Chapter Text
It had been a long time since the False Angel had returned to the ballroom.
She almost missed this place, she absently thought to herself. Many a good fight had happened here. Yes, some memories were bad, but some were fun. (Key word were , but we aren’t going to talk about that.)
And yet, by Dea’s request, here they were.
That was the second surprising part. Normally she never did anything for them. Yes, they held a rendezvous every so often, but never out of genuine joy to talk. Always business, or mental probing disguised as friendly banter. No one was fooled by the act, except maybe themselves.
Dea was on time, as always. The False Angel was fashionably late, digging through a record case without looking back at the other. She grinned, pulling one out and examining it. “Why’d you want me here?” she asked. “Missed me that bad? Couldn’t stand going another second without seeing my face? Am I really on your mind that much?”
“Please. Give us a break.” They sighed. “We wanted to talk, and nothing more. It’s rare we get to correspond without one of the others interrupting.”
“Hm.” The False Angel brushed the dust off the record, gently pushing the stylus into place as the music rang through the room. “Well, I suppose it’s only right to ask,” she said as she turned around, bowing and holding out a hand. “May I have this dance?”
Dea paused. “We suppose so,” they decided eventually. “Any reason?”
“Come on, Dea.” The False Angel yanked their hand and dragged them closer. “I know you can find the lighter side of hell.”
Their steps slowly spun into a soft dance, a back and forth with every three-count. Dea paused, tilting their head to listen. “Danse Macabre?” they noted.
The False Angel smiled. “You know it?”
“Of course.” They spun around. “An odd choice, albeit fitting.”
“There’s quite an interesting story behind it, too. Are you aware of that one?”
Dea nodded. “Death was said to have appeared at midnight on All Hallow’s Eve. He awoke the spirits of the dead from beyond the grave to dance with him as he played his fiddle… although, we must admit we cannot recall a fiddle appearing in the original art.”
“You think too much,” the False Angel noted. “Did you ever notice? How many thoughts seem to be running and running and running through your head, just like the way we’re dancing right now?”
“Our thought process is what is necessary to survive.”
“I’m not going to kill you because you stop overthinking. Wouldn’t have roped you into a dance if that was my plan.” She laughed softly to herself, pulling Dea close enough to her chest that they could feel the vibrations. “Does it ever get tiring?”
“We don’t know anything else.”
“You should. It’s not healthy, you know.” She paused. “You do know that the constant hamster wheel isn’t supposed to be your default state, right?”
Dea pushed themself away. “We’re not you. We require different maintenances.”
“And yet I can already tell how one of yours is the need to let your mind shut off for once.”
“That would harm us.”
“It would save you,” the False Angel corrected with a gentle tug on their arm. “There’s a difference.”
The room fell to silence, save for the eerie melody hanging in the air. And for a while, it was just that– a waltz between two disbelievers with an unspoken yet ever acknowledged question acting as their ball and chain.
“Wouldn’t it be nice? To just let your mind drain with every step, falling deeper and deeper until there was nothing but bliss?”
“We see why the others deemed you a wordsmith.”
She shrugged with a coy smile. “Old habits die hard. What is that head of yours like?”
They hesitated with another rotation. “A constant stream,” they decided eventually, “but a necessity. If we were to stop this pattern, we would become obsolete– at least, for a while.”
“Do you want to be useful?”
“Seeing as it is the only purpose we have, we find ourselves at a loss of how to answer that.”
“That’s an answer in and of itself.”
“...We’re starting to think half your quips are meaningless.”
“Of course not.” She grinned and turned away, holding Dea by one hand before twirling them back underneath their arm. “Did you know people do this in heels?”
Dea nodded. “Oddly enough, they do. Many of them have practised. Starting out in such a way would be foolish.”
“I can’t even imagine you in heels. Would only get in the way.” The False Angel spun around, gently grazing against one of Dea’s wings. “The only inhibition for us is those.”
They twitched softly. “Unfortunately, or fortunately, it is a part of our body the same as your horns are for you.”
