[beard]
GATES OF HELL
by thephoenixboy
Ogata had always heard that losing consciousness felt like falling.
He hadn’t expected it to be quite so literal, which meant that hitting the ground came as something of a surprise.
Really, it was fortunate that he wasn’t as old as Kuwabara or even as Touya-sensei because he seemed to have escaped without broken bones. Sadly, his suit appeared to be ruined - there were black patches in a few embarrassing areas that even the best dry cleaners would struggle with. White was difficult sometimes but the effect was more than worth it.
Not that there appeared to be a dry cleaners in sight. In fact, he seemed to be standing in the middle of a wasteland of ash and dust. His shoes were probably wrecked too.
Ogata sighed, pulled his lighter from his pocket and lit up.
“Smoking kills, you know?”
He turned around slowly. The man standing there was wearing a very stylish black suit - Armani perhaps - and sunglasses. The clipboard he was carrying detracted from the effect slightly but really was only a minor blip. He also had horns. Ogata, with a mind highly trained to put together seemingly unconnected pieces, was slowly coming to a conclusion.
“I’m not sure I need to worry about that any more,” he said, as casually as he could manage under the circumstances, grasping at the wisps of memory. “I think I was in a car crash.”
The demon consulted his clipboard.
“Ogata Seiji, correct?” he said and continued without waiting for an answer. “Died aged 32 in a car accident. Nice car, incidentally. I’ve always quite liked Mazdas. Down here for, ah yes, inappropriate conduct with a minor. No, several minors. You’ve had an interesting life, Seiji-kun. Personally I might have stuck with the cute one with the dorky haircut but it’s your choice, I suppose. Or was, anyway.”
“Not to interrupt,” Ogata said, grinding his cigarette into the ashes under his foot and realising belatedly that it was his last, “but is there anywhere I could get a change of clothes?”
The demon looked down his nose at him.
“Does it look like we run a clothing depot?”
Ogata gave him a flat look. The demon sighed.
“There is a reason why black is more popular, particularly in these kind of conditions. You can apply for new clothing from the supply division; remember to fill out all their forms in triplicate. We need to get moving now, get you registered as a citizen of hell.”
Ogata looked around critically. The literature he’d read on the subject had suggested orgies and more minor sins such as fast cars and unlimited cigarettes. All he could see so far was what looked like endless office blocks.
“I had imagined hell to be a little more entertaining.”
“It’s what you do to get here that’s interesting,” the demon said, a smile spreading across his face. “Once you get here, it’s eternal damnation and punishment. It wouldn’t be hell if it had all the fun perversions of your mortal life.”
He considered this.
“How about go then?”
After all, if Touya-sensei played it, it couldn’t count as a sin, could it?
by thephoenixboy
Ogata had always heard that losing consciousness felt like falling.
He hadn’t expected it to be quite so literal, which meant that hitting the ground came as something of a surprise.
Really, it was fortunate that he wasn’t as old as Kuwabara or even as Touya-sensei because he seemed to have escaped without broken bones. Sadly, his suit appeared to be ruined - there were black patches in a few embarrassing areas that even the best dry cleaners would struggle with. White was difficult sometimes but the effect was more than worth it.
Not that there appeared to be a dry cleaners in sight. In fact, he seemed to be standing in the middle of a wasteland of ash and dust. His shoes were probably wrecked too.
Ogata sighed, pulled his lighter from his pocket and lit up.
“Smoking kills, you know?”
He turned around slowly. The man standing there was wearing a very stylish black suit - Armani perhaps - and sunglasses. The clipboard he was carrying detracted from the effect slightly but really was only a minor blip. He also had horns. Ogata, with a mind highly trained to put together seemingly unconnected pieces, was slowly coming to a conclusion.
“I’m not sure I need to worry about that any more,” he said, as casually as he could manage under the circumstances, grasping at the wisps of memory. “I think I was in a car crash.”
The demon consulted his clipboard.
“Ogata Seiji, correct?” he said and continued without waiting for an answer. “Died aged 32 in a car accident. Nice car, incidentally. I’ve always quite liked Mazdas. Down here for, ah yes, inappropriate conduct with a minor. No, several minors. You’ve had an interesting life, Seiji-kun. Personally I might have stuck with the cute one with the dorky haircut but it’s your choice, I suppose. Or was, anyway.”
“Not to interrupt,” Ogata said, grinding his cigarette into the ashes under his foot and realising belatedly that it was his last, “but is there anywhere I could get a change of clothes?”
The demon looked down his nose at him.
“Does it look like we run a clothing depot?”
Ogata gave him a flat look. The demon sighed.
“There is a reason why black is more popular, particularly in these kind of conditions. You can apply for new clothing from the supply division; remember to fill out all their forms in triplicate. We need to get moving now, get you registered as a citizen of hell.”
Ogata looked around critically. The literature he’d read on the subject had suggested orgies and more minor sins such as fast cars and unlimited cigarettes. All he could see so far was what looked like endless office blocks.
“I had imagined hell to be a little more entertaining.”
“It’s what you do to get here that’s interesting,” the demon said, a smile spreading across his face. “Once you get here, it’s eternal damnation and punishment. It wouldn’t be hell if it had all the fun perversions of your mortal life.”
He considered this.
“How about go then?”
After all, if Touya-sensei played it, it couldn’t count as a sin, could it?