Ramblings Of A Slutty Asexual Edwardian Poet

Prologue

For The First Time In Forever

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The palace of Lucifer Morningstar had been largely abandoned by all except himself for years. Grand curtains hung unopened, chandeliers gathered dust and cobwebs, fine china and silverware lay untouched in cupboards with glass fronts.

Once Charlie had let him back into her life, Lucifer’s world brightened.

For the first time in years, he cared.

He had a reason to care.

So, when Charlie suggested a gala to announce her father’s return to the throne of Hell, he leapt at the chance. Besides, it would bring some much-needed publicity to the Hazbin Hotel.

Lucifer did most of the cleaning before Charlie and the others even arrived - he was the Sin of Pride, after all, and it wouldn’t do for Charlie to see just how badly out of hand things had gotten.

It took two days - and two sleepless nights - but the grand hall had been thoroughly dusted, cobwebs and their eight-legged architects banished to the ether. The curtains opened, letting rays of dim red sunlight into the room through stained glass windows that changed their colours. Old furniture that had once filled the space was gone, replaced with tables and chairs, and something that had at one point been a dance floor was unearthed from beneath a rug that hadn’t been moved in decades. Even the chandelier had new light bulbs in lieu of the gloomy candles that had been there.

The hardest part had been the enchantments Lucifer had put on the palace for added security - as there would be several important guests in attendance. Complicated sigils and wards took a lot out of Lucifer at the best of times, but when he was already stressed…

He shook himself off, deciding to focus on the decorations to take his mind off things.

So when Charlie, Alastor, Angel Dust, Vaggie, Sir Pentious and Niffty did show up, Lucifer was already stringing up banners around the room.

“Oh, hey!” he waved, hovering near the high ceiling.

“Dad, you didn’t have to do all this,” Charlie ran over to right below him and shouted upwards, “We’re here to help!”

“It would’ve taken you guys forever,” Lucifer lowered himself to meet her, “And trust me, I know forever. Hell, it took me two days to get this place in shape, and I’m me.”

His self-confident look faded into an awkward chuckle as Charlie realised the state the room would have to have been in for it to take forty-eight entire hours for even the King of Hell to set right.

“Ahem- anywayyy,” Lucifer began, “What were you thinking of doing for this?”

Charlie brightened at once, pulling out a notebook with hastily-drawn diagrams of her ideas for how to decorate the hall.

“So, I was thinking we should have a disco ball up over the dance floor,” Charlie started, “I’m gonna ask around tomorrow to see if I can get some live musicians - OH! You still have your fiddle, right?”

“Of course,” Lucifer said, “And why wouldn’t I play at my own party?”

“Eeeeee!” Charlie squealed.

Sir Pentious and Vaggie had gone off to set up cameras around the palace - a gala meant lots of people, and lots of people meant a statistical risk of something going wrong, and she’d suggested a CCTV system in addition to Lucifer’s enchantments to catch the ones responsible if anything untoward happened. Pentious had also set up traps near important rooms to protect Lucifer’s fortune - and his priceless artefacts - and enrolled Husk and Niffty to test them out. It had been a thoroughly chaotic experience, and not one Pentious or Husk planned on ever repeating. Niffty, however, enjoyed it immensely.

Husk and Angel were setting up the open bar together. Of course, it wasn’t completely stocked yet - Husk was waiting on a shipment of wine from Greed. The stronger liquors from Gluttony had arrived that morning, and they were still in their crates as Angel finished assembling the shelves for the bottles.

“Wasn’t expecting you to be good at this,” Husk smiled at Angel.

“Bein’ tall and havin’ four arms kinda lends itself ta jobs like this,” Angel looked down, holding a cross-head screwdriver in his upper right hand, “Plus, workin’ where I do means ya get a lotta experience with screwin’ things.”

Husk rolled his eyes, but the smile never left his face as Angel smirked down at him.

Alastor was putting chequered tablecloths on tables, while Niffty helped set places.

Yes, it was a little early for those preparations, but it was better to do it early than late.

Niffty, the little bundle of chaos that she was, had made a point of placing the knives on the left and the forks on the right.

Alastor gave her an approving nod.

Lucifer came over at once, saw that the cutlery had been laid out incorrectly, and glared unamusedly at Alastor.

“What?” Alastor asked nonchalantly, “I had nothing to do with this, I can assure you - this was all Niffty’s doing.”

“Haha, very funny, Al,” Lucifer said, “Change it. Now.”

Alastor saw the way Lucifer was standing, a little less straight than normal. He noticed the bags under his eyes.

He saw the chink in the king’s armour, and by God he was going to needle him about it.

“Why, your Majesty, you seem a little tired,” Alastor began, a note of insincere concern evident in his tone, “Have you been sleeping lately?”

“Of course I have,” Lucifer answered.

It wasn’t a total lie. Lucifer had slept - for about two and a half hours out of the last forty-eight.

But Alastor didn’t need to know that, Charlie didn’t need to know that, he was fine!

He cleared his throat, before flying off to finish the banners.

A few hours later, the decorations were mostly finished, the cameras had all been placed, and the bar was assembled.

“Super work today, everyone,” Charlie beamed, “Really, I’m just so proud of all of you. Oh, gosh, I might cry…”

Vaggie put a gentle hand at her shoulder as tears of joy welled up in the princess’s eyes.

“Same time tomorrow?” Vaggie asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Charlie nodded, “What do you think, Dad?”

“Sounds good,” Lucifer gave a thumbs-up before his face fell and his breath caught in his throat.

“Hh- HEGK-tchnxxtt-uhh—!” Lucifer bent forward with a half-stifled sneeze.

“Uh-oh,” Angel said, “You okay, short stack?”

“Mmhm,” Lucifer nodded, “I dusted in here earlier, that’s probably it… snf- I’m good.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Sire,” Alastor prodded, “You’re clearly sleep-deprived—”

“I am not!”

“— Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were coming down with something,”

Alastor finished.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Lucifer doubled down, “And besides, I’m way too busy to be getting sick - there’s, like, a zillion things I still have to do.”

“If you say so,” Alastor shrugged, strutting off.

“Fuckin’ bellhop,” Lucifer grumbled, his scowl deepening as he felt a slight twinge of pain in his throat when he swallowed.

No.

No.

He was fucking fine.

🌟🌟🌟

Act One

The Kidnapping Of Sir Quackers

Scene I - My Brain Is Flamin’, I Don’t Know Which Way To Go

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Charlie made breakfast for everyone at eight the next morning. Pancakes with fresh fruit and maple syrup - prepared lovingly with a song and a spring in her step.

Alastor never had breakfast with the others - he preferred to eat in his own room, which was probably for the best, given his… unusual tastes.

Husk and Angel were both still asleep - they’d both been up late working the previous night and likely wouldn’t crawl out of bed until nine thirty at the very earliest.