She hummed absentmindedly in such a manner that could almost be considered thoughtful if you truly knew her. “Can they fly?”
“They cannot.”
“Have you tried?”
“Admittedly, no.”
The False Angel grinned, moving both hands to Dea’s waist. “Wanna test it?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She simply lifted them up into the air for a split second before setting them back down like nothing had happened. Dea stayed silent for a few moments before muttering, “Waltzes don’t have lifts.”
“They do in my version.”
“We weren’t aware you knew how to waltz.”
“Funny, I could say the same for you.”
“We’ve picked up many things. One can find a lot of vast knowledge if they know where to look.”
“And you found a bunch of knowledge on Danse Macabre?”
“Some knowledge comes from odd places. It’s quite a fast choice,” Dea noted. “Most waltzes rest around ninety beats per minute.”
“Call it a Viennese, then,” the False Angel dismissed. “You tell me, since you’re so knowledgeable on the subject. How fast is this one?”
“We don’t know off the top of our head.”
“Then count.”
Dea sighed, slowly mumbling a couple of numbers under their breath.
“Just dancing like this is nice, isn’t it?” The False Angel said. “How with each step, you feel yourself sinking deeper–” Eighteen, nineteen, twenty– “and with each step, the more your thoughts fall into that blissful nothingness–” twenty-seven, twenty-eight– “And the more there’s nothing the better it feels, and the better it feels the more there’s nothing, and the easier it gets each time. Over and over, ad infinitum. Wouldn’t it be nice? To sink deeper with every step, your mind going slower and slower as the number climbs up? How with every tick you just fall further?”
“Will you be quiet?” Dea said. “You’re the one who wanted us to count, and it’s quite difficult with your rambling.”
“I thought you’d be able to keep up, with how fast that mind of yours goes. You’re telling me a bit of small talk throws you off?”
“It does not throw us off.”
“What number are you at?”
Only a second’s hesitation, and then, “Seventy-three.”
“You do work fast.”
“We’ve learned to compensate.”
“What are you at now?”
“You want us to lose count, don’t you?”
The False Angel grinned. “Did you?”
“No.”
Over time, the False Angel had noticed that Dea had started to develop a tell. Maybe it was put there on purpose, so they couldn’t lie without being caught, although she could have sworn it was a recent development. Either way, when the False Angel saw Dea’s wings bristle, it only confirmed her suspicions. She just shook her head. “From the top, then. Starting at one.”
Dea rolled their eyes. “Why are you so persistent on this?”
“Hey, I’m just holding you to your own standards. You said you’re fast, right? Prove it.”
“We’ll never comprehend your reasoning,” they muttered before sighing and starting, “One, two, three…”
The False Angel left them in silence (as much silence as the music could provide) until they reached thirty-nine, then asked, “How many thoughts go through your head at once?”
“It’s less a number and more an idea,” Dea responded. “Fast enough that we couldn’t tell you for certain.”
Another pause. Sixty-nine, seventy, seventy-on—
“There’s a theory,” the False Angel started, “that the human mind can only handle about seven, plus or minus two, items in their working memory at once. Sound tones, objects at a glance… sequences, for instance.”
“An interesting theory. The flaw in your plan is that we’re not human.”
“Do you think that means you can handle more or less?”
“We would assume more considering past patterns.” Where were they? They had passed seventy by now, they were sure of that. Seventy-two, seventy-three… No, that wasn’t right, was it? The music had still gone by while they were talking.
The False Angel grinned at Dea’s soft stutter. “Ooh, just passed sixty, huh? That’s a record.”
Sixty-one, sixty-two…
“...Is that correct?” Dea muttered.
“Surely it is, right? I could hear you, after all. If you don’t believe me, or don’t remember– I wonder which one’s more likely?– you could always start over. We’ve got time.”
“We don’t like you.”
“Feeling’s mutual, love.”
