Macho's a nice thing to say. Copia accepts the compliment like a dried out sponge accepts a single water drop; no outward change, but it's welcomed, not rejected. But then V goes on, and Copia looks at him hard, realizing with a sinking feeling that V is fishing for brotherly history sharing time. Where they share childhood stories, or something, and realize they aren't so different after all, or something stupid like that.
"Yeah," he says, not entirely certain how much he wants to get into this. Into the fact that neither of them grew up knowing who their parents were, but Copia had contact with them. "I don't know why you didn't. I mean, if we were always going to be left with people who weren't our parents, I don't see why it couldn't have been the same people. Why bother with the separation? I don't get it."
He doesn't know where Perpetua has been all this time, and he hasn't cared to ask. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want anyone around him talking about V any more than strictly necessary (or Mr. Psaltarian steamrolling how much Copia hated it) and he still doesn't know where the fuck V has been all this time.
"Where the fuck have you been all this time, anyway?"
I don't know why you didn't feels like a slap in the face, and the longer Copia speaks, the more Perpetua realizes he isn't going to get any of the answers he was looking for here. The thin line of his smile flattens into something much less joyful, and he interlocks his fingers as he clasps his hands together. It's all he can do to keep himself from balling them into fists.
"I don't get it either," he says, breaking eye contact in favor of frowning at a discolored tile on the floor. It isn't Copia's fault. Logically, he knows that. But did he really know nothing? No grand reason why he'd been sent off into the middle of nowhere when Copia was kept under such close watch?
Biting the inside of his lip, Perpetua takes a deep breath in, holds it, exhales. It isn't Copia's fault. But it's irritating him anyway.
"You really don't know?" he asks, not bothering to wait for a reply. "Well, my earliest memories are at a little Catholic orphanage in northern Romania. When I aged out of that, I decided to, eh, commit." He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. There's not much sense in hiding the truth; Copia can make of it what he wishes. "Up until a few years ago, I was a Basilian Sister of the Province of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. A nun. Obviously, it was not a good fit."
Leaning against the wall again, he brings his arms up over his chest, giving Copia a sidelong glance.
"I figured some things out, I left, I moved to America. The Psaltarians tracked me down. Now I am here."
Copia's face has been a stiff mask for a very, very long time. Honestly, it's been feeling a little more flexible since he woke up; maybe it's the injuries, maybe it's the opiate drip, who knows. However, as he takes this information in, Copia's expression is once more a blank and frozen stare with his mouth slightly open, as pieces he did not have and did not expect to lool the way they do struggle to fit themselves into place.
A Catholic orphanage in Romania? A nun?! Converts to the Ministry aren't unheard-of -- actually, they're sort of its thing -- but this guy wasn't even a sibling of sin before he got handed the reins of the Ghost project. He was a Catholic nun that left for America and the Psaltarians just found him there?!
What the hell.
Copia gave his life to the Ministry. He worked his way up the clergy until he was Nihil's right hand. He knew the ins and outs, the official rules and unofficial traditions, he lived and breathed and ate and shat it. And they replaced him with someone who has no clue -- a Catholic nun --
"Oh," he says. It comes out numb, rather than outraged. Frankly, Copia feels insulted. Why were they so desperate to replace him that they picked this guy? He hadn't been doing a bad job as Papa. And if he were thinking more clearly, he would also hate the fact that Perpetua took to it so easily after a lifetime living among enemy nutjobs. He's a fucking natural and the Psaltarians know it, and he'd probably have fucking killed it if he'd had the chance to grow up with the dark lord instead of the shitty one.
He's floored. It's not a good feeling.
"No, I really did not know that."
Why the fuck would Sister do that? Why send one of her twins to Marika and one of them to a Catholic orphanage? It does seem fucking cruel; even in his jealous and bitter state, Copia can admit that.
"Maybe-- maybe Sister had a reason. I suppose--suppose she must have. But I have to admit, it's really hard to see the logic. A Catholic orphanage," he repeats under his breath to himself, in the same tone you'd use to say tuberculosis or testicular cancer.
