History of a Sofa

            Jay was used to receiving odd looks when he entered, well, just about any store. On his own, he stood out, a six foot tall black man with dreadlocks tied back in a tail, a pair of shades, a decent sized peace sign around his neck, white shorts, a pressed white shirt, and a red sash serving as a belt. Most of it seemed fairly clean, the sandals being the exception. They looked like they'd been around since the Crucifixion of Christ, and like they might fall apart at any moment. This was partially true.

          It didn't help that Jay had his arm around a lovely woman who appeared to hail from the Middle East (she did) with lighter brown skin then his, and pitch black hair done up in a braided bun. She looked a bit more reasonable though, dressed in a white sundress with a red ribbon around the middle, and sandals that were far better off. The woman had gone by Maggie since almost as long as Jay had known her, and she was the love of his life.

           The fact that they were cleanly dressed and of darker skin tones did raise eyebrows at times, but that day was not one of them. There were relatively few snobs in the discount thrift store they walked through the aisles of, and the crowd was vastly diverse. This was part of why Jay loved to go to thrift stores with Maggie when he had time off.

“Okay, but what about this one?”

            Maggie picked up a white dress from a rack, an abandoned wedding dress, while Jay examined white party dresses. He lowered his shades and dark eyes peered over them.
“Arranged by the families. Green card marriage. Shockingly, the bride and groom were smitten at first look.”
“You know that?”

“It's pretty plain, though obviously a wedding dress, and very basic. No blood stains, but,” Jay smirked, “It was torn off the bride that night.”

“You're good,” Maggie laughed and moved forward, “Jay, my darling, that dress will never fit you. You need something that allows for a bigger torso.”

             An announcement suggested the store was closing soon, and people began to leave. Maggie began to push their cart, now filled with a few white dresses, some push up bras, and some peasant skirts and blouses for her, before she realized her love had wandered off.

“I swear he is such a child sometimes,” Maggie shook her head and moved along, beginning to search for him, “Jay, you have a conference tonight, don't forget! Jay…?”

           She sighed when she eventually found him, half sunken into possibly the ugliest sofa she had ever seen. Jay was sprawled across it, face buried into the cushions as she approached.

“I need this,” Jay proclaimed, “For the office.”

“Jay, it looks like somebody killed their grandmother and stole her curtains to make this.” Maggie folded her arms.

“Well, the cover did used to be curtains,” Jay reached out to take her hand, tugging her gently, “I have never found a piece of furniture so full of love, Maggie.”

“Ew.”

“Not like that,” Jay sat up and laughed, patting the space beside him in invitation.

            Maggie gave him a look, but shook her head. When her lover got like this, there was no stopping him until he saw it through. She smiled as she sat down, because that was one of the things she loved about him. He could see a person's history, or a thing's history, not just what they were. That was how he had found her.

“Tell me about it.”

“Post World War II,” Jay hummed, “She was a girl who survived the camps. They met because he was an American GI who liberated the camp she was trapped in. They didn't have a lot, of course, so they made the best of what they had. For a long while this sofa was all they had to live on, to sit on, to sleep on. Then they had children, and by then they had more. But the sofa, this sofa here, became a centerpiece of the household. Its where they'd listen to the radio, dance, play games, or read. It was where she helped her children with their homework. Where he'd applied band aids on scrapes. Their son had his first kiss on this couch. When the kids moved out, they snuggled on the sofa every time, occasionally falling asleep on each other. When the cover finally began to give, she tore down the curtains and made a new one. And years later, they passed away together, peacefully, asleep on this sofa.”

          Maggie listened, leaning on his shoulder, and she smiled more the longer he told her the tale. Some people had that problem, they could only see a thing for what it was. They couldn't notice if an item, person, or place was haunted. Nor could they tell if it had been filled with wonderful energies, or that someone had fought every step to survive. Jay was special, he could always sense it.

“That's beautiful, Jay.”
“You're more so.”

Maggie felt blood rush to her cheeks and she giggled as he began to kiss her neck.
“Jay, they're trying to close up.”
“So they won't notice us, and I'll buy the couch anyway,” Jay murmured softly, “I just...want to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“Life. Love. Existence.”

