Grey crashes a UMCC prayer meeting

"And when the Lord Our God, Jesus Christ, was sent to Earth, was His burden light?" The words carry out from beyond the grimy entryway to the fetid alley. Beyond the dumpsters and garbage cans, beyond the occaisonal scurrying rat, a small circle of individuals can be seen, if one has any care to look. There are only four or five total, seated mostly on decrepit folding chairs or discarded egg crates, and their faces are all turned away from the mouth of the alley, except one - a handsome man dressed in simple black clothing, who stands before them and speaks clearly and passionately. Occaisonally, his audience nods and murmurs, but for now they listen raptly. "No, brothers, it was not. He came into the world, power and wisdom and love incarnate, He took on the frailties of man, and he met pain, spite, and hatred wherever he went."

Into this serene little gathering comes an unexpected guest. The sound of feet running on the pavement just outside the alley announces her presence just before Grey ducks inside, a little breathless but clearly more pumped than afraid as she peeks back out into the street. Whatever she was running from, it seems to have passed, for she leans back against the alley wall with her ill-gotten gains: a pack of cigarettes. She's just in the process of trying to get one out when it sinks in that there were voices coming from in here. She looks over at the unlikely congregation with a sort of surprised and skeptical look. "The hell is this?" she asks bluntly.

The waif's arrival certainly gets a reaction from the crowd. All the seated members stand abruptly, turning to face Grey - and it becomes a bit more clear right away that this is no ordinary prayer circle. One of the faces staring down at her has three eyes - one large, cycloptic eye in the middle of her head, and two small ones on either side of her nose. Another, clad almost entirely in decrepit rags, has only one, the other apparently permanently closed due to scars crossing that side of his face. Perhaps they were inflicted due to that third arm Grey can see protruding from underneath the left side of the standard two-set? A third figure, whose gender is unguessable, appears to be covered head to toe in thick, matted brown fur, most of which the mutant tries to hide with a sort of improvised burlap cloak. The man who was speaking earlier also goes silent, looking seriously - but curiously - at Grey.

"W-what do you w-w-want?" asks the three-eyed woman, fighting through an apparent stuttering problem.

"Woah," Grey says as she catches sight of the mutants gathered here, her eyes wide, but with amazement rather than fear. She stares unabashedly, stepping further inside the alley for a closer look. "/Cool/," is her somewhat breathless take on the situation. "Huh?" It takes her a moment to make sense of the stuttered question as she looks back over at the three-eyed woman. "Uh, I dunno. What the hell are you guys doing?" Her gaze finally comes to seek out Plain. He seems considerably less cool, but then, he also seems undeniably in charge here too.

The mutants exchange confused glances at Grey's response, and as much as their variously-deformed faces can express, a myriad of expressions go by - fear, aggravation, shame. Only the man in black seems to keep a level expression, regarding Grey for a few moments before offering her a warm, friendly smile. "Good day, child. You'll have to forgive us, we rarely have unexpected visitors here." He gestures to his 'guests'. "We were in the middle of a prayer meeting for the United Mutant Church of Christ. Would you like to pull up a seat?" He gestures to a spare wooden fruit crate sitting beside a wall. "All are welcome, here."

"A mutant church?" Grey asks a little skeptically as she finally sees to freeing a cigarette from the purloined pack. "Now I've seen everything." She takes a moment to glance around at the surroundings, her gaze lingering rather pointedly on the smelly dumpster. "Sure don't look like any church I seen before. Where's your stained glass windows?" She moves in a little closer, not quite taking the seat yet, but clearly curious all the same.

The three-armed man's face contorts with anger. "A Church isn't a building!" he spits furiously. "It's what's --" Plain touches the three-armed man on the shoulder calmly, and he seems to settle down a bit. "The United Mutant Church of Christ," the man in black responds quietly, "is, as you can imagine, very new and very controversial. As such, we have no physical building where we can meet, not when the Oppressors bar so many doors to us. But the Lord tells us that, wherever two or three of us gather in His name, that is His house; and so we meet where we are welcome." He takes a step toward Grey and raises his hand politely to shake hers. "My name is Arthur Plain, but most simply call me Deacon Plain. It's my title in the UMCC." He pretends not to notice that a clearly underage girl is apparently fixing to get herself a cigarette.

