kore_logs | consumed by either fire or fire

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consumed by either fire or fire

Who: Balthazar, everyone and anyone! (Balthazar's vessel may also make appearances!)
Where: Memories, mindscapes, and dreams.
When: Days 83-88
What: An orgy, the Titanic, Heavenly angst, and Art. The city is also an option, I just didn't write a blurb for it.
Warnings: Sex, angst, potential violence, possible deaths depending on scenario.

The room is a mess. Blankets and cushions are strewn about the floor, a lamp has been knocked over, and someone has spilled liquor across of the piled clothing in the corner. The scent is overwhelming in the humid heat: sex, incense, sweat, alcohol.
It’s hard to tell how many bodies are entwined together here. A dozen? More? There are four on the bed, one person clinging so hard to the headboard that it creaks with every movement. Three more are clustered around a chair, the occupant’s whines and moans muffled by the close press of nude bodies. In a corner, a young woman is giggling as another girl licks drops of wine out of her cleavage.
Somewhere amidst the knots of slick bodies, there is an angel. He may be hard to track at first, but his voice winds its way through the gathering, burning through the noises of panting and the smack of skin against skin, a litany of soft endearments and reverent curses. There, good, yes, don’t stop, don’t stop…

The sky is black overhead, dotted with frosty stars, and the water rolling beneath the hull of the ship is the color of gray pearls. Titanic is far from shore, and her passengers are cheerfully oblivious to the danger drawing near. Balthazar rode this ship once before, as a faux-first-mate. This time, he’s a stowaway, a dark figure leaning against the railing near the bow. Only an observer to a history irrevocably written down.
“Pretty night,” a man pauses to greet him, on a stroll around the deck. “Cold as hell, but pretty.”
“It is, isn’t it?” The angel agrees, looking up at the sky. “I daresay it’ll get colder before the morning comes, though. We’ll see if you still think it’s pretty then, shall we?”
The stranger laughs. “Or I could just go inside.”
“No. Enjoy the beauty while it lasts.” Balthazar gives a small, deadened smile. There’s ice close ahead. The tragedy will begin and end in only a few short hours.

Balthazar’s not sure why his mind works so selectively. He can remember vivid flashes from his first days in existence. Comets sailing past the earth, the bubble of the primordial sea, and laughter, from an archangel, that seemed too big and bright for the skies that echoed its refrain.
After Lucifer’s Fall, the memories get dim and tangled. Heaven went darker, quieter, but how quickly did it happen? How soon after the clash did Gabriel go, too? He can’t be sure, and it’s unsettling for a being that isn’t supposed to suffer from age.
Still, the young angel has his own recollection of the moments after Gabriel was gone, when it felt like Heaven itself had a gaping wound.
He’s in a garden drenched with dew, like a morning in late spring. There are no flowers, only bare lily stamens left after petals fall away. It’s quiet, and gray, and Balthazar can feel his Grace aching, trembling on the edge of collapse. Can’t you bring him back, Father? Can’t you bring them both back?
There’s no answer, but he’s not sure he expected one. God doesn’t talk to the youngest angels. Perhaps they’re too frail to hear the Divine Voice directly. Thy will be done, he adds as an afterthought, but he doesn’t mean it, and he knows it.
Still, if God isn’t hearing his prayer anyway, there’s no harm in lying. A thousand angelic eyes blink rapidly, as if to clear themselves of tears they weren’t even designed to shed.

Dead. Castiel: dead. Uriel: dead, along with the siblings he murdered. Anna: locked away, untouchable, maybe soon to die, too.
Cas. Dead.
The walls of the Heavenly armory are thick, and Balthazar is the only one inside it now. The snap and ripple of energy from a thousand enchanted weapons dances over the walls, casting shadows of his own wings that seem to shiver in constant motion. His Grace is clenched into a dense, dark knot in the center of his being, a core of emotion drawing tighter, tighter, until everything outside it feels numb. Floating.
One by one, he closes all of his eyes, and time twists away from him. He’s not sure how long he blacks out, but when he’s sensible again, the wards are smashed, the weapons strewn all over, and both vessel and trueform ache, blue with bruises.
Balthazar looks blankly at the mess for a long moment, then moves to pick things up, piece by piece. It’s not until his arms are full that he realizes he has no intention of putting them back in their proper places.