This left Charlie, Vaggie, Sir Pentious and Niffty at the table…

But Lucifer was nowhere to be found.

Until about thirty seconds after everyone else had sat down, when he entered the kitchen in his pure white Victorian nightrobe and ducky slippers. His blonde hair was a little unkempt, and he walked slowly over to his seat.

Everyone looked to him, confused. He was normally far more sprightly at this hour.

He coughed into a closed fist a few times as Vaggie slid a plate of pancakes over from across the table with her spear - and a glass of orange juice for good measure.

Lucifer chugged the glass like it was a shot, letting out a scratchy vocalised sigh.

“Thangks,” he smiled, like nothing was amiss.

“Erm… Sssire?” Pentious began awkwardly, “Far be it from me to make assumptions, but… are you feeling quite alright?”

“Who, mbe?” Lucifer asked, “I’mb a little groggy, but otherwise I- hh… I feel… hH’ehh— Hh-HISHhh’hiew! Oh, excuse mbe— HIESHh’EW! Hhh- ah- Hahh’ATSHhh’IEW! Ngh… I feel pretty good.”

Pentious muttered an uncertain blessing from his seat.

“You’re sick,” Vaggie pointed out, her voice flat and matter-of-fact.

“Ndo- snff- No I’m not,” Lucifer countered, “Vaggie, you worry too much, it’s just a little hot in here, that’s all.”

He untied his robe at the waist, revealing a loose red T-shirt and yellow and white striped shorts - as well as the fact that the skin of his arms and legs transitioned in a gradient from porcelain white to a charred black.

“Nice try,” Vaggie said, standing up and walking over to him with the careful poise her military background had etched into her very being, pressing the back of an ashen hand to the king’s forehead.

“You’re burning up with fever,” she pulled her hand away, immediately going to the sink to wash her hands.

Niffty ran to the pantry and came back holding an egg. Before anyone else at the table could even begin to question what she was doing, she’d already done it - she’d cracked the egg right onto Lucifer’s forehead, the yolk sitting like a third eye while the white dripped down his face.

Charlie winced, Pentious looked on with fascination, and Vaggie’s brow furrowed as the egg began to fry, the faint sound of sizzling disturbing the stunned silence.

Lucifer just sat there, utterly lost for words.

All things considered, this was kind of an impressive party trick.

After a few moments, Niffty grabbed the surprisingly almost fully cooked egg from Lucifer’s face, and ate it with a delighted giggle before running out of the room.

“What the hell?” Lucifer looked around.

“Case in point, you’re literally hot enough to fry an egg,” Vaggie put a hand on her hip.

“You do seem rather out of sssorts, your Majesty,” Pentious agreed, looking at the slight golden flush where the bridge of Lucifer’s nose would be if he had one.

“Guys, don’t worry about me!” Lucifer straightened, trying to appear somewhat more regal, “Eh- heh-! EIHDT’SHhhhew! Oh, bless mbe… Snf! What, just cause I’m running a little hot and I- hihh- IHHTSCH’Hhiew! Ugh, I’ve sneezed a few times, doesn’t mean I’m sick. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am taking these pancakes to go - I’m a very busy man.”

He stood, balancing his plate of pancakes in one hand, seemingly not even paying attention to where he was going - even as he headed directly towards the open floor-to-ceiling window.

“Dad— Dad, the window!” Charlie called, as Lucifer’s right foot hung dangerously over the ledge.

“Whoa-ho!” Lucifer turned on his heel, only then realising how close he’d come to a rather embarrassing fall. Granted, he could fly, so he’d be well able to catch himself, but he’d probably end up dropping his pancakes.

He gave a sheepish giggle and left the room.

“Well, today’s off to a weird start,” Vaggie observed, and she, Charlie and Pentious finished their breakfast.

🌟🌟🌟

Scene II - That’s Thievin’, Stealin’, Takin’ What’s Not Yours

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucifer, now fully dressed in his white tailcoat and top hat, his hair smoothed perfectly into place, walked briskly through the doors of the grand hall. He rubbed at his nose with the back of one hand, his apple-topped cane in the other, trying not to sniffle.

A few paces behind him were Charlie, trying to keep the same dignified posture as her father, and Vaggie, who was carrying a bag with a flask of honey and lemon tea, a few cans of chicken soup, and a carton of orange juice. She doubted Lucifer would even acknowledge it, but she at least wanted to say she’d tried to help.

Angel Dust walked in moments later, and clocked the situation at once. He’d been around enough stubborn drama-queens at work to know exactly what was going on.

That hazy, unfocused look coupled with a visible flush to his face, the slightly watery eyes, the barely-audible throat-clearing noises.

“Whoa there,” Angel started, “Y’sure you should be on your feet right now? You look rough.”

“I have to practice mby speech for the gala,” Lucifer said, a note of frustration working its way into his voice, “A’d - snff— And I have to finish the guest list. If - if - there was anything wrong with me, which there i-hihh… isn’t, it’s ndot a big deal. Snf- I’m the Devil, a little lost sleep and a few sniffles aren’t gonna kill me.”

Angel winced - Lucifer sounded even worse than he looked. However, between it all, there was a small helping of self-satisfaction; he’d been right to be a little suspicious of Lucifer’s assurances that he was okay.

“Angel, I appreciate your concern - and I’m sure my dad does too,” Charlie told Angel, though Lucifer’s disinterested expression signalled otherwise, “but come on, he’s Lucifer, Bringer of Light! He built this place with his own two hands!”

“Which is more than enough to wear anyone out,” Angel stepped a little closer to Charlie, bending down to her level, “’Specially someone his, ah… advanced age.”

Angel had finished the statement in a whisper, but Lucifer heard, turning around to glare upwards at him.

“Advanced age?! How dare you—” the king’s outrage was cut off by a brief coughing fit.

Just then, the door to the hall opened again, and in walked Husk, carrying an unwieldy crate with bottles of red and white wine that clinked as he walked.

“Where should I put this?” Husk asked.

If he noticed the weary look on Lucifer’s face, he certainly didn’t say it.

Lucifer, though, was fired up and tense, and ready to pounce on any sliver of doubt.

“God, for the last time, I’m not sick!” Lucifer snapped, jabbing the crate Husk held with the point of his cane.

“Watch it!” Husk stepped back, “And that’s not what I—”

“Hehh’YYIISHHh’heww!” Lucifer bent forward dramatically, cane clutched in a vice grip as he fumbled for the handkerchief he was sure he’d brought with him.

Husk leapt, fur sticking up on end - and dropped the case of wine, twenty bottles smashing on the floor before Husk could gather himself enough to save them.

“Christ!” Husk growled, “Couldn’t have given me a fuckin’ warning?”

