Chasing dishes

Another day, another wander through the labyrinthine passages of her new home. Lucy had found herself heading further and further into the bowels of this strange, underground complex. The whole thing did feel like some gigantic, living being… or thriving colony of united souls. While you were in amongst it, you could see how all the various unclothed individuals set about their daily tasks around each other. Cheerfully collaborating to achieve some grand, overarching purpose but without any strict commands or directions. Sometimes they would assign themselves to one of those decorated chambers, welcoming in strangers send another day’s gasps and moans echoing down the corridor. Sometimes they would march out into the streets in those neat choirs of angels, just as she had first met. It was impossible to keep track of just how many people actually lived and worked in this hidden cathedral, for some might disappear for days without warning… into the depths of the tunnels or the blinding lights of the city above. Lucy couldn’t quite believe that all this had been going on, right beneath her feet… while she had sofa-surfed and struggled her way through life as an urchin. There seemed no way to calibrate these dimly-lit stone corridors with the modern society above.

Today there was one particular mystery that intrigued her, after finally finding some rhythm to her own presence within these walls. Watching another line of naked beauties return from a day of singing and sucking, on the dirty corners of yet another side-street. What did they do with all that spunk that remained in their dishes, when they hadn’t found enough counterpart young ladies to spit it back into? The slimy, sloshing containers were certainly treated with some reverence… as they were carefully carried home. Yet Lucy had never followed where each bearer took that strongly-smelling cargo, as they wound down into the shadowed alcoves of this maze.

So this was the evening she would, still clutching her stalwart broom of invisibility and having made sure that every room she’d taken charge of was thoroughly cleaned. The dish-bearer she chose to follow was a young girl of around her own age, presumably of middle-eastern descent. The former street rat admired a swaying show of golden-brown skin weaving through the torchlight. Her target wore a delicate, black headscarf and balanced the dish on top of this, steadying it with upheld arms. It seemed strange that she should choose to cover her hair, when all the rest of her was left so openly on display… but this was just another facet of this place that Lucy had taken note of: The God or Spirit that was worshipped here did not seem particularly tied to any one denomination or culture. Holy symbols adorned a whole parade of naked bodies, but it was rare to find even two exactly the same. It was an act and an ideal that seemed most precious in this hallowed hollow, not any specific greater being. Love in all its physical manifestations was all Mother Renais and her fellow priestesses preached. They did not turn away any who would offer up their bodies in such intimate prayers.

If the acolyte angel noticed she was being tailed by padding feet, she did not show it. She led the way lower and lower into the depths of the cathedral, turning corners and choosing doorways with the confidence of many such journeys. Till finally they emerged into an open chamber, not much larger than any of those used for regular love-making above. There, she turned to Lucy and smiled… apparently aware of her presence all along. She lifted down the wooden dish from her head and balanced it upon the edge of the only object of any prominence in this place: A wide, brass funnel on a plinth in the centre of the room. Much like the dish itself in shape and depth, but much larger and with a deep hole in the bottom. With dedicated care and attention, she poured her own sticky cargo into this divet, watching it slide down the steep sides and toward that small abyss. Lucy crept forward to try and get a better look… but then was startled by the other girl indicating something above her head.

Realising what was wanted, the urchin reached up to grab a silver-looking tube hanging down from the roof above. It didn’t take a genius to work out it was a tap of some kind, and at her companion’s patient instruction, she worked out how to turn it on and swill every last dreg from the sides of the wooden bowl. The liquid that emerged was lukewarm, and fairly viscous in its own right… clearly not just water. However no indication was given as to where all this diligently-harvested man cream was going to end up. The hole was impossible to see down without risking clambering into the funnel itself and nothing else in the room seemed inclined to provide information about this process. When her dish was completely empty, the brown-skinned girl simply added to a stack of identical receptacles in the corner, and made as if to leave. Yet the disappointment on Lucy’s face must have been completely plain to see. For just as she passed through the doorway… the angel glanced toward a further exit, across on the other side of the room. No direct invitation was given. But the meaning was clear enough: If the newcomer wanted to know more, she would have to carry on alone.