Fantasy Out Of Bounds

[Vik]

Myrta

Characters
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​

Timble Heathway, a nine-year-old human boy from a little way down below. Born in Montreal, his mother and father both took on a nasty car collision and died upon impact. Her soul was here, that much was made clear by the information handed over. Looking a little further, a hand slips over the angel’s mouth to cover the little hitch in her frown, the way her lips part in short lived surprise. The father was not. Her expression twists and turns with every thinly slanted word.

There’s no one now. He’s currently being kept at the old house, a child protection case worker staying there until they can find a more suitable and permanent system to place him in. Something about this tugs at the angel’s gut wrong, a feeling that hasn’t happened in a long time. There’s an outpour of empathy coming from Apronia, her eyes growing as she picks up the fact he’s bitterly alone in so many ways.

“Oh, this poor boy.” She mourns, continuing down.

“An orphan now, as you can see.” The woman beside her elaborates. Her hands are buried in her lap as they remain seated a long table. The windows tall, open, and allowing orange light to tinge the walls. “Under strict care of the government. There’s no other family member willing to step up, he’ll be thrown into a foster home.”

The paper curls in Apronia’s grasp.

“You’re telling me there’s not one family member, nor friend able to take this vulnerable child in?”

“Now, don’t be like that. The mother and father were rather isolated. They couldn’t step in, simply because they don’t know he exists.”

At times like this it seemed ridiculous to let fate do all the talking. If she had an actual say, she’d bring this knowledge straight to the relatives and wave it under their noses. The answer to all of this seemed that simple, but Apronia wouldn’t have been called her for something as easy as that. And with the papers in hand, she had a clue what this may be about. She soaks up every word written, the small menial details, and the bold striking words. This had been a devastating crash. Many things had been left behind, but the biggest being their son.

“What is it you’d like me to do?” Apronia asks instead of waits. She rather they didn’t dance around this.

Shile looks upward, tearing herself away from golden outside world to smile at the other.

“Sister, this task is delicate.”

Apronia looks puzzled as the other continued.

“Keep an eye on him, would you? That’s all I ask.”

A guardian angel, for some reason this elicits a giggle. They weren’t real roles. Human had crafted the name from a strong feeling of protection. While angels did keep a watchful eye on the mortals, they never stepped out of line. What’s theirs is theirs, they’d make do with the world they live in for now and when it came time, they’d have someone to walk them home. Which direction that stroll would lead was entirely up to them.

Both woman in the room can’t explain it, but, someone has to watch this one. Closely.

Abronia grins back, cupping her face and sighing happily. It’s really a pleasure. She’s thankful for the opportunity as expresses this through a single nod and an outstretched hand.

“Thank you, sister.”

_______
​

What starts a light sprinkle, bruising a single flower, turns into a complete downpour.

Timble had been anxious all night for a number of reasons. The first being the gaping hole in his chest that felt as if it’d been gutted out, sandpapered, and glossed over for permanent exposure to the world. He flips on both sides in an effort to cure the bags under his eyes. It’s exhausting, fighting this feeling. He looks up, spotting the sliver of light that pours inward. He’s reminded of the second reason for the weight on his shoulders; the elderly woman who wore a name card and hugged wrong.

Fingers curl into the duvet, eyes heavy, but wide all at once. His mother was a much better hugger. At first, he couldn’t understand where his parents had gone. He didn’t understand even when they told him. Heaven seemed like a long distance. A sharp pain penetrates his stomach and he releases a shuttering sigh. It’s a whine he has to muffle with his pillow.

Evelin, the elderly woman, made him unbearably upset. He couldn’t stand her being her. Sleeping on their couch and eating their food. He wanted the whole house to himself, he wanted to cry, to scream, and tear into things just to get this grief out. He knew she had good intentions. She never hurt him, or raised her voice. Still, Timble just wanted to be alone. He just didn’t know why she was here. He didn’t know where he would go with after this. With who?

