Fantasy Adieu

[Aneres]

This is a closed RP between Aneres and Early.​

 

[Aneres]

You can not alter your fate. However, you can rise to meet it, if you choose.

Michayla Macy
age: Twenty-Six | birthday: December 11th | nickname: Mickey​

Michayla Elizabeth Macy was born to Theresa Marie and Michael James Macy on a chilly autumn night under unusual circumstances. Much to her parents' surprise, Michayla did not enter the world as the expected Michael Jr. that she had been slated to be. Instead, the young newlyweds were welcomed by a beautiful baby girl. Despite the distaste and disagreeing from his wife to name the newborn directly after him anyway, Michael eventually digressed and agreed on the name Michayla.

Mickey’s upbringing in North Baltimore was what most would’ve considered relatively normal. When she wasn’t busy with her studies or after school activities (which mostly consisted of piano and violin) she found herself helping in her father’s flower shop. Rather it was sprucing up flower arrangements, assisting customers in their purchases, or simply learning the language of flowers, some of Mickey’s fondest memories could be found in that aromatic and charming little boutique. The most magical of moments, though, were spent once business hours had concluded. Countless times, more than she could recall, Michayla would brew herself and Michael fresh herbal tea while she listened to him breathe life into his saxophone. Soon it became less of Mickey admiring the sounds that her father created and more her attempting to recreate them on her own while he sat back and enjoyed.

At the age of seventeen, Mickey’s handwork and absolute love for her craft were recognized by the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra and she was offered a solo string position for that year’s concert season. Unfortunately, she wasn’t allowed to spend much time basking in her accolades. Only a few short months after accepting the position, Michael James Murphy was involved in a severe automobile accident and was killed. Despite the tragedy leading up to her first concert performance, Michayla willed herself forward and performed beautifully in memory of her late father. Not once did she allow herself to lose her resolve and focus. Mickey promised herself that she would continue to push forward to not only prove to herself that she could but to make Michael proud. The year after, Michayla was offered a second-string chair for the Orchestra, making her one of the youngest members to date to be offered a permanent position among the elite.

The years seemed to pass Mickey by in a blur as she performed concert after concert, honing her craft and furthering her name as one of the freshest upstarts on the classical scene. That is, until the summer of Michayla’s 23rd year. That was when the diagnosis dropped. What initially began as a cough and body aches ended with her fate being signed away by an oncologist on a slip of paper that read leukemia. She tried countless treatments, both in practice and those that were being further medically explored. But, alas, the symptoms persisted and ended with her having to take an indefinite leave of absence from the orchestra. Now, eight months later, Michayla has become a shell of what she once was. With limbs that barely work and a resolve that’s all but crumbled, Mickey now lives her days as peacefully as she possibly can, reminding herself of her beginnings by surrounding herself with the flowers her father loved and the music he loved even more.

​

​

 

[Early]

01

Basic Information

name

Dezmond

nickname

The Materialist of Heaven

gender

Male

race

Angel

age

Appears Thirty

job

Family Guide

02

Appearance

height

180cm

hair

Full and White

eyes

Radiant and Golden

From the moment Dezmond saw humanity, he was enamored with how unique and varied everyone looked. How as time passed, trends would change, and so would the idea of fashion. Throughout the ages there has been a constant he'd agreed with, and that was you should always try and look your best. He himself fell for a certain aesthetic, a clean and collected appearance of a dapper gentleman.

Feeling it matches his calm demeanor well, Dezmond knows a suit and tie is also a varied outfit; Ideal for professionals, or even a casual outfit for a romantic outing. Aside from looking prepared for any encounter, he has also grown comfortable with the routine of dressing up in such a fashion, especially considering all the pleasant accessories that come with such aristocratic attire.

03

Personality

Curiosity is among the first things living beings experience, and Dezmond is no exception. Since his creation, there hasn't been a day of boredom. Sure some are more mundane than others, but he's the type of man to find wonder even in the simplest of things. Every person, and even every item has a story to it. A quiet contemplative type, but quick to voice his own thoughts even when none can really hear them.

Oddly enough, this near childlike curiosity continues mainly because he hasn't really had someone to converse with in regards to the many subjects he enjoys. Akin to being the only person in a friend group to enjoy a certain show, so you have no one to talk about it with; Except this is the case with everything.

04

Premise

Ever since the very beginning, there were Angels. While human kind grew, and flourished in their god given environment, the holy elite changed as well. Even a perfect system such as Heaven was forced to evolve to practically manage the garden below, and because of that the knights of paradise eventually became something more than the renditions depicted in classical art and biblical tales. The newest and more contemporary Angels aren't like their older kin, they were made to be more human, and to be comforting when ever meet by the mortals they watch over. Akin to the tales of Guardian Angels, the newest generation of knights closely watch over specific families and their see to their fates.

Dezmond is no different than his brothers and sisters, tasked to spend most of his time out of Heaven watching over a specific family and their futures. A keeper of a small bloodline. Though unlike his siblings, especially his elder brothers and sisters, Dezmond shows odd fascination with certain aspects of the mortal world. Trinkets and objects, the popular and the designer; all of these interest the man and he often finds himself even going corporeal to enjoy being a human capable of interacting with the material. While he's able to loom in the ethereal and spectate, nothing beats sitting in a crowed during a concert with his obligation playing the lead for her first time ever and seeing and hearing it with physical eyes and ears.

He is among few Angels to step outside of protocol and partake in the human act of sinning, though overlooked as his general greed and lust for the material was deemed harmless and overall helped in the case of appearing more human and relatable to human kind. It is because of the flexibility he is given that Dezmond even appears different than most of his kind, usually dressed in the most current fashion of a certain style. Though, a concern on how much longer his current task will go on for has begun to rise.

The family he was sent to watch over has almost come to a stop, the last seed of the tree stricken with illness which means his vacation on the mortal realm would find its end when he walks with her through the pearly gates of the afterlife. Now preparing for his, and her end, Dezmond has recently found himself feeling grief. A few times during the past few years he's been stricken by sadness, a new feeling entirely which has made his enjoyment on the garden rather lacking. One of his greatest joys as of late was music, and seeing it preformed live, but lately there hasn't been a show to attend.

Instead, he's been mournfully listening to the tune of the end of an era, and watching the death of one of his greatest joys.

05

Modern Day Holy Knight

There are a lot of legends on what exactly an Angel is capable of, many of which Dezmond finds quite comical. Though, a lot of how people interpret the holy text he tends to find rather... Upsetting. One thing that's always gotten a laugh is how humans recall Angels as appearing. Many winged, maddening, and terrifying. While some of his siblings may not be as easy on the eyes as himself, he finds the tales of Angels and their abilities far from the truth.

While he may not be as old and skilled as his older siblings, Dezmond has few abilities beyond a normal humans. His body is timeless, sure, but it is not indestructible. He is capable of feeling both physical, and emotional pain. Though there is truth in the wings of an Angel, they are simply a means of travel; albeit the fastest form of transportation akin to that of teleportation. They are however limited to just being able to carry himself, and most often not visible even when showing himself.

Aside from that, minor abilities that could be seen as simple conjuration are within his wheelhouse, though this likely stems from his fascination with the material. Inevitably forming into the ability to create, though in a much less impressive way than mankind if he were to admit himself. Holy powers are both incomprehensible and very lazy in comparison to the feats of man, after all.

06

extras

1.

All credit for this this code goes towards the creator Nano, please direct your attention to them for any praise or requests in regards to this profiles layout and technical creation.

2.

This character is strictly for the use of role play, I am not in any way mocking or taking credit for any historical relevance nor am I the creator of any of the art used to portray them. If I could find the original creators I'd credit them, but via reverse image search I haven't managed to do so. Unfortunately.

code by @Nano

 

[Aneres]

location
Bed/Bathroom

interaction
Early

mood
Frustrated

Michayla Macy

It'll pass.


It'll pass.


It'll pass.


Those two, simple words had become a common mantra as of late for Michayla Macy. Damn near every night, going on three years now, she found herself reciting the phrase, the syllables passing through cracked lips. The heat flashes that roused her from her restless sleep, the churning of what little food she was able to swallow down in the pit of her belly, the aching pain of her joints and muscles as they strained against one another. These symptoms were all too familiar to Mickey. When the doctor signed the slip of paper that bound you to a fate that consisted of a never-ending battle with leukemia, these nightly rituals were just a few of the many trials you had to face. But, that didn't make the agony any easier to bear.

Willing her tired eyes open, Michayla’s cloudy brown irises caught and held the slowly revolving fan blade. The way it spun rhythmically, always going and never stopping, brought Mickey both unease and comfort. It steadied her mind and helped her brace for the sudden impact of heaving and tightness that began to root deep in her gut but it also motivated her dinner to make its appearance sooner rather than later. Bringing her trembling fingers to brush against her forehead, Michayla wiped away the sweat that had collected along her brow. Her entire body was covered in a noticeable sheen of perspiration, the moisture making her pajamas cling to her. Mickey tried her best to ease her aching body into a sitting position, her eyes now focusing on the clock that sat on her bedside table. "3:35. Right on time." Bringing her legs from the tangled mess of sheets and sweat, Michayla slowly erected her body into a standing position, one arm going to wrap itself securely around her middle as the other ran through her sticky, dark hair. Pushing her sore limbs forward, trying her best to ignore the ridiculous amount of effort even that seemed to take, she made her way into the bathroom. As soon as she was past the threshold, Mickey’s hands groped hurriedly in the dark in an attempt to find the light switch. Her dinner from the night before had a date with the toilet bowl, and she doubted that her stomach was going to let her skip out on the momentous occasion, even if for a single night.

