It's signed not with a name but with a symbol in a language older than the Earth, burned golden-bright into the paper. A summons not to be ignored, where 'at your earliest convenience' almost certainly means 'now, or yesterday if you can manage it'. The demon who delivers it to Beelzebub carries it like it might explode if handled too roughly, and looks distinctly frazzled by the experience of having to play courier.
And down in the deepest, darkest bowels of Hell, the sender waits.
As one descends towards the office of said sender, the air grows heavier, darker, until one might as well be moving in pitch blackness. Not a problem for demons, of course, but the problem comes when you reach the door at the end of the long, sterile, black hallway. When you open it, and a bright, white light suddenly falls on you, disorienting you just for a moment.
Some say he does it purposefully. That it's just a way to make sure no one can sneak up on him. They also say he can't stand the murk and mess of the rest of Hell, and that's why he never walks its halls.
Memos, everyone would know, are something created right there down in the pits of Hell. Nothing written in a memo is ever good, usually void of actual information, and the good things always pointless and late.
They're surprised, when they actually receive it. Not a lot of things surprise them anymore -- or, rather, they shouldn't. But it seems like things have changed in ways they didn't expect, and now they keep changing and spinning out of control. They're using all the resources they can to cover these leaks, but demons don't make for a trustworthy workforce.
But, they go. He could have easily just have summoned them, called out for them, but there's meaning in such acts.
They make themselves presentable, dismissing the flies, putting away the boils. They squint at the light and step through, until they're in the center of the room.
They'd been created off the back of a very interesting note from one of the lower ranks, and Lucifer had taken to them immediately. Nothing quite strikes fear like a well-written memo, and they can be used very effectively even when a simple summons would do.
But a summons is... personal. It means something. It means reaching out, and the Adversary hasn't reached out to anyone in eons.
He's at the far end of the room, leaning casually back against the edge of a wide, black desk. The room itself is large, minimally furnished, and clinically clean, lit from a high ceiling by dozens of small bulbs set out to look like the constellations. The demon himself is smartly dressed, in black trousers and a white shirt, and he looks so terribly nondescript... save for one thing.
Of all Fallen, Lucifer never lost the appearance of his Grace.
"Beelzebub," the King of Hell says. He pushes away from the desk and approaches, hands clasped neatly behind his back. "... I think we're long overdue for a debriefing, don't you?"
The Prince straightens up, standing at attention, but lacking in expression, as in most times.
There haven't been many situations where they've actually seen him in person. No, not in the last few eons. And there are things they could say about that particular situation, about how that makes their job remarkably more difficult, about how they could use the guidance of someone so much more powerful, a direction, a hint.
But they know what such insolence would cost. A demon doesn't simply get cast out of Hell.
"I believe so, my Lord." They list the items in their head, of all the things that have happened that might have triggered this.
If his lack of engagement in the entire thing hadn't made it abundantly clear... Lucifer actually cares very little about the end of the world. Oh, he knows it needs to happen, eventually, and he knows that he has a part to play in it as much as anyone. He knows there will be a war, and he knows that he will probably be on the losing side, because the winner is never going to be determined by skill.
The winner is going to be determined by Her. Just like the first time.
"Sit down," he says. It isn't a suggestion, but he does, at least, pull the chair out from the opposite side of his desk before rounding it to take his own seat.
"Now. Would you like to explain what happened to the Antichrist?"
They sit. They don't lounge as they usually do, taking care to keep a straight posture in his presence. This room, this place, it's feels unnatural, down here. Not that they found the rest of Hell all that pleasant. Which is the whole point, isn't it?
The question comes, and it looks like they're starting at the beginning. A good a point as any. They clear their throat.
"It seems like there was a..." They need to chose their words carefully. They know he knows, already. He always knows, even if he stays out of it. This is all a show, something to chew on until he gets to whatever point he means to make. "Setback, with the child."
