zurielthewarrior-blog

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

demonicflowerchild:

Bea took a stroll by the edge of the woods to find some entertainment. Unfortunately, she realized rather quickly that any entertainment to be found out here would have to started by her. There weren’t any people trying to get high in woods, or going camping, or anything easy to take advantage of; at least not that she could tell from the short distance she had gone. Bea continued on, looking for the perfect place to set up. There was an open clearing, with tall grass and light shinning through almost angelically - too obvious. However, next to would work. There was a rotting aspen tree that had toppled over in pieces. The ground was uneven and covered with various sizes of rocks. Thin vines covered practically everything in their path. Leaves covered the ground, making a crunch with every movement; handy for hearing someone approach. It was perfect. What more could she have asked for?

Finding the location, she decided that the best place to start was with the only thing she was carrying: her bag. It didn’t have anything of important in it, just her cellphone, one of her id’s, wallet, and other various junk. She ripped the straps first, followed by the zipper keeping the bag closed. Satisfied, Bea took the bag several feet away from her chosen spot. She then threw the bag as far as she could away from her. Maybe she’d get lucky and have some added damage to it or it’s contents, wherever they ended up. Then she easily made her way back to the fallen tree. It was on to the next step, her clothes. They were far too neat. She tore her left sleeve at the seam, but made sure to keep it firmly connected to her shirt. Bea then reached her arms behind her back as skillfully as possible to rip a another hole. Unfortunately, doing so she created a larger gap in the back of shirt than had been wanted. Oh well, she’d go with it. Next she dirtied up her pants, hands, and cheek with some dirt. She clapped her hands together to any access dirt off, and looked around for anything else to add. 

Nothing screamed out to her, so it was time to get on with it. She placed herself perpendicular to the fallen log, turned away from it, and crouched down. She then laid down face first, putting the majority of pressure on her right side, then extending her left leg so that her ankle hung over the log. Once in position, Bea let out a blood curdling scream. 

“Help. Please someone help,” and on it would go on until someone found her, or she got bored; whichever came first. 

West Hollow was of course, not the jungle, but that didn’t stop Zuriel from thinking of Aranyani as she roamed the forest. Aranyani, goddess of the forest and all the animals within, was particularly fond of the jungle, tangled branches and fog. Wild jaguars and frogs with glowing eyes. Aranyani, who watched humanity from afar, so enjoyed roaming the forest as far from civilization as possible. Who did not get lonely. Zuriel felt they had a lot in common. 

It was not a proper Hindu prayer: Zuriel was dressed in jeans and a tough jacket, a backpack slung over her shoulders to mimic a hiker. There was nowhere to cleanse herself, or light candles, no lamps or thali or mantras. She would do all of that later. But for now there was deep contemplation, and that was good enough. How could Aranyani stand it, watching things decay in her own forest? And how could she stand humanity, ushering in their own strange kind of rot, tainting almost everything they touched?

No, not taint. Zuriel repented softly for her thoughts. Humans were the Gods’ creation, as much as the trees and the flowers. Perhaps even more so. Whatever they were, they perplexed Zuriel, but she tried to let the scene of the forest calm her mind. 

Aranyani could be heard from the bracelets on her ankles, soft tinkling that could be heard from a distance. The sound that erupted through the forest, loud and anguished, was no such bell. 

Zuriel picked her pace up, sprinting through the forest––until she saw who it was. Then she willed her heart to slow, the anger to drain from her head. She took one step, then another. She did not reach for the knife in her backpack. 

“I am feeling charitable today,” Zuriel spat, her serene mood almost gone. “Leave this forest and play no more tricks, Raakshas.” Demon. 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

thecalebswan:

Training with a hardened angel was a blessing, to say the least. Caleb was usually bored when he came to the training center and Zuriel wasn’t available, she was one of the view angels here who gave him a run for his money. As they went back and forth, Caleb got progressively cockier. He didn’t exactly catch on to the idea that Zuriel was letting him get hits in most of the time. As the archangels told him time and time again, hubris could and likely would be the death of him.  

