Chapter Text
Dismas took a long drag from his cigarette, tired eyes glossy as he surveyed the street sprawled out in front of him, barely registering the masses of people going about their daily duties, while they, in kind, ignored him as he went about his daily duties, of… loitering. It was hard work that needed to be done, at least in his opinion it was, and he was damn good at it, he’d find a nice corner, stand there and wait with no apparent purpose, that is until a voice distracted him from his very important work.
“You know those will kill you, right?” the voice said, referring to the cigarette hanging from his lips.
Dismas startled slightly, jumping a little and looking up to the sky, “are you there Light? It’s me… Der… uhm” he grumbled a little more, his own name a stranger to himself, as he conceded, his memory a foggy haze, “Ehh, line?”
“Dismas,” the voice tried to get his attention with a sharp snapping of their fingers.
“That’s the one…” He said with a slow waving finger of recognition, “It’s me Dis… moments passed, hasn’t it, Parly?”
“By the Light, I don’t know if it’s last night’s booze that’s got you this way or this morning’s,” Paracelsus speculated, taking his cigarette from his mouth and extinguishing it under her foot.
“No… my happy stick.” He said, making grabby hands to the quickly smouldering mess, that is until he felt a sharp slap across his face, “Ow… bitch.”
“Pull yourself together,” she demanded, thrusting a coffee into his hands that he took with a dismissive ‘thanks’ “Is this what you’ve been doing after getting out?”
“No!” He proclaimed, the disappointed look at the accusation ever present as he stood straighter, “I have been drinking, quite heavily, I think you’ll find, also.”
“I meant the drinking.”
“Oh.” he shuffled slightly on his feet, “Then, yes, this is everything I’ve been doing” he agreed, taking a sip from the bitter drink and spitting it to the ground, coughing up what precious little of the tainted beverage fell down his throat.
“What’s wrong with it, I made it the way you, at least, used to take it.”
Dismas showed his anguish, wiping his mouth desperately, “the way I like it? The way I… there’s no whisky in this Irish coffee,” he threw the cup to the ground, spilling its teetotal contents across the cement ground, giving it a final resentful look.
“It’s not Irish coffee.” Paracelsus claimed, giving a momentary despondent look at the two dollars she spent on the drink begin to trickle down the storm drain.
“Not Irish coffee?” he echoed, rubbing his head as he began mumbling, “No point in alcohol without coffee… wait, shit… no point in coffee with milk… wait, hold on… while true, not what I was aiming for… no point in alcohol without alcohol.” He beamed at this, while still not what he was aiming for but close enough, statement, looking way too proud in his ability to speak, which was actually, vaguely, impressive, in Paracelsus’ opinion, given his track record.
“You realise that you’ll kill yourself if you keep going like this,” Paracelsus stated, her voice level and emotionless, despite the subject matter.
“Oh, the dream!” he said with a lazy, dreamy smile. “I’m glad it’s not just my own.”
“It is just your own.”
His voice was bile and hate when he spat back, “Yeah I know!” he sighed, leaning against the wall, content to continue his loitering, “for being my ‘case worker,’ you really don’t… work my case all too well.”
“I’m not your case worker.” Paracelsus reminded, for what was the 83rd time. She had been counting.
“You’re… not?” He seemed completely and utterly taken aback by this revelation, as he had for basically every other time he had been reminded, “But she’s a woman… and you’re a woman…” he looked into the middle distance, deep in thought, “I just assumed that only one woman could stand to be around me, one that was being paid to do so, at that.”
“Yeah, well you don’t make it easy to do so,” she mumbled under her breath, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him from the wall, to get a better look at him, “now come on, I found you a job opportunity, might be what you need to finally do… something with your life and, I asked, they don’t mind the ex-con thing.”
“I’ve tried every place in this town… no one wants me.” He groused, shrugging the hand from his shoulder and saw fit to wallow in his grief, slumping defeatedly back against, what was proving to be, his favourite wall.
“Yeah… well… I doubt you’ve tried this one,” she cleared her throat, “it’s a… church of the Light.”
“What?” he asked, his voice nary but a whisper, “You got a bunch of religious fucks to make me, I repeat, me, to be, what? Head Priest?”
“Close,” she assured, much to his surprise, until she revealed: “You’re going to be head caretaker.”
“There’s only one caretaker isn’t there?”
“You’re still the head of all caretakers.”
He sighed, for much longer and much louder than needing to, Dismas squatting as he did to decrease his height, giving him the look of actually deflating, like a sad balloon a few days after a bad birthday. His shoulders slumping as he mumbled, “How much does it pay?”
“Enough for you to survive.”
“They realise that I need a lot of beer money to survive, right?”
Paracelsus had to restrain herself from punching that… very, very punchable face, “Don’t fuck this up,” she demanded, “You realise I have been all over this Light-damned city in the search of one Light-damned fool that will even think of hiring you, so unless you want to die in a back alley, being pissed on by cats, I’d recommend you cut down and think of the repercussions of your actions, to, at least, last till the end of the year.”
He sighed, tears picking at his eyes at the splash of realism between them and his voice was small as he peeped out, “Why do you care?”
“Because you’re a fucking mess and it’s about time you started cleaning yourself up.” This was a lie, to save herself from the awful truth.
In response to this, Dismas actually began to laugh, as a joke, that only he knew about, crossed his mind, “I have to clean myself up… by cleaning up this church, right?”
Paracelsus blinked at this for a few seconds, “Sure.” With a sigh, she wrote down the address to the church and passed it over to him, “You still got a place to stay?”
“Yep, yep,” he said with a dismissive hand wave, examining the piece of paper, “so they really don’t mind the… convict thing.”
“No, something about true forgiveness in the Light’s eyes or something like that.”
He chewed this new information for a bit, “they’re still paying me, right, they don’t think it’s them doing me a favour by taking me off the streets, or some shit. This isn’t some community service bullshit.”
“No, I made sure, they’re offering a wage.”
“Yeah… alright, guess there’s no harm in trying.”
“Alright, they’re expecting you there by tomorrow, don’t… be you with this situation and actually put in the effort.”
“I’m offended, but I understand. Alright, I guess that because you already gave me a, tainted, coffee, this is the only other handout I’ll get from you today?”
“Yeah, I’ve given you a chance to survive, that’s enough for a lifetime.”
“An unwanted chance to survive.”
“Then I’ll just give that slip of paper to the next beggar I see, if they’ll appreciate it more.”
He remained silent for a spell, before sighing, “Yeah, I’ll be there tomorrow, thanks.”
Paracelsus offered a nod before leaving Dismas to ponder this new opportunity and she wasn’t wrong, this could be the kick he needed to put his life back on track… or, at the very least, drink himself dead.