pray for me, preacher

Cass wished he could say the same for himself, if only enjoying the moment for what it was until Jesse sobered up. But he couldn’t deny how Jesse tasted, nor how this moment was making him feel. The darker, ever famished part of him is intensely curious if this rather unique mix of alcohol, ash, and light and dark is any indication of how his blood would taste, and ruminates on how easy it would be to test the theory. Cass almost lets it – him? – speculate on the subject before his mind thankfully switches gears again once he feels Jesse squeeze his ass and drag him closer, which earned a particularly loud and gleeful noise from the back of his throat.

As if the hands on his ass weren’t enough to sever most of the few remaining strings of whatever was left of his control, the combination of it and Jesse forcing them together has expletive after expletive dribble out of his mouth with each string that frays. His hips rock back and forth against Jesse’s erection, a lust filled moan spilling out of him before he can stop it entirely. “Yer gonna start somethin’ ya aren’t intendin’ to finish if yeh keep grabbin’ me arse like that, Jesse,” Cass warns roughly through his unsteady, breathy tone that’s broken between sighs, moans and nips at Jesse’s lower lip. His lanky body practically quakes in an effort to keep him grounded from going much further than they already have. He wants to, though, more than anything else that he can come up with at any point in his life. It’s a battle that, despite his inebriation slowing everything else down to a crawl in the mental department, he’s all-too aware that he is on the verge of losing. He is not at all proud to say that if it were anyone else under him, he’d have given up on those strands long ago.

He is also not foolish enough to believe that he’s anything worth staying for. First, it was Tulip. And now, it’s Riordan – how on God’s green Earth could an undead alcoholic junkie like him stack up to a young demigod, much less to his Tulip? And how quick Cassidy is to accept the thought as a fact as soon as it comes. But, it is fun to pretend to be worth something, for a little while. And he’d rather be nothing serious than nothing at all. If this was as far as he was going to go… Well, Cass would much rather be in Hell with Jesse than live in Heaven alone.

Cass eventually refocuses on the hot hand on his back, focuses on Jesse instead of the fallout he’s sure is coming for him in the morning. What came after tonight was Future Cassidy’s problem. Fingers roam, though muddled and slow at first, and dip under Jesse’s shirt and begin to explore warmer, sun-kissed flesh – quite the stark contrast to Cassidy’s cool and pale, inked fingers that gently reach and hold, brush and press. Seeking those spots and areas that earn enthusiastic or otherwise pleased responses out of Jesse. All of it is an attempt to commit what he can to memory before the sun rises.

He wants to bottle those sounds up, wants to have more of them pour out of Cassidy, honey sweet and golden as the sun. Delicious, intoxicating, sweet as mead -- Jesse is dizzy with this, drunk on the feeling, breathless from the kissing they’ve been doing. Craving more, desperate as he pulls Cassidy closer, blood beating a dangerous rhythm against the confines of his skin. Moves his mouth over the taut line of Cass’ neck, biting where the pulse should be, not minding that there isn’t one. If he’d allowed himself to admit that he’d imagine them together, he’d have expected the lack of heartbeat to bother him. It doesn’t, not even slightly -- his heart is going fast enough for the two of them.

“so, I saw you and your pal had some fun at the market,” they’d made sure to catch the preacher alone, but they were never shy, “and yes, i just pal’ed you two,” cassie makes herself comfy, grin on her face, but they’re leaning in with curiosity clear from a mile away. sure, they were being nosy, but that was just cassie lang. they’d never had much experience with the church, so now that there was someone around that they could ask questions, the curious young hero would absolutely take advantage, “but i’m actually really intrigued– when did you come out? did the church make it hard? also, now i know you’ve got some ideas for local LGBT youth things that i’m definitely volunteering for,” eyes bright, cassie doesn’t think much of how direct they’re being…. mostly because their curiosity is winning out on manners at the moment. [ @thebcdpreacher ]

Jesse had seen them approaching, had expected a hello, maybe some questions. Didn’t expect this, to be confronted with what he’d done under the mistletoe, and he’s suddenly thrown back to New Years, kissing Cassidy like his life ended and depended on it... Panic settles in quickly after it, though. Panic at being seen, at having it brought up in semi-public. His body language immediately becomes tense, any greeting dying on his tongue like ash. “I’m not out,” he manages, through gritted teeth, looking away sharply.

