Wednesday's Child is Full of Grace

[Summoner Yuna]

Vivian && Reizou = Best Fanfiction Writers Ever / Cousins / At Her Hourse / SummonerYuna && Vogue Anti-Christ.

We are combining our obvious genius into a fiction for you people to enjoy. It was originally a written out roleplay, so thats how it is going to be set out. We were deciding on whether to make it so that Reizou was the one who posted the entire thing, but then we decided that this would be funner. Signing in and out and posting. I, Summoner Yuna, will most probably not be active for anything else but this.

Reizou and I are witty, smart, intelligent, and better than you. Don't forget =D
PS: Reizou's friend has pictures for this that she draws. Fanart. Yush. W00t.

Now, welcoming our fantastic, still-going story ...

wednesday's child is full of
grace

Chapter One: The Holy Genitals
Post One: Satan's on Hiatus

Satan and surrender were two words that were usually incongruous, that is until one day the overlord of hell left his fiery throne. There was no need for him anymore, he decided, no need for him to torment and seduce humanity into evil, since they did a perfectly good job ruining their own lives. Besides, wasn't that what God wanted, his antagonism? The hero was only as good as his villain, and what better way to insult the kingdom of heaven than to quit your job? So Lucifer, son of morning, went missing on a Wednesday, leaving a note on his kitchen fridge telling his minions that he was out to find himself.

Hell took his leave very well, throwing parties that played the Macarena to the highest volume. Goodbye despot, and good riddance. Tempting souls and mind-raping priests like the big cheese ordered was only fun for so long, and after that it got boring. No, all they wanted was to party and listen to obnoxious music, sung by Fergie the girl with the horrible venereal disease and her crew of pea clowns. And party they did, and their music was so loud that heaven came down to investigate what was all the ruckus.

When they found out, all hell broke loose, pardon the pun.

All things went wrong with the system. They could not send people to hell anymore, because the punishment that awaited the sinners was a gala that rivaled Woodstock in the sixties. After much deliberation, they finally decided on something that worked like a dream: dead human slave labor. Souls intended to go to heaven still went to heaven, and souls who were supposed to burn in hell instead ended up being paper pushers and reapers of other damned ghosts. They had to wipe their memories first of course, since one wouldn't want a murderer to reap a tiny dead girl who died of leukemia.

It worked well enough; some say even better than the previous setup. Angelic protesters of the system were soon silenced when they realized all the possibilities their human cattle could do: serve them coffee, perform sexual favors, all that good stuff. Heaven became more heavenly than ever, at least for those who were served. As for the ones doing the serving, they weren't allowed to talk that much.

Bel really could not care either way, but it greatly inconvenienced him when the heaven patrol squad came to him first when Lucifer disappeared. He answered politely, “I'm his shadow, not his keeper,” and stuck his tongue out at them, though they detained him just a little while longer to ask questions, from the mundane (Are you sure you don't know where Lucifer is?) to the downright silly (Mind if we go out to the heavenly bathrooms for a little something something?).

The man, if it was proper to call him a man, was one of Lucifer's projects of boredom, an artificial construct from shadow, made flesh by demon magic. After his creation, his father deemed him inept at everything and mostly left him to his own devices, and Bel ran off with his freedom to frolic in the mortal realm, screwing girls and boys wherever he went and reveling in the fact that his hellish heritage made him immune to all sexually transmitted diseases. Heaven even let him pop in once in a while, drunk as sin, swirling to a nonexistent tune and taking his clothes off. They found him entertaining, especially when inebriated, and considered him a pet of sorts.

Bel was only in it for the free food.

Today he was in heaven again, walking around the office space section, greeting the angels with a wave that would make Miss Universe envious. He plopped down on one of the tables near the window and looked at his wispy reflection, smiling. If there was something he had to give Lucifer credit for it was his good looks. Ignoring the weirdness of his long clown red hair and matching eyes he was actually very handsome, and women loved him in heaven and in the mortal plane, not to mention some men. Satisfied with his appearance, he swayed his legs.

“Good morning you rays of sunshine!” he said to the angels gleefully.

~

Feedback, please, if you can. Remember that this is a roleplay, so the second character in the story won't be coming in until I sign off to let Reizou sign on. AND GUARDIANOFHEARTS. WHEREVER YOU ARE. POST HERE. PLEEEASE ;-;

[Vogue AntiChrist]

Keep in mind that I was extremely young when of which I did this roleplay.
Therefore my writing I submit now will be crap.
And because Vivi's a beech, she won't let me edit it.
Yes. So. PH34R THE PRESENT TENSE.

Chapter One: The Holy Genitals
Post Two: "Satiny Smooth Satan!"

