No, Broomi will let Bonnie explain... but Bonnie has some help explaining

"Okay, Mom. I am a confessor so... it'd make sense for me to hear your confession," Broomi smiled, not particularly kindly. She had a sense that she'd get the most honest answer if she bullied her mother a bit. "So spill the beans! What's goin' on here? You just stepped out here to stand around in your garden by yourself?"

Bonnie shifted on both feet, wringing the hoe harder between two hands. While her whole body was soft, the hands were a bit calloused, from garden work and tending the home. Broomi knew that, because hers were even more so, from various labor she performed around the church and other rigors of growing up poor. "Broomi..." she murmured, then looked over her shoulder, as if someone was standing there. All Broomi saw was the scarecrow that her brother, Brocken, sometimes used as a training dummy. "I'll tell you, but... I need you to keep calm while I do, okay?"

"Ha, geez, Mom! What, are you going to tell me you're a demon disguised in an illusion or something? I think I'd know if a member of my family was a demon!" she questioned, unable to stop giggling at the idea. "Look, I hear a lot of confessions every day... well, I don't know if I'm going to hear fewer now that people can act out however they want and not have to feel guilty about it, or more, because they're getting up to more mischief than ever now. Hmmm... Anyway, point being, whatever you got, it's not gonna shock me. Especially today."

"Oh! You're always so diligent, helping people out with their problems. I have such a good daughter," Bonnie chuckled, seeming delighted at getting to hear some of her daughter's work stories.

"Aw, don't butter me up!" Broomi complained, tensing her eyebrows and placing her hands on her hips. "You're supposed to be confessing!"

"Oh, right, right," the mother responded. Still holding both of her hands on the broom, she gestured behind herself by nudging with one shoulder. "I have a guest... They offered to help me under the cloak of illusion, since the task they've assigned me is rather embarrassing. But it's fine... No, no, I didn't mean dispel the whole illusion! I mean, you can just step out and say hi to Broomi... You can probably explain this all better than I can."

Broomi tensed her hands around the half a broom she was still holding, preparing to use it as a weapon if need be. With everything she'd seen, she wouldn't be surprised in the least to see a demon appear from thin air. What appeared instead was... the exact opposite of a demon. The blond hair, saintly white-and-gold vestments, and angelic visage all belonged to Clara Fauxbright, the high priestess of the Holy Church of Merridan. Broomi dropped the broom immediately, feeling heretical for even having raised it. "What is the head of the church doing in our vegetable garden?!" the confessor shouted, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

"My child," the woman began, stepping forward and lifting her cloak slightly with one hand, so as not to drag it through the stalks of various beans and tomatoes. "I am here to instruct your mother in the new ways of our church."

"Oh God, no," Broomi spoke out loud, her mouth hanging open. For one thing, she didn't want her mom learning "the new ways of the church." For another thing... Clara was teaching her?! It was a pretty open secret that Clara, for all of her years, was a complete virgin. Just being hot didn't mean Clara knew jack squat about instructing someone how to service men. "This sounds like a carriage collision in progress if I've ever heard one."

Clara lowered her eyebrows and frowned, seeming almost pouty. "Counselor Broomi, I would think that... you, of all people... would support this endeavor," she spoke quietly. It was hard to tell if she was being passive aggressive because of Broomi's known proclivity towards loose sexual relations, or because she was one of the few people in the city who knew that Broomi was responsible for issuing the new order of the church. "Your mother is a member of the church and... well-suited for this sort of appeal to the people, whether she knows it or not. I am simply polishing a rare jewel. For the glory of Geod."

"And how, exactly, are you polishing it?" Broomi asked, crossing her arms and frowning with a disbelieving expression.

"With this..." Clara sighed, revealing an official-looking purple manual from her coat. It looked a lot like the fancy ones that had been distributed to church members, detailing the new sex initiative, but this one was unmarked. "Counselor Ursula lent me a manual, detailing several techniques for inexperienced women such as ourselves to try. We're going over them together here, privately. However, I prayed to our creator, Geod, for a minor illusion to cover our work, since I knew that if your brother came outside and saw, there could be... complications."

"Geod does illusions? First I heard of that..." Broomi muttered, looking between the high priestess and her mother, who was still smiling and standing there like a bit of a ditz. A loveable ditz, but a ditz all the same. For that matter... Broomi was beginning to wonder if her mom and the high priestess were similar in more ways than just the ridiculous size of their breasts. They both seemed to be naive to a fault. Still feeling skeptical, the daughter took the manual and began flipping through it. Her eyes widened slightly. "That uptight Ursula wrote this?"

"Yes... She stuck bookmarks in the useful chapters. These ones are apparently... 'good for beginners,'" the high priestess smiled, now moving to one side to lean over Broomi and read the book with her. "What do you think?" The priestess' breasts were so huge that they hung looming in the smaller girl's field of vision, ever a persistent distraction to anyone who would converse with her.

"I'm wondering when the heck Ursula had the time to write all this down. I'm in the wrong job, apparently," Broomi muttered, clicking her teeth slightly. It seemed Ursula had really been holding out on everybody. "So which is it, huh? Which are you practicing?"

Clara pointed at the proper place in the book. Once Broomi flipped to it, her imagination would be strained to the limits, as she tried to picture her mother and the high priestess, standing in the vegetable garden, practicing this one together...