Part Five.. the end

Beckoning the pair on, the group of metal men, added to by the footballer, walk on. Heading away from the rhythmic beat of the stadium they return to the crowded streets, filled with people so fixed they seemed to have become their own gravestones. Walking through the maze of humans they pass by a coffee shop, the women pausing, both addicts. The apparent leader of the metal men looks over to them.
"Why are you stopping?"
The women look longingly through the darkened glass of the door, then back to their statue.
"Could we stop here a moment? Just to grab a drink?" Asks the one with, a soft note of pleading in her voice.
"We would just be a minute.. hopefully" adds the one without.
"Drink?" The statue's face worked into a vaguely puzzled expression.
Simultaneously the pair do the same mime of drinking, and their companions roar with laughter.
"Ahh.." The first statue looks up at the sky, as if gauging the time by the light remaining in it. "Very well, but be swift."
The two push the door open, and head inside before the realisation hits them, their eyes falling on those behind the counter... who was going to make the coffee?
"We could have filter.." murmurs the one without as a series of low clunks behind them signalled each of their guides pressing their faces against the glass of the window, peering in at them.
Moving forward, mindful of the statue's request for them to hurry, they step around the static queue, and around the counter. Looking around and maneuvering between the barristas they look at the coffee machine in a whole new light. The gurgle of the peculator continued as they searched to find what they needed to make their drinks.
"No soy latte today then." Joked the one with, just as a burst of steam issued from the large and complex machine on the counter, making them jump. It's copper surface gleaming in the artificial light, the human tendency to search for faces in all things showed the pair nothing, but this machine was none-the-less currently alive.
Reaching tentatively they fill jugs with milk and soy, pushing them toward the machine, it's tubes and pipes stretch and grasp the jugs, it's lights flashing in sequence, dials turn, switches flip and buttons pop in and out as the machine sputters and gurgles. Filling the takeaway cups with their perfectly heated drinks they reach over the outstretched hand of the barrista and drop money into the open draw of the till. Making their way out of the shop they sip from cups adorned with mermaids using their tails to flap and fan themselves in the heat.
Continuing on down the main street with more purpose than ever after this delay, the metal guides lead them faster, the noise of their heavy feet echoing off walls and stony shoppers. Turning a corner they face the cathedral, the living bells clanging in the tower calling a new congregation to service as their unusual group, in surroundings both familiar and surreal, join the crowd before the doors. The ironwork on the heavy ancient wood twisted and unfurled new scrolls, curling and melding together before growing again apart as the doors swing open, candlelight flooding the waiting faces of stone, metal and skin.
Entering from the twilight the crowd spills forward, filling the cathedral with bodies of such different sizes, colours and materials. Some sit carefully in the pews while others, too large to fit, remain standing. All waiting with palpable anticipation, though they had no breath to hold.
Softly at first, a low hum builds into music, growing louder, a tune swelling from the organ with no organist, joined by a choir of voices, not from the congregation, but from the cathedral itself. Voices from all around, baritones and tenors, the notes pouring from mouths of stony saints, castraltos from the wooden carved cherubim of the choir screen. The beautiful cacophony of the refrain was joined by altos and sopranos from the stained glass, as the congregation themselves began to sing. They sang of their creation, of forms emerging from ore, from stone, from wood. The emotion from each artist having flowed into their works through each chisel, mallet and brush. The one with and the one without watch and listen in awe as the singing continues, carved plants and fruit on the pews growing and blooming in delight as the eagle of the lectern stretches it's wings, the gold flashing dazzlingly in the candlelight...
The small group from the monument by the station led the pair back the way they had come, back to their own homes on the plinth. Carefully each shook each hand, flesh and bone clasped in living metal. They climb back to their places without a word, just a knowing glance as they resume their old positions. The last rays of light sliding from the face of the winking smiling sun atop the insurance building take all it's radiance and life. As the last strains of music from the cathedral are drowned by traffic noise the pair are jostled by a passerby in a hurry. Looking to each other and up to the statues they link arms and smile at their erstwhile guides and turn to walk away, the one without muttering..
"Next time, I'm bringing my damn camera.."