//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2 
// Story: Hard Chicagoat Nights: The Zebra and the Priest 
// by Brasta Septim 
//------------------------------//


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.