Chapter Text
There were about a hundred different reasons why Virgil hated wearing the color white. He tried writing them all down in a list at one point, though he only made it to the twelfth reason before he got a headache that prevented him from continuing.
The first reason, of course, was food stains were horribly visible on white. The fifth was wearing the color made colder months insufferable—though even someone as stubborn as himself could admit summer was plenty more enjoyable when dressing head-to-toe in white. The forty-seventh reason? White didn’t bring out his eyes, and so on and so forth.
Unfortunately for Virgil, his uniform was white, and he had to wear it every day. Most people who wanted to keep their job did, after all. That meant he had to go through the torturous and frankly degrading process of slipping on his uniform whilst trying to keep himself from puking inside of his mouth every single morning. Albeit, by now it was something that he had grown used to, somehow gaining the ability between his years of experience to not even gag as he threw on his white shirt. Though that didn’t mean every now and then a sensation he couldn’t describe as anything else but pure hatred ran through him at the bear sight of the outfit.
Come to think of it, Virgil didn’t very much like his uniform as a whole all that much either, (revolting, excruciatingly bright) color aside. It was his technical size, sure, though the collar fits a bit too snug around his neck. The sleeves were pinched a little too tight over his armpit. The hems didn’t bend under his nails enough when he picked at them to be considered satisfying.
“I swear,” Virgil said as he ripped a chunk of his bagel off with his teeth. He chewed on it with one half of his mouth, the other half trying to spit out his words as he wagged his finger at the air threateningly. “One day I’m going to the Council and I’m making my case.” As if to make his point, he lit up a new cigarette with one hand—he had years of experience, kids, so don’t try this at home—and stuffed it into the unoccupied portion of his mouth.
He rested his hip against the cool metal of the balcony gate, savoring how it dug into the material of his jeans, which were, of course, annoyingly white. Virgil didn’t even bother to move his eyes from their current position trained towards his (white, ugh) sneakers out of the knowledge that if he did he would just be met with a face full of perfectly white, fluffy clouds, and that sight was debatably worse somehow.
He didn’t like eating outside—or being outside in general for that matter—but he knew if he was caught smoking inside his roommate would have a cow about it for the nth time, and that headache was something reserved for a day when Virgil felt a bit stronger in the morning to put up with such an ordeal.
“Is this about your stupid uniform again?” a voice behind him asked. Speak of the devil.
Before Virgil could answer Roman had walked the short distance between them and took the rest of his bagel from his hand. He ate it in one large bite, then smiled at his roommate innocently. Virgil simply glared at him, trying not to look at Roman’s fangs and how they now sprinkled with crumbs of his breakfast, because he knew if he did he’d be filled with enough rage to bitch-slap the man, and it was only seven in the morning.
“No,” Virgil drawled sarcastically. “I meant the case about me having to be stuck looking after you, you fucking spawn of Satan.”
Roman winked at Virgil and clicked his tongue. “You know it, baby.”
Virgil rolled his eyes and twirled his cigarette between his fingers, no longer enraged but suddenly glum. “It isn’t fair, Roman. You get to wear all black every day. You don’t have to worry about yellowing or… anything.”
Not only did Roman’s uniform entirely consist of the color black, but it was unfairly formal as well, being a tuxedo and all. So while Virgil in looked like he was a Best Buy worker taking one heck of an advantage of the day before Labor Day, Roman got to dress up every day like he was going to have dinner with a President—but like, a vampire President. Or like he was going to a Prom made exclusively for goths.
“I’d rather be there than here,” Virgil muttered under his breath as he thought about what exactly a gothic Prom would look like ran through his mind and he took a drag from his cigarette. “I’d rather be anywhere but here.”
“What?” Roman asked before taking a single, cold fry out of his pocket and munching on it.
“What?” Virgil echoed, turning to his partner, thoughts of white-clad Best Buy workers and vampire Presidents suddenly leaving him.
“Nevermind,” Roman huffed as he wiped his hands on the sides of his dress pants. “Well, anyways, getting into this every morning isn’t as fun as it may seem.” He gestured to his three-piece suit, and Virgil gave it a half-hearted once-over.
“So? Trying not to spill bagel crumbs on this isn’t ‘as fun as it may seem,’” Virgil said, looking down at his own uniform. Sneakers, jeans, polo, and jacket, all just practically begging to be stained in all their (horrible, torturing) white glory. “I know. It’s shocking.
