No Smoke Without Fire

<> Demiurge says "Hitherby was sneaking off down the corridor, hearing the faint melodious murmur of Persona's voice behind it."

The corridor is ivory, in a way that almost - though not quite - recalls the Council Spires. Several doors open off it, and there is a wide stairwell at the end.

Hitherby slithers for the stairwell; when she's a step or two down, she works some more on obtaining a proper camouflage color and then on shrinking down to, perhaps, a wasp.

The stairwell seems empty. No footsteps or wingbeats ascending or descending. Just a sudden shriek of rage, coming faintly through the crystal-paned window to one side.

<> Demiurge says "Make a Will roll to try for the shrink, Hitherby, at a penalty for extreme change. :)"

<> Hitherby says "Can I do it in two stages, Demi?"

<> Demiurge says "Given you're in an ivory-walled place... I'll let you make a straight will roll to try and turn all ivory, and then a penalised one to shrink to wasp state."

<> Hitherby says "Okay."

<> Hitherby rolls the d666 and gets 6 5 CHECK: 6.

<> Demiurge says "Alas, you do not go ivory."

<> Hitherby says "Eep."

<> Hitherby rolls the d666 and gets 3 5 CHECK: 4.

<> Hitherby does not shrink to wasp state, either.

<> Demiurge says "Afraid not, no."

There is another faint shriek from outside the window and below, this time more of pain than rage.

Hitherby can't resist. She raises her head to glance through the window.

Outside the window, in the open area below - somewhere amid what might be the Council Spires - a group of some fifty or sixty Malakim, with other angels intermingled, stand watching battle. A Lilim, body tangled with scars and Geas-bracelets like armour on her arms, lashes bloody-clawed at a Malakite; one of the Malakite's wings has been torn off, and gashes score his form. Nearby, a Djinn crouches beside an Impudite whose hands are bound above her head to a stake; the Impudite is female and stands with head bowed, body hopeless. Demonic shadows shift beneath the surfaces of all the "angels" - the only three there who wear their real shapes are the Lilim, the Djinn, and the Impudite.

<> Hitherby says "How far down?"

<> Demiurge says "About seven stories. And the window is thick-paned, small crystal panes set in lead."

The Malakite screams again, the sound coming faintly through the window, as the Lilim rips the other wing from his back - and then jumps at him, all claws and teeth and sheer violence.

Hitherby tries -- twice, if necessary, but no more than that -- to change her shape to resemble the Djinn, below.

<> Demiurge says "Try a Will roll, Hitherby."

<> Hitherby rolls the d666 and gets 2 4 CHECK: 3.

The Kyriotate's form ripples, to reform into the bear-wolf shape of the thuggish Djinn below.

Below, the Lilim rises from the mangled body of the "Malakite", and stalks across to the bound Impudite, tilting her claws beneath the Impudite's throat to force her to raise her chin. Gold glints at the Impudite's neck.

Hitherby continues pacing down the stairs. At least, in the Marches, Hitherby's best speed probably seems like pacing.

<> Zebina says "Oh. Great. Betharan."

<> Sephar just hides. Oh man.

<> Daimon says "She might be a prisoner, though."

The stairs curl downwards. At one intersection, the sound of hurrying feet approaches rapidly from the corridor on that landing.

<> Hitherby says "Either way, this is probably the *wrong* shape. But it made sense from what I know!"

Hitherby glances in that direction, but continues to pace. She's a Djinn. Who bloody cares about people running around?

A Mercurian comes scuffling along, in grey tunic and red sash, a pile of papers in its hands, and barely manages to catch itself, with a squeak.

<> Demiurge rolls the d666 and gets 5 5 CHECK: 6.

The Mercurian has the shadow of an Impudite to it, horns and leathery wings.

The Mercurian says, "Oh, for pity's sake, can't you lot ever stay looking like angels? We've got the blessed _Game_ here now."

<> Sephar nods. "Gamesters are *not* prisoners here. My."

<> Daimon says "Okay, my theories were wrong."

Hitherby sighs, and lowers her head.

<> Sephar hides on Daimon and liked his theory better.

Hitherby continues shuffling down the stairs.

<> Daimon is THEORYMAN! Which is his only secret identity, now that the UnnoticableMan glasses are gone.

The Mercurian yells after Hitherby, "I know you don't care, but the rest of us don't want to get into trouble because _one_ idiot isn't following orders!"

The Mercurian's voice fades as Hitherby continues down.

Hitherby stops, snorts once, and tries to shift away the wolf-part of her shape and don fake wings.

<> Demiurge says "Try a will roll. ;)"

<> Hitherby rolls the d666 and gets 4 6 CHECK: 3.

The Djinn-form becomes a reasonable Cherub-form. Well, fairly reasonable. Well, it looks okay. At least the wings bend the right way.

<> Sephar giggles so much.

Hitherby growls, in her deepest chest-voice, "Happy?" in the vague direction of where the Impudite had been. Then she continues on. However, at the next landing, she moves off into the nearby hall, turning left -- assuming there are halls at the landings.

There are the sound of a pair of double doors opening on the next flight down, and a mutter of conversation, as perhaps a dozen sets of steps begin to come upwards.

The floor which Hitherby is exploring seems to be one that contains records. There are many stacks of paper. From further in comes the sound of scribbling, and a computer keyboard being typed on.

Hitherby glances in both directions to see if she's disturbed, and then idly slurps up the top of a stack of papers, chews, and swallows. Who knows? A Superior might be able to reconstruct them after she eats an emetic.

<> Zebina says "Ummmm..."

