Original Date: 11.29.2000 [12:21 p.m.]

(These aren't really in chronological order, obviously. This one goes way back, and is actually something Jess wrote that somehow ended up in my mailbox. Well, it's pretty good, so...)

There will be a time, said the Voice who was more then a Voice, and

encompassed all. It was sad, it was kind, and it was Infinate. When we will

have to implement this last great hope, and we will have too decide the war for

better or worse.

" Yes, and when it comes.. I shall win. A chosen one, will be born...a

human." answered the Dawn in the beginning of the world and the faith.

In the beginning...

....He seemed to be a young man. He seemed to be a young man who knew how to

recline, and enjoy every delicious stretch of muscles, and every comfort giving

curve of the lush divan (who once was a foolish diva.. but that is another

story). His eyes were slitted, and half-closed in a haze of languid relaxation.

The young man made an art of relaxation; and there were few, very few, who

could look at him and bare to look away.

Golden hair spills, the color of burnished copper woven and set ablaze

with tendrils of pure dawn-light, in gentle curls over a high forehead, around

his ears boyish and wild, framing a face which was a study in contrasts.

Innocent?

Yes, innocent--but the innocence was sleeping, and the young man was painted in

harsh hollows, and cunningly crafted angles. Beautiful? Yes, the young man

was beautiful, for he was the son of dawn. Even the young mans skin was a

healthy pale tanned gold, and even the young mans--oh, and he was most certainly

an aristocrat--feathered quilt held prisms breaking of shadowed twilit morning

light.

He was not young, and he was not a man.

He was annoyed--though one would never think of it to look at him.

Insistantly the room his seat rested in buzzed, and the humming which seemed to

come from the very skin of the floors themself intruded on his thoughts, plots,

and contemplations. No one ever intruded on the young man who definatly wasn't

a mans contemplation. Lazy (though oh, now you get the feeling that beneath

the healthy skin there is a panther, or a jaguar, filled with iron strength and

ready to shred...) seeming still, the young man turned over.. uncaring, in a

smoothe svelt ripple of muscles. All so he was lounging on his stomach now,

head propped up negligently by his fist, eyes still hooded focused on the arched

double doors leading into his inner sanctum.

As if on cue, a voice came and it came from all around and everywhere and

nowhere at once. It came from the Inside, a secretarial wake-up call if

anything at all; and it spoke in a tongue forgotten and ancient.... though its

words were to the point. My Lord, the--Michael, he's here and demands an

audience. He was detained at the gate, but insisted that he had an appointment.

They not could keep him out, and five have fallen leaving the gates unmanned,

the voice was in a hurry and trying not to seem as though it was, for it had no

wish to be associated with this disaster. Nothing they do keeps him at bay, and

they've lost track of him... though right now sources say that he may be--

BAM BAM BAM.

Someone was pounding on the door, and the pounding was as loud ass

thunderclaps. Head-ache loud, like fingers deciding now was the time to burst

out of your head, scraping away all brain matter before beginning to rip through

splintered bone... The young man spoke, rubbing the back of his neck (voice

silenced with a growl). " Enter..."

Michael had enough sense of etiquette to wait for permission before the

door was swinging open and he was striding through.

Men are not meant to look upon angels, and for good reason. Angels are beyond

comprehension. They destroy whole cities, at a word from Him, they listen to

prayers, they sing beyond divinity, they know true flight. They are

uncomprehensible, with little or no malice. They are inhuman.

They are scary.

They are awe-inspiring. They are the sound of the rush before you die,

the taste of your first kiss, your smell of last meal.

Angels are hard to explain. They are good.. but more human, now, then

most would like too admit.

Michael was framed on either side by his wings--white: white as snow and

glittering ice all reminiscent of some soft version of the glinting wink of

light off of a sharpened steel edge. War had always been Michaels calling. The

visitors skin was dark bronzed, and his hair was dusky caramel dusted held back

in loose pony tail. He seemed proud, but his face was also kind, and too

delicate for the fierce battle-light behind his eyes (warring with

tranquility--living with serenity).

If the eyes are windows to the soul, then an angels eyes go nowhere.

" Lucifer," Michael said, not-quite-curtly though with little love, in way

of greeting. Thunder. There was thunder, barely tamed, barely civil, and all

beautiful, molded into a voice. A simple voice which had commanded the heavenly

hosts and beaten back demon hordes, a simple voice which could lift in purest

forlornest song, and sing of joy.. or battle. He was not quite curt, but there

was pitiful little love...

Lucifer didn't move. Not in response to his name, not in response to the

approaching war angel. His eyes, however, tracked the others movements while he

was still. " Mmm... Michael... Thank you so much for knocking, it's been a long

time," the young man who was not young, and who was not a man, and who claimed

one title to be 'King of Tyre' said so friendly--as though Michael were an old

companion or blood brother come for just any old chat.

