Baal, Baal. You never send flowers anymore....
     Along the border of India and Pakistan, near the center of the Womb of the Earth -- the birth canal of civilization upon civilization -- the battles for nationalistic supremecy rage. Nuclear bombs are still a few years down the line, but the black smoke that rises from the fire bombs are enough for the purpose. The "skirmishes" in the sky, between planes purchased from the Russians -- thanks in no small part to the efforts of Asmodeus and Belial -- have begun to spill downward. The factions stirred by Malphas. And God forgotten by....everyone. And on whose side would The Creator sit in this struggle? When both are wrong, where does God intervene?
     On the side of Destiny and Blessed Goodness and Justice, of course...
     And to that end, have the angel legions come. Most notably those of the Malakim of Fire. To fight fire with fire. What else? To end the conflict by routing out the wickedness that has seeped into the vulnerable souls of the warring nations. And so, Malakim Chamberlain, this is where you find yourself. In the black smoke and surrounded by fire. Pakistani planes are preparing for take-off -- a second run. An Indian village ravaged by conflict. And the burn and stench of brimstone on your tongue...

     He should rather not be here. But to hear of Asmodeus and Belial...only he was thought of. The Chamberlain leads a legion...indeed to root out not only the angels, but the hearts of men that serve them. Punishment comes to the cruel and wicked. Laurence was good enough to send compliments, but this...is orchetrated by Soldekai himself. With servants of Gabriel with him and humanity opposed to the destruction, he moves about the area, watching. Will the demons make an appearance. They would not be so ignorant. But if there is to be demonic complements pushing things along, then he has no choice but to muster those in opposition and bolster their weal and zeal...
     He would prefer to be elsewhere. He can feel it. It touches his mind and Soldekai, standing on the roof of a short building, closes his eyes to it for a minute. No names, no face to match it...it is dispelled. He folds his arms over his chest and open amber eyes to peer at the skirmish outside of town and the anti-aircraft missles being shot from various buildings. He runs his tongue upon his bottom lip and sighs, hands coming to his waist. Patience. Give them a few hours to turn the tide. It will be an intense few days...

     In the clattering of weapons...in the thudding of missles...in the stinging hiss of smoke...there comes...perhaps...an unusual sound. "Explain to me this riddle. What is the true victorious outcome?" Christopher? The voice is unmistakable. Smooth, where this world is rough. Soft, where this war is loud. "Is Peace ever the child of War? Or is the secret of salvation in...Truce, rather than Triumph?" And if you turn...no doubt you shall...to see the owner of this voice, you will indeed see Christopher. Dressed like a native of the region...more Pakistani in flavor than Indian. A small black turbon covering his head. A scarf of cloth covering his nose and mouth. Only those silver eyes are visible. The upraise of a brow. He is clothed all in black. Robes and loose garments. Loose trousers and boots typical of the Pakistani Army. Arabic. And he seems ....created to it. Natural in it. His arms are folded against his chest.

     The Pakistani planes are refuelling. Minutes more. Minutes more. The anti-aircraft missles pause their barrage. Waiting on targets. Minutes more. Minutes more. Meanwhile your legion moves as you have ordered them. But which side of this are we on? Really...
     There's a twist of surprise, the kind that brings a weapon up with it. In less than a blink of an eye. German-made, whatever it is. In the moment, Soldekai is ready to kill, but in the next instant of recollection, there is relief. Then, "What...are you doing here," he whispers, tension rising there. "Go home," he demands, eyes flashing at you. Not angry, yet. Not you, not here, not now. It is distracting...it is dangerous for you. "Go home," he says softer, hearing his own voice. He twists back to see what's happening in the next buildings across the way.

     The Pakistani planes have left the runway. The anti-aircraft missles begin again. Thudding like the heart of the gods of war. No offense, Michael. And commanders who listen to the voice of demons rest quietly behind the lines. Quietly and comfortably behind the line of conflict. Like babes all, warm in the bunkers. Their planes carry their payload to the India-Pakistani border.
     A hand lifts slightly. "You know I cannot do that," he says quietly. Evenly. Christopher's eyes move toward the sound of approaching planes. Silver glinting. And what may he...a Herald of Aspirations...do in this reality? How is he to guide you? To protect you? To steer you from the evil of this day? To...simply leave? "This is no place for a bird to fly." His eyes go upward as an anti-aircraft missle leaves from nearby and explodes near a plane. To distract. To damage. Aspirations and Hopes and Dreams die in the fires that any war creates. Even yours, Soldekai. And perhaps there was some...tinge of knowing. That some idealism in this part of the world was dying. What little remained behind. Dreams were slaughtered way before the first bomb fell. Where else should he be? America? Where dreams are answered everyday.
     There is a whisper at your ear. "I will be with you. A raven of war to sit on your shoulder." And then he is gone...
     But Baal is still kicking. Unfortunately....

