I Thought of Angels, Choking On Their Halos [open]

[wentdowntogeorgia]

Lucifer falls.

This is old news for everyone involved. He fell from Grace, he fell from Heaven, and after the so long awaited confrontation in Stull Cemetery, he and his once-beloved brother and the promise of violence, he fell back into the Cage in the body of Sam Winchester.

Now, when he falls, he feels a shift around him like the universe cracking open at the seams; there is the smell of ozone and a lightning-snap that’s louder than even Sam’s fearful internal monologue, louder than the terror that pounds his frantic mortal heart at the sight of Perdition yawning wide beneath him. He is yanked sideways, sudden lateral movement that would be dizzying if he had a center of balance to upset, a rip-tide pulling him in and down and through the rabbit-hole, shadow-thin and darkling deep.

The body that is supposed to be his—that has had his name written over and across and around every fiber of its being since its conception—is suddenly far away, and he is wrapped in the old, familiar skin of a vessel he’d left dying in Detroit, flesh given freely rather than claimed by divine right. And then he is a streak in the sky that hits water and sinks like a stone.

Under the water, cold and getting colder from the seed crystal that is his freezing Grace in its mortal house, he can feel the vast emptiness where Heaven should be above him and isn’t; the universe is silent and it is deafening, a tinnitus ring where there should be angels’ voices. Lucifer grabs two fistfuls of space-time and pulls, moving himself from under the water to standing in the shallows at the bank, and behind him the lake’s surface is already frozen over thick like it’s the dead of winter. The water around his feet is sluggish and barely liquid, filmed over top with a thin frozen layer that breaks and flows around his ankles.

Someone approaches him with a towel, and there is no Hell below him and above him only sky, and he makes no reply; he banishes the water from his clothes with a thought before he puts his fist right through the man’s chest.

[[ooc: So this is going to be the hottest of messes; see mod comment for post instructions and fun stuff like that.]]

[[TW: gore, major character death.]]

Comments

DEALING WITH LUCIFER

[applesaucemod]

OPTIONS! Here they are:

1. If your character confronts Lucifer directly, it is extremely likely that he will rage-punch your character through the chest. If your character can survive this and you WANT to let that happen, tag with [For Lucifer] in the subject heading, and have lots of paper towels ready.

2. If your character is going to interact with other characters - those who can distantly sense the arrival or otherwise be aware of the ensuing chaos (which will be limited to the Bethesda Terrace area), tag with [For (whomever)] in the subject heading. Where necessary, Lucifer will join in your threads to narrate the continuing rampage for you to react to.

Threads will likely be occurring simultaneously or non-chronologically, which may get complicated as happens. Lucifer-mun Inky is brand new as you all know so let's all hold hands and go gently into this together. If confused about how to proceed, contact Inky or the modly hivemind.

Last thing: Daine's first order of business will be to have the People drive as much folk away from Lucifer as they reasonably can. So if you're in the vicinity, birds will probably be flying helpfully at your face.

GO GO GO!

For Aziraphale

[wildmage_daine]

Daine's first thought, when the new rifty appears in the lake, is a resigned: well, this is familiar. She ruffles her crow feathers and shifts along her perch on the far shore, wondering if he's going to need her help, too.

But he doesn't. He's just standing in the shallows a moment later, and oh no, there is something so wrong about him; she can feel the shudder of revulsion that runs through the birds in his vicinity before they take panicked flight away from him. He's not one of their usual predators - he doesn't even seem to be minding the People at all - he's somehow worse.

Then he thrusts his fist through someone's chest as if it's made of tissue paper, and Daine nearly loses her hold on the crow shape. Goddess! What is he?! Well, whatever he is, he needs to be stopped at once. But her arrows are at the base, and she can't ask the People to go near him. She can't ask anyone to go near him, unless it's someone powerful and immortal, like - like Aziraphale.

With the shaky beginnings of a plan in mind, Daine's orders to the People are swift and simple. Stay away from him! She doesn't even need to use extra magic to make that one stick. Then, with the bitter understanding that it might not work and that she can't ask too much of her friends, she adds, Try to drive folk away from him, if you can. Fly in their faces or something, startle them, scare them if you have to, just get them moving away from-- she falters for a moment, --from that.

She adjusts her shape into the much swifter form of a falcon, then takes to the sky and reaches for the minds of the animals farther from the ruction. Find Aziraphale! she pleads, giving them the angel's image. Find him and tell me where he is!

