March 24, 2003

.03.24.03. - creation [gabriel] *retro*

[1988]

(michael)
Here come the woman, with the look in her eye, raised on leather, with flesh on her mind.... words as weapons, sharper than knives, makes you wonder how the other half die

Dark eyes lift, slowly, abandoning the tressed body he observed on the dance floor below, rising towards the flickering strobe of multifaceted and multicolored lights that entranced mood to the club. Just as the man gazed upon the serpentously moving flesh of the brunette wrapped in spandex, studying the form as if searching for something that lay far beneath her flesh - he looks to the smoke rising in coils towards the artificial rainbow.

The other half die

Searching for an answer that could only be writ across the featureless face of the One so many cannot bear to see. Something brought him here, to continue this search, this quest, this exploration into the city's strange nightlife. There is something that lay in wait for him, here, he only has to find it.

Here come the man, with the look in his eye, fed on nothing, but full of pride... look at them go, look at them kick, makes you wonder how the other half live

Sable hair hangs free about young face, tips dancing across shoulders draped in the loose white fabric of flowing shirt dangling open to the tails. Muscular planes of pale chest slope down over abs, and the dark trail of hair leading to the shiny pelt of leather pants. The gaze drops [Fallen] to the mass of bodies on the first floor, dismissively drifting from male to female to female to male, until a frown of discontent begins to consider marring the serene expression. Weight shifts forward onto the hands that clasp [altar] railing. There is destiny, here....

Devil inside, devil inside... every single one of us the Devil inside

(gabe)
Chicka - chicka -
[....boom.]

...there is no crash, no struggle of thunder against the percussion of storm to signal his arrival. [..the tension of a gunshot, silent whirring of angel wings..] That announce his, brimstoned - without-scent, presence. Just a teenager, child of androgeny so symmetrical a face to make you wonder...

--what spell are you under.
[...Shh. Just feel your way through.]

Blonde curls, lanky-lean form, a strange abstract of angles held together by the sinews of muscles just tensed before [....explosion NEVER comes...]nothing. He turns, bright blue eyes seeming both feverish and penetrating at once. Glance up from face nestled into the ear of a women....

Let. Me. Tell. You.
[...words that will burn the soul.]

....everything.
--to catch sight of an eeriely familiar face across the club.

(michael)
The song that thunders [righteous] from the speakers bolted as guardians above fades into the background, a dull roar of white noise neither acknowledged or recognized as the most popular songs of 1988. There is something else that has his attention now [the feeling of God's hand], drawn to a dark corner there, or the bar below over there, quite suddenly his attention peaks [screams] to find what it is that tickles the edge of his consciousness [nightmare's memories].

A boy, beautiful, androgynous - golden curls glowing [haloed] in the club's erratic lights, caught on the first floor as the dark haired man [ArchAngel] looks down from the secondary balcony.

[I know you.]

(gabe)
Toungue that slides over the [...so delicate, you fragile imposters] surface of the ear, and you get the impression, me might just rip it off. You, brother-at-arms feel the whirl-snap of violence before he blinks - blinks and seems utterly, completely, deceptively, at peace. A stray hand reaches across to pat the girl on the other cheek before she [...shaking-fearful, trembling-worshipful..] Settles her head down on the bartop and Gabiels leaves the bar for to cross the dancefloor.

He does not glance back, ever.
[...Oh i see you in dreams of blood like rivers.]

And then HE is gone.

(mich)
Just as suddenly as he was found [ressurrected] the beautiful boy is gone. Attention crackles to a [brimstone] level of severity that is so rarely felt in the young man's form [so desperate for this whif of salvation]. Dark eyes snaking through the tangle of bodies for but a glimpse of flaxen curls, a lean shoulder knocking another out of the way, or perhaps the gentle curve of [cherubic] cheek.

Why do you draw [haunt] me so...

(gabe)
Paint me a picture of divinity.
[...the picture will burn the canvas.]

Knocked. "Pardon me.." [ Pardon-pardon-ardon-ardon. Me-me-e.] A voice that edges against such random details as time place, earth or sky, word or thought. And The figure beside him allows all the room [..as far from god as heaven is wide.] the wrath-bringer requires, long -tensed- fingers ripping at the balcony rail even as the muscles in his arm flexes in reaction of some controlled motion.

[...and the father cried, '--restraint!' You are only the messenger.]
And Sodom burned.