Fueled by the energy of battle and Zuriel’s positive affirmations, Caleb knocked the other angel with all his force. When she fell back a smirked, accepting a flawless victory. He reached to help her up and was pulled to the ground shockingly. As he was on the ground she snatched his idle staff. 

He groaned. “Fair point.” He pushed himself off of the ground and shook off his wings. He eyed his surroundings, if he was going to be weaponless he was going to have to take advantage of his environment. She now had a greater reach, which would be a severe weakness. He stepped back and charged toward Zuriel, leaping into flight right before she could swing on him. He landed behind her and tried to fight her head on. Though he would be taking more hits than before, he hoped to disorient her enough with his consistent parrying around that he could find a new opening 

He didn’t know that she couldn’t fly. Of course, there were rumors around that were as old as the soil itself, and had been circulating since she came to Earth. No one had seen her wings except for Adriel, and that was before the war. She’d had them ripped off, she’d traded them, she was made without them to begin with. The stories were as colorful as they were numerous, but Zuriel rarely worried about them. She was not vain, but there were moments when her lack of flight became irritating. 

This was one of them. She wanted to jump into the air and not fall back down. She wanted to fight Caleb up towards the ceiling, swooping down and dodging his attacks, returning them with her own. She wanted to feel the breeze flutter her feathers and not hurt. A strange feeling, she thought distantly as she whipped around, waving her staff at him. She hadn’t given much thought to the pain in her wings in at least a few years. Strange. She was at risk of becoming a complainer. 

She pushed on, twirling the staff above her head in a way that looked superfluous, but was really a skilled way to fix her grip. “Attacking right from behind? With no weapon of your own? Predictable,” she swiped at him, aiming for his chest. “And flawed. Think, Caleb. Use your surroundings.” He would probably recover soon; he was exceptionally quick. But still, Zuriel would finish the fight soon. He needed to learn how to lose. 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

@harpwoods

“Thank you Donna,” Zuriel said as the waitress refilled her coffee. They were the only words she’d spoken in minutes now, and the silence had stretched beyond awkward to flat out uncomfortable. Zuriel didn’t mind though. Once, she’d gone twenty years without speaking a single word. 

Harper had finished up her tale, catching her up on the activities of Mystery Inc., which culminated in a standoff in Catherine Vernon’s own home. The alpha Michael had been there, yes, but so was Hugo Duvall. A strange sort of plan, that Zuriel was inclined to call suicidal. Nevertheless, everyone had returned with life and limb, and had even earned some cash and promises for their trouble. Zuriel did not know what to make of this yet, and so she stayed quiet. 

The steak was burnt in her mouth, the eggs overcooked. She chewed slowly. That meant that the cook in the back was using again, too uncoordinated to take pride in his work. She would need to talk to him soon. 

She sipped her coffee and when she finally looked at Harper, something dropped in her gut, leaden and heavy. It was concern, she realized, not for the War but for the mortal in front of her. She was worried for Harper. 

“You should have told me,” her tone was quiet. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

Fairy Tale Aesthetics: Brothers Grimm Version

Bold what applies to your muse and REPOST !

SNOW WHITE. jade trinket boxes. taste of iron.  fingertips on a mirror. yellow and green with envy. longhandled hunting knives. sewing by the window. combs laced with pearls and poison. an apple white one side and red the other. white doves. frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS. a blunt axe. a ring of chalk.  tear-stained cheeks.  sweet pears.  hands tied behind back. shallow rivers. aching feet, walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver. wax seals. blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST. lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies. tiny milk snakes. baskets of strawberries. fat toads. sparkling snow. fur cloaks. raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD. a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away. galloping hooves.treasures from far away lands. dragged by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls.shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS. sitting side-saddle. daughter of a witch. nettles. white feathers.  refusing to smile. needles and threads. a castle in the forest. sound of beating wings. birthmarks.  climbing trees. balls of yarn. silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP. wildflowers. rich-tasting cake. wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth. curtains drawn.  a dying fireplace.  grey pelts. red velvet.  handmade quilts. sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

West Hollow was a town littered with secrets in the form of scattered skeletons and spilled blood. If someone ever did any real digging, the kind that made front page, international news, hardly anyone’s hands would be clean. People went missing and often received less than a cursory glance and an empty police file. Corpses committed disappearing acts: here one moment then gone the next. Trails of corruption stopped cold time and time again. If she really wanted to, there was enough to wreck the town’s reputation permanently, to convert it into a ghost town in five years––well, in the metaphorical meaning of the word. 

