7448/Flying with the Angels

Flying with the Angels
Date of Scene:	09 May 2019
Location:	Apartment 6A, Instrata (TBD)
Synopsis:	Castiel meets another of his kind, to mixed results. Not to mention what Karen Page and Matthew Murdock have to say about the matter.
Cast of Characters:	Exile, Karen Page, Castiel, Daredevil

---

Exile has posed:
So, Hugo did warn him that it's pretty much not okay to splash in the big fountain at Bethesda Terrace. But....Hayal has pretty much decided not to care, in turn. So he's back in the broad pool at the base of the fountain's tiers, standing under the rill of water spilling from the bronze bowl above him. In deference to human mores, he's retained the worn fatigue pants he was wearing.....and in otherwise general disregard, he's removed his coat, shirt, boots and socks. They're folded neatly by the fountain.

And in even more specific disregard, he has his wings and tattoos on display. The former are half-spread, like nothing so much as a water bird enjoying the sun, as he lets the fountain spray run down them.

Karen Page has posed:
As the late afternoon sun glares off of the buildings around the Park, the shadows of the trees reveal Karen in her work attire of a simple grey skirt and white blouse, her simple black pumps clicking against the sidewalk as she moves briskly with an armload of files and talks to the trenchcoated man trailing her.

"...what you expect me to do. Look, Proginoskes, if I weren't hip deep in researching for three cases simultaneously I'd be happy to help. But I really ca--"

She stops abruptly, both her words and her fast walking pace, STARING at the man in fountain. With wings. Like an overgrown pigeon.

"What the hell," she breathes.

Castiel has posed:
"You are the one who insisted I accompany you to the park. I believe I was promised the hot dogs." He makes it sound like an accusation and an imposition she's put upon him, when in truth the angel has had many of the 'hot' 'dogs' and quite enjoyed them. Something about street vendors and eating in public both intensely intimate and private all at once. Plus there was the mustard - which he still had an alarming tendancy to muss his shirt, tie, and tench coat up with on a regular basis.

When she stops abruptly, so does he, his confused gae following hers even as the tingly niggle of awareness hits him: Angelic.

Though.. also not angelic.

Castiel is perplexed trying to pinpoint why it feels familiar to him, this presence, even as it has an alien, distorted resonance to it.

Then it hits him. "Legion.." he breathes.

Exile has posed:
Castiel isn't the only one who senses the presence of the angelic....and Castiel is far closer tothe real deal than the debased rebel. Yes, Cas is wearing a human body, but he's close. Snuck up on Hayal, truth be told.

So he turns, slowly, and steps out from under the runnel of water. Ridiculously, he spreads his wings up and out, each feather sharp and distinct, like a raptor's - as if he might intimidate them that way. There's a glint of something dark in his hand, but he neither attacks nor retreats, just watching Castiel, bright blue eyes wary.

Karen Page has posed:
Karen looks from the soggy pigeon-looking man to Castiel and back, her expression going from surprised to confused to questioning. "Wait, Legion? Like, the movie or something?" Turning her eyes back to the man in the fountain, she sidles a bit to put a little space between Proginoskes and herself and shifts the files in her arms so she can reach her purse.

Or more accurately, the .9mm pistol she's got tucked inside said purse. Yes, she does have a concealed carry license.

Castiel has posed:
There's a scowl from the angel for Karen and a scoff of sound. "Yes. I mean, no."

His scowl deepens as now he's obliged to explain.

"The movie is a poor attempt to explain the truth of a thing. It is nothing more than conjecture and fairy tales. An abomination."

The word of which has him turning to Hayal, and stepping forward. "Like yourself. Why are you here? You lost your right to those," he points at Hayal's wings, "millenia ago. You still stink of the hellfires you accepted as prefereable. Or do you think we forget these things?"

His distaste is written in his tones and on his features. Ironic for an angel who refused to bow or bend over the saving of one mortal soul when Hayal's fall had come at the refusal of many.

Exile has posed:
His expression has gone blank, unreadable, though the blue eyes are still uneasy. The million year version of the thousand-yard stare. As Cas steps forward, he steps back and to the side, a sloshing pace that doesn't put him back under the fall of water. But that Castiel asks.....that brings puzzlement to his features. PResumably Cas isn't here directly *for* him.

So his voice is low, calm, as he answers. His accent's curiously indeterminate, as he lowers his wings. "I serve no one, now. Neither Host nor Legion. I was cast down....and cast out, for I would not do for the Lightbringer what I would not do for the Most High. Twice-exiled."

Karen Page has posed:
Again, Karen looks back and forth between the two men, and this time her expression is growing concerned. She is not at all sure that fountain boy's calm-seeming explanation is enough to appear Mr. Grumpycoat. And there's no 5-gallon bucket of booze handy to offer as appeasement. So, she tries for something else completely as she glances around them and takes a step toward the fountain.

"Hey, uh, think you could maybe get out of the fountain? The cops patrolling the park really frown on people messing around in it, and I get the feeling the last thing you need is to attract attention." Or, more attention at this point.

Castiel has posed:
Castiel comes to the edge of the fountain, his feet planted firmly shoulder width apart as he considers Hayal further, taking in his words. The angel's lips curling about a retort, "So you say. Many say. I remember you, though. You said the innocents did not deserve the same sentence. I thought you a fool then."

Then.

