Dear God, Give Me Courage, for Perhaps I Lack It More Than Anything Else

[collaronhisneck]

WHO: Father Francis Mulcahy and others
WHERE: Various, check starters
WHEN: September 2nd through 4th
OPEN TO: Everyone, but only the last prompt will be an open in full. The rest are first come, first served in order to prevent Topic Fatigue.
WARNINGS: None so far; mentions of wartime problems may come up

---

( fountain, September 2, open to Major )

Considering he'd gone to sleep in his normal rickety cot, the familiar sounds of an April night outside Uijongbu drifting through the lashed-down sides of his tent, the rumble of engines passing by on the road in the distance...

Well, the last thing he expected to wake up to was water.

Jolting awake with the sudden plunge and the screaming lack of air, instinct kicks in just like his feet, and Mulcahy surges in the direction he hopes is upwards, towards light and away from the darkness, a stray thought passing through his mind that he hopes he's not heading for The Light just yet. There's so much left to do, after all. The coughing starts when he founders into the early morning light, because he'd managed to swallow some of the water before he surfaced, though fortunately it seems to be coming out fairly easily. What he doesn't realize right away is that his glasses seem to have disappeared; he's more concerned with catching the rim of the fountain and clinging to it while he spits up the water that invaded his esophagus. Not the most comfortable of welcomes, this.

( inn, September 2, open to two closed )

Recovered, more or less dry, glasses firmly in place, pack still on his back, and more befuddled than he'd ever been in his life (which is saying something, considering some of the shenanigans he's witnessed), Mulcahy has managed to make it to the inn in time for the noon meal. He's still not certain he's not hallucinating all of this, but it hurts when he pinches his arm and everything feels reassuringly solid, the grain of the wood a noticable texture under his fingertips, the air warmer than he's expecting and with almost a sleight weight to it. At the very least, he's certain this isn't a dream, and the rumbling in his stomach seems to reinforce that idea.

If he isn't waylaid, he's going to approach the first person he sees that isn't occupied with something else, smile warmly and a little nervously at them, and ask the first relevant question that comes to mind. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but I was told I could find something to eat here - how does that work, exactly? I don't seem to have any money, but I don't mind lending a hand if it's needed."

( hospital, September 3, open to two )

The hospital isn't at all like the ones he's seen and especially not like the one he knows best, but in his quest to learn the village the building had easily drawn his eye since it was so close to the inn and he'd decided to explore. The 4077 is a temporary camp - it's a mobile surgical unit, after all - so a structure this solid is a change by itself, not to mention the age. The village reminds him so much of some older places he's seen throughout New England and Europe it's uncanny, and in many ways it's similar to several villages in Korea as well, although those similarities aren't so happy. Run down and the upkeep not kept up with, people living day to day and just trying to survive - it's no surprise that a lot of the buildings seem a little shabby, a few into actual disrepair. The hospital looks better than many, which encourages him - it means people are doing their part to keep up areas that may be needed. It's a good sign of a community pulling together.

Still, he's not about to go poking around in places he may not be wanted, so Mulcahy sticks to the hallways and carefully peers in any doors before he enters a room, in case he's about to disturb any patients. He's fairly sure there aren't any there, but better safe than sorry, and he'd like to see if there's any staff so he can volunteer his services should they be needed.

( church, September 4, open to any )

The makeshift cross outside the building had drawn him like a needle to a magnet when he'd spotted it, and while the structure is obviously a house that's been repurposed, Mulcahy can't deny feeling more at peace at the sight. Obviously someone's felt the separation from their congregation much as he has, and apparently for quite awhile if there's been steps taken to convert a dwelling. He stops in the road outside the building, head bowed and hands folded in front of him for several seconds as he silently prays, and then releases a deep breath before climbing the steps to the porch and opening the door. Seeing what needs to be done will be a good way to keep busy, and perhaps he can find some way to help or prepare for a dedication. He's no Bishop, but there seem to be a lack of them in the area, which leads to a distinct possibility of "winging it."

Comments

hospital

[theluckygirl]

The hospital wasn't anything like the one she worked in. While Claire was sure it wouldn't see numbers like Metro General did on a friday night, she was almost at panic attack level when she saw the supplies they had.

Which was pretty much barest of bare minimum.

When the gentleman came in, Claire was going through the inventory when she turned abruptly and head out to find find some paper so she could count things for herself. She wanted to be sure that she could think up alternate means in case more severe injuries happened and with them all living in a forest, that was bound to happen.