But that wasn’t quite what Zuriel was here for. Her career as an FBI agent was a tiny mark on the timeline of her life, nothing that resembled a calling. She did not care enough about the American Empire to protect it on principle; half the time she was not even sure she was happy to be in the service of mankind at all. It was a convenient cover: the badge made people cower, the pressed suit made them trust her. 

So she carried on her business, knocking on a door and standing back patiently. She brought two agents with her, a woman and a man, both grim faced and eager to please her. 

“I’m Agent Zara Xi from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I need to ask you a few questions.” 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

bloodsbeauty:

Zuriel’s surprise visit made much more sense now. It was no secret that the vampires – along with the aid of other unsavory characters in West Hollow – had something up their sleeve. While Adalene wasn’t necessarily the top of the food chain, so to speak, she knew her fair share of information. Conversations she’d eavesdropped on at Lestat, bits and pieces hinted at whenever she was hopping into bed with Josie or Hugo; not to mention that It wasn’t enough to simply put yourself into the good graces of powerful people; survival often depended on knowing enough to save your hide should certain situations arise.

Adalene considered any information on Alexandre to be of the utmost importance, but she had her doubts about giving information to Zuriel. There was a good chance that if this got back to Josie – or, heaven forbid, Catherine – that Adalene would put her standings at risk. She’d either be killed or left to fend for herself, which would be a considerable problem given any news Zuriel had on Alexandre.

“You do realize the position this puts me in, don’t you?” Adalene pointed out, brows furrowing in displeasure. “Either way, I’m going to have someone ready to murder me. If Alexandre doesn’t come for me, then Catherine and Josephine are going to have my head on a silver platter.”

Regardless, Adalene knew there would always be a way for her to get out of trouble. Running and hiding always seemed to do the trick, though that’d only gotten her so far when it came to Alexandre. Besides, if he was alive and on the move, she might not even stay in West Hollow long enough to see the consequences of her actions.

“Catherine’s going to win the upcoming election,” she finally said. Cream Puff crawled onto her lap, apparently sensing her owner’s distress. “If the vampires can’t rig the election with the help of a rogue witch, they’re going to force people to vote for Catherine – either through intimidation tactics or straight up murder. Josie and Hugo aren’t about to let anyone get in the way of that, so I assume anyone who gets in their way is going to turn up dead. Every baddie in West Hollow is rooting for Catherine; you can probably imagine the kind of trouble brewing behind the scenes.”

Zuriel waited patiently while Adalene spoke. She could practically see the gears grinding in her mind. Someone as old as Adalene––pardon, as experienced––knew how the world worked at its most darkest. All the immortals did. You didn’t survive for long, supernatural or not, without some kind of savvy. In fact, it was one of her ongoing frustrations with the angels. Not only were they largely undisciplined, but they could be irritatingly naive at the worst times. Zuriel liked to think that by now, she understood how things were. 

That’s why it was important for her to deliver the information necessary. Adalene would not do this if it wasn’t worth her while, or if her back wasn’t pressed up against a corner. And Zuriel saw no reason to do the latter; it would be crude for no reason, cruelty without cause. She liked to think she was more righteous than that. 

She didn’t respond when Adalene brought up her concerns. They were plausible of course, but she could see that Adalene was weighing her decisions, whether or not to part with any information. As Zuriel guesed she was correct, and she felt her spine stiffen as Adalene revealed Catherine’s plot for mayor. It was bad enough when monsters did their crimes in the dark. 

She let the silence hang between them for a stretch, choosing her words carefully. There was an art to negotiation, a rhythm the proposals should flow. Besides, it’d been awhile since she’d made a deal with someone peacefully. 

