Coat hanger halos don't come cheap from television shepherds with living room sheep....
Upon close examination, the CLF had appeared to have been disbanded sometime before the plagues. Curious, that. Michael, however, managed to find a small, close-knit group that was still active and had promised them that he could show them a way to be successful- an elegant group of warriors against the real enemy, rather than a group of unseemly terrorists. They hadn't wanted to trust a child, of course, but he was always good at being disarming and eerily charming when it came to adults. They listened.
Eventually, they'll agree.
The high school is closed for repairs and various other excuses- plague trauma is a perfectly legitimate reason to close a school. Michael's rather thankful for that, considering that the wanderers being thick on the ground prove to be rather nauseating. He had to transfer out of three classes at the beginning of the semester to avoid being sick in his classes. Revolting creatures.
He was rather shocked that the plagues hadn't killed them all. Surely that was what summoned them? Wanderers and that Rift, mucking about with God's grand design. Maybe God will send a flood next to get rid of the spares.
Perhaps, he is the flood.
Michael Thompson, seventeen-year-old Angel of Vengeance against Wanderers and self-proclaimed Angel of the Lord is currently standing in front of the remains of Buckingham Crater where lines of candle remains and photographs and mementos to the dead from last night's wake are strewn about in a vague approximation of organization. He says a small prayer for the innocents and undeserving who were killed in the plagues, wishing that it could only be the unworthy abominations who lost their lives, but there always have to be sacrifices.
Maybe Chicago will finally wake up after this.
[[OOC: If you tag Michael with a wanderer, he won't hurt them off the bat, but he will probably end the conversation rather quickly as being around wanderers for long periods without acting on his Calling makes him sick.]]
Eventually, they'll agree.
The high school is closed for repairs and various other excuses- plague trauma is a perfectly legitimate reason to close a school. Michael's rather thankful for that, considering that the wanderers being thick on the ground prove to be rather nauseating. He had to transfer out of three classes at the beginning of the semester to avoid being sick in his classes. Revolting creatures.
He was rather shocked that the plagues hadn't killed them all. Surely that was what summoned them? Wanderers and that Rift, mucking about with God's grand design. Maybe God will send a flood next to get rid of the spares.
Perhaps, he is the flood.
Michael Thompson, seventeen-year-old Angel of Vengeance against Wanderers and self-proclaimed Angel of the Lord is currently standing in front of the remains of Buckingham Crater where lines of candle remains and photographs and mementos to the dead from last night's wake are strewn about in a vague approximation of organization. He says a small prayer for the innocents and undeserving who were killed in the plagues, wishing that it could only be the unworthy abominations who lost their lives, but there always have to be sacrifices.
Maybe Chicago will finally wake up after this.
[[OOC: If you tag Michael with a wanderer, he won't hurt them off the bat, but he will probably end the conversation rather quickly as being around wanderers for long periods without acting on his Calling makes him sick.]]