Novalis' Glade remains one of the most sought-after climes of Heaven's Realms. A lush parkland, the Glade is punctuated by every known (or to hear it said from the Book of Knowledge) instance of natural construct. A copse? There are several. A wood? The very definition can be found. A billabong? There are several. Whether the Glade reflects the natural world or the natural world of the corporeal plane reflects aspects of the Glade - well, Yves is not talking.
But it is not the space of the Glade alone that makes it so desirable. The choirs of Novalis are often regarded as some of the most affable of the entire Host. Whether conventional wisdom is Truth, well, on that topic, Novalis herself would refrain.
The very word billabong was enough to get Kit to visit. His retainers were slightly less pleased with their charge's newfound energy -- increasing to the point where it can almost keep up with his insatiable curiosity. Can't he go back to work now?
What about now?
Since assisting a demon prince with answering an Aspiration, and nearly getting wiped out in the process, he had not so much as left the Chamber of Aspirations in Blandine's Tower, let alone made such a journey. In fact, there were more than a few who believed (and a couple quite vociferously) that Kit should not be allowed to leave the Tower. On the one hand, it was not safe. On the other hand, he's Kit and bound to cause a stir wherever he goes. On another hand (for the ones who were counting had more than two), he's under restrictions from Heaven anyway, let alone now.
But despite the number of appendages used in the detailing of Why Kit Must Not Go to the Glade, it was permitted. With a traveling retinue of course. And when one lumps the spies of other Superiors in the mix, well... the retinue (official and otherwise) became a Mardi Gras parade in proportion.
But his whims were to be allowed, the soft command came. If not truly encouraged. Watch, but do not stifle. Protect, but do not smother. Rein in, but let his own tiredness lead the way to discretion. He'll run out of energy before he causes too much excitement, his guards were assured. He won't be any problem.
Apart from the billabong exploring, that is. And to any other sort of place that has a funny or interesting sounding name. Just be glad there isn't a Teat Wood or a Oingy-boingy spring -- you might not get any rest...
So, to get back to the matter and journey at hand, not only did Kit insist upon visiting one of the several billabongs, he decided it would be a good place for a picnic and a song. It was going to be a long day, so much as days are ever marked.
Dark hair short but with unruly cupid curls, Kit looks much like the Kit that once played college pubs in America. Apart from the wings. Around his neck is a leather cord with a hunk of basalt in it. He wears no figment of a shirt (not an actual shirt would it be, but rather an Ideal Shirt or the dream of shirts yet to be), but there are the memories of jeans upon his legs. His feet are likewise bare. From his back, deep black-plum wings stretch, the light of Brilliance gone from them for the moment. They are deepest violet and plush with feathers long and short, strong and slender, guiding and aerodynamic, fluffy and rough.
In his hands and on his denimed lap is a guitar, an angelic construction, with a wide body and a strange neck. Rather like a hybrid between an oud and a classical Spanish guitar. From the fretted strings the most lovely of chords. "I want to live, I want to live in your camera, take a picture of my heart won't ya..." he sings a tune he heard on campus once, his back against a tree on the edge of a billabong.
Why is it always me?
It isn't those words, exactly, going through Madian's mind; rather, something vaguely of that spirit. The one whom he would far rather avoid, he is assigned to. Someone, clearly, is hoping that he will get into trouble.
And he is impatient with it; that part, he cannot help. His mind moves too fast, too fast for thoughts to process at a more proper rate. At present, he is trailing along behind by force of will, rolling about in little circles which almost disturb the grass but not quite. Picnics. He regards it with disfavor that he does not allow to taint his eyes, his expression.
He would rather be back in Dublin. Or even Belfast.
Madian cannot, however, quite hold back a grimace at the music. It isn't to his taste, and he can't quite keep it from showing, even if it is such a fast flicker that a raindrop could hide it. Nothing is said. Everything is watched by wide, darting eyes, rapid in their alertness. He folds himself up, crouching down in the grass for a moment, but he is keeping his distance. No smothering. Merely observation. For he is the Recorder, for this...
If but that God's other Servants above him would let another tune be played...
Certainly an Archangel's arrivals are met with some level of fanfare. But as befit him when he was of Gabriel's retinue, Soldekai is the exception. His arrival in the Glade is met by no one - which will cause some consternation around protocol - save Kit for now. He simply appears in a space seemingly empty, but that coalesces into the form and figure of a malakim.
A brilliantly dark malakim.
"For you," comes his voice, even as his arm extends. Business on his mind, it seems. "I thought it might take longer, but..."
Soldekai's gaze lifts to look around the Glade, possibly surmising.
"In case any ask you until it is common knowledge, Sentinel." In his hand a small scroll, proffered to Kit and glowing with the seal of the Council.
Once a Fireman, always a Fireman...
