⍭he ℱallen

⟪ OOC Thread ⟫
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They look, act, think, feel, and live just like us. There are no noticeable differences between us. Even they don't know they're different, or at least, not all of them do. One does. Only one knows whom the rest are. Science fanatics would call them aliens—not from this world—and religious people would call them angels. They just call themselves The Fallen. However, it has been a few millennium since they last referred to themselves as such. At first retaining the memories of their past lives was easy, but as time went on, the memories began to fade. They lost touch with their true self as each reincarnation occurred. They don't look the same. They show no signs of having powers. Their personalities may still be similar, but what truly connects them to the soul resting deep inside had rotted and withered.

The Fallen were cast away during the mid-2nd century A.D. For years they did the Lord's work, but even sin and temptation can reach those of purity. The influence the Morning Star had before his fall was enough to taint the holy land. It needed a proper cleansing, and those that did not wish to repent for the actions they committed against their immortal Father were cast out.

They are still immortal, but it is as punishment. There is no death—no rest—for those that have fallen. There is no salvation to be sought after. They live the lives of man, but when they die, their souls do not rest and pass on. They move immediately to a new body, a new vessel. Their physical minds have been washed of all prior knowledge. What used to be has slowly slipped from their grasps. They know not whom they are, nor will they ever. What power still remains has been suppressed so deeply within their subconscious minds that it is rendered useless, unable to be accessed. They have not heard a word from their Father in centuries. While some may still be religious, they do not know of times past. There is no repentance for the angels after their fall, just as there is no repentance for men after death.

In a time of chaos and destruction, one might have the ability to bring them together again. The world is changing. War is an ever vigilant entity in our daily lives. Deaths occur in the tens of thousands. Bombings and shootings are far more frequent then of years past. Crime has increased. Sin is spreading. Marks of his reign increase more feverishly. They have been cast out, but they may also be the only ones that can help prolong his rise to power until the messiah returns to man. It is not time yet. The Rapture is not yet upon them. He needs to be stopped before growing too strong to suppress. The Fallen have a hard road ahead of them, and that's only if they are willing to believe. . .​

Things to know. . .

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⊛ This RP originally started out as a Blue Bloods based role play, but then after researching more on angels and what not, I decided to eighty-six the whole idea and do something completely original.

⊛ This is a present day, modern world RP.

⊛ My character will be the only one that knows shit is happening. The others will have no clue about the uprising that is beginning or about themselves and whom they truly are. All those memories of their past have faded with time.

⊛ They do not have powers at this time. Eventually they will, but their powers are buried so deep within that they will not be able to just tap into them easy-peasy. It will takes hours of strenuous work and practice and they may not all even reach their powers.

⊛ They shouldn't all be like sword masters and martial arts specialists. That's just... no...* shakes head * BE REALISTIC. I can't stress that enough. If I find that you're not being realistic, I will ask you to edit or potentially leave. I'm not joking.

⊛ Not everyone will start out in the same area. Characters will be all around the world.

⊛ The Fallen are drawn to one another. While your character will not know about their past, they may know someone that is an angel in their area. Odds are they won't know them well—acquaintances, most likely.

⊛ Before submitting your CS, you need to PM me your angel choice. Depending on which you choose, it may impact your character's personality or location and I need to know you are capable of properly portraying that character. That will also be where you find out your starting position.

⊛ I will choose what city your angel starts in, which is why PMing me is important.

⊛ One day in the RP is equal to four days in real life. There will be a lot of traveling in the RP, so some days might be cut short or skipped over all together.

⊛ The RP will be 90 in character days long, giving them three months to try and get their shit together.

⊛ You will be required to post at least once every three days. I understand that things come up, just talk to me and we can work something out. I am a very lenient person, so I am willing to make exceptions depending on your excuse, but if I know you have the ability to be posting and just blatantly choose not to, I won't be so nice.

⊛ I won't hound anyone or remind them, but once you reach three strikes you are out, no exceptions. I would like at least one of my Rps to finish before I eventually leave KHV and I feel this one could have the potential to do so if everyone just follows their part.

⊛ While the RP may refer to the bible and other forms of scripture, along with being about angels, it is not necessarily a religious RP. I just wanted to get that out there so there isn't any controversy over the subject.

⊛ This isn't an advanced RP, but I do expect well written posts. I know people can't always get online or are short on time and so I won't make a big deal out of short posts on the occasion, but not every time. If I see that you are constantly writing one paragraph or less, I may ask you to leave if you can't increase it. I like detail in my stories and that's what this is, a story.

⊛ Days end midnight my time, which is Central Standard Time. + 1 hour for EST ( 1 am ), -1 hour for MT ( 11 pm ), and -2 hours for PST ( 10 pm ). If you live outside of North or South America and need help figuring out the time zone differences, let me know.

⊛ I have no problem with language, violence, romance, but it has to be appropriate and well written. No smut! Don't be tacky or abusive of the privilege. I will revoke the right if you cannot handle it. It does still have to follow forum rules. You may get a strike if you can't be appropriate.

⊛ I shouldn't have to say this, but since not everyone seems to get it: No God-modding. It should be a given, but clearly is not always the case. You are only allowed to control a character belonging to someone else if they have given you permission and it should not be a frequent thing.

⊛ No bios. I hate bios. They are dumb and an utter waste of time. I don't want to know every detail of your character's past. You should show me it in the story—introduce depth.

⊛ Characters may be any age, but the younger they are, the less likely they will actually fight or anything.
You may have up to three characters.

⊛ If there is an angel you would like that is not on the list, talk to me. I'm open to the idea of other angels, but there are so many on the list that I think you should be all right.

⊛ Angels are genderless beings, so it does not matter which you choose for your angel. Their gender may change with each reincarnation.

⊛ I reserve the right to add or subtract to these rules as I feel necessary. I will alert you all if I do.​

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DAY: ONE​

Sunday, September 22, 2013​

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❖ MAP ✔ ❖ OOC ⟡ Banner + Saxima = ♥ ❖ WEARING ✔ ❖​

❖ DAY ⟡ 1 ⦙ 1/5 ❖ DATE ⟡ Sunday ⦙ September 22, 2013 ❖​

❖LOCATION ⟡ San Francisco, California ❖ INTERACTION ⟡ Gabriel ❖​

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❝ . . . in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen. ❞ Slim fingers made an invisible cross from forehead, to chest, and finally to each shoulder. Hands pressed together in the form of prayer before the girl finally rose to her feet. She glided effortlessly over to the many candles and lit one for each of her fallen brothers and sisters--may God bless their restless souls. The smell of flame igniting on wick and candle wax tickled the fine hairs in her nostrils and she wrinkled her nose before setting the lighting stick down in its proper holder. Flames reflected in dance in her blue eyes. The little red votive glasses that held each candle glowed with the light.

