Hmm.
*Looks around. Blows dust off pixels*
Saint Michael closed his eyes, visualized billowing clouds like spun alabaster suffused with golden light, recreated harmonies of harp and celestial choir, and breathed deeply for a moment. He opened his eyes and blinked at the sleek and elegant planner on his desk. No way around it. Just as he reached for it, his next appointment burst through the door. Mike sighed. Prescience was a gift, yes. Discretion would be nice, too. Common courtesy would be almost too much to bear.
“It’s a lie!” The words burst from Ex’s apoplectic lips without preamble.
“That’s hardly news.” Mike didn't even have to ask for clarification.
“It’s wrong. It’s a lie”
Mike kept his voice steady, his demeanor imperturbable. “Define ‘lie’.”
“The poor bastards are living a lie. They think it’s real...”
“Define ‘real’.”
Saint Expedite crossed his arms, glared across the polished expanse of mahogany desk . “How would you feel if at some point you discovered that all this-” he stretched his wings wide to include the well-appointed office with it’s spare yet comfortable furnishings, its view of the Pearly Gates- “wasn’t real?!?”
“Grateful, I suspect.” Michael shut his eyes for the briefest of seconds. Sometimes - often, lately- the new hires just didn’t get it. Most of them were naive, over-zealous and … “Look, Ex -”
“Saint Expedite.”
… and so crisply formal as to restrict movement. That they actually achieved flight was - dare he say it? - a Miracle. Mike sighed. “Saint Expedite. Sit. Please.”
Ex sat, with a great deal of indignant wing-rustling.
“Perhaps what is needed, Mike began, is a redefining of our role here. Our emphasis on public relations-”
“Community Outreach. I’m on the task force.”
“Yes...” Mike silently counted to Seven before proceeding. “Our Community Outreach division has always been quite effective; a credit to the operation, although not always observant of bottom-line issues. As of course, we must be.”
"You don’t give them enough credit," Ex shot back. "If they weren’t crippled by their stupid, finite, linear little lives -- and WHOSE idea was THAT?!?- they could...they’d..."
“They’d be like us.” Mike finished the sentence flatly, and, envisioning a great unSanctified human horde storming the Gates, repressed a shudder. Ex was looking at him oddly, as though they’d just met.
“This position isn’t at all what I’d thought,” Ex said finally, still regarding Mike suspiciously.
“Think about it some more,” Mike responded, with a conclusive air. The office door swung smoothly open at his thought. “And as you know,” Mike smiled broadly “... The Competition is always hiring.”
Ex now smiled too, a thin and disdainful quirk of the lips. “Thank you for your time, “ he said simply, and exited not by the proffered door, but transformed into a dove which became a ray of light and disbursed.
Mike sighed again -at least he hadn’t done the music, too- and prepared for his next meeting.