“I’m sure the church would make it hard.” He agrees, bitterly; he wishes, desperately, that he could be out and proud. That he wouldn’t need to hide or feel ashamed of it as he did, as his Daddy instilled in him. 

Maybe I just need to get fucked, he tries to reason with himself, tries to push away the very obvious idea that maybe -- just. Fucking. Maybe. -- he might be interested in his best friend.

It’s a very dangerous route of thinking, for him.

He’d called Riordan earlier, asked him for this favor, stumbling over the words a bit. They’ve gone to the other Irishman’s place before, seeing as Karma wasn’t exactly the best place for multiple rounds, and Jesse liked being able to hear the sounds his partner makes. Not like they can go to Jesse’s, even though some of the thing’s they’d done with his rosary should have had God striking him down then and there. Riordan’s was safer, less people to notice the town’s preacher ducking in with a man from the local club. And Cassidy wouldn’t be right there, a wall away.

“Can you fuck me tonight?” He’d allowed a little of the Word to leak into his voice, just enough for Riordan to feel it, but still have the will to deny. The memory of it has his cheeks feeling warm even now, walking up the steps to Riordan’s door, old Catholic-Sexual guilt rearing again. A solid knock on the door, a pause, and Jesse doesn’t even wait once the door is open: reaches out and pulls Riordan in, even as he pushes them back, kicking the door shut behind him. Kissing Riordan like he can force the phantom feeling of Cassidy’s lips away if he just bruises them up enough. Finger’s tangled in long hair, pulling a warm body against his own, kissing until he’s breathless.

It’d taken Cass the conscious effort to actually breathe that broke him of the spell that little kiss put him under. Softly touched his lips afterwards, both in shock and in confusion. Jesse had him left him feeling like some kind of love struck punk, and the fleeting sorrow of not hearing heart palpitations and feeling flushed cheeks burn that should’ve been present lingered in the back of his mind. And then, it is gone. Sound and the rest of the world flooded back in as he blinked in visible disbelief as Jesse pulled himself away. Cass even had trouble stringing words together to speak for a hot minute afterwards – an uneasy feat by most means.

Were they now toeing the line between friends, and something more? Did the preacher want something more, or just… this, whatever this was? What was he to Jesse now? These questions and still more just like them ran circles around his head when he was sober or not. And he had definitely noticed that Jesse wasn’t around as much – not even ‘sneaking’ about to see Riordan. Cass gave him space (and ignored the ache and not at all subtle or familiar sense of loneliness that sprang up when Jesse wasn’t there and they weren’t teasing or joking about one thing or another), not being sure how to proceed with the preacher afterwards. Sure, he’s had experience with questioning individuals before… but Jesse is not them. Jesse is Jesse. That was the start of it as well as the end of it.

Cassidy has an admittedly hard time denying the urge to grind down on Jesse’s lap, held only by a fragile grasp of the tattered strings of severely under-utilized self-control keeps Cass from moving more than he has to. That, and the desire to make it a good experience for Jesse. Rationalization hardly trickles in at the sound of fireworks or distant cheering. No, all that matters right then was in front of him, touching him. Cass presses back against the hands on him. The simple sensation brings a low, hungry growl out of him, and his tongue slips in at the opportunity Jesse gives him. Though slightly clumsy from being intoxicated, Cass reached up slowly to thread his fingers through Jesse’s hair and a pleased rumble bubbles up and out of his lips, muted though no less real or true. 

Almost lets the words he’s been ruminating on for months tumble out when he reluctantly withdraws, but manages to stuff them back and say, instead, “Happy New Year, Padre.” Cass winked down at Jesse with a little smirk, but didn’t get up from his current position. Instead, he leans forward again to resume the kiss, still listening, still waiting for Jesse to realize just what was happening, and all of the fallout that it will inevitably entail.

If he was sober (or really, any less drunk) they wouldn’t be here; he’d be focused more on the consequences come morning. On examining himself, the thoughts he was having and the deep tug in his gut that Cassidy was igniting. No, that was tomorrow’s sober (and likely hungover) Jesse’s problem. As it was, he allowed himself to be swept away by the sensations, losing himself in Cassidy’s cool, solid weight, in the sounds he made and the way he grabbed Jesse’s hair. Moans when the strands are tugged on, allows Cass easy entry to his mouth.

