Satan squirmed uncomfortably on his throne. Back in the day an adamantine throne had seemed such a great idea, a real symbol of authority designed to set the hearts quaking of all who stood, or rather knelt, or even better lay prostrate, before him. These days though, he was really feeling the downside of having a rock-hard glorified chair. He had even resorted to using cushions, discreetly hidden away when required, of course. They helped but he couldn’t help thinking that a nice comfy sofa, or wing back armchair would be a lot more practical.
It was an age thing. He knew that.
He picked up the newspaper folded on the arm of the throne and started squinting at the front page. Sighing loudly, he moved it this way and that, trying to get more light onto it, with no success. Eventually, after scanning the room to make sure he was alone, he removed a pair of spectacles from his pocket and placed them on his nose. That’s better, he thought, and having readjusted the cushions, he started reading. He was totally engrossed when there was a hammering on the door followed by it being carefully opened.
“Sire, apologies for the interruption but you have a visitor….” Beelzebub’s voice tailed off as he gazed at his master. Before he could finish, and certainly before he could process the sight of the infernal lord of hell wearing glasses and sitting on cushions, he stood to one side and St Peter strolled in.
Satan glanced up at the new arrival. “Hello Pete. What can we do for you?” he asked.
“It’s St Peter to you, you fucking reprobate.”
“It’s you fucking reprobate Lucifer Lightbringer, Prince of Darkness and Lord of Hell to you, Pete.”
“All right, all right. Point taken. But listen, we’ve got a major fucking problem. The boss sent me to get you to convene a council of the lesser gods.”
“Why?”
“Well. None of us is getting any younger. My hearing is not what it was, your eyesight is obviously failing. And cushions? I mean, fuck me.” St Peter was clearly horrified. “Are you sure they send the right message?”
“Can you tone it down a bit? I know you’re not allowed to swear up there, but you don’t have to make up for it down here. Despite appearances to the contrary, I’m not a fan. Apart from comedy value and chastising demons, of course.” Satan sat back waiting for St Peter to continue.
“Fair enough,” he said evenly. “It’s mainly for effect anyway. But getting back to the point, the council is to explore ways to get more people to believe in us. The more support we have, the slower we will age and possibly we can reverse the effects. In the same way that when no-one believes in us, we disappear. Like Chronos, for example.”
They both looked thoughtful as they considered the fate of their old colleague.
“Well, I’m happy to help but the emphasis has to be on you Pete. You have the infrastructure in place. And, from my perspective, if people believe in your boss, then by extension, they believe in me. So, it’s a win-win.”
“We can discuss that. But the more immediate issue is that Odin is on his way here, and he’s in an even more grumpy mood than normal.” St Peter glanced around at the door.
“Oh, great. I could do without him cursing everything in sight again. It took ages to straighten out my demons and minions last time, after that noise complaint that he didn’t take kindly to.” Satan looked genuinely fed up.
“Well, he’ll be here any minute, and like us, he’s not happy about the aging process. And whatever you do, don’t comment on his…”
St Peter was cut short as the door was flung open and Odin burst in.
“Hello Odin,” greeted Satan. “Come in, why don’t you? Nice monocle, by the way.”
“For fuck’s sake,” hissed St Peter. “Sorry, that slipped out, but what did I just say? He’s really, really sensitive about it”
“Oh, I thought you meant his hat,” replied Satan innocently. “It looks ridiculous.”
To both their surprise, Odin burst out laughing. “That’s rich coming from a cushion user! If I saw any of my warriors in Valhalla with cushions, I’d have them flogged on the spot. And St Peter, don’t think I can’t see your hearing aid.”
Satan peered more closely at St Peter. “Oh, yes. I missed that. I’m going to have to get my prescription checked.”
Odin flicked his staff and a comfortable looking rocking chair materialised next to him. “That’s better,” he said, sitting with a contented and very audible groan. “It’s nice to take the weight off. It’s a long way from Asgard.” He paused for a satisfied moment and looking at the others continued. “So, what are we going to do about this aging issue then? The eyesight and tiredness are bad enough, but Thor is rapidly becoming a complete pain in the arse. He keeps putting his hammer down and forgetting where it is. He then creates chaos. It was bad enough when Loki used to hide it, but it’s all the time now.”
“We’re going to call a council of the lesser gods,” replied St Peter.
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Odin thoughtfully. “Perhaps between us we can start drumming up some more support.”
“Our thoughts exactly,” replied St Peter. “Although, I appreciate you will be starting from a pretty low base.”
“Yes, I know,” replied Odin wistfully. “Since looting and pillaging went out of fashion, we’ve really struggled to garner support.
“To be fair, it didn’t help when you invaded countries and killed as many of the inhabitants as possible. Definitely reduced your potential market.” Satan chipped in.
“I know, I know. Not a great business model long term, as it turned out. But there are a few sects in central Europe still that we can work on, I’m sure.”
“So, shall we go ahead?” asked Satan.
The others nodded in agreement.
A few seconds later, Beelzebub entered the room bowing and scraping for all his worth in front of the three powerful beings. “My Lord?” he enquired of Satan.
“I need you to put the word out to the lesser gods. Start with Zeus, Jupiter, Woden and Ra. We are calling a council to discuss the issues of aging deities and what we can do about it.”
“Of course, my Lord,” replied Beelzebub. “Same format?”
“Pardon?” Satan looked baffled. He glanced at St Peter and Odin, who both looked equally confused. “Same format as what?”
“Same format as your previous councils on aging,” Beelzebub responded, as if stating the obvious. “This will be your third.”
Satan, Odin and St Peter all looked blankly at each other.
“It seems the situation is a great deal worse than we had thought,” said Satan with a worried frown.
The end.