     "Chri..." Soldekai begins, twisting back around to see you gone. He sighs and thinks: Don't stay here, don't do this. But he knows otherwise...and he has a series of planes to see about. Right now, he cannot think of dreams and aspirations...he needs to make sure that as many as possible are encouraged to leave before things get worse.
     Report from a younger malakim that shows informs Soldekai that their divine counterparts are indeed sitting on shoulders in bunkers. Soldekai sighs all around and nods. The gun is replaced and in a blink, something else created. A shift in uniform...to a Pakistani. If this is to be settled in mortal terms, then he'll have to take his level of this argument directly to the demonic brethren as it were. A short statement...get out....

     Every soldier in history prays to God before his day of battle. Every soldier's prayer ends upon the ears of the Marches. Every wish to survive. Every hope that this shall be the last of it. Every aspiration to a life other than bombing women and children. These all do Blandine's own soldiers answer. This, the war for salvation that exists beneath the material battles. The play...within the play...
     The mind! Think. For he sides on both sides of the battle. The generals, puppets of the infernal, command...ordinary men and women. Ordinary in their mortal-ness. Ordinary in every aspect. Human. Children behind the cannons of gods. What of the innocence in each soldier. What of the necessity of evil. Of killing. Of breaking one holy sacrament to preserve another. What of the village. What of the women and the children. What of the dreams of having bright clothes and handsome husbands? Who is to hear them and to answer the sound of aspirations dying on the vine. And what...what is he to do when The One is here...hands bloodied in between the two sides, working for the outcome that best suits the Almighty. Leaving...is simply not an option. But the robes have turned to feathers. The scarf to a beak. The boots to talons. And the raven is flying. Beneath the level of explosions to the Pakistani border. And beyond it.

     Behind the border and some ten miles back from the runways and the missle landings, is the rise of rocky, sandy mountains. The rough, but sheltering terrain. The bunkers of the Pakistani Command. Jeeps and vehicles, land launchers, missles and one soviet tank sit there...lying in wait. Pondering invasion. Such temptation. And sulphur and brimstone are heavy on the air. It's just the smoke of missles landing in sand...isn't it....
     From one such plume of smoke steps a handsome man, chestnut in complexion. Eyes of amber. He should be of mixed Russian-afghan heritage, perhaps, but right now, few care. He wears the right fatigues, the right decals. The swirl of dust settles behind him and the three aides that stalk along with them. Ah, a few eyes lift...one of the guerilla commanders. Afghani. Wonderful. Now the Indian dogs will suffer.
     Too bad he does not see the commander turn towards one of the outer bunkers. Demons can always be found...just as angels as he can....
     Soldekai glances at the the Soviet tank and the sand swirling in that direction. Feet pause in their stride, along enough to let the aides pass to the bunker..

     It will have taken the raven longer to fly, dodging missles madcap. But there is a hawking sound of corvine laughter. You missed me Baal. A little lower and to the left, old man...

     The inner bunker has an entrance accessible by way of the cliffside. There is a series of tent-like structures...a military base disguised as bedouin herdsman? It is an interesting strategy. There are guards milling about at the entranceway. There is another by the tank. The high ranking officials are under cover. That leaves the low-ranking rabble. But...it is doubtful that the Indian villagers would strike at the bunkers, right?
     Path once taken is taken. Soldekai watches the plume only long enough to take note. He smiles a little and nods at the men passing him as he takes up stride behind the other two. A bunker at a time. They approach the first, one of the aides requesting a quick audience for Captain el-Kadifa. el-Kadifa? Ah...the Soviet one. Yes, it does not matter to the mortal story...he has personas on all sides of any conflict. But to the ones within, hopefully it will be too quick otherwise.
     The guards give a pass to the aides and the man coming up behind. Entrance is offered. And a thought...be well he who flies....

