If you want to see strength so bad, come fight me!
I take back what I said. You’re no Angel. You’re not Holy. You don’t know anything about Might. You don’t know anything about Judgment. Only He does, and He cast you o u t for a reason.
If only He does, then where does your certainty come from? I came to this world from a prayer for a miracle. You came of a man and a woman, Kitty, and you preach violence and hatred. All I did was ask two questions, and you’d fight me for them.
When a man’s ways please the Lord, He makes even his enemies to be at peace with him [Proverbs 16:7].
Well I’m finally moved in. That was way more exciting of a move in than I expected. Intro time. I’m Rory Flanagan of the Flanagan Clan. I’m excited to be here and hope to meet all of you soon.
My name is Joe Hart. Nephilim. Angel. Holy man. We met at the island. I went throught your painting. That was an exciting move for me, too. What brings you here, Rory? Are you afraid to be here? Is that what you mean by exciting?
This is my official acceptance speech: all of you were right, this campus is insane. I’d like it to be known that Magical Harvard is in one piece right now. Just remember that the next time you’re cheering on the Dragons in the rubble that is Undique.
But hey, honestly, can I get a sound off? Who’s alive? Which one or all of you were right in the middle of all of that?
A PSA for those of you trying to be a part of that so-called Midnight Madness, don’t even b o t h e r. We already know the strongest witch around here is none other than the heir of the Wildes. Not one of you nasties who have less than one braincell put together.
Whoever this cringey Midnight Monarch is, trying to make a gross counterculture to the greatness of this school, is going to be smited by the strong backhand of the Lord.
And what is the greatness of this school, Kitty? Where is your strength?
[When Joe comes back, he is going to find a pair of black socks on his mailbox, there isn't a note or anything, just the socks in a little package.]
[Joe takes the socks and doesn’t really feel anything. Maybe someone has appreciated his work, after all, even if the angel didn’t. A gift is a gift, anyhow. He’ll take it.]
It was the ordinariness of the night that shook Joe the most. Sitting cross-legged on his bed with all the lights off, unglamoured and astral projecting as far as he can make it before the sun comes out was as much a part of his routine as sweeping stray feathers every morning. And, admittedly, he doesn’t really get a lot of messages or visitors, despite carrying within him the Lord’s message, so he took some time to react to the urgent message on his phone. This child he was looking over, you see, has created such a captivating imaginary world in her dreams, that he couldn’t fathom anything as unholy, as truly, undoubtedly evil as the destruction of the world by demons.
He had to wonder if the supposed Sanctuary he had been taken to, was a particularly grueling test from the Lord. Evacuation was urgent, clearly, and they’d been instructed to leave their belongings behind. Joe, frazzled and barely settling back into his physical body, hadn’t thought to simply scoop up anything on his way out. This would be perfectly okay, if his belongings didn’t include his sunglasses. He didn’t really care about his phone, or his shoes, or his potions. The sunglasses, however.
The duty of God’s messenger likely included calming down the masses when a potential tragedy was underway, when the place they’d called home was threatened. But everything was so much. Phone calls, screens flashing, ringtones, the wall against his back, text chimes, his feathers latching on random people that his wavering focus drifted to, quiet conversations, and a flood of images from Can’s future. He covered himself with his wings, covering all the light sources he could behind eyes squeezed shut, and pressed his hands to his ears.
Just as the edge was beginning to wear off, just as he was able to breathe again, there was a rumbling. But not here, not in the Sanctuary. He was pulled deep into this image, and his chest constricted further, in just the right way to remind him that this was not Joe Hart; it was Can Salama. A bedroom door swung open and bounced off the adjacent wall, and Zehra, panicked and screaming something unintelligible, dragged her brother out of bed. Screams were muffled by walls and doors, the cracking of concrete as it was strained beyond its capacity, and a wild quake that knocked both the siblings into the doorframe as they went through it, dust sifting its way into their hair and clothes. Can tried to run out of the apartment, but Zehra held him against her chest and tried to cover him with her body, just as one of their windows broke into pieces.
Pieces of the ceiling began to fall in large pieces, and Can’s shriek struck Joe square in the stomach, like a knife. Zehra tried to shield him, but something hit him in the back of the leg, and when Can started screaming, she yelled at him to move, trying to support his weight. They were still being thrashed violently against walls, and the handrails in the stairs, and Joe wanted to fly in and help them, but Zehra faltered in her steps and fell, pulling Can down with her—
And the vision ended.
