abraxaslogs | [Closed]

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Who: Michael, Wanda & Matt; Michael & Istredd; Michael & Jack; Michael & Castiel
What: Closed prompts for the month
When: February
Where: Horizon
Warnings: None at the moment, will add as required

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On its own, an invitation from Wanda isn't unusual. They've known one another long enough to decide they enjoy each other's presence and to be comfortable with that fact. She's easy for him to talk to—or not talk to, as the mood strikes them—and Michael sees something familiar in her demeanour. Her company is as close as he gets anymore to the feeling of being among fellow angels. Exactly what she gets out of the arrangement he hasn't asked, but he knows she had an elder brother she dearly misses. He can guess.

The request that he be on his best behaviour had been a little strange, however. A bit ominous, even, but Michael trusts Wanda enough to believe that she won't lead him into any unpleasant surprises.

Well. Unless he's really done something to deserve it, recently.

Michael lands on the porch outside the small home inside her domain's forest, accompanied by a winged chaperone. The raven settles on the railing with a flutter and the click of clawed feet against wood. It lets out a short croak to hail their arrival.

He sees himself through the door without knocking. Wanda would know he's here even without the sound of a corvid greeter to alert her. The inside is as he remembers it from his last visit: warm, cozy, a few walls lined with shelves of books and the rest adorned with picture after picture. It's a little overdecorated by Michael's spartan tastes, but he'd never critique Wanda's choices in interior design. Not without the right comedic timing anyway.

Today, Wanda is not alone.

"Wanda." He greets her with a polite incline of his head. Then he turns to the other man, the one he remembers from their recent sea voyage. "And Matt, wasn't it?"

They've never spoken before. Everything he knows about the man boils down to an hour or so bemoaning the roll of the ship on the waves and a stern request from Wanda to treat his religious beliefs with delicacy, but he never forgets a name.

Of course Michael would come upon her request; this much she never doubted, in the same way that she didn't doubt Matt joining her in the Horizon with nothing more but a statement of 'there is someone I'd like you to meet' as incentive. There is certainly nothing ominous about her making this meeting happen.

Michael would immediately be able to tell where 'to be on his best behavior' comes from the moment he sees Matt, however. That much she trusts.

They sit in the living room space, a cozier spot than her and Michael's usual perching over the porch or by the kitchen with a cup of tea, looking out into the woods around them. As for here, it is clear that the intent is to keep the attention within this room—and it's also more comfortable for Matt, who may be about to meet an idol of his? Who knows.

This could go sideways.

Wanda stands from the couch to go around the coffee table towards Michael — but allowing herself to be somewhat in the middle between the two men.

"I think you both are owed a proper introduction," is what she says, hoping to clear up why she has two guests in her Horizon. All by design. She's been tripping in her mind how to actually introduce them. "This is Matt. He's in the Free Cities, and he's — coincidentally from my world, too." She turns to the other. "Michael. He's in Solvunn with me. We shared a cabin together in the ship."

Nothing... to worry about... right? She shoots Michael a glance.

Matt thought the next time he and Wanda talked, it would be in Nocwich and it would be a fairly serious conversation. He hadn't expected her invite to her Horizon with the promise of meeting someone. He'd blanched at first, not wanting to be caught off guard but he knows that Wanda wouldn't throw him into a surprise meeting with Lucifer or anything like that.

When he arrives, he makes himself at home on the couch and waits. The other person arrives soon thereafter and Matt waits for introductions. When she mentions Michael, he knows that it's not any Michael. It's the Michael and he doesn't really know how to process that at first.

"Matt, yeah. Matthew Murdock," he says after finding his voice again. He does stand, remembering some of his manners and extends a hand because he could do that.

Michael sweeps into Istredd's tower like he owns the place, wingbeats that sound suspiciously like sheets being hung to dry announcing his arrival. It's the same imperious attitude he carries himself with everywhere he goes, but he was invited. That's close enough to justification for him. He wears the same modern-looking outfit he did last time he visited. It's the sole change he ever makes to his appearance in the Horizon—a matter of comfort. Experimenting with fashion doesn't hold much interest for him.

He nods a mild greeting as he spots Istredd on the main floor.

"So where is this book of theories you've been preparing?"

Given the theme of Istredd's domain, Michael is making some assumptions about the format of the speculation he and the others have been engaging in.

He looks back at Wanda, expression level. It's him, Michael—Prince of the Heavenly Host, fighter of demons, holy force against evil. He is above reproach. Sure, he's counting all the things in the room he could knock over just like a cat with a twitchy tail, but it's his analytical side that compels him to. He's not about to start pushing anything off of the table.