Exile has posed:
Now his eyes narrow, never wavering from Castiel. But he hears Karen enough to follow her suggestion, sidling out carefully to where his clothes and boots sit....never turning his back on the angel. It looks silly, that crab-wise sidelong approach, but he doesn't seem to care.

Cas's comment has him raising his head a fraction, stubbornly. "I maintain it so now," he replies, voice light. "The Most High is just. Merciful to the innocent and the weak. There is no justice in destroying many innocents to punish a guilty few. We must have misunderstood our orders." Ladies and gents, the Fall in a nutshell.

Karen Page has posed:
Okay, one (teeny) problem solved now that Pigeon-Legion is out of the fountain. But Proginoskes still looks like he's trying to pick a fight. Task number two. Sigh. Karen follows Castiel and puts a hand on his arm lightly. "Prog? Maybe you two should sit down and talk about this calmly. No one really wants a dust up, especially not here."

She tilts her head while looking at Castiel, as if indicating the diretion from which the sounds of children playing can be occasionally and very faintly heard over the noise of the fountain.

Castiel has posed:
CAstiel is a firm wall of refusal in the face of Karen's touch and words, his eyes never leaving Hayal. "I am being calm. I am interested in why he is here. Now."

In truth, much of Castiel's bristle comes at the cost of his own fall, and his still inability to understand why it mattered to him so much that these fragile humans not be pawns in this eternal war. He still didn't understand how he'd been moved to save the elder Winchsester brother, even accounting for the sacrifice he was making for his younger sibling. That Hayal could stand before him, free of the fetters of both Dominions, was like a slap in the face.

Exile has posed:
"Why am I in the world of matter? I am here because neither other realm will have me. By your lights, Castiel, I am a demon, for I did rebel." Oh, yes, he remembers that name. He sounds tired, rather than defensive. "And there is only one fate for an angel who rebels, whether he was part of the Phosphor's rebellion or not. But....for all his talk about free will, he hates it in his minions just as much as any archangel. So.....I left." He *left*? Just walked away from Hell? "And why I am here? Why am I in New York, specifically? I observe humans, and this is one of the greatest concentrations of them, especially in this hemisphere."

Karen Page has posed:
At Castiel's kinda frosty reply, Karen blinks and backs off a step. She looks at Pigeon-Legion again, and when he says Progo's actual name, her eyebrows twich at the realization. Castiel. She WILL remember.

But. There's still the tension between the two, so with a sigh again tries to be the peacekeeper. "Look, you two sound like you go way back, but you have some serious catching up to do. Maybe it'd be better to do that somewhere a little more private?" And oh hell no she's not offering her apartment for that.

Castiel has posed:
Less frosty than contained - though with Castiel the two weren't mutually exclusive. And while parts of him are more than aware she's correct, this should be done somewhere more private, he still doesn't move. Not yet. Not without the singular blow he has to deliver, the one thing that should not be and is, that separates him from Hayal and oddly enough, unites him as well:

"You would be wrong, whatever name it is you take to yourself now. I might be cursed to this vessel." (In actuality, Castiel was extremely fond of his vessel, to the point he hasn't abandoned it for another, more better suited to his self imposed task) "But I was not cast into Hell."

Then again, Hayal's fall into Lucifer's domain was voluntary; CAstiel's casting out was not. The same, but different. Two sides of a coin, both struggling to understand the same frail material that bound them and kept them from all their Divine should have written for them - the fragil human spirit bound in even more fragile flesh.

To Karen, now, he demands with a gruffness that is oddly gentle, "Where should we go."

Exile has posed:
Now he's just bewildered, pale brow furrowed. "Why would you have been cast into a body?" Hayal wonders, looking over Castiel's human form. "They've never....are they using matter as a prison now? They cast a human soul out of its shell for *you*?"

Now....now Hayal's getting angry, feathers puffing up absurdly, hackling like a furious rooster - eyes starting to glow. "I knew the Legion would use whatever tricks it could to gain a foothold in this realm, but....but...the Host?" He's misunderstood, clearly. "I thought they were better than that!"

Karen Page has posed:
"Okay, okay. Just chill," Karen says to the winged man who's now puffing up like an offended pigeon as she steps toward him, not really intentionally putting herself between the two former Heavenly beings. "Look, I'll bet you two have more in common than you think, but getting mad won't fix things." She looks at Castiel a bit pleadingly. "Maybe we can go... no, stupid idea, Karen!" She berates herself for a moment for even thinking that the chuch Matt favors would be a good suggestion.

"Okay, I know a place where we can sit and talk calmly, like, um, intelligent beings. Prog--Castiel, have you been to Matt's place before?"

Castiel has posed:
CAstiel hasn't been in Matt's place, but Karen has. And as she asks, the image fills her mind enough that it's easily picked of of the surface of her thoughts. And clear enough for him to use it. Taking both her hand, and touching Hayal, Castiel moves them all to Matt's apartment, where they aren't there but seconds before Castiel sets himself at Hayal. Shoulders at an angle, trench coat all bunched against them in a tight line of protest.

"The vessel was willing. The Lord was not responsible for my taking this refuge." No, instead he'd expected that Castiel, denied his Divine in the way that he was, would come crawling back. And while it was true that Cas could exhibit his Divine form, it was not the way of Hayal's - Cas denied a flesh form of his own. It was a complicated thing that didn't have an answer.

Except Castiel knew there were others who were not so careful as he. Other who would take a vessel unwiling, and without care..

