(February '18) Prompt #1 - "Why me?" [Archive]

ArtisticVicu

02-12-2018, 03:14 AM

The light drizzle peppered his blond curls with water droplets, not that he minded. There was something pleasant about experiencing the rain, even with as light as it had become during his drive to the art museum. He locked his car and it beeped as a family passed him, the children running ahead in raincoats and boots laughing as they splashed about in the rain. At first the parents were annoyed but as they passed him, their anger and annoyance, their fears and societal standards melted away and the parents continued on smiling and joining the children in their enjoyment of the rain.

His own enjoyment of both the rain and the children’s delight diminished at the reminder he was just pretending to be human. Closing his eyes briefly, he focused on himself and drew his angelic aura back in, wrapping it around himself tight so as not to influence another, negatively or positively.

When he opened them, he started walking towards the museum entrance.

The amount of guests at the museum was so low that he eventually found himself wandering through one of the galleries by himself. Now, granted, he was one of the slower patrons of the museum - what with taking in the entire piece and reading the informational plaques and simply experiencing - that this came to no surprise. Instead, he relished the brief moment alone and eased up a bit on his control fully aware of the cameras located in the spaces. He didn't do much outwardly but even just easing up his hold on his aura was a relief. It was like a weight was lifted partially off his shoulders. The weight wouldn't fully leave until he returned completely to his angel form - wings and all - but it was enough for him to truly enjoy the experience.

Every now and then he would forget about how much he influenced humans and the passing worker or group that was touched by his aura would relax more as his enjoyment spread to them. He felt bad but did nothing to fix it. It didn't hurt to encourage the enjoyment of the arts. After all, a few that passed seemed to have needed his aid, not that he could blame them. For a human with stimulation everywhere and elsewhere, a museum could seem boring, but at least the enjoyment his aura carried seemed to help them create a visit that was truly enjoyable for them. He still hadn't figured out how the emotional influences worked. He hadn't ever tried to push it either but he knew with near absolute certainty that his influences were never beyond what that given person would normally do.

“Beautiful piece, isn’t it?”

Michael blinked, bringing himself out of his thoughts to look at the very handsome man standing to his left. He carefully drew his aura to himself, offering with a kind smile, “It certainly is.” He looked back at the piece. “I always enjoy wandering through the older galleries. The amount of work that goes into every piece astounds me every visit.”

His sudden companion hummed in agreement. “Paints, canvases, tools, all of it made by hand and taught from master to apprentice. Quite the amount of work.”

“But that doesn’t negate the beauty of modern day pieces where materials and supplies are far easier to access, either,” he amended. “Sometimes having such things more readily available and in wider variety helps the process.” He shrugged. “It solely depends on the artists themselves.”

“So what is your favorite era of art?”

He smiled again, this time softly. “I don’t really have one. Each era has so much variety that it’s hard to pick. All of what man has created is magnificent and breathtaking.”

His companion chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”

He looked to his companion but the man was looking at his phone, an amused look on the handsome face. He tensed slightly when his companion’s gaze met his own. He found the brown eyes of this stranger were so rich in color, they almost looked red.

“I must get going,” his companion informed him, giving him a wave with the hand still holding his phone. “Enjoy the rest of your visit.”

“I hope your day remains joyous as well,” he responded, taking a step after the man without a thought.

Said man smiled and it looked sharp on the edge. “I plan to.”

Left alone once more, he sighed and let his aura uncurl a bit again. While humans weren’t always perceptive to his aura moving around them, that particular human had been rather close and he hoped that the man had not been one of the more perceptive of the human race and had noticed him pulling his aura back in.

He found himself fretting about it too much to enjoy the rest of the gallery. Before he could even make it to the next one, though, he felt the phone in his coat breast pocket vibrate. He pulled it out and found a text from work. Seemed they were short staffed and he was being asked to fill in if he was able to. No longer in the mood to wander the museum, he suppressed his aura fully and started for the exit.

The drive was short and the lot reserved for staff barely had any cars speaking volumes to how low staffed they really were today. He parked quickly and hurried through the back door.

"Michael!"

It was Ryan, one of the best bakers in the whole shop. A glance over revealed the man covered head to toe in flour, not so short hair standing in every direction and a nice gradient from the brilliantly blue hair to the palest of blues due to the flour coating the dyed strands. The man grinned at him, blue eyes flashing with joy. "Man! Are we glad to see you. Get changed. Margaret needs a hand on the floor."

