The elevator doors open and reveal God in all Her resplendent beauty. Lucifer scowls as She smiles at him. He takes a deep, fortifying breath and steps in, hits the "L" button and does his best to ignore the Woman behind him. He taps his foot in time to the music filtering into the elevator car, hums along with the familiar tune.(1)
God giggles, attempts to cover it with a cough, and fails miserably. He turns and frowns at Her once more. She waves a hand at him, sobers.
"Sorry," She says. "Frog in My throat."
He pulls a gold pocket watch from his pinstripe blazer and glances at it, then looks at Her once again. "You do know what time it is, don't You?" he asks. She nods, shrugs Her caramel colored shoulders. "Shouldn't You be meeting with the Council?"
"Probably."
"But what about the thing, downstairs..."
"The Rapture?" She asks and he nods. "They've got it covered."
He stares at Her a moment longer, during which time She smiles widely at him, flashing perfect white teeth. She's glowing in the small elevator car, beautiful as usual.
"Kind of a gamble letting the Council take care of something so big, isn't it?"
She shrugs again and the elevator slows, dings its arrival in the Lobby. "Honestly, Lucy, what's the worst that could happen?" She brushes past him and steps out into the Lobby, waves at him, and disappears down a hallway he didn't even know existed.
He watches Her walk away, white toga flowing around Her in the way only a piece of heavenly fabric could, and realizes that despite the fact She infuriates him and he's hell bent (not pun intended) on destroying Her, Ellie makes a gorgeous prospect.
"I need a demon to kick," he mutters and heads towards the DOWN escalators.
* * *
She's lounging with a group of wood nymphs, discussing serious matters of the heart(2), when Metatron finds Her. He looks distraught and disheveled, not his usual unflustered self at all. God sighs.
"Let Me guess," She says as he pauses to catch his breath, "the Council fucked it up."
He nods, taps his nose, and says "ding, ding, ding". He takes a final deep breath, calms himself, and pulls himself up to his full height (all eight feet of it).
"They got caught up in an argument over who would bring what to the apocalypse's after-party and they completely forgot to call Vulcan and Poseidon to get things moving."
God stares at him, Her features slack. She should have expected this, really. This particular apocalypse has been giving Her trouble ever since they scheduled the damn thing.
"Which means what, exactly?"
"The Rapture's been a little...postponed."
God takes a gulp of meade from Her oversized cup, then looks at Meta. "Well, shit," She says.
* * *
A few Pearly Gates hours later, God finds Herself once again in an elevator with the Prince of Darkness. She smiles sweetly at him as he steps on board and the doors close behind him. He once again hits the "L" button and the elevator begins its descent.
"How goes the apocalypse?" he asks, his back to Her.
"Fine," She says.
"I heard Your beloved Council screwed the pooch with the Rapture."
"I'd imagine with ears that large, you hear a lot." Said ears flush a bright shade of purple and God grins at the back of his head. "No need to worry, Lucy. I've righted things, gotten the end of the world back on track."
He looks at Her over his shoulder, a small smile on his lips. "Council members fighting over food dishes, Ellie? Tut tut. Seems to me like You need someone who knows what they're doing with an apocalypse." He puffs out his chest a little. "I'm at Your service, Ellie. The End of Days is a big deal; anything You need, just let me know. I'd hate for it to fall apart - especially after all the work You've put into it."
She stares at him, putting pieces of the puzzle together, and when She arrives at the conclusion She seriously considers slapping him. She talks Herself out of it, though, by reasoning She'd have to touch him and there isn't enough holy water in Heaven to make those cooties disappear - again.
The elevator slows, dings to signify its arrival in the Lobby. He moves aside so She can step past him, but She pauses, leans in close so only he can hear Her.
"A piece of advice: The next time you attempt to sabotage a project of Mine," She whispers into his ear, "I'll demote you to janitor and give all your precious Armani suits to Gabriel." She pulls back, smiles widely. "And I'll make sure he wears them during his molting season." She steps out of the elevator.
He watches Her walk away, his gaze red with fury, and in a fit of childish rage, he kicks out at the first thing that happens to cross his path. His foot connects with a solid mass and his vision clears. He looks up and finds himself face-to-belt-buckle with Zeus.
"Did you just kick me?" the god asks and Lucifer swallows, hard.
"Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?" he asks.
Zeus' response is to punt him across the Lobby. He decides, as he's flying through the air, that it's definitely the fastest way he's ever taken to the DOWN escalators.
