Oh. That's a beautiful name. [ And she means it. It strikes her as curious contrast, for a moment. Classmates at college kept wanting to shorten hers to Ana, Klaus keeps saying Thema — but she always adamantly refuses. Meanwhile, the other woman's never introduced herself as anything but Sal. But Anathema likes the sound of it. Salazanca. Reminds her of Salamanca in Castile and León; a week-long study trip to the university town once. ]
I can. If you're sure you're up for the flight.
[ All she can do is hang on tight and assume and hope, as they rise up over the debris-strewn streets and Anathema starts pointing the directions to her house, like it really is a cab ride. Next left. Straight ahead two miles. Third on the right. Until they're at the government housing, and the fourth house down the uniform row, and Anathema's absentmindedly patting down her pockets — of course all her dresses have pockets — searching for the keys.
It'd be typical if she managed to lose them in the storm and lock herself out, but thankfully she finds them and fumbles for the lock, manages to open it. ]
Welcome to the club. I'll print you a membership card, if you like.
[ That kind of distant, academic humour is Anathema's way of coping, dealing, but it's more apparent now that she's closer that she looks shaken, too. Frayed at the edges. Much as she'd been around the block before, this particular apocalypse hadn't come with prophecies. No instruction manual. No instructions from Agnes.
Despite having chosen that very thing, she'd missed it more than she realised. ]
Are you a hugger? People customarily tend to hug in moments like this [ they're surrounded by them, celebrants filling the streets ] but I won't, if you're not.
[ Because Anathema is a sucker for the old-fashioned and the ornamental and ceremonial, her response comes via creamy stationery rather than a simple network message, his address written in florid gothic copperplate handwriting. ]
Dear Mr. Dre∫den,
I would be honored to accepte, and greatly look forward to the occasion. Thank you for opening up your home.
[Standing in the doorway, right behind Anathema, she suddenly feels an acute awareness of her surroundings. Cathama's government minders used to tell the children where they were forbidden to wander to on royal property; try telling a girl of eight who can fly where she can't go, and of course it's going to play out predictably. Ever since, she's used to breaking into all places forbidden, and this—
Well, it's as if she suddenly feels the need to walk on eggshells. Don't break anything, don't cause a commotion. There's a strange importance to it that she can't quite quantify into words.]
...So this is what these houses are like from the inside. There's other people living here too, right?
[She shrugs out of her jacket, craning her neck to glance around to the other room. Because you can't really stop the intense curiosity from flooding out, her obvious interest now that she's here, but only try to mitigate the chaos and upheaval that comes with a title like Cacophony. For example, the tears in her shirt are pretty obvious without the jacket, and so is the blood.]
And you've got a room for yourself?
[She's a disaster, for certain, but she glances back at Anathema with—honestly it's hard to pinpoint the emotion playing on her face. Trouble comes close, amusement might work—as if that once-innocent little girl finally broke into someplace really special.]
[She asked. Jane did that, she did not ask but there was touching and his human form shakes - there's an ache around him like he's too big and too small all at once and he wants someone to piece him back together.
That is what hugs are for right? He has seen it. He has been drawn in books doing it.]
I do. Didn't you get one, when you first Ported in? I thought they assigned everyone government housing.
[ She's knocking around in the bathroom cabinets, briskly searching for the first-aid kit. The common space in the house looks normal enough, almost blandly and generically so — which is what happens when people keep porting in and out, not staying long enough to leave their mark here. Her bedroom and the shop, though, carry far more of Anathema's personal touches — as does the kitchen, with its rows of spices and herbs and the mint plants growing in the window.
She returns to Sal's side, a hand against her shoulder pressing her down into one of the kitchen chairs. She has the antiseptic now, and the gauze and bandages. ]
Does it hurt? I already mentioned I don't have healing magic, but I could brew some tea— it'd function as a painkiller.
I have my own room, and there's a couple housemates and a couple empty rooms. People keep leaving, either because the Porter takes them or they find somewhere they'd like to live more. It's been convenient, though, and I like living in Jeopardy.