He turns on his other side for what feels like the billionth time tonight, just so he can look out the window. It’s grey and brooding outside. Not a scene that improves his mood. He does enjoy looking at it though, the beady drops of rain that roll lazily down the glass. The others that beat mercilessly against it under the strong force of the wind. Sleep eventually does wash over the child. Enough to pull those eyes close and smoothed the distressed lines marring a face too young.

Timble has to give in, allowing himself to slip out of this world and into the much warmer and kinder creation of his own.

Outside, the storm stutters, and Apronia arrives.

 

[Myrta]

"Aaaand it looks like I win again, ladies and gentlemen!" Maraia grinned at the pained groans of all parties involved and scooped the money stacks off the table in one practiced motion. "Thank you, thank you once again for this opportunity to play with you. It's been a pleasure. I can promise you on my honor that this money won't go to waste. Though I understand that the idea of parting with them is probably painful for you," Maraia put her hand over her heart in a theatrical gesture, "you can find solace in the fact that I will be able to make better use of them than you ever could."

"Hey, Maraia, not that I want to interrupt your gloating, but haven't you been winning often recently?" one of the older demons frowned. "Like, suspiciously often."

"Don't be such a sore loser, Kyrnus. Nobody likes those. It's not my fault that Lady Luck favors me."

"Lady Luck? I'm not sure if I'd put it this way, unless it's some weird new synonym for--"

Maraia slammed her fist into the table with such force that some of her companions flinched, her eyes suddenly narrow like that of a snake. "Are you perhaps implying, my dear friend, that I have been cheating? Think twice about what such an accusation would mean. Destroying someone's reputation without evidence is a serious matter. Don't be too surprised if that someone retaliates."

Kyrnus raised his hands defensively. "Ah, no, no, I didn't mean it like that. It was just an observation. Nothing more, nothing less. Geez, Maraia, you're way too emotional for your own good."

"Maybe," she returned to her old smiling self smoothly, "but a girl gotta protect her image. I can't have you talking shit about me behind my back, now can I? Even though this technically wasn't behind my back. But the phrase 'talking shit right to my face' just lacks the right punch, you know what I mean? Hmm, how should I express this precisely while preserving the emotional charge?" Maraia rubbed her chin pensively.

"Having fun discussing linguistics, Maraia?"

Now it was her turn to flinch. She would recognize that voice anywhere and, ninety-nine percent of time, presence of its owner meant bad news. Lysralia usually wanted things. From her! Utterly preposterous. Maybe, if she gave her a cold shoulder, Lysralia would understand the concept of not sticking her nose where she wasn't wanted. Yeah, right. And tomorrow, Satan will invite God for a cup of tea and apologize for the entire rebellion debacle. Still, the chance existed.

"No, not particularly," the demon responded, pointedly refusing to look at her boss. "It's not that interesting of a topic."

"Good, then surely you won't mind an interruption."

"Oh, but I was just getting to the good part-- Ow!" Maraia protested as Lysralia grabbed her by her ear. "Really, what is this? Preschool? Let go!"

"No, not preschool. I'd never do this to an innocent kid since I specifically reserve this treatment for lazy good-for-nothings who-play-cards-instead-of-fulfilling-their-duties!" Lysralia spat out, each word accompanied with a painful tug on her ear. "Don't think that I haven't noticed that you've been avoiding me, you little weasel!"

"Okay, okay, I've got the message, can you please let go now?" Maraia whined.

"Hmpf. Alright, but know that the only reason I'm not going to flay you alive as an exemplary punishment is because I have a job for you."

"I think I'd prefer the flaying," she mumbled under her breath.

"Did you say anything?"

"No, no, must have been your imagination," the demon smiled sweetly.

"Of course. Now go, you know the way to my office. I'm pretty sure you haven't forgotten because staying out of my sight for so long at least means that you know which places to evade."

