The bar was a cozy thing; familiar music filing the air, smell of women’s perfume wafting close, warmth which wasn’t too suffocating nor unpleasant to deal with. Kokabiel was quite happy with the setting and had told so to his friends. His group was little more than ten people. Like himself, messy, rowdy and overall, cheerful people. Eight out of those ten were already well on their way to be thoroughly smashed. The former angel lost a little moment to watch the whole group, the way they interacted, so free with their emotions and actions.
On those little moments, he very much understood why his father believed these creatures to be his best creations. There was so much life, so much capability to be more and evolve. Very different from the memories Kokabiel saved from Heaven. An amazing, heart-breaking place but he had been an angel. Angels and duty went hand in hand. Kind of like these dudes and alcohol.
It was good to be himself.
He excused himself from the group, planning to become the ninth person to get extremely drunk. Weaving through the people in his path proved to be a little complicated – likely he was already slightly off, that was good to know – but he managed to reach the counter without trampling anyone or stumble over his own two feet. Couple of drinks on him and the situation would change.
Conclusion reached, Kokabiel leaned forward in search of a bartender. He wouldn’t complain if it was female. And pretty. Perhaps flirting-worthy.
Unlike Kokabiel, Barachiel still had difficulty in separating himself from humans. He had more memories as Édouard d'Orsay than he did as an archangel, more memories as a human than as a prince of heaven. The knowledge, new and fresh, resided at the back of his mind, constantly reminding him that he had been different, had been more.
But that wasn't strictly true, was it? The humans were the Father's favorite creation, not them. The thought was entirely without bitterness. Barachiel had been swift to look himself up, thus he knew that of all the archangels, he was the one who watched over the humans most closely. The chief of the guardian angels and of confessors, he had fought more than anyone to send as many souls as possible to heaven.
Now he was an ex-soldier and a club owner. He had to stifle a laugh, lest the people at the counter give him funny looks. Though he owned d'Orsay, Barachiel followed his father's tradition of playing bartender and socializing with the patrons.
Another man came up, blonde and bright-eyed. There was something very familiar about him, but Barachiel could not immediately place it. He encountered so many people on a daily basis, and he'd known so many people as an officer in the army. While he was usually sharp and quick about faces, mostly because he enjoyed learning about and understanding the people behind them, thirty seven years' worth of faces was not easy to keep track of.
"Hey, what will it be?" he greeted affably, moving to the newcomer after sorting out a woman's margarita.
“Whiskey.” Kokabiel looked back at the table and did a quick mental math. “Two vodkas with orange and a Cuba-Libre. I better get paid for these tomorrow.” The last bit was added as an after-thought as the man made himself as comfortable as possible while waiting. Elbows in the counter, chin against a closed fist and a little glance to the amazing walking assets that was the busty brunette to the corner. Obviously, he needed to get out of the hospital more often. Enjoy while he was young.
That prompt him to look back at the bartender, giving him a grin which was all happiness and not a trace of deceit. The man looked at ease there, the soldier side of him – which he had never been able to erase, some things would last forever, it seemed – said clinically. He also looked familiar. Kokabiel’s smile diminished a little, eyes blinking slowly as the man tried to remember why there was something ringing in the back of his head.
Brunette but a light one; darker only because of the setting. Eyes which were a bit like his, a built that spoke of strength and not someone who spent his time on a chair doing nothing. Oh. Oh, wait! He totally knew this.
“You’re from the community! Right? Right?” Ahah, there it go. A connected to B and everything made sense. Well, maybe not completely, this observation didn’t explain the odd sort of familiarity but it was a perfectly acceptable beginning.
Barachiel been pulling out bottles and glasses with the flair and ease of one who'd grown up in a bar when the question was presented. The category made a lot more sense - this was the man who'd posted about angels before, though Barachiel had not been comfortable enough in his memories to speak yet.
"Yeah, from the community." The whiskey was finished first, simple as it was. Whipping out the vodka, he continued. "You're an angel, right?"
The conversation would have sounded ridiculous to anyone else in the vicinity. But he supposed some of the more inebriated patrons made even less sense. Besides, Barachiel was beginning to notice that it was fairly often he encountered people from the community here. There was an Italian woman with blue eyes; a brown haired woman with a long, thin face. Another dark-haired man who Barachiel knew via their kids, though he'd yet to ask him about any angelic origins.
