Robert looked around, taken aback, and laughed bitterly. She stood on the little service-access ledge on the outside of the bell tower, which had been used to get up on top and shovel off piled-up snow, before the deacons had gotten tired of being fifty feet off the ground on iced-up stone and simply installed a conical roof. Of course. It was the angels' place - one could accompany an angel-changed to the cafe, she'd gathered, but she couldn't simply go there herself - she imagined that an angel would likewise find the local entrance to Hell's Kitchen to be simply an abandoned building, and probably locked at that.
So, then, that was it. By her own new nature...she couldn't get there herself. It wasn't as bad as she'd thought it was going to be, when she'd first thought about the matter not long after her change; she knew now that it was a cafe, not Heaven itself. And she knew, too, that entry wasn't a matter of moral judgement - it wasn't that she had fallen short, it was just that...she wasn't an angel-changed. Even so...she sighed.
Heading back in, she shut the door behind her and sat down at the top of the staircase. It was amazing that the stairs hadn't gone up, being wooden, and old wood at that. But here they were, old and sturdy, as much as they creaked when she walked on them. She wondered, again, where she was supposed to go from here. She didn't feel much like a pastor any more...not after all that had happened. But...she couldn't just abandon the church, could she? Father Maxwell had thought that God still had a purpose for her being here...and it wasn't like there was anyone else here to fill the position. But...oh, she didn't know...
She was different now, wasn't she? There was no getting around that fact. She looked different, everything felt different, and...well, apparently she was even beginning to forget to wear clothes - she hoped she was wrong on that last point, she couldn't see how a bodily change would affect dress habits - and she had access to a communal bar and grill, for some reason...not to mention that she was a woman. She could hardly forget that, not when every movement was a little reminder, and...other memories...from the past few days were plenty fresh in her mind. She wasn't the same man she'd been a week ago. She wasn't a man at all.
But she didn't want to be defined by that. She was still Robert Douglas, still a servant of God, if a flawed and confused one. She didn't want to just become some random devil-woman hanging out in Hell's Kitchen of an evening because she didn't have any greater responsibilities than sitting in a bar and...okay, no, that wasn't really fair. After all, it wasn't like the place was some kind of total sleaze-pit, even if...some of the people there...did make her a bit uncomfortable. Hadn't she just helped make the point that the devil-changed were not morally distinct from any other people? And even if the place was inhabited by sinners...well, she was one herself, as she'd been lax in reminding herself lately. It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. Maybe that was the Lord's purpose in letting her become this...
...on the other hand, maybe not. She didn't want to jump to conclusions; after all, treating her own gut reactions as though they were divine leading was what had gotten her into that whole ugly mess. She just wished she knew what she was supposed to be doing...
Kimi was still coughing as she lay in the tent later that day. Periodically little gobs of phlegm would come up; she consoled herself that at least there wasn't any blood in them. Still...ugh, she felt like hell. She had to get out of here...had to get to a doctor...
She wasn't quite sure how long it had been when Dyami returned to the tent. The medicine man hunkered down next to the bedding she was lying on and stared at her...through her, almost, or so it seemed to her. His craggy face was at once difficult to read and full of character. She sat up...or tried to; she fell back onto the bed, her head swimming.
"You did not finish medicine," he said. "Would be stronger if you did."
She sighed. She didn't need this right now. "I...jus' wanna seea doc'r," she murmured. Gah, why was she slurring? "Wan' to get back t' the fores'...fix 's..."
He put a hand to her forehead and frowned. "You are too sick," he said. "Cannot go now. I will go; you stay. Rest. Finish medicine."
Kimi felt herself burning, not with fever, but with indignation. "'m not weak, d'mmit!" she said. "Wanna get outta..." She trailed off.
Dyami sighed. "Not weak. Sick. You sit up, and fall back like drunk. You cannot walk. I will go and bring back herbs; I will take you another time." He picked up the cup of "medicine" and held it out to her; she frowned and turned her head away.
The old man shook his head and muttered something she didn't understand. He grabbed her nose firmly and pinched her nostrils shut, then held the cup up to her lips. She tried to fight it, but she was...too weak, too sick. She had to open her mouth to breathe, and no sooner had she taken a breath than he poured it into her mouth. It was humiliating; it was a thing mothers did to unruly children. She was a man, damn it!
But she had to swallow, if she wanted to take another breath. Her first impression was right - it was bitter as all hell. It burned as it went down, too, like whisky, though it didn't taste like alcohol. The burning she didn't mind so much - as with whisky, it was kind of a pleasant sensation - but the taste was just awful. And how much medicinal value could there be in it? She was lucky if it wasn't poison.
The process repeated until it was gone. Dyami pulled the blanket a little further over her and stood, looking at her with that same unreadable face - or maybe not, she could see hints of both exasperation and apology in it. "I go now," he said. "You rest. The medicine will help."
