Buggered Omens - Part 2 of Chapter II
Title: Buggered Omens - Part II of Chapter II
Author: The Alchemist of Bing
Rating: T
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Germany, North Italy, France, mentions of England, Sweden, and a baby whose identity I will reveal later on (I later on decided to make this as general as possible, staying true to how each character interact with each other, therefore there would be minimal amounts of romance, depending on how you look between the lines of course ;) )
Warnings: Theological theme involving angels, demons, and God (this is all done for the sake of good humor, staying loyal to the style of Mr. Pratchett and Mr. Gaiman); mentions of activities in hell, skewering, and cleaning duty
Summary: Replacing the characters of Good Omens with our beloved cast in Hetalia! The end of the world is afoot and the only ones who could stop it are two silly characters pretending to be the world's icon of good and evil (one of them is an ex-incubus, which makes things even worse), a horseperson with father/son issues, and many other characters who have their own hairbrained ideas on how to create world peace or whatever. We're all doomed.
A/N: More information about the inner-workings of hell. And their names, too.
Time Frame: Alternate Universe; but the literal time frame here is the late 20th century or later
Francis' real name was not actually 'Francis'. For both angels and demons alike, their names were mostly pronounced with either a cacophony of growls, squeals, curdles, croons, and a bit of purring. But mostly it was impossible for humans to pronounce their names correctly, as it required a divine tongue to create the beautiful, yet awfully delicate sound of two tigers trying to off each other while humping a tree hole at the same time. Just a little bit of a squee here, a minute of a soft wheeze there, and ending the human equivalent of a letter with an 'uoomph'.
No, our demon Francis' real name was Vboehnneyfoiuee (1).
Demons took great pride in the way humans might spell their names, thinking its complexity as a sign of something great, dark, and foreboding. Terrifying names with a lot of u's, i's, z's, e's, and v's, in particular. However, for the sake of the reader's sanity - the characters from hell and heaven will only be named with the simpler, more sensible version of their names. Therefore: Lhuudviwighe will be known as Ludwig; Fvelliscieeannious will be known as Feliciano; and Vbohnneyfoiuee will be known as Bonnefoy henceforth.
Francis adopted his human name in remembrance of one of his mortal students, Donatien Alphonse Francois de Sade, or Marquis (sometimes Comte) de Sade, who had lived around in the 18th-19th century; prosecuted for his great genius and imaginations (the man was the type of genius who could paint a picture with his own loins), and had later on been forced to become caged within his own mind. Francis was Sade's personal teacher who, at times, would appear during his dreams or whenever he went raving mad. The demon was for Sade what a child would usually call their 'imaginary friend'. After he died, Francis, who felt such a great loss that he was compelled to honor his student’s name forever, practically molded the word 'sadistic' from the deceased Marquis, and later on saved the man’s literature, forcing the fates to let it become published afterwards. Which earned him a commendation in hell. And since Marquis de Sade was born in France, he named himself Francis, and claimed the country France as his own home.
But demons, or devils: the evil beings of both night and day, hidden under shadow; masters of all that is sin and temptation… well, they were not supposed to feel personal connections. What was so 'personal' about demons, anyway? Demons weren't allowed to feel anything but amusement and a slight emotion of curiosity towards the lesser mortals - and it was mostly a kind of curiosity that pushes young boys to poke sticks or other sharp objects through an ant farm's entrance hole, and then trample on it later on with glee. Maybe set the scuttling ants on gasoline and then light it afire while laughing manically. That kind of curiosity.
These were the thoughts currently running through Duke Ludwig's mind at the moment while his assistant, Feliciano, was sitting slack on the dirty ground against a tombstone of the graveyard, muttering about something or other.
Bonnefoy was certainly an oddball demon. It was fair enough that he used to be considered as an incubus (in fact, Francis personally coined the name using a cube of sugar and a really big orgy), and popularized the whole 'demons should feel pleasure since they're already in hell anyway' trend on the very first day of their jobs in Hell.
