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Reality Fault

Realms: Law Logs

Days Gone By.

Phoenix, Arizona. 1968.

The summer heat was always brutal in Phoenix, but that Saturday was particularly scorching. Noon was still ninety minutes off and the thermometer was already reading over a hundred degrees. Marchers had been gathering since well before full light and the demonstration itself was in full swing. Streets were lined with supporters and detractors alike. Veterans speckled the crowd, some still in fresh fatigues, some looking not much different than the most dedicated of the flower children.

Some of the police that had been called out to make sure that the peace demonstration stayed peaceful were standing loose and relaxed, looking almost disdainful of the whole situation. Others stood with riot shields and nightsticks at the read, nerves showing in their faces and the way they held themselves. In the streets, some of the protestors were shouting and chanting, carrying their signs about bringing the soldiers home. There were a few, however, that were blaming the soldiers themselves for not resisting and refusing the war. Some of those latter were screaming and shouting epithets at the soldiers that were obvious along the sidewalks.

Shateishael narrows his eyes, watching in stony silence from within the crowd. He's freshly arrived in the city, still carrying his battered duffel over his shoulder and dressed in worn fatigues. He gently shoulders his way through the crowd to the fore, trying to be a big, stolid shield between the angry protestors and the vets. Right now he thinks the protestors need to get a damn clue... you don't scream at people who took damage for you!

Shateishael frowns, staring with icy blue eyes down at the screaming demonstrators.

The big, quiet vet's stare actually quells some of the marchers, especially the ones who are only half-hearted in their imprecations. Some of the less-bright ones seem to take the cold stares and icy glares as an offense in themselves, just sneering and taunting more loudly.

    Slate: male, looks about 20 to 25 years old. Bright blonde hair in a shaggy former crew cut. Narrowed blue eyes, perennial frown, and tanned skin. Burly, with the broad shoulders and muscular torso of a blacksmith, and the slightly prowling, wary demeanor of a soldier recently under fire.

Rosenstern is trying not to see himself as a one-man fire brigade, but it's becoming increasingly obvious to him that this is what he's doing. The ones who are calling for the government to bring the soldiers home are fine -- that's just the message he'd hoped they would be giving. But the ones who are showing rancor to the veterans -- that's not good.

As an angel, he's involved in the war between Heaven and Hell -- while peace would be good, he doubts that Hell would go for that. And with his involvement, it's hypocritical for him to criticize actual soldiers. He's not often faced the physical -- and celestial -- angers of actual fighting, but that doesn't mean he should denigrate it. The ethos of the warrior has its place; he just wants to keep it from being the only ethos....

Like it's about to be here, if the 'peace' demonstrators shouting invectives at the soldiers are any indication. He's seen crowds go ugly, and this is one of them. He scrambles through the lines of more peaceable protesters, trying to get to the heart -- and instigators, since this sort of protesting was not on the agenda for today! -- of this disturbing alteration to the march's plans. Please don't let there be a Malphan, Mutter, he thinks desperately.

Shateishael firmly sets the duffel down by his booted feet and folds his arms, scowling as he glares at the silly children who've never even held a weapon. Screaming fools... do they want to do the demons' work for them?!

As Rosenstern gets closer to the largest knot of peaceniks turning nasty, he starts to hear a wrong note. The Symphony sounds as calm as it can for a place with this much tension, but there's a jangling undertone the deeper he gets into the ranks of the screamers. It's almost like someone shaking a tambourine beneath booming bass drums.

    He stands about six feet tall, slender and light of build, with an easy, casual and friendly grace about him. He has shoulder-length brown hair, wavy and neatly trimmed, framing a face that holds a pair of deep brown, expressive eyes. A green button-down shirt, under a plain, featureless black vest, is tucked into a pair of khakis, and comfortable, plain casual shoes are upon his feet.

Slate senses it not much after Rosenstern first becomes aware of it.

Shateishael's frown deepens, and he starts looking around, trying to isolate the cause of the dissonant sound -- that doesn't belong here!