“I’b so sorry,” Lucifer apologised as he straightened, “That’s - ohhh dear, that’s all of it, ndow I- snff- now I have to try and order in a new shipment, and - hehh… and the gala’s in two da-hhHht—! DaysssSCHHIEW! Ugh…”

He pulled the patterned cloth out of his pocket and blew his nose. Vaggie drew back a little at the sound.

Lucifer kept the handkerchief pressed to his face, tucking his cane under his arm as he held up a hand in the universal “just a moment” gesture, gearing up with a few sharp hitches before—

“Heih’HGSCHhh’shHEW!”

There was a shower of golden sparks.

And, in an instant, an empty space where Lucifer Morningstar once stood.

“What in the fuck just happened?” Angel asked, looking at the spot the king had disappeared from.

“Beats me,” Husk answered, walking off to get a mop, “I gotta clean this shit up…”

“Where did he go?” Vaggie wondered.

“That… happens sometimes,” Charlie explained, “He’s probably just in another room.”

••••••••••••••••••••

One moment, Lucifer had been standing in the hall, wine spilling all over the floor.

The next, he found himself balanced - rather precariously - on the roof of the palace.

He looked around.

Then, with a resigned groan, he clicked his fingers and teleported to his bedroom.

He miscalculated slightly, though, and ended up appearing four feet above the floor, falling before he had a chance to catch himself.

“Oww…” he landed on his side, rubbing it to soothe the pain as he stood.

Lucifer waved a hand to change back into something more comfortable - though his nightrobe manifested as deep red with a golden trim rather than swan-feather white like it usually did.

Whatever. It was still comfortable, and that was what mattered.

He walked over to a side door with a sign on it that read “Chambers of the Royal Court”, and opened it.

In this room were rows upon rows of intricately hand-painted rubber ducks. Each one had a name, most had titles, even, and their seating arrangement was one that had been worked out with great care and intricacy.

Lucifer let out a content sigh.

“Fin’dally,” he murmured, “Snf- Just me and my noble courtiers for a few minutes.”

He laid down on the almost comically large beanbag chair in the middle of the room, looking at his creations fondly.

Wait.

He stood up, eyes darting wildly around the room, counting rapidly in his head…

He gasped like he’d just witnessed a murder.

Then he screamed, “I’ve been ROBBED!”

🌟🌟🌟

Scene III - Like A Bat Out Of Hell

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vaggie had gone off to a spare room after Lucifer disappeared for a meeting with Alastor about his conduct issues. His tendency to pry at the king’s insecurities was not helpful if this gala - and the hotel as a whole - was to run smoothly, and Vaggie was determined to put a stop to it right the fuck now.

So, after pointing out that while Alastor may have been the Radio Demon, Vaggie was the one hilding the spear made of angelic steel, the two of them were sitting down in the makeshift meeting room - with Alastor at one end of the long table, and Vaggie standing at the side of said table. Her spear never left her hand.

“Look,” Vaggie stared Alastor down as he inspected his claws, looking down and largely letting her words wash over him, “You hate Lucifer. But he lives here now, and works with us, so you should at least act like you can stand being in the same room as him.”

She noticed how utterly nonchalant Alastor looked, humming to himself, legs crossed in the chair.

“Focus,” she paused her speech to try and get his attention, but Alastor was resolutely ignoring her.

“Focus!”

Alastor looked up, ears pulled back in shock at the former exorcist’s raised tone.

“Quite the fighter’s spirit, as ever!” Alastor said cheerfully like he wasn’t being glared at by an angel who could kill him where he sat, “Though I do think this energy would be better spent assisting our beloved ruler with the gala preparations.”

“Says the guy who’s barely helped at all,” Vaggie rolled her eye, “You can summon shit from some weird shadow dimension, you can levitate objects for God’s sake, and all you’ve done is set the tables. Be serious.”

“I assure you, I’m being quite serious,” Alastor leaned back, putting his feet up on the table, “And I believe Niffty was the one who set the tables.”

“Agh!” Vaggie groaned in frustration, “No more picking fights with Lucifer for no reason, and no more messing up this gala for the sake of pissing him off.”

“Oh, now why would I do a thing like that?” Alastor grinned, “Charlie wouldn’t approve in the slightest.”

Vaggie would have screamed at him for bringing her girlfriend into it.

But, she reflected, Charlie wouldn’t approve of that either.

“You’re so obsessed with being better than Lucifer? Maybe try acting a little more like him.”

This was met with an eye-roll and a barely-noticeable drop in Alastor’s smile.

“He at the very least gives a shit,” Vaggie continued, “He’s poised, he’s calm, he’s dignified—”

The door was slammed open so violently it cracked.

Vaggie turned to look around.

There, looking more threatening than someone wearing a nightrobe and slippers had any right to look, was Lucifer.

“It was you!” he growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Alastor as he stomped into the room, clambering up onto the table.

He walked along the length of it, stopping right in front of Alastor, who was still sitting down. Lucifer glowered down at him, holding his cane pointed directly at Alastor’s forehead.

An imperceptible chill ran through the Radio Demon, as Lucifer was pointing at the very spot he’d been shot all those years ago.

Memories didn’t scare Alastor, but they also didn’t go unnoticed.

“I know it was y-hHH-! You,” Lucifer went on, “Admit what you dihhh-Ehh— did, you swindling si- hih-IH-! Sinnehheh-er—”

The last word came out in a gasp, and Lucifer leaned back, turning to one side before snapping forwards at the waist.

“HehHEGH’TchhHEW! ISHhh’hiew!”

“Bless you,” Alastor pulled back a smidge into his seat as a few sparks burst forth, “Now, I’m afraid you’ll have to be a tad more specific about what it is I need to admit to.”

“Don’t play dumb with mbe! You broke into mby palace last ndight a’d — snff-!” Lucifer paused, before bending down to grab Alastor by the lapels of his jacket, “And you stole from me!”

“He’s been here the entire time,” Vaggie said, rubbing her temples, “I have the stress headache to prove it…”

“Impossible, I checked last night and everyone was accounted for.”

“Wait, wait, everyone?” Vaggie asked, “Someone’s been kidnapped?”

“Yes, we haven’t got a second to lose,” Lucifer answered and jumped off the table, his legs bending with the impact. “Somebody thought they could steal from the King of Hell, and until I find out who and how, I’m not taking chances. I’m going to need my top men for this.”

His eyes narrowed, and Vaggie was taken aback. As easy as it was to dismiss this as feverish ramblings, she couldn’t help but feel her senses heighten at the thought of a threat to Hell’s throne.

Lucifer stomped out of the room, slamming the door just as harshly as he’d opened it.

The crack widened.

“Anyway, you were saying?” Alastor turned his attention back to her like nothing had happened.

Vaggie bowed her head and hissed out a sigh between clenched teeth.

🌟🌟🌟

Scene IV - Never Really Know Who You Can Trust

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When one hears the words “top men” come from the lips of a king, one expects a sort of royal guard situation. A secret service, with matching suits and ties, operating in perfect formation.