“What?” Joe asked out loud and looked around the room for a moment in search for answers, voice slightly higher than normal. “What??”
He closed his eyes again, and focused on Can, on what he was doing right now. There was a rush running from his toes to his head in a sharp but pleasant fwoop, and there lied Can… Asleep, and he seemed peaceful enough, with traffic and other perfectly ordinary sounds in the background. They didn’t know. They didn’t know, and they were going to get hurt. His own frantic thoughts pushed him out of the vision, and he fumbled for his cell phone.
It wasn’t there. The sunglasses had seemed so important a minute ago, ten minutes ago, and he hadn’t stopped to think about his cell phone. He didn’t know Zehra’s number. Lord, Lord, Lord, protect them, protect them in their ignorance, bless them in their time of need—he could fly there. He could fly there. The exit. Where was the exit?
Security did not seem to agree with his assessment, and he wanted to strangle them—but no, of course not, he served peace, he served dialogue, he served—
“Please, sir. They’re in danger! They need me!” Joe tried to shove his way out, but they stopped him. They stopped him over, and over and over, until he was too tired to keep trying. Or maybe it was until his eyes welled up and his nose got runny, and they probably pitied him and his weakness, succumbing to emotion, and they walked him over somewhere quieter, and asked him to keep it quiet. The pity was there, yes, but there was also an implicit ‘or else.’
Joe sank to his knees, and he prayed. He prayed feverishly for the safety of humanity, he prayed that it was God’s will to keep them alive. Like a beggar clinging to incidental goodwill, Can and Zehra’s names held on to his tongue. His hands clenched the front of his shirt, keeping them close to his heart, and to His heart, if so He willed. Please, let this be Your will. If there’s any prayer you listen to tonight. Let it be mine. Let me be blessed. Please…
It was pathetic, to weep when his purpose was to assist. It was, but he didn’t stop until his body ached for relief. And when he did, perhaps, was when the ordinariness struck him hardest. He settled down more comfortably and projected his astral body as far as he could allow it, but instead of childish dreamscapes, he found catastrophe, hurt, horror.
Next morning, when the whispers became updates and rumors became articles, Joe’s horror became wrath.
It was just a place full of people who didn´t care about kids. We were all these and they made us go to church and service but they´d send us to bed without food for no reason and they just didn´t care, but praised the “Lord´s” will and kindness even though they had nothing of it.
I fell in love with Marley as a person because she´s kind and caring but she´s not perfect, neither of us are, but we´re perfect for each other.. At first I just wanted to be around her because she made me feel good about myself, and I didn´t want to fall in love because of everything that happened to me. I had cursed love and sworn off of it, but Marley stuck around and whenever I saw her walking around with her camera, whenever I saw her smile, I knew I wanted to be around her. She made me want to be a better person, she made me care when I had stopped caring all together.
Marley…made me believe in love again even though everything in me was screaming to run away. She makes me want to stay and fight even though all I`ve ever done my entire life was run.
She makes being with her so effortless and all I want to do after a long day is hold her hand and just be with her. And I know it´s not going to be easy, because of who we are, what we were born as, because we´re different. But we´re different in a good way and I don´t want to live in a world that i don´t share with Marley.
She´s what I think about whenever I pass by that coffee shop in which we had our first date, she makes me smile and without her I would have long gone crazy. We make each other better and even though it´s not always easy, and we fight, I know that we were meant to be together, through so crazy twist of fate I was blessed to meet this woman who has made me a better person.
I understand how such an experience would taint your views on religion, even incite a defensive response. However, not everyone who serves the Lord, or who enjoys his message does those reprehensible things. Just like not every atheist is a serial killer. Don’t you agree that each and every person should be given an opportunity, and we should allow ourselves to listen to their experience before making judgements?
Oh. That’s quite... touching. For homosexuals. Was there no lust, no seduction, no dangling tempt Tell me, in what ways do you believe you two have made each other better people? What has she inspired you to do which you wouldn’t have done beforehand?
Don’t get me wrong, I have read the gospel stories and attended assemblies of believers in a small handful of different sacred spaces, and while I can appreciate the beauty and mystery and feeling of these spaces, or the fact that your prophet seemed to have a strong interest in social justice, I have a hard enough time believing that my own Earth Mother still hears and listens to and cares about me, let alone believing in a male entity existing in a place beyond this one.