“I need to know what Catherine is doing, what her goal is with all of this power,” she thought briefly back to her encounter with Ophelia at Adalene’s mention of a rogue witch. “And I need to know soon,” her mouth drew into a thin line. 

“In return you’ll have your information, and an angel’s protection. You should know I’ve yet to lose someone in my care.” 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

bloodsbeauty:

A few stubborn moments were spent with Adalene fuming quietly to herself, though she stood in place while staring Zuriel down. She’d never admit defeat out loud, but the angel proved to have a few valid points. Without the element of surprise, she’d be hard-pressed to take down an angel on her own, and undoubtedly punch herself a one-way ticket to eternal damnation. (Not that being a murderous bitch, who happened to be friends with equally vile people – one of which was a demon – made her a patron saint. But she’d rather not piss off the high powers above.) 

Then there was the threat of a raid, which was its own recipe for disaster. Adalene doubted Zuriel knew what went on in her backyard, but she wouldn’t be surprised if the other woman secretly knew it was a dumping ground for bodies. Some killed personally by Adalene, but most taken care of by Josie and Hugo. The sprawling backyard made it ideal for a secret graveyard, but potential fallout would inevitably force Adalene to move quick and undoubtedly result in a loss of money she wasn’t comfortable with.

However, what truly caught her attention was the mention of her past. Immediately, images of the fire in San Francisco came to mind – Alexandre’s betrayed expression, the flames engulfing his small apartment, and the view Adalene had from the safety of the sidewalk. The mere thought that he may have survived was what prompted Adalene to settle down on the couch opposite of Zuriel, Cream Puff jumping from her arms to take a seat beside her owner. 

“What do you want?” Adalene sighed, sounding uncharacteristically tired. Rather than let fresh blood go to waste, she took the tea cup and downed the contents in one go. “I’ve been good, you know. When was the last time I murdered a spouse? It’s been at least five years. Sure, I kill the occasional John or Jane Doe, but I’ve made sure to cover my tracks. I don’t kill anyone of importance; no one really misses them. And a girl’s gotta eat.”

“I’m not here to talk about your diet,” Zuriel said, refilling the tea cup. “It would be like concerning myself with a tiger’s penchant for mauling. It’s what you do,” and this, to Zuriel, was the truth. It was in a vampire’s nature to stalk and catch prey, and you didn’t see anyone making a big fuss about it when it happened in nature. Zuriel knew that there were all kinds of creatures that went bump in the night, and she had always only been interested in one: demons. And demons were in fact the reason why she had visited Adalene. 

Her latest run in with the demon Hugo Duvall had been little more than a dick measuring contest, but it was her encounter with Josephine Langdon that had left her worried. West Hollow’s angels were having a....discipline problem, if that’s what you wanted to call several of them turning into demons or flat out disappearing in the last few months. The demons were not without their allies: vampires, rogue witches, even wayward angels...Greater Angel Adriel was consistently optimistic, but there were some telltale signs that they were preparing for a war. 

But if Zuriel knew Adalene––and she was hopeful that she knew enough––she would know that looking out for Adalene would always come as number one. Alliances, romances, familial attachments, they would always have to come after herself. If that were still true, then Zuriel’s plan had a chance to work. 

“I’m here to propose an arrangement,” she said, crossing one leg over the other. “An exchange of information. I want to know what the vampires of West Hollow are up to,” she wouldn’t mention Josie’s name, not yet, but the temptation was there. 

“In return,” she paused, taking a sip of her own tea. “I have information on the vampire who turned you. Information I think you would view as surprisingly time sensitive.” 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

thecalebswan:

As Caleb entered the training center he breezily cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders back. Naturally he was already shirtless, and his wings extended freely. He stopped a couple feet away from Zuriel and the angel that she was training, watching with arms crossed and eyes glued. Zuriel had a fierceness to her that demanded respect, as made clear by the discouraged angel who was now walking away. Caleb clapped slowly as he approached Zuriel, a cheeky smile plastered across his face. He bowed slightly in respect. Before he could formally greet her he was already being reprimanded for his tardiness and challenged to a fight. He momentarily pondered if he should come up with a convenient alibi for his lateness but ultimately decided it wouldn’t go over too well. 

