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On the full and far between days when Sloth had enough energy to get out of bed, she and Monivoul would walk through the streets of Pandemonium together. Or, rather, they’d beeline up the subway and walk until the outline of their favorite place appeared on the horizon.
Hidden and tucked away beneath stark office buildings and gray skyscrapers, Kek Cafe was where they went when city life was just too much to handle. It was small, quaint, and –according to Sloth– somewhat resembled a cottage, though personally Monivoul had never seen the latter. The cafe was definitely cute, though.
Sloth had said it was enticing in a way that most things weren’t any more, a rare compliment from a person that didn’t hand out many. Monivoul had taken her word on it, as she always did. Sloth had great taste in restaurants.
The place was dead empty compared to the cramped market stalls around it, so they’d opted to head there simply so they could sit down without getting catcalled or commented on. Neither of them had ever regretted the decision.
And, indeed, the cakes and drinks there were truly something special, not to mention the serene atmosphere of the place. The air actually smelled fresh, if that was possible.
All the workers abided by the no smoking signs and showed genuine care for their customers. Monivoul had given more tips there than any other place in Hell. They’d gone so much recently that the cashier, a sweet Turkish woman by the name of Leilani, recognized them without hesitation.
But Monivoul didn’t count any of these things as her reasons for always saying yes to Sloth’s infrequent invitations to go out. Indeed, they were only minor compliments that lingered in the deep folds of her mind. They were like messages that popped up in her notifications every so often and were swiped away instantly.
Whenever they went on a day that was particularly sunny –which was an incredibly rare thing for Hell, so much so that ‘gloomy’ was considered beach weather–, Monivoul had the honor of watching her boss show that special part of her. The part that Sloth didn’t ever show when she was working, or sleeping, or complaining about the current state of Hell, three of the things she did the most and thus was very much known for.
Monivoul liked the quiet. And her boss. And so having the two in a place that seemed to resemble earth so closely that she could almost conjure up memories of her past life was its own kind of heaven. She didn’t need to believe in anyone or anything to experience such happiness and bliss. The companionship and the silence was enough.
So, when Sloth walked into Monivoul’s pristinely clean and empty office one warm Tuesday morning, they simultaneously decided to go to the cafe again.
They sat by the window nearest the door, the one that provided the best view of the city from the ground up. From such a viewpoint, they could see the snaking alleyways leading off into drug camps and gambling dens, terraces filled with sinners and demons alike, and the occasional flat rooftop of some apartment building. They could see pockets of the places that were too deep for the sun to reach, and glimpses of high rise buildings with peeling paint and faded out advertisements dotting the sides because of extreme light exposure.
As always, Sloth ordered her coffee and kunafa. She was a closely knit person, sticking to what she was comfortable with and rarely ever venturing outside her circle.
Monivoul, however, had been intent on slowly trying all of the desserts and drinks that the cafe had to offer, order by sweet order. Today, she’d gotten Turkish tea and baklava.
Monivoul sat back and watched Sloth fiddle with the fancy tablecloth as the waiter left with their written order.
“Did you sleep well, Belphegor?” she said, despite already knowing the answer. The shaded bags under Sloth’s brown eyes –unnoticeable until you stared for a while– and her jittery air spoke of another night spent working, accompanied with coffee or an energy drink.
Sloth looked up, blinking. Her uncombed auburn hair was up in a sloppy bun, and she wore no makeup. She’d dressed like she was going to sleep, and certainly looked the part.
Still, Sloth was quite the sight to see, especially for Monivoul. People sitting in tables around them kept staring at her.
Monivoul had always had a thing for messy, not clean cut women, even though she herself was neater than could be.
She’d dressed modestly today, as she did every day. It was hot out, though, and the cafe didn’t have an AC unit, so she’d stripped off her business jacket. She wore a blouse, low cut black skirt, stockings, and a cunning pair of jet black ankle boots.
Her blonde hair was up in its perfect little bun, as always. She’d learned the skill of keeping it out of sight from the many times men had grabbed her by the hair.
Sloth squinted at Monivoul. Her glasses were at home somewhere, left behind on the couch or in her desk drawer. Monivoul knew this because Sloth complained about her glasses almost every day. And during the times when she’d been in Sloth’s house she’d always found the glasses in the aforementioned spots.
“Sleep? Uh, yeah. Good, I guess.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so, so…” Sloth paused, and Monivoul could see the gears turning in the former angel’s head. There was a look in her eyes that said she wanted to gossip, but had little to nothing to gossip about. Either that or her head was still up in the clouds, wandering.
Nonetheless, she’d find a way to tell a dramatic, action-packed story, regardless if it was all fake news. She loved talking, and Monivoul loved listening.
