Jack MacGregor's page

Earlier Sunday (as written by me and Bronwyn)

Jack quietly enters the confessional, taking a seat and chewing on the inside of his cheek out of nervous habit. He crosses himself, and begins. ”Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been...a month since my last confession...”

"Very well my son. I am listening. What sins do you have to confess?"

He takes a steadying breath. ”I have taken the Lord’s name in vain. I have been wrathful in my workplace. I have...I have failed my son in his walk towards God. I have been a poor head of my house. An’...I have lied. Lied to friends, to...to members of the clergy...I have come to confessional, an’ lied to a Father...my good friend...” As best he can he chokes back a sob.

"It is good that you recognize these sins, and right that you have come to confess them and be freed of their weight. Let me ask you, my son, why lie to your priest? We do not sit in judgment, and to lie to us does no more to conceal your guilt to Him than fig leaves concealed the sin of Adam.

"If you spoke these lies in confession, you may still be absolved of them, and of the sins you sought to conceal. Tell me about them. What did you fear so?"

Behind the screen, Jack blinks in confusion. ”Why...? Why I-?...because...because my son has been through enough. He’s lost his brother, his mother, his grandfather, his friends, an’...I didn’t want to add some baseless accusation to the pile.

”Ye must understand Father, where my son an’ I come from is a very tightly knit community. An’ my friend, Father Jacob, he’s a good man but...prone to action before thought. Especially in matters of the Lord. If...if I had told him about Shaun...about that night...about what I saw...he could have rallied a right mob to hunt my boy down...!” There’s a soft *plip* as a tear splatters on the floor of the booth. ”An’...I don’t even know if I’m right...! What if I was wrong, an’ I sent them after him...!? I’d...I’d never be able to live with myself...!” He swallows hard. ”S-So I lied. He asked me if there was anything wrong with Shaun, an’ I lied to his face...” The middle-aged Scotsman buries his face in his hands. ”Chuidich Dia mi...! I feel like I’m losing my mind...!”

"My son, nothing you told your priest should have been revealed to anyone else, no matter what you or your son had done. If you wish absolution you must be willing to speak freely.

"What gave you such fear that you tried to lie to God?"

There is silence for a minute, broken by the grinding of wood on wood as Jack slides the privacy screen back. His face is flush, tears leaking from his eyes as he struggles to form the words.

”...a demon.”

His eyes lock with the Father’s. ”...I think my son is possessed.”

...end scene. >:3

For the first time since stepping foot in St. Ambrose, Jack genuinely laughs. ”A’ight, deal. We can “vote” if ya so wish.” He claps the shorter man on the shoulder, grinning broadly. ”Though I have a sneaking suspicion I know who’ll win that ballot.”

He visibly pales when Shaun’s injury is mentioned. ”A-Ah, that’s all...” He puts a steadying hand on a near-by table. ”Sorry. I’m, ah, I’m sorry he involved Bronwyn. She seems like a well-mannered lass, I’d hope he doesn’t get her mixed up in this...”

”Thank ya. I hope I can too...if ye see him, please, tell him to come home. He’s not in trouble, I just...want to know he’s okay...” He sighs deeply. ”I’m sorry, I’m dragging my own troubles into our meeting. This isn’t how I saw my first Sunday in Halcyon going...please, forgive me.” He clears his throat and straightens his tie. ”Are the two of ye doing anything after this? After confessional, I’ll have a free day. We could go out to lunch, my treat. Though, I would ask that ye pick the spot. I tried finding something myself an’...well, I’m still not certain what it was.” He chuckles and smiles sheepishly.

Jack sighs. ”Yes, I do. Yes, I have tried to stop him. No, I don’t know why he’s doing it. No, he doesn’t have...”abilities.” An’ yes, I do know how dangerous it is for him.” He bites his lower lip subtly. ”I’ve...gotten those questions a lot these past months...I’m sorry if he was rude to either of ye. He’s got a good heart, just...not the best self-control...”

I’ll post as Kilt later today. Gotta get to work for now.

Jack shakes César’s hand and smiles pleasantly. ”Good to meet ye too.” He glances away awkwardly. ”Ah, no, Shaun isn’t here today. He...he hasn’t come to church in a long time...*cough* an’ ah, well, I come now. We just moved to town a few days ago. St. Ambrose was in the area, so I thought I would stop by, see how it was.”

It’s at this point he notices Marian’s studying glance. ”...o cha robh. I know that look. What did Shaun do this time?”

