Stuff 2.0
Belial Spills the Beans
"Doesn't it make you wonder?" the voice said in Michael's ear. It was almost spoken in a hiss, but it had a noble, haughty tone that was reminiscent in Azazel's own vocals. Michael felt his eardrums wheedling in around themselves - the sound of a demon's voice was torture to his ears. He resisted the urge to rip out the voicebox that the demon possessed and instead turned around, almost touching noses with the speaker.
A blonde man, who appeared no more than early twenties in age, with bright blue eyes that had that same iridescent orange behind them as the others. His blonde hair was pushed back and damp with hair product, while his black clothing seemed to make him appear paler than he really was. He looked the part of a model, almost, with high cheekbones and a very attractive face in general. All Michael saw, however, was horns, fangs, claws, and an excuse to exersize his right to destroy.
"Doesn't -what- make me wonder, Belial?" he asked him, brow raising in irritation. What was it with these demons and popping up when he least needed them to? He turned back, but Ava and Azazel had disappeared into the crowd. He'd lost them for the second time that evening.. his patience was growing thin with Azazel. This silly 'bet' they'd originally intended to play had become Azazel's obsession with a mortal woman whom Michael admitted seemed somehow familiar to him, as though a distant memory he could not place. The game was off and he was busy chasing that silly demon and his new girlfriend around, trying to make sure he stayed out of trouble.
"Why you feel like you've met her," the blonde demon said, now on Michael's other side. He smiled glibly at the man and clasped his hands behind his back, neatly trimmed fingernails adorning perfect hands. Belial's name spoke of worthlessness, but he felt he was worth a great deal, and did try to portray the part to the mortals around him. After all, if you looked important, you became important... And he was very important.
How could Belial have known that detail of Michael's thoughts? he wondered. He turned again, and gave him an unhealthy frown. "What in the hell are you talking about, you halfwit?" he demanded.
"Hey, man. I'm just saying. I see it. I see the way you look at her. I see the way Azazel looks at her, and it's different. He sees something, but not what. You see nothing, but know there IS a what. You know there is also a why, and you're trying to figure it out. No mortal has ever had this effect on you before, right? Never caught you off guard, or distracted you so much? Become the object of obsession?" Belial smiled again.
"Of course not, idiot. I'm a little stronger than that, don't you think? They're just vermin I was sent to watch over before I somehow got stuck babysitting your best friend, Azazel. I find none of them any more interesting than the other - the only reason I wonder about this one is because whatever I am sensing, Azazel is, too. He's closer to her, though. He will get more information than I can. He had her at hello." He rolls his eyes. "Demons."
"Think again, Archangel," Belial sang. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. Eyes rolled skyward. "You really did a number on this cat, Big Guy. I mean.. I'm impressed. I know Satan is powerful, but -wow-. He's oblivious." He laughed again, and looked back at Michael. He was met with a blank stare.
"Wow. You really have... no idea, do you?" Belial asked suddenly, his voice softening up a little. His eyes widened. "None at all."
"Idea about WHAT? Demon, you waste my time, and my patience, and I am beginning to get the urge to - "
"She's your daughter, Michael," he said abruptly.
"Run that by me one more time, would you?" he said, jaw clenched.
"No, I'm not lying this time. Believe me, this is too good to lie about. Ava, that girl with Azazel? She's your kid. Yeah. You had a fling with a mortal about twenty or thirty years ago and, well.. yeah." He could barely hide his excitement. "I can't believe you didn't know!" he shouted, jumping up and down like a child. "Oh man, I have GOT to tell the guys!" And with that, Belial was gone in a puff of sulfuric smoke.
Michael's head was spinning. He didn't have a daughter. He didn't have kids - he didn't even TALK to mortals, so how could...? He knew this would bother him 'til he could get it all straightened out, but something about what Belial said bothered him. He left the streets of the city in favour of the park that night, and sat on a bench by himself until morning. He had to summon a trusted friend to discuss this matter with...
The Truth
Raphael walked alongside Michael, his short blonde hair tufted by a light breeze. Blue eyes lingered on the dark man's form as he paced him, and he wondered what was to become of him should Michael lose his grip. He supposed he would be killed - they were both Archangels, but Michael was older, wiser. More powerful, and more of a loose cannon.
