Random Tidbit; Cix and Archangel Gabriel
Archangel Gabriel, Heaven's trademark bad boy. Or should that be bad ass? There was only one way to describe Gabriel, and that one way was one word; sleazy.
I'd seen his picture before on the Purgatory network news, so I recognized him, but the real thing was even more oggle-worthy and I couldn't help but stare. Actually, I did more than stare; I took him in from the feet up, from wingtips to pinstrip trousers to loosened tie. He had one of those little waxed moustaches that you always see on villains in old movies, before goatees and soul patches came into evil fashion. For some reason he was wearing sunglasses inside, like he was just trying to be cool, but it sure as hell wasn't going to work on me.
He smiled at me, a syrupy leer to rival Franky's trademark smirk, and by sheer force of will I restrained a laugh. Or a snicker, to be more accurate. After all, he was an Archangel, and I was just a lowly personnel manager. That, and I didn't want him to get the wrong, ahem, idea. He was a slick willy, and he gave me the heebie jeebies.
"Welcome to Hell, Archangel." I gave my best insincere smile and extended my hand. It was obvious I didn't like him, but you wanna know something? We've been trying to hire Gabriel for years, and it wouldn't hurt to at least try to be friendly. Right?
For some reason he's never accepted the more than generous offers we've been throwing his way. Maybe we just didn't have what he wanted, but I doubt that was it. Personally, I thought he enjoyed the irony, a two-timing bookie cardshark like himself as one of the hands of God. You've got to admit, it is kind of funny.
When he spoke, even his voice felt slimy. "Thank you for the warm greeting, Miss..."
"Cix. It's just Cix." I was so not telling him my real name. It just felt... stupid. Like purposely giving telemarketers your telephone numbers, just so they could call you during dinner. Okay, maybe not the best analogy, but you get my drift.
Anyway. He smiled again and took my hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Cix." Then instead of shaking it, he began to lift it to his lips. Blecch! I pulled away as politely as I could manage, which meant not politely at all, and frowned. And by frown, I mean a somewhat restrained glare.
"I'm sure. Can we get to business, Archangel? I was told that you and an entourage were to be arriving today, but there only seems to be you. Are there more of your... kind, or was I misinformed?"
Oooh, go me. I was being somewhat nice and tough. I guess he liked it, because he raised an eyebrow at me and winked.
"My my, but you are direct." Ha, direct. He had no idea. If I was really in the mood-- which, admittedly, I was-- I could have been as "direct" as a cannonball to the face, but this was business, and I couldn't blow it. Yet.
"Pardon my hostility, sir--" Me, apologizing? I had a good line with that hostility bit, though. It caught me by surprise just as much as it surprised him. "--but we're obviously none too pleased here with what's happened, and it's going to be a long ten days. I just want to know what in Satan's name is going on."
I could tell by the look on his face that he knew. Shit. I didn't know. This was just peachy keen with a goddamn cherry on top.
"I'm sorry that you don't seem to know much, Miss Cix." Burn on me. I wished he had wings to I could pluck them, feather by feather, and then maybe after I'd shave that annoying little Hitler moustache and give him something to think about. Damnit, now he was talking again, interrupting my nice visions of flaming Gabriel-bodies and-- "However, Archangel Micheal will be arriving shortly, and perhaps he could help explain."
I wanted someone to tell me that he did not just say Micheal. Unfortunately, that was exactly what he'd said.
"... Miche is coming?"
I'd seen his picture before on the Purgatory network news, so I recognized him, but the real thing was even more oggle-worthy and I couldn't help but stare. Actually, I did more than stare; I took him in from the feet up, from wingtips to pinstrip trousers to loosened tie. He had one of those little waxed moustaches that you always see on villains in old movies, before goatees and soul patches came into evil fashion. For some reason he was wearing sunglasses inside, like he was just trying to be cool, but it sure as hell wasn't going to work on me.
He smiled at me, a syrupy leer to rival Franky's trademark smirk, and by sheer force of will I restrained a laugh. Or a snicker, to be more accurate. After all, he was an Archangel, and I was just a lowly personnel manager. That, and I didn't want him to get the wrong, ahem, idea. He was a slick willy, and he gave me the heebie jeebies.
"Welcome to Hell, Archangel." I gave my best insincere smile and extended my hand. It was obvious I didn't like him, but you wanna know something? We've been trying to hire Gabriel for years, and it wouldn't hurt to at least try to be friendly. Right?
For some reason he's never accepted the more than generous offers we've been throwing his way. Maybe we just didn't have what he wanted, but I doubt that was it. Personally, I thought he enjoyed the irony, a two-timing bookie cardshark like himself as one of the hands of God. You've got to admit, it is kind of funny.
When he spoke, even his voice felt slimy. "Thank you for the warm greeting, Miss..."
"Cix. It's just Cix." I was so not telling him my real name. It just felt... stupid. Like purposely giving telemarketers your telephone numbers, just so they could call you during dinner. Okay, maybe not the best analogy, but you get my drift.
Anyway. He smiled again and took my hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Cix." Then instead of shaking it, he began to lift it to his lips. Blecch! I pulled away as politely as I could manage, which meant not politely at all, and frowned. And by frown, I mean a somewhat restrained glare.
"I'm sure. Can we get to business, Archangel? I was told that you and an entourage were to be arriving today, but there only seems to be you. Are there more of your... kind, or was I misinformed?"
Oooh, go me. I was being somewhat nice and tough. I guess he liked it, because he raised an eyebrow at me and winked.
"My my, but you are direct." Ha, direct. He had no idea. If I was really in the mood-- which, admittedly, I was-- I could have been as "direct" as a cannonball to the face, but this was business, and I couldn't blow it. Yet.
"Pardon my hostility, sir--" Me, apologizing? I had a good line with that hostility bit, though. It caught me by surprise just as much as it surprised him. "--but we're obviously none too pleased here with what's happened, and it's going to be a long ten days. I just want to know what in Satan's name is going on."
I could tell by the look on his face that he knew. Shit. I didn't know. This was just peachy keen with a goddamn cherry on top.
"I'm sorry that you don't seem to know much, Miss Cix." Burn on me. I wished he had wings to I could pluck them, feather by feather, and then maybe after I'd shave that annoying little Hitler moustache and give him something to think about. Damnit, now he was talking again, interrupting my nice visions of flaming Gabriel-bodies and-- "However, Archangel Micheal will be arriving shortly, and perhaps he could help explain."
I wanted someone to tell me that he did not just say Micheal. Unfortunately, that was exactly what he'd said.
"... Miche is coming?"