Who: Juliet & Eddie What: Ancient history When: Recent! Where: The church
She was a sinner and a terrible one, because she didn't give a goddamn. Juliet didn't believe in churches or prayers or in the good of others. She'd fished around in the sea of humanity and found too much dross and shit to think prayer would give her a line to anything good. She hadn't come near a church in years - sanctified ground, and Juliet James? There's a punch-line to that. But she came now. Answers were threatening on the horizon to questions that had been stamped down, smothered like the grass under the snow. She wore boots, laced over thick socks and she blew clouds of steamed breath and smoke over the thick puff of a black scarf knotted around her throat. It was the concession to the weather; leather jacket with shoulders made for cities instead of quiet church-yards.
Answers. God, she hadn't even thought of the fucking questions in years and she was uncomfortable now, sober-stale breath and cigarettes in cold-shaky fingers and defiant-red painted mouth in narrow face. Repose was forgotten, new layered over the old like a palimpsest, with the barest traces like hollows or shadows instead of memories. She didn't know if her mother or father had been church-going, God-fearing folk. Or if they'd prayed to the devil.
She sucked an ashed breath, ignored the desire to circle back via booze and waited, boots scuffed on snow for Eddie.