Creations of Gods [Ashjaygrass x Synthetic Seraph]

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by ashjaygrass, Sep 2, 2013.

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  1. Human time on Earth sure was different than it used to be. The years passed by quickly and the humans aged just as fast along with it. Their lives, although growing longer, were still short, so short, and suddenly Abraham could understand why Satan's army was so much larger than the Lord's. There was just too much sin for a creature with such a short longevity to possibly answer life's question correctly, especially considering the mental capacity. They were getting smarter, but the process was slow and inefficient. Many of their own species purposefully sabotaged acceleration plans and destroyed or severely delayed progress in general. It was interesting how self-destructive and self-loathing this chosen species of God was. They were in many respects insignificant and unimportant though for some reason God never saw it that way. Never. Not even now, in what is considered on Earth the 1800s in England.

    England. A place of sharp income disparity, great suffering, starvation, and filth. There were noble plays and performances, fancy and, for the first time in a long time, well chosen fashion, but that was about it on the positives of the era. Abraham, an angel of the Christian God, had slipped away from Heaven permanently to be in control of himself, his misery having given him the strength to finally turn his back to God. He had been living among the humans at various locations on Earth for a couple hundred years now. He had seen progressions, more regressions, beautiful artwork and despicable battles. All in all though he had marshaled an even stronger disdain for humanity, though his loathing for God kept him trapped on Earth.

    He had travelled to England on a rouge, vague feeling. It had been a long time since he had experienced such emotions - a 'gut feeling' as they're commonly referred to. It pulled him towards the damp country and deep into London's roots, right in the centre of a wide and varied cultural exchange among many different people. Most were poor, sorry creatures barely surviving. Everyone except the nobles were covered in layers of dirt and filth-caked rags. Abraham absolutely hated being there, but the longer he stayed, the more he wandered within the city, the stronger and clearer the feeling became. It was still hazy and somewhat far away, but he began to feel more at ease in the city, even if he was normally stared at thanks to his appearance, height, and consistent wearing of clean and fashionable clothes, normally higher-buckled black boots, black slacks that rose past his midriff, a black belt, and black suit jacket, complete with wrist cuffs, rings, necklaces, and a ruffled undershirt, a light grey in colour. The whole outfit accented his long, straight, dark brown hair that flowed to his mid back, often whisking behind him in the breeze. His look, so immaculate, made many of the citizens uncomfortable, and many of the nobles hateful, envious, or completely won over. Many noble women had tried to garner his attention (and some of the men), but Abraham knew, could just tell somehow, that they were not what his feeling had brought him into the disgusting city for. No, there was still something else and he'd just have to put up with all the others until then. Even if it was trying on his nerves.

    Today Abraham was passing through a different section of London, one quite far from his flat that he tricked his landlord to believe he was paying each week, and a little different. It was less filthy and a little more picked up. Houses didn't line the streets but instead little shoppes, most pertaining to entertainment or goods relating to recreational activities. There was a bookstore devoted entirely to Shakespeare, a dress and robe shoppe, one that sold herbs and tea, and one that was definitely a mixture of several directions that sent a sharp 'feeling' into Abraham and suddenly he just knew. Stopping suddenly but only for a moment the angel collected himself and moved forward determinedly. He wasn't sure what to find inside the shoppe or what it was he was even looking for, but the feeling had been unmistakable and it just felt so right to approach the store, which was closed, much to Abraham's disappointment. But as soon as he had gotten close enough to realise it wasn't open, the feeling within him vanished and he was left feeling just as lost as before. This store wasn't the thing he was looking for, but it was related, somehow. The angel didn't have the slightest idea as to how, but could only close his eyes and give his head a slight shake before moving on, slightly fouled with how it went. Was God or Satan influencing him, perhaps? It was somewhat of a crazy idea but he could definitely see evidence of them both in humans, rather frequently too. It wouldn't be completely surprising but yet... Abraham just couldn't bring himself to quite believe the whole hypothesis. His mind, body, and soul was just playing a grand trick on him. It had seemed that way ever since Raphael left.

