Chapter 2 - Comfort Zones
"So, you wanna be an Exorcist huh? Just like that?" Lute was parading her around the Exorcist headquarters, most of which involved long empty hallways, training rooms and dorms. Of which Varya had insisted she not move into, to keep up appearances with her shop and customers. Heaven didn't need the scandal of their favourite florist suddenly quitting.
It had been an… informative day, to say the least. Meeting a demon, The spawn of Satan himself, then finding out about the true purpose of Adam's army.
Exorcists. Heaven's soldiers, who descended into the depths of Hell once a year, to cleanse the population lest they grow too large, too powerful, and attack Heaven.
"I had an inkling of what you and Adam were up to, given the nature of the products purchased. It also makes sense that Heaven may be required to… reduce the threat that Hell's population imposes on us."
"That's a lotta fancy words, but doesn't answer my question."
Varya's eye twitched, stopping abruptly.
"If you have an issue with me becoming part of your ranks. Then take it up with Adam."
"Adam said you're in, so you're in."
"Then either let it go or I will ask him himself why his lieutenant is questioning his decisions behind his back." The blonde angel froze at the threat, then a slow, sinister smirk spread across her face.
"I think we should get you in uniform. Right now."
"Sounds great."
It was not great, it was the complete opposite of great.
Varya wasn't self conscious of her body per say, she merely preferred certain things to be kept private, under fabric. Loose fabric. Her modesty had been a point of teasing and mocking ever since she was a human, trying to make it through life in the bustling city of New Orleans.
"Oh c'mon Varya! Live a little!" The squat blonde squealed, shoving two dresses at her face. Varya had already been put through the horrific ordeal of having her hair curled, tugged and shoved into an updo, her face powdered and dark makeup smeared over her eyes. Any squeak or protest was met with the threat of her beloved hair being chopped off to a fashionable bob.
"What kinda gal your age even has long hair? Ain't ya a cleaner? Do you save cash on mops and just use these tired tresses instead?" The woman's words, although mean, were spoken with a cheeky smile and a passing of her glass, full of giggle juice.
"Take a good gulp and strip! He'll be over soon!"
'He' was her date for tonight, sort of. Not really. He had asked her out to dance, yes. But with his friends, at his friends bar. He'd insisted she dress well and was the one to drag her to the woman, Mimzy's, place. A lush apartment full of jewellery, feathers and artwork. She was like a Hollywood star you'd see in the magazines, lipstick always perfect, dresses so extravagant, and never without a cocktail and a smoke in hand.
Embarrassed, Varya removed the pyjamas Mimzy had given her, after promptly forcing her to take a bath when He'd told the woman that he'd just picked her up from work, scrubbing floors in the broadcasting building he hosted his show from. One of, if not The, most popular radio shows in the whole of New Orleans.
"Now with a body like that it's sure a crime to cover it up with them dirty dungarees, you should be a dancer Varya! Throw away the mop and bucket, come be one of my girls!"
Varya's face flushed a dark red at the thought, prancing around for all to see. No. Not her.
"I cannot dance like you do Mimzy" She murmured, grabbing at the juice again before gently putting on the pale pink dress, it was a delicate smooth fabric, with intricate beading that Varya knew for a fact cost more than everything she owned combined.
"Huh? A###### said your mama was a dancer? She never teach ya?"
"Ballet. Mama taught ballet. But ballet and your dancing are… different."
"Oh hush, as long as you got a good ear for a beat, and workin' feet you'll be right as rain, especially with A###### swingin' you 'round. He's the only fella in the city who can keep up with me!"
Mimzy helped her button up the dress, then grabbed her shoulders and forced her in front of a mirror draped in silk scarves and beads, the waning sun setting a golden glow over the room.
"Now look at ya! After all my hard work I turned ya into a real Sheba!"
Varya found it difficult to make eye contact with the girl in the mirror, all big dark eyes and rosy cheeks, covered in soft pink with pretty glass beading, dangling and dancing in the sunset.
dress draped to just her knees, the pale pink almost blending in her blushing skin. She wished her hair wasn't so pinned back, her face felt too exposed.
She was too exposed.
She wanted to get out of this dress, escape this room and run home to her bedroom, to hide under her covers until Monday came calling.
A low whistle broke her spiralling.
"Mimzy you're an artist"
The woman giggled and blushed, coo'ing at their friend who was already helping himself to some hooch.
"There's one thing you're missing though my dear"
Varya froze, staring at him through the mirror as he approached her, two hands gently resting on her bare shoulders. She flinched at the touch, they weren't… touchy often. He must have drank on the way over, dangerous fool.
"Huh? Like what?" Mimzy demanded.
"A smile of course," Two pointy fingers poked at her reddened cheeks, "Can't leave the house without one!
Varya forced a smile. For him.
"Hey space cadet, are you almost done in there?" Lute's irritated voice ripped Varya out of her stupor. She was done, had been for ages, staring at herself in the mirror dumbfounded like she had all those times she'd been dragged out to dance as a human.