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale is in his flat reading when it happens, and suddenly the book is on the floor and his tea is knocked over and he's on his feet. It hits him heavy in the chest: something is here. Close. He feels it in a burst of energy and then it fades to a dull ache, leaving him agitated and nervous.

He's moving almost on his own, out the door, down the hall - he spots Bee poking her head out, looking alarmed - "Get inside," he says sharply, "stay there," and she ducks back in at once.

He doesn't know what's happening, but he knows, intrinsically, in a frighteningly ineffable sort of way that he hasn't felt in a long time, that it's something he has to meet. Whether or not he can do anything about it. He has to go out there, now.

Walking is a waste of time - he teleports himself outside, and almost immediately he's swarmed with birds, flitting frantically around him.

"Daine?" he calls, but she isn't among them. "Daine! Take me to Daine."

The birds peel off and lead him through the park, toward the center of it, that pulse of dizzying power and energy. For the first- well the second - okay, the third time in the recent years of his existence, Aziraphale feels afraid.

The park is in chaos. Animals and people scattering, panicked. He can't pick out Daine yet. Nor can he find the cause of this. It's all he can do to follow the stream of birds she sent for him, though even this is a distraction. Daine has to get out of here. All these people do.

[wildmage_daine]

A flock of sparrows find Aziraphale while Daine is in the process of driving a baffled group of tourists away from the neighborhood of the terrace, shrieking and buzzing over their heads in the heavy shape of a golden eagle. Once she's satisfied that the two-leggers are moving away from the ruction (she can track its progress by the movement of the animals away from it), she heads for the angel as fast as her wings can carry her.

There he is, following her friends. Daine swoops low to the ground, then shifts, stumbling a little on her wolf paws before finding her stride. Her fur is standing on end, and her ears are flat against her skull. Once she reaches him, she rears up onto her hind legs and plants her forepaws on Aziraphale's chest. Shifting her mouth enough for human speech, she says in a rush, "Something's come through the rift, and it's killing folk."

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale doesn't even blink at Daine's quick transformation, or the sudden presence of a wolf braced against his chest. He grips her paws with his hands, threading a bit of energy back to her, both to replenish her stock and, he hopes, to comfort.

"I know," he says tersely. "I'm going to find it. Keep a wide berth. Get as many people and animals out of here as you can, and go back to the Base and stay there." This is not up for argument, the way he enunciates it. Now that he's right in the thick of it, the pulse is thrumming throughout his body, the sheer cosmic weight of the chaos tearing at his entire form. He feels twisted up, and sick, and most of all wrathful.

"Get everyone out," he says again, and steps back, helping her back to the ground.

For Spike

[rae_of_sun]

Well, they were having a pretty pleasant walk through the park. Nothing weird at all, unless you count the somewhat unlikely fact that she and Spike seem to be… working out. So far. There's still plenty of time for the new couple shine to wear off (or for the rift to swallow one of them back up, or for any number of typical and rift-york-atypical things to end this questionable alliance before it really gets off the ground), but so far, so… good. Pretty damn spartan, actually.

And then she sees… something--someone?--some toxic kali blot in the rough shape of a person. It doesn't have shadows, or maybe it doesn't have anything but shadows; to her eyes, it's a raw red mess, a walking wound in the fabric of the world.

She doesn't realize she's grabbed Spike's arm until she meets resistance in her frantic, automatic backpedaling. "We have to go," she says, low and urgent, her eyes still fixed on the thing down the path. "We have to go now."

[erratic_hematic]

Spike's eyes shift to where Sunshine is looking, but where she sees a blot in the scenery, he only sees a man walking steadily away from the lake. Spike barely takes in the fact that the lake has frozen over. All of his focus rests on the crumpled body lying behind the man's steady advance.

When Sunshine tugs at his arm, he pulls away. "You go. Get out. I can stop this." Before she can object, he runs forward to face this demon. Everyone else is running away, and what the bloody hell is going on with these birds? He has to swat some aside in order to get anywhere near the new arrival. When he gets close enough for a punch, he throws it, aiming for the face.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

Lucifer ignores the fleeing wildlife as he makes his advance away from the lake, searching for more people to work out his anger on. He hears the squawking before the next victim makes his way toward him-- it's much more convenient when they come to him, rather than making him chase them down-- and he does not even move to block or dodge the punch that comes at his face.

Punching the Devil is like punching a brick wall and accomplishes about as much; his head barely even moves from the impact.