"Fuck. What a shitty way to grow up."
It's just enough of a horror show that Copia does feel bad, in addition to feeling jealous and resentful and confused. There's a lot of emotions swimming around his system along with the antibiotics and pain medicine. Maybe he can ask, next time Sister swans in incorporeally. She always has a reason for what she does. It's probably just something Copia hasn't put together yet. But, man. What the fuck was she thinking?
From what little he can see of Copia's expression, he really didn't know a damn thing about him. Perfect. Just perfect. They're both clueless as to what the hell he was doing out in Romania and the best person to answer that question is dead. Oh, Copia says, and Perpetua exhales a laugh. Oh, indeed.
"Yes, well, ah... You're welcome?" He wasn't expecting to have to go through this entire song and dance tonight, but given how little information the Psaltarians divulged to him, it seems only logical that they don't tell his brother anything, either. But Copia is Frater. He's in charge of the ministry. Surely their mother left something behind -- documents? Correspondence? Anything at all that would explain any part of this?
"I would say it had its perks, but I think the only one is that even tour buses feel luxurious," he says with a brief, forced smile. "To be honest, I have been hoping that you would know what reasoning she might have had. The Psaltarians won't tell me anything, so I suppose she may have taken any of that reasoning to the grave."
Shifting uncomfortably, he wishes they could have had this conversation somewhere else, under circumstances that wouldn't make Perpetua feel like he's forcing this information on an unwilling participant. Especially one who might forget this even happened, with how many drugs are being pumped into Copia's system. He'd hoped to wait, but it's something that's been on his mind since the moment he was brought into the fold. Copia was brought up to believe he was an orphan, right? But at least they'd kept him right under their thumb. Would it have been so terrible to allow him that same mercy? If nothing else, they could have had each other.
What was it about him that was so unworthy? His first thought was that perhaps it was a matter of his sex, but that hadn't been an issue once they'd needed a new Papa -- the ministry swiftly funded the medical side of things he'd wished for, too. A little surgical tune-up while he learned the ropes via video osmosis, memorized lyrics, studied Satanic writings. So what else could it be, other than petty cruelty?
"It's a shame... I would have liked to know her." Or at least the opportunity to confront her. Make some sense of this, unload even a fraction of the bitterness in his heart upon her.
No, Copia doesn't have a goddamn clue. It shows in his expression, what little of it can be seen in his eyes and the line of his mouth: search me.
"Are you kidding me? She didn't even tell me how bad her condition was until she was already dead," Copia says, exasperation in his voice. "I found out I had a brother at all from the Psaltarians--" after he had, you know, hallucinated it in a very strange post-show vision that had maybe been mystical or maybe just stress-- "at the same time I found out that she wanted me to take over as Frater, instead of Papa. Which was in a letter, by the way."
Reading it over her still-warm corpse had been an experience. She died just in time to dodge the first barrage of awkward questions.
"She would never tell you anything unless she had a reason you ought to know," Copia goes on, the push-pull of the pain and the drugs in his system leaving him irritable. "They were usually good reasons. For the good of the Ministry. She was very sharp, very-- very capable. But more often than not, she had reasons she didn't want you to know, and good luck getting anything out of her that she didn't want to share. Even if it's that you're her son, and that the old Papa is your father."
He doesn't care if she hears. Copia knows she might be listening at any time, but he isn't saying anything that isn't the truth.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Perpetua mutters, then straightens up as he catches himself in the act. It still feels wrong, first on an instinctual oh god, God's watching level, then on a you're a fucking Satanic ministry leader, fucking act like it level. He's yet to find an equivalent that feels as heavy. Slipping his mask up and off of his head -- why did he even wear it? -- he sets it aside, massaging the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. Perhaps this whole having a family business was more trouble than it was worth.