Not the king’s over-eager daughter, her former-exorcist girlfriend, and the most famous porn star in Hell.

Especially not the latter.

“You’re kidding,” Vaggie said as Angel approached her as she stood with Charlie and Lucifer.

“Angel knows how to read people,” Lucifer clarified, “That could prove useful.”

“Besides, I grew up in the Mafia in New York,” Angel waved a hand, “Anyone here knows how criminals act, it’s yours truly.”

“Now,” Lucifer twirled his cane, “Follow me-eehhHIESHh-IEW! Mgh- snf…”

Vaggie resigned herself to her fate, hand gripping her spear as the four of them walked through the door to a side room.

Sir Pentious sat at a desk, with a dozen screens around him, each showing a different room of Lucifer’s palace - from the grand hall to the inside of his royal court’s chambers.

“That’s damn impressive,” Angel whistled profoundly, perusing the scattered papers on a nearby counter-top.

Many of them were far from Pentious’s finest work, it seemed - there was a shakily-drawn diagram of a giant drill on a sheet of graph paper, with nonsensical measurements scrawled in a trembling hand. Some were crossed out, others smashed into each other at the edges of the page, still others smudged beyond recognition.

Another page - a traced copy of the diagram of Hell’s rings featured in Atlas Of The Damned, with a poorly-drawn stack of pancakes next to it. The page was littered with question marks and spatters of ink.

A leather-bound, brass-locked journal lay open. Angel didn’t do much more than skim - Pentious’s writing was too fancy for him to read most of the time - but he was sure he caught the words “His Majesty”, “vicious-sounding”, and “all but aflame”.

He elected not to pry - whatever this was, it was none of his business.

But since when did the dithering old Victorian prude write what looked - at least from the brief glimpse Angel had managed to catch - like erotic fiction?

“That is ssstrictly confidential!” Pentious slithered quickly over, slamming the book shut and locking it.

The merest hint of a blush crossed his face as he grabbed the journal, muttering incoherently to himself.

“Pentious, how’s it looki’g— snrf-!” Lucifer asked, his eyes falling on the screens.

“Ah - yesss!” Pentious straightened, “I can assure you, your Majesty, the new security system is fully operational and capable of - if you’ll excuse the wordplay - raising hell on anyone who’d dare to steal from you.”

The screens switched from a live feed to pre-recorded footage of the traps being tested.

Niffty had a wide, excited grin on her face, while Husk looked somewhere between completely done with life, and absolutely terrified. The door handle in front of them looked completely normal. Husk reached for it first, and as soon as he touched it his fur stood up, a jolt of electricity running through his body and making him shudder. There was no sound on the video, but Husk was bent over, visibly panting and clutching his chest.

Niffty grabbed the handle, and her tiny body shook violently from the shock. Her hair stuck up, and she blinked, before laughing wildly and immediately reaching for the handle again.

Another video showed a pair of axes swinging down in front of an entryway. The familiar glint of angelic steel shone on the edges of their blades. Niffty kept running back and forth beneath them, while Husk stood there, eyes wide with fear.

“If a thief had entered this building,” Pentious went on, “They’d have been ssswiftly caught and taken to my workshop awaiting experimentation. It’sss all in the contract.”

Lucifer paused in the middle of blowing his nose to turn to Pentious. The lower half of his face was covered by his polka-dotted hanky, but his eyebrows were raised in apprehensive curiosity.

“What?”

“Everything’s taken care of, don’t trouble yourself about it,” Pentious waved him off.

“Oooh, this looks…” Charlie’s eyes wandered around between the screens, “interesting. Can I, uh, get you anything, Dad? Like… some water, or snacks?”

“No, no, Charlie,” Lucifer went to face her before immediately stopping midway through the turn as his breath caught, “Hh- I’m ghHHh- good— Heh’EHTT-schHHIEW! Oh- hh’ihh- IEHT’SCHhh- ’TCHHh-hiew! Agh- snf-SNF-!”

“Ehm. Bless, Sssire,” Pentious muttered, making a conscious effort to slow his heartbeat.

“Ngh…” Lucifer groaned quietly, before giving a brief blow into the cloth.

Vaggie looked to Charlie, uncertainty clear in her eye.

Charlie returned a more optimistic glance to her.

🌟🌟🌟

Scene V - Red Wine Supernova

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Husk muttered furious curses under his breath as he dunked the mop into the bucket for what had to be the hundredth time at least, shoulders stiff and aching from the effort.

He’d been here for the better part of an hour, and the floor looked only marginally better.

“What was he even thinkin’?” Husk grumbled, “Fucker shouldn’t even be here right now.”

A vague memory flickered for a moment. Someone had described a “wine-dark sea” in some old book, and Husk finally knew what that meant.

This particular sea, however, was bleeding into the floorboards, staining the wood with deep crimson patches.

“And I bet he’s gonna be pissed about the floor,” Husk continued, scrubbing at the dark spots, “Swear to God, if he gets us all sick before this gala, I’m gonna walk out.”

Husk was so caught up in his own frustration, so focused on getting this goddamn floor clean, that he didn’t even notice Charlie, Vaggie, Angel and Lucifer had walked in at first.

Lucifer was pacing the floor, occasionally muffling a cough into the crook of his arm.

“Look,” Angel started, “I get that this is a big deal, but your dad’s not exactly in any condition to take this on. I mean—”

Lucifer stopped in his tracks to blow his nose again, the sound ringing out across the room like a trumpet bent out of shape.

“— That does not sound healthy,” Angel finished.

“Come on, you’d be concerned too if your palace was robbed,” Charlie said.

Husk’s ears pricked up, and he paused in the middle of mopping.

“Yeah, doesn’t he have, like, spells and enchantments up for extra security?” Vaggie asked.

“Wait, wait, hang on,” Husk began, “The palace got robbed and none of you bothered to tell me?”

“Well, you just seemed kinda…” Charlie weighed her options, before landing on “… occupied—”

“What got taken?” Husk asked, “Cause if one drop of liquor’s missin’ from my bar, I’m gonna make whatever fuckin’ reprobate took it wish they’d never—”

“Oh, it’s sombethi’g far mbore valuable thad liquor,” Lucifer started, sniffling to try and clear his voice a bit before turning his head slowly to face the others, “One of my ducks, one of my most trusted advisors, Sir Quackers, has been kidnapped.”

Everyone blinked in confusion.

Husk looked distinctly unamused.

Angel had his lower hands on his hips, an eyebrow raised in utter bafflement.

Vaggie’s eye twitched.

Charlie suddenly went very tense.

“Is this some kinda joke?” Husk raised his voice a tad.

“What, did I miss a part of that?” Angel piped up, “This advisor a’ yours is a rubber duck?”

“I’ll have you know,” Lucifer’s tone rose in pitch and fervour, “Sir Quackers has been a member of my court for - snrf— over twenty years.”

