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"Zanki, I would recommend movin' faster!"
The cool wind blows against Zanka's skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the woman's motorcycle, the thing, black and sleek, that has seemed to evolve alongside them. Zanka climbs on behind the woman, long panels of fabric on her front and back being brought into her lap before she rounds her arms around the other being's slim waist. The engine roars, and she regrets not bringing along a helmet. Deep black surrounds them, the sound of the engine revs following them as they ride to Jabber's shop.
Many variables have fallen into place for this to happen.
The end of the world was a few months ago. An odd thing to say when there is still chatter from the houses and lights in the windows; however, a certain duo postponed it. It had been a grand thing, the Watchman unfolding from his position, a bridge to the sphere momentarily created, water to blood, crops to locusts (of which Jabber was happy about; she hadn't seen them in eons), and two-headed fish around. Well, that's what most people saw at least; they were a bit busy with, you know, attempting to make it better again.
The anti-Christ, a boy with odd hair and a pain in his hands, was the being that dictated their lives for the last fifteen years. It built up well, if you asked either of them.
"You want us to.. Play pretend? Jabber, there's no way that's gonna work."
"ya got somethin better? Anythin’ that's better than-"
And with a short conversation, Zanka found herself roaming the badlands, performing a miracle or.. the exact number shouldn't be important, but finding her way into being the boy's caretaker. It was a lot of long nights, the ex-spherite having landed on the ground and into her hands at the age of five. Years and years of her ensuring he wouldn't fold under the pressure when the end came, of attempting to help. There were some things that she couldn't fix; however, no matter how many miracles.
Rudo, aged five. They had gotten a small place, and a fire crackled distinctly behind them.
Rudo collapses onto her, tears streaming down his face. She's never been good with emotions, never in her 6,000 years on this planet, yet she strokes his hair regardless.
"Mama," the boy sniffles and pushes his face into her shoulder, "It hurts."
"I know, Rudo."
The cold always made his hands more painful, the sharp, stabbing sensations that normally began to radiate up his arms into a dull, constant ache.
Over the years, she watched them grow.
The marks, the ugly red things, began to crawl up, affecting more and more of his skin. Gloves, worn, that would bear the symbol of the assistant of the end times, were capable of more help.
On the opposing side, when the boy reached ten, they joined the cleaners.
Here is where the temptress came. Jabber was meant to prepare the boy to cause the end of the world, to let him allow the anger that was building in him, all of the years free.
The immortal, 6,000-year-old celestial beings played tug-of-war with the boy until the grand day.
Yadda yadda Zanka won (rubbed it in Jabber's face later). Heaven and hell's representatives appeared when Rudo stopped it all, stopped the Watchman from ending humanity, and destroyed the series entirely.
..which is what led them here.
Their arrangement worked well for years, for no one checks who does work as long as it gets done, but no, turns out that eons-old loophole they found and used (as an excuse to [fight] flirt) as a more efficient method of work, is broken when you're stopping what both sides have been working for. Needless to say, they knew trouble was coming, and as Jabber stops the cycle and Zanka opens the door to the shop, they are aware they need to start figuring out how to stop it. Stop what exactly? Oh, they have no clue. However, they did both see the faces of their.. Owners, and they were not pleased.
Jabber throws herself onto her couch. There was no verbalization that it was hers specifically; however, after the hundreds of years it's been in her various shops, she thinks it counts regardless. Zanka sits on her armchair that's facing the other woman and crosses her legs, supporting her head with a hand and looking over at her.
“So.. What’s yer plan?” Zanka asks, looking at the woman with tyes partially closed due to the dim light in the building.
Said woman changes her focus from the ceiling back to the woman, and a devilish grin falls upon her face, one that makes Zanka dread whatever genius yet stupid plan is about to leave her mouth.
In order to understand the significance of the actions that are about to play out, it is necessary that we rewind a bit.
Jabber (Originally Jabberwocky, which she changed after her first few hundred years of life because she felt as if it didn't fit her properly) was a demon. This much was obvious, from the dark and promiscuous fashion she wears to the way, when her sunglasses are off eyes seem hypnotic and very much not-human.
In hell, it seems very obvious what the rules would be. No demons trust each other, or rather, some do, but truly they shouldn't, and their lives are surrounded by causing inconveniences for people. This may seem like a ground where the term ‘all hell breaks loose’ would apply, where there are traitors and infighting constantly. An assumption such as this would be very incorrect.
