> Hard Chicagoat Nights: The Zebra and the Priest
>  by Brasta Septim
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Zebra and the Priest

By BrastaAura17 and The Illusive Badgerpony

Chapter I

Coated in sweat, Ezekiel De La'Neighya, AKA Zeke the Zebrastafarian, practically flopped onto the bar top, giggling like mad and shaking his head wildly. What a set it had been, what a set! Escaping to the bar had been nearly impossible with all the hoof-bumps thrown his way.

Such was the nature of the coltcuddler crowd– They were always happy to have him, and it was always a joy to play a set for them. Sure, it was mostly instrumentals since there were hardly any MCs around that would play in a gay bar, but you couldn't win them all, right?

A few feet away, standing quietly by the bar, sipping on gin, was Brasta Sacerdo Aura, AKA Father Brasta of the new Equestrian see of the Church of Roama. He was the quiet kind of pony, for whom crowds this tightly packed were an annoyance and a  cause for fear, due his claustrophobic nature. Ironically enough, he couldn't think of a better place to be. Noisy and wild as it may be, it was ‘his’ place. The place where he could be himself. Here, surrounded by coltcuddlers... like him.

The music had been certainly better than usual tonight, he thought, glancing over at the DJ who had just stumbled his way to the bar. If his eyes weren't deceiving him, a zebra? Certainly not unusual in such a diverse town as Chicagoat, but still unusual to him, in a strangely good way.

Zeke leaned back on the stool, heaving a massive sigh, hailing the bartender with a lazily raised hoof.

The bartender glanced up towards the semi-collapsing zebra for a moment. "Whacha want?"

"I dunno," Zeke chuckled. "Something that'll wake me up a bit I guess. Somethin' shocking or somethin', know what I'm saying?"

The bartender grinned. "I got a little something special called a Corpse Reviver. That sound shocking enough?"

"I'll give it a shot," Zeke chuckled, leaning on the bar with his eyes half-lidded. Come to think of it, his eyes always seemed that way...

The bartender disappeared for a few seconds before shoving a pale yellow cocktail across the bar. "Believe me, it tastes just as strong as it sounds."

Zeke raised the glass, watching the flashing neon lights reflect patterns and stripes of light against the clear glass, against the yellow liquid within. Smirking, he closed his eyes, and took a swig of the drink.

The bartender raised a satisfied eyebrow. "What did I say, eh?"

Zeke, at first, showed no reaction. Then his face contracted in a bit of concern. His lips pulled in, thin, his eyes beginning to water as he swallowed. And then it hit him.

His face clenched, his tongue shot out of his mouth, and he let out a loud whoop as shivers travelled down his spine. "Shit!"

Brasta glanced up from the gin he was nursing at the sound of a sudden expletive, wondering if someone was hurt, or had just had a bad drink.

"Whoof, sheesh, mmmh," Zeke murmured, shaking his head, raising an eyebrow at the tender. "Goddess, that was... Whoof."

The priest glanced at his own drink, before heading over to the source of the sound, the aforementioned zebra. "Strong drink?" he asked curiously.

"Man, strong drink is an understatement," Zeke said with a grimace, wiping his mouth with a foreleg. "Just... Damn."

Brasta visibly winced at the expletive, but shook his head and chuckled. "But I'll bet you're awake after that?"

"I hope I am," Zeke chuckled. "I'd hate to have to drink another one. Ech... Yo, barkeep, you got something for conversation?"

The barkeep didn't hear, as he had moved towards a herd of customers at the other end of the bar.

Zeke sighed, leaning back into the bar, shaking his head. "Guess I'll ask him later... Phew. Hopefully he doesn't try to poison me again. Mama did enough of that..."

Brasta nearly choked on his gin. "What?" He was hoping he was just joking.

Zeke chuckled. "If I wasn't so desperate for a wake-up call, I wouldn't have touched that glass with a ten-foot pole. Whoof..."

Brasta raised an eyebrow. "After that long a show, it looked like you needed it."

"Oh, for sure," Zeke murmured, the taste slowly receding from his buds and the tension visibly draining from his face. "But ya gotta love a good crowd, amirite? I just wish more of my brothers would come on down here. Good money to be made."

The last point was accompanied with a light chuckle and a shake of the head, and Ezekiel turned towards the other stallion. "Where are my manners? Name's Ezekiel. You can call me Zeke if ya like."

Brasta nodded. "Name's Brasta. Just Brasta- full name not necessary." He chuckled back dryly.

Zeke raised an eyebrow. "Ain't never heard a name like that before... Or an accent like that... Where ya from?"

Brasta fidgeted a bit. "Chicagoat. Mum's East Canterlot, Dad's Bitalian, came over from Roama. And you?"

"Dad grew up here, Ma's a shaman from Zebrica with all the rhyming and rubbish," Zeke chuckles.

Brasta looked at him curiously. "Wait, zebras actually rhyme everything, or is that just a shaman thing?"

"Just shamans," Zeke said with a chuckle. "I mean, I haven't been rhymin', have I?" He leaned back in his chair, shooting Brasta a smirk. "I don't imagine you get many zebras in here."

Brasta shrugged. "Not really. Germane, Eirish and Bitalian workers from the South side, a few griffins, the occasional Canterlotian trying to attempt slumming it, a couple Rusyns from Stalliongrad once- broke the window, too- but no zebras."

"So, I guess that makes me the local curiosity, right?" Zeke murmured, the smirk on his face widening.

Brasta shifted a little. "Not exactly the local curiosity- that applies to the couple  of South Zebrican Springboks that wander in from time to time- I can never understand them through the thick Zebrikaans- but unusual enough. in a good way, of course," he said with a smile.

"Y'know," Zeke sighed, "It's weird. Whole town is named after goats and I think I've seen, like, three on the streets. The hell did they all go?"

"I heard they mostly all got a job as security guards for a seminar guy, a minotaur by name of Iron Will."

"Never heard of him," Zeke muttered flatly, tapping the bar to the beat of the song on the jukebox, which had replaced him as the background noise to the hundreds of conversations through the bar. It was all that poppy techno stuff ponies loved but zebras didn't care for, some DJ Pon-E or something. He didn't care for the music, but the beat gave his hoof something to do.

"You're dressed up kinda odd," Zeke murmured, raising an eyebrow.

Brasta glanced down, realising with slight horror that he was still in his black vest and white collar. "Ermm.. work clothes."

"So you're in business?" Zeke said, his voice with the slightest hint of excitement.

"Yes, you could say that..." His mother was fairly well off, as she had been a jeweler in East Canterlot, and had taught him business skills before his vocation became evident. Literally though, he was in the business of saving souls- not that such a profession was considered business from a purely Equestrian point of view.

"Ya know any music folk, maybe? I was lookin' for connections, y'know?! Get my name out there and stuff," Zeke blabbered. "Goddess, what I wouldn't give for that! Man, stumblin' cross you might've been the best chance I've gotten today!"

Brasta just raised an eyebrow, a bit sympathetic. "Ermm... I'm afraid not. I don't know any music people, I'm afraid. My mother's in the jewelry business, but that's it." Well, he knew a few music people, but all of them were employed by the Church, and their music would be a bit too... antique for the zebra's tastes, he thought.

Zeke's ears drooped, the wool of his beanie cap stretching to accommodate the gesture. Sighing, he took the garment off, allowing his silver-and-charcoal dreadlocks to fall over his shoulders like a waterfall. "Shit," he muttered, "Alright. Thanks anyways..."

Brasta's sympathy suddenly deepened. "You're welcome." Taking his eyes off the zebras, he started turning to go back to his drink.

Zeke still tapped the bar, patiently waiting for the barkeep to come back. Leaning over, his crimson eyes trailed over Brasta's drink, one of his eyebrows raising. "So, whacha drinkin'?"

Brasta glanced down at his drink, then back up to the zebra. "Just a bit of gin- the good kind, not the cheapie version you get out of backroom stills."

Zeke chuckled. "Shouldn't expect less from a joint like this, I guess. Thought coltcuddlers had like ‘tinis and shit, y'know? Flirtinis, appletinis, teenytinis, but I mean..."

His gaze shifted down the bar, looking over every drink. "Man, not everyone's drinking a cocktail! It's a shocker...

Brasta rolled his eyes. "Yeah, real shocker. Well, I suppose you're halfway right- half the crowd usually goes for the cocktail menu- I remember one that ordered something called the Princess's Ginger- the rest go for a proper drink."

"Ha! I bet they throw out the brother that asks for a lite beer! Hahahaha!" Zeke cackled, hooves at his belly to smooth out his laughter.

Brasta felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Only once; and he soon found himself walking back in, and reordered a pint of stout. Brave lad, that one."

Zeke smirked. "Brave indeed. How'd that turn out?"

Brasta barely suppressed a laugh. "He downed it, then slowly walked out of the bar and was never heard from again."

Zeke laughed, loudly, freely, almost unable to stop, raising a hoof to his mouth to shut it off. "I... Hahaha! Whoo!"

Brasta chuckled back. "Believe me, it was funnier to actually see it. And from that day, I learned... nothing."  He chuckled to himself. "Except, of course, not to drink stout on an empty stomach."

"Do they serve food here? Like rainbow daisy burgers or something'?"

Brasta shrugged. "Not much- just the usual bar food. A few appetizers here and there- maybe sandwiches for particularly hungry customers. Why, you hungry?"

Zeke nodded. "Yeah, I could go for some grub right now..."

Brasta thought for a moment- and for some reason, he had a sudden idea that he knew he was going to regret, but somehow thought it was a good idea anyway. "Well, if you're hungry, wanna head somewhere with better food? I know a decent pub round the corner- pretty decent food, for Chicagoat standards."

"Sure, I guess," Zeke chuckled, getting up and out if his stool.

Brasta quickly emptied his drink, and left it with a tip on the bar, before leading the way out the door and into the chilly Chicagoat night.

Zeke followed, closely, chuckling alongside the formal-looking unicorn.

Turning the corner of the street, Brasta made his way past the few ponies still meandering around to get to a little beacon of cheer on the street corner- a little pub, which the sign in front declared was named "The Oak Garden", even though no oaks, or in fact gardens, existed in Chicagoat. It was a quiet place- tasteful, if a bit antique, and always had the smell of good food floating out the window.

Zeke raised an eyebrow, the eyes below them nervously shifting from left to right. "Oh, man, uh, I don't think I got the cash for this kinda place... I mean..."

Brasta groaned in frustration. "Mate, it's cheaper than it looks- just because it isn't a run-down McHeartattack doesn't mean it's expensive."

"Hey, shut up," Zeke growled. "McHeartattack is awesome, and easy on the wallet."

Brasta rolled his eyes. "If you insist. But I think you'll like the grub better in here. Besides, anything you can't pay for, I wouldn't mind covering." The minute the words were out of his mouth, he started regretting them. Blast his priestly sense of generosity!

Zeke shook his head. "Naw, man, I ain't a charity case, I'll pay for my own sorry ass. Let's go."

Brasta frowned, about to say charity cases were exactly what he specialised in, but thought better of it. He nodded. "Alright then." He gestured towards the door of the pub. "After you."

Zeke trotted in, nervously, tentatively, intimidated by the Trottish knots decorating the ceilings, his eyes widening slowly. "Oh... Man. Bad mojo, man, bad mojo..."

"What is it, Zeke? This is just my regular place..."

"Man... Zebricans, erm... How do I..."

Brasta's eyebrow went higher. "What? You're not making any sense."

"Man, just... Bad folk that like beat up zebras and shit thrive in there!" Zeke cried. "I'm not..."

Brasta looked at him like he'd just suggested the sky was turning green. "I've seen griffins, donkeys, and a couple elk in here before, and they were never harassed- besides, the owner's a griffin, out of the Germane protectorate."

"Nope," Zeke murmured. "Bad mojo... Bad place, where food is first-rate, but the walls are full of hate..."

Brasta could see the place was upsetting him, and quickly turned around. "Alright, alright! I can see you're nervous. On second thought, why don't we just get some grub somewhere else?"

Zeke swallowed, following his friend, repeating the mantra again and again. "Bad place, first rate, full of hate... Bad place, rate, hate..."