She stood, smoothed the skirt of her dress, and tucked a stray lock of red hair behind her ear. Her footsteps were silent as she turned to leave the cathedral, but a looming figure stood in her path. ❝ Excuse me, ❞ came her soft sturdy voice. She looked up to see a woman in front of her, wearing a long pale yellow sundress and a large brimmed black sunhat. A large flower rested on it, held by a thick banded ribbon. Brown hair cascaded down the woman's shoulders and emerald green eyes like the rolling hills of Ireland peered down at her. She had to be nearly four inches taller and loomed even further above in the black strappy heels she was wearing.

The woman cocked a crooked grin and tilted her head to the side, hands resting on her hips. ❝ Do you not recognize me, Xathanael? ❞

The red head, named Xathanael, blinked her dark lashes at the woman and tilted her chin up, inspecting the heart-shaped face and flawlessly curvy body. The woman bore no makeup, and even without it she was clearly beautiful—other worldly. ❝ Gabriel? ❞

❝ So you do know my name. I feared you might have forgotten me after all this time. ❞ said Gabriel. She half turned and gestured for Xathanael to follow. They walked silently out of the cathedral and out into the open air of the busy city street.

Xathanael stopped at the top of the cement steps and gazed wonderingly at the angel. Sun glowed down on her and there was a shimmer behind Gabriel's back. For a brief moment Xathanael thought she could see wings there, but as a cloud passed overhead it was gone as quickly as it came. ❝ What are you doing here Gabriel? You know the rules state-- ❞

❝ No one knows I am here. You need not remind me of the rules. ❞ Gabriel stroked the top of her red hair affectionately. ❝ It has been too long, sister. ❞

Xathanael leaned into the touch and let her eyes shut, a sweet smile lingering on her face. ❝ That it has. I have not seen you in nearly seven centuries. ❞

❝ It has been far too long indeed. Xathanael, ❞ Gabriel paused, pulling her hand away and Xathanael opened her eyes, ❝ I have some bad news. ❞

❝ One could only imagine so. You are the Archangel of Messages. Do you have some time? I am not staying far from here. ❞

Gabriel nodded and followed her younger counterpart down the colorful streets of San Francisco. The streets were giant hills and trolley bells rang in the distance. Fog was thick, even with the sun shining high in the sky. There was an overall hazy feel to the city during midday that made it feel almost as if it were asleep, waiting to wake up from a long and exhausting dream.

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They turned down a small alley until they reached the Sunflower Motel. The yellow sunflower on the side was flaking and peeling away, leaving a wooden flower outline on the side of the building. Blue exterior walls were rusted and decaying from years of neglect. Shingles hung off the edge of the roof and the overwhelming odor of trash was thick in the air. Xathanael pulled a key out of her pocket and moved to the door with a missing number on it. The faint outline of a seven was in the splintering wood of the door and she slipped the key into the lock. The familiar sound of a lock unlatching reached her ears and she turned the knob, pushing the door open.​

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The inside wasn't much better with its seventies' style yellow and green furniture and twin-sized bed. The sheets on the bed had some floral pattern that was stained and the brown shag carpet had burned out patches in it. The room smelled like smoke and the nineteen inch television was playing a staticky rerun of Good Times. She kicked her shoes off and turned the knob on the television to off, before taking a seat in one of the raggedy leather yellow bucket seats. ❝ Have a seat, ❞ she told Gabriel.

The Archangel appeared hesitant, but made her way over to the matching green chair, crossing her legs at her ankles. The black heels were still on her feet and Xathanael wondered how dreadful the walk must have been in that footwear. ❝ Would you like something to drink? ❞ Gabriel shook her head and rested her chin on the back of her hand.

❝ I think it best if we get to the point. It shall not be long before they notice my absence. I am already beginning to lose control of this form. ❞ Light shined in through the window and she could see the shimmer of wings behind Gabriel's back once more—so it hadn't just been a trick of the light then.

Xathanael longed to reach out and stroke the wings of the Archangel, wishing to know how it felt. She had pictured the pleasure of flying and the gentle embrace of her wings against her skin after all these many years, but knew it was a luxury she would never again be blessed with. ❝ So what might it be then? What could be so important that you risk being caught interacting with one of The Fallen? We are to be exiled and yet here you are—again. ❞ She wrapped her fingers impatiently on the worn out desk. Coffee stains ringed the wood and water damaged its finishing. Possibilities ran through her mind as to what the reason for Gabriel's arrival meant—none of them good.

❝ It is Lucifer, he is-- ❞

❝ Is it not always? ❞ she interrupted. ❝ Every time you come to me about him as if there is something I can do. There is nothing I can do. ❞

❝ You are right about that. ❞

Xathanael stared at her, too stunned for words. Tendrils of red hair clung to her cheeks in the humid hot fall air. Her blue eyes shimmered with a look that seemed a mixture of confusion and betrayal. ❝ Then why? ❞

❝ As I was saying, ❞ Gabriel started anew. ❝ Something is stirring. We have received some terrible news. The Morning Star is working to begin the Uprising. He has started to gather forces. ❞

❝ Lucifer is always beginning the Uprising. How is now any different? Redemption does not come to mankind for another quite some time. We don't even know when it shall be. Father has kept that under a tight lock and key, even from us. ❞ She creased her red brows in annoyance.

❝ I have spoken with him. He has assured me that his Son is not yet to return to the Earth. The problems are escalating. Have you ever seen so much destruction outside of war before? Man is being so easily swayed to do the wrong thing. There is demonic energy everywhere. Their presence has grown tenfold. Father shows no worry, but there is something in the way he spoke that left me feeling unsettled. We are not allowed to interfere with man, but you—you can. ❞

Xathanael leaned back in her seat, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her chest rose and fell slowly as she absorbed her sister's words. There was a long silence. Finally she spoke, her voice steady and calculating. ❝ And how do you anticipate I go about doing such a thing. I am but one person—one mortal. ❞

A triumphant grin slowly crept across the Archangel's flawless face. ❝ That is why you shall gather the others, or at least some of them. They will be able to help you. ❞

❝ That is ridiculous. They know not whom they are. ❞ Xathanael jumped to her feet and stared down at Gabriel in outrage. The Archangel rose swift and gracefully to her feet, resting a hand on Xathanael's shoulder.

