.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
xxxxxxxxx◙◙◙◙* Male xxxxx◙◙◙◙* ∞ xxxxx◙◙◙◙* 6'6" xxxxx◙◙◙◙* 240 lbs. xxxxx◙◙◙◙* Archangel
AASTR 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌ AAACON 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AASPD 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌ AAAPWR 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AAINT 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌ AAACNG 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AAWPN 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌ AAACHA 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AASPD 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌ AAAPWR 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AAINT 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌ AAACNG 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AAWPN 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌ AAACHA 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
-▖ KINESIS ▸┇ elemental manipulation; favors light
▖ ENHANCEMENT ▸┇ increases to physical capacity; diminished
▖ PHOTOSYNTHESIS ▸┇ heals and regains energy in sunlight
------
The scruffy man with bowed shoulders and a hunched posture looks like a bear, but his demeanor is more like an old hound than anything. One who's seen a fair bit more than his share of the worst the world has to offer, at that. And like any dog kicked often enough, Mick (as he calls himself these days), suffers from a fundamental contradiction.
On the one hand, some part of him still looks really hard for the good in the world, still has a tendency to pick up pack, as it were. To settle himself amidst the starved homeless of the city's grimiest areas, and do what he can to assuage the burden of living in such conditions. To his fellow homeless, he might even qualify as a light: a candle rather than the sun, to be sure, but something a little bit warm and a little bit reassuring nevertheless. He always seems to have a little bit to share, just half a sandwich or a nip of something warm on a cold night. He's no miracle worker, though, not anymore, and remains fundamentally powerless against the conditions that create such suffering.
On the other, a dog long enough stray and kicked learns to keep outsiders at a distance, to growl and snap when they draw too close. Painfully slow to trust, cynical, and so tired he sometimes wonders how he's still alive. He doesn't tend to socialize much, and spends a lot of time inside his own head. He's slowly losing what little sense of humor he has left, and is deeply convinced that trying to do much beyond surviving is useless.
There's a lingering sense of melancholy about him, a perceptible thing that serves to keep everyone a certain distance away even if he's not outright hostile. Even streaked in dirt, even layered in castoff, threadbeare clothes and with his hair permanently disheveled, there's something untouchable about him, something that retains the faintest hint of his divinity and cloaks him in the kind of sorrow that other people cannot touch. It's so much a part of him that he hardly notices anymore.
One upon a time, Mick was a military commander, and the most physically powerful member of the Heavenly host, but it would be impossible to guess that interacting with him now. There's a certain physicality about him, a way of being that occupies space even beyond his bodily dimensions. He tends to draw attention without seeking it, something he does his best to diminish. His body language is more communicative than his face or words most of the time, and he still has a certain way of moving that evokes deadliness and strength. Small, subtle reminders of things long gone.
Perhaps some part of him is still more wolf than stray dog, but it's buried deep, and hard to rouse.
On the one hand, some part of him still looks really hard for the good in the world, still has a tendency to pick up pack, as it were. To settle himself amidst the starved homeless of the city's grimiest areas, and do what he can to assuage the burden of living in such conditions. To his fellow homeless, he might even qualify as a light: a candle rather than the sun, to be sure, but something a little bit warm and a little bit reassuring nevertheless. He always seems to have a little bit to share, just half a sandwich or a nip of something warm on a cold night. He's no miracle worker, though, not anymore, and remains fundamentally powerless against the conditions that create such suffering.
On the other, a dog long enough stray and kicked learns to keep outsiders at a distance, to growl and snap when they draw too close. Painfully slow to trust, cynical, and so tired he sometimes wonders how he's still alive. He doesn't tend to socialize much, and spends a lot of time inside his own head. He's slowly losing what little sense of humor he has left, and is deeply convinced that trying to do much beyond surviving is useless.
There's a lingering sense of melancholy about him, a perceptible thing that serves to keep everyone a certain distance away even if he's not outright hostile. Even streaked in dirt, even layered in castoff, threadbeare clothes and with his hair permanently disheveled, there's something untouchable about him, something that retains the faintest hint of his divinity and cloaks him in the kind of sorrow that other people cannot touch. It's so much a part of him that he hardly notices anymore.
One upon a time, Mick was a military commander, and the most physically powerful member of the Heavenly host, but it would be impossible to guess that interacting with him now. There's a certain physicality about him, a way of being that occupies space even beyond his bodily dimensions. He tends to draw attention without seeking it, something he does his best to diminish. His body language is more communicative than his face or words most of the time, and he still has a certain way of moving that evokes deadliness and strength. Small, subtle reminders of things long gone.
Perhaps some part of him is still more wolf than stray dog, but it's buried deep, and hard to rouse.
- - - - - - - And rise to the top now.》
It's a long way down from the top of the world.
The thing is, Michael's descent from the Left Hand of God to Mick the local bum wasn't really a fall, as such, but the result wound up just the same as if it had been. He's barely even a shadow of his former self, and has lost anyone and anything he ever held dear, now left to languish for the rest of time in a Hell of his own making, quite literally.
It all started with Samael.
Back in the day, Michael ad Samael were actually close friends. Brothers, of a certain kind, and not just because they happened to both be angels of the LORD. Michael had a legitimate, personal respect for Samael, and though he was the general of the Firmament's army, he often sought out the other angel for strategic discussion and plain old companionship. Something about their personalities just meshed, in a way he didn't have to think about because it was simple. Easy, even. They were also both quite close with Azrael, and Raphael.
