Well Aimed Chaos (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2013-08-06 11:42 am
whitemage) wrote in rainbowfic2013-08-06 11:42 am
Calling on Angels
Name: Ardy
Piece/Story: Calling on Angels/Blood Saint
Colors: Fire Opal 8 (zealot/zealous); Surgical Steel 12 (radiation); Angel Cake 10 (protector)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Midsummer Night’s Dream prompt); Acrylic; Charcoal
Word Count: 718
Ratings/Warnings: PG - language; No standard warnings apply
Notes: Waaaay, way into the future of this story, and I think SWL can read my mind, because that picture fit these two perfectly.
Father Andrew didn’t even bother to brush away the cobwebs as he pushed through the service tunnels underneath the offices of the archdiocese. Damn all those bastards--why did they treat her this way?
Iron chains, and iron collars, and none of it ever set right with him. A creature of Heaven should be a creature free to move in body and spirit--one with full access to their awesome power. But they, with their quaking, imperfect souls could only stand a fraction of her radiance.
So the growl remained on his breath, up until his exclamations cut into it ramming in the door, every golden blonde hair on him bristling like a beast’s. A final heave and he was through, landing on his knee. He raised up, the sickly light of a single naked bulb casting a sinister glint off his glasses.
Anabiel lay still across the stone table like a sacrifice on some Biblical altar. Her eyes were open, nearly dead except for the faint ghost of recognition they gave him. Her breathing was shallow--what they managed to drug her with, he couldn’t say. Her chains were well spelled, anchored in the floor below, all the same weighty iron as the marks of her service.
Do what you must, Taskill. The whole world was crashing down around them, and that’s what Luke had given him as orders. After 25 years of them working together, the boy must have known what he would do.
Murmuring the proper counters, he carefully unbound her. As the last chain fell, he hesitated, hand hovering over her wrist. She was so ashen, drawn. Frustratingly so, for he could still see the light within that yearned. Gripping the bracelet, he strained and wrestled with it, feeling it grow red hot in charmed protest under his hands. But it gave way before he did, and so he repeated the process until all her limbs were lightened.
Still she did not move, silently imploring. And so he took up her collar in the same way, struggling violently, until he roared in triumph as it flew away in two.
At that moment, the room filled with the light he had loosed, and she flew off the table dissolving to a presence that surrounded him. The priest stood in the midst of her glory, arms parted, as power flowed between them both. Slowly in front of him, a winged creature solidified, glowing and faintly feminine, like a living flame from an incorrupt world. Her arms twirled in her own golden aura, weaving it together with a single one of her luminescent copper hairs under a silver veil flowed from her hands like water. It took shape around her as her wings spread out into more numerous pairs and her eyes opened, blank vivid white and all-seeing.
Dand. Her smile was like the brightness of the Milky Way cutting across the night sky.
There was a soft and hidden place in his heart still fumbling around so much he wanted to say to her--had always wanted to say, to the true her, as she was now--so full, brimming with unearthly joy. He could provide an anchor: throw his coat around her: hide her brilliance and they could both make a run for it. Professions of a paler, common sort of love could pass between them all night. She was the only one he could leave his duties for. Did she know that place in him? Could she read his thoughts now? Was she smiling at the whispering desires of a youth or the clanging call to arms of a warrior that drowned it out, as was right? Whatever the case, what he most wanted was to know what she desired of him.
I am weak, Lady. And so I yield to Divine Wisdom.
Her smile again, that celestial beaming, and something like rising mirth, like the tense climax as Heaven triumphs over Death: “We go to battle, Lion of the lambs....”
What had wavered in him burned away to a singular passion at her command, his heart rejoicing at the chance to serve the daughter of Sophia.
She--a vision--wings beating, calling down burning wheels that carried them like a chariot to the frontlines, rebels against greedy stewards of the holy inheritance.
