In Service of Paradise

[Estro]

The office was unusual in the extreme, even in such a diverse place as the heavenly halls. It was situated in the lower floors of the Bureaucracy, which usually signified a low rank in the overall rankings. But, unlike most of its ilk on the floor, it was fully enclosed. Heck, it even had a waiting room, if a small one, which you were all crammed in. The nature of its occupant - your new boss - was also an exercise in such stunning duality. He was the angel of Resignation Letters sent with an incorrect Stamp, a truly minor domain, but he was a Throne, an angel of the First Sphere, and had enough divine power in one of his rings to wipe all of you out in an instant.

"You can all come in now."

The sentence was not delivered in the ringing cadence that some of the high-ups affected, but in a voice almost human like in its mundanity. Despite this, it was still clearly not a request, and so you all filed in, to sit on the chairs laid out for you.

Kamariel was in many ways the archetypical Throne, three rings of a precious metal or gem - red Corundum, in his case - each laid with hundreds of eyes, spinning around a cloud of divine energy. The outermost ring stopped spinning as you entered, dozens of eyes tracking each of you as he floated above a desk piled high with papers, stacks a foot thick.

"So, I'm sure you've heard the rumours floating around heaven for the last month or so, ever since you were all suddenly seconded to me."

An entire stack of papers suddenly levitated in the air, several files extracting themselves from its mass, floating in air to be pursued by a few of his spare eyes, even as the bulk of them were still focused on you.

"It's been eleven years coming, but yes, this was caused by the latest recommendation from the Fourth Committee on Human Intervention. Approved Akrasiel himself."

The rings of the angel shifted slightly, a pattern long recognised as a general tic of nervousness among traditionally formed Thrones.

"But let's not beat around the bush. You're, frankly, a stop gap measure. The result of a decade of politicking and debate, formed into something I'm not even sure deserves being called a compromise measure."

The angel laughed, a sound like singing glass, and it echoed strangely for half a minute in the office, before anyone could speak again.

"Sorry, old habit. But yeah, and I'm the sorry sod who's been sent to be incharge of you lot. You've been chosen because you're low ranked - in both senses of the term, relatively minor, and frankly the entire Bureaucracy won't notice you leaving it."

The rings of Kamariel suddenly set spinning again, faster than the eye could follow.

"But don't get me wrong, this is a wonderful chance for us all to prove ourselves. This promises to open opportunities for advancement not seen since six centuries ago, with old Jeanne. Sweet girl. Shame what happened to her, you know."

Another stack was lifted up, the old files being shuffled into them, and five more withdrawn, each dumped on your lap. It looked to be the usual mix of waivers, declarations, requisitions, approvals, and other paperwork you'd come across in everyday work.

"You're going to have to fill this in, I'm afraid. No two ways about it. Now, before getting to the specifics, a general overview. Hell has a rather strong hold on Earth, from what our mirrors on other planets tell me, and there are demons who feel safe enough to just walk around on the planet. Rates of atheism have never been so high, and it's starting to pervade the culture. With the Lord God -" everyone quickly muttered out a hymn of devotion to the Lord once his name was mentioned, "having set a date, it's imperative we begin clean up as soon as we can. While most of the problems are far too subtle and pervasive for just scaring people with terrifying awe to work, we can rid the planet, as best we can, of the Fallen. But due to wanting to avoid excessive interference or notice, we're sending Angels. Low power, but hopefully highly effective operatives."

Smiling in that odd way only a creature with seven thousand plus eyes mounted on spinning rings could do, Kamariel took the opportunity for a short pause.

"But before we get onto the specifics of your first mission, any questions?"

(@Laplace, @Arkalest, @Azrael, @Mina, @SoaringHawk218)

 

[Arkalest]

Shame indeed.

Zhadiel quietly allowed herself a moment of reminescence. Just a moment. The peacock angel was more or less standing on the chair, heavenly glass soffused by a transcendant miasma of purple roiling clouds. Poor, sweet Jeanne.

Poor, sweet, slightly foul-smelling Jeanne. Had her angelic form come with nostrils included she'd have wrinkled them. Pecunia non olet, but J. sure did. The angel shifted a glassowrk foot tipped by golden talons a bit to the left, further falling down the memory hole. Sure was a...Peasant-looking...Peasant. But love is blind, and what is the dear Lord- Praise to Him, she sang to herself- But the most greatest form of love?

But still, ooh, those brown dresses and that thick foulard and the rugged, simple yet effective hemp belt. J. may have gone out in style, but she sure as the other place didn't live in it. Then again-

-At the mention of the word "Questions" she snapped back to reality, lifting her 12 eyes from observing the very interesting cloud pattern on the pavement. Oh. Questions. Questionsquestionsques- Rrrright, got it. SHe mentally pulled up her checklist.

"Sir", she daintily spoke out, voice like the hem of a dozen wedding gowns brushing on a carpet in the middle of a church that fell silent due to being stunned by the bride's beauty. "Will we allowed to procure assets on site? And if so, what sorts of assets?"

