Chapter 1: A Truck and a Bar

     Dion's boots slapped against the cobblestone street, as she ran her way to the marketplace. She had to get there before it closed, and she happened to lose track of time while working on plans for a new irrigation system to fix Hell's current food situation. She weaved through her fellow demons that milled about the streets, almost knocking a few of them over in the process.

     She stepped out of the alley and into the bustling market. Stalls adorned with many things odd and common lined the square. The chatter of the haggling customers and stall keepers was almost deafening, and Dion had to fight the urge to clamp her hands over her ears to calm herself a bit. She settled on shaking her head for now.

     She dove into the crowd of demons shoving and squeezing past people as she made her way across the square. She already knew her destination, a stall where the only thing sold was tea. Dion had promised Asmodeus she'd pick some up for her. It didn't take her long to find the market stand she was looking for. If was a small stall, with crates stacked up behind it like most others in it. Green fabric covered the top of it, and draped slightly off the sides. The wooden counter was worn, and had clearly seen better days. She leaned against the table, and smiled wriyly at the man behind it.

     "Hey, Dimi. How's it going?"

     He smiles, although it doesn't quite reach his eyes, "Oh! Dion! It's good to see you. As well as can be expected considering everything at moment."

     "I can imagine," Dion says softly, scratching the back of her neck, before shifting herself ever so slightly, "Anyways, I'm here to pick up Asmodeus' usual."

     He chuckles lightly, nodding, "Of course you are. Hold on a moment, and I'll grab it for you."

     Dion nodded as the man turned away from her and went to rummaging in the crates behind him. Dion looked about the marketplace as she picked slightly at the wooden counter. There were less stalls than usual. It wasn't a surprise to her. After all, wares and food that was sold at them was getting harder for the merchants to get their hands on. Dion was brought back to reality by Dimi sitting two, very heavy burlap bags upon the counter.

     "Here you are Morningstar, 200 units of green tea."

     "How much is it?" Dion asks, already reaching into her jacket and pulling out a stack of ration tickets.

     "I'd say, oh, about 250 tickets per sack," Dimi says shrugging.

     Dion laughed, "You're joking right, that's 500 tickets Dimi!"

     He raised his hands as show he ment no harm, "I dislike it as much as you do Dion, but you must understand I need to feed my children, and not many demons drink tea often. Asmodeus is one of the primary clients that's keeping me in business."

     Dion chewed her lip, "Damn. Alright, I'll pay."

     Dion counted out the correct amount of ration tickets, and placed them on the counter for Dimi. He didn't bother counting them before stashing them away in a metal box. There was after all no reason to, as he knew Dion was trust worthy when it came to her word. Dion placed the remaining tickets back into her jacket pocket, where it could be pickpocketed by the street kids on the way to Asmodeus'. She knew they did it, but she pretended that she didn't notice a thing. As long as she was letting it happen, and they saw her as an easy target, they wouldn't waste their time trying to pickpocket someone more dangerous.

    Dion gave a final nod to Dimi as she picked up the sacks of tea, and begun sifting her way back through the crowds the way she came. It wasn't long before she had made it out of the square and back to the main street. She set a hasty pace as made her way to the club. As she went she smiled and nodded as she spoke to a child. He was merely a distraction as his friend stole Dion's tickets just as they did every time.

     It was long before Dion was pushing open the door to Asmodeus' club. The place was empty as early in the evening it was. The club was a blend of modern meeting the 60s. The booths were old reddish leather, and some of the most comfortable places to sleep. Dion could say as such with how often she used to fall asleep on them when Beelzebub babysat. The lights were new, during the day they were warm, and at night they switched to multicolor flashing that usually made Dion sick to stomach. Small crystal chandeliers hung about the ceiling. The bar was situated near the door, and the stage was at the back. 

    Asmodeus was behind the counter rearranging glasses. Dion would ask how many times she had already done it today, but she'd rather not piss off Asmodeus; she'd leave that to Beelzebub. Dion cleared her throat when Asmodeus didn't turn around at the sound of her footsteps.

     "Hmm? What do you want, we're-" Asmodeus starts, before she actually turns her head in Dion's direction, "Oh, it's you. Nevermind."

     "Is this bad timing?" Dion asks.

     "No," Asmodeus says, before setting the glasses back on their shelf, and fully turning to face Dion, "Do you have my tea?"

