Of little faith

Father Francis Raynier. 39 years old. St. Mary's Church, Ashkent Creek, Maine. American's premiere Priest turned Vampire Hunter and a hell of a chef.

[francisraynier]

declancleary

[pm] They’re going to release me soon. But, how are you? What’s happened lately? The last thing I knew–well, someone broke that spell, I suppose.

[pm] I’m glad you’ll be home. 

Yes, the spell was broken. I don’t think anything major has happened since with the town. However... I was fired this morning.

[francisraynier]

[pm] Thank you for the gift.

[pm] You’re welcome. I hope you’re feeling better.

[francisraynier]

[pm] Thank you for the gift. I'm looking forward to making all of these literary cocktails. Maybe all at once, you never know.

[pm] You’re welcome. I might need to join you. 

[francisraynier]

Goodbye To Tomorrow || Solo

He couldn't remember the last time he had worried so much about his haircut or the neatness of his tie, but this morning, Francis spent what felt like hours fussing over himself in front of the mirror, making sure his jawline showed no hint of unkempt stubble and that his eyes looked alert and rested. When he looked at Penelope though, he knew she'd be able to see the sadness and worry there. Her encouraging kiss goodbye and a light squeeze of his shoulder accompanied her whispered 'it'll be fine' and he did his best to tell himself that Bishop Huxley wouldn't look at his eyes so closely. He didn't read the stories in them.

He hadn't spent much time in the church recently. Being suspended pending an investigation did that to a person. Even today, he didn't spend any time in the main hall. It was all very official. He gave Father Ortiz a good morning smile as he caught his eye but continued into the back office. Was it his imagination, or had Ortiz had a difficult time looking him in the eye?

"Thank you for coming," his judge and executioner greeted, and Francis gave his best polite, warm smile as he took a seat opposite him.

"You're most welcome. I've missed far too much time at work. Anything I can do to return, I'll do gladly."

The temperature in the room was chilled, and not because of the winter months. Huxley furrowed his brow, taking a deep sigh before he spoke again.

"That's part of what we have to talk to you about, Francis. You aren't going back."

His heart sank and his grip tightened on the arms of his chair. He should have expected this. He had expected this, but it still felt like a blow.

"What? May I ask for how long?"

The answer wasn't anything close to what he was looking for or what he wanted.

"Permanently. Indefinitely. Look, I'm sure you understand..." Huxley shifted in his seat, adjusting his collar and expelling a heavy breath. It was as though his body language was trying to say 'if it's any consolation, I'm sorry.' But he wasn't sorry enough. "We can all have our own personal beliefs and lives but we can't be seen to support the things the church doesn't support. Does that make any sense?"

Francis swallowed, nodding. He wasn't going to let this drop. He wasn't going to let them just get rid of him without so much as an explanation. No. He was going to make them say it.

"Such as?"

"Francis, you're a nice guy, but we've been investigating you for a while, ever since the incident at Thanksgiving. You knew what would happen."

Of course he had. He'd been worrying about it every day since. He'd been trapped, locked out of the place he had once been most comfortable, out of his home.

"With all due respect, you still haven't told me what I'm being fired for."

"Supporting sexual indecency. Attacking someone on Thanksgiving--"

Now he said it.

"I explained that. I was unwell. I had an--"

"Outburst. Yes. But that doesn't change things. You've done great things for the church, but recently... Francis, Father Ortiz thinks very highly of you, but even he confided that you seem hungover and exhausted most days, that people have said they saw you at bars for homosexuals, and we can't overlook the fact that several thousands of dollars in donations were stolen under your watch."

So that was why he hadn't been able to look him in the eye. Oh, you poor man, Francis thought. He wasn't even angry, or disappointed, or upset. Not at Ortiz. He'd been doing what he thought was right. If Francis were in that situation, he probably would have done the same thing. Priesthood was a position of trust and authority. It wasn't something to be taken lightly or misused.

"The money was returned..." was all Francis could manage to say. He didn't have an argument for anything else, and the Church had already made up its mind.

"Yes." He paused, giving a sympathetic nod. "I'm sorry, my boy. I do believe you are a good man."

