Part the Fifth: Comparative Theology 101 [With sincere apologies to Don
Camillo :) ]
"Kurt, you're taking the whole 'whistle while you work' thing just a
*tad* too far, dude," Scott called out, annoyed by his teammate's
singing.
"I like singing," Kurt said, still washing the X-jet with all five
limbs. "The hangar has fantastic accoustics."
"At least sing something *popular*?"
"Five hundred thousand Catholics can't be wrong, man."
"That's a *hymn*? You're *singing* a *hymn*? *HERE*?"
"Why not? God's everywhere."
Scott made a noise. "That's just a bunch of superstitious hokum cooked
up to keep people forking over their dough and feeling guilty about
having money in the first place. There *is* no God."
"You really believe that, don't you?"
"*Hello*. Parents dead when I was six? You do the math."
"So you're not worried about your immortal soul, then."
"When you're dead, you're dead. End of story. All we are is a bunch of
electrical impulses generated by our bodies."
"So you think you don't have a soul?"
"I *know* it, Kurt. Now can you please shut up and at least sing
something they play on the *radio*?"
"Want to put your theory to a test, then?"
Scott glared at him. "All right. What sort of test?"
"Since *I* believe in souls and all that, I'll buy yours off of you.
We can discuss a fair price, write out a receipt. Make it nice and
legal. When I die, I get to take it to heaven with me. You don't have to
worry about a thing."
"I wasn't worried in the first place," said Scott.
"Ja, but this way, *I* don't have to worry either."
"Whatever, dude." Scott shrugged and shook his head. "Okay. How's
about twenty bucks?"
"Twenty?" Kurt sounded outraged. "You're selling something of yours
that's going to go on *forever* for *twenty* *dollars*? Are you *mad*?"
"I'm selling you *nothing* for twenty dollars. I already feel like I'm
ripping you off, here." He reached for his bottled water and took a
drink.
"I was thinking more along the lines of twenty thousand."
{SPWFFFFFTTTT!}
"Dankeschoen. I needed more water up here."
"...hork... There's no *way* I'm taking that much off of you. Never."
Scott managed to finally haggle Kurt down to one hundred dollars, and
even then, he wasn't particularly happy about it. But then, neither was
Kurt, and that was good enough for him.
*Then* there was that contract.
"Lay it on a little thick, don't you?"
"Just read it, man."
Scott cleared his throat. "I, Scott -letsskipthatmiddlename- Summers
do hereby sell my immortal soul and hope of heavenly salvation for the
sum of one hundred American dollars to Kurt - oh good *grief*...
*That's* your middle name?"
"Deal. I had to."
"And when *are* you suing your parents?"
"Pot, kettle, black, Cyke. Just sign."
Jubilee giggled.
Scott scribbled his name. Kurt did likewise, and Jubilee added a date
to her witnessing signiature. She cracked up laughing at least three
times during the exchange.
"Do we really need *her* as a witness?" Scott asked.
"She was handy." Kurt handed over the money.
Scott handed over the contract.
Jubes ran out of the room, yelling, "Hey, guys! Guess *what*?" at the
top of her gossippy lungs.
Kurt blew on the ink to make sure it was dry. "Yup," he said. "Best
hundred bucks I ever spent."
"You didn't," said Jean.
"So what if I did?" he demanded. "Kid wants to throw money at me for
nothing, I'm not going to stop him."
"You're going to give him back the money."
"Already tried. He won't take it. Says the contract's legally
binding."
Jean sighed. "You *know* how hard Kurt works for his cash? A hundred
dollars is a lot of waxing."
"I tried that angle, too. Do you know what he said?"
"What?"
"Some of life's lessons are more expensive than others. This one is
costing me hardly anything at all."
"That was it?"
"Direct quote."
"Hey Summers. Heard you sold your soul to a devil, yo."
"Did Jubilee tell *everyone*?"
"Nearly. The ones she missed, fuzz-butt informed."
"If you see him, tell him to stop acting so damned *smug* about it.
The guy's a born sucker. Paying money for nothing."
Todd snorted. "Yeah. Right. That's what you think." He hopped away
before Scott could ask him what medication he was on.