Roman hummed, a noise that to foreign ears may seem to say he was now considering Virgil’s point. To someone who had known Roman as long as Virgil had, though, they would know it meant nothing. Roman’s eyes closed slowly, long lashes tracing the air, and Virgil knew their present argument was already wiped away from Roman’s stubborn mind when he opened them again.
Virgil theory was only further proven to be correct when Roman muttered, “Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great. Some achieve greatness. And some have greatness thrust upon them.”
The phrase was something Roman said so often Virgil had memorized it within five days of knowing him, and he knew right off the bat that if Roman had been a human that those words are what he would’ve had imprinted on his grave. It was like some kind of ritual to him, saying it, and it seemed to be his default response when he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He claimed it was how he won most of his arguments, but Virgil just thought it was stupid—and that wasn’t even considering the fact it was written by a long-dead poet for a play about just the most complicated love triangle imaginable and a fake love letter that had no right being so touching.
“Well, at least we have an easy mission today,” Virgil noted, breaking the silence that had followed Roman’s murmuring. Roman frowned as some of Virgil’s cigarette smoke curled around his face, trying hard to not cough before giving and coughing anyways.
“Thank the Devil,” Roman eventually replied. He sniffed the clean part of the air as he spoke. Heaven always had an odd smell to it, like fresh laundry but also spaghetti sauce, two ironic things that combined into one fragrance. “I need an easy day today.”
Virgil scoffed, but said nothing more on the matter, taking his cigarette and stomping it out. “I’m going to go talk to Patton before we head out.”
“M'kay. Remember me when you’re gone,” Roman teased, earning a smack to his head from Virgil but also a small laugh nonetheless.
“I’d rather not, Sir Dickwad,” Virgil said, walking away—backward, mind you—giving Roman a loose salute.
“You should really come up with some demon-themed nicknames!” Roman called after him.
Virgil smirked. “I will the day you give me some angel-themed ones!”
“In your dreams, angel!”
“And I thought you were the creative one.”
Virgil shook his head as he made it through the living room and out their apartment door. He mentally groaned when he realized he had forgotten to bring his cigarette box with him, though a sudden weight in his pocket told him he didn’t need to be so disappointed. He checked inside it and pulled out his box, smiling a little to himself. Besides some stupid policies and his horrid uniform, he was glad he usually got everything he wanted around here.
After all, this was Heaven. And Virgil was, quite literally, an angel.
-
But that didn’t mean Virgil entirely liked it.
That was the funny thing about Virgil Darrius being an angel. He didn’t fit the role, not really. It was as if angels had a cookie cutter mold to them, and Virgil’s dough never fit into it just right. So when he had come out of the oven, all the other gingerbread men were perfectly crafted while Virgil was just downright sloppy—his left arm slightly too wide, his right leg falling just a bit short.
Roman was more of the one for extended metaphors, but Virgil held onto his gingerbread idea. It was like a song, though the words weren’t defined and sequential, and he repeated it to himself inside his head when it got stuck in it, sometimes even catching himself whispering the words beneath his tongue.
When Roman heard him chanting it once, he snorted and asked, “What makes you think you’re a gingerbread?”
“I’m not a chocolate chip,” Virgil said plainly. The statement’s purpose was really just to make Roman more confused, who didn’t hold the knowledge that within Virgil’s metaphor demons were chocolate chip cookies. More specifically, they were cookies made with the world’s richest, most sinful chocolate, and Roman was just about the most perfect cookie of them all… though Virgil didn’t like to dwell on the fact any longer than he had to.
“Of course not,” Roman had responded, wrinkling his nose. He acted as if he understood what they were speaking of, and added, “You’re an oatmeal cookie if anything. With extra raisin. A raisin oatmeal cookie.”
Which was why Virgil couldn’t tell Roman about any of his doubts. Not only was he narrow-minded but he was ignorant, and he would take it the wrong way. Logan would tell him to get a grip on reality and bury his emotions deep down inside him, so solely based on his coping mechanisms Virgil ruled him out. The only person left that he trusted was Patton.
Patton didn’t do much but nod and listen to him, never offering advice as he claimed he never had any to give, which was fine by Virgil. He just liked having an ear to deafen with all of his nonsense. The day he told Patton about the gingerbread man analogy Patton laughed and started calling him Gingerbread Man, and it became a nickname-slash-inside joke Virgil couldn’t exactly live down or get rid of.
