A fine day for mourning;;open casual

[PAZ SOTAMAYOR]

Paz had a very strong love hate relationship with being in someone's will. On one hand, it meant receiving money or land upon their death, on the other hand it meant attending the funeral. That meant mingling with the person's family and friends, being whispered about as the mistress, and putting on a good show of crying. The second one Paz didn't mind, she'd been called worse after all, but the crying was just annoying. It made her eyes puffy for a couple hours after and she looked terrible during. If there was a way to get out of it, Paz would have but dear old Wally gave her nearly eighty thousand dollars when he passed. And what kind of mistress would she have been if she didn't show up to pay her last respects?

The funeral itself wasn't anything special. Paz sat towards the front and dabbed her eyes while Wally's wife side-eyed her angrily. Paz gave a dramatic last good-bye, filled with broken English (the dumb foreigner shtick always worked) and was soon on her way.

Paz left the church and walked another block to a different church. No matter how much she hated funerals, they always brought out the Catholic in her. She had to pray for Wally, but she wanted it to be private. So she stood in front of a church and lit up a cigarette, praying silently with her eyes closed and one hand holding her purse, the other holding her lit fag while she breathed a smokey prayer.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

It was one of those days. Work was a mess of paperwork, seeing as how a raid busted twenty or so high teenagers. What they were doing getting that high at that time of day was beyond Peter, but it was one terrible thing to see. He was positive there wasn’t enough bleach in the world to make the holding cells smell livable after that. It was disheartening, leaving him to wonder if there was any hope for society, the youth of America, or even human kind. As soon as his paperwork was done, he didn’t hesitate to pack up his things and leave. Still, he was too...well, too something to go home.

So he supposed that was how he ended up wandering down town, his feet leading him towards the place he always ended up when he was feeling low in spirit. Because if there was any time to be less on spirit, it was then apparently. He wasn’t all that surprised he’d ended up at the church. His feet knew where it was better than his head. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d wandered there over the years, looking for some place to be, wanting to feel like there was something more in the world than his little problems, and this was the kind of place where people went to for just that reason.

Only, the same thing that happened every time happened. He got as far as reaching for the front door and his hand stopped. His faith had been a shaky thing for a long time. He may believe, but he was pretty sure the house of God had long given up on him. So he let his hand fall, shoving them deep into the pockets of the hoodie he’d tossed on that morning, stepping back to look at the doors. He’d just do what he always did.

So he sat down on the step, figuring this was as close as he was going to get. That was when he noticed the woman. Standing there, smoking, her eyes puffy and red, even from where he was sitting. He felt guilty then. Clearly someone else was feeling worse than he was. Well, maybe helping someone else would help him out, too.

“Are you alright, miss?” he asked, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.

[PAZ SOTAMAYOR]

Paz finished her prayer and crossed herself, asking for the Virgin Mary's guidance and protection. She pulled another drag from her cigarette and turned her head lazily to look at the man who had just asked her “Are you alright, miss?”. Paz looked him over, gauging by his clothes and haircut that he wasn't anyone worth a major investment of time for the sake of a job.

He'd just be an investment of time for the sake of being human.

"The married man I was sleeping with passed away and left me the majority of his money and estate," Paz answered bluntly, flicking her cigarette onto the ground and snubbing it with the point of her probably too expensive pump. "He was a good, kind man. I miss him." The lie was easy on her lips, even she believed it for a split second. She crossed her arms and shrugged a little. "I'll be fine, tesoro." Paz smiled a little and gave a slight nod of her head.

The expression on his face though, the slight wear at the corners of his eyes and mouth, told Paz that maybe he wasn't doing so hot either. It wasn't hard to see that he was tired. "What about you?" Paz didn't want to come across as rude, even though she didn't have much of a reason to care about a total stranger. At least he was cute to look at while he talked.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"The married man I was sleeping with passed away and left me the majority of his money and estate."

