Chapter Text
The first thing that Marie thought upon regaining consciousness was that she felt like shit.
No, scratch that. She felt worse than that. Like…whatever could be worse than feeling like shit. Her head hurt too much to think about what that might be. Clearly she had too much to drink last night, to be feeling this level of a hangover. She tried to shift her neck, and was met with a sharp pull that made her abandon the effort.
Thoughts did not come easily through the murky sludge that was currently her awareness. But somewhere in the back of her mind sat the feeling that she should not be able to feel anything at all. That her hazy consciousness was more than she should have expected.
What happened last night?
Her eyes remained closed as she replayed the last things she remembered.
Sazerac
Her friends laughing
More sazerac
Dancing
Another sazerac
Man with a New Orleans accent
Mr NOLA led her out of the bar as she giggled behind him into an alley a few streets down…
Him saying something she couldn’t possibly understand..
His hands wrapped around her neck. HIs eyes glimmered but not with attraction. The heat behind them could only be described as violent.
Oh god. What did he do?
The dull ache in her neck now seemed more sinister.
Did that really happen?
Oh god. She didn’t remember getting home, not that she would if she was black out drunk. But whatever she was lying on did not feel like her bed. Or any bed for that matter.
Was she left on the pavement? Was she still in the alley?
No, even with her eyes closed, she knew she wasn’t. Whatever she was laying on was too soft to be pavement. And the air she hesitantly breathed in was too pure and crisp, no tinge of the spent cigarette smoke that laced that alley.
Where was she?
Opening her eyes in that moment had to be among the hardest things she’s done in her 22 years of life.Every millimeter Marie fought to creak her eyes open was met with a light so pure and soft, it was clear she was definitely not in the alley. Hell, she doubted she was even in New York.
Wherever she was, it was clean. Startlingly so. No garbage in sight, no buildings blocking out the skyline, no people bustling around. Instead of the honking of taxis and profanities, there seemed to be a soft sound of tinkling bells and laughter in the distance, ringing across the pastel tinged sky.
What the ….
She started to push herself up from whatever it was she was laying on. It was plush, like a pillow. But also.. wispy?
She looked down.
It almost looked like…
She ran her fingers through it, and watched as they passed through the white tendrils puffed underneath her.
Oh god. Am I on a fucking cloud?
This shouldn’t be possible. This is a dream. Clearly it’s a dream. But why did she hurt so much?
Marie tried to stand up as her head screamed against the motion. And really really tried not to think about how she was on a cloud.
Dream physics. It’s the only thing that can make sense.
As she maneuvered her leaden body into a crouch and started to raise her legs, gravity pulled her from behind and she fell backwards. She squeezed her eyes shut, prepared for the part of her dream where she plummets thousands of feet through the cloud she miraculously managed to stand on, but landed on her back with a soft thump.
She opened her eyes again to see the displaced mist of the cloud swirling around her and a few drifting white shapes.
One of the shapes landed on her nose. She pinched it between her fingers and examined it as she sat up. It almost looked like.. a feather?
Where did the feathers come from? This is a strange dream. Everything felt too sensual for her simply to imagine.
Unless she wasn’t.
Sitting up, and more alert, Marie felt the pull of gravity on her back again. Why was her back so heavy?
She turned her head. Wings as white as snow were spread behind her.
Her back muscles twitched. The wings twitched.
She suddenly felt the overwhelming need to vomit.
They looked like a dove maybe. Or even..
Marie slowly reached her fingers up to above her head, until she felt what could only be described as a ring floating above her head.
No.
It’s a dream
Just a dream
Please a dream
I can’t actually be…
Mama….
As her hands drifted down, she got her first good look at them since waking up. Her honeyed skin was leached of its usual wamth, replaced with a light grey. A curl drifted into her face. The foreign hands moved to push it back, then decided to pull it in for examination. White wispy hair met her eyes, drifting slightly in the gentle breeze.
She didn’t even have it in herself to be surprised. Despite her rationality telling her this was clearly an overly vivid, detailed, and confusing figment of her sleeping imagination, she felt an overwhelming, crushing sense of numbness.
She didn’t know how long she laid there. It could have been an hour, a day, a week in dream time. She didn’t care. She just wanted to wake up in her bed, or even the alley.
She just wanted to be certain that she was still alive .
