Hell's Songbird - 2

Hell.

Wouldn’t have expected it to include Olympic grade queuing, like a work commute in peak-hour when half the trains are out.

Step by trudging step the line slowly shortens till finally we’re at a gate guard. Before I can baa in his face, Oragō slaps paperwork into his outstretched hand. Still holding a metal halberd with one hand, he thumbs through the stack. The motions he makes are as lethargic as his music, having all the energy of a sloth and smelling far worse. The purple moss growing up his boots are the highlights of his dreary grey attire. Spikes are apparently mandatory for the guards. A mane of them in place of hair, decorating the ash grey leathers that were their only clothes, and rows of them stretch down the length of arms. Blood filled eyes plus purple moss are the only colours among the bleak grey of the gate guards.

“You should get his name for Co-ordinator Makaro. She needs extras for the mailroom.”

As soon as I finish, he thrusts the paperwork back at Oragō as if they’re about to burn him. A vicious smile from Oragō adds to the sudden upbeat in his music, and he motions repeatedly for us to get through.

[Bluff (10->12)]

“He didn’t say a word.”

Glancing at Oragō, I kept from grimacing at the anger raging through her song, and the remaining delight from another’s fright.

“No tongue left,” Oragō’s flat statement makes me blink, even as I take in the fortifications we’re now behind. Yet more metal and stone, with a black stone ceiling high overhead. Though this time, instead of stone blocks, it looks like a natural cavern roof.

“Not teleporting us again?”

The question slips loose as quick as I think it when Oragō starts towards yet another queue, the stone’s dirge echoing hard within the cavernous space. The melodic musical chords bring a heart-aching riff cutting through the soaring screams that make my mind churn.

“Not within the security barrier,” retorted Oragō. “Unless you want a long stay in a holding cell. Don’t be so eager to play with the Damned - you look as if I’m keeping you from a toy. Your duty assignment will take you far from here, but I’m sure you’ll be back soon.”

“Can’t we scare them from the queue?”

Oragō’s gaze fixes on me and her mouth twists in contempt as she glares, but I don’t see the difference from her earlier game.

“The guards won’t care but their commander would take exception,” Oragō’s dry statement carries scornful mocking notes and I bite my lip to stop from giggling to match. “We’ll get you some weaponry and then head for the gate wardens.”

* * *

I hate queues!

Is that why there are so many queues? Because I hate them and I’m in Hell?

My giggling fit sends some things also queued for daggers to go away, even from the queues not my own. I didn’t like their music anyway. Their sounds were twisting death metal and reggae together. Insultingly, their notes rang out from cheap plastic drums instead of the proper steel ones. Every note comes across so hollow and fake that I want to scream. When I try to hum a clean note to cancel the noise the closest makes, a pain in my throat cuts deep, and I stop with a croak.

Coppery blood slips across my tongue, and I swallow it back even as the pain fades.

[Health: -10

Deliberate attempt at using True Song detected.

Class Glinnel Unlocked!

Glinnel available. Do you wish to select this class? You have four available class slots.

True Song (4->5)]

Go away spam bot!

I’m only in my first queue with the latest torment Oragō has dropped me in. Trying to get a crink from my neck, I waggle my head around and look over the warehouse I’m in. Though really, it’s not a warehouse as there are no racks of things to pick from, just line upon line of Devils. Someone crossbred a sweltering train yard with a Bunnings and left me to fend for myself without a sanga stand anywhere in sight.

I’m so done with this!

Reaching out, I tap the squat red-skinned toad in front of me on the head. When it pivots towards me, I blurt out my question before it can speak.

“Rank?”

“Private.”

“Third Lieutenant. Switch with me now!”

I try for a snap like Oragō, and when that fails frustration brings the bow into my hand. So I don’t know if it’s the rank or the bow, but it switches so I don’t care.

[Intimidation (1->2)

Infernal Processes Unlocked (1)

Infernal Processes (1 -> 2)]

Wait! Infernal Processes?

