DESCRIPTION POST

On the right side, near the end on the orphanage, is the Greenhouse, a rectangular building half the length of the orphanage with glass doors and ceiling where the Kitchen staff grows some vegetables and where the children have Biology classes. On the back of the Greenhouse there are some fruit trees as well.

=====> The Lobby

Exiting the lobby and taking care to close the door gently in his wake, Father Anderson began the walk to the greenhouse at a leisurely pace. His gloved hands still loosely clasped behind his back, he let his emerald gaze fall up the various happenings of the orphanage arbitrarily as he went. The sprinklers going off at one corner of the lawn, a few boys running past in a game of tag, the ancient oak tree that stood tall nearby. Silently taking a bit of pleasure at the little known fact that the tall oak was as old as the Paladin himself, Father Anderson continued on his way alongside Crescenzo, enjoying the simple enjoyment of being in the company of one of his favorite charges. Despite the ups and downs the boy had gone through, he'd blossomed into one of the finest advocates of the true faith Alexander had ever raised. Still sporting that contented grin, Father Anderson offered Crescenzo a sidelong glance without breaking his stride across the sun baked cobblestone sidewalk. "So Crescenzo, ye heard aboot tha' commotion earlier taday? Tell me, whit exactly did ye hear?" he inquired, finally pausing in his long steps. Turning to face his former charge squarely, Father Anderson ensured that there were no children within earshot before he began this little chat. Depending on just how sharp, or curious, Crescenze decided to be today, the Lord only knew where the conversation could lead.

This place never lost beauty in his eyes, and no matter how much the world turned outside of these walls, nothing ever seemed to change within. Except, of course, for today. Today he'd found out that the peace in his home had been violated, and he was going to be damn sure it wouldn't happen again.

Walking alongside the large Father, Enzo couldn't help but feel slightly less like an adult in his presence; the man had never raised a hand to him, but his attitude and bearing gave him the appearance of a man who would not hesitate to defend his home. Anderson had always seemed larger than life to Enzo, but what he felt for the man stopped short of hero-worship; no, he felt gratitude and love for the Father, emotions he didn't think likely to change even as he grew steadily older.

He saw the sidelong glance thrown his way, and had time to study some far off point in the distance as he formulated an answer that pleased him. Halting with the priest, both hands slotted through the belt at his back - a now-old habit he couldn't seem the break - the brown haired man allows his words to roll steadily forward, soft as usual and even as a plane.

"I've heard very little, which was distressing."

There was a slight, pointed silence before he continues. "There was an assault - now labeled a "breaking and entering" - on the main house, two armed men involved. That is all I have heard"

Crescenzo then meets the Father's eyes, his calm expression holding the faint air of an indiscernible emotion. "Would you like me to tell you what I know?" Here was the NOCS officer, a veteran of hours of interrogation; he was Enzo to the Priest who had raised him, but he was also Crescenzo, a man who's strength lay in ferreting out truth.

The glare of the sun settled over the large man, hiding his eyes behind the sheen of the spectacles worn on his face. Always asking questions, always striving for the pursuit of truth and clarity be it religious, familiar, or even philosophical. Crescenzo hadn't changed a bit since entering the NOCS. If anything, Alexander's subdued grin actually grew a bit as this slowly began to head down the path of an interrogation. "Haha, Ah'd expect nuthin less froom ye Crescenzo. If Ah dinnae know better Ah'd say ye were leadin an Inquisition." bright white teeth flashed between tanned lips. Turning down the sidewalk again, Father Anderson continued on towards the greenhouse, quietly motioning for Enzo to follow him so that they could walk and talk. His right hand came up to briefly rub a kink from his shoulder blade only to quickly return to his side. "Let's have it lad. We'll see whit pieces we can piece together."

The smile almost tripped him up; he hadn't expected the Father to be happy about their choice of topic, but then again, when had Anderson been anything other than upbeat in a situation like this?

It was unnerving at times, to be entirely honest.

"An Inquisition gains less from a person than interrogation, and even less than conversation."

He fell into stride next to the Father, hands still stuck through his belt as his mind poured through every detail it had gathered from the moment he'd stepped onto the premises. "If we run through what I know, then I'm not certain you will like what I have to say, Father." His eyes fell back to staring at a distant point ahead of them, his voice quiet.

"No amount of disinfectant in the world, industrial or otherwise, will rid the smell of gunpowder from the air. Which means shots were fired. If this is the case, if they were truly willing to open fire in an orphanage, then it means they would not be stopped by simple verbal commands, no matter the threat they contained."

His eyes narrow slightly as he continues. "These men were struck down, slaughtered; that much bleach is only used to cover up copious amounts of blood, and indeed, if they were brought down by bullets there would have been good reason for it."