     The guard by the tank is a little jumpy. The rough sound of the raven's cawing startles him. And he frowns at the beast that sidles along the barrel of the tank's long cannon. Talons scritching against the heated steel. But, he will be quite safe unless the tank explodes. It is bad luck to shoot a black bird on the day of battle. One eye at a time is focused on the soldier nearest the tank. Such dark, beady eyes. Surely a servant of Shetan! But the soldier leaves the damn bird be, and goes back to picking at the day's rations. Dreaming of being in a plane. Ah...better yet...in the shade. Allah be praised for it....

     The bunkers number five. The largest being that within the cliffside itself. In each one, a commanding officer of the Pakistani Command. The High Command is in the largest -- and most comfortable -- bunker. In each one, you will find a commander with at least one ...reddened ear. Having listened to Baal's fury. Malphas' insinuations. You know their soldiers are here. The smell of sulphur clings to the air...
     "El-Kadifa?" The man's voice is rough from too many cigarettes. He snorts and then motions you within. "Beware, the mood is foul. The commander just lost his best camel in a card game." And the man laughs loudly.
     This bunker is not the largest. Within the one entranceway in ...and out...there is the command center. The commander sits within, frowning and covered with sand from his earlier drive over. He is on the radio. "Yes yes. I will see to it. The village will be nothing but sand by sunset..."
     There's a look around. The aides give the right nods and Soldekai steps within behind them...everyone coming to some general attention. Knowing eyes...look for demonic touches.
     One of Soldekai mutters in the vernacular, "The captain is looking for...the Others. There was word that one of the...Advisors...might be with you..."

     The taint of it. Like an alkaline twinge to the tongue. The commander....a lesser belseraph in dusty Pakistani uniform. Talking, no doubt, to his ...superior officer. There is a glance up as you enter. The conversation paused just briefly. "Ah, the advisor...? He is...back in Amadhen...15miles away...damn phone lines are down..." He is lying. Well, of course...
     "Of course," comes one of the aides. They'll be known after this. And weapons are drawn unceremoniously by the three aides, immediately firing upon withdraw...

     In the interim moments between Order and Chaos, where better to find an active Christopher? As the Pakistani soldier went about eating into the days rations and otherwise milling about, the raven trotted down the huge barrel of the gun. And with only the whisper of feathers against the air, he was gone. Landing down the opened hatch of the old Russian tank. In going over the brochures at the 'I Will Serve My Word Faithfully' recruiting office, located somewhere on the lower levels of the great Heavenly Mall, never did he read any mention of the splendid cars one might get to drive. Or all the marvelous and brilliantly lit buttons one might be able to push. Had he been Adam instead of ...well...Adam...one piece of fruit wouldn't have been his undoing. Ah, but a gizmo would have sunk him certes.

     As the angels within the tent meet up...violently...with the belseraph commander, the tank roars and rumbles to a start. And the Pakistani soldier, panicking, drops his gun and then decides running is the best option. Allah, when you drive the tanks...pardon me if I take cover, Lord!
     Sand is scattered and lifts in a cloud as the tank rumbles forward, awkwardly. Lacking all grace and smoothness. And within, Kit...dressed as he once was in the flowing black robes...pushes button after button, moves wheel after wheel. How do you stop it once it's set in motion.
     And the tank heads straight for the bunker, the barrel of its gun lowering. Some ...aiming coordinate must have been...accidentally set...?

     His glance had been fleeting, Soldekai's, and he marches headlong towards and into the main bunker. The gig is up, kids. The German-made submachine gun was out and expectant, and a few bursts had been given when a mortal footsoldier jumped him. Rules are rules, and Soldekai was forced to push off the mortal with barehands....the Symphony screams when divine destroys mortal. And so, the gun had gone off, sending a few bullets into the sky. But is an easy thing to topple a driven mortal, and Soldekai continues on his way, leaving him harmlessly unconscious as he steps over him.
     He should really notice that tank, no? But he doesn't. Not when bullets begin flying at him. Directly. Soldekai twists with preternatual deftness and slips along a slotted crag at the cave's entrance. Hard to tell if it's mortal or divine shooting, but he peers into the darkness, even as his comrades at the former tent finish their house cleaning and come out. Soldekai misses the telltale squeaking noises of the moving tank--and why woudn't they be moving in a war--and decides to brave inside, disappearing into the same darkness he'd been staring at.

