Roleplaying
2004 Archive
2005 Archive
Seminars
| When: | 4 May 2005 |
| Who: | Marc (NPCed), Sandra (as Arnon) |
| What: | Arnon goes to the Bazaar in order to deliver an invitation to Marc, the Archangel of Trade. |
Coffee Central
Situated in the Bazaar where the trading shifts from smaller items to beg-ticket business, this green and white striped canopy provides ample space for souls and angels alike to watch the trading. Definitely influenced by and originally opened for humanity, it has done well over the past centuries. Old souls gladly share market tips with eagerly listening young angels, chatting over the finest blends of Earth, along with Elohite-made pastries for those inclined to snack. There's always an open table with a variety of chair sizes available for all who want to savor the open, sunlit patio. And no, there's NOT another Coffee Central just like this one across the street.
Amid many other angels visiting the coffee shop today is one that seems to be taking the human-concept of a coffee break to heart. The Archangel Marc is sitting at one of the small patio tables with a small plate of Elohim-made delights and a cup of steaming liquid, presumably coffee. One foot is perched on the opposite knee and a sheaf of papers is held in one hand for easy perusal.
Arnon whirls towards the coffee shop, looking about as uncomfortable as an angel in Heaven possibly /can/. Its rings are all contracted around a thick envelope, and spinning jerkily back and forth, nearly the human equivilent of wringing hands. Despite its choir, the Ofanite looks more than a little lost as it approaches the Archangel's table.
The whirling mass of rings catches the old Mercurian's attention. "Can I help you with something, youngling?" Marc asks politely as he shifts his attention from his paperwork. "I don't believe I recognize your form."
Arnon spins a bit faster, then sweeps into a low, courtly Ofanite bow. "Lord Archangel. I beseech a moment of your time, if you would spare it?" It holds the bow as it continues, "I am Arnon, a Throne of Dreams. I would not normally so impose but I..." its voice wavers nervously, "I wish to invite you to lunch on the corporeal. To speak to one who wishes to return to the light. They would serve you, and I know none of your servitors and it would have taken so much time to find one and convince them when time is short and I just worry so much that it's time we don't have and..." It brings itself up sharp, stopping the babble of words.
Marc reaches down into a simple briefcase leaning against his chair and pulls out a folder. "Which Corporeal city did you say you were in, Arnon?" he asks, opening the manilla folder. "And how is it that the one that wishes to return to the light work in my service? Are they one of my flock gone astray?"
The businesslike tone, or possibly just the guidance, seems to calm Arnon, and it says, "I serve currently in Austin, Texas. And Damiel is Fallen, but not from your Servitors. He once served Judgement. He now serves Dark Humor," it admits, with an unhappy flare of light. "He wishes to Redeem, but not to my Lady. Instead, to you. He likes," a ring flexes helplessly, "political things."
"Ah, one of Dominic's," Marc muses as he flips through the first few sheets in his folder. "Austin, Texas. Yes, I have a few servitors working in that city." A pen suddenly appears in his hand and the Archangel makes a new note on the sheet. "Throne, I deal in commerce. Politics are a part of it but not the key aspect." He doesn't mention Dominic and his likely 'wants'.
Arnon sighs like a crackle of flame. "I know, Lord Archangel. But it is what Damiel dreams of, and so I ask." It shifts so that the ring bearing the invitation is offered up to Marc. "I have no right to ask, but I do nonetheless. Forgive my presumption, please."
Marc takes the offered envelope and turns it in his hands. "An invitation, is it?" he says to himself and opens it to read the contents. "I cannot guarantee that I can make this meeting soon. There are other tasks at the fore that require my guidance, and while it sounds harsh, neither of you are my servitors. Perhaps in a week or so I will be able to visit Austin."
Arnon bows again, the relief making its fires dance and flare. "Of course, Lord. Thank you, more than I can easily express, for your indulgence." Its words ring with sincerity. The invitation is to an upscale dining place in Austin called 'Lux', and all pertinent information is included. There is, of course, no date, but contact information for both Arnon and Damiel.
"Nothing has come of it yet, Throne of Dreams. Do not be hasty in believing the transaction is complete when only the groundwork has been laid," Marc rebukes with a small smile. The invitation is placed into the folder and the folder is returned to its briefcase. "One of my assistants will contact both of you."
Arnon whirls. "Yes, Lord Archangel," she accepts the rebuke meekly. "But still...thank you, sir." She bows again, and then withdraws at what seems an obvious dismissal from the Superior.
The Archangel of Trade tips his head in a silent farewell as he resumes his paper reading with a long sip of coffee.
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