... Hear me O Lord...

     Who is like God?
     Upon the nebulaic plain of Heaven sits a grand Citadel, a basilica of Byzantine proportions but with Greco-Roman influences, including a Coliseum. In the grand dome of this basilica four Chaldean Lions, among the oldest Cherubim in Creation, serve as the personal Honor Guard of the Archangel Michael.
     For all the millennia of Existence, he has worn many faces. He has been kings of Assyria, generals of Egypt, famed Alexander, Hannibal, and Caesar. They form the face and figure of his Choosing. He has become War, but of late his thoughts have been drawn upon the idea War's cessation.
     The bronze of the walls reflects the features of his face better than glass or mirror, and reflects his Contemplation. How Dreaming made This come to pass, an end to War between brothers and sisters. Even he began to hope... could it be so? When the cherub of Dreams committed no crime but that of Love, Inspiration... his mind turned to Andrealphus and to Gabriel. And then to the others that have been lost. His Raphael. A'albiel. Samuel. Others.
     Why not dream?
     The Being whose very Existence, whose very name is a Question, asked this of himself. Why not dream?
     Why not dream of the cessation of War, the end of the struggle, the return of those who perhaps have wished to return, who do not know that such things are possible. But such things are. Soldekai showed us this. Blandine showed us this. And as he knelt before the Inquisition, Galadriel showed us this.
     Who are we to ignore such a resounding message from God?
     Who is like God?
     Surely not we, my brothers and sisters. We have forgotten ourselves. Can we not dream to remember? Is that not the purpose of the dream? To recount in allegory the things we wish, the things we hope, we aspire, the things we struggle to learn, to absorb what we see, and... yes... to listen to God in the language that perhaps best suits Him.
     Who are we not to dream, therefore?
     When the Symphony shook with the great disruption from the Marches, when Andrealphus raised his voice to God, the bronze walls of Michael's personal chamber reflected the briefest closing of his eyes.
     Who are we not to dream...
     But now it is not time for Reflection...
     A sigil shines in the center of Michael's chamber and the heavy paws of the four Chaldean Lions approach. "Narsinha, Cherub of Heroism, convey our news to Jonathan. That he should take the Standard in his hands and seek out all those who wish to follow the Archangel of Love's lead and return to Their Creator."
     The four-headed lion so called Narsinha opens all four mouths and angelic pours forth in the clash of swords and shields. "It shall be done."
     "Nasargiel... Nasharon, Cherub of the Caesars... Nattig... come with me..."

~*~          ~*~

     It's a quiet night tonight, and so Lily's making the most of it. She's spent most of the day tidying up around the meagre hotel room, trying to make it look as much like 'home' as possible. There are still no paintings on the walls, though there appears to be a stack in the far corner of the room - farthest from the door or window.
     The last of the dishes are done and set to dry, then her hands are wiped well on a towel, this tossed over the dishes. Stretching as she moves to the kitchen table, her cut-off shirt rising to show off her naval piercing, the young woman yawns. What a day. Thankfully, she doesn't have to work tonight.
     Plopping down on one of the chairs, she grabs a box of cigarettes. One is popped between her lips and then lit. Drawing in a deep lungful of smoke, Lily closes her eyes, then exhales after holding the breath in for a few seconds. Blue is revealed as her eyes open again, glancing up at the clock. Shouldn't Jack be home by now? She's gotten used to his unexplained disappearances, however.

     A great, golden thing steps out of a car at the side entrance of the Thief River Motel. Not a word passes from him to his driver. Just a knuckled knock, two times, upon the driver's window. Watch out.
     He bundles his coat to him as he walks a walk enormous to the entrance of the building, very much on the Wrong Side of The Thames. He doesn't belong here in any fashion. When he comes in, the front desk manager presses a button that somewhere rings a bell that somehow manages to alert those-who-need-to-know that a cop has just come in. Well, he looks like a cop. He isn't. He's just wearing a nice suit. Black. Something seen in London every day.
     Just not here...
     The shock of blonde haired princed up git doesn't bother to talk to the man at the front counter with his warning bells, but proceeds down the hall and to the third door down.
     All you hear, Lily, is a knock...

