neutral_omens | (no subject)

Date: May 1st, 2001
Status: Private- Raguel and Berith
Setting: The gardens
Summary: Raguel returns to the manor

With yet another Archangel gone, though in a manner entirely different than anyone could have had anticipated, Raguel’s presence had been vital to quelling the resulting alarm and to reestablishing stability. Too busy to give much thought to his own worries, he had comforted, guided, counseled others and taken council himself, given and received reports, and discussed at length the new problems that they now faced in the situation with the Antichrist and his manor.

And now, with a fresh set of orders and a newly calmed spirit, he found himself on Earth once more. He was sorry to return, but he knew that at this moment he was needed here more than anywhere else, and he hoped- believed- that his presence could have a positive effect in the place. That perhaps Uriel’s loss could be the last.

It was strange how the body welcomed him back. He hadn’t expected it to feel so familiar, so nearly... pleasant. And yet there it was.

He found himself walking in the gardens, relearning the movements of muscle and sinew and bone, refinding the balance of gravity and inertia, and even enjoying, in some small way, the experience of smell and sight and sound and touch. He’d had hardly a moment’s respite the entire time he had been away, and knowing that his first action now returned would be the deliverance of a hard ultimatum, he allowed himself some time, just a few earthly minutes, to relax.

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Raguel's head tipped back toward Berith and he regarded the other for a very long, silent moment. Finally, one corner of his mouth drew up slightly.

"Are you suggesting that 'we all' are always late for things down here?"

Berith shrugged. "I said nothing of the sort. Suppose you could accuse me of having a philosophical moment." He shuddered elegantly. "On second thought, don't."

He ambled over to a trellis and tapped the side to watch it sparkle. "But since lateness is on your mind, I have come to the impressive conclusion that you're avoiding something." It had to be bad news. Angels never waited on trumpet-blowing.

The slight grin on Raguel's face stayed at Berith's words and shudder, then slipped away again as he watched the transformation of the trellis.

"I suppose you have heard about the angel Uriel and her mysterious disapearance?" he said after a long moment of silence.

Hole in one. Not that he was very familiar with golf. That was something that belonged solely to the Scottish, and Berith had never exactly been comfortable around them. Long story. "I had heard," he said tentatively, not wanting to upset the angel and lose this glimmer of information. "People have been rather quiet about it, though. Why?"

“The execution of her punishment falls to me, of course,” Raguel answered simply. “As does the duty of informing the others of Heaven’s decision in the matter.” He breathed in gently; the soft sound might have been misinterpreted as a sigh. “It is never pleasant to be the bearer of bad news.”

"I'd think you'd be used to it by now," the demon said a touch coldly. He scolded internally; it wasn't going to help if he started that now. Time and a place. Preferably never on both counts.

"Are you expecting to have trouble with the rest?" And he was genuinely curious about that, as the worry seemed to imply it. "Surely they will accept the judgment, as always."

“There are some things I hope I never get used to,” Raguel replied, and there was at once rebuke and a faint apology in the tone. He tilted his head at the other in something like surprise at the next question.

“I don’t wish to cause them pain.”

Rather a more honest answer than he had intended. But this one had a tendency to inspire honesty, if you knew him well enough. He always had, and it seemed that it hadn’t changed, though so much else had.