The most remarkable thing about The Chamberlain's arrival -- is the fact that it is quite unremarkable. No Karinda traveling beside him. Soldekai comes into the Tavern alone -- another quick stop before departure. He pulls his leather jacket around himself tighter; the Marine vessel is nothing short of tailored bodybuilding, and thusly his clothing is cut to shape. He glances around, then puts his broad hands to his face, rubbing and massaging. Tired. A sigh and hands drop to his hips, cutting a striking form. And then his eyes see what he came to find. Well, sort of. The look is clearly, "What in the Hell?" What is that...waitressing...and what outfit is that? Soldekai sighs, putting one hand to his eyes, covering them. What is wrong with this day?

     And behind the bar can she be found, hammering in a new tap with such quickness, such skill -- as to make the several young men at the bar quirk eyebrows and take a third and fourth look at her. But her expression is Altogether Urfiel. Set, but not altogether unpleasant. It is a kind of...forbidding beauty. Much like Mongolia Itself, one might venture. Yisun Inke (for that is the new vessel's name) sets the ales in front of the gawking college students, and then holds out her bronze tip bowl. Yes, tithing is recommended. Her dark eyes look up as the door opens. It is getting late -- all of you go away! And then she sees it is Soldekai. Looking worse for the wear of his day. There is a sudden show of subtle warmth upon her features. "For you, it is on the house," her voice is laced with a Mongolian accent. All part of the act. Or is it?

     "Yeah?" Soldekai says, clearing a path to a seat. And he gets his share of stares. He must be military, the voice say. Blinking green eyes glance around as he sighs, taking a stool from behind. An assault. "What are you recommending?" he exhales airily, massaging his face again. Can the HK be seen? It's not as if he cares at this moment. Hand brushes over his lengthening flattop, the strands going flat. A shake of his head and a flash widening of his eyes and both hands come to a loud thud upon the bar top.

     Another entrance is made into the Mucky Duck as the others are leaving. This one might not be completely unexpected. He was after all out in the practice field with the other young Malakim. Schooling them on their unarmed combat techniques. The lesson stopped on two occasions as Malakim of the sword, honorable to a fault, stared in disbelief at the tactics suggested by the Cherub. That Cherubs are known to be largely gentle angels only added to the shock. He beats dust off of his tee-shirt and his jeans as he makes his way past the exiting patrons. He heads to the bar at first.. hoping for a drink... seeing who is there as well as Uri starts to slow his pace... He must be interrupting something.

     "Maybe arabic coffee," Yisun clips out, her voice both smooth and hard. But there is warmth for Soldekai. She's quite fond of him. Respect is evident for those who have eyes to see it. "That, or I recommend Mongolian Milk," she would, it's potent. "Most of the boys who come here cannot handle it..." Yes, that was directed to the staring college students. Uri wipes the counter again. "Why don't you go study! Get a good job, come back with better tips!" It's all part of the routine. The young men chuckle and are heading out as well. Uri inclines her head. "Ah," a broad smile, "Jonathan..."

     His green eyes look at the whelps. Boys is a good word. Soldekai nods, "Milk might be good," hair on the chest, "...with a whiskey chaser, huh?" And as Yisun turns, so does he. Jonathan. He'd smile if he didn't feel like going nova. And he could. "Evening, Jonathan," he says gently, looking back around to the bar. "Believe me... Mongolian milk needs nothing to chase it.... only maybe something to catch it if it will not stay down...." Speaks the Cherub. Even though he has had his highs and lows within his life.. he is often considered one of the definitive angelic authorities on alcohol (only the Angel of Liquor one of Eli's Ofanim is widely considered more savvy on the topic.). After a deep breath he makes his way to the bar and claims a stool. "The young'uns are doing well... thought they are still more idealistic than they are practical." he notes... he's sure it's off the topic.. but he's looking for a segue, "Good evening everyone."