"Just not a good priest, perhaps," Francis answered, deflated. He managed a sad smile as he nodded in return. "What happens now?"

"I'll be letting you step down. Get some help. Stay out of the bars. And the bar fights."

Ana.

"So you heard about that?"

"Small town. Word gets around. You wouldn't be the first to have problems with alcoholism."

But I don't, Francis wanted to insist. I'm not an alcoholic and I'm not gay, and if I were, it wouldn't matter. But he said nothing. He merely nodded, accepting his fate. "Help. Yeah. Should I... collect my things?"

"Father Ortiz has already taken the time to box up your office for you."

How kind of him.

"Right," Francis nodded, hapless and distracted. It was as though he was looking at his life through a blurred lense. He couldn't believe this was happening. "I suppose this is goodbye."

"Look after yourself, Francis. The church can still help you. Just not--"

"With me as a part of it. Yeah. I know." He rose from his seat, shaking the man's hand. He didn't thank him. He couldn't. "I suppose this gives more meaning than I was expecting to 'new year, new you.'" His joke didn't seem to land well. Francis hadn't even been able to smile as he said it. "Goodbye."

He needed to get out of here. He needed to go home. It wasn't far to walk. It had once seemed like a good idea, living in the shadow of the church. It meant people could find him easily if they needed help. Now, he couldn't look out of his living room window without thinking of everything he'd lost. Francis pulled off his tie and kicked off his shoes as he walked through the front door. For the first time in years, he was truly lost.

[francisraynier]

Tough Love || Ana & Francis (chatzy)

Ana truthfully wanted to hear more about this attack. The idea of Francis almost mauling a group of people on Thanksgiving was about as exciting as Pen taking a chunk out of Marley. It was as if her world, her previous horrors, had come to life within her closest friends. Francis, albeit, had taken her in much more graciously and accepting. Pen’s agony throughout that whole debacle had been insanely delicious to digest—even worth all the hours of hugs and consoling she was forced to put in to soothe her. Ana looked across from the man at the bar, the closest friend she’d made since coming to Ashkent Creek. Something was different in this light. It was almost funny how ripping a soul out of a person made everyone look less squeaky clean on the outside. Their true person was just a little more clearly visible. Ana cleared her throat, smiling warmly, “I feel like every time I see you, we always something like ‘we don’t do this often enough’.” Ana shrugged. “Yet it’s still true pretty much every time.”

Francis gave a sad smile as he greeted Ana. She was right. They didn't spend anywhere near as much time together any more. She'd once lived right on top of him, first at the church and then at his home. Becoming a vampire had changed all that. He hadn't wanted it to, but it had. At first, she'd kept her distance because she was afraid she'd hurt him. Then it had just become habit. "Here I am," he said softly, wrapping her in a close but gentle hug. He practically sighted into her shoulder as he patted her hair. "It's nice, feeling like myself again. But I still feel like I'm recovering."

Ana hugged him tightly in return, holding him at arm’s length once they broke apart, a comforting hand on his cheek. “I know. It’s traumatic. I would never expect you to have completely gotten over it yet,” she returned his sad smile with her own. Her mind flicked to the week’s prior. Both Penelope and Francis had been miserable, hollowed versions of their usual selves. “Probably never want to go near another blood sausage again in your life though, huh?”

"I feel sick just thinking about it," he answered, doing his best to find his humor. "A Bloody Mary, or something with equal alcohol content, however..." ​Francis​ managed a smile, taking a seat next to hers at the bar. He wasn't a heavy drinker. He never had been. An occasional glass of whine or a small tumbler of whiskey were usually his limit, but this was one of those nights when alcohol was an enthralling idea. And the company wasn't bad either. "So, what have you been up to aside from looking after us?"

Ana nodded, ordering two Bloody Mary’s for the both of them as Francis settled. “Same old stuff,” she smiled, tapping her fingers against the counter of the bar, perking up for a moment. “I started performing again,” a wide smile crossed her lips. One genuine thing she could talk about with little fear of giving herself away. “Over at Dell’s. I mean, it’s nothing huge but—it’s something. You know? You and Pen couldn’t make it last week but—maybe you can stop by soon? I’m hitting the stage again on New Year’s Eve.”

