I AM WHAT GOD MADE ME.

[1nnocent]

IC WRITING. HCS. STUDY. VISUALS. PINTEREST. MEMES.

SUMMARY

i. (mid 50s, he/him, intersex), born from a poor family in san marcos (guerrero, mexico), vincent has been witness to suffering and men's cruelty from a tender age. he has, however, always been moved by a deep desire to help others and soon found himself choosing the path of priesthood. he has served in some of the most despairing places on earth as well as warzones such as congo, iraq and afghanistan.

ii. slightly below average height (about 1.70 m), a little narrow shouldered. thick dark hair, slightly curled at the edges, that reach a little past his ears. with gray only just starting to show along the side of his head. warm, big brown eyes that endear him to most. he has a somewhat youthful look to him that makes placing his exact age hard.

iii. unbeknownst to him until he was in his 30s and got injured in a car bomb attack, vincent has internal female reproductive organs (although sterile). this put his faith to the test and almost caused him to resign from his post, but he ultimately decided not to go through with the operation that would have removed the female parts of his body.

VERSE ROUTES,

default / pre-movie. spans from the early years of his priesthood in mexico to being made ordinary of the archdiocese of kabul and, later, cardinal in pectore (his name kept secret, literally meaning 'in the heart ' of the pope).

vampire au (modern). tba but trust that i'm cooking.

castelvania. here.

post movie. this is mostly for fellow canon characters, and otherwise generally unavaible unless plotted. follows the aftermath of pope innocent xiv's election.

[firstfullmoon]

Kaveh Akbar, in an interview for The Believer

[daylighter-gone]

the light cuts down into the chapel and scythes him in half where he sits, partly cast in the sun rays, partly in shadow. a rosary glints in red from where his eyes can see the obedient head canted with an admiration for the new day. he can hear the bids chirping, the rustle of leaves, waterdew from the rooftops, but notably, there is no thrum of a pulse in the vicinity. the young man had not noticed him until he had spoken, startled from his prayer with a predictable smile to counter with. he smiled back, a cold thing.

❛ quite unwell, ❜  he repeated, the same excuse he had given his colleagues: so unwell in fact, that he was unable to leave the room and could not join them this evening, or the next. ❛ and as pained as he is to miss it, he is instructed to rest. ❜  new insiders were a chore. he could do well without a need to glance over his shoulder, but this seemed inevitable. a snag in the cogs. he pushes down from the rail and approaches, but upon closer inspection, realises that vincent was older in age than kenneth was in looks only. ❛ you needn't worry of that. it is your first week, is it not? ❜  then, with a wider smile, ❛ you must be hungry. join me for recess? ❜

[1nnocent]

the house of the faithful is awake and in quite the fretful stir already.  vincent can hear so many sounds at once, from various distances — birds in the garden, footsteps thumping in the foyer, the liturgical book being placed on the pulpit by careful hands. perhaps, if there wasn't such an assault on his sharpened senses, he would notice it right away:  the lack of heartbeat from @daylighter's chest.

'' i shall pray for his health. ''   vincents cants his head down, dutiful and proper, at the confirmation of the holy father's ailment.  yet his eyes are not meek when vincent glances up again, he does not falter, nor does he lose his voice, despite the cold feeling touching the back of his neck, a brief tingling he cannot quite grasp at before it is gone.

'' it is, yes. this place is very big.. i must admit i almost lost my way twice. ''

he is not hungry, not in the way one should expect, but it would be impolite to refuse the invitation.   '' you honour me, eminence. i would be glad to join you. ''   and so he follows, and he sits at the table where he will eat very little.  he can stomach small bites, but finds himself unable to do any more that.   '' would you bless our meal? ''

[1nnocent]

literally the thomas/vincent vibes of it all

[1nnocent]

@warwine,   cont

this is a very observant man, vincent thinks as he enjoys the late morning sun, after mass.  he cannot say he knows nicoló very well;  after all, vincent has arrived in this small mediterranean town only a few weeks before, alone and with little more than a rosary to his name. he needed to be near the sea, he explained to the elderly nun that lives not too far from him  (she likes to remind him to eat enough, tender like a mother, a sister, a longtime friend). he needed to rest. to reflect and pray.

he comes here almost every day, to this small cafe nestled in a quiet corner of the town's square, in what has become a routine for him.  he rises, as always, very early, prays, co-officiates mass, then he allows himself this little indulgence. good coffee, a book and, when he feels like it, something sweet to go with the rest. still, the observation surprises him — rather, the directedness of it does — but just a little. there is a gravity to nicoló's eyes that makes vincent feel like he would know, if vincent were to deny, that he would not be telling him the truth.

nicoló reminds him of the holy father  (who vincent has met only once).  a good man with an unfailingly piercing gaze. one that read right through vincent, not too long ago, when he had tried to resign, suffocated by the dark weight of his thoughts. vincent smiles, somewhat sheepish. it is a rather bold comparison to make, he knows, even if only among the privacy of his own thoughts.