Not everyone works well in a group setting. Shit, I wouldn't wish me on the rest of these poor bastards getting ported in here.
[It's pretty matter-of-fact for Sal, that she's not really built for being around people...like this. But she's fascinated by it, and while Anathema is rooting around in the bathroom, Sal does her best not to paw through everything that catches her eye.
By the time she gets back, and has that familiar gleam in her eye that Sal knows far too well (an honest hazard when you're this reckless), she allows herself at least one dramatic sigh. Nevertheless, she does this dance by muscle memory; not one to be body-shy, she peels off the torn up shirt with a few deft movements, holding it in her lap.]
It doesn't hurt so bad. Shit, I can't even remember when this happened.
[Look, she's so well-behaved she hasn't brought up whiskey at all as an alternative. She's improving as a fucking person, thank you. Leaning over a bit, the cuts along her side seem surface level, halfway healing. Some monster must have taken a lucky swipe.]
Yeah, so you live and work here then? What the fuck kind of job did they give you, anyway?
[ Anathema was normally more heedless, more quick to unthinking physical affection — but that was with other human beings, people accustomed to physical touch and displays of fondness. With an archangel who could probably disintegrate her if he looked at her wrong, and who wasn't accustomed to this? She's treading more carefully. Asking first. ]
Okay. It's okay.
[ And she steps closer, and then just buries her face in Gabriel's chest and wraps her arms around him and squeezes, hard. Exhales. She's tall at 5'7", and so the crown of her head jots just under his chin. He's as tall as Newt was.
For her it's not the same as being wrapped in her mother's comforting embrace, but it's there, both to give and to receive comfort. Anathema's just glad to have the physical presence, another unlikely friend, someone on the other end of the apocalypse who survived it too. With her voice muffled against his shirt: ]
[He sat in on design meetings for human beings. They were designed to be exceedingly simple (he thought). Bodies, places, support animals and plants, upkeep the planet. Then he was here and - all of the things they had put into this were not simple at all. This wasn't in the design (was it?). This touch, this hug, this warm feeling at the center of his celestial core.
It's so confusing and it hurts to think about. There's an ache in his head, in this stupid body's skull. His arms twitch at his sides before he reaches one arm around her - gently - tentatively - and then the other. Not so bad. Jane touched him, Jane kissed him, and there are other people this is how humans express affection.
Arms around her he applies pressure gently and in that moment he's the angel he's told humanity he's supposed to be.]
...Days don't suck. They don't have mouths and mouths suck.
[But he gently moves his hands to her shoulder for one more squeeze before letting go and standing there allowing her to remain in place.
It's strange, some weird instinct clicking into place like a rusted piece of metal that says she needs that comfort.]
...I remember when we were told about day and night. I think that I was against the idea of "night". I mean who wouldn't want it to be daytime all the time? The sun is beautiful. I mean it's a masterwork. We made it before we made days and it had to be special because-
[pause. He stares down at her and frowns.] I'm rambling I think.
[Another pause]
...This is the part where I do something in return right? I want to. I want to because I ...I needed that.
[ She's brisk and business-like, but her touch is gentle. Something of the air of a competent nurse. Anathema's mother had taught and trained her to have a steady hand and strong nerve; ready to face down the apocalypse, a few injuries are nothing. Like the first-aid supplies, laid out in a neat row, waiting for Newt.
The conversation, though, is a pleasant distraction for both of them from the work of cleaning up Sal's cuts, and Anathema's grin broadens beneath a stray lock of hair that's fallen into her face as she works. ]
Get this: I'm a fortune-teller at a shop called Small Mediums at Large.
It felt like an absolute cosmic joke, when I first saw the assignment, but it's worked out fairly well. I'm making the shop my own, and I'm growing fond of it. You should stop by sometime, get your palm read. I promise it's not entirely a scam.
You hugged me back, so that just... that helped. Did you know that they sell these things called Thunder-Shirts for dogs, that squeeze them gently and alleviate anxiety? There's also weighted blankets for humans, that essentially do the same thing. The pressure simulates the same sensation you get from a hug. I love one-off inventions like that.
