Look, the contract killer and the editor are basically curtainfic: the verse, that alone proves I will write this one. I don't actually know how much of my fic reads as curtainfic? But I'd totally do it even if I haven't much.
...Also this turned out significantly less ridiculous than I expected. I don't even know.
The schedule is as set as the rules. Evenings are for the show. Afternoons are for set-up, clearing the stage from last night's work and frivolities; for preparation, whatever might come up; for whatever business brings itself to light. Mornings are slow, in comparison; mornings are awakenings, reviewing notes, whatever personal business the performers might concern themselves with.
Mornings are for books and breakfast and slow conversation. Occasionally it's the slow scratch of the quill as they plan together, but most mornings are greeted with softness, shedding the layers and make-up and hardness shown to the souls trapped there, living their eternal night and unaware of the full lives the workers have earned.
Mornings are a hold-over from before they had so much space and so many to fill it. They started long ago, when there were so few people to work and so few souls to work for that there were hardly any rules. It was during the mornings that that list began to take its shape; during the mornings that they first spoke of giving the others who had followed Lucifer down a purpose, a way to channel their anger and their pain. It was in a quiet morning that Lucifer had first suggested, smiling like he'd already planned it all, "Why not a carnival?"
And he'd already decided to follow him; to help build whatever image Lucifer had in mind was far from where he'd draw the line.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-01-21 05:19 am (UTC)...Also this turned out significantly less ridiculous than I expected. I don't even know.
The schedule is as set as the rules. Evenings are for the show. Afternoons are for set-up, clearing the stage from last night's work and frivolities; for preparation, whatever might come up; for whatever business brings itself to light. Mornings are slow, in comparison; mornings are awakenings, reviewing notes, whatever personal business the performers might concern themselves with.
Mornings are for books and breakfast and slow conversation. Occasionally it's the slow scratch of the quill as they plan together, but most mornings are greeted with softness, shedding the layers and make-up and hardness shown to the souls trapped there, living their eternal night and unaware of the full lives the workers have earned.
Mornings are a hold-over from before they had so much space and so many to fill it. They started long ago, when there were so few people to work and so few souls to work for that there were hardly any rules. It was during the mornings that that list began to take its shape; during the mornings that they first spoke of giving the others who had followed Lucifer down a purpose, a way to channel their anger and their pain. It was in a quiet morning that Lucifer had first suggested, smiling like he'd already planned it all, "Why not a carnival?"
And he'd already decided to follow him; to help build whatever image Lucifer had in mind was far from where he'd draw the line.