"His soul remains within. He was.." Castiel pauses, his lips taking a frown, and his rough voice gentling to sympathy as he remembers. "He was ready to take his own life. He would have damned himself. I was in need of a vessel. It may be that one day he will remember himself and no longer wish to chose that path, but for now he is hidden within, taken with his own pain and not wishing this life."

There's a certain pleading to the blue of Castiel's eyes as he looks first to Hayal, and then to Karen, Karen the human who most needs to understand how this pains him, "There are things unforgivable. A moment of despair and he would have been lost."

Exile has posed:
He'd turned away for a moment, to gather up his clothes....and Castiel teleporting them takes him unaware. So now there's a guy in wet pants, clutching coat, boots, and shirt, standing in Matt's apartment - backing away from the angel, wings tight against his back.

But he listens as Castiel speaks, almost unwillingly. "I don't understand," he says, the glow fading from his eyes. "You took a human shell because its occupant intended to destroy its own life? But....what were you doing down here anyway?" Back to puzzlement....and maybe even a little fear. He can't teleport, and he's in an enclosed space with someone who at least used to be a warrior angel.

Then he turns that puzzled look on Karen. "You are Karen?" There's a moment where he looks as if he's listening to something....then he sighs, softly.

Karen Page has posed:
Karen gasps in shock when Castiel teleports them. It's not his hand on her arm that startles her, it's that in the span of an eyeblink they're suddenly in Matt's apartment. "Holy SHIT, Cas, don't do that without warning a person first!" Her words are not loud, just very emphatic.

The living room is mostly dark, the adjacent blocking the remaining natural light and offering only the flickering illumination from the HUGE advertisement sign directly across from the vast and completely uncovered windows. Karen looks around, sees they are indeed in Matt's apartment, and promptly drops her bag to the floor by the sofa and her armload of files on the coffee table.

Hayal's alarm has her looking at him... and his soaked trousers. "Yeah. I'm Karen, how did you--? You know what, never mind." She gestures dismissively, then steps around toward the partly open rolling doors leading to the bedroom. "Let me get you some dry clothes, the friend that lives here won't mind." She also makes a mental note to text someone to tell Matt that she's here and borrowing clothes.

< Had a mishap with a fountain on the way home, at your place borrowing clothes. > That should be innocent enough, right?

Castiel has posed:
Castiel gives Hayal a blank look, like the question he's asked is either not registering, or is registering as so stupid as to not be worthy of an answer. Mostly, he's thinking.

Finally, "I was given a choice. I did not like the options." There's a certain curl of his lips, and tone to his voice that speaks more than his actual words do. "Our Father and I did not see eye to eye on a certain matter. Not that it's any of your business." Which seems odd for him to say, or be churlish about, given he's told this story more than once - to humans no less. The other angel seemingly getting up and under Castiel's skin.

Exile has posed:
Now that....that's suspicious. "Did you fa- no, I'd be able to tell," Hayal says, almost sotto voce. Then he shrugs, philosophically. The named angels can get away with things that the rank and file of the Host would be annihilated for.

To Karen, he says, "There is no need. I will dry soon enough, and I don't need to touch anything here while I'm wet." Already sidling for the door - he can't go through matter, and better that than smacking into the window glass like the world's largest idiot pigeon.

Karen Page has posed:
Too late. Karen walks out of eyeshot of the two angels, and then pauses for a moment with one hand on her forehead as if trying to figure out how the hell she manages to get into situations like this. But she can tell by the way the echoes of Pigeon-Legion's voice is changing that he's moving around the room. And she'll be damned if they leave to kick up a ruckus somewhere else.

Hastily pulling open a drawer and scooping out the first pair of sweatpants she sees, Karen leaves the drawer open and rushes back out to the living room. "Soon enough is already too late. You're dripping on the floor. Here. Bathroom's through there and to the right," she gestures with her empty hand, "so you can dry off and change clothes." Her tone of voice makes it sound like it's not a polite request, either.

"Pro--Castiel, why don't you sit down?" Again, even though it's phrased like a polite request, her expression and tone make it patently clear she REALLY wants him to do so and refrain from antagonizing Wings here any more than he has already.

Castiel has posed:
"Fall?" Castiel spits out. "Did I Fall? Say it, nameless one. If you're going to stand and judge, then you should have the audacity to use the word, should you not?"

There's a low, bitter grumble of a laugh from the angel. "No, I did not Fall. Not as you. Not that it matters - my sin is judged all the same." Karen's request that he sit is ignored, Castiel still facing off with Hayal, his body a terse little line angled at the other angel, though his hands still remain his own, now balled into the bottom of his trench coat pockets. "Go on. Ask," he tells Hayal tersely. "I might even tell you."

Exile has posed:
The angel-demon-pigeon (manbearpig?) looks at Castiel in genuine puzzlement. He hasn't moved towards the pants or the bathroom. "No," he says, blinking. "I'd be able to tell. AS you pointed out, passage through the fires of Hell leaves its traces, and you have none of them. You may be....assigned down here." Like Earth is a really bad duty station in the Army. "But as you said, it isn't my business."

Another step towards the outer door. "And I am in no position to judge anyone. I never was."

