IN> My Ride's Here

[Whistling in the Dark]

(Note -- language follows, some of it Furfur's.)

There was trouble at the gate. Asmodeus hated trouble at the gate. That 
Kobal was there at the same time didn't make him any happier.

The Djinn Prince stepped out. "What seems to be the issue," he asked. 
He pointedly did not look at the Angels of Final Judgment as he passed 
outside. He had never looked directly at them before, and saw no reason 
to start now.

Furfur and Kobal both stood in front of a damned soul. Said damned soul 
looked a hair disheveled, with brown hair and beard in disarray, 
looking almost hung over where he stood. Said soul also looked amused, 
which did not endear him to Asmodeus.

"What, precisely, is going on here," the Prince of the Game asked.

"I'm here for my soul," Furfur said. "He got here, I'm takin' him in. 
He's my first big fish and I'm not fucking giving him up."

"You're so cute when you bark," Kobal said with a slight smirk. "He's 
mine. He's always been mine. He'll always be mine."

"Screw you," Furfur snapped. "He was an upturned finger in the eye of 
music for thirty fucking years! He walked out whenever he damn well 
felt like it! He didn't play the game and they still loved him. He's 
*hardcore!* Hell, look at his music. 'Sacrificial Lamb.' 'I'll Sleep 
When I'm Dead.' 'Excitable Boy' -- do you have any fucking idea how 
*Hardcore* Excitable Boy is?"

"You're taking it literally," Kobal said. "I'm sorry to be the one to 
tell you, but he *lived* Dark Humor. The joke was always on them. 
Always. And in the end you die. Ask him. He did, after all. For every 
so-called hardcore piece there was a 'Splendid Isolation' or 'Gorilla, 
You're a Desperado.' He wrote about headless gun toting soldiers of 
fortune. He gave werewolves permanent waves. And he made them grin at 
faith." Kobal leaned forward. "Do you know how powerful that is? Do you 
know what that meant to Dark Humor?"

"Irrelevant," Asmodeus snapped. "We needn't bicker in front of the 
gates. Bring him to Hades for processing. We will have a proper hearing 
for the disposition of this soul in good time." He turned, walking in 
the gates, knowing the lackeys of the other two Princes would drag the 
soul along with him. He didn't describe the processing the soul would 
undergo, but he was sure he wouldn't be so bemused afterward.

Asmodeus stopped walking when he realized no one had followed him into 
Hell. Turning, he stepped back out the Gates.

Daniel and Hutriel, the Malakite and Cherub Angels of Final Justice, 
had stepped in the way. Furfur was frothing, about to smash at the 
pair. Kobal's eyes had narrowed though his smile hadn't slipped.

The soul kept smirking.

"*Furfur,*" Asmodeus snapped. He knew full well that an attack against 
the only Heavenly representatives in Hell would lead to an escalation 
of the War that Hell had deliberately avoided. The Calabite fool was 
not about to break that now. That wasn't how this Game was played. 
"Calm down."

He did not turn to face the Angels of Final Justice, but addressed them 
nonetheless. "You claim some right to this man?"

"He has met his Destiny," one of them said. "He has not met his Fate. 
He is not for you." Asmodeus didn't know which had spoken. Perhaps they 
took turns. It didn't matter.

"If he has not met his Fate, then what is he doing here," Asmodeus 
asked.

"This is a fucking *crock,*" Furfur thundered. "You're telling me the 
man who wrote 'Mister Bad Example' met his *Destiny?*"

"That is exactly what we are telling you," one of the Angels replied.

"We shall of course need confirmation of this," Asmodeus said, still 
not turning.

"They have it," a voice said, whispering. Asmodeus did turn towards 
that speaker.

Twice a week, the Archangel of Judgment visited his Angels of Final 
Justice. It was an annoyance, but it was part of the game. Perhaps this 
was that visit. Perhaps Dominic had been waiting for this soul's 
arrival. It didn't matter.

"You say this soul is Blessed, and not Damned," Asmodeus asked, 
ignoring Furfur's sputtering.

"I do," Dominic said, "He will come with me." The cloaked figure 
turned, peering at Kobal. "This one knows it, too."

"*What?*" Furfur growled, whirling on Kobal.

The Prince of Dark Humor half-shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying. 
He really does belong in Shal Mari. He'll be... *wasted* among you."

"I can indeed blame you for trying," Dominic said. "But that is for 
another day." He turned back to Asmodeus. "I trust you will release 
him?"

"You would go to war over this one man? This one soul? This one 
disreputable soul of clear bad habit, bad intent and bad example?"

"We would," Dominic said quietly. "He is Blessed, no matter how he got 
there. Do we go to war, today?"

Asmodeus waited a long moment. He didn't really care about the soul, of 
course. And he wasn't more than annoyed at Kobal -- who probably set 
all this up, anyhow. But he had to pause and consider before answering. 
It was how this move played. "No. The soul is yours. Though I wish to 
speak with him before you leave."

"Granted," Dominic answered.

Asmodeus turned to the soul. "How did you come to be here, before the 
Gates of Hell?"

The soul shrugged. "Guess I got lost." He looked around. "Nice place 
you got here."

"Your opinion means nothing to us."

"Maybe not, but then you didn't pay me anything to get it, so we're 
even." He looked at Furfur, and then Kobal. "One of you guys got a 
cigarette?"

Kobal got that damnable smirk on his face, handing a cigarette to the 
soul. "Isn't there an irony here? A man dead of lung cancer bumming a 
cigarette at the Gates of Hell on his way to Heaven?"

The soul took a drag. "What, it's gonna hurt me now?" He looked around, 
and walked over to Dominic. "Sorry, guys. My ride's here."

Dominic regarded the soul for a long moment. "You are the man who wrote 
'The Indifference of Heaven?'"

"That's me."

"You were wrong."

The soul shrugged. "It's been known to happen."

Asmodeus watched Dominic gather the soul into his cloak, and then they 
were gone. He turned to look at Furfur. "I will be having words with 
Baal over this incident, Hardcore. We do not interfere with the Angels 
of Final Justice. That is the compact."

"Yeah? Fuck you." Furfur stomped off, snarling.

"He's so cute when he's pouty."

"Measure yourself carefully, Kobal. What did you hope to accomplish by 
this?"

Kobal half smiled, striking a cigarette of his own. "I got to see 
Heaven take Warren Zevon in, knowing full well the kind of music and 
truth he's going to spread up there. You have to admit, that's funny."

Asmodeus considered, and let the point stand. Very occasionally, Kobal 
was right.

***

	It's the same old story
	Same old tune
	They all say
	Someday soon
	My sins will all be forgiven
	A gentle rain
	Falls on me
	And all life folds back
	Into the sea.
	We contemplate
	Eternity
	Beneath the vast indifference of Heaven.
	The past seems realer than the present to me now
	I've got memories to last me

	-- Warren Zevon (1947-2003)

--
Eric A. Burns
Freelance Writer and Textual Whore
http://www.annotations.com
"Firmly grasp my employment and heave it elsewhere, Princess." --Wigu