Finn didn't feel like his confession was anything extraordinary. In fact, he didn't recognize it as a confession much at all if it hadn't been for Eli confirming it as such. He shrugged, his puzzled face washing over with a comfortable satisfaction as though he expected something far more rigorous and complicated. That's how it always sounded, right? His thoughts didn't often turn towards God, or Jesus for that matter, and the only time he'd ever called out to either of them was in situations far more amoral than he figured Eli's poor tolerance of provocative speech could handle. In all honesty, Finn couldn't remember the last time setting foot in a church, much less folding his hands and earnestly praying. He found his own luck, or so he'd like to believe, in a fast and unabashed life that Eli was sure a stranger. He liked a fast life; he liked his smokes and his alcohol, he liked banter and rebellion, pretty women with round faces and rouged, cherry-colored lips, handsome but sheepish young men who turned a blind eye come morning. It was cheap life with even cheaper morals but it was a life Finn knew well. He didn't suffer, he didn't complain, and he couldn't imagine anything but. 

Eli explained the order of confession. Frankly, he didn't understand how God was supposed to hear about them anyways and even more frank he wasn't all too sure what constituted a sin or how most of that worked anyhow. Was it a kind of special tally carved into the clouds by God Himself? What exactly happened to a man's sinning once they were offered up to the Lord anyways? It must have been written all down in that Holy Book, he concluded with a quizzical ponder at the leather-bound prize that the young priest was always clutching so dearly. He wasn't sure exactly who it was that wrote it, honestly, and it wouldn't do him much good to try and read it himself. Illiteracy wasn't a bragging right necessarily, and he'd gone thirty-some years without sitting properly with a word book in front of him. He knew enough phrases to get by, a good handful of his own vocabulary did the trick, but he wasn't sour of the fact. 

Finn found it interesting enough to scoot the Book closer to the corner of where he sat. He fingered the rounded corners of the leather but did not bend them. Instead, he flipped through, watching each page cascade before starting again in idle patience while Eli was pardoned. The words were meaningless to him, too small of a print to be comfortable enough to read and in no way did he understand its formatting. It was a story? No, a rule book. Or perhaps both? It was the Word of the Lord, at least that's what he'd heard so many times before. When spoken, it was a wave of gibberish and nonsense in the sense that it all entered one ear and spouted out the other. He was close to raising a few questions that itched at his curiosity, but when the small man returned in garb that wasn't near-killing him from the heat, Finn cracked a much familiar grin.

“Now you're foolin' me. Hell, I coulda took you for a regular person wearin' this.” He gestured to Eli's change of clothes, one hand in motion while the other idly tapped on the outer cover of the Book. "'n here I thought you lived in all that black."