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It all started during the first class of the day, when Asmo switched seats so he could sit beside Simeon.
Before class had even started, he was whispering across the aisle.
“Good morning, gorgeous! Did you do something different with your hair today? It's positively stunning!”
The angel smiled warmly. “Well, good morning to you, too, Asmo,” he whispered back. “That's so kind of you! I'm afraid it's just my usual hair, though. Maybe you're just in a really good mood today?”
“Only because I'm sitting next to you! No, you’ve definitely amped up the luster, and shine, and Oh! Those curls! Somebody save me! It's like I'm back in the Celestial Realm again!” He threw a hand over his heart, and swooned across the aisle until his head was resting in Simeon's lap. “Now I know you're much too humble to ever take credit for a styling MIRACLE like this,” he continued, upside-down, “but I know spectacular when I see it! Why don't you come to my room after class? I'll give you the makeover to end all makeovers, and make you the most beautiful angel the Celestial Realm has ever seen!”
Simeon laughed (quietly, of course, because they weren’t really supposed to be talking in class). “Oh, Asmo! You flatter me! But you know angels aren't supposed to make themselves up, silly.” He gently stroked the disappointed demon’s hair. “If you still want to get together, though, I'd be honoured to get the chance to watch you do your own makeup!”
The next one to catch up with him was Beel, in the lunch room.
Carrying a half-dozen trays, all piled so high he could barely see over the top of them, Beel took a seat right next to Simeon.
“Hi, Simeon!”
“Oh! Hello, Beel!” He looked over the massive stacks of steaming entrees, enough to satisfy an entire marching band, and laughed. “Are you sure that will be enough for you?”
“They're not just for me. They're for us. I made some of it myself, just for you. I know how much you love Luke's baking, so I thought you might like to try some of mine, too.”
“Oh! That was so thoughtful of you! I'd be delighted to try some of yours!”
Beaming like a kid who’d just met Santa Claus, Beel searched through his mountains and pulled out a full tray of clumsily – though lovingly – iced cupcakes. “Here. Try one of these, first.”
(By the time Simeon had finished his, Beel had quietly snuck four.)
“Oh, my! That's almost…” he cast a quick look over his should, to make sure nobody else would hear him, “…sinfully delicious! I never knew you were such an incredible baker! What's your secret?”
“Sugar. Lots and lots of sugar, so they'd come out sweet, like you. Here! Have the other elev… Have the other seven!”
“Oh, dear, I couldn't possibly! That cupcake was the perfect dessert, but I couldn’t eat another bite! Can I save them for later?”
During third period Alchemy, Belphie tapped him on the shoulder. “Hi, Simeon.”
“Belphie! You're in class, AND awake? Wow!” He was whispering again, with one eye on the grey-haired teacher who was notorious for punishing chatty students. “Lucifer hasn't been threatening you again, has he?”
“No. I just thought you might need this.” He slid a plush, down-filled pillow to Simeon, underneath their desks. “You've been looking really tired, lately. I thought maybe Michael has been working you too hard.”
Being very, VERY careful to keep his voice down, Simeon laughed. “Well, he CAN be pretty demanding, you know.”
“Yeah, I do. Even when I was still an angel, he was always asking for this, or that, or the other. For an arch-angel, he can be a real slave-driver sometimes. There's only so much one angel can do, though, before they start to burn out. And once that happens, they're no good to anybody.” He yawned, crossed his arms over his desk, and laid his head down. “You work harder than anyone, Simeon. Always on call, always rushing around, always trying to make everyone else happy. You deserve a break, is all I'm saying. Take the rest of the day off, and get some rest. You won't fall behind. I'll take notes for you.”
“Well, well! That's so considerate, but if I… Belphie? Hey, Belphegor!”
“Zzzzzzz…”
In between periods, Levi caught him in the hall.
“Oh. Hey, Simeon. Are you… uhh, you know… feeling alright?”
“I feel wonderful, thanks for asking! Whatever would have made you worry?”
“I just… know how you feel,” he frowned, with his eyes glued to his DDD. “I saw Lucifer's phone the other day. You texted him 27 times, and he never answered you once.”
Simeon chuckled. “Oh, that. Well, he's a very busy demon. He'll get back to me, eventually.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been texting him, too. So has Beel. And Satan. Even Mammon. And he's answered all of us. See?” He held up his DDD to show off his most recent conversation with his eldest brother.
Last reply: 21 minutes ago.
“You don't think he's ignoring you on purpose, do you? I mean, you two used to be so close, back in the Celestial Realm. And now he's prioritizing us over you? What do any of us have that you don't have? That's really unfair, isn't it? After all you've done for him?”