"Hey, everyone," Kurt was *still* chipper and annoyingly smug. "Scott.
Thought you might like to know your soul's still in good hands."
"Fine," Scott managed through gritted teeth.
"Haven't had to sell it to anyone else, yet. Thank goodness."
"*WHAT*?"
"Whoah. Little edgy, ja?"
"We never said anything about selling it on."
"What do you care? You think it doesn't exist," Kurt grinned. "Or have
you changed your mind?"
"I don't want you selling it on," Scott said. "Some other idiot might
think he has power over me."
"Or she," said Kurt. "Equal rights and everything. But you're right. I
did agree to take care of it. I just hope the Professor doesn't run out
of chores for me to do. I *really* want that vintage sword set..."
Don't panic. Don't panic. Kurt's set this all up so you'll go bezerk,
Summers. Stick to your guns. There's no such thing as God. Nothing even
remotely like immortality. No souls. Anywhere.
But everyone *else* seems so damn *sure* about it.
Could I be wrong?
Nah. Everyone else are a bunch of loosers. I have a hundred bucks and
Kurt has nothing but a stupid contract.
Not even worth the ink used to write it.
So why the hell am I so bent out of shape about him selling it?
Because it's stupid, that's why.
Yeah. It's stupid. Like anyone else is going to pay good money for a
piece of paper that says they own my soul. Right. It doesn't even exist.
So what about that feeling, then?
What the hell are you talking about?
That little niggling emptyness. Just *there*. What's that about, then?
It's psychosomatic. You're a badly digested piece of pizza and I am
*NOT* going to stress about this.
That's what *you* think...
Shut up.
What if Kurt dies? You ever think about that?
So what? If he dies, he dies. It's not going to happen tomorrow.
Come off it. He's always getting pasted in battles. Flying debris, the
Blob. Gets knocked on the head an awful lot, you know.
So he's unlucky. So what?
So what if he dies and this whole 'soul' thing *is* real? He takes
yours with him when he goes. That means that, without your soul on
Earth, you're going to die, too.
Shut *up*.
Just like that. Fzt. No more Scott. It's going to freak out
*everyone*.
Who *are* you, anyway? What are you doing in my head?
I'm your conscience. I belong here.
Maybe I should have sold *you* off, too.
Nope. No can do, dude. I'm a permanent installation. You can't get rid
of *me* with a piece of paper.
Damn.
Yes, you are.
Are what?
Damned. Remember that movie about the guy who sold his soul? You
remember where he wound up.
But Kurt said he'd take my soul *with* him. Assuming for a moment it
even exists. I've got no doubts as to where *he's* aiming for.
Ha. You and I both know that whatever Kurt's doing to look after your
soul, it's nothing more than a spit-shine. You've been a bad boy in the
past, and you know it.
Shut up. Half of that shit wasn't even my fault. They made me. I had
no choice.
Kurt doesn't know what you did before you came to the Institute. He
can't know. I bet he'd know what to do to fix things if he *did* know.
Shut *UP*! You can't fix the past. Dead is dead. There's no soul. No
God. No nothing. The Universe is a great big accident and so am I.
If you say so.
It had been three weeks since Scott had sold his soul. He still wasn't
happy about it. Especially since he'd had to spend the money. Now there
was no way back. So what? It was his stupid fault for wasting his money
in the first place. No big deal. No big deal at all.
But the empty little spot, just *there*, was getting bigger.
Something was missing, and he knew it.
His favourite meals lost their flavour. Jean's irresistable beauty was
less - captivating. Matthews wasn't worth balling a fist up for. The
Brotherhood was less irritating. Even Kurt "I've got two souls and you
have none" Wagner was less annoying, but only marginally.
It was like the life was gradually draining out of his existance.
_Kinda soulless isn't it?_ whispered his conscience.
_Shut up._
There were so many phrases. Heart and soul. The soul of the matter.
Soul music. Soul food. Bless my soul. Soul man. A good soul. A kind
soul. A gentle soul. A happy soul.
It was everywhere. It was everywhere and he couldn't get away from the
constant reminders. Everyone was so *sure* it existed. That it was
there. That something of a person lived beyond temporary flesh.
And they were starting to get to him.