Karen Page has posed:
"Oh for... no. You're not leaving." She grabs Wings by the arm -- be glad she didn't grab for a wing -- and tries to pull him away from the door and back into the living room proper. "Do not make me get out a fly swatter to keep you here. Now, here." She slaps the sweatpants against his chest to try and get him to grab at them. "Go put these on before you make me mad enough to start yelling."

Because really, she's NOT intimidating any other way.

"Proginoskes, PLEASE. Just SIT."

Castiel has posed:
There's a snort of amusement as Karen lays into 'Wings', the other angel's mirth clearly evident in the sparkling blue of his eyes as he retorts, "She's fire and brimstone, I'd listen to her." Totally not listening to his own advice when she turns on him and demands (albeit with a nod towards politeness with that PLEASE) that he sit. Then again, he's faced down Agent May. Several times. A Karen is relatively minor after that.

"I will sit," Castiel says without taking a seat, attention still firm upon the other.

"No. There is worse than brimstone. You think Hell is the worst He has to condemn us to?" Castiel shakes his head. "Do you still hear the Choir, boy? I do. I hear it from a distance so far away as to be nothing but meaningless noise. A buzz in my ears. For what? For the pride of thinking one human life mattered more than a meaningless war."

NOW he sits, unceremoniously taking a place on Matt's couch. At least this way he can pretend it was his idea.

Exile has posed:
He shakes his head at that, mutely. But he does, finally, obey. Well, pretends to. For he takes the pants and goes slapping barefoot down to the bathroom. Some surreptitious rattling confirms that he can't fit out the bathroom window. Curses, foiled again.

In a moment, he's back, in Matt's pants. "No," he says. "I have not heard it since I fell." His voice is toneless, his affect inhuman in its flatness. Karen knows what he is, he doesn't have to pretend to her.....and he's too tired to try.

Karen Page has posed:
"Fire and brimstone? Are you implying something about me being a redhead? I'll accept it. This time." While Wings is gone testing the bathroom window and THEN putting on the sweatpants, she snags a couple of hand towels from the kitchen and starts mopping up as much of the water off of the floor as she can. By the time the fallen angel returns, she's pushing the mostly soggy towels against the closest wall.

"Wings. Sit." She points at the just returned angel and then to the nearest chair. "Now. Let me put things into a bit more perspective for you both. You have the same past. You have opinions your dad didn't agree with. You got kicked out for those opinions. Now you're both stuck on this backwater mudball us with knuckle-draggers when you really just want to be back home where things were the way you were used to."

She looks from one angel to the other. "That about sum it up?"

Castiel has posed:
"Wings," Castiel mutters, the single word bitter tasting in his mouth.

Karen is given a look that were it to come from one of the Winchester boys would be read as 'he started it'. Instead, the angel gives her stoney silence, because, of course, she's correct. In all but one thing.

"If I thought you were nothing more than that, I'd have let Stupid sell his soul for his brother."

Exile has posed:
The creature in the sweatpants peers at Karen for a long moment, expression rather bird-like in its blankness. "No," he says. "We don't. I fell. I was a ....what you'd call a demon, for a while. It's true. By some lights, I still am. I just....don't serve the Lightbringer, either. I'm not interested in this war as being played out in mortal realms." He visibly struggles to form the next phrase, as if the words were unruly things, "It's.....it's...it's wrong. Both sides are wrong. I don't belong in Heaven. I never will again."

Just saying it....there's something like heatshimmer around him. Waves of visual distortion in ripples, and they seem to pain him. When he's silent, it fades, and leaves him somehow wearier. Wings hunch forward, curl around, like a bird trying to preserve warmth.

Karen Page has posed:
Karen looks at Castiel with shrewdly narrowed eyes at the way he said 'wings', but the expression shifts to one of 'huh?' when he mentions 'Stupid'. "Who the hell are you calling stupid?"

When Wings speaks up, she looks at him and actually puts her hands on her hips. "Seriously? You're going to fuss about details? Nutshell, you're here because you disagreed with your--" She stops abruptly, her eyes going wide and concerned when SOMETHING seems to happen to the winged angel and affects him visibly. She glances from him to Proginoskes and back almost as if checking to see if he knows what just happened.

Castiel has posed:
"You're not wrong," Castiel shoots Hayal's way quietly. So quietly it could be missed. Might be nothing other than a rustle of sound in the room. It's his admission and his guilt. The sin he'd committed, leading to the singular act of defiance he'd made. The singular act that had spiralled into all else.

Karen he narrows his eyes at. "I do not know why you are so upset. You are not Stupid or his brother." Sighing, running a hand roughly through his hair, and rising to his feet. While Hayal's demeanour changes and goes flat, Castiel now takes up the need to escape. His sentence to live amongst those he'd thrown his lot in with pressing down upon him in a claustrophobia inducing way. "Stupid - Dean. And his brother Sam. I interfered. *He* took exception. And until I deign to admit I should have let him be damned in his brother's stead, I'm stuck in this vessel."

Keen blue eyes flick to Hayal. "You are lucky. You don't hear them anymore. I do. But they do not listen to me."

Exile has posed:
The angel puts his hands to his head - partly as if to deal with some internal pain, partly as if to ward off a blow to come. His wings droop low. "I am Fallen. He is not," Hayal's voice is quiet, but the resonances are strange. Hints of inhumanity bleeding through. "He has a human body, I don't. You are....apart for a time, but not lost. You have only to recant. Is it pride that keeps you from it?"