"Well, I hate to say goodbye, my friends, but as you see, duties are calling. Au revoir!" Waving to them for one last time, Maraia quickly stuffed the money in her pockets and started heading towards the office.

"You should let them win more often, you know. At this rate you will single-handedly ruin our economy and through cheating no less."

"I take issue with this terminology. It's not cheating unless you get caught. And the beauty of my system lies in the fact that they never will," she chuckled. The two entered a cozy room furnished with a writing desk, a sofa and two chairs. There were times when Maraia thought that someone had forgotten to inform Lysralia that she was working for the Dark Lord himself, for example whenever she entered her office. How else would you explain the pictures of kittens on the walls and framed motivational quotes? All the personal issues with her boss aside, she really had a terrible taste. Had it been up to her, Maraia would have decorated the office with skulls and pictures of human agony as the tradition demanded. Fucking modernists, no respect for values of our ancestors.

She plopped down on the sofa, putting one leg over the other. "Well, so what's the job?"

"I'm glad that you ask," Lysralia handed her a folder, "read this."

"Huh. Timble Heathway, nine years old. Doesn't seem like one of the usual subjects we get. What's up with him, should I eat him?"

"What? Why? No, you shouldn't eat him. Just corrupt him."

Maraia raised one eyebrow. "Corrupt him? He's a child, Lysralia. How am I supposed to do that? Aren't kids officially protected from our temptations until they reach adulthood? You know, until they actually have a mental capacity to deal with such matters? Not that I'm turning into a human rights advocate, but it won't be good for any of us if the old man above gets mad. Which he will because he has no sense of humor, really."

"That's sweet of you that you suddenly care about the rules, but we have a special permission for that one because of what his parents did. No need to care about the details, just ensure that he's ours."

"And that's everything?" she asked, disbelief apparent in her voice.

"Yes."

"Fine, then I'm going. I should be back soon, this will be stupidly easy. Almost an insult to my skills, if you ask me."

Lysralia stared after her subject long after the door had shut behind her.

"You have no idea how much I wish for that to be true, Maraia."

***
​

It was raining when she arrived because of course it had to be raining. There weren't many things which Maraia despised more than rain, gross and wet and clinging to her body in the most unpleasant ways. She definitely despised angels more, though, which was probably the reason one of those turned up as well. Oh my Satan, why me. What have I done to deserve this? Well, many bad things objectively speaking, but that's beside the point.

Not in the mood for any games, Maraia decided for the direct approach.

"Hey, Feathers! Yes, I'm talking to you, little bootlicker. I have no idea what you're doing here, but I'm here because of business, so I advise you to get out of my way before I'm forced to remove you. Wouldn't want to mess up such a beautiful face," she smirked.

 

[Vik]

There's a shift in the atmosphere and it's not a good one. This is the only announcement needed for the foul beings arrival, really. The shiver and chill that shackles the angel for the briefest moment only drowns her expression in unhappiness. A demon of all things. A loudmouth one at that. She peers up from her perch, sitting in the grass, out in broad daylight, but unseen by the public. Her gaze drifts to the one spitting a threat of removal.

"Oh dear." She begins, touching her own cheek. "What on God's green earth are you doing here?"

Her hand delicately slices through the air to silence the beckoned response.

"No matter. No matter."

Apronia's feathers are ruffled, more literally than she'd care for. This one's appearance is doing nothing to ease the task at hand. She's on the clock after all, something that seems to completely bypass the other. Here on business? Something doesn't sit right with that. The only thing a demon worked up a sweat for was trouble and by the looks of it, that's what this one was seeking. The sky is bleary with grey, making for a somber mood as the angel begins to pluck apart the other's intentions.

"This boy is under my care." That soft, fine voice takes on a sharpened edge. "Understand that well. I have no imminent plans on simply picking up and leaving, my dear."

As if that was enough, she swats the space between them as if she's dealing with a pesky gnat.

"Now, begone. Back where you came from."