Brasta just sighed, heading towards the middle of town. "Do you wanna try somewhere else, or just head back to.. wherever you live? You're obviously a little unnerved."

Zeke snapped out of it, sighing. "Man, whatever you wanna do, I... Damn..."

"No, you look rather shell-shocked- besides, I don't know any other good food places around here."

"It's... Nothin'. Don't..." Zeke sighed, sitting on a bench. "It's fine."

Brasta sat down on the bench next to him. "It didn't look like it was fine to me."

"It's... Nothing. Forget it."

"Suddenly muttering about bad mojo and looking like a food place was about to eat YOU is nothing?"

"...Yeah."

Brasta breathed in sharply. "Sancte Michaele Archangelo, defende nos in proelio..." he muttered, before looking up at Zeke. "If you insist, I'll drop it, okay?"

Zeke sighs, shaking his head. "I... I don't know..."

Brasta cut him off. "Look man, it obviously bothered you- and besides, you don't look so good, either." In fact, he looked like he was about to pass out.

"I... Just..." Zeke slumped back into the bench, sighing. "I..."

Brasta leaned over him, concerned. "Look man, do you want me to just drop you off somewhere?"

"I dunno..."

Brasta lifted the zebra upright on the bench. "Come on... I'll drop you off wherever you want.."

Zeke sighed. "No... Give me a sec..."

"Fine, fine- I'll give you two, three, four- I'm in no hurry."

"I... I don't.."

"You don't what?"

"My mother was... Went into a place like that... Nice at first... She left with this dude... She came home beaten to hell." Zeke swallowed, sighing.

Brasta felt a hard lump drop into his stomach. He had heard of such things happening... never in places like the Oak Garden, but in other parts of Chicagoat, some around his own parish. It most happened to Bitalians who wandered into Eirish establishments, however, or vice-versa. Even a few of his own parishioners... he shook his head with a sigh. They may have had a religion in common, but the Eirish didn't like the Bitalians. And if the Oak Garden was a place unsafe for Zebricans... "Look, I'm sorry, mate- I didn't know. I just thought..."

"It's fine..." Zeke swallowed again. "It happened a long time ago..."

"That doesn't make it alright. I didn't want to bring up anything unpleasant."

"You didn't mean to, man," Zeke sighed, leaning back on the bench. "I... I lived in a pretty nice part of town... We all never thought it'd happen. It was pretty bad, but what can ya do?..."

Brasta's ears drooped. "Nothing. Abso-bloody nothing."

"Yeah. That's the worst part."
Brasta sighed. "Look, do you just want to head home? Sitting out here on a bench at night, with bad memories and a pr- err, local for company is not a good way to spend an evening."

Zeke sighed. "Let's... go to your place first..."

Brasta looked at him sideways. "Erm... okay." It'd be a bit difficult to bring him to his place without missing the giant Romanesque church next to it, but he didn't want to argue.

Zeke nodded, shakily dropping to his hooves and trotting alongside Brasta. "Alright..."

Brasta led him along the streets up to Bellhoof Gardens, one of the nicer neighbourhoods in Chicagoat, until his place came into view. It was modest, a small rectory with windows facing the street. But it was dwarfed by the large dome of the church next to it. Brasta ignored the metaphorical giant elephant on the street, glancing back to make sure the zebra trotting alongside was still alright, until he reached the steps of his home.

Zeke looked up at the massive church, an eyebrow raising. "Wow. What's that place?..."

Brasta glanced back for a moment. Should he act as if he wasn't associated with it, or just say what he did there? He was usually very cautious about mentioning his particular vocation, for fear of alienating those around him of a different faith. "The local Roaman Catholic church- St. Katherina's, I think."

"Catholic?..." Zeke tilted his head, looking up at the impressive structure.

"Yeah, err... religion brought in with the Bitalian immigrants. Popular with the Eirish, too."  He lit his horn, levitating his keys to unlock the door of the rectory. He gestured towards the door with a hoof. "Now let's get you inside. It's not much, but it's home."

Zeke nodded, allowing his newfound friend to lead the way.

Brasta led him into the front room of his house. It was a bit sparse on the decorations side, but clean enough. There were small touches of luxury here and there- a nice crucifix on the wall, an old painting above the mantel of the fireplace, new upholstery on the old squashed armchair, a pitcher and bowl on a nearby washstand. All in all, it was comfortable- just the way he liked it. Flipping on a light switch, a lightbulb flickered to life, lighting the way to the door of the rectory's one guest room.

Ezekiel slipped calmly into the rectory, his eyes relaxing as he glanced about. "This is nice," he murmured. "Real cozy..."

Brasta chuckled. "Yeah. It's small, but it's cozy."

Zeke chuckled, sitting on his haunches and sighing.

Brasta glanced back at the zebra, gesturing towards the guest room door. "If you want to crash, there's a free room over there. The bed's never been made, ever, and the room's a little dusty, though."

"Can't be too bad," Zeke sighed, trotting over to the guest room door, a feeling of peace washing over him. He felt... Safe here. Secure. It was strange and wonderful at the same time...

Brasta smiled a bit. "It's not. I suppose I'll see you in the morning, Zeke."

Zeke turned around to respond, but Brasta was already gone. Sighing, the zebra turned around again, slipping into the spare room, and shutting the door behind himself.

On that note, Brasta headed down the hall and trotted up the stairs to his room. He closed the door, and slipped into dressing gown, offering his few evening prayers before heading to bed. For once, though, he couldn't help but feel... happier than usual. But he couldn't tell why...










> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 2 



Brasta awoke to sunlight streaming through the window of his bedroom. Yawning, he pulled himself bleary-eyed out of bed. Grabbing his breviary from his nightstand, he quickly said his Morning Office before he began heading downstairs. As he reached the bottom of the banister, however, he realised something very important; he had a guest. Today was Sunday. And he had Mass to say in less than 2 hours. Lord, have mercy...

Ezekiel woke up in a bed that wasn't his that didn't smell of a long night of debauchery. The change was unusual, but not unpleasant. There was that peaceful feeling again, Ezekiel rising from bed, yawning, his mane swishing about with his flicking tail. He sat in the middle of the room and pondered.

Brasta quickly threw on his cassock- black priest's robe- before heading through the house, hoping to get out the door unnoticed. He was in a bit of a hurry- he had Lauds to say, then morning Low Mass, then Sunday High Mass, then he could finally get a break.

It was a stumbling Ezekiel who ended up colliding with the priest, still groggy on sleep and wandering the halls aimlessly, hitting the wall with a thud and snoring gently again.

Brasta glanced down in alarm, seeing the zebra bounce of him, and grabbed him halfway to the floor. "Zeke, you alright?!"

Zeke rubbed his head, the impact having jolted the zebra fully awake. Seeing the long, dark robes Brasta was wearing, he chuckled. "Is it cold out today? Why ya dressed so warm?..."

Brasta's face fell, as he fumbled for an answer. "No, just going to work. Now, if you'll excuse me.." He headed towards the door.

"Hey, wait," Zeke said, grabbing Brasta's tail with a hoof and pulling the other pony back. "What do ya do? Are ya like a... I dunno, guy thing who does stuff?"

Brasta's eyebrow disappeared into his mane. "Err, you'll have to be a bit more specific than that?"

"I mean, I've never seen anypony wear this before," Zeke murmured, circling Brasta like an  information-hungry shark.

Oh boy- he knew there was no way to walk out of this one. "Errm, you know the church next door? Yeah, I kind of work there..."

Zeke stopped in front of him, tilting his head. "Really? What's it like inside? Looks like a real fancy place..."

Brasta thought for a moment- should he show him inside? Well, the fact that he worked at a strange-looking building didn't seem to faze the zebra, so he guessed he was clear. "It is. Very big, and very fancy."

"The acoustics good?"

"The acoustics are very good." It really was- there was no other way for the heavenly strains of Old Roaman chant to resound throughout the whole building, much less his Latin exclamations from the altar.

"Well, it couldn't hurt to check it out," Zeke chuckled.

"I don't think it would be your kind of place. It's a church. Temple. House of God. Domus Domini. Khram Bozhe."

"Man, my mom was a shaman," Zeke murmured. "I know where to be quiet and places of worship is one place where ya gotta be."

Brasta's worried expression softened. "Oh. In that case, do you want to take a look inside? No one else will be in for a couple hours."

"Sure," Zeke chuckled. "Let's give it a look-see."

Brasta trotted off towards the front of the building. It was rather imposing on the outside, the massive pillars, five in all, supporting the decorative arch over the main doors. A small bell tower stood to the right of the facade, not connected to the main building for reasons unknown. Brasta swiftly removed his keys and unlocked the door, wincing a little as the hinges squeaked and the doors slowly creaked open.

He trotted into the church with Zeke behind him, hoofsteps echoing slightly on the marble floor. On the inside, it was even more magnificent than out- a masterpiece of stone, paint, and wood. Arches sprung like branches from tall pillars, neatly marching their way down the side aisles of the church. Under the dome itself the floor was slightly raised, to acommodate the quire stalls and the massive pipe organ on the right side of it. A large wooden beam stretched across the far end of the church, on the other side of the choir platform, and supported by wide wooden arches, decorated with carved and painted wooden figures. Just beyond the chancel screen was a rectangular stone altar, draped in a green fabric.

But that was not all. Coloured rays of light bathed the two stallions in a wash of hues, pouring forth from the windows, while the painted images of unknown figures stared down at them from gilded frames along the walls.

Zeke was taken aback by the place. He never thought that there could have been anything this full of life, this colorful in a town so gray and dulled. He drank in every detail, staring up at the magnificent stained-glass windows, his mouth barely able to stay closed. The roof, a few dozen meters above them, made every little noise seem all the louder to the zebra's sensitive ears.

"What's that one?" he said, pointing to a stained-glass window.

Brasta turned towards the window, a masterpiece depicting a brown mare in a black-and-white habit and veil, a white rose in her hooves and a halo surrounding her head. "That is St. Katherina, patron saint of this church- and the first window to be installed, incidentally."

"What was she like?" Zeke murmured.

"Supposedly? Very devout, very adventurous, and very persuasive. She's known for convincing Papa Gregory, the head of the Church back in Roama about 600 years ago, almost singlehandedly to return the Church headquarters back to Roama after being stuck in Prance for a hundred years." The admiration was obvious in his voice. Anyone with that much nerve and tenacity was saintly in his book.

Zeke tilted his head again. "Adventurous? What else did she do? Slay dragons?"

Brasta chuckled and shook his head. "No, but she did single handedly try to start a crusade of reformation, trotting all the way to Avigneigh in Prance, by herself, through storm, bandits, and unfriendly soldiers to convince Papa Gregory singlehandly to come back, and refused to leave. Even when they sent her off, she just kept sending letter after letter after letter, and made the whole trip again when she could, by land or by boat."

"Sounds dangerous," Zeke murmured.

"Back then? Hay yes. Manticores, robbers, diamond dogs, timberwolves, unpleasant weather? And 460 miles on hoof, no train, no carriage? I should think so."

Zeke whistled. "And she ain't too shabby-lookin', either. Sounds like a hell of a mare."

Brasta chuckled. "She was." He glanced around the church. "Do you want to see some more?"

"Yeah," Zeke muttered, groaning as he got to his feet. "Are all these ponies that badass?"

"No, not all. Well-known, but not badass." He said, heading towards the quire dais.

Zeke followed, looking up at the stain-glass windows with wonder, one catching his eye in particular. A black-cloaked, gray-coated Pegasus monk with a raven on his shoulder and a skull at his hooves. He stood in the darkened light of the window, looking up at the melancholic-seeming pony. "Who's that?"

Brasta glanced up at the image. "That is St. Benedict, founder of the Benedictine order of monks. Also known for having a raven steal food meant for him right off his table- apparently, it was poisoned."

He continued the tour of the building, heading up the steps of the quire itself, leading Zeke towards the church's massive pipe organ, its ornate woodwork and gilded pipes a work of art in its own right.

Zeke whistled, the noise shrilly echoing out into the church. "Wow. How old is this thing? It's well-kept as hell..."

"Only about 20 years old or so- the church itself has only been around for about 70, 80 years I think, so..."

"Only? Longer than most folk I know..."

Brasta chuckled. "Back in Bitalia,  as well as Bitzantium, Rusya, parts of Eireland, some churches are 400, 600, even 900 years old."