Perfectly paired teeth grinding against each other only briefly, before the moment - like an errant breeze passes, and the youth turns with briefly engaging smile.

"...its a bit crowded [..my wings scrape against the ceiling..]"

(mich)
Knocked [sulpher fires flare] the muscular shoulder rotating already to turn towards the [divine] child that has wandered to [kneel at] his feet. Pink tongue reaches out, tracing lips as if to cleanse them before beseeching such things as the taste of this golden one on the air he will never needfully breath, but draws anyway... it only serves to inspire them into a coyly warming smile rising to the breif engagement.

"Perhaps." The voice drifts on a whisper, though carries with the force of [Heaven's] legions in relentless march to Glory."I think it depends on what you're looking for."

(gabe)
A glance up to the ceiling as if it were made of crystal [I have fallen from the sky...] and should shatter starlike, fractured, painfully real. [...walked the earth a thousand times..] Painful almost, that too-bright blue gaze that seetles into the wrath-bringer's own. Gabriel's neck extending forward imperceptably..

[...to find you.]

The moment lingers, and time as thick and heavy as molasses - that gaze fizing into michaels own a millenia of time. -SNAP.- And is eraased in the flurry of motion taht tossed back head and laughter [..thoat muscles dance..] that follows.

I am the messenger.
"You, Michael."

(mich)
The startling blue eyes lift away from him, as if pleading some answer from the nameless above he only so recently sought, an idle thought passing to wonder if the depths of such sky tones could absorb what his dark gaze does not. And when it returns [bless me, father] he does not look away, devouring the too-bright gaze with the darkness in his own [for I am your sin] as the lingering moment seems to slow and freeze.

[Fire boils across the feathered tips of wings, climbing to char such elegant white to the deepest black tatters of eternal Grace, the writhing flames belch Heavenward, beckoning those strong and brave to fall into the Rapturous embrace to dance until brassy horns of Victory unleash their chorus across the skies]

The breath he did not realize was held leaks past the sveltly curved lips, and with it spills the rushing warmth of Enlightenment [fragments of scripture weave back together] shivering through strong frame. The golden youth's voice dances with laughter, and soon enough, his own smooth tenor joins in the sounds that celebrate the epiphany that rides the air between them. Hands lift, reaching to cup the beautiful youth's face, thumbs moving over flesh in [angelic] caress, his voice thick with adoration born with the dawn of time.

"Gabriel."

[I've always known you]

(gabe)
Hands settle on Michaels own [..burned..] as the recogition is returned, that feverish hue calming, calmed, calm. The slide of his gaze is the Aegean, a perfect blue smoothed into depthless still. His fingers are ice, chill against chill.

[..but it burns.]
"...time is moving faster now - do you feel it?"

(mich)
"Yes."

The single word moans softly on dulcet tones. Loathe to tear the pristine image from his eyes, lids fall closed [the idol's visage burned to memory from Holy flame] as the Brujah feels something begin to bloom within him [Seraphim wings unfurl their majestic Glory] and the smile mirrors what lifts and inspires. The fragments of nightmare's parchment weave their tattered leafs together, the shattered slabs once again become whole - the strange symbols carved into granite reshape themselves in his memory to form Commandment's Psalm glowing with brimstone's righteous flames.

Now, he can read the words that have haunted his dreams.
Now, he understands.

Lashes slit, bestowing Gabriel's features upon him once more, and the tender grasp gently pulls the youth towards him. Lips lay [the blessing of an ArchAngel] across the golden youth's brow.

"Come. There is much work to be done."

(gabe)
Blessed.
[...let it begin.]

--like gravity, pieces move into place. Shadows of a greater design, fingers larger than perception. Five [..there will be soon a fist.] but Gabriel does not speak of that words minced on the edge of that razored [..too sharp.] grin that tugs almost crooked from the boys lips, a slash against the the perfect symmetry of features, folded paint against paper.

Lips pressed against his brow, eyes fall closed [...tension-breathes-spark-of-- nothing.] blonde lashes drift up and he is already twist away towards the exit with a brief shake [ errant feathers fall.] of shoulders and a bowing of head.

A hand rakes through errant curls even as he looks up again to Michael is relaxed agrement.

"Much."

[..and the earth trembled.]

Posted by archangel at 12:00 AM | Comments (0)