“I’ll cut you,” Octaviel scowls, returning the sentiment in the only way he knows how. Meanwhile he keeps busy picking apart a banana-manna muffin, gauging nutritional value with one jab of his theologically perfect nails.

“Bel, do you know many calories are in ten grams of manna?”

Most chorus angels swallow without chewing, Octaviel no exception as he eyeballs the demon sitting at the table, across the couch and coffee table. He declares, “Far too many, that’s what,” and scarfs down a handful of muffin crumbs with his head tilted back, wispy black fringe parting over his forehead. Like he’s taking pills. Then the arc of his chin lowers slowly, his eyes swivelling around until Bel is in their view again.

For an angel who sings down the divine glory of God every day, Octaviel is kind of passive-aggressive when you meet him. Like girls who are mean to a boy they like, he often shoots Bel poisonous looks for no reason at all, will sometimes fold his muffin's paper cup into a crane before sending it on its maiden flight for one of Bel's body parts. And so is the case this morning, as the little origami piece goes sailing into the demon's forehead. That done, he then turns to guzzle down his coffee, eyes closed, petulant.

With facial symmetry in the top 1% of the angelic demography, Octaviel looks the part without acting it; his nose is very delicate, and many a deity has had the urge to break it with a fist. He is green-eyed, pale of face, has fine black hair curling just a touch at his ears and the nape of his neck. The consensus is that he totally owns at karaoke, but still totally does not own when it comes to personable qualities.

And that the mouth that praises God with song would much rather be doing something else-- but that's just because Yrouel's jealous, the scheming little bitch!

Once again, nobody knows what an angel of the choir is doing in the office space. At least, they know but they won't say. Octaviel leans into the couch with languid movements, eyeing Bel like a feral cat.

-

Yes. Give us feedback. Or ph34r our Wrath.

[Summoner Yuna]

We'll stop it at my post and continue tomorrow, okay?

Part One: The Holy Genitals
Post Three: 'Sataniy Smooth Satan!' Part 2

The paper crane hit Bel right between the eyes before falling into his lap, and he picked it up delicately, as if holding a precious treasure. “Octaviel, stop sending me these love letters. I'm a whore, and you deserve a finer girl.” A snap of the fingers, and his shirt and jeans were replaced by a slinky black dress, little stuffed teddy bears carefully inserted into the area that was meant to accommodate breasts. It was a short number that revealed his legs, which were shaved and smooth like satin, skin as pale as the moon.

“Satiny smooth Satan!” He chirped at the angel, rising from the table and getting himself a cup of coffee, heavily diluted with milk and spiked with six packets of Splenda. “Damn, I wonder how women can stand walking around practically naked in parties,” he stated, removing the fluffy toys from his dress and playfully throwing them at Octaviel, aiming for his crotch. Taking a sip of his drink, he sat down on the couch, legs splayed haphazardly open and revealing the horrifying fact that the demon walked around commando.

Everyday was pretty much like this for Bel. He annoyed and entertained angels, bummed for free sweets, and spent his nights in strip clubs, throwing shrapnel at the dancers until it was morning again, where he would repeat the process. There was hardly any room for sleep in the equation, and at most he got one to two hours of it in the wee hours of the morning. Not like he needed to sleep anyway, nor did he have the desire to, for his dreams were filled with incoherent messages that he gathered was a side effect of constant drunkenness.

It was not entirely accurate to say that Bel was a dimwit. In reality, he was actually as intelligent as the next average celestial being. To him however, it was far better to act like a blithering idiot and be free of any responsibilities rather than be a smartass and be piled with so much work. And also, it worked to have people underestimate him. No one ever needed to know that the shadow of Lucifer was capable of great destruction. Satan fell for his dunce act, and so did heaven. That way he could strike his enemies unaware.

Besides, when you're retarded, stupid girls think you're cute.

The coffee now comfortably in his belly, Bel tugged at the dress on his person and grinned at Octaviel, boredom setting in enough to let a story escape from his mouth. “I gave a blowjob to an angel a few days ago and ended up accidentally biting his thing off. I didn't know who it was because it was dark when we got it on, but I knew he was a choir boy like you because his screams could have pacified a lion. You happen to know a recent eunuch? I have his holy appendage at the back seat of my car in New York.”

He sighed happily. Life was so good he had to wonder why emo kids existed in the first place.

~

FEED BACK PLZ, you Gardening Hoes!

[GuardianOfHearts]

Originally Posted by Summoner Yuna

AND GUARDIANOFHEARTS. WHEREVER YOU ARE. POST HERE. PLEEEASE ;-;

You could have tried PMing me. xD That's a more sure-fire way to make sure I read it. Lolz.

ANYway....


