/*
AN: This chapter may make the Good People who follow a Good Book in their lives
a little uncomfortable. 'nuff said.
*/
The world certainly has changed since death went out of vogue. Luke thought as he watched the busy streets morosely. Death had been removed, no, cleansed, from the world by Them, but it did not solve any problems. Nope, it had created more. It was getting harder and harder to find a job, harder and harder to find an abode, and getting harder and harder to find sunlight as the ever growing skyscrapers clawed the skies. The industries were now clogged with the Old Timers, and they did not like giving the New Timers any quarter in securing a job. The young man sighed and turned a corner, intending to take his usual shortcut home. It would take him past a dark alley, but at his current state of non-employment, he figured that he had nothing to lose.
A commotion in the aforementioned dingy alley woke Luke from his ruminations. The young man looked up, and peered into the darkness, at the same time taking a few cautious steps away.
"No, it would please me to know where your nearest leather apparel shop is. I do not want to suck your dick, whatever that means," a clipped and exasperated voice floated from the alley.
"Duh, what's 'e sayin', boss?"
"I don't care, make him suck it down!"
There was a scuffle, and despite his apprehension, Luke found himself just outside the mouth of the alley, straining to hear more.
Silence.
Luke waited. His ears positively tweaking.
More silence.
Luke took a few cautious steps into the deep alley, paused, and when no fire-breathing dragons burnt him into a crisp, walked into the alley. Midway through the alley, he suddenly found himself face to face with the most exquisite young man he had ever seen. Emerald eyes blazed at him in the near darkness.
"Wha…" Luke gaped.
"Kind sir, can you please furnish me with the whereabouts of your nearest leather apparel shop?" The young man asked, a slight frown on his face. "I just have to get out of this…clothing."
Luke gave him a once over, and as the dim light was stingy in its revelations, he could only see the figure before him swathed in some kind of all-encompassing cloth. The young man noticed his gaze, and continued, "Please expedite it, if you would please. This cloth is chafing my skin."
"It's…" Luke tried to speak, but his mouth, too busy with gaping, refused to cooperate.
"Can you bring me there then," the stranger said a little huffily. He paused. "I most certainly hope you can, for your sake." And my sanity, he privately added.
Luke blinked. His brain was stalled. Rusty gears protested loudly as he forced his brain back into gear. "Of course. If I may have your name…?" He asked as he led them out towards the main street.
"Just call me Lyle." The stranger answered shortly, fussing about his clothes.
"And I'm Lu…" Luke started.
"That is fine, Luke." His companion answered as they stopped just before entering the main walkway (pedestrians had been taught basic walkway manners ever since Elohim's population had rocketed sky high to minimise the escalating rates of 'walkway rage'). People jostled each other on the walkways as cars blared loudly along the ever-crowded road.
Lyle arched an elegant eyebrow; he had never seen a city so packed with people
in all his years of reaping. Artificial light from a nearby streetlamp washed
over them, prompting Lyle to look up in search for the sun. He looked. And
found none. The skyscrapers grew taller than the millennia-old trees in the Old
Forest (where he loved to romp) and were literally scraping the clouds. Any
further and they would have breached the atmosphere. Visions of a porcupined
planet threatened to swamp him and he firmly clamped those thoughts down.
While his charge (Luke liked that label, Lyle was his charge) was 'admiring' the scenery, Luke was admiring scenery of another kind. Long raven black hair flowed down his slender waist (it was hidden in the volumes of coarse brown sack cloth, but Luke believed it was slender) and long bangs framed a pale face, set alight by twin emeralds which blazed keenly at the dirty skyscrapers.
"Where is the leather apparel shop?" Lyle asked, unconsciously tucking a bang behind his left ear as he continued his scan of the surroundings.
"It's just across the street," Luke said, pointing to a mass of people in front of them. "Only, well you can't see it… It's getting too darn crowded here."
"Apparently," answered Lyle as he started to walk.
"Wait, stop!" Luke grabbed a robed arm, briefly letting it go as the coarse material chafed him. "We have to wait."
"For? The cows to return to the barn?" Lyle spat back. Why did he have to come dressed like a doomsday prophet? Feathers, and leather, will fly for this. He promised himself.
To Luke's relief, a gap appeared in the sea of people not far from them, and, without relinquishing his hold on his charge, he led Lyle into the crowd.
Half an hour later (and after many elbow poking and shoving), they found themselves in front of said shop.
"Finally," the angel muttered. He smoothed down his slightly rumpled cassock, and then pushed open the tinted glass doors.
"Wait…" Luke called out as Lyle disappeared into the shop. "I don't think they will let you in," he finished lamely.
"Sir, I'm afraid I can't
let you in."
Lyle glanced to his left, and saw an imperious looking salesgirl glaring at
him. The few customers in the shop were giving him many versions of that same
glare too.
Lyle fixed a Withering Gaze™ upon his harasser. "Is. There. A. Problem."
The salesgirl blanched, and the customers scurried away. "O..h.. of…cour..se… not…" she stammered.
"That is so much better. Now, if you would be kind enough to bring me that suit over there…"
Lyle entered the fitting area, draped his selected outfits over a bench, and whipped open a curtain to reveal…
"Good evening, Thir," Igor rasped from his spot in the tiny dressing room. "I have been waiting for you."
The angel narrowed his eyes. "What art thou doing here?" he demanded, unconsciously lapsing into archaic speech. Seeing denizens from the Abyss made him speak that way, to his private astonishment.
The Igor proffered a thick, coffee-stained and dog-eared book as his answer.
Lyle took the book without much grace from the Igor. He was still annoyed over his cassock and moccasins. He squinted at the creased cover. "A Hell Angel™'s Essential Giude to Modern Earth?" He eyed the Igor severely. "You misspelled GUIDE. When wast this printed?"
"A couple of dayth ago," the Igor answered evasively, eyeing the mirror which he undoubtedly came from.
"Really." Lyle opened the cover with his fingertips and flipped quickly through the book, a few pages obediently drifted out.
"I really mutht go now, Thir. My Mathter awaitth." Spinning on his heel, he limped as quickly as his great great great grandfather's legs could carry him towards the mirror and vanished into it.
Lyle sighed as he picked up the pages. A couple of days ago. That would depend on the definition of 'a couple'. For the Feathered Angels™, a couple was five, for the Demons, a couple depended on the weather… He shoved the pages into the book, snapped it shut and threw it onto the bench. Leather, sweet cool leather. He picked up a long sleeved robe and brought it into the dressing room (though he took care not to use the room where the Igor had appeared).
