St. Cecilia Catholic Church
A small entry hall lit by a single chandelier contains a bulletin board for parish news, and a rack containing various church brochures. In the left corner is a barrel marked "City Food Drive".

The church is a generally open and lofty place, several chandeliers hanging from the arched cathedral ceiling. A huge stained glass window above the door washes the pulpit in color. Pews of dark wood have the slightly polished and used look due to the decades of parishioners using them. As well, the kneeling bars look well worn. At the back of each pew are hymnals and the Book of Common Prayer.

The altar is on a dais, carpeted with crimson and surrounded by a small rail. To the right is the lectern, to the left the pulpit. Above the altar is a suspended wooden cross.

"Saint Cecilia," James murmurs it under his breath as he lifts his chin and begins to sit back, removing clasped hands from his lap in order to rest them on each knee. He currently sits in one of the pews and the church itself is relatively sparse of life. The werewolf's not religious or anything, but there he is, sitting back and waiting, having come to this church in particular after a midday service has ended. He checks his watch for a moment in gauging the time and then returns to his waiting, eyes closed for a lingering moment and then back open just so he can focus on nothing in particular beyond the background of the vaulted chamber.

However, for a Los Angeles born Latina woman who has just come back from two very deep undercover years in Mexico? Catholic is breath. As she approaches down the aisle, the woman bows, doing the sign of the cross and kissing the cross she wears. Rising, she is able to slip easily into the pew beside James Young, smiling politely as she does so.

"I admit," she says softly, her hands resting easily in her lap, "…that I anticipated a much harder time finally getting a man to agree to meet me at an alter. And yet here I stand corrected," her voice is soft, playful, but very soft. Almost a whisper. It is a church, after all.

James lifts his head a bit further at the approach and he sniffs at the air, thoughtfully, before relaxing and looking back more focused towards the mighty head of the church. It's a familiar scent compared to all of this church and its religious, sanctified goings-on. He glances sidelong towards the detective and offers a returning smile before sitting up. After checking over his shoulder, he clears his throat. "Just don't let my girlfriend hear that - tear you limb from limb, she would," James comments in reply, "Then throw me off a bridge, and then drop a piano on me, but…" He trails off long enough for a breath and to face the front of the church again. "This is like in those movies, you know? So I figured it'd be a good spot."

Penny smiles, but she doesn't dare laugh - too much noise, and laughing in a church, well. Not her style, to say the least. "In a movie, at least, if you have secrets to share. But all I asked for was a very casual conversation." She looks over the place with a pensive look. "Although for future reference even Churches aren't exactly the safest places. Priests have a way of gaining allies and enemies in a city, so they tend to have ears. I always preferred loud clubs and dancing places for secret meetings - very hard to overhear."

Pleasantries done with, Penny's old wrinkled notebook comes out diligently. "I'm actually doing some re-investigation into the animal attacks. There's been a few more recently and I was just…you know. Asking around to see if there was a crime or if it was something for animal control to handle. I was told that you interviewed some people in connection with previous attacks?"

"That's the difference of fiction and real life," responds the man, with regards to sharing secrets or not and he glances skywards momentarily before looking in her direction, though he still faces forwards easily enough. He's yet to meet a priest without an ear, or without ears, so he goes to speak up in reply but then simply shakes his head. "Don't be such a workaholic. You called, I picked. You've dibs on the next one, I guess," and then he looks down to the notebook and arches an eyebrow questioningly, wrinkling the bridge of his nose. He lifts his shoulders into a simplistic shrug. "Figured it was my job too, yeah, but it was just a handful and nothing beyond what they told the other officers apparently."

Penny smiles a bit. "My past couple of years in the DEA made being anything but a workaholic impossible. I'll ease in time. Maybe I'll even go to a spa or something at some point - those things actually do exist, right?" Again a little joke, she chuckles, but makes a little note in her notebook.

"I wasn't here then, so if you could run me through what they said, I'd appreciate it a lot. I'll probably have to speak to them again, but it'd be silly of me not to talk to you first." Speak to them again, for a simple dog attack?

"Think so," offhandedly answers James, now that the two of them have gone on to something more along the lines of business and work. He leans forward just so he can bring his hands back together and sit more comfortably. He rests his elbows near to his knees and slowly shakes his head. "That was, what, a while back? Should be reports lying around somewhere. It all circulates around a female dog, big, black, and everyone attacked is linked with the Cornetts. Some of the other attacks or witness reports are just wrong or too shifty. Specifically, though, that one sister of the current generation: Chloe Abigail Cornett. She's a librarian."

