nexus_crossings | I've seen your flag on the marble arch

It's the waves, of what feels like confusion, that attracts her attention. Her bright yellow, slit pupil eyes staring for a moment as she pushes the red curls out of the way. She's so tall that her hair falls in her face as she looks down. At six and a half foot tall and only 95lbs she hardly looks human despite the fashionable, floral human dress that she's wearing.

"It's a hard place to be." Her voice is high and musical but the lack of facial expressions is filled in by feelings, one of sympathy. "Though it's not a war, my husband is from another species and both of our species are xenaphobic."

She sighs and motions toward the chair nearby. "May I?"

She goes on, taking a seat only if it's offered. "Our child carries a heavy weight and I don't know how to help with the burden. I wish I did."

"We removed ourselves from war long ago but I remember war. We were the killers of innocents and realized it would be irresponsible to continue being violent when we saw what it caused."

She smiles a little. It's awkward and doesn't look natural. "I think it is wise to simply let it be known that you're struggling and allow others to offer what they can. We all struggle and they know what energy they have to offer."

"I'm sorry. My kind don't drink alcohol like other species. I wouldn't know what to get or where to get it from."

Edited 2020-08-21 21:05 (UTC)

Confusion, yes, and grief, and an enduring, wounded kind of love that the angel himself doesn't entirely understand. The latter emotion only ripples and redoubles like a flare when he glances up at her. She looks like Anna, or at least the vessel that his lost sister once created to hide in. It's the red hair, and the delicate build. Anna wasn't quite so inhumanly slender, but he saw her in her human shape, and she looked like she was made of bone china.

"My kind were created for war," he says ruefully, and nods. "Please sit. You're welcome here, though I'm not promising to be great company. I'm in a mood, you see."

"I have to do something, is the thing," he says. "Or else I have to choose to do nothing, which comes with consequences of its own. How did you remove yourselves from war?"

She is naturally calm and comforting, so when she feels the turmoil of emotions her instinct is to gently project that state toward her company. "If you knew my husband or our child you wouldn't worry so much. They are equally tumultuous."

"Everyone must always do something, otherwise we stagnate." She is sympathetic and concerned for this man, or whatever he might be since he feels more than human, even if he is a stranger.

"I come from a planet that once had three intellegent species. Before my birth my species and the other most populace species went to war out of greed and other concerns I don't fully understand. We eventually drove them extinct and regretted but it was too late. I was born as the biosphere began to collapse and watched the third species go extinct. Culturally, we wanted to change after seeing what we had done, but the planet itself changed us too. As the planet died and our population decreased we began becoming ill and experiencing pain when we did anything violent, even raising our voices or feeling anger. That was centuries ago and we are so few with so little left on our planet. Peace and compassion is our only choice. Our population has finally started to see children again.."

He can feel what she's doing, and he doesn't mind it, though it's likely to be far less effective on him than it would be on a mortal being. He blinks at her and gives her an oddly soft smile. "Careful...I don't know how compatible or incompatible our natures are. I'm a celestial being, not as I appear; I don't want to harm you."

A human empath could easily fry their own brain like that, but she's clearly not human, so he'll have to trust she knows her own skills and limits.

He sobers, listening to her. "That's a sad story. Especially what it did to your planet itself. There's always collateral damage in a war, isn't there? We were always taught it was worth it, but I wonder now."

It sounds as if her species evolved involuntarily. He was hoping she'd have some advice as to how to make angels do the same...but maybe that's the kind of thing that can only be achieved through suffering.

"I'm an angel. We were created as...agents of our Father. Messengers, extensions of His will, to create and enforce order as He saw fit. Often through violence. It's written into our very being." He rubs the back of his neck, frowning as if he's struggling to reason through this and then translate it into words that can be audibly spoken. "Except our Father abandoned us, and no one really knows why. But when you create a species to be soldiers, what do they do when the war ends?"