As she cleared the door, Claire almost ran into the man. "Oh, wow, you came out of nowhere." The look of surprise quickly shifted to one of concern as she looked him over. "Are you hurt?"

[collaronhisneck]

The place was clean, or at least as clean as it could be, he feels. They're operating on a very tight budget for supplies, or even no budget as far as he can see. Hopefully no one would need surgery here, because he's fairly sure that this place doesn't possess a scalpel, much less a full set of tools. It's somewhat hard to be an assistant nurse if there's nothing to assist with.

Lost in his thoughts a bit, Mulcahy doesn't notice the door very close in front of him or the footsteps on the other side, and so when Claire pops up practically under his nose he can't help but jump back closer to the wall with a small yelp, very definitely startled. But it fades as quickly as it comes, since she's obviously there for a purpose and he's likely intruding into her space. Mulcahy smiles, nodding once in a sort of hello and answers her question. "No, I'm not, I'm simply poking around. Trying to find what this place is all about, you see, and this looked a bit promising."

[theluckygirl]

Good thing the two of them were of the same mind where it came to hoping no one needed surgery. What they were equipped to do was mostly staunch the flow of blood from minor to moderate cuts. Kitchen, or the more typical outdoor accidents. They didn't even have suture kits.

Claire gave a thoughtful look before shaking her head, before gesturing behind her into the room. "That's what I was doing and you know what, it's not. Not even a little bit. Which worries me."

A pause, Claire has to wonder why he's interested. He doesn't look, or talk like any junkie she's caught poking around her ER back home.

"You a doctor then?"

[collaronhisneck]

The question's not a surprising one for a setting like a hospital, but it always takes him by surprise when someone makes a mistake like that, no matter that it happens very rarely. The collar tabs on his uniform make his vocation abundantly clear, but he doesn't have them here and now. "A doctor? Oh, no, though I've worked with some of the best for quite some time now." Normally he'd smile thinking about his friends in the camp, but the sudden transportation to another place means all he's doing is worrying about them instead. He does manage a smile for Claire though, because she's obviously concerned with helping people, and seems to be thinking about the right kind of problems to try and solve. You might not be able to think of every possible thing that could go wrong, but being able to anticipate would help keep a sense of calm in trying times.

"I have picked up a few things, though, so if something happens I don't mind being of assistance. Just how bad is it, do you know?"

inn

[unmakeme]

Natasha looks up at the soft voice. Soft, but not timid, which is interesting. Not many people make it into adulthood with that particular combination. "You look like you're about to fall over." Not weak, necessarily, but overwhelmed. "Come on, sit down." Natasha slides her plate across the table so that it's in front of the empty spot she's urged Mulcahey to take. "You don't need money. No one has any. We all help one another out, only way it could work here. I haven't started eating yet. I'll go get another plate. You take this one."

[collaronhisneck]

"No, no, I couldn't take your lunch. I don't mind going through the line, it's habit by now." It seems this place is very much like the mess tent - though, hopefully, with better food. At the very least he'll be sure that nothing here will be ten-year-old canned surplus.

Natasha gets a slightly scatterbrained smile as Mulcahy nods his head and leaves his pack next to the chair she'd indicated, more or less certain that no one's going to take it. If what he's been told already is true, there's very little crime in the village, perhaps none at all, which is a small miracle. He's not a greedy man normally, but when you're suddenly stripped of all your worldly possessions and given just a few items in return, you want to hold on to what you still have. He's arrived in a bit of a lull and there's no real rush on the food, and so he's soon back at the table with his own meal.

"Thank you for the offer, but it really isn't a problem," he says with a smile as he picks up his spoon. The soup does look very good.

[unmakeme]

When he refuses to take it, Natasha pulls it close again and begins eating. When he rejoins her, his pack hasn't been touched. "Suit yourself. I'm Natasha." The soup is good - needs salt, but it always does, and her tastes are adjusting to the lack. "You'll need a place to stay. Any empty house is up for grabs. There are also rooms here, if you prefer being closer to people and closer to the heart of town." She does not, but to each their own.