<> Demiurge cracks up.

The papers taste foul.

<> Dana_ laughs out loud.

<> arcangel giggles madly.

<> Zebina just adores Servitors of Jordi.

<> Maxwell says "Or maybe you can learn the info by eating it!"

<> Dana_ says ""It would be research through osmosis!"

There is a pause from the direction of the typing, then the sound of several books being dumped hard on the desk, and a low-toned mutter of annoyance.

Hitherby walks in that direction.

A coiled Seraph - with the shadow of a Balseraph around him - looks up from the computer, and mutters, "Some people are so damn hard to script for. Hi there. You new?"

<> Zebina says "Yup. Media."

Hitherby growls, "Could you keep it *down* in here?"

The Seraph flips his tail. "I'm just trying to stream the subjects. At least it keeps me out of the Game's way. Did you know they'd sent a team here?" He seems almost pitifully eager to gossip.

Hitherby's nose wrinkles and she opens her mouth in a bear smile. "Yeah. But *I* don't know anything they'd want."

Hitherby appears to contemplate whether this is true of a Balseraph scripter.

The Balseraph makes a self-sufficient gesture with his tail. "True. You lot don't get to see the records." The thought makes him look smug.

Hitherby shrugs.

The Seraph shrugs. "So, did you have to go see the "loyalty demonstration"?"

Hitherby says, "Just keep it down. And stick in that line about 'live from New York.'" Hitherby quotes one of the five TV shows she's seen. "It gets me every time."

<> Hitherby thinks. Maybe not a whole five. But she's been a cat in a house for a week :)

The Seraph blinks all six eyes.

Hitherby turns around and paces out.

The Seraph says, "Are you joking? We're trying to stress the Heaven-as-Pure stuff here. I've even got some stuff about bookburnings." He snorts.

Hitherby pauses and glances back.

The Seraph yells, after the retreating Hitherby, "You're a Kobalite, aren't you? Heh. I knew it!"

The Seraph says, smugly, "Pegged you the moment I saw you."

Hitherby says, almost amused, "I work for the coolest Prince there is. *You* figure it out."

The Seraph laughs. "Yes, well. You go get back to your irony, then. *I've* got work to do."

Hitherby paces back to the stairs.

The Seraph swivels back to his computer, and begins tapping.

Hitherby continues downwards.

There are a couple of "Malakim", both with the shadows of Calabim about them, at the foot of the stairs by the double doors, both in the middle of some conversation. Both glance up as Hitherby approaches.

<> Demiurge rolls the d666 and gets 2 4 CHECK: 3.

<> Demiurge rolls the d666 and gets 2 5 CHECK: 3.

The first Malakite says, "Hey, kid, the wings are a bit off. Try it in a mirror next time."

<> Sephar just dies laughing.

<> Daimon can just feel the irony.

<> Demiurge grins.

Hitherby growls, "Sword's a bit off. It's not down your throat."

Hitherby paces between them, if she can.

Both Malakim laugh at that. The second says, "Oh, yeah, they're not doing any Groves-scenes at the moment, are they? I suppose that meant you had to watch the Loyalty Execution."

Hitherby shrugs. "Hey. Stuff happens."

The first says, "I heard that bitch tore his wings right off him and never took a wound. That so?"

Hitherby says, "Wasn't paying that much 'tention. But she was bitchin' tough for a Lilim."

Both Malakim laugh. "Yeah," the first says. "Well, Rozi should have known better. He knew the rules. No pets."

Hitherby starts to grin, then decides that it isn't worth the effort. He twitches one of his shoulders in their direction in what she imagines to be a Djinn goodbye. (She's never spent enough time with one to know these things, beyond general predilection. :))

<> Hitherby just gives up and uses 'she', even though Tebah and thus this shape is male. :)

The Malakim turn back to their conversation, something about an auction, and let Hitherby pass.

Through the double doors, outside, is a wide ivory-floored square, and the towers around it are in gold and ivory. From the distance to the right comes the sound of people, as might be heard in Heaven; a gentle hum of movement and concentration.

Hitherby looks up. Are 'angels' flying around freely or is the place sparsely populated?

The place seems comparatively sparsely populated - an occasional "angel" passes overhead, but not many.

Hitherby thinks. Well, that's still *some* people. Beating her powerful Cherubic wings, she goes upwards.

Hitherby wants an aerial view of this place.

Below stretches what might be a map of Heaven - sort of. If you took the main landmarks, jammed them into the Heavenly City, filled the spare areas with golden and ivory streets, and put a big golden wall round it. Past the wall stretch grey sands.

<> Pat has Dark City flashbacks.

Hitherby reflects, hanging in the air for a moment. Okay.

<> Hitherby says "Which areas look most populous?"

<> Demiurge says "Hm. At the moment, the main streets, and perhaps the Halls of Progress."

Hitherby moves in that direction, carefully wiping the trapped look off her face.

A Malakite circles near her as she flies towards the Halls, and raises an arm in salute. The image of a Balseraph shadows his face.

Hitherby rolls her eyes, and then dons the most cloying Cherub-parody vapid loving expression she can come up with as a return of his greeting.

The Malakite resumes his course, leaving Hitherby free to descend as she wishes.

Hitherby mutters to herself, en route, "Lilim bitch. Angels? Right. Fuck her." Unlikely that a Balseraph will have sharp ears, but hey. She repeats it a couple more times and then descends.

There are many convenient areas to land around the Halls. In one area, a group of souls are directed by angels to help set up a large device of some sort, while others carry electronic *stuff* in.