If only he'd stuck the landing...
(1) "Devil Went Down to Georgia" - c'mon, you know you saw that one coming.
(2) Mostly. Nymphs tend to deal with matters of a whole other part of the anatomy entirely...
Showing posts with label Metatron. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Metatron. Show all posts
Friday, May 20, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Even God Occasionally Takes a Night Off
If there's such a thing as an Olympian Orgy Room on Earth, Claire thinks it might just be Las Vegas on a Friday night.(1) She's surrounded by bodies - young, middle-aged, old - all in various states of undress and all headed in the direction of pounding bass, waterfall bars, five star restaurants, and every stage show known to mankind.(2)
Claire is not a Vegas kind of girl. The lights and glamour of the city hold very little appeal for her. In fact, she wouldn't even be there if it wasn't for her new job in acquisitions at the library in Detroit. Her boss caught wind of an estate sale being held at the Lied Library on the University of Nevada campus and when he found out there would be a collection of very rare - and very very sketchy - first editions up for auction, he booked Claire's ticket before she could even say she had plans for the weekend. Which she did. Because she has a life outside the library. On rare occasions.
Dammit.
So instead of sitting on her couch watching reruns of The X-Files and painting her toenails an obscene and unnatural shade of green, she's playing blackjack at a table in the Bellagio and wondering if her boss would mind if she broke into the minibar in her room.
"They'll most likely fire you," a familiar voice says from her left and she turns to see Metatron sitting on the stool next to her. He's wearing a pale lavender suit that fits his lanky frame perfectly (she's always wondered how, exactly, one tailors clothing to a seven-foot tall unearthly creature) and racking a small stack of chips between his hands.
"I thought you promised to stop reading minds," Claire says. "And could you maybe, next time, wear a less conspicious suit? People are staring."
People are, in fact, staring, but not at the suit. Sure the suit is obnoxious in an Easter Sunday kind of way, but people are staring because Metatron is seven feet tall. Another foot and his head would be brushing the ceiling of the casino.
Meta smiles, drops the chips onto the table, and motions for the dealer to deal him in. "It's a Friday night in Vegas and you're sitting here, all alone, playing blackjack in the quiet corner of the casino." The card that's facing up at him is a jack. Claire frowns at the three in front of her. "Shouldn't you be out cavorting with the sinful hoardes?"
"Shouldn't you be taking dictation and simpering like a good puppy?"
Meta pouts. "My, my, aren't we particularly nasty today."
Claire sighs and her shoulders slump. "I hate Vegas." The dealer flips their covered cards and there's an ace sitting next to Meta's jack. The last of Claire's chips are added to the Voice of God's meager stack and she frowns. "Hate it."
* * *
He treats her to a drink in a jazz club nearby, a jazz club she didn't know existed. The emptiness of its interior would suggest that no one else in the immediate vicinity knows it exists, either.
"Why do I get the feeling this isn't usually here," she says as they sit down at a little table.
Meta's smile is all the confirmation Claire needs. "What can I say, Claire? Even the Earth-bound representatives need a respite from the daily grind." He leans back in his chair, stretches his long legs out. "We pop in for the good music, the shop talk, and the cheap drinks." He points to the stage where a band is setting up. "On occasion, the entertainment is good. I think you'll like who's on this evening," he says. "She's really quite good."
"I think I'm going to head back to my room."
"Claire, sit and drink and enjoy yourself. Good lord, child. Even God takes a night off on occasion."
Claire scoffs. "As if."
And then, just to prove her wrong, the lights lower, the band strikes up an old standard, and Ellie Herself steps out onto the stage in a dress that's mostly plunging neckline and Claire chokes on her drink.
"Told ya."
* * *
God joins them after Her set. A short waitress who resembles a nun Claire used to know in high school swings by and drops a martini glass full of amber liquid off in front of Her.
"I had no idea you were in Vegas!"(3) God says, wrapping Her caramel hands around the glass and elegantly taking a drink. "Isn't it just marvelous?"
Claire processes that statement - and the current situation - in what feels like eons but is actually only a few seconds. When she's able to once again form a coherent thought, she frowns at her Boss.
"Didn't You once level a city just like this place?" she asks and Meta snorts gin up his nose in an effort to keep from spitting it out his mouth. He shakes his head at her while he violently coughs on the alcoholic nasal spray.
God frowns. "I'm quite sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Claire."
