Grant me Chastity and Continence...But Not Yet [Versailles/Private]

There was a knock on the door. Rustling in the bed, quickly followed, as the two guilty parties got up. A 'coming' followed that, and another loud noise was produced in the room, to distract from the sound of the two. The usually neat and tidy Auguste did not take any effort to be either. He threw on his pants and shirt with little care, his vest, tie, jacket and shoes were rudely shoved under his arms, and he was standing on the toilet seat, then out the window. It was not an elegant way to leave. No, he'd much rather depart with some stretch of dignity. Really, just leaving through the front door would be nice. He waited to hear the sound of the door open, putting his socks and shoes on as he did so. The door opened, some footsteps shook the car, and Auguste was off. He ran for a few seconds, until he was in an area hidden enough that he could be safe walking.

He checked his watch. That was fairly quick. Quicker than he'd like. It wasn't just that nasty Moldovan man's fault, the whore wasn't the best. The girl was better than Franze, hands down, but Auguste had better. Crina was better. He could visit her...But she would still be with her customer now, wouldn't she? He frowned. It sure was inconvenient to be in a relationship of sorts with a prostitute.

He could just wait outside the brothel, until her customer was gone. Did he have anything else to do? Well, yes, he could find someone else. He could just search the brothel for another whore, but the Moldovan might have gotten the hint that Auguste was around, but Auguste was not concerned with that. The man thought about sex like an alcoholic thought about alcohol. He didn't consider consequences. He knew he wanted it, so he went to get it. He knocked on the door to one of the car's. Some whore he had used before. She was a nice kid. The door was opened, the girl stood outside greeting Auguste with a smile. Was she busy...?

He sneaked a peak into her room.

“Excuse me...Monsieur...” And a giggle. For some reason his title amused these simple girls? Auguste normally did have a fondness for witty women...But he didn't want to talk now, he want to have sex. “I was just praying...Come in.”

And he paused. Praying...? A prostitute with a devotion to God...? For what reason would she ever be a prostitute, if she really cared for God? Did she not understand how she had sinned. Was prostitution not a mortal sin.

...And lust was too... The man's smile dropped.

What made Auguste any better in God's eyes than this under-aged whore? Mortals at the carnival were to hold him on a pedestal, which is how he could get away with so much sexual promiscuity. He didn't even feel a need to pay for his prostitutes. Who would pass the opportunity to sleep with a man of power? Auguste had extreme privileges in this life. But to God, Auguste would not have these privileges. To God, he was on the same level as this girl, on the same level as all the filthy carnival workers. Maybe he was lower. This girl was naïve and innocent. Prostitution was probably her only sin. Auguste did all kinds of morally unjust activities, and on a daily basis. Lust, Pride and Avarice seemed to dictate his life.

It was a not an easy life for an otherwise devout Catholic to cope with.

He had to speak to Emiliano.

The Frenchman moved his hands to the young girl's. After pressing a gentle kiss on one, he gave an uncharacteristically genuine smile.

“Go back to praying...” He whispered, giving her one kiss on the cheek, before he was on his way.

Emiliano's booth happened to be very close to the brothel, placed there not for irony, but for profits. The brothel gave you sins, for a hefty price. The priest disposed people of their sins, for another hefty price. The cooperation between the two industries was very effective. A few sinners had amassed outside of the booth. Auguste cut to the front. Those in the line at present were carnival workers, they didn't need to question him. Auguste always had priority above the other workers. He waited a few minutes for the last sinner to exit, and then he entered.

“Emiliano....” the booth was closed off, leaving just the priest, and the sinner. “I hope I'm not stealing my way into heaven... I didn't pay...” And he laughed slightly. If the voice and familiarity did not indicate that it was Auguste, the distinctly irritating laugh must have. There was no doubting what the priest was in store for. Auguste had shoveled his sins and sadness on to him before. Many times before.

“I can make it up to God with dinner later...” he forced a smile, and waited for a response.

((Not in ticket office, but around it maybe. Lmao, Idk where I should put this. ALSO SORRY FOR DRAGGING ON FOREVER, AND MAKING SO MANY PRIVATE RPS.))

((Sorry this is so late D: ))

Halfway through his last confession Emiliano took to idly rubbing his temples, something that he was glad his customers couldn't see from in front of the dark screen; it just would not have been professional. He had heard it all but even he grew tired of these sinners, 'Father, I fucked this' 'Father, I did that' 'Forgive me' 'Forgive me' 'Forgive me'.

Not like confessing ever really stopped them and set them on a better path.

"Oy vey..." How ironic, that was Yiddish, wasn't it? The priest mouthed a silent prayer and sent the last sinner on his way, maybe it was about time he asked for a break, a cigarette would clear his head...he reached for a glass of water instead.

"Emiliano...."

The man's tired eyes snapped back to the entrance of the booth; how odd, no one ever called him by name, and most never even knew him by name. Emiliano pulled up the screen, breaking the "sacred" ambiance in the room to get a better look at [s]his bro[/s] the Frenchman. This again? Auguste should have known by now that his sins were only tormenting himself, but droning on about them made him feel better so Emiliano always gave in to listening. As tired as he did get of it sometimes.

He crossed himself, then indicated for the other man to sit; brows furrowed in mild worry. Auguste played the role of sinner and customer now, yes, but his role as friend came first.

