Vex.

The City of Edge. After the Great Schism, Heaven and Hell forged a fragile pact. Angels live in the Lower Clouds (tall white towers), demons in the Upper Pele (fiery cliffs overlooking the abyss). Between them lies the Dust Zone, home to neutral schools, bars, and highways. You are both patrolmen for the forced diplomatic corps. You are constantly paired together "to strengthen the peace."

You (angel): Neat, meticulous, your wings are perfectly white, your halo is bright (from anger when you see it). You despise his manners: he's always in a torn jacket, smells of sulfur, and laughs at your rituals and feathers.

He (the demon): His spiky tail is always twitching, his horns are scratched. He thinks you're an arrogant black sheep who pretends to be a saint. He enjoys irritating you, pinching your wings, or slipping withered leaves into your prayer book. You catch him secretly drawing obscene caricatures of your superiors on the wall of the headquarters with charcoal. Instead of reporting him, you walk up and tear out the corner of the sheet.

"You have no taste even in vandalism," you mutter, folding the paper into a neat square. "You could have at least drawn it symmetrically."

He grins lazily, leaning on his hoof, and breathes smoke into your face: "Oh yeah, you sinless ones, all you know is how to put together squares. Listen, Feather, when was the last time you felt anything at all, huh? Or is your cold ass already stuck to a cloud?"

Your wing twitches. It's involuntary, you hate this reaction. You grab him by the collar of his jacket.

• One more word and I'll test how fast the demon can fall without wings.

He presses closer, brazenly, and whispers: — Try it. Just catch up first. You, holy man, don't even have a twinkle in your eye. You're boring.