They had decided to meet here, the both of them, a unified decision. Most people in Farcry would not want to meet at a place like this, since this mentality is well lost on the cities residents. The choice of a church would give them privacy, only a few priests drifted around bored and antsy. They would meet only for a few minutes to discuss their lead, to celebrate how they have found a way to lure him out.
The cathedral strangely was not located on the outskirts of the city where most citizens would prefer it. Not that all the citizens of Farcry were so called heathens, it was simply that they did not need some moral symbol illuminating all their discretions. The cathedral was actually closer to the Scrapers’ nearly in their center of the city. If anyone in Farcry bothered to learn this story of the city, they would know some really resilent missionaries founded their city, but that simple piece of irony was as buried by Farcry as this cathedral.
The Scrapers’ surrounding the cathedral make it look like quite the homely little place. They are black metal of course like everything else in Farcy. They are jagged, abrupt, with archs holding everything up randomnly. The church is rather typical, gothic architecture, with two high towers and a smaller building sitting in-between. There is a large stained glass window marked with designs of green and blue which surround a praying Virgin Mary. Below that sits the cathedral doors rusted and rain worn. There is no driveway to it, no road, only a back alley covered in trash cans and dumpsters leading to it.
The rain is falling consistently, they enjoy the rain, they hunt everywhere but no place where it always rains. There are not many people inside the cathedral. Inside there are old wood benches that are dark and filled with knots. They are covered in old red cloth, barely touched and still looking new. There is stone everywhere, with only a few lonely portraits and candles dotting orange. The old man with no hair will not pay attention to them, the brothers were smart to meet at place like this, any onlooker who knew them, would admire them.
You could easily tell that the two of them were brothers. They had a similiar physique and presence, only one was taller then the other. Both men were pale, with long hair and beads. Obviously one enjoyed imitating the other or vice versa. Typically they do not sit down when meeting, that posture would be a symbol of weakness in their employment. They are family however and all to familiar with one anothers weaknesses.
They sit at a pair of old chairs with red padding usually reserved for the attending clergy. They take ownership of them, knowing that they are hunters, and very few of the holy men speak English. You have already have been introduced to the older brother Attila, the younger is in question. His name is Boldt, and he is the stereotype of any young brother, in that he just like Attila, only arrogant.
“What’de ya call this place again, I can’t remember,” Boldt barks, it echoes to the rafters.
There is some silence crawling out of the wall as the sound dies, like the cathedral itself was upset over this eruption.
“The Cathedral of St. Celestine,” Attila answers quietly.
“Who was that? Some old fool,” Boldt replies.
“A saintly old fool to be specific,” Attila replies.
One of the Fathers look at him as he says that, more quiet air and trembling candles.
“Don’t look at us old man, you see the beads, I’ll slit you in two,” Boldt screams well laughing.
“That wasn’t necessary, we are being disrepectful enough,” Attila barks.
Boldt stands up and paces in front of Attila.
“We arn’t in a respectful career Attila, so stop acting like you have this aura of dignity,” Boldt barks.
Attila stands up and towers over Boldt slighty, he just smiles.
“What is the lead you have found little brother?” he barks.
“So you’re about business then,” Boldt laughes.
“Who is what kind of lead do you have?” Attila asks again.
“You shoud really relax we have plenty of help on this one, don’t be so serious, this is fun,” Boldt replies.
More silence, more candles on the edges moving.
“Besides you know the lead, she is an old haunt of yours, or the only old haunt of yours,” Boldt says.
More candles shaking along with old music rising in the dust. Someone praying, someone praying. Attila already knows who Boldt is speaking of.