     There are ...other members of the divine within that particular bunker. If you wish to refer to them as...divine. Not so powerful as belseraph, they are little more than Baal's dogs. They left their mortal pawns to hang in the perverbial breeze didn't they? While they ducked for cover within the bunker, their other fellows were left in the tents. Mortals to die first. And bloody hell, why not? They're expendable.
     The bunker within the cave is rough-hewn, by military machines purchased within the last 20 years...converting what was once a retreat against the winds to a kind of bomb shelter. There are reinforcements on the ceiling and the walls. But there is...thankfully?...is one large chamber. Within, the radio equipment of the command center. Within that are five rapidly speaking commanders. Their "calls" for backup are going unanswered. Apparently, the pilots hit the wrong transmitter. And the ...lord of the battle is currently elsewhere. Nowhere to be found when the shit hits the fan. All of those within the bunker are infernal. Of varying low degrees and rank.

     And the tank? While Soldekai moves unseen into the bunker, the tank rolls on, knocking down one of the tents and heading toward the bunker as well...
     "Oh lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz..." Kit sings in that baritone voice of his, rich and throaty. Silver eyes are pressed to the driver's scope and he can see where Soldekai has gone...or...better said...he has a ...feeling for where he is. "My friends all drive porsches, I must make amends," and as he whistles, his hands begin punching at buttons again. The tank rumbles toward the bunker. A red light is blinking. The gun is activated...

     If you could hear the words inside. Soldekai speaks in hasty angelic tones to those he finds scrambling to get calls answered. One of the demons points a weapon at him and fires, Soldekai taking a leap behind a wall as another turns to shoot at him...the others....still calling for help...
     Outside, the three associates head towards the bunker, one blinking at the tank and tapping the younger malakim on the shoulder. Eyes widen as they all turn to see the rumbling tank and the large cannon turned their general direction near the bunker opening. One manages an Oh, shit! just before the three of them leap away from the opening to take cover.

     The demon who took a shot at you rattles off something in his own, rougher dialect -- neither Pakistani nor Hindi. Can they recognize you? Who....or what...you are? Malakim of Fire? Shall they go out fighting, or cowering and begging for mercy that would never come. The one with the radio transmitter in his hand throws it to the side and tries to move toward his own weapons. The other three likewise scramble...both to avoid being shot...and to grab their respective weapons.

     Meanwhile, the tank outside rolls to a halt. Oh sweet Miracle! Let see now...it was this knob for 'go'...this for 'stop.' The red button must be for firing the missle. He'll avoid that for now. Kit pops up, looking out the still opened hatch. Just in time to see one of the Malakim leaping away. "Oh shit..." His head bobs, ducking back into the tank immediately. "Okay...okay...so...this one was for go...this for stop...okay...aha...let's try this..." The tank lurches forward again, and then roughly switches gears...backing up...

     Recognize him? Most certainly. And a burst of shots goes off as Soldekai leans around his wall and shoots at what is left of the field phone. "No calls," he says, turning the barrel to the demon sitting frantically trying to reach someone, anyone. Another series of shots ring out and there's a grunt from Soldekai as his arm is hit. He, however, sends a riddle of bullets through the phone operator, intending to do Trauma. He will not be returning anytime soon. The head and neck are ripped open, destroying the vessel permanently. Soldekai falls back around his wall, clenching his own arm as a hailstorm of bullets ring at him....
     No sound of explosion? The three angels look up...Larry, Moe, and Curly...rather surprised at the lack of sonic boom. The lead malakim, the one who got tapped, stands up and watches the tank back off. Who is that? He motions to the other two who are rising and they head off towards the tank to see...and disable it if necessary.
     "No, no go see," the leader of the three says, motioning to the cave. The youngest one nods and heads inside...to see on the Chamberlain and give him late support. The other two head on to the tank....