“Won’t happen again.” He nodded. He the table of weapons and instinctively grabbed an collapsible bo staff. It was one of his preferred weapons when he first began training. As he spun the weapon around in his hands he noticed that Zuriel wasn’t picking anything up. He raised an eyebrow. Still he stood ready to attack, and when Zuriel uttered the words “strike me” he did. Caleb spun the staff around his lower back and then stepped to the side of Zuriel. He attempted to swing at Zuriel’s lower body with the staff, an attempt to knock her off her feet or at least disrupt her balance. 

Caleb was of course a talented fighter. Strong, dedicated to his training (despite occasional tardiness) and confident, he possessed all the raw energy needed to make a spectacular warrior. And, Zuriel thought as she ducked and dodged his bo staff, he did not have any of the trauma associated with soldiers. Not yet. 

Zuriel was not interested in turning him into a battle hardened fighter, grim and humorless and sporting a few less than healthy coping mechanisms. The Gods in all their wisdom chose to deal with West Hollow’s demon issues by creating two new angels who shone brighter than any Zuriel’d seen in centuries. Zuriel would not be the one to snuff out their light, their happiness, their enthusiasm. 

Caleb did not hesitate, and Zuriel fell to her feet. “Good,” she said as she rolled over, blocking his next blow with her arm. Back and forth they went, Zuriel making sure to let his swiftest strikes hit, so he would get used to how hard he would need to hit to inflict damage. 

“Do not forget your balance. Do not let me keep you on the defensive. Good Caleb, good.” beads of sweat formed on her temples, and she felt her lungs begin to burn. 

After awhile, she tricked him, falling to the ground and pulling him with her. Kicking the bo staff out of his grasp. Twisting around him, she grabbed it and stood. 

“Don’t be so presumptuous of your enemy,” she admonished him. “Now, come get your staff back,” she said. 

And then she lunged at him. 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

bloodsbeauty:

The moment Adalene set foot in her home, she knew someone was there waiting for her. Though there were no telling signs of a break-in, the scent of an unwelcome guest drifted through the foyer and carried itself deep into her far from humble abode. That, coupled with the fact Cream Puff had yet to come yipping at her mother’s heels, indicated that all was not well.

Immediately, the fear of God took root within Adalene’s paranoid mind. The scent held an air of familiarity, but had lingered far too long to be discernible from the front door. That meant it could be anyone, really – and that was what terrified her. Her thoughts instantly honed in on the possibility that it could be Alexandre, who’d undoubtedly have a bone to pick after being left to die in a fire. He’d either be out for revenge or still determined to get Adalene in his clutches; neither was a very promising option. 

Against her better judgement, Adalene followed the scent throughout her home. The stove light happened to be on, which allowed her to see that not only were dishes washed, but Cream Puff’s bowl was filled to the brim with food. Surely the intruder wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of feeding her dog if they’d hurt it.

“Cream Puff?” Adalene whispered, clicking her tongue to call the pup. “Cream Puff, come to Mama! Come on, baby, I know you’re around here somewhere.”

Eventually, the clicking of nails could be heard traveling down the hall that connected the kitchen to the living room. Much to Adalene’s relief, her tiny Pomeranian came prancing in to greet her, but a strong, unmistakable scent clung to her fur as well.

In a matter of seconds, Adalene was furiously storming into her living room with Cream Puff in tow. Slamming her fist against the nearest light switch, the chandeliers that hung high above illuminated the room – and sure enough, she found Zuriel lounging on her couch. Unexpected, uninvited, and unwanted. 

“You have the fucking nerve to break in and make yourself at home,” Adalene seethed, eyes ablaze with fury. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t grab you by your hair and drag you out of my house. Or better yet, maybe I’ll give the pigs a call and you can explain to the police why you let yourself in.”

