The Language of Angels 2 (Closed for Vail_Indigo)

Vixandra

Everything well in hand!
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Sep 2, 2003
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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.
 
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.
 
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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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.
 
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.
 
I do not want to die without making love to a woman...I am in so Cal...any ideas? I am Bi and yet have never made love to a woman... and I sadly allowed myself to be swallowed by the patriarch ... he burned off my wings (sexually speaking) for loving the unlovable. Gets off on rejecting me. When I divorce I will be quite comfortable. I want to travel... dance, make love ... go back to the French Rivera ... and live before my heart fails. I am older, and artist, a writer, a muse.
 
I do not want to die without making love to a woman...I am in so Cal...any ideas? I am Bi and yet have never made love to a woman... and I sadly allowed myself to be swallowed by the patriarch ... he burned off my wings (sexually speaking) for loving the unlovable. Gets off on rejecting me. When I divorce I will be quite comfortable. I want to travel... dance, make love ... go back to the French Rivera ... and live before my heart fails. I am older, and artist, a writer, a muse.

Well, this isn’t the usual place to solicit a writing partner, muse or more. If you want the writing partner, shoot me a PM with a sample or link to prior writing. Alternatively you can post in the “seeking co-writer” thread. The LOA series is on hiatus for now, don’t forsee coming back to these characters.
 
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