dumbshow | CALL ME OUT heuhuehe

[Meetings in Heaven are stressful, half because no one gets anything done and half because they would get things done if everyone would just listen to him for five seconds. It's very difficult, being Michael.

So difficult.

He's going about his usual post-meeting sulky march back to whatever rooms he pointedly does not sleep in (he's burned every bed someone tried to put in there), when--great, it's this guy.

... he won't even mention it's been about ten minutes since they saw each other, he won't rise to that bait...]

What do you want?

[He's practicing saying it for when Michael finally fucking goes to sleep for once.

The sulky demeanor does nothing to hinder Metatron's unnecessary peppiness.]

There's been some amazing finds this month! [Even though his other gifts were so rudely destroyed (so rude) he whips out two more. A fancy box of tea leaves and an even fancier tin of bonbons.]

An amazing new tea from Africa! It's apparently unrivaled in reducing stress- [He leans in close, like he is telling a secret] a worthy dark horse against those common teas like Chamomile. [He straightens up again. He looks even happier about this one.] And these delectable candies! They are worthy for God himself, I can attest to that. A little treat for our representative that works so hard.

Edited 2014-01-06 04:44 (UTC)

[Ha ha good luck practicing that for the next several millenia.

Michael looks from Metatron to his ridiculous gifts, and doesn't even pretend he's not kind of grossed out by the prospect of accepting sweets from him. He takes half a step back automatically, but that isn't far enough back to save him from the sudden onslaught of gross trash in his personal bubble.

The affronted sneer on his face is truly timeless.]

What do you think you're-- [oh, he moved away again, never mind. Michael reaches out and shoves his hands away, anyway, like they'll infect him if he actually touches presents from Metatron... you never know.]

Go waste someone else's time with your simpering stories and treats!

[You wound him. Metatron looks down at his LOVING gifts and sighs. How could anyone refuse bonbons?]

You'd feel better if you just accepted the gifts. You've got to spice up life every once in a while.

[Said in a chiding tone. He holds the boxes out again. Come on, you know you want his gross human things.]

[Like this: Michael makes an indignant little noise, then whaps one of the boxes pretty hard from the side, intending to knock it to the ground. Then, even though it doesn't need to be said and Metatron is awful!!--]

I feel fine! As if I need [invasive caretaking] advice from a cretin like you.

[STEPPING TO THE SIDE...]

[There goes the tea. Metatron watches it fly and crash onto the ground, he even makes a little sad sound at the leaves strewn across the floor. Littering, another sin to add to Michael's list.

Whoa now, are you trying to get away? If Michael stomps away he will just follow like always.]

Of course! I do not doubt your abilities!

[Metatron pops open the tin still in hand and stuffs a bonbon into his fat face. He can't let them go to waste now! Guess who is talking with is mouth full, by the way.]

However, if the leader suffers so do the underlings.

[You take that back, littering isn't a sin and THIS IS HIS HEAVEN HE CAN LITTER IF HE WANTS.

He is stomping away, though, and set on completely ignoring the yappy puppy commentary behind him. There must be some armies to direct somewhere, or some memos from Raphael he should be returning without reading...

But if the leader suffers-- Michael stops, bristling, and throws a glare over his shoulder. Who do you think you are, using lines like that on him.]

I didn't ask for a consultation. [god how gross he eats like a human] You-! Who do you think is suffering?

[Whatever! It's someone else's problem now because these bitches be walking. Michael's going to have to flounce in a storm of feathers if he wants to be rid of Metatron this time.

Speaking of which, look at this hilarious bristling over such an innocent statement.]

I get warn out just looking at you. It's suffering for me to watch.

[This is the level of subtlety that Michael operates on, right?]

[Don't tempt him, you half-and-half human. The bristling persists...]

Then don't. Go, eat your chocolates and make something useful of yourself!

[Those things--aren't related, eating chocolate isn't innately useful. Just go away.]

I know what you're doing, and I will tell you again-- [complete with accusatory point] You know nothing!

[Haha, oh wow.

Metatron watches that little scene unfold. Of course, he kept up the most innocent of faces during the accusation. Michael, stop overreacting! it seems to say.

The second Michael whips around to point Metatron makes his move. Taste the delicious bonbon that has been forced into your stupid mouth. Who said chocolate wasn't innately useful again?]