     Dion simply sits the sacks down on the counter, knowing Asmodeus will put it away in a bit. She watched as Asmodeus wipped off her hands with a towel, before opening one of the bags to check it. Asmodeus was shorter than Dion, and average height. She wore her usual purple and blue dress. Her blonde hair fell to obscure her face from Dion. Black was starting to peek through at the roots, and she'd probably have to shave the one side she kept short soon.

    "Due for a haircut soon?" Dion asks.

    "I've been ignoring it," Asmodeus offers, closing the bag back up, having been satisfied that everything is right. She takes the bags and stores them below the counter for the time being.

     "Where's Beelzebub?" Dion asks.

     Asmodeus huffs, and stares at her, pursing her lips. Asmodeus' gray eyes bore into her as she said, "Don't tell me you're already bored of my company, Dion."

     "I'm not, it's just usually if you're out here cleaning, they're here to bother you," Dion says.

     "Oh don't worry, they're perfectly fine. I haven't killed them," Asmodeus says waving her hand about. "They're in the back room with Dumah working out their plan for tonight."

     "Plan? What plan?" asks Dion, she was curious and wondered if she could help. She probably looked like an excited puppy the ways her eyes lit up at the mention of getting to plan something.

     Asmodeus laughed softly, "The plan for how the three of you are stealing that semi-truck of food tonight."

     Now Dion was just confused. Her eyebrows bunched together. Stealing a semi. This was the first time she's heard about this, and apparently she's supposed to be participating.

     "I think I would remember scheduling to steal a semi-truck, Asmodeus," Dion says.

     "Well," Asmodeus says, bobbing her head side to side, "I would hope not considering no one told you. But they do want your help."

     "What if I say no?" Dion asks, "I mean I can just refuse, besides you know how I feel about-"

     Dion never got to finish her sentence, because it was that moment when Beelzebub and Dumah came out of the back room. Beelzebub was bursting with energy. Their mohawk was spiked just like always, and their plethora of pins were on their red plaid vest like always. The t-shirt advertising some obscure metal band had definitely seen better days just the same as their cargo pants judging from the holes in both. Unlike Beelzebub, Dumuh was slower. He was also taller, and broader. He was built like a fridge despite his soft nature. Surprisingly he was only wearing his oily work jeans and a light blue polo, having decided to ditch his brown leather apron today.

     Beelzebub bound over to the bar like they didn't have a care in the world. They threw themselves onto one of the spinning stools, and laughed. Dumah just shook his head, and leaned against the counter.

     "Why are you so happy?" Asmodeus asks.

     "When are they not is a better question," Dumah huffs.

     "We figured it out. We have a plan!" Beelzebub said gripping the edge of the bar to stop their spinning. They were practicly vibrating with excitement. "I get to pretend I'm dead," they say brightly.

     Dion sighed, "What exactly am I doing considering I doubt the two of you probably won't give me much choice in doing this."

     Dumah shruged, "You're there to drive."

     "I don't know how to drive a car, let alone a semi-truck."

     "Oh, come on Dion," Beelzebub said, sliding off their stool and grabbing her by the shoulders to shake her slightly, "You're one smart motherfucker. You can figure it out as we go."

     "I can guarantee you I will not," Dion muttered matter of factly.

     "We'll pay you in alcohol," Dumah said nonchalantly, and received a glare from Asmodeus.

     "Alright, deal. I'm in."

     "You have got to be kidding me! You are not getting free alcohol," Asmodeus asserted, pointing her finger at Dion, before turning to face Dumah and Beelzebub, who had gone back to slouching on their bar stool. "And you two stop encouraging her!"

     "She's an adult," Beelzebub lamented, popping an olive from a bowl on the counter into their mouth.

     Asmodeus glares at them with enough scorn she might as well be able to light them on fire. Asmodeus looked at Dion again, putting her hands on her hips. Oh no. She was in her mother hen pose. Dion was in for it.

     "You're not getting free alcohol," she insisted again, "but you're going with them anyways. Otherwise they might blow themselves up knowing them."

     Dion's shoulders sagged. Well there went her saturday night.

     "Fine," Dion sighed, before pointing a finger at Asmodeus, "but you owe me a favor, no questions asked, redeemable at any time."

      Asmodeus smiled, "That's reasonable enough."

      "Alright, kid," Dumah says, patting Dion on the shoulder, "Come on let's get to it."

       Beelzebub, Dumah, and Dion made their way out of the club, and Asmodeus called to them, "Becareful!"

