Deacon takes the page across the backs of the pews, promptly opening the page to scan it for the sake of context as Remy explains. It gets slid into the inner of his jacket not so long after.

"I can make them look," he assures, pushing his weight off pew back, then, and strolling on out for open space, leaving smoke hanging in the air, its slow disintegration.

"You just worry about what you're doing."