_Damn Kurt for starting this!_
_You're sure about that? You *want* him and your soul to go straight
to hell?_
"Shut up," he whispered.
"What?" said Jean.
"Nothing. I have to find Kurt."
Kurt wasn't anywhere in the mansion. Scott had even checked the fusty,
dusty and abandoned basement levels, just in case he was fossicking
around in there. He wasn't.
He wasn't training, in the danger room *or* in the gym. He wasn't
playing Calvinball with any of the new mutants. He wasn't in the pool.
He wasn't in his room. He'd even left his holowatch off. Something he
did so rarely that it was a calendar event.
Evan didn't know where he was. Rogue hadn't seen him, and Logan hadn't
either. Ororo and the Professor were both too busy to have even noticed
that he was gone. Jean refused to help.
Which left one other person on the entire estate he could ask.
He found her after an hour. Or more correctly, he found one of her
feet, dangling out of a tree.
"Kitty! Have you seen Kurt anywhere?"
"No. You tried his room?"
"First thing."
"Danger room?"
"Not there."
"Gym?"
"Look, I've already been through all that. He isn't anywhere, but he's
left his holowatch behind."
"Huh. Must've like, gone to his church."
"*WHAT*? Without his holoprojector? There'll be a *riot*!"
"Relax, Scott," said Kitty. "He hasn't gone to a *Church* church. Just
*his* church."
"Huh?" _Brilliant, Summers. Just brilliant. Way to be stunningly
articulate._
"See that like, humungous hunk of trees over there? There's this like,
clearing in the middle of it. Kurt like, goes there to argue with God.
Or sing. Depends on his mood. It's like his personal church."
"I take it you caught him at it," said Scott.
"Big time. He was really like, shouting and junk."
Scott thought about this. It fit. It really did. If one was going to
argue with one's deity, one would *want* to do it out of the sight or
hearing of others. "Huh," he said at length and started off with an
absent, "Thanks."
"Been doing a little *soul* searching, Scott?" Kitty laughed.
"Shut up," he sighed.
Okay. He was lost. Sure, *Kurt* could bamf in and out of this mess in
nothing flat, but Scott was just stuck with force-beams in his eyes and
he really didn't want to blow up Kurt's church.
Besides, there was a passing chance that Kurt was still in it.
He shouldn't have stepped off the twining little path between the
trees. He shouldn't have thought of taking a short cut.
If there *was* a God watching him, why didn't He do anything to help?
Kurt's answer would be something stupid like, 'The Lord helps those
who help themselves'. Really handy. Especially in the middle of a
miniature damn *forest* when sunset was threatening to encroach.
Then, at last, he heard something.
Soft, gentle singing. Kurt's voice, and the sort of thing he came out
with when doing odd jobs around the Institute. Scott followed it at the
closest thing he could manage to a run, given the clot of trees between
himself and the elf.
There he was. In a clearing. On a big rock. Singing at the clouds as
if he did it every day.
Hell, he probably *did* do it every day.
"Ah, Kurt," Scott gasped, slightly out of breath. "Glad I found you."
"Something I can help you with?" Kurt smiled, his head dangling
backwards over the edge of the rock.
"Um. Well... er..." His brain emptied of any sort of chatty preamble.
"I... wannabuyitback."
"Pardon?"
"I want to buy it back," he said through gritted teeth.
"Buy what back?" by now, Scott could tell he was being coy.
Scott fumed. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. I want
to buy it back. Now. If not sooner."
Kurt rolled over onto his stomach and propped his head up with one
hand. "Maybe my memory slipped."
Scott hauled him halfway off the rock by his shirt front. "Let me buy
it back right now or I'll --" _Waitaminute... He's the only one who
knows where it is. If you flatten him, you're going to have to wait
until he heals before you get it back._
Kurt, meanwhile, had casually walked down the vertical side of the
rock so that his body was parallel to the ground. "Mmmmmmyyyyeeesss?" he
said. "What *are* you going to do?"
_Throw an appoplectic fit, apparrently,_ Scott thought. "Sorry.
Sorry." He put Kurt down. "Sorry. Wasn't thinking."
"I kind of guessed." Kurt straightened up his clothes and smoothed
some of his fur. "Worried about something?"
