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“Well, aren’t you the delicious little morsel?”
Baraqiel rolled his eyes at the greeting. Pushing wire frame glasses up the bridge of his nose, he stifled a sigh and leaned back in his chair. Gaze flitting over the desk, ensuring everything was in its correct position, he then turned said gaze towards the demon filling the door frame of his office. Being a Dominion blessed him with certain privileges: for one, a quiet space of his own where he could work, tinker with new celestial formations and the like. However, it also came with arduous duties he was less keen on, like the one currently grinning at him from across the room.
He’d prepared himself for the inevitable invasion arrival, for the attempt to wrong-foot him from the first word, but it still jarred him to see a denizen of Hell casually regarding him with keen eyes.
“Ah, my Lord, Archduke Slorch the Vile, uh, Master of the Secret Torments, I presume?” Baraqiel murmured, pushing himself up to stand and smoothing down the front of his muted gold waistcoat, one which thankfully concealed the creased pale shirt beneath.
The scarlet-stained mouth of his “guest” twisted in what he might have charitably been called a smile, exposing rows of immaculately sharpened teeth. “Why, expectin’ some other Demon Lord to drop by?”
Baraqiel took a deep breath and reminded himself of the softly-patronising voice the Metatron had spoken in, emphasising the necessity of this first meeting. The importance of ensuring it all proceeded as smoothly as possible. If Baraqiel’s throat tightened at the thought of the exact reason why a liaison was required between Heaven and Hell, it was a mere blip, a feeling to be buried somewhere deep and untraceable.
He had wondered, for a time, if this was a test handed down by the Metatron. Baraqiel had tried to walk the line, but now and then he'd slipped from it. Voiced a negative opinion about a weather event wiping out tiny humans (kids! That's what they were called), which has earned him some questioning looks from the rank and file; smoothed the way for a new, life-saving medical discovery that had happened far earlier than planned, much to Heaven’s bafflement… Each a moment he'd been unable to hold back his thoughts; each a moment he risked everything.
And yet he couldn't seem able to stop himself interfering somehow. Still, he needed to focus on the meeting. Maybe he could at least ensure this went as well as could be expected.
Hands clutched behind his back, he strode around his desk but hovered a few metres still from his Hellish counterpart. He plastered a polite smile upon his face and began, “Just waiting upon your terrible self, my Lord.” A chair miraculously appeared on the opposite side of his desk, and Baraqiel motioned towards it with an inviting wave of his hand. “Please, my Lord, take a seat.”
The Archduke’s black-smeared eyes lit up with flames of delight, his grin widening. “And so well-mannered, too.” He strolled over to the empty chair, arms swinging, while Baraqiel retreated to his own seat. “And how might I address you, little bee?” He lowered himself onto the chair with more grace than Baraqiel had anticipated, given the broad shoulders and swaggering gait of the Archduke.
However, he didn’t miss the toying tone either and decided setting some clear boundaries was going to be essential. Straightening his posture, Baraqiel peered over his glasses. “Not as ‘little bee’ for one.”
The Archduke raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Oh, do forgive me,” he smirked, sarcasm dripping like blood from his mouth.
“Right,” Baraqiel drawled, “well, technically my name is Lord Dominion Baraqiel, Angel of the Sky.” He felt the mantle of the title settle uncomfortably about his shoulders once more, the weight of it and all it entailed pressing down upon him. Honestly, he’d never really desired the role or its trappings, it was just the only way to do anything approaching a sliver of what he really wanted to achieve: to be left alone to engineer and design and create, to watch all the fascinating little things those humans dreamt up…
Not to help draw-up years-long plans on how the whole blasted thing would fall to pieces after only a few thousand—
“And is that what you wanna be called?”
Baraqiel blinked, fixing his russet-brown eyes upon the Archduke’s own swirling, ocean-deep gaze. He sought out any hint of mockery within it and was surprised to find none. “Huh,” he murmured, “y’know, no one’s ever actually asked.”
The Archduke shrugged, almost as if it were careless but not quite. “Yeah,” he muttered slowly, “I remember what it’s like up here.” The smile was suddenly back, though thinner this time. “Not like it’s much better down there, though.”
