WHO: Izabelle Matthews & Joshua King WHAT: First Meeting, and a broken nose lol WHEN: October 01 | 10:35 a.m WHERE: Church of Christ | Izabelle's Motel Room WARNINGS: No clue, will be added as they come but I'm sure they're both respectful in a church of all places. There's a curse word! There's many curse words! STATUS: Closed
It was the second day of being in Cold Creek. The first day his mother and him decided to relax at the park, and have a picnic, then they went back to the motel and watched movies. She managed not to drink, thank God, at least then. He could tell her jitters were slowly withering away on that first day, but now the second day had come and he woke up to a note telling him she was going to the bar down the street just to take the edge off. Dixie Heart Pub? Or something like that.
Normally he would have went after her, but he figured she just needed a moment to herself and he had faith that he wouldn't come back to the hotel and find her blitzed all to hell. That she'd just find herself some people to talk to and open up a bit.
It was a little disheartening that she wouldn't be coming to the church with him, as soon as he seen it on the way in, with it's beautifully designed stain glass windows and how massive it was, he knew he had to take a look inside. He was both an artist and a carpenter (though he knew he was a much better carpenter), and he his heart took to all forms of art, even in churches.
He wasn't exactly the most religious person, but he did believe Christ walked the earth thousands of years ago to deliver a message about a kingdom truth and anyone putting faith in that promise and him would find everlasting life. ' Did he personally believe it was for him if he dedicated his life enough? Well, he wasn't the type to believe in the philosophy 'Fuck it, I'm young.' but he also didn't see himself in his twenties or even early thirties settling down with god and dedicating himself to him. At least not yet, at least not until his heart was truly in it. He sat on a bench in the middle, staring up the murals on the ceiling.
Cherubs and angels, even a depictation of Christ and God. Everything was pure white here, he supposed that represented holiness, and it was bright, maybe too bright. He bet the place was filled every Sunday to the brim and the townspeople hooted and hollered in agreement at the sermons.
He smiled to himself, looking around at a few people sitting in other places. Some with their heads bowed, one was sleeping and a couple were talking. He wondered if they felt some semblance of peace here? He felt it himself.