"Where are the bosses?" he asked, crossing to the lockers hidden behind a wall in the kitchen.

"Here," a gruff voice answered him as a burly man appeared at the entrance to the small space that housed the lockers. "Change quickly, Engel. As much as much as my sister enjoys being on the floor, we need her in the back helping Ryan."

Michael yanked his jacket and shirt off, leaving him in a white undershirt. "Who's on floor?"

"Rebecca." Michael gave his boss a skeptical look as soon as his head was free of his uniform shirt. Said boss merely mirrored the look, raising an eyebrow. "She's not a cook, Engel."

"She's not a barista either, Boss," Michael countered, rushing to get into his dress pants, a bonus to keeping a spare uniform at work for days like these.

"Thus why my sister is on the floor. Replace her and we won't have to worry about it."

Michael nodded and slipped beyond the burly man. It was easy to find his other boss and trade off. He got into the flow of filling drinks as Rebecca worked register and gathering requested food.

It was insane in the popular cafe and Michael wasn't sure how they were handling all this with only five people on staff. He spotted his gruff boss slipping out of the back a few times to wipe down tables before disappearing into the back again. It was a relief when Nate showed up for his shift. Rebecca left and Michael traded with Nate. Nate was one of their best coffee makers and Michael had no problem manning the register. He was surprisingly good at it, though he was rather doubtful when his bosses always seemed to point at him when the tip jar was just that much fuller at the end of the day, regardless if he was on drinks or at the register.

"Here’s your cake. Your drink will be ready in a moment," he happily informed the customer he passed the warm slice of cake to. He watched long enough to see the customer slide over to the drink line that had only a few people in it. They were doing great, even as the gruff boss wandered out to do a cleaning run of the tables, floor, and bathrooms. "What can I get started for the next person in line?" he called out, turning his hazel gaze on the next customer with a welcoming smile and his full attention.

He found the almost red gaze of his brief museum companion. The man had an amused smile on his face as he ordered, “A tall, black coffee, please.”

“Regular or decaf,” he responded on rote, coming out of his startled staring as the words left his mouth. He forced his gaze to the register so that he didn’t accidentally type the wrong thing in.

“Regular is fine.”

“Three fifty.” There was a tap on his shoulder as the man before him pulled out a credit card.

It was his gruff boss. “Dinner break. I’m here to take over.”

Michael nodded, tearing the receipt from the printer and passing it to the man on the other side of the counter with a smile. “Here’s your receipt. Your coffee will be right up.”

He slipped into the back, letting out a shaky breath. What were the odds the man simply showed up at his place of work? Either he had a stalker now or it truly was only coincidence. He jerked back when a plate was shoved into his face. He looked up to find Ryan grinned at him. "Orders from the bosses: dinner on the house."

The plate held one of his favorite sandwiches they sold as well as a chicken wrap and what they called chisps. They were baked potato slices that were seasoned to excellence and were far better than any potato chip. "You all are life savers." He hasn't realized he had even been hungry till the plate was in his face.

"You're the life saver here, Michael," his other boss called from somewhere in the kitchen.

Michael chuckled. "I'll be out back if you need me."

Ryan gave him a salute and Michael slipped out the back door into the quiet space tucked away for breaks. Every bite was savored but he kept an eye on the clock. He wasn’t quite done yet.

Michael made it home far too late for a day off. His bosses were gracious enough, though, to swap his shift tomorrow for one later in the day. At least now he could sleep in. The door opened into his dark living space. He kicked off his shoes and didn't bother with a light. The blinds didn't keep out much of the street lamp light so while he couldn't see details, he could see furniture and anything that could possibly be on the floor.

His room was equally dark, illuminated as well from the street below. He stripped from his work clothes and left them where they fell on the floor. He grabbed the sleep pants on the messy bed and yanked them on sleepily. Screw doing anything else. He clambered into bed and settled down, his brain running far too fast for his exhausted body.

It kept coming back to the customer just before his break, not that he could figure out why. A part of him felt like he should recognize the man that had ordered the tall, black coffee, the one that had joined him in the gallery.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the shadows playing faintly on his ceiling. As much as the man had been attractive, God had decreed for no same sex relations among the angels. Michael threw an arm over his eyes, wondering if He even knew that Michael was struggling against such a decree, than Michael was very certain that he was very gay if his thoughts swirling around Mr. Tall Black Coffee were anything to go by.