 

[SoaringHawk218]

You've been chosen because you're low ranked - in both senses of the term, relatively minor, and frankly the entire Bureaucracy won't notice you leaving it."

Click to shrink...

'And in my case, those that do notice will probably be glad to see the back of me,' Ecthel thought, careful not to let any hint of this thought seep into his form or spirit. He'd had a lot of practice, just as he hid the surge of pleasure that came from hearing there would be - no! He would not be glad that there were demons upon the Earth, he would not allow either side of his nature to feel that: the good that saw a chance to redeem itself in the flames of battle, or the bad... he refused to even contemplate why the bad was happy.

He forced his wolves back into a semblance of order: they still tore at each other, but they were doing so in the back of his being so he could focus. Zhadiel's question was welcome: even if Ecthel usually worked alone, it would be good to know how much flexibility he'd have.

As he waited for Kamariel to answer her, several of his snakes refrained from eating themselves long enough to scan his stack of forms: mostly things he could fill out in his sleep, though Ecthel did notice a few questions that would take some more careful consideration.

When Kamariel finished, Ecthel drew his attention. "Any major hubs of darkness?" he asked. Demons may be on Earth, but there was a difference between causing mischief and building a real power-base. Best to know about the latter quickly.

 

[Laplace]

"But let's not beat around the bush. You're, frankly, a stop gap measure. The result of a decade of politicking and debate, formed into something I'm not even sure deserves being called a compromise measure."

The angel laughed, a sound like singing glass, and it echoed strangely for half a minute in the office, before anyone could speak again.

"Sorry, old habit. But yeah, and I'm the sorry sod who's been sent to be incharge of you lot. You've been chosen because you're low ranked - in both senses of the term, relatively minor, and frankly the entire Bureaucracy won't notice you leaving it."

The rings of Kamariel suddenly set spinning again, faster than the eye could follow.

"But don't get me wrong, this is a wonderful chance for us all to prove ourselves. This promises to open opportunities for advancement not seen since six centuries ago, with old Jeanne. Sweet girl. Shame what happened to her, you know."

Another stack was lifted up, the old files being shuffled into them, and five more withdrawn, each dumped on your lap. It looked to be the usual mix of waivers, declarations, requisitions, approvals, and other paperwork you'd come across in everyday work.

"You're going to have to fill this in, I'm afraid. No two ways about it. Now, before getting to the specifics, a general overview. Hell has a rather strong hold on Earth, from what our mirrors on other planets tell me, and there are demons who feel safe enough to just walk around on the planet. Rates of atheism have never been so high, and it's starting to pervade the culture. With the Lord God -" everyone quickly muttered out a hymn of devotion to the Lord once his name was mentioned, "having set a date, it's imperative we begin clean up as soon as we can. While most of the problems are far too subtle and pervasive for just scaring people with terrifying awe to work, we can rid the planet, as best we can, of the Fallen. But due to wanting to avoid excessive interference or notice, we're sending Angels. Low power, but hopefully highly effective operatives."

Smiling in that odd way only a creature with seven thousand plus eyes mounted on spinning rings could do, Kamariel took the opportunity for a short pause.

"But before we get onto the specifics of your first mission, any questions?"

Click to shrink...

Angels were beings of peerless perfection, being the Will and Word of God, made manifest.

Fucker. You know who I am? I was the Armorer of the Heavenly Host. I made your first set of armor, you ungrateful brat.

This, for some reason, included pretending to be stone cold sober whilst being, in actuality, drunk as He-Sh- what was the party line on where people would be damned forever? Nechaiel forgot. Or maybe he was never there for the committee meeting. The fires of his form shimmered, feathers of lapis lazuli blue and burnished bronze flame shifting like ten thousand million grains of sand. But with a more avian nature.

Oh, what's this, Nechaiel thought, being sent down to Earth again? Yes, yes yes. This endless realm of light and supernal hymms grinded on the nerves after the first thousand years or so. He could take this total son-of-a-goat-and-a-goat-herder's condescension a while for such a pleasurable posting. "How," he spoke in a world like bronze cooling in the forge, 'wide of a latitude are we allowed to interfere with the lives of the mortals?"

 

[Azrael]

Karel drifted into the office with the others, her bare feet padding along the polished stone floor. Once she arrived and took her seat, she began to attempt to have a staring contest with one of the eyes that Kamariel set to watching her.

"Sorry, old habit. But yeah, and I'm the sorry sod who's been sent to be incharge of you lot. You've been chosen because you're low ranked - in both senses of the term, relatively minor, and frankly the entire Bureaucracy won't notice you leaving it."

Click to shrink...

Her wings fluttered softly in annoyance at that statement. She oversaw over 6000 children every year, seeing to it that they grew up healthy and happy. While she may not have much rank or status within the Heavenly Bureaucracy, she was doing important work to help mankind's spiritual wellbeing! After all, children were the future of all species that had them!