It was his turn to halt their progress now, his turn to bend the conversation. "Sister Mary Clarence was wearing a perfume of black powder when I arrived. I find it odd, don't you? Why would a Sister smell of something so...base? I could maybe explain it away by saying she was a hostage when they fired their weapons, but I don't think that is the case, is it Father?"

There was a cool, calculating look on his face now; he was close to something, so close that it made his fingers tingle with anticipation.

Rounding the corner of the orphanage, the greenhouse was now fully visible up ahead. The tall glass walls stood nearly spotless, the fruit of the hard work that the staff put in to keep the grounds clean and orderly. Despite the glare of the sun against the structure, Father Anderson could just make out his own reflection and that of Crescenzo in the glass. From that image alone, Father Anderson was able to judge Enzo's stance without actually looking directly at him. The boy was obviously excited, much like any child that believed they had placed their elders in a proverbial check. To his credit, he was right so far. The gunpowder on Sister Mary Clarence, the blood spewed across the floor. "Perceptive as always Crescenso. Aye, a pair o black hearted fiends broke into tha orphanage an tried tae make off wit one of tha children Sister Mary Clarence was lookin after at tha tahm. A few gunshots were fired in tha scuffle. Thank Heaven tha Sister an tha children remained unarmed." he said, letting out a bit more line for the fish to play with. It was too bad for Crescenzo that he'd proceeded so readily to the orphanage without first checking in with the paramedics. Had he done that, he would have been well aware that bullets were most certainly not the cause of the intruder's deaths. Giving his statement another moment to sink in, Father Anderson continued towards the greenhouse in a temporary silence before continuing on once more. "She really did save tha day, Sister Mary Clarence. Ah dinnae approve of violence against anything boot monsters an heathens boot Mary Clarence insisted tha' a weapon be safely stored on the premises. Pity tha' her fears were well founded."

That was...interesting, the notion that the Sister had decided to keep a weapon on premises. So very unlike her, but if it was what Father Anderson said, then it had to be true.

Except, it was't.

He couldn't readily believe it was the Sister who drove off men who were very ready to commit harm on the children of the orphanage. And kill them? To even get within the walls of the main house itself proved they had a little more to their credit than just "thug". Something was wrong, here. Or maybe not wrong, simply off. Did the Sister truly do as Father Anderson said? Was it possible that she could have expertly charged in and defeated two well-armed men in the name of duty?

He couldn't believe so.

Then again, if it was true, there was so much more going on than a simple break-in.

Continuing his walk with the Father, Enzo allows a look of consternation to crease his features, reflecting his internal debate, one he wasn't yet ready to voice aloud; he needed more time to formulate.

"So Sister Mary Clarence saves the day with a safely stored handgun. One I am sure was under lock and key, particularly since this place is home to so many intelligent, curious children." He reaches up to slide the balaclava off his neck, peeling it over his head and studying the fabric as he continued to speak. "I am amazed, truly, that Mary Clarence had the clarity of mind and the skill to recognize the danger and retrieve her weapon." He pauses for a moment.

"I wish I could say the same for many of my recruits."

He wasn't going to say it, he didn't have to; either Sister Mary Clarence was well trained in the art of gunplay, or something else halted those men. Either way, it was an oddity that a woman of Mary Clarence's age would be so keen on the handling and use of a handgun.

Something was very off.

Arriving in front of the greenhouse, Alexander paused at the glass doors. Silently examining the clean surface of the greenhouse exterior, he didn't respond immediately to Crescenzo's analysis. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy to pull the wool over little Enzo's eyes. He was briefly attempted to lie to the boy, tell him that Sister Mary Clarence was special forces of some sort prior to joining the clergy or something like that. But no, not only would Enzo peel apart a halfhearted lie made up on the spot but lying was a grave sin, one that Father Anderson put his full effort into avoiding. Granted, he was careful with his wording regarding his work and what he actually said to his charges, but he had never outright lied to them. "Oh well, ye caught me lad. Ah'd hoped tae avoid admittin it boot Ah did mah fair share tae defend mah home. It is true tha' Mary Clarence did fire her weapon at tha vandals boot Ah nevar did say she killed them." He tried to restrain himself, but despite his best efforts the ghost of a satisfied smile appeared on Anderson's face. Removing his glasses and a cleaning cloth from his breast pocket, the priest methodically began wiping down the round lenses. The giant of a man seemed oddly at home performing such a mundane task, perhaps taking solace in the sheet simplicity of it. "Ye dinnae get a chance tae look over the remains did ye Crescenzo? Probably fer tha best. Frightful mess, all those stab wounds." Finally deciding that he'd cleaned them well enough, Anderson returned his glasses and handkerchief to their proper places and turned his emerald gaze directly on Crescenzo, eager to see how his old charge would respond to that little tidbit of information.