“You big sap,” Maggie murmured as she turned to catch him in a kiss.

           It was several hours later one of the thrift store managers was surprised to hear a knock on her door in the office. She raised a brow and double checked the time, and yes, it had been three hours since they closed. She was just staying behind to finish up some paperwork. The woman sighed and stood up, taking another swig of coffee before she moved to the door.

“Hello, can I help you?”

            The women before her surprised her, partially because both were dressed in gray suits, white shirts, and golden ties. Then again, one of them had rosy fair skin, brown hair, glasses, vivid purple eyes, and was missing her right arm. The other had copper brown skin, was wearing an eye patch, and her countless braids were in every color of the rainbow.

“Hello there,” The purple eyed woman spoke, her brown hair in a loose braid, “I'm Agent Drake. This is my partner, Agent Danan.”

“We represent a private security group known as the Nevaeh Agency,” Agent Danan began to explain, “We believe one of our people may have been stuck in the building and didn't want to inconvenience you to let him out. We got word he missed a meeting, and we spotted his vehicle in the lot.”

“What?” The manager turned and spotted it before making a face. It was a tie-dye painted micro bus with eight windows or so, and a personalized plate reading “HolyH20”.

“If it isn't any trouble, we can handle extracting him, let you get back to your business,” Agent Willows produced an ID, and so did Danan after a moment.

          The manager examined them both. While she'd never heard of The Nevaeh Agency, or what they were-Sky Darts-but their ID's seemed to be legitimate, and much more notably, there a notation in the corner about INTERPOL. That she had heard of. The frazzled woman sighed and nodded, looking up at them.

“Very well. I'll get the lights for you.”

           Agent Danan whistled as she began to walk with her partner down the rows of used merchandise.

“What is it with the VP and thrift stores, anyway?”

“He can tell you the history of a person, place, or thing, with a single touch,” Agent Willows replied, “What say you, Kelsey? Should we split up?” She added.
“Sounds good to me, Violet.”

            Kelsey Danan nodded and looked around as Violet Willows took off toward the store front. Kelsey suspected her partner would turn up nothing. From her lone green eye, the rainbow haired woman spotted a cart filled with garments by the furniture.
“Bull's eye,” she grinned and began to cross the sale's floor.

           About the time she reached the scene, she heard a loud noise, like something falling over. She raised her eyebrow as she closed in, hearing giggling and chuckles as she found and overturned couch.
“Hello?” Kelsey called out, and then Jay stood before her abruptly, almost completely naked, aside from a single carefully placed floral cushion before his nether regions. Behind him, Maggie was more discreetly concealed beside the overturned sofa.

“Greetings, Agent Danan,” Jay laughed, “Uh, help me find my wallet?” Kelsey couldn't help but howl with laughter as she turned her head to called out.

“Violet, call off the search! I found Jesus, he was behind the couch!”

How to Build a Better Savior

            As he had been around since the beginning of time, it took very much to surprise the Archangel Gabriel. After the existence of platypi, racists, and humans who rejected the true age of the Earth, he had been certain nothing could. Gabriel had always known that Jesus Christ had dark brown skin with a head of dark dreadlocks. It was the only logical genetic result, what with his mother Mary hailing from the proximity of Jerusalem, in the Middle East. Nor was this occasion the first time Jesus had leaped over the atrocious floral sofa in his corner of the Heavenly High Council Chamber. It wasn't even the first time the son of God had been observed in a white dress, though Gabriel always believed Marilyn Monroe had worn it better. As for Jesus blessing a pitcher of water into wine, that was so common even his believers knew about. No, as the Messiah in the push up bra poured three glasses of Blessed Wine, it was what he raised his wooden chalice, the Holy Grail,  to toast to that startled the pepper haired Archangel.

“Here's to the upcoming Second Coming, my baby sister!”

             If the fair skinned Archangel was startled, the brown eyed Metatron beside him was flabbergasted.

“Up coming-sister?” Fiekal stammered, “But I thought the Second Coming is supposed to be your return tour to Earth!”

