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If you ask anyone within the ministry they’d tell you Copia has always been apart of the satanic church. Siblings whom had seen new wings of chapels be built and papacy passed between generations, would fawn over little Copia.
The Sisters of sin would gawk and gush over him, “Such a cute baby!” Or “ Look at his little Hoofsies” while shaking a small rattle to catch his attention. Later on Brothers of sin would be equally enamored, commenting how he would be a strong asset to the church. Of course that glosses over the few awkward years, around his early to mid twenties, where Copia left the ministry to pursue a different passion.
Retail. He’d overheard about it from a newer member of the congregation. How they’d hated talking to people, the back pain from standing for hours on end, and so many other grievances they’d moan about while being fitted for new vestments. All of the complaints went in one ear and out the other for Copia. Talking to people? He loved talking! Standing for hours? With how much time he’s spent in sitting the pews it was almost a miracle there wasn’t an imprint of his behind molded into the wood. His poor legs could use the workout. Besides, Marika always talked about how the other young adults still had a rebellious teenage spirit. Maybe this was his chance to take advantage of his hidden spirit? Find a path of his own.
Roughly an hour after announcing he’d be leaving the clergy to anyone and everyone who would listen, he paraded his way to his bunk within the congregation's shared rooms. He’d gotten a very judgemental side eye from Sister when she just so happened to walk by him excitedly telling some unfortunate sibling that he had found his new passion, but for all the respect (and fear) he had for her his mind was made up. With a handful of stale biscotti shoved into his pockets, a small bag with what Copia deemed his nicer clothes, and a newfound calling in life, he walked through the large Abby doors, for the first time, a confident man.
Around 8 kilometers off of the ministry’s grounds he found a small gas station nuzzled between the overgrown trees and cracked pavement that put his dry lips to shame. Foliage crushed by a small dumpster and a few cars within the poorly painted parking lines told him that the place was not rundown as he had previously thought walking up to the building. Inside it smelled of.. something he didn’t know how to name. It was sweet- but too sweet, as if trying to cover up some foul odor leaking in from the heavily graffiti’d bathroom outside. The fluorescent lights felt like the sun burning into a closed building, at least compared to the candles and natural light that usually filled the ministry’s halls. The first thing that caught his eyes after taking a while to adjust to the egregious lighting choices- was the register sitting on top of a sticky counter which had been left unguarded.
Placing his bag near the door Copia hopped over the counter, looking around the practically empty store from the new perspective. It gave him a small power rush. So this is what it must feel like- having people under your command, being respected and having real responsibility beyond setting up for the afternoon services. He could tell somebody to go clean the floors, or restock the shelves! Excitement was practically bubbling up inside of him as he turned to the register, pressing a few random buttons before letting out a small spooked noise when it popped open. Peering inside at the stacks of currency he claimed his position as the protector of the register, guardian of the probably expired canned goods, and newfound employee of this fine establishment. Doing another pass of the empty isles he unconsciously grabbed the hem of his cassocks sleeve to fidget with, a small bit of former anxiety comes to light but he quickly shoves it down. There were at least two cars in what he believes is a parking lot… so where were all the customers? A small commotion catches his attention from a back room he hadn’t noticed labeled ‘employees only’. Oh! His coworkers must be coming back from a break. It would be a great time to introduce himself as their new boss. A greasy haired woman comes through the door, only half paying attention and talking to somebody behind her about something Copia didn’t bother to listen to. Taking a breath he puts on his best smile reaching out a hand.
“Eh, Hello! I am-”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING”
Copia gets cut off both verbally and from his thoughts as the woman screeches. Pulling back his hand, a man comes crashing in and whips his head around from behind the half open door with a mop in hand.
“Thief!” One of them shouts, he isn’t sure which as the mop handle gets pointed towards his throat and the woman’s hand points towards the still open cash register. Clearing his throat Copia tries again-
“I was trying to say, Hello! I am-“
“GET OUT, NOW” Oh well okay. Maybe they didn’t hear him the first time. He tried reading the nametags on their matching (and rather bland if you ask him) shirts but both of them were moving frantically for him to make out their names. The woman reached over the counter and grabbed a stashed away fire extinguisher, wielding it as a weapon alongside mop man.
Copia waved his hands, doing a quick pat down of his vestments, “See? Harmless, Now please uh, I’m trying to speak. Hello. I am Co-“
The sudden movement did nothing to ease the two underpaid employees, who were probably wondering long after the encounter why they were defending the less than great quality gas station in the first place. Maybe their previous conversation mere minutes earlier about how spooky the ministry was, looming over the nearby towns from up in the hills didn’t aid their spiked adrenaline. That and Copia looking like he had come to exorcize a demon. Or summon one, the man later had pointed out when they were both trying to calm down from the intruder situation.
In defeat Copia flee’s the area, leaving behind his bag and in return getting very colorful threats that if he steps even a hair inside the store that he’d be arrested. Or any gas station of that chain brand for the matter. Which proved to be a real pain later in life when it came to late night tour snack stops. Accompanied by lots of weird looks from the ghouls when their papa refused to go inside, or within 6 meters of the place actually.
Not long after, Copia tried his hand at selling old cars. The dealership was significantly nicer than the other establishment he has temporarily claimed work at. The kind receptionist had tried to explain that he would need to fill out a resume to be considered for the job. That and how he needed a highschool diploma or GED, vehicle sales license (if he didn’t have one she would print the forms for him to fill out, he just needed to mail them to the DMV), and valid identification. When they only got confused mumbles in response, they called in who Copia assumed was the site’s manager. A very round man, balding, gold chain around his neck,, came in and shook Copia's hand as if he was family.
“Yer uh, Catholic right? Flashy robes n’ stuff. Cool cool. No Diploma? Yeah right and we sell functioning car parts. Ha, you're a funny one, I like you.”
Somehow that one-sided conversation had landed Copia an actual job. Unpaid of course as he didn’t ask for a salary and the site manager never offered one. Three long years of sleeping on the break room couch and eating vending machine food before he had finally had enough and left unannounced not looking back on the makeshift relationships he had made. One of the few smarter choices he had made depending on who you ask.
Also very dependent on who you ask, a few siblings swear they heard muttering in the hallways, long after Copia had ascended into his role as Papa, about the poor guy still not knowing how to send mail- after a few years out in the real world, it taught the man absolutely nothing. Oh and something about a VHS?