Vati Ideas

[Vatican City: Catholic Church]

(So these are going to be random post ideas that come to me about Vati that are typically flashbacks we don't have time to get to in the RP)

Sinner

His fist met the stone corner of the tiny chapel, the sharp edges cutting into his flesh as pieces flecked away under the nation's might. He paid it no mind, indeed, the more destructive portion of his personality welcomed the newest imperfection, the physical manifestation of his sins. He stormed to the small alter deep in the room, his breath coming in foggy gasps, the tinted windows behind it dark and lifeless in their colors. He focused on them, on those images of salvation and love, his spirit clinging to them as though they were the last vestiges of sanity and goodness in the world. And in a way, he supposed, they were.

He knelt a hair's breadth from the alter proper, crossing himself and not daring to look at the small crucifix that stood ominiously nearby. Yes, condemn me, he thought quietly to the figure that had dominated his life. Do it. I deserve no less. As they had so many times in his life, his wishes went unfulfilled. He couldn't bring himself to anger at the lack of response. He was too tired, too defeated, too tainted. He closed his red-rimmed eyes, the better to look deep within himself.

Forgive me, Father, rang his thoughts, for I have sinned. In my thoughts and in my words. In what I have done, here his breath hitched and he subconsciously ran a hand through his hair, and in what I have failed to do. Oh, he had failed. Fallen so far. So far he couldn't even finish the plea for his soul. Who would pray for him, if they knew what he kept so close to his breast? Who would understand? What was the use anyway? He couldn't be saved; all these years starkly illustrated that fact.

He sat in silence for several moments, the cold seeping through his trousers into his very bones, his tears freezing to his cheeks. But still, he did not move, neither physically nor mentally. His existence stretched on until each moment blended with next, his tempestuous thoughts swirling and gliding without rhyme nor reason. He just could not control them, just as he could not-

He breathed sharply, banishing the thought to the furthest recesses of his mind. But now that the thought had been thought, it could be not made undone. Indeed, its compatriots now took up the assault upon his spirit and try as he might, he could not push them back.

[Vatican City: Catholic Church]

(head canon for male Byzantine and Vatican. I think I may need tissues)

Baptism

The young nation squirmed in Rome's grasp as the taller man dragged him through his house. He could not believe this was happening. Not now. He'd spent close to fifty years evading the empire and now, mere months after losing his mentor, his friend- the nation's breath hitched at the thought- here he was. Guess he really couldn't do anything for himself. Not without messing up.

Rome tossed him to the floor effortlessly and he landed with a hard thud. The boy knew from experience he'd bruise in the morning. He didn't move from his spot on the tiled floor, paralyzed from fear and shock.

"This is your room," Rome's voice echoed off the stone walls, "Do your chores, don't speak to the others, and you might survive here. Understood?"

The boy nodded quickly. Never let it be said he didn't learn fast. He felt the grim smirk Rome sent his way.

"Perhaps I won't have to kill you after all." The words were spoken casually and rung in the boy's ears as Rome's footsteps thudded off.

Slowly, once he was certain he was alone, the boy sat up on the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs. It was colder here than he was used to; he was desert born and thrived in such climates. He curled in on himself a his eyes darted around the tiny space. A pile of blankets atop a chest and mat on the floor were all that he could call his own. Well, save what he brought. Hands shaking, he pulled the scribbled notes his mentor had written and held them close, devouring the Greek and Latin characters for signs of comfort, of reassurances sent beyond the grave.

Live boldly, my son. Remember, the Lord goes with you. What trials can you not endure with Him?

Sniffling, the boy wiped the tears he hadn't known were falling and quietly recited his prayers.

*~

Days blended into weeks, weeks into months. The boy didn't really keep track of time. He had his routine: wake before the sun, eat whatever rations he was granted for the day, complete the tasks Rome gave him. And above all, keep silent. His back still stung from his latest reminder. Rome hated his prayers, hated his questions. He couldn't just stop praying to his God, though. He couldn't. His mentor would be so disappointed. And besides, his older cousins still fought for their beliefs, why couldn't he?

He scowled at the bucket of water and rags he was using to clean Rome's vast courtyard. His hands had long gone numb but at least they weren't stinging and cramping as his knees and legs were. Stupid Rome and his stupid empire. All the boy wanted was to be left alone, to have a small home of his own. He could imagine it, a small gathering space like the ones he and his mentor taught and learned in. A high ceiling reaching for the Heavens as the people below stretched their hearts even higher. A place where they worshipped and debated.

"You're never going to finish that in time," called a low, lilting voice.

The boy turned to find a nation watching him with bored interest. The other nation was older, around a fifteen or sixteen-year-old human to the boy's ten or eleven, and his coloring screamed Rome. Except his eyes. Those were a light teal. He...looked familiar. Somehow. He smirked under the boy's scrutiny.

"Did you hear me or are you dumb as well as mute?"

The boy scowled and was about to reply when Rome's warning caught up with him. Dammit. Instead, he quickly turned back to his work, scrubbing all the harder. His eyes widened as footsteps came closer and closer. No, all his work! He turned once again to find the other walking all over his cleaned courtyard. The other nation stopped beside him, his dirty sandals slung over his shoulder and an almost friendly grin on his face.

"I won't tell him, you know," he said off-handedly as he crouched beside the boy.

The boy bit his lip.

"I just want to talk to someone like me, is all," the other nation continued, watching the boy work, "The others are all either too young to understand or too old to care what I have to say."

"Understand what?" the boy whispered, his curiosity getting the better of him. A stolen glance at his companion revealed the other's amusement.

"I knew you weren't dumb or mute," he said, his voice almost chuckling, "Understand that Rome won't be around forever."

The boy blinked and stopped scrubbing. The other continued as though he hadn't noticed. "One day, the old man will be gone but if we're smart, we'll outlast him. Surpass him. The situation isn't hopeless nor is it eternal. You should hear some of them go on about it."

For a long time, the other nation's words hung in the air, oppressing yet freeing the boy at the same. Of course he knew that nothing was eternal (though the Lord's punishments could sometimes feel as though they'd lasted that long) but to hear it put so bluntly...

"You should be careful," the boy whispered, "The walls have ears. The others might think you were plotting against him."

The other nation snorted. "I don't think many of them would mind. And besides, Rome expects it."

The boy looked at the other in confusion. "All that Rome really respects is a show of strength."

The boy was just as confused as earlier and the other rolled his eyes. "So he doesn't understand that there are other ways of achieving your ends," he explained.

The younger nation nodded, understanding dawning in his quick mind. Rome only respected brute strength, which blinded him to more subtle manuevers.

"What's your name?"

"I don't have one," the boy whispered, "not yet."

"So we have something else in common," the teen nodded, "I have no name of my own either. Rome occasionally deigns to call me East."

The teen stared off at nothing before he continued, "But one day, I shall forge my own name. My own empire. Perhaps then people will remember me when I'm gone."

He turned a critical eye on the boy. "What do your people call themselves?"

"Cristianos," the boy said with quiet pride.

"I'll let you get back to work, Cristiano," the other nation said as he stood, "Thank you for listening to me ramble."

The teen left like a spirit, there one moment, gone the next. Though the boy wouldn't know it for years, this was the beginning of a friendship that would define him the rest of his life.