Grey looks impassively over at the three-armed man as he starts getting shirty with her. Fortunately, Plain manages to step in before the youngster can fully get her back up against the wall, and she leaves off with just fixing the man with a sort of 'nyah' type of look before her gaze returns to the Deacon. "I dunno. I mean, there was this one church that used to meet in a storefront where I- used to hang out, but at least they still had a building. And real chairs and stuff," she adds, eyeing the overturned crate warily. "You guys aren't a cult or something, are you? Because I'm not about to drink the Kool-Aid so forget it." The cigarette is placed between her lips, the pack disappeared into her kangaroo pocket.

Plain laughs lightly at Grey's accusation of culthood. "Rest assured. We don't even serve drinks. We only gather to give glory to God and ask His strength as we struggle with the challenges forced upon us." He glances to his congregation, then back at Grey. "What do you know of mutantkind, Miss...?" He trails off, giving her a chance to fill in her name. The rest of the congregation seems to be relaxing now, and are settling back onto their seats.

"Grey. Just Grey," the girl responds abruptly, looking up from her current quest to find something to light her smoke with. She pauses, her hand still buried up to the wrist in one of the cargo pockets on her pants as she considers the question. "Oh, y'know, some stuff," she goes on vaguely. "Anyone got a light?" Her gaze peers out from behind those lanks of hair as she surveys the group for an answer. "Anyway, what do /you/ know about mutants?" This is addressed to Plain directly, since she can kind of tell about the others.

When Grey asks for a light, both the scarred man and the furry one look expectantly at the woman with three eyes. Her one large eyebrow furrows in aggravation, but then she sighs. "D-d-d-don't move." She stares at the tip of the cigarette, all three eyes focusing on it... and the tip sparks, lighting itself. Plain chuckles lightly. "I know a lot more than most. I try to share my understanding with as many as possible, though few will listen, unfortunately." He spreads his arms. "After all, few are willing to accept that mutants are not cursed, but Gifted." The capital G is practically audible. "And I have little doubt that the Lord wishes for me to bring light into the darkness of ignorance..." On cue, he allows a subtle, yellowish-white glow to permeate his body, making his own nature a bit more obvious.

"Huh," is Grey's rather succinct response as her cigarette sparks into life. She removes it from her mouth a moment to look at it before shrugging and tucking it back between her lips again. "That's pretty cool," she allows, nodding a few times. It's questionable how much of the Plain-speak actually sinks in, but her eyebrows go up as he begins to glow. "Oh, I see. So you're all mutants." She considers that another moment, nodding to herself.

"Ya think?" is the furred one's blunt reply to Grey's observation; the voice is surprisingly high and light. The Deacon lets the illumination die down, still smiling. "We are. Though, we prefer to call ourselves the Gifted among ourselves. Those who have been given Gifts by God Almighty, so that we might one day do Heaven's work here on Earth."

Grey rolls her eyes at the furry ... thing, before looking back to Plain. "Gifted, huh? I don't think I ever heard anyone call it a gift from God before." And she doesn't sound like she entirely hates the idea either. "That's cool, I guess. I mean, I dunno about the whole God thing, but at least it's better than all those people you hear /whining/ about it."

Plain nods sadly to her statement. "Yes, unfortunately, most of the world listens to the Oppressors - those who fear us, who want to make us ashamed of what we are. Do not be deceived - the Gifted are meant to use their Gifts! Not hide them from the world!" The scarred, three-armed man gives Plain a skeptical look. "C'mon, Deacon, what are you wasting your time on this kid for? She's probably gonna tell her parents about us and try to get this alley cleared up or something!"

