|And When I Walked Alone
Author: AnotherPerson5 PM
Ongoing drabbles, gen for the most part. Might cross over into Biblical/Christian mythology territory as a given.Rated: Fiction T - English - Chapters: 4 - Words: 2,380 - Published: 01-22-12 - id: 7765990
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Set not long after "How It Happens", but on the lighter side of things (kind of, there's a riddle in there and it's kinda dark once you get it).
Metatron contemplates the excellence that is being an angel in a mortal household with four daughters and three sons, all of whom seem loathe to deny him even the most absurd (he'd asked for 'a bit of meat' and been brought two cows and a barrel of alcohol made upon his request). He is debating whether or not to have them scare up a goat as well when he gets the news.
"Blasphemy," he growls, uncasing his wings and following behind the messenger, "Bartelby I presume."
"Oh like there's a difference."
"But isn't Bartelby only a Grigori? Watchers aren't allowed to-"
Metatron laughs, "Oh, how precious. 'Aren't allowed'. You must be new here."
He doesn't even try to look repentant, watching Loki thrash the home he's quite literally just made from scratch.
"Look at him," Bartelby twists around, rolling his eyes at The Voice, "like a child. Don't know how you'll live with him."
"I won't." Metatron quirks an eyebrow, "Live that is."
"Oh," he crosses his arm, regarding the other with amusement, "You're going to get rather dark now, aren't you?"
"I'll have to entertain myself somehow while I await His judgment."
"You've already been judged."
The smile vanishes and he clears his throat, "Listen to me and listen to me once, Brother, in the land of questions he who has an answer is not King, but a slave."
"I don't understand."
Metatron's head twitches, a summon, and almost reluctantly takes a step back, feigning a casual shrug, "Well, I wouldn't worry about it, could mean anything could mean everything. You know how good a mood He's been in. Loki!"
The now former angel of death finally notices him, the boulder still in hand as he readies to drop it through the roof again, "Metatron! When you'd get here?"
"Just leaving actually!" he tsks, "And that ladies and gentleman used to run around with a sword that could melt the gates of heaven. One day we'll look back on this and still be unable to laugh." He looks at Bartelby for a reply, but the angel is already running forward waving his arms back and forth and talking Loki down.
Good luck, Metatron thinks and leaves them to it.