Just like children sleeping

[OOC: Backdated a couple of hours.]

[In the late hours of Christmas Eve, Poland's communicator keeps switching itself on. He's in his little home chapel, with his candles and Latin Bible and little statue of the Virgin. Anyone who's only familiar with his flightier side might be surprised to see that he's capable of staying more or less still, hour after hour, as he recites his prayers, sings simple hymns, reads aloud quietly from the prophecies of Isaiah and the appropriate sections of gospels, and keeps the candles lit.]

[He'll be festive and excited in the morning, but the vigil, as incomplete as it is without a priest running it, is serious business.]

[The camera catches Poland standing by the broken pieces of his mirror, staring at them in shock. There are faint sounds coming from the shards--fire and cannon blasts, gunshots and the clash of steel, the roar of something distinctly inhuman.]

[That's not what's got Poland's attention, though. What he's focused on is the red pooling underneath the broken glass, on the top of his vanity. ]

...Maybe someone's like, finally turned on her...

[Still not noticing that he's being recorded, the boy drops to his knees and takes his crucifix from around his neck, beginning to whisper in what a few people might recognize as Church!Latin. If the battle comes to this side, he wants to have asked God's favor beforehand.]