"In my universe we are Earth's reason for believing there is a celestial heaven." She's not worried about whatever he might be. Age gave her confidence, and she was ancient by most mortal standards, though unlikely by an angel's.

"Humans believe it is, but we learned long ago that war isn't worth the cost." She shook her head thinking of her child and how he alone was charged with stopping wars. Sadness flickers through her presence before she can push it away.

"I know of angels. My husband is a human Christian." Though a mostly non-practicing one since learning of aliens. "My father disowned me so I can sympathize, but humans are trained to the point of believing they are made for war. Maybe they would have some insight. My husband left war to become an explorer when he was still young. War still exists on Earth but he confronts it without violence. I almost wish he were her to talk to you."

"It's different for humans, I think, at least where I'm from. They only fight wars against other humans, because that's all they know that's out there to fight. We had demons, monsters, various types of eldritch beings that were not friendly to any other form of life...and we fought them like we were told to."

And maybe there were some they didn't have to fight, but...he can't go back and re-fight those battles in his head in the hopes of justifying them. He just can't. With the weight of millions of year of Past behind him, he'll drown if he doesn't live in the Present.

"I almost feel I should apologize," he says wryly when she mentions her husband. "I'm always worried I'll break some poor religious person's heart if they meet me here."

"What you fought may differ but the concept of fighting as you're told is universal in my experience." Limited as it was.

She just starts giggling. "You will be nothing. I had to tell him my family, maybe even my cousin, was what made humans create God. An actual angel is probably more satisfying than the God is an advanced alien cliche in human media."

She reaches out and pats his forearm. "He's seen enough to take everything in stride."

"That's fair, and probably accurate. So many of us just following orders. Perhaps Lucifer has the right ideas after all. Rebellion does less damage than conformity, from what I've seen."

He's a little too drunk to continue with that train of philosophical thought, luckily, and smiles at her giggle. "All right, you've got me beat, there, then. I've had to tell people my elder brother announced the birth of Jesus, but 'my cousin might have been God' is a step above that."

"You made me think of my sister Annabiel, though, when I first saw you."

"Aside from his love of space, I think his inability to do as he was told made him dislike his military service." Her presence turns curious. "Is this the Lucifer that looks like he belongs in my family?"

She shakes her head at the memory. "My people taught early humans language before they evolved into Homo sapiens."

"She is a good woman?" She pauses. "I didn't realize angels consider each other siblings. I don't know much about Christianity. My own species is spiritual but we haven't had gods or divinity in a long time, millions of years."

The man sitting and drinking out the bottle has Loki raise a curious eyebrow as he made his way home, hoping to offer Thorkitty some new snacks he recently purchased. As for a bottle of liquor, the god was clean out, only having catwing snacks on his person. What is it with mortals and their booze? Unless, the man was not mortal. Loki knew this was a distinct possibility. Many of the Nexus residents looked human but were far from it.

Walking up to him, the god offered an eyebrow raise as his gaze flickered from the emptying bottle and the man.

"I could summon you a bottle of drink but I doubt it would be to your tastes I'm afraid."

Asgardian beverages were often too strong for mortals to handle, unless this guy was used to drinking strong stuff. As for angel liquor? Loki wanted to stay as far away from that as possible, after his run-in with Beelzebub and his magic bottles. After drinking with that particular angel, Loki had the hangover from the depths of Hel itself.

"My tastes are very eclectic, darling; I might surprise you." It's uttered dryly, the endearment a figure of speech rather than a flirt, but the angel's expression isn't unfriendly. Far from it. Loki looks like a Person of Interest. It takes a definite personality type to stride through the Nexus in leather, like he owns the place.

"Have I seen you at the pet store, by the way?" He gestures to the plastic bag on the table by him. "You look familiar. I've been buying toys for the kittens my fiance adopted. Little winged kittens."

Well wasn't this chap a cheerful one? Loki's lips tugged into an amused smirk as he decided to sit down next to the man, placing his own small bag of treats beside him. Thorkitty wouldn't mind waiting a little longer to tuck into his fish-shaped biscuits. Turning his head to the stranger Loki nodded, pushing some of his hair from his face.