Rosenstern pauses, then mutters, "Scheisse!" under his breath as he redoubles his rush through the protesters. He tries to find where the discordance is coming from.

As the loudest and most obnoxious of the demonstrators move past Slate, he can also hear what sounds almost like a guitar being out of tune, weaving itself in and out of the jangle of the tambourine. Together, they sound almost like Romany music, but played by someone missing most of their fingers. Rosenstern hears it almost at the same instant.

The jangling of so many humans feeling so very outraged makes it hard to find the bad notes. And they're moving, not just along the route of the protest, but also within the crowd of marchers.

Shateishael scoops up his duffel and slings it across his shoulder, then steps off the curb towards the marchers. Is there someone behind that obnoxious dickhead, goading him on?

Shateishael paces slowly towards them, gaze sweeping the crowd.

The only thing he can think of that sounds that bad... would have to be a Balseraph. He scowls at the thought, revolted, then searches visually for a likely target.

Rosenstern bares his teeth silently. It... feels like an Impudite. I so do not need this temptation..... He pursues the nearest discordant sound through the Symphony, knowing that getting the Impudite to stop is the only way to keep this from boiling over into something unpleasant.

Some of the less bright marchers are surging toward the sides, not actually attacking anyone, but getting in people's faces, invading their space. Slate notices that when they get too nasty, there's one particular person that seems to just sap the eagerness from it.

Shateishael gets an unpleasant smile that doesn't reach his eyes... and starts wading carefully but determinedly through the crowd towards that person.

That's gotta be it -- must be eating the bad energy. Let's see what happens when he's confronted. He steps directly in the path of the stranger and glowers down at him, fists on hips and alert to falsehood, "Okay, smartass. Who do you serve?"

Rosenstern has one moment where he thinks he can spot them. Two girls -- mid-teens, it looks like. One's the Impudite, she must be; the other seems to just be following her lead. How did I miss them before? I thought I went through the entire march beforehand -- no matter, and no time! I have to stop-- And he almost walks straight into this big, burly vet, almost sending him sprawling backwards. "Augh, gott in.... He shakes off his startlement, looking up -- and up, and up -- at the vet. Oh, scheisse. "Whom do I... what are you talking about?"

Shateishael reaches out for the slender man, snarling quietly, "Answer me, demon, or I'll wring it out of you!"

As the two men stand almost nose-to-nose, the dissonant notes grow louder, the anger and screaming spreading farther among the crowd. It ripples out to touch the edges of the throngs on the sidewalk, some of the watchers now screaming back at the protestors.

Rosenstern blinks in surprise, slipping just barely away from the large soldier's grasp. Damn, he's fast! Wait -- what did he call me?! "I'm not a demon, I'm an -- I'm trying to keep this from blowing up!" Feeling the surging of the anger, he tries to go around Slate to get to the source of the dissonance standing beyond the vet.

Shateishael's head comes back up, and he grunts once, his scowl going to a frown. That was very much truth... which means... the demons are still out there. He's still for a second, then nods, "All right. Can you sense 'em? Point 'em out?"

Rosenstern pauses, glancing up at the man. He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, that Rosie's mind is more than a bit stunned. After a moment, though, he nods, quickly, pointing out the two mid-teen girls. "That's them," he says quickly.

Shateishael nods once, his tone terse, "Got it. Follow me." He turns and starts surging purposefully through the crowd, easily clearing the way for the more slightly built angel towards the girls.

Shateishael frowns. Girls. Good vessel choice. He's not going to be able to just clobber them.

Rosenstern nods, and follows the larger angel. "Flowers," he says by way of hurried introduction.

Shateishael gives a disgustedly amused grin over his shoulder, saying only, "Figures."

The girls have separated slightly, moving toward the edges of the protesters, spreading their influence. The slight girl seems to be the off-key guitar.

Shateishael growls over his shoulder, "Which you want first?"

Rosenstern scowls to himself. Derision from other angels -- particularly the War faction -- is common enough. Which would place Thor here in War, Stone, or Sword. And wouldn't it be a kick in the head if he were Destiny? He shakes his head, and looks over the two as they separate. "The slighter one. She's the one running the show."