Greatly incensed, Karel folded her arms and turned her head to the side, pouting.

"But before we get onto the specifics of your first mission, any questions?"

Click to shrink...

Once the briefing reached this point, Karel's hand shot up and waved about in the air, trying to draw the Throne's attention. So eager was the youthful-looking angel that her wings' excited flaps caused her to float a few inches off her chair.

 

[Estro]

Shame indeed.

Zhadiel quietly allowed herself a moment of reminescence. Just a moment. The peacock angel was more or less standing on the chair, heavenly glass soffused by a transcendant miasma of purple roiling clouds. Poor, sweet Jeanne.

Poor, sweet, slightly foul-smelling Jeanne. Had her angelic form come with nostrils included she'd have wrinkled them. Pecunia non olet, but J. sure did. The angel shifted a glassowrk foot tipped by golden talons a bit to the left, further falling down the memory hole. Sure was a...Peasant-looking...Peasant. But love is blind, and what is the dear Lord- Praise to Him, she sang to herself- But the most greatest form of love?

But still, ooh, those brown dresses and that thick foulard and the rugged, simple yet effective hemp belt. J. may have gone out in style, but she sure as the other place didn't live in it. Then again-

-At the mention of the word "Questions" she snapped back to reality, lifting her 12 eyes from observing the very interesting cloud pattern on the pavement. Oh. Questions. Questionsquestionsques- Rrrright, got it. SHe mentally pulled up her checklist.

"Sir", she daintily spoke out, voice like the hem of a dozen wedding gowns brushing on a carpet in the middle of a church that fell silent due to being stunned by the bride's beauty. "Will we allowed to procure assets on site? And if so, what sorts of assets?"

Click to shrink...

Kamariel flicked through the papers on his desk quickly, finding the sheet in a matter of seconds. Reading each line with a separate eye, the Throne devoured the document in a matter of seconds.

"Hmm, I see. You've been allowed limited requisition of the Divine Repository before heading down there, which should suffice for most cases. As for what you can aquire while on Earth, there just seems to be the usual prohibitions on theft, unjust dealings and the like. Ah, no, explicitly mentions you are not allowed to take anything from any demonic realms, no exceptions. Beyond that, if you get it fairly, seems to be yours."

'And in my case, those that do notice will probably be glad to see the back of me,' Ecthel thought, careful not to let any hint of this thought seep into his form or spirit. He'd had a lot of practice, just as he hid the surge of pleasure that came from hearing there would be - no! He would not be glad that there were demons upon the Earth, he would not allow either side of his nature to feel that: the good that saw a chance to redeem itself in the flames of battle, or the bad... he refused to even contemplate why the bad was happy.

He forced his wolves back into a semblance of order: they still tore at each other, but they were doing so in the back of his being so he could focus. Zhadiel's question was welcome: even if Ecthel usually worked alone, it would be good to know how much flexibility he'd have.

As he waited for Kamariel to answer her, several of his snakes refrained from eating themselves long enough to scan his stack of forms: mostly things he could fill out in his sleep, though Ecthel did notice a few questions that would take some more careful consideration.

When Kamariel finished, Ecthel drew his attention. "Any major hubs of darkness?" he asked. Demons may be on Earth, but there was a difference between causing mischief and building a real power-base. Best to know about the latter quickly.

Click to shrink...

Kamariel nodded at the question.

"There appear to be around ten thousand demons, give or take, on the planet. They seem to be fairly mapped to population distribution, with a few exceptions."

A map floated up, six locations labelled.

"Jerusalem, Rome, and New Delhi appear to have no demons in them, and haven't for several centuries. On the other hand, London, Houston, and Beijing appear to have about three times as many as we'd expect otherwise."

Angels were beings of peerless perfection, being the Will and Word of God, made manifest.

Fucker. You know who I am? I was the Armorer of the Heavenly Host. I made your first set of armor, you ungrateful brat.

This, for some reason, included pretending to be stone cold sober whilst being, in actuality, drunk as He-Sh- what was the party line on where people would be damned forever? Nechaiel forgot. Or maybe he was never there for the committee meeting. The fires of his form shimmered, feathers of lapis lazuli blue and burnished bronze flame shifting like ten thousand million grains of sand. But with a more avian nature.

Oh, what's this, Nechaiel thought, being sent down to Earth again? Yes, yes yes. This endless realm of light and supernal hymms grinded on the nerves after the first thousand years or so. He could take this total son-of-a-goat-and-a-goat-herder's condescension a while for such a pleasurable posting. "How," he spoke in a world like bronze cooling in the forge, 'wide of a latitude are we allowed to interfere with the lives of the mortals?"

Click to shrink...

"A truly excellent question!" Kamariel's voice chimed like a crystal bell, full of enthusiasm and hope.