"Yes, I have just come from there. I've been buying some treats for my catwing since he does enjoy fishy nibbles."

Who would have thought a god from Asgard, Loki, would be musing about tending to an animal? The man had changed it seemed and all for the better. As for his new acquaintance the god summoned a bottle of red wine, clutching it firmly between his fingers.

"Eclectic you say? How do you fancy tasting some vintage Asgardian red wine? It's one of my favourite tipples. I would go easy on it though, this isn't your average weak mortal liquor."

A wave of his hand and two glasses appeared out of thin air at the god's command. Would he be seen drinking from a bottle? Norns no. He was a god and a prince. The man's preference for swilling liquor out of a bottle could be kept to himself. Loki himself had decorum.

"Asgardian? Oh, are you related to Thor, then? A couple years back I did a favor for him for some Asgardian ale. I think we both went home happy from that one. I know I did." Godly spirits pack a nice kick, enough to affect an angel on Balthazar's level.

"Anyway, count me in. I'll even use my manners, since you've brought glasses. And don't worry, I'm far from mortal."

"My name is Balthazar. And you?"

"You could say we are related somewhat."

Loki was smug and he was going to milk this moment for everything it was worth. A few years ago he would have felt irked that someone asked him such a thing; that he was related to the true son of Odin. To Thor, the Thunderer. But now? He cared for his brother after realising that there was more to the universe than bitterness and hate. Also what Thor had been through since Thanos? It wasn't worth thinking about. Loki was proud to be the younger Odinson now.

"I never drink without a glass. One has to show decorum especially in the company of strangers."

So, the man was not mortal. Perhaps he should have sensed that but it was hard to tell in the Nexus. So many different species and beings. The man's name was interesting and the god offered a nod in greeting.

"I am Loki, god of mischief, prince of Asgard and younger brother to Thor."

He filled both glasses up with red wine and picked up his own, waiting for Balthazar to pick his own glass up.

"Mind if I step in to join you?"

A dark-haired young man comes over with two bottles - one for himself and one for Balthazar. While Ben doesn't know the angel, he figures he ought to do what he can to help. He's sympathetic to the problem. It's one he thinks about sometimes - Misfire, Saint-14, the angels, Thra, so many worlds in the Nexus are touched by war, either new war or war that's been going on as long as anyone can remember.

"I fought my own family for a very long time," Ben says. There's a sense of weariness - he clearly doesn't especially like talking to this, but he wonders if he might be able to help Balthazar a little bit. "I...realized I was in the wrong, but the damage had already been done. It's sad to hear about other worlds and other families dealing with similar problems." Directly and not, Ben is responsible for the deaths of his entire family, and it weighs heavy on him.

There are many universes which are tearing themselves apart with violence and war. The Nexus, he figures, is a valuable respite from that sort of thing. Enemies can live here in relative tolerance, if not peace. Tolerance is as good to him. You can't expect people to forgive and be friends, especially when there are good reasons not to forgive.

"I don't know if I'm very good at resolving situations like this. I'm a creature of war, not peace, so I don't trust myself to step in. Wouldn't make things better, just worse."

"I may be shitty company," he warns, but with a wry smile. "But I welcome conversation. If you can't clear my mind, I'm sure you can at least distract me a bit."

He rests his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, morose but listening to Ben talk patiently. "I'm sorry to hear it. It's a fraught thing. Having people so close means they're easier to hurt, unfortunately, even by accident."

"It's complicated. Have you ever heard of angels?"

"It's a little sad," Ben says as he pours himself a drink, "to see so many worlds where people make the same mistakes I did. If not the same, exactly, similar enough. Worlds and people ruled by violence and anger. I'm in no place to judge, but it's discouraging."

He offers the bottle to Balthazar to pour from if he likes. Then he takes a draft himself.

