The man was bothering Bryte again. Something about the way he was looking at them. It stirred something, but Bryte could not place it and this was not the time to attempt to put words to it. Beyond the odd feeling, the man simply rubbed Bryte the wrong way. He disliked him, his drinking at lunch, his words, the set of his mouth. It was largely irrational, but the priest was good at filing away little details and rather enjoyed harboring pet grudges. Today would not be soon forgotten.
Something about the question, or maybe the way it was asked, caused Bryte to shift in his seat. The butt of his hand gun rubbed against his lower back where it was concealed, a familiar and comforting thing. Concealed carry was not legal in this state, but things could be done. Between the title of being a church, a plea of fear over the death of his father and a little money to lubricate the process, Bryte was able to carry a weapon with him most anywhere. He was a good, sure shot and comfortable with the weight of the metal in his hands, there was little question what he would do should he face real violence.
"Perhaps we should discuss the homeless in the park or end this conversation," he put in, a sharp edge to his voice. Lunches with Andrei were always enjoyable, or they had been until the third party inserted himself. Bryte was ready to be done with this or for things to move back to move away from a confrontational tone. "If you wish to learn more about our beliefs, you are welcome to attend one of our church gatherings."