Thread: Fate Versus Fiction [Ironic ║ Ryees]

Ahem. Where were we? I was staring at pretty art. Sirrus' lips tightened as Mikael's steel heel slammed through the doorknob of the public works building. As Mikael stepped aside, Sirrus slunk in around the doorframe, pulling in against the right wall as Mikael followed and fanned left. The room, a cafeteria by the look of it, appeared empty. Sirrus cast his eyes around a doorway along the far wall, and another just next to the half-window that separated the kitchen from the tables. A soup kitchen then. A good place to hide, with food and water stored here. High likelihood of a holdout. Sirrus moved towards the kitchen, pressing his back to the wall at the edge of the opening and peering sidelong inside, glancing underneath the counters as best he could. Seeing that there was no under counter area, he bent over it, looking left and right. No one. Mikael moved towards the other dooroh dear, that won't do. Sirrus you're going to want to stop him from doing that. What? Why? The faster we clear these houses, the faster There lies the plot, idiot. Don't you recognize a flag when you see one? That door basically screams, Basement where the children fodder are hiding. And do you really want Mikael to be the one that finds them? I see that face. I thought not. Sirrus bent back into the main room and called out, Clear! in a strong voice. Mikael paused, halfway to the doorway. We still have to he cut off as Sirrus rose a hand. I'm sure it's just a cellar. Go see if the next house is open, get ready to do the same thing we had to here. At Mikael's nod, Sirrus let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding. Mikael did not seem to quite understand the order, but the man had been a faithful soldier and friend since Sirrus had been given command. Despite the differences in their age and Mikael's obvious senioritythe angel was nearly three-hundred, nowMikael had always acted true to his station. Whether or not he had initially had any faith in Sirrus was well offset by the faith he had in the Divine. The order for Sirrus to take over this squad had been delivered by hand from that lofty summit, and that had always been good enough for Mikael. The fact that the two had formed a friendship and a bond in arms just made working with him all the more pleasant. Sirrus approached the door, pressing his back against the wall next to it. You better be right about this. Have I ever steered you wrong before? Sirrus paused, glancing skywards with a really annoying expression. You know that wasn't my fault. I only know what I'm going to write for you, you know I had no control over that. It was with a heavy sigh that Sirrus pressed an ear to the door. Stilling his breath, he listened. Silence. Stillness. Nothing but the rushing of blood in his ears to fill the silence. His trust wavered for a moment, but he steeled himself. His right shoulder shifted the plates of armor fastened to his pauldrons telescoped out as a dazzling white array of feathers rippled out through the previously covered gap in his armor. Those telescoping plates settled neatly over the bones of his wings, tailor-fit to his exact physiology. The wings had been foreign to him once, a gift of the Divine for his ascension, but it was with natural ease that he curled that wing forward now, taking hold of one of the flattened steel handles in the bottom of the plates. Curled defensively around from the back of his shoulder, his steel-clad wing formed a flexible shield that moved naturally with his arm. That shield held to the fore, he propped his sword quietly against the wall. In the cramped staircase and the undoubtedly tight quarters of the cellar, the full-length montante, over five feet in length, would serve him no purpose. He eased the hammer at his belt from its leather loop, the polished steel spike that made up the back of the brutal head glinting wickedly in the low light. Hammer held close at his palm, he used his fingers to loosely twist the knob. Free of the door frame, he used the pick end to pull on the knob, and the door creaked open. He held his shield vertically in the space of the door, covering all but his greaved ankles. He nudged the door open the rest of the way, and started down the stairs.