milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

And, with a mug of weak tea and a very thoroughly bookmarked copy of the Bible (also the Book of Om, in more pristine condition), Mightily Oats is at a table in the bar.

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He blinks.

"You've met him?"

See Oats. See Oats fangirl.

"That ... that must have been amazing."

Joan gave him a look, "I guess. He's ok, usually, but he can be really vague, and loves the riddles way too much. And he never sticks around very long. He's not even always a he half the time. Or old, sometimes around my age."

Oats considers this.

"Well, I suppose an all-powerful deity may manifest himself-- or, ah, herself-- however he or she pleases." He looks at Joan carefully. "Are you ... a prophet?"

Joan blinked at that, "I'm not sure. He always has tasks for me."

She thought for a moment.

Finally she said, "Maybe?"

Oats considers this. As well as he can, anyway.

"Er. Like what?"

She smiles, and comments, sounding cryptic herself, "Making good ripples."

He blinks.

"Oh."

Pause.

"Well. Ineffable."

She shrugged, and explained, "Basically I help people. Guess that's the easiest way to describe it."

Hesitantly, he smiles.

"Is it easier? When you, er, know what the right thing is?"

"Did I mention the cryptic part? A lot of times I don't know. Just guess, but it somehow works out."

He frowns.

"I must admit, sometimes I wonder if the atheists don't have the right idea."

Did he just say that?

Oh no.

"In a sheerly, er, hypothetical kind of sense. Yes."

Joan blinked at him, "Aren't you a priest?"

Miserably: "Yes."

Joan's face softened a little, "Ok, what's wrong? Something I said?"

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