       "We always are, sweetheart!" Dumah assured, pushing open the door.

        "Will do, honeybun!" Beelzebub says at the same time, "Ack! What have you both done to me!?"

        "You've become domestic because of them, that's what," Dion says, pushing past both of them out the door. They might as well get on with it then.

☽𖤓☾

     Dion huddled with Dumah in the bushes. The two of them could clearly see Beelzebub from where they were hiding. Dion was aware of her own breathing. Dumah had chosen to simply wear a burlap sack with eye holes ripped out to hide his face. Dion on the other hand had decided on an old beat up hockey mask from when she was a kid. It was making her face sweaty and she really didn't want to think about that.

     Dion huffed, turning her head to look at Dumah, "Are you sure you got the schedule right?"

     Dumah nodded, never once taking his eyes off of Beelzebub, "Absolutely."

     Dion just shook her head, went back to staring at Beelzebub. Her knees were starting to hurt from how long her and Dumah have been squatting here in these bushes. It was at that moment the walkie talkie clipped to her belt buzzed.

      Beelzebub's voice hissed out of the walkie talkie, "Here it comes! Get ready!"

      Just like that Dion saw headlights bleam off of the reflectors on the side of the road. The semi was coming around the bend. Dion really hoped Beelzebub timed this right because she really didn't feel like scraping them off the pavement with a spatula.

     Dion and Dumah watched as Beelzebub strolled leisurely out in front of the semi. Dion grabbed Dumah's shoulder as he shifted forward slightly, obviously wanting to go get his and Asmodeus' partner. As the semi got closer to Beelzebub, the driver slammed on the brakes. There came a loud screeching, and the semi stopped mere inches from Beelzebub, who had collapsed in the road just as they had planned.

     As soon as they saw the driver get out of the truck, they were on their feet. They rushed the man, taking him by surprise. Dumah hit him over the head hard enough with his fist to knock him out, and Dion sat about dragging him from the road with Beelzebub's help. The two of them tied him up well as Dumah called in an anonymous tip to the authorities using the unconscious man's phone. They were demons not monsters, although the line was drawn very close.

     Dion stood there huffing. She bent over and placed her hands on her knees. She wanted to throw up. She hated this. Hurting humans. It wasn't her style. They should not have to deal with the repercussions of Heaven and Hell's politics.

      "Dion?" Beelzebub called.

      A slight tinge of concern hung in their voice. Dion stood up straight shaking away the guilt as much as she could at the moment. She didn't have time for this. They had a truck to steal.

     Dion turned around, and smiled, "Coming!"

     She clambered into the truck's driver seat and closed the door behind her. Beelzebub and Dumah were already waiting for her. Dion looked at the dashboard of the semi. There were a lot of switches, buttons, gauges situated around a giant steering wheel. Yup. It was exactly what she expected it to look like. It also completely had her confused.

     "Are you sure one of you can't do this?" Dion hissed, turning herself as much as she could to look at Dumah and Beelzebub.

     "Child," said Beelzebub, "None of us can drive. Either way we're gonna have to figure it out. So maybe we should hurry up before we get caught."

     Dion shook her head. She wanted to violently hit her head against the steering wheel, but they really didn't have time for it at the moment. Luckily for Dion, she didn't have to go about figuring out how to start the semi, as the driver had left the key in the ignition, and left the engine running. All she had to do was figure out how to get it actually in motion.

     Dion decided to start off by pressing on the brake. Dion then looked at the switches, there was one labeled parking brake, and guessed that since the truck wasn't moving it was probably on. She pulled it, and there was a hiss as air was released from somewhere. Dion was just going to assume that was probably okay.

     Dion was pretty sure this was an automatic and not a manual. Though she didn't drive vehicles, she did read about them. She was pretty sure that manuals have a giant lever looking thing coming out of the floor. Dion found a lever with a turnable switch on the end next to the steering wheel. With the brake still pressed in she studied the lever. D, N, R. Three letters. Dion was going to assume she should probably switch the thing to D as it probably stood for drive. Dion twisted the switch, and slowly let her foot off the brake. The truck was moving now alright, except instead of really getting up and going it merely moved along at a snail's pace.

     Dion decided to test what would happen if she pressed the other pedal to the right of the brake. She pressed on the pedal, booting to the floor. The truck lurched forward violently and quickly. Okay, so that was the gas. Dion laughed nervously as she eased up on the gas pedal.

