Re: [Capital: Misha & The Revenant]
Misha stood there in dress and hoodie, and he pushed the hoodie of fine hair that was caught somewhere 'tween blond and brown. Could be he wasn't precisely the poster child for an avenging angel, but truth was he wasn't planning on doing no avenging. He'd helped the man on his way to the stairs, but that wasn't what had drawn him here. It was curiosity, youthful and simple, that had led him up that elevator and into this penthouse. Current, he was ignoring the fact that all his intentions of being normal had gone out the window some few seconds earlier.
He looked real slow from eyes to talons, and he wasn't squeamish none 'bout blood. Truth was, there wasn't a whole lot Misha was squeamish of, and there wasn't a whole lot of nothing that scared him when it came to himself. He crossed the room, glanced outside, then walked on back and sat himself on the desk beside the slumped over woman. He crossed his legs at the thigh, and he watched as a Watcher came on black wings and took the woman's soul with him. Not Christian, but someone that believed in something 'long the way, somewhere in her past and could be long-since forgot.
Misha, he never fussed with Watchers if he could help it. He let them do their job, and the time would come when he might need to call in a favor, and he was real aware of it. He closed her eyes, and he looked back at the man in the room, the living man with the claws and the eyes, the man that went and proved Misha's whole damn understanding of gods and demons and devils, and all in one person stood there. "Sunflower. Ain't no one called me that 'fore, but I reckon I been called worse," he said truthfully. Even angels that looked like he did got bullied plenty, and he looked 'round the room again. "You like not answering," he observed, but he didn't mind it none. "Reckon you want to tell me what they done?" The dead folks, course. "I'm Misha."