|| the experience of survival is the key ||

Lord Rosiel?

How did you--? I thought you were elsewhere...but you're...

[ooc: Seeing double, Katan? Happy father's day, kiddo.]

Comments: http://poly-chromatic.dreamwidth.org/449608.html

The City is tiresome. Less for what it is than for who is in it. Less for who they are than for what they do. Less for what they do than for the lack of thought behind it.

If they would stop and consider, if they would stop from rushing ahead even for a moment, most all of the problems in the City could be resolved. But, instead, there is misunderstanding and violence and lies and suffering. There's entirely too much pain and suffering and the people cry out for relief but they can have none because they have brought these things on themselves. And there's never more than a passing thought given, neither before nor after. I count myself guilty among them, yes, but I have given consideration to these things. There is pain that must be endured, sometimes. And one can consider this as well.

It's as though everyone seeks out the pain in which they find themselves. There is pain that must be endured and there is pain that can be avoided. There is some wisdom in knowing the difference. It's foolishness to fall into both and bewail the situation. Bewailing the situation at all is fruitless. Endure, contemplate, act, or be silent. It does no good to complain for its own sake. A cry for help, yes, that much is understandable. Complaining does nothing for pain, but that seems to be the only thing that ever happens here. No thought, no consideration, no decisions, but only complaints at finding oneself in pain. When forethought or consideration could have avoided it in the first place. Or made clear the reason for it, at least. Maybe complaints ought to be turned to contemplation, since complaints only make clear that one is in pain. Think on it for a while.

I would stand against it all but--

It's all familiar. And it's true: there is no new thing under the sun.

[ooc: Someone has a case of "No Inner Monologue." Everyone run. Katan thinks you are all immature :|]

Comments: http://poly-chromatic.dreamwidth.org/334686.html

It seems, if not sacrilege, a very poor joke. Somehow.

[ooc: Says the angel with reason to believe he'll die very soon after getting back to his own world.]

Comments: http://poly-chromatic.dreamwidth.org/266951.html

The desert is difficult, but not impassable. Even the creatures aren't so terrible if they can't be avoided.

Lord Rosiel, I don't know how we were separated-- I have secured some supplies and will return to you immediately. Are you yet in this desert? I think you must be.

[ooc: As you may or may not be surprised to learn, the heaven from which he comes is sort of one giant military-industrial complex. Are we surprised that he has gone full soldier for the moment? No, we are not. Yes, he has a gun (don't ask me why, but it's adorable).]

Comments: http://poly-chromatic.dreamwidth.org/115199.html

Such an odd custom.

It is the purview of Assiah, though, to do such things.

And of Hell, too.

And no wonder.

[ooc: He's...around, if you're looking for him. And there's probably mistletoe there too. Of course. N.B.: he's tall. You might have to stand on your toes to kiss him. Rosiel. Or break out your 6" heels. Either way. Not that he'll be into it, since, you know blatant carnality is generally Frowned Upon up in his version of Heaven.]

I must not.

I cannot.

Forgive me.

[ooc: He's a canon cannibal. Or was, rather. He got better. How could he not have to endure this? He'll eat you if you'd like, though he would prefer angels (that's what he ate before, when he, you know, was sort of just a mass of wires and chunks of flesh--oops). Om nom nom angels.]

[Voice Post]

((A rushing comes across the sky (and across the Network), dark blue and falling fast. Wings askew, trailing, falling much farther than the faller knew he should fall, but in blackness now, unaware: falling angel, but not fallen, straight down onto Misery Square.

There. Minds that move swifter than winds, faster than falling, the mockery of his guilt to fall. There. Stone and contact, collapse and still more blood, but breath as there was life, and a body still.

After a long and sickening moment, noise, breath, life, but barely. The eye unclouded by blood opens, spins around the square and stares... It takes him a moment to find the word for what he sees...))

A carousel--?

((Breathing as though conscious of breath and need therefore))

This...

This is not the tower.
No, this isn't Heaven at all...or Assiah... ... Or Hell...

((A long pause, a shuddering gasp))

But Lord Rosiel--

--is here.

((scraping, dragging, never mind the crackle of bone))

I must go to him.

Lord Rosiel, can you hear me calling? I will never be mistaken again. I am coming back to you.

((Scraping and dragging... A pause for breath... Scraping and dragging resume... And this continues...

[//voice post ends]

[ooc: Welcome to the City, Katan. Action or voice (thanks to the device in his pocket), as you please, but don't expect all that much out of him as yet. That was something like 180 lbs of cherub at terminal velocity... Not dead yet!]

Lord Rosiel.

You have returned.

Ms. Sutcliff?
I realized that I don't have a girl I like.
To be my muse, I mean.

But I still wrote a poem.
This is about a person I met a long time ago.
It doesn't rhyme.
But some of the poems we read this year didn't rhyme either.

I hope this will be all right, sir. Ma'am.

BRIGHT LIGHT
There was a brightness and a wideness at first and,
As they say, "Let there be light" and there was light.
I saw light, then.
I saw you, then.
And you saw me.

With light comes shadows.
Patience and force, I would come to see it better.
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! And the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

The sharp snap in punishment, of secrets revealed,
Punished for that.
Then rewarded, secrets in secret.

It was always brightness and clarity.
Like looking down into clear water.
I'd never seen clear water before.
Like looking up into a clear sky.
I'd never seen a clear sky before.

"This is the pain of the body," you said.
That was when I learned what pain was.
That was when I learned what love was.

[ooc: Katan is a student at Cutlers Grammar School and has been aged down for the curse. And Grell demanded that he write a poem about a girl he likes. ... So he wrote a poem about Rosiel. Cough cough. Also, yes, I did rip off Hopkins for a line or two. Bad poets imitate, good poets steal, all right? ;3;]

|| [Voice Post] ||
((Click.))
((The sound of wind, footsteps in snow. A voice, male, but with female intonations and inflections...))

It's cruel of her.
Too cruel of her, the way she keeps me locked away.

I know these matters are complex.
But I can understand them.
I'm old enough know. I know well enough.

My questions aren't answered...
There are secrets and lies...

...

Ah... It's so cold...

She keeps me locked away.
Hidden, lied about, disguised.
It isn't for shame.
It's for her own purposes.

And now, I've made my escape.

... ... ...

But I'm as soon lost as I'm free.

...

I know what I am.
And I shall not behave as anything less.

... ... ...
((Shuffle, shuffle, hand in a pocket or pouch or purse. Oh, hey, the network device is turned on...))

Ah--!
What's this--?

If she heard me--
((Click))
|| [//voice post ends] ||

[ooc: This is how we do crack. Katan is a boy who's been raised as a girl by his more-than-half-mad father, Rosiel. He's been taken into the care of his Aunt Alexiel now, who's fairly cruel to him. You see, being a princess, if he marries, he becomes the Queen of Heaven. And he's going to fall in love, of course. ... AND, YES, HE'S WEARING THE OBLIGATORY BODICE. Just watch. You'll see it. ... /)_x;;]