Ben nods. "Yes, I have. Aziraphale's kind of angels or Lucifer's? I have a feeling it's Lucifer's. His world's politics are...not pleasant, from everything I've heard."

"There's less distinction between Aziraphale's type and Lucifer's type of angel than you might think. Virtue versus vice, Grace versus fire...they're flip sides of the same coin, I think. Of course, Lucifer's lot are far older than Aziraphale, or Crowley, or myself, and eons of experience make a difference, but in essence, we're all angels."

"You know, the funny thing about the Fallen is they have so much less Doubt than the other angels I know. And you'd think it would be the other way around. We were always taught Doubt is what corrupts, and to follow without questioning. But they seem very certain of what they have to do, for their own survival."

"...except for Moloch, perhaps. He knows what he is, but he...also knows there is nothing he can do to change that." He looks uncertain even as he says those words. Should he be asking advice from Moloch here? That sounds extraordinarily dangerous.

He takes a slow sip from the bottle. "Sorry, I'm rambling now. I'm either too drunk or not drunk enough."

"Doubt's something I deal with every day. I worry about my self-control, slipping back into old ways, and I'm afraid of hurting people. I don't think I could ever be a leader again. Some ways, being sure of yourself can be even worse, because then you'll never admit you're wrong or consider change. Doubt's natural and healthy. There's a balance."

Ben raises an eyebrow when the dark angel's name comes up. "Moloch. I've only heard of him and caught a few glimpses. He attacked and nearly killed a friend of mine. I also understand his situation is complicated and he does have his reasons. I don't want to meet him, though. Been through too much to be angel food."

With a sigh, Ben knocks back his glass. Angel politics are complicated and unpleasant in any world.

"There are a few people like that - the Eliksni, Jason, and now Moloch. They have reasons why they're so hostile, but it's best to stay out of their way. I have the feeling that they aren't the kind of people who'd appreciate pity. I used to be in a similar place, myself, so I can understand that mindset - I just know sympathy wouldn't win me any favors with them."

"But you're not an angel. Doubt runs against our very nature. We don't excel at free will. Although I do tend to agree with you that balance is important. Something we haven't found yet."

He nods. "Moloch is very complicated, and I'm not at the point where I could attempt an explanation. I think anything less powerful than he ought to avoid him studiously for the time being."

"But I'm in love with his brother, so sooner or later I'll have to reckon with him and all the other Fallen angels, whether I like them all or not. I'm just glad I get on well with most of them."

"Balance helps with a lot of things, but you're right, it's probably different for angels than humans. Angels - no offense meant - seem to have a longer view. Change is hard for mortals, too, but it makes sense that people who are longer-lived and immortal would be slower to change. The seasonal spirits are a little like that. They feel distant in some ways, though the angels I've met feel more empathetic than, say, Reynard or even Dyane."

"I was told many of Lucifer's angels have curses that make them the way they are - like Beelzebub's curse is to be drunk all of the time, and Moloch's eating habits come from his. Lucifer reassured me he's taking precautions. Belial said that if I meet him I should respect his capabilities and avoid seeming weak. He's a predator."

"I've gotten along with most of the ones I've met. It's a good thing most of them are agreeable with the amount of power they have." Ben runs through the angels he's met. "You must be Balthazar. I'm Ben Solo - a friend of Beelzebub and Galahad."

Even before Thor can see who is drinking straight out of the bottle, he already thinks this is a man after his own heart. His own hand is clenched around the neck of a jug of dwarven brew, and judging by the pink flush in his cheeks, he's already had some.

The questions are familiar ones, and the soft haze of the alcohol muffles the anxiety that they evoke in him, still there but not overwhelmingly so. "Well if you're me, your family falls apart no matter what you do. Maybe it's fate or maybe it's because sometimes your father lied about some really, really important things. It all goes downhill sooner or later."

Not that he doesn't entirely get why Odin would want to put things off. Sure, the consequences of your actions will come back to haunt you eventually, but facing them head-on is sometimes difficult to bear at all.

