1964-07-12 - A Coterie of Pigeons and Coffee
Summary: Rosemarie and Michael share coffee on the librarian's balcony. Pigeons attend upon their archangel-overlord. Lola the Siamese loses her fool mind over the flying city-rats.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
michael rosemarie 

It's evening - Rosemarie's on her way home. And as she walks, she'll notice the pigeons are behaving oddly. They're all taking off and heading in one direction - not the explosive flutter of panic, exploding off the sidewalk, but purposefully, as if they were getting ready to migrate. Save that pigeons don't, not really.

Should she look up, they're flocking aroudnd someone above, that familiar form. Michael's hovering above, descending not in a swoop but slowly, like an enormous hummingbird. The pigeons are following him down, a multicolored horde of attendants.

Almost home to her apartment at this point, the brunette librarian does hear the sound of many wings. At first, she wasn't certain if it was coming from a nearby street vent, steaming up as they usually are, or perhaps from inside the butcher's shop, with its door open and the sounds of work issuing from within. Silly humans — they tend not to look up. It's been a long time since the good old days of things swooping down out of the sky to eat them.

Eventually, it's the odd shadow that makes her glance up and she gasps, darting to one side, before laughing behind her hand. She remembers the pigeons, from the last flying lesson, but this…

"Oh my god — oh, I m-mean — " Rosemarie stutters, torn between the wondering if this archangel hates that turn of phrase as much as his brother and trying so very hard not to make less of his fluttering attendants. Even if they carry the monicker of 'flying city-rats'. "M-Michael, hello." He gets a smile, even if it's somewhat uncertain

He lands lightly (no superhero landings, so hard on the knees), folds his wings neatly, and smiles at her. Pigeons continue to descend like snowflakes. Some of them land on his shoulders, but most around his feet. They don't immediately peck the ground, but look between Michael and Rosemarie quizzically. "Hello," he says, placidly. "How are you?"

There's a little pi-bald pigeon, black and white, with one patch over its eye that catches her attention briefly. Oh. Oh, it's a cute one. It seems to wish to perch on Michael's boot, perhaps, for all that it shifts closer and closer to it.

"I'm g-good, thank you. Just heading home f-from w-work. How is your…vacation going?" Rosemarie picks the word deliberately, looking up at him with a friendly mein.

"Quite well," he says, simply. "I'm enjoying myself." He reaches down to the hopeful pigeon, deposits him on the toe of his own boot, absent-mindedly. They're all edging closer, step by sidling step. "And you?"

That hopeful pigeon is so thrilled! It fluffs up its feathers and cooes softly before settling on his boot. Slow blinks translate to avian happiness.

"It's b-been…quiet lately, I guess. There w-w-was a p-problem at Lux, with L-Lucian — w-w-well, not w-with Lucian, b-but he had t-t-to d-deal with some…really stupid p-people and no one got h-hurt. I think," she adds, wincing a little at the lack of knowledge for her story. "That p-poor b-bouncer of his. He g-g-got b-bothered because he l-looks like that one Soldier person." Realizing that Michael probably has no idea of what she means, Rosemarie blushes up a storm and shakes her head. "N-Never mind that. D-Do you like coffee?" It's an abrupt question and…somewhat hopeful somehow. "You c-can fly up to m-my b-b-balcony and we can t-talk there?"

Lola is going to FREAK OUT with the number of pigeons involved.

"I don't know," Michael admits. "I've never had it. But I'm willing to try. Which is your balcony?" He looks up, in hopes of direction. "And I've been to Lux a few times. Lucian's my brother, after all."

Rosemarie blinks and she loses a little color in her face, mostly from surprise. "Oh. I…w-w-wondered." That's something she'll need to think over for some time. Probably by herself. Maybe with a drink. But not at Lux!

Adjusting her purse on her shoulder, she points at the next building over, to the balcony with a profusion of brightly-colored flowers growing in window-boxes hung carefully on the balcony's railings. "With the flowers, that one. Meet me there?"

"Of course," he says. He removes the pigeons with care, brushing and shooing them away before he launches himself up to her balcony. In the lowering sunlight, his wings gleam rose-gold, iridescent as his companions' throats.

Rosemarie makes her way inside the apartment building and up to her floor. God, those wings — her heart still does all sorts of funny flippity things seeing them in action. The Otherness has marked this one as definite comrade in the scheme of things.

Michael is easy to spot beyond the glass door leading out to the balcony, especially with how his attendants continue to flutter around, and Lola the siamese has no idea what to do about it. She's totally bottlebrush-tailed, wide-eyed, and mrowling up a storm, her feline jaw hanging open in a sustained sound from the back of the nearby couch.