Karen Page has posed:
Karen frowns at Castiel faintly. Okay, that time she hears the capitalization of Stupid. And then then trenchcoated angel names Stupid. Dean. And his brother Sam. She doesn't know anyone particularly memorable by those names, and she suspects that the individuals being referred to would be decidedly noteworthy. And this whole business about hearing 'them' is just, well, just as whackadoo and the rest of this entire conversation.

The strange resonance to Wings' voice pulls her attention back toward him, and the defensive, nearly defeated posture is just ... wrong to her. "Hey, hey. Wings. You're safe here." She steps over and crouches down so she's not standing over him. "You're not the only one who's done something that's /really/ estranged you from your family." Boy, that that dredge up some less than happy memories, but she mentally tries to push them aside to deal with the here and now. "What matters is that you're not letting your past decisions dictate who you are now. Even for us confused monkeys, that's noteworthy."

Castiel has posed:
Castiel pauses in his agitated pace of Matt's livingreoom - thankfully an uncluttered space.

"Pride? No." The angel shakes his head, and repeats, louder this time, "You weren't wrong. How can I crawl back to Him to apologize for a slight I do not believe was? We've stood by and used them as pawns for as long as they've been vessels for souls. To what end? To what crass and pathetic end?"

He shakes his head. "I can't apologize for what I don't believe. It is only that I do not understand why I was not stripped of it all. What message this punishment is meant to give. So I wander amongst them hoping to one day understand."

And while he hopes, becomes ever more convinced he was right, and attached to these fragile beings to boot.

Exile has posed:
He looks up at Karen, puzzled again. "I'm not remotely safe here," Hayal's tone is curious. "Castiel could destroy me the moment he felt the urge. You could not stop him, nor could I. But you are not afraid, knowing what he is." Now it's the human who's the secondary conundrum.

"I don't understand, either. It....it has always been the price for defiance in the past, the Fall."

Karen Page has posed:
"You're right, he could. But he won't." Karen glances up at Castiel as she says those words, still crouched next to Wings. "And I'm not afraid of him because someone who's a really good judge of character isn't afraid of him." After all, dogs -- especially ones trained as therapy dogs -- are particularly good judges of character.

She braces one hand against the arm of the chair that the despondent angel is seated in to push back to her feet, kind of at a loss about what to do next. The two don't seem to be ready to start a slapfight anymore, but they're both clearly upset in different ways for similar reasons.

Without any other ideas coming to mind quickly, she follows her initial impulse in uneasy situations, and steps over to the sofa to snag one of the two largeish throw pillows there. Then she shoves it at Wings almost the same way she did the sweatpants, hoping the human reflexive reaction to clutch at something against one's torso is a trait he shares.

And just in case he doesn't grok, she promptly moves to sit on the sofa and claim the other pillow for herself, wrapping both arms around it to hug to her chest.

Castiel has posed:
There's a moment of near irritation as Karen rightly pegs him as not intending to smite Wings - though in truth he's not sure what she's basing this on. "I am confused. You are speaking of my friend with the metal arm?" It wouldn't occur to him to think of Lili. Not that Lili is one to be discarded lightly, but he has no experience to connect her words with that particular being.

It was true. Lili, at least, had seemed to like him well enough. Certainly better than some humans had reacted to meeting him.

Hayal is reassured, "If I had intended to strip you of what was left, we would not be having this conversation. As you rightly guess, I have not lost my Blade. Only enough Grace to make me regret."

He takes up one of the chairs, the space still free. "I have tried for some time now to understand. His anger is always the same. We have always Fallen. Instead I exist like this. You are a reminder of both my failure and of this. But you were not wrong. They do not deserve His offhand glances and negligent whims."

In truth, Castiel couldn't explain to himself why he had acted as he had in the elder Winchester's favour. To that moment in time he had never had such a thought. And since then nothing but solidifying it had occured. He could hear the Choir, and lift his voice to the Lord, but the Lord did not answer. Instead, he'd been left abandoned and alone. Until this moment, where now he was taunted by his failure to even Fall properly.

Exile has posed:
Hayal accepts the pillow, but seems to have no urge to cuddle it. He just...looks at it, looks at Karen, looks at it again. Then rubs it on himself like he's going to get the very last of the water off himself with it. It ends up resting on his lap. Poor Matt.

"The Most High does not change," he says, as if even the idea were blasphemous. "We are ....we make a choice, we Fall. Reason has never entered into it...." Hayal shivers.

Karen Page has posed:
Karen looks up at Castiel when he he asks who she's referring to as the good judge of character, and for a rare change she's glad that life has pretty much worn out her ability to blush. 'Cause she's more than pale enough to go TRULY red if the occasion demands. "Um, no. I meant that guy's dog. Dogs are usually really good about being able to tell who's a good person and who's a jerk." She should know, she had her share of unhappy dogs aimed at her when she was younger.

And then the two are relating things that she can only relate to in the most peripheral and human of ways. So she stays curled around the pillow and letting the pair talk. It seems to be help them both calm down a bit.

Castiel has posed:
There's something that might pass as a grunt of assent from the angel when he considers what Karen is telling him. The dog had not made any untoward moves or gestures. He supposed it could be something like recognizing the stench of brimstone, or the eerie unsettling of air that accompanied a ghost. Given his lack of experience with this one, he's willing to allow for Karen's assessment.

Hayal's, however, he objects to. "If that were true," he tells the other angel, his voice both rough and tired, his body slumping in his seat, "Then I would not be here. And I would be nothing more than you."