Scott twitched. Kurt was *obviously* not going to help unless Scott
said what he wanted to hear. He sighed. "...iwannabuymysoulback..." he
mumbled.
"Vas?"
"Iwannabuymysoulback."
"Pardon?"
Something inside him snapped. "I WANT TO BUY MY SOUL BACK, DAMNIT!"
"No need to yell, I'm not deaf."
"Rrrr..."
Kurt grinned. "Okay, okay. Let's go." And with an arm on his shoulder
and a quick, {Bamf!} they were back in Kurt's room.
Scott had to sit down because of the slight nausea that 'porting gave
him, but at least he pretended to be cool about it. Then he had to
pretend to be cool about Kurt fossicking through his thousands of little
hiding places.
"Soul, soul, soul," he mumbled as he went through his stuff. "I know I
put it in a safe place... but which one, ja?"
"Good hands, huh?" Scott mocked as soon as the dizziness passed. "You
told me you'd look after it."
"*You* didn't think it existed."
"I changed my mind, okay? Isn't that allowed?"
"So," said Kurt, who was examining the underside of his drawers, "If
you get it back, what're you going to do with it?"
"What do you mean *if* I get it back?"
"I'm trying to remember where I put it, man. Chitchat helps me think.
What're you going to do with it?"
Scott hadn't really thought about that. "I dunno, really. Figure stuff
out. Find someone who can *answer* *questions*..."
"You wound me, mein fruend." Kurt climbed up to the chandallier and
peered into its recesses. "So what questions are you going to ask?"
Scott shrugged. "Guess I'd start with how to look after it. Care and
maintenance kind of thing. Find out what happens after. That sort of
thing."
"Picked a church, yet?"
"I'm *not* becoming a Catholic," said Scott, now well enough to look
around the room. "No matter *what* you say. I mean, there's far too many
people aro--huahahahhahhhh...."
Kurt looked up from under the bed. "Scott? You okay?"
There was a brand-new display in Kurt's room. Vintage swords. Two were
crossed over a shield, while others were set out in a nice fan display
underneath. It was in a glass-fronted walnut cabinet and represented all
of Scott's plans going up in smoke.
He pointed at the thing and squeaked.
"Oh yeah. I meant to show you this. Isn't it cool?" Kurt leaped over
to it and opened the door, taking out one of the swords and swooshing it
in the air. "Have at thee!" he crowed, fencing an imaginary foe.
He still pointed at the thing and squeaked.
Kurt was humming some theme music from an ancient movie and playing
with the sword. With a final, "HA!" he relaxed into his normal self.
"Cool, eh?"
"...g..." said Scott. "G-g-g-g-g-g..."
"Something wrong?"
"Gone..."
"Vas?"
"My soul. 'S gone..."
Kurt snapped his fingers. "Oh, *that*! I'd nearly forgotten. Hold
this," Kurt gave him the weapon, then the other sword, and removed the
shield.
There, in a clear plastic envelope, was that bloody stupid bloody
contract. Kurt lifted it out and, holding it in his mouth, put
everything else back.
Scott watched that little piece of paper as if hypnotised.
Kurt gestured with it. "Did you *honestly* think I'd be silly enough
to sell this to anyone? Herr Professor decided to reward me a little
early und got this for me behind mein back."
"How much?"
"Eh?"
"How much do you want? For the soul?"
"Scott... I don't *own* your soul. I can't."
"I mean, you've been doing the whole care and maintenance thing,
right?" Scott babbled. "There's got to be some appreciation of value and
maybe we could start at three hundred and -- WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'CAN'T'?"
"Your soul's *always* yours, man. I was just worried about its
upkeep."
"My head hurts," Scott murmured.
"Here," Kurt put the contract between his unresisting hands. "Free of
charge."
"But - the one hundred dollars."
"Some things are worth every penny," Kurt grinned. "You might also
want this." He handed over a far heavier object.
It was a simple black book with a cross on the cover. "What?"
"Think of it as an owner's manual." Kurt helped him out of the room.
"High time you read it, ja?"
Scott found himself vigorously nodding. That little empty space, just
*there* had filled right up again. He grinned like a fool. The world was
beautiful.