It was hard to keep from smiling now that he was around Ana again. She made things so much lighter. It was a gift of hers, to touch everyone's life she entered for the better. It was a gift ​Francis​ would never cease to be grateful for. "I was only making a pun about the Bloody Mary," he chuckled, "but thank you all the same." He'd take anything with an alcohol content at this point. "New Year's Eve. Hm. I don't believe I have any plans." The church was very busy around Christmas, but afterwards, things tended to settle down again. "I'm sure Penny would love to."

Ana grinned, grabbing his hands excitedly. “Good! You should tell some of the people from the church to come too, you know?” A perfectly measured drop in her smile followed. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen any of them. Kinda hard nowadays, you know?” She paused, taking her drink as it came, asking for two shots before the bartender could leave. “Just one shot, I promise. It probably won’t even make a dent but honestly - how often do I get to go drinking with you? Like, ever?”

"I drink plenty. It's just usually at home." He fought the small grin that tugged at the corners of his lips, but lost. "I'll put the word out, but alcohol and rock and roll aren't typically thought of as wholesome and Catholic." ​Francis​ was grinning properly now, the playful sparkle finding its way back into his eyes. He hadn't realized until now just how much he'd missed her. She always brightened whatever darkness was going on around her. "One shot," he agreed.

Ana beamed, tipping her glass to Francis', the irony of the moment not lost on her. A vampire drinking with a priest. The church would have a field day with this one. "To us. To this. And of course, to my favorite priest in the entire world." She declared, maybe a little louder than she intended to. A head or two turned in their direction and Ana winced apologetically. "Crap. Sorry." Their glasses clanked together before she tossed hers back like water. Already wondering how she could convince him to go for a second. Maybe even a third. He was a tall guy, muscular. No doubt he could hold his liquor pretty well. Her eyes scanned over him appreciatively, only for a moment. It was a shame he was so hopelessly devoted to Penelope. Tilting her head slightly, she smiled sweetly before it melted into a more somber nod. "So. Thanksgiving," she eased into the conversation. "Tell me about it."

Francis fought the urge to wince at the eyes on him. He felt them almost the moment the word left Ana's mouth. He had frequented more bars than he probably should have in the last couple of months. Many priests had the occasional beer or glass of wine, but indulging wasn't something that was typically approved of. Still, he downed the drink, attempting to shut away the part of him that was so afraid of what other people thought. "Thanksgiving... is... typically a holiday that people celebrate being thankful. And doing bad things to indigenous people." He took another swig of the drink. "And it was the morning I woke up as a human vampire hybrid and tried to eat a stranger because he cut his finger on a splinter."

Ana ’s eyes widened, her head giving a low shake. “Jesus,” she muttered, quickly following up. “Francis… it was an accident. I know how awful it feels but you just ​didn’t​ have control. This was forced on you.” Her hand reached over, squeezing his gently. “Please don’t blame yourself. That wasn’t you. That’s not the man I know and I know you know that too.”

Francis didn't even bother to shake his head at her exclamation. On the list of things wrong with this picture, her taking the Lord's name in vein was the least of them. "I... I know that." Another drink. He needed an ice cold beer after this. Maybe with some lime. Something refreshing. "But it all looks just the same in everyone else's eyes, doesn't it?"

“That might be true,” she nodded. “But you have to live with yourself too.” She remembered those eyes — Penelope’s cold, hard ones the first time she faced her after biting Francis. The same ones she met after nearly biting down on Tod. The whole incident was a swift kick of justice in Penelope’s direction, as far as she was concerned. A taste of the vampire slayers’ own medicine. Fate worked in funny ways. “And… the stranger? They were okay?”

Francis rubbed his temple, resting his elbow haphazardly on the bar. "They were fine. A bit annoyed at first. Understandably. But I don't think I'm on their Christmas card list." He finished his drink, nodding to the bartender and offering a twenty dollar bill. "Can I have a beer, please? And whatever Ana is having as well."

