Mirror in the Sky (13) WC: 1,544

The day of Christmas Eve was… certainly a lot less busy this year than he'd anticipated. Sure, he'd need to attend a family holiday function later, and then the midnight service at their church. But the daylight hours were free for him, and he didn't really… like that.

The handful of gifts he'd gotten for people were already wrapped and ready to go, the outreach program had enough staff to cover and he wouldn't really be needed to join their holiday activities till the following day. The shop was closed, so he didn't have work to keep himself focused and pass time.

He wasn't needed to help prep in the kitchen, didn't really feel like watching any sports… his options kept dwindling the more he tried to roll down his mental lists.

Scowling, Jericho had just taken to wandering. Hands shoved into his jacket's pockets, boots crunching in muffled steps over packed snow on sections of sidewalks not fully cleared. The snow around him was peaceful, and in the distance, he could hear the sound of children laughing and screaming in play. Beyond that, the hum of the city's traffic was the nearly everpresent white noise he expected.

It was… another humming that had caught his attention. How, he wasn't entirely sure. It was soft, distant, and yet… it sounded so clear against the noises of the city and holiday. His brows furrowed, following the source. It sounded almost like O Silent Night, but the… parts of the melody were different, and he wasn't familiar with the language he thought he heard.

His steps were slow as he followed the sounds, realizing they came from behind an older church. The doors were long shuttered, and though there were plenty of no trespassing signs posted around… he could see where tracks through the snow lead down the uncleared walkway and up to an iron gate. The thick chain still held it shut, but Jericho realized as he got a bit closer that the person had apparently climbed the fence, as more footprints formed in small craters just beyond the gate. Curious, he…. followed. The old fence groaned at his weight, but it was sturdy and didn't shift about much as he pulled himself up and over using some of the connecting stone walls and ornamental iron shapes as footholds. His landing inside the old grounds was quiet as he could make it, and he was grateful for the extra thick padding of the snow that had never been even partially cleared before their footfalls.

He looked about carefully. Old church grounds that spread into a graveyard that wound around the back of the building. The trail lead onward, following buried paths around and vanishing behind a corner.

The voice wasn't intrusive. The solemn and peaceful drift of the song felt in place in this snow covered graveyard. Respectful. It was… nice to listen to, really.

Rounding to the back of the church, Jericho paused, gazing out at what had to be the source. A woman sat on a partially cleared bench, mounds of snow around the seat showing where the displacement had tumbled. One of her legs was pulled up onto the bench, the other left to rest on the ground as she had her arms wound around her leg. She faced somewhat away from him, staring out over the bulk of the graveyard, her voice drifting through the snow mounds and gravestones, snagging in the outstretched hands and wings of statues.

He stood in silence, leaning against the church as the song came at last to its end. It was… almost a disappointment to him. He'd enjoyed listening to her singing.

Pushing off from the building, he made sure his footsteps were heavier as he approached, and he saw her head turn enough to peer at him a moment before she looked back over the silent grounds. She didn't look very concerned about the fact she was trespassing, he mused, though to be fair… neither was he at the moment.

"Mind if I join you?"

He motioned to the other end of the bench, also cleared of most of its snow cover. Blue eyes met his gaze, and after a beat, she smiled, gesturing to the spot. "Go for it. Didn't actually expect anyone to use it," she added with a small chuckle and Jericho inclined his head in silent agreement as he carefully lowered himself down onto the old wood.

"Wasn't sure what the source of the music was, didn't expect to find someone out here," he said simply in response, resting his arms on his legs and leaning forward slightly in his seat. He glanced briefly at the thick white jacket she wore, but noticed the light-weight leggings and long tunic weren't entirely winter weather appropriate. She didn't look uncomfortable, though, so he didn't ask. "Apologies for eavesdropping, as it were. It was beautiful to hear."

One of her brows quirked up and she eyed him in return, lips twisting into a smirk of a smile. "Haven't sang for an audience in a while, figured a closed up church wouldn't have any visitors."

"Then you shouldn't have chosen a good song like that. Pick something that makes you sound like you're croaking, then you won't have anyone coming to peek."

She gave a bark of a laugh, turning back to look over the graves. "Guess that's fair enough. Unless someone comes over to put the dying cat out of misery or something."

He gave a snort, feeling a corner of his lips tick upward and out of the corner of his eye he saw her grin widely. "Guess you're s**t out of luck either way, huh?"

"Looks like."

The silence that fell over them was… comfortable. He didn't feel a bit of awkwardness, and the woman herself was relaxed against the back of the bench. Part of him wanted to ask about the language--he figured it was some other translation for O Silent Night, just maybe some regional changes or something. But as the sun sparkled over the snow and stone, he didn't want to pry.

"...thank you though," she said after a long moment, and he glanced towards her with a questioning look. "For listening. I was taught that… certain music is only at its best and most powerful when others hear it. That it's wasted to not be listened to."

He considered that a moment, and the quiet of the world around them. Untouched for so, so long, till she'd decided it was suitable to break the neverending silence at last. "I can appreciate the sentiment of that, but I don't think it's wasted." He tipped his chin out towards the stones and statues, Saints and angels and guardians unmoving… and always listening. "Those here got to hear you, something I'm sure they appreciate more than anything. They probably haven't heard a carol in years."

She said nothing at first, and Jericho kept his gaze away to give her that moment. The clouds moved above them, and he blinked a few times. Light reflected down towards his eyes from far above. A plane, probably.

"Do… you think the dead can hear things like that?"

Her question was soft, and Jericho wondered what story lay behind that. He nodded. "I didn't always. But now, I like to think those that need to hear us, do. Wherever they are. Like prayers reaching whoever we need them to."

"...what made you start to believe that?"

The flickering lights above snagged his attention, and he frowned, realizing that… something was off about the clouds. His prolonged silence and staring up apparently caught her attention in turn, and must have directed her gaze, as he heard after a moment a slight inhale beside him. "Oh. Haven't seen clouds look like that before, but that sure is pretty."

He squinted against the glare of the sun, but had to agree. Mirrors. The clouds looked like mirrors. More oddities to this city, he figured--he hadn't heard of a phenomenon of light getting twisted around this much before. But light scattered over light wisps of clouds, casting rainbows through the thin tendrils of moisture. The mirror-like clouds ebbed and flowed, rainbows and blue and glittering snow reflected through their rippling surface.

"Things like that, for one," he finally answered, and he heard her body shift slightly as she turned to look at him. "If beautiful sights like that can exist, why can't spirits and such? Be it divine or not, miracles or magic. Something must be behind it, somehow, and I like to think that something would let our intent fuel those connections."

It wasn't often he spoke of spirituality with another, and some part of him wondered why he let the words fall now. Yet, it didn't feel wrong to say to her. Nor did she seem to balk or get annoyed with the talk.

The two strangers sat in silence in the old graveyard, watching as the clouds danced and mirrored the splendor of the world below, and neither felt the moment odd or misplaced. Merely a shared moment where something truly beautiful played out before them within the expanse of the unbroken heavens.