Bibles and Bribes

It had been… a while since Madeira had returned to the Church of Sulfur.

She had mixed feelings about coming back now, a little before Matentine’s, but… she wasn’t interested in experiencing this ‘heat’ thing that other buns talked about, and the church was the place to go to get things to avoid that.

Plus, Mercy still seemed to want regular checkups on how she was doing.  Madeira had gathered that her lack of knowledge had been immense and surprising, but she’d only begun to grasp recently that it was truly concerning.  Even the generally uncared for Envy buns knew more, in most cases - at least on the social end, certainly.  It made her worry.  She didn’t know if Azgad had received any more buns - but would they have as bad of a time as she had?  She wished she knew how to see him again, though she suspected it might wind up with her crying as she had several times with Hops… who still felt like the only friend she had.

She knew the way through the church to Mercy’s office fairly well, and dropped into one of the seats there, though Mercy wasn’t there just yet.  Probably dealing with other nuns, or fucking Oleander, if Madeira had to guess.  At least she hadn’t walked in on that this time.  She still wasn’t sure how she felt about sex, though she had tried it once or twice.  It was… alright, but nothing that exciting.  Maybe she just hadn’t found out what she liked, though - her roommate had hated the idea of sex up until learning about something that seemed to involve a lot of collars and leashes and leather, and now was doing it as her job.  That stuff didn’t seem to do much for Madeira, but it did leave the door open that maybe something else would.

Waiting, she picked up a book off of Mercy’s desk, beginning to flip through it idly.

The action became less idle and more irritated as she actually read it, however, and a scowl began to form on her face.  Having lived within the Church for almost six months, she had of course learned a little bit of the beliefs there.  They seemed to worship demons for their involvement in creating their species.  That had seemed fair enough as a basic premise to her, back then, but actually reading, she found herself frustrated by the worshipful attitude in the scripture.

Mercy chose that moment to walk in.  The smell on them definitely said they had been enjoying themself with Oleander again, which amused Madeira just enough to cut through some of her annoyance.

“Oh, I didn’t expect you’d be interested in the scripture,” they said as they sat down, noting what the much younger bun held.

“Pectin was holding my phone hostage, so I couldn’t bring it with me,” Madeira said, shrugging.  Her rescued chirop seemed to think everything shiny was its personal property, and she hadn’t felt like spending her time arguing.

“Of course, how else will it be able to order unlimited dango?” Mercy joked.  “Dan’s far too perceptive to not catch a chirop in a trenchcoat.”

Madeira giggled.

“What do you think of it?” Mercy asked, noting how the smile on Madeira’s face faded.

“I think it’s very…”  She struggled for a moment.  She didn’t want to be rude, really.  The Church of Sulfur had taken care of her for much of her first year here, and even now, still helped her with the things she didn’t understand and things she needed.  But…  “I think the demons get a pass in it.”

“A pass?” Mercy asked, seeming curious.  “How so?”

“Well it…  It seems like this…”  She lightly tapped the cover of the scripture.  “This acts like they’re beyond our comprehension, and so we shouldn’t question or second guess them.”

Mercy nodded thoughtfully.  They had heard similar things before, of course - but admittedly, they were curious what the perspective might be of a bun who grew up so uniquely isolated with a demon.  Would it be different?  “And you think otherwise?”

Madeira chewed her lip.  “Well… yes?”

“Do you think you understood Azgad?”

“...I used to think I did,” she admitted, looking away.  “I… He taught me all he knew about the world, and I believed he knew everything.”

“If Azgad appeared here, do you think he could answer the questions you would want to ask to your satisfaction?”

Madeira frowned.  “I… don’t know.”

Mercy could see it still pained the young bun to answer in that way.  Angora had said - and they had agreed - that it was one of the most painful ways they had seen a pride bun brought low.  She’d handled it, she was managing - but she certainly didn’t have much confidence in what she said.  Now that she was open to what she didn’t know, though, Mercy tried to be gentle with her on it.  “Did Azgad ever introduce you to other demons?”