____
​

Timble awakes to something warm and moist dragging against his dangling palm. His eyes peel open, fogged over with sleep. Surprise slips through the cracks as he peers over the edge of the bed and actually smiles. He's met with a scruffy little thing. Two wet and beady eyes staring up from deep sockets, they are hardly visible from the overgrowth of fur that consumed them.

"Crim?"

A full bodied, arf.

He sits up, peeling the covers away and glancing over at the lit of clock on his bedside. It's nearly four in the morning. The smiles falters, but he doesn't stop from getting up and attending to his impatient friend. The floors cold beneath his bare feet, waking him up just enough to shiver and stare out the window. It seemed the storm let up, just enough for the rain to stop and the wind to die down. He wondered if Crim noticed, pleaded with his bladder the full storm and now needed to go.

"Hold on, boy." He tells him, pushing for patience as the dog whines lowly on the floor. His paws tapping against the rug anxiously.

Timble searches for a leash, only pleading with some force above that his caseworker was out like a light. It seemed they would be answered as he slips into the living room, shrugging on a thin sweater and tiptoeing around the elderly woman that rested. The animated hound leads the way with his head up high and determination clear.

They'll both march into the yard where an angel and demon stand. Timble won't see or hear a thing.

 

[Myrta]

"Did I stutter?" the demon asked, her smile so sweet that it could probably cause cavities. "I said I was here because of business. Work. If you don't know the meaning of the word, look it up in a dictionary, preferably after you return to your feathered friends. Now shoo, shoo!"

For a second, Maraia allowed herself to be optimistic. Perhaps her gut feeling was wrong and Feathers had really wandered here by coincidence. If so, the angel would probably stomp her adorable little feet in outrage from not being treated like royalty, but she would actually leave. Angels liked to see themselves as protectors of the innocents because of course they did, the freaking posers, however the reality was quite different. Very few of them dared to encroach on a demon's territory. It was a mutual thing, really, because everybody had gotten bored of pointless wars between heaven and hell. The unspoken agreement sounded roughly: "let us do our work in peace and we will do the same for you."

Probability dictated that it should have ended like that in this case, too. Naturally it didn't because laws of probability only existed to fuck with Maraia's expectations. Under her care? What is this nonsense? Either Feathers was even more delusional than was customary among her kind or Lysralia hadn't quite told her everything about the nature of her newest mission. Since Maraia believed in Lysralia about as much as she would trust a kleptomaniac claiming that they had nothing to do with the mystery of her lost family heirloom, both options seemed equally likely. Still, a command was a command. Lysralia may have left out some vital information, but she still had to complete her task no matter what.

Ugh, just my luck to get dragged into something so needlessly complicated. Others get to tempt their humans in peace while I will I have to deal with an overzealous angel.

"Yeah, I don't think so," Maraia placed her hand on her hip in defiance. "Listen, Feathers, I don't know whose higher-ups fucked up here, but someone must have since the boy is also my target. I'm notorious for my kindness, though, so I will give you one last chance to--" That was when the demon noticed the boy's - Timble, right? - presence. He couldn't see them, not with the sorry excuse of a sight that humans possessed, yet a single glance at his slightly quizzical expression inspired her how to solve the dilemma. If this continued in the same vein, the confrontation would inevitably grow into a full-scale conflict. A conflict from which Feathers could potentially emerge victorious since there was no telling how powerful she really was. Too bad for the little angel that Maraia a) didn't feel like risking, b) didn't need to play by the rules.

"You know what, I changed my mind." And with those words, the demon sent a burst of energy towards the nearest tree. The tree exploded in a geyser of fire. "Fuck off, Feathers, or I'm going to blow your cover. And my cover. Everyone's cover. I don't care if the boy and the entire street finds out that we exist, but can you risk it?" Maraia smirked. This stunt could be explained away as a sudden lightning, but her next move would be much more outrageous if the angel didn't give up.

