Luca Petulengro
Location: The church
Tags: No one
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A dull, blue glow shown through the curtains that draped over the single window in what looked like a tiny bedroom. The room looked as though it were once part of an attic, the ceiling slanting down with the roof. It had bare wood walls and floor with a single rug in the middle, and the furniture appeared to be mismatched. It was clear that it was furnished on donations alone.
There weren't many belongings in the tiny room. A few picture frames lined the surface of the dresser, with photos of smiling faces. An old, worn Bible sat on the night stand, multiple tags in it's pages, marking something to come back to. The bed next to it was a piled with blankets, at least five, and appeared to be hiding a body. The only part that stuck out was the wild, dark brown hair.
The blankets stirred a little, and suddenly a head emerged as well. The young man blinked, then rubbed his eyes. He slowly sat up, appearing to wear some festive flannel pajamas. Christmas had just come and past, but the pants and button up shirt with an image of polar bears in little red scarves hadn't been retired yet. As cold as the little room was, the young man would probably hang on to them for a while.
As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he found his brown house shoes and slipped them on. He stood, stretching his back with his arms above his head. The cold air whipped up his shirt, making his quickly pull it back down and wrap his arms over his chest to warm back up. He walked to the window and peaked outside. Freezing drops of rain hit the glass, which already had a fine layer of ice on it. What was a miserable day.
The young man went to his closet to dig out some clothes to wear. He pulled out a pair of grey, wool dress pants, a white button up shirt, a grey pullover sweater, and a black peacoat to top it all off. There was nothing like hiding under a mountain of warm clothes to keep him comfortable. To be honest, he liked the cold days like these. Summer was always miserable for him.
He changed quickly in front of the single space heater in the room. The church was old, built before decent insulation and air conditioning had been invented. It was heated by floor vents, which this room lacked. The chill seeped in through the walls in the winter. Getting it fixed would cost more than the small church had.
Once dressed, the man glanced in the mirror to attempt to comb his hair. It didn't work out so well for him, so he just gave it up. He went to his night stand and opened the top drawer. There was a slip of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. He picked it up and tucked it away into a pocket before heading downstairs.
The tiny bedroom had a narrow staircase that led directly into the sanctuary. The large room was empty, save for the statues. There were two on either side of the pulpit: Jesus and the virgin Mary. Directly behind the pulpit, there was a cross hanging on the wall, a limp Jesus crucified on it. Catholics seemed to prefer the more gruesome imagery. After all, their savior had died a gruesome death, why should they forget?
On the right of the alter, more towards the middle of the room, there was a prayer table. The young priest approached the table and opened the drawer to get a lighter. He lit the two candles on either side and replaced the lighter. Then, the man knelt down and bowed his head. He remained there for a while, praying quietly under his breath. As he prayed, a couple members quietly walked into the chapel, taking themselves into the back where an add-on building housed the homeless ministry. They carried trays of hot food to give out to those who lived there. The two women saw the young priest, but respected his prayer time and did not acknowledge him.
The man didn't even seem to notice. He prayed for longer than usual today, for his mind was taxed by a duty he would have to preform. Once he stood, he took himself out of the chapel and to the church's office to make a phone call before the secretary arrived. He unlocked the door and sat down in the rolling chair by the old computer and phone. The priest picked up the phone and dialed the number on the slip of paper.
"Hello? Yes, I work at St. Benedict Cathedral in Middleborough, Massachusetts. I have reason to believe that my town might be under siege by, um, some creatures that your... business deals with. Could your group possibly come out today?" The man's voice was quiet, with a soft German accent.
"Ok, yes. Thank you." He hung up the phone and leaned back in the chair, sighing and closing his eyes. This was his life now. Here he had thought he'd signed up to help lead the church, not fight...vampires. The word still sounded ridiculous.
"Is my chair more comfortable than your bed, now, Father Luca?" The young man jumped, his eyes opening quickly. An older woman had made it into the office without him hearing. She set her bag down on the desk and smiled warmly at him.
"No, heh," Father Luca stood, letting her have her chair. "I was just making a phone call. Good morning, Mrs. Gloria." It was still odd having people who could easily be his parents or grandparents call him 'father'. But that was just part of it, he guessed.
He chatted with the older woman for a moment before excusing himself to go take care of his morning duties. He had to go check to make sure the homeless ministry was running smoothly and that no one was fighting in the breakfast line. After that, maybe he would get some breakfast for himself.
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