She mouths 'one second'. The caraffe is still full and it's simple enough to warm it up. With two mugs in hand, she emerges out onto the balcony and then carefully toes the door shut again. Lola keeps losing her fool mind.

"Here," and she holds out a mug. "I put c-cream and sugar in it s-s-so it isn't so b-b-bitter."

He accepts it with gratitude, cupping it carefully in both hands. Sniffs it, eyes it, and then takes a tentative sip, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster. "This is good. There are stimulants in it, aren't there?" The pigeons have settled on the railing, except for the one determined to nest on his instep.

That litte black-and-white pigeon does indeed nest. Back again, with another quiet coo, and it ruffles its whole body before settling down.

"Yes, caffeine. I like the t-taste of it, b-but the c-caffeine is nice t-too." Rosemarie realizes that she has only one folding chair and motions to it. "D-Do you w-want to sit? Or I c-can get another chair f-from inside?"

"We can both sit." It's a ludicrous spectacle - an angel trying coffee, with pigeons watching him attentively. Like they're soldiers waiting for a signal from their general.

Another chair is fetched from inside and then Rosemarie settles in the folding chair. Michael gets one of the nicer dining chairs, from the kitchen table.

"So…y-your vacation is g-going well," she muses, cinnamon-brown eyes resting on him and his coterie of pigeons. Pigeons. The Otherness is seriously considering these things from within her subconscious.

Minions…? …it wants minions.

"Have y-you found anything interesting to y-you? I know y-you mentioned b-being away f-for a w-while and the c-creativity of…humans."

"Well," he says, slowly, looking down into the coffee again. "I went to the museums in the park. The Metropolitan? It seemed like a good start, all of that there together." He nods to himself, lips pursed. "It confirms my opinion that humans were given that spark. I don't do any of that, you know? I don't make things. I don't even think to. But humans can't help themselves."

Rosemarie smiles, a winsome note to the expression. "N-No, I don't think w-we can. We…my f-father calls it 'tinkering'. B-B-Busy hands, always n-needing to be d-doing something." She glances over at the sliding glass door as the muted sound of 'bapbapbapbapbap' occurs.

Little pink toe-pads slide down it repeatedly as Lola wants one of those pigeons! The cat is nearly out of her gourd. Tickling her fingernails against the surface brings the attention to her owner and the Siamese abruptly stops and stalks off. No one saw anything, says that disdainful tail and hind end.

"I'm n-not as b-busy as my mother and father. I l-like to s-sit and read, d-drink coffee, when I have t-time to myself." She sips at her brew before tucking her feet up beneath herself. "Y-You should k-keep visiting the museums. Y-You'll learn so m-much."

Michael smiles at her, and it's all gentle good nature. "I agree. That and the parks. Watching what humans do at leisure….and Central Park is so large. I walk through a different part of it every day." He chuckles at the cat. "Poor little predator. So much prey, and all of it out of reach…."

Rosemarie searches out of the depths of the living room for the cat following Michael's comment and doesn't find her. Perhaps she's withdrawn into the depths of feline brooding, unable to catch one of those flying city-rats.

"She's f-fine," the librarian mutters, dismissing the pet in a loving manner. "She d-doesn't need to c-catch a pigeon. She w-w-wouldn't know w-what to do with it anyways," and she chuckles, the expression showcasing the freckles on her cheeks. A sigh, a mouthful of coffee, and she considers him.

"C-Can you do the s-same things as Lucian? The l-l-light thing I saw, on the b-back p-porch of Lux? You already h-have your w-wings. They're very soft," she adds shyly and unnecessarily and then blushes for it.

"Some of them," he says, softly. "Not all. Lucian's the older brother, and he was made to be the source of light." Jealous? Maybe a teeny little bit. "How did you come to know Lucian?"

"The source of light…?" The librarian whispers it to herself, frowning. Lucian is…Lucifer — Venere. She doesn't know of his true last name. Perhaps it's time to do some research during her next shift at the library. It's not that she doesn't believe he's…the Devil, it's that…she'd rather be absolutely certain before beating her wings against that windowpane further.

"I m-met him at Lux. I was b-bored one d-day and wandered inside. It l-looked…like an adventure," she admits, almost guiltily. No self-respecting librarian would be wandering around there, surely! "He was n-nice, made me a d-drink. We t-talked. He's…always g-got something interesting t-t-to say, s-some new viewp-p-point on the w-world I haven't c-considered."

There's no shadow in his smile. "He does," Michael allows, gently. "He's part of why I haven't moved on yet, even though there's so much more to see on this planet. And the drinks are very good." A nod at that. "The first angel created, the eldest among us, by at least a few trillionths of a second."

