Lincoln ran his fingers along an old wooden pew, his fingerprints slathering his oils onto the aged wood. He wanted to sit, began to sit, but then thought against it, the idea of resting even a moment in the echoing chamber of St. Patrick’s Old Basilica, triggered a sort of warning within him. “Never leave.” He could feel the looming walls, with arches that slink upwards, looming like enlarged spearheads pointing to the heavens, and the stained glass casting the evening sun’s glow, encasing everything in a syrupy amber that made him want to sleep, to rest, to remain and never want to go. Lincoln couldn’t shake it off, the feeling that death, life, work, play, all of it didn’t matter here, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know why.

When Linc got the call to shoot a wedding, Linc would have been excited — bride and groom photos, one of the biggest moments in a couple’s life, camping in on a treasure trove of family and in-law conversations, the raw emotions that momentous commitment draws from even the most stoic of souls — but to have a wedding in one of the oldest churches in NYC? All everyone associated with this place were the Catacombs, a graveyard turned into a tourist attraction because money and marble slabs were stacked on top of it.

Lincoln wanted to stand in peace, admiring the side altars and candles dripping with wax, but he remained restless. The wedding was still tomorrow, but he wanted to get a feel for the space, find good camera angles and survey where he could position himself for the most — and see if he needed a crew. Tourists filled the space with their not-so-hushed voices, and lines for tours began to form. To imagine this area cleared out for a wedding was wild, and though Lincoln hadn’t recognized the names, it felt an unearned privilege to be the one capturing moments for a couple who had the cash to rent out such a historic venue.

He wandered to one of the side altars, the statue of a saint draped in heavy cloth and candles arrayed at their feet, each circle flickering like eyes blinking in the hallowed space. Lincoln felt a stirring within him to take a huge breath and blow each candle out, in an act of defiance towards the grand space. But he kept his breath in, and floated alongside the perimeter. The crowd of tourists nearing the center altar began to pool, and one disparaged couple walked in his general direction, seemingly wanting to talk. In the woman’s hands was a pair of tickets.

“Sir? Would you like to take our spots for the catacombs tour? We have a family emergency to attend to, and would hate for our tickets to go to waste.” She placed her tickets in Lincoln’s hands, but before he could refuse, she clasped her hands around his and said. “Just take them. It’s ok — no pressure. You can give them away to someone else if you want.”

“Oh, um thanks…” Lincoln said, as her husband guided her by the shoulders toward the exit. Her face shaded with the pallor of having received unfortunate news. And now he had two tickets.

The echo from earlier, seeped into Linc’s ears as he shook his head to drown it out. “Never leave.”

Will had never been much of one for history, nor was the man particularly interested in architecture -- at least not on any sort of professional level. In addition, he was far from being any sort of pious follower of religion or student of theology. Therefore, one might think it'd be unusual to find him in a place that held such cultural and spiritually significance. But you didn't need to have some sort of deep, meaningful connection to the whys and whens of somewhere to understand that some places were simply... beautiful. 

It helped as well that when other people respected a place, felt a connection to a place, they tended to move and behave more carefully and calmly... 'Most people, anyway.' Will thought, with an irritated glance towards the least hushed cluster of tourists as he was shaken out of his quiet appreciation of the carefully kept cathedral.

Even with the chatty tourists, in the midst of a city like New York, the cathedral was a remarkable departure from the endless noise and bustle that was a constant, cacophonous background to 'The City The Never Sleeps'. With the sounds of business and traffic muffled and sealed away by walls that had stood for 200 years or more, Will could put up with a handful of gawking tourists yammering back and forth, even if it was well above a stage whisper. 

Still, putting up with it didn't mean he was enjoying the noise, and Will tried to distance himself from the thick of the crowd as best he could, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans as he craned his head back to admire the vaulted ceilings, the impressive, decorative pillars and arches supporting the roof, the way the evening light with it's amber glow scattered into warm rainbows as it shone through the stained glass, turning spots along the floors and pillars into colourful pieces of ephemeral art. The place was old, but cared for in ways that tried to mask that it ever needed repair and maintenance, as though it were magically preserved from the time of it's construction. A careful eye, or a supernatural one, however, could see the tiny inconsistencies and the hard to reach places that showed age and dust -- almost forgotten by time entirely. 

The smells too, of the place were somehow comforting. Gone was stink of street side trash, burning oil and gasoline all it it left outside along with the omnipresent odor of sunbaked asphalt, like stale tar. Instead smelling of oiled wood and melting wax and just enough of people, tourists and staff walking through, that it didn't carry the scent of a place forgotten or neglected. Almost like a library, though the dust smelled just a touch different. Incense and wax and cloth rather than paper and leather. 