"With all due respect..." Of which Perpetua has very little, and it continues to dwindle still, "I've known a lot of bitter old sisters on the other side of the coin, but -- what the fuck was her problem?"
Abandoning one twin entirely in central Europe, but having enough information on him that the Psaltarians were able to find him once he was in America. Pretending the other wasn't her son, but keeping him closely under her watch within the ministry. What kind of mother would do such a thing? Why even separate them?
He huffs.
"Sorry. I really -- really -- did not want our first meeting to be like this."
He watches the silver mask come off -- doesn't have much of a choice, really -- and Copia isn't sure what he was expecting (hideous scarring? Surgery gone wrong? A freaky mutant third eye? Regrettable tattoos?) but no, Perpetua just stands there looking like a guy in slightly smeared paint.
"It's not exactly what I was imagining either, pal," Copia grumbles back. "But my mother -- our mother -- made this ministry what it is today. Brought it into the twentieth, twenty-first century. Say what you want about how she did it -- and there is plenty to say, believe me," he adds, "but she, she knew what she was doing. A formidable woman. Bitter? Sometimes, maybe. But...eh, she was better at this job than I'll ever be."
Copia gives a dismissive shrug, as best he can with a cracked collarbone, which also makes him let out a little hiss.
"So, what's with that mask, eh?" Copia asks, tone a touch pained, seeing a change in subject (and especially fragile in his focus while under mild sedation). "The silver one. Nontraditional choice," he remarks. "I thought it might have been a, a phantom thing. You know? Like there was something under there you couldn't cover up with paint. But you look like a normal guy to me. Just in a lot of, uh. A lot of face paint."
"Yes, yes, I'm sure she was a real, ah... What do they call it? A girl boss?" Perpetua rolls his eyes. "She could be the best religious leader this world has ever seen. I don't know. I won't deny that. I'm simply saying she was, well..." Exhaling a laugh, he supposes he may as well continue being honest. "A pretty dogshit parent. Not sure her sperm donor did any better, but didn't sound like it."
Besides, how hard could it be? It's a desk job. Besides, they hardly have the numbers -- or the PR issues -- an institution like the Catholic church has. How much paperwork can there really be? Frankly, having to travel and go out and perform every night sounds more stressful -- and that's even after coming to enjoy the whole process now that he's not scared shitless of it. But he can't imagine any of it being too difficult to pick up, especially for someone who's spent his whole life in the ministry.
"Oh, that." Perpetua blinks, pulling his hand back from his face and grimacing at the smear of greasepaint on his glove. He grumbles, crossing the room to go retrieve an oversized fanny pack from his chair, digging out a travel pack of makeup wipes. He hadn't been planning a hospital visit when he got ready that morning, so he'd put some effort into making himself look the part. Pulling a wipe out, he cleans the inside of his mask first, then proceeds to scrub at his face.
"I don't know, I... Mm. Felt a little bit shy, I guess. At least at the beginning." He looks up as he swipes away the black from under each eye, some remaining along his lash line even after he tosses out the first wipe and goes in again with a clean one. "I suppose it felt like a little extra something to hide behind. But I quite like it. I think the fans do, too. But, I've thought about maybe ditching it next time." Assuming there is a next time. A smirk curls over his lips. "But thank you. I don't think I have ever been called a 'normal guy' before."
Again, Copia doesn't have a choice but to watch as the masks come off. Perpetua is talking shit about Sister Imperator, even if Copia can't disagree about how interested she was in being a parent, but Perpetua gets an agreeing grunt about Nihil. Nihil was a dogshit parent and Copia isn't afraid to say it.
But the paint comes off, and Perpetua is standing there looking very tired and a little smudged, weirdly exposed even with the clinging under-eye makeup, and somehow his eyes don't lose all of the intensity they had done up in black. They're twins, but Copia doesn't feel at all like he's looking into his own face, and something strikes him wrong-way-up as he takes in, for the first time in the months and months he's been aware of this asshole, Perpetua's actual face.
