I don't know yet whoops

Chapter Two

AN: Hello! This is a little early, but I guess you should expect a chapter every couple days or so. Thanks for reading again! I know this is moving a little slowly right now but it'll get into it eventually.

"Okay, Sammie! You're going to go through an initiation phase, sort of like...I can't think of a comparison, but it's an initiation. Then you'll become a demon!" Brendon had a tendency to fling his arms about, and one of his hands caught Marc in the face.

"Brendon. Hands to yourself." Marc's expression was vaguely bored; he seemed rather resigned to his fate.

"Ugh, Marc, you're such a whore."

"I—what?"


"Slut. Hooker. Whore."

"I am not a whore, Brendon."

"Yes you are."

Marc just sighed and kept walking. Without turning back, he said, "Here, you have to earn credits to buy stuff."

"Uhhh." This guy was far less conveniently expositional than Rob. "How do you earn credits?"

"Oh, you...um," he paused. "Do...stuff," he concluded rather vaguely.

"Whorey whore," chimed in Brendon.

"You try and explain then!"

"Honey, please. Don't you think we should get to know each other a little first?" Brendon stopped in his tracks. "Idea! Let's go to a cafe and get cake and talk and eat cake."

"Uhhhh." 'Uh' was apparently my word of the day.

"Great, let's go! And get cake!" Brendon had rushed off before I could say a word.

"Brilliant. He's going to look for cake again." Marc started walking incredibly slowly in approximately the same direction Brendon went.

Once we had found Brendon again (he somehow managed to blend in with the crowd, even with that suit on), we settled into a cafe called "Hell's Cafe". Original name, I know. A waiter almost as enthusiastic as Marc greeted us.

"Why hello honoured customers. Welcome to Hell's Cafe. We do a hell of a good eclair here," she recited in a monotone voice. At least she was polite.

Once we had sat down in a booth, Brendon immediately ordered eight slices of cake.

"Feel free to ask questions, Sammie," he mumbled through a mouthful of cake.

"Um," I hesitated. There were so many questions I wasn't entirely sure what to ask.

"OKAY, I've finished my cake, so let's go!" Brendon stood up, edged out of the booth, and ran out into the crowd again.

"Brendon—wait, you have to pay!"

*                                  *                                  *

"You spent sixteen of the twenty we got from our last job on cake," said Marc, shaking his head at Brendon, who looked far too pleased with himself.

"Shut up, Marc. At least I got us a job," replied Brendon. "Thirty credits. Some angels thought it'd be a good idea to go to some preacher's wife and tell her she was pregnant with Jesus's kid. Told her they should name it Ryan."

"Ryan?" Brendon started looking around nervously. "W-why not...Dallon? Or Spencer?" He laughed weakly. 

"So you do jobs to earn credits?" I interjected. At this rate, it would take weekes (hahahaha get it) to get them to do anything. 

"Uh, yeah. Didn't I tell  you that already?" Marc looked genuinely confused. 

"No, no you did not," I replied. This exasperating duo were beginning to get on my nerves. "Anyway, about this job. When are we meant to go?"

"Well, it expires in like four days I think." Brendon checked the old, tattered poster that was trapped between his clawed hands. "Oh."

Marc was frowning. "Four days isn't long, I don't know if we..."

"It's actually four hours. That's fine, right?"

Marc looked like he would rather pitch himself off of a bridge than spend another second with Brendon. But that wouldn't do anything, so he contented himself with lying on the floor face-down. 

"Oh, come on." I was finally fed up with the utter ridiculousness that had been my death. "I did not murder a bitch for this. We're going."

Marc moved his head to the side, so he was looking at my feet. "Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhfine."

"So how do you get to the human world?"

The answer to that question was...queueing. For two. Hours. At least we had time to figure out our battle plan.

"And what is your purpose Up Top today?" asked an attendant, who looked bored out of his mind.

"Business, I guess."

"Proof of identity?"

Brendon handed over a card with 'Fuck You' written in purple glitter pen.

"Good enough. Go on, then."