Michael stares at Matt's extended hand for just a beat too long. Then its meaning clicks into place: a greeting, not an offer. Handshakes aren't a normal part of angelic communication, but having to introduce himself in the first place is a feature unique to his interactions with humans. He does reach out and take the man's hand, his grip firm but not crushing. He suspects Wanda would not approve of him immediately trying to make her beau lose his nerve.

"Michael. Just Michael."

He's not sure what exactly she's said about him to Matt, but he expects she's told him enough that he doesn't need to elaborate on his lack of a last name. After the handshake, Michael lets go and moves for the individual seat in the corner. He turns around, glancing between Wanda and Matt.

"Formal introductions, then. Is there an agenda, or should I start by asking what you're known for?"

"No agenda," she says, easily, grateful that Michael is not immediately trying to make anyone lose their nerve, especially when Matt is one of the few—if not the only one—that is actively practicing his faith (however that looks like).

When Michael sits, Wanda steps closer to Matt, a hand over his arm, helping him ease back down on the couch beside her. Moral support and all that.

Before the two of them can go about with this conversation, Wands speaks up to explain the reasoning with wanting them both here. She's sure Matt might appreciate having a few more minutes to recover some sense of confidence in the presence of Michael The Archangel.

"I wanted you two to meet because— you're both important to me." Gross. "And you could both do with making more friends across the borders."

Excellent logic, Wanda. Definitely no power dynamic here to consider.

She decides to help Matt a little. "He's a lawyer."

Edited 2023-02-09 14:54 (UTC)

"I have friends."

He says it lightly though just because he has to say something. He works his jaw back and forth, listening to Wanda's explanation and then trying to hear anything from Michael. But, considering he's an archangel, it's not like he's going to need to do things that humans do.

Does he? Had Abraxas changed that? Maybe it's best not to ask. Not great conversation topics. He frowns.

"And yeah, I'm a lawyer. Not that that means much right now because I'm not licensed in the Free Cities but it's something to work towards."

If he's important enough for Wanda to introduce him to her partner as an equal, what does that make them—family? Michael lets only a fraction of his surprise show, and only for a moment, but it's there. Wanda isn't one for open displays of sentiment any more than he is. He files the thought away for use in a teasing remark later. In the meantime, he drops some of the standoffish air he usually carries around strangers as he peers at Matt.

"I won't refuse the opportunity for an ally on the other side of a faction border, especially if Wanda is vouching for your character."

So maybe he doesn't have many friends out there. Thanks, Wanda. There's a face or two in the Free Cities that would greet him with a smile, but he's not sure how far any of them would be willing to go for him if he were truly in a bind.

Michael leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers and settling them on his lap. He doesn't seem relaxed so much as he looks like a tool set in its proper place.

"Regrettably, Solvunn has a limited job market outside of farming and childcare."

There's little work to be found for a lawyer in the commune, and even less for a general.

Edited 2023-02-10 07:00 (UTC)

Wanda can tell that Matt has questions of Michael's nature while being here in Abraxas—the slightest skim of his thoughts tells her so. She also catches on to something that Michael is thinking of keeping away for later. She knows she's put herself in a position of vulnerability as much as what Matt is exuding beside her.

"Michael might have a future in baking if he sets his mind to it." The comment is light, meant to bring some nuance to the conversation that doesn't flit towards the tense and the awkward. It's the elephant in the room, isn't it? "Matt's from the city. Might have never touched grass."

That—of course—is an exaggeration.

Her hand moves from Matt's wrist to his hand, proper, to afford him something of an anchor. Wanda has no idea how her next words will sit with him.

"We all know who Michael is," she starts, unwilling to further ignore the elephant in the room. "You don't have to ask him about the mysteries of the universe or God or — whatever—" excuse her nonchalance "—but you don't have to hold your breath around him either.

He might actually like all that deference, anyway."

"I'm not."

Holding his breath, that is. And while he does have questions because of course he does, he also doesn't know if he wants to ask them and hear the answers. All of this, it was supposed to be beyond him, to be something out of his reach, unattainable but completely out of reach if you lived your life a certain way.

And her he is, sitting down to have a conversation with an archangel. It's heady but he tries to breathe it off and not act like it was too big a deal.

"I don't think I want to know the mysteries of the universe or God. I think that's too much for me today."

Maybe another day.

"Trying to imagine you — farming though, it's a little comical. But a lot of what I hear about Solvunn from Wanda feels kind of strange."