Where– where were they? They didn’t want to start over, and at this point they weren’t even sure if they wanted to finish at all; it was quite the pointless task. More a matter of principle, at this point. Surely the False Angel would never let them live it down. Dea was fully capable of it, of course.
Principle. That’s all it was.
One, two, three…
“Redundant, isn’t it?” the False Angel mused somewhere between fifteen and twenty (for god’s sake, would she ever shut up?). “To go back and forth, jumping between numbers, repeating them just as we do our steps. Every three count just marks another end, another beginning, one that never seems to truly stop.” She chuckled softly. “When do the numbers get too high? Can you even keep up with the syllables as soon as you get to the seventies? The hundreds?”
“The syllables are not the issue,” Dea muttered.
“Oh, surely the answer isn’t me! I think, in all honesty, you just have too many thoughts running through that head of yours. Even when you’re thinking of nothing you’re still thinking, and nothing fills the space where nothing should have been.”
“We don’t follow.” Forty-seven, forty-eight…
“You’re not supposed to.”
Ironic, considering the False Angel was the one leading their dance. She always hated how it was phrased, though– the man being the leader and the woman being the follower. As if women can ever do anything in today’s society. Let the woman lead, she deserves it. What if two inhuman beings built on genderfuckery wanted to dance? Who would God be to stop them?
“It’s just because your mind is so full with nonsense worries and thoughts that you simply have no place left for anything else,” she elaborated. “That’s not healthy, Dea. It would be so much better to just let those fall away. There’s so many reasons to.” She rocked on her heels and led them in a different direction. “You just can’t notice, because I feel like you’ve been just that far gone for a while now.”
They sighed and let themselves be moved. “We find ourselves to be perfectly fine.”
“Tell me that again in five minutes.” The False Angel gently tilted Dea’s head downwards. “Anyone can see the exhaustion dragging you down, like it’s getting deeper by the second.”
“We intend to do that. And we don’t get exhausted. We’re not human.”
“Shh. You’re so tense, all the time. There’s no way you enjoy that. I don’t know if you know this, but no one’s stopping you from just letting your mind stop, from letting yourself just sink a bit deeper. You deserve a break, after all.”
“We currently aren’t in need of one, and we never will be.”
She hummed thoughtfully. “I seem to recall you saying something along the lines of ‘give me a break’ at least once. Would you really say that if you weren’t silently crying out for one?”
“We did not say that,” Dea denied.
“You said it mere minutes ago, don’t tell me you’re already forgetting. I knew your head was crowded, but it seems to be much more so than I thought. No, no, I can’t let you go on like this. So anxious, so much tension. Consider this your permission to relax.”
“We aren’t in need of your permission for simple things either. Who do you think you are? Koda?”
The False Angel just softly laughed with a shake of her head. “You wouldn’t have let Koda even get five feet within you. Clearly, you have a bit more trust on my part than you’d want to admit. Lots of new discoveries, hm?”
“If you would like to phrase it as such, yes.”
The numbers ticked up. Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one…
As the False Angel was wont to do, she interrupted Dea’s thought process yet again. “...Humour me for a second. Have you heard of the mathematical property of equality?”
“This is a dance, not arithmetic,” they dismissed. “And we aren’t going to humour you either.”
“Then just listen. In short, it basically says whatever you add to one side of an equation, you have to subtract from the other to keep it equal.”
“What is it with you and your theories?”
She just shushed them. “Well, continue with your counting. Start wherever you think it feels right. After all, your number is just going to keep climbing up. But there is another one to balance it out. One that falls lower and lower with every tick upwards yours climbs, and you just can’t help but fall with it.”
Dea mumbled something to themself that sounded suspiciously unlike a number and much more like a curse. They weren’t putting much focus on her words. Most of their brain was occupied with the numbers they desperately wanted to go faster instead.
“See,” the False Angel continued, “The faster your number goes up, the faster the other goes down. It has to stay balanced, after all. I sure hope you are too– if you can still stand without falling on your face if it wasn’t for our dance.”