"If what Belial says is true... which, it isn't... but if it was, how? How could it be possible?" Michael looked to Raphael as they moved through the park. It was just barely noon, but the sky was overcast and everything around them appeared as though it were being shown through a faint green filter. The sky would open and pour any moment now, but they would stand and talk first. The rain could wait a while longer for them.
"That's what I came here to tell you, Michael," the other Archangel said. He turned and faced him fully, raising a hand to the top of the bridge of his nose and pinching it as he sighed. He looked up again, arms crossing.
Michael's dark eyes squinted slightly and his head turned. "What do you mean, Rafe?" he said. His brow arched and he flexed his fingertips, palms slightly damp from sweat as his arms dangled listlessly at his sides. "Come down here to tell me what? Were you sent?"
Raphael looked to the side, blue eyes searching the scenery for something - an answer to fall out of a tree and roll to his feet like an orange, or perhaps a bird to fly by and drop a notecard into his back pocket, off of which he could read the speech he had prepared and later forgotten.
"What?" Michael said again, this time his voice more sharp. The man was shorter than Raphael by only an inch or two, but somehow he seemed to swell and strengthen, and despite their rules and regulations, Raphael suspected that if Michael were provoked, he'd abandon all sense of reason and come in swinging. He didn't need that on his shoulders, too. His eyes narrowed now, and his head canted. "What, Rafe? Tell me.. Tell me he's lying. Tell me it's not true. Tell me."
Raphael winced - Michael was almost begging him. He looked back at him, and shrugged. "I wish I could, Michael. Brother, I wish I could tell you Belial was playing mind games with you.. but it's true. It's all true. Every last word. Ava is your daughter. It's why you feel so strange around her - it's familiarity. You were never supposed to find out.. Ever. I'm sorry brother... Others may not be, but we - Gabriel and myself - we are. We regret."
Regret was a big word for a creature of Heaven. Raphael hoped Michael would realize the significance of his wording and possibly not go completely haywire and start killing... well... everything in his path. He had the power to do it. He'd done it before. Once or twice.
Michael stood as still as a statue and stared at Raphael. The traitor, the liar, the spy working against him. This entire time Michael had a past he didn't know of and they DID and they KEPT it from him? "This is out of control. It was a game, and now things are coming to the surface," he said to himself. He looked away, jaw set, and then looked back at Raphael quickly. He spoke again, but his voice was no longer weak and fearful - it was commanding and venemous, as it once had been before today. "I want the entire story. I want it now, and you're going to tell me, Raphael, dear friend, do you understand? You're going to tell me, or I'm going to rip your wings off and feed them to the DOGS." His voice boomed through the empty park, the ever-darkening clouds looming overhead giving way to thunder as he restrained himself, a testamony to his rage at the moment.
Raphael lowered his head, ashamed. "Come with me, Michael. I will tell you everything you wish to know." He turned and began walking, unable to shake the feeling that Michael's hand was about to pop out from the other side of his chest, his heart held firmly in his grasp.
The Lie
"It was twenty-three years ago. We were here to take care of a small infestation of demons that wouldn't seem to go away," Raphael began as they rode in the elevator up to Michael's make-shift apartment. He used the place, as they all had their own "homes" when they stayed on the earth for longer periods of time. Outside, the rain poured down so hard it sounded like people were beating their hands against the windows of the building, trying frantically to get in.
"I don't even remember that," Michael said, leaning against the corner of the small cable-driven box they were in. His black hair was damp and clung to his forehead, droplets running down the bridge of his nose. His hands were shoved into his coat pockets and his usual rigid up-and-down stance had been abandoned in favour of this surly one, where his feet were out at an angle in front of him and he slanted against the wall, resting only his upper back against the cold metal.
"I know you don't. They took your memories from you. Well, He did. Because you broke the rules." Raphael studied his brother carefully as he spoke. "You broke all of them except like, two."
The door slid open as the cart jerked to a stop, and Michael's head tipped up to look at Raphael increduously. "There are a lot of rules we have to follow," he said, brows lofted in disbelief.