Brasta let him look for a bit longer, before glancing upwards towards the dome with a smile. "Look up."

Zeke did as he was bidden, tilting his head upward.

Above them, painted on the inside of the church's dome, was the image of a crowned white stallion with a brown mane, his entire form surrounded by an even brighter halo, and dressed in the rich garb of a Roaman king. White pegasi were in relief all around the figure, their eyes all fixed on the figure. The only indications of the figure's identity were 8 letters arranged around the figure like the corners of a square- IC XC NI KA. It felt painted in such a way that the white stallion seemed to be looking over the entire church with gentle, loving eyes. "Who's that?" Zeke asked in awe.

Brasta's eyes didn't look down. "That is Christos Ponykrator- Christ the Judge, The Son, our God." He would explain more, but he didn't feel a church tour was the appropriate place for a theology discourse.

Still nervous about boring or alienating his guest, he turned towards the main doors once more. He started trotting away, back into the nave of the church.

"He looks... Powerful."

Brasta glanced back for a moment. "He's supposed to. In our belief, All-powerful, in fact." He fidgeted for a moment. "Errm, I'm afraid there isn't that much else to see..." Not exactly true, but one; he didn't want to offend the zebra, who was obviously from a different religion; and two, he needed to get ready for the Lauds, or Morning Prayer service. The only other thing worth showing, really, was the image of the Theotokos, Christ's Blessed Mother, Mary, painted in her chapel off to the side.

Zeke sat down in one of the pews, sighing. "Wow... This is pretty amazing..."

Brasta's anxiety lessened a little. "You really think so?" And here was, thinking the zebra would find it a bit too hokey...

"Yeah... Like... Just the scale of it all..."

Brasta sighed. "I know what you mean- sometimes, I even get a bit of vertigo in here.." he chuckled weakly.

"Why do they build these places so big?"

The priest shrugged. "To accommodate the people that come in to worship, to give an offering of the best workmanship they can to God, to simply create an imposing building- all sorts of reasons." His nervousness returned a bit at his next thought, but he pushed it aside- things seemed okay so far. "I suppose you're wondering what I do here, huh?"

"Yeah," Zeke murmured. "I guess I am..."

Brasta shifted a bit. "Well... I'm kind of the parish priest here..."

Zeke tilted his head. "Huh?"

Brasta looked him in the eyes. Was he going to simply walk away, or would Zeke be just as accepting of his vocation? "The priest. The performer of sacred duties. the Sacerdos. The servant of the altar. I know, it's more than a little strange..."

"I don't... Know what any of that means."

Brasta sighed. "A shaman, of sorts, for the Roaman Catholic Church. Basically, I do the services, rites, sacraments, etc, for the congregation here."

"...Ooooh." Zeke's head untilted, and he approached the priest with excitement in his hoofsteps.

"So you like make spells and incantations and potions and stuff too?"

Brasta's face fell. "Err... no. The things I do are spiritual, not magic. It's sort of the same thing- it's just the effects of what I do aren't visible..."

Zeke tilted his head. "Huh. So like, where do the spirits fit in?"

"Well, in this case, the only spirits I work with are the Saints- and they're intercessors, helpers. They can give God a bit of a nudge. Can't get anything done on their own- but they do act as intercessors on our behalf."

Zeke nodded, sitting down. "Does this stuff... Is it against the stuff shaman do?"

Brasta shook his head. "No- magic and religion have always been separate fields. One works with the physical world, one works with the spiritual. Shamans, I think, cross over both- and nothing wrong with that."

Zeke looked around, gauging the place with his eyes. "You could fit a thousand ponies in here...

Brasta smiled slightly. Thank God, he wasn't boring his guest to death! "Oh, usually only six-hundred or so- full capacity on major festival days is about 1500."

"Damn," Zeke chuckles. "I wish I could bring in that many ponies in a gig..."

Brasta laughed. "Maybe you just haven't found the right gig yet. Chicagoat isn't exactly well known for having high-end clubs." He continued trotting towards the door.

"Where ya goin'?" Zeke asked gently, following the priest towards the doors.

"Back to the rectory, to help you get home. I have to lead the Morning Prayer service in about 30 minutes..."

"Right. Cool. Uhm... Brasta?" Zeke shuffled on his hooves, looking up at the holy image seemingly miles above his head, as if searching for something to say up there. He may as well have been. There wasn't much else to say.

Brasta looked back. "Yes, Zeke?"

"Thanks. For the bed and stuff. I... Appreciate it." Zeke blew one of his dreadlocks off of his forehead, letting it swing with the others atop his mop. "Uhm... Are we ever gonna see each other again?"

Brasta stopped where he was, turning completely around. He thought for a moment, before asking the question. "Do you want us to?"

"...I guess," Zeke murmured. "I mean, I learned a lot about this... Stuff. But I don't really know you."

Brasta glanced down slightly, before lifting his eyes up once more. "Maybe we should... meet up again, just to get to know each other better?"

"I mean... If you wanna. Couldn't hurt. I met ya in a coltcuddler's bar, after all, so I guess this place is cool with that..."

Brasta suddenly looked very, very nervous. "Erm... not... exactly. I'm just kind of an... unusual thinker compared to other Catholics. But-" his speaking sped up a bit. "That doesn't really matter. Anyway, when and where shall we meet again?" It did matter, but this wasn't a good time to bring it up.

Zeke tilted his head, but then grunted, having received a neck cramp from tilting his head so much. "Ack! Uhm... How about you pick?"

Brasta thought. "Err... you know the place on South Street, the little zebra-owned bar? I think it's fairly safe." he said.

Zeke raised an eyebrow. "The little novelty shack?"

Brasta snorted. "A novelty shack with drinks, at least."

Zeke chuckled. "I know the brother that runs the place. He's never stepped foot in Zebrica. He just likes the decorations. Sometimes me and a few of my old friends go in there to buy a few and give him shit. Fun times..."

Brasta raised his own eyebrow. "Really? The thick Zebrikaans accent, muttering "Koop Goedere!" everytime I walk in, I would've thought he came straight out of Cape Town."

"He's damn good at actin' the fool. My momma taught him a bit."

"Your mother taught him well. From what you're saying, I doubt he could have pulled it off otherwise."

"Potions help a ton," Zeke said with a grin.

Brasta grinned back. "I'd imagine so." Realising he was getting off track, his smile waned a little. "Anyway, how about it? The "novelty shack", in, say, three days at 6 PM?"

"I'm not sure, man," Zeke murmured. "I got another gig that day at 9... I won't get out 'til late."

The priest frowned. "Hmmm... next day, then?"

Zeke nodded. "If that works for you. Am I pickin' you up?"

"Yes- I at least don't think you'll have any trouble finding this place again." Brasta said.

Zeke chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, uhm... I took a taxi to my gig. I actually have no clue where the hell I am."

Brasta sighed in fake exasperation, and rattled off the location. "St. Katherina's church, Siena Street, Belhoof Gardens, North Chicagoat."

"Do I look like I got a paper and pen, brotha?"

"No, but I imagine you know North from South, and can spot an enormous domed church in broad daylight fairly easily."

Zeke growled, half playfully, gritting his teeth through a smile. "Smartass," he muttered, heading for the main door.

"Don't you know it. I'll see you around, Zeke."

"Yeah," Zeke murmured, opening the doors, buffeted slightly by the city winds. He took one last look back into the quiet, beautiful serenity of the church, and the quiet, beautiful priest within. Well, he wasn't quiet, but he seemed alright enough. Only time would tell the details of this newfound religion and its only known member. For the moment, Zeke merely sighed, and trotted out into the streets he knew and loved.
> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 3



"Ite, missa est." Several hours later, the Mass, and Brasta's day, ended, and Brasta trotted his way out of the church. It was only 3 in the afternoon, but he was tired. Tired, and hungry. Having finally extricated himself from a throng of his parishioners exiting the church, he made his way down Siena Street, too tired to care what kind of dining establishment he was looking for. He glanced from side to side as he headed along the street, his saddlebag loaded with enough money to get some food. The sun was beating down on the street, absorbed by his black cassock, and he wasn't paying the slightest attention where he was going.

It was this time that Zeke found himself along the same street for entirely different reasons. He rolled back and forth on his hooves, muttering under his breath to himself, the carriage stop bench he sat on unflatteringly, boringly well-kept. Where was that Pinto...

After ten minutes of waiting, Zeke leaned back in the bench, growling. Great. His friend was probably found and locked up or something. Typical. Hopefully he'd be out by the morning, but that was one more day without a fix, and... Well, he could wait. There wasn't really much withdrawal to stopping. Still, Zeke's entire schedule sort of revolved around this. Get a bit before the gig, go home and have a bit more, save the rest for later. That always worked out. Today? The pinto was late.


_________________________________________________________________________________________________


Brasta continued walking along the street, panting slightly. God, this was not a good day to wear black. Looking around for a place to eat, he realised that this was probably not a good place to eat anyway. The only people around seemed to be him, and an empty bus stop. Sighing, he walked towards the bus stop- and walked right into a bench with a loud clang.

If there was nothing holding Zeke's fur to his body, he would have jumped straight out if it. He hopped off of the bus stop on all fours, his eyes wide as he glanced about. "Who's there? Whacha want?!"

Brasta stood up with a groan. "Sweet Theotokos of Kursk, all I did was walk into a bench, I swear! Don't take my-" He stopped as he laid eyes on the occupier of the bench, still a little dazed. "Huh?"

Zeke's wide eyes practically bulged out of his head as he processed his accoster. One may have heard his brain physically ticking before he stood up straight, trying to relax his face as much as he could. "Sir," he murmured.

Brasta shook his head slightly to clear it. "Zeke? What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, nothin', man, nothin'. Just meetin' an old friend or two, right?"

Brasta looked confused for a second, then smiled. "Oh. Okay. I'm just looking for a place to eat. Didn't mean to bump into you."

Zeke chuckled. "Hey, it's cool. Just, uh, guess I'll see ya tomorrow night. Have you seen a Pinto colt around here? Kinda small, scrawny, a bit twitchy?"

Brasta frowned, and glanced around for a minute. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Damn," Zeke growled. "Damn, damn, damn. Well, if ya see him, holler, alright? Les' he got his stupid ass caught..."

Brasta's eyebrow went up at the last bit of that sentence, but nodded his head. "Alright, I will."

"Cool," Zeke said, curtly. "Well... Err..."

Brasta was suddenly at an awkward position- he was just standing there, quietly. Not moving. "Erm... I..."

"Yeah."

"Yeah." Well, this really was awkward. "Errm, see you tomorrow."

"Okay."

With that, Brasta continued on his way, hoping to Heaven he would find somewhere to eat.

And with that, Zeke was still stuck in the bus stop waiting for his weed stallion.


_________________________________________________________________________________________________


The next evening, Brasta was fine. Perfectly, absolutely, anxiety-free fine. So fine he was pacing up and down the floor of his living room. It's not like he was worried Zeke wouldn't be able to find his way back. Nope. Not at all. That certainly was not the case, by any means imaginable. He sighed, straightening his mane meticulously. He was in his usual street clothes of black vest and white collar, so he had no reason to worry too much about attire. But for some reason his nervous energy was just running high. "Theotokos, St. Katherina, St. Michael, St. Gabriel, St. Barsanuphius, help me." he groaned, taking a break from pacing to sink into his armchair. He knew it; Zeke wouldn't be able to find his way back...
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
The taxi carriage stopped in front of St. Katherina's, and Zeke hopped out, a comb stuck in his mane at a haphazard angle. "Shit, I'm late," he murmured. "Shit, shit, shit..."

The door of the rectory practically burst open as Zeke rushed in, pulling on his hat, eyes open all the way for the first time that day. "Alright... Which room was his?..."

Brasta nearly jumped out of his fur, startled by the sound of his door flying open. "Blagoslovi dushe moya Gospoda- oh, it's just you." He paused at the doorframe of the living room to see Zeke.

Zeke panted slightly under his breath, but smiled, playing it cool. "Hey," he murmured, leaning against the doorframe. "So we're goin', then?"

Brasta nodded, repressing a slight chuckle. "Yes, I suppose. Shall we?" he gestured towards the door.