Cass might not have much of an ass, but Jesse gets as much of it as he can in his hands, squeezes firmly, pulling Cassidy closer to him. He’s more than half hard already, pressing himself against Cassidy, using his hold to grind up against him. Friction has his head spinning, another sound swallowed by Cassidy’s mouth, and his fingers dig tighter into jean-covered skin. He wants, wants, wants to feel Cassidy against him, an intense desire that shocks him, even through his inebriated state.

In Cassidy’s point of view, it was either find a way to laugh about it, whatever it was, or be miserable about it forever. Sure, he had his off days or the rare quirk or two that caused a temper to flare. And sure, it gave off an air of flippancy to him, but it works in his favor much more often than not. It seemed to bring people to him, most of the time which was undoubtedly a benefit. But, there was an unfortunate side effect to that outlook. Who would take the jester seriously? Not many, it seemed.

Cass watches Jesse go with a sigh; should’ve known that the Southern boy would bolt for something even remotely warm. “Wait up, Jess — Jaysis. There he goes.” Couldn’t really blame him, all things considered; Cassidy was much the same, even though his tolerance for cold weather was a lot higher for him… however, it did have an unintended bonus when he hung back a moment or two after his defeated sigh. Lord, he hated to see his preacher go, but he loves to watch him leave. Wasn’t anything wrong with appreciating a mate’s rather choice arse, right? Nothin’ was gonna come of it.

He catches up to Jesse soon enough — the advantage of having long legs and a strong sense of smell were a definite plus. But then again, he’d follow the preacher anywhere, no matter the destination. Cassidy is currently trying to discern the smells from one of the booths opposite from where they’re standing when he felt a prod in his side. He catches sight of Jesse chuckling first (with a brief spark of warmth in his still heart at the sound), then his eyes catch movement, and he follows Jesse’s gesture and gaze, and a grin spits Cassidy’s lips quick and wide. It’s the perfect excuse to flirt again. “Well, would yeh look at that, Padre?” Cass leaned closer into towards Jesse and ends in a pose. He waggles his brows to accentuate the… jest as he continues, “You know what they say about mistletoe, yeah?” His tongue flicks out Half joking, partially serious, partially hopeful, though he should know better than to hope by now. Again, nothing comes from his efforts to flirt or hit on Jesse. Still can’t help it, regardless of there being so few rewards to his numerous past attempts. “Pretty sure that’s a law, like.”

Back when he first saw the Statue of Liberty on the 4th of July, when New York had just began to swallow the then new expat, let his first name fade from the lips of many except for the rare occasion, including his own… Frankly, it didn’t matter who or what all that Cassidy was when he had died and woke up underwater, did it? He had the grace of immortality and too much borrowed time to unbecome to himself, and remake himself  – distance himself from whoever he was before then, many miles away from anyone who’d known him before his condition.

Out of everything, he can always count on Cassidy jokingly flirting with him, grinning and making kissy faces. What he doesn’t count on is... actually considering it. He thinks about it, about leaning up and kissing Cassidy’s cheek, giving in to that teasing, and playing along. Lord knows Cass would take it with a smile, a laugh, probably delighted to see Jesse playing along. Or would he be freaked out, seeing as Jesse did come out to him... And there’s people around. Maybe Cassidy is saying it because he knows Jesse won’t act on it, never has before, probably never will.

It would catch him off guard. It would shock him.

A grin starts on Jesse’s lips, and he’s reaching up, hooking his hand around the back of Cassidy’s neck, tugging him down. It’s easy for Jesse to forget that Cass is taller than him, lanky and ridiculously tall, so much so that Jesse has to crane his neck to look up at him sometimes. Isn’t sure why he’s thinking of that right now, pulling Cassidy down, and his eyes close as he connects their mouths. It’s chaste, perhaps, and a little dry; Cassidy tastes like his earlier coffee, and Jesse pokes his tongue out slightly, licks along the seam of Cass’ mouth before pulling back. Devilish spark in his eye, grin taking over his face, and he drops a wink. “Wouldn’t want to get caught breaking the law already,” he teases, before turning and heading toward a booth selling hot cidar and hand pies.

He’s starving, suddenly.

“You definitely should come back, I’d like that. And I mean, I don’t know about That, but I like to think I have a decent amount of people who like seeing me.” Riordan smiled as he watched the man look around again. 