And there it was. He was on the right track, then, with his conjecture, and with the Father's "confession" he was even more certain there was more to the story. Twisting the black fabric of the balaclava through his fingers - and noting that it was beginning to show wear in a few places - Enzo responds in his trademarked slow, collected tone.

"You almost lied to me, Father. Almost." He watched the great man fiddle with his glasses. "What transpired was messy and bloody, we've already agreed on that. I was wondering, however, where you had been through the entire ordeal, as until now you've made it seem as though the Sister took charge."

The brown-haired operative pauses, gathering the thread of his thoughts. When he speaks, it is almost to himself. "So you were there...'" He takes in the Father's next words, mulling them over for a moment before responding.

"Stab wounds...bladed weapons. Knives? But no one else is harmed. Not you - and as you've stated yourself, you defended the home as well - and not Sister Mary Clarence. The only persons injured were the men attacking. That denotes a skill level far beyond that of a normal...person's...ability..."

His voice trails off from its already quiet tones, until he stops talking altogether. It hit him, then that the man in front of him, a man he'd loved more than any other, was not what he appeared to be. If Father Anderson had disposed of the two attackers, it would mean he was on a level far beyond that of someone trained for self-defense. He would have to be operating on a level of skill outclassing Enzo himself - a difficult thing to do, considering.

Without thinking, his fingers brush the top of his drop-leg holster, not quite touching the safety strap, but brushing against it in an unconscious manner; he was not afraid, just on guard. He had no reason to feel threatened by the Father - and indeed, he'd never felt anything of the nature - and he was far from worried about his own safety. It was simply an action ingrained by years of meeting dangerous, capable men.

He loved the Father, but now he was wary. The man had been lying to him for years, years, since he was a boy old enough to know how dangerous lies could be, but some part of Crescenzo didn't care; he'd never lied about being able to protect them, the children, and for that, a weight lifted he'd never known was there. He was no longer alone in his resolve to protect.

Chuckling at Enzo's accusation, Alexander opened the door of the greenhouse and stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back once more. "Lie? In all tha years Ah've known ye lad, Ah've nevar once lied tae ya. Tha' being said, ye dinnae always necessarily need tae know everything aboot me." he said casually enough, almost like revealing decades of veiled and hidden aspects of of himself was an everyday occurrence. Reaching out to a large potted plant, the priest wrapped his fingers around the handle of a small garden spade. Pulling it free from the soil, he examined it a moment as Crescenzo continued on with his analysis. As the officer began to piece together the significance of the stab wounds, Father Anderson deftly flicked his wrist, sending the garden spade flying towards one of the wooden boards supporting a larger system of plants. The spade embedded itself an inch into the wood, centered perfectly on an eye in the wood. "Knives? Naht a bad guess." he said in a lightly restrained voice as if speaking only to himself. Lowering himself onto a green wooden bench, Father Anderson smiled up at his protege. The proud smile of a parent that had finally been bested in a favorite game by their child, the Paladin's features displayed no trace of worry or concern regarding Enzo's findings. "Yer naht tha only one around ere wit a storied history Crescenzo. Ah learned a long tahm ago tha' shepardin a flock takes moor than joost carin fer tha sheep. Every nao an then ye need tae be ready tae fight off a few wolves."

He follows the priest inside the large, misty greenhouse; from all the moisture, it seems that the automatic watering system had cut off just before their arrival. A thousand sounds flitted just to the edge of his hearing, the tiny drip of water as it rolled off of plants and structures alike. He'd gotten into trouble more than once in this warm and sunny building, and more than once it had by been the very man in front of him. It was hard, this line of thinking; he didn't feel that he could ever do anything other than trust the Father, but the fact he faced was the man had concealed a rather earth-shattering facet of himself.

Still fiddling around with the balaclava in his calloused hands, Crescenzo cuts his eyes to take in the Father messing about with a trowel. It took him only a heartbeat to discern what was coming next, and his dark eyes followed the blurred image of the small shovel as it flew past him and into the wood of a shelf. His mind had immediately screamed danger, but the rest of him knew better; there wasn't a hint of malice resonating from the priest.

In fact, there was...pride?...on his face. Confused for a moment, and allowing the tension to flow from his body, Enzo turns to the trowel. With steady movements, he makes his way to the still vibrating garden tool, extending his partially-gloved hand to run a finger over its edge. The vibration stopped, and he wraps his hand around the grip and pulls it free - not without some force behind it, however.

Studying the tiny shovel, he speaks without looking to his mentor. "You are a shepherd with teeth of your own, then. You kill," and the word stuck in his throat, "to protect your flock. You are not simply a shepherd, are you?"

He finally looks to the priest. "You are a wolf, too."

