#woohoo it's pre-fall satan!

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

A little something for the Solstice Event!

Hiya! So, this is Chapter One of the current draft of my original work. Take this as a little taster of what's to come! I'll also be posting Chapter Two (a bit cheeky of me, I was going to combine the two posts but I feel that might make this one a bit lengthy, so I'm breaking it up).

Some context: It's basically my re-write of Paradise Lost but heavily inspired by a mix of mystic lore found in the more obscure corners of Abrahamic religions.

Hope you all enjoy!

I don't think any content warnings apply part from violence but I don't think there's anything graphic <3.

The doors parted, letting the light flood in and her shadow cast onto the metal floor. Determined footsteps echoed throughout the room, rhythmic, pounding. The pockets of respite from her storming steps were filled with the sound of rushing water. 

What the woman walked upon was a walkway, with streams flowing either side of the path, urging her to watch her footing. It glowed dimly from underneath the manufactured rivers, almost like the lighting of this place had shied away, not wanting to be too bright. Just ahead, her old eyes could make out a figure, who stood over a pool, which had been elevated from the floor, built-up to look deceptively almost like a platform or table from afar. Once the silhouette ahead caught sight of who was approaching, they straightened up, composing themself in real time.

“Mater!” The figure, now revealing herself to be another woman, bowed, nervously, “I am surprised to see you’ve taken such a shape, are you-”

“Israf’il.” 

Her voice was stern and deep, with a raspy element to it.

She was awaiting more information, placing herself firmly by the pool. 

Quickly, Israf’il caught on. 

“S-sorry, Matron.” She hurried herself round to the long edge of the pool, “As you can see, I’ve done all I can to initiate reparations but he is… unresponsive to them.”

“Stubborn, even in unconsciousness,” The older woman scoffed as she peered over the edge and into the waters, which were too lit up by a green-hued backlight.

Before her was an image which she knew she would not forget anytime soon. A boy lay bare, floating atop the water, covered in lacerations. 

That missing arm, in particular, was like a blow to Mater’s face. Humiliating. 

As her eyes examined the body, she noticed he was still bleeding. Molten, white-hot substance still oozed from some wounds, refusing to dissolve into the solution surrounding him. Instead, his blood stood defiantly above it, like oil atop water. 

She turned to Israf’il.

“Give me all vital values.”

“Struuo is still leaking from half the wounds on the body. The other half have been sealed but not permanently. Attempts at replenishing charge have been unsuccessful. With him still bleeding, I can’t do much. I have tried, Mater. I have really tried.”

Slowly, her veiled face turned to meet Israf’il’s anxious expression. 

“Are you requesting for me to take over reparations?”

She had long since swallowed her pride. If Israf’il could, she would have admitted this undertaking was too great a task as soon as she had laid eyes upon the job. 

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, please.” 

Israf’il couldn’t make out much from beyond the netting which concealed pretty much everything minus Mater’s eyes. It had a hold on her, how little Mater was giving away. Her eyes had been practically trained to reveal as little as possible, only occasionally drifting the wounded before looking back as the younger woman with paralysing, but subtle, authority. She stood proud next to Israf’il, probably more than a head higher, with the composure and stillness of a chess piece. 

And she forced Israf’il to behold her in an agonising silence that went on for too long. 

Eventually, she came to a decision. 

“Very well. My sisters and I shall handle this. You may take your leave.”

A sigh of relief escaped Israf’il’s lips. 

“Thank you, Mater.”

Promptly, she picked up the skirts of her saree and left, hurried footsteps clacking against the walkway. 

Once Mater heard the giant door shut, she gently closed her eyes, taking a moment for herself.

Foolish boy.

Tentatively, she took his limp, olive-skinned hand into hers, feeling how cold he was, even beyond the initial chill of the water. A shudder ran through her, but even in the privacy of her lonesome, Mater would not let her weakness show. Her face remained almost blank, with just the hints of her disapproval making themselves known along her creased brow. Her worry lines caught the light of the pool, the rest of her face buried in gradients of shadow. 

“Why did you do this to yourself?” The woman was almost speaking to herself, “You were told to take precautions and yet you jeopardised your-”

She stopped herself. Mater’s eyes caught sight of the holo-tablet lying atop the pool’s edge, just further along from her.  