     He cannot hear the gunfire. The tank is far too loud. It rumbles as it halts again, sand scattering as gears are put into neutral. As soon as Kit has it halted and settled, he stands up...his head popping out of the tank. And then his two arms raised, angelic leaving his lips. "If you can get the Chamberlain out, I can blow it up you know..."
     The two halt, weapons raised as the lid pops open. Their eyes widen...they have no idea who you are, but you have some immortal essence. Their large weapons are half-lowered, and the second one runs inside, tossing himself against a wall for shielding before disappearing also into the darkness and noise within.

     It is amazing what seeing a head ripped off can do for one's morale. It certainly doesn't do anything for one's aim. There are curses that would make Yves ears burn and Satan blush. But there's no running now, the entranceway is blocked by the other malakim who enter. Christ, it's a fucking convention. We really drew low on the karmic deck...
     The remaining infernals empty out their magazines...but...there is probably not time to reload. They yell and surge forward, toward anything that moves. Of course, if they knew about the tank, they'd probably just go to their knees and beg for a quick kill...
     A firefight is what the second one's walked into. He immediately takes up a spot behind a wall, but still some distance from Soldekai, who's focused on the four remaining within. "Your Grace!" he calls in Malakim tonals, "Your Grace! A tank is aimed for here!" The four inside don't quite catch it all, though it must be angelic. The younger malakim shoots at the ones rushing, even as Soldekai steps out and around his position, letting his weapon go to take them on in hand to hand. There's a frantic...frenetic...glance and a call, "Then...let it shoot!"
     Something is relayed. From glance of Chamberlain to malakim...from malakim to the cherub with the firepower. Kit makes a wave of his hand. "Clear out, fire in the hole!" Hey, he's seen Kelly's Heroes...he knows what to do. Right? Kit's head bobs down and he is back within the driver's seat. The long caliber of the gun begins to move. Back and forth. Up and then down. Looking for a good angle maybe...or maybe he just leaned against the wrong button? The tank lurches forward. "I want to live the life of danger! I want to be an airborne ranger!"

     The tank lurches loudly forward and the gun settles at an even degree. Aimed right at the opening of the cave. Kit bites his bottom lip. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been exactly one hour since my last confession. You know...we've got to stop meeting like this. People are beginning to talk ...Lord..." He takes aim and then closes his eyes. The caliber gun moves and the the first shell bursts into the cave, even as Kit steers the tank forward. And while the cave will eventually collapse, the invasion of the tank will create a shelter...and a way out...
     The ones inside struggling will be consumed. Soldekai expects it...the destruction of his current vessel, but the others do not. And when the doppler approach of the missle reaches their senses, they all scream, even as they are entangled and bloodied and surrounding the beserking angel within.
     He hears it though...and smiles....
     There is nothing but the sound of crumbling rock face, slabs upon slabs of it after the deafening explosion. The three angels look on with worry, dismay, and some comfort...that is victory. The one inside will understand what had to be done...

     His eyes were closed so that he could not see. His eyes were closed to brace against the concussion of the tank upon firing. One missle is all that is sent. One shell that explodes within and the foundations of the bunker are shaken. Walls cave in, and what the blast consumed, the sand shall bury. Except for that space immediately surrounding the tank itself.
     Sand pours into the tank and Christopher's vessel coughs at it. Eyes that opened were stung with dirt and dust. Rising, a hand fans out as if to test the air above the hatch. Black hair is streaked with gold and brown and black. And smoke stings his eyes when he looks at what he has done.
     The dust rises and piles, billowing white and grey clouds that consume the area. As it clears, three angels are now four as a golden doorway shimmers closed. Someone in the group is an Ofanim.

     Soldekai coughs and waves his hand in his face. He is a mess of bruises and cuts, blood streaming from various rips and tears in the fatigues. There's no weapon on him, and Soldekai clearly looks as if he's been seriously beat up. He turns around as the gate closes, awash in floating dust as everyone is. Looking back at the cave, he nods at it. "Nicely done," whomever it was. Amber eyes look at his own team, a cut streaming red down his cheek, but then he quirks...the numbers aren't right. Eyes turn to see the thing that did the job and he lifts brows at the tank.

     Silver eyes sparkle, glinting as they are narrowed against sand and dust and smoke. And Kit begins to climb out. The black robes of a desert-kind, who is of no desert on this earth, no? The veils fall away from his face, and it is...indeed...Christopher beneath all that dirt, dust and soot. His eyes flicker, taking in the damage with his own upraised brows and then he is looking for Soldekai. And there is both concern and worry...and joy. You're alright. Sort of. Kit begins to haul himself out of the tank. "O Chamberlain, My Chamberlain," he voices out. And he moves toward you. Yes...worried. Yes, looking to the mess of your form...but adoring all the same. "Quite a party. I'm glad I crashed it." Oh, the pun of it all!