"What the fuck man, do I look like the sorta kid who goes running home to mommy and daddy?" Grey asks the man challengingly, even stepping towards him a little bit like she's fully ready to throw down over that slight, removing the cigarette from between her lips. "For a bunch of freaks, you guys sure are judgemental." She wipes her nose on her sleeve, eyeing them all suspiciously. And then she pulls out a coin from that kangaroo pouch, flipping it into the air. She doesn't even watch as it arcs up, going end over end... And then gravity catches up with it and it starts to fall. Rather anticlimactic really. Until it suddenly jerks off course to fly neatly into her open palm, whereupon she deposits it right back into her pocket. "Get it?"

The demonstration certainly takes the scarred, three-armed man by surprise, and the others all look at Grey in a new light. Except Plain, who continues to smile as if he'd expected this all along. "Brother Jeremy, do you see why the Lord commands that we judge not, lest we judge ourselves? Not all Gifts are as visible as yours." He nods to Grey. "That is an extraordinary Gift you have, Grey. You should be proud."

Grey looks rather smug as that puts them all in /their/ place. "I am," she replies to Plain without missing a beat. "I mean, it's useful, right? Got me outta hot water plenty." She puts the cigarette back between her lips now as she leans back against the nearby alley wall. "So you guys all just hang out in alleys and talk about your - gifts, then?"

Plain pulls up an adjacent seat - an upturned egg crate - to speak with Grey a bit more on her level. The others are all watching the two of them, now. "We don't just 'hang out' - we pray, and we discuss how we can use our Gifts for the good of the Lord. And, of course, we discuss how to free our brothers and sisters from the ignorance the Oppressors try to spread among them." He folds his hands, resting his elbows on his knees as he talks to Grey. "Mostly, we seek God's guidance."

"Uh huh. And what's God /guide/ you to do?" Grey asks a little skeptically. But she studies Plain as he sits before her, not moving from where she now slouches against the wall, other than to take hold of her cigarette and drop her arm to her side. "I mean, using our Gifts, I can get behind that, but where does God come into it?" Her gaze flickers around periodically at the others, but mostly her attention remains on Plain.

"God guides us in many ways," Plain replies pleasantly. "Through the Scriptures. Through the story of His beloved Son, and those of the Apostles and Saints, which through God's grace have stayed with us to this day. And through the Holy Spirit, which moves our hearts when we open ourselves to the Lord - ask, and ye shall be answered. As for what we do?" He gestures to the three-eyed woman. "Bethany lights trash fires for homeless when it's too wet out for anyone to find a decent match." He nods to the man with the scarred face and three arms. "Jeremy is a Gifted craftsman and tailor. He repairs the makeshift dwellings and clothing of those who cannot provide for themselves." He then gestures to the furred mutant. "And Paul's father would have died last winter if he hadn't kept him warm with his own body. Our Gifts, no matter how great or small, can be used for incredible good - if we are diligent and seek ways to use them thus."

Some might feel a little bit guilty in the face of all this humanitarianism, when one only uses their powers for personal gain. But Grey remains rather unflinching, her gaze just following the the story as it goes, flickering from face to face. "Well, that's great and all, but my powers just let me get stuff from people who don't want me to have that stuff. Works for me. If God's sending me a message through my-my Gift, then it's pretty clear." She takes another drag from the cigarette.

There are a few unpleasant expressions at Grey's brief summation of her purpose. "Th-th-thou sh-sh-shalt n-n-not s-steal," mumbles Bethany. Plain, however, remains calm. "Yes, that does seem to be what your Gift can do. And there's certainly no harm to be found in taking back from the Oppressors what they have already taken from us." At this, his congregation visibly relaxes, some nods going around. "And if you were to give some of the fruits of your Gifts to those who have nothing... God would truly smile upon you, I am certain."

"Oh yes I shalt," Grey shoots right back at Bethany, getting that surly expression back on as she prepares for a lecture. As such, Plain's response actually surprises the rather stoic young miss. "Yeah? Steal from the rich, give to the poor, that sort of thing? I mean, /I'm/ pretty poor, so that's kind of what I been doing anyway..." She actually seems a little more willing to consider this. "I guess it wouldn't be a big deal to steal a little more for other people too. Or, y'know, take back or whatever it was you said."

