Felix watched idly as the priest made his way into what would serve as his quarters for the next few weeks. A dry, polite smile made its way onto his lips and he dipped his head in acknowledgement to arrival. The man didn’t waste any time on simple pleasantries, however, he launched right into a line of questioning that caused Felix quite a bit of discomfort. It wasn’t as though he blamed him, however, it was his job to pursue such questions, especially when he was first meeting with an individual.<br/><br/>“Well, my name is Felix, but most folk have taken to calling me Ix, and I quite like that. I suppose I wouldn’t mind you referred to me that way as well,” he instructed, sighing heavily as he slumped back against the rough wooden wall at his back. He was trying his hardest to be pleasant, though the mere sight of the white clad man sent his stomach rolling uncomfortably. Had they been in another situation he would have found the man attractive, he most certainly was the most attractive individual among their entourage, but seeing as he was in such a vulnerable position he saw him as more of a threat than anything.<br/><br/>“Yes, I suppose you could say a vast majority of them are self inflicted, though not all,” he commented as he slowly ran a hand over his naked torso, the heavy scarring making for an interesting texture. “Some of them are gifts that I’ve received from the kind, pious people of Oralie. The good folk of the church seem to get off and torturing us lowly sinners.” His voice was little more than a dark murmur as he spoke of the folk of the church. It was clear enough that Ix had a bone to pick with the establishment, but then who wouldn’t if they found themselves in the same situation he found himself in there.<br/><br/>Felix began idly tracing the lines of his scars and he smiled faintly. “This one is from an older woman named Agatha, been an avid churchgoer all her life, and enjoys labeling herself a woman of charity . . . She charitable, too, when it strikes her fancy. Gave me a whole copper once, though only a few weeks later she lunged at me with a butchers knife when I asked if she could spare me a cut of her meat,” he murmured, running his fingertips along a long, thick scar over his left pectoral. “This one of from a young man, pressed a burning cigar onto me whilst I was sleeping, he was still all trussed up in his Sunday best when he did it, too,” he murmured, tracing a darkened circle on his bicep. “And this one is from our local low ranking priest himself. Grabbed my arm so harshly the day he finally got to lock me away that I was sure he’d broken it,” he commented in closing, motioning to a series of deep gouges in his wrist from where somebody had grabbed a hold of him and dug their nails in.<br/><br/>“May I ask you a question?” he murmured, sitting up a bit straighter and gazing across at the other. He didn’t wait for a response from him before continuing, “Does it make sense to you that folks who’d do things like this are allowed to live to ripe old ages, rolling about in finery all the while, while the lives of innocents are cut short at a whim, because they happened to be born with undesirable hair colors?” He was, of course, speaking of Alice. Had a more desirable child been caught stealing, one who was cherished by their parents, they most likely would have gotten no more than a slap on the wrist. A red headed child, though, fabled to have the hair of a possessed individual? No, they paid the ultimate price for their juvenile mistake.