Andrealphus waits. In red and gold he waits. Upon cushions created out of rose and violet petals, with cups formed of the tigerlilies, with lotus blossom lamps and columns of bird of paradise, he waits to hear the words.
     And Love Shall Set You Free...

     It has now been several earth years since the Sentinel has been to the Celestial Realm. He has not even opened his mouth to ask permission, not even to go skinnydipping with Soldekai in Oannes' Grotto -- though he was several times tempted! And now... he is going to ask...

     A celestial gift.
     "I do not do this so often," Sentinel, "...but I was glad for this task. It is..." she smiles, sitting down, "...the stuff of Dreams." Himself, literally.

     Aloud, again, she recites a cellphone number, and she sits seiza, closing her eyes. Emotion rushes forth to fill a void, and then, Fiona Arundel, known to some as Drancy of no other name, watches candles burn out to blackness.

     "In less than a year and a day, you will find him. You will find Answers, though they won't be the ones you are expecting." His words filling the space of those crawling moments, before the coin falls the scant foot to the table.

     I love you...
     I don't want to forget...
     I don't want to forget this...

     And all this is saved and stored in his vast memory. Saved for later, and then sent Below when called for. Alexander is exceptionally loyal, for a demon of Secrets. Which isn't actually saying much.

     "I don't suppose you know a fellow called Dei, do you? I was told he might be here - otherwise, I admit, I wouldn't be, myself."

     Your homme, not your lord. Your man, your husband, if that word may even come close to describing the relationship. He will be in his boots in the sandy mud.

     "I call this...making up for lost time," Ian explains. His fingers slide into yours and he stands, pulling to bring you with him.

     "I've seen your flag on the marble arch
     love is not a victory march
     Its a cold and its a broken hallelujah..."

     Alexander finds himself a chore which will give him good vantage of the room. Sweeping it is, again. Easy work, and work that others don't really like to do. But it lets him roam, and listen, and watch.

     "Being with you," Edward says softly, such a contradiction to the body before you, "...has changed me, Valan. Wanting you and being yours, has made me," he frowns at your mouth, finding words, "...more than I have ever been."

     "When you talk like that, Davy," Edward murmurs, turning his eyes back to the punching bag, "...it happens like that. Is that what you want?"

     "Never..." and Soldekai's voice trembles, "...never ask me for anything again, when we are like this. Do you...understand, Galadriel?"

     Kit smiles and he nods, raising his glass. "And to the faith of good friends..."

     "I just thought I would pay you a visit... Many are concerned about your Patron." Another drag form his cigarette before adding, "Andrealphus." As if he needed that explained to him.

     It makes him smile. For the first time since being on this planet and in the material realm, he can honestly say that he is very, very happy.

     Julian closes his eyes. I am unprepared for this. Not this. Not you too.

     "There's a French revue opening off West End, not the actual West End, but close. Anyway, an open audition for singer/dancers for an actual stage act, Julian. I've always wanted to do that, and well... I auditioned."

     "Always nice to see help in town," Salem says, her blondish hair piled on her head. She pushes up a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. "Have you gotten settled? I will admit...I'm a little surprised, but no less grateful."

     London. Is everyone going there? What is going on anyway? Well, you may know. A front of a battle only beginning to make itself known. Kit. Going to London.

     The Archangel's own Dream spread across the cosmos. A dream of a return of one is a dream of restoration and victory for all.

     Someone to join his ranks. If he were mortal, he'd pump his fists and dance, yelping Yes! to the achievement. But archangels don't pump their fists.

     Huh. Phantasmagoria. Yisun quirks a look between the waitress and Jonathan. "I'm new to town. So... this place is hot?" Hot. Get it? I have become so droll...

     Yisun stands and smiles, her hand coming out. "Yisun Inkhe," she says, natural and native Mongolian accent on Mongolian syllables and then: "Pleasure to meet you," English accent having a war with something almost ...American.

     Soldekai's eyes drop to the stone upon which he sits. He had not thought of things as you say. That there are others who wish a new home. Who would want to be with him and his Word.

     Lord Andrealphus, I try. I promise. But, Lilim? Here?

I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

     "I don't know," Sandrine smiles, her blue eyes glinting dampness. It's not sadness; her demeanor says otherwise. Perhaps its the cool evenings and crisp air. "I think...everyone looked happy. Are we happy, Davydd?"

     Here, she is known as Alexandra Salem, Planner for the City of Westminster and Greater London. An urban architect of the highest caliber...and one of David's oldest and most faithful servants. Rumors abound that she is the next Archangel, and her greatest calling card is the civilized human world as we know it.