They would rather keep a ship up that's very similar to what Jabber saw during the more dark centuries of work. Hell works on a fear factor. The entire base of this religion works on a fear factor, but regardless, there are people (demons) in change. A complex hierarchy that no one remembers putting in place, yet everyone knows who's there. The people at the top of the chain mustn't have met before. What, you think Satan comes down from his brooding to chat with the workers of his company? No. There are smaller leaders for each section; there is no way to move up the ranks for the average demon, for where you are when you spawn is where you are until your untimely doom, but it is certainly possible to be moved down. All of this to say, Hell is a business, a government, supported by the bottom-of-the-barrel working class, of whom spend their days working endlessly and miserably because they wanted to know something that God didn't think they deserved the answer to. Systems like this are unstable. They are houses made of cards, and if someone makes the millions of demons at the bottom, that they don’t have to be miserable, that there's a chance something can change, it would act as the gust of wind that blows it all away.
Now, if you're a leader, you don’t want this. The workers you have are beneath you, and of course, you know that, but one of their kind acted out.
Ms. Jabber Wonger.
She did what was previously unthinkable for a low-level demon, for one whose job was to monitor Earth. Murder, on one count.
When the end of the world was something much fresher (in our current time, it’s roughly a week past), someone had been sent to her business. They had caught wind that she did something to betray hell, to stop Arrmogeden from flattening the useless ball of eco-matter that they've spent years on. A superior to her demon walked in. And with the wonder of a relatively high-quality (it was specifically designed for her, to both look wonderful as well as be leak-proof) water gun, he was reduced to a pile of smouldering goop on the ground.
His teammate, with whom he had worked with him for years, had left shortly after stepping in for his ex-partner.
Well, of course, he didn't leave before Jabber got the chance to remark about, I never think I've seen a demon cry before, what was that you said, all those years ago, about never trusting?
Regardless, from the perspective of a higher-up, Jabber was a threat. On the otherside its rather similar. The whole business/government analogy works quite well for heaven. For Zanka went against Heaven's orders (got her sword back after all these years, at least) and lied to angels. While it may not seem as stark a charge as to Jabber's murder, angels are meant to be holy. Zanka invented lying and is accidentally the cause of the first murder. God never told anyone about the first two; however, the moral is that her actively working- fraternizing- with a demon to prevent the end of the world is what the breaking point was.
Because that's the point of it all, humanity, as a whole, was nothing more to God than an experiment. Or at least that's what the current data shows to most people; however, with the whole bet-making thing made it seemed like it wasnt a particularly important one.
Regardless, angels aren't meant to question it, and demons tend not to because why? They already fell questioning it once; it's not like Satan would give them the answers even if she had them.
Their conversation ends with shouting, and eventually Zanka gives in and accepting Jabber's plan.
Which eventually leads them into the next day. Jabber sits at her desk, legs crossed and one hand absent-mindedly touching along the scales of what looks to be snake-scale boots, but are in reality just how the corporation is formed. In the back, Zanka unpacks a new package of bottles, measuring out amounts of the elixirs and working on new recipes that Jabber had made the other day, a notebook with scrawled writing being in front of her as she works. The sound of guitars and drums blares in the back of the store, not her normal sense of music, but it flows into the front of the store.
A bell sounds, and Jabber looks up, smiling and shaking her head slightly as she talks, swapping which leg she’s got crossed.
“And what can I do to help you, fine..” She looks up and watches the group walk into the store.
Zanka looks to the front of the store at the people, and Jabber glances back, nodding her head before looking back at the group.
“Ah, well,” A leader of the group leans in, and Zanka hears whispering. She takes a breath and calms herself.
“Bitch, let me-!”
Zanka very quickly learns that her attempts at calming are for naught as she hears the other woman shout, and stands up, moving inhumanely fast to see Jabber in someone's arms, mouth covered as they drag her away. Zanka runs out of the shop, body lowering slightly as she runs, but arms find behind her, and slowly, her vision goes dark.
“Demon Jabberwocky.”
Her eyes blink open as she looks around, a glass wall showing the slums of Hell, people watching. Zodyl stands, flies around her as she looks at the demon.
“You have been taken for a count of murder of your own kind, and for betraying Hell.” The demons below boo.
“What do we think of this?” They ask as they walk to the wall, looking down at the people as they scream.
She looks back over to Jabber, face blank.
“Angel, you may enter.”
Jabber looks at the woman with a scrunched face before following her sight, a woman in white walking into the room with a clear jug of water, and the crowd oohs.
