alright.
you know my track record with long projects. you know i struggle to finish them. i can't promise i'll finish this one depending on whether the hyperfixation lasts long enough. but i'll try. i'll try my best
hmu at hubris-moment on Tumblr! scream at me!
V1 knows it’s fucked up when it forgets to step on the brake.
A momentary lapse of attention, attempting to dissect the piece Mirage was playing from her shitty phone speakers while driving through one of the densest parts of campus. It can see the crowd slowly gathering around its car, some of them pointing at the front of the vehicle, most of them watching on with morbid curiosity.
From the passenger seat, rifling through a stack of sheet music that almost reaches her neck, Mirage does not even meet its gaze. ‘This is your fault. You deal with it.’
V1 puts the car into neutral gear.
The closest group, a trio of machines, wanders off with as much nonchalance as they can manage when V1 steps out of the car. It hopes it hasn’t hit a husk. Those things are dreadfully fragile, and it wouldn’t want vehicular manslaughter on its resume.
Thankfully, the victim of the crash seems to be sitting up, hand on his helmeted head, sky-blue wings bent at an odd angle. Ah. An archangel. Tall, fairly humanoid and dressed in armour that spoke of divine splendour, unlike the Virtues V1 most often sees. Apart from the bent wings, this archangel seems fairly uninjured.
The archangel snaps its head in V1’s direction.
‘You STUPID FUCK!’ God, he is loud. ‘I am not letting this slide!’
V1 eyes the gathering crowd. A Mindflayer near the back has pulled out her phone, floating ever so slightly higher to get a good view over the sea of recording devices that are being held up. This would not be the worst thing that has happened to V1’s reputation, but it needs to get somewhere, and this fuming archangel is in the way.
V1 signs, ‘My bad.’
Definitely the wrong thing to say. The archangel swells up as if to yell again (V1 takes a hasty step back). Instead he gets up to his feet, brushing off his dented armour and checking his sling bag. An audible sigh of relief leaves him when he unzips the bag.
A camera shutter clicks. The archangel’s attention is turned to the watching crowd.
‘Don’t you have anything better to do?’ He steps off the road, bent wings outstretched like a swan’s to shoo them away. A Filth, blind as it is, steps into his range and is promptly knocked over. The archangel looks down in concern, completely distracted from whomever had gotten him into this situation in the first place.
In a flash V1 is back in its car, hands on the wheel, slamming down on the accelerator as soon as possible. The archangel turns to look when the vehicle passes him, but by then they are long gone.
Mirage sighs. ‘Handled that well, didn’t you?’
‘Whoops.’
‘Hands on the wheel,’ she says nervously, optic fixed on the winding road before them, leading them slowly up a hill. ‘But an archangel? So far from home?’
V1 shrugs.
They are nearing the top of the hill. A church comes into view, whitewashed walls almost blindingly bright in the noon sun. Built for the benefit of the Virtues more than anything. Most machines had no reason to be here, godless things as they were. But according to Mirage, there was a real pipe organ in there, and she needed it. And if possible, the cooperation of the new organist. ‘He doesn’t need to join our band yet,’ she’d said to it. ‘I just need a point of reference for the sound. Maybe get him to record a sample or two. But maybe that’s wishful thinking.’
She’d flicked through a page of her book then, lost in thought. ‘He’s really good.’
With the car parked, the two of them set out towards the building. A lone Virtue hangs out by the entrance, two pairs of wings fluttering alternately, its many eyes following the machines as they enter. V1 is tempted to stand there and stare back, show it what a real staring contest is like, but Mirage’s schedule is in the way.
To compromise, it flutters its wings in the same manner as the lesser angel. The Virtue drifts away, unsettled. V1 enters after Mirage, leaving the angel to its confusion.
The pews are arranged in neat rows, wood polished to a shine. The pipe organ is at the end of the enormous room, taking up a full quarter of the space, all gleaming brass and carved wood. For a modern installation, it was a faithful recreation of the style of the era that instrument originated from. To think that its sudden interest in architecture during high school would come into play here, it thinks.
A cross stands before the platform that hosts the instrument, impressions of branches carved into its arms, a heart at the centre of it all. The Tree of Life, with its sweet dewdrops of blood.
