Chapter Text
Now where the hell was his phone?
Copia had torn up his entire office looking for the damned device. He even tried calling it from the landline on his desk but it kept going straight to voicemail. In any other situation, the Ministry treasurer would have his head - but he was Frater Imperator now. All final procurement decisions went through him anyway. He could get himself another phone… but would it carry over his Candy Crush progress?
Copia made a mental note to ask IT about that before grumpily packing up his briefcase and heading back to his suite. In the hallway, he came across his ghouls who were chittering and giggling together in a corner. “What are you all up to?” he asked, coming up behind them.
Phantom yelped, stuffing whatever he had in his hands in his pockets. “Nothing, Boss!”
Copia raised an eyebrow but kept walking - he had learned from his years on the road with this group that sometimes it was better not to ask questions. The last time he had pried, he ended up with a can of silly string exploding in his face. Sometimes, it just made more sense to let them misbehave and deal with the consequences later.
It wasn’t that Copia was a slave to his phone - he had only recently upgraded from his old flip-phone since becoming Frater Imperator. His assistant had informed him that flip-phones were “out of touch” and “uncool”, all but forcing him to get the latest model of whatever smartphone was available. He wasn’t surgically attached to the device, but it sure made it seem a little less quiet at the Ministry when he could play music on the go or when he accidentally buttdialed someone.
That, and he had some impressive progress in Candy Crush.
A knock at his door broke him from his thoughts. “Come in,” he said, plopping down on his couch and stretching his legs under the coffee table. His assistant pushed the door open, setting down an armful of paperwork on the table in the entryway. “More work? I thought we were done for the day…”
“Ha, ha, very funny!” his assistant grumbled. “I found your phone laying around in the dining hall. I swear, I’m going to glue it to you if you leave it behind somewhere again.” He dropped the phone in Copia’s lap and left in a flurry of robes and paperwork. Copia sighed and clicked open his phone, flicking through the various apps to see what he had missed in the several hours his phone was missing.
Several e-mails. Missed calls from his landline. Text messages from his assistant…
What the hell was Tinder ?
He clicked the new app that had appeared on his homescreen.
Swipe. Match. Chat!
Copia raised an eyebrow, clicking the main menu where he was informed that he had used up all of his swipes for the day. He frowned - what the hell was a swipe, and when did he use them? He clicked the profile button on top and was brought to a carousel of photos of his face.
Copia E., 54
Frater Imperator at The Satanic Ministry
About Me:
Formerly Papa with the band Ghost. Looking for a like or open-minded partner to indulge in sin with. Swipe right if you like rats, rigatoni, pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.
Appalled, Copia flicked through the photos. There was his most recent headshot from the Ministry files in his Frater paint, plus a few stage shots from their last tour. The comparison between now and them made him feel very… old.
His hand drifted to the wrinkles on his face as he scrolled through the app. Whoever set this up sure wasn’t doing him any favors, considering that it appears they had swiped through every available person on the app - Copia had checked the preferences and they were set to both higher and lower extremes on each spectrum - and not a single possible person had even matched with him. Of course. Because why would they.
Not entirely sure why he felt frustrated by this, he went to return to his home screen to delete the app when suddenly the screen flashed.
It’s a Match!
Huh?
His photo was there alongside what looked like a candid of a girl - a woman - with a prompt to send a message. This is stupid, Copia thought, gloved thumb hovering over his screen. It had to have been a mistake. Her finger slipped, one of her friends swiped as a joke. There was no way this was going to happen.
You received a message!
Fuck.
He couldn’t deny that he was curious to see the message. Maybe he could quickly delete the app before the other person got too invested in this “match”.
And yet he was clicking the message bubble against his better judgment.