[ She's rambling, too, and scrubs at her face. Partially to get the dust off her cheeks, partially as if she can wipe away all the exhaustion and strain of the past few days. Say this for the Tadfield apocalypse, but at least that one had only taken an afternoon.
When Anathema breathes out, her breath is shakier than usual. She'd held herself together, all stern angles and self-contained professionality, but melting into a simple hug had broken down those edges somewhat. Constantly striving to be the most efficient and put-together person in the room could be so damned draining. ]
[Sal takes this kind of attention as she usually does, whining a bit at the sting of the antiseptics, huffing about the situation but internally—well, she appreciates attention, anyway. Just don't expect her to own up to it. Liette would've been full into the riot act by this point, poking runes into her skin and telling her to sit still so she doesn't smear the ink up.
The quiet, cozy atmosphere here is...well, it's nice.]
That sounds cute, really. Maybe a waste of potential, but what can you expect from a place that doesn't respect magic?
[She's looking around, over to the stove where the teas are, the kettle. Maybe she was too hasty about it; could it be so bad if she stayed for a while? She knows what's waiting for her when she goes home, at least, and there's no real point in rushing away.]
I'm...I read books and I write a review for them. On the internet.
[If his aura weren't terrifying, it would probably look the same as a confused animal who has been offered food. He is an ancient being and this new experience has thrown him off.
Here he sleeps and breathes and he feels tied down but maybe this is not so bad because he wants more of those things.
It is a sin. It has to be because he is proud and he accepted that but this, this friendship he is becoming greedy for it but it doesn't matter he wants more and when he asks for understanding she says nothing. Only faint whispers.
A thought, a fleeting thought, the barest whisper of a thought runs across his mind that he can't articulate. If he could chase it, find it, read it, it would be I get it.
The what however remained a mystery for the moment]
...Why?
[He frowns. There are humans who are sad here and they have been and said so many things and...]
That's vague. [ A tilt of a head, a questioning look. ] Also not what I would've expected, exactly. I would've pictured something with... I don't know, swords. Do you enjoy it? What sorts of books do you review?
I don't know. What can any of us do! [ a vaguely-gesturing flap of a hand. She doesn't even really know what she's trying to say anymore; her mind's too blurred, she's too tired. She wants a cup of tea. ] You're just. You're more sympathetic than I thought you would be? Which is a good thing. You don't understand this sort of stuff, but you're trying. You have so little frame of reference but you're trying. I think.
[She's got to turn to look over shoulder at the mention of sword, smile. Not the usual smile either; that's the thing about truth telling, once it starts it's hard to stop. It's a smile so rare only two others could claim it's real at all.]
You'd think so, huh? A big imperial force like this, they might just want to sign me up to fight their enemies on the front lines or something, but this...It's probably the nicest fucking thing some government has done for me.
[Sal's about to say more on it, the crack in her facade opening up like a fissure—but her luck's pretty bad, honestly. Outwardly, she just looks over to the window for a moment. But she can feel the Cacophony exude his own energy, like some bad, familiar omen.
There he is, standing there, watching them. Nobody else can see the fucker, missing that immaculate fashion, the noble disdain in his eyes, the way his lips part to show that awful brass grin (brass like the Mad Emperor's twisted crown of thorns, brass like the barrel of her gun).
Getting comfortable here, aren't you? I wonder if she'll invite you for tea, once she's put together what you and I have been up to, hmm?
A shake of the head and he's gone again, just like that. But that laughter remains ringing in her ears. Sal reaches up to her face and scratches at the scar there. Outwardly, maybe she just was lost in thought for a moment?]
Shit. Anyway, I meant to ask. You got other kinds of tea? For sleeping well, or something like that?