Mirage comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the pews. V1 almost crashes into her, feet skidding dreadfully against the stone floor. It taps her shoulder, about to make its feelings known, but she turns around before its finger can make contact.
‘V1,’ she whispers, the sound awfully loud in the cavernous room. ‘It’s him.’
V1 peers over her shoulder.
Seated at the keyboard, adjusting all the stops, is the very same archangel it had run over earlier, bent wings and all. How had he gotten here so fast?
He moves his seat back, giving the pedals a tap with his foot to gauge the distance, too focused on his work to pay the machines any mind.
Mirage holds V1 by the shoulders, her grip vicelike.
‘You,’ she says. ‘You stay here.’
She straightens, turns on her heel, and marches over to the organ.
The archangel hears her when she steps onto the elevated platform, turning around curiously. His helmet, emblazoned with a cross in the middle, betrays no emotion as he takes her in.
‘Can I help you?’
His tone is wary. Mirage waves.
‘Hi. Do you… play… that thing?’
She points at the pipe organ. The stupidity of the question makes V1 take a half step backwards, a full-body shiver rocking its frame. Mirage seems to realise it too, fiddling with a loose thread on her jacket and looking away.
‘Weren’t you in the car that ran me over?’
‘Ah, that.’ Mirage has the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘I apologise on V1’s behalf. Are you okay?’
The archangel’s wings rustle. Do they have feathers? Maybe it should install that new graphics card to get a better look.
‘I will be fine,’ he says. His voice is somewhat pleasant when he isn’t yelling. ‘This body is endowed with God’s eternal light.’
‘Still, we should have been more careful.’ Mirage extends a hand. ‘The name’s Mirage.’
The archangel takes her hand, giving it a firm shake. ‘I am the Archangel Gabriel.’
And that catches V1’s attention. High-ranking, beloved in his hometown. What is he doing here, in a college that didn’t even have a reputation outside of its state? Perhaps he thought he could convert more of the Husks here to the way of the Father’s light. If so, V1 thought wryly, he’d need some luck. And endless patience.
‘I hope this isn’t too presumptuous of me to ask,’ says Mirage. ‘Were you the one playing last Sunday?’
‘I do not neglect the duty of uplifting the Father’s name through hymn and song.’
Would it kill him to just say yes?
‘Well,’ says Mirage. ‘Let me start from the beginning. Myself and two of my friends, we’re in a band.’
As she explains how she’d like to go back to the roots of her classical music training, starting with the unique baroque sound of the organ, V1 begins to look around.
It’d never been in here before. V2 joked once that machines would burn up the moment they stepped foot in a church, like vampires, unholy as they were. Evidently she was wrong, it concluded, leaping over a pew to get to the nearest stained glass window.
It’s been some time since they’d last read (or, more accurately, scanned through) the holy texts. Surely this depicted something important; a pair of hands, beams of light streaming from the palms to illuminate the land below. Well, it’d never know. It has long since deleted that segment of lore to save some disk space.
What did they do to give the glass that kind of colour? Did they just paint over it? V1 bends its legs, ready to release the stored energy for one leap, just for a closer look.
‘Machine. Stop right there.’
Gabriel is pointing at it, halo aglow, his other hand on his hip. Mirage suddenly seems very interested in a crack on the platform. Fine, leave it to fend for itself. It stares defiantly back at Gabriel, hands on its own hips, head tilted back slightly.
Gabriel lowers his hand slowly, attention still fixed on V1. Acquiescing, it takes a step back, then another. He makes sure it is a good distance away from any glass windows before he turns back to Mirage. ‘I can find some time to record some samples for you, but I must reject your other offer. My schedule is quite packed.’
‘That’s fine,’ says Mirage. She leans forward, presses a key on the organ. The resulting sound makes V1 jump backwards, falling into a pew. ‘You’ll be paid regardless. If my monetisation doesn’t get revoked, that is.’
‘Then we have a deal,’ says Gabriel, pointedly ignoring V1 as it struggles to get up, wings clattering as it falls to the ground.
‘You’ll get early access to our pieces.’ Mirage hands him her phone, letting him enter his number. ‘I grant you the seat of a critic. If you’re going to practice, can I watch?’
Gabriel is glancing from her to V1. V1 has the strangest sense that he is frowning.
‘You said you had two other band members.’
‘Oh.’ Mirage presses another key on the organ. V1 can almost see the cogs in her brain turning, processing the sound, committing every aspect of it to memory. ‘V2 isn’t here today. She said she’d be busy—’
‘How’s it going, guys?’
If V1 had a voice it’d groan in exasperation. Instead it settles for signing, ‘Motherfucker.’ at the machine that has just entered the church, arms outstretched, wings fanned out like a halo behind her. The jacket tied around her waist matches Mirage’s, though this one contains several more tonnes of copper dust and wood shavings.
Mirage brightens. V1 leans back in its pew, a mixture of happiness and the faintest sense of cringe swirling within it. It deserves some credit for bringing these two together, it thinks to itself as V2 takes Mirage’s hands and clanks their heads together.
‘Boss let me off early,’ says V2. ‘Is that your organist? Got your scores? Great, let’s go!’
And before anyone can stop her she reaches behind her, pulling a guitar by its neck out of her wings. The body of the instrument slams into Gabriel’s face, making a sickening clanging sound as the archangel drops to the floor, whimpering in pain.
V2 glances down at her handiwork. ‘Shit. I’m so sorry.’
Mirage places a hand on her newly replaced shoulder. ‘He isn’t joining us, V2.’
V1 has never seen a machine deflate before. ‘But you need a real pipe organ,’ says V2.
‘I can make do with a VST,’ says Mirage. ‘And he’ll still give us samples.’
‘It won’t be the same,’ says V2, wringing her hands. The guitar barely avoids Gabriel’s head as he dodges to the side, crawling a good distance away before even daring to raise his head. ‘It’s not about the sound. It’s about the statement.’
‘Maybe we’ll find another organist,’ says Mirage, slipping her phone back into her pocket. ‘Really, V2, it’s not that big of a deal.’
V2 turns to Gabriel. He freezes in place, V2’s gaze pinning him to the floor.
‘It’s her birthday,’ says V2, gesturing to Mirage. ‘You’re not going to let a girl down on her birthday, are you?’
‘V2, it’s not—’
‘Shhh.’ V2 leans forward, its head almost touching Gabriel’s helmet. ‘Do it for her.’
Gabriel scoots himself away on his elbows.
‘Fine,’ he says, softly at first. V2 crosses her arms.
‘Fine,’ he says again, louder. ‘I’ll join.’
V2 claps her hands together, looking perfectly pleased with herself. Mirage sighs.
‘I thought I made my feelings on blackmail clear, V2,’ she says.
‘No, I’ll join.’ Gabriel gets to his feet, rubbing his forehead. ‘I am interested in this endeavour.’
Mirage visibly relaxes. ‘Oh, thank you so much.’
V2 fits her guitar back into her wings. ‘Great,’ she says. ‘Practice on Thursday, four p.m.?’
Gabriel thinks carefully, then nods.
‘Great,’ says V2 again, extending a hand to Mirage, who takes it. ‘I look forward to our joyous collaboration. If you’ll excuse us, we have a date to be on.’
She leads Mirage over to the entrance, waving goodbye. She does not forget to flip V1 off as soon as Mirage is out the door. V1 returns the favour.
The door shuts, leaving it alone with Gabriel. The archangel breathes a loud sigh of relief before he remembers V1 is still here.
‘Could you maybe leave?’
‘I’m not going to interfere,’ V1 signs.
‘Your insolence annoys me,’ he says, haughtiness back in his voice. ‘Seeing you once a week will already test my limits.’
‘Well, better hope you’re not in Theology.’
He sputters, collapsing onto his seat. ‘You’re taking Theology?’
‘I thought it’d be fun.’
‘You thought it’d be—you know what, FINE. I will not let a mere machine affect me like this.’
V1 begins to shake in silent laughter. Gabriel turns away from it, wings fluttering in irritation, and begins to play.
fun fact my music taste used to be super narrow. then i followed hakita on bluesky. listening to swans rn. can't say it's my thing but i like the way it makes me feel.
i like to think that mirage makes keygen church-esque music lmao
also yeah the title references 'The Senselessness of Endlessness: Returning to an Empty Apartment with a Grocery Store Guardian Angel' from Hakita's album 'The Enigma of Heaven and Other Daily Delusions'