❝ You are a resourceful one. I am sure you have the ability to persuade them to help. With the right assurance, you will be able to help them remember. . I’m not the only one that has faith in you and the others. ❞

❝ You mean— ❞

❝ No… Father has said nothing on the matter. Michael believes in you all as well, even if he is too loyal to come here with me. It would be an even greater betrayal if he left Paradise for something like this than if I did. ❞

Xathanael swallowed uncomfortably and took two long strides across the room to her bed. She pulled out a box from the bedside table and flipped it open. Something long and slender shimmered a glittery white in the dull fluorescent light of the motel room. It lay in a soft red velvet liner and vibrated as if it had a pulse. She snapped the box shut and returned it to the drawer it had previously been in before spinning on her heel and facing the Archangel once more. ❝ How do I find the others? They are too dispersed in order reach them under normal means. ❞

Gabriel flicked her hair over her shoulder. Her green eyes glowed with excitement as she pulled a long necklace chain out from underneath her dress. It was funny how she hadn’t noticed the chain until that moment. It was almost as if it materialized out of nowhere, but Xathanael new better than that. She always knew better. ❝ With this. . . ❞

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W E A R I N G ✖ W R I T I N G ✖ M U S I C
MOOD ※ CALM ✖ DAY 1 ※ 1/5 ✖ DATE ※ 09/22/2013 ✖ LOCATION ※ JOGGING, PARIS, FRANCE
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Breathe in. Breathe out. Breath in. Breathe out.

In the early hours of the morning, a girl ran through the backstreets of Paris, breathing in and out, feeling completely at peace as her headphones jiggled around her neck without a second thought. Her older brother had taught her this kind of running. He used to be a marathon runner, so he knew all about pacing and breathing.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breath in. Breathe out.

The running kept her calm, focused, and it was good for her, too. Even her dad endorsed it, which was kind of weird. Not only did it let her stay in shape, but it also pretty much prepped her for her days, which were usually long and filled with idiots and people who just pissed her off. One of the things that kept her going was that this was her final year of schooling, and then she wouldn't have to do it anymore.

She was sick of school, and sick of the people in school. Sure there had been a select person here or there that didn't get her fist in their face or her knee in their crotch, but those were special people. Well, special person. But most of the others were just . . . Ugh.

The catch about hating people was this: If she wanted to take over the family café after her dad passed, then she would have to learn to deal with them. Her brother used to say that she would grow out of it, that everyone grinding on her last nerve all the time would pass. It hadn't, and she wondered if she hadn't hit puberty yet.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breath in. Breathe out.

Today wouldn't be so bad, she told herself -- hey, at least she was trying to be the optimist, even though she hated optimists. She could deal. She did every day. Some days were worse than others. But today hadn't happened yet, to hey.

She came to the end of her half-hour jogging route, right by today's fountain ( Fontaine de l'Observatoire ) and then fished a solid silver coin from her shorts. One silver dollar, from the Americas. she thought to herself, and then kissed the tails side, like always, and flipped it into the water.

Looking up at the sky, what breath she had kept was seeping into her now and she felt relaxed, staring up into the pale morning sky.

❝Mickey!❞ called a voice, and the moment was over. 'Mickey' looked over her shoulder and saw a girl in running clothes coming towards her. She smiled. ❝C'mon, we should go get ready for school now, Mickey.❞ the girl told her, and then the two of them began their journey back to the shop.​

 

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Wearing --- Music --- Location​

---Date: Sunday, September 22, 2013 ---Day: 1 | 1/5 --- Mood: Tired --- Interaction: N/A --- Working: Yes --- City: New York City --- OOC: N/A ---​

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The silence of the funeral was dead quiet, and it had nothing to do with dead bodies. In fact, no bodies were there in that tiny little funeral home on 14th Street. It had nothing to do with competition or.anything, it was just simply that the truck hadn't come yet. That is a normal occurrence in N.Y.C, traffic.​

Cassandra Hansen yawned as she waited by the front door. Usually when the cosmologist is called in, a body is there. Not in the case of today apparently. Everyday of the week was a busy day, because people die. She did not just work at this one funeral home, and was in fact an independent cosmologist. What normally got people asking for her was that she would personalize them based on facts about their life.

"Was your son a sports fanatic..."

"Did your wife like gardening."​

"You say your mother was a skydiver?"​

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Cassandra watched as the truck finally arrived, and the men of the truck ran out and picked up the casket and ran it in without caring about how fragile the package was inside. Cassandra reached out her hands and spoke, "Hey! Be careful. They may not be home but you never know if they are still watching their vessels."​

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"Madam we have a schedule that is more important than protecting the body someone dead."​

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Cassandra sighed and waved at the men as they left, then behind their backs gave them the finger. She turned around and opened up the casket and looked sadly at the contents. Cassandra straightened a few things up before she sat in a stool in front of the casket and pulled out a clipboard filled with notes.​

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"Rachel Schmid. October 03, 2003 to September 22, 2013... you didn't even make it to Ten, poor girl..." Cassandra forced a smile and spoke, "Your mama said you loved the color blue. So I will make you something special..."​

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Cassandra felt her phone in her pocket vibrate, she pulled it out and looked at the message:​

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Another heading over there now. They should be there soon, they are taking a different route. This one needs to be quick because the family is sitting Shiva, body must be buried immediately.​

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"Why even do anything if it is going to buried immediately with no open casket funeral..." Cassie complained to herself as she wrote notes down on the clipboard, "I mean, I know it is Jewish tradition, but the body isn't impatient. In fact bodies could wait forever..."​

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Cassandra turned back to Rachel and smiled again, "Sorry about that distraction... now, your papa said you also like butterflies?"​

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There was nothing like the roar of a propeller to raise a girl's spirits, Melissa thought as she gently banked her Cessna, enjoying the sensations of her flight, the faint vibrations from the engine, the pull deep in her gut as the plane's trajectory changed. 'Lissa loved to fly, she had for as long as she could remember. The world always made more sense to her when she had a bird's eye view, and she felt the most complete when her fingers were wrapped around the centre-stick of a plane. This particular plane, a Cessna 188, felt like an extension of her body. She felt a slight pang of regret as she touched down on the runway, a faint sorrow at leaving her beloved sky behind.

