Right or wrong, Wrench has pretty much made up his mind that Peter is, in fact, a little shit. The kind of little shit who would definitely paint a pentagram on the side of a cathedral just to watch the old ladies clutch their pearls. For a fleeting moment he feels absolutely convinced that it's not far off from how Grady might've turned out, had fate not intervened for the both of them. Once the thought has occurred to him, he can't help but smirk at it.
Fair enough.
He wishes he had such a tidy explanation for his own beliefs, but the idea of putting something like that into words in any language feels awfully elusive. Wrench isn't sure what faith has ever gotten him. He's toyed around with it a bit, in moments of utter despair, but the idea that there's something more out there waiting for him has never felt particularly comforting. Ultimately, he shrugs.
There are people who were brought here that call themselves gods and archangels and seem to really think they are. I don't think I know enough to believe much of anything. There's enough happening in front of my face I don't need to think that far ahead anyway.
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Fair enough.
He wishes he had such a tidy explanation for his own beliefs, but the idea of putting something like that into words in any language feels awfully elusive. Wrench isn't sure what faith has ever gotten him. He's toyed around with it a bit, in moments of utter despair, but the idea that there's something more out there waiting for him has never felt particularly comforting. Ultimately, he shrugs.
There are people who were brought here that call themselves gods and archangels and seem to really think they are. I don't think I know enough to believe much of anything. There's enough happening in front of my face I don't need to think that far ahead anyway.