     A pitcher of some hand-worked leather is brought from under the bar. Lined with beeswax, it leaves no residue of either -- but contains the fermented drink quite nicely. It is ...whiskey all its own. Two glasses...no...three...of it are poured. One for the three of us altogether. Short glasses...filled only half-way. There is a small, secretive smile on her lips, curling upon her mouth. "I will let Soldekai decide after his first one, hmm?" She turns toward Jonathan, nodding a greeting to him. "Evening, Jonathan...come to forge again?" A hopeful look. That same look cast to Soldekai.

     He only takes the drink and nods. Soldekai stares at it a moment. There is no note with him, no sound. He arrived in silence...yet there is consternation there. "Elise was sent packing tonight," he informs you both. That nice Lilim running about town. Apparently no longer. Green eyes stare at the short glass, lifting it to each of you turn. "Happy Birthday," he says cynically, downing the drink back and letting it slide down his throat.

     Happy Birthday? This gets a quizzical look by the Malakim Mongolian Waitress. "Last Call!" She says in a voice that carries. Yes, it is Urfiel beneath all of that. "You two...you stay..." she says more quietly to the pair of you. There are only four left. They look to be settling their bills with passing buxom wenches. One of Urfiel's Malakim peers comes out of the forge, wearing the garb and gear of his work within. Yes, he is the night watchman. He begins to ...clean up. Both of Yisun's hands rest on the bar and she leans in. She says nothing. She only looks. Something's not sitting right with you, Soldekai...

     Jonathan lifts his own half a shot and downs it quickly. "I think the fact that they drank this shit was why the Mongols could never a hold an empire for all that long. I might forge some later.. that last sword I tried to make at least had a somewhat swordish shape."

     And finishing it, Soldekai brings the glass down hard upon the bar. There, dammit. He turns his face to the ceiling and closes his eyes. No dissonance with him, but he is quite wrung. Something displeasing him. "You need a range," he smiles faintly, then looks back to Yisun. "And I should finish that small dagger." Work in the forge regardless. A turn to Jonathan, "How are you?"

     There is a shrug from the Cherub.... "I am well enough things have quieted down appreciatively... and for that I am thankful..."

     There is a soft chuckle. She downs the Mongolian Milk in one swallow, sighing out after. Very smooth! And the door closes on the last human. And a malakim closes the windows, locks the door. "Pardon me...I need to stretch." And long black wings, edged with amethyst unfurl. Yisun moves out from behind the counter, removing the fur hat. "It is too quiet for me...I get a little ... hmm ... agitated. I will have to go back to Michael's Camp and have a friendly war with some of his generals. So...you killed Elise...why do you not rejoice for a night's work well done, Soldekai?"

     He shrugs broad shoulders. Jacket falls open to reveal the HK within. Soldekai offers only, "It has just been too long is all." But lest he forgets, "And what is with that look? What's going on? Something happen that I did not hear of?"

     Too long? "Too long since ...?" A gossamer brow lifts in unspoken question. Since what? But she is distracted by your other question. Arms fold against her chest. "What...you do not like it? The other was too stiff. I could not move..." She saunters behind the bar again, chainmail chiming along the way. Utterly feminine and yet...somehow...still Urfiel.

     Eyes the the Cherub float to the HK... he's also a little more of a gun nut that most angels, "I know and abandoned warehouse that makes for a good practice range if you think you could use some practice." He pushes away the shot glass that so recently held mongolian milk. "Well that the Lilim has been slain it is a good thing....." actually Michael once told him to contact her if he needed inside info... since she could be bought.. that won't be mentioned now though. "How long do you expect her Trauma will last before she is granted a new vessel?"

     Yisun gestures toward Jonathan. "This is a good look for me, yes?" Agree -- by all that's holy...agree with her.

     He chuckles faintly at that. Politician learned -- Malakim First. "A while," Soldekai says to Jonathan, "...and I'll have to find that range." He gives a green gaze to Yisun...Urfiel... Yisun, "I sorta liked the last," he shrugs, "...but your choice, of course." Change does not come so easily. He ignores Urfiel's first question, a soothe glide across it.

     Jonathan looks to Yisun. In his years he has picked up many ways to tell a woman she looks attractive... most will get you slapped... however... if you ever needed to fear fashion questions from a woman.. it is this woman. "It is a very good look for you... it sorta says: look, but touch and I sever your hands and cauterize the stumps. fetching in that moth to fire kinda way." He almost unconsciously takes in a deep breath, hoping that was the right answer.