Struggling to find his balance and feeling instead like a discombobulated slinky, Baraqiel managed to stammer out, “Uh, I-I guess, well, Baraqiel is fine.”
“Indeed it is!” the Archduke exclaimed with a flourish of his hands. “Lookin’ forward to workin’ with you on this…project. Here, you might as well call me Slorch.”
“Just…Slorch?”
The jagged smile that answered was, oddly, more reassuring than disturbing this time. “Plain, simple Slorch. Besides, ‘s’my name, ain’t it? Saves time tripping over thirteen-syllable titles any time we wanna get the attention of the other.”
“Right, well, yeah, that’s…” Baraqiel trailed off, feeling that all-too-familiar and troublesome streak of honesty start to work his tongue. “Y’know, you’re not at all what I expected.”
Slorch chuckled. “Is that good or bad?”
Baraqiel snorted despite himself. “Depends whether your good means the same as my good.”
“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Slorch declared, glee woven through his words as he rested his hands over the curve of his stomach. Tilting his head, he licked his lips and Baraqiel found his attention caught by the pale pink of the tongue tracing over that reddened mouth. Just for a moment, of course.
“So,” Slorch sighed, “‘s’pose we should talk about the Big One. Armageddon, Doomsday, The Great Annihilation. Everything Must Go.”
Baraqiel was able to avoid wincing at those words as they fell to the floor with a thud. “The, ah, higher-ups prefer we call it ‘The Day of God Almighty’, actually.”
Slorch scoffed. “Yeah, bet they do.” Waving a hand dismissively in the air, he continued, “Look, they can call it what they like. S’the end of the world, ain’t it?” Then, unexpectedly, there was a flash of something soft, something faraway, crossing Slorch’s face, gone as fast as it had appeared. “An’ they’ve really only just started, the humans. ’S’been, what, a few thousand years? Not much in the grand scheme of things. Bit of a waste, if you think about it.”
“Do you?” Baraqiel asked, temporarily bewildered at his own boldness; at the note of hope that had sounded through his being from the mere hint that another may share his view on the squandering of such a complex universe. “Think about it, that is?”
Slorch said nothing, instead regarding him with a quizzical expression and Baraqiel felt the searing edge of the cliff beneath his feet once again, dangerously close to teetering over. For fuck’s… He was so foolish, still so foolish. Hadn’t he tempered his impulsive curiosity enough by now? Had he learned nothing from The Great War, how close he had come to—
“I do,” Slorch replied eventually, his tone careful and drawing Baraqiel away from the heat of a battle that belonged in the past but refused to remain there. “Don’t get me wrong, got a cushy job down there. Just feels a bit short-sighted. I mean, shutting up shop after a measly few millennia? Seems silly. Those humans, they’ve got so much potential…” Slorch paused then, hooding his gaze, like he was quickly trying to curate himself. “For evil, that is. So many, uh, torments to be invented yet.”
“Quite,” Baraqiel hummed, suddenly feeling a shift in the air. “If I may say, um, Slorch, I do believe we may have some similar thoughts about how this…plan might proceed.” Tapping a finger upon his lip, he took a moment to consider what he was doing, or what he was thinking of doing. Could one ever really trust a demon? He’d known the person opposite him for a matter of minutes, yet there was a possibility that their goals might actually align, even if for different reasons. And yes, maybe he was desperate, but wasn’t it worth investigating? He could always maintain caution, hold back as required...
Baraqiel leaned forwards and rested his elbows upon the desk. “I think we may have some things to discuss in more detail. But, might I propose we arrange a more neutral meeting ground?”
Maybe Slorch picked up on what Baraqiel was implying about the need for a space unmonitored by Heaven or Hell. Maybe he didn’t. Whatever the case, it was of no matter because at that question, Slorch grinned at him in a way that was no longer unnerving and felt increasingly…inviting? “Think I know just the place,” Slorch rumbled pleasantly, “nice little hotel-restaurant-thing, bit fancy-pants, but the food’s pretty decent. Might I tempt you?”
Baraqiel knew, he knew, this was dangerous ground, but perhaps, underneath all the mindless day to day tasks, the endless agreements upon courses of action he did not see the point of, he really never had learned his lesson; perhaps the lesson wasn’t worth learning.
And so, blasphemously, he smirked back and whispered, “Temptation accomplished.”