Raphael cleared the elevator, and watched as Michael stuck a hand out swiftly to stop the door from closing. He lethargically began to remove himself from the elevator, and Raphael spoke. "Yes, there are a lot of them to follow, and you managed to break most of them within the course of twenty-four hours. I don't know why you weren't stripped of your wings, or just killed. Perhaps it's because you've been around for so long and He holds on to you for sentimental.. What? Don't LOOK at me like that. You asked!"
Michael glared at Raphael, and then shook his head and brushed past him, walking down the long, darkened hallway to the door he sought. "I did, didn't I? Fine, then. Save me the humour. Just cut to the chase. I haven't got time for any more games." He found himself silently cursing Azazel - this was all his idea. He was willing to bet that he'd planned this entire thing - perhaps even to drive Michael to the point of going on some sort of killing spree here on the earth. Or even worse, in Heaven.
"Fine. So, the most blunt way I can explain it. We were here, you met Ava's mother, you knocked up Ava's mother, then when someone found out and threatened to tell, you poked their eyes out and ripped their heart from their chest. You were brought back to Heaven by Gabriel, and we all know how much of a fan of you HE is," he said dryly. "You stood trial, and His final word was to ditch the memories and send you back on your merry little way. They tagged you and Azazel together so that you pretty much became his babysitter, and here we are, two hungry cats and an empty mouse trap." He threw his hands up, letting them hit his sides as they fell with a final-sounding slap.
Michael held up his finger for a moment. "Give me a second to absorb all of this, Rafe," he said, walking away from the man. He opened his door and went into the apartment, not bothering with the lights. The massive glass window allowed what little light that was cast through the heavy storm clouds to illuminate the room in an eerie green glow, and Michael's black figure contrast greatly against the scene as he looked down stories below, watching the rain fall.
So, he was Ava's father. And her mother? He had never fathomed being with a human before - that was a demon's gig, not his. Was she beautiful? She had to have been to cause him to do so many bad things. But what made her special? And, Raphael said he poked someone's eyes out and removed their heart - that was how you killed an angel. Perhaps he'd killed one of his own kind? Well, he was an Archangel. Technically, he could demolish whoever he chose, so long as the Big Man Upstairs gave the green light.. which he usually did.
So many questions he had brewing in his head, and he spoke only one. "What was her name, Raphael?" he asked, hands now clasped behind his back as his eyes still fell downward, watching the cold raindrops as they slid down the clear glass window. It was like watching the world through a bubble. You could see it all so clear, but there was some boundry between the harsh reality and your delicate nature.
"Irene. Her name was Irene, Michael... and she was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Brown hair, olive eyes. She had a.. a light that radiated from her. She was like her own little sun, right there in her heart. They say angels weep when certain people die.. I know I did when she passed on." Raphael lingered in the background, away from Michael's immediate reach should he suddenly feel the need to incur some wrath.
"Irene," he said. He rolled the name around on his tongue, and in his mind, like a rock tumbler, trying to smooth surfaces of jagged stones into precious jems, but try as he could, he could not bring up any sort of memory of the woman Rafe claimed as 'Heaven Sent'. "I can't remember her. Not an idea of her face, or her voice, or her touch. "Are there no photographs or letters? Something of hers that I kept or hid?" He didn't look away fully from the window, but his head was slightly turned so that Raphael was caught in the very edge of his periphrial vision.
"I wish there were. All we have are memories of her... and you haven't even got that. I sincerely doubt you will - they didn't just block them, they TOOK them. Unless there is something they missed, and I don't think there is - you will NEVER know what happened past what I tell you... and I've told you everything. You may or may not believe me, but... I'm done lying, Michael. You're on the verge of crossing over, and if saving you means coming clean, then that's what I'll do."
The words seemed to freeze in the air, and Raphael knew then that they were the wrong ones to choose. Michael made a strange sound then - a sort of laugh, caught in his throat. He turned fully, dark eyes staring across the threshold in the poorly lit room at Raphael. The green flicker in his eyes was almost entirely visable, no longer just a glint, but now like a cat with eyeshine.
"On the verge of crossing over, my brother?" he asked, his voice low and gritty. "On the contrary. I already have."