“A few,” Madeira said.

Mercy raised her eyebrows.  Many caretakers didn’t do that, finding it safest or more convenient to not do that.  Of course, they supposed it depended on the demons in question.  “What did you think of them?”

“They seemed a lot like him, to me?”  Madeira frowned, twisting part of her skirt in a hand.  “They mostly came over to eat food I made, and they just… talked about food a lot too, really.  Occasionally they would talk about things that Azgad told me was ‘boring political stuff’, but usually when they started that, he’d come up with a reason for them to leave.”

Mercy nodded slightly.  “It sounds like he kept you distant from a lot of the realities of what demons are,” they said.  “Lord Murmur does that too.  The truth is, the ones who raise us often make an effort to try to be more understandable for us, and it can make us think they are like us.  In some ways, they are - they share our sins and vices in large parts - the ones who don’t, I believe have little interest in us, which is probably best for our society.”

“If they’re so difficult to understand, why do they raise us?”

“That’s a complicated answer,” Mercy said, laughing softly.  “On our end, it’s tradition to some degree.  The first succubuns were raised by many demons, including Lord Murmur, and now, for over a century, almost all of our kind have been his wards.  When we think of who should care for our young, we naturally turn to him.”  They traced the holy symbol they wore.  “Beyond that, it’s practicality.  Those we share blood with smell unpleasant to us.  I’ve had offspring before, and I found them far more difficult to care for than the offspring of other buns, due to the smell.  It’s difficult to imagine spending a year raising them.  If you ever choose to have offspring yourself, you’ll likely understand that.”

Madeira couldn’t argue that, she didn’t know what a relative smelled like, though she’d heard a few coworkers complain about it.

“Burrowgatory also isn’t really adapted to be suitable to care for young,” Mercy continued.  “It’s very challenging to manage the ones we do, during March - it’s not too bad before their eyes open.  Time consuming, certainly, they keep us all very busy - but it’s not that difficult.  It becomes more difficult as they become more curious, as they learn to speak and to walk…”  Usually that didn’t happen till the baby buns were with Lord Murmur, but they had dealt with an early bloomer or two in their time.  “Young buns can’t do many of the things we do - from drinking alcohol to sitting in chairs of this size - or even that size,” they added, gesturing towards a set of bun-sized chairs in their office.  “And who we are could make for a very difficult youth for them.  You’ve met many greed buns by now, I’m sure.  How many do you think would buy toys for their offspring?  How many would make sure to adequately feed them?  Do you think many sloth buns would remember to be up every day to take care of them?”

Madeira had to think on that, even as she stole a glance at Mercy’s horns.  “Well… you do, and the other nuns do?” she said, hesitant.

“For a month, during the easiest time of that first year,” Mercy said.  “And we do it because we know that Lord Murmur will fetch them, because it is our duty to him and to our society.  I don’t think you know how selective I am about the nuns who take care of our young each year, or how many would-be nuns wind up leaving in the first week of March.  It’s only a month, and that’s more than many can handle.”  They shook their head, sighing.  “I am grateful for Lord Murmur’s wisdom and understanding, that our youth routinely receive a safe and loving upbringing with him and most of the demons he selects.”

“And the ones like Gremory, or- or… Azgad…?”  Madeira hurt, adding her caretaker to the same sentence as Gremory, but she couldn’t deny that she now felt she had been almost as neglected as the Envy buns - just more… kindly.

“Every year, Burrowgatory’s numbers grow - and each February, more baby buns are made than the last year,” Mercy said.  They toyed with the holy symbol they wore, sighing.  “At some point, I expect we may see things more tragic than what even the Envies have dealt with.”

Madeira blanched at the idea of that.  “What do you mean?”

“There are seven sins, but only six types of horns,” Mercy said.  “Since Jackal arrived, I have wondered often about when the seventh type will arrive, if it does - and what condition buns with it will be in.”