At the mention of the Irish bartender, his eyes lit up a bit. “Ah I love Cassidy! He’s a wild one, and then the obvious of course.” He smiled, referring to their country of origin. “I can’t begin to imagine what it’s be like to live with him. I’m sure you stay entertained.” The mention of writing sermons tipped him off that he was right about the clerical collar though. “I had a feeling you were a man of god. The capped collar was a little throwing though.” Riordan laughed as he reached over and flicked one of the silver caps.

“Would you, now?” Jesse asks, slow grin starting to spread over his face, and he isn’t doing much to stop it. Can’t help but snort a laugh, managing to turn it into a cough at the last moment. “You can say that, yeah. Sometimes I hear him muttering in his sleep, too, but it barely comes through the walls.” He pauses to take a deep drink, wondering if Cassidy really told this boy about his vampirism already. Wouldn’t be too surprising, seeing as he told Jesse -- what, second night they met?

The casual touch to his clothes has him stunned for a moment, though there’s no spark of anger, not at this -- it’s slight enough that he can ignore it, for now. Warmth starting to build in his gut, and it’s a familiar feeling, coming from being gently teased and ribbed, reminds him of Tulip sliding into his lap. “Texan style,” he manages after a moment, mouth feeling slightly dry. “Gotta keep some personality in this cold state.”

“well then, perhaps you could use some people on your side if this happens so often,” she reasons, because of course to her? this is all about inviting others to her own point of view. sure, it may be a very unique point of view compared to others, but her and Irene had made it their goal for years, and it worked. it was something Mystique was more than practiced at. 

“sounds like a good girl,” raven chuckles, always appreciative of a man that could admit he took a hit from a girl, “well, yes, actually,” she cocks her head, “you see, people with abilities need to stick together, make sure people that decide to label us as freaks and monsters don’t have a chance to hurt us,” her tone is much more serious now, and there’s passion behind every word, “and don’t misunderstand me– all abilities are useful, even behind the hatred we may hold for them. i’m offering you friendship with someone else,” and she takes the moment to shift into the man in front of her, though with less blood on the face and a rather charming smile, “with useful abilities, jesse.”

His eyes narrow at her inviting tone, suspicious and unsure, starting to smell a con coming his way. “Just gonna jump into the fight with me, huh, no questions asked?” He counters, raising a brow as he pulls on his smoke. 

It nearly falls out of his mouth as she changes into him.

[ @thebcdpreacher ]

Half singing Auld Lang Syne under his breath, Cass exhaled a deeply held sigh as he gave up after the first verse. He’d been ruminating about that day in the market, hanging out in Jesse’s their living room on the couch, in the t-shirt that Jesse had given him. It had shocked him – Cassidy really couldn’t think of an excuse for Jesse actually kissing him under the mistletoe other than the look of surprise on Cass’ face when he took the vampire up on his half-serious joke. And they were definitely alone now, not in some booth in the general public, so…? The fuck did that mean then? For a guy that had some hang ups being… openly affectionate, that was a leap that Cass hadn’t expected. Or was somethin’ different now? He hadn’t asked Jesse about Tulip all that much since they’d met again. That wasn’t even close to the weirdest bit – he’d be a bigger fool than what he was not to notice Jesse sneaking off to visit Karma without him (a different hurt that he’s long been familiar with pangs close to where a heart should be beating pulses at that particular thought).

To say he’d been thinking about those questions and his place within those answers to said questions were quite the understatement. Cass wasn’t even watching the ball drop on the telly much at all – no, he was far more focused on Jesse, still trying to figure it all out, like he’d get some kind of divine (HAH) answer from on high (or wherever the fuck God was hiding) to it out of the blue. His inebriated state had done little to help out in that regard, but the longer he thought, the more confused he became. He’d been chasing the answer round and round for the better part of a week, with a question he’s too much of a coward to come out and ask. about a minute or two longer, and he’s tired of thinking. Fuck it.

Cassidy stood slightly, and let the drained bottle of his personal cocktail (no engine coolant or antifreeze or any other additions this time – only an unholy mix of hard liquor) hit the floor. “Come here, yeh fucker. Got somethin’ I wanna give ye.” He whispers low and rough as he sinks into Jesse’s lap, and reached for his collar in order to pull Jesse closer to him. The fireworks, the dawn of a new year fast approaching, and a touch of alcohol drowning out both the beast and whatever inhibitions Cassidy might have had, along with the memory of the mistletoe. Didn’t really matter what happened after this moment; the least Cassidy could do is give Jesse an actual proper kiss this time.