"Doesn't it make you wonder?" the voice said in Michael's ear. It was almost spoken in a hiss, but it had a noble, haughty tone that was reminiscent in Azazel's own vocals. Michael felt his eardrums wheedling in around themselves - the sound of a demon's voice was torture to his ears. He resisted the urge to rip out the voicebox that the demon possessed and instead turned around, almost touching noses with the speaker.
A blonde man, who appeared no more than early twenties in age, with bright blue eyes that had that same iridescent orange behind them as the others. His blonde hair was pushed back and damp with hair product, while his black clothing seemed to make him appear paler than he really was. He looked the part of a model, almost, with high cheekbones and a very attractive face in general. All Michael saw, however, was horns, fangs, claws, and an excuse to exersize his right to destroy.
"Doesn't -what- make me wonder, Belial?" he asked him, brow raising in irritation. What was it with these demons and popping up when he least needed them to? He turned back, but Ava and Azazel had disappeared into the crowd. He'd lost them for the second time that evening.. his patience was growing thin with Azazel. This silly 'bet' they'd originally intended to play had become Azazel's obsession with a mortal woman whom Michael admitted seemed somehow familiar to him, as though a distant memory he could not place. The game was off and he was busy chasing that silly demon and his new girlfriend around, trying to make sure he stayed out of trouble.
"Why you feel like you've met her," the blonde demon said, now on Michael's other side. He smiled glibly at the man and clasped his hands behind his back, neatly trimmed fingernails adorning perfect hands. Belial's name spoke of worthlessness, but he felt he was worth a great deal, and did try to portray the part to the mortals around him. After all, if you looked important, you became important... And he was very important.
How could Belial have known that detail of Michael's thoughts? he wondered. He turned again, and gave him an unhealthy frown. "What in the hell are you talking about, you halfwit?" he demanded.
"Hey, man. I'm just saying. I see it. I see the way you look at her. I see the way Azazel looks at her, and it's different. He sees something, but not what. You see nothing, but know there IS a what. You know there is also a why, and you're trying to figure it out. No mortal has ever had this effect on you before, right? Never caught you off guard, or distracted you so much? Become the object of obsession?" Belial smiled again.
"Of course not, idiot. I'm a little stronger than that, don't you think? They're just vermin I was sent to watch over before I somehow got stuck babysitting your best friend, Azazel. I find none of them any more interesting than the other - the only reason I wonder about this one is because whatever I am sensing, Azazel is, too. He's closer to her, though. He will get more information than I can. He had her at hello." He rolls his eyes. "Demons."
"Think again, Archangel," Belial sang. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. Eyes rolled skyward. "You really did a number on this cat, Big Guy. I mean.. I'm impressed. I know Satan is powerful, but -wow-. He's oblivious." He laughed again, and looked back at Michael. He was met with a blank stare.
"Wow. You really have... no idea, do you?" Belial asked suddenly, his voice softening up a little. His eyes widened. "None at all."
"Idea about WHAT? Demon, you waste my time, and my patience, and I am beginning to get the urge to - "
"She's your daughter, Michael," he said abruptly.
"Run that by me one more time, would you?" he said, jaw clenched.
"No, I'm not lying this time. Believe me, this is too good to lie about. Ava, that girl with Azazel? She's your kid. Yeah. You had a fling with a mortal about twenty or thirty years ago and, well.. yeah." He could barely hide his excitement. "I can't believe you didn't know!" he shouted, jumping up and down like a child. "Oh man, I have GOT to tell the guys!" And with that, Belial was gone in a puff of sulfuric smoke.
Michael's head was spinning. He didn't have a daughter. He didn't have kids - he didn't even TALK to mortals, so how could...? He knew this would bother him 'til he could get it all straightened out, but something about what Belial said bothered him. He left the streets of the city in favour of the park that night, and sat on a bench by himself until morning. He had to summon a trusted friend to discuss this matter with...
The Truth
Raphael walked alongside Michael, his short blonde hair tufted by a light breeze. Blue eyes lingered on the dark man's form as he paced him, and he wondered what was to become of him should Michael lose his grip. He supposed he would be killed - they were both Archangels, but Michael was older, wiser. More powerful, and more of a loose cannon.