    Perhaps it would always be like this.
  2. As a chimera between bird and human, the "angel" had literally been made to be the lifelong mate to one man, imbued with a sprinkle of imprinting at inception - love at first sight, guaranteed and alchemically crafted. The lover could still remember those first tentative weeks getting acclimated to one another, bashful at the subject of romance and bed. Then dawning adoration and a decade living under an umbrella of privacy, only setting foot or feathered wing outside the shared demesne to meet others privy to their secret society like the alchemist and the other custom pairings. Then a decade stepping out at his mate's side, employing the human's historical research and costume replicas as excuse for his wings, heart pulsing in his throat at his first try in open disguise. And in the end, during the final wasting illness, going out on his own: all the meals, all the errands, all the medicines. All final arrangements.

    And beyond the grieving time, there was just him. Despite the home and endowment that enabled his mate to live the unproductive scholarly life, the angel was able to secure a mere parting sum to establish himself in a flat after pleading his case with calm dignity to the bank's solicitors, having felt he'd built up enough reputation as the human's "assistant" or such to justify that. He'd also seized the research and personal belongings, and spun what he'd learned about foreign facts and legends into his own contribution to theater - earning a modest living writing scripts, designing sets and tailoring costumes. And always in wide-sleeved Japanese yukata of varying colors, being exotic in total rather than embracing mundane garb and drawing all attention to the wings. Being Oriental neutralized so many mysteries like his timeless face and any odd ways, and writers and theater folk were expected a certain amount of quirk due to always stretching their minds around invisible things and imaginary people, no?

    In secret as to his supernatural origin, in secret as homosexual, and in secret as to his cover among human race - seen as Oriental by native English, seen as a mongrel of no particular nationality by pure-blooded Easterners who passed through while sailing or settled here for trade. This angel contented himself with his circle of pleasant acquaintances.

    The angel had long since given up trying to pass a more stylish Japanese moniker after a month of hearing the strange syllables rattle like pebbles and sand in English mouths. "Tsubasa Tomoyuu" would have meant "wing" for a first name and "wisdom, intellect, gentleness" as a bastardized surname since he couldn't see taking his mate's. "Crane" as a nickname for his grace and born species became "Mr. Crane," a common enough English surname, and "Tomoyuu" became "Tom" fluidly enough as the only syllable the speakers could adeptly latch onto. Tom Crane for the white, Japanese and other-Eastern bishoun of diminutive height and trim physique, with slim symmetrical face, ponytailed hair growing split white on the crown and black around the ears and nape of the neck, an air of otherworldly patience, Oriental robes and a construction of feathers that could have meant a fortune on ladies' hats? Well, the angel wouldn't be the first "immigrant" re-dubbed something simplified by the locals.

    Two decades with his love, one decade solitary, and wondering about his age. And now such a fixture as "the winged man of ____ Street" that for a newcomer from the outer burgs to exclaim about him was a mark of their ignorance rather than Mr. Crane's own peculiarity. Without a childhood due to being created adult, in one sense Crane considered himself the same age as his deceased mate would have been, having seen enough of life to be treading into infirmity. He bore no melancholy or a wish to leave this world, exactly. Just the taste in the atmosphere that if life were a banquet, he had already supped contentedly from both the savory and the bitter, and he had no wish to act the glutton by bloating himself with dessert. Thank you.

    But in the meantime the sunlight shone through the sooty air, children of the well-to-do gamboled happily, and a certain publisher who Crane had been politely submitting a proposal for a book of new nursery stories had just crossed the hybrid's path. With a quickening of his steps rather than raise of his voice, Crane caught up and sought to entice a favorable opinion as the first volley of negotiation.
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  3. Abraham, still heavily lost in his own thoughts and reminiscing, paid no attention to the mingling passerbys, even forgiving the occasional bump. The shoppe road was now much busier, the timing ripe for recreational shopping. His eyes still locked on the store in front of him but his mind not registering, the angel would have remained motionless for many moments more had it not been for the resurfacing emotion in the core of his being, that familiar and recently experienced feeling...