<.<

I hate you both. D:

I'd curse you to hell, but I'm afraid of what kind of news would come back if you two were sent there. =O

This was awesome. So awesome. I laughed so hard ... this is exactly my kind of satire. xD

Bel as in Belial? Prince of Trickery, Demon of Sodomy? I <3 demonology.

Post more, I'll laugh then cry over my lowliness. It makes my stories look like kindergarten scrawls. D=

[Summoner Yuna]

Originally Posted by GuardianOfHearts

You could have tried PMing me. xD That's a more sure-fire way to make sure I read it. Lolz.

ANYway....


<.<

I hate you both. D:

I'd curse you to hell, but I'm afraid of what kind of news would come back if you two were sent there. =O

This was awesome. So awesome. I laughed so hard ... this is exactly my kind of satire. xD

Bel as in Belial? Prince of Trickery, Demon of Sodomy? I <3 demonology.

Post more, I'll laugh then cry over my lowliness. It makes my stories look like kindergarten scrawls. D=

Yes, Belial. And. Omgz. You're like. Teh Awesomest Writer. Ever.

[GuardianOfHearts]

Originally Posted by Summoner Yuna

You're like. Teh Awesomest Writer. Ever.

>=O

I am not. o.< I am mediocre. I have nothing better to do with my life. =D

Yuna, I can't remember if you've read any of my works. xD *stares glumly at notes on screen and tries to think* Damn creative roadblocks.

Do you have MSN? I'd talk to you on AIM, but my AOL Guardian thing {mocking my good name!} won't let me.

[Summoner Yuna]

Originally Posted by GuardianOfHearts

>=O

I am not. o.< I am mediocre. I have nothing better to do with my life. =D

Yuna, I can't remember if you've read any of my works. xD *stares glumly at notes on screen and tries to think* Damn creative roadblocks.

Do you have MSN? I'd talk to you on AIM, but my AOL Guardian thing {mocking my good name!} won't let me.

I'm at Reizou's house right now.
She won't let me sign onto my MSN so I added you to her account
Did you get a firetail_@hotmail.com request?

[Vogue AntiChrist]

Kaaaay. I've finished my post <3 I'll put it up tomorrow.

...

{EDIT} I'm sorry people, but Summoner Yuna and I are funnier than you'll ever be. We're smarter. Better. Hotter. More intelligent. More capable of writing.
This is not ego. This is fact 8-) {/EDIT}

[Vogue AntiChrist]

Octaviel is just picking up the animals that ricocheted off his crotch when Bel delivers the punchline, thinking calm blue ocean calm blue ocean-- NO ****ING WAY before he falls off the couch sideways, landing face down on the spotless hardwood floor.

Consequently, a pause.

These mornings that he can catch up to the demon guy, Octaviel often has to resort to cheap gimmicks to hold his attention:

"Beeeeehhhlllll," comes the quiet rasp, blood pooling around his face. "Why did you keep it? That's tasteless and unhygienic." He lifts himself up by the elbows, slowly, making his way across the room Ringu-style with hair over his face. Coming out from under the coffee table Octaviel knocks his head on the edge ("Ow"), but persists in dragging his nails over the floor, stops just short of clutching at the demon's [edit: hairless] ankles.

When Octaviel gets there, the front of his choir robe is stained with a nosebleed. "Don't step on me, okay," he says, and curls into a little hamster ball-- afraid to turn onto his back in case he'll see up the demon's dress.

And don't go!

Because if he doesn't do these Sadako impersonations once in a while, Octaviel will turn emo.

[Cloud_Unchained]

I had a feeling that there was something between VA and SY. It must have been the literacy. It's a funny fic. More. :3

[Summoner Yuna]

Thanks a tonne, C_U~!

Part One: The Holy Genitals
Post Five: Byebye Mister Nose

“I kept it in case he ever wanted it back,” he said plainly, as if it were the only obvious answer. “Besides, it's not as if it will ever rot or attract maggots. That's a godly **** you're talking about. And I can reattach it, but if he yells at me I'll stick it in the wrong place. Like perhaps his forehead.” Bel laughed at the prospect of literally making a poor sap a ****head, but figured the guy deserved it. After all, the choir boy kept calling him bitch during the exchange. This usually didn't bother Bel, but it irked him that the other was trying far to hard to sound like a macho porn star.

Hey, his teeth went down by accident. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

There were certain times that Bel was upset at his status as heaven's resident pet puppy, thinking that perhaps he could do better. He could have easily lied and told them he knew the Lucifer's location, then used that bluff to force them into accommodating his wishes. The list of things they could have given him was a long one, like a temporary seat beside God's Lazy Boy chair, or a piggy back ride courtesy of Jesus. But no, he chose not to do that, and settled for a life of lesser pleasures. Also, since Bel had more of a conscience than his creator, he probably would have felt guilty in the long run for lying.