 

[Vik]

"Stubborn thing," Apronia says with a pinch in her brows.

It seems this conflict won't escalate too severely. She really believes that for a moment or two, sizing up the demon who treats the other like rubbish. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spots the child. Immediately, she lights up like a festive tree. Her eyes widen and a quarter sized parting fits between her lips as she stares beyond fascinated. A human boy right in front of her! Timble is viewed like an exotic animal; something fit behind a glass enclosure at a zoo.

How precious. His little nose, the healthy color in his cheeks, and the how tiny. It's been such a long time since she stepped foot on this world, she's forgotten how small they come. Her hands clap together in a struggle to contain her excitement. It would all be better if she could enjoy it without the negative spritzing off the one before her.

What a cruel reminder her presence is.

A tall, beautiful, Amur Maple explodes. It cackles in a blaze, leaves shrivel and crack as they rain down. They are corpses now, no longer a healthy in shade. Those that are left of the explosion that is. Her body retracts, eyes the sizer of dinner plates and that awe quickly turns into horror.

"My goodness! Was that really called for!" A sharp scolding that's too shrill. Her hands shoot for the dreary sky in wild gestures as she stares at the demon, beyond baffled. "Do you have any idea what the consequences of that could've been! Are you really willing to lay down your title for my departure?"

Was the creature mad? If their existence was revealed to even a single soul, why, she wasn't entirely sure what could happen. Angels weren't exactly well known for pushing the boundaries. We didn't ask for the punishments, because we didn't fall prey to one. Now, Apronia is being laid out on the tracks. To even insinuate such a thing. It nearly withdrawals a scream, her arms still upheld and expression morphed in disbelief.

"Language, language," the angel somehow reprimands despite it all.

This was her job. She had no say in the matter. This was all part of God's plan, who was she to draw the line. Though, it's hard not to walk away when so much is being hung over her head. She's bluffing, she rationalizes. A part that soothes the worry and plants both feet stubbornly in the ground. There was no possible way she was going to follow through with such a foolish threat. Her lips are set in a thin line. Both arms crossed and that nose goes up.

"I'm not going anywhere, serpent."

____
​

A gunshot, that's what Timble thinks fist.

His whole body tensing, bracing himself from something unknown at the booming sound. Crim's only a foot away, his leg stuck in the air and freezing mid-business. There's no time to go as his hackles raise and he barks at the remains of Mrs. Heeds favorite tree. The one that blocked the sun from her window, she'd made such a point about it. That was only a memory as he sees what left, cleared off branches and flames.

"What?" It's the only thing he can utter.
His eyes narrowing in on the burning height, as if he really couldn't believe it. His gaze detaches itself from that and rises to the canvas above him. Still grey, cloudy, and moody. In the distance he can hear thundering; having moved to the east, but this, this was close.

Suddenly, Timble not sure he wants to stick around for much longer. The leash in his hand is given a motivating tug. Crim stops his yapping and all attention darts to the hand pulling, he goes quiet and not long after, continues on. The scruffy looking child takes a seat on the porch and extends the leash, holding his arm out and resting his weary face in his hand.

Still looking at the burnt down tree.

 

[Myrta]

If someone had asked Maraia what she hated about the feathered pests that called themselves angels just five seconds earlier, her answer would have been a resounding "everything." Everything from the tips of their fingers to their punchable faces. (Really though, why did so many of them look like they needed a punch or two so badly? Was it a side effect of the proverbial stick shoved up their asses? The old man's notoriously bad taste? Or something else entirely? Someone should finally fund a proper research concerning the topic and answer the question that had been plaguing them all since time immemorial.) Nevertheless, times changed and Maraia discovered that she, in fact, didn't hate everything about angels. The demon would go so far as to admit that she loved something about them, or at least about this one.

