When Angels Wear Prada

by Moonpearl

 

Premise Tags: Costume Party,

Time Travelers, Alcohol,

Atmospheric, Devoted Lovers,

Socialites, Fast-Paced Dialogue.

Content Warnings: Detailed Description

(made by the Author)¹Contains a version of Christian beliefs as in-world truth, which are presented in a way that some may consider blasphemous. This is for story reasons only and does not reflect the author's personal beliefs or opinions in either direction. This story also contains a short brush with sexual harassment, including verbal harassment, the use of slurs, and one instance of minor physical violence, which may upset people especially sensitive to such scenes. The characters are at no point in any danger., + Inebriated/

Strongly Drunk Protagonist,

Strong Language, Bigotry.

 

 

 

The smell of rain-soaked grass and stone was a socialite’s perfume. It demanded Mephisto’s attention, drawing his eye to the fresh green lawn and the dramatic shadows in the bushes. The leaves were the same hues of red, gold and brown that he remembered, and they rustled like a court’s whispers, stirred up with gossip. He took deep, slow breaths.

Warm air. Chatters and excitement. He closed his eyes and could almost believe it was still 1429, in the midst of one of his father’s feasts.

‘…don’t be a drag, just be a queen, whether you’re broke or evergreen…’

On second thought, the woosh of automatic carriages was a little too intrusive.

“…but like, he said he wasn’t gonna cry because he knew I’d be back, that I was never gonna leave him, and I just…”

This woman – Sam – had been telling her tale of woe for half an hour now. If Mephisto had a handkerchief with him, he would have offered it to her, but his costume had no pockets. Now her glittery, fascinating make-up was running down her cheeks and smearing her hands with every wipe. She was the vision of sorrow.

She lapsed into another silence, her shoulders trembling as she sobbed.

“I think he did you a favour in removing himself from your life.”

Still no handkerchief, but he propped himself a bit higher against the post so that he looked more alert.

“I think you should take this opportunity to keep him out. I think it’s splendid that your culture sees no shame in divorce.”

She turned to him and swiped another bright river of hurt across her pale skin. Her dark eyes and cropped blonde hair made the sight all the more striking – like a visit from Grief herself.

“We weren’t married…” she said softly.

“Break-ups, then…” Like all new terms, it tasted strange in his mouth. “There’s nothing to lose, even for women. Take your freedom. My mother and my father’s wife had no choice but to stay, and their lives were tragedies for it.”

He caught her hand in his own, to squeeze.

“You feel old, but you’re young. Go find the happiness they couldn’t. Men are not the keys to it.”

At last, she smiled through her tears. It was as beautiful as her pain was heart-wrenching.

“Where are you from, Mephisto?”

“Ah… A little country in Europe. You wouldn’t know it.”

“What brings you here?”

“My boyfriend. He’s over there somewhere.”

He gestured to the rest of the party through the open window-doors. It was impossible to miss him, really – he towered high above everyone else, with cool brown skin like terracotta and soft, flowing locks that made gold look cheap.

But Sam didn’t know what to look for, so her eyes passed blindly over the crowd.

“Do you both come from the same place?”

“Yes – he hasn’t left since he put his clothes in the wardrobe and a flag on the wall.”

She chuckled.

“Country. Do you come from the same country?”

“Oh, no. He’s from… The north? Very north.”

She eyed him with growing curiosity.

“How did you meet?”

“We were the only men at his best friend’s wedding. Everyone else is a lesbian.”

“Did you know the bride?”

“I live with her.”

“Live with her?”

“With all the lesbians.”

He took a long draught of the drink he was holding. The rich, sweet flavour and subtle burn of alcohol paired deliciously with the view. If the music playing was more melodious, he’d be happy to sit here all night…

He caught Sam opening her mouth to speak out of the corner of his eye. Instead, her head snapped back and her eyes went wide with wonder.

No need to check who it was – tonight’s sharp, warm perfume engulfed his senses instantly. Setting his glass down, he leaned across to hug the long, shapely legs he knew and loved.

“Hello, Aphros.”

Sam was still silent with awe, and no wonder: here was the only beautiful thing God had ever created. Tonight’s teeny-tiny red dress was both skin-tight and backless, displaying bare legs and herculean muscle, and bringing a man to the brink of madness. The fake tattoo on his back was as fluffy as real wings, tempting him to bury his face in them. He was a devil, apparently.

It was a sight that had to be seen. He had tried explaining it to some knave who’d stopped by a turn or two before Sam, asking how a straight man could have a boyfriend – but far from understanding, he’d just dubbed him “the bi who likes thunder thighs”.