Shateishael nods, moving through the crowd like a bow wave until he passes the girl, planting himself in front of her.

Shateishael folds his arms, staring down at her stonily.

Her attention is out toward the edges of the crowd and she runs bodily into Slate, looking up with wide eyes. She throws her hands up, covering her face as if to deflect a blow. The whole while, she screams "Baby killer! Murderer!" at the big blond.

Rosenstern blinks and shakes his head. Stone. Oh, Adonai, he's as Stone as the stars are numberless. Damn effective, though. He blinks at her shout, then scowls and moves to interpose himself between Thor and the now-screaming demon. Maybe that'll defuse any immediate reactions any onlookers might have.

Shateishael snorts amusedly, not moving as the girl bounces off him, then watches the slight Flowers get between them. He hopes the other angel has a means to deal with this annoying bint. Her screeching is getting on his nerves.

As her companion starts screaming and pretending to be assaulted by Slate, the larger one surges that way, shrieking, "Don't you hurt her! Don't you hurt Sarah you monster!" As she moves, the people around her turn their attention to the not-assault. The reaction is a bit blunted when it seems like the girl is protecting herself from Rosie.

Shateishael turns his head and glares at the other girl for a moment... then turns his attention back to the two before him. He's curious as to what the Flower-child will do -- he's never seen one in action before.

Rosenstern drops his voice, so that only the girl can hear him. "The gig is up," he says flatly. "You can go home now. I am not going to let you turn this into a riot." He mentally goes through what tools he can use in case this flat statement of truth doesn't serve to move her. There are a couple of bluffs he can pull, though he seriously doubts he'll have much luck in just talking her out of this.

Rosenstern's announcement takes the girl aback for a moment, long enough for her companion to join them. With her larger friend behind her, the delicate blonde straightens her back, chin up, looking the very picture of hopeful outrage, "Why are you defending him, brother? Don't you know what he does? Don't you know what these murderers are doing?" The Symphony screams with the dissonance of the Balseraph reaching out toward Rosie, trying to make him see her untruth as his own.

Shateishael laughs -- a low growl -- and mockingly rumbles, "Liar!" He draws the word out slowly, staring directly at the girl.

Rosenstern folds his arms, grimacing. Balseraph. Great. It figures, though. Get so far into a role that you twist everything around you to match that role.... "The protest is about what the government is doing, not the soldiers. You know that as well as I do, which is why you're trying to turn it into something it's not. Now, do you go, or...." He pauses, then mentally shrugs. "Or do I let the Calabim posing as cops treat you just like how you're hoping they'll treat the other protesters?" It's a bluff, but then again, it's a not unlikely one.

The shock of realizing that Rosenstern isn't going to go along with her version of the truth leaves the Balseraph dumb for a moment, panic in her eyes. Her Impudite follower pushes forward, pointing at Slate's chest and says something obviously desperate, "He's going to kill her! Murderer! Monster!" The smaller girl reaches back, putting a hand on her friend's wrist, "No, Julie. Don't. He doesn't have the guts. I'm not a baby, am I, baby killer?" She sneers the last word, eyes flicking around at the cops despite pretending to ignore Rosie's threat.

Shateishael smiles slowly, a sardonic expression, and sneers right back, "Balseraph scum. You know as well as I that I'm not truly a baby killer."

Shateishael turns the metaphorical knife on the Balseraph, amusedly thinking, They make it so easy sometimes...

Only then does Rosie realize (a) Thor back there is a Seraph, considering how fiery he was about the truth, and (b) he's in between what are probably the ultimate opposites in Creation, not counting Adonai and the Lightbringer. Celestial matter and Infernal antimatter, so to speak. Which explode when they come in contact with each other. And Rosie is right between them. A mental sigh. Ah, Mutter, why do I get myself into these situations?