Finally, Sloth said: “How are you, Moni?”
“Fine,” Monivoul automatically went, before realizing that she had no need to lie to her boss, who was experiencing the same dilemma as her. She went on, shrugging. “I’m constantly tired and stressed, but there’s little I can do about it, y’know?”
Sloth sighed. “I’m sorry about the extra work, Moni. It’s just that Azāzīl has been grieving, so all of the capital work that usually gets sent to him has been forwarded to my district for whatever reason. Apparently I’m the second option when it comes to doing Azāzīl’s homework.”
“I know. You told me before.”
“I did?” Sloth blinked, surprise crossing her face. She went silent, trying to remember when she’d last spoken to Monivoul about Azāzīl and how much they’d slandered him.
Finding nothing, she said, “What the Hell? When?”
“Last Wednesday. You got hungry and asked me to go with you while I was in the middle of a meeting.” Monivoul smiled briefly at Sloth’s flabbergasted expression. She was rather animated for a person who spent most of her day napping. “You fell asleep while we were ordering.”
She didn’t mention calling an expensive cab back to her house and carrying Sloth in her arms the entire way out of the cafe. She didn’t mention when Sloth’s head fell in her lap during the short ride. She didn’t mention letting Sloth sleep on her bed for five hours, and driving back to the office with her when she started to wake up.
“Huh.” Sloth sat back and stared at the ceiling in thought. “So I did.”
She popped back up, suddenly annoyed.
“Don’t get me wrong, Moni. I’ve been trying to get Beelzebub to split the work with me for weeks now, but she’s too busy stuffing her fat face. My second option, Ira, is off touring the transfer angel group or whatever through her district. So, busy, and rightfully so this time. Envy’s probably busting some chick’s ass right now for having nicer hair than him and dealing money to the mobs. Lust is giving me details on the unnamed buyer… ah, I haven’t told you about that yet, have I?
“God,” she groaned suddenly, sinking into her seat like a child deprived of entertainment, “nobody wants to do anything. We’re all just quietly tiptoeing around the subject of Lilith’s death and taking Azāzīl’s loads because the man’s depressed or whatever and can’t work.”
“I honestly doubt that he is indisposed, Belphegor. He just needed a reason to get away,” Monivoul said. She’d done this exact thing with her job many, many times. It’s not like she, as a worker, was needed anyway. The only reason that Hell had jobs was to keep souls occupied.
“And I completely agree,” Sloth said, nodding. “But I doubt that he’s getting therapy or taking a vacay or planning to starve himself for all eternity. I mentioned this earlier, but Asmodeus told me yesterday that some anonymous buyer has been taking the most popular prostitutes out of his district and fucking with them for months on end. Any chance that this is Azāzīl’s doing is up to what you want to believe, but I’m willing to die on that hill.”
“Why would he want other women in his bed, though?” Monivoul asked, genuinely curious. “I thought he only loved Lilith.”
“He did. We all did at some point. The woman was fucking beautiful, believe me.” Sloth chuckled, a lazy smile transforming her face into something nostalgic and wistful. She shook it off. “Oh, what the Hell am I saying? You’ve been dead long enough to have seen her in person, haven’t you, Moni?”
“It’s been an interesting twelve years, yes. But the most I’ve seen of her was magazine covers and newspapers, not live speeches or anything. She did those things a hundred years before I got here.”
“Now that you mention it, she did stop appearing in public for a while…”
Sloth shut up as the waiter, a skinny boy of about twenty, came by. They both looked up at him as he shakily set down Sloth’s coffee and Monivoul’s tea and baklava.
Having already noticed that one of them was a Capital sin, –Monivoul had seen him staring earlier while she was talking–, the waiter rose up again and said to Sloth hesitantly, “I’m sorry, Lordess, the kunafa’s going to take another six or seven minutes.”
Sloth waved him off, taking a long sip of her drink before speaking. Her voice had lost its vestiges of sleep, and now spoke without the early morning rasp that Monivoul was used to. “I understand. Take as much time as you need.”
He went away. Sloth began speaking again almost immediately. “New boy, huh? I wonder what he did to end up here.”
“Eyes like a puppy.”
“Like you, in a way,” she said, turning her gaze onto Monivoul. “You’re too sweet for this place, Moni. What sin did you commit?”
Monivoul was keenly aware of the blush that was rushing to her face, but managed to play it off coolly.
“Murder.”
She drank her tea and cut her baklava into bite-sized squares, waiting for Sloth’s next words. A very small number of people knew of her sin, and of that group only around two –three including Sloth– had directly asked her why she was in Hell.
“You’ve never told me that before,” Sloth said, her tone neutral even though her brows were arched in curiosity. She sat forward.