Deciding that the dress was too drafty for his tastes, he quickly returned to his customary jeans and shirt, taking out a handkerchief and kneeling down on the floor beside Octaviel. He gently wiped the other's face, which elicited a few stares from the surrounding people, for angels generally did not know that he was capable of any form of kindness. The dress gag was to be expected from him, but a caring gesture? Never.

“Yeah, I suppose keeping someone's wang is a disgusting. You didn't need to know that. I'm sorry.” He was sincere in his words for once, since Bel's one weakness was the desire to keep people who paid more than enough attention to him happy and amused. He really had no friends in heaven, and he considered everyone who liked him a potential companion. Sad to say, this sort of reasoning is very much like that of a small dog. Give them food and a pet on the head any they're satisfied. Bel was in many ways like a kicked puppy, sans the angsty baggage that came along with such things.

“What shall I do to make up for your nose?”

[Vogue AntiChrist]

Part One: The Holy Genitals
Post Six: Dog Person

Octaviel snorts softly into the hankerchief, pulling himself up and shoving Bel down in the process-- more of a second nature than any harmful intent. Tavie, after all, is a defector of Heaven's 8th Calvary Regiment, though you'd never know it looking up at him. Long sleeves have a diminishing effect.

"Oh," he says, as if he has no idea how his knee ended up on Bel's sternum, and he lets go of the horns as an afterthought. "I'm sorry." Face clean, Octaviel scrambles away and skids back onto the floor, "Only I think we're even now, so..." so... "Ah. Sorry."

He crosses his legs, turning to leer at passers-by while he wipes at the bloodstains, turning back to note the demon's change in attire. When Bel opens up with sincerity, Octaviel is alternately terrified and bursting with joy. He tries out a short hack of a laugh, keeping a healthy arm's length away from the other. "It makes for a good ice-breaker though, you know? 'There's a glowing penis in my car, want to see it later?' Ha, haha...seriously. No worries. Thanks for the--" and because he doesn't know how to put it into words, he wipes symbolically at his nose.

Octaviel is a dog person.

--

Sweet piggybacking Jesus. My posts are getting shorter by the minute.

... Damn. Gotta let SY sign on.

[Cloud_Unchained]

o.o

A dog person? Creepy. *shivers*

Nice update. MORE.

[Vogue AntiChrist]

Originally Posted by Cloud_Unchained

o.o

A dog person? Creepy. *shivers*

Nice update. MORE.

I find it creepier that he actually lost his nose o.o

[Summoner Yuna]

Oooh, I dominate the internet connection as of this second! >D

Part One: The Holt Genitals
Post Seven: Choir Boy the Slave

Bel was taken aback somewhat by the sudden assault, but he brushed it off as nothing, shrugging to himself and returning to an upright position. “It's alright,” he managed, feeling frightfully uncomfortable for reasons he could not fathom. Perhaps that was just one of the side effects of being shoved down on the ground by someone he did not intend to have sex with, perhaps it was because he never expected choir angels to be capable of such force, but either way his heart was fluttering like a caged butterfly in his chest.

Eager to change the subject, he looked blankly at the floor. He still had a good few hours to kill before it was time to poof back to earth do one of his scheduled visits to the local Goth and Go club, but now he had nothing to do. Bel looked at Octaviel questioningly for a moment, wondering what he was doing in the office space to begin with and coming to a conclusion that he was there for a snack. Or something. But anyway, the angel seemed like he had some time to kill, so he decided to go along and ramble to him, hoping that the man wouldn't mind at all. He was an angel anyway, and they were supposed to be blessed with patience and virtue and all other things normally privy only to Mary Sues. He could take it.

“Hey, Octaviel, want to know what I do all day outside of heaven?” Not bothering to wait for an answer, he looked up at the pristine ceiling. “It's basically the same thing all the time. I get drunk. I go to public places and act like a psychopath for money. They love it when I do things like impale a dove on my horns and then bring it back to life within seconds.” The demon paused for a moment, smiling. “Some of the money I donate to churches and charities. It's funny when they stare at me when I come in. Charities are nice. But the churches thing I do for the irony that I never get tired of.”

Bel was not a sad person, but he did have his moments. Like any other person with a heart, he got upset at commercials featuring third world country children and frowned at the state of cities whenever he walked by a homeless man. That was a part of the reason why he partied, to forget. It was easier not to dwell on problems for too long anyway. He considered himself lucky and a part of him even cursed the fact that his life was such a pleasure compared to other people more deserving of happiness.

“Ugh, I'm actually thinking. I don't like thinking. Quick, choir boy, tell me something funny before I start to cry.”