As her concentration slips, the knot of tension begins to loosen, less of the marchers screaming at the vets and fewer of the watchers screaming back. Sarah does her best to keep it together in the face of the confrontation, but the threads of her lie are starting to unravel. Julie, the Impudite, sees it happening and looks around for an escape route. "You... you just leave us alone! We aren't hurting anyone!" the Impudite's eyes fill with tears as she tries to at least get some of the humans to intervene, knowing that the angels, for that's all the two men could be, won't hurt the sheep surrounding them.

Shateishael grins maliciously at the Balseraph, his focus sharply intense, "C'mon, sweetheart, aren'tcha gonna try again? Tell me another one!"

Shateishael figures he can maybe keep the Balseraph distracted, but the other one is up to the Flower-child.

Rosenstern does not look any different from the rest of the protesters. This, at least, is in his favor. He raises his voice just a little, for the benefit of any human onlookers. "This is, and always has been, about the government. Not the soldiers. Not the police. Not anything else. If you truly believe in what we're trying to accomplish here, then stay. If not, then you should go home, and find a protest that's more to your liking." His voice drops again, as he looks at the Taker. "You know damn well what your friend is going to trigger if she stays. You and I both don't want to see anyone hurt. If she fires off a riot, I will make sure that you are here for every painful second of it. Go, or stay. Your choice.

For a moment, the seemingly frail Balseraph looks as if she's going to claw Slate's eyes out and then her attention shifts to Rosie and she hisses, "Traitor... he's got you brainwashed..." There's another rush and bad notes as her attempt fails again and she literally rocks back on her feet, starting to crumple with the physical backlash of it.

Julie catches her under her arms, strangely, she laughs, "Oh, but if this bunch of peaceniks started a fatal riot, how funny it would be!" With her companion collapsing, the Impudite knows she can't force the marchers to the brink they were wanting and she starts to retreat, dragging Sarah's inert form with her.

Shateishael grins down at the slight angel, making a guess, "Nice work, Friend of Man. Want to follow the Liar or let 'em go?"

Rosenstern pauses, and takes in a deep breath. A joke? Not... not Kobalite? Great. An Impudite of Kobal. The one Taker that I hate more than Malpheans. He takes a few moments to gather his thoughts, then walks forward, matching the Impudite's steps. "Hilarious," he says flatly. "The joke wouldn't be complete without the vessel of the person setting up the joke being gassed and clobbered with a nightstick a few hundred times. Yes, that joke will really go over well. How much do you like being laughed at, being the butt of your own joke?"

Shateishael's grin broadens, and he follows with interest.

Rosenstern does not make any -- immediate -- reply to Thor's compliment, so focused is he on the Impudite.

The Impudite looks panicked now, weighed down by her unconscious companion. The thought just has time to flash across her brain before she drops the Balseraph's unconscious Vessel and flees.

Rosenstern lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping as he mutters something in German.

Shateishael chuckles, stepping forward to easily scoop up the unconscious Balseraph. He turns to the Flowers angel and grins, "Even better. Where you want it?"

Shateishael looks around, muttering, "What I wouldn't give for a nice Malakite just now..."

Rosenstern looks up a little in surprise at Thor, then smiles wanly. "Thank you. That'd have gone not nearly so well if you hadn't been here." He nods to the side of the street. "There's a bench over there. Let's set her down and leave her be; maybe the local Dominicans can pick her up and... process her. Or whatever they do.

Shateishael studies the smaller man, then rumbles, "You know any Malakites in the area? Seems a shame to waste such an opportunity."

Rosenstern bites his lip as he thinks. "I don't... I don't hang around a lot with Malakim, man, but... well, I do know of one."

Shateishael huhs, studying the slight, young, female Vessel he's holding, and gently presses one strong finger along her carotid artery to keep her unconscious. "Well, let's find 'em."

Rosenstern glances around. "Uhm. I wonder if there's any way to do this a little more subtly. You carrying around a hippie girl... might not look so good..

Shateishael looks back at the slight, young, male Vessel of the Flowers Mercurian and grins, "Could stuff her in my duffel, but that'd be kinda obvious. Act like you're directing me, I guess, with where to take your sister. Get movin', boy. Can't keep it asleep forever."