As the Archangel of Brilliance arrives so suddenly HERE, the members of Kit's retinue (a couple of cherubim of dreams, for his well-being and comfort, and at least two seraphim, who are rather less pleased for the disturbance, verily so) snap their gazes to the dark figure and rise to bow. Kit drops the guitar, and rises too. He was going to give his lover all sorts of greetings which were then halted (to the joy of the seraphim) when the scroll is proffered.
Silver eyes lift to the dark visage. What is it? And then his hand tentatively reaches out to take it. The Council's Seal. He has to admit to some nervousness regarding official notices. He's always afraid he's about to get an Eviction.
But he breaks the seal with a look to Soldekai, as if to judge by his countenance the meaning, or the timbre of the message. "It is good to see you, Archangel," Kit murmurs as his fingers unroll the small scroll.
It's a slow motion, that...
He has not yet seen the figure in the grasses, the watcher in the wheat. So to speak. But at least the song's stopped, Madian....
An Archangel? Here? Madian's dismay knows no bounds. Hastily, he drops to one knee, head dropped, gaze averted. This is what one does when one is already standing.
But he is already bowing, now; and wide dark eyes take everything in (even if at the moment, just the kind of shoes archangels wear), snapping to the notice and then back down. Ah, propriety.
Kit is not the only one fearful of Eviction, with more or less reason to fear.
Soldekai waits for Kit to read the scroll, returning to see the space now bent low. He shall never get used to that, but has been educated that it is not his place to chide others for what shall be done. (Not his words.) If a Malakim can smile, such is gently offered, but the smile changes upon recognizing Madian's aspect. He does not say anything, the archangel, as it is not his Glade, but says to all in attendance, "Please rise. It is difficult to stare at the tops of your crowns."
It is true, afterall.
The cherubim and seraphim rise, but their gazes remain averted. Such is the protocol. The cherubim glance at one another and at Kit, making small gestures: (wing lifting) What do you think it is? (shrug) I don't know, maybe a summons. (mouth twitching) Summons? For what? (shrug) Can't say, but you know how it can be on the upper levels. (mouth pursing) Hmm...well... hopefully it's good news. (nod) Yes, hopefully so. That's a nice shirt by the way. (eyebrow lifting) Oh thanks, I just made it up.
Kit reads the scroll three times before he can really comprehend the words. And then when he does, he lets the scroll roll up in his hands. He holds it a moment. He doesn't have a whole lot of words -- strange for him -- but he smiles to excess. Silvery eyes give him away. "Did you ... do this...for me?" He manages to get out that at least, looking at the scroll in disbelief.
He listens, but does not speak. He is here for his own purpose; he is the uninvited guest at the table, as it were, and well aware of it. Madian straightens - not slowly, for he does nothing slowly - and backs up a pace, then holds himself still by effort. The wide dark eyes are still in motion, taking in everything that is there to be observed; the blades of grass in their shifting on up.
Soldekai looks away from the others and to Kit, "The Council has decided it upon the Archangelics' recommendation," he explains. "It is how the council works," Soldekai goes on, looking to the cherubim. Information is imparted to them, for the archangel's hand waves in an almost dismissal.
"I am certain that it will be reported across all the spires soon enough," Soldekai adds, looking to Madian. The retreat causes a visible frown, and he suddenly stops his conversation to say, "Many things I must learn as the newest of the Servants," as they are sometimes called, "...but I know that I cannot abide fear, if that is what I am seeing."
Only for something as this would he have stopped Kit's good news, as it seems to be. "Is there some problem?" he wonders aloud.
The dream cherubim look between themselves, shaking their heads (again to themselves) and then looking to the seraphim. The seraphim seem rather surprised at the question and then everyone turns to see the other one around.
Oh, he must be talking to you...
Who is that anyway? No idea. I like his shirt too. It's alright. I mean, it's not like Cristobel's wardrobe...
Kit glances around, eyebrows knitting only out of curiosity as to what could be causing the drama. And suddenly Madian is seen. Where did he come from? He glances to the cherubim, but they seem to busy making little gestures to one another to be afraid. He looks back to his message as Soldekai turns to ...whatever else is happening.
So there's a spy. What else is new...
"This is really good news," he says. "Really good. The best... the best I have heard in years now. Well," he grins, "apart from things more personal..." That for his lover with whom he shall rejoice later. Another time. Some time, some time when there is not so big an audience.
He tucks the message into his jeans, keeping it on his person. Not so much to show it to any who might question him, but to keep it safe in his pocket, close to his person, to let the words soak in through layers of the self to his own heart.
"No difficulty, exalted." Madian bows down again, lowering his eyes. "Duty only." He does not lie. What fear he has, he keeps to himself, if it is fear indeed; certainly, there is frustration. Someone who moves so quickly and yet thinks so slowly cannot exist other than in frustration. Or so he has been told. He is making no effort not to be seen; he is discreet, but not in hiding.
