Michael
Easing himself into the low seated pews was never an easy task, one of the many reasons the ranch worker often avoided tending service - or at least, a reason to give if ever asked. He hated the echoing corridors like a tomb, bellowing symphony just high enough to emulate a gut-wrenching feeling from the man and a priest singling out lambs from the herd like a shepherd. A dry, wrinkled hand rested his cane upon the wooden seats as Ellis finally rested with bated breath. He could hear his mutts outside, Ellis's throat numb from the chew tobacco on his gums as glassy eyes stared up at stained glass murals. 

With the sweet herb in his mouth, he couldn't smell the waxed hickory nor a dustbunny from the floor - it almost made the farmer spit out some of the grit in hopes of unclogging the deep aroma. Bless his Mother, she'd throw a fit if she were there, _Chewing that ick in the face of God? Ellis, I raised you better than that._ And to that he would say it wasn't all that wrong, he planned to share it with the Lord, honest! 

He was such a snot-nosed kid back then, dark curly hair and wicked, crooked teeth filled with candy rot. The phantom pain in Ellis's leg shot down to his ankle at the memory, tensing sharp as a needle as he gripped the backrest infront of him. In the corner of his unblinded eye laid a book — The Book — and, in that moment, he wished he'd gone fully blind so that those golden letters wouldn't burn into his retina. 

He spit then, black ooze leaked through the crevices of wooden flooring. Despite his hopes, the world still smelled of tobacco and reminiscence.
Andy
Mitica had only explored a small portion of the town he now found himself in. In fact, he rarely left the outskirts where his niece resided, but through the subtle encouragement of other townsfolk he decided to take the leap and make a visit to the town's heart. Well, one of its hearts, that being their church. 

As Mita meandered towards the towering sanctuary he couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. It intimidated him simply due to its size and foreign nature. He was never a churchgoer, some could even call him a heretic, and to enter one now made his skin crawl. In the end he just hoped not to be singled out in any way, maybe even be completely alone and left to mentally take notes on its structure. 

Heretic or not he couldn't ignore its beauty nor could he feel like he was in a way protected the moment he stepped foot into the church. Readjusting a pair of large spectacles he froze in the aisle between benches. His head moved to the left and then to the right, scanning for anything of note with failing sight.

There it was, up towards the front was something of note, a figure. Mita just stood there for a moment, stroking his graying brown beard while he watched them spit onto the ground, waiting for stillness to fall back into the air. This was certainly unexpected but not entirely unpleasant. In fact, some friendly conversation could do him good given that he's hardly interacted with anyone else besides his niece.

With silence and stillness came movement, Mita cautiously beginning the jaunt onward and towards the stranger.

The closer he got the more details could be made out such as his graying hair or the wrinkles upon his skin. As he walked towards the man Mitica took a deep breath in, readying himself for anything in between a sermon or sour discourse.

"Ah, I didn't expect anyone else to be here." He began once he got within a few feet distance, mindlessly fidgeting with his long dark hair to give any one of his eight fingers something to do. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything, by the way." Mita continued, his eyes wandering down towards the dark liquid that was now soaked into parts of the wood flooring, it's intense smell permeating the air alongside the stranger. Tobacco chew, nothing too surprising or concerning even if it was never his forte.
Michael
A set of footsteps approached, the blind man tilted his head to the thumping noise against groaning wood. They sounded unsure, gum boots unsteady as they approached from behind. Instinctually, Ellis turned his body to greet the incoming man, peering his functioning eye past dawn's golden glare to see a dark beard and round eyes.

 He was old but, no older than the farmhand - oh, he had a tussled mane much like that in his 20s - wrinkles still young. 

The wooly-haired man greeted skittishly, to which Ellis waved a loose hand toward the empty room, "Ain't a bother to me, only got the Holy Ghost to apologize to." Past the dark root juice, he gave a gargled chuckle at his own joke before standing from the pews. A hand held Ellis up as he reached for his cane, combing bruised fingers through his graying scalp with an opposite hand before spitting again. This time, he had the 'decency' to turn the heel of his boot into the stain, scraping it from wood. 

"You come to pray? I didn't think serve started so late in tha' day," His accent slurred his words, packing the root to the bottom of his cheek so he could speak more efficiently to the church guest. "Then again, this place seems to always stay open, come hell or high water."

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