Michael, as always, got straight to the point, taking a few striding

steps forward until both archangel of war and father of lies were within asy

conversational distance. Hell held its breath. " Yes, it has been. But as I'm

sure you've guessed this isn't a social call, in any way." Perhaps he paused,

to remember the last time they had spoken--even by their reckoning of the

passage of time it was a long time ago. " He sent me, with a missive, and ... a

... reminder."

A smoothe arched brow, lifting only the barest fraction of an inch.. and oh

so slowly, in graceful acknowledgement of the greeting. He continues, so

pleasantly, as though Michael had never spoken. As though this -were- a simple

social call, and the two were what could be called friends. " And may I also

thank you for cutting down five of my finest gate-keepers, leaving two? I trust

that He will be replacing them promptly."

The angel actually seemed taken aback a moment, though he wasn't prepared

to trust anything the Deciever said, as though what he were saying didn't fit.

Then Michael matched Lucife6rs look, though his was a good deal less clouded

with fog and mist and personal knowledge of sin. " Those... were your finest?"

He did not mean to sound surprised, but he did. The bronzed mans next comment

slipped free, without a thought. " I cut through them easily, and thought they

were petty challenges errected as petty annoyances. I'm disapointed." Does he

sound regretful too?

Michael is pure, but he is also the angel of war.

He is a fighter.

" Yes, well, its hard to find good help these days... I am afterall

currently in hell--Oh, forgive me, take a seat--" the golden child said, with an

absent minded wave of his hand which encompasses the bare floors and walls of

the room (just floor, no chairs) "--rather then on the throne due to .... minor

setbacks, and bad help. Believe me, I know how hard it is to find good help."

Setbacks. Always simple 'setbacks', he says. Never anything important. Not

since the second fall.

Quietly Michael, almost automatically at the suggestion of motion from the

other, glances around at the (empty) room and then shakes his head silently to

the offer of a 'seat' (...bow down before the one you serve...).

He doesn't like Lucifer.

He doesn't like Lucifer anymore then Gabriel now likes Lucifer. He was

betrayed, and now... now the golden haired boy is his enemy. He doesn't forget,

and though the 'honor' of delivering 'the' message and reminder to Satan fell on

him, he almost wishes it hadn't. " I think what you are trying to say... is you

Lost--and your people are not quite up to par when compared to ...one... of the

heavenly host." This isn't gloating. The archangel simply speaks the truth.

Hit a nerve, that did. That word did. Its obvious, painfully obvious--and

painful takes on all new meanings here... Lucifers tone goes even silkier, even

smoother, and his expression melts without ever changing. A charming rogueish

half smile finds itself on his lips, and he shugs a (sleek) shoulder, lazy,

despite the flash of ugliness in those deep (what color are they, anyway?)

eyes. " No. I meant 'setback.' Though what is that one old adage? Lose the

battle, win the ..." trails off.

" Undoubtedly another one of your morning pep speeches passed around as

common knowledge, to improve morale here. Perhaps if you chose to rule out of

something... other ... then fear... your people would work better?" Michael took

a deep, unneeded, breath. He was sad, actually. Sad for the plight of the

once most glorious angel. Speaking with the fallen one was never a comfortable

task though Michael would not say why this might be. He added, " Perhaps a bit

more like His..."

Oh, and now the fallens eyes were sparkling, deeply richly amused as he

finished Michaels thought with a suggestion. " Loving Dictatorship?"

" No. Loving guidance."

Silence. (hell does not ring with angel chorus', it echoes with the

screams of the damned--but only when its master wants it too). Silence. The

young man finally laughed, softly yes, but its a delighting bewitching

sound... even for those who dwell where delight can't tempt them (everyone can

be tempted...). " I'm sorry, I meant 'guidance.'"... as though there was a

difference.

Michaels jaw hardens slightly and his eyes narrow to slits (he is not

human). The Snake simply smiles, the Betrayer simply smiles--he got a rise

('a'...more like a few) out of one of the archangels. Michael is still strongly

calm, though, refusing.. refusing to play into the devils games. Soft-voiced,

deadly-voiced. " Loving guidance, nothing more. The Lord is not cruel."

Knowing, knowing there is no point in telling this to Lucifer, but perhaps

hoping that the fallen one might still be saved.

Apparently he can't, because his answer is anything but what the archangel

wanted to hear. " So, tell me, you all up... there... aren't honestly only as

loyal as you actually are because if you aren't...

" You're all afraid it will be your fate to get thrown into a pit of foul

tortures, the womb of horror, malicious demons hungering for the tender flesh

of the righteous, cast from favor into a pit of eternal darkness, etcetera

etcetera..." he gestures, absently, at himself.. as though for an example. And

just a moment, as his lips part in a flashingly white (malicious, mocking)

smile, flames--literal flames--leap in the sin-black orbs of pupils. his

pupils...