She never really got used to it, but loved dancing more than life itself. Especially dancing with him.
The Exorcist uniform was a plain thing, a grey mini dress, long-sleeved luckily, with tights, heeled thigh high boots and gloves. The materials were stretchy, but tight, clinging to every part of Varya's body. A mask and halo were resting in the corner of the room, ugly things, but Varya put off donning them for now.
"Fucking finally" Lute sighed as she stepped out of the cubicle, fighting the urge to hide herself with her wings "God I never took you to be so fucking vain, really did you need to take that long to gawk at yourself? You think I've not got anything better to do?"
"Sorry."
Lute rolled her eyes, muttering a whatever and pressed on.
"Next is weapons and some basic combat. I'm not gonna come after you like crazy, just want to know what I'm dealing with." The blonde stopped, flashing Varya a glare, "Try not to cry and run away."
The training room was like amphitheatre, with rows of seats high above the main floor.
"When you get acquainted with the other newbies, and some proper training in, you'll spar here. If you stick around long enough, we'll even add you into the betting pool."
"You gamble here?"
Lute rolled her eyes, "It's motivating you nitwit. That's why we do it. Do you really think the soldier's of Heaven's Army would be capable of sin?"
Varya hoped not, because that would mean that she would not be capable of sin, and that everything she worried over, every disgusting thought and memory, were just… normal. Nothing to worry about.
Lute led her over to the rack of countless swords and daggers, shoving the handle of what Varya recognised to be a sabre at her.
"Honestly it doesn't matter what you use, we're more focused on quantity than quality here." Lute scoffed, "There's a ranking system, so when you go down under keep count of your kills."
"I assume you are the highest?" Lute smiled at her proudly, her chest puffed and chin high. Flattery went a surprisingly long way with Lute. Varya made sure to take note of this advantage.
"Heaven yeah I am, me and Adam are neck in neck most years. None of those other bitches came close, and the one who did well… anyways, copy my movements then I'll watch you go at a dummy."
"Did… did one of your soldier's die? In one of these, what did you call it, Exterminations?"
Lute snarled, Varya internally scolding herself for pressing onto what was clearly a sensitive matter. She'd never been a nosy person before, always taking people's answers as they were given. It was what her friend loved about her, she always gave him all the space and privacy he desired.
Well, not always. Otherwise he wouldn't have-
"Nah, but she might as well have. Anyway, the correct form for holding a sword like yours is to-"
Lute began to drill her in how to hold different swords and blades, how to swing precisely and block an attack. Varya felt like she was holding her own quite well, enjoying the weight of the blade, the way it hit the dummy, the sound it made on impact. As she grew more and more confident, she imagined blood spurting from the dummy, how the cuts and welts would look as she wrenched her sword out of demonic flesh. By the time Lute called off the exercise, Varya found her chest heaving, her brow sweaty and her face fixed with a wicked smile.
"Good work." And Lute seemed to genuinely mean it, her smile no longer a grimace or mocking smirk, but something real and almost proud? "Now I don't normally bother teaching defence, because well, there's no point, there shouldn't be any angelic steel in Hell, so nothing those losers can throw at us will actually do any damage. But…" Lute trailed off, eyeing her warily.
"...But?"
"Look kid" Lute's cat-like eyes, so similar to her own, darted back and forth, seeking out invisible eavesdroppers, "For the first time, one of our own didn't make it back from an Extermination. That's a problem. It's why we're recruiting newbies."
"You said there wasn't any angelic steel in Hell?"
"I said there shouldn't be." She snapped, "But I guess these fuckers are desperate enough to kill us, to attack Heaven, that they found some. That's bad news. Obviously Heaven isn't to know about any of this anyways, Heaven is for relaxing and peace, not hearing about what's going on in Hell. But if word got out that an angel died." Lute shuddered, "It would not be good for us."
"Thank you for entrusting me with this information." Varya gave Lute a nod, handing back the sword.
"If you blab I'll gut you."
Varya smirked, "As you should. But I am good at secret keeping. You need not worry."
"Whatever. Now, grab that bag, yeah that one, we're doing throwing knives next."
"Yes Ma'am."
"If you manage to hit the targets without making a complete tool of yourself I'll consider letting you go for the day, swamp-witch"
Varya chuckled at the nickname, one that she'd inadvertently garnered as she gained popularity amongst the citizens of Heaven. One of her employees, Isabella, blamed her hair, and said if she'd simply chopped her black tresses, that would often grow so long it'd graze the floor of the shop, the nickname would go away.
Varya had laughed in her face at the thought.
If A##### couldn't convince me, no one can.
Author's Note: A###### = Alastor. Varya currently cannot remember his name, hasn't for years, is it just due to trauma? mental manipulation? purely for the drama? has the author even thought that far ahead? only time can tell.