"I have been extensively briefed on this by my own boss, Orcatramiel. On an individual level, the general rule is that you are to use your best judgement. However, when it comes to organisations, especially the media or governments, you are to not to directly interfere with them unless explicitly necessary for the execution of your mission. You are also to maintain forms that don't turn humans mad with beauty or turn them to pillars of salt, and are of an appropriate size."

Kamariel looked downwards for a brief second, before continuing.

"All of these rules can be waived if necessary, but if you do, you will be expected to justify it, in writing and in person, to the committee."

"Oh, and try not to blow up more than a single building per mission. Humans have a much harder time of rebuilding things, I'm told."

Karel drifted into the office with the others, her bare feet padding along the polished stone floor. Once she arrived and took her seat, she began to attempt to have a staring contest with one of the eyes that Kamariel set to watching her.


Her wings fluttered softly in annoyance at that statement. She oversaw over 6000 children every year, seeing to it that they grew up healthy and happy. While she may not have much rank or status within the Heavenly Bureaucracy, she was doing important work to help mankind's spiritual wellbeing! After all, children were the future of all species that had them!

Greatly incensed, Karel folded her arms and turned her head to the side, pouting.

Once the briefing reached this point, Karel's hand shot up and waved about in the air, trying to draw the Throne's attention. So eager was the youthful-looking angel that her wings' excited flaps caused her to float a few inches off her chair.

Click to shrink...

"Yes, Karel? Just speak your mind, we're all fellows here."

Kamariel was privately amused by her behaviour, and it coloured his tone, some of his eyes shifting from the others to Karel.

 

[Laplace]

"A truly excellent question!" Kamariel's voice chimed like a crystal bell, full of enthusiasm and hope.

"I have been extensively briefed on this by my own boss, Orcatramiel. On an individual level, the general rule is that you are to use your best judgement. However, when it comes to organisations, especially the media or governments, you are to not to directly interfere with them unless explicitly necessary for the execution of your mission. You are also to maintain forms that don't turn humans mad with beauty or turn them to pillars of salt, and are of an appropriate size."

Kamariel looked downwards for a brief second, before continuing.

"All of these rules can be waived if necessary, but if you do, you will be expected to justify it, in writing and in person, to the committee."

"Oh, and try not to blow up more than a single building per mission. Humans have a much harder time of rebuilding things, I'm told."

Click to shrink...

So there was good and bad, Nechaiel thought. Good- he could do whatever he wanted, as long as he could look people in the face and say 'look, chum, it was my best shot at following God's ineffable plan, and besides, no one was really hurt, were they? As for meddling with institutes, well, breaking into the offices of professors and grading their papers on Bronze Age History was not, precisely interfering with their lives, yes? Not with real disturbance. Just a couple of insouciant lines and a grade from an Angel that's been around the most back then.

But did the restriction to a human form sting. One of ten thousand eyes blinked. A tribe in... Iran? Iraq? Or was if Afghanistan? had worshiped him. So of course, he had to drive them into the sea and scatter their children to the four corners, but that aside, mortals beholding his sacred form was always interesting to watch. Ah, well.

Nechaiel 'nodded.' Shifted his wings downward and back up, but still. He could live with this. He could come up with a few scrolls of fresh goatshit to cover some more... unsubtle activities.

 

[Azrael]

A pout returned to the tiny angel's face as her fellows' questions were asked and answered before hers, growing deeper with each response until-

"Yes, Karel? Just speak your mind, we're all fellows here."

Kamariel was privately amused by her behaviour, and it coloured his tone, some of his eyes shifting from the others to Karel.

Click to shrink...

"Yes!" Karel began, expression brightening and voice ringing with uncountable youthful tones, "I was wondering, why did the Commitee decide on such a low-key deployment? With the Second Coming, shouldn't we be going all 'POW!' and 'Be not afraid ye faithful and virtuous'?"

Her question was emphasized with a sudden punch to the air, and her tone- such that it could be discerned through the chorus of high-pitched voices- was lowered and affecting seriousness during the latter portion.

Karel, it was known to those who had encountered her before, was not a strong advocate for subtlety or long-term planning (save for a single exception relating to her uncanny ability to chart out the blessings one receives during childhood). She also had no mind for politics. It was evident that in her mind, the Second Coming should be a grand occasion wherein the Gates of Heaven were thrown open and the Host marched out to purge the Fallen and bring Salvation and deliverance to mankind.

 

[SoaringHawk218]

Kamariel nodded at the question.

"There appear to be around ten thousand demons, give or take, on the planet. They seem to be fairly mapped to population distribution, with a few exceptions."

A map floated up, six locations labelled.

"Jerusalem, Rome, and New Delhi appear to have no demons in them, and haven't for several centuries. On the other hand, London, Houston, and Beijing appear to have about three times as many as we'd expect otherwise."

Click to shrink...

Ecthel nodded, those made sense for the most part. Predators did tend towards prey hotspots, and religious cities would provide some protection from demonic forces. As for large clusters... he should probably check on those quickly. Despite their lack of grace, demons were not mindless brutes. If they were there, it was because there was something important.