Feathers' utter exasperation was fun, fun, fun! The problem with being an infamous troublemaker lied in the fact that, eventually, people got used to your antics. The ability to shock your kinsmen clearly had an expiration date. If you got too predictable in your unpredictability, then everyone would just shrug your efforts off. ("Oh, she's a nutjob, that's normal coming from her. Wanna go grab a cup of coffee?") The lukewarm responses she had been getting recently were pretty disappointing, but Feathers, oh, Feathers didn't fail her expectations.

Now this is what you call an A+ reaction, Maraia howled with laughter when the angel reprimanded her for cursing like a sailor. Was she for real? The demon couldn't even get properly angry. Lysralia would no doubt be mad at her for playing with Feathers instead of stealing the boy's soul, but who cared about Lysralia? Certainly not her. If her boss wanted an efficient worker, she should have chosen someone else.

"Some fucked up priorities you've got here, Feathers. Correcting my speech, but not caring in the slightest about the havoc I'm about to wreak? I wonder what would your boss say about that," Maraia smiled at her unwilling companion, circling her like a predator sizing up her prey. "I can tell what you're thinking, Feathers. Let me play a mind reader for a while, okay?" The demon puckered her lips and looked upwards in an insulting imitation of innocence. "Oh, I bet that she isn't going to do it because I can't deal with the version of reality where everyone isn't a spineless bootlicker who won't even wipe her nose without looking up the regulations concerning the act first!" she mimicked the angel in an annoyingly sweet voice. "She must be bluffing!"

And honestly, that conclusion made sense. Or rather, it would have made sense had she been dealing with anyone but Maraia. "You've got it all backwards, my dear. The truth is that you will be blamed for whatever happens here, not me. Shh, don't protest, give me a moment and I'll explain how it works," she beamed at Feathers. "So, remember that I'm a demon, right? What that means is that I am supposed to be an irresponsible asshole. It's quite literally my job. Therefore it is dangerously stupid to expect any level of self-restraint from me when it comes to following through on reckless threats. As an angel, it is your job to keep me from doing stupid, irresponsible things. A job at which you clearly failed because you practically pushed me to do this, you see?"

Maraia waved her hand and the remains of the tree jumped out of the ground. They staggered, clearly struggling with balance, but it didn't take them long to find it. And once they did, they began marching towards the doubtlessly terrified child. Yep, that was clearly a work of the supernatural. No excuses would work here. "Poor boy," Maraia sighed. "It's your fault, you know. How does it feel, knowing that this kid will have a lifelong trauma because of your selfishness?"

 

[Vik]

This demon’s logic makes her head spin. Not out of confusion, but disbelief. At how dimwitted these creatures truly were. It’s a condescending though; she immediately stashes It away and pleads for forgiveness. It’s just—That’s was how things were being looked at? A typical dynamic of what could be considered the scrambling mother and a trouble making—up to no good—child.

Angel’s had the task of planting, that’s all, laying down the seed of good deeds. This was for human. Not creatures damned from the start. The more she speaks, the more she becomes flustered. Her wings twitch and pulls. The feathers tilt upward, they split, and that nose of hers is wrinkled in frustration.

“That’s no how it works! That’s not how any of this works!”

The only words she can utter before something dreadful happens. The tree is animated. Whatever the demon says is ignored. Apronia’s attention lies solely on the boy who’s in clear shock in the direct line of harm.

Fingers go up and prod the air without even thinking.

The earth shakes, rattles beneath the boy’s shoes and her own bare feet. Holes are created, the ground splits in various places and snake like roots escape. They flick themselves aimlessly until directed by the sweep of a thumb. This abominable creature is caged up; bound by its own life support and dragged back in place where it is deeply resettled in the yard.

It’ll squirm for a second or two, just in the gap of time it takes for Apronia to silence it’s shaking branches with another flick. Back to normal. As normal as it could be, not so much for the little boy who’s trembling with his head in his hands.

That dog beside him yapping up a storm, hackles raised in permanent distrust.

This all happens in the span of minutes and Apronia is left with damage control.