Were Balthazar questioned, he would admit to being a drunk with an occasional angel habit. He's lucky that his Grace burns off alcohol at a high rate--or maybe he's not, because that makes it very expensive to get drunk on human-made liquor. But at least he cannot, as far as he knows, take any permanent harm from his habits.

As far as he knows.

He smiles at Thor, recognizing him and immediately welcoming, but damn the god is a lot the worse for wear than the last time he saw him. "It's been a while. Sit with me, won't you?"

Oof. He grimaces sympathetically, knowing very little about Thor's family situation, but well-versed enough, and empathetic enough, to recognize there are real parallels here. "I never actually knew my Father. Just got information passed down from my oldest siblings, and apparently they were mistaken about almost all of it."

He doesn't need to ask twice. Thor sets the jug down on the table between them with a heavy thud and pulls out a chair, its legs screeching a little at being dragged across the pavement.

Thor runs a hand through his hair, fumbling the worst of it out of his face, and nods towards the jug in a silent offer to share. "Did he lie to them too?"

You don't have to ask him twice, Thor. Balthazar picks up the jug and sniffs the contents before taking a swig. It's definitely stronger than what he was nursing, before, and when he sets the jug back down he gives that pleased grimace some people do when drinking strong stuff.

"I owe you for that," he tells him. But Thor's mental state has him concerned now--either he's a very melancholy drunk or he's just a very sad Thor who's getting drunk to cope with that.

"I can't be sure," he says. "Someone definitely lied to someone along the way. Whether it was our Father, or Michael, or someone or something else. Which is a large part of the problem now."

"I've got two very charismatic brothers arguing over the fate of the planet, and I'm caught in the middle, is the long and short of it."

Edited (icon) 2020-08-22 17:51 (UTC)

It's good that the jug is large enough to share, even though it'll mean he runs out faster. Thor tugs it a little closer to take another swig of his own, before returning it to the no-man's-land of the table between them, well within reach of either of them. Family shit like this can be too awful to cope with sober, and far be it from him to stand in the way of someone else drowning their sorrows.

He waves off the declaration of debt and listens, though some of the nuance is clearly being left out. "None of you's in charge by yourself, I take it. You stuck in the middle 'cuz both of them have good arguments, or bad ones?"

The last time Aziraphale ran into Balthazar, the older angel was not being himself. Literally. This time around is very obviously on the metaphorical side. It's concerning. Aziraphale miracles up another bottle of scotch and a glass. He pours himself a glass, then offers Balthazar the bottle while he takes a seat at the table.

"Hello, dear. More trouble on your world?"

"Aziraphale..." there is an unmistakable thank-goodness-you're-here tone in his voice. He smiles at him, and if the dark mood remains evident in his eyes, at least the presence of a friend is clearly some kind of comfort.

"Yes, I..." He takes the bottle gratefully, setting the empty at his own feet. "I spoke to Raphael. I mean, I didn't seek him out. He came to me, and it's left me...unsettled. For a number of reasons."

"And I'm not quite prepared to discuss the whole business with Lucifer just yet. I mean, I need to sort it out in my own head first."

Balthazar is probably the only celestial angel who has ever said his name in such a tone. It makes him smile, briefly, before his expression sobers as he takes in the other angel's situation. In some ways, Balthazar's Heaven is even more foreign than Lucifer's. There's only been one war in Heaven, and that was a long, long time ago for Aziraphale.

"Well, I know he'd do absolutely anything for you, so it's probably good that you're waiting. It sounds messy, whatever Raphael said to you."

"Exactly," he smiles weakly and takes a long drink from the bottle Aziraphale's handed him. "If I asked him, I'm sure he'd be willing to walk right into my world and sort it out. But that's not at all fair to ask of him when he's still got his own kingdom's fight on his hands."

That, and Balthazar has become a de facto second king in Chaos. It would be irresponsible of him to expect any of Lucifer's folk, let alone their leader, to fight a war on two different fronts. He has a duty to them, as well, and if he doesn't have the strength or know-how to help them, he can at least protect them from his own problems.