“I mean…” Vaggie hesitated, “It is concerning that the security wards got compromised, but how could you possibly know he’s missing?”

“Dad knows those ducks better than anyone, he made them,” Charlie explained.

“Exactly, Charlie!” Lucifer smiled, “That’s what makes me the leader of Hell - I’m knowledgeable about my subjects! A’d - sndff—! if I’m not knowledgeable about my subjects, then- then wh-huh- what ahh-AHht—! amb I…”

The king leaned back with a gasp, lilac eyelids flickering shut and squeezing tighly as he pressed his hanky to his face again to try and keep some semblance of dignity.

“hhih-IH… Iehh’HEIHHT’TSCHhh-! ’SCHhhHIEW! Ehh’HITSCHhhieww— Ughh, fugk, ha’g odd… ’ITCHhh- NGKKTTSHhh-ahh! EighhHITSCHh’yyIEW!”

Lucifer remained bent forward for a few moments as he got his breath back.

“Gesundheit,” Husk offered, the courtesy brushed off completely by Lucifer as he straightened.

“Oh, mby goodn’dess,” he sighed, the words a little scratchy, “Wh- what was I sayi’g agaid?”

“I believe it was something about how knowledgeable you are, Sire,” came a clipped transatlantic accent fading in through radio static as shadows melted away to reveal Alastor, smiling as widely as ever and leaning down to meet Lucifer’s watery, dazed look.

“Agh, ndot you,” Lucifer groaned, “Ahem-hrm- What do you want?”

“I couldn’t help but overhear your… predicament,” Alastor said, the double meaning of that statement apparent to all, “Though I must ask, how do you intend on proving this theory of yours? After all, your prized collection of fine feathered friends numbers in the thousands, or so I’ve heard, and surely there’s a possibility you’re mistaken?”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed brightly for a moment.

“Much as I don’t wanna agree with Mistah’ Tall, Dark and Creepy ova’ here, he’s kinda got a point,” Angel chimed in, “How can ya be sure he’s even gone?”

Vaggie, Husk and Charlie gave each other foreboding looks, but Angel continued talking before any of them could stop him.

“I mean, you’d hafta count every single one of ’em ta prove it, and that would be nuts.”

🌟🌟🌟

Scene VI - But I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Lookin’ For

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Under normal circumstances, Lucifer was the only one who was ever allowed to enter the chambers of his royal court.

These, however, were decidedly not “normal circumstances”, by any stretch of the imagination.

So, as Lucifer flew overhead, inspecting the sigils he’d inscribed on the high ceiling, Angel, Husk, Alastor, Charlie and Vaggie were counting the vibrant golden sea of rubber ducks that filled the room, careful not to knock any over or move them out of place.

“Angel?” Husk turned to him.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you and your smart-ass mouth,” Husk shot a withering side-eye at the taller demon, trying to keep track of numbers in his head.

Charlie had a notepad and a pen, ticking off a list of names, while Vaggie stood off to one side, counting quietly.

“Hundred and fifty-five, hundred and fifty-six, hundred and fifty-seven…”

“I, for one, think there’s too much pressure on our dear sovereign,” Alastor said brightly, eyes half-heartedly scanning a shelf, “He’s in dire need of a good night’s rest.”

He gestured up at how Lucifer was a little unbalanced as he flew over them, muttering incoherently to himself.

Vaggie looked up on instinct with everyone else, but when her gaze returned to the ducks she’d been counting, her face crumpled as she realised she’d completely lost count.

“Ay, mierda…” she whispered, “One, two, three, four…”

“Hey, uh, Husk?” Angel pointed up, “Don’tcha think the short king seems a little… off?”

“When I find who did this, they’re gonna wish the exorcists’d get them- snfSNF…” Lucifer’s voice echoed from above.

“Angel, have a little faith,” Charlie tried to assure, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, “He’s just… really concerned about this.”

“He’s losin’ his fuckin’ mind,” Husk pointed out.

“Here, I got this,” Angel retrieved his phone from his chest floof, and everyone gave him varyingly perplexed looks.

“What?” Angel scoffed, typing Lucifer’s symptoms into the search bar…

Rolling his eyes when the first page of results was nothing but ads, sponsored links and a shitty A.I. summary.

“Chrissakes,” Angel returned his phone to where he’d got it.

“I think there are some books about demon medicine in Dad’s library,” Charlie said.

“I’ll stay here and keep an eye on Lucifer,” Vaggie told her, “I don’t think he’ll notice the rest of you are leaving…”

She looked up at Lucifer again, to find him flying upside-down for a moment, singing Hamilton airily to himself.

“The world turned upside— nhh-ihh— down’d…”

The words were a little hoarse and out of tune, and interrupted by a stuttering hitch.

“Hh- hHH-Hihh’GKTT-chheww! Snf- mgh…”

Vaggie went back to counting ducks.

••••••••••••••••••••

The royal library was surprisingly well-kept for a room full of old books. The shelves were categorised and every book was in alphabetical order by title. There was a golden ladder with wheels on sleek railings, to easily traverse the shelves.

The four of them fanned out, looking over the labyrinthine shelves until Charlie found one that looked promising, just barely standing out from the rest on the shelf.

“Guys, I think this might be it,” she called them over, “Can someone help me with this, it looks really heavy…”

“Why, certainly!” Alastor stepped to her side and the two of them took hold of a large book whose cover - a dark, ink-stained vellum surrounding leaves of yellowed parchment - read Ailments and Maladies Afflicting Beings of Angelic and Demonic Nature.

“This thing looks old as fuck,” Angel observed, “Older than fuck, even.”

Husk squinted at the author’s name, barely visible after centuries of wear.

“J.W. Grippe,” he read.

“I remember my dad showing me this book,” Charlie whispered, afraid to even speak too loudly for fear of damaging the crumbling pages, “Apparently J.W. studied under Belphegor herself.”

Charlie opened the book, while the others stepped back a little. She flicked through it, reading over headings in miniscule type-set print.

Cyclical Plagues Of Hell didn’t fit, or they’d all be suffering.

Issues Related To Moulting In Winged And Feathered Beings - while Lucifer certainly had wings, they weren’t what was troubling him now.

Gold Sickness - no, no, that wasn’t it either…

Finally, near the very end, and in a dark green ink that didn’t quite match the rest of the text, she saw it.

Hellfire Fever.

“Here, lemme take a look at that,” Angel said, moving closer and leaning in to read the page.

“Despite its name, Hellfire Fever afflicts those of Angelic and Demonic origin,” Angel read aloud, “At first, symptoms may present similarly to those of the common cold.”

“HuhHH-MMNGHT’tschuhh!”

A distant, muffled sneeze that was unmistakeably Lucifer made Husk and Angel exchange wary glances.