 

[Arkalest]

New Delhi. Mmh, could work with that, yes.

Rome....Damn, there goes an occasion to talk with the Holy Father. Mmh. Zadhiel allows her wings to curl downwards a bit, feathers like glass shards thinning into infinite beauteous prismatic fractals. Oh well.

...London, on the other hand. Now wasn't that a nice surprise. Or not. More nice than a surprise, considering some of the rumors she had heard about what models were willing to do to keep their BMI in line. The angel internally hhm'd at the list of do's and don'ts, committing them to memory as she watched the angel-child/child-angel sort of begin to heat up.

Then as Karel begun to speak, she turned her head slightly towards the other angel, craning her long neck to watch her intently.

 

[Mina]

There was a crackling from a back wall and a voice deep, soft and sonorous spoke up at last. Netzach's sightless face turned up, the eggshell sound from their roots already making inroads on Kamariel's floor.

"Do you..."

They slowly cocked their head with a grinding rasp and held up the papers, covered in bark marks and dirt.

"...have a pen? I would like to be...starting."

 

[Estro]

A pout returned to the tiny angel's face as her fellows' questions were asked and answered before hers, growing deeper with each response until-


"Yes!" Karel began, expression brightening and voice ringing with uncountable youthful tones, "I was wondering, why did the Commitee decide on such a low-key deployment? With the Second Coming, shouldn't we be going all 'POW!' and 'Be not afraid ye faithful and virtuous'?"

Her question was emphasized with a sudden punch to the air, and her tone- such that it could be discerned through the chorus of high-pitched voices- was lowered and affecting seriousness during the latter portion.

Karel, it was known to those who had encountered her before, was not a strong advocate for subtlety or long-term planning (save for a single exception relating to her uncanny ability to chart out the blessings one receives during childhood). She also had no mind for politics. It was evident that in her mind, the Second Coming should be a grand occasion wherein the Gates of Heaven were thrown open and the Host marched out to purge the Fallen and bring Salvation and deliverance to mankind.

Click to shrink...

Kamariel nodded at the Angel's comments, eyes smiling.

"Despite the rumours running about, this is not the Second Coming. This is merely some preparation while we await the second coming proper. As such, we can't really come down too heavily, lest we interfere with Our Lord's sacred plan. As such, we're proactively limiting our effects."

There was a crackling from a back wall and a voice deep, soft and sonorous spoke up at last. Netzach's sightless face turned up, the eggshell sound from their roots already making inroads on Kamariel's floor.

"Do you..."

They slowly cocked their head with a grinding rasp and held up the papers, covered in bark marks and dirt.

"...have a pen? I would like to be...starting."

Click to shrink...

A selection of thirty seven writing implements float out of one of Kamariel's draws, and were a mix of old Phoenician styluses, cheap bic pens, and some old and worn dip-nubs.

"Of course, let me, just, uh, clear my desk..."

The papers on top of the desk fluttered for a few seconds, before just being piled into the corner of the office.

"Ah, there you go my good divine. If the rest of you could just fill them all out now, I'll get to the directives of the first mission once you're done."

( @Arkalest, @SoaringHawk218, @Laplace)

 

[Arkalest]

Zhadiel's manifold, paracausal, and slightly tachycardic heart skipped about twelve beats as she watched the priceless Phoenician stylus float towards her. It was one thick beast of a writing implement, the well-worn handle capped by a still sharp-looking, slightly crooked tip. One could see that the paint was flecked and smeared with what she really, really hoped was just dry wine, sure... And there were thumbprints here and there.

But damn it if it wasn't the hundred thirtieth most beautiful thing she had seen since daybreak.

So Zhadiel inhaled quietly and went still, inner miasma shifting around like a thunderstorm of genteel rolling clouds hanging over a cliff in a fjord housing a gazebo under which two old lovers met, worn-out by life but still carrying that godly spark of love.

mine mine MINE MI- The peacock angel blinked all of her eyes and made a sort of "ghn" sound, trying to suppress billions of years of ultra-heavenly-instinct telling her to grab the beautiful thing and protect it and keep it safe and maybe brood over i- Ahn, she mentally stopped herself. I am not a damned chicken. The angel ruffled her crystalline feathers for a split second, letting them tinkle like the glass shards hewed out of endless crystal mountains reflecting the Primal Light they were. Ink begun dripping from the tip, finer than the thin line between beauty and horror, and blacker than a bar of 99% dark chocolate chucked into the heart of a wormhole.

Then, as the angel's words sank into her, she turned her head towards him. "I shall", she sing-sang in a sort of We Are The World, Heavenly Host Edition: Funds 4 Cancer Charlie way. However, it still came in as somewhat phoned-in, like a D-lister musician who had been parked shoulder to shoulder with his ex-bandmate who went on to become a global success.

