Old Drew Id
First Post
Session 3 (5/21/2003) Brother Cooper's Mission
Session 3 (5/21/2003) Brother Cooper's Mission
“So you don’t ever serve any dessert to the men?”
The kitchen at the St. James Mission for the Homeless smelled strongly of cayenne pepper and chili powder. Brother Cooper had replaced his classic cowboy hat with a hair net and an apron (which was still too tight), and was busy stirring a giant steel pot with a wooden spoon, and adding can after can of beans to the mix.
The mission manager was busy stacking up plastic tumblers for the night’s dinner, and he answered over his shoulder. “Not really. I mean, on Christmas and Thanksgiving we can usually get hold of a pie or something, but the budget’s already stretched thin as it is, so there’s, you know, not much push to pay for sweets too. Plus we get some subsidies that depend on the fod being of a certain nutritional value, so…”
Brother Cooper chewed his lip and concentrated on stirring the chili. He was at a dead end, near as he could tell. The homeless men had definitely come through here, and had even gotten their clothes here. But whatever that concoction was that they had eaten must have come from somewhere else---
“’Course, some of the women volunteers do bring in brownies and such from time to time. And you’re welcome to do that, Reverend, if you get the urge. No rule against it or anything.”
The spoon stopped moving.
“You say, brownies? Um, ya know, son, I happen to be a, well, you could say a connoisseur of brownies, and various other chocolate confections. I’m sure you couldn’t tell that from my figure,” Brother Cooper smiled and laid it on thick. He needed answers here, and he felt very close now. “I wonder, could you tell me which of the ladies happened to bring by brownies? I’d, you know, like to exchange recipes, and possible ask them if they might donate to my church’s next bake sale.” He tried to put in a slight tone of blustering shyness to the question. He had to make it look innocent.
The mission manager stopped stacking the cups and looked over at the preacher with a sly look. “Well, I admit, I’m always on the lookout for a woman who knows her way around the kitchen myself, reverend. And we do have some good bakers. Let’s see, Isabella Garcia used to bring brownies around a lot. Haven’t seen her in a while though. Um… Jackie Clark is a good cook. She brings in cupcakes every now and then. Um…oh, and Wanda Miller. She’s a good cook also…and recently widowed.”
. . .
Brother Cooper leaned back in his recliner, set his hat into his lap, and rubbed his aching temples. He flipped on the optional heat and massage for his lower back, and took a few deep breaths.
Of course, he had known that one day he would be called upon to fight this fight. He had the faith for it. He was as ready as he could get, that was for sure. He had been trained and mentored for years by a man who had hunted and killed demons. (Read Guyzell's Backstory Here)
It was like Frankenhowser had said. Demons and evil forces really were all over the place. If you looked in the Bible, it was there in Mark 6:13. The apostles went around to a handful of villages at one point and cast out “many demons”. Even good God-fearing people in Guyzell’s own church would read that passage and think nothing of it. But Frankenhowser had pointed out the math on that to Guyzell, and really scared him to his roots.
The apostles went to a “few villages” and cast out “many demons” over some short period of time. Even being generous, you could figure they saw maybe five thousand people in all those villages. Probably less than that. Then they say they cast out “many” demons. So that would be, what? Maybe twenty? Again, being conservative, go with that. And there was not, as far as they said, anything special about those villages. Just a random sampling in ancient Israel. So that’s twenty demons per five thousand people. In the modern world, you got six billion people. So that would mean there might be around twenty-four million demons active in the world right now. Shoot, at that rate, he must be running into every day and not even knowing it.
It was enough to make you lose hope. At least, that’s how it felt sometimes. Especially tonight. He needed a little bit of guidance tonight. Of course, he would pray for guidance later, but for now, he needed to pick up the phone.
A thickly accented old man’s voice answered. “Ah-lo? Zis is ze Frankenhowser residenz!”
“John? This is Guyzell.”
“Guyzell? Ah-lo dear boy! I vas just praying for you ze udder day, working zere in ze big city! How are you keeping up?” His voice was light and jovial, and Guyzell felt his spirits instantly lifted. At the very least, he was reminded that he was not alone in all of this.
“Good, good. The Lord’s laying blessings on me every day.”
“Zat is good, yah. So, tell me, vie are you ringing me at zis late hour? Zomething is come up, ya?”
Brother Cooper smiled. Frankenhowser was a good man, but he wasted no time in pleasantries, and he came off as brusque to most people who met him. But Brother Cooper knew it was just his way, and his urgency to get down to business and figure out how he could help.
