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Old 03-19-2013, 10:51 PM   #1
Vixandra
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The Language of Angels 2 (Closed for Vail_Indigo)

If the best thing in your life could be summed up in a single other being, does that make your life a good one or a magnificent one? If love could be wrapped in satin bands of perfection and dance through foes life a firefly betwixt a rain, shouldn’t you do everything you can to keep it?

If an angel is prone to prose because no other words can define her feelings, what does that make the angel? Prose or not, I’m still, to use her words, a badass bitch with an anti-tank canon, so I doubt anyone will mock me for waxing poetic.


“What kind of angel talks like a San Franciscan gutter snipe,” my supposed mentor snapped at me after I slid ungracefully across the rain slicked training arena. On my butt.

I glared at him and my voice was shockingly deep, even after three months. “If you’re so damn offended by the word ‘fuck’ maybe it’s time to update your own vocabulary.”

I speak over a dozen languages, cuss in a few more beyond that and the best my new male side could do was cuss in unimaginative English as I rolled to my feet. I was still having difficulty with this new form, with having four wings, with walking with junk between my legs and with having said junk occasionally try pull all the blood from my brain. Especially when my bonded mate walked into the arena, hips swaying, body wrapped in skin-tight leather and a wry smirk on her face. She’d seen me fall, I knew it.

My distraction earned me a stave blow onto my right shoulder. The sharp pain got me back into the fight with my mentor and I surged toward the smaller angel. My double set of wings flared to help keep my balance on the slick tile as I lunged with the broadsword that was the chosen weapon of my Heavenly form. I knew the sword would miss but I was right in my calculations that the roundhouse kick to the jaw that followed would land with a solid crunch. I followed through with the sword, stopping the point as it dimpled my mentor’s alabaster throat.

“You really need to get more sun, Raphael,” I quipped as I pulled back and offered my hand to help the other angel up off the ground. He took the offered hand and rose, rubbing his jaw.

“The light of Heaven is all I need,” he said, voice ringing with the double-resonance of one born to the Heavenly host. On his feet, the pale arch angel stood around 6’4”.

From my “new” height of 6’6” it meant I no longer had to look up to talk to him. I looked over at my mate and saw a different light in her eyes. “Heavenly light has its place but there are others that shine just as dearly.”

The wry smile curved into one Aella had just for me, something sweet, a bit jaded, and a tad possessive. “Israfil, so nice to see you again. Sophia, guess who I just got off the phone with?”

I took a deep breath and did the mental gymnastics that shifted me from my Heavenly form to the one I had been born to, that of an Earth angel. A female Earth angel to be precise. No one knew why my “upgraded” form was male, or if they did they weren’t saying anything. Bastards.

“The new pope?”

“You are ever sacrilegious in your jests,” Raphael chided me, rolling his eyes.

Aella ignored the arch angel, something she’d been doing a lot lately since he as less than her greatest fan. “I have a job, the PTB want an artifact from a dig near Jerusalem.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine along with a sense of something changing but I couldn’t tell what.
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Old 06-15-2013, 03:32 PM   #2
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It isn't exactly bad being perfect.

I get to travel the world, facing weird artifacts and weirder people, and have adventures the likes of which could fill an entire series of novels and not come close to scratching the surface. Maybe I'll write those when I retire. Not that retiring is likely. Not that any of us have ever lived to retire. We do dangerous things. Sometimes all you have to do to get killed is get out of bed in the morning.

Ask Tempest.

God I miss her.

But, overall, I liked my life.

I mean, I didn't sign up for this life, and the Council is, on a good day, like an over-bearing military officer, not giving one rat's ass about my skin or all the goop and organs contained within.

But, of course, since she came into my life, it has gotten significantly worse. I've become a pariah, something they'd get rid of if only they could. But they can't.

I'm perfect.

But.

But, not only do I have no idea what goes on outside of my little niche in whatever this organization is, at the very least I have to assume that the breeding program that made me is continuing. Making better versions of us.

