Re: The Believer/The Scientist
Father MacKenzie was rather wrapped up in his reading and note-taking, trying to prepare for weeks of sermons that would be needed once he returned to his congregation after this particular trip. Young enough to not yet need the aid of reading glasses, it didn't stop him from hunching over the table to bring his nose closer to the page, spine curved with the combination of intense focus and a weighty presence of the world. The focus, in fact, was perhaps a bit too intense. Surely, the book didn't hold all the secrets of the world, or even a few of them. There was no reason, with a satisfying dinner still recent on his lips, for him to not enjoy a bit of relaxation as they waited for the train to proceed on its way.
Another page turned, the paper barely an onion skin in thickness, words nearly visible from both sides, but still he made notes, crowding smudged graphite chicken-scratch in between the printed letters. Letters which, it should cause no surprise, arranged themselves to form chapter and verse of dogma and faith.
When he reaches up to rub distractedly at one temple, a shadow of graphite transfers itself to his forehead as a pewter bruise of the academic. He doesn't notice it, not at all, so it's something else that makes him frown down at the Bible on his table. Something else that makes him sigh.