taco hellion

Meridian stands tall and proud over his kingdom, surveying all the light touches. His domain is limited for now, yes, but it will not be for long. The famine of the populace will begin, and all who hunger will alight upon his doorstep seeking aid. And he will give it, because he is gracious, and kind, and the savior of the masses.

The digital clock above the entrance of the Taco Hell flickers over to ‘11:58am’ and the beginnings of the lunch rush are upon Meridian. He’s manning the cash register today after being kicked out of the kitchen for bumping into too many things (they did not like his excuse that he was ‘testing his psychic abilities’). The fluorescent lights buzz sickly overhead, and the entire fast food restaurant smells vaguely of the chemicals they use to wipe down tables. 

The first customer comes in and mumbles something that Meridian can’t hear. He leans in, his booming voice echoing across the poorly-painted walls of the Taco Hell.

“Speak up, mortal,” Meridian decrees, ”Lest your soul be rent to pieces from hunger and you leave this place unfulfilled, cursed to a thousand years of decay from lack of sustenance.”

The cherubun looks up, baffled out of their nervousness for a moment. “W-what?”

“I cannot take heed of your request if you do not speak it with all your heart,” he says, leaning forward over the register now with one hand clenched in front of him. “Speak! Speak your desires to the world, so I may scribe it down and bend destiny to accommodate.”

“I want…” they start, looking around helplessly to the people around them as if asking if this is the typical experience upon entering a Taco Hell. The bell on their collar chimes softly with the motion, almost as quiet as they are. Meridian is staring at them expectantly, so they clear their throat and try again. “I want a combo number 5…”

“Excellent choice!” Meridian erupts in a bellow, slamming his hand down on the counter. “Enough food for today and any journey forward onwards. Now, it is time for the second magnitude of questioning, if you can handle it….”

“Handle it??”

“Yes! You, brave warrior of the Heavens! Would you care to quench your thirst with that combo? Can you handle that burden, that extra weight on your supplies and your coin pouch?”

“My… coin purse…? No, no, that’s fine,” the cherubun says, seemingly deciding to not question too much of whatever is happening at Taco Hell today. “No drink for me. Thank you.”

“A wise gamble, taken with the utmost knowledge, respect and foresight. I understand,” Meridian says, and then turns to slowly poke in the order. It takes longer than it should, him leaning in to double and triple check that he’s pressing the right buttons. The cherbun continues to stand awkwardly, a confused but polite smile on their face. 

“Your total soul-debt comes out to 15 carats…” he says, moving his hands as if casting some sort of spell before hitting a confirmation button. “Pay, or risk the hands of Taco Hell itself dragging you down past the ground into True Hell.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to go to True Hell,” the cherbun says. It seems the initial shock has worn off, and they fumble with their wallet to pay. 

Meridian takes the payment graciously and with a small bow. “Your name? Moniker? Epithet murmured right before the moment your enemies cease to be? It must be called to secure your sustenance from any foul beasts and criminals.”

“Just my name is alright. It’s Dove. Thank you…” they say, leaning around to see Meridian’s nametag between the flurry of scrawled occult diagrams on fabric. “Thank you for your service today, Meridian.”

“You’re very welcome, Dove,” Meridian says with the utmost seriousness as he closes out the transaction on the cash register. Dove takes their number and goes to stand in the waiting area. As they go, Meridian has a few last words to murmur hurriedly under his breath (which still near-echoes throughout the Taco Hell. “Feast upon the combination with the numeral five, and live well for all your days that remain…”