Istredd did invite him so he can swoop in however he likes. There are a few new texts in the library that he was curiously looking at, but he was waiting for Michael. Considering that Michael has been helpful in talking about Solvunn, and willing to share his thoughts, it seemed only logical to tell him about their notes. He is as old as Lucifer and wise in his own way, Istredd believes very strongly that he is an ally worth making. And Lucifer grudgingly allows it.

The five ravens who live in the tower do all flutter a floor above them and stare at Michael. They're not Wanda's although it is a little connected. They don't do anything to him though, as opposed to two of them that like to annoy the two chief occupants.

"Follow me." He leads through the shelves that part and it is very intuitive, quick to move around people if they know what they're looking for. Usually reading nooks are just created, but this is a special one for people who know. Michael will be able to find his way back to this if he decides to come on his own. It's a nice and comfortable space once they're inside with plenty of seating arrangements for people to enjoy if they want to talk about the theories.

Michael might recognize the Chart of Hell by Sandro Botticelli painting and know his brother's hands are all over this, but it wouldn't be a surprise, since he knows how close Istredd is with him. Istredd turns it around and shows Michael the back of it where many of their notes are on it. Some in handwriting he knows, some in Istredd's, some merely thought into existence and not written.

"Obviously we'll be lucky if even one of these turns out to be true, but we're trying to make sense of the gods and what's going on here." Yes they could leave it alone and ignore it, but after the Heralds, that seems like a stupid idea, if people can come fater them.

There's his reminder that whatever wholesome fact he might try to embarrass Wanda with later, she has an equally sweet, out of character anecdote to share about him. Michael looks at her as if to say his baking habit was supposed to be a secret, but he's only half serious. This is what he gets for making friends: the threat of revenge.

"We receive quite enough reverence from the Solvunn natives as it is, don't you think?" he says to Wanda, then turns to Matt. "The part about them treating goats as appropriate 'thank you' gifts is true."

Not that anyone's tried to give Michael a live goat (yet) but he's received a truly outrageous variety of goat-related offerings. Some he's hidden away just in case, but most have been skillfully regifted to others in the commune.

Michael appreciates that Matt doesn't plan to dive straight into a theological line of inquiry. He nods.

"Good. I won't field any questions about my Father, so it's best that you don't ask."

He makes it sound like a personal matter—and well, it is—but for Wanda there is a loud surface thought that discussion of his Father is perhaps the most faith-shattering topic to engage him on. Mentions of God are unavoidable when he speaks of his past, but there is a reason Michael has not brought up his relationship with God in any great detail.

"Is it funny? I'll have to trust your judgment." Comical is not the first word that comes to mind when he thinks of being forced to adapt to life among humans. For a moment, Michael's gaze is sharp, every bit the rigid general no angel ever wanted to be dragged in front of; in the next, he's back to what passes for casual with him. He's willing to let the comment slide, for Wanda's sake.

Michael glances at the books that had held Istredd's attention as they pass, wondering if any of the titles are worth examining himself, but he doesn't stop to check any of them. Now's not the time. The ravens receive a similar cursory glance. So long as they don't swoop down to harass him, they're not a concern of his.

There might be something to why the people he knows are so fond of filling their domains with that particular corvid, but that's another thought for later.

He follows after Istredd, between the book-laden shelves and into the secret reading room beyond. He frowns a little at Istredd's back as the man heads over to pull something down from the wall instead of off a shelf. A painting slash bulletin board is not what he'd been expecting. Michael is silent for a few moments as he examines the back, reading each line before he makes any comment of his own. Some of these theories sound a little far-fetched, if he's being generous; like grasping at thin air, if he's being his honest self.

"Good luck to you. Even Solvunn's ritual masters are not very forthcoming when they speak of the gods. We may only learn of them by meeting them ourselves," he suggests, cynical. "Are you thinking of testing any of these theories, or merely gathering them?"

She takes note of Michael's gaze, the way he exudes what she imagines would count as something terrifying to those angels he once had command over. Fortunately, Wanda suffers no such grievance from it, and Matt's as blind as a bat to notice it to begin with.

Wanda does shoot him a look—really?—and a raise of a brow.

"I think Matt's mostly familiar with those statues of angels," she says with a light shrug, not all too sure about what the Catholic faith consists in terms of angelic representations. "It might be funny to imagine those depictions busy with farming." She offers a description to Matt. "He looks like the most normal guy right now. American, even."

In any case—

"Try not to do any prayers directed at Michael—" she isn't sure if Matt ever does "—because he will hear them. Might be interesting to try if it works across factions, though, or if there's a distance limitation in Abraxas."

As most things, Wanda goes into technicalities of the magical and mystical.

"Don't worry, I tend to keep my prayers fairly mundane."