No, Ludwig was a traditional type of demon. One who focused more on making mortals sin and go to hell for their daily torture instead of letting himself indulge in sin through work. He believed in a little something called a demon's dignity and honor, and while those terms were mostly given to heroic saints, Ludwig's 'dignity' and 'honor' were more on taking pleasure on a day's job well done.
His work consisted of finishing a nice, graphed, and detailed list about which mortal goes to what type of torment for the whole month (he especially liked the one with the whips, dogs, and chocolate muffin cake area of torture), acting as a field messenger to spread the name of evil towards the acting demons-on-the-field (or on Earth), and dragging back the tortured souls who managed to escape hell's infallible armed security guards, hell’s ancient old gate, and Cerberus, their three belled mechanical alarm system with a screech that could curdle a wig, complete with one trillion video feeds, and a nice red flashing light that went 'weeoooweeooo'.
In truth, and Ludwig would deny this fact - this Duke was not actually evil. He was just precise. A precise demon who thought jobs in hell had fuller satisfaction (and graphs, he liked those) than the jobs in heaven.
Bonnefoy's fashionably late nature was not doing well on his temper, too, especially when his partner of fifty years - a felled angel named Feliciano (2) - was currently whining about pasta, and a getting a tomato for the road.
"Pasta… Ludwig… when was the last time we had pasta?"
"It was just five hours ago, Feliciano. Control yourself." Ludwig said, gritting his teeth and trying to take his own advice for himself.
“Ludwig, I want some pasta~"
"We will leave this place and go to a nice human restaurant if Bonneyfoy does not arrive within-" Ludwig took a slight, brisk peek of his rusty wristwatch and 'hmphed', "Four minutes and twenty seconds." (3)
"It's been so long since I actually went to a human restaurant," Feliciano said, his voice laden with a tone of awe and sheer anticipation, "Why are we waiting for him, Ludwig?"
Germany paused, noticing something, "You know that little human child you forgot to take with you when you moved to this spot?"
Feliciano nodded, not perturbed that the child was quietly sniffling a few feet away from them after a nice, satisfying cry, "Mhmm?"
Ludwig counted to ten and inhaled, "Feliciano."
"Is it five minutes yet?"
"Get the boy!"
Feliciano rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes and yawned, going off to do as his boss told him to, looking much like a limp noodle himself.
"Bonnefoy might or might not arrive, and we cannot forget our precious charge." he said, in a calmer way this time.
When his partner came back with a basket full of something that kept sniffling and crooning, both demons noted a light that shone through the dark, foggy night. They looked ahead and saw Bonnefoy's Renault cut through the thick fog as if it were a very sharp fan.
"That flash…” Ludwig scoffed, fishing for another word; a stronger word, but all he could remember were the curses their soldiers in World War II sometimes used, “Das Schwein."
"Ludwig, where're the horses that usually pull the carriage?"
"It's something new. I think I remember one of our scouts' reports calling it an… oto-moe-beel."
When Bonnefoy finally arrived, stepped out of his car, and dared show his face to Ludwig - he received a nice, hard punch on the nose. Francis stumbled against his car door, but quickly righted himself from dizziness before Ludwig got lucky enough to land another hit on him again. His anticipation was useless, though, since Ludwig was just staring at him with those steely blue eyes of his, his mouth set in a thin line; a perfect statue very much akin to an angry, more masculine David. With an eye twitching problem.
Francis Bonnefoy was the kind of demon Ludwig liked to call 'one gone local'. He had the same bright colored hair as Ludwig, wore expensive suits and shoes from France, had an impressive jaw line, dusted with a bit of stubble, and he sometimes spoke in French, if that fact wasn't already established in the earlier chapter. If one would look at him you would think of those bohemians who thrived in eccentricity (4). In terms of looks, Francis adopted the sloppy look, what with his shirt tucked out in all the odd places, his tie missing, and his suit jacket wrinkled in some areas -but he could strangely pull the style off with great success.