"Yup," said Kurt. "Best money I ever spent."
Camillo :) ]
"Kurt, you're taking the whole 'whistle while you work' thing just a
*tad* too far, dude," Scott called out, annoyed by his teammate's
singing.
"I like singing," Kurt said, still washing the X-jet with all five
limbs. "The hangar has fantastic accoustics."
"At least sing something *popular*?"
"Five hundred thousand Catholics can't be wrong, man."
"That's a *hymn*? You're *singing* a *hymn*? *HERE*?"
"Why not? God's everywhere."
Scott made a noise. "That's just a bunch of superstitious hokum cooked
up to keep people forking over their dough and feeling guilty about
having money in the first place. There *is* no God."
"You really believe that, don't you?"
"*Hello*. Parents dead when I was six? You do the math."
"So you're not worried about your immortal soul, then."
"When you're dead, you're dead. End of story. All we are is a bunch of
electrical impulses generated by our bodies."
"So you think you don't have a soul?"
"I *know* it, Kurt. Now can you please shut up and at least sing
something they play on the *radio*?"
"Want to put your theory to a test, then?"
Scott glared at him. "All right. What sort of test?"
"Since *I* believe in souls and all that, I'll buy yours off of you.
We can discuss a fair price, write out a receipt. Make it nice and
legal. When I die, I get to take it to heaven with me. You don't have to
worry about a thing."
"I wasn't worried in the first place," said Scott.
"Ja, but this way, *I* don't have to worry either."
"Whatever, dude." Scott shrugged and shook his head. "Okay. How's
about twenty bucks?"
"Twenty?" Kurt sounded outraged. "You're selling something of yours
that's going to go on *forever* for *twenty* *dollars*? Are you *mad*?"
"I'm selling you *nothing* for twenty dollars. I already feel like I'm
ripping you off, here." He reached for his bottled water and took a
drink.
"I was thinking more along the lines of twenty thousand."
{SPWFFFFFTTTT!}
"Dankeschoen. I needed more water up here."
"...hork... There's no *way* I'm taking that much off of you. Never."
Scott managed to finally haggle Kurt down to one hundred dollars, and
even then, he wasn't particularly happy about it. But then, neither was
Kurt, and that was good enough for him.
*Then* there was that contract.
"Lay it on a little thick, don't you?"
"Just read it, man."
Scott cleared his throat. "I, Scott -letsskipthatmiddlename- Summers
do hereby sell my immortal soul and hope of heavenly salvation for the
sum of one hundred American dollars to Kurt - oh good *grief*...
*That's* your middle name?"
"Deal. I had to."
"And when *are* you suing your parents?"
"Pot, kettle, black, Cyke. Just sign."
Jubilee giggled.
Scott scribbled his name. Kurt did likewise, and Jubilee added a date
to her witnessing signiature. She cracked up laughing at least three
times during the exchange.
"Do we really need *her* as a witness?" Scott asked.
"She was handy." Kurt handed over the money.
Scott handed over the contract.
Jubes ran out of the room, yelling, "Hey, guys! Guess *what*?" at the
top of her gossippy lungs.
Kurt blew on the ink to make sure it was dry. "Yup," he said. "Best
hundred bucks I ever spent."
"You didn't," said Jean.
"So what if I did?" he demanded. "Kid wants to throw money at me for
nothing, I'm not going to stop him."
"You're going to give him back the money."
"Already tried. He won't take it. Says the contract's legally
binding."
Jean sighed. "You *know* how hard Kurt works for his cash? A hundred
dollars is a lot of waxing."
"I tried that angle, too. Do you know what he said?"
"What?"
"Some of life's lessons are more expensive than others. This one is
costing me hardly anything at all."
"That was it?"
"Direct quote."
"Hey Summers. Heard you sold your soul to a devil, yo."
"Did Jubilee tell *everyone*?"
"Nearly. The ones she missed, fuzz-butt informed."
"If you see him, tell him to stop acting so damned *smug* about it.
The guy's a born sucker. Paying money for nothing."
Todd snorted. "Yeah. Right. That's what you think." He hopped away
before Scott could ask him what medication he was on.
"Hey, everyone," Kurt was *still* chipper and annoyingly smug. "Scott.