He says the word slowly, enunciating the syllables, somehow making it sound like a blistering curse. Yet still in that calm, even voice, as he leans forwards on the table and clasps his hands together, resting his lower lip against his thumbs for a moment.
"You had a very simple job, Beelzebub. It was a simple job, wasn't it?"
'Surprisingly difficult', they could tell him. They'd even tried to tempt the child with ideas of ruling the world. They made themselves less disturbing to the eye, they tried temptation, they tried threats. Nothing, and then those two got in the way...
" It was all going according to plan, my Lord." And again, they know he knows. Probably. He would have. "The boy was fully into his power, the Four Horsemen had begun their tasks."
So close. They were so close.
"All of our forces were ready to storm out of the gates."
There's a smile that flickers across Lucifer's face, though the brevity of it makes it seem more like a twitch. The air in the room is heavy, oppressive, and the King of Hell impresses himself upon the room without really trying at all.
"... I'm sure you realise, Beelzebub, that you're not answering my question," he says quietly, levelly, his hands still clasped together.
"I'm sure you noticed, and you're going to get to the point very soon."
They quiet down as soon as he speaks, a silence that lingers a few seconds too long. Deep, threatening, deadly silence. Just between the two of them.
Weaker, unimportant demons wouldn’t even get the time of day, no. But the Prince gets to answer for all of them. Including the traitor.
They take a breath, and sit straighter. Sparing a moment to think of how to put this, as they look at the Adversary.
“Yes, Lord.”
Yes, it was a straightforward task. Send the child to the surface. Let them llive among the humans. Influence them to their side. The world ends in Fire and Flame. War rages on.
[There is something about September 28th that pisses him off.
He can't think why or what it is. It's a date that frustrates him for some unknown reason and leaves him looking up at the stars. Or at least, he would if one of the many underlings hadn't fucked up and condemned him to six months worth of paperwork in the fucking basement.
He hated the basement. They all agreed to be there because there wasn't a whole hell of a lot of other places to go - but he preferred to be above the ground in his very nice suits with four or five rich and famous people on his arm who would belong to them later but no. No. Aszubek had fucked with him. His only freedom was his fucking trysts and being upstairs and drinking wine and -
And September 28th itched in his mind like a bite from a hell hound. He had been terrified that Lucifer would summon him for that - because the scars show up when he sits in the basement from all the other times his brother has sicced the dogs on him.
Oh yes. He has scars. A number of scars. Few people know that there's glamour that one puts on when they are upstairs for long periods of time. He's always terrified he'll forget how so Azubek had said Beelzebub had fucked him over and purposefully filled his files with insects there was always that possibility. Six months underground. Six months as his suits rot off him and featers sprout from his face and his neck and that stupid little sense of self - his true self - crests his head. A hideous decaying looking peacock. He's still buff, still broad but his feature are sunken and there are scars across his chest and neck and face.
The fangs are bared too, four of them, like a dog. An angry dog that stalks down the hallway dragging a weeping Azubek hissing and kicking
Yes, that handsome face is scarred and marked and his red eyes faintly glow as he finds Beelzebub's office and kicks open the door, eyes glowing. Asmodeus hisses before tossing Azubek into the room.
The demon weeps - I didn't say anything he's crazy! I didn't say anything I wasn't trying to usurp his power I didn't blame you he's crazy he's- no. no no - no! The demon gets no further as Asmodeus grabs the creature by the horns, pinning him through the wall before drawing out three very large thick nails and hammering them into the demon's shoulders. It pins him to the wall as the prince of lust and wrath turns back to Beelzebub, Azubek bleeding nailed to the cheap plaster wall.]
...This piece of shit poured bugs into my filing system and claims you did it. That you ordered him to do it.
[His fangs are bared and two demons look into the open door and stare before Asmodeus hisses at them.]
They've been devoured. My fucking files are full of silverfish so I have to go back through other departments to make copies.