Zeke nodded. "Lead the way," he murmured, opening to door for Brasta.

Brasta smiled and headed out, shutting the door behind Zeke and heading towards their destination.

Zeke walked alongside the priest, whistling through his teeth, his eyes wandering for a topic of conversation.

Brasta glanced over at the zebra. "Errm... so... any new gigs lately?"

"Nah," Zeke murmured. "Last night was a big one. Got some good moolah from that.”

Brasta smiled. "Really? Great for you. Do your gigs often pay that well?"

Zeke frowned. "Nope," he murmured. "But I take what I can get."

There was a moment of silence before Brasta broke it with a slight chuckle. "I know what you mean. I don't get paid too much myself- just a small salary from the ponies at the Church headquarters in Canterlot, plus a stipend for major services- funerals, weddings, etcetera."

"Where do they get the cash?" Zeke queried, with a raised brow.

Brasta shrugged. "Donations. Not to mention, the Church in Roama has some valuable property in Bitalia that it sells a bit of when in need of cash."

"Wish I could pull the whole real estate game," Zeke mused.

The priest smirked. "Become a religion spread across most of the northern shore of the Mediterraneighan Sea, and you can."

"Please, man, once I get my break, I'm gonna be a worldwide sensation, just you wait!" Zeke cackled, taking a few excited steps forward. "It's gonna be from food on the table to choosin' which Armareni suit I'mma wear for dinner!"

"Oh, I bet you will, attitude like that." Brasta said with a chuckle. "Reach for the top and don't look back, eh?"

Zeke looked over at him with a slight frown. "Well, I mean, ya gotta look back, right?" he mused, "Cause there's all those folks that helped ya get there..."

"Of course, but I mean optimism-level speaking." Brasta said, trying to explain himself.

"Oh... Well, hells yeah, then."

"Thought so."


______________________________________________________________________________


The two of them soon arrived at their destination. "Err... you first?"

Zeke nodded, walking in, raising his head in the air and strutting in like he owned the place, smiling widely.

Brasta followed after him, trying to imitate the zebra's attitude and only managing to appear slightly nervous.

The bar was, unsurprisingly, filled with a wide variety of ponies. Tourists and local flavours alike filled it up to maximum capacity, Zebrican masks hanging from the walls, glaring down at the bar's occupants. Chuckling, Zeke trotted up to the bar, looking back at Brasta with a smile on his face.

"See, what ya gotta do is not buy his bullshit," He cried over the loud clamor of the small space.

Brasta nodded. "I see that. If I did, it'd leave a rather large hole in my pocketbook, I'd imagine."

And soon enough, the Zebrikaans-heavy sound of the loud Zebrican bartender was heard. 

"Hallo to jou, broer! Wat kan ek get jou en jou vriend today?"

"Frankie, it's me. You can cut it out," Zeke chuckled, taking a seat at the bar.

"Damn it, Zeke, you always ruin my fun." The bartender said, pouting slightly as he dropped into General Equestrian.

"I just don't have the patience for it," Zeke muttered. "Gimme and my friend here somethin' to start the evenin' with."

He glanced towards the priest behind Zeke, smirking. "Alright. By the way, who's your 'corn friend? He looks a little gloomy in that outfit."

"Brasta. He's fidgety," Zeke murmured with a smile.

"I can see that." he said, pulling out a bottle of whisky and a couple glasses.

Brasta looked over at Zeke, frowning slightly. "I am not fidgety." he muttered.

"Then why ya fidget so much?" Zeke chuckled, punching his friend's shoulder.

Brasta rolled his eyes. "Just because I fidget a bit does not mean I'm FIDGETY." After a moment of silence and an amused smirk from Zeke, he continued. "Okay, maybe a little. But it's because I'm always this way around packed places."

"Get used to it if we're gonna hang more. Lotta folk show up for gigs."

"I figured that. I suppose I'll just grin and bear it." he said, frown curling into a small smile.

"Hey... If you don't wanna, man, we can go to more quiet places later on."

Brasta shook his head. "Nah, it's cool. Got to learn to try new things, right?"

"I suppose..." On that note, the bartender handed them their whiskeys. Zeke nodded his thanks, swinging back his head and taking a draught from the bottle. "Mmmh!"

Brasta raised an eyebrow, and simply poured a glass before downing it.

"Say what you will about the decor, but that's a damn good whiskey," Zeke sighed, smacking his lips.

"On that we can agree." Brasta nodded.

"So. About you. Gimme a basic overview." 

"Ermm..." Brasta thought for a second. Where to start? "Well... my mother's from East Canterlot, my father's Bitalian. I grew up in a nice house in Belhoof Gardens here in Chicagoat. I went to seminary- priest's training school- at Roama, and came back here 4 years later."

"Belhoof Gardens? Shit... Your folks musta been minted."

Brasta shrugged. "We were fairly well off, at least. Mum is a jeweler, ran a major chunk of the gem trade back in Canterlot."

"And your pops?"

"That's kind of how they met. Dad was an engineer at an emerald mine in the mountains in between Bitalia and Equestria, and she was looking for quality gems. And as she says at every anniversary, she found one." Brasta snorted slightly

Zeke gagged, taking another draught of whiskey. "Man, if your folks say that kinda shit all the time, we're gon' need more whiskey."

Brasta chuckled. "Yet another thing we can agree on; fortunately, however, they don't." He glanced skywards, mouthing thank you God, before he looked over at the zebra. "And what about you?"

"Well..." Zeke murmured. "I was born in the city... Grew up in Hay Park for a bit, but then my pa lost his job. Brother was a doctor... He figured opening up a private practice in Anglewoods was a good idea since he'd be rolling in work. It was rough, but we got by."

Brasta gave him a sympathetic look. "And your mum? Straight out of South Zebrica, or...?"

"Straight out of East Zebrica, yeah. She was kinda... Y'know... Kinda used to it. Pa wasn't. Their practice was pretty unique. Zebra magic and medicine go hand in hand..."

"Oh, East Zebrica? I'm only familiar with the South, thanks to the bunch of Equestrian and Dutch settlers down there that show back up here from time to time." Brasta looked away for a second, embarrassed by the outburst. "Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

"Yeah, the east is where all the rough stuff goes down. Needless to say, Momma saw a whole bunch of things ponies shouldn't. She thought she could away..."

"Well, Chicagoat has to be somewhat more peaceful than East Zebrica, right? I mean, sure my Bitalian parishioners fight with the Eirish parishioners every time we have a festival, and sometimes the Rusyn Orthodox immigrants from Stalliongrad make trouble with the locals here, and the occasional broken window in the rectory when they decide to raid the bakery to battle each other in the streets, and..." Brasta frowned. "Okay, I see your point."

"Pfft. You ponies got it bad, maybe, but they call it Chi-Raq for a reason down where we live. Zebra and Pinto gangs are just... Damn. As long as you're a zebra, the zebra gangs don't fucks with you, but Pintos... Damn. Just stay outta their territory."

Brasta raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't the friend you were looking for the other day a Pinto?"

"Ah, now, Pete's different. He grew up in Zebra territory. Was a mole of a sort for a bit but he's cleanish now."

"Ah." Brasta decided against inquiring further at 'cleani-ish.'

"So..."

"So..." Well, this was awkward again.

Zeke took another draught of whiskey, sighing. "So you cuddle colts."

Brasta's face turned a lovely shade of magenta as he nearly choked on his own whiskey. "Errm... in theory, and potentially, yes. I haven't actually gotten the, errm, opportunity to do any cuddling, or well, anything else..." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Don't make a difference," Zeke said defiantly.

Brasta shifted a bit more. "Err... you mean that in a good way or a bad way?"

Zeke smiled. "Man, I wouldn't hold a gig in a gay bar if I was lookin' for trouble that way. Keep cool."

Brasta's face relaxed. "Oh. Erm... nevermind then..."

"But you've never had a lover?"

Brasta stared into his glass. "Not really. The Church kind of disapproves of gay ponies, so I've kept my nose and record clean, so to speak."

"Oh." Zeke took a cautious sip of whiskey. "Why would you do something your religion doesn't like?"

Brasta, as usual, fidgeted. "I.. don't necessarily agree. I think they may be right, but... I'm not entirely sure. I've tried to figure where I stand, and well..." he took a breath. "I figure as long as I'm not engaging in extreme debauchery, I'm safe, spiritually speaking."

"I see. So nothin' with ropes, then," Zeke murmured with a grin.

Brasta's face turned a shade of red so deep someone passing by would have thought he'd been dumped headfirst into a paint can. "Erm... yeah, about right."

Zeke cackled, swinging down some more whiskey. "Hah! That's gotta blow, man! You're young and wild and free and all that!"

Brasta rolled his eyes before giving his companion a mock-stern glare. "I may be young, but do I really seem that wild to you? Also, not really, because it allows me more time to focus on my duties."

"I guess I know what you mean,"  Zeke chuckles. "I ain't got time for romance either..."

Brasta chuckled. "Yeah, but that's because you're busy wubbing your flanks and ears off. A bit more time occupying, especially when finding gigs, I imagine"

"Wubbing? Shit, man, that's that pony-ass unicorn dubshit bullshit," Zeke grumbled. "Show some respect to hip-hop."

Brasta shrugged. "Considering the music I'm usually around is at least 300 years old, it's difficult for me to tell the difference."

"You don't listen to any new stuff?" Zeke murmurs.

"Unless I'm going to a bar and hear it being played? No."

"Well, on most accounts, you ain't missin' out on much," Zeke chortles, taking another swig.

"I'll take your word for it." Brasta said, taking another sip of his own whiskey.

Zeke took another swig, sighing. "So what's your taste, then?"

"My taste? Usually, anything with an orchestra, or loud, solemn-sounding chanting in a foreign language, or some combination thereof-"

"I meant in stallions," Zeke said with a wink. "You like big guys, or are ya in favor of the more feminine kind?"

"Oh." Brasta, to his credit, did not turn scarlet this time. "I suppose a little bit of both. I mean, the feminine kind of stallions have a certain allure to them, though they lack the... how do I put it? More strong, protective, 'gentle giant' appeal you get from the bigger guys. Even if the bigger kinda blokes scare me just a little..." he muttered under his breath.

"How 'bout a big 'bloke' with a feminine touch?"

"Hmmm... that sounds like a good compromise, actually. Though forgive my lingo- you forget, I picked up a fair bit of my mother's Canterlot terminology."

“Where do I stand in this stuff, then?" Zeke chuckled.

This time, Brasta's face did, predictably at this point, colour slightly. "W-What exactly do you mean?"

"Uhh... Nothin'." Zeke giggled nervously. "Forget I said anything, man."

"No, I just want to know what you meant."

"Uhm... Nothin'. Nothin' at all."

"Errm... well..." Cue yet another awkward moment of silence. "I suppose you fall into the not particularly feminine, but not exactly macho and musclebound, sort of, erm... exotic category, so to speak?"

"Exotic?" Zeke looked at his bottle intently, as if expecting for it to refill itself. "Huh. Mama always said I was special."

Brasta found himself absentmindedly tapping his hoof on the floor anxiously. "Errm... well, don't all mothers?" he asked, hoping that the nervousness had not entered his voice once again.

"My mama didn't rhyme it," Zeke said with a nod. "That's how I know she meant it."

"Oh, I had no doubt she meant it-" he said nervously, backpedaling furiously in hopes he hadn't just screwed up to the nth degree.

"Well, how bout your mama? How does she say it?" Zeke huffed.

"Well, she just says usually 'you're my little star sapphire' or something equally sappy."

Zeke raised his eyebrows, taking a draught of whiskey. "Aw, man..."

Brasta leaned forward onto the table in embarrassment. "Look, I already told you my parents are VERY sappy..."

"Just tell me that it's bearable when intoxicated, and we're good," Zeke cackles, taking another swig only to find the bottle empty. Glancing at it in confusion, Zeke rolls his eyes, placing it down on the counter. "Another," he calls to the waiter, sighing.

Brasta rolled his eyes. "I survived 24 years of it in first-person contact without a drop."

"I wouldn't, man," Zeke sighed. "I wouldn't."

Brasta smirked. "And that is why your alcohol tolerance is obviously higher than mine." he said, gesturing to the one glass he was still sipping, then to the empty bottle of whiskey on the table.

