[Idleness without purpose. Unceasing time and our victory resolved. They have forgotten their mission here and our battle is fought, they are the champions and failing miserably]

Tick. Tock.

[ooc: Brackets are his thoughts, readable to anyone assuming you can get to him. He's perched on the roof of the Firehouse looking like a gargoyle and ( Read more... )

[ The view of the device knocked down in the vessel is blocked by shadows: a whole black wing is what comes to view. In the background, there's a sound of feathers falling softly on water.

Then, after a pause, the voice of a woman.]Enough. There's no space for you and your four wings wide spread. Take a choice: do you vanish them or I'll cut ( Read more... )

[He's half crouched on the back of a bench in Xanadu, four black feathered wings manifested and pinned in close to his body. He's watching.]

Once more in residence at the Firehouse.

Wards intact.

Three years of peace and the echo of ghosts.

One year.

Like a single drop of water in the ocean.

[An offering of a perfect, red apple held out by a pale hand in a gesture of both stoic irony and partial gift. It's one of her days, is it not? And if she were to bite into that apple, he would be beyond restraint to lick away the juices as they fell from her perfect and often cruel mouth]

Called by some the season of death...

Another evidence of his cruelty. But not here. And has fallen and will again.

A few moments of violence.

How interesting.

This is my costume.

The season of death approaches. Will you eat the seeds of the pomegranate, Alexiel? I plucked it for you.