Oh, I see. This has a personal significance to you. I would like to ask two questions. One of them is to satisfy my own curiosity, and the other is just to find an understanding here. What made you lose faith, Littlefaerose? Sometimes wavering faith is what brings you closer to your spirituality than anything else. And --this is the question to satisfy my own curiosity-- who is “my prophet”?
Hey, dude, baby, cherubin. Look at what you send. Ask yourself, “is this readable?” Let me tell you: Is not. Now are your notes about exams or about exams?
Are you saying my handwriting is unreadable? Because I’ve spent a lot of time practicing it, and making sure it is easy to understand. I don’t understand your question. My notes are about exams.
Well splash some holy water on me and call me Moses, I have been saved by your mere presence. The veritable burning bush to my lost and wandering shepherd. Are you sure it’s the lord that brings a savior such as yourself to our little slice of hell? It’s not free will? A gruff, uniformed man named Sean Weston? Sin?
I choose to believe you are being genuine. So, thank you for the welcome. Who’s to say that the Lord doesn’t command all of the other categories you mentioned, Brodylectric? He has intended that we cross paths. Is there something in particular you’d like to discuss about this Sean Weston?
Well, as to commit to a refrain, welcome to NYADA! If there’s any issue, the Dean of Students, Mr. Howard Bamboo is a model example of NYADA staff. Broaden horizons, how, if you don’t mind my asking? There are so many clubs which I could recommend if you’re looking to make friends?
Oh, that’s interesting. Good luck with it!
Do you like scrapbooking?
Blaine it is.
Thank you for the welcome, Blaine, and for the information. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind. Have you ever had to use Mr. Howard Bamboo’s services before? Well, I’d love to be able to spread the Lord’s message in more than one college campus, but I know better than to question His plan for me. I am looking to meet people, however. Which clubs would you suggest?
Thank you.
According to Wikipedia, the “Common” website, “Scrapbooking is a method of preserving, presenting, arranging personal and family history in the form of a book, box, card.” I don’t have much in the ways of personal or family history. So I haven’t done any “scrapbooking,” really. Why do you ask?
Hey there, Joe! I’m Tina Cohen-Chang, welcome to NYADA. You were sent here to help and pull others out of sin? Seems like you’ve already started an interesting conversation to what can be considered sin. Sorry if it is too forward to ask, what exactly would you do to those who would sin, say a woman to love another woman- death wouldn’t be what the Lord intended, correct?
Also, just a little heads up for being around NYADA, there are a lot of strange happenings around here so make sure that you are careful. If you need a hand with something especially tech depending on what it may be, I can help you out.
And yeah….holy magic is pretty powerful.
Hello, Tina Cohen-Chang, and thank you for the welcome. I want to say, first of all, that I’m not the one who decides what happens to each person when they sin and don’t repent. That’s up to the Lord and no one else. However, I can say with confidence that the penance for homosexuality is not death, and those who dole out horrible, violent punishments are sinners in the eyes of God too. Worse so, maybe. Is there something you would like to talk to me about, maybe? In confidence, of course.
Is this the murders Dani was speaking of? How does one take care against this unidentifiable dangers?
It is! I’m glad to see some appreciation. What do you know of it?
Some questions don’t have answers and it’s my free will isn’t it.
Oh, you’re one of those bible flexibles. Isn’t that supposedly sacrilegious in front of your so-called god. You’re making it sound like you’ve been to hell. Did you book on Trivago.
Oh my god. You actually think you’re an angel. Do you hear the call of Jesus in your ears or what. Ok, I’ll play along, why is an angel here and not up in heaven or whatever. What is heaven like, joephilim.
I suppose it is your free will. Although I’d reevaluate upon posing questions for which you don’t want answers.
Well, I mainly draw my teachings from the Quran, so I suppose I am, in a way, “bible flexible.” In organized religion, it may be easier to keep sections separate. However, I am a messenger, and not merely a follower. I believe it’s better for me and His message to be open to more than a single book. They were written by humans, after all. I know about Hell the same way most people know about most places, however. I’ve read about it.
What else would I be? I guess you need a little more explanation. I was summoned here by someone in need. When I came to this world, Can was praying at the local mosque. He’d asked for help, and I’m the manifestation of this prayer. Angels, nephilims, winged people with holy powers, however you wish to call us, we come to this Earth to serve God’s message and the most faithful of his servants, too. We wouldn’t be fulfilling any purpose without coming here, after all.
