Authors: Alexandra Rowland
Lalael laid on the floor and stared at the ceiling. “What do gods DO all day?”
“
Not a lot, seems to me.”
“
Maybe I'll get another vision or something.” Lalael said, turning over and lying on his front. “Remember when we had exciting lives and – and went on heists and had madcap adventures and escaped by the down of our wings?”
“
You want visions now?”
“
I liked it better before we did this. And I miss my things. I lost my things in the fire and then more things when we left the harbor... At least I had warning for leaving Watson's.”
Lucien hesitated. “You wish you had more things?”
“
Things that were mine,” Lalael corrected. He waved his hand around at the contents of their audience chamber – the converted living room. It had been redecorated with deep, thick carpets in bright colors of burgundy red like spilled wine and rubies, the deep greens of live pine needles and emeralds, velvet-night blues, and purples like amethysts and deep water. The walls were no longer beige, but hung artistically with more intensely colored sweeps of fabric. “I left my plants behind on the apartment roof, and they're dead now if they weren't burned.”
Lucien paused again and got up. A moment later, he came back into the room holding a heavy-looking cardboard box. “I was going to give you this for... for Christmas, since it's coming up, but maybe that was a silly idea, and I guess you can just have it now because – because I want you to be happy,” Lucien's tone shifted into something clearly rehearsed, “And I know what I said when we were out in the woods, and – this is a stupid speech. Just... Open it, and I'm sorry about before, and that's all I was planning on saying whenever I gave it to you.”
He set it down on the rug next to Lalael, who sat up and pulled it towards him.
He opened the flaps and stared inside.
“
Oh,” he said. “Oh.
Ekite shkenval e zhevesh ke asheliminu
, these are
mine?”
It was a box of
guns. Lalael looked up from it, eyes shining with awe and glee.
Lucien nodded, shrugging. “Just because I don't like them doesn't mean... Well. Never mind, there they are. Now you have things. There's sixteen of them, all different kinds, and ammo and there's a guy with a blunderbuss he'll loan you, and he wouldn't let me buy it off him for anything, and a chemist who knows how to make gunpowder, and I was going to give you a book but then I thought, that's lame compared to a box of – those. They were very expensive, so just go... be the best at them or something.” Lucien stopped talking for a fraction of a second and then added, “I think Mara's calling, so I'm going to go see what she wants before she beats the door down,” and never mind that Mara had never done such a thing.
Lalael really, really wanted a wave of demons to attack. He wondered how many of the guns he could carry on his person at once and promptly hauled the box up to his room to find out.
***
There was a vague sense of vertigo a few weeks later when their congregation had swelled still further and they
still
hadn't quite run out of food yet. Lucien wasn't sure quite how this happened. Just in case, he kept juggling wishes and expectations: A wish in his head for it to continue and the expectation that it would do so without him worrying about it too much. Just in case. He had no idea if it worked like that.
“
Lalael, I have the new census information and the minutes from the last priests' meeting, if you care to take a look,” Mara said, entering what the Followers called the 'sanctuary' and what the gods called their 'office'. “Also, I've scheduled the seamstresses to come in to tailor the ceremonial robes for you--”
“
No. Waste of resources,” Lucien said promptly, as he said every time she brought it up.
“
Morale is a resource.”
“
Morale doesn't keep anyone warm in the winter, but fabric does. No. The decorations in here are ridiculous enough. You know, you could've had the rugs used as insulation in the new housing.”
“
Just put the tablets over here,” Lalael said absently. He set down the sheaf of papers he'd been reading and rubbed his eyes. “Lucien, get up and stop
lounging
on things. Why don't you ever help with this?”
“
Because neither of us,” Lucien said petulantly, “likes the decisions I make. No one does.”
“
I'm glad we all agree on that, my lord,” said Mara. “I'll tell the seamstresses noon tomorrow –”
“
No,” the gods said in unison.
“
How many new ones, Mara?” asked Lalael, pulling the weekly census towards him and perusing it.
“
Twelve this week, my lord,” answered Andrew, scuttling into the room.
The angel shrugged. “Not bad.”
“
How are the visions, lord?”
“
Haven't had any since we got into this,” Lalael said darkly, tossing aside the list.
“
I'm sorry, lord.”
“
No matter. Let's see what things these priests want now.” He pulled the stack of wax tablets toward him and began looking through them. It wasn't worth wasting paper on trivial temporary notes like these; any decisions they approved of would later be copied down if important, or more likely memorized.
“
Really throwing themselves into it, aren't they?” Lucien grumbled from his place on the floor.
“
Oh my... um. Oh my me.”
“
Now isn't that the most egotistical thing I've heard all week,” came Lucien's voice from somewhere around Lalael's ankle. He'd lounged all the way down to the floor. “You could have said 'Oh my Lucien' or something. Sounds better.”
“
No, it doesn't have the right ring.” Lalael leaned over the arm of his chair and looked down at him. “Oh my Antichrist?”
“
No no, that's not right either. Oh My Us?”
“
Um. Lords?”
Lalael sat up again and attended. “Right, let's see then. Haven't decided on an actual name yet, don't see why that's relevant right now –”
“
Lucienism: Obviously the best option. I mean, try saying Lalaelianity three times fast.”
Lalael rolled his eyes hard. “They're overdoing the business meeting orderliness, but at least they have something to do besides have fistfights. Wait, what's this? Lucien, did you –?”