Thats problematic for me.

Its problematic for my ego.

Its problematic for my future.

A year ago, I wouldn't have cared.

But now, if the Council is willing to use me in ways likely to get me killed for no good reason, well, there's a fucking issue.

If they want to send me to Israel, home of the worst thing to ever exist, well, there's a fucking issue.

The issue?

Her.

The big-ass angel with a sword practicing with the other big-ass angel with a sword. Yeah, sometimes she is a he.

But she's an issue.

Because she's given me reason to live besides the job.

I love the job.

I really do.

And she's hardly a stay-at-home kinda girl herself.

But when you have nothing to live for except the next challenge, the next fight, things are easy.

I am more for being with her.

I am happier for being with her.

I am more perfect.

I'd die for her without a thought. Thats just devotion.

But I would so much rather live for her, live with her.

That's love.

Also, I'd like to smack Raphael in the nose.

And I could do it, too.

His moves are unimpressive. He telegraphs everything with his shoulders and knees and wings. And I don't like how he talks to her.

But even if I did do it, well, he's still a trans-real entity and it wouldn't actually hurt him. Plus, we don't need to try to alienate anyone. Neither side has been thrilled about us.

Anyhow, I'm gonna teach Sophia how to kick his ass.

I drew her into me, felt a circuit complete for both of us.

The definition of right.

"Come on. We've got a plane waiting for us. Its a long flight."

A long flight to the land where the horror lives.

The blind god.

The demiurge.

The Gnostics knew things they shouldn't have.

I hate Israel.

On the plus side, its also the home to Krav Maga, the dirtiest form of martial arts ever invented. And if you don't think I absolutely love it, you are insane.

"Have you ever heard the story of Samael?"
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Old 06-18-2013, 04:49 PM   #3
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I don’t like flying in air planes.

I know, silly, right? It didn’t feel silly as my body tensed up as we walked down the concourse to the plane, a huge 787 with a posh first class. I’m not claustrophobic… okay, yes I am. I held onto Aella’s hand as fine waves of tension rippled through me.

Everyone has something they fear, and for some reason planes is it for me. Which is completely ridiculous because if something happened, we’d be the safest ones here, my whirlwind and I. She’d punch a hole in the side of the plane or open a door or something. We’d grab each other, hold on tight and I’d glide us down to safety.

Because I totally wouldn’t try to be a hero and fix the problem and possibly squish myself trying to save people… oh look, the flight attendant is talking. I paid half-assed attention to the same speal they all gave and caught Aella’s grin out of the corner of my eye. At least someone was enjoying this. At least we weren’t flying Air China. Their idea of “engine maintenance” included seat belting unworking motors so the rotors didn’t flutter in flight.

A half hour later we were in the air and when offered a mimosa by the flight attendant, I happily accepted, one hand still tight around Aella’s while I sipped.

"Have you ever heard the story of Samael?" she asked me. Whether she knew I needed the distraction or had vital information to impart or both, I didn’t know but I’d take it either way.

“Other than the one involving a mini skirt, an Irish pub and four pickles, no,” I answered, still somewhat chagrined by that memory. It had been a night of gallons instead of pints. “What’s your Samael tale?”

I don’t trust anyone’s flying but my own and my grandmother’s and that’s just with my life. Aella, far more precious to me than my own existence. It was going to be a long flight.


When the wheels touched down in Tel Aviv, I took a deep breath at last. I released Aella’s hand and shook mine out, the tattoo-like mark of our Mate Link glittering in the sunlight pouring into the cabin. We were allowed to disembark quickly and found ourselves in a very airy, open airport terminal. A duty-free shopping area beckoned international travelers with offers of supposedly cheap booze and cashmere wraps but we bypassed it quickly. Aella led the way, the heels she wore clicking with expedient authority as she went. Crowds parted before her like the Red Sea.

