Talk about Something you did that made you feel Ashamed of yourself afterwards
Stealing was natural. When you were brought up with little more than bread, butter, and the leftovers that your owners left on the table, stealing didn't seem a moral issue, more like the best you could do for yourself. It was bad when they caught you, there was that, but it wasn't as if they didn't expect it from you. You were, after all, gutter born, little more than a slave, sold by your own parents. You were obviously slightly better than a servant of the devil, and that only because you'd received baptism. Though, your soul, according to the priest that so often would deliver punishment, was already lost and marred for eternity ...therefore said priest wouldn't feel any shame in making you kneel and suck his cock under the parafernalia of his clerical vest.
Whoring wasn't as natural. Not at the beginning anyway. Then you'd take to it. Matter of survival, be best at what you have to do, and you might be rewarded. And you were, matter of fact. Sweets with honey and nuts as you've never seen before. A second-hand lace shirt not too big for a growing up boy. Favors by ladies who were agreeable to having a young boy aroudn to amuse themselves with, until a new toy arrived to distract them.
Of course, if a pearl earring or two or a necklace 'happened' to end up in Ranuccio's pockets...well, it was part of the game.
What was shameful for civilised, educated people as the churhcmen and the nobles pretended to be, wasn't shameful for Ranuccio. It was all a matter of point of view: according to how many gold coins you were standing upon, you could lie, cheat, steal, murder, rape at your pleasure.
One thing Ranuccio had learnt easy enough, early enough in his life. Right after he was sold, he was presented to his new master, a boy of barely ten, dirty and dressed with simple clothes, a step away from rags. "Your nails are dirty," the man had observed, looking at Ranuccio's small hands, then at his bare feet. Callous fingers had pushed his lips up and aside to check his teeth. Then a glance at his cheeks, at the tracks left by tears on the dirt on them, and a backhand that sent him to the floor.
"Stop crying. You're here to work, your stupid tears have no place here."
No, there's nothing Ranuccio has done that he's ashamed of. Not killing Lena, not lying to Michele, not selling himself for money, not stealing, not cheating at cards, not fighting as dirtiest as possible in order to win a fight. Nothing of what he's done makes him feel ashamed.
What he feels, though.
That's a whole other matter.
459 words
muse: Ranuccio
fandom: Caravaggio (misc film)
Whoring wasn't as natural. Not at the beginning anyway. Then you'd take to it. Matter of survival, be best at what you have to do, and you might be rewarded. And you were, matter of fact. Sweets with honey and nuts as you've never seen before. A second-hand lace shirt not too big for a growing up boy. Favors by ladies who were agreeable to having a young boy aroudn to amuse themselves with, until a new toy arrived to distract them.
Of course, if a pearl earring or two or a necklace 'happened' to end up in Ranuccio's pockets...well, it was part of the game.
What was shameful for civilised, educated people as the churhcmen and the nobles pretended to be, wasn't shameful for Ranuccio. It was all a matter of point of view: according to how many gold coins you were standing upon, you could lie, cheat, steal, murder, rape at your pleasure.
One thing Ranuccio had learnt easy enough, early enough in his life. Right after he was sold, he was presented to his new master, a boy of barely ten, dirty and dressed with simple clothes, a step away from rags. "Your nails are dirty," the man had observed, looking at Ranuccio's small hands, then at his bare feet. Callous fingers had pushed his lips up and aside to check his teeth. Then a glance at his cheeks, at the tracks left by tears on the dirt on them, and a backhand that sent him to the floor.
"Stop crying. You're here to work, your stupid tears have no place here."
No, there's nothing Ranuccio has done that he's ashamed of. Not killing Lena, not lying to Michele, not selling himself for money, not stealing, not cheating at cards, not fighting as dirtiest as possible in order to win a fight. Nothing of what he's done makes him feel ashamed.
What he feels, though.
That's a whole other matter.
459 words
muse: Ranuccio
fandom: Caravaggio (misc film)