It wasn't until Melissa was driving home, to the farmhouse that belonged to her father, that the sorrow left her. Melissa, instead, focused on the skyline of downtown Tulsa on her left, painted in vivid oranges and reds by the setting sun to her right. She thought of how, most of the time, she had the home to herself, her father spending much of his time away at work, while her mother had passed a few years before. This bittersweet set of memories brought a tear to the corner of her eye.

Melissa Patton felt the emotions of a human, she had the appearance of a human, and she believed herself to be human. She cried like a human.

 

Samuel Riviera
DAY: 1 - 2/5 | DATE: September 22, 2013, Sunday | LOCATION: Prison in Mexico City, Mexico
OOC: If I say something wrong in Spanish, blame Google Translate

The heat is almost unbearable. A humid heat looms within the corridors and cells of the prison. The smell of sweat and other various foul things fills the air as two cops walk down the corridor. One of the cops is showing a newbie around the facilities. Sweat trickled down their foreheads as they continued to walk, one cop pointing out who was in what cell and why they were in there. As they kept going, the new cop just kept looking at each and every inmate with disgust. However, he noticed that there were more empty cells than he expected.

As they kept going, some of the inmates seemed to be more and more agitated. Soon enough, some of the inmates jumped towards the two cops and desperately pleaded with them, "Vamos a salir de aquí! ¡Por favor! No nos dejes aquí con ese loco! (Let us out of here! Please! Don't leave us in here with that maniac!)" The new cop jumped back, surprised to see the inmates riled up like this.

The senior officer, fed up with seeing inmates acting like this over and over, simply shouted back at them, "¡Cállate! (Shut it!)"

The inmates wouldn't stop and begged a second time, "Vamos a salir! (Let us out!)"

The senior officer pulled out his night stick and hit the bars of the cell, "Yo dije cállate! (I said shut it!)" Soon after, the inmates calmed down a little bit, thinking twice about what they said.

The new cop, confused by what he just saw, asked his senior officer, "¿Qué pasa con ellos? (What's wrong with these guys?)"

"No hay nada malo con ellos. Ellos son sólo miedo. (Nothing's wrong with them. They're just afraid.)"

"¿De qué? (Of what?)"

"De él. Samuel Riviera. (Of him. Samuel Riviera.)" The senior officer pointed right at an inmate, lying on his bed, in a cell all by himself. There didn't seem to be anything particularly odd about him other than the color of his hair.

The new cop was in disbelief, "Pero ... que sólo se ve como cualquier chico normal. ¿Qué es él aquí? (But... he looks just like any regular guy. What is he here for?)"

"Mató a 20 personas, mientras que bajo la influencia de drogas. (He killed 20 people, while under the influence of drugs.)" The new cop was shocked by this little revelation. 20 people? That's crazy. "También late regularmente los otros reclusos. (He also regularly beats up the other inmates.)"

"¿Qué hay de malo en eso? (What's so bad about that?)" The new cop thought it was a regular thing that inmates beat each other up. What was so different about this?

"La mayoría de ellos terminan en el hospital después. (Most of them end up in the hospital afterwards.)"

"Hablando de mí? (Talking about me?)" Sam stood up and turned to look at them, scratching at his white hair with a bored look in his face. His body was toned, not overly muscular like you'd expect most of the deadlier inmates to be. And for someone who is feared as a dangerous fighter, he wasn't as tall as you would think he'd be. Even though he was 5' 10", he looked even shorter because he was hunching over. Looking at the new guy, he calmly asked, "¿Quién es este idiota? (Who's the dumbass?)

 

In a small two bedroom apartment the door opens and a young 25 year old man walks through, holding a duffel bag with his name, Tyson Malone on it, over his shoulder.He sets the bag in front of a small end table beside the door. He puts his badge and gun on the end table next to a picture of him with a young woman with jet black hair. With a saddened look he lets out a loud sigh, and heads through his living room towards the kitchen. Opening the closet in the kitchen moving a bunch of caned foods and pulling out a medium sized bag of cat food. As he began pouring the food in a clear plastic bowl that says 'Hitch' on the counter next to the refrigerator, a small black and white cat jumped up on the counter and began eating out of the bowl as Tyson was feeding him. Tyson stopped after the bowl was full, "Slow down there buddy it will be there later." he said while petting Hitch's head with a faint smile on his face. Grabbing a beer out of the refrigerator, he went over to his phone seeing he had a message on it. He pressed a button to see who it was, it was his mother. Rolling his eyes he listened to the message "Ty its me, its been two weeks since we last talked, three since the funeral. I know what your going though, come home. You don't ne-" Tyson ends the play back. "That's enough of that."
Opening the beer and taking a swig he walks over to the couch. Sitting down on the couch, with Hitch following behind, he picks up his remote for his small flat screen TV and starts flipping though the channels until he finds a soccer game on. He didn't really care about the game, he just watches so he has something to talk to his co-workers about at the police station. And getting them to stop hassling him over being American doesn't hurt either.

 

W E A R I N G ✖ W R I T I N G ✖ M U S I C
MOOD ※ IRKED ✖ DAY 1 ※ 3/5 ✖ DATE ※ 09/22/2013 ✖ LOCATION ※ ST. PIERRE'S ACADEMY
OOC ※ WHITE UNDERLINE MEANS THE LINK IS NEW.
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It was kind of the eight wonder of the world that she hadn't been kicked out of this school yet -- especially considering it was a private one with strict rules. Apparently, the principal had made some kind of special exception for her, which was really annoying and made her want to smash the lady's face into the desk for it.

She didn't need special treatment and she didn't want it.

As she walked down the hall, fixing the collar to her ridiculously fancy and expensive uniform. That was another thing about this place. It was one of the most prestigious academies in all of France. Annoying, but good. Hay Sun was a grade A student with a 'bad personality', as a lot of the teachers like to put it.

A shoulder hit her own and she stumbled to the side, her walk to Orchestra interrupted. She stopped, fuming, and a boy was walking away, not even paying attention and running into more people. Some of the other students around her were staring in a bit of horror.