But Virgil didn’t mind. Such trickery was expected when he spilled his guts out to a demon.
Still, Patton was very open about everything, so much so it began to be a comfort for Virgil to have nearly daily chats with him about his anxieties. Virgil didn’t expect him not to be accepting, though, being one of his best friends for nearly five years now. It was important for people like him and Patton (and Roman and Logan) to stick together, being Afterlife Children and all.
Afterlife Children were something of a controversial topic around both Heaven and Hell since they were demons and angels born from parents who wedded each other after their mortal lives, but there were too many of them to do much about it. Damn right. Virgil was a sloppy gingerbread man and a controversial topic.
Virgil was born into the job of being an angel, admittedly, and although he didn’t like it, he’d rather be a voice or holy presence—as some would generously call it—on a conflicted human’s right shoulder than be one of the conflicted humans. Those poor creatures made up of nothing but squishy flesh and brittle bone led such petty lives, Virgil might feel real pity for them somewhere in the shadows of his heart… but he didn’t even have a heart, and that wasn’t just an emo-esque statement he liked to make. It was a literal one.
Being an angel wasn’t exactly something he could drop either, even if he wanted to. Once you become of-age as an Afterlife Child you were stuck being one until retirement, which was a very, very long time. So Virgil made it a game. It was one only shared with Roman at first, back when they were assigned as partners (and, by default, eternal roommates).
“How many days until retirement?” Virgil would ask sarcastically while munching on a burnt spot in his bagel.
“Years and years,” Roman would answer, “years and years.”
“Damn.” Virgil would say it as if he wasn’t expecting such a response, and then he would light a fresh cigarette.
Then when Logan and Patton joined their little friend group it became their own game too.
“How many days until retirement?” Patton would ask after a seventh round of Uno the friends were playing in Roman and Virgil’s cramped apartment.
“Years and years,” the other three would chime all at once.
“Damn,” Patton said with a slight smile, his cussing only reserved for this one tradition.
In truth, his and Patton’s morning talks were getting a bit harder to conceal. They usually held them on Patton’s balcony as Logan did whatever it was Logan did where he couldn’t hear them from inside, but that didn’t mean that smart-ass angel wasn’t suspicious. (Roman, meanwhile, always remained blissfully oblivious.)
Virgil assumed Logan thought they were talking about replacing him with Virgil as Patton’s partner, which was something Virgil certainly wouldn’t be opposed to. Patton was much more tolerable and not as loud as Roman, who didn’t know the meaning of silence even if it came up to him itself, slapped him right across the face, then kicked him in the groin for good measure.
But that, of course, was not the case. Virgil couldn’t imagine being partners with Patton since partners were expected to argue on a daily basis. It was their job, of course. Get assigned a human and a big decision they had to make that day, perch on their shoulder, and act as voices in their head involved in a moral debate over what the human should do until one side wins.
There was no reward, of course—aside from bragging rights, which Roman and Virgil both longed for dearly. That ironically made them a good pair, though, being able to argue so much. If they didn’t disagree then their jobs and the eternal afterlife would be meaningless. And Roman was very easy to disagree with.
Virgil’s thoughts slowly left him as he eventually found himself stationed in front of Patton and Logan’s door, and he knocked gently before slamming his fist a bit harder against the surface. His special knock.
As he waited he looked around at all the other apartment doors, bland and white just like the rest of Heaven. All apartments were stationed in Heaven for the angel and demon pairs along with retirement homes. Hell was strictly a residential area for the damned and specific demons assigned to be torturers. It wasn’t fair if you asked Virgil, especially since there were a bunch of demons running around angel territory causing who knew what kind of trouble, but it was just another way of life he had no control over.
Virgil watched on as the door in front of him began to open, but suddenly was slammed closed, then opened once more. His eyes widened as out stepped a figure. A recognizable figure. A very irritating, recognizable figure. Virgil’s mouth set into a deep snarl.
“Remington. What are you doing here?”
“Virgil! Darling! Hell-o!!!” Remy greeted him, wrapping him up in a big hug.