Another drink? ​Ana​ quirked an eyebrow but said nothing, pleased she didn’t have to do much coercion to get another glass down his throat. Guilt was doing the job for her. The more he drank, the less mopey he would be. Hopefully. She realized she had no idea what kind of drunk the priest was - for more than obvious reasons. She motioned for a beer, her eyes watching him curiously. “What’s going on inside your head then?” She tilted her own slightly, trying to subtly read his features. “How do you feel? After all that. ​Really​.”

'What's going on inside your head?' Now there was a question with a thousand potential answers. He'd had them all out with Penelope. The prospect of repeating himself was tiresome, but Ana deserved to know, especially since she was a large part of why ​Francis​ felt this way to begin with. "I... Have been and felt like a monster. I struggled with the thirst. I fought it. I didn't always win. I don't know what to do about hunting any more. It doesn't feel right."

“You’re not—“ Ana started when a voice behind her cut through the noise directly behind her. ​That’s that priest, right? From St. Mary’s?​ Another voice answered, clearly drunk. ​That fag? Yeah. Wait, is he doing​ drinking? ​Isn’t that against some rule or some shit?​ They didn’t need Ana’s super hearing to hear that conversation. “Do you have a problem?” The words flew out of her as she turned around, eyeing the two men at the counter beside them. Of course now they clammed up—one of them, at least. The less drunk one tried to bury himself in his glass, shaking his head. The other one bellowed out a loud laugh. “Your friend’s a giant fucking hypocrite, lady. That’s my problem.” His eyes were directly on Francis as he took a large sip of his beer.

Francis opened his mouth to tell Ana that maybe they should find another bar, or perhaps go home to drink there, but she'd answered with her own outburst before the words had even formed in his throat. "It's fine. It's not worth it." He didn't understand why people assumed priests couldn't drink. Some of the best alcohol in the world was made by monks. It wasn't an argument he was going to bother to engage in tonight though.

“It’s not ​okay​,” Ana shot back to Francis, gesturing to the man behind her, “This guy’s a drunk pig and you shouldn’t have to stand for it.” Another laugh ripped out from the man, shuffling out from his barstool as he took to stand. His friend was grabbing him by the shoulders, gently trying to ease him back to his seat. “Getting a chick to fight your battles for you too? Impressive, man.” Ana rolled her eyes. This was getting stupid and fast. “Alright now, we get it—you’re the big, tough strong manly man. Show’s over.” Apparently, for this guy, it wasn’t. She couldn’t even comprehend whatever slur he just slung at her this time but had found it fhilarious. Another step forward. Ana jumped from her stool, giving him a light nudge backwards. “Hey—back ​off.​”

"I'm not getting anyone to fight anything," ​Francis​ sighed, reaching for Ana's shoulder and encouraging her to back away. "Come on. Let's go home." Home was a lot more welcoming than this place, and it had plenty of alcohol. Ana stood, but not to leave. She moved toward the man who'd been giving them trouble, pushing him in the chest. "​Ana​..."

Ana heard Francis, noting that right about would probably be the time to stop. And she would have. Her arms dropped and she had already taken a half a step back when a bellowing laugh cut through the music in the bar. “Pussy,” he uttered darkly, filled to the brim with beer fuelled machismo. A sick, satisfying crack with her fist smashed his jaw in one blow. In a second, the man was flat on the floor, Ana smirking above him. She hardly had time to digest the satisfaction of the moment before she remembered Francis behind her. Ah, crap. This wouldn’t look good. She immediately covered her hand with her mouth, shaking her head, suddenly ​filled​ with remorse. A crowd was gathering around the man on the floor as she reached behind her. “Francis—I’m sorry. I’m ​so​ sorry. That was ​so​ stupid.” She turned back around, leaning down to help the man herself. “Shit, are you okay? Are you seriously hurt?” His eyes widened in her direction but he couldn’t say a thing as he held his jaw, tears in his eyes. Had she broken it? Now ​that​ would be a story to boast about.