Ah, alcohol. Kokabiel still couldn’t get how Lucifer thought them all to be vermin when they could come up with little things like this. He grabbed the glass and toasted the man before taking a large mouthful of the beverage, grinning as he felt it burn through as it went down. Perfect. Making himself even more comfortable, he decided that his group could wait until his curiosity was well underway of being sated.
“Grigori,” the man corrected simply, smile from ear to ear. It was a mark of pride among them, actually. Unlike the fallen who had followed Lucifer, they had fell because they had taught people. They had loved and lived, had children, went willingly against their Father for free will. Sure, his brothers – the smiting, dutiful ones – wouldn’t agree but Kokabiel was sure to be understood, at least, among the twenty who were his companions. “There’s this wee bit difference like dad’s mad at me like there’s no tomorrow. But who doesn’t have daddy issues, right?”
Faint wink and, obviously, the worry of being caught and thought of as insane wasn’t taking residence in the angel’s mind. It wasn’t like he wasn’t considered that merely because of the way he acted on a day to day basis.
“So anyway,” he continued with another burning swallow of his drink. “Who are you? Pretty sure you’re around but you didn’t advertise very well who you were. Are. You get what I mean.”
Is that what Barachiel was now? Grigori? He had taken a wife and given her a son, owing to his unnatural interest in marriage and family. Had he known who he was, the interest would never have been construed as a desire to have these things for himself. But the damage was done, and since the Father had sent his Son, no one could deny the sacred and permanent nature of marriage. Especially not the very archangel created to guard said sacredness and permanence.
"Dad's probably mad at me, too," he joked, finishing off the vodkas and starting on the Cuba-Libre. It was a sorry understatement of the worry and despair Barachiel felt at being unable to hear His Voice and Will. "I'm Barachiel. Recent discovery."
Cuba Libre was another way of saying Rum and Coke, so the white rum and cola were pulled out, along with a highbal glass filled with ice. Two parts white rum, one part cola, lime juice, and a wedge of lime for garnish. Finishing, Barachiel set the four drinks on a tray and laid it in front of Kokabiel.
If Kokabiel hadn’t been ingesting drinks so steadily, it was likely that his reaction would have been something a bit different. Like more surprise, a little happiness, a small urge to get the hell out just in case the archangel side resolved to make an appearance and he ended up in a large puddle on the floor. In replacement, there was a surge of actual pure enjoyment. Kokabiel grinned – his bright, unabashedly pleased grin – controlling himself not to jump the counter and hug his wayward – or what he the wayward, Kokabiel could never be sure – brother.
“Barachiel,” the word left his lips slowly, like it was being tasted. And, as usual, “Barry!” Formality entered the room and left out the window in the same instant. “Dear old Barry. Dad’s smart son and everything. Tch, if he’s mad at you, I’m a slug. And I’ve been called many things but I’m too good-looking to be called a slug.” Another swing of the drink as he settled down, apparently ready to stick around.
“How messed up are you?” Kokabiel knew. He downplayed everything because he couldn’t do anything else; his brothers had needed him, after all. But for him, who had been cast out of Heaven, it was simple to admit his father was still angry and he wouldn’t be able to return. For an archangel who never walked against God’s orders. Well, the angel knew he wouldn’t have been able to push it out of his mind as easily.
Signalling to one of his employees to take over his work, Barachiel eased into Kokabiel's company. Very little did the archangel remember. The fallen's ramblings, however affected by drink, were like tantalizing, quickly moving glimpses into the entity he had been.
"Kabby," he said in exchange, letting a grin occupy his features. There would be no archangel smiting - Barachiel was the leader of confessors, so forgiveness came as easily and as naturally to him as breathing. "Smart son?" He was fairly sure his properties had nothing to do with intelligence. Or at least, that was what Wikipedia told him.
"I'm married." Even without his memories, Barachiel knew it was not right for an angel to be with a mortal. They loved the mortals, yes, but always with a perfunctory amount of distance. This human body, however, was not so infallible as his previous angelic one. For the past week, he had even managed to overcome his angelic sensibilities... All because he'd thought God had sanctioned the marital act. A lie. How demonic this Greek "goddess" was, to have such power. "And I have a son."
“You were all smart. We thought less and felt more.” The fallen didn’t regret his actions back then but still. They had cost him the being he had loved the most and that had been his father. They had been smart, to make the choice to follow that being who had given them all life. He, on his side, would just enjoy the results of his choice and live and love like the world would end the coming day.
