(Out of Character Post 2)
Other Characters: Michael, the Metatron, Hastur, Raphael, Nemesis
Basic Summary: Michael consoles the Metatron, whom refuses to explain his problems. Hastur solves this for everyone by confessing to having sex with the Metatron. (Hm.)
*in the kitchen! clinging to Michael with the clingage of a thousand mightily clinging broken angels! :D*
*glances around the room silently, though not ungently, before entering the kitchen*
*kind of... dead to the world. unless you're Michael*
*is like the only one Meta isn't dead to? Wow, that's an honor*
*yes! you're special, Mikey!*
*looks in concern to the Metatron before bowing slightly to Michael* Good evening.
*this is hardly an occasion for formalities, as has a crying Meta in his lap, but gives him a somewhat princely nod* And to you, Sandalphon.
*didn't note this earlier as the typist was a bit overwhelmed by other comments and frowns* What has happened?
*looks up in surprise and flinches visibly, rubbing his eyes to try and hide that he's been crying -- given how -much- he's been crying, this is more likely than not completely futile*
I-- *looks back at Meta and doesn't answer, as he doesn't know*
*glances between the both of them before resting his eyes on the Metatron's* My brother... ?
*bites his lip* ...Er. I'm -- ...hello.
And hello to you. *does not attempt a sensitive approach to this, and instead asks outright, his tone gentle* What has happened to have left you in such a state... ?
He won't say. *cuddling Meta in a protective manner* He's promised not to.
*level stare at Michael, perhaps with the slightest hint of bitterness* Promised to whom, I wonder?
*looks back with nothing but patience* I assumed he would tell me if he wanted to.
*buries his face in Michael's chest and is going to try and pretend that the world doesn't exist*
*strokes the back of his head*
*glances between them again and shakes his head* It is folly to hide the cause of this, my brother.
*shakes his head* I'm sorry. I -can't-. I just... can't.
You cannot or you *will* not, brother?
*raises an eyebrow at Sandalphon* *typist has no idea whether that's a good or bad thing*
I can't. I promised, and -- and I don't even know if I want to say it.
...But -should- you say it?
*silent for a moment, then replies blankly* So be it, apparently you shall not speak to me. *turns to leave before pausing* I had considered myself to be something of a confidante to you, but things have changed, it seems. Should you need me - no, I doubt you will. Farewell- *pauses for a long moment* Farewell, Enoch.
*oh, because that wasn't totally breaking in a major way* ... *stares, because there's not much else for it* I -- *hoarsely, as if he's on the verge of tears (again), because he is, actually* I'm so -sorry-.
*nothing for it-- holds Meta tighter*
*overhears and frowns* Be right back. Actually. Probably not. *goes to the kitchen* For angels, you guys have *no* sense of *tact*.
*another silent beat, in which Sandalphon may or may not be trying to control his emotions* You've no need to apologize to me. *as an afterthought, nods to Michael and leaves* [- oh. or not.]
*Yeah, late like that*
...*blinkblink* ... *right, will actually follow this time*
*right, is going to GLARE at Hastur* Get out of here.
No. You're making him *worse*. I told him not to say anything because otherwise I'd *hurt* his *friends*, okay? He's so ridiculously noble that he'd do anything to protect them, regardless of who gets in the way. I *slept* with him. Capisce?
*doesn't exactly -cling- to Michael, just... leans against him and -cries-, but silently*
...
...*ellipses, hi*
*... okay, if he didn't have a crying little brother on him, would SO SMITE him RIGHT NOW.*
... *stares at Hastur* *and then at Michael* *and then at Sandalphon, and then back at Michael and Hastur and oh -God-*
And it's not his fault, it's entirely mine, because, yes, demon.
*very, very quietly and calmly* I am going to destroy you, demon.
*glances to the Metatron for a moment--* Not if I do first. *--before throwing a punch in Hastur's direction*
*...yeah, kinda wondering what's going on*
*right, and now Michael is the only one he doesn't think hates him, so... clings, clings, -clings--*
I rather figured as much, yeah. But can you really *blame* me for doing what my *job* is? It's all wrapped up in the plan, right? Fallen angels, causing trouble. It's my *function*.
*is -really- clinging to Meta, very protectively*
I -can- blame you.
I do.
Of course you do. You're an angel.
That's *your* function.
[... all right, um. I guess I'm just going to go.]
[Wah!?]
The Big Guy created us with the capacity to rebel, *knowing* that some of us would.