"Raphael made me an offer. Complete forgiveness, total amnesty, for myself and any of Castiel's side who willingly put down arms and either return to Raphael's forces or simply cease to fight and return to other celestial roles. It's wildly generous. The kind of thing that Heaven simply does not do, and that's what's got me tied in knots. Obviously I can't say yes, because I know Castiel won't, and because it would mean standing aside and letting Raphael move forward with the Apocalypse."

"The thing is, Raphael is my brother, too. And he's probably the archangel I've had the most contact with, even if he plays things closer to the chest than the others. I can see the strain in him, and I...it hurts. I can see it in Cassi, too. They're both about to hit their breaking point."

There's a thunk as he sets the bottle down on the table. "It's not right. It's the same bullshit my world's Lucifer and Michael did to one another. Two idiot brothers who won't back down, ripping the rest of the family apart at the seams. I believe in Castiel; I truly do, but this...this can't be right, can it? Just standing back and letting them break each other?"

"Completely understandable. Just... don't wait too long, dear. He'll know that something's on your mind."

Aziraphale takes a sip from his beveled glass while Balthazar elaborates, his eyes bright with concern. He never worked with the Raphael on his world, but having answered to other archangels over the years, he has a good sense of what is typical behavior for them. Generosity to one's enemies is not one of them.

"He sounds desperate," he remarks softly. "Has he explained why he's so determined to start the Apocalypse? It was already thwarted once, wasn't it? Gabriel and Beelzebub took that to mean that God didn't want it, after all... they weren't happy about it, mind you, but they ultimately accepted it."

As for Balthazar's conflicted feelings, Aziraphale gives him a sympathetic look. "Sometimes it's not so much about what's right as about what you can actually do to help. Neither Crowley or I had the power to stop the Apocalypse outright, which is why we helped raise the anti-christ... or thought we were, anyway. Can you help in a similar way? Ease Castiel's burden somehow?"

"Oh, Lucifer probably already knows that," he sighs. "I'm going to have a talk with him as soon as I take the edge off, here. He's been a little too quiet lately, himself, actually, and that has me worried. Might just be Chaos politics, but we may be due for an air-clearing session on two fronts."

"I'm not sure I can entirely fathom Raphael's mental and emotional state," he says cautiously. "A regular angel like me, compared with an archangel, is like...a hummingbird compared with a hurricane. But he's definitely desperate."

"There are four archangels on my world. Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Gabriel. Gabe is dead, and Michael and Lucifer are locked up in the Cage, in Hell. That makes Raphael the only one left, so of course he feels that everything, literally the fate of the world, is on him. And he wasn't built for that. Michael's the leader, Luci and Gabe were the challengers and gadflies. Raphael was always the enforcer for Michael when he needed him, or the healer and teacher when he didn't. Honestly as terrifying as he is, I don't think he has the temperament for war any more than I do."

"He says God is dead, and he's not been reading existential philosophy so I think he does mean it literally. He's got no way of knowing that, but I believe...it's what he wants to believe. Because the alternative, to him, is that either God or Michael lied to him and effectively betrayed all of us, and there's no one but him to clean up the mess."

"...maybe that's why he came to me, now that I think of it. Castiel's followers are convinced our Father appointed him to lead us somehow. I'm not. I think Castiel appointed Castiel, but he has the right idea."

"Raphael wants the Apocalypse because he's exhausted and wants an end to it, for all of us, angels and humans alike. Maybe being the healer means he's seen too much pain for too long. I don't know. He's not like your archangels, Aziraphale. He's not looking for a glorious battle to prove something, he just wants to get it over so we can have peace and quiet, and oblivion is enough of a promise for him. You know, I think a suicidal archangel is actually more frightening than a bloodthirsty one."

"He told me that a few celestial angels are switching sides," Aziraphale notes. "His mind must be on something related to that." The angel has no intention of derailing the conversation, so he tries his best to clamp down on his enthusiasm, although he can't keep from wiggling a bit in place. New angel friends, possibly? It'd be one nice silver lining in Lucifer's situation, at any rate.