Sorry I was rude, mister spam bot - but I’m still not sure what any this means.

I’m hoping that means I’m getting something right!

Every company has their own processes. Processes I can understand, it’s just like trying to deal with any red-tape - find where to cut.

Now I just have to think of it like dealing with some IT areas. There are good IT folks, and then there are the other IT folk. WAIT! Infernal Tactics department, would that exist?

[Infernal Hierarchy Unlocked!

Infernal Hierarchy (1)]

Do they also have an Infernal Resources department?

[Infernal Hierarchy (1->2)]

Reaching up I tap the end of my bow on a shoulder in front of me but so high above I have to stand on tippy-toe. Its black fur was rippling in the errant breezes, but as my bow makes contact, I only hear the dull clunk of stone. The note that sounds out is flat but angry and it grows into mean when I tap again. As it turns around, it glimpses my wings and its furious music calms, but it still glares down at me in annoyance. The broad features and muzzle looking down at me reminding me of a silverback gorilla, one with rabies from its expression. Oh my God, what a third leg! Definitely his face!

“Third Lieutenant. Switch with me now!”

His rumbling bass note is this deep throbbing sound in my gut, but with being grumpy, it still might switch. It looks like my expectation of waiting days might have been pessimistic.

“Corporal. Do you need me to get you to the front of the line, Lieutenant?”

It makes the offer sound good, but the words worry me and I trust my gut. Their tone is like a sociopathic manager implying you should rest, then happily informing you they accepted your resignation when you actually asked for more hours.

“Switch places in the queue with me, Corporal.”

I tucked my wings in tight to avoid pushing others in the next line away. We slid around each other, and I tap the next being in the queue, and I quickly leave its glare behind. It’s still going to be a long day. As I move along, I keep my ears peeled and, like every company I’ve ever been in, workplace gossip teaches me a lot of things.

When I move alongside what I’m sure is a pair of Succubi grumbling about a contract dispute, I stop for a time to listen. The minimal clothing they were wearing, their mussed, just-fucked hair, and the sensual throbbing notes coming from them all added to their demeanour, which led me to that guess. Ever so similar, though also very different, one looks barely humanoid, with large black eyes, grey skin, and deep brown fronds for hair. The other was bleach-white, with deep ruby eyes and pitch-black hair.

“Sounds like they didn’t assign you a decent lawyer.”

The commiseration in grey’s sultry voice sounded so genuine that I decide right there, never to trust a Succubus’ sympathy. Her body language was so open and friendly, head tilted in commiseration at her colleagues’ woes, and each sharp, bitter note was strangled with loving care.

“The Erinys for the defendant offered me a lateral promotion of all things. Or I could agree to nullifying the contract!”

When the busty pair shudder, lots of things bounce; it makes me look down at my own girls and sigh. There was a reason I couldn’t sleep on my stomach before and being able to now hadn’t been because of the damn bed; I want my D’s back, stupid B cups.

“So you agreed to null it?”

“Of course, what else would you have done? Not that it helped him, but I didn’t get credit for his damnation. His lawyer got that, fees for representation, and case success bonuses. Lawyers and their fine print. Got to fuck 'em.”

Their rich seductive laughter was still echoing when I got the next green spiked thing ahead of me to swap places.

* * *

“Next.”

The bellow comes as another gorilla lumbers off carrying a stone crate larger than me over its shoulder. An inkblot that looks like spinning curves painted on its side, the only clue as to its potential contents. I’m sure it means something to someone, but I draw a complete blank.

Stepping forward past the previous head of the queue, I smile at the Quartermaster behind the counter. When its tongue flickers along its chin, the shape reminds me of Jabba, but his anorexic cousin. Bone thin and looking like a fart would send him into orbit. Almost human, its long fingers are stick-like twigs playing with the forms in front of it. It looks like a hard glare would shatter it, yet somehow it had only needed one hand to pass that crate across the counter to the other Devil.

