Original -- Penance (Sucks)
Title: Penance (Sucks)
Rating: G
Word Count: 719
Warnings: the usual blasphemy
Prompt: a dude pushing his way out of an igloo (…?) at pulped_fictions
Summary: Vincent is helping Maion do a Penance. In an igloo. In Antarctica. Because Maion has really good puppy eyes.
Author's Note: …uh, I don't know. XD
PENANCE (SUCKS)
It is unfortunate that Maion looks so freaking adorable in a parka. It is also unfortunate that there are no small mammals to hunt and drain of their hot blood out on the Antarctic wastes, but it’s the freaking adorableness that landed Vincent in this stupid place, so he’s focused on that for now. He stamps his feet and folds his arms a little tighter around his knees.
Maion sniffles. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s a good start,” Vincent mutters through his scarf. “But I think you’ll have to say it a little louder if you want Them to hear you.”
“They already know I’m sorry,” Maion says. “That’s what ‘omniscient’ means.”
“I know precisely what-”
“And that’s the point of a Penance,” Maion goes on gloomily. “I have to wait it out to prove that I’m sorry.”
“Penance sucks,” Vincent says.
Maion looks mournfully at the wall of their cramped, icy sanctuary. “Agreed.”
Vincent shuffles his feet again, glances up through the smoke hole at the frigid twilit sky, and tries to picture Nice. “All you did was leave some idiot alone once you saw him with his children.”
“I directly disobeyed orders from Above,” Maion corrects. He isn’t very enthusiastic about the whole prospect, but that could be because his tongue’s begun to freeze. “I know better than that. Well-They know better than I do; that’s the point. That’s why I mustn’t stray.”
Vincent wrinkles his nose, then tries to push his scarf further up it. “That all sounds pretty fasci-”
Maion flails both mittened hands desperately. Above his slightly bluish lips, his eyes are stark turquoise. “Omniscience, remember?”
Vincent grimaces, not that any more than a third of his face is visible. “How could I possibly forget?”
Maion shrugs, and then his shoulders slump a little. “It could be worse,” he says. “Last time, it was Michael who caught me out, and he wouldn’t let me have an igloo.” Vincent thinks he detects a shiver moving underneath all of the fleece and nylon. “Or a coat.”
As far as Vincent can tell-Maion isn’t terribly forthcoming about the intricacies of celestial anatomy-cold, unlike most physical conditions, affects seraphs extremely adversely. Vincent supposes that probably comes as a package deal with the whole ‘Burning One’ moniker, but that doesn’t make it any more pleasant to be sitting in an icebox with a chastised goody-six-wings.
“You know,” he says. “I think it’d be fair to make some provisions for my comfort, since I got suckered into this without signing a waiver.”
Maion peeks at him. “What kinds of provisions?”
Vincent is momentarily tempted to demand that Maion find him an Arctic fox-but the angel would never let him kill it, because they’re cute.
“Light a fire,” he says. “Just a little one. We both know you wouldn’t do it if you were alone, therefore They all know, therefore it’s perfectly fair.”
Maion frowns. “I’m not sure if that logic hol-”
“It’s rock-solid,” Vincent says. “Go on. I can’t feel my toes.”
Maion looks conflicted. “I would hate for you to get frostbite.”
“I would be more than a little miffed,” Vincent says.
Maion struggles with his inner demons-or, rather, his slightly less-virtuous inner angels-and then, as Vincent had hoped, gives in.
The igloo is rather cheerier with a small blue flame flickering in its center, independent of any fuel and accordingly devoid of smoke. Vincent holds his hands out to it.
“How much longer?” he asks.
“Seven hours, fifty-three minutes, and twenty-two-point-six seconds,” Maion says, but he doesn’t sound quite so hopeless.
Vincent smiles faintly, not that Maion will be able to see it. Maybe he can sense it if he’s got a little omniscience of his own.
One wall of the igloo implodes, bricks and loose snow scattering everywhere, to reveal a delighted Belial, dressed for much kinder weather and apparently unaffected.
“I found your love nest!” he crows.
The remainder of the igloo unceremoniously collapses. The last brick fires a puff of snow vindictively at Maion’s face, and flakes stick in his eyelashes.
“I was doing a Penance,” he says.
“What do you mean ‘was’?” Belial asks. Then he glances around at the destruction. “Ah. I see. Um… sorry.”