[He moves to sit in the chair, long legs hanging over one another. His hand idly scratches at his cheek before pulling long blue feathers out of his hair. They grow back instantly, blue dotted with blood. His claws dig in again and he tries for an air of nonchalance.]
So. If you did do it. Consider this a warning. Don't fuck with my shit.
If you didn't. Then you can do what you want with the little fucking prick who doesn't know how to file a fucking form and thinks it's smart to put silverfishin my fucking desk.
And blame a prince of hell. Like an idiot.
[Azubek starts whimpering before the prince turns over his shoulder with a snarl.]
Dagon's the master of files, not Beelzebub. But, as a prince, most of the paper work has to go through him at some point. Compliance reports. Notes. Memos (Beelzebub had a particular hatred of those. Always pointless. First created right down there in Hell, and of course they suffered with them as well. That's the whole point.)
So, there they sit, in the dark, damp, disgusting den. They could make it to their liking as much as they wanted, but it's still just an office. A large desk, a horned throne, piles and piles of paper, and flies everywhere. But it's quiet, for the most part. That is, very Asmodeus shows up.
They hear Aszubek begging, coming closer and closer to their door. A stare, followed by a frustrated sigh and a pinch between their eyes. And then the door slams open, and the whole show starts.
Through the whole thing, Beelzebub simply sets down the reports they had in their hands, lounges back on their throne, and leans their head against a closed fist. Silent and deadpan through the whole tantrum. As a demon gets nailed to their wall and as the Prince of Lust takes a seat.
And they still stare at him for a few more silent moments, entirely unimpressed. ]
Asmodeus. [ There's a soft buzzing behind their voice, caught in the sibilants.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2019-08-24 03:29 pm (UTC)'Come and see me at your earliest convenience.'
It's signed not with a name but with a symbol in a language older than the Earth, burned golden-bright into the paper. A summons not to be ignored, where 'at your earliest convenience' almost certainly means 'now, or yesterday if you can manage it'. The demon who delivers it to Beelzebub carries it like it might explode if handled too roughly, and looks distinctly frazzled by the experience of having to play courier.
And down in the deepest, darkest bowels of Hell, the sender waits.
As one descends towards the office of said sender, the air grows heavier, darker, until one might as well be moving in pitch blackness. Not a problem for demons, of course, but the problem comes when you reach the door at the end of the long, sterile, black hallway. When you open it, and a bright, white light suddenly falls on you, disorienting you just for a moment.
Some say he does it purposefully. That it's just a way to make sure no one can sneak up on him. They also say he can't stand the murk and mess of the rest of Hell, and that's why he never walks its halls.
And they are entirely correct, on both counts.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-25 12:51 am (UTC)They're surprised, when they actually receive it. Not a lot of things surprise them anymore -- or, rather, they shouldn't. But it seems like things have changed in ways they didn't expect, and now they keep changing and spinning out of control. They're using all the resources they can to cover these leaks, but demons don't make for a trustworthy workforce.
But, they go. He could have easily just have summoned them, called out for them, but there's meaning in such acts.
They make themselves presentable, dismissing the flies, putting away the boils. They squint at the light and step through, until they're in the center of the room.
They bow.
"My Lord."
no subject
Date: 2019-08-25 01:06 am (UTC)But a summons is... personal. It means something. It means reaching out, and the Adversary hasn't reached out to anyone in eons.
He's at the far end of the room, leaning casually back against the edge of a wide, black desk. The room itself is large, minimally furnished, and clinically clean, lit from a high ceiling by dozens of small bulbs set out to look like the constellations. The demon himself is smartly dressed, in black trousers and a white shirt, and he looks so terribly nondescript... save for one thing.
Of all Fallen, Lucifer never lost the appearance of his Grace.
