RE: The Daunting Affray! (Round 1: Temple in the Sky!)
02-23-2014, 03:43 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-24-2014, 10:55 AM by AgentBlue.)
Swoosssssh.
Whissssshhhh.
An ocean of time rolled away from the patient Reginald, as he rose to the surface of a particularly fluffy cloud. If he had been human, he would have stretched and yawned, before looking out into an exciting new world of possibilities. But whatever human there was left of Reg had been eroded and ground down in the centuries of entombing, and though he was grateful he no longer frequented those damp, airless halls, continual disinterest is a hard habit to break. But he took his time, anyway. He had nothing but time.
He noted the clouds themselves - water suspended in air, useless to him but interesting all the same - and pondered the theoretical problem that he shouldn’t be able to walk on it at all, but this conundrum was quickly resolved: a brisk headwind cleared the fluffy condensatory stuff, which showed that he stood at the precipice of a cliff. One step further ahead, and he would have made a very interesting splatter on the ground possibly ten minutes later.
“Step back, friend.” A hand landed on his shoulder, as gentle as a butterfly - a butterfly equipped with a vice grip rivaling neodymium magnets, heavy-duty nutcrackers and most industrial clamps. Held by an exerted force matched only by specialized specimens from the kinkier side of sex toys, Reginald was not so much guided as bodily dragged back from the edge of the floating land. “Whew. That could have been nasty.”
Laying back on the grass, Reginald had a nostril-based view of his circumstantial savior. He took stock: white robe, slightly tattered? Check. Look of furrowed concern? Check. Blazing halo and majestic white wings? Oh. Check. “An angel.” His voice, still rusty from decades of disuse, came out as a flat monotone. “I expect you get this a lot. But.” Good, good. Social conventions coming out strong. Praise Luna. “Have I died.”
The angel laughed, a little ruefully., “No, nothing like that. You have been chosen, to - uh - revere us.” A sculpted, nervous hand ran through perfectly tousled curls. “That is, um, you’ve been brought here, so that we can...we can...you know. Be, um. Revered. Worshipped.”
Pause.
“Look, I-” A minute hesitation, then the words came spilling out, “I-I’m not much for all this either. Uplifting people - t-taking the children away... It seems,” hushed whisper, “wrong. But some of them,” the angel gestured back at the majestic temple buildings, “like it that way. They don’t care if everyone down there starts cursing our Names.” Deep breath. “I worry that - I worry about her.”
“Her.” Carefully, Reginald gathered himself to a standing position. He stood a good half a head taller than the angel, who, up close, was not exactly a paragon of perfection. Close. But not quite.
As if remembering Reginald’s presence, the angel stopped dead on the conversational path. “Sorry. So sorry. Where- where are my manners? My Name - sorry - my name as you would hear it, is Daciel.”
“How would I not hear it.”
“Well. Well, you wouldn’t. You can’t. Mortals can’t.”
“I am not mortal.”
Handsome, ungendered features creased in puzzlement. “But...but you have to be mortal. You’re not one of us.” Daciel had a habit of lip-biting when nervous or confused, Reginald noted, and the angel was positively masticating. In fact, if he looked closely, he could see faint dimples worn into the skin from constant chewing- “Do you mind?”
“My apologies.”
“I don’t - I don’t suppose you’d tell us if you were a demon of some sort?” the angel asked helplessly.
Now it was Reginald’s turn to pause and think. “I do not think so.”
“Are you a demon of some sort?”, even more helplessly.
“Not now.”
Daciel threw up his hands in despair. ”I should - I should find someone. C-can you stay here? Please?”
He considered it. “I can.”
“Thank you! Thanks -” the angel’s voice faded out as angelic footsteps - exceptionally light - ran off across the grassy meadow, heading towards the closest temple building.
Reginald hoped he would not have to lie to them. He had never encountered angels, but he had a feeling they would know falsehoods from truth.
Feeling. That was something he hadn’t really had in a long time.
But he had lied, of a sort, to the bumbling Daciel. Reginald hoped he would not be here too long. Luna was full when he arrived, but she was waning now, slowly, and he would have to face the consequences soon.
“Water.” He should find water. Where there was water, he had control, and control was important in the free-falling reality that was his world now. Besides. He had only told the angel that he was capable of staying. He was bound by no promise.
Still. He should leave a note or sign. He closed his eyes, listening to the subtle gravitations of water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink; water, the bringer and taker of life, the substrate of consciousness, the solute of the living universe. There. A fountain, nearby. Not a lot. But he could improvise from there.
