The church is small, just like the town it was built in. This town is, like most other small towns in Texas, a good, God-fearing people. They all gather every Sunday to sing the praises of their deity. He isn't even sure why he's here. To repent? The idea'd make him laugh if he weren't so busy rolling his eyes. Where Johnny comes from, there is no God; just him and the victim and the knife. In a way, Johnny has always seen himself as a God. Or maybe the Devil. Whichever one gets to have more fun.

Still, he finds himself standing in the church, running his work gloved hands over the back of the pews as he walks down the aisle. Sunlight streams in through the stained glass windows, dust particles catch in the beam, floating in an undeniably serene way. Johnny stops by the pews at the front of the room, by the altar, throwing his head back to scan the space he'd believed had been empty, before spotting them. He didn't really expect an interruption, or company, rather.

"Hey there." Johnny flashes a devious look, one brow furrowed, his upper lip curled to show off his smirk. He's a bit taken aback. Why does he feel so thrown off right now? Damn churches. They make him so uncomfortable. "What're you lookin' at?" He inquires sharply, turning his body to face them.