Hitherby doesn't actually turn to look at the large device, but does try to land where it's not far out of her vision.

The large device fizzles with the occasional spark. It looks dark and weird and twisted. There are clamps and bolts on it.

Hitherby ignores it thenceforth and walks inside.

The Halls of Progress are ... oddly empty, in areas. Some laboratories are full of dubious-looking equipment, and have "angels" and "blessed souls" wandering around - but others are empty, bare, unused. Sterile.

<> Demiurge says "Hitherby, try an Int roll."

<> Hitherby rolls the d666 and gets 3 1 CHECK: 2.

<> Demiurge says "Also, Hitherby, you notice that the "blessed souls" - some of them are _real_ souls. But they sure as heck don't look like blessed ones."

<> Hitherby figured.

<> Demiurge says "Hitherby, this whole place - the Halls, at least - are reminding you of your time in the House of Opera. Parts of it feel like the "backstage" area did, while others feel like "stage"."

<> Demiurge says "You also notice there are no "angels" currently around here wearing necklaces like the one you saw on the Impudite earlier, the bound one."

Hitherby stops in a 'backstage' area and attempts to become a different-looking Cherub. Say, a cheetah Cherub instead of a bear one.

<> Demiurge says "Try a Will roll."

<> Hitherby rolls the d666 and gets 4 4 CHECK: 4.

The bear-form becomes a sleeker cheetah-form.

Hitherby pads out again and looks for a lab where the souls are neither *unusually* busy nor monitored by unusually large numbers of faux-angels.

After some wandering, Hitherby comes to a lab where there are two souls putting together some lab tables, under the not-too-heavy eye of a relaxing Mercurian - who is shadowed by Impudite wings and horns.

Hitherby pads in. Glances at one of the souls. "You. Come with me."

The Mercurian glances up, shrugs. The soul bends her head obediently, and follows.

Hitherby leads the soul backstage.

The soul follows, humbly.

Hitherby says, without preamble, "I assure you; whatever suffering you have known in the past, the Game can make it seem like a pleasant memory. That stated, you will tell me everything you know about this place. I am generous; you may have seven minutes."

The soul goes sheet-white, and drops to her knees.

The soul says, "Most mighty Servitor of the Game, I know very little. I will tell you everything I know, but I beg you not to punish me because my masters have not told me things I should not know."

Hitherby says, calmly, "Six minutes fifteen seconds."

The soul gulps. "I was a soul in Tartarus, most noble lord. I served my masters there well. One day a Balseraph master told me that there was a place I could serve elsewhere. All I had to do was to play at being a soul in Heaven."

The soul says, words spilling out hastily, "Then I was brought here. I don't think they'll ever let me leave, but this is easier than Tartarus. I just carry stuff and put things together."

The soul says, "I pretend to be a soul in Heaven when the angels with collars are around. There are always other," it pauses, "other masters around to make sure they stay in the right areas. I'm just backdrop."

Hitherby watches calmly. She will let the soul finish before she asks questions.

The soul swallows. "I think we're somewhere in the Marches. I don't know! Nobody's ever told me. I was told when I started that I could make myself look like a Heavenly soul, and I found I could, if I concentrated hard enough."

The soul says, "They keep on changing the collared angels. They come, they stay a while, then they go again. The masters hardly ever leave. Persona rules here."

The soul falls silent, uncertain what to say next.

Hitherby says, calmly, "You have told me what you've been told. This is a beginning. However, you have eyes. You have a -- small -- brain. You have theories about the machinery; about the purpose of the place; about Persona; about the folk you have worked for."

The soul trembles, huddling in on itself.

Hitherby says, "Tell me."

The soul says, tentatively, "Most noble lord, I don't know this, and nobody's ever told me. I just watch. But the collared angels always seem to be doing things or seeing things that hurt them, that make them break."

The soul says, "And sometimes the masters do things that make it look as if one of the collared angels is trying to run away, but I'm not involved in any of that."

Hitherby allows the trace of a pleasant expression onto her face for a moment, and then becomes Djinn-impassive again.

Hitherby says, calmly, "You stand a chance of survival. Continue. You might avoid punishment as well."

Hitherby stresses the 'might'.

The soul trembles. "Master, I don't know anything more! I don't know what you want to hear!"

Hitherby scratches thoughtfully at the floor with one claw.

Hitherby says, finally, "Do not speak of this visit to your masters, however interested they might be."

The soul crouches very low, clearly terrified.

Hitherby turns, and lopes from the room.

Hitherby . o O ( I *hope* he goes ahead and tells them. )

The Halls are still busy - at least, in some areas. Others are quiet and still, bland and functionless.

Hitherby heads to another backstage area and attempts to become -- are there shark Cherubim?

<> Demiurge says "Somehow I think not."

Hitherby shifts to something simple. A stag Cherub. They *know* Hitherby's self-image in female. And, more to the point, doe Cherubim would be pretty pathetic in combat.

<> Demiurge says "Will roll, Hitherby."

<> Hitherby rolls the d666 and gets 3 3 CHECK: 6.

The leopard-Cherub becomes a stag-Cherub.

Hitherby heads out, walking a quarter-inch above the floor so as not to go clack-clack-clack-clack-clack.

<> Demiurge rolls the d666 and gets 4 5 CHECK: 6.

Nobody gives Hitherby a second look.

Above, a group of perhaps five Malakim, all with the sleekness of Balseraphic forms, turn in a slow shift pattern against the sky. Paranoid Kyriotates might even think it a search pattern.

<> Pat says "Paranoia? In this group? Pshaw."