"The punishment for your crimes is a bath of holy water. Do you have anything to say?"
She watches as the water pours a seemingly never-ending stream and fills the tub.
A hand falls to her hip, A fake pleading expression falling on her face.
"I got this skirt last week, leather doesn't do good with water. Mind if I take it off?" she bows dramatically, looking up with narrowed eyes, "Your majesty."
Minutes later, Jabber's clothes lie on the floor: a pair of black boxers, her bright pink bra, the boots, and a clip she's used to put her hair up. She winks at the audience before turning to Zodyl again, propping her chest out a little.
"So, I guess this is it," a fake somber look, with her shaking her head. "I've always had negative feelings toward you."
"Go on, Jabberwocky."
Rolling her eyes, she puts one of her fingers in the bath, as if testing the temperature, and screams, clutching her hand and shaking dramatically before standing up straight and dusting hair off of her shoulder, even though it's already up.
"My bad gang, it's a little spi-cay!"
She jumps into it, quite literally, water splashing out of it when her body hits the liquid, and the crowd moves from the window, the people in the room backing up.
Shaking her body, she tries to get comfortable, wiggling her shoulders, the water soaking into her clothes as she pouts and looks over to the demons, of whom are staring at her in horror.
"Is there anywhere in the nine circles of hell that has a body scub? Skins been dry lately, skaley, on account of the being a snake thing."
"wh- how? Demon Fu, touch the water." A command, from Zodyl.
The demon looks scared, an odd look on a demon, but he complies, walking over to the water. His hand shakes above it as Jabber moves, her wet hand dragging his under the water. Screaming, A hot sensation as the demon turns into a pile of goop on the floor, bubbling like anything while Jabber cackles. Falling back and reclining, she falls into a mess of gigfles, winking at Zodyl and flicking water at them.
"Wanna join?"
"No!"
This was confusing and infuriating. They gathered the demons to make an example of the woman, but this wasn't going according to plan at all!
"Hm, you're so boring! You're not scared, are you? Oh, that would be so pathetic!" She cackles again, "Great demon Zodyl, scared of a lower demon like me.."
"I'm not scared! Everyone, back to your stations!"
A sigh leaves the woman, her hands together in front of her. Not by choice, of course, but rather because of the ropes restraining her. Her trial went much similarly, excluding the fact that the gag on her prevents her from speaking her end of the argument. Her legs move, positioning themselves and then moving again later. Remaining silent would be very hard, especially when a demon enters the room, lighting a patch of wood, the hellfire climbing as high as the eye is able to see.
"Can I punch her?" The demon asks, looking at Zanka with excited eyes, to which she gives dead ones in return. "I've always wanted to punch an angel."
An angel, Goka, laughs and nods his head.
The demon winds his arm back and grins, before his eyes narrow and his hand lowers slowly, shaking his head at Goka.
"I've given you your shit, I'm leaving."
Goka shakes his head as the demon leaves.
"Demons, ah. Always so minimal. They give what's asked, nothing more, most of the time less." He walks around her chair, standing behind her and leaning down, "You fraternize with them, Zanka."
She wants to say they did the same! They used hell to get the fire they're planning on using to murder her with!
"For an average angel, or for the average angel you claim to be, that would be beneath you." A hand hovers over her shoulder, almost burning at the touch. "But you've never been average, have you? Reaching for the stars, you try to be good."
He rounds in front of her again. "Decent." His suit looks stupid. "You're not."
"I would ask what God saw in you, but it was all a part of her plan. What was it you always say?
She attempts through the cloth, "ineffable."
"Always have faith in god, because she showed up the slacker. The traitor and allowed for this moment, she wanted us to kill you, so when we carry out her plan, you won't reap undeserved results."
Her restraints are cut, a rag removed from her mouth.
"I think this has all been a grand misunderstanding, ga-"
He looks at her like she's scum, and it makes her put on a forced smile. "You know what I think?" His voice is much too happy as he continues, "I think you should shut your stupid mouth, and die already."
She smiles. Her eyes close as she walks forward.
That long of silence is almost worth it for the face Goka makes when she walks into the fire.
Well, I mean, if you're so smart, what should they’ve done instead? Heaven lied to the others and released Zanka, putting up information readily available about her death. Hell, said the hellhounds, got a hold of her in their cell. And they both got free.
