Dwindling Glory - Passion Rising IC

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Malkuthe Highwind, Nov 13, 2012.

    <div style="float:right;margin-left:8pt;width:25%;height:25%;"><img src=http://i185.photobucket.com/albums/x167/goldendercon/IanKennethWhelan.jpg></div>The aroma of roasted coffee drifted in the air and filled Ian's lungs. He sniffed. There was also the unmistakeable stench of religious zeal. Not too far away from where he stood by the counter, there was a Catholic priest. It was one of the worst ones too, fat, boisterous, wearing priestly garb and jingling with all sorts of jewelry with religious motifs. The odor and the sight was unbearable. He wanted to get in a spat with the rotund bastard, but he had been kicked out and banned from too many establishments around the campus already.

    Just last week, he had been "escorted" out of McDonald's by two men for "speaking out of turn in the presence of a virtuous community leader." If virtue meant being a proselytizing, hypocritical, bigoted bastard, then sure, the man was a saint. Then again, he couldn't blame the company, which had recently lost millions of dollars in a morality lawsuit filed against them by the Christian Morality Union in the United States for posting an ad that could be interpreted to support homosexuality. Everyone was on their toes around the uppity bastards.

    Just as he was setting his coffee down, making sure the opening in the lid of the cup was facing him, the television at the far end of the cafe cut into the hourly news broadcast. The broadcaster was a pretty young woman with a shrill voice -- it made him want to plug his ears with wool. The news was important though, and apparently, demonstrated the growing power of the religious right in the United States. It was bad enough that a Christian Morality Union had been established, but they also had a number of house representatives and congressmen and congresswomen that supported their cause.

    "Just yesterday, a bill introduced in February by house representative Jacob Phelps, was passed by the strongly republican congress. The bill will be handed over to the House floor early next week and is expected to reach the Senate floor, which is still largely democratic thus giving the bill its strongest opposition, within two months. The controversial bill, introduced by a direct descendant of the infamous Pastor Fred Phelps, aims to bring back anti-sodomy laws and to make homosexuality a criminal offense subject to detainment in 'correctional facilities' if a person is found guilty."

    A loud whoop came from the fat bastard. Fucker. "Yes! The forces of god and the morally upright have won against those abominations once again!"

    "A bit early in your celebrations, aren't you, Father?" thought Ian. "Yeah. I'll shove your morality right up your ass." he growled under his breath, making sure no one was there to assail him for "speaking out of turn" again. The woman continued speaking, her thin high-pitched voice making Ian grimace.

    "The bill is expected to pass the House without much contention, but it is the Senate that will prove the most difficult to overcome. Scientists the world over have called the bill madness and have expressed their hope to the Senate that they shut it down. The rest of the world can only hope that this clearly bigoted policy will not be allowed to be signed into law."

    As soon as the broadcast finished, the fat priest turned red, huffed and took off towards the exit, his numerous pieces of religious jewelry bouncing just like the jiggling of the rest of his body. It was quite comedic to look at, and Ian was smirking, just like everyone else in the cafe that had shot the priest a glare of death when he yelled out in support of the bill. Pretending to trip, Ian spilled his coffee on the priest's Bible as he passed by.

    Sputtering, the priest looked at Ian and then at his Bible and then back and forth a few times, mouth agape, jowls bouncing up and down each time. "Wh-wh-what HAVE YOU DONE?!" screamed the rotund man in outrage.

    "I am so sorry, I tripped!" said Ian, smiling wickedly. "Here's some money to pay for the damages. I'd give you more for a treadmill, but I doubt there will be one that can support you" he continued, his tone sincere but his eyes mocking. He gave the priest a $20 bill, grinning.

    "You'll be sorry for this!" yelled the priest, turning even redder and shoving the door open on his way out, his coffee-soaked Bible still dripping in his hands. Unfortunately, the coffee was not hot anymore.

