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Who the hell would hunt an angel?
All right, discounting the people who want to /see/ an angel because they're That Damned Pious, and the people who want to HAVE an angel because they're sick fucks, and the people who want to CATCH an angel and cut it into bits for whatever reasons, and even discounting the people who just want their bloody backache to stop and wouldn't that nice angel over there like to do something about it, there's a dear? -- right.
PUTTING ALL THAT ASIDE... here's a reason for you that no one'd ever expect. Revenge.
So what if she's not an angel, she's just a girl named for it? So what if she's not the *thing* itself; she's bleeding *close* isn't she? So what if it's not even the same /place/ and everything's different here, and it's the past, and-- and it happened in the past. And--
He saw her eyes, didn't he?
She had the eyes.
-----
Curly raven hair and bright, canny blue eyes, perfectly average build and a naturally fair complexion; funny accent. He *could* be, easily, one of the crow boys. Could be. Looks like one, talks like one, has the eerily perceptive gaze watching everything--
--flighty. A little nervous. Talks with his hands, which are the long, slender hands of an artist, but which are heavily callused, as those of a craftsman. Early twenties, tops. New in town. And he's been loitering, on and off but mostly on, in the new coffee place across the street from the old coffee place near Seravina's store. Right now? He's leaning against the wall of the building, drinking steaming coffee from a paper takeaway cup; he's dressed all in blacks, and warm for the winter.
It's just past dark and you can see your breath under the streetlights, but the air is still.
All right, discounting the people who want to /see/ an angel because they're That Damned Pious, and the people who want to HAVE an angel because they're sick fucks, and the people who want to CATCH an angel and cut it into bits for whatever reasons, and even discounting the people who just want their bloody backache to stop and wouldn't that nice angel over there like to do something about it, there's a dear? -- right.
PUTTING ALL THAT ASIDE... here's a reason for you that no one'd ever expect. Revenge.
So what if she's not an angel, she's just a girl named for it? So what if she's not the *thing* itself; she's bleeding *close* isn't she? So what if it's not even the same /place/ and everything's different here, and it's the past, and-- and it happened in the past. And--
He saw her eyes, didn't he?
She had the eyes.
-----
Curly raven hair and bright, canny blue eyes, perfectly average build and a naturally fair complexion; funny accent. He *could* be, easily, one of the crow boys. Could be. Looks like one, talks like one, has the eerily perceptive gaze watching everything--
--flighty. A little nervous. Talks with his hands, which are the long, slender hands of an artist, but which are heavily callused, as those of a craftsman. Early twenties, tops. New in town. And he's been loitering, on and off but mostly on, in the new coffee place across the street from the old coffee place near Seravina's store. Right now? He's leaning against the wall of the building, drinking steaming coffee from a paper takeaway cup; he's dressed all in blacks, and warm for the winter.
It's just past dark and you can see your breath under the streetlights, but the air is still.