     The three others just stare blankly. Angelic. Unknown. And he shot up a cave with a tank...he doesn't even look like a fighter! Who is he? They do not voice their amazement and generic dismay, it is pretty much on their faces though. And he's singing...and calling their commander publically by his Title...
     The three are left behind a moment, as Soldekai takes a step towards the tank. Regardless of pain, he raises to his full height and puts hands upon his hips. Annoyance. Frustration. Worry. Dismay--what in the hell, pardon the pun, is everyone going to say. Amber eyes gaze at you both proud and chastising. He sighs, chest heaving in laboring fashion, and then simply shakes his head. "Let's get out of here," he says to all of you, "...they don't need us anymore," Soldekai says low, motioning to head around a structure...so that the divine group of five can disappear unseen.
     "You too," Soldekai's voice says to the tank, just in case you thought you weren't included. "We should scram." The three nod and begin to head as directed...the red-head waiting for you to move before he goes anywhere...

     There was the bow that followed. The reproach felt, and all jesting ceased. In less than a moment...a blink takes longer to perform ... Christopher is serious of countenance and of demeanor. There is a nod. "Yes, Lord Chamberlain..." And the cherub moves to follow you all. Quietly. He can follow orders and behave. On occasion. See! There is balance yet in the universe...

     He waits for you to pass him and Soldekai looks impatient...this is still not the safest place to be. Only when you do does he turn to follow behind you...can you feel him there? He doesn't say anything, save when you all get behind the tent. "Alright, Samaliel," he murmurs. And almost immediately, a gate the middle officer in this trio nods...a shimmering gate opening. More than likely to the Citadel.

     The Herald moves past you, hands unraveling the veils as the shimmering gate is opened. He does not meet the gazes of the malakim around him. He looks...preoccupied. But the placid features do not look overly troubled. Not before your followers, Lord Chamberlain. To seem too concerned...too preoccupied ...too...touched...would give something away, would it not. Kit brings up the rear...there is only you behind him. And as he can feel you, can you feel him reaching back?

     There's silence as suddenly walls of flame shift and close, making a 'room.' The sigil beneath is of Element, and the three others step firmly into the space, glass floor transparent. Soldekai brings up the rear, and the gate disappears behind. Here in the celestial, heavenly forms come natural, and Soldekai suddenly appears the dark version of himself. Armored and visibly invisible. Two of the others appear similarly...and the third takes on the form of wheel of fire. "Very nicely done," Soldekai says again, "...all of you," present visitor included. He sighs and says, "I think that's all for now, but you need to stay on top of things." The older of the three nods and they each glance at you as they nod polite thanks and begin to disperse.

     And now the visitor may be known by those others in your company. The celestial form of the cherub...the sphinx of heaven...the very Cat of cats. Christopher...black panther form. Silver eyed. Wings long and deep purple. His eyes are like silvery mirrors, reflecting images back to their owners. The claws reflect passing dreams. One of Blandine's! He pads forward, silent and heavily, tail flicking and curling. There is only a bow to the others, a lowering of the great cat's head. A polite return. Glad to be of service, mates. There is a rumbling that comes from his throat. It is something beyond angelic tongue. It is only the sound of Gratefulness.

     The three amble off, walls moving to separate them from you. Is it them in motion or the simple relocation of barriers? Either way, it is only a few seconds before they are shielded from you, and there are only two in the sigil room. Soldekai exhales again and looks around before turning his face up and closing his eyes. Beneath your feet, the sigil glows again, a door opening to elsewhere...

     Will celestial forms be blending into the corporeal? Or the ethereal? Ah...your volcano...it shall be there. Christopher closes his eyes likewise...and he waits for you to fold the space. To lead him. He...as he must...will follow you...

     It is a shoreline of black basalt pummeled into soft sand. The waves of grey and blue rush to the shore and Soldekai stands at the edge of them, wathcing thew ater rush onto his barefeet. The vessel is clearly damaged, cuts and nicks everywhere, even if the blooks appears cleaned off. He's in a pair of black cargo pants, drawstring in a series of ties.