    Calm on his exterior, Abraham looked slowly around, his facial muscles motionless as his body was shooting off inwardly. His eyes, now alert and watching instead of only looking, scanned the flocks of people as they passed by, his dark brown eyes narrowing in on a man, Asian in descent at some point, rushing to another man dressed in a brown suit, his back to the Asian man. It was the Asian man, clearly mixed with European heritage which is what Abraham best resembled, who had caught the angel's eye and caused a surge of the overwhelming emotion. The urge that he was hugely important burning in Abraham's mind, Abraham fought internally with himself on whether or not to pursue. After a short moment of reflection of which the angel continued to watch the man who captivated him for some reason, deciding that he could tag along at least and keep tabs on the man. Maybe his purpose at this stage in the angel's life would become apparent soon. Perhaps he would not have to follow along for too long a time.

    He walked briskly over in long strides, making his way behind the Asian man, who was now almost at the brown suited man. No words had been exchanged yet so the angel fell back into the background, resuming a respectful distance. Perhaps this was a conversation he needed to hear. He had nothing better to do with his time at least, and given that intolerable feeling...
  4. As Crane negotiated...

    "A mother or nurse telling stories out loud, the ones everybody already knows, is free. You tell me why somebody would pay money for yours."

    Crane's body stilled with the rebuke that he had overstepped his place. No, the publisher waited rather than turned down the street, therefore the artificial being intuited this was merely a challenge to counter the objections with a sure-footed plan. With a self-assertion he hadn't possessed in his first year nor his tenth, he answered, "But in print rather than aloud, this would help the young ones learn to read instead of tutoring on the adults' fully complex material. A companion to the primaries, large lettering, perhaps even illuminations." A certain amount of grandstanding was permissible, even expected. Far from offending, he'd learned that in the culture it was The Way Things Are Done. "The volume could even become a fashionable gift."

    "Anything could become fashionable. Hah. Or go the other route. Instead of a bound volume, pamphlets of a single story each. Can you do dreadfuls, make your nursery tales more like Blackbeard chopping up his wives into charnel, all bloody hands and hearts in a kettle until the last wife solves the mystery, that sort of thing?"

    Crane blinked. "Even if the diligent and kindhearted still win the day, is it healthy to dwell on that much nastiness? I will consider it," he demurred softly, the politest way of saying not unless he had to.

    "Tell you what. I'll do you a first run of this or your next play to sell after opening night. You just finance the first printing and we'll see how that batch goes."

    Crane saw. He would not be a paid contributor but a paying customer, an enterpriser. He couldn't blame this publisher for drumming up a new source of income from as unlikely a source as a playwright. Lenders would be dubious about securing a loan by hype of mouth rather than collateral, but the notion may open further possibilities in his mind the way the stories themselves had branched out from scripts and costumes had led to set design. "That would be something. I'll keep that in mind."

    Soon they parted, and the angel pondered. Humans could be simple and straightforward and then again so complex. It was not enough for a meat pie vendor to perfect her craft, she must also harry competitors off her corner and strike up an accord with her neighborhood to entice their business. It's not about the flowers a flower girl carries but her dress, pretty face and smile.

    As the angel promenaded in no particular hurry his gaze lingered over every face and met every eye, admiring the people as fellow living things if only for an instant before they blustered on. It was not as if he saw everything including malnutrition sores as beautiful exactly. More that as Japanese paintings depicted nature as right and just without needing to glorify or prettify it, Crane looked benevolently on the pious or pompous, songworthy or simpleton, attractive or imperfect. Down to the last frightful bird's nest beard, that was everything a bird's nest beard should be.

    With no sixth sense of recognition or other ethereal qualities besides than being able to lift his 5'2" weight in flight and never feeling the fugue of illness, the smooth-skinned Londoner passed towards the genuine Heaven's angel with the same transitory and undifferentiated agape.
    • Love Love x 1
  5. Although well out of normal range of human earshot, Abraham the angel could hear the words exchanged between his interest and the man in a brown suit quite easily, noting now that he was closer that the man was adorned in gold and wore a thick, heavy watch at his breast, sitting softly against a white handkerchief kept in the man's breast pocket. He had glimmering rings on his fingers and when he spoke, the words and his voice itself dull and uninteresting, his hands waved lavishly, making a big to-do about absolutely nothing. He was shooting the angel's interest down, obviously declining a deal, a book deal no less. Odd, Abraham thought, his eyes narrowing slightly. An... artist? Of all things? Abraham himself never had a strong taking to most art forms choosing instead to remain in the more concrete, functional, practical world but also just found it flat out strange that he was so curiously drawn to a being that did art of all things. Such a dramatic difference from Raphael, his beloved and now slowly forgotten Raphael... Ah, one day.

