First Person: [A train. He is familiar with trains, and this sort of outdated architecture. Or at least, to Armaros it’s outdated. He’s used to evolution on a very sped-up, advanced scale, even if his floor is not as contemporary as say, Azazel’s.
He looks around curiously, but alertly. He’s seen stranger things than this, but it would not do to act recklessly. That hadn’t served him well in the past. More out of habit of wanting to say something, Armaros lets out a low sound much like a lamenting moan, which echoes off the walls of the train station.
He walks around idly, eventually catching sight of the posters and regarding them with mild interest before realizing that he was a little..pocket-heavy. Finding the watch, it’s a simple task for him to get it working. Again, sped-up evolution and such. Humans were so ingenious, truly, to recreate this technology in their own time, as he assumes they must have. It takes him a few minutes to figure out how to use the text function—perhaps he might have ineffectually turned the video on, not that it mattered. Armaros was quite incapable of speech. So he types out his question.]
Where am I? Third Person: As he lay in wait, on his own personal floor, Armaros was left much time to think. Enoch’s progress since the three hundred year search for the Watcher’s Tower was…dare he venture to say, godly?
No, he wouldn’t venture to say that at all. Even if he could speak. Enoch was something else entirely, a man who intrigued him with all of his mannerisms, the way he behaved. So very like the holy beings he was surrounded with, and yet so very human at the same time. Even as a Fallen Angel of the Grigori, Armaros could not think ill of the man who hunted his kind down with the intent to seal them all away. Himself included.
He was fond of the scribe, very much so, and wished dearly that they could continue from where they had left off. Armaros knew so much more about humans now, their willfulness, their ability to adapt and their boundless creativity. Somehow though, he would trade that information for one thing. For the ability to go back to simpler times as one of God’s beloved Angels, able to speak again and ask Enoch all of the questions that he liked, because as an Angel who was to deny him?
Armaros had made his decision however, and in exchange for his fall, a most painful feeling in and of itself, he had gained all of the knowledge on man that he could ever have wanted.
Pity it cost him his voice. He opened his mouth slightly, and tried to speak a single word.
Fuuoooon…
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. He had been so fond of dancing. And Enoch…had told him what a beautiful singing voice he had too…
[CANON] Armaros || El Shaddai: Ascension of the Metatron || Reserve || 3 of 3
He looks around curiously, but alertly. He’s seen stranger things than this, but it would not do to act recklessly. That hadn’t served him well in the past. More out of habit of wanting to say something, Armaros lets out a low sound much like a lamenting moan, which echoes off the walls of the train station.
He walks around idly, eventually catching sight of the posters and regarding them with mild interest before realizing that he was a little..pocket-heavy. Finding the watch, it’s a simple task for him to get it working. Again, sped-up evolution and such. Humans were so ingenious, truly, to recreate this technology in their own time, as he assumes they must have. It takes him a few minutes to figure out how to use the text function—perhaps he might have ineffectually turned the video on, not that it mattered. Armaros was quite incapable of speech. So he types out his question.]
Where am I?
Third Person: As he lay in wait, on his own personal floor, Armaros was left much time to think. Enoch’s progress since the three hundred year search for the Watcher’s Tower was…dare he venture to say, godly?
No, he wouldn’t venture to say that at all. Even if he could speak. Enoch was something else entirely, a man who intrigued him with all of his mannerisms, the way he behaved. So very like the holy beings he was surrounded with, and yet so very human at the same time. Even as a Fallen Angel of the Grigori, Armaros could not think ill of the man who hunted his kind down with the intent to seal them all away. Himself included.
He was fond of the scribe, very much so, and wished dearly that they could continue from where they had left off. Armaros knew so much more about humans now, their willfulness, their ability to adapt and their boundless creativity. Somehow though, he would trade that information for one thing. For the ability to go back to simpler times as one of God’s beloved Angels, able to speak again and ask Enoch all of the questions that he liked, because as an Angel who was to deny him?
Armaros had made his decision however, and in exchange for his fall, a most painful feeling in and of itself, he had gained all of the knowledge on man that he could ever have wanted.
Pity it cost him his voice. He opened his mouth slightly, and tried to speak a single word.
Fuuoooon…
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. He had been so fond of dancing. And Enoch…had told him what a beautiful singing voice he had too…