Adalene turned the light switch, throwing the room into harsh brightness, and Zuriel immediately wished she had just left the room in the dark. The girl had been in the court of one of the most opulent kingdoms the western world was familiar with, and it showed. The walls decorated in distinctly French classicist patterns, velvet here, fleur de lis there. Everything was edged in gold and silk, with modern amenities pushed into the background. It was all aggressively Parisian. Zuriel found it made her nauseous. 

She was mad, of course. But she’d been mad since she’d been changed, so Zuriel wasn’t too concerned with taking credit for that. Besides, with Adalene you had to do what you could to gain an audience. Would she have responded to a voice message, a letter inviting her to meet up like old friends? Doubtful. 

Zuriel stayed silent for a few drawn out moments, letting Adalene stew. Cream Puff twitched in her arms, no doubt witness to many of his mother’s outbursts but never on the blunt end of them. He knew the drill. 

Drumming her fingers against the couch, Zuriel shrugged. “Because it would be physically impossible for you to touch me without my permission, given my strength and your lack of the element of surprise. Because I am the police, and this could become a raid before you finished dialing 911. Because I have some very interesting information that relates to your origin story, and I think you need to hear it. 

“Hmm. That was three, wasn’t it?” Zuriel motioned to the table in front of her. She’d set out porcelain tea cups, one filled of ironwort for her, and across from her, an empty one for Adalene. Telegraphing her movements, she picked up a teapot and tipped it. Blood, thick and warm, flowed into the teacup. 

“Sit down Adalene. We need to talk.” 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

@bloodsbeauty

The world was small for those with immortality. Zuriel had first seen Adalene Beaumont in France, during the Revolution. She hadn’t been a vampire then, just a beautiful jewel in a vanishing court. It wasn’t any surprise that she had been turned; the streets were flowing with blood in those days. 

Blood and demons, too. Zuriel had destroyed no less than a dozen demons during her time there alone. It was a nasty business, reforming a nation, whether it was ultimately for good or not. 

The Fates had saw fit to lead Adalene the vampire and Zuriel to cross paths again and again over the years. On the surface, Adalene was manipulative, cruel, a practiced black widow with a talent for violence. 

But when you looked past the dangerous exterior, you could tell that on the inside she was even worse. 

After some thought, Zuriel came to the conclusion that this town would not be able to survive the schemes of Josephine Langdon and Adalene Beaumont. And so she decided to pay Adalene a visit, a courtesy call. 

The sun had gone down by the time she let herself into Adalene’s house. She fed the dog, washed the dishes, and then sat in her lavish living room. For a moment, she thought to turn on the light, but decided to let the room sit in darkness. She didn’t want to be rude. 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

@thecalebswan

“...I don’t know what they did where you’re from but here, in West Hollow, behavior like that will not be tolerated. Greater Angel Adriel has made it clear what their expectations are and we will carry them out,” Zuriel leveled a look at the angel standing before her, watching the way he folded his wings in, embarrassed. “Adriel has already given you another chance, and while they are full of mercy,” here she took another step forward, never once dropping her gaze. “I am not. Remember that. You are dismissed.” 

She stood stony faced and watched the angel leave the training room, and gave up a silent prayer that she would not have to give out anymore consequences. Despite being exceptionally good at it, she did not enjoy punishing angels. That was one less angel in the fight for good, one more potential demon. 

Sighing, she watched as another figure entered: Caleb Swan. Immediately, her shoulders relaxed a bit, and the softening corners of her mouth was about as close to a smile as she got during training. 

“Caleb. You are eleven minutes late. Please, choose your weapon.” She turned to the weapons she had carefully laid out on display on tables and mounted on the walls. After a moment of thought, she made her own decision. Today, she would fight Caleb without a weapon of her own.

“When you are ready, strike me.” 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

mitri-michaels:

Alleys scared him. All he could think of was how he woke up: cold sweat, ragged breath, a feeling like his stomach had been wrenched out of him. They forced shivers down his spine, and kept him on edge for as long as he was anywhere need them. But they also held answers, all the answers as to why he woke up how he did. Or maybe not all the answers, but they were the only place he could think to start. Or end. He had no idea, absolutely no idea, of where else to go. And the nighttime was quiet, so it was the perfect time to explore. No one would see him to ask questions. Probably.