Exile has posed:
"They are because they were all made with pure love, to be an example to humans. Humans are not worthy of them, and I sometimes think this planet would be better if they were the dominant species," Hayal seems quite serious on that front.

He's back to peering at Castiel. He purses hislips, as if stifling a comment....then asks, "What do you do with them here? In that body?"

Karen Page has posed:
Karen can only smile a bit sadly at Wings' rather emphatic description of dogs. "Yeah, but if they were the dominant species, you'd both still be agreeing with your dad's A plus parenting style." Too soon? Too obscure a reference? Maybe.

She suddenly remembers the hurried text she'd sent out to someone to share with Matt, and REALLY hopes that it didn't worry him or anyone else. It was kind of random and left field. But then his question to Castiel gets her attention again and she looks to the trenchcoated man to see what his answer is going to be.

Castiel has posed:
Castiel tilts his head at Karen, shoulders pulled forward into an awkward angle that tightens his trench coat about them, trying to parse the reference. He's certain he should follow, but he cn't pin it down despite himself.

Millenia of lore in his head and some obscure reference has him stymied. A movie likely. He likes those.

His shoulders are still crooked at that awkward angle as he speaks to Hayal. "I have been trying," he says gruffly, but not unkindly, "to understand them. If I am to be denied His Presence for them, it seems the answer." To be fair, he's been trying.. he's just not been terribly successful yet. Better, but not successful.

Exile has posed:
At that, Hayal's wings droop in sympathy. "I," he says, on a sigh, "Have been trying for centuries. I don't feel I've gotten very far." He sounds almost apologetic about it. "They don't make a great deal of sense. Nor does their situation, for that matter. Maybe you will do better, being in one of their bodies. So much of their behavior seems to be dictated by flesh."

Karen Page has posed:
Karen SO wants to toss in a flippant comment here, but it might only make matters worse for the two clearly confused beings. You know what? Fuck it.

"I can probably guess why you two are having such a difficult time understanding humans. It's this little thing called free will. We've been given the freedom to make /all/ the mistakes," she gestures expansively with her hands, "and believe me. We do. Every possible way you can think of for a person to mess something up, do something wrong, hurt someone else, hurt ourselves, create masterpieces of art or literature or music, or even just choose to offer a nice compliment to a complete stranger to make them smile. We do that. All of it. All the time."

She throws her hands in the air for a moment, and lets them fall back to her sides. "Humans are a chaos engine in action."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt can hear the voices from the entrance to the building, so by the time he reaches his door he has some idea of what's going on, still, he plays the act as much for effect as anything, noisly unlocking the door and then stepping inside and pausing as thoug he heard people inside.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" he calls out unable to keep the smirk off his lips as he lets the door slam shut behind him.

Castiel has posed:
CAstiel turns to Hayal, muttering, "Their lives are so short. It is disturbingly hard to comprehend what it is they are thinking. I do not know that being in a human vessel has helped much. The body remembers the alcohol, but so many things are still shrouded in mystery. I am not able to draw it forth without the pain, so I do not ask of him.." Adding, "They seem to wish to complicate things beyond the necessity of their lifespan. For example, their courting and mating rituals make little sense. They wish to copulate, but have created rules for how they may. And they seem to be utterly fascinated by what may be in my pants and if it is functional."

Karen's words do little to clarify things, the angel continuing to treat her to a perplexed look. "I do not understand?" Beyond the chaos. That part he was becoming fairly intimate with.

When Matt calls out, Castiel pre-warns Hayal, "He is something of a true believer. It may be necessary to rescusitate him. I would not recommend exposing your glory, even though he is blind."

Exile has posed:
"I should probably go, then. Those humans.....I find I can't bear their presence," Hayal sounds nervous. "Somehow they're worse than the host. It's as if mortality concentrates faith, and I am a demon, by many lights."

Then that blue stare lands on Karen, and he nods, fervently, "I know! It has been a mystery since your creation, what the intentions were in that act. I'd hoped to be able to understand and convey that understanding, but it hasn't happened yet...."

Karen Page has posed:
Hearing the rattling of the keys at the door, Karen looks that way and blanches. SHIT. And then Matt calls out, and she can't NOT reply. "Uh, yeah Matt. In the living room." She looks at the others and puts one finger over her mouth in the near-universal gesture for 'SHHH!' "Sorry about barging into your place. A, um, couple of friends and I kinda had a mishap with a fountain, and your place was closest to try and dry off. Careful with the floor in front of the kitchen. It might still be kinda wet."

She then looks to the two angels. "Guys, this is Matt, the apartment's owner," she says, expecting the lawyer to step around the wall that blocks the view between the living room and the doorway.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt hears the byplay and can only think: //Great more 'angels'// Like he didn't have enough on his plate already.

He pastes on a smile as he taps his way into his appartment behind his cane. "Hey guys, I'm Matt, like Karen said, and hey, always happy to help someone in need," he says before asking Karen. "What happened to the floor?"

Castiel has posed:
Castiel shoots Hayal a look that says 'if I have to stay, so do you', Karen's words forestalling any necessity to say anything, and then Matt is in the room. Castiel silent for the moment, unaware that Matt has already heard enough to know he's met one of his house guests - though he does consider throwing Hayal under the bus for the floor.

