#unfortunately two of them are stuck in ref sheet hell

[adzandiel-blog]

An Unfortunate Headbutt With a Guillotine  (Zan Thought it Sounded Exotic)

Well, who wouldn’t? I mean, back in the 18th century, tons of things were popping up in the streets1. Steam engines, locomotives, dynamite, the telegraph, the idea of eating cake when there’s a lack of bread, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, mercury thermometers… Really, it was all very thrilling back then. The ‘guillotine’ sounded like a new French dish, or perhaps a new type of massage.

But really Aden, with your proposed title, you make it sound like the conversation went somewhere along the lines of me asking them for an exotic way to spend our time. As in…

US, knowing exactly one phrase of French and it is “We don’t speak French”: Good day, sirs. Prithee, point us in the right direction of the newest, most exciting way to return our mortal bodies to the Heavenly and Damned Home Depot?

EXECUTIONERS, speaking French, knowing exactly one phrase of English and it is “Chop chop, motherfuckers”2**: The fuck? Take them away.

US, realizing:

And… you could guess what happens next.3

But no. That’s not what happened, despite what Aden’s recollection might be.

What really happened was that Aden and I‌ were both coincidentally in Paris—on individual assignments given to us by our respective superiors, I’m sure you understand. Aden was supposed to go strengthen faith in a few local faltering churches, and I‌ was supposed to do… well, the opposite.

We sensed each other in the vicinity and met up a while after that. And ten minutes after that, we promptly agreed to take the time to relax and enjoy the European weather, instead of running around undercover for a week or so, working our damnedest—and holiest—to do our jobs, but instead undermining each other’s efforts. Smart of us.

So then, we did what any pair of friends—or, in our case, sworn Adversaries who never really got the whole ‘enemy’ memo—would do on vacation. We went sightseeing.

There wasn’t a lot of… sights to see, though. Not exactly a charming vibe, with a butchering block every few blocks and the rotting scent of death in the air. For a bit, Aden and I‌ had to resort to dulling our senses whenever we ventured into the city. It was that bad.

Then, of course, Aden insisted on us still carrying out a few benevolences (and misdeeds), despite all the shit going on. I, of course, wasn’t able to say no, because not saying no to Aden ranks high on my list of My Fucky Morals.

We were out of place—that’s what I‌ reckon landed us in shit.‌ We stood out of the crowd like horses in a hospital. Aden in a fine white tunic decorated with little sewn details of blue thread, me in a similar fashion but with a black and gold scheme. Meanwhile, the masses of the streets were grubby and reeked like death—well, quite frankly, we would’ve reeked of death and despair as well if we hadn’t taken the liberties of making ourselves stench-proof—and the most important thing was that we did not speak French.

Putting Aden’s arsenal of available languages and mine together, I’d say it’s quite impressive.‌‌ English, Swahili, Latin, Hebrew, Mandarin, Japanese, a few dead dialects, Enochian, Portuguese… We tried our best to negotiate in Latin, but really, unless the Pope was out for a stroll, it wouldn’t have been of much use. In fact, I’m fairly sure speaking in these foreign languages was what got us condemned and marked as demons.456

Of course, we were never in any real danger. It would’ve only taken a small miracle and we’d have been out of there in a jiffy.7 But we had to maintain some semblance of being mortal—we couldn’t have had the word about two otherworldly beings having escaped from the Bastille from certain death—imagine the paperwork.8

So it was… what, ten days of sulking in the cell?91011 An angel and a demon stuck inside a small enclosed space. It’s a miracle we didn’t kill each other.12 Although, we weren’t entirely bored. It was rather fun to talk with the ghost of the Count de Lorges.‌ (Did I‌ ever mention I could do that?‌ Communicate with spirits? Damned soul and all, you know. Comes with the occupation.)

The day they came to get us, we had worked out a plan. But you know what they say—no plan survives first contact with implementation. I‌ agree! Because our plan failed. Miserably.

Our plan was the following, laid out as comprehensibly as I‌ could possibly put it in modern terms:

1) Roll to seduce.13

And… that was about it.

Yeah, I know. “What happened to the concept of a backup plan? Weren’t you friends with Alexander the Great, what happened to strategy and formation—“ Listen, Aden and‌ I share one brain cell, alright? When we’re apart, sure!‌ Everything’s fine. Everything’s normal. But when we’re within… oh, three miles of each other? One brain cell.14

Suffice to say it… We had to think of a Plan B really fast. And I mean very fast. Miraculously fast. Because we’re quite attached to our heads. Less so than most mortals, but still considerably attached nonetheless. We possessed no desire to lose them.

So what was our rapidly improvised Plan B?