Three parts to the wind, half a bottle downed on his own, and Jesse is feeling good. Warm, relaxed, partially sprawled on their couch, with Cass beside him, where the two of them fit best. Hasn’t been to Karma recently, not even when Cass is working, still stuck on their shared kiss not long ago -- public one, at that, where anyone at the market could see them. Could recognize them. And he still isn’t sure about his own reaction -- actually taking Cass up on his playful flirting, tugging the taller vampire down to kiss him under the mistletoe. Probably because Cassidy wasn’t expecting it, would be surprised, and oh how Jesse delighted in the stunned expression on his face when he’d pulled away.

But days later, his mind is still caught on it, thinking of it. Finds himself watching Cassidy’s mouth more often now, getting a strange tightening in his stomach when he catches Cass watching him. Even he isn’t that completely oblivious, but it’s as if his mind is trying to protect him, slipping and skidding away from a clear train of thought any time he attempts to pin it down. The thought is a fish, slipping out his hands and swimming away, so easily...

Jesse registers Cassidy getting up, grins at him wearing the gift Jesse had gotten him -- how could he not, when it was perfect for his Cass? Words catch up to him a moment later, and his brow furrows, mouth opening to speak, to say, “gift givin was days ago,” but he never gets the chance. Cass pulls him up and pulls him in, and Jesse follows, hands coming up to steady Cass where he perches in Jesse’s lap. 

Cassidy and the cold were strange bedfellows, indeed – he could dress somewhat down and hardly be effected by the weather on a permanent basis. A particularly wild and very unfortunate set of circumstances that surrounded a string of bad days had led him to that discovery… but it always causes a softer kind of panic to stir in him, an old and not oft thought of fear. So, he prefers to bundle up and blend into crowds. The marketplace would definitely supply that.

Cassidy also doesn’t get attached to clothing, really – or tries not to, anyway. As much grime and red bodily fluids tended to gravitate towards them often left them ruined more times than he could feasibly count, he’s long since learned not to form attachments to those sorts of things. Can’t ever seem stop himself from rarely taking and keeping something out of the closets of those individuals that he’s particularly close to when he’s settled someplace for longer than a handful of days, weirdly enough; he’s stashed away a jacket of Tulip’s before the three decided to part and cover more ground, and a shirt from Jesse that Cass figured was easy enough to miss in the sea of his black shirts, for example.

Sparks of a gentle warmth and a quiet kind of smile that spreads from a place not often reached (or noticed, for that matter) when Cass heard an all-too familiar pace of footsteps approaching the vampire. His attention is quickly jerked to his preacher, and finds the man as very cute all bundled up like he currently is. Before he can say something about the outfit – and the scarf that he definitely knows is his from the scent alone – whether it was a light tease, or a soft I think that scarf looks better on you, definitely, or I like the way our scent mixes together (a strange thing to say to a regular old human, which is largely why it went unsaid… but that didn’t make it any less true), the cup from his hands suddenly went missing, bringing his attention to the empty space. His head that’s suddenly struck dumb can’t seem to put the two pieces of information together for a moment as he looks down at the ground almost expectantly. A puzzled look replaces the goofy smile that had crept onto his lips for a second as he did not see it on the ground, and continued to try to figure out where the cup went off to for a second.

Cassidy happened to look up quick enough to see Jesse’s expression shift into, . It gets him to chuckle, and his rib cage rattles with the effort to keep that chuckle from becoming full-blown laughter. “Should’a warned yeh, huh?” But he’s curious now. Surely, it couldn’t be that bad with it getting cold. Cass reaches out to snatch his cup back, and downs a swallow. Alright, he definitely stood corrected on that front. He frowned in disappointment that he’d let it get cold. “It was really good warm. Anyway –” Cassidy pointed towards the left, “– down that way’s some birdhouses, I think. I got that stuff down the right. Where do yeh wanna start first, Padre?”

