Neutral Omens

After a while of standing in line behind the man-shaped thing at the desk, Luna decided to get a head start on her search for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. She resisted the idea of tapping him on the shoulder, seeing as he had just materialized out of a ball of fire afterall, and instead settled for a polite,

"Excuse me, Mister, but have you heard of any sightings, or possibly even seen, any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks around here?"

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Beelzebub blinked twice. Mostly out of horrified fascination that a seemingly normal* human girl would randomly strike conversation.

"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack izzz not indigenouzzzz to this area, exzzept during rare celestial alignmentzzzz when large groupzzz of them appear all over the world to breed," he rattled off, completely deadpan. "If you leave out the intezztinezzz of a sturgeon in heat, fried with the eye of a ceolocanth, and stewed for sixxx weekzzz in a pot of plain goat fat, you might pozzzzibly be able to tempt one into manifezzzting out of cycle, but don't get your hopezzzzz up."** He turned away and dinged the dingybell. "Thrice-blessed daughter of a turnip."

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*Except for the radish (or were they turnip) shaped earrings, those were just odd.

**Thanks be to John for inspiring this bit.

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The Metatron had been nearly asleep -- not that he would mention it to anyone; angels didn't sleep -- at his desk when the Lord of the Flies made his grand entrance. He looked up abruptly at the rush of heat and hurried to his post, tie still crooked. "Hello, how may I -- "

"..."

He stared at Beelzebub. "...you."

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Beelzebub, having been Lord of the Flies and Prince of Hell ALMOST since time began, was quite experianced in the nuances of not showing various emotions that would cause anyone who might happen to be watching to think that one is anything less than the suave, on-fire, extremely evil immortal that one was*.

So he let the smile slither over his mouth like a Discworldian dawn, and the ends of his lips to curl inwards ever so slightly. The result would not only have stopped a raging elephant at twenty paces, but also turned it around and run it in the other direction.

"Metatron. Why, yezzz. Me."

*And one ESPECIALLY didn't let anyone find out about the secret love for petting fluffy kittens, either.

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The Voice of God, luckily, had had years -- centuries -- milennia to practice his glaring. It was a very nice glare, when you got right down to it. Smooth, with just the right amount of heavenly wrath. (Wrath was all right when it was heavenly, wasn't it?)

He took a deep breath. "What are you doing here?" he managed, clutching the edge of the desk.

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Luna's smile drifted across her face, and she was about to thank that nice man-shaped being* when a man walked up behind the reception desk and, well, it seemed that the man-shaped being and the man behind the desk knew each other.

They didn't seem to like each other.

Luna cocked her head, and decided not to interrupt for the time being. She fumbled in her luggage for her Dad's Muggle Card(?)** and took out a few Galleons too, just in case she had to pay upfront. She still couldn't tell if this was a true Wizard or Muggle establishment. On one hand, it was definitely not Muggle. But on the other, nobody else seemed to be using magic. She shook her head and settled down to wait.

*Especially for the bit about being the thrice-blessed daughter of a turnip - people were so nice here.

**She could never get what the Muggles used these Creadit(?) Cards for. She knew that they were used to pay for things, but it was just so much more convenient to carry Galleons and Sickles around for ready access***, and there was no business about paying back debts either.

***Not that there was much left over from the time her Dad had sold Harry's article to the Daily Prophet - they had mostly gone to funding searches like these.

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"What are you doing here?" he managed, clutching the edge of the desk.

Beelzebub's smile got just a little wider.

"Why Metatron, my dear angel," he said, his voice not only dripping, but DROWNING in sugary sarcasm, "Are you here for the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks as well?"

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At the phrase "Crumple-Horned Snorkacks", Luna perked up and listened attentively. Luna was delighted. This time the search was going swimmingly well - why, she hadn't been here more than 10 minutes and several clues had already presented themselves to her! She thought of where she could get "intezztinezzz of a sturgeon in heat, fried with the eye of a ceolocanth, and stewed for sixxx weekzzz in a pot of plain goat fat" - was a ceolocanth a relative of the coelacanth? Just how large did the pot of plain goat fat have to be?

Luna considered asking the man-shaped being if he would care to elaborate which celestial alignment he was talking about - afterall, if by chance the celestial alignment was happening right now it would be a pity to miss it, wouldn't it? - but decided that she'd wait till the man-shaped being and the man behind the desk finished their conversation. It was only polite. Besides, she might be able to glean more information that way.

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"Er -- "

The Metatron really hadn't been expecting that. Crumple-Horned what-nows? And -- well, ask anyone, really. Sarcasm bounced off of him like a child off a trampoline.*

"I'm sorry, you... er..." His carefully-perfected look of scorn had dissolved completely with his confusion. "For the -- I'm sorry, I've no idea what you're talking about," he said, sounding worried about the entire affair. When the Voice of God (whose only talent was talking) didn't know what someone was talking about (which was more often than he'd like to admit), it concerned him.

*...Heathre's analogy.

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"Oh for... Juzzzt shut up and give uzzz--" he glanced back at Luna, "Uzz as in ME -- a room."

He buzzed irritably and drummed his fingers on the desk.

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The angel scowled. He couldn't very well refuse the request in neutral territory, could he? "All right, all right," he sighed, rubbing his temple with the heel of his palm tiredly. "A room."

He tossed a small room key, with a laminated tag attached stating the room number, in Beelzebub's general direction. "Go on, then."

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Beelzebub picked up the key in two pointed, lethel-looking, blood red nails and smirked at the angel.

He then proceeded to sweep out of the room, past the pair of angels standing at the coffee table. He sneered at them in contempt, but they didn't seem to notice.*

*reference to Mikey and Raphy.

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The Metatron took a deep breath, narrowly avoided blushing, and composed himself. Customers. Right.

He shook his hair out of his eyes and fixed Luna with the politest smile he could muster. "May I help you, ma'am?"

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Luna stepped up to the desk and said, "Yes. I need one room for the time being."

She bit her lip and, leaning forward, whispered, "Uhm, is this a Wizard establishment? And do I need to pay first before getting my room? Because, you see, this is the first time I've gone anywhere without my dad."

Then in a normal voice, she said, "And they're Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. A bit like cows, really, with relation to the crumple-horned bit, only more twirly." She beamed up at the nice man at the desk.

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"Oh -- a room. Of course," he said in relief. A room he could do -- oh. "Er, well, it's... not, strictly, but I'm under the impression that we do have a few wizards here. So..." The angel shrugged, then smiled. "And there's no need to pay, ma'am. Honestly."

He gestured briefly and held out a key similar to the one he had, er, given to Beelzebub. "Here you go."

"Crumple -- " He shook his head. "I'll take your word for it. Thank you, ma'am."

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"Oh. Thanks." Luna took the key. She twiddled her fingers before leaning forward confidentially again.

"You don't really like each other, do you." It was a statement, not a question. There was a brief pause. "But you could probably tell me his name?" Luna asked, gesturing in the direction of the hallway leading to the rooms, or in other words, the direction in which the ~~demon~~ nice man-shaped being had stalked off in.

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"You're wel --"

The Metatron flinched just slightly. "You... er, you could say that, yes," he admitted, studying the floor. "I -- I can tell you his name, though. Beelzebub." He followed the direction of her gesture with his gaze, almost unconsciously.

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