Saint Michael the Protector
The Archangel of Truth, Justice, Judgement, and Deliverance.
discord: logan#1242
"I have never advocated war except as a means of peace." -- Ulysses S. Grant
This is a closed RP blog for City of Angels.
MICHAEL is an UNKNOWN year old DEMISEXUAL, GENDERLESS, HE/HIM, ARCHANGEL. Some people say they look a lot like CHRIS HEMSWORTH. They are COURAGEOUS but can be TEMPERMENTAL. They are WITH Heaven. They are looking to become a GUARDIAN ANGEL.
Titles and Nicknames: Saint Michael the Archangel and Seraph, God’s Right Hand Man, Prince of the Angelic Hosts, Protector of Mankind, Leader of the Angelic Host, Michael the Healer, the Angel of Peace, the Defender of the Faith, the Angel of Deliverance, and the Terror of the Evil Spirits.
Rank: According to some Catholic interpretations, Michael started off as an archangel (and remains one) but was elevated to Seraphim (guardians of the throne of God) upon Lucifer’s revolt and Prince of Angels upon his victory. This was due to his humbleness, love, faith, and devotion to God.
Responsibilities and Powers:
Prior to his ascension, he was a guardian angel who mostly focused on guarding, healing, and guiding his charges. He had a profound sense of justice and was willing to turn a blind eye on acts committed by charges (and even sometimes assist them) when he deemed the actions just. He was known to favor truthful charges.
Later, his responsibilities were to lead the guardian angels protecting the kingdom of Isreal and its children. God dumped quite a bit of responsibility on him, giving him some of the most important figures to guard, guide, and heal. He also has a history of policing lower ranking angels and punishing the ones who interfered or obstructed God’s plans for Isreal and its people.
His power increased monumentally upon ascension to Seraphim. He carries with him a flaming blue sword and appears to have the ability to control the weather, with powerful bolts lightening being his signature move to end a fight. He has been tasked with protecting souls and delivering them to God for Judgement when Rapture finally happens and to lead a legion of angels against Lucifer and her demons for one final battle.
Other abilities: to appear as and control fire, to calm others, to instill courage and strength.
Other Tidbits
His favorite color is blue. He has blue armor, a blue sword, his lightning is described as blue, and his light a royal blue.
When trying to blend in with humanity, he does not take up the appearance of a wealthy individual. Rather, he will appear as a person of low income or even at times as a homeless person.
Injustice, poverty, corruption, abuse, oppression, and exploitation can set him off.
He’s quite offended by the fact that he was made the patron saint of law enforcement and police officers by the Church. The easiest way to piss him off is to show him an abusive, hateful cop wearing his image on a pendant or invoking his name in a prayer.
He’s very lonely and misses the camaraderie he had when he was just an ordinary angel. Being a leader, he’s found, is quite isolating given how busy he is.
He doesn’t like being called a prince or anything formal. The only time he expects to be called General is at formal settings or on the battlefield.
While he mostly relies on his own judgment when carrying out God’s plan, but there are individuals who he will hold back for and wait for God to respond to his prayer with her decision before doing anything (Lucifer, for instance).
He’s got the angelic equivalent of PTSD and occasionally deals with imposter syndrome but he does try his best to hide how he feels behind a cheerful mask.
Break me and I will build again. Shatter me and my pieces will still fit together. Stab me and realize you aren’t the first one to put a hole in me. I am more than what I appear to be.
There Is A Light That Never Goes Out by The Smiths except in your girlfriend’s car while you’re parked at a motel near the highway - and while your parents believe that you’re just hanging out with friends. You watch the neon lights flicker across her face and wonder if she’ll agree to run away with you tonight.
The rusty colored letters contrast vibrantly against the concrete wall of the building in a way that would make any artist proud. ‘They used to be brighter RED’ her own voice mockingly echoes around her aching skull. The painted BLOODY graffiti messages are becoming more commonplace around town ( as are her episodes of memory loss ). Despite the increased frequency, more than a few people passing by have stopped to question the message’s meaning and intended recipient.
Ava can’t help but feel the words are meant for her… but that’s ridiculous. Why would she write something on such a public wall to HERSELF?
Still she hasn’t been able to look away from the wall for some time, entranced by some curse within the words that only she is vulnerable to. It’s only when another resident stops to look at the message that she realizes how suspicious she must look, standing silently in front of what might qualify as a CRIME SCENE to some…
She still can’t rip her gaze away from the words, but she smiles politely anyway. “These messages are popping up EVERYWHERE these days, huh? …Wh-What do you think they mean?”
