"I thought to choose something within your comfort zone," you had claimed and Faust felt his eyes twitch at that. Pushing up his glasses he threw a look at the cross hanging in front of him, a strange green sea creature in front of it to symbolise the franchise you had entered. It was a strange combination of Christian symbolism with mythology the man could tell. A clashing curse and abomination of time, decay and merging and whilst amusing there was something that stirred within him. Faust just wasn't sure what to make of the imagery in front; making so little sense and yet perfectly fitting all together.

The priest had never cared for religion much, or at all, but the sight of people entering the former church en masse for a cup of coffee did make him frown a little. To think his only sanctuary from the world could be desecrated by a morning brew. And then there was your little suggestion. It all just felt… off.

"Comfort zone. Right," he responded cooly as he stared at the huge cups set between the two of you. 'Tall' they were called, which made no sense either for it was the smallest size they offered in the shop. 'Tall' with a generous amount of cream on top and syrup to go along with. The volume of coffee was too little, especially in the size of the cup. But the sizes hadn't made any sense overall, ranging from tall to venti, which just held no logic to him. Even their coffee wasn't what it was supposed to be, and Faust wondered if it was something that fit within the concept of the shop; to put as many offending and clashing elements together.

"Isn't it nice?" you grinned at the male who was still undecided on that, but mostly leaning to 'no'. His cup remained untouched as the scientist was observing it with some glaring intensity.

"I guess," was his answer finally when he decided that the cream and syrup made some sense in the context of their burnt coffee. Faust could it tell from the smell in the air. Their beans were overly roasted and bitter, leaving with something tangy and smoky when brewed. The man claimed to be no expert, but he knew what a proper selection should smell like, which wasn't that. It was as such that he concluded that half of the cup was meant to mask away the terrible brew.

You, however, seemed to enjoy yourself, leisurely taking in the crowd as you observed the old setting and the remaining painted glass, the chapels and its architecture. You had even taken the time to get a cramped spot in the pulpit, which honestly wasn't meant for anyone to sit in let alone two. But somehow they had managed to fit in two seats along with a miniscule table for the cups, albeit your knees were touching and Faust had to draw in his long legs to nearly his chin.

"I'm uncomfortable," the man announced, more for the strain he felt in the back of his thighs than the context in which he was dropped. "Finish your coffee," he pushed, but you waved him off casually, enjoying peeking over the wood down at the crowd below as you took another sip of what was barely coffee left.

And before he could try again you had raised your hand to halt him, eyes still not turned towards him as you took your time to sip away on your cup in silence. "Coffee," you solemnly dictated, and Faust felt the need to disagree with calling the cup anything akin to 'coffee', "is meant to be enjoyed at leisure." Your statement was said so sternly, if Faust had been a religious man standing below the pulpit he would have mistaken it for a sermon.

Exhaling deeply Faust decided not to question it as he crossed his arms, drink still untouched. He wondered what within him had ever prevailed him to agree to joining you for coffee though knew these to be mere afterthoughts. The experience so far had left him bitter, like his drink was supposed to be. Yet, here he sat. In a former church of the old style, refurbished into a trendy coffee place that sold none.

"Next time I will pick a real coffee place, however."