Hitherby heads purposefully along the street outside. Ethereal Tongues would be so useful. She looks for a demon traveling alone.

Hitherby ignores the Malakim nee Balseraphim.

An "Elohite" travelling on his own can be noticed; he wears a sash, patterned in black and gold, but Hitherby can see the truth of the scars that lace his skin.

Hitherby attempts to come up beside him, a polite and give-me-room distance away.

The Elohite glances towards Hitherby, and inclines his head slightly.

Hitherby says, very very faintly annoyed, "The next thing. Where?"

The Elohite says, "What?"

<> Demiurge rolls the d666 and gets 4 5 CHECK: 4.

Hitherby says, patiently and apathetically, "I was told to come with some others for chain-duty, but I got tired of walking."

The Elohite frowns. "Chain-duty?"

Hitherby's nostrils flare and she looks down. "Be that way."

Hitherby keeps walking with him.

The Elohite turns to regard Hitherby more fully.

<> Demiurge rolls the d666 and gets 5 3 CHECK: 4.

The Elohite says, coldly, "Your guise is shoddy, Corruptor. Mind your own business before you endeavour to teach me mine." He turns away again.

Hitherby . o O ( AUGH! I do *not* look like a Shedite! Not not not! )

<> Chephirah HOWLS!

<> arcangel cracks up!

<> Demiurge says "Well, he _made_ his Perception roll, he saw echoes of Kyrioform, but clearly Hitherby couldn't be a Kyriotate, so logically..."

Hitherby spits something unintelligible, because it's not actually a word, and canters off in a real *and* fake snit.

The Elohite continues off blandly.

Hitherby takes a turnoff and heads towards -- well, would she need to loop back on herself to reach the Halls of Creation? If so, then I'll head towards the Cathedral of the Sword. Otherwise, Creation.

Hitherby mutters, between angry snorts, "Not. Not not not." But only when out of earshot.

<> Demiurge says "Hitherby, you can probably get to the Halls of Creation without looping back on yourself."

<> Hitherby does so.

Hitherby thinks. Thinks. Thinks.

It is easy enough for Hitherby to find her way to the Halls of Creation, though they do not seem very ... busy ... at the moment. A few souls are being directed by a "Cherub" to tidy the place and dust rooms.

Hitherby finds another backstage to become a Malakite.

<> Demiurge says "Will roll."

<> Hitherby rolls the d666 and gets 5 4 CHECK: 4.

The Cherub-form becomes a Malakite one.

<> Demiurge says "Hitherby, how much like a _genuine_ Malakite are you trying to look?"

<> Demiurge says "Consciously or unconsciously?"

<> Chephirah says "Uh-oh. :)"

<> Sephar grins.

<> Hitherby says, "Sadly, I think Hitherby is aiming for genuine Malakite rather than faux-Malakite. In part because she has a much better idea of what a genuine Malakite looks like."

<> Demiurge says "In that case - you look like a genuine Malakite. Nice stormcloud wings and all."

Hitherby stretches her wings and rattles her oath-chains.

<> Demiurge says "How many oath-chains? :)"

<> Hitherby says "Six. This is probably most like a Malakite that Hitherby really respects."

<> Sephar says "My."

<> Hitherby says "And they do tend to accumulate :)"

The Halls of Creation are silent and stagnant, except for the distant sounds of cleaning.

Hitherby checks curiously to see if she has a sword that's part of her sheath which is part of her back, no sword at all, or a sword she can draw but not drop.

There doesn't seem to be a sword at all.

Hitherby . o O ( Who needs a weapon when you're this buff? )

Hitherby heads out into the city and starts searching for where the chained angels are generally kept. She does not know where this is, so she goes by best guesses.

<> Hitherby Int rolls re: best guesses.

<> Hitherby rolls the d666 and gets 3 4 CHECK: 4.

<> Hitherby doesn't guess too well, unless it's easy :)

<> Hitherby knows she may be interrupted before reaching the first guess, or the second, or the third, but hey, she planned her search in advance :)

<> Demiurge says "Hitherby, if you don't mind, I think I'll hold there, and we'll restart next time with you searching."

<> Hitherby says "Okay!"

When consciousness slowly returns to Daimonique - again - she is conscious of the same bed beneath her, the same sunlit room.

Daimonique sighs, and turns over on her side, blinking slowly.

The same Mercurian is sitting by the bed. She asks, worriedly, "Do you feel better?"

Daimonique sits up, and rubs her head with both hands.

Daimonique says "Just fuzzy."

The Mercurian nods. She reaches across to fill a glass of water, again, and half laughs. "I keep on doing this!"

Daimonique takes the water and drinks it. "It seems like that."

Daimonique swings her legs over the side of the bed, sighs heavily, and wishes for a pair of pants.

Daimonique says "Well, I guess I can say that I'm well rested."

The Mercurian says, "Cheer up! We're going to the Glade."

Daimonique says "Huh?"

Daimonique blinks at the Mercurian blearily. "Does this mean I'm gonna get my pants?"

The Mercurian sighs. "Why would you want _pants_? We're in Heaven!"

Daimonique says "Because I don't like the breeze hitting me on the butt, that's why."

Daimonique stands, wobbling slightly.

Daimonique peers around the room, looking for something real to grasp onto. Like a long serrated knife with little extra sharp bits for added fun.

<> Daimonique has added a large serrated knife to the list of demands. :)

There are no knives. There aren't even any sharp objects, really. There are some spare robes and sashes.

The Mercurian decides to change the subject. "Are you coming? It should be a lovely peaceful time."