Street art, if you wanted to call it that, had been popping up here and there and given that he hasn’t been here for very long, Frederick wasn’t quite sure if it was normal. “Dunno,” Frederick shrugged, frowning as his gaze traced the scrawling letters. Everything about this town was so infuriatingly disappointing. “Someone’s really upset about their small dick? Or lack of a dick. Or maybe they have too many dicks.” He gestures towards it with his thumb. “I’ve only been here for a few months, but is this kind of stuff... normal?”
“I know but you did it for me. Most people would have looked at me like I’m dumb for not knowing how to change one.” She replied with a shrug. Sofia often care too much about what others thought about her. The answer was yes. “I wouldn’t want to bother you.”
“You’d be surprised, changing light bulbs is my most popular request.” Unsure of what to do with himself without a task to complete, Frederick shoved his hands into his jean pockets and shrugged. “Lots of people in this town don’t know how to do it. The funny looks might have just been ones of silent embarrassment.” His head inclined as he smiled. “Trust me, you’re not bothering me.” In fact, Frederick was desperate to keep himself occupied, having been used to the rigid and structured life of a soldier.
Rune was pretty much minding his own business, well as much as he could. He liked to observe, he always thought that watching might lead to some information he could use. He was busy watching her stumble and fall, not one to really offer help unless he had to. Still he should really help so when she apologised, he shrugged and bent to help her.
“I’m fine, not sure the same can be said about your boxes Moira.”
He knew her from the cult, and Rune had been in Shadowridge for a good few years. He’d practically been groomed by these people.
“What’s in here?”
Moira’s features lit up even further upon realizing who had crossed her path. Rune, with his tall slender stature, long limbs, and fine features made him the object of desire for many cult members, especially amongst her circle of friends. Although, Moira thought him most suitable for one or both of her children. “A week's worth of meals for my darling litter of pups,” she replied, accepting the parcels of meat with a bashful smile. “I have gotten myself into a terrible habit of purchasing perishables all at once ever since Alfred brought home that marvelous icebox.”
The memory of her late husband bringing home a refrigerator caused her smile to wane, a pang of nostalgia hit her hard, her heart aching for the man. She shook her head, a forced smile now on her lips. “Perhaps I’ll feed this box to the lake,” she mused, pressing the last of the scattered meat into the box, “I’m sure it hasn’t been well fed in quite some time. Rune, if it isn’t too much to ask, could you help me with these?” She began stacking the other boxes on top of one another before turning to point to her hearse. “My carriage is just right here.”
“Okay I’m trying, trying not to freak out here…” That wasn’t true. “But can anyone tell me why I’ve been trying to get out of these woods for like two freaking days!? I got shit to do man.” Also not true, he had nothing to do. “If someone could tell me how to get back home that would be, just fantastic.” Nico knew something was wrong, knew what he’d seen in the woods but it just didn’t make any sense and he didn’t want to get thrown in the hospital waiting for a psych eval or something. He was probably definitely going crazy though.
“I’ve got two theories,” Frederick took a sip of his coffee, letting silence settle over them for a brief moment before continuing. Actually, maybe he ought to warn him-- ease him into the utterly insane idea of where they’re at. “Neither of them are good, and they both kind of sound like I’ve been smoking something, but they’re the best I can come up with given the limited amount of data I’m able to work off of...” He paused again, clear his throat. “Theory 1. We’re currently stuck in the middle of Nowhere--Russia, as part of a complicated military psychological operation.”
Sofia wondered thru the town in search of signal. Every call, text, snapchat, and DM wasn’t working. None of them were going through. Maybe it was the location she told herself. Glued to her phone Sofia kept walking. Then suddenly she bummed into someone. She watched as the lady’s papers flew out of it’s box. “No it’s my fault. I’m so sorry ma’am.” She bent down and picked up what looked like meat. “Yeah I’m all good, you alright?” She asked.
“Non-sense, my dear. This is simply what happens when one doesn’t accept a butcher’s offer of assistance.” Moira replied with a small smile. The wax paper crinkled under her fingertips as she took the brisket from the girl’s grasp, gently placing it back into the box it had fallen out from. With the way the girl spoke and her rather peculiar clothes, Moira thought it safe to assume this was a newcomer. “Now aren’t you simply darling! May I ask, Where dost thou hail from?”
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