Usually, he isn’t in the habit of raiding other people’s closests or clothing, but when the cold demanded... He wasn’t made for the colder weather, used to practically sweating through his clothes, and Cass is always bundled up. Not like he can say anything, either, since he practically stole all of his clothes from Jesse when they lived in Annville. Why is he feeling defensive over this, anyway? Cassidy won’t say anything. And Jesse likes the scarf. Likes how it smells faintly of Cassidy.

It’s perfectly fine.

Watching that smile fall away is disappointing, though he can’t tell exactly why -- because he enjoys seeing joy on Cassidy’s face, or because he thought the other wouldn’t mind sharing with him? Doesn’t matter either way, because he’s laughing sooner than the grin can fully fall. At Jesse, but that doesn’t bother him much -- Cass will laugh at most anything.

“Right, for sure. Gotta get myself somethin’ warm to carry.” He decides, heading off the way Cass pointed, not waiting to see if Cassidy will follow. It’s as sure as the sun rising. They get a ways down before stopping, Jesse glancing around to take in the offers from all the different stalls. They’re under a string of lights, and in his glancing, he notices a sprig of green and red on a different string. Oh for fuck’s... he glances up, sees an identical sprig above them. Nudges Cassidy with his elbow, gestures up without saying a word, chuckling. There was a year, growing up and before his Daddy was killed, that the old ladies hung mistletoe all over the church, chuckling about all the cute kids and parents kissing under it during church service.

John and priests never really managed to get along, especially the Catholic kind. It’s difficult to shake off the particularly traumatic experience that he had with one Father Phillip Tolly, and said trauma had certainly left its mark long before he had more than a motherless, bitter child’s opinion on the so-called kind and loving God. Long before he’d seen the worst that both sides of the coin had to offer. Since then, his opinion in the good Lord (and religious types in general) tended to hit rock bottom more often than not.

But, there could be some use to being … nicer than usual. Especially with the way John feels Jesse’s eyes still on him. Like the preacher knows exactly what potential trouble in a tan trench coat looks like. This one’s smart. Good, that’ll make this a little easier. His lips flick into a smile full of teeth. Like a could-be conspirator, and not a total stranger. Perhaps he could put aside a little bias for this one if part of his instincts are correct. The other part, the part that’s far more curious about the strange tension in the air than the actual man in front of him is current cursing him out for not bringing a bloody mandrake root, or iron, or some other little test to help pin down just what he’s hiding. He shrugs at the apology, but answers Jesse’s question in due time. 

“Got a flask on me; it’ll do for now.”

John reached into his left breast pocket, and held out a business card. “In a manner of speaking, mate.”

The hand he reaches out to take the offered card is... wary, to say the very least. Something inside of him is reacting badly to this man, untrusting and cautious.

And that’s before he reads the damn business card.

“An exorcist?” Jesse echos, just managing to supress his scoff. “Thought those could only be ordained by the Vatican?” He challenges, glancing up sharply. He’s even more circumspect now, having had far too many coming after him -- for Genesis, for his ability to withstand and use the Word. Darker thought, a worry, crosses his mind -- Cassidy. The vampire hunters he’d mentioned. Master of the Dark Arts, is what the card said, and what if that meant coming after his -- his best friend?

[ @thebcdpreacher ]

Cassidy had been hanging around an entrance point to the festival market for a handful of minutes, the coffee cup in his hand already turned slightly cold from his inattention. He’s arrived a little earlier than intended, it seemed, and chose to people watch to waste time. In a town full of who knew what all hanging around it, including beings that the vampire had very little experience with in his lifetime… Well, there wasn’t much telling as to what could be happening or lurking about in the market, eh? 

The thought is an interesting pull for the 122 year old, Plus, it’d be nice to find any last minute gifts, or at the very least ideas for the handful of people he was closest to, since he was going to go through the trouble of celebrating Christmas this year. He’d be lying if he wasn’t at the very least intent in doing so properly for the first time in a number of years.  Funny, how that’s been happening quite often these past few months.

“I love you, ‘cause I love you, cause I can…” Cassidy sang under his breath softly, far more interested in watching the people come and go than the coffee in his hand or his surroundings.

Christmas was, believe it or not, a fucking busy time for churches. People who had no where else to turn came in for the offer of unquestioned warmth, and those who were of the faith attended out of guilt or a sense of shame. Add that onto those that came in on a regular, steady basis... Yeah. December was one hell of a month for churches across the country, and possibly around the world, though Jesse couldn’t speak on that one. He found himself nodding off more than once in his offices, putting the couch he had originally scowled at to good fuckin use.