    Turning his attention to the matter at hand, the angel with long, dark brown hair waited in position for the conversation between the Asian and the falsely elaborately dressed men to commence, somehow knowing that his interest would be making his way down Abraham's direction, the angel noting in particular that the man met everyone's eyes but with purpose. Odd. What had also been odd was the man's unwillingness to be more risque as far as gore went. Abraham was surely among the audience for it.

    His interest, however, didn't seem to have the same mystical way for Abraham that Abraham did for him. It puzzled the angel momentarily but as the man walked on by unperturbed Abraham simply turned on heel and quickly followed, taking long strides with his lengthy legs, his stature at well over six foot. Hands clasped behind his back, he kept pace with the man for a short moment before stepping slightly forward and keeping the pace that way, half turning his head to look over and down at the man shuffling contentedly beside him, apparently unaware of a deeply forged connection. Feeling suddenly and awkwardly unsure for the first time he could remember, Abraham stumbled for words mentally before finally opening his mouth to try and speak, his words coming out smooth and even as always. "I overheard you speaking to the publisher. Mind if we go out for a coffee?" He left the invitation open enough, knowing he'd have to choose a more forceful resolution if the man did not agree, or could not. Whatever he had to do... Surely it could wait, wait until Abraham understood. That's all he needed, really. Never again would he need someone else again, like he had so desperately Raphael. This time, in this century, he would truly live and up to his potential. And this man might be the key to having all of it happen.
  6. The costumed man known as Tom Crane turned and recognized the tall stranger he'd glimpsed in passing a short span of time ago. Since heights were scant compared to those of the better-fed twentieth and twenty-first century, Crane found this man remarkable in the crowd but then again the half-Asian made most anglos come across as gangly and himself a confident little monk in comparison.

    He had no pressing demands on his time now that the latest script was delivered, rehearsed and in full swing of presentations this month, though of course he'd always have to generate and gear up for the next release. Considerately, without even thinking about it, he turned slightly so that the pedestrians had an easier time of parting past the speaking pair like a stream flowing around smooth stones prominent in the bed. His voice held the same soft-spoken tranquility as that timeless trickle, but his tongue caught before he introduced himself and inquired whether his new acquaintance had spoken out because of business interests, love of lore, or some other serendipity. But the same vantage that held him at arm's length from the world told him this stranger had placed the invitation before withheld introductions for a reason. "That would be most welcome." He closed those dark upturned eyes with a head dip before righting and gazing upwards again. "Since you go to the trouble of asking me to sit down at leisure, may you consider it a courtesy if I let you hold the introductions until you are ready to express yourself at length?"
  7. Despite the man's quite eccentric and perhaps even outlandish attire, the person himself was pleasant and respectful. Abraham did notice the man's subtle turn of his body for the passing people about their business. Abraham wasn't as kind and remained in his same position, his brown eyes trained on the shorter man with Asian heritage. "That would be most welcome." The other man said, Abraham giving a curt nod in comprehension. This man was well spoken, like Raphael, and seemed to have a pleasuring set of manners, unlike Raphael, the man proving Abraham's hunch with a bow of his head in greeting. Abraham remained silent and motionless in response, waiting for more from the peculiar man who did then speak, a longer, more lavished sentence than before. The dark haired angel could only nod in affirmation, turning then on his heel and making his way in long strides to a less popular cafe on the street. It was a short walk that Abraham came first in, his eyes sweeping over the rather poorly decorated cafe, the walls mostly bare wood and stone - a coffee spot Abraham could take a liking to for once.

    Speaking to the person who aroused such strange, forceful feelings without checking to see if he had caught up or not, Abraham asked the man if the cafe would be suitable. Prepared to wait a moment for the response, the angel took to peering through the dusty glass, noting that there were only a small handful of patrons inside. Perhaps at long last he really did find his coffee spot here on Earth.