And private. Though, he's also curious if a prayer directed at Michael would reach across factions. He's not going to try it but he's curious. He doesn't really know what to say so he goes for the first thing that comes to mind —

"Does it concern you that a person...like yourself can be contained in a place like this?"

He knows that most of these are just thoughts as they came to them, and there is an element of it more prone to instigating thoughts than facts in themselves. Istredd can look at any of these and it spins him off into other theories, it works better when within a conversation. He wouldn't try to make this come off as more than ideas, ideas are sometimes all you have. Until someone else comes along and perhaps knows a fact.

"It has been brought up that we could intentionally try to summon the gods. In theory, if a blood sacrifice has done that, and they created a spell to send the entity back, it would be possible to refine both. Summon a god for questions, send it away." Istredd shrugs, looking at the board. That particular idea isn't written out there, because it's already in their minds. "I was the one to refuse to try anything like that until we had a guaranteed ability to dispel them."

Otherwise they were looking at maybe something worse than the heralds. Retribution, perhaps, from a god offended by the idea.

"If there is a way to test any of them, I would do it. The more we look into this, the more I think we really do have to summon one to get any answers." It's just not the smartest choice. It's dangerous. But who are they going to get answers out of otherwise? Solvunn? Unlikely. "Kyle's theory that they're not originally from this world is interesting."

Michael looks back at her, expression unapologetic and even a hint self-satisfied. This is as good as his attitude gets around relative strangers. In fact, he thinks he's doing a pretty good job of treating Matt with something approaching respect. He hasn't made even one dismissive comment about his faith.

"I can hear prayers from across faction borders," he confirms. "At least those in the Free Cities. Thorne might be another story."

He'd certainly been able to hear Lucifer the last time his brother had tested the volume limit on angel radio, but prayers from humans and others were another matter. That might be a notion worth testing. Between them, he's sure they could come up with the name of a volunteer or two within Thorne. At times, it seems to Michael that Wanda knows just about everyone in Abraxas. Maybe that's merely proof of her point that he needs to work on making friends.

Michael turns his attention to Matt and his question.

"Foremost, I'd say it irritates me. That it's possible to contain an archangel doesn't surprise me, however—anything can be caged, no matter its power. My real concern is who's doing the caging. Solvunn's motives seem innocuous so far, but I'm given to understand that the relationship between natives and their Summoned isn't so congenial in other factions."

"I agree with you on that much. Even if you were to send away whatever you summoned, could you guarantee it wouldn't return of its own accord later? Some entities don't care to be called upon. They might hold a grudge."

There, Michael speaks from personal experience, having on one occasion been trapped in a circle of holy flame, handcuffed, and dragged to the Winchester's bunker. He hadn't appreciated it, and he'd nearly wrung the life out of Castiel for it. In the end, the news they'd brought him had been worth more than the insult of his capture. They were lucky that Michael isn't the vengeful type.

The gods of Abraxas, though—who knows? At the last ritual by the ocean, Solvunn's mages had said it was best not to target any specific god with their offerings, lest they offend others. Their old gods might be as jealous and capricious as any of the pagan gods Michael knows of.

"Do you have a means of banishing a deity?" he asks, a shade of genuine curiosity in his expression as he glances away from the board, towards Istredd. An opportunity to test it might present itself before they ever get around to summoning anything.

"You might also try reaching out to the gods before you try dragging them to you. Prayer, the magic writing. Perhaps some of the other Summoned know other means of contacting the gods of their worlds, if Kyle's theory is true."

"I think the Heralds proved that none of us would be stronger than them."

None of them were fully able to resist the influence. Even Istredd who was less afflicted than most was struggling the entire time. To put that much power over the entire world? Definitely over their pay grade. The problem is that simply can't be enough. They can't shrug their shoulders and go 'oh well' and go about their lives, or apparently Lucifer, Istredd, and Kyle can't. Part of it will always be about the Singularity for him, but this too. He doesn't like dangling on someone's string.

"Months ago when people were experiencing very vivid nightmares, they were also seeing an entity of some kind. I heard it had multiple faces, it looked like whatever someone might be scared of. It seemed like it followed people into the real world." Istredd was not there for it, but many people were, and he listened carefully to their stories, just in case.

"Thorne asked that the Summoned perform a ritual to push it out of here. Whatever that spell was, it seemed to work." He shrugs. "So it's possible that spell could be used again. Then again, they could have used it again on the Heralds, and they didn't." Istredd doesn't know the answers, that's why there is so much speculation. But he can't simply turn his back on it.

"I just think if we keep sitting around, it'll escalate. They have nothing holding them back."

