IC: EVENT

[bossman]

A TERRIBLE THING IS HAPPENING

reference books detailing myths and legends stolen from libraries...
wikipedia pages wiped clean from the face of the internet...
ancient stained glass windows smashed and destroyed...
historical research centers burnt to the ground...

Someone out there is trying very, very hard to erase all of the possible sources of power and belief of the ancient gods and goddesses. And it hurts. Whilst the powers of the minders are unharmed by the attacks, the gods and goddesses will be certainly feeling the toll: it's now painfully clear that even the simplest of miracles are now becoming almost impossible to perform.

deities, you had better have gifted your minders with some decent blessings! Because now you're going to rely on them more than ever. Someone is out to get you.

Comments

band of brothers meeting | cathedral of st. sophia

[apreparescuer]

[Uriel is, as promised, waiting in the gloriously old Cathedral of Saint Sophia, thankful that this 'Payton Penn' and his followers did nothing to harm its structure or holiness.

Lying on its aged floor, Uriel does his best to remain still, patient and confident in his brothers, occupying his mind with the architecture above.

They cannot remain here, nor will they. Uriel feels in the shudder of his charred wings the aching need to return to Jerusalem of Gold.

Their holy city needs them all.]

[attends]

[Raphael is usually a pillar of patience and good-natured suffering for the sake of slow and steady wins the race, but given the circumstances he feels at odds with everything he knows he should be.

Archangels aren't supposed to get tired so easily, aren't supposed to sweat into the collar of their crisply pressed shirt and definitely aren't supposed to feel nauseous at the slightest effort needed for international travel the conventionally human way. Air travel via an aeroplane, Raphael decides very quickly, isn't something he enjoys in the slightest.

Their journey to Russia is long and borders on painful in every way; he's too used to flying borne on his own two wings. They aren't capable of getting him anywhere else having been to find Gabriel in a panicked flurry of feathers and ending up collapsed in an alleyway near the Old Bailey. What strength he has left has his brother's name on it, instead. It's to be used only for Uriel, for his brother who had sounded so guilty. It hurts in a way Raphael has to push away more than once so he doesn't tire himself out to exhaustion in wanting to fix it all, the physical and emotional hurt.

When they finally arrive, the cathedral having housed his brother, protected him, he tears ahead and doesn't need his eyes to know where Uriel is lying. He can feel it, can feel the breaks and bruises that need his care.]

Uriel. [His usually steady, slow, rhythmic and smooth tones are broken up into painful syllables, trailing off because it hurts. Everything hurts. Sinking to his knees beside his brother he doesn't hesitate in brushing a hand over his forehead, thumb stroking a gentle line up from between his eyebrows to his hairline. His other hand, fingers already outstretched, presses over the other angel's heart, palm flat and sure despite the cold sweat that has gripped him.]

[apreparescuer]

[It's a long wait for the sanctity of his brother's arms, and Uriel knows how much it will hurt Raphael to see his state. Uriel has been fortunate in one way, though his luck this day is relative in all that has happened. The chapel and its clergy have been a haven despite his obvious connection--somehow--to the museum. They helped him to a place of refuge, there before the altar, leaving him to be in its sanctuary, for as old as it is and as much as the church's walls have witnessed, Uriel is not the most unnatural thing they could give refuge to. It was the flickering sight of wings, hanging and battered from Uriel's body, that gave these men of faith enough to let him stay. They were never given his name, nor did they ask.

Uriel was long ago stripped of his rank by the church. He could not dare.

The angel lies, now, alone, burned, cut, scraped, and taking in each breath with labour. The chapel floor around him is littered with metallic pieces of shrapnel he had pulled away and a few, fallen, charred feathers. His wings are spread on the floor at his back, lax against its hallowed stones.]

Brother.

[Uriel still looks up at Raphael with grateful eyes, relieved and pained with guilt for what he has done.]

I'm sorry.