Plain smiles again at Grey as she concedes that perhaps her Gift could have more... altruistic uses. "Of course we wouldn't want you to deprive yourself, either. We're not a monastery; I assure you that any poverty among us is strictly involuntary." A few self-deprecating chuckles go around at that - after all, who would hire them? "It never hearts to take the time to think on how we can best help one another, especially when our Gifts give us so many opportunities to do so."

"God yeah, who would /choose/ to be poor," Grey says, shaking her head at that idea. "If God wanted us to be poor, why would all the good shit cost so much?" Makes sense to her. She glances around at the others again. "Well, I dunno. I mean, if I didn't really have to go out of my way, I guess. The world's such a fucked up place, might do some good to mess with the natural order of things, right?" She shrugs her shoulders indifferently.

A few more chuckles go around as Grey ponders about why anyone would choose to be poor. Her apparent desire to only give to others if it doesn't impede her own interests, of course, is received less well, though by this point the congregation seems content to let Plain do the talking for them. "It is your own responsiblity to choose your path, Grey. But if you open your heart to God, you will know what is truly right. And I hope you consider coming to the UMCC if you are ever confused and need others to help you, with their Gifts and their prayers."

Grey clearly doesn't care too much how her answers are being received. "Help me? I don't need any help. I can look out for myself," she insists, before asking a little more curiously, "Help me /how/? I mean, I guess the one chick'd come in handy when I can't find my lighter," she allows, taking another drag of her cigarette as she reminds herself of it, flicking the ash onto the pavement. "But I don't see how any of you are in a position to help me. Nothing personal," she tacks on without a whole lot of concern.

Once again, the temperature in the alleyway seems to drop a few degrees, metaphorically rather than due to a mutant power. Only Plain maintains his smile. "I didn't say you needed help just now, Grey. But someday, you may have a question you can't find the answer to - a question about yourself, or about life, or about God. We are here to help you answer those kinds of questions. That is all."

Grey glances around at the others, not oblivious to how her comments are being received, even if she's not overly concerned. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," she goes on, looking back to Plain. "I guess you /are/ a lot cooler than most of the churches I've seen. They hardly /ever/ tell you to steal." She drops what remains on the cigarette into a puddle of dumpster runoff, and it goes out with a fizzle.

"Most churches are run by Oppressors," Plain responds calmly. His smile fades now, though not from anything Grey has said or done. "They would much prefer their congregations remain mindless sheep than ever consider taking action for the good of the world." He shrugs, and smiles again. "Did you want to stay for the rest of the prayer meeting, Grey?"

"Sounds like Jr. High," Grey snarks at the description of 'most churches'. "I never fit in there either. I'm not much good at being mindless." She jams her hands into her pockets, hunching up her shoulders a little as she considers the offer. "Yeah, alright," she decides after a moment. "Don't got anything better to do." Such gratitude, really.

Plain smiles, and stands again, stepping back so that he is once again facing all of his congregation. "A pleasure to have you with us." The other UMCC members, although still clearly less than comfortable about the urchin in their midst, all re-orient themelves to face Plain. They trust him, it seems. "Now, before our guest joined us, I was talking about the trials we face. Trials no heavier than those our Lord, God made man, suffered through during his time on Earth. Through that suffering, he opened the gates of Heaven - and so must we overcome our trials, overcome our suffering, and bring Heaven to Earth, bring our Gifts to this world!" And he continues on, passionate and articulate. Occaisonally, his congregation speaks up, but for the most part they watch, rapt with attention.

Grey's attention is no so rapt. She listens for awhile but a lot of it seems to just go right past her. After a few moments of this, she brings out the coin again and starts playing with it almost like a yo-yo, dropping it and then calling it back to her hand before it can hit the ground. She lets it get closer and closer until it finally starts 'tinking' against the pavement with every few goes. But at least she doesn't actively seek to disrupt things further.