Rosenstern rolls his eyes a bit. "Nice. Okay, this way. I think she's about a mile west of here...."

Shateishael gives a rumbling chuckle, "A mile? Got wheels?"

The gentle Rosenstern knew of a Malakite, indeed. He knew someone that was trying hard to be the very model of a Malakite. The Servitor of Michael was working Security at the protest and would have noticed the disturbance of the Impudite and Balseraph if the march had gone another half mile or so.

For her part, Elisheba had seen Rosenstern at a few of these such things. They knew of one another's Celestial nature out of necessity. Working together as they did, it helped to realize the other wasn't working for the wrong side if something happened to the Symphony.

Rosie ushers Thor and the unconscious Balseraph to a small, lime-green Beetle.

    Elisheba is a stocky black woman of middling height, not large but definitely sturdy. She dresses like your typical butch 60's woman... jeans and shirts, with her hair in a close cut 'fro.

Shateishael paces along silently after the young Mercurian. He tosses his duffel in the back, then squeezes carefully into the passenger seat with the unconscious girl on his lap. Once Rosie's in the driver's seat he offers a large, calloused hand and rumbles quietly, "Slate. Slate Davidson."

Rosenstern smiles wanly, then, to Thor -- er, Slate, and shakes the man's hand. “Rosenstern. Thank you again for what you did back there."

Shateishael nods, settling back in the seat and saying politely, "Wasn't anything big. Let's dump the Liar, eh?"

Shateishael watches out the window as the little beetle drives, and eventually rumbles, "Nice town to settle in for our kind?"

Rosenstern mms quietly, chewing his lip as he drives. "It has its good places and bad."

Shateishael sounds pleased, "Good."

Elisheba has a somewhat official look about her today, having given up the unusual jacket and jeans hard butch look for something a touch less provocative for everyday folk in Phoenix, though perhaps not so much for this crowd. She has an arm badge on indicating she works security for the march, with a button down oxford shirt, and plain work pants to go with them. She is scanning the passerby as well as the traffic driving through the crowded streets, when she spots the lime green bug inching its way towards her.. she leans forward a touch as she focuses on the passengers in the car, making eye contact with Rosenstern, automatically scanning the car to check for any trouble..

Shateishael rumbles quietly to Rosenstern, "So what's your Malakite look like?" He pauses in his glancing about, then grins, "Lemme guess... female, large, black?"

Rosenstern makes a quiet sound, and nods, "Mmm. Yes, that's her." He sticks his hand out the window, waving to Elisheba.

Shateishael nods, checking the unconscious Balseraph again to make sure it stays that way, and then looks back up and around, wondering where the Malakite will want to take it.

Elisheba nods to Rosenstern, and takes a moment to speak to another security person, then begins to walk to meet the car..

Shateishael already has the window rolled down. Watching the Malakite walk over, he murmurs to Rosenstern, "What's her name?"

The Balseraph hasn't stirred at all in the last few minutes, the limp Vessel looking extremely innocent and frail in the big Seraph's arms.

Elisheba smiles as she gets close enough to spy the unconscious figure in the car, then bends over and says, "You need my assistance?"

Rosenstern says, "Hi, Elisheba, this is Slate, one of... uhm, David's people.""

Shateishael nods to the woman, bringing two fingers up to touch his temple as if he were tipping his hat, "Ma'am."

Shateishael says, "Got a Liar here. Seemed a waste to leave it behind. Thought maybe if it isn't interested in redeeming, you might want it?"

Elisheba smiles to Slate, and touches her own temple in return. "I'm hardly a Ma'am, and I don't think folk would understand if you called me sir, so you can just use Elisheba, or Eli if you're in the mood for brevity.

Shateishael grins quietly and nods once, "All right. Where you want it, then, Elisheba?"

Elisheba points with her chin to the young bit of a thing in the car.. "Well, what is it, exactly?"

Shateishael says, "A Liar. Balseraph."