“Hey. If you let go, I can sit down?”

He loosened his arms to trade magnificent legs for a magnificent whole boyfriend – an absolute steal of a deal. He did sway a little without support, though.

Aphros caught him before he fell back against the post.

“You’re beyond drunk, cutie. How much did you have?”

“Only two cups. Maybe three?”

“The alcohol content is stronger here.” Aphros stroked his hair gently, melting him into a puddle. “Let’s get you home, okay? Don’t want you blacking out.”

He attempted to sit up by himself.

“No, don’t stop on my account… You should enjoy your time with your friends.”

“I can see them whenever I want. You, on the other hand, need my attention now.”

Probably by habit, he continued to administer calming headpats.

“Do you have a handkerchief?”

Aphros unzipped his handbag and rifled through it. Purse, condoms, mobile phone, hairbrush, half the make-up from their vanity… If it wasn’t Aphros carrying it, he would have asked if it was killing his arm.

At last, he picked out a strange-looking sachet and drew something like a handkerchief from it. It was smaller and lighter than the ones he was used to, and definitely not cotton. The soft but scratchy material floated lightly as he placed it in his hand.

“It’s disposable.”

“Thank you.”

He offered it to Sam, who had long since fallen awkwardly silent and trained her eyes on a distant squirrel.

“I apologise for my rudeness… This is Aphros, my boyfriend. Aphros, this is Sam, a very gracious young lady who’s been accompanying me.”

Aphros smiled.

“Thanks for sitting with him. I’m sorry if he said anything strange – he’s such a lightweight.”

“Oh, not at all,” she answered quickly, blushing and fidgeting with the not-quite-handkerchief in her hands. “I mean, is it really a party if you don’t receive life advice from a slutty angel?”

Like a slap to the face, Mephisto snapped to attention. She had seemed so nice, so unjudging, that he couldn’t believe his ears. Part of his blood boiled, the other part was chilled like the artic.

He looked to Aphros.

“Did she call you a slattern?”

“No. I’m a devil. You’re the angel.”

It took him several moments to remember the insufficiently fluffy, flat “wings” and the golden ringed “halo” Aphros had thrown on him at the last moment. Since he’d sat down, they’d been far less noticeable than the tiny white leather skirt and the chill on his stomach from the “crop top”.

“Oh. That’s alright, then.”

Honestly, he was relieved to escape fighting a woman. In this era, it was right to challenge a woman as you would a man, but he would always feel uneasy drawing a weapon against them.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t brought a sword.

“But Sam is in distress. It would be…”

Dishonourable? Ungentlemanly? People didn’t like those words in this time period.

“… Not nice to leave her now.”

She smiled.

“It’s okay, Mephisto. You’ve helped me a lot already.”

“I’ve done nothing and it’s a problem.”

“Okay, okay…” interrupted Aphros, chuckling. “Why don’t we fix your make-up, honey, and you can decide what you want to do after?”

Mephisto nodded in encouragement. Aphros had a skill with cosmetics that was unmatched, guaranteed to lift your mood. He certainly felt radiant with his glittery gold and silver eyeshadow. Not to mention that Aphros had lent him the cherry-flavoured lipgloss he wore on one of their first dates.

“Thank you, then.”

Mephisto was gently lifted out of Aphros’ lap, where he had apparently been lying, and set against the post. They stood up together.

“Wait here, okay, sweetheart? Don’t drink anything else and be careful who you talk to. We’ll be back in no time.”

And like that, they disappeared into the party and he was alone again. For however long until the next person showed up, anyway.

It wasn’t a bad night, overall. It had started as one, when it became clear that Aphros’ friends didn’t approve of him and that everyone else resented him for monopolising the hottest man in the room. It had continued being rather rough when, after excusing himself to mingle, he encountered the third non-binary person in half an hour and realised that, like Shakespeare, he was supposed to know what that was.

He’d retreated to this veranda to save the guests from his social faux pas – but who would have guessed that so many people would come by to talk to him?

He’d even learned Babe-talk and made a good number of acquaintances among the Babe-people. These were recognisable by their exceptional kindness, openness, and their tendency to drawl the word babe at you frequently as they spoke, as well as a few other pet names. The flipping of the wrist as they spoke was a vital part of communication.

“O-M-G, your hair is amazing, babe!”

As anticipated, one of them threw herself down beside him and stroked his ponytail.

“How did you get it so long?”

“Aww, thank you. I’ve been growing it since I was a child.”

Drawl applied, pitch raised – engagement successful.

“Wow, it’s so soft! I love this style. How do you do it?”

“My boyfriend did it for me. Hair styling is his passion.”