Daimonique eyes the sashes, attempting to discern from a distance how many it would take to make a good noose, should the time arise.

Daimonique says "I'm coming."

One might be able to make a decent noose out of a couple of sashes, possibly.

Daimonique files this information for a later date, and nods to the faux-Mercurian whose wings are all wrong. "Let's get this over with."

The Mercurian leads the way out into the corridor and down into the reading room, where several other angels are gathered - two Ofanim, and another Mercurian, all collared. There are also two large uncollared Cherubim.

One of the Cherubim says, "Ah, at last. Do you feel rested, Daimonique?"

Daimonique says "A little thorazine is always good for one's disposition."

Daimonique peers at the bookshelves, and looks for something worthwhile, like a copy of CATCHER IN THE RYE.

The Cherub says, "Good, good. Let's be on our way." He begins to shepherd "angels" towards the exit.

The bookshelves all seem to be moral, improving works, or sermons, or the like.

<> Demiurge says "Daimonique, try a Per roll."

<> Daimonique rolls the d666 and gets 1 3 CHECK: 5.

<> Demiurge says "All the "angels" in the room are wrong. In the same way that the other angels have been "wrong"."

Daimonique . o O ( * )

Daimonique folds her hands across her chest, and allows herself to be shepherded. This should be entertaining.

The Cherubim usher the angels down another corridor and outside - into the blinding, clear, harsh light of Heaven, that slants down on the gold and ivory pavements, and falls on the groups of angels and souls who wander past.

Two more Cherubim sit by the gates of the building that Daimonique has just emerged from, as harsh and immobile as sphinxes.

Daimonique is becoming physically amused by this representation of Heaven. It's almost like a Lilim's Popular Girl's Novel.

The Cherubim shepherd their charges down the street, perhaps a short distance, and then through to one side, and into a neatly-bowered Glade. Roses wind between the trees, and the afternoon sun falls on the leaves. Through the trees, at a distance, can be seen some sort of party in process, involving groups of people standing round and talking, or weaving flowers, or singing.

Daimonique makes a point of trying to stop random 'angels' and ask them if they have a smoke.

The "angels" reply with various degrees of shock that smoking is not _done_ in Heaven.

Daimonique responds with, "Oh, really. Guess you missed THAT party. What a shame."

As Daimonique is shepherded to the edge of the Party, he can see, at the centre, a taller blonde figure, glowing and ripe and beautiful.

The Mercurian's lips part. Leaning closer to Daimonique, she murmurs, "Look! It's Novalis!"

Daimonique has never seen Novalis, but knows all about KK's story. She looks for a table.

There are no tables. There are cloths laid out on the ground with bowls of fruit and bread, and jugs of water and juice.

Daimonique can't see a table. Well, we gotta do this the old fashioned way. She says, in a loud, even, actor trained voice, "The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the PRISONERS and recovery of sight for the BLIND, to release the OPPRESSED, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."

<> Daimonique cuddles the Gospels.

There is a polite ripple of applause from the listeners.

Daimonique hrms. That didn't work.

<> Demiurge says "Daimonique, try a Per roll."

<> Daimonique rolls the d666 and gets 4 5 CHECK: 4.

<> Daimonique says "Clueless."

<> Demiurge says "Clueless. Though this Novalis... she doesn't have the same Archangelic _power_ that the other ones you've seen have."

Novalis starts making her way through the others, to where Daimonique stands. Her knee-length blond hair flutters as she moves.

<> Daimonique says "Aaaaaah. Like, she doesn't scare the living hell out of me. Every Archangel gives me the on the knees vibes."

<> Demiurge says "Nope. She doesn't."

Daimonique grins. "I've got Romans coming up next."

A grey-scaled Seraph murmurs, "Praise the Lord and silence the preacher."

Novalis gets to Daimonique and lays a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Daughter, that is not necessary," she murmurs, low and musical.

Daimonique says "Oh, but I live the word of the Lord. And heck, it's Heaven. Who else loves the Son of Man more then the angels themselves?"

Novalis smiles. "But it is not *necessary*, child. You are here to relax -- you need not preach. We all love, here."

The grey-scaled Seraph - an uncollared angel - looks interested. "Lilim, are you interested in the ways of the Lord of the Sword?"

Daimonique says "Ah, but I feel the need, and it's all about Freedom."

Daimonique looks at the Seraph. "Me? Nah. I'm an old hippy. I don't do weapons."

Novalis starts trying to steer Daimonique towards a more secluded corner. "Come, let us talk about this."

The Seraph mantles his wings. "But my Bright Lord has a great interest in any Redeemed Lilim."

Novalis turns and gives the Seraph a look. "She is overexcited, and needs to rest," she murmurs.

Daimonique says "For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be LIBERATED from it's BONDAGE to DECAY and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God."

The Seraph bows his head, retreating somewhat.

Daimonique says "Hey, is there something wrong with the word of Jesus Christ?"

Novalis puts her hands on Daimonique's shoulders and starts steering her. Blatantly.

The rest of the collared angels have been tugged into the crowd.

Daimonique goes. "I would think good old Laurence with his Cathedral would be rather big on that sort of thing."

Novalis murmurs to Daimonique, "Hush, child, hush. Come over here. Sit and talk with me for a time."

Daimonique eyes Novalis with a skeptical eye, and figures, oh what the hell, maybe she has a smoke. And does whatever she's told.

<> Novalis rolls the d666 and gets 3 2 CHECK: 4.

<> Daimonique has absolutely no choice, but is Catholic and has the fine voice projection of, say, someone who has been standing on stages doing stand up comedy for years.