    Ian smiled. He was now coffee-less, but the fat bastard's expression had been priceless. Turning to the counter to order one more coffee, he couldn't help but get his eyes captivated by the unnaturally beautiful Asian man behind the counter. He motioned to the guy, saying "I'll have a double double." While he was rummaging in his wallet, he couldn't help but say "Are you new here? I haven't seen you before."

    "Ian Kenneth Whelan. Stop it. You're not gay." he scolded himself. Even so, he couldn't help but glance furtively at the young man. Without waiting for a reply, he quite a bit hurriedly changed gears and asked "Can you believe those guys? You can't blame someone for being gay. That's like saying being straight is a crime..." Inside he was gawking at himself. What had gotten into him? "I'm all for the LGBT community, more power to them! They've fought this battle against the religious far longer than we have... Not that I'm gay, but you know, I'm all for taking it up the ass. It's just not my thing, you know."

    Realizing he was rambling, he stopped himself. "Shut the fuck up Ian, you're not making things better."
  2. Damirius, or Devin, as it said on the name tag attached to his apron, wiped down an area of the counter not far from the obnoxious priest. Coffee shops such as this one, that were so close to a University, were almost always occupied by students looking for a quiet place to work. Their focused attitudes and hard work was something Damirius admired, so he wasn't so happy when someone loud and... annoying, came around to ruin it. Surprising, perhaps... an Angel who disliked a priest, but it was a common thing for Damirius. Priest like him speak the word of god, then sin themselves as if they've earned the right to, as if it somehow makes them better than other humans guilty of self indulgence.

    Damirius wanted to wrinkle his nose at the large priest and his excessive jewelry, but instead his expression remained blank as he wiped down the area of counter were the man had been sitting. He turned then to find the television's remote from it's place on a shelf, turning the channel to tune into a more local news broadcast. Then that voice yelled out again, apparently due to someone spilling coffee on his bible. Although, looking at the young man's expression, it was clear to Damirius that the spilling was no mistake. Such a childish act, so typical of humans.... He sighed and turned to put the device away, looking back to find the same young man now standing at the register.

    "A double-double?" he repeated with a small smile, turning to reach for a cup to serve the man his drink with. He didn't look up from his task as he responded, "I just started last week," he said, guessing the man must he a regular. He slipped a top over the opening of the hot beverage and turned around to set it on the counter, though he slowed as the man continued his rambling. Almond shaped eyes blinked, brow raising... did he just say...? "Up the ass...?" he repeated, caught off guard by the sudden and crude terminology.

    He cleared his throat, gaze lowering as he remembered to take the handed cash and give the man his change. "Well, I suppose I could believe them if faith truly drove their resolve, but with politicians, it's usually just a ploy to win favor from the masses so they can gain power and pass laws that selfishly benefit a very few." He said, then reached out to hand the man back some cash and coins, fingers blushing the other's as he did. He might have rambled a little bit himself, something that wasn't good at all for these kind of jobs....
  3. Jonathan Islesly

    The haul today had been a particularly good one and because of their good fortune fishing, Jonathan was running a bit behind in his daily routine. He would have been on time had he not insisted on sprinting home to wash and change clothes, but despite the constraints on his time he insisted on hurriedly returning to his small apartment to scrub the scent of brine and fish from his body. No one wanted to smell eau de catch of the day as a cologne after all, manly profession or not.

    As a result of his insistence on cleanliness he found himself moving down the sidewalk at close to a jog, a strand of still-wet ginger hair coming out of place to fall across his cheek, feeling frozen in the cool air. Foggy breaths leading where he was going to, he was checking his watch, not paying attention when he collided with something...fleshy. With a look of dismay, Jonathan stopped in his tracks to look down at whom he had just run into.