She guided me through a special customs line reserved for VIP’s and flashed a local passport. My own passport, blue leather covered American, was given barely a glance after the processor saw Aella’s. I let her lead the way to a row of cars and up to a man in a tux bearing a placard with her cover name in elegant script. She greeted him in rapid fire Hebrew and I could follow enough of their exchange to get that she knew him, was happy he was on time and that we were going to the “usual” hotel.

I let her lead the way, content to follow her on this mission, curiosity piqued by her story and what little information she'd been given. I was also exceedingly grateful to be OFF the plane and on solid ground again. If my wings were out, they would still be mantled in irritation.
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Old 06-29-2013, 11:49 AM   #4
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There's a certain fatalism I find soothing in flying. I'm pretty impressive, but there's no way I'm surviving any incident that begins at 30,000 feet so I can basically relax. What's a girl to do?

Its different with Sophia, though. She might actually be able to save my accelerating-at-9.8-meters-per-second-squared-ass. Though I can't be sure. I can be sure she'd die trying.

This had a disquieting effect on me, and this wasn't eased by my Love's fidgeting and tension.

"Right, so, if you haven't heard this story, there's probably a reason. I don't think your Powers That Be want you knowing some things. Not that mine are any different. Anyhow, this story goes back to the ancient Gnostics. They were sort of proto-christians, the psychic mass that eventually became Catholicism, and they had a surprisingly complex world-view, and knew a LOT of things they had no business knowing."

A simplification, to be sure. There were a gabillion Gnostic sects, that believed a gabillion different things. But I'm not Elaine Pagels and this wasn't History Of Religion 304.

"I'm not sure how technically accurate this story is, but this is how it was told to me, and how it was passed down for generations upon generations, well before the discovery at Nag Hammadi."

In the beginning, there was the Void, and, above the Void sat The Pleroma, Heaven. In there sat God and his Host. Among them was God's spouse, an emanation of eternal light, and an immaculate mirror of God's activity. She was closest to God, and yet the distance between them was still as an ant to an eagle. This distance created an emptiness within the Angel, and that emptiness gave birth to desire.

The desire to know the Father.

Lucifer was not the first Angel cast from Heaven.

Lost in the Void, her desire only grew deeper, and more profound, and from it came the Demiurge. He is known by three names, but we know him as Samael.

The Angel knew at once that something deeply wrong had come into existence, and attempted to slay her offspring.

But she failed, and merely blinded Samael in one eye.

Maddened by birth, maddened by betrayal, maddened by the Void, Samael unleashed his power.

"Let there be light."

And so began the First Day.

And so began the prison of the Material.

For endless ages, Samael ruled the world, tormenting the creatures within, teasing them from a Paradise that was never more than a trap he created, cursing them with hunger and age and death, breaking them with a lifetime of toil.

The Angel wept, and reached out in an attempt to sooth their suffering, and within each of them, she placed the tiniest shard of wisdom, of purity, of the divine. The Angel granted them souls. Their suffering was great, but now they had the chance at finding Truth, and escape.

In time, the Angel was welcomed back into the Pleroma, Wisdom became one with The Logos.

I took a long breath.


"So, some of the legends say that the Angel killed the Demiurge. I can tell you for a fact that this isn't the case. She did, though, imprison him within the Earth. Forty miles below Jerusalem. That last bit is probably wrong. The Aramaic word for 'forty' is the same as the word for 'many'. I'm also not sure we're talking three-dimensional here."

I stopped babbling.

We sat in silence for the rest of the flight. I knew I was waking something in her, and that would take time.

I never let go of her hand. I never would.

Tel Aviv airport.
My Angel still in a trance as the world of international beaurocracy parted like the Red Sea for us. Yeah, you should expect more bad jokes like that. But also, it is pretty fun being me.

In the limo, she asked the question I'd been waiting for.

"The Angel. What was Her name?"

"Sophia."
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Everything Is Personal: Tales From Intersect City
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Old 07-24-2013, 11:48 PM   #5
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I'd never known why my mother had given me the name she had, she'd died before I could ask.