Her eyes are larger, muscles trembling as she drags her gaze over the hand still poised in the air. She didn’t just do that. It retracts, snaps back to her chest and is held tightly there. Those panicked orbs swivel to the demon and they are far from happy.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?!” That voice off hers reaches new volumes. There’s conviction in her eyes, and the anger burning her up is scalding. Another finger rises and jabs in her direction. “The consequences this will undoubtedly bring? Not only have you put me in the spotlight, but yourself as well. This is a threat to all of us, why can’t you see that?!”

The demon is surged past. Apronia leaves her behind and marches for the boy, because this has to be cleaned up. He still shivering, big bulging eyes aimed in the same spot he’d almost been attacked and consumed by shock. The fear is leaking off him and staining the air. It breaks her heart. That wasn’t supposed to happen, none of this was.

She’d had her fair share of encounters with their kind, but this one had to be the worst.

“Dear child...” Apronia’s hand would only reach a foot away before being locks up.

All the muscles in her body are manipulated. Now the boy isn’t the only one that’s fearful. She grunts, and tries to shake her arm before realizing nothing is working. If her eyes had been big before, they grow even wider as her body is yanked backwards.

The ground peels under her feet. Strip of grass are pulled from the ground, roots are severed and she is pinned to a tree. There’s no getting free, no matter how much she fights it and bites back. Aimless scolding the pierces the air and finds no one.

Not until someone speaks up. A disembodied voice that prickles her skin with sweat.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

__


At first, it’s not fear. It’s basic shock. He can’t utter a word, his legs won’t work, and he definitely can’t acknowledge the shrill though in his head. RUN. No, all he can focus on is the fact this tree—the one that’s been lit aflame—has unearthed itself and was charging forward directly at him.

It seems nothing can shake him out of it. His fates been sealed and he’d be crushed by the animated remains of Mrs. Heeds favorite tree. It didn’t seem like the ideal way to go, but that was out of his hands. This isn’t really acknowledged either, none of it is.

Because quick as it came, it’s set back in place. Rather, dragged back. Dirt covered roots are the next thing he’s greeted with in this spontaneous ride of horrors. They rise and tangle with every limb, base they can reach and constrict.

It’s surreal.

For the longest time, that’s all it is. Surreal. He can feel the effect of what he’s seeing. His hands have gone all clammy around the leash and somethings pounding hard against his ribs. As if it’s trying to free itself and make a run for the hills. Unlike some. Everything is spinning and he can’t seem to catch his breath quiet yet, but he does make out something in all of this.

Something warm, reaching, and close by.

That too leaves.

Soon as it does, Timble finds the willpower to get on his feet. It takes a moment, but it happens. Slowly things start to fall back in places. He’s standing on his porch, walking his dog, and has seen something unspeakable. The leash in his hand is given an unintentional yank as he stumbles back, turns on his heels, and runs inside.

In spite of everything, he’ll forget. It’ll happen when he collapses on the floor besides shoes and hung up keys and starts panting. His lungs work overtime and that look of complete distress and terror slips into ignorant confusion. Because, as Apronia tried, someone does get their hands on him.

Cleans those harsh memories up, and replaces them with a stormy walk alongside his furry friend.

 

[Myrta]

Maraia's only regret was that she couldn't cast a single spell belonging to the category of preservation magic. Seeing it as a useless branch of sorcery, the demon had spent most of the course playing cards with her classmates, thinking of various ways to annoy her instructor or doing the combination of both. This had cost her the ability to extract the memory of furious Feathers from her head for later viewing pleasure. I'm sorry for being so unfair to you in the past, professor Ritzke. Preservation magic isn't useless, but alas, I have seen the light too late. Maybe she could find someone specialized in that particular field back in Hell and pay them for giving the memory a tangible form? Because man, the angel was so mad that a memory imprisoned in her brain simply wouldn't do it justice. Those faded in time. No, Maraia wanted to keep it and show it to her potential children and grandchildren!