[collaronhisneck]

He doesn't notice the pack hasn't been touched in the way that a lot of people here would - not that he knows that yet, not really - but he can at least see that it hasn't moved or been unpacked. That works for him well enough. After he sits down, he bows his head in a quick prayer, a familiar ritual that grounds and centers him before he picks up his spoon to begin eating. The soup is surprising to him with its lack of salt, but seeing as he's spent quite awhile eating food with far too much salt (since that's one of the sure-fire ways of preserving food long-term), the change is actually fairly pleasant. He blinks in surprise at his spoon and bowl, then shrugs and continues eating while she speaks, being fairly neat about it even if he's still fairly disheveled himself.

"Natasha - Russian, are we? Although, no, you do sound American." After spending the past couple years in the army, Mulcahy has heard just about every version of an American accent there is, and she seems fairly neutral on that spectrum. "I- I don't really know. I do like having space to myself, but if it's better for me to stay in reach, I can certainly do that with little difficulty. This town is hardly a city, after all."

Church

[thegreatexperiment]

For a nice Jewish girl--and a recovering vampire--Sam spent a surprising amount of time in the church. It wasn't that she drew much spiritual comfort from it or anything. Sam had gotten good and agnostic after all of the horrible things that had happened in her life. More, it was the memories of her art history courses in high school and college. If she squinted the right way, she could almost pretend that she was in Paris, turning up to the sweeping buttresses of Notre Dame or Les Invalides.

Also, it had a lot of corners. Sam liked corners.

Once an unpopular goth girl, always an unpopular goth girl. Or something.

Anyway, since Jude had given her a notebook with actual paper, she wasn't as confined to drawing on the walls of her room. Now she could take her little art projects on the go with her.

Lately, she'd developed an intense fondness for drawing the sky. Her book was filled with nighttime skies. Daytime skies. Star-scapes. And the broken skyline of Los Angeles. Over and over and over again, she drew the post-Apocalyptic nightmare that had become her life. Cracked skyscrapers and plumes of fire, all in various shades of charcoal.

She was working on one now, staring intently down at her pad when she heard someone come in. For a crazed second, when she looked up, her eyes were wide enough to show the whites all the way around. Then she spotted someone who was obviously a n00b and relaxed. A little bit. As much as Sam could ever relax about anything.

"Hey," she said, brushing a synthetic curl away from her forehead.

[collaronhisneck]

"Oh... uh, hello." The interior of the building is a little dim, and so at first Mulcahy's not entirely sure if what he's seeing is reality or not. Who ever heard of someone having blue hair? That can't be natural, can it? Does it mean she's sick for some reason? She doesn't look like she is, but seeing as how he's been transported to some forgotten village overnight in his sleep, it's not beyond the realm of possibility.

But he's obviously startled her, and Mulcahy doesn't like doing that to people, especially not in a church. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you - I was just hoping to look around here and see what's been done with the place. I can leave if you want to have some private contemplation."

[thegreatexperiment]

It was always her hair. Just once in her life, Sam wanted to be noticed for something other than her hair. Her artistic prowess would be nice. Her genius. Hell, she'd settle for someone staring at her tits.

But no. It was always the hair.

The poor guy seemed a little...well. He was a n00b, from the looks of him. Sam had been doing her best to take ample notes on all of the inmates of the clown rodeo. She definitely hadn't seen his face before. And there was something about him that was a little too...

Upbeat? Like this place hadn't wrung the life out of him yet.

At any rate, as much as Sam relished being a dick, she didn't want to be. So she offered him what passed for a gentle smile and shook her head. "Nah," she said. "I do my private contemplation in the mornings. Afternoons are for sketching and seething with barely-contained resentment. I'm a stickler when it comes to following my schedule."

[collaronhisneck]

Unfortunately, when dealing with a person from the 1950s, that hair was indeed going to be the thing that drew attention. It's obviously unnatural in ways that can't be explained with anything but a wig, and whoever would make a blue wig? But at least Mulcahy's too polite to ask about it - yet, at least - since there's no reason to believe it needs a fuss made over it. After all, odd as it is, it's not hurting anything.

"I... I see." It's not the first time he's heard words like that, if certainly not of that phrasing; sarcasm and loathing of... something are common expressions of injured or traumatized soldiers. The words are arranged in a fashion that he doesn't quite get right away and it takes him a couple of mental repeats to understand what she's saying, and when he does figure it out, he... doesn't draw attention to it, not right away. A brief frown passes over his face, probably one of concern but it's gone so quick it's hard to tell, before he nods and starts moving further into the building. "Then if you don't mind, I'd like to take a look around. I don't expect there to be much in this church, considering its history as a house, but if there's anything to be found, I'd like to find it."

inn

[frankensteinian]

Erik is a bit surprised to be addressed. It isn't that everyone here knows better or anything. It's just that except for a couple of specific people, he tends to keep to himself most of the time. It's just how he prefers it. But he remembers what it's like to be lost and hungry, and not just from his arrival here, so he doesn't mind being interrupted, really.