Shockingly, Jesse himself wasn’t big on celebrating outside of the Church. Tulip and he had laughed at the practice in the past years, and it wasn’t as though Cass celebrated. Jesse wasn’t particularly close with anyone else to have bought anything for them, either, except Winnie. (It was a small gift, more a token of appreciation than anything, and he felt awkward as hell about it.) Yet, here he was at the month long snow-fest, bundled up in Cassidy-levels of ridiculous layers. Large coat, over long sleeved button down, gloves and even a scarf he’d stolen from Cassidy, come to think of it. And make no mistake, he was cursing snow, cold, and the northeast with all his heart internally.

Finding Cassidy was easy; he stood heads above most others, and Jesse could recognize that familiar frame from miles away. Familiar rush of warmth in his chest, seeing his friend, easy as breathing -- what was new, and... strange, was the sudden urge Jesse had to touch Cass. Urge itself wasn’t that out of bounds now, more the manner of it -- unexpected urge to put his arm around Cass’ waist, or to grab his hand, perhaps. Kiss him, even. Perplexing, but ultimately something he can ignore, Jesse goes for a safer route by stealing the cup out of Cass’ hand. Takes a quick sip, face twisting at the already cool liquid, and he craves a hot chocolate or cider something fierce. Finds his gloved hands brushing against the fabric of Cassidy’s coat, and he doesn’t pull himself away.

“I must’ve done somethin’ right. It was also a stupid t’ing t’do.” Remy knows that he would have still gave it a shot though, if he could successfully steal from the king of the thieves guild then tat would have been quite the thing to brag about. “Exactly, I learned from de best.” He says with a grin before blowing some smoke into the air between them.

“Sounds like ya had quite de team den. Ya still do dat still? Or just do de whole preacher t’ing instead? Ya have to be one of the most interestin’ people I’ve met.” Remy makes a mental note to get to know Jesse more, seeing potential in a friendship here.

“Children usually do stupid things, bless their hearts,” Jesse says, not quite agreeing or disagreeing. Brief flash of a moment: Jesse, aged eleven, praying to God to kill his Daddy for sending Tulip away. Praying for his Daddy to go to Hell. God delivered, or perhaps it was the Devil incarnate, using the guise of old Marie L’Angelle. “You able to do smoke rings?” He asks, grinning widely.

Riordan smiles as he takes the shot, intentionally brushing his fingers against Jesse’s. “Ya know I’m not supposed to drink on the job, but for you I’ll risk it.” He says as he raises his glass to the preacher before downing the shot. 

“I do remember you saying that but wasn’t entirely sure you’d keep your word. Though as a man of god I hoped you would.” In his line of work, keeping an eye out for anyone who claimed they’d return would leave Riordan on a constant goose chase, but of course Jesse was special. From his first meeting with the man he knew he’d be through again, but he didn’t think it would really be to see him dance. 

“Oh honey, wouldn’t you like to know.” Jesse’s question added fuel to a fire that had been smouldering since the moment the Irishman spotted Jesse in the crowd. “Make an official request and I’d be willing to show you.” 

“Really now? Someone should tell Cass that,” Jesse drawls, despite that the vamp isn’t even here to hear him. Takes his shot as well, though he takes a moment to... appreciate how Riordan swallows it down, tracing that smooth collum of throat with his eyes. There’s barely disguised want in his gaze, and Jesse isn’t doing much to obfuscate it further.

Affecting a solemn look, he nods along, leaning a bit closer. As if sharing a big secret. “As a man of God, if I don’t keep my word, they legally kick me out of the preacher club.” Lets his hand slip out, reaching, touches the inside of Riordan’s wrist with two fingers. Dragging them down thin, delicate skin, feeling the pulse beneath, nearly lost in the beat of the music.

it takes her a considerable amount of effort to keep her smile on. she didn’t blame her dad for a second: sometimes, heroes were needed on holidays. she’s never anything but proud of him. it’s not her dad, but thoughts of her mother that got to her right now. still, she kept a stubborn smile on her face for the man in front of her, who surely knew none of this.

