Backstory

Several years ago, a lost and anxious Harmony wandered into Burrowgatory. They had always known the day would come that they would leave their so-called “guardian” demon’s so-called “care”-- and they’d spent the majority of their life dreaming of it. Now that it’s become reality, they realize that they are also terrified.

At this point in time, elusive Elucid had made himself known so rarely that Pardon and Listen weren’t certain he existed– so the pair of opposing alters were alone to bicker with no mediation. “Bicker” would be to put it lightly; Listen echoed the lessons their guardian had taught them– which only made matters worse. It seemed Pardon was the only one of the two that was able to recognize that Listen’s dialogue was stressful to both of them in equal measure.

Pardon, it is very simple, Listen stated. His tone was even, but he shared a body with his conversational partner; he could not hide his annoyance. All we need to do is-

What?! Pardon snapped, on the verge of tears. You don’t know! How would you know?! You’ve never done this either!

We are not crying. Listen certainly couldn’t control that, but acting like he could was everything he had in that moment. We only need to find the Church of Sulfur. It’s easy. We are smart. 

Being smart doesn’t make us less lost! Truth be told, Pardon couldn’t have felt less smart in this situation– and that was what was wrong. The paralyzing, all-consuming fear of getting something wrong was gnawing at both of them; and it was frustrating that Listen was just trying to put a lid on it and act confidently regardless. That approach would absolutely make a fool of them. We need to ask for help! There are plenty of people around.

Why would they help us? They have better things to do. Listen would sigh if he was in the front. I wish they would help. I really do. It would make things simpler– but the world does not revolve around us. It’s our struggle; we don’t need to involve others. We can figure it out by ourselves.

I really don’t think we can.

Think a little harder, then. Listen’s eye roll was audible. Stop whining. We will get there. There’s supposed to be some sort of event going on today– look at the crowds, and see who goes where.

That is a recipe to get murdered!

This is a city! This is a city. Literally every other bun that has ever come to Burrowgatory has accomplished the task of “getting to the Church of Sulfur”. It can’t be that hard. For once, just do as you’re told.

Pardon sniffled, and turned his head. He tried to watch where everyone else was going, but there were a lot of people– the chatter in the air and the new sights and smells were overwhelming. He saw a sex shop across the street, and flitted his eyes away as though he’d be scolded for even seeing it. They then landed on a casino, and he did the exact same thing; he was too flustered to look anywhere but down at the ground.

Don’t be such a child, Listen ordered. His simmering frustration licked at Pardon in tandem– who was in turn intensely irritated by the knowledge that Listen would behave identically were he in the front. Look properly.

Pardon lifted his eyes, again; this time purposely tuning out the background stores. Most of the crowd was headed in the same direction he was; and a large group of buns and dolls alike stood at the crossroads.

“Thank fuck,” Pardon breathed, hopping over as fast as he could so as not to miss the changing lights.

Once arrived at the four-way stop, Harmony could see a tall building around the corner, with intricate gargoyle statues carved into its roof. Involuntarily, the body breathed a heavy sigh of relief; the feeling crashed over both active alters, and they each went silent as they followed this crowd towards what had to be the Church of Sulfur.

As they stood in the threshold of the building, they came to realise how detailed the carvings were. In order to appreciate the details taller than about a foot high, they shifted into Listen’s most comfortable form. Pardon ceded that it created a more professional impression, which they both decided was important.

They stepped carefully into the building, trying to mind the crowd while eyeing the detailed stone walls; the way the columns stretched ten feet above their head, and connected in arches on the ceiling; and how, on the ceiling, there were these beautiful, intricate paintings; and realising as suddenly as missing the last step in the dark that they depicted demons.

Pardon’s chest tightened, and suddenly, the threat of tears held far more weight here than it had a block away. He had finally gotten away from the influence; what could possibly be here that he could ever, ever need?! More supervision, more flippant comments; accusations; outright lies? Yelling, condescension– and so many other awful things circled through his mind. Was he going to face the same sort of physical abuse he’d endured in his early childhood? Worse?

As expected, Listen took a much more rational approach. They’d been told explicitly that Burrowgatory, for the most part, did not contain demons– and even those that appeared did not stay long. It did little to calm their body’s throbbing heart, but he decided the anxiety he was feeling was Pardon’s, and managed to ponder his favourite question: Why?

Despite his own bias towards demons, he couldn’t help but notice the sheer amount of people in the building. If everyone shared their experience with them, no one would be there. Why were there so many people gathered in this place of worship?

Listen’s infuriatingly level-headed curiosity trumped Pardon’s panic; their body thudded against a wooden bench without either of them really realising it.

They would never come to remember the first sermon they’d attended. They would remember bits and pieces– the sounds of answers chorused; feeling like a rusted doll when they stood and sat to match the other participants; the burning behind their eyes, and an occasional tear-blurred visual; but nothing ever in full.