Aziraphale listens closely as Balthazar explains Raphael's motivations, but then the other angel throws him a curveball that he can't quite recover from. "...he believes God is dead?" Aziraphale tilts his head like a confused puppy. "But that's... that's not possible, surely..."

After that, he's quiet for a long time, nursing his scotch and trying to make sense of what Balthazar has told him. "No, he's... you're right. He's not like my archangels." On the ethereal plane, he shakes out his wings a little, as if trying to rouse himself. "But even if he's in pain, he can't take everyone else with him like that. It isn't fair at all." He frowns a little, thinking back to Michael and Lucifer stuck in a cage together. "What's going on in Hell during all this? Are they looking for a fight? Who's in charge down there with Lucifer locked up?"

Balthazar, too, is excited about the prospect of new angel friends. He barely makes a distinction between celestial and chaotic angels, but at times like this, where he's struggling with his own world and his own instincts, he really needs a regular angel as a sounding board, not so much an iconoclast. Maybe it would be easier with others around aside from him and Aziraphale.

"I don't know what's possible," Balthazar says with a shake of his head. "I mean, Lucifer certainly thinks it is for his world or he wouldn't be anticipating a fight to the death with Him. Your world and mine are different, but I truly don't know. Maybe He got fed up and left us. Or maybe part of His plan all along was for us to go insane with confusion and kill ourselves off. The real point is that Raphael is as broken as I've ever seen any angel, and I don't know what to do with that."

He grimaces at the question about Hell. "Well, you're not going to like this one, but it's Crowley. I'm not sure how he seized power so fast, except that the Princes and Knights are all either dead or AWOL. He's just a Crossroads demon, but he's very clever. Very pragmatic, very creative. And no, I shouldn't think he's looking for a showdown with an archangel."

"Last I heard he was hunting down vampires, and I'm not sure what to make of that."

Aziraphale squirms a little at the mention of Lucifer's God, but he can't really argue with that. "I can't accept that as a possibility on my world," he admits quietly, "But... well, it's a moot point if God isn't responding regardless. I'm surprised Raphael hasn't fallen, in all honesty. Although believing God is dead might be different from believing that God doesn't care at all..."

It's a heavy subject for an angel, which is why what Balthazar says next is almost a relief. Aziraphale's eyebrows go up sharply, then lower themselves into a flat line as he sighs in resignation. "Of course," he says. "I should have known the moment you brought him up the first time." It may be Crowley-with-an-ow instead of Crowley-with-an-oh, but it still seems oddly fitting. Not that his Crowley would try to take over Hell. Or hunt vampires. (Unless it's to find Toby wherever he's lurking in the shop and kick him out so that he and Aziraphale can have a proper date night.)

After another fortifying sip of scotch, Aziraphale sets the glass down on the table and leans forward earnestly. "Where I'm from, you can't have Armageddon without both Heaven and Hell on board. So if Hell isn't involved, how exactly is Raphael planning to end things? Would he release Lucifer and Michael? Something else?" He blinks as another thought comes to him. "Oh, what about his vessel? Did I tell you that I foolishly tried to shoot the anti-christ when I thought we were out of options, but Marjorie, whose body I was possessing, wouldn't let me? That dear woman saved me from a dreadful mistake. Do you think Raphael's vessel might be swayed in a similar way?"

Edited 2020-09-01 14:21 (UTC)

"In our experience, neutrality is something the Mystics do. They don't hurt people like the Skeksis do, but for the most part they don't help stop the Skeksis, either. There are exceptions, but the urRu of the Valley sit and wait while Thra burns. But my Mystic counterpart urGoh...he decided that something had to be done. And I'm fighting my own family, too. Or the closest I had to one until I found urGoh."

An old Skeksis shuffles forward. skekGra's muted by his standards, since he can pick up on the heaviness in the air. This isn't the time for his usual way of lightening the mood.