Everything is light and fire and eyes. The human within the angel feels the pressure of power and age, burned to cinders and crushed into diamonds by the being within him (or is he within the angel now?). He’s died a hundred thousand rapturous deaths, cried in pain until his voice is transmuted into something ethereal and sharp as an ofan’s wing. But he’s still there, here, everywhere the angel is, and he remembers, and dreams.
Ink slices across a page. A fine gray haze of graphite dust hangs in the air. Paint drips and rolls down the shaft of a brush, stains his hands and sleeves, rich and sensual. If he could erase his mistakes and paint himself over, he would use shades of blue and gold; he would rip himself off the canvas and re-stretch to his limits and beyond.
He curls and uncurls his fingers, and suddenly his hands are wings, fine-boned and light, brittle and soft at the edges and heavy all the way down his arms.
“I promise, you’ll have Heaven,” the angel told him. “Someday.”
“Fuck it,” he answered. “I don’t need Heaven.”
Levi has what he needs: a half-wild brainfever, an infinite blend of Paradise and Perdition where the Muse is the only God that matters. Being a vessel hasn’t taken that away. Nothing ever will.

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"I considered it." Not when he eventually did leave, but when he'd just been entertaining the rebellious little fantasy of it. He hadn't wanted to be without his family, after all, and even if Michael and Raphael would never have agreed to come with him it had been tempting to take his garrison and leave. But it wouldn't have worked. Even if they'd all been happy to go with him, he couldn't have stayed hidden with that many other angels with him, and that would've gotten them into trouble as well as ruining any chance he had at freedom. Not to mention the potential infighting between them, and the inability to hide what they were from everyone else. Even with only a few other angels, it wouldn't have been feasible.

That's all he says on the topic of the past, though. He's done emoting, more or less, or at least he's done venting. A little healthy emoting, well, he might be able to make room for that. It's easier with Balthazar than with a lot of the others, and the minute Balthazar makes the first move, Gabriel doesn't hesitate to reciprocate. Hugs aren't exactly his thing, but he figures if he just sort of pulls Balthazar into the hug with one arm instead of outright clinging, it doesn't count as a chick flick moment.

Balthazar feels as though he's run out of words for the moment, but the embrace, tentative as it is, is more than welcome. He doesn't have the hangups about chick flick moments Gabriel does; he leans into the contact wholeheartedly, tucking his chin over Gabriel's shoulder.

There's a silence that drags out as the younger angel slowly winds down from the storm of emotion, but at last he murmurs, "This isn't actually real, is it? It's a dream or something. Are we going to be all awkward about this when we wake up? I'd rather not be."

Gabriel's not entirely opposed to a little emotion here and there. Anything too sappy will just make him laugh, but his attitude to tolerable levels of emotion tends to depend on the other person. Being in this situation with Castiel is unthinkable, but since Balthazar is actually capable of expressing emotion without using sarcasm, it's a lot easier to just relax and not-quite-cling.

"Me? Awkward? Please. I've never even seen a sense of shame."

But - a dream, yes, that would make sense. He's not sure how he hadn't realised earlier, though now that he thinks about it, he suspects he had. Just never for longer than a few seconds at a time. He hates dreaming, especially when it's a dream with such potentially awkward consequences. He is going to be awkward about it, but at least now that Balthazar has said so he can pretend not to be.

"Oh? Good. In that case I can continue to be sappy." He straightens a little, backing off so that his side of the hug is one-armed, as well. But he's given a legit warning.

"You ought to know, I missed you as much as I did mostly because I always admired you." It's true. He'd grieved Lucifer's departure, and if Raphael or Michael had walked instead of Gabriel, he'd have grieved for them. But not the same way. He loves all his siblings, but some feel more important than others.

He makes a little grumbly noise into Balthazar's shoulder when he announces he's not going to stop being sappy, but doesn't really protest. Even if he's awkward about it himself, he doesn't object to it in other people, and it is helpful to know how his siblings feel. He'd rather know than be left to speculate.

"Guess you backed the wrong horse there, huh?" He's not convinced any admiration of him is merited, unless it's admiration of his sense of humour, style, stunning good looks, talent in bed... what was he saying again? Oh, yes. He was being modest. Well, it was nice while it lasted. In all seriousness though, he wouldn't call himself admirable at all. Impressive, perhaps, but hardly a role model, and he hasn't repaid Balthazar's admiration very well - all it seems to have done is hurt him. He knows how Balthazar feels though, for all that he wouldn't admit to it unprompted. When one has as many siblings as they do, no matter how much one loves each and every one of them, it's difficult not to play favourites to some extent. And with their family's tendency to be a little homogenous, those who are markedly 'different' are bound to feel closer to each other than to the rest. "Thank you, though. And congratulations on your excellent taste."

"I don't think that's necessarily true. Obviously there are some things you've done I wish you hadn't...but that's true of all of us. And you're here now."

Here, in Kore, making canned vegetables for a Leviathan and propositioning the entire network at once. It's all coming back to Balthazar now, which makes him feel more awkward about the previous confrontation, but also strangely satisfied. "I do have impeccable taste," he says wryly, looking away. "I don't really live up to the rest of you. My idiot mistakes don't have the dramatic flare of Castiel's, my pranks are a poor shadow of yours, and I'll never get humanity and free will the way Anna does."