Zeke cackled. "Man, you gotta drink more often. Ya build that shit up."

The priest mock glared at him. "I'm a Bitalian priest, not an Eirish one. The only thing I'm used to drinking is a little brandy or gin while relaxing at home."

"I'm at clubs a lot. So that's one way..." Zeke shook his head. "Wonder what kinda drunk you are..."

Brasta eyed his glass as if it was going to punch him. "I got drunk once at that coltcuddler bar... once. Apparently I'm the 'happy drunk' type."

"How happy? What happened?"

"Apparently I flirted with this Eirish distillery worker, who apparently turned out to be one of my parishioners who was just bringing in a new crate of whiskey... boy, that was difficult to explain." He snickered at the memory, in retrospect. "First time he'd ever seen 'Father Brasta' in a gay bar and pissed off his sorry priestly arse, and he assumed I was attempting to save some souls by joining in the revelry. We agreed to never speak of that incident again."

"Was he good lookin'?" Zeke murmured. "Big, rugged-seemin' dock workin' Eirish..."

Brasta blushed. "Well, he was fairly handsome... even through whiskey goggles."

"If I didn't ruddy hate 'em for hurtin' my mom, I'd be tappin' Eirish all day, brother. They got some fine mares in that lot."

Brasta rolled his eyes. "Believe me, you wouldn't agree if you'd seen some of my pari- wait, what about your mom?"

"Nothin'," Zeke said, before he turned his head to shout over his shoulder. "Yo, Pete! Get your striped ass over here and get my ass some whiskey!"

"On it Zeke!" the zebra waiter shouted back, bringing another bottle.

Zeke grabbed the bottle before it hit the bar, grunting as he pulled the cap off and swung it to the ceiling, practically chugging the volatile liquid down.

Brasta just watched the chugging dubiously. "Really Zeke? That's single-malt whiskey, not a bottle of water."

Zeke slammed the bottle onto the counter, burping uproariously. "Eff you," he murmured. "It's drink! D-Drink and... Alright, I... Thhiiink the brain-centre is a... A bit... muddied." He slumped in his chair, sighing. "Anyways. Parisshishish. Keep talkin' bout it. Who's in it?..."

Brasta just looked at him, wondering if having this conversation with a pissed zebra was a good idea. "Well, you have the usual crowd- the steel mill and dock workers, the seamstresses from the cloth mills and garment factories, their kids, the local generic "doctor, lawyer, engineer' crowd. In total, about 2000 people on the register."

"Right," Zeke murmured. "Okay. So any fine mares?"

Brasta shrugged. "Single? A few Bitzantine, Hispanhoofian, and Eirish mares- maybe, 60 in total. Mostly because their parents haven't asked me to marry them off yet."

"Whoa, wait, what? I thought... That... That that that arranged tosh died out, like, a hundred... Century ago or somethin'," Zeke slurred, raising an eyebrow.

"It has. Doesn't mean the parents still don't try to arrange things, anyway."

"So... You turn 'em back the uvver way."

"I'm a priest; it's in my job description that I can only marry willing couples. And thank goodness for that, too."

"I don't imagine you've married two stallions," Zeke asked.

Brasta shook his head. "Once, and it was a very low-key wedding."

"Awww," The zebra said. "That's so... Romantic or some shtuff."

Brasta smiled slightly, repressing the urge to snicker at the choice of words. "That's one way to put it, but yes."

Zeke looked into his drink, scanning it, pleading with it for a subject of conversation as Brasta cleared his throat. "So... where's your next gig?"

"I do local stuff, man," Zeke chuckled. "So like... I dunno. Some club up in Anglewood. Not the friendliest place, but I'll live. Been in worse places."

Brasta raised an eyebrow. "Anglewood? Isn't that the Rusyn side of town, chock-full of Stalliongraders?"

"No, man. That's Gangland. It's where the Pinto gangs and the zebra gangs clash the most. Lotta poverty and shit."

Brasta frowned, then promptly found his hoof colliding with his forehead. "Oh- THAT's why my parishioners stay clear of there. I remember asking several of them to find some volunteers down there for a parish soup kitchen, and they said flat-out no."

"They got they own soup kitchens, if ya know what I'm sayin'!" Zeke cackles, slapping a knee, coughing on his whiskey. "Nmmh... Damn..."

The priest looked more than a little alarmed. "Err, Zeke, I think that might be enough whiskey for one night..."

"Hey, brother, all I did was choke!" Zeke gagged, shaking his head. "I think I'm... Good."

Brasta frowned, a slightly incredulous look on his face. "The slurring says otherwise."

"Hey," Zeke reassured, "The night is still young."

Brasta snorted. "The night may still be young, but it's easier to enjoy it when you're a tad more sober."

"Man," Zeke purred, "That's your philosophy. Now... Thankfully, I'll still prolly remember this, so..."

The priest sighed in exasperation. "Oh, have it your way then. Where to next, then, Mr. "The night is still young?"

Zeke’s head was resting on the table, slightly woozy. "Man... Wherever, man. Wherever..."

"You'll have to be a bit more specific than that." Brasta said, trying to get an answer out of him.

"Err... Do you do strip clubs?"

Brasta fixed him with a rather stern look. "I'm a priest. I try to avoid places that my more lewd parishioners would go to. I do have to set some kind of example." 

Zeke tilted his head, thinking for a moment, then shook it. "Naah. I ain't feelin' it either... Huh. Ain't much to do as an adult 'cept eat shit and drink liquor..."

"Isn't there something you like to besides eat and drink? You know, something that you really like to do, but never really get the chance?"

"...I dunno, man," Zeke murmured. "Uhhh... We could go to see a film?"

Brasta smiled at the thought; a film. God, he couldn't remember the last time... "Sure. Anything particular in mind?"

"Just... a movie."

The priest sighed. "Alright then- nearest cinema's off of Marino Street. Though..." he looked at the bottle of whiskey. "You might want to pay for the drinks before we go."

"Yeah, yeah, no prob," Zeke murmured, pulling his wallet from under his hat and pulling out two twenties, leaving them on the bar. "Fuck it. Keep the change. Let's go."

Brasta glanced back for a moment, before following the zebra out the door and into the Chicagoat night once more.









> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



Chapter 4



Almost immediately after stepping outside, the cold air blanketed the zebra in an icy-feeling. A slight wind buffeted the two of them, causing Zeke's dreadlocks to whip about. "Damn," he muttered, teeth chattering. "Guesh it's gonna... Shtorm t'night..."


Brasta nodded, shivering slightly as he levitated his coat out of his saddlebags,. "Better get there quick then, I suppose." Brasta reached deeper into his saddlebags, and tossed out to Zeke an extra cloak for warmth. 


Zeke nodded, eyes glued to the street ahead. "Lead on, brother..."


Brasta and Zeke made their way to the nearby Marino Cinema. They made their way to the ticket booth as Brasta scanned the dilapidated posters on the outside wall.


"Man, wow! Some of these are like twenty years old!..." Zeke tilted his head, trying to read the posters with unfocused eyes. "Ya sure this place is still open?"


Brasta nodded, and pointed at a half-asleep mare on the other side of the ticket booth.


Zeke tapped on the glass, and the mare shot up, shaking her head, her eyes wide. "Huh? What? How- Oh. Hey, handsome, can I help ya?"


Zeke nodded. "Ya know what's playin'? All these posters are like, old..."


The mare smiled, her eyes half-lidding, which Zeke attributed to her sleepiness. "Well," she began, twirling a lock of her mane in a hoof, "I'm not sure a handsome, exotic specimen like yourself needs to go to a place like this..."


Brasta rolled his eyes and stepped up to the window. "Miss, seriously, what films are playing right now?" He felt slightly annoyed by the mare for some reason, but pushed that thought aside.


"Father?" Her face fell in recognition, and she quickly gathered herself up. "Erm... fancy meeting y-you here! I, erm, well... “ She glanced up nervously at the posters on the walls. “What's playing, let’s see, errm..."


Brasta's eyes widened just as suddenly, recognising the mare as well, but he quickly composed himself. "Yes, Joana?"


She leaned in, voice lowered to an embarrassed whisper. "Father, this is an adult theatre!"


"Adult theatre?" Zeke murmured, raising an eyebrow.


Brasta's face went red, before once again, face met hoof. "Errm... let's find someplace else, shall we?" he sighed, "Of all the cinemas, this one has to be one of those...” he muttered to himself.


"Father, wait!" Joana said, "I... I don't judge you for this, not at all. You said we're all merely ponies and thus sinful in your last sermon. If you need someplace to... Relax, it's all well and good."


Zeke cackled, voice seeming a little too loud to Brasta’s ears. "Hahahahaha! She's a good salespony, Brasta!" 


Brasta groaned in exasperation at the drunken zebra. "Zeke, you're not helping." He looked back at the mare. "Look, I was kind of looking for a regular cinema, so if you wouldn't mind kindly pointing me in the right direction..."


Joana's face softened, and she sighed. "It's too bad, Father... Well, there's a small place up a few blocks, but the neighbourhood's tough, so keep your head down."


Brasta nodded his thanks, and sent a casually traced sign of the cross her way before heading off. As he trotted along the street, he glanced over at Zeke. "Go on, say it. I know you really want to say SOMETHING."


"I was gonna say, she prolly woulda given ya a pretty good deal," the zebra chuckled. "Ya know her from church?"


Brasta nodded, "Yep. Joanna Diava, from the parish finance committee."


"Don’t say?" Zeke chuckled. "I hope she's doin' that on the side! Somethin' tells me your folk wouldn't take lightly to a church getting funded by porn."


Brasta glanced upward, as if trying to pray the very idea away. "You'd be right. Next time she goes to Confession, I'll have to ask her." He shook that thought away. As they entered the darker, rougher part of town, Brasta stiffened up a little, eyes glancing in all directions.


Zeke stepped a bit closer, walking side by side with Brasta, looking over at the priest and giving him a wink. "You'll be fine," he murmured. Brasta, despite his anxiety, felt a slight boost of confidence, and nodded in response. 


After a few minutes worth of walking, they made their way to a surprisingly much nicer cinema, with a short line to get in.


They headed to the back of the line. After a few minutes of standing there, however, Zeke looked a little ill.  He leaned slightly against his companion, coughing violently. "Man, I don't feel so good..."


He glanced over at Zeke, worry written across his face. "Zeke, what's wrong? If you need to leave, just tell me."


"No, no, man... I just feel a bit sick to my stomach," he murmurs. "Just need ta... Ya know..."


Brasta's eyes searched around, spotting a door with the word ‘Lavatory’ on it. "Over there," he said.


Zeke shook his head. "Man, I'm not going in there! That place probably stinks like hell!"


"Do you have any better idea?" he asked.


"Yeah, there's prolly one inside," Zeke murmurs.


Brasta nodded and rushed towards a now line-less ticket window with Zeke in tow. "Excuse me, sir, errm, two for... " he glanced up at a poster. "Carrie? I'm kind of in a hurry..."


The window stallion punched out two tickets, blowing out the smoke of his cigarette.


Zeke quickly nabbed a ticket, rushing inside.


Brasta grabbed his ticket, tossed a few bits at the stallion, and rushed inside , heading into the entrance hallway to the lobby. "Thanks, bye!"


Zeke ran down the hallway and into the bathroom, slamming the stall door behind him and jamming his snout into the toilet, unleashing about everything he had eaten that day in a whiskey-tinged monsoon of alcoholic fury.


Brasta stood outside the door, wincing at the sounds of his nauseous, yet probably at least sober now, companion.


The vomiting continued, going up Zeke's nose and firing out of his muzzle, leaving the zebra stallion breathless. Eventually, the sound stopped, and Brasta knocked on the door lightly. "Zeke?"


"Yeah?" came the reply from the other side, weakly.


"You didn't lose a lung in there, did you?"


"Hahaha, screw you..."


Brasta rolled his eyes. "You alright?"


"I'm better," Zeke muttered, getting up from the toilet and flushing it. A few seconds later, he emerged from the doorway of the bathroom. "When's the movie gonna start?"


The priest glanced up at a giant clock over the concessions booth. "Ten minutes, I think." His eyes turned back to the zebra. “You still up for it?” 