Novalis leads Daimonique to a quiet little nook, in the corner of some sculpted rose-bushes.

<> Novalis rolls the d666 and gets 4 6 CHECK: 3.

Novalis looks around carefully, then, with a sweet, mischievous smile, produces a pack of smokes for Daimon, in her far hand where none of the others can see them.

Daimonique looks about with a skeptical eye, and notices that they don't have the nice comfortable exotic fern garden that she was hiding from Pat in. Foo, it was a nice place.

Daimonique says "Oh ho ho. Smokes. Now I want them. Rather badly. But I like myself relatively ungeased, thanks."

Novalis blinks at Daimonique. "There are no Geasa in Heaven, Daughter," she says sweetly.

Daimonique says "Bullshit."

<> Demiurge says "Daimon... whoever that is, you are _fairly_ sure it's not Lilith, I note. ;)"

<> Sephar falls over laughing.

Novalis sighs. "If you insist on this silly Lilim ethic of trade -- perhaps you get these, and you don't preach to the others? Your harshness, it will confuse the others. You need to relax."

<> Daimonique says "I know, but I need the smokes. And that's gonna be a geas."

Daimonique says "I promise no Apostles. How's that?"

Novalis' eyes sharpen just a little, green as fresh new ferns. "Perhaps you sit and explain why you feel the need to preach here? To me?"

Daimonique says "Because it liberates my soul and makes me feel in tune with the Symphony. The word of the Lord reminds me that I am truly an angel."

Novalis squeezes Daimonique's shoulders. "Of *course* you're an angel. An angel with rainbow wings."

Daimonique says "Damn straight."

Daimonique says "But I think the others need a little reminder."

Novalis takes Dai by the hand and tries to draw her down. "Please, Daimonique, please talk to me?"

Daimonique says "Sure. I'm game."

<> Daimonique says "I am telling off some Demon Prince, I just know it."

<> Daimonique says "But what the heck."

Novalis' eyes go a little blank for a moment, then she continues to draw Daimonique down to the soft grass beside her.

Daimonique allows herself to be drawn.

Novalis hands Daimonique the smokes, pressing them into the Lilim's hands.

Daimonique says "Something the matter? Getting your orders from Home Control on Planet Uranus?"

Novalis giggles musically. "You know that I must be able to think of many things at once, child."

Daimonique takes the smokes. "One pack of Marlboro Lights. The price? One soul of Daimon Lightner."

Daimonique says "Unfortunately, the bastards stole my pants, and while I like to sniff them, I have no lighter."

Novalis folds her hands in her lap and looks amused at Daimonique. "Really, I hardly think that these will be worth a soul."

<> Novalis rolls the d666 and gets 5 4 CHECK: 1.

Novalis produces, again with the off-hand, a lighter.

Daimonique says "You'd be surprised what a girl would do for a soul. Thanks."

Novalis smiles. "You're welcome, Daughter. You need to relax. You've been hallucinating for some time now."

Daimonique tucks the lighter into the band around the package of smokes. "People keep telling me that. I keep saying that I've been hallucinating since mankind invented lysergic acid."

Novalis sighs. "Obviously it's affected you badly, then."

Daimonique shrugs. Maybe. Maybe not.

Daimonique says "Although the street value of some of my glands must be impressive. I could get a pinal gland removed and buy a BMW."

Novalis says, "Using such unnatural drugs, that's *bad* for someone. It's no wonder that the shock of redemption has sent you into flashpacks."

Daimonique says "Heh."

Daimonique looks distinctly non-impressed.

Novalis strokes Daimonique's shoulder in a friendly (but not over-friendly) way. "Really, you should just relax. Accept the beauty and joy around you."

Daimonique says "Oh, I've accepted the true Beauty of Heaven."

Novalis smiles brightly. "Then you know that you need not preach, here, where all is love and beauty!"

Daimonique says "And I know that it is Right and Just to do a little preaching here. Because it is Heaven, and we can feel in our Souls the weight of the word of the Lord and his only begotten son."

<> Daimonique says "That, and you're all DEMONS."

Novalis nods. "Yes, of course we all feel that. But preaching and instruction is for those born here, Daughter. Now is a time for learning."

Daimonique shrugs. Noncommittal. And takes the plunge and lights a smoke.

The smoke smells good. The smoke is good. The smoke is, in fact, a Shal-Mari special.

Daimonique says "Hey, can I get my hands on a camera? I want to take some pictures to help redeem some people I know out the outside."

Daimonique looks at the smoke, and laughs. And laughs. And laughs more.

Novalis smiles. "Cameras, in Heaven? Painting is far more proper. More relaxing."

Daimonique falls over on her back laughing.

Novalis adds, "Besides -- cameras are, well, technical." She makes a little face, wrinkling her nose cutely.

Daimonique laughs, curled up in a ball, until she's coughing.

Novalis eyes Daimonique. "Are you all right?"

Daimonique says "I get it! I get it! It's BRILLIANT!"

Daimonique says "Ah, man! I wish I could have helped design this place. It's such a masterpiece."

Novalis sighs. "Daimonique, you would look much better if you chose to display your wings. The robes are cut for them."

Daimonique says "You know, I can't write shit this good. I will spend eternity trying, but I'll never attain this level of parody. I am literally, outright jealous."

Novalis says, "Dai, Daimonique. Please. You've been hallucinating. For several weeks now. Ever since you were redeemed by Eli."

Daimonique says "Eli would have gotten the wings right."

<> Chephirah /howls/.

<> Sephar admires Daimonique *so* much.