Dea was certain they could. That fact wouldn’t change, no matter what the False Angel did. Their whole purpose, their whole reason for creation, was resisting her mind games. They would wait.
“What are you at?”
Dea hesitated, much longer than the last time. “One hundred and three.”
“How can we be sure? You were so quiet, after all. Try again, once more, but out loud for me.”
If Dea was thinking straight, they likely would have strangled her at worst or denied the request at best. As it stood, though, the False Angel’s words and the convoluted dance they had been pulled into had thoroughly muddled their thoughts. With a loud sigh, they started again. “One, two, three…”
And of course, because we can’t have nice things in this world, the False Angel interrupted again, for some nth time that Dea was not focusing on counting. “Isn’t it nice? To just disconnect for a moment, let yourself sway to the rhythm in the air and not think about a thing? Just falling deeper and deeper, the more steps you take, and the more numbers you count.”
Dea steeled themself to ignore her. “Fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five…”
“Nothing takes up a lot of space, surprisingly. The more you think of nothing, the more space it takes up in your head until there’s simply nothing to think about nothing anymore. An odd paradox, hm?”
“Eighty-two, shut up, eighty-four…”
The False Angel smiled. “Shh. I think a rest would do you good for that attitude. Allow this to be your permission, if you can’t give that to yourself. Not only can you let yourself get lost in our little dance, you will and you already are and already have. And I think you’ll notice that as soon as you get to seventy. Oh, hey, speaking of which, there’s that threshold.”
“S-seventy… one?”
“Seventy-two, you got it, hun.”
Their mind stalled for the slightest moment. “It feels stupid to admit, but we… we can’t seem to recall which one comes after that.”
“Go up to whatever you can remember. It’ll make up for the lost time.”
Dea paused, counting under their breath for a long while before mumbling, “O-one hundred and twelve…”
“No, that can’t be right,” the False Angel said. “Twelve sounds right, though. That’s about where you were.”
“Twe– hm. Thirteen…”
“You know, maybe I’m misremembering. Were you at one hundred?”
Dea stared right through her, a delicious look of confusion fogging their gaze. “One hundred and thirteen…?”
“No, no. The one hundred sounds right, but I don’t like that thirteen at all. Where did you get that from?”
“F-From…hm. From…?”
The False Angel grinned and spun them around. “Ah! I added a zero, my mistake. We were at ten, counting down.” Dea hazily nodded, and the False Angel continued, “Remember? We were talking about how you could finally just fall as soon as you hit zero?”
If Dea was being honest, they had no recollection of the matter. Then again, the False Angel seemed to know much more than they did, and their memory was quite out of sorts right now anyways… they’d have to get that properly sorted out later. They blinked for a second, trying to shake off the fuzz clinging to the edge of their mind. “T-ten.”
The False Angel nodded with a deceivingly soft smile. “That’s it. Nine.”
“Nin- hm. Niiine… nine.”
“Mhm! Seven.”
Had they skipped a number? Dea was too fuzzy to tell, let alone protest. “Se-sev–”
They stumbled over the syllables for a couple more seconds until the False Angel took pity on them. “Aw, is that too high? Too fuzzy for you to understand?” she cooed. “Try three, okay?”
Their steps had slowed. At this point, it was barely a waltz– more a soft sway, mirroring the halt Dea’s thoughts had come to. “T-tr– thhree. Three?”
“That’s it, three.”
Dea stumbled on their feet. The False Angel caught them. “Two.”
It didn’t matter anyway. She would have swept them around a second later.
“One.”
She spun Dea around, one hand holding theirs and one hand on their back.
“Try the next one all on your own, alright? I’m sure you remember what happens when you reach it. We got past three, and two, and one… where are we now?”
They shut their eyes tight, trying to remember. “It…”
“Let me give you a reminder.” She grinned. “Zero.”
Dea fell limp as the False Angel dropped them into a dip with one hand, sharply snapping with the other.
The False Angel just laughed. “And scene.”