Well, we remembered that while it would fail in logic and strategy to teleport away, we did still have powers. Quite a good deal of raw power, too. Good news, right?‌ Snap your fingers, stop time or whatever, and everything’s fine.

Oh, ho, no.

Because we forgot that each other has powers.

Here’s something that you should know about celestial beings who can do almost anything if they try hard enough:‌ Even in magic, they have their own distinct styles.

Mine, for example, involves golden sparks (when I’m feeling in the mood for it, of course), the occasional stopping-time gig15, and, most notably, fire.

Aden’s, bless him, is subtle, not flashy at all, but brutally efficient when he wills it to be.‌ Mainly, he goes for raw magic, something he can shape and bend to his will, whether it manifest in the form of water, earthly manipulations, air, or fire.16 Usually, though, he exhibits it by molding air—forming protective shields, cages and restraints when necessary, weapons out of solidified air, and the suchlike.

So what happened?

Fire. Air. Golden sparks. Whoosh.

We’d proceeded to accidentally bring down the entire stone corridor, causing quite a panic for the prisoners, guards, and sentries alike. And, apparently, a bit of my magic had backfired—rebounded off of Aden’s minor explosion of hard air and went ricocheting right out of the Bastille and straight into a barrel of gunpowder outside the building.17

Aden and I took the chance among the chaos to vanish.

We’d reappeared in a quaint countryside, miles away from good ol’ Paris. While recovering from the not-exactly traumatic but at least disturbing experience, we received the news that the Bastille had fallen, and we promptly agreed to never, ever, revisit Paris, at least not in that millennia.18

And that’s how we ended up holding a grudge against the entirety of France for at least two decades.

At least I got a promotion for destroying the Bastille and wreaking general chaos, yeah?

And in the sheets, too, but Aden’ll never admit that.‌‌ I will, though. Proudly. I‌ might have had something to do with it. ↩︎

Or something like that. ↩︎

‌ You might’ve guessed what happens next, but take a stab as to who definitely didn’t back then?‌ You’re quite right. It was our favorite demon. —‌ Aden ↩︎

‌ An accusation worthy of execution, of course. Although, the sentence wasn’t being burned at the stake—it was still beheading. Only witches got burnt at the stake. You should’ve seen Aden’s face when they sent in a translator to our cell in the Bastille accusing and sentencing us to death on behalf of us being, and I quote, “Dastardly individuals spawned straight from the depths of Hell”. ↩︎

‌ It wasn’t funny, Zan!‌ It was an insult. An affront. I was affronted. ↩︎

Whatever, angel. It was absolutely hilarious. I‌ don’t care what you say. ↩︎

Did you know a jiffy is scientifically defined as a hundreth of a second?‌ So really, no one can do anything in a jiffy. I‌ think it even took Aden at least three jiffies before he got all worked up over being called a demon. ↩︎

‌ Either we’d have to erase all the humans’ memories, which would take a while—memory magic is always the hardest, with so many mental threads poised to tangle—or we’d have to arrange for Upstairs/Downstairs to do so, which takes explaining, which is something we’d never planned on doing. Thus:‌ Caution. ↩︎

‌ Ten days of being stuck with our respective sworn Adversaries/immortal enemies/literally the ONLY‌ person on the planet who could bring up that one incident from the early 1300s and hit that sore spot. ↩︎

Aha!‌ Blackmail material. If you aren’t careful, Zan, the truth about Geneva might just slip out. ↩︎

Oh, you bastard.‌‌ We agreed to never talk about Geneva. What happened in Geneva, stays in Geneva. Anyway, no one reads our blog, so your threat doesn’t hold much merit here. ↩︎

And perhaps it was! — Aden ↩︎

Want clarification? Either Aden or I‌ would seduce the guards into letting us free. Simple as that. We fucked up and landed ourselves into this mess, so we would fuck our way out. ↩︎

When we’re drunk together, it actually becomes two brain cells, but we don’t really use them, we just rub them together like pennies to further emphasize, using a parody of the classic idiom, how little brain cells we really have. ↩︎

It’s not as easy as it sounds, though. It requires tremendous effort, and even then, it makes me want to pass out for weeks afterwards. I think I’m getting better at it—last time I did it, I only slept for five days after. ↩︎

I’ve asked him not to do fire too often. It really takes from my branding, you know?‌ And sure, I could wield multiple elements, but it’s just so much cooler to have a signature style. ↩︎

It was by sheer luck that it didn’t hit the main supply, or history would have gone very, very differently. The stray barrel did detonate, however, and that’s probably why the crowd started fighting—out of a perfect mix of confusion, fear from hearing the sound, anger at the confirmation of how much firepower there was stored in the Bastille, and enthusiasm. ↩︎

We lied. We did go back one more time to watch the day the Eiffel Tower finished its construction. ↩︎