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[Open] The Forsaken World

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Vaz

 

A quite rumble of approval was given in response to Jorath’s promise to thank the quill, a fond expression flickering into their features at the thought. Vaz always felt that the quills didn’t get nearly enough credit from others for the hard work they poured into their roles, so it was always a pleasure to see someone appreciate them.

 

“How very observant.”

 

Was all Vaz had to say in response to Jorath’s assessment of her name, not bothering to try and disguise the twinkle in their eye or the faint smirk that tugged at their mouth. Instead they moved on to his next question for them, quickly confirming that his suggestion was possible in the form of a title and subtitle before they had delved into their analysis of antlered horns and eyes. As was typical of the Scribe of Truth though, Vaz found that they had said too much. They had hoped the affectionate gesture would ease the early tension they had eventually detected during their monologue, and for a moment it looked like they had succeeded as Jorath instead stuttered and turned an unusual shade of red. Vaz even beamed at his eventual assessment of the gesture and their first attempt at speaking Sahthlua, taking pride in their talent for absorbing new languages and concepts with little practice.

 

“Thank you. I would very much like to learn more Sahthlua, should you ever be inclined to teach it.”

 

Evidentially though, it was not enough to keep Jorath relaxed and sure enough he soon sprang back up into a seated position. Vaz smothered a sigh that threatened to form at the base of their throat at this, about to edge into an apology for their poor choice of a discussion topic before Jorath started to speak once more. Their eyebrows pinched upwards at his claim, Vaz momentarily lost for words as they fretted over what they were supposed to say in response to hearing the name ‘Jay’ brought up again. The silence gave him time to continue on without their input, so Vaz began to instead just reach for his hand once more to provide some comfort while he spoke.

 

They froze as their eyes caught sight of a brand new set of horns beginning to protrude from his skull. To say Vaz was taken back by their appearance was an understatement, resulting in an uncertain recoil of their hand and an owlish expression as they tried to comprehend what Jorath may have done to acquire a secondary set.

 

“When…when did you get a new set? H-How did you earn them?”

 

Breathed Vaz, once they had found their tongue once more. Their eyes drifted from the horns to try and find his own eyes, only to realise he now seemed to be avoiding their gaze. 

 

“L’antiira?”

 

Vaz at first chalked it up to him not wanting to tell them the story of how. It wasn’t out of shame, was it? Had Jorath done something reckless to earn a second pair? Curiosity now mixing with concern for his behaviour, they edged closer on the couch and ever so slightly brushed a finger against the tip of one of his new set of horns. An unpleasant tingle, like needles and pins, briefly coursed through their fingertips at the touch. Instinctively Vaz frowned at the sensation, despite its familiarity. Wrath-like. Their hand retreated to the sleeve of their dress, smoothing out a bit of the fabric until it was rid of the lingering feeling of an icy chill at sea prickling at their skin.

 

“Darling, please look at me.”

 

Sighed the scribe. They applied a slight pressure to his chin until, finally, he relented and turned to properly face them. Vaz, in a manoeuvre they would later berate themself for, couldn’t help but flinch back in a startled manner as they were greeted not by oceanic blues, but a void-like darkness to his eyes.

 

“By Vox…”

 

They murmured, an old exclamation of shock slipping into their speech before they righted themself. Between what they had seen of Illstrund and glimpses of his behaviour while caged, it was now becoming clear to them that whatever had happened to Jorath so many centuries ago involved being subjected to an agonisingly powerful, transformative magic. It had to be, if it was capable of morphing one’s eyes in such a manner.

 

It occurred to Vaz they had been uncharacteristically silent for a few moments now, and that their mouth was still slightly agape from the duel-discovery of extra horns and unusual eyes. They closed their mouth and cleared their throat, now refocusing properly on Jorath.

 

“I’m so sorry, my dear. I-I didn’t fully realise…By Vox what they must have done to you…”

 

Vaz trailed off, a grimace now replacing their features. Somehow they managed to find their boldness from before, and rested their hand back against his chin. Slowly they tilted his head to the right, then to the left, then emitted a deeper sigh as they finished their inspection of his eyes and switched out the grip on his chin for a more tender placement of their hand on his cheek.

 

“For a being that currently claims to be Jorath the demon, you have a very human way of interpreting your eyes.”

 

Vaz shuffled closer, still struggling to make sense of everything but remembering his earlier comment on whose eyes Vaz had been looking into all this time.

 

“I’m not speaking of outer appearances, my dear. The truth can bend and twist, and it can be heavily obscured certainly. But deep down it is, by nature, an unyielding fact. And the fact is that deep down I can still see that same gentle and hopeful nature in those eyes of yours. It is just…more restrained in this format. Hidden. But not forgotten.”

 

Vaz’s hand shifted from his cheek. For a moment they hovered, debating their next course of action as they took note of the violent shades of red and trembling letterforms that were threatening to overtake his aura. Eventually the scribe edged forward some more and pressed their foreheads together, this time nudging against his skin in a manner that made their aura press up against his own in much the same way. 

 

“Please focus on my aura, if you can. I want you to try and let its familiarity and rich repository of answers flow through your mind, and combat whatever lies and doubts are troubling it within.”

 

They weren’t certain if he would accept the kaa’yiel, or even to what degree his human origins allowed him to do-so, but they were desperate to let him know that the sentiment behind it, at least, was there for him.


“…And…perhaps…if there is anything else I should know, it would be the time for you to share it in kind.”

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[[It's skip time, friends!]]

 

Argia

Vaz and Jorath were curled up on the couch when she and Xaal had finally returned to the lounge, the former invested in reading material of some kind while the latter appeared wholly asleep. Not wanting to disturb, she made a soft-spoken greeting and went about depositing the results of her and Xaal's shopping exploits upon the table further into the room. There was still plenty of time before the planned dinner and she wanted to use some of it to return the borrowed clothing from Dirzarok. After dealing with Dynasty and exchanging information--that, frankly, only left a few more questions unanswered--she actually focused on finding two sets of clothing: one for more general wear to replace the torn dress that had practically been her only material possession for millenia and a formal dress to suit the dinner gathering. 

 

With the couch occupied thusly, Argia made quiet mention that she was going to clean up a little in the restroom. Xaal seemed interested in checking out more about Auris Domniir's expansive building, the Guardian leaving the lounge without much more explanation. She did remember to keep a visitor card with her and that was really all Argia was mostly concerned about. The place seemed large and not unlike a maze in a couple places. 

 

Lojaal made herself comfortable within the lounge, appearing to be curious about what Vaz and Jorath brought back from the shops. Argia didn't immediately spot Fi, but she figured the quill would be nearby regardless. Shifting through her newly acquired bags, Argia debated if she should dress first into the outfit she got for general wear or change straight into her new gown for simplicity later on? No. She would wear the outfit for now, seeing as she did have intentions to return Dirzarok's clothing and there were still some hours before the dinner. Grabbing that free, she started for the bathroom, only coming to a halt when her gaze fell upon the black and red shawl that somehow ended within her possession. 

 

Gingerly, she gathered it within her fingers before continuing to the restroom. Gently clicking the door behind her, her hand lingered upon the painted wood. Almost abruptly, it gratefully began to feel like a barrier isolating her from the rest of the unfamiliar world. She pulled away from the door and pushed in the lock, resting her clothes upon the sink countertop. Argia undressed gradually, folding each article to set aside. At one point, she paused to study her reflection in the mirror, twisting to examine the long, parallel scars down her back. Despite already having learned of their existence, she still sucked in a short breath, frown twitching at her lips. 

 

The memory of murky golden and grey blood--ikaar the immortals called it in this world--trailing down from the scars and splattered across her back flashed in and out of mind. 

 

Argia blinked, a hand briefly rubbing at the ache that ghosted through her shoulder blade. As she trailed her hand away from her shoulder, fingers traced along various smaller scars lining her arm. They were everywhere upon her flesh, more familiar to her, despite no longer recalling what caused them. She knew Kirit and Metzli had mentioned something about them once, when she inquired, but it had been vague at best. Avoidant at best. 

 

Names faded and rippled into existence upon her skin, many of them in the same place as several scars, before disappearing again. That couldn't be normal. Was it? Argia would have remembered if names occasionally flickered into sight across her body. But then, she'd forgotten about her storytelling until tonight. She focused on continuing what she was doing, changing slacks and boots to the set she bought before sliding on the turtleneck top with long sleeves and a moderate opening in the back for wings. 

 

Her hand hovered over the shawl next, a subtle tremble eventually catching her attention. She swallowed and curled her fingers into the fabric, back pressing against cool plaster walling. She could hear feathers rustling as she slid to a seated position. Between suddenly finding herself in a new world and then subsequently consistently being in the company of at least one other person, Argia absorbed the fact that she finally was alone in any form of space. Looking up at the mirror once more, she studied her face briefly, noting that her features were as they always had been. But, she realized that she looked worn down for once. Gaunt almost. 

 

Glowing spheres flickered in the corner of her vision, the light and dark glows attracting her attention sharply. However, Kirit and Metzli vanished from sight as soon as she turned her head. Is this what mortals go through when they are exhausted? She'd never tired before; she was meant to roam the world ceaselessly for the sake of gathering souls and protecting others. But it had to explain the odd glimpses she was seeing. Of course. Exhaustion, however, wasn't going to explain why she was even here in the first place. Nor why David and his friends were so intent on claiming her to be someone she wasn't. 

 

Slowly, her fingers began to brush against the shawl, the soft fabric nearly tickling her finger tips. Lady of Justice, they dubbed her. She almost heard Vaz again, reading out entries from the books the mortals possessed concerning the figures of their worship. Why am I here? What purpose was she supposed to have here? If she couldn't discern the end of lifelines as before, nor listen for her Sovereign or The Pair's instructions. 

 

And, why was she here, at Auris Domniir's territory? Taathiir was interested in Vaz and Jorath as prospective allies, so it sounded like. And, granted Taathiir did assist them in escaping Takut's lair. But so much had happened there, so why was she here instead of returning to the mortals. Or, better still, attempting to find a way back home? 

 

The memory of Taathiir's conflicted, pained, gaze found a way to latch itself to her thoughts. 

 

At her feet, grass had sprung without her immediate notice, flowers gradually blooming in various colors and shapes. Most, she didn't know the names to. A couple, however, invoked a private, quiet voice somewhere within hazy memories. A lily had sprouted to the left of her, its singular white petal odd but no less familiar. Calla lily; ideal for representations of--Something splattered against the back of her hand, frozen mid-motion. Looking down she stared at the water that slid across her skin. A second droplet joined the first.

 

Sniffling, Argia jerked her hand to her face, heel of her palm rubbing up against her cheek and to her eye. The budding streak of tears smeared from the contact. As she sniffed a third time, she heard parchment crinkle from somewhere nearby. Probably Vaz moving around the lounge outside. She could hear books shifting about, pages riffling rapidly, and saw her wings with--She startled from something brushing her other cheek, glazed eyes turning abruptly to the dark feather and floating parchment. Something was etched upon it but the image failed to register to Argia. "Brown," she breathed. "They're supposed to be brown." But they're wrong.

 

Her grip tightened upon the shawl as her vision cleared. Blinking quickly, she refocused on the quill and the parchment. Lojaal? Oh. An x'd out hand holding--tearing--feathers was what she had failed to see properly a moment ago. "I'm sorry," she started. "You startled me, is all." Smiling wanly, she forced her grip to relax. "I'm okay, I promise. Thank you for checking on me. I'll be out in a minute." 

 

Lojaal seemed to hesitate, a slow flow to her movements, before ultimately appearing to accept Argia's words. Still, Lojaal lingered with her in the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, Argia got off the floor, wrapped the shawl about her shoulders, and then exited the bathroom with Dirzarok's clothes to return them.

 

Taathiir

They studied their figure into the mirror, scrutinizing the clothing they had donned for the looming dinner gathering. Still very much in the gothic vein, it was not unlike the earlier suit they'd worn for the business of the day before unexpected events took priority. This time, though, they'd added grey into the mix, wearing the vest with skull buttons Lucy had gifted them beneath the coat.

 

Taathiir had half a mind to completely ditch the get-up and try something else on. 

 

They couldn't sort out the anxiety over the coming dinner, their gaze repeatedly drifting towards Naya'il's old sash they'd taken out of their desk drawer and rested upon its surface. Earlier in the evening, Argia made a clear stance that she didn't know nor recognize Taathiir, regardless of how certain they felt she was, in fact, their former partner. You're projecting your own expectations upon someone else. That wasn't fair to Argia and they knew they should respect the fact of her being her own individual. But the knot of emotion weighing heavily in their chest was an irrational creature at best. 

 

Focusing instead on settling into their desk chair, leaning over the paperwork that had gathered in their absence for the night, Taathiir riffled through various reports, updates, prospective offers, meeting briefs, and so forth.  Eventually, Izzy knocked on the door of their office, easing herself through the threshold at their consent. "Sir, your scheduled dinner is in ten minutes and Dennis has informed that the reserved space is ready."

 

"Thank  you, Izzy. I will be down momentarily." She bowed her head and vacated the doorway, disappearing down the hallway presumably to complete other tasks. 

 

Reestablishing order to their paperwork and desk, Taathiir rose from the seat, gave themself one more analyzing glance in the mirror to ensure precision, then snatched their overcoat from the coat hanger on the way out. Though they didn't slide it on, the coat was a useful means to hide their hands that simply refused to quit fidgeting. Conversations that were had earlier in the evening occupied what they could of Taathiir's mind, monopolizing their focus as they brainstormed the next steps in finding answers about Ramiel's demise, as well as sorting out how best to assist Vazithrazuul and their companions based upon a variety of outcomes after tonight. 

 

That monopoly didn't hold for very long as, with the restaurant drawing ever closer, tension and anxiety eased back into their thoughts and overtook any other concerns. Perhaps it would be best if Taathiir didn't attend the dinner after all. They could cancel and excuse themself as needing to tend to some other pressing issue. Perhaps Argia did, in fact, recognize Taathiir and merely wished to not associate any further? They hadn't separated in the best of ways, as it was, and perhaps she resented them for not having found her sooner. Maybe it was shock at seeing them at all, like Taathiir had felt upon discovering she was alive after so much time. Not important.

 

They simply needed to focus on present matters of building rapport with their guests. Lucy's consistent prodding and their status as a Fallen aside, Vazithrazuul would be a prominent benefit to Auris Domniir if the Scribe decided to become involved with their organization.  Jorath, himself, seemed an interesting prospect though Taathiir had their reservations. Tonight just added a few more threads to said hesitation. At the least, however, they could trust Jorath to be a sympathizer with the Fallen and less of a direct risk on his own. 

 

It was his largely unknown background that was more of concern to Taathiir. 

