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[stillinservice]

It's a beautiful day, cool in the long grass where Stormy's sitting opposite the church door, with Chester snoring beside her like a black and ginger storm. That morning, she'd woken with an urge to walk up to the church, and then she'd got there, and couldn't go inside. Or didn't want to go inside, something like that

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[le_traiteur]

I don't like prayin' in front of other people. Oh, I can manage it alright, but it says right there in the Good Book that prayer's somethin' sacred between you and God, and to make it a show's a sin. My grandmere, she used to tell me that it didn't matter how I talked to God, so long as I didn't stop, and I reckon if I prefer the church to be empty, he's okay with that.

I was raised on prayer. Don't know how to exist without it, really, and I feel like God hears me well enough even if I can't always tell. I think I've prayed more the past year than the five before it, and that's a helluva lot of prayin'.

"Stormy." I've pushed back through the chapel doors, and it's a surprise to find anyone outside. I'm glad to see her, though.

[stillinservice]

Even on her angry days, Stormy can still muster a genuine smile for certain people. The smile was the only movement she makes as he comes out of the church, almost like she'd been expecting to see him all along. Him, or someone like him, anyway.

"Hello, Gene." The smile is smile, but warm, and it does its work. "Nice day for church."

[le_traiteur]

I squint towards the blue of the sky, as if assessin' what she's said, then look back to Stormy. "I dunno. Seems almost a shame to be inside on a day like this." To some people that would probably sound like blasphemy, but I got a feelin' that Stormy ain't that kinda person.

"That yo cat?" I ask, motionin' to the sleepin' pet.

[stillinservice]

"My Uncle Sean always used to say that you didn't have to be in church to praise the Lord." The expression on Stormy's face says exactly what she thinks of that idea.

"He's mostly his own cat," she says, wryly. "Don't touch him."

[hauntedbyelvis]

Every now and then, Stormy still does something that surprises me, which is a feat, when one considers just how long we've been together and just how well we know each other. Once in awhile, Stormy can still muster up a strange moment or say something that makes me do a double-take, but the expression on her face now certainly isn't something that takes me off guard.

I've seen this expression before.

"It certainly isn't your uncle's church, is it?" I ask as I approach her from the side, my gaze solely on her.

[stillinservice]

"No bell tower," says Stormy. The key to the bell tower in Pico Mundo hangs on a long chain between her breasts under her dress. There'd always been something lovely about being up there, drinking wine under the stars.

"It's nice, though. For a church. If you have to have a church."

[hauntedbyelvis]

My hand drops to the top of Stormy's head gently, just touching her for a moment before I sink to the ground beside her, on the other side from Terrible Chester. The cat is asleep and I feel no desire to disturb him.

"If you have to have a church," I agree and I think I miss the bell tower. "I know I can cook as I could back home, but I do wish we could find some good wine and a bell tower." The last time we were up in a bell tower was the time Bob Robertson's ghost had some and destroyed the church.

[stillinservice]

"I'd settle for the good wine."

Often, even with Odd, Stormy isn't tactile. She has her aloof days, but today, she leans into him, against his shoulder. The anger, part of her as it is, sometimes frightens her, and Odd quietens it all, and makes it easier to bear.

"I don't even know why I'm here."