Piece/Story: Calling on Angels/Blood Saint
Colors: Fire Opal 8 (zealot/zealous); Surgical Steel 12 (radiation); Angel Cake 10 (protector)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Midsummer Night’s Dream prompt); Acrylic; Charcoal
Word Count: 718
Ratings/Warnings: PG - language; No standard warnings apply
Notes: Waaaay, way into the future of this story, and I think SWL can read my mind, because that picture fit these two perfectly.
Father Andrew didn’t even bother to brush away the cobwebs as he pushed through the service tunnels underneath the offices of the archdiocese. Damn all those bastards--why did they treat her this way?
Iron chains, and iron collars, and none of it ever set right with him. A creature of Heaven should be a creature free to move in body and spirit--one with full access to their awesome power. But they, with their quaking, imperfect souls could only stand a fraction of her radiance.
So the growl remained on his breath, up until his exclamations cut into it ramming in the door, every golden blonde hair on him bristling like a beast’s. A final heave and he was through, landing on his knee. He raised up, the sickly light of a single naked bulb casting a sinister glint off his glasses.
Anabiel lay still across the stone table like a sacrifice on some Biblical altar. Her eyes were open, nearly dead except for the faint ghost of recognition they gave him. Her breathing was shallow--what they managed to drug her with, he couldn’t say. Her chains were well spelled, anchored in the floor below, all the same weighty iron as the marks of her service.
Do what you must, Taskill. The whole world was crashing down around them, and that’s what Luke had given him as orders. After 25 years of them working together, the boy must have known what he would do.
Murmuring the proper counters, he carefully unbound her. As the last chain fell, he hesitated, hand hovering over her wrist. She was so ashen, drawn. Frustratingly so, for he could still see the light within that yearned. Gripping the bracelet, he strained and wrestled with it, feeling it grow red hot in charmed protest under his hands. But it gave way before he did, and so he repeated the process until all her limbs were lightened.
Still she did not move, silently imploring. And so he took up her collar in the same way, struggling violently, until he roared in triumph as it flew away in two.
At that moment, the room filled with the light he had loosed, and she flew off the table dissolving to a presence that surrounded him. The priest stood in the midst of her glory, arms parted, as power flowed between them both. Slowly in front of him, a winged creature solidified, glowing and faintly feminine, like a living flame from an incorrupt world. Her arms twirled in her own golden aura, weaving it together with a single one of her luminescent copper hairs under a silver veil flowed from her hands like water. It took shape around her as her wings spread out into more numerous pairs and her eyes opened, blank vivid white and all-seeing.
Dand. Her smile was like the brightness of the Milky Way cutting across the night sky.
There was a soft and hidden place in his heart still fumbling around so much he wanted to say to her--had always wanted to say, to the true her, as she was now--so full, brimming with unearthly joy. He could provide an anchor: throw his coat around her: hide her brilliance and they could both make a run for it. Professions of a paler, common sort of love could pass between them all night. She was the only one he could leave his duties for. Did she know that place in him? Could she read his thoughts now? Was she smiling at the whispering desires of a youth or the clanging call to arms of a warrior that drowned it out, as was right? Whatever the case, what he most wanted was to know what she desired of him.
I am weak, Lady. And so I yield to Divine Wisdom.
Her smile again, that celestial beaming, and something like rising mirth, like the tense climax as Heaven triumphs over Death: “We go to battle, Lion of the lambs....”
What had wavered in him burned away to a singular passion at her command, his heart rejoicing at the chance to serve the daughter of Sophia.
She--a vision--wings beating, calling down burning wheels that carried them like a chariot to the frontlines, rebels against greedy stewards of the holy inheritance.
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I mean. Yes, the description is fabulous. And the characters are amazing. And. Yes. OMG.
I want more.
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Thank you!!!
Before all this, they end up the initial antagonists for Annie behind Luke's back, so I am hoping there will be lots of them.
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This was another that was just plain wondrous to write, and sprung to life really quickly with the prompt.