starsmisalign (starsmisalign) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-08-07 15:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | celeste henry, ~phanuel |
Revelations
Who: Phanuel, Celeste Henry
What: Day Drinking
Where: Searchlight, Phanuel's Trailer
When: Present, Day
Ratings/Warnings: Low
Celeste liked the desert. She wasn’t the type to get homesick, but the best parts of her upbringing were spent in an environment not unlike this one. Arid, yet teeming with life. And death. She enjoyed walking past where the businesses and residences ended, what other people called ‘civilization’, but what Celeste would call ‘distractions’. Her boots kicked up dust, her eyes scanning the terrain for anything of interest.
A snowshoe hare spotted the brunette and froze, round black eyes trained on her. Celeste knelt in the dirt, and remained still, a smile turning up the corners of her unadorned mouth. The tiny rabbit’s ears twitched in the breeze.
In the stillness, Celeste could hear the faint strains of music in the distance. She looked up, the sudden movement of her head causing the hare to bound away. She stood back up, a light dusting of dirt on her bare knee. The brunette brushed it away absentmindedly as she began walking toward the source of the sound.
The air ahead wavered with heat. The trailer sat like a mirage, garish Christmas lights an odd contrast of color against the desert backdrop. It looked like some kind of surrealist art installation. The only thing that would have made it better would be pink plastic flamingos planted in the sand.
Pink flamingos were reserved, as everyone knew, for Christmastime. She used to have garden gnomes, but they threatened to unionize. (Phanuel blamed the former tenant.)
She finally felt herself again, after the altercation at Terrible’s. While considered the Angel of Exorcism in some biblical circles, it nonetheless took a painful toll; it was made worse after severing ties with Heaven. Still, she was content to remain close to her trailer, barefoot as always, seated under the awning despite her love of the sun.
In the haze just beyond, she made out a figure approaching.
Keep walking by, keep walking.
As Celeste drew closer to the trailer, a flare of recognition went through her. The pale blonde woman who sat there, the brunette had seen her before. She wouldn’t soon forget any detail about that night. James had told her the name: Phanuel. Honestly, she hadn’t pictured such a woman living in a place like this. Not that she was judging; her own living accommodations weren’t always comfortable, either.
Plus, she could see the appeal here. Tucked away safely like a bird in a metal egg. She was curious, it hadn’t been explained to her how James knew Phanuel. Celeste paused somewhat awkwardly about ten feet away. “Lumberjack slam, coffee, extra extra cream,” she said by way of hello.
Well, fuck me.
It only took Phanuel a moment to recognize the brunette. “You were at Terrible’s with Hutchins.” She remembered his nod at her. “Good memory.”
The Angel thought a moment about the incident that took place. The woman had exited the establishment before all hell broke loose, and yet… she could see some residue from the entity she’d expunged.
“Crazy night.” The blonde motioned the girl closer, holding up a bottle of vodka as an invitation to join her. What if I sent the demon into another host? It was worth investigating.
Celeste smiled when she spotted the vodka, the bottle glinting in the afternoon sun. Sure, she could do with a bit of day drinking. She approached the other woman casually, loose-fitting tank rustling as she walked. “I like your lights.”
The brunette took it upon herself to occupy the empty chair next to Phanuel. The awning blocked a good portion of the bright rays, so she didn’t have to squint to see her. “Yeah, Hutchins,” she agreed, smiling at the use of his last name. That smile said it all. Anyone even remotely perceptive would have picked up on it. “I heard rumors of what went down inside, but I suspect they’re greatly exaggerated. Something about a bird costume?”
“Sure.” Phanuel half-smiled. The best lie -- not that she was good at telling one -- was not responding at all. She noticed the woman’s expression. “You fucked Hutchins.”
The blonde handed the visitor the bottle. She popped inside the trailer to find another tumbler for her guest.
“Okay...wow.” Celeste blinked. That was direct. She watched Phanuel go into the trailer, her toe tracing circles in the dirt. The brunette wouldn’t have phrased it like that, but…
“I was hoping it was a little more than that. But, uh, yeah.” A pause. “How do you know him, anyway?”
There came sounds of rummaging from inside the trailer, followed by a SMASH, tinkle tinkle. “Shit.”
Phanuel reappeared moments later, gas-station-inspired tumbler in hand. As she crossed the distance from the door to her chair, bloody footprints followed. The Angel offered up the glass. “That’s … a loaded question. We go back a ways.”
