To be called upon with such short notice was an act truly out of norm
with regards to the common practices of angels often ridden with
GRIEF in the purest form [ opalescence hidden within the m i n d]
and the leader of this faction— a warrior whose wings were lined with
silver feathers that had since been rusted along the edges due to a
constant barrage of duty and h o n o r concerning her occupation,
had sent no echoing call of vibrating tones against stilled air between
the cosmos[ now SILENT with the friction of particles and matter].
The entity had arrived to a room seeping with s p e c i o u s n e s s
— every corner a nest of finely adjusted items surrounded by auras
and radiation emitting every possible language of strict cerebration
[bribery for the mind as billboards dotted this never ending highway]
though to see such a thing demanded nothing more than a response,
tone and delivery of the utmost importance to this sense of speaking.
Yet here sat an angel like a fly to a lamp, a porcelain DOLL whose
facade could crack following the briefest of impacts, whether by
sheer physical force or the indisputablepower of the cognitive mind
now spinning about as a single face passed behind frozen eyes all
but paralyzed [ the hardened stone that was stiff joints and muscles ]
body subject to the command of none other than grace bestowed upon
a figure once modeled from clay and the essence of stars alike——
a f o s s i l whose bones were embedded in rock above his own.
Where God was a dynamic force that set an angel quivering with awe and love, Death was still - something static and perpetual in its defiance of time. Angels were no strangers to great powers, to time shifted and pressed into new shapes, to the feel of something that could unknit the universe. But Death was different. Anathemic to their nature. Where their Father was harsh, Death was simply absolute, and where God had shifted, Death held fast and Naomi's spine straightened, entire body snapping with the force of Death's presence.
But where mankind might be dull and stupid when dealing with angels and gods and powers that bring universes to their knees- angels were aware. Certainly not comparable, and Naomi took a steady breath and shifted her grace, before standing-
She wasn't shaking, something she had practiced at in her time. The first she had laid her eyes on death, her grace had quailed, wings snapping to the ground in abject...
Not worship, that would blasphemous.
Want and admiration and shakey- -yes, worship. Nobody could remained unmoved by the force of Death. His voice set her teeth on edge, her feathers into spikes, and yes, there. There a tremor caught in her vessel, the barest shiver of her hand. But she held as fast as she could, and approached her door, shutting it neatly- -glancing back at Death- and locking it with a twist of her wrist.
"Yes," She said as curtly as she could, her voice small but steady enough. She retook her seat, sliding the paper across her desk, "These are the issues at hand," She gestured towards the seat, wordlessly suggesting he might take it, "As you can see there are several matters at hand, not least the matter of our recent losses," Castiel the Blasphemous had ravaged Heaven, spat out the primordial leviathans, and disappeared without further notice, "And," Naomi's lip curled, "Rogue reapers," Where she had every respect for Death, she had none for the Reapers, particularly the disloyal troublesome type.
Were she in his forces, she could have rewritten such things. No reaper would pursue their own matters. They would be ruled through love and obedience and, yet, where Death walked, the Reapers flocked. There was something to be said for clean, untortured respect. Bloodless respect.
At any rate it was conjecture, Reapers were - Naomi licked her lips at the thought, nervous - off-limits.
"I also require Purgatorial Access," Naomi added, "Still, this visit need not be entirely cold business," She indicated the food and drink on her desk, "Refreshment?" She smiled cautiously at Death; drank in the overpowering scent of power, the way entropy cleaved to him, the burn along her senses at being in the presence of one of the higher powers. A heady feeling in her grace as it bubbled warily and delightedly. She did so enjoy his visits.
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