"Beelzebub," the King of Hell says. He pushes away from the desk and approaches, hands clasped neatly behind his back. "... I think we're long overdue for a debriefing, don't you?"
no subject
Date: 2019-08-25 01:50 am (UTC)There haven't been many situations where they've actually seen him in person. No, not in the last few eons. And there are things they could say about that particular situation, about how that makes their job remarkably more difficult, about how they could use the guidance of someone so much more powerful, a direction, a hint.
But they know what such insolence would cost. A demon doesn't simply get cast out of Hell.
"I believe so, my Lord." They list the items in their head, of all the things that have happened that might have triggered this.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-25 12:53 pm (UTC)The winner is going to be determined by Her. Just like the first time.
"Sit down," he says. It isn't a suggestion, but he does, at least, pull the chair out from the opposite side of his desk before rounding it to take his own seat.
"Now. Would you like to explain what happened to the Antichrist?"
no subject
Date: 2019-08-25 06:35 pm (UTC)The question comes, and it looks like they're starting at the beginning. A good a point as any. They clear their throat.
"It seems like there was a..." They need to chose their words carefully. They know he knows, already. He always knows, even if he stays out of it. This is all a show, something to chew on until he gets to whatever point he means to make. "Setback, with the child."
That irritatingly difficult, pretentious brat.
no subject
Date: 2019-08-25 08:05 pm (UTC)He says the word slowly, enunciating the syllables, somehow making it sound like a blistering curse. Yet still in that calm, even voice, as he leans forwards on the table and clasps his hands together, resting his lower lip against his thumbs for a moment.
"You had a very simple job, Beelzebub. It was a simple job, wasn't it?"
Wasn't it?
How difficult can it be to deal with one child?
no subject
Date: 2019-08-27 05:55 pm (UTC)" It was all going according to plan, my Lord." And again, they know he knows. Probably. He would have. "The boy was fully into his power, the Four Horsemen had begun their tasks."
So close. They were so close.
"All of our forces were ready to storm out of the gates."
no subject
Date: 2019-09-22 12:40 pm (UTC)"... I'm sure you realise, Beelzebub, that you're not answering my question," he says quietly, levelly, his hands still clasped together.
"I'm sure you noticed, and you're going to get to the point very soon."
no subject
Date: 2019-09-24 04:31 pm (UTC)Weaker, unimportant demons wouldn’t even get the time of day, no. But the Prince gets to answer for all of them. Including the traitor.
They take a breath, and sit straighter. Sparing a moment to think of how to put this, as they look at the Adversary.
“Yes, Lord.”
Yes, it was a straightforward task. Send the child to the surface. Let them llive among the humans. Influence them to their side. The world ends in Fire and Flame. War rages on.
Well, so much for that.
Text |
Date: 2019-10-21 06:53 pm (UTC)For interrupting you but I got nervous. Discovering that those two assholes were lying was a big deal.
Re: Text |
Date: 2019-10-22 10:16 pm (UTC)What the Heaven are they supposed to do with an apology?
The archangel really, really confuses them sometimes.]
If you keep being shocked about the lengths of their treacherous nature, you’re just going to keep wasting time.
Re: Text |
Date: 2019-10-29 05:33 pm (UTC)[A very obvious lie]
I just think we could stand to be on a little more even footing because I want to understand how you are and what you want to do to them
Re: Text |
Date: 2019-11-01 06:39 pm (UTC)What I want to do with them is eliminate the problem.
But we can't do that. Not yet anyway. So we have to study them and find their real weaknesses. They have to have some.
AU~
Date: 2019-11-19 01:57 am (UTC)He can't think why or what it is. It's a date that frustrates him for some unknown reason and leaves him looking up at the stars. Or at least, he would if one of the many underlings hadn't fucked up and condemned him to six months worth of paperwork in the fucking basement.
He hated the basement. They all agreed to be there because there wasn't a whole hell of a lot of other places to go - but he preferred to be above the ground in his very nice suits with four or five rich and famous people on his arm who would belong to them later but no. No. Aszubek had fucked with him. His only freedom was his fucking trysts and being upstairs and drinking wine and -
And September 28th itched in his mind like a bite from a hell hound. He had been terrified that Lucifer would summon him for that - because the scars show up when he sits in the basement from all the other times his brother has sicced the dogs on him.
