Template:PostIn Pan Post 12 Fladnag the White calls Serapharch to arrange a meeting with the WriterGod. Once arrange the WriterGod and Fladnag meet in The Marriott Luna on the Moon to discuss the vulnerable state of the Earth. WriterGod suggests that Fladnag must speak with the President of America, Queen of Britain, Emperor of Europe and the Emperor of China if he wishes to help the Earth. Fladnag offers to bring Void Rangers to Earth as on-call protectors.
What to do About Earth?
Burundi. This desolate, wartorn, miserable, God-forsaken land has been transformed! Into merely a desolate, wartorn, miserable land. God - the heavenly office of Earth's monotheistic deity - has come to dwell in this country, so it technically no longer counts as God-forsaken.
Archangel Bertwick, a rather raggedy-looking fellow with drooping wings, does his best to exhort the virtues of this place to the other angels, but they are all none too pleased that he chose this place in which to establish Heaven on Earth.
Jim Seven, formerly the Devil, is now the God of Earth. He has no problem with heaven's relocation to Burundi, because his go-kart track has been finished, and he does nothing but host and run no-holds-barred races. Newly ascended souls of virtuous dead mortals are rather disgruntled to find themselves in Burundi and conscripted into running the track, but they concede that it's much better than the torments of hell.
Serapharch: And that's another win for His Holiness! Congratulations!
As the chief lieutenant of Earth's God - a position which he has held for millions of years, ever since the first holder of the divine office was in power - Serapharch has been tasked with announcing the races, and ensuring that no one ever defeats his boss in a race. Not that he has to try very hard for the latter, since Jim is an expert go-karter.
Archangel Bertwick: Serapharch! Phone call for you!
The ragged-looking angel is proffering a golden cell phone. Serapharch looks down at the racetrack, where Jim is basking in the adulation and confetti, and shrugs, taking the phone.
Serapharch: Serapharch speaking.
Serapharch: In which capacity are you addressing me?
Serapharch holds three distinct offices. He is chief lieutenant to the God of Earth of course, but he is also chief lieutenant to the WriterGod (who was once the first God of Earth, but is no longer) AND chief lieutenant to the Nameless: that unknowable supreme deity over all multiverses ever.
Fladnag the White: I am speaking to you as the WriterGod's chief lieutenant. Please inform him that I would like to schedule a meeting with him.
Serapharch: To what is this meeting in regard?
Fladnag the White: ...you had to think very carefully to structure that sentence so that it didn't end with a preposition, didn't you?
Serapharch: Yes. I knew you'd appreciate it.
Fladnag the White: I do! Thanks!
Serapharch: So... the meeting?
Fladnag the White: Earth's current status. Contract-less and vulnerable.
The Marriott Luna - a lavish and luxurious hotel upon Earth's moon, in the primary human colony there - has a large and well-equipped convention center, often used by various bigwigs. Gods have met here before. And now, gods are meeting here again.
Fladnag the White: Thank you for coming, sir.
The WriterGod, whose face cannot be clearly seen, waves a hand casually.
WriterGod: It is no problem, of course. I highly respect your tenure as NeSiversal ruler.
Fladnag the White: I'm NOT--
WriterGod: In practice you are, if not in name. Ohgmorkoth delegates his authority completely to you, does he not?
Fladnag the White: I am but a steward.
WriterGod: And Ohgmorkoth himself is a steward, until such time as Mega Jonestown returns.
Fladnag the White: IF it returns-- Wait. Do you know something?
WriterGod: I know many things. Including the reason you called me here.
Fladnag lets himself be redirected, knowing better than to push the unassuming deity who may or may not be one and the same as the Nameless supreme deity of all things.
Fladnag the White: Right. The Earth is no longer warded by the contracts of the first writer in this universe to serve you.
Fladnag the White: Be that as it may, the Earth is now very vulnerable. Already, its magical field has been severely disrupted, which has caused catastrophic disruptions throughout the NeSiverse. This planet below us is the pattern for the rest of the universe: what happens here affects us all.
WriterGod: What is it you want from me?
Fladnag the White: I would like to partner with the Earth, to extend my protection to it, working with you and the Earthers to do so. I assure you that I have no designs on trying to rule it or 'claim' it for myself or the Big O.
WriterGod: I am no longer the God of Earth. I stepped down from that position 12,000 years ago.
Fladnag the White: But you are still invested in this world. Its story is the brainchild of your favored Writer, and its people are of your own creation.
WriterGod: You know that I favor a hands-off approach to these kinds of things.
Fladnag the White: And I do not ask you to change that policy. Merely to direct me to where my offered alliance will be best received.
Fladnag the White: Thank you, sir. I hope they will be amenable to my offer of Void Rangers loaned out as on-call protectors...