There is a flutter of lashes, not at the name, but at the mention of her occupation. That's strange. "Oh, I've read them," Penny promises, offhandedly. She scribbles down a bit, in Spanish by the look of it. Or rather, some strange abortion of Spanish and English. And then she's looking back to James. "And what did you make of it all?" She asks, looking at him with an intense beam of professionalism. Here he is, an officer, being asked for his professional opinion.

James knits his eyebrows thoughtfully to the question presented to him and he takes a moment to breathe, a deepened inhale matched by a smaller exhale, and all the while his mind flips through the information he's gathered. He presses his lips together into a thinned smile before opening his mouth to speak up. "Someone has a hard-on for Chloe and wants to fuck her life up for something, and, well, they like using a dog - which," he lowers his accented tones even lower than his conversationally quieted voice, "Is rather fucked up in and of itself, too. I don't know, really, I could never figure out the why to the equation, or the who."

"Well, if she is the primary target - and I say if very strongly - you must have done some research into her life," Penny suggests easily, sitting back. She's writing less, and paying more attention to James. "Ex-lovers, former roommates who didn't appreciate Ramen going missing, things like that. Or at least, someone must have. Do you remember any information about that?"

"Yeah, and considering those kinds of people are the ones being targeted alongside her, with alibis when other people are being attacked, I doubt they're involved." James narrows his gaze at nothing in particular, though it could potentially be the part on his becoming defensive at the thought of somehow being incompetent. It's not as if he's forgotten something that isn't there, and so he speaks up further in order to explain and clarify, "Besides, I'm not the detective in this equation, Penny. Last I checked, that was your job, but, I'll give you the bone of me not having found anything conducive. There's just a factor I don't know about, and aren't paid to find out."

Penny smiles. "I'm not used to being a detective, James. I'm used to being a Special Agent, and yes there is a difference. But I'm asking you because you did the interviews, and you know the town a little bit better than I. You can only get so much from paper." She glances up at the cross on the alter, lost a moment as she bows her head in some quick prayer that crosses her mind. But she's sitting back and looking at James again, whispering still with him. "Do you know if anyone did any digging on the how? I mean I know it sounds crazy, and my own theory is way crazier. But if these attacks aren't random - I mean, is someone training a dog or something? How crazy does that sound?"

James slowly shakes his head, not that he actually knows the difference but that's a tangent in their conversation he would rather not travel down. It sounds messy and full of technical jargon; the difference between Special Agent and Detective. He glances her way once more before sitting back forward. "Thanks for the praise, but I hardly know a thing, really." He lifts his shoulders into a simple shrug before sitting back, wiping the left flank of his currently worn jacket with his right hand. In the meanwhile, he's answering, "Not that I know of, but, that's the working theory. It's not hard to train a dog to kill someone. You just make sure they know who's boss, give them some commands, and that's that." And he's pretty sure he's repeating himself on that front.

Penny nods, closing her notebook. "I'll do some follow-ups. Thanks for meeting with me though." The notepad is tucked away. "And if you happen to want a little bit of detective time, you know, to log some hours in case you have eyes for a promotion sometime in the future, I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem if you ran down some of this with me." But she leaves it there as a simple statement, an offer he can take or leave at his leisure. She starts to stand, but then settles down again. "A last question," she says. "You said the dog was female that did the attacking - how did you know? I mean I'm sure hte witness told you but…how do you tell a male dog from a female one during an attack?"

"Oh, not a problem, this got me out of the house and everything. I should be thanking you." James turns his attention from the forward area of the room towards Penny, now more focused than before and sitting back. He lifts up one arm in order to rest along the back of the pew while he sits to face her, listening. "I asked the same thing, actually. The girl said she had kicked or punched there, but, well, you can definitely tell when you're that close to something," he chuckles quietly at that, offering a shake of his head to the humorous truth of it. "I'll help you whenever you need it, don't worry." He even smiles.

Penny smiles, moving to stand. "Well let me know," she says, and with that she moves to the aisle. Like any good Catholic girl, the signs of the cross are posted before she steps, backwards so as not to turn her back on the alter, before she is finally out of the aisle and can turn to leave.

"You've got my number," James lifts his hand from the back of the pew in order to offer Penny and light salute before watching her depart. He lingers in his spot though, content for the time being and rather sedate. It's his day off, after all. He can be lazy if he wants to.

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