Of course, there was also Sariel, who Sam was so obviously head-over-heels for that the others often teased him about it. It wasn't exactly permitted, but the three of them kept Sam's secret for him, thinking that it was ultimately harmless. Besides, the Father of them all knew everything, and hadn't done anything to stop it, so how bad could it possibly be? Pretty bad, as it turns out. It resulted in a horrible misunderstanding, some deception, and an incident in which Michael was left with a choice: cast Samael down with his own hands, or kill him. He couldn't bear to kill him, so he threw him out of Heaven instead. He doesn't know how he knows, but he is quite certain that is the day that set him down his eventual path.
That path led to the war for the mortal plane. It was a war Lucifer was never supposed to win, and yet he seemed to be. Michael and his angels did everything they could to protect the earth, but another, growing faction was pushing for the army to just grab all the 'chosen' humans and retreat to Heaven, sealing it off beyond the intervention of anyone but God. Eventually this became the majority opinion, and Michael was faced with another possible choice. He chose to defy his orders, and Azrael and Raphael went with him. Brothers, till the end.
What happened after that resulted in Raphael's death, and the stripping of most of Michael and Azrael's power, and the isolation of the remains of earth from Heaven and Hell. Unfortunately, there were plenty of demons still about, and before long, they had rigged everything in their own power. Michael and Azrael, weakened, were powerless to stop it. Azrael eventually seemed to resign himself to this fate, living as a human and eventually even having children. The damage to his power had rendered him mortal, though, and soon he, too, had died. Michael, now calling himself Mick, was entirely alone in a world ruled by demons, having lost everything he ever loved.
Unsurprisingly, it's a complete crapshoot.
The thing is, Michael's descent from the Left Hand of God to Mick the local bum wasn't really a fall, as such, but the result wound up just the same as if it had been. He's barely even a shadow of his former self, and has lost anyone and anything he ever held dear, now left to languish for the rest of time in a Hell of his own making, quite literally.
It all started with Samael.
Back in the day, Michael ad Samael were actually close friends. Brothers, of a certain kind, and not just because they happened to both be angels of the LORD. Michael had a legitimate, personal respect for Samael, and though he was the general of the Firmament's army, he often sought out the other angel for strategic discussion and plain old companionship. Something about their personalities just meshed, in a way he didn't have to think about because it was simple. Easy, even. They were also both quite close with Azrael, and Raphael.
Of course, there was also Sariel, who Sam was so obviously head-over-heels for that the others often teased him about it. It wasn't exactly permitted, but the three of them kept Sam's secret for him, thinking that it was ultimately harmless. Besides, the Father of them all knew everything, and hadn't done anything to stop it, so how bad could it possibly be? Pretty bad, as it turns out. It resulted in a horrible misunderstanding, some deception, and an incident in which Michael was left with a choice: cast Samael down with his own hands, or kill him. He couldn't bear to kill him, so he threw him out of Heaven instead. He doesn't know how he knows, but he is quite certain that is the day that set him down his eventual path.
That path led to the war for the mortal plane. It was a war Lucifer was never supposed to win, and yet he seemed to be. Michael and his angels did everything they could to protect the earth, but another, growing faction was pushing for the army to just grab all the 'chosen' humans and retreat to Heaven, sealing it off beyond the intervention of anyone but God. Eventually this became the majority opinion, and Michael was faced with another possible choice. He chose to defy his orders, and Azrael and Raphael went with him. Brothers, till the end.
What happened after that resulted in Raphael's death, and the stripping of most of Michael and Azrael's power, and the isolation of the remains of earth from Heaven and Hell. Unfortunately, there were plenty of demons still about, and before long, they had rigged everything in their own power. Michael and Azrael, weakened, were powerless to stop it. Azrael eventually seemed to resign himself to this fate, living as a human and eventually even having children. The damage to his power had rendered him mortal, though, and soon he, too, had died. Michael, now calling himself Mick, was entirely alone in a world ruled by demons, having lost everything he ever loved.
Unsurprisingly, it's a complete crapshoot.
- - - - - - - This is no place to build your home.》
AAFondnessxx 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AARivalry xx 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AAAttraction 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AARespectxxx 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
This line is here to take space.
He needs to get his mind out of the gutter, is how he needs to handle this one. He's literally older than dirt, and Luna's barely an adult. End of story. He likes her, as a person, because of course he would. The occasional intrusive thought that suggests more than that? He'll keep stamping those out until they're completely dead. Her old man once asked him to look after them, and on that better late than never, but that's it.
x
x
AAFondnessxx 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AARivalry xx 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AAAttraction 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AARespectxxx 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
This line is here to take space.
Mick isn't sure what to make of Samael's apparent involvement in the Nishants' lives. His first instinct is to be highly suspicious of it—Sam's near on a demon now, and there's no coming back from that. Except… except he's met Abaddon now, too, and maybe there is something like coming back from it. If there's any chance that's what's happening with Sam… but even that isn't worth playing with the lives of Az's kids.
x
x
AAFondnessxx 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AARivalry xx 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AAAttraction 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
AARespectxxx 」x ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌
This line is here to take space.
Soleil surely now knows he's not what he seems. He'd never intended to break his cover in front of either her or Luna, but he supposes it's too late for that now. He did exactly what Azrael asked him to, all those years ago, even if it's not enough to make up for all his preceding failures. If she distrusts him for it, well, she probably should. It might help balance out the fact that her sister seems to trust him too much.
x
x
x
Coding by Aethiya, inspired by maccotango's guide to the same.