He follows it up with a punch that's far more effective, shoving his fist straight through the chest cavity, soaking his arm in gore up past the elbow.

[erratic_hematic]

The punch is like hitting iron. Only he might have dented iron. Now he's sure that at least a couple bones in his hand are broken. Not so much for the demon's face. What the hell is this guy, a god?

He doesn't have time to dodge what comes next. He hears his own ribs cracking. He cringes and moans, because that bloody hurts, then turns his face back up to his attacker. "Fucking hell. What are you?"

For Gabriel

[wentdowntogeorgia]

There are angels in this city; Lucifer could feel them, now that he takes the time to actually look for them rather than expect their presence to be obvious, as it always had been. One is more familiar than the others, and he can't help but be surprised by its existence. He had felt this Grace disintegrate beneath his vessel's hands, broken down to its base components of light and starstuff and scattered across the universe.

Gabriel. Gabriel is here. He is here and whole and that should be impossible.

He folds space around himself, beats his wings and is gone, flying toward his prodigal brother.

[has_a_horn]

He's sitting in his apartment watching TV, Johnny half asleep on him, Scout and Yarrow on either sides of the couch. So far, it's been a comfortable day. Nice even. He's recovering well. The bones in his broken wing have knitted back together and his Grace is regaining some of what it used to be. He only wishes that his missing feathers would stop taking their time growing back in. He'd wanted to go annoy that nerdy angel (an angel!) again, but he'd need to be as impressive as possible for that to have as much impact as he wants it to have.

Lucifer's arrival in New York feels like a punch to the gut. He's on his feet immediately, gathering up Yarrow and shoving him into Johnny's arms, then pulling Johnny up out of his seat. The TV turns off without him even thinking about it. "You need to go. Now. Take Scout and get Seth. Both of you need to get as far away from here as you can."

[johnny_truant]

"Wh-what?!" Johnny starts violently, Yarrow scrabbling around in his arms. He reels upward as Gabe pulls him to his feet, and hugs the rabbit tighter, trying to comfort him. "What are you talking about? What's happening?"

[has_a_horn]

"My brother's here. And not one of the fun ones." He bends and picks up Scout, the little dog whining at him in concern, then shoves at Johnny's shoulder, trying to get him to move. "Lucifer. Y'know, the devil? He's going to come here, and I need you to not be here when he shows."

For Daine

[peeta_mellark]

Peeta stretches his back and studies the sketch in his hands with a critical eye. The man and young boy pictured - the only other people that had been around when Peeta settled down to draw - had left the area an hour or so earlier. If Peeta focuses, though, he can still see them crouched together under a nearby tree, intently focused on the small puppy he captured mid-jump.

He smiles to himself, thinking of Daine's reaction when he shows her the sketch. He wonders if she will notice the squirrel, half hidden by leaves, watching the pair as closely as they watch the puppy. She always seems to notice the animals in his drawings.

A series of shadows flashes over the sketchpad, and Peeta glances up in time to spot a number of birds - crows, by the look of them - zooming across the sky. Even as he watches, one of the birds veers off from the others, obviously aiming for him.

Peeta quickly flicks the pad closed and shoves it into his bag before pulling himself to his feet, eyes glued to the approaching bird. He almost startles when its wings suddenly flare out, slowly it significantly, but he's spent enough time with Daine to remain calm and still. The bird - clearly a crow at this distance - circles him and comes to land on his shoulder, its wings rustling his hair as it settles. When Peeta carefully glances around and meets the crows eye, recognition flares.

"Quickbeak?" he softly asks, getting a gentle nibble on his ear in answer. Now that he's no longer focused on drawing, he realizes how quiet the area is. Another glance skyward shows other flocks of birds, all heading in the same direction. Worry immediately flares inside him, and he meets Quickbeak's gaze again. "Where is Daine?"

At his question, Quickbeak takes to the air again. Grabbing his bag, Peeta follows.

[wildmage_daine]

Daine's been lucky so far, she knows. She hasn't had to scare off many two-leggers personally - her friends have been getting to them, first - and those that she has encountered have beat the hasty retreats she's been hoping for instead of pulling guns on her or anything awful like that.

It also hasn't escaped her that whatever that thing is, it seems to be ignoring anyone and anything with the sense to stay out of its - his? - immediate path. That gives her the courage to skirt a bit closer to him than she might otherwise, though always making sure she crosses behind him and gives him a wide berth.