[Michael had more to say after his little episode there - some finer points about how Metatron is not even a real angel so why doesn't he just get out of here, and so on - and so the next word he was going to say

(for the record it was "furthermore")

is cut short:] Fffmph!!

[There's a split second in which he doesn't. Quite. Understand what just happened here. His hand is still raised, pointing at Metatron, but now there's a hand in his face and it's all gone horrible awry. It's a short split second, of course, because then he's furious. His pointing hand grabs Metatron's offending wrist and yanks it away from his face a lot harder than necessary. If Metatron isn't wearing a chunky sweater today, Michael's vice grip on his arm might actually be uncomfortable.

He spits the bonbon out, to the side. Someone else will clean that up, too. (Sandalphon??)]

...

[He sticks out his other hand.]

Give me those. Now.

[That was more entertaining then it should have been. Even with his wrist in a vice grip, Metatron is grinning from ear to ear. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, causing the entire expression to look just wrong as he stares down at Michael. It only lasts a second before he is back to that insufferable childish face.

He holds the tin close to his body with his free hand, twisting his body in to protect the precious resource.]

No way, you already refused them!

[He is actually pouting here. It is very fake and put on. It should also be noted that he has not once tried to wrestle his captured hand free.]

[Michael knows there is something wrong with Metatron. He has known this for quite a while, and because he doesn't trust him, he still notices every minute problem in Metatron's face, body language, stupid insistence on leaving pillows in his room no matter how many times he's told--

So he sees that and he ignores it, and when Metatron twists away from him he pulls on the wrist still clamped in his hand, fast and hard, twisting the opposite direction. It's mostly to cause pain, but also to give him room to get up in Metatron's face.

He has to look up a little. How dare this human. (Invasive touching is only okay when Michael does it, also.) Regardless, that doesn't stop something dangerous and brittle-bright sparking behind his eyes.]

You listen to me, you worm. When I tell you to do something you do not say no way. [bennnding that arm again] Give them to me.

[It's nice to know Michael cares. Although it's not like Metatron notices as he has long stopped caring about those minuet details. He just focuses on the opposite. The slow decline of Michael, the fading power as he refuses to sleep. In the back of his mind he notes that this would probably have hurt a lot more a hundred years ago.

Metatron twists again as his arm is bent back. There is still that faint smile on his face, teetering on the brink of a grimace. Always so violent.]

Of course, sir. [A small chuckle.] Please enjoy them.

[He holds them out again, as politely as when he first offered them.]

[To his credit, Michael's declining strength is still leagues above a majority of their colleagues' abilities. But he isn't thinking about that; being around Metatron, or rather, being alone with Metatron distracts him. Like the persistent prickling at the back of his mind - a burgeoning tiredness, as it happens--but one he can ignore, as long as this man isn't in his presence.

Michael wants Metatron out of his hair, but he is resolute in thinking that leaving him unsupervised (or worse, going to sleep) would do no one any favors least of all himself, and so--so. He tries very hard, to keep him under his thumb without acknowledging that he has to.]

Quiet. [The chocolates are confiscated by his free hand (of course he's not letting go) and then -- he still doesn't want them, so now what...

Well, suddenly the tin of chocolates clatters to the floor, right in the perfect spot for Michael to put his foot on it. Just put it there. He has not decided if it's worth crushing a tin of chocolate, yet...]

You shouldn't even bring these things here.

[and throw out your catalogs you bargain bitch]

[All the yawning during meetings must be paying off. He'll get Michael in bed one of these days. Hopefully not his because Michael would probably throw a fit at the state of his room.

Metatron glances down as the tin hits the floor. He's been around long enough to know what's going to happen but, honestly, stepping on chocolates. A silent prayer for their imminent death. Still twisted in that uncomfortable position, Metatron brings a finger up to his mouth in a miming of serious thinking. Should he really give up his catalogs? Haha, no.]

What can you do? Being human's my claim to fame.

[Plus it pisses you off.]

[Maybe if Sandalphon tucks him in, he is the better twin--]

I said quiet! [Seriously, don't just talk about being human while he's still touching you. Rude.

He scowls though, considering Metatron's awful face. Maybe he should switch it up and grind his face into the tin of chocolates, see how much he likes them then.

But it seems that during his most recent outburst, he inadvertently dug his heel into the tin and dented the lid pretty badly... oops.]

As long as you last here, you have duties you cannot shirk to play collector. Stop wasting time with this trash.

