[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/A4jTVed.jpg[/img]

[h1][b]Groundwork[/b][/h1][/center]

[right][sub]Collaboration with [@wanderingwolf][/sub][/right]
Hook and Lyen followed a group of Anabaptists as they picked their way toward the very same patch of dirt they found themselves on when Hook watched the standoff with the King’s and the Headhunter’s through the scope of a rifle. In the immediate vicinity, several piles of disheveled bricks provided the perfect backdrop and impetus for the Captain’s hairbrained plot. As they arrived, the Anabaptists fanned out across the area with their wheelbarrows, preparing their work space for the labor ahead.

The man beside her exuded at once calm and measured attentiveness to their surroundings. Lyen’s head tilted as she ventured a guess at some military background in the way he mapped his exits with his eyes. She adjusted her braid from one shoulder to the other as she watched the Anabaptists toil in the heat of the suns. They began their work: chipping the mortar from loose bricks and loading their quarry into the myriad wheelbarrows in tow. 

“Joseph Hooker,” the nun pronounced, eyes scanning the sweating brows on the men and women surrounding them, “do you know what you’re doing here?” Her gaze remained fixed as she patiently awaited his reply.

Joe looked at the men and women pushing the wheel barrows, pulling mortar off the bricks and depositing the items into the carts. Then he turned to face the woman. “Ma’am, ah have a pretty good idea of what ah’m doin’ here.” He looked the woman in the eyes, meeting her gaze, or was it a stare? It was fixed and hard. This was a quality Joe suspected but had not seen until this very moment. Her concern and compassion were asunderous.

Lyen watched as her own reflection was returned to her in his resolute eyes. The first words out of his mouth were honest, thoughtful, and encouraging in tone. As he continued, a buoying smile began to taut her cheeks.

“The captain has placed me in a position where ah can offer a certain level of protection if needed. If the day goes accordin’ to plan, that level of protection will remain unnecessary and ah will only sweat no more than yo’ anabaptists out here.” Joe waved his arms toward the people performing their work. “In the meantime, Ah am performin’ a ruse to those who do not need to know. Let them think ah’m their foreman. This, Miss Lyen. I kin do.” Joe’s words were carefully selected. The tone of his voice was quiet, confident and well intentioned.

He then wondered if maybe she asked the question because he serves as cook aboard the China Doll. “If you’se a wonderin why ah is the cook on the ship and not somethin’ else, quit yer worryin’. Ah have experience in other areas. Technically, ah is a deckhand like Miss Abby. She does the launderin’ an’ ah do the cookin. Ah juss’ like cookin’ is all. My momma taught me cookin’ when ah was a boy.” He rested his right hand upon his hip. He felt naked, noticing the Ruger was not there. It would take a little time for him to get used to this. He wore that piece for several years.

“How long you been working as a sistah? Sistah?” Joe asked with a pause between the two utterances of Sister.

Lyen’s smile was no secret now as she faced the man who had given much of himself, even in these seminal moments before their work began in earnest. He’d shown parts of himself, errant thoughts, troubled fears, perhaps, and all in an effort to instill trust in her. Lyen could already tell what cloth this man was cut from–and she was impressed.

“I’ve served under the Order of the Interverse for thirteen years now, ten years at the temple, and three or so years here on the outside,” she paused, surveying their surroundings again, “but for no greater work have I wandered as for these Anabaptists. They came here out of moral obligation to their higher power, and for that they met shackles–still, they sing songs and keep praying.” She shook her head in admiration. 

In a deft movement, the nun slipped a slender hand onto Joe Hooker’s shoulder, “What you’re doing here, for them, is setting the captives free, Joe. That’s why you’re here. And I know you can do that; do you?” Her brown eyes met his.

Joe responded favorably to the sister’s touch on his shoulder. He’d experienced harshness in his life and always appreciated a show of kindness. There was no hesitation or discussion necessary about that question. Joe knew the answer. From his time spent as a foster child working on a farm, to experiencing the horrors of war to serving as a crewman aboard various freighters in the verse. All those experiences served to build the man he had become. “Ah do, sistah,” Joe said immediately.

“Mah family on Hera believed in God or a higher power. Ah nevah felt a callin’ as some folk did to serve.” He then looked at her, “like you, sistah.” Joe looked down at the ground, up at the people working and then back at sister Lyen. “Ah grew up with a family who took me in as their own. They was eight of us boys and they had they own chillen’, a boy and a girl. We was all family with the McGinnis’. Every Sunday, we went into town to attend church services. Ah always felt warm and loved in those meetins. It was one of the few times ah didn’t have to worry about gettin’ beat by Leo. Leo was a bully. But if his treatment was bad, it taught us how to fight. For that ah appreciate the whoopin’ ah took on a regulah basis.” Joe caught himself. “Ah’s gettin’ off topic. Pardon me, ma’am. The McGinnis family instilled a strong sense of what is right and what is wrong. We also learned to love our creator and worship him. To remain free from sin and to confess those sins when necessary. To perform a penance to make up for our sins. Then and only then would our immortal souls be allowed to live in the Kingdom of Heaven. Ah certainly want to go to heaven, Sistah Lyen, but I have a lot of sins on mah conshuns.” His eyes panned the soil at their feet. He didn’t want to look at her after admitting that. It was his biggest shame. He hated to admit his weakness, but he was humble enough to know it needed to be said. He didn’t get too many opportunities with a person of the cloth. He took a chance with this one.

Ly listened, attentive to the struggle on Joe’s face as he recounted his youth and the challenges he faced. Her visage stiffened when he spoke of the beatings he received as a child, chewing her lip in silent observation. When his sharing turned toward confession, she watched him carefully. Any absolution he sought could be achieved, she conjured, but it may not be in the way he expected.

Her gaze swept the surrounding area in search of some space that could serve as the man’s confessional; in luck, or by divine providence depending on the viewer’s faith, a resolute alcove of a dilapidated brick structure still clung to its struts a few meters away, providing a secluded and separate place they could speak privately. 

“If there’s something you’d like to get off your chest, I’m listening,” her features were relaxed now, just like her gentle tone. Her almond eyes searched his.

“Ah appreciate your offer, sistah, but this is not the time or the place. Ah would like to talk with you later on the ship after we jump into the black. Ah would prefer to focus on this task here. Gettin’ yo’ people to safety.” Joe had been holding onto this baggage for so long, he didn’t mind holding on a bit longer. 

She nodded, “Of course,” offering a smile. If this was the man’s way of turning her down gracefully, the message was received. As it stood, she knew she had much more work to do here on Osiris and in the Blackout Zone. She’d spent time cultivating connections, friendships, and saving those she could from the bondage inside this place. She could think of no greater work than serving these Anabaptists and others like them until they could be free once more.

And so it was with renewed fervor that the Sister latched onto Joe’s pronouncement. “We have much work to do,” she said, raising a hand to shade the sun from her eyes.

“Thank you for what you’re doing here,” Lyen said, still watching the Anabaptists toil brick by brick. “I need to make sure our volunteers know where to meet once you’ve dropped off your cargo. [i]Amituofo[/i] Joe.” The Sister turned to leave the site, on her way back to the derelict Club Banebdjedet.

“Ah-me-to-oh-fo, sistah,” Joe gave a two finger salute off his forehead as she walked away. Joe turned and looked at the people working. He never liked the idea of being in charge, but was fine with [i]acting[/i] a role. But to stand here and watch people do work? That was intolerable.

A young woman, maybe a teen with scraggly dark hair wearing a tan colored dirty top and navy blue cotton trousers was picking up chunks of brick with a boy who could have been her brother, two years younger. Joe walked over to them, gave them a nod. He then bent down, picked up a chunk of brick and placed it in their wheelbarrow. He continued the process with just about every person on this work detail. He never spoke to them nor did he care to listen in on their conversations. Just help them pick up the chunks of brick and mortar.