After The First Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives

ligur in heaven

Ligur sat watching Gabriel with a look of pure rapture on his face. Gabriel felt he was losing the room, but when he glanced at his newest angel he was cheered by the look of unalloyed admiration and continued his presentation on the correct use of the harp in sacred music. He was enjoying the attention of the new angel, he was just what Heaven needed, his fresh faced enthusiasm cheered him as he moved on to how to get hosannas just right. It was wonderful to see how the new angel hung on his every word.

As his new boss enthused on the finer points of being a successful ‘team player’ in the celestial choir Ligur thought what a prat he was. For, contrary to outward appearance, Ligur hated being an angel. He hated the singing, he hated the harmonies, he hated the white clothes and the fresh, sweet smelling air. He hated the other angels, he hated praising the almighty and, most of all, he hated Gabriel. No, scratch that, what he hated most of all was having to deceive Hastur. His Hastur. His ugly, evil, corrupt and impure Hastur. The lowest of the low. The most loathsome, disgusting, debased demon he'd ever met. No depth of depravity was too deep, his very presence spread rot and corruption. Oh how he missed him.

It was all for the greater bad. He was Hell's inside man, well 'entity'. He had a job to do, angels to corrupt, spying to be spied, plans to be spoiled. He was there to spread discontent, sow seeds of doubt. If possible make them fall, if not then at least make them weak. Anything to tip the odds to ensure that next time Hell would win. He had help too. Well help of a sort. Michael was his 'in', the one who vouched for his unlikely conversion. Michael didn't know the full plan of course. Michael just thought he was here to take Gabriel down. She wanted him literally taken down, as far down as it was possible to go in fact.

He couldn't say he was surprised when Michael had made the offer, proposed the Arrangement. Quid pro quo. Michael would help Hell, in return Hell would make Gabriel suffer so she could take over. There was also the tacit understanding that *if*, and in Michael's mind it was a nearly non-existent *if*, but *if* Hell happened to win....well Hell would not forget the favour. Quid pro quo. He hadn't mentioned the corollary to Hell's well known long memory. Hell does not forget but Hell does not forgive either. Michael had smited Satan in the first war. Any subsequent favours were irrelevant compared to that. Michael would get special treatment in Hell, just not the sort of 'special' she had in mind. He comforted himself with that thought. What he didn't want to think about was Hastur.

However he couldn't help but do so. It was like a jagged tooth, he couldn't stop poking at it. His Hastur, betrayed. The look of horror and disgust, the hurt and pain he had inflicted on him. He couldn't forget. The way he'd twisted the knife, smiling angelically, being so nice about it. Suggesting they could 'stay friends'. He shuddered at the memory. What he'd done was unforgivable. He only hoped that when this was all over, he could talk Hastur round. Win him back. His one hope was that the complete and total betrayal, the utter callousness and cruelty of his treatment would, paradoxically, do the trick. It was, when all said and done, such a terrible, awful, loathsome and *evil* thing to have done that maybe, just maybe, Hastur would appreciate it. Surely his willingness to utterly destroy his only friend and partner counted for something. It was the worst thing he could think of, the most despicably evil thing any demon could do. Perhaps Hastur would respect that.

He forced his concentration back to Gabriel. He was now talking about exercise. Something he called 'jogging'. Ligur hated jogging. He was used to hate. Hell was brimful of it. So much that it spilled out into the world at large and tainted everything it touched. Demons were good at hate, but he'd never felt it this strongly before. Perhaps he had though. There had to be a reason he had fallen the first time. He didn't remember what it was, but maybe it was jogging. That or all the singing, then again it was possible it had been all the white. He still didn't seem able to keep a white suit white for very long. Actually, it was probably the lack of alcohol that had done it. He really hated the perpetual sobriety, that and the Sound of Music. He hated so many things he was surprised the angels couldn’t sense it.