He's not sure what to say about Raphael, although the feeling holds true there, as well. "But away from our own world, it does seem to work out in an awkward sort of way. Makes me wonder if the fault wasn't in us so much as our environment." But he doesn't really believe that, either.

"Yeah, shame on you, imagine never having nearly ended the world. You're not any of us. You don't need to copy us to be worth anything."

He doesn't know a great deal about Castiel's idiot mistakes, though, only that they were made and apparently involved Leviathans... and Balthazar's death. The latter isn't something he's inclined to dwell on. He's not even sure if Balthazar's been through it - he thinks not, but he can't really know, not for certain, and it's not the sort of thing one asks about.

"I think we were at a disadvantage." It's the first time he's said it, really. The first time he's been quite so honest with anyone who knows he really is about how he feels about their Father. "If He wanted us to think for ourselves instead of guessing and getting it wrong, He should've told us we were allowed to. If there's a fault, it's not in us, it's in Him."

After all, no matter how much he loves and understands and agrees with God, he can't forgive Him. Not entirely. And for all the flaws the angels have as individuals, he's certain there are none that are inherent to them as a whole - some that they almost all have in common, but those are their Father's fault, for the most part, not their own. It doesn't mean he thinks that they're faultless, far from it, but just like the humans, their flaws are their own, not those of the species.

That's about as much as Balthazar knows about Castiel's idiot mistakes, too. Samandriel likely has more information there, but hell if Balthazar wants to pester him after what he's been through. Besides, he suspects he wouldn't like the answers he might get. Still, one has to acknowledge when Castiel screws up, it's on a grand scale, like a Shakespearean tragedy to the nth power. He's like Lucifer that way. He wouldn't be happy to hear that comparison.

Balthazar nods in response to Gabriel's observation. "Like a girlfriend in a romantic comedy who gets mad and won't tell the boyfriend what he did wrong. Because the apology won't mean anything unless he figures it out for himself."

He pauses for a beat, then says, "That was a bizarre analogy, but you know what I mean." Sighing, he tilts his head to rest it on the archangel's shoulder.

"Best kind of analogy there is, kid."

The fewer people who completely understand a metaphor, the better - right? ...well, perhaps not, but it has been a while since he was The Messenger, cut him some slack. Personally he's of the opinion that that particular analogy was nowhere near harsh enough on God, but then, he's well aware that he's not being objective.

"But yeah. I know what you mean."

He'll pass up the opportunity to bitch about their dad, just this once. He's done enough ranting for one dream, he thinks. His appearance shifts a little so that he's almost entirely in his human form, the one exception being a single pair of wings that fold around Balthazar - loosely and lightly enough that it's nothing like constrictive, just a gesture of protectiveness.

Balthazar will let him bitch about Father any time. Balthazar finds it strangely reassuring to blame all their problems on an entity he's never met and assumes at this point he never will. Maybe rocks fall and everyone dies, but at least he doesn't have to worry that there was much of anything he could have done to prevent the landslide.

The light cocoon of wings makes him melt subtly, flattered and comforted by the attention. Still hiding within his vessel, his Grace nevertheless flickers warmly in response to the gesture. "Didn't you say you'd teach me how to make mead sometime? Let's do that. Soon."

He huffs a laugh at that, a little more open and a little more relieved than he'd like it to have been, and pulls back slightly from the hug, shifting his grip to Balthazar's shoulders for a moment before he withdraws to only just inside his personal space - manly, see! - though he doesn't move his wings at all. He appreciates the closeness, but he's not used to it, and even if he were he doesn't think hugs will ever be his style.

"I will. Sometime soon, I promise." He grins up, part genuine enthusiasm and part mischief. "And you'll tell me some of what you got up to while you were on earth, alright? Not all that drama with Heaven, the fun stuff - the more sins the better."

Good enough. Balthazar's had his moment of desperate clinging and settles contentedly into the subtler closeness. "I'm holding you to that," he chuckles softly, and nods.

"Mostly Lust, Greed, and Gluttony, I'm afraid, but I tried a variety of subsets under each heading. It was fun while it lasted. Shame there's not more opportunity here."

"Good choice. They're the fun ones."

And Wrath, he's a big fan of Wrath, but that's cathartic more than fun, and that's not something he likes to discuss. Especially not with his siblings.

"Alas, not everyone here is quite as" promiscuous? "... open-minded as I'd like. It's a real pity."

Wrath doesn't seem to be Balthazar's vice. Envy, maybe.

"I will say, Ellen seems content to enable my drinking habit. That helps with the gluttony, I suppose." He tilts his head at Gabriel. "So when you propositioned the network way back when, were you just trolling or would you have gone along if someone had taken you up on it?"