Letting go of his hand, she snatched the document from the surface and began swiping through what were presumably Israf’il’s scrawlings. 

It didn’t give away much, just that he had bled and bled and bled. 

That was until Mater reached the end of the page. 

An arrow, pointing to the right, suggesting the presence of a previous page. 

Mater’s steady finger clicked on it and she was met with a wealth of information once the page loaded. 

Judging from the writing style, and the fact the screen had changed from emitting a green light to a red one, she assumed this was Yur’il’s report. 

‘Left with two vorpals, a spear and no verse.’

“No verse?” 

Her head slowly turned to face the boy. 

“You left with no verse?”

Her question, of course, was not answered, but it didn’t matter. Mater wouldn’t be swayed with excuses and justifications. 

“Why would you do that?”

Mater read on. 

‘Did not meet me for official recording of absence. Identified leaving due to automated notification.’

You know, it was handy she’d given Yur’il the ability to sense the comings and goings of Heaven; especially when people were beginning to choose to leave without clearance. 

Her jaw tensed as she scrolled down. 

‘Sent out Jibra’il to track him down to hand him a verse. Appears he entered Dunya before Jibra’il could get there in time.’

“You were always fast when you wanted to be.” She chuckled wryly, setting the tablet aside.

This behaviour was most unusual. Sure, ever since Mater had known the kid, he had been a hothead, but this… this required major correction. 

This was not right. 

She sighed, turning to perch herself atop the pool’s edge. Mater swivelled around, so he’d remain under her gaze.

“You’re going to be better. I’ll see to it to make it so.”

Hours later, white eyes fluttered open, glowing in the dark abyss. He sucked in a breath of air, feeling the coldness against his teeth. Those blazing spheres moved this way and that, pausing every now and then, registering what they could in the obscurity. 

His body hummed with a dull ache. 

Groggily, he got up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and turned to flick the blinds open. The Ordinator wrapped an arm around his knee, hugging it in the crevice of his elbow as he stared out the window. 

The metropolis stared back, breaking apart the light as it entered his room, causing patterns of stripes and distortions to map his face.  

He knew it was probably time to get up, that they knew he was awake now. Duties called and, instinctually, something urged him to get up from his bed and make his way out of the apartment. Nevertheless, he remained, transfixed on what was beyond the glass. The outside world was reflected in his pupiless, silvery eyes, eyes which were still tearing up a little, from the giant yawn he let out mere moments after waking up. 

The Ordinator had clearly forgotten how home looked; and he clearly wasn’t used to how home made him feel. 

The city, even from the safety of his bedroom, looked to want to engulf him. Rationality would state that he was safe behind these walls, but the city clearly threatened to devour him whole- like the eye of a giant was boring into him, this landscape before the boy made him feel like a droplet in a vast ocean. A skyline of metal, glass and light, buildings built on top of each other, competing to reach new heights and beyond them, incapable of being unseen once acknowledged… a lion in the grass, the Ziggurat: all visuals were being thrown at him at once. 

He swallowed hard. Trying to remember what happened. Why was he back here? 

The Ordinator looked down at his arm hugging his knee. Eyes widened. He raised it, bringing the limb to his face and flexed his fingers, balling his hand into a fist, then releasing, then balling it into a fist once more. Looking back at his own Eden, he drew both knees into his chest, burying half his face into them. 

“Morning, Ordinator Azaz'il.” The intercom spoke, “Would you like to hear your schedule for today?”

[cherryirne]

oh no she's written a coakes fic...

@giant-gloria that's for you, don't punch me pls.

and actually i was writing that while waiting for my turn to go to my psychiatrist. i'm really fine, guys, don't worry. it's just better to write some cuteness instead of talking to people who are bothering you and telling a story about "gays are satanic murdoc u r scaring the kids". it's a joke, there was no murdoc actually, only homophobia (and fucking interesting why? only because i have a pre-mullet and wear a striped t-shirt???). well, it's russia.

ANYWAY: COAKES ARE ON TUMBLR AGAIN! WOOHOO!

(and maybe i could translate my old fics about them, but only if you need them, )