Remy was an angel, just like him, but he wasn’t born into the role since he wasn’t an Afterlife Kid. No, no. He had earned it during his time on Earth as a human by having one of the purest souls when he died. How such a man like Remy achieved that sort of feat was beyond Virgil, but every time he asked about it Remy would wave him off and change the subject.
“Remington. What. Are. You doing. Here.” Virgil was stiff as cardboard within the embrace, but that didn’t make Remy budge.
“I told you I go by Remy now! Maybe Rem if you’re feeling lucky,” Remy giggled, breaking off the one-sided hug. “Besides, honey, can’t I just visit my favorite angel—besides myself, of course, haha!—just because?” Remy blinked innocently at Virgil, whose face spoke for him and his disagreement.
“The last time you talked to me was a year ago,” Virgil pointed out after an awkward beat of silence.
“Hey! I’ve been busy, gurl! Managing angel affairs within Heaven isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the afterlife!”
That was another (annoying) thing about Remington, who not only was not an Afterlife Child but also was an official Angel Council Member, a title reserved for the most elite angels. (“I hate Remington,” Logan constantly reminded Virgil, “but I have to respect his position, especially if I want to achieve such a role myself.”)
“Busy? That’s your big excuse?” Virgil spat, crossing his arms. He tugged on the fabric of his (very white) jacket with enough pressure to make his fingers turn pale in the process. “What’s the matter with you, man?”
“Virge, I’m telling ya, being a Council Member has just taken up too much of my time. Lots of paperwork, coffee, more paperwork… you know the drill.” Remy adjusted his white-rimmed sunglasses so they rested on his forehead. It was his way of showing he meant business, but Virgil just turned away from him.
“Right. And that’s totally why I heard you became a Council Member one day and the next you had your tongue down the throat of some handsome demon.” Now, Virgil didn’t like indulging in rumors at the best of times, but at the particular moment it only spurred him on.
Remy’s face flushed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, but said nothing to argue against Virgil’s claim. He just sighed, shook his head, and went on to say, “Well, as a Council Member—tongue down someone’s throat or not—I have come to give you a message from the Council.”
“So you weren’t just here to see me? Offended,” Virgil said stoically.
Remy’s lips pressed into a thin line, and in a moment after that, his usual, exuberant energy returned to him and he smiled. “I was actually here to deliver the same message to Patton and LoLo over here, hence why I’m leaving their apartment right now, hun. But you just made things more convenient for me when you bounded up here instead of making me walk all the way to your place!”
“I suddenly wish I didn’t decide to come over.”
“Oh, yeah, me too actually. I’m missing my chance to see your roommate, Hotty-McHotty.” Remy bit his lip and winked at Virgil, who gagged a little but otherwise ignored Remy’s antics.
“Anyways. What was this message about?” Virgil asked. If Logan and Patton were receiving it too it probably had something to do with Afterlife Children. Great. The last thing they needed was a law ordering the execution of all Afterlife Children.
Remy cleared his throat and pulled a parchment out from his back pocket. He scanned it once, and then looked up at Virgil, reciting it from memory, “Logan Watson, Patton Moore, Roman Shakespeare, and Virgil Darrius. By order of the Council of Angels and Demons, you are to meet with the Council on the fourteenth hour of today discussing a new mission which the four of you will be undertaking.” Remy took the paper and crumbled it up, tossing it behind him dismissively. “Translation: you, Patty, LoLo, and Hotty McHotty-Pants—“
“You really didn’t need to add to that name.”
“—are going on an adventure, by order of the Council!” Remy lit up as he announced this, while Virgil instead went wide-eyes and suddenly had the sensation that he wanted to faint.
“B-but-! The easy mission!” Virgil whined. He and Roman were just supposed to debate on the shoulders of some kid deciding between studying or cheating on their test today, not take on some kind of new, thrilling adventure! “Can’t you get someone else to do it?”
“Nope!” Remington said, popping his ‘p’ with a grin. “Council’s orders!”
“But you’re a part of the Council!” Virgil argued. “You can do something about this, can’t you?”
“Kinda. Don’t wanna, though. Face it, honey, you’re going to be doing something fresh and exciting, so you better get used to the idea before 2 p.m.!” Remy began shoving Virgil along the long hallway and back to his apartment, leaving Virgil so shell-shocked he didn’t even remember why he was coming over to Patton’s in the first place to fight back. “Now you go home and let your devilishly handsome partner know the news or I’ll just have to let him know myself.”
