im sleepy so i wrote some dumb archangel shenanigans for 21ge fic... it's silly but also canon to the fic, and very rough bc i typed it up in like 30 mins so enjoy:
"Your mission is simple, little one. You are to ensure that the ground the Council walk upon is as clean as it can be. Can't have such pure-hearted angels sullying their feet, now can we?"
"Beep!"
"Exactly!" The smile was audible in Uriel's voice as he smoothed down a bit of industrial gaffer tape with his thumb, studying his handiwork. The little machine - a 'roomba', Gabriel said the humans called it - remained docile in Uriel's hands.
It was shaped like a dinner-plate with its body only a few inches thick, the underside reminding Uriel of some sort of isopod with its little tiny treads and tiny 'mouth' for sucking up dust and tiny pieces of debris. Of course, Uriel had modified it slightly...
He gently pressed his finger against the spine of the knife he had taped to its body, testing its stability. It barely moved. Perfect.
"Heheh..." Uriel's evil laughter rumbled deep in his chest as he set his little minion down on the floor. "Now, fly! Fly, my agent of justice! Strike fear into the hearts of those fussy, uptight little bit-"
"Uriel, what are you doing."
"-chhhhhah! Haha! Michael!" Uriel giggled nervously, snatching the roomba up and clutching it tight to his chest as his eldest brother practically morphed out of the shadows like some demon of Hell. "Haaa, aah... um, hi."
Michael said nothing, but Uriel got the impression he was raising an eyebrow at him. His crimson eyes, barely visible through the narrow eye-slits of his helmet, had that particularly dull look to them that all but screamed "my siblings are being dumbshits again Father give me strength."
"Fancy seeing you here, brother!" Uriel continued cheerfully. He smoothed down his feathers from their startled fluff, swiftly regaining his suave composure as he discreetly moved the roomba from being clutched to his chest to behind his back. "Taking a walk, are we?"
"I work here," Michael reminded him.
Oh shit. Right. "Yes! Yes, you do. Work here."
They stared at each other for a bit.
"...Uriel," Michael sighed. "Give me the little machine."
"Um, what... what machine-" He stopped when Michael held out his hand expectantly. Ah, there was no way Uriel could play dumb, was there. "Fine..."
Sullenly, Uriel placed the roomba into Michael's hand. The eldest archangel carefully manhandled the little machine, tapping his finger against the knife jutting out from the machine's back with an air of disappointment.
"Really?" was all he said.
Uriel pressed his fingers together sheepishly. "I thought it would be funny?"
Michael sighed heavily and shook his head. "So you're the reason the Council were being so irritable as of late. They claimed some sort of curse had been placed on the halls, one of misfortune, but I see it was merely a mischievous imp who should've known better."
Uriel grumbled incoherently.
"Did you not think that this latest 'prank' would have Gabriel taking the blame?" Michael scolded him. "Of course not. For as wise and clever as you are, you rarely think of the long term consequences of your actions."
"I was going to claim credit for it!" Uriel protested, rankled at the implication that he would toss Gabriel under the chariot to evade punishment. "You know I would never let the Council so much as send a scathing glance his way for something I have done!"
"I am well aware. We do not need to recall the brawl from two hundred years ago-"
"Brawl's a bit much," Uriel muttered. "It was more like, a very, temporary fistfight."
"You broke a chair over the Chief Councillor's head."
"Well. He deserved it," Uriel said stiffly. "I am the expert when it comes to sinners, Michael, you know this. And that Council, let me tell you, blackguards, one and all! They remind me of those conniving little political snakes slithering down in Hell as we speak."
Michael cuffed Uriel around the head hard enough to make his helmet rattle.
"Enough," Michael said sternly. "You take your jests too far, Uriel. The Council are divine angels of Heaven, not flawed humans. They cannot be sinners."
Uriel said nothing. He simply adjusted his helmet and evaded eye contact.
"...but, I'll admit they are getting a bit too... complacent," Michael sighed. He held the roomba back out. "I'll give you two hours."
Uriel perked up and took back his roomba. "You mean...?"
"But you have to confess to being the one setting that little machine loose," Michael said firmly. "Or I will drag you, kicking and screaming, in front of the Council myself."
"Oh, no need for that, Michael! I'm always willing to take the most dignified route to my rightful punishment," Uriel said with a cheeky, two-fingered salute. "Two hours is all I need to gain satisfaction in terrorising-"
Michael crossed his arms.
"-correcting the Council on their complacent ways!" Uriel amended cheerily. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a little machine to send on its way~"
-
"So that's why you're scrubbing the bath house clean," Gabriel said.
Uriel, on his hands and knees, and in the light tunics of a low-ranked angel, rather than a supreme archangel's armour, laughed as he tossed his rag into the bucket next to him.
"And I would do it again, brother! Ah, their yelps of surprise was music to my ears..." Uriel sighed dreamily. He glanced at Gabriel, who was resting in the bath with his arms crossed against the tiled edge. "I must thank you for loaning me that little machine you found in your travels."
"I gave it to you to keep your home clean," Gabriel deadpanned. "Not to terrorise the local population with your bastardised ankle-killer."
"Oh, it'll do that too. I managed to rescue it before the Chief Councillor exploded it with his mind," Uriel said. "Though, um, word of advice... maybe you should avoid the Heavenly Council for a few days..."
Gabriel sighed heavily.
"I did say it was all me!" Uriel quickly said. "But, you know what they're like. 'Oh, that Gabriel! He keeps giving that rapscallion Uriel the tools to torment us endlessly!' Or something like that."
"I highly doubted they called you a 'rapscallion'. That sounds like something Raphael would say."
"Well, what they actually said isn't for polite company," Uriel sniffed. "Really. How rude. They called me a tart. Me! A tart! You cause a few wars of succession because of marriage fraud once, and no one in Heaven ever lets you forget it!"
Gabriel said nothing. He simply gave him a look of total judgement.
"Et tu?" Uriel placed a hand over his heart theatrically. "You think I'm a tart as well, brother?"
"I think you should continue on with your punishment, Uriel," Gabriel said solemnly, "before Michael senses you slacking and manifests into being."
Uriel reflexively looked over his shoulder, but there was no ominous Michael lurking in the shadows. Still, their eldest brother's authority saw all, so Uriel picked up the rag and continued to scrub the bathhouse floor.
It was a punishment that Council would think demeaning of an archangel. On his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor like a low-rank angel? Embarrassing! Except Uriel cared little for the trappings of pride and status, and instead found it quite a soothing activity.
It helped the company was pleasant, too. This late at night, only Gabriel used the bath house, so there weren't any other angels making the whole thing awkward by gawking. No, it was just Uriel and Gabriel, chatting as they always did whenever they crossed paths.
Though, thinking about it, Michael was the one to suggest the bath house, when the Council declared that Uriel's punishment would be to a night of manual labour. Michael's authority saw all...
...heh. As stern as he was, Michael was a bit of a soft-touch where his siblings were concerned.
And so the night passed comfortably, even if by the end of it Uriel's hands were raw from scrubbing and his knees sore from kneeling. Gabriel's company was well-worth the discomfort, and the satisfaction in giving a swift kick up the Council's rear merely had Uriel concocting his next prank against them.