" With.. me.. as your master?" Such emphasis is savored, and casual at the same

time like old wine. I would hate to think my opposition rules by an unworthy

tactic like... fear." Easy grin, knowing he's right--and knowing that Michael

cannot answer in kind.

" But anyhow--we were discussing this missive you were sent to deliver in

quick and timely fashion?"

Anger? Righteous anger, as Michaels gaze slowly darkens, and turns firey.

".....Lucifer--back when you were His righthand man, I liked you."

Another lifted brow, oh so slight. " I'm so glad. Though, Michael, I

sometimes wonder about you and Gabriel and Raphael and Uriel, all up there

trying to fill my place. Don't you miss the battles?" Said so sincerely, one

old friend to another (the tempter). " Afterall, 'Lose the battle win the...'"

" War. That is what I came here to remind you of. He says its almost

time, and that you remember the discussion very well." Michael fills in for

Lucifer easily, his bronzed golden eyes filled with feral hawke-light. Angels

are scary, and angels are tender, and as the angel of war stands there lithe and

aching to fight this serpent as he must he folds his arms. Each and every

movement is strong, and filled with sense of purpose; inate goodness, which

reaches out to curl upon the watchers psyche and if deserving.. comfort him,

whoever he is.

Quick as that the banter is, mostly, over... and Lucifers charmingly

mocking facade disapears as his face smoothes down and his expression becomes

thoughtful and pensive. He could have been any alter boy in prayer, or any

innocent (enough) young man pondering some matter deep and disturbing--what to

get his girl friend on her birthday, whether she would thank him. Then, very

slowly, the Light-bearer nods. " Yes, already?" Some may wonder whether or not

the Father of Lies was actually serious, and in truth--if such a flimsy concept

can stand here--he was. His moods changed quickly, quicker then the whims of a

man, though so much deadlier.

" Already," when the angel speaks again the tone, soft and gruff at once,

is gentle and grave." He has already taken liberties..."

"...surprise, surprise..."

" ... to choose a few candidates, who would be fair."

" I disagree."

" With what? No names have been named yet."

" I disagree with anyone He has chosen, I know I'm being difficult but,"

charming smile. " You expect it by now, don't you? Even someone with such a

generous heart as He, in theory, has would wish themself the victor, and so I

can't condone the use of any of His candidates."

" There is no chance of you choosing them Lucifer. You cheat."

" And He who apparently has every part of creation working to one singular

goal, just because he wills it so, does not cheat?" he shakes his head, serious

still. No longer the great-lounging cat, though no less the predator. " I

pick, and he can confirm. That way it is fair, and He gets final say; so if I

am being obvious while picking one who would best suit my needs, He will

notice."

Michael fell silent--not cowed, simply silent. He looked alert still,

but the quiet lasted long moments, as though his mind was else where. It was

elsewhere. Lucifer knew that. That feeling. Remembered that. Communication

with... Him.(a stab of black jealousy). Before the jealousy took great grip,

though, Michael spoke again. " Fine, that is acceptable. And now for the

prophet."

" Another one? How original the loving guide of creation is."

" It's needed. One who is on neither side. To know."

" Whatever happened to the last one?"

" Jesus? He was crusified for our Lord and His people, he died to bear

their sins. A noble man, but no longer part of the immediate picture."

" Ahhh... Shouldn't I have him then?"

Michael just stared at him, shocked, eyes narrowing until they were

deadly glittering slits. For all intimidating visage, his voice was simply..

incredulous. "Have the Son? Are you mad?"

" Well, sinners are sorta my bread and butter--my currency.. I make them

sorry, and since he has so many many sins to atone for...? Would hate to think

that Daddy was playing favorites with his son." Blatant disrespect? Of course.

" You go too far Lucifer," Michael said mildly, though the warmth of his

skin and the stirring of feathers gave away his agitation. No, not his

agitation. His fury.

Lucifer stood up, finally, in a svelt ripple of muscles and a (mad) gleam

in his dark souless eyes. " Too far, Michael old friend--too far? What, pray

tell, is too far? Perhaps that discussion we had--me and you, remember? Before

the Rebellion. We spoke on good and evil, Michael. Before good and evil were

more then untamed focuses for the two sides of His mind. We spoke on good and

evil--and you said, come on, you said..."

" Shut up."

" Na-a-ah..." there was the legendary smile, now, the one which could charm

the world through the eye of a needle. " That wasn't it," he was swooping,

descending on his prey like a great predatory bird--silent and dangerous with

eyes like fire, all-seeing. " What you said was..."

In a flurry of action Michael had Lucifer by the throat and against the

smoothe concave wall. " DAMN you," beautiful voice was no more now then the low

warning growl of a feral dog cornered in an alley way.

" Ouch..." Lucifer said with an arrogant sneer. " That one hurt."