"Sodom and Gomorra?" Claire says, eyebrow raised. "Ring any bells?"
God purses Her ruby lips, spins the glass in Her hand while She stares at Her prophet and contemplates the implication. Eventually, She shrugs.
"We all go through phases, Claire." She takes another dainty sip of Her drink - a Manhattan, Claire thinks, though it could be a whiskey sour - and smiles. "For instance, you went through a New Kids on the Block phase."
"Are You seriously comparing my adoration of NKOTB to Your leveling of a Vegas-like city?" God nods and Claire looks to Meta for help. "Don't tell me you didn't go ga-ga over Jonathan Knight."
He sighs, lost in thought. A slow smile creeps over his face and his eyes close. Claire lets him sit there for a few seconds, God watching him with laughter in Her bright green eyes. Eventually, Claire snaps her fingers and Meta opens his eyes, frowns.
"It's really just six of one, half a dozen of the other, Claire." He brushes invisible lint from his pant leg, affects an air of self-importance. "Evil is evil. Only the venue changes."
"I'm back on, kids," God says, finishing Her drink in one long swig, and then leaving them at the table.
Claire points at Meta once God is out of earshot. "You're a pussy."
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Doesn't matter." He leans in, his voice full of conspiracy. "Now, let's talk a little more about Mr. Knight and his New Kids on the Block pals, shall we? I'm a sucker for a well dressed man singing 'Step by Step' while gyrating his hips."
* * *
She stays for another set, begrudgingly admits to both herself and Meta that not only can God sing but She's solid entertainment - even with the constant possibility of a mortifying wardrobe malfunction. Eventually, after four drinks and an overly profound conversation on the sexuality of 80s and 90s pop bands, she makes her way back to her hotel room, thanks mostly to Meta and his ridiculously long arms.
Meta deposits her in her room with hazy instructions on water consumption and the proper number of aspirin needed to stave off a Hell of a hangover in the morning. He pulls her shoes off and she curls up on her side on the bed.
"You need to have more fun," he says as he tucks her in, kisses her forehead.
"I'm a librarian," she slurs. "We're fucking made of fun."
"Amen to that."
(1) Not that she'd know what an Olympian Orgy Room looks like, mind you, but she's heard rumors...from people...
(2) There's an act where a guy with a red afro wears a gold dress while balancing a bowl of fruit on his head. The little gray dudes from Titan love it.
(3) She really didn't. In fact, the last time She'd checked Claire's schedule, it had been 1992 on Earth and Claire was in algebra class, pining over Tommy Graham. Oh, how time flies...
Claire is not a Vegas kind of girl. The lights and glamour of the city hold very little appeal for her. In fact, she wouldn't even be there if it wasn't for her new job in acquisitions at the library in Detroit. Her boss caught wind of an estate sale being held at the Lied Library on the University of Nevada campus and when he found out there would be a collection of very rare - and very very sketchy - first editions up for auction, he booked Claire's ticket before she could even say she had plans for the weekend. Which she did. Because she has a life outside the library. On rare occasions.
Dammit.
So instead of sitting on her couch watching reruns of The X-Files and painting her toenails an obscene and unnatural shade of green, she's playing blackjack at a table in the Bellagio and wondering if her boss would mind if she broke into the minibar in her room.
"They'll most likely fire you," a familiar voice says from her left and she turns to see Metatron sitting on the stool next to her. He's wearing a pale lavender suit that fits his lanky frame perfectly (she's always wondered how, exactly, one tailors clothing to a seven-foot tall unearthly creature) and racking a small stack of chips between his hands.
"I thought you promised to stop reading minds," Claire says. "And could you maybe, next time, wear a less conspicious suit? People are staring."
People are, in fact, staring, but not at the suit. Sure the suit is obnoxious in an Easter Sunday kind of way, but people are staring because Metatron is seven feet tall. Another foot and his head would be brushing the ceiling of the casino.
Meta smiles, drops the chips onto the table, and motions for the dealer to deal him in. "It's a Friday night in Vegas and you're sitting here, all alone, playing blackjack in the quiet corner of the casino." The card that's facing up at him is a jack. Claire frowns at the three in front of her. "Shouldn't you be out cavorting with the sinful hoardes?"
"Shouldn't you be taking dictation and simpering like a good puppy?"
Meta pouts. "My, my, aren't we particularly nasty today."
