Refuge {open}

[Azrael]

The church offered a sanctuary still, as had been its original intention. The big doors still closed, though there were holes in the walls in places. All that mattered to him, though, was that the door did close. For some reason, the chunks of missing wall didn't bother him as much.

Lucas "Painter" Dumahn was a well-known boy. He was, after all, a mercenary of the top class in New Pork, willing and able to do anything for a price. People would seek him out.

He had set up shop in the church after the Vampires had kicked him out. It was easy to find him there, and there were rooms in the back and basement that had easily been converted to lock from the inside, and were reasonably safe for him. It wasn't that he was afraid, but the Vampires had been none too fond of him after he had left them. He had proven himself useful to them, but he was living on the edge - if he became less useful, expendable... well, he preferred not to think about what would happen then.

Presently, the mercanary was lying on one of the long benches, using his bag as a pillow. It wasn't the most comfortable position for the blonde, but it was better than sleeping on the streets, vulnerable to anything. He wished he had something to read.

Hell, he wished he was somewhere where he wouldn't have to sleep with a gun in his hand.

[Masquerade]

The front door creaked open, and for a moment a figure was silhouetted against the sky outside. It wasn't open for long, however, for the figure moved inside quickly, closing the door as quietly as possible. It was a young man (one with a thing for plaid fabrics, given how he was dressed) clothed for the cooler weather, with a large satchel hanging from one shoulder. One hand, snug inside a mitt, came up and removed the sunglasses from his eyes, and the boy blinked as he adjusted to the darker atmosphere inside the church.

It was one of the few places Medic felt relatively at ease, even though he was positive very few residents of New Pork respected the sanctuary of such holy places as churches. Despite the fact that there were at least two residents, the mad 'priest' Jibril and the mercenary Painter, it was a calm place. Medic liked to visit every so often to pay his respects to the Lord, but it had been a while since his last trip, something he lamented.

Out of respect for any tenants home, the Outsider carefully rapped his wool-covered knuckles against the top of one of the pews in the back row.

"Anyone home?" he called, wincing slightly as his voice echoed, albeit softly, off the high ceiling.

[Azrael]

Hearing the door open, Lucas very nearly flinched - something about being half-asleep and hearing that creak of hinges, heavy wooden door, freaked him out a little. He sat up, dark blonde hair touseled from his brief nap. He looked back, finding the boy who had walked in.

"I'm here," he announced, voice clear, words accented - he was, after all, from Australia. "Pretty sure I'm the only one."

He reached for his bag, digging in it halfheartedly, grabbing out his half-gone pencil and beaten sketchbook. It wasn't hard to find art supplies now - with the city basically off the map, few people cared about art, but it was hard to carry what he needed back to the church, so he generally only took what he needed.

[Masquerade]

Medic jumped slightly, grabbing at the strap of his bag in a motion eerily similar to a woman being threatened on a street corner. Well, in his defense it wasn't to get between a would-be attacker and what few valuables he carried with him, but rather to reach for one of the blades he carried in the satchel. He calmed himself before pulling any of them out, but swore in surprise.

"Bloody 'ell!" he exclaimed, trying to muffle his voice just a little too late, shock erasing most of his attempts at trying to keep his words clear. "S'not right ta sneek up'ohna fella like tha'!"

He shook himself slightly, a little pissed at being surprised and even more pissed that he'd let himself get surprised.

"Yor..." not the Inquisitor...the merc? "Paint?" Was that the right name? In the aftershock of being startled, his brain didn't seem to want to cooperate.

[Azrael]

((OOC: Sorry for the long time between posts. It's finals time, and I've got so much work.. *dead*))

"Painter," he corrected, with a tiny hint of a smile, and if he noticed the other boy going for a blade, he didn't say anything about it. It was always easier to think that people would give him warning before they killed him - it was likely incorrect, but he enjoyed his little fantasies. "For a lot of reasons."

The paint on his shirt and jeans was one of them. Another was the bloodstains on the same shirt. His nickname was as double-faced as he was.

There was a small pause, the blonde brushing back his bangs so he could get a better look at the other, without his hair getting in the way.

"..and you are?"

[Masquerade]

"Painter." Medic repeated quietly, nodding.

"M' Medic." he answered, turning his body so his satchel, and the large red cross that decorated it's front flap, was visible.

"Sorry if'n ah'm disturbin' yeh." he said apologetically, cracking a slightly sheepish, if a bit nervous, grin. "J'st passin' throogh."

Well, if no one had been present in the church he wouldn't planned to stick around longer, but as it was he didn't think it was the best idea to hang about longer than was necessary when one of the residents was home. Even if he wasn't in danger of attack, it was still awkward to go through his routine while someone could be watching.

"If'n ah'm botherin' yeh, ah can alway' coom back later?"

[Azrael]

"It's fine," he said, shrugging and sitting back down, leaning back even as he still spoke, looking at the ceiling. "I don't mind."

His pencil hung loosely from his hand, sketchbook open on his lap - he was trying to think of something to draw, something inspirational.


[ooc: sorry for being so late responding to this! Finals ^^; ]