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Anthony always said humans were almost too creative. And he had a lot to say in that, too. It took a great deal of creativity to place the stars; to plan the skies with their twinkling lights. He was probably the most creative being out there, ethereal and occult-wise. But the humans continued to astound him. They created beautiful palaces laced with gold and covered in hundreds of paintings, they built machines to make their lives easier and continuously tried to make them better, even if others thought they were already perfect, and they’ve done some awful things he’d rather not mention. Not everything they create is amazing, though. Once they settled down and started bartering for items, and money materialized, they’ve always found some cheap thing they can mass produce to make money. Like the stupid worm on a string, which has been plaguing him for months now.
He isn’t sure who or what to blame anymore. He could blame the original creator. He could blame the original Original Creator, for giving humans creativity in the first place, but that’s out of the question. He could blame all the humans for buying them and making them so popular. He could blame the store by Azirafell’s pawnshop that conveniently had them sitting in the display window when the demon walked by. The one thing he is sure of, though, is he can blame Azirafell for their continuous presence in his life.
To understand exactly why Anthony hates them requires a look at the past few months, ever since Azirafell bought a bright pink one.
The two had set up a meeting to go over things, nothing out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary was Azirafell asking to meet at the pawnshop. Their meetings usually ended up in the pawnshop or the nursery after dinner, but they never really start there. It was a little concerning for Anthony, to say the least, as he drove over to the shop.
“Azirafell?” he calls out as the door opens in front of him, the bell tinkling above his head.
“I’m back here, my dear!”
Anthony follows the well-worn carpet into Azirafell’s back room, where he keeps the items he’s least willing to part with, which is mostly books and old snuff boxes. He was half expecting the demon to be reading, or eating, or fussing over some new object he just bought, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight in front of him as he steps through the doorway.
He looks up at the ceiling, and, with a groan, he says, “I’m leaving.”
Azirafell had pulled his magician's outfit out of storage and had an assortment of strange objects sitting on the table next to him. “Why, but you only just got here! We still have very important matters to discuss, do we not?”
“But you’re gonna make me sit through another one of your magic shows first, aren’t you.”
“I came up with a few new tricks!” he answers excitedly. He gestures to the open couch, where Anthony begrudgingly sits down. He puts his head in his hand as he focuses his attention on Azirafell, ready to get the show done and over with.
“Right then. For my first trick, I only need this bottle, this egg, and a piece of paper to burn. As you can see, the bottle’s opening is too small to fit the egg! But, don’t worry, I shall manage to get the egg into the bottle while still intact.”
He makes a show of lighting the paper before dropping it into the bottle and then placing the egg in the opening. The two watch intently as the paper burns down to ash in the container, but the egg doesn’t move. He forgot it was supposed to be a hardboiled egg.
“Well, nevermind. I’ll work more on that one.” He clears them away with a wave of his hand before starting to move more objects around.
“You could have done that if you didn’t insist on doing it the way the humans do,” Anthony feels the need to point out.
“But it’s no fun that way.” He places a small box in front of him and opens it, but whatever it contains is blocked from Anthony by the lid. “For this next trick, I need your help.”
He sighs. “How many times have I told you that I’m not going to help?”
“No matter, I’ll have your help anyway.” He pulls a long, pink, fuzzy thing out of the box before moving the box to the side again.
“What the Hea– He– fuck is that?”
“This is Anthony the Second.”
A slight change in the way Azirafell is holding it and Anthony can now see the googly eyes on the strange piece of fluff. “It has eyes.”
“It’s you!”
“I really don’t understand what you’re trying to say here,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Why do you think that – thing is me?”
“It’s pink. And it’s snake-like. Therefore, Anthony the Second.”
Anthony stares at it, not believing anything he’s heard. “That doesn't look like a snake at all! Why do you think that's me?”
“Well, technically the packaging called it a worm–”
“See? Not even a real snake. You can’t seriously think it’s me.”
The worm starts moving of its own accord while Azirafell moves his hands, but, looking close enough, Anthony can see the string hiding in his hands.
“The first thing I thought of when I saw this was you, dear. You should be humbled.”
“Oh, right, of course, just let me feel good about being compared to a pipe cleaner on a string.” He makes sure his words are dripping with sarcasm.
“He’s not on a string! He is moving of his own accord.”
“Azirafell, I can see the string in your hand. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not a human either. They might not have seen the string, but you aren’t fooling me.”
He sets the worm back down on the table in a huff. “You are no fun.”
“This isn’t fun, fiend. Now, is there anything you actually wanted to talk about, or did you seriously only call me over for this?”
~~~
Anthony promptly forgot about the worm not long after leaving the shop – he refused to call it Anthony II. He thought it would be the last time he saw the squirmles – Azirafell had shown him the packaging before he left. It was normal for Azirafell to pull something out as a joke, but it wasn’t like him to reuse an old one.
That’s why he forgot about it. He had more important things to do, like selling plants, and serious archangel duties. When he shows up to the nursery and finds the door unlocked one day, he wasn’t expecting anything other than a surprise demon visit.