He prayed none of his brothers and sisters in Heaven and on Earth were going through this as well. It was infuriating and stressful and quite terrifying. He wasn't sure what God would do if He found out about Michael's affinity for the same sex.

A thought made him shudder; what if Jesus found out? The past couple millennia had not left the Son of God untouched and Michael was certain that corruption had touched the once pure soul. After all, how could a single creation take on all the sins of man and step away untouched by the experience? Michael felt his heart go out to his brothers and sisters in Heaven dealing with Jesus in his absence. It wasn't often that Jesus listened to him when being told off but being the elder helped, marginally. Jesus was such an ass now that he barely listened to anyone, striving with his own agenda with God blind to it all.

Michael rubbed at his face, changing thoughts. He found too much focusing on Jesus would summon him and he'd rather not deal with the younger on the mortal world.

His thoughts turned back to the man that had ordered the tall, black coffee and almost wished they hadn't. While he was glad that he wasn't bound to summon Jesus now - hopefully - he could do without the damning thoughts.

“So this is where you’ve chosen to stay for your stay down here?”

Michael jerked upright, hand moving as if to draw a weapon only to still as his gaze landed on the one and only Jesus. The Son of God had a rather pleased look on his face, a glint in his eye that Michael didn’t care for. The hand that had moved towards an absent weapon grabbed at the sheets, throwing them off as he commented sharply, "Heaven above, Jesus. Are you trying to kill me before I have fulfilled His Plan?"

He stood up, offering his brother a soft smile. Despite the heart attack it was nice to see a face from home, even if it was Jesus. "I do hope you're not causing much mischief down here, Brother. Come," he gestured towards the bedroom door, "let's talk in the kitchen. Do you want anything to drink?"

“I’m not here for a lengthy visit, Brother,” Jesus spoke. A grin replaced the sudden stoic expression. “In fact, I was actually here visiting someone far less pleasant than you and it got me thinking.”

Michael took a step back, finding his Brother’s face far too close to his own.

“It’s been a while since I’ve dropped by to see how you’ve been handling among all the sin of man.” His grin grew even more. “Corrupted, yet?”

Michael adapted a blank expression. “Are you so eager to cast another Sibling from Heaven, Jesus?”

Jesus took a couple steps back, shrugging with a smile. “You know I would never want such a thing, dear Brother. Father holds you far higher than any of the angels in Heaven, even the Archangels, of which you are one of.” The look he sent Michael was vicious. “It would be so sad for Father to cast out another Archangel. Could you imagine the chaos that would ensue? The fear? There would be no telling who would go next!”

Michael’s expression broke. “What happened to you, Jesus?” he asked earnestly. He spread his hands to his sides. “You used to be so kind, so caring, and now you’re nearly as bad as the humans and demons here on Earth and in Hell.”

He should have watched his tongue as he found his back hitting the mattress hard, Jesus’s hand around his throat. “You forget your place, Brother,” Jesus threatened as he grabbed at Jesus’s wrist with both hands. “Or would you rather I toss your pathetic excuse of an Archangel ass to join Lucifer in Hell? I’m sure he would love your company and love it even more to corrupt you into nothing more than a pleasure slave.”

Michael kicked the other hard in the gut, getting some distance between them enough for Michael to breathe and sit up, on guard for another attack. Jesus didn’t go very far and Michael glared at him when the other’s face was placed inches from his. “Step out of line again, dear Brother, and I will not hesitate to get you thrown out of Heaven just like Lucifer.”

Michael blinked and Jesus was gone. He didn’t dare relax, standing and checking his small condo apartment for any signs that Jesus had lingered. With every inch searched, Michael allowed himself to sink down on the edge of the couch with a heavy sigh. Burying his face into his hands, Michael tried to quell the soft tremors coursing through his body from the adrenaline and fear. Even with Michael being the older, Jesus’s threat was not one to be taken lightly. God was blind to what Jesus had become and Michael was going more and more concerned that something had happened to turn God’s gaze from His Son.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, asking the silence, “Why me?”

There wasn’t an answer.

He hadn’t expected one anyways.