“However,” Angel continued, “if left untreated, later stages of the illness are heralded by drastic changes in temperament, and febrile delirium as the patient’s temperature rises exponentially. Eventually, the blood of the patient begins to boil. It—”

Angel hesitated.

He swallowed.

“It may prove fatal.”

“Fuckin’ yikes,” Husk winced as Angel closed the book with a gentle thud, putting it back in its rightful place on the shelf, “You okay, Princess? That’s, uh. That’s a lot to take in.”

“Well,” Charlie’s voice was even higher than usual, “We don’t know for sure that this is what’s going on - and Dad’s always been a little… eccentric, that doesn’t mean he’s dying.”

The sound of running footsteps halted Charlie’s train of thought, and the library door slamming open made everyone jump.

“I tried to stop him,” Vaggie panted, “God, he’s fast…”

“Vaggie?” Charlie made to walk closer to her.

“I’m sorry—”

“Hey!” Angel shouted, and Vaggie fell silent, “What’re ya sorry for?”

“He’s gone,” Vaggie said, deadpan, her voice quiet and haunted.

“What?” Charlie stepped forward.

“Lucifer’s gone!”

Charlie fought to keep herself calm.

“Charlie?” Husk called from a little away from them, “You might wanna take a look at this.”

Everyone ran to the nearby window at once.

There, speeding off in a red and gold blur with blonde hair, was Lucifer Morningstar, wearing roller-skates.

Charlie took a deep breath.

“… Shit.”

🌟🌟🌟

“Abel!” The young seraphim turns to the shepherd. “He won’t be taking that anywhere but to his bedroom. We aren’t sending him back outside.” Turning back to Peter, Emily scolds him as well. “I don’t care what has to be done. You will be resting.”

Abel crosses his arms. “I’m just trying to be supportive. I still do my job when I’m sick.” It’s unfortunately true. Not that Abel exactly has a specific “job”. He usually just wanders around and helps out whenever he is needed. In the event that he is sick, the only one who can ever talk some sense into him is Adam. “That’s not a good thing.” Emily sighs. “He needs to be resting. He can’t be standing outside in the cold greeting new souls that enter Heaven. What will their first impression of Heaven be if the first person they meet is visibly ill? They could think we’re forcing him to stay out there. He could get one of them sick. Then what?” Peter sits back and watches the two argue over him, quietly sipping the coco. If they’re going to argue about his own well being, he may as well be there to witness it. (Them doing it behind his back may only make him sneeze more.)

“If I may,” Peter speaks up, although he pauses to clear his throat (a bit too aggressively). “Another option is letting me do what I want because I’m an adult who can make my own choices?” Abel pauses. “He does have a point.” 

“No he doesn’t,” Emily looks at Peter. “And you aren’t acting like a responsible adult with how little you’re caring about your own health.” Abel shrugs indifferently. “She’s got you there.” Emily turns back to Abel. “Are you on my side or not?” She’s beginning to sound annoyed, and rightfully so. As the seraphim in charge of everyone’s joy, it’s her job to make sure everyone is happy and healthy. And as of the moment, Peter is neither of the two.

The son of Adam throws his hands up in defense. “I’m not trying to take sides. I’m just saying that he’s right about being an adult who can do what he wants, but that you’re also right about him not being a responsible one.” Just a passing glance at Peter would be enough to know he shouldn’t be greeting the new citizens of Heaven. His usually bright eyes look tired. His face is flushed. His every day perfect curl of hair is a bit messy. At the very least, he’s a walking epidemic waiting to happen.

Peter shoves the rest of his lunch into his mouth, taking the coco as he stands up. “Anyway,” he swallows the bite of sandwich. “I need to head back.” Emily stands up, blocking the door. “No way, mister.” She crosses her arms. “I won’t let you go back out there and risk your health just to welcome the newcomers.” The angel groans, gently pushing past her. “Come on Em. There’s people waiting. I can’t just sit inside all day. Who’s gonna watch the door?”

Abel pokes his face. “Please. You’re on your phone most of the time anyway.” Abel pulls out his own phone and looks at it, leaning on the wall to mimic Peter. “Hey. Hi. Welcome to Heaven. Sup?” 

Peter looks genuinely offended. “I am not!” Yes he is.

“I could watch the gate for you.” Emily bounces on the balls of her feet. “I love meeting new winners.” Peter side eyes her.

“You would just let anybody and everybody inside. Sometimes we get souls who aren’t on the list and-,” Peter pauses, sniffling. His breath falters slightly, although he tries to push through. “W-we have to seEH…seEHND-!! h’IH’TCh!! eI’Gg-tCHUuh!! hi’hT’ieuh!! Eh-!! ‘htiEUUH!! Snf!! and- sniFF!! and we have to send themb back dow’d to Hell.”

Abel chuckles. “Bless you.” He picks up a nearby tissue box and gives it to his friend. Peter gratefully takes it and blows his nose softly, trying not to make a show of it.

Emily sighs. “Fine. Do what you want. I don’t have the time to argue with you both. I have to meet with Sera.” Emily turns to leave the lounge. “Please just make good choices.”

Abel and Peter exchange glances as Emily leaves. “Anyway,” Abel turns to him. “If you do wanna keep watching the gate, you should probably get going.”

Peter chuckles. “Yeah. Emily is great but she worries too much.” 

Abel smiles. “She means well. She just wants everyone to be happy.” He starts walking. “Come on, I’ll walk with you back to the gates.” 

Peter smiles. “Alright. Thanks.” He takes the coco and follows Abel back outside. Upon opening the door, the two are immediately met with a cold gust of wind. Abel does his best to shield himself with his wings. Peter attempts to do the same, but Abel’s wings are much bigger than his.

Emily was right about a few things. One being that Peter needs to rest. Another being that it’s cold outside. Abel seems to be doing fine, but he’s dressed properly for the weather. Peter shivers. Abel glances in his direction but doesn’t say anything. He isn’t in the mood to argue with Peter about his current attire. All things considered, being in a nice warm bed sounds pretty tempting, but he can’t back down now. Not after the confrontation with Emily. He can’t give her the satisfaction of winning the argument.

Once they make their way back to the gates, they find a lot of souls waiting to be let in. More than usual. Peter internally rolls his eyes. It’s one of those days. He takes a drink of the coco before setting it on the podium next to the entrance.

Time to prove Abel wrong. He knows how to do his job. He’s good at his job: to be energetic, friendly and happy. Make the humans feel welcome. He spreads his wings and waves at the new winners. “Welcome to Heav-”

Peter begins coughing harshly. Not a great start. Abel winces. The new winners exchange confused looks. Is this supposed to happen? What’s with him? Is he alright? Abel shakes his head, clearly embarrassed on his friend’s behalf.

