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I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Aug. 21st, 2020 04:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tryingitallBalthazar, when seen around the Nexus, is usually obnoxiously upbeat and cheerful. Downright perky, even. He's a gregarious angel, a little mouthy, but quick to joke and slow to judge. His reward for being peculiar by his kind's standards has been spectacular: the love of his life, a built-in family, and a number of like-minded friends, some angelic and some not. If he just stayed in the Nexus and ignored his own world forever, he'd easily be content with what he has.
The multiverse isn't that simple, though. He's still in contact with his home and at least one of his brothers, and there's still a war going on there. As much as he wishes he could stay on the sidelines of it completely, he knows, rationally, that that isn't a possibility. Not forever.
Right now, he's seated at a cafe table with the dregs of a bottle of Glenmorangie, which he is classlessly swigging straight out of the bottle. There's a bag from a pet store beside him, but in his lap there's a notebook, and he's scribbling in it, with a fine sepia pen. No one save another angel is likely to be able to read his notes; they're in Enochian.
"I have too many questions to ask, I think," he says, adding a flourish to one of the sigils on his page. "What would you do if your family was divided, violently, and at war? How can you reassure a brother with the weight of the world on his shoulders? Why does history repeat itself?"
He takes another gulp of Scotch. "At what point does remaining a neutral party in a war become just...irresponsibly letting shit happen to the innocent?"
"There are dozens of people I could ask for help, but what exactly would I ask them to help me with?" Pause. "Well, that one's rhetorical, I suppose."
"Would someone like to bring me another bottle of liquor? This one's almost out."
The multiverse isn't that simple, though. He's still in contact with his home and at least one of his brothers, and there's still a war going on there. As much as he wishes he could stay on the sidelines of it completely, he knows, rationally, that that isn't a possibility. Not forever.
Right now, he's seated at a cafe table with the dregs of a bottle of Glenmorangie, which he is classlessly swigging straight out of the bottle. There's a bag from a pet store beside him, but in his lap there's a notebook, and he's scribbling in it, with a fine sepia pen. No one save another angel is likely to be able to read his notes; they're in Enochian.
"I have too many questions to ask, I think," he says, adding a flourish to one of the sigils on his page. "What would you do if your family was divided, violently, and at war? How can you reassure a brother with the weight of the world on his shoulders? Why does history repeat itself?"
He takes another gulp of Scotch. "At what point does remaining a neutral party in a war become just...irresponsibly letting shit happen to the innocent?"
"There are dozens of people I could ask for help, but what exactly would I ask them to help me with?" Pause. "Well, that one's rhetorical, I suppose."
"Would someone like to bring me another bottle of liquor? This one's almost out."