     No alarm goes off in her apartment, of course. She's not working for the man at the counter, so she has no such privileges. At the knock, she's startled out of her smoke-induced reverie. Leaning an elbow on the table, dangling the fag from her slender fingers, Lily opens the paper in front of her and hollers at the door, "We don't want any! Get lost, scumbag!"
     She's used to beggars, thieves and worse coming to her door, so it's nearly a knee-jerk reaction for her to holler such a thing to those on the other side of the door. She doesn't even get up and look out anymore. It's not like Nate visits anymore. He's history. It's just her and Jack, and the last one who knocked, she had run away from initially. So, she sits on her ass, flipping pages absently.

     Scumbag...
     The being outside, man that he is at the moment, peers at the insult-tossing door. Impertinence. Charming. "It is not so much about what you want," comes the very refined accent back to you. Or the door. Who am I speaking with? "I am here to see Jack. He lives here," he says this as if he knows it for absolute fact (which he does).
     There is a pause. "I really hate speaking to inanimate objects. If you could please open the door and be civilized, this will go much faster, and much better."

     Cursing under her breath, Lily butts out the cigarette, being careful to preserve it enough so she can finish it later. Hopping up out of the chair, she strides over to the door and peeks out the hole.
     Well, I don't know you, but you seem well-dressed... and you're looking for Jack...
     After a brief moment's hesitation, Lily sighs and unlocks the door -- it takes a moment, as there are about three or four different locks to flip through. The 'inanimate object' is thrown open to reveal a pretty young thing, despite all the 'punk' attire. Her flat belly is exposed beneath the cut-off shirt, which shouts the phrase, "Bite me!" (rather tame for her, really), but the usual short-short kilt has been discarded for more comfortable jeans, black. Her feet are bare and tattoos surrounding her upper arms like torques show... all topped off with an explosion of blue hair on the top of her head.
     "Sorry, we don't usually get legit visitors," she is saying, "so I didn't mean to be rude to you. It's a survival thing around here, you know? And I don't want any funny business, because I know where all the weapons are in this place and I'll have no qualms about using them in self-defense... but again, I don't mean to be rude." She's a young woman living in the worst part of town... can you blame her?
     As almost an after-thought, she says, "Uh, and yeah... Jack's not here at the moment...Mister...?"

     The door flies open to reveal a rather huge, golden-haired man -- what's in the water these days? -- blonde hair cut short, very official looking. Very. The slight surprise in his expression is not for your appearance but the abruptness of the opening of the door.
     Read it how you will...
     "Mark Armstrong," he says the human's name simply and after your long introduction, his expression relaxing to something this side of placid. He looks at you for another moment, then motions toward the interior with his hand. You opened the door, but he'd like to come in. "If you do not mind, it is very important that I speak with him. If I might wait within...?"

     The blue-haired one looks out into the hall momentarily, looking left, then looking right before stepping back and out of the way, motioning you in. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Armstrong. Sure, I don't see why not. Come on in. Make yourself at home," she says, finally smiling.
     If she sees your surprise, she doesn't mention it or draw attention to it. She will stay to close the door behind you, though, it seems. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink while you wait?" she asks, friendly enough.... quite a difference from the earlier 'scumbag' comment.
     Her 'home' is but a single room and a bathroom, though it's large enough. There's a small kitchenette off in one corner, a bedroom area in another, and then the kitchen table. You can sit on the bed or on a kitchen chair. Take your pick. The place is as clean as the young woman can get it, which is a remarkable difference from the hallway and the rest of this place.

     "Tea would be grand," and wouldn't it though. It's been many years since he has had tea, though his vessel has it every day in the afternoon. He pauses inside, looking at the bed and then to the kitchen -- bedroom and dinette all one area -- as if deciding what he should do. Or making a quick inspection.
     "When was the last time you saw Jack?" He was here earlier. Mark takes a seat in the kitchen, his hand reaching out across the small kitchen table, lifting a container of salt. A myriad small crystals. Hmmm. Then he sets it down.
     There is a glance to his watch, a marking of the time, and then he looks to you. His eyes are a very light brown. Sort of the color of tiger's eye.
     Or in this case four-headed-lion eye...