"If what Belial says is true... which, it isn't... but if it was, how? How could it be possible?" Michael looked to Raphael as they moved through the park. It was just barely noon, but the sky was overcast and everything around them appeared as though it were being shown through a faint green filter. The sky would open and pour any moment now, but they would stand and talk first. The rain could wait a while longer for them.
"That's what I came here to tell you, Michael," the other Archangel said. He turned and faced him fully, raising a hand to the top of the bridge of his nose and pinching it as he sighed. He looked up again, arms crossing.
Michael's dark eyes squinted slightly and his head turned. "What do you mean, Rafe?" he said. His brow arched and he flexed his fingertips, palms slightly damp from sweat as his arms dangled listlessly at his sides. "Come down here to tell me what? Were you sent?"
Raphael looked to the side, blue eyes searching the scenery for something - an answer to fall out of a tree and roll to his feet like an orange, or perhaps a bird to fly by and drop a notecard into his back pocket, off of which he could read the speech he had prepared and later forgotten.
"What?" Michael said again, this time his voice more sharp. The man was shorter than Raphael by only an inch or two, but somehow he seemed to swell and strengthen, and despite their rules and regulations, Raphael suspected that if Michael were provoked, he'd abandon all sense of reason and come in swinging. He didn't need that on his shoulders, too. His eyes narrowed now, and his head canted. "What, Rafe? Tell me.. Tell me he's lying. Tell me it's not true. Tell me."
Raphael winced - Michael was almost begging him. He looked back at him, and shrugged. "I wish I could, Michael. Brother, I wish I could tell you Belial was playing mind games with you.. but it's true. It's all true. Every last word. Ava is your daughter. It's why you feel so strange around her - it's familiarity. You were never supposed to find out.. Ever. I'm sorry brother... Others may not be, but we - Gabriel and myself - we are. We regret."
Regret was a big word for a creature of Heaven. Raphael hoped Michael would realize the significance of his wording and possibly not go completely haywire and start killing... well... everything in his path. He had the power to do it. He'd done it before. Once or twice.
Michael stood as still as a statue and stared at Raphael. The traitor, the liar, the spy working against him. This entire time Michael had a past he didn't know of and they DID and they KEPT it from him? "This is out of control. It was a game, and now things are coming to the surface," he said to himself. He looked away, jaw set, and then looked back at Raphael quickly. He spoke again, but his voice was no longer weak and fearful - it was commanding and venemous, as it once had been before today. "I want the entire story. I want it now, and you're going to tell me, Raphael, dear friend, do you understand? You're going to tell me, or I'm going to rip your wings off and feed them to the DOGS." His voice boomed through the empty park, the ever-darkening clouds looming overhead giving way to thunder as he restrained himself, a testamony to his rage at the moment.
Raphael lowered his head, ashamed. "Come with me, Michael. I will tell you everything you wish to know." He turned and began walking, unable to shake the feeling that Michael's hand was about to pop out from the other side of his chest, his heart held firmly in his grasp.
The Lie
"It was twenty-three years ago. We were here to take care of a small infestation of demons that wouldn't seem to go away," Raphael began as they rode in the elevator up to Michael's make-shift apartment. He used the place, as they all had their own "homes" when they stayed on the earth for longer periods of time. Outside, the rain poured down so hard it sounded like people were beating their hands against the windows of the building, trying frantically to get in.
"I don't even remember that," Michael said, leaning against the corner of the small cable-driven box they were in. His black hair was damp and clung to his forehead, droplets running down the bridge of his nose. His hands were shoved into his coat pockets and his usual rigid up-and-down stance had been abandoned in favour of this surly one, where his feet were out at an angle in front of him and he slanted against the wall, resting only his upper back against the cold metal.
"I know you don't. They took your memories from you. Well, He did. Because you broke the rules." Raphael studied his brother carefully as he spoke. "You broke all of them except like, two."
The door slid open as the cart jerked to a stop, and Michael's head tipped up to look at Raphael increduously. "There are a lot of rules we have to follow," he said, brows lofted in disbelief.