Lucien sat up and looked at the tablet Lalael handed him. “Oh for heaven's sake, where are they going to get the virgins to sacrifice to us? Why are these people priests?”
“
Because the useful people are too busy doing useful things to bother,” Mara said.
Lalael rolled his eyes again. “Just tell them to stop all this foolishness about sorting out technical details of idiotic things and focus instead on
keeping people alive.
”
Mara snapped her fingers and Andrew immediately whipped out a notebook. “
Commandment Six,
” Andrew muttered to himself, “
Thou shalt not be bureaucratic fusspots.”
Lalael opened his mouth to protest this, then closed it and sat back in his chair.
“
That's quite apt, actually,” Lucien said, marveling. “I approve of that commandment.”
“
We don't want any sacrifices, nor do we require any.”
“
I would kill for a –”
Lalael interrupted this. “Lucien, be
careful
what you say,” he snarled, suddenly looming over the Fallen.
“
I was just saying I wanted a –”
“
I said
no
.” Lalael's wings snapped out of nowhere and arched menacingly – all their clothes had been modified by the seamstresses (they had admitted that was probably a reasonable expenditure of resources). Mara and Andrew were silent. This was the first show of great power from their god that they had seen since... ever.
Fire flickered just out of sight around Lalael, and his wings crackled with energy. “If you say one more word, those two are going to run off and make it happen no matter how ridiculous it is. Don't say you wish you had a bowl of mango sherbet, don't say you want your entire wardrobe made of silk, don't even wish for a chocolate-coated peanut.
Nothing
. Not one word.”
“
I am perfectly content and I want for nothing,” Lucien said to the humans, although he did not take his eyes off of the angel. The air around Lalael sighed slightly, and the angel seemed to shrink back to normal size as he tucked his wings away. Mara and Andrew sagged with disappointment.
“
Leave us,” Lalael commanded, sitting back down and picking up the census. “We will discuss the other issues alone.”
***
“
No, 'Lael, I keep telling you—”
“
And I keep telling you to Stop Calling Me That, but it never works either.”
“
You've only said that – what, twice or something –”
“
Your lordships?” Andrew said, peeking past the half-closed door.
“
Andrew, tell this bastard he's being an idiot,” Lalael demanded amiably.
“
Your mother was being an idiot,” Lucien amicably countered.
“
I don't
have
a mother, Lucien, neither do you. So you
are
being an idiot.”
“
Your mother was being an idiot,” Lucien repeated.
“
We don't –! That doesn't make
any sense
! For goodness' sake, Lucien!”
“
Your Lordships?” Andrew ventured again. “Um. There's someone out here to see you. He – Er... She – Um? Well, this... person wants to talk to Lalael,” he finished halfheartedly.
“
If it's those girls who want to know something about some kind of great rite and using two athames – ” Lalael began.
Lucien finished: “Just tell them that we told them last time to please stop because we don't understand what they're asking about, and that it doesn't need to go into the suggestion box either.”
“
No, it's not them, she... Er. He?” Andrew glanced behind himself with consternation. “It's someone who won't tell me what they want with you except that they want to see Lalael.”
The gods sighed and dragged their thrones into the center of the room with an air of woeful resignation. “Send whoever it is in, then, Andrew,” Lucien said, flapping his hand at the priest. “Now, Lalael, I –”
“
Your Lordships, with all due respect, presenting your visitor, the Angel Jocelin,” Andrew said, with a bow and a flourish towards the door. Lucien and Lalael abruptly stopped arguing and stared at the door, stunned. Andrew flung it wide.
“
Lord – Lady – Um. Angel Jocelin, our most prestigious gods...”
“
Give it a
rest
, Andrew,” Lucien muttered, sinking down in his chair a bit. Where were his daggers? And was he about to be attacked and killed? And could he count on Lalael to back him up in a fight against another angel? And how many weapons did Lalael have on him right now?
“
Lord Lalael and Lord Lucien,” the priest finished.
They both got a very strong impression of
gold.
Jocelin was the very definition of androgynous beauty. Neither recognizably male nor female, as far as anyone in the room could tell, and this was emphasized by the long white cloth tied about the angel's hips in the ancient Egyptian style: Jocelin's bare chest was smooth, flat, neither muscled nor unmuscled, entirely unmarked: No navel, no nipples.
They stared as Jocelin stepped delicately into the room as if too good for the floor. The cloth skirt billowed and clung about Jocelin's legs as if it was alive as the angel performed a movement that was somewhere between a bow, a curtsy, and a disdainful half-kneel.
Lalael and Lucien suddenly felt drastically under-dressed. Perhaps Mara had been on the right track with those ceremonial robes.
“
Our comrade, Honored Angel Lalael,” the angel said, “We thank thee for thy hospitality.”
“
Um. You're welcome, Honored Angel Jocelin,” Lalael said nervously. “Why don't you get up off the floor? Andrew, bring a chair for our guest, please?”
“
Pray tell, Angel Lalael –”
“
Just call me Lalael, really.”
“
Such a travesty could never occur, Angel Lalael!”
“
Of course, Angel Jocelin, you're absolutely correct.” Lalael was already cowed.
“
Right,” Lucien said, drawing it out into several syllables. “Lalael, you know this...” The Fallen paused to debate gender and gave up a moment later. “Person?”