'' i had a crisis of faith, you could say. not in god, no, never.. in myself. in my worthiness of his love. it's why i came here, away from my parish in baghdad. ''

he stops there, not wishing to place his burdens on the man's shoulders.  it is not his help vincent is seeking in coming here;  i sought the lord, and he answered me, he delivered me from all my fears.

'' are you at peace, nicoló? are you living a good life? ''   he asks, heart full of tenderness for a person he has only recently met.

[1nnocent]

stuff i think about constantly: vincent recognizing the sound of a (distant) car bomb immediately; thomas kneeling down in front of him at the end of the conclave (book only, alas).

[1nnocent]

the book emphasizing how the papacy is a calvary leads me to think that, at some point down the line, vincent will resign. not immediately, not even after just a few years — no, he will try his utmost to do good first. but vincent is not going to die in rome. vincent is not going to die as pope innocent xiv. that would break my (and his) heart.

[nowpope]

In California and Washington, Men in white are not put-at-peacers. Vincent is in many ways this immaterial exception.

The network of Deco's neckbones unknot. His narrow confidence thrashes a path through the tall weeds. Three hard tugs of a strimmer string to start the engine. "Beautiful surroundings must...weigh heavy when one carries responsibility—or truth."

His thumb and finger pinch together, grounding. He clears his throat, his jaw nuts bulge. Tea still tip-tingles from the pope's hand into Deco's cup. He turns to look on the end of their courtesy. As doing, the blade of light his body had been blocking, manufactured by a gap in the opposing apartments, bounces into the stream of brewed water and dissevers across the unfinished plaster walls in strange arrangements.

"If it is any constellation, your holiness looks as though he could have been a climber. As a boy, I was not."

[1nnocent]

vincent waits, unflinchingly patient, for the purpose of this meeting to reveal itself. he does not mind it. this peculiar man somehow intruding on his schedule for the day: he is different, less deferential than most people who find themselves face to face with him for the first time. yet, there is still the sense that deco might be on the verge of doing — or saying — something he will not be able to take back. vincent has seen it, that restlessness, fluttering beneath the skin like hummingbird wings. he has seen it in very brave and very scared men alike. for that reason, he will not urge him to speak.

'' a climber? '' a soft smile, almost sheepish, wrinkles the corners of his eyes. '' oh, yes. but only of mango trees. there was one not too far from my home, inside a fenced garden. i would climb up and gather enough fruit for the children living in my street. '' he admits to stealing with unabashed candor, holding his gaze with no fear of judgment — how could feeding the hungry ever be considered bad, after all? vincent refuses to feel shame for it.

'' have you come from very far? ''

[1nnocent]

my tv is filled with stuff for the actual c.onclave about to start in a few days, so of course i keep thinking about the fact that even the smaller sized papal vestments were too big for vincent.

[nowpope]

@1nnocent / @walkpathe

Deco keeps a deal of distance from the cardinals. He smiles. He asks questions and he answers. But his gaze stays lowered whilst the rest of this wealthy delegation of pilgrims kneel, kiss, proffer the hands of these holy men and altars. You can pay well for this private audience, but money cannot buy privacy without an inside connection to the conclave or a personal invitation: Deco has neither, yet. The year is 2040.

He seeks the window as Innocent enters. Perhaps not even realising Innocent has entered. His re-alignment eastward is a perfect ninety degrees from where Innocent walks forward: a perfect right angle.

His refusal to bow does not go unnoticed.

If there is no God but God for a Muslim, Cardinal Lorenzo offers Innocent as an explanation, then it is not permissible to prostrate, bow or kneel to anyone other than God. Personal space is a sign of respect, in Islam, is also offered. It is a sign of respect because it is an outward accommodation for the inner life of others; another mind's consciousness; reflection and contemplation above passion, love and sacrifice.

It is and is not that.

Deco keeps his hands firmly clasped behind his back. If he did not hold one with the other, they would be shaking.

[1nnocent]

the man does not bow and vincent, the pope, feels an immediate surge of sympathy for him.  it should not come as a surprise. the first act of his papacy, nearly two decades prior, had been to refuse his fellow cardinals bowing or kneeling in front of him. he had embraced them one by one, instead, in full sight of the hundreds of thousands of believers gathered in st peter's square, as well as the eyes of the world, all turned to rome on that day.

cardinal lorenzo is a dutiful man, and vincent does not reproach him, does not remind him of his dioceses in the middle east.  of the refugee camps he has lived in. of the arabic he speaks fluently. he simply leads his guest to his office — he had asked for this meeting to be conducted in the casa santa marta, not the apostolic palace he so rarely makes use of — and once inside he pours deco lakatos tea.

as if he is not the holy father.  as if, at least when he can get away with it, he wishes to be perceived as a man. not a saint. not the vicar of christ. but vincent. father benítez. the priest with the gentle voice.