[...;_;]
[later.]
Basic Summary: Michael consoles the Metatron, whom refuses to explain his problems. Hastur solves this for everyone by confessing to having sex with the Metatron. (Hm.)
*in the kitchen! clinging to Michael with the clingage of a thousand mightily clinging broken angels! :D*
*glances around the room silently, though not ungently, before entering the kitchen*
*kind of... dead to the world. unless you're Michael*
*is like the only one Meta isn't dead to? Wow, that's an honor*
*yes! you're special, Mikey!*
*looks in concern to the Metatron before bowing slightly to Michael* Good evening.
*this is hardly an occasion for formalities, as has a crying Meta in his lap, but gives him a somewhat princely nod* And to you, Sandalphon.
*didn't note this earlier as the typist was a bit overwhelmed by other comments and frowns* What has happened?
*looks up in surprise and flinches visibly, rubbing his eyes to try and hide that he's been crying -- given how -much- he's been crying, this is more likely than not completely futile*
I-- *looks back at Meta and doesn't answer, as he doesn't know*
*glances between the both of them before resting his eyes on the Metatron's* My brother... ?
*bites his lip* ...Er. I'm -- ...hello.
And hello to you. *does not attempt a sensitive approach to this, and instead asks outright, his tone gentle* What has happened to have left you in such a state... ?
He won't say. *cuddling Meta in a protective manner* He's promised not to.
*level stare at Michael, perhaps with the slightest hint of bitterness* Promised to whom, I wonder?
*looks back with nothing but patience* I assumed he would tell me if he wanted to.
*buries his face in Michael's chest and is going to try and pretend that the world doesn't exist*
*strokes the back of his head*
*glances between them again and shakes his head* It is folly to hide the cause of this, my brother.
*shakes his head* I'm sorry. I -can't-. I just... can't.
You cannot or you *will* not, brother?
*raises an eyebrow at Sandalphon* *typist has no idea whether that's a good or bad thing*
I can't. I promised, and -- and I don't even know if I want to say it.
...But -should- you say it?
*silent for a moment, then replies blankly* So be it, apparently you shall not speak to me. *turns to leave before pausing* I had considered myself to be something of a confidante to you, but things have changed, it seems. Should you need me - no, I doubt you will. Farewell- *pauses for a long moment* Farewell, Enoch.
*oh, because that wasn't totally breaking in a major way* ... *stares, because there's not much else for it* I -- *hoarsely, as if he's on the verge of tears (again), because he is, actually* I'm so -sorry-.
*nothing for it-- holds Meta tighter*
*overhears and frowns* Be right back. Actually. Probably not. *goes to the kitchen* For angels, you guys have *no* sense of *tact*.
*another silent beat, in which Sandalphon may or may not be trying to control his emotions* You've no need to apologize to me. *as an afterthought, nods to Michael and leaves* [- oh. or not.]
*Yeah, late like that*
...*blinkblink* ... *right, will actually follow this time*
*right, is going to GLARE at Hastur* Get out of here.
No. You're making him *worse*. I told him not to say anything because otherwise I'd *hurt* his *friends*, okay? He's so ridiculously noble that he'd do anything to protect them, regardless of who gets in the way. I *slept* with him. Capisce?
*doesn't exactly -cling- to Michael, just... leans against him and -cries-, but silently*
...
...*ellipses, hi*
*... okay, if he didn't have a crying little brother on him, would SO SMITE him RIGHT NOW.*
... *stares at Hastur* *and then at Michael* *and then at Sandalphon, and then back at Michael and Hastur and oh -God-*
And it's not his fault, it's entirely mine, because, yes, demon.
*very, very quietly and calmly* I am going to destroy you, demon.
*glances to the Metatron for a moment--* Not if I do first. *--before throwing a punch in Hastur's direction*
*...yeah, kinda wondering what's going on*
*right, and now Michael is the only one he doesn't think hates him, so... clings, clings, -clings--*
I rather figured as much, yeah. But can you really *blame* me for doing what my *job* is? It's all wrapped up in the plan, right? Fallen angels, causing trouble. It's my *function*.
*is -really- clinging to Meta, very protectively*
I -can- blame you.
I do.
Of course you do. You're an angel.
That's *your* function.
[... all right, um. I guess I'm just going to go.]
[Wah!?]
The Big Guy created us with the capacity to rebel, *knowing* that some of us would.
[...;_;]
[later.]