That she could laugh and dance with her friends.
That she could finish the degree she worked so hard for.
That she could tell her mother that she was sorry for all the times she mouthed back.
That she could tell her mother how much she loved her, and appreciated everything she did to keep their little family afloat.
More time passed. She still didn’t know. But she could hear voices in the distance. The cloud was starting to feel a little too comfortable, the way an overly soft bed starts to lack support after a while. She might as well go see what the voices were.
Maybe it meant she was waking up.
She slowly made her way to stand up, carefully trying to find her new center of balance and teetered her way into a standing position.
Jesus, these things have to be 50 pounds.
Wait.
Can I say Jesus that way here?
Of course you can.
This is just a dream.
Just a dream.
That would explain how she was walking on a cloud, anyway. Each step felt bouncy. Light. Too perfect.
Marie had no idea how long she walked for. Time here seemed to consistently be screwed up in whatever place …
Dream!
… this was. But eventually, what looked like a stream of greyish dots became visible in the distance. As she drew nearer the voices grew louder until she could see the dots weren’t dots but people. People with skin in various shades of white to grey, with wings on their back all filing towards ….
Holy shit.
Marie didn’t have the words to describe the large golden gates looming in the distance. Nor the never ending city behind them. How to describe the beauty, the purity, she still couldn’t even if she tried.
She couldn’t make it up if she tried.
At that moment, it became apparent she wasn’t dreaming. It was all real.
On some level, she saw this coming.
She could have stood there for the rest of her life, no afterlife, in a stupor if it wasn’t for a gentle touch on her arm.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt your … erm… moment, but you should probably get in line”
Shifting her gaze felt like trudging through mud, but she somehow managed to tear her eyes away from the golden city, following the light grey hand resting on her bicep to see the women attached to it. She looked around her age, maybe a year or two older, though she was shorter. Marie nearly towered over her.
The woman looked at her for a long moment.
“Are you okay?”
Marie just stared back blankly. Those golden gates not only shattered the chance this could all be her imagination, but could have very well shattered her mind too.
I’m dead………..
I’m dead…..
I’m dea—
“Here, you can stand with me” the woman said, as she yanked Marie into line beside her.
Marie felt too numb to resist if she tried.
They sat in silence for who knows how long until the women spoke first.
“Um, correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem all that excited to be here”
Marie looked up to look at the women dumbly. It took her probably a good 5 seconds after the statement to respond.
“I’m dead”
The women nodded. “Yes”.
“This is real? This is actually real…”
“Yes,” the woman replied back. Marie thought she picked up on an undertone of defeat in the womens voice as well.
They sat in silence until Marie found it in herself to speak.
“How old are… were you”?
“24. You?”
“22”
The women, no, it felt wrong to call her a woman when they were so close in age, the girl seemed to soften in front of her.
“I’m sorry”
“Yeah… me too. I mean, I’m sorry about you too.”
But in a way, she did feel sorry for herself. There was so much she didn’t get to do. To see.She was so young. And so was this girl in front of her. They were both cheated out of the futures they might have had ahead of them. Through the numbness something was starting to claw itself out. It was hot, and sharp, and settled in her chest like a flame.
She couldn’t stop the words that spilled out under her breath.
“I’m sorry I ever talked to that bastard in the first place”.
The girl's head snapped up, her eyes wide and focused on Marie. Marie for a moment worried that she scared her, or offended her with her sharp language. Cursing always seemed to be her downfall. Her mother hated it, and her father had she known him, probably would have too. But no. That wasn’t it. Something was obviously happening internally within this girl beyond simple offense, heat seeming to rise from the pores of her skin as she stared intently at Marie.
“Yeah” she gritted out “me too”.
What?
Oh.
Oh shit.
“You too?”
“Yeah. Me too”.
There was, without being said, an understanding between them. A common thread, as much as that thread was stained with their blood. They sat in comfortable silence as the line started moving again, until they reached the base of the shimmering, pearly gates.
An angel (oh god an actual angel) with blond hair styled in a cow lick greeted the line from a podium, sporting a grin too large for his face and a book the size of a dinner table.
“Hiya! Welcome to Heaven! Can I get your name, please?” He asked the girl.
“Um… Agata Polilla - Blanca?”
“Hmmm okey gimme oneeee second please” The angel chirped as he scanned the pages of the dinner table - book. “Found you! Died defending your younger sister from hmmmm… oh, I see…. very noble”. Well, welcome to Heaven and enjoy your eternal stay in paradise!”
The giant gates cracked open, and the girl, no Agata, turned to face Marie.
“Will I see you inside?”.
As they stood near the base of the gates, the acceptance Marie had been slowly crawling towards slammed into her all at once. She didn’t have it in her to form words, so she reached out to squeeze Agatas bicep, returning the gesture she gave her initially with a shaky smile.
Agata looked in her eyes, assessing if it was alright to leave Marie on her own. Despite just meeting her, she felt a kinship to this younger woman. A protectiveness that, as it happened, landed her in this situation. But something told her Marie was stronger than her slight stature and big eyes let on. That seemed to be enough, and Agata hesitantly smiled back and turned around to approach the gates.
“Aw, so sweet! Girls gotta support girls!” The angel clapped. “ And what is your name?”
Words and thoughts. Neither seemed available to Maries disposal.
The angel sat patiently as her mind caught up to the moment.
“ Um… what is your name?”
Marie froze. The angel blinked. Thats when her mind decided to start working again.
Oh my god I’m going to be smited out of heaven why did I just ask that oh my go-
Shockingly, instead of smiting her for her ass, the Angel laughed merrily.
“I guess that's only fair! I’m Saint Peter, gatekeeper of Heaven. Welcome!”
“Oh. Alright”
Was he always this perky?
Saint Peter continued to look at her expectedly, with the same grin plastered to his face. What was he….
Oh yeah right.
“Marie Dumort-Roux. My name is Marie Dumort-Roux”.
This seemed to satisfy the angel. “Ah yes yes, let me take a look”.
His eyes combed over the pages until they found their mark. His grin seemed to freeze in place before slowly falling into a gentle smile. The nearly manic energy in his eyes sombered before he looked up.
“I see. You, my dear, came to us far before your time. But it's not your fault! Completely out of your control. If it weren’t for —” He stopped himself then, seemingly shaking himself out of it. “You had a lot more in you, but in your short time you really overcame the odds given where, or rather who you came from”.
Excuse me?
“I beg your pardon but my mama is a great women”
Better and stronger than I was. She would deserve to be in hea…. here, more than I do.
Saint Peter fixed her with a gentle gaze.
“I’m afraid that wasn’t who I meant”.
Oh? He can’t mean….
“So, he’s not here?” 15 years of not talking about him made me refer to him even as he feel like she was doing something terribly wrong. .
“No. I’m very sorry my dear”
Marie could have thought she imagined the whole thing based on how fast Saint Peter's grin plastered itself back onto his face.
“But you are and you earned it! Enjoy your eternal stay in paradise!”
He turned towards the next person in line, and Marie took that as her cue to leave. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know where that conversation would have gone anyway.
She passed the pearly white gates, and told herself she wouldn’t, no couldn’t, look back.
____________________________________________________________________________
Down below, Alastor hummed as he strolled out of the jeweler's shop.
It was run by a repulsive crow demon, who was eager to cut a deal with the Radio Demon if it meant he wouldn’t end up as his next meal.
Alastor couldn’t help but be gratified that his reputation often preceded him. He worked hard for it after all. When he first fell into hell, it became immediately apparent that power was safety, and it was earned through chaos and carnage.
His specialty as luck would have it.
His prestige and infamy grew as he did what he did in life, now aided by hellish abilities. Eventually, he found it only fitting to change his name to match his reputation.
Allen, unfortunately, wasn’t going to strike fear into the hearts of Pentagram City.
Alastor, the vengeful eldritch lurking in the shadows, would however.
It certainly worked on the jeweler. All that was required of him was that he fix an item of the Radio Demon’s without disclosing what it was to anyone.
The previous night Alastor awoke from a dreamless sleep choking on thin air. He was never prone to nightmares, but he could feel his airways constricted as words seemed to float in and out of his consciousness.
“ Mr. Nola….”
“Piece of shit…”
“You’re fucking crazy”
And if he didn't know better, he would say the chain he wore at all times, the one containing the bonnie marie petal was burning hot. He pulled it off to find that the glass containing the petal to the necklace had cracked.
This would not do.
So he had it fixed. Simply a strange occurrence.