Remy licked his lips at that, and that seemed to snap Virgil’s out of his surprised state. “No, no, no, I’ll go tell him. Please, just stop being such a perv over my partner.”
Remy rolled his eyes and muttered some kind of complaint as he left Virgil to go the rest of the way to his apartment on his own. Virgil watched the angel’s back as he walked the other direction until he eventually rounded the corner and left Virgil’s field of vision. Then he frowned and kept walking, trying not to think of the whole encounter too much.
After all, it wasn’t too good to reminisce on one’s childhood best friend who turned out to be a major pain in the behind later on. It could cause grief, and that was the last thing Virgil needed on his plate at the moment.
“I smoke to forget, but I always remember,” Virgil hummed as he lit a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. If this day kept going the way it looked like it would, he might just need another box before it ended.
-
“This is utter bullshit. Bullshit! This isn’t Heaven! It’s- it’s the land of utter bullshit, Virgil!”
Leave it to Roman to curse loudly in the middle of a courtroom. Albeit, the courtroom was currently bustling with energy as Council Members found their seats. Some nosy angels and demons—who must have had easy missions that day like the one Roman and Virgil were supposed to get and were therefore finished with their work day before noon—were grabbing chairs to watch the announcement of this brand new, important mission.
Virgil didn’t realize this was supposed to be such a big deal, and he tried not to muddle on the subject as the courtroom began to slowly fill up. Half out of annoyance and half out of needing a distraction from the way his forehead began to become slightly wet with sweat, Virgil shushed Roman.
“You’re gonna bring even more attention onto us than we already have. As if we need that,” Virgil grumbled. Beside him, Logan nodded in agreement.
“I happen to like the attention,” Roman said with a pout, earning a rub on the shoulder from Patton.
The group of friends was split in two, Patton and Roman seated on one table and Virgil and Logan on the other. One could take a swift glance at the horns on Patton and Roman’s heads and the halos above Virgil and Logan’s and there wouldn’t even be a need to second guess on how they were chosen to be separated.
In no time the Court was calmed down and everyone had a clear view of all the Court Members, sitting high in their chairs with… mostly professional looks on their faces. Head of the Court of Angels, a kind angel named Thomas, sat in the middle, the Head of the Court of Demons, Joan, beside him. To the right of Joan was another demon Court Member, Deceit (which was just a nickname he had picked up at some time and it was used so often everyone had forgotten his actual one), and next to Thomas was Remington, who was stealing glances at Deceit from over his sunglasses and biting his lip. Very professional indeed.
The rest of the council members sat beside them, split between angels and demons, just like the boys at the front. In fact, the entire courtroom was split between angels and demons, a divide that was clear but not talked about it. Angels kept away from demons and vice versa, aside from partnerships and some friendships, which were rare.
“Order! Order!” Thomas called out, letting a smile slip out onto his face as everyone quieted down.
“Order. Order,” Joan repeated in a slightly more deflated tone.
Thomas began. “We’re here today-“
“-to discuss a new mission we’ll be assigning angels Logan Watson and Virgil Darrius as well as demons Roman Shakespeare and Patton Moore.”
“Yes,” Thomas said with a smile, folding his hands in his lap. Joan finishing their partner’s sentences wasn’t uncommon, and yet Thomas had never grown annoyed of the constant interruptions.
The two were near stark contrasts, with Thomas’ optimism and excitement and Joan’s cleverness and stoic personality, yet they got along so well. It was said it was only Thomas who could break through Joan’s shell of wit and negativity, and Joan was the only one who could ground Thomas and his own eccentricities.
Virgil smirked as Thomas shuffled around, trying to find a paper and Joan handed it to him without blinking. “Yes, yes. Thank you, Joan,” Thomas whispered to them, then turned back to the room with a beaming smile. “Today truly marks a day that will be put in our history books! ...That is if Heaven ever gets a history book. I doubt anyone would want to sit down and finally record thousands of years of history! Right, Joan?” Thomas elbowed his partner with a laugh.
“More like millions, soon-to-be-billions, but you’re correct, Thomas,” Joan said, almost amused.
“Right! So, now to the task at hand!” Thomas looked down at the paper and his hand and read its contents cautiously. “Logan Watson. Afterlife Child. Angel of seventeen years. Presence?”