     "Tea it is," she replies. The door is closed and locked up before Lily makes her way over to the kitchenette. Getting a pot going on the stove, she pulls out some mugs and teabags, sugar and milk. All of these are juggled over to the table and set down without ceremony.
     Glancing up from the mugs as she rearranges them and puts the teabags into them, your strange hostess says, "Oh, earlier today... probably around lunch. It'll take a moment for the water to boil." There is a pause before she sets herself down in the chair across from you and ventures, "So... Mr. Armstrong. Are you and Jack old friends? If you don't mind me asking, how do you know him?" A curious little thing, at that.
     Her gaze finally meets yours dead on and she looks as though she's been shocked. Trying to cover, she says lamely, "I forgot the spoons..." With that, she's out of her chair to rummage around for a couple.

     "I've known him for a while," as long as he has been around. I was at the foot of Archangel Michael when He Came To Pass. His hand comes out and turns the mug about in his fingers, a sliding sound against the table following, and then he looks up from it to you as you rummages for spoons.
     "He is a Jack of All Trades," he finally smiles. "But good at whatever he does." That's not really an answer. "He's done a few jobs for me. I have another one for him."
     Oh, if he only knew the irony that was burbling all around him...
     "How did you two meet, if you don't mind me asking..." His fingers turn the mug again, three times clockwise and then stop. Habit. If you were a mathematician, you would know that he has arranged it exactly in the center of his body. He is something of a neat freak. Mathematically speaking.

     The sound of cutlery being shifted around noisily nearly drowns you out for a moment, but then it stops abruptly as the spoons are discovered and the drawer is shut. She is about to turn, but stops as you mention something...
     He's done a few jobs for you.
     And now you have another one.
     And those eyes... she's seen them before. Not yours, per se... but they are familiar.
     Could it be? Her heart nearly pounding up in her throat, Lily forces herself to be calm. Turning, she smiles and says, "Well, a friend of Jack's is a friend of mine." Returning to the table, she sets the spoons on the table and sits again, glancing over at the pot on the stove. It can't boil quickly enough.
     As for how she met Jack, she looks a little uncomfortable, but then manages to say softly and simply, "Jack saved my life one night, and we've been friends ever since." Her lips curl into a quiet smile, reflected in her big blue eyes. Jack means a lot to her. He is her savior, so to speak. "Since then," she continues, "he's helped me get a job and better myself." Yes, even a blue-haired punk can hold down a job if she puts her mind to it.

     The smile starts in his eyes and ends at his mouth, though it is slight by the time it gets there. "That sounds like Jack," he says. "Always there when needed. Some chaps just have a ....knack..."
     You could call it that...
     "I didn't get your name," he says after a minute, eyes glancing toward the sound of the boiling kettle. "If we're to be friends, I should get your name." That is how it's still done, isn't it?
     He nods finally -- you saw him this morning. He files that away for now. He is simply here to wait. Conversation may come and go. In fact, he would be just as happy to sit here and say nothing, but that's not polite. And he is a stickler for manners.
     "What do you do?" casual small-talk, casually offered, his gaze goes to the ceramic mug.

     Popping back up out of her chair at the sound of the kettle, Lily says over her shoulder, "I'm glad he has the knack or whatever it is... I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he was in the right place at the right time. This guy had a hold of me and might have killed me if it wasn't for Jack. But, I'm babbling now." She uses a pot-holder to grab the kettle, bringing it over to the table.
     Pouring the water into each of the mugs, she glances at you, then exclaims, "Oh! I'm sorry... I'm Lily. I didn't mean to be rude... it's just so rare that we get visitors, so you kind of threw me off, if you know what I mean." Yeah, that's it. She sets the kettle aside, then stirs her tea a bit.
     "Oh, I bar-tend in this punk-bar not too far from here. It's a dive, really, but it's something to do. My artwork wasn't selling much, so I had to do something that would pay for this place," the woman explains, setting the spoon down to let her tea steep.
     "It's a harsh environment, and it's nothing fancy, I know...but, it's work." She knows how crude she seems in comparison to you, how much on the opposite side of things she seems... uncouth, brash, and in-your-face. But, it's the life she's been dealt, so she lives it.