“So jealous – I wish I had a boyfriend who could do my hair.”

“You deserve one, babe.”

A wrist flip added the little touch of emphasis Babe-talk needed for such a statement.

And like that, he had a new companion to while away the time. This one was Melissa, a young but ambitious woman who was studying to become a lawyer. Like the Babe-people before her, she offered to fetch him a number of jello-shots – a very delicious and interesting new dessert that he had been eating all night with his acquaintances.

She was just asking him about the witch’s mark of ownership – or, his “neck tattoo”, as she understood it – when a new voice interrupted.

“Hey… You with the tight ass.”

They looked over to see a lanky, greasy man in sack-like trousers. The paper cup in his hand and his barely confident swagger were a costume all of their own. He nodded, almost arrogantly, at… One of them?

They turned back to each other.

“Ew,” said Melissa, “I’d like to bleach my ears, please.”

He nodded.

“How did some things improve so much across the centuries, and some degrade to a state like this?”

“Right!? Some guys belong in the Middle Ages.”

“No, standards were higher than that. The way modern men neglect their legs and let their hair fall everywhere, like a wild animal… They’d be a laughingstock.”

“I said ‘Hey, tight ass’!”

A solid shoe collided with his tailbone. He glared up at the cur, rubbing it.

“Do you want to fuck?”

He stared.

“Do. You. Want. To. Fuck?”

“What a jackass!” said Melissa, moving closer to protect him. “Go the hell away, you disgusting creep.”

“Shut up, you diseased whore.”

It was the final straw. Levering to his feet on his kitten heels, Mephisto turned on the rogue.

“How dare you speak to a woman that way! How dare you speak to anyone that way!? You’re a disgrace to men past and present, a disappointment to all humanity – an emblem of the living rot that plagues society in all ages…”

He tore on mercilessly, barely bothering to breathe.

Surprisingly, the man took it. Withered away under it, really. He stumbled back like he’d been stabbed and stared, pale as a man facing the reaper.

“Fuck you…” he finally mumbled.

“Not ever!”

“Fuck you! Don’t think you’re something special. You’re a slut. If you dress like a whore, you should expect to be treated like one. You were asking for it—”

“Excuses! A real man masters his vices – a boy is ruled by them.”

“Then a slut like you is a baby.”

“That you want to fuck?”

Silence fell. They glared at each other fiercely.

“Fuck you… Fucking whore… Ugly, diseased bitch…”

Still muttering his profanities, the man finally slunk away. Mephisto let him go. No use chasing worms into the dirt.

“That was amazing, babe!”

A little buzz of pride and triumph warmed him despite his anger. He smiled down at Melissa.

“What language was that?”

“What?”

“He switched language, but you understood it, right?”

Ice dropped in his stomach. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

He cast his eyes about for Aphros. It had been a long time – surely he would be back in the room, surely he couldn’t be missed, surely he would swoop in and save him… But the space above the party guests was empty, and his infectious laughter was nowhere to be heard.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“I don’t know where my boyfriend is…”

“Don’t worry – we’ll find him.”

She took his hand and squeezed.

“What does he look like?”

“Very tall…”

“That’s not enough, babe?”

At that moment, a door across the far end opened and the “devil” himself ducked through. He didn’t dare run to him in his heels, but his heart raced as he waited for him.

Sam’s make-up had been wiped clean and redone. Her eyelids reflected the lights from the room in a rainbow of colours now – and her smile brightened it.

“What’s wrong, Mephisto?” Aphros asked.

“Some gross creep hit on him,” answered Melissa. “He scared him off like a king, though. Victory for the femmes!”

Any trace of a smile fell off Aphros’ face.

“What? Who was it?”

“It’s okay, it wasn’t—”

“That guy there!” Melissa pointed him out just as he slipped through a door.

“Right… Time for some divine wrath. Hold this for me.”

Mephisto cradled the heavy handbag and watched as he zipped off again. There was no point in missing him – he wouldn’t even be a minute – but Sam and Melissa’s presence was nigh claustrophobic now.

“Your boyfriend’s super hot,” whispered the Babe-woman.

He made a noise of agreement.

Thankfully, nobody had time to pick up the last thread of conversation. The women blinked as Aphros swept back through the door and collected his bag.

“Honour defended.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Of course? Stuck in a hedge, though.”

Flipping his hair out of the way, he adjusted the bag on his arm.

“Let’s say our goodbyes and head off.”

Mephisto turned to Sam.

“What will you do?”

“Oh, me? I’m going to stay for a while longer… See if I can talk to that lady over there.”

“Good luck~!” winked Aphros.

She blushed brightly.