     Yisun smiles warmly. "Thank you, Jonathan." She looks to Soldekai and then moves behind the bar. "I will have to learn that....politic maneuver of yours. It could come in handy when I am surrounded ... someday..." Spoken as if it is inevitable. "Another drink?" She pours herself another of the Mongolian Milk. Her limit is two. She's a hardy thing, despite being slender and lovely.

     Soldekai just stares blankly. Witty banter. But unfortunately he has to take a trip to Hawaii. Mauna Loa. Despite his protestations to Dominic -- he always knows where his Superior walks. Drink. Someone said drink. "Oh, yeah, thanks," he says half-attending, pushing the short glass back towards Urfiel.

     Jonathan holds up a hand and shakes his head, "No thank you... I already have all the chest hair I require...." he has certainly adopted a very human sense of humor. "If there's anything stout on tap I'll do your laundry for a week for a mug of that."

     Yisun is quiet for many moments. No, no...she cannot seem to let it go so easily. She studies Soldekai. Without a waver to her gaze...now amethyst...unmasked to the two of you. "Sure, Jonathan....help yourself ... you pour whatever you like. Drinks on the house for my friends..." She looks to him then, smiling warmly, though slightly. This, as she pours another Milk for Soldekai.

     "Get something good," Soldekai counsels Jonathan. He smiles and watches the Milk intently. Focused there in the stream itself. Mental practice. "I can't stay too much longer," the Chamberlain notes. There's a flicker of his eyes. "I am hearing...that something's up." Somewhere. The distinction is sometimes intrusive. "Mehlon is at work," he mumbles as he watches, "...working with the Afghans." Talk about fun and cruelty. Gotta hate Calabites.

     Jonathan sighs and rolls his eyes.. the Veteran has butted heads with that bastard before... "He's tough.... and he's cunning in his way.... but when flustered he has all the mental process of a bag of hammers."

     "Well," Soldekai sits up, "...he gets to go back to Go." He smiles at Urfiel, but sighs in it. Despite the Legion of Fire, sometimes he has to make an appearance himself. So much for being a Soldier in the Legion as well as being Leader, as well as Administration.

     Violet eyes blending again with the vessel's brown settle their attention on Soldekai again. Once more...more Angel of Purity than Angel of Sword. It is something that comes from her. "For some, it is only in losing that they understand the true Nature of the Creator's Gift. Evil can never understand Good until it is vanquished by it..."

     "Evil is not meant to understand anything," Soldekai says with Captain's voice, "...save to perish in the Fire of Death. Until they are no more. I am not...an Instructor." He takes the latest milk and lifts it, saluting you both. "And We see to that," he seethes between teeth. Soon, he'll be ready for Afghanistan and his night becomes day again. He closes his green eyes languidly as he tosses the drink back, letting it slide enjoyably. After an exhale, glass is set down gently this time and he looks at Jonathan, "Any other things I want to know before I see Mehlon?"

     Evil is the perversion of that which was once Holy. Sometimes obvious. Othertimes...so subtle. Angel, who are you wrestling with? Yourself? Urfiel has fallen quite silent, arms folded against her chest.

     Jonathan nods slowly, "Actually yes...... He is a very up close and personal type.. he likes going toe to toe.... What I did the last time we faced off is I pushed him down a cliff and shot him about six times as he fell." Considering you both now he's only ever really used his sawed off double barrel 12 gauge, that is not an entirely unimpressive feet. It must be nice to attune yourself with your weapon of choice the way Michael teaches. "He's the type that will often.. beat himself... if you take my meaning." The Cherub does in fact notice the conflict within Soldekai... but being the stoic creatures he is he says will say nothing not he subject until Soldekai seems to wish to speak on it. Never pry into the feelings of a being that is far more powerful than you.