Claire sighs and her shoulders slump. "I hate Vegas." The dealer flips their covered cards and there's an ace sitting next to Meta's jack. The last of Claire's chips are added to the Voice of God's meager stack and she frowns. "Hate it."
* * *
He treats her to a drink in a jazz club nearby, a jazz club she didn't know existed. The emptiness of its interior would suggest that no one else in the immediate vicinity knows it exists, either.
"Why do I get the feeling this isn't usually here," she says as they sit down at a little table.
Meta's smile is all the confirmation Claire needs. "What can I say, Claire? Even the Earth-bound representatives need a respite from the daily grind." He leans back in his chair, stretches his long legs out. "We pop in for the good music, the shop talk, and the cheap drinks." He points to the stage where a band is setting up. "On occasion, the entertainment is good. I think you'll like who's on this evening," he says. "She's really quite good."
"I think I'm going to head back to my room."
"Claire, sit and drink and enjoy yourself. Good lord, child. Even God takes a night off on occasion."
Claire scoffs. "As if."
And then, just to prove her wrong, the lights lower, the band strikes up an old standard, and Ellie Herself steps out onto the stage in a dress that's mostly plunging neckline and Claire chokes on her drink.
"Told ya."
* * *
God joins them after Her set. A short waitress who resembles a nun Claire used to know in high school swings by and drops a martini glass full of amber liquid off in front of Her.
"I had no idea you were in Vegas!"(3) God says, wrapping Her caramel hands around the glass and elegantly taking a drink. "Isn't it just marvelous?"
Claire processes that statement - and the current situation - in what feels like eons but is actually only a few seconds. When she's able to once again form a coherent thought, she frowns at her Boss.
"Didn't You once level a city just like this place?" she asks and Meta snorts gin up his nose in an effort to keep from spitting it out his mouth. He shakes his head at her while he violently coughs on the alcoholic nasal spray.
God frowns. "I'm quite sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Claire."
"Sodom and Gomorra?" Claire says, eyebrow raised. "Ring any bells?"
God purses Her ruby lips, spins the glass in Her hand while She stares at Her prophet and contemplates the implication. Eventually, She shrugs.
"We all go through phases, Claire." She takes another dainty sip of Her drink - a Manhattan, Claire thinks, though it could be a whiskey sour - and smiles. "For instance, you went through a New Kids on the Block phase."
"Are You seriously comparing my adoration of NKOTB to Your leveling of a Vegas-like city?" God nods and Claire looks to Meta for help. "Don't tell me you didn't go ga-ga over Jonathan Knight."
He sighs, lost in thought. A slow smile creeps over his face and his eyes close. Claire lets him sit there for a few seconds, God watching him with laughter in Her bright green eyes. Eventually, Claire snaps her fingers and Meta opens his eyes, frowns.
"It's really just six of one, half a dozen of the other, Claire." He brushes invisible lint from his pant leg, affects an air of self-importance. "Evil is evil. Only the venue changes."
"I'm back on, kids," God says, finishing Her drink in one long swig, and then leaving them at the table.
Claire points at Meta once God is out of earshot. "You're a pussy."
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Doesn't matter." He leans in, his voice full of conspiracy. "Now, let's talk a little more about Mr. Knight and his New Kids on the Block pals, shall we? I'm a sucker for a well dressed man singing 'Step by Step' while gyrating his hips."
* * *
She stays for another set, begrudgingly admits to both herself and Meta that not only can God sing but She's solid entertainment - even with the constant possibility of a mortifying wardrobe malfunction. Eventually, after four drinks and an overly profound conversation on the sexuality of 80s and 90s pop bands, she makes her way back to her hotel room, thanks mostly to Meta and his ridiculously long arms.
Meta deposits her in her room with hazy instructions on water consumption and the proper number of aspirin needed to stave off a Hell of a hangover in the morning. He pulls her shoes off and she curls up on her side on the bed.
"You need to have more fun," he says as he tucks her in, kisses her forehead.
"I'm a librarian," she slurs. "We're fucking made of fun."
"Amen to that."
(1) Not that she'd know what an Olympian Orgy Room looks like, mind you, but she's heard rumors...from people...
(2) There's an act where a guy with a red afro wears a gold dress while balancing a bowl of fruit on his head. The little gray dudes from Titan love it.
(3) She really didn't. In fact, the last time She'd checked Claire's schedule, it had been 1992 on Earth and Claire was in algebra class, pining over Tommy Graham. Oh, how time flies...
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