Madeira couldn’t help but wonder too, now that Mercy had said it.  Her hand strayed unconsciously to her own horn, rubbing the smooth surface of it.  She had been angry before, sure, but she couldn’t imagine what might lead to a bun growing wrath horns, whatever those might look like.  “Wouldn’t that be more reason to- to try to come up with some way to care for our own young?” she asked, even so.

“Maybe,” Mercy said.  “But would it be enough to change our society?  Or would everyone else simply hope for someone else to do something about it, while refusing to change their own ways?”  They shook their head, smiling sadly.  “I don’t know why demons like Lady Gremory want to raise our young, or why Lord Murmur trusts her with the task.  With the numbers of children given to him each year, I suspect he has been forced to simply be less choosy than he used to be, but then, one might ask why he gave fourteen to Lady Gremory this year, leading to only one who was not an Envy, and only one to Lord Azgad, who might seem kinder but for how little he truly taught you.  I might ask him - but I have asked him many things over my life, and I only occasionally understand.”

Madeira frowned.  It felt almost like she was talking in circles with Mercy.  “What makes it so difficult to understand demons?”

Mercy hummed, thoughtful as they had been for this whole discussion.  “Many things, I think.  Some of it is age.  Think how difficult a time you had with understanding Angora or me at first, when you were just barely a year old.  Imagine now, trying to comprehend what a thousand years looks like.  Can you even imagine being a hundred, as our oldest are?”

Madeira couldn’t and her face made that abundantly clear.

Mercy gave her a sympathetic look.  “It’s difficult, isn’t it?” they asked.  “Your priorities, beliefs, and personality at just one and a half years old are so different than they were at six months, and it’s impossible to know how different they may be in even a decade, let alone a century.  Let alone the inconceivable lifespan of a demon.”  They tapped their foot on the floor, clearly thinking through their next words before they spoke.  “But it’s not just that, of course.  The Hells are far greater and stranger than we can understand, too, and that is the world most demons inhabit.  The ones who come to Burrowgatory seem to consider us to be fun and silly distractions, other than Lord Murmur.  They speak of things like Lord Azgad’s companions - ‘boring political things’ that, if you listen, are deeply confusing.  They speak of differing political powers, different realms, warring factions…”  They shook their head.  “Many of them don’t even seem to know anything about each others’ realms and factions, and none of us I know of can piece together any sort of full picture.  I personally believe it is beyond our ability to understand.”

“Then… why worship them?  No one worships their parents for making them.”

Mercy smiled gently.  “When we make offspring, it is because of biological instincts.  I believe demons had far more reasons, and that in time - maybe in millennia - we may reach a point where we can understand those reasons, or at least see those reasons reach fulfillment.”

Madeira didn’t think she agreed, still, but it was getting hard to follow Mercy.  “Maybe I’ll get it when I’m your age,” she grumbled.

Mercy laughed.  “Perhaps - or perhaps I will understand your thoughts better by the time you are my age.  In the meantime, let’s get to why you’re actually here - though you can keep that scripture, if you would like.  I can always get more.”

“I… Sure, I guess.”  It wouldn’t be a terrible idea to learn more, she supposed.  “Before we get to how I’m doing at the casino, do you have heat suppressants in stock yet?”

“We do,” Mercy said.  “Once we finish up here, I can take you to the bunnery.  Are you feeling the effects already or just wanting to be prepared early?”

“Just prepared early,” she said.  “It sounds- like a lot, I think I want to see it in others before I figure out if I want it for myself, I guess?”

“Very reasonable,” Mercy said.  “So the casino…”

The conversation moved forward, but that didn’t mean the thoughts about demons wouldn’t swirl through Madeira’s mind for years to come.  She wanted to understand Mercy - but even more, she wanted to understand the demons, or even just to be able to accept what the head nun believed, so she could at least feel some contentment with the order of the world.  What she didn’t say to Mercy was that another reason she sought the suppressants was the idea of offspring.  If she had a child, if they went to Gremory or worse - or even to her caretaker…  If she ever met them again, how could she justify that to them?  If none of Mercy’s words felt good enough to her…  Better to avoid it.