"No one's got money. Lending a hand is exactly how it works around here." Some from back home, if they were here right now, might be surprised at Erik's willingness to lend a hand, but he can be helpful when he's got a vested interest in something. And he's got quite an interest in not starving to death.

"There's one meal a day that is intended to be a communal meal, with everyone pitching in how they can, so that everyone is guaranteed one meal a day. Often there are other meals here that can be shared as well, but without as many people contributing." Trading work for food is what's important. It doesn't matter what time of day that happens.

"Plates and silverware are over there."

[collaronhisneck]

The smile that Erik receives in return is entirely genuine, if still a little overwhelmed, and Mulcahy nods his head a little. "Thank you - it seems I missed breakfast back at the camp, and I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook. If I had to make it myself, I might just burn the place down!" It's a bit of a nervous joke, but nothing too bad, not something that seems forced or too out of character for the newcomer. Mulcahy swings his pack down to set it in one of the chairs at Erik's table as he speaks, resting a hand on it briefly before meeting Erik's eyes again. "I should probably get something in me before I wind up on the floor."

And with that he walks off and joins the line. Fortunately it's pretty self-explanatory and he's certainly had more than enough practice at buffet-style food lines to breeze through it, so he's back in just a couple of minutes with a bowl of the soup on offer, a cup of water, and one of the "rolls" of dense bread that reminds him almost of soda bread, at least in the way it feels and looks. When he resumes his seat, he pauses for a moment to fold his hands together in front of him, bowing his head over them with his eyes closed, lips moving just a little as though he's trying to speak along with something in his mind. Ten seconds later he crosses himself and unfolds from his prayer to begin eating, starting by ripping a piece off the bread off and popping it in his mouth. "What sort of help do they need around here? And who is 'they,' exactly?"

[frankensteinian]

Sorry, Mulcahy. Erik will get to your questions eventually, but first he needs to clarify something. He's still focused on the word 'camp' that he heard, trying his hardest to figure out what sort of camp it might have been.

He doesn't think it was the same type of camp he once spent time in, but it's something he needs to be sure of. He knows enough of other belief systems to know which one Mulcahy belongs to when he crosses himself, but just because he's a member of that faith doesn't mean he couldn't have ended up in one. He couldn't have been in charge of one, or one of the guards; he's not cruel enough for that. Though none of the prisoners would have called any of the meals 'breakfast,' either. They wouldn't even have called them meals.

Still, he needs to know. He moves his left arm in a way that's designed to seem natural but also shows off the numbers tattooed there. "Camp?"

[collaronhisneck]

The lack of any sort of European accent means he wouldn't have been in a "camp" that Erik is thinking of specifically, though it is possible could have been in one of the Allied POW camps such as Stalag Luft 1. But that still would have been a much, much more comfortable existence than Erik suffered through, even as a prisoner, thanks to the Geneva Conventions.

"Yes, the camp I'm- I suppose I still am currently living in. A small army camp, not really permanent, but for a given value of-"

Mulcahy goes silent as he spots Erik's arm and the numbers lurking there, etched on his skin. Unlike quite a lot of people in the village, Mulcahy remembers those years all too well - it was less than a decade ago, for him. He'd technically been old enough to qualify as a soldier after Pearl Harbor, but by that point he'd already been in college and studying for the seminary, so he'd been exempt. But he'd had family go, and come back, and he knows exactly what those numbers mean and he looks up to meet Erik's gaze with sadness and shock. "Are those- really-"

church

[forthecrown]

Elizabeth had been to the church a few times. It was just a simple building, rather like the ones around it, but the fact that it'd been designated church meant that it was something special. They had no priest, so there was no sacrament and no altar but, all the same, Elizabeth bowed eastward when she entered and settled in one of the chairs.

Someone else was there which, all told, wasn't that uncommon. She knew vaguely of the man who'd started the church and so far as she knew, he was Catholic, but God was God no matter which side of things she fell on at the moment. She might be the Supreme Head of the Church of England but here, in this place, she was a parishioner.