So, Brother Cooper related his story, as best he could. He told Frankenhowser everything he could remember about the library attack, and the investigation up to this point. It felt good to just relate the thing out to someone. Especially someone who would not think he was crazy after hearing it.
When the story was done, the old man was silent for a minute. Guyzell imagined he could hear the old master brooding on the other end of the line, considering what he had heard, and drawing on years of arcane knowledge and experience. At last he responded, “Ya, I have heard of zis material you are describing. Ze recipe is familiar to me.”
“Well, what does it mean? What is it?”
Frankenhowser sighed and then went headlong into his explanation. “It is a formula for controlling ze minds unt hearts of ze weak-willed. It is made from ze blood of ze one who wishes to be in control. Ze enchanter must draw zer own blood, unt cook ze mixture. Zen, zey must feed it to ze victim. After zat, zey become friendly to ze enchanter.”
“How friendly? Enough to kill someone if you asked them to?”
“No, no, at least, not in ze one dose. But, if ze victim is given wary many doses, over a period of some time, zen yes, zey would eventually become ze complete slave of ze enchanter unt do vatever zey wished.”
“How much time would that take? And how many doses are we talking about? And…wouldn’t that take a lot of blood?”
“Ya, quite a bit of ze enchanter’s blood, unt as much time as it would take to draw zat blood unt not fall over from ze loss of it. So, perhaps two veeks per person I vould imagine.”
“So, if someone used this on half a dozen homeless men, they would have had to have been doing this for a while to come up with that much blood, and to feed them that many doses?”
“Ya, zat is correct. Unless, of course, zey are smart unt have been bleeding zemselves for some time unt saving ze blood for such an occasion. Zere are many enchanters who do such things, as ze blood is a powerful component in zeir recipes. “
“Okay…so we’re looking for someone who has, one way or another, been bleeding themselves for months in preparation for this. Um…not quite as reassuring as I was hoping this conversation would turn out, John.”
“Ya, ze forces of evil are often uh… unsettling, Guyzell. Ze dark arts are a matter of obsession. As is controlling ze mind of another. Zis potion you have encountered, it is called, in ze version I am familiar vith, ze ‘Elixir of ze Heart’.”
Session 3 (5/21/2003) Brother Cooper's Mission
“So you don’t ever serve any dessert to the men?”
The kitchen at the St. James Mission for the Homeless smelled strongly of cayenne pepper and chili powder. Brother Cooper had replaced his classic cowboy hat with a hair net and an apron (which was still too tight), and was busy stirring a giant steel pot with a wooden spoon, and adding can after can of beans to the mix.
The mission manager was busy stacking up plastic tumblers for the night’s dinner, and he answered over his shoulder. “Not really. I mean, on Christmas and Thanksgiving we can usually get hold of a pie or something, but the budget’s already stretched thin as it is, so there’s, you know, not much push to pay for sweets too. Plus we get some subsidies that depend on the fod being of a certain nutritional value, so…”
Brother Cooper chewed his lip and concentrated on stirring the chili. He was at a dead end, near as he could tell. The homeless men had definitely come through here, and had even gotten their clothes here. But whatever that concoction was that they had eaten must have come from somewhere else---
“’Course, some of the women volunteers do bring in brownies and such from time to time. And you’re welcome to do that, Reverend, if you get the urge. No rule against it or anything.”
The spoon stopped moving.
“You say, brownies? Um, ya know, son, I happen to be a, well, you could say a connoisseur of brownies, and various other chocolate confections. I’m sure you couldn’t tell that from my figure,” Brother Cooper smiled and laid it on thick. He needed answers here, and he felt very close now. “I wonder, could you tell me which of the ladies happened to bring by brownies? I’d, you know, like to exchange recipes, and possible ask them if they might donate to my church’s next bake sale.” He tried to put in a slight tone of blustering shyness to the question. He had to make it look innocent.
The mission manager stopped stacking the cups and looked over at the preacher with a sly look. “Well, I admit, I’m always on the lookout for a woman who knows her way around the kitchen myself, reverend. And we do have some good bakers. Let’s see, Isabella Garcia used to bring brownies around a lot. Haven’t seen her in a while though. Um… Jackie Clark is a good cook. She brings in cupcakes every now and then. Um…oh, and Wanda Miller. She’s a good cook also…and recently widowed.”
. . .