"I take it a heavy weight has once again burdened your soul and choked your conscious, my friend?"

Emiliano had to seize himself from uttering a sigh and an 'oh Auguste, yes, cry on my shoulder'. It wasn't the first time.

The Frenchman sat down as instructed, with a weary look to his friend.

"I don't know what to do...Emiliano..." Auguste sighed. He confessed so often to this man, and the sins he confessed were the same, again and again. There would be nothing new, there was never anything really new. The priest was friends with a notorious sinner, and they were both aware of that. Auguste never really tried to change his lifestyle, though. He may have wanted to...but he couldn't. He did not know what to do. He looked at Emiliano as a friend, an adviser, confessionals with him, as was indicated by the informal setting, often were more than that.

"How many whores have I had sex with this week?" he leaned back on his seat. "I'm not even sure...I don't remember the names of half of the women...I didn't pay for them of course... They think I can make their lives a little better if they seduce me. I could, but I don't..." a pause, and he brushed a hand through his hair. It was already messy from his last sexual exploit, a few minutes ago.

"I have power at this carnival, Emiliano, absolute power. I can do everything that I want to, and I do. I can control lives. More freaks have died under me...than in all the years of the last ringmaster. I stopped paying for their medical bills to pay for my wine. I'm the only person who can do that...I become closer and closer to a God in the world..." and he took a moment to direct his troubled blue eyes to the other man, before they batted back down again. He felt some shame for his deeds. Only Emiliano had seen Auguste like this. "But I feel that it only drives me further and further away from God in the next."

"My nightmares still haunt me... I wake up screaming some times... Is this punishment? I feel like I'm being punished for my sins... These dreams feel so real... I feel like it's God who does this to me? He's giving me a glimpse of where I'm headed... Living through those nightmares, must be like living through hell..." he grabbed the hand of his priest. The make up was gone, Auguste's pure emotions were the only thing that shown up through his face. This frustration and despair could not be hidden, his eyes filled with water.

"When I'm by myself...Even for just an hour... I feel so alone... My Earthly influence has no power when it's buy itself... when I'm alone...I'm so alone... God isn't even there for me, Emiliano, Am I that irredeemable? Has he given up on me?" These were difficult questions for a friend to answer, Auguste was sure. They were difficult questions to ask. But these were questions that seriously disturbed him. As he acted out his life he did not think of them...When he slept with his women, he did not think of God. When he made life threatening budget cuts, he did not even consider God. However, when he was alone...When he was alone, God- or the lack of him invaded his thoughts.

((It's okay. B) ))

Emiliano listened in a stony silence, his face only changing to show small twitches…empathic winces for the state of his friend’s immortal soul. He never even flinched when Auguste seized his hand, only moving once the Frenchman’s tears poured forth to lay his free hand on Auguste’s shoulder in a gesture a father would reserve for his guilt-ridden son. The priest ran his tongue over his lips, they felt parched, as if Auguste’s words had also drained them as well. The silence clung to the room like a frost, but gave way to the warmth of Emiliano’s voice.

“Auguste….the Lord has not forsaken you. He does not abandon any of his flock…” The Italian gave the Frenchman’s shoulder a light squeeze.

“…not even those who have strayed.”

He would have backed the words up with a smile, but the burden of Auguste’s sins only weighed the corners of his lips into a concerned frown.

“In fact when one strays the Lord will leave the flock to find his lost lamb and rejoin it with the group….but you run from him when he seeks you out, Auguste. You feel he will punish you for straying if you return, but he will not. And as you run you only break your own bones, and harm your own skin. God‘s heart aches for you Auguste, not in contempt, but in longing.”

Emiliano removed his hand from Auguste’s shoulder to clasp it over the hands that held his other.

“In the end, you only punish yourself. Your sins eat away at you, Auguste, and seeing this is what pains the Lord…not the sin itself.”

The Italian hoped his friend would understand that his words did not give justification for his sins, but were there to encourage him to turn his face to the Lord’s light without fear; only then could he begin to pull himself out of the dark he had berried himself in and into the midst of others. In truth Auguste’s deeds had pained him, but the state of his friend pained him ever more than the deaths of others could.

Auguste would never confront anyone with this degree of honest emotion. But here he was, crying in the middle of that tiny and cramped confession booth. His emotions, his sorrows could have swallowed him whole, were it not for the beacon of Emiliano's voice.

The words of people often meant little to Auguste, because he knew they were probably not honest words. People did not tell the truth. Emiliano's words, though, Auguste could never suspect of being wrong. Emiliano was not just a friend. He was truth. The very man personified the word. God was always truthful, and God trusted Emiliano.

"Emiliano..." His small physical gestures lost subtlety, he reached to hold the man in a complete embrace. His gratitude was immeasurable, to have some of that guilt lifted away... To be provided with solace. This comfort Emiliano provided, all others were unable to share. Emiliano gave him God, Emiliano gave him hope. He provided light to the sun.

"Father...I- I want to go back..." he whispered, his voice so unsteady. "B-but I can't. I try to follow God...but...I'm so lost..."

"I can't stop... As long as there are women... As long as there are luxuries... As long as I live in this hell..." he paused, to take a long breath, maybe to hold off his prospects of sobbing. "A-as long as I rule this hell... It will...rule me.." Another pause.

"This place... Its sins....they've destroyed me.... What business would God have in this carnival...or even in this disgusting country...?"