![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Jun. 7th, 2007
Fic off meme.
Jun. 7th, 2007 02:54 am1. What is the last alcoholic beverage you drank?
Sacramental wine. No, really.
Ethan Rayne moment:
A man walks alone in the streets of a large old city. Wrapped in a large overcoat, he's purposeful and quick, and no one's out here but him and the dustmen. It's five in the morning and there's just barely enough light to assume sunrise.
He enters a large old church, a prominent site in this large old city. It's empty at this hour, closed for tourists. He's not meant to be here, either. He's not a tourist, he was born in this town, but he's been away for so long he's a stranger; to the city, to the streets, to the church.
With the same purposeful, quick step he strides down the aisle, but slows as he draws near. He stops just short of the altar, looking around at the empty large room. Thoughtful, not nervous. Thoughtful.
He goes on his knees and he says a prayer he remembers from childhood. It means nothing except the meaning he gives it; there's a flicker in the old coals of his heart.
A priest comes along, old and shuffling his feet. He offers silent comfort, but not the kind the man wants or needs.
"My child, do you seek peace?"
The man smiles and says "no."
The church opens its doors to the crowds at nine. It fills with busy staff at eight. Until the clock outside hits seven, seven loud chimes of the large, old bell, they sit there in camaraderie, the old priest and the sinner, and drink their fill of the red, red wine.
There's more than one way to save a soul.
Sacramental wine. No, really.
Ethan Rayne moment:
A man walks alone in the streets of a large old city. Wrapped in a large overcoat, he's purposeful and quick, and no one's out here but him and the dustmen. It's five in the morning and there's just barely enough light to assume sunrise.
He enters a large old church, a prominent site in this large old city. It's empty at this hour, closed for tourists. He's not meant to be here, either. He's not a tourist, he was born in this town, but he's been away for so long he's a stranger; to the city, to the streets, to the church.
With the same purposeful, quick step he strides down the aisle, but slows as he draws near. He stops just short of the altar, looking around at the empty large room. Thoughtful, not nervous. Thoughtful.
He goes on his knees and he says a prayer he remembers from childhood. It means nothing except the meaning he gives it; there's a flicker in the old coals of his heart.
A priest comes along, old and shuffling his feet. He offers silent comfort, but not the kind the man wants or needs.
"My child, do you seek peace?"
The man smiles and says "no."
The church opens its doors to the crowds at nine. It fills with busy staff at eight. Until the clock outside hits seven, seven loud chimes of the large, old bell, they sit there in camaraderie, the old priest and the sinner, and drink their fill of the red, red wine.
There's more than one way to save a soul.