Of course. [ A sly little smile, because this is her favourite question to answer. Sal's patched up, she goes back to the shelves and starts rifling through them. ]
We have... Blueberry, raspberry, ginseng, Sleepy Time, green tea, green tea with lemon, green tea with lemon and honey, liver disaster, ginger with honey, ginger without honey, vanilla almond, white truffle, blueberry chamomile, vanilla walnut, Constant Comment, and... Earl Grey.
Sleepy Time is obviously what you're after, but any one of these I can imbue with magic, too. Help you sleep better.
[ It's one of only two times she's actually offered it to someone. Anathema doesn't usually like to go in for the whole potion-brewing thing; but does, for the people she cares about. ]
[When Anathema dashes off toward the kitchen shelves, Sal stands and slides her torn up shirt back on. She'll give one thing to modern technology; their shirts are far softer here, and hardly make her scars itch at all. This one, she'll have to replace soon.
Once the other witch starts rattling off her extensive list of teas, it occurs to her; if anyone were to ever be similarly invited to her own place (it's in the realm of possibilities, somewhere), she'll probably be expected to have these things herself. It's a surprising thought—something she gave up on so many years ago, during the war. But now...]
Green tea's nice. I keep some jasmine at home, sometimes.
[Sal's walked over by now, peering over Anathema's shoulder. Curious, and oddly gentle.]
[He swallows.] For everyone to go home. But then I was in there and people saw me and I saw them fighting and it was...
[He sounds stunned, staring around at them.]
...I saw how you and Adam and the rest of you fought, and how Crowley and Aziraphale fought. They were prepared to stand up against The Morningstar and I...
[He shakes his head.]
She doesn't talk to us anymore. She left a plan and then the plan was wrong - maybe a test? The more time I spend among you all the more I-I don't know if I can.
...I mean heaven, even if I did. I don't know if it'd take. Fighting alongside everyone in there made me feel less...less alone.
Green has caffeine in it. You won't rest all too well if you have too much of it. [ But it could be worse, so she fetches the box of all-organic green tea and, with Sal at her shoulder and a smile wreathing Anathema's 2mouth, she starts busying herself with brewing up a whole pot. Anathema snaps her fingers to light the gas on the stove, and while the pot's sitting on the counter, she pauses to toss in a few pinches of... something... then rest her fingers against it for a moment. A small burst of concentration, an imbuing of a restful essence.
She stays in one spot, enough to stay close to Sal, not drift too far away from her in the kitchen. If she just not-so-accidentally leaned backwards, she'd be leaning into her. Close enough. ]
What's your home like, here? Which city are you in?
[ She'd steeled herself for that answer, and it shouldn't be a surprise that he went Atropos but it still makes the corner of her mouth flicker. Almost-a-frown. ]
For this world to be destroyed, then, in order for everyone to go home.
[ Anathema sighs. It's a good thing his vote didn't win, she supposes, but she thinks she can understand how someone could wind up with that choice. If she just squints, tilts her head a little to the side, tries to view the situation askance.
But she just couldn't, herself. Her entire life's purpose, from birth to almost-death, had been averting the apocalypse. All of it. ]
Less alone. Yes. Everybody came together, fought together. There were dozens of spellcasters with me, all casting together, and then others in the storm... It must have felt like the angelic legions, a bit?
[If only Sal was well-mannered enough to mind basic things like personal space or decorum, she'd probably be sitting in a nice, quiet corner on the opposite side of the room. Or whatever it is that proper ladies do—instead, this asshole enjoys being fussed after, so she stays where she is.
At least she looks like she's watching the kettle and the small display of household magic. This close, however, Sal can't help but realize that, through everything that's happened during the storm, Anathema's usual nice perfume is absent. Which means they both need time to clean up, but still...]
I'm over in Maurtia Falls. I was warned, after coming here, that it has some fucking kind of bad reputation—but if you've ever had the misfortune of living a day in the Scar, you know it's an exaggeration. Anyway, it's the second floor apartment in an older house, the kind with an outside patio, so I don't get fucking arrested for breaking in to my own window.
[Obviously a serious concern, for someone who prefers to fly.]
The former tenant must've been a cat lover too, because it's been half a dozen times now that I've found one sleeping in my bed and howling at me to feed it.
