The confessional before you is ornate and well maintained, ebony colored wood embellished with the visage of two angels. A jet black curtain separates the confessional from the rest of the Church, offering a surprising degree of privacy to any eavesdroppers nearby. Unlike the rest of Krakow, the inside is dimly lit by a small light bulb securely attached to the ceiling which emits a faint red light. While the atmosphere isn't exactly cozy, it is private.
A smooth voice calls out to you once you've sat down, familiar enough to identify the speaker despite the partition between you.
"Welcome welcome. I take it something is on your mind?"We're in a museum now, Harry.
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While you're smart, it seems like you're actually hired help here. The muscle.
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[ He's not really being serious, but he's willing to call him something else if he has any suggestion. Leaning forward as he looks at the the screen separating them. ]
I did hear you used to be a priest.
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[ This close, Dazai can make better sense of the indistinct shadows from the other side of the partition. Seems Rem is resting his head on his hands. ]
Briefly. And if you are going to say I must have made for a terrible priest, you would be the third and correct. It was only a very brief position regardless.
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[ His line of work means he's usually staying out of places like this. Curling his hand to rest against the side of his face. ]
Rembrandt it is, then. Did you have an interesting conversation with my friend here?
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[ Most are their own favorite person, while a few
angoalready play favorites. ]no subject