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Entry tags:

kurt darkholme,
psl

(no subject)

It's not uncommon that Ani drops in on Darkholme--he's long since given up trying to make the man answer to his given name--without much or anything in the way of forewarning.

The ability to instantaneously be where you want to be rather precludes that, and the divine mandate to look after someone who doesn't want looking after means it's usually to the better if he gives as few clues as possible to a visit. This time isn't much different, and Ani folds his wings back tightly to make it through the doorway, eyes landing on the familiar face obscured by a bottle rim.

"You're going to kill more brain cells than you can really afford with that, you know," he says. "And gluttony is still a sin."

Entry tags:

carrie white,
psl

PSL for Carrie--

It's been years that Aniel, angel of the Lord and guardian of troubled souls, has watched Carrie White. He doesn't often let her see him--he out of everyone would greatly like her to retain her eyeballs and her sanity--but his tendency to leave notes tied to downy preened feathers means he is rarely out of communication with the girl. He's watched her grow from a precocious and precious child into a stunning and powerful young woman, still fighting the stranglehold her mother has on her faith.

She gives him hope that human resiliency isn't dead. Yet.

And so it is when she comes home changed, when he can smell the blood on her and the shame radiating out like tongues of fire, that he appears to her for the first time in years. His mortal body looks young, exotic face just eye-catching enough to make sure she won't mistake him for a stranger, hair loose about his neck and face and his wings seared into the skin of his back and shoulders and arms like a scarred tattoo. It's why he always wears long-sleeved shirts, not that Ani thinks she's noticed such a thing in the handful of times he's appeared visually to Carrie since early childhood. Since the age when memory would be retained into adulthood.

"What troubles you so, my child?"

PSL: Faith and the Fallen (for quiteafew)

It wasn't that he had nowhere else to be, really; he could have chosen to be anywhere, and there he would have been in less than the space of a blink. But he liked being, plainly put, in the middle of goddamn nowhere, because there he might actually find some small measure of peace, the calm of not having a raging headache.

Being all but entirely incommunicado with the deity that created you was a mild pain in the ass--if by mild you meant enormous. Still, Ani had gotten increasingly used to the new baseline sensation, and though he rather liked the world around him, being in things and seeing for himself the practical paradise humans had. Even if the difficulties of having wings the appropriate size to carry your ass in flight outweighed some of the small pleasures, nothing would ever top bathing. The experience, the ritual, was oddly glorious, even if he did need to go about it half like a human and half like a bird, shaking himself all over and laying out in the sun to let the feathered appendages dry. He could get used to this. Had already gotten used to it, if he really was honest with himself: he was settled on a flat-ish rock, worn jeans pulled on to cover his legs and his wings unfurled, making a sort of shade umbrella over his head so he could read. (Books were awesome, he'd summarily decided after reading the first one.)