Blurb: After Henry Tilney's death, he is sent to a "good" neighborhood to spend the rest of eternity. A Good Place AU. Jane-uary 2025 event.
Rated teen plus for
* Language: No profanity as I measure it.
* Sex: no sexy time on the page. One non-canonical pair gets drunk and has sex with dubious consent. (More notes in the chapter after.)
* Violence: all human characters start off dead in "heaven" (aka the "good neighborhood") so there's major character death. One character apparently died violently (traffic accident) and has vague nightmares about it. One character throws a violent tantrum but no active harm is written on the page. One character wants to hit another but doesn't act on it. One character does "die" in heaven (major character death) but it's mostly temporary.
* Behavior: some drinking to excess; condescending and patronizing;
Notes: The Good Place (TGP) is a television show that ran for four seasons, ending in 2020. I don't think you need to have seen TGP to enjoy this story but I also make no apologies about potential spoilers. And if you have seen TGP, I make no apologies for any deviations from the storyline. Tl;Dr: no apologies on the topic of TGP AU.
And thanks to firawren on Tumblr for the gentle nudge to participate.
THE GOOD NA-BORHOOD
Day 1: Letters
Chapter Summary: Henry Tilney, recently deceased, is welcomed to the afterlife by a friendly message.
The cynic in him discarded i the message immediately but it was still printed in tall letters on the wall and he'd only read it again.
Henry Tilney stared at the motivational message in front of him. The cynic in him discarded it immediately but it was still printed in tall letters on the wall and he'd only read it again.
"Henry Martin Tilney," called the familiar, imposing voice of his father.
Henry's head jerked at the sound, any goodwill gathered from the inspirational quote now gone. "Sir," he said, standing up and wondering what he'd done this time to earn his father's scrutiny.
"Come in, Mr. Tilney," the older man said with uncharacteristic warmth and beckoned him into an office.
This was not his father's usual office and Henry couldn't remember exactly where he was or how he had gotten there. Nevertheless, Henry obeyed, entering the room and closing the door after him.
"Have a seat," his father ordered, already sitting comfortably behind the desk.
Henry eased himself into a chair, still none the wiser, but his father - or rather not his father - did not keep him in suspense for long.
"Henry Martin Tilney, my name is Michael and you are dead," he said with an upbeat tone.
"Excuse me, I'm dead?" Henry yelped. That seemed more important than who this man was.
"Yes, you died," he said, looking down at a report full of incomprehensible symbols, "on Earth. And now you're here, in my neighborhood, you lucky duck." The man beamed at him which only proved to Henry that this man could not be his father.
"How did I die?" Henry wanted to know. He wracked his brain for some detail but came up blank.
Again the man - Michael - consulted his report. "Wow." He made a face in response to something he read, then pushed the papers away. "Usually for traumatic deaths, the deceased can't remember what happened, at least initially. Do you remember? Anything at all?"
"Nothing," answered Henry, feeling a little unsettled by this amnesia and what it implied.
"Well, that's a natural defense against really gruesome news," Michael told him, glancing back at the report. "Your memories will come back when you're ready for them but let's get you acclimated to your afterlife in the meantime."
"Who are you?" Henry asked.
"That I can tell you!" the man said gleefully at the change of subject. "As I already mentioned, my name is Michael. I'm what is known as an architect. You see, when people die, that's not the end of it. People are evaluated and ranked based on the way they lived on Earth. Good people -" Michael gestured to Henry - "go to good neighborhoods. And bad people go to bad neighborhoods." Not that Henry needed the visual but Michael pointed down. "And architects such as myself build and manage each neighborhood so that it caters to its residents."
"So I made it into a good neighborhood," Henry said, not quite sure he believed it. He wasn't a bad person, but he wasn't winning humanitarian awards either. He was more often clever than kind, and had never outgrown the childish habit of letting people like his father bully others with impunity. If he had to judge himself, Henry would rank himself a medium person.
Michael's grin grew. "One of the very best, if I do say so myself."
"And why do you look exactly like my father?" asked Henry, unable to avoid the similarity any longer.
"It all goes back to the fact that I am not in fact human."
"Are you an angel?" Henry was agnostic, not sure whether there was a god to believe in, and even less confident that there was a heaven full of angels, or an afterlife of reward or punishment. Until today.
The suggestion had Michael laughing until he was nearly falling out of his chair. "An angel, no! You humans," he wiped a tear from his eye. "No. Angels, demons, all of that rot: humans got it all wrong. No, think of me as an actual architect who designs environments to suit the humans in my care. I'm actually a fire squid but when we started putting architects in the neighborhoods, it didn't go over well. Apparently, looking at a fire squid is more traumatic than, say, remembering a violent death. The human brain simply can't handle it; we lost whole neighborhoods. Then the gang in R & D came up with camouflage suits and voila!"
"You look exactly like my father," Henry told him. "You have his voice too."
Michael nodded. "I'm wearing authority camouflage. It tricks your brains into thinking I look like a figure of authority. For many people it's a parent, but I can also look like an older sibling or a boss or mentor, or someone else that you deeply respect. It varies from human to human but it is especially useful on first days when everything else is so disorienting."
Henry hummed in agreement. He didn't like his father but he still respected the man. And seeing him was far better than looking upon the sort of Eldritch horror that would leave him catatonic or screaming.
"Well, as I said, I'm the architect of this cozy little neighborhood. If we need structural adjustments - like a grassy field for picnicking in the summer, or a snowy hill for sledding in the winter, or even the change of seasons themselves - I design and implement them. But for more mundane needs, the neighborhood has an assistant to help out our residents. I like to introduce her to the new people before I give the welcome tour and show you your forever home. Would you like to meet her?"
Before Henry could respond that, yes, he would like to meet this invaluable assistant, Michael was already calling out, "Catherine!"
Notes: Janeuary has a prompt per day. This story doesn't use all 31 prompts but it will end on the last day of the month.