"What have I done?" she asked mockingly, watching with great amusement as Feathers rushed to the boy's rescue. Ah, so predictable. "I don't remember forcing you to cast this incredibly obvious spell, Feathers. In fact, I did everything within my capabilities to prevent this exact situation." The demon put on a rueful expression as if nothing had ever caused her a greater grief. "First I warned you with kind words, but you didn't listen. Then, because my patience knows no bounds, I showcased a small fraction of my power. Nothing too extravagant, just enough for you to start taking me seriously. Unfortunately that didn't happen, so I had to follow through with my threats. It's pretty unfair of you to blame me for your own decision to interfere, Feathers. Just reaping what you have sown, if you ask me."

In sharp contrast to the angel, Maraia was the very picture of zen-like calm. Consequences? Pfft. Yes, probably for the feathered creature, but certainly not for her. She hadn't had the bright idea to make a career out of being a self-righteous pain in the ass, no, sir. The angel, on the other hand, should have counted with the possibility of fucking up royally. It happened to the best of them including Maraia's boss. Nobody with an ounce of dignity managed to live according to the heavenly standards forever. "A little dramatic, aren't we?" she grinned at Feathers. "Well, that doesn't matter. To reiterate my previous statement, would you be so kind as to finally fuck off or do I have to traumatize the kid further? I presume that now you don't have a reason to doubt my conviction."

It was kind of amazing, but the angel still refused to take a hint. She ran off to comfort the boy instead, completely ignoring Maraia's not-so-subtle threats. Well, it shouldn't surprise me at all given her track record. Still, wow. I understand that angels run on the mix of cognitive dissonance and denial of reality, but this is really high level stuff. In a way, the demon was genuinely impressed. Too bad that the feud over the boy's soul made them bitter enemies. The two could have been friends had they met under different circumstances. Well, no, not really, but she had always wanted to say that. Right, so what do I do now? It turned out that Maraia actually didn't have to do anything at all because Feathers' boss turned up to scold the disobedient angel personally. I get to witness heavenly drama today? Score!

"My heart weeps for you, Feathers," Maraia couldn't resist her natural urge to rub it in her face. "It looks like you won't be winning the employee of the month award anytime soon, huh?"

"Yeah, but you won't be winning that one anytime soon, either!"

The familiar voice made her jump.

"Lysralia! What are you doing--- More importantly, why are you wearing that pink fluffy sweater? You do know that we have a reputation to uphold, right?"

"My sweater," Lysralia gave her a look that could kill, "is none of your business! But just so that you know, it's actually highly fashionable right now. We aren't limited to just black anymore and thank Satan for that, that era was so restricting. But back to my original point! You," the woman pointed her index finger at Maraia, "you fucked up. What do you have to say for yourself?!"

"What? No, I didn't. It was a success! More or less. It would have been a success had you not interrupted me, anyway. See, I even got an angel in trouble, isn't that worthy of bonus points?" Maraia gestured wildly in Feathers' general direction.

"You violated the secrecy clause!"

"... What clause?"

For a moment, Lysralia looked like she was ready to explode.

"This is the worst thing you have ever done, Maraia, period."

"Even worse than accidentally cooking your hamster?"

"That was you?!"

"Oh, you didn't know? Could you maybe pretend that you didn't hear... I'm not helping my case, am I?"

"No, you're not."

"Okay, okay," Maraia capitulated, "I'm sorry. I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I guess that now it's time to get my ass to your office so that you can roast me thoroughly, huh?"

"No. No, Maraia, I've had enough of your nonsense. This is the last straw, can you hear me?" Lysralia's tone had a strange finality to it, almost as if she actually meant it this time. But that couldn't be true, r-right? "I am hereby sealing away your powers until you finally learn your lesson! Consider yourself exiled. And as for your punishment, you are to take care of the boy whom you have exposed to our world so foolishly!"