Thought you might like to know your soul's still in good hands."
"Fine," Scott managed through gritted teeth.
"Haven't had to sell it to anyone else, yet. Thank goodness."
"*WHAT*?"
"Whoah. Little edgy, ja?"
"We never said anything about selling it on."
"What do you care? You think it doesn't exist," Kurt grinned. "Or have
you changed your mind?"
"I don't want you selling it on," Scott said. "Some other idiot might
think he has power over me."
"Or she," said Kurt. "Equal rights and everything. But you're right. I
did agree to take care of it. I just hope the Professor doesn't run out
of chores for me to do. I *really* want that vintage sword set..."
Don't panic. Don't panic. Kurt's set this all up so you'll go bezerk,
Summers. Stick to your guns. There's no such thing as God. Nothing even
remotely like immortality. No souls. Anywhere.
But everyone *else* seems so damn *sure* about it.
Could I be wrong?
Nah. Everyone else are a bunch of loosers. I have a hundred bucks and
Kurt has nothing but a stupid contract.
Not even worth the ink used to write it.
So why the hell am I so bent out of shape about him selling it?
Because it's stupid, that's why.
Yeah. It's stupid. Like anyone else is going to pay good money for a
piece of paper that says they own my soul. Right. It doesn't even exist.
So what about that feeling, then?
What the hell are you talking about?
That little niggling emptyness. Just *there*. What's that about, then?
It's psychosomatic. You're a badly digested piece of pizza and I am
*NOT* going to stress about this.
That's what *you* think...
Shut up.
What if Kurt dies? You ever think about that?
So what? If he dies, he dies. It's not going to happen tomorrow.
Come off it. He's always getting pasted in battles. Flying debris, the
Blob. Gets knocked on the head an awful lot, you know.
So he's unlucky. So what?
So what if he dies and this whole 'soul' thing *is* real? He takes
yours with him when he goes. That means that, without your soul on
Earth, you're going to die, too.
Shut *up*.
Just like that. Fzt. No more Scott. It's going to freak out
*everyone*.
Who *are* you, anyway? What are you doing in my head?
I'm your conscience. I belong here.
Maybe I should have sold *you* off, too.
Nope. No can do, dude. I'm a permanent installation. You can't get rid
of *me* with a piece of paper.
Damn.
Yes, you are.
Are what?
Damned. Remember that movie about the guy who sold his soul? You
remember where he wound up.
But Kurt said he'd take my soul *with* him. Assuming for a moment it
even exists. I've got no doubts as to where *he's* aiming for.
Ha. You and I both know that whatever Kurt's doing to look after your
soul, it's nothing more than a spit-shine. You've been a bad boy in the
past, and you know it.
Shut up. Half of that shit wasn't even my fault. They made me. I had
no choice.
Kurt doesn't know what you did before you came to the Institute. He
can't know. I bet he'd know what to do to fix things if he *did* know.
Shut *UP*! You can't fix the past. Dead is dead. There's no soul. No
God. No nothing. The Universe is a great big accident and so am I.
If you say so.
It had been three weeks since Scott had sold his soul. He still wasn't
happy about it. Especially since he'd had to spend the money. Now there
was no way back. So what? It was his stupid fault for wasting his money
in the first place. No big deal. No big deal at all.
But the empty little spot, just *there*, was getting bigger.
Something was missing, and he knew it.
His favourite meals lost their flavour. Jean's irresistable beauty was
less - captivating. Matthews wasn't worth balling a fist up for. The
Brotherhood was less irritating. Even Kurt "I've got two souls and you
have none" Wagner was less annoying, but only marginally.
It was like the life was gradually draining out of his existance.
_Kinda soulless isn't it?_ whispered his conscience.
_Shut up._
There were so many phrases. Heart and soul. The soul of the matter.
Soul music. Soul food. Bless my soul. Soul man. A good soul. A kind
soul. A gentle soul. A happy soul.
It was everywhere. It was everywhere and he couldn't get away from the
constant reminders. Everyone was so *sure* it existed. That it was
there. That something of a person lived beyond temporary flesh.
And they were starting to get to him.
_Damn Kurt for starting this!_
_You're sure about that? You *want* him and your soul to go straight
to hell?_
"Shut up," he whispered.
