As so far most of the emergencies had come from Myriam’s end, it was something of a relief to get a desperate plea for help from Norris.
“Con-air! What am I going to do?!”
Connor was about to say, “try to store your gunpowder away from your water supply,” but soon it became clear that wasn’t Norris’ chief concern. “Yes, Norris?”
“Father Timothy! ‘e is going to officiate the wedding!”
“Of course. Who else is qualified?”
“Non, non! Impossible!” Norris wrung his hands in anguish. “‘E cannot. ‘E... ‘e is not a Catholic!”
“But he wears that funny hat--”
“Absolument NON! And I cannot ‘ave the third... or maybe fourth most important ceremony of my life presided over by a... a...” He spat the words as though they made him sick. “A Protestant!”
“Why? What’s wrong with that?”
“WHAT’S WRONG? WHY--
[This fanfiction was written by a multicultural team of various religious faiths and beliefs]
“--so you see why it would be like shitting on the grave of my ancestors to allow an English pig to ‘ave anything to do with the sacrament of matrimony!”
Connor waited to reply until Norris seemed out of momentum (meanwhile, he learned many interesting anatomical suggestions and appropriated religious slurs). “In any case, you have no cause to worry, my friend. Father Timothy is indeed a Catholic. In fact, Samuel Adams has refused to speak to me since he learned a Romanist settled on the Homestead.”
A huge grin broke out on Norris’ face. “Ah, Con-air! That is such a weight off my shoulders! Now what were you saying about gunpowder?”
(That night, a fight broke out between Terry and a crewman on the Aquila about the definition of meat. Connor would never understand these people.)
FILL: Connor, Wedding Planner (3 of what will probably be 6??!)
-----CONNOR DEALS WITH RELIGIOUS STRIFE
As so far most of the emergencies had come from Myriam’s end, it was something of a relief to get a desperate plea for help from Norris.
“Con-air! What am I going to do?!”
Connor was about to say, “try to store your gunpowder away from your water supply,” but soon it became clear that wasn’t Norris’ chief concern. “Yes, Norris?”
“Father Timothy! ‘e is going to officiate the wedding!”
“Of course. Who else is qualified?”
“Non, non! Impossible!” Norris wrung his hands in anguish. “‘E cannot. ‘E... ‘e is not a Catholic!”
“But he wears that funny hat--”
“Absolument NON! And I cannot ‘ave the third... or maybe fourth most important ceremony of my life presided over by a... a...” He spat the words as though they made him sick. “A Protestant!”
“Why? What’s wrong with that?”
“WHAT’S WRONG? WHY--
[This fanfiction was written by a multicultural team of various religious faiths and beliefs]
“--so you see why it would be like shitting on the grave of my ancestors to allow an English pig to ‘ave anything to do with the sacrament of matrimony!”
Connor waited to reply until Norris seemed out of momentum (meanwhile, he learned many interesting anatomical suggestions and appropriated religious slurs). “In any case, you have no cause to worry, my friend. Father Timothy is indeed a Catholic. In fact, Samuel Adams has refused to speak to me since he learned a Romanist settled on the Homestead.”
A huge grin broke out on Norris’ face. “Ah, Con-air! That is such a weight off my shoulders! Now what were you saying about gunpowder?”
(That night, a fight broke out between Terry and a crewman on the Aquila about the definition of meat. Connor would never understand these people.)