 

Stepping into the restaurant, Taathiir took brief note that they were first to arrive, catching Dennis's gaze as they proceeded to the reserved space in the back. Dennis followed when he was available, the smartly dressed Imp flitting through the air. "Good evening and welcome," he greeted as typical, before lighting upon the back of a chair. Spaded tail flicked twice, the small spikes following his spine from his head straight down to the end of his tail almost appearing to lift and fall. Agitated. 

 

Taathiir allowed their grey eye to narrow a fraction. "Something the matter?"

 

"Eyes see. Ears listen. Mouths speak," Dennis murmured. "Company one keeps reflects one's character. Rumors spread when scandal seems in sight." Taathiir didn't respond, waiting for him to continue on his own and get to the point of his warning. "Expectations soar, leading to an ever growing fall once too close to the sun. This, a warning granted one so delicate choices are considered at length."

 

They grunted faintly, frowning. "I am aware, Dennis. Who is speaking to you and what of? Speak clearly, so that I may understand you with certainty."

 

The Imp nodded once, hands clasping behind his back and wings folding away. "Word is spreading about the fallout of Malvorin and Jorath's deal making. Accepting him into the fold could prove the wrong risk to take, especially considering Malvorin's influence and connections within the city."

 

"Yes. That is something I intend to keep in mind, Dennis." Tension eased as they settled on the fact the Imp was merely, justifiably, concerned about safety for those who would be affected. "Believe me, I have no desire to brush aside the risks. However, I do intend to weigh them against the benefits. I do appreciate you airing your concerns, though." Their gaze turned to the front of the restaurant as the doors opened, spying others of their intended group finally arrive. Briefly, they glanced at Dennis again and gave a slight nod. "You are heard, as are others. I do not make these decisions lightly nor instantly." The Imp bowed before his wings flicked open to carry him to the newcomers.

 

Taathiir listened to Dennis's faint greetings as they settled their coat on the back of their chosen seat. It was planned that they would take one head of the table and Lucy would take the other, letting their guests situate themselves as desired in between. With nothing else but to wait, they remained standing beside their seat, watching the group approach.

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Lux

 

The evening was clear and quiet at the edge of the woods, undisturbed by the bustling city nearby. The sound of the river's steady babbling was only ever interrupted by the occasional cautious chirp of the avians high in the branches. The ambient darkness blurred the trees into an eerie silhouette of hanging moss and leaves, undisturbed outside of the faint streaks of blood dripping from the grass down the waters edge, spiraling through the river's current. The last morning's killing frenzy had faded from the air, leaving a somber blanket of quiet in its place. 

 

All at once the silence was torn from the area as a bright flash of light came plummeting from the endless black sky. In a split second the serene scene of the forest erupted into a burst of vibrant flame. The force of the impact sent a violent tremor through the earth, shaking the birds lucky enough to be far from the epicenter from their trees. 

 

As the smoke began to drift and dissipate high up into the sky the blasted skin of what once was dense forest came back into view. The abundant foliage had become a gloomy expanse of charred tree stumps and ash, but nothing more continued to burn. It was a jarring black scar on an otherwise healthy stretch of land. Where the river's edge used to be was now expanded several hundred yards into a gaping crater, the water eagerly rushing in to fill the new space. 

 

Quiet slowly began to settle back in after the sudden disturbance before being interrupted by a sharp gasp as a humanoid figure shot up from the center of the newly formed lake. An audible hiss escapes their lips as freezing air fills their heaving lungs, struggling for breath above the surface.

 

What just happened?

 

The thought resounds through the newly Fallen angels mind. Eyes tightly shut, Lux shudders as his bare skin is met with the biting sensation of the freezing evening air. The chill crawls up his spine and shoots through his head, adding to the increasing pressure on his temples, pain he recognizes as the start of a nasty headache. Before he could move the startling spinning sensation of sudden vertigo forces him back down into the rising water in an attempt to restabilize. He shakes his head, trying to regain his bearings. He felt content to stay there for a minute, seeing as his body refused to cooperate.

 

Head peeking just above the water's surface he took the time to assess his predicament. For a start he needed to get out of this lake. With no real clothes to protect himself from the icy water it was only a matter of time  before he froze to death. Although, this seemed like less of a problem compared to the constant spinning in his head, which threatened to drown him long before he could freeze. The water level was rising fairly quickly as well, which was mildly concerning, as he wasn't in much of a position to swim. He would have to move slowly and carefully if he hoped to get anywhere without incident. 

 

With one calloused, bony hand he reached up out of the water and brushed his dark, wet hair from his face. He squinted in pain as he blinked open his eyes, the pressure from the blooming headache stinging with each motion. Carefully, he rose from the water till it reached just below his chest, keeping his gaze focused on his long brown hair freely floating across the surface of the water. It drifted in lovely swirls that got pulled out as he rose, now clinging to his narrow, pale frame. He let his gaze follow a strand of hair over to the dark brown feather tip of one of his massive wings. He hadn't really taken note of them before, but looking at them now he could feel the sensation of them on his back and the tingle of each soaked pinion flared against the cold. They stretched from his shoulders several times past his arm length, the tips of the longest feathers gently brushing against the water’s surface. 

 

If he couldn't walk, or swim, he would have to change his tactics a bit. Cautiously he tipped backwards pushing off the bottom of the water to gain some momentum for a backstroke. He stretched his wings out as a kind of counterweight, and slowly moved his arms to keep himself floating onward. 

 

With the hope that he would collide with the edge eventually, he kept his gaze firmly locked to the sky. He furrowed his brow in confusion as he stared at the dark, starless expanse. 

 

Hm. Don't see that very often.

 

When are you ever outside long enough to see anything, shut in?

 

Wh-

 

Before he had time to figure out where the other voice came from his already aching head collided with the shallow incline of the lakes edge. Spinning again he sat up sharply in what was now significantly more shallow water. With a heavy sigh he reached up and grabbed the charred, moist rock and attempted to heave himself up. As he rose the frigid air hit him with a shock and he heard himself breathe in sharply as his muscles tensed for warmth. He struggled to get out of the lake, some weight kept threatening to pull him back down towards the water. It was then he noticed he was covered in dark, heavy linens below his waist held together with some crude string that had a satchel attached to it. With his free hand he grabbed the linens up out of the water, and with a quick push and a flap of his sopping wings, he won out over the troublesome weight.

 

As he finally crawled his way onto land it was becoming very clear to him he wasn't going to be able to get anywhere fast. Without the water to hold him the force of his own body weight was too much for him to carry. He barely made it over to the base of a half standing oak tree nearby. The top of the tree had been burned to a crisp, but the base was still in reasonable shape. 

 

Maybe just enough for it to heal back. Maybe. 

 

Propping himself up with one arm, slowly, he pulled at the bundle of linens clinging to his body leading the heavy dripping fabric around his waist then up and across his shoulders forming a half shawl. The rest draped from his waist down past his knees. He poked at the satchel, unclear of its contents, but his head was getting too foggy to sustain much attention to it. 

 

With an exhausted sigh he let himself fall limp against the tree's trunk, draping one of his wings over his shuddering form. He resolved to investigate more once his head stopped trying to kill him. 
 

 

__________

 

Dynasty

 

The shopkeeper’s eyes lit up at Lucy’s entrance. He excitedly clapped his hands together, spinning around on his heel to face her as she strutted forward into the shop. “Oh, Sweetpea! What a pleasure it is to see you in my humble establishment.” He bows to his new guest with a flourish. “We were just discussing how fabulously graceful you are to your guests.” He sweeps his hand in an extravagant gesture to the side of the store in reference to the two women by the wardrobe.

 

“Who look immaculate I must say. The red blends well with her skin tone. Don’t you think so Lucy?” He trilled, gesturing at Argia. He took a second to really study the dress. It hung to loosely in some parts, but the overall look was still quite elegant. His gaze drifted to the other woman Argia stood so awfully close to. He snapped his fingers as a thought came to him.

 

“Oh! I almost forgot.” He chirped, strutting his way back to Xaal. <Shall we complete the trade for the dice?> He asked, briefly jerking his head in the direction of the curios table.

 

As the other two guests walked to the store Dyna clapped in a giddy excitement lightly bouncing on his heels. His attention returning to his initial customers he addressed the two women calmly “Feel free to look through the wardrobe yourself while I assist our courteous host. If there is anything else that catches your fancy, do let me know. If not, it has been quite a pleasure serving you today my dears.” Slowly, politely, he bowed to Argia and Xaal before spinning his way back to the counter.

 

Lucy’s sudden comment about a thief gave him a start. In an effort to maintain his composure he leaned farther into the counter addressing Lucy’s comment with a dismissive wave. “Thief? More of an overzealous pest I’d say. Wasn’t a problem to exterminate the likes of such a petty individual.” He scoffed.

 

She continued her comment with a pointed disdain for cleaning up someone else’s mess. He gasped dramatically turning to face her with an exaggerated expression of shock “Me? Leave a mess behind? What a wicked sense of humor you have my dear Lucy, you know I don’t ever leave any traces of my exploits. Well, physical traces anyway.” He giggled to himself.

 

She insisted on making it up to him. The mention of a party sent a buzz of excitement through him, but he had to look cool, so he brushed of that feeling by throwing his head back with a short laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about that Sweetpea. I need a good chase every now and then, keeps me on my toes.” He purred. “In light of my recent security breach I should be checking the locks yet again.” He said with a sigh, clenching his teeth near the end in frustration. Pretending to debate the opportunity for a second he thoughtfully rolled his head to the side with a hum. “Buuuut you tempt me so. Exactly when is this little outing of yours?” He asked.

 

He got up excitedly at her mention of needing matching jewelry. “Bracelets and earrings? Coming right up!” He chirped. He seemed to know exactly where to go already, stretching his way over the counter to a small dresser just underneath one of the cabinets. Tugging firmly on the highest drawer it gave in stubbornly with a screech and a creak of old wood. Delicately he pulled out a chest, its contents jingling as he pulled it forward onto the counter and placed it in front of Lucy.

 

“Anything for my most loyal customer.” He opened it with a rough click gliding his hand through the air around the chest as he revealed its sparkling contents. A dozen pairs of earrings were displayed on holographic silver paper clinging to the upper lid and insides of the box. He flicked two small latches on opposing sides of the chest and gave a small tug forward. In response a smaller drawer the chest contained slid out that contained a few green and silver bracelets. “Jade, peridot, a couple emerald, all fabulous shades to match your stunning neckpiece.” The mention of it brought his eyes to the snake curled around Lucy’s neck. He stared at the elaborate design that adorned her for a long while. “Where did you get that necklace? I don’t believe you ever told me…” He said with a distant edge to his tone.

Edited by DustyStar

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Lucy

 

“Oh were you now? Goodness, I am a popular topic of conversation around here lately, aren’t I?”

 

Mused Lucy, barely bothering to put in any effort to pretend that she wasn’t both flattered and intrigued to be the topic of conversation within the store. There was a slight wariness that ebbed within her thoughts as well, but she only let her smile twitch with concern once she was convinced that Dynasty was focused on ringing up a set of dice for Xaal’Razuul.

 

“The dinner is tonight, sweetie. Oh I know it’s very short notice but I wasn’t expecting such...exciting new guests to have popped up today. I’d be ever so devastated if you weren’t able to make it.”

 

Purred the fallen being, watching Xaal and Argia leave the store from the corner of her eye before focusing her full attention back onto Dynasty. She beamed as he fetched for her a chest of accessories for her to browse through at her leisure, eyes only drawing themselves away to briefly flicker down towards her pendant when he had pointed it out.

 

“Hm? Oh, this lil’ thing? I’ve had it for centuries, Honeybee. You do know how much I adore the colour green now, would be a shame to let it sit on a shelf somewhere gathering dust now wouldn’t it?”

 

Lucy began to hum a perky tune to herself, her hand hovering over the various assortment of earrings and bracelets for her to choose from. She glanced back up towards him, a mischievous smirk now edging into the corner of her mouth as she took a moment to study Dynasty’s face.

 

“Aw, I’m being such a tease, aren’t I Sweetie? Tell you what, let’s leave it as it’s a gift from a very old friend for now. I plan on introducing them a little better at this dinner, actually. So do keep those adorable lil’ ears of yours sharp I’m sure you’ll find something interesting to amuse yourself with.”

 

Dynasty never failed to disappoint, and today was no exception as she soon found herself fishing out a lovely set of emerald earrings and a few bracelets to match. Greens, blues and golds were always Lucy’s choice of accessory, and briefly she fanned out a wing to check whether they complemented the colours of her feathers well before she sheathed the wings back out of sight once more.

 

“Splendid! I’ll take these to go!”

 

She trilled, now rifling through the purse she had brought with her to produce her card. 

 

“Love to stay and chat sweetie, but I have a few errands to run before tonight. See you at dinner tonight, hm?”

 

And with a flourishing, overly exaggerated blown kiss in Dynasty’s direction, Lucy twirled on the spot and took herself and her entourage out of his store.

 

---


Vazithrazuul

 

The kaa’yiel had been brief.  Vaz had spent most of it asking him to picture a ship above the waters of his anger, passing over the waves churning below, in the same manner that Skrul had taught them so many years ago. It had helped, they liked to believe. Eventually the rage had subsided and his erratic breathing calmed. He had even, to their surprise, hesitated when they whispered that it was time to disentangle their emotions once more. Vaz had instead found themself momentarily drawn further in, their mind brought to the blurred, murky portrait of...something. Something with four, no, six horns adorning its skull and the same, soulless, pitch-black eyes that had startled them moments before when Jorath had turned to look at them. But the kaa’yiel evidently was not something that Jorath could, or perhaps wanted, to maintain for very long. Vaz could scarcely make out anything more but the vague, seething eyes and horns of a beast they didn’t recognise before they registered an exhaustion on his behalf and decided it was time to part minds once more.

Neither of them spoke at first. Jorath seemed too dazed for it and Vaz was too busy trying to determine whether the sheer power of the wrath that lingered beneath the surface of his mind and the accompanying image meant that he, in fact, had six horns in total. After literal minutes of silence had gone by, Vaz finally drew their thoughts from the discovery and decided to be the one to break it.

 

“...Thank you for trusting me tonight, my dear. I know it must be difficult, but it does mean a lot to me. You don’t have to go to sleep. But please, at least, rest your eyes for a bit.”

 

Same as before, they placed a cushion against their side and then motioned to it invitingly.  Eventually, Jorath somehow found his way to lying back down and resting the back of his head against it once more.

 

Vaz now sat upright against the lounge, a position that was admittedly a little awkward for them even with the wing-gap present at the back. The scribe found that they didn’t really mind this mild discomfort, though, even with the slight cramp that was beginning to form in one of their shoulders. It allowed for the being beside them to better sprawl out after all, the back of his head buried in the cushion at their lap and his legs dangling over the arm on the opposite end. Upon the top of his head rested Vaz’s hand, a gentle reminder that they were still present beside him. Every now and then he would twitch and start to mumble something unintelligible, and the hand would then either comb or curl itself through a few strands of unruly hair until he settled once more.