Novalis says, "But he *did*, Daughter. Manifest them. I have missed seeing them."

<> Daimonique can play too, boys and girls.

<> Zebina says "All this, just to get the wings right?"

Daimonique says "Well, it's too bad you guys failed in your marketing research. Great planned audience, really nice execution. But you didn't do the follow through. But it is brilliant, a real work of art."

Daimonique is still coughing, and tries to get up off the ground.

Novalis takes Daimonique by the shoulders again, gently. "Child, please. You must relax. You don't want to scare the others. You would get bored, kept apart from them." Her voice holds a trace of warning.

Daimonique attempts to bamf.

<> Demiurge says "Alas, Daimonique, you seem unable to spend Essence."

<> Demiurge says "Ergo, no Songs."

Daimonique grins a little. "Fine, sure, I'll play along."

<> Daimonique says "Bummer. Oh well, always worth knowing these things."

Novalis sighs again. "If you must think of it that way."

Daimonique just grins, lopsidedly, and examines her surroundings with a critical eye. It really is a work of art, in a way.

Novalis settles back down. "In time, you'll see that this is real, and it's good."

Daimonique resonates on Novalis for her artistic ability to create floral life.

<> Daimonique rolls the d666 and gets 1 4 CHECK: 4.

<> Demiurge says "Pretty damn low."

<> Demiurge says "That is, her artistic ability to create floral life."

<> Sephar just falls over laughing.

Daimonique tries to resonate on Novalis for her artistic ability in politics.

<> Daimonique says "Hey, it's an ART."

<> Hitherby | Novalis peers at the instructions. "To make a tumbleweed," she reads off slowly, "attach part 47 to part 21A ..."

<> Daimonique rolls the d666 and gets 4 5 CHECK: 4.

<> Demiurge says "Alas, Daimonique, you can't quite tell."

Daimonique leans over, and pats Novalis on the knee. "And someday, you'll be able to grow a fern without killing it."

Novalis blinks, then starts giggling.

Daimonique says "But I can teach you how to actually care for a plant. One day, you'll learn to like them."

Novalis bites her lip and giggles out, "You Kobalites *do* have a way with the unexpected!"

For a moment, the form of the grey-scaled Seraph is visible through the trees some distance away. He glances towards Daimonique and Novalis, thoughtfully, then retreats again.

Daimonique says "Yeah, baby, it's practice. Too bad I'm not a Kobalite anymore. Come on, I'll tell you the name of some of these trees."

Novalis gets a straighter face. "If you want, all right."

<> Daimonique says "I'm honestly starting to feel sorry for her."

Daimonique stands and offers a hand. "Come on, let's go for a nature walk."

Novalis takes Daimonique's hand and stands, graceful. (Graceful, and jiggling slightly.)

Daimonique starts to take faux-Novalis around some of the trees, pointing out the ones she knows from years and years of Earth service, and admitting the ones she doesn't. "I cook and write, not tend gardens, to tell you the truth."

<> Sephar says "Oh, no. Not Novalis by Andre."

<> Daimonique says "It IS Novalis by Andre."

<> Sephar just hides.

<> Daimonique says "This is why it's so incredibly Funny."

Novalis nods, and steers their path towards the edges of the Glade.

<> Daimonique says "This whole place smacks of Kobal's brilliance. It would be sad if he didn't have a hand in this. Because I'm honestly impressed."

Daimonique points out trees, and makes some comments hither and yon about fruits and pies, because eventually it all comes back to food.

Novalis glances around again, then flicks the smokes. "You know, you should probably give these back to me before you leave. They aren't allowed at the Hospice. Though I understand how one can long for the old, familiar things."

Daimonique says "Well, they're re-er, yeah, sure."

<> Daimonique says "Of course what gave the whole game away finally was the smokes. Of course. :)"

<> Daimonique says "Because mine went pfft in the light of Heaven. :)"

<> Daimonique makes notes on where they can improve.

Daimonique hands what is left of the cigarettes back, with the lighter.

Novalis takes Daimonique by the shoulders again, looking into her eyes. "Daughter, please. You must realize that you were hallucinating, before. You must try to fit in. I know it's hard, being once of Dark Humor."

Daimonique says "Hey, I fit in just fine among the Creationers. Trust me on this."

Novalis smiles. "Of course you will."

Novalis continues, seriously, "But you mustn't rave so. Please, it worries me when you do."

Daimonique says "Okay...."

Daimonique says "You know, raving like a lunatic is one of my five most desirable skills."

<> Pat says "The other ones include cherry stems, golf balls, and garden hoses."

Novalis nods. "I know, Daimonique. But I'm sure you have others."

Daimonique . o O ( Well, it helps that I'm not a complete blithering idiot. Strike blithering. I do that. )

Daimonique says "I'm sure I do, too."

Daimonique is grinning, and is memorizing every wonderful detail of this place. It's so goddamn Funny.

Novalis steers Daimonique back into motion, along the edges of the Party. "Would it help you, to tell me about these hallucinations? To put them into perspective?"

Daimonique says "Nope, I don't think so."

Novalis sighs. "Are you sure? I'm here to listen, to ease people through their own redemptions."

Daimonique says "I'm quite positive, thanks."

<> Daimonique holds back a seriously smartass remark.

<> Demiurge says "Why restrain yourself? :)"

<> Daimonique says "I haven't thus far!"

Novalis heaves a great jiggly sigh. "I can't help you, Daughter, unless you talk to me. And it's clear you need help."

Daimonique says "I think I can manage on my own, thanks."