Simeon just smiled. “I don't think it's unfair at all. My messages aren't nearly as important as yours. He loves you all, and just knowing that he still makes time to answer you guys, no matter how busy he is, fills me with joy.”
After classes had ended for the day, Satan approached him next.
Despite himself, Simeon frowned. Never, not once since he'd entered the exchange program, had all of the brothers sought him out on the same day.
Something strange was going on.
…maybe.
Or maybe they were just trying to be nice.
As an angel, it was his sworn duty to give them all the benefit of the doubt.
“Satan! It's been a while! How are you!”
“Not good, I'm afraid.” He slipped a hand around Simeon's arm, and urged him into a quiet corner. “We need to talk.”
“Oh, dear. About what?”
“About Mammon, I'm afraid. He's gone too far.”
Simeon sighed, and for just a second, seemed to be channeling Lucifer. “What did he do this time?”
“This.” He held up his DDD, open to a peculiar listing on Akuzon.
For angel feathers.
“He's been stealing them from you,” Satan frowned. “For months now. You probably don't know this, but angel feathers are worth a veritable fortune down here. He's been lying, right to your face. Sneaking into your room at night, and plucking you while you sleep.”
“You can’t be serious! That's awful!”
Satan cast a conspiratorial glance over his shoulder, then pulled the angel close. “That's not the worst of it. You aren't the only angel he's been abusing.”
Simeon clasped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, no. He couldn't be!”
“This is Mammon we're talking about. He can and he is. He's been selling your most prized possessions to the highest bidder, all in the name of making an easy thousand Grimm. It's unconscionable, even by demon standards.”
“Well… if that's the case, then surely Lucifer will step in to-"
“No. He won't. That’s the problem. Lucifer coddles Mammon, and always, when push comes to shove, lets his worthless ass off the hook,” Satan scowled. “Frankly, it's disgusting. An outrage, really.”
Simeon took a minute to process it all, then took a deep breath and brushed it off with a practiced smile. “Oh, it's not really so bad as all that, is it? In all fairness, we shed feathers all the time. If a few go to missing, here or there, it's not the end of the world. I'll have a word with him about leaving Luke out of it, but insofar as I'm concerned, if a handful of my feathers are worth as much as you say they are, then I, for one, am happy to share my bounty with,” he chuckled, “’The Great Mammon’.”
Those were the magic words.
“Did somebody just summon the greatest demon in the House?! Yo yo yo, what's up, Simeon?! My little brothers have been pesterin' ya all day, right? Just ignore them!”
Satan rolled his eyes, grabbed his books, and stormed off down the hall.
“Yeah, exactly! You'd better run, number four! Ok, now listen up, and listen good,” Mammon purred, as he slipped up beside the frowning angel and held out his hands. “Satan’s lying to ya. I might've “borrowed" a couple things from his room the other day, and he's pissed about it, that's all. I ain't stealin' from ya. Not a single quill. Cross my heart, and all that junk.”
“What a relief! I knew you were a better demon than that.”
“Hehehe. I ain't, really, but that's besides the point. I'm glad I found ya, though, ‘cause I wanted to talk to ya about something. Satan was makin'up all that stuff about me, but what he said about your feathers bein' worth their weight in gold? That was all true. And I got a hell of an offer for ya.”
“Oh, my! I didn't realize they were worth anything at all! But why would demons want angel feathers?”
“They're worth everything,” Mammon cooed, as he slipped an arm around Simeon's shoulders and tactfully ignored the question, “and The Great Mammon can make sure you get every penny's worth. Here's the deal: Any time you shed one, give it to me. I got a buyer lined up ready to pay top dollar, and I'll split it with you, 60/40.” He rolled right into his pitch without missing a beat, expertly manipulating his mark into struggling to keep up with the questionable details. “Think of how much good ya could do down here, once you got the cash to back it. Buy books for all them lesser demons ya got such a soft spot for. Surprise Luke with a jar of that scarfire truffle dust he's been drooling over every time we pass Madam Scream's.”
“Do you mean that wildly exp-"
“That's the stuff! There's a new recipe he's been wanting to try so badly, but he can't afford it. Imagine how thrilled he'd be if a jar just showed up on his pillow one morning?”
“He'd be-"
“Exactly,” Mammon purred, now with his lips pressed against the angel's ear. “With enough cash, ya could do anything you want down here. You could really make a difference. Make so many people happy. And,” he murmured, consciously dropping his voice to force his mark to really listen, “I'll keep your account anonymous. Michael never has to know.”
Simeon laughed, and slipped out of Mammon's clutches. “Oh, Mammon! You really are something else. I don't think I've ever seen you so ‘on' before; you're one heck of a salesman! I don't need any money myself, but if you want a few of my feathers, I'd be more than happy to give them to you for free!”
