[ You find yourself in a church, dimly lit with sputtering candles covering every available tabletop. It's quiet -- eerily so -- and the air is stale. You're standing in the middle of the aisle facing the front door. You could walk out if you wanted, something in the back of your mind assuring you it's not locked, but you feel compelled to stay for
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But still. A church? Really? When was the last time he even stepped foot in one of these? It must have been...years ago. He can't say he was ever really into the whole thing. His parents were, especially his mom, but the Hanniger men had slowly stopped attending after her death.
He looks around cautiously, half expecting to find some kind of communication device ready and waiting to drag him into another world full of monsters and bullshittery, but there isn't one. Instead, there's only the confession booth.
A sinking feeling begins to settle in his gut as he recognizes the small structure. Confession? Him? Where would he even start? And although he's hesitant, and doesn't really want to go, he does anyway - closing the small door behind him.]
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been fifteen years since my last confession.
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This was his least favorite responsibility as a priest. He'd much rather be pacing back and forth in front of the collective, hot blood racing through his veins as he promised eternal Hellfire and pain everlasting to those who turned away from God. It was mostly an act, he had no illusions about that, but driving the crowd into an impassioned frenzy gave him a thrill like nothing else. He could ignore the sneers of Claudia and her ilk as long as the church was filled with shrieks of spiritual ecstasy.
Just as he was losing himself in that indulgent feeling, someone stepped into the booth with heavy shoes. Vincent sat up a little straighter and listened as the young man spoke. ]
Fifteen years? Why so long?
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I guess I...got lost.
[Confession feels alien to Tom, a man so fiercely protective of his privacy, but he doesn't have to anything he doesn't want to, right? God, if he did exist (or cared), would know anyway. He's done so many horrible things over the years, it seems comic in a sick sense.]
I'm sorry.
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Somewhere beneath his dark ambition and lust for power, Vincent pitied him. Pitied them. To feel so out of control in a world that was chaotic to begin with... ]
Are you sorry for your lapse in faith, or something else?
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Normally, Vincent would point out that this wasn't that kind of church, although there were striking similarities, but the urge to jerk him around for as long as he can is overwhelming. He leans forward in his chair and affects a neutral tone that belies the smirk on his face. ]
Yes, if you want to approach it that way.
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