Travis' attitude was nothing short of cocky-bastard-esque. He approached the church with a look lying somewhere between disgust and pity, but behind his eyes was anger. Pure, unadulterated murderous rage.

But his hands were casually shoved in his jacket pockets, beam katanas (all four of them) hooked to his belts. He stopped a fair distance away.

"Impressive, fuckhead. You're actually here."