“Here,” Logan said and rose out of his chair. His halo shone proudly on top of him. Virgil kept his eyes on its glowing mass until it created burning dots in his vision. He closed his eyes, trying to lose himself in the world of blackness only interrupted by the bright marks before they faded out slowly.
“Logan, you have served as an angel for four years now. Your parents were both humans born on earth until becoming angels here and giving birth to you, deeming you an Afterlife Child,” Joan said, leaning towards Thomas to read the paper still clutched in his hands.
“Correct,” Logan said. Anyone could see he wanted to say more but he kept his mouth shut. He could say anything he wanted in any other situation, but this was Court, and in a place like this even the air seemed stiff and controlled.
“And it looks like you have a fairly good record so far!” Thomas exclaimed, snatching a file into his hands and twirling around in his chair excitedly. “It seems if you continue on like this you could very well be a Council Member in the near future-!”
“Why, thank you, sir,” Logan said, a smile (a smile!) lighting up his face. After all, such was his dream, to organize angels and their work instead of being one of them.
“But you’re also an Afterlife Child,” Joan added, and disappointment washed over Logan’s face.
“Yes, that is… also true,” Logan said, folding his arms behind him. Virgil gulped softly as Joan carefully studied Logan’s reaction, but after that nothing was said on the matter. Logan sat down when Joan dismissed him and the next name was called.
“Logan Watson’s partner, Patton Moore!” Thomas announced as if it were a wrestling match instead of a court meeting. “Afterlife Child. Demon of nearly seventeen years. Presence?”
“Here!” Patton stood up and adjusted his tie proudly, and Virgil couldn’t help but smirk. No matter how twisted Patton’s morals were, everything he seemed to do was adorable.
Patton’s turn went on smoothly, Joan making it clear he was also an Afterlife Child just like they did to Logan, and Virgil was spoken to next. Despite the anxiety squirming around inside of him the whole time, there were little to no problems. In fact, everything seemed to be going on as normal as it could be going during introductions until Roman was called on.
“Roman Shakespeare. Afterlife Child. Demon of seventeen-” Joan started, but they were soon interrupted.
“-amazing actor, one of the best demons ever, and descendant of—yes—the William Shakespeare. Present,” Roman said, standing up with a hand on his hip and a dashing smile on his lips. Virgil could have snapped his neck off for being so casual in the middle of the courtroom, but luckily, Thomas only giggled.
“Wonderful! Now, you, Roman-”
“Also have a wonderful record on me, and I’m also, tragically-” and at this, Roman let out a long, dramatic sigh, because of course, he would, “-an Afterlife Child, we know, we know, we know.” Roman rolled his eyes, and the urge to kick him was starting to tempt Virgil a little too much. “But, please, can we cut to the chase here? I’m a little curious to know what kind of mission is so important that it had to ruin my spa evening.”
So that was why he was so excited about having an easy mission earlier. Mystery solved, but it really wasn’t helping Virgil and his itch to commit murder to his partner. And, after a quick glance towards Logan, he wasn’t the only one.
“Well, Roman, I promise you can have your spa evening soon, just not in Heaven!” Thomas laughed as Joan looked down at the boys with a small smile.
“Wha- what do you mean?” Roman asked, exasperated, leaning over the table in front of him. “Because if you’re trying to say you’re sending me to Hell to be a torturer, then that’s not the kind of upgrade I mean when I asked for a raise-”
“No, no, no,” Joan said, waving their hands at him dismissively. “He means you’ll be able to have your spa evening in the moral world.”
There was a bit of silence as Roman’s expression went from confused, to angry, to confused again. “That does not help one bit,” he huffed, and Patton finally yanked Roman down back into his chair, but Virgil didn’t care to notice. He was too busy looking at Joan with wide eyes.
The moral world? Were they sending Roman away? Oh, what relief that would be! Happiness began to bubble inside of Virgil at the thought of this meeting being about Roman becoming mortal and Virgil being switched to being Patton’s partner and Logan finally becoming a Council Member. Such thoughts were short-lived, however, when Thomas began speaking again.
“We were going to wait a bit before telling you boys, but this mission we have for you is… something no other angels nor demons have ever done before.” Virgil could practically feel everyone in the courtroom shift a bit further towards the edge of their seat.