“Let yourself in without me, I see?” he calls into the shop as a greeting.
“I am with you, dear,” Azirafell smirks at him from where he stands in front of the counter, casually tossing an apple up and down.
“What?” He takes a step forward and freezes at the sight of a familiar pink tail on the desk.
Azirafell smugly takes a bite from the apple as he watches Anthony process the sight before him.
“Why did you bring that thing out again?”
“Thing?” he repeats, mocking an offended tone. “Anthony the Second isn’t a thing.”
“It’s an over-glorified pipe cleaner, fiend, and–” he cuts off after walking closer. “Is that a pair of miniature sunglasses?”
“They’re yellow and pink, just like yours!”
Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose. “I will not like that thing, no matter what you do with it. Please get it out of my sight.”
Of course, that doesn’t happen.
Azirafell keeps it on the desk for the entire visit, taunting Anthony with it and almost daring him to do something about it. Anthony holds his ground though and doesn’t touch it, and it leaves when Azirafell does. Apparently, he’s going to have to stay alert to prevent future headaches.
~~~
It keeps coming back. He hasn’t seen Azirafell in a few weeks, but he finds one of them at least once a day. He picked up his plant mister, and there was one floating in it. One was curled around his glasses when he woke up one morning. Multiple have been hiding on top of the soil in some plant pots, a few of which the customers so graciously pointed out to him. He found one in the cash register when one customer insisted they needed to pay for the plant he was giving them.
He refused to let Azirafell win. He started a bucket under his desk for them, tossing them in when he found them so they’d be out of the way, and refused to drive over to the pawnshop to confront him about it. They occasionally had little sunglasses on them as well, and the sight of that had made one woman giggle quietly when she pointed it out in the flower arrangement he was trying to give her.
This is why it’s been plaguing him for months. He refuses to let the prank get to him, and Azirafell refuses to stop. It’s a stalemate that refuses to give way to either side as worm after worm gets added to the bucket. It’s almost full, and frankly, Anthony is a little scared to find out what happens when he does fill it.
It never reaches that far, though. The next day, the bucket is completely empty – because every last one of them is currently decorating the shop. Anthony had seen the start of it through the window, where there was one on each plant. He locks the door behind him as he takes a calming breath before facing the sight he had caught a glimpse of. They are everywhere. Each branch of the apple tree has at least one hanging off of it. The hanging plants are adorned with groups of two or three. Various others are scattered throughout the other greenery he keeps in the shop.
Picking up the bucket, and with a frown plastered on his face, he fills it back up, throwing every last one of them in it. Once they’ve been cleared out, he storms out of the shop and throws the bucket into the passenger seat as he climbs into the Bentley. With his lead foot, it’s only a few minutes before he’s at the pawnshop, so he picks the bucket up and marches inside.
“Can I help you?” Azirafell calls as the bells above the door twinkle. He’s sitting behind the counter, engrossed in a book, but the slight smirk on his face betrays his nonchalant appearance, meaning he knows exactly who has entered the shop and why.
Anthony tosses the bucket onto the counter, where it tips over, the worms all tangled up in each other’s strings and scattering across the hard surface, with a slight tinkling noise as some of the small sunglasses fall off of their worm owners. “You know exactly why I’m here, fiend. Don’t act like you don’t know.”
He finishes reading the page slowly before placing his bookmark and resting the book on the counter. “I did wonder what it was going to take to make you break.”
“Break?” He takes a calming breath before he starts to yell. “You have been tormenting me with these things for months now. How much longer were you planning on doing it, exactly?”
He shrugs. “I figured once Hell had it on their radar, it was time to try and stop.”
“Wha– You mean Hell knows about this prank?”
“Apparently, it’s caused a small field of chaos to open up around your shop, dear. I didn’t know they annoyed you to that extent.”
“Well what do you expect when you keep hiding one every single bloody day! It was getting to the point that I couldn’t even find them before the customers did!” He huffs and covers his face with his hand. “Now I’m going to have to go out and spend some blessings and miracles to reverse what these stupid worms have caused.” He points an accusing finger at Azirafell. “I hope you’re happy.”
“Thrilled, actually. I didn’t expect you to last this long.”
“Azirafell, I swear to – someone–”
“Are you threatening me?” He puts on an innocent expression. “Whatever are you going to do? You don’t have it in you to smite me, so I’m afraid there isn’t any threat you can say that will be worthwhile.”
Anthony nods, narrowing his eyes. “We’ll see how you feel then when I start hiding all of those bird-shaped orchids and other flowers around your shop. They’ll make the place look nice.”
Azirafell’s expression turns serious. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Shouldn’t have gotten all of these worms, then,” he says with a shrug, turning to leave the shop.
“My dear boy, no–” Azirafell starts in a hurry, but Anthony is out the door before he can protest. He manages an “Anthony, you snake!” before the door slams shut.
Anthony grins as he climbs back into the Bentley, ready to order as many flowers as he can.