RP Into The Deep

[Stitches]

Glass was the first one there.

The meeting point had been picked by the Seraphim and the Archangels. They had all been contacted individually, by different superiors, for the mission. Glass herself had been approached by Gabriel, who had always been jovial and lighthearted, but was serious and solemn when they had met. As their best messenger, their fastest Penate, she’d been picked to ensure that everyone made it there. She wouldn’t be the main speaker, but she would deliver the message.

While she’d been given the option at the same time as several others, she had volunteered faster. This was exactly the kind of thing she’d been waiting for. A chance to show the others that she could work with them. A chance to maybe connect to some of her distant and not distant siblings. No other Penate volunteered, intimidated, maybe, by the location.

They were going straight to Hell.

The others would be arriving soon. She had no idea who was coming, only that there were others who would accompany her. It was a precaution, so that none of them would be hurt on the trip. They’d sent others, but none of them had come back. None of them had been retrievable. It was worrisome enough that they were sending them with a Harbringer, this time. Glass wasn’t sure what to expect, because no one was when it came to dealing with their oldest, fallen brother, but she was ready.

This was a chance for her to finally close the gap between herself and the others. This was a chance to make her name known. The hosts that brought back Michael’s Sword, that returned such a special artifact to the Heavens where it belonged. Surely, if she did something like that, then others would be willing to speak to her. Not that they weren’t now, but maybe it would be the thing that made it so she could summon the will to talk back. After all, what could be more brave, and cause her to develop more will, than going to Hell?

She sat at the very edge of the wall, looking down over the edge of it. The wall was teeming with Harbringers, all watching the portal below with trepidation. Beneath the wall, the veil between the Heavens and Earth was nonexistent. Unfortunately, so was the veil between Earth and Hell. Which meant, even more unfortunately, that Heaven and Hell were barely separated at this spot. It had to be constantly watched.

However, it made for an ideal spot to go directly to Lucifer’s level of Hell, since it was the first level. At least, they assumed. The tear seemed to fluctuate where it led into, unlike with Heaven, where it was stationary. The others would meet her there, where they would make their way down and accomplish their mission. Glass was certain they could do it. There was no alternative. She knew the rumors of what happened if you stayed in Hell for too long. That that’s where the demon hoards came from. That they were born of host who had fallen or gotten lost, and were torn apart and remade in their image.

Failure was not an option.​

 

[UmbraSight]

There was beauty in it, Laila supposed. They could see the whole of the thing, far enough above the temoult that the movement of distant bodies was like the wash of water over stones. Laila enjoyed watching them like this as they plucked the strings with an idle hand. There was not enough idle plucking for there to be music, but notes on their own were pleasant and Laila could see the moment when one body or another paused to listen for they would send little ripples and eddies through the crowd. That was the beauty, they felt, the brushing of the lives as they passed one another, changed for a moment by the actions of another.

Laila stood when the feeling that they had dallied long enough drew their fingers from their idle work and they stepped off the edge of the cathedral. They fell, their arms sliding apart into long thin blades which locked themselves together until with a ‘woomph’ of air the fall became a glide. Laila passed between points, a shifting between here and there, from creation to heaven. Laila’s feet tapped the ground as they stepped through the veil, their head raised to look upon the other Harbingers before shifting themselves into a bow. With that Laila turned their attention to where they needed to be. Someone was up there.

Their wings spread as their body shifted, the parts of them what would have been a hindrance for flight sharpening into a more aerodynamic shape or simply shifting out of the way. Laila’s wings beat and they shot up into the air, where their momentum died and they hung. Drifting down was easy, and Laila found it more favorable to landing than anything more dramatic. Their feet touched ground next to the Penate, their original shape returning as their wings returned to being arms and a smooth roundness returned to their edges. Laila looked down at this member of the Host. A teammate, their teammate.

“A pleasure, little one.” Laila said, extending a hand in greeting. “Are we on time?”

