They met in Berlin, as was traditional. It was a recent tradition, only fifty of so years old. The East and West division had been pleasantly symbolic back then. The recent lack of such prefaces was symbolic as well, though less pleasantly so. Rather, it reflected the growing irritation they both felt about current conditions. 

The woman was beautiful, in that ethereal way that poets dream of and painters struggle to capture. The man was handsome, in that rough, roguish, devil may care way that drew in women like moths to a flame. Dressed in business casual, sitting at an open air cafe, they were the sort of power couple that would invariably draw the eye.

Yet none even glanced in their direction. That was not their purpose here.

“Thamuz.” The woman spoke simply as she placed her briefcase on the table and opened it.

“Hesediel” The man responded with a nod, matching her actions. 

A moment later they exchanged packages; a pair of leather bound tomes passed between hands. Seats were taken and pages turned as they began the slow, tedious business of comparing notes.

Silence reigned for a few minutes, each of them focused on the task before them. But as important as their work was, it was equally tedious, and eventually Hesediel broke the silence.

“You know, some would say these books are evil.” She threw out without looking up.

“Hmmmm? Is that so?” Thamuz’s tone was disinterested, but in truth any distraction was a welcome one. 

“Indeed.” She ran a finger along the edge of the binding. “Leather, you see? ‘Meat is Murder’ and whatnot.”

Thamuz just groaned and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. Animal Rights Activists. We never should have started that bunch up.”

“And [i]we[/i] never should have egged them on.” She sighed, giving her head a small shake.

Silence made a brief return, until Thamuz pointed to a particular line in his book.

“You’re trying to claim Ronka? Seriously?” 

“He found God and repented in prison.” 

Thamuz raised an incredulous eyebrow. “He’s a serial killer. He raped and murdered seventeen women.”

“And then he converted. His work with other inmates and at risk youth turned dozen from the paths of sin and crime.” She shrugged helplessly. “In all, he’s saved dozens of lives. 

“Fine, fine. I get it.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I can’t complain since [i]we’re[/i] getting Auntie Samantha. How did [i]that[/i] happen? I thought she was up for a Sainthood.”

“Yeah, well, times change. That was twenty years ago. It seems that comforting the sick and ailing is still ‘good,’ but not treating their illnesses or easing their suffering… not so much. The whole ‘pain purifies the soul’ thing is really out of vogue. And you know the rules.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Thirty years before final disposition, to ensure the next generation agrees with the placement. That codicil is such a pain!”

“Ugh. Tell me about it. It wasn’t so bad when they only [i]lived[/i] for thirty years. But these days we have to factor in three or four generations of opinions all at once!” Hesediel closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Heh. Remember the good old days? When we’d just round up our armies and go at it, sword against sword and wing against wing?” Thamuz smiled at the memories.

“Yeah, things were a lot simpler back then. But fighting like that was pointless, what with us all being immortal and whatnot."

“True. But I’m starting to think that pushing the battle down onto the mortals was a bad idea.” 

“Can’t argue there. They’re so fickle and malleable, and yet even after millennia of influence, we’re still stalemated! And scoring things only gets more complicated year by year!” Hesediel grunted in frustration.

“And speaking of scoring… Mr. Jameson?” Tamuz asked with a defeated sigh. 

“Yours. He spent sixty years building his business empire through dirty tricks, crooked deals, bribing politicians, and driving rivals out of business.” Hesediel waved him off.

“Annnnndddd.. He created thousands of new jobs, brought infrastructure and capital to poor third world nations and left most of his fortune to charity. In twenty years there will be schools, hospitals, and museums all over the world with his name on them.”

Two eyes met across the table, and a moment of true, complete, transcendental understanding passed between them. Two souls from opposite sides of the great divide were, for just a moment, in perfect sync. And two voices spoke as one.

[b]“I hate this job.”[/b]