 

Hovering before them, was the translation dictionary that Vaz had taken from Er’anir’s office. Vaz wasn’t certain whether they should be relieved or concerned over how many notes Er’anir had scribbled into the margins of the dictionary during her brief possession of the book. They were useful, certainly, Vaz had already absorbed about a hundred words in Sahthlua and they could feel the magic of The Archives slowly picking apart the rules and patterns in order to learn hundreds more. But it also meant that Er’anir had read through a significant portion of the journal, and Vaz was still uncertain whether there was anything worrisome lurking within its pages. 

 

Movement disrupted them, and Vaz tore their gaze from the book to lock onto the sight of Argia and Xaal letting themselves back into the room. The two, thankfully, made a minimal amount of noise upon entering, and Vaz twiddled the fingers of their free hand in greeting before turning their attention back towards the dictionary. Xaal seemed restless about something, but as was typical of their sibling she made little attempt to share what was troubling her. Instead she just dumped the bags in her hands onto the coffee table, stashed what appeared to be a few paintbrushes and a portable set of paints into her quiver, and then turned and left the trio to their own devices.


---

 

Xaal’Razuul

 

True to Dirzarok’s claims, Auris Domniir certainly did have a lot of paintings decorating its halls. It was a useful trait of the building for Xaal, who hadn’t take long at all to locate a quiet section of hallway with a series of vast, beautiful landscapes hung upon the wall for visitors to admire. Xaal spent some time doing just that, taking in the complex brushstrokes with a faint smile about her features before she reminded herself that she had business to attend to.

 

Hand hovering just over the canvas, Xaal made a series of sweeping gestures and then nudged an open palm against the glass protecting it. Beneath her touch the painting began to move, wind silently rustling at the leaves of the trees and the grass beneath them. Some of the trees began to shift, uplifting their roots and parting left and right until the image of a disembodied door, the door to The Gallery specifically, began to fade into existence among them. Satisfied with the anchor she had set down, Xaal stepped back, morphed into her owl form, and flew at the painting. As she made contact with the surface a golden light encompassed her form and she appeared to melt into the picture itself. For a brief moment, within the oil painting, the door opened and the brushstrokes of a snowy owl glided across its surface to enter said door. The door then shut itself, and the painting grew still once more. 

 

---

 

An hour or so later, the painting began to animate once more and the door that had been embedded into it opened again. Out flew the snowy owl, gliding forward until she emerged once more from the painting and landed delicately upon the polished, marbled floor of the hallway. Xaal returned to her humanoid form, her Guardian coat now exchanged for a much more modern, white tuxedo with black pants and gold accents. Xaal dusted herself off and straightened her bowtie, before turning back towards the painting and removing the anchor to The Gallery with a flourish of her fingers. The door faded from view and the trees wriggled their way back to their previous positions until the painting was returned to its original form once more. With a click of her heels, she began to make her way back to the guest room that had been set aside for the four of them.

 

When she arrived, it looked to be that the rest of her party was just about ready to head off to the dinner as well. The one they seemed to be waiting for, unsurprisingly, was Vaz, who twittered a greeting for her when she arrived before returning to the collar of Jorath’s suit that they were fussing over. Xaal could only assume, by the various bits of discarded tape clinging to their navy dress and littering the floor around the pair, that Vaz had been at it for the past few minutes.

 

< He looks fine. Just get him a tie? >

 

Xaal ventured, earning a huff from the half-ready scribe in reply.

 

“I’m nearly done...I’m just trying to deal with these crinkles...”

 

The guardian angel quirked her eyebrow, staring Vaz down until, sheepishly, a set of amber eyes flickered over to meet her. At her continued stare though they managed to tear their hands away from Jorath and his suit, glancing up at the clock and making a sound that Xaal could only describe as a squawk before scurrying off to go and presumably finish doing their hair in the bathroom mirror. Xaal’s gaze now focused on Jorath, her thumb jabbing in Vaz’s direction before she rolled her eyes and crossed the room to see what Argia was up to.

 

Vaz emerged several minutes later, finally in their heels and their hair now braided and wrapped into a high bun. She noticed that no quill sat behind their ear, but instead a few of their own feathers had been woven into the bun for decoration. Of course. Even among the Fallen, decorating oneself with their own feathers or those of their loved ones was a common practice for fancy outings. Even Xaal, who tended to opt for far more subdued choices in clothing, had decided to wear the simple, golden pendant of a dragon that she had attached a few of her own feathers to.

 

< Ready? Yet? >

 

Urged Xaal, shifting her attention from the thoughts of feathers and instead motioning the quartet towards the door. Vaz, after a brief chat to the quills to behave themselves while they were gone, finally was able to respond with a ‘yes’ to the question and Xaal shepherded them all out of the room to meet up with Dirzarok.

 

---

 

Lucy

 

Aaaargia darling! You look stunning!” 

 

Lucy slinked her way towards the group, her attention honing in on the aforementioned harbinger as the four of them arrived at their destination. Unsurprisingly Lucy had ultimately opted for a dress that was clearly made with the intent to vie for the attention of anyone in the room with her. It was an elaborate display of blues and greens, its overall pattern heavily reminiscent of the tail of a peacock. Lucy, perhaps to even further enhance the allusion, had a single pair of wings unsheathed as part of the ensemble. They wriggled with delight as she rested her hands upon Argia’s arm, coaxing her into walking with her towards the table she had reserved for them all.

“Ooooh come on, let’s sit you down next to Buttercup over here.”

Insisted Lucy, her motivations as clear as the nose on her face as she let go of the woman’s arm in favour of wrapping her fingers around the back of one of the chairs to slide it out for her.  Vaz trailed behind the pair, attempting to spare Argia from getting completely sandwiched between people she may or may not have been familiar with and taking a seat on the opposite side of where Lucy had apparently reserved Argia's seat. They were quick to lose themself in inspecting the menu for the establishment. Xaal, meanwhile, just blinked a few times in response then hesitantly stepped aside to admire some of the paintings adorning the walls of the restaurant instead of immediately focusing on finding herself a seat.


 

---

 

Skrul

 

Takut, Skrul often thought, would have made a good Wrath demon had her fate turned out a little differently. 

 

The aspiring Lord was currently in the process of barking out orders to her various employees, and Skrul couldn’t help but allow for an amused little grin to spread across his features as he watched various fledgelings and two-horns stutter and scuttle about in a bid to out-do their coworkers in proving that they were still loyal to their boss. The siren, ‘Er’anir’, as Skrul had learned, certainly seemed to have been working her claws into a lot of things in the background. But Skrul also knew that Takut was not one to back down in the slightest when her authority was challenged, and it wasn’t long before all of her threats and demands produced for her a mole to interrogate.

 

Interrogation was fun, when you were a Wrath demon. Skrul liked to challenge himself sometimes with it, see if he could get the unfortunate target to break down with nothing but an unyielding glare and the monotonous scrape, scrape, scrape of a sharpening stone against the blade of his axe. This particular fledgeling held up well at first, but once the identity of the demon before him had been brought to light for him he quickly, and wisely, rattled off the rest of the names of his conspirators before any blood had to be shed. 

 

Takut had been less merciful than Skrul, who merely thanked the young demon for his cooperation before allowing him to scramble his way out of the window of the building and flee out into the night. The fear demon meanwhile had decided to have the rest of Er’anir’s supporters dragged deep, deep into the depths of her lair where she would deal with them personally at a later date. Skrul, knowing that likely meant she would be subjecting them to some experimental work with inducing nightmares, almost pitied them.

 

But such was the life of demons, really. They had chosen their allies poorly, and thus now had to suffer the consequences. With his promise to sniff out the traitors of her organisation fulfilled, Skrul now stood beside Takut in her office. He was polite, relaxed, the only sign that he was anxious to get going being the restless swaying of his finned tail against the marbled floor.

 

“Thank you, My Captain. Please help yourself to any spoils that you fancy.”

 

Takut announced, indicating the collection of Er’anir’s belongings and contraptions that had been moved to her office for inspection. Skrul beamed in reply, easing his way around a few bits and pieces of furniture and office decorations until his single, silver eye settled on the chest that had been brought in from the room with cages. Stooping to take the chest into his hands, he responded with a grunt of agreement when Takut claimed that there appeared to be a lot of interesting little bits and pieces stashed in there, and that the resell price would certainly be more than enough to pay for his assistance. A faint, crimson glow emitted from his hands and the chest began to shrink down in size until he could fit it nicely into one of his endless pockets. Such an ability was a major boon to any pirate in search of treasure to horde, and Skrul always made sure such a spell was one of the first things he taught to any new member of his crew. 

 

“Takut is not wanting her share?”

 

“No. Just. Get it out of my sight.”

 

Spat the other demon, her fists clenched. She then crossed her arms and twitched her gaze away from Skrul, pretending to be distracted by something outside of the window. The Captain sighed in response, before reaching over to pat her affectionately on the head a few times.

 

“Is okay. Skrul understands. Skrul is to be going now but..er...Haz fi’faltuun trii ra triios.”

 

Takut scoffed and remained focused on the window before her, but the older demon noticed the way her shoulders sagged a moment later. Now, she just looked tired and somewhat defeated.

 

“...I didn’t know she was going to chain them.”

 

She suddenly mumbled, just barely catching Skrul’s finned ear before he had managed to squeeze himself back through the doorframe of her office.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Er’anir. I thought she built the cages for that nasty little knucklehead she’s been so desperate to get back. I didn’t think Vazithrazuul would try their hand at a home invasion of all things and get themself captured.”

 

“Takut is wanting to apologise? Skrul could-”

 

“An apology would imply I have done something wrong, My Captain. This is my territory. They knew the consequences of entering it.”

 

Skrul was quiet for a moment, scowling. Then they gave a slow roll of their shoulders and the expression eased as they tried to offer an explanation.

 

“Must have had a reason. Always does.”

 

“...I think the chain guy convinced them somehow. You should hear about the sort of things Er’anir told me he’s done. Nasty piece of work for sure.”

 

The scowl returned, deeper than ever, but Skrul admittedly wasn’t sure what to make of her statement. They weren’t even certain whether it was meant to be a warning for him rather than just a statement of fact, until she tacked on her following sentence.

 

“Look, just, both of you be careful with him. From the way Er’anir described him he’s nothing but a monster. And a powerful one too.”

 

“Skrul is not frightened, they are very str-”


“With all due respect, My Captain, you should listen to a Fear Demon when they tell you that you should be afraid of something.”

 

The Captain went quiet. Uncertain. Then, eventually, nodded in response.

 

“Skrul understand. Will be careful. And will let Plume’vicci know.’

 

He dismissed himself after that, soon stepping out of her office and then into the cool of the night. Skrul took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scents of various auras, potential contracts, and souls ripe for the taking within the area. He began to lumber further down the street, picking no particular direction and merely seeing where his nose would lead him this time. Perhaps, if he was feeling particularly confident in himself, he could return to Auris Domniir and ask about-

 

A blazing streak in the sky above caught the demon’s attention, causing him to stop in his tracks to gaze at it. Skrul’s head tilted as he watched its path, fascinated by the fiery glow in an otherwise piercingly black sky as it arched above him then disappeared over the rooftops of the buildings. That looked like it landed pretty close. Somewhere in the forest, perhaps.

 

Ever so faintly, the stench of fresh ikaar began to grace Skrul’s nostrils. It was a type he hadn’t detected in quite a while, celestial rather than infernal in origin. Vox, unmistakingly.

 

It dawned on Skrul then and there what the streak in the sky had been. The demon starred in the direction of the scent, dumbfounded, before questions and concerns started to bubble their way to the surface. With a new goal for the night now in mind, Skrul set off to investigate the crash site of the mysterious, fiery streak in the sky.

 

---

 

The scent of ash and charcoal dominated the lifeless forest that Skrul had found themself in. At first it hindered the old captain, mingling into the cold sting of the air around them and making it difficult to hone in on the scent of any auras. He paused by the edge of a clearing, rearing to his full, monstrous height and inhaling deeply. Since the dawn of his existence, the one thing Skrul could always rely on to guide him to his targets was the stench of blood. Skrul had tracked friend and foe alike for miles and miles with this ability, even across entire oceans.

 

There. Towards the river.

 

It was a faint scent, of ikaar mingling with water and ash, but it was there all the same. Skrul turned towards it and continued to lumber his way through the forest. Sure enough, he soon came to what must have been the crash site for the Fallen angel. A freshly-made crater had been burned into the Earth, water from the nearby river flowing in to fill what Skrul assumed would now form itself into a brand new lake. 

 

Poor little landlubber. Probably was aiming for the river.

 

Reasoned Skrul, his brow creasing from the thought alone of what it must be like to smack screaming face-first into the dirt as an introduction to the mortal plane. Vaz had mentioned to them once that most survivors of The Fall, themself included, had lived because they had the good fortune to land somewhere in the ocean. The fact that this one seemed to have missed their target didn’t bode well for the situation. Still, Skrul planted his thick boots into the mud and ash and peered into the surface of the lake. An eye well adapted to an aquatic existence scanned the surface below, confirming with relief that there was no angel to be found that had sunk to the bottom. Skrul stood upright once more, a gritted-teeth groan escaping him as the dull but ever-lingering ache in his lower-back flared up. He soon shook it off though, and continued his journey along the river bank. Now that he had found the crash site it was an easy task to figure out which direction the angel had gone, thanks to both the scent of an unfamiliar aura up ahead and the signs of dirt disturbed by footprints.

 

Soon enough, Skrul’s silver eye caught sight of his target up ahead. His heart lurched as he noticed the black, charred feathers, and for a split second the image of his old Quartermaster ghosted itself over the form of the angel before Skrul grunted and shook his head to clear the memory from his thoughts.

 

Draal, fistrund! Das ra aeiuwn’vicci jaal o’Aldjaal? Or Commonspeak?”

 

Bellowed the captain, being sure to maintain a reasonable distance between the two of them so as to not immediately frighten them. After a moment of thought he bowed, slightly, displaying all three elaborate sets of horns to the new arrival before two of the sets melted out of sight.

 

“Ah…um…Pax?

 

Added Skrul, his brow wrinkling as he struggled for any other words in aeiuwn that would perhaps put the Angel more at ease than hearing a semi-successful attempt at Commonspeak or the harsh tones of Oldspeak be spat at him by a former demon lord. Unfortunately for Skrul his grasp on the language of angels had only been novice at best, and much of that knowledge had faded now that he had little reason to keep using it. After a silent moment of contemplation, he grunted again and made a dismissive gesture with his clawed hand.

 

“Name is Ikaarskrulniir. Little angel can say Captain or Skrul. Is okay, Skrul is friend of Fallen.”

 

More silence, as the 7ft-tall former demon lord contemplated whether there was anything else they could do to establish that they weren’t here to try to tear him into two pieces. His ultimate solution to this, evidentially, was to flash a shark-toothed grin and give the newly fallen angel two thumbs-up while he awaited his answer.

