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[Guten tag, Adstringendum. Today's daily dose of lineface angel starts off with fog, fog, and more fog, with Raphael's shape only just emerging through the haze. As muted as she normally is, there's something different today- almost constrained, wilted, a little too tight and a little too quiet. She's sitting on what appears to be the bottom of a set of steps- when the fog clears just a little it's obviously stone steps, like a pyramid or a very tall dais.]
There is a glut of idiocy this week.
[She gestures and the PCD rises, turning to face her at a slightly different angle. Behind her, it shows the stone dais- for that's exactly what it is, large steps of a massive grave, consisting of the huge dais leading to an enormous figure seated in a vast marble throne. The grave is impressive, to say the least. The carvings on it, just visible over her shoulder, are all in a mix of Enochian and Hebrew, including the Hebrew inscription of God's own name.]
It is astounding that any of you can survive on your own in this place, if this is how you handle anything new. [Then her expression tightens more, if possible, something dulling in her eyes slightly.] If you cannot learn for yourself, then know this: the graves should not be destroyed.
[Trust her. It isn't worth it. Her mouth presses into a thin, tense line before the feed cuts out altogether.]
[OOC: she's sitting at the base of fake-God's throne/grave in the middle of a ring of archangel graves, including her own, a destroyed Gabriel statue, a Lucifer mausoleum, and a smoking crater where Michael's used to be. Come bother her, bros.]
There is a glut of idiocy this week.
[She gestures and the PCD rises, turning to face her at a slightly different angle. Behind her, it shows the stone dais- for that's exactly what it is, large steps of a massive grave, consisting of the huge dais leading to an enormous figure seated in a vast marble throne. The grave is impressive, to say the least. The carvings on it, just visible over her shoulder, are all in a mix of Enochian and Hebrew, including the Hebrew inscription of God's own name.]
It is astounding that any of you can survive on your own in this place, if this is how you handle anything new. [Then her expression tightens more, if possible, something dulling in her eyes slightly.] If you cannot learn for yourself, then know this: the graves should not be destroyed.
[Trust her. It isn't worth it. Her mouth presses into a thin, tense line before the feed cuts out altogether.]
[OOC: she's sitting at the base of fake-God's throne/grave in the middle of a ring of archangel graves, including her own, a destroyed Gabriel statue, a Lucifer mausoleum, and a smoking crater where Michael's used to be. Come bother her, bros.]
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My brothers' fighting nearly ended the world.
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Funny, mine's saved it a couple times.
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Our family ruled the cosmos. It means nothing here, but in my world we are most important people in existence.
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I could say the same to you, darling. Not liking the bigger pond?
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Adstringéndum is smaller than my world. I had all of Heaven and Creation to spread my wings over.
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Just in case you haven't noticed, sweetheart, you're not in Kansas anymore. And like you said, none of that matters here, so why pretend like you're still special if the rest of us aren't?
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Do you think that repeating inane observations that I already know will accomplish something?
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Do you? You still sound like you expect me to be afraid.
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related: he should start figuring out she has real-people feelings
If I think it wise for you to fear me, it is not because of the vastness of Heaven or a war at home.
Re: related: he should start figuring out she has real-people feelings
Let me guess, it's because you've got strong fingers and will rip my tongue out of my head again.
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You wouldn't be the first one, darling. And I doubt you'd be nearly as good at it.
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[Her expression curdles into a twisted little smile that looks oddly out of place on her face, almost foreign, too sadistic, then flickers a little as she leans back on her heels.]
Though I see someone has already meted out plenty of pain.
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Not your imagination, Buttercup. Your pedigree.
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My pedigree.
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