[You held his hand when he was full human, don't even front. He will blabber on about it for ages if he wants. You don't own him!

Ah! The poor things. It's good he already has another back in his hoarders room. Such accusations though. Metatron waves his free hand vaguely.]

I don't collect them, per se- [he eats most of them after all] It's more like a hobby! Even you have one of those, right?

[Like stalking Uriel. And obsessing over Lucifer. Good hobbies, he approves.]

All work and no play isn't healthy after all. I must say I'm a happy worker! Everyone needs a little rest.

[HINT HINT. Just kick him in the face already, Michael.]

[That was one time and you were way cuter back then!

Guess what that subtle hint makes him do? Spoilers it's not swoon unconscious into Metatron's arms, it's glower again. Seriously...]

You have to do work before you can call yourself a worker. [Honestly, he doesn't give a shit if Metatron's ambiguously defined work gets done, it's just the principal(ity) of the matter. But he dismisses that thought with a tighter squeeze on his captive wrist and a haughty laugh.

michael had an emotion!!]

There really is no saving a human from being a simpleton, is there. You think I should have a hobby? One you approve of?

[He does stuff, he does lots of stuff... right now his hobby is asking questions he probably will regret, leaning just a little bit closer as he does so:]

Well? Are you going to keep me waiting?

[Michael-senpai you're so mean! Seriously though, standing like this is starting to really hurt...

Which is why in a brilliant flash of inspiration he leaps at that question. He knows Michael isn't serious but that matters not. No, instead his face brightens considerably.]

Any suggestion? Oh, I've got quite a few.

[He doesn't hesitate waiting for an actual answer. No, he just stands up straight all of a sudden and places a hand on the small of Michael's back. And sweeps him into a waltz. Metatron holds the captive hand up where the tender hand holding pair should be. Mmmyep.]

Something like dancing would kill the time and increase your interpersonal relations I think! Two birds with one stone!

[Please don't rip him into shreds.]

[Increase his inter-what?? Michael makes another indignant noise like he first did when his sulking was interrupted, but this one is also - stunned, really. He looks in every direction besides Metatron's face very rapidly, like he's wondering when a giant pillow is going to assault him next, and oops he just kicked the tin across the floor, bye tin--]

You-- What do you think you're doing? Don't touch me!

[The only reason his free hand has found its way to Metatron's shoulder is to hit it, several times. Excuse you little boy, hands off the goods??]

[This dance train isn't stopping. Metatron is just leading Michael around the hallway. He doesn't even know the right way to dance the waltz... At least he hasn't stepped on any feet.]

I'm dancing with you. [Obviously.] You asked.

[Casually twisting your words is fun. He smiles again as he looks down right at Michael's face. Come on, look at him.]

Edited 2014-01-06 07:38 (UTC)

[At least hum a few bars, this is stupid. Michael doesn't know how to waltz, either, but he's fairly sure this is not how. To waltz. At all.

Being a sassy brat does get him to meet his eyes, though it's with more irritation than tender appreciation of this concern for his... hobbyist well-being.]

That's-- [In another era and another place, he must have seen something worthwhile in keeping a human around who so enthusiastically tries to challenge him at every turn -- and he must have been very dumb back then, because this is absurd.

But the thought (subconsciously) (very subconsciously) does delay Metatron's inevitable demise, at least for a bit longer.]

Spinning around clumsily is not dancing.

[Implying that he even knows any good waltz music... Ask him to recite the best wine for 1573 and he could but who knows about anything else.

The fact that he isn't being burnt where he stands is surprising to say the least. Maybe Michael really likes dancing! A surprise discovery.]

You caught me, I've never taken classes.

[A loud laugh but he sure isn't stopping.]

Maybe we could go together.

[Michael hates dancing, but he hates scraping burnt humans off the floor even more. The wine would have been a better choice, although he still wouldn't have had any.

He's finally stopped pushing Metatron's shoulder, only to switch to drumming his fingers on whatever cosplay coat he's wearing today. Impatiently. At that... suggestion... he lets go of the other wrist and drags his hand over his face, clearly exasperated. If there were anyone who could get Michael to do this (besides Raphael but he's Raphael), it's the token human.

He gives Metatron a look between his fingers, then waves dismissively. Man, he does not even care that he messed up the waltz.]

You know the answer to that.

already disgusting

you love it

don't accuse me of such things

shhh only angels now

i can't believe this

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