accidental video;
[The first thing to come through is a horrible electronic feedback screeching from everyone's PCD; the video flickers and statics and coughs into life in fits and starts, with the picture scrambled for a few long seconds. The sound of sparks and distant sizzling can be heard.
Raphael's usual tight-laced demeanor doesn't come to her naturally these days: since Lucifer gutted her and filled her with Hellfire, she meditates for upwards of eight hours every day just to keep the darkness and destructive urges at bay. She has to put a remarkable amount of energy just into not burning the city down without being able to stop herself. But that ironclad self-control and need to protect aren't home anymore- Raphael doesn't have a fuck left to give, simply put. Her only reasons to behave herself are named Michael and Gabriel: one of them is a hollow, horrific shell of the brother she loves and the other- the other, her big brother, her Michael, the North her compass points to, put a fist through her face and called her a monster.
So when the video image finally focuses, it's no wonder that the lights are sparking, flickering, that electronics are screaming. Anything tying her to angelic urges is gone and the irresistible pull of that destructive Fire inside her, the ever-present searing fucking agony threatening to make her a monster, is undoing even her basic ability to keep her angelic aura in check. The Fire is too strong to keep out- lava-pattern burning like glowing embers is spreading from where her hands grip the table, mottling over the walls, here and there, present then gone, a physical representation of the Hell corroding her.
She's half in frame when the PCD turns on, hands braced against a table, hunching over with head bowed low. The angel looks different: her business suit is nowhere in sight, in favor of jean shorts and a tank top, with Castiel's Grace swinging gently from her neck. There's a few short seconds where she seems to be concentrating very hard on something. A few times a minute a wave of heat will distort the PCD's view like a desert mirage. After a particularly loud burst of sparks from the lights she looks up, sees the PCD on, and laughs like someone just made her day. Her face is bruised and beaten; she's clearly lost a fight.]
It finally turned on. I thought it might eventually. [She laughs again and shakes her head. Get the cobwebs out.] These damn angel auras are so hard to keep in check sometimes.
[Pushing off from the table and running a hand through her hair casually. She's moving stiffly. When she has something else to focus on, the Fire is almost soothing: like a constant drum-beat, keeping her smiling.]
Oh! [Folding her hands and pointing to the PCD with her steepled fingers.] I do have one request.
Would those good people still keeping the faith and praying here kindly hang up the white courtesy phone? Honestly. I, personally, could do with a tall glass of shut the fuck up now and again.
[Laughing now] I don't understand why you still bother. Earth to McFly -- [spinning around dramatically with her arms out wide] HE'S NOT LISTENING.
Why waste your time with Hail Marys and Hosannas when we have terrible lives to lead? For some of us, this is the afterlife. [Pointing at the PCD with a 'gotcha' expression, creepily reminiscent of Lucifer- or Uriel.] Stop waiting by the phone for someone who is not going to call you. It's hardly emotionally healthy.
[With a snap of her fingers the fluorescents stay on and stop buzzing, the distant appliances quiet.]
Maybe we should all stop throwing tantrums and crying for our mommies. Get busy doing something, right? That sure as shit isn't living and the Animus won't let us die.
[A simple smile. It looks convincingly happy.] Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go figure out how to turn this -- [indicating Castiel's Grace] -- into earrings safely.
[The video goes dead with a snap.]
Raphael's usual tight-laced demeanor doesn't come to her naturally these days: since Lucifer gutted her and filled her with Hellfire, she meditates for upwards of eight hours every day just to keep the darkness and destructive urges at bay. She has to put a remarkable amount of energy just into not burning the city down without being able to stop herself. But that ironclad self-control and need to protect aren't home anymore- Raphael doesn't have a fuck left to give, simply put. Her only reasons to behave herself are named Michael and Gabriel: one of them is a hollow, horrific shell of the brother she loves and the other- the other, her big brother, her Michael, the North her compass points to, put a fist through her face and called her a monster.
So when the video image finally focuses, it's no wonder that the lights are sparking, flickering, that electronics are screaming. Anything tying her to angelic urges is gone and the irresistible pull of that destructive Fire inside her, the ever-present searing fucking agony threatening to make her a monster, is undoing even her basic ability to keep her angelic aura in check. The Fire is too strong to keep out- lava-pattern burning like glowing embers is spreading from where her hands grip the table, mottling over the walls, here and there, present then gone, a physical representation of the Hell corroding her.
She's half in frame when the PCD turns on, hands braced against a table, hunching over with head bowed low. The angel looks different: her business suit is nowhere in sight, in favor of jean shorts and a tank top, with Castiel's Grace swinging gently from her neck. There's a few short seconds where she seems to be concentrating very hard on something. A few times a minute a wave of heat will distort the PCD's view like a desert mirage. After a particularly loud burst of sparks from the lights she looks up, sees the PCD on, and laughs like someone just made her day. Her face is bruised and beaten; she's clearly lost a fight.]
It finally turned on. I thought it might eventually. [She laughs again and shakes her head. Get the cobwebs out.] These damn angel auras are so hard to keep in check sometimes.
[Pushing off from the table and running a hand through her hair casually. She's moving stiffly. When she has something else to focus on, the Fire is almost soothing: like a constant drum-beat, keeping her smiling.]
Oh! [Folding her hands and pointing to the PCD with her steepled fingers.] I do have one request.
Would those good people still keeping the faith and praying here kindly hang up the white courtesy phone? Honestly. I, personally, could do with a tall glass of shut the fuck up now and again.
[Laughing now] I don't understand why you still bother. Earth to McFly -- [spinning around dramatically with her arms out wide] HE'S NOT LISTENING.
Why waste your time with Hail Marys and Hosannas when we have terrible lives to lead? For some of us, this is the afterlife. [Pointing at the PCD with a 'gotcha' expression, creepily reminiscent of Lucifer- or Uriel.] Stop waiting by the phone for someone who is not going to call you. It's hardly emotionally healthy.
[With a snap of her fingers the fluorescents stay on and stop buzzing, the distant appliances quiet.]
Maybe we should all stop throwing tantrums and crying for our mommies. Get busy doing something, right? That sure as shit isn't living and the Animus won't let us die.
[A simple smile. It looks convincingly happy.] Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go figure out how to turn this -- [indicating Castiel's Grace] -- into earrings safely.
[The video goes dead with a snap.]