Place: Walking into the fifth terrace of Purgatory, when…

Voice: Adhaesit pavimento anima mea. My soul cleaves to the dust; revive me with Your Word.

A soul lays prostrated on the ground.

tWBS: Hey buddy, you okay? And can you speak up? I can’t really hear you mumbling into the ground.

Voice: My soul cleaves to the—

tWBS: Yeah, yeah, you said that already. We’re looking to get through this place as quickly as possible, which way?

Voice: Oh, yes, keep going left.

tWBS: Hey Senor, why are all these people face-down on the ground?

Senor: This is the terrace of avarice, of greed.

tWBS: Yes, I know what avarice is. But why face-down on the ground?

Voice: His Justice holds us. We remain immovable and prostrate so long as it pleases the Lord.

tWBS: I still can’t really hear you, let me just…

(He goes to a knee)

Voice: Ah! Sir, straighten your legs. You have no reason to kneel at my plight.

tWBS: No, I couldn’t hear you, apparently you don’t get bionic hearing when you’re dead.

Senor: I mean you’re dead, they don’t rebuild you better stronger faster.

tWBS: Steve Austin was almost dead!

Senor: You’re beyond mostly dead.

tWBS: Rip-off.

Senor: Sorry. Let’s keep going left.

Along the way they hear voices cry out, “Oh, Mary! To be in naught but a manger,” and “O good Fabricius!”

tWBS: Who’s Fabricius?

Senor: Two-time consul of Rome and later on censor, known for being incorruptible, which might’ve led to him dying fairly broke for a Roman big shot.

tWBS: Unwise investments?

Senor: Gave all his money away? I’m not a Roman scholar.

All of a sudden, there is a rumble of thunder and what feels like an earthquake on the mountain.

tWBS: Shit, the mountain’s under attack!

Random Soul: No, someone ascends!

Voices Throughout Purgatory: Gloria in excelsis Deo!

tWBS: Ascends?

Random Soul: When a soul has been cleansed of their sin, they are finally free to enter Heaven at their own volition rather than being brought their immediately. It is up to the soul to choose.

tWBS: Well why would anyone choose here when you’ve got all that wonderful stuff up there?

Random Soul: Be that as it may, the soul themselves must choose Heaven.

Senor: So, who is it?

Random Soul: I know not his name, only that he’s been on this mountain over 200 years.

Senor: Well that narrows it down.

tWBS: It could just be some guy.

Senor: With everyone we’ve run into here, what are the odds of it being some guy?

A man seems to pick himself off the ground. He is wearing a powdered wig.

Senor: Holy shit, I told you it wasn’t gonna be just some guy.

Senor is visibly rattled.

Senor: Maestro! I mean, Herr Mozart, congratulations, and I’m a big fan of your works, and it’s an honor, and I wish I could play your sonatas a little less badly, and definitely a bit cleaner, and… wait, considering all your religious works, why are you here?

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Well, that was just the Missa solemnis, some of the Mass, some of the Requiem, and cantatas. How about all the dirty stuff?

tWBS: Is that a song about telling people to eat your ass?

Senor: Well, lick it, but yes, and from the 1780s.

tWBS: Screw Symphony #40, this is my new favorite piece by Mozart!

Mozart: Regardless of the religious works, or the works I stole from the Church—

tWBS: Ooh, Senor told me about that one already, where you listened to the music in the Vatican and wrote it all out.

Mozart: And I’m quite glad I didn’t get in too much trouble for that, all things considered. Heeheehee!

Senor: Okay, so the laugh was a thing. But Herr Mozart, what was it then? What could have possibly kept you here all these years?

Mozart: The lifestyle of a fine musician, of the first class! You sound like you are or have been following the musician’s path, are you not?

Senor: Yes, sir, I’m a violinist and I compose from time to time.

Mozart: I can advise you to be sure you don’t become so spendthrift, borrowing from friend to friend as I did from time to time, that you have no more favors to ask when the time arrives for necessity. I was to remain here to atone for my prodigality, for great expenses made, whether mine or Constanze’s. I’ll mind my tongue and not speak of whose accounts were worse.

tWBS: (barely faking a stifled cough) Constanze!

Mozart: I just cleansed my sins, I would much rather remain cleansed and be able to climb the remainder of this mountain than respond to that. I’ll be going now.

tWBS: Wait, aren’t you going to give him some composition pointers?

Mozart: Do not start with a symphony. Start with chamber music and work upwards from there. It is difficult enough to control three or four pitches simultaneously.

Senor: Yeah, I’ve been rightfully accused of over-orchestrating. And that was just for strings, or even just violin and piano!

tWBS: How do you do that?

Senor: Piano part wasn’t actually playable. I realize I wanted a bit too much like an organ with the voices.

Mozart: That’s entirely foolish! Know the instrument’s limitations! You call yourself a composer?

Senor: In fairness, barely. Nobody’s even paid me to compose yet, and only one composition wasn’t for my own recital. Actually two, but one of them never got played.

Mozart: Did it get performed?

Senor: Yes.

Mozart: By someone other than you?

Senor: …No.

Mozart: You still have much to learn. Unfortunately, I ought to be going.

tWBS: Oh, can I come too? We’re going to the same place.

Mozart: Have you found it in your free will to go to Heaven?

tWBS: Yes! …Maybe… I don’t know?

Mozart: Maybe the three of us shall meet atop the mountain. Until then, farewell. Good luck, Guide. And good luck, crimson-necked voyager treking the mountain of Purgatory.

tWBS: Hey! …Did Mozart just call me a redneck?

Senor: Yeah. Oh, but we are at the angel.

tWBS: Angel, am I a redneck?

Angel of Mercy: It matters not the shade of your neck, as long as the shade of thy heart is pure.

tWBS: …Did the Angel just call me a redneck?

Senor: Maybe? Oh, by the way, you have PP on your head.

(There are two Ps remaining emblazoned on tWBS’s forehead.)

tWBS: Ha ha, very funny, smartass. Let’s go. I apparently need to give Mozart a piece of my mind.

Senor: We better get there then before he knocks on Heaven’s door three times. It’s a Magic Flute joke! …Nothing?

tWBS shakes his head

Senor: Philistines.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3xhWNVIV3g