 

[illirica]

It was correct that Terexia should be there, at the place where things were almost wrong. The wrongness was just beyond, an oil-slick on the glass, a promise of viscosity, of furtive greasing, of a fall from great heights on wings of saturated feathers. It was as it should be: Hell was meant to be wrong. The paradox did not concern her: she was of the Heavenly Host. They were not fallible to such things. They were not to correct Hell itself, merely the inexcusable error of the location of the Sword, which should have been with its Angel, perfect as he was - as they all were.

She flitted into the area where the others were gathering, bright-winged, always first to observe, as the trailing line of eyes down the feathers of her tail decried - or perhaps there were no feathers at all, and only pupils within irises, a study of color. The others, it seemed, took forms more like that of God-and-Man, and so Terexia corrected herself as well; a near-human girl, twin tails black down her back, eyes within shadows, as she always had been. Her wings were hidden, or perhaps they were not - she did not try to correct what others of the Host might see in her.

There had been a question, and though the answer was undoubtedly known, Terexia answered it nonetheless, slipping a pocketwatch from somewhere and weaving the chain through her fingers, heedless of the strands of dark hair that caught and tangled through the links of the chain - or perhaps heedful of them, for there were many ways of keeping time.

"The time will be correct. Elder." A nod, of respect. Some things, Terexia did not seek to change.

 

[Stitches]

Laila and Terexia. It made sense that they would be the first ones to arrive, in a way. She knew of them, even though she had never had any direct dealings with them. Those of the Heavenly Host oft knew of one another before meeting. It was simply the way of them. Glass supposed she must have been created knowing who everyone was, although she did not remember the information being there. It simply was there when she needed to call upon it.

With a bit of hesitation, she stood and straightened out her stained wings, tucking them close to her back. As if they had always been part of the dress she wore, they melted into the fabric. It was a modest if flashy piece of clothing. It was less of a dress, less of fabric, and more a piece of her. The swishy length was her wings, the short blouse a few stray feathers. They reflected the light in a pleasing way, and she appreciated the protection that it offered her.

“They are correct, Nadir. You are exactly on time.” She tried to give a polite smile, but she could feel the edges of her face tighten in a way that was anything but natural. It quickly fell away to her usual neutral expression. “We wait on one more. They may meet us in the office, if they are taking the other tear. Either way, we will be informed soon of when to descend. I understand that they are trying to calibrate it properly to deliver us safely to our goal.”​

 

[UmbraSight]

“If so, then all will be good” Laila said, offering their words as a token of blessing. They allowed their shape to smooth as they spoke, for it was clear that there was little need for cutting between these two of their fellows. This was a goodly thing, a favorable omen perhaps, though such favors were always fickle, Laila found. But, it also seemed that for the moment at least they were only needed to wait, which also left Laila feeling the need to move as others of the host buzzed about preparing what they must for their journey. Perhaps they’d pluck a song from the strings of a fiddle, if they felt they truly had that much time to rest idle.

“Who is the last of our number?” they asked instead.

 

[illirica]

Glass remade herself, in transparent appeal. Lovely as ever, scintillating and refractory, a prism of color-that-was and color-that-might-have-only-been. Terexia moved a hand, pulling a bound tail from her back over her shoulder, watching the procedure through the shadowed lock as the young one offered clarity through answers, coupled with an expression that shattered after only a moment. Well-and-so, she was a fragile thing, not used to such contusions; nonetheless she was easily reforged, and there was strength in that.

The Elder spoke once more, steady and poised, a form held-and-beholden as it did not need to strike. There were edges beneath, but for now they were blunted, smoothed over, a feat of clay. Statuesque, she remained, immobile until motion would be called for. It seemed to thrum beneath the surface, a vibration from the depths, waiting to surface. From this arose a question, pointed, cutting to the importance of things.

One other. Who, indeed? Perhaps it was determined, or perhaps it should change. Terexia drew her fingers through her hair, replacing it in its position down her back, eyes closed for a moment; darkness alone before the golden halo returned.

"We should go soon." A correction to be made, ere the Elder edged into impatience.