“You give yourself too little credit, my friend. As if any port-o-potty could require one-tenth the putrid vapors of your face." The grin faded to a confident, secretive smile, the retort spoken with a playful distaste that was, somehow, not so playful. One arm reached under the sleeve of its counterpart as he continued, “But I get your point: we’re both busy individuals.” L withdrew a yellowed piece of parchment from the hidden recesses of his clothing, rolled and tied neatly with a piece of ephemeral black ribbon. “You should feel special; you’re second on the list, short as it is. Most of them just got texts.” He took a step forward and extended it to Lazahn, absorptive eyes maintaining a hold on the demon’s own minty blue ones. “But I suppose that you being<span style="font-style: italic">special</span>isn't exactly news, is it?” The cryptic question clearly required no response, regardless of phrasing.<br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold">-----</span></div><br/><br/><br/>“Good evening, sir, and welcome to Hell!”<br/><br/>“Wh-what? Is that - ? N-no, I can’t be…”<br/><br/>“Pfffhahahaha! Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with ya. You’re in the DMS, mate." The office chair spun around, revealing a speaker who promptly stood and perched her butt on the desk, "The ‘Hell’ thing never gets old; people disproved the propaganda decades ago but the knee-jerk response never changed.” The woman was older, maybe mid-forties by mortal standards, with pale blonde hair tied back into a severe bun and streaked with thick bands of grey. Despite her overly-conservative pantsuit and wealth of frown-shaped creases around her mouth, she had a playful sparkle in her eye and an obnoxious, contagious laugh.<br/><br/>“Dee… em ess?” The older man in the long coat wasn’t firing on all cylinders, clearly, but in his defense not many were at this point in their afterlives.<br/><br/>“Well, you don’t have to say it like<span style="font-style: italic">that</span>,” she started, mouth twisting childishly, “Sound a bit foreboding.” The tall woman slid across her desk in a way that casually defied physics, reaching over to the unwashed new-dead with no hesitation. Deft fingers started to quickly button the trench coat, her eyes maintaining strained contact with his after flickering over the bloodstains on the dirty brown material. “You’re lucky; he used to write in old Tamil. More… ah, swirlies, ya dig? It did look prettier, though. Anyway, c’mon newbie.” She spun on her heel (ignoring the last few buttons), long strides eating the marble as she moved down a hallway that… had to have been there before, right?<br/><br/>Grateful for direction, the man followed, shoulders hunched as he observed more of the intimidating structure. The woman didn’t seem to notice, chattering on about the new construction that had been done on the Styx. “… and I told him, what the<span style="font-style: italic">fuck</span>do safety standards even matter anymore, you useless – Oh, here we are.” She stopped outside a massive door, the middle window plastered with black block letters that spelled out<span style="font-weight: bold">PROCESSING</span>. “So, right when you walk in you’ll notice a three-breasted harpy to your left –do<span style="font-style: italic">not</span>make eye contact, you’ll thank me later- but if you take the right directly after her, you should see a – what?” Her confidence faded as the doorknob refused to yield in her iron grip.<br/><br/>“Locked?” she whispered. She tried harder- nothing. She tried violently shaking the doorknob with both hands and one foot braced on it – nothing. Finally she tried banging on the window with one fist, the hammering appendage echoing with only a dull thud on the thick plating. “Oi, tryin’ to get in! C’mon guys, this door…” her brow furrowed and she took a step back, “… this door<span style="font-style: italic">shouldn’t</span>be locked.” A phone appeared in her hand, her thumb dotting expertly over the touchscreen before she pinned it to her ear.<br/><br/>“Anise, the door to Processing is<span style="font-style: italic">locked</span>. What the shitting fuck, man.” Her eyes widened in alarm. “Hey hey hey, calm down, I’m not actually mad, I just – Anise? Anise! What’s going on, what are you – Anise!” Her gaze dropped to her phone, eyes just as dumbfounded as if the device had sprouted eyes and/or testicles. A beat passed, but by the end of it the woman appeared to remember her charge; she spun around, plastering an idiotic grin on her face in an effort to reassure him despite her tepid pallor. “Um… it seems we’ve got some… technical difficulties. But don’t worry!” she piped cheerfully, continuing her rapid pace down the hallway. “We’ve got a spot for you! Sometimes we get a bit overloaded, so there’s a nice, spacious place for you to relax until we get the bugs worked out. It won’t take very long, but feel free to take a nap or change into some human clothes or - ”<br/><br/>Her breath caught short again as she swung open the door that read<span style="font-weight: bold">HOLDING</span>. It was<span style="font-style: italic">packed</span>. Individuals of every age, ethnicity, death-time, soul-caliber, cause of death lined the room from wall to wall, with scarcely enough room to shift their weight. “W-well,” she started, unable to hide the waver in her falsely bright voice, “l-like I said! Plenty of room to… to… G’bye!” She shoved the mostly-naked man unceremoniously into the room and slammed the door, her eyes the size of dinner plates.