Paradise | ONC 2023

[ 7 ] - An Explosive Sesame-Seeded Disco Ball

THIS close, I can smell him beyond the seafoam. He's like linen sheets. Morning dew. And something unfamiliar, sterile—like a hospital, but...even colder. More distant.

I pull whatever magic and energy I have left into my hand, channeling it through my bloodstream, and—

"I have a cheeseburger here, well-done, and a hogfish sandwich! Who's got what?" A voice asks. Different waiter. I let go, slamming against the back of the booth, and force an awkward, lancet-thin smile.

"Sorry. I ordered the hogfish—" I offer. The waiter's entranced by Riel, too, but he snaps out of it and walks off. Riel has that smug, proud look on his face. "Fitting for a Superbia demon, that expression." I mention.

It fades immediately. I laugh to dispel the tension and bite into a fry. He echoes my movements, doing the same. I take a bite of my sandwich—fantastic; the fish is tender, and the seasoning is right. The remoulade is creamy, a bit sweet; a nice contrast to the blackened, smoky, salty fish. He nods in approval at the burger, smiling, closing his eyes.

"Is this expression fitting for a demon?"

"Luxuria, maybe." I say, unable to stifle a laugh.

The burger becomes so full of light that it's become a sesame-seeded disco ball. And then it explodes.

I yelp, ducking under the table, as meat and bun and sauce flies everywhere. A pickle's flung onto my forehead—it stings. And burns, superheated. I fling the pickle off, pressing a hand against my cheek.

"You don't say that, Iris!"

I dig my fingers against the new burn and sit upright. "You can't take a damn joke? Why am I even asking—clearly you can't! There's burnt pickle and burger everywhere..." When I look around, nobody's noticed. Thankfully. The yacht rock's too loud. My skin stings; Riel's face is redder than the slat of tomato that's on my lap.

Why did Luxuria get such a rise out of him? The sheer comparison to lust...maybe, like priests, angels cannot romantically love or lust under stupid rules. But wouldn't they be made to be aroace, then? Or do they feel—

Focus. Regroup. Right. I focus on the moment, wiping ketchup from my arm.

"It was a joke."

"I'm aware. And I apologize for the outburst—it's just—inappropriate. Very. Let me see your cheek; it is burnt."

I drop my hand, and he stands, moving to sit on my side of the bench. He leans in much too close again, setting his hands on my face, and shuts his eyes. His hold is gentle. But every time we touch, there's energy between us.

Demons and angels aren't supposed to interact, after all. Let alone work together.

(Even if by force.)

He runs his thumbs over the wound, and the slow, calm movements—as well as his warm breath on my face—calm me down. I shut my eyes, feeling the burn heal. Without looking, I know it's healed without scars, any lingering wounds.

"How do you still have energy? After everything?" I ask, opening my eyes. He retracts, moving to sit on the other side once more.

"I hide my exhaustion well." Riel's expression clouds. "Sorry for the overreaction."

"It's fine." I decide not to ask about the whole 'lust' comment. His pride would be too damaged.

"I enjoyed my meal—no need to reorder. I should not get used to mortal food, anyway."

Sad. But I nod along.

"So...explain the consequences of the demon-remaining-on-Earth stuff. Please."

Riel nods. "Increased violence. War. Corruption. Chaos. Nature will spin out of control; people will dig deeper into their own evils. More terror, more inequality, more tension. And yes—I do understand that the economic system in which you live in, among many, many other factors, only contributes to this rising terror...which in turn makes people angrier, and more willing to fall into rabbit holes, and—the cycle continues. An unending ouroboros. And though mortals fight or shield themselves from this slow apocalypse in their mortal lives...your people's inclusion here will speed this process exponentially. And considering that the hotel has been here for, what—"