❝Hey you,❞ Hay Sun called out sharply, and many people stopped, but the boy continued to walk. She didn't even need to push through the crowd - they parted for her. Her school shoes clicked harshly against the tile floor as she strut to catch up, and then when she did, she gripped the boy's shoulder - which was higher than her head - and he turned around, looming over her.

❝I said hey, you,❞ she ground out.

❝I heard you.❞

❝Pay attention when someone is talking to you,❞

❝What are you going to do about it?❞ he asked her intimidatingly.

❝This.❞ And she threw the first punch.

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❝Mickey, you really should stop getting into fights over small things,❞ said Alicia, one of Hay Sun's rare friends. She patched her face up with two horizontal, white bandages on her left cheek. ❝The school might not tolerate this much longer!❞

Hay Sun sighed heavily and leaned into Alicia's chest when her friend was done. ❝He really should have watched here he was going.❞ she replied, ❝He had it comin'.❞

Alicia could only sigh and stroke Hay Sun's hair. After a little while of talking between the two friends, they headed off to find the middle of their orchestra playing. When the conductor looked up, he sighed at the sight of Hay Sun and motioned for the two girls to grab their instruments and jump in.

Hay Sun couldn't wait to get home, she decided as she heard whispers.​

 

"Police, open up!" a deep Irish voice yells while pounding on Tyson's door. Tyson with a confused look cracked open the door to see who it was. Peaking out the door he saw a tall, bald, older man with a large mustache that made him look like a walrus on the other side. "Steward, what do you want?" Tyson asked with a annoyed look on his face opens the door the rest of the way. "Well for one don't be an ass and invite me in." Rolling his eyes Tyson gestures for Steward to come. "There's beer in the frig, help yourself. My falling apart stink hole is your falling apart stink hole." Moving towards the couch, Steward puts Hitch down on the off the couch. "Shoo, I hate cats!" "Hey don't diss my cat. I know your jealous because he has more hair then you but don't worry I'm sure there's someone out there who likes 'em bald. Hey, they make some pretty convincing wigs, if you want we can go shopping. I see you as a perky redhead." Steward chuckles, that's something Tyson always liked about him, he knows when to laugh at himself.
"God your a dick. I came by to check on you, I heard that you went back to work. Are you sure your ready? Its only been a few weeks since the accident, not a long time to mo-" Tyson with a angry look towards his friend " Enough! Its been long enough I'm ready to get back to the job!" Shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath in trying to calm down, let out a big sigh. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired of being asked that. I....I just need to work. To you know keep my mind occupied." Steward getting up off the couch puts his hand on his friends shoulder and smiles. "It's ok, your my friend I worry. Don't hold it against me." "So what now you want a hug or something." Chuckling, Steward let's out a little smile. "Nah I'm good. Now isn't there a game?"
So after that um heart felt moment, the two friends began watching a soccer game, and drinking a couple beers. With a nerviest look Steward asked "Um I know I shouldn't ask but did you talk to the guy who caused the accident? Uh feel free not to answer if I over stepped my bounds here." "No, its ok. The guy, his name was Rick or something. I went searching for him in the hospital after the doctors.....after the doctor's called it. He lived though it but at the cost of his legs." Tyson sat forward with tears about to come out of his eyes "Rick, was laying there in the bed, looking out the window. With tears just gushing off of his eyes. He looked over at me, just trying to speak but all he was doing was blubbering. I couldn't understand him, but he knew who I was. Maybe he saw me in the ER or just figured out who I was, or something. I didn't care, I was.... I was ready to kill him." Tyson continued his story as tears began to roll down his face. "As I walked towards him with just fire in my eyes, he looked at me. And said 'I'm sorry.' I just stopped and looked at him. He was a broken man, you could smell the remorse and guilt on him. And I........and I said 'I forgive you.'" Tyson looked down on the flour with a guiltily look. "What!?" Tyson looked over to steward with eyes full of grief "I know, I......I just didn't think. I don't know if it was how he said it or the look on his face but when I heard him say 'I'm sorry.' I......just.....wasn't angry at him anymore. I didn't blame him anymore. What's that say about me huh?" Tyson grew angry and started pacing though the living room. "That I didn't love her enough to even tell off the man who caused the accident?!?" Growing more and more angry, Tyson punched the wall leaving a crack and several pictures falling off the wall. "Ty, calm down. you know what that says about you? That your a damn good man, damn good! I would have beaten him down so bad that you would need dental records to ID him! That doesn't mean you loved her any less. I don't think she would have wanted you to do anything different, do you?" Tyson began to calm down, looking at his friend and smiled "Yeah, that was one of the reasons why I loved her. She always found the good in people no matter how deep it was. Thanks Steward, if you don't mind I'd like some time to think." With a half smile Steward nodded and left. "Call if you need me. So try not to need me. Dick." Tyson smiled [COLOR=#00ffff]"See ya. Ass." [/COLOR][COLOR=#c0c0c0]Steward saw Tyson as a little brother and that was their way of saying goodbye.[/COLOR]

 

Name: Melissa Patton ​

Location: Airline flight en-route to Las Vegas, Nevada ​

Status: Ignorant ​

Melissa stared down at her feet as she buckled the seatbelt, gripping her hands tightly in one another. A familiar jolt came as the airline jet lifted off the runway. She squeezed her hands together even tighter than before. She blocked out the noise from the other passengers around her, leaning back and closing her eyes as her stomach sank into her seat. Her eyelids squeezed down, she felt her closely-cropped nails digging into her palms. Several moments passed, the flight leveled out. Melissa hated being a passenger in a plane, it felt wrong to let someone else take her life in their hands, to be carted through her beloved sky by someone else.

"Heh... don't like flyin', do ya, girlie?" came a gruff voice from across the aisle.

Melissa reluctantly allowed her eyelids to part and swiveled her head toward the voice, wrinkling her forehead with a slight frown, "that's none of your business, now is it?" she asked rhetorically.

The man just laughed and winked her way, muttering something that she couldn't quite catch. Melissa closed her eyes again and leaned back in her seat. Nevada wasn't close... it was going to be a long flight.

