Extra, Extra, Read All About It!

God ignores the sandy-haired angel as he breezes through Her office door with barely a knock to announce his jaunty presence. Instead of paying him any mind, She turns the page of the newspaper in Her hands and continues reading.

"You're ignoring me," Michael says as he sits in the visitor chair across the desk from Her.

"Well," She says, keeping Her eyes glued to the page, "you didn't knock. I see no reason to pay attention to you if you can't even be bothered to knock."

He sighs. "Joan said to go right in..."

"Joan isn't the one sitting at this desk, enjoying Her morning bit of quiet and the newspaper." She looks over the rim of Her unnecessary-but-quite-attractive reading glasses at the archangel. To Her chagrin, he appears nonplussed. "Goddammit, what?"

"I need an answer to a hypothetical question."

She removes the reading glasses so She can actually look at him without feeling lightheaded.(1) "Okay, I'll play along for the moment. What's the question?"

He leans forward so his strong...shapely...handsome forearms rest on the desktop. She forces Herself not to stare at them for more than a second, which is already too long. "What if," he starts, "hypothetically, of course, someone ran against You in the election this term?"

She snorts in a very unGodlike way. "Impossible."

"It's hypothetical, Ellie. Suspend belief for half a second, okay?"

She frowns, rolls Her gorgeous eyes. "Well, it would result in a full campaign on My part, which I've never done since I've always run unopposed."

"But if You had to do it, could You?" he asks, a little too serious for Her liking.

"Run a campaign?" He nods. "I suppose..."

"Good." He pulls a newsletter with the HH&P corporate logo on it from his tunic pocket and hands it to Her.

DEVIL CONSIDERING CANDIDACY IN MID-TERM ELECTIONS

She looks up at Michael, suddenly sick to Her stomach.(2) "But he can't..." She mutters. "The ban I placed on him..."

"Ran out two days ago. I sent you three messages - just yesterday, mind You - to remind You to re-up."

She stares at the headline. "He won't win...he can't."

"We have to make sure, Ellie. Everyone up here already has belief problems brewing downstairs. With the Devil in charge..."

"...Earth would literally go to Hell..."(3)

"Hades and Purgatory, LLC."

She frowns, on the verge of tears. "Fuck."

"Zeus and Jupiter have their hats in Your ring. The Summerlanders and Otherworlders, too."

"What about the 4-H?"

He looks down at the desk. "He's promised them raises and more days on Earth."

She stands, knocking Her chair over with a loud bang that resounds through the office. "He promised them a fucking apocalypse?!" She hollers.

"Three a year."

"Three?!" She slams Her fists down on the desktop, splintering the wood in different directions. "That rat fucking bastard."

"Don't you mean 'that fucking rat bastard'?" he asks.

"Nope."

"Oh." He scrunches his face up in disgust. "Oh."

-----

1. Michael wishes She'd leave them on...then mentally slaps himself for thinking such things about his Boss...THE Boss.

2. She didn't realize immortal beings could get sick to their stomachs...which makes Her hate Lucy even more than She already does.

3. The benefits of partnership: Whatever Lucifer collects, Hades gets part of and vice versa. Dante, however, gets nothing - Purgatory is a silent partner, after all.

Remember that Time the Demons Went on Strike?

If it hadn't been for inflation, the Devil could have bribed them.

“The little buggers know too much,” Lucifer says as he slides into the chair next to Hades at the bar. Hooves, the only establishment open during the day in the Lower Levels, is nearly empty. Not surprising, considering it’s Halloween on Earth.

“Of course they do – that’s one of the reasons you pay them so poorly,” Hades says, ordering a whiskey sour for the Devil. The zombie behind the bar, a pleasant fellow named Greg, nods slowly and shuffles over to the line of liquor bottles along the back of the bar.

“I don’t pay them to blackmail me, Hades.”

Hades chuckles under his breath, shakes his head. “Perhaps if you paid them a real wage, instead of a handful of souls every few weeks, you wouldn’t be in this position.”

“Greg, focus!” The zombie looks up from the arm he’s just ripped off a paying customer, his rotting teeth halfway to the flesh of its forearm. He nods, sets the arm down on the bar, and sets about pouring Lucifer’s drink.

“They couldn’t have picked a worse time,” Lucifer says. “It’s Halloween – I need them downstairs, wreaking havoc and scaring small children all over the globe.” He feels a tapping on the back of his hand, looks down to see the recently detached arm calling for his attention. He turns to the woman who lost it a few moments ago. “Madame, if you’d be so kind…” She retrieves it, settles it back into her shoulder socket, and goes back to her conversation.

Greg drops the whiskey sour in front of him and frowns, mumbles something unintelligible, then shuffles away.

“What do the boys want?” Hades asks.

Lucifer pulls a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his jacket, slides it over to his business partner. “It’s a list of their demands,” he says at Hades’ questioning look. “Make sure you take a look at the signature on the bottom.”

Hades opens the sheet, reads it over. His head pops up when he’s finished, his eyes wide. “She didn’t.”

“She did.”

“Wow…”

“Two thousand years running and those jerks have been perfectly happy getting souls every week. Never asked for another thing. Now I get a list of demands and a strike notice within twenty-four hours of their first HR meeting with Hers truly.” He slings the whiskey sour back in one gulp, throws the glass at Greg, who catches it simply by turning to the side and allowing it to land in his hollowed out rib cage.

“You’ve always said the two of you can’t get along…”

“She stole my demons on Halloween, Hades. This requires retribution.”

Hades sighs, rests his chin in the palm of his hand. “I’m going to regret asking you this, but what kind of retribution were you thinking?”

Lucifer turns a terrifying, toothy grin on his business partner. His irises have gone a violent shade of magenta and there’s smoke rising from his pointy ears. “Vengeful retribution.”

“That’s mildly redundant…” Hades starts, but he’s unable to finish.

Lucifer jumps up from his chair and throws his arms up in the air, startling Greg in the process. The zombie topples to the floor as Lucifer’s body swells to a size twice as large and far more purple than before.

“Vengeance will be mine!”

He sprints off, away from the bar, and Hades shakes his head as he watches him disappear through the door. He leans over the bar to check on Greg.

“You okay, buddy?” he asks.

“Urghdmanadamam,” Greg mutters and Hades nods.

“Ridiculous, I know.” He sit down, finishes his sea breeze. “Two thousand years of being the Goddamn Devil and he’s still just as big a drama queen as he was the day I met him.”