Staring intently at the officer as he retrieved the gardening tool from the board, the confusion running through Enzo's mind was painfully apparent to Father Anderson. It seemed the boy was finally beginning to understand the nature of the man he was speaking to. Well, an emphasis had to be placed upon "beginning" but the fact that he'd figured so much out on his own was impressive. The clergyman slowly shook his head at Crescenzo's final conclusion. "Not quite. A wolf preys upon tha weak and tha innocent, devouring helpless sheep in tha field. Me?" The Paladin held up his right hand, studying the words written across the back of his white glove. "Ah'm one o God's representatives. An earthly agent o divine poonishment charged wit seekin out tha fools tha' would dare oppose God." His large hand curled into a tight fist, calcium deposits cracking audibly. Honestly, despite his pride at Crescenzo's skills at detective work, the Killing Judge was a bit disappointed that the boy had uncovered his "secret" like this. It would have been nice to spare the boy from the blood soaked truth, let him continue to live shrouded in the warm embrace of ignorance. After all, the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge almost invariably led to sin. It had opened the eyes of children like Enrico, Heinkel, and Yumie to the world of the supernatural and in doing so had set them on the path to Iscariot and eventually limbo. If he could, that was a burden that Alexander would keep from Crescendo's shoulders. They didn't need one more soul writhing in limbo and this man had no need to know the full extent of their sacrificial crusade.

None of this made sense anymore. The Father was speaking about "divine punishment"? That wasn't his to met out. It was none other than the Lord's. Then again...

Crescenzo turns slightly, granting him access to a large potted plant. The soil around it was rich and dark, undisturbed aside from small rivulets of water. He places the gardening spade on the table next to the plant, then runs his free hand over one of the broad, deep green leaves before him.

"For he is God’s servant to you for good. But if you do evil, be afraid; for he does not bear the sword in vain." His words were so soft, so gentle, he may very well have been talking to the plant. He doesn't look to the priest again, for fear that when he did, the man wouldn't be the same man he remembered.

"For he is a servant of God," he continues, "an avenger to execute wrath on him who practices evil."

This time, he does look to the tall priest, a near-sadness lurking in his liquid brown eyes. "I cannot claim to understand your reasons for hiding this...secret." Enzo's lips soften to a sad smile. "But it seems the weight of it is great indeed."

Father Anderson's face said it all: he didn't want the operative to know his "secret", but not for the priest's sake. It was for the brown-haired boy in front of him, one that he'd raised and one that looked to him still.

He watched the younger man examine the plant with great interest. Slowly but surely, understanding appeared on Crescenzo's features. He claimed that he could not yet comprehend the Paladin's rationale for hiding this side of himself for so long. In all honesty, Alexander never expected him to. To an outsider, even one as deeply entrenched in the faith as Crescenzo, the philosophy of Judas Iscariot was insanity, an inversion of the mainstream teachings of cooperation and peace between faiths that the Church made public. Sinners yet not sinners, traitors yet not traitors, it was a difficult pill to swallow. "Ah'm reminded uv a certain homily Ah heard sum tahm ago. Twas said tha' life is a bicycle wheel. Wit every choice we make, wit every relationship we cultivate, we add anoother spoke. Even oor mistakes take tha form uv a spoke, supporting us as we move forward. Every nao an then, we may lose one uv those relationships er fail tae learn oor lessons an a spoke will break. Even wit a broken spoke ere an there a wheel can still werk, boot if tha hub is lost, everything falls."

The Iscariot braced his elbows against his knees and interlaced his fingers, absentmindedly clenching and relaxing his hands. "Do ye know whit tha hub is Crescenzo? It's God, it's tha faith tha' binds us all together. Yew've experienced moor than yer fair share uv broken spokes lad boot yer hub has carried ye through. Ah did whit Ah could tae spare ye froom moore hardships. Ah'll naht apologize fer mah intentions, boot Ah am sorry tha' Ah had tae deceive ye fer so long."

The hub is God. But a hub cannot keep a wheel together when there are no spokes. He turned to the Father, his mouth moving as if to say those very words, but he stopped himself short. Brow furrowed, he struggles for a moment to find words, any words for what he'd just heard, but none arrived. Deciding against saying the first thing to pop into his head, Crescenzo closes the distance between them and hovers for a second before taking a seat next to the priest.

The man was still larger than life, even when sitting down.

The operative runs a gloved hand through his mess of hair, soaking in the moment and calculating what his next move was; not having the words to express himself was rare, and it put him on unsure footing, not a place he enjoyed being.

Finally, his brain settles on a question.

"Father, what exactly have you been hiding from me?

Part of him didn't expect a full answer to the query, just a basic this-and-that without any real meaning; part of him knew they had already reached a point of no return, and in this moment, his life would change.