Raphael cleared the elevator, and watched as Michael stuck a hand out swiftly to stop the door from closing. He lethargically began to remove himself from the elevator, and Raphael spoke. "Yes, there are a lot of them to follow, and you managed to break most of them within the course of twenty-four hours. I don't know why you weren't stripped of your wings, or just killed. Perhaps it's because you've been around for so long and He holds on to you for sentimental.. What? Don't LOOK at me like that. You asked!"
Michael glared at Raphael, and then shook his head and brushed past him, walking down the long, darkened hallway to the door he sought. "I did, didn't I? Fine, then. Save me the humour. Just cut to the chase. I haven't got time for any more games." He found himself silently cursing Azazel - this was all his idea. He was willing to bet that he'd planned this entire thing - perhaps even to drive Michael to the point of going on some sort of killing spree here on the earth. Or even worse, in Heaven.
"Fine. So, the most blunt way I can explain it. We were here, you met Ava's mother, you knocked up Ava's mother, then when someone found out and threatened to tell, you poked their eyes out and ripped their heart from their chest. You were brought back to Heaven by Gabriel, and we all know how much of a fan of you HE is," he said dryly. "You stood trial, and His final word was to ditch the memories and send you back on your merry little way. They tagged you and Azazel together so that you pretty much became his babysitter, and here we are, two hungry cats and an empty mouse trap." He threw his hands up, letting them hit his sides as they fell with a final-sounding slap.
Michael held up his finger for a moment. "Give me a second to absorb all of this, Rafe," he said, walking away from the man. He opened his door and went into the apartment, not bothering with the lights. The massive glass window allowed what little light that was cast through the heavy storm clouds to illuminate the room in an eerie green glow, and Michael's black figure contrast greatly against the scene as he looked down stories below, watching the rain fall.
So, he was Ava's father. And her mother? He had never fathomed being with a human before - that was a demon's gig, not his. Was she beautiful? She had to have been to cause him to do so many bad things. But what made her special? And, Raphael said he poked someone's eyes out and removed their heart - that was how you killed an angel. Perhaps he'd killed one of his own kind? Well, he was an Archangel. Technically, he could demolish whoever he chose, so long as the Big Man Upstairs gave the green light.. which he usually did.
So many questions he had brewing in his head, and he spoke only one. "What was her name, Raphael?" he asked, hands now clasped behind his back as his eyes still fell downward, watching the cold raindrops as they slid down the clear glass window. It was like watching the world through a bubble. You could see it all so clear, but there was some boundry between the harsh reality and your delicate nature.
"Irene. Her name was Irene, Michael... and she was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Brown hair, olive eyes. She had a.. a light that radiated from her. She was like her own little sun, right there in her heart. They say angels weep when certain people die.. I know I did when she passed on." Raphael lingered in the background, away from Michael's immediate reach should he suddenly feel the need to incur some wrath.
"Irene," he said. He rolled the name around on his tongue, and in his mind, like a rock tumbler, trying to smooth surfaces of jagged stones into precious jems, but try as he could, he could not bring up any sort of memory of the woman Rafe claimed as 'Heaven Sent'. "I can't remember her. Not an idea of her face, or her voice, or her touch. "Are there no photographs or letters? Something of hers that I kept or hid?" He didn't look away fully from the window, but his head was slightly turned so that Raphael was caught in the very edge of his periphrial vision.
"I wish there were. All we have are memories of her... and you haven't even got that. I sincerely doubt you will - they didn't just block them, they TOOK them. Unless there is something they missed, and I don't think there is - you will NEVER know what happened past what I tell you... and I've told you everything. You may or may not believe me, but... I'm done lying, Michael. You're on the verge of crossing over, and if saving you means coming clean, then that's what I'll do."
The words seemed to freeze in the air, and Raphael knew then that they were the wrong ones to choose. Michael made a strange sound then - a sort of laugh, caught in his throat. He turned fully, dark eyes staring across the threshold in the poorly lit room at Raphael. The green flicker in his eyes was almost entirely visable, no longer just a glint, but now like a cat with eyeshine.
"On the verge of crossing over, my brother?" he asked, his voice low and gritty. "On the contrary. I already have."