"Alright, you two, out of here, now!" yelled the voice from behind the bar, and ​Francis​ held up his hands, looking from Ana to the man she'd just laid out, whose jaw was at an awful angle and whose lip was already swelling and turning a lovely shade of purple. "We're going, we're going..." Francis answered, reaching for Ana's hand and leading her outside. It was only when they were a few feet down the street that he managed to slow, staring at her in awe, and not the good sort. "What did you do that for?"

Ana looked like she was on the verge of tears, arms crossed and tucked closely to her torso. “He was being such an asshole and he kept ​pushing​, I—I don’t know what happened. I just lost it.” Mostly, she just wanted to see the idiot put in his place. Both of her hands covered her face now, shaking her head, like she too was in disbelief of her own actions. So ashamed. “I’m so sorry.”

Francis nodded. Vampirism. Maybe there were more side effects than he'd thought. The aggression never really did go away, did it? "It's alright," he sighed, although if word got around, it probably wouldn't be. "Come on. Let's just go home."

Ana nodded quietly but said no more. He had forgiven her. Not happily, but he’d done it, just like she figured he would. There a giant, Ana-sized soft spot on his heart no matter what she seemed to do or what mess she had gotten into that week. Probably the only man she knew who’s patience and forgiving rivaled her own. Used to, at least. Her head was down, walking just a few paces behind him like a child that had just been scolded. Holding her hands behind her back, the distant sounds of sirens filled her ears — too far off for Francis to notice but the noise brought a large smile to her face. Ambulance? Probably. She knew it. Broken jaw. Had to be. If not, maybe she’d at least knocked out a few teeth. One could hope. Quickening her steps, her eyes were low to the ground as she filled her hand with his larger one as they moved away from the scene as fast as possible.

[francisraynier]

[Given to Francis on Christmas eve, nestled around a book of ancient ruins. The card reads:

To: Francis

Merry Christmas, my love]

[francisraynier]

[pm] Happy Holidays! I hope you and Pen have a great day! Glad we got everything fixed!

[pm] Thank you, Cole. Happy Holidays to you too.

[francisraynier]

With a card that says:

“Dear Francis,

Merry Christmas!

Thank you for all your support this year, and I hope next year treats you well.

God Bless,

love, Izel.”

[francisraynier]

[Sent to the church. Included with the letter is a detailed sketch of said church.]

[mor-beck-more-problems]

[pm] Alright. Okay.

Come by later and bring your old things over. I’ll take charge of them. We still have to sort out a proper strategy for keeping your position at the church. And I need to get you a new Christmas present now.

I love y

Alright?

[francisraynier]

[pm] It’s going to be strange, giving them away, but I suppose you should have them. I’ll need to make you as much holy water as possible while I still can. 

I’ll be there soon. I love you.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

[pm] You don’t know, but you might wake up one morning and decide

Enough to stay with me? Because its not going to change, Francis. Not for me. I can’t

[francisraynier]

[pm] Darling, yes. Completely.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

[pm] It’s what I am, Francis. I am this thing that you suddenly find so distasteful now. It’s my blood. And I want

And if I could still pass it down someday to a ch

Can you honestly still accept that?

[francisraynier]

[pm] I don’t know that I even think it’s wrong, Penny. I just know it’s wrong for me.

I accept that. I accept you.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

[pm] And the people that do?

[francisraynier]

[pm] That’s your choice.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

[pm] Murder is a Type I ripping into the first warm body they find. It’s what they do to some of their donors at Teeth because they just don’t care or their thirst is just too terrible. It’s what Sylvia did to Ana.

What we do is–we’re trying to minimize the damage. We try to keep people from being killed or turned just because they were in the wrong graveyard or the wrong alleyway. You know how horrible it is, Francis. We both do. Don’t you think it’s right for someone to stop it from spreading as much as they can?

[francisraynier]

[pm] I know what murder is. Type I’s are one thing. They aren’t sentient. But the others...

I don’t know that I can do it any more. Soul or no soul. I don’t want anyone’s life in my hands. I don’t want to be the judge or the executioner any more.

[norapinepaints]

I really love this town. Couldn’t sleep through too much excitement.

[francisraynier]

It’s a very exciting place. I’ll give it that...

[francisraynier]

Will you have a New Year's Kiss?

I’m a priest.

[francisraynier]

The only heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with you