forum I Ought To Be Thy Adam (angels and demons)

Started October 09, 2020 by @ElderGod-kirky group

tune

Name: Vaeshalle

Gender: None, but good with all pronouns

Background: Used to be a guardian angel but after fucking up their job so badly they were fired by god himself, and a different angel took their place shortly after. since then they’ve gone around spreading rumors about god and the guardian angel organization in an attempt to hurt their business. It isn’t working.

Appearance: In their true form, they take the resemblance of Jupiter, but with 50 eyes, a massive golden ring rotating endlessly around it, and three sets of wings, all in red, black, and gold.
In human form, they look like your average fuckdude. long black hair, no shirt, wings tattooed on their back, cargo shorts, and gucci slides with socks.

Vermilion sat somewhere among the crowd, keeping her head low, for once. She was still reveling in the success of her latest prank, and did her best not to laugh, at least not in public. A few people persuaded, and it's all outlawed! This country's fun to toy with. The woman sipped her drink, the gears in her mind turning. She'd certainly be staying here for at least another half-century.

A newcomer approached. She had a yellow and red eye, caused by her heterochromia, but that was the only thing hetero about her. She had a blonde ponytail.

Sybil finished her songs, and walked off of the stage.
"Hey, doll, can I bum a cigarette?" she asked a woman who was clearly suppressing a laugh. "Post-show nerves, you know." She pulled the cigarette holder from the pocket of her coat, as well as a flask. She tipped it back and took a deep swig, her lipstick smudging on it.

"'course you can," Vermilion replied, pulling a box out of her pocket. "You've got a nice voice, by the way." The woman had already decided that she liked Sybil, she'd be sure to keep her out of her next prank. "Take as many as you like." Vermilion flashed a grin before returning to her drink, taking a quick swig.

The bartender shuffled over to Varhmiel, raising his brows in question when he got a look at the man's height. The fallen angel curled his lip in a silent snarl, daring the burly man to verbally question his age, and that got him the reward of a beer and silence. Varhmiel huffed to himself and sipped the alcoholic drink, nursing it out of boredom more-so than a lack of a tolerance.

His mood deterred most patrons, though that also could've been the remanents of his angelic powers. Humans these days. Nothing they feared more than death. Even when they caught just a whiff, they turned the other way. That train of thought got derailed by a woman's voice, and he just turned to look when he got a face full of clothing.

"Ah, sorry. My bad. Oh, is that a beer? Mind if I have a sip? It's been ages since I've had some of that." Varhmiel could only stare in vindictive silence as a random human man—neatly groomed sandy blonde hair, hazel eyes, lightly tanned skin, and a squarish figure dotted with sharp edges—dressed to the nines in a business suit, leaned over him, stole his beer, took a sip, then continued to hold the bottle as he settled into the stool next to the fallen angel—who now took to staring him down with a murderous gaze. "Ahhh, refreshing. The government is incredibly ignorant in thinking that they can take away alcohol from the American people. We live off of this stuff."

"That's mine," Varhmiel ground out. The man waved him off and took another sip.

"The last speakeasy I was at got busted. Shame. I have a feeling someone snitched. Say, what's your name? I'm Emil. Emil Goodnestone."

A moment of considering silence stretched before he finally answered, speaking slowly as if containing the urge to commit murder in front of an audience. "Varhmiel."

"Victor, then. How lovely to meet you! Here, have a beer." Emil waved over the bartender with a charming smile and ordered another drink for the short and simmering man. "My friend would like to have your most expensive delectable! On me, of course. Did you know I work with automobiles? Dreadful work, but pays handsomely."

Varhmiel sighed and accepted his newest drink with a grumble in a foreign language not a part of Earth's history, going through all the ways that Emil could end up dead by the end of this conversation. The human didn't so much as blink at the foreign sounds, simply remained content to blab on about his work.

Vera sat still after Sybil's performance, open-mouthed.
"Impressive, isn't she?" Ozzie asked. "I wish I had her breath control. That final note…I've never met anyone who could sing like that."
"I'll say," Vera breathed. "Say, how'd she learn to? Is she one of those Follies girls, or just a prodigy?"
"No one knows," Ozzie said with a shrug. "She just started coming in one day. I mean, I don't frequent the Follies, but I've heard that she wasn't one of their dancers either. I tend to know my onions when it comes to that sort of thing."
"So she just…appeared?"
"Seems that way. And either way, plenty of folks think she's a sheba," Ozzie said. "Including me! I mean, she does seem to be…conventionally attractive…" Ozzie focused his eyes on his drink and took another sip, his hand shaking slightly.

"Thanks, love, you're the berries," Sybil said to Vermilion. She took a cigarette and placed it in her holder, then lit it. She put it to her lips, and walked over to where Vera and Ozzie were sitting.

"Pay attention to me!" Virgin sprawled out on the bar and screamed loudly to attract the attention of everyone in the bar. "Why are you looking at me?! Perverts!" They threw a bottle of beer at the nearest person, who they then patted gently on the head. "Hey, I'm asexual and I don't have sex but you're hot do you want to have sex with me?"