Oh yes. He has scars. A number of scars. Few people know that there's glamour that one puts on when they are upstairs for long periods of time. He's always terrified he'll forget how so Azubek had said Beelzebub had fucked him over and purposefully filled his files with insects there was always that possibility. Six months underground. Six months as his suits rot off him and featers sprout from his face and his neck and that stupid little sense of self - his true self - crests his head. A hideous decaying looking peacock. He's still buff, still broad but his feature are sunken and there are scars across his chest and neck and face.
The fangs are bared too, four of them, like a dog. An angry dog that stalks down the hallway dragging a weeping Azubek hissing and kicking
Yes, that handsome face is scarred and marked and his red eyes faintly glow as he finds Beelzebub's office and kicks open the door, eyes glowing. Asmodeus hisses before tossing Azubek into the room.
The demon weeps - I didn't say anything he's crazy! I didn't say anything I wasn't trying to usurp his power I didn't blame you he's crazy he's- no. no no - no! The demon gets no further as Asmodeus grabs the creature by the horns, pinning him through the wall before drawing out three very large thick nails and hammering them into the demon's shoulders. It pins him to the wall as the prince of lust and wrath turns back to Beelzebub, Azubek bleeding nailed to the cheap plaster wall.]
...This piece of shit poured bugs into my filing system and claims you did it. That you ordered him to do it.
[His fangs are bared and two demons look into the open door and stare before Asmodeus hisses at them.]
They've been devoured. My fucking files are full of silverfish so I have to go back through other departments to make copies.
[He moves to sit in the chair, long legs hanging over one another. His hand idly scratches at his cheek before pulling long blue feathers out of his hair. They grow back instantly, blue dotted with blood. His claws dig in again and he tries for an air of nonchalance.]
So. If you did do it. Consider this a warning. Don't fuck with my shit.
If you didn't. Then you can do what you want with the little fucking prick who doesn't know how to file a fucking form and thinks it's smart to put silverfish in my fucking desk.
And blame a prince of hell. Like an idiot.
[Azubek starts whimpering before the prince turns over his shoulder with a snarl.]
Shut the fuck up!
and finally, this
Date: 2019-12-18 11:34 pm (UTC)Dagon's the master of files, not Beelzebub. But, as a prince, most of the paper work has to go through him at some point. Compliance reports. Notes. Memos (Beelzebub had a particular hatred of those. Always pointless. First created right down there in Hell, and of course they suffered with them as well. That's the whole point.)
So, there they sit, in the dark, damp, disgusting den. They could make it to their liking as much as they wanted, but it's still just an office. A large desk, a horned throne, piles and piles of paper, and flies everywhere. But it's quiet, for the most part. That is, very Asmodeus shows up.
They hear Aszubek begging, coming closer and closer to their door. A stare, followed by a frustrated sigh and a pinch between their eyes. And then the door slams open, and the whole show starts.
Through the whole thing, Beelzebub simply sets down the reports they had in their hands, lounges back on their throne, and leans their head against a closed fist. Silent and deadpan through the whole tantrum. As a demon gets nailed to their wall and as the Prince of Lust takes a seat.
And they still stare at him for a few more silent moments, entirely unimpressed. ]
Asmodeus. [ There's a soft buzzing behind their voice, caught in the sibilants.
They lace their fingers over their stomach. ]
...are you quite done?
: D
Date: 2019-12-19 12:34 am (UTC)I'm done.
[His lip curls.]
My department was set back weeks.
no subject
Date: 2019-12-21 10:32 pm (UTC)Well, good thing you're going to be down here a while, innit?
[ With an eyebrow raise to their deadpan look, they're just casually digging their fingers into the wound. Metaphorically speaking. ]