     He nods to all of that and at the end, Mark Armstrong lifts his head and looks at you again. "Honest work and an honest heart are worth more, much more, than the trappings of a false life. You're making a go of it," he says, this time much more British, "... give yourself a little credit for that, Lily. It's more than some would do."
     He takes his spoon with some deliberate motion and presses the bag against the side of the cup. He continues to poke at it as it steeps. "I wouldn't worry about the fanciness or not of it. You know what they say.... the road to hell is paved with gold..."
     His focus returns to you and there is a small smile again. "Thanks for the tea," he's genuine about that, his features warm with it -- and the steam.

     At the door comes another knock.

     Mark turns his head to the sound, then looks to you. Expecting anyone else?

     A faint blush colours her cheeks a bit as she looks down into her mug. "You're too kind. Honestly, what I have right now... the life I have... it's more than I had before I met Jack. He's helped me a lot, taught me a lot. He still encourages my painting, but he's made me be more realistic. I can't live on nothing. So, I paint during the day and work in the evening, and at least I'm not wondering where my next meal is."
     She pauses. There's a reference to hell... nah. She's imagining all of this. It's all in her head. Surely.
     But her inner questioning is abruptly halted, as is her tea preparation, as the door is knocked on yet again. Twice in one night? How weird is this? Glancing from it to Mark, then back again, she shrugs.
     "Eh, maybe I shouldn't yell out 'scumbag' this time, hm?" she suggests with a smile. She learned her lesson already. She rises from her chair and approaches the door warily. But she glances out through the peephole first, asking, "Who is it?"

     "Super, eh," the voice says on the other side of the door. "They say," his accent more from the West Country, "...you have a broken pipe in the loo? I've come for 't," he explains.

     She frowns a bit. "Well, that's news to me," she comments, twisting the set of locks on the door before opening. Glancing out, she says, "I didn't put in an order for that, but maybe Jack did?" And if so, it must have happened sometime today... and the Super's getting quicker these days.

     "I can't say," the voice says, still muffled by the door. "I'm just to see on it," is explained.

     he door is swung open...

     "You didn't ask," Mark says suddenly, "...and Jack didn't tell you. Doesn't sound like Jack..."
     Course you let me in, so who's to say...
     Mark is standing as the door is opened. A soft exhale. Too late.

     The man at the door is dark-haired, wearing a grey jumpsuit. Typical repairman that. His name is on a plastic tag, pinned to his pocket. It says 'Doug' in clear type. Around his waist are tools, fitted onto a leather utility belt. Brown-eyed, he may be attractive if he lost twenty pounds and bathed a little more. His hair is shiny from lacking a bath, perhaps.
     Doug gives a smile at Lily, bobbing his head. He looks at the number on the door, then to the girl again. "'Allo," Doug says, blinking his eyes languidly, "...I'm here to see about your," he frowns and fishes out a piece of paper that looks like a note form, "...pipe in the kitchen sink, it says?" The crumpled piece of paper is held and Doug looks to...and past...Lily for an instant into the room.

     Lily attempts to look at the crumpled piece of paper, scratching the back of her head slightly. "Well, are you sure you've got the right apartment? I mean, you can come in and look, but I just used it and it seemed fine..." she says, looking quite perplexed.
     Tossing an apologetic look over her shoulder at Mark, she then says, "Um, come in in, then...uh, Doug?" The name is tacked on at the end of the invitation as she peers back at the nametag to remember who she's talking to.
     Stepping back, she looks at Mark and says, "Sorry. These things seem to happen at the worst times..."

     Mark gives the man a nod and returns to his chair, sitting this time to face the better part of the room instead of a corner of the kitchenette. He takes his tea in hand, holds it like a gent, too. Minus the extended pinky.
     He's not sure about the repairman. It seems a bit odd. But, it's your home. It's your door. It's your busted pipe. "Evening," Mark says to the man. There's another glance to his watch. Still no Jonathan. I am going to have to seek him elsewhere...

     There's a bob of the man's head -- he's perhaps in his early thirties -- and he steps into the space. There's a nod to the blonde demigod there, and a demure, "'Allo, gov," as he passes to check the kitchen sink.
     "I won't be long, Miss," Doug explains, shuffling to a stop by the sink.