<br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold">-----</span></div><br/><br/><br/>“Should we wait for him?” Oliver asked quietly, following her gaze to the taller demon briefly. He was almost out of obvious earshot, and though the young man had no desire to leave one of his new best friends behind, he couldn’t help but feel that he didn’t really want to linger here; Tai's bar had never been his comfort zone, less so with the technical difficulties and rabid blonde women, but he was rarely uncomfortable to this extent for no apparent reason. He was keenly aware of the hair standing on the back of his neck and the rise of gooseflesh along his arms. The darkness of almost-night seemed… thick, somehow. He chose not to voice his concern, but he also didn’t stop walking regardless of Vivienne’s response.<br/><br/>A small brown-and-grey terrier, with medium-length, wiry hair and one lop ear barked shortly from the top of the alleyway stairs. Oliver’s eyes lit up when he saw the creature, a soft smile creasing his face. Stray animals weren’t exactly in short supply in the city, but he did like to feed and pet the friendlier ones. The fact that someone was after him flitted out of his mind and he continued up the stairs at a slightly faster pace, gently untangling himself from the lady’s arm. “Here, pup,” he called softly, extending his hand and lowering his body, adopting a posture that was miraculously even less-threatening than his usual one. The terrier watched fearlessly, head tilted in what Oliver assumed to be curiosity, and though he couldn’t see the dog’s tail he assumed it was wagging. His quietly eager smile melted into a grin as he managed to touch the side of the animal’s head with his fingertips, but before he could scratch behind the lop ear, it spun around with a happy bark and casually loped into the street.<br/><br/>“Hey!” Oliver’s eyes widened in panic and he darted after the terrier, as though the six lanes of busy traffic and blaring horns wouldn't easily turn him into flesh pudding.<br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold">-----</span></div><br/><br/><br/>“<span style="font-style: italic">Still</span>?” It may have been a whisper, but it somehow managed to convey more piss and venom than any furious shouting. The expression, which had been slowly fading into a simmering neutral rather than a storm cloud, was instantly set back several paces and teetered on the edge of ‘natural disaster’ level. The ledger didn’t denote the number of soul acquisitions per angel; rather, it listed ratios for each, usually a balance of equal parts acquisitions and length of employment. She didn’t know the condition of each Seraphim’s book (or whatever they used to monitor their legions, if anything), but she rather favored her own to be the best kept of all; rarely did any of the ratios seem off, since they were all<span style="font-style: italic">very</span>clear on the repercussions of disappointing her.<br/><br/>Of course, there was always an exception. That lazy, selfish, bald,<span style="font-style: italic">prick</span>.<br/><br/>Without taking her eyes from the pages (he was not the only one she needed to monitor, after all), she extended her left arm straight out, her movements smooth but still piping with wrath. A cell phone materialized from the heavenly atmosphere, rather dated and plain in stark contrast to the elegant setting, but she barely noticed as she flipped it open, her mind still mostly focused on her rage against Asher. She had been<span style="font-style: italic">very</span>clear the last time they had spoken… She pressed his speed-dial so hard it hurt her finger, then held the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she effortlessly lifted the massive tome from the podium. She could hear ringing, but it was very crackly and fuzzy. The service in Heaven was fucking<span style="font-style: italic">deplorable</span>, honestly.<br/><br/>While it rang, she took the opportunity to hiss rapidly at Elliot. “I may have a job for you but if you muck it up I swear I won’t just beat you with your wings I will bloody well<span style="font-style: italic">feed</span>them to you you miserable piece of - ”<br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold">-----</span></div><br/><br/><br/>Levis watched as the two figures left her, wide-eyed and purse-lipped, in the doorway of Charlene’s apartment. As they rounded the corner she stomped in frustration, her unshod foot sounding unsatisfyingly muffled, fists clenched and face darkening faster than branches at a bonfire. Bloody<span style="font-style: italic">bastard</span>.<br/><br/>She waited a few moments, until the sound of the retreating footsteps was almost gone. The barest outline of an idea came to her, one that she had actually used on Charlene before, almost a year ago. It had been a similar situation, in fact; the mortal truly needed to be more discerning with her men.