It had been snowing, fat fluffy flakes of crystallized purity floating from the sky in patterns no mortal could fathom. I'd been sitting at the window of the cabin, watching the snow, warmed from the huge hearth blazing behind me and waiting patiently (mostly) for the roasting turkey in the kitchen where my mother was bustling away.

We'd come up to the mountain cabin to celebrate Christmas and get away from the bustle of the city. There had been another reason but my mother wouldn't speak to me of it. I just knew it was there but put it out of my eight year old mind with the ease of practice. It wasn't rare for her to have things going on that I was unaware of.

I heard her in the kitchen fuss at the old gas range before snapping her fingers, forcing it to light. Her magic was flame and fire, smoke and scorching heat, the fire of creation itself at her call. Made her a great cook in addition to a force to be reckoned with. So far, I'd had no trace of fire in my magic, just the musical and air-based inclinations that Momma said came from Grandmere and my father.

He was supposed to meet us here for Christmas, a rare occurrence for the General of the Heavenly Host. Momma had been on pins and needles of excitement for weeks since he'd told her of his visit in the mirror.

The sun had just set when it happened.

When they struck.

A smoking ball shattered the window next to me, sending glass shards flying before exploding into a thick, choking gas. I'd thrown out my wings in panic but hadn't been able to focus enough to clear the room before something slammed into my shoulder, throwing me to the ground.

My cry had been hidden a larger explosion from the kitchen followed by Momma's battle cry. I'd tried to force myself to my feet with little effect, unable to see what was happening.

The sounds were horrific enough.

A sharp, male voice demanding to know where something was, I didn't understand the language. My mother told them to go to hell and the sound of gunfire echoed through the house.

The flames around the hearth swirled around me in a cocoon as warm as her love before flaring out, melting the stone of the cabin, burning the wood and immolating every living thing for a hundred feet in any direction around me.

Tears fell down my face as I heard her whisper, "Good bye, Sophia, be strong. I love you..."

Then she was gone and nothing was the same.



I shook myself from the memory that flashed across my psyche like fiery lightning. I felt it reverberate through the Mate-Link but wasn't sure how much Aella got of it. Sometimes we saw entire memories, sometimes it was just a flash of emotion.

Her hand tightened on mine, warmth spreading up from it, driving away the remembered chill. I hated the snow to this day because of that night.

The ambient temperature outside of holy-hell-humid-heat drove away the rest of the chill, replacing it with a warmth that soaked into my bones. Mmm, warm again....

I admit, I gawked like a tourist as we sped toward our hotel and checked in. It was very different, this country built so recently, religions of the region still at open war with one another at times. If nothing else while we were here, I wanted to see the Dome of the Rock, though I couldn't exactly state why.

"I don't know why I have the name I do," I said once we were ensconced in a posh room. Rough and tumble as she may sexily be, my whirlwind liked her creature comforts. "Of course, I don't get a lot of things about myself these days. None of the research I've seen shows any other gender-swapping angels that Ascended... of course the last Ascention was centuries ago."
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Old 09-16-2013, 09:33 PM   #6
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Khirbet Qeiyafa, 30 km SW of Jerusalem, Israel

He held a tiny brush between his large fingertips and knelt precariously on a board balanced over what may have once been a kitchen. Or an altar, or some kind of storage room or a brothel, no one was quite sure yet. He smiled as he thought it was the kitchen of a brothel, if only because it was an amusing idea. Also because he hadn’t been laid in over a year, not since coming to this dusty, hot, dig site on the far side of the world.

“Doooooctor Che-yennieee,” came the voice of his current research assistant, slaughtering his last name as usual. “There’s some kind of super blacked-out van coming up the road.”

He rolled his eyes and crawled up from his perch to meet his assistant du jour. “It’s pronounced like ‘shy-anne.’ It isn’t that damn difficult, Lazer.”

Rolling a pair of ink-black eyes, the undergraduate assistant shrugged. “Of course, Doctor. Do you want to greet our guests?”

“Sure, why not?”