Eyes watering, he turns around, not wishing to infect the new souls. That wouldn’t be a great first impression. Reel it in Peter. You can save this!! “Wel-ahem! Welcome to Heaven!” Probably shouldn’t be speaking so loudly, but that’s a problem for future Peter. For now, it’s time to carry on as usual. No time for shortcuts. “I’m the gate keeper, St. Peter. It’s an honor to meet you. My job is to make sure all of you feel welcome.” He spins, smiling brightly. Abel chuckles. Peter does like his job but he’s just being a show off because Abel is watching and since he was called out for always being on his phone.

Peter swoops down, gesturing to Abel. “This is my friend, Abel. He’s here to show you around and help you get situated.” 

Abel smiles awkwardly, that crooked gap toothed grin of his. “Hi. I’m Abel. Son of the first man, Adam.” He giggles. He wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot so suddenly.

Opening the gates, St. Peter gestures inside. “Make yourselves at home. Feel free to explore. Enjoy your eternity!” Abel starts walking. "You guys can follow me.” He waves goodbye to Peter and Peter does the same.

Peter clears his throat, downing the rest of the coco. It had cooled off enough. “Ow…” He rubs his throat. Yeah, speaking that energetically like he usually does didn’t help his voice at all. Noticing that his absent sign is still up, he picks it up and tosses it back under the podium.

A cold gust of wind blows past the gates. The angel shivers once again, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. For a place that’s supposed to be perfect, it sure is cold. As much as he loves snow, Christmas, and other things that come with cold weather, he wishes that it could come without the cost of wearing 10 layers of clothing.

The next few hours seem to last an eternity. Every so often there are new souls who pass through the gate. “Hi, welcombe to Heave’d.” He manages to say. “E’djoy your eterni’dy." He gets the occasional confused look from a new soul but they never say anything. 

About half an hour has gone by since the last soul passed through the gates. Peter yawns. His eyes are heavy. He’s exhausted, his throat hurts, his head is pounding. He can close his eyes for just a bit, right? Business is slow right now. Lowering his head, Peter begins to nod off. Just a quick power nap. He’ll get back to work soon… “Snoozing on the job, aye?” Peter jerks his head up, nearly falling over. Glancing around, he looks for who could have possibly- oh. Oh. Oh no. Not him. What could he possibly want this time?

Peter sighs. “What do you want?” He glares at the first man, sniffling. Adam is the absolute last person Peter feels like dealing with right now. Once when it had snowed, Adam and a handful of exorcists began throwing snowballs at him. 

Adam snickers. “Shit. Abel wasn’t joking. You look like shit warmed over.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the gate, laughing. “The fuck are you doing out here anyway? Shouldn’t your ass be in bed?”

“I cahH-!! C-can’t j-just-!! ‘kTD-ChieHh!! hEi’HT’Gtch!! eH’TDshEgh!, ugh, fu’ggk.” Peter wipes his nose on his sleeve. “I ca’dt jus’ leave the gates u’dlocked. Som’beo’de who isn’t supposed to be i’d Heave’d could get i’dside and cause problembs.” He sniffles loudly, Adam wincing slightly.

“Please,” Adam rolls his eyes. “As if Lucifer would let one of his disgusting sinners weasel its way up here. He wants complete control over all of the human souls who fucked up.” Adam laughs again. “Imagine if one of those fuckers made its way up here. We’d for sure have to-”

Peter sighs. “Have you only come here t-t’hH!! T-to…” Damnit. Not again. He’s already embarrassed himself enough as it is. 

Adam raises an eyebrow. “What was that?” He cups his ear. “Didn’t quite hear ya.”

Peter manages to glare at him just before losing composure. “h’HIi-gKTCheuh!! I’hg-tch!! eH’GgxXT’Ch!! I’hH-KTCh!!” He grips the sides of the podium, stabilizing himself so he doesn’t fall over.

“Dad?” Abel walks through the gates. “Please tell me you aren’t causing him trouble. I already told you he doesn’t feel well.” He frowns. “You always do this. Let him do his job without causing chaos. Just this once?” Peter thanks his lucky stars that Abel followed up behind Adam. 

Abel is always a bit clingy. If he’s not with Emily and Peter, wherever Adam goes, Abel is never far behind. Adam sees no reason to complain. Anything to show off how amazing of a father he is.

Adam scoffs. “I’m not doing anything. Just keepin’ him company,” Adam ruffles Peter’s already messy hair. “Isn’t that right, gate boy?” He laughs, knowing that he’s getting under his skin.

Peter pulls away, his wings going rigid. “Please just leave me alo-hH!! eH..hiHH!! eE’hHH-!!” His breath hitches audibly, halo flickering as he struggles to catch his breath. Adam smirks.

“Having trouble St. Snotface?” Adam points at his own face. “You got a little something there.”

Abel puts his face in his hands, pulling his hat over his eyes in shame. “Dad, stop it. You’re being a jerk.”

“How about I just-” Adam walks closer. He crosses his arms and casually extends one of his wings, brushing his feathers against Peter’s face. That seems to do the trick. Adam snickers. “Go on. Don’t be shy-”

“hH’iKT’HhIEUh!! eh-Hihh!! A-Hh’dam! What the fu’ggk is w-wrong with yo-uhh!! Iht’DShEHh!! Egt’TCh-iiuh!! ahH!! haAH’Ght!! Oh my g-ah!! G-god!! Wh-why would you’hH-!? hiiHh ehH-!! hH’AHG’TCH-YEUUGH!!”Adam pulls his wing back. “Ew! I swear to fuck if you get me sick.” 

Abel groans. “Dad, knock it off.” Abel looks ashamed of himself, as if it’s his own fault. “Can’t you two coexist in peace for at least one day?”

Peter sniffles, thick mucus being snorted back into his sinuses. “Adamb started it.”

Abel digs in his robe pocket and gives Peter a pack of travel tissues. “Here.”

Peter gratefully takes the pack. “Tha’ggk you…” He blows his nose. Coughing wetly, he winces, swallowing. “Ow…” That last sneeze had really done a number on his already sore throat. He sniffles again, although it’s less harsh sounding than before.

Adam rolls his eyes. “Whatever. But if I get whatever disease he has, there will be hell to pay.” With that, Adam spreads his wings and takes off back towards the exorcist headquarters.

Abel sighs, shaking his head. “Are you ok? I am so sorry about that.” He turns to Peter. “You know how my dad can be sometimes.” Peter rolls his eyes. “He’s n’dever like that with you.”

Abel chuckles. “He is. I think I get it worst of all just because I’m his son and he can get away with it.” Most of the time Adam gets on Abel’s case about not being more careful during cold and flu season. After being an ass, he is always gentle and caring with Abel. He even lets Abel sleep on top of him. Abel loves affection from his dad. “Come on. You shouldn’t be out here. You’ve clearly gotten worse.” Peter sighs. “Fi’de.” Peter reaches under the podium and puts the sign back up.

