The Day Valentine Never Celebrated

St. Patrick's Day

The Day Valentine Never Celebrated

St. Patrick’s Day Special

 Valentine’s POV

Italics: Ithuriel

(Disclaimer: I own nothing)

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            Valentine burst through the doors of his lab, taking the stairs two at a time. His face was a bright red, white hair tousled. He plopped down in his chair with a great huff, steam practically rising off his irritated form. He watched his tables of experiments, trying to calm himself as he watched the demon and angel blood wrestle. He released another huff, brooding as he swept a hand through his disgruntled hair. Even though he was slowly calming, he still looked as red as a sunburnt lobster. Releasing yet another huff / grunt, he stared back at the demon blood. It started writhing and converting in the glass sphere. It started to make shapes again. First, it was a mini Valentine himself, then it was a racing dark horse. Valentine sighed boredly, glancing back at the blood with no amusement on his face. With the blood’s final transformation, it convulsed into a tiny teetering leprechaun that gallivanted around its glass domain. Suddenly Valentine’s eyes grew wide and he released a high pitched shrill shriek, falling back in his chair, making a thud on the ground.

             Ithuriel jolted awake, shimmering hair hanging limp in his eyes, its shine dim and without its usual sheen. He hardly moved, sending trembles through his chains, the links making a loud rusty clang. Stretching out his sore muscles, his ivory skin covered in hulking lacerations and throbbing bruises. His pale limbs were skinny even through his angelic bodice, bones showing through the alabaster flesh. He looked over at Valentine with his dull white eyes, silver glinting his eyelashes, stretching out his dirty, broken wings as he sighed. What is it now? The heavenly voice reverberated through the white haired Nephilim’s mind.

            Valentine sat up abruptly, looking over at the shady corner that housed the earthbound angel. He pointed at the little ebony figure of a leprechaun that was doing a jig, “That foul creature has been everywhere I’ve been today! I went to the store, his face is on boxes. I walk down the street, I see him on billboards. I go to the restroom, and there’s clovers everywhere! He tried to bribe me with promises of rainbows and pots of gold… DON’T TAKE THE GOLD, ITHURIEL! IT WAS ALL A PLOY! Valentine Morgenstern curses the 17th of March, the date when men are haunted by ghastly Irish apparitions with red hair and cursed green attire!”

            Ithuriel sighed, You’re a hopeless idiot I hope you know.

            Valentine looked up from his rant, blinking and staring at the angel like a confused child.

            No blood sucking leprechaun is going to jump out of the shadows, kill you, then just run off, clicking his heels in victory.

            The Nephilim’s lip quivered, “No… Say it isn’t true…” He sounded scared and devastated. “They can click their heels too?”

            Ithuriel sighed, wishing he could face-palm himself. Sadly, the shackles prevented it. That’s not what I meant, you ignorant sap. I’m trying to make a point that your theories are completely incoherent and stupid. Nobody is going to harm you today.

            “Not true!” Valentine shouted, turning to face the imprisoned man, “I’ve been assaulted numerous times today. By many people!”

            Oh yeah? The angel scoffed. What did they do?

            The other man wrapped himself in a hug, “… They pinched me… BECAUSE I WASN’T WEARING GREEN!Minions of the leprechaun, I’m telling you! Why would I wear such a cursed color?”