 

​

​

❖ MAP ❖ OOC ⟡ ✖ ❖ WEARING❖​

❖ DAY ⟡ 1 ⦙ 4/5 ❖ DATE ⟡ Sunday ⦙ September 22, 2013 ❖​

❖LOCATION ⟡ Saint Agatha's Mental Health Facility ❖ INTERACTION ⟡ ✖ ❖​

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​

Hana crossed West 57th Street and gripped the chain of the necklace tightly. Her thoughts were consumed with Gabriel even as she approached the walk-up to Saint Agatha's Mental Health Facility. She lifted the pendant up out of the bosom of her flannel shirt and held it at eye level. The backing shined in the sunlight and the red liquid inside seemed to glow. It was warm and hummed with life. It clearly worked. The needle pointed in the direction of the hospital and she dropped the compass back underneath her shirt. The spot between her breasts was warm as it nestled its way in place. She swallowed before walking through the automatic doors into the reception area.

❝ Good afternoon and welcome to Saint Aga-- ❞ The nurse at the front desk cut her greeting short as she looked on the face of the fiery red head. ❝ Oh, it's you again, ❞ she said simply. The woman slid a clipboard across the counter and tapped on the sign-in sheet. ❝ We all thought that after yesterday you wouldn't be showing up again. ❞

Hana smirked as she picked up the ballpoint pen and signed Clare Antoinette on the sheet of paper and marked the date and time. ❝ You underestimate me. One bad day isn't enough to keep me from coming back. ❞ Her blue eyes shined with warmth, but the nurse just looked annoyed.

❝ She's out in the garden, but isn't exactly in a talking mood. I don't understand why you feel the need to visit a stranger. Her family doesn't even come around. ❞ The nurse pulled the clipboard away and dropped it in a filing rack. Her white scrubs were stained with bodily fluid and her brown hair was braided back into a tight bun. Green eyes flashed with curiosity as the woman pointed in the direction of the garden and handed Hana a visitor badge to wear on her blouse.

She nodded before moving around the desk and heading to the wide french doors across the lobby. The curtains were drawn back and the California sun shone brightly in the room. Warmth radiated everywhere and she smiled before opening the door. The grass was green and plush. She had to resist the urge to take off her shoes and walk barefoot to the girl sitting among rows of flowering bushes. Hana smiled sweetly as she approached her. She made a wide arc around the bushes so that when she stopped, she was standing in front of the girl, Azazel.

The modern world and their diagnosis--she scoffed the first time she found out that Azazel had been hospitalized rather than taken to the church. Hospitals could not do anything for Azazel. No amount of drugs would ever truly help the angel fully. Gabriel said to find Azazel first, but that was a given. She always looked for Azazel first. It was the whole reason she had come to San Francisco to start with. ❝ Afternoon Aza--Joslyn, ❞ she greeted sweetly before crouching down. ❝ How are you feeling today? Better than yesterday I hope? ❞ Her voice was chipper, but laced with tension. She needed to somehow get through to the girl named Joslyn Jones. She also needed to get her out of here. If what Gabriel said was true--to which she had no doubts--then they needed to assemble and leaving the one angel with a direct connection to demons to fend for herself was a dangerous idea.

​

 

Joslyn Taylor Jones
DAY: 1 - 4/5 | DATE: September 22, 2013, Sunday | LOCATION: St. Agatha's Mental Health Facility in San Francisco, CA

Joslyn was crouched down in front of some bushes in the garden of the mental health facility she was staying at. She was admitted to St. Agatha's because she had been diagnosed with Schizophrenia. For as long as she could remember, she could hear voices in her head. These voices were always saying horrible and mischievous things to her. Hearing these voices constantly would drive anyone to madness. Joslyn was no exception.

"Hey, heeeeeeeeeeey~" Oh no. That voice. It was a distinctly male voice, a deep one at that. This voice usually makes horrible or perverted comments about people while talking in a playful manner. He has the odd tendency to draw out certain words in when he speaks. "Heeeeeeeeeey~"

"What is it?" Joslyn responded to the voice out loud. Since she had been diagnosed as a Schizophrenic, no one would really think twice about her seemingly talking to herself.

"When are you going to do something interesting~? We've been holed up in this place for what feels like foooooooooreeeeeeeeveeeeeeer~"

"I don't think we can go anywhere anytime soon..."

"Whyyyyyyyyyyy~?"

"Because those idiotic doctors think she's crazy. I say they're just assholes that we should strangle." Another voice. This time, it was a female one. This voice usually suggests Joslyn to do horrible things for the most arbitrary reasons. An example of this would be when someone accidentally bumped into Joslyn, and the voice told her to stab him in the eye. "Honestly, what good is shoving us in here gonna do?"

"They think that you guys'll go away if they give me enough medicine or something like that..." She started to run her finger around the grass in front of her. Randomly drawing circles in front of her.

"Afternoon Aza--Joslyn," A familiar voice called out to Joslyn as she was talking to the voices that plagued her. She looked up, a bit surprised.

"Oh loooooooook, that red-headed whore is back agaaaaaaaaaain~"

"Hey, she's interrupting our private time, you should throttle this bitch."

"No. She's one of the only people who actually talks to me." It was true. Aside from this person standing in front of her, the only people who actually talked to her were the people working here at St. Agatha's. Not even her family visited her. As if it actually mattered.

"Mmmmmmmmmm~, I just wanna nuzzle inbetween those delectable tits of heeeeeeeeeeeers~."

"Single minded buffoon. Is that all you think about?"

"Please, just shut up, now. Please?" She knew they wouldn't really calm down, but she had hoped that they would actually listen to her for once.

"How are you feeling today? Better than yesterday I hope?" She had crouched down to talk to Joslyn. It was nice whenever she visited. As she recalled, Joslyn called her Hana. However, the voices in her head would get rowdier than usual when she came around. Joslyn never asked them why, or even wondered why. She always thought that they just wanted to ruin her relationship with other people. But she actually enjoyed talking to her, although these talks wouldn't always go without incident.

"Well, I suppose I'm doing better. Then again, maybe not. I don't really know what to say about how I'm feeling because I don't really understand myself." Joslyn looked at Hana and tried to force a smile. That smile was so crooked and awkwardly shaped that one could barely even call it a smile, though. She normally has a perpetual frown on her face. Joslyn never really had any particular reason to smile, not even when she was little. Most of the pictures she was in have her face looking the exact same. Dull eyes, a frown that never seemed to go away, and some bags underneath her eyes. Those voices would never let up, even during night time. But she didn't complain about it. She would never complain about it. After all, who could really help her get rid of those voices that seemed to come out of nowhere?