Rosenstern provides, "There were two of them, trying to make the march into a riot. This one, and an Impudite. The Taker bolted, leaving this one behind.

Elisheba grunts, but looks somewhat anticipatory. Quietly, "Mmmm, well now, for what she needs we might need to go to the desert. Why don't I hop in and we'll discuss where to go and what to do away from any folk who might be more curious than is healthy, strictly speakin'"

Shateishael nods, glancing at Rosenstern, "Might wanta let her in on your side, so I'm not flashing what looks like a pretty girl?"

Rosenstern purses his lips, uncomfortable with where this is heading. he doesn't like violence, even to demons. "All right," he says, stepping out of the car and moving the seat forward for Elisheba to get in the back. "We'll at least give her a chance to redeem, before, uhm, you know," he adds, almost as a question than a statement.

Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Of course."

Elisheba squeezes herself in the back of the tiny, car, settling in next to the girl. "Redeem herself? Sure, no problem. Just so she doesn't leave my sight 'til we know one way or another.

Shateishael nods calmly, then adds, "Just shove the duffel over -- nothin' breakable in it." He speaks with what's obviously a southern drawl, probably Texan, with a faint hint of some other accent in it. "So y'all okay with someone like me settling into town? Any obvious issues need addressin'?"

Elisheba is quiet for a moment.. "Well, I'd say issues need addressin' all the time.. but at the moment, I'd just say this is the main one.. I'd like to know what the likes of her was doin' nosing around. No doubt there's something brewing..

Shateishael nods thoughtfully, "All right. Reckon I'll search around a bit to find a place to stay in town then."

Rosenstern makes another quiet thoughtful sound. "It does seem that way. These two weren't the most skillful of demons, though. The Taker said something about making the riot a joke, like a Kobalite would talk about, so I'm not sure there was more to it than that.

Elisheba shrugs. "We'll see, I suppose. It'd be far from the first time I saw some prince with big designs send in the runt to get the lay of the land.

Shateishael chuckles quietly.

Phoenix isn't far from desert in any direction and with a few nudges and suggestions from Elisheba, the car is soon far from anything resembling civilization. Off the road and down into a draw, the angels and their captured Balseraph find themselves quite hidden.

Shateishael nods, pleased with the locale, "Good choice." He opens the door and slides out, still carrying the unconscious Balseraph. "Okay. I'm thinking, unless Elisheba wants otherwise, we put Eli behind it in a position to break its neck if necessary, then wake it up and ask it if it wants to redeem." He glances around, then at Rosenstern, "Wanna go celestial in case it tries to escape that way?"

Elisheba nods. "That sounds like a good plan." She simply positions herself behind the Balseraph, cradling the girl's chin almost gently in one hand, and the delicate shape of her skull in the other, in position to give a quick twist if and when necessary with little notice.

Rosenstern swallows a little, and nods, clearly uncomfortable but for the moment accepting. Better that it be taken out quickly 00 and relatively painlessly -- than a long drawn out fight. Besides... it'll just wing back to Hell. "Right. I'll do that." He closes his eyes, and shimmers/melts into the pure articulated song of his Celestial form.

Shateishael waits until everyone's ready, then gently taps the girl's face a few times to wake her. He's got one of her slender wrists in his left hand, so he can tell if her heartbeat speeds up suddenly but she continues to fake being unconscious. "C'mon, kid, wake up..."

When the girl stirs, she makes a very human-sounding groan and tries to push herself into a more upright position. It takes her a few seconds to realize that her head is being held and a few more to realize that it's not her Kobalite accomplice that's doing it. The Balseraph freezes, eyes darting around.

Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Hey, Sarah. Guess you already know you were lying at the parade. So I was wondering... you want to redeem?"

Elisheba says nothing, for the moment, simply holding the fallen's head ever so still.

Rosenstern holds very still, not even trusting that his presence as a Celestial isn't noticed.

Sarah licks her lips nervously. She doesn't show most of the normal human signs of fright, she's not breathing at all and her pulse is steady where Elisheba can feel it in her throat. After a moment, her eyes flash, expression getting almost fanatical, "I don't know what you're talking about, baby killer."