Hearing the buzz of the filament ignite above her head, the sick woman stumbled forward until her quaking arms met with the cool porcelain of the toilet. It didn’t matter how many nights she sat curled up on the bathroom floor, stomach empty yet still pushing for release. It never got easier and anyone who said it did was full of shit. Not once did she find herself huddled in this familiar position, body drenched in sweat and trembling from cold chills, and think to herself, ’Huh, that wasn’t so bad. I could get used to this!’ No. Instead, if anything, with each dry heave and strain to empty her gut, Michayla was only reminded how hard it was to push herself to get out of bed each morning and at least try to live.

After a few more well-placed lurches, Michayla could finally feel her stomach beginning to settle, it’s rampage on her body coming to an end for the evening. Swiping her fingers across her swollen lips, Mickey tried to swallow past the salty taste that still lingered at the back of her throat as she pulled herself up off of the floor and into an upright position. Luckily, she had managed to avoid making a mess of her clothes. At least she could wait until daybreak before dragging herself into the shower. Michayla stretched forward and flushed the contents of her dinner down the drain as she sidestepped to the sink. She may have been able to talk herself out of a shower, but the obvious film of sickness that clung to her tongue and teeth were too much to ignore. Reaching for the corner of her medicine cabinet, Mickey’s eyes caught a glimpse of something peculiar in its reflection. She paused then to peek over her shoulder. All that stood to her back was the familiar backdrop of her bathroom and the hallway that led to her bedroom. Michayla turned her attention back to the cabinet then, her thoughts darting this way and that as she proceeded to brush away the grime. While she was sure it was a simple hallucination or trick of the light, Mickey couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps she had actually seen something. Not just something, but a very clear outline of a figure. She gripped the sink tightly as she bent forward to spit, her eyes fluttering shut as she whispered under her breath, ”You’re seeing things, Mickey. It’s late, you’re sick. You’re seeing things.”

It'll pass.

coded by incandescent

​

 

[Early]

Dezmond

The Materialist of Heaven

Location:

Michayla's Home

Mood:

Weary

Tags:

Aneres

She was up again.

An all too familiar ritual by this point, one which involved waiting for Michayla to find the strength to stand so she could do the inevitable. Dezmond, whom had been sitting in an armchair in her room quietly reading while she slept let out a defeated sigh; Not one of frustration but one of sympathetic annoyance. "Sorry, Mickey. Looks like we have to do this yet again." Words said, but not heard.

Often times he spoke to her, almost as though she were capable of hearing him. Especially as of late, though there was little to say and from what he gathered she wasn't in the mood as of late for company anyway. Closing the novel he'd been reading, one which simply poofed into glittering light that was invisible to the eyes of all, he'd then get ready for the inevitable. It's only as his obligation moved to stand that he too would do the same, walking over to the end of the bed silently as to move to her side as she stumbled her way to the bathroom.

Though his presence couldn't be felt, seen, or heard, he still could minutely influence Michayla and her world. As she fumbled for the light switch, he'd reach out and lightly adjust her hand to push up so that the room could illuminate and she could make her way without trouble. Too often has he seen her make a mess, and now in the dead of night was no time to be this ill and also have to clean a bathroom. It's as she began to heave and retch that Dezmond would start to coo quiet and unheard murmurerers, things along the lines of "It'll pass." While comforting her he too knelt down, and while his presence wasn't felt he'd lightly place a hand on her upper back only to start rubbing lightly. Only once it was clear she was done, and she moved to stand again, would he move and lean against the far wall across the vanity.

"One way or another, I do hope this ends soon for you." He'd mutter the undoubtedly grim words, watching her with his solemn golden gaze as she was getting the water running, knowing well she would take care of her own hygiene before she retreated back to her bed. For some time now it had become rather hard for him to see her like this, and to see her suffer. Many would say it wasn't fair, and that she didn't deserve such a fate, and it was certainly true that Angels could feel the same when it came to their obligations.

Though he wouldn't stick around to watch her brush her teeth, instead slipping from the bathroom and back towards her sleeping area, unbeknownst to him that she'd catch an image of him leaving from the mirror, her first sighting of his presence. Her paranoid whispers barely heard as he was in the other room now, filling his time by doing some minor quality of life things while she was busy self assuring herself that she saw nothing while brushing her teeth.

All the while doing the normal tasks such as reaching down to take her pillow, fluffing it as to at least bring some slight comfort when she returns back to bed. Along with that, he'd fill a glass she'd left on her nightstand halfway with fresh water, giving the illusion that many have where they couldn't possibly remember finishing it or not. At least should she need a sip, it would seem she'd still had something left. Minor and unnoticeable tasks such as these have been a part of his day to day for some time now; Unable to help her directly but at least doing small tasks that would certainly not disturb her or her own sanity.

It's only after he was finished with these mundane tasks that he'd return back to the armchair he was in before, likely right around the time Mickey was leaving the bathroom after freshening up a bit. Of course, as he summoned his novel again to start reading it would be unknown to him that he wasn't as invisible as he thought himself to be. A certain surprise for both to come, as the sharp dressed angel was totally unaware of the events to come.

code by @Nano

 

[Aneres]

location
Hallway

interaction
Early

mood
Anxious

Michayla Macy

The stillness in the air and quiet that accompanied it usually brought Michayla peace of mind. While she had lived the majority of her life surrounded by music and melodies it was the silent spaces in between that allowed the young woman to regroup, recharge, and center herself. Now, instead of the calming reassurance, the stagnant nature of the world around rooted a chill in the base of her back that shot waves of unease up her spine. Mickey knew herself better than that. As many medications and restless nights as she had endured in the last few years, not once had she reached the point of her own mind faltering and concocting hallucinations. Returning the toothbrush to it’s home and closing the medicine cabinet quietly, Michayla turned towards the conjoining hallway. She could feel her chest beginning to tighten and the echo of her heartbeat drum in her ears. It wasn’t the idea of someone in her home that frightened her. It was their intent.


Michayla willed her feet to carry her forward, crossing the bathroom threshold, and stepping out into the hallway. Absently reaching to switch off the bathroom light, Mickey hesitated for a moment as she considered the number of possibilities. If she had, indeed, been seeing things then she would ultimately feel rather silly moving about her own house, fearful of the dark. Yet, the pinprick of doubt that pinged in the back of her mind reminded her that if there truly was an intruder, though it couldn’t do much to defend her, the light shining to her back would offer some sense of security and comfort, despite not being very practical. Opting to leave the switch alone, Mickey’s hands instead knotted at her chest, kneading themselves in an anxious tangle as she quietly moved towards her bedroom door. It was slightly ajar. Had she left it that way..?


Reaching the bedroom door, Mickey silently braced herself for whatever, or whoever may be on the other side, Carefully pushing it open. the sight that welcomed her, while consciously expected, still ripped the breath from her lungs and left the woman gasping. Across the room, seated comfortably in her armchair, was a man with an ethereal presence that caused the already weak Michayla’s knees to buckle. The scene in and of itself was mind-boggling. They outwardly displayed no ill intent. The way in which he sat with one leg crossed over the other, slender fingers gracefully thumbing through a book, shoulders relaxed and back slightly slouched. It seemed natural, familiar. As if he had done this countless times before. While oddly reassuring, the confusion that replaced her initial panic sent Mickey’s thoughts reeling.


“Am I dreaming?” she mused, breathless.


Michayla fell slightly forward then, her weak knees betraying her and forcing her to grab hold to the door frame. Reaching forward and quickly grabbing her phone from the nightstand, Mickey shakily raised her hand to the stranger, sure to show that her finger was ready and willing to push the emergency call button.


“Who are you and how the hell did you get into my house?”

I must be dreaming..

coded by incandescent

 

[Early]

Dezmond

The Materialist of Heaven

Location:

Michayla's Home

Mood:

Nonplussed

Tags:

Aneres

He was as relaxed as he could be, at a decent halfway point of a good Pratchett novel while awaiting for Michayla to return. Her little gasp of surprised definitely did catch his attention, looking over to her and not even recognizing that she may in fact be looking at him. Time to time he'd been in her field of view, and it seemed like she saw him, so right now he simply figured she was surprised by a thought that crossed her mind. The first comment being on her state of consciousness wasn't very helpful, however, as he was simply confused as to what may have happened between when he was last in the bathroom with her and now. "Wha-" Dezmond began to question, but the frantic Mickey soon fumbled for her phone and picked it up, soon after directing her intent to her not-so-new house guest.