Novalis takes Daimonique's chin in her hand again. Quietly, she says, "Angels aren't meant to handle things alone. Let me help you."

Daimonique reads her needs, baby.

<> Daimonique rolls the d666 and gets 5 6 CHECK: 2.

<> Daimonique says "Damn."

<> Novalis tsks.

Daimonique says "I think that a little bit of solitude will do my soul some good."

Novalis' eyes go sad, almost tearful. "Solitude is demonic, child. You need to open your heart to others. To me. I am a Cherub. I will not betray you."

Daimonique's left eyebrow goes up. "Monks worked in solitude for centuries, and they were hardly demonic."

Novalis tsks. "They are human, you are not, child. Being alone, not caring for others... Is that not more what Lust is?"

<> Pat says "Sarah was a monk. :)"

<> Daimonique says "I know. :)"

One of the earlier Cherubim comes shouldering through the bushes in the distance, glancing about as though for a strayed Lilim.

Novalis takes Daimonique firmly by the shoulders. "Child, please, for me. Forget these hallucinations. Relax."

Daimonique says "I care very deeply for others, probably more then you would ever understand. I am worried about Sarah; I fear for the lives of Sephar and Hitherby. I love my Archangel more then life itself. And there are others.... it doesn't matter. I love. I do not physically love without caring. I'm far removed from Lust."

<> Daimonique says "And I'm afraid that Dominic is just gonna hurt me in new and interesting ways but THAT is another story. :)"

The Cherub catches sight of Daimon and Novalis, and moves in their direction.

Novalis frowns slightly, then smiles again and goes on tiptoe to kiss Daimonique on the tip of her nose.

Daimonique says "Oh, here comes the Djinn. Damn."

Daimonique says "Maybe if I bolt. Hmm. Hmmm."

Novalis says, a little sharply, "Cherub. They are called Cherubim. And we are Archangels, not angel Princes."

Daimonique stands there, looking like she's thinking about bolting.

Daimonique says "No, I know Cherubim when I see 'em."

The Cherub growls, gently, "Archangel, we are to return the newly Redeemed to their Hospice."

Daimonique pokes a finger into the Cherub's chest. "Are you attuned to me, bucko?"

Novalis nods to the Cherub. "Of course." She turns to Daimonique again, tugging her away from the Cherub. And kisses her on the mouth.

The Cherub murmurs something deep in its chest, indistinct.

Daimonique kisses with love and passion and the mad horniness of a Creationer.

<> Demiurge says "Daimon, make an Int roll."

<> Daimonique rolls the d666 and gets 6 4 CHECK: 6.

To Daimon, the kiss of Novalis reminds him of nothing as much as the way Kanah kissed him, when they made love under the gaze of the KobalBeanie. Ah, memories.

Daimonique kisses harder, with love and passion and true caring.

Novalis hugs Daimonique tightly, then finally breaks away. "Please, for me. Forget the hallucinations," she whispers breathlessly.

The Cherub coughs a grunting cough.

Daimonique whispers, "Have you ever made love to a Creationer?" in her ear. "My Sister?"

Novalis bites her lip. "I've made love with *the* Creationer, Daimonique."

Novalis shoos Daimonique towards the Cherub.

Daimonique whispers, "My Sister, it is a joyous occasion of celebration and holiness. It also includes mind blowing orgasms."

Novalis giggles. "I know. Especially the mind-blowing. Now shoo, sweet one."

The Cherub reaches out to gently steer Daimon back and away.

Daimonique grins back at her, not unkindly. "For free, my Sister. A gift. Whenever you choose to come to me. Because I can love you even through that guise."

Novalis shakes her head. "Daimonique, you're raving again," she says gently. "You must focus on what is real, what is about you." She gestures to the trees around her.

Daimonique says "I'm hardly raving, but you don't know what you're missing."

Novalis shakes her head and waves as Daimonique is drawn away.

As the Cherub walks back with Daimonique towards the other collared angels, the grey-scaled Seraph draws close again.

Daimonique goes with the Dji-er, Cherub. Yeah. Cherub.

The Seraph states, "Your faith is admirable and your purpose laudable."

Daimonique gets his needs.

<> Daimonique rolls the d666 and gets 2 6 CHECK: 6.

<> Demiurge says "He wants Daimon. He wants Daimon broken and begging at his feet and personally his, though this is a pipe-dream, as he knows other people will probably get him when he snaps. He wants power. He wants strength."

Daimonique says "You're such a moron. Take your slimy, stanky, nasty self back to whatever pit of Hell you crawled out of, sir. Because I'm not gonna give you that."

The Seraph folds its wings mildly. "You are still hallucinating. I will make petition to my Archangel that he requests you be sent to serve the Sword."

The Cherub sighs, stepping between Daimonique and the Seraph, and motions for Daimonique to continue.

Daimonique says "I will not be your little fuck slave, sir."

Daimonique follows the Cherub. "AND I bite."

The Seraph shakes his head sadly as Daimonique is led away.

Daimonique pets the poor Dji-er, Cherub. "Ah well. I guess this isn't going to be that Fun after all."

The Cherub purrs faintly. "Just remember you're Redeemed and an angel now."

Daimonique pets the Dji-er, Cherub a bit, scratches behind the ears, and shows him a little attention. "Oh, I know. Don't I know."

The Cherub seems about to accept it, then pulls himself away with an aggrieved grumble, and stays a pace away from Daimonique for the rest of the way back.

Daimonique gives him a small, sad grin, and stares at the ground most of the way back, and thinks about writing everything she can down about her observations before she's forced to commit suicide.

---

Fiat Justitia