Sindy walked into the bar, keeping her head down. She headed to the bar and ordered a beer.

She wanted to keep quiet, but of course that annoying person kept shouting.

"Hey, Oz," Sybil said, sauntering up to the bar. "Spare a gal a drink?"
"Sorry, Syb," Ozzie replied. "I'm a bit low on cabbage til I get this damned draft finished."
"Ah," Sybil said, hoisting herself onto a chair. "Who's this doll?"
She nodded at Vera, who blushed slightly.
"Vera Noven," Vera said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Pleasure to meet you. Your voice is…"
"Oh God, here we go," Sybil laughed. "'Sybil, your voice is the best I've ever heard! Sybil, your voice could raise a man from the dead!' Lemme guess, this chump said my voice could spin straw to gold?"
"Hey, I'm no chump," Ozzie protested, and Sybil waved a hand.
"I understand that it's good and all, but I'm no siren. Don't even got formal training," Sybil shrugged. "But thank you anyways, doll. We dames gotta stick together."

Varhmiel tuned out the human's blabbering with ancient ease, once again going back to nursing his drink. Multiple scenarios flew through the angel's mind, none of them very civil, but he got pulled away from it at a certain phrase that caught his attention.

"–and that is how I proved the existence of the supernatural!"

Emil beamed at the shorter man's bewildered expression, very clearly pleased with himself. "Ah-ha! I knew you weren't listening."

"And yet you kept talking," Varhmiel shot back, turning away in a last ditch attempt to leave the conversation—and speakeasy—but got yanked back by Emil. An arm wrapped around his waist, and his small figure couldn't stand a chance at getting away. He stared down at the arm holding him back, black eyes glittering with malice, before he slowly drawled, "I belive this is considered to be kidnapping. I'm being kidnapped."

"Nonsense." Emil flapped a hand and hauled the fallen angel back into his original seat. "You're mine now."

"Kidnapping."

"A hurtful accusation that I'll pretend doesn't exist." Emil sighed wistfully and propped his head onto his fists. "Ah, but I don't blame you. For not listening, I mean. Today's remarkable industries have nothing against the paranormal. Did you know I tried writing a story? Never finished it, of course. I'm a terrible writer. Horrible, even. But the idea of magic and supernatural is at once frightening and beautiful."

Varhmiel opened his mouth to respond, still wary of the change in subject, but got cut off by a bout of blasphemy. That same person that had been shouting earlier was now on the bar, being even more obnoxious than before. Varhmiel groaned and slumped forward, head hitting the bar and arms wrapping around himself as if that would save him from his misery. Emil snickered and leaned back, enjoying the show while stealing Varhmiel's other unattended drink.

The tree was uncomfortable, yet Virgil refused to leave it. Why stay on something you didn’t enjoy being on? Laziness?

That was exactly what it was, and it was made even worse with the fact of their unique situation. Virgil could spend years on this tree, thinking on what to do. But they wouldn’t, at least, not by choice. People usually came through this area - it was close to the local town, city, whatever it was anyway. They paused and just wondered - how many people came by through the night and didn’t notice the person in the tree? Or maybe they did notice, but said nothing. Or they weren’t able to wake them up. Virgil was a notoriously heavy sleeper, after all.

But whatever their thoughts may be, their attention was perked by the arrival of another person. Presumably taking a route through the woods, and then, towards human civilization. Which also met that they were probably a human. Usually, anyways. Virgil didn’t meet non-humans out here, not often. Besides animals, of course. Which could be angels or demons for all they knew, taking on the form of an animal and messing with Virgil.

The person hummed an odd tune, and Virgil quickly realized it was not in English. But Virgil knew many languages, this one they did recognize. German. It was a nice song, and they debated staying in their tree, thinking to the sound of this German man’s song. But they decided not to.
This may just be one of their only chances to do something else, other than lay in trees.

With surprising grace, they got down from the tree, but had not expected the man to be right there. He froze in place, looking at them, having stopped singing his song. And his expression; the visible part, anyway - was one of fear, of panic. Why was this man so scared of a person getting out of a tree? They could understand mild shock from the sudden appearance, but this almost implied…
“Why did you stop? I was enjoying your voice. I’m..assuming you speak English, right?”

There was a delay, and for a moment, Virgil thought they’d stunned him into silence, or maybe he didn’t speak English. So they started to speak again, “Nach allen bekannten Gesetzen der Luftfahrt-“

“Did you just jump out of the tree?” The man said, interrupting the,.
“Why yes, yes I did.”
“And you didn’t break your legs?”
They glanced at the tree they’d jumped from. “It doesn’t look like that far of a fall, does it? And no, no I didn’t.”
“..It’s a pretty far fall,” he commented, staring at the height of the tree. “I’d surely break my legs if I jumped from there.”
“Well, that’s because you don’t know how to properly jump from trees. Look, I’ll show you.”
And with surprising strength, they began to pull the man, who yelped, struggling against them, onto the tree.