old church, new choir

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The sound of wingbeats momentarily echoed in the deadening silence of the damp copse of trees. It had just rained; Malachi was fond of turbulent weather, and had been out for a very refreshing flight above the clouds. They were very beautiful from above, rolling and purple, with the sunlight refracting off the water droplets and exploding into tiny prisms. The angel had needed some time to himself, away from the chaos that choked the little city. Flying helped him to clear his head, and the clouds to remind him of his holy purpose. The angel's mindset was subject to disturbance if he felt himself straying-- after so much time away from heaven, he sometimes found it more difficult to keep his mind focused on the task at hand. He wondered, as he descended from his flight now that the rain had stopped, if that was how black angels fell. Malachi had spoken to many on that subject, of course, and was always happy to help the few Fallen he found who sought to regain their wings. Still, he couldn't understand how it quite...happened. The Fall.

He hoped, really, that he never would. The man's feet touched soil, and he looked around as he shook off his wings from the water droplets they'd accumulated. Chi noted that he'd landed just outside of some sort of curious old church, and the more he studied the place around him, the more he realized how beautiful it was despite it's ruin. It was surrounded by what might've been an orchard before, but was now an overgrowth of all sorts of plant life. Ivy scaled one wall, which he noted was about to collapse. Still, he entered, quite undeterred by the fact that the church was about to cave in on itself.

The first thing his bare foot noticed (he didn't take flights of fancy with shoes on, apparently) was the broken glass of a shattered stained-glass window, scattered about on the uneven cobblestones of the ancient floor. Malachi hissed and lifted his foot, picking out a piece of yellow glass-- someone's halo, he thought-- and healing the cut as a matter of an instant. All that remained was a smear of blood, which he hardly bothered to wipe away. The white angel moved on through the ruined sanctum, more careful now of where he tread. Malachi moved on into the chapel, blue-grey eyes wide as the man, a vision in a white tee and khaki slacks, moved through the wreckage. He ran his hand over the dusty wood of an old pew, but turned abruptly as he heard a sound nearby, wings spreading behind him in surprise.

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Krystin had decided to take a break from Kayen. He was scary and she had to get away from him, if only for a little. She knew that Kayen couldn't get her if she flew away, and she would go back, eventually. There was nothing that she could do to avoid it. He was her new master, and she had to get over it.

She had just flown towards one of the many churches in the city. She had saw another White Angel fly towards the church and decided that it may be fun to talk to someone of her own species. "Hello" She called out softly, not letting her voice be too loud. She didn't know who this Angel was, but she would find out.

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Sorry Its Short.

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Malachi let out a long sigh when he saw the white wings of his kind. Just another angel-- he was safe. But he didn't really relax, only straightened and folded his wings. The angel was, in the company of humans, an easygoing and friendly man. In the presence of his own kind, however, he adopted an odd sort of stiffness and detached aloofness. He acted in the sort of unemotional, unhuman way he had always been in heaven, before all these years he'd spent on Earth. Chi stood to face the other angel, face devoid of expression and shoulders duly squared "Hello," he responded, blue-gray eyes cool as gunmetal. It was a blank look, like the man's mind was somewhere far away. Anyone who had known him, and how he acted generally, would've thought something was wrong with Malachi, but he'd never been expressive amongst his own kind. It wasn't that he didn't like them, or didn't fit in, but where he believed the Earth-bound needed his emotions, whether to echo theirs or to make him seem more approachable, he had never felt the need for such things among angels.

The other angel's presence here wasn't unusual-- honestly, angels tended to hang around churches pretty regularly. Still, he could hardly see the woman besides her silhouette. The sun was behind her-- he squinted slightly; "Who's there? It was a quiet question that carried easily in the heavy silence that coated the world after it rained, especially in the church. The acoustics, if little else, had remained, and the angel's deep voice echoed around the stone walls.

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Krystin smiled at the other Angel. He didn't really look comfortable, but she wouldn't either, if some random person was near you, and you didn't know them, but they decided to talk to you. That would be awkward, and she instantly regretted saying Hello. But the other angel still responded. "Hello There" She said softly, not wanting to scare him, but she didn't think that she could. But you never know.

Krystin heard his answer and knew it was legit. "I'm Krystin" She called out. Hoping that he hadn't already heard of her, the relatively new angel. The one that was in love with the alpha lycan. She had been well known around with the angels. The innocent new comer, the one who everyone thought would never fall. She's too innocent some said. "And how about you" she said breaking her own train of though. She didn't like it when people said that she couldn't mess up, she could. She could do anything everyone else could.

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Here, in the presence of a fellow angel, Chi didn't feel as strange as he sometimes did about using his wings. As a result, instead of walking the several treacherous yards back up the chapel in bare feet, the angel leapt lightly into the air and glided toward the girl. He came to an easy, soft landing a polite distance away from her, his face impassive for the moment. Malachi studied this person before him as his wings furled at his back. They were extensive things, quite a bit longer than he was tall, and armed with broad, thick feathers. The white pinions were not quite like bird feathers; they were strong enough to lift a body as solid as Chi's but light enough to sustain flight, and not quite white either. The color of the man's feathers seemed to have worn off in various places to an ashy rust-brown color, not shockingly apparent but visible to the canny observer. It was less a sign of any sort of sin or fall from grace, and more a result of Malachi's age. It was the only part of him that seemed to register having been around for so long-- the wings healed and regenerated just like the rest of him, but retained their faded discolorations. Malachi liked them. He felt they lended a bit of character to the otherwise intimidating purity of blindingly white wings. And, of course, they weren't as reflective, which was nice.

"Malachi." The syllables were rich and mellifluous as he spoke them, his accent the result of a man who spoke 30 lifetimes' worth of languages and had watched the one he now spoke grow and take form. To the trained observer, his face was of some Slavic heritage, but to those not profoundly familiar with the subject he looked like any nondescript Caucasian-American mutt. Helpful, in North America and Europe, the continents he'd primarily worked in, but just another way to stick out in a crowd in places like China and India. Anywhere he went, however, he was easily one of the most handsome specimens to be found-- angelic beauty took many forms in many different angels, and in Malachi it emerged as a perfection of form not unlike that which inspired the physiques of the Greek gods. "I hope the recent rain hasn't dampened your spirits too much today, miss Krystin."