“Fiekal, my Metatron,” Jesus pattered the pale skinned angel's back, “Have you seen how I'm depicted these days? Brunette, blue eyed, and white as the sugar coated side of their fucking frosted Wheaties. You think my followers can handle me as I am? Hell, they might crucify me all over. No, the Second Coming has to be all new. A new savior for a new millennium, a new born with a new soul.”

“New soul?” Gabriel raised a hand and adjusted his spectacles. It was true, angels didn't need things like glasses, but the Archangel had crafted this pair for special purpose.

“Oh yes, a brand spanking new soul,” Jesus grinned, “With contributions from the Archangels in its production.”

“Contributions?!” Fiekal began to bristle, “The production of Nephilim, children of humans and angels, has been been forbidden since,”
“Shhh,” Jesus moved forward and placed a finger over the brunette Metatron's lips, “Don't speak. You'll only embarrass yourself.”

“He doesn't mean genetic components, Fiekal,” Gabriel spoke up, “He means elements to craft a soul.”

“Bingo, Gabe, my angel,” Jesus produced a plastic baggy of 'Savior Special' Brownies, and tossed one of the baked goods over to the archangel.

            Gabriel caught the snack and began to nibble as Fiekal tried to make sense of what was being uttered to him.

“But crafting souls is Azrael's business,” The Metatron held his brow, “Guiding souls to and from life.”

“Generally yes,” Gabriel glanced over, “But for special occasions, such as this, exceptions can be made to assure the best possible soul for the new savior.
“Unlike when Azrael fashioned me with his usual dice rolling procedures,” Jesus laughed, “So. Gabriel, since you have to get ready for telling Miss Christi that she's expecting, I'll have you contribution first.”

           The small rag doll Jesus produced from beneath his skirt was not unknown to Gabriel. That said, he did raise a brow as he took it from him. These dolls were how every angel earned his wings in the early days, by crafting a Saint or angel's soul from carefully chosen components. Each cloth doll was featureless, and wore a necklace of five golden capsules. In each capsule was a rolled up piece of parchment, and on each parchment a personality trait or core value was written. Once all five capsules were filled and placed within the doll, it would then be set in a special basin of holy waters to soak up the traits. The process generally took anywhere between eight and ten months.

          Gabriel smiled fondly as he took one of the capsules, remembering when he had crafted the soul that ages later would become Mary, Jesus's mother. Honesty. Loyalty. Devotion. Generosity. Integrity. Of course, even with those core elements, there had been surprises. Despite modern depictions, telling a fourteen-year-old virgin she was pregnant with the child of the Almighty God had not gone over well. Especially when not only was she not yet married to Joseph, she had every expectation to remain a maiden in that marriage. This was not because, as Catholics seemed to think, it was integral to her character, but because Mary was an early sample of a homosexual man marrying a woman to hide his true nature.

          Even though Mary was honest, loyal, devoted, generous, and bore integrity like Gabriel had never seen, she had a bit of a temper. She had flung quite a bit of pottery at the Archangel when the first Annunciation occurred. Even when he showed his wings, she was still furious she had not been consulted. If Joseph had not arrived to calm her down, Gabriel was unsure what would have happened. I suppose I'm about to go through that again. The archangel pondered as Jesus looked up at him.

“You know the procedure?”
“I do.” 

             Gabriel sighed as unscrewed the capsule to remove the parchment. What element should he give to the Second Coming, he wondered. The Seven Blessed Virtues crossed his mind, but he dismissed them. It had done very little for several of his fallen kindred, those being their core elements, and others still struck him as stupid. He wanted to give the Second Coming a trait of use. Something that would bring her more success with her destiny then her brother.

          That was it. Gabriel recalled what had led to the fall and Resurrection of Jesus. One of his dearest friends and followers, who now existed in Hell encased in molten silver, had betrayed him. Either Jesus had known or accepted his fate (not impossible but given what he knew of Jesus, Gabriel had his doubts), or he hadn't known of Judas's deception until it was too late. Gabriel smiled softly and plucked a pen from his pocket and wrote a single word: intuition.