“I need two daggers, an Erinys long sword, and an Erinys field pack for scouting. Make that two packs.”

I try for matter of fact, and I’m pretty sure I make it.

“This is the line for small blades, and ammunition.”

The hard glare I’d been thinking of before appears as its eyes narrow. Its sunken cataract white eyes spider-webbing with yellow and black lines.

“I also need skeets.”

The bow energy string screams again when I strum it. The caterwauling notes it sends skipping away makes Devils nearby flinch, and the Quartermaster stops in mid-motion.

“We don’t have those stocked here, whatever those are.”

The admission sounds grudging and the mute chords suddenly become frantic.

“Don’t you? You know that’s ammunition for a skeet thrower, right? Are you telling me you’re unable to fulfill a request for ammunition? After you just told me you supplied ammunition without specifying types?” I ask, purring the words and wonder if I should have asked for a random version of a form instead. The thought of them panicked and looking for version E of a form makes me giggle and he blinks at me.

[Diplomacy [J] (11->12)

Infernal Processes [B](5->8)]

“Stop busting my balls, bird girl. What do you want?”

“I told you before, two daggers, an Erinys Long Sword, and two packs. You look bored here. Should I speak to Infernal Resources for you when I pick up my latest promotion papers? Should I request a lateral promotion for you?”

[Intimidation [B](8->11)

Infernal Processes [B](8->9)]

Yeah, it’s been a long day already, I get it!

“I’ll just get those for you. Two packs, was it?”

Stick boy questions suddenly co-operativity, too co-operativity, but his oh so smooth words give me nothing to call him on.

“Yes, my Commander will need a spare for her squad.”

She’s been out in the field, I’m sure she’s running short of something, especially if she’s alone.

The kitbags that he dumps in front of me make me wonder how I’ll manage two since they’re the size of my torso. As I lift one to feel the weight I’ll be carrying, it vanishes. My growing friendship with the message boy gives me some news.

[Inventory (1->3)]

The second I’ll carry normally since I don’t know what’s normal.

Taking up the daggers, I awkwardly strap them in place as I’ve seen other Erinys wearing them. While it looked easy enough to secure them, the reality wasn’t quite the case. Snatching up the sword, I feel its burning chorus humming through my flesh as I head for the exit door. The growing suspicion in the Quartermaster’s gaze undoubtedly means my fumbling has given something away.

[Sense Motive [B] (2->3)]

Trotting along the front of the queues would annoy me as much as everyone else, so I want myself outside instead, and I’m near the wall outside the door in an instant.

[Greater Teleport (Self) [Ap](2->3)]

Yeah, that’s the thing! So I’m improving ‘what’s and bots’ by using them?

This is weird.

I did it; I got out of there. Free of that awful hanger, I’m so happy I could laugh. My joyous mood amid the volcanic fumes last until Oragō’s glare hits the pack. When her song’s notes become stuttering and confused, her words that signal my epic successful failure aren’t a great surprise.

“Why do you have an Uhlobo’s siege pack?”

“I bullied one Quartermaster to give me everything,” I chirp sadly, frowning down at the pack I still clutch.

My words elicit manic laughter as the only response from Oragō. Not a sound I expected to hear, given the eruption of furious notes from her. When she calms, she motions for me to drop the pack.

“Forget it. You’ll have to go without. No Quartermaster will give you the right pack now.”

“Oh, bother! I thought I’d beat the system,” I huffed, and rake my teeth across my upper lip wondering what sort of trouble I’m in now.

“You’re in Hell. You don’t beat the system; it will beat you, repeatedly if needed.”

Oragō’s warning brings the song I heard from her first to the fore amid the noises of this place, strangely reassuring in its harsh beauty. As I focus on her sharp song to anchor myself in its alien beauty as I had tried before while working the queue. This time when I manage it I get two messages, and wonder makes me bite the inside of my cheek.

[Mental Resilience (11->12)

Resonance (13->14)]

“At least he gave me the sword and the dagger.”

