Saint Michael the Archangel | Dt. Michael Angel (the_sacred_fire) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2010-11-22 13:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | lucifer, saint anthony |
Who: Lucifer and Saint Anthony
What: Hi Anthony >:D
Where: Anthony's office
When: Monday early afternoon
Warnings: Lucifer is a giant creep, possible language
Notes: Reposted as a favour. Originally posted by Lucifer and Saint Anthony
With one visit to a Saint already under his belt, Lucifer was all too happy to go say hello to another. He started out on the lower scales of Saints, enjoying the easy targets. Satan was right. This was fun and somewhat challenging. He knew that sooner or later his brother would come hunt him down and pretend to be threatening, but for now Michael didn't bother him. And it suited him just fine.
Finding the Saint hadn't been too hard. They stuck out, if you knew how to look, and some of them were so obvious he couldn't help going 'no, really?' So he'd found himself in the Saint's office, playing with the pens and papers on his desk while Lucifer twirled in the chair he assumed belonged to Anthony. Whistling he kicked his legs on the desk and waited. He could have an infinite amount of patience some days.
After all, he'd been playing this game since the dawn of time. What was a few more minutes?
Anthony had gone out for some lunch, he needed to stretch his legs and breathe some fresh air. He'd actually sat down and eaten his food, enjoying the time away from his office.
That, in retrospect, had been a mistake.
He'd let himself into his office, and the second he did so, was hit with a giant wave of 'wrongbadevil'. He cautiously made his way up the stairs, his mind trying to conceive who, or what, could possibly be waiting for him. George had said he'd had a 'chat' with Satan, so that was currently most likely to him.
But he wouldn't know until he went inside, so he pushed the door open to his inner office, both taken aback and not at all surprised to see a man sitting in his chair. He was obviously the source of the negative feelings.
"Can I...help you?" Anthony asked.
When Anthony appeared he gave his best and brightest smile. And for him, it was no small feat. "Anthony my dear, of course you can. Please, sit down." Lucifer didn't count in the 'he may not know me' factor. Lucifer assumed everyone knew him.
Probably because he was Lucifer and thus arrogant as Hell was deep. "I'm here for a chat. Marvelous little place you got here. Quite quaint. Could use a bit of color but you Saints all assume that will offend senses."
Smiling he studied the man, "you know you're the first one that meets my expectations. All the others don't look like I guessed them to look. But you, you my dear actually look exactly how I pictured you."
Anthony raised an eyebrow at being asked to sit down in his own office, but he took the opposite chair anyway.
"Really, a chat?" he asked, disbelief evident in every syllable. Hearing the appraisal of his office, he replied, "I like it. It might not be much, but it's mine. And I'll take the color suggestion under advisement. I can't speak for the rest of the Saints, but I do like a bit of color."
"I am positively thrilled that I meet your expectations," Anthony deadpanned. "Whoever you are. And how, exactly, did you picture me?"
He was a bit disappointed the Saint didn't know him. Satan did tend to steal all the glory and light. He really did need to have a chat with the Snake about that. Lucifer didn't like not having a spotlight on him.
He rolled his eyes. Then grinned, "Oh I never get to say this." Clearing his throat he leaned forward, "please allow me to introduce myself." The devious grin crept over his face, "just call me Lucifer pet."
Laughing he leaned back, "exactly the bookworm you are now. You know, most Saints are either warriors or some hopeless cause. But not you. You didn't even die right."
Even knowing that it was Lucifer sitting across his desk, Anthony couldn't stop himself from replying, "Are you a man of wealth and taste?"
As soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew he shouldn't have said it. Freaking knee-jerk reactions. He tended to talk too much and say the wrong thing when he was nervous.
At his next words, Anthony felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. How could he know? The lingering doubts in the back of his mind, he'd never told anyone about them. But he steeled himself and tried to piece together a reply.
"The bookworm look is left over from all the studying I did," he said. "I...I knew I was never going to be a warrior. It wasn't my calling. And I don't even want to know what your definition of 'hopeless cause' is. As for your last point, I wasn't aware there was a correct way to die."
He laughed at the response. He had to give it to the Saint, few ever made that joke with him. It was, he admitted, one of his favorite songs. "Oh I think I like you. And yes I am." He winked and then smiled, watching the Saint.
"Yes but the kid you call Prophet did a whole bunch of fucking up, and not a whole lot of good. Back then it was scrambling for something, and you picked books." He shrugged, "it's kind of...less don't you think? Never felt like you didn't do quite enough?" Then he smiled, "most Saints die of torture or some sort of nonsense. You died because you got sick. Well done there Saint. If my research is correct, you find things that are missing. That seems terribly...unimportant." He rose and circled Anthony, like the shark he was.
"Tell me Saint, how does it feel that in the great scheme of things, you couldn't even get the one thing that sets Saints apart right?"
"Well, goody for me," Anthony replied faintly. "And it figures that you would be."
"I picked books so I could study His Word," Anthony said, trying valiantly to keep his voice even. "And so I could take it to those who needed to hear it. If that's not enough, then...then I don't know what more I could have done."