Let's not talk about Thorne, is what she thinks, lest they push further into territory that would force them to mention Lucifer. Not the favorite topic of neither Matt nor Michael, she is certain.

And it really did take less than ten minutes to jump into conspiracy conversation.

Suppose this is something Michael enjoys and is good at.

"Unfortunately the Summoning ritual's rituals are being kept a tight secret from those who employ it. I can tell it's a very powerful flux of magic whenever it's performed," she adds; hopefully Matt won't feel too lost with all this mystical talk. "And from what I understand, we enjoy more freedoms than those from the other factions do. Small comforts, right?"

She's only glad the Free Cities isn't as bad as Thorne. She knows Natasha and Stephen can handle themselves discreetly. The brawny men from her world in the Free Cities? Not so much.

The diner has become something of a refuge, for Michael. When he grows tired of Solvunn, irritated with its old gods and their constant presence in the thoughts and words of locals, he retreats to this corner of his domain. Being nearer the Singularity does not necessarily put him further away from the gods—if there is anyone who knows for certain the nature of the relationship between the gods and the Singularity, it hasn't reached his ears—but at least his domain is free of offerings and shrines.

Apart from the church, that is. That doesn't count.

He won't get to keep thinking of his domain as a safe place if estranged relatives keep wandering in, though. First Lucifer, and now his son.

Michael rises from the same booth along the wall that he always occupies when he's here. For a moment, all he does is look taken aback. Throwing out his wings in threat wouldn't do much. This isn't truly a face to face meeting, it's merely the Horizon: no harm they might do to one another here will have any real meaning. Besides, they've met before, whether Jack remembers it or not. It hadn't gone so bad. The boy is not his father.

"Jack," he ventures, tone unavoidably guarded but not hostile. "So even a nephilim is subject to the whims of the factions and their summoning ritual."

"That's what I've gleaned. Summoned, which is just a strange classification I have to say, seem to have a little leeway in the Free Cities. I got questioned a little while ago and they let me go pretty easily."

But that might have also been because of his ability to talk himself out of trouble.

"I don't know if they'd do that for just everyone. Not that they had anything on me but still."

Jack couldn't say for sure how he had ended up here. Truth be told, his explorations and learnings of the free cities hadn't afforded him as much knowledge as he'd have liked. No, in true, raised by Winchesters style, the young nephilim spent most of his time alone in his room at Mags.

More recently in his room in the new house everyone had gotten together.

No, one moment he was doing a little more than nothing the next he was walking through the woods, much like when he went to see Eddie running D&D. When he stepped into the diner he had seen in the distance, he had not expected another. Michael didn't look like the Michael he knew, nor did he recognize him yet. No, Jack was from a few days before they would meet.

"You know me?" He asked, carefully stepping in more to get out of the doorway. Unsure how to feel. "I suppose so, where am I? And, how do you know me?" The kid really needs to get out more.

It isn't often Castiel finds another domain with a Judeo-Christian church, and despite himself, he's curious. If he'd had several more seasons under his belt, he might've know better, but alas. Its contemporary, no grand cathedral, but more realistic that way. The pews are well worn, the organ old but grand, and beautifully crafted stain glass.

It isn't until he's moved on from the altar and started to inspect the stained glass that suspicion starts to set in. When he picks up a hymn book and reads the name of the church printed across the spine.

St. Michael's.

Well shit.

As if electricity shot through him, Cas straightens up, glances one direction then the other, and could swear he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He whips around, ready to flee, only to nearly barrel into a familiar face. Oops.

Caught. Cas clears his throat awkwardly, fiddling with the hymn book still in his hands.

"Hello, brother."

The lack of recognition on Jack's face explained a great deal. By the time Michael had met him, Jack had been little more than human. He had to be from an earlier time frame, before they'd met and before whatever he'd done to lose his power.

The thought of a first meeting with a fully charged nephilim who probably expected him to be the same aggressive, alternate Michael Lucifer had didn't thrill him, but it was better for it to happen in a place he controlled than in the middle of Nocwich. Michael moved closer, stepping slowly and deliberately between the tables without taking his eyes off of Jack.

"I do know you—or I will, however you prefer to see it. You're Lucifer's son, which makes you my nephew," he said, and then, before Jack could start going through the list of possibilities, he gestured at himself. "Michael."

Next, Michael waved a hand at the single table that remained between them—an invitation. Have a seat.

"You're in the Horizon, within my domain. How I know you is a longer story."

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Wanda & Matt - Wanda's domain

michael - wanda - matt order? :>

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Istredd - Istredd's domain

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Jack - Michael's domain

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cas and michael go to church

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