Strangefellows - Late-ish
Given the general ambience of Strangefellows, it was entirely too noticeable when something entirely strange started happening: The air, generally heavy with pipe smoke and seedy voices, had suddenly filled with a new kind of heaviness, one that reeked of pure, heavenly power. (For those who have never smelt pure, heavenly power, it has a faint hint of freesia.) It made skin prickle, hair stand up, et cetera et cetera. Anyone with a brain could suppose that either the Messiah was finally returning, or He had sent an angel down to kill them all. Unfortunately, it was neither of these.
The heaviness coalesced into thick, white light that was sure to blind more than a few people, and there was a high possibility of powerful anticipation in the bar-going patrons.
Lucky for them, the whole thing was entirely anti-climactic.
In the middle of the room stood, not the tall, lean, manly figure of an avenging angel, his clean, white wings spread wide as he praised God with song-like voice, that everyone had expected, but a tall, almost unnaturally thin androgyne clad in, not the long, flowing robes of Heaven, but tight, leather pants that showed off his Supreme Junklessness, and a rather wrinkled, white woman's dress shirt. She looked entirely unamused, and took a long drag on her cigarette before looking about her and saying in an entirely blasé, but highly appealing tone:
"And I'm where now?"
His wings rustled, and it was highly noticeable that they were dusty from lack of use.
Amriel sighed, deciding not to care where he had landed himself this time. He sat down at the nearest table, and scoured the room with dark eyes, wondering who he had to smite to get some vodka.
The heaviness coalesced into thick, white light that was sure to blind more than a few people, and there was a high possibility of powerful anticipation in the bar-going patrons.
Lucky for them, the whole thing was entirely anti-climactic.
In the middle of the room stood, not the tall, lean, manly figure of an avenging angel, his clean, white wings spread wide as he praised God with song-like voice, that everyone had expected, but a tall, almost unnaturally thin androgyne clad in, not the long, flowing robes of Heaven, but tight, leather pants that showed off his Supreme Junklessness, and a rather wrinkled, white woman's dress shirt. She looked entirely unamused, and took a long drag on her cigarette before looking about her and saying in an entirely blasé, but highly appealing tone:
"And I'm where now?"
His wings rustled, and it was highly noticeable that they were dusty from lack of use.
Amriel sighed, deciding not to care where he had landed himself this time. He sat down at the nearest table, and scoured the room with dark eyes, wondering who he had to smite to get some vodka.