Exhausted by a strange and confusing day, Simeon knocked on the door to Lucifer's study.
“Go away.”
“Lucifer, it's me.”
“I know who it is.”
Simeon chuckled, and knocked again. “Oh Lucccciiiiiii…”
“STOP THAT.”
“Let me in and I'll stop. Luuuuucccciiiii…”
“Shut up and get inside.”
Simeon slipped inside, and quietly closed the door. Lucifer was hunched over his desk, between mountains of paperwork, and just kept working.
He said nothing.
“I'm a little worried about your brothers,” Simeon frowned, when it became clear he wasn't about to be asked. “They've been acting strangely all day long. Could they have been cursed, or have fallen under some sort of spell that-"
“They're fine,” grumbled Lucifer, without looking up. “They're idiots, but not cursed idiots.”
“Oh, good. I'm so relieved to hear that! It must just have been my imagination, then. Every once in a while, it gets away from-"
“It's not your imagination. They're trying to win a bet with Mammon, that's all.”
“A bet? On what?”
“On what it would take to tempt an angel to sin.”
Simeon frowned, and helped himself to a seat on Lucifer's couch without being invited.
Lucifer flicked his eyes up, scowled, and went right back to work.
“What an awful thing to bet on,” Simeon sighed. “You're not playing too, are you?”
“Do I look like I'm playing?”
“Never,” Simeon chuckled. “Well, I suppose I should really be thanking them! Now I can honestly say I've been tempted by the best, and didn’t give in!”
“Why are you still in here?”
“Maybe I should ask them to test me, from time to time, just for my own…” Simeon stopped, and cocked his head. Under a small pile of books on Lucifer's coffee table was one he swore he recognized; he pulled it out, just to be sure, and smiled widely. “Lucifer! You're reading my TSL series? I’m flattered! I had no idea you were interested in fantasy.”
“I'm not. I borrowed one from Levi when you were writing your play, to get a better idea of what sort of drivel to expect from you.”
Simeon laughed. “And did my drivel live up your expectations?”
“Your play was acceptable. You know I'm trying to work here, right?”
“And this?” Simeon held up his book. “I'm dying to know what you thought of it. You know I based the Seven Lords on-"
“I know. Your characterization of me was two-dimensional and borderline offensive.”
“…oh.”
“Your storyline was meandering and uninspired. Your twists were predictable, and your language repetitious. If you want a more detailed critique, I took the liberty of making notes. You can keep the book. Levi has more copies.”
Simeon frowned, and flipped to a random page. Then another. And another.
All over the place, in tight, elegant cursive, were Lucifer's fastidious comments.
*implied
*no need for this here, it was established in chapter four
*There is more to the Lord of Masks than you realize
*terrible metaphor
Despite the fact that there wasn't a kind word or gold star or even a “you tried" sticker to be found, Simeon still smiled. “You really did read the whole thing.”
“Of course I did.”
“Even though you hated it.”
Lucifer's quill stopped its restless scratching and hovered, poised, above the paper. “I never said I hated it.” He finally flicked his eyes up. “Would I waste my time critiquing something that hadn't impressed me?”
Simeon blinked. He looked from Lucifer, to the book and back again, then slowly shook his head. “Are you telling me… you liked it? You?”
Lucifer shrugged. “For all its faults, it was still one of the best books I'd read in centuries. I read the whole thing in one sitting, as a matter of fact. I don't know why you ever stopped. You are a gifted author, Simeon. If you ever write again, reserve me a copy.”
Finally at a loss for words, Simeon gaped. He stared at the familiar book in his hands like he was seeing it for the first time, and slowly traced his fingertips over the cover.
An artist's perception of their own work was always skewed, in one direction or the other. Was it really as good as he'd always hoped it was? He'd always considered himself a passable writer, at best, but...
…
…but that wasn't really true, was it.
On the surface, he'd considered himself a passable writer.
Underneath, like every artist, he'd always secretly believed himself better than that.
Good.
Great, even.
Talented.
Creative.
Gifted.
Simeon smiled at his book, and his heart swelled with pride.
He really was the best.
Lucifer chuckled. “Feels good, doesn't it?”
“Huh?” Simeon snapped out of his reverie to find Lucifer watching him, with his fingers steepled and a sly smile on his lips. “What does?”
“Greed, Wrath, Lust… no self-respecting angel worth their wings could be tempted by anything so trite. Now Pride, on the other hand… that one tends to sneak up on you,” he smirked. “Trust me. You can leave, now. And if you see Mammon, tell him he owes me some prize money.”