Saint Michael the Archangel | Dt. Michael Angel (the_sacred_fire) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2010-12-10 13:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | saint anthony, satan |
Who: Satan, Saint Anthony
When: Sometime after Clio's been rescued
Where: Anthony's office
What: Hi! :D
Notes: Reposted as a favour, originally posted by Satan and Anthony
Satan didn't like the saints. In fact, he liked them even less than he liked the rest of humanity, and that was a considerable amount of disliking. But some of them had some very neat tricks, and Saint Anthony had seemed very mouthy. It was enough of a reason for Satan to give him a visit.
He lounged behind Anthony's desk, feet propped up and snooping through the doors as he waited for the saint to arrive.
Anthony had gone out to run errands, and he'd been gone most of the morning. He'd finally gotten back, laden with lunch and things for his office, and once again, gotten hit with a feeling of evilwrongbad. 'Not again', he groaned to himself.
He let himself inside, slowly climbing the stairs. He put everything away, and then went back into his inner office. Somehow, he was not at all surprised to find a man sitting in his chair.
"What is it with you guys and sitting at my desk?" he asked, talking the chair opposite.
"It's such a nice desk," Satan said cheerfully, sending Anthony a toothy smile. "It'd be a shame not to sit at it. So, you're Saint Anthony, huh?"
"Well I'm glad you're enjoying it," Anthony deadpanned. After what had happened with Lucifer, he was determined not to let this one get under his skin.
"Yup, that would be me," he replied. "No need to guess who you are."
"You're cuter than the picture on your Wikipedia article," Satan said, smile not dimming one iota. He so enjoyed disturbing people. "And I figured that since Lucy alread paid you a visit, I should too. Just to make sure you got the full experience."
He picked up one of the pens on Anthony's desk, twirling it between his fingers. "Speaking of Lucy, did you know that he kidnapped a pagan recently? That rascal."
Well that was certainly unexpected.
"I, uhm...thanks?" he said, not really sure how to respond. "I didn't actually know there was a Wikipedia article about me."
"Well isn't that thoughtful of you," Anthony replied, smiling back. If Satan wanted to play the phony smiles and pleasantries game, he could do that too.
He watched Satan spin the pen, fighting the urge to snatch it away from him, like you might a misbehaving child. "I heard," he said evenly. "Caused quite a stir. I also heard they found her again."
"She's back safe and sound," Satan chuckled, his smirk growing wider. "Go Team White Hats! But I found myself wondering how Michael could have possibly found her so so quickly. He's good, but he isn't psychic. How could one angel find a poor, lost muse in a city of billions? Do you have any idea, Anthony?"
"I might have helped a bit," Anthony replied, lifting his chin a tiny bit. That was his gift, to find things that were lost, and he wasn't going to apologize for it. And he hadn't been about to refuse Michael, he'd never even considered it.
"Now that you bring it up, the idea of Michael being psychic is just plain scary," he said, voice tinged with amusement.
"Michael's lack of psychic powers is the only thing stopping the world from become a fascist angel dictatorship," Satan said cheerfully, standing up and walking around the desk to lean on the corner of it, looking down at Anthony.
"I think I like you already, Anthony. For the life of me, I can't understand why someone with as usefull a skill as yours doesn't get more recognition."
"And now it's not so amusing," Anthony said. "Though I find it hard to believe Michael would be a dictator. Archangel he may be, but even he answers to God."
"You know, whenever someone like you says they like me, it usually ends up ruining my whole day," Anthony answered. "As for lack of recognition...people still remember me, or I would've faded long ago. I'm happy with what I have."
"You clearly don't know Michael well enough, then," Satan said. "And you should be more optimistic, little saint."
Satan spread his arms. "And don't be coy, Anthony. Everybody wants something. It's one of the basic laws of the universe."
"That's probably true," Anthony agreed. "We talk-well, actually, I talk and he adds things in occasionally-but he doesn't really confide in me, and I wouldn't expect him to."
"More optimistic about Michael as a dictator, or just in general?" he queried, raising an eyebrow. "Because the former is just silly, and the latter, well...I strive to do that every day. Some days it's easier than others."
"You're right," Anthony agreed. He leaned in, as if to impart some great secret. "What I want is to enjoy my lunch, but that's clearly not going to happen until you tell me why you're here. So. Why are you here?"