“It just never came up.”
Sloth stared at her for a moment, silent, before changing the subject when it became clear that Monivoul wouldn’t elaborate further.
“I’m going to ask Asmodeus to give me more information on this mysterious prostitute buyer. Seeing as you and I are the only ones dealing with the entirety of Hell’s problems at the moment, he’s going to have to say yes. It’s a government investigation.”
Momivoul sighed, glad that some of the attention was off of her. “And if he doesn’t?”
“We’ll bust his fucking door down.” Sloth burst out laughing, startling Monivoul and several other patrons around them. Monivoul put her tea down and smiled softly as she watched the older woman laugh at her own joke, expressing a type of energy that she never had before.
Sloth quieted as she drank her coffee, though continued to stare at Monivoul over the rim of the small porcelain cup.
Though it’d lessened somewhat, the blush had not left the latter’s face. She wasn’t used to having Sloth’s full attention for such an extended amount of time.
Sloth finally looked up and smiled at Monivoul. “What? Didn’t like my joke? I thought it was pretty funny. I’m known for being a hilarious person, after all.”
Before Monivoul could reply, Sloth reached over the table, grabbed a piece of the baklava, and plopped it into her mouth. She hummed. “Mmm, that’s delicious. I think I’ll order another.”
The waiter came by with her kunafa and a small side of honey and pistachio to accompany it. Despite her earlier words, Sloth did not get another baklava. This time around, she said nothing at all to the young man, who kept staring at her like she’d suddenly spring up and bite him.
Instead, she drizzled honey and sprinkled pistachio over the kunafa, cut it into quarters, and –without breaking eye contact– said to Monivoul, “Enough of the politics talk. Everyone can go fuck themselves for all I care. You haven’t told me enough about yourself, Moni.”
Monivoul blinked, eyes widening. She sat back and crossed one leg over the other, bewilderment shining through her rigid posture. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Who do you think I was talking to, Christ Almighty? Like he’s even listening.” She laughed. “Excluding the sin part, it feels like I barely even know you, even though we’ve been working together for eleven months now.”
“I’m just, ah…” Monivoul put her hands up in defense and shook her head softly. “...surprised, is all. That question doesn’t come up, considering that we’re in Hell.”
“True that. But, oh, it feels nice being the first to ask a person something that they’ve never heard before.”
Cutting her kunafa with those long, proper hands of hers, Sloth acted too formal for this place. Like a queen amongst peasants. Despite her claims asking to be treated as a normal citizen if seen in public, she technically was royalty, albeit not in the natural sense.
“Shoot your questions,” Monivoul said, sipping her cold drink. A breeze flitted through the cafe’s open windows, ruffling hair and cooling drinks.
Sloth sat forward, an anticipatory smile creeping onto her face. “Ahh, this feels like our first job interview all over again. Lighten up, Moni! You’re acting like that boy. Anywho, what’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“Interesting. What was your cause of de– oh wait, I know that one already. Kind of personal, but did you have any siblings?”
“No.”
“You’ve never told me of your living job. What’d you do?”
“I was an accountant.”
“That sounds extremely bori… wait, wait, wait. Isn’t that your job here too? I don’t know what goes on in my offices, or what anyone in there even does, aside from checking in souls.”
Monivoul smiled. “Yes, that is my job here. But is it boring? No, not really, but I have a biased opinion because I’ve already worked this job for twenty years. Satan certainly has a knack for slotting people into the occupation that they’re most comfortable in.” Considering he was the Devil, anyway, and this was Hell, she didn’t think this new slotting system would be so satisfaction-driven.
Rather, she didn’t think it’d be taken into consideration and put in place at all. “And, again, it never came up in conversation. Most things don’t anymore.”
It was a new system that Lilith proposed for the Capital sins before she’d died. Satan had put it into motion a year and a half ago. Unfortunately for Monivoul and others that’d died around the same time as her, however, the cut off for getting their dream jobs in Hell had ended with them.
“Now that I think about it,” Sloth continued, chewing on her kunafa slowly as she spoke, “Lilith wrote something regarding this. An obituary of sorts, if I can remember correctly… nevermind. What’s your favorite animal?”
“Cats.”
She started nodding, like Monivoul had just said something very much agreeable. “Good choice, good choice! I would’ve considered cutting your head off if you’d said otherwise.” Though Sloth was only joking, she’d said it loud enough to startle the couple sitting behind them. Monivoul almost choked on her drink laughing when she saw their expressions of horror.
As always, Sloth didn’t notice. “I can’t believe I’ve gotten to know more about you in the last hour and a half than in all of our months of working together, Moni. This is exciting. This– this is like team bonding.”