He gouged an arrow in the grass and soil beside him, pointing in the direction he would go. Perhaps Daciel would find him that way. But water was paramount. Water was key.
Whissssshhhh.
An ocean of time rolled away from the patient Reginald, as he rose to the surface of a particularly fluffy cloud. If he had been human, he would have stretched and yawned, before looking out into an exciting new world of possibilities. But whatever human there was left of Reg had been eroded and ground down in the centuries of entombing, and though he was grateful he no longer frequented those damp, airless halls, continual disinterest is a hard habit to break. But he took his time, anyway. He had nothing but time.
He noted the clouds themselves - water suspended in air, useless to him but interesting all the same - and pondered the theoretical problem that he shouldn’t be able to walk on it at all, but this conundrum was quickly resolved: a brisk headwind cleared the fluffy condensatory stuff, which showed that he stood at the precipice of a cliff. One step further ahead, and he would have made a very interesting splatter on the ground possibly ten minutes later.
“Step back, friend.” A hand landed on his shoulder, as gentle as a butterfly - a butterfly equipped with a vice grip rivaling neodymium magnets, heavy-duty nutcrackers and most industrial clamps. Held by an exerted force matched only by specialized specimens from the kinkier side of sex toys, Reginald was not so much guided as bodily dragged back from the edge of the floating land. “Whew. That could have been nasty.”
Laying back on the grass, Reginald had a nostril-based view of his circumstantial savior. He took stock: white robe, slightly tattered? Check. Look of furrowed concern? Check. Blazing halo and majestic white wings? Oh. Check. “An angel.” His voice, still rusty from decades of disuse, came out as a flat monotone. “I expect you get this a lot. But.” Good, good. Social conventions coming out strong. Praise Luna. “Have I died.”
The angel laughed, a little ruefully., “No, nothing like that. You have been chosen, to - uh - revere us.” A sculpted, nervous hand ran through perfectly tousled curls. “That is, um, you’ve been brought here, so that we can...we can...you know. Be, um. Revered. Worshipped.”
Pause.
“Look, I-” A minute hesitation, then the words came spilling out, “I-I’m not much for all this either. Uplifting people - t-taking the children away... It seems,” hushed whisper, “wrong. But some of them,” the angel gestured back at the majestic temple buildings, “like it that way. They don’t care if everyone down there starts cursing our Names.” Deep breath. “I worry that - I worry about her.”
“Her.” Carefully, Reginald gathered himself to a standing position. He stood a good half a head taller than the angel, who, up close, was not exactly a paragon of perfection. Close. But not quite.
As if remembering Reginald’s presence, the angel stopped dead on the conversational path. “Sorry. So sorry. Where- where are my manners? My Name - sorry - my name as you would hear it, is Daciel.”
“How would I not hear it.”
“Well. Well, you wouldn’t. You can’t. Mortals can’t.”
“I am not mortal.”
Handsome, ungendered features creased in puzzlement. “But...but you have to be mortal. You’re not one of us.” Daciel had a habit of lip-biting when nervous or confused, Reginald noted, and the angel was positively masticating. In fact, if he looked closely, he could see faint dimples worn into the skin from constant chewing- “Do you mind?”
“My apologies.”
“I don’t - I don’t suppose you’d tell us if you were a demon of some sort?” the angel asked helplessly.
Now it was Reginald’s turn to pause and think. “I do not think so.”
“Are you a demon of some sort?”, even more helplessly.
“Not now.”
Daciel threw up his hands in despair. ”I should - I should find someone. C-can you stay here? Please?”
He considered it. “I can.”
“Thank you! Thanks -” the angel’s voice faded out as angelic footsteps - exceptionally light - ran off across the grassy meadow, heading towards the closest temple building.
Reginald hoped he would not have to lie to them. He had never encountered angels, but he had a feeling they would know falsehoods from truth.
Feeling. That was something he hadn’t really had in a long time.
But he had lied, of a sort, to the bumbling Daciel. Reginald hoped he would not be here too long. Luna was full when he arrived, but she was waning now, slowly, and he would have to face the consequences soon.
“Water.” He should find water. Where there was water, he had control, and control was important in the free-falling reality that was his world now. Besides. He had only told the angel that he was capable of staying. He was bound by no promise.
Still. He should leave a note or sign. He closed his eyes, listening to the subtle gravitations of water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink; water, the bringer and taker of life, the substrate of consciousness, the solute of the living universe. There. A fountain, nearby. Not a lot. But he could improvise from there.
He gouged an arrow in the grass and soil beside him, pointing in the direction he would go. Perhaps Daciel would find him that way. But water was paramount. Water was key.
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So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
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Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime