Brown eyes widened a little bit and Luca bit his lip, not sure what he had done to upset this man. Another man would have walked away, surely, but to Luca, all God's creatures were perfect and he swallowed his own hurt feelings with a small smile and awkwardly rubbing his neck with the hand that had been refused.
"I'd feel strange paying you for your good deed. But if you are in need of money, of course I will help."
He studied the redhead with eyes that talked loudly of hope and conviction. Luca wasn't someone who would turn tail and run when someone stabbed him once.
"My church is nearby. I'd be more than happy to cook for you. You'd save today's food money at least."
If Luca thought all of Gods creatures were perfect, Crawford had a few examples to put that faith to the test. Like a man who murdered his wife and abused his children for years while putting on a pretty face for the public that loved him. The horrible things he'd done to his youngest son that left him permanently fractured and fragmented. The dirty money and support he willingly accepted from one of the filthiest criminals of the city. A man who quietly sought ways to use demons for his own purposes. A man who was rumored to keep a few possessed specimens caged for his own reasons. But that would require Crawford admitting how he knew any of this.
He let out a derisive snort as he crammed his half empty pack of cigarettes back into his pocket. "Means you're not wantin' to reward me for a job well done," he scoffed. "Means you're feelin' right guilty about cocking it all up."
He fixed Luca with as hard a look as he could manage while feeling like someone were using a jackhammer on his skull. "Tell ya what, if you're feelin' so desperate to repay my 'valiant' efforts, you come by my house o' worship. Say round 7 or 8, when I'll be there." He rattled off the intersection of where the bar was. Let the priest get a taste of the real world. The perfect little creatures who would never set foot in his domain.
Luca didn't know anything about that and he wouldn't, unless Crawford would share. He knew that he wanted to reach out to this person and thank him, that was all he knew.
He blinked when he was told he had ruined it all, but he didn't argue, merely just looked down for a second. He had done the exorcism as well as he could remember. He'd need to brush up on those skills obviously.
"Oh, thank you for the invitation," he said softly and it might have sounded like someone refusing the offer the but</i< just lingering there.
But it never came and Luca most certainly meant to follow up with the invitation.
And in the moments following the words, Crawford did wait rather expectantly for the refusal. For that glimmering moment he'd thought the priest might actually have a little spine, as the bar wasn't exactly an upstanding establishment. He'd thought maybe, just maybe, the other had found a sliver of sense. But, disappointingly, nothing happened. That was it. Just thanks.
Shaking his head and grumbling something under his breath, Crawford just walked away, deeper into the store. He had to stock up at least enough to get him through to his shift. And get something to smash this headache.
That night, he was right where he said he would be. He'd dealt with the headache the only way that ever really worked (no one would notice the alcohol on a bartender's breath). He looked far more at home behind the bar of the old, run down building. The whole place looked as though a stiff wind might blow it down. It was dimly lit, smelled like an old basement, and held only a small scattering of patrons. But the night was young, relatively speaking.
Crawford himself was leaning over the bar, both hands planted on the counter, fierce gaze boring into a man who looked rather pickled. "You wanna to drink here, you pay up front. We don't run a bloody tab for degenerates. So you got two options: pay up or I chuck your arse out the door!"
Luca spent most of his day by cooking and reading up on exorcism. He knew the practice already, of course he did, but it had been a long time since he had followed a practising exorcist to a job. Vatican had had a problem with dwindling interest towards this profession for a long while.
He cooked, he read, he cleaned the church. Then he put on his cassock again and left the church to be on time when he entered the pub some time later. Of course he was an unusual sight in the pub but even in the dirties places he was used to having some respect and kindness because of his profession. He wasn't worried, not really.
He approached the bar and saw the man from earlier talking to a customer. He decided to take a seat by the bar, smiling at Crawford when he managed to catch his attention but not saying anything as he didn't want to interrupt.
A few of the patrons eyed Luca warily. No one gave him any trouble, but they seemed uncomfortable with him there. Most, however, seemed to prefer to act like he wasn't there at all, focused on their drinks or their company instead. A woman who had been sitting at the bar seemed more uncomfortable than most. She got up a little too fast and relocated to the completely opposite side of the cramped space. Her profession wasn't exactly one the church approved of.
The man Crawford was yelling at muttered something incoherent into his empty glass, before pushing it toward the bartender. Crawford didn't move, staring at him, letting out a hard breath, but the drunk man just stared at his glass like it would fill itself. Crawford then turned his head toward a man sitting in the shadows where the bar met the wall. The man was roughly the size and weight of a refrigerator. Crawford just jerked his head at the man, and the problem took care of itself. The fridge man lifted the drunk man as if he weighed no more than a bundle of grapes, and shoved him out the door.