Exile has posed:
"I....fell in a fountain and ...Karen suggested that I could dry off here," Hayal's voice is unsteady and unconvincing. "I'm sorry. I'll wipe it up." Matt may not be able to see the wings this one has one, but he can sense them. The way they alter the air currents in the room. Hear the subtle rustle of feather against feather....and the weird under-harmonics of a voice that has to strain to confine itself to the flat tones of human speech, rather than singing as it was meant to.

Karen Page has posed:
"Matt, this is Castiel sitting in the closer chair, and, uh, Pigeon in the other chair. It's a nickname," she adds hastily. Lamely.

She walks over toward Matt, her shoes tapping against the sections of the hardwood floor that aren't covered by rugs. She opens her mouth to make up more lies about the two angels, but then stops herself. She knows the truth about Matt, so trying to cover for the angels really won't help. Especially considering she's a CRAP liar.

"Um, anybody want something to drink?"

Daredevil has posed:
"Ah," Matt says are introductions are made. "I've met Castiel," he says with a bit of a smile at the menory of that encounter. It wasn't a real smile though, that moment of grace had shaken him to the core, the same way Trish telling him she'd been to Hell had. Sure he was Catholic, and believed in good and evil, but this brought it home in a way he wasn't quite ready for.

"And good to meet you too... Pigeon," he says. "Bet there's a story behind that name," he observes lightly as he makes his way to one of the chairs in his living room.

"A beer would be great," he calls to Karen before adding to the angels, "Make yourself at home, you're welcome to whatever drinks you might want."

A faint smirk plays across his face before he adds, "Fresh out of mana though."

Castiel has posed:
There's a grumble from Castiel to Hayal, "We need a name for you. You can not remain a bird. Let alone one that destroys statues. They are grilled and eaten in France." It's clear Castiel doesn't understand why. As far as birds go, they're small.

"I would like the beer." A pause. "Two. I would like two beer. And the whiskey if..." He stops himself. This ios not only not his house, it's not Josie's or any other bar. Somehow, somewhere, a small tidbit of social convention has gotten through. "Two beer," he corrects.

Only a very small tidbit.

Exile has posed:
"They are delicious," Hayal says, in a small voice. "Pigeons, I mean. Ah, call me Hayal." Here's hoping neither of them speaks Hebrew. "Water, please. Pigeon is a nickname because....I guess my wings make her think of pigeons. There are so many pigeons in New York."

Yes, he's sliding towards babbling, as well.

Karen Page has posed:
Letting Matt step past to claim a seat, Karen moves into the kitchen, where she fills a glass with water from the sink and pulls four beers from the fridge with a clear familiarity about her movements... right up until Hayal just mentions his wings as if they were a normal everyday occurrence for anyone. That elicits enough of a startle from her that the bottles clatter against the countertop where she nearly fumbles them.

After a solid two seconds of staring at the winged angel like he's lost his damn mind, she snaps out of it and gets back to getting the drinks. The metallic clink of the bottle opener followed by the pop and fizz of each bottle being opened is also quick and practiced, and she returns quickly enough to hand out the beverages as requested.

She sets her own bottle on the coffee table then takes a bit of extra care with settling Matt's in his hand even though she knows it's not necessary. Appearances. "So, Hayal, huh? That sounds, I dunno, middle eastern or something."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt snorts a laugh, "We've go whiskey too," he adds to Castiel. He figures as a good Catholic he ought to give angels the run of his liquor cabinet.

"Haven't tried them," Matt admits. "Lifelong New Yorker, we tend to think of them as flying rats," Matt elaborates. "No offense."

Though as for the name Hayal, it's meaning sails right past him he had a Catholic and lawyer's command of Latin, but Hebrew beyond 'mazel tov' and 'l'chaim' were beyond his scope.

He takes the beer Karen offers, and then as his mana crack slipped under the radar, he asks Castiel directly, "So, I'm guessing he's from your old neighbourhood?"

Castiel has posed:
There's a soft grunt of sound from Castiel as Hayal names himself in the most ubiquitous fashion ever.

"Soldier," he intones in his gravel. "Unnamed one. One of many. Uncounted. There have been so many meanings in so many tongues. You know that is what we called you all," he tells the other angel, not yet registering Matt is offering whiskey as well.

"You know that you are not bound to that name?" Even as he understands the other may not yet be willing to part with it - may not yet have accepted he has earned another. Whichever, it isn't Castiel's choice to make.

Exile has posed:
And that, somehow, has touched on something raw. For Hayal rounds on Castiel, wings flaring. It's a miracle that he doesn't knock something over, but no, there's nothing but that absurd physical grace. His voice is low, soft, belying the heat in his eyes. "It is not a name. I have no name. But I am the only one of my kind here, on this world, so calling me by my function suffices....and that is the language of the humans he loves most of all. It will do."

Karen Page has posed:
Karen watches the two angels, again growing concerned. And because of it, she turns and whispers to Matt (though she could have done so from across the room just the same), "What's the Latin name for pigeon?" Then she looks to the pair again and finds herself for the umpteenth time playing the role of peacekeeper.

"Hey, whoa, calm down there. No one's being mean to anyone here, okay? He's just trying to point out that you don't have to limit yourself to an identifier. You can have an actual name. That's maybe one of the very few perks of being stuck on this dirtball. You get free will too. I mean, can you imagine if every human on this planet called each other 'hey you' all the time?"

