An Upheaval

Many would consider Oliver a staunchly devout follower of the Church of Sulfur. He very often made time to visit, read up on scripture on his own time, and attended sermons as much as possible.

However, Oliver considered himself a heretic against the church—a workaholic who knew full well that his prioritization of his job over his vices was wrong, yet did so anyway. His frequent visits to the Church of Sulfur were to beg for forgiveness so that Murmur may smile upon him despite his transgressions. 

As such, Oliver was quite familiar with Father Oleander. His visits to the confession booths were so numerous that Oleander misconstrued it as desperate attraction towards himself, though that was a low threshold to cross. At least once a week, Oliver would come to confess about how he turned away from an opportunity to drink in favor of a task, how he worked until he was far too tired to indulge himself by the end of the day, how he found himself short-tempered with the employees he managed just for blowing off work to sate their desires, the list goes on. 

In the end, Oliver knew that he would never change his heretical ways, not as things were going. He needed some sort of upheaval, something to snap him out of his cycle.

The good news was that such an upheaval did come one day.
The bad news was… well, all over the morning paper.

Father Oleander was dead.

By that time, Oliver had already taken precautions in light of the reports on stalkers, missing persons, and murders. He forbade all employees at the nightclub he was responsible for from going out at night alone, plastered the advisory from the police department on every wall of the establishment, and himself slept in the club instead of going back to his apartment at the end of his shifts. When the news about Oleander was made public, his efforts doubled. In the times he was alone, he seemed distant and listless as he tried to look to the past for answers about where he should go from then on.

He remembered hearing stories in his youth of mythical creatures called sheep. According to the tales, they often have a guide to lead them and shear cotton that grew from their bodies. It impressed upon him how if one were to be lost from their guide, it would continue to grow cotton to the point of unbearable burden. Oliver couldn't help but regard himself similarly as of late.

The day of the funeral, Oliver had requested the day off for the first time since being hired. Surprisingly, the owner of the nightclub approved it swiftly, even though it meant the club could not be open that night. Was asking for a break really so easy all along? It was difficult to say for sure; this could have been an exception made in observance of the funeral.

Luck left Oliver's side when the trek to the Church of Sulfur ended up taking significantly more time than usual. As such, the closest seat he could possibly get to the casket was a pew second to the back. 

The pew behind him was not very full at all, claimed by only two buns. Although he didn't recognize most of the buns around him, he did actually have some familiarity with the pair. Their names, as he recalled, were Jackal and Dove.

He wasn't too surprised that they were in attendance, Father Oleander touched all lives in Burrowgatory—some in a literal sense—and the two seemed to have personal relationships with some of the church staff. 

What stuck out to him, though, was their expressions. For the same reasons why their presence was unsurprising, particularly gloomy faces would also have been expected. There was also the fact that Dove, from what Oliver knew of them, was a very kind and empathetic soul, and Jackal would surely be impacted by Dove’s heartache. All of that would be perfectly understandable. What was strange was that their expressions were less mournful and more… anxious. It was like they were anticipating something to jump out at them.

After a moment of trying to make sense of it, Oliver resolved that it was absolutely none of his business. Mourning has a habit of making unexpected emotions crop up, not to mention that things have been utterly frightening as of late. The public still hadn't been made aware of Oleander's cause of death and whether foul play was involved. Perhaps they were right to be wary.

The volume of the organ music that had been softly playing to welcome the mourners increased, signifying the funeral was officially beginning and that all chattering must cease. Sister Mercy gracefully made their way to the podium, their eyes downcast as if even their lashes were weighted with grief. Despite that, the nun was well-composed and graceful, with a shakiness only occasionally creeping into their otherwise clear voice.

“We are gathered here today to mourn and honor the life of our head priest, Father Oleander.” Gliding their hand in a controlled manner, they conducted the mourners' eyes to the ornate casket.

With all attention on it, Oliver assumed that this was surely going to be when the fact that Oleander was in a closed casket would be acknowledged and the reason addressed. However…

“The Church of Sulfur has hand-selected some verses in the holy scripture that we know to encompass Father Oleander and his teachings well. If you all may join me, please take the good books in the pews and first turn to verse 69…”

No such acknowledgement was made. It was odd for Oleander to elect a closed casket service for his eventual death or for those close to him to assume that would be what he wanted.

…No, who was Oliver to claim he knew better than Mercy and the other members of the clergy about what Oleander would have wanted? Silently berating himself, Oliver took a scripture book and followed along to every verse Mercy recited.

Partway through, a gentle voice rang like a little bell in the pew behind him.

“I hope Oleander's doing alright in there…” Dove whispered, surely to Jackal sitting next to them.

Oleander doing alright in there? In… the casket? Do they not know how death works?

Oliver wondered if it was maybe a difference in culture, and Dove didn't know what death was until they came to Burrowgatory. This actually was something Oliver had seen before. One of his coworkers, Shoot, didn't know what death was when he entered Burrowgatory. Apparently, his demon guardian didn't tell him, probably to avoid having to hold an uncomfortable conversation. Being the one to break it to him was an… experience.

However, while Oliver didn't know everything about cherubuns, he did know that cherubuns in the Heavenly Meadow would often die after a certain amount of time, apparently from nothing but age itself. Wouldn't someone from there be more familiar with death, not less?

…This was the third time today that Oliver concerned himself with something that did not involve him. There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation why Dove said that. They could have meant how Oleander was doing in the afterlife, should there be one. In the sermons Oliver attended, the hereafter was not mentioned—a wise and demon-honoring decision, to be sure—but it was natural to wonder where the departed go after death.

Jackal must've immediately noticed that Dove’s volume was high enough for others to eavesdrop, because Oliver heard a soft shush. Only whispering noises too soft to make out words from came from the two for the rest of the service.

The funeral proceeded with no more details that struck Oliver as out of place, not that he would find it right to pay such thoughts any more mind that he had already. Once the service had concluded, the organ music resumed and several buns lined up to say their final goodbyes to Oleander resting within his casket. Oliver wanted to give a parting ‘thank you’ to the priest, but being in a second-to-last pew, he didn't have a chance to make it before everyone would be herded out.

Instead, he simply stood up and got ready to leave. Whilst doing so, he caught sight of Dove and Jackal, still seated in the pew behind him. They looked even more anxious than they did at the start of the funeral, like whatever they were afraid of had only crept closer. Oliver was no longer able to just let it be.

“Are you two okay?” he inquired gently.

Jackal's eyes darted over towards him, her fear changing into agitation like spreading frost suddenly transforming to a bucket of scalding water slung at your face. “We're fine. Beat it.”

Immediately diving in to de-escalate, Dove placed a reassuring hand on Jackal’s leg as they looked up at Oliver. “Sorry, we’re just a bit on edge about all that’s going on. Thank you for checking in on us, though! That’s very thoughtful!”

“Yup.” Jackal had her arms crossed and looked at no one when she spoke in a voice oozing with sarcasm. “Mighty kind of you.”

Knowing when his help is unwanted, Oliver gave a quick nod and shuffled off, embarrassed. That was absolutely not how he wanted to end this off, but he supposed fate was just out to get him at this point.

Once he left the Church of Sulfur, every bit of him wanted to scream at the idea of going back to the nightclub to worry about work again. Usually he would ignore this feeling and press onward anyway. Usually he would find himself stuck at the nightclub for another few days in a row in spite of it. 

Usually was not now.

Finally ready to do something else for a change, Oliver took out his phone and typed a text asking if he could hang out at Shoot’s place for a bit.

He took a deep breath, all the responsibilities he had tomorrow filling his mind while his lungs filled with air.

He hit send.