     There's a ripple in the Symphony, a series of sweetly achromatic chimes. In the space of the bar appears three others, a woman and two males. All are dressed...as if they're going on a mission. The Ofanim Lendan and Malakim Boniel and Zebulon -- part of the Chamberlain's own Special Forces, so to speak. Soldekai moves not when they appear, but all three look around upon appearing, then to those in the room. A surprise. Other than Soldekai, they are familiar with one other here, each giving a nod and smile to Urfiel. To Jonathan they give greetings as well.

     "You know," Soldekai keeps going, without missing a beat, "...this milk thing isn't so bad, Captain," he says to Urfiel. There's a nod in Jonathan's direction and he says, "Toe to toe is where we go, Jonathan," a smile there, "...thanks for the information." Back still to the others, he says, projecting, "How much time do we have?"

     "Good to see you..." Zebulon begins, "...Br...Sister?" he chuckles at Urfiel. Boniel just shakes her head with a smirk. "Yes," she says, "...I like...the chain mail?" It's the Ofanim that speaks of time however, chiming up, "They did the assault," he notes evenly, "...despite the warnings. Five minutes ago."

     There is a slight smile. "It is like...molten courage. Three of them, and it is said one will not care the numbers of one's enemies one must face." A pause. "Good for boldness it may be, but bad for aim." And that is the sound of quiet humor! You are not mistaken. Urfiel leans in a bit, taking hers up again. A toast to you both. And then a long and complete swallow.

     This must be one of those Malakite things... the rules of engagement and all that... Of course Jonathan is of Michael's school... once the battle begins, just win, don't worry about how you do so. "Well Toe to Toe is well and good, but having nothing to protect me from his resonance I opted for a different tactic."

     At the chuckles, hands go to the hips. Shapely, yes. Less formidable? No. But there is a half-cocked smirk upon her lips. Once more, her arms fold against her chest.

     Humor. Soldekai smiles at Urfiel, looking at her askance. Time noted. Five minutes. An operation about to begin. "Wish you both could go," he smiles wanly, "...you would...appreciate this...charge." Fear a Charge of Gabriel's Malakim of this level. Soldekai nods at Jonathan, taking in the information, "Forewarned is forearmed."

     The Malakim just smile, looking over the form. Yep, that's ...Urfiel...in there somewhere. But their expressions flatten again as they hear Soldekai's voice. This...should be unpleasant. And it's the Ofanim's voice that says, "Six minutes, Chamberlain..."

     And there is a sigh. Yes...she misses battle. How long has it been, Angel of Uriel's keeping? When you fought not single-spied but in battalions? Her expression, her visage sets. Placid. Reverent. The Lord's Work. She will have to forge too...before the night is done.

     You just need to live on the Rougher side of town.... Jonathan breaks up at least three brawls a night... There's also the window that has 'lone sharks door' written above it in black permanent marker. If you know why he gets that window replaced often you also understand why it's an appropriate label. His stout is lifted and he takes a long gulp from it. "Well I looks like your entourage is excited to be on there way... I wish you luck Soldekai."

     "Thank you, Jonathan," he begins, then adds, "You would think," Soldekai muses, seeming to ignore the countdown, "...that when..." he looks away, "...it is filtered through certain means that to encourage armed assaults on a defenseless village would earn the wrath of those who protect such, that they'd get the hint." Zadkiel's protectors. "You would also think," Soldekai goes on, "...that when they use napalm incendiaries...that would get Our attention." The Legion. "But when," he smiles wickedly, fathoming the stupidity, "...you suggest to one and he decides to toss the burning bodies into a ditch...you know who will come." He shakes his head, "They want us there...and we will oblige Mehlon and the souls who have been doing his work. Maybe," he says softly, "...something good will come of this." Yes, perhaps the return of his own ease. Contrition heard in his words. Then, a trip to the volcano.

     "Seven minutes, Chamberlain," comes the Ofanim's voice, getting agitated.

     "Brutality rarely comes hand in hand with brilliance," Urfiel murmurs...dryly. Ah, now...that's the Urfiel they remember! She turns then, "Go with our wishes for your success. And my confidence that it shall be so," she finished much softer. "Chancellor...go well..." A pause, and then a small grin to the gaze. "And if you cannot go well....go loudly and take as many of them with you as you may..."