"Maybe I'm just trying to be friendly," Satan suggested. He tilted his head, considering. He hadn't showed off this little party trick to any of the saints yet, and he quite liked the effect it had on people.
"And if you want to talk to Michael, kid-" Quite suddenly, Satan's features started shifting, his skin almost seeming to melt and his bones rearranging themselves a little right in front of Anthony's eyes. Within seconds, someone who looked identical to Michael was standing where Satan had been. "-I can do that for you."
"I've seen what happens when you lot try to be friendly," Anthony said. "It never ends well. And it's always the lead-in to something worse."
When Satan's face started to change, Anthony stood up so fast he knocked the chair over. "What on earth-how did you-why-"
He took a deep breath. "If I wanted to talk to Michael, I'd call him. You are nothing but a cheap imitation and quite frankly, you are wearing on my very last nerve."
Technically, Anthony didn't have much to worry about. The Rules were very clear about how and when Satan could use someone's image, and it was a very boring and stifling list. He was generally only allowed to do it in situations just like these, to give someone a profound case of the creeps. Or to have sex with someone, but that didn't seem likely right now.
Still, there was no reason Anthony needed to know that.
"And what'll you do if I wear away at that very last nerve, hmm?" Satan asked, grinning far more cheerfully than Michael ever did. "Bleat for your guardian angel?" With a smirk, he shifted again, and suddenly Anthony was looking at George, albeit a much more malevolent version than usual. "Or your saint friends?"
Satan grabbed Anthony by the shirt and shoved him back against a wall. "But like I said, Anthony dear, I like you. Which is why I'll politely ask Lucifer not to tear your eyes out for ruining his fun with the little muse."
Anthony was so very, very creeped out right now. Michael never smiled like that. Michael's eyes never looked like that.
"I do not bleat," Anthony spat. He'd go and repent later for succumbing to wrath, but for right now, at least the anger masked his fear. And he was so sick of Hell-spawn ambushing him in his office.
When Satan turned into Not-George, he felt like he was going to throw up. There was something so fundamentally wrong about George looking like that.
"You're missing the sword, it really ties the whole image together," he said. "And contrary to popular belief, I can take care of myself. Seriously, does everyone think I spent the last 780 years reading?"
OK, he hadn't been expecting to be manhandled into the wall. Which was probably why it did happen, he didn't expect it, so he didn't struggle. "Well I am just thrilled you like me," he said, his face much too close to Satan's for his liking.
"Isn't that just wonderful of you," he spat out. "But someone had to ruin his fun, or he would have killed her. And I couldn't let that happen. Not when I could do something to help."
"If you'd like to throw a punch at me, feel free," Satan said, cackling a little. "Wait, hold it. Let me put a friendlier face on."
And with that, Anthony found himself eye to eye with himself. An identical copy of the saint was holding him to the wall.
"Anyway, Anthony, I just came to tell you that I think you and I could be friends, if you ever decide to come to your sense and join people who can actually appreciate your talents."
"You are so not worth it," Anthony said derisively.
He watched as Satan shifted into him, and for a second, his fingers started to curl into a fist. 'Are you really gonna rise to his pathetic bait?' a little voice inside his head asked. It sounded just like George. 'You're so much better than that. Settle down. Don't give him the satisfaction.'
Anthony exhaled loudly. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, not meaning it at all. "And I assume by appreciate, you mean 'use for your own designs'."
Satan knew when someone wasn't quite right for the Fall, and he hadn't expected Anthony to crumble so easily anyway. So with a smirk, he let go of Anthony's shirt and let the saint slide down the wall.
"My designs are very fun, kiddo," Satan said, still wearing Anthony's face. He slid a card with one of his cell phone numbers into the pocket of Anthony's pants, still smirking. "You'd like them if you just gave them a try. You know how to find me if you change your mind, though."
Anthony hadn't been expecting him to let go, so he slid down rather quickly and landed on his tail bone. Glaring up at Satan he said, "Thanks for that."
"I'll just bet they are," he muttered. He flinched violently when Satan stuck the card in his pocket, the touch made his skin crawl, even through his clothes.
"Something tells me I really wouldn't," he disagreed. "And the day I change my mind is the day I've lost it, but thank you anyway."
Amused, Satan shifted one more time to his regular female form. She patted Anthony's cheek.
"Just keep it in mind, sweetie."
With that, she got to her feet and strolled out of Anthony's office without a backward glance, practically skipping the whole time.