Re: Sunday Service: Mercy/Shiloh
Shiloh might've argued about costumes, or could be he just hadn't worn his for long enough. He'd spent nearly a year as assistant pastor a few towns over, and it hadn't ever settled in his bones that he belonged beneath a steeple. He'd never been a good boy. He'd never feared Jesus or loved God, and he'd built his life on being as irreverent as a boy could be. He'd realized that, here, he'd need to be more believable, since there wouldn't be a full-time pastor to hide behind, and he'd gone looking for something to make his costume regular clothes. He'd found the cross he wore, and he'd been skeptical about the promises the seller at second city made, but Shiloh had always been willing to give something a try, regardless of how risky or unlikely it seemed.
Turned out it worked, and so he was here with fervor really making him believe all these sinners could find their way to Jesus with enough sweating and sinning.
"If you like a show, they certainly put one on," he said of the neighboring Catholic church. "You're not wrong, but I make you work less. No one in here," he said, motioning to the church over his shoulder, "is going to make you do calisthenics and call it the Signs of the Cross." He'd dated a Catholic girl once, and hadn't that angered Mother in all the right ways? But Mercy was winking, and Shiloh chuckled and shook his head slowly, as if Mercy was a delightful problem that required fixing. "I don't think you have the build for a dress, so we better ensure you can find the Lord here, while wearing jeans."
Another smile. "And I best buy myself a car before I stop by, then." He wouldn't. Shiloh sought out all his trouble in the Capital, and having a car that branded him wouldn't be wise.