<br/><br/>The angel quickly dodged back into the apartment, running to the window and yanking it open. Thankful for the lack of a screen, Levis set her foot on the window sill and launched herself out and up; right before the momentum would have given gravity the upper hand, a pair of wings exploded from between her shoulder blades in a tiny flash of lightning. Clarifying, purifying energy washed over and around the angel, changing her body even as she gathered enough wind to continue propelling upwards. ‘Stewart’ would be on his guard, no doubt having sensed the release, but there would be little he could do besides continue the slow ascent to his flat. Levis honed his focus to the immortal energies as well, trying to pinpoint which apartment belonged to the demon from the outside of the building. It was probably the second-to-top floor, but he would need to get closer to tell more than that. He didn’t see any windows that lead to hallways, and there was hardly time to tiptoe around the problem any more than he already was; brazenly he soared to a random window with a light, noticing a child with a coloring book on the floor but no other mortal. He knocked, sharply but quietly, and the little girl looked up from her coloring. She looked as though Santa had just shown up with pony and proclaimed her a princess, but Levis hardly had time to deal with stupid children. He rapped again, face annoyed and gestured her over.<br/><br/>With impossible slowness the child approached the window and opened it, and he slipped in, wings disappearing just before they would have touched the disgusting mortal window. Without sparing a second, he made it to the front door of the apartment in four strides, unbuttoning his shirt and letting the sleeves fall down to just past his wrists as he did so. The child’s thin, wavering voice came from the window- “Are you - ”<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">“No.”</span><br/><br/>He shut the door firmly behind him on that syllable, eyes already scanning the doors for the heaviest concentrations of stink. He could hear the demon murmuring and Charlene’s giggled responses; at a glance, Levis could see the tops of the demon’s head just start to crest over the flooring; he quickly rounded a corner. A particularly disgusting stench emanated from the door almost on the end, and his long legs took him there quickly. Almost as an afterthought, his deft hands looped the longish blonde hair into a knot, slipped his specs on and popped the garnet stud back into his lobe. He had only interacted with Charlene like this once before, so he was fairly certain she wouldn’t recognize him, but he was also well aware that many of his features were more constant than others- he couldn’t afford to overlook any help from accessories.<br/><br/>Their voices approached the corner and Levis promptly leaned on the demon’s door, crossing his ankles and affecting a smirk that was several shades stormier than his opposite had given.<br/><br/>Stewart and Charlene rounded the corner, somehow walking even closer than they had upon departure. When he saw the angel casually leaning on his front door, the demon’s face burned but registered no surprise. “Welcome home,” Levis answered the irritated look, “What took you so long?”<br/><br/>Stewart roughly untangled himself from Charlene. “Can I help you,<span style="font-style: italic">sir</span>,” he asked through gritted teeth, his focus switching targets and the scent of unnatural affection fading. The angel felt the balance shift in his direction- out of disguise, he had a free-flowing channel of raw power to draw from, while the demon had to maintain his mortal mask- and a<span style="font-style: italic">nice</span>one, too, if he wanted to keep Charlene’s attention.<br/><br/>“So kind of you to ask,” Levis answered elegantly, sounding for all the world like a prince at a royal banquet, “In fact, I believe you can. I’ve waited for a while to meet you, after all. You are Stewart Tillery, the cover-model on the front of ‘OUT’ magazine?” A decidedly dark mirror of Stewart’s own smirk tilted his lips, brow furrowing slightly as he took a step closer. Stewart’s eyes narrowed defensively and though he didn’t move other than that, his aura gave the impression of a threatened dog hunching over, hackles rising but tail tucking.<span style="font-style: italic">That’s right, cur.</span>The taller man extended his right hand in a cordial handshake invitation, smirk turning into a friendly, beguiling smile. “I must say, you look the same as you did on the centerfold.”<br/><br/>The demon’s eyes flickered from Charlene to Levis several times, his nervousness bleeding through more noticeably. Levis honed in on it. “Well, you hardly struck me as the type to refuse a simple greeting. Quite rude… certainly not the type that such a lovely young lady should be taking up with.” The challenge was unmistakable, even to the little girl that had poked her head from around the corner to watch the proceedings. Still, Stewart hesitated like a mysophobe reaching for a sasquatch… but he did hold his hand in a typical handshake form, whether or not it extended toward the angel. Levis decided it was enough.<br/><br/>His large hand snagged Stewart’s, and a visible pulse of red-brown light moved from their palms up the demon’s arm, disappearing up his sleeve. He choked and yanked his paw free, revealing that it was no longer the long-fingered, perfectly-proportioned hand of a handsome human but rather some horrid, squishy-looking cloven hoof; it would only have been appropriate on a half-melted wax sculpture of an ugly goat. A snarl broke forth from his lips (which quickly pulled unnaturally to the sides of his face, elongating his mouth and thinning until very lizard-like), and his eyes turned slit-pupil and bright, sickly yellow. The right side of his perfectly-chiseled jaw turned into a gel-like substance and started to droop unattractively, hanging in goopy folds around his neck and showing the red membranes on the inside-lower lid of his right eye.<span style="font-style: italic">“Fuck you, filth!”</span>the lesser demon hissed, revealing a tongue of disturbing length. It turned to Charlene, grasping for her with one human hand and one demon hoof.<span style="font-style: italic">“Love me, mortal!”</span>