eggs and an entire kettle of green tea.

With a daintily-wielded teaspoon, the first of the eggs was cracked through. Her long fingers made the work of peeling and laying aside eggshell almost a graceful thing in their measured slowness. This was a meditative task of sorts. One she did while watching the comings and goings of the townspeople through the diner's window. 

Winter was waning, at last. Victorine hadn't quite decided if she would leave this place once the ground had fully thawed. Something about its inhabitants fascinated her. No, there was no real interest in Mrs. Wilson selling her goose eggs down at the town center. She also rarely looked twice at the thatcher's daughter, who'd made especially nice with most of the widows in town. She did look, however, at the way the townspeople's faces grew more tense with the passing of days. The fuller and fatter the moon grew, the more these citizens looked over their shoulders.

There was an air of suspicion in Briar Ridge overall. It had only grown thicker with the murder of the mayor. Victorine wanted to sink her teeth right into the intrigue. She just needed to find a way in...

Stirring a few drops of honey into her third mug of tea, she watched through the window as the boy (or man?) practically melted himself down the wall until he was flush with the earth. *What a curious thing*, she thought, lacing her fingers together and propping her chin on the two pointers. Her poised posture was interspersed with a sip of tea now and again, all in all watching James for the span of several minutes. She found something delightfully macabre in the way he could not seem to control parts of his body, as if he were twisted by invisible forces. 

Resting her teaspoon on her napkin, she rose. A flash of a finger was given to the waitress with a tilt of the head, indicating she'd be just right back. Before long, her shadow was stretching lanky under the late morning sun, laying straight across James' body. She canted her head, studying him, her face eclipsing the sun and framed by the halo of it. She was a tall, willowy thing, belted neatly into a black trench that brushed across the tops of her black boots. Wisps of silvery hair blew from the long braid hung over one shoulder. 

Even in her shadow, tears still caught a glimmer in the corners of his eyes. Heat bloomed pink in his cheeks. He was a boy after all, she decided. 

Crouching down beside his head, her body between James' own and the general thoroughfare, she offered a gentle smile. Her lips were too small for her face, and instead the warmth seemed to linger in the golden hazel of her eyes. She stroked back some of his dark hair, her fingers very soft.

"God is faithful, who will not suffer ye to be tested beyond that which ye are able." Her voice was as delicate as her touch, the other hand reaching around to squeeze one of his own, uninhibited by the protrusion of a crutch. "You must be very strong then." The last part was a whisper near his ear. So close, she smelled of lilacs. "I'm Victorine. I would like to help you to rise and bring you inside. If you think you are able?"

TW: Disordered eating, ableism ||
Deborah
James lay there, the cramping of his neck and jaw leaving the muscles sore in the wake of such an episode. He would need to turn his head slowly until the soreness went away after a day or two. He learned pretty quickly and moving his neck or other affected muscles suddenly would only result in more pain. It was because of this that the young man could only pan over slowly to gaze at the figure standing before him, their shadow casted from his feet and up towards his head. In all honesty it was pretty intimidating, nobody having responded with such calm stillness after something like this. Their face was blocked out by the sun, that titular ball of fire held behind their head. It was almost like a painting of a shadowy saint, a solid circle of gold being the only indication of holiness amongst silent darkness. A tilted head indicated curiosity or hidden intent. Maybe they were just processing it all before reacting? James sure hoped that was the case.

Then they moved. Well, *She* Moved, stepping to the side and kneeling down. Her hair was braided and fell over one shoulder, platinum blonde to the point of practically looking like white silver. Sharp cheeks mirrored his own in a way, albeit devoid of the flush that had only intensified since it was confirmed that someone saw him - for how long, however, he had no idea, and he hated to speculate until the exact time was confirmed. A tiny, soft smile fell on equally tiny lips. In a scramble to analyze the situation and keep his cool it was hard to understand what her intentions were. Her eyes displayed warmth but the tilted head and prolonged observing still felt off. 

Her hand moved, dainty fingers reaching for his head. James watched closely before shifting away once she made contact with his hair. Her hand was gentle, her skin was soft, but at the same time it felt slimy and intrusive. However, he did let her grab his hand, James sincerely hoping that she didn't hoist him up by force.

Her words were odd too. They reminded him of scripture or old English, as if she was reciting a verse or prayer. She spoke of suffering and strength, mentioning God only testing a person based on what He knows they can handle. As the woman leaned in, James tried to shift away again but was instead frozen in thought, her whisper feeling even more intrusive but her words interesting. 

