(Untitled)

[un_fallen]

Raguel's in the bar - in a corner, but he's certainly not hiding. Not with those battered great wings spread out behind him. He does seem to be kind of half-hunched over an ashtray, though, and looking rather like he's got an unpleasant duty in front of him.

It may not happen tonight, but he's certainly not mistaken about that.

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[arch_messenger]

Michael is nearby. He didn't magically appear, though his approach was subtle by his standards. (If attacking a castle, Michael would smash the front gate.)

"Raguel," Michael's voice cracks out like a whip against the bar's background noise. He sits himself across the table from Raguel.

[un_fallen]

Raguel sits up straight - it's not precisely light speed, but it's quick enough to look painful.

"Michael. Um. You're looking. Better."

As opposed to bleeding on the ground with a broken nose, for which Raguel is somewhat responsible. He digs deep.

"...Sir."

[arch_messenger]

Michael steeples his fingertips together in front of his mouth as he eyes Raguel over the top of them. He lifts his head long enough to say, “You’re…not so much,” trying not to laugh as he says it.

There’s a sort of satisfaction in his voice.

“So what exactly was a lie and what wasn’t? Of what you told me?” He doesn’t really trust that Raguel won’t lie to him now, but he asks anyway. Just in case.

[un_fallen]

Raguel's eyes narrow - he can't help it, it's a reflex. He blinks a few times and it subsides. A deep breath.

"None of it was a lie," he says flatly, "Angels don't lie; I doubt you've forgotten that. And you did seem to believe that I haven't Fallen, at least, at the end."