InsaneJournal

Prompt # 43
Reasons you do the job you do.

Your pardon. Perhaps I didn't hear correctly?

"Job"... ma cos'è questo? I'm sorry, I don't think I understand. Job, as in the poor wretch from Scripture, much-tried, oft-tested? Hm, no. Mi dispiace.

Oh, you mean my occupation? Well, that is a calling. Destiny. There is no way around it, is there? It's true, I don't have to work the soil, break my back at the loom to put food on the table; that's what benefices are for. Don't believe for one second though that wielding the baton of Captain General of the Church means I can spend my days dozing, with grapes growing into my mouth, moors in pretty livery fanning me. Far from it. It means wearing some seventy pounds of armour and sloshing through mud (or searing heat, or both), enemies and assassins lying in wait left and right, and me having to be quicker than the rest. But such is my calling, my star to follow.

I don't have much choice in the matter, now do I.