She said he was strong... Wait, was she praying for *Him*? God, he hoped he was wrong because then he'd need to explain to her why he didn't like that. In fact, maybe he'd need to tell her about boundaries too given her current track record. However, he also could tell that she was trying to help in a way she believed would work from her perspective, and that was... Kind of sweet? James wasn't entirely sure since this had never happened before. It was either indifference, concern, or disgust. Maybe she just said that because she thought he got hurt and that was why he looked like this? He didn't recognize her face or voice at all so it wasn't like she knew him since childhood like many of the people in town.

*'I'm Victorine. I would like to help you to rise and bring you inside. If you think you are able?'* There it was, an invitation to help. I mean, at least she was asking instead of forcing it, right? 

"It-" James began for a second before clearing his throat, his voice coming out more like a crackly squeak since he was still recovering from the rollercoaster of emotions he was forced upon. "Uh, it's nice to meet you. I-I can help myself up, don't worry. I... I guess going inside and sitting on a proper chair is better than being in the dirt. Just uh... Just give me a moment." James concluded, remaining silent from here on out as he shifted his body fully away from Victorine. Even though it would be easier to get up with assistance he still felt like accepting the offer would give the wrong impression.

Besides, he was the one in control of his body if he did it himself, not a total stranger he just met. Slowly James rose off the ground, using his elbows first before moving to his hands until he was sitting upright. From here he leaned against the wall for extra support before sliding one arm out one of his crutches and using it almost like a cane, setting it upright before grabbing the handle. James lifted himself up until his stiff legs could get underneath his body, then relying on them for extra strength and eventually the other crutch that was still attached. It was a slow process but that was for the best since he didn't want to accidentally hurt himself or get dizzy.

James didn't bother to slide his arm back into the recycled belt since he would be taking them off anyway once he got seated inside. With that James began his stroll up to the front door, going slow at first to make sure he was definitely stable before returning to a more normal pace. "So," James began again with another sigh upon reaching the front door, "Did you... See anything? Like, how long were you watching?" He continued, stepping to the side of the door and releasing one hand from the crutch in order to pull the door open, using the other crutch to keep it open before promptly sliding in. "Just so you know, I'm usually inside when that sort of thing happens and it doesn't happen a lot, so I'm not suffering if that's what you were implying earlier." James continued and finally concluded, ending with a nervous chuckle and forced smile as to not appear upset even if it didn't feel the best. From here he simply waited for Victorine to lead the way, not quite knowing where she sat or where she would be sitting.
William
This was not the first time and would certainly not be the last that someone had avoided her touch. She fancied that she was called to the most wounded of souls, and those were always the ones least likely to accept comfort. At first, anyway. Pursing her lips, she rose in one motion so easy it almost seemed cruel to the boy left laying on the ground. 

Girls like Victorine had had grace drilled into them from their first breath. Though she might shirk duty and rebuke tradition, *Stand still and be pretty* Was as innate as breathing. Even motionless, the posture she assumed seemed too elegant for the rustic village she stood within. Feet side-by-side, long arms dangling fingers laced together, her face was thoughtful. It seemed almost coincidental the way she left herself between James and the main walkway, shielding him from view and interruption. 

His body language was clear enough, the way he shifted away from her. She did not intervene, other than to stand vigil, unerringly patient. The pad of one thumb stroked almost imperceptible at the lacquered nail of her other thumb while she watched him. There was some curiosity in her about how he might find his way to his feet. It was not graceful, but certainly practiced the way that he got legs that did not seem to want to obey back under him again. One thick arched brow quirked to see him walk almost normally towards the door. She plucked up his fallen bag of bread and continued to wait.

There came some more practiced maneuvering on James' part to see both himself and his crutches through the door, Victorine the curious follower. The waitress inside looked concerned but busied herself. "I came as soon as I saw you," The tall blonde woman said from behind him, "This way." A light hand on his shoulder and she was stepping around James to lead him towards a small table by the window. There was only enough room for two, the occupied seat clearly marked by an unfolding meal of two eggs and a piping kettle.

Tucking herself neatly back into her chair, Victorine waited for James to see himself seated. "The mention of God appointing our suffering are the words of Paul in Corinth. He and other Apostles established a church and to say there was a great lot of testing of the faith of new converts, well..." Her brows flicked up, and she gave a sheepish smile. Her voice was soft and sounded almost stiff with the rigidity of a Midatlantic accent, though it was much more sedate than the vibrant voices heard on the radio. "That is to say, suffering can be used interchangeably with *Testing*. From what I've seen, it seems you have learned a good deal in the tests of your body. Not only about how to navigate difficulties, but... Perhaps also about yourself?"