    The man laying sprawled upon the freezing concrete looked angry enough to bite, the jowled face above his priest's cassock an angry red and the vein in his temple throbbing. As terrible as Jon felt about running the man over, he really wished he could just keep going; the priest was beginning to give him a dressing-down right there, refusing his stammered apology and slapping his hand away when he offered it. Flecks of the man's spittle landed on his jacket and it was difficult not to feel repulsed despite the guilt he also felt. The man said a few very impious things to him before brushing past angrily, clutching a coffee-soaked bible.

    Running his hand back through his damp hair, he looked back after the man. "You really should have decked him. If not for being rude then just on principle. Fucking Heavenly lapdogs." The growl at the back of his mind piped up. It wasn't often that they agreed, but this happened to be one of those rare instances. Another glance at his watch- this time standing still- let him know that he had missed the train. He supposed that he could try to get a cab and make it a little bit late to class. Maybe. The presence in his mind had him moving his feet nearly unbidden, and he was so lost in his plans that he was nearly to the door of a coffee shop before he noticed. "As much as I enjoy our classes, I feel that I would enjoy coffee more. If you're not going to beat who I want to a pulp, at least let me have this."

    Cold, harried, and in no mood to argue with himself, Jonathan pushed open the door and stepped into the warm shop. The scent of coffee and sweets enveloped him and he began to relax immediately, not realizing the tension that he held in his rush. As he stepped up, he caught the end of a conversation between the barista and a man standing at the counter. His face colored slightly as a particular phrase caught his attention: "Up the ass..." He felt particularly grateful to whatever twist of fate that put him on this side of the counter rather than the other; he doubted that he would have handled the customer's awkward phrasing with half as much grace barista. "Don't feel too bad, it caught my attention too. If that's what he wants, I wouldn't mind obliging them. Either of them really, although the one behind the counter... No, it must be lack of caffeine throwing me off." With a cough to cover his discomfort over a conversation no one else could hear, Jonathan stepped up to the counter.

    "Could I have a large coffee, black please?" He spoke softly, a slightly sheepish little grin on his face.
    "I really wish you wouldn't think things like that, Marax. I'm not.."

    "You'll come around, Jonny-boy."

  4. Half a year.

    That was how long it'd taken Iraiel to get used to this world. Countless years had passed since he'd last viewed the mortal plane and so much had changed in that time. His sleep had been long, regardless of how it'd only felt like seconds to him, and there was still so much he didn't know, so much that still needed catching up on. The watcher of Wrath had been unwilling to release the grip it had on the freshly awakened Fallen, at least not until Iraiel was properly educated about the events and the history he'd slept through.

    And although six mortal months had passed since his rebirth, Iraiel could still as easily recall the pungent breath of the mud that he'd been encased in as he could easily see, right now, the dancing trail of his cigarette's smoke lifting like an apparition on a gentle breeze.

    He was standing outside a little coffee shop with said cigarette between his lips, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans as he quietly reverted to old habits and took to watching the people who passed by. There were a few others in the smoking area, but he paid them no attention. He wasn't interested in those whom were willingly digging their own grave. He was far more interested in the activity of the heavenly and those serving under them.

    How coincidental that he got exactly what he wanted, if only long enough for a glance and a good laugh at the expense of a distraught and irate butterball turkey of a holy man. A gaze so vibrantly brown it could almost be considered golden flicked from red-faced priest to the coffee soaked bible. Lips twitched, begging their owner to let them smirk, but the owner refused. He had to remain neutral for the sake of the revenge burning at the very core of his being like a wild fire. One mistake and it would consume him.

    And yet his bronze gaze followed the priest as the man waddled up the street only to be further insulted by being knocked over. He couldn't help but smirk at that and Iraiel quickly lifted a hand to pluck the cigarette from his lips, holding it tenderly between his first two fingers while he hid his smile behind the innocent gesture of brushing his thumb across his cheek as if he were dealing with an itch. The man responsible for his little moment of delight passed by him and entered the coffee shop and Iraiel shamelessly turned to watch for a few seconds longer through the window. Then he squashed the cancer stick into the ashtray and bent to pick up his satchel.