 

((Translations for Skrul:

1. 'Haz fi’faltuun trii ra triios. '- ‘Let good fortune guide your path’.

2.  'Draal, fistrund! Das ra aeiuwn’vicci jaal o’Aldjaal?'  - ‘Greetings, friend! Does the little angel speak Oldspeak?’
3. 'Pax.' - 'Peace'))

Edited by Lycanious
Translations and grammar fixes

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Argia

Adorned in a new, slim-fitting, gown that possessed a dark ombre pattern shifting between black and crimson to the bottom hem and a black coat over her shoulders, Argia was able to add her shawl to the ensemble without it looking nor feeling like too many layers. With the group now all set to leave the lounge and head to the restaurant, she withdrew the map card in anticipation of searching for their way. Pleasantly, however, an Imp was stationed outside and waiting for them, her red and black speckled wings fluttering upon the group's emergence. "Good," she started. "You appear ready at last. This way, please." Her hair was predominantly black, practically carefree with its sweeping waves, and decorated with a thick streak of magenta framing the left side of the imp's face. Argia found herself fond of the stylistic flair. 

Silently, she wondered if the four of them should devise a seating arrangement among themselves. She almost spoke up with the idea. However, Argia ultimately decided against such suggestion, a sudden twinge of doubt latching within her thoughts. Although, the moment Dirzarok greeted--notably, specifically--her in that drawn out and high flourish of a tone before snatching at her arm, Argia began regretting not talking to the others about possible seating arrangements. Mercifully, Vaz changed their trajectory so that they sat across from her.

She glanced sideways at Taathiir, her weight faintly shifting away from the Collector as she plucked at her coat. Busying herself by removing the article to drape upon the back of her designated seat, Argia looked towards the others of her group, watching as Xaal interested herself in the artwork decorating the walls and Jorath pointed something out on the menu to Vaz. She barely heard him mumble something about 'creamy burly' to Vaz before Taathiir, beside her, softly cleared their throat. "You look lovely."

It was a murmur. Timid. 

Looking over at them, Argia idly smoothed her hand over her coat. "Thank you." There was a lift at the end, unintentionally betraying the glimmer of uncertainty she felt. She couldn't be certain from whence it came, only that some deep part of her thoughts was... restless?

Maybe she was just too tense. Needed to relax and focus on the fact that they were gathered as a group to enjoy company and explore--what was it? A potential business relationship? At least between Auris Domniir, Vaz, and Jorath. What did that make her and Xaal, then? Witnesses?

"It makes you additional individuals of interest." Argia startled. She hadn't meant to. But she also hadn't meant to say anything of her musings out loud, either. "Apologies; I didn't mean to--"

"No. It's quite alright," she said, nipping off the end of Taathiir's apology. "I'm a little distracted, is all."

The Collector seemed to study her in silence for a moment, grey gaze feeling unnervingly more familiar the longer Argia was beneath the gentle scrutiny. "Something troubles you." It wasn't an inquiry, spoken with such assuredness. Though, it wasn't a demand for answers.

It felt like an invitation through an open doorway with the promise to pass no judgement.

Puzzlement began to dance at her features, subtly furrowing her brow and tweaking the corner of her mouth. "Do I--"

"Shall I bring anyone refreshments?"

She blinked. The Imp's intrusion dissipated whatever muffled thought had been starting to nag at the back of Argia's mind, dispelling that sense of missing something right in front of her. "Oh." The only thing that could form upon her lips for a brief second before her tongue figured out what went next. "Water. And perhaps a red wine?"

"You prefer the reds, Argia?" Jorath slid in from his position a few placements over. "Kind of took you for more the white wine sort." When she looked his way, he hadn't sat down yet, his eyes focused on the beverage menu before momentarily glancing her way. There was... something vaguely glass-like about his irises. When he blinked, however, the effect was gone. Likely a reflection of the light.

"I don't really drink wine much to begin with," she replied, still feeling Taathiir's gaze upon her despite the abrupt shift in conversation. "However, I thought ordering some would be suitable for the evening. Yes?"

Jorath tapped a finger against the drink menu. "Recommend going for one of the Cabernet Sauvignon, then."

"I--" A pause. Then she nodded once. "Alright. Thank you." He didn't appear to hear her as he seemed more interested in something else. Turning to the Imp that had come to take drink orders, Argia quickly skimmed the list of red wines and picked one at random that fell within Jorath's suggestion.

Taathiir ordered their drink in turn, likewise a wine by the sound of the drink's name. "Thank you, Dallea." The Imp nodded and proceeded on to the rest of the table for their drinks.

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Lucy, Vaz, & Xaal


“Xaal, dear?”

 

Distracted, Xaal slowly turned to face her sibling and tilted her head in a slight prompt for them to continue. One of her hands graced the edge of the frame of the painting before her, its touch light and a faint glow ebbing from her fingertips that suggested she was searching for some unknown mystery within the image.  Vaz's eyes drifted from her face to the painting in a questioning manner, and she followed their gaze with an uncertain glance back over her shoulder towards it. The painting was a portrait, and framed in a way that perhaps suggested an old owner of the restaurant. They had an aura of familiarity about them, though Vaz found they had trouble grasping the name. A golden placard, detailing the year of their demise, was neatly attached to the bottom of the frame. Vaz blinked, and the Xaal-influenced portrait blinked back in response before nervously waving at them. Slightly dazed, and despite knowing that the moving painting from Xaal was but an illusion of life at best, Vaz found themself politely twiddling their fingers back.

 

< ‘My apologies. Paying respects.’ >

 

Xaal explained, before approaching the table. A slight frown flickered over her features as she eyed the available seats left behind, torn between deciding whether Lucy or Jorath was less annoying to have to sit beside as the former took her seat beside Taathiir. Eventually, by a slim margin based mostly on Vaz’s ability to reel him in, she slid into a seat on the opposite side of Jorath and started to read through the wine list.

 

Lucy, meanwhile, had been surveying the two demons since taking her seat. They had caught her attention when Vaz tried to stifle a chuckle over something Jorath had whispered to them, before rolling their eyes and trying to recompose themself as a being of quiet dignity.  Green, snake-like eyes turned to their wings. Vaz seemed more or less at ease now, albeit a little drained, and Lucy attributed that mostly to the wing covers that now adorned them. The navy cloth had been neatly draped over both and was secured in place with some careful knots and golden pins, concealing the state of their feathers below. Lucy noticed, with a faint smile, that the positioning of some of the knots meant that they had trusted someone enough to tie them up on their behalf.

 

“Don’t you all look lovely?”

 

Giggled Lucy, calling for their collective attention.

 

“As do you, my dear.”

 

She beamed in reply. Hardly the first time she had heard those words of course, but the inability to lie from her companion was certainly an additional little boost to the ego. 

 

“Can I get you anything?”

 

Interrupted the waiter, now moving on to the demons of their group. Lucy trained her eyes on the duo across from her once more as Vaz motioned the wine list closer to their face . They spent a few moments skimming its contents and reading each out-loud, their fingernails tapping in a rhythmic motion. Lucy’s eyebrow drifted upwards in surprise when after some consideration they opted instead to hand the paper back to the imp and start to quiz her on what sorts of teas they had available. Ol’ Scribbles had not been known to knock back any sort of excuse to be inebriated when they had still been a member of her court. She heard them order something from the herbal tea range, followed by Xaal pointing to what appeared to be a fruity cocktail of some type on her own list.

 

Lucy waited for Dallea to finish her rounds and wander off, before knitting her fingers together and whipping her head around to grin deviously over at Argia and Taathiir beside her. 

 

“Oh how adorable, the two of you match! Well isn’t that a charming little coincidence?”

 

The grin widened, pointed canines just barely peeking over the edges of her lips as they stretched back.

 

“Are you familiar with such human traditions, Argia? Any favourites? I’m dying to know what you get up to in your spare time.”

 

Meanwhile, now that Xaal had settled at the table, she had nudged aside her plate to make room and withdrawn a  small notebook from her pocket. Briefly she tapped at its edge, brow furrowed and at one point she glanced over at Jorath. Eventually she began to doodle across its surface, trying her luck with how receptive Jorath was to attempting some idle conversation. Her first set of images were simply a set of faces, one smiling and one frowning, with a tick box etched out on either side of them. How are you feeling? Xaal drew a line. Beneath it, she drew a formal jacket and pants, followed by a second smiling face. You look nice in a suit. She then nudged at Jorath with her elbow and slid the notebook towards him to see how he’d respond.

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Lux

 

Just before he could drift off completely he heard some voice calling out in the distance. Along with it came the increasingly loud sound of the simple but passionate song of a shanty, with its rustic seafaring charm. It was an inviting tune, but at the same time carried a heavier, darker sound that added an intriguing element of aggression to it, some lurking sense of intensity and urgency colliding with the ease and excitement reminiscent of a well loved local pub.

 

The realization hit him all at once that the song was coming from a living being that was awfully close to him and might mean him harm. The rush of urgency that flooded through his body was quickly countered by the overwhelming ache that had settled into each of his joints causing him to collapse mid-rise. The effort was met with harsh coughing instead of any truly productive movement. It did get him to realize just how much water he had swallowed as it poured from his lips with each heave, adding onto the nausea already overwhelming his gut. For a moment he contemplated just lying back down and accepting death. But something stirred deep inside of him, giving him just enough energy to at least turn and face his assailant. 

 

In some attempt at defense he flared his wings out and angled them downward to cover his shaking limbs and make himself look bigger. He leaned heavily into the charred tree, slowly hand over hand climbing his way to a half standing position to better address the entity trying to speak with him. They stood far enough away that the blurring edges of the newly fallen's vision couldn’t get a solid grasp of what exactly they looked like, but the hazy silhouette was enough to tell were tall at the very least. What looked to be three sets of horns adorned their head before melting out of existence. The thought connected that was important, but how and why couldn't make its way to his conscious mind through the brain fog. 

 

He was broken out of his observations by the utterance of some harshly spoken aeiuwn. 

 

Peace?

 

That word connected in his mind. His wings dropped a bit out of curiosity, awaiting the figure to elaborate further. They switched languages, thankfully to one he knew well. Though it would seem the ridiculously tall fish person seemed to be having a hard time with their words, which didn’t help as Lux was having a hard enough time sorting out his own thoughts to really get what the other was saying. It took him a bit to catch up with the switch, but he did manage to catch the word Captain. That would explain the sea shanty resounding from the fish man's aura. He watched the captain smile and raise his two thumbs. He was going to assume that as some kind of friendly gesture. He nodded in response.

 

“Captain?” He numbly repeated. His voice was strained and gravelly. It sounded strange to his own ears. 

 

“Would you know where we are then, Captain?” A few more coughs escaped his lungs which forced him to lean into the tree for greater stability. Friend or foe, he still wasn’t a fan of anyone catching him in such a weakened state.  Trying to look a bit more presentable he reached up and brushed some of his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear, the tips of the strands grazing the surface of the ashy soil. He wasn't quite sure what else to do in this situation other than accept whatever untimely fate has come for him. 
 

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Skrul

 

Inhaling air through his teeth, Skrul winced in sympathy as his silver eye watched the angel tremble and fail to properly pull himself back onto his feet.  Due to his amphibious nature he'd never had to personally endure the problem of drowning, but he still couldn't help but tut and shake his head at all the horrid and coughing and heaving he was witness to.  He tried to reassure the new arrival once the shuddering of his body seemed to have settled down to a reasonable level, though now Skrul was starting to concern himself over the shivering and trembling from the cold instead. "Little angel should take the time before moving. Is being in much pain...?" The demon tried to speak in a casual tone, doing his best to quell the raspy and booming volume of his natural speaking voice. 

 

At the address of 'Captain' he nodded enthusiastically, his finned tail moving from side to side in the same manner as one would expect from an excitable retriever.  "Aye, that be it! Ikaarskrulniir, Captain of The Stormbringer." He opted to leave out the second half of his current full title, though he knew certain individuals in his life that still to this day insisted on using it. No use alarming the angel over old, ancient claims to be the embodiment of Vengeance itself, after-all.  "Does little angel have a name? Or title to use?"

 

As the angel's questioning then turned toward his location the demon reared back and took a moment to sniff at the air, as if it had only just occurred to him to also figure out where he actually was right now.

"Skrul is thinking...ah...Terras is being angel name for this place, yes. Mortal plane, ah...very cold time of year. City is nearby,  Skrul not sure of name." He eventually concluded, now nodding to himself in a manner that perhaps hinted that he wasn't entirely certain on the matter but was willing to at least pretend that he was for now.  Abruptly his eye snapped back towards the angel, tracing over his form with a frown that slowly seemed to be morphing into an outright grimace. "Is being strange though...last time Skrul was checking Terras was not being Vox territory..." He trailed off, lost momentarily in some troubled, unvoiced thought, before he shook his head and switched his mind back to the matter at hand. "Hm, anyway, is not time for questions. Should be getting little angel somewhere safe and warm, before others come looking." He raised his head and nodded towards something in the distance,  towards where the ever-so-faint scent of unfamiliar demonic auras danced and ebbed on the edge of Skrul's awareness. Far away still but a few of them were inching closer, no doubt drawn to the site by the streak of fire that had signalled the angel's descent.

The demonic Captain watched onwards for a moment longer, then started to ease off the thick, navy and gold coat that surrounded him from his shoulders.  Once freed he stooped and held it out in one webbed hand while the other beckoned the angel into stepping towards him so that he could help them into it. Luckily for the freshly Fallen Skrul's jacket had already been modified to accommodate for a large set of wings, though he still rumbled out a warning about them all the same. "Is possible to hide wings? Will be noticed less by spying eyes."

 

Skrul then flicked his head in the opposite direction of the auras he could sense up ahead. "Skrul knows safe place. Can little angel walk there? Or is needing Skrul to carry?"

Edited by Lycanious

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Argia

The time spent with Taathiir had been… overwhelming. By the time Argia had been able to compose herself and for the pair to return to Auris Domniir, several hours had already passed. Her head throbbed and an unfamiliar ache had seeped into her back. 

 

“Are you going to be alright?” Taathiir spoke up, startling her faintly out of the cluster of thoughts beginning to clog her mind.

 

“Oh, yes. I believe so. I’m simply… processing.”

 

They nodded once, yet the ghost of a frown never quite left the shape of their lips. “I do apologize. I had hoped seeing the gardens would be peaceful for you. I didn’t mean to add to your stress from the evening.”

 

She made a small gesture, trying to wave away the sentiments. “No need for that. I appreciate the sight of them regardless.” But now she had to puzzle over why she had such a powerful reaction to Taathiir’s Realm. And the visions? Pressing the heel of her palm against her brow, Argia laid the thoughts to rest for now, mentally locking them away to be sifted through at a future time.

 

Auris Domniir’s central hub was relatively quiet, the movement of angels and demons reduced from before. ‘It must be what they consider early in the morning,’ Argia mused silently. She would need to grow accustomed to the unusual day and night cycle of the city, especially if she had any hopes of properly integrating for the time being until she found a way back home. 

 

Taathiir guided her through the pathways, eventually seeing her to the door of the guest suite her odd little group had been granted. In the way of partings, Taathiir didn’t seem to be the sort to say much. Instead, their dark wings fluttered briefly, stretching upward to adjust as they bowed low. In the next moment, Argia felt their hand take hers, lips gracing the back of it ever so softly. She blinked, certainly caught off guard by the gesture. Taathiir stepped away after the display, departing down the hallway and leaving her to stair upon their retreating back. 

 

Vaguely amused, she turned to the door and entered the suite. “Oh! Xaal, you’re–What are you up to?” Argia questioned. The snowy-winged Fallen was situated on the couch with an unfamiliar face, a set of gaming controllers tightly grasped in both of their hands and sporadic sounds emitting from the TV. 

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Xaal

 

Spying an interesting duo of auras in her peripherals long before they’d reached their door, Xaal was almost tempted to pause the screen before her and inquire as to whether her new companion recognised either of them. She assumed not, given that neither Argia nor Taathiir had ever been an Angel of Vox, but she did wonder if the question would perhaps give her some better insight into the sort of being that sat across from her.

 

Said being also currently held more victories than her in the game they’d settled down to play though, and Xaal found herself inexplicably drawn to the screen in the hopes that she could change that.

 

Xaal was just starting to equal out the score between them when she heard a voice addressing her, and she jumped ever so slightly from being so distracted as to have forgotten the auras from before. Reluctantly, a thumb tapped at one of the buttons on the controller and the screen before them froze. Xaal then turned her head, placing the controller aside so that she could gesture towards their new visitor.

 

< New fallen. > She signed, before glancing back towards him. < Heals fast, but still needs rest. > Xaal then quirked an eyebrow and locked her golden-eyed gaze with his own, as if expecting him to deny that he needed more recovery time and was already preparing a silent lecture on the matter if he did. A moment later though she then turned from him and gestured in a  wide arc around the room, demonstrating its current state to Argia. For the most part it was tidy, but there were some dishes and a mug or two piled by the sink that suggested at some point someone had decided to make breakfast for a few of them. A few books also lay scattered about the floor, as if someone had been sorting through the bookshelf and decided to discard the ones they didn't want by just tossing them over their shoulder. 

 

< Got bored. Others were still busy. Came back here to rest.> Continued Xaal, scowling faintly, before she again gestured towards her fellow fallen. < Met on the way. Seemed lost. > Xaal then eased away from her spot on the couch, deciding to see if there were any leftovers from the breakfast she could offer Argia hidden away in the fridge. < Vaz and Jorath were here too. Went on a walk, I think? Once Vaz woke up..>

 

Tilting her head, a faintly mischievous smile made itself known as she wandered closer to Argia. < Saw Taathiir’s aura earlier. Interesting emotions. > An eyebrow arched, the grin widening. < Did you enjoy your walk? >


 

Vaz
 

Vaz wasn’t quite certain where they’d gone wrong last night. Only that it was somewhere around the same time that they’d ended up beside the dance floor of the local tavern, taken Jorath by the hand, and excitedly asked him if he wanted to join them in a duet.

 

He hadn’t just withdrawn from them. Vaz understood the concept of stage fright, or that there could be a multitude of other reasons why one simply did not want to serenade a mostly unfamiliar crowd of disorderly demons. Hell, he didn’t even need to have given them a reason. Jorath could be aloof like that sometimes, and over the years of having known him Vaz had slowly gotten used to that.

 

But no, this had been a recoil. Vaz remembered taking a step back, abruptly withdrawing the arm of their wing that had been slowly stretching towards him and quickly stuttering out a reassurance that it was a mere suggestion. But it had been too late, and to their dismay their foolish suggestion had soon led to Jorath dismissing himself from the tavern.

 

They’d wanted to follow. But he’d made it clear that he wanted to be left alone.

 

Vaz had then spent a decent portion of the night with their elbows propped up on the table and their chin perched over their hands, mind replaying the sequence of events over and over in their head again, until at some point Skrul had sat across from them with two glasses of the most expensive beverage on the menu for that night and asked what was wrong.

 

Their memory was a haze after that point. Up until a short while ago, when they found themself waking up on the lounge of their group’s shared quarters to the smell of bacon and Xaal slamming down an odd, remote-looking device in her hand onto the coffee table before making an obscene set of gestures towards an unfamiliar individual across from her.

 

Vaz had no idea who he was. Still didn’t, really. But they’d barely had time to absorb his appearance and rasp out a question of what year it was to Xaal before their attention had been ultimately captured by the sight of Jorath also amongst the blur of auras before them.

 

They didn’t quite remember who had suggested they take a morning stroll. It sounded like something they usually opted for, and yet they had the distinct impression it had actually been Jorath that suggested it for the two of them. Vaz wasn’t sure as to why, especially considering his sudden retreat from the night before, but despite how much the world was spinning on them they hadn’t had the heart nor the ability to ignore any further the slim possibility of some answers to decline the invitation.

 

“Were the street-lights always this bloody bright?” 

 

Maybe they should have stayed a few more hours at their quarters, though. 

 

Vaz emitted a low, dismal sort of sigh as they mashed their palm into one side of their face and tried to shake off the dull but persistent pounding in their head. Vaz could currently feel every ache and pain that tended to riddle their form, and though they’d spent a lifetime learning to cover it up with well-rehearsed poise they found themself practically hobbling along as they made their way down the street right now.

 

“Good grief. I shan’t-”

 

They had wanted to say that they wouldn’t allow themself to drink that much ever again. But a warning rasp started in their voice, and they turned their head to instead bring a hand to their throat and grimace until the horrid sensation died down once more. “Oh…” They hummed, dejection evident. “Nevermind.”

 

Briefly, a hand stretched towards Jorath’s arm in silent request to link it with Vaz’s own. Vaz however hesitated mid-motion, then slowly brought the hand to their own sleeve instead to start to deal with an imaginary crease in the fabric. They still weren't really sure why he'd left the tavern last night, nor what that really meant for the both of them. as...whatever it was that they were, to each other, at this point in time. Vaz was still a little too dazed to try to fathom a proper label for it.

 

“...I don’t suppose you know of anywhere nearby we could fetch some tea to go, hm?” Vaz eventually added, attempting at least idle conversation between the pair of them. "Or....did you have other plans as part of this lovely little stroll....?"

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Lux

 

Sitting on the couch with his legs firmly planted on the floor, Lux leaned back into the cushions, holding his controller comfortably on his stomach. The neon shock blanket he had been given at the infirmary was still resting on his shoulders. It lay in obnoxious contrast to the makeshift black dress shirt and dark trousers he chose to manifest after being properly accommodated. A pair of yellow-tinted sunglasses were tucked into the shirt collar. His long dark brown hair was pulled back in a half messy bun, with the rest draping back off the side of the couch. His black fringe slightly covered his left eye, draping down over the blanket to his waist. 

 

Lux glanced up as the distant sound of faint orchestral music graced his ears. For a moment it pulled him out of the game, causing him to lose a win against his highly skilled opponent. An annoyed hiss escaped him. He was still ahead, but the loss only narrowed his focus further, determined to win the next round. Golden eyes locked on the screen, he sat forward with new determination, resting his elbows on his knees and unconsciously biting his lip. This did little to save him though, as the distraction was enough for Xaal to secure a few more wins. 

 

He jumped with a start at the knock on the door, startling both him and his company. He looked with a slightly disappointed glance at the frozen game screen before turning to greet the newcomers with a polite nod. He watched Xaal attempt to explain the current situation.

 

“I’m just fi-” He started before his protests were met with a hard glance from Xaal. He shut his mouth slowly, deciding it would be best not to challenge her. Sitting back up off his knees he set the controller down on the arm rest. He rose at the same time the fellow owl got up to go sort through what remained in the fridge. Lingering by the couch he gave a slow nod to Argia.

 

“Lux. Nice to meet you. What's your name?”

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Argia

 

Did you enjoy your walk?

 

Cries echoed in her ear, struggling to be at the forefront of her thoughts. They collided with the warmer flashes of gardens under moonlight and blue Soulfire drifting sleepily through the air. She hesitated too long in her answer to Xaal, dark eyes blinking at last. "It was..." Argia caught a glimpse of the angel's waning expression. "Well enough. Enlightening at times, confusing at others."  Straightening her posture, she inhaled sharply and swung her attention to the aroma of food that still lingered within the room, taking note of the mess of dishes left behind. 

 

"Lux," came the voice of the stranger. She smiled in response to his greeting.

 

"Argia. It's a pleasure," she replied. "Will you be joining us for the rest of the, er, day? Have you been a member of Auris Domniir for long?" As she spoke, she drifted through the guest lounge, avoiding Xaal's scrutinizing gazing. Stopping before the sink and its cluster of used dishes, she crouched to search the cabinets below, hoping for some kind of sponge and soap. 

 

Argia had no doubts that there was a cleaning service available, but the last thing she wanted was to leave a less-than-pleasant impression. Besides, this was something familiar in a continuing tidal wave of the unfamiliar. "Oh, I hope Vaz and Jorath don't remain gone too long. Taathiir proposed an offer that the pair should hear about. Though, they also extended a similar offer to you, Xaal. If you're interested, that is." 

 

Water began to pour from the faucet, splashing against the metallic basin before streaming towards the drain and spiraling out of sight. After several heartbeats, she shook her head, dispelling whatever trance had threatened to grab her and disrupting--at least momentarily--the clutter of blurred memories. Her hand trembled as she reached for a plate, clutching it tightly in fear of dropping it. "A-Anyways," she started, her voice sounding too strange and distant to her ears. "If they're not back within a decent time, suppose we'll look for them? Maybe in an hour?" Finally, she looked back to Xaal and Lux, her features shut down by the comfort of apathy she managed to muster back into her control. "What do you say?"

 

Jorath

 

A snort escaped. 

 

It hadn't been on purpose, nor did he realize it would happen. "No. Your eyes are just exceptionally sensitive right now. Blame it on the owl in you," Jorath quipped, a light-hearted smirk toying at the corner of his mouth. It faded by a fraction as he watched Vaz from the corner of his eyes, knowing that they wanted to reach out but not daring to close the distance between them to touch him. A pang of guilt whispered through his chest, one hand withdrawing from his pant pocket to rub at the back of his neck.

 

"You're not to blame..." he started. "I...." He swallowed, a rough sensation in his throat. "I have a really hard time with performing songs for others." It sounded incredibly pathetic now that he put words to the air. Grimacing, he pushed onward, fighting back the impulse to clam up like typical. "You didn't know and I've never made mention otherwise." He shrugged a shoulder, making a vague and dismissive gesture a moment later. "I'm okay now. Though, I'm sorry for not coming back sooner to stop you before you got wasted. I--I didn't realize you'd get set back so far after all these years...."

 

Jorath exhaled in a small, drawn out, huff as a means to switch the topic and return to Vaz's question about tea. "There's a cafe a few streets down. We can stop for something to help with your hangover. I could use some extra calories, too, after everything that's happened in--" He tried to estimate how much time had passed since all the chaos of the recent evening even began. A low whistle passed through his lips. "Wow... In less than two days. Really been through the ringer this time, haven't we?" His lip quirked into the shadow of a lopsided grin. Between the fighting, the healing, more fighting, and so forth, it was a wonder they were finally at a moment of quiet. 

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Xaal

 

At first Xaal wondered whether perhaps she’d pried into a subject a little too personal for Argia at this stage. Wide eyes took a moment to absorb her reaction and stance, noting the hesitance in her response and straining the grin she was now struggling to keep on her face. Instinctively her attention turned to Argia’s aura, recognising a scattered multitude of emotions that manifested as chaotic swirls of colour around her head.

 

Xaal blinked a few times, dismissing the vision before her in favour of slowly returning her focus to Argia’s distant expression. She seemed to be avoiding her direct gaze now, shifting the attention towards Xaal’s unexpected companion. The angel turned her head towards him in kind, briefly contemplating whether she would indeed let the stranger factor himself into their plans at all. Like any new fallen, she was naturally curious as to his story, but felt as if they had far more pressing matters to attend to for today.

 

< An offer? What sort? > She then asked, though she suspected she already knew the gist of what it was. No doubt by the posters and recruiters abound within the city, Auris Domniir was looking for new members to join its walls. She did, however, question whether Taathiir had anything in mind for them beyond another few faces to add to their attendance records at the end of the day. Almost idly, the wings at her back fanned out partially and trembled at the tips, signalling her trepidation for a few seconds before she registered the motion and let them slouch into a more rested pose once more.

 

< Did they offer you the same? > Xaal eventually continued, making her way towards the kitchen and stopping at the other side of an island cabinet that now separated the two of them. Golden eyes continued to study Argia as her brow furrowed, sensing that something was awry but not having much of an idea on how to comfort her. 

 

Finally, the harbinger looked up at her and their companion once more. Xaal tilted her head in thought for a moment, briefly glancing back towards the newly-introduced Lux to vouch for his opinion before deciding to offer her own. < Maybe, > She began, accompanied by a shrug. < I do not know Jorath well, but after what just happened I think Vaz is at their limits for now. > Another crease formed in her forehead. < They might not be intending to return. >

 

Her shoulders slouched, a noiseless sigh drifting from her, before golden eyes slowly turned back to Lux now that the distraction of the video game was no longer keeping her from asking more questions of him. < Will you be alright, if we leave? I think there’s an infirmary somewhere in this building if you need it. >


 

Vaz

 

“Ah, yes, the blasted wings…they make everything so bright and loud…” It was perhaps a nonsensical sort of grumble from Vaz in response, who meshed the palms of the hands into their eyes again and continued the rest of their complaint in barely-audible aeiuwn. Eventually they lowered their hands once more, an eyebrow arching in genuine intrigue as their tired eyes drifted towards Jorath’s own. 

 

“Have I…did I shift forms around you before?” A moment of pause followed, then Vaz issued a faint grimace as they remembered their self-imposed policy on shapeshifting while Jorath was present. “My apologies, Jorath. I hope my avian form didn’t startle you as much as the prior incident.” 

 

Now both of them looked guilty, though whether either of them had the proper context for why exactly the other felt that way was anyone’s guess. Even Vaz, supposed keeper of such wisdoms, had a mind so fatigued and downtrodden by events right now that they were struggling to properly process his following statements for them.

 

“...Still…” Vaz murmured, eventually, followed by a heavy sigh. “No I…I understand, I suppose. Some beings just do not enjoy the limelight. If you felt so pressured by my request that you felt the need to remove yourself entirely from the room…then I am truly sorry. Perhaps I should have read the situation better.”

 

It was then that Vaz’s mind turned to what Jorath seemed to be apologising for, and they scrunched all their eyes shut for a moment as a wave of self-loathing threatened to overtake them. Instead though they managed to whittle it down to just a bitter twitch of the corner of their mouth, and they returned their hand to their temple in another attempt to address the pounding sensation running through it. “My sobriety is not your responsibility, my dear.” Vaz eventually murmured, though they looked down heartened by their own choices as they said it. 

 

“...At least I had the good sense to stay in the tavern this time until you returned for me. Or…at least…I assume that’s how I ended up back at our quarters…?” Vaz let the question trail off. Their recount of the rest of their tavern visit was mostly just a murky haze of voices, blurry auras, and the vague memory of someone eventually carrying them away from it to dump them onto a far quieter couch with a blanket and a bottle of water. Mumbling inane, self-critical sounds once more, Vaz gingerly shook their head and eventually slouched in their stance once more. “Please, yes.” They hummed, expression finally easing just a fraction at the promise of a far more mild-mannered beverage in their hand and quiet conversation. “I could use a few-dozen doughnuts right about now.” 

 

They found themself starting to stagger forward once more, though it was perhaps worth noting to Jorath that this was not in the right direction for said cafe as they struggled to get their bearings. All the same, their eyes slowly turned to his own, absorbing his current expression as well as they were currently capable of. “...Yes. It’s been an awful set of recent events dear, to say the least.”  Vaz opened their mouth to ask if he wanted to talk about anything, hesitated, then closed it once more as they recalled how often he had brushed aside this question as of late. Instead, they opted for a slightly different sort of statement.

 

“However, your presence throughout these ordeals has made it all slightly more bearable. I hope, in some way, the sentiment is a mutual one.” 

 

The fallen angel took a few more steps forward in their chosen direction, swivelled slowly on their heel in a circle, then stopped once they were facing him once more.

 

“All these signs are blurry. Where the **** is this cafe?”

Edited by Lycanious

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Lux

 

"Likewise." He returned Argias smile with a short one of his own. "Don't know if i'll join you, but i have appreciated the company thus far." He replied, giving a short glance over at Xaal. At the question of whether or not he had been at Auris Dominiir for very long he shook his head making a noise somewhere close to a surprised laugh. "No, I just arrived. I barely know a thing 'bout this operation." 

 

He watched as Argia moved over to the sink and began to shuffle the dishes around with the intent to clean them. A look of confusion briefly settled into his features. Wasn't there a cleaning service here? Why did she feel the need to clean the dishes? Why were there dishes anyway? Weren't they all immortals here, that didn't need to eat?

 

Curious, somewhat confused, but also wanting to make a good impression, he walked forward and around the small island in the kitchen back to Argias' side. He leaned on the counter and reached a hand out for the dish she was holding, using the other hand to pick up a towel that was laying on the counter nearby. "I can dry those for you, if you'd like?" He offered. 

 

Jorath and Vaz. He hadn't heard those names before. Perhaps Vaz, as he assumed that was the visibly intoxicated individual he had brief acquaintance with this morning when they left, but Jorath was new to him. "Those are your roommates?" He asked. "I'd be happy to help you look, not sure how much help i can be though, considering my uh…" He glanced back at Xaal again "...need to rest and unfamiliarity with the two." 

 

He chose to stay quiet as the two others discussed the nature of this offer they were interested in. He took the time to try and gather his thoughts and memories. After falling was mostly a blur, save for the sensation of being held in warm, muscular arms for a time. He lingered with that thought before moving on to being taken to the infirmary. There he met with some tired-looking being trying to keep him from wandering out of his room yet again. That moment was interrupted by a stout woman with ruby-colored hair who started asking him a dozen questions his brain failed to recall. Something about that woman seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn't place the where or how. She asked to meet him near her quarters in the living halls. He perked up a bit as he suddenly remembered he had totally forgotten to go and meet her in that intended location. 

 

Excellent timing, as he broke out of his thoughts right as Xaal asked another question of him. 

"Of course, i'll be just fine. I might actually head back over to the infirmary to meet with someone there." He placed the last dried dish on the counter next to him and folded the towel before placing it back on the counter. He walked back around the island and towards the door, lingering by the couch for a moment, staring at the video game paused on the television screen. A hand rested on the top of the back of the couch, the other pointed between the TV screen and Xaal. He narrowed his eyes in her direction "This match is not over." He said quietly, but firmly, in a teasing manner.

 

 

???

 

A light, bright as a star in the darkest night, shot across the sky in a long stream like a streak of thin paint scarring the clouds in the morning light. It nearly appeared to stretch across the entire sky before arching downwards towards the city below. Its brightness was nearly blinding as it got closer and closer to the city before it seemed to light up the city streets like a second sun. Suddenly, and quite violently, the roof of one of the cafés on the main street of the city exploded into pieces as the light impacted it. White hot flames began to engulf the building as a few people rushed out of the door, hands covering their mouths as they tried to not inhale any smoke. Pedestrians stopped to gawk at the immense destruction that occurred so suddenly. Everyone was staring in awe and horror, but not doing a single thing.

 

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Argia

 

"Thank you," she murmured as Lux took up drying the dishes she washed. "Roommates? I don't think so. We're only guests here for the night as we arrived for a discussion with Taathiir. But Vaz and Jorath are our companions." Taking a moment before answering Xaal, Argia tapped a finger against the bottom of the bowl she held. "Mostly the basic, I guess? Asking if there was any interest in the four of us joining. Taathiir described Auris Domniir as a safe haven for the Fallen...." There was a long pause. "Are the Fallen in so much danger in this world?" The mayhem of Takut's lair resurfaced to the front of her thoughts. Until now, she hadn't given herself any chance to process everything their group had gone through. Nor, especially, the glimpses of unknown visions or hallucinations she'd experienced. Vaz had mentioned that many of Takut's traps weaponized one's own memories. And the experiences were so vivid that she was forced to wonder if they were truly mere hallucinations.

 

Or if they were actually memories she somehow forgot.

 

"How do Demons come into play for this world? There is... much, that I do not understand and, if this world truly is dangerous and filled with so much hidden violence, I feel my ignorance of the matter is surely a weakness." Argia couldn't continue to function as if this world was no different from her own. Here, she couldn't just navigate the lands as an endlessly wandering Harbinger who brought death to those at the end of their lifeline, nor salvation to those who were not yet ready. Not here. Here, I am supposed to be some mortals' ideas of Justice and Vengeance taken form. Whatever that thought meant. "I also wish to return to the humans in the abandoned subway station. My.... followers." It had such a strange taste in her mouth. Maybe, for this one thing, it was ideal that she wasn't in her own world; her Sovereign would be less than kind about such a concept as Argia having devoted followers that cast her as something other than what she truly was. "I would like to speak to them about Auris Domniir once more and learn more about what their design for me is supposed to mean."

 

She also wanted to begin figuring out where the black and red shawl came from; how it could give her wings. 

 

With the dishes dealt with, Lux moved on to imply an unresolved challenge between himself and Xaal over the videogame they had been playing before. "I hope you find the person you're looking for, Lux. Again, it was a pleasure to meet you and thank you for your assistance." Argia drifted towards the scattered books, gathering them and neatly arranging them on the bookshelf once more. 

 

Jorath

 

"No, you haven't turned into a bird yet for me to see. It's okay though. It--It really wasn't you. Just... Er'anir," Jorath replied. As Vaz continued, he listened. "I suppose not, but I don't have to go making things harder for you..." he breathed, not really intending to speak loud enough for them to hear. For a moment, he considered not answering Vaz about carrying them back to the room, though he soon opted to say so. "Yeah, that was me. Skrul was holding your coat sleeve so you couldn't fall out of your seat when I came back." Panic had flooded his senses back then. A bone-chilling and overwhelming wave of fear.

 

He had only made it down a few empty hallways before his body gave in and he collapsed against the wall. You can't perform again. Vaz wanted you to perform for them. You can't fail. Go back, go back. They'll beat you. You can't-- Dread made his back cold and his hands tremble, layering his skin thickly with sweat. Jorath drew his knees up to his chest as he lowered his head, clutching at his temples as his chest ached and his thrashing heart fought against his ribs. Found. Er'anir found you. She's here. She'll beat you if you don't go back and perform for her. She'll kill you if you fail. She'll kill you, she'llkillyou, she'llkillyoushe'llkill-- 

 

It wasn't until an Imp was prodding at his wrist with the tip of their tail did Jorath return to consciousness. He couldn't be certain if he'd passed out completely or simply blacked out, let alone for how long. But he was slumped across the wall, carpet fibers itching his cheek. Stiffly, he swatted the Imp away as they hovered too close and making every attempt to suggest a trip to the Infirmary. Jorath was on his feet and moving again--albeit a bit unsteadily--as the Imp shouted after him. Something about cleaning up vomit and not getting wasted.

 

Despite his poor state and the sharp alert his senses were on, Jorath managed his way back to the Tavern. The noise was unbearable to his sensitive ears and auras overwhelmed his prickled nerves. But he left Vaz in the cold. He had to make amends for that. Or else she'll beat--He swore under his breath, deriding himself for giving into weakness instead of just getting over it. It was how he found Vaz thoroughly wasted, remaining in their seat by the mere pinch of fabric of their coat sleeve between Skrul's fingertips. By some grace, the hulking demon didn't have any words for Jorath beyond "make them get rest". Though Jorath's own hands still trembled, he gathered Vaz into a secure hold and left the tavern with little protest from the Scribe. 

 

Now, as his cautiously reached out to steady them, Jorath was able to hide the tremble in his hand once more. "The cafe isn't that way," he said, gently coaxing Vaz to walk in the appropriate direction. He couldn't tell them that, last night, Vaz had curled in against his chest as he carried them back to the guest lounge and mumbled on about missing comforting touches. He couldn't reveal the worm of pain it caused in his chest. 

 

Er'anir had a great way to utilize such vulnerabilities....

 

The bell atop the door to the cafe chimed as Jorath guided Vaz inside, quietly moving them to sit at a nearby empty table before he went to stand in line to order. Three customers later and it was his turn, ignoring the strange look the cashier gave him when he requested a dozen donuts and a handful of jam tarts to go with the personal pot of hot tea and large coffee that wasn't To-Go. Scrounging about in his pant pocket, he fished out the battered wallet he kept tucked away to pay the bill before returning to Vaz. "I hope the noise and light isn't too much in here," he commented. There were a few clusters of mortals gathered in the shop but it wasn't peak business hours for the cafe, either.

 

He let silence rest between them for a few minutes, resting an elbow against the table and his chin in his hand to vaguely study the street outside. Eventually, "I don't know if I can keep you as safe as before..." was the low murmur that escaped Jorath's lips. "The entire previous night's shown me that I'm not capable enough." His words died when he caught sight of the server in his periphery approaching with their food and drinks. He leaned back to give the man room to set items down, watching the mortal until he was far enough away to no longer hear the discussion. Before Vaz had any opportunity to do it themself, Jorath reached for the tea pot and poured their cup, setting the pot aside so it couldn't be knocked over by mistake later. "Maybe Argia or Xaal can keep you safer than I have recently," he went on, picking up where he'd trailed off minutes ago. 

 

Something in that suggestion stung, however. It twisted in his chest with a heat that had begun building in his flesh. Jorath swallowed, working at the lump forming in his throat. He was thinking about this as logically as he could and surely Vaz could understand and see that. So why-- He cleared his throat, grabbing for a donut to stuff into his mouth. Something still nagged at him. Had been nagging him for a while. Especially since... what took place earlier in the evening at the guest lounge. But words weighed heavily on his tongue. Too heavy to simply be washed down with coffee. And, dare he agonize over it when Er'anir was breathing down the back of his neck once more? His tongue betrayed him, though, before he could seize it.

 

"What--What are we to one another?"

 

The question was thrown to the air before Jorath, intended to reach Vaz and in search of an answer. Any answer. Laced with more fear than he'd originally imagined. With it hovering between the two of them now, Jorath's nerves began to prickle, his senses growing sharper with uncertainty. Vaz's inky, papery, and golden-flecked aura filled his awareness, the golden gradually growing and--Jorath inhaled sharply, lurching up from his seat and grabbing for Vaz in the same motion. The roar of breaking support beams and plaster was laced with startled screams as Jorath jerked Vaz and himself to the ground, using their table as a makeshift shield against the rush of debris and dust. 

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Sabaki

 

The dust settled to reveal a large steadily glowing orb filling the hazy room with soft golden light. Green and gold colors swirled in a marble pattern across the orb as it floated just above the ground. It steadily grew brighter and brighter before it burst in a flurry of green and gold sparkles. A small shockwave emitted from the sphere as it burst, rapidly clearing out the smoke and debris with a gust of wind and warm energy. Oddly a few shattered glasses and fallen plants amended themselves in an instant as the shockwave passed through. The air was filled with floating green and gold sparkles, like little fireworks dancing in the air before slowly fading out of existence. In the center of the glittering mass was a mess of blue feathers lying in a crumpled heap amongst the rubble of the café.

 

Sabaki rose back to consciousness with a whine. Her eyes stung and her face felt like she shoved it right into a red-hot fire. She shut her eyes tight against the pain as she brought a hand up to her cheek. Her fingers felt the crust of ichor clinging to her skin. She followed it down her face all the way to her neck. She had been bleeding. She couldn't remember from what. 

 

She rose slowly, unfolding her wings one at a time around her. Ah, right, her wings. She wasn't used to the heavy sensation of something attached to her back or the sensitive wingtips picking up every vibration in the air  around her. The new feathers were still filled with down, bits of the fluffy cotton like material floating off as her new, young feathers quivered with a stretch. She opened her eyes to gaze at the massive blue wings that she had worked so hard to earn, but saw nothing. Solid black eyes with hazy silver pupils looked onward without perceiving anything.

 

All she saw was blackness. 

 

A dark ring around her vision with a hazy center where shadowy flickers of movement danced in and out of her perception. She blinked over and over and rubbed her burning eyes to try and clear it but it would not go away. She hugged her arms around herself as prickles of fear rose in her stomach. Was she blind? Why did this happen? Who did this to her? She couldn't remember. Her memories felt like sand running through her fingers. A soft whimper escaped her as she shook her head and clawed at her face, the metallic scent of her own dark ichor filling her nostrils. 

 

She began to sob. The empty feeling inside of her was nearly unbearable. Without her deities' warm, calming presence she felt like a hollow shell with nothing inside to give her meaning or direction. Despair began to overwhelm her. She stopped clawing at her face and simply cried into her palms, hot tears mixing with the smeared blood on her cheeks and fingertips. The mixed liquid fell and began to stain the red bandages her entire body was wrapped in with dark speckles. She wore nothing else.

 

"Miss Sabaki, someone is approaching us." 

 

The monotone voice of her soul manifestation rang through her ears. She had forgotten about the healer's staff positioned by her side. Patting at the ground in search of it her fingers finally connected to a firm wooden beam and she gripped it tightly. She lifted it up and positioned it in front of her so she could stand. She shook violently as she rose, like a newborn foal first learning to use its legs to walk. At last she stood up fully, her head hung low as her gaze was trained to the floor. She breathed hard from the strain on her small form. Her whole body felt like it was going to snap apart at any second. 

 

As she heard footsteps approaching her her head snapped to their location. She took a step back to try and steady herself. Her wings puffed out defensively by instinct, still shivering like the rest of her body. She pointed the staff out towards the footsteps coming closer to her.

 

"Nouli proxpius!" She hissed in Aeiuwn.

Edited by DustyStar

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Xaal

 

< Oh, you’re here to visit someone, then? > Inquired Xaal at the mention of the infirmary, tilting her head in a curious manner. Briefly she wondered if it was anyone that she knew of that had been confined to it as of recent. The only names that sprung to mind were the aforementioned Jorath and Vaz, who she held enough fate in to not have immediately injured themselves upon leaving her sight. Well, mostly she had faith. Considerably. There was a small chance that they hadn’t, right?

 

Xaal shook her head at this thought process, now remembering that he’d at least briefly seen the pair some time after Jorath had returned and hauled Vaz back onto the other lounge. He didn’t seem to recognise either of them then after all.

 

She rose her hand to ask if he needed accompaniment, only to falter as his comment over the video game caught her slightly off guard. She stared back for a moment. Then, eventually, quirked her eyebrow upwards in a faint smirk and dragged her hand instead across her throat in an abrupt slicing motion before motioning towards Lux once more. < Prepare to be destroyed, then. >

 

Her head then turned, golden eyes regarding Argia with a look of faint surprise before they settled on something a little more solemn. < Depends on the Fallen. > She decided to inform, hand rolling in the air a few times as she contemplated how best to elaborate before continuing. < Fallen like me are very powerful. Fallen like Vaz are very smart. Fallen like Lucy have good connections. Many others are none of these. >

 

Xaal, now feeling a little awkward that she wasn’t the only one tidying up despite the need for her hands to be free, paused for a moment to gather up a few books and place them back into the shelf before she continued. < Demons here are mostly after easy souls, I think. Souls give influence, influence leads to power and higher rankings. It’s a lot easier to convince mortals to hand them over when they’re in a hopeless situation like this. > Her nose wrinkled. < I try not to ask my sibling about it much. >

 

Placing a few more books into the bookshelf, Xaal then nodded in thought and motioned towards the door. < We can go see them, maybe? Or do you want to talk to Taathiir and Lucy about this offer instead? >


 

Vaz

 

Vaz’s eyes closed for a moment as they were gently nudged in the right direction by his hand, the fallen angel taking an opportunity to shield them temporarily from one of the street-lights above that had been tormenting them. They let him guide them with his presence and nodded a few times in silent acknowledgement of his recount of the night before. 

 

There had been conversation, Vaz now remembered, between them and Skrul. Awkward at first, but then slowly morphing into an old, familiar pattern of both compliments and concerns for one-another as he’d taken a seat at their table. Their brow furrowed, eyes gradually fluttering back open as they struggled to remember what exactly it was they had talked about. “Hm…right, yes, I remember now. We talked for a while. Laughed a bit. He ordered us more drinks, too.” Slightly their shoulders slouched. “...He’s a good man. I imagine he wanted to join in all the merriment. Instead he ended up making sure a rather tap-hackled twit didn’t fall out of their chair.”

 

More of their weight got pressed against Jorath, thanks to an uneven tile in the pavement as they approached the cafe. Their hand twitched, still not quite reaching for his own but very lightly brushing its fingertips against the back of the one working to keep them steady in their gait. “You were sweet to come and find me later, my dear. I’m…afraid I still don’t quite understand what happened but…” They trailed off, finding a lot more difficulty than usual in grasping for the words they wanted as the pounding in their head only seemed to worsen with each step. “The blanket was nice. Thank you.” Mumbled Vaz just before the bell above them chimed, prompting another wrinkle in their nose at the piercing sound.

 

They found themself steered towards a quiet corner of the cafe and slumped into a nearby chair. Head still ringing, they crossed their arms over the top of the table and lay their forehead upon them for a moment. In the distance they heard Jorath’s order and hummed in approval, though they weren’t sure he would’ve heard the noise regardless. For a few minutes they seemed to stay like that, weakly lifting their head once more only when they registered Jorath was speaking to them once more.

 

“You can’t…?” In their mild delirium, Vaz for just a fraction of a second must have looked upset to hear this before they registered that he, in fact, was questioning his abilities more than whether he could stand to be with them any further. Jorath had continued, listing Argia and Xaal as potentially more suitable towards protecting them, and they felt a crease start to form in their brow.

 

“…They are…talented warriors, no doubt. All of you are. But I have no intention of trying to instigate a competition on the matter.”

 

Amber eyes trailed to the pot of tea that Jorath had poured it out for them, prompting Vaz to murmur another thank you as meekly they slid the cup towards themself and took a sip from its contents.

 

“Jorath. L’antiirayou mean far more to me than just being some…meat-shield I expect to leap into the fray on my behalf.” Pointed, dark nails tapped at its surface as Vaz mulled over his statements, worry slowly replacing their expression. “Do you recognise that? All these years together…Do you realise I am absolutely riddled with the same fears? Th-that one day I could…I could make a mistake. I could be imperfect in my judgement. And then I could lose you.”

 

He’d asked them a question. Even through the headache that now screamed through their skull, the ancient drive to answer it compelled them to answer it.

 

“What are we?”

 

 It sounded like such a simple question as they repeated it, and yet, it left Vaz with that very sensation of uncertainty and anxiety churning about in their core as they tried to respond.

 

“We…w-well, erm, I, at least…”

 

They remembered what they had been talking to Skrul about the night before.

 

“I think…I think I might be in-“

 

Thunder rumbled from the heavens. They could feel the chill of the rain bite at their eyes and the wind scream through their ears, but they refused to let either sensation deter them. Even as the howl of the wind grew louder and more deranged, morphing itself into the screams of a furious God, they powered onwards. 

 

They remembered laughter. Shrill, bitter, and absolutely dripping with contempt for them all. They remembered how the sky was black and the smoke-like clouds almost suffocating, but their infinite eyes could always see through to what others could not. 

 

They remember how they could see the lies right before them, like thick, red streaks of ink slashed over letterforms that trembled as they lay witness to what they had become. Their ichor, ink-like as it poured from their open wounds into the night sky, was now a boon in how it stained black their once-golden feathers and let them bleed better into their surroundings. Ichor clogged the air, severing angel and fallen alike from the VOICE and its commands.

 

For a moment, they were not alone in this. They were everyone. They could hear every thought, every emotion that blazed through their collective minds that day. Their minds were like pages ripped from a book, but in that moment the strings of its bindings lashed out and started to reclaim what had been torn from it long ago. They stretched out their limbs, all of them, each angel and fallen and demon alike reaching towards a now-common goal that shone before them.

 

And then there was pain. Searing, blinding pain in their chests.

 

Celestial energy rippled right through to their cores, clashing against the infernal tendrils that had woven themself throughout their forms. They tried to scream, but the celestial magic ebbed from their newly inflicted wound and latched around their throat like a tightening fist to squeeze the sound from them. Hundreds, thousands, millions of eyes flared into existence as they struggled against the force that had overcome them. The eyes searched for the culprit, settling, every so briefly, on the sight of a golden arrow lodged deeply into their flesh.

 

Lighting struck.

 

The heavens roared.

 

And they Fell.

 

———

 

It was the sound of breathing that brought Vaz back. Ragged, and heavy, pressed against their ear. Slowly Vaz’s mind attuned to its surroundings once more, finding themself lying on a tiled floor and surrounded by rubble. Vaz had curled into a tight ball, huddled beneath Jorath’s form and trembling erratically. 

 

Cautiously, a few eyes opened along their form, only to clench shut once more just in time to protect themselves as the orb of green and golden light washed over the pair of them. Their wing-covers now sat askew, the seam of one splitting at the side to allow a set of matted, ink-stained feathers to flare out through the gaps. As the pulse of light washed over them, ever so briefly, some of the feathers took on a warmer hue of gold with soft, umber striping before abruptly fading back to their usual appearance.

 

Shakily their hand pressed against Jorath’s chest. Gentle at first, and then with an increasing force and sense of urgency as Vaz’s dazed, confused thoughts turned to an overwhelming wave of nausea. They scrambled out of his protective hold, dragging themself a few arm lengths across the floor before they tried to stagger to their feet. It was a semi-successful endeavour, letting them rise for a moment before they stumbled forward once more and clung to the side of a nearby table that had been overturned as people fled the cafe.

 

Finally, it all came to a point. The aftershock of sensing their former deity’s presence combined with their increasing queasiness, and Vaz felt their core flare with a desperation to rid itself of some of the nauseating influences it had been getting more and more saturated in over the last two days. Jaw unhinging, a copious amount of dark, inky ikaar mixed with their now extra-regrettable decision of beverages from the night before started to pour out. Their mortal form strained from the effort, numerous eyes flaring into existence as the viscous liquid continued to stream from them for several long, miserable seconds before finally they were able to reign in the reaction once more.

 

Dazed, Vaz groggily side-stepped around the puddle of ink that had now formed at their feet and slowly turned to observe the scene before them. They pressed their back up against the wall of the cafe, mumbling out a string of nonsensical syllables before weakly they slid down into a seated position on the floor. Their eyes closed again. The headache had all but faded now, clearing their thoughts, but they found themself in no physical state to be getting back up any time soon. 

 

Aeiuwn drifted through their ears, and instinctively they wheezed out their response to it in the same language as they tried to calm themself back down.

 

[ “You should lower your weapon, Little One.” ] Announced Vaz, their tone soft but cautious as they registered that the new arrival was a two-winged angel. [ “I would prefer that you didn’t try to clobber my dear friend here over the head with it.” ] 

 

Edited by Lycanious

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Argia

Giving a half-idle nod as she absorbed Xaal's explanation, Argia struggled with the acknowledgement that there was nothing more to tidy up within the guest lounge. Nothing more to keep her hands occupied and her thoughts focused. She barely kept the sigh contained, pressing her lips into a thin line of grim acceptance. "I see...." Glancing at Lux, she contemplated how much to share in front of him. After several moments, she came to the decision that she didn't want to air all of her thoughts and emotions before yet another brand new face today. Argia had already entwined herself with enough strangers in little more than 24 hours to satisfy for a month. She was truly starting to miss being an apathetic, neutral, entity that others ignored on a consistent basis. 

Eventually, she moved to one of the many seats, sliding the black and red shawl off her shoulders as she did so. The fabric pooled within her lap, fingers gently rubbing against the strange material. It still baffled her how the cloth felt like any ordinary material, yet could morph into real feathers on a whim upon her back. A quick thought flittered through her mind, curious to know if anyone else could use the shawl as a set of wings like she seemed able to.

Weariness clung to her skin, feeling like a coat that was too heavy to shake off.  Pressing the heel of her palm against the edge of her temple, she gave a soft sigh. At last, her lips parted to form words in answer to Xaal's question. "That's the peculiar thing, I suppose. I'm not certain if I would prefer we locate Vaz and Jorath--or if I'd rather return to Taathiir for further answers. There are, quite frankly, so many confusing questions possessing my mind." She frowned, fingers stilling against the shawl. "I'm not used to it. Yet, simultaneously, it feels like the only true concern I have is simply figuring out where to begin. Like all else will fall into its place once the first piece is decided upon." A snort escaped as she dashed her words apart in the air with a wave. "Never mind. None of that just now made any sense."

 

Rising to her feet once more and returning the shawl upon her shoulders, Argia nodded once. "Alright. Why don't we find Vaz and Jorath first, discuss things between ourselves. Then, we can return to continue conversations with Taathiir and Lucy about their proposition at a slightly later time."

Jorath

 

They were shivering against him, the sensation sending vibrations through his arm and chest. Blinking against the settling dust, Jorath loosened his hold around Vaz as he felt them shift, hands finding his chest and nudging for space. "Are you ok--" They suddenly shoved against him, hurrying out from beneath his body to stumble onto their feet before the question had fully left his tongue. Guess not... He grimaced as Vaz seemed to purge their entire system, carefully picking himself up off the ground and turning his gaze away to offer them some feeble sense of privacy. 

 

A bundle of blue feathers and red bandages rustled and swayed in the center of the wreckage. "F***," he breathed. As the being seemed to gather herself, the air became punctuated by her cries. Jorath's hackles rose. He quickly glanced back at Vaz, hoping they were stable enough on their feet before he started picking his way through scattered debris. "Hey," he crooned. Or, tried to. His voice cracked, throat drying from the kicked up dirt and dust as he stumbled his way towards the new Fallen. Clearing his throat, he gently called out to her again.

 

And earned a sharp warning in return. No translation required. Jorath froze momentarily, open hands raised ever slightly and body turned at a small degree. "Easy now.... Easy," he murmured. Behind him, Vaz's voice drifted along the air, utilizing the same language the young girl had. Aeiuwn, Vaz had informed him once. A language of crisp, clean, and delicate notes that always managed to tickle the back of his neck. It made his nerves prickle in pleasant ways. 

 

"Do you speak Common?" Jorath said, redirecting his strayed thoughts back to the being brandishing a staff at his face. {"Or--Or Oldspeak?"} He gave her a gentle, light-hearted, smirk as he eased a few steps closer. {"I'm not exactly versed in the language of angels."} A hand reached out slowly towards her.

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Lux

 

Stepping forwards towards the door, his hand comes to rest on the open doorframe. He hesitates, foot lingering in the air without fully stepping through the door. Realization sinks itself into his expression. If he goes back to the infirmary, there is a good chance he will run into the head healer again. If that happens they're going to ask about his well being and probably force him to lay down again with more poking and prodding and questions. He wasn’t willing to run that risk.

 

“Actually.” Turning back around on his heel he spun to face the two women in the room. “Could i just tag along with you to for the time being?” He asked sheepishly.

 

Sabaki

 

She heard the familiar sound of Aeiuwn drift through the air into her ears, settling into her nerves like a comforting blanket. The staff lowered as her muscles relaxed, her posture straightening as she raised her head towards the voice “Who’s there?” She said more quietly than intended, her voice soft and shaking. 

 

A harsher voice in front of her murmured some words she didn’t quite recognize at first. They sounded like gibberish rolling around in her mind, her spiraling thoughts struggling to make sense of them. After a moment they clicked, and she could finally understand what was being asked of her. 

 

“Common. Y-yes. Wh…Who are you?” she stumbled, her accent still quite heavy in her words.

 

The words felt foriegn coming out of her mouth. She hadnt used the language outside of one interaction that felt so close yet so far in her memory, more like the echo of a bad dream. By virtue of being an angel the language stayed with her for her full use, even if she didn’t entirely know what she was saying herself. The man in front of her continued to speak in another language that felt familiar yet strange, this one she was unable to piece together coherently and could only guess at its meaning. Her mind was so engrossed by trying to puzzle out this new language she let out a quick gasp when she felt a hand reach out to touch her.

 

She gave the wand an awkward sweep in front of her, a clumsy attempt at warding off whatever this strange person was trying to do to her. She tripped over a piece of debris and already being so unstable hit the ground with a huff rolling onto her side. She hastily scrambled to rise again, holding her staff close to her chest this time.

 

“Pax.” She breathed, before remembering that her native tongue would not get her far in this situation. 

 

“P-please, i am meaning no harm.”

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Xaal

 

At Lux’s question Xaal quirked an eyebrow upwards, glancing him up and down a few times as she seemingly debated whether to invite him along or not to the search party. She felt he had a rather scruffy look about him, with no clear indication of how he’d handle himself if they found themselves running into any sort of trouble. For a moment she brought a hand to her mouth and tapped a few times in silent thought, eventually performing a slow shrug.

 

< It  might be dangerous. > Xaal informed, not necessarily elaborating on how but not telling him to stay back in the room either. She had to admit, she was a little intrigued by the new face, even if something at the very back of her mind had been churning about in an uneasy manner since she’d first spotted him roaming the hallways. Xaal wasn’t sure if he was dangerous, persay, but there was certainly the ebb of some little secret he was hiding from them that intrigued her all the same. Perhaps if she continued to soften him up with pleasantries and friendliness, she’d eventually figure out what it was.

 

Slowly her gaze drifted to the door, and she motioned towards it with a jab of her thumb before answering Argia. < Walking could clear your mind. Talking to Taathiir then might be easier.” Xaal offered, before gesturing for them all to take their leave.

 

Outside the sky was just as gloomy and dark as it had ever been since Xaal arrived, but she could spy the glow of several shop windows and street lamps further down the street that suggested business hours had opened for the day. In the cool breeze she took a moment to roll her shoulders and loosen up her wings, letting both pairs of them unfurl and fan outwards to show off her impressive wingspan as she stretched them far out to the sides.

 

< Can you fly? > She asked Lux, contemplating whether it would be any quicker for the trio to take to the skies in the hopes of finding the pair. It was just as likely however that they were curled up in one of the now-open shops, nursing Vaz’s hangover with their usual order of three hot chocolates and half of whatever sweet-flavoured pastries were currently visible behind the counter. This thought made her start to walk down the street, peering into the nearest window for any sign of the duo before starting to head towards the next one along. 

 

< Vaz likes books, and sugar. They’re probably somewhere quiet. > She informed as she strolled along, a faint frown of concentration then taking over her expression as she contemplated the lesser known Jorath that had been following them around as of late. < I don’t know what Jorath likes. He’s probably with Vaz though. Unless they’ve had an argument. Again. > 

 

———

 

Vaz

 

“Pax.” Agreed Vaz as they heard her speak, letting the word roll from their tongue in a gentle, hushed tone. “Peace.” They then added in commonspeak, mostly as a translation for Jorath. To this day they weren’t really certain how his mind filtered the language, though they suspected he’d perhaps picked up at least a few words from their various mutterings under breath and conversations with quills.  Amber eyes trailed over to him, observing from afar as he did his best to calm the new arrival. Despite her naturally shaken reaction Vaz took the moment to continue to slump against the wall and recover a bit of energy while they tried to puzzle together the situation.

 

A mournful, tutting sort of sound escaped them as they watched her trip and stumble about like a newborn foal before holding out the staff in a defensive manner. They feared not for Jorath’s safety, recognising that she likely couldn’t do much damage to either of them in her current state, but they did call quietly for him by name and motion for him to give her some breathing space. With audible strain Vaz then pushed their back and wings up against the wall and shakily pulled themself up onto their feet once more. Beneath their covers their wings partially flared as they moved away from the wall, trying to keep Vaz’s balance, then tucking close at their sides once more when they neared Jorath.

 

“Neither of us mean you any harm, dear.” Vaz tried to reassure, coming to a stop right beside their fellow demon. On some tired instinct they found themself leaning a little to the side, letting their shoulders press together as Vaz shifted a little of their weight off of their old, aching joints onto him. They weren’t quite confident to coil their hands around his arm as they sometimes would, but said fingers briefly brushed along it before coming to rest at their side once more. It was an odd motion, one that Vaz couldn’t properly explain, beyond some vague acknowledgement that it was as if they were proving their claim of him not being a threat to either of them.

 

Remembering now that she had asked for their identity, Vaz paused. For a seemingly simple question, they knew not what her reaction would be to hearing their answer. It seemed just as likely that the name Vazithrazuul was spat upon amongst the rumours and gossip of the heavens as it was that they were just, simply, treated as if they had never existed in the first place. It often depended on the age of the angel, Vaz had surmised, in addition to the role they were tasked with. “…Most individuals refer to me as ‘Vazithrazuul’ these days, or just ‘Vaz’ if you find that to be a bit of a mouthful.” They eventually declared. “I suspect you won’t have heard of any other names I’ve gone by in the past. Titles, though, perhaps? Purger of Falsehoods? Keeper of Quills…? Crafter of The Sealer of A Thousand Sins herself- hm, well. I imagine you get the idea.”

 

Vaz then tilted their head, a cautious curiosity fighting its way to the surface of their otherwise drained and miserable expression. Feeling a renewed confidence in their stance they started to move away from Jorath and began to pace in a slow, calculative circle around the new arrival. It took them a few moments to realise, but judging from her delayed, panicked reactions to their movements so far they soon summarised that something was wrong with her vision. With each further step they then made sure to let their boots tap with a sharp click against the flooring of their surroundings, better signalling to her their intended path whilst keeping a safe distance from her staff’s reach. 

 

“…A heron of some type, if I am not mistaken?” Vaz eventually asked, once able to properly see the wings along her back. Their expression tightened slightly at this, forcing down a pang of loathing towards their own, and making them draw said wings even closer to their back. “And yet…you do not strike me as a Judgement angel, my dear. Or at least, not the ones I remember.” Continued the inquisitive demon, recalling that they typically  had a far more calm and collected aura about them, oozing with confidence and self-righteousness.

 

Vaz’s pacing came to a stop as they completed their circle and reached Jorath once more, turning on their heel to stand beside him yet again as they continued to analyse the situation. “No…no…I feel that your aura is…too shaken, for Judgement. Timid, trembling letter forms. They try so hard to stay in the lines and yet…” The fallen angel paused, inhaling deeply, and then sighing with an ebb of sorrow for her situation. “They could not, could they?”

 

Their shoulders sagged, wings fidgeting once more. The one that had managed to partially tear its way through the cloth now arched towards Jorath, feathered tips gracing along the back of his arm as a way of announcing the wing’s intent before it stretched further and rested more at his back. Seeking comfort, once again. An ever-growing frequency of which Vaz was becomingly increasingly aware of. They glanced to the side, trying to catch Jorath’s eye for a read on his opinion, before Vaz applied a little pressure to it as a suggestion of taking a step forward alongside of them. 

 

Vaz regarded the staff for a prolonged moment, contemplating both its innate power and the fledgeling’s ability to wield it.  Still they lingered just out of its range, an unpleasant prickle of hair and feathers running along the back of their neck as they registered how eerily similar it was to another, far more renowned angel’s staff. “You have a healer’s staff…” They murmured, in a tone that bordered on accusatory rather than observant. It helped to explain how her wings had survived the descent, to some degree, though Vaz wasn’t aware of any two-wing that would have had enough power to keep them so unscathed.

 

Again their lips tightened, amber eyes focused entirely now on absorbing the intricate design of her staff. When they seemed to ease and glaze a moment later it signalled that Vaz had steered their attention elsewhere, poking about in the Archives of their mind for comparisons to draw up between said staff and the other Healers they were familiar with. The expression morphed briefly to a scowl as one particular name scribbled itself into view, and for a moment they seethed internally over it until a sharp pain in the back of their hand brought them abruptly back to the mortal plane.

 

Vaz glanced down, shaking their head in a self-critical manner as they realised the sharpened nails of their talon-like hands had drawn blood from clenching tightly together. Slightly embarrassed now, they tucked their hands behind their back, and tried to steer their focus back to the individual before them instead. 

 

It occurred to them there and then just how very small and young she looked. She owned just a singular set of wings and had a way of holding them that suggested to Vaz she was still getting used to their weight. “By Vox, you look as if you’ve barely even fledged…” Sighed the ancient demon. Finally, their ire for the being that the staff had reminded them of gave way to proper concern for her. “My apologies, dear. It’s…been a rather dramatic last day or two for myself and my partner here. I’m afraid I’ve nor been in a particularly hospitable mood as of late.” Vaz tried to explain, taking another cautious step forward. 

 

Glancing back towards Jorath, they silently questioned whether they should return to Auris Dominiir with a flick of their head in its direction. “...I suspect they’ll be sending scouts down after you soon dear, they often do. I think we’d best move you somewhere safer before they get here. I will attempt to answer any questions you have for me on the way over.”

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Argia

 

Wrapping the shawl around her shoulders, Argia reached for the guest card resting upon the side table beside the door before slipping out into the hallway. "Based on recent experiences, any number of encounters could be had. However, I think the three of us may do just fine for a little while. If anything happens again, we do have means of calling for support." She waved the guest card to emphasize her words, recalling Taathiir's initial assistance just hours prior. Something about that fact made her stomach twitch not unpleasantly. Uncertain of the feeling, she at least felt certain about her words. 

 

Xaal led them back out to the streets, navigating the hallways with a little more ease than Argia believed she herself could have. "Do Vaz and Jorath frequently argue?" she asked Xaal, focusing in on the brief comment the other had made. Highlighting on it, Argia did have to acknowledge that there seemed to be an up-and-down pattern to the duo's interactions ever since she first crossed paths with Vaz. But perhaps she was thinking a bit naively. Or maybe narrowly? Isolated-ly? What was the word she wanted? Her voice lowered slightly, as if concerned for being overheard. "Troubles in their relationship lately, perhaps? Couples have hardships, regardless of mortal or immortal I've noticed...." Realizing she was edging into personal matters she had no grounds to be involved in, she quickly shook her head and waved the thoughts away. "No, I'm sorry. That's not my business. I'm certain they'll be able to sort themselves out, no matter the end result." 

 

She followed Xaal with her gaze, watching as the angel peered through shop windows or leaned into open doorways in search of their companions. Taking her cue, Argia went ahead to the next shop and glanced in through the window, momentarily scanning the scattered tables for two familiar faces. Based on the meals being served, it seemed like a nicer restaurant. “In spite of the time we’ve so far spent in each other’s company, I don’t believe we’ve had much in way of idle conversation,” she mused out loud before glancing in Xaal’s direction again. “Have you been a Guardian for your entire existence? Was there ever a time you entertained the idea of other paths?” A momentary pause. Then, “And…what about you, Lux?”

 

Jorath

 

"A friend," Jorath replied, voice still gentle even as he quickly jerked his hand out of the way of the Fallen's staff. "Name's Jorath." Vaz was approaching, their replies to the panicked immortal drifting through the hastily emptied cafe. All that remained was an unconscious human who had the misfortune of being pinned beneath one of the broken support beams. Jorath darted his gaze over to the prone figure for the third time, still satisfied by the shift of their clothing as they breathed. Best to leave them unconscious until the new Fallen was dealt with to avoid any further complications. 

 

He watched as Vaz circled and inspected the girl, his senses still turned to her as she seemed to fumble while keeping track of everyone's movements. He frowned, gaze drifting to her face and--more pointedly--her eyes. Something about her eyes. It took longer than he liked but, eventually, he started to understand. His hackles bristled, fingers starting to curl into his palms as his eyebrows knit closer together in the start of a scowl. Weight grew at his temples. At the touch of Vaz's wing, Jorath shared their brief glances and eased the tension in his arms. Air rushed outward through his nose as he forced his hackles--and all of his sharpened nerves--to lay back once more. "What, exactly, can you see?" he asked, reaching an arm out again. "Describe it to me..." Fingers unfurled, exposing the old coin that had been clutched within. With a quick flick of his wrist, he flipped the coin in between his fingers before rolling it across his knuckles until it rested upon the back of his thumb. Tossing it into the air with a flick, he kept his gaze focused upon the young angel. 

 

Above his head, the coin struck the ceiling light that still hung, sparking against the metal rim. The lightbulb flickered weakly before dying completely. As for the coin, it plummeted back to Jorath's waiting hand. Angling his hand, he caught the coin on the tip of his index finger, the coin spinning without a wobble. It spun as he listened to her words, dark blue eyes unblinking even as his vision seemed to blur at the edges. For a moment, it seemed as if his vision dulled, the color of his irises seemed to lighten by a shade or two. But, when the angel finished her description and Jorath finally blinked, his eyes were as they always had been. 

 

He staggard slightly as he took a step forward. His throat had gone completely dry. Raspy, his voice still managed to maintain an audible level as words left his tongue. "What's your name, kotkosin?" Despite his stumbling steps, as he neared the young Fallen, the coin still spun upon his fingertip. He was crouching before her now, hand still extended like an odd peace offering. The moment the angel's name left her mouth, the coin stopped abruptly and toppled into Jorath's palm. Carefully, he brought his other hand up, delicately grasping at Sabaki's wrist to guide her hand upward. In the next motion, he pressed the coin into her palm. "Don't lose that." He quirked a crooked smile at her. "I'll need it back eventually."

 

Rising to his full height, he stepped back, no longer stumbling. The back of his neck was starting to prickle, coaxing him to look towards the human again. Who was now staring at the trio in the center of the cafe. Jorath frowned as he strode forward, earning a panicked expression from the mortal. Silently, Jorath crouched down and stared at the human for a heartbeat before turning his gaze to the broken beams pinning the man down. 

 

Hunger pinged deep within.

 

A grimace flickered across his face before Jorath could prevent the expression from entering his features. Turning to the man again, he sighed. “I’ll help you out, but you need to keep quiet about today. Fair?”

 

“Y-You’re a demon….” Accusatory. 

 

“Was it the horns?” Jorath inquired, words tinted with dry sarcasm as he gestured at his temple. He felt his skin itch as the bony protrusions retreated from sight a moment after. Standing once more, he reached for the beams, claws forming to puncture the thick wood. With a grunt, he tossed them aside, a cacophony of noise clattering through the ruined cafe as a result. 

 

As the man scurried away, Jorath snatched the back of his collar and jerked him backwards. “You didn’t answer my question… You’re free n–”

 

“Ye-Yes! Not a word! It’s fair! It’s fair!” the man squeaked out. The instant Jorath loosened his grip, the man took off.

 

Jorath huffed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What, no thank you?” He dusted his hands off, fingers returned to normal, as he glanced towards Vaz and Sabaki. “Wonder if he’ll ever question why his legs weren’t busted.” Running a hand through his hair, Jorath’s smirk faded. “We need to get going. We’ve already lingered too long and I trust Vaz’s instincts about someone being sent after you. Do you need help out of that crater?”

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