    "Order whatever you want," he instructed to the Asian man he still wasn't sure was there and pushed the wooden door open before him, the yielding door revealing a smoky atmosphere with little talk or chatter. Someone in the back was playing the flute softly. A nice addition. Abraham calmly walked further in, sitting down at a shoddy booth and waiting with a pit in his stomach for his company to follow suit.
    #7 ashjaygrass, Sep 20, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 25, 2013
  8. On the street, Abraham made easy work of parting through the other pedestrians, and despite Crane having to almost double his steps, barely noticeable in his navy yukata, he found it a tranquil compensation to sail along free of jostling in the larger man's wake.
    At the cafe window, he assented that the chosen place was to his liking, for in fact anything short of a raucous pub in full nerves-jangling swing would have suited him, and the entire invitation and outing with someone with whom he hadn't yet built up a rapport through the neighborhood was something of an unusual treat. Crane entered behind his benefactor and found the lack of adornments simple and tidy, and the surroundings private and clean save for the dusty outer facade and the smoke. And that flutist greeted his ear like cool fruit juice on a hot day; he'd have to leave a tip at the end of the meeting and partake of a few lines of melody during pauses in the conversation.

    He refrained from wincing at the choice of booth rather than table with chairs the winged man could turn sideways and backless. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Crane perched sidesaddle across from his host at the near end of the booth, turning toward him as best he could but the oversize white and black bird wings must protrude below Crane's seat into the aisle like stiff coattails without bending those large pinions. "If you are sure it is not too much trouble," he smiled slightly and dipped his head again, referring to the offer to enjoy any selection as a way of giving his host one last chance to clarify or admit that spending money wasn't what he wished they were.

    A moment later when their server shuffled over, a frayed woman as lean as the furnishings with sable hairbun greying, Crane heard the offerings described, selected a coffee blend from the Americas with the luxury of milk instead of better-stored sugar, and remarked how incredible it was to sample a bean beverage from as far away as almost another world. At the server's recommendation he added a trio of chocolate-laced cookies called cocoa biscuits, with a double-check glance that he wasn't being pushy with the purse strings. "They say these drinks add to one's vigor. If you are in need of extra, it doesn't show," he commented lightly to Abraham after completing his own order and before the server turned expectantly to him as well. Lacking vigor? Quite the opposite, though Crane wouldn't remark on Abraham's size and fitness like other rabble must surely do, and though the considerate one hadn't picked up the depth's of the Heaven's angel's jitters, Crane had in fact perceived a certain restlessness in spirit in the manner of hurrying from point to point.
  9. As he had expected, Abraham's stranger guest had been dutifully following and arrived at the booth shortly after, the angel noticing for the first time that the man actually had birds wings. My intellect missed that on purpose, he thought with heaving disdain, his hand forming a fist against the table. The pair of feathered wings made the other look quite angelic in his own right, even if he was quite short in stature and not completely Anglo. With a sharp sink in feeling Abraham's mind was already piecing together the different slivers of information and hunches. He would, of course, have been such oddly, powerfully drawn to such a man then since he at least resembled the common form of angels, a sight Abraham never witnessed anymore. Somewhere in the forefront of his mind he realised he was too quiet and staring, turning his head up to look at the man who was now across from him, his face as blank as before. "Table next time," he commented, not elaborating why a table next time, or why not now. The long haired man didn't explain himself though, only waving dismissively with one hand when his guest asked if he was sure it was not too much trouble, referring to financial expenses. "I wouldn't have offered anything otherwise," he simply stated, his usual vocal form of being short and direct as prevalent as always, keeping his sentences curt and not saying more than absolutely necessary.

    A thin waitress with greying hair soon came over to the pair, not giving them much time alone to talk before having something warm to sip during. Abraham's company ordered about what Abraham would have guessed him to: a creamy coffee with some sweet, chocolate decorated additions. Abraham himself took a straight espresso brew without any sugar or cream with only two shortbread biscuits for consumption. The older server nodded kindly before departing, their orders scribbled down in a flowing cursive of abbreviations visible briefly before she tore the top sheet off, making her way back towards the kitchen of the cafe. Once she was gone, Abraham took a quick look around to secure their privacy and then began speaking, his voice the same unwavering tone but only deeper this time, said almost in a whisper.