He doesn't hate it as much out of the paint. His eye twitches.
Next time. Motherfucker, doesn't he know no Papa stays on for more than one tour? Copia had been the exception, but he had started as a cardinal, and he'd held on longer than anybody had before. (It doesn't occur to him that the reason for that was Sister's machinations, that it's only because she pulled the strings to remove every Emeritus from the stage once she decided his time was up. Himself included.)
"I mean, that is what you are," Copia says instead, matter of fact. "Especially with the paint off. Woof! Look right there. Normal guy, standing in a hospital, talking shit." Learning that Perpetua happens to have lived for fifty-odd years as a woman doesn't change shit, he's still an interloping Papa and a lost brother and a real son of a bitch and looking at Copia with bright eyes the same colors as his own but without the same exhausted stiffness, like he's fucking glad Copia is here, and--
And these drugs they're giving him must be something else, because Copia feels weird about the bare face, about how in contrast to Copia's, that has been through the fucking wringer, V looks at home. He almost wants to tell V to put the mask right back on, so he can go back to looking more easily hateable.
"You're right about the old man," Copia says, throat dry. "He's a real dick."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2026-04-07 01:25 am (UTC)"Yeah," he says, not entirely certain how much he wants to get into this. Into the fact that neither of them grew up knowing who their parents were, but Copia had contact with them. "I don't know why you didn't. I mean, if we were always going to be left with people who weren't our parents, I don't see why it couldn't have been the same people. Why bother with the separation? I don't get it."
He doesn't know where Perpetua has been all this time, and he hasn't cared to ask. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want anyone around him talking about V any more than strictly necessary (or Mr. Psaltarian steamrolling how much Copia hated it) and he still doesn't know where the fuck V has been all this time.
"Where the fuck have you been all this time, anyway?"
no subject
Date: 2026-04-07 03:46 am (UTC)"I don't get it either," he says, breaking eye contact in favor of frowning at a discolored tile on the floor. It isn't Copia's fault. Logically, he knows that. But did he really know nothing? No grand reason why he'd been sent off into the middle of nowhere when Copia was kept under such close watch?
Biting the inside of his lip, Perpetua takes a deep breath in, holds it, exhales. It isn't Copia's fault. But it's irritating him anyway.
"You really don't know?" he asks, not bothering to wait for a reply. "Well, my earliest memories are at a little Catholic orphanage in northern Romania. When I aged out of that, I decided to, eh, commit." He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. There's not much sense in hiding the truth; Copia can make of it what he wishes. "Up until a few years ago, I was a Basilian Sister of the Province of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. A nun. Obviously, it was not a good fit."
Leaning against the wall again, he brings his arms up over his chest, giving Copia a sidelong glance.
"I figured some things out, I left, I moved to America. The Psaltarians tracked me down. Now I am here."
no subject
Date: 2026-04-07 02:04 pm (UTC)A Catholic orphanage in Romania? A nun?! Converts to the Ministry aren't unheard-of -- actually, they're sort of its thing -- but this guy wasn't even a sibling of sin before he got handed the reins of the Ghost project. He was a Catholic nun that left for America and the Psaltarians just found him there?!
What the hell.
Copia gave his life to the Ministry. He worked his way up the clergy until he was Nihil's right hand. He knew the ins and outs, the official rules and unofficial traditions, he lived and breathed and ate and shat it. And they replaced him with someone who has no clue -- a Catholic nun --
"Oh," he says. It comes out numb, rather than outraged. Frankly, Copia feels insulted. Why were they so desperate to replace him that they picked this guy? He hadn't been doing a bad job as Papa. And if he were thinking more clearly, he would also hate the fact that Perpetua took to it so easily after a lifetime living among enemy nutjobs. He's a fucking natural and the Psaltarians know it, and he'd probably have fucking killed it if he'd had the chance to grow up with the dark lord instead of the shitty one.
He's floored. It's not a good feeling.
"No, I really did not know that."