Without a prayer book, the order of the service was a little harder to recall but Elizabeth tried to keep to it as she could and she recited the only psalm she knew by heart - the 23rd.

"The Lord is my Shepherd and I shall not want. Lord God, if you're tired of this one, you ought to help me remember another one."

[collaronhisneck]

As if on cue, another voice popped up as if in answer to her request. No, actually in answer to her request. "The 23rd is a great comfort, but I've always preferred the 100th. Though, I suppose in the situation we seem to have found ourselves in, the 31st might be more appropriate."

Mulcahy wasn't standing at the front of the room - while the living room had been rearranged into the best approximation of pews they could handle, there was no pulpit or altar, and this wasn't his church, not yet. Instead, when he'd come in, he'd taken a seat at the front of the room, mentally going through the entire Mass as best he could without the benefit of any of the physical accoutrements of the ritual, no Blood nor Body to be found, of course. When Elizabeth had come in, he'd not looked up, instead continuing to pray, but when she spoke and he answered he did indeed turn in his chair to face her direction, his eyes still unfocused as he recited from the pages of the book in his head.

"In thee, O Lord, have I put my trust; let me never be put to confusion; deliver me in thy righteousness.
Bow down thine ear to me; make haste to deliver me.
And be thou my strong rock, and house of defence, that thou mayest save me.
For thou art my strong rock, and my castle: be thou also my guide, and lead me for thy Name's sake.
Draw me out of the net that they have laid privily for me; for thou art my strength."

She looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place where he knew her face from, not yet. It was quite possible she reminded him of one of the nurses that had been with the unit; there had been so many over the years. British, obviously, clean and presentable with a faint air of being sure of herself.

"It's one of the longer ones, but we seem to have time to get through them all here."

arrival

[majorlyugh]

Major's been trying to do the whole .. hunting thing. He's not doing very well at it, over all, though he's managed to snag a few fishes which he's brought in a bucket of water to the Inn (he can't bring himself to do the dirty work, so he lets someone else take care of it). He'd almost caught a rabbit in one of the traps, but after getting a good look at it, he felt like the damn thing saw into his soul - and he couldn't help but remember all the stories of Peter Rabbit and Watership Down - so he ended up letting the thing go. He's making his way back towards the cabin he and Ravi have been sharing when he hears the sound he acutely recognizes from his own arrival not that long ago - splashing water, gasping, groaning.

He's thankful for the lack of items in his hands at that moment as he quickly spins on his heel and makes a beeline for the fountain, and by the time he gets there, he sees the drenched man clutching to the side. He ups the speed and slows only when he's close enough to slip a hand underneath each of the man's armpits.

"Hey, hey, I gotcha, Ariel, don't worry," he soothes with as warm a smile as he can muster. "You have a pack on you that has a dry set of clothes, but lets get you out of the water first, huh?"

[collaronhisneck]

The only thing Mulcahy's fairly sure of is that he's not dead. He's not a proud man, but there is no suffering in Heaven, and the pain he's feeling from the small bit of water he did manage to inhale wouldn't have been allowed there. And by the same ticket, there's not enough pain for Hell. Perhaps it's Purgatory, but why would Purgatory be so wet?

But then there's hands under his arms and he's unconsciously gripping on to them to aid in pulling himself out; he can swim, yes, but he's not nearly as good at it as Kathy, and with nothing to push off of and the disorientation of being in the water in the first place there's little he can really do to get himself out. At least some good Samaritan came by to help, and together they manage to get the rest of him over the stones of the fountain's rim, where he more or less collapses on the grass. There's obviously nothing wrong with him, though, so it's probably just from the shock of his dunking, as he coughs for a few moments and shivers just a little at the unexpected close call.

"Th-Thank you, my son," he says once the coughs have died down a little and he's wiped the water from his face, though another handful do erupt after those words. Once that burst has settled, he blinks up rather owlishly, squinting to look up at his rescuer. "Ariel? Y-You mean, from The Tempest?" He's from far before the majority of the Disney movies, so the reference goes right over his head. "Forgive me, b-" Another small coughing fit, though this one dissipates faster than the previous ones. "Do you see a pair of glasses anywhere around here?"