After all, her mind was still focused on the stylus. The angel sighed internally, sounding like a peacock sort of imploding, and floated some of the papers towards her via heavenly mist.

 

[Laplace]

A selection of thirty seven writing implements float out of one of Kamariel's draws, and were a mix of old Phoenician styluses, cheap bic pens, and some old and worn dip-nubs.

"Of course, let me, just, uh, clear my desk..."

The papers on top of the desk fluttered for a few seconds, before just being piled into the corner of the office.

"Ah, there you go my good divine. If the rest of you could just fill them all out now, I'll get to the directives of the first mission once you're done."

Click to shrink...

Nechaiel took a stylus. He didn't trust this fancy 'pen' thing, and this 'electronic office' thing even less. Clay cylinders were good enough for the Babylonians, so they should be good enough for the Choir. This blasted 'ink' thing was surely the work of the Adversary, making sure that the Servants of God would find their writing utensils failing on them in the most inopportune of times! Indeed, perhaps they should go back to the start and sear stone tablets with the glory of their flames.

He started filling out forms with the lightning quick, rote movements drilled into him from centuries of scribing.

 

[SoaringHawk218]

A few more snakes uncoiled themselves and carefully took writing implements in their mouths as Ecthel divided his papers into three stacks: two for ones that he knew by heart, and one for the ones he'd have to think about.

As he wrote, he wondered what other preparations there might be before the Coming proper: even angels would have trouble clearing out thousands of demons all by themselves. Surely they couldn't fault- no, have faith, Ecthel, have faith. There is a Plan, and it will be followed.

Rather than continue to brood, he focused himself on his writing.

 

[Azrael]

Kamariel nodded at the Angel's comments, eyes smiling.

"Despite the rumours running about, this is not the Second Coming. This is merely some preparation while we await the second coming proper. As such, we can't really come down too heavily, lest we interfere with Our Lord's sacred plan. As such, we're proactively limiting our effects."

Click to shrink...

Karel's brows furrowed, and a look of intense consideration crossed her face for a few moments before vanishing into a smile.

"Okay! Oh, by the way-" she looked around the rather cramped office, "we can't be the only ones being sent out, right? We might be Angels, but a couple thousand demons against us five doesn't sound like it'll be easy!"

A selection of thirty seven writing implements float out of one of Kamariel's draws, and were a mix of old Phoenician styluses, cheap bic pens, and some old and worn dip-nubs.

"Of course, let me, just, uh, clear my desk..."

The papers on top of the desk fluttered for a few seconds, before just being piled into the corner of the office.

"Ah, there you go my good divine. If the rest of you could just fill them all out now, I'll get to the directives of the first mission once you're done."

Click to shrink...

A slender hand snatched a slightly bent bic pen and then paused over the stack of forms while its owner groaned.

Paperwork was easily the worst part of the job, in Karel's opinion. Still, she'd done most of this about 30 000 times already, so even she could flip through the pages signing what needed to be signed with little issue.

 

[Estro]

Karel's brows furrowed, and a look of intense consideration crossed her face for a few moments before vanishing into a smile.

"Okay! Oh, by the way-" she looked around the rather cramped office, "we can't be the only ones being sent out, right? We might be Angels, but a couple thousand demons against us five doesn't sound like it'll be easy!"

Click to shrink...

"We are what I believed is termed an interim solution. The Fourth Convention is still debating on further methods of support to Earth, we are just the first proposal to have reached concordance."

The Throne paused for a few minutes, idly singing a hymn to the Godhead's praise as you all filled in the paperwork.

Collecting the paperwork and filling it in one of the myriad drawers in the wall behind him, Kamariel returned his attention to his small group of subordinates.

"Sorry about all that, just a technicality, I'm sure you all understand. This entire place runs on paperwork, I swear. The godhead could... Never mind."

Extracting a file from the pile now swept off the desk, he held it up in front of you all. A picture of a black man wearing a suit vest and performing what looked to be a mixing trick was stapled to the front.

"This man is the 'mixerologist' for a high end bar in New Orleans called 'Land of the Rising Sun', which must have been a hell of a name to obtain, and goes by the name Reginald 'Reg' Brian Green. In actuality, he is a demon of the first circle, banished from here with the rest of his kinda the usual amount of time ago. While we don't know what name he's taken on as a demon, he used to an angel of one particular cherry tree in Mongolia and went by Wamretiarel. Your job is to go to New Orleans and deal with him."

Kamariel's eyes narrowed in mirth, a particularly ugly smile radiating around him.

"Any further questions, or can I send you onto the Quartermaster?"

(@Mina, @Laplace, @Arkalest, @SoaringHawk218 )

 

[Arkalest]

"Are we to bring him in for interogation?"

Her eyes are focused on the picture. They're half-lidded, eyelids of something porporate and sleek and almost like flexible glass. But behind them? If someone was to look in, it'd be like watching through the glass of an acquarium. There's a purity to the water behind it, an artificial unity to the color, to the tinge. A stillness.