 

​

There once lived a man that started off with nothing. By his own choice this man chose to squander away his life and what little money on the bliss that was alcohol. The man who was called father was one who selfishly pursued his quest for an meaning to the emptiness that was left in the void of his heart. The man was foolish to believe that the booze would lead to his happiness and in the end the man did something terrible under the influence of his bliss maker and from that moment on a change occurred and the man worked towards a new future.

What the man did was unbearable in his own eyes to the point that he could not even look at his own reflection. He learned all the faults he made and learned how to make amends for them. The once pitiful man rose and became a loving husband, a great father, and soon enough rose from the poor chains that shackled his family. The man that never cared much for other dedicated his cause to the betterment of others. While others mocked him, he proved them wrong and Silver Light was born. Silver Light provided provided the best medical care and relief known across the world. Its goal was never for the money, but for the betterment of others. Thought it started off small and puny, it began to grow over time. During the time of its creator the place was merely a strong system growing, but one the creator passed away, his son took his fathers place and with that moment, Silver Light grew to its powerful state.

Alistair Grey, a boy and what others called a prodigy when it came to the field of medicine. When his father died the young boy took his father's place and Silver Light became a phenomenon. With the arrival of Alistair, Silver Light grew beyond what it was and was able to save many lives. The name of Alistair Grey was a famous one worldwide, but the public knew nothing about the now man. He had brains and dazzling looks that made girls swoon, but that was all that the public knew about Alistair Grey. They merely saw him as a figure head and nothing more.

Being seen as a figure head was some Alistair could really care less about. He never cared for his popularity or what the public truly thought about him at all. They were all a hassle and to live a carefree life was the one that Alistair preferred. For now the man merely sat on his office chair and stared out of the huge window with a glass of wine in one hand. "...to hold a life in one's hands" Alistair said silently with a chuckle before closing his eyes as he brought the tip of the wine glass to his lips and took a sip of the red liquid inside the glass.

 

Serena was walking around a garden full of tulips and white and red roses. She was holding a notebook full of lyrics that came from her heart. Songs that she wanted to sing one day once she can overcome her shyness. Serena stopped and crouched down to smell a rose.
"These roses.......beautiful on the outside yet they hold something inside them that no one must see."
Serena stood up and looked at the clock. She had sighed and had started to walk away from the roses.
"Time for another day to start. I wish I could just stay here and write lyrics and see the flowers for as long as I like."
Serena walked out of the garden with her backpack all set.

 

Dante was outside a mortuary mid afternoon. It was a small building, its walls, windows, and doors worn from age, but it was beautiful in its design. Lattice boards on the outside walls guided vines up the building, red roses adorned the flower beds in the front and white and cream colored roses filled the flower beds on the patio.

One of the inhabitants of Guadalajara, Mexico had died a couple days after his arrival: an old man of about sixty-five. Being an artist of sculpture, the new head of the house had hired Dante to sculpt a beautiful female angel to put on the man’s grave for they were a very religious family. Obsessed with wings, the stranger was happy to do the angel.

Upon the final firing, which took approximately ten hours, Dante was invited to a party celebrating the old man’s life. The house was not in very good shape, the shingles were starting to fall off the roof and the windows lost most of their transparency. It was a humble home, though, and the fallen angel had been welcomed with open arms. The party seemed to last forever. Many games were played, such as the famous piñata slaying, and many stories were told of the man. It turned out that he was one of the best fishermen in town and could hold one whole barrel of fish in each arm. He had three sons and one daughter, and even helped govern the small town. When the party was over, Dante was blessed with the sign of the cross at the door by the old man’s wife. She had told him that he was sent by heaven to bless her husband’s grave with his holy crafting skills. Blushing, he told her thank you to the compliment and she just stared into his eyes full of hope.

Being led back to his hotel, one of the sons of the old man told the artist that his mother had always been able to see holy things such as angels and demons, and always knew what to do when something bad happened because her guardian angel told her what to do. As one not believing in religion, he didn’t believe what the son was saying. It was also because every man in the household was drinking at the party. With a hug and a pat on the back, the son left him to his room and returned home around six in the evening.

A sigh left Dante’s mouth as he entered the room. He was always called an angel, a holy one. Plopping down on the chair in front of the mirror, he looked deep into his own eyes and features. Yes, he was good-looking, but enough to be holy, no. He always wished of flying and having wings, and constantly was touching his back. With a shock, sometimes he could feel faint feathers. Thinking that he was just psyching himself out, he would abandon the mindset and go do something else. Feeling his back out of routine, the faint feathers didn’t come today.

This damn heat... This damn heat is too much. I need to be somewhere colder.

 

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❖ MAP ❖ OOC ⟡ ✖ ❖ WEARING❖​

❖ DAY ⟡ 1 ⦙ 5/5 ❖ DATE ⟡ Sunday ⦙ September 22, 2013 ❖​

❖LOCATION ⟡ Saint Agatha's Mental Health Facility ❖ INTERACTION ⟡ Joslyn ❖​

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​

Hana dropped to her knees in front of the girl and sat down on the grass. She ran her fingers through the glistening green blades of grass, smiling sweetly. Her fiery red hair hung in waves over her shoulder from the side pony. Her blue eyes were crisp and clear as she studied the fellow angel. Azazel was only a year younger than her in this life cycle, and yet Hana couldn't help but view her as a small child, fragile and ready to break. There had been times where she was the younger one, trying to take care of an elderly woman or man that was unstable. It was difficult to make the churches listen to a stray child about the demonic forces in someone's head.

❝ Well, I suppose I'm doing better. Then again, maybe not. I don't really know what to say about how I'm feeling because I don't really understand myself. ❞ The sound of Joslyn's voice broke her of her reverie and she glanced her blue eyes up at the white-haired girl. Her smile was a sad one and her eyes softened upon further inspection.

❝ Joslyn, ❞ she said the girl's name softly, low enough for only her to hear. ❝ I have to tell you something. ❞ Hana glanced around the garden. Other than an orderly near the french doors that she had come through to enter the sweet slice of heaven at Saint Agatha's, they were alone. The burly black man gave her a curt nod and she half-waved back at him. Her attention returned to the one in front of her and her tone was suddenly more serious. ❝ I am leaving the city tomorrow morning, ❞ she paused, letting that bit of information sink in. Gabriel gave her a rather critical time limit and that meant she could not waste a single day. ❝ I would like you to come with me, if you so wish. ❞ She bat her dark lashes and her blue eyes shimmered in the sun's light as a cloud parted overhead.

