#gloriamoris

[sintoknow]

there is vice inherent in the nature of man, beating like a second heart. the devil often gets accredited with its invention, but he thinks man downplays his own work — human beings invent good and evil, and judge themselves for it. the capacity to do evil exists in every living thing, because evil is merely the opposite of good, and the existence of free will dictates a choice between options. it's an amusing thing to watch, if piteous, how easy it is to convince humans anything can be made moral, just as easily as anything can be made immoral. these philosophies bore him, but he's willing to indulge in a little game once in a while...

the brass head of a snake collects light in the dark as lucifer stands outside the opera house, leaned upon his cane. as per his invitation, he awaits his evening's companion, and when he catches sight of the angel, a sharp grin is sent her way. ❛ i've a proposition, lovely. ❜ dark, smooth voice, he hovers near her with mischief glinting in his gaze. an arm is offered to mariel, swaying her away into the main hall. eyes shift toward a mortal, a young man, ❛ that's one of mine, bound for the next train to inferno. i'm willing to bet you cannot sway his soul. ( it is a tainted thing he offers her, a soul seeped in sin. he is still irked over the last few souls she stole away from his demons. ) if you do, you can have it. fair? ❜

audience, @gloriamoris

[sintoknow]

angels are made to serve a singular purpose each, illiterates of perfection tuned to heaven's will. michael does not begrudge the duty he upholds for the city of god, nor does he question the purpose of his role, for it is not his job to question the order of things. even now, his sword is at his side, under the guise of a brass-topped cane leaning against their dinner table. a date, what a human-notion! he grasps the basic premise of it, the idea of courting a cherished one, but the etiquette of it evades him. it is not for angels to know human rituals, yet he indulges the glass of sauvignon blanc set before him despite not needing nourishment, if only to feed the illusion they present together: merely a couple out to dinner on a weekday evening, no different to any of the other couples at the surrounding tables.

perhaps that is why he finds @gloriamoris so odd and yet endearing, the way her scales balance. her divinity never quite quelled the flames of her inherent humanity. she is telling a story, something of her tasks with the mortal souls. the archangel's head cants in bemusement. he watches her as she speaks, as she laughs and nudges his leg with her own beneath the table. it is so human of her and it captivates him the way few things tend to do. the usual stoicism of his features must falter, betraying his endearment, because she soon halts her tale and glances curiously back at him,

MARIEL SAYS, YOU CAN BE SOFTHEARTED.

it's almost accusatory, in a gentle sort of way. as though she has discovered a secret of his. perhaps she has. michael chuckles, ❛ do you conspire to undermine my authority, dear mariel? you will soften heaven's sword with all this talk. ❜ he says in jest, one leg crossing over the other as he leans back into the chair, eyes never leaving her's. ❛ you mustn't tell anyone. perhaps you see something in me i've forgotten myself. ❜

the glass is brought forth to his mouth, hand waved lazily in motion for her to resume her storytelling, ❛ but tell me now... what of this young soul you were guiding? you mentioned a demon? ❜ he had an inkling it would not go in a direction he enjoyed, that she had once again endangered herself in the presence of the infernal. he would sigh, were he not utterly captivated with the light of her.