     "One minute," Soldekai whispers, "...for each hundred they slaughtered." He purses his lips together, then looks between you both, biding seconds. "I'll see you both again. Take care." He smirks thinly, wagging finger at Urfiel,

     "Get some clothing, huh?" then to Jonathan, "I hear you've seen Kane," a drop, "...take care with that." In some ways, Andre's crowd is the worst -- they refuse combat...and work unarmed. Hard to take one of them down in righteous indignation. "We will," Soldekai smiles, pushing off the stool and patting the bar with finality.

     "Now, Chamberlain," the Ofanim pleads. They must be on time. Even the other two seem intent upon departure. In a line, they wait patiently, eyes upon friend Urfiel for the most part, with genial feel for Jonathan.

     Wings that were unfurled before, stretch out. A sigil made. Something known between Malakim. Some angelic tongue turned to fingers' symbols. A blessing.

     She nods a farewell. And says nothing about the clothes. Though she is tempted to tell them how well Michael likes them. There is only a small glimmer of that in her eyes.

     "Be well Soldekai." says Jonathan quietly... His stout his finished and he nods to the senior angel.

     Soldekai backs up to the group, he in front and three around him. Words angelic come from him, "Another time." Always Time. The Ofanim blinks and waves a hand, the four of them vanishing into a thin plane of yellow. Three seeming black in the flame, a fourth almost white. Gone in the minute...with seconds to spare...

     There are clear words that come to Urfiel (Yisun) as they depart, a speciality of the Whisperers of the Flame. You look excellent are warm words from Soldekai, followed by a laugh.

     "I shall forge a sword tonight, Jonathan. Shall you join me?" It will be a tribute to the battles that wage tonight, even those within her own soul. A pause. "And who is this...Kane, that Soldekai mentioned?"

     Jonathan nods to Yisun and starts to stand, "Surely.. I am good at carrying heavy shit around.... as for Kane he mean Julian Kane.... the proprietor of Pussy Galores."

     Of....what? It is an almost startled look. "Galore of what?" Stunned. The malakim is speechless.

     Jonathan blinks, "Well it's a joke name.... sorta like... Plenti O'Toole......" The Cherub hrms and shakes his head, "Um... ok.. how about we just stop by the Library sometime and pick you up some books by Ian Flemming.. that'll explain it better than I can."

     Yisun looks at you quizzically again. As if trying to figure you out. No...no she doesn't understand. Not even after two evenings with Archangel Michael does she understand the humor involved. She turns toward forge doors. "Micah...your watch..." The other Malakim nods to his commander...ess...and smiles a little as she leaves.

     Jonathan shakes his head, "This is either good change... or a very very very bad one..."

     There are two malakim within. One on guard duty. The other working a slab and prepping it for the furnace. Both stand at attention as the door opens and Urfiel's vessel is seen. As much of the ...waitron gear that can be removed and is not somehow functional for her modesty is removed. Bits and pieces of the costume are tossed aside onto the bench. And hands reach behind her to bind her unbound hair out of her way. "My forge is yours ...make yourself at home, Jonathan..."

     The Cherub nods winces just slightly at the blast of the heat upon entering the forge. He pulls his shirt off and drapes it over his shoulders. He looks around slowly and then to the forge itself, "So what do you need me to do?" He's here to help after all... he doesn't actually have an dissonance that needs to be worked off this night

     The malakim is still dressed. But now it is down to leather and chainmail. It does not ignite so easily as the fur does. "Ah...hmm...need. Well...what is it you would like to do? Myself? I am going to work on an....axe blade...something a little different." There is a small smile. And Urfiel moves toward the smelting area of the Forge. Taking a thick apron. Taking gloves refitted for smaller hands.

     The fire from the Forge blazes intently for an instant. The Symphony rings for an instant, and from the fire steps the Ofanim Karinda. The fastest of them. So fast...her own mind can't keep up. "Oh, wow!" she laughs, stepping out awkwardly. "Oh, hey there..." she murbles, working on making herself apparent.

Posted by rowan at May 02, 2003 04:53 PM