Mephisto was all too happy to let the rest become a blur. Heartfelt farewells to the two women – promises to meet again at some other party – being towed along by the hand to bid goodbye to this person and that – Aphros handing out stacks of condoms and warnings to be careful…

When he staggered out into the street, Aphros swept him into his arms like he weighed nothing and carried him into the pitch-black park.

The pressure of their watchful audience vanished at last. Though the chill autumn wind brought whisps of singing and cheering, no one with good intentions would follow them into such deep shadow.

“Sorry I wasn’t there when that incel harassed you… Are you alright?”

He squeezed him tightly, kissing his head. Mephisto gladly buried himself in his soft chest, where the rumble of his voice could soothe him.

“People like that are nothing new… But I messed up.”

“What happened?”

“The translation magic… It doesn’t let me know what language people are speaking, so I didn’t notice when he switched.”

“Is that so bad?”

“It will be when she tells everyone I answered in her language, and he says I used his…”

“Ah…”

Another gentle kiss to the head. His silky hair ran across Mephisto’s face like a waterfall, briefly blocking out the smell of wet grass with his shampoo.

“Don’t worry. They’re all drunk and I doubt that creep will be running back to talk to anyone. You’ll get used to these things.”

“Not sure I’ll ever get used to this century…”

“Afraid you’ll have to. If it’s not homophobia, racism will keep us apart in other time periods.”

He tipped his head back to see the passing scenery. The trees, shrouded in darkness and casting their discarded leaves on them, still pulled at some distant, half-forgotten memory; but the buildings loomed tall, blocking out the stars with their artificially lit windows and their artless walls.

“Humans cannot have both beauty and kindness…”

“Aww, that’s not true. You have plenty of both.”

His cheeks glowed red before he could catch himself. Compliments from Aphros were unfair. Just a few words and his heart started dancing and his tongue seized up and he forgot what he wanted to say…

“So cute,” murmured Aphros.

The shower of kisses that followed after didn’t help. When he pulled back, under the full moon and the veil-like shadows of Earth, he shone as radiantly as Heaven’s promises.

“Will you…”

Marry me?

“Hm?”

“Will you go with me to Brusto in this century? I want to see how it turned out…”

He had seen photographs of it on the internet, of course. Familiar seas and rivers, less familiar forests and land. But he was afraid to go there himself, to touch the rubble of his father’s castle and see the plate inlaid there – “Saint Mephisto, Man or Myth?” – which declared him long-dead either way…

“Sure! You’ll love it. The beaches are as beautiful as ever, but now you can wear a decent swimsuit on them. I’ll show you the new bikini I’ve been saving. Oh – maybe we can rent a little cottage and …”

The rest of the walk was filled with Aphros’ excited getaway planning and the click of his heels on the path, as steady and sturdy as the man himself.

At last they reached the wooden door in the centre of the park, carefully selected beforehand. Cast in the low light of an artificial lamp, its peeling white bulk extended from its surrounding wall straight to the grass beneath.

Mephisto slipped the key from around his neck and tapped it against the door. With a bit of careful angling – and secure support from Aphros – he turned the rusty handle and kicked it open.

The stone halls of Lydia’s castle appeared through the portal. From the bright light cast by the stained-glass windows, it was still “day” – probably “early afternoon”. A dog yapped somewhere from within, accompanied by the laughter of women. They were spoiling Brunhilde’s hunting hound again.

“Home sweet home…”

Aphros almost stumbled.

“What was that?” he asked.

“We’re going home?”

“Home?”

“Home.”

Beaming, Aphros stepped across the threshold and shook the glamour from his wings. Their splendidly fluffy, snow-white mass filled the corridor as they stretched and resettled into a comfortable position. Mephisto stroked them lovingly.

“Can I tell Lydia?” Aphros asked.

“About your wings?”

“About ‘home’, silly.”

He ran one against Mephisto’s cheek anyway, letting him sink into it with delight.

“I told you it would all be okay and you’d like it here.”

“You also told me that my father selling me to Lydia was God’s way of saving me from him. In the next breath, that God quit the field eons ago.”

“Okay, okay, the first one was a reach… But I was right about all the rest!”

If you guessed with blind optimism all the time, you’d have to be right some of the time. How many people had Aphros said those words to who’d later packed their bags and left, hating the castle with every bone in their body?

“Tell her in a few days. Tomorrow, I’ll be too hungover for a crying woman…”

“Okay.”

And wrapping Mephisto safely in his wings, he nudged the door shut and set off to their room – leaving behind that random October night.

 

 

🍁🎃

 

 

Author's Account:

Moonpearl (SH).