Chapter Text
Copia had been dreading this moment for possibly as long as his fans had been waiting for updates. He knew he was removed from the spotlight, from the Fumata at the billboard to the teaser of his brother's return to the ministry. He had not anticipated that Perpetua would return from his ventures in the Catholic church. He was the one to draw the proverbial short stick and carry on the tradition of infiltrating the church to observe their actions from within. Copia hadn’t seen Perpetua since they were tiny lads; did he resent him for being the one who could stay with the Ministry? Either way, the fans were certainly eating up Perpetua's new album….
# # #
It was a chilly morning, yet comfortably warm within the towering stone walls of the Ministry. The air was thick with the excitement of last night's release, and most everyone was still buzzing from the reveal. It had been rumored that one of the brothers would be returned. Some Sisters screamed for Terzo's possible return, while others placed bets that it was Secundo who had the strength to claw out his grave. What caught them off guard was not the return of one of the poor, executed brothers but rather a face none of them had ever seen before. His mask was shiny, face paint similar to Terzo’s and yet different enough that no one could possibly say it was him in that came back. His robes were intricate and dark, purple taking over where others usually left it a plain black. The new papa was undoubtedly flashy, but he was quiet… No one had heard a word from him aside from his new song; hell, he had rarely been seen outside of being a ghost in the hallways.
I had been waiting for him to come by the office that had been cleared out for him, leaned against the wall as I clutched at my stack of papers. Copia thought it would be fitting to give his brother a new assistant for a few months to help him prepare for the tour and get him fully integrated into the role of Papa. I couldn’t say I was surprised that I was assigned. I was the newest member who had experience in running PR and had a good few years of experience managing big-time stars. Though it’s not like I enjoyed the job, they were often rude or so full of themselves that they ignored my warnings anyway and became PR nightmares. But hey, maybe this would be a change of pace for me.
“Ah. Forgive me.” My head snapped up.
His voice was lighter than Copia’s, and that’s the first thing that drew my attention. What I wasn’t expecting was someone quite so tall. He looked as if he easily could tower over Terzo and Copia, perhaps not taller than Secundo was but certainly taller than Primo. And unlike the others who often had pin-straight hair or a light bounce and wave, he had curls. Granted, many of them lingered around the back of his neck like someone had put rollers in his hair, but he didn’t remove them until he was out the door. They were soft, though, blonde and fluffy. He looked so different compared to the others with his more rounded face, the thicker black cheeks and the mask. Why was he wearing a mask? A silver mask that covered the top half of his face.
“It’s no problem…” I managed to utter as I tore myself away from examining his features, only to notice he had dressed in a black Cardinals cassock for work today. Nothing wrong with that, of course; even catholic popes occasionally wore cassocks on their off days, but previous papas preferred suits, or in Copia’s case, a heinously red tracksuit. At least, that is what we knew from the lore videos that were posted throughout Copia’s career.
He didn’t speak again as he pushed open the door and walked in; his strides were long as he quickly found his position behind the ornately carved cherrywood desk of the deceased Secundo. It was Perpetuas now. Following in, I closed the door and glanced around. There was a collection of odd items: spiders pinned in glass frames, lavish purple curtains that covered the walls and dampened the sound, previous Papa’s miters on display… possibly replicas of the originals, considering the lack of blood on Terzo’s.
“So. Copia has asked me to help you with the PR that comes with the release of your album. Are you ready to discuss that today? Or do you want time to settle in first?” My voice must have offended him somehow as he looked up at me through the brow of the mask, a frown on his painted lips. I nodded and stepped back from his desk, still holding the stack of papers I was requested to bring down.
“Do you have a place where you want me to set these down? I know it can be stressful the first few days after a release like this. “ Perpetua held up his hand for me to stop talking and gestured to a corner of the desk, giving me a slight nod to hint at that location specifically for the papers. Rolling my eyes, I set down the stack and turned to leave the office, obviously intruding on his personal space.
Stepping back, I watched him type for a while. He had the computer turned so that only he could see the screen, the flashing white and blue colors reflecting off his mask. Not a sound came from him as he worked on the computer, ignoring the stack of papers in the corner of his desk. My focus was distracted as I heard a knock, and again… and again. He was obviously unbothered, but some one needed to talk. So I turned and slipped out the door to see who needed attention so badly.
Outside the door was Copia, dressed up to the nines in this Frater suit with new blue gems in his clasp. His hair was slicked back but there was obvious signs that he had been rubbing at his face. The paint smudged around the edges.
“How is he?” he asked as soon as the door closed. “Has he said anything about his plans as Papa, or am I going to find out like the others will?”
“He doesn’t talk, Frater. So far, he has only said forgive me and gestured to everything else he has needed.” My comment must have concerned Copia as he began fiddling with the chain on his clasps.
“I feared he would be quiet. He never was one to talk after… well, no matter, I am sure he will warm up to you eventually.” There was a hearty pat on my shoulder as he tried to convey reassurance, though it only concerned me. “Sir, if he does not speak with the crowds, there might be some pushback from new fans who have only ever known you.”
“Non-sense. Our fans are loving and accepting, and I am sure many will love him and his ways. I just hope he does not resent me after leaving him there for so long…”
“There?”
“He was the one emeritus of this generation to take over the role of infiltrating the church. And… In my hubris, I may have left him there longer than his mission should have been served. Perhaps…” He covered his mouth for a moment before shaking off whatever intrusive thought had just decided to creep into his mind. “No, he probably will be okay.”
I felt my eyebrows knit together as I failed to hide my expression. That very first music video was about possession, and based on the list I had received from the record label, many of the songs seemed to take on a theme of a guiding light. Had he not taken his lessons to heart about the strength of Lucifer and the importance of the mission? Well, even the most devoted could have their own questions about their faith.
“What?” Copia gave a look of bewilderment at my reaction.
“Nothing. I am going to go back in and sit with him. Perhaps he will need me at some point today.” I wasn’t going to continue this conversation with a frazzled Copia; Perpetua would passively ignore me. So, turning away from the older gentleman, I pushed open the door, feeling a chill on the single frosted glass pane. That was odd… the room was relatively warm when I had initially left it.
“Perpetua? Sir?” The latch clicked behind me as his head shot up; his deep hazel eye had turned an emerald green, and there was a hardened look beneath the mask.
“Perpetua?” he cocked his head, looking down at his hands for a moment in confusion before sucking in a breath of realization before giving me a nod. “Right. What can I help you with, Sister?”
He leaned forward against the desk, hands lain flat as he tapped along to a much older song.
“I was just returning to see if you needed anything before I ran off for a little?” There was a pause before he shook his head no. However, that no did not last long, as he cleared his throat as I began to turn away.
“Ah. Sister, I seem to be missing a few things in this… office. Can you retrieve the box that I stashed under Secundo’s coffin?” There was a smug lilt to his voice as he spoke, one that wasn’t there before. He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped in front of his chest as he seemed to eye my figure momentarily. I hesitated momentarily before running down to the mausoleum and snagging the dusty box of trinkets from under the coffin. It had to have been there for… years. Why would he stash a box here?
Returning with the little locked box in hand, I set it down on the desk facing him. His hands moved to the numbered padlock and fiddled with it till it popped open. Within it was a pair of Aviator sunglasses, a zippo lighter with a carving of a pentagram, and a miniature Baphomet statue with a rather curvy woman bent over its lap. Those were the items he had pulled out, at least, as there was certainly more in the head of silver and green than was the rest of the box. But the ones he pulled out… none of those objects felt like him, not from the glimpse of personality I experienced from only 20 minutes of interaction.. They were more reminiscent of Secundo and his lustful party-boy attitude that had forced him to retire in the first place. That’s what everyone kept telling me anyway. I cocked my head as I watched him stuff the lighter in his pocket and the sunglasses hooked on his collar. The statue went next to his computer tower, hidden from direct view.
“There, that’s better.” Humming to himself, he picked up a familiar tune and returned his gaze to the computer screen. He ignored me.
“Anything else I can get for you today, sir? Any drinks? Snacks? The paperwork I have to go pick up?” He shrugged at me as I spoke, a hand grabbing a hold of the mask on his face. There was a subtle click as he began to pull it forward.
“I have no-“ There was a gasp as he removed the mask for a moment, barely leaving his face before he crammed it back on with a second click, like a pin latching into place. “No, thank you.”
Again, Perpetua’s voice returned to the lighter, more soft-spoken but cold tone it had before. The man glanced at me from behind the mask, his eye no longer green as he settled back into his work on the computer.
I looked around the room momentarily before settling into a soft, squarish office chair, folding my hands in my lap as he typed away. It was fascinating watching him work; his face was dead. Not dead as in deceased, but there was no emotion as he sat there, not a crease from stress or a twitch of a smile. Just there. His face was flat. That silver mask, though, could be hiding anything. His emotions, a gnarley scar, perhaps a third eye, or a brand that had been seared into his flesh? Maybe it was an embarrassing tattoo he couldn’t remove, so he decided to wear a mask to hide his shame. But even with his emotionless demeanor and hidden face, he had an aura of mysteriousness around him.
It was hard to believe that he was Copia’s supposed twin. Or at least that he was part of the bloodline. Nihil never mentioned having another son, nor did any of the other papa’s. And while there was a chance that someone who never took the role of Papa could have had a child, why would they keep it hidden from everyone that there was another heir.
“Why do you stare?” he asked, not bothering to look at me.
“Oh, I um… just curious, is all.”
“Well. Stop it. The mask is not moving.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you to remove the mask. I was just looking at you.”
Again, his hand went up to tell me to stop talking. I huffed and changed my gaze.
The office space seemed to be Primo’s old office. It was the largest of the four and had a garden just outside the massive windows that lined the outside wall. The carpet was certainly new, though it only covered the space from his desk to the door. From his desk to the back wall was a hardwood inlaid with little crucifixes, each a varying color from the floor itself. His surrounding desks and shelves were littered with various organizational tools and trinkets that looked like they were selected from storage. Some were old, dusty, and faded, and others were just oddly shaped. It reminded me of my grandfather's desk in his home office. He would have a collection of Gumby characters that I would screw with whenever I snuck into the space. Each one I would leave bent and contorted into a new random position for him to see when he got back from work.
The whole room felt like a mishmash of other personalities and people. It was not quite maximalism, but it was far from minimalism.
“Can you go check the repairs on my gloves? There was a stiffness in the finger joints, and I want to ensure I can hold a microphone.” Again, flat.
“Yeah”, of course.” I rose from the chair and made my way out of his office and down the marble hall to the costume department, where the costume designers were making edits to a few of the ghoul's uniforms. Some had knocked off rhinestones after the music video, while others complained about tightness in the arms and shoulder seams.
“Can I help you?” Rang the nasely voice of a very short ghoul who was sitting behind the crafts table with a screwdriver and a set of metal gloves in its claws. It looked upset as it continued to tinker with the finger joints. His hands were chewed up and irritated in spots from trying on the gloves and being pinched.
“Um, the new Papa sent me?” I say, walking in towards the table before being stopped by a busy ghoulett and her arm load of fabrics.
“For his gloves? He should have said something after we finished filming, not months later, after the video had been edited and released. Now, we don’t have enough time to forge new ones if I can’t fix this pinching problem.” He held up the glove in his hand and demonstrated the pinky being difficult to bend without making an awful squeaking noise. “I can’t tell if it is the new joint or if it is the metal itself.”
“Ah, so I take it that it’s not fixed?” That was probably the wrong question to ask as the ghoul set down the screwdriver and stared at me. Irritation settled like a thick haze and I nodded my head. “Right… I am going to leave you guys to it then!”
I began to back out of the room slowly, pausing as my gaze caught the sight of his purple robes that were beautifully hung up and splayed out for any last-minute edits before the tour. Each stone was well polished and glimmering in the bright lights of the shop, the metal inlays shimmering with the darkened chrome. That look would be something to be held at any of the sermons and rituals. Lit up beneath the spotlights. I could even imagine him walking forth from a plume of smoke, the purple making an entrance before his figure did as he looked down his nose at you. His hand reaching out, metal claws grabbing ones face as their cold silver dug into your skin.
A chill ran up my spine, and I decided that perhaps now would be a good time to stop… fantasizing about someone who would rather brush me off than talk to me.
My stomach grumbled and I frowned. I guess I would have to get lunch after relaying the message about his gloves being fucked up.