A pounding alerted the occupants of Zerachiel's home. Victoria was the first to the door, opening it to a large, black-winged Arch.
"G-greetings, ah...I mean, good morning..."
The man stepped into the house, shoving the maidservant aside. "Zerachiel! Show yourself!"
Victoria stumbled back as the man's arm bracer came in contact with her stomach. Tears filled her eyes; Michael would have never dreamed of striking her. She made herself scarce, rushing off to her room as Zerachiel passed her. The Seraphim looked at her with concern, and made a note to himself to ask her what had upset her.
Ophelia and the other two maidservants tailed Zerachiel, curious about the Archangel that was supposed to begin his monitoring of the Seraphim. Ophelia stood behind Zerachiel, grateful that she was so small. She peered out behind him, observing the Archangel that had hurt her friend. Hatred for the man immediately flooded her heart. –He hurt Michael. He will never be truly welcome in my home. I know Zerachiel does not want him here. We will make this as uncomfortable as possible for him. Zerachiel told me Michael loved my boldness, and I must be bold against this man for Michael.–
Zerachiel unenthusiastically greeted the Arch who stood in his parlor, and Ophelia noted that he had called the man Azrael. She wondered about where Victoria had gone to when Azrael had snapped his fingers.
"You! Short blonde girl! Go fetch some wine."
Ophelia sputtered. Azrael had invited himself to sit on Zerachiel's sofa, putting his boots on the table. He had snapped his fingers at her. Zerachiel immediately shot his wings out, obscuring Ophelia from Azrael's view.
"First off, Azrael, you are to learn the women's names and treat them with respect. You are not to snap at them, and you will use your manners. Secondly, you may only ask my maidservants for reasonable things and again, only if you are speaking to them with the respect they have earned and deserve. Third, get your feet off my table. Understood?" Zerachiel's voice shook with rage as he admonished the Archangel.
Azrael laughed as he stood. "Do you really think you're in a position here to make demands, Seraphim?"
Zerachiel, the angel known for his mischief and mirth, did not return the laughter. "I told you that you are to respect the women in my home. Either you treat these ladies properly, or I'll force you to Trace me to the Mortal Plane where we will both be caught by humans and then killed by the Ruler. Do we understand each other now?"
Azrael stepped forward, setting his jaw as his black eyes met Zerachiel's hazel glare. His thick arms flexed with defiance as he came to stand toe-to-toe with the Seraphim, each man waiting for the other to flinch first.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The silver-haired Arch stood in front of the Library, observing the large golden doors. He had never approached the Library, nor ever had any interest in doing so. Orion preferred his life in the territory of the Archs; in their battlegrounds where they ruled. Books about fighting would never teach him the same thing that practical experience would. Sandalphon had insisted that Orion learn to read, but he did so with reluctance.
The Arch pushed the doors open, expecting the Seraphim he was to be monitoring to be waiting for him in the lobby of the library, but he was nowhere to be seen. Orion began to call, and then realized he had forgotten the name of the man he was looking for. –Ralph?...no…Rafal?...no…Ra-...Raphael! That's it.–
"Raphael? Raphael!"
No reply came from the Seraphim, but Orion's voice slowly echoed back to him. The Arch sighed, and began stalking the seemingly endless shelves of the Library, looking for Raphael. After an hour and a half of searching, Orion's patience grew thin, and his wings flicked irritably as his steps grew heavier. Fragile scrolls began to fall from the shelves as his wings caught them in his exasperation. Unknown to the Archangel, he had passed Raphael twice in his searches.
Orion, fuming, sat on the edge of a desk and threw his bracers into a large pile of books. "Hey! Watch it!" The books chastised him, and he turned toward the talking books. Raphael emerged, rubbing his cheekbone where the bracer had struck him.
The Archangel was unamused by the Seraphim rising from the stack of books, and instead began to argue. "How could you have been here all this time and not have said anything? I have been looking for hours!"
"I have been busy!" Raphael gestured to the thick tomes that had obscured him from Orion's hunt. "Besides, if your job really mattered to you, why not just Trace me like anyone else could have?"
Orion's temper flared; he hated his intelligence and dedication being questioned by someone who was so obviously intellectually superior. "I searched your home before coming here! There was nothing to Trace you with!"
Raphael scoffed. "Pick any book here! Books are the only physical thing that matters to me! You could have walked in and found me instantly. Archangels have known about Tracing for centuries. The Ruler would be disappointed in you. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do." Raphael turned away from Orion, picked up a scroll, and settled back in amongst the books.
"Wait! This is all that you do…all day?"
"Yes."
"Every day?!"
"When I am not required to serve the Ruler, yes."
Hearing Raphael's confirmation, Orion sank to the ground from the desk, his remaining armor complaining as he moved. –The Ruler must hate me; this is the most boring assignment ever.–
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Samael watched as two of Remiel's male servants meticulously polished the windows to the outside of the pristine white home. He gave a scornful eye roll before carefully stepping on every other flower in the perfectly maintained garden that lined the immaculate walkway. He grinned as a brunette maidservant promptly burst into tears of anxiety as the garden was trampled, and pounded on the door to Remiel's home.
A petite blonde maidservant answered the door with a curtsy, her eyes trained on the floor. "Greetings, sir. How may I assist you today?"
"You can't." Samael picked her up by the waist, moved her out of his way, and set her back down, kicking the door shut behind him. The woman gasped, seeing the sizeable muddy footprint that was left behind, and immediately pulled a cloth from her apron and began to scrub.
–That Seraphim really has these servants terrified. We might get along after all.– Samael's muddy footprints left a detailed story of where he had been as he searched the flawlessly clean home for Remiel. Several servants and maidservants came out to see the horror of their work so carefully and carelessly destroyed, each worker's eyes following the footprints to glare at their creator.
Remiel heard a commotion from his servants on the main floor from his second-floor bedroom. Frowning, he finished ensuring his hair was in place, and stepped between the realms to stand at the end of the hallway. His frown deepened as he saw his immaculate floors dirtied by the black-winged man standing before him. Samael grinned smugly, as if he had done such a thing purposefully. Remiel turned his head, seeing his servants and maidservants abandoning their routines to scrub the floors; one had even started attempting to shine Samael's boots.
"Would it kill you to perhaps bring a clean pair of boots for wearing in my home?"
Samael's arrogant smirk deepened. "Perhaps. We aren't about to find out though. Your subordinates seem to have everything under control."
"Could you at least remove the boots so they could clean them?" Remiel asked exasperatedly, trying to find a polite middle ground with the Archangel.
Shrugging, Samael removed one of his boots. He winked at Remiel before hurling the muddy boot against the white wall, splattering mud and mire as the boot made contact with its target. "Want me to take them both off?"
Remiel's wings and shoulders dropped, defeated. "No…no, one was fine, thank you." The Arch had ruined his home in less than five minutes, and had already made Remiel begin to think of ways to get rid of him.