#thread:tba

“Too much of everything, a mishmash of it all,” Hilda mused, “doesn’t that become a sort of nothing when seen from afar? Nothing in particular, I mean?”

The teen pulled her legs close to her chest, glancing down at the pixie perched beside her. Thanks to the plant she was resting upon, Aura was at eye level with her. It made conversation much easier.

“… It’s not all love, anyways. There’s hate and malice and anger and confusion, and all kinds of other shit too. You wouldn’t have ever been caught in that bottle by that horrible man otherwise, huh?”

Good thing she’d been along to fucking clock him and teach him a lesson and bust her out.

“Hmm”, the pixie audibly mulled over the wise words spoken by Hilda and with a tilted head, all wrapped up in thought, she came to a conclusion: “It’s not all love, yes.” She finally nodded in agreement and even her leaf seat bopped up and down in accordance.

“And even love can cut like a knife”, she furrowed her brows, “But that man. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t anger. Maybe not even malice. He was... he was...”, she stood up to allow for a little pacing on her leaf to help those thinking gears get moving. Then she stopped, and waving her index finger about portentously she announced: “Stupid.”

“Oh, look: the Incorruptible One comes out to play. Bother not with succumbing to your flight instinct. It won’t lead to anything and I am under the impression we need to talk. Would you have the kindness to join me on a stroll; through the park perhaps?”, Berith managed to sound exactly the way he dressed: sophisticated, trustworthy, British - and as such he was overflowing with politeness. A Victorian gentleman in modern day London, not any more out of place than a fallen angel in the mortal realm or a giant by the size of a mere human. A tall human, granted, but that was the charm, wasn’t it?

“Hey, I jest came out of a group session arright. Gotta pass on th'misery. Et loves company after all.” The answer to the second question had him laugh out loud, barking up at the sky. “Aw shit, ye’re gonna hate my wardrobe!” Cam chuckled.

“Uh-huh” Group session. Euphemism for stick-up-their-arses pricks trying to talk the individuality out of others. Or whatever. Liam licked the the fag paper edge of the smoke he’s just been preparing for himself. “How about ye name somming you like about yerself then”, the Manc suggested, before he lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. All the bloody therapy he currently needed.

He feels like a daft boy, living the Teenage Wildlife all over again. Knows nothing, wants everything, dares too much and fucks up big time. Of course summoning demons should technically remain a practice of the past when you’re on your redemption trip. Let alone a ritual that involves a blood sacrifice.

One. Two. Three droplets of blood fall into the bowl and when Liam clenches his hand into a fist, making the cut in his palm sting like hell, he manages to add a trickle more. This was bad. So bad. If only he could stop thinking about how bad.

With his bleeding hand he reaches for the matches beside him, lights a single one and throws it into the bowl surrounded by burning candles. A darting flame is not what he’s expecting when he sets the ingredients in the bowl ablaze, and hence he instinctively ducks away, before he remembers he’s not quite done yet.

"Et ad congregandom”, his voice seemed much darker, much graver reciting the Latin incantation, “Eos coram me.”

Starters | Heroes & Villains

Metallic is the taste on his tongue, and one can’t help to wonder if it is because of the blood staining his teeth, or the acrid broil of bitterness and insecurity in his chest.

      Those were words he himself has entertained far too often, and far too long.

“Hate to… break it to you, Starshine… but the world can’t spin without information.”

It’s a cold comfort, really. Frigid in the face of someone familiar, and yet so entirely unrecognisable. Gabriel doesn’t believe this was anyone he’s ever met before, he can’t.

So he hides in the knowledge of ‘he’s been around since the world was born’, and denies to himself and his own Grace that the one who is HURTING him could have once been anyone precious.

         He’s good at hiding.

“What about you, hm? Acting rentboy… to the sick desires of mankind? Quite a-uh, twisted way to stay relevant, if you ask me~.”

               So he’ll do it until he hides from himself.

The Ba’al kept his glance fixed on the angel, giving the impression he was indeed waiting for more to come. The fact he eventually averted his gaze in an all too disgusted manner though painted the Fallen’s whole act a more derogative shade. 

Lowest expectations unmet. 

Of course. What else?

Beside his play of facial expression Berith at last deigned to give a reply in his ever so honeyed deep voice. Sweet and soothing, yet never enough to belie the poison in meaning:

“Information, but no shred of intelligence to use it. Of course you’d confuse prostitution with bargaining.”

He tsked at the mental image his words invoked and leaned onto his walking cane, towering over Gabriel. “I’d call you a disgrace if there was anything left for you to defile. Degradation has taken hold, hasn’t it?” And was it devotion or habit or plain stupidity which kept his former brothers from meeting the same fate as he did?! He wondered.

First, he was going to bitch at Liam. But no. Then, he thought about making a joke of it, but he couldn’t think of one.

In the end, Cam shrugged and fumbled. “I dunno how tae stop feelin’ th'things that scare me.”

Death has opened a door that he did not want to open, and he slowly closes it before looking at Liam. Yᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ…I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴡᴇ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ…ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴀᴛs ʏᴏᴜ.