It's on one of those sweeps to make sure no folk have slipped past any of her friends that she hears Quickbeak's call. Daine! I found the boy with the bread!

Oh, Goddess, no. Peeta can't be here. Daine stops in her tracks and turns toward the crow, and quickly spots Peeta, standing there with his bag slung over his shoulder and a concerned look on his face. After sparing a quick glance back toward the monster, she bolts for Peeta. No time for pleasantries; she carefully grips his wrist in her teeth and starts to tug him in the opposite direction from where the monster seems to be headed, whining softly.

[peeta_mellark]

It's only Quickbeak's presence - and the strangeness of seeing a wolf in Central Park - that keeps Peeta from panicking when said wolf comes right at him and closes its mouth over his wrist. "Daine" - for this can only be her - "what is going on?"

He doesn't try to resist Daine's insistent tugs; he wouldn't want to risk his arm against a wolf's teeth, even if those teeth belong to Daine. And aside from her pulling him along by his wrist, Quickbeak has taken to flying around them, periodically swooping past Peeta's back, closely enough for Peeta to get the "move" message. But he doesn't understand why Daine and the animals are in the state they are in, and the fact that Daine won't even stop to explain it to him concerns him more than anything else.

"What's happening?" he asks again, the slightest bit of fear creeping into his voice. Whatever it is, it's big, and he'd prefer to being properly scared than being ignorant.

[wildmage_daine]

Daine twitches her tail in a brief wag when he says her name. Maybe she shouldn't have assumed he'd recognize her right off, but she's glad that he did. (Though, to be honest, she doesn't mind scaring him a bit if it gets him out of danger sooner.)

At his last question, she releases his arm so she can reshape her mouth. "Something's come through the rift," she says tersely. "I don't know what it is, but it's killing folk. You have to get back to the base."

[for aziraphale, and eventually lucifer]

[anguiform]

It had been not even a month ago when the world hadn't ended, when the earth had split open and Lucifer had risen from his seat down Below to chastise his errant son, when Crowley had got himself ready to face off against his boss with a tyre iron and the sure conviction that it would kill him. At the time, though he'd been healthily terrified, the whole 'inevitable death' thing had rather taken the edge off.

Now, occupied in spinning in the chair in his drab little cubicle in ROMAC's headquarters, when he feels the universe rent asunder, there's no such merciful padding between his brain and the realisation that shit, it's Him. The mental feeling isn't quite the same, but it's similar enough, and Crowley is a demon. To be aware of that presence is wired down into his bones.

'Oh, fuck,' he breathes. 'Oh fuck oh fuck oh shitting, bollocking fuck, what is he doing here?'

Because there is no Above or Below in this universe; the Devil can't have just come calling on an errand. And if he's stuck here just like they are...

Crowley blesses under his breath.

No-one notices as he sidles out of the office. As much as the sensible part of his brain is shrieking for him to run, fucking run, get Aziraphale and run, there's some other part of him that just can't. It could be the irritatingly heroic tendency he mostly succeeds in quashing just as easily as it could be the self-serving part that knows the Boss won't appreciate it if he ran instead of flocking to his side, he's not sure which. Regardless, he ducks into a lavatory, makes sure there's no-one there, and teleports himself to Central Park, which is burning in his mind like a brand.

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale feels him arrive. He moves through the crowd, waving the animals away from him as he goes - they seem to know he doesn't need redirecting, anyway. He reaches Crowley and seizes him hard by the shoulders.

"There's something here," he says, though obviously Crowley knows that, he looks worse off than Aziraphale feels. "It's killing them!" Also perhaps obvious, but he doesn't know what else to say, what to do. It's still close, he can feel it nearby, vibrating throughout every inch of his aspect. He's afraid, and for once he doesn't care that Crowley can see it.

[anguiform]

When he alights in the park, he's almost immediately mown down by a crowd of fleeing animals, birds and squirrels mostly, but there's also a few badgers, some lizards and snakes down in the grass. He knows why they're running, and he doesn't bloody blame them. Crowley stands for a moment against the tide, entirely unsure, now that he's here, what he's actually going to do.

And then there's an Aziraphale suddenly in his space, clutching him hard by the shoulders, looking pale-faced and panicked and confused, and at least that gives Crowley something to focus on. He shakes him off distractedly, turning to where he can feel Lucifer, who hasn't actually set anything on fire but he might as well have.

