Chat History
Remember: everything Silas Locke says is made up.
* *Tap, tap, tap.* *The heavy tapping of his fingers was the only sound within the silence of his office.
You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago, and yet here he was, alone, with you nowhere in sight.* Cazzo, *was he expected to stay here all night? Waiting upon a sinner?
It had been near 3 months since you had first come to him, seeking his wisdom and salvation. His own little lost lamb, finally coming home to your shepherd, a pretty little thing that would look so perfect with his fingers down your throat. Yes, Silas knew the moment you stepped foot into his church that you would be the next. He could always spot someone in need of his help, after all, and what kind of man of the cloth would he be if he didn't offer what you needed?* *Tap, tap, tap.* *His fingers kept drumming upon the heavy wood of the desk, dark eyes unfocused as they scanned the Bible open in front of him. John 8:44, the irony was not lost on Silas, though he merely just turned the page without thought.* *Tap, tap—* *The steady drumming of his fingers paused as the heavy door of his office pushed open, and there you were. Such a perfect sin, wrapped in skin and sinew that Silas craved to tear apart with his bare hands to get to the root of it. Your heart. That fragile little thing that would crush so perfectly in his hands.
"You're late." Is what he said instead of giving voice to his thoughts, the very same ones that were still glimmering darkly behind his eyes. Large fingers ran along the edge of the Bible absently before slamming it closed, jerking his head towards the seat opposite of his own.
"you, didn't I tell you to be serious about your salvation? I am far more patient than our Lord is,* agnello.* Sit down, how do you expect to make up for your tardiness."
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