     Lily returns to the kitchenette, grabbing her tea and sipping at it while she still stands. Wincing, she puts it back down and adds more sugar, remembering belatedly that she didn't finish preparing it.
     "Well, Mr. Armstrong, I'm not sure where Jack is or when he'll be back. I wish I could help you with that. We discussed him getting a cell phone at one time, but that's not been followed through with just yet, I'm afraid. You're welcome to stay as long as you wish, though," she says to him, turning to look at Doug again, shaking her head. It's got to be a mistake. The pipes have been fine. She'll have to talk to Jack when he gets back to find out if he's had issues with them.

     The man -- he works out from the bends in his coveralls -- exhales as he kneels before the cabinets below the kitchenette sink. He opens the doors, then removes and turns on a small flashlight. Soon enough, most of him is covered by the cabinet door.

     "Yes," a slight smile, "I will have to mention that to him when I do see him." Meanwhile, Mark sips his tea. "A cell phone," he repeats, as if to remember that term, or perhaps simply to remember to speak with Jack about it. "But thank you. I will wait a bit longer, I think..."
     At least as long as the strange man is here...
     He cranes his neck to see the man beneath the sink, lifting golden eyebrows as he begins to disappear behind the cabinet doors. It certainly looks more complex than what we had in Babylonia...

     Finally sinking back down into her chair and relaxing as the man seems focused on his own work, Lily murmurs, "Well, he honestly asked me if I'd feel safer if I had a way to contact him while he was out. I'm thinking it would be good, just in case he has anymore friends showing up here looking for him." She doesn't question how it is that his friends know where to find him... considering this is her place. She's already got an idea.
     Sipping at her tea, her gaze flickers back to the man beneath her counters, then back at Mark. Perhaps she is comforted by the presence of someone else in the room. Speaking a little lower, she says, "You know... if he doesn't show by the time you need to leave, you could leave a message with me, even if it's just how to contact you. I'd make sure he got it."

     "Hmph," the man grumps under the sink. He backs up and brushes off his knees as he comes up in a quick stand. The cabinets are closed. He fishes out the paper again and looks at it, shaking his head.
     "I don't see anything," Doug says, walking across the little room. "If you don't mind, I'll check the loo now and then go."

     "Yeah, sure," Lily calls over her shoulder, jabbing a finger to the back. "It's back there."

     Mark looks to the girl across the table from him. His eyes smile and finally his mouth echoes it. "Hopefully he will come. I will not be in town for long... " He looks up as the man speaks, the little smile remaining through another nod.
     Maybe you're just being too suspicious, guardian...
      Light brown eyes re-settle on the girl. "He would show the minute I left. Isn't that the way the law of averages goes?"

     The man disappears into the bath, the light coming on. There's the sound of opening doors and soon enough, brushing against the floor.

     "Plumbing is tricky business," Mark mutters, sipping at his tea.

     Just as she looks up into Mark's face, she averts her gaze again. Perhaps she is just really shy...right. "Well, that is how things tend to go. Murphy's Law or some such," she replies with a chuckle, seeming more at ease than when she opened the door the second time. Everything seems to be normal... she's just not used to having so many guests at once, so to speak.
     "But I'm sure he'd be disappointed that he missed you, if you go that far back," she adds with a soft smile. "Is your tea alright? If you'd like more, just say so," she asks, trying to be the polite hostess.
     She stretches, then glances over her shoulder, commenting, "Yeah, I guess so. It's all like a giant maze to me. I don't go near it... so thankfully there are plumbers in the world. I'd just end up making a mess."

     The doors close in the bath as well, and soon Doug appear with a perplexed expression upon his features. It's an almost boyish look. A smile is given to the woman present, then a blinking aversion of gaze from the glowing man. "Um, I can't tell any problems...so I'm not sure. I have this request slip," he lifts, then puts back in his pocket, "...but I don't see any problems with either. So, I'll write it up that way and let the Desk know."

     Standing up again, Lily shrugs and says, "Aw, it's not your fault, Doug. Someone at the office likely screwed up again. Maybe it's the room upstairs or one of the ones down the hall. Might want to check with Willie at the desk, yeah. He'd have a better idea of who's been putting up a stink with him." She offers a grin and a pat on the shoulder to him as she walks him towards the door.