Why the fuck would Sister do that? Why send one of her twins to Marika and one of them to a Catholic orphanage? It does seem fucking cruel; even in his jealous and bitter state, Copia can admit that.
"Maybe-- maybe Sister had a reason. I suppose--suppose she must have. But I have to admit, it's really hard to see the logic. A Catholic orphanage," he repeats under his breath to himself, in the same tone you'd use to say tuberculosis or testicular cancer.
"Fuck. What a shitty way to grow up."
It's just enough of a horror show that Copia does feel bad, in addition to feeling jealous and resentful and confused. There's a lot of emotions swimming around his system along with the antibiotics and pain medicine. Maybe he can ask, next time Sister swans in incorporeally. She always has a reason for what she does. It's probably just something Copia hasn't put together yet. But, man. What the fuck was she thinking?
no subject
Date: 2026-04-07 04:36 pm (UTC)"Yes, well, ah... You're welcome?" He wasn't expecting to have to go through this entire song and dance tonight, but given how little information the Psaltarians divulged to him, it seems only logical that they don't tell his brother anything, either. But Copia is Frater. He's in charge of the ministry. Surely their mother left something behind -- documents? Correspondence? Anything at all that would explain any part of this?
"I would say it had its perks, but I think the only one is that even tour buses feel luxurious," he says with a brief, forced smile. "To be honest, I have been hoping that you would know what reasoning she might have had. The Psaltarians won't tell me anything, so I suppose she may have taken any of that reasoning to the grave."
Shifting uncomfortably, he wishes they could have had this conversation somewhere else, under circumstances that wouldn't make Perpetua feel like he's forcing this information on an unwilling participant. Especially one who might forget this even happened, with how many drugs are being pumped into Copia's system. He'd hoped to wait, but it's something that's been on his mind since the moment he was brought into the fold. Copia was brought up to believe he was an orphan, right? But at least they'd kept him right under their thumb. Would it have been so terrible to allow him that same mercy? If nothing else, they could have had each other.
What was it about him that was so unworthy? His first thought was that perhaps it was a matter of his sex, but that hadn't been an issue once they'd needed a new Papa -- the ministry swiftly funded the medical side of things he'd wished for, too. A little surgical tune-up while he learned the ropes via video osmosis, memorized lyrics, studied Satanic writings. So what else could it be, other than petty cruelty?
"It's a shame... I would have liked to know her." Or at least the opportunity to confront her. Make some sense of this, unload even a fraction of the bitterness in his heart upon her.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-07 05:08 pm (UTC)"Are you kidding me? She didn't even tell me how bad her condition was until she was already dead," Copia says, exasperation in his voice. "I found out I had a brother at all from the Psaltarians--" after he had, you know, hallucinated it in a very strange post-show vision that had maybe been mystical or maybe just stress-- "at the same time I found out that she wanted me to take over as Frater, instead of Papa. Which was in a letter, by the way."
Reading it over her still-warm corpse had been an experience. She died just in time to dodge the first barrage of awkward questions.
"She would never tell you anything unless she had a reason you ought to know," Copia goes on, the push-pull of the pain and the drugs in his system leaving him irritable. "They were usually good reasons. For the good of the Ministry. She was very sharp, very-- very capable. But more often than not, she had reasons she didn't want you to know, and good luck getting anything out of her that she didn't want to share. Even if it's that you're her son, and that the old Papa is your father."
He doesn't care if she hears. Copia knows she might be listening at any time, but he isn't saying anything that isn't the truth.
no subject
Date: 2026-04-07 06:25 pm (UTC)"With all due respect..." Of which Perpetua has very little, and it continues to dwindle still, "I've known a lot of bitter old sisters on the other side of the coin, but -- what the fuck was her problem?"
Abandoning one twin entirely in central Europe, but having enough information on him that the Psaltarians were able to find him once he was in America. Pretending the other wasn't her son, but keeping him closely under her watch within the ministry. What kind of mother would do such a thing? Why even separate them?
