“Remember, nothing can go wrong during this tournament.” A plastered smile hung wearily beneath a pair of dark bags that frequently frightened small children.

          “…Sir, maybe you should take a nap?” A similarly tired, though not as terrifying, angel patted her supervisor on the shoulder.

          He looked at her a moment, narrowing is eye briefly as his head drifted slightly before jerking back into place. “Nap? No, no, no...no time.” Twitching his head in a different direction, “Has the General Supervision team reported back?”

          “They reported back an hour ago, sir.” A bloodshot eyed head popped around a corner, holding a cup of liquid in about five similar, and empty, stacked cups. “We’re doomed.”

          “Right. Right….right.” Tavliel groaned into his hands and cried a little. Why did he agree to be the delegation head? Wait, he didn’t. No, it was his father’s job, but he went and retired, leaving his only child the seat and the burden. His dear Father retired the minute he heard the former Golden-eyed fiend came out of retirement. Told him that as a member of the same generation as her children, she’d go easy on him.

          He knew it was pointless and unkind of him to hold a grudge against the man who raised him, who cared for him. But he did. Afterall, even if it was unintentional, she and her kin made sure he never saw a day of rest. He never even had a family of his own since his face scared all but his colleges away.

          “I know sir, I know.” Tired tears flowed down heaven’s diplomatic team. All of them shared similar fates, though most had families, they never saw them. They had spent a glorious half day at home celebrating when she retired, only to get dragged back so soon to clean up the mess caused by the army once again.

          “One day is all I ask. Just one day……” He muttered softly to himself before sighing softly. “Alright, what is left to do?”

          “I still think assassination is a valid option.” Setting his stack of now six empty cups on a table, the youngest of them sat down.

          “If you can find out a way to do so that this department has not tried,” Tavliel pointed to a large, heavily bookmarked, binder, “go ahead. Sara, how are the defusal team faring?”

          “They’ve defused several major fights and managed to keep the militaries from clashing outright. They’re getting tired, though and will need to be swapped before they snap.”

          “Right…Have them trade with the G.S. team and get some rest. We don’t know where they are, but they’ll be here eventually…inevitably.” Sniffing, the three fought back their tears again.

          “I’ll help them.” Sarah went to stand up, only to slowly slid back into her chair and onto the table, snoring softly.

          “That is about where we’re at. Jerry, I’ll leave it to you. Cooperate with Lyciel and keep them as quiet as possible for this last day. I’ll go help with the last of the preparations. I think the kitchens still need help with negotiations.”

          “Yes, sir.” With a tired salute, they parted ways.

          The kitchens were hectic as they often are, but they were divided in two and a half groups. The sad little half group of four people gazed into space as they repeated themselves.

          “We’re all cooks here, let’s get along…”

          “I keep telling you, if you want to burn a good steak like this to the point that it looses color completely, you might as well make us some leather to match!”

          “And I keep telling you, if you want so much red in the meat, why not invite the guests to go and just bite a piece out of dear old Speckle over there!”

          The cow in question just out the window swished her tail and raised her horns with doleful eyes.

          “Hah!” The demon rolled her eyes at the angel cook, “As if I’d want to touch that half dead old waste of grass.”

          “No one disrespects our Speckle!” Rolling up her sleeves, she prepared to go for the kill.

          The demon and angel diplomatic teams shared a deep bonding moment as they seriously debated letting this go down. If it wasn’t steaks for dinner, it was the desert, or the salad, or how much salt was being used.

          “Now, let’s not fight, the food might get caught in the cross-fire and we don’t have much left.” One of the demons reluctantly decided that his food was more important than his entertainment.

          “…I’ll let you live another day, leather.” The demon cook shot a disparaging look at the cow, as if she didn’t secretly pass her extra grains every chance she got.

          Tavliel arrived to find a half dead crew of diplomats and a lively argumentative kitchen crew. They tried to keep the kitchen divided, but still in the same area as to (theoretically) promote friendship between tradesmen of different races.

          This Gabriel was not destined to live long.

          “How are things faring? Have they started to easy out after spending 5 meals together?” His smile still in place, his underlings pried their faces from the counters, in one case literally as it had somehow gotten glued to it. A dark winged cook snickered before turning back to his chilled fruits.

          “Eased, yes. But not easy.” A demon replied, tired and not even looking to see who he was talking to. “What idiot decided that this was a good idea? Angels use stupidly high temperature to cook their food to cinders and it’s throwing off the refrigerators and the few ice mages we managed to trick into slavery.”

          “…Slaves?”

          Narrowed, annoyed eyes turned around and a head jerked back when he met a pair of dark, sunken eyes wearing an Archangel’s uniform.

          “Err, volunteers?”

          “…fine. How are you all holding up?” He patted the angel who had given up trying to free his face and looked at the rest of them with concern,

          “We’ll manage, sir.” The lady sighed, looking at her brother with pity and schadenfreude.

          “And you?” He looked at the twin demon delegations.

          “Us?” They pointed at themselves in surprise. The quieter one who hadn’t spoken blinked heavily, fighting back a wave of tears.

          “Yes, we are in this together after all. No matter the reasons.” He handed out some drinks he’d made earlier that survived Jerry.

          “…well, that’s just cheating.” The one who slipped up grumbled as he hid his face in his brother’s wing.

          “We’re fine as well, thank you.”  

          “That’s good to hear, but I’m afraid I bear some bad news.”

          “Yeah, that figures, no one comes bearing gifts freely.” A muffled grumble rolled from behind a wing.

          “The Generals have disappeared and are probably on their way here.”

          A clatter came from all around them. Tavliel sighed, well it was better that they all prepare.

          “NOOOOO!”

          “YESS!”

          As reactions varied across the kitchen, the diplomats shared theirs.

          “So, we’re doomed.”