"Oh." A few trillionths of a second. Nothing like being the oldest son. She considers the situation and can't truly fathom it, being an only-child herself. Rosemarie sips at her coffee and licks at her upper lip before glancing up to Michael's face again.

"Michael, is he…" Her voice fades out and she tries again. "Is he… I — I kissed him. At the p-park." This must be a confession of sorts, for all that the blush comes back hard, trailing down her neck and highlighting her ears. "I d-don't — I haven't s-spoken w-with him ab-bout it s-since. H-H-Has he s-said anything t-t-to y-you?"

The pi-bald pigeon garners her attention, napping as it is with head beneath its wing, atop the archangel's instep.

She's surprised him, by that. Michael's not all that good at dissembling - and his brows go up, eyes widening. "Did you now?" he asks, blinking. "And no, he hasn't. But….I haven't seen him in a while. Not that he's likely to confide in me as it is."

"It-t-t w-was…impulsive," she explains, biting at the scar on her lip briefly. Clearing her throat, Rosemarie quickly shifts topics of conversation, desperate to keep the spotlight from herself.

"Y-You don't t-talk…? As b-brothers?" She frowns at him, though not in reprimand, more in a sad confusion. "I n-never had sib-blings. W-Why wouldn't y-you talk?"

Michael grimaces a little. He's got the nuances of human expression down. "We were estranged for….quite a while," he notes. "Lucian….he's fallen. And I had the responsibility of driving him out of our home, because he defied our father."

And now is the time, waaaaaay too late, that Rosemarie remembers the lessons from Sunday school when she was very young.

She nods, unable to find words, and tucks her chin. Good job, sunshine, way to change that subject! Finally, she finds her voice, soft as it is. "He seems too kind to have fallen." It's a stubborn little flame of belief in the barkeep, for all she's seen so far — minus that little freak-out in the back hallway — has been justice equally served and enlightening discussion.

"He's not the source of all evil," Michael's tone is mild. "Nor is he wholly evil himself. Far from it. His sin is pride. In time, he will repent and be redeemed. But the world has much to go through, before that happens."

"I r-remember that n-now. That's right, f-fallen b-because of pride." It's a new angle on the old tales for her to consider and she does. Lapsing into silence, she looks beyond the profusion of blooming flowers, the pigeons perched on the railing, beyond even those gorgeous wings with their luscious hues and texture.

"He does seem prideful. Confident." Rosemarie hums and sips at her coffee. "The…Otherness. I think it l-likes that in him."

Damn right it does — and just to prove its point, the dual crests of indigo-blue feathers unfurl from behind her ears. They perk up even as the librarian nibbles her lip again, unable to make eye contact with said barkeep's brother.

"You're not the only one," Michael's voice is rueful. "How else do you think he got a whole third of the Host to follow him? That's why it was the War In Heaven, not the Petulant Squabble in Heaven."

Rosemarie snorts the tiniest bit in restrained laughter at 'Petulant Squabble'.

"I can imagine it wasn't v-very d-d-difficult for him. He's…charming." Was that a little sigh? It was. Preen-preen, goes the Otherness, flicking up the crests higher still. "S-Sorry, I'm b-being silly. You're his b-brother," and she tucks hair behind her ear, retreating into her coffee cup.

"It wasn't at all," Michael admits. "He was always intended to be the leader." He's matter of fact about it, as he finishes his coffee. "And no, you're not being silly. He's immensely magnetic. I fought against him because I had to, but I never hated him."

Rosemarie gives the archangel a little smile. "Thank you, M-Michael, for not…how to say it. B-Bringing your emotions into it. M-Maybe…maybe one d-day, he'll f-f-forgive you and things will b-be easy again."

Ever optimistic this one, even if this process will taken literal eons…if it ever happens. "I'm glad that I m-met you. Y-You're very k-kind as well." She's sincere in this.

"YOu're welcome," he says, simply. "I have perspective. It will all come right in the end," Mike's utterly assured - no doubt there at all. "And I'm glad to have met you. I'll ask a favor of you - sometime, show me your favorite places in this city."

"I can d-do that. You've v-visted a l-lot of the museums, b-but there are s-some hidden things. L-Little shops, cafes…oh, of course." She laughs lightly, crests flittering minutely. "The library. You c-could come see all of the b-books." She gives the archangel directions to her place of work, with the twin lion statues guarding the steps and the information within, before collecting his mug. "Y-You have a g-good day then, Michael. Y-You're w-welcome for c-c-coffee again anytime."

Leaving the being to a depature in a breathtaking flash of ivory wings, attended by his flock of pigeons, Rosemarie retreats inside for an evening of quiet with a cat very enamored with watching the balcony for any remaining pigeons.

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