Demiurge says "It's past midnight. ;)"
Demiurge says "Where is Aron, and what are his plans?"
Aron considers. "Does Aron know the mechanism by which one alerts the Seneschal of the Dream Tether? I mean, you can hardly knock on the Washington Monument."
Demiurge says "The Seneschal is presumably somewhere around the place. One just wanders around and looks hopeful, and the Seneschal should notice you."
Demiurge says "Unless you've been there before. Has Aron been there before?"
Aron says "Probably, yes, though not in this vessel."
Demiurge says "Then you know the Seneschal is a Seraph, who likes to hang around in an "old caretaker" vessel/role, picking up litter, near the Monument."
Aron hops in the Audi, then, and navigates towards the Monument. He puts in an audio book - a children's book by a prospective client.
Demiurge says "You arrive there at about two am. The night is quiet and moonlit. Peaceful."
Aron steps out into the night, enjoying the silence after the boop-boop of the alarm setting. He tucks his hands into his pockets and strolls slowly towards the moonlit monument.
A hobbling old man comes into sight round the edge of the monument, pausing to skewer a crisp packet with his litter-pole and drop it into a bag.
Aron finds himself a seat on the grass, knees drawn up, and waits for the man's rounds to bring him closer.
The man slowly wanders towards Aron, collecting litter as he does. His eyes are keener than they should be as he glances towards the seated man.
<
The old man says, as he approaches, "Odd time of night to be out, young man." There's a faint
wheeze to his voice.
Aron sketches a smile. "Best time of night to be out." He pushes to his feet and brushes the dew
from him before offering his hand.
The old man - who you recognise as the Seneschal - transfers his skewering pole to his left hand,
and returns the shake. "Do I know you, young man?"
<
Aron shakes the hand and nods. "Taroniel, sir," he says quietly.
Aron pages: Is this gent actually older than me, celestially?
You paged Aron with 'You think he might be. It's never come up in conversation.'.
The older man nods, releasing your hand. "Phaleris. What can I do for you?"
Aron looks wry. "I've had a run of odd luck, m'lord, and I think I'd best make a report."
Phaleris nods. "Better tell me about it, then. I'll be glad to listen. Need to go up to mention it to
our Mistress, or can normal channels handle it?"
Aron rubs his jaw. "Let me tell you, and take guidance from your opinion?"
Phaleris shuffles into motion again, gesturing Aron to walk alongside him. "Surely, young man.
Now, what's been going on?"
Aron clasps hands behind his back and walks. "Well, it's somewhat embarassing, really. I just got
here - to monitor Nightmare's activity in the area."
Phaleris nods, piercing a plastic cup and dropping it into his bag. "Sounds excellent."
Aron nods. "I was quite looking forward to it, considering my options over a cup of coffee when
I realized that the other person at my table was a Servitor of nightmare."
Phaleris frowns. "Do you find that this happens to you often?"
Aron coughs. "I wouldn't call it frequent, no. In fact, the situation was relatively unique." He licks
his lips. "She could Redeem."
Phaleris' shuffle skips a beat. "Hm. That's unusual."
Aron nods. "I agree. In fact, she *must* redeem."
Aron looks up at the moon. "I know what she can be."
Phaleris' voice is gentle. "What could she be?"
Aron's smile is rueful. "Greater than I."
Phaleris frowns, wrinkles lining his face. He strolls a few more steps. "And yet you dream for her.
That's very worthy of you, young man."
Aron nods, without necessarily agreeing. "Heaven needs angels greater than I." He smiles. "I have
her staying at the Tether of Creation."
Phaleris nods vaguely. "Probably very wise of you. Most sensible. What's her name, and what
Band is she?"
Aron says "She calls herself Azalea, and she could be of the best of the Wheels."
Phaleris nods again. "I'll pass the word on. How did she turn up at your dinner table?"
Aron smiles, suddenly. "She was meeting with an Ofanite of Trade." He frowns. "And that brings
up ... you know, there's a lot more to this than I thought."
Phaleris says, dryly, "Pray do not spare my tender youthful ears. Tell me the worst."
Aron chuckles. "The Game is, for some reason, interested in several of the local angels, including
a Mercurian of Flowers, some Servitor of Lightning - a self-proclaimed rat of electricity - and Liz,
the Wheel of Trade."
Phaleris mmphs. "Odd group." He scoops up a candy wrapper. "Do they spend time together or
something?"
Aron shrugs, helplessly. "The Mercurian, Shannen - a pretty girl - runs a coffee shop. I believe
many of them may gather there."
Phaleris has the look of one to whom all has been explained. "Ah. Coffee. That makes sense."
Aron says "Nightmare sent Azalea to spy on Liz, it seems, unwittingly. Azalea used the
opportunity to make contact."
