June 16th, 12:54pm
Silver Salt City, Nevada. West Side.
Wind whips past red hair barely hiding the ears, the roar only made louder from the slight turbulence from the close proximity of towers on every side. Luckily the towers descend into more manageable heights the closer they get, the angel thinks. Unluckily, the scent of exhaust fumes permeate the air as they land on a nearby rooftop. Swooping around the back side of the building, the landing is made slightly bumpy from the gravel.
The rooftop fortunately has a good view of the target, who’s indulging in an even worse form of fumes. The familiarity of the smoke almost makes the angel jealous, if such emotions were allowed for an angel. Did he happen to spot them? Matthew's eyes seemed to trail their form for a moment before they ducked around a building.
Brown contacted eyes lingering on the demon and the girl walking back over to him holding icecream, the girl getting closer, skipping, and sitting beside him. Good on him for immediately throwing it away, the angel praises him, second hand smoke would likely kill the thing. The demon, however, is turned away from what the angel can see of her face, the sunglasses not making it any easier, black hair shielding her face even more so. Skimpy clothing is a staple of the demon’s, standing out against the odd floral clothing of the other people in the courtyard.
The brunet's head turns away from the demon and looks over the child's head, having caught something out of the corner of his eye, leading him to jump in the car. Likely the limo. Hasty, but the two follow him, it seems the angel came just in time for things to pick, they muse to themselves. The demon does so at her own leisure it seems, but the young girl is un-bothered but quick. Hopefully she won’t be too involved with these happenings, the angel would find it unfortunate if a child had to be dragged into all this.
Center of gravity steady as they stand up on the cement edge, the demon should learn to cover herself up a bit more, her shorts live up to their name as she changes the seats orientation to let the child in first. At least she seems to have some manners, but the erratic driving makes it doubtful that the man has any.
Leaning forward, the pull of the ground kicks in for a moment before wings, the size of two window panes on either side, unfurl behind them and slow momentum. Catching the wind and large beat of the wings sends the archangel ascending into the sky. Now with a better view, following the car will be much easier.
The traffic has surprisingly evened out, the stench is unfortunately the same. Keeping themselves afloat above it all, the chase of the limo is at a standstill from the red light. The scenery isn’t terrible, but the amount of gray floating through the air, as well as the dry heat, makes it unfortunate to think that so many people live here. A horrific mix with barely any pause, no wonder the city is filled to the brim with sin and sinners, the angel ponders with a lack of remorse. The green and white of the building beside at least looks aesthetically pleasing, perhaps the inside would be the same.
As Matthew turns right, the light finally turning green, the angel wonders if the layout of the city is meant to be a maze. Soaring left, following the car, and thinking back upon the view from above without being spotted by that heretical tower, the layout luckily doesn’t look like a large sigil. If it was, being a repeat of that time in Wisconsin, then about a hundred Powers or so would have already descended upon this city, killing everything in sight.
Then again, the archangel might just attempt to call them down right now from the sight of this pink tinged glass alleyway. As they thought before, the city's filled with nothing but sin and debauchery. The limos stop likely no better, with its egotistical display of a demonic animal's head and imitation of the temples of old. A curiosity as to how it got there, humans shouldn't have such easy access to the creatures. Another contract, it seems. The gold plate above the doors spells out the carved cursive, ‘AXIS,’ in bold.
Out steps a pretty dark skinned woman, in a white ruched dress, likely of brand name. The view from the sky leaves much to be desired in the form of seeing faces, especially from the wavy lion's mane obscuring the woman's head. Type 3A, the angel believes, the same as an old friend they no longer remember the name of, or much anything else about. Stepping out from the car after her, is a tall Washoe man wearing wrap around sunglasses, obscuring his eyes completely. He easily towers over the woman, as well as the top of the car, his soul almost standing out around him. The woman makes her way towards the bouncer, making small talk as she passes the two doric columns holding up the front of the building.
His black hair drapes over his shoulders, pulled forward in front as he takes a long duffle bag out of the car and slings it over his back. A nice pressed suit accompanies the man, but he pulls off his black tie and throws it in the face of a dark energy sitting within the car. Likely a demon, but odd that a demon would sit so close to the duffle bag, with its heaven like invisible vibrancy emanating from within it. Now, where did he get that from, the angel's head tilts as the man insults the demon. At least now it's known to them that the contract is likely not between those two, stamping out the idea from the traces of golden divinity lying like wisps in the middle of the tall man's soul.
The sounds of depravity echo out from the glass doors as colorful lights accompany them. Blaring music and screams and other arrangements of noises make their way to the red headed angel's ears before the doors close. The bouncer stands back in front of the crystallized doors as soon as they close, eyes narrowed at the limo and glaring til it drives away. The man’s buzz cut makes him reminiscent of a soldier, as well as his tall standing build. The limo lacked any plates.
