Reuploading because I just noticed the recent chapters were bugged :'(
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Georg woke up this morning feeling agitated, the weight of unresolved tension pressing heavily on his chest. He knew he had to do something about it—he couldn't let this fester any longer.
Throwing on a sharp suit, Georg made his way downstairs to the common area. The club was quiet this early in the day, the usual hum of activity still hours away. He grabbed a finger sandwich from the tray left out by the staff, taking a large bite as he leaned against the bar.
It wasn't long before Lilian approached him. "You're up early," she observed, eyeing him curiously. "And all suited up? What's the occasion?"
Georg chewed quickly, swallowing before answering. "I'm going to the convent," he said flatly, reaching for another sandwich.
Lilian's eyebrows shot up, her expression a mix of surprise and concern. "The convent? You're joking."
Georg shook his head, taking another bite. "Nope. Since she asked for it." His tone was sharp, his words laced with frustration.
Lilian crossed her arms, stepping closer. "And what exactly are you planning to do there, Captain?" she asked, her voice tinged with caution.
Georg scoffed, finishing his sandwich and wiping his hands on a napkin. "It would be good to remind her who she's messing with," he said, his tone dismissive as he grabbed another sandwich for the road.
Lilian frowned, her brow furrowing. "Seriously? You're going to march into a convent just to disrespect Sister Maria?"
He turned to her, his eyes narrowing. "Disrespect?" he repeated, his voice low and firm. "She brought this on herself."
Without waiting for a response, Georg adjusted his tie and headed toward the staircase leading downstairs. Lilian watched him go, her concern growing as she called after him, "Don't do anything you'll regret, Captain!"
He didn't look back, disappearing down the stairs with determined strides.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Georg entered the convent, the air heavy with the scent of incense. The faint sound of hymns resonated from the chapel nearby, its doors wide open for an ongoing mass. He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, his polished shoes clicking softly against the stone floor.
As he entered the grand doors of the chapel, he knelt briefly, making the sign of the cross out of habit more than devotion. Rising to his feet, he stayed near the back, blending into the shadows, his sharp gaze scanning the rows of worshippers.
The line for Communion was dwindling, and his eyes were drawn to the front, where a familiar figure stood. There she was—Maria, holding the bowl of Communion wafers with steady hands, her expression serene as she distributed them.
Georg's chest tightened as he watched her. The simplicity of her movements, the calmness in her demeanor—it was the same and yet entirely foreign to him. As the line thinned and the last person took Communion, Maria turned, carefully placing the bowl back into the aumbry.
She stepped away, her gaze lifting—and then she saw him.
For a moment, time seemed to stop. Georg felt rooted to the spot, their eyes locking across the chapel. Her face was unreadable, her expression devoid of anger, pity, or judgment. It unnerved him.
Georg grimaced, the sight of her stirring something deep and volatile within him. He wasn't sure what he expected to see in her face, but this calm, inscrutable look only fanned the flames of his agitation. Unable to bear it, he turned sharply, walking toward the exit.
He reached the doorway, his hand brushing against the heavy wooden frame as he paused. He looked back and there she was, walking toward him, her steps steady, a rosary dangling lightly from her hand.
He straightened his shoulders as she neared, the weight of unsaid words burning in his throat. He had come to say what he needed to say.
As she approached, her steps deliberate and calm, Georg's agitation only grew. He clenched his jaw, the words already forming in his mind. The moment she stood close enough, her expression still unreadable, he let the dam break.
"I came here to tell you to stop," he said, his voice low but firm, ensuring no one else could hear them. "Stop calling for me. Stop talking about me over the radio, in the streets, wherever it is you think people are listening."
Maria didn't flinch. She stood still, her hands gently clasping the rosary, as though holding onto it gave her strength.
Georg's frustration swelled at her silence. "You and your little campaign," he continued, the bitterness evident in his tone, "you want to kick us out of our place? Fine. But let me remind you—we own that place. It's ours."
He stepped closer, the space between them narrowing as his voice sharpened. "And another thing—you need to forget about me. You want to give out charity?" He scoffed, the sound cutting through the air between them. "Go pick someone else. Someone who needs it. Because I don't. You can't change me, and I don't want you to save me from anything."
His words hung heavy, but Georg wasn't done. "I'm content with my life," he said, his tone taking on an arrogant edge. "I don't need you or anyone else to tell me how to live it. So remind yourself of that before you start preaching about redemption or whatever it is you think you're doing."
Around them, a few people seated in the back rows of the chapel began to take notice. Their curious glances made his anger boil over.
With a final glare at Maria, who still hadn't said a word, Georg turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet space.