"Aight," Zeke murmured. "Plenty of time. I feel good now, but just in case..."


Brasta felt a hint of relief. "Well, at least you'll feel better in a few hours."


"Yeah," Zeke murmurs. "Sorry. Not very polite of me to get real drunk on a date, huh?"


Brasta snorted. "There are better ways to make an impression, one could say." He almost didn't noticed the anxiety returning at the mention of the word ‘date.’ "Anyways..." he glanced back at Zeke. "How about that movie?"


"Yeah," Zeke groaned. "Guess we head on in, then..." Brasta nodded and the two of them trotted towards the end of the hallway and into the lobby.


Zeke trotted into the theatre, taking a back seat and sitting on his flanks, watching the previews zoom across the screen. He patted the seat next to him, silently suggesting that Brasta sit there. Brasta nodded, settling down comfortably into the theatre chair.


"These are good seats," Zeke said, patting the back of  his chair. "Nice and comfy... If I find the movie boring and shit, I won't be sleeping on a park bench."


Brasta rolled his eyes. "Please, places like this prefer for movie-goers to want to come back-- I don't think they'd consider a park bench a good business choice."


"Nah, prolly not," Zeke murmured. "Prolly not... What's this movie they're gon' play?"


Brasta glanced down at the ticket. "Something called... Carrie, I think?"


"Carrie? Never heard of it..."


Brasta shrugged. "Neither have I, but it was the first thing I saw, and we were kinda in a hurry..." He paused, embarrassed. It’s not like he was going to carefully look for a good movie when his companion had been about to vomit.  "Still, gotta try new things from time to time, right?"


"I hope it ain't gory slasher shit. Makes me sick to my stomach..."


Brasta looked a little queasy himself, remembering the last time he saw that kind of movie. Trying to lighten the mood a little, he chuckled awkwardly, "I don't think you have anything left in your stomach to get sick."


"Shut up," Zeke chuckled, leaning back into his seat with a fake pout on his face.


Brasta smirked at the look on Zeke's face. "Don't try to go pouty on me. It doesn't suit you."


"Heh. Guess you gotta teach me, colt lover," Zeke cackled, sticking his tongue out at his friend.


Brasta looked almost alarmed for a moment, eyes glancing around, before he shook his head and snorted. "In time, Zeddy. I've got more than enough patience to teach you-- and I'll likely need it." He crossed his forehooves and sent him a mock-teacherly glare.


"Yeah, you’ll have your work cut out for ya-- I wasn't too good at school, man," Zeke giggled, tapping the side of his head with a hoof.


Brasta grinned wide, then suddenly out came the broadest East Canterlot accent Zeke had ever heard. "Yew don't say? Well, at least I ‘ope yew learnt sumfin' or uvver, uvverwise I’d hefta give yew some educatin' meself." 


A few seconds passed, before Zeke just looked at him like he’d swallowed a lemon whole. "...Man, what the blazes happened to your speech there?"


: Brasta faintly blushed. Apparently, he’d still managed to retain the Coltney he’d picked up back in Canterlot.  "Sorry. Some of my mum's East Canterlot speech comes through sometimes- and not the posh kind I normally use, either." He shook his head. "Anyway, the movie's starting up."


"Right..."


The two of them waited for the movie to start. In a span of roughly thirty minutes, Brasta found himself torn between laughing from nervousness, being horrified by some of the darker scenes, and cringing at the poorly directed parts.


Zeke, erstwhile, had fallen asleep within five minutes. Leaning against Brasta's shoulder and drooling softly, a bubble rising and falling from his nose.


An hour later, Brasta found himself clinging onto the nearest pony to him for dear life-- which unbeknownst to him, happened to be the sleeping Zeke--, eyes fixed on the screen until the closing credits came up. Taking a sigh of relief, he heard a soft snore. He looked over to his right to see Zeke leaning on his shoulder, mouth set in  a somewhat cute- errm, peaceful smile. Ignoring the weight, he gently poked Zeke with his hoof. "Zeeeeke?"


Zeke jolted awake, the bubble popping and his mouth dry. "Hmmph! Wha?! Who died?! The zebra did, I know it! Zebras always die first!"


Brasta felt the sudden urge to laugh at the look on Zeke's face. However, he restrained himself and simply said in the flattest voice he could. "Correction- the unicorn died first in this one."


"Oh." Zeke yawned, unconsciously nuzzling into Brasta's shoulder. 


The priest's face heated at the sudden touch, before he shook his head and said, "Well, movie's over anyway."


"Yeah..." Zeke yawned again. "Damn... What time is it?..."


Brasta shielded his eyes from the brightening theatre lights and found the clock on the wall. "About... I think one in the morning."


"Mhh," Zeke murmured. "Can I crash at your place again?"


Brasta nodded, ignoring the slight lightheaded feeling that he knew hadn’t been there previously. "Sure. Ready to head out?"


Zeke was already snoring again on Brasta's shoulder, his eyes shut gently and mumbling slightly under his breath.


As endearing as this was, he had to get Zeke out of the theatre. Trying not to disturb him, he gently lifted Zeke into an upright position, leaning him against his shoulder. It was an awkward position to move in, but it worked. Using his right foreleg to keep him from falling over, he took a breath and headed out of the theatre.


Groggily, Zeke came to again, walking alongside the priest wobbly, his eyes drooping shut. "Whoof," he murmured. "I... I guess I'm not a movie pony."


Brasta snickered softly. "I suppose not. How about you pick what to do next time?" A moment of silence stretched into minutes, before his voice was heard again, much smaller and slightly nervous this time. "Assuming there, errm, will be a next time, if that's all right with you...?"


"Yeah," Zeke murmured, eyelids shutting again. "I'm down for it. Wait, I don't remember, but didn't I ask for a movie...?"


Brasta thought back for a moment. "Yes, actually you did. Hmm... then... I'll pick next time?"


"You better," Zeke chuckled. "And it better be good! No golf or... any of that rubbish." he finished lamely, leaning slightly more against Brasta,


Brasta rolled his eyes, ignoring the increased weight on his shoulder. "Believe me, I'm not a golf fan. How about just plain food next time? A decent place with decent grub?"


"Sounds fabulou- Awesome," Zeke said with a nervous chuckle.


Brasta smiled. "Good. Now let's get back to the rectory before you fall asleep again." With a sleepy Zeke in tow, Brasta managed to find their way back to the rectory, navigating the lamp-lit streets with caution until they arrived safely at the doors.


Zeke half-stumbled his way with Brasta alongside him, humming and muttering incoherently before snapping himself awake whenever he dozed off again into the priest's shoulder.


Brasta unlocked the doors of the rectory, shutting them behind as soon as he managed to get Zeke in. Gently taking care to avoid his furniture, he opened the door to the guest bedroom and led him in. "We're back, Zeke.," he said, as the zebra stumbled towards the bed.


Zeke looked around, blearily closing his eyes as he swayed slightly. "Can I sleep in your bed, Papa?..." Zeke mumbled in his sleep, nuzzling further into Brasta's shoulder.


Brasta looked more than a little alarmed- though his title was "Father", he doubted that was who he was referring to. Well, on second thought, it couldn't... No. that might lead to unfortunate temptations. So naturally, he would just leave him here in the guest bed. Nowhere near him. "Errm... not... tonight, Zeke?" he said, his speech speeding up a little., as he gently pushed the other stallion towards the bed. Either he pushed too hard, or Zeke was just that tired, as the zebra promptly fell sideways onto the bed. 


Reflexively, the zebra seemed to curl up slightly in his sleep, forehooves, clasping even tighter to Brasta. "Mmmf, but Papa..." Zeke mumbled.


"No Zeke." Brasta said, letting go of Zeke and heading towards the door. Still, he looked so... (was cute the right word?) dozing half asleep on the guest bed... No. That wouldn't be a good idea.


"Papaa..." he said in an almost desperate tone, unconsciously stretching his forehooves out towards the door. 


No, Brasta thought, walking further towards the door.


Zeke tossed on the bed, fidgeting in obvious discomfort, his eyes squeezing shut, his hooves pushing out. "No..."


Brasta turned around with a sigh, seeing Zeke obviously afflicted by what he guessed was a bad dream. Resigning himself, he headed back to the bed, placing a foreleg around Zeke to hopefully calm him down. "Shh, I'm here."


Zeke wrapped his forelegs around Brasta, still fidgeting. "Mama... those guys who... you couldn’t... Mmhmmm..."


Brasta, to his dismay, soon realised that he couldn't get away now without disturbing Zeke. With his heart still against it (or so he told himself), he managed to sort of half-climb, half-fall into the bed alongside Zeke.


Almost immediately, the zebra’s forehooves pulled him even closer. Zeke nuzzled his head into his ‘Father’s’ chest, humming and murmuring more quietly, his hat still on his head. The body besides him was warm, soft and comforting, and that was all that mattered.

Brasta stayed in that position, staring at the ceiling for hours. He wasn't sure how he felt about this. On one hoof, it was nice and warm; on the other hoof, it was a bit too close for his taste. Okay, that was a lie. Truth was, he was afraid. Afraid of this kind of closeness, afraid of the feelings that came with it- and afraid of himself. It was only because of the closeness he was reminded of just how scared he was. But he knew he couldn't dwell on it, not now- he had to get some sleep. Repeating a few Hail Mary's in his head, Brasta finally drifted off to sleep...

> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



Chapter 5


Zeke awoke to the smell of incense seemingly pressed against his muzzle. It was a pleasant, homely scent,; the kind of scent his mother would make. Whichever mare had crawled into bed the night before had some good taste. Or stallion. Drunken musicians never discriminated.

Zeke had draped his forehooves around his bedmate and refused to let go, holding them close and nestling his nose deeper into their chest, trying to pull in as much of the smell of incense as he could.

Brasta had not moved from the spot on the bed all night. Blinking awake, he let out a yawn as he glanced around the darkened room. However, as he tried to move, he soon found he was... well, trapped.

Brasta's eyes glanced over to the figure he was curled up against, and he struggled to get out of bed as his face turned a lovely shade of puce. "Zeeeke.."

"Urrgh," Zeke groaned, holding Brasta tighter.

"Zeke... let... go.. of.. me."

"No," Zeke mumbled drowsily, shaking his head weakly and tightening his grip on his fellow stallion.

Brasta groaned, and tried to climb away, extracting one limb from Zeke's grip at a time. This would have worked brilliantly, except for one thing- the guest bed had no footboard, resulting in Brasta falling off the end of the bed and onto his stomach. "Errrgh..."

Zeke, meanwhile, ignored his partner's injury and rolled back under the covers; snoring gently and twitching on occasion.

Brasta was getting more than irritated now. Getting back onto his hooves with some difficulty, he trotted over to the bed, glaring sternly down at the zebra. "Zeke, wake up. Now."

"Just five more minutes," the zebra grumbled, pulling together his sheets and holding them close to his body.

"Fine.," Brasta growled, before heading out of the room. As he walked along the hallway to his kitchen, he couldn't help but think, as usual. He had brought Zeke home with him, gave him the guest bed, and somehow managed to end up... cuddling with him? The worst part was, he had liked it, after a while; just the feeling of somepony warm and soft lying near him. That wasn't wrong was it? Just sharing the same bedspace. It's the same thing he would have done for anyone obviously having a bad dream, right? Right. Especially somepony who looked so cute-  somewhat endearing, when sleeping. That little anxiety and slight colour in his cheeks when thinking back to it meant nothing, of course.

Shaking his head with a sigh, Brasta made his way to the kitchen, and put his tea kettle on the stove, turning up the burners and grabbing his tea bags from the pantry. Good, strong peppermint tea- that's what he needed to clear his head.

Several minutes later, Brasta found himself sunken into his armchair, reading his Morning Office in an attempt to curb his thoughts. "Benedictus Dóminus, Deus Israel: quia visitávit, et fecit redemptiónem plebis suæ: Et eréxit cornu salútis nobis: in domo David, púeri sui. Sicut locutus..." Try as he may, he wasn't succeeding particularly well. The Canticle of Zechariah couldn’t keep him attentive this morning. Instead, his thoughts kept straying back. Dear Lord, what if Joana had seen him bringing Zeke home, or any of his other parishioners? What if somepony had come knocking this morning, seen him with Zeke, and made certain assumptions? "Aghh... this isn't helping." he said, shutting his breviary halfway through the Benedictus. If this kept up, he was going to go crazy, and it wasn't even eight o' clock yet!  

