jeriendhal | Fic: True Colors

Notes: Novalis and Christopher, PG, crackfic

There was a real shortage of good fishing spots in Heaven, not the least of which was because the Archangel Jordi took a remarkably dim view of anyone catching any of the fishy souls that inhabited his Savannah. Which didn’t mean there weren’t plenty of fishermen in Heaven. Anyone who had ever engaged in the sport knew that actually catching a fish was rarely the point of the exercise anyway.

Which was also why Novalis didn’t consider engaging in a little friendly fishing expedition with Christopher to a pond in a remote section of the Glade a violation of her Word. So she cast her line into the water, a little reliever practicing his best Worm-on-a-Hook imitation, and relaxed in the sun.

“I’ve thinking lately,” Novalis began. They’d been at it for a couple of hours now, the picnic basket between them emptied of goodies.

“Only lately, Mother?” Christopher teased. He cast his line in turn, his wormy reliever letting out a little Wheeeee! as she sailed overhead and plopped into the water.

“Which Choir do you think appears most often in Heaven in their Celestial form, as opposed to their favorite Vessel?” she asked. “Aside from Kyriotates, who don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Mercurians,” Christopher answered without hesitation. “Most of the time their Celestial and Earthly forms are identical anyway, aside from the wings and halo.” He gathered in his line as both relievers raced each other out of the water to get ready for the next cast.

“Correct,” Novalis agreed. “Followed shortly by the Malakim.” She cast again, and smiled as her reliever cried out, Faster, Mommy! “Now, which appears least often?”

“Hmm, a good question.” Christopher sorted out a small argument with the other relievers waiting their turn in his bait can over who was next, and let his next passenger wrap themselves carefully around the blunt hook. “I’m not actually sure. Elohim, I presume?”

“Wrong,” she said, casting again. Woo-hoo!! “It’s actually ours, the Cherubim.”

“There are plenty Cherubs in Celestial form around here,” Christopher noted.

“Well, yes, and it’s not automatically noticeable. But nevertheless I did some checking around, and at least 15% of them admit to using their Celestial form less than once a century.”

“Odd, I wonder why that is?” Christopher frowned, set down on his pole (eliciting a disappointed awww from the waiting relievers). “Come to think of it, it has been a very long time.” Then he shifted his form.

“You know, it occurs to me,” Novalis said to the winged, and very toothy, crocodile that stood in front of her, “that I’d never asked what your Celestial form looked like.”

“You looked surprised,” Christopher said. He flapped his wings and settled himself into the water, with just eyes and nostrils rising above the surface.

“I was expecting something, er, fuzzier,” she admitted. “More like a mother bear. Crocodiles aren’t what I’d call comforting.”

“Nonsense,” Christopher countered. “A crocodile is a perfect representation of my Word. Unlike the majority of the reptile kingdom, crocodile mothers are well known for guarding their nests fiercely and watching their offspring for up to a year after they’re hatched.”

“Mmm, point taken,” Novalis said.

“Your turn,” Christopher said. “I’ve never seen your Celestial form either.”

Novalis smiled, stood, and let her form shift and grow. A nearly two-hundred foot long Apatosaurus looked equally incongruous with wings, she supposed.

“Um, why?” Christopher asked.

“Greatest producer of fertilizer every seen on the face of the Earth,” she said proudly.

“I think I’m starting to see why a lot of Cherubs prefer their human forms...”

The End