Phaleris nods, as they continue to walk. "So where is the Game based? Or where was Azalea to
report to?"
Aron says "I've yet to ask her. However, I know the others are investigating a place called
Bellman's Studios."
Aron rubs at his temples. "This is my first day here, you understand."
Phaleris nods approvingly. "You do keep busy. I admire that in a young man."
Aron laughs. "Precious little of this is of my doing, I'm afraid. So, in the end, I am anxious. I have
pledged my protection to this group of angels, should the Game come for them."
Aron says "And I must see to Azalea's Redemption, but feel I have not enough softness in me for
it."
Phaleris is silent a while. He says, eventually, "Boy, you may not have enough softness for her,
but you damn well don't have enough for yourself either."
Aron nods. "I've none left to spare," he admits.
Phaleris pokes a hole in a coke can. "You've got a Flowers girl, you say. Use her. You've got half
the blessed Choirs represented, from what you say. Aren't your people supposed to be good at
using resources?"
Aron glances sidelong at Phaleris. "Truthspeaker," he accuses, gently. Then, "I've given her a bit
of hope, shaped like a hand. I'll try - we'll try."
Phaleris reverses the pole, and taps him on the shoulder with the blunt end. "You're expected to
try, young man. I want to hear you saying that you hope to succeed."
Aron says, more intensely, "I have to succeed. You have to *see* her to know, but it's there."
Phaleris nods, slowly. "You have my prayers, and the prayers of all your fellows. Do you think
that she will come to our Mistress?"
Aron shakes his head. "Though her hate may be turned into something else, it will not be the love
the bright Lady requires. She seeks Fire."
Phaleris taps his pole against the ground for a few steps. "Perhaps. She probably knows little. Do
not force her into any choices, if you can help it. She'll resent you for it."
<
Aron nods. "As much as my instincts demand she Redeem immediately, I've realized that she's just
not ready."
Phaleris sighs faintly. "Give the girl time. We've probably got no idea of what she went through
to actually come to us."
Aron nods. "It's frustrating. She wants to come to Heaven with no idea at all of what Heaven is
- of what good is."
Aron says "And explaining such things to a demon is an exercise in compromise. It was, ah,
difficult."
Phaleris nods, placidly. "I'm sure that you will do your best, though. Has she broken her Heart?"
Aron looks stunned. "I did not even think to ask."
Phaleris nods again. "Could be awkward. Best of luck handling it. I wouldn't suggest she goes
back to do it now, really, unless she's sure she'd be unsuspected. No, not really. Good thing you've
got her safe."
Aron nods. "Well, ah, I believe that takes care of everything. I suppose I really should stay here."
The last is said somewhat mournfully.
Phaleris frowns at Aron. "If you feel that you can spare the time and Essence for a short while in
Heaven, young man, then take the time. Great God, what are they teaching Malakim these days?
Just don't slouch around like that feeling guilty."
<
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<
<
Aron grins, despite himself. "The guilt's an old habit, not a new one, elder." His grin turns wry at
that last. "Very well, I could use a short trip, if I've your..." he pauses. "Know you any, ah, quieter
ways for our brethren to move from the realm?"
<
Phaleris points towards a small janitorial-type building to one side. "There's a cot in there, so you
can ascend to the Marches from there if you want. No problem."
Aron nods. "Thank you." With that, he moves to embrace the older man.
Phaleris returns the embrace, bonily. Though not for very long.
Aron moves to the indicated room, gets comfortable in the indicated cot, and dreams himself to
Heaven.
You arrive in the Marches easily, while your body lies sleeping below. You can find a Servitor of
Blandine to report to again, if you want, and can go via Blandine's Tower to Heaven proper.
Aron will, upon finding an appropriate Servitor, offer the abridged version of the report, and then
drift into the Tower and to Heaven. From there, it's to the Cathedral of Purity.
Uriel's Cathedral, when you get there, is silent and empty. Pale corridors are painfully familiar, as
are the crossed weapons on the wall, or the heads and hides of trophy beasts.
Aron passes through the halls quietly, pausing to remember a crest on a shield or the slaying of
a beast. He makes his way to a small chapel, after a somewhat ceremonial and quite unncessary
bath. He kneels in the bare chapel and prays. It's an archaic sort of habit, but it is, if nothing else,
peaceful.
There is a long silence in the place that eventually becomes comfortable, a stillness that is
peaceful. Old light filters through the alabaster of the walls, and for a while clarity and purity seem
possible things, real things.
<
>From afar, Aron prays, silently, "Lord, lend me light enough that I may know Purity is not lost.
Let me find in myself the skill to purify this most impure of things - a demon. If this is my test,
Lord, I pray you, let me know myself enough to face it."
Aron, when prayer is finished, will head down dirtside once again.
Light falls through the window above, down over Aron, like a benediction.
---