"What?" said Jean.
"Nothing. I have to find Kurt."
Kurt wasn't anywhere in the mansion. Scott had even checked the fusty,
dusty and abandoned basement levels, just in case he was fossicking
around in there. He wasn't.
He wasn't training, in the danger room *or* in the gym. He wasn't
playing Calvinball with any of the new mutants. He wasn't in the pool.
He wasn't in his room. He'd even left his holowatch off. Something he
did so rarely that it was a calendar event.
Evan didn't know where he was. Rogue hadn't seen him, and Logan hadn't
either. Ororo and the Professor were both too busy to have even noticed
that he was gone. Jean refused to help.
Which left one other person on the entire estate he could ask.
He found her after an hour. Or more correctly, he found one of her
feet, dangling out of a tree.
"Kitty! Have you seen Kurt anywhere?"
"No. You tried his room?"
"First thing."
"Danger room?"
"Not there."
"Gym?"
"Look, I've already been through all that. He isn't anywhere, but he's
left his holowatch behind."
"Huh. Must've like, gone to his church."
"*WHAT*? Without his holoprojector? There'll be a *riot*!"
"Relax, Scott," said Kitty. "He hasn't gone to a *Church* church. Just
*his* church."
"Huh?" _Brilliant, Summers. Just brilliant. Way to be stunningly
articulate._
"See that like, humungous hunk of trees over there? There's this like,
clearing in the middle of it. Kurt like, goes there to argue with God.
Or sing. Depends on his mood. It's like his personal church."
"I take it you caught him at it," said Scott.
"Big time. He was really like, shouting and junk."
Scott thought about this. It fit. It really did. If one was going to
argue with one's deity, one would *want* to do it out of the sight or
hearing of others. "Huh," he said at length and started off with an
absent, "Thanks."
"Been doing a little *soul* searching, Scott?" Kitty laughed.
"Shut up," he sighed.
Okay. He was lost. Sure, *Kurt* could bamf in and out of this mess in
nothing flat, but Scott was just stuck with force-beams in his eyes and
he really didn't want to blow up Kurt's church.
Besides, there was a passing chance that Kurt was still in it.
He shouldn't have stepped off the twining little path between the
trees. He shouldn't have thought of taking a short cut.
If there *was* a God watching him, why didn't He do anything to help?
Kurt's answer would be something stupid like, 'The Lord helps those
who help themselves'. Really handy. Especially in the middle of a
miniature damn *forest* when sunset was threatening to encroach.
Then, at last, he heard something.
Soft, gentle singing. Kurt's voice, and the sort of thing he came out
with when doing odd jobs around the Institute. Scott followed it at the
closest thing he could manage to a run, given the clot of trees between
himself and the elf.
There he was. In a clearing. On a big rock. Singing at the clouds as
if he did it every day.
Hell, he probably *did* do it every day.
"Ah, Kurt," Scott gasped, slightly out of breath. "Glad I found you."
"Something I can help you with?" Kurt smiled, his head dangling
backwards over the edge of the rock.
"Um. Well... er..." His brain emptied of any sort of chatty preamble.
"I... wannabuyitback."
"Pardon?"
"I want to buy it back," he said through gritted teeth.
"Buy what back?" by now, Scott could tell he was being coy.
Scott fumed. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. I want
to buy it back. Now. If not sooner."
Kurt rolled over onto his stomach and propped his head up with one
hand. "Maybe my memory slipped."
Scott hauled him halfway off the rock by his shirt front. "Let me buy
it back right now or I'll --" _Waitaminute... He's the only one who
knows where it is. If you flatten him, you're going to have to wait
until he heals before you get it back._
Kurt, meanwhile, had casually walked down the vertical side of the
rock so that his body was parallel to the ground. "Mmmmmmyyyyeeesss?" he
said. "What *are* you going to do?"
_Throw an appoplectic fit, apparrently,_ Scott thought. "Sorry.
Sorry." He put Kurt down. "Sorry. Wasn't thinking."
"I kind of guessed." Kurt straightened up his clothes and smoothed
some of his fur. "Worried about something?"