“well you did a good job, people seem really happy,” she affirmed, “nice to meet you Jesse, I’m Cassie, and seriously, this is the best,” she only proves her point by shoveling some food into her mouth shamelessly, “how’s Paragon treating you so far?”

Well, she’s certainly enjoying the food, and that’s what Jesse cares about here. Gives a quick glance around the room, taking in the happy faces, people eating away quietly; he inflates like a hot balloon, seeing all the good today has done. “Better than I expected, since what happened with the last preacher,” he answers honestly, neutrally. “So far so good. You attend classes at the college?”

John hadn’t expected to run in to the new preacher, much less anyone else, and part of it irked him on some level. At least this one didn’t lead with the usual boring, humdrum of some well-intentioned priests in his lifetime — though it could be the time of night doing that. Can’t save John’s sorry, ratty excuse for a soul; it’s been forty-odd years too late for that. If there was any hope for John to escape going straight to Hell after Newcastle, the First of the Fallen’s claim on the Scouser by Right of Insult would make it exceedingly difficult for anyone, or any thing, to accomplish.

Then again, John’s not the kind of person to hang his fate on anyone but himself, for better or for worse. Mostly for the worse, but the point still stands. It would do him some measure of good, however, if he managed to get a preacher in his back pocket. John’s sorely lacking in that department. Easy access to holy water and potential help for much bigger issues than the ones he had faced the past month, if he played his cards right. On the other hand, he’s combating constant pain by turning it into a slow burning anger. The fake smile (that John might be projecting) that’s plastered does nothing to assuage it, either, and getting looked over isn’t doing Jesse any favors.

John crosses the room to lift up a lit candle and uses it to light up a fresh cigarette that he pulls from his pack. “Holy water, mate.” He pauses, eyes narrow as John studies the Father from a distance. Something’s off about the preacher, further than evidence of old but just recent enough for John to notice wounds on the stranger’s face. Curiosity and skepticism combine in equal measure linger behind John’s blue eyes, as he continues to study Jesse, looking for anything else out of place.

John returns to where he was previously standing, still outwardly projecting his arrogant persona. The pain became dull background noise as he continues to study Jesse closely. Call it a hunch, but aside from sheer dumb luck or careful manipulation, John’s instincts are a major part of his survival… and one of his worst vices. Can’t leave well enough alone, can you, you bloody old git? 

“Need to replenish me stock from last month.”

Without moving any closer, or being too obvious about what’s happening, Jesse keeps his eyes steady on the man. Observing, watching -- making sure no one has come to bring trouble to his church again. Turns easily, faux casual, as John walks deeper into the church. It’s a more oppulant one than Jesse is used to -- used to a homely, wooden church, a place that was both home and work. Not the beautiful, carefully constructed place St Anselm’s is, marbled floors and stone walls, gold and cloudy white, large cross on the pulpit.

Holy water. Fuck. Jesse meant to bless more, he really did... But he’d been putting it off, procrastinating it. There was some for genuflecting by the doors, but even that was running low. Cursing himself out soundly, and rounded enough to make Satan himself raise a brow, Jesse forced himself to meet this man’s gaze. “Sorry. Been meaning to bless some more, but haven’t had the time. You have a container for it? Can bless some for you now.” He offers, even though he’d rather go home, fall onto the couch next to Cassidy, have a beer.

Can’t let the people here down, though. He needs to be better, however bitterly it tastes in his throat right now.

Remy takes a cigarette out of the pack held out to him. He holds it between his fingers while thinking about it, only lighting it after he’s done speaking. “Dat is why dey always get mad. Not my fault dat I’m better den dem.” He scoffs at that, knowing that a few people want him dead for that. “It’s funny, my dad adopted me when I was a street rat because I tried stealin’ off of him. He took me in, and I realized den dat he was de head of de thieves guild.” 

He puts the cigarette between his lips, taking a long drag of it, and then blows the smoke out into the air. “Oh dat is fun. I did dat once, dey never saw it comin’. Some idiots make it easy to take what dey got.” Remy laughs at the mental image before taking another hit of the cigarette stick.

“Must of impressed him, if that’s the case,” Jesse comments, briefly getting lost in thoughts of his own daddy. Of Marie L’Angelle, being forcibly taken in, taken away from Texas. “If you’re raised by the head of thieves, can’t but expect to be better than some petty yanks,” Jesse snorts, shaking his head before blowing out a stream of smoke.