    Stepping into the shop, he was immediately bombarded with the scent of coffee brewing and an underlying hint of hipster. He waited in line calmly, only once lifting his hands to tighten the elastic holding his hair back in a ponytail while he blankly stared ahead at the counter. What was taking so long? At this rate, he'd be late for his next class. Not that it mattered really, but living like an ordinary person was the first step to staying below the radio.



    No, it definitely had a "d" in it.



    Leaning to the side a little was completely unnecessary, considering his height, but he still did it anyway, black hair with a streak of blonde swinging out into open space. His lengthy bangs fell across his eyes and with a little upward huff, he blew them out of the way again.

    What was taking so long? Some guy was rambling on about something that obviously made him uncomfortable and didn't really seem to know how to stop himself. Iraiel, or rather, Eri as he was known in his mortal disguise, rolled his eyes and straightened back up to his full height of six feet and possibly a bit more.

    Really. How long was this going to take? He let out a sigh of annoyance and took to staring at the tv instead. Nothing exciting or useful there. He'd probably just missed the hourly news. The two people in front of him seemed a little more annoyed than Eri was and promptly left. So the disguised Fallen stepped forward, now finding himself right behind that same redheaded guy whom had knocked over the priest out on the sidewalk.

    Again, Eri leaned to the side, this time to grumble out, "Hey. You can chat up your bestie on his break. Some of us have places to go and appointments to keep."
    <div style="float:right;margin-left:8pt;width:25%;height:25%;"><img src=http://i185.photobucket.com/albums/x167/goldendercon/IanKennethWhelan.jpg></div>"Uhh... Thanks" he mumbled as he reached across the counter for the steaming cup of coffee. It would help steady his nerves... Well, that or make him jumpy the rest of the day. "Yeah... Up the ass... You know. Gay people... There's really only one place for it to go..." he rambled on.

    "What the fuck do you think you're doing Ian. One place for it to go? What the hell?" he immediately thought the moment the words left his mouth. He was sure he was attracting some unwanted, unpleasant attention at the moment. Still, for some reason, he couldn't put a reign on himself. Maybe it was the coffee, the satisfaction over successfully harrying the religious man or maybe it was getting worked up over the pending legislation that had his tongue looser than it should be.

    "Uhm... yeah... Couldn't have said it better myself. Fuck if I know, half of them are probably in the closet." he said, reaching out for the change. Their hands brushed each other and he couldn't help but blush. He unsuccessfully tried to avoid meeting the other man's eyes, and instead found himself smiling awkwardly. "I'm... I'm going to stop talking now."

    Pocketing the change, he took note of the other people in line. There was a particularly cute ginger in line, but not really his type. There was another one behind him, an asian, who while good looking didn't strike a chord with him. "What the hell, Ian? Not your type? Really? What? Did you suddenly grow a pair of breasts?" he thought to himself.

    "Sorry... I was... You know what, nevermind" he said, throwing his hands in the air in resignation and stepping aside for the next person in line. He wandered to a table in the bar, watching the new patrons with keen interest.
  6. "Yeah... I know what you meant," he muttered, the awkwardness of the situation forcing his gaze to avert. He really didn't need an explanation on the meaning of "taking it up the ass." He cleared his throat and tried to put on a professional air again, he was working, after all. "If you don't mind, sir, there are people wa--" he was cut off as a man in line decided to voice his complaint. Damirius' eyes narrowed with a hint of annoyance at being interrupted, but he was quick to regain his composure.

    The current customer seemed a little lost for words then, or maybe his brain-to-mouth filter finally decided to kick in. Damirius watched the human's expression as he noticed the other's in line, seemingly having some kind of mental conversation with himself. Just the smallest hint of a laugh escaped the Angel as he noticed, it was a little... cute, really. Human's could do the most peculiar things, and without even trying.