Shateishael rumbles tiredly, "All right. Sorry, kid." He nods to Elisheba.

Shateishael holds up a hand, "Wait."

Shateishael studies the Balseraph thoughtfully, then says slowly, "That. Is. A lie... and you know it."

Elisheba stills, having been in the process of putting the girl's head in a rather uncomfortable position..

Sarah had just begun to react to Elisheba's motion, but she relaxes as her unseen captor still. She sneers at Slate and then snorts, "How do I know what you did or didn't do over there fighting in an illegal war? You all cover one another's backs." Delicate upper lip pulls back from her teeth in a snarl as she growls, "If you kill me, it'll only mean everyone knows what a monster you are. A lot of people saw you with me." She tries to jerk her head out of Elisheba's grip and spits at the big blond. She's not got nearly enough strength to pull away, but she does flail around quite a bit.

Shateishael nods, "All right, you had your chance and then some." He sighs, glancing up at Elisheba, "Go ahead."

Elisheba tsks, and in one smooth, powerful motion twists the little liar's head sharply to the left.

Rosenstern winces, shying away at the sight, hand clenching. Blast... they make it hard, more hard than this whole war should be....

Shateishael straightens up from where he'd been crouched in front of the girl and glances up at Rosenstern, "C'mon down, kid. S'over now. Thanks for the high cover."

Shateishael adds to the Malakite, "Thanks for the help."

There's not even time for the girl to scream before the body goes limp against Elisheba. Blue eyes glaze over as the Balseraph is sent back to its Heart in its Prince's demesne.

Rosenstern relaxes a little, reforming physically; he doesn't sense the dissonance of a human loosing their life, and some small part of him still had nervous doubts... but she was so clearly a Balseraph it was almost painful.

Elisheba nods, looking at the body of the girl. "Not a problem. And you can usually find me at one or another of the bars around town, if you should need me."

Shateishael grins at Rosenstern, clapping him lightly on the shoulder, "You okay, Rosie?" He nods to Elisheba, "Sounds good; thanks. May look you up later then. Got any recommendations for locales that need some attention?"

After just a few moments, the vessel begins to fade, going through something partway between melting and just fading into nothing. There's nothing left of it except the clothes, which the Balseraph must have picked up after forming the vessel.

Shateishael tilts his head curiously at the clothing, "What do y'all usually do with remains?"

Rosenstern nods, a touch mutely, in reply to Slate's question.

Rosenstern, on the drive back, thinks up and mentions some of the more troublesome areas of Phoenix that he has some knowledge of. His reply is distinctly Mercurian, mostly involving social situations though ones that he thinks a Stone Seraph might help out a lot in resolving, if not outright solve them.

Shateishael smiles quietly, kicked back as much as he can in the front seat with the window open, and nods, "All right, I'll check 'em out. Thanks, Rosie. Elisheba, you got any suggestions? You guys sharing a house or anything?"

Elisheba mentions areas needing attention, mostly couched in terms describing hunting grounds, and areas likely to draw the attention of the demons of the area.

Shateishael says, "Cool. 'Kay, I'll be looking for a house out on the fringes of town, under the expectation it'll grow in the next century or so. Y'all want in on that, or are you happy where you currently are?"

Elisheba says, "I have a little room I've been renting, but I wouldn't mind upgrading to something a bit more spacious. "

Shateishael nods, "Gotcha. I'll make sure there's room for visitors as well." He grins lazily, rolling his head back so he can see both the other angels, "Gonna be nice to be settled down for a bit, in a place where no one's shootin' at me!"

Rosenstern nods. "The same, really. It's not that I don't like where I am, but it's a little... small. Even for me. And all the walls are paper-thin.

Shateishael chuckles, "You got it, guys. Excellent. Let me know if y'all have anyone else you want to have move in too."

Elisheba grins. "You tryin' to start a hippie commune, friend?"

Shateishael rumbles lazily, "Sure, if it makes Phoenix angel-central."

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