From the fact the man is in possession of something of divine nature, he’ll need to be accounted for. The likelihood of a demon getting their hands on divine essence and creating bullets out of them isn’t out of the question, but unlikely from the amount of energy emanating from the bag. Perhaps melted silver laced with salt? Regardless, it should be powerful enough to kill a demon in a single strike, with the right aim. Hopefully a transversal cut higher on the physical body.
The man will need to be noted, the angel thinks as they pull a small notebook out of their light tan corduroy pants. On the front, in fast written cursive stands the name ‘Blythe’ in black ink. Flipping the pages, past the two that hold both Ninum’s and Matthew’s names, the angel pulls out a blue pen from their other pocket.
A sharp line takes the top of the page, leaving room for the name, Galais. Beneath, a bullet point, ‘Divine weapon.’ A bullet point, ‘Contract - Unlikely.’ Bullet point, ‘Who is he working for?’ Bullet point, ‘AXIS dealings?’
Yet to write another curiosity about the man, the red car holding the targets makes a U-turn back the way it came. Making the quick decision, deciding between attempting to follow the limo or the car, Blythe makes the decision to continue watching the original target, Matthew. Red hair whipping around as they follow the car before it stops, pulling up beside the cafe from before. The sight of the green and white striped awning is easy spotting as the archangel takes their place on the open roof of a shopping mall.
The shopping mall has a glass dome roof within the middle, as well as long glass runnings, running north to south. The roof is mainly covered with gravel, with the exception of a yellow folding chair. The angel's luck may just be looking up, they muse as they lay it out and sit upon it. Crossing their legs and pulling out an old gray flip phone, Blythe types in a couple numbers before music starts to pour out of the shitty speaker.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“You’re listening to Angel FM-”
“No,” The angel's reply is immediate as they click on the number six on the keypad.
Jumping into the song ‘Red Right Hand’ by Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, Blythe takes the notepad back in their hands and flips back to Matthews page; ‘Target,’ ‘Soul’ crossed out, ‘easy,’ ‘Insomniac,’ ‘Depressed?,’ ‘Unprepared’ are all words documented on the page. Looking back at the view into the bistro, the three are at the counter with Ninum leaning over at the front desk as Matthew is off to the side in front of a small assortment of postcards. His hands are in his pockets, pouting as the girl stands beside him.
The demon has eyes trained on her at every angle, from the worker trying not to look down her shirt as she counts dollar bills, to the other visitors of the cafe with their eyes trained on her ass. Perhaps all demons have some sort of draw to them that humans find irresistible, the angels sneer tells of their ire as they flip to the next page. Or the entire city is simply so submerged in its own degeneracy they are all incompetent to mind their business without ogling at others.
Ninum’s page, the same scrawl and cursive as before, reads with bullet points; ‘Target,’ ‘Demon/Hellbound,’ and ‘tony.’ As the angel's eyes are drawn back to the sight of the demon, it's noticed that she doesn’t seem to care about any of the eyes on her as she walks out with her head held high and carrying a box of beignets. ‘Easy-going’ is next noted down following a bullet point.
As they get in the car, the demon hands the black haired little girl with red headphones the bread treats. As they drive off the notes are stuffed back into corduroy pants as well as the flip phones top closed over the pocket, white wings send the angel back into the air. The red car follows the traffic leading towards the ostentatious tower. Flying along around the tower, veering along in front of it as the car flows down beneath the entrance towards the lower levels parking garage. Landing across from the entrance, Blythe leans on the wall of the opposing building, a tall skyscraper that pales in comparison to the ‘Tower of Leba,’ its title as seen from the gray metal lettering above the entrance of the parking garage.
After a while, the trio make their way through the entrance and towards the main desk. The doors close and reflect the red headed angel in the distance. Ninum and the girl veer off to the right as Matthew races up the stairs to the third floor computers.
Making their way across the street, the traffic is at a stand still as people fight to get around the slim intersection in front of the tower. Taking the right way around the tower, they pause as the demon and the girl can easily be seen inside, the demon stealing a piece of bread. Turning around, the demon comes up behind the girl and scares her, causing the girl to throw her headphones. The sight causes the angel to dig their short nails into their palm.
The pain distracts them for a moment, focusing on their reflection. White dress shirt tucked into light tan corduroys, black combat boots, red hair flowing down their back void of wings as people pass by behind them. The demon can be seen apologizing to the young girl, having crouched down to her level. Nails dig deeper into Blythe’s skin.