He had searched the spot for hours, and multiple times before. It was where he had found himself, and his things, and there were no other leads. It was also quiet, peaceful, and he hadn’t found any person who frightened him for as long as he looked. Which is why he jumped twice as high when he heard a voice coming from behind him.

“Excuse m-me?” he stumbled over his words, turning around to find a woman there, “W-what was that?”

Zuriel had never faced addiction herself, but she had fought off many demons who specialized in the disease, and helped many humans recover. It was a disease of the mind, warping the hunger for food, water, shelter, into an incessant need for the substance. It was a disease of the body, wasting it away into a pitiful shell that craved the poison it was fed. It was a disease of the soul, carrying away the light inside a person, one hit at a time. The other two could be salvaged, but when the light was gone, it could rarely be replenished. 

She could not see the evidence of addiction on the boy’s face. He was thin but appeared to be healthy, and no scars marked the skin she could see. His eyes were frantic, but not unfocused. He was scared, not high. 

“C’mon, I’ll pay you back. I will pay you back but I know you got somethin. Some ice, anything, X, I don’t even care. I’m just gonna jump outta my skin ya know?” 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

@mitri-michaels

It was only a few weeks worth of work and being the perfectionist (read: control freak) she was, she opted to do it herself. Undercover wasn’t her favorite assignment but she was good at it, and she needed to keep her talented agents ready for deep undercover work. Plus, things had been quiet over at the training center lately. The Prince and Princess were off doing....whatever it was they were doing. Greater Angel Adriel had told her to relax, that they were being well taken care of. Zuriel admittedly wasn’t sure she understood the concept of “relaxing” but she understood backing off when someone gave the orders. 

So she took to the streets working the drug trade circuit. Opiates, ecstasy, you name it. Probably some enchanted stuff as well, which is just what she needed these days. The transformation had been simple enough, as Zuriel had been transforming herself since before some of the rivers on Earth had even existed. A bad haircut, tattered clothes, and posture, the posture was important. As far as the lack of sores on her skin, well, she could just say she’d been sober for the past few years, and just relapsed recently. 

“Hey,” she called, her voice hoarse, “Kid.” The young man was not a child, but Zuriel could not help but notice the nervousness that seemed to permeate through him. And he was supernatural. Good enough a place to start. 

“Got anything? Anything at all, I don’t care what.” Her accent was perfect northwestern, and her eyes shone with desperation. 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

you’re holy to me.

“Well, that is only because I have been created for a holy task. However, I do not think it appropriate to describe myself as holy, for like you I was created by the Gods and am corruptible although––”

“....You were just teasing me, weren’t you.”

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

’ What are you doing? ’

Honesty Day!

Zuriel loved the sound of sharpening knives, the slide against stone, the slow and steady angling of the bevel edge. It sounded as if the air itself was cut in two. She looked up at the stranger, all the while running steel against the stone. 

“Caring for the ceremonial weapons of the archives of The Oregon Museum of Cultural and Natural History. The question is, what are you doing here?” 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

’ I didn’t create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better. ’

Honesty Day!

“It’s not entirely unheard of. In fact, there are dozens of such tales in your own culture. Donning a uniform in order to fulfill your utmost potential, fighting for justice. Perhaps better angels would persuade you against vigilante justice, but I find I don’t mind it, so long as you are serving the Gods. 

“Now. You’ll need to be trained, which I can cover. You’ll need gear––I think you could learn the crossbow with great skill––and you’ll need a uniform. Oh, and a name. Something the commonfolk can grow inspired by. Perhaps we can ask my friend Ariel. They write for the paper and come up with such catchy little phrases. Hmmm. See, the waffles are absolutely fine but I really do prefer the steak and eggs.” 

[zurielthewarrior-blog]

’ I wouldn’t feel anything good about my life, is that what you want to hear me say? ’

Honesty Day!

“Yes.....If that is how you truly feel, then yes. I always want you to be honest with me. Meet me tomorrow at the Stregheria Campground, is six in the morning suitable? Wear athletic clothing. Bring a snack.”