    "Sorry for the wait," he spoke to the next one in line, a man with vibrant red hair. It seemed that some people had grown impatient enough to leave, he really needed to make sure nothing like this happened again. Not that this job was all that important to him, but he still wanted to do it right. "Large black, was it?" he confirmed as he turned to prepare the man's brew. Being a simple order, he was back at the counter within a minute to take payment. "Thank you, please enjoy--" he paused as he handed the man his change, sure that he'd felt... something. But, no... he was definitely a mortal. "Sorry," he shook his head, "have a nice day." Maybe his senses were just thrown off, he was still a little flustered from the odd conversation. "What can I get you?" he asked the next man in line, a tall one with an interesting taste in fashion.
  7. Jonathan Islesly

    "Large and black is right, lovely."
    Spoke Marax from the depths of Jonathan's mind. The tall, rugged ginger was thankful that the barista had chosen that moment to turn around as he face went as red as his hair and he seriously fought the urge to hit himself. He had just begun to regain his composure and pay for the beverage when the man behind the counter paused in the middle of handing him his change. He frowned slightly, eyes locking on those of the smaller man- pretty for a man, really, if such things can be said- before the moment passed and he stepped out of line with his cup.

    Jonathan paused near the doorway taking a careful but nevertheless scalding sip of coffee as he caught a moment of the news report on the cafe's television. In the corner of his eye, he could just see the awkward man sitting alone while the tall woman behind him stepped up to the counter. Given her gruff words, she seemed to be in a bit of a hurry and he wondered idly where she needed to be. She was boyishly slim and had sort of an alternative appearance with the piercings and he style of dress, but he found himself admiring her all the same. It wasn't often one found women close to his height.

    Checking his watch again, the steady buzz of caffeine entering his system seeming to placate Marax for the moment, Jonathan adjusted the canvass messenger bag at his hip and drew his jacket more tightly around himself in preparation of going back out into the cold. Casting one last glance around the shop, he pushed open the door and continued on his way. Sure he would be early for his next class, but a chance to talk with someone as fascinating as Professor Shen wasn't such a bad thing. He really rather admired his history professor; the man certainly seemed to enjoy his subject and it was nice having a professor near his same age. It made him hopeful of what he might be able to achieve.

    He arrived to an empty lecture hall, descending the stairs to take a place near the front and ready his notes. Jonathan sipped at his now lukewarm coffee and kept glancing at the door to Professor Shen's office while making small talk with his unusual passenger.
  8. Professor Shenyin Shu

    The roar of a motorcycle disrupted the still air of the college campus, wheels skidding to a stop in a reserved spot in the faculty parking lot. It was always quiet this time of the morning; the first classes of the day had just begun, so most of the students were tucked inside their respective classrooms. The rider slowly removed his sleek black helmet, careful not to muss the silky black ponytail that spilled out, coming to rest against the center of his back. Inhaling a deep breath of crisp air, he sighed, switching off the purring machine beneath him and swinging a leg over.
    So, Monday,
    we meet again... Slinging the atache case over his shoulder and gripping his thermos, he made his way into the warm building, itching to rid himself of his increasingly uncomfortable leather jacket.

    Lucky for him, he didn't encounter any perky passers-by on his way to his office. He briefly recollected the days in which he, too, was a morning person... He chuckled to himself, setting the case on his desk and the thermos beside it. It felt like ages since the last time he had greeted the dawn with a clear mind and rested body. It had been a long time since there was any reason to.

    Shedding the leather jacket, he opened the thermos, the enticing aroma of coffee filling the small office space. He sipped the hot liquid, leaning back in the high-backed, cushy chair, allowing himself to enjoy the quiet moment. The content smile on his lips vanished, however, as he retrieved a tattered, severely worn book from the case.

    Unnaturally silver eyes stared at the book before them, as if it were the most perplexing thing they had ever beheld. To Professor Shen, that's exactly what this relic was...

    But hopefully not for very much longer.