A little furrow of his forehead seemed almost inappropriately comical considering the comment. Kokabiel wasn’t sure his surprise came from the fact that the Archangel was married, that he had a son or that, in his amazing amount of wisdom, he couldn’t see the problem. “And?” He placed the half-full glass in front of his brother – his brother. Another brother. How amazing was that? – and motioned him to take a sip.
“You’re human. I’m human. He told us to love men as we loved him. Though I’m not telling you to actually love dad that way, ew. But if he put you here it’s to live as a human.” Men lived, breathed, enjoyed, hurt, married and had children. And they died, Kokabiel had had his fair share of that. “I wish I had a kid. The chick who plays with us every freaking month gave me some in Zurvan and then took them away. Bitch. Godforsaken bitch.”
Barachiel had to wonder at how easily this brother accepted things. Then again, none of them had condemned him for his actions. Was it really necessary to condemn himself? It just felt so wrong - on a visceral, gut level. At every turn, some long buried voice whispered, you should not be doing this. Though the human body did, Barachiel as an archangel knew nothing of human love or lust, of having his own wife and children.
Was it really so wrong, now that he'd been stripped off his wings? (Though Gabriel had assured him said appendages had not really existed.)
"You're a positive thinker," he managed, vaulting off the bar to land on the other side. No one could complain - he owned the place. Sidling into the seat next to Kokabiel, he continued, "What's Zurvan?"
“I don’t see the point of moaning and grumping my way through life. I have time for that when I’m old and dragging myself around the place.” Which explained the way he lived. Always moving, always energetic, maybe not always happy but making one hell of an effort to. There was also the faint hope of having been forgiven a little by their father in this incredibly roundabout way. To be reborn as one of his creatures was likely as much of forgiveness as he would ever get.
At the question, however, the Fallen gave him a weird look. He hadn’t been brought there? If he wracked his brain for info, Kokabiel would remember to have seen this man in the community quite recently. He had probably been out of Khaos’ radar until then. Ah hell, he likely hadn’t been through any of the many messes they got saddled with.
“Zurvan was this weird place we got sent to. Very medieval. No computers, no electricity, all horses and wars and stuff. Sammy and I were brothers there too. I had kids, was a soldier all over again. It wasn’t all bad. Sure, the higher classes adored their little games and all… usual stuff. Reminds me of my last life.”
"I approve of this." A usually cheerful man himself, Barachiel welcomed the push in that direction. The Father had made him a human, had guided him into this situation. It now rested upon Barachiel to fulfill his new role properly - as a husband, a father, and a brother. The level of discomfort was still there, but if none of his brothers reacted with alarm, surely he could work upon accepting his new role as easily as they did. It would take a while, but it was possible. It had to be.
"Can't say I understand other worlds, but after that maze, I think I'm getting the picture." To say waking up in the middle of a garden when one had work to do was inconvenient would be an understatement. "Sounds like you had it good in... whatever that place was. And hopefully your last life as well?"
There was more than the original life? Well, it did stand to reason. Barachiel had to wonder if he'd ever had other lives. Was this his second, or maybe even his thirtieth? The possibilities both intrigued and frightened him.
“I was a Templar before.” It was always amused him how he had found his way to God even when knowing nothing of himself. It was like dad was actually paying attention up there and wriggling his fingers. Likely, he was. It was the sort of thing one had to expect from a cosmic being. Otherwise facing eternity would end up being very deadly boring. “I had a mortal dad. I also had a mom. That was pretty damned awesome. She petted my hair. And sang to me. It was nice.”
It sounded nostalgic even for a drunk. Kokabiel coughed uncomfortably before doing a 180 and grinning again.
“It’s good talking like this,” he commented, adding a little elbow to the other’s side in case he wasn’t paying attention. “I annoy Uri boy at times but man’s kinda… grumpy.” Which basically meant he had a tree up his ass at times in Kokabiel-speak. “Sammy’s the one I annoy the most. It’s good to meddle with another.”
Had Barachiel known anything of his previous lives, he would have agreed with Kokabiel. One way or another, God brought them to Him. And there was no way Barachiel was going to complain about that. He would have also gone on to comment on Kokabiel's reminiscing were it not for the subtle but undeniable discomfort the fallen angel felt regarding the matter.
So easily, smoothly, the archangel went along with wherever his chatty brother decided to go. Consequently, there was a brotherly laugh before Barachiel returned the friendly elbow. "You come along here anytime. I'm free for all the meddling."