Something creeps through them. Something sinous and hungry and old.

And it's dead set on the vest. Zhadiel looks at it. Ponders it. Sizes it without making a sound, immobile.

Then the eyes fall from the suit vest. The eyelids lower. Just less than a tenth of a fourth of an inch. The peacock angel lifts her beak just an inch.


"Or to terminate."

Her voice is like the wind through a single forest. It caresses the roots, the leaves of the trees, tussling their branches kindly. Breezily. Almost uncaring.

It passes over the bent, rusted forms. Over the spikes. Over the irregular craters. Over empty sockets, staring out to forever.

 

[SoaringHawk218]

Ecthel's form tensed as he stared at the demon. He seemed so... ordinary, in his picture. Normal. Did he feel regret? Did he suffer, under that mask, suffer from his separation from the Lord and the Host? Or had he shed that suffering, come to enjoy his new nature?

That could have been me.

But he could't allow himself to feel compassion for them. He could not let himself wonder what might have been.

No hesitation.

Without looking up, he asked. "After this one, will we continue to work together, or will we work independently?"

 

[Laplace]

"Any further questions, or can I send you onto the Quartermaster?"

Click to shrink...

Nechaiel flickered with excitement. "The quartermaster," he said, in a dull flickering forge-roar. Ten thousand eyes blinked in consternation. "Apologies, but my eagerness got the better of me." His voice and manner was properly servile. But inside, he was away. Already on the Earth, driving a knee into the demon's face. Repeatedly. Hurry, he begged Kamariel. Just let us go, and I shall slice of his head and mount it on spikes for all to see.

 

[Mina]

"This man is the 'mixerologist' for a high end bar in New Orleans called 'Land of the Rising Sun', which must have been a hell of a name to obtain, and goes by the name Reginald 'Reg' Brian Green. In actuality, he is a demon of the first circle, banished from here with the rest of his kinda the usual amount of time ago. While we don't know what name he's taken on as a demon, he used to an angel of one particular cherry tree in Mongolia and went by Wamretiarel. Your job is to go to New Orleans and deal with him."

Kamariel's eyes narrowed in mirth, a particularly ugly smile radiating around him.

"Any further questions, or can I send you onto the Quartermaster?"

Click to shrink...

Netzach looked up from their slow printing with a nib pen that dripped a ruby red sap. Small wisps of cardamom scented smoke rose where it landed on the page, and their bark slowly peeled shut around an oozing font.

"What sort of cherries?"

 

[Azrael]

"We are what I believed is termed an interim solution. The Fourth Convention is still debating on further methods of support to Earth, we are just the first proposal to have reached concordance."

Click to shrink...

Karel nodded in understanding as Kamariel answered.

"This man is the 'mixerologist' for a high end bar in New Orleans called 'Land of the Rising Sun', which must have been a hell of a name to obtain, and goes by the name Reginald 'Reg' Brian Green. In actuality, he is a demon of the first circle, banished from here with the rest of his kinda the usual amount of time ago. While we don't know what name he's taken on as a demon, he used to an angel of one particular cherry tree in Mongolia and went by Wamretiarel. Your job is to go to New Orleans and deal with him."

Click to shrink...

And then continued nodding as he went on with the explanation of their first mission.

"Any further questions, or can I send you onto the Quartermaster?"

Click to shrink...

"None! I'm ready whenever you are!"

 

[Estro]

"Are we to bring him in for interogation?"

Her eyes are focused on the picture. They're half-lidded, eyelids of something porporate and sleek and almost like flexible glass. But behind them? If someone was to look in, it'd be like watching through the glass of an acquarium. There's a purity to the water behind it, an artificial unity to the color, to the tinge. A stillness.

Something creeps through them. Something sinous and hungry and old.

And it's dead set on the vest. Zhadiel looks at it. Ponders it. Sizes it without making a sound, immobile.

Then the eyes fall from the suit vest. The eyelids lower. Just less than a tenth of a fourth of an inch. The peacock angel lifts her beak just an inch.


"Or to terminate."

Her voice is like the wind through a single forest. It caresses the roots, the leaves of the trees, tussling their branches kindly. Breezily. Almost uncaring.

It passes over the bent, rusted forms. Over the spikes. Over the irregular craters. Over empty sockets, staring out to forever.

Click to shrink...

Ecthel's form tensed as he stared at the demon. He seemed so... ordinary, in his picture. Normal. Did he feel regret? Did he suffer, under that mask, suffer from his separation from the Lord and the Host? Or had he shed that suffering, come to enjoy his new nature?

That could have been me.

But he could't allow himself to feel compassion for them. He could not let himself wonder what might have been.

No hesitation.

Without looking up, he asked. "After this one, will we continue to work together, or will we work independently?"

Click to shrink...

