[A man with messy brown hair blinks, puzzled, at the camera for a moment, as if not sure he's seeing things correctly. Then he smiles, though it's tighter than his smile usually is. He cards his fingers through his hair, giving the area he's in a careful once-over. The archangel is calculating, trying to figure out his position from all of his years of memory. He's coming up with a blank, and it troubles him more than he lets on.]

Hi. I'm... not sure what I'm doing here, or where here is, but it's... pretty.

[Remiel has always admired both human ingenuity and the more natural creations of his father. It's part of why he likes gardening so much. He likes seeing the little sprouts come up and grow. The shapes are like artworks of their own.]

Maybe I should start with a question. Is there anyone out there? And who do I talk to, to get a roof over my head?

[And maybe a plot of land to tinker with, or a balcony to turn into a hanging garden. But that's several questions away, at least, or extraneous altogether if certain answers are given...]

And do you remember how this lyric ends? It's been driving me crazy. 'Don't you draw the Queen of Diamonds, boy...'

He almost failed to notice the butterfly in his hair entirely, if not for the small creature suddenly slipping and finding purchase on his nose. Rather than waving it off, as some might, Remiel instead offered the white and black shape a grin and steadied it with a finger. It was a White Morpho, he knew, cataloged in human books as morpho polyphemus.

"Easy, there. You can take a rest on me, if you'd like," he said, unaware that it had been doing just that. Instead of flying away, the butterfly, sensing its sudden and immense safety, spread out its wings to catch the light and perched on Remiel's finger. For the moment, it was one of the safest creatures in existence.

Remiel was in his garden, on a hot summer afternoon in Concord, Massachusetts, far from any other prying eyes. He was wearing a faded Nirvana t-shirt, and so far from any other prying eyes that he, too, had his wings spread, like the butterfly on his finger. Feeling the warmth of the sun on the six appendages was one of his favorite sensations. And the sun on the near-pure-white undersides of the wings was a near-blinding reflector.

In that moment, a butterfly and an archangel had a moment of fond solidarity. Today, Remiel had been performing little bits of maintenance. Plucking weeds, checking on fruit and vegetables, looking for any branches that needed gentle rearrangement or, if necessary, a good trimming. Today hadn't yielded too much in the way of work, but still. He took any excuse to sit out in the sun that he could.

He could hardly get sun-burned, after all. Only if he wanted to. (And after doing it once, just to see what it was like — well, once was enough.)

The archangel was so content that he almost missed the approach of a short boy with an unruly mop of straw-yellow hair. He folded his wings away, and they vanished from human vision as the boy looked over the nearest white fence. His name was Jonah, and he was the son of Remiel's closest neighbor — a very nice woman named Susan North. He blinked owlishly behind his glasses, pushing them up to his nose.

"Hi, Mr. Nemo," he called, "I brought you something."

"Hey there, sport. I'll be right over."

Remiel's moment of laziness done, he stood up on bare feet and padded over to the boy, offering him a friendly grin that Jonah returned. He was a good boy, Jonah. Talented at the piano, geometry, and figuring out puzzles. Whatever he decided to do when he grew up, he'd be an asset. At the present time, the boy held out a glass baking dish full of corn bread.

"It's from my mom," he supplied, before frowning. The archangel got the distinct impression he'd also been sent out with a message and had, in that exact moment, forgotten it. "What have you got on your finger?"

The Morpho was still there, spreading and closing his wings, and Remiel gently transferred the butterfly to his shoulder so that he could take the bread from Jonah's aching arms.

He chuckled, "It's a White Morpho."

Jonah squinted at the moving shape. "You sure know a lot about bugs and stuff. Can you teach me?"

Remiel's grin spread. "Have some time right now?"

"...yeah!"

"Okay. Hop on over. We'll try to find some more, and you can help me eat this corn bread."