The blonde finally noticed the trail of blood, examined her foot. She removed a tiny shard of glass from her heel and motioned for the bottle when the woman was done. “Sorry, I never caught your name.”
Celeste filled her glass, then handed the bottle back, her eyes on Phanuel’s foot. “You should disinfect that. You might not think it, but there are several colonies of bacteria in the desert.” The brunette took a sip of vodka, shaking her shoulders a little at the burn. “It’s Celeste.”
She noted the slight evasion in the other woman’s answer and decided to let sleeping dogs lie.
The Angel poured some of the liquid on her foot, then two fingers into her own glass. “No, really. What’s your name?”
She watched her pour alcohol on her bloody foot with some measure of amusement. Celeste probably would have done the same. You have to work with what you’ve got.
“My name is really Celeste.” The brunette smiled. “Is it really that much more unusual than Phanuel?”
“My Father is a religious man.”
Phanuel exhaled and took a sip from her glass. “Celeste? I’ll never remember it. What’s your last name?”
“Oh, religious parents. Yeah, I suffer from that inherited illness, too.” Celeste drained her glass of vodka. “My last name is Henry, but...I don’t know how I feel being called that.” She settled back in the chair, crossing one bare leg over the other. The strings from her frayed shorts dangled against her skin.
“That explains your name, too, I guess. Except I’ll definitely remember yours.”
“The only way I’m gonna retain it is to think Celestial.” Phanuel frowned; she really preferred being on a last name basis with people; it was more formal, arms-length. “Are you sure you can’t live with Henry? You remind me of a Henry.”
“Sure. For you, I’ll let you call me Henry.” Celeste reached over and grabbed the vodka, refilling her glass, then toasted Phanuel. She wasn’t a frequent drinker besides the occasional beer, which caused her to be a bit of a lightweight. The brunette swayed slightly in her chair.
“You know how to have fun. Sitting here, alone, in the desert...well, you’re not alone anymore.”
She could blame it on the alcohol, but the woman’s words stuck with the Angel. ’You’re not alone anymore.’ Phanuel sighed. “Neither are you,” she replied. The toast was returned.
“Celeste.”
Bottoms up. She watched life carry on in front of them. It was nice to be still for a change. Since coming to Searchlight, Celeste had not felt the familiar urge to hit the open road. There was nothing, at the moment, that she wished to run from. Instead of questioning it to death, the brunette had decided to just accept it.
“Is that for better or worse?” she asked.
“Depends on where you’re coming from, Celes--” Phanuel countered. It was tempting to reach out to touch the brunette, to read her Cliff Notes.
She hesitated. There was an odd… satisfaction in not knowing.
Her hand retreated, instead tended to her cut foot. The scar was already beginning to heal. The Angel wondered if Celeste noticed.
“Nope. Can’t do it. Gonna have to call you Henry,” Phanuel decided. “As for your question. I think, for the better. I may be an anti-social asshole, but I do have a small circle of people I tolerate.” The Angel laughed. “And, although it’s probably the alcohol talking, they make me a better… person.”
“It’s not the alcohol talking for me, I know exactly what you mean. There’s something about this town, maybe because of how small it is, but it feels like you end up meeting everyone and you can’t help but try to huddle together to ride out...whatever the hell is going on here.” It was a lot of words at once.
Celeste closed her eyes. Part of her wished the sun reached under the awning, but she might have fallen asleep right there if that were the case.
She was right. There was something about Searchlight. Phanuel had felt it almost from the beginning, but still unable to pinpoint what exactly that meant. And there was no chatter on Angel RadioTM about it either, which meant either the Heavenly Host felt it was beneath them or they were just as stumped and didn’t want to admit it. She wondered what the rest of the pantheon of gods and monsters thought about Searchlight, if they did at all.
“What brought you here?” the blonde asked. “I’ve been in Searchlight for a few years now, I’d remember you.”
The brunette looked down at her glass. “I came looking for trouble.” That seemed a succinct enough answer to her, though might not make sense to an outsider. “I found it.” She glanced back up at the blonde and shrugged.
“I could ask the same of you. No offense, but...you don’t really look like you fit in here.”
“I don’t fit in anywhere,” came the reply. Phanuel could argue that included her former plane of existence. “I left home a long time ago. Don’t think they even miss me, if I’m honest. I was a bit of a troublemaker.”
