mr. white. (madetomeasure) wrote in at_the_gates, @ 2012-02-17 00:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | !plot: london burning, brielle leblanc, mr white |
oh, pick up your rope, Lord, sling it to me. if we are to battle, I must not be weak.
WHO: Brielle LeBlanc and Mr White (& Mr Black, at his convenience)
WHAT: Ain't no party like a Nephilim party! Great-uncles come to the rescue.
WHEN: Day Two.
WHERE: An alleyway in London, also passing as Hell.
Apparently, under times of duress, mister Aaron-Ahya-Nariman-White (at your service) was a consummate do-gooder. It was a fact he rarely had cause to practice, even throughout all his thousands of years: he funnelled information to mankind, yes, and he liked having women warm his bed, and he loved humans in all their fucking ingenuity and splendour. But there was always the need to walk under the radar, to keep their wings hidden, to ghost in the background as simply another subconscious voice, a half-angel perched on their back and steering them ever-so-gently (or forcibly) towards greatness. Always under the radar. Always eluding being found out, on the off-chance that Heaven remembered its forgotten sons and decided to finish what it started. So the chance to slip his skin and walk free and tall -- well, that only came along every millennium or so. |