Duty.
"If it is preferred," Madian's voice remains as it has been, even, detached, "I shall withdraw, excellency." He is focused, now, on the archangel, and unaware of the compliments. Had he heard them, he would be both baffled and flattered and then irritated by his own reactions. Clothing is irrelevant, isn't it? "I do not intend to intrude with my presence."
"You cannot intrude, and you should not leave," Soldekai states, moving away to allow Kit his apparent visitor. "It is good news," Soldekai says as he hovers faintly above the blades of grass. "Deservedly so, as I have stated for the records. And others have as well," he notes. There will be little secret before too long.
"So," Soldekai must meaning Madian in that, "...you should enjoy your time in the Glade. I am sure your presence will be requested elsewhere soon enough. If you wish to go," now to Kit, "...it shall be your...choice. And you already have visitors," he says generally, but meaning the specific.
"My ... exile is over," he says it, and the others can hear it. The angels of dreams in his attendance smile as they nod their heads, a bowing of heads. A recognition in that of what should have always been. The seraphim, in particular, seem rather self-satisfied with the whole thing.
"The visitor I most wish to see is already standing here, in his office, but here all the same." His wings unfurl in a salute, and then in a stretch. "Can you stay a while, Archangel?" He asks, though he already knows the answer. It is everywhere in Soldekai's demeanor. He reaches for the Archangel's hand.
Unafraid of the consequences, now, of Love...
There is a bow for the words, but no words given. Madian has nothing to say. It is noted, and nothing more. If he could flee, he undoubtedly would; but duty compels him. Duty, and Justice, all expression kept out of wide, roaming gaze. He will excuse himself as soon as he may. He must report..
There's a look to Madian, nothing so accusing. He understands duty, even if it is a duty he does not understand. "I can, but," Soldekai motions to Madian to approach, "I am happy to stand in the queue," as it were.
"No," Kit says with a smile. "You do not stand in a queue for me. Madian... right?" He turns to look to the one that Soldekai is motioning to. Oh yes, you questioned me that day. I do not know that I was polite. "Please... none of us are holy relics. Is there something you need or... were you looking for me?"
He won't say spying. It is what it is, but it sounds so ugly.
He looks to the seraphim and cherubim. "I don't think you need to remain at the billabong, friends. But...thank you for humoring me. I know... how difficult a job that can be." He smiles at them, his smile finding its way to the Archangel and to the servant of Dominic.
"There is nothing that I require." Madian answers it with discomfort evident in the way that he holds himself, though at last, at least, the huge, dark eyes remain still after but one more dart; from archangel to cherub, and still. "I thank you for asking, but no; What I must do has been done, to the best of my capability."
Were he human, he might add both devoutly and without irony, Pray God it is done well enough. But he is not. He does not.
He bows, and then rises. "I shall leave you to your celebration," Madian says stolidly, with that peculiar lack of emphasis. Joyless, this duty. Joyless, this blame, the suspicion that he is not guiltless but frustrated by the lack of knowledge of where his guilt may lie. "As you are blessed, so be it."
Soldekai does not ask the obvious questions. Not that he may not wish to know, but there are particulars to politic. Archangels do not question the service requirements of other archangels. He shall not put anyone in any compromising position or force them to act against any Nature. He knows the Symphony on this.
And so Soldekai moves to a bench to take a seat, leaving the host of the Garden to direct the conversation. Plausible deniability, he has turned into an artform. One dusky glass-leg extends, and wings of gleam fold behind him neatly, like upright folding doors.
"The Father bless you on your way, then," Kit says. He glances to Soldekai as he takes a seat on the nearby bench. But it is to Madian he turns once more, watching him bow and rise once more. "We all try, Madian, to the best of all of our capabilities. I am sure your Master is pleased with your work. You serve heaven, as we all do. I hope your next assignment is a good one."
"I hope to have an assignment eventually, myself," Kit says with a grin, heading for the bench. He does not sit on it, but rather takes a seat on the grass in front of it. Legs lying long, he leans back on his hands, his wings lying lazily on the grass at both sides of him. So less stately, but far more relaxed.
A weight has been lifted quite visibly from his shoulders. "How are you, Brilliance?" he wonders warmly. "You seem most preoccupied..."
There is no verbal answer, just a deep bow. Madian is far from certain as to how this news he bears will be taken. But he is the Messenger; that is his role in this. The Recorder, the Eyes of Justice, not the Hands, nor the Mouth. Least of all the Sword. As it will be, so it will be. Without speaking, he wheels round, sudden movement springing him forth.