They remembered the ending, somewhat; they were sat on the outermost part of the bench, so there were a few people that brushed their knees during their own exits; but they sat still.

Their minds churned in spite of their overstimulated brain; Pardon spiralled downward, appalled, afraid, while Listen’s favourite question rang out inaudibly again and again– curiosity turned to anger as he failed to reason it out.

The excess of emotions lead the system to become a sobbing mess– something neither of them would have been able to swallow were the church full. But by the time they had gotten to that point, it had emptied itself.

༺ ♥ ༻

After sermons, it was common for Oleander to double back into the nave. It was rare anyone stayed for the few hours he was gone, but he liked to check– make sure nothing much was stolen, or maybe someone was waiting for a confession or… well, for other reasons that brought an excited sort of smile to his face. Yeah, sure– he would go with “excited”.

That day, as he entered back through the back doors, he was greeted by the sound of sniffles and soft sobs. The source of the sad sounds was easily located– they had taken a seat in the row of pews furthest from the front.

His heels clicked against the stone floor as he made his way all the way around, and took a seat beside them without cutting in front.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been the one to find a crying congregant– but it was certainly the first time he’d sat beside them without them looking up. It didn’t deter him any, though– he touched their shoulder, and told them,

“It’s alright. It’s alright. This is a place of peace; take your time to get here.”

They flinched somewhat at his touch, stiffened, but didn’t pull away; so he left his hand where it was. At his words, though, a voiced sob managed to escape them– after which they quickly clamped hand over their mouth to prevent any more from doing the same.

Oleander didn’t recognize the individual in front of him– it wasn’t as though he knew everyone that attended service, but for him to not recognize them at all with their distinctive teal, grey, and cerulean colouring meant that they were probably new. As their hand moved from their eyes to their mouth he decided he’d definitely remember anyone with lashes that long– and probably think about them in his downtime.

“Did you enjoy the semon?” he asked.

The other individual sniffled and inhaled harshly, trying to breathe evenly for just a moment to answer the question.

They ultimately failed.

Oleander let them cry longer without interruption. Just when he thought he ought to leave them be, and pulled his hand away, they gasped out a question:

“Do you know Mercy?”

Oleander folded his hands in his lap. “Mercy? Yes. They manage a lot of our administrative work, here. Why do you ask?”

“We’re- I’m new,” they answered. “T-To Burrowgatory, I mean. I was told… to look for them? That they… knew…”

They stopped speaking.

“Are you looking for some resources?” Oleander asked. “For housing and such?”

They nodded.

He smiled, and reached over to wipe tears from their face. “We can help with that. Arriving can be very overwhelming, hm?”

They slapped his hand away, and snapped, “That’s not why I’m crying.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m sorry, I was-”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” the stranger said. Their voice broke during the next sentence. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry. I’m stressed, because we were told to find the church, but then we couldn’t find it– and that’s, that sounds like arriving but it’s not the arriving it’s the- the…” They gestured wildly and incomprehensibly with their arms. Then, they moved their hands together, cradling nothing. “...I don’t like not knowing what to do. I don’t like… not knowing. I should… know.”

“What should you know?” Oleander tilted his head.

“The obvious.” They sniffled.

“And the location of the church should be obvious to you, someone who has never been here?”

They glared at him.

“I’m just trying to understand your frame of reference,” he clarified. “That wasn’t a judgement.”

They were quiet for a moment, and then sighed. “In a word? Yes. It’s… it’s not that simple, though. I don’t… I can’t articulate it.”

“That’s alright.” Oleander scooted a little bit closer.

“I know it’s– it’s not possible,” they continued. “It’s not possible to know the things that you don’t know. But I should be able to pick it up– it’s not that hard.”

“...I have a notion I’d like to propose,” Oleander stated. “It may be completely off-base, but is it possible this is less about knowing, and more about the appearance of knowing?”

The stranger finally turned to look at him, and studied him for a long time. Their brow slowly creased. They turned away.

“If it were the case,” they mumbled, “there’s no way I would ever admit to that.”

He nodded. “Understood.”

Oleander sat back a bit, and quieted. His conversation partner seemed calmer, but the conversation didn’t seem over; he would wait until they said something, next.

They didn’t, though. For a long few seconds.

When Oleander turned his head back, they had their eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“It’s beautiful work, isn’t it?” he asked.

“...Yeah,” was the non-committal answer.

“You disagree?”

“Well, no, I just…” They eyed him up and down. “Nevermind.”

“What is it?”

They sighed. “I… really don’t mean to offend, I just… wonder about the subject matter.”

“Demons? This is a church where we worship them. It seems fitting, to me.”

“Sure,” was the response; the word was left alone without its accompanying but.

When the stranger didn’t continue, Oleander did: “Don’t worry about offending me. We’re having a discussion. I am always open to questions– especially from those who don’t… yet understand the way things work around here.”

“I…” They sighed. “As am I.”

They looked at each other for a long time, before Oleander frowned and looked away. Maybe there was something they wanted to say, but they just couldn’t– that happened, sometimes, if someone couldn’t put aside their pride and lower themself. It was a strange interaction, since usually those people avoided every opportunity; but this person seemed to be inviting him to dig.

“Alright– what if I asked one, then you asked one?” he offered.

Their eyes seemed to light up, but their expression didn’t change. “Okay. You first– it was your idea.”

He smiled, though he did wonder whether that was true. “Who was your guardian demon? Was it Murmur?”

“Ah, no. I… don’t actually know their names.” The stranger’s tail flicked back and forth. “They insisted we call them Mom and Dad, though, so we did. Who’s Murmur?”

“Murmur raised a lot of buns,” Oleander answered. “Myself included. I don’t have very many memories of him, but he and a handful of other demons crafted the society we now live in. But I know that he was kind, and I know that he continues to care for all of us.”

They laughed a bit at that.

“Why did you laugh?”

“Oh- um, I just…” Another nervous laugh escaped them. “It’s not that the… concept of a demon caring is… weird. It’s that you… you’re so sure that they care so much, that you built this whole entire building and- and preach in it. Right? Unless the outfit’s just for show.”

“I held today’s sermon,” Oleander answered, a bit confused. It was possible they had come in following the service, though.

“Did you?” Their eyes seemed to glaze over a bit, and they stared into the distance. They blinked, and looked at Oleander with a new… well, he couldn’t quite place what was different. Something was. “Did that count as my question? Does this? Or- is it your turn to ask something, or mine?”

“You can ask something,” he answered.

“But is it my turn?” they insisted.

“At this point, it seems unlikely.” He chuckled. “Did you have two guardian demons?”

“Well, see, my theory is that- so, okay. I think Dad is probably the one that actually, you know, signed up– but he had other things to do, other work; so it wound up being Mom taking care of us most of the time. We’d be bounced back and forth depending on his schedule.”

“I see.”

The stranger opened their mouth to speak, and then closed it. Then, they opened it again, and out came a soft, “Can I really ask you anything?”

“Of course.”

Their eyes met, and out tumbled a simple question that Oleander could tell had been burning for a while: “Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why do you worship demons? What’s the appeal?”

“Well, they created our society,” he answered. “They raised us; shaped us into what we are, now. They taught us to revel in our vices– and have provided us with all we’ll ever need.”

The stranger frowned. “Revel in our vices?”

“Well, yes.” Oleander frowned, too, wondering where the point of confusion was. “Our horn shapes represent our strongest vices in adolescence. Hm- now that I look at yours, they seem a bit small. When did they start growing in?”

“Oh- um, maybe a month or two ago? I’m not sure.”

“That’s awfully late.”

“...Okay.” It wasn’t like there was anything they could do about it, now.

“Well, yours tell me that you reveled most in pride.”

They touched the smooth, black shape protruding from their head, and thought about their adolescence. They thought about the writing, the music; the private joys allowed to their eyes and ears only. They smiled softly.

“...Sure, I guess you could say that,” they said. “I mean, I don’t really… I wasn’t really allowed to revel in anything. Except…” They paused. “Huh. Okay. It’s… weird. Any time I… I mean, okay, I know the vices. It’s just– any time I trotted close to any of them, it seemed to… yeah, I’ll use the word ‘backfire’. It seemed to backfire.”

“I suppose that explains their size now. Well, I wouldn’t worry. You’re in Burrowgatory, now. Revelling is most of what we do, here. They should finish growing quickly.”

They rubbed their horn. “You think? I didn’t think they’d get bigger than this.”

“They may not, but if you were dissuaded from pursuing your vice, I suspect they might.”

Their smile widened.

“How would I… go about pursuing my vice?” they asked.

“I really couldn’t say,” Oleander answered. “My own vice is lust, which is… more of a given.”

The stranger tried and failed not to blush.

“Continue doing the things that bring you the most pleasure,” he advised. “That should be enough.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. And, given your blush, I take it lust was also something you were discouraged from exploring?” His smile changed.

“Uh!” They put a hand on their hip, reddening further. “That’s… Is that forward? I did- that wasn’t a lighthearted conversation- uh! Well, to answer your question, yes.”

“So, maybe you’d like to try revelling, hm?” Oleander put a hand on their knee, and dropped his voice a few semitones. “Learn something new?”

It wasn’t the hand on their knee that made this person jump out of the pew like they’d been burned– it was very clearly the line.

“Well! Uh, no,” they manage. “No, thank you! Not right now.” Their face continues to redden as they peer around the open area. “N-Not here- um, anyways! Weird tone shift- uh, wow! You don’t even… know my name. Lots of… things, uh, happening to-today. Does Mercy have an office? Or is there- like, a pamphlet? I want to live in a house, somewhere.”

Oleander’s former demeanour resumes.

“Of course. Follow me.”

“Okay!”