"You're late." Ludwig said.
Francis merely smiled and waved the other demon's hostility off, "You called, your deviousness?"
"Enough with the false charm, Bonnefoy." Francis' shoulder tensed, his sudden anger rolling in waves, that one could smell his expensive cologne boiling a mile away. He didn't like being called his ridiculous demon name, unfortunately, "You're two hours late, and even if it is fitting for another one of our asinine superiors on how demons of hell are supposed to behave," Ludwig held himself straighter (if that was even possible) and stared down at Francis, which reminded the latter of a drill sergeant who never knew of the word ‘comedy’, "I cannot tolerate tardiness."
"Oh come now, Ludwig, let this mistake go si'l vous plait. I was having a meeting with one of my business partners." Francis righted his suit in emphasis, "Work work work. Knowing you, I'm guessing that it would be hard for you to understand…"
"You've just done a violation against our orders, Bonnefoy" a violation which, Ludwig briefly noted, must have been tossed aside by Berwald.
Francis sagged, looking as if he wanted to snap someone's pencil in half and laugh at their disappointed face. He should have known better than to go against this particular Duke of Hell. When it came to obeying and disobeying a demon superior from hell, a duke especially, most of them tolerated almost all acts of mischief and evil thrown against them as long as the job gets done, and they could behead/slice off/skewer the offending demon in retribution. Ludwig was too tight-assed about following everything according to plan. Despite envying the man's lower bits, he made him pissed as, well - pissed as hell whenever they were brought together for work purposes (that is: every time they met).
Feliciano tugged Ludwig's sleeve in a meek manner and said something Francis thought sounded a bit like 'five minutes'. Ludwig clearly deflated and, growling, he took the small basket Feliciano was holding in his arms and motioned a finger on it.
"You were assigned by our lord Satan, for some reason, to look after this child. You know what this-" Ludwig shook the basket, hoping that it would make things quicker, "-means, and I trust that you would follow everything to the letter, Bonnefoy."
There he goes again. The nerve.
"Monsieur Bonnefoy. Mister Bonnefoy. Sir Bon bon, or call it what you must!" Francis bristled, "But my first name is Francis. You could say 'Francis'. Pronounce 'Francis'. It's even easier to say than Bonnefoy."
Ludwig rolled his eyes and stopped himself from tearing his hair off, "Are you still on with that ridiculous--?" he snorted, quickly forgetting the responsibility at hand, "You must stop acting like a human and stick to protocol. You are allowed to indulge, but obedience, Bonnefoy, is important. You are in violation!"
"Oh, mon superiur," Francis purred, raising a finger in the air as if he was making an important point in court (which he was), "You have forgotten that the particular law forbidding being fashionably late was written off."
"Any right-faced, respected demon of hell knows-"
"Violation 8-77-2-444-9. Cleared off by Baphomet… or Tino, as he likes to call himself now after hearing that knock knock joke. Keep your head above your paperwork, seigneur."
"You're also speaking in," the other seethed, "French."
"I live in France therefore I am French." He didn’t ‘steal’ the paperwork for staying in France just for the kicks, you know, he had been on Earth ever since its Creation. Old coots like Ludwig never would understand, he thought.
“You…” This was the point when Ludwig said something in their native demonic tongue, one which had Francis gaping at him as if he was just slapped with a smelly fish, "And you're hopeless."
"You ate pasta!"
A large space of silence happened between the three. The baby who was still in the basket sniffled and waved an arm and attempted to squeeze his little fingers around Ludwig's sleeves. In the background, a dog stopped nosing the dirt and looked at the scenario with confusion.
"I can smell it on your clothes." Feliciano moved to sniff Francis' collar, but was stopped by Ludwig's large hand grabbing his collar.
"Enough of this!" Remembering his yoga lessons (of the hellish kind), the larger demon counted up to ten seconds of silence and then pushed the basket against Francis' chest, "Forget recounting the deeds of the day. Here. You know what to do with it."