Because they were armed with automatic rifles and determined to kill every living human on the dig sight, that’s why not. However, Doctor Cheyenne didn’t learn this until it was far too late and he was riddled with more holes than a block of Swiss cheese. The site itself was scavenged through without mercy, leaving no survivors and not a single exhumed artifact behind.
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Old 10-05-2013, 08:45 PM   #7
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"Not to be, y'know, protective or untrusting or whatever, but could you count on them to tell you if they knew?" I paused, "I'm an asset. My people make a habit of hiding things from me."

I threw my bag into the corner, and flung open the doors to one of the bigger-than-some-apartments walk-in closet.
"God I love a good hotel. I truly, truly do."
Inside were dozens of sets of clothes (93, actually, based on organizational structure, complimentary colors, current fashions, and ranges of use) all cut to my exact size. They had me on file.
"I sent them some pretty exact measurements for you, and some hints on how you like to dress, what our likely activities would be, the usual."
I'm a pro. What can I say?
I turned to look at her and was overwhelmed as I so often am by the sheer density of her.
Numbers and images and lights danced off her.
Colors waterfalled from her, radiated out of her like a strange, alien sun birthed just for me.
And her wings.
Her wings, invisible now to everyone, except me. I could see their outline, see them glowing with fire. If I concentrated, I could see down to the lines of each feather.
And they were endless.
I think literally.
I couldn't even count them, though I'd tried more than once.
They were organic fractals, numbers colored in magic.
And it was all for me.
I'm not sure she understood that, understood what I saw, understood how powerful it was for me. But thats OK.
She didn't have my eyes.
I'm not certain what she'd have seen if she did, though.
She was part of a world of magic.
Me? I'm all about physics and information.
Physics of my dance.
Information of the universe.
Numbers.
Magic.
Maybe thats why we were here in this ancient place.
Kaballah, and really any flavor of Jewish mysticism, merged magic and numbers as the same thing.
The strange, irrational numbers that made up my Angel may be the same ones calculated so long ago by strange men and women who thought to whisper secrets to the universe in ways that could not be ignored. The calculus of word and demand and light.
Let there be light.
As they say.

All that went through my head in the blink of an eye.
Thats what happens to me when I look at her.
I go into overdrive.
I get drunk.

I'd closed the distance between us without realizing it.
My fingers touched her breastbone, hard as steel, light as air.
The slightest pressure sprawled her back onto the bed.
It took forever for her to fall that tiny distance.
It was a show to watch.
My knees and hips guided me over her, straddling, entering the warmth of her aura.
My jaw hurt.
My lips squirmed.
I made a sound I can't describe and kissed her.
Deeply.
This is what kissing was meant to be. A drug that tells your brain to give up everything, to leave the world behind until there's nothing but the touch and wet and warm and scent and oh my god how does she always smell of lilacs and autumn and can I just die now so I never have to do anything else but this and make her more and more and more mine until the world ends in the quiet of heat-death.
That was just one kiss.
And it was like that every single time.
Unless it was different.
And just as wonderful.
Just as magical.
I am a lucky thing, I am, I am, I am.

Unfortunately, my mental clock cared little for my decadence, and set off a 'ding' of an alarm. It hurt to stop kissing her. I literally had to throw myself from the bed to stop.
"Crap. I knew I shouldn't have timed it so close. I have a call to make, to set up a meeting."
A count-down was already running in my head. I had a limited window. Fucking jetlag.
They picked up on the third ring. Just to make me wait.
Then a long pause as our gear synchronized, they confirmed my identity 4 times, and the entire thing shifted into a secure connection the likes of which only Israeli intelligence would even dream of. Shame they didn't know about it.
"Whirlwind."
"Lioness."
"You don't come here enough, Aella," I could hear the tiniest smile. She only had tiny smiles.
"You never invite me, Levia."
"How's your Kung-Fu?"
"How's your street fighting?"
"And your sisters?"
"Climbing all. Except Tempest." It hurt just to mention her.
"I know. I heard. I left 37 blossoms at the well."
"Thank you."
"She was much beloved by all."
"She was. She is. I come with the finest glass for you."
"The finest? I shall be the judge of that, won't I?"
"But of course."
"L'hitraot."
"Til then."
The connection went dead.
In that 45 second conversation about nothing, a time, place, and the fact that I had a friend with me, had all been set up.
"OK, we have two hours before we meet Levia. God those people have the most complicated code-speak I've ever learned. I don't know how any of them can keep it all in their head. The amount of information that they can toss around while chit-chatting is just stunning. What the military was thinking when they let that woman out into the wild is beyond me."
She was my kinda girl.