And there it was. Anthony had wanted to be a martyr ever since he'd seen the first Franciscans who'd died for their faith, but it just wasn't to be. "God had different plans for me," he said. "Who am I to question them?"
"Perhaps you think it's unimportant, but it is my gift, my talent, I suppose, and it makes me feel like I'm doing something worthwhile." His eyes followed Lucifer as he circled him. He felt like he was a tiny fish about to be devoured.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the words he wanted. "Maybe...maybe it went differently than I'd envisioned, but I'd like to think I had a good life. That I walked the right path."
He chuckled, "What can I say? Once a Prince, always a Prince." He winked at the saint and stopped before him, leaning on the desk and fishing out an apple from his jacket. He tended to like those.
He bit into it as he watched and listened to the Saint. "You Saints all think you walk the right path. Doesn't truly matter who you bowl over does it? The fact you're conquerers, just in a different name. You all think everyone needs to listen to the P.R."
He tilted his head, and smiled. "Maybe you just weren't strong enough Anthony. Ever think about that? What if you weren't meant to die by illness? What if it was a test?" He leaned forward, hands on the chair's sides and eyes boring into Anthony's. "One you failed quite spectacularly I might add." He grinned then, "because, after all Anthony. I found you. You led me right to you. Don't you think God would have stopped me, if you didn't warrant a visit or two?"
Even beneath the fear and self-doubt, Anthony found a little spark of anger. "I did not bowl anyone over. I do not impose. And I fail to see how spreading the message of God's love makes me a conqueror."
When Lucifer mentioned his lack of strength, Anthony's heart plummeted. He hated being thought of as weak, a failure, and even though his rational mind knew he wasn't, that tiny little part of his mind still said, 'Yeah, but what if you were?'.
Trying scrape up some of his last bravado, he forced a nonchalant shrug. "I'm not that hard to find. My alias isn't all that clever, and those who know me can put two and two together. As for you finding me, God puts us through all kinds of trials to test our faith. Perhaps this is just another one of them."
He laughed, stepping back only a little. Long enough to light up a cigarette, uncaring if Anthony at all minded. "Funny how I say 'Saint's and you automatically assume I mean you. And even if I did you didn't to good of a job. What if you were supposed to be a conquerer? Look at Patrick. An entire country under the banner. Impressive, I'd say."
He smiled and chuckled, "funny how He keeps doing that, isn't it? I'd think that a Saint, even one who died as poorly as you did, already passed all the test he was supposed to go through. That's the entire point of being a Saint isn't it? Your reward for facing all sorts of tests, and passing them." He shrugged, "funny, how even after all that, I'm still here to ask you all these questions and test you. Isn't it?"
"I wasn't aware we were speaking of anyone else," Anthony said tightly. "And I think God would've told me if I was supposed to be a conqueror. And yes, Patrick converted all of Ireland. That was his calling. If God had asked something like that of me, I would have gone in a heartbeat."
"He...He has a purpose for everything." Even Anthony knew he was grasping at straws. "Who am I to question the mind and devices of God?"
Laughing he moved behind Anthony, setting his hands on his shoulders, "Oh Anthony, where does assuming ever get us?" He raised an eyebrow and smiled, "what if he did Anthony? What if you were just not listening hard enough? Look at your fellows. Then ask yourself that question."
He shook his head and leaned close to Anthony's ear, "the question should be, who aren't you to do exactly that? Are you a blind sheep, Anthony, or someone willing to ask questions?"
"I would guess nowhere," Anthony said quietly, fighting not to shudder at the touch.
Even though he told himself no good would come of it, he did just that: he looked at his fellows. George had been a soldier his entire life. Sebastian and Agatha were martyred for their faith. Andrew was one of Jesus' first four apostles. Patrick had converted an entire country.
'You have to stop this now', he told himself. No good will come of it, and you're only giving Lucifer what he wants.
But then that tiny little piece that piped up earlier spoke again. What if he's got a point? What if you weren't listening? He squashed it down ruthlessly, ashamed he'd even though such a thing.
"I'm not a sheep," he replied stiffly. "But even I know better than to ask some things. Now. Is there a point to all this, because if not, the door is behind you."
"You're supposed to say 'it makes an ass out of you and me'." He sighed like it was the greatest shame ever Anthony didn't know this and then just smiled. The doubts were as easy to read if you knew how to read them.
And while Lucifer could push, he knew when to hold back. "There is a point Anthony. And really everyone has doubts. And no one wants someone bleating their praises all the time." Smiling he leaned forward and placed a red apple on Anthony's desk.
"Remember Anthony, if all things happen for a reason and you already passed your test, why am I even here? Shouldn't your faith be strong enough to repulse me with a thought?" Grinning he ruffled the Saints hair, "I'll see you later Anthony. Enjoy the apple."
After Lucifer had gone, Anthony sat and stared at the apple for a long time. Then he picked it up and threw it against the wall, before sinking down onto the floor, his head in his hands.
As much as it pained him to admit it, Lightbringer had a point. Anthony should have been able to send him from his office moments after he'd walked in. Instead, he'd too focused on his self-doubt, and his supposed failings, to even try. His face burned with shame.
With shaking hands, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to call George. He'd promised to let him know about any run-ins, and this definitely qualified.