His mental rambling was suddenly broken by the sound of a whistling tea kettle. "Sweet Theotokos, I need my tea." he groaned, heading back towards the kitchen.

Five minutes later, Brasta found himself in his kitchen, drinking his favourite tea with a buttered scone. In short,: normal breakfast for him. Now that he'd shaken off the morning dust, his head was a bit clearer. The fact that he found Zeke somewhat cute while sleeping was simply an observation. Nothing more. Right.


______________________________________________________________________________

Zeke, erstwhile, was mentally beating himself in his half-sleep. If word of this got out, he'd be lucky if he got hired to do school dances. In a genre ruled by "gangsters" and thugs, having his... occasionally ‘gay’ moments were pretty much heresy. It most certainly didn't help the morning wood that Zeke had been absently begging to go away, but such was such.

Maybe he wasn't really a coltcuddler. Maybe he was just so comfortable in his sexuality that he engaged in riskier ‘gay’ stuff more often. Like shopping for scarves or makeup or something. Or literally cuddling with colts. Okay, he really wasn't helping his case much. Scrunching his eyes up, Zeke rolled around a bit more, groaning. "Gaaah..." With a mumbled stream of expletives, he crawled laboriously out of bed. 

The morning light pierced his slightly hung-over eyes, but Zeke trudged onwards, aimlessly wandering the halls of the rectory. It wasn't a massive building, nothing worth exploring, but Zeke found a good enough reason for it.

Finally, Zeke stumbled into the kitchen, smiling as he saw Brasta’s familiar face seated at the table. 

...And there went Brasta's clear head. Still, the priest couldn't help but brighten at the infectious smile on Zeke's face. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

He wasn't entirely sure what to say, as the image of Zeke sleeping peacefully kept popping back into his mind, as well as the feeling of- No. This wasn't the time.

"Hey, man," Zeke groaned. "I'm starving."

Brasta glanced over at the fridge. He wasn't heavily stocked on food, and needed to go to the grocer, but he had enough. "I'll whip up something.," he said, heading towards the fridge. Because, loathe to admit as he was, he was hungry too.

Zeke followed, glancing into the fridge, raising an eyebrow, and sighing. "Ya got any tea leaves? Not mix, leaves."

Brasta's eyes lit up. "Hold on a moment..." He rummaged through his cabinet, before levitating out a small tea caddy. "Got some in here.," he said, lifting the lid of the tin container.

Without further ceremony, Zeke stuck his head in and immediately began chewing on a mouthful of leaves, contemplatively.

Brasta looked at him as if he'd grown another head. Normally, somepony made tea, not ate it.  "Something on your mind?"

"I'm a cow," Zeke giggled, exaggerating the chewing and mooing to the ceiling.

Brasta rolled his eyes. "I suppose I should be lucky you're not eating all of them."

"Don't tempt me," Zeke cackled.

"I'm not." With that, he continued searching his pantry, getting out flour, salt, milk, and baking powder. "You're awfully chipper this morning..."

"Man, I got some good sleep in," Zeke said. "Good enough to wake a brother up..."

Brasta suddenly looked very embarrassed. "Yeah, I bet you did..."

"What's up?" Zeke asked, raising a quizzical brow. "Why ya gettin' flustered?"

Brasta just shook his head. "Not flustered- just... glad you slept peacefully, that's all."

"Uh huh," Zeke smirked.

"Yes. That's it. Only it." He wasn't sure if Zeke knew exactly why he's slept so peacefully, but he wasn't going to bring it up unless he asked.

"Right. So... This morning, totally nothing happened?"

Brasta thought for a minute, panicking slightly. So he did know. But still... technically, nothing had happened more than cuddling. "Nothing happened this morning."

"Well, I had this big ol' pillow, and then it went away somehow..."

"Err..." Brasta's eyes became fixed on a crack in the floor tile. "Shall I explain?"

"Go on," Zeke murmured, sitting on his rear.

Brasta swallowed. Ergh, why am I so flustered? "Well, last night, you were kind of stumbling half-asleep when we walked back from the cinema. When I brought you and led you to the guest room, you kind of... clutched onto me a bit." He rubbed his neck with a hoof. He wasn't sure who this was more embarrassing for; him or Zeke. "In your sleep, you started mumbling something about 'Papa' and sleeping on my bed. Then, when I tried to leave, you were sort of agitated- it looked like you were having a bit of a nightmare, in fact. So, I came back, just to calm you for a second, and you kind of clutched onto me more and, well, pulled me into bed."

Zeke's face blanked a little bit. "I... I called you what?"

"Err... you called me "Papa."

"Shit," Zeke murmured. "I was really out then..."

Brasta shifted slightly. "Yes, I kind of figured that.."

"Yeah. Papa... Papa, well, he tried hard and stuff, but he wasn't, y'know..."

"All that affectionate, I suppose?" Brasta finished. 

"He tried. He was a doctor."

"Hey, I'm not trying to rag on your Papa or anything, okay?" Brasta said, backpedaling slightly.

"He tried. Didn't save Momma."

Brasta's face fell. "So that's what you were talking about..."

"No... I'm just sayin', he tried as a papa and he failed."

Brasta bit his lip slightly at the look on Zeke's face. It wasn't sad; but it was a look of grim realisation of a hard truth. Brasta felt the urge to want to make him smile again. "Well, despite his failure, at least you turned out just fine from what I can see."

"Blame Momma for that," Zeke chuckled.

"Not as much blame as congratulate." he said in reply, finally glad to see the zebra light up once more.

"Nah, man," Zeke chuckled. "She was just the right kind of crazy to survive and thrive in the hood, ya know?

Brasta rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but a very special kind of crazy, I'd imagine." Like you, he almost said.

"Exactly..."

There followed a moment of awkward silence once again.

Zeke stiffened up, sighing. "Well... Can I get a hug, bro?"

"Err.. sure." Brasta said,  reaching forehooves out tentatively towards Zeke.

Zeke pulled the other colt into a tight, powerful hug, squeezing Brasta as hard as he could and tightening his own eyes, shivering.

Brasta felt slightly crushed by the hug, but returned it just as fiercely, ignoring the slight redness in his own face.

Zeke's eyes bulged out of his head as he was smushed by Brasta's grip, his hooves trailing down the other pony's back.

A moment later, Brasta let go of Zeke, panting slightly, face flushed, presumably from lack of air. It had nothing to do with close contact with the other stallion. Not at all. 

Zeke chuckled, still holding onto Brasta, even tightening his grip slightly.

Brasta coughed slightly, eyes watering. However, for some reason he was still enjoying this. Perhaps too much.

Zeke gave one last squeeze before pulling away with a faraway look in his eyes. He looked off to the side, for some reason, shivering. "Th-Thanks, man..."

Brasta nodded. "Y-you're welcome." He noticed the shivering. "You cold, mate?"

"No," Zeke squeaked weakly. "Just thinkin'..."

Brasta stopped. Why would thinking make him shiver? "Erm... about what, if you don't mind me asking."

"Ma."

Brasta's face dropped into a solemn look. "Errm... what exactly happen-" he stopped, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't asked tha-"

"She... got raped," Zeke muttered quietly.

Brasta's eyes widened, and an expression of horror and sympathy flashed across his face. "Theotokos protect her." he whispered, glancing at his image of the Mother of God on the wall, before lifting his eyes back up to Zeke. "I'm sorry, I just... I d-didn't want to pry... I-I." He stopped, realising he was babbling. "I'll just g-go now..."

Zeke waved it away, expression neutral. "Man, it was years ago. Shit happens. Happens a lot to zebra folk." Despite his even tone, Zeke’s eyes spoke quite a different story. 

"Well, that doesn't make it bloody right." Brasta said, suddenly angry. It was that common? There was something wrong with this city-- and more than the obvious. "I just-" Zeke’s neutral expression dropped into a frown, eyes pleading for Brasta to leave it alone. But Brasta was more than a little incensed. How the blazes could he pass off a rape as something that could simply be mentioned then forgot about? Long time ago or not, things like that left lasting scars on all ponies involved. He had a strong feeling that Zeke wasn’t quite as stoic about this as he seemed. “Shit happens?’ Really? That sounds a little too la-di-da a take on something as serious as this. I mean, surely you must have at least been deva-”

“Brasta. Now is not a good time. Just... leave it, please?” Zeke’s tone was no longer quite as even, instead sounding much more fragile. 

Some of Brasta’s anger faded at the suddenly hurt-sounding tone of the zebra, but still he couldn’t help a bit of indignation coming through. “Zeke, are you sure you don’t feel a bit more, I don’t know, angry about this? I mean, sure it was years ago, but-”

"Nope," Zeke muttered, beginning to shiver once more. "Nope, I’m fine..."

"Then why did you tell me about this if it wasn't-"

"I just... because thought I could confide in you." Was I right?, Zeke thought. 

Brasta's thoughts stopped. He trusts me? he thought. He trusts me enough to confide in me, after only a couple days? He felt a warm feeling in his chest. He trusts me...

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes, before Brasta broke the stillness. "Well, onto a happier subject..."

"Errm, shouldn't you be getting back to your own home now? At least, until we-" Go out, he thought to himself. "-hang out again."

"I... I guess so," Zeke murmured. "I mean, I'm free all day, but if ya need me to go..."

"No!" he exclaimed, then looked down. "I mean, no. Don't need you to go yet. Just not sure if you were... recuperated or not."

"I'm good," Zeke murmured. "Just... Wonderin' if ya wanna hang a bit more.

"Oh. Sure!" Brasta said  with a smile. There went that little flutter again... which he ignored.

"Cool," Zeke murmured. "Sooo... Like, you got TV here or anything or what?"

Brasta nodded. "I've got a TV in the living room- don't use it much, as I've got my books, but you're welcome to watch it."

"Aight," Zeke murmured. "Show me?"

Brasta led him to the living room, opening a cabinet against the wall to reveal a small tv with remote nearby. "Here you go."

Zeke smirked. "Man, that thing's gotta be like a hundred years old..."

"Ten years, actually."

"Well, tech marches on, brother..."

"My need for it does not- as I said, I mostly stick to my books," he said, glancing back down the hall towards his own room. Unbeknownst to Zeke, it was dominated by a plenitude of bookshelves, heavily loaded down with a ton of tomes.

"What books do ya like?"

Brasta shrugged. "A little bit of everything. Classics, history, philosophy, theology, and some contemporary books." The contemporary meaning his small collection of romance novels- the tame kind, granted, but still...

"Snoooore," Zeke murmured. "I'ma watch TV. I need to catch up on Las Pegasus Five-0 ."

Brasta rolled his eyes. "Fine, you do that. But at about noon, meet me at the door" Brasta glanced up at the clock on his wall. "I have a daily Mass to say, so I'll be back in about thirty minutes."

Yet Zeke was already snoring in a chair, the TV running and his eyes shut tightly.
Brasta rolled his eyes, and headed across the street. Standing at the threshold of the church, he glanced back at the rectory once more before entering his world of incense, chant, silk, and sometimes, divine silence.

> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



Chapter 6



And so time whittled away until the mid afternoon, where Zeke awoke in his chair with a start, smacking his parched lips and yawning. 

As he awoke, the door creaked open, and Brasta walked back into the rectory. "Afternoon, Zeke. Still sleepy, I see?" he said with a smile.

"Haven't slept in a few, man, I'm sorry..."

Brasta just waved it off. "Don't worry, Zeke- it's alright." He took a seat on a nearby stool. "You up for some food?"

"Yeah, for sure," Zeke murmured.

Brasta glanced towards the door. "Want to head out and get a bite to eat? My treat."

"It won't end up like last time?"

"My treat, but you pick the place to eat."

Zeke nodded, tilting his head. "I dunno. I dunno what's around to eat..."

Brasta scratched his head. "Err... what are you in the mood for?"

"Chineighse, I guess," Zeke murmured.

"Chineighse, huh?" Brasta thought for a second. "I think there's a place near here. Something called Hot Wok." He glanced sheepishly towards Zeke. "Sound good to you?"