Francis pushed the pink and green quilt the little wiggling human was covered in and raised an eyebrow, "Qui est ce… err… who's this?"
"It's the baby that's going to end the world." Feliciano smiled, tugging Ludwig's arm and motioning for them to leave the graveyard, "Where do you eat pasta, Bonnefoy?" he asked, one head tilting to his side.
Unfortunately, Francis was too shocked to say or do anything but stare at the little, bright-eyed baby in absolute horror.
Twenty minutes of fumbling, signing some paperwork, and even more fumbling, Francis started his Renault, gave the place where Ludwig and Feliciano had disappeared in fiery flames from (probably to an Italian restaurant of some sort which served potatoes) a middle finger, and drove off. He drummed his fingers on the car wheel in a nervous manner and looked at the child in the backseat, not caring that he was currently going over a hundred in the fast lane without looking at the road. The cause of Armageddon, the dread Dragon of the Deep was sound asleep. His short brown hair ruffled from the warm quilt about him. Francis blearily turned his eyes back on the road (more or less) and bit the tip of his thumb.
“Ah non.” he muttered, “Non non non. No more empty canvases to tempt, no more potential angels to seduce, no more fine dining, no more designer clothes…”
… and no more fun. It made no difference for him if either side won. It would all change and go back to normal - him working his dreary duties in hell, and Arthur doing his Principality duties and tea drinking in heaven. And, he thought, if the side of darkness won he would probably be stuck on skewering duty since his sole talent of making people sin would be useless by then. If heaven won - he would probably fill the roster for cleaning duty. Because try as he might, making demons do something sinful was near impossible since they would be doing it already. No, he knew that everything would be as boring as the horrible 14th century once the end happened.
The ticking time bomb, the one that would lead them to eternal victory (or loss), and cause the death of all the mortals in the world, trumpets and angels and lights and darkness intermixing upon Earth's plane, sneezed in the back-seat.
Well… maybe he could just leave the baby somewhere.
FR'NCIS.
Or not.
D'YOU H'VE 'IM?
“Er- oui. Oui, seigneur, I have him.” He gulped, "I mean, I have Him. Him."
L'DWIG T'LL Y' WHERE T' DROP OFF TH' KID?
‘Drop off’ really did sound tempting right now…
“Oui. Yes. Seigneur.”
Y'D DO 'XACTLY WH'T Y'R DUKE TOL' Y' TO, MMH?
"I..." he sighed, giving up and admitting that he was too much of a coward to face hell's grand court and the difficulty of choosing one over a million lawyers in hell, "Will not fail you."
Out of spite, Francis corrupted a few stop signs behind him and took pleasure in the amount of rage and car crashes he could see from his rear-view mirror.
There was only one person he could talk to about this horrible shortcoming, Francis thought. But he had to drop the baby off to the hospital first, where an anxious father (5) of a newborn healthy Spawn of Satan was waiting.
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Notes:
(1) Angels are not supposed to be prideful, so they just take their names in a modest stride. Arthur (or Aartheeiuhhre), however, thinks his 'real' name as an embarrassment with the same intensity a son would feel after being named 'Sue', as his real name sounded like a pair old men running down a hill.
(2) This angel fell because of a vice he became addicted to. One can only guess what vice Feliciano willingly fell into hell for.
(3) Although they could let a bowl of pasta appear right before their eyes, Feliciano wanted his first meal of real pasta - after a whole century of eating the hearts of television heretics that was lightly covered in ravioli - to be special. It was some really intense paperwork they had to go through.
(4) One of the better ideas of Francis who thought that some people having run-ins with the law and creating a bit of a tussle here and there was beneficial to spreading evil in the world, although he didn't expect the term 'unconventionality' would also birth Hippies.
(5) Francis thought Feliciano told him that the mortal father, handpicked by Satan himself, was an American politican who was currently on business meeting with his mobile phone to settle his jittering nerves.