The Seven stood in a little group, off to one side, away from the others, ignoring the looks of puzzlement from some and out right pity from others as they patiently waited for the reason behind this high summons.
Adjusting their headgear and squaring their shoulders, they stood a little straighter and a little more at attention as the old gentleman approached. He was gray haired, his face was lined, but his eyes showed many years of judicial wisdom.
Pausing in front of them, he gave each a searching look, wondering if perhaps he had made a mistake in choosing these particular seven. While he did his best not to show favoritism, he admitted to himself these seven were especially important and special to him.
"I guess you're all wondering why I asked you here today." There were murmured ‘yeses’ and head bobs as they followed him inside. "Well, I have a job and I think you are the perfect ones to handle it."
"All of us?" the oldest of the seven questioned, frowning. Lately their assignments had them working alone or possibly with just one of the others, but all seven hadn't been massed as one unit in what seemed like centuries.
"Yes, all of you, working together."
The seven exchanged looks and smiles of approval. They knew together, as The Seven, they were undefeatable.
The wise old man seemed to read their thoughts. "I’m not going to lie to you. This isn’t going to be an easy assignment. You’ve probably never encountered anything like this before." When they made no protests and waited for him to continue, he sighed and continued on, pacing back and forth in front of them. "I need you to protect a group of individuals. They, well, let’s just say they are pretty special and quite a handful, which is why I thought of you. You’re the best."
There was a murmur or two of denial, but the others puffed up with pride at the old man’s praise.
"I want you to watch over these individuals and I want you to protect them at all costs. I won’t lie... this is the most dangerous assignment you've ever faced. I hate to risk you, but there just isn't anyone else who can do the job. It isn’t going to be easy," he stressed again, "‘especially for two of them."
He stopped pacing and stared at the two who stood side by side, one with green eyes, the other with blue. "That’s why I want you two to watch them. They are a lot like you...fun loving and into practical jokes.... which backfire on occasion. You’ll have to be on guard constantly."
"Yes, sir, we’ll do our best, sir," the one responded with a lazy drawl, his tone respectful, his blue eyed gaze warning his friend to bite back any sarcastic retort that might leap into his mind.
"Those two will take more than your best. They’re witty and resourceful. What one doesn’t think of getting into, the other one does. Don’t let that quiet, shy demeanor put you off, or that extreme mouthiness. They’ll try your patience and your sanity." He turned to the others. "This in no way means you will have it any easier. These people are stubborn and determined and get themselves into situations other people would run from. It will be up to you to protect them...not only from danger, but from themselves and each other. Are you sure you’re up to it?"
They all nodded, visions of famous faces and world leaders flashing in their minds.
"Well, if you are really sure..." The wise old man moved to a desk and a stack of folders. With careful deliberation, he handed one to each of the Seven. "Take these with you. Learn all you can about these individuals. What they do, how they react... everything you can. It’ll make your job a lot...well at least a little...easier." He motioned, "Now, if you think you’re ready..."
They followed the old gent down the long bright corridor and as they did, they passed a group returning from the opposite direction. They were a mess, clothes torn and dirty, faces battered and bruised. Slings and casts, bandages and scars were in abundance. They looked like they had been to Hell and back.
Two of them hobbled along, so badly injured they had to be assisted by their companions as they slowly made their way down the hall, sobbing brokenly there was no way they were going back. Being exiled to hell would be easier...and safer.
"So," the youngest pulled his gaze from the weary worn group and spoke to the old man, "who were they guarding? Bin Laden? Saddam?"
"No, son, they’re the guardians you’re replacing. Good luck...." Saint Peter responded as the seven angels stepped through and he closed the pearly gates behind them. He sighed wearily.... At the rate Chris Larabee’s team went through guardian angels, Heaven forbid, there would soon be none left.
THE END