Brother Cooper leaned back in his recliner, set his hat into his lap, and rubbed his aching temples. He flipped on the optional heat and massage for his lower back, and took a few deep breaths.
Of course, he had known that one day he would be called upon to fight this fight. He had the faith for it. He was as ready as he could get, that was for sure. He had been trained and mentored for years by a man who had hunted and killed demons. (Read Guyzell's Backstory Here)
It was like Frankenhowser had said. Demons and evil forces really were all over the place. If you looked in the Bible, it was there in Mark 6:13. The apostles went around to a handful of villages at one point and cast out “many demons”. Even good God-fearing people in Guyzell’s own church would read that passage and think nothing of it. But Frankenhowser had pointed out the math on that to Guyzell, and really scared him to his roots.
The apostles went to a “few villages” and cast out “many demons” over some short period of time. Even being generous, you could figure they saw maybe five thousand people in all those villages. Probably less than that. Then they say they cast out “many” demons. So that would be, what? Maybe twenty? Again, being conservative, go with that. And there was not, as far as they said, anything special about those villages. Just a random sampling in ancient Israel. So that’s twenty demons per five thousand people. In the modern world, you got six billion people. So that would mean there might be around twenty-four million demons active in the world right now. Shoot, at that rate, he must be running into every day and not even knowing it.
It was enough to make you lose hope. At least, that’s how it felt sometimes. Especially tonight. He needed a little bit of guidance tonight. Of course, he would pray for guidance later, but for now, he needed to pick up the phone.
A thickly accented old man’s voice answered. “Ah-lo? Zis is ze Frankenhowser residenz!”
“John? This is Guyzell.”
“Guyzell? Ah-lo dear boy! I vas just praying for you ze udder day, working zere in ze big city! How are you keeping up?” His voice was light and jovial, and Guyzell felt his spirits instantly lifted. At the very least, he was reminded that he was not alone in all of this.
“Good, good. The Lord’s laying blessings on me every day.”
“Zat is good, yah. So, tell me, vie are you ringing me at zis late hour? Zomething is come up, ya?”
Brother Cooper smiled. Frankenhowser was a good man, but he wasted no time in pleasantries, and he came off as brusque to most people who met him. But Brother Cooper knew it was just his way, and his urgency to get down to business and figure out how he could help.
So, Brother Cooper related his story, as best he could. He told Frankenhowser everything he could remember about the library attack, and the investigation up to this point. It felt good to just relate the thing out to someone. Especially someone who would not think he was crazy after hearing it.
When the story was done, the old man was silent for a minute. Guyzell imagined he could hear the old master brooding on the other end of the line, considering what he had heard, and drawing on years of arcane knowledge and experience. At last he responded, “Ya, I have heard of zis material you are describing. Ze recipe is familiar to me.”
“Well, what does it mean? What is it?”
Frankenhowser sighed and then went headlong into his explanation. “It is a formula for controlling ze minds unt hearts of ze weak-willed. It is made from ze blood of ze one who wishes to be in control. Ze enchanter must draw zer own blood, unt cook ze mixture. Zen, zey must feed it to ze victim. After zat, zey become friendly to ze enchanter.”
“How friendly? Enough to kill someone if you asked them to?”
“No, no, at least, not in ze one dose. But, if ze victim is given wary many doses, over a period of some time, zen yes, zey would eventually become ze complete slave of ze enchanter unt do vatever zey wished.”
“How much time would that take? And how many doses are we talking about? And…wouldn’t that take a lot of blood?”
“Ya, quite a bit of ze enchanter’s blood, unt as much time as it would take to draw zat blood unt not fall over from ze loss of it. So, perhaps two veeks per person I vould imagine.”
“So, if someone used this on half a dozen homeless men, they would have had to have been doing this for a while to come up with that much blood, and to feed them that many doses?”
“Ya, zat is correct. Unless, of course, zey are smart unt have been bleeding zemselves for some time unt saving ze blood for such an occasion. Zere are many enchanters who do such things, as ze blood is a powerful component in zeir recipes. “
“Okay…so we’re looking for someone who has, one way or another, been bleeding themselves for months in preparation for this. Um…not quite as reassuring as I was hoping this conversation would turn out, John.”
“Ya, ze forces of evil are often uh… unsettling, Guyzell. Ze dark arts are a matter of obsession. As is controlling ze mind of another. Zis potion you have encountered, it is called, in ze version I am familiar vith, ze ‘Elixir of ze Heart’.”
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