Just making sure. :)

Jack tires his best to clear his eyes and straighten his hair as he approaches the couple. "Ah, sorry to interrupt. I'm, ah, I'm Jack MacGregor. Your daughter, Bronwyn, said I should talk to ye if I'm interested in church community events?" He addresses Cesar and Marian, easily picking up on their body language.

Before Bronwyn leaves...

Mr. MacGregor smiles slightly as he reaches into his suit jacket, producing a small, rectangular package decorated with snowmen and a metallic red ribbon. "I wanted to give this to him for Christmas but...he, ah, he didn't come..." He gingerly passes it to Bronwyn, making sure the lose top doesn't slide off. "When ye give it to him, tell him...tell him "it's okay." Please..." He pauses to wipe his eyes, then stands and goes to meet the Pascals.

Do you want to have a brief NPC interaction, or are you good to cut things there?

He nods. "Aye, I understand. I need to pay a visit there myself..." He looks over at the Pascals, then looks back at Bronwyn. "...do...do ye know how to reach Shaun? I mean, get something to him?" Again, hope glimmers in his eyes...or maybe that's just a fresh wave of tears. "I have something for him but...he's been avoiding me..."

He huffs out a humorless chuckle. "Ye aren't worrying me lass..." He folds his hands together. "Well, I'm glad Shaun at least had such a lovely young lass to welcome him...though, I'm guessing he was his usual self...I'm sorry f'that." He sides to the side on the bench and pats the seat next to him. "Please, sit. No need to be standing while we talk."

"The church? It's, ah, a lot bigger than I'm used to." He gives a lopsided smile in a manner eerily similar to Shaun. "The city's pretty well bigger than I'm used to too. I was almost late getting here, got lost a few times. MacGregor's a lot smaller. An' yes, our old home has the same names as us. Short version of the story is my clan settled there during the 1840's. It's actually a very interesting story, if ye'd like to hear it." As he speaks the tension in his face dissipates somewhat. It appears that getting his mind off of Shaun is easing a fair bit of his distress.

"O-Of course he can come home! Why would he think-?" Mr. MacGregor stops and slowly pinches the bridge of his nose as his brow furrows. "Gu dearbh. The night after the museum..." He sinks back down onto the bench. "Ah, he-he got in a fight a few days ago. I saw it on the news, and I've been trying to give him space but...I waited for him in his room. I wanted to make sure he was okay." His eyes suddenly snap to Bronwyn. "He is okay, isn't he? Have you seen him recently?"

As the rest of the congregation assembled for communion, it is easy to notice that Jack remains seated like Bronwyn. Though he does take the opportunity to dispose of his used tissues.

- - -

Bronwyn finds the lanky man seated on a bench pressed against the wall. As she approaches she can see him take a pill bottle out of his pocket and shake a couple tablets into his palm. Downing the medication with some lemonade, he stands when Bronwyn introduces herself, swallowing quickly. ”Oh, hello again lass. I’m Mr. MacGregor, but ye can call me Jack if ya like...”

He sharply inhales as his eyebrows shoot up, a slight glimmer of hope in his eyes. ”A-Ah, so ye’ve met Shaun. Ah, yes, he is my son. I hope he didn’t do anything too terrible to ye. My lad can be rather...” He searches for the right word, clearly not finding. ”Rather much sometimes...”

The man seated next to Bronwyn is indeed very similar to Shaun. His eyes, nose, and ears all match the Scotsman's, but there is an almost equal amount of differences. For one, the man's jaw and mouth are partially obscured by a well-groomed beard and mustache. His hair is the same shade of red, but has started to turn silver around the temples. He doesn't seem older than 50, but already his face is traced with numerous folds and worry-lines. He is dressed very well, as to be expected for the current surroundings, in a heavily-used suit and dull red tie that drape off of his tall, lanky frame.

He smiles as he clasps Bronwyn's hand in his own. While friendly, the smile seems to be holding back a little bitter-sweetness. "An' with your spirit lass..." He does have an accent, but it is markedly lighter than Shaun's. However, him turning to face her has revealed two further details about his person. For one, it appears that he's accidentally left some kind of nametag attached to his breast pocket, which handily labels him as "Jack MacGregor, Accounting." For two, his collar is somewhat messily done, allowing the dark inks of some kind of tattoo to show themselves along the side of his neck.

Laying next to him on the pew is a box of tissues, which he seems to have already used about a third of. A second glance at his face does confirm that he has been recently crying, apparently rather softly, given that Bronwyn did not notice him doing so right next to her...