As he reached the chapel doors, the cool air hit his face, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside him. Georg paused, his shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath, his mind racing to justify the outburst he'd just unleashed. He was done, or so he told himself. He had said what he needed to say—firm, direct, and final.
But as he turned to leave, something compelled him to glance back. His eyes found her almost immediately. She was still standing there, just as calm as before. Her face betrayed none of the frustration or hurt he expected, no signs of the one-sided argument they'd just had.
Georg raised a finger, his mouth opening to add something else, to deliver one last jab or command. But when his gaze met hers, the words dissolved on his tongue. That calm expression—patient and steady, yet unreadable—stripped him of his confidence.
His brow furrowed deeply, his frustration bubbling up once more, not with her this time, but with himself. He lowered his hand, clenching his fist as if to physically contain the emotions spilling over. Whatever he had wanted to say was gone, replaced by the strange, unfamiliar sensation that seemed to rise whenever he saw her.
Without another word, he turned away, forcing his feet to carry him farther from the chapel, from the stillness of her gaze, and from the turmoil she had managed to stir within him yet again.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Georg stormed through the club, his steps reverberating off the walls, each one a thunderclap that made heads turn. The usual hum of conversation dwindled into whispers as patrons and employees alike sensed the storm he carried with him. He ignored them all, his focus singular as he ascended the stairs and pushed open the door to his office.
The sound of the door shutting behind him wasn't as final as he'd hoped, as a voice called after him. "Captain!"
He spun around to see Marie standing there, her expression a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Of course, it was her. No doubt Lilian had already spread the word, eager to stir the pot. Georg let out a sharp breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he moved toward his desk, shedding his jacket and throwing it carelessly over a chair.
"What happened?" Marie pressed, stepping further inside.
"What happened," he echoed bitterly, "is that I told her everything I've wanted to say." He sat heavily in the chair behind his desk, the tension radiating from him as he leaned back, his jaw clenched.
Marie's eyes narrowed, her curiosity clearly piqued. "And?"
"And she said nothing at all," he growled, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Not a word. Just stood there, calm as ever, like none of it mattered. Like I didn't matter."
Marie paced in front of his desk, her heels clicking rapidly against the floor. "Well, you'll see her again soon enough," she said, pointing emphatically at her palm. "The vote on the Hyssop Homes project is coming up, and the whole of Stuwerviertel will be there. Mark my words—I won't miss it for anything."
Her voice grew louder as she went on, her gestures becoming more animated. "I have the politicians right here," she said, stabbing her finger into her palm. "And when I grab that microphone, I'll call out the names of every one of those hypocrites who spent their nights with Marie de Sachelles!"
Georg turned to her, his frustration giving way to something sharper, more determined. "I'm not staying at the door."
Marie gasped, her eyes wide as she repeated his words, feeding off his fire.
"I'm going in," Georg said, his voice a low growl. "I'll look them all in the eyes, and we'll see if they will vote for me or that damn nun."
Georg and Marie remained locked in their heated discussion, the air in the office thick with their shared frustration and fiery determination. But back at the convent, an entirely different scene was unfolding.
Maria knelt in prayer in the quiet of her small cell, her hands clasped tightly together, her rosary dangling between her fingers. Her face was lit with a quiet joy, her lips moving in silent gratitude.
Despite the anger he had hurled at her, Maria couldn't shake the image of him at the back of the church, the flicker of something—anything—in his eyes. He hadn't been forced to come; he had chosen to.
For now, Maria allowed herself this small victory, a quiet moment of rejoicing. She believed in the power of her mission, in the power of God, and, perhaps most surprisingly, in the potential for Georg's heart to change.
Back at the club, Marie stood a few steps away from Georg, her arms crossed tightly as she observed him, her sharp gaze flickering between his face and the scattered papers on the floor where the ledger had landed.
"Calm down, Captain," she said with a sigh, though her tone carried more exasperation than sympathy. "You're going to tear this place apart before the council even gets a chance to vote."
Georg shook his head, pacing back and forth behind his desk. "The rosary..." he muttered, his voice low and bitter. "It's just another way to fool myself into thinking there's something there. Something... real. But there's nothing. Nothing to return to me, nothing to fix, nothing to—"
"Okay, stop," Marie interrupted, holding up a hand. "You're spiraling. And honestly, you sound ridiculous. A rosary isn't some kind of holy trick to manipulate your head, Captain. You're just..." She hesitated, her voice softening for a moment. "You're just out of your mind right now."
Georg exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. "Maybe I am," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "But what I regret isn't going there. I don't regret anything I did. What haunts me..." His voice faltered, and he glanced out the window, the weight of his thoughts visible in the tension of his shoulders. "What haunts me is what I didn't do. That's the part that sticks."