    He cracked the book open, taking great care not to damage the seemingly ancient pages. For the next twenty minutes, he pored over the symbols and scribblings, making notes in a black leather bound journal, in much better condition than the one before him. He slumped back in his chair, sighing. Each time it seemed he was closing in, something changed and he was that much more in the dark again.

    Glancing at the old cuckoo clock on the wall (a remnant of the last professor that
    used this office), he decided it best to pause his investigation. It didn't matter how little time he spent looking at the journal, though, as it was sure to haunt his dreams that night, like it did every night...

    He closed the old book and returned it to his case, along with his notes, locking the case and setting it on the floor under his desk. Gathering the necessary lecture materials along with his thermos, he ventured out of his office, surprised to see a student had already arrived.

    Nodding a greeting to the man, he offered a small, polite smile. "Good morning, Jonathan. You're here early." He set his notes on the podium, shuffling the papers into neat stacks. He glanced up at the man, a smirk playing on his lips. "Are you that interested in history, or did you miss your first class?" Amusement danced behind his eyes, the joke making even more of an impact after the short pause.
    <div style="float:right;margin-left:8pt;width:25%;height:25%;"><img src=http://i185.photobucket.com/albums/x167/goldendercon/IanKennethWhelan.jpg></div>The lights began to flicker on and off and slight tremors rippled through the floor of the coffee shop. Was that an Earthquake? Well, he definitely wasn't sure. Ian ducked under the table and saw many of the other patrons do the same. The TV went from showing some random infomercial about some "Pray the Gay Away" shit, to a static buzz. Few people noticed the shadow that passed over the coffee shop, or the brief outline of a person in the static for it was gone in a split second. Ian felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and goosebumps popped up on his arms, but that was the extent of it. Anyone magically attuned would feel something greater, and a Celestial being would be put immediately on high alert.

    "What the fuck was that?" he whispered under his breath at a woman in a skirt not a few tables away. This was not her day. She wore a dress and her shirt's collar showed a generous amount of bosom. He stared at it, willing it to have an effect on him. "Make me horny, oh large majestic rack!" he thought. It didn't work. Maybe if he was the guy under the table behind her, who was definitely getting an eyeful of ass, it would work.

    "An earthquake? I don't know! I'm out of here!" she yelled. The tremors had stopped, and she tried to straighten a bit too fast, bumping her head onto the table and knocking it over, along with the coffee that had been on it. Fortunately, she had already grabbed her iPad, otherwise it would be a soggy, coffee-soaked mess like the floor.

    Ian did not make the mistake that the woman had, although, he nearly did. By the time he had gotten up, apart from a few flustered customers, it seemed like nothing at all had happened in the small coffee shop. Why he did what he did next, he would probably never figure out. He strode over to the counter and said to the Asian-looking guy "Uhh... Devin? You might want to get that cleaned." He pointed towards the big mess on the floor.

    "What just happened? That didn't feel like any normal earthquake..."
  10. Damirius finished serving everyone still waiting in line before stepping away from the register to wipe down some tables and counters. He grabbed a load of dirty plates, ready to take them to the back when the feeling struck. One that told him of something with an overwhelming presence nearby. He senses went awry for a moment, and he had to move inhumanly fast to catch the tray before it and the dishes could clatter so the floor. He didn't want it taken out of his paycheck... not that mortal money meant much to him, it was just the principle of the matter....

    He kneeled and set the load down, leaning against the counter while waiting for the tremors to subside. When they did, he looked to the customers, quickly glancing between them to make sure all were unharmed. Aside from some unfortunate coffee stains, everyone appeared to be in one piece. He briefly thought about what or who just caused that, until the "up the ass" guy from before caught his attention again. Devin, right... he had to remind himself that it was his own name right now. "Yes, I've noticed... thanks," he muttered, already turning to grab a rag and mop. When he turned back, he looked at the other with a raised brow. "I'm sure it was just an earthquake... nothing more," he answered, wondering if this human was a bit more intuitive than he seemed.