Re: log: antique store - louis, misha, and damian
It dropped its shiny black shoes onto the hardwood floor and stood up. It dripped cigarette ashes that seemed to glitter like starlight as they wisped into nothing. "This is good," it said, gesturing between the two of them. "I don't see it fading any time soon, and so much depth. He's the powerhouse," he said, of Misha, "But he wouldn't be anywhere without you," to Damian. "To set an angel's soul on fire. You don't see that often. It takes a kind of knack." It smiled again. It had very white teeth.
"Don't you ever get bored, little angel? I do. I like a change. My sister, she likes to walk in living skin." It scraped its own thumbnail, now scorched and black in imitation of Damian, across a pink, catlike tongue. A very old gesture of disgust. "I never had the taste for it. But I also hate to see a vessel put to completely pedestrian use, especially such a natural. Desert sun and blood on the sand. Plagues and locusts. مضيعة." It palmed the cigarette, and it vanished like the stage prop it was.
It paced around the edge of the counter that separated the table from the kitchen, and it slipped its hands into its pockets. They had a good ten feet of space, but it didn't radiate malice, or all-consuming desire. "Just be glad I beat someone else to the punch. It was only a matter of time - he was going to get noticed, sooner or later. And I haven't had a taste of wanting from the other side for...oh, a very long time." It looked to Damian. "Algol. The demon star and the angel. If I didn't know better, I'd say someone planned the whole thing." White teeth again. "It's just too much."