No Talk Of God, Then. We Called You A Man

"Hold still!" Dreadlocks hurt. No matter the method, it's not exactly a pleasant experience, especially when you're hair is as long as Judas' is. Simon skips back over a section of the video and frowns, peering at the way the tutorial explains blunting the edge of the dreadlock while Judas squirms. "We can't just stop halfway through you know. You're committed."

The commotion brings Jesus from the hall outside of the room they'd rented in a slightly run down hostel. He'd been watching Peter and Thaddeus play cards, Doc Martins left undone and shirt tails hanging out. His hair is pulled away from his face into a knot at the back of his head and he frowns a little, peering over Judas' chair as Simon and James argue about whether or not to break out the crochet hook or just keep twist-and-ripping.

"It looks great!" Jesus says, always one to compliment, even if Judas' grimace leaves him grinning. "Just...fifty or so more to go, right?" Yeah, you're not helping, Jesus. "Do you want to see the flyers John made for the after-concert sermon? I think he's going overboard on the purple, honestly." Last night's sermon attracted almost twenty people to hear him speak, to hear the Message, at Denny's after a techno-rap concert at one of the Indy theatres down the street and the Twelve's blog site had three new followers. Jesus is excited.

Judas should be too! Even if he's suffering right now.