Green tea wafted fragrant tendrils from the spout of the kettle on the table between them. Her mouth watered, a fact that she kept to herself. Her hands were laced on her lap, beneath the table. Eyes fixed on him, she acted as if there was no food or drink on the table at all. There was none for James, at least not yet, and so it was only polite to ignore the presence of it entirely. 

A waitress approached, her apron showing the wear of many many mornings of hard work. It could probably use a laundering too. But it was not out of sorts in Briar Ridge's diner. "Coffee? Eggs, honey?" She asked James.

||
Deborah
He was quite grateful that Victorine kept her distance, allowing him to do what he had to without protest. However, he was so focused on getting up and into the diner that he'd forgotten the bread. Thankfully the woman, poised and graceful and oh so peculiar, had plucked it up off the ground for him. During his walk to the front door he looked back, noticing the bread in her hand and flashing her an appreciative smile and murmuring along the way, "Oh, thanks! Totally forgot." The transition from dirtied street to clean diner interior was smooth, his technique of opening doors coming just as naturally as anyone else. Sliding in he held it slightly ajar with one of his crutches, allowing for Victorine to hold it open the rest of the way to let herself inside with ease. 

Upon entering he wasn't oblivious to the fleeting gaze of concern coming from one of the on duty waitresses, James giving a small smile in hopes that she'd see it and be reassured what all was well. However, his smile faded when Victorine answered his question. It didn't turn into a frown but it most certainly wasn't a grin, his expression being something akin to seriousness or becoming contemplative. If she approached right as it was ending then maybe she didn't see how his neck and wrist tensed and twisted as if they were trying to escape the cage that was his body. As grim as it was he was simply happy her immediate reaction wasn't righteous horror, he'd heard of cases in the past where people with epilepsy or other disorders were accused of being possessed and died due to the negligence and prejudice of others. He was grateful to have a community that cared for him and where most of them treated him like just another human being, not inherently lesser nor inherently inspiring, just human.

Reflections aside, James wasted no time and followed Victorine to a table, silently sitting across from her in the empty chair.

As he removed the remaining belt harness from his arm he kept his head tilted slightly in her direction, listening to her speak and occasionally glancing over with his eyes. Once it was fully removed James slid his legs fully under the table, leaning the crutches against his chair and resting his arms against the tabletop as he fully faced Victorine. The more she spoke the more questions and answers he got. She was probably religious, that was even clearer with the mention of specific people in the Bible. He didn't want to get into the specifics of what was going on to a complete stranger but he was willing to entertain her indirect queries with equally vague or basic answers.

With that being said, he was unable to really respond before a waitress approached, James offering a small smile and a tiny "Good morning!" Almost as soon as she caught his attention. However, he faltered once he was prompted to order food. James looked over at Victorine, seeing her waiting expectantly before looking back at the waitress and then to the table. James let out a small hum in thought, holding a hand to his chin while he contemplated what to get. He just had breakfast before leaving but it couldn't hurt to get a little something. Besides, he had money to spare, and it didn't seem that his company would eat until he had something too. Eventually James perked back up, facing the waitress with a renewed smile, friendly as always. "I think I'll just have some toast with some jam and orange juice to drink. I don't care what kind of jam it is, whatever you've got is fine." James finally answered, the waitress scribbling it down in a notepad before flipping it closed. *"Sounds good, I'll have that out in a sec!"* Was all she said before turning around and heading into the kitchen to place the order.

Murmuring thanks to the waitress as she turned her back, James was allowed to get back to Victorine, turning to face her again.

"Anyway, I can sort of see what you mean, but with the context you've given I also want you to know that my faith isn't being tested. I mean, my faith hasn't really faltered severely that much anyway even if it has been challenged sometimes. I don't know, I just feel like you oughta know that, it always grinds my gears when someone tells me my disability is a test from God, which I don't think it is." James began with a slight sigh, wanting to still emphasize that he wasn't bitter and that she'd hopefully get the memo that he wanted to get off of this topic. Some people asked him about any bitterness towards God when it came to how he was born, especially since he was in training to be a pastor, and he always denied any ill feelings towards Him. Sure, he felt like it was unfair at times, but that was just life so he might as well make the most of what he's got. It isn't always easy and some days are far worse than others, but he still lives and provides for his community in his own way, and he's just happy that he's been accepted by them. Speaking of community...

"So, um... I've never seen you around here before. Are you new to town? I know this isn't a conventional way to meet but I'd still like to welcome you here in case you are. I work at the local church and I'm training to be a pastor if that at all interests you."
William
"Testing isn't always testing of faith," She said matter-of-factly. Her eyes settled on him having seen himself seated. It seemed she had more to say, but in those moments of thinking, she decided otherwise. Whatever it was she thought about him, it didn't play out on her peculiar features. Those were politely friendly, eyes alert, little mouth uncompressed. 