Only then did Crawford slide his gaze to Luca. If he was surprised to see the man, he didn't show it. "Welcome to the real world, Padre," he said, standing into his customary slouch. "Fraid all we got for the likes of you to drink is water."
Luca smiled at the other customers pleasantly but today he wasn't here to do the lord's work, he was here to meet the redhead from earlier. He wasn't sure what good he could do here, but he had been invited, so here he was.
His smile widened when he was noticed by the familiar bartender and Luca took a seat by the bar counter. The woman who left with hurry also got a smile from him, no judgement here.
"No tea?" he asked. Usually you could get a cup of tea in any establishment in Britain. Perhaps not in this one. "Thank you," he said as if it had been a genuine welcome.
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deo_volente) wrote2017-03-17 11:08 pm
no subject
"I'd feel strange paying you for your good deed. But if you are in need of money, of course I will help."
He studied the redhead with eyes that talked loudly of hope and conviction. Luca wasn't someone who would turn tail and run when someone stabbed him once.
"My church is nearby. I'd be more than happy to cook for you. You'd save today's food money at least."
no subject
He let out a derisive snort as he crammed his half empty pack of cigarettes back into his pocket. "Means you're not wantin' to reward me for a job well done," he scoffed. "Means you're feelin' right guilty about cocking it all up."
He fixed Luca with as hard a look as he could manage while feeling like someone were using a jackhammer on his skull. "Tell ya what, if you're feelin' so desperate to repay my 'valiant' efforts, you come by my house o' worship. Say round 7 or 8, when I'll be there." He rattled off the intersection of where the bar was. Let the priest get a taste of the real world. The perfect little creatures who would never set foot in his domain.
no subject
He blinked when he was told he had ruined it all, but he didn't argue, merely just looked down for a second. He had done the exorcism as well as he could remember. He'd need to brush up on those skills obviously.
"Oh, thank you for the invitation," he said softly and it might have sounded like someone refusing the offer the but</i< just lingering there. But it never came and Luca most certainly meant to follow up with the invitation.
no subject
Shaking his head and grumbling something under his breath, Crawford just walked away, deeper into the store. He had to stock up at least enough to get him through to his shift. And get something to smash this headache.
That night, he was right where he said he would be. He'd dealt with the headache the only way that ever really worked (no one would notice the alcohol on a bartender's breath). He looked far more at home behind the bar of the old, run down building. The whole place looked as though a stiff wind might blow it down. It was dimly lit, smelled like an old basement, and held only a small scattering of patrons. But the night was young, relatively speaking.
Crawford himself was leaning over the bar, both hands planted on the counter, fierce gaze boring into a man who looked rather pickled. "You wanna to drink here, you pay up front. We don't run a bloody tab for degenerates. So you got two options: pay up or I chuck your arse out the door!"
no subject
He cooked, he read, he cleaned the church. Then he put on his cassock again and left the church to be on time when he entered the pub some time later. Of course he was an unusual sight in the pub but even in the dirties places he was used to having some respect and kindness because of his profession. He wasn't worried, not really.
He approached the bar and saw the man from earlier talking to a customer. He decided to take a seat by the bar, smiling at Crawford when he managed to catch his attention but not saying anything as he didn't want to interrupt.
no subject
The man Crawford was yelling at muttered something incoherent into his empty glass, before pushing it toward the bartender. Crawford didn't move, staring at him, letting out a hard breath, but the drunk man just stared at his glass like it would fill itself. Crawford then turned his head toward a man sitting in the shadows where the bar met the wall. The man was roughly the size and weight of a refrigerator. Crawford just jerked his head at the man, and the problem took care of itself. The fridge man lifted the drunk man as if he weighed no more than a bundle of grapes, and shoved him out the door.
Only then did Crawford slide his gaze to Luca. If he was surprised to see the man, he didn't show it. "Welcome to the real world, Padre," he said, standing into his customary slouch. "Fraid all we got for the likes of you to drink is water."
no subject
His smile widened when he was noticed by the familiar bartender and Luca took a seat by the bar counter. The woman who left with hurry also got a smile from him, no judgement here.
"No tea?" he asked. Usually you could get a cup of tea in any establishment in Britain. Perhaps not in this one. "Thank you," he said as if it had been a genuine welcome.