'' i hope you are not offended. ''   the modest office, the lack of ceremony, so different from the lavish style he knows some of the cardinals prefer.   '' the apostolic palace has always given me the impression of a golden cage. ''   soft spoken he may be, but not apologetic.  this is an explanation, a clarification of intent, not borne out of a need for justification. whoever deco might be, whatever vincent might think of him, this is not an attempt at humiliation.

[artemisiasea]

An Encounter with Simone Weil 

[1nnocent]

@thedelian:   you look like you're dying to say something.

the chapel is breathtaking at dawn, with blades of sunlight just starting to touch the marble floors and a profound silence that carries the nearness of god.  it's holy. it's so beautiful vincent feels he might be brought to tears. for the first time since he set foot in rome, he is truly at peace, rosary between his fingers, knees dutifully pressed to the floor and the sharp pang of hunger suppressed like a sordid matter. the thought of blood derails his prayer for a moment alone, before he is able to finish and rise to his feet.

he is almost startled to find kenneth staring at him, senses dulled by the intensity of his absorption.  such a gaze should chastise him, urge him to lower his head — vincent doesn't doubt that many would be so compelled — but the bishop only smiles a little.   '' eminence, ''   he starts politely. he ought to, at least, before foregoing the strange and complicated customs of this place, as he is wont to do:   '' is his holiness unwell? i heard he will not be with us at mass this morning. ''

[1nnocent]

verse. castelvania

notes. set loosely within the world of castelvania, this verse takes place in the 1500s / 1600s. albeit fictional, it is also inspired by history and deals with colonialism and forced catholic conversion.

brief overview. converted to catholicism by the spanish as young boy, vincent benitez (36) is now the bishop of veracruz. however, his life is shaken when he is called to rome by a cardinal he befriended in veracruz: he is bitten and turned by a vampire during the long journey towards the city and taken to the heart of the holy roman church, believed to be sick with some grievious malady.

background

vincent (yaquin) was very young when he was taken from the burning remains of his home after the fall of tenochtitlan. a boy of six, wrapped up in the near singed robe of a young spanish priest. orphaned, surrounded by death and sickness, he was taken by the priests back to spain, to be raised among them. with him, many more were taken: the easiest to convert to the catholic faith, with little to no memories of the atzec gods.

yet vincent was lucky. the priests took an almost instant liking to him, seeing that he was a quiet and clever boy, dutiful in his studies, well mannered. he lived as a monk in the monastery of guadalupe, then took the path of priesthood as soon as the bishop deemed him ready and of strong christian values.

his faith was put to the test soon after his official elevation to priesthood, when he joined a mission to 'new spain', the land he had been taken away from almost two decades prior. there he set to work in the various hospitals that had been built for the native population. it was easier for them to trust someone who looked like them and even learned nahualt to speak to them in their own language (a language he had forgotten almost in its entirety).

vincent was held by the spaniards as an exemplary success of conversion and eventually he was even appointed bishop of veracruz, the first and only mexica to rise to such rank. he was never interested in conversion himself, however, and was only ever focused on helping the people who came to his parish, regardless of their religious practises or their view of their new rulers.

most of the natives grew fond of him, accepting his presence among them, taking comfort in his gentle voice. but the mission was never truly void of risks, as the reports of christian martyrs in the northern part of the region reached him in veracruz.

verse specifics

+ w/ daylighter. in rome, vincent has to hide his vampire nature with the utmost care, while also battling with the growing suspicion that something is not as it seems among the gilded halls of the holy see.

[beguines]

There is no dichotomy between man and God's image. Whoever tortures a human being, whoever abuses a human being, whoever outrages a human being, abuses God's image.

St. Óscar Romero

[1nnocent]

two wolves in me, one goes: can you imagine... how many times he's had to perform last rites for friends, people he worked closely with. hands still bloody. tired beyond his years? while the other chirps: oh god he would love watermelon!!!

[kiisuuumii]

Robert Harris, Conclave

[1nnocent]

starter call.

@1mperium's eyes are cold and dark, but vincent finds he has no desire to run or divert his gaze. he has never been easily intimidated, even in life, even when confronted with the worst of humanity during his mission. vincent doesn't look like much of a priest now; he is not wearing his cassock or his collar and his rosary is safely tucked underneath the sleeve of his simple blue shirt, wrapped around his wrist and forearm. but maybe the knowledge is enough. he wonders if it can be smelled on him, even from the other side of a small tea house in beirut.

he makes sure to thank the man who brings him tea, arabic coming to his lips naturally. he knows he cannot drink it, yet the smell of cardamom is a very human comfort vincent still clings to. with a pang of sadness, he realizes the sweet man has also brought a plate with some sfouf and knafeh. he almost rushes to his feet to have him bring it back, not wishing to offend him with his refusal to eat, instead he inclines his head toward giulio. the vampire is not sitting at the same table, preferring to keep a comfortable and detached distance, perhaps, but vincent has no need to raise his voice to be heard clearly.

'' hunger — i have found i can resist it even for long periods of time. but this is what pains me the most. does it sound strange to you? ''