❝ There's things, about yourself, that you don't understand. ❞ she continued, twirling a blade of grass between her thumb and index finger. ❝ I could explain it to you. I can tell you about them. ❞ Her blue eyes darkened and she dropped the grass, pressing the tip of her index finger against the center of Joslyn's forehead. If she agreed, Hana would be back first thing in the morning. The only problem was that the hospital would never let her take the young patient. She wasn't family. They wouldn't even allow for her to leave with Hana on visitation rights, even though she was the only one that ever saw her. ❝ What say you? ❞ Her look was curious, yet hopeful. She plucked a flower from one of the bushes nearby and plucked absently at the petals.

​

 

Joslyn Taylor Jones
DAY: 1 - 5/5 | DATE: September 22, 2013, Sunday | LOCATION: St. Agatha's Mental Health Facility in San Francisco, CA

Joslyn tried to maintain her broken smile, with the hope that Hana wouldn't think anything was wrong. Even though Hana knew that something was wrong with her, she wanted her to think that for a brief moment, everything with her would be just fine. Although, Joslyn had a hard time believing herself.

"Joslyn, I have to tell you something." Joslyn noticed that Hana was speaking in a hushed tone. She found this very peculiar, especially since, except for the orderly over by the entrance, no one was there with them. Just Hana, herself, and the voices in her head. Joslyn became a little concerned. Is it something serious? She couldn't say. The voices in her head didn't help any, either.

"Sooooooooooo~, the whore has something to tell uuuuuuuussssssssssss~." He had called her that word again. It made Joslyn a little bit furious, but she couldn't do anything about what he says and who he says it about.

"Hmph. What does this bitch want to say to us?" The tone in her voice was impatient, like she was waiting for her to drop some bad news.

"I am leaving the city tomorrow morning," What? She was leaving? As in, never to see her again, for the rest of her life? Joslyn was fighting back her tears as a deafening silence fell between them. She failed as a couple of tears rolled down her face. The voices didn't even let out a peep when this happened. Nothing they could say would make this feeling any worse than it already was.

But then, Hana broke the silence. "I would like you to come with me, if you so wish." Wait, what? She brought her hands to her face to wipe away the tears that had formed.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat~!?

"What!? All of them had been shocked to hear that. Get out of this place? This place is one of the only places she knows. It would be extremely difficult for her to adjust to being outside of this place. Especially since she had to deal with those voices in her head. Still, if Hana would be there for her, she decided it wouldn't be so difficult.

"There's things, about yourself, that you don't understand. I could explain it to you. I can tell you about them." The voices were silent again. This was extremely odd. Normally, at something like this, they would be going crazy and saying random things. But now, they are silent. Is... Is there something that they aren't telling me? Is there an actual reason why these voices are in my head? These thoughts raced through Joslyn's mind. "What say you?"

The answer couldn't have come out faster. "O-Of course. Please, take me with you." Joslyn grabbed Hana's hand, that crooked smile returning to her face. Her eyes were red and starting to swell as more tears came out. "Take me with you." She didn't know how she would do it, or when she would, but she knew that Hana would take her out of there. She just knew that Hana would take her away and help her. The truth about the voices may finally surface. Those voices had yet to say anything about what was going on. But she didn't care, at least for now, she was at peace. Even if it was just for a little bit.

 

Tyson begins cleaning up his living room, throwing away empty beer bottles and putting dirty plates in the dish washer. After making sure Hitch has food and water. With everything in the right hand column, Tyson heads to a good nights sleep after a long days work. Tyson just leaps onto the bed after putting on his pajama bottoms, with Hitch not too far behind. "Good night, Hitch." He says looking over at Hitch as he begins curling up on Tyson's abdomen. "Good night...........Jen." Ever since the accident he still told her good night even though he wasn't sure about a afterlife, but Jen was very religious and was so sure there was a heaven. After that, Tyson goes to the warm embrace of sleep.

 

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❖ MAP ❖ OOC ⟡ ✖ ❖ WEARING❖​

❖ DAY ⟡ 1 ⦙ 5/5 ❖ DATE ⟡ Sunday ⦙ September 22, 2013 ❖​

❖LOCATION ⟡ Saint Agatha's Mental Health Facility ❖ INTERACTION ⟡ Joslyn ❖​

​

​

Joslyn had begun to shed tears and Hana feared she may have mislead the girl of her intentions on leaving. She wiped away a stray tear and smiled down at Joslyn as she replied. ❝ O-Of course. Please, take me with you. ❞ Joslyn grabbed Hana's hand, that crooked smile returning to her face. Her eyes were red and starting to swell as more tears came out. ❝ Take me with you, ❞ she pleaded.

Hana held onto both of the white-haired girl's hands and gave her a comforting soft and sweet smile. She was so childlike that it made her chest constrict. What have they done to her, she wondered. She shook her head, loose strands of red hair falling in her face. ❝ I will absolutely take you with me. I need you to promise me something, can you do that? ❞ Her blue eyes were piercing the lifeless looking gray ones of Joslyn. She needed to convey how important this was. ❝ You cannot tell anyone. I will be back first thing tomorrow morning. If you have any personal items you would like to take with, then you need to get those bagged up tonight. Do you understand me Joslyn? ❞ Her tone was sharp and commanding. This would be difficult enough as is.

She let go of her hands and rose to her feet. Hana dusted off her pants and looked down at the demon possessed child, her smile had returned, slightly sadder, ❝ It has been a long time since any of us have been united, Azazel. I do hope you can find yourself inside there. ❞ She pressed her finger to Joslyn's forehead a second time. With a slight pressure, she drew a cross on the girl's forehead with her index finger, letting it rest between her brows. She straightened up and turned on her heel towards the french doors. ❝ Until tomorrow, ❞ she said with her back to the angel with white hair. Until tomorrow...

Hana stopped at the desk in the lobby and signed out. Again, she wrote 'Claire Antoinette' for her name. It was one of her many aliases. A person living for centuries was bound to develop an extra name or two. She exited the facility and let her hand rest on the spot on her chest where the compass pressed warmly against her skin. It hadn't decreased in heat the entire time she was with Azazel. Only now, after she was walking in the opposite direction, did it start to cool. So Gabriel was right. This is a powerful tool. Let it be used wisely, she prayed.

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