[ WP ] The exemplars of good and evil casually go to a private lounge ; appearing as suited men , and drink scotch and simply talk .

Azrael settled into the leather armchair, letting his tired legs stretch out. Despite the fact that he was a being of pure energy, his stress seemed to manifest itself as a physical strain when he manifested. And now, as he irritably waited for his drinking companion to arrive, he could already feel his mood fouling. 
 
 An attendant was instantly at his shoulder, a shining glass snifter of amber liquid lowered into Azrael's hand. The archangel took the glass without sparing a glance to the lesser cherub, who scurried off, and lifted the rim to his lips. The scotch was perfect, aged and seasoned and infused with a million notes of flavor on the edge of perception. In Azrael's mouth, it might as well have been sewage. 
 
 The archangel glanced down at his gleaming watch three more times before another visitor entered the lounge. He knew that Mephistopheles was late; the demon had last wandered around the mortal plane back in the late nineties, when arrogant young kids in freshly tailored business suits ran the corporate world on their own personal clocks. The fallen angel had picked up more than a touch of that arrogance, as well as a disgusting likeness for energy drinks combined with his alcohol. 
 
 When the other man finally strolled in, one hand running up to slick back his greasy black hair, Azrael did n't bother to hold in his sigh. `` Get lost?'' he asked. 
 
 The other man did n't respond right away, settling into his seat opposite the angel and accepting his own drink from another cherub. `` You just have no sense of panache,'' he responded between slurps of the fizzy yellow drink. 
 
 Azrael disguised his lack of respect with another sip of his scotch. Fortunately, he knew the devil sitting across from him well, and the archangel could out-wait him every time. And true to form, Mephistopheles only managed to sit still for a minute or so before he took a deep pull of his disgusting alcoholic energy drink and opened his lips again. 
 
 `` Okay, let's get this over with,'' the fallen angel announced, sitting back and squirming in his chair. `` I hate having to physically manifest. This body itches. What's on the list for today?'' 
 
 The archangel raised his hand, and another cherub dropped a scroll into his hand. He set down his snifter of scotch on the end table next to his seat so that he could pull the ornate scroll open. `` A light load,'' he replied, a note of relief creeping into his voice. `` Just three items. North Korea, something about a missing flight, and that issue that we keep tabling.'' 
 
 The devil waved his hand in a dismissive manner. `` Ugh, not North Korea again. What are we even supposed to be doing about it? None of our operatives are there.'' 
 
 `` Nor ours,'' Azrael replied. `` And to be honest, we believed that one of yours was behind the whole debacle going on down there.'' 
 
 With a snap of his fingers, a long list appeared in smoky red flames in front of Mephistopheles. He flicked through it with one finger, reading off the names in demonic script. `` Nope, no one there,'' he said at length. `` It's just that dictator they've got. Totally off his rocker.'' 
 
 `` So what should we do? Lightning bolt? Column of fire?'' 
 
 Mephistopheles waggled his fingers noncommittally. `` Give him a couple years. He'll either come around to your side, or we'll end up replacing him with someone focused a little more on the religious hellfire.'' 
 
 `` Great. Next item: we apparently lost a plane...'' 
 
 At this comment, the devil took another large drink. `` Shit,'' he said with feeling. `` That one was actually on us.'' 
 
 Azrael raised an eyebrow. It was rare to see any demon, much less a Lord of Hell, accept responsibility for any wrongdoing, however small. `` Care to elaborate?'' he asked. 
 
 Mephistopheles' drink was nearly empty, and a cherub scurried over to retrieve the glass and bring him a new drink. As soon as the new frosted glass was in his perfectly manicured hand, he took a pull and consumed more than a third. `` We were testing out some new portal systems,'' he finally said. `` Larger openings. Armageddon's coming, you know. Got ta figure out how to move our troops around.'' 
 
 `` And what, you just left one of these things open?'' Azrael picked up, aghast. `` You figured that no one would stumble upon a literal portal to Hell? What if one of their satellites spotted it!?'' 
 
 `` It's cloaked! Give us some credit!'' Mephistopheles interjected. `` And we had it over a mile up in the air. Who's going to ever bump into that?'' 
 