     "Alright, this is kinda fun." Dion admitted.

     "Are you saying you're our driver now?" Beelzebub asked coyly.

     "No!" Dion argued

     While Dion had been figuring out how to make the truck move, Dumah had been digging in the glove compartment. He joyously gasped and withdrew a map from it. 

      "Nevada," Dumah mutters while studying the front of the map.

      Dumah carefully folded the map to a smaller shape, and tucked it into his pocket. Beelzebub chuckles, messing with the radio. The different stations screeched together as Beelzebub rapidly turned the knob as they tuned it. A rock song blared from the speakers and Beelzebub leaned back in their seat satisfied.

☽𖤓☾

     Dion found herself heading back through the desert by herself to go ditch the truck back by the road. They had made it back to the gates without trouble. She had helped Beelzebub, Dumah, and some other demons that Asmodeus had managed to gather, unload the food from the back of the truck, and thought it better to at least return the truck back to where it had the chance to be found. Now she was here. Driving alone in the mass of nothingness in the endless void that was Death Valley, with nothing but the stars to accompany her.

     Dion wasn't one to complain about being alone. It offered her time to think about what she'd done. Usually, she found she wasn't really fond of the things that spent her day doing. Being alone also meant she had less chances of messing up social interactions. She couldn't fuck up in a conversation if there was never anybody to talk to.

     Sometimes she missed having people, friends, to talk to. Beelzebub, Dumah, and Asmodeus weren't her friends, they more like a strange aunt, uncle, and…well whatever the fuck Beelzebub was. Dion wasn't willing to put in the brain power needed for that. Dion had friends at one point. Two of them. They were inseparable, until they weren't. But the drought had taken many things from many people.

      Dion didn't like thinking about a lot of things. For example she really wasn't enjoying currently thinking about the poor truck driver they had left tied to a tree in the middle of December. It was eating at her. What if nobody found him? What if the authorities didn't take the call Dumah made seriously, and thought it was a prank call? What if Dumah hit him too hard, and killed him, after all humans were very easily broken, instead of knocking him out like they intended? Maybe she should have checked for a pulse before they left?

     No. No. No. She had to stop. It wasn't worth thinking about. There's nothing she could do about it now. She'd be an idiot to go back and check, especially in the stolen truck. All she could do was hope that the truck driver was fine.

     Still though, despite this the guilt lingered. It hung to her. She wanted to be free of it. Of the thoughts and the worry. There was one thing Dion was sure would help her. Alcohol. Luckily for her she knew of a nice little bar not far from where she was. Dion had gone further than she thought she would while she was lost in her thoughts. It had only taken her around thirty minutes give or take to get there. She killed the truck, and stashed the keys somewhere they could hopefully be found later.

     Dion hopped out of the truck and made her way across the gravel parking lot and made her way towards the bar. She glanced at the multitude of bikes gathered outside. Nothing changes about this place apparently, always draws the same crowd. She pushed open the door and let the sound of music and the smell of beer wash over her. This was sure to be therapeutic.

☽𖤓☾

     Marve sat in a booth at the back of the bar. She slipped her cocktail, a Ranch Rosè. The blood orange and tequila mixed perfectly together. Marve idly looked around. It was a slow night. The only reason she was even out here is because Micheal told her to go check out some weird stuff happening. Marve had checked on what the Archangel had asked her to. All she found was the police untying an unconscious man from a tree. It was a complete waste of Marve's time.

     Sometimes Marve thought Micheal was losing her mind. "Always be prepared for Hell to do something!" Micheal always told her. Hell hasn't done shit in a long time since before Marve existed, and at this point she was sure they weren't going to do anything for a very long time. The only reason Marve stayed as Micheal's chosen heir, was because it would probably be more trouble to try and say no. Not only would it annoy Micheal, which Marve wasn't exactly keen to do, but it also wouldn't make her father very happy.

    Marve made a decision right then. She wanted something fun to do, or rather someone to have fun with. Marve wasn't one for one night stands, but she needed something new. The next person to walk through the door, she decided, would be who she tried to start up a conversation with.

    Marve sighed, and shifted her weight. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window as a large semi truck pulled into the parking lot. Her green eyes reflected some of the trucks headlights, and sat below a set of thick eyebrows. Her black curls fell around her shoulders and went well with her rich brown complexion, and her purple turtle neck.