“Yes,” Joan continued. “This assignment could very well determine the fate of all us angels and demons. You see, the metaphorical line between the mortal world and ours’ is in danger.” Some gasps in the crowd sounded off at this, but Virgil ignored them. Every word Joan and Thomas were saying was ringing in his ears, and he couldn’t really quite believe them.
“Very much so,” Thomas agreed, then took a look around the room at all the angels and demons gathered there. “You see, this is not much of a subject that we like to talk about publicly, but we figured we might as well. After what’s about to happen, it will most likely be all over the gossip in Heaven soon anyways, so it might as well come from us.”
“We’ll get right to the point then,” Joan said. “In Hell, we keep these creatures called demon boogers. They were initially designed to aid demons in torturing people, like servants, but they proved to be less helpful than we thought during our scientific trials.”
“The same thing happened with angel boogers. Instead of helping the angels and demons in Heaven, they only wanted to sit around and play all day.” Thomas laughed. “I don’t blame them, but we can’t exactly have them running around given the fact that they can be violent little critters.”
“So, the point is, they’re all in Hell now, being taken care of by our noble Grim Reaper. At least, they have been for the past hundred years now,” Joan explained. “Now they… may have found a way to the mortal world from their home.”
Shock coursed through the room and Thomas shushed everyone in an arguably fruitless effort to calm them down. “Hold on! Nothing’s happened yet! So far we’ve counted only two that have leaked out.”
“Yes, but if we wait any longer, these said two could cause a lot of trouble, and we can’t stop more from leaking out. We don’t know how they’re getting out since we’ve found no exits from Hell to the mortal world, but the two reports given to us by anonymous angels and/or demons are proof enough to us that we have a problem on our hands.”
“Which means we need a crew of angels and demons to venture to the mortal world and disguise themselves as humans for a total of three months and fifteen days to find the boogers that got out, bring them home, and fix the hole between our world and the mortals’ so this can never happen again,” Thomas announced, and then he looked between the four boys in front of him and nodded. “And the Council has chosen you.”
“Us?” Roman gasped, placing a hand on his chest.
“Yes, you,” Joan said. “As we said earlier, all of you have well enough records and are good at your jobs, but you are all also Afterlife Children. Given the recent debate about you Afterlife Children and such, we believe it might be a good idea to send a crew of said Children, half of them angels and half of them demons, to complete this important assignment. If you succeed, perhaps the name of Afterlife Children will be cleared and laws against discriminating against them can finally be passed.”
Thomas clapped his hands excitedly at this like a toddler, but Virgil just sat there, gaping at both of them. Joan realized this and said as soothingly as they could manage, “I know it’s a lot to take in, especially considering you’ll have to be packed and ready by tomorrow-”
“Tomorrow?!” Roman exclaimed. Virgil made a move to shush him, but before he could, Patton slapped a hand over Roman’s mouth. Logan and Virgil looked at the demon with surprise, but Patton paid no mind.
“No offense, almighties, but don’t you think that sending us down there without any instructions other than ‘save the world’ is a bit… I don’t know… spontaneous?” Patton giggled nervously.
“Oh, but you won’t be alone! Joan! How could we forget to tell them the best part?” Thomas asked, looking over at his partner with a large smile, making the announcement of this mission sound more like a cheesy T.V. commercial trying to sell cheap products than a serious ordeal that could change the very course of history.
“You will be aided by two of our here Council Members. One angel, one demon,” Joan said, gesturing around themself. Virgil’s eyes scanned the Council, purposely skipping over Remy’s smiling face. He was fine with every other angel there, so as long as Remington wasn’t the one going with him, it was fine-
“Remington Rochester and Deceit!” Thomas read off the paper in his hands, and Virgil groaned, letting his head fall against the surface of the table. Logan patted his back sympathetically, but Virgil still dared not to pick his head up until Thomas and Joan dismissed the meeting.
By then, Logan and Patton had gotten up to leave and Roman was still there, waiting for Virgil while processing everything that happened in the past half hour. Then Remy came up to Virgil and slapped his back. Virgil instantly sat up and glared at him, but Remy ignored his dark gaze.
“Isn’t this exciting, babe? We get to work together now!” Remy said, nudging down his sunglasses to look Virgil in the eyes. Virgil stared at him for a second longer before moaning sorrowfully and hitting his head against the table again.
It was about to be a long three months and fifteen days.