"However! There's always time to step in and help! Even if you don't want to fight, you can still find a way to do something, we're sure. We don't fight, it's not our place, but we do what we can to help save Thra. What's going on, exactly? Is this a war going on in your world?"

Harley is also another person who is usually obnoxiously upbeat and cheerful. That might be part of the reason she gets along famously with Balthazar. And so when spotting him at the café table, she immediately heads over to answer his question.

She tilts her head at the questions about a family divided and the whole war thing. Those are going to be tougher questions to answer right away.

The request for more booze is easy enough to answer. Harley brings out her flask, which is decorated with her own design and sets it front of him. And then because she thinks he might need a little more support... she wraps her arms around his shoulders and hugs him, leaning in nice and close.

"You say the word, and I am one of those people who will help you. Ya know that... right?"

He breaks into a smile at the sight of her flask. Not just because it's liquor--that's very nice, and just what he asked for--but also because of the design. He doesn't know her all that well, not in depth, but he has a distinct impression that she is very much her own person, and certain of who she is. For an ancient angel that's only a few years into Free Will, that's fascinating.

"Don't mind if I do, love," he says, and helps himself to the flask, though he takes a polite swallow rather than chugging.

The hug is further unexpected, but perfectly welcome. He leans a little and tilts his head against her shoulder lightly. "Well, I do now. I hate to ask humans to help sort out angel business, but I'll keep you in mind."

Hey, if he has to keep the Winchesters busy for a while, she'd be perfect for that.

Harley half settles in his lap, to continue providing that comfort and support through the hug. And strokes her fingers through his hair.

"Ya'know it half sucks there is nothing I can do, because I am human. I have you know sometimes a human can accomplish something unexpected."

The Winchesters wouldn't know what to do about Harley. She would be a perfect chaotic storm in their lives.

He wasn't quite expecting her to sit in his lap, but he doesn't object, either. "Oh, I didn't mean it that way. With the right tools, a human can handle an angel, or demons, or monsters. But it's my family and I'm not keen on dragging anyone outside the family into it."

"Honestly, I don't want to get Lucifer and his lot involved, either, although there's a bit more of an excuse with them."

But the stakes for them would be high. Very, very high.

"Hey!" Harley gently taps Balthazar's nose. "I will have you know I consider you family. You are that drunk handsy uncle who I always get the best gifts from."

"Does he know you are having problems? You can still talk to him about things... right?"

He sputters at the nose-boop, and laughs out loud. "That makes me sound like an absolute pervert, darling, but I'll take it anyway."

His smile softens. "I suppose uncle works, though. Beelzebub has certainly adopted you in some capacity."

He hums and nods. "Not only can I, I rather think I must talk to him, without too much delay. I'm just still trying to decide how to deal with what's happening. It needs to be my decision, for a number of reasons."

"Little known secret. You are a pervert." Harley grins in response.

"I am sure he would be glad to be a listening board, to help you sort out whatever you need to sort out. Sometimes you just need to have someone there you understands you..."

It is what Harley misses the most these days.

He sticks his tongue out at her good-naturedly, but doesn't deny the accusation. It's fair.

Sobering, he turns the flask over in his hands and nods a little. "He would. And I should do that. But...it's hard to explain, a bit, but it's very difficult, when talking with another angel--to keep myself separate. To keep track of what I want, rather than what I think they want me to want. Especially him, because I truly am in love. But I'm not built for individuality. I'm still learning it."

He looks up at her again. "Does that make any sense? I've tried to explain it before but I feel like I never quite get the point fully across. It's not like unlearning a habit, it's like unlearning how to breathe oxygen."

"Maybe you need a third person in the room. Not really there to be part of the conversation or discussion. But a human that would keep you focused on what you want, instead of what you might think another angel would want."

"Sometimes you just need to feel like you are speaking for yourself. And I get that."

I've seen your flag on the marble arch

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time is fake, you know the drill

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