[sylvanSpider]

Heaven

Sage saw right through his attempts, and couldn't help but smile in response to the glow. “Great, so a mode of communication is laid out, which means you can probably do this with other people too,” Sage said, offering his own grin. “Looks like loneliness will only happen if you let it now.” He stepped back into his meager room and plopped down on the sofa, trying to ignore the burst of dust cloud that poofed up under his backside when it made contact with the cushion.

“I take it your apartment is this shitty? I'm surprised it even came with one of these, and a comfy chair to boot! It almost beats the hospital room minus the adjustable bed and constant beeping,” Sage said, not knowing whether to laugh at the absurdity of his own comment or brood in self pity that that was what he'd seen in his last days. “They told us we don't need to, but I couldn't anyway. I sacrificed my ability to taste. The fuckers granted it, except for one thing. Apparently the flesh of demon to my senses is like the greatest delicacy. Ironic, right? What'd you end up getting for your voice besides being able to talk in people's minds? Or did they even bother to tell you?”

> > >

The Halls were as enormous as they were immaculate, marble gleaming between the random interspersions of sunlight and cloud, red carpet standing in start contrast to the white walls. Statues stood at attention in place of columns, and two more guarded opposing sides of the desk housing the clerk they needed to speak with. Other angels were there, some right off of the battlefield, others here for the same reason Katarina was – rent was due. Some chatted excitedly with each other, of those, many were apparently raiding parties and had earned their turn-ins together. There were maybe fifteen in all, as this was but one place of many, and not even one of the more impressive Halls. Katarina, and in turn her new friend, took their places in line. “I do it more out of necessity than any actual want to be out there. War is Hell, as the saying goes, no?” Katarina said, “But after being out there, It's...hard to adapt to any other job. So, I kill just enough to get by these days. Hardly any ambition left, I guess. Maybe a new face would help inspire that.”

Hell

Olivia was elated that there was someone there that knew sign. Sign was her first language, as both of her parents were deaf, but once she went to school she learned to speak normally in no time. “My name is Olivia Dalloway. Have you been dead long?” She signed, not realizing that that question was, in a sense, a rite of passage for new demons getting to know each other. Age often determined rank, and the longer one had been dead, either the more powerful – or the more respected – they tended to be. Age, so far as the afterlife went, was dictated by time spent dead rather than time spent living.

Axle laughed and grabbed a bottle of Kahlua, grabbing her chocolate milk, and dumping a shot in it. “I just made your chocolate milk a little more fun. Not enough to get you drunk, but if your tolerance is really low, it might get you tipsy.” He stirred his own chocolate milk again with his spoon and sipped from the glass. “No need to be nervous; I didn't poison it,” he said, resisting the urge to chuckle at how suspicious he sounded.

“Ask any questions you need, kid. I've been around the block a coupla times.”