“I don’t think that’ll go over very well.” Abel turns back. “Here, let’s write something else.” He takes the dry erase marker and writes a new message:

“Closed until further notice. Feel free to let yourself in. Any one of the Arch Angels can help you get situated and find your way around. Sorry for the inconveneinse. We will get back to you as soon as possible.”

Reading the message, Peter snickers. “Dude, you spelled “inconvenience” wro’gg.” It’s not uncommon for Abel to make spelling errors. He’s not the best when it comes to math, spelling, counting, and a number of other things. It took forever before Abel could say the word “seashells” without saying “stheasthellths”. Especially with his chipped tooth.

Abel giggles, shoving him. “Shut up, I have brain damage.” Abel has absolutely no problem making light of or joking about his own death. If anything, it makes the betrayal and pain of the event hurt less.

As Peter follows Abel, he groans. “I’mb n’dot looki’g forward to Em’bily saying all of her ‘I told you so’ bullshi’dt.” He can already hear her voice going on about how she knows what’s best for him. “She can’d be such a m’bother hen’d in som’be situations.

Abel laughs. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure she isn’t too hard on you about it.” Abel remembers when he had the flu and it took Peter hauling her away just for him to get some peace and quiet. Even still, she insisted that she stand guard outside the door to make sure no one disturbed him while he slept.

Peter rolls his eyes, although a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Uh huh, sure.” If anything, Abel will add to it just to piss him off. It’s all in good fun though.

After making it back to the living quarters, Emily is already waiting for Abel and Peter. Peter groans. “Oh no…”

“Peter!” Emily rushes over to him, bringing a hand to his face. “You look awful. I told you not to go back out there! What were you thinking?”

Peter pulls away. “Lay off, will you?” He walks past her and flops face first onto the sofa. “If I’m gonna die, let me at least enjoy my last moments in peace and quiet.”

Abel chuckles. “You aren’t going to die Peter.” Abel walks over and sits next to him. “You’ll be fine. It’s Heaven. Stuff like this usually passes within 48 hours or less.” He’s used to his father acting similarly. Adam tends to be a bit more dramatic about it, though. “Tell Lute that he leaves his guitar collection to her.” and other things like that.

“Here,” Emily pulls up a chair near the sofa where the other two are. “I made you some tea.”

Peter sits up and takes it from her. “Thanks…” he mumbles. He hates that he had to go to her for help. Well, technically he didn’t. Although, he would have much preferred it if it were just Abel. At least Abel doesn’t talk non stop…most of the time.

He blows on the tea before taking a sip. “It’s good.” He says, looking at the floor. Emily smiles, proud of herself. Unfortunately, she’s well known for being good at making tea, along with other beverages. Damn her and her kindness.

As he holds the mug, the steam coming off of it starts to loosen his congestion, which he is in part grateful for. On the other hand, his nose begins running. The sudden change from being able to breathe is nice, but it also makes his nose tickle. He rubs his nose on his sleeve, sniffling quietly.

“You good?” Abel notices his change in demeanor.

Peter puts the mug down on the table in front of him, still rubbing his nose. It does little to help the persistent tickle. “Dam’b it…n-not ag’aHh!! A-again..!”  Emily, knowing what is soon to happen, grabs the tissue box from the side table next to her and tosses it to Abel, who puts it between himself and Peter. “I’GHT-Xxt!! Nh’HT!!-eugh! g’Gh-TcheUh!! Nk’TKCh- FUCK!!” After some failed attempts at stifling, Peter brings his hands to the sides of his head, covering his ears. “Ow…”

Abel laughs. “You never learn your lesson, do you.” He pulls a few tissues from the box and gives them to Peter. “Be gentle,” he says, his tone of voice sounding as if he’s talking to a dog taking a treat. Peter glares at him but does as he’s instructed.

The angel groans, slamming his head down onto the coffee table in front of him. “Sombeo’de kill m’be.” Emily giggles at his theatrics. Abel simply pats his head. “You’ll be fine. You just need to sleep it off. Illness never lasts long in Heaven.” Abel leans back, crossing his arms.

Peter turns his head and glares at him. “If Heave’d is so perfect, the’d why does it happe’d in the first place?” He does have a point. Although Heaven is the ideal and perfect place to stay, that doesn’t mean that bad things never happen or that the citizens are immune to injury or illness.

Emily smiles gently. “It’s to protect ourselves. If Heaven made us untouchable, we’d have no reason to fear anything. It’s still important to use caution doing everyday things such as using the oven or handling sharp objects.”

Peter grumbles. “I guess. It still sucks though. I don’t know how humans survive on earth.”

Abel laughs. “You just learn and get used to it. Kind of like how I didn’t understand why Angels used silverware when they could just eat with their hands like we did in Eden.” 

“Exactly! I was horrified when I found out humans weren’t able to fly. They had to find some other way to reach something high up.” Emily looks a bit embarrassed at her confession. 

Abel smiles, his own wings fluttering. “Having wings is great. It makes a lot of things easier. I don’t have to risk falling out of trees and breaking my neck anymore. Not that I would need to climb a tree up here anyway.”

“You know, I was thinking about this the other day. We should really,” Abel turns to look at his friend only to find him dead asleep, face first on the table. Abel laughs. “I guess my dad making fun of him wore him out.”

Emily groans. “Again? Sera talked to him about that just last week.”

Abel smirks. “I know, but honestly, Peter always gives him the reaction he’s looking for. He’s kind of asking for it. Like when Peter hit him in the face with a snowball to try and make him go away. Dad returned the favor by collecting a bunch of the exorci…of his friends to pelt snow back at him.”

Emily sighs, although a small smile forces its way onto her face. “Still, he needs to leave Peter alone to do his job.” “It’s fine. He left soon after Peter sneezed on him. It’ll probably be a while before he starts up again.”

Emily stands up, straightening out her dress. “I hope Adam doesn’t get sick too. Lute turns feral when anything happens to him.” It’s true. Last time when Adam hurt his wing she chased someone with a dagger after they tried to help him. Most of the winners and even heaven borns know not to mess with the first man. “Don’t fuck with Adam. His lieutenant will rip you a new asshole!”

“Anyway, try and get Peter onto the sofa without waking him.” The young seraphim walks towards the door. “Hopefully he’ll be better by tomorrow.”

Abel waves goodbye to her. “Yeah, hopefully.” He turns to Peter and as carefully as possible transfers him from the coffee table back onto the sofa. Abel chuckles, watching him flop over like a sack of potatoes. He’s out cold.

Abel pulls out his phone and begins scrolling. He’ll be there for when Peter wakes up. He gets a notification from a group chat he’s in with his dad, Lute, and the other exorcists:

“We’re starting a petition to keep ppl who are sick away from Adam.”

“y”“St. Fuckhole sneezed on Adam and now he’s quarantining himself since extermination day is soon.”

“Damn lol”