Except.

Except I had someone far beyond 'my kinda girl'. I had me an Angel.

I gently threw myself back onto the wonderfully plush bed, kicking off my shoes as I tumbled slowly into the arms of warmth and softness that whispered 'sleep now'. Seriously, I love a good hotel.
I reached to the nightstand and plucked one of the waiting dates, and took a not-so-delicate chomp, enjoying the dribble of juice on my chin.
"And you should feast on these. Anyone who grows dates should just give up and let these guys do the work."
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Language Of Angels 2


Earth 3

A couple solo threads:
Rebecca Garrote, P.I.: For hire. Mysteries, the lost, the missing, facilitation and all manners of unique services.
Everything Is Personal: Tales From Intersect City
The Unders: Darkness beneath Intersect City

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The Vortex Of Silk And Teeth

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Old 10-24-2013, 02:23 AM   #8
Vixandra
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Sophia

Once I figured out the phone call was in code, I’d walked into the attached bathing room. I say bathing room because my idea of a bathroom didn’t include a six person shower, eight person tub and four separate vanity sinks. This must be the harem suite, I thought with a wry grin. I slipped from my travel-wrinkled clothing and tossed it into a waiting hamper disguised as a pair of swans that seemed to be… yup they were doing the nasty. Zeus would approve…

Aella’s voice welcomed me back into the room and she flung herself onto the bed, lips stained faintly with the juice of the date.

“My primary experience with dates is in date-nut candy, so I’ll take your word on them,” I said, pausing in the sunlight pouring through the gossamer curtains for a moment. While not the fire elemental my mother was, I did enjoy warmth. “And I can think of far better things to feast upon, my whirlwind.”

I crawled up her body, pulling of any article of clothing in my way as I went. I smiled as she giggled when I caressed the arch of her left foot, set my teeth into the silk-over-steel of her thighs and chuckled as when she growled in frustration as I kept to the outside of her hip on my way up to her lips.

After kissing her soundly, tongues dancing together I pulled back to look at her, those glittering eyes that saw everything, a flush of excitement on her cheeks, lips full and lush. I leaned down to whisper, “Thank you for distracting me on the plane, I usually don’t fly well in them.”

I licked my way down the graceful column of her throat. My hands found hers and pinned her to the bed, a gentle captivity. At her moue of protest, I said, “My turn to catch a twister in my hands.”

I breathed hot then nipped where her throat met her collar bone. ”My whirlwind.”

My tongue traced a path down her chest to rest my lips above her heart. My eyes flashed with streaks of lightning as I looked up at her. ”My Mate.

Our left hands began to glow, hers in my right hand and mine in hers, as the mate marks flared to life, more than tattoos. Marks of power as energy flowed between us, somehow making the jump from angel to… well, Aella wasn’t human, she was better.

Special.

Mine.

I drew her hands with mine as I reversed my path down her body. Tongue, mouth and teeth showing what she meant to me. Set to breast, the ticklish spot on her ribs, down her taught belly and to the core of her. I released her hands when I got there, all the better to open my favorite fruit, one with the most succulent of juices.

Her cries shook the room and I distantly hoped the sound proofing was up to the challenge. I smiled against her as I brought her in a flood of power and joy.

I laid down beside her and pulled her still shaking body against mine, wings unfurling to add their own caress to she who meant the most to me.
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