“Who knows? I may pull up stakes tomorrow. Go wander again.”
Talking to Phanuel was becoming uncomfortably similar to deja vu. “Me too.” Blue eyes were a little wide with marvel. What else did they have in common? “I left my family behind a long time ago. Super religious. I couldn’t handle it anymore.” The fear, paranoia, mistrust. Celeste had left, but they had never really left her.
“We just might be kindred souls, Phanuel.” Then, the brunette giggled. What a horrendously stupid thing to say.
“There are more things in heaven and Earth, Henry, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Phanuel smiled in reply. “Sounds like our families would get along famously at a Sunday picnic.”
Another toast. The Angel drained her glass, and poured herself another. She offered the bottle to her new friend.
Sure, why not. In for a penny...Celeste refilled her glass. It was like a drinking contest that no one had declared, although unbeknownst to the brunette, the Angel was definitely winning. “I don’t know about that. They think they’re pretty special. They think their way is the right way.”
She drank deeply, the vodka not burning anymore. Her throat was numb. “And I don’t mean like the normal church people. We had a weapons cache. What normal family has a weapons cache?” The words slurred slightly on her heavy tongue.
Phanuel immediately thought of the warrior angel caste, itching for the final fight between Heaven and Hell. Flaming swords, angel blades. She wondered if they’d upgraded their arsenal since she’d been away. He only knows the damage an AR-15 in the hands of someone like Uriel could do. And once Gabriel blew his horn -- if he ever did, and she was honestly hoping it didn’t happen for at least another few centuries -- it was game over.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” the blonde leaned in, conspiratorially. “No one’s got it right. Have you ever seen Rowan Atkinson’s The Devil sketch? Youtube it.” Phanuel cleared her voice. The vodka was starting to take effect. “Americans, are you here? I’m sorry, but God had a fraças with your Founding Fathers, and damned the lot of you in perpetuity.” It was a pretty good impression of the comedian, accent and all.
Celeste burst out laughing, her cup shaking and threatening to slosh liquid over her boots. “What?!” She tried to catch her breath, composing herself, but there wasn’t much of herself to compose at the moment. “You’re funny. I wasn’t expecting you to be funny.”
The brunette wiped a tear away from her eye. “How do you know, that no one’s got it right? I mean, I agree, but I want to hear what you have to say about it.”
Whelp. She walked into that one. Phanuel weighed her options. She was a lousy liar, especially after having a few belts, and she was sure that the brunette would sense the deceit. She could try to side-step it and change the subject, but suspected that would fail as well.
And Henry got into Hutchins’ pants, which meant he trusted her.
Phanuel scanned the nearby landscape for interlopers. “Can you keep a secret?” the Angel whispered.
“It depends on who you ask,” Celeste admitted. She seemed to tell James everything, for instance, it was like she couldn’t help herself. But whatever it was that Phanuel had, it sounded juicy. “For you, I won’t tell a soul.”
She tried to mime a ‘lips are sealed’ gesture and almost poked herself in the eye.
Phanuel leaned forward, conspiratorially.
“I’m an angel.”
Celeste gave the blonde a confused smile. “I thought you said you were a troublemaker.” Maybe she was still doing some obscure comedy bit. Should she clap?
“Angels can’t be trouble?”
“Oh.” Celeste’s expression cleared. “You’re speaking literally. You’re literally saying you’re an Angel.” The brunette went quiet. Did she believe Phanuel? Would it have been entirely out of the question? Not really. She herself had been briefly possessed by a demon, after all. So it stood to reason…
“You’re an Angel. And you sat here and listened to me talk shit about religion. That’s...interesting.”
“That’s ‘cuz I quit.” Phanuel was dead serious. “I talk shit about religion all the time. It’s all bullshit. And it’s not the be all and end all. There are other gods. Maybe not as powerful, I dunno. My Father likes to say He was first on the scene. But we definitely share the stage.”
She took another gulp of the vodka before continuing. “Why do you think there are so many so-called religions? Because everyone wants their idea to be the right one. They can’t fathom the possibility they’re wrong, or even that they share some things they got right. And the fighting! Always the fighting for His glory. ’Two hundred kuatlus on the newcomer!’” Phanuel waited to see if the Star Trek reference would be picked up.