Soldekai is preoccupied, and eyes linger upon the departing Madian. Only after Madian's back is safely turned do his lips twist a little, but not in dismay. Consternation. "You should have talked with the angel," Soldekai thinks. "Sentinel of Aspirations," he smirks. As if duty was neglected. "There is something there," he says aloud, though that may be coincidental with the thought.
"I did speak with him. When I saw him. But what more should I have said?" He looks to where Madian has disappeared. The Glade ripples with the speed of his departure. "He watches, he reports. It's his job. I do not wish him ill, but find I have not much to say unless he's interrogating me. He is always so uncomfortable around me. I think I represent ...something. I am someone he does not wish to see. I do not really know why."
He glances toward the other angels as they make their departures. He smiles and waves to the cherubim as they take to the air. "Alariel does have nice clothing," he remarks as the cherubim disappear.
Finally, Kit lies back upon the soft grass, his wings, arms and legs spreading out to make something of a star-shape. He then crosses his arms behind his head, turning it to look at his lover on the bench. "What do you think is there?"
"I do not know," Soldekai continues to wonder as he looks in Madian's direction. "Maybe someone should ask," he opines. "Maybe his duties are at angles with his nature. Perhaps it is something else. I cannot say," though he probably could, with a few placed powers. "Maybe he does not have many personal associates." The usual conjectures.
"Maybe he does not like his assignment in particular," Soldekai notes. "It may be so much. Maybe he wishes for something else. Isn't that your job?" Soldekai asks, now smiling.
"In so much as he may dream or aspire, it is. But perhaps he does not. I do not feel such from him. Mostly, I detect impatience." He smiles a little. "Perhaps they are at angles with his nature. Not everyone is perhaps suited to serve the Word of Justice. It must be difficult. Particularly for those who are not seraphim and therefore find Justice, along with Truth, most natural."
Kit sits up now and sighs. "He does not seem happy. It is true, I have never known servants of Dominic to be ...happy. Efficient, yes. Happy... I am not so sure. To dream, even less sure. But...you are right... it is my job. I do... still have one."
He laughs in a sigh. "It is time for me to return to The Marches. And I will check on his dreams. Who knows," Kit grins, "...maybe I shall check in on Dominic's too. Though, I do not know that I am ready for such things..." His eyes widen a touch.
"Thank you for the news," he murmurs. "I have... had guards for so long now I am not sure I remember what it was like to fly freely." He stands, brushing the grass off his jeans, even if it all is just an illusion of grass stems on dreams of jeans. "This... was a good day, Soldekai..."
"Good," Soldekai says, seeming complete. "And if I were you, I should stick to Madian than to his Superior." Just a suggestion, his look says. "Maybe now you can enjoy your new state. As for me," there are a few more items that need attending this Time.
"Let me know what you discover. Oh and how your day goes. Your missive," he motions at your pocket, "...should be in the Library by now, if it was not Already."
"I shall...see you later, yes," Soldekai only now offers, without the immediacy of so many others.
"I hope so," Kit says quietly. No, he is not to get to enjoy your smile today, your company today. But that is alright. There are Times, many other Times, in this present and future that will bring the two of you together.
"Of course, Archangel, I will be happy to report what I learn. Maybe we can meet for coffee," now he is excited. "Coffee in Iceland and I will catch you up then. You are busy now, and I should not keep you."
Kit looks at you a moment more, arms crossing at a cherub's strong chest. Shorter than most Malakim, but they are physically stalwart -- the physical representations of the strong hearts they represent. Faith, to the seraphim's Truth. Loyalty, to the other's Justice. His arms unfold and he reaches for you with his hands. Please, Soldekai. There must be a connection.
"Please... if you have time... call for me. Otherwise, I will see you as soon as I can get in through your own queue." He smiles to you, silver eyes gleaming galaxies...
"Coffee in Iceland is fine," Soldekai assents, showing some awareness. He takes the hands offered in one of his, giving a gentle squeeze. "I will let you know when my duties allow as soon as possible."
Soldekai stands, wings extending to depart. "Enjoy, hmm?" he says again, his focus always on the here and now. There is much in the moment - and where else shall Brilliance reside? There's a flash of a wink, and in less than an angelic blink, a stream of light, brighter than Heaven's on, streams out of the Glade and into the spires.
"I will... and ...thank you, Archangel. For this... return of trust. It... heals a loyal heart." There is nothing worse for a cherub to feel than he is or is thought to be disloyal. He smiles at the wink and he tips back his head to watch his lover depart.
For the first time in years, Kit stands alone. He is not flanked by guards, assistants, chatty stars. For a moment, a blissful moment there is just him in this Glade. And in the sound of crickets he detects the laughter of God.
With a spreading smile, his invigorated form lifts from the surface of the Glade to fly over trees, fly past and out of the Glade to the solace of stars and a return to Heaven.
Posted by rowan at June 25, 2006 06:46 PM
