Azrael and Uriel made their way to Metatron’s quarter. Azrael had taken a moment to write the report down formally, information like location, time of death, age. Anything that could provide help in the research. Uriel hummed quietly to herself, something that she did when she was slightly nervous. Azrael smiled to himself. For all her confidence and mischief, even Uriel was still slightly shy around Metatron.

“Meeting with Metatron will be fine, Uriel, she won’t say no, in fact, she will probably owe us a favour for curing her boredom,” Azrael chuckled at the thought of Metatron actually having something to do rather than coming to bother him for hours on end, which she did, often. She would ask for something to do, Azrael would tell her he had nothing for her to do, so she would ‘supervise’ his department. Supervise meant looming over various poor angels shoulders and making them so uncomfortable that they couldn’t do any work and had to make an excuse to rush off somewhere. Azrael had to soon intervene before Metatron scared too many of his angel’s away from their work. He often suggested a walk around his office gardens, trying to reel off suggestions to her that she could do by herself, none of which she never listened too.

The road to Metatron’s quarter was sloped, Metatron in charge of what could only be classed as a hamlet or a village atop the highest point in Heaven. It was the bureaucratic part of heaven, everything that happened in Heaven and with angels down on Earth, was processed here, written down, stored away, ready to be reread by the night team to confirm again the events of the day. Very few of the forms that came through had to be signed by Metatron these days, most of her bureaucratic angels did all the work, not needing their leader for much apart from the daily morning audience with angels who specifically wanted to speak to her. The buildings were spaced apart in neat lines, along straight golden paths of smooth stone. Everything about Metatron’s quarter was very neat. The angels were always impeccably dressed, in what looked similar to suits from Earth, but with more flowing fabrics and all in whites and golds and creams. They didn’t really speak to many others outside the quarter, preferring to keep to themselves. Angels didn’t really need to sleep but they liked to rest and relax, and in Metatron’s quarter, the angels lived and worked, so had no need to leave the quarter. Though not necessarily rude, they were cold, preferring to chat with their own rather than any outsiders. Almost like they had a sense of importance for being Metatron’s personal choir. Azrael didn’t mind their attitude, at least they weren’t as bad as some of Michael’s choir, who had enough arrogance to build a human businessman. Who could blame them for feeling slightly self important when they worked for the boss of all of Heaven. God was gone, and Metatron had basically taken their place in ruling Heaven so these angels were basically working for a new ‘God’.

As they wound their way up the slope, Uriel’s humming became more high pitched and she looked around nervously as they approached the buildings. Uriel always found it slightly uncomfortable coming here as she did not know how to act around these angels. They were immune to her childish human, beaming face, fake innocence that usually got her away with other things with other angels. They treated her with respect, due to her being an Archangel, but no more than that, they often rolled their eyes when she tried to tell jokes. Of all the places in Heaven Uriel did not like going, this was second a top the list. The first was Michael’s area. Azrael patted her on the shoulder and smiled reassuringly at her.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk to any of the Meta Angels today, just Metatron,” Uriel beamed, though not as brightly as normal, her nervousness showing through.

“I know, I know, but this area just makes me uncomfortable, they all seem so snooty!” Azrael chuckled as they walked under the large archway, suspended between two buildings, that was the official entrance to the hamlet. Angels glided in a hurried manner, not looking ruffled or stressed, but determined to get to their destination. Most of them barely gave Azrael and Uriel a second glance, those that did mistakenly make eye contact, stopped and nodded out of respect, albeit reluctantly, before carrying on their way. The main road to Metatron’s living quarters was a straight wide boulevard, lined with perfectly rounded trees, a steady flow of Angelic traffic up and down the pathway, and off onto the various different pathways that connected onto it.