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Posted: Aug 24 2015, 06:51 PM
He trips on the leg of a dismembered chair and she laughs, a dark, rich laugh that shakes the air between them. Her face flashes in the darkness of his memory and his temper flares white-hot. But they are the same now, the same subhuman bottom feeders, and as he tries to balance with his palm flat against the dilapidated wall, anger turns to sadness. She notices; he can hear her breath catch with delight. “Oh, how the mighty fall! They took your eyes, too, fly-boy? You always did have wandering eyes.” Of course she can see through his glamor; of course she can see the white, glossy remnants of his eyes. The way the sound travels from the sides of her mouth, he can almost see her smirk.
Almost. He supposes that’s the point.
The silence between them lasts longer than she likes. “They didn’t take your tongue, too, did they? Not that I’d mind. Put my mind at ease, actually.”
“That’s intact, unfortunately,” he admitted. Paying customers were paying customers. “What can I do for you, Belial?”
“I hear you’re the man to go to these days if someone needs something found.” He runs a thumb nervously over a raised scar on his left arm, and she notices that too, chuckling abruptly. “Oh, that’s ancient history. We’re on the same side now.”
He winces at the thought, but she’s not wrong. The fight has gone out of him, perhaps somewhat ironically—Michael has banished him for fear that he is dangerous, but now his body hurt in places he didn’t realize human vessels could feel pain. He wants to snap at her, wants to scream, and if that’s the end of it, well—his end at Belial’s hand has been a long time coming.
But he doesn’t scream and he doesn’t die, and instead he draws a deep, shaky breath. “What do you need found? I can’t make any promises. It all depends on who passes through.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure it won’t be difficult now that you’re down here with the rest of us dogs. Should just be a simple scry. My baby brother’s gone off on one of his escapades again, and I’d like to meet up with him.” Remiel’s heart feels like it stops, though it can’t have, because he can still feel the pounding in his ears.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about his whereabouts already, would you?” she asks, clearly gleeful at his discomfort.
“I have no idea where your brother is. I don’t really want to know where your brother is.”
Remiel has not lied in thousands of years, not since Michael ripped his ability to do so after their brothers fell. Perhaps it is a fair exchange; his eyes, which had been all but burned away on his descent, for the freedom to cover his own ass.
From the gruff sound she makes and the way she hisses, irritated at his lack of knowledge and not yet angered by his insincerity, Belial has not gotten the memo. He will live another day. “If he shows up, you’ll be the first to know,” he continues, just as genuine. “Running away from his beloved big sister, though? What did you say to your poor baby brother?”
“He doesn’t appreciate my comments about his lovers, I think,” she spits, and leaves.
The wall guides him back to a sitting position on the floor. He can feel his hands shaking, and wraps his arms around his knees. In the other room, swirling just above a map of the world above, swings a hanging chain with a single, familiar ring. Just as he can feel himself beginning to calm, the metal hits the table with a loud thunk.
Powers & Weaknesses
Remiel has been stripped of the majority of his powers. Although he is still immortal and, for the most part, invulnerable, he can no longer use the holy abilities common in angels. His only powers are basic human magics and the ability to remain hidden from other supernatural entities when necessary.
He is blind, and is very susceptible to magic with a religious origin, just as any demon might be. While he is not precisely a demon, those few demons he does have dealings with enjoy reminding him that they are close enough.