“That’s a good start,” Vincent sighs.
Rating: G
Word Count: 719
Warnings: the usual blasphemy
Prompt: a dude pushing his way out of an igloo (…?) at pulped_fictions
Summary: Vincent is helping Maion do a Penance. In an igloo. In Antarctica. Because Maion has really good puppy eyes.
Author's Note: …uh, I don't know. XD
PENANCE (SUCKS)
It is unfortunate that Maion looks so freaking adorable in a parka. It is also unfortunate that there are no small mammals to hunt and drain of their hot blood out on the Antarctic wastes, but it’s the freaking adorableness that landed Vincent in this stupid place, so he’s focused on that for now. He stamps his feet and folds his arms a little tighter around his knees.
Maion sniffles. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s a good start,” Vincent mutters through his scarf. “But I think you’ll have to say it a little louder if you want Them to hear you.”
“They already know I’m sorry,” Maion says. “That’s what ‘omniscient’ means.”
“I know precisely what-”
“And that’s the point of a Penance,” Maion goes on gloomily. “I have to wait it out to prove that I’m sorry.”
“Penance sucks,” Vincent says.
Maion looks mournfully at the wall of their cramped, icy sanctuary. “Agreed.”
Vincent shuffles his feet again, glances up through the smoke hole at the frigid twilit sky, and tries to picture Nice. “All you did was leave some idiot alone once you saw him with his children.”
“I directly disobeyed orders from Above,” Maion corrects. He isn’t very enthusiastic about the whole prospect, but that could be because his tongue’s begun to freeze. “I know better than that. Well-They know better than I do; that’s the point. That’s why I mustn’t stray.”
Vincent wrinkles his nose, then tries to push his scarf further up it. “That all sounds pretty fasci-”
Maion flails both mittened hands desperately. Above his slightly bluish lips, his eyes are stark turquoise. “Omniscience, remember?”
Vincent grimaces, not that any more than a third of his face is visible. “How could I possibly forget?”
Maion shrugs, and then his shoulders slump a little. “It could be worse,” he says. “Last time, it was Michael who caught me out, and he wouldn’t let me have an igloo.” Vincent thinks he detects a shiver moving underneath all of the fleece and nylon. “Or a coat.”
As far as Vincent can tell-Maion isn’t terribly forthcoming about the intricacies of celestial anatomy-cold, unlike most physical conditions, affects seraphs extremely adversely. Vincent supposes that probably comes as a package deal with the whole ‘Burning One’ moniker, but that doesn’t make it any more pleasant to be sitting in an icebox with a chastised goody-six-wings.
“You know,” he says. “I think it’d be fair to make some provisions for my comfort, since I got suckered into this without signing a waiver.”
Maion peeks at him. “What kinds of provisions?”
Vincent is momentarily tempted to demand that Maion find him an Arctic fox-but the angel would never let him kill it, because they’re cute.
“Light a fire,” he says. “Just a little one. We both know you wouldn’t do it if you were alone, therefore They all know, therefore it’s perfectly fair.”
Maion frowns. “I’m not sure if that logic hol-”
“It’s rock-solid,” Vincent says. “Go on. I can’t feel my toes.”
Maion looks conflicted. “I would hate for you to get frostbite.”
“I would be more than a little miffed,” Vincent says.
Maion struggles with his inner demons-or, rather, his slightly less-virtuous inner angels-and then, as Vincent had hoped, gives in.
The igloo is rather cheerier with a small blue flame flickering in its center, independent of any fuel and accordingly devoid of smoke. Vincent holds his hands out to it.
“How much longer?” he asks.
“Seven hours, fifty-three minutes, and twenty-two-point-six seconds,” Maion says, but he doesn’t sound quite so hopeless.
Vincent smiles faintly, not that Maion will be able to see it. Maybe he can sense it if he’s got a little omniscience of his own.
One wall of the igloo implodes, bricks and loose snow scattering everywhere, to reveal a delighted Belial, dressed for much kinder weather and apparently unaffected.
“I found your love nest!” he crows.
The remainder of the igloo unceremoniously collapses. The last brick fires a puff of snow vindictively at Maion’s face, and flakes stick in his eyelashes.
“I was doing a Penance,” he says.
“What do you mean ‘was’?” Belial asks. Then he glances around at the destruction. “Ah. I see. Um… sorry.”
“That’s a good start,” Vincent sighs.