[ Any noise in this space carries, of course; César's entrance is marked by the opening of the door in the Temple's quiet hours, though Mulcahy waits until he hears the man come a little closer before he gets up from where he's been sat reading.
There's a single small pew--more of a bench, really--in front of an extremely plain Catholic altar, which holds pride of place besides the local Mothers'. It's not much more than a table with a linen cloth, a bare wooden cross with two candles, and a regular chalice and plate made of silver.
Standing up, he meets César's gaze with warmth. ] Ah, Mr. Salazar. Welcome in. I'm Father Mulcahy.
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There's a single small pew--more of a bench, really--in front of an extremely plain Catholic altar, which holds pride of place besides the local Mothers'. It's not much more than a table with a linen cloth, a bare wooden cross with two candles, and a regular chalice and plate made of silver.
Standing up, he meets César's gaze with warmth. ] Ah, Mr. Salazar. Welcome in. I'm Father Mulcahy.