ext_250015 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
neutral_omens2006-02-26 04:51 pm
bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com) wrote in neutral_omens2006-02-26 04:51 pm
(no subject)
Date: January 25, 2000 (During Raphael and Gabriel's conversation)
Setting: Uriel's room
Status: Private - Uriel and Michael (Complete)
Summary: Uriel is happy and Michael is scared.
Uriel was singing.
Now, this was a fairly unusual occurance. Out of all the forms of art, music was the one most foreign to him. He did know its many forms, approving of some and disapproving of some, but he'd never bothered to attempt to master any of them. He could play a flute -- not even he would play a harp -- and sing, yes, but even then his choice of music was rather limited. As far as he was concerned, the only thing music was good for was praising the God.
Of course, where ever had somebody raised their voice in praise, he had heard and learnt it. However, he never truly felt the need for it, choosing to honour Him through his actions instead. Only around Christmas would he ever sing -- and whenever he was happy. It wasn't Christmas now, of course, but he was singing, feeling happier than ever since his arrival to the manor. In fact, he felt like he absolutely had to sing, fly, just move around, do something before he exploded with joy and energy.
He sang quietly so as not to disturb any of the demons in the Manor, should they be nearby. They hardly would appreciate hearing an angelic voice singing of His glory, after all. However, even though quiet, his voice somehow managed to convey his happiness. There was no reason for it that he knew of, just a feeling of energy and delight that made all his worries seem unimportant and far away. Why should he worry or feel down? The sun was shining, the world was beautiful, and He was great as always.
Suddenly he heard a knock from the door. "Come in, Michael," he said automatically in the middle of his song, already knowing who was behind the door -- after all, nobody but Michael even came to his room. And truly, as the door was opened, it revealed his fellow archangel.
Michael did not look good, not good at all. In fact, he looked absolutely dreadful. His expression was tired, a frown resided between his brows, and his hair was now messy from all the times he'd run his hand through it. In general he just seemed to be the embodiment of misery.
"What is it, my dear Michael?" he asked, now finally stopping both his singing and moving around the room. He hadn't been even aware of it, but he had indeed been moving around in a way that could have been called dancing had he not been an angel, his steps light and graceful as ever. Now, however, he stood still, looking at the other immortal. Worry wasn't what he was feeling -- he was simply too happy to even consider being worried at the moment -- but rather wonder and curiosity. Not many things could make Michael look like this.
"You look miserable," he then added as an afterthought.
Setting: Uriel's room
Status: Private - Uriel and Michael (Complete)
Summary: Uriel is happy and Michael is scared.
Uriel was singing.
Now, this was a fairly unusual occurance. Out of all the forms of art, music was the one most foreign to him. He did know its many forms, approving of some and disapproving of some, but he'd never bothered to attempt to master any of them. He could play a flute -- not even he would play a harp -- and sing, yes, but even then his choice of music was rather limited. As far as he was concerned, the only thing music was good for was praising the God.
Of course, where ever had somebody raised their voice in praise, he had heard and learnt it. However, he never truly felt the need for it, choosing to honour Him through his actions instead. Only around Christmas would he ever sing -- and whenever he was happy. It wasn't Christmas now, of course, but he was singing, feeling happier than ever since his arrival to the manor. In fact, he felt like he absolutely had to sing, fly, just move around, do something before he exploded with joy and energy.
He sang quietly so as not to disturb any of the demons in the Manor, should they be nearby. They hardly would appreciate hearing an angelic voice singing of His glory, after all. However, even though quiet, his voice somehow managed to convey his happiness. There was no reason for it that he knew of, just a feeling of energy and delight that made all his worries seem unimportant and far away. Why should he worry or feel down? The sun was shining, the world was beautiful, and He was great as always.
Suddenly he heard a knock from the door. "Come in, Michael," he said automatically in the middle of his song, already knowing who was behind the door -- after all, nobody but Michael even came to his room. And truly, as the door was opened, it revealed his fellow archangel.
Michael did not look good, not good at all. In fact, he looked absolutely dreadful. His expression was tired, a frown resided between his brows, and his hair was now messy from all the times he'd run his hand through it. In general he just seemed to be the embodiment of misery.
"What is it, my dear Michael?" he asked, now finally stopping both his singing and moving around the room. He hadn't been even aware of it, but he had indeed been moving around in a way that could have been called dancing had he not been an angel, his steps light and graceful as ever. Now, however, he stood still, looking at the other immortal. Worry wasn't what he was feeling -- he was simply too happy to even consider being worried at the moment -- but rather wonder and curiosity. Not many things could make Michael look like this.
"You look miserable," he then added as an afterthought.