Nechaiel flickered with excitement. "The quartermaster," he said, in a dull flickering forge-roar. Ten thousand eyes blinked in consternation. "Apologies, but my eagerness got the better of me." His voice and manner was properly servile. But inside, he was away. Already on the Earth, driving a knee into the demon's face. Repeatedly. Hurry, he begged Kamariel. Just let us go, and I shall slice of his head and mount it on spikes for all to see.

Click to shrink...

Netzach looked up from their slow printing with a nib pen that dripped a ruby red sap. Small wisps of cardamom scented smoke rose where it landed on the page, and their bark slowly peeled shut around an oozing font.

"What sort of cherries?"

Click to shrink...

Karel nodded in understanding as Kamariel answered.

And then continued nodding as he went on with the explanation of their first mission.

"None! I'm ready whenever you are!"

Click to shrink...

Kamariel twisted in space, his eyes now spinning along a diffrent axis, the wheels spinning vertically.

"Another set of excellent questions! In order, we don't care what you do to him provided he's off the planet; probably together, provided you don't have any problems we can see in the first mission; and the particular breed is Prunus fruticosa. Now, off you pop to the quartermaster!" His voice darkened noticeably. "I have papers to file."

Space warps around you, as the door to his office suddenly stretches wide to accommodate all of you, leaving you all still sat in your chairs in the anteroom as the door closed.

The journey to the Quartermaster was that same indeterminable time that occupied all journeys between floors in the Heavenly Bureaucracy. As soon as time reasserted itself, you found yourselves in front of a vast iron door, three miles high, bolted with metre thick bolts of bone. As you all regained your balance from the transportation between floors, a vast booming voice echo'd through the door.

"I'M NOT GOING TO CHANGE MY MIND, ORATIEL. GO TELL AKRASIEL THAT HE CAN GO SUCK ON MY SPEAR, I'M NOT GOING TO CHANGE MY POLICIES. I HAVE RIGHTS, NO MATTER WHAT THAT JUMPED UP CHERUBIM THINKS."

There's a long and pregnant pause as the words echo down the corridor you're stood in. Slowly, the iron door grinds open, and a vast wing, each feather tipped with an eye, is stuck through.

"AH. MY APOLOGIES, I WAS EXPECTING... NEVER MIND THAT. LET ME RESIZE THE PLACE, AND I WILL BE WITH YOU SHORTLY."

The door closes again, before shifting to something a mere six metres tall. Grinding nosily open again, you see a long wooden counter spanning the room, the ends vanishing in the distance. Behind the counter is a vast and endless set of shelves, and between the counter and the shelves stands a Seraph, a good four metres tall, each feather of her wings made of a different burning metal.

"I AM GORATISEL. I AM THE ARMOURER OF THE HEAVENLY HOST, THE ANGEL OF WEAPONRY. SO YOU'RE THE ONES THE COUNCIL CHOSE. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE, YOU KNOW. THEY PURPOSELY SCHEDULED IT SO I COULDN'T ATTEND, YOU KNOW."

She leans forwards, looking over the lot of you.

".. EH, GUESS YOU'LL HAVE TO DO. WELCOME TO THE ARMOURY OF EARTH'S HOST. EVERY WEAPON FOR EVERY ANGEL YOU HAVE EVER MET IS LIKELY STORED HERE SOMEWHERE, A FEW NOTABLE EXCEPTIONS BESIDE. TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT, AND I'LL DO MY BEST TO FULFIL IT."

She pauses, looking towards a clock on one of the shelves with an eye on each hand.

"... THAT IS, AS BEST I CAN FOLLOWING YOUR SUBMISSION OF FORM 139A-R... SOMETHING."

 

[Arkalest]

HANDBAG screamed her brain. Or at least what she thought was her brain. Internal running thought commentary and all of that jazz. HANDBAG GET IT NOW WANT IT NOW TO HOLD TO CUDDLE TO GENTLY SHOVE IN SARNAEL FACE TO HIDE FABRIC IN IT.

Outwardly, the peacock angel simply nodded her long neck as gracefully as possible, like a stalk of grass bending oh so slightly to the morning breeze. The only sign of her excitement were her internal gases swirling a bit more coincitedly than usual, tendrils curling and uncurling behind the frosted glasscape of her feathers.

"Madam." She intoned with the proper mixture of awe, professionality and thoughtfullness. "Do you have anything classified as "art" and "sharp" under the Procasiel Act Of 28191?" Her head bowed slightly in reverence.

 

[SoaringHawk218]

As a Power, Ecthel had been guarding Heaven for a long time, and one thing he knew was that it was better to have equipment that you were familiar with than potentially more powerful weapons that you weren't sure of. Therefore, he looked immediately for the lance, shield and armor that he typically wielded; having already filled out the proper forms and placed them before the Seraph.

He had also filled out the forms for a few items that would help with interacting with humans: they were going to Earth after all. A few sets of clothes, a phone, minor things like that. Never knew what might come in handy.

He'd also picked up another form and filled out most of the information, and set about considering what else he might need...