The defence I mutter with a hesitant smile earns me an assessing look from a suddenly composed Oragō.

“The hilt looks right, draw the blade just in case he screwed you there as well,” orders Oragō, clicking her fingers as she motions me to hurry.

Setting the pack aside I fumble with the catches on the sheath for a bit, and finally the blade comes free. As I work out how to grip it properly the blade wreathes itself in flames.

“At least he didn’t screw you on that,” muttered Oragō, as she rolled her eyes at me.

“But I like my pack - it looks properly pack-like, not a bum bag,” I protested, patting it so it would know it’s still loved.

“Carrying something like that would obstruct your wings or stop you from using weapons,” stated Oragō.

Her question prompts the memory of myself reflected in the glass admittedly not long past. Yet that moment is already fading amid all shocks I’ve had today. I pretend I’m a superhero and just will myself to rise, my wings still folded tight as I can. Oragō growls at me with both her voice and song; before she protests my behaviour I’ve gained another message.

[Flight [B](2->3)]

“You’re not supposed to be able to fly like that! Erinys need to use their wings!”

“Nope!” I pop the word, and her glare gains flames, the sudden screaming guitar riff I hear provoking me to laugh in delight.

“Oh, that’s cool. No, don’t stop, do it again!” I protest as Oragō’s glare fades into confusion.

“I want you out of my hair, leave the pack and follow me. Dispatch and Recall are in that building.” Oragō orders, motioning to a multiple stored gothic structure a few blocks away. It looks out of place looming over the rows of warehouses, and rock spurs above that bite towards the burning red sky. “Don’t teleport inside it, or we’ll both be in the mailroom.”

As she walks away, I drop to the ground and pat the pack in apology. Tilting my head I try to deliberately store it as well, humming happily as it vanishes and mister message chimes again.

[Inventory (3->5)]

When I get the blade sheathed, I clutch it and, willing myself to rise again, I zip towards Oragō’s retreating back with no idea why she isn’t flying. Without even attempting to use my wings, I find it so much easier to fly.

[Flight [B](3->4)

Fly [B] (2->3)] ]

“Flying in restricted air-space, ten-point fine, land at once.”

The gravelly voice suddenly whispering in my ear makes me meep and I land in a rush. The haste makes me stumble on landing, but I find my balance with unexpected grace and hasten after Oragō on foot.

* * *

Walking into the building’s interior is a surreal experience and I shake my head as the heavy cathedral-like doors close behind us. Outside is a blighted industrial horror landscape, filled with warehouses, and Devils using volcanic vents as forges. Inside, it’s eerily quiet, sombre slow songs emanating from seated figures I see everywhere, suffocating the industrial-grunge rock. Figures covered in hooded and tattered robes of grey and black, hoods shadow their faces in darkness and the long sleeves draped far over their hands. Dusty stained cloth spills across the stone at the chair’s base and I can’t see their feet, or if they even have any.

The building is an open floor plan, the level above us supported by carved pillars shaped to resemble Souls falling as comets. The only access I can see to the level above is the open central shaft rising above a service desk in the middle. I glance about as Oragō drags me along like a naughty child. Our path takes us straight to the chamber’s middle, along a path that splits the circles of chairs and dais that sit on the ground floor into quarters. At the service desk, a host of snaked-haired Medusas handles paperwork in a murmur of low words.

When our path takes us close to one pillar, we reach the end of the queue and I stare open-mouthed at its motif for a moment. Engraved into its surface, a winged woman is falling towards fire below and a memory claws across my mind but I blink it away. The terror in it muffled as I focus on the tattered edge of the robe worn by the closest of the seated figures. Before it can dig its nails into me I close my eyes and listen to the figure’s song as I did with Oragō. Its low sombre notes remind me of the swirling orchestral sounds of Grieg, the deep notes of the cello and lilting violins calling mournfully to the audience. They have a resemblance to many of his works with such heart felt longing and grief in them it makes me blink tears away.

