A dozen eyes, each one brimming with divine wrath, burned into the back of Lin’s skull as she threw a dozen crystalline dagger beetle shells into a juicer. After several minutes of labor, her focus solely upon crafting a magical concentrate, a bone shaking voice rang out through the small shop. “Be not afraid. I bring good news that will cause boundless joy for all people. You can do everything you’re doing ten seconds faster if you smack the machine with this magic stick!” To say that it was only by the will of God that Lin managed to not roll her eyes as a stick bounced onto the countertop would have been in poor taste. It wasn’t as if Lin had much proof of the creator’s sanity.
As if to highlight this, a chilling finger tapped Lin’s shoulder rapidly. Turning, she beheld a gleaming figure, golden light silhouetting it’s six pairs of wings and long, spindly yet graceful limbs, all around which floating twelve golden eyes, with the sands of time trickling inside them like hourglasses. These floating orbs possessed a depth that threatened to suck mortals in their gaze. Charmeine, God’s Seraph of wisdom and messenger of secrets floated before Lin. When first she had beheld this figure, the human had been awestruck, falling onto her knees before this servant of God that had been present at the beginning of time and would be there to witness the end.
This awe had worn off quickly, replaced with a tender love and sympathy that was at once far less notable and simultaneously far more significant. No longer did Lin look at this fallen angel as some god or holy creature, but instead as a loyal and tireless servant who had been abandoned. One who had devoted their entire life to a purpose promised to be greater and grander than themself, and in so doing never made any attempt at learning who “themself” truly was as an individual. Now, with that grand purpose crumbled to dust after the convergence, Charmeine had several millennia worth of missed therapy sessions to work through.
“Why does thou stand there like a whipped babe! Juice beetles! Time is money! Move! Move!” The former servant of God shrieked, before flapping into her office in a gust of window that threatened to topple several customers lounging in their chairs. Cups of precious magical essence clattered to the floor throughout the shop.
Lin sighed. She really wasn’t paid enough for this. After cleaning up the mess and offering an exorbitant number of refunds that would completely offset whatever gains Charmeine’s harrying might have garnered, Lin began her true job.
As manager of The Imperial Essence Cocktails Shop, Lin’s job was ostensibly to mix drinks of concentrated magic with various juices and syrups to make the essential drink fun and zesty. Ever since the convergence, any being not of the earth, whether they originated in the depths of hell, the peaks of heaven or everywhere in between in the fey realm, required solidified magic like a human needs water. What was once suffused through the air could now only be found in various critters or the rare pool of pure, liquid magic. Making this new requirement for survival fun and acceptable to the denizens, as all sentient, non-human creatures were collectively called, was an essential service.
That’s what Lin had been told when she took the job. What she hadn’t been told was that ninety percent of her job was to be a therapist and negotiator for her distressed, angelic employer.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Waving a hand to the new hire Burton, a troll particularly good at juicing beetles but not great at talking to customers, Lin stretched out her back as he walked over. “I’m going to go over some things with Charmeine. Please cover the bar and help anyone who asks.” Burton responded with a grunt that Lin could only hope meant yes. She didn’t have much choice.
Pushing past a curtain of leather cockatrice wings, Lin froze in place at the sight of Charmeine huddled in a corner, bawling her celestial eyes out. The tile her tears landed shimmered golden, purified by her tears.
That would make for a better cleaning solution than what we use for the mops.
Pushing aside this intrusive thought with a grimace, Lin gently padded up to Charmeine, putting a hand on one of her drooping wings.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what? My lord and creator abandoning me? That I lived my whole life according to a plan that ended in nothing more than drudgery?” Charmeine muttered, chuckling mirthlessly.
“Or how about the fact that I run a store supplying life to those I once considered my mortal enemies? Did you know that I was the one to teach humanity of troll’s aversion to flame and orange juice? I led dozens of crusades against the beasts. Now I’ve hired one.” She finished darkly.
Shooting a glance to the curtain, nervous that Burton would overhear this unsettling revelation, Lin quickly spoke louder than she normally would have. “Wow yeah, that all sounds like quite the life shift. What can we do to help get your mind off it all?”
Charmeine’s dozen eyes narrowed in unison. “You could start by boosting our sales, for one. We’re far behind last month’s profits.”
Lin nodded dutifully. “Of course. Anything else?”
Charmeine looked down and twiddled her fingers, embarrassed. “And… Maybe I’ll go up on stage and read some scripture? That always soothes me, and it’ll give the patrons something to listen to while drinking their essence.”
Lin resisted a sigh with physical effort. Considering a third of all denizens were blatantly insulted by Charmeine’s texts, it didn’t seem possible for both her goals to align. But who was Lin to deny divinity, even a “mere” servant, that which it requested?
Half an hour later, the shop was nearly deserted, but Charmeine was blissfully belting out scripture, so lost in her zealous fervor that she hadn’t noted the departure of her audience. A smile pushed its way onto Lin’s face. Despite the angel’s ornery attitude, the joy the angel received by preaching the word of her one-time employer was incredibly satisfying to witness. Having a purpose was a rare gift that should be treasured in each and every one of the microscopic moments that it might surface.
The smile threatened to waver at this thought. What purpose could Lin claim to hold, working till her feet ached making mystical potions that would never have any effect on her? That wasn’t entirely true of course. Lin had once witnessed one man, jealous of the powers denizens possessed and desperate to claim his own, turn into a green mist and float away on the wind after downing a small cup of the stuff. Did he find purpose? There were worse fates to suffer than to soar over the earth, only limited by where the wind chooses to blow.
Lin looked down at her hand. Merely touching Charmeine had healed her burns and removed any concerns for her health or ability to do her job that she might have had. Charmeine had, by merely existing, changed the course of where Lin would end up. Lin might have the title of manager, but she never truly decided anything. The raft was not of her choosing. She only ensured that no one fell off it.
Would Lin ever have her own ship?
“And the lord giveth unto thee the gift of free will, with the expectation that thou willst use it in service of his words and proclamations. To do otherwise is to spit in the face of the creator.” Charmeine cried out with such passion as to wash all surface thoughts from Lin’s mind.
The wind continued to choose her course, and the ocean currents moved as they willed.