"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 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."