The Nevaeh Agency

When it comes to the matter of Heaven, not one belief system on Earth has figured out the protocols. When religious leaders presume to know what Heaven is all about, the Celestial Powers are less than pleased, and frequently pissed. There is a special place resembling an office of the Department of Motor Vehicles. There they would spend a century appealing for why they should go to Heaven. If they showed humility, they would be admitted. If they clung to their pride, well, that would be unfortunate.

Heaven is in fact a collaborative work of the countless Celestial Beings. No one has even been barred entry for believing in the wrong diety, nor have atheists. That may partially because the expression on a dead atheist's face when they arrive at Heaven's entrance is simply precious. Even Satanists are welcome, though they are given the option to visit the realm of their lord. In the end which direction a soul is headed is based on how one lived their lives and treated others. This is generally a rude awakening for those who arrive in the Purgatory Offices to appeal their rejection from Heaven.

There is also a great deal of confusion on the mortal plane regarding the architecture of Heaven. For most followers of Christ, there are two primary visualizations: a paradise constructed of clouds filled with cherubs, hymns, and harps or else a great manor with precious stone walls, pearly gates, and golden streets. Both are incorrect structural nightmares, and the angels of the Lord very much resent being compared to chubby white babies with tiny wings and diapers. Angelic Sapiens come in every skintone, shape, and size as homosapiens.

Then there is a very wide spread misconception that short of death one can never glimpse Heaven, Paradise, Valhalla, of whatever your flavor is. This is not the case. Though Heaven and Hell exist outside time and space, most of the human race has glimpsed both at some point in the realm of dreams. Damnation and Salvation are both custom constructed based on one's subconscious desires or dreads

There is also a back door into Heaven.  It is an elevator in the headquarters of The Nevaeh Agency, the Earthly office of the angels, and requires a halo interface to open .. For a long time the angels tried to avoid meddling in the affairs of their wingless brethren in order to uphold the concept of free will, given to them by the almighty. Then the Spear of Longinus fell into the hands of a bitter German painter named Adolf. With the sudden influx of 13 million souls and war casualties in a surprisingly small time frame, the powers that be agreed to have a presence on earth.

Thus the Nevaeh Agency was founded in a secret location outside of Roswell, New Mexico, just after Christmas in 1946. Unfortunately in July an Angelic Saint caused a small commotion by flying while intoxicated and throwing her halo around. The Nevaeh Agency became technically public, though few could deduct much about them. As far as the public knew, the Nevaeh Agency was a surveillance group involved with INTERPOL.

It is in this building that a new scripture begins, just after the feast of Saint Brigid, who happened to be the angelic saint previously discussed. That said, as she was nursing what she referred to as a "Hell of a Hangover", some interpretation and identification is required for the people she identifies in the minutes she recorded that day. Gabe, is obviously, shorthand for Gabriel the Archangel. At some point the figure "Superstar" appears, and this refers to Jesus Christ, the son of God. Then there is the unfortunately named Fi'ekal, the Metatron who speaks for God. The Angelic Saint believes it is hilarious to refer to him as variants of "Fecal" so he appears in the minutes as "Poop".

Date: 2/2/1999 Post Mordem

Subject: Conceptualization; The Second

Poop: Thank you for coming on such short notice, Gabriel. Was I interupting something important?

Gabe: No, ah, I was taking in a ballet. You said it was important?

Poop: Indeed. Afterall, one of your responsibilities as ordained by our lord the Almighty is Annunciation.

Gabe: You mean to say-

Poop: A woman of twenty-eight has conceived immaculately.

Gabe: Are you sure? At that age? Does she not have a lover? I mean I suppose she could be a virgin-

Poop: She is not a virgin, as she has had assisted orgasms.

Gabe: So perhaps her lover is the father?

Poop: Marion Christi has never known the touch of a man. She has been involved with her lover, Justine Brady, since she was fourteen years old.

Gabe: Oh.

Gabe: How did this-I mean I know we were expecting the Second Coming to arrive next year but I figured it would be...

Poop: Jesus H. Christ, the Return Tour. So did we all.

Gabe: So is he going to be born again? How will...

Superstar: I'm going to be a big brother! I'm going to have a baby sister!