What Phanuel couldn’t know was that Celeste was a relative newcomer to the pop culture pantheon. Until about the age of sixteen, she had never even watched a television. And by the time she had left, she was too busy indulging in crime and chaos to pay attention. So references like Star Trek were completely lost on her. Her face was blank for a moment.
“There are multiple gods,” the brunette repeated. She had heard things like this before, of course, but Celeste was getting the inside scoop now. There was one burning question. She had to ask it. Had to.
“Do you, uh...know anything about any upcoming apocalypses?”
“Are you looking to start one?” the Angel joked. “Seriously, the only one I’m aware of is the biblical Armageddon, and I’ve already been sidelined from that. Fucking nepotism.” Phanuel finished her drink before continuing. “No set deadline on when or where it begins. Supposed to start with Gabriel blowing on his trumpet. You hear that, put your head between your legs.”
“I was looking to,” Celeste admitted seriously. She swirled her glass and watched the last of the alcohol turn clockwise. “Got sidelined.” The news that this was indeed a distinct possibility made a little bit of bile come up in her throat. Her family had been right.
“You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question.
Celeste nodded. “Yeah.”
It begged the obvious question. “Why?”
The brunette knew the answer to this by rote, by now. “Because I got tired of waiting for it, preparing for it. I was ready for the damn thing to just happen. Maybe a part of me believed it would, and another part thought it was all bullshit but wanted to test God. I wanted to play a game of chicken and win. And then shove it in the faces of my family as they burned.”
Celeste was surprised at the force of emotion that seemed to flow out of her, the hatred. She had been much calmer explaining this to James.
“I get it. Especially the part about testing God,” Phanuel nodded in violent agreement. “Same thing upstairs. There’s battalions of Angels just waiting for the Word. Towing the company line. Thing about playing chicken is, somebody’s gotta be the chicken.”
“Do you still feel that way?”
“I still want them to get theirs, yeah. But I don’t think I want the world to end. At least, not yet, anyway. There are some pretty worthwhile things here.” Again, Celeste smiled. “You must agree, if you’re here.”
“Every once in a while, humanity manages not to piss me off,” Phanuel commented. “I like to say: individual people are okay, but get ‘em together as groups and their collective IQ falls into the toilet.” She poured out a bit more vodka into her tumbler, offering the rest to Henry.
“Not that I have an inside line, mind you, ‘cuz the whole ‘severing connections with Heaven’ thing.” She swirled the vodka in the glass before bringing it to her lips and swallowing the contents. “But there’s a special place reserved in Hell for the Waco idiots.”
Celeste stared at the last bit of vodka; it looked daunting. Oh, she was going to pay for this. But it felt good in the moment. She accepted the remainder into her own cup.
“What do you know about Hell? Like, have you seen it?” This idea fascinated her, and it was telling that she didn’t immediately ask about Heaven.
“Have you ever driven on the 405 freeway at rush hour?” It was the best descriptor Phanuel could think of.
She shook her head. No. California really wasn’t her scene. Besides, the whole state was liable to drop into the ocean any day, and Celeste had been angling for a much better front-row seat than that. “I’ll take your word on that.”
A hand went to temple, massaging lightly. She was going to have to stumble back to the El Rey. “Whatever it’s like, I know that’s where I’m goin’.”
The brunette mostly meant the hangover, but also sort of in the afterlife sense.
The Angel waved a hand in the air. “Don’t be too quick to plan out your eternity.”
The bottle was laid on the ground on its side. Phanuel spun it idly. “You know what happened to me three months ago? I was on a walkabout on the Upper East Side in New York, and this seventeen year-old stopped me on the sidewalk. Said she had a message for me, from my Father. ’I still love you.’ After all this time.”
Celeste stared at the Angel, a pang going off like a small firework in her heart. She thought of her younger brother. If anyone had gotten into Heaven, it would have been that kid. He had been perfect. A bare forearm wiped harshly across her eyes.
“That kind of love,” the brunette said quietly, “it never goes away. Even if you beg it to, because it hurts so damn much.”
“So you know.”
Phanuel held out a hand, to comfort, which went against every instinct. And yet she sensed, that was one of the reasons why she was here now, in this place. Goddammit Dad, you always have a plan.
The brunette didn’t hesitate. Drunk as she was, she could read people and knew the Angel was a lot like herself. This gesture wasn’t thoughtless. Her hand found Phanuel’s. She watched the horizon, the sun had been starting its beautiful descent in the cloudless blue sky.
“I know.”