"I suppose you could say I am new." Further back in the diner, an older woman had a raucous laugh. She seemed to be catching up over brunch with a old friend and apparently the news was very funny. Victorine's gaze passed over James' shoulder, a flicker of annoyance appearing before fading away. 

"A delight that you are training in the faith." Her eyes alighted on James again, studying the details there. Thick, expressive eyebrows over dark eyes. She wondered how they might look in anger, but something told her this gentle-seeming boy was not predisposed to such a dark emotion. A pity. "It's said a man must have a true calling from God to enter the faith. Though..." She leaned forward, her voice lowering a few decibels. "There's quite an awful lot of gatekeeping in faith. Which, between you and me, should be for every person, don't you think?"

Any opportunity for him to answer was negated by the waitress coming back around. "Orange juice, fresh squeezed." The small glass was set down on the table with a thump. "Aaaand sourdough toast with sweet cranberry marmalade." A little saucer followed suit with two delicious-looking pieces of toast. "You two let me know if you need anything, alright?" The waitress gave James a friendly wink before turning on her heel.

Victorine watched her go, feeling grateful that she'd been quick about bringing him around something to eat. The napkin she'd folded and placed on the table made its way back into her lap. "I appreciate the welcome." Her fingers straightened the folded corner of the linen napkin below the table, eyes focused there. "But I must admit, it would be nice to know your name." The girl looked up from the stubborn napkin corner, offering him a small smile.
Deborah
James supposed that Victorine was correct on testing not always being a test of faith, it just was so hard to not focus on that specific interpretation when the bible was thrown into the mix. Regardless of her previous statements it was easy to perk back up when she confirmed his suspicions, a good shift in topic that he so desperately desired. His face naturally broke into a wide smile that caused his eyes to squint ever so slightly, his back straightening beyond it's usual slouch with the mood rising. He couldn't help but turn his head to the side to follow the sound of laughter, recognizing it as one of joy and recollection. For some reason this invigorated him, just hearing someone be happy sending a wave of energy through his still aching bones. He didn't catch the spark of annoyance from Victorine though, having been too focused on the positive emotions of the laughing woman to dig into the other lady's fleeting expression.

Even as the topic of faith continued - this time at his own indirect suggestion - he remained content. Sure, Victorine had a manner of talking about it that alluded to some bad experiences or ill feelings, but he was willing to discuss it further and reassure her that no such discrimination would take place here, not so long as he had a say. As Victorine leaned in, James leaned back the same amount, having quite liked the distance the two kept, and especially after how close the woman had gotten when they first met. James opened his mouth to respond before another voice disrupted the two, his eyes moving from Victorine to the waitress who was already back with his order. Polite as always James flashed a smile and leaned back more to give her space to set his foot down, carefully eyeing his orange juice and the toast he was given.

The little wink and invitation to let her know if they needed anything else wasn't lost on him and on instinct was responded to with a small thumbs up and a whispered *'will do'*.

James went for the orange juice first while Victorine got settled again, using both hands to hold onto the glass carefully. His fingers shook before they grabbed ahold of the glass, the action of grasping seeming to lock them into place while the other hand held it by the bottom, the fingers of that hand still twitching. His grip on things wasn't always too reliable so he was pretty used to airing on the side of caution by acting like everything he held was covered in oil. Once he swallowed and set the glass back down James gave Victorine another flash of a smile before softening, feeling rather glad that she appreciated his welcoming words somewhat. However, his eyebrows were shifted upwards apologetically when she also mentioned that he never told her his name. "Oh yeah, sorry about that I must've forgotten. Uh, I'm James, James Jennings!" He began, holding out a hand across the table upon revealing his name as an open invitation for a handshake. 

"I do agree that some of the discrimination in the church is ah...*Disconcerting*, but I assure you that we do our best here to include everyone in the faith." James continued whether Victorine took his hand or not, getting right back on track. "I've lived here my whole life and for as long as I can remember we've been pretty accepting all things considered. Sure, it ain't perfect and we still have work to do, but just know that you won't be treated as less because of who you are around here, m'kay?"

If Victorine accepted the handshake James would retract by this point if she hadn't already, beginning to start spreading the cranberry marmalade on his toast as he kept talking. "I mean, I haven't been disrespected specifically by the *Church* For being born the way I am, and the church here doesn't have any poor stances on women or gay people as far as I'm aware, so all things considered I think we're doing okay. Sometimes when people come in there's kind of a culture shock when comparing it to the rest of the nation. It's a shame really, you can't control who you love or how you feel inside, so why judge?"