Some would call it a miracle, and some would say it's fate, but our couple reunites in a park. Or rather, a place that used to be a park, a few hundred years ago, but since has eroded and been trashed to the point that, just as the rest of the Ground, it's in horrible condition. They’d met here hundreds of times, one of their more frequent spaces. Currently, the town is quiet.
“So.. how did your trip go?” Zanka asks, a grin on her face as she takes another bite of her ice cream, looking over at Jabber.
“Amusing. Made sure I didn't damage the clothes, asked- no, I commanded someone to dry them with Hellfire before I came back.”
Zanka's eyes leave her food as Jabber takes a drink of water.
“You flashed everyone there? Damn! Show I shouldda been a part of.”
“No, I didn't, you imbecile. I simply.. Stopped making an effort..” Zanka whines.
A silence runs by them for a few before Jabber, or rather Jabber’s body, looks over at Zanka’s. Her nose is a really weird shape, and her hair looks odd. Why does she keep it like that? Anytime she could change it easily.
“I’m really not one that's fond of scales, Demon.” Jabber's voice says, the pet-name sounding odd in her voice.
She scoots closer and tries not to scoff at how the woman is practically slathered in the food, getting her body dirty.
“Aw, but I was having fun!” Jabber makes her voice sound pathetic, she thinks, but regardless, she snaps her fingers.
Jabber hums as she looks back down, her skin back to its deep color as she pops her neck and sighs.
“That was horrible,” Zanka says, straightening her posture and dusting nothing off of her shirt, crossing her legs again.
“I can't believe you un-uh fuck what do humans call it?”
Zanka takes another sip out of her bottle and shakes her head, not responding.
“You un-chromozoned me! Before the big finale!”
“You worry me.”
Rolling her eyes, her tongue flicks out of her mouth and takes the rest of the ice cream from the cone, and hands it to Zanka, who takes it in her hands and takes a bite.
“I've worried you for the past six thousand years, angel. I think you can handle it, by now.”
“This cone is terrible.”
Rolling her eyes Jabber flicks her tongue out as she leans over to Zanka, licking the tip of the woman's nose.
Minutes later, they walk to the shop again, her head bobbing to an invisible beat, and while it may not be visible to human eyes, the cool sensation of a scaly tail rubbing into her shirt from behind her, which makes her roll her eyes at Jabber.
“Well,” Jabber starts as she sits on her couch, the other woman trying to sit over on her armchair, but is stopped by a hand on the back of her shirt, pulling her into the woman's lap.
Zanka rolls her eyes and attempts to move out of the woman's grasp, but is restrained.
“What should we do?” Jabber asks, a look on her face as if she already knows what she has in mind.
Zanka rolls her eyes and falls back into the woman's arms, feeling the woman's chest against her back as hands intertwine on her lap, long, acrylic nails clacking against each other. “Mhm, somethin, bout your demeanor’s makin’ me think I don't have a choice.”
That draws a laugh from the other woman, which, fully against Zanka's will, draws a smile to her face at the sound of the wholly sound.
“You know what I wanna do?”
“What, demon?”
A sigh is drawn out of the woman, and she tightens her grasp, shaking the angel.
“Dim the lights,” She sways them again, “And get demonstrably drunk.”
Zanka laughs, but stops herself partway through, as if she realized she shouldn't be.
“Somehow that doesn't surprise me.”
Picking Zanka up, Jabber places her back down and begins to look at the various bottles.
“With the way these days treating me, I think even a pint o laudanum wouldn't be enough. Grabbing a Jack for meself, whadd you want, angel? Beer? Think I got a case of reds.”
Zanka leans back, unsure of how she’s meant to sit on this couch.
“The good red, the ones from the bar in 1940.”
Jabber cackles, remembering the trip and walks to find it, and music turns up, not something as heavy as before, and she dares to relax on the couch. Jabber returns with a few glasses and a bottle of each for them, grabbing the woman again, having her back against the arm of the chair (The angel shouldn't be able to make a noise like that, a half-yelp, half-squeak that is much too adorable for someone like her) and pouring both of them a glass.
“You’re a freak. In idiotic, foolish, far too native for your own good, demon,” Zanka takes a drink.
Jabber grins, “Why angel, if you wanted something you should've just asked, no need to sweet talk me.”
She takes a drink and winks at her.
Their night dissolves into talking, rambling about recent discoveries, experiments, stories from the times both of them had to separate in the past.
They end their night passed out, in a pile on that couch, hoping that this is the last they’ll see of heaven and of hell.