Title: To be light as a feather
Author: Kielle
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Not Loki, not Bartleby, and not
Metatron (even though he lives in my closet).
The waiting room was overly bright, silent, and boring. The limited reading
material hadn't been changed in a good thousand years, Bartleby noticed,
and he was number three-thousand ninety six on the waiting list. Nothing
to do, really, but stare at the other disembodied souls and wallow in
self-pity. Remorse was very intoxicating, really, and the knowledge
of one good life didn't exactly make up for the previous treason.
"Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that
your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of
the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer
your gift."
"Don't quote scripture at me." Bartleby muttered tiredly, tilting his chin
forward to his chest. The tall form of Metatron slid easily though the
lighted doorway from purgatory proper, his arms crossed neatly over a shirt
of black silk.
"Wasn't me, it was Her. She rather thought it fitting."
The ex-Watcher rubbed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, tugging
absently at his jacket. He stared blankly at Metatron,
brown eyes clear.
"So where's hell?"
"Right where it's always been, of course." The Voice idly plucked lint
off his sleeve. "Oh, you mean with regards to you?"
"Bingo." His gaze flickered behind Metatron to where an overly perky cherubim
was finally getting to number two on the decision list. Christ, they could
be here forever before he got any answers. Longer if he had to wait for Metaron
to play it straight with him.
"Well of course you're not going to Hell. Really now. You led a good mortal life.
Boring as grass growing, yes, but not bad...though that's probably why. I mean
really, what kind of trouble can an accountant get into..."
"Moving on..." The last thing Bartleby needed was Metatron's opinion of his
mortal occupation.
"Well then, no need to be huffy. Anyway, by all rights you should be Home. You
kept the faith, didn't kill anyone, and once saved a stray kitten from an
obnoxious child if I remember correctly. Heaven-bound."
"So why am I here?" Bartleby climbed to his feet, his eyes hardening. "Look, if you
say I've earned it, I've earned it. I'll take hell for what I did, or Heaven if
you say so, but purgatory...Look, Metatron, there's nothing for me here."
"Au contraire." The angel smirked and waved his hand, and the waiting room seemed
to dissolve into mists. "What you're here to deal with, Watcher, is behind door
number two..."
Bartleby's breath choked as he was allowed a clear vision across the gray plains
of purgatory. In the distance was an unmistakable blonde form, wings outstretched,
chatting with some little ethereal being of light or another and sipping what looked
like a beer.
"Loki?" His mind reeled. Loki. Here. With wings, meaning he was an angel again...how
the hell did that happen? "What ha...why?"
"All questions answered in due time, Bartleby." The Metatron gave him a condescending
pat on the shoulder. "Now as for you boys...do try to play nice."
There was a chiming noise, and Bartleby suddenly found the familiar grey mists
of a non-corporeal realm replaced by an even more familiar arrangement of streets and
shops. In fact, it even looked vaugly like...
"Wisconsin?"
A red-head standing on the street corner laughed. "No doll...Kansas. Or at least a subsection.
Welcome to purgatory."
Notes: The scripture quote is Mathew 5:23. Chapter three coming within the next week or two,
hopefully. It's that weird chapter, where I know what I'm doing up to it, and know what
I'm doing after it, but don't quite know how to write the in-between. Oh well, read and
review!
Author: Kielle
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Not Loki, not Bartleby, and not
Metatron (even though he lives in my closet).
The waiting room was overly bright, silent, and boring. The limited reading
material hadn't been changed in a good thousand years, Bartleby noticed,
and he was number three-thousand ninety six on the waiting list. Nothing
to do, really, but stare at the other disembodied souls and wallow in
self-pity. Remorse was very intoxicating, really, and the knowledge
of one good life didn't exactly make up for the previous treason.
"Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that
your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of
the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer
your gift."
"Don't quote scripture at me." Bartleby muttered tiredly, tilting his chin
forward to his chest. The tall form of Metatron slid easily though the
lighted doorway from purgatory proper, his arms crossed neatly over a shirt
of black silk.
"Wasn't me, it was Her. She rather thought it fitting."
The ex-Watcher rubbed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, tugging
absently at his jacket. He stared blankly at Metatron,
brown eyes clear.
"So where's hell?"
"Right where it's always been, of course." The Voice idly plucked lint
off his sleeve. "Oh, you mean with regards to you?"
"Bingo." His gaze flickered behind Metatron to where an overly perky cherubim
was finally getting to number two on the decision list. Christ, they could
be here forever before he got any answers. Longer if he had to wait for Metaron
to play it straight with him.
"Well of course you're not going to Hell. Really now. You led a good mortal life.
Boring as grass growing, yes, but not bad...though that's probably why. I mean
really, what kind of trouble can an accountant get into..."
"Moving on..." The last thing Bartleby needed was Metatron's opinion of his
mortal occupation.
"Well then, no need to be huffy. Anyway, by all rights you should be Home. You
kept the faith, didn't kill anyone, and once saved a stray kitten from an
obnoxious child if I remember correctly. Heaven-bound."
"So why am I here?" Bartleby climbed to his feet, his eyes hardening. "Look, if you
say I've earned it, I've earned it. I'll take hell for what I did, or Heaven if
you say so, but purgatory...Look, Metatron, there's nothing for me here."
"Au contraire." The angel smirked and waved his hand, and the waiting room seemed
to dissolve into mists. "What you're here to deal with, Watcher, is behind door
number two..."
Bartleby's breath choked as he was allowed a clear vision across the gray plains
of purgatory. In the distance was an unmistakable blonde form, wings outstretched,
chatting with some little ethereal being of light or another and sipping what looked
like a beer.
"Loki?" His mind reeled. Loki. Here. With wings, meaning he was an angel again...how
the hell did that happen? "What ha...why?"
"All questions answered in due time, Bartleby." The Metatron gave him a condescending
pat on the shoulder. "Now as for you boys...do try to play nice."
There was a chiming noise, and Bartleby suddenly found the familiar grey mists
of a non-corporeal realm replaced by an even more familiar arrangement of streets and
shops. In fact, it even looked vaugly like...
"Wisconsin?"
A red-head standing on the street corner laughed. "No doll...Kansas. Or at least a subsection.
Welcome to purgatory."
Notes: The scripture quote is Mathew 5:23. Chapter three coming within the next week or two,
hopefully. It's that weird chapter, where I know what I'm doing up to it, and know what
I'm doing after it, but don't quite know how to write the in-between. Oh well, read and
review!