     "I do not know whether to apologize, or to join the navy..." comes the familiar voice, but quiet. Though the words might seem a jest, the voice hardly indicates it. Christopher stands upon that selfsame shore, his own barefeet sinking in the basalt sand. How this beach fits him. Black and blues. "You should have had Raphael look at you before we left," he whispers. Heaven's Healer Extraordinaire. And then he watches you. Silver eyes glinting, squinting against the wind.

     "It would not have done anything for the vessel," Soldekai shrugs, looking tired in this form, "...unless Raphael came here and healed it here." He turns to see you, expression placid. He smiles warmly, cheek on his own shoulder. "You should not have been there, lover," words coming easy to him.

     That's true. It was his way of saying he does not like to see you injured. "Perhaps not," Christopher whispers and he softens a little at the warm look. Have you lost your reproach and chastisement so easily? "But...when my lover and my ward is in peril...where else am I to be?" And he smiles a little helplessly, but joins you where you stand on black basaltic sand. A sigh loosed turns to a breeze. "I thought you might be more perturbed," and then there is an honest chuckle. "Ah, but..." arms fold against his chest and he leans back. "...I didn't do half-badly for a cherub rookie...I think I shocked your boys though..." he adds in a hush, and he looks to you.

     "I am...upset," Soldekai confesses, "...but what would it do to yell at you? You know the risks, to yourself, to my distraction, to your inexperience...it could have gone poorly out there, Christopher," he whispers, looking back at the water. It heals all...isn't that what Raphael would have said? "You could have waited for me. And yes, you...shocked them. But they will recover. But...they are worried. I'm not sure they liked what they saw, if they saw anything."
     "I think...someone of Blandine's ilk in such a place," Soldekai explains softly, "...they are curious, minimally." He glances to you, "But how are you? Not injured, huh?"

     "No," it is a simple answer. And there is only an exhale after that. For many moments there is only the sound of the sea and the breeze. At length, there is a whisper, his gaze is still out to the sea. "I am sorry, Soldekai. I will never do that again..." And yes, Raphael would have said that. He's very Zen, that one. Be the water, flow with the water. But what about the rock that is skipped against the surface? The expression is serious and drawn. And Christopher is looking to the sea. Breaths come and go in rhythm to the approach and retreat of the water.
     "You need your rest..." he says quietly after another few moments and Christopher turns to go.

     "Why are you leaving?" Soldekai murmurs. He smiles, "This is why I wasn't going to say anything...how would you have been if I had actually been angry?" He turns and heads towards you. "You're here, why don't you stay...please," smile curling at his lips.

     There is a slight upturn of a smile that fights against its own expression. "I would have cowered in abject terror..." He nearly laughs. But that you are upset, he is upset. Even though you smile, you are right. But at least you survived almost intact. His eyes are yet on his hands and some portion of the sand at his feet. "Do you forgive me? For being at the wrong place at the wrong time? For ...following you? For distracting you..." He almost winces at that. He swore to his superiors that he would not...did he not?

     He waves his hand, dismissing it. "Just...don't make it a habit, alright?" Soldekai offers gamely. No harm, no foul. "Want to go inside?" he smiles still, tossing head towards the cave up beach.

     "One moment...first...there is something I must do..." Christopher says, the usual ribald grin returning. Though somewhat tempered, perhaps. "I did not get a chance in the desert..." And with that, he lies down upon the sand and proceeds to make a....sand angel by moving his arms and his legs. A celebratory victory sand angel. Only Christopher. A moment later he stands up, brushes himself off and nods. "Alright...now I'm ready..."

     Soldekai just...stares. Utterly amazed. Once you're done, he finally blinks and purses his lips...before chuckling. "Um, alright..." and he turns to head towards the cavern. He won't laugh or say something terribly sweet...he'd hate to encourage you....

     Kit was going to do an interpretive victory dance as well, but...why push it. And please...no...the Universe and all her Angels beg you. Do not encourage him. He's bad enough as it is! But...think of what the universe would be like without his dash of ...quirkiness. You are followed to the cavern. "Do you want me to tend your wounds, sir," he murmurs. And no, he's not chuckling. But he is grinning...

Posted by rowan at May 04, 2003 07:04 PM