Daredevil has posed:
Matt has to think for a second to recall the latin, "Columbae?" he says as it comes to mind. "Could go with Columbus," he offers, before a thought comes to mind and he asks, "Or if you like trenchcoats like Castiel here, you could go with Columbo."

"She's right, you can pick whatever name you like, do what you like, within the confines of the law, and be who you like, you don't have to be the unnamed soldier. You can be you," Matt chimes in on the end of Karen's remarks.

Exile has posed:
They can see him struggle with it. Hayal is crap at concealing either thought or feeling. The wings tuck in, tightly. "Hayal," he says, softly. "Just that. I don't have ....I'm not supposed to have free will. Trying to is why I'm here." There's that odd tonal slant, the harmonics in his voice getting stranger. "I made decisions. We don't make decisions. We are servants, we obey."

Cas gets a desperate look. Explain to the meat puppets how this works? Before he shakes himself apart.

Castiel has posed:
Castiel speaks up now, turning to the two humans with that self-same gentle sadness in his blue eyes that so often creeps in when he speaks of them. "He's not ready," Castiel says gruffly. Understanding. "We were not made to decide, but to obey. Even amongst the Named, it is only His Will we speak with with our voices. Few have ever stepped beyond that."

His brow furrows into a thoughtful and umkempt line, "You speak of Adam and Eve. It is a metaphor only for that free will you were given." He offers no apology to Matt. "Most stories are only that. Explanations meant to explain concepts that exist outside our ability to express or understand them."

He exhales heavily. "I would have that whiskey." A pause, where he assumes that one will be brought, and he continues even before the drink is provided. "Lucifer Morningstar was ours. Only he is not a tale. He is the reality of will expressed beyond His wishes. We speak of him in hushed tones, and strive to never be what he showed us was possible. The cost, we all know, is too great."

His glance flicks to Hayal, and back to the humans. "His is his name. He is the free will of his choice. He can be nothing more than that, and only that, until he isn't. You can not name him. He has named himself. It isn't your choice."

Karen Page has posed:
Karen looks from Hayal to Castiel as they both speak, then stands to get the latter his whiskey, and while she's up she presses her still untouched beer into the former's hand. "Okay, Hayal. But you'll have to pardon if I butcher the pronunciation there and maybe sometimes still call you Pigeon."

Then she's stepping back into the kitchen to get that whiskey for Castiel. She's going to pour him a glass, though, because she's seen him empty a bottle without batting an eyelash. And... she's not sure how Matt would take to the trenchcoated angel finding his liquor cabinet and drinking it.

Daredevil has posed:
"I figured it was a story," Matt says of Adam and Eve. "I'm not as literal as some with my beliefs," he remarks before drinking his beer and considering the rest.

"So, you're saying you're all what you are, no matter what you do or the choices you make?" he asks both the angels.

Karen's choice though is noted when it comes to a glass vs a bottle and a small smile flits across his face.

Exile has posed:
At the mention of the Morningstar, Hayal's control finally fissures. Just a little, but it's enough to have him sing; one wordless note of pure longing, one voice of the great chorus that mourned the Lightbringer's fall. It echoes with crystalline, impossible purity against the walls of the apartment, where the light from beyond the windows pulses and beats.

Then Karen's giving him the beer, and he's recalled to himself, blinking down at it. He takes a sip, smacks his lips thoughtfully. "This is not water." He is not complaining.

Castiel has posed:
In an eerie echo of Hayal, Castiel almost says 'this is not a boilermaker - ' when Karen hands him the full glass of whiskey. Only he catches himself in time, aware that maybe he might not want the full glass taken away. Not to mention, that single pure note sets the other angel off into a tailspin of morose of his own.

Managing only to tell Matt, "No. You misunderstand. He is the choice he made. That name will be his until it is not. But we were not made to make choices. I should never had chosen for you. My fall is no less for having only made it this far."

Then he downs the tumbler in several desperate swallows that do nothing for his mood.

Karen Page has posed:
Karen moves to sit next to Matt again after bringing Castiel the glass of whiskey, still a little... discombobulated by the brief stint of singing Hayal did. At least he seems okay with the beer. Though watching Cas chug that whiskey elicits a wince and a glance toward Matt.

"So, um, what do you both plan to do now?"

Daredevil has posed:
Matt had been able to shelter under a degree of disbelief in being confronted by the divine, but Hayal's song strained that disbelief almost to the breaking point. The beauty was beyond words, beyond human, and if Matt were to guess mutant, meta and Inhuman as well.

"Wow," he says, looking pale and draining his bottle of beer. "Who wants seconds?" he asks the group as he gets to his feet eager to get some space and just deal with all the things running through his head.

Exile has posed:
"I will go home and use the water I'm allowed to use, and then rest," Hayal says, utterly matter of fact. "Rest under a heavy blanket. I don't need to sleep, but somehow, lying down under something within gravity, it's very comfortable." A look down at his bottle, and he takes another judicious sip. "I am still with my first, but thank you."

Castiel has posed:
Castiel stares at the empty his glass has become, that singular note still resounding in his head, a too real memory of the Choir he is denied. Worse, this vessel can only make an approximation of the sound - less, given years of drink, and likely more, had stolen its voice away.

"I must.." he says, the words he makes sounding broken and gruffer than usual. No longer soft, just hurt, jagged things in his throat. The glass set down, and for one desperate moment he looks about before he simply disappears.