Well, that wasn’t something he heard every day. Most people danced around such questions. It was kind of refreshing, but still sad. As for sleeping around, Peter couldn’t judge. He’d been with his fair share of married men, and the odd married woman. Women were a different breed. Marriage meant more to them than husbands, he’d found. If the man was sleeping with this woman, then It wasn’t on her.

"He was a good, kind man. I miss him. I'll be fine, tesoro."

She smiled and nodded a bit, clearly moving on from something that was either uncomfortable or none of his business. He could understand either of those reasons. Still, Tesoro was a word he didn’t know. He’d have to ask about it.

"What about you?"

Peter shrugged a bit. Well, the least he could do was return the favor.

“I’ve lost my faith in the youth of America,” he replied, thinking that was what it all came down to. “I work with children, so it’s rather disheartening.”

And it was. To think that these kids were the future leaders of America was so disappointing. If he didn’t die in the line of fire, they’d be the ones taking care of him in his retirement. He didn’t figure he’d make it that far, though, so perhaps there was time for them to fix themselves.

“I suppose we still had the same idea – find faith where it’s offered freely,” he mused. “I’m Peter, Peter Aramis.”

He held his hand out in greeting, not knowing if she was a hand shaker, but it was polite all the same.

[PAZ SOTAMAYOR]

“I’ve lost my faith in the youth of America. I work with children, so it’s rather disheartening.”

Paz smiled softly. She had been one of those kids who were always in trouble with authorities, though it wasn't her decision to get that way. It came with the territory of being a prostitute. "Don't give up faith yet. I was one of those kids and here I am. I'm doing pretty well, no?" She gestured to herself, her nice clothes, obviously expensive, her hair that was perfectly combed and styled, her nails that were clean and manicured. True, she had just implied that she earned those things by having a sugar daddy, but that was better than implying how she actually got them. Stealing and embezzling were often frowned upon.

“I suppose we still had the same idea – find faith where it’s offered freely. I’m Peter, Peter Aramis.”

Paz took his hand and gave it a light squeeze rather than a handshake. She debated for all of a moment to give him a name that wasn't her own, but she didn't have a reason to con him. "Paz Sotamayor, it's nice to meet you. I'm a bad Catholic, I only ever go to a church when somebody's died. I have no patience for God, but I like having somewhere I can be sad and not be judged."

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Don't give up faith yet. I was one of those kids and here I am. I'm doing pretty well, no?"

Peter glanced her over, following her hand as she gestured to herself. He had to admit, aside from the fact she was mourning a lover, she looked very put together. Her hair was nice, her clothing was nice, and even her shoes looked nice. That was a sight bit better than a lot of the people he ran into on a daily basis. He supposed she hadn’t made it entirely honestly when he considered that she had told him she’d gotten her pay off through a married man’s death, but he couldn’t say that she wasn’t doing well for herself.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he offered, thinking that there was something for everyone. “I suppose that they can still surprise me.”

He wasn’t so sure his faith was restored, but he could at least consider what she said and come to a conclusion about it all when he was in a better state of mind.

"Paz Sotamayor, it's nice to meet you. I'm a bad Catholic, I only ever go to a church when somebody's died. I have no patience for God, but I like having somewhere I can be sad and not be judged."

He could understand that. Everyone needed somewhere to be where they wouldn’t be judged. Peter knew that better than most, even if Church hadn’t been his place to hide in a while. But she wasn’t a bad Catholic. Bad Catholics were far worse than someone sad looking for a little faith and trying to give a bit to a stranger, too.

“Our priest used to say that bad Catholics were people who came every Sunday out of obligation rather than love,” he offered, thinking about Father Samuels for the first time in forever. “So I wouldn’t say you were a bad Catholic, seeing as how you’re here for something more than just obligation.”

Peter offered her a small smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Paz,” he finally remembered his manners. “Do you plan to go inside?”

He wasn’t so sure he would manage to get that far, but he thought that it would be good conversation.