A long pause lasted while he furrowed his brows and looked to Michayla with a hesitant confusion. There was no way, right? It's only as she kept her gaze on him that he'd slowly lean to the right, and as her eyes followed him, his confusion would quickly turn to shock. "Ah!" He'd exclaim in his shock, his book vanishing into radiant light as he reached both arms up as though he were under arrest. During that very movement, he'd move to stand; An action that resulted in a part of his body phasing through the chair until he was standing behind it. Though appearing mostly solid, there was a slight waver to the border around his body. "W-wait, you can't see me, can you?!" He questioned frantically, the slight accent behind his words sounding almost British as disbelief was clear in his tone.

Now that she had a good image of her Guardian Angel, it was clear to see Dezmond cared for his image. On top of that, he was incredibly well dressed. Wearing a fitted designer suit, with a silver chain danging from his collar baring a cross that dangled over his snug tie, and an assortment of gem encrusted rings upon each of his fingers. Along with that, it almost looked as though he was wearing makeup? Maybe some light foundation, and product near his eyes to help them pop. Sure, he was invisible to everyone, but he chose to look good for himself. Not everyone else. Now, however, he just looked as scared as she initially did, if not more so.

code by @Nano

 

[Aneres]

location
Bedroom

interaction
Early

mood
Disbelief

Michayla Macy

‘There’s no way.’ Mickey absently thought to herself, closely observing the stranger’s movements. While she was expecting him to react in an assorted number of ways, rather it was panic or hostile countermeasures, the pause that followed her initial question and the puzzlement that colored his handsome visage left Michayla’s features mirroring his own. He was intruding in her home, lounging ever so cavalier in her bedroom. How was it that he seemed just as surprised, if not more so than she did? It wasn’t until the slight shift in his weight, Mickey’s burning grey eyes never leaving the gold of his own, did the man seemingly realize that the situation had taken an unexpected turn and reacted accordingly. Still, the realized state of alarm that Michayla witnessed was as unusual and odd as their entire encounter thus far. Not only had the book he had previously been holding vanish into a flash of blinding light, but he also seemed to phase through the armchair, his body shifting and vibrating like that of an apparition.


Michayla let out a frenzied scream as she felt her body fall back against the bedroom door. Reaching around to brace herself against it, one hand finding the knob and the other gripping tightly to the frame, she felt her legs lock in place, either unable or unwilling to move. Who was he...no, what was he? Why was it that he seemed absolutely perplexed in her ability to see him? Was he actually there or was this some wildly vivid fever dream?


“Of course I can see you! What’s going on, what are you?!” she blurted.


Mickey could feel the overwhelming wave of fatigue quickly closing the gap, threatening to overtake her and send her body crumbling to the ground. While she prayed that the sudden rush of adrenaline would keep her body upright, wishful thinking wasn’t a powerful enough force to combat the disease that reigned supreme in her body. She felt the last remaining bits of color drain from her face as her lower half went numb, her legs finally betraying her and bringing her down to her knees. Mickey cursed under her breath as she attempted to pull herself up again, both hands now clawing at the doorknob in a desperate act to reassert and reassess herself. Alas, such wasn’t the case. Between her earlier visit to the bathroom and the sudden coming and going of endorphins, her body had reached its threshold and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. All she could do was hang her head in defeat and choke back sobs that resulted from a twisted mixture of frustration and fear. It didn’t matter who or what this enigmatic being was. There was nothing Mickey could do to defend herself, much less actively fight against it.


Michayla allowed her grip to go slack on the knob, her elbows hanging limply as she placed her head between them. This had to be a dream. There was no way, in any fathomable shape or form, that this was anything besides. Her body had reached a point of exhaustion she hadn’t pushed it to in a very long time and in its weakened state, concocted strange hallucinations. What else could it have been? Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, Mickey tried to steady her breathing as well as her thoughts, attempting to find and get a grip on reality.


“This isn’t happening, Mickey. Get a grip. Get into bed. Go back to sleep.” she murmured to herself. Repeatedly she told herself to ignore her surroundings, that this wasn’t real, that she needed to come back down to Earth. All the while leaving the alarming figure across the way just as confused and lost as she was.

This can't be real.

coded by incandescent

 

[Early]

Dezmond

The Materialist of Heaven

Location:

Michayla's Home

Mood:

Scared

Tags:

Aneres

This wasn't supposed to be happening. The only way she could possibly see him is if she'd passed away, those were the rules. That's how it worked for everyone, and there was no exception. Never was he taught how to respond to this, nor was he told of any occurrence of when this had actually happened. Had she somehow died in the short time between now and when he'd left the bathroom? He hadn't heard her fall, or any sign that she may have passed, and judging from her appearance she was stilled terminally ill. Last he checked, cancer didn't effect the soul, which meant she was still alive - Alive and fully aware of his presence.

Flinching as she dropped, he wasn't even sure how to answer her question. What was he supposed to say? He was her guardian angel and he was just standing around watching her perish? That wouldn't be well said. It's only as she continued to try and calm herself down that a plan would start to form, soon after he'd even walk around the armchair and start to approach. Still nervous, and totally dumbfounded as to how this could even be happening, he had only a single hope. If she went to bed, maybe she'd wake up and not be able to see him anymore, and this can all be tucked away as a sleep induced incident. That, or a reaction to one of the too many pills she takes for her affliction. "Yes, Michayla. Get back to bed, and when you wake I will be no more." The charming figure spoke with a tone that sounded as if he were offering guarantees. Unfortunately for Dezmond, he was scared and unsure if that would even help.

"Here-" He offered his right hand, leaning down some to offer to help get her back to her feet. "I assure you I'm not actually here, I'm simply a symptom of your affliction and medication." Dezmond offered the falsity, uncomfortable with lying but at the same time he wondered if it was really even a lie. Was she so sick and unstable right now that she was on the line of life and death? Was this giving her the ability to somehow perceive him? "Please don't cry, the thing I hate most is seeing you cry. I promise I will bring you no harm. Just try and relax and get back to sleep." With these soft spoken words he'd accidentally spill a bit about himself, and his own desires. Namely how he couldn't stand to see her suffer, more so now that he was actually there to her.

code by @Nano

 

[Aneres]

location
Bedroom

interaction
Early

mood
Adapting

Michayla Macy

"Yes, Michayla. Get back to bed, and when you wake I will be no more."

"I assure you I'm not actually here, I'm simply a symptom of your affliction and medication." ​

Michayla couldn't help but let go of a small, breathy laugh. Whatever this incarnation of energy, thoughts, or sickness was, it was not only well dressed and well-spoken, but it also seemed to be self-aware. Reaching out for the offered hand, Mickey half expected her own to phase right through it. Instead, her palm was welcomed by the larger of the two and she was met with an incredible, radiating warmth. It was strange. If he truly was a figment of her imagination or a medically induced illusion, then why did he feel so real to her? So familiar? Turning her chin up towards his voice, her dull, sunken eyes met the luminous depths of the stranger's before she gave him a small smirk.

"I've never once had a dream tell me that it was actually, in any way shape or form, a dream. So either this is one hell of a fever dream or you're a terrible liar," she quipped.

Mickey reached forward then and weakly wrapped her opposing hand around the stranger's wrist, allowing him to all but pull her upright and onto her feet. Finding her legs again and attempting to balance, it appeared that her body had other plans. Digging her nails into his pale skin in attempts to hold herself steady, she once again felt her legs buckle as she fell forward ever so slightly, her shoulder finding and resting against his chest. 'Huh. For an apparition, he's sure sturdy.' she thought to herself. Michayla couldn't help but wonder what this must've looked to someone on the outside looking in. There she was, small, fragile, pajamas slick with sweat and messy brown hair sticking to her face and going in all sorts of different directions. Compared to this entity who was ethereal in its presence and sharp in appearance. With his tailored suit and what appeared to be rather expensive taste in ring-wear, Michayla couldn't help but wonder what he needed to be so nicely dressed for at this time of the morning. Oh, right. He isn't real.

Mickey's thoughts were brought back to the here and now when she felt a reassuring squeeze of her hand and a low voice speak softly beside her ear.

"Please don't cry, the thing I hate most is seeing you cry. I promise I will bring you no harm. Just try and relax and get back to sleep."​

Michayla wasn't sure what in that simple phrasing had left her more bewildered. Rather it was his apparent desire to see that she wasn't upset or the fact that he wished her no ill will and that she actually believed him. She absently returned the gentle gesture and gave his hand a quick squeeze as well.

"You apparently know what I look like when I cry. I guess that answers my question, then." Pulling herself back up and willing her weak knees to steady themselves, Michayla held tightly to his hand still, unsure and quaking, and eased herself towards her bed. Once she was sure she was close enough to allow herself to let go without falling on her rear, Mickey hesitantly released the man's hands and eased herself onto her plush mattress, heaving a sigh of relief to no longer have to exert the energy to stand.

"This can't be a dream," she stated simply, eyes now once again focused on the ever oscillating ceiling fan. For a moment she allowed herself to get lost in its rhythmic hum, the steady rotation. Now that she was in the safety of her bed and was no longer at risk of taking a plunge and potentially harming herself even further, Michayla could feel herself slowly begin to drift, her shoulders relaxing and her eyes growing heavy.

Before she was fully lost to the actual dreams that awaited her, Michayla whispered softly, eyes fluttering shut and consciousness escaping her, "And you are a terrible liar."

You're a terrible liar.

coded by incandescent

 

[Early]

Dezmond

The Materialist of Heaven

Location:

Michayla's Home

Mood:

Worry

Tags:

Aneres

Nervous laughter spilled from lips that bore an equally nervous smile, her catching onto the fact that dreams absolutely don't explain that they are in fact a dream. Regardless, his only hope in the moment would be laying her to rest, and hoping when and if she wakes up he'll simply be a lucid memory. "O-of course I know what you look like crying, I'm a part of your subconscious. As a part of you, I naturally don't like it when you cry." Dezmond was barely managing to dig his way to a proper excuse, not exactly wanting to make her feel like she was insane but also not wanting her to know he actually existed up until she was ready to see him.

Helping her to her feet, he'd feel the clammy skin of the sickly girl more clearly than he ever had before. With her hand in his own, things felt all the more wrong, as she was definitely not supposed to be able to feel him, let alone see and hear him. Even though it was wrong, by the time she was actually to her feet he'd keep his arm available for her to lead her safely back to bed.

"This can't be a dream,"

As much as Dezmond wished it were, she was right on the money. Even as he helped her into bed, and brought the covers up and tucked her in himself, he couldn't help but be afraid. Many times int he past twenty three years he'd longed for the ability to do this, to take care of her, as it's every Angels dream to finally be there for their obligations. Though this was reserved for the day they bring them to their eternal rest, it wasn't supposed to be any sooner. So while he was enjoying being able to personally tuck her in, he knew it wasn't right. Especially when she spoke yet again, her final words before slipping back into unconsciousness sending a shiver up the panicking angels frame.

She was right, though.

Angels weren't made to lie, and never in his many years had Dezmond ever told one. Who would he possibly lie to, anyway? No one was supposed to even be able to hear him, and there was nothing to ever lie about when talking to one of his brothers or sisters. Here he was, slipping into human behavior in a sloppy attempt to cover up what was clearly not supposed to happen. It's as he looked down to the now asleep Michayla that he realized how much easier it was to lie to her than to tell the truth, but what would he do if she awakened and nothing changed? What if he was still there.

Giving a quiet sigh, he'd move back over to the armchair that he'd more or less claimed as his own over the past few years only to plop down and sulk to himself. Before making any drastic decisions, he'd first have to see if things were different when she awakened, so for now he patiently remained with his eyes never leaving the slumbering Michayla. This would also be what she'd wake up to see, unfortunately for them both.

code by @Nano

 

[Aneres]

location
Bed/Bathroom

interaction
Early

mood
Pensive

Michayla Macy

It'll pass.

This can't be a dream. ​

You're a terrible liar. ​

The morning light that crept into Michayla's room and bathed her in its warmth was what originally roused her from her sleep. What inspired her to fully pull herself from the dreamy fog was what sat across from her. She could feel her eyebrows crease as she took a moment to process everything she could remember from the night before in relation to the stranger sitting in her armchair. Mickey could vividly recall seeing him phase through the very same chair, his form wavering ever slightly like ripples in the water. Yet when he had helped her to bed, he had felt as whole and warm as anyone else. None of that, however, explained the overwhelming sense of deja vu or the familiarity and comfort he appeared to feel with her and her home. Though she was still left with more questions than answers, Michayla decided to take comfort in having at least one affirmation.
"So you are real," she whispered softly, voice still heavy with sleep.
Pulling herself up into a sitting position and running a hand through her rough and matted hair, she grimaced at the feel of it between her fingers. Before she did anything else, she'd need to take a shower. Turning to hang her legs over the opposing side of the bed, Michayla simply raised a hand in response to whatever comment the stranger may or may not have been saving, and stated matter of factly, "I'll need a bit to freshen up and mentally prepare myself for whatever conversation I have coming." Standing from the bed then, hesitating for a small moment to be sure her legs were in better working order, Mickey straightened her back then and made her rounds throughout the room collecting what bits of clothing she'd need once she had finished in the bathroom. Going to toss her clothes over her sheets as she naturally did, Michayla opted out of that and decided it would be better if she dressed in the bathroom.
Pausing at the bedroom door, she pondered for a moment on rather or not she should say anything else before leaving the room. Sure, he was some enigmatic being that could phase through furniture and spoke like he had known her for years, but it still felt rude to just walk out of the room without saying something. Placing the tip of her thumb between her cracked lips and biting gently down on the nail, a nervous tick she reminded herself she needed to drop, she turned her chin in her general direction and offered him a small smile.
"I guess you can just make yourself comfortable? I won't be too long."

It seemed a shower was just what she needed. Now dried, dressed, and finishing the last bit of the daily, light makeup she still bothered to put on, Michayla stood back and appraised herself in the mirror. It was as if she were a totally different person. Funny what a good sleep and hot shower could do for a person. The lip scrub and concealer did their parts as well, of course. Inhaling deeply, the young woman did a quick about-face as she went to turn towards her kitchen, having to remind herself that she had a guest, uninvited or not, awaiting her in conjoining room.
Popping her head past the door frame, Michayla asked quickly, "Do you, or can you, drink tea?"

Tea Time.

coded by incandescent

 

[Early]

Dezmond

The Materialist of Heaven

Location:

Michayla's Home

Mood:

Frazzled & Nervous

Tags:

Aneres

With her eyes fluttering open, Dezmond would halt his breath, afraid that a single noise may alert her yet again to his presence. Yet in the next moment she was upright, and looking straight at him. Not at a stain on the chair, or anything on the wall behind him, but he himself. Swallowing hard, almost as if he were on the edge of his seat, she'd see his lower lip sucked in only to be lightly chewed between his teeth.

"So you are real," Only after she spoke to him would he exhale loudly, his whole body which had once maintained a perfect posture soon after slouched back heavily in the chair only to groan out an exasperated noise of annoyance.

It was just as he feared.

Unable to really respond to her, taking the gesture of her hand as a signal to wait, the Angel would find his thoughts constantly racing with compromises that may be offered to elude her to his existence. Yet, none would work. The only answer was make her think she were insane, as if the cancer had ruined her mind and left her with an imaginary friend. While that could certainly be an answer, it was no better than just telling her the truth. Something that he found himself slowly preparing to do ever since last night.

With Michayla now leaving to shower, a slight smile would take place over his small frown. "Make yourself comfortable-" A thing he's been doing long before she saw him, in fact she would likely be frightened by how comfortable he's been around her, and what parts of her life he'd been present for. Giving a final sigh, Dezmond figure that since the gig was up he may as well be a little productive. No longer a spectator, he was actually taking up space in her day to day at least until he could figure out why she could see him. It was because of this that by the time she'd exited he'd already be in the common area.

While she was busy, he'd set a kettle of water aside and started steeping some tea; Knowing well where everything in her home was already he'd even gone as far as to start preparing a small breakfast that even she may be able to stomach. It made sense that if she could see him, he may as well act as though he were here. "Let's see..." Dezmond began to muse aloud while he went over what she had in stock, taking into consideration her restrictions from the medication she was on. "Right, she was too sick to go to the market on Wednesday, so-" Vanishing suddenly, only a few moments later he'd return with a handful of fresh picked strawberries which he'd put in a strainer to start cleaning. A process he'd repeat a few more times as he went about making breakfast.

By the time Michayla actually came out and asked him if he'd like a cup of tea, there would already be tea on the table, as well as a bowl of oatmeal. Not the kind cooked in water, but simmered in whole milk with fresh fruit stirred in; garnished with brown sugar and a single sliver of butter that created a nice golden brown film over its still cooling surface. Just like how her dad used to make, as Dezmond learned to do so from somewhere after all.

"I know you haven't much an appetite as of late, but I figured this would at least be less miserable on the way up in the case it comes back." The quiet but still charming voice sounded from the kitchen, as Dezmond was now drying his hands after just finishing with cleaning up after the single meal he'd created for her. Walking from the kitchen towards the table to either join her or sit down first, he knew well they had quite the conversation coming up.

code by @Nano

 

[Aneres]

location
Kitchen Nook

interaction
Early

mood
Nostalgic

Michayla Macy

Much to Michayla’s surprise, the armchair that he had all but claimed as his own sat empty upon her return. Not only that, but her bed had been haphazardly made, a bit of tidying up done through her space. This just further proved that this strange, beautiful being did know more about Michayla’s routine than he let on. He had loosely draped the comforter over the sheets and placed the pillows on top just so instead of taking the time to properly tuck and fluff. When Michayla has had a particularly rough night, rather it is with sickness or night sweats, she normally just straightened up a bit, knowing that later in the day she’d replace said sheets and put the soiled ones to wash. Despite the situation and the odd happenings associated with, Michayla couldn’t help but smile softly at the gesture.


It was then that she heard the rustling in the kitchen and the smells that accompanied the busy sounds. Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, Michayla followed her nose to the adjoined dining area attached to the kitchen. The table that sat adjacent to a large bay window was set accordingly with a fresh cup of brewed tea, honey to taste, and a piping hot bowl of freshly made oatmeal. And there, across the table from the display, did he sit. While he naturally carried himself with an air of finesse and radiance that was unmatched it was there, seated at her breakfast nook, draped in a curtain of sunlight, that he looked absolutely celestial in standing. Stepping up to her chair, it wasn’t until further inspection that Michayla realized the actual length the man had gone in order to prepare the most important meal of the day. Mickey noted the leaves of chamomile that floated atop the green tea, surely plucked from the potted plant above her sink. Looking down at the bowl of oatmeal that sat hot and ready, it was almost as if Michayla had stepped into a memory. The fresh strawberries, a sprinkling of brown sugar, and melted butter to top it. She was also willing to bet that upon the first bite she’d be welcomed by its creamy richness from being steeped and cooked in milk as opposed to simply water. When she had still played for the Orchestra, she rarely had time to pay attention to the small details of things such as how her oatmeal was prepared. Since her diagnosis, she had focused on the sickness itself instead of appreciating the things she had been living for.


Michayla picked up her spoon then, dug into the rich oats, and tasted. Instantly she was transported to her childhood. The countless mornings sitting at the kitchen table, sneaking bits of strawberry as her father prepared breakfast. How he'd reprimand her for the act in front of her mother, then casually hand her a few more behind his back with a wink. Teaching her how to properly pick and rinse the flower petals before adding them to the pot. The last time he had ever made it for her…


Mickey could feel the burning prickle of the dam breaking. When was the last time she had taken the time to do this for herself, to remember and just sit in her nostalgia? Putting the spoon down and placing her fingers to her waterline, she sucked the tears back up and inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly.


“Thank you.” She whispered quietly. In her lap, Michayla began to knead her hands together, twisting her fingers into an anxious knot.


“You hate to see me cry and you know how my father used to make my breakfast, down to the smallest detail.”


Michayla gripped her knees tightly as she brought her eyes to meet his own before continuing. She wanted to read his face, to watch his eyes as she spoke.


“You’re here, sitting across from me, yet it feels like you’re not truly present. On top of that, I feel like I’ve known you my entire life.”



Pausing then, Michayla shook her head a bit and laughed under her breath, bringing her hands to run through her now soft and bouncy chestnut waves. Pressing her elbows into the table, Mickey bit at her bottom lip before cradling the back of her neck between her palms and continuing, “I feel absolutely mad. I mean, you’re a complete stranger but in the same breath, your energy feels nostalgic. What sense does that make?” Bringing her hands together in front of her now, she rested her forehead against them and inhaled deeply. She needed to stay calm and cool-headed.


“Please…” Her voice was barely above a whisper but she had the intuition that he heard her, regardless. Peeking over her hands, Michayla opted to place them on the table as she simply asked, “Who, or what, are you? How do you know these finite things about me, my past? I need to know.”

Thank you...

coded by incandescent

 

[Early]

Dezmond

The Materialist of Heaven

Location:

Michayla's Home

Mood:

Anxious

Tags:

Aneres

Watching eagerly as Michayla took her first bite, a smile began to work its way across his face while watching her clearly enjoy the trip back to simpler times. During the moment she spent in memory lane, his radiant eyes simply looked to her while his hands raised to fold neatly before himself on the table they sat at. As he often did, he was simply quietly admiring her as she enjoyed the moment, vicariously feeling happy through her. Yet, this joy would wash away and the concern soon returned when he saw her choke up, the questions already beginning as Michayla struggled to hold back the waterworks.

Hearing her out, it was clear that the things she was saying was causing some slight discomfort. His hands even unfolded, ringed fingers that were fastened with multiple colored gems scintillating as they caught the light that spilled in through the tall window just beside them. It's only as she looked to him in hopes of getting an answer that these fingers began to tap lightly upon the tables surface, his eyes averting and looking outside the window while his breathing seemed to stop. Only after a few moments of deep thinking would Dezmond bring his gaze back to her, his impossibly illuminated eyes burning like embers as they peered to her - As intense as they were they still held a certain soft kindness, akin to glowing honey that catches the suns rays just right. Even as he wore such kind eyes, a certain seriousness overtook the room.

"My name is Dezmond, and I am your Guardian Angel."

With the truth out there, his fingers would cease their fidgeting; His right hand raising to sweep any of his loose white hair over to get in line with the rest as it was all pushed back and to the side. "I didn't know I could feel familiar, but I'm not surprised. I've been a part of your life since before it began. I was even there when your parents fell in love, the memory of their first kiss a pleasant one I remember fondly." Deciding it best to not spill exactly how far back his watch went, or his duties in full, he'd instead start to lean back in the chair as to correct his posture while speaking and looking to her. "Mickey - if I may call you that - I have been by your side through the good and the bad, and it is my job, no, my honor to be there when your life inevitably ends and you need help crossing over. A day I looked forward to as it meant we'd finally meet, but..." With his brows furrowing, the clear look of confusion returned as a slight frown overtook the pleasant smile he once wore.

"Well, you aren't dead. Yet, you can see me."

code by @Nano

 

[Aneres]

location
Kitchen Nook

interaction
Early

mood
Aprehensive

Michayla Macy

Michayla straightened her back and repositioned her hands in her lap as she listened intently. With each new piece of information presented to her, Mickey opted to dig her nails deeper into the plush flesh of her palms rather than give anything away via facial expression. Besides the occasional brow furrow or nod, she was composed, cool, and quiet. While Dezmond continued to explain exactly what it was that he did and how he knew such intimate details, Mickey found herself pondering further questions to the answers he gave instead of acknowledging any sort of affirmation.

“So, it’s not just me. You were with my father as well?” Feeling her shoulders beginning to tremble ever so slightly at what that must’ve entailed, Mickey paused for a moment and asked herself if she truly wanted an answer to that question. If what Dezmond had said was true, then that meant that he wasn’t only there for Michael’s life. “You were there with him when it happened, weren’t you?”

Michayla felt a cold tightness anchor itself in her lower back and shoot chills up her spine, littering her skin with goosebumps. At least now she knew that even at that moment, her father wasn’t alone. Dezmond, this ‘guardian angel’ was there by his side, waiting to escort him into the afterlife and ensure his safe passage. The idea gave Mickey some semblance of comfort. Visibly shivering now, Mickey pulled her cardigan tighter against her slender frame before reaching for and taking a sip of the still piping tea. Feeling its warmth ease itself into her chest and replace the cold snap knotted around her spine, she returned the cup to its dish before making a small gesture to herself and continuing.

“No, I’m still very much alive. At least, for the most part. I’m also going to go out on a limb and assume you’ve never had something like this happen before or you wouldn’t be just as confused as I am.” Pausing then to process, Michayla went through a quick checklist of possibilities. It wasn’t as if she could have any type of inclination as to what this could mean but, being the planner that she was, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t at least try. Though, despite her efforts, there was only one real explanation that made any sense to her. Then again, what in this scenario actually, truly, made any sense? “You mentioned it being your job to help me cross over when that day came. If I can see you now, does that mean I have even less time than I thought?” While some might have panicked at the possible truth in that sentiment, Michayla asked as more of a general inquiry than an affirmation of her mortality. No, Mickey had already been down that dark road of realization and self-pity. When the treatments had begun showing signs of being ineffective, she knew that she was on borrowed time. All this meant was that, while it pained her to do it, she’d have to take the necessary steps to finish getting her affairs in order. No matter how much her mother insisted against it. Which brought on a completely different level of anxiety.

Finding herself unable to sit still any longer, Mickey pushed herself up and out of her seat, making quick work of her remaining tea and reaching for the practically untouched bowl of oatmeal. While she felt bad letting it go to waste, knowing the effort Dezmond had gone through to prepare it as such, there was no way Michayla could bring herself to eat. Between the new levels of anxiety, she was adding to herself by being stuck in her own thoughts and the general state of constant nausea she found herself in, it just wasn’t happening. Instead, she opted to save what remained of her breakfast in a Tupperware dish for later consumption. Setting the dishes carefully in the sink, Mickey palmed her hips as she looked for any excuse to busy herself. Not only had Dezmond made her breakfast, but he cleaned up after himself as well. How thoughtful. Unable to find anything too productive to busy herself with, Michayla decided to just go with the usual and start grabbing the things needed to brew a fresh pot of tea.

Quickly deciding on what flavor she was going for, Michayla began measuring out the tea leaves before motioning to the door that sat to Dezmond’s back. “Would you mind grabbing a few rosebuds from the garden? Also, how do you take your tea?”

No, I'm still very much alive.

coded by incandescent

 

[Early]

Dezmond

The Materialist of Heaven

Location:

Michayla's Home

Mood:

Nervous

tags

Aneres

Knowing well the state of mind she was in, and how she got when her mind started to race, Dezmond made sure to promptly answer any and all questions she may have. Firstly, about her father.

"I was there for Michael after the crash. It was very quick, he didn't suffer at all." Is all he'd say, not wanting to go into details of the conversation they'd shared once he'd actually passed. There was a lot of grief on both sides, particularly about the family and how they would carry on without him. Even as Dezmond promised to always keep Michayla safe for him, he knew his influence must always be little to non-existent.

Her fidgeting was impossible to not notice, soon realizing that he himself had picked up on showing his nervous queues as his fingers stilled and withdrew back to being folded neatly before himself. "I... Don't think that's how it works." He'd begin, though even in his tone he seemed unsure. It's not like this happened before, and he had a memory to recollect back on. After all, people in worse conditions than her exist, and they'd been in a state so close to death for so long that the only mercy would be letting them rest. Yet, they never saw their guardians until the time came where they'd finally found peace. What made her any different? Why was this even happening? Questions that hopefully would find answers soon enough, Dezmond would move to stand as she began to collect the remains on the table. Finding himself no longer a quiet observer, but an apparent lurker, he'd just stand awkwardly at the ready with his thumbs nervously twiddling between his still clasped hands.

Finally, she offered him a task. As well as a cup of tea, an offer that warmed him more than any hot beverage ever could. Never in his years of duty had an obligation offered him anything, how could they after all? His features softened, and a quiet chuckle came from his cosmetically colored lips. "I have no need for food or drink, but-" Pausing, realizing that maybe he'd never eaten or drank anything was because it was proof of his existence. "With honey, please." With that, he'd vanish just as quickly as he could appear. A glittering plume of light drifting in the air from where he once stood, and soon enough he'd return. This time in the kitchen by the sink, carrying exactly what she asked for and just as much as needed. Gathering herbs, and most other daily duties she'd done, was something he'd become familiar with himself. It actually felt nice doing these things for a change, no longer just an observer but actually practicing what he'd saw.

"You're fight isn't over yet, Mickey." Dezmond spoke softly with a slight ring of kindness in his tone, while speaking he would tend to rinsing the petals in low pressure water only to set them aside once done, knowing well she would tend to the rest of the process. Only once he'd finished would he flick his hands dry, and look to her again. "I don't know what this is that's going on, but I know miracles are always possible, and you only need one to get back on stage." Though it'd been a while since she'd last preformed, he'd hoped the reminder of her time as a musician could spark some hope back into her frail sickly body. After all, it was clear now that it was his desire to see her play yet again.

code by @Nano

 

[Aneres]

location
Kitchen

interaction
Early

mood
Uneasy

Michayla Macy

“--I know miracles are always possible, and you only need one to get back on stage.”​

Michayla felt a tingle of pain shoot into her fingers at that mention of performing, it being accompanied by a resonating twinge of sadness. How long had it been since she had actually held the violin, caressed a piano? Setting the petals to float atop the quickly changing water, Michayla placed the kettle to begin boiling before absently rubbing her fingers. All she could do was give a weak, sad smile, “I’m not quite sure about that. It takes more stamina than some realize to play for the entirety of a concert performance. It’s been weeks since I’ve even played anything, much less to that extent. I’m sure you knew that, though.” Mickey turned and pressed her back to the adjacent counter, her palms still mindlessly kneading into her fingers. Now that she was presented with the idea and underlying question, she wasn’t quite sure what excuse she had as to why she hadn’t picked up an instrument since her dismissal. The way her fingers had glided over the keys, how she maneuvered the bow across the arco. She had devoted her life to the orchestra and had put every bit of passion into her music. Perhaps now that she knew her time was limited, what more was there to dedicate? Michayla could feel her brow crease at the thought. Had that actually been the case and she just hadn’t realized it until now?

“Your fight isn’t over yet, Mickey.”​

Tilting her head slightly to face Dezmond, the kind and knowing smile he gifted her felt contagious. She instantly felt her features soften, a smile that reflected his own lighting her face and forcing forth her dimples. “Then again, I never thought I’d be standing in my kitchen making tea for my Guardian Angel. So, I guess anything really is possible, when you think about it.” Pushing herself up and away from the counter, Michayla reached into the cupboard and pulled down two teacups and saucers before sidestepping and finding the honey. Covering the honey dipper with a healthy amount of sweet, viscous liquid, Mickey lined the bottom of either cup with honey in preparation for the rose tea to finish brewing. As she went about placing the honey back and locating two teaspoons, Michayla projected a question into the open, purposefully trying to remove the weight of it but being as nonchalant as she could.


“What do we do from here, then? I’m not dead and I know who you are, now, so how do we move forward?” she paused then, curious visage turning to face him, her dark eyes searching his golden orbs expectantly.

Where do we go from here?

coded by incandescent

 

[Early]

Dezmond

The Materialist of Heaven

Location:

Michayla's Home

Mood:

Hopeful

tags

Aneres

Watching closely as the slow dripping strands of cool honey began coating the bottoms of the fanciful tea cups Michayla owned, something most women her age certainly didn't entertain. Of course, she was far from the average; Few to none took up gardening by this point of their life. Her love in the more homely parts of life was definitely refreshing for Dezmond, the simplicity of enjoying the world and what it offered over the night life most entertained. Simply keeping his smile on place while she began to speak, it's with her now busy at work getting the tea ready that he himself would lean back against the counter beside the sink, his hands lifting to hold the counters edge as he took a casual stance for once.

"I guess anything really is possible-"

So right you are, Michayla. It wasn't too late, especially since she'd yet to give up hope. Even after the years of sickness she still willed herself out of bed and tried to maintain the normal routine. Even Dezmond found himself inspired by her tenacity, knowing well fate hadn't given her a fair hand but she still chose to play it regardless.

"What do we do, indeed." He quietly mused with her, his smile remaining but his expression rather inquisitive as he'd thought. Thoughts that soon projected for her to stay in the loop and give her own opinion. "Well, until you pass I have no means of returning to Heaven. I am, however, in no rush to go home." A truth, as his time on Earth was always cherished. It'd likely be a century before he'd returned back to work, and the garden of man was just so interesting to him. Not that paradise was bad, it was just too perfect. Humans always offered fresh and exciting new scenarios, their lives never dull for a quiet eternal observer like Dezmond. Not that he was all that old to begin with.

"Hmmm. Well-" His fingers started to tap lightly against the counter as he leaned back against it, his many rings clicking against the treated wood as he'd continued the thoughtless motions. "I'm forbidden from interacting with you, but I haven't much a choice anymore." Dezmond continued, his voice clearly insinuating a plan had come to mind, though for some reason his eye contact would break and he'd look to the kettle as steam began to plume from its spout. "It's possible, I suppose, that I can help you. Though, the choice must be yours and yours alone. I feel I know the answer already, considering how long I've known you, but I still have to ask."

His fingers would still, and the kettle now began to hiss out its whistle, a noise that was steadily growing louder. It's by now his unwavering golden gaze shifted back to hers, and it was clear he'd moved to a serious note. "Michayla, would you want to endure the struggle before you towards possibly getting better, with no knowledge on how long it may take, or would you like to leave for paradise." The gig was up, after all. She could see him, she'd learned of the cosmic truth and what awaited her in the end, so there was no point in making her wait. He could offer he a mercy from the life of pain she was going through now, or, a sliver of hope that she may get better and get back to enjoying life as she was before.

code by @Nano

 

[Aneres]

location
Kitchen

interaction
Early

mood
Contemplative

Michayla Macy

The world around Michayla stilled as she listened intently to the kindness offered her. Dezmond had all but given her an out. She could take this opportunity to fly the white flag for the sake of her body, to put an end to the war that it had been waging against itself for the past few years. The night before could possibly be her last having to endure the painful, nightly ritual. This could potentially be the last pot of tea she ever brewed. Speaking of such, it was the insistent howling of the now steamed kettle that pulled Mickey out of the dense fog of her thoughts, hurling her back into the here and now. Forcing her eyes to break their line of sight, despite how difficult it was, Michayla reached for an oven mitt and pulled the kettle from the stove, pouring it over the pool of honey that sat at the bottom of either of their glasses.

Placing the teaspoon flat against the saucer, Michayla offered Dezmond the hot beverage before taking her own and stirring the thick, golden honey into the pink of the brew. She watched as the two came together in a harmonious entanglement, beginning as their own separate entities and eventually melting into one another as a union of beautiful, floral flavors. However, Mickey didn’t initially partake in the taste. Instead, she found herself pondering his proposal further and what it truly meant for not only herself but the family and legacy she was leaving behind.
After a bit longer, Mickayla brought the cup to her full lips and sipped it slowly, letting the broth sit against her tongue before letting its warmth travel down into her chest. It was when she returned the cup to its designated saucer that she decided to speak. “It feels unfair if I take the latter option, honestly.”

Turning her back to the cabinet then, she cradled the china between her fingers as she continued to sip between her musings. “I’m the first human you’ve made contact with meaning I’m the first you’ve been able to offer an early release. At least, I assume as much.” Lifting her eyes from her cup, their dark, deep depths met the intense gaze of his own. She could see the weariness reflected in his eyes, how the ever-growing tempest that sat behind his lids left his thoughts afloat a sea of uncertainty. This was new territory for both of them. It was unfair for Michayla to expect him to hold all of the answers based simply on his status. “What about every other person you’ve ever ushered? I’m sure there were plenty who would’ve gladly taken you up on that offer, had they ever been given the choice.”
A subtle sadness tugged at her features. She could feel the corners of her lips turn upwards in an attempt to reassure him, knowing that the same kindness she offered him there would be combated by an overwhelming sense of grief behind her eyes. “As often as I’ve laid in bed and cried questioning ‘Why me?’, I don’t think I can bring myself to throw in the towel. Even if I only have a month, a week, hell even a day, it’s still time I’m being allowed to live. Any time I give up would be the time my father could’ve used to see my first professional performance or to tell my mother he loved her one last time.”
Mickey felt a warmth ignite deep in her bones as she watched the way his eyes softened. He had stood by her side for the entirety of her life. He was there in the quiet moments when Mickey had felt absolutely alone in the world, silently watching over her and quietly willing her onward. Reaching forward and placing a hand gently on Dezmond’s arm, she offered him a reassuring squeeze before concluding. “Thank you for the kindness you’ve offered me, Dezmond but I don’t think I’m ready. Not quite yet.” The intensity of the conversation was quickly broken by the ringing of Michayla’s phone. Heaving a sigh and placing her cup down against its saucer, Mickey picked up her phone and felt her lungs tighten as she read the name on the screen. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she slid the phone icon across the screen and placed the smartphone to her ear, “Hi, mom, good morning.”

Not quite yet.

coded by incandescent

 

[Early]

Dezmond

The Materialist of Heaven

Location:

Michayla's Home

Mood:

Relieved

tags

Aneres

Her smile to shield her grief while she began was seen through, though the notion of attempting to shield him from feeling guilty for offering such a thing was appreciated. "Every long night, I was there." Dezmond quietly reminded her before taking his first ever sip of tea, its scolding temperature doing nothing to him but the flavor of the sweetened rose water helping melt away any concern that may have been showing on his face.

Sometime soon she was likely to address the fact that if Dezmond was truly around all the time, he'd been present during more than just her sickness. During her geeky high school days, her fussy toddler phase, and even all the bad decisions. The times she's hurt herself, and the times she's hurt others, all viewed and judged by the once unheard guardian of hers. Now of course wasn't the time, but if she kept being able to see him he just may start getting nostalgic - That being something that would surely end up embarrassing.

He offered an impossible choice. One he'd expected she wouldn't take, and not to his surprise her will to live on overcame her want to escape the pain. While she was sick, and frail, and rarely slept through a full night, she wanted to press on in the hopes that one day things may go back to how they used to. Simply offering a quiet nod, his smile growing to show how obviously pleased he was with her choice, he'd raise his glass to take a sip while hearing Michayla continue on and explain her reasoning.

"You need not thank me, I exist-" for you. The words however silenced from the chiming of her phone. With a warm smile still across his face, he'd sip away at the tea made by her. Something he'd seen her do countless times, a simple task such as tea had become a ritual in which she'd perfected. Though he never ate or drank, and benefited none by doing so, the warmth of the cup in his hand was pleasant. For now Dezmond simply awaited to hear just why Theresa was calling so early in the day. Along with that, it would be clear from how Dezmond looked to Michayla that he strongly recommended against telling her mother she was seeing angels.

code by @Nano

 

[Aneres]

location
Childhood Home

interaction
Early

mood
Disquieted

Michayla Macy

Michayla listened attentively as Theresa gave her the usual rundown. Occasionally if Mickey hadn’t called or made a recent effort to visit the widow, Theresa would find every and any excuse to ring Michayla. The longer she went without seeing her mother, the more frequent the calls would become, at times reaching a point of near obsession. While Mickey couldn’t help but feel a growing frustration towards her mother’s rather neurotic behavior, she couldn’t bring herself to stay upset with the woman. Michayla couldn’t begin to fathom how incredibly lonely her mother must’ve been. With the passing of her father, Michayla moving out at an early age, and then Mickey’s own unfortunate diagnosis, the young woman knew that the compulsive behavior came from a place of love and worry.

“Yes, mom. Mhmm. Oh, how lovely. Yes, I’m sure Mrs. Finch enjoyed that. Um, today?” Michayla’s attention temporarily shifted to the large calendar board that hung from her fridge, taking in the time and date. 12th of August. 10:39 am. As quickly as Mickey had sifted through a multitude of excuses to present her mother, she swiftly dismissed the idea and chastised herself. Even if she wasn’t particularly in the best frame of mind or physical health to make the trek across the city to her childhood home, Michayla knew she owed it to her mother to make the effort. Theresa very rarely asked Mickey to do so, usually opting to visit her daughter instead. The least she could do was humor the woman.

“Sure, mom. Yeah, that’ll be great. It’s no problem, really, I needed to stop by the market regardless. So, spinach, fresh cheese, and what else? Okay, got it. Mhmm, right. Of course, I know how much you love them. Okay, mom. Alright. See you soon. I love you too, mom. Bye.” Hanging up the phone and releasing a deep, long-held exhale, Michayla reached for the pen and pad that sat connected to her calendar and shot down a few errands at her mother’s request. Peeling the paper, folding it, and stuffing it into the front of her jeans. Mickey turned to Dezmond then and gave him a small, shaky chuckle. “I suppose we’re off to see Mrs. Macy.”

By the time Michayla turned into the driveway of her old residence, it was closing in on midday. In the seat beside her sat a few groceries as well as a fresh bouquet of blue hydrangea and lavender. The lavender was meant to be dried and hung in her mother’s room, a trick her father had used for years in order to help with restlessness. As far as the hydrangea? A gift for Theresa. They were her favorite flower and their home and shop once flourished with them. However, upon Michael's passing, the business had since closed, the majority of his garden having been transplanted to Michayla’s home. As sad as it was to see, both women knew that Theresa didn’t have the means of keeping the shop up and running. Instead, the front of the house had been renovated into a sunroom. And there, in that very room, was where Michayla found the older woman. Seated in her old, plush armchair, feet kicked up, novel resting delicately between her fingers. A Sinatra vinyl played in the background as the sun glinted against the many different hanging chimes and colored glass, shooting blinding rainbow reflections in a multitude of different directions. Though the years were beginning to show, Theresa’s beauty was still one of the only things in the world that could leave Mickey truly breathless. Seeing her mother in her natural habitat only enhanced that. Her entire life she had been told how alike she and her mother were in appearance but Mickey simply didn’t see it. Her mother held grace and brilliance to her that Michayla could only ever hope to achieve. While she had slacked in maintaining her appearance, allowing the grey to creep through her strands of chestnut, not a smidge of makeup on her wrinkling face, she was still as beautiful to Michayla as she had ever been.
Gifting her mother a gentle smile, Mickey bent at the waist and planted a soft kiss to her cheek before presenting her with the flowers, “Hi, mom. It’s good to see you.”
Theresa pulled the glasses from the tip of her nose and placed them atop her head before burying her face in the hydrangeas, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Reaching for her daughter’s hand and gripping it tightly, Theresa pulled herself from her seated position and tugged her frail daughter into a tight embrace. Stepping back then and placing a hand to Michayla’s cheek, the woman returned her smile and said simply, “You look good Mickey Mouse. Beautiful.” Noticing the produce hanging from Mickey’s other hand, Theresa’s face instantly lit up as she reached for the bag, about-facing and quickly heading into the home, “Oh, bless you, dear. Thank you so much! Can finally get that quiche finished and in the oven. Go ahead, have a seat. I’ll get this going and ring Grace and then I’ll be back out with some drinks.” And, just as quickly as the moment had begun, it had ended. As much as Michayla hated to admit it, she was exactly like her mother when it came to needing to busy herself to keep her anxieties at bay.
Falling back onto the wicker love seat that sat across the room, Michayla exhaled long and slow before peeking up and turning her head towards the door. ”Some things never change, do they Dezmond?”

Off to see Mrs. Macy.

coded by incandescent

 

[Early]

Dezmond

The Materialist of Heaven

Location:

Teresas's Home

Mood:

Nostalgic

tags

Aneres

From context it was pretty easy to guess what was about to happen by the time the call had finally finished. Her exasperation clear, however, Dezmond didn't need to have known her for her entire life to know this threw a curve ball into her day. Yet from her side looking to him, excitement was clear in his eyes and written over a wide smile. "Wonderful~"

The time in the story was nice. Mickey had been a good deal more reclusive for a while now do to her illness, and because of that it did mean Dezmond saw Mrs. Macy a good deal less than he was used to. It was hard to watch, at first. The rate in which tragedy struck was staggering, and it felt as though the family was actively being attacked. Around Dezmond he'd felt lost, and at times hopeless. He knew everything had a plan, but even now while walking through the Market with Michayla he wondered if things could just be wrong. After all, was he supposed to be talking to her while shopping about stories from the house she grew up in? What was the plan in that?

By the time they'd arrived, Michayla would start to get used to having an Angel more or less acting like a ghost at all times wherever she went. Through walls, doors, and even cars as a means of exiting. A clear reminder that he would not be seen, or heard, so she should be wise to chose when engaging with him. A challenge for her, while he would have his own. For example, he's used to just reacting to things that happen as though he were invisible, and this included things he'd say. Biting his tongue the moment Theresa was aware of their presence, Dezmond just began to walk around the room and inspect all the little changes that'd occurred since he'd last been here. The sweet voice was always nostalgic, ever since Michaylas father passed Theresa has been a reminder to the Angel. A reminder of his end, and the rich life he lived. A truly humble family with good values and nothing but love in their hearts. Love for nature, love for music, and love for one another.

Looking from the book that was sat down to Mickey once she sat down, Dezmond simply moved to sit across from her in another wicker armchair - Hoping Theresa planned on returning to her chair should she come back and not force him to relocate. "People change." Would be his response, a bit of wisdom as he himself pondered on how it could be interpreted.

"This house, for example. It has had very few renovations since you'd been in it. This reading room is my favorite change of all the ones that took place, but there is still a lot that hasn't changed. The garage is still a clutter of storage, for example." After he let out what sounded like a slightly sarcastic example, a quiet chuckle would sound from Dezmonds chest. "Do you remember every spring Michael promised he'd sort that mess out for your mother once summer rolled around? What with the business and how much work it really would have been the problem only got worst, of course. I bet if I went down there now I'd find the box of VHS tapes with all the Sesame Street recordings they got for you. Likely exactly where it was when you'd moved out, even." The thought seemed silly, a laughing matter in the past whenever it'd been brought up.

Needless to say, Dezmond was a bit of a family man. The things that brought him the most joy were the interactions between the Macy's, especially when Mickey still lived at home. The constant conversation, or conflict, or general living occurrences were always different and exciting. The Angel even seemed nervous by being back home, his excitement clear as day.

code by @Nano

 

[Aneres]

location
Childhood Home

interaction
Early

mood
Content

Michayla Macy

A flood of memories overwhelmed Michayla then and took her on a steep slope of nostalgia and recollection. With every word Dezmond spoke, a scene would begin to materialize and play vividly for Mickey. Her father and mother stood in the kitchen, Theresa’s arms folded and burning brown eyes staring Michael down incredulously. Her father would lift his arms in response, giving his wife a reassuring grin as he chuckled nervously, “I’ll get it done, T. You know I will.” Then, in true Michael fashion, he’d go to make an X over his heart before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to Theresa’s cheek, her mother’s features losing their hard lines and softening in response to her husband’s affection.

Leaning back and willing her shoulders to relax into the soft cushions of the wicker sofa, Michayla felt her eyes flutter shut as she allowed herself to sink further into her recollections. She could fondly remember waking every morning, Theresa there with her fingers in the young girl’s hair, rousing her from her dreams with promises of a bright and eventful day. Mickey would jump up excitedly and run into the living room, Theresa hot on her heels. As her mother turned into the conjoined kitchen to begin putting together their breakfast, Michayla would hurriedly push the waiting VHS tape into the VCR, the vivid colors and characters singing and dancing on the screen enrapturing her. Mickey would then head off to elementary school, happily going about her day knowing that when she returned home, her father would be there waiting for her, dark blue overalls and kind face covered in grease and a smile that could light the night sky.

Michayla leaned forward then, a genuine smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, dimples concaving into her now flushed cheeks, “That was when dad still worked for DS Steel. He’d have to wake up at ridiculous hours and every morning before he left for the day he’d make sure to have the VHS ready to record so that I could watch Sesame Street while I got ready for school.” Resting her elbows on her knees, her chin perching on her now intertwined fingers, Michayla turned her attention to the doorway that her mother had disappeared through. Before they had added this extension to the house, it had been a small patio. Every afternoon when she stepped off the bus, Mickey would find Michael seated there, beer in his hand, a juice awaiting Michayla. “You know, it’s been years since I’ve even thought of that? I’m surprised I even remember dad having had a job before the flower shop.” Turning her attention back to Dezmond then, she offered her guardian angel a soft smile. Before she could give him a thank you for reminding her of those early days, Michayla heard her mother pushing past the screen door. Theresa carried a tray with two tall glasses and an assortment of fruit, setting it down softly on the coffee table that sat in the center of the room.

“I would've made tea but, knowing you, you’ve already had your fair share. Besides, nothing beats a tall glass of crisp spring water.”

Michayla felt the smile on her face grow in intensity as her mother placed the full glass on a coaster in front of her. The water was topped with a slice of lemon and fresh blueberries, a touch that Mickey appreciated. Theresa then began to separate the fruit onto two small serving dishes, placing one beside Michayla’s glass and one beside her own. “The quiche shouldn’t take too terribly long to bake but I imagine you must be feeling peckish.” Reaching around and giving her mother’s shoulders a tight squeeze, Michayla rested her head on Theresa’s shoulder briefly as she mouthed a quick thanks. As she and her mother began to chit chat and catch up, Mickey would occasionally shoot Dezmond a smile, being sure to acknowledge him and remind him that she hadn’t forgotten he was there.


What was originally supposed to be a short visit had eventually turned into a full-blown afternoon of laughs, nostalgia, and good conversation. By the time Michayla had casually peeked down at her wristwatch and noticed the time, she and her mother had already been through half a pitcher of sun basked tea and a little more than a quarter of her quiche. It was now nearly half-past six. Mickey chastised herself, remembering then that she hadn’t taken any of her medications for the day. “Sorry, mom. I didn’t even think to bring my meds with me and it’s starting to get late.” Going to stand, Michayla felt her mother’s hand reach forward and grip tightly around her fingers. Also pulling herself into a standing position, the planes of Theresa’s face lost their luster and saddened as she quipped, “Wait, Mickey, before you go. There’s something I have for you. We started talking and I lost track of time and it completely slipped my mind.” Feeling herself being tugged into the house, Michayla saw the expectancy in Theresa’s eyes, the older of two hoping that the younger would further humor her. Sighing softly, Mickey nodded before lifting her opposing hand in warning. “Sure, mom, but you gotta make it quick, okay? I’ve still got to drive across town.” With the way her mother simply waved her hand in response, Michayla knew that the woman had only half heard her and she couldn’t help but chuckle and shake her head.

Now that they were inside, the same hurried intensity that carried the pair through the threshold had left Theresa as she simply stood in the foyer, unmoving. Michayla noticed the slight tremble of her mother’s shoulders. Mickey recognized it instantly as it was another telling sign that she had inherited from Theresa. The shift in conversation and the overall mood was palpable and any residual anxiety that seeped from her mother was now beginning to make Mickey’s chest tighten. Stepping forward and placing a reassuring hand on her mother’s shoulder, Michayla looked onward to the woman’s profile.

“Mom?” she whispered.

Turning her head quickly, same dark eyes meeting those of Michayla’s, Theresa pulled herself out of her own head and gave her daughter a reassuring nod. She squeezed the young woman’s hand quickly before stepping up to the coat closet. Mickey hung back and watched her mother as she dug around inside the closet. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but Michayla could feel a heaviness in the room. It felt as if it were pushing down on her, causing her knees to begin gently knocking together. After a bit more shuffling and rearranging, she watched as Theresa began to back away from the closet, her hands pulling back with her…

“A saxophone case?” pondered Mickey.

Now that she had the black case fully past the closet’s threshold, Theresa leaned forward and gave the door a quick shut before sitting back on her knees and heaving a deep sigh. With trembling hands, she pushed the case towards Mickey and looked up to her daughter.

“It was a gift from your father.”

Thanks for the memories.

coded by incandescent

 

[Early]

Dezmond

The Materialist of Heaven

Location:

Teresas's Home

Mood:

Bitter Sweet

tags

Aneres

Among the many things Dezmond appreciated about Theresa, one thing that's always brought him joy was just how clearly oblivious she was. Naturally he had an unfair advantage what with being invisible, but he'd also rarely ever been present for a meal she'd made and not had some. With the fruit out, Dezmond would actually find his footing again and just casually walk over. "Shhh~" He'd quietly signal for Michayla to not make any indication that he was present, now standing nearer to them and by the bowl Theresa had left between the two.

The moment the mother went into conversing it was as easy as he'd remembered. A blueberry here, and an orange slice there. He didn't need to eat, and he seldom ever did since the chance to do so wasn't ever there. Though when it came to Theresa it was more like a game. Her focus was so driven, and thoughts so collected, but when it came to the mundane it just went right under her nose. Once during school registration she couldn't find the car keys, and with Michayla still being a toddler they wound up in a pretty unthinkable place. Though, soon enough they found themselves on the kitchen table. In plain sight, a place Theresa did walk past, but she simply assumed it was hiding in clear view. With Michayla now able to see him, this made the game a bit easier however. Now he could coordinate when she took stuff with when he himself grabbed a few berries; The contents lowering at a rate that very much made it seem as though she was just very much enjoying what was brought out.

It's only when Michayla checked the time and realized she'd left her medication that the notion did pop in his head that he could just get it for her. It'd be easy, simply a pop over to the house and then a snap back here. Traveling for Angels was effortless, after all. Looking to Michayla, now back in the unclaimed chair just as he was before, a decent handful of blueberries that he was pecking at time to time, he offered her a look that suggested if she wanted to stay he could make that a possibility. A shrug was even given to show it wouldn't be a problem at all. Naturally, unlike Michayla, he could never get enough of Theresa. Her presence had been comforting for him since long before she was born. In a sense, he'd fallen in love with her when her father had. A different kind, of course.

Soon enough she'd be to her feet, being dragged along with the sweet Mrs. Macy as she so eagerly had something to show. Something that caught even the attention of the everlasting being Dezmond. Soon by a closet, one of many overly used storage places in this house, Teresa eventually pulled forth a large box that was clasped along the sides to snugly keep the contents safe. The very contents not even a mystery, but a sudden sadness washed over the guardian angel. "Ironic, I'd say." He'd mutter, remembering back to this morning. On his comments of wishing to see her one day play again. "A sweet gesture, though, and all the more reason to get better."

code by @Nano