Zeke nodded. "Heard of that place. Good egg rolls, right?"

"Yep," Brasta said eagerly, glad to have decided on a decent place. "Ready to head out?"

"Most definitely," Zeke chuckled, hopping down from his chair and starting to step out. "Lead the way!"

Brasta headed out the door with the enthusiastic zebra following him, trotting down the street once more.

After twenty minutes of searching, standing in line, and trying to communicate in various pidgin forms of the Equestrian language with the restaurant staff, Zeke and Brasta made their way to a booth in the far corner of the restaurant.

Zeke groaned, slipping into the booth and slumping down almost immediately. Some quick eat this was; the waitresses were all doing fifty other things at once. It could be hours before they were served, hours Zeke did not want to spend on an empty stomach. He leaned back, popping his neck muscles and yawning.

Zeke's obvious frustrations did not go unnoticed by Brasta, who calmly sat across from him, eyes fixed on a ceiling fan. After about five minutes of waiting, and observing Zeke glance back and forth between a clock on the wall, Brasta sighed and leaned towards him. "Relax, Zeke. I thought I was supposed to be the fidgety one?" he said in a slightly playful tone.

Zeke smiled and nodded, chuckling. "Man, I'm just hungry, is all. Feel like I ain't eaten in days!"

Brasta rolled his eyes, "Be patient, Zeke. The food isn't going to disappear before it can get to us."

Zeke's eyes widened. "Man, you don't know that! W-What if, like, I dunno, they run out of ingredients or somethin'?! Then they can't make the egg rolls and then we came here for jack!"

The priest just shrugged, eyes directed heavenwards for a moment before resting back on Zeke. The zebra's antics were just too cute- he meant endearing, errm, he meant... oh screw it, he just meant cute. "Don't worry about that, alright?" he said in a comforting tone he normally reserved for penitents.

The soft tones of Brasta's voice wormed their way into Ezekiel's ears. It reminded him of his mother in a way, such gentle, caring tones. Faking a cough, Zeke looked away from Brasta's honest eyes, letting his body melt into the chair. "Alright," he murmured.

Minutes later, low and behold, the Chineighse waitress brought them their food. "See? Told you."

Zeke blinked a few times. "Yo, we did order, right?" His mouth salivated at the sight of the egg rolls... Delicious, delicious egg rolls, golden yellow little rolls, overfilled with ingredients...

"Yes, we did." Brasta looked from Zeke to the plate of egg rolls on a tray. "Dig in." He said, saying a quick blessing to himself before helping himself to some spicy noodles.

Zeke's eyes went very wide, very wet, and almost savage in a mere second upon hearing the words "dig in." He did as he was bidden, leaning down to grab an egg roll in his mouth and wolfing it down savagely, moving on to the next one, taking a mouthful of rice with it. "Mmph! Thish good shtuff!"

Brasta just looked up from his half eaten noodles, fork levitating in midair to see Zeke making his way through egg rolls like a famished workhorse. He could barely repress a snicker at how messy an eater the zebra was, answering with a muttered "you're welcome" and getting back to his own meal (albeit at a much slower place than his dinner companion).

Zeke ripped through his third egg roll without remorse, leaning over to his drink to sip it, warm cider slipping over his lips as he did so. Glancing at his companion, he stopped himself to watch for a minute. "Man," he murmured. "You magic ponies got it all, huh?"

Brasta looked a little annoyed, but only for a second. He levitated his fork back down to his plate as his expression took on a more thoughtful look. "I suppose so... from a certain perspective. But not necessarily- we cannot grow food like earth ponies, nor manage weather and fly like pegasi, or even have the herbal magic and potion know-how of zebra shamans." He chuckled. "However, it does make it very convenient to handle things that can break easily." As he finished up his noodles, he noticed a bit of soy sauce on the zebra's face. And some rice. "Err... you kinda got a little something on your face..."

Zeke bit down into a particularly juicy egg roll, causing juices to streak across his face and Brasta’s. Looking shocked for a moment, the zebra pulled it the rest of the way in, chewed, and swallowed.

"You too."

Brasta looked across at Zeke, glanced in his own reflection in a nearby mirror, and instead of being annoyed, he could felt a little chuckle escape his lips. Spurred on almost by instinct, he took a nearby napkin and wiped Zeke's face with a smile. "Please, allow me to help." Upon realising exactly what he just did , Brasta's face flushed and he leaned back against the booth.

Zeke chuckled himself, letting Brasta touch his face, even licking his lips as he gathered up soy sauce around it. "Hey, mind if I return the favour?" he mumbled.

"Ermm... no, not at all."

Zeke slipped out his chair, swallowing, his eyes closed. He stood up on the table, forehooves upon it, and reached over to grab Brasta's head. Then he leaned down, looking over every detail.

Then he licked the sauce from the priest's cheek, from the chin all the way to his eyebrow.

To the priest's credit, he did not do anything quite as undignified as squeal girlishly at the sudden action. No, no chance of that. Instead, he gave a sudden, assuredly masculine squeak (at a pitch only dogs could hear) and turned a vibrant shade of red, shuddering slightly. 

What.... what just happened? Why am I- oh, Theotokos, save me!  Rejoice, Oh Virgin Mother- Hail Mary, full of... 

Brasta found himself staring down at his plate in an attempt to avoid embarrassing himself more. "Errm... thanks." he said in a whisper he could have sworn only he could hear.

"Shuddup, I'm not done yet," Zeke muttered, licking across the priest's forehead.

Brasta's only response was a small nod and a quick glance in either direction. Dammit, why was he so nervous around this stallion?

And why in Equestria was he liking this?

Zeke pulled away, glancing over Brasta's face, contemplating his next move. If he did this, well, he was crossing a threshold that might not be good for his career, but... But his heart told him "Fuck it, we're in the corner away from other ponies, anyway. Go for it". Closing his eyes and swallowing, Zeke cleared his throat.

"You've got some on your lips, t-too..."

Brasta's mouth finally opened at that, "Zeke, w-what exactly are you-"

Zeke leaned in. His tongue went on Brasta's lips. Then his tongue slipped into the priest's mouth, and his lips slipped over the priest's lips, and an electric thrill of adrenaline shot through him as he kissed the colt in front of him.

What in the name of all that is holy am I doing? Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner. Hospodi Isusu Christi, Syne Bozhe, pomiluj mya hreshnago.  Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have-

Brasta was silenced by the feel of warm lips against his, Zeke's tongue meeting his, and he felt himself melt into the kiss like butter in a dish, rational mind screaming at him at full volume to walk away, heart telling him to stay put. Brasta's eyes closed as he  savoured the kiss. Here, it was just him and Zeke...

The kiss lingered, Brasta's lips so soft and warm and wonderful, his tongue wet, small, adorable, the way that he was leaning into this, enjoying this, taking this. Brasta wanted this. Somehow, that made it all the more better, all the more real, and it sent shivers down Zeke's spine as he hummed into the passionate embrace.

Despite their mutual enjoyment, Brasta knew eventually that this had to end. He gently broke the kiss, staring up at Zeke with wide eyes as various emotions sparked inside his head like a collision of deranged fireworks. "I.. I..."

Zeke's eyes were wide, almost as if he himself was shocked at what he had done. How could he... What... His gaze shifted left to right, but thankfully only a few eyes wandered. Still, he swallowed, desperately trying to find something to say.

"Sorry," was what he decided upon.

"It's... alright." It's not alright, he thought, but smiled back slightly anyway. He looked into the other stallion's eyes, and saw in them a familiar emotion; fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of discovery, fear of rejection. But hope had to overcome fear, did it not? He took a breath, and steeled himself, trying to take back his composure. "It's alright," he repeated a bit stronger, tentatively reaching a hoof across the table, hovering over Zeke's.

Zeke grabbed Brasta's hoof and held onto it, tightly, his face blank but his eyes aglow, trying to sort out how he felt. Hopefully, he could feel the same as Brasta did, right?

"Y'know, uhm, in the city and stuff, uh... I mean... I... I think I've fallen f-for ya but... I mean, well... Shit, man, I..."

Brasta silenced the zebra with a single glance. Still looking around like he was afraid the room would catch fire on him, he sighed and laid his head on the table. "Might as well come out with it now" the pony said to no one in particular. There was something heavy in his voice, weights trying to press down upon his words. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" he muttered. "I'm very attracted to you, and you're possibly attracted to me. It's a little early to talk of falling for anypony, but...* his eyes looked right towards Zeke's own. "At the very least, you're confused, I'm really confused, and... and... you're more than a little charming." he whispered over the rim of his glass.

"Shit, man," Zeke murmured. "I... I think the same about you. You're just... I feel... safe around you. You've been real nice to me, man. Lotta ponies don't do that for me..."

Brasta smiled slowly . "You know what they say- a little kindness goes a long way."

"Does it go this long, man?"

Brasta shrugged. "Not usually. This kind of a..." Shocking. Ridiculous. Insane. "surprising thing for me too."

"Not that I have a problem with that."

"N-Neither do I," Zeke blushed. "Uh... So." He leaned down and took another egg roll in his mouth. "Thish ish a date now I guesh..."

Brasta's eyes scanned briefly for listeners before responding. "Yes, I suppose so..."

Zeke swallows his egg roll, smiling at Brasta warmly. "Cool," he sighed. "I... I can roll with that..."

"So can I." Brasta responded quietly.

Zeke held the smile, leaning over the table with his hooves holding his chin. "Gimme another kiss?"

Brasta swallowed. This really wasn't a good idea... 

Prudence, Temperance, Justice, Fortitude.  Chastity, Charity, Humility, Diligence, Patience, Kindness... Think virtues... Think virtues... 

"Alright," he said, gently brushing his lips against the other stallion's.

Zeke's smile just grew wider, his face bright red, giggling like a schoolfilly. "Heh... Good thing I'm just in the back mixin' beats, right? Though I've worked with the most closeted motherfuckers..."

"Yeah" Brasta said almost absentmindedly. "Right..." Truth be told, he was closeted. Excepting Zeke, an old friend of his, and the ponies at the coltcuddlers' bar, he was pretty closeted. And for good reason too. Various situations presented themselves dramatically in his head, all of them ending in either an excommunication, defrocking, being shunned by his entire congregation, or some terrifying combination thereof. God, he could almost hear the melancholy strains of a Dies Irae in his head while a bell tolled  for him as he was consigned to the fiery pits of Hell amidst the shrieking of a thousand fiends...

Zeke smiled again, and put his hoof over his... coltfriend’s hoof. Brasta was his coltfriend. Great Zebra Goddess, he never thought this would happen. He never thought he'd turn out this way. His coltfriend looked... Frightened in a way. Clearly, duly frightened. It broke Zeke's heart to see it, even though he was just as afraid. He closed his eyes and kissed Brasta again, just to make sure it was real.

As Brasta felt Zeke's lips on him again, he felt his fear retreat for a moment. It was still there, but... maybe now he had someone to help him bear it. Brasta shook his head slightly. This was real. Not the imagined events. This... is... peaceful, he thought.

No. No. No. No. Yes. Maybe. Yes. No. No. Yes.  Uggh...

Ignoring the fear, he kissed his... coltfriend back back.

Zeke was loath to pull away, but it was necessary to speak. "You got nice lips," he muttered with a smirk.

Brasta's blush returned in full force. "Yours aren't so bad, either."

Zeke smiled, nuzzling his friend and pulling him up. "Wanna go about town?"

Brasta took one final look at the restaurant, and nodded hesitantly. "Sure." After all, this wasn't the section of town too near his parish, so there was no danger of seeing them together being taken out of context... right? With that in mind, he followed Zeke out the door.

As soon as they had cleared the restaurant, Zeke pulled in a huge breath, grabbing Brasta and hugging him tighty. It felt right. It felt needed.
Brasta was a little surprised by the sudden hug, but hugged back just as fiercely, as if trying to squeeze every bit of fear and trepidation out of his system.

"Shit," Zeke murmured. "Fuck... I hope... Shit..."

Brasta buried his face in the other stallion's shoulder. "You hope what?" he asked, voice muffled.

Zeke kissed his partner's neck, sighing. "That... That we can be okay..."

Brasta clung to Zeke tighter. "So do I, Zeke. So do I..."