Participants:
| Scene Title | Pray for Hope |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Some people come to a church for supplication and prayer, some come to get out of the cold. |
| Date | May 01, 2010 |
Cathedral of St. John the Divine
You are here to kneel where prayer has been valid, goes the line from the old poem. And that's precisely what he's doing. He's not praying. The words won't come. The Fed's a gaunt, graying figure, in his dark overcoat, battered fedora in his hands like he doesn't know what else to do with them, or it.
It's quiet here, and cold, despite all the heat pumped into the vast and echoing space. AT this hour, there's not much by way of light, either - flickering vigil candles ranked before particular saints, and the uplit crucifix above the altar, and it paints those stark features with gilding where it touches, and leaves the rest in stark shadow. It can't be comfortable, even with the padding on the benches, there a few ranks back from the altar. But there he is.
Making her way inside, possibly for protection against the cold out there, a bundled up blonde woman moves past where the other is sitting to take up a spot in a pew a row up. Lynette shrugs out of her thick, leather coat… and then slides it right back on with a bit of a frustrated huff.
It's presumably a welcome distraction from whatever reverie he was in. He raises his head, blinks at her as if she might be an apparition of some kind or another. And then squints past his glasses, if not certain whether or not he should recognize her.
Turning her head just a little, Lynette catches that movement and looks back at him, "Oh, sorry. Did I interrupt?" She does have the grace to speak softly, at least. She lifts an eyebrow at his expression, "You okay?"
The smile that stretches his lips is pure gallows humor. "Not really," he says, after a moment's thoughtful consideration. Mom always told him to tell the truth. "But…no, you didn't interrupt," Answering the first question last.
That answer seems to intrigue, as the woman gets a quirky smile on her face and turns a little more to face him better. Or, as best she can in the pews. "So what's making you not okay, then? I mean," her head tilts thoughtfully as she goes on, "I suppose people mostly come to a church when something's gone wrong. Looking for help or… intersession or something like that. You know? Well, of course you know, you're here."
"I would like some hope, honestly," he says, like he's ordering something at a restaurant. Just…cheerfully matter of fact. "I…I've been in this city for about eighteen months, I think. home again, I was raised here. And i'm tired. So very tired," There's no self-pity in his voice.
Lynette's brow furrows as he goes on and she slips out of her pew to come sit next to him. "Hope, huh? That seems to be a tall order these days." She's a touch tentative, but she does reach over to lay a hand on his arm. "It'll pass. Seriously. I know everybody says that, but it really will. And it's not all bad, right? I mean, at the very least you met a cute blonde today." She smiles playfully there, joking a bit.
Obligingly, if feebly, he twinkles back at her. It dies quickly, though. "Pass into something -worse-, if my experience is any guide." His tone is still surprisingly light, for the grimness of his words. "I don't mean to sound like Eeyore. I get depressed, is all. And yes, I did. I'm Felix, by the way."
"Hey, everybody has a little Eeyore in them. I'm not stapling on your tail, though, before you ask," she says as she holds a hand out to him. "I'm Lynette. and it's nice to meet you, Felix. Chin up and all that. Things have just as much of a chance of getting better as they do of getting worse. What makes the difference is how we handle it, right?"
"I usually ask for dinner and a movie before I get to that point," he says, with a deadpan that is porcelain in its flawlessness. But he does take her hand, and shake it firmly. His own is spidery in its thinness.
Lynette chuckles warmly at that, nodding, "I would expect at least that much." Her handshake is gentle and feminine, a bit of a contrast to his firmness. "So, tell me something. Besides coming to cathedrals to hang out, what is it you do for fun around here?"
There's almost the sound of him ruffling through his mental rolodex. "Not much, these days. I'm exhausted most of the time. The weather's so terrible. I suppose that'd be read, and sleep." Fel does sound genuinely apologetic.
"What, not even a snowball fight or two? I bet it's cold enough that you could take the snowballs inside and they'd stay frozen." Lynette click her tongue in teasing admonishment. "Not that reading and sleeping aren't good, too. Whatever's making you so tired, though? You should cut it in half. Or at least down to three-fourths."
"It's my job," he explains, mildly. "I do law enforcement. I love my job, but it's been overwhelming of late. I try to work less, but honestly, these days, it's not feasible." The Fed's voice is mild, though, rather than leaden with fatigue or despair.
"Oooh. I see. No, yeah, I think everywhere works it's law types too hard." Lynette tilts her head, though, and she gives him a curious look, "What's making it so rough lately? You'd think this weather would keep the criminals inside."
"I'm a Fed," he explains, not without some hint of pride. "And that's a bit different. Though even for the boys in blue, no, the weather's not the godsend you might think. It makes other things that much harder…."
Lynette whistles a little as he explains, apparently impressed. "Really? Wow, damn. Does that mean you have a gun on you right now?" Her smile spreads wider there, clearly someone who has a romanticized view of the feds rather than any real world experience. "Oh yeah? How so?"
HE answer her by rising and sweeping his coat aside to show the .45 at his hip. "It makes it that much harder to get around, to answer an emergency in anything like a timely fashion….."
Leaning back, Lynette looks down at the gun with an appreciative smile before she glances back at him, expression unchanged. His words do sober her some, though, and she taps her fingers on the back of the pew. "You know what you guys need? Tanks."
Hey, he still is proud of being one to carry one, childish as it may seem. "No. Though we've got FRONTLINE now. Not us guys in the Bureau, specifically. Specially to deal with Evo crimes…"
"Oh yeah? And they get tanks? You guys were gypped!" Lynn puts a hand on her hip there, but that smile doesn't seem to be going anywhere. "But, I guess they need it, huh? Going after those guys."
"It's more accurate to say that some of them -are- tanks," he notes, drily.
Lynette's brows lift there, and she smiles a bit crookedly. "Well, I suppose they have to be, yeah? Still, I prefer my G-Men a little more compact, yeah?"
Was that….did she just flirt at him? The Fed in question gives her a rather owlish look, as if he'd ask the question aloud. And settles on, instead, "You do?"
That smile turns a little amused at that look, and Lynette just looks back at him until he actually does speak out loud. She chuckles a little and nods her head, "Sure! Of course."
"Good," he says, with that bemused mildness. "Because most of us…not so large."
Lynette laughs outright at that, a little too loud for their current location, the sound echoing through the sanctuary. "Well, good! I'd be terribly unsatisfied otherwise."
"Thank you," he says, with real fervor, even as he rises from his pew. "I'm going to try and go home and get some actual sleep. But it was a pleasure to meet you."
"Sure, anytime," Lynette says, as if she's not entirely sure what he's thanking her for. She doesn't stand with him, but she does smile up at him, "Good luck there. Just remember, if you're ever itching for a snowball fight, I'm around."
Felix notes, hesitantly, "I'm here a lot. I'm…I'm sure I'll run into you."
"Well, then I'll know where to find you," Lynette says with a hint of a crooked smile.