“Team bonding?” Monivoul laughed, though it came out disgusted. She hated doing that. The only reason that it existed was to boost sinner morale, which it completely failed at.
Monivoul drank the last of her tea and sat back, watching Sloth finish her kunafa. The table shook somewhat because Sloth was shaking her leg like a dog would wag its tail.
Sloth gave Monivoul a stupid grin. “You’re really good at that, y’know. Leading with ‘enthusiasm.’” She did air quotes. “Riles those office freaks up, even though it’s so obvious that you’re faking it.”
Cute, Monivoul thought, barely managing to hear Sloth’s words over the thoughts flooding through her head.
She could almost feel the ghost of her heartbeat, the constant pumping of blood that didn’t stop until something made it. If she were still alive she was sure her heart would be pounding against her chest by now, wanting to tear through her ribs and stick to the magnet that was Belphegor.
“Thanks,” Monivoul managed.
Sloth shrugged, slumping back in her seat and rolling up her shirt sleeves. “It had to be said sometime. You really do shine in that role.” She ate the last piece of kunafa and sighed in satisfaction.
Monivoul dipped her head, then looked back up when she was sure that most of the blush had faded from her face. She observed Sloth waggling her fingers against the table as if tapping the ashes off of a cigarette and silently praised the sin for her self-restraint, however little it was. She hadn’t summoned a cigarette yet.
They’d both seen how roughly a smoker had been thrown out last month. With neither of them wanting to displease their favorite cafe’s workers, they’d both unconsciously decided to not bring a pack with them, smoking culture be damned. Monivoul didn’t even smoke, but had a pack on her at all times just in case some addict or friend asked for one.
Considering that Sloth smoked two or three packs whenever she was in her office and another one before bed –she skipped dinner often, Monivoul had recently learned. Not that they needed to eat or anything, but it was interesting to know nonetheless–, not lighting one up when she was sitting down with a friend could probably help break the habit.
Or so Monivoul hoped. It was getting annoying whenever she’d walk past the sin’s office and have to cover her entire face with her shirt or jacket to not get into a coughing fit from the smoke. Sloth constantly smelt of smoke, and her clothes reeked of it also.
Sloth suddenly asked, “Ah, what time is it?” Seeing that Monivoul had long since finished, she walked over and pulled Monivoul up. She checked her watch, made a little show of looking astonished –Monivoul tried her hardest not to giggle–, and turned to her coworker-companion.
Monivoul was going to ask about the bill, but saw that it’d already been paid. She looked to Sloth, about to protest but knowing it was too late.
Sloth grinned at her with upturned hazel eyes and said: “Shall we?”
“We shall, Belphie,” Monivoul replied as she always did, though her words were as blue as the rain and were quickly dripping down into the drain.
A sense of grief accompanied her as they exited onto the street, waving goodbye to the nervous waiter –he’d said his name was Michon, and was Turkish by birth but lived in America his whole life– and Leilani. The office building lay a few minutes walk away somewhere by the main road. Its rooftop and the billboards on top of it could be seen from where they stood.
Sloth turned right and Monivoul turned left. Both looked out onto streets lined with trash and drug addicts and scrawny animals and homeless souls.
Sloth glanced at them with little emotion, as if they were nothing but scenery, before turning to Monivoul. The latter struggled to hold onto Sloth’s gaze, tame as it was.
She wanted to run after Sloth, to close the small distance between the both of them that seemed to grow wider the more she tried to close it.
She wanted to walk with Sloth some more, to hear the Capital sin talk about the other sins and Lilith and Monivoul herself.
Though she hated it, she wanted to smell the smoke rolling off every inch of Sloth’s body and to curl up in the sin’s clothes.
She wanted to lay on Sloth’s bed, bathe in her tub, and fall asleep in her arms for months on end.
Monivoul wanted many things that she couldn’t have. Even after death this was still true. She wanted the sin called Sloth, but could never have her.
The sin herself didn’t know of these feelings. She hadn’t the slightest clue that Monivoul felt something deeper than friendship when they were together. Maybe she’d seen or felt it, but didn’t care. Maybe she had, and this was how she told Monivoul that it’d never work out.
That was okay. That was how it would continue to be. Monivoul would learn to accept it. Belphegor had unknowingly given her her opinion, and Monivoul would move on.
Plenty more fish in the sea, even if the whale she’d caught had escaped her lure and was swimming away. Plenty more people to meet, even if the one she’d fallen for was a god.
Belphegor smiled, unknowing.
“We’ll do this again, Moni. I’ll call you up some day, when we’re both not busy cleaning up after a man. And next time, you’ll tell me more about yourself. I want to know what life was like on earth through the eyes of a working woman.”
She turned, waved, and was gone in a moment's time.