Scott twitched. Kurt was *obviously* not going to help unless Scott
said what he wanted to hear. He sighed. "...iwannabuymysoulback..." he
mumbled.
"Vas?"
"Iwannabuymysoulback."
"Pardon?"
Something inside him snapped. "I WANT TO BUY MY SOUL BACK, DAMNIT!"
"No need to yell, I'm not deaf."
"Rrrr..."
Kurt grinned. "Okay, okay. Let's go." And with an arm on his shoulder
and a quick, {Bamf!} they were back in Kurt's room.
Scott had to sit down because of the slight nausea that 'porting gave
him, but at least he pretended to be cool about it. Then he had to
pretend to be cool about Kurt fossicking through his thousands of little
hiding places.
"Soul, soul, soul," he mumbled as he went through his stuff. "I know I
put it in a safe place... but which one, ja?"
"Good hands, huh?" Scott mocked as soon as the dizziness passed. "You
told me you'd look after it."
"*You* didn't think it existed."
"I changed my mind, okay? Isn't that allowed?"
"So," said Kurt, who was examining the underside of his drawers, "If
you get it back, what're you going to do with it?"
"What do you mean *if* I get it back?"
"I'm trying to remember where I put it, man. Chitchat helps me think.
What're you going to do with it?"
Scott hadn't really thought about that. "I dunno, really. Figure stuff
out. Find someone who can *answer* *questions*..."
"You wound me, mein fruend." Kurt climbed up to the chandallier and
peered into its recesses. "So what questions are you going to ask?"
Scott shrugged. "Guess I'd start with how to look after it. Care and
maintenance kind of thing. Find out what happens after. That sort of
thing."
"Picked a church, yet?"
"I'm *not* becoming a Catholic," said Scott, now well enough to look
around the room. "No matter *what* you say. I mean, there's far too many
people aro--huahahahhahhhh...."
Kurt looked up from under the bed. "Scott? You okay?"
There was a brand-new display in Kurt's room. Vintage swords. Two were
crossed over a shield, while others were set out in a nice fan display
underneath. It was in a glass-fronted walnut cabinet and represented all
of Scott's plans going up in smoke.
He pointed at the thing and squeaked.
"Oh yeah. I meant to show you this. Isn't it cool?" Kurt leaped over
to it and opened the door, taking out one of the swords and swooshing it
in the air. "Have at thee!" he crowed, fencing an imaginary foe.
He still pointed at the thing and squeaked.
Kurt was humming some theme music from an ancient movie and playing
with the sword. With a final, "HA!" he relaxed into his normal self.
"Cool, eh?"
"...g..." said Scott. "G-g-g-g-g-g..."
"Something wrong?"
"Gone..."
"Vas?"
"My soul. 'S gone..."
Kurt snapped his fingers. "Oh, *that*! I'd nearly forgotten. Hold
this," Kurt gave him the weapon, then the other sword, and removed the
shield.
There, in a clear plastic envelope, was that bloody stupid bloody
contract. Kurt lifted it out and, holding it in his mouth, put
everything else back.
Scott watched that little piece of paper as if hypnotised.
Kurt gestured with it. "Did you *honestly* think I'd be silly enough
to sell this to anyone? Herr Professor decided to reward me a little
early und got this for me behind mein back."
"How much?"
"Eh?"
"How much do you want? For the soul?"
"Scott... I don't *own* your soul. I can't."
"I mean, you've been doing the whole care and maintenance thing,
right?" Scott babbled. "There's got to be some appreciation of value and
maybe we could start at three hundred and -- WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'CAN'T'?"
"Your soul's *always* yours, man. I was just worried about its
upkeep."
"My head hurts," Scott murmured.
"Here," Kurt put the contract between his unresisting hands. "Free of
charge."
"But - the one hundred dollars."
"Some things are worth every penny," Kurt grinned. "You might also
want this." He handed over a far heavier object.
It was a simple black book with a cross on the cover. "What?"
"Think of it as an owner's manual." Kurt helped him out of the room.
"High time you read it, ja?"
Scott found himself vigorously nodding. That little empty space, just
*there* had filled right up again. He grinned like a fool. The world was
beautiful.
"Yup," said Kurt. "Best money I ever spent."