It was enough that Will could feel his shoulders relax, some of the tension ebbing from the almost preternaturally anxious man as he stepped slowly through the space, peering about at some of the altars holding candles and their flickering flames. In fact he was distracted enough he almost didn't notice a pair of people, (husband and wife, maybe?) as they made their way suddenly for the exit, seemingly in some amount of distress. With Will and the couple both distracted, Will clipped shoulders with the older man, enough to startle both, but not injure. Hurried, appropriate apologies were spoken back and forth - "Ah, sorry, my bad..." and hands were raised in forgiveness as the couple continued their egress and Will tried to turn his attentions back to the sights around him.

Lincoln held the two ticket stubs in his hand and held them up against the light; disbelief flooded him for a moment, Maybe it was the way the couple left so disturbed, that brought the hairs on his forearm erect and alert. The number of times strangers have come up to him before, to ask him questions or merely to engage in conversation, happened more frequently than he’d like. Today he was dressed in all black; his monochrome color scheme was supposed to keep attention away, yet that already was not the case.  Oftentimes, people assumed he worked at wherever place he attended; the fact he was hanging a large camera around his neck probably contributed to the assumption that he was a tourist instead of one who worked in photography. 

Regardless, LIncoln had a heart to burn the two tickets in one of the candles, but curiosity also tickled the back of his neck. When else would he get a chance to get a free tour of a historic NYC location— people traveled the country for sights like these, and his impulsive schedule as a freelancer made it generally difficult for him to plan any outings for himself.

His only problem now, was the fact that he had two tickets. For him, however, that would not normally be a problem, considering he could make a gaggle of himself if he got really excited. Yet, it felt wrong to be a hoarder of the wealth that fell into his lap. Lincoln scanned the room, Eying a gentleman who seemed to be his own company, engulfed by the space. 

It’s just a ticket, Lincoln. Go, give it away. Nervousness slinked around his neck and Lincoln’s palms began to sweat, at the thought of approaching a random stranger. There were very little stakes at the moment, but at the same time the tickets weighed in his hands like a strange and ancient inheritance, which he blamed the sacral atmosphere for.

”Um hey.” Lincoln walked up to the gentlemen who looked to be around his age. “I’m Linc, and I’m not trying to scam you or anything. A random couple just gave me two tickets to this tour they’re doing for the catacombs… You want the second one? No strings attached.” Lincoln held out the second of the tickets, thinking to himself don’t make this weird, don’t make this weird…

As Linc approached him, Will was a bit less absorbed in his sightseeing than when the couple had pushed by. Enough at least to take a half-step aside as he presumed the other man was moving in the same direction as the pair that had just hurried out. It wasn't until he was being spoken to that he actually started paying attention to the other person. Will turned to find himself roughly eye level with a camera hanging from Linc's neck, as Linc talked about a pair of tickets to the catacombs, getting them from a couple (the ones that just ran out?), and what sounded like an offer to give Will one of the two. 

Will was skeptical by nature. Scratch that, Will was only one step removed from paranoid. (Being able to catch all the things people mutter under their breath doesn't leave you with a very good impression of most people, after all.) However, Will was -also- very much a person earning far too little in a city that cost far too much, and one of the most tantalizing offers had just been laid out. Getting something for free.

Will worked a customer service job, pouring coffee and drinks, so he knew well enough free things happened all the time. Poured a latte with whole milk instead of oat for the lactose intolerance customer? Well, if no one behind the counter wants it, see if any of his favorites were in the shop. Cookies were a little wonky? 2-for-1 deal. 

So maybe he could set aside his pessimism for a bit and take the chance?

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Will took a moment to process the idea, sizing up the significantly taller man who offered him the tickets as well. 

Well, if this was some sort of scam. Which the camera wearing man had insisted that it wasn't, then it was certainly a bizarre one. And Linc certainly wasn't giving Will the vibes of some sort of sly and clever mastermind out to swindle him out of his wallet.

"Oh?" Will replied, an eyebrow raised in emphasis. "I mean, if it's a free ticket, then sure. You positive? Those things have gotta have some kinda price tag on then, no?" In spite of his gentle protest, Will still reached out for the ticket that Linc offered, grasping the stub gingerly in his outstretched finger. Will's words were really more a show of politeness, or formality than any actual attempt at deflecting the offer. Societal expectations of 'oh no I couldn't possibly' and all that.