Wings unfurl and send them rocketing into the sky, the flip phone on their pants starting to play ‘Sexbomb’ by Tom Jones, Mousse T.. White feathers catch hold of the wind, and the breath of the air has them swimming above the glass as the stories pass them by. Hitting the crescendo, the angel has the moment of weightlessness with their back facing the ground, before gravity has them plummeting back down. Flight comes easy as they bank around the corner, landing back on the shopping mall's roof.
Marching across the gravel, Blythe picks up the folding chair and brings it back in front of the view. Slamming the metal legs against the cracked concrete, the orientation right in front of the third story, a direct view as to where Matthew is sitting.
He sits in front of the second computer from the window, hunched over slightly as he browses. Blythe, however, is sat in their folding chair with their hands grasping with an iron grip on the arm rests. Why are they doing this, why does the boy try so hard to figure this out? The angel is in disarray as to why Matthew would waste his time, his life away, on researching about some disgusting club filled with sweaty bodies.
The scent alone of such places is enough to drive the angel mad from what they had experience. An ache that forms between the eyebrows, a feeling of eyes on their form regardless of the closed off walls, the only difference being now is the pain receptors being lessened due to divine origin. But the research, what does Matthew gain from this, what is he searching for? The angels phone continues to play music as they attempt to keep their focus on their target.
He hasn't noticed the angel staring him down, no feeling of eyes on him as his emotions are an easy tell from the amount of times he adjusts his shirt collar to the moments his hands pause above the keyboard and his eyes light up. The distance is too far for Blythe to make out the words on the computer screen. Opting to risk it, the angel flies forward to the glass pane separating the inside from the dry heat of the sun and wind. Wings beating against the air, the closer view shows the papers in front of Matthew.
His notes read the man in charge of AXIS, named after himself, with a daughter and young son and a dead wife. Matthews' aim is to find what kind of distributions he made, or his dealings. This is the part where he is at a standstill, the angel finds this obvious as no broker would easily let their goods be leaked. Word of mouth always works better for drugs and other dealings of such nature, it sounds obvious yet it seems to elude the silver eyed man.
Unhappy with the lack of written information, the angel goes back to their seat. The yellow thatching contrasts oddly against Blythes red hair making it look almost fire-like, akin to the sun that is slowly starting to dip west. The thought keeps nagging at their mind as to why such an irrelevant man is supposedly so lynch pin. Why is Matthew so focused on figuring all of this out, enough to sell his soul for and for Blythe to be sent to watch it all happen.
Why is every word so cryptic, why must everything be so muddled in others wants. The direction Blythe was given are, not the easiest to follow as there was barely any outline. Simply, watch over this man who will sell his soul, make sure things happen the way He wants them to. How is Blythe supposed to do that without any plan? How much can a guiding hand be trusted? And why for this boy who is supposed to be some kind of investigative journalist, yet is terrible at the job he got fired from. Why would He care about these characters? They aren't good people, so what could they possibly offer?
The angels spiraling thoughts are caught off as the movement of Matthew standing up from his seat, running a hand through his hair in annoyance. The welcome distraction has the angel knocking over the folding chair as they stand up, hastening themselves toward the entrance and standing across the street. One of the businessmen walking towards the entrance almost notice the angel, from how low they were flying, but quickly dismisses it and laughs it off as his friend punches him in the shoulder.
Soon after, the three walk back to their car and start heading back to their apartment building. Of all things the angel expects of demons, one staying near their contract this close is a surprise. Of all kinds of demons, except perhaps the lustful kinds, the close proximity is usually unnecessary and unfounded. The thought quickly leaves the angels mind as they pull back into their parking spot in front of their apartment building.
The necessity of watching the targets this closely almost reminds the angel of a past life, the feeling of close attention in every detail weighs on their mind as their feet touch the smooth cement of the rooftop. Unfortunate that the original details have been lost to time and the divine, no longer remembering the specifics. Sitting next to the water tank, the angel lays down n their back as ‘Anemone’ by The Brian Jonestown Massacre begins to play from their hip.
Closing their eyes for a moment, brown eyes shielded from the setting suns rays, Blythe steadys their mind, taking in the feeling of the faint wind. Not carrying how high the building is, the wind has its way to control and steer itself with no regard as to the way it should. When would it count as a sign?
Eyes opening back up, the sun is setting lower in the sky, getting closer and closer to the edges of the red rock canyons in the far distance. Before them stands miles upon miles of towers and further than that stand the urban sprawls. The atmosphere feels less dry up here, less dry heat and more a spring breeze dewed by oncoming rain. The clouds have yet to make their appearance, but the lightning is at least fun to watch at night, despite its purpose. Or perhaps the dryness is thwarted by the water tanks' nearness, the perception from the heat simply leaking onto the air surrounding it. The archangel almost wishes they knew the truth of it all, but such thoughts they find to be unhelpful, both now and before it hasn't made anything clearer.
The music continues to play from their makeshift walkman.