[Mental Resilience (12->14)

Resonance (14->15)]

When we get to the front of the queue Oragō doesn’t let me speak to the grave faced Medusa at the desk. Her glowing gaze locked on me a few times as I tried to ask her how her day had been through Oragō’s muffling hand. The green and brown scales that ran across her classical Grecian features were so tiny and fine it made me wonder if they were warm or cold. Her chorus pulses its intensity and focus in conflict with the mundane nature of her work. Its chords were for a rocking dance floor, instead here she was reviewing, issuing, and stamping paperwork.

Was this her Hell?

We queued with paperwork, receive two stacks more of paperwork, and then we’re in a queue again!

The only disturbance comes when a gate that opens before two bug-like Devils carved from ice somehow standing upright on their back legs, with antennae twitching. As soon as it opens, they stab forward with man-catchers and drag a screaming Devil inside. Humanoid, they seem formed of nothing but bones, with a scorpion tail shaped like it’s made from exposed vertebrae arching up from the base of its spine. The bony Devil is still thrashing within the loops of the barbed man-catchers when the gate snaps shut. I get only the briefest of glimpses through it, and see a beautiful woodland, dappled sunlight spilling into a picturesque glade.

“Forced recall. Must have accumulated too many demerits for her work this year. She’s likely for the mailroom,” mutters Oragō, making me wonder how she can tell it was female. All I saw was bones and more bones.

“What is the issue with the mailroom?” I hissed in frustration, and Oragō glances at me in amusement.

“Some species and Planes have a saying about killing the message bearer. The Hierarchy of Hell isn’t merciful to those bringing bad news,” explained Oragō at long last.

Oh, brother!

* * *

The hand claiming Oragō’s paperwork is all raw gristle and bone. At the sight of it, my curiosity to know what features hide beneath its hood disappears completely. Efficient motions stamp a mark onto each page with green, rancid smelling ink, before it chants echoing sibilant words. Each syllable feels out of tune and discordant, even within this twisted place. The last echoing note is still dying away when a blazing gate appears on the platform behind its high-backed chair. Swirling chords of energy rippling around it resonate with the energy that the words had held.

Fires cast light into a place of sheer darkness, but the light turns the blackness to stone. Beyond the veil caused by the flaring illumination I see a woman. Another annoying message brushes across my mind about True Sight, but I’m more interested in the Erinys. Cascading between her wings are dark black tresses, trailing loose across the same style of black leathers I wear. A worn hilt on a harness is like the one I got settled during our time in the queues.

[True Sight (3->4)]

As my assigned commander turns towards the gate, her features in profile remind me of a hawk, so fierce and proud. Though this predator might return to the hunter’s glove, tameness doesn’t seem present in her gaze. Her oval face is far different from mine or Oragō’s angular planes. A blade of a nose comes down to a bow-lipped mouth, the colour of a purpling bruise. Her lovely light olive is so lively compared to the ivory I’ve seen among the other black-winged Erinys. While she possesses dark bedroom eyes, unlike the song, they don’t invite a dalliance but warn of a last sleep. Their deep richness speaks of turned loam, possessing the harsh unforgiving depths of an open grave.

“Ilya!”

Oragō’s says the name with none of the formality Makaro provided it, just a snapping impatient snarl.

Smooth strides bring her through the Portal, each a study in poised grace. As she crosses the threshold new music starts up in the chamber, the notes of her graceful song are so sad, aloof and lonely. Within their melody they hold a study of contempt and misery, piercing notes give it defiance where otherwise it might seem resigned. Rather, the high drifting notes rise above her state: airborne, waiting, watching, and seeking an opening to strike. The energy that formed the gate dissipates as I take in her song and enjoy the chords that ripple so pure in this miserable place.

“Captain Oragō. What does Hell require now?”

Ilya’s tone isn’t that of a polite underling of any kind, every inflection rasping metallically as an unsheathing sword. She possesses such an expressive voice; the simple words aren’t a threat but a promise of pain.