Marie tilted her head, watching him carefully. A smirk began to tug at her lips as she crossed her arms again. "Maybe that's why Elsa still wants you," she teased, her tone light but calculated.
Georg's head whipped toward her, his eyes narrowing sharply. "Elsa? What the hell do you mean, Elsa?"
Marie froze for a moment, then let out a sheepish chuckle as she looked down at the floor. "I... might've heard it from Max," she admitted. "Apparently, she's still hung up on you. Kind of wild, don't you think? A woman going downhill for a man like that."
Georg's glare deepened, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. "Elsa," he repeated quietly, as though the name itself was a thorn in his side. "Of course. Because apparently, my life isn't complicated enough already."
Marie shrugged, "I just couldn't believe a woman would stoop so low, but I'd be satisfied even if just one man would obsess over me, since every one of them sees me as someone they could take pleasure with and throw away once they get bored."
The tension in Georg's office shifted as his voice softened, the anger in his words ebbing away as he looked at Marie. The moment felt strangely vulnerable, like a crack had formed in the stormy atmosphere that had filled the room moments before. Marie crossed her arms, leaning against the desk with an exaggerated scoff, trying to dismiss her earlier words as if they didn't matter.
"Look," Georg continued, sitting back on his chair and letting out a long sigh. "I don't care what some idiot says about you or what they think you're worth. You're not just a part of this place, Marie. You're not some—" He gestured vaguely, struggling for the right words. "—disposable piece of their night out. You're a person. And if they can't see that, to hell with them."
Marie tilted her head, a small, wry smile forming on her lips. "You're really trying to make me cry, aren't you?" she quipped, though her voice carried a note of gratitude.
Georg rolled his eyes but smirked despite himself. "Don't get used to it. I'm still mad about that rosary."
Georg leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the arms as he let out a frustrated sigh. His gaze wandered to the empty wall behind Marie, his expression distant. "Maybe it's Elsa," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Maybe she's the reason I haven't met her yet. The woman of my life, I mean."
Marie's brows shot up, and she tilted her head in confusion. "Are you serious?" she asked.
Georg didn't respond right away, his mind clearly elsewhere. "I mean, think about it," he continued. "She's been like a shadow hanging over me all these months. What if she's... I don't know, some kind of bad spirit? Something keeping me from moving on, from finding what I'm supposed to find?"
Marie's jaw dropped slightly, and she stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Captain," she said slowly, "are you telling me you actually believe Elsa is some kind of... curse?"
Georg shrugged, his expression both resigned and contemplative. "I don't know what I believe anymore. But if she is, maybe getting a mass would help. You know, clear the air, get rid of whatever bad energy she left behind."
Marie blinked at him in disbelief, then let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, you've lost it," she said, shaking her head. "You've gone completely mad. A mass to get rid of bad spirits? What's next, you're gonna have me light candles and chant in Latin?"
Georg smirked slightly, though his eyes remained serious. "Laugh all you want, but maybe it's not such a bad idea. Anything to get rid of this weight, this... whatever it is that's been holding me back."
Georg leaned forward in his chair, his grin widening as he looked at Marie. "Do you know where I'd do it?" he asked, his voice carrying a teasing edge.
Marie raised an eyebrow, sensing something mischievous brewing. "Where?" she asked cautiously, unsure if she wanted to hear his answer.
"The chapel," Georg said, leaning back with an air of satisfaction.
Marie's eyes widened in disbelief, and she gasped audibly. "The chapel? You mean the one in the convent?"
Georg nodded, his grin never wavering. "Exactly."
Marie gawked at him, searching his face for any sign that he might be joking. "Why on earth would you do it there?" she demanded, throwing her hands up.
Georg's expression turned slightly smug as he leaned his elbows on the desk. "Because," he said, dragging the word out, "she won't leave me alone, so why should I leave her alone? If she's going to step out of her little convent to meddle in my business, then maybe it's time I paid her a visit in hers, again."
Marie stared at him, her mouth slightly open in shock. "Captain, that's insane," she said, shaking her head. "You're seriously going to go into a convent—her convent—and hold some... some mass for yourself just to spite her?"
Georg shrugged nonchalantly, his smug expression unwavering. "Why not? Turnabout is fair play, isn't it?"
Marie let out a disbelieving laugh, though there was a glint of excitement in her eyes. "You're truly out of your mind," she said, crossing her arms. "But you know what? I'd pay good money to see the look on her face when you walk in there."
Georg chuckled softly, his grin widening. "Oh, don't worry," he said. "I'm counting on it."