<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/a16483c2858f862945634d46b9ad41b9/tumblr_mh480oybdg1r64urio1_500.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Jaelyn Scot-Jones<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>n/a<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>dusk<br/><strong>Location:</strong>stagecoach trail<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>John Malta, the priest<br/><hr/><br/><br/><strong>"ohhh..."</strong>It was a long, soft sound, as her mind worked through the indications.  Grimme's mockery of a church, eh?  So her own feelings were not so far off then.  If it weren't for her mother, Jaelyn would have taken her chances on the street, leaving that god forsaken town all together.  After her mother's death though, she had a difficult time breaking away.  Was she under this thrall as well?  Jaelyn had thought it was her own broken heart that had paralyzed her over these many months until it was too late to escape Grimme's attempt to use her as he had her mother.<br/><br/>She listened as he told the tale of God's many interventions.  Perhaps the preacher was a little dotty after all, she mused.  And then, "They are executed, butchered and then served up for Grimme’s feast."  She gasped as if he'd struck her, sitting back on the log with her hands out to either side to stay her balance.<br/><br/><strong>"You can't..."</strong>Her throat constricted  until she forced herself to swallow.<strong>"You can't be serious, Sir!"</strong>She had helped prepare many a meal; peeling vegetables, baking bread, counting plates and flatware - lest any come up missing - setting table.<strong>"That...  that is...  "</strong>Her face first turned white as the blood drained away, then a little green at the edges as the bile rose.  She couldn't help believing him.  And she had eaten that meat, as well as given away the following days what she could ferret away on Sunday.  She paled again, realizing how often the starving would risk the rank smell of that meat for the nourishment it brought.<br/><br/>As he explained about their crossing paths, she questioned herself,<em>Oh, what have I done?</em>Her pale face looked up at him, anger against a myriad of parties, herself included, hardening the edges of her mouth.<strong>"If I hadn't put much faith in your God before today, why should hearing this horror story change that?  It's disgusting what HE allows to go on in this world, Grimme's shenanigans are only proof of that.  All of those innocent people,"</strong>Her expression crumpled slightly, eyes glistening with emotion.<strong>"You know, priest, preacher, what ever you are... a true father would not abandon his children to... to such a MONSTER!" </strong><br/><br/>Anger brought some color back to her cheeks in two deep pink splotches, one on either cheek, as if she purposefully pinched them before a happy soiree.  Instead of dancing, she shucked his coat from her shoulders to toss it off to the side.  Stubbornness and spite reared their ugly heads together and she was powerless to stop them.  Why should she?  The games of God & Man were ridiculous, while her anger was righteous.  Still she was silently thankful that the fire gave off a good, warm glow.<strong>"How could he not believe in me?  I'm easy enough to see now, aren't I?"</strong>Two fingers pinched the skin on the back of her wrist for good measure, the thin flesh held there, before slowly slipping back into place.<strong>"See?  It's your God that's invisible, Mr Malta.  I made plenty of one-sided conversation with the Great Missing One."</strong>Had she ever, with rice cutting into the skin of her knees until she could barely stand one more second.<strong>"An answer might have been nice...  just once."</strong><br/>