[majorlyugh]

The use of the term 'my son' immediately launches Major back into his catechism days, of which there were about three. The first class had been taught by a nun so tiny Major used to imagine her shrinking into a doll and sleeping in a cupboard at night. She'd .. unfortunately died by the time the second class came around a week later, and that one had been taught by a very flustered young man who might have just gotten out of college and obviously did not know what he was doing. Major also retrospectively suspects that the guy didn't really like children, and being forced into teaching a catechism class full of rowdy, sacrilegious children was probably the guy's nightmare. The last and final class that Major had attended had been given by a kindly priest, whose voice and general aura was very similar to the man now sputtering on the ground. Part of Major snaps to attention the way he had back then, and he offers a tight, lopsided kind of smile in return for the thanks given.

"From the - oh, no. I meant The Little Mermaid," he says, half-mumbling, before shaking his head in dismissal. "It - it's not important, don't worry about it, uh .. Father? Sir? Your Majesty? What, uh. What should I call you?" His train of thought is interrupted at the request for the retrieval of glasses. "Oh! Um." He crouches down, scouring the ground and grass for the sight of them before standing and peering into the water in the fountain. Oddly enough .. and suspiciously enough .. they're floating, tapping against the stone side of the structure. He reaches in and grabs them, using the hem of his dry scrubs to wipe off the water from the lenses before handing them over. "Here you go."

[collaronhisneck]

The coughing seems to have more or less settled, although there is an occasional small interruption, but overall the water seems to have been expelled from his lungs. But it's still everywhere else, and all his clothes are soaked to the skin. He hasn't even realized he's wearing scrubs yet, since scrubs are so familiar a set of clothing for him; it feels entirely normal to be dressed the way he is. Just, usually he's not wet while dressed like this. Mulcahy raises his hands to try and press the water out of his hair and he succeeds at least somewhat, and when Major holds out the glasses he blinks at them near-sightedly for a moment before reaching for them. The glasses are not modern ones, at least as Major would know glasses, wire frames with backs that obviously hook around the ears instead of just over, which might give him a clue that the man in front of him isn't quite as up to Major's place in the timeline.

"'Father' is fine, if you want to specify some sort of title. I have a few more, but my real-" a last small cough "-my real name is Francis Mulcahy. And you? I'm impressed that you know of Andersen's stories, but what exactly is happening here?"

CHURCH!

[babyhunter]

Clary wasn't overly religious but she knew that if there were Shadowhunter weapons here they'd be somewhere hidden in the church. After the first hour of searching through the building and around the outside she gave up and took up a seat near the altar. It was fairly sparse for a church though Clary was used to the ornate New York City churches that were built around the time when everyone spend their Sunday morning between its hallow walls.

She pulled her sketchbook into her lap and began to draw. It started out as a boy with angel wings. Then she drew seconds of a church, building it from something simple to something more ornate. The affect ended up moving from right to left across the page where the simple church shifted into something more detailed and less broken down.

Clary's head snapped up when she heard someone stepping inside of the front doors. "Oh, sorry." She assumed that she was trespassing or something.

[collaronhisneck]

"No, my child, don't be sorry." The voice is gentle and even soothing, and the speaker is smiling a little as he comes in and shuts the door behind him. "A church is supposed to be a place for reflection and contemplation, no matter what sort of architecture the building is using." A church in a house isn't all that new to him, actually; plenty of people he's known over the course of his life have had small sort-of altars, more like shrines, in their homes to better enable them to feel the Holy Spirit. Mulcahy is rapidly coming to the conclusion that this village is no more Catholic than the 4077 is, and quite possibly much less Christian in general, but a church is still a place for peace and communion with God, whatever form a person chose to believe He took.

"I won't disturb you; I just wanted to take a look around and see what had been done to help turn this house into a House of God, if anything. You go ahead and draw - creation is good in times of confusion." Still with that same smile, Mulcahy gave Clary a quick nod before he started into the next room to look that over.

[babyhunter]

A month ago, Clary wouldn't have said she believed in God but since then she's learned about angels and demons and the endless war that consumed the two sides. Perhaps there was a God, if there are angels, but Clary had never met him and she wondered... if there was a God, would he let people like her father go unchecked?

She swallowed, feeling a bit of discomfort settle in the pit of her stomach.

"Not many come here. I was just looking for quiet." Not exactly religion or anything else. What had Jace said to her, 'any church and any religion would offer help to a Shadowhunter who needed it'

She had been hoping that was true here too.