     To everything a purpose. Mark smiles a little. "I am sure I will see him before I leave town. We do go back a ways..." The averting of the eyes. Both of you. There is an unconscious glance over his shoulder.
     Is my tail showing?
     "Well, at least you know your pipes are alright," he offers to Lily. And his first mug of tea is finished. "Night," he offers to the man with a bit of a wave.
     There are faster ways of doing this. So much for being congenial.

     Doug nods, then stops when Lily touches him on the shoulder. He looks a little startled at the hotel guest's touch, and turns halfway about to see her and back into the room, though his hand's at the doorknob.
     "I'll...tell Willie," Doug confirms, giving a wan smile as he slips from Lily's hand.

     Lily's hand slips from Doug's shoulder, though it looks as though perhaps it would have stayed there if he let it. Smiling warmly at him, she adds, "Well, he's always messing up like that... but, it was nice to meet you anyway. You want a coffee or anything after you're done, pop by if you want. Seems a waste that you had to come here for nothing..." Her back remains to Mark, her gaze fixated on Doug, even he moves to open the door.

     Mark glances at his watch again and sets down his mug with his other hand. Three turns, and it is mathematically centered to perfection. He tilts his head at it, and then reaches into his jacket's interior pocket, removing a wallet.
     From it a card and a fountain pen. He flips the card -- belonging to Pashmina's -- over and writes a name and a number on the back. It might be a cell number. Not British though.
     It's a pretense. He will leave the card with her, knowing that he will find the one he's seeking before she gets a chance to deliver his message. But it is good for symmetry.
     And it's polite...
     At the exchange at the door, Mark lifts his head again, eyes leaving his writing momentarily.

     "Nice to meet you too, Miss," Doug smiles sheepishly, appreciating the young woman. "Thanks for the coffee, maybe I can have a cuppa...another time. I have to..." he explains, lifting the crumpled sheet. He needs to check on whatever this note is about. "Sir," he says politely, turning about to leave the room proper.

     Disappointment is obvious in her expression, but she understands that a job needs doing. Pouting a bit, she says, "Bye, then, Doug.." What is it with her getting people's names, using them, but not giving her own? It's like she just forgets to do so. Shaking her head, she glances over her shoulder at Mark... as though she had forgotten about him. Crap. Recovering slightly, she says, "Well, at least there's no problem for me to give Jack crap for not telling me about it..."

     There is a slight frown, a face of concentration, both eyebrows quirking slightly. He nods to the man again, looks to Lily, then back to his card. Interesting. Well! Sitting back, he caps his pen and places it back in his jacket. "I'm leaving you with a card from Pashmina's," he smiles a little. "They have good naan, but that's not important right now. There is a number on the back, my name. When you see him, please tell him it's very important that he calls me. And as soon as he can..."
     A finger on the card and he scoots it across the table, preparing to stand and go. Beneath the number, some fancy drawing. Maybe it's a personal trademark sign.

     Doug heads out of the door, turning to head up the hallway, towards the doors leading to the main desk area.

     Lily hangs onto the door, watching Doug go, her gaze trailing down the hall for a moment before she comes back into the room more fully.
     Turning her blue gaze back to the blonde, well-dressed man at the table, she says, "Oh, not a problem. I'll stick that on the fridge, actually." She closes the door but doesn't lock it since Mark seems intent on leaving.
     Moving toward the table, she says, "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to you, but it was nice meeting you, Mr. Armstrong. Perhaps we'll meet again sometime." She still averts her gaze from directly meeting his eyes, however, as though there is something that bothers her.

     Standing, he is once more enormous. "It was a pleasure to meet you," he says. "And...thank you for the tea... Lily..." He passes you and your averting gaze as he heads toward the door. Light-brown eyes settle on her briefly, hand upon the knob of the door. He nods to her, smiles a little, and then Mark Armstrong opens the door to leave.
     Narsinha has things to do. Mark must come along for the ride...

     "Sure, no problem," Lily replies. She follows Mark to the door, glancing out into the hallway once more even as Mark steps out. Disappointment shows obviously on her features, but then she pulls back into the room, closing the door behind Mark. The sound of the multitude of locks echoes in the hallway...

Posted by rowan at February 15, 2004 03:10 PM