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Autumn in New York. It's coming sooner and sooner every day. Tonight, Arlo's wearing a sweater under his jacket. The park is gorgeous as the sun starts to set. There's a guy on the corner selling hot dogs. "You want one?" he asks Michael as they walk along. "I forgot to eat today."
The angel's brought Arlo out for a date - the leaves are starting to turn, and Mike wants to look at them doing it. So they're rambling along in the Ramble itself, a more foresty, secluded part of the park, and the angel is frankly rubbernecking. But as they come out and Arlo asks that, Mike's distracted from his reverie. "Oh, yes, please. I have money today." He fishes in a pants pocket, offers a twenty to Arlo.
Arlo smiles as he takes the money. "Look at you, being all romantic. I'm not even a lady today." Of course he keeps his voice down. There are some secrets he holds relatively close to his chest. He makes his way over to the cart and says, "Gimme two with everything." To Michael, he asides, "You've got to try these dogs. You can't visit New York and not eat a hot dog."
"It's not made from actual dogs, is it?" Mike inquires, sotto voce. "I was given to understand that dogs are companion and guards, not for food." He might be serious. Goodness knows that perplexed furrow is between his brows.
Arlo laughs and says, "Nah, these are all beef. Nice and kosher." The dogs get made, and money gets handed over, change received and offered back to Michael. "I don't know how important it is to keep kosher, but I try to just in case. I figure I've done enough to piss God off just being me, I'll at least try to do one thing right."
The angel waves it away. "Keep it," he says, softly. "IT is useful to you, more than me." He takes the dog, nips neatly at the end, as if afraid it might explode. "No. God….I don't think God cares what you eat. I don't know. I don't know all the things He's said to mortalkind…" HE chews experimentally, nods approval "'s good."
Arlo pockets the change, not having to be told twice. "He did give his Chosen a few more rules than he gave the rest," Arlo says. "That's why Gentiles get bacon." He bites into his hot dog and munches. "Isn't it?" he says. "They can have bacon. Give me a kosher dog any day." He resumes his walking, food in hand.
"I don't know," Mike confesses, tone whimsical. "No idea. I'm….I've been amazed to discover how truly ignorant I am. All these things I don't know."
"I suppose the Big G works on a need-to-know basis," Arlo says. "Different rules for angels. I've lost the point of existence, but as long as they keep making these dogs, I won't mind being alive." He shovels more into his face, eating gracelessly. There's really no other way with one of these things.
Michael does try to eat neatly. But….there really is no way, exactly. "I like eating," he says, thoughtfully, after a few more bites. "Do you want to have the rest of mine? This body doesn't need to metabolize. I don't get really hungry. I just like tasting things, and feeling it all break down."
"Sure," Arlo says. For such a skinny guy, he knows how to put food away. After he polishes off his hot dog, he takes the rest of Michael's. "I metabolize all the time," he mentions between bites. "It must be nice getting to pretty much be whoever you want to be, in whatever body you want."
"I haven't tried to be any other creature on this planet," Mike says, licking mustard off a fingertip. "Humans are so interesting. Maybe, eventually, I'll go to swim with the finned singers. They're nice to listen to. But….it'll be a while."
"Finned singers?" Arlo eyes Michael curiously. "I just mean within the scope of humanity. You can be a boy, a girl, whatever you want. And it's really you, either way, so no one couldn't do nothin' about it." He finishes off the rest of Michael's dog and licks his fingers clean. "That's lucky."
Michael pauses a moment. "Uh. They are….they are large mammals. They live in the water, they can't leave it. And they sing." He looks at Arlo, pleadingly. Help a guy out. "And…..well, I can. Being male seems to be easier here."
"Yeah, I guess it is," Arlo says. After a moment, he says, "Do you mean whales? Whales are big. So I hear, I've never seen one except in pictures. I read Moby Dick, though. Not a great book if you like whales." He walks shoulder to shoulder with Michael, not daring to show any outward sign of affection, save to capture his hand for a quick squeeze, then to let it go.
"Yes!" says Mike, with relief. "Whales. Those people. I forgot the word in this language." He says something in another tongue entirely, one that seems to ring like bronze bells….and has a hint of whalesong in it, itself. He smiles at the touch, all beaming affection.
Arlo squints at Michael, then shakes his head, grinning as he says, "I didn't understand that, but it sounded neat. Maybe we can go whale-watching sometime. I'm making some pretty good money these days, I could squirrel some away for a vacation. That Ambrose fella, he pays pretty well."
"He is treating you nicely, now?" Mike asks, brows up. "And it was what you call a whale in Enochian, as we speak it. We could go visit them, sometimes, the whales. Some live and travel not too very far off the coast."
"Let's go see whales next time we're out together," Arlo says, grinning as he nudges Michael's shoulder with his own. "That sounds fun. And yeah, he's got these jobs for me, so he's not being mean. He's just kind of a hard guy to get to know, I think. Just don't carry him off again, okay? He doesn't like that one bit."
"I don't make a habit of abducting humans," Mike's voice is pious, but there's that hint of amusement there. "I'm not one of the Grigorim. I missed that boat - 's why I've got no human children."
"Eh, children are a disappointment," Arlo says. "You're better off. I told him I'd tell you about not flying off with him, but I also told him you're an angel and I have no control over what you do. He is being nicer, though. And with the money I've got squirreled away, I might even get to go to classes and get my GED."
"What is a GED?" Michael asks, pleasantly. "And …angels aren't meant to have children. It doesn't go well for mortals when we make children with them, I think."
"General Education Diploma," Arlo says with flourish. "I missed getting my high school diploma, but this is just as good. It'll help me get jobs if I ever decide to go legit, or I could even maybe take a class in college. This guy's paying me really well." He sizes Michael up, then tells him, "At least you don't have to worry about knocking me up."
Michael nods, all solemnity. "That is very true. I can sire children. I'm one of the few left who can. AFter the Nephilim, God took that away from most. But he thought I was incorruptible, so he never bothered to. And Lucifer was not in reach, so…"
"Yeah? I don't know if I'd say you're incorruptible," Arlo says. "Not after some of the times we've had. But trust me, you're better off not being a dad. It'll end poorly for the mom, the kid will be… well, you know how it goes. That's one of the things that scares me the most, you know? Knocking some girl up. Having a kid. Passing on my Mutant genes."
"There's nothing wrong with your genes. You're still perfectly human," Michael assures Arlo, bumping his shoulder companionably along the mortal's. "I would not be a good parent. Young mortals are so helpless."
"Yeah, they are," Arlo says. "And noisy. No more sleeping in if you end up with one of those." He wrinkles his nose, shrugging a little as he says, "I might be perfectly human, but the rest of my fellow humans don't agree. It's bad enough fighting it all the time for yourself, I wouldn't want to see my kid go through the same thing."
He folds his lips, but doesn't argue. "It is hard. Humans don't seem to deal well with difference. Part of the old pack mindset, I suppose."
"It's fear," Arlo says. "We're fearful animals. Imagine being just aware enough to know there's a whole universe out there, just smart enough to figure out it's way bigger than you are, but not wise enough to know how to cope with the fact we don't have any control over any of it. And it just gets worse and worse. Now there's aliens like Norse gods? Run in packs, sure, and keep everyone else out for your own safety."
Michael pats him on the shoulder, awkwardly. Hard for him to remember what's okay in public, and what isn't. "Let's go to your apartment," he says, softly. "Shall we?"
Arlo looks up at Michael, and he says with a soft smile. "Yeah, let's head back that way." He takes a shortcut through the park to bring them back toward his tiny place. "You make me happy," he mentions. "I try to count my blessings every day, and I didn't used to have very many, but there's you, and that's pretty cool."
"Of course," Michael says, affably. "I'm full of blessings. Arguably, I made of them. Do you want to fly, or shall we walk?"
Arlo considers. He looks up at the trees, but with the sun having set, their color isn't as impressive. Plus a chill breeze is starting to blow. "Let's fly," he says. "It'll be faster."