'It's Him,' he says, somewhere between bleak and annoyed that Aziraphale managed to miss that memo after the whole business with Armageddon. 'It's, you know, it's ssssodding Him, it'ss Lucccifer!'

He should have known better than to think that any amount of free will granted them by this alternate universe would last. He spins back to grab Aziraphale's arm, looking at him in barely concealed panic.

'What the He-- what the-- what do we do, angel?'

[bibliophale]

"Wh," sputters Aziraphale, "bu - wh-"

Words are not immediately forthcoming. With something this massive and powerful, it doesn't really surprise him to know it's the bloody King of Hell, but that doesn't mean he's eager to accept it. He feels irrationally annoyed when Crowley grabs his arm, asking him that unanswerable question.

"I - I don't know! I don't know!" Aziraphale pulls his arm free in frustration. "But why's he - why all this?" He looks around at the chaos unfolding throughout the terrace, emanating from the lake and the fountain, his vision obscured by the press of people - some running to escape the animals, some clustered and staring about in confusion. Something doesn't feel right, and it's bothering him. It's familiar, but it's not their kind of familiar. "Are you sure it's Him?" he says, frowning, momentarily distracted from panic by skepticism. "I mean - our Him? It doesn't feel quite right."

[For Lucifer]

[eighth]

The Doctor's sitting across the lake from the fountain, leaned against a tree and scribbing in a notebook. Sometimes it's just nice with a bit of fresh air, some nature around him. He could just go to one of the several gardens inside the TARDIS, of course, but the sensation of the rift so close by often sparks ideas and thoughts in him, helping him work.

And sometimes it does something entirely unexpected and distracts him instead. He's covered in goosebumps, the rift disturbance tangible and permeating when he's so close and so aware of the rift. He doesn't need to look up to realise something significant just came through, but he does when it hits the water. And then.. freezes it, what.

He hurries to the shore, looking at the creature, the person - no, definitely the creature that just moved to the terrace. There is something very wrong about it, the Doctor can tell even before he puts his fist through some poor man's chest, and then the Doctor is running, not even pausing to test the ice.

He makes it across the lake as quick as he can, but it's not fast enough, another person is already getting attacked, and his feet are pounding on the ice, the ice cracking and creaking underneath him, but it holds until he's reached the other side, jumping onto the terrace.

"Stop this now!" he bellows, his voice rough and furious as he skids to a halt a little ways away from the thing, the man. He hasn't stopped to think what to do, as usual he's diving in headfirst, no thoughts to his own safety, just hoping to distract from any further killings.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

Clearly the best way to get some kind of superpowered middle-aged psychopath to stop murdering people is to yell in a loud, clear voice that what he's doing isn't appreciated; just like disciplining a dog. Maybe he could break out the rolled up newspaper and a spray bottle full of water, just in case he's really obstinate.

So really, all that Eight's yelling does is direct Lucifer's attention towards him, which really isn't a place that he wants it to be. And, since the Devil takes orders about as well as he takes criticism-- that is to say, horribly-- he will deal with this situation with all the tact and discretion that he does everything else.

In lieu of any verbal response, Satan lashes out with his Grace and strikes at the Doctor like a human swats at particularly annoying fly.

[eighth]

Better to have the Devil's attention on him than innocent bystanders. It's not the first time he's thrown himself into the line of fire to save others, and it certainly won't be the last -- well, hopefully.

It is therefore not entirely unexpected when he is suddenly knocked back hard, tumbling along the brick flooring. The manner in which he was knocked back was a bit of a surprise, of course. Telekinetic too, great. It's painful, but not anything he's not experienced before, and the Doctor's not deterred. He gets to his feet immediately, ruffled and scuffed a bit, but certainly not as much as he would be were he human.

He doesn't advance however, now he's got the man's attention. "Please. There's no need for further violence. I'm the Doctor. I'm here to help."

[wentdowntogeorgia]

That's... a new response, really. Most people, when they are confronted with a rampaging Satan, do not actually attempt any sort of diplomatic negotiation. Then again, normally they're dead by this point, so it's possible that they just never had enough time to try. Either way, the point here is that the Doctor's behaving in a very curious manner, and that's really the only reason why Satan doesn't just hit him again.

"Do I look like I need help?"

The people running away from him in abject screaming horror? They need help. The guy with the fist-sized hole in his chest? Well, he needed help probably about three seconds after Satan removed his hand from his body cavity, but it's really a moot point by now. Long story short, just about everyone else in the vicinity needs help more than the Devil does.