#overeternity

"Lucifer—hahaha. Is this it? This is how you finally show your face? Not because of any of my attempts to draw you out - but because you were forced to." he doesn't even know where in the skies this island is, but his tone drifts in a way that it hasn't in a long time. he doesn't scramble to his feet, he doesn't attempt to adjust himself, no; he shows little respect, if any.

he may feel like he's been spun around, like the world was tipped out from underneath him before he'd been able to gather himself wholly, but it doesn't make him any happier that lucifer seems to be in the same boat as he is.

     “Oh my, if we keep meeting like this, I might think you’re spying on me.  Or even worse, following me around until it gets chaotic enough to take advantage of the situation, how scary.”

He then promptly approaches a familiar individual, one who frequents the cafe more often than most—Noctis even recalled serving him a few times. “What can I get you today...?” Despite having worked here for months now, he still sounded rather awkward.

Gingerly Kirschtaria reaches above and catches the tea tray caught in a random planet’s orbit: two cups perfectly balanced, steaming and ready. To the other aside him he offers: “Tea, or coffee?”

         this city was certainly unique. 

          not at all what he had expected to wake up to, not when oz was supposed to have returned to the cycle of rebirth. and yet, here he was and here he would remain until he could figure out how exactly he was supposed to reunite with alice. that said, even if he was without most of his power as a chain, the inhabitants of this city were not without outstanding abilities of their own. he had thought that he could accept such a thing with ease, always remain the picture of relaxed composure, but oz was still a child at heart - and seeing a gentleman quite literally fly down from the heavens rattled him quite a bit ( obvious to anyone from the way he jumped in the air ). 

            Until today, that is. When everyone’s coming from different worlds, it’d be best to take note of the ones who came from your own. Familiarity, and all that.

            Even then, maybe familiarity wasn’t the right word for it. Rude it may be, the sovereign couldn’t help but to scrutinize and stare. “You seem a bit different, somehow.” The features were the same, certainly, but the demeanor… “I thought you’d be more…dramatic.”

Yggdrasil bows with pruning shears in hand, idly chiming an aimless tune, falling into a working rhythm as she pruned away the twigs that would never bear fruit. Unheeding of the time, she works through the night and when the sunlight spills onto her back, she begins her next task: moving every single potted tree into partial shade. Tireless, she arranges them in a neat matrix. Those south-east windows were incidentally inconvenient. She looks through the glass.

A terribly familiar archangel stood just beyond, wings not in sight, but divinity plain to her eyes.

The former supreme primarch had cultivated coffee trees once. It made some sense that her deluded mind would manifest his shade at this moment. But why? Yggdrasil had already grieved. Completed her parse of what remaining memories between them against her own mental protests. Was the sleeping splinter of herself trying to tell her something she’d missed? Yet he looks so alive… even all the shadows of his face and figure against the cobblestone were true. She slides open the window and chimes, testing,

… Supreme primarch?

' sandalphon. '

and he feels a rush of heat. unlike physical waves, more internal within the center of his core, as if the softness of these syllables continued to awaken the life within him. he hopes he'll have time to get used to hearing his name in this sound. he's never heard it better any other way.

he breaks his eyes away from the primal to the gentle source @overeternity​. why did sandalphon always need confirmation that lucifer was truly there with him?

"Lucifer-sama!" he's not panicked, but he is concerned. his wings are formed, but how much of lucifer's strength remained with him? would he be able to defend himself? it doesn't matter. it doesn't—

he'll protect him this time.

and he almost slips with words that would sting, not directed at lucifer, but over seeing these beasts again. he doesn't want to be spiteful, bitter, clenching so tightly onto his own anger that he ends up lashing out at other people. not anymore. but even so, the feeling still lingers.

despite this, his own voice returns in kind once more,