"Glad to hear you have such helpful friends."

His tone might be a little wry, but it's not as if a drinking habit is likely to harm an angel. Not in the quantity available in a bar, at any rate, and even if Balthazar does end up getting smashed, it's better to do that with Ellen than on his own. Besides, he's always got Gabriel to look after him if he does stagger in drunk - and that, no doubt, is reason enough to keep him from drinking too much.

"I would have, of course." He's a little surprised Balthazar even has to ask. "It's not as if there's a health risk, and I'm not exactly picky. It's a shame no one did, really. Other times they have - but I suppose Kobra was busy pissing off Lucifer, and Elle must have been gone by then. But, y'know - the trolling was fun too. Not as fun, but I suppose one night stands are trickier to arrange in a population as small as ours."

Alcohol is very much his vice, and were the supply as extensive as he'd like, even Gabriel might start to worry about the quantity he can burn through on any given day. Part of the problem is his vessel was hooked even before he possessed him, but mostly it's just Balthazar seeking distraction. Ellen may be enabling him a bit, but no single still is going to produce enough to keep him more than slightly buzzed, on a temporary basis.

He smiles wryly, nodding in understanding. "That's why I've been hesitant. An entanglement here would be hard to get away from. I'm not looking to break hearts. Too bad; there are a lot of people around I'd be delighted to sleep with."

There's a beat of silence, then he adds, "I guess I should have taken you up on it then." Because that wouldn't be a risky entanglement at all.

Gabriel probably would be worried, if he knew. The angels, possibly as a result of those darn daddy issues, tend to have quite addictive personalities. With access to enough intoxicants (of whatever kind), even they can develop quite a problem. He's mostly got that behind him now, but for a few centuries after he'd left, self-control and moderation had been pretty much the only things he hadn't experimented with. He'd been in a position where he could afford that luxury - the Cape, however, doesn't allow for that, and nor does being on the minority side of an angelic civil war.

"You could always try commitment. Y'know, if you're into that sort of thing."

Evidently he's not - he says it as if it's the filthiest kink he could imagine. He's not so much concerned about hurting anyone's feelings himself, but if there were some kind of misunderstanding about Feelings, and the existence thereof, things could get awkward. Breaking someone's heart he could deal with. Awkwardness, not so much. That's no fun at all - at least, not when he's directly involved.

"Otherwise - well, it's a standing offer, if you're interested." The wry little smirk suggests he might not be serious: he seems to be well aware of just how badly wrong that could go. Still, there's no telling with Gabriel. He's not usually one to turn down sex, after all. "If you ever find yourself in the neighbourhood, feel free to look me up."

Balthazar has a few wild stories about harder drugs, himself. Wild enough that they've scared him away from some of them. It's not as much fun blowing coke and jumping on the bed after you've watched a few humans overdose and die from it.

"Commitment." He says flatly, knowing Gabriel's more or less joking. "In a place where people vanish at random? No, I don't think so."

He raises en eyebrow at the standing offer, unable to tell whether Gabriel means it or not, and equally uncertain whether he'd want to take him up on it. "I'll keep it in mind," he says after a moment, and smiles. "I'm sure you know how to show someone a good time."

They'd better start with making mead, though.

"Point. That'd definitely make the commitment a lot less long-term."

His tone is dry and perhaps darker than one might expect - people vanishing hasn't affected him in terms of romantic relationships, but his siblings have always meant a great deal more to him than lovers. It hurts more to lose them again than if he were to lose some girl he'd only known a few months.

"With a few millenia's worth of practice under my belt? Oh, I do. I really do." Though it's probably best if Balthazar just takes his word for it. "But I don't think now's the time. And actually, I'm thinking now'd be a pretty good time to wake up, so unless you have any more emoting to do..."

Who said he wasn't going to be awkward about this? Was it him? He may have been lying slightly. Oh well- he'll try, anyway.

"Then again, I suppose one could use that to an advantage." 'One', but not Balthazar. He's just sentimental enough to want closure.

He raises an eyebrow. "If you know how to wake up, by all means. I'm still not sure how I fell asleep in the first place."

...Help?

"Might stop people getting too attached."

It won't, of course. People are still people - if anything the constant threat of disappearance will make them get attached faster. He's aware of that, but as always, he'd rather try to ignore it until it goes away.

"I think knowing you're dreaming and trying to wake up oughtta be enough. Apparently that's how it works for humans." Admittedly he is basing this assumption on 'that's how it works on tv', which is not always entirely accurate. "Worth a try, at least. No offence, the company's great and all, but I'd rather be conscious if I have a choice in this."

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consumed by either fire or fire

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Who knows who, that should've said (I just took a few minutes trying to figure out what I meant)

I didn't actually notice the missing 'who' anyway!

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