 Azrael rolled his eyes. `` Someone sure did,'' he muttered under his breath. 
 
 `` Listen, we're on damage control,'' Mephistopheles insisted. `` We've already knocked together a mock-up, dropped it at the bottom of the ocean, and our people at the news networks are pushing towards it. This whole thing will blow over.'' 
 
 `` A mock-up? What happened to the actual plane?'' 
 
 Mephistopheles rubbed his face with one hand. `` The thing crashed right through our invasion launch cavern and ended up taking out Beezlebub's summer palace,'' he complained. `` Now we've got a metal tail sticking out of his lava fountain, slaves working around the clock to repair the damage, and a whole bunch of Buddhist souls from on board that we ca n't get rid of.'' 
 
 This opened up a whole new debacle. From an inside breast pocket, Azrael withdrew an elegant fountain pen and inscribed a few notes on the scroll. `` We can probably get in touch with Hotei. That chubby excuse for a god can probably pull away from his eternal buffet long enough to do something.'' 
 
 `` Please,'' Mephistopheles replied sincerely. There was a definite advantage to this face-to-face meeting between the archangels and the Lords of Hell; while it took some humility, things certainly got done a lot faster than through the normal bureaucratic channels. 
 
 The archangel's snifter of scotch was nearly gone. He glanced down at the list on his lap. `` Well, there's just that last item that we tabled from before,'' he said. `` We need to take some action about that.'' 
 
 `` How long has this thing been tabled for? It's been a while, has n't it?'' asked Mephistopheles. 
 
 Azrael had to quickly count on his fingers. `` Two millenia? Might have been a little longer.'' 
 
 `` Ugh,'' the devil groaned. `` Refresher?'' 
 
 The archangel disliked flashy magic, but he spun his pen in a slow circle over the scroll, making the words change beneath the ink nub. `` Looks like we had some guy proclaim himself a god,'' he read off. `` Whole bunch of trouble went down, we both slipped up, and the aftershocks of all of this has been causing ripples and problems all over.'' 
 
 Mephistopheles considered this for a few minutes, and then took a contemplative drink. `` Well, my drink is almost gone, and these stupid bodies ca n't hold a buzz,'' he complained. `` We've tabled this for a couple millenia, and nothing's fallen apart yet.'' 
 
 Azrael nodded. `` Move to table?'' 
 
 `` Move to table.'' 
 
 The angel rose up from his seat, stretching out his limbs. `` Ugh. I ca n't wait to get out of this body.'' He tossed back the last of his scotch, tossing the glass back down onto a table. 
 
 One of the cherubs came up to the archangel, bobbing at his elbow. `` Sir, the bill?'' 
 
 With distaste, Azrael turned and glared at the little angel. `` Are you kidding me?'' he thundered. `` Do you know who I am? We made this whole thing on another plane, just for meetings. What in the world do you need money for??'' 
 
 The little cherub looked uncertain, but he stood his ground. `` Sorry sir, but not money - karma,'' he insisted. `` We have to pay the karmic balance for the drinks, sir.'' 
 
 Azrael was still about to argue, but Mephistopheles snapped his fingers, and a few shining tokens appeared out of thin air and tumbled into the cherub's outstretched hand. `` I got this one,'' the devil commented. `` You can pick up the tab next time.'' 
 
 Together, the devil and the archangel strolled out of the lounge. Azrael knew that he should hate this manifestation of evil, but they had been meeting so long, had talked and griped together so long, that he actually felt closer to him than to many of the other angels. Metatron was an insufferable know-it-all, Gabriel had a frustrating tendency to gloat, and Michael was never able to remove the stick from his ass. But Mephistopheles' lack of any respect towards authority was refreshing, a nice change from the stuffy bureaucracy he usually had to face. 
 
 `` So, meet again in another couple years?'' Mephistopheles asked at the door. 
 
 `` Let's make it next year,'' Azrael replied. `` Follow up on that plane, you know.'' 
 
 The two men stepped out through the door, out into the nothingness on the other side. For just a second, both of their bodies were outlined in a glow; Azrael's figure lit up in white, while Mephistopheles' shape imploded into blackness. 
 
 And then they both were gone.