[If it keeps happening, she knows she'll have to bring it to a pet clinic for a check up or something. Honestly, she's only had the one piss-angry bird the size of a horse to look after; Sal doesn't have the first clue what to do with felines.]
[For the world to be destroyed so everyone can go home Something about it makes him annoyed. Human beings think so small yet have no notion of the consequences of their actions. They just exist, and expect people to take care of them.
And it infected Aziraphale and Crowley, this sense of ...hope and wonder and faith. It's own sort of different faith from his own in Her. Not blind faith in a single being but in an ideal and bless it-
His face twists into something like annoyance before he closes his eyes and breathes deep. The hug was nice. Anathema was a nice person. You...did nice things for nice people. His throat works and he presses his lips together.]
It took seven days to make your world. The most important one out of every world we built. We built a lot of worlds before yours, before humanity's - [frown. confusion.] before earth. It was really hard to watch the ice caps melt, the trash and pollution stack to the ceiling, the oceans fill with your plastic and I let it slide because I knew the world has an expiration date.
[His laugh is hollow] besides we were guilty of things too. The flood? I didn't like that. Nobody ever gives me credit for it but I feel bad for the unicorns. Even the dragons. All things she made that we had to kill to teach humanity a lesson and it-
All worlds end. They're supposed to. The creators of all the universes know that every story ends. But you're all out there saying no it shouldn't - and yes.
Yes it was like fighting beside my brothers.
[He has only ever felt that will before. That no, I will do as I will do will. It's his mother's will. This radical idea that things can and should continue. To go against the plan, to say no.
He has never had the luxury, only it turns out he did and does and...and...
What to say. Staring at her, he focuses wholly on her with those inhuman purple eyes.]
...I can't say I'm sorry. For my vote here or for what I did. I can say...I think I can say "I'm sorry for not understanding and thinking less of humanity before all of this."
[He snorts.] Honestly I wouldn't be fucking surprised if you all figured out how to prolong the planet's lifespan. Cleaned up the oceans and the trash and my trees and maybe somehow found a way to fix the hole in the ozone layer.
[Wholly leaving out that theoretically, if Heaven were so inclined. Maybe. Possibly with their infinite power. They could help.
But now he is looking at her profoundly worried because - oh god. What if he said the wrong thing. And now they are not friends.]
Yeah, you sound like you can more than take care of whatever Maurtia Falls throws at you. Including a yowly cat.
[ Setting out the pot, the two mugs, and then finally letting herself collapse into one of the kitchen chairs while she waits for the tea to cool down. Wrapping her hands around the mug, savouring the warmth, and watching the other woman. ]
What kind of cat? I, completely true to stereotype, like black ones best. But all of them are good.
[ It's inane conversation and Anathema's aware of it, but she's too tired to really focus on anything more strenuous. They just saved the world! Let her have her inanities. ]
[Sal's not really the best when it comes to sitting still. She's well accustomed to pushing her body beyond its limit, and might have actually done so already, but that doesn't mean she wants to sit down again so soon. A restless person like that might want some kind potion to ease them down; especially someone who isn't used to sleeping for more than a few hours at a time.
So while standing, because what are manners, she pours herself a piping hot cup of tea and isn't as cautious about trying to let it cool first.]
Not completely black. It has the little white feet and tuft on its chest. There's a name for that, isn't there?
[She leans her hip against the edge of the table, sipping her hot tea and looking down to Anathema. There's a sudden, strange tug she feels in her chest— maybe it's concern? She must be worn out, right?
She can picture it, though; whatever the stereotype is she's referring to. Curled up with a nice quilt somewhere in this house, a cat on her lap to keep warm. It's very picturesque, but it's also true that Sal can be a sentimental dope if she's not paying attention to it.]
How long does the tea take to kick in, anyway? Your roommates aren't going to have to come home and peel me off the floor, are they?
[The mug doesn't completely hide that grin. Who needs an unruly cat when you have this miscreant around, anyway?]
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