Chasing Rainbows

[devilsphoenix]

Phenex had been thinking about this since meeting Levi the previous fall. There had been concerns about the angels interacting with the Nexus too much or too often. However, the pull to be themselves; to teach and guide and protect were too strong to be set aside. There were debates between the councils and finally it was decided that to be an angel one had to act on their nature or they were no longer an angel.

That had been at the beginning of the year. After some looking Phenex had yet to find what they wanted in a space for a creative arts center. So, Mulciber was put to work on a plot of land not far from the Villa on the outskirts of the plaza. The plan was a first floor space that could house performance arts in a theater, a second floor of studios for artists and dancers, and then a top floor gallery for exhibitions and access to the roof that could double as a space for parties. The exterior was done but the bounding and other sounds of construction echoed from inside. The noise and new building drew attention and some people came by.

Phenex wasn't a construction worker but did busy themselves drawing across the little used street before the new construction. The illustration, done in sidewalk chalk, vibrates and changes. Weather appearing; birds and butterflies flitting across the surface as people move around the edges. Every viewer seeing something a little different. The depth of perspective making viewers feel like they were at the top of cliffs staring down into the jungle valley.

The angel stood back, white skin and hair smudged with colored chalk that matched the ever changing rainbow of their wings. It was good to get back to creating, to draw and, soon, inspire the arts here, outside their own creation.

“I wonder what arts are the most popular here in the Nexus?” Phenex spoke to themselves before turning to the nearest person. “What arts do you appreciate most?”

I don't need to be kind to the armies of night

[apothegm]

That had been a long, long drop. He never actually felt the water at the end of the icy plunge, as unexpected a sensation as the sun-warmed stones beneath his back, and as thoroughly welcome as the lack of an enraged, criminal mastermind in his grip. Flailing his way upright was a terrible mistake– the rest of the intact sutures in his shoulder neatly pop, and though still half frozen, that is not a pleasant sensation at all.

It won't take him long to find the helpful, welcoming instructions of the place, the how-to's and cheery pamphlets. Is he dead? All his numerous aches say otherwise.

Satisfied at present with the oddness of his situation, and that his surroundings seem to be going nowhere in a hurry, he'll offer up his question, "How far have you gone, to commit an act of vengeance?"

After a beat, as Holmes shoves the heel of his palm against his fine, if bedraggled dress coat, coming away with a smear of red:

"...and is there a doctor in residence?"