     Marvel absentmindedly thought of how funny it was to see a truck pull into the parking lot. This place didn't look like a place that had many truckers stopping for a drink. No, this bar was very much a biker bar. It was easily seen from the sheer amount of motorcycles outside, her own amongst them. Although, who was she to say, afterall, it was her first time being here.

    The door swung open, and Marve craned her head to see what this mystery person looked like, considering she had just put her hope of a good night on that door. Marve was not disappointed. The woman who walked in the door was easily over six feet in height. She was pale, almost the same shade as her short white hair that was a complete mess. She wore a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt along with a pair of gray jeans, and a chunky pair of combat boots that thudded against the wooden floors as she walked.

     The woman shoved her hands into her pockets and pressed her arms against her sides as if trying to take up as little space as humanly possible. She glanced back and forth as she made her way up the narrow walking space between the booths and bar. As she passed by Marve, she took note of the scar that ran from the woman's chin to the midway point of her nose.

     Marve drained the rest of her cocktail, as the woman moved on past her. The woman seemed strange. She dressed similarly to the bikers in the bar, but Marve hadn't seen one single patch on her leather jacket. Marve turned her head to watch as the woman took a seat near the end of the bar, and ordered a shot of whiskey.

     Marve tapped her foot contemplating what she was about to do. Was she really sure this was a good idea? What if the woman was a total weirdo stalker of some sort? Marve then thought about Morgan, and gagged. No one could absolutely be weirder or worse than her ex-boyfriend was. Marve slid out of her booth, and made her way towards the end of the bar. Marve lightly touched the empty seat to the right of the woman.

     "Is this seat taken?" Marve asked.

     The woman ignored her, and Marve tapped her shoulder. The woman jumped slightly at the touch. She turned her head enough to look at Marve. The two of them made eye contact, and Marve wondered how hard it would be to get lost in those amber eyes. The woman swallowed hard. Marve wasn't sure if it was because the woman was nervous, or from the woman's drink.

     "What?" the woman asked, confused.

     "I was wondering if the chair next to you is taken," Marve repeated herself.

     The woman shrugged, eyeing the chair, "No. Help yourself."

     The woman then returned to her drink, which the bartender had graciously refilled. Marve slid into the seat next to her. She absentmindedly tapped her fingers on the bar, as she pretended to wait for the bartender's attention. Marve caught the woman glancing at her, and she smiled softly. Marve turned her head to look at the woman, swiveling her chair slightly. Apparently it caught the woman off guard, and she snapped her head back away from Marve.

      "So,” Marve asked, "Do you come here often?"

      The woman breathed, "I used too. How about you?"

      "Just passing through."

      "Where are you headed?" the woman asked.

      Marve shrugged, "Nowhere in particular. Wherever my boss wants me to be really."

     "Oh, you're an office worker?" she asked, turned towards Marve.

     "No. I work in security," says Marve.

     It's not a complete lie. Marve is a seraphim. She is part of the vanguard, and usually when they need to deal with a demon very discreetly, Marve is who is put to work. She's an assassin of sorts really. Security she supposes, is close enough.

      The woman laughs, "Oh, sorry. I just sorta assumed from your sweater and the black slacks.'

     "Hasn't anybody ever told you to not judge a book by it's cover?" Marve questioned.

      The woman groans, "You would not believe how many times, but it's usually more of a gut feeling really."

      "Oh," Marve says, "And what is your gut telling you right now?"

      The woman stared at her, and purses her lips, before going, "It's telling me you want something."

      "Everybody wants something," Marve says.

      "Yeah, I know," says the woman, "But you want something particularly from me, and I don't know you."

      Marve smiles, "I'm Marve. Now you know me."

      "Dion," the woman says, "My name is Dion. So, what do you want?"

      "You."

      Perhaps Marve was a bit too forward, because Dion almost chokes on her drink. Her face reddens and she sputters, actually turning her body towards Marve.

     "Excuse me?" she wheezes.

    "I want you. Well, I want to have some fun. You look fun," Marve says.

    "I don't know about that," Dion says, "I don't really do, well, you know."

    "Neither do I."

    Dion blinks. She stares at her.

    "You're being serious?" she asks, "I…you know what sure. I needed something to get me out of a mood anyway."

     Marve raised an eyebrow. There is no way this just worked. But then she watches as Dion waves over the bartender, and tells them to put her drinks on her tab. Then Marve watches as Dion stands up, she looks at Marve as if she's waiting for something. Marve stands from her chair, and starts making her way out of the bar with Dion close behind.