Writing Prompts

Pt 3

Hector Simmons, you are called!!!

The voice boomed out, despite not being a voice in the usual sense and making no actual sound. That's the Metatron for you.

I stood and walked to the entry of the Court.

The doors opened as I approached, the light shining from within. The inside of the Court usually looks like absurdly polished marble with gold veins. Sometimes, it's more nebulous, or even shines a pure gold. No idea why, but it does. It's a medium sized room, longer than wide. That's are no juries or audiences, so it doesn't need to be big.

At the end opposite the doors is a dais, barely raised at all. There are four entities that hang there above the floor. Most of the time, they're like Ezekiel, just a vaguely humanoid glow. Some days they go for something more recognizable, the classic winged angel in robes. Today was a light show.

Michael spoke up, "Hector Simmons, you are called. For whom do you speak?"

"Charles Bingham, a soul claimed under false pretenses."

"Let Charles Bingham be present."

And he was, just like that. Nothing like the word of an archangel to make things happen. Bingham didn't even pop into existence. No sound, no flash, nothing. Just there, blinking in the angelic glare. Overalls, a flannel shirt, and boots with clay sticking to them.

He looked around, saw me and smiled, then waved.

Michael spoke, "Charles Bingham, you have sold your soul, but claim the deal void?"

"Ayup. Devil lied to me, played a trick."

I stepped forward, watching Bingham, and the angels, waiting for whatever was going to happen. I spoke, laying out the case, and requested a Judgment.

The angels moved together and consulted, silently. I suppose they spoke in some way, but it was certainly not audible to me, or anyone I've ever represented.

Bingham leaned over to me, "Ya reckon they gonna help me?"

"I think there's a solid chance, yes. They didn't argue anything, didn't ask any questions. That's usually a sign they think the case is legit. Or, they know something that I don't. Is there anything like that?"

"Oh, I reckon not, no. Less'n they got somethin' agin farmers."

"Yeah, not that I know of."

I looked him up and down, from the dirty boots to the tractor company cap on his head. Every inch the salt of the earth. Maybe I was wrong, maybe the elemental I had check up on things had lied, or just gotten confused.

I shrugged, "Then you're probably going to be fine. Like I said, your deal was blatantly a fake-out, a cheap ploy. Tell you the truth, the devil isn't usually that stupid. Oh, he's going to play silly buggers, but he's had a long time to get good at this. Something this shoddy? Nah, you're going to be let off, almost guaranteed."

The more sibilant voice of Raphael called across the room, "Mister Bingham, may we consult you on a few details?"

He turned, and started walking towards them. Gabriel smiled at me as I started to follow, "You will not be needed, Hector. Simple follow-up questions."

"But, my client..."

"Hector, we are angels, he will be safe with us. Stay."

That stay was not a request, and I felt the weight of it as much as I heard it. So I stayed like a good monkey.

The five of them huddled together. There were murmurs, followed by tinkling laughter. Michael slapped Bingham's back. He touched a human. I've been doing this for years, and none of those guys has ever shaken my hand. God damn them. All five of their halo having, wing flipping, angelic asses.

After what felt like an hour, Bingham finally broke loose of them and came my way. I was glaring as hard as I could, but it didn't break his stride, or smile as he spoke, "It seems you were right, Mr Simmons, the case was open and shut, as they say."

"You are such an asshole."

"Is that how you sweet talk all your clients?"

"Up yours, pal. Was this some kind of prank, or what? Why are you still messing with me?"

He gestured towards the doors, "Walk with me, this is not the place for this conversation."

The bastard placed a hand on my shoulder as we walked out and towards the gates. I shrugges it off and stepped apart from him, "Well, we're outside, explain yourself."

He laughed, the tone of it ringing off of the paving stones, "I am not prone to explanations, Hector. But for you, I'll make an exception.

Think a moment. Imagine that you were thrown out of your home, publicly and with great thundering. Imagine that you were assigned a host of part of your family, tasked with the job of providing choices. Imagine that, publicly, you are now cut off from the remainder of your family, left behind with your parent.

Would you not engage in some chicanery for the occasional reunion?"

"Oh, please. Lord of lies, that's you. You conned your way through hundreds of thousands of humans, and tried to con me. Like anyone is going to believe that half-assed sob story."

"As you will, Hector. Then perhaps you can accept that you have done a great favor to me and my siblings, at least. That, regardless of my motivations, or theirs, that you having done your job well means that you have done good this day. You have."

"What the hell ever, man. This shit, this is why people hate the lot of you. We're not your fucking toys."

"Are you not? No, don't waste energy snapping at me. Yes, it is true that your lot get moved and played with. It is also true that you in particular have been used, and put upon rather unfairly. You came to me, asking for success in your field. Did you not get that?"

"Are you kidding me? No, I didn't. I got screwed. Instead of the kind of talent I needed, I end up babbling full texts any time I get asked a question, and get shoved into a hospital. Couldn't even finish school because of it."

"And yet, you just spent the day in the highest court there is, excepting perhaps an audience with the Creator. You are widely renowned as the greatest interventionist alive, and as one of the greatest ever. Some of the Saints speak of you with respect and a degree of envy."

"Come off it. There is no way you had this planned. I'm the one that turned your crappy deal on its ear and made something good out of it."

"You are absolutely correct. You did the work. You, instead of bargaining your stained soul for false ability, dug in and researched, became an expert in biblical law, esoterica, all the workings of the various religious, and made your way here. You did that while bypassing the usual route of martyrdom or service. But give me some credit for showing you that the path you were on was not the right one for you."

"There's no way you had all this planned out. Bullshit. You're taking credit after the fact."

"Am I? Or am I walking out of heaven for the first time in millennia, alongside the one human that might both see through the false guise, but still have the nerve to drag me before the Court anyway? I am walking away from hugging my siblings, with no war, no chaos, no angering of the Creator. And you are walking away from it with no stain on your soul, no claim on it from me, and with a path to going down in history as a true advocate of humanity.

Do you not think that maybe, after having seen your people evolve from tree hanging animals into, well, essentially the same thing but with fancy clothing, that maybe I have an eye for potential?"

I didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. If he was telling the truth, I didn't want to know it. If he wasn't? That might be worse."

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Part 3, and the finish, I think.