Chapter Text
The archangel Gabriel was sitting on his pompous white desk in his office. Despite the Heavens usual spare sense of decoration the office of the archangel was hold in white with some lavender blue and purple accents, which complimented Elisabeth Taylor’s Gabriel’s eyes. The desktop, on which he was currently sorting through high, but not in an I-neglected-my-work-because-I-had-better-things-to-do way, piles of files and reports, was a self-creation after the working desk of another white office.
But Gabriel would never admit, that he took a little inspiration to create this one.
However, it fit perfectly in his working space, together with the enormous portrait of his romanticised angelic self.
Although Pride was a cardinal sin, Gabriel couldn’t resist having the artwork hanging there.
It was a beautiful masterpiece by the hand of one of Their catch. To his disappointment it wasn’t by Michelangelo, who was a closet atheist when alive. Therefore no afterlife for this human. Too bad.
Disgust flickered over his features when he stopped at a particular paper.
It was cream, not white.
Of fucking course…
With something like a shudder he shoved the culprit to the other ones, far away from him in that One Special Folder.
Ever since the events of Armageddidn’t he felt something not quite like hatred – that would be too strong – but utter annoyance whenever one of his reports crossed his desk.
Of course Gabriel had tried to get rid of them, made another poor celestial soul responsible for that specific part of the world.
But whatever he did, the reports miraculously showed up on his desk eventually. The archangel sighed and pinched his nose bride.
Dear Lord, give me strength.
“Well, as you ask so kindly…”
Gabriel made a little jump and a high-pitched noise he was relieved no one else was hearing it…
Well, no one else than HER, that is.
Despite the fact that he was an archangel a direct talk with HER had become quite rare these millennia. Usually it was the Mettaton who would communicate HER wishes and even those were scarce.
Gabriel coughed slightly.
“What earned me the honour of speaking with you, my Lord?”
“Gabriel, my child.” And although there was only the Lords voice, lovely and frightful to the mark, and no face – thanks heaven, no face. He couldn’t comprehend the view of the face of the Almighty today! – He could still hear the smile and unequivocal humour in it. “I have a mission for you, Gabriel. A mission of the highest importance.”
At these words the archangel beamed with a thrill of anticipation. Highest importance! He couldn’t wait to hear the details!
“A mission… on earth.”
His smile faltered subconsciously and a quick glance to the pile of cream coloured reports darted over the desk.
Oh, no…