scorched, posts by tag: raphael - LiveJournal

[Warmth.   Light.   Anticipation.

He was surrounded on all sides by others. Hundreds. Thousands. Formless. Waiting and basking in the love and safety and comfort of their home. Together and focused for one purpose. Hope. Light. Birth.



It was coming. Soon. He’s here. The voices were his and not his. The formless being around him were in communion. Waiting. Watching. In harmony for this event for the first time in their existence.

He knew the others around him. Knew their names. All of them. Recognized their voices.

They had a task. To witness. To remember. They were made for this. This moment.

He had been sent before. A messenger. Many times not long ago.

Light. Now. It was time. He was arriving.

Suddenly movement. Flying. Out of the light and the warmth and home. Through the skin of the worlds. Now there was sky. Flying towards the earth. A small town. A stable.

Screaming. A woman’s voice in pain. A man speaking softly to her. It was here. He could see them. He was looking through the walls like they weren’t there. A young woman large with child, laying on a bed of straw, screaming, panting, pushing.

He watched with the others. It was him. Now. The waves of anticipation and wonder and joy were overwhelming. They watched. The anticipation of the ages was cresting.

Another scream and a small wail. The waiting of millennia was over. The child was wrapped in clothes and placed on his mother's chest. The man spoke, "He will be called Jesus."



The young mother nursed the child and placed him in a manger. It was fulfilled. The host of others was no longer united. Individual voices sounded among them once again. The communion was lost. Most retreated, but he did not. He was not done and he watched the small family for long hours in contemplation.

Then he, too, flew away. He had another message.]

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[It's just silence at first. Maybe the person who's on the other end is regretting this call. Or maybe it was all an accident; it happens all the time, right? But then there's a sigh, in a woman child's voice. Some of you might know her from that tone alone. But maybe not. When she speaks, her voice is curt. She's upset; maybe she's even been crying. Who knows?]

I don't like lies.

[That's all there is. No accusing, no screams, just those words. And it'll click off. A message for someone....or a warning?]

[Behold the snow. Because Jaime sure as hell is.]

[At the moment, he is beholding it from atop a set of ruined steps, cracked and threaded through with vines. He's in the ruins, of course, and by the look of it, he's annoyed as hell.]

I've little stomach for excessive snowfall, but it seems that Anatole has decided to behave itself like the bloody North. Perhaps it will draw forth all the little monsters of myth and legend to trail their tails through the endless snow.

Personally... that incident with the basket has put me in the mood for hot wine.

Now. I've heard a number of mutters about winter holidays and gift-giving and such, but I've no idea what everyone is on about.

Would anyone care to enlighten me? If I've the obligation to purchase gifts, I ought to get about it soon. It might take a bit to order up that many... what was it? Lumps of coal?

[Red. In-your-face red. Both figuratively and literally, as the Forge is pressed up against the bright red wood of - welp, it's hard to say what it is until the camera pulls back to reveal that it's a place to sit. Or to put stuff (namely baskety stuff) - and it's attached to what looks like the bastard child of a clock and a unicycle.

(static)

And now it's Dawn and Clare - as viewed through a myspace photo ...via Forge. Skewed, partially upside down, both smiling, Dawn laughing.]

No, wait, I have to get the---

(static)

[What was that? Now it's just Dawn, crosslegged in the wagonseat, a basket of oddly colored muffins nearby. Are they grey? Yes. Does that look like a freaking asparagus? Maybe.]

Welcome, welcome ladies and gents. Looks like I'm flying solo again.

But it's not like Clare hasn't come back before. [Or Spike didn't warn me, or Cordy didn't---] So she could be on her way back right now, even. And maybe I wouldn't even have to do this stupid...

[Sigh.]


Which brings me to the part where I wonder who else is missing ...who else went home.

I'm glad for them. I'm just not really very glad for me. Because they were probably exchanged for jerks. Oh, it starts with a Kingflux, but just wait. Pretty soon? Jerkflux.

Anyway, there's an opening on the Welcome Committee now.

And I've got a sword.

[And Clare's duck. Because there's Raki the duck pecking at the edge of one of those muffins. Just sort of ...nudging at it. Staring it down. It looks as if he is preparing to attack. ]

Intoxication is such a poor excuse for bad behavior.

Not that I've happened to see any of late. [Except Teresa making out with some guy. Shut up, she's not jealous.] Actually, for the most part I've seen a good deal of [incredibly annoying] altruism and gathering of supplies - let's all get together and make soup kitchens and stock up!

Oh, I'm not saying that's bad. It's just very strange, to someone like me. Which is to say, someone from the kind of world I"ve been accustomed to. I wonder what makes someone develop in such a prosocial way.

Is it the norm in some places?

What about your... places?

[Video comes on, and reveals her table... currently overflowing with food.]

I don't need any of this.

[ The angle of the feed should be enough to show that it's an accidental because, really, all you're seeing is the floor. It's an interesting floor, though; it's carpeted, and strewn with hundreds of what look like tiny little crackers that look a little something like this. Yup. Those. ]

[ Hundreds of those. They're small, yes, (and apparently the only thing in that basket) but someone's been abusing that refilling property they've got - seemingly hoping for something better, or at least something edible - and it's amounted to a whole lot of little biscuits all over the place. ]

[ But basket after basket of these? ]

[ Okay, she's given up. There's a whomp of the basket flying and landing atop a mini mountain, followed by a creak of bedsprings and a pair of legs stroll across the feed - stepping on several of those little bread things with the audible crunches one would expect from freeze dried food - and the telltale slamming of a door. ]

[ ...okay, and five seconds later the door opens and those legs stroll across the screen again (with deliberation) and the bed creaks for a moment before as she leans on the bed and snatches a bottle of what looks like liquor only to walk out again, crunching even more gross bread and grinding it into the carpet. ]

[ The door slams again. ]

[ ...And the basket vomit ups even more of those things before the feed times out. ]

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[ There is a mildly sleepy looking angel on the Forge. Sleepy or annoyed, it's your guess. He musses his hair and then frowns at the Forge. ]

Oy. Raphael. Where are you staying in this place?

[ Michael then looks thoughtful, or as thoughtful as he possibly can, given the circumstances. And whatever makes him don that visage makes him irritated, because suddenly he groans. ]

Alright, I'm bored as hell. Anyone want to go do something? Hell if I care what it is at this point.

Katze, are you still up for doing something interesting?