fiction - brigits_flame - "For where we are is Hell."

[hwango]

Author's note: For this entry, I have borrowed The Brass Embassy from Fallen London. It seemed too perfect a fit for the prompt not to.


Clayton stared at the mud on his shoes. All of the work he had put into polishing them had been undone in an instant by one wretched puddle. At least he'd managed to avoid actually being run down by the hansom cab, which would have ruined his best (and only) suit as well. Still, it was not a promising start to the day.

He continued to focus his attention on the mud, though it was not growing any more interesting, nor were the memories associated with how he had acquired it becoming any more pleasant. At least it kept his eyes from wandering around the room, though. When he had first arrived, he had been keen to take in all of the wonderful new sights and interesting details, but his enthusiasm had been quickly crushed by the condescending looks and outright scorn he found everywhere he turned. The mud, at least, did not appear to be judging him. It was safer to just -

"Stop gawking at your shoes and stand up! Take these crates! We must be off! You are Clayton, are you not?"

Clayton shot to his feet and nearly collided with the speaker, a huge, scar-faced brute of a man, whose appearance was made only more terrifying by the impeccably fine tailoring of his suit. Clayton felt he would rather have collided with the hansom cab than accidentaly stumble into this man. He became even more certain of his preference when it belatedly dawned on him that this must be Warwick, his new employer.

"Pleasure to meet you sir!" Clayton said, sticking out a hand, which he quickly snatched back so he could remove his hat and perform a confused little half-nod, half-bow. Then he just stood there grinning stupidly, amazed that it was possible to feel this much humiliation without actually bursting into flames.

"Crates," was all Warwick said in reply. Clayton stumbled over to the crates and tried to gather them into his arms with an appropriate balance of haste and care. He could hear glass clinking from inside, which edged him further towards care. Then he saw that Warwick was already headed for the door, and he shifted back towards haste. After a few harried moments, Clayton managed to catch up to Warwick.

"I just want to...*oof*...thank you for this opportunity, sir," Clayton managed between labored breaths.

"Your uncle was a good man and a dear friend. Gave me this scar," Warwick said, tracing a meaty finger down a particularly gruesome, jagged line that stretched all the way from his temple to his chin. Warwick hoped desperately that these two facts were unconnected.

"May I...may I ask where we're headed, sir?" It wasn't that the crates were that heavy, but Clayton did have to pause now and then to adjust his grip on them, and sometimes Warwick's brisk pace put him an alarming distance away before Clayton could rush to catch up. It would be nice to know where they were going in case they became seperated completely.

"The Embassy," Warwick replied.

To his credit, Clayton did not drop the crates. In fact, his grip on them tightened considerably.

"The Brass Embassy?" Clayton asked, realizing even as he did that it was a ridiculous question. Warwick seemed to agree, since he did not bother to answer. "Wait - these aren't...?" Clayton asked, suddenly horrified at what he might be holding.

"Don't be an imbecile - that's absinthe you're carrying. My office doesn't even trade in souls."

Clayton could feel himself teetering on the brink of total despair. He'd expected that the worst thing that could happen to him today would be to make a fool of himself in front of his new employer, lose his job, and end up slinking back home in shame. He hadn't even considered the idea that he'd have to go to Hell. Or its embassy, at least. And really, if it was staffed by devils, guarded by demons, and possessed a certain sulfurous ambience, was it really that different from the actual Hell?

Warwick spared Clayton a fleeting glance, quite possibly to make sure he was still following him. "Oh, don't be so squeamish. Surely you understand the importance of the Embassy. The value of diplomacy? You know what your uncle always used to say about diplomacy, don't you?"

"You mean, 'make certain when you attack your ally that it is their fault?'"

"Hmm, that's a good one too. But I was actually thinking of 'learn your ally's secrets so you'll be ready when they become your enemy.'" Anyway, I take it from your reaction that you've never been to the Embassy before?"

"No, sir."

"Well, just use common sense. Don't sign anything, don't look anyone in the eye if you can help it, and if anyone shakes your hand try your best not to flinch. Or scream." Warwick looked back at Clayton again for a brief appraisal. "Or cry."

They reached the embassy all too soon for Clayton's tastes.

It certainly lived up to its name. Brass gleamed on nearly every surface, in some places radiating enough heat to make the air ripple. The goat demon perched above the entrance followed them with its unblinking gaze all the way from the street corner to the door. In spite of Warwick's advice, Clayton found himself unable to take his eyes from the thing. It rewarded him for this mistake with a smug wink that made Clayton feel suddenly nauseous.

The interior of the place was even more ostentatious. The waiting room was filled with fine paintings, furniture carved from rare woods, and a vague sense that these things were mere trifles only there to make the place comfortable. Somehow the devils had contrived to show off that they weren’t even showing off. It made Clayton dizzy.

They were greeted by a young deviless who smiled at them warmly and politely inquired as to their business. Warwick said something about having brought some inconsequential trifle for some particular devil whose name Clayton did not catch.

“Oh, you’re delivering a bribe, then,” the deviless said, her smile widening. Did she just lick her lips?

“A gift only, I assure you,” Warwick said, waving his hand dismissively.

“That’s what I said,” the deviless replied, and Warwick seemed for once unsure how to reply. “Just set it there a moment,” she said, gesturing to a low table that looked far too expensive to burden with some grubby old crates, “I’ll go and see if he’s occupied.”

Clayton took a renewed interest in his shoes. They seemed the only safe place to look. He loosened his collar; it really was rather warm inside the embassy.

Eventually, the devil they had come to see materialized. He greeted Warwick like an old friend and graced the pair of them with a smile that revealed his pointed teeth. His clothes made Warwick look shabby and made Clayton feel like he was dressed in rags. He seemed totally unconcerned that Clayton was some lowly assistant hardly deserving of his attention, and extended a hand in greeting. Clayton unthinkingly accepted the proffered hand without hesitation.

The heat was painful, but not exactly a surprise. It was the texture of the devil’s skin that was the most startling - for all that it might look as smooth as silk, against Clayton’s own skin it felt like sandpaper. Clayton looked into the devil’s yellow eyes and realized how absurd his feels earlier that morning had been. Those people hadn’t been judging him; this was being judged. The weight, color, and clarity of his soul were all being carefully appraised. The devil’s grip tightened ever so slightly, as if he was pleased by what he saw.

“Such a pleasure to have you,” the devil said, and finally released his hand with what seemed like a certain amount of reluctance. “Please, do come inside.”

A horrible idea struck Clayton at that moment…that perhaps it was not the absinthe that was the bribe being delivered today. But, no…surely that couldn’t be the case.

Clayton numbly followed his employer and the devil deeper into Hell.

Comments

[bluegerl.livejournal.com]

Heeeheee You did it again !!!! Cunning swine you|!!!!!

Thanks a million.... Oh dear, I am a sucker for your stories!!!! Blue.

[hwango.livejournal.com]

Glad you enjoyed it.

[keppiehed.livejournal.com]

Oh no! I have a bad feeling for poor Clayton ...

This was devilishly good! You and I had the same thought about the prompt this week, but I found your version much more entertaining. Well done again, as always!

[hwango.livejournal.com]

Thanks. I think things aren't looking up for Clayton either way on this one. = )