He huffs.
"Sorry. I really -- really -- did not want our first meeting to be like this."
no subject
Date: 2026-04-07 06:48 pm (UTC)"It's not exactly what I was imagining either, pal," Copia grumbles back. "But my mother -- our mother -- made this ministry what it is today. Brought it into the twentieth, twenty-first century. Say what you want about how she did it -- and there is plenty to say, believe me," he adds, "but she, she knew what she was doing. A formidable woman. Bitter? Sometimes, maybe. But...eh, she was better at this job than I'll ever be."
Copia gives a dismissive shrug, as best he can with a cracked collarbone, which also makes him let out a little hiss.
"So, what's with that mask, eh?" Copia asks, tone a touch pained, seeing a change in subject (and especially fragile in his focus while under mild sedation). "The silver one. Nontraditional choice," he remarks. "I thought it might have been a, a phantom thing. You know? Like there was something under there you couldn't cover up with paint. But you look like a normal guy to me. Just in a lot of, uh. A lot of face paint."
no subject
Date: 2026-04-07 07:57 pm (UTC)Besides, how hard could it be? It's a desk job. Besides, they hardly have the numbers -- or the PR issues -- an institution like the Catholic church has. How much paperwork can there really be? Frankly, having to travel and go out and perform every night sounds more stressful -- and that's even after coming to enjoy the whole process now that he's not scared shitless of it. But he can't imagine any of it being too difficult to pick up, especially for someone who's spent his whole life in the ministry.
"Oh, that." Perpetua blinks, pulling his hand back from his face and grimacing at the smear of greasepaint on his glove. He grumbles, crossing the room to go retrieve an oversized fanny pack from his chair, digging out a travel pack of makeup wipes. He hadn't been planning a hospital visit when he got ready that morning, so he'd put some effort into making himself look the part. Pulling a wipe out, he cleans the inside of his mask first, then proceeds to scrub at his face.
"I don't know, I... Mm. Felt a little bit shy, I guess. At least at the beginning." He looks up as he swipes away the black from under each eye, some remaining along his lash line even after he tosses out the first wipe and goes in again with a clean one. "I suppose it felt like a little extra something to hide behind. But I quite like it. I think the fans do, too. But, I've thought about maybe ditching it next time." Assuming there is a next time. A smirk curls over his lips. "But thank you. I don't think I have ever been called a 'normal guy' before."
no subject
Date: 2026-04-07 08:32 pm (UTC)But the paint comes off, and Perpetua is standing there looking very tired and a little smudged, weirdly exposed even with the clinging under-eye makeup, and somehow his eyes don't lose all of the intensity they had done up in black. They're twins, but Copia doesn't feel at all like he's looking into his own face, and something strikes him wrong-way-up as he takes in, for the first time in the months and months he's been aware of this asshole, Perpetua's actual face.
He doesn't hate it as much out of the paint. His eye twitches.
Next time. Motherfucker, doesn't he know no Papa stays on for more than one tour? Copia had been the exception, but he had started as a cardinal, and he'd held on longer than anybody had before. (It doesn't occur to him that the reason for that was Sister's machinations, that it's only because she pulled the strings to remove every Emeritus from the stage once she decided his time was up. Himself included.)
"I mean, that is what you are," Copia says instead, matter of fact. "Especially with the paint off. Woof! Look right there. Normal guy, standing in a hospital, talking shit." Learning that Perpetua happens to have lived for fifty-odd years as a woman doesn't change shit, he's still an interloping Papa and a lost brother and a real son of a bitch and looking at Copia with bright eyes the same colors as his own but without the same exhausted stiffness, like he's fucking glad Copia is here, and--
And these drugs they're giving him must be something else, because Copia feels weird about the bare face, about how in contrast to Copia's, that has been through the fucking wringer, V looks at home. He almost wants to tell V to put the mask right back on, so he can go back to looking more easily hateable.
"You're right about the old man," Copia says, throat dry. "He's a real dick."