    "There's a force drawing me to you," he stated simply, not waiting for the other to react. "I don't know why, this has never happened before. But I think there's something about you that I need, something for me." He paused then, his eyes flickering up to make sure the ceilings and walls were clear of ears for the time being. "I think it might have to do with your wings. How did you get them?" Abraham was remarkably blunt as well as completely tactless and unable to read social clues, not that he would have enough empathy to follow them anyway. Their server was already walking back towards them again, Abraham could see from across the cafe. She was carrying a silver tray with two large, steaming mugs on it and shadows the angel knew to be biscuits. He turned his attention back to the other, his eyes locked on the other man's, waiting for the answer that he felt would be a complete life turn for him.
  10. "A force drawing me to you." "Something about you that I need, something for me."
    Bedlam candidate.
    That's the pitiful thought that ran through the transformed one's mind. A random fixation, perhaps the vine that would bear the sordid fruit of abduction. One of Crane's own kin, no relation per se but created by the same alchemist, fell victim to a depraved captor within one week of life in his winged humanoid body. That one, almost as buff as his host, had killed the villain at no cost to himself, but Crane held no such optimism. It was all too easy to see this speaker's strength of arms closing in around his thin wrists, with pleas of "No, you're hurting me" disregarded.

    Maybe this event would be the fissure that ends Crane's life, for he detected no disrepair in his body or spread of the white in his mane to indicate gradual aging. Japanese mythology says that the way to heaven - simply resting in peace - is to die with no regrets. What loophole, does that mean a murderer qualifies too if he feels no remorse? Dying near natural beauty helps also, in that mythology. In any case, that striking and alluring figure before him would be Crane's last sight in this world if that deranged future played out.

    Crane thanked the server for his coffee and delicacy, lifted the mug with two mannered hands, and blew sedately across the coffee's steaming, rippling surface. He showed no outward sign of fright in his human portion but only a steady gaze absorbing every bit of his host as if they were already bonded by the struggle for life against death. If fighting back would make a difference, he resolved to pluck out the eyes first, such a waste to ruin the disturbed innocent. Otherwise if fate insisted, Crane would fly to safety, even if credible witnesses made returning to his reputable life impossible. Meanwhile his bird wings trembled terribly, betraying his fearful inner workings.

    Time to spin the same yarn he always did and see if it staved off the wing curiosity; that much the half-caucasian could do by rote. "They are the feathers of a rare bird from the Far East. Passed down by my family, they bring good fortune and the fact that I am alive without illness or hungry belly is proof, no? But should I ever remove or break them, the luck ends. Even if that is only superstition as some say, wouldn't it be a shame to take them off and find out they had been helping me all along."

    Crane cautiously took the first creamy bitter sip, eying the unnamed Abraham over the rim of the mug as he did so, expecting that story to be swallowed just like all the other Londoners did with varying degrees of marvel or teasing. But some flicker occurred to him, brought on by the recollection of his equally secretive comrades - what if this stranger were a mate of one of the other alchemy angels, one he hadn't met yet? That would place him as extended family, perhaps desperate to find word of the others and his special beau or belle. He tried, oh he tried to let the intense man know he was fishing in code for a reason to trust him, even with a theatrical lean forward. "Any human being in London would tell you I've believed in the lucky wings for years. Have you ever seen ones like them before?"
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  11. The server arrived while the two sat in silence, placing their piping hot coffees in front of each man respectively and offering each their biscuits. The cups, a light beige, matched the saucers they sat on, the dark coffees held within contrasting and complimenting well. Abraham mimicked his company, using one hand instead though as he sipped his straight black cup of joe. He didn't touch his biscuits yet, watching the man across him across the cup's horizon as he took a long gulp, noticing then that his white wings were trembling awfully. It betrayed the man's otherwise well hidden insecurity and fear, also making Abraham smile as he set his large mug back down onto its matching saucer, his eyes downcast for a moment before they were brought up to look into the man's.

    He had begun speaking then, offering a strange tale to Abraham that seemed a little off to begin with. If such wings existed it was highly likely they'd be savagely sought over, even if they were useless once cut off, much like the goose and her golden eggs. It was a cute story definitely but Abraham, while he thought it a nice try, didn't feel that any of it was close to the truth. Abraham himself had overseen the creation of earth, after all. The type of wings his were fashioned after - assuming they weren't real and organic - were an angel's. Not any sort of bird's despite their appearance. Abraham was about to reply with his honest feelings when the other suddenly leaned forward, asking a question this time with carefully placed emphasis. "Any human being in London would tell you I've believed in the lucky wings for years. Have you ever seen ones like them before?"

    That one sentence successfully stumped Abraham for a moment and knock him off course. His mouth had been parted to begin speaking, but he closed it immediately as he let what he knew must be some sort of message arranged in the words come to him, weaseling out the emphasized meaning. Deciding to not continue the cryptic game however, Abraham righted himself in his booth, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. He looked across at the half-Asian man on the opposite side of their shared table, his coffee swirling with the added milk. "I have seen wings like that before,"Abraham admitted, expecting a reaction upon the remark. "I have a pair." No need to address what was not necessary, Abraham felt. He was still somewhat puzzled by what the man meant exactly, but then again what species exactly the man belonged to was a looming question of its own. After all, he had a lot of the traits more typical angels had, angels who weren't Abraham. He would have gotten along so well, yes. No telling if he was subservient, but Abraham had found out over the years that most people were, at least to God, for whatever asinine reason. Maybe he was one of the Lost?

    Engrossed in his own thoughts, Abraham continued to sip at his black coffee and take small bites out of the shortbread biscuits, occasionally dipping one into the dark, bitter abyss in his mug. People continued to mill about around them, no one in particular seeming to notice or mind them. The cafe was slightly busier now, but with only three other patrons since they had arrived. The atmosphere was still quiet and quaint, give or take. But the atmosphere directly surrounding the angelic pair grew thicker with anticipation, Abraham getting eager to find the source and reasoning for his strange feelings. Right now he was being played with, offering mind games instead of direct communication. Abraham couldn't really blame him though and understood why... that just didn't make any of it any less miserable.
    #11 ashjaygrass, Oct 2, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Oct 5, 2013
  12. Miserable for the artificial one as well, as that unlikely remark "I have a pair." actually tempted the disguised playwright into revealing himself, caution of speaking to a madman or ordinary citizen notwithstanding. Crane recalled the developments at the shoppe of custom pairings advertised under the guise of matchmaker services, how the madame alchemist had needed to enlist other magical aid to disarm her clients' inhibitions... following one disastrous coupling where an insecure man had requested what everyone expected he should want, rather than what he did, and yet another who asked for his heart's surface desire... and got it. Even the ability to confess to male love for some or the desire to be ruled by a fearsome mistress was magical!

    Ah, how do any starcrossed persons meet with neither exposing oneself? Crane supplied the answer in roundabout fashion while demurely looking down and grasping one of his delicacies between pointer and thumb. "That is very interesting and I should like to hear more about yours. Have you also heard the legends about alchemy? Perhaps the fable about transmuting iron to gold? Or the rarer specialty in which certain creatures are combined into others, like chimeras and pegasus? In that fantasy, would the human figure be inviolate from combining with beasts? Otherwise one could meet a fish Mermaid in the Thames River or a serpent Naga on the street. Within the realm of those pagan fairy tales, of course" he concluded dryly, covering himself from heresy as well. The city took one view on quaint customs but another on trespassing against Creation or the creeds of the era.
  13. The other winged man's reaction was not at all what Abraham expected. The man continued on with what the angel suspected were more truthful than the hogwash he had spun before, so at least he was getting somewhere with the poetical individual. "Alchemy?" Abraham repeated, not sure which direction the conversation was going. "I did follow it from its thousands of years ago. I never actually studied it," the angel elaborated, nodding over the different types that the other man described. He had indeed followed it some, but never thoroughly examined it. He understood the basic philosophy but not any true details. What the man went on about specifically was intriguing though and for a moment Abraham could say nothing, simply staring at his black, still coffee. When he was ready, he lifted him head some and looked across, meeting the other man's eyes. "Anything is possible and many are good at hiding their secrets. Most are." Was all he said before taking a good swig of his coffee, eating half a biscuit in one bite after. He swallowed and washed it down. "Among other things, alchemy has tried desperately to mold the human form with another. These attempts have rarely been successful.

    Are you trying to say that yours was?"
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