#handgiven

august, bright eyes and thoughtful silence, catches a glimpse through unclosed window. petrichor hits his nose: clay-and-grass. earth like sugar.

the mild rain has stopped. (in its drizzling wake, a rainbow arches the horizon.)

★・・・・・tilting a wine goblet against his lips, the priest drinks a mouthful of the Blood of Christ until he nearly chokes on it. This is his second glass, taken directly from the barrels of sacred fermentation. The night has been slow for Father. So slow that it nearly drives him mad. The rain drumming on the roof of his church is the only company he keeps as he lounges back in an uncomfortable chair, resting his legs atop the edge of the wooden table, crossed at the ankles. Between the necessary sermons and holiday masses, Lestat spends his evening hoping that God averts his gaze. Recently, he procured a work most sinful: a textbook on soliloquies, and has been composing his own in the dead of night, away from his Guardian Angel. The empty goblet is slammed on the table, and Lestat rises, wobbling a little as he makes his way toward the private chambers of his bedroom, located on the second floor. Before he reaches the stairs, however, a knock haunts his eardrums. Turning to the front door, Lestat stares in confusion and distant horror. But duty calls! Reluctantly, he approaches, announces himself, and opens the door.

"Good evening, have you come seeking shelter from the rain, my child-"

junseo doesn't like the cold. even now, bundled up in some designer coat, with a matching scarf and glove set courtesy of minchul and jihoon, the cold reminds him of being homeless. reminds him of nights spent shivering because he couldn't come up with the money for a place to stay, or seduce someone into taking him for the night. the cold had bitten even harder whenever he thought about the fact he could probably go home any time he wanted, and his father likely wouldn't have even noticed his absence. even now, with adoptive fathers who make sure he's dressed for the weather and wrap him in more layers than he needs, he still feels the icy chill in his bones. which is why he can only stare in confusion at the man blowing little puffs of steam into the air and watching them float away like a child...

Em @handgiven: Well— you know, even raindrops are formed around specks of dust-

Sarah:

@handgiven

the angel can feel a slight change in the air as soon as it happens. he doesn't have time to ponder it for too long, however, as there comes a sharp knock at the door. most of emmanuel's friends know to just come in -- or knock and then come in, optimally, considering that more often than not, the door knows to open to those that have been here previously. having been repotting plants, he heads to the kitchen to wash his hands, while calling out ever so gently: "just a moment!"

he's wiping his hands upon his trousers still as he reaches the door and opens it, to see a nightmare wearing a cheshire grin. the corinthian's hey is almost like a threat, but emmanuel supposes once again, that he simply doesn't know any better and so, out of habit, he leans against the doorframe, staring up at the other here, this once enjoying the fact that the other is not surrounded by the pervasive stench of blood.

"well. hello there. how did you... what brings you in these parts?" he can't help wondering about the safety of his neighbours. it was one thing to go in the other's trail and save the fragmented souls he leaves behind, it's a whole other thing to serve him his own neighbour upon the silver platter just because he got the other's attention.

Enamel flashes with ill intent. A smile laced with the promise of unfathomable horror. Covered over nicely with a thin veil of charismatic charm. He can hear the confusion in the Angel's voice. The need for answers. The concern laced in the small intricacies of his tone.

The Corinthian is sure that out of any that could arrive at their door, the Nightmare is probably the lowest on the Angel's list of desired visitors.

The monster leans a shoulder against the same doorframe Emmanuel rests upon. Shortening the space between them.

"You've been avoiding me, Angel." The Nightmare notes in a low, amused tone. Blond locks tilting as obscured maws study the others face for any hint of emotion. Any ounce of fear or uncertainty flashing across his features.

"So about the book of Revelations thing: how much of it is actually going to come to pass? Do you know?"

@handgiven in response to broken hearts

                                CASTIEL FEELS HIMSELF GROW IMPATIENT because it doesn't